Wood and Stone

(Dedicated to Moxy, Dyisi and Gwen, who did a bunch of rebuilding after I took the pictures in previous posts. I love you all anyway)

I know the construction industry. Or at least, I used to know the construction industry, as it was practiced in the 19th century. How could I not? My father was a Master Builder, and I make no apologies for the capital letters, because they are entirely appropriate. Many homes in Chatham and the surrounding area, two schools, Fort Luton and several other buildings are testament to that. Or, perhaps were testament to his skill. Without going and visiting the Chatham of the 21st century, I have no way of telling if those buildings are still standing. Unless, of course, I can look them up on this Internet thing. I shall have to persuade Wren to visit and show me how. I’m sure Gwyn could do so too, but it would be a good excuse to see my daughter again.

I find myself thinking of Father because I paid another visit to White Owl Island. It has changed since I last visited couple of weeks ago. Whole buildings have gone and been replaced by others. And yet, the buildings look as though they have always been there, and there is no sign, other than the obvious, that any work had taken place. The roads, such as they are, and the gardens seem undisturbed. I should, perhaps, not be surprised. Building technology advances all the time. Even in Father’s lifetime, the use of cast iron and steel revolutionised architecture, especially in commercial buildings. It would make sense, therefore, that there have been similar advances in the 125 odd years since I left that world. Maybe modern builders roll up with a couple of steamer trunks on the back of the cart and unpack a whole house from them. Gwyn showed me her eye-pad once, a shiny thing no bigger than a slim book, and told me that the libraries of the world could be found in it. With that level of miniaturisation, maybe the same is possible with buildings. It’s a satisfying idea, but, I suspect, unlikely. So far as I could tell, these buildings seemed to be of traditional construction, in wood and brick and stone. I occurs to me that the same could be said of the entire village of Mysthaven and that did appear from nowhere, out of the mists. Is it possible that another such thing occurred? It seems unlikely, but who knows?

There is another possible explanation. It is entirely possible I miscalculated and much more time has passed on the island than I experienced in Mysthaven. This is always a risk living so close to faerie. I am not convinced though. It still looked to be springtime and the shrubs and trees looked much the same as last time. Maybe there is no explanation. Maybe all of this fantastic life has all been an extended hallucination, a fever dream from an exotic malady caught on my travels and at any moment, I could wake up and find Mother mopping my brow. That would be a cruel twist indeed, if all my adventures, the friends I have had, and my loves, were naught but the product of an overheated brain. My only consolation would be if I could recall enough to write a book. Perhaps I should anyway. Wren told me once that books about vampires and such like were popular. Nobody will know it was real. Or was it?

Wood and Stone

HitS 1760402 Wherever You Will Go

Perhaps I should have stayed. I had not been back in Mysthaven long, scarcely enough time to change into more appropriate clothing and make a start on my paperwork when word came via a wisp that Gwyn had returned from her shopping, or wherever she had been. This time, I thought I had better make sure, in case she was planning on disappearing again, and called her via the mirror.

She did not appear overly delighted to see me, but then, perhaps I caught her at a bad time, which, given the circumstances was quite likely. Nevertheless, she agreed that we should talk and I told her that I would be right over. I changed back into some modern clothes and, since she was expecting me, decided to realm-hop there to save time.

I did not know quite what sort of mood to expect, given she had been a little short in our brief exchange via the mirror, but I figured that a loving hug was probably the best greeting. She accepted that readily enough and rested her head against my chest before saying that she guessed I had heard the news.

I averred that I possibly had, but that it rather depended on what news, and that whatever it was, I probably had more.

“There’s always more,” she said, drily. The news she assumed that I knew was that she had vacated the throne. Or, as she put it, that she wouldn’t be back handling that drama clusterfuck any time soon, or indeed, ever. She detached herself from my embrace and began pacing. For all the difference she had made in the Wylds, she might just as well stop fucking about with all the lords and ladies and get on with enjoying her life. I was free to divorce her and carry on ruling Mysthaven and dealing with the Gwynns, she told me.

I laughed and told her I wasn’t planning on divorcing her any time soon and joked that it would be tricky to find any lawyer qualified to handle the case even if I did. I told her that I had heard of her stepping down – how I had felt the disturbance in the Wyld and after getting a rather confused report from a wisp, had gotten a better one from Dyisi. I would have come sooner to talk with her about it, but said I had been somewhat distracted saving Bronwyn.

We summoned Bran, distracting him again; it seemed, from his gadget. A Nintendo, Gwyn called it. He brought us some wine and then returned to whatever it was he had been doing. Bronwyn seemed to need a lot of saving; she commented and wondered if she had others to do that for her now.

I took a glass of the wine and leaned against the table. I told her about the battle with the Sithen Rose and the Thornwyrms and the end of Desirie. I then spoke of Bronwyn and how Faermorn’s spirit had been occupying her. Gwyn said she had noticed, but didn’t really want to look into it in great detail, which probably made her a bad mother. I went on to explain how I had spoken with Faermorn and how we had conceived the plan to rid ourselves of Gwythyr forever. I told how Dyisi had tempted Gwythyr, in Llwyd’s body, to the Shadowroads, where he would be at his weakest. I told her how Dyisi had attacked with her soul-gathering sword and I had attacked with my blood magic and how Faermorn’s spirit had left Bronwyn, drawn Gwythyr’s spirit out of Llwyd, and joined with him in passing on to wherever. I also told her how, right at the last; Vedis had claimed what was left – Llwyd, for whatever imprisonment she had planned for him. Gwythyr and Faermorn were gone, and Bronwyn was safe at last.

Gwyn seemed sceptical and then said that while she acknowledged what I had done in defeating the foes back there, she no longer cared. She was sick of being the focus of drama and conflict, which is why she had dumped her duties onto Mornoth. She had found a place here, she said, where there was at least, the semblance of peace. I was welcome to stay with her, and she very much wanted me to do so, but, she would not stop me going back to the Wylds and doing whatever was needed there. She would come back if I needed somebody to dance with, but she would not otherwise get involved. She looked at me and apologised for sounding so combative.

I told her again that I was not disappointed. She was the person I loved, throne or no throne. I invoked the Bard’s words – uneasy lies the head that wears a crown – and I did not blame her for laying down hers. Now that Bronwyn was safe, and I emphasised that I was certain it was truly over, I was trying to work out how I could lay down mine, how I could fulfil my promise to Maric and still leave Mysthaven behind me. She acknowledged that this, at least was something to celebrate. I went on to tell her how Bronwyn had slept like a log after the battle, but, on waking, had felt that Mornoth needed her and she had gone to him. And she was probably just what the Wylds, and Mornoth needed. Our daughter had a fine heritage behind her and I was sure she would do well.

Gwyn shrugged, perhaps agreeing and then gestured at the table, asking if I was expecting dinner. I told her I had found it laid for a feast when I arrived and had not been able to extract an explanation from Bran. I certainly hadn’t invited anybody and very few people knew I was here. Even if they did, only Bronwyn and Wren would be able to reach me. And Valene, should she want to.

Gwyn, for her part, said that maybe Dyisi might want to have words. Apparently, Clutie was blaming her for the abdication. Since we were on the subject of family, she told me she had written to her mother. I assumed she meant Sia, her biological mother. I told her I had no problem with that. We needed all the family we could get. I had none any more from my earthly life, save that it was possible that I had descendents out there in the 21st century, and I could hardly go seeking them out.

I took her by the hands again and told her I didn’t care about castles or thrones or crowns or lordships, only her and our family, biological and chosen. Wherever she went, that is where I would go. If that meant living here and commuting to Mysthaven until such time as I could pass on the Lordship to somebody more fitting, then that’s what I would do.  And, maybe, some day, we would be able to live a life where we could get up in the morning knowing that the biggest decisions we’d have to deal with would be what to wear.

We did make one decision then. That nobody else was turning up for dinner so we might as well eat, and so we did, and, for the first time in a long while, spent an evening, and night, together as husband and wife. No titles, no headgear, just Nate and Gwyn together. May there be many more such evenings.

Wherever You Will Go

 

 

 

 

Living on an Island Pt 2

Morning produced a sense of dislocation and confusion as to where there hell I was until I dragged myself out of the bed and looked out of the window. I had to laugh at myself. There was a time in my life when waking in up in a strange bed was a not uncommon experience. But, I am not that man now. The morning failed to produce a wife of any description. It also failed to produce coffee, or at least, none that I could find in the kitchen. There was nothing to it; I would have to go back to the official residence, for want of any better name for it, where I was fairly sure I remembered seeing some variation on the theme of infernal coffee machine. First, I selected an outfit – more jeans and a jacket of heavy cotton in a colour and style that reminded me of army uniforms.

I went back up to the Atrium, and, sure enough, there was a coffee machine. In some ways, it was more aesthetically pleasing than the one in the Lucky Leaf, being largely constructed in brass. On the other hand, though, it was just as frustrating. After 10 fruitless minutes trying to fathom the damned thing out, I bellowed for help.

Bran appeared a few minutes later. He looked as though he had not slept much and was muttering about levels again. When I asked him to show me how to operate the infernal machine, he sighed and put his bleeping gadget aside. I could see coloured shapes moving on one side of it and was reminded of Riley, back in the days of Jasper Cove and the gadget she liked to play with. I speculated that it was probably one of the Internet things that Gwyn and Wren often spoke of. Bran demonstrated the workings of the machine ably enough, although I did have to turn one valve for him because he had apparently strained his thumb. Possibly in pursuit of the levels that seemed to be his current obsession.  I also asked him about currency and he rather reluctantly gave me what looked to amount to $200 in tens and twenties. He assured me this should be sufficient to complete my purchase of the book, and pay for such meals as I felt I needed during the course of the day.

I finished my coffee and returned to the house before heading down towards the dock area again. There was an intriguing vessel tied up against a jetty. I guessed it to be a small yacht, possibly intended for pleasure trips. It looked very modern and sleek compared to similar sized vessels I had encountered in my days with the shipping company, but then, I suppose, that is to be expected over the course of a hundred plus years. Again, I felt the sea calling me, and I stood there, imagining where one might go on such a vessel.

“Top of the morning t’you,” came a voice from behind, disturbing my reverie. The accent was very Irish. “If you’re wanting a cruise, you’ll have to be booking up at the office there.” I turned to see a bearded individual in a short jacket covered in badges. He had brown hair and a beard and a somewhat piercing gaze.

“I’m sorry,” I said, jumping back onto the jetty. “I’m a bit of a sailor myself and got carried away admiring this vessel.”

He looked to be slightly taken aback by my accent. “That’s ok,” he said, “no harm done. You’re English then?”

I nodded. “Guilty as charged. Nathaniel Ballard,” I said, offering my hand. “I’m Gwyneth’s husband.”  I gestured back towards the house, which could be seen over the top of the crow’s nest on the other building.

“Ah,” he said, shaking my hand. There was a momentary tingle of Wyld energy there, causing me to wonder if he was fae. Our eyes met for a moment, and there was a hint of recognition as if he had felt it too. “She has mentioned you. Aodhán O’Súileabháin at your service. Or Aidan O’Sullivan, if you prefer the easier way of spelling. General factotum and chief mechanic.”  He started walking towards one of the buildings near the yacht. A workshop of some sort, I guessed from the tool cabinets. “What do you do? Gwyneth said you were some sort of Lord of the Manor.”

“Did she now?” I laughed. “Well, sort of, yes. But I’m thinking of retiring to here. Technically, I’m an accountant, albeit one a little out of practice. And I’m a pretty good carpenter and joiner.” I looked at him. “Oh, and did you really say top of the morning just now?”

“All good skills,” he said, laughing. “We could do with a skilled woodworker. Have you done much shipbuilding?” He shuffled a couple of tools around. “Oh, and yes I did. People expect it.”

“I don’t,” I said. “I’ve served with many an Irishman in my sailing days, gotten extremely drunk with them on many occasions, and never once did any of them say top of the morning.”

“You got me,” he said, softening the accent somewhat. “I’ll try to avoid doing it again.”

We chatted about boats and woodwork for a while before I took my leave, agreeing to meet for a drink at some future occasion.  I explored the dock area a while longer, before taking myself back up to the top of the grand stairway. I had seen a lighthouse up on a high point and determined to go find that. I followed the paths as far as they took me and then struck out through the woods, past a picnic spot and up onto the promontory. The lighthouse was a pleasant building, and while it appeared to be operational, the living space, so far as I could see through the windows, looked to be abandoned. I made a note to find out why some day.

Heading back through the woods, I encountered some carved standing stones. Whether they were some piece of public art, a memorial of some sort, or were of ritual significance, I couldn’t tell, although there did seem to be a hint of magic of some sort about them. Maybe they were Native American – Gwyn had once gently chided me for using the term Indian – artefacts.

I made my way back to the commercial district and paid for my book. I must get Gwyn to explain modern economics. I have no idea if $10 is a good price for a second-hand book. Given that I noticed that a tall mocha, which, from the aroma, is something related to coffee, was $4.75, so maybe that is good. A book for the price of two cups of coffee?

There is an interesting fountain near the bookshop. Half horse, half fish, which is, if I recall correctly, a hippocampus. From limited observation, it appears to be just a fountain. Mind you, if it comes to life at certain phases of the moon or something, I wouldn’t be in the least surprised.

I found a more conventional fountain in a nearby public garden. Well, I say more conventional… it did have four gargoyle like creatures spitting water into the lower level, but was otherwise conventional fountain-shaped.

The garden also featured a pleasant stone gazebo, which, were it back home in England, one might imagine being occupied by the local brass band. Of course, I don’t know if they have such things in this century, or in this country. I also liked the sculpture of a woman whose body was the trunk of a tree. I was reminded of my old friend and occasional lover, Aerodine, the dryad and found myself wondering what became of her.

Beyond the gardens, I found an intriguing structure. Part of it was old stone, such as one might find in the ruins of a medieval castle back home in England, though I could no imagine that such a structure might exist here, at least, not of that antiquity. But then, I do not know the history of these parts, any of it. Obviously, I don’t know that which occurred since my home time, but I don’t know anything much of what happened before that. I remember reading an article about a place called Mesa Verde in Colorado where there are stone structures comparable to those in medieval Europe, so I suppose it is possible. There is much to learn.

I returned to the house to change, as the day had warmed up considerably since I left. One outfit that Gwyn had left for me consisted of a light sweater and a pair of short trousers that reminded me of the shorts we were required to wear for football practice at school. A part of me rebelled at that memory, for I had had no love of sports at school, much less for the inevitable hacked shins and shoulder charges and trips that the bullies would try to claim were a fair tackle. Nevertheless, I chose to ignore those memories. Mother would have been proud. I still felt a little rebellious going outside so casually dressed, a relic, perhaps of the mores of my time, but my appearance did not excite any comment.

I took lunch at one of the eateries near the bookshop. Many of the dishes were unfamiliar to me, so I opted for a cheeseburger and fries, remembering the treats that Valene would sometimes send her Cait out to get for me, and a refreshing glass of cold cider. What the waiter meant by his comment – “You’re English, right? You’ll be wanting hard cider then”- I do not know. I shall have to ask Gwyn.  The cheeseburger and fries resembled the paper-wrapped things that the Cait had obtained for me so long ago about as much as rotgut whisky in a dockside tavern resembles fine single malt. The burger part had recognisable meat, the fries were crisp and chunky and it was served hot. OK, I can hardly blame the Cait for the latter. They had to transport it through the Shadow Roads and nothing retains heat there for very long. This was a delicious meal and very satisfying, aside from one small ingredient, but that will have to wait until I get back to Mysthaven. While Gwyn has told me this is a sanctuary for supernaturals of all sorts, I do not yet know how my kind would be received. That’s one disadvantage of having lived in Mysthaven for so long, my feeding habits have become lazy. That is something else I shall have to relearn.

I decided to head back down to the beach, feeling I was more suitably attired. I rather enjoyed the long wooden walkway that led down to the beach. It reminded me of some of the smaller ports I had docked at over the years, although it lacked the smell of tar and seaweed that I associated with such places. It took a rather twisted path down from the town, which made me wonder how many people had fallen off attempting to negotiate it in an inebriated state. Something, I hasten to add, I never did in my sailing days, excluding that one time in Rotterdam.

The bridge that leads to our house proved interesting from below. Carved stone in a somewhat Celtic style and an entertaining grotesque looking down from its apex. Looking through the arch, it seemed to lead to the end of the promenade area, close to the ship-fashioned building.

The other end of the beach was occupied by a rambling wooden building. Some of it was presumably a residence, but parts looked to be a shop or workshop for surf boards. At least, that is what I guessed these strange items were. I had heard of such things from some of my sailor friends who had visited Hawaii and such like places. I gather the idea is to stand or lie on the board and ride the waves. The waves I could see here did not look particularly energetic but maybe I had come on a calm day. I added it to my list of things to learn more about. It’s going to be a long list, but then, I don’t intend to die for a long time yet, so I hope there will be time.

Of more interest was a large mobile structure to one side of the building. It put me in mind of a vardo, a Romany caravan, but on a much larger scale. What its purpose might be here on a beach, I could not guess.

I wandered further around the beach area for some time until evening set in, when I returned to the part of the beach near the vardo. There was a well-established fire-pit on the beach, with plenty of driftwood for fuel. I had no matches or tinderbox about my person, but then, I hardly need such a thing with my mastery of fire magic. Fortunately, that still seemed to work here, and soon I had a very respectable fire going. This attracted the attention of somebody from the house – none other than my old friend Dyisi, whose establishment this apparently was. I suppose I should not have been surprised to see her. She was not overly surprised to see me either, greeting me somewhat nonchalantly and joining me around the fire. She asked after Gwyn and I said I had not yet seen her since her abdication. I told her a little of my explorations and we chatted of things of little consequence. It occurred to me that this was a rare and precious thing. To sit and converse with a friend, with no matters of import to discuss – no political upheavals, no battles to plan, no rogue fae to confront. A rare and precious thing indeed.

I could have sat there all night, but, alas, for all the peace that I felt here, I still had my duties, so after one last look at the remnants of the sunlight on the water, I took my leave after asking Bran to send word when Gwyn returned. But, I shall return again to this island. I think I like it here.

 

Living on the Island – Julia Pietrucha

Green jacket – Hoorenbeek Outfit Mesh 28

Sweater & Shorts – Mahlberg Tailors

Sandals – MB Mesh Addict

 

 

 

Living on an Island

With all this thought of changing my role, I decided it would help if I actually experienced some of Gwyn’s time. I must admit to being somewhat wary of going there. Gwyn once quoted a line from a book she had studied – “The past is a foreign country: they do things differently there.” If I remember correctly, it was in the context of an elderly man reminiscing about his youth, which might be some 60 odd years in his past. My time, from Gwyn’s point of view is twice that distant in her past, and her time is twice that distance in my future. Either way, the words “they do things differently there” apply equally to the future. At least with the past, there are memories, or records to inform you. That is not the case with regard to the future. Yes, to Gwyn, it is her present and recent past, but to me, it is terra incognita, no matter how much she might tell me about it.

Still, it is something I must face some day, and there’s no time like the present. Which phrase, in this context, seems somewhat incongruous. I need to tell her about Bronwyn and Faermorn and Gwythyr anyway. I’m not entirely convinced that this is a good idea on top of dealing with her abdication, but I can not put it off forever. I determined that I would forgo calling her via the mirrors and pay a surprise visit instead. In retrospect, perhaps not the wisest of choices, but I have never claimed to be wise, despite what I might tell my children when I want them to listen to me. Still, I had to go. I selected some clothing she had left for me on some previous visit – a soft leather jacket over denim jeans, which were comfortable enough, if a little cramped around the crotch. I had at least worn these before and soon got used to the discomfort.

I decided to take the route through the Shadow Roads, even though I could just step across the realms to get there. At least through the Roads, I have some semblance of a journey, which softens the shock of the transition somewhat. I never liked taking portals back in London, and those were only short cuts between different parts of London. Stepping across the realms is even worse, when the distance, and the time gap, are both large, and largely unknown. One day, I will get used to it. Plus, going via the Roads, there is at least some warning – the parting of the veil, and the coldness of the air, so I don’t just suddenly materialise in the middle of a room. A small difference, but to me, a form of courtesy. Gwyn knows the way through the Roads well enough, and her staff, if she took any with her, should know the signs too.

The Roads deposited me in the Atrium, as she likes to call it, a small enclosed area where she had planned to receive those with business from Faerie. Whether she will continue to use it as such, I do not know. As yet, I do not know if she intends to cut all ties with the Fae. I find that hard to believe, and surely there are Fae in this time too. Either way, it made sense that I would land here, as this place, at least, I had visited before.

What was new, though, was a small herd of tiny winged unicorns, or possibly alicorns, if I recall correctly. I was a bit nonplussed when I saw them, and memories came flooding back of my first painful lessons in magic from Mitternacht, or Paasheeluu as she preferred to be called. I knelt and greeted them. “Hi, I’m Nathaniel, nice to meet you. Are any of you related to an undead mortician by the name of Paasheeluu?”  Perhaps that was a bit blunt, but it didn’t seem to matter.  They were friendly enough, nosing my hand in case I had something to eat, but displayed no evidence of sapience. They accepted mint imperials readily enough though.

The room adjoining the atrium was set for a feast, but there was no sign of any guests. Nor was there any sign of my wife. I sat at the table and contemplated the suckling pig, who did not seem to be amused by the apple shoved in his mouth, and who could blame him. Somewhere, nearby, I could hear some rather strange bleeping noises and the occasional cry of frustration. “Hello?”  I called out.  There were more bleeps and another cry of frustration and a few moments later, Bran appeared, clutching some small brightly coloured object that appeared to be the source of the beeps. “Damn it, I was almost on level …” He looked up and stopped mid-sentence. “Lord Ballard,” he said, “we were not expecting you.”

I frowned at him. “It’s me, Bran,” I said, gently chiding him. “Nobody else is around, so I think we can dispense with titles. And it was a last minute decision to come. So, where is Her Maj… my wife?”

Bran shrugged. “I think she has gone shopping. For what, or where, I do not know. She went, she came back with a lot of clothing, including some for you, I think, and she went again. I don’t know when she will be back.”  He looked around the room, then back at his bleeping gadget, and then back at me. “You could try waiting down at the house, I suppose. You could try on some of the clothes that she bought, maybe explore the island. It will be something to do while you wait for her.”

I asked how I could get to the house and he directed me to a portal that he assured me would take me there. “Do you need anything else?”

I swiped some food from the feast table and a bottle of wine. “No, this will do, thanks. I’ll let you get on with your… levelling…”  He thanked me and hurried away, his attention focussed once again on the noisy gadget.

The house I had seen very briefly before. It seems to be built on a rocky outcrop looking down over the bay with just a stone bridge linking it to the rest of the island at the same level. In older times, it would have been an ideal location for a castle. With the only access being up a steep rock face, or the bridge, it was easily defendable.

One thing I noticed that I had not seen before, standing near the door, was what I assumed to be some manner of vehicle. It had two wheels arranged in line, like some kind of velocipede and was bright pink. I assumed it must be operated by an infernal combustion engine, since the seating arrangement appeared to preclude any propulsion by foot. Perhaps it is for when she visits the mainland, for it did not seem that anywhere on the island was far enough away that it could not be walked in a reasonably short time.

I could see a statue nearby, a seated figure playing a harp. I could have sworn I had seen this before, perhaps somewhere in her bower. It’s certainly a very moving piece and I know it is important to her, which may be why it is here.

I went inside the house and made my way to the bedroom, where I did indeed find assorted items of clothing. One suit came from a bag labelled Vintage Clothing by somebody called Gabriel. With its high collar and elaborate bow tie, it would not have looked out of place at one of my mother’s social gatherings.

Another suit, also by Gilbert, was likely of a more modern design. I could find no fault with it, save that the necktie was constructed of leather and rather short with a metal ring looped through the end. Perhaps this is what the well-dressed men of the 21st century wear now, even if it did look rather as if some kind of leash could be attached. I was briefly reminded of a strange bar I once went to in Rotterdam where some clients paid good money to be led around on a leash, but I doubt this was what Gwyn had in mind. I tried it out as I wandered around the house, trying to determine the function of some of the rooms. I did not find a library, which distressed me somewhat. Indeed, there was only one bookcase that I could find, which is an extreme oversight. One that I hope she will remedy.

I tried on yet another suit. This one seemed more comfortable and less formal, but still elegant enough for all but the most formal of gatherings. It seemed quite apposite as I wandered into a large room at the side of the house. A room walled with much glass in the manner of an orangery or conservatory. I could imagine Mother really enjoying this space, except she would have had it filled with exotic plants and furniture made of cane. Perhaps this will come

There did not appear to be much else to find in the house. I am sure Gwyn just hasn’t finished furnishing it yet, or perhaps she is waiting for my input. That would be nice. I trust to her judgement, but I prefer wood to wrought iron. I am sure we can find some suitable compromise.

I donned more casual wear in order to explore some of the places I had seen from the bridge. Another pair of jeans and a heavy sweater that felt as though it was designed for the outdoors was my choice. And so I set off to explore. From my vantage point on the outcrop, I could see down to an area that looked as if it served for a docks area as well as recreation, with a wooden-decked promenade and assorted waterside buildings, one of which was rather pleasingly fashioned as an old-style sailing ship.

I made that one my first destination and headed down to the waterside, passing by market stalls offering various goods, including fruit and vegetables and craft pottery. From what Gwyn has told me of the inhabitants, I could not imagine that the permanent residents would be buying a great deal of pottery, but I supposed they must have a lot of visitors. Pretty soon, I found myself on what passed for a crow’s nest on the ship-shaped building. I grinned as I remembered my first days at sea with Haskins Shipping. Though, in that case, I am fairly sure I had been sent to the crow’s nest as some sort of hazing for the new guy.

Back on dry land, so to speak, I ascended the great wooden staircase, avoiding a number of people on velocipedes that were available for hire and had a look round what I guessed was the commercial district. It was an eclectic area – essentials such as a grocers and a bookshop, and yes, I do count a bookshop as an essential – crowded with sweetshops and various eateries. The bookshop could have been an expensive excursion for me, save that I had neglected to bring any money with me. Such American dollars as I might have had in my possession would, no doubt, been an anachronism, as they would have been left over from my honeymoon in 1880. One book did intrigue me enough to ask the assistant to put it by until I could come back with the appropriate money. It was the title that caught my eye – The Once and Future King, which echoed the words that Malory ascribed to Arthur’s tomb –  Hic iacet Arthurus, rex quondam, rexque futurus. On examination, it did appear to be a retelling of the Arthurian stories, and one new to me. It would have to be, as the flyleaf proclaimed it to have been first published in 1958. I will look forward to reading it, as and when I equip myself with modern currency.

Further on, I found another wooden walkway, narrower than the promenade one, and of more rustic construction, leading down to a pleasant looking beach, with some wooden structure, perhaps a house or a tavern, I could not tell from here, at the end. In the gathering dusk, with the light on the water, it was a most beautiful spot indeed. I was tempted to explore further, but it was getting darker, and, in truth, I was a little overwhelmed with it all, and decided to head back to the house.

This was going to be all new to me, and I was ill-prepared, knowing only a little of what had passed in the world since I left it 125 years ago The assistant in the bookshop had loved my accent, and somehow, that was enough to excuse my apparent lack of familiarity with my surroundings  and lack of currency. Perhaps an Englishman abroad is considered somewhat of an eccentricity, even in these times. If that is so, it could be to my advantage until I am better educated in the ways of these times. For now, I can take comfort in the food I swiped from Bran’s table and the scent of my beloved Gwyn in the bed. Who knows, maybe she will return before morning and we can spend some time together.

Living on an Island

For those that need to know these things:

Nathaniel:

Slink Physique Male Mesh Body, Hands, Feet. Labyrinth Shape D Mesh Head & Pale Skin, Ikon Sunrise Eyes (Verdigris),  No.Match No.Hunt hair

Clothing in order of appearance:

A&D Clothing – Ewan jacket, James pants, Seattle shoes

Gabriel Vintage Suit & Shoes

Gabriel Leather Tie Suit & Shoes

Emerald Couture Russell outfit in grey

Native Urban Clean Jeans & Enhanced Boots, Sweet Lass Kenji Sweater (Moss)

 

 

Uneasy Lies The Head…

All stories must come to an end. As an adult, I know this, but it doesn’t make it any easier. As I noted in my last entry, it was something I hated when I was a child, when mother would read to me, or, when I was able to read, when we would read stories together. Mother knew this, and sometimes, if it was not too late of the evening, we would, together, imagine what might have happened next. Did the band of plucky adventurers settled down and raise families, or did they seek out new adventures, new quests, and new journeys? There is no what happened next for Faermorn, of course. She is gone to whatever passes for the hereafter among her kind, along with GwythyrGwynn.  For her, this was definitely the end. And, in the end, it was what she wished. Her story was long and complicated. I knew only those parts that Valene and Aoibheann told me about, and, of course, those parts of the story in which I played my role. It was my honour to be a part of that story, more so that my part bought some light to the story, I hope, but that is all now at an end and I have to say goodbye to all that and to her.

My daughter, Bronwyn’s story, on the other hand, is just beginning. With Faermorn’s passing, she is freed at last from the threat of GwythyrGwynn. She has her own tale to tell. I would hope that Gwyneth and I, as her parents, will have a major role in that, but, if what I read from her thoughts is true, maybe her place is in Faerie and possibly with Lord Mornoth, or should I say, King Mornoth, as his Queen. Only time will tell. With her help,  Faerie will endure and we will still be part of her life.

As for my story, I do not know where that goes next. This place, this world apart from the one I knew, has become increasingly strange to me of late. So many people have come and gone. Sophia, Giada, Dorina, Helene, Horace, all seem to have found their way through the mists to somewhere else. All the fae that I counted as friends are gone. Maric is gone. Valene is only a passing presence in my sleep. My other children, Wren, Drysi & Elian are elsewhere. And now, my wife, Gwyn, has abdicated the Seelie throne and retreated to her own time in the 21st century. A part of me is tempted to join her, and if there were some way of still being able to fulfil my oath to Maric, I would do so, as there is very little, beyond my oath, and the friends I have made among the villagers, to tempt me to stay. It would be good to lay down my burden, as Gwyn has done. For both of us, uneasy lies the head that wears the crown. If only I could find a way to do so and still fulfil my oath. I could not lay down my burden without passing it on somehow, as Maric did to me.

My options are limited. Maric’s former queen, Teuta, is no doubt capable, as a leader and a warrior, but she is but a ghost, and I do not believe the village could be ruled by a ghost. I suppose, with much study of Maric’s notes, I could pull off the same trick as Maric did with Vedis, and make a bodily vessel for her, but that is a long shot. Even if I could, would she want that? She might appreciate a purpose, but, perhaps, after all this time, she just wants to pass to the beyond and join her love.

Kustav is a fine military leader who I would want by my side in any battle you could care to name, but I don’t know if he is an administrator. My stewards are capable enough for their individual duties, but, I do not know if they are ready for the burden I bear. Perhaps, between them they could manage, maybe with a leader that the people chose. Is Mysthaven ready for democracy? That, I do not know.

Then there is Aoibheann. As Maric’s widow, she has the status, but I do not know if she has the wherewithal to be a leader. That she is strong, I have no doubt. Her efforts in defeating the thornwyrms is proof enough for me, but a leader? I do not know. Besides, I felt that her home was in the Weald, among the trees. She has not been back to Mysthaven, so far as I know, since Maric passed. Perhaps it is as alien to her as she seemed to me when I saw her last.

As I said, my choices are limited, but I must make one. I must fulfil my duty before I can fulfil my wants, and unlike my daughter, those two do not coincide. But, I will find a way. Assuming I could find some way that I could depart this realm in good conscience, there is still the matter of where to go. Can you transplant a man from the late 19th century to the early 21st century? I do not know. But, when I go, that is where I must go, to join my wife. She is all I have left now. Together we can make it. After all, what’s 125 years between friends?

Uneasy Lies the Head That Wears the Crown

 

 

A New Dawning

Nathaniel’s nose twitched a few times and his eyes started to stir. “Leave me alone,” he muttered, still half asleep. Something batted at his nose again and he opened his eyes blearily, to be presented with a pair of very green eyes close up, and a paw reaching for the end of his nose. “Gerroff!” he growled and immediately regretted as it gave him a mouthful of soft fur. He reached up and lifted the young Cait off his face, dislodging a few more of the Cait that were snuggled against his arm and shoulder.  “I love you guys, but, a man needs his sleep.”  He lay a while, lulled by the rhythmic sound of dozens of purring Cait, their individual purrs moving in and out of time with each other. He sighed. “Ah well, I should probably be about my business anyway. Come on guys, let me get up.”  He struggled to a more seated position, lifting various Cait out of the way and depositing them in the nearby heap of those who hadn’t managed to find a spot on top of him. He got up and attempted, vainly, to brush some of the fur off. “Wow, if it was possibly to make fabric from your fur, we’d make a fortune,” he said. A few feet away, he could see Bronwyn, still sleeping under her own blanket of furs and Cait. He knelt and kissed her gently on the forehead, careful not to disturb her slumber. “I love you, dear daughter,” he said quietly, and reinforced this, gently, through the link. “You are stronger than you know.”  He stood and bade the Cait look after her before taking his reluctant leave.

Back at the castle, he changed into something less furry and went down to the office for the usual morning meeting with his stewards. As was his habit, he poured tea and coffee for them before sitting down behind his desk. For once, he pushed the papers aside and looked round at the room, favouring each of them with a smile and a nod. “I think it’s time to change the flag,” he said, eventually. “We do still have the green one, right?”  His stewards looked at each other, somewhat puzzled.

“Yes,” said Novak eventually, “It’s in the weapons store. Why?”

“I think we can fly it again, at long last,” said Nathaniel, leaning back and taking a long pull at his own coffee.

“How so?” asked Kustav.

“It is over,” said Nathaniel. “The Sithen Rose is subdued and freed of malign influence, so our roses should be back to normal. The rebel demi-fae queen is no more, and her people are no longer a threat.”  There were various nods of approval. “And,” Nathaniel paused a moment. “The late and unlamented Unseelie King, GwythyrGwnn, is finally gone from us, this time for good. And that madman, Llwyd, his son, is back in the custody of Queen Vedis, where he belongs, and this time, he has no allies to help him escape. We are free, at last!” He beamed at his team.

There was a collective sigh of relief and then a babble of cheers and congratulations and a smatter of applause.

Nathaniel continued. “So, Kustav, you can stand the reservists down for now and take the guards off high alert. Remain vigilant, though, because you never know what’s going to happen in this place.”

Kustav nodded and allowed a soft smile to cross his face, even as his mind started reorganising schedules and watches. “I’ll get on it straight away.”

Nathaniel nodded. “Hal, I think we need a celebration. Maybe we can have a slightly delayed Equinox celebration. Maybe this weekend.”  His face darkens for a moment. “Oh, and talking of the Equinox. It might be advisable for us to avoid Faerie lands for a while. Queen Gwyneth has decided to vacate the throne and hand it over to Lord Mornoth, the Unseelie Seneschal. This could cause some,” he paused for a moment, “instability. I, personally, don’t think he is ready for that level of responsibility… yet. But, I think he will rally, and he may well have strong support, from our daughter, Bronwyn. She is young, but she is strong, and understands duty.”  He smiled as he thought on his child. “So, as I said, there might be a few ripples and repercussions, so mind how you go when dealing with the Fae.”

His stewards nodded, then Kustav spoke up. “And where has Gwyneth gone?”

Nathaniel allowed a wry smile to cross his face. “I suspect she has gone shopping. That seems to be her favourite remedy for stress. I should probably go see how she is, if I can find her.”  He finished his coffee and stood up. “That’s all for now. Oh, somebody get one of the horticultural types to give the roses some extra mulch. It can’t be a bad idea to remind them who the good guys are. Oh, and Novak, ask around, see if any of them would be willing to donate a little blood occasionally. That would help reinforce the idea.”

Novak nodded. “Will do.”

Nathaniel bade them good day and retreated to his chambers. He sat on the bed and opened his sense to the Wyld. He frowned as he felt the disturbances – uncertainty and confusion – as the various factions dealt with the unexpected changes, and somewhere in the middle, a knot of confusion that he suspected was Mornoth, struggling to come to terms with his new status. “This could be bad,” he muttered to himself. Just then, he caught a brief whiff of peaches and roses, the scent of his daughter. He looked down at the outfit he had recently worn, thinking maybe her scent still lingered from where he had held her the previous night. Then it came again and he felt the echo of her thoughts through the link… stirring from her sleep, briefly thinking of her father, talking with the Cait with a new maturity beyond her years, her joy at finally being free.  Then he felt the echo of Mornoth in her thoughts. He smiled, as he felt her sense of duty, as if she knew what needed to be done. Then his smile turned a little wry as he sensed her feelings for the Seneschal.  He sighed. “My daughter, no longer a child,” he murmured. “Be strong, be safe, be loved,” he suggested, as feelings rather than words, through the link, and then closed it off, lest he sense things a father should not.

There was no need anyway; he could feel her presence through the Wyld. For all her young years, she radiated a sense of light and calm and, he allowed himself a little surge of pride, steadfastness and strength of will that she had inherited from him.  The Wyld rippled around him as her light shone in the darkness, dispelling confusion. The struggle that was Mornoth seemed to ebb as the light approached and then the energies began to merge. He dampened his senses somewhat, barely needing them to feel the surge of life renewed. Love and pride in his daughter welled up and he wiped away a happy tear. Spring was finally sprung, and maybe, just maybe, all would be well in Faerie after all. “You will rise, daughter mine, you will rise,”  he said with a proud smile.

He wiped away another happy tear and got up. Spring notwithstanding, there was still much to do.

Nina Simone – It’s a New Dawn

 

 

 

Farewell (again) to a Queen

When beggars die there are no comets seen.
The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

Such were Calphurnia’s words to Caesar. Were this true, then the heavens above Mysthaven would, this night, be ablaze with light. One queen and one king, gone, forever this time, to that bourne from which no traveller returns. One prince, plucked from this realm to spend his days in Hell. And one queen departed her throne to seek sanctuary in her own time. The latter, my beloved wife, Gwyn, is only gone back, or should I say forward, to the time she knew before all this madness, and who can blame her? She, at least, I can be with whenever I choose, and soon, I may join her in that distant time.

Yes, indeed, there should be comets enough drive even the most optimistic seers into a frenzy of end-of-the-world predictions, but these heavens blazed nothing.  Not even to proclaim that my darling daughter is safe at last, saved by the passing of three of the above. That she is safe brings me joy, which helps to assuage the loss of my lover, my mentor and my friend. It is hard to lose a friend, harder still to lose them again, but this time, the loss is tempered by the knowledge that she is at last at peace, and that this, in the end, was her choice, to save herself, and to save my child.

As I sit here in my eyrie, my refuge on the upper floors of the castle, I feel alone, more so than I have for many a year. The castle presence provides some background comfort, the gentle swish and sigh of its inhabitants going about their daily lives. I have my books, my belongings, my glass of rum, the gentle flicker of the lamps, and the familiarity of my journal, and yet I feel myself a stranger here. Maric is gone to his rest, a matter of a bargain he had made long ago. Wren has gone to a place where she feels safe. Gallyana I have not seen in a long time, perhaps on some extended mission for Vedis. And now, Faermorn has gone; one last act of sacrifice to end her pain, and to make my darling Bronwyn safe.

I spoke, in my last journal entry, that I had one final reckoning with Gwythyr. That came this day, sooner than I had expected, but, in the end, perhaps it was better than waiting.

It started with a disturbance in the Wyld. Even here in the castle, I could sense it. Something was amiss, more than the usual changes that the Equinox brings. I went outside and stood at the edge of the rock, looking towards the Mallorn tree, which seemed the likely source of the disturbance. Was something going wrong with the Equinox rituals?  I summoned a wisp and asked what was going on. It returned a few minutes later with some confused tale of Gwyneth having quit the throne, handing it off to Lord Mornoth, the Unseelie Seneschal and going away somewhere. This was not quite the handover that was expected. I guessed that she had gone off back to the 21st century, which seems to be her preferred retreat these days, and was considering going after her when I felt another twinge in the Wyld. This time, though, it was my daughter, Bronwyn, a twinge echoed through the mental link. Gwyneth could wait a while. She was more than capable of taking care of herself, but my daughter….

I stepped through the veil into the Shadow Roads, welcoming the cold and stark landscape as a second home. More so, these days, than Mysthaven. I went to Bronwyn, sensing her anxiety through the bond, and hugged her close, sending soothing thoughts to calm her. I felt her relief as she sensed I was safe, but she wanted to know what was happening. She could feel something, but knew not what it was.

I held her some more and assured her that I was indeed safe. I explained that we had had a bit of a battle with the roses, which had been corrupted by the thornwyrms, but that Auntie Aoibheann, Lord Mornoth and myself had defeated them. As to what else was happening, I was not sure, save that it seemed that her mother had abdicated the throne in Mornoth’s favour.

As I spoke, a wisp arrived to tell me that Dyisi wished to see me. I hugged Bronwyn some more and began to pick up thoughts that a father perhaps would not wish to hear from his daughter. Especially when I mentioned Mornoth – concern, and perhaps more. Was my daughter sweet on the Unseelie Seneschal? Perhaps so. So far as the Unseelie were concerned, he seemed to me to be more honourable than most, and more charming. And he had been kind to her.  I recalled my early days with Gwyneth and my dealings with Blaise, when he placed himself in loco parentis to her. I admonished Bronwyn gently. “Slow down there, young lady. Time enough for that sort of thing when you are older,” I told her. “Your mother’s stepfather told her that she should wait until she was 100 years old before she could consider such things.” Honesty compelled me to add that it hadn’t worked, but again, perhaps that was something that a father and daughter should not share.  I kissed her and let go the embrace so I could open the rift and call Dyisi to join us. “What news?” I asked her.

She stepped through, looking a little harassed. She paused a moment as if assembling her thoughts. “Gwyn has handed all her duties and kingship to Mornoth,” she said, “in rather spectacular fashion.” She paused a moment. “He has not taken it well. If I were to hazard a guess, it was because he is not royal sidhe and lacks the ability to handle such power.”

Bronwyn, in her way, admonished me back, saying she had lived a life already, albeit by a dream, and had had a husband and children. I could feel her gathering herself together, composing herself, her heritage starting to show through with self confidence and determination. “I know what needs to be done,” she said, “I will do whatever is needed to set the Queen free.” As Mornoth was mentioned again, I felt her thoughts about him, quickly buried. I could tell she wanted to go to him, to help him, and, I suspected, to help the realm. As I said, her heritage was shining through. “Let us get this done, so I can be free,” she said, “Then I can go to him and help him.”

I felt a surge of pride and love for my daughter, who was maturing before my eyes. For one so young, she seemed to understand duty. I kissed her and told her so. She truly was her father’s and mother’s daughter. Knowing and accepting duty was a blessing and a burden, I told her, but perhaps, sensing her feelings towards Mornoth, she would be lucky and have duty and desire coincide.

I turned to Dyisi and told her I suspected I knew where Gwyneth had gone to, but, before I could go to her, there were things to be done. Did she know of Faermorn’s plan to deal with Gwthyr and did we need to find and summon Aoibheann for this?

If it was the dark one and his son we sought, then Dyisi knew how to bring them here, where they would perhaps be the most vulnerable. I nodded and agreed that this was what we needed to do. Bronwyn chimed in, saying that bringing him here was the thing to do, and then, she, meaning Faermorn would do the rest. I felt the strength in her, as well as the vulnerability. She did not know now to defend herself, should he attack her first.

I said I hoped that Faermorn’s sense of timing would render that unnecessary, but, just in case, I would teach her a few basic defence and attack skills. I demonstrated, through the link, for words were inadequate here, how to bend before the wind, and yet remain steadfast. Her will, I told her, was unbreakable. I also demonstrated the attack I had used on Gwythyr before, of boiling the blood. I did not know how well it would work, without the inherent power of the blood that was in me, but hoped it would, at least, distract him long enough for Dyisi and I to defend her.

Dyisi brought out the crystal sword, the one I had last seen her use to capture the soul of Queen Teuta’s captive, and then sank into a meditative stance. I had not the same link with her as I did with Bronwyn, yet I could sense she was putting herself out there, in spirit form, crossing the realms to find Gwythyr and Llwyd. Beside me, Bronwyn fretted, not at all sure she had the power to do what I had shown her. She was still young, and not yet Quickened, and did not know her true potential, and yet, she stood strong. As we waited, I speculated on what we should do with Llwyd, should our plan succeed and Gwythyr’s spirit was driven from him. He was insane even before that, but was their something that could yet be saved? I did not know, and neither did my daughter. We would have to wait and see, I said. By rights, he had been in the custody of Vedis, so perhaps the final decision would be hers. I noticed that the Cait were still lingering around, unsure of their role. This is not your fight, I told them. Defend yourself, and your realm if needed, but do not otherwise engage.

The wyld rippled, reality bent a moment, and suddenly, he was upon us. The form of Llwyd, and the madness of Gwythyr within, roaring as best he could in the thin air. “Faermorn!!!” was his cry as he lunged towards Bronwyn.

“This is your cue,” I yelled, mentally, at Bronwyn, hoping that Faermorn’s spirit would be the one to hear it.” As I did so, I leapt before her; sword raised to deflect any blows, and hurled my blood magic at Llwyd’s body, seeking to paralyse him, to freeze him where he stood. Perhaps I succeeded, at least in part, for he fell to his knees, but that massive, and very dangerous, cudgel swung at me with great force. Behind him, Dyisi rose up like a force of nature and plunged the crystal sword into his back, tearing at those parts of the spirit that remained. “Push him out,” she shouted, “Feel this conduit and push him out.”

Beside me, I felt Bronwyn stiffen and stand taller, and I knew Faermorn’s presence in her, for the now, taking over. The friendship and love between her, and me, her warrior-poet, flooded through the link, but her purpose was clear, her focus was on her pursuer, her creator, the one she hated and loved in equal measure. She did not flinch from his attack, but raised her hands, bringing forth a light that was as bright and painful as any I had seen. Before she could cast it, however, I had leaped in front of her, to defend my daughter. She stayed her hand, and waited her chance.

I sensed her impending attack and rolled to dodge both that and Gwythyr’s giant cudgel. “This ends, now!” I shouted. I cast fire and blood boil at him, aiming for the arm that held the club. That seemed to succeed for the moment, causing the arm, and the cudgel, to come crashing to the ground. Within him, I could sense a struggle between the two spirits, as the combined efforts of Llwyd and the crystal sworn forced Gwythyr out, out into the open, and out into the mercy, or otherwise, of Faermorn’s power.

Bronwyn/Faermorn advanced on the stricken sidhe. Her appreciation for Dyisi and I leaked through the link, but her focus was on her king. Her hands glowed with a brilliant, piercing light, perhaps some form of Hand of Power, and it burned away the helm that covered Llwyd’s head. There seemed two faces there, that of the mad prince, and that of the late king. The latter, forced by magic from Dyisi and Faermorn, drifted out from the former, making a smoky cloud that resembled the former king. Faermorn spoke of the place of her birth, a place so similar to the Shadow Roads, she said. But no more, Gwythyr, she told him. She would no longer try to escape him. She would no longer hide in this corporeal form. It was but a dream, and now that dream must end. As he had named her, she would now un-name herself. She would no longer be Faermorn; she would be TobarFiorUisge no more. She told him farewell, and then the essence of what I knew as Faermorn, rose ghostlike out of Bronwyn’s body, her shape fading into the Wyld, revealing another. Soucanna the Fair, was the name that came through the link to me, once the Seelie Queen. A bright and glorious being. She spoke to Gwythyr as an equal, in melodious tones. Her spirit could not rest while he longed for her, she told him. Faermorn could not replace her and he knew that. This madness, that had caused so much pain, should end. She reached out and cupped his face in her hands. Come, let us rest together, forever, she said.

I could see Dyisi behind him, still hanging on to the physical form of Llwyd. Cautiously, she waited to see what would pass. The body slumped as, with a soundless roar, Gwythyr withdrew his control. His spirit resumed its familiar shape and he called out to Faermorn, or TobarFiorUisge, the other name she had used.  Conflicted thoughts burned in the ether, in the Wyld, as her words stabbed him and burned him and when the spirit of Faermorn fled, he seemed ready to drown in sorry and rage. But, the sound of his former queen, Soucanna, captured his attention. Hope and love welled within the rage and hatred and he fell hungrily towards the image of his queen, seeking the kiss she offered him. And then, they were gone. As their lips met, their spirits somehow merged and sank into the Wyld. GwythyrGwynn, to give him full title, and Faermorn/ TobarFiorUisge/Soucanna were both gone forever.

Llwyd, still injured, and still wrapped in his own madness realised he had his own mind back and tried to rise. But, before he could, two familiar and lovely hands, tipped in crimson nails, reached out from another rift that opened beneath his feet, and snatched him away. The Demon Queen, at the last, reclaiming her prize, for whatever torments she could devise.

The battle was done. Dyisi slumped as the body she held was dragged away from her, and sat there, cradling the sword in her arms. Bronwyn, freed from the spirit of Faermorn, also slumped into a faint on the ground, no doubt overwhelmed by all that had passed. My body ached, my heart was rent in twain,and I cried out in anguish for my lost mentor, lover and friend. But, my daughter needed me. I forced my way through my sorrow, struggled to my feet, and gathered my daughter into my arms. I took her through into the cave and laid her among the furs by the fire. I fell down beside her, caring not for blankets or the warmth of the fire. Only then could I give vent to my grief.  I bade Faermorn goodbye and thanks, not knowing if what remained of her, if anything, could hear. I buried my face in the furs and gave way to the sobs, crying for my lost friend, and in the relief that my child was, at last, safe, crying until the sleep claimed me.

When I was a child, my mother would read to me at bedtime, even when I was more than capable of reading for myself. It was one of those things we did. When a chapter came to an end, and she closed the book to give me a kiss goodnight, I would sometimes cry for more, as I did not want the story to end. Sometimes, I was even more upset when that was the final chapter of the book, and there would be no more. With a heavy heart, I know there are no more chapters in the book of Faermorn. For all that I had loved her, and been honoured to be a part of some of the brighter chapters of her story, her story was over. Two words, centred, starkly alone at the bottom of the page – “The End”. There would be no “And they lived happily every after,” just “The End.” Tomorrow, there would be another story, another book. The book of Bronwyn. Bronwyn, my radiant daughter. Perhaps she will take her place on the throne beside Mornoth and become a wise and powerful queen. I do not know, for this book is as yet unwritten. At least, I hope, I will have a hand in the writing of her story, and, as any loving father would, make it as happy a story as I can. What father would not, for his daughter?

“Dear friend goodbye
No tear in my eyes
So sad it ends
As it began”

White Queen (As it Began) – Queen