Kindred Folk -- Into Sidhe

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Althyday Solo!
...I don't think the forum likes "Ã*"s? Someone, please fix.

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Fenn had been here before.

All alone under the greying sky, the boy and his sleepy direwolf huddled on the lower half of the two-peaked mountain. He saw open tundra and silver seas to the north. To the south glittered the icy lakes of Hansley. Further south rose range on range of the Skavian mountains as they embraced wispy mists like a silken cloak. And still beyond, he had a glimpse of the rest of Salvar, small lights that shone out feebly against the blue-purple sunrise, towns and cities standing against the snow and the forest.

It was a lovely landscape, if a bit lonely.

With such a view, Fenn’s minimal cliffside “campsite” felt like a speck on the surface on the world. It was more or less a little hole he had dug in the endless snow for sleeping, the spot he had set his bag, and the place his dark direwolf companion, Daugi, had plunked down. His buddy rested over her most recent kill, a half-eaten snowshoe rabbit. It mystified him how such a creature survived all the way up here. Why Daugi still tried to convince him to eat it raw with her was also a mystery. Fenn made a face, recalling the icky itchy blood-taste, and sighed out over the open cliff.

The last and only other time the boy had bothered traipsing up these mountains, his nose had been firmly stuck in a map, and in his greed he hadn't made the time to enjoy the view. This time though, the boy had a better map in his head already, and a strong memory of the frozen landscape. Along with it were his memories of the dragon.

Fenn shivered and rested his chin in the wind-tossed mane of his worn buddy, biting his lip. Yeah, those weren't good memories.

It was impossible to forget Nippariess. So vast that her lair took up the inside of a mountain’s cap, silver as her gleaming hoard, and bitter cruel as the summit winds, she struck an imposing figure even in hindsight. Assuming that she was, in fact, not dead, Fenn hoped to drop in for another chat. First, he had come for shiny material riches, but now he sought a very different kind of wealth -- information. He ground his teeth together, trying to recall her voice. The sultry old snake had dropped a couple of hints that she knew something about his people… something about a nearby “winter court”...

And of course, past-Fenn had been more concerned about thumbing his nose at her grabbing a few shinies on the way out. Typical him.

Fenn sighed and leaned over to scratch Daugi on the chin, wondering if returning was at all in any way a good idea. There was a good enough chance that Nip might maybe forgive the whole rebelling-and-trying-to-kill-her thing if she was lonely and bored enough to tolerate his presence. Or, so he was banking on. After all, it was she who had accidentally sparked his interest in the other Frost Fae with her loose lips. If anyone could tell him where to find them, it would be her.

If, of course, she wasn't planning to murder him the moment he stepped foot in her caverns. He had hit enough dead ends by this point that it seemed a near-reasonable risk.

Fenn had wandered into abandoned mansions, dilapidated bookstores, and ancient libraries trying to find something about his people. His curiosity had been mild at first. All he wanted to do was learn a little about his roots, to understand what his kin might have been like. But each empty shelf and incomplete, crumbling piece of text tightened the noose around his neck a little more. There were a few very certain ways to make Fenn irrationally angry; withholding something from him did the trick.

Fuck you, Fate! Fenn stuck out his tongue to the falling sun. He’d find the other Fae, one way or another! And if that meant braving a dragon -- again -- so be it.

That left his other concern. Fenn’s ears drooped as he glanced over Daugi. Even while taking a break, she radiated a mounting wariness. He knew the look. Her ears pressed back and she snuffled at the snow, as if she was catching a whiff of a scent both familiar and suspect. Bright red eyes rolled back to consider her tiny boy-pup quizzically, to which he gave her an innocent shrug in reply. They were only halfway up the mountain and she was already suspicious.

Eventually, the wolf was going to catch on to the dragonsmell and drag his ass all the way back down the mountainside, away from the folly that his plans brought. Fenn stuck his tongue out again at the thought.

Maybe he'd just wing it and elude his canine companion when they got close enough to the top. Or, maybe, he'd consider letting her have her way with this. Grudgingly, Fenn admitted to himself that there were a couple of situations which might have gone much better had he let Daugi protect him from his own stupidity. That was, his stupidity among other things...

The direwolf pricked up suddenly. She rose into a defensive position, abandoning her meal to stand shieldlike over her small friend. A warning growl began in her throat.

Speak of the devil. Fenn rubbed his eyes and shook out of his meandering thoughts. He poked his head out from under Daugi only for her to shove him insistently back into the snowdrift. Rolling his eyes, he peered above the deep snow petulantly. She had started getting meaner towards strangers and potential dangers since Amar… since… nevermind. Fenn squinted uneasily into the distance, at the source of Daugi’s aggression.

A band of shadowy riders glided towards them, seemingly out of nowhere.

Fenn did little but hold his breath as the riders swooped towards them. Their steeds closed the distance in swift strides, a menagerie of odd creatures; deer, mountain goats, and elk, riding without complaint alongside wolves and bears. Silent as the creeping dusk, the party swirled around the two in swift circles. Foreign words slipped by on the icy wind that followed them.

Daugi lashed her tail and snapped her jaws at the intruders. Several animals snapped back wickedly.

Her boy, meanwhile, stared breathlessly.

The riders were as queer as their rides. They were done up in leather armor and fur, their faces hidden in masquerade. Most were humanoid in form, but they were not human. At the fore of the party was a man brawny and elk-masked, long vulpine ears displayed regally. Both his dark mane and tail were tossed by the wind. “Stad!” he commanded his riders, the word cutting through the cold winds brought with the riders. Their mounts snorted and reared as they came to a standstill.

Fenn tensed uncertainty. Frost built up on the tips of his fingers, cold, yet bright with his magic. If this was going to end in violence, he didn't feel like going down without a fight today.

The lead hunter slid off his own mount, a stately elk to match his mask, and approached the two with dignified strides. He possessed a spear, but did not draw it; the man was careful to maintain a distance from Daugi, and with good reason. Her growl grew into an outright murderous snarl as he drew closer. “Ce tusa?” the man inquired, looking to Fenn.

The boy stared blankly back. What?

“Ce tusa?” the man repeated, his voice booming.

Fenn shook his head uneasily.

Another moment of silence rang hollow in the air. The leader frowned, twitched his ears, and tried again. “Ahh. Do you speak the common trading tongue?”

Those words made sense. Fenn perked up and nodded, only for Daugi to push him flat-on-his-face back into the snow, uttering a commanding bark. The band laughed uproariously at that. A whispy groan escaped the boy. He lifted his hands into wolf’s view, exchanging few curt gestures she couldn’t ignore. Safe people? Free me. Reluctantly, Daugi stepped aside and allowed him to stand up, still fixing the strangers with a trustless glare. He dusted the snow off of his cloak and peered up at the unexpected visitors surrounding him.

When the rider’s fit of guffawing tapered off, their leader spoke again. “It seems we have made a mistake in approaching you, lonely traveler,” he declared. Fenn shrugged and clasped his hands together inquiringly, still not sure as to what was going on. “Know me as Sir Aengus of Oisin’s hunters. Your wolf, we took for a nightbeest we hunt. But when we saw you, we thought you belonged to the Regent Morrighna, who allowed us use of her lands, or perhaps to the Regent Taliesin. But I see now that you are neither of here, nor there, and we are curious. What brings you to the domain of the Winter Court?”

Court? Books on the southern fae spoke of Courts as gatherings of fae (he, having no Court, was apparently a “solitary”). But so far to the north… Fenn clapped his hands over his mouth, feeling as if he had been bowled over by the rider’s steeds. Frost Fae?

“You need not ask the boy-creature anything, Aengus. I know this one,” someone shrilled suddenly from atop a sturdy goat. “I’ve seen it before.”

Fenn whipped his gaze towards the new speaker. The voice came from a rotund being covered in a white fuzz that stuck out like icicles, snuffling through a flattened hoggish nose. Unlike the others, he had no mask. Thorny teeth poked out of thin lips. Beady coal eyes bore down on the night-black direwolf and her rider eagerly. If Fenn didn’t know better, he would call the being a squat, swinish snowman brought to life. He shuddered and sneered right back at it in confusion; how did it know him? If he met such an odd creature before, he was pretty certain he would have remembered it.

The creature and Aengus exchanged a curt few words in their foreign tongue before turning back to Fenn. “Knarl, the servant of our host, declares you our guest. Do you mind if our mounts rested here?” Oisin’s hunter asked. “They are weary.”

Would he! Fenn gleefully patted the ground next to him. For all he knew, this was going to be his first and only chance to meet his own kind. Rest away!

With another sharp command by Aengus, the warriors dismounted and stretched their stiff muscles. Their steeds caught their breath and settled comfortably into the snow. The winds whipped over the cliff, scattering loose snow and running its chill hands through hair and fur alike. Most of Aengus’ men chatted away in their own tongue, seeming pleased for the moment of respite, yet eager to get back on their feet again.

Fenn himself just felt stunned. His mind reeled from the realization that he had just stumbled into other Frost Fae when a few years of looking had turned up nothing at all.

Maybe the lady of fate didn't hate his guts after all.

The cliffside was awash with quiet activity as the hunters set about taking care of their mounts. Most ignored him Fenn as he picked his way through the snow, to where Aengus was running a brush through his mount’s silky coat. Infinite questions ran through the boy’s mind. Now that he was here, with others (kind of) like him, what was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say?. Fenn twisted his frostbitten cloak between his hands. He hadn't made plans for actually meeting other Frost Fae, because he hadn't the foggiest expectation of encountering them like this.

Still, he figured that he ought to do something, before this opportunity vanished entirely.

Sir Aengus was busy attaching a leather feed-bag to his mount when Fenn neared him. The furry snowman-pig creature was by his side for an instant, whispering, but it scurried off through the drifts as soon as the boy approached. On the other hand, Aengus turned to greet Fenn with open arms. His expression was soft, as was his smile. “Ahh! Merry meet, little lonely traveler,” the hunter fae said, stiffly lowering himself into the packed snow. “Is there anything you need of me?”

The boy plopped down in front of him. His hands shook with excitement. HELLO, he wrote breathlessly. JUST WANT TALK.

From behind his mask, Aengus’ cat eyes skittered over the loopy scrawl. “I see. And what is it that you wish to talk about?” he replied politely, massaging the kinks out of his back with one hand.

This was not quite the attitude Fenn had expected of the burly hunter. The casual way Aengus had of addressing him, as if the two were acquaintances of sorts, put the boy at ease. It was a relief to meet someone so nice out in these lands! Salvar didn’t usually bring Fenn new friends. He cheerfully erased his greeting and flattened the snow in front of him, knowing what he wanted to say. VERY EXCITED. WANT TO KNOW OF FAE. MANY QUESTION FOR YOU. CAN ASK?

Sir Aengus dipped his head and smiled. “Certainly.”

Oh! Where to start? YOU HUNTERS? WHAT YOU HUNT?

“Odd creatures often straddle the line between here and our realm,” the hunter answered, his tail switching contentedly from side to side. “Regent Oision assembled his hunters to vanquish the troublesome. We hunt those, and other lower creatures that crawl where they should not.”

”OUR REALM?” WHO OISION? Fenn wrote, his ears quivering curiously.

“You do not know of my Regent? Well.” Aengus scratched his beard, eyes half closed in thought. “I suppose that shouldn't shock me. A vernal child, aren't you? You must come from the south.”

CORONE. I TRAVEL MUCH, the boy wrote, nodded.

“Ahh. How long have you been traveling for?”

Fenn shrugged. ALWAYS TRAVEL. FOR THIS TRIP, WEEKISH. Or, so he thought. Accurate timekeeping eluded him more often than not.

“Not a long journey then. Yet, you seem a bit weary,” Aengus observed. He dipped his hand into cloak a moment. “Here. A draft we give those who tire. Share it with your beast, and then drink some for yourself. It will refresh from your exertions,” he instructed, producing a crystal-clear vial with a texture that gave the suggestion of ice rather than glass, handing down magnanimously to the child before him. Fenn took it from Sir Aengus with open-mouthed awe, peering closely at what it contained. A deep blue liquid sloshed within, flecked with specks of periwinkle. The whole of it shimmered curiously with the brightness of magic.

“Water your mount first,” Aengus prompted gently. “Give her only a quarter. The rest is for yourself.”

As Fenn ran off to do just that, the hunter looked away in a way that seemed… unhappy. If the boy hadn't been to excited to show this new treat to his friend -- Daugi really did deserve something nice -- then he might have tried to puzzle that odd action out.

Where Fenn had last left his fluffy friend, she had staunchly stayed. The direwolf remained pensive and aloof from the gathering, ignoring the other animals and riders alike except for the rare, irked growl when any stepped too close. Yet, she pricked up at the light fweeeeet of a small, brass whistle. Her snarl receded slightly on sight of her boy-pup. “Wuff,” she greeted hesitantly, still giving a dark look to the creatures gathered around them. Fenn gave her quick pat on the snout -- her tail gave a wiggly wag at that -- and uncorked the vial Aengus had given him. Tilting her head at the new object, Daugi’s curiously flicking ear seemed to be asking a question; treat?

Treat, Fenn cheerfully confirmed with a motion of his free hand.

The wolf snuffled the lip of the bottle and allowed Fenn to pour a pinch of the liquid onto her tongue. Daugi smacked it curiously, her lips curling at the taste. It reminded Fenn fondly of that time he had tried to give her honey. She had spent an hour trying to get it off the roof of her mouth!

After snarfing down the odd blue liquid, Daugi blinked tiredly and yawned. Her single working eyelid twitched heavily. Giving Fenn a woozy nuzzle under his chin, she collapsed in a limp pile of matted fluff. Oh dear. Fenn tilted his head in concern and gently prodded her with a toe. The wolf let out an ugly snore. Though it was good that she was getting some rest, it brought a prickly thought to Fenn’s mind. He hadn't pushed her too hard on the way up the mountain, had he? He hoped not. They would have to take the trip down more gently, he decided. After crouching to give her a quick hug around the neck, Fenn started trudging his way back to his new friend Aengus.

Since the vial was open now, of course, he also chugged down the remainder of the odd drink. Patience had never been one of his virtues.

It was a very strange drink, and much more bracing than Fenn had expected. He winced and nearly coughed out his swig. What what this even made out of? Its taste was strongly reminiscent of pepper, cinnamon, and something a bit more earthy -- moss? Ew. It was also bright, magic-bright, which just felt weird inside his mouth.

...was it just him, or was he starting to feel funny?

Fenn stopped paving his way through the snow and poked the tip of nose; it felt tingly, tingly in that sparky electric way his legs did whenever he slept on them for too long. His extremities all felt tingly like that.

The bottle slipped from Fenn’s grasp as the tingling worked its way down his body. His fingers felt like sausages. He found that his limbs were becoming as heavy as lead. Collapsing to his knees, his hands, and then completely into the snow, it felt surprising that he wasn't sinking into the rock underneath as well. Panic swelled in his chest. This wasn't right. Fenn twitched his hands at the snow in front of him, too weak to force himself back up. This situation was familiar. Frighteningly so.

“We can talk about that later,” a woman with fiery hair purred, pushing his drink closer to him. “Let’s drink and enjoy each other’s company. You do drink, right Fennik? Since, you’re not a child.”

Fenn nodded resolutely and grinned, pleased that she would say that. He loved that she had remembered that.

“Good.” She took a swing of her drink, and he took a swig of his. It was a bit bitter, causing him to scrunch his face, but he wouldn’t complain...

Oh fuck.

The masks of the hunters swirled above Fenn, suddenly surrounding him. An angry hiss seeped out of him as his vision blackened. Why was this happening? Where had he gone wrong here? The cheerful banter of the hunters slowly petered out. The last thing the boy saw clearly was the triumphant piggish face of the fuzzy snow-creature staring down at him, breathing heavily as it clutched its matted chin. “My lady will be delighted by this, ohhh, yes,” Knarl crooned.

“I must ask. What issue has she with this boy?” Aengus spoke up, his tongue lashing quick with restrained concern and anger. Fenn couldn't make out his face. He couldn’t even form a rude gesture to express his anger at this betrayal. The lead hunter continued speaking. “Her reasons must be strong. Regent Oisin sent us to a glorious hunt, not an abduction.”

“Our business, outsider. You’ll get to go back to your hunt soon enough. As for the boy, he will be fine, for the time being. Codladh maith....”

When Fenn next woke, he found himself face down in musky furs and knobby wood. Judging by the scraping noises of slats as they slid downhill over the snow, this was probably a sled-cart sort of deal. Ropes dug into his back and his legs, tight enough that he couldn’t quite feel his feet anymore. Or perhaps his tingly toes were simply an aftereffect of the blue draft.

Fenn bared his teeth involuntarily, his face flushing grey from chin to the pointed tips of his ears. There was a spot in his chest that felt heavy with betrayal. Thanks, Aengus.

The bonds that pinned the boy were a stiff woolen fabric, interwoven with strands of something metallic in strength. Good fucking grief. Did they think he was actually dangerous? If it weren’t that he’d be much happier with an arrangement he could escape from -- handcuffs yielded well to lockpicking skills -- Fenn might have been flattered. As it was, he wriggled and rolled around the unforgiving surface of the sled, but to no avail. Well, he did managed to chafe himself a bit. Ow. Alright, so nix escape for now. It was probably better to get a scope of whatever crazy situation he had landed himself in this time.

At least they hadn’t tied his neck down. Wide-eyed, Fenn propped his head up on the edge of the cart so he wouldn’t have to stare at the dirty floor of it again. It gave him a neckache, but he figured that was a worthy price to pay. Daugi lay on a separate sled a few paces away.

The sight of her laid out and vulnerable made his heart skip a fearful beat. Yet, she seemed relatively unharmed. If anyone so much as touched a tuft of fur on her head, it was not going to end well for them. He sighed and glanced forward to the creatures drawing his sled. They were giant goat with eyes of white fire and obsidian hooves (trampling their way through the pass between the double mountain peaks, the boy noted). Fenn had a better view of their asses than their more impressive features though. And who was it but Knarl commandeering the goats? A scratchy hiss was drawn out of the boy’s throat. The snowpig was an ass in its own right!

Irked, Fenn looked elsewhere… and noticed something very, very wrong overhead.

A green sky.

He could hardly believe his eyes. Had he been unbound, he might have jumped out of the sleigh trying to get a better look.

“Awake? Welcome to Sidhe, outsider,” the snowpig grumbled, glancing back to find Fenn blankly staring upwards. There was a wicked glint in his eyes. “Mortals know it through many names -- Faerie, perhaps -- if they know of it at all. And you...”

The boy was hardly listening to him. It was a dreamy, strange world that he had been dropped into, and he needed a minute to take it in. The heavens above were a pale green, frothing with seafoam clouds. Two pockmarked moons and a descending sun bathed the world in their twilight glow. Rolling landscapes splayed out before Oision’s hunters, silver with snow, thick with forest. Impossibly slender mountains stretched out like claws -- and they seemed to be at the base of one. The hunter’s steeds were hurtling down the slope.

A rough taste of of something like fir resin was in the air, along with a new crystal purity. In fact, the air itself was strange; colder than the mountaintop, and yet with a warm, beating undercurrent. Magic.

Realities beyond the Althanas he knew were not something unfamiliar to the boy. He had heard Vince spin a yarn or two about Earth, a little blue world devoid of magic, yet filled amazing contraptions that flew and chattered and wheeled themselves around without a steed to draw them.

Still, if he could've sat up, Fenn would have been on the edge of his seat.

The fuzzpig grumbled when he glanced back to find him grinning. “Muzzle that cheer. You won’t enjoy the sights for long.”

In reply, Fenn stuck out his tongue and went back to his gandering.

Just below the rise they were on was what seemed to be a city of sorts. Fenn hadn’t noticed it before, as it was almost a part of the forest itself. Houses were constructed of ice walls and animal hides, skillfully woven in with the trees. No smoke rose from the settlement. Though, there were flickers of light -- here and there grew tough vines bearing luminescent flowers and fruits.

Oision’s hunters rode into the trees with complete confidence, following trampled paths of snow that seemed to serve as streets. They trotted fast through shady marketplaces and merry throngs of jarring creatures. Past willowy folk in attire as fine as mist, past reedy insect pipers and singers, past vine-crusted creatures with teeth of rock, past sneering men of snarling predator faces, past long-fingered women with eyes like beetles, and hundreds more. A hag with bark for skin bowed to the hunters as they rode by.

Eventually, Fenn stopped trying to figure out what all these creatures were; it was useless. Few of them looked anything alike at all. Were they all fae, or were there other creatures in the mix?

Everyone wore masks. Everyone. Attire varied -- some wore silks, some wore wool, some wore nearly nothing at all -- but no-one went with a fully-exposed face. A white horse with cloven hooves and a silver mask gave him a condescending stare and tossed their gaze away. Fenn’s heart beat faster. He felt the crowd’s peering eyes crawling all over him, and their whispers running down his ears.

“Breathnaionn se eagla…”

“Phleigh Ar Seansaileiri an ceann seo.”

It was just like those trippy dreams he sometimes had, with the revels in the strange forest. The otherworldly environment and masked creatures certainly matched up. Except that, here he wasn’t being politely ignored, and there was no joyous dancing. Fuck. Fenn curled up as much as he could, casting a resentful look out into the leering crowd. He had no idea what was going on. He had no idea what they intended to do with him. Fenn squeezed his eyes shut. Was this merely another dream?

Gods, he hoped so.

Maybe he was asleep, and any minute now, he going to wake up in the snow and everything leering him would vanish back into the fog of his nightmares, where it belonged. Daugi would lick his face, nudge him awake, and be worried.

And then they would go back down the mountain and back to Corone, because this dream was giving him a weird slap of common sense…

This was not a place where he belonged. This was not a place he was supposed to be.

No matter how many times Fenn pinched himself, he didn't wake up. He was fairly certain that his side was bruised purple by now, but he couldn’t quite twist himself around to see it.

Soon, the hunters came to rest in front of a glassy ice building somewhere in the center of the fae settlement. It was a veritable palace, towering above the other buildings in the forest, but by no means was it organized. Slim towers dotted the outside walls at unusual intervals. The windows were all out of alignment, seemingly cut from the ice at random. Well kept gardens with fragrant flowers, gorgeous trees and exotic bushes decorated the outside of the building. They all glowed in bluish hues.

Rough hands grabbed the ropes fixing Fenn to the cart-sled and undid the knots. He perked up. What? They were untying him? Ha! The bindings choking him were gone. The second the rope was loose enough, the boy slid out like quicksilver and pulled himself over the edge of the cart… only to faceplant spectacularly into the snow the moment his feet touched the ground. His legs were like jelly. Yep, those ropes had been way too tight.

Sir Aengus watched passively as one of his men picked Fenn up by the scruff of his cloak and slung him over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Conversing solemnly in their unfamiliar language, the two strode into the palace-building.

The other hunters waited patiently where they had stopped. Knarl stayed behind as well, looking rather smug. Daugi was still tied to her sled, still half asleep.

Wait- no!

No! No! They couldn’t him away from Daugi! For the most part, the hunters ignored his squirming and flailing. Thick patches of frost was all Fenn’s anger seemed to leave on the fae holding him. If he couldn’t do anything else, the boy was working as hard as he could to be an obnoxious as possible. Take that! That’s what you get for giving him bad drinks, and tying him down, and taking him away from his only close friend! If he were capable of it, Fenn would’ve been screaming. At the least, he made some damn impressive hisses.

Down twisting halls of ice and wood, up stairs shaped from packed earth, he was carried, until they came to a pair of great doors of -- guess what -- more ice.

It was a grand courtroom that they walked into, with thick tree-trunk pillars holding up a roof canopy of leaves. Many of the terrifying, beautiful, horrible beings had poured in from the streets to fill in the standing room. All that was left empty was a narrow stretch of a path from the door to the opposite end of the room, where there was a bare glimpse of silvery spires above the crowd. Fenn couldn’t quite spare himself from the gleeful clamour that filled the air -- it was too loud to be blocked out by his trembling hands.

“Ag fogairt Ceannaire Sciathan, Ceannaire Chulainn, na Rialoir Morrighna,” announced a guardsman as Fenn was carried down the aisle and cast unceremoniously to the floor on the opposite end of the room. When he struggled woozily into a sitting position, he found himself before four thrones hewn of pearly ice and pale furs. Three beings sat regally upon them; a lord, a beast, and a child. Their appearance stole his breath away.

The first and rightmost was the beamish lord, his face disguised with a hawkish masquerade, and his eyes a sharp gold underneath. He wore a beard and mantle of tawny feathers. Despite his regality, the lord knitted his hands together tightly, his posture sloped and distinctly nervous.

The second and leftmost was the proud, sinewy beast. His face was much like a hound under his featureless wooden mask, but his posture was feline. All that moved were his five dark eyes.

Fenn jaw dropped when he looked to the third figure. The waifish child grinning down from the largest throne was unmistakable, a girl with a glassy pallor to her skin, garbed in a dress sewn of animal hides and a wolfish mask. Fenn had seen her once before; he was certain of that. Unfortunately, he couldn't pinpoint where. Her presence here made him uneasy (moreso than he already was), as did the lean hunger in her smirk. She was a third the height of most creatures in the room. Yet, her poise gave her the illusion of towering over all. Fenn supposed it helped that everyone else immediately sank to their knees and bowed their heads as she rose to her feet. All except he himself, of course. He swept his gaze across the prostrate masses with a sigh of confusion.

It was she who spoke first, turning towards the other two on their thrones, but the words were nonsense to Fenn’s ears. He caught strange snippets such as glaoch ni Banrion, cen pionos beidh se ag fulaingt, and ta se gan guth.

From behind Fenn, Aengus uttered an inquiry. His voice was strained.

“Is feidir leat leanuint ar aghaidh do fiach. Teigh!” the girl commanded over her shoulder. Aengus and his fellow hunter bowed respectfully and backed out of the room, leaving Fenn alone in the scrutiny of the three throned authorities.

And scrutinize they did. Even if the words were beyond him, Fenn could still get a feel for the nature of the conversation by their posture and tone. The lord was protesting yet uneasy, allowing the girl to interrupt him at every turn. She -- Morrighna? -- by far dominated the conversation. Her musical voice rose up and down in alternating currents of disgust, irritation, and excitement. It made Fenn’s skin crawl.

All he could interpret from the beast was apathy. It spoke seldom, and when it did, the girl at least bothered to stop and listen.

“Perhaps we should speak the mortal’s common tongue, for the sake of our guest,” the bird-masked one -- Ceannaire Sciathan, Fenn had gathered -- prodded gently. Feathered hands flexed and dragged along the arm of his throne, a tapping, thinking habit. “He appears confused. How shall he defend himself if he cannot understand our words?”

The boy beamed, his ears pricking up. Finally, something that made sense!

Morrighna’s toothy gaze whipped towards Sciathan. She humored him, but only just. “Chancellor,” she sighed, as she settled back into her throne, “does an intruder deserve the honor of defending itself? I know this one, as I’ve said; I have seen it in our territory before. Outsiders know better than to approach our lands. This boy-creature is a solitary Fae, a Changeling I’ll wager, with no Court to lament its absence. All consequences of its straying are upon its own head. It should have known better, unless, perhaps, it is not terribly bright in the first place.”

Fenn shot her a dirty glare and crossed his arms together.

“My Regent,” Sciathan said wearily. “Be reasonable. Does-”

“Reasonable?” She scoffed and gestured sweepingly towards the prone boy. Fenn instinctively bared his teeth in return, before covering up his kneejerk aggression with a hand slapped over his mouth. His fear brought a grin to the Regent’s face. “See? My friend, this creature holds no reason for us to discern. No son of ours, no son of man. Wordless, wild of magic. Can’t you see it in the eyes? For all we know, it is wild of head too, and has no intelligent thought to share with us. It cannot communicate, and thus it cannot defend itself.” A few titters burbled from the audience.

Alright, he’d had enough of that. Who did this girl think she was? Fenn’s hands clenched in anger, and a circle of packed earth frosted over around his feet. With quick, slashing strokes, he began to write on the ground. His writing was upside-down to his eyes (an ability of his that he was particularly proud of), directed directly at the throned Fae.

I HAVE INTELLIGENT THOUGHTS. MORE THAN YOU, MAYBE.

The room became very quiet.

Hot anger glinted in Morrighna’s grimace, if only for a moment. “Oh. It writes in the common tongue,” she observed, biting back a measured distaste.

“Still, it writes. If it can write, then it can reason,” the regal beast spoke up, much to Fenn’s wide-eyed surprise. Chulainn, the beast was. His voice was deep and penetrating. “What manner of fae are you, and what purpose do you serve? Answer us in all the detail you have to offer, and then we may judge your worth.”

Morrighna rolled her eyes, but said no more as Fenn scrawled out his reply.

FROST FAE I THINK. PURPOSE?

“Who you are affiliated with. How highly you are regarded. What you do,” Chulainn elaborated coldly.

A nervous grin snuck up on Fenn. This line of questioning made his handwriting shake in bewilderment. That, and Chulainn’s deep stare unsettled him, instilling the odd feeling that he was a criminal in need of an alibi. NOT SURE. SOMETIMES HELP TAROT. YOU KNOW THEM?

“No.” Chancellor Chulainn tipped his head to the side, a quintuple squint gleaming from behind his mask. “Why is it that you have drawn so near to our realm, outsider? Is it on the command of this Tarot?”

NO. SORRY. NEEDED TO SPEAK TO DRAGON? Fenn wrote in nervous slashes. His hands began to run away with his unsorted thoughts. EXCEPT NOT ANYMORE. WAS CURIOUS ABOUT OTHER FROST FAE. DID NOT EXPECT TO ACTUALLY MEET. GOOD, BECAUSE I NOT SURE DRAGON WOULD BE HAPPY TO SEE ME. WE HAVE QUARRELED.

Angry gasps echoed across the tent, as the crowd leaned in to read his words. Fenn stiffened, acutely aware of having said something wrong. Shit. Hands clasped over his mouth again, he belatedly considered the fact that the fae here might be on good terms with the dragon, maybe. Though, the thought that anyone would like Nippariess dully struck him as hilarious.

“As I tried to tell you, this is indeed the thorn that pricked our neighbor in the side. We wouldn’t wish to anger her by housing him, would we?” Morrighna crowed. “It was he who brought her earlier harm, and as such, I believe that…” She leaned over and whispered something to both of the other Chancellors. Their eyes widened, and neither would meet Fenn’s gaze.

Yep. He’d fucked up. The boy’s heart sank deep into the pit of his stomach.

Sciathan shook his head with a heavy sigh. “Young outsider. It pains me to say this, but I must side with our Regent. You are a foreign, unpredictable force and it would be for the best if did not take any chance with you. Please, consider our verdict an act of mercy.”

Regent Morrighna, without ever losing the delighted, childlike expression on her face, clapped her hands twice. Fenn whirled around as the two silver-armored fae guarding the door approached him. “Guards, if you would, cast this outsider into the chasm.”

Fenn’s breath caught in his throat as the crowd behind began to hoot and jabber gleefully. An act of mercy? Chasm? Oh no, he did not like the sound of this.

https://s26.postimg.org/5wm4lsdih/Banr_on.png

The twin doors to the courtroom heaved with a protesting groan before banging open. A strong voice silenced the chattering crowd.

“Hold the proceedings!”

Fenn gawped at the intruder. A scaled woman with two azure serpents for heads stood in the open doorway, eyes gleaming indignantly. When she spoke, there was a faint echo, for she did so with two voices of the same mind. Both scowling heads bore masks that glowed like moonlight. Feathers dripped from the crevices between their scales, a black-silver mane that fell all the way to her thighs. She bustled down the aisle with purpose. The audience dipped their head in respect, and the guards heading for Fenn stopped where they were.

“Good evening to you, Morrighna, Sciathan, Chulainn. If you would be so kind, I would much love to be graced with an explanation for this fuss you called into session,” the newcomer said tersely.

“Welcome, Banrion, darling. I did not expect you to join us tonight,” Regent Morrighna replied in grand return, her smile souring slightly.

Fenn squeaked fearfully and scooted aside as the serpent lady sauntered through to face the Regent. From the second their eyes met, it was clear to him that Morrighna and this “Banrion” were not on loving terms with each other. Both gave off an air of cutting condescension that made the boy shrink away and wonder if ducking beneath a chair was the wisest course of action.

“Of course not,” Banrion replied. Each of her heads gave off a rolling sigh. “I suppose it was too much trouble to rouse me from my chambers, my Regent? There was no need to keep my throne empty. You know I sleep lightly.”

“Indeed! Which was why it would have been such a shame to wake you. You sleep little enough as it is,” Morrighna said with a sweet, dismissive flutter of her hand. From beneath her courtesy bled a deep-seated distaste, as if she would much rather have at it with naked blade than blunted words.

Banrion seemed to roll her slitted eyes, all four of them, from under the silver shadows of her masks. “Next time, I request you to spare me the pity. Now, what is it that has caused you to call for highest judgement? It must be important.”

Fenn jolted and drew back as the Regent swung an accusing finger in his direction. Gleeful malice swirled in her silver irises. He still wasn't sure what he had done to earn that malice, and his heart plummeted all over every time she turned to look at him. “The Wild Hunt of the Frostbitten Court found this unwanted guest wandering too near to our lands,” Morrighna explained. “Worse still, this is not his first time straying near to us. This is the same changeling I kindly ignored after he wandered near us but a year ago, disturbing our poor neighbor. I called a session so that we may discuss his fate. Until you came in to complicate matters, we decided to find him guilty of trespass, with no redeeming qualities that might allow us to turn a blind eye to his wrongdoing. Do you oppose our decision?”

Disbelievingly, Banrion around swiveled to stare at Fenn. Her heads drew back in stark surprise as she took in the small, blonde child curled up on the floor. He quivered as the Chancellor’s garnet gaze flicked from his gaunt frame, to his pointed ears, to eventually meet his liquid eyes.

The hackles of her mane rose furiously. “We called a meeting of the court for this?” she hissed.

Seeing the boy flinch at the rise of her tone, the reptilian Chancellor cleared her throat and took on a softer voice. “This boy should a matter of insignificance, barely a footnote to us. Why, he is hardly more than a wee pigwidgeon. What good shall it do us to do away with him? Regent Morrighna, you do not fear a cowering child smaller than even yourself, surely?”

The Regent flinched; it was nearly imperceptible, but it was there. “Of course I do not. But we have rules.” A flicker of boredom snuck its way onto her face. “Besides… We haven't condemned anyone in years. A bit of excitement would do us no harm.”

“No harm…” the serpented Chancellor muttered darkly to herself. She began to pace slowly before the thrones. One could almost see the gears turn in her head. “My Regent, it may be hasty to deem this outsider a lost cause. A glance will tell you that he is but a child. I would be shocked if he were any older than an ignorant half-century. Indeed, he did not understand his error in encroaching upon our lands, but is that enough to declare him utterly unable to understand our ways? It would be unfair to treat him in the same manner that we might one who has fledged into adulthood. Can we not say that there may be hope for him yet, if he were to be nudged in the right direction?”

The crowd murmured, a menagerie of chittering, hissing, and giggles. Those closest to the thrones leaned in eagerly, masks glittering in the light.

“He earned the wrath of our neighbor,” the Regent declared coldly.

“Bats that flutter too close earn the wrath of our neighbor,” Banrion exclaimed with a scoff. “As if she could even leave her cave to express her anger -- as if her yeti would even bother to tell her of the boy’s presence! If our sparing him gives her reason to outrage, then let me parley with the lizard myself! Divinity knows, it cannot be more wearisome than this banter with you, my Regent.”

The eyes of the other two Chancellors turned to Morrighna expectantly. Chulainn shook his head and brayed laughingly. “Her point is well-spoken,” he noted.

The Regent winced reluctantly and tapped the arm of her throne in deep thought. Her discomfort felt like a very good sign to Fenn, who daring with bated breath to hope that this was swinging in his favor. “Oh, very well then. You dance too close with my patience, Chancellor, but I suppose your counter is… intriguing. What do you suggest us to do with the child if we aren’t to punish him?”

All eyes turned back to Fenn again. He stood perfectly still, frightful of the callous judgement raking him head to toe.

“I suppose someone shall have to teach him how one acts within our society,” Banrion murmured into the breathless silence. Her frigid glare turned to the Regent. “Someone will have to civilize him. As for who, well, I know whom you would likely put up to the task. Before you sound the suggestion, I volunteer myself to take him under my wing; you were planning to put him under my care anyway, were you not?”

Morrighna nodded, folding her hands under her chin. “Of course. You made the suggestion, you bear the burden. But, I won’t allow him to remain in Sidhe. He is still flawed, I will tell you that much. Changelings are cast out for a reason. Perhaps I will allow him to visit from time to time, but we will not accept him as one of our own. If all our opinions are united, this council’s session may be closed.”

Chancellors Sciathan and Chulainn murmured an agreement.

Fenn halfway grinned in relief and flopped onto the earthen floor, his heart still beating quick with fright. Meanwhile, Banrion sank to her knees in a deep bow of appreciation. “Your word is law, my Regent, but I have one more caveat to ask of you; may I have the eve to observe this outsider before he leaves?”

“Oh, I suppose, you can. You asked nicely enough.” With a magnanimous nod to her Chancellor, Morrighna clapped her hands twice. The guards that had once hovered so close to Fenn relaxed and headed back down the aisle. “This session is concluded!”

Slowly, the crowd seeped out of the glittering halls of the courtroom, taking with them their judging gazes and mocking voices. Fenn held his breath as the Regent and her throned Chancellors bustled past him with nary a second glance. He supposed that he was beneath their notice now. Good. Shakily, he forced himself back to his feet and began to follow the other fae out the room.

“Child,” two voices as bright as silver, called out to him. “Where on Sidhe do you think you are going?”

Stopped just shy of the doorway, Fenn peered over his shoulder at the third Chancellor. Banrion was just a few feet behind him. With a pondering grin, she stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t help but flinch.

Just as quickly, the hand retreated. “You are aware that the Regent would like it best if I did as I asked and kept a close eye on you, correct? Or were you not paying attention during your trial?”

Fenn shrugged, and stared at the floor.

“This displeases you, I see. My regrets. Yet…” The Chancellor’s robes fluttered behind her as she stepped out into the hall. “Do follow me; at the very least, I ought to spend our eve of company showing you around our Court’s grounds. Why don’t we try to answer a few questions you doubtlessly have after being thrust into our curious world? I suppose you are wondering why I went to the work of sparing you. You are entirely aware that I could have merely agreed with the rest of the council and washed my hands of the whole matter, are you not?”

In truth, Fenn was pretty confused about that. He gave her a small nod and a curious glance as they padded down the hall, imploring her to explain further.

“I should put this in a way you can easily grasp,” she told him, a slight bite of sarcasm to her words. “Suffice it to say, our glorious Regent is irksome to me, and there is joy in the little ways I can get under her skin.” Her throaty laugh gave Fenn a start. “So of course, I could not help but take the opportunity to defy her when it arose. That, and I thought it may be useful to make an acquaintances of one foreign to our Winter Court, one with no stakes in our politics. Those from the outside make more loyal a friend than any within.”

Especially when that foreigner owed you their life, Fenn figured.

Fenn chewed his lip and looked away. He had faintly suspected himself to have become a sort of pawn in… whatever went on here. The survivalist half of him was pretty sure that Chancellor Banrion did not have his best interests in mind. This was going to be another Amari, another Aengus all over again, wasn’t it? Things were going to go well until, suddenly, they didn’t. Trusting her was too dangerous to risk. Yet, who else did he have to trust? All the same, his inner thief happened to be staunchly in favor of her. After all, she did save him.

Banrion sucked in two deep simultaneous breaths and heaved a sigh. “Returning to these mountains was not your brightest idea,” she said, considering him with a glint of amusement. “Morrighna once told me of a Changeling she caught dreaming near the dragon’s lair. That was you, was it not? One would think your near death by our eccentric neighbor was enough to keep you away. Or was Nippariess not a fright enough on her own?”

With a bashfully dismissive wave of his hand, Fenn cast off her questions. He had some of his own. The boy dug into his bag until he found a broken pencil and a crumpled scrap of paper. Rapidly, he scribbled something down and handed it to the Chancellor.

MY WOLF? WHERE SHE? SHE SAFE?

Banrion smiled with both heads and handed the paper back after reading. “Worry not about your beast. She is being kept in our stables, safe until it is time for you to leave. It is fortunate that I was able to save you from Morrighna ’s wrath. Otherwise, she might have claimed your unusual pup for her own. Predators have a special place in her heart, though I daresay scavengers might suit her better.”

The idea that Daugi could be “claimed” sent a strong shiver down his back. Fenn wrapped his arms around himself, but it didn’t really console him.

“I should show you around the markets. Perhaps something to eat will make you feel more at ease,” Banrion said,

There was hollowness yawning inside the boy, and he realized that he hadn't had anything substantial for a while. His stomach growled softly, and bashfully, he nodded. Food sounded like an excellent idea.

The marketplace was a much more pleasant place Fenn’s second time through it. Out here, where he wasn’t being paraded around, where he was overshadowed by a figure of real authority, he was unnoticed. Small. Most of the flitting crowd towered over him, and he felt oddly at ease. As the sunlight began to drain from the sky, carefully cultivated plants lit up the houses with their enchanting glow. Now, he could clearly see the little shops set up, selling odd things. He saw a butchery stocked with greyish, dripping meats, and a flower shop full of sharp-toothed snapping blooms. On more than one occasion Fenn became tempted to swipe a shiny and stash it in his bag. There was just one thing that halted his eager fingers...

He was strongly aware of Banrion’s presence as they walked. She was a tall, intimidating figure, but he supposed she was nice enough so far. A smell, blood and something bitter, wafted around her. “You were raised among the southern hominids, if I am accurate in my assumptions? Not among other Fae?”

Fenn nodded, skipping alongside the Chancellor as they made their way through the crooked snow “streets” of the Court’s settlement. Her strides were long and difficult for him to keep up with.

A muted, derisive hissing arose from Banrion. “Then it will be nigh impossible to integrate you into our society, even if you were permitted to remain in Sidhe. The culture, the nuance, it would be beyond you. When I look at you, you lack a certain restraint. You will not understand our games of interpersonal politics.” When Fenn frowned up at her, his shoulders scrunched in worried confusion, she sighed. “It may be like explaining colors to a blind child. Perhaps I will be able to impress upon you the general ideas, the barest cognitive understanding, but the experience will not transfer. You have a very different picture of the world than we. If you had even been raised among one of the less civilized courts, this would be easier. Solitary Fae are not well-liked by our Courted gentry. They are too wild, too human-touched, their violence unrefined.”

They crossed a walkway into a colorful, circular clearing of sorts. But for once, Fenn was distracted by something more than the sights. His ears drooped and twitched as he mulled over Banrion’s words.

Banrion patted him lightly on the head. Her touch was smooth and cold, yet bright with a similar magic to his own. The familiarity comforted the little Fae a bit. Yet, he still found himself drawing away. “There, there,” she said, her eyes smiling, slitted pupils widened in a friendly manner. “You may still ask questions and try to learn what you may, if you wish. Perhaps you shall even prove me wrong.”

Both stopped for a moment in front of a stand heaped with softly growing fruit. The squirrelish fae manning the store swiveled her ears back in shock as Banrion said something her. She twiddled her hands together and gladly handed over a pointy purple drupe, quivering as she did so. With a quiet word of thanks, the Chancellor handed Fenn the fruit.

Her eyes followed his hands as he gratefully took it from her. Fenn took an uneasy step away from the stand as her gaze fell first on the blackened bands of skin on his wrists, and then down to those by his ankles. She frowned in bewilderment, her heads leaning in for a closer look. “Pigwidgeon, if I may ask, where did you get such scars? Is that… iron-burn? Have you earned the wrath of more than just the dragon, or are the mortal lands more barbarous than I last knew?”

Fenn paled and hid his arms under his cloak, shaking his head. Yeah, no thank you. He didn’t want to discuss those. He didn’t even want to think about them.

A slightly hurt look crossed Banrion’s faces. “Very well then. It is no wonder that you are so odd; obviously, you have been subject to unfortunate cruelty.”

A warm anger wavered within Fenn. His free hand twitched at his side, itching for a good surface to spell his thoughts out on, and his cheeks puffed out in frustration. He wasn’t “odd” or “unfortunate”; he was Fenn! Explorer, adventurer, collector of shinies and scrolls alike. This adventurer had just… been through some rough patches recently. He just needed to reevaluate how he dealt with other people. Reluctantly aware that he wasn’t going to be able to get his point across, as usual, Fenn huffed and took a bite out of his fruit.

Everything about the fruit was right -- the skin was thick but easy to pick off, the cold flesh underneath was crisp, and a satisfactory crunch resounded as he bit into it. Everything... except the taste. Almost immediately, Fenn gagged and spat his bite back out. It was as if he had bitten into a rotting pepper! Bitter juices and spicy undertones assaulted his senses.

The boy vehemently wiped his tongue on the sleeve of his cloak -- blehh!

A hearty laugh rose from Banrion on sight of his puckered lips and betrayed expression. “My regrets, Pigwidgeon. I hear that the harvest grows sweeter in mortal lands. The seadir fruit is no more deceptive than you,” she said, gesturing to him. “Who is this creature, with singed wrist and trustless eyes that I find in my sight? Marked by torment, seemingly slated for death, yet you live. Who are you, and what?” she recited.

Unanswering, Fenn cast the awful seadir aside into the snow and shook his head vehemently. The who, he knew. The what… well, stumbling into Sidhe had only made him more confused.

“Ceannaire! Ceannaire Banrion!” called a chirpy cricketoid character as they barreled through the crowd. Other Fae glanced to their plum-colored scarf and quickly scampered out of their way.

“Messenger,” the Chancellor hissed quickly to Fenn. “This cannot be pleasant… Nuacht dom?” she greeted the newcomer, switching easily back into her own language. A rapid conversation passed between the two. Fenn watched the chatter passively and wiped seadir juice off his chin, not understanding a lick of it.

“Uimh! Taimid tuirseach,” Banrion snapped through a slight snarl.

The messenger clasped their hands shyly in front of their chest. “Caithfidh tu… D'ordaigh Rialoir Morrighna e.”

Her mane flared, Banrion reluctantly nodded and dismissed them. “Go raibh maith agat, Emer.”

With a fluttering bow, the cricket scampered off through the snow. As soon as they vanished amid the market, Fenn tugged Banrion’s sleeve curiously. “My regrets, Pigwidgeon,” she said through sighs, nearly patting him on the head again. “Morrighna has summoned -- rather, demanded -- me to attend a ball she scheduled for this evening. As always, I helped her organize the event. I did not, however, agree to attend. She is fully aware that I dislike her gatherings. I suppose she simply wanted to subject you to them as well.”

Fenn frowned and wrung his hands together. He liked parties, but he didn't like the idea of attending one thrown by Morrighna.

“Cease your worry. All will be well so long as you stick by me.” She gestured back toward the palace. “Come along now. Our dear, glorious Regent will have toothy words for me if we aren't quick enough for her taste.”

Under the darkening sky, Banrion lead Fenn back through the winding houses, back to the central hub of the settlement. Other Fae darted playfully between the shadows and the waning sunlight, reveling in the turning of day to night. One could catch sight of creatures slinking into houses to rest, and others coming out bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

A flurry of activity was centered around the palace doors. They were wide open and coyly inviting, music and chatter drifting out from within. At the entrance stood a few burly guards, who had brief words with those who wanted in. Fenn timidly stepped over the threshold ahead of Banrion. Suddenly, a mound of fur in leather armor shifted, blocking Fenn’s way with a bulky arm. “This is no place for an outsider, nor a child,” a rocky voice stated from underneath the fluff.

A cold hand gripped Fenn’s shoulder in a clear show of ownership; Banrion. “Allow him entrance,” she said coolly. “He is under my care.”

The mound immediately withdrew its arm and stepped aside. “As you wish, Ceannaire.”

Letting go of Fenn, the Chancellor waved him in.

First, they passed a table heaping high with treasures. Except for Fenn and the Chancellor watching over him, each Fae had come bearing a gift. Most were as simple as a pinecone. Others were far more extravagant. His fingers twitched their way onto the table, seemingly of their own accord. A lump of bright amber found its way into Fenn’s hands. He gasped and turned it over curiously in his hands as he wondered how much such a rarity would sell for in Radasanth’s underbelly. It was tempting to just casually slip the hunk of rock into his pocket. Yet, Banrion’s keen crimson gaze dug into him as he inspected the present, her watch a pointed reminder that maybe it was best not to breach boundaries around here. He smiled back sheepishly. Everything on this table belonged to Morrighna, and she seemed to hate him enough without being given a proper reason.

With a causality that fooled no-one, Fenn dropped the amber back where he had found it and forced himself to take a few steps back from the table of goodies.

“Stay by my side, child, and touch nothing.” Banrion spoke closely to Fenn’s ears as they entered the source of the clamour -- a glittering ballroom. She seemed to know where she was going. “You will find no friends in these halls.”

He believed her.

Creatures spun across the earthen floor, some with lithe-limbed liquid grace, others stomping, tromping, and gamboling under glowing white crystals. Pale sprites flitted through on glassy battered wings. One nearly bumped into Fenn, hissing and baring black fangs at the inconvenience. He reached instinctively to swat it as it flew away. In one corner of the room, folk stood at delicate tables, playing dice games and gulping deeply from ornate cups of… well, Fenn wasn’t sure what all they were drinking. None of the colors matched any drink he knew from Althanas.

For a while, Fenn did as he was bid stayed close to Banrion’s side, studying the odd creatures around him. There was music playing in the background, but the melody was smothered by the henpeck gossip many fae whispered between each other. It made his head ache. They passed close to a table of food. Fenn pricked up. His stomach growled disagreeably; his hunger was sharp enough, it almost hurt. For the briefest moment, the boy stepped away to see if he could grab a bite of something palatable; just a moment, he intended. Just for a bite.

Three stilt-like pairs of legs surrounded him as soon as he left the Chancellor’s side. Boney hands spirited him away by his upper arms before he thought to look up at their owners.

The three were tall and supple as aspens, shining through the gloom as if lit from within. Fuck no! Fenn wriggled and glared up at them as they jabbered away in their native language. The lady holding onto him, her arms wrapped around his chest as one might coddle a doll, had a grip that was shockingly firm. All peered at him with long masks half-hidden behind messy braids speckled with fir needles, their eyes bright as the shell of a polished beetle.

“Oh, I recognize this one,” the one with stark white hair burst out, abruptly switching to Tradespeak. She seemed to be addressing Fenn himself. “It is the foreign one our Rialoir decided to spare earlier. I was not aware that she let children into our revels!”

All three threw their heads back and tittered like drunken birds.

“Of us, but also of the human lands. How could such a tiny scrap survive all the way out there?” one with a sharp nose cooed. He reached out and ruffled Fenn’s hair, sending shivers down the boy’s spine. All three giggled as Fenn snapped his teeth and pushed away the intrusive, bony touch with his comparatively small hands.

The one holding Fenn twirling one of the boy’s silky locks daringly between her fingers. With a hiss, he brushed her hand off as well. “Aw, look at you struggle! I think I may ask Chancellor Banrion if we may borrow you sometime,” she mused. “Whenever the Rialoir decides to let you back in our lands. She can be generous, when she feels like it.”

Great, Fenn thought as he glared at his captors. They seemed to regard him much as he might a stray kitten.

“Oh, good, there you three are. What have we here?”

All three captors looked down, and so did Fenn. The willowy fae’s expressions went flat on sight of Regent Morrighna herself standing before them in all her coy glory. Fenn, on the other hand, greeted her with a scowl, bared teeth, and a strong hiss. He was not in the mood for this.

Morrighna ignored his fit. “Well, I was going to ask you three about the cost of the nectar... but that can wait. Could I see the outsider child a moment?” she asked willowy fae, her hands clasped together. “I want a word with him.”

Muttering words in their native language that sounded suspiciously like apologies and platitudes, the three dropped Fenn in from of her and skittered away. He wasn’t sure if they were being reverent towards the Regent, or absolutely terrified of her. She stepped forward and took Fenn by the arm -- and unlike Banrion, she didn’t let go when he flinched away.

These days, Fenn could use a snap of frost break the grip of those who snared him. It was a happy discovery. Sometimes it occurred out of anxious accident, sometimes out of pure spite. But, that only worked if his grabber minded the cold.

The Regent barely noticed the lace of tiny ice crystals that had slithered their way up her pale fingers as she dug her nails into Fenn’s forearm. The sharp points piercing his cloak left five dots of black blood seeping through the fabric. He gasped and fell to one knee, not prepared for the sudden pain. “I’m not sure how much information your tiny brain can handle, so let me put this in a very simple way,” Morrighna said sweetly. “You are in my land, at my ball, only alive because my Chancellor decided she wanted you for herself. You will treat me with all the respect I deserve, or I might find the motivation to devise a clever end to you. Can you get that through your thick skull?”

Fenn grit his teeth and gave her a jittering wobble of his head back, looking away from her hard grey eyes.

“Good boy.” She snatched her hand away, and twitched her lip in disgust. “Next time, greet me more kindly. I knew something was wrong with you the first time I laid eyes on you. You’ve seen me before -- in a dream. You remember, right?”

Massaging his arm, Fenn confirmed this with a shudder.

An ugly look crossed the Regent’s face, one that was hard to gauge. “I saw you in a dream far before that, and it was not a favorable encounter. Keep yourself in check, outsider.” With a haughty turn of her head, the Regent started back into the crowd.

Morrighna was gone, but Fenn’s discomfort and fear still clung close to his side. The night spun out around him. Shrieking hosts of chatter and gossip nipped at his ears in the foreign language he was becoming accustomed to hearing.

Nil si cliste. Ba mhaith liom nios mo a ol! B'fheidir go bhfeadfadh si cairdeas a n-uachtair uachtair a thaispeaint do?

Fenn, was lost.

The boy ambled breathlessly through the crowd, taking care to avoid getting caught underfoot of the larger guests. Most ignored the small child-creature ducking through the crowds. They were all too caught up in their drunken revelry and their conversations, too busy whirling from distracted to distraction to take note of him. Fenn was glad for this; the next person to bother him was going to get socked over the noggin with a sharp clod of ice. Where was Banrion? Peering through the thick of the fae, a nervous twinge shivered his spine. There were so many people here. Fenn wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself as an impossibly tall deer-man glided around him. Was she going to be angry with him for losing her?

As little as he knew her, Fenn had felt much safer with the Chancellor there to defend him. Any moment now, he expected a malevolent eye to catch sight of him and whisk him away for… well, he didn’t know what. He just knew that he couldn’t trust anyone except maybe her.

There was a little elevated stage that Fenn passed by, fashioned out of several wide, polished tree trunks. This was the source of the music; flutes, strings, and sweet voices. Some of the singers were glassy-eyed Salvarian mortals. Fenn could tell, because they were devoid of any freakish features; no odd ears, no leaves growing out of their skin, no animal features, nothing. No masks. They had beautiful voices, even if their vapid smiles sent shivers through one’s very soul. Fenn took off in the opposite direction, but not before he took a moment to wonder why there were humans here, and why they didn't seem quite right; add that to the list of things he had to figure out.

Forget his hunger. After all this, he needed a frigging drink.

Thankfully, that was easy to find -- as disoriented as he was, Fenn nearly bumped straight into the crystalline goodie table. The banquet was heaped high with otherworldly delights, otherworldly being the main descriptor. Fenn gripped tightly onto a silver tablecloth and peered into the selection with dismay, not recognizing half of the food displayed. Sliced seadir fruit -- no thank you -- was skewered delicately with chunks of raw greyish meat. A tray of foul-smelling mushrooms tied lovingly with bows of bark rested before his sight. White beetles writhed within a slick ice bowl, crawling halfway up the sides only to lose their grip and slip into the main mass below. Their wings had been neatly trimmed off and collected in a smaller bowl nearby. Ick.

Fenn resentfully glowered at the selection. His stomach gurgled. A lot went wrong today, but awful food was one of the most tragic things he could think of. Mostly because, well, he was still starving. No honey? No cake? Nothing here was even cooked. What was wrong with this place?

A pale, amphibious arm darted past Fenn to snatch a beetle from the bowl. “You’re that -- hic -- Changeling? From the courtroom?” a feminine voice said in thick tradespeak.

The boy startled and scooted away from this new stranger, a froggish gangle of a creature who leaned a bit too heavily on the table.

It seened this stranger had a bit too much liquor in them, for they didn't seem to notice Fenn’s hard glare, nor how his hands shook. They just gave him a gummy grin and waved. “Looking for something special to celebrate with?”

Fenn glanced uneasily at the unappealing food.

“Well, if you’re new -- hic -- to our food, I would recommend that am- the ambrasi nectar over there. Good drink, very strong. If you can handle the sedative effect, you’ll, uh, you’ll enjoy it immensely! It loosens a body up,” the creature slurred gesturing to a murky drink in little bark cups. It squinted at him through bulbous eyelids. “Not sure it's good for children though…”

Children, schmildren! Defiantly, Fenn grabbed for an open cup. Strong drinks were no stranger to him! He was certain that, if he could go eight pints of beer without getting too crazy, he’d be fine to down a single fae drink. Maybe it’d even be better than the food -- or at least help him forget his hunger. Rolling his eyes, the boy ducked underneath the table so he could nurse his nectar without any more prying eyes saying dumb things to him.

The party was much more subdued from under the dark of the table cloth, damped to flashes of light and a murk of incomprehensible noise. That was much better, Fenn thought. He curled up and took a gulp of his furtively-stolen drin- wait, what was this?

Uh-oh.

That spicy-gross, magic-touched flavor -- it was all too familiar. Fenn poured out a bit of the liquid into his palm so he could see its hue more clearly. Yep. It was a bright, shimmering blue. This was the same kind of drink Aengus had given him. His fingertips were already tingling.

Fuck this, fuck that, fuck all the things! Before Fenn knew it, the cup had sailed out of his numbing hands and through the veil of the tablecloth. A thud was heard, and someone exclaimed rather indignantly. The boy realized that he had done quite a bit of angry object-flinging today. But frankly, he didn't care. This was the last time he was going to trust a stranger’s drink.

There wasn't much left on Fenn’s mind as he passed out on the ballroom floor. He was just tired.

These days, Fenn liked it better when falling asleep meant oblivion rather than dreaming. There was a growing list of nightmares that clawed at his eyes when they closed for the day.

But, this dream wasn’t so bad.

Leafy green hills stretched out before him, swaddled in a blanket of trees and flowers. Above were clear blue skies. He knew this place; its earthy smell, littered acorns, and delicate mushrooms. This was how he remembered Concordia’s forest.

Fenn absently squished his toes in the grass and took a deep breath of the clear air. Why... was he here? He wasn’t certain. Maybe it was just because it was nice here. Yes, that was a good reason. The boy had a faint impression of what had happened before he fell asleep. A whirling ball, awful creatures whom he was (kind of) one of, and a lost feeling. It didn't bother him much though. In fact, it made him more at ease -- sweet relief was all he felt. Fenn flopped over into the grass and grinned blissfully. Coronian winds whistled through the branches above, sending speckles of sunlight dancing over his eyelids.

“You, my child, are a handful,” two simultaneous matronly voices stated. “Do you have any idea how long it took me figure out where you’d gone?”

This intruder snapped Fenn out of his reverie and into lucidity. The events of the ball came back to him full-force. Fuck! Cracking open an eyelid, Fenn glanced up nervously. Ceannaire Banrion loomed over him in all her glory, one face smiling wryly, the other furrowed in concern.

“A quaint place you’ve taken us, very green,” Banrion noted quietly, turning her heads this way and that to take in the view. “Is this how your homeland looks?”

Stretching up into a sitting position, Fenn deigned to answer her question with a limp nod. He supposed that, if he were to call any continent his “home”, it would have to be Corone. Snow was lacking, so the forests were its most becoming feature.

“This is a dream, you know. Reality is malleable here. Just as you have summoned these green hills, you can summon yourself a voice and speak if you will it to be so,” said Banrion as she stepped closer to him.

Fenn shook his head uncertainly. Making words with his mouth felt foreign, and flapping his lips felt foolish. When he was younger, Fenn had tried very hard to do so, but the memories of his attempts were fuzzy. A better way of communicating sprang to mind. <A friend of mine introduced me to the idea of telepathy a while back! So, I could just kind of think at you, I guess?>

A pair of measured smiles stretched across the Chancellor’s faces, and she nodded. “If you would like to do it that way.”

Relaxed silence filled the air. Fenn squished his feet in the grass again and stared into the sun. He felt a little detached, a little out-of-it, but Banrion seemed content to wait for him to say something else.

<So where am I now? In Sidhe, I mean. Since you found me.> Fenn rested his head in one hand, thinking. <And, if you're here in my dream, does that mean you're asleep too?>

“Your physical form is safe. I took us to a secure area while you slept. And no, I am not quite asleep; but, neither am I quite conscious. I entered a trance in order to glimpse your dream. Here, we can speak a bit more freely than in the physical realm. Since we have a bit of time to ourselves, why don't we talk?,” the elder fae suggested. “One can practically see the questions dancing over your face. Ask anything that comes to mind.”

<Anything?>

“Within reason.”

Fenn puffed out his cheeks. <I saw humans at the revel. They were singing. Why were they there?>

“Those? What a pitiful first question,” Banrion mused. “Morrighna considers the lower realm a waste and a hazard, but when we do venture down, we take vassals every so often. Some offered themselves willingly. Others, we found talented or endearing, and spirited them away lest their loveliness be squandered by their fellow mortals.”

<What if they didn't want to be here?> Fenn protested. <Stealing people isn't very nice.> He knew, certainly, that he was tired of being stolen himself.

Banrion shrugged, indifference seeping into her tone. “Fennik, is it much different than your poor control over the wanderings of your hands over other’s belongings? Do not think I missed your roving fingers at the gift table.”

<Belongings don't miss their home, or their freedom,> he retorted.

“That’s alright,” she assured him. Fenn crossed his arms together tightly as the Chancellor moved to take a seat in the grass beside him. Her demeanor remained unruffled by his pinched expression. “Our vassels quickly come to see the splendor that Sidhe has to offer them. And if not, we have ways of showing them. You may become used to our ways... eventually. Now, what is your next question?”

<Ways of showing them?> he asked.

“Ahh. You are a aware that stronger fae such as myself can dreamwalk. Some of us have other talents, such as -- well, we call it bewitchment. They can, for lack of a better word, enthrall a weaker mind in a spell of complacency. Sciathan has such a talent. Pity, his will is so flaccid. I doubt he would be capable of using his talent on another fae. Mmm… Chulainn and Morrighna have prophetic dreams at times. The days where the Regent screams in her sleep are very disconcerting,” the Chancellor said with a grimace.

There was something else that had been nagging at him. Fenn flopped back over into the grassy, staring blankly at the sky. <Morrighna. Why does she hate me?>

“Agh. Ask me why the little fribble does anything. Whim, likely.” A disgusted shudder ran through the elder fae, from the tips of her snouts right down to her tail. “Though she may be a scarce century older than I, I would consider Morrighna as much a child as you are. She never quite grew out of her youngness, and it shows. All the same, Morrighna is cunning when she bothers to put the effort in. Our Regent before her loved the little not-child. She doted miserably on the ‘precious’ dear.”

Though he protested that nagging, persistent idea of him being a ‘child’, Fenn’s ears flicked up in traitorous interest. <She did?>

Banrion laughed, a sound as bitter as oak gall. “Only until the Regent mysteriously fell to her death from a high cliff.”

<Oh.> He winced.

“You see, when a Regent falls, their title goes to the eldest Chancellor,” Banrion explained. “Morrighna was the first in line at the time, after Chulainn that is, whom is… intentionally detached from our game of politics. He had, and will never have, any interest in the crown. I was the youngest at the time.”

<So Morrighna killed the old Regent. How did she do it?>

Dainty azure claws plucked and picked at the grass. The action seemed a little odd for a figure as regal as the Chancellor. Fenn wondered if she was upset by this line of conversation. If so, she was hiding it fairly well. “How? Too easily. Only Morrighna’s servant Knarl was witness to the -- ahh, what did he call it? -- accident. Morrighna herself was not present. One needs definitive proof to convict one for something so serious as regicide, and we had none.”

Fenn sat up and shook his head, grind his teeth in frustration. <No, I mean, how could anyone let her get away with it? She walks like she could kill with her pinky finger, but… wouldn't people get mad about the old Regent’s death?>

“Oh, pigwidgeon. You really don't understand us, do you?” There was a newfound tightness to the Chancellor’s voice that ill-matched her words. “There are more slavering hounds hidden in our decadent court than you could imagine. We shed few tears for dead monarchs. If they fell to the sword of man or the passage of time, then they died fulfilled. But to be silenced by a dagger to the back..? Then we deem them unfit. She... should not have let infatuation cloud her sight.” A cloud of gloom passed over Banrion, only for her to shake her heads and continue. Her eyes stared off into space. “Just as well, you have heard Morrighna speak. Her tongue is as silver as the dual moons on the heaviest crest of their cycle.”

<I dunno. She didn’t seem that convincing to me. Maybe that’s just because she wanted to kill me though.>

The two looked up as a thick cloud passed overhead, casting a dark shadow upon them.

“Pidgewidgeon.”

<Yes?>

“I do not really have to keep an eye on you after you leave Sidhe. But, I would like to. There are plans I would like to set into motion, and… they would go far smoother with an outside hand. Could I convince you to serve under me?” she asked, intently brushing grass clippings off of her robes.

<I already have a guy I take orders from. Vincent Cain.> Not that Fenn had contacted him for a few months. There was a reason for that. <Heard of him?>

“No,” she told him simply, holding her heads high. “I cannot be expected to. Unlike you, I rarely meddle with mortal affairs.” Seeing Fenn’s dour stare, she cleared her throat and clarified. “Not because they have no importance, but moreso because my reach simply does not extend from Sidhe into Althanas. Not yet. And that, little one, is a good reason as to why I saved you.”

Fenn straightened up, his mouth open curiously.

“On rare days, I leave Faerie to see how the mortals are doing-”

<But you’re a reptile! Won’t people look at you funny?> he burst out.

Amused, Banrion held a hand to one of her mouths, as if holding back a laugh. “Dear child, I have the same magics as you, and daresay a little more. You do know you can shroud your appearance in glamour, don’t you?”

Oh. Right, that. Fenn brushed a leaf out of his hair, feeling sheepish. <I forget sometimes.>

“You should try to not forget that,” the Chancellor said seriously. “Forgetting your Glamour could get you killed. Now, where was I before you called me a reptile… Ahh. I leave Faerie from time to time, but the trek is not easy, and Morrighna takes it upon herself to dip her claws into all sorts of trouble when I leave. I dare not consider what our Court might descend into if there were none to hold back her hedonistic urges. So, would you serve under me?”

<I’ve been given that offer before,> Fenn told her. The dream’s sun was starting to set. <The dragon, um, Nip? She tried to make me her servant, her ‘eyes in the world’. Why should I accept that from you?>

Banrion snorted. “How about this? You’ve had little greater than yourself to fight for. You seek material goods, but do naught with them. You protect the wellbeing of you and your mount when it is needed, and you seek to prevent further harm to yourself, but that is all. You are without direction.”

Fenn stiffened. <You shouldn't be able to know stuff like that.>

“Little one, I have been watching you carefully today. I have much practice in reading people,” she explained.

A moment of tight silence passed over them like a stiff breeze.

<...if I did join you,> Fenn said, <what would I get out of it?>

“I could give you guidance and advice, perhaps even purpose, should you need it.” There was a span of time stretching between her words as she waited for some reply, but all Fenn could think to do was stare at the dirt. He didn’t have an answer for her -- yet. ”If you have worries that I will fashion you into a personal slave, or that what I will ask of you might conflict with those you already serve, I reassure you that I will try to remain unobtrusive. And if you dislike what I ask of you, what stops you from refusing?” she suggested gently. “I have no method to force your hand from afar. In a world this dangerous, one needs all the allies they can gather.” Her hands closed in on themselves, as if she were cupping a baby bird. “I understand if you do not accept my offer.”

He was painfully aware of how out of his element he was. But, he was finding himself drawn in. So far, the Chancellor had been the only fae to treat him with anything above dismissal or disgust. And if she did turn out to be an Amari or and Aengus later… he could drop her. <What if I did accept your offer? What would you ask of me?>

Her eyes lit up hopefully. “Later? Many things. Now? Naught but a simple pledge. Pledge your loyalty to me. Pledge it, as a binding contract, and I will gift you with what you crave most; purpose.”

...

<Alright,> Fenn said thoughtfully. The words came out haltingly; he still felt a little lost. <I swear my loyalty to you, so long as you prove yourself to be worthy of following. Does that work?>

She scrunched her noses at his phrasing, amused. Perhaps, at his phrasing. “Yes, and I will hold you to your word. You may consider yourself my herald.” Fenn ducked as Banrion bestowed two dry, motherly kisses to his forehead. “Wake, child. Go forth into the lands of Althanas, of lower creatures, and carry out my will. I promise that great things will come of our alliance.”

Fenn blinked and rubbed the crust out of his eyes.

Woolen blankets had been swaddled carefully around him, hiding him from sight. They were soft. Pleasant to the touch. But, at the same time, a little stifling. Fenn poked his head out and peered around. He was now in a hide-roofed structure that largely resembled a stable; all around were pens holding a menagerie of odd creatures. Some seemed as ordinary beasts, if a bit larger than one would expect. A pony-sized jackrabbit lifted its ears and stared at him. Others were far more exotic, such as a grey-feathered serpent labeled “Pryderi”.

The air was musky with animals-scent and broken with their noises. Fenn sneezed.

“Good. You wake. Before you ask, we are in the stables,” Banrion spoke up. She stood with one hand on the wooden clasp lock of a pen, and the other playing absently with her mane. “I considered bringing you to my chambers while you slept off your nectar, but that felt inappropriate. Even if we are allies, we’ve hardly met.” She shook her heads. “In any case, it is time for you to leave our realm now, Fennik. The sun has set. I’ll show you out, and then you will be on your own in the mortal realm again. Does this please you?”

Stretching and rubbing his eyes, he gave a short nod back. He’d be relieved to be back in his own world again.

The Chancellor reached quietly into her robes, grasping something unseen. “There is something I must give you before you set off. But, I would like a fair trade for it; I cannot simply hand it off to you as if it were a paltry street-trinket. You need to understand the value of this object. What do you have to offer?”

A trade? That was intriguing. Fenn’s ears flicked as he pondered what he had on him. Flipping open his bag greeted him with a good deal of things that most people would pass off for trash. Bottlecaps, wrappers, cheap jewelry, emptied wallets… None of them seemed as if they’d be of any worth to a fae Chancellor. After a moment of sifting through the clutter, a thought struck him. Fenn reached into the collar of his cloak and pulled out a golden, heart-shaped locket. With absolute certainty, he unclipped it from his neck and held it forth in offering.

Both heads tilted to the side, Banrion eyed his offering shrewdly. “This? A curious trinket, my pigwidgeon. Care to explain what makes it so special to you?”

WAS ONCE SIGN OF FRIENDSHIP FROM NICE LADY. NOW, NOT, Fenn wrote in the dirt. He stared down at the locket, blinking back a brief watering in his eyes. SHE NOT SO NICE NOW. MY WRISTS...

“Ahh. Besides sentimental value, what might makes it worth giving to me?” the Chancellor prompted gingerly.

Fenn popped open the locket, spilling out half a dozen of shiny pebbles across the stable floor. Sheepishly, he gathered them up and shoved them into his satchel -- all except one. A green stone, softly glowing, remained. Banrion stooped to to inspect it. Hushed, secretive whispers filled the air in its presence.

HIT GHOST WITH SPELL, GOT THIS FUNNY ROCK? Fenn explained as she picked it up. He handed her the locket too.

“Odd circumstances result in odd creations,” Banrion murmured, locking the rock in the locket and slipping it into her robes. “Very well then. A stone and a necklace make a fair trade for a stone necklace, do they not?”

She pulled out a thick silver-chained necklace and tossed to Fenn. He caught it with a start. Its silvery-green pendant felt heavy in his hands. Heavy, and warm with magic, like a fallen star resting in his palm. Fenn moved it from side to side, watching as little cracks inside the stone shifted color.

“This is enchanted malachite. Call it suan gadai, a dreamstone.” She pulled back her sleeve, revealing a bracelet with a similar stone inset. “I have the matching half. It will allow me to delve into your sleeping mind and waking memories so long as you wear yours. And if you require privacy… You may remove it from your person for as long as you need.”

Fenn half smiled up at her from under his wispy bangs. THANKS.

As Fenn stretched and gathered himself up -- wondering if maybe he could take one of those soft blankets with him when he left -- Banrion unlatched the pen she stood by. She whispered something comforting inside and swung open the door.

“Wuff!”

Out of the door rushed a black-furred blur. It leapt forward to tackle Fenn to the ground. He gasped as the air was knocked from his lungs. A warm, soppy tongue slathered his forehead in drool. Ick! Daugi! The wolf whined as he wiped off his face and reached up to hug her around her neck. It was a relief to see her safe.

“Mmm, so this is your beast? She is a lovely creature.” Banrion crouched by the direwolf, hopefully holding out a scaled hand to her. “Ta tu ag an Cu Dorcha?” The direwolf gave a deep growl of mistrust in return and shrank away from the reaching Fae. “No, I suppose not.”

Finally, Fenn foisted Daugi off of him and sat up. The wolf rested her head on top of his protectively, eying Banrion uncertainly. LEAVE NOW?

“Yes. Where do you want to go? There are many ways which one may enter or leave Sidhe by. One is the entrance in our mountains, where you came from. Another leads to the Althanian domain of the Sleepless court, and another to that of the Frostbitten,” Banrion noted wryly. “Several to the south, reach into into a humid, snowless forest much like that which you showed me in your dreams.”

FOREST. GO HOME, Fenn answered immediately in the dirt.

The Chancellor dipped her heads and glided over to the pen of the serpent Pryderi. “Then south we ride.”

Name of Thread: Kindred Folk: Into Sidhe
Judgement Type: Full Rubric

Plot - 18

Story - 7

The story altogether was enchanting and very lovely to read. It was a gentle tale in seeming fairy-tale like qualities, but with dark undertones. The fact you never discover what the “Chasm” actually is is a very good way of keeping suspense in the tale. There were points that seemed a bit too rushed, as if you had a great idea and simply just wanted to get it down. Your passion for the story is clear in it, and that is great to see, and the entire tale is exciting. The friendship in the end made between Fenn and Banrion was enchanting, and opens up a wide world of stories I look forwards to reading.

Setting - 6

You open with a powerful, if simple, description of the landscape and atmosphere of your story, setting the scene clearly with remark on colour, cityscape and direction. This sets the tone for a very setting heavy story, with such things as the ice make-up of Sidhe being important, as well as the fact everyone wears masks. It was nice to see that many of the masks of important individuals were described, and though perhaps more detail could have been added onwards into the thread as a whole, you have a good hold of it. What I did really like was the description of the green sky.

Pacing - 5

Pacing was done well, with a good amount of posts between all the important scenes, and the length of the journey that Fenn was tied to the sled for. It seemed at a good, constant pace, though picked up a little with the mass of communication at the court scene. This maybe could have done with a more lengthy amount, with more description in it to add to the reader's perception of what was going on and Banrion's importance to the story. From this point the thread continues at a steady pace, rising only near the end, and it is good to see but perhaps could have seen some more rises and falls. The scene with Morrighna could have done with more time, being one example. Overall good in basics, with room for improvement.

Character - 20

Communication - 7

Your communication at its base is unusual, for the purposes that Fenn is a mute. That being said, you still use communication well, adding more emphasis than might be usual into gestures and subtler things such as emotions: “He lifted his hands into wolf’s view, exchanging few curt gestures she couldn’t ignore. Safe people? Free me.” Post 2. Also communication is done well in terms of styling of phrase and fitting the situation, with phrasing by Knarl being more official than others, and that of Sir Aengus friendlier, and Banrion's formality. Though with being a mute you did tend to take a couple of liberties (such as not mentioning the fact that snow is cold when touched, and Fenn would need gloves or other), but overall communication is a strong for you.

Action - 6

Action for Fenn is littered with child-like joy and curiosity that accentuates his appearance as a child. Things such as sticking out his tongue in 4 adds to this personality that Fenn has, as well as adding to the elements of the story. It leads him in certain paths, and though you do use an intense description of his actions later on in the story, you have others take his place. A further use of smaller actions to help build character could be suggested for figure like Banrion, who I would have liked to see more developed slightly, because of her importance. There are various things that potentially could be looked at with her two heads, for instance, that I would have liked to see, but overall actions were decisive and purposeful.

Persona - 7

You use persona well to demonstrate something very particular about Fenn, that identifies him as an animal lover: that being his devotion to Daugi. In post 5 there is written, “Wait- no! / No! No! / They couldn’t him away from Daugi!” with marked thoughts and paragraphing that extenuates his passion for the wolf. You continue to use internal thought – though one suggestion could be to italicise this or find some particular other way to define it from other general prose. There could also be more profound use, such as more detail as to Fenn's reactions to things, but overall done well.

Prose - 23

Mechanics - 8

No clear mechanical issues came up when reading this, so for that well done. There were no obvious spelling mistakes, even with a secondary and tertiary read. Perhaps one thing to think of in future is developing more mechanical devices to add tension, though there was a great use of punctuation already, with many uses of hyphenation and some colons. This is something that people rarely use and was exceptionally well done by yourself.

Clarity - 8

For the most part your thread was clear and concise, with very little to mar the general story. It was a good, clear one, and is generally a good read. There were only points where pacing put off the reading steadiness at points, and this can effect clarity, but well done for the most part.

Technique - 7

You have a method of writing that has a beautiful quality to it. In post 4 you write that, “There was a spot in his chest that felt heavy with betrayal,” that shows excellent of metaphor. The use of a language also that is written out in words, but that Fenn cannot understand cleverly hints at his connection and the memories. It establishes a connection that you could use in future threads, which this one perhaps looks at. You have a good strength in technique, with a strong description, though perhaps think a bit more in terms of imagery etc in future.

Wildcard - 6

The pure use of the Fae, and adding this side of the mythology into Althanas is amazing to use. You genuinely seem to know your myths, and this adds to your skill as a write.

Final Score: 67

Rewards:

FennWenn receives:
6004 EXP
344 GP

Spoils Request: granted. Rewarded at the cost of 300 GP. GP taken from spoils. Description below.
"Suan Gadai, The Dreamstone - A smooth, silver-green rock fashioned out of machalite and traded for Fenn’s Ethereal Crystal and Amari’s Locket (sorry Amari) by none other than Chancellor Banrion of the Winter Court. It allows Fenn to communicate with her in his dreams, and she to access to his memories during his waking hours -- so long as he wears it around his neck. It also faintly glows in the dark! Hooray for shiny!"

Inclusive of Althanas Day 3x Rewards. Cost of 5 AP taken for cost of Full Judgement.

“Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”
― W.B. Yeats, The Land of Heart's Desire

All rewards have been added. AP amounts for cost taken away.