Another Fae Blessing

Lupecyll-Atlon home, afternoon.

The winter is fading. The breeze is no longer the biting chill that chases people back inside like a snapping dog, and the snow and sleet seem to finally be melting away for good--until the next winter to come, as the winter will and has done for generations.

It is that thought of generations that lingers with Cor'lana as she writes in a journal on her couch, dressed in a comfortable cotton dress dyed a light lavender that ends at the knees and sports short sleeves. Her violet eyes are consumed with thought as she puts the last period on a poem she's just finished, and while many of her titles don't strictly have poems, this one does: "Child of Feathers".

"As much as having wings all the time would be inconvenient, it would be nice," Cor'lana murmurs, and she blows a warm breath on the ink for it to set and dry. Once it's done, she puts the journal down on the coffee table and places her quill (made from a Pothy feather, of course) down, as well. She reaches over and goes to pour herself a cup of tea.

And just by curiosity, she turns her gaze to the bowl of milk, sugar, and blood on the windowsill. The potted plant on her front doorstep happens to be a winter jasmine, bright and yellow, that Cor'lana selected from a local gardener on account of its bright color and what she knew to carry a specific meaning: grace and elegance, a compliment paid to the Wee Queen and her messenger.

"Hopefully I didn't go and prick my finger for nothing," Cor'lana murmurs as she puts the cup of tea to her lips.

As if her thoughts and words are in of themselves a magical summoning ritual, there is a loud, firm knock on the door. Not at all the sort that one might expect that should come from a wee pixie visitor. So who then could be at her door? Only one way to find out.

That /is/ well-timed, and the poet in Cor'lana can appreciate it. But the logical part of her that knows that is quite a bit louder than the average pixie visitor--for she has two pixie friends of her own, and they certainly don't knock that loudly, although they tend to announce their presence by sighing loudly over handsome men (or crying over handsome men)--well... that logical side of her is perturbed.

"Alright then," Cor'lana says with a sigh. She puts down her teacup and walks over to the door. One hand off to the side, ready to cast a spell in case something goes haywire, she unlocks the door and opens it.

At first glance, and even second glance, there seems to be no one there. No visitor. A quick glance at the potted plant however to be sure that it is still there reveals a tiny man after all. He is all told, very small, of a size to fit comfortably in a hand or perch as he is on the leaf of the flower that she has on her front porch. The gentleman has longish white hair the color of spun spiderwebs. It falls just above his shoulders, and his eyes are wide black pools. His skin is the color of snowfall, and has a delicate appearance to it. Yet belaying his delicate appearance is armor that seems made from the carapace of some insect or perhaps an arachnid. It gives him the faintest appearance of a large spider or perhaps ant. It is perfectly fitted to his form, and is polished to a high shine.

He clears his throat quietly and sketches a polite but short bow to Cor'lana. "You are bid greetings from the Queen of the Unseen Folk." His voice is not at all difficult to hear, and has a surprising musical quality to it.

Cor'lana now finds herself wishing she'd worn Grandmother's wedding dress, as she has for many occasions she's greeted members of the fey nobility, but there can only be so many times one rewears an outfit before it becomes stale. She curtsies before the messenger. "I give my greetings in return to Her Majesty," she says. "I hope your journey here was pleasant and short."

"It was neither." The gentleman states with some displeasure but touches her plant with careful and genuinely appreciative fingers. "Your jasminum nudiflorum is a welcome host-plant however." He looks up and up at her, giving a delicate little shudder at a sudden gust of wind.

At that moment he rises from the shelter that the plant offers. He hovers upwards on tiny dragonfly-like wings that reflect a thousand shades of blue and shifts back and forth on the breeze. "I request an invitation to the in-doors. The winter of the mortal plane is not much to my liking."

Cor'lana brightens at the compliment paid to the jasmine flower. "It is a lovely one, and I have tried to repay its wonderful presence to the world by tending to it carefully." Which was true; she'd been keeping to a careful watering schedule and tending to it with a plant-feeding solution that was sold at the market. She could have asked the pixies to take care of it, but for this plant, she wished to tend to it herself.

She observes the tiny dragonfly wings of the gentleman before she responds. "I do not care much for the winter here, either, but it is something my ilk have to deal with, nonetheless," Cor'lana says with a smile. She holds out her hand and offers it to the gentleman, as to extend a hand out to one of the smaller fey is rather like rolling out the gilded carpet and announcing the guest of honor to the ball.

"I will escort you inside personally," she offers. "Where it is warm, and I have amenities you may enjoy."

For a moment there is a flash of suspicion on the tiny fae man's features. He is after all, not like some of the pixies that Cor'lana has dealt with before; he is a warrior. The tiny blade on his hip is clear indicator of that if his armor was not. Still he lights upon her hand, the suspicion fading quickly enough. "Forgive any hesitation on my part Lady." He says gently as he does so, his body even lighter than one his size should be. "Mortals are well known for their disturbing habits. Catching our bright kin in nets and pinning their bodies on their walls."

He shudders delicately and allows her to carry him forth. "I am able to defend myself of course, but our kin..." He sighs. "I mean no insult to you, I only explain my caution."

"I understand, and you do not insult me," Cor'lana says gently, a sympathetic look on her face as she carefully brings him inside, not daring to drop him or make him uncomfortable. She shuts the door gently behind herself, locking up the door so that uninvited guests can't get in. "There are always tales about different peoples that act as cautions that guard us first--and then there are bad experiences that we live through that guard us second. I know about that second sort of guard more intimately than I'd like."

She walks in and brings him into the living room, where small vines curl around the furniture and the house is kept warm by a cozy fireplace. "You may sit anywhere you like. I have a small teaset that Mirabilis and Lily-of-the-Valley use when they come inside to share meals, and I would love to share tea with you if you would like something warm to drive off the chill of winter."

The tiny gentleman nods without a word until they enter into the living area. "You have a lovely home. Somewhere near the fire is all that I request, though a cup of tea would be most welcome." Here he smiles subtly. "As long as you share it with me of course."

Cor'lana fetches a blanket (one of several knitted from handspun and hand-dyed yarn by Grandfather's hands) from the couch and places it on one of the chairs that's closest to the fireplace before she sets the fey gentleman down. Indeed, she wasn't lying--there's a tiny collective of teacups by the teapot, and Cor'lana takes one, filling it with the lavender-mint tea that the Lupecyll-Atlon home is known for among friends. Thanks to her experience with pouring for pixie-sized portions, she doesn't spill a drop. She carefully brings it over to the gentleman and holds it out for him to take. "I will pour myself a fresh cup," she explains. "So that we may share it."

The tea is gratefully accepted after the fae man makes himself comfortable on the blanket-covered hair. Indeed, it seems that the cold had gotten to him more than any man would be willing to admit. Even one so small. He shivers occasionally, and seems especially glad to wrap his hands around the tea cup. In spite of this he waits for Cor'lana to pour for herself and make herself comfortable.

Once she has done this, he sets aside his cup briefly to rise to his feet and sketch another bow to her. "Allow me to formally introduce myself before I partake of your hospitality. I am Silas."

Cor'lana will know from her long experience with fae that his name marks him as a noble of the wee court. Being that he does not have the name of a plant or animal of the wee-kin kind, he is likely a very important person in the court, and not some minor messager.

There's a moment where Cor'lana takes in the gravity of this man being here--an important person sent as a messenger, rather than someone else. Judging by his armor, perhaps a general, or an important guardsman. There's a sort of sparkle in her eyes. "It is an honor to meet with you, sir Silas," she responds in kind, giving a sort of bow as she remains seated. "You may call me Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon." Raven-speaker, child of feathers--for that is what Cor'lana Lupecyll means, the Atlon bit grafted onto her name by marriage like how one transplants flowers into a curuchuil garden.

She brings her hand to the mark on her chest, almost fully on display save for the bottom-most portion of the tree-roots around the feather being obscured by the neckline of her dress. "It truly does bring me joy that Her Majesty sent you here. Truthfully, I did not anticipate for my summon to attract such attention."

There's a second bow to follow the first at Cor'lana's name. Then the little gentleman sits down and picks up the tea cup. "Our Queen has a fondness for mortals." That is said very carefully without any sort of inflection in it, but that by its very nature makes it somewhat suspicious. "The mage Mikilos has offered Her a taste of this world and She welcomes it. Thus does your invitation come an an opportune time - for you."

Cor'lana understands that need for carefulness. An 'interest in mortals' could be anything from invitations to dance for the full span of a week underneath the moonless skies of Quelynos and return to the world a decade later with new lines chiseled into the faces of old friends, or to become the favored 'pet' of a fey monarch whose definition of a pet differs greatly from the mortal sense. So she, too, is careful as she sips her tea and contemplates her next words.

"I am delighted to speak with Her Majesty," Cor'lana says, smiling amiably. "Will it coincide with Mikilos's next arrangement with the Wee Queen? The turning of seasons is upon us, after all."

"While the Queen is loathe to come to the Mortal world more than once, it would be inconvenient to mix business with pleasure. Thus the Queen is willing to meet you at a place where such a meeting would be less inconvenient for the both of our parties. A fairy circle." Silas meets Cor'lana's eyes and she suddenly realizes that his eyes are the same yellow color as the jasmine outside her house. A startling splash of color amid the black and white of his coloring otherwise.

A fairy circle. A gateway between the two worlds, and the sort of thing that a mortal does not idly wander into. How many stories had Cor'lana read as a child concerning the fae, the warnings about not wandering into them?

And yet she agrees with a nod, regarding Silas's yellow eyes with her own violet eyes inherited from her own fae ancestor. "I would be willing to meet there," she says. "May I bring along my consort, or would Her Majesty prefer that I am alone?"

"You may bring whomever you wish so long as they do not bear cold iron." He looks at her very seriously. "Having cold iron on ones self is near a declaration of war amongst us."

He seems to think a moment. "Will you bring the Ever-Child with you?"

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls hmm: aliased to Sense Motive+3: (17)+20+3: 40

The question of Pothy coming is a tell that is trying to be casual, but much like how her spouse's definition of casual wear is still leagues more eye-catching and stylish than others, Silas's attempt at it is almost a bold declaration. _The Wee Queen knows about Pothy._ That's a disturbing thought--was Pothy's stay with the Queen of Air and Darkness that notable that the Wee Queen heard about it? Or perhaps even seen him in her own diplomatic relations with the Queen of Air and Darkness?

But it's also a comforting thought. That means she has information about what happened with Pothy. Cor'lana knows there was a girl involved. She knows that she and Pothy loved each other from afar, and that is one of the worst things that fae in the Queen of Air and Darkness's Court can do, is to be in love. The question is how this lord Folendel comes into play in this spiderweb.

Cor'lana spies the color of Silas's hair again, the spiderweb color that it is, before she answers, "Would it please Her Majesty to see the Ever-Child?"

"Many would be pleased to see the Ever-Child." There's a light in those yellow eyes. He is quite clearly trying to silently and subtly encourage her to bring Pothy. Yet it is an entirely mundane effort in spite of the fact that fae are known for their illusions and trickery. He finishes his tea then, and flits to his feet. "May I light upon your hand again Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon?"

"I will consider it, but I will let the Ever-Child decide for himself if he attends with me," Cor'lana says politely. She's being truthful on that notion, and she takes a sip of tea to subtly indicate that is all she will say on the subject.

But then Silas rises to his feet and asks the question. Cor'lana smiles gently, holding out her hand. "You may, Silas," she replies in kind, and she rises from her couch to walk to his chair, not daring to make him exhaust himself any more by flying across the room to her. The hand is presented to him. "For you are a light, too, and we do not deal in shadows in this house." A play on words that springs out of her poet's side, of course.

Silas chuckles and rises from his spot on the chair and lights upon her hand. He stumbles slightly as he lands, and catches himself with the aid of one of her fingers. Using it like a stick to steady himself. The moment that his flesh touches hers there's a swell of magic that makes his tiny golden eyes glow. "Our court is neither Light nor Dark, but of both. We are the life that beats like blood between flesh and bone."

He licks his tiny lips and caresses her finger, enjoying the pulse of magic between them. "You hold the High Blood in your veins Lady, and for this reason the Queen wishes me to give you a gift, a warning, and a test. Will you accept them?"

Cor'lana's eyes glow subtly with the contact, but they don't burn as brightly as Silas's. She regards Silas for a moment, considering what would likely be Grandfather's response should he learn of this offering of three. But she cannot hide under his wing forever. The fledgling must learn how to fly and leave the nest.

If only she had wings.

_But I do_, she thinks, _and it's time for me to fly_. So she nods firmly. "I accept," she says.

GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Will+2+3: (17)+14+2+3: 36

The tiny man looks up at Cor'lana, wind from nowhere skimming along her palm and rushing to push at his hair and he clings to her finger like he needs it. Suddenly he looms large in her vision. Not literally, but it's impossible to not be aware of him, his touch on her hand feels impossibly like a fully-grown man is touching her hand. Holding it comfortingly. His eyes are like miniature suns. "Kiss me."

The words are a command and it is full of magic. There is draw there, but for Cor'lana not as much as it is clear that he expects there to be.

Oh, there is magic, that is certain, but not the way that a man would hope for when holding the hand of a woman who has just asked for a kiss. There is even a part of Cor'lana that makes her think, _My younger self would be dying for this moment_, in an amused and bemused way. For there was once a young girl who dreamed fully of beautiful fey men coming to take her away from a house and world that felt cold, despite Mother's best intentions.

And yet _this_ house feels so warm. Because it is her home. Her home with her husband, her consort, and this world became not nearly so cruel once she understood who she was.

So Cor'lana, child of the Feathered One, smiles sweetly. "You're lovely, but I will decline," she states. This is a test she will not fail.

The tiny man releases her hand and the magic flows away like water let free of a glass. It sends a shiver down the spine, but the build of magic is gone. Now he is once again a perfectly ordinary fairy man of his type. He smiles at her ruefully and bows to her. "The test you have passed, and so I must apologize for what comes next." With that there's a little blurr of wings. He moves - fast - and is suddenly right in front of her. He hovers before her for just a second before darting again, and kisses her gently on the forehead.

As before when he touched her there's a swell of magic and it feels though he is tiny, like there's a fully grown man kissing her gently on the forehead. This time though, the magic builds a crescendo and when it breaks it feels like water pouring down her from the top of her head to her toes. A taste like honey fills her mouth, and the warm spring wind blows over her - and then the magic fades and Silas is on the arm of the chair that she'd offered to him.

"The gift is Our Queen's protection. Other fae will sense it and those who are not of the courts will be unable to do you harm until you meet Our Queen without the risk of drawing her ire." Silas bows again. "I apologize for the method of gifting, but there is no other way to have given or received it."

With apologies to Grandfather and Telamon, the main sources of forehead kisses that she receives these days--Cor'lana is fairly certain that is the most magical forehead kiss she's ever received. Mostly because of the actual magic involved. It takes a moment to recover, and there's still the sweet aftertaste that hangs in her mouth like a ghost as she speaks again, nodding. "It's alright, Silas," she says. "Forehead kisses are viewed as relatively chaste among mortals. It is the kiss on the lips that is reserved for lovers and consorts."

She smiles reassuringly. "The Queen's gift is a tremendous honor to receive," she says, grateful for it, but knowing better than to thank the fae. She offers a curtsy in reflection of Silas's bow.

Silas seems to expect this and he nods approvingly. "As to the warning, if you passed the test I was to inform you of this: Some among Our court blame Apotheosis the Ever-Child for Chrysan'mori's loss. Folendel took his wing with an iron knife, and sent it as warning to the Ever-Child. A double message. Chrysan'mori's name means death among Our people. It is possible that he will take the opportunity of your meeting Our Queen to cause mischief, or worse. He may demand his own vengeance for his loss." There's darkness in Silas' eyes. It seems that the subject is no laughing matter to him. "I know I would in his place."

Cor'lana frowns gravely. The weight that this warning brings is a heavy one on her shoulders. For that matter, that brings to her mind a conclusion about Pothy's attendance to the Wee Queen's Court, but... she knows that is a decision Pothy must make on his own. For he, too, is her little brother, and... he is his own person. Much as he decided to go with the Queen of Air and Darkness in her stead.

"I understand," Cor'lana replies, not disguising her sorrow in the least that this happened to one of the Queen's subjects. "The warning is heard and acknowledged." Again, she will not make the mistake of thanking him for the warning, careful as she is. To even say 'I'm sorry' about something that Pothy's act of love caused by consequence may even acknowledge guilt, and that would lead to its own series of events.

"Your hospitality has been most welcome, but I should return to the Queen with haste. She will be eager to hear from me and lingering in this winter does not appeal to me. However lovely the company." He says this last with a small smile, and then lifts himself into the air. "The door if you will?"

"Of course," Cor'lana replies with a smile, and she reaches out with her hand again to serve as a platform for Silas if he'd like one more reprieve from flying before he goes and, presumably, does it for a rather long stretch.

She walks over to the door and opens it to let him out, stepping onto the front step with him. "I send my warm regards to Her Majesty, and I wish you well on your journey back, Silas," Cor'lana says. And she is genuine on that last part, too. Dressed like a soldier he may be, but that does not mean she wishes him endure hardships.

Once the door is open, he offers her another bow, and utters his own words of farewell. "Lord and Lady bless you and your home." He says, and with that he's off. Drifting away like a spider caught on the wind of their own string. He disappears quickly, leaving Cor'lana with her thoughts and the knowledge that there is certainly something afoot in the realm of the fae.

-End