Yuletide Fic: "Nameless." (Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke) G
Title: Nameless. (On Archive Of Our Own)
Author:
lannamichaels
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Rating: G
Recipient:
Vaznetti
Summary: The nameless slave shall be a king in a strange country.
Then:
Starling walked through the bottom of a river until he reached England. It was different from the brugh. He stuck his tongue out and tasted the air. Around him, his army shook off the water of the river. Starling knelt next to the bank and placed his hand on the damp dirt there. And, for the first time, he thanked the river.
Allies were important.
It had been one of the first lessons he'd learned in Faerie and one many of the fairies around him never understood. Starling had consolidated power by being willing to share it.
Thomas had been his tutor in human affairs and had told Starling that not even all humans understood this. Starling assumed it would give him an advantage in the war.
Starling was confident of his victory. He could not lose; he was only taking back what was rightfully his. He had lost his name and his family. He would gain a kingdom in its stead. And he would rule it well. He had learned at Oberon's court of the ways of fairy kings. Thomas had taught him the ways of human kings. Starling would maintain his hold on power by being something never seen before: someone who was both.
And he did rule it well. He surrounded himself with humans and fairies. He learned magic and taught magic and breathed magic. William supplemented Starling's magic with law; a human endeavor. And Starling brought the worlds close. He walked between the realms. He had three kingdoms. He had a dozen names. He had uncountable students.
And, after three hundred years, he had a matter awaiting him that would take him far from England. He would be able to return only sparingly. He did not want to leave this kingdom, but he had left it before in capable hands and returned to find it unharmed. He had gone to wars, he had spent years immersed in magical study, he had left it time and time again and the magical pacts he had forged had not fallen.
But he would be away for longer this time and so he contemplated the future.
Magic would diminish without his presence. That was inevitable. But magic had always heralded him; Starling could not imagine returning to England without magic greeting him. He would need to craft a spell to ensure that he would be welcome home properly. A year could pass as a day, a day could pass as a year. The time in England would not be the time to Starling and his remaining court. Starling did not know how many years would pass before he would return. He could not rely on his human servants to set this course into action. He would have to do it himself. He would have to do it now. He would need the magic of England to greet him; the magic must be of English nature. It must be cast on England's soil.
Starling pondered it deep into the night and as dawn came, he dipped a twig of oak into water and wrote it out in his letters on the banks of the river he had emerged from. When he finished, the north wind blew from behind him. Starling greeted it fondly and let it wrap itself around him as he walked into his kingdom, his steps eating up the miles beneath him.
It would be decades before he could even visit again.
Now:
Starling wandered through Faerie on tree branches, idly jumping from one to the other. His hair was drawn around him as a curtain and caught as he went. He left his hair behind in the trees as a gift to them for his safe passage.
His destination lay ahead of him: Lost-Hope.
Starling was not the overlord of this part of Faerie; it was Mab's domain. Starling had not seen her since the sky dawned orange on the day of Catherine's death. He would not object to seeing her now. He wondered what she made of the new king in her midst or what she made of Starling's hand in his appointment. Starling had not made it a habit before of creating more human kings in Faerie. But the spell had needed a counterweight.
Two magicians to seek magic. Two magicians to breathe life into Starling's words. Two magicians like the magicians that had wandered England before Starling had left it. The spell had not found that difficult. Magicians were not rare. These two magicians were so common, he had not needed to identify them too firmly; the spell would seek them out for him. He had needed something more to hold the spell in place. He needed something that was his alone.
And so he had called forth another nameless slave to fight to become a king. Another nameless slave to make the same journey. First, a life in England, for all that Starling did not remember his own. Then, a kingdom in Faerie. What this new king would do next was a question for all of Faerie to gossip over; Starling's spell had completed itself with one kingdom for the new king. If the new king wished for more, he would have to make his own spells and his own arrangements. Starling didn't care who reigned in Southern England. As long as this new king did not encroach on Starling's domain, then Starling would consider their bargain completed.
Starling approached Lost-Hope from the east. He was greeted by the newly-sprouted grass at his feet and, shortly thereafter, by the new king of Lost-Hope.
The new king was polite and very, very human. Starling was not very human and so found it charming. It was the spell's counterweight at work: Starling had had to learn to be human amongst the humans. This new king would learn to be fairy amongst the fairies.
"I am Starling, who is John Uskglass, the Raven King," Starling said.
The new king spoke with an accent that Starling had heard in the humans near his two magicians. "I was Stephen Black. I am the king of Lost-Hope. Well met, king of Northern England."
Starling smiled at him. "Well met, king of Lost-Hope."
This entry was originally posted at https://lannamichaels.dreamwidth.org/1090703.html.