agentlelog | walking in a field of fog

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walking in a field of fog

Who: You and Fayura
When: Today, a week after the Strangers' arrivals
Where: The Queen's Residence and the Old Town Bazaar
What: Q&A
Warnings: n/a

EARLY MORNING, THE QUEEN'S RESIDENCE
The morning is cold and dark. Inhaling the frigid air is so shocking that those who aren't expecting it cough and wheeze with their first breath. No one really wants to make their way to the training field. Even the Queen's court moves sluggishly, but move they do with muttered recriminations against Allairavar. Cold weather doesn't stop training.

A warming spell around the field keeps it warm enough to practice, and bobbling witchlights and steady e-line floodlights keep the darkness at bay. All along one side of the practice area are weapons with blades live and dulled. The court eases onto the field alongside the Strangers with sighs and grumbles aplenty. No one likes practice on chilly mornings, but they like Allairavar's retaliation against tardiness even less.

Everyone has paired off by the time Allairavar strides out of the manor home with his arm around a woman's shoulders. In the harsh e-line lights and softer witchlight, it's clear she hasn't been well and still isn't entirely healed. Sunken golden eyes scan the field, and her expression is vaguely nauseated. She trembles, either from weakness or discomfort, as Allairavar pulls away and calls in two bladed sticks—weapons caught somewhere between sword and ax.

"Let's go," he tells her, and she takes one stick from his hand as court and Strangers alike look on.

Another male follows them in, sleekly predatory in his slow prowl around the practice field. A dangerous look glazes his eyes, and he circles the whole field once before making a second, tighter pass around the marked off area where Allairavar and the woman square off.

Members of the court trade wary looks, sharing them with the Strangers. More than a few murmur things like, "Verim will go for his throat if he pushes her too hard," and, "Should she even be out of bed yet?"

It seems Allairavar's rule for training is absolute. Even the Queen takes part. Under his watchful eye and tutelage, they run through a warm up that clearly exhausts her, but when he asks if they should stop, she snarls at him and pushes on for another five minutes. Only then does she sit off to the side of the field and begin stretching.

As she lifts from a leg stretch, she catches your eye and offers a small, shy smile. "Would you like to stretch with me? Allairavar's workouts are always hardest the first day back," she says softly.

Allairavar's exercises may be hard, but she looks like she's seconds from collapsing from exhaustion. If she spent this last week resting and still looks so wan and thin and weak, her initial injuries must have been severe.

MID-AFTERNOON, THE BAZAAR PAVILION
Snow drifts lazily through frigid air. Though temperatures hover around freezing, the Old Town Bazaar bustles with activity. Slowly, people rebuild homes and shops burned by the Hunter Guild, and for perhaps the first time in the past fifty years, sentiment has turned against the Hunters.

Strangers out and about in the Bazaar hear:

A landen woman, to her friend: It's not right what the Hunters did, burning down our homes, too.

A well-to-do Blood male, at a food stall: …believe what that pompous Grand Master has to say about a Queen of the Blood.

There's some commotion toward the center of the Bazaar, where the Queen has settled at the pavilion with a group of landen and Blood children. Her only guard seems to be the elegant man seated across from her at the pavilion's wooden table, his eyes watchful as the people pass by.

The Queen herself looks unwell. Though she wears a bright smile and her golden eyes glitter with laughter, they are sunken and dark smudges circle them. Her arms are thin, little more than skin wrapped around bone. In spite of the freezing weather, she wears a tunic with wide sleeves that pool around her elbows as she holds up a small plank of wood and tugs at a ribbon embedded in it. Here, in the chilly winter morning, the woman who brought some twenty Strangers across the vast distances of many worlds looks very human, very mortal, and very fragile.

Her eyes meet yours as she looks up, and you feel a gentle brush against your mind. No matter how familiar or strange mental communication is, no matter how disconcerting or easy you find it, the touch strikes you as incredibly polite. *We can talk, if you'd like,* she tells you over a psychic thread.

Should you join her, you find respite from the cold. A warming spell makes the pavilion pleasantly toasty, explaining why no one wears a jacket and, maybe, the Queen's clothes. She's dressed plainly in a loose, knitted tunic and fitted breaches. She wears no coronet and no visible jewelry except for a golden chain that tucks beneath her tunic.

Fayura offers a quick smile in your direction as she guides the end of the ribbon in her hand through the thin strip of wood in a twisting loop. She offers a soft-spoken explanation to the children before inviting them to try—and inviting the Blood to explain the magic to the landens, too.

As the children turn to their task, Fayura turns to you. "I'm glad to see you made it through the Hunters' attack relatively unscathed." She sets her plank down and taps her mug. Steam beings to rise from it and she lifts it to her lips with a sigh. "And I apologize that I wasn't there to greet you." A wry smile tugs at her lips; her appearance is, in her mind, enough of an explanation for why. "How have you found Draega?"

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Fayura's expression grew distant at Aithne's question. "Oh, but that's not the right question," she murmured, lifting her hand to the gold chain that runs around her neck and beneath her tunic. Her Jewel, then, though she had it somehow shielded so determining her rank wasn't possible. A touch of Red flavored her psychic scent, but even that was tucked behind mental walls and shields.

She had a strange, muted feeling about her, as though she'd become an old photograph at some point, all the color drained out of her.

"The Jewels didn't go to the Blood. The Jewels made us Blood." Her eyes refocused on Aithne. "Before the Jewels, there were only landens. But the Blood have lived long lives and some live for many years. They've forgotten that, I think."

"Interesting, though that tempts more questions." Aithne was obviously intrigued and not only at her words but also at the sense that something was being hidden about Fayura. Something that she could not place her finger upon. Though she found it curious she refrained from exploring it further.

After all it would be considered rude, at the very least.

A slight nod. "I believe that is a common trap many fall into Fayura. Even those that live till the end of times are not immune.

Some, like the Blood, of my home are made via.." A slight pause looking for an apt word. " gifts? Perhaps that is one word to describe the varied beings. Though I think that example is more of a similarity at best. I would be interested hearing more then, though I wish not to monopolize your time."

Obviously she was working something over in her head. Eyes narrowed, with a bit of a scrunch to her brows for a long moment, returning to that softer expression. "You not only called us, you asked the jewels to choose which Stranger to bond with." A quirk of one questioning brow.

"Yes," she agreed softly. "The longer we live, the more time we have to forget what matters." Again, that distant expression came over her, as though she weren't entirely present or, perhaps, listening to something only she could hear. But there was no touch of psychic power around her, and thus no indication of a silent, psychic conversation even with the male across from them.

If anything, he looked concerned every time her expression became distant, perhaps concerned she might not come back.

But she did, and she smiled as she waved a dismissive hand. "I don't mind talking. I've had no one for company by my Prince—"

Across from them, her Prince sputtered quietly.

"—and his perspective on things is so very male. Speaking with another witch is refreshing." Her smile broadened, but she shook her head. "Oh, no, I didn't ask the Jewels to choose you. Here, may I show you something?" Fayura held out her hand for Aithne to take. At the same time, her mind reached for Aithne's, pausing just outside it as though knocking and waiting for permission at the front door of a house. "The Blood guard our minds very carefully. May I have permission to enter yours?"

Aithne flicked her eyes towards the Prince who was present and she made no attempt to disguise her study of the man. Then her eyes fell back on Fayura as she 'came back' as it were.

A dry chuckle. "Do not be so harsh on him, in his position with one I was charged to protect I may not be much different. If paths have been different that might have been a title I was named with." The latter said slightly offhand. "Though I know such does not translate here."

"Of course." Aithne was a curious creature and extended her matching hand to grasp the Queen's. Lightly, of course. And here is where she paused, at the request. It was not a reaction of mistrust, one more of uncertainty. Somewhat silly, somewhat instinctual, considering her acceptance of the invitation to come to the woman's, and the land's aid.

"Another thing we have in common." A slow blink and she nodded. "Yes you may."

Fayura found nothing silly in Aithne's hesitation regardless of promises made. Allowing someone into one's mind was, for the Blood, a very dangerous thing, and Fay had nothing but respect for Aithne's need to make that decision thoughtfully. Carefully.

But once she had permission, Fay slipped into Aithne's mind with stunning ease. She didn't rummage through Aithne's thoughts. If anything, she ignored them entirely and turned her attention to a very specific part of Aithne's mind.

Threads stretched through thought in this place. *Sometimes, adults will go into a child's mind, to this place,* she explained on a Purple Dusk distaff thread so that Verim couldn't eavesdrop. *Here, we can...* She plucked the thread that matched with Purple Dusk, and a resonating hum came from the abyss. *That's your current strength.* She plucked the Opal thread. Another hum vibrated through Aithne's mind, but this was softer, weaker, and not quite in harmony. *You could wear Opal, but based on that response, it's unlikely.* Fay moved on to the Green and Sapphire threads, plucking each in turn. They sang much louder than Opal, and their resonant hum came in harmony to the original Purple Dusk.

Fay withdrew politely, severing the psychic link and releasing Aithne's hand. "I chose nothing. I only found what resonated best at the moment, which really isn't much different than a Birthright ceremony."

She listened and watched, setting aside the feeling of being a neophyte for the first time in a very long time. At least she understood the lesson at the basic level. In some ways it was not much different how the elements resonated with some more than others.

Her rejoinder came after more than a few moments of thought. "In a way what you did was a birthing of sorts, so perhaps it fits? I would think this has not been fully accepted by all of the Blood."

Power, after all, does not oft like to be shared.

At that, Fay looked alarmed. "Mother Night, I hope it wasn't anything like birth," she said with a nervous. "A Birthright ceremony is a ritual Blood children go through to get their first Jewel. For you, that was Purple Dusk, though my asking you to come here was..."

She trailed off, pursing her lips.

"Forgive me, we don't usually talk about what we experience during our Birthrights or our Offering." Reticence filled her voice, and her body language shifted, becoming guarded. For her, at least, one of those experiences wasn't something she liked talking about.

She offered a gentle touch on Fayura's arm. "It is a turn of phrase we use here and there in my Realm. Usually a change, referring to childbirth not anything further.." A bemused look on her face. Hopefully that might assist if any others used the term in such a way.

"No forgiveness needed. Such should be expected, these difference that seem of no consequence to one but heavy with meaning to another." She withdrew her touch, much longer it might be more inappropriate than reassuring. "Much to learn between us, eh?" A slight raise of one corner of her lips.

Though she noted the trailing though from Fayura's first statement. It would be something that she would replay later in her head.

Fayura offered Aithne a weary smile before lifting her mug of coffee to her lips and taking a long, long drink. So much to learn and not nearly enough time. "There were books, once. On something the Blood call Protocol. But whatever Terreille knew of Protocol was twisted," she said mournfully. "The Blood forgot what it means to be Blood. They still don't remember. Someone has to show them."

The weariness in her voice suggested she thought that someone had to be her.

"But I can't do it all myself."

"As we agreed, long lived can forget. Be it life or spans of Empires."

A slight pause as the Queen took her draught.

"I offer this as simply something to think upon. I am far to ignorant of the Blood to definitely to advise reliably. Have you thought of establishing a new Protocol? A derivative of the old, fitting the circumstances of the present?"

"Yes, I have, but I worry that whatever I come up with won't be enough. Won't be complete." Fay grimaced. "Protocol is largely meant to guide people in dealing with Warlord Princes, since the wrong approach with one of them will get you killed. If whatever I come up with isn't enough and someone dies..."

As old as Fay was, she hadn't quite figured out she couldn't shoulder the burden for other people's bad decisions.

"Then it should also apply to them." Simply stated, with her simple understanding of the relationships that she could determine. "For instance I have seen that there are aspects of Courts and other relations where simple slights, even if intended were ignored...to a point. This allows those without status, or here power, to speak."

She gave a light shrug. "If one presses that beyond a certain limit without proof, or of simple politics, then that is upon them."

A light chewing of her lower lip. "The key, and it is far from perfect is that such applies to all."

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "It would apply to both." She sighed, dragging her hand through her hair and sipping at her coffee. "We'll see what I have time for." There was just so much to do. So much to change and try to fix.

She set her coffee down with a weary expression. "Do you have any other questions for me?"

"You will do what you can, anded hopefully that will be enough." A earnestly warm smile of reassurance. Aithne gave a slight shake of her head. "Not at this time Fayura and even if I did, I think I would agree with your Prince that you may need to rest."

A pause, and then said said in the most serious of tones but with a barely contained smile on her lips. "Or at least a moment to not be pestered with questions from a Stranger."

And with that she stood. "My thanks for indulging me. I have enjoyed your company. Perhaps when you have recovered I can return the indulgence."

"Likewise," Fay said softly. She lifted her hand, giving it a little wave. "I look forward to seeing you again."

As she spoke, one of the children clambered up to her, and Fay turned her attention to the young Blood girl and the landen boy at her side, examining their magic while Verim looked on.

A polite nod first to her and then to Verim, taking a moment twitch the children before she turn on a booted heel. She absently unbound her sword as she would throw the crowd.

The encounter gave the Valkyrie much to think about.

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walking in a field of fog

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