Chapter 39: Night's Beginning and Day's End

"I hope everything in the manor is to your satisfaction," Marrec says, "I've left the position unfilled for so long, I'm afraid the house may not be in the best condition." Avendale has always been an easy village to run, and its lord has had little trouble managing his peasants or his estate. When his last reeve passed on, Marrec had meant to nominate a replacement, but some years had passed with the estate manager's house left empty.

"It's nothing that can't be set right with a little labor, my lord," Taran answers, "You do me a great honor, naming me reeve. I was not expecting, that is, I'm not marrying your niece in expectation of..." he adds, nervously, uncomfortable with the sudden social elevation that comes with his bride.

"Sterren told me you would accept no dowry. You love my niece, and that's all that matters in the end," Marrec says with an understanding nod as Sterren nestles beneath Taran's arm. Since they made their betrothal public, the couple has made public show of their affection, nothing ostentatious or unseemly, just enough so that all the village was convinced that they had truly been lovers long enough that when her pregnancy becomes obvious, none would suspect any other man to be the father. "And, the other peasants respect you. They've gone without a reeve to manage the land for too long. I am pleased to have you in my service," the lord continues, "I just came to see that you were happily settled in the house. And to tell you that the Penguillies have asked their priestess to officiate at your wedding, since your friend in Odet may not be allowed to travel into what will be enemy territory to marry you."

"Thank you, uncle," Sterren says, taking Marrec's hand in gratitude before he leaves, "I wouldn't want Fransez to risk the anger of his Landgraab lord by traveling here when war is imminent."

"Or, more importantly, his lord's suspicions," Marrec adds, thinking about his own war preparations. "All travel between our villages will have to banned from now on, anyway."

"Elara seems to have taken to the chickens," Sterren comments after Marrec takes his leave, Taran had kept no livestock on his small strip of land, so the chicken coops that came with the manor were a wonder for his daughter.

"Mmm," Taran nods in reply, his mind clearly elsewhere.

"My uncle is right, you know, you are very well respected, and no one will resent your elevation to the reeve position," Sterren says, trying to allay the concerns she knows he still harbors.

"They may respect me, but they'll all believe I married you for position and wealth. And our betrothal is the true reason behind this elevation, no matter how your uncle puts it," Taran says.

"It is true that my uncle would prefer to have me living in a manor rather than a peasant's cottage, but he wouldn't have given you this title if he believed you unworthy of the responsibility. Everyone in the village knows you, Taran, and none will question my uncle's choice for his reeve. And anyone that knows you knows also that you are too honorable to ever marry except for love," Sterren says, her earnest speech ending with a blush as she realizes that her last statement was not entirely accurate. "I mean, of course, I know you do not love me, but your motives..." she stammers, trying to correct herself.

Taran's hand moves to her waist, drawing her in closer as he leans forward, meeting her lips to his in a gentle kiss.

Surprised by his own boldness, he pulls back again quickly, but Sterren does not let him go, caressing his cheek as her mouth follows his, refusing to be parted after such a brief meeting.

Her lips find his again, her arms wrap around his chest, gripping his back to keep him from pulling away again. 

They do not speak a single word as they go up to his room, his bed, and make love. It is only after they've lain in silence, bodies wrapped around each other, that Taran finally speaks his mind, "I proposed marriage as your friend, to help you in your difficult situation. But if I am to be honest, I must admit that I did hope that it would become, in time, a true marriage of affection. Do you think that is possible, Sterren? Do you think you could love me?"

"Since we announced our betrothal, we've been putting on a show for the neighbors," Sterren answers, "But there are times that I'd forget our affection was pretense, because it felt real."

"I was never pretending," Taran admits, "But knowing you loved another, I would not impose myself on you."

"I loved a fantasy, an image of a man I never truly knew," Sterren whispers with a sigh, "But I know you, Taran. You are real, and this is real."

"I love you, Sterren," Taran whispers, "I wish I had spoken of my feelings to you before the Landgraab came."

Sterren caresses his hair as his lips move to her breast, and smiles. Before her affair with Reinier, she might not have been so disposed to falling in love with anyone, she thinks, and though it ended badly, she has some memories of their passionate romance that she would not willingly lose. "What matters is what we have now," she murmurs in response, "Let's have no regrets for what has come before."

"Is he everything you expected?' Ceyrth asks Kelyn with a teasing smile.

Kelyn frowns thoughtfully, taking his question more seriously than he'd meant. "I'm not sure what I was expecting, in truth," she answers. She had simply mentioned to Inira that she'd been thinking about the possibility of finally finding a mate and starting a nest and after that she could not have a conversation with her that didn't bring some mention of Morvyn and all his fine qualities. "I don't know him well enough yet to speak of such things."

"You don't have to come with me tonight," Ceyrth changes the subject away from a long discussion about the mating habits of his dragon friends. The alfar are not immortal like they are, yet even so, they are long lived enough to understand how time changes themselves and the world, and they generally do not engage in permanent relationships. Ceyrth himself has been in love more than once, and has had two mates in his lifetime who lived with him long enough to raise their children before moving on to new relationships. In her youth, Kelyn had seemed to be of the same mind as the alfar, and unwilling to take mates she would be paired with for an eternity, and Ceyrth understood that sentiment well enough; her sudden desire to conform to the standard dragon nest was a new thing, and while he would always support her choice, he would never understand it.

"Of course we're going with you," Kelyn says, "It's not safe for any one of us to go out into the human lands alone."

"Are you ready?" Morvyn asks, approaching the pair, "The villagers will all be long asleep by now."

The circle of stones on the ancient hilltop was constructed by mortal hands, but Ceyrth can feel some lingering magic vibrating here. It is an old place, long abandoned by the descendants of those that built it. Ico had told him only that that stones marked a tomb, and that the place was special to Auberon, and served as a portal to his realm, for those who possessed the knowledge to enter it.

Stand in the center of the circle, Ico had instructed him, face the tall stone with the writing carved on it, call Auberon's name, and ask for a door. He will be expecting your visit.

Ceyrth wasn't sure what sort of portal he expected, but when it appeared, it was obvious what it was. He hesitated for only a second before stepping into the glowing purple cloud he'd summoned.

When he stepped out of it again, Ceyrth was in a completely different place. And time, he realises, seeing the sun sinking into a distant horizon.

"I prefer the twilight hours," Auberon says, giving no introduction, "Dusk and dawn, night's beginning and day's end."

"Is this real, or a dream?" Ceyrth wonders aloud.

"Real or dream, it's all the same," Auberon answers, "Ico tells me you wished to ask me something?"

Just being here in this place that is not truly a place, a waking dream he entered with his body rather than with just his mind presents more questions than Ceyrth can form words for. "I wanted to learn of your history," he answers, falling back on the question that originally brought him here.

"My history," Auberon says, as though the word was spoken in an unfamiliar tongue, "Mortals have histories; I have only a story. I was, for a very long time, alone. Lying on the waters of time, I dreamt many dreams."

"And then I was awakened with a kiss. Summerdream, her name is Tania Summerdream, and she was the first to visit my realm. From her, I learned how to move as she does, through this world and yours, to exist here and there. And that is my story, young one."

Ceyrth waits patiently for the story to continue, but Auberon sits silently by him, finished. "It's a fascinating tale," Ceyrth finally says, "But I was hoping for the history of your kind. Where the fae come from, who created you."

Auberon remains silent for several minutes. "Who created me?" he asks, and thinks, as far back as his mind can go, "No, I don't believe I was created. I simply was, as I am, always."

"Ico told me she was born from the waters," Ceyrth continues, "That she has no parents."

"I remember that day," Auberon says with a nod, "I was watching the light play on the water, enjoying its beauty. And she was there, lovely Ico, lady of the waters."

"So, it was your thought that created Ico," Ceyrth surmises, a new story taking form in his mind.

Auberon doesn't answer, lost for a moment in the vastness of his memories. While he remains silent, Ceyrth tells him the story of the alfar, who were born from the creative desire of a spirit like Auberon himself.

"I feel that I have heard this story before," Auberon says, turning his glance to Ceyrth, "Or perhaps it is something I dreamed...?"

After Ceyrth disappeared in the portal, there was nothing for Morvyn and Kelyn to do but sit and wait for his return.

"You don't find it strange that this fairy would chose a human place to meet Ceyrth?" Kelyn asks.

"When I was coming of age, the humans would bury their dead in in a cave beneath this circle," Morvyn tell her, "One of those who lies buried here was Auberon's lover once. That was before my time, but I am friends with their daughter, a fae like her father." Thinking if Evenfall brings a heaviness; he has not seen her since Talfryn's death, and he knows how much she must be suffering.

"Lovers? With a mortal?" Kelyn asks, barely able to contain her disgust.

"They are not all dragonslayers," Morvyn says gently. Kelyn does not know of his own human lovers, Morvyn has kept them all secret from everyone save his closest friends, Talfryn and Ametair, until his recent confession to Aymeri. "We've had no real trouble from the humans here, until your dragonslayer came. What happened there, to create such enmity that the humans in the north hunt us?"

"I only know that men have hunted dragons since before I was born," Kelyn answers, "If there is a cause for their enmity toward us, no one has ever told it to me."

"We aren't so very different from them," Morvyn says, stretching to lie on the grass beneath the stones, "It's unfortunate that we should have so much mistrust for them. And them for us."

"How can you say that, when they killed your friend and took you captive?"

"That was one man, and his followers," Morvyn says, "They were strangers to this place. I suppose if I'd grown up as you did, hunted by them since birth, I'd feel differently. But I cannot hate these people for what foreigners to this place have done." He cannot even hate Gaelle for her betrayal, he thinks, for she never knew what he truly was, or what the dragonslayer wanted from him. He would like to know her reasons, but he will never be able to ask her.

"You are an elder," Kelyn says, changing the subject suddenly, pausing in the middle of her statement as though to carefully choose her next words.

"No one has ever called me an elder," Morvyn says with a laugh, not waiting for her to continue, "How old are you?"

"Only a few centuries," Kelyn answers.

"I suppose I am an elder then, compared to you. But here, I am the youngest of the nest, and the my elders are far far older than I am," Morvyn answers.

Whatever Kelyn had meant to ask him is interrupted when Ceyrth reappears jut minutes after he disappeared.

"He is a witch!" Father Loyset says, pointing his finger at Fransez in accusation.

"I am a servant of the Lady," Fransez defends himself nervously.

"Your kind are all witches!" the priest insists, "Summoners of demons, practicers of the black arts!"

"What do you know about my brother's assassination?" Reinier demands, "Are you in league with the wilders? With the old ones?"

"No, my lord," Fransez sputters, the questions coming fast and hard at him, like blows knocking him backward.

"Look, my lord," Jakob says, moving toward Fransez's implements, "These are the tools of wickedness, and the proof of his perfidy."

"They are simple curatives," Fransez explains, his voice shaking in fear.

"Lies and trickery! The people turn to this man and his false goddess when they are in need, rater than seeking solace in the Watcher."

"My brother was lenient with his people, allowing you to carry on with your beliefs. And he was murdered by a wilder in the company of an old one, a demon much like the one summoned by Sterren of Avendale, defiling the Church of the Watcher with  her foul magic," Reinier says.

At the mention of Sterren's name, Fransez sighs and closes his eyes. "She did not summon a demon, my lord," he says, voice quavering, "She does not have that power, none of us do. The old ones do as they please."

"You would deny what I saw with my own eyes, witch?" Reinier demands, "Understand this, I will not sit by and allow you to continue your false worship, while conspiring with demons against me. Take him to the Tower," he ends with a command to his men.

Reinier's soldiers close in around the old man, defenseless against them.

"Take everything," Reinier now orders his priest, "The books, the scrolls, the potions, and burn it all."

"As my lord commands."

Jean watches through the window as the soldiers take his grandfather away, take all his things, his wonderful books and mysterious potions, leaving nothing behind.

His grandfather was a kind man, gentle and good. Even when Jean misbehaved, his grandfather's reprimands were delivered with kindness. Jean cannot imagine why the soldiers would take him away, and he wishes he could do something to stop them.

He's only a child, he has no weapons, no magic, that can save his grandfather. On impulse, he kneels before the small pond in his grandfather's yard, where he once saw the most beautiful creature, one of the fairies he's read about in his grandfather' story books. Desperate, with nowhere else to turn, Jean sinks his hands into the water and calls to its lady, begging for her intercession.

Aymeri and Ico make love in the water, as they did on the day they met, joining together in the element they share.

Ico stands suddenly with a gasp.

"What is it, my love?" Aymeri asks, holding her face in his hand.

"Someone calls to me, through the water," she says, her brow knitting in confusion. "A mortal child."

"How? They don't know you."

Ico shakes her head, "Only once has one of their kind called to me like this. That was Uvie, who knew me," she says, remembering, "Auberon has told me that the humans call to Uvie still, and that hears and answers their prayers. I must speak with him about this."

Chapter 38: Like the Spirits that Made Us

Ametair's fists hover above Morvyn's face. "Your fault," he growls as he punches, again and again, "Your fault."

Morvyn's hands fly up to defend himself from the blows, but he doesn't fight back. This was the reaction he expected from Aymeri when he told him how his secret affair with a mortal girl played a hand in Talfryn's death, this was the punishment he craved. Aymeri tried to tell him Talfryn's death wasn't his fault, but Morvyn is not yet ready to accept forgiveness for his mistake; he wants the anger, the blame, directed at himself. And from Ametair, it's exactly what he's getting.

"Filthy wolf, take your paws off him!" Tania's shrill voice cuts through the soft song of rain fall.\, "Leave him alone."

Ametair leaps off Morvyn, snarling at the fairy intruder, "This is not your concern, Summerdream. This is my den, and you aren't wanted here."

"This forest was mine before any of the rest of you came here," Tania says sharply, waggling an admonishing finger at him, "I go where I please, wolf, and you can do nothing to stop me."

"Run along now," she continues, dismissing Ametair from his own house, "I must speak with Morvyn."

Her condescending tone chafes at the werewolf, but there is little he can do against her power. Glaring and growling under his breath, Ametair lopes off into the forest off his own free will before she bends him to her will as he knows she could. 

"Did that filthy beast hurt you?"Tania says, her voice trembling with concern as she kneels in front of Morvyn.

"Tania, please," Morvyn sighs, "This was really none of your concern, and I didn't need to be rescued."

"But he was hurting you!" the fairy protests, "If I hadn't come---"

"He wouldn't have done me any serious injury, Tania," Morvyn says, "You don't understand dragons."

"But he's not a dragon," Tania points out.

"Ametair is different, but he's still one of us. What is it you wanted anyway?" Morvyn finishes, and moves on to her purpose. He hasn't seen her for at least a century or two, maybe more, and he can't even guess as to what would make her seek him out now.

"I just missed you," she says, smiling suggestively, "I wanted to see you."

"I don't believe that," Morvyn says, standing up, "I know you, Tania. You want something. And not just my company."

"Ico is pregnant. Have you heard?" Tania says, taking Morvyn's arm as he tries to walk away.

"Yes, I did hear. And I'm sure you didn't come looking for me to deliver news I already know," Morvyn says, trying to wrest her fingers from his arm as she tightens her grip on him.

"It's not fair," the fairy complains, "I've wanted a child for so long now, and Ico didn't even care if she had one or not. I want a baby, Morvyn. I want your baby."

Morvyn shakes his head, "Tania, we've had this discussion before. We had our time, and it's done. To be honest, I'm happy that no child ever resulted from our play, because that's all it ever was between us."

"I'm a fairy, not a dragon," Tania pouts, "I'm not asking to join your nest and live with you like Ico does with Aymeri. I just want a baby!"

Morvyn turns, pulling her hand off his arm forcefully, since she won't let go, "And that's precisely why you won't have one from me," he growls, showing an anger he normally keeps hidden under a calm facade, "I've had many lovers, but I won't be a father unless I have a mate."

Tania's lips tremble as though she's going to cry, "Can't we at least be lovers again?" she whimpers.

Morvyn rolls his eyes, "We haven't seen each other in well over a hundred years, Tania," he sighs, "I don't believe for a second that you actually want me now. And even if you did, well..." Morvyn doesn't bother to finish the thought, refraining from expressing his complete lack of desire to be with her again, "But, I must thank you, Tania, for reminding how pathetic self-pity can be," he finishes, walking off this time with determination, "Sitting here letting Ametair beat me up was pointless and helped no one."

Aymeri was right about one thing; it was a human who killed Talfryn, a human who hunts dragons for sport, with weapons made of a metal that weakens his kind, taking away the natural advantage his kind have over theirs. When he first met Kelyn, after his escape from the dragon slayer's prison, Kelyn told him that dragons in the north have learned to use weapons. Morvyn intends to never put himself in a position to be captured again, but if another dragon slayer ever comes after him or his kin, he'll need to be better prepared.

Half way back to Aymeri's nest, he runs in Kelyn herself. "I was just coming to lok for you," he says in greeting.

Taken by surprise, Kelyn finds herself flustered, and stammers, "Me?" She had been out looking for Morvyn when she ran into him, and blushes at the thought that he'd come out with the same purpose.

"You fight humans with weapons. I want to learn how," Morvyn explains.

He was looking for her, but not with the same purpose, she thinks, and is oddly relieved at that thought. She's not as ready for this as she'd thought. Kelyn nods, her confidence bolstered by the fact that she does have the skill to teach him, and that would at least be a first step in getting to know him.  "I killed one dragon slayer, but another always rises where one falls," she says,  "Your sister wanted to return here because she thought this land was safe. But I say, wherever there are mortals, there is danger, and we must be prepared."

"You can teach me to fight with a weapon?"

"I can."

They begin the lesson right away. The sword feels odd in Morvyn's hand, and his defense is weak against Kelyn's attack.

"You're getting better at deflecting my blows," Kelyn notices after some hours of practice, "But all you are doing is defending yourself. You have yet to strike your own blow at me. Now, try to hit me."

Morvyn raises to swing, unsure of himself, and as Kelyn raises her own sword in defense, her foot slips on the wet ground, turned to mud by the morning's rain, and she falls.

Morvyn drops his weapon to extend his hand to help her up.

She takes the offered hand and pulls him down, pinning him to the ground beneath her.

"Never let your guard down," she says, "The mortals will use any opening to attack you. And you must learn to do the same."

"You aren't my enemy," Morvyn points out, "But in the future, I'll remember not to trust you." He speaks with a smile, to show he's joking.

Her earlier embarrassment returning as she notices the position she's put herself in, Kelyn rolls off him. "This is serious," she says harshly, "The dragon slayers are not a joking matter."

"I know," Morvyn say, his voice growing grave, "I was taken prisoner by one, and  I saw..." he stops, unable to speak about watching Talfryn's death, "You've lost loved ones to this dragon slayer?" Morvyn continues,  wanting to understand her distrust for all humankind, "Your mate?" 

Kelyn looks sharply at him, "I never had a mate to lose," she says defensively,"And you're hardly in a position criticize, still living in your mother's nest."

Morvyn raises an eyebrow, knowing that what she just said could, and would be, construed as an insult by most males. But he shrugs it off, and laughs lightly, "I wasn't criticizing you," he says, "I suppose I shouldn't have assumed you'd taken a mate. I just never heard of an adult female who hadn't taken at least one. But then, it wasn't until I'd come of age that I learned that the nest I grew up in was so incredibly out of the ordinary. I was surprised to discover that Aymeri's nest was the only one in our whole history to have fairies in it. Or to be lead by a male, for that matter."

"And that's why you've never your left your mother's nest?" Kelyn asks pointedly, "Your sister has told me that you turned down many offers."

"I'm surprised that I'd be a subject of gossip up where you come from," Morvyn says, "What else does Inira have to say about me to dragons I've never met?"

Kelyn looks away, mumbling, "Nothing really," wishing she'd kept her mouth closed. What Inira had told her about Morvyn was meant both as an enticement and a warning. "My brother would be difficult to get," Inira had said when she and Fearghus invited Kelyn to journey south, back to their homeland, with them, "But if you mean to finally settle on mate, you would do well to consider him."

"Well, to answer your question," Morvyn carries on, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had risen, "Growing up the way I did, in a nest of dragons paired with fairies, and my own parents mated exclusively to each other, did color my view of the world and my expectations. When I came of age, I started getting offers from females from around the area. Some I barely knew, some I'd never met, some were powerful with large nests, some were just starting out and had only one or two mates, but in all cases, I just couldn't see myself adapting to the traditional lifestyle. And that is why I still live in what you call my mother's nest."

Kelyn nods, growing more uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. Like her, he'd chosen a a path others of their kind had never considered, but unlike her, he'd apparently hasn't had to justify himself over and over again. Her eyes downcast, Kelyn picks at the grass beneath her hands, saying nothing. Inira had told her much about her brother, but now that she's in his company, nothing of what Inira said seems to matter. She had said he was handsome, but the description did not prepare her for the way that just looking at him can take her breath away. 

"You must have had to explain yourself over and again," Morvyn says after a long silence. Kelyn looks up, startled, as he speaks what she had been thinking, "I've had to justify myself more times than I'd like. So I won't ask you to explain yourself to me. Even if I am curious," he finishes with a teasing smile that makes Kelyn blush, and smile herself in return.

"Maybe I'll satisfy your curiosity someday," she says, standing, "But right now, you still have much to learn about swordplay."

Treveur stops to pull Gaelle into his arms for kiss. It's not a log walk from his farm back to her father's house in the village, but the frequent stops they make along the way adds an hour at least to the trip.

Ametair guards the forest from human intrusion, and never leaves it. But tonight is different. The humans have not satisfied themselves with keeping to their place, staying out of his forest and out of the way of his kind, dragons and fae alike. They took Morvyn captive, they killed Talfryn, and they've crossed the line, and they need to be punished. So tonight, Ametair has come out of the woods for the first time in a very long times, longer than human memory, to find the girl that betrayed Morvyn, and make her pay for the death she brought to them.

When he gets the girl in his sight, he howls, summoning his pack to his side for the hunt.

"Did you hear that?" Gaelle whispers, trembling as she stands behind Treveur for protection.

"Wolves?" he gasps, "Wolves rarely come this close to the house." 

"What should we do?" Gaelle asks.

"Run! Back to the house!"

Running would do them no good against Ametair's incredible speed, but just as he begins the chase, he's pulled back by arms as strong as his own.

"Let me go," he growls, struggling to break free of his father's grip.

Riain pins his son against the barn wall. "Would you expose yourself to their kind?" he snarls.

"I would kill them. Both of them," Ametair growls in return.

Riain holds Ametair back, listening as the couple make their escape, only loosening his hold on his son when he hears the heavy wooden door close with the humans safely behind it.

"If there's to be revenge, it's Aymeri's decision to take it, not yours," Riain says, keeping his voice low.

"I'm not a dragon; I'm not bound by your laws," Ametair snarls.

"You're my son," Riain answers, "You are not alone in this world, and you do not act alone. We don't leave the forest, and we don't interact with the mortals."

"They struck first," Ametair protests.

"The one who killed Talfryn is dead, killed by a dragon," Riain says, "You will leave these humans alone."

"What can you tell me about your people?" Ceyrth asks Ico. He'd come all this way to meet one of her kind, and learn about them.

"I don't have people?" Ico says, making a question of the statement, not understanding Ceyrth question.

"He means your kind. Fairies," Aymeri explains, and then turns to Ceyrth, "They're a lawless bunch, without clans, nests, or even families."

Ceyrth's eyes widen as he takes in this information. "But you must have a history," he says, "Where did you come from?"

"I was born from the waters," Ico says simply, "That is where I am from, and what I am."

That was not at all the answer Ceyrth was expecting, and her story, brief as it was, opens up a whole new set of questions. "You have no parents," he says, and she shakes her head slightly.

"Water has no mother or father," she says.

"And the rest of your kind? Where are they from?"

Ico tilts her head to the side, "We are what we are," she says, as though that is explanation enough.

"My people have a story," Ceyrth says, "The world, in the beginning, was full of life, the animals, the birds, the forest itself. And there were spirits who dwelled in this world, who were the world, or aspects of it, in conscious form. The spirit of the world decided to create a new kind of life, so he went to the great tree at the heart of the forest, and told her of his idea. His words took form inside the body of the tree, and she gave birth to the first alfar. Dragons, I am told, have a similar story, of the first dragon nest being born from a volcano. But you fae don't have one story of the creation of your kind. Like the spirits that made us, you simply are."

Ico shakes her head again, "You should speak to Auberon. He knows all our histories."