Kindred Folk -- Into Sidhe

[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 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.

[FennWenn]

“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.”

[FennWenn]

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.

[FennWenn]

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.

[FennWenn]

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.”

[FennWenn]

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.

[FennWenn]

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.”