FIC: Gathering Gloom, 4/16
Title: Gathering Gloom
Author: houses
Email: houses7177@gmail.com
Universes: Tir Alainn and Merry Gentry
Characters: Morag
Pairings: Morag/Sholto, Meredith/everyone else. No, I’m not kidding.
Narration: Morag, Merry, Taranis, Usna, Sholto
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Post Tir Alainn trilogy, Post book 4 MG.
Disclaimers: Tir Alainn belongs to Anne Bishop, Merry Gentry belongs to Laurel K Hamilton
Summary: Taranis uses forbidden magic to call an assassin he believes will finally settle his Maeve Reed problem. Only thing is, said assassin has a mind of her own and isn’t particularly pleased to be back from the dead.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
~~~ Part 4 ~~~
Merry was having a bit of a lie-in. She was content, snuggled by at least five warm bodies, and no one was trying to kill her yet. It was a good feeling, these luxurious few moments before politics and her aunt’s will demanded she rise for the day.
So it was with great irritation that she answered Rhys’ call to get up. “No. Don’t wanna.”
She heard answering grumbles around the bedroom, but when Rhys asked her again to move, this time with a queer note to his voice, she sat up, immediately alert. Her visit back to the Unseelie court was proving to be a bit more deadly than she expected, and any time one of her guards showed alarm, it was a good sign that something unpleasant was afoot. Someone else she loved was under attack or sprouting moths and flowers in uncomfortable places. She groaned and opened her eyes, peeking out from under the covers.
Rhys was standing by the wardrobe, staring at the chalice that had once again slipped its prison and come to rest in the middle of the room. “Merry, something feels … strange. I feel like there’s something here, coming here.” He fingered the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. “What’s going on?”
Immediately alert, the other guards were out of the bed and reaching for weapons. Merry scrabbled for clothes, thanking whichever guard had laid out some easily accessible clothes to wear. Probably Kitto, she thought. She slid on the slacks and button-down shirt as quickly as possible before striding to where Rhys was standing.
“Is it dangerous?” she asked.
“I honestly can’t say. It feels familiar, like something coming home, if that makes any sense.” He shivered, rubbing hands up and down well-muscled arms.
Merry frowned, looking at the rest of the guards but they shook their heads to her unanswered question. “Well, what now? The chalice is acting up again, but since no one seems to have sprouted wings or a tail when I wasn’t looking, I don’t know what to say. We all know Danu isn’t particularly chatty.”
“I think we wait. In fact…” Whatever Rhys was going to add was cut off by a knocking on the door.
Startled, he motioned Merry back behind Galen and Adair, opening the heavy door an inch. “Usna? What’s going on?”
The guard in question pushed the door open, for all the world looking like someone had stepped on his tail. “Did your chalice do anything weird last night?”
Immediately alarmed, Merry glanced to the ornate lock box that was supposed to hold the gift from the Lord and Lady, and sighed. “Not that I know of, but it’s escaped again. Why?”
Usna looked distinctly uneasy, but not fearful. He glanced back over his shoulder and cleared his throat. “I think it might have. I … found someone when I went to meet my mother. She’s a bit lost, so I thought you may like to meet her before the rest of the court realizes she’s here. She feels like she could be useful.”
Frost frowned, embracing Merry’s shoulders tenderly. The silver hair slid over her skin like warm silk and brought a smile to her face. Frost said, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You know how many assassination attempts there have been on the princess already.”
Usna’s lips twisted up in a small smile and Merry thought he looked like a cat contemplating a fishbowl. “Somehow, I doubt she wants to harm the Princess. When you’ll meet her, you’ll see. I don’t think she knows who Meredith is.” He paused. “Who any of us are, actually. She’s never heard of Queen Andais. No fey creature alive hasn’t heard of our queen.”
Curious, Frost nodded, and Merry took a centering breath. Rhys’ instincts she could trust, and if Usna didn’t think the woman was a dangerous visitor, then perhaps this new arrival could be used to her advantage. Merry would bring a few guards with her to meet the lady, discretion as the better part of valor and all that.
Even in her head Merry knew how stupid that sounded, but the petulant child part of her just didn’t care. Part of the reason she enjoyed being a private eye so much was the ability to unravel mysteries. So if she wanted to take a break from the bedroom antics, blood letting for entirely too many interested parties, and playing political footsie, she would. This time the mystery wouldn’t involve dead pastry chefs or murderous court intrigue, which was always a plus.
Waving Frost, Rhys, Hawthorne and Adair with her, leaving Galen to keep his eye on the chalice, the diminutive princess set off towards the entrance of the Unseelie Mound. Usna walked in front and pushed the door to a small antechamber open to reveal a haunted looking young woman, watched over by two of Merry’s newest acquisitions, Ivi and Amatheon.
The newcomer ignored her escorts and turned her head to watch them arrive. Her hair was black as night, as black as Andais’, framing a neat featured pale face of fierce grace. She had dark eyes, charcoal with flecks of lighter grey, and was wearing an unrelieved black cloak over leggings. She looked at Merry intently, as if searching for something, then relaxed fractionally.
When no one said anything, Merry cleared her throat. “Hello there. Usna?”
“I found her in the glade near sunset. She said she’d just woken up.” He twitched his nose. “As in really just woken up.”
He let the silence settle, and Merry mulled his words. It was Rhys that understood first, his jaw dropping. “Came back from the dead, you mean?”
Merry blinked in shock. The woman stood calmly, her face expressionless, looking at the array of men surrounding the princess. She didn’t seem frightened of them, despite the impressive array of modern and archaic weaponry. It was as if she looked at a painting in a museum-interesting, but nothing that had direct bearing on her existence. The guards were wary but non-aggressive, and Meredith waved for them to stand down.
“Forgive me if this is blunt, for I’m sometimes more human than fey, but were you recently … you know …”
The woman considered the question and answered in a melodic, if strangely accented, tone, “Deceased? Yes, I was. Now, it appears that I am not.”
The guards exchanged uncomfortable glances. Despite being essentially immortal, they could still be killed and it made them nervous to contemplate their death. No one wanted a reminder of the unthinkable and only Rhys seemed comfortable with the newcomer’s situation.
The woman, gave a sad, small smile, as if she understood the guard’s trepidation, and said “My name is Morag.”
Meredith didn’t recognize the name, and from the looks on Frost and Rhys’ faces neither did they. The other older sidhe in her guards weren’t here. Recovering herself quickly, Meredith smiled.
“I’m Meredith, and these are my guards.” She ran down the list of names, watching how Morag looked intently at each, seeming to catalogue them, before moving on to the next. Merry had no doubt that Morag would remember each name perfectly.
The lady in black made no movement to flee, and as she hadn’t immediately tried to assassinate Meredith, the princess was inclined to invite her further in. It was entirely possible that she was sent by Cel or Taranis to block her path to the throne, but she didn’t feel threatening, not in that way. There was a thin aura of power around her, but if she was going to strike, surely she would have done so since the most opportune moment had already passed. Merry regarded her carefully for a moment, searching the pale face for some sign of danger, and decided that while she would definitely be on guard around the new arrival, it wasn’t a good idea to leave her standing in the hallway for Cel’s people to find. Merry was cautious, not cruel.
Taking a deep breath, Merry gestured for the new lady to follow her. Morag stepped lightly. She stopped after few feet, in front of Rhys, and seemed to sniff the air. She paused and looked as if she wanted to speak to him. When Rhys raised his eyebrows, Morag turned away with a shake of her head. Minutes more walking, and they returned had to the chambers assigned to Meredith’s retinue for the duration of her visit. They were more substantial than her childhood rooms, dearest Aunt Andais had allowed her that much, with a bed large enough to hold some of her guards. The rooms were larger than the quarters Merry had destroyed with Nicca, Galen and Kitto, with a much bigger bathroom courtesy of some well-phrased words to the sithen. It struck Merry anew how ridiculous this situation was getting, having to bed a dozen men - regularly -- in pursuit of an heir just to stay alive. She had a hard time keeping her new lovers straight, and Merry looked forward to getting them all back to Maeve’s in Los Angeles to iron out the situation further.
There was a small setting of black lacquer furnishings set into a nook, gleaming dully in the light. At Meredith’s gesture, Morag took a seat at the table. The ruby-haired princess slid in opposite her, and balled her hands under her chin. She gathered her thoughts and began to speak. “A lot’s probably happened since you were last, um, here, and I’m not sure I’m the best person to explain, but it’s probably my fault, so I guess it’s my job to clean up the mess.”
Meredith was so wrapped up in her explanations, she didn’t see Morag’s eyes narrow dangerously, nor the way both Usna and Rhys flinched. After all, the princess had a new player in the game, and it was up to her to figure out how best to use it to her advantage.
Merry thought it might be better to start with finding out when Morag lived, what she was used to. Some of the fey didn’t take well to modernization, like Fflur, who liked to pretend the year only had three digits in it.
“I know this must be hard for you, Morag, but do you know what year it was when you, er, died?” Merry asked.
The other woman frowned and shook her head, “No. What year is it now?”
“2006,” Rhys answered.
Merry thought Morag would be startled by this, but instead she gave a graceful shrug. “Is that a long time?”
Merry, Rhys and Frost exchanged glances. She’d motioned the other guards away to give the woman a bit of breathing room, but had kept Rhys because he seemed to intuit something about the situation and Frost because having him near made Merry feel better. Frost raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Which court did you belong to when you last lived?” Meredith asked softly.
“I had no clan,” Morag responded, her expression sad. “At least none that I could call home.”
“The use of the word ‘clan’ is strange,” Rhys said to Merry, his voice low. “It has been thousands of years since we last were divided into smaller groups than the Unseelie and Seelie courts. If she’s identifying as ‘clan’ not ‘court’ then she is very, very old indeed.”
Merry motioned over Amatheon and whispered a request for something for her guest to eat and drink. His auburn hair glinting in the low sithen light, he nodded and stepped away. Morag watched him go with empty eyes and Meredith’s heart twisted at the pain she saw reflected in Morag’s face.
Rhys looked to her for permission, and at Merry’s nod, asked, “Some ‘clans’ were known for particular hands of power, gifts if you will. Was yours known for anything in particular? That might help us identify where you came from.”
A chill blew through the nook, an arm hair-raising tickle that gave Meredith pause. Rhys closed his eye briefly and let out a sigh. Morag looked more alert, watching Rhys carefully. She started when Amatheon deftly slipped a tray of pastries on the table, accompanied by a jug of wine and four glasses.
“I don’t understand the phrase ‘hand of power’. It doesn’t sound familiar to me.” Morag frowned, looking at her hands in her lap. She raised one up, tilting the palm back and forth. She had calluses that spoke of weapon work, and Merry thought that they looked like archery calluses. Morag had experience with long-range weaponry, then.
Meredith was the one to answer the stranger’s question. She knew that if Morag was to stay in her court, she would need to open up. The guards, Rhys excepted, were already wary of her, and Meredith could understand why. Fey were sneaky creatures, choosing to hide rather than to reveal. Merry needed to entice Morag to share about herself, as well as warn her that Merry was someone to be taken very seriously. Maybe the best method was the tried-and-true girl talk, mutual share approach. “Most sidhe have abilities that are linked to their, well, ‘hands’. I have the hands of Flesh and Blood, meaning I can call blood from wounds or turn the flesh of my enemies inside-out with a touch. Others in this court have the hand of Knives, meaning they can wound an enemy with a flick of their wrist, even if they are on the other side of the room.”
“These abilities usually appear at puberty, though Meredith’s only appeared recently, and she is in her thirties. It is possible that this was because she is part human and brownie as well as sidhe, but we’re unsure,” Rhys said.
Meredith asked Morag again, “Do you have any power similar to what we’ve explained that you can remember?”
“My hands? No, I can do nothing special with my touch. Does everyone have hands with powers here?” She opened her mouth as if to say more, but changed her mind and remained silent.
Rhys said, “Most, though many have lost what magics they were born with in the last few centuries.”
Frost spoke to Morag for the first time. “The courts are not safe and most use the threats of their hands of power to remain free of overt conflict. Sidhe are known to prey on the weak. They are not known for their kindness.”
Morag looked at Merry, eyebrow arched in question. Meredith smiled, “I am not just sidhe, but human and brownie as well. Half-breeds are usually better than purebreds anyway.” She flicked her glance at Morag’s pointed ears, but said nothing. It was considered rude amongst the fey to comment on parentage unless invited.
Morag was silent for a moment before slowly saying, “I can do the small tricks all fey can do. Glamour myself human, communicate with fey animals, and change to my animal form.”
“Your animal form?” Rhys sat up straighter.
Startled, Morag frowned. “Don’t you all have the ability to change?”
“No, we lost that ability years ago. Very few can alter their form that dramatically, one of my guards, Doyle, currently being one of the few. But this is a newly restored thing, and quite…interesting.” Meredith took a bite from a pastry from the plate between them.
Morag’s lips pursed and she looked vaguely nauseous. Meredith put the pastry down and continued. “I don’t know what kind of use it would be, but it has to be useful.”
“Useful for what?” Morag said, sharply.
The princess sighed. “We’re in the middle of a war for succession to the Unseelie throne. Either my psychotic cousin Cel kills me before I get pregnant and I die; I don’t get pregnant and Cel gets the throne and I die; or I get pregnant, survive Cel’s assassination attempts, get the throne, and live. And probably he dies. If I get the throne, faerie will hopefully continue to thrive, with fruitful pairings between sidhe and a revitalization of the magic and energy of all fey. If Cel wins our little race, I’m afraid that the magics will desert us completely and we’ll be left to fade into obscurity. I’m sure you can see which option is the most appealing.”
Morag nodded.
“To do this, I have to use everything at my disposal. Not to sound callous, but any new player to the game is a possible advantage. No one knows you, and that’s a plus. If you don’t have any Hands of Power that could put you at a disadvantage unless you have a gift that could frighten the competition enough to leave you alone.” Meredith paused, a speculative gleam in her eye. “Unless you’re thinking of throwing your allegiances in with others in the courts.”
Both Meredith and Rhys looked at her intently, but Morag had no problem answering. “I don’t know this world, but it seems you’re trying to make it a better place. No people should be condemned to fade into the mist. I know I’ve only heard your side of the problem, but it appeals to me. I have no allegiances; I have no Clan, no family, no place to call home. Without those, I am at the mercy of all. So if you’ll have me, I would be honored to help you achieve your goal.”
The princess and her guard seemed satisfied for the moment, and Rhys smoothed back his white curls thoughtfully. “Do you remember much of your old life?”
Morag glanced down at the table and brushed some stray crumbs into a pile, but didn’t immediately respond. Meredith interpreted the silence as distress and waved her fingers. “It’s alright if you don’t want to answer. It’s not like any of us have gone through…what you’ve gone through. I wonder what it’s like to be brought back after a long time gone.”
“It hurts.” Morag said, the words tumbling out. “I had felt pain in my twenty-six years, but nothing like this. Even death was not so painful.”
Bypassing the comment about death for a moment, Merry shook her head and held her hand up. “I’m sorry, but did you say twenty-six years? You were only twenty-six when you died?”
Rhys was staring at her, blue eye wide. “You’re a child. Only a child. No wonder you’re lost. You haven’t even had time to develop your gifts properly!”
Morag made a noncommittal noise deep in her throat and shook her head. When Merry moved to ask her what was bothering her, Morag spoke first. “Gifts? Curses, whatever you call them. Things are still…fuzzy from before. I know I didn’t speak this language when I lived, but it’s all that comes to my tongue. I know that there were no Seelie or Unseelie courts, no battles to produce heirs to save your head. This is so…strange. Why won’t it stop?”
Merry and her two guards exchanged glances. In her detective work, Meredith had come across her fair share of shock victims, and the way that Morag was rubbing her arms as if she were cold, which was entirely reasonable since she’d been found out in the snow, in addition to her glassy, bright gaze was classic shock. Merry remembered her own recent brush with death and mentally kicked herself for expecting the girl to be even remotely coherent.
Morag was blinking at the carafe and made an aborted move to pick it up. Rhys stepped in and poured her a glass of amber liquid, holding it out to Morag’s seeking hand.
Merry turned to Frost, her face blank. “What are we going to do with her? I can’t just let her run around court-she’d be anyone’s meat. We’re to stay here for another week at the most, and I guess we’ll take her back to Maeve Reed’s with us.”
The glass clattered on the table, sloshing some liquid onto the lacquered surface. Morag’s face was even paler than before and her eyes were wide. She blinked and began sopping up the spilled liquid with a linen napkin embroidered with cranes.
Merry sighed and said, “We need to find somewhere to put her, another room near mine, maybe?”
A grinding noise erupted from the far wall. The stones of the sithen rearranged themselves to show a narrow doorway and slender hallway. Startled, Galen and Hawthorne peeked inside. The green man said, “It looks like a smaller bedchamber. There’s even a washroom on the far side.”
Morag seemed to droop even as Merry stood to see the rooms for herself. The princess crossed the sitting area quickly, and a brief scan of the rearranged architecture confirmed Galen’s assessment.
Rhys grumped, “It’d be nice if we all got our own rooms. Wanna tell the sithen that?”
Merry rolled her eyes. “I don’t think I tell the sithen anything. But this will serve our needs for now. Morag?”
The young woman looked up, dark eyes fathomless. “Yes?”
“Will this do? I think you should get some rest. We can talk more later.”
Morag stood, her cloak clinging to her slender frame. She was taller than Merry by a good six inches, but had the slender build more common of the sidhe. “I…I think rest would be most appreciated. It has been so long since this body has rested.”
The dark-haired woman walked to the doorway slowly, all eyes on the room on her straight back. She paused in the doorway and said, “Thank you. I’m not sure of guesting etiquette, but thank you.”
When she was safely ensconced and the door shut behind her, Merry let out a deep breath. “Well, things just get curiouser and curiouser, don’t they?”
Frost laid his arm across her shoulders. “Never easy, is it?”
Merry leaned her head on his chest. “No, never. And something tells me Morag has a much bigger role to play than we think she does.”
Rhys was still staring at the closed doorway uneasily when he said, “Well, you know what Humphrey Bogart said, don’t you? Things are never so bad they can't be made worse.”
TBC...
Part 5
Author: houses
Email: houses7177@gmail.com
Universes: Tir Alainn and Merry Gentry
Characters: Morag
Pairings: Morag/Sholto, Meredith/everyone else. No, I’m not kidding.
Narration: Morag, Merry, Taranis, Usna, Sholto
Rating: PG-13
Timeline: Post Tir Alainn trilogy, Post book 4 MG.
Disclaimers: Tir Alainn belongs to Anne Bishop, Merry Gentry belongs to Laurel K Hamilton
Summary: Taranis uses forbidden magic to call an assassin he believes will finally settle his Maeve Reed problem. Only thing is, said assassin has a mind of her own and isn’t particularly pleased to be back from the dead.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
~~~ Part 4 ~~~
Merry was having a bit of a lie-in. She was content, snuggled by at least five warm bodies, and no one was trying to kill her yet. It was a good feeling, these luxurious few moments before politics and her aunt’s will demanded she rise for the day.
So it was with great irritation that she answered Rhys’ call to get up. “No. Don’t wanna.”
She heard answering grumbles around the bedroom, but when Rhys asked her again to move, this time with a queer note to his voice, she sat up, immediately alert. Her visit back to the Unseelie court was proving to be a bit more deadly than she expected, and any time one of her guards showed alarm, it was a good sign that something unpleasant was afoot. Someone else she loved was under attack or sprouting moths and flowers in uncomfortable places. She groaned and opened her eyes, peeking out from under the covers.
Rhys was standing by the wardrobe, staring at the chalice that had once again slipped its prison and come to rest in the middle of the room. “Merry, something feels … strange. I feel like there’s something here, coming here.” He fingered the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. “What’s going on?”
Immediately alert, the other guards were out of the bed and reaching for weapons. Merry scrabbled for clothes, thanking whichever guard had laid out some easily accessible clothes to wear. Probably Kitto, she thought. She slid on the slacks and button-down shirt as quickly as possible before striding to where Rhys was standing.
“Is it dangerous?” she asked.
“I honestly can’t say. It feels familiar, like something coming home, if that makes any sense.” He shivered, rubbing hands up and down well-muscled arms.
Merry frowned, looking at the rest of the guards but they shook their heads to her unanswered question. “Well, what now? The chalice is acting up again, but since no one seems to have sprouted wings or a tail when I wasn’t looking, I don’t know what to say. We all know Danu isn’t particularly chatty.”
“I think we wait. In fact…” Whatever Rhys was going to add was cut off by a knocking on the door.
Startled, he motioned Merry back behind Galen and Adair, opening the heavy door an inch. “Usna? What’s going on?”
The guard in question pushed the door open, for all the world looking like someone had stepped on his tail. “Did your chalice do anything weird last night?”
Immediately alarmed, Merry glanced to the ornate lock box that was supposed to hold the gift from the Lord and Lady, and sighed. “Not that I know of, but it’s escaped again. Why?”
Usna looked distinctly uneasy, but not fearful. He glanced back over his shoulder and cleared his throat. “I think it might have. I … found someone when I went to meet my mother. She’s a bit lost, so I thought you may like to meet her before the rest of the court realizes she’s here. She feels like she could be useful.”
Frost frowned, embracing Merry’s shoulders tenderly. The silver hair slid over her skin like warm silk and brought a smile to her face. Frost said, “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You know how many assassination attempts there have been on the princess already.”
Usna’s lips twisted up in a small smile and Merry thought he looked like a cat contemplating a fishbowl. “Somehow, I doubt she wants to harm the Princess. When you’ll meet her, you’ll see. I don’t think she knows who Meredith is.” He paused. “Who any of us are, actually. She’s never heard of Queen Andais. No fey creature alive hasn’t heard of our queen.”
Curious, Frost nodded, and Merry took a centering breath. Rhys’ instincts she could trust, and if Usna didn’t think the woman was a dangerous visitor, then perhaps this new arrival could be used to her advantage. Merry would bring a few guards with her to meet the lady, discretion as the better part of valor and all that.
Even in her head Merry knew how stupid that sounded, but the petulant child part of her just didn’t care. Part of the reason she enjoyed being a private eye so much was the ability to unravel mysteries. So if she wanted to take a break from the bedroom antics, blood letting for entirely too many interested parties, and playing political footsie, she would. This time the mystery wouldn’t involve dead pastry chefs or murderous court intrigue, which was always a plus.
Waving Frost, Rhys, Hawthorne and Adair with her, leaving Galen to keep his eye on the chalice, the diminutive princess set off towards the entrance of the Unseelie Mound. Usna walked in front and pushed the door to a small antechamber open to reveal a haunted looking young woman, watched over by two of Merry’s newest acquisitions, Ivi and Amatheon.
The newcomer ignored her escorts and turned her head to watch them arrive. Her hair was black as night, as black as Andais’, framing a neat featured pale face of fierce grace. She had dark eyes, charcoal with flecks of lighter grey, and was wearing an unrelieved black cloak over leggings. She looked at Merry intently, as if searching for something, then relaxed fractionally.
When no one said anything, Merry cleared her throat. “Hello there. Usna?”
“I found her in the glade near sunset. She said she’d just woken up.” He twitched his nose. “As in really just woken up.”
He let the silence settle, and Merry mulled his words. It was Rhys that understood first, his jaw dropping. “Came back from the dead, you mean?”
Merry blinked in shock. The woman stood calmly, her face expressionless, looking at the array of men surrounding the princess. She didn’t seem frightened of them, despite the impressive array of modern and archaic weaponry. It was as if she looked at a painting in a museum-interesting, but nothing that had direct bearing on her existence. The guards were wary but non-aggressive, and Meredith waved for them to stand down.
“Forgive me if this is blunt, for I’m sometimes more human than fey, but were you recently … you know …”
The woman considered the question and answered in a melodic, if strangely accented, tone, “Deceased? Yes, I was. Now, it appears that I am not.”
The guards exchanged uncomfortable glances. Despite being essentially immortal, they could still be killed and it made them nervous to contemplate their death. No one wanted a reminder of the unthinkable and only Rhys seemed comfortable with the newcomer’s situation.
The woman, gave a sad, small smile, as if she understood the guard’s trepidation, and said “My name is Morag.”
Meredith didn’t recognize the name, and from the looks on Frost and Rhys’ faces neither did they. The other older sidhe in her guards weren’t here. Recovering herself quickly, Meredith smiled.
“I’m Meredith, and these are my guards.” She ran down the list of names, watching how Morag looked intently at each, seeming to catalogue them, before moving on to the next. Merry had no doubt that Morag would remember each name perfectly.
The lady in black made no movement to flee, and as she hadn’t immediately tried to assassinate Meredith, the princess was inclined to invite her further in. It was entirely possible that she was sent by Cel or Taranis to block her path to the throne, but she didn’t feel threatening, not in that way. There was a thin aura of power around her, but if she was going to strike, surely she would have done so since the most opportune moment had already passed. Merry regarded her carefully for a moment, searching the pale face for some sign of danger, and decided that while she would definitely be on guard around the new arrival, it wasn’t a good idea to leave her standing in the hallway for Cel’s people to find. Merry was cautious, not cruel.
Taking a deep breath, Merry gestured for the new lady to follow her. Morag stepped lightly. She stopped after few feet, in front of Rhys, and seemed to sniff the air. She paused and looked as if she wanted to speak to him. When Rhys raised his eyebrows, Morag turned away with a shake of her head. Minutes more walking, and they returned had to the chambers assigned to Meredith’s retinue for the duration of her visit. They were more substantial than her childhood rooms, dearest Aunt Andais had allowed her that much, with a bed large enough to hold some of her guards. The rooms were larger than the quarters Merry had destroyed with Nicca, Galen and Kitto, with a much bigger bathroom courtesy of some well-phrased words to the sithen. It struck Merry anew how ridiculous this situation was getting, having to bed a dozen men - regularly -- in pursuit of an heir just to stay alive. She had a hard time keeping her new lovers straight, and Merry looked forward to getting them all back to Maeve’s in Los Angeles to iron out the situation further.
There was a small setting of black lacquer furnishings set into a nook, gleaming dully in the light. At Meredith’s gesture, Morag took a seat at the table. The ruby-haired princess slid in opposite her, and balled her hands under her chin. She gathered her thoughts and began to speak. “A lot’s probably happened since you were last, um, here, and I’m not sure I’m the best person to explain, but it’s probably my fault, so I guess it’s my job to clean up the mess.”
Meredith was so wrapped up in her explanations, she didn’t see Morag’s eyes narrow dangerously, nor the way both Usna and Rhys flinched. After all, the princess had a new player in the game, and it was up to her to figure out how best to use it to her advantage.
Merry thought it might be better to start with finding out when Morag lived, what she was used to. Some of the fey didn’t take well to modernization, like Fflur, who liked to pretend the year only had three digits in it.
“I know this must be hard for you, Morag, but do you know what year it was when you, er, died?” Merry asked.
The other woman frowned and shook her head, “No. What year is it now?”
“2006,” Rhys answered.
Merry thought Morag would be startled by this, but instead she gave a graceful shrug. “Is that a long time?”
Merry, Rhys and Frost exchanged glances. She’d motioned the other guards away to give the woman a bit of breathing room, but had kept Rhys because he seemed to intuit something about the situation and Frost because having him near made Merry feel better. Frost raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Which court did you belong to when you last lived?” Meredith asked softly.
“I had no clan,” Morag responded, her expression sad. “At least none that I could call home.”
“The use of the word ‘clan’ is strange,” Rhys said to Merry, his voice low. “It has been thousands of years since we last were divided into smaller groups than the Unseelie and Seelie courts. If she’s identifying as ‘clan’ not ‘court’ then she is very, very old indeed.”
Merry motioned over Amatheon and whispered a request for something for her guest to eat and drink. His auburn hair glinting in the low sithen light, he nodded and stepped away. Morag watched him go with empty eyes and Meredith’s heart twisted at the pain she saw reflected in Morag’s face.
Rhys looked to her for permission, and at Merry’s nod, asked, “Some ‘clans’ were known for particular hands of power, gifts if you will. Was yours known for anything in particular? That might help us identify where you came from.”
A chill blew through the nook, an arm hair-raising tickle that gave Meredith pause. Rhys closed his eye briefly and let out a sigh. Morag looked more alert, watching Rhys carefully. She started when Amatheon deftly slipped a tray of pastries on the table, accompanied by a jug of wine and four glasses.
“I don’t understand the phrase ‘hand of power’. It doesn’t sound familiar to me.” Morag frowned, looking at her hands in her lap. She raised one up, tilting the palm back and forth. She had calluses that spoke of weapon work, and Merry thought that they looked like archery calluses. Morag had experience with long-range weaponry, then.
Meredith was the one to answer the stranger’s question. She knew that if Morag was to stay in her court, she would need to open up. The guards, Rhys excepted, were already wary of her, and Meredith could understand why. Fey were sneaky creatures, choosing to hide rather than to reveal. Merry needed to entice Morag to share about herself, as well as warn her that Merry was someone to be taken very seriously. Maybe the best method was the tried-and-true girl talk, mutual share approach. “Most sidhe have abilities that are linked to their, well, ‘hands’. I have the hands of Flesh and Blood, meaning I can call blood from wounds or turn the flesh of my enemies inside-out with a touch. Others in this court have the hand of Knives, meaning they can wound an enemy with a flick of their wrist, even if they are on the other side of the room.”
“These abilities usually appear at puberty, though Meredith’s only appeared recently, and she is in her thirties. It is possible that this was because she is part human and brownie as well as sidhe, but we’re unsure,” Rhys said.
Meredith asked Morag again, “Do you have any power similar to what we’ve explained that you can remember?”
“My hands? No, I can do nothing special with my touch. Does everyone have hands with powers here?” She opened her mouth as if to say more, but changed her mind and remained silent.
Rhys said, “Most, though many have lost what magics they were born with in the last few centuries.”
Frost spoke to Morag for the first time. “The courts are not safe and most use the threats of their hands of power to remain free of overt conflict. Sidhe are known to prey on the weak. They are not known for their kindness.”
Morag looked at Merry, eyebrow arched in question. Meredith smiled, “I am not just sidhe, but human and brownie as well. Half-breeds are usually better than purebreds anyway.” She flicked her glance at Morag’s pointed ears, but said nothing. It was considered rude amongst the fey to comment on parentage unless invited.
Morag was silent for a moment before slowly saying, “I can do the small tricks all fey can do. Glamour myself human, communicate with fey animals, and change to my animal form.”
“Your animal form?” Rhys sat up straighter.
Startled, Morag frowned. “Don’t you all have the ability to change?”
“No, we lost that ability years ago. Very few can alter their form that dramatically, one of my guards, Doyle, currently being one of the few. But this is a newly restored thing, and quite…interesting.” Meredith took a bite from a pastry from the plate between them.
Morag’s lips pursed and she looked vaguely nauseous. Meredith put the pastry down and continued. “I don’t know what kind of use it would be, but it has to be useful.”
“Useful for what?” Morag said, sharply.
The princess sighed. “We’re in the middle of a war for succession to the Unseelie throne. Either my psychotic cousin Cel kills me before I get pregnant and I die; I don’t get pregnant and Cel gets the throne and I die; or I get pregnant, survive Cel’s assassination attempts, get the throne, and live. And probably he dies. If I get the throne, faerie will hopefully continue to thrive, with fruitful pairings between sidhe and a revitalization of the magic and energy of all fey. If Cel wins our little race, I’m afraid that the magics will desert us completely and we’ll be left to fade into obscurity. I’m sure you can see which option is the most appealing.”
Morag nodded.
“To do this, I have to use everything at my disposal. Not to sound callous, but any new player to the game is a possible advantage. No one knows you, and that’s a plus. If you don’t have any Hands of Power that could put you at a disadvantage unless you have a gift that could frighten the competition enough to leave you alone.” Meredith paused, a speculative gleam in her eye. “Unless you’re thinking of throwing your allegiances in with others in the courts.”
Both Meredith and Rhys looked at her intently, but Morag had no problem answering. “I don’t know this world, but it seems you’re trying to make it a better place. No people should be condemned to fade into the mist. I know I’ve only heard your side of the problem, but it appeals to me. I have no allegiances; I have no Clan, no family, no place to call home. Without those, I am at the mercy of all. So if you’ll have me, I would be honored to help you achieve your goal.”
The princess and her guard seemed satisfied for the moment, and Rhys smoothed back his white curls thoughtfully. “Do you remember much of your old life?”
Morag glanced down at the table and brushed some stray crumbs into a pile, but didn’t immediately respond. Meredith interpreted the silence as distress and waved her fingers. “It’s alright if you don’t want to answer. It’s not like any of us have gone through…what you’ve gone through. I wonder what it’s like to be brought back after a long time gone.”
“It hurts.” Morag said, the words tumbling out. “I had felt pain in my twenty-six years, but nothing like this. Even death was not so painful.”
Bypassing the comment about death for a moment, Merry shook her head and held her hand up. “I’m sorry, but did you say twenty-six years? You were only twenty-six when you died?”
Rhys was staring at her, blue eye wide. “You’re a child. Only a child. No wonder you’re lost. You haven’t even had time to develop your gifts properly!”
Morag made a noncommittal noise deep in her throat and shook her head. When Merry moved to ask her what was bothering her, Morag spoke first. “Gifts? Curses, whatever you call them. Things are still…fuzzy from before. I know I didn’t speak this language when I lived, but it’s all that comes to my tongue. I know that there were no Seelie or Unseelie courts, no battles to produce heirs to save your head. This is so…strange. Why won’t it stop?”
Merry and her two guards exchanged glances. In her detective work, Meredith had come across her fair share of shock victims, and the way that Morag was rubbing her arms as if she were cold, which was entirely reasonable since she’d been found out in the snow, in addition to her glassy, bright gaze was classic shock. Merry remembered her own recent brush with death and mentally kicked herself for expecting the girl to be even remotely coherent.
Morag was blinking at the carafe and made an aborted move to pick it up. Rhys stepped in and poured her a glass of amber liquid, holding it out to Morag’s seeking hand.
Merry turned to Frost, her face blank. “What are we going to do with her? I can’t just let her run around court-she’d be anyone’s meat. We’re to stay here for another week at the most, and I guess we’ll take her back to Maeve Reed’s with us.”
The glass clattered on the table, sloshing some liquid onto the lacquered surface. Morag’s face was even paler than before and her eyes were wide. She blinked and began sopping up the spilled liquid with a linen napkin embroidered with cranes.
Merry sighed and said, “We need to find somewhere to put her, another room near mine, maybe?”
A grinding noise erupted from the far wall. The stones of the sithen rearranged themselves to show a narrow doorway and slender hallway. Startled, Galen and Hawthorne peeked inside. The green man said, “It looks like a smaller bedchamber. There’s even a washroom on the far side.”
Morag seemed to droop even as Merry stood to see the rooms for herself. The princess crossed the sitting area quickly, and a brief scan of the rearranged architecture confirmed Galen’s assessment.
Rhys grumped, “It’d be nice if we all got our own rooms. Wanna tell the sithen that?”
Merry rolled her eyes. “I don’t think I tell the sithen anything. But this will serve our needs for now. Morag?”
The young woman looked up, dark eyes fathomless. “Yes?”
“Will this do? I think you should get some rest. We can talk more later.”
Morag stood, her cloak clinging to her slender frame. She was taller than Merry by a good six inches, but had the slender build more common of the sidhe. “I…I think rest would be most appreciated. It has been so long since this body has rested.”
The dark-haired woman walked to the doorway slowly, all eyes on the room on her straight back. She paused in the doorway and said, “Thank you. I’m not sure of guesting etiquette, but thank you.”
When she was safely ensconced and the door shut behind her, Merry let out a deep breath. “Well, things just get curiouser and curiouser, don’t they?”
Frost laid his arm across her shoulders. “Never easy, is it?”
Merry leaned her head on his chest. “No, never. And something tells me Morag has a much bigger role to play than we think she does.”
Rhys was still staring at the closed doorway uneasily when he said, “Well, you know what Humphrey Bogart said, don’t you? Things are never so bad they can't be made worse.”
TBC...
Part 5