Fic: Midwinter Gift (1/?), Lotrips AU, PG-13 - NC-17
Title: Midwinter Gift (1/?)
Author: darkrosetiger
Fandom: Lotrips (AU)
Pairings: SB/VM, OB/VM, implied SB/OB
Rating: PG-13 through NC-17
Summary: The King of the Unseelie Court has a plan that would allow him to rule forever--unless his loyal bodyguard can find a way to stop him.
Disclaimer: Not real, and not pretending to be. This is purely the product of my fevered brain, with acknowledgements to Emma Bull, Charles de Lint, and Mark Rein dot Hagen.
Notes: I didn't think I had Lotrips muses. Guess I was wrong.
Dedication: For telesilla, just 'cause.
When Sean receives the summons from his liege lord, he hurries to the Winter Garden as quickly as he can manage. Such a summons usually means that the King of Air and Darkness is bored, and that is never a good thing.
Sean finds Orlando sitting in front of the scrying pool, staring into the depths of the dark water. For a moment, Sean thinks that the king is simply admiring his own reflection, as he often does, but then he beckons his bodyguard over to him.
"Come, Sean--look at this." Ever the obedient servant, Sean goes to crouch beside the pool. At first, he can only make out vague shapes in the swirling mists that cover the water's surface; then the mists coalesce into images that are almost solid enough to touch. Sean can see a man--a human, he assumes, since there's no hint of faerie glamour about him--standing beside a large canvas painted in different shades of red and orange. Another artist, then. Orlando collects them, as some mortals collect butterflies. And like butterflies, when removed from their homes, the king's pet artists fade and wither after Sean brings them into Faerie. Sooner or later, it has always been the same for each one.
"No," Orlando calls sharply as Sean turns away from the pool. "Look, Sean." He waves a white hand over the water, and the image of the man in the pool is suddenly sharper, as if edged in glass. Sean almost doesn't recognize what he sees; it's been years since he's been anywhere near that flavor of power.
"A bard," he says softly. "You've found a True Bard."
"I have." Orlando looks exceptionally pleased with himself. "The mortals don't appreciate him, of course, which should make your task easier."
Sean frowns. Even a half-breed like him knows the law, one that holds for both the Bright and the Dark Court alike: a True Bard can only be invited into Faerie, never compelled. He's testing me--that must be it.
"Does my lord wish me to invite the bard to perform for us?" he asks, phrasing his question as carefully as he can.
Orlando leans back, resting on his elbows. "It would be quite a coup if he were to perform at the Midwinter Revels," he says casually, as if the thought has only just occurred to him. "The Queen of the Sky would be forced to acknowledge that I had accomplished something that has not been done in at least three generations of mortal lives. The days are long gone when the most talented of mortals vied for our attention and favor, but I could rekindle the memories of those times, and even Lady Catherine would have to honor me for doing so." The king looks up at Sean and smiles his diamond-edged smile. "I want this bard. I think he would make an excellent Midwinter gift from you to your king."
As Orlando speaks the words, Sean can feel the chains of the geas binding him, wrapping around his arms and legs and burning like cold iron. A lifetime of practice allows him to keep his face and body still despite his fury. He's bound me now, and I have no choice but to obey, even if it means breaking one of the most sacred laws of the fae. Sean bows deeply, like a servant to his master rather than a vassal to his liege lord. "I am your hawk, my liege, and I will return to your hand with your chosen prey, or die trying."
He turns to leave, and is almost at the garden gate when he hears the king's voice, low and soft and amused as a lover's. "I will make it worth your while, Sean mac Ahern."
Will you make it worth the loss of my honor, when it is learned what I've done in your name? Sean thinks, but he pauses for a moment.
"If Lady Catherine acknowledges my supremacy, I will still be a power to be reckoned with, even after the winter has given way to summer, and the Bright Court rules. I could do much with that power, including the rituals--and they are there; I have seen them--to purge the mortal taint from a half-fae child, and make that child fully of Faerie." A soft, cool hand trails down Sean's neck and over his chest, and Sean shivers.
As a child, he scoured countless grimoires and other books of ritual, hoping to find some spell that would make him fully fae, free from his mortal mother's legacy of age and death. All he had ever found were hints and fragments of magic that was far beyond him. That would be worth it, yes.
"I will do as you command, my liege," he tells Orlando, pretending for the moment that he has a choice. He forces himself to remain still as the king brushes a thumb over Sean's mouth before releasing him.
"I know you will," Orlando whispers, his breath hot against Sean's ear. "My golden hawk--you have never yet failed me." He doesn't bother to add "see that you don't now"--the nature of the geas makes any such threats superfluous. Sean won't die if he fails to bring the bard to his master; he'll just wish that he could.
The paths back to the castle shift and change as they always do, but the winds are relatively calm and the branches don't seem to be grabbing at Sean's clothing, as they tend to do when the king is in a bad mood. He's pleased, Sean realizes, and that disturbs him more than anything else.
Part 2
Author: darkrosetiger
Fandom: Lotrips (AU)
Pairings: SB/VM, OB/VM, implied SB/OB
Rating: PG-13 through NC-17
Summary: The King of the Unseelie Court has a plan that would allow him to rule forever--unless his loyal bodyguard can find a way to stop him.
Disclaimer: Not real, and not pretending to be. This is purely the product of my fevered brain, with acknowledgements to Emma Bull, Charles de Lint, and Mark Rein dot Hagen.
Notes: I didn't think I had Lotrips muses. Guess I was wrong.
Dedication: For telesilla, just 'cause.
When Sean receives the summons from his liege lord, he hurries to the Winter Garden as quickly as he can manage. Such a summons usually means that the King of Air and Darkness is bored, and that is never a good thing.
Sean finds Orlando sitting in front of the scrying pool, staring into the depths of the dark water. For a moment, Sean thinks that the king is simply admiring his own reflection, as he often does, but then he beckons his bodyguard over to him.
"Come, Sean--look at this." Ever the obedient servant, Sean goes to crouch beside the pool. At first, he can only make out vague shapes in the swirling mists that cover the water's surface; then the mists coalesce into images that are almost solid enough to touch. Sean can see a man--a human, he assumes, since there's no hint of faerie glamour about him--standing beside a large canvas painted in different shades of red and orange. Another artist, then. Orlando collects them, as some mortals collect butterflies. And like butterflies, when removed from their homes, the king's pet artists fade and wither after Sean brings them into Faerie. Sooner or later, it has always been the same for each one.
"No," Orlando calls sharply as Sean turns away from the pool. "Look, Sean." He waves a white hand over the water, and the image of the man in the pool is suddenly sharper, as if edged in glass. Sean almost doesn't recognize what he sees; it's been years since he's been anywhere near that flavor of power.
"A bard," he says softly. "You've found a True Bard."
"I have." Orlando looks exceptionally pleased with himself. "The mortals don't appreciate him, of course, which should make your task easier."
Sean frowns. Even a half-breed like him knows the law, one that holds for both the Bright and the Dark Court alike: a True Bard can only be invited into Faerie, never compelled. He's testing me--that must be it.
"Does my lord wish me to invite the bard to perform for us?" he asks, phrasing his question as carefully as he can.
Orlando leans back, resting on his elbows. "It would be quite a coup if he were to perform at the Midwinter Revels," he says casually, as if the thought has only just occurred to him. "The Queen of the Sky would be forced to acknowledge that I had accomplished something that has not been done in at least three generations of mortal lives. The days are long gone when the most talented of mortals vied for our attention and favor, but I could rekindle the memories of those times, and even Lady Catherine would have to honor me for doing so." The king looks up at Sean and smiles his diamond-edged smile. "I want this bard. I think he would make an excellent Midwinter gift from you to your king."
As Orlando speaks the words, Sean can feel the chains of the geas binding him, wrapping around his arms and legs and burning like cold iron. A lifetime of practice allows him to keep his face and body still despite his fury. He's bound me now, and I have no choice but to obey, even if it means breaking one of the most sacred laws of the fae. Sean bows deeply, like a servant to his master rather than a vassal to his liege lord. "I am your hawk, my liege, and I will return to your hand with your chosen prey, or die trying."
He turns to leave, and is almost at the garden gate when he hears the king's voice, low and soft and amused as a lover's. "I will make it worth your while, Sean mac Ahern."
Will you make it worth the loss of my honor, when it is learned what I've done in your name? Sean thinks, but he pauses for a moment.
"If Lady Catherine acknowledges my supremacy, I will still be a power to be reckoned with, even after the winter has given way to summer, and the Bright Court rules. I could do much with that power, including the rituals--and they are there; I have seen them--to purge the mortal taint from a half-fae child, and make that child fully of Faerie." A soft, cool hand trails down Sean's neck and over his chest, and Sean shivers.
As a child, he scoured countless grimoires and other books of ritual, hoping to find some spell that would make him fully fae, free from his mortal mother's legacy of age and death. All he had ever found were hints and fragments of magic that was far beyond him. That would be worth it, yes.
"I will do as you command, my liege," he tells Orlando, pretending for the moment that he has a choice. He forces himself to remain still as the king brushes a thumb over Sean's mouth before releasing him.
"I know you will," Orlando whispers, his breath hot against Sean's ear. "My golden hawk--you have never yet failed me." He doesn't bother to add "see that you don't now"--the nature of the geas makes any such threats superfluous. Sean won't die if he fails to bring the bard to his master; he'll just wish that he could.
The paths back to the castle shift and change as they always do, but the winds are relatively calm and the branches don't seem to be grabbing at Sean's clothing, as they tend to do when the king is in a bad mood. He's pleased, Sean realizes, and that disturbs him more than anything else.
Part 2