The Ungathered
by Iranon
"Avalon welcomes its Children home!" Oberon, Lord of the Third Race proclaimed from his throne within the Great Palace. "Oberon welcomes his Children."
The dark cloaked Child known only as 'Nought' genuflected silently before Lord Oberon, taking his leave with a flourish of his dusk-purple cape.
Behind him, formed a procession of gods, elves and spirits ready to greet their Lord after over a millennia of exile.
The gargoyles of Oberon's own Honor Guard watched the assembled Children with hushed awe, and not a small amount of trepidation.
How might the gargoyles have reacted two thousand years ago, when the hosts of Avalon where at their height, before the wars against Oberon's tyrant mother Mab had reduced the Children to a mere fraction of what they had once been.
An elder warrior bedecked in horned helm and furs as snow-white as his beard bowed low before the throne.
"Ah, Odin," spoke Oberon. "I see that you have recovered your lost eye?"
"And the beauties of this island" replied Odin. "Thanks to you, my Lord,"
The Allfather carried himself with a grace and dignity seemingly unbowed by the sorrows that must weigh upon him. He was the last survivor of Ragnarok, king of a dead pantheon.
So many of the Third Race's best and brightest had been lost in the war; Thor with his mighty hammer, Lugh Lamhfada, El of Canaan.
Poor old El, he was never the same after what the humans did to his son.
Oberon's contemplation was suddenly shattered by a simmering blaze of unearthly green light that came streaking across the throne room, startling gargoyle and Child alike.
In an instant, the glowing sphere resolved itself into the forms of the three Weird Sisters, restraining a writhing Banshee.
"Let me go!" the Banshee snarled.
"As you wish," spoke Phoebe, the golden haired sister
The Weird Sisters let Banshee fall the floor with an undignified thunk, as the entire court broke out in raucous laughter at the sight.
"You dare laugh at the Banshee!?" the Woman of the Mounds raged.
Odin chuckled. "You always were too high-strung."
"I'll show you high-strung," the Banshee hissed, before unleashing a piercing wail.
Odin staggered to his knees in pain, hands over his ears, before replying with a hurled lightning bolt.
The Banshee dodged the crackling projectile, only intensifying her ghostly wail in response.
Odin threw open his white-furred cloak, summoning a miniature blizzard that actually managed to momentarily silence the keening fae.
The Banshee's form began to contort as she assumed the form of the legendary Death Worm, Crom-Cruach.
Odin was quick to respond in kind, shifting into the form of a slavering polar bear before hurling himself with gusto at the demonic maggot.
The assembled Children roared with delight, each cheering on their favored champion. They had all seen what real war between their kind looked like, and knew this play-fighting for the mere game that it was.
Had either 'combatant' meant the other serious harm, the entire palace would have been vaporized in an instant.
"Excellent!" Oberon clapped his hands with undisguised merriment. "Marvelous sport!"
And for just a moment, even Lord Oberon forgot his cares.
The End
