The Spirits of the House [Aurie et al]

[Tovah]

Lift the mattress off the floor
Walk the cramps off
Go meander in the cold
Hail to your dark skin
Hiding the fact you're dead again
Undeneath the power lines seeking shade
Far above our heads are the icy heights that contain all reason

It's a luscious mix of words and tricks
That let us bet when we know we should fold
On rocks i dreamt of where we'd stepped
And of the whole mess of roads we're now on.

[/i]



Tovah hated winter.

When she was confined to the Palace for thirty years, never able to venture beyond its walls into the surrounding caverns, much less the outside world, she dreamed of something akin to the gardens of her youth -- perpetually verdant and blooming and dark. In winter, all of these expectations reversed. It was dead and frozen, stark and dazzling even under an overcast sky, like today. The snow made her footsteps loud. She longed to have a hare's soft feet, to tread without crashing through the uppermost crust.

Instead, she had wings. The Nightingale did not particularly appreciate the cold, so she could not get very far with its fragile body, but was able at least to flit from barren tree to barren tree and then reform at its trunk for warmth. She did this now, falling in a swirl of feathers to become thicker flesh on the ground, swathed in rich brown leather and a cloak of mottled gray fur, for warmth. She blew on her cupped hands, then replaced her gloves. Her bones still felt like bird bones -- hollow, light and frozen.

It was almost too cold to practice, but Haley had taught her to plough through discomfort. She drew her bow, struggled to knock an arrow to it, focused on stilling her shivering arms and steadying her breathing. The tree with the target on it was difficult to discern in the drifting hoarfrost. Her eyes narrowed with effort. The arrow flew.

It struck the outer rim of the target, defiant of the center.

Tovah frowned, immune to strong displays of disappointment or frustration, and knocked another arrow. She took a breath as deep as memory, sent it through her wobbling knees and cramping fingers, blew the thoughts out of her mind. The target became sharp in her sight, as if the fog had finally cleared. But there were other sounds now, other targets that she had not noticed at first; she adjusted her aim, directing it into an unmarked patch of Shadow.

“Who’s there?” She stated in a voice that seemed to beg forgiveness for itself, purest gentleness honeying the notes.



This is way beyond my remote concern
Of being condescending

All these squawking birds won't quit.
Building nothing, laying bricks.[/i][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Aurelius]

Be near me when my light is low,
When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick
And tingle; and the heart is sick,
And all the wheels of Being slow.

Aurelius loved winter.

He loved the monochromaticism, the cold that stole his breath, and most of all the solitude. The snow-muffled silence of the forest brought his mind into sharp focus, allowing him to escape the claustrophobia that set in after too many sleepless nights in his chambers and still indulge in his favorite activity; deep thought. He pulled his thick cloak tighter around his mother-of-pearl frame, blending into the washed-out forest surrounding him, just a bobbing tumult of raven curls and two insatiable eyes, never looking ahead but always within. The crunch of the snow, the whisp of his cloak on branches, and his even breath were the soundtrack to his introspection, and falling into a reverie, Aurelius walked without focus and without need.

"Who's there?" the voice rang out through the trees, sweet, with iron force beneath it; a broadsword wrapped in velvet. Aurelius snapped out of his scholastic trance, frozen in place for an instant, the breath caught in his throat; for in these woods not every fae one could meet was friendly, and time spent in the Trance from a knife in the back was time not spent studying, and hence wasted. After a moment's thought, Aurelius flashed to Ermine and investigated the situation from a low-hanging branch. Through his mantel's onyx eyes he saw an arrow pointed right at his furry self; an arrow aimed by the beautiful Tovah, her golden eyes a fierce break from the stark white of the snowy sylvan pastiche.

Aurelius grinned to himself; while dangerous, he didn't feel this controversial child was any threat to him in the moment. He dropped from the tree, landing with a soft thump, brushing snow fastidiously from his cloak and resuming his emblematic whistling. As he broke through the treeline into Tovah's line-of-sight Aurelius pulled a slender notebook from his satchel, and not faltering beneath the leonine glower wrote a short missive to the glaring nimbus. His improvised whistling continued as he bowed to Tovah and presented the notebook, his raven eyes locked with her radiant aureate gaze. He allowed a sly grin to creep across his full lips as she read his message.

"Good morning, Lady Tovah. I am Prince Aurelius, Conri of the Unseelie Court. It is so nice to finally meet you."

Be near me when the sensuous frame
Is rack'd with pangs that conquer trust;
And Time, a maniac scattering dust,
And Life, a Fury slinging flame.

[Tovah]

Hold your glass up, hold it in.
Never betray the way you've always known it is.
One day I'll be wondering how,
I got so old just wondering how
I never got cold wearing nothing in the snow.

[/i]



The figure in black materialized out of nothing, from this distance. An ermine that had been no more than condensed snow stretched and grew and twisted, until it towered above Tovah (she could tell even from this distance) and began to sing. A whistle is a curious sound -- some might have found it unnerving, might have found the whole display dazzlingly strange, but the nimbus was accustomed to metamorphoses and whistles both, being a bird herself, who had never set foot in a land without magic. Still, she held her posture as the figure approached, arrow trained inexorably on his nose (she hoped), her eyes as hard as brass. They moved only to follow the gesture of his hand and read the scrawled note.

It is so nice to finally meet you.

Her frown returned -- sad and sweet -- as she nodded to him, and pivoted toward her tree. Sidhe.

“The pleasure is mine,” she murmured over the sleek fletch. Practiced words. Her fingers relaxed, her arrow flew. A bit of frozen bark cracked and fell as it was struck, very near the center of her target. A shower of snow around it, like confetti. She almost smiled.

“I would introduce myself in turn, but I guess there’s no escaping infamy.” Tovah turned back toward her unexpected company, crossing her arms over her bow, over her chest. Her frame looked diminutive amidst the drape of fur. “You probably know everything about me that is worth knowing. And what do I know of you? A name, and the promise that your blood holds unspoken power.” Her eyes flashed as she studied him, unafraid and yet distrustful. How much had she suffered at Sidhe hands, already? What pain could he inflict, that would be new?

“You do not find that cruel?” She whispered, the slight rise in pitch barely enough to indicate she asked a question. Tovah had learned to expect nothing and everything from the purest blood. Her words perpetually tread a line between decorum and frankness when she spoke with them, aware that they could be so sensitive to the slightest affront, and yet unwilling to be cowed. I was a slave once, and now am the daughter of a Fury, and a King. They would be wise to learn what I am, she had thought many times -- for as much as the courtiers loved to remind her of what they thought they knew, they seemed to scratch and dig forever around the surface, completely missing the heart of it. The heart of her.

Sad, and still, and watchful.



This is way beyond my remote concern
Of being condescending

All these squawking birds won't quit.
Building nothing, laying bricks.[/i][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Aurelius]

Be near me when my faith is dry,
And men the flies of latter spring,
That lay their eggs, and sting and sing
And weave their petty cells and die.

"A name, and the promise that your blood holds unspoken power." There was bitterness there, and deep pain, and a frankness that made Aurelius smile on the inside, though he would not dare offend her pain by doing so outwardly. He bent his head to his notebook once again, and stuck a fresh note to the end of the arrow he had retrieved for her, just in time to hear her ask, "You do not find that cruel?" in a voice so soft he was not entirely sure the question was directed at him.

He downshifted his whistling into a minor key, unconsciously mimicking a lullaby from his childhood, sung to him by a friend too fresh in his memory for names. He sat down on a fallen log, folding his bare feet under, and gathering his cloak about himself, before staring into Tovah's stormy gold eyes. He carefully considered the myriad questions put to him by the nimbus while giving her a chance to read his first note.

"Be at peace, Daughter of Vengeance. Neither my name nor my blood means you ill."

Aurelius could feel Tovah's mistrusting gaze on the top of his head as he wrote his answer to her first question. His charcoal scratched across the page and the snow damped his hair while he took his time. He felt his answer had to be honest, for the young fae would see through any deception.

"I know your story, that is what fragments have trickled through the caverns into my chambers. But as to knowing everything worth knowing? I hardly think that to be the case. After all, I only know the Tovah of story, of sidehall whisperings, and of night-touched gossip. Only you can tell me of the Tovah that stands before me."

He tore the page from the notebook and held it out to her. He pushed an errant curl out of his face and examined the nimbus. She was beautiful, for a girl, but filled with too much pain for her age; it hardly seemed feasible. When he saw that she had finished his first note, he started writing his response to the second question, the one he had not been sure had been addressed to him, but one he felt sure she needed an answer to. Again, the comforting scratch of charcoal on paper, again the even breathing of damp and snow, and slowly, his deliberate response formed.

"As to cruelty, it seems hardly to matter does it? I do not believe in the inherent cruelty of anyone, just as I do not believe in the inherent good in anyone either. Action to action our tally is formed, and only action to action may we be judged. You ask me if I find your situation cruel? I think I cannot be blamed for the power in my blood as you cannot be blamed for your patrimony; both of them are out of our control. What is in our control is what we do with them. The only cruelty I see is that you haven't used your situation to your advantage; and the only person to blame for that cruelty is you."

The sharp rip of paper broke the snow-drowned silence of the forest. Aurelius hesitated a moment before passing the note to Tovah, unsure of how the prickly nimbus would respond to the frankness of it. Closing his eyes and breathing in the frigid air he took a moment to reflect on the course of action he had just embarked on.

"She has been treated like a child, a Princess, and a monster. Let us see how she takes being treated like an adult."

Be near me when I fade away,
To point the term of human strife,
And on the low dark verge of life
The twilight of eternal day.

[Tovah]

Tovah watched this stranger, read his note. It occurred to her that perhaps his aversion to speech was queer, something she should pounce upon and expose, but she did not yet feel the need to confront him about it. It was odd, she resolved, only because he was a Sidhe – there had been plenty of garlanger in the palace who had been unable to speak, or interdicted from it. This one seemed to have a perfectly functional mouth, what with its tuneful whistle, but unused to talking. The nimbus mirrored his silence as he continued to write, occasionally accepting the torn pages with a slender, bronze hand, averting her eyes from him only to read his messages. After the second, she actually giggled softly, finding it difficult to cling to all these leaves and her bow, at once. When she looked up to see his hesitation, the mirth died in her throat.

Oh, she knew that look.

Her eyes lingered on him long before she finally accepted the page, dropping all the others to scatter on the snow. The perpetual frown deepened, then hardened into a line. No, he was wrong. There were only two types of Sidhe – the kind that flaunted their power, and the kind that surprised you with it, when your back was turned or while you slept or the moment you thought they might be a friend. Her thin fingers folded the note neatly in half.

“How like a Sidhe, to circle forever around advantage. I should have guessed that was how it would be, since you hold your gifts in secret; an advantage over me.” She smiled at him, the practiced smile she had learned in the palace, which stopped precisely at the corners of her mouth. Oh, these pure-blooded fae always thought they knew best! That he would presume to lecture her was baffling, but even more perplexing was this idea that she had anything to exploit. Her relation to her thrice-damned uncle? The attention of the roses? Oh they followed her, all right, and protected her after a fashion, but they were not her dogs to order as she pleased. Tamed wolves, maybe... the kind that could turn. Not that these were facts she would share with one such as this Aurelius. “I assume you are referring to the throne, and if you are, what advantage would that be? If you haven’t noticed, my family’s dynasty hasn’t turned out very well for them.” She took the remaining arrow and slid it into a gracefully crafted quiver, then rested it and the bow on the ground. Pulling her cloak tightly around her, she sat in the snow, her back braced against the tree from which she had originally descended. Breath froze in clouds around her face, like smoke. “This is all the advantage I need, Prince Aurelius: freedom. That is the greatest power. As soon as you wear a crown, you have real enemies, and the puppeteers come out to play you.”

She reached into her cloak and withdrew two biscuits, the best of the batch at the palace kitchens that morning – having friends in the lowest places was not without its perks. They were still warm in their careful wrappers, with melted butter and honey softening their middles. She held one out to the prince, and began to unwrap the other with her free hand. The first bite was a memory of the cook’s gentleness. She chewed quietly for almost a minute, savoring both the thought and the flavor.

“Aren’t you cold? Bare feet in the snow...maybe your hand is Stigmata...” She smiled truly then, almost wickedly – this question of his power was one she enjoyed pursuing, despite herself. Her eyes flitted to his little book expectantly.

[Aurelius]

There was magic in that biscuit, and with the first bite of its soft warmth Aurelius started to see Tovah in a different light. As the bright honey hit his tongue he saw the young nimbus not as the scion of a powerful dynasty, but as a scared child, just trying to navigate the mores of a world she had never been properly introduced to, and hold onto a sense of self while she did so. Aurelius sat in silence for a long while, savoring every bite of the nimbus' delicious gift. He could not remember the last time he had eaten, but had a sneaking suspicion it had been nearly a week, so the still-warm biscuit tasted absolutely divine.

After the last crumb had been consumed Aurelius continued to examine the young nimbus seated across from him, flipping his charcoal lightly between his long slender fingers and holding onto the notebook like the security blanket it had come to be over the years. Did she really not know the power that she individually had? Tovah seemed so fixated on her family tree that she did not understand her power independently of it. He opened the notebook to a fresh page and stared at it, the pale cream of the blank sheet mocking him with its emptiness. He cleared his throat softly and shut the notebook with a quiet snap, "You misunderstand me" he started, his rich baritone throaty from disuse, "I mean to hold no advantage over you Lady Tovah."

He cleared his throat again, casting his obsidian gaze to the stark snow and blushing slightly, so unused to the sound of his own voice as to feel shame at its use, "You must forgive me," he continued, his voice barely more than a whisper wending its way through the frigid air, "I am no longer used to sharing my voice nor my secrets with anyone, so long have I been a silent collector of knowledge." He paused again, taking a moment to catch his breath and looking into Tovah's eyes beseechingly, willing his young companion to see the utter truth in his rusty speech. He shook his hair over his face, hiding behind his curls as his voice left him more exposed than ever, "I am a watcher, Tovah; a listener, one who notices and remembers. I notice how the fae watch you, not just because of your bloodline, but because you are seen as a potential major player and rallying point in the future of this Court." His voice slowly warmed, its depth sounding less like groaning hinges with every word, "You speak to me now of freedom, but be assured that while the Court has you on a pedestal you will never be truly free." He peered out from behind the black curtain of his hair, "Until you leave the spotlight I suggest you learn to play the game, so you may cut the puppeteers' strings and slide the knife in their belly with one motion."

He fell silent again, exhausted by the longest speech he had given since entering Alanor. He picked up a handful of snow and ate it to soothe his worn throat. Drying his hands on his cloak, Aurelius picked up the notebook once again, his aching vocal chords unwilling to allow him continued conversation with the daughter of Fury. He put charcoal to parchment once more before tearing another leaf from the book to offer to the young nimbus.

"It's Asphyxia by the way, my hand. You just learn to ignore the cold."

[Tovah]

Tovah’s smile spread as she watched the Sidhe eat, his face shedding the years and cares and pretense she had marked on him only moments before. What was it about the simplest pleasures? This moment they shared reminded her that even the pure-blooded could appreciate the basics, even they felt hunger and need, and Aurelius’s threatening aura slowly dissipated before her eyes. Your cooking is magical, Agelia, she thought, sucking the last of the honey from a fingertip. It seemed even Garlanger had power. The prince was holding his book by now, and Tovah fully expected a missive to be extended toward her. Her brows rose in silent astonishment when Aurelius spoke, instead.

I mean to hold no advantage over you Lady Tovah.

Tovah nodded her understanding and encouragement as he apologized, fascinated by the obvious rustiness of the man’s otherwise beautiful voice. Did Aurelius know he was music, in every word? That was a kind of power, too – the ability to enchant and delight, to hypnotize with beauty. As he hid behind that riot of curls, Tovah moved to kneel before him, peering up into his face with open curiosity, not quite close enough to reach out and touch him. Who was this strange Sidhe watcher? Why did he hide behind his hair, behind his book, when both his face and his voice were lovely? Any other Sidhe she knew would flaunt and exploit such gifts. Was he afraid of exploitation, himself? She frowned as his speech came to a close, saddened both by the finality and the content. Her hands folded on her lap – little flashes of smooth bronze amidst the folds of fur.

“Oh Aurelius, I am so young. I don’t have the heart for games, or stabbing people, or rallying the court. I didn’t even know my own story until so recently! I think you understand what it is like to live your life behind closed doors; how can I go from that, to a life that is so public? How could I earn a whole court’s trust, when they discovered my existence only a few years ago?” Now her eyes were the ones beseeching, confiding. “I will not lie to you. A part of me does want that crown. It is the part of me that would never have made war against the Sluagh, if I had been in power...would never have locked them in the Underdark in the first place. I have been locked away, and that is no way to make someone loyal. But the rest of me distrusts and fears the Sidhe, wants nothing but to be left alone, given time to learn. I feel like there is no time...how can there be no time, when we are immortal?”

She sat back on her heels, blushing slightly at her rambling reply. “Thank you for your words,” she ended finally, and watched him swallow snow, take up his book. When he extended a note to her, she had a small wineskin ready to exchange with him. Her eyes lit up when she read the words. “And thank you for this, as well. Why do you write? You have a lovely voice.”

[Aurelius]

I spoke to you with cautious tones
you answered me with no pretense.

It had been so long since Aurelius had spoken and he had forgotten how much speaking hurt him. But it had been even longer since he had let his walls down to anyone and brick by brick he could feel Tovah breaking through; and he was unsure of how he felt about it. he pushed his hair back to look at the beautiful nimbus before him, listening to her, recognizing the truth in her scared words. He saw so much of his younger pre-Alanor self in her; both of them had access to a throne, but were unsure of how to take it, and afraid of the responsibility to crown brought.

"I feel like there is no time... how can there be now time when we are immortal?" Aurelius recognized the pain and helplessness in her tones, recognized her need to do right by her people; and for a moment his heart unfroze and went out to her. He allowed himself a soft smile as he took the wineskin from her gratefully, watching her read his note detailing his hand of power. He saw her normally brooding eyes light up as she read it, "And thank you for this as well. Why do you write? You have a lovely voice." He reached out and softly brushed her shoulder with a slender hand, catching a glimpse for a moment of a ring on a spidery finger; and his mind flashed back to the moment of its receipt. He thought of a copper hand sliding the ring on his ivory one, of beautiful blue eyes looking into his midnight ones and of the words said that day. His hand dropped from Tovah's shoulder and he picked up the notebook again.

"A wise friend of mine once spoke to me about our immortality and how time affects our actions." He resumed his whistling, low and mournful, a song of loss and longing. "He told me that because we have all the time in the world we must act as if we have none, lest we become poisoned with a gluttony of temporal possibilities and sink into a haze of laziness. As far as you are concerned my friend, you have the time to learn, but the throne is a commodity very much in demand right now. If the throne is something you wish to pursue, then you must measure every moment and weigh how many of them you can spend educating yourself and how many of them must be spent in active pursuit of the crown."

He tore the leaf from the notebook and patted the log next to him, inviting Tovah to come nearer. He sat in silence for many moments while Aurelius pondered her next question. As he thought of his vocal absence from the world he thought of the man he had shared so many words and so much more with. His mind's eye took over and the snowy forest of Alanor faded to be replaced by Rome's blazing sun over the Field of Mars and the image of two young fae curled up on the Altar of Peace, immune to the cares of the world, consumed in love, and unbidden a tear rolled down his ivory cheek. He let if roll, refusing to wipe it away, as he reached for the wineskin, his whistling fading as he took a sip.

"I thank you for your kind words, Tovah" he rasped out quietly, twisting the ring round his finger, "It has been decades since anyone has called my voice lovely, longer even than you have been alive. He paused and stifled more tears, refusing to appear too weak in front of Tovah, "I stay silent, friend, because words have power, and meaning, and by saying them we alter reality. When last I spoke frequently my words led me to fall in love, and in loving give myself entirely to someone. In doing so we both shirked our duties and I lost him forever. I stay silent, dear one, because he still has my heart, and without that and without him, all my words seem hollow and false.

He raised a hand to his throat and sipped again before restarting the whistle, momentarily lost in memories of when he had been happy, healthy, and whole. In memories of sunny days and stolen kisses, and in memories of the blue-eyed boy who had stolen his heart.

And still I feel I said too much
My silence is my self defense

[Tovah]

Tovah was surprised by his touch. After the many times a Sidhe’s touch had been unwelcome, one might think that she would recoil from the contact, particularly when it was so unexpected...but there was a reason some fae became elf-struck, and that reason could be felt in even the slightest contact. She felt her skin warm involuntarily beneath his hand, beneath her cloak. The impulse to lean toward it welled up like sea surge, but she fought it as she had always fought it, a pained expression passing fleetingly across her face. When his hand again dropped, it was a relief. She watched him write, momentarily dazed, and slid onto the fallen log beside him when invited. The note he handed her was longer, and afforded her an opportunity to refocus her eyes on something else.

A wise friend of mine once spoke to me about our immortality and how time affects our actions. He told me that because we have all the time in the world we must act as if we have none, lest we become poisoned with a gluttony of temporal possibilities and sink into a haze of laziness. As far as you are concerned my friend, you have the time to learn, but the throne is a commodity very much in demand right now. If the throne is something you wish to pursue, then you must measure every moment and weigh how many of them you can spend educating yourself and how many of them must be spent in active pursuit of the crown.

If someone else wants it, they can have it, Tovah wanted to say, but it sounded hollow even to her. Could she endure another King like Cel? There were many among the Unseelie that would continue in his footsteps. If she knew that whoever sought the monarchy would be better than his predecessors, would rule with understanding and wisdom, this would not be a hard choice. But could she rule with understanding and wisdom? What experience did she have to offer? Close to none. She frowned at the note, almost missed the tear, was broken from her reverie by a new soliloquy.

Love? His vow of silence was a vow of love? She watched him, troubled, sympathy rising in her alongside the guilt of being unable to truly sympathize. Tovah had never been in love. Not actively. There had been a human garlanger in the palace that she had fancied, and now there was...well, she didn’t want to say his name to herself. But she had never told the human, and she would never tell the nimbus, either. She told herself the first time that her silence protected them both, told herself now that telling the boy would only jeopardize what was almost a friendship, albeit a strange and conflicted one full of pain and loyalty. Her lips had never sought another’s; her hands had no memory of a caress. If Aurelius was any indication, it didn’t seem worth it. Even Alecto and Segwyn, who were no longer separated by courts and obligations, seemed forever entangled in a strange haze of distress.

“I have never been in love,” she admitted, watching his emotions with interest. “What was it like, when you had him by your side? It must be better to savor those memories than dwell on the loss...” She bit her lip, blushing, and stared at her feet. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you can’t choose to forget, or move on. Nobody I have seen, who loved deeply, was really able to move on.” She thought of her mother, her expression as Segwyn led her out of the Hall of Mortality – mingled joy and dread and rage. It was the expression of an animal that had been beaten by its master. Tovah wondered, not for the last time, whether that master was the Unseelie court, or her father. “I do not think I want to fall in love, if it makes everyone suffer so badly.”