Morbid Amusement Is Not Something She Doesn’t Feel Often, Merely Because She Rather Not Waste Time

chancellorxlaer​:

zahryaofspring​:

who?: any bitches (eladrin or whatever) still alive i can’t keep track anymore where?: their hellhole (the forest) right on top of that corpse I’m done

✿*° ‘° ･

He was there, he was right there screaming for his King, but he was helpless. Too tired to move or act fast enough, it was his heartache that twisted the trees to strike on his behalf. But even they were too slow, spearing wispy shadows instead of his greatest foes. He caught his King’s body before it could hit the ground, shakily singing every song of Spring he could think of. He smashed a blood fruit into the cavernous hole of his chest, pumped ichor straight from his flowers until they withered, and wailed his useless tunes in every key he knew. Nothing worked, his King was gone, and once again he was powerless to make anything better.

“Do something! He can’t be gone. Why didn’t you … do something! Worthless cowards. Fools and cowards I hate you! I need him. We need him…” He directs his words at the fractured remnants of the eladrin race, all those who bore witness as he feels and wavers between all five stages of grief at once. Eventually, all he can do is sob, his thunderous pain reverberating throughout the forest while the Black Wind’s cruel laughter reverberates in his skull.

-

In an effort to preserve what remained of the King’s dignity, Laer sung a song while the rest of the kingdom looked on. Lifted the body away from Zahrya as it was bandaged and glamoured so the ichor that still spilled from Mery’s body would not stain through. “Get up, Zahrya.” Laer said as curtly as he could manage. Loss defined them at every turn. Their Queen, their home, and now the heir that had risen so sharply in such a short amount of time. 

“Sometimes it feels like the Gods are laughing at us,” Laer whispered, though through a warm breeze his voice was carried across the company and the crowd. Some of their greatest defenders were gone while the city had been thrown into hedonistic, debaucherous turmoil. Laer felt grief, hatred, and anguish wrapped into one as his patience for this realm ended entirely. The mortals and the drow, these long standing feuds that had chipped away at them relentlessly. “King Meryasek is dead,” the chancellor announced as he roughly hauled Zahrya to his feet, “but your chancellorship remains, reinforce the boundaries, expel any intruders.” He looked towards the bandaged body of the King he’d watched rise from toddler to manhood, the bright and inquisitive mind that had held so much promise. 

Another fey life taken, another drow for Ayi’ig’s army. He looked away from the body because he couldn’t stare at it any longer. 

“Count the dead, we bury them within the week.” The chancellors would convene and retribution would be swift. 

....

There is a weight that comes with being the survivor of a tragedy, to bear witness to your world falling apart from the seams even as you attempt to keep it together. Robin is too far to stop the Drow Queen, too far to do anything but watch as the Court’s suffer yet another blow, one she does not know how they will recover from. Titania, their home, Fen’harel, Aurora and now Meryasek? It has been blow after blow, no break in between. It’s been a long arduous year, a year full of grief and loss, and they seem to keep losing no matter what they attempt. It is far too much grief, far too much misery, bottled and kept inside for too long for her to be able to keep a hold of it any longer. The vessel on her chest, the one where she keeps all her worries and grief and empathy, shatters under the pressure of seeing the corpse of yet another friend, of another loved one, before her. The first crack had appeared in Halloween, deepened further by Wade’s betrayal, but this, for Hyrsam to ensure that his King’s funeral would also becomes Meryasek’s? Over and over again, she had considered peace, had considered unity between species as a solution to their current conflicts.

No more.

The world had turned their back to the fey, it’s only fair they do the same. Anger bypasses grief, her song joining Laer’s in order to keep the pretense of an united front before their people and their enemies alike. Flames gather around them, the fire preventing anyone but the chancellor’s from reaching their fallen King. As she steps closer, Robin allows herself a brief moment to grieve for who they had lost, to grieve for her friend, gone where they could not follow after doing his all to protect their people. He had risen beyond any of the expectations placed on him, and his death was yet another injustice struck against the fey.

Alas, death takes kings and paupers alike.

Eyes snapping open, Robin let’s out a whistle, high and sharp, and sends her own changeling to reinforce the borders as a precaution. Zahrya will do his duty, but any help will be a kindness for the Spring Chancellor.

“Do not stand around, we cannot afford to remain frozen,” Robin snaps out, voice sharp and cutting through the grief beginning to overwhelm the court. “Gather the children, ensure they are kept safe, place the death together and notify next of kin. Now.”

Eyes going back to Zahrya, she bites her lip and tentatively places her hand upon his shoulder in comfort. There had been a tension between the two since that conversation near the pond, but there cannot be infighting if they want to survive, weakened as they are. “Not now Zahrya,” she offers, voice soft yet kind. “We will have our time for grieve later, but now? Now we must ensure that Meryasek’s work does not go to waste.”

zahryaofspring​:

who?: any bitches (eladrin or whatever) still alive i can’t keep track anymore where?: their hellhole (the forest) right on top of that corpse I’m done

✿*° ‘° ･

He was there, he was right there screaming for his King, but he was helpless. Too tired to move or act fast enough, it was his heartache that twisted the trees to strike on his behalf. But even they were too slow, spearing wispy shadows instead of his greatest foes. He caught his King’s body before it could hit the ground, shakily singing every song of Spring he could think of. He smashed a blood fruit into the cavernous hole of his chest, pumped ichor straight from his flowers until they withered, and wailed his useless tunes in every key he knew. Nothing worked, his King was gone, and once again he was powerless to make anything better.

“Do something! He can’t be gone. Why didn’t you … do something! Worthless cowards. Fools and cowards I hate you! I need him. We need him…” He directs his words at the fractured remnants of the eladrin race, all those who bore witness as he feels and wavers between all five stages of grief at once. Eventually, all he can do is sob, his thunderous pain reverberating throughout the forest while the Black Wind’s cruel laughter reverberates in his skull.

-

In an effort to preserve what remained of the King’s dignity, Laer sung a song while the rest of the kingdom looked on. Lifted the body away from Zahrya as it was bandaged and glamoured so the ichor that still spilled from Mery’s body would not stain through. “Get up, Zahrya.” Laer said as curtly as he could manage. Loss defined them at every turn. Their Queen, their home, and now the heir that had risen so sharply in such a short amount of time. 

“Sometimes it feels like the Gods are laughing at us,” Laer whispered, though through a warm breeze his voice was carried across the company and the crowd. Some of their greatest defenders were gone while the city had been thrown into hedonistic, debaucherous turmoil. Laer felt grief, hatred, and anguish wrapped into one as his patience for this realm ended entirely. The mortals and the drow, these long standing feuds that had chipped away at them relentlessly. “King Meryasek is dead,” the chancellor announced as he roughly hauled Zahrya to his feet, “but your chancellorship remains, reinforce the boundaries, expel any intruders.” He looked towards the bandaged body of the King he’d watched rise from toddler to manhood, the bright and inquisitive mind that had held so much promise. 

Another fey life taken, another drow for Ayi’ig’s army. He looked away from the body because he couldn’t stare at it any longer. 

“Count the dead, we bury them within the week.” The chancellors would convene and retribution would be swift. 

END

"The slow decay never stops, but with it comes the birth of new life," she whispers, more to herself than to her fellow Chancellor, a fond smile of her own as she keeps her gaze on the golden splendor before her. One must die and die and die, before they can live, just as she had been told on her confirmation ritual. She had learned that lesson intimately as nature consumed her and reshaped her over and over again, and learned it once more when buried along the roots, but it was easy to forget, when face with the enormity of their losses, of their grief. So many had died, sacrificed themselves for a better future for the courts, and that future has yet to arrive, for they are the ones that will be building it up from nothing. There is a reason that for as much as she does not understand Zahrya, she respects him. He is doing his part, building the future they deserve, and she can only thank him for that. "It will be hard work, reaching that future, but I look forward for that toil," she admits, even as a bemused smile spreads and she sends him an arched look. "I am beyond delighted to receive your invitation, I will not miss such a high honor."

@warderinan

Intimate.

wardercloud​:

Drinking. That had been their safe haven for as long as it had been since Theneras was lost to them. They couldn’t find it in themself to do anything else. If Cloud chose to let all of those emotions funnel through, then the floodgates would open and it would be more than just that leaving their system. The summer fey had been nursing a bottle of…something to their chest when they heard Robin’s voice. They had been standing there watching the way things moved around them. There was a sword of flames within their hand that they had not put away. Cloud had always been on the defensive. They had always been in a state of readiness their entire life. It was there more now than ever before. Even as the fall chancellor came upon them, they almost held it out towards her, but they resisted the urge. “I’m fine.” That was what they kept telling themself. They were fine. It had become so ingrained in their head that even saying it was not a lie. Anyone could tell that it wasn’t the case, but they could believe Cloud’s words. “I haven’t had it worse than anyone else. I won’t make this about me.” Their eyes hadn’t met hers yet until they stopped speaking. Even seeing her face caused them to drink from the bottle in their grasp.

...

“Ah, shit,” she sighs, allowing herself to fall down to the ground, crossing her legs and patting the sand next to her in an invitation to sit down. Cloud wasn’t lying, they could not lie, and yet, there is no denying that everything is not as it appears. With a hum, she summons a bottle of feywine from her own reserves and opens the cork, bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a long sip, trying to think on how to approach the conversation. Perhaps it’s true, that Cloud hasn’t had it worse than anyone else, but emotions won’t care about that. Not when their wardee had done as much as Theneras had did and they had lost them, not when their duty had been to protect Theneras and they had failed, in the worst way imaginable. “And if I ask you to? You are my friend and I want to hear how you have been coping, if you want to talk,” she admits quietly. “And if not, can I keep you company? I am anything but fine, and I could use it.”

Tati Gabrielle as MARIENNE BELLAMY You | 3.05: Into the Woods

who? @yaviefey​

where? the vatican

when? everything is on fire, the bethroded has died

notes: where in the world is waldo farenduil

It is with desperate surprise that she pulls Yavie back from another feral vampire an into another room. A brief gesture has the door closing with a barrier, but her mind is being pulled away in countless directions as she seeks the other members of her court, the members of her people. She had only known of the Chancellors, the Princes, the Marshals and the Senators invitations, but there is always the fear that more of their kind were in danger.

“Are you alright? Have you an eye on Faren? Mery? Anyone?” She asks, voice desperate as she eyes the door she is sure will not hold for long. Reinforcing it is useless, as they must leave before it is too late.

floratitus​:

Flora is shelving books, consumed with thoughts and worries of her own when the fey’s voice trickles through her reverie. After listening to the Fey in full, she motions for the other to fall her to a more private secluded part of the library. “What do you want?” her voice is clear and does not relent an inch, it is held in the lines of Flora’s body that she doesn’t wish to be fucked with. It would do better for her if no one was to gain knowledge of the occasional tumble between the sheets that started off with strangers and led to battle lines being drawn. She didn’t want Wade to be a sacrificial lamb but in the end, she will stand with the Wolves against those that try to chain them or cage them.

...

“I am not here to fight, Miss Titus, merely to let you know that I have made my choice regarding Wade and that my loyalty to my people remain firm,” Robin tells her clearly, not looking to pick a fight with the lycan when she had meant to merely talk to her in the first place. Her entry might not have been the subtlest, but there is still bitterness when she thinks of Wade’s wavering loyalties. “I care about him, but at this point it is clear he is willing to risk the safety of New Rome to protect himself and thus, I need to ask you not to warn him that I desire to use him to get a better grip on the Eye. Most of my own spies cannot be compromised, and Wade is the only other hunter whose name I know.”

"Now that is an understatement," Robin mentions with a snort, eyes falling away from the tower and upon Aurora. There is no denying that the magic surrounding her had changed drastically, that there is a difference on her bearing born both from that change and whatever she had faced in the Otherworld, but she can still see one of her oldest friends on her face. "Don't tell me the frost got your tongue? You are usually far wordier on these matters," she teases, before pausing. "If it is a matter of the Winter Court and not for my ears, I shall understand."

There is a pause, as Robin deliberates on Aurora's words, lips pressed together as she is considering her response. The matters of the Holt are not to be shared with outsiders, and speaking of the most unpleasant abilities the Fall provides— specifically if bolstered by the Holt's approval — should only be kept behind close doors, on a meeting with all the Chancellors so that she might not repeat herself.

"Certain cogs have been set in place, and the result is operating smoothly," she says with a simple shrug. "Any other information on that matter, is to be left to be discussing behind closed doors and in presence of the other Chancellors and the King."

"If you mean the change within me..." There were elves all over the Otherworld, all sorts. But the Lunar Elves had gone extinct, the last remnants of her ancestors swirling in song within the White Flame. Even Davhiera, elven in his own way and once fellow winter eladrin, felt different. There were many words for how she felt in her skin: proud that her ancestors had felt her worthy in any sense, thankful to be alive, curious to this newfound strength. But lonely and confused too. More conflicting emotions too odd and difficult to explain. "Strange," Aurora instead summarized.

She looked to Robin beside her. When once they were friends, even brief lovers, being more carefree juveniles felt like a lifetime ago. Fellow Chancellors couldn't be just friends, not with business and warcraft lingering over their heads at every given moment. "Autumn has come." As such, the Autumn fey would be at their strongest and essential to the fight, even more essential now because half of the mission had failed. While the tropes had brought back power, they hadn't any of the allies that they'd sorely needed to win. "How ready are we?"

A sense of disgust and self-recrimination settles in the back of her throat every time she thinks of Lain. Their encounter had been inevitable, it had been a reminder. For all the lycan was fun and interesting, he was mortal as they come. Alive one moment, gone the next. A passing fancy that could not grow beyond that for the pure and simple truth of inevitable with death. She knows that it is inevitable that she will mourn him when his time comes, but she cannot love him. Not when his lifetime will be the blink of her eye, and she needs to ensure she is a source of steadiness for her people.

It is this truth that stays her hand, that keeps her from seeking Lain as soon as the war ends. But their encounter is not inevitable, so when her clairvoyance tells her of his attempt to contact her, Robin does nothing but sigh and follow the direction her magic takes her towards. She gets close enough to hear his attempt to manifest her from thin air, and she cannot help the giggle that echoes through the woods as she steps into the clearing that Lain had found himself in. Her brow is raised as she takes in the lycan, but she shows him her hand to show him that she is not going to attack.

"That is one way to summon me, dearest wolf," she mentions, fondness undercut by the quiet apology on her tone. "What would have happened if I had not been on my way to meet?"

For: @thegoodfellow

Where: The Forest, outskirts of Lupercal 

Notes: sorry I tried to kill you, can we still be friends at least? 

He had selfishly avoided this confrontation for weeks.  The elves were a capricious bunch, it was possible that Robin might decide to finish the job her changeling had started the moment she saw his face.  But it was worth a shot.  She deserved closure, as well as an apology for his actions.  As terrible as Lain saw himself, he drew the line at hurting the few people he cared about. Species that lacked the heightened sense of smell that lycans were gifted with could have easily gotten lost in the expanse of the wilderness, but Lain could easily visualize his own scent trail that would lead him back home.  He kept rehearsing what he was going to say to Dawn chancellor when he finally found her, but knew that there was no way he could articulate his feelings as perfectly as it all sounded in his head. “Robin!” The lycan called out, “I just want to talk!” He stopped walking, focusing on listening for the faint indicators of any signs of life that were not his own that the sound of the leaves crunching under his feet obscured. Lain could pick up on the quick thrumming of multiple heartbeats, but all of them sounded far too small to belong to anything humanoid sized.  Likely just a rabbit or a squirrel. Fuck, where was she?