Parley

[Paroxysm]

"Igraine," Pendaran shook his head, "Child, there is no free when it comes to the sidhe. The price just has not presented itself yet; it could be anything, really, but dependency jumps to the forefront of my mind. Not quite the method I'd choose, but those of summer like it when others think them the good court. Keep our words from earlier in mind, dear," he suggested, "A day in summer can kill as easily as a winter night. Someone will always want leverage over you--that’s just politics, really--it’s the way of life for a ruler. The Siren was attempting much the same, you see, and so did my Bocan out there, Lydia. To me.”

Pendaran paused and let that sink in for a moment. His own people would try to get an advantage, to cultivate favor and respect from their king, but Pendaran was not about to believe it was out of loyalty. Everyone had their own agendas, their own desires and dreams, and for the most part, they were going to do whatever it took to see their wishes fulfilled.

“Your mother is fearsome, but she is not infallible. The very fact that I’ve so embedded myself in your life and the lives of your family should be proof enough of that. I am not a unique snowflake, Igraine. Powerful, yes, but nothing I have done to your family is outside the realm of possibility for even human plotters. I can think of two such organizations that could do better, in fact.”

Pendaran clenched his left hand, firmly, and then opened it, palm facing up; he held in his palm a small, pristine figure that was cut from a flawlessly white silhouette.

“I was joking about the godmother thing, truthfully, but, well, since you mention young Sebilla . . . Yes, let’s see: How about familiarity?”

The figurine’s features started filling out, slow at first, but quickly gaining momentum until, eventually, a perfectly detailed simulacrum of Sebilla Rivenfelde stood in Pendaran’s open hand.

"Until the child is of comparative intelligence to that of a ten year old," Pendaran said, winking, "How about having it mentor under our newest neutral party, Sebilla Rivenfelde? She will afford the child similar benifits--"

The king's voice trailed as his eyes grew distant, a cloudy and unfocused haze swirling through the sclera. His brow furrowed, knotting and flushing the angry, irritated red of someone who was furious beyond words.

"Your--"

Pendaran swallowed and made a very, very visible effort to douse the flames of his anger.

___

Orso could not believe what he was seeing again. See? He knew it, he capital-F-reakin' knew it. The attack on Lydia was bad enough, but he was willing to just let that slide with the ol' 'no-harm-no-foul' mentality, but this was something else entirely. The entire hall was packed with Fae and each and every last one of them just saw the VIP of the party attacked and stripped by another guest. For what? A bauble? A trinket of power that could have easily been gained elsewhere, y'know, not here.

The lumen didn't even intervene this time, though. Sebilla was close enough to sidhe to heal from a couple of scratches, but Orso was honor bound to do something. The heavily armed man lifted a hand, opposite the one he had used to open the doorway for the visiting party, and he uttered a word, a simple, though incomprehensible, word, and gave his sight to the king, along with his explanation for what had occurred.

___

“--father is an impetuous fool who does not know who he tempts.”

Although Pendaran’s words were a low, rumbling growl, power snapped and crackled around him as he spoke.

“You are no longer protected by the agreement. Your father has voided it by attacking a guest of my court--the very same guest you came here to save.”

Very obviously, Pendaran had reigned his anger in. The fury that had just been present on his voice was subdued, held in and contained, though he was speaking in a very low monotone. It was all still there, of course--underneath the surface. It was very fortunate that Pendaran rarely ever took his anger out on those who did not deserve it. Lashing out childishly was below him. For now, Igraine was still safe. From Pendaran, at least.

"Your father will have to answer for this transgression before I allow you to leave. I will not lose face because of a child, but I will put that aside for now, if you wish to know why Thorin has . . . joined us this day."

[Vylrath]

Vylrath Xanathi was never satisfied, his emotions devoid of feeling complete and absolute. When Mikal entered his body with a blinding fury, all he could do was react to the pull of the demons power. This was what he had been searching for on the girl- this old power that had been lost to him ages ago. The room would darken ever-so slightly, while the once perfectly marbled floors, would be consumed with a rising miasma.

The miasma practically filtered from Vylrath's body in a great nebulous blaze. After devouring Mikal's soul, he concentrated on the energy and forced it into a core center in his mind. He would see his children and all those present, but they would appear like dark shadows in his view. Their pulses would radiate, almost like an aura in his mind. He was beginning to see with a shocking clarity.

King Pendaran was the greatest threat- next to Sebilla and Trydian. His mind was quickly becoming warped with Mikal's memories and even some of his natural born traits. Vylrath had practically destroyed his soul with one quick motion. From that gain, he felt his Vuri power fade and slowly become overridden by the demonic energy.

He could feel other overpowering entities in the room and some souls who were simply forced to be present. Igraine naturally negated him, but King Pendaran and the Vuri were at the forefront of his mind. With the power in his body, he quickly forgot about Sebilla- the girl he had just literally ravaged and could have easily killed, had her mother not stepped in to intervene.

His lips turned into a half-smile at Caela. Vylrath remembered their past and wondered if he should give the same fate to her daughter. It would be an interesting twist of fate and a cruel punishment for someone he had already tormented. Igraine was possibly the only child he wouldn't purposely harm, or maim.

Looking toward Trydian, he simply shook his head at the boy. He had strength, but he was using himself as a shield for Sebilla, someone who had already left his mind. King Pendaran was very obvious to his dark awakening, so the demon didn't waste any time.

Since his new change, he would have no binding contract in King Pendaran's realm. Demons rarely answered to beings, unless they controlled them by some magic, or ritual. King Pendaran might be in control of his other guests, but he was not in control of this man.

Snarling, his fangs dropped into a curve- their points glinting. He could feel the fury coming from King Pendaran, but it was like a beacon for Vylrath. Walking toward Orso, he vaguely remembered the man in his clouded mind.

“Tell your King that I no longer answer to him and I am no longer bound by his rules. He may have the upper hand with my daughter, but that will not last- he has lost me as a pawn in his game.” Vylrath said coolly, his words raspy and sharp with his own anger. When he spoke, his lips appeared to barely move, his body becoming dangerously predatory. Vylrath Xanathi did not enjoy being used and made to look like a fool. His dark form towered over Orso, who no doubt would display his same indifferent feelings toward him.

Vylrath let his emotions fade to his daughter, attempting to give her a sense of confidence, but he could feel her spirit growing wary.

"If he wishes to discuss my daughters fate, he can speak to me directly." With an eruption of energy, he purposely focused on King Pendaran, unafraid to show his power. Vylrath was tired of this show of dominance. "I'm sure that your King doesn't want any more inconveniences in his realm." Vylrath said, eyeing the different creatures in the room. He could easily attack and kill a handful, if his mood allowed. He was ready for a fight, if the King choose to respond harshly. Vylrath had vowed to protect Igraine and he was determined to follow his word with Kahlan.

[Trydian]

Trydian yelled in confusion and fear for Sebilla. In an instant, the one person he had been fighting for, was quickly being taken away from him. Her blood filled the air, along with the sickening miamsa that practically poured from Vylrath. Cursing, he covered her body with his own shirt, dressing her like a small and helpless child.

He was too enraged to speak, his glare shifting from Caela to Vylrath and back to his mother. His arms protected Sebilla, watching her wounds quickly bleed out and heal with a new layer of skin. Trydian's muscled frame, would appear overpowering next to his seemingly frail Sebilla. Through his anger, he cursed his mother for the stupidity she just displayed. No matter the reasoning she might argue later, he would never understand why she would gift Vylrath with that power.

After everything the family had endured, Vylrath was the last person, that should have been the vessel for such a demon. Growling, he unsheathed his blade and made sure that it rested in front of Sebilla. He was shielding her- even from Caela. Gripping Sebilla with his free arm, he kept her close to his bare chest and dared anyone to take her from him. Making sure that Vylrath was well away from them, he spoke directly to his mother in her mind. Trydian knew that he couldn't risk Vylrath gaining that link, or even the King. Trydian's eyes desperately searched her for some sort of explanation. It felt too much like betrayal, but it was out of character for his mother.

I saw the exchange between you and Sebilla. Have I been kept in the dark? You've just buried your family, by giving him that power...she would have been killed, had I not ordered her to take the King's gift.

It was true. If Sebilla had been a mortal woman, she would have died from such wounds. That thought only spun Trydian's mind into a blinding fury. Thankfully, he could only attack from the King's orders, so he could only protect Sebilla at the moment. He held her, whispering words of encouragement. Even with her new powers, Trydian still felt as though she needed him in order to survive.

Unless Sebilla spoke in defense, he would be keeping Caela and Thorin at bay. He needed to make sure that she was healing and strong enough to stand. If everything was lost from Vylrath's actions, at least he could still protect Sebilla.

The sword fed off of his emotions: the betrayal, fear of losing Sebilla and the anger toward his father. Sebilla would feel a warming sensation trickle across her skin, the ward protecting her from further harm- provided that Trydian was there to keep it alive.

“No one will hurt you...I've got you...” He said, glaring at his mother once more. Powering such a sword was exhausting, but he didn't let himself become distracted.

[Sebilla]

Everything was happening so fast that Sebilla could barely keep it all together. She was shaking in Trydian’s arms, his shirt covering her nakedness easily, but not from fear. She was hardly capable of holding her rage in check as Vylrath stalked around like a strutting rooster. She wondered at her decision to open the crystal ball and flood him with the demonic power within.

Sebilla glanced up at Trydian and rested against him, feeling more like a block of ice resting against a furnace. She wondered if he would melt her resolve, because could feel it slowly falling away as she stayed close to him. It was rather romantic of him to give his shirt to her and protect her with his body. Sebilla sighed, feeling his arm close around her in a protective manner as he murmured that he wouldn’t allow her to be hurt. It was unnecessary, really, but it was romantic. She planted a soft kiss on his bare chest and rested her head against his chest, watching Vylrath balefully as her icy anger started to subside.

Being a part of the sidhe, and part of the mortal world, was a strange sensation. Where Vylrath had clawed her, Sebilla had itchy sensations as the wounds began to close. She doubted very seriously that King Pendaran was not aware of everything that had transpired.

When Vylrath grumbled about taking her as a lover, Sebilla stomped her foot – the sound echoing through the room sharply.

“You will die if you touch me. I have too many powers looking over me for you to even manage to steal me away long enough. As old as you are it probably takes forever.” Sebilla smirked, a savage look in her eyes. There would be no love lost between them.

------------------------------

Caela sighed as Vylrath boasted – entirely reminded of what it was like to be around a demonic Vylrath. Her lips pursed as he beat his chest like an overgrown gorilla and tried to act tough. The truth of the matter was any one of them could have taken him down with a knife to the gut.

When Trydian questioned her she looked at him sharply and closed her eyes, picturing Sebilla being shredded by Vylrath. Never resting until he could tear the orb from her body, and then punish her for keeping it from him – however unwittingly. The punishment was death, of course, and Trydian might balk at the fact that half of that vision was Caela’s own memory.

Don’t judge us. She knows my past, she saw it when she was young, and she knew that Vylrath would never rest in his attempts to destroy her. She would have died eventually when Vylrath stalked her, or tried to rape her. Could you live with that? Neither could we. She opened the gateway and I put the demon in. It may not be the most ethical thing to do considering who we’re working with, but I’d rather have Sebilla comfortable and not looking over her shoulder constantly. As it stands, now only I have to really look forward to him showing up randomly in my bed.

Caela had only hinted that Vylrath might come for her again. His demonic side was obsessive with her, and she looked very similar to her old self once again. The amusing part of the situation was that she would only produce Vuri children, and at a heightened pace. Vylrath could get her pregnant at least four times a year if he had a mind for it – and he usually did. She would take the fall for her daughter though, and not let him anywhere near her.

[Igraine]

Igraine pressed her palm against her eyes and sighed heavily. Vylrath was known to be a royal pain in the ass, and obviously he was causing increasing amounts of trouble – if the increasing neutrality of Pendaran’s expression as any indication.

“Yes, do tell me what my daughter’s father is doing here. Preferrably how he managed to get here.” Igraine kept her eyes covered with her hand, trying to will the headache that was forming just behind her eyes away.

“I want to note for the record that my family is less that capable of working together. I am the only reason they’re here and I’m starting to wonder at my own sanity for bringing Vylrath. I don’t know what’s going on but I do apologize ahead of time for any loss of life that your court may experience. I will take responsibility for it.”

Igraine removed her hand from her eyes and looked at Pendaran, she rested her head on her fist and kept her calm. Most women would have come unraveled in Pendaran’s presence. She was made of a tougher mettle. He was unsettling at times, but he wasn’t something she found she should fear expressly. Perhaps it was a sense of understanding between them – that Vylrath was an idiot at the best of times – that her family was a nuisance at the best of times…
A smile cracked her lips briefly. If he married her he would inherit her insane family and father. Maybe this would deter him from making any long term deals with her after all.

---------------------------------

Amara started when the commotion erupted in the center of the hall. She, along with all the other Unseelie, were drawn to the ruckus and became enthralled by it. The naked young woman, the one that had Pendaran’s powers, seemed to be holding her own. Then her mother and lover, whom Amara didn’t know was her twin brother, snapped into action and pushed the crazy red haired man aside.

What a family. A Bocan treated it’s child with indifference at least, not unbridled lust and contempt. She shook her head, grimacing at the searing pain from her neck. She was slow to heal because of the venom from Lydia’s claws. It was a perk of being a Bocan. Shred them, and if that doesn’t kill them – the venom surely will.

“What in the hell have we walked into, Cambria?” Amara murmured. She tugged on his hand to draw him back away from the center of the room. Surely King Pendaran couldn’t be happy to accept these developments, and she didn’t want Cambria anywhere near his wrath until it had cooled to a simmer. Hell, she didn’t want to be near King Pendaran in his rage.

Lydia, with a hand on her huge belly, took the chance to bolt from the room. With everyone’s eyes fixated on the commotion created by Thorin’s family she would not be missed. Even Amara hadn’t seen her leave.

As she made it out of the door she realized that her legs were soaked. A curse erupted from her throat as she hurried as fast as she could to the infirmary. This child was obviously going to love drama if he wanted to be born now instead of later. Lydia took a moment to consider his father and realized that she might have to deal with the drama his line produced.

Lydia barely made it to the infirmary as the first vicious contraction took over her body. A servant caught her as she fell and drew her up onto one of the beds. She was stripped as a doctor put his hands on her methodically. He was able to ease some of the pain, but she was wracked with such vicious angry contractions that it only took the edge off and didn’t dim the pain at all.

Now she knew why women died giving birth. Now she understood why a Bocan could only give birth once. From the feeling lancing through her – Lydia dimly wondered if her womb wouldn’t explode from the effort of giving birth to this one child.

It wouldn’t be a short enough birth for her. Indeed, it would take her several long hours, filled with heated and angry cussing, in order to give birth to her son. He was a beautiful baby boy with downy white hair and cherubic features, and her eyes. The eyes of a Bocan. A smile, exhausted as she was, creased her lips as she held her son. She gave him to the doctor shortly before passing out, content to have given birth to the child.

[Thorin]

Free-falling....

Thorin was free-falling and he didn't know what the outcome would be. He couldn't catch his breath, his anger matching his sister's. He watched everything unfold, silently in the corner, with the Bocan's and Cambria. When Lydia expressed her pain and discomfort, he immediately saw the ground soaked with her fluid.

Shit.

That was just what they needed. Lydia picked the best time to go into labor and display his mistake to the world. Cursing, he followed her, but let his body fade away from sight. It was a habit he was getting accustomed too- traveling the corridors of the umbra. He followed quickly behind Lydia, not letting her sense his presence. Thorin shouldn't even care about her, but it was the baby he was mostly concerned about.

He was thankful for his father's distraction. For once, Vylrath picked the opportune time, to wreck everything they had been trying to rebuild. He sent a private message to his sister, his voice panicked and unsure of his actions, or if he would safely make it out alive. Thorin only knew, that this was the best chance for getting the infant.

Caela, I need you to tell Igraine that I'm sorry for everything and that I love her. I don't expect her to understand, but I'm going to try to get out of here while I still can- I'm taking the baby. If the King finds out, he'll concentrate on me. Take care of her for me. Tell her, that if I make it, I'll be in Ulster. She'll know what I'm talking about.

Thorin could only hope that she understood what he was talking about. Slipping past guards, he shut his mind completely and blocked anyone from trying to contact him. They didn't need to be linked to him and risk their own safety. Caela had enough to worry about, especially since Vylrath was given the damned power.

He understood why Caela had done her act, knowing her history all too well with Vylrath. Shaking his head, he slipped past another guard, who might have thought he felt the presence of another being. The shadows created almost a barrier around his figure, making it difficult for the Fae to really see his true form.

Lydia's scream jolted him out of his thoughts. She was obviously having a difficult birth and he strangely felt for her. He shouldn't have any connection to her, not after everything that had transpired between them. Staying by her side, he watched the doctor pass the infant- his son- to a nurse, who walked away to another part of the building.

He let his image form, only briefly. Smiling toward Lydia, his lips turned into a cruel smirk. The Bocan thought she could outwit him, but he would be getting his own revenge. Fading back out, he followed the nurse and watched his son being placed in the nursery.

Thorin knew which child was his- the child had gray skin and amber eyes. His strangeness immediately struck Thorin, but he simply picked up the child and wrapped him in his cloak. The infant cried in protest at having been disturbed, but his cries were muffled by Thorin swaddling him in the cloak.

Evading the guards once more, he decided to let Lydia see her son one last time. It was a cruel treatment, especially after her painful birth. Thorin was proving that he couldn't be outsmarted by her wicked ways. He appeared by her, the smirk dissolved from his face. Thorin appeared apathetic, but he wanted her to see their son.

Uncovering the infant's head, he let the baby gaze at it's mother. Perhaps she had been able to hold him after birth, but Thorin didn't offer the swaddled babe to her. His eyes glared at her pained form, wondering if he should end her life there, but he knew someone else would enjoy that justice.

Thorin left her, only with the image of their swaddled son and his smirk. He would travel to Ulster, where they would at least be safe until he could regroup with Caela and Igraine. Thorin couldn't count on absolute safety, knowing very well that the King would possibly hunt him down, but it was a risk he'd make for his son.

[Paroxysm]

The Unseelie king exhaled another growl as he flicked his eyes, smoldering with anger, at Igraine. There was nothing Pendaran wanted more than to bring the might of his power on top of the Ulsterite Queen's family--he wasn't going to do that, though. Not yet, at least; he was going to finish this meeting with Igraine and then he was going to properly show his displeasure at how her family had behaved as guests of his court.

They were asked to do one thing: Not to cause trouble. One. Thing. That was all! Once the meeting with Igraine had been finished they would have all been allowed to leave and go about their merry way. But no, Vylrath--and now Thorin--had declared war and if that was what they wanted, war was what they were going to get.

__

Orso

__

“You stupid fool,” Orso muttered, shaking his head solemnly, “You are by far the most self-deluded savage I have ever seen. Lose you as a pawn? You were not a piece on the board until you put yourself there--and did this,” Orso spread his arms, “and now you’ve proven your daughter an inept ruler. Bravo,” he spat.

Had the lights dimmed again? Oh no, no, no. That just would not do. The lumen smiled, his eyes sharpening, narrowing, and with but a slight effort of will, the lights brightened into a harsh, hazy white; he immediately brought his back in towards his body, crossing them over his chest, and as if on queue, another murmur ran the crowd, this time in the form of laughter, sneers, and snickering.

“Demons,” Orso barked, “Sentinel’s pets,” he said, “mongrels with no sense of humility. Fools who cannot even comprehend just how little power they really have in the grand scheme of things. You want to fight someone who has stood his ground against things ten fold your better? Little demon,” the Lumen bared his teeth, “You were never bound by our rules--we were the ones bound,” he explained, “You were being protected from us.”

How much simpler could Orso make it? How better could he explain it to someone who could not grasp something so . . . so obvious? They were not in the underworld, in hell, they were not even in the mortal world, they were in the Unseelie, a land long since mastered by the noble sidhe, and Vylrath? His influence here was nothing in the face of the sidhe.

It was fortunate Pendaran had the foresight to invite so many of his brothers and sisters of the court to the festivities, wasn’t it? It was actually quite surprising that nobody had questioned why so many of the nobility had been gathered . . .

There had been no warning: One second, Orso stood there, alone, and the next he was flanked by three similarly sized silhouettes. These silhouettes filled out as they stood beside the lumen and revealed themselves to be sidhe, two elven-featured men and one woman, all three bearing the marks that distinguished them as powerful members of the Unseelie court.

The three sidhe and one lumen wavered slightly, blurring just a bit, but they stood there, right before Vylrath, unconcerned. Each was an illusion generated by Fae glamour. Orso stalked to the side, brought out his hand, mimicking the gun gesture from before, said nothing, but power, concentrated at the end of his two extended digits, welled up and then was released, propelling itself with frightening speed toward the side of Vylrath’s head. The sidhe, all of them, not just the three who had previously moved beside Orso, began to gather their wills, to concentrate their magic all through the room. An unfathomably powerful spell, fueled by a score of Unseelie nobles, was being prepared.

Maybe Vylrath thought he was powerful enough to face an army of mortals. That was fine and good, but he was dealing with an army of magically inclined, powerful and influential non-humans: beings that carried a rather unsavory reputation for being cruel and murderous, and more than a little inhospitable to guests that offended them.

__

Sadb

__

The jeweled spider that stayed close to Sebilla gave a violent spasm, stiffening, but quickly returned to its normal behavior. Somewhere far off, a woman laughed, the sound of it carrying through the wind, ringing like chimes, and she waited, patiently.

When Thorin attempted to take his leave of the Unseelie, the world did not permit it, it refused him and whatever dark power he was using to aid the endeavor, but the world did move him, unfortunately. When next Thorin looked around, he would find himself surrounded by a cold, harsh landscape; it had, prior to these events, been quite a beautiful place, a welcoming carpet of green, vibrant grass and water so fresh, so pure that it beckoned to all who saw it to have a sip, a little taste. Now, however, the grass was dead, frozen and snapping under foot, and the water, polluted and stinking of rot, was slush, filled with countless bones and rotting cadavers.

A monument, covered in a blanket of snow, its surface engraved with various symbols, all slithering and emitting a pale, blue light, stood in the middle of the clearing.

Pendaran had not been kidding when he said Caela and Thorin were not leaving without his permission; indeed, this was definitive proof that he meant it. There were two great powers in the Unseelie: One was Pendaran, who had ruled the Unseelie for as long as anyone could remember, but there was another, too, and she was a far crueler entity than Pendaran was, himself. She was more inline with the chaotic, natural forces that the Unseelie originated from. Where Pendaran demanded order, this one, this woman named Sadb, worshiped chaos, spreading it wherever she went.

“A risk you’d make for your son?”

A woman’s voice drifted through the air like warm, rich honey.

‘If she has any children by me,’ the voice spoke, this time matching Thorin’s own flawlessly, ‘then she had better beg for your protection over them. I will kill them myself.’

The disembodied voice laughed, feminine and silken, and more than a little contemptuous.

‘The abomination,’ it continued, ‘may belong to you, but the blood is forever tied with me and the Vuri.’

“Give me the child,” the voice said, a woman's once more, reverberating through the air, magical Fascination giving it an extra edge, a subtle compulsion to obey, “Put it down,” it said, “It will bring you nothing but heartache, Thorin, and the king will be furious, he will demand compensation from Igraine; he will demand your daughter and nothing can deny him. You know this, don’t you? You’ve seen it. The distance his hand moves, the games he plays, and none you love are safe from him. The child is ours," it jabbed, "You want to leave, yes? Put the child on the ground and Sadb will bid you departure from her parlor."

__

Pendaran

__

The king drummed his fingers across the surface of the table, thinking.

“Quaint,” Pendaran sighed as his eyes became sharper, clearer; he had been watching what was happening from several different viewpoints.

“To begin,” he said, “My Lydia, a bocan, brought Thorin to me as a gift, understand? It’s all political, of course. I treasure my bocan, they are powerful agents, seductive and talented in infiltration, and can breed with just about anything. Such as something as disgusting as a, a Vuri, was it? With an application of glamour, she and Thorin mated. The offspring is mine,” he said, “and Thorin has already threatened to kill it, claiming it to be an abomination. He is now attempting to leave with said child, believe it or not. Abandoning you for something he already marked for death. Sadly, unfortunately for him, both he and the child belong to me until I say otherwise,” fury colored Pendaran’s words, “and if he does not return it,” the king stood, throwing the chair away from his body, and leaned in over the table, “I will take his other child as recompense. Even your mother cannot stop the old laws,” Pendaran growled, “Amends must be made: Flesh for flesh, girl. I have tried to be open and honest, understanding, even, and I have tried peace, I entertained your ‘ultimatum,’ too. Trampled! All of it,” he said and straightened himself.

“What do you suggest, O Queen of Ulster, heiress apparent to the Seelie court. Would you like to try and salvage this mess your family has made? Assert yourself as a ruler? I will give you but one chance before I abandon my civil ways and try force, as it seems your family only recognizes strength."

"I'm beginning to think uniting the courts through diplomacy instead of war was a mistake.”

[Igraine]

When Pendaran rose to his feet, so did Igraine. She wasn’t a large woman by any means, and she was a full head shorter than Pendaran himself, but when she gathered her power around her – as she so hated to do – she seemed to fill a room. Where Pendaran’s powers were icy and cold, hers were hot and smelled of the deeply magic moments found in deep summer. Her eyes glowed for a moment, briefly really, more like a reflection from a deep pool of water.

“Your Bocan mated with my lover? Under my guise?” Igraine leaned forward and planted her hands firmly on Pendaran’s desk. “Let me get this straight. Your Bocan used the guise of my body for the purpose of enslaving Thorin, who is known to be my lover.” Her knuckles curled into a fist as she kept her gaze on Pendaran. She wasn’t afraid of him, he could kill her – but then he’d lose a hell of a lot more than was necessary. Let him try to get her mother to do for him what he wanted. She almost laughed at that thought.

“I really don’t give a rat’s ass what your Bocan is having or what Thorin is doing. You speak of the old ways? I want recompense for the use of my body. You know there are laws.” There were, shape shifters had a harder time impersonating powerful figures for a reason, they weren’t supposed to. It had been agreed when the old laws were made. If a lowly shape shifter took the form of a leader…well shit could hit the fan.

And now it had.

“Do me this, will you? I will be your flesh for flesh. I will be the recompense you so seek. You will leave my daughter out of this. I will come to you willingly and let you tear me to shreds if that is what you desire. The Seelie can find another Queen, I’m sure.” They couldn’t and wouldn’t find a new Queen. Igraine was their heir and they would not rest until they had her back. She wasn’t counting on their winning.

With a deep growl, Igraine pushed the desk Pendaran was standing behind and turned away from him. Her family was going to suffer for everything. Vylrath would be first. He might love her like the only daughter he ever had…but she was going to make him ache in ways that he never knew possible.

“This Parley is over. What a goddamned joke.” Disgusted with her own family, putting herself in Pendaran’s hands in order to make things right, what else could go wrong?

“You will give me the Bocan that mated with my lover.” Igraine stopped at the door and turned back to Pendaran. The evidence of her Seelie and Angel heritage written all over her posture, she was too livid in order to hide it like she usually did. “As a wedding present. I want her life in trade for my services as Lady Wife to his Majesty.” Igraine sketched a mockery of a curtsey and set her jaw. Perhaps Pendaran would think her a petulant child, but he wouldn’t touch her – couldn’t touch her at that moment. The heat that radiated off of her in crashing waves was cooled only by the ice of her anger within.

Her family had effectively sold her. The only pair she knew she could trust not to have done so would have been Caela and Sebilla – but she doubted that they were completely innocent in the matter.

----------------------------------

Lydia shrieked when Thorin materialized shortly after she gave birth. She frantically motioned to where he was, only to find that he was gone, and babbled insanely about his presence. The doctors, really very good at what they did, thought she had lost too much blood and quieted her with a draught of powerful sleeping herbs.

When Thorin returned, the world was hazy but she focused hard on him.

Her son. He had her son.

It wasn't so much as Lydia loved her son as he was meant for King Pendaran's services. Not to mention she had labored hard in order to give birth to him, her body shredded from the inside out in order to produce one child. This child. He was hers and she wasn't going to let Thorin take him. No, he couldn't have her son.

Lydia shrieked again, throwing her battered body out of the bed she was laying in and clawing her way toward the door where Thorin had disappeared. The doctors and nurses were circling around her, trying desperately to avoid her flailing claws, worried about her sanity as she finally slipped into a deep sleep – blood trailing in her wake where her stitches had snapped open.

The Doctors were murmuring over her as they moved her limp form back to the bed she had been laying on. They were in the process of re-stitching her when the alarm went up. A baby was missing from the nursery. The Doctors looked between themselves and cursed.

The Bocan had been right. Someone had taken her son.

Pendaran would be livid when he found out. They were all counting on, at that moment, the presence of Sabd to stop the man that had stolen the newest Bocan.

[Paroxysm]

Elemental cold swirled around Pendaran in a furious, howling wind; he had moved to stand threateningly close to Igraine in as little time as it would have taken to blink.

“You want to cite the old laws to your advantage, this day? Perhaps when you take the Seelie throne, you will learn to do so properly: My bocan did not use your form to undermine your position in either court you belong to, Seelie or mortal. Thankful, am I, that Ulsterite culture does not view the queen’s lover as anything special. Technicalities will be your friend in the future. Do make them into an armor."

There was simply no way Pendaran was going to let Igraine play a strong hand today, not with how her family had treated him, or with what they were doing right now, within and without his stronghold. No, she would have to learn that Pendaran was harder to trap with words than that. The truth was, however, that Lydia had served her purpose and was more or less useless now.

"If you want my bocan to relieve some of your anger, however, I gift her to you; she knew her worth--all of it--would be inherited by her child. There are two conditions: You do not torture her and you do not feed her to your mongrel family--and word of warning, daughter of Kahlan, do not think yourself my equal. You have no bargaining ground here, child, and I am not so reasonable and understanding that even in my fury will I permit you to treat me as anything but the king of the land you stand upon. Treat me in my court as I would you in yours."

Maybe Igraine thought Pendaran would have thrown protocol out of the window if he was in Ulster, surrounded by mortals, and angry--but he wouldn’t have. He would have treated her with the respect her position demanded. In her court. That was just the way things worked; thus, he expected the same.

Frost, followed by a thin sheet of ice, formed around the walls and floor of where Pendaran stood, and, every odd second or two, audible cracking noises could be heard. With the powers of winter and summer mingling, the air became thick, humid, and a thin fog rolled lazily through the room.

It was funny that Igraine’s family thought the Ulsterite queen needed their protection. Perhaps they had never seen the woman displaying her ability so blatantly, but few could have managed to project an aura of power, Seelie or no, and not have it overwhelmed near-instantly by Pendaran’s own. Still, Pendaran was not trying to attack or defeat the girl, he was making a point, a large exclamation mark, in fact, and it was an inevitability as far as the Unseelie king was concerned that the Queen of Ulster would tire long before he did; likewise, she lacked his wealth of experience. Pendaran had been a problem for both her predecessor, Mab, and her mother, Kahlan.

"There will be time for bickering later,” Pendaran said finally, his voice soft, softer, perhaps, than one would have expected, and, willing his power to subside, he allowed the temperature in the room to return to normal, save, perhaps, the immediate area around Igraine.

“The child Thorin has made away with is mine, and I will do no less to get that child back than you would do to retrieve your own. I am keeping the newborn. Do not stand between me and that goal, Igraine, and I give you my word, you have no fear of me using or harming your daughter. Whatever happens,” he said, “You can blame your poor choice in lover.”

Once Igraine left, Pendaran would follow, and he would shift the world around until the path between his study and the hall where all the trouble was taking place was but a couple of feet and a door away.

[Igraine]

Child, child, child. The word echoed around in her skull for a few moments before disintegrating beneath the weight of her anger. Pendaran had no reason to reprimand her. She had done nothing but be civil and demand the safety of her daughter. He was the one that had amassed the better part of her family. She had brought Vylrath, sure, but there was nothing that could be said that Vylrath didn’t have her best interests at heart – right behind his own.

Perhaps the icy death presented by Winter’s court took much for granted. Their powers would always cancel each other out. Fire melted ice as ice quenched fire – opposites in so many ways. Igraine kept her back to the door, resisting the urge to race down the hallway to put a knife in her father’s heart, or even Thorin’s. Neither had done anything but cause her grief, loads of grief when all she’d wanted was love.

“I have shown you every courtesy. I have offered what I can. Were you in my place you would have done no differently, though I cannot snuff the life of a patron of my court with a thought – perhaps a fault I should remedy.” When Pendaran dropped his power she let hers slip from her, feeling exhilarated with the mild flex of her power. It was like a sleeping dragon stretching after a long nap. It felt wrong to neglect her powers but she had tried for so long to keep normal , to avoid the Unseelie Realm that seemed so interested in her and her powers. Now that she was here she suddenly looked up and smiled.

It was a haunted smile, something of a ghostly past where she feared the dark. When Pendaran spoke softly she closed her eyes, the smile still playing itself out across her lips.

“I don’t want the child. If you asked it of me I would raise it for you. I do not condone hurting children. Or scaring them senseless.” She leveled her eyes on the King then and stepped away from the wall, the fog they had created between them quickly dissipating. She did something that she never thought she would ever do.
She held her hands out to Pendaran. It was an old gesture, one of good will between two people.

“Look. I may not have the prowess of my mother, or the age of Queen Mab – but you want me, no rather I think you need me. Let us at least present a unified front. You know that I have no control over my father’s side of the family. I do not want the Bocan’s child, but I do want her life. In truth, as my recognized lover, Thorin was placed high in the ranks of Ulster. You may think you know all of our customs, but as my personal guard he was in charge of making sure I didn’t fall victim to some court intrigue. Regardless, I think we know how that played itself out. Impersonating me at any point, for any reason, is not allowed between us.”

If he took her hands he might be surprised at how cold she actually was. A residual feeling of the icy anger in her heart.

“I will take the punishment for the issues my family has created. I have never wanted to be your equal, as I have never wanted to be in your court. I know what you’re capable of, of what everyone is capable of in this realm. Do you judge me so harshly when you used to watch me sleep from the mirror by my bed?”

It was common knowledge between them that Pendaran watched her grow up, mature, and as always he had been attracted by her heritage and her powers – nothing more. She had grown afraid of the distant cold man in the mirror, always watching, always knowing. She’d stopped using her powers in hopes of him going away – and he had for some time. Now, though, she could feel the rift in the veil separating the Unseelie realm from the human realm. Soon there would be nothing left, nothing keeping Pendaran from stepping through his mirror to take her. It was best to give in and allow him to exact whatever revenge he wanted on her.

“Do what you will with me, but allow me to at least inform my family what has occurred. I also ask permission to give birth to my daughter either in the human world or the Seelie Court. I will come back to you, for I will be honor bound to fulfill the contract between us. If you are seen to be my master in all things, and husband, then I would ask for this at least. I will defer to your judgement.”

Igraine wasn’t meek, she wasn’t mild, and for her to offer herself so willingly was a struggle. She kept a firm control on herself as she shook herself and tilted her head up to look at Pendaran. He didn’t know her as well as he thought. She would let his anger, his admonishments, his vicious comments all wash over her. She would be the wife and slave he never had.

She just hoped he didn’t want children.

Without a word she started down the hallway, shortened and disorienting due to Pendaran’s powers. She rested a hand on the door leading to the reception all, trying to gather herself and re-orient herself, slightly dizzy from the strange power.

Once she stepped inside the room, all attention would swivel to her. Her powers were the strange sort, out of place in this world of ice, and so it engendered such a reaction.

“Father, could you not wait?” Igraine’s eyes were piercing, and she had a disheveled look about her, a flush on her cheeks that spoke volumes about the anger she held simmering beneath the surface. She could display her power for everyone to see, or she could drive a stake into the old bat’s heart – but she did none of these. She simply stood there, waiting, watching – knowing that Pendaran would enter behind her.

Their contract would be obvious to everyone involved, even Vylrath. He had sealed his daughter’s fate with his actions, out of love or not.

It was something she couldn’t seem to voice, though; now that she was standing there staring at him. Anger took over in her mind like a vicious seed. He would pay for his transgressions, but perhaps she should be the one to exact them.

[Paroxysm]

Pendaran clasped Igraine's hand with his own out of simple courtesy alone.

"Your personal guard?" Pendaran smiled, "Cute."

There was nothing Pendaran could say about this weird, fantasy position Thorin was apparently serving that would not have been considerably rude and insensitive. Next she would make her father Ulster's general. Surely, that would end well for all.

“Let me let you in on a little secret,” Pendaran said, still holding Igraine’s hand firmly, “Whatever you think you know of me or whatever you think I may want from you, forget it. You want to birth your daughter in a place of your choosing? That is your right,” he said, “and I have no interest in denying you of simple pleasures. I encourage you to raise your daughter, in fact; it won’t do for her to go without her mother. Traveling between worlds is simple enough for us--well, for you, at any rate. For a short time yet, I will have some difficulty . . . “

Pendaran released Igraine’s hand and looked at the woman with hardened eyes.

“I unnerved you when you were a child,” he admitted, “and I probably don’t do much better now, with you as an adult. But ask yourself,” he leaned in, “What of all the others? The ones you never saw,” he said, “Enemies that belonged to your mother, to Ulster, and even myself; it is odd, isn’t it? That most never bothered you. Never came close to you. Who or what could have deterred them, and what terrible fate befell those too stupid or desperate to take the hint?”

Indeed, many were the number of those slain for Igraine’s protection. Between Kahlan and Pendaran, a macabre castle could have probably been built from the bones of the deceased, in fact.

The Unseelie king clapped his hands.

“Enough,” he said, “We’ll talk later. Your father needs a lesson in diplomacy.”

For his part, when Pendaran entered the hall, he did not immediately wipe Vylrath from the face of his realm; he, instead, stood behind Igraine, patiently. He would let her say her piece and then he would wipe Vylrath from the face of his realm.

[Sage]

Instinctively, Cambria held fast to Amara's arm. The room was alight with furious noise and activity, and he would be ready to phase the pair of them at the first sign of violence growing out of control. He would not approach anyone directly, nor would he retreat. If he was to become a part of this world, it would be better to prove useful, with a cool head under pressure rather than a sniveling coward skittering away under the heel of Pendaran in his anger.

He would see Pendaran, despite this mess, though he knew well enough to wait his turn. If things went just so, to his advantage, he could choose a time to present himself and his services, whereby the Unseelie King would be foolish not to accept them. " Things aren't going badly for us, yet. So far all this noise has done, in regards to us, is mask our lateness and present opportunities for us to be of use and service to beings whose favor is high in demand. "

Cambria's thoughts raced as he recalculated possible outcomes, and tried to keep track of the various parties involved. He pulled in tendrils from every area in and around the castle, feelers from which he sampled scents, tensions, and temperatures. The sample he had taken from the direction which Igraine and Pendaran appeared was inexplicably familiar. Angry swirling currents of heated and chilled air, colliding inside his nostrils like the churning wind currents before a cyclone formed. It was not unlike what he had sensed during encounters dealing with his Master's brother.

The feeling was different, less raw, but more controlled...a concentrated intentional vibration of magic that tingled Cambria's skin. It was more like the way Cambria used magic, and a spark of hope twinkled in his eyes, bloody though they were. Someone on this plane had his answers, he just had to be sure not to misplay his hand.

[Vylrath]

If he was not bound, then why did he have to behave in the first place? Snarling, Vylrath turned from Orso and met eyes with Igraine. His daughter looked more than furious, her eyes shining with a brilliant hatred. These creatures were nothing more than smoke and mirror tricks. “Your mother always looked beautiful when she was angry.” Vylrath looked to the man behind her- the one who had been responsible for this Hell. He ignored Orso and his band of flamboyant company. His arrogance had finally gotten underneath his skin.

Vylrath was not known for following the rules, or respecting those with power. He had gained his reputation by defying those who thought they held such influence. King Pendaran and his realm would be no different. He could feel Orso and his group preparing something for him...how thoughtful. If there was punishment, he would rather feel the wrath instead of his daughter.

Since there was little to be lost, he unsheathed his blade and hardened his fingers, which snapped and cracked into razor-like edges. The miasma and pure raw energy continued to roll off of his body, but it acted like controlled dense tendrils. Vylrath wasn't holding back and he'd rather put up a fight, instead of being forced into submission by such a bastard.

Vylrath moved quickly, more than likely catching Igraine off guard. She would see the fury in his eyes, the stubborn defiance that always got him into trouble. He shoved her aside, not looking to see if she had been damaged. Vylrath was concentrating on King Pendaran's form, who stood only behind her. He kept his sword low, ready to defend and raised his claw instead. Pulling his arm back, he struck his claw toward King Pendran's flawless face.

At the same moment, Vylrath felt something else pull at him, but it was with a darker influence. King Pendaran might see his confused and maybe even shocked face. His body flickered in and out like a candle flame. Even his breath caught in his chest. He never thought he would experience such a power.

Whoever was summoning him, had to possess great magic in their veins. Invisible shackles covered his body, attempting to restrain him from movement. He appeared to call out to Igraine, but it was really a curse to King Pendaran. His body faded, completely from their existence. They would be just as confused as he was, but not with so much regret. Vylrath would never know if he left a mark on the smug face of King Pendaran.

Vylrath felt his body being pulled into another plane entirely, while his mind tried to wrap around the power responsible for such a feat. Igraine would be on her own, but maybe his absence was for the better.

[Paroxysm]

Offtopic: Well, then, since Vylrath interacted with Pendaran before he vanished, I'm going to go ahead and reply before too many characters add their own thoughts to the mix. Don't want it to get too confusing. /cough

Fortunately for Vylrath, when he lunged to attack Pendaran, it put him just outside of Orso's own attack, the heat of the narrowly avoided attack feeling alarmingly like a streak of liquid, searing flame; it did, after all, ionize the air surrounding it, leaving short-lived, multi-colored globs of plasma in the wake of the beam. The small, perfect hole the attack left as it bore its way through the stronghold's walls would be a small, but impressive testament to the power held in the compact, coherent beam.

It was about that time that the lumen noticed Pendaran, the Unseelie king. Orso very nearly fell over himself as he backed away and tried to make himself appear smaller, unobtrusive. If he knew anything about Pendaran, it was that the man was not going to be happy and he could only imagine the rolling, furious storm raging silently inside the king.

King Pendaran--Madoc, the Winter Aspect--was a force of nature and all of that power, all of what made him, him, was directed at Vylrath now, but that didn't mean others wouldn't be caught up in his tremendous power when it was brought to bear.

When Vylrath moved in to attack, that was as one transgression too many, and Pendaran responded in a way that he had rarely ever done: He released his restraints.

There was no spectacular light show and nor was there a build up of power, or the breaking of a dam that just barely held Pendaran's might at bay. No, it was a transition from one state to the other in such little time that it nearly appeared to be instantaneous.

In Pendaran's place now stood something formless, an amorphous cloud composed entirely of cold, harsh light; it radiated intelligence and was far more attuned to the powers it governed.

In seconds, with but a thought, it could have frozen the hall, reduced all within its demesne to sculptures of ice, their blood frozen in their veins, but it didn't; it, instead, peered at--and through--Vylrath, looking right into the shriveled, dark thing he called his soul.

And it laughed soundlessly, a mocking display of light running an electric, shimmering course.

Vylrath's claw passed harmlessly through Pendaran, but it would be an action the demon would eventually come to regret, though not yet, not this day; he would feel the repercussions of touching the face of winter when next he started to change. It would not prevent his change and nor would it kill him, but it would send a lance of pain up and down his hand and arm, wherever he had touched Pendaran.

Without warning, after Vylrath’s attack had been nullified, Pendaran was in form again, solid and statuesque, and furious, his eyes a cold, stone-grey.

Even before Vylrath vanished, Pendaran felt the magic take hold of the demon, but it was surprisingly sudden, too much so, in fact, for him to grab hold to, to counteract or reverse, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it; he could have, if he had remained out-of-form, but he hadn’t and that was his mistake.

“I mark you,” Pendaran snarled as he pit his will against the will of whoever was aiding in Vylrath’s apparent escape, “You are unwelcome here, to my realm, to my world, and I mark you,” he grabbed onto the combined force his nobility had been gathering, altered it, and then directed it through the magical link, the open channel the summoner had used to beckon Vylrath, “I mark you all,” he snarled again.

He let go of his improvised spell--not an attack, of course, the summoner’s channel was too expertly done for that--and guided it back to wherever Vylrath had been taken to. None of them, not his summoner or the demon, would ever find haven in the Unseelie, to enter the realm would declare their presence to everyone, everywhere; it would say to the world that they were enemies and that it should do its very best to swallow them up and be done with them. They would feel it, too, the furious anger that was attached to the spell, and the kind of being they had just angered by their interference.

And with that spell, too, did Pendaran transmit his thoughts: Marked, he thought, and when the veil collapses, I will find you.

[Thorin]

Thorin looked to his son and listened to voice that spoke his cruel words. He had said them and had meant them and yet he was risking his life for the child. The strange figure, threatened his daughter's life, but she was already tied to King Pendaran, especially if Igraine was to be forced in his Kingdom. Standing still, he didn't answer her with words and his actions were subtle. Taking his free hand, he removed something from around his neck and placed it around the infant. The object was a simple bauble, but one that Igraine would recognize immediately.

Heartache was no longer a concern for him- he had experienced enough of that. He could feel the strangeness in the child and the fact that he carried a particular taint in his veins. Smirking, Thorin bowed to the creature, his actions appearing cruel. When he stood up, the infant was on the ground, still bundled but parent-less.

Thorin knew that she would return the infant to the King, but he could only hope that Igraine would be the one to raise him. Falling into his shadowlands, he made a quick departure for Ulster, his heart heavier than when he had started on his path.