The Long Path Home [Plot Thread]

[Adonais]

A Letter to Selora Delivered by Hawk

Adonais' skin was still flawless, his quiff was still upturned, his mail polished, his dagger sharp, his spell books bound crisply. The Manor house was bustling, Afternoon Tea was being served, the marble floors were shining, not a single portrait hung crooked. Still, there was something out of place within Adonais as his retinue packed his bags. In sooth, it had been this way a long time, but now he was near the point of no return. Fortunately, the events earlier in the day had caused him to make up his mind. The matter was settled as far as he was concerned. The Marquis sat down in his caquetoire and began writing urgently. His large pale hand moving his feather quill over the parchment meticulously. As he stared at the clock, he was determined not to have a sense of the obscure Sosarian notion of “time.” He didn't want to ration out his day and its duties. He did not want to see this as “letter to the duchess time,” even if that's what it was. As he tried to think of chimera and romances, instead all he saw was the clock's hands. The mechanical hands that seemed to tick away his hours. Yes, it was all becoming very scientific. He screwed up his face and concentrated on authoring the following, which was later delivered by an enchanted hawk named Blanche Fleur:

---

To:
Grand Duchess Selora Kesori
Duchy of Icefall
Freehold of Everthorne
Duchy of Dragon's Icefall

/Back
Marquis Adonais Le Fleur
Freehold of Mirage
(These addresses are highly superfluous, given the nature of this paper but who am I to ignore protocol?)

*The formal part of the letter appears to have been written in lapis lazuli and the end is scrawled hastily in ink. The bright white parchment itself noticeably contains glamour enchantment. When the seal is broken a lock of the Marquis's aquamarine hair tied with an ice blue ribbon falls out of the document*

---

To Her Grace, the Grand Duchess Selora Kesori of House Fiona,

Before I tell you the reason that I am writing to you, or the unnerving thing that happened to me today, let me first draw your attention to the goblin parchment that this is written on. Why is the Marquis resorting to using goblin parchment? Because, Your Grace, the words contained herein are not just only for sidhe, but specifically for your eyes only. What I write in here is greatly out of character for me, and I am disgusted by my own cowardice. While I have already lost my pride, I remain proud enough to ensure this letter never finds its way into the prying hands or gossiping lips of anyone else. If all goes well, this paper will be reduced to chalky ashes by the time you've read my piece. So read it well.

If it pleases Your Grace, I will begin with a problem. A problem that only recently came to my attention by manifesting itself plainly in my brain today. The problem of routines. The trouble with routines is they are so formulaic they quickly become banal when done ad nauseum. Being a high ranking noble with civic duties and a freehold full of charges it should come as no surprise that my duties entail a great deal of repetition. Court documents need writing, reports need reviewing, politics need discussing, and speeches must be made. Surely these are all somewhat different and varied, though. And yet when I pulled my leggings on today, and then slipped into my pale blue frock I realized I had been doing this every day for quite some time. How long? Well, you know I can't remember. My memory gets worse and worse. I decided it has been ever since Samhain that I have dressed so routinely at this particular time each day. Then I mused upon this for a moment and realized it has been since the Samhain before that. And lo! It was actually the Samhain before that. Has it all been the same for that long?

This brings me to the unnerving part. Such strong emotions required me to take some fresh air. I left my office promptly and threw open the doors to my balcony. Stressed and upset, I sat down for a moment and did a breathing exercise, hoping none of my retinue in the manor house would see me like this. I regained my composure and majesty, and strode back inside, down the stairs toward the great hall. In the full length mirror of cheval glass I noticed something as I passed. Don't worry, I am still handsome as you remember me. Nevertheless, a strand of brown hair stood wiry and out of place in my combed mane of aquamarine.

“Why is a strand of my hair chestnut?” I asked Sir Dillamand calmly. He merely shook his troll head incredulously. “Why?” I repeated, perhaps demanded, but all my retinue could do was shrug.

Well, that won't do. I didn't come here to lead a march full of shruggers. Ah, but noblesse oblige! Tis is my duty to be assertive in these situations. And assertive I was, Your Grace! I was in such a state of shock I took the dagger out of my sleeve. You know the one I keep. From Dad. The Count. I keep it on my fae (or on my person, depending on your point of view) just in case of an assassination attempt. (Am I a paranoid marquis?) Anyway, I took said dagger and I sawed away at the hunk of brown hair that had audaciously decided to sprout in my sea of faerie hair that I had since birth. Everyone stared, looking concerned.

“Now, do you see how your lord has championed this offensive chunk of hairy menace?!” I declared as I held the lock aloft for all to see. I swear, for a moment it was like the old days and I had just slayed a dragon or some violent chimerical beast. I felt like a hero and a childling again for one fleeting wisp of glory. They thought me at the threshold of bedlam. Could you believe it? I wish! But no. That can't be it. I'm not “mad” as some may jest. Mad as in angry perhaps. But not mad as in bedlam. I would invite bedlam right now. One would think it would be here, since I have walled myself up in the Freehold and it hurts so much to leave. As a sidhe I have all the potential to become one of the Lost Ones if I do not watch myself. But in this chunk of brown hair is something greater.

Is it similar to the way hair goes silver with age? Age wise I am ever so much more than a wilder. Could the brown be like that, a symbol of aging? Damn and blast! No! I am a sidhe! How “old” do I look really? If such an autumn concept like age can even exist. Twenty-Five? Thirty? Gods, I could probably pass for 18 if I put on the clothes of a stable boy, relaxed my posture, and slummed it. No. A sliver of my hair cannot have browned due to an aging process. I find the implication to be much darker. Much more indicative of this temporal realm and my temporality.

Perhaps my subjects didn't see that this chunk of my hair was brown like I did. Do you see the offending lock (which I have enclosed) to be brown, or my true brilliant hue that I've had since I was a childing? Could it be that I am seeing glimpses of the mundane, even within the Freehold? Is the long winter in Sosaria closer than we suspected? Is all that is faerie inside me dying, or, at least injured? If Sosaria is teetering the brink of being too autumnal, the land of Felucca has gone off the deep end. The moment I step out of the Freehold I smell the stench of Necropolis. What could be more banal than a group of skeletons, devoid of any personality, that reap souls as formulaicly as I clothe myself lately? Yes, it is all about formulas now. Forget the children of Lilith that live here, who, for the most part are less banal, they're all in torpor. There is no sporadic burst of child like affect. There is nothing personal here. Passion, feeling, pleasure, longing, connection, all of these things continue to slip through my fingers the longer I stay in Sosaria. Even horror and fright! The animated skeleton picked clean to the bone may murder me, but it doesn't scare me. I feel nothing. I fear the fire here has been weakened considerably even after our restoration efforts. This is not surprising though, it has been well spent in the Freehold of Roses and the Freehold of Everthorne, but as a result Mirage's balefire has suffered permanently. It is certainly no longer a kingdom, and, though I am marquis, I begin to doubt if it is even a march any longer. This Felucca is a land I can no longer endure.

Indeed, being true fae of the dreaming, like Your Grace, I have half a mind to wall this place up, never leave again. Never ever. I will only relish in my chimera and the arts until I am too out of touch to ever speak with anyone again. But this is not possible on any number of levels. Certainly not with Sosaria the way it is now. You see, Your Grace, I fear the time has come for us to heavily scrutinize why we are here.

What I am saying is, and this is so hard for me to admit...I have failed. As a commoner might say, I have muxed it up. This is why I have made the decision to leave Mirage and leave Sosaria. My father always kept an escape trod in his County. It seems only too convenient that there is one right here in the Freehold, beckoning me to take my flight and follow the silver path home. And while my mind is made up, I ask Your Grace to please understand from all I have detailed herein that this is a necessary choice and one that I make with a heavy heart and much regret. I still believe that the sidhe are meant to rule, and maybe one day, when I have gained some semblance of solace, I will return.

*at this point the letter is written hastily in ink that has none of its former luster*

---

Now that you know what a coward and failure I am, and however low you may think me-- you may even think I have violated the Escheat--(certainly not)! Let me implore that I haven't lost my chivalry nor my love of daring romances. You know my trajectory and that I will see it done, so I will write informally to you now. Because you are a Fiona and I am an Eiluned we are fated to be suspicious of one another, but I think we are also friends. Let us talk no more of politics or courts or want of land. I am speaking to you not as a Marquis, not as a noble, not even as Kithain, but simply Adonais.

We have much in common you and I. We have been through a lot together. At court (though I know you don't remember) and in Sosaria. We have stayed the course. We have fought the good fight. We can stay, watch, and succumb to the bane. Or we can do what nobles have the privilege to do. I'm not telling you what to do or what choice to make. You outrank me, your lands are larger than mine, and it is nearly apparent that you are Her Majesty's heir apparent. I'm just telling you what I must do and as it befits a chivalrous vassal, I'm extending an invitation for you to come along on this journey and have me as your protector. Just think, the Queen's Majesty should be far more benevolent if we explain our failures collectively rather than separately. I will only ask this of you once.

---

Come with me, Selora.

---

Please. Just come with me. I implore you to let Everthorne go. Let's take the silver path together. It will be an adventure and a quest. If there were just one thing I could take from Sosaria, it would be you. If we are departing together I will come to Everthorne first. Otherwise, I will leave from Mirage. Send me an answer with Blanche Fleur as soon as this letter finds you, because soon I will be gone.

I'm not optimistic about seeing you again, though, I'm not optimistic about anything...anymore...I don't know that I can show my face to the Queen alone. Maybe I will set out and look for Arcadia instead. Maybe I've known where it was all along and I just can't remember. I'm sorry for everything.

*signed with an illuminated flourish*

Yours in waiting,
Adonais

---

*Below the Marquis's modest signature dangle ribbons with three authenticating wax seals with motifs. The left is the seal of Dragon's Icefall, the center one is blazoned with house Eiluned's charge and the third is the Le Fleur Alicorn. They will all soon be reduced to an ugly pool of melted red wax as the parchment begins to incinerate. Now.*

[Selora Kesori]

“Come with me, Selora.”

The words echoed through her mind as she contemplated the letter she had just received. As her mind wandered, she watched the goblin parchment decay and crumble into ashes on her desk, the wax seals melting down to red puddles that seeped into the wood. If she wanted to, she could save the finish on the hardwood, but like everything else around her, it did not matter much anymore.

In truth, it hadn’t mattered for much longer than she wanted to admit.

Blanche Fleur, the hawk that had delivered her missive, let out a shrill scream, bringing the Duchess out of her thoughts. She knew that the Marquis was waiting for her to respond, but she had no idea how to.

Would serve ‘im right if’n I didnae. The coward. ‘E turns tail an’ runs because ‘e saw a scrap o’ red ‘air?

But part of her understood his concern. She herself had felt the encroaching bane of this Autumn world. A child of the dreaming herself, she was not prepared for what had awaited her here. Nothing the Queen had said could have prepared her.

She had not seen another Fae outside of her own retinue in months. Though, if she was truthful with herself, she had not looked for them. She was no different than Adonais, holed up in his freehold, waiting for either bedlam or banality to take her. Instead of fulfilling her mission from her queen she had shut herself away.

It was doomed from the start. There was nae savin’ a world already dead.

How much of that was really true? She argued internally. If she was truthful with herself, the Fae did have a small resurgence immediately following her arrival, which did last a short while. Rumors had even reached her that the young Queen had returned from her sabbatical, though she had made no point in seeking out Elisandra. The Archduke was even rumored to have been seen about, but again, not by her.

No, several of the Fae had made their point well known. She was unwelcome here in their motley world. The court of Queen Silvara Takissis had died the moment the Fiona had stepped onto that trod years ago. Silvara had made a mistake in sending her and Adonais here. This world was dead, or at the very least, close to it.

Beyond that, the vampires held their talons around the humans of this world. To speak out against them was near suicide. Selora had learned the hard way how difficult it was to lessen their grip on the people around her. The human that had welcomed her the most had treated her as if she was a patch of slime beneath his shoe once the monsters had whispered in his ear. She held no sway beyond the few that stayed loyal. The rest scattered easily enough.

To further add to the loss of this world, the Aegis was gone. She could see from her rooftop that Knights had gone away. Purple cloaks took the place of the green she remembered. She no longer saw the half insane human – would be pooka, nor the visitors to the Rest. The elves no longer walked their woods. Their magic could no longer be felt bordering her own. She had not even heard from the Captain in many moons. The few allies Icefall had managed to acquire had drifted away as well. If they were gone, did Roses even still stand?

This world is no place for a sidhe.

The Marquis was right; he and Selora had become friends over the last several months. Beyond her own retinue, he was the only one she admitted and the only one she visited. Occasionally she would venture to that even more dead land to check the progress on Mirage. It was slow, but it was coming along.

Unfortunately, Adonais was also right about another thing, Mirage would never be what it was. It would never recover from the decay that had taken its toll. She found herself debating yet again for the 100th time who to blame for the state of things. Should she blame the queen who left it all behind to run away from a vampire, or should she blame the queen who was left to protect it that let it all fade away?

Either way, it was a moot point now. The balefire in Everthorne was small, but it was lit from the same fire as Mirage. Time was slowly taking its toll, and without dreamers, the balefire would decay. In a normal world, perhaps it would survive, but here, Selora didn’t know. Here banality crept in the edges of the freehold. She could feel the balefire shrink away.

And if this was true here, it had to hold true for Mirage. Adonais had used his own glamour, along with a bit of hers and Julieanna’s to begin rebuilding. However, the majority came from him, the other child of the dreaming who was taking over the balefire. It had to weigh on him. If she felt like this here, what did Mirage feel like? How much was left? And how long would that small amount remain?

It was only a matter of time before one or both of them were lost to this cesspool.

Another scream from the hawk drew her attention. She rose from her seat and walked around to the bird of prey. Tilting her head she studied Blanche, just as the hawk studied her. Still lost in her thoughts, Selora whistled a soft tone and held out her arm. Talons dug into her skin as the bird gripped her in what it thought was a gentle hold. Ignoring the pain, or perhaps embracing it, the Duchess took a step to her right onto the portal and to her garden on the roof.

With a slight gesture, she let Blanche fly free before sitting down in her favorite corner to study what she saw as her small patch of the Dreaming. Absently, Selora summoned a small rabbit in the bushes, waiting for its quiet shriek before the hawk snatched it up.

As Blanche munched on her treat, Selora continued her internal debate, weighing the answers back and forth to no logical, or even emotional, conclusion. There was every reason to stay, and every reason to go.

“Come with me, Selora.”

Had she read that passage right? Was he appealing to her because he wanted her at his side to face their queen for their collective failures? Was the request simply one to salve his pride or perhaps even save his hide from Silvara’s wrath? Or was there something more?

If she was again honest with herself, she could not deny the draw of the Marquis. He was attractive, but then all sidhe were attractive. He was intelligent, but then he is Eiluned, prone to secrets, intrigue, and concealed motivations. He is a noble, but then he is a lesser noble and her subordinate.

He is Eiluned and not to be trusted.

He was sent here to spy on you, to report your actions to the queen for good or ill.

He is your babysitter, no matter the pretense of his rank.

You are Fiona, and this all only makes him that much more appealing.

The Duchess sighed and looked at her arm where the hawk, still chewing on the unfortunate rabbit in the corner, had dug into her flesh. Ugly welts had formed around the punctures in her skin. She saw them, but she felt it very little. That is what she was losing here, she reminded herself. She was losing her ability to feel anything, even the pain of this existence. But the Marquis could no more be trusted than the Doomsayer or the mad ghille dhu that this world looked at as a Fae leader.

In essence, she had failed her queen and must either hide here like a scared child or face the consequences.

With a deep breath, she stood, stretching slightly in the warmth of the sun. There was something else she missed, something she wasn’t going to admit to herself. But it was something she knew she would only find in the Dreaming. As long as she stayed here, it remained unsatisfied. That craving would eat her away until she would welcome banality with open arms. Too long had she tried to ignore it, but there it was, touching the back of her mind, chipping away at her resolve.

“I cinnae stay here any longer,” she whispered aloud.

She left Blanche Fleur in the garden and returned to her office where her parchment and quill awaited. Before she could change her mind, she set to the task of answering the Marquis Adonais Le Fleur.

*The parchment is plain vellum, wrapped in a pale blue ribbon and sealed with wax stamped with the Dragon’s Icefall crest. Inside the words are written in elegant, flowing script, leaving no doubt that the writer was neither hurried, nor rash with her pen.*

Marquis Adonais Le Fleur,

I write these words for yer eyes only, but I take nae efforts to conceal them from this winter we have found ourselves in. Truthfully, I do nae think there are those about who will even care to read, much less care about what they read. And if they do, what more harm could they do that we would nae most likely welcome?

I find yer missive to be troubling, but nae untruthful. I, too, have felt the walls closing in, but have managed to stave them off, if only just barely.

I cannae say however that this endeavor has been a success. We failed our queen, and we did so many months ago.

If I am honest with myself, I would like nothing better than to run away with who I wish ye were. Aye, we are friends, and aye, we could be more than friends, but as Eiluned and Fiona, we both know how unlikely that would be. Ye would nae trust me, and I do nae think I could trust ye.

My mind fills with warnings from Her Majesty. I remember the tales she told me of this world and of the dangers within, and I do nae speak of vampires and banality here. I do nae trust myself. How could I trust the Eiluned sent to spy upon me?

With that said, I cannae stay here any longer.

I will be returning to Her Majesty to submit myself to her punishment. As said before, I have failed her and instead of reporting that failure, I have hidden in this freehold like a coward.

I am a Sidhe. More importantly, I am Fiona. I am nae a coward, and I will nae hide like one.

For all that I can see, this world is dead to the Fae. Perhaps in the motley of Roses, there are still those that thrive. Perhaps the Doomsayer still guides their hands and tells them what good little commoners they are. Or perhaps they all left a long time ago. I do nae know. I do, however, leave this winter to them.

I will face Her Majesty either with or without ye by my side. I do hope that it is the former however. Perhaps ye are right, and she will be more benevolent to both rather than one. We shall see.

My retinue is preparing to leave, or at least they will be once this letter is sent. Preparations will take a couple days at most. If ye are still here when yer hawk returns with this message, there is a place fer ye an’ yers tae travel back with us. I will be taking everything and everyone with me. I might even send word to the Roses with the invite, but I do nae expect an answer.

Regardless, my friend, we will be here for two days. Please come here before entering the trod alone or with yer retinue. Do as ye said, one last adventure with ye as my protector. *the punctuation here is darker, as if the quill held still for longer than the rest of the document*

Signed,

Grand Duchess Selora Kesori ni Fiona

Selora

[Derwin]

Derwin was standing on his head engaging in lively conversation with Tristain. The only stable boy in the Freehold of Mirage clicked his cloven hooves together as he balanced upside-down on his hands, chattering away. Even the marquis himself did not know just how intellectually stimulating his chimerical companion was. The alicorn was a true ancestor, albeit evolved, from the legendary faery steeds once ridden by the highest born nobles in Arcadia! Together, the pair talked about all manner of things and today the subject was sweeping. Derwin loved to sweep. He was a household pooka, but growing up in the fields he was a bit of an outdoor lamb. Lambs were gentle and peaceful. Working in the stables was perfect. He got to do the domestic work he was fond of, but also got to do equestrian training, and be just a swinging door away from the vibrant sands outdoors.

Court life was not his cup of tea, but the games were fun! Oh, he loved calling people “Adjective: Noun: Proper Noun: Proper Noun Number 2.” That was by far his favorite. “Your Majesty Queen Silvara Takissis ni Fiona, Your Majesty Queen Elisandra de Winter ni Fiona, Your Grace The Archduke Ian Xanthe ap Fiona, Your Grace Grand Duchess Selora Kesori ni Fiona, Your Eminence Marquis Adonais Le Fleur ap Eiluned, Your Excellency Countess Phaen Grey ap Eiluned.” What a huge pile of linguistic excrement to ejaculate every time you need to use the ‘loo! No wonder everything at court takes so long to get done. The privy council wastes the whole session just verbally pooping one another’s names. Except for the three nobles in this catalogue who “got it,” the rest were, though not necessarily traditionalists, firm supporters of the monarchy. In the end he’d rather be scooping poo than swimming in it.

No, he didn’t want reform. He liked having Shining Hosts. Why? Because he’d rather be inventing jokes and aphorisms and hanging out with Tristain than being walled up in a manor with a pile of paper and a jug of booze. Who was it that wielded true autonomy again? The occasional literal horse dookie was a slice of fluffy white cake juxtaposed with the metaphorical dung heap of court paperwork. If the sidhe of Mirage and Dragon’s Icefall wanted it for themselves so much, well, that was more than alright with him! Give pooka the tinkling fool’s bells any day! Like cuckold's horns, the emperors really were naked sometimes. And like a Shakespeare play, the fools words are always wiser and more significant than the monarch’s iambic pentameter.

He heard the marquis approaching and brushed and readied Tristain, quickly removing the heraldic Eliuned caparison from him. Derwin made sure his string trap was in place, hoping Adonais would fall flat on his face this time. “Here come the emperors with no clothes!” He peered out the window as he beckoned the horned pegasus. “Look how radiant they’ve made themselves look, and still they have no idea they’re naked. What could they be hoping to find today?” This proclamation was a little ironic for someone whose fae mien wore only a pair of baggy voile shorts (with a hole for his tail), some strategically grown fleece, and his many cuts and bruises. But he didn’t need to humiliate them, the marquis humiliated himself enough, but he was too blind to see it as was most of the retinue. But how does one “see”? It’s all about the beholder and their own perception of autonomy, so in a way, everything worked harmoniously! Hooray for the sidhe, kithain’s benevolent rulers, may their reign be long!


Much to the pooka’s chagrin the marquis and duchess failed to trip over Derwin’s string trap. Even more annoying, they didn’t seem to even notice that it was there! He hoped one of them would ask him a question so that he could proudly steer them in the wrong direction.

For the first time the young pooka’s eyes beheld his Grand Duchess. Golly howdy she was a knockout! Raven hair, fair skin, regality in every proud step. Even by sidhe standards! How could you not want to clean this woman’s stables?!

"Your grace, your eminence" the boy greeted the sidhe nobles respectfully, leading Tristain out to them. "Would her grace like a faerie steed of her own, or will she be riding on Tristain?"

"I believe I will be ridin' wit' 'is eminence" said Selora. Aw shucks. Another prank evaded!

"Very well" he replied. The pooka didn’t let his disappointment nor his tricksterism show in his countenance. He loved them both, even if he didn’t think they were any superior to him. All three of them were kithain, they just all played different but equally important roles in society. Still, it was such a fun and silly game to bow and kiss hands.

"Hope you find what you're looking for. Hope you see it, even when it's right in front of your angular and beautiful noses." The lamb pooka smiled and waved before running away up the stairs to the second floor loft of the stable. There he pulled some horse shoes off the wall and began juggling. “Hah! That marquis thinks he’s something, but it’s us who run his show!” As he juggled the three horse shoes he peered out the window at the two sidhe riding away on Tristain together. Mayhap they would fall for one of his pranks after all!

The pooka sang a rhyming couplet out loud, to no one in particular:
“Heading to Silvara’s old palace?: ‘Curiouser and curiouser!’ cried Alice.”