Kindred Folk -- Into Sidhe

[FennWenn]

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

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.

[FennWenn]

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.

[FennWenn]

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....”

[FennWenn]

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.

[FennWenn]

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.

[FennWenn]

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.

[FennWenn]

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.

[FennWenn]

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!”

[FennWenn]

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.

[FennWenn]

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.