Monthly Archives: October 2008
OOC: This is an eariler piece of fiction that I wrote over at Pan Historia. This post was to have taken place during the Fae Wars that Faelyn /Fanny often refers to, long before she had met Hsu Danmei or was married to her husband, the Comte de Rochefort. Faelyn describes it as: “a time when the very fabric of the World was in danger of being rent apart.” It does not play into any timeline or RP currently being undertaken by Mun or Muse here on LJ. It’s just a way to keep my posting requirements up and a record of what I have written in more than one place. 😉
“You are certain?” I asked, my voice was hollow, numb.
“There can be no doubt,” Lord Albion Sage had said, his voice and expression grave, “though the images were allowed by the Prince, he was sure to show us all, and he was gloating with pride. It took a little work for me to discover if these were true images, but I’m afraid, my Lady, they were.”
“This news is very ill, Lord Albion Sage,” Nuada said.
Lord Albion Sage inclined his head and backed away. What happened next is a blur to me. I only saw crimson before my eyes. The sting of betrayal incites rage so deep and consuming within the soul of a Fae that if left unchecked could render to waste all that is in its path. No words can adequately describe the sheer scathing heat of the Goblin King’s betrayal of me – and worse, of my Island and its People to Prince Itet. I had been betrayed and the Goblin King had in one moment rendered himself forsworn.
I am very glad that you have decided to be more forthcoming with the story of your early life in these last few weeks. I think that perhaps you could write a thank you note to the Grigori who helped along that process. No doubt he would be even more chuffed than he already is in taking credit for how you and your life turned out.
I understand that you are loath to share headspace with Elizabeth and your daughters, but even you must admit it is great fun watching things blow up around you. At present I know that you are just a wee bit bored. And when you are bored, Madame, you tend to stir problems. Poison, kill maim, all you like, but the fact is that you are not the only one sharing the loft, as it were.
If you do not move aside, I fear that nomanselizabth will start screaming, and you know how bloody loud she can get. Don’t worry about Jocelyn just now. Azazeal’s mun assures me that nothing untoward has happened, or is likely to happen…..yet. The Daemon is perfectly fine with long term storylines – and intends to take his time. So you may rest easy for now. No doubt, however, Jocelyn is going to need to have a little talk from you, her mum, to learn out what he is really capable of. The fact that she thinks he is better than her very own devil’s food cake is going to be no help at all. Goddess help you both
if when her father gets wind of this!
In short, these next months are going to be rough for you, and I fully expect you will fight me for control of the situation. Alas, the storylines are no longer just yours or ours any longer, but are being shared with other pups and muns – and so, Madame you are going to be forced to play nice. You can pout if you want to, but I have a feeling it isn’t going to do one damned bit of good if you do. My advice is to just buck up, Buttercup, and take your lumps like the rest of us.
Your long-suffering scribe
The one thing I can say about Johnny Behan is that he is persistent. He persistently shows up at my doorstep, trying to be every bit the dandy and impress me with flowers and bits of ribbon or niceties that any man could buy for any ten women who’ve caught their eye. Johnny Behan also quite persistently succeeds in raising my ire, just as surely as one would make a cat sore at rubbing her fur backward. Still, with the offer of dinner and the possibility of meeting some of the town officials that could possibly help me with my cattle problem at the Hacienda Las Glorias, I found myself relenting to his relentless, if not overzealous, entreatments.
I took my time getting ready, but not so that he would notice. Surely, though it was dinner out, I made certain to dress modestly. I made it absolutely certain that I would be staying at hotel – alone and would pay for it myself. There would be no talk, I was not about to have that. It would not do to have the Tombstone gossips getting the idea that I was doing anything other than taking the evening with Johnny Behan and going straight back out to the Hacienda, even if I had to arrange passage myself. To say I did not have an idea who to trust at this point is quite the understatement.
I certainly know what those are. I am certain I could find more on my iPod. Certainly every less than pleasant week is different, but this is the list for this one. No comment on what
or who might be the cause of this particular week going as it has.
“Real friendship or love is not manufactured or achieved by an act of Will or intention. Friendship is always an act of recognition.” – John O’Donohue, ‘Anam Cara: a Book of Celtic Wisdom’
Hsu Danmei was never a man to outwardly show any sort of discomfort in even the deepest and coldest snow. Indeed, my friend, my Anam Cara*, was one of the Hsiung-nu, and he would tease me of my intense dislike of cold and inclement weather. I kept my eyes on him as we rode through the mountain pass, I could see my breath and the breath of both of our mounts and the two pack animals cut through the bitter cold air and the snow that now flew almost completely horizontally. He turned in his saddle and glanced back at me as I struggled with my wraps and my tack uncomfortably, trying to keep myself warm. He dismounted and trudged through the drifts toward me. His expression was stern but there was no irritation on his face when he reached my side. Only his words were mildly chastising.
“By the Gods, Frances,” he scoffed, glancing up at me. He refastened the ice-caked stirrup that I had knocked askew, and then pulled free the end of my all-too thin woollen cloak and tucked it beneath the front of the saddle to secure it and to preserve my body’s warmth, “You were born in Scotland, and the weather there is miserable all of the time. I can’t remember when I was there and the sun ever shone at all. You should be used to the cold by now.”
“Even we Scots have the good enough sense not to sleep in the cold in the heather, wrapped in nothing but our plaids and our skins,” I snorted derisively at him, “besides, it never snows on the Fortunate Island!” My skirts were heavy with the snow that had melted against my body heat, and I was beginning to shiver. I hated snow with a passion and I felt like a wet animal weighted down by yards of cloth that were refreezing and becoming stiff and heavier by the moment from the snow and freezing air. There was no respite from it and that made me even more irritable.
Hsu shook his head and gave my calf a slight squeeze through the folds of fabric before turning to go remount his own horse. “Well, we aren’t on the Fortunate Island now, are we?” he said as he swung back into his saddle, and then shot back over his shoulder, “with any luck we won’t be sleeping in the cold tonight either. There’s a village just beyond this pass.” cut for length & sexual content (NSFW)