I love Gwyn completely, but sometimes, I miss the precocious PhD with the potty mouth who called me a posh fuck. No more so than when she gets into full faerie queen mode combined with the, how can I put it, madness of the change of the seasons. Or, as she might have put it once, batshit crazy.
I was taking afternoon tea over a rather dull treatise on thaumaturgy when Maric contacted me through the mental link. Queen Gwyneth had come to visit and was asking questions of Wren and Hadley. He was rather hoping that we could get round to discussing some matters about the children, and the accords. I asked if I should come down, but he said he was trying to persuade her to come to the castle for discussions. I alerted the staff to prepare for visitors, get some wine and mead ready and such like, and waited. I was keen to get the various formalities sorted out, to work out a solution to the problem regarding the children, and, it had to be said, to spend some time with my love, for we had not had much of that of late.
I waited a while, but there was no sign of anybody appearing. I contacted Maric and he said that Gwyn was behaving a little strangely, and could I come out and see.
I got there to find Maric and the girls talking to Gwyn, with Orie standing nearby. The girls looked a little confused, as did Maric. He was being stoic and patient, but I could sense the underlying hunger for the Wyld surrounding Gwyn. He was telling her that the children were his responsibility and wished to know their majesties’ intent, if any, with regard to the children.
I walked up to Gwyn and, just as I had a few days ago with Valene, greeted her formally as Queen before greeting her as a lover, drawing her close enough for a kiss. She whispered something that I shall not repeat here in my ear and gave her attention to the others. She seemed, for want of a better word, a little manic. She chastised Orie for refusing the Faerie Queen’s assistance, saying not many people survived that, but fortunately, she was kind and benevolent.
As for Hadley, it was not her concern, unless we were going to give the child to the fae, at which point, she broke into song, singing about dull mortal parents being made of snakes and soot, or something like that. She giggled rather a lot and started singing to me, this time about us stealing a human babe, raising it as a sailor on my old merchant ship, which she seemed to think was the Cutty Sark, or possibly she meant the witch from the Burns’ poem, for she then sang that Tam O’Shanter never had a chance.
Before I could formulate a response to all that nonsense, albeit beautifully sung nonsense, she grabbed me and kissed me and told me that lips were very nice. I was somewhat bemused by all this eccentric behaviour. I had experienced her somewhat giddy ways when in Faerie before, but this was some stage on from that. Orie meanwhile muttered that he had turned her down, but that Faermorn had brought him back. He then called his horse, mounted it and made to leave.
I summoned up my own Wyld, forming it into calm solidity, a rock, an anchor, hoping I could project some of that calm into her, call her rational side, and willed it into the kiss I gave her. I agreed that lips were indeed wonderful things. As for the children, they had a life here and we had no need to steal any because we would soon have babes of our own to raise, and if any of those wanted to be a sailor, why then I would teach them.
I could sense Maric nearby, projecting his own style of calm and control. He picked what he could from Gwyn’s speech, happy that she had no designs on the child and assured her that she would be well raised here in Mysthaven. That was about all that was sensible in the speech, at least for him.
Orie got up on his horse and Gwyn made some snide remarks about only a Goddess being good enough for him, warning that they could be even more capricious than Queens, adding an even snider comment about Faermorn not getting any in the Summerlands. I wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, hurriedly squelching any thoughts of my last encounter with Faermorn. Gwyn then fixed Hadley with a gaze and asked her who her parents were.
Hadley looked pale, pinned by Gwyn’s gaze, but gave what was possibly the best possible answer. None, she said, that knew she was alive. I later learned that Wren had given the same answer.
That seemed to satisfy Gwyn, but she switched back into manic mode again. Somewhere in among the laughing and giggles, she assured Maric that she would never spirit a child away from his safe-keeping, or keep one running away of her own free will. There was also something about it being fun to be whimsical, especially when there was nothing special to do. It was either that, or play tricks upon the mortals or dance around in perfect beauty. Behold the turning of the year, she said, bursting into giggles and saying that she hoped she would manage it more gracefully next year. There were more giggles, some incomprehensible stuff about the Huntsman and her having a PhD in literature. Aoibheann turned up, looking a little confused by it all, but Gwyn told her not to worry, and that she had fixed things.
I felt it was possibly best if I persuaded her to go back to Faerie, and perhaps come another day when she was more rational, and said as much silently to Maric. I seized upon her comment about fun and dancing. I took her by the hand and the waist and started to waltz. There were plenty of fun things to do, I told her, including many that were best enjoyed in private. Perhaps, I suggested, we could dance away to her boudoir.
That was a dance she would never tire of, she said. She apologised to Maric and said that maybe she would make more sense another day, but for now, she had a date with a sailor. With that, she flew into the air, calling back to me, “don’t make me carry you.” I made my apologies quickly and hurried off down the path until I was out of sight before taking to the air myself, deciding to forgo the bat form in this case. As I flew, Maric told me that Janus had arrived and he would be speaking on these matters with him, hopefully in a more rational manner. I reminded him of the various suggestions I had if the matter of punishment for Aoibheann arose and said we would talk again in the morning.
I caught up with Gwyn quickly enough, and we were soon safely in her private residence. And there we did dance and other things I shall not write of here.
I await Janus’ intentions, if any, with regard to the children, but I have less concern for those as he has no conflict. I rest a little easier that Gwyn has found a way to ease her conscience with regard to the children, and perhaps now, she can look upon them without feeling any conflict.