At the Bottom of This Chapter
Author's Note
Challenge #7
Concerning the Chapter Title
References Made in the Chapter
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Author's Note: Okay, this is actually more like part 2 of chapter 20, so I'm posting chapter 22 also (so 5 chapters in 3 days - who's happy about that?) because I don't like how short these are, ugh! Anyway, this is just a brief deep-breath-before-the-plunge scene between Nuada and Dylan before everything gets confusing and complicated (again). I hate short chapters! *bangs head against a wall* Ugh! Yeah, if LA doesn't seem her usual bouncy, perky self, it's because I'm trapped in my apartment with almost no AC and it's like, 108 degrees outside (and about 110 in here). Not to mention it's 2 in the morning. Blargh. So I'm melting into a puddle of goo out here in our sort-of-happy desert. So LOVE ME! Love me, Junior! *ahem* Sorry, channeling Bleedman there for a second. Who's Bleedman? Great artist, fanfiction comic book guy. Google "Snafu Comics" and read his comics, Grim Tales From Down Below, Sugar Bits, and Power Puff Girls Doujinshi. They're awesome.
Oh, and the courtship gifts mentioned in this chapter actually exist and are part of different cultures (mostly Welsh and Gaelic, and any cultures that fed into the Gaelic way of life, such as the Vikings).
Mythological Being of the Day: Today, the mythical being is called "the Super-Long Fanfic Chapter," or more commonly called "Supa-Chappie." It is a rare animal, even in myth, rumored to consist of more than 18,000 words sans author's notes and anecdotes, and only appears once in a blue moon (a blue moon actually being the 13th full moon of the year; although apparently that happens every 2-3 years or something, but whatevs). Yet despite its gargantuan length, somehow the Supa-Chappie manages to ensnare its victims with the first few paragraphs and never ever lets them go, slowly draining the real-world-connection-juices from its victims' brains and leaving them mindless husks who live only for the next words of the Chapter. This dangerous entity, however, has never been found anywhere but in mythology, so no worries. =D
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Chapter Twenty-One
Knives
that is
A Short Tale of Tokens of Love, Talk of Escape, and a Message Delivered
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The Elf princess found her brother some time later not in the salle, not in the little chapel reserved for those servants who followed the High King of the World, and not in the guest chamber he had been given while Dylan used his own. Instead, she found him in the little-used workroom that King Balor had had built centuries ago for a young prince who delighted in craftsmanship.
Nuada, stripped to the waist and sheened with sweat from the heat of the forge, bent over an anvil, hammering at a piece of yellow-hot metal with a hammer. He did not flinch from the sparks that flew up at each strike. Nuala glided to him, and watched as he began to bend and fold what was probably Elven silver. The blistering heat was enough to make even the princess sweat. "What are you making, Brother?"
"A dirk." There was no annoyance or hurt in her brother's voice now. There was only the terseness of concentration and the quiet joy of doing what he loved. Yet underneath his calm exterior, she could feel a small shudder of sorrow. As he folded the metal again, he added, "For Dylan."
She jerked, startled. "Then... you are making her the scian suirí?"
With a sigh, Nuada brought his hammer down again. "I am." If he had to court the human, or appear to court her, he would do it properly, as his honor (and his implacable father) demanded of him. That included the customary tokens of flowers, jewels (if the human would take them, which the prince rather doubted, knowing her), the courting knife, and - sickeningly saccharine thought - a lovespoon.
At least he enjoyed metal-working and woodcarving for its own sake. The flowers could come from his personal gardens within the Royal Gardens. But he knew that every nobleman in the court of Bethmoora thought him stupid-in-love with her. Such insipid sentiment was pathetic in a warrior. It galled him to have to pretend to such boyish affections. His father had not been so besotted with his mother, had he? There had been love, yes, but not this.
"Then... you mean to truly capitulate to our father's wishes?"
"Why do you sound surprised?" He would not allow any bitterness through. "Our father has ordered me to court her, so court her I shall." The prince wiped at the sweat on his face with the back of his arm. The blade itself was nearly finished. "So I make a courting knife for her. You may give her the sheath and belt you possess, Sister, as you have never worn it. In fact, if I remember correctly, you refused to wear it."
"Brother... you know I could not. I will give it to her." The princess, knowing there was just a touch of hurt in her brother now, added, "It is honorable, what you do here, my brother." An awkward silence descended on them both as the Elven warrior finished the actual forging of the blade itself. He lifted it with his tongs and thrust it into icy water. The water hissed and steamed. Then, knowing he had time to let it cool, the prince grabbed his carving knife and the block of dark ebony he intended for the dirk's hilt and, dropping to a bench, set to work.
"When..." Nuala trailed off when her twin did not even acknowledge her words with a look. Struggling for poise, the princess asked, "When will Dylan return from her worship?"
"She told me she would return in about three hours' time. That was three hours ago."
And had that not been a vexation? Uneasy at leaving the mortal among other faeries, even the servants of the castle, he had briefly entertained the idea of going into the chapel with her, despite the flush of embarrassment threatening him. After all, he certainly smelled better than the stable tomte that were filing inside. He would not have been in danger of giving offense, as Nuala had insinuated when he had been dressing.
And he would not have listened to the religious babble, of course, but at least then Dylan would not have been alone. After the terror of the night and his father's edict, Nuada was torn between two extremes: desperate for time away from the choking charade that seemed to drag him down like a ball and chain, he was still loath to leave Dylan alone among strangers. What if they frightened her? What if she suffered another flashback?
But the mortal had insisted that no ill would befall her while she remained with the tiny congregation. And Nils had been there. The tomte had agreed (indeed, practically begged, Nuada thought with a little sizzle of irritation) to be Dylan's escort for the service.
"It has been a long time since you used this room, has it not?" Nuala asked, desperate to keep the awkward silence from returning. Her brother paused in his carving. "Father ordered this room built... I believe you were only a youth at the time." Fourteen hundred years old, still a young Elf, fascinated with the art of smithing, willing to face burns and scalding steam, aching muscles and long hours, just to learn a thing he would never even need. But, Nuala remembered, he had loved it so. Their father could not help but give into his only son's wish to learn.
And less than a thousand years after that, Nuada had gone into exile, and no one had used the room since. And whenever the prince returned to Findias, it was never long enough to find the time to use it, either.
"I spoke to Jenny," Nuada replied. Beneath his skilled hands and blade, the hilt of a dirk was emerging from the dark wood. "She had the room cleaned while I trained this morning. After you and I... spoke, and Father came to me, I knew that I would have to begin this courtship in earnest if Father were to continue to be merciful."
"You think us cruel to force you both into this alliance, but Brother, it is the only road you have left us."
Nuada shrugged. "It matters little what I think of you, Sister. Of either of you. You and Father have always made that very clear."
"Brother..." She could not bear the razor-edged shards of hurt in his voice. But before she could even so much as coax him to meet her eyes, Nils came into the forge with Dylan at his side.
"See? What did I tell you, milady? Jenny had the right of it. His Highness is in his forge." Nils bowed low to Nuala and Nuada, murmuring, "Highnesses." To Dylan, he added, "Well, I must return to my stables. I am glad that you enjoyed sacrament."
"It was lovely." She flashed him a dazzling smile. The tomte thought, A pity her face is so scarred. She would be at least pretty, otherwise, for a human. Though that second eye is a bit off-putting. "Thank you, Nils, for making sure I was all right. If I'm still at Findias come next Sunday, I'll see you there again?"
"That you will," he replied, and bowed to her and the royal twins. "Highnesses, Lady." He left when Nuala dismissed him, leaving the human to stare around her at the forge in wonder.
"Wow. This place is amazing."
"Dylan!" Nuala went to her and took her hands. Try to be friendly, she reminded herself. It was the least she could do for the poor girl in light of the courtship situation. And the human actually smiled at the Elf princess with sincere delight. "Did you enjoy yourself? I heard some of the singing when I went to the chapel in search of my brother. It sounded lovely."
"Oh, the singing was wonderful!"
Dylan grinned and actually pulled the princess to the bench where Nuada sat. The Elven warrior quirked a brow at the two women as the human perched on the bench beside him and began telling him (as if he had expressed an almost fanatical interest) of all that had happened during the religious service. For some odd reason, the mortal focused a lot on the children who had been seated near her.
"Nuada, they were so sweet! I think they were fragglewumps, since the kids were eating pieces of raw meat, but they might have been something else, I'm not sure. And there was an agloolik! I've never, ever seen one before. She was beautiful, and the frost on her skin made her sparkle under the light. And her hair was so black! Like the kind of black you find in an underground cavern. She had a dog, too... or was the dog part of her? Nils wasn't sure, since he said she never talks much and he's never asked. Do you know her name? Nils said she was in charge of the hunting dogs in the royal kennels. Why didn't you tell me you have kennels? I love dogs!
"And there were abatwas. I've never seen those, either. They all perched on the backs of the pews where there were children so they could see because they're so small. One of them went up to bear her testimony and it took a long time for her to get up there, but it was absolutely worth it.
"Oh, Nuada, I loved it. I loved it so much! Thank you for taking me! Stop carving for a second."
The prince had allowed himself to be lulled by the constant stream of excited babbling, so it took him a moment to realize she had given him an order. He laid down the carving knife and looked at her. Her eyes shone with equal parts excitement and apprehension.
What now? He wondered disparagingly. After last night, he was unsure he even wanted to know.
The human threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. He froze. She was touching him. Again. And this time, in front of his sister, who no doubt would have something to say once the embrace was over. This was not the same as when Dylan had been near hysterics. Nuada knew this was premeditated. And yet oddly, he could not find it in himself to be angry, only oddly pleased and somewhat embarrassed. Nuala gaped at them, which only made an otherwise awkward situation at least partially amusing for the prince. And Dylan whispered over and over, "This was the best thing you could ever do for me. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I loved it so much. Thank you."
When she finally released him enough that he could draw a full breath, the Elf prince was surprised that her eyes were bright with more happiness than he'd ever seen on her face before. And she looked at him... as Nuala once had, when they were children, and his sister had believed him to be the greatest warrior, the kindest person, and the best brother that ever could be. The look in Dylan's eyes made him smile at her without conscious thought.
No, Nuada reminded himself, straightening his features. Do not smile at her. Do not encourage such familiarity.
But then the mortal looked down at herself and added, "Blech. You are really sweaty." And he could not help but laugh at her too-feminine disgust.
Nuala, observing them both, was even more surprised at the obvious affection in her brother's face and the sound of his carefree laugh as he watched the mortal wipe his sweat from her hands. Did her brother know he looked at the human that way? Nuada was so careful in his expressions, in every word and gesture that could be seen by another other than his twin. Yet now some of the walls and safeguards were dropping, just a little. And in the presence of a human. Mayhap affection is not a strong enough word for what he feels. But how has Dylan managed this?
"I am glad that you are so happy," Nuada said, oblivious to his sister. Perhaps it will carry over to tonight, and I will have some peace. The floor does not make a good place to sit.
"You should come next week," Dylan replied. "You'd be this happy, too."
No was on his tongue before he had even to think about it. But the look on her face was so expectant and happy that he did not want to ruin it. Never had he seen such a joyous expression from her before. Contented, yes. And he had seen soft, calm joy whenever she spoke of the things of her faith. But this... had he ever seen anyone who was not a child this happy?
So he said gruffly, with a scowl, "We shall see." Perhaps the next time she asked, she would not wear such an expression, and he could refuse without feeling as if he were kicking a puppy.
"What are you making?" She asked, beaming.
"The hilt of a dirk. The blade is cooling in the water there." He gestured.
Dylan peered at it, and then went back to observing him at his work. "Who's the dirk for?"
"It is for you. If you ever see Eamonn or another male predator, you can use it to make them a eunuch." He smiled against his will when Dylan snorted.
Nuala chose this moment to discreetly take her leave. Let Nuada explain the scian suirí to the mortal, if it was needed. Though somehow the princess suspected that Dylan probably already understood the significance of the courtship knife.
Dylan leaned back and regarded Nuada, who continued to work carefully to bring the shape of the dagger hilt from the wood. In her study of Gaelic culture in college, she had read about the invasion of the Vikings however many centuries ago. And she'd read about the custom that had long ago passed into some Celtic peoples from the Vikings, where a girl ready to be courted would wear an empty, decorated leather sheath at her hip. And if a suitor came to her, and was accepted, she would wear the knife or dagger that he had made for her in that sheath, and everyone would know that the girl had chosen her sweetheart. Though not as binding as an engagement ring, it indicated a serious commitment. Had that custom come from the Gaels' fey predecessors? Somehow she was almost certain it had.
The dirk is for me, she thought, never taking her eyes off the prince who carved it. And he is making it for me himself, instead of just buying it or something. Then it's a courtship blade. I... I don't know how I feel about that.
Flustered. Surprised that he would do it, that he would go this far with the courtship charade. Had Balor said something to Nuada? Dylan wouldn't have put it past him. The king might not have been breathing down their necks, exactly, but that didn't mean she couldn't smell his breath. But also, in a small corner of herself, she felt pleased. Pleased by the fact that the Elf prince was obviously taking great care with the gift. He meant to do her honor, even though she was mortal.
"Thank you," she said softly. When he glanced at her, a faint glimmer of irritation in his gaze, she looked away. Dylan knew there was probably another woman whom Nuada would have loved to give the blade to instead. He only gave it to her because he had to. And yet he still took exquisite care. It made her sad for him, and proud of him.
"It will not be purely ornamental. I shall teach you how to use it once I am finished. Tomorrow, perhaps. The day after at the latest. And I will also teach you aikido, hapkido, and shīzi hŏu. That way you will learn how to fight, and how to defend yourself against a much stronger opponent. And this way I will not have to throttle you if Eamonn damages you again."
Not that I will allow him to, the prince snarled silently to himself.
He's still worried about me, Dylan realized. Does he feel obligated to teach me, then? Is it an honor thing? Aloud she said, "You don't have to teach me if you don't want to. Someone else can-"
"I will do it," he said with finality. "I would not give your safety over to any of the imbeciles who claim proficiency here. I trust only Wink, and he is not skilled in martial arts, but in weapons. However, he and I will both teach you the use of the dirk. After that, we shall teach you knife-fighting. It is not quite the same, and both are skills you should possess." The prince paused, glanced at her. Eyes like rain-swept lakes met his. "It will be difficult for you. Because of your leg, and because I believe you are not used to such training."
She fought back a sigh. The prince seemed strangely prickly this afternoon, now that they were alone. Fantastic. Well, she had climbed all over him like a monkey in a tree last night. Dylan knew she owed him big, so she said softly, "If you need me to do this, I'll do it."
"If you need me to," he thought, puzzled. Not, "If you think I should." Not, "If you say so." If I need her to do it. Why would she say it that way? He knew Dylan picked her words far too carefully for it to have been anything other than intentional. But he only nodded to her and went back to glaring at the half-carved ebony as if it had given offense.
"Good."
"Now, I'm gonna go change. I'm sure Becan can find me some pants. And then we are getting out of here for a while."
He stared at her. "What? Why?"
"Nuada." She touched his hand with the lightest caress of her fingertips. The touch almost burned; he felt it down to his bones. Only centuries of discipline kept him from jerking away from her. "I know you're unhappy about being stuck here, with everyone watching us and people always talking about us and stuff, right?" When he nodded, her smile turned sad. "It's frustrating. I totally get that. I'll admit, I get a little freaked when I notice some of the people here pointing at me and whispering. So maybe we could go somewhere. Like, for a ride or something. You like riding horses, don't you? And I'm okay at it. We could go horseback riding. Go check out some woods or something. Get away from everyone. I know you don't like leaving me alone. And Wink could come with us. That way it'll be 'proper' and all that."
She rolled her eyes on the word "proper." Obviously she had not been impressed by what Nuala had said about propriety this morning.
Go with Dylan? Go out riding, which he had not done in such a long time, with a lowly human? Away from his Father, away from Nuala, away from the eyes of the court. Into the woods, maybe, or to the beach. It was cold enough that there would be few humans there, and he could glamor himself well enough as to remain unnoticed. How had Dylan known that he yearned to leave this place? Yearned to be free of it all?
Exile had left him loath to remain in this confining palace, with these insipid and moronic aristocrats. He longed for the freedom of his subway tunnels, the Troll Market, and... and Dylan's idyllic little cottage by the park. Well, he thought with no little annoyance, of course I do. At least there he could relax around a female who did not wish to bed him for his position or to get herself with his child. That slew of shrewish irritations had been one of the things he did not miss about life at court. But if something frightens her, if she has another flashback... then she will attack me again. And "snuggle" me, as she puts it.
He almost felt ill at the thought. And yet... to get away from this place, while still technically obeying his father's wishes (and thus avoiding any sort of punishment or disapproval) was too good an opportunity to pass up, even if it left a strange feeling in his belly.
"So?" She said, tilting her head so her hair slid across her face like a thin, dark curtain. A pang hit Nuada's chest and he went very still. "What d'you say?"
"I say..." Her eyes were very blue behind the curtain of her hair. "I say that that would be the best thing you could offer me," he said.
Her smile was bright and sweet. Nuala never smiled at him like that. No one did, except Dylan. Without thinking, Nuada put down the small knife and the ebony, and reached out. He did not know what he meant to do to begin with, but he ended up slowly brushing his knuckles along her jaw. He was doing it again. Letting some ridiculous, impulsive notion seize control of him and turn him into ten kinds of fool. Had he not learned his lesson the night previous? Willingly touching the human was a mistake. But her breath warmed his wrist when she let out a sigh and Dylan briefly closed her eyes. Her lashes made dark crescents against her scarred cheeks. And Nuada found himself speaking before his brain could clamp his teeth shut.
"How can you know me so well... and yet be mortal? You are so young, yet you read me as easily as one of your tales." The very idea unnerved him. It made no sense that a human could understand him so well; even one such as her.
"Just lucky, I guess," she said softly. It was suddenly very hard to breathe. Hesitantly, moving on instinct, she reached up and curved her hand around his where it lay against her face. Dylan could feel his pulse against her cheek from the warmth of his palm. Feel the calluses on his knuckles from what were probably fights; feel the tension in him, and the way he held so very, very still. Golden eyes like sunlight through amber locked on hers. She swallowed. Didn't dare even try to take a breath. What was he thinking right now? He suddenly looked lost. She had never seen him look like that.
And of course, I'm being a total sucker and getting all fluttery. Ugh, I feel like a bimbo. But he looks so sad.
"Nuada, I-"
"Nuada!" Wink burst in, jerking the Elf and the mortal apart. Heat raced through Dylan's cheeks and she scooted back, staring resolutely at the floor. What had she been thinking? What was wrong with her? Nuada didn't like touching her! Why had she done that to him?
The prince clamped down hard on the surge of irritation that threatened to make him snarl at his oldest friend. It was not Wink's fault that he and Dylan had been... what? Touching? When had it become acceptible to touch a human that way?
"What is it, Wink?" Nuada demanded, forcing his voice to remain neutral. It would have been shameful to growl at either of them (much as he wished to). But he had been the one to initiate the touch. He, Prince Nuada, had caressed - yes, caressed; there was no other word for it, mortifying as the thought was - mortal skin.
The silver troll, confused and with just an inkling that he may have interrupted something, stared at them both.
"What did you want?" Focus on Wink, he ordered himself. Nuada could not think of Dylan right now. He simple could not.
"Nuada... I have just come from the Troll and Goblin Markets. I spent all night listening to the gossip. They know about the human. There are rumors that the two of you are betrothed! And there is more; the Jade-"
A patter of little feet echoed behind the giant troll and Becan raced in, wide-eyed and frantic. "Mistress! It is terrible! The girl, Lisa! The police! She has a gun! You must come!"
"What?" Dylan leapt to her feet. With wide eyes and pounding heart, she turned to Nuada and said in a tense voice, "Nuada, I have to go. I have to go right now. Lisa's one of my patients. I have to help her with whatever's going on."
King Balor had not given them permission to go yet. If Nuada left Findias without royal leave, the King would be displeased (see infuriated). After the conversation in the salle, the prince had no doubt that his father would see his absence as a sign of defiance. The One-Armed King of Elfland did not look kindly on defiance, especially not twice in one day. But the determination in Dylan's eyes told the Elf prince that with Balor's leave or no, she would do everything in her power to leave the castle, and Faerie, to get to this girl, this Lisa. And the moment she was out of his sight, Nuada knew that Eamonn would find her. He would find her, and take her, and then-
- Silver-blue eyes glassy in death
Eyes like hollow bruises
Scarred lips that Eamonn said tasted like honeyed mead
Blood so red against death-pale skin
Bruises black as nightshade
Dylan so cold, unmoving
His chest is burning
Burning because he cannot draw breath
And she is so very, very still-
No! The Elf prince wrenched himself away from the memory of his nightmare. Forced himself to remain firmly locked in the present. It had only been a dream. A dream, and nothing more. Eamonn would not find her. He would not hurt her because he, the Silver Lance, would never allow it. Nuada's nightmares would never come to pass. His honor demanded that no harm come to Dylan. None would. So long as he drew breath, nothing would ever threaten her again.
Blue eyes were gazing at him in supplication. He could see the pleading in her eyes, but she said nothing, only watched him. Waiting for his decision. Nuada remembered Dylan telling him, It is very hard to be young, no matter what your species... Growing up is the hardest of alchemical transformations. He knew that was so.
"Very well," the blond warrior said. His voice remained perfectly steady. "Give me but a moment to dress, and I shall take you where you need to go." They could deal with the king's wrath later.
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Author's Note: oh, crap, king's wrath. Eek! And guns! And suicidal teenage girls! And more cheek-touching! Yay for cheek-touching! Boo for trollish interruptions! Okay, since my beta is talking to me, I'm in a better mood (even though I'm being eaten by midges - don't know how they got in here, since I'm inside and it's a desert, not a swamp, but whatever; maybe it's 'cause I'm so sweaty and hot). So wootness for being happy and... she just stole the fan from me. My beta must die. Now. So I can have the fan back because otherwise I'm gonna die.
Beta: Hey!
Me: What?
Beta: *sad sound*
Me: Oh, okay, jeez. You're pardoned. Whatever. Can I stop the fan oscilating now?
So, okay, back to the actual chapter. Wait, you say! What about Bres and them arriving? Yeah, they just miss each other (oh what a shame). And of course, since it's an envoy, not a relay-run message of dire need, they don't go before the king all dusty and gross. They get time to be escorted to their rooms, bathe, change clothes, make themselves presentable, even get a little bit to eat. Good stuff. So, review prompt:
1) Raise your hand if you hate being eaten alive by flying black bloodsucking specks of insect matter.
2) What do you think would have happened if Wink hadn't interrupted the conversation between Dylan and Nuada (that is a secondary challenge: if anyone wants to write an alternate ending to the scene for an extra chapter and a Spoiler Surprise/Critique Cake/Cameo Cookie)?
3) List four things you liked about this chapter (or chapter 20 or 22) and anything you didn't like (I can't think of any good questions other than #4).
4) And finally, the romance aspect. Who liked the little moment (sadly interrupted by Wink) that Nuada had with Dylan? The barest inkling of foreshadowing of possible romantic interest, combined with confusion at this fey-like human woman who is so young and inexperienced, yet reads Nuada so well and tries to give him what he needs (and often succeeds at it). Did it work? I hope it worked. I agonized over it, poked it, prodded it, stuck it with pins and forks and needles and sticks. I even electrocuted it a couple times with my shock-pen. How did I do?
Challenge Again! No word limit, just a thing. Nuada's gonna teach Dylan how to fight, right? Lots of touching involved. With Nuada not wearing a shirt, right?And high levels of adrenaline. So... who wants to write a short scene (or series of scenes, whatever - actually, I prefer a series of scenes involving yummy shirtless adrenaline-laced goodness) about him training her in martial arts or using a dirk/knife, that involves high levels of sensual awareness/tension? I could just see that going in some seriously delicious (and yet retrospectively awkward for both of them) directions. Who thinks they can do it? *nudges OceanFire9 and WhenNightmaresWalked*
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Concerning the Chapter Title: "Knives" is a short poem about the faery-tale "Cinderella" by Jane Yolen, found in the anthology Snow White, Blood Red. Though there's nothing about Cinderella in this chapter, there is some stuff about knives. Yay, knives! And poison. Woot, poison!
Wait... I just realized how that sounded. Um...
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References Made In This Chapter:
- Nuada as a blacksmith. First of all, it's obvious he's a craftsman. He made that little egg thing for the forest elemental. Secondly (this ties into the courtship knife) he has to be proficient enough to know how to make a knife for his future lady. So do I feel like I took liberty by showing that he knew how to use a forge and stuff? No. It makes sense, because how else would he know how to forge a knife? And he seems like he would enjoy that kind of thing. You don't get that good at making little clockwork bits in a century with just a passing interest in the concept.
- I think, however, I should make a note of something. Faerie (the realm of Faerie) seems to exist in pretty much every country in the world. If all those Fae are from the same place, it seems to me that Faerie is actually a place that exists wherever you find it, and it's the same everywhere. So the castle of Findias is the same castle that you see in the little beginning segment of the film about the Golden Army, even though that was in Ireland and Dylan's in New York. However, the glory of such a place has diminished over time as the Fair Folk have faded. This will be explained more later, but I just wanted to point out how a castle in New York City held a room that Balor had built for Nuada over 2500 years ago.
- What is a dirk? I think I said this already, but so that you all don't have to look for it, here it is again. A Scottish knife (evolved from the bollock dagger; see Sciansuirí below) with a blade approximately 12 inches long. They're single-edged with decorative file work (called "jimping") on the back-edge of the blade. Their hilts are traditionally carved from dark woods such as bog oak or ebony (I figured ebony would work better, seeing as it's so dark and would match the hilt of Nuada's lance; *gasp* more matchy-matchy). Dirks are usually decorated at the hilt with silver mountings (which I don't know what those are and can't find anything to explain them, lacking a decent library and decent internet - HELP!) and a cairngorm stone in the pommel. When worn, the dirk's sheath hangs by a leather strap known as a "frog" from a dirk belt, which is a wide leather belt having a large, usually ornate buckle. Usually the dirk is worn with the kilt on men, but women wielded dirks as well (and didn't wear kilts).
- Cairngorm stone: a variety of smoky quartz crystal found in the Cairngorm Mountains of Scotland. It's usually a smoky yellow-brown, though some specimens are gray-brown. It's used in Scottish jewellery and as a decoration on kilt pins and the pommels of sgian-dubhs and dirks.
- Sciansuirí. It is true that in Viking countries (and those countries they invaded and melted into), a girl ready to be courted would wear an empty leather sheath on her belt (with lots of pretty stuff on it; if she was rich, there would be embossing and such. If she was poor, embroidered leatherwork). When a boy wanted to court her, he would make a knife for her to wear at her belt. If she accepted the knife, it counted as "going steady." Sciansuirí literally translates as "knife-courtship," but it means "courtship knife." I made up the name, but it's basically exactly what the thing is. The courtship knife was probably not a dirk, but dirks are part of the standard Gaelic arsenal and were worn more openly, so it would make more sense for her to have one of those than, say, a bollock dagger (so called because the hilt resembles a certain aspect of male anatomy) or a sgian-dubh (literally "hidden knife;" a couple inches shorter than the 12-inch dirk, worn strapped to the upper arm, also standard Scottish Highland dress).
- Lovespoons! In Celtic Ireland/Scotland/England/Wales (hehehe, we pretty much just covered everywhere Nuada could hail from), a token similar to a marriage proposal (though more like, "Would you ever consider marrying me? Not that you have to agree to wed me right this second, but could you see it in the future sometime?) was the lovespoon. Partly to show off the skill of the carver, a lovespoon is a handcarved wooden spoon with different shapes carved into it. Each symbol/shape meant a different thing. For example, a padlock could mean "I will always remain faithful" or "I will protect/guard you." Vines or flowers meant "Our love will continue to grow." Hearts are pretty obvious, but a ship's wheel means "I will steer us on a safe course through life" or "we will steer through this life together." Anchors mean "eternal love" or "devotion." Now, won't it be interesting to see what Nuada comes up with? Judging from pictures I've found online, average length was 10-14 inchs, and about 2-4 inches wide. Not actually meant for eating.
- Yes, LDS church services span 3 hours. I can imagine the horror and shock on your faces. That was how I felt, too, the first time I went (especially since I actually went there for the choir practice and we - my beta and I - couldn't find the flippin' choir! So I was like, "I'm stuck in this place full of whackos for three freaking hours and I don't even get to do any singing? RAWR!" But not only was there a lot of singing, which made me happy, but I enjoyed the whole thing anyway. I was so shocked, but after the second hour, my beta was like, "So, think you can handle one more hour?" And I was like, "Are you kidding? I love this! Can I come back next week?" It was pretty awesome).
- The first hour and ten minutes of LDS church is called "Sacrament Meeting." Then there's Sunday School/Primary, and then Young Women's/Relief Societ/Priesthood. It changes depending on your age and gender.
- Who remembers Lucy the Fragglewump from the movie? Anyway, for those who haven't seen the movie (I know there are at least some of you), a fragglewump is a Scottish bogle that poses as an old person. They eat cats, and are afraid of canaries. At least, according to the film. I haven't had a chance to look them up yet, so I'm not sure if they got it right. They messed up quite a bit of the mythology already (examples would be Balor being Nuada's father; in the legend, Balor was the guy who killed Nuada in battle. They weren't even the same species. Another example would be Bethmoora. Bethmoora isn't Irish at all. It's from HP Lovecraft. And they pronounced Nuala's name wrong. It's Noo-Lah, not Nu-Wa-La. But whatever, the movie's fantastic anyway).
- Aglooliks are Inuit (Eskimo) ice spirits that help hunters and fishers. I actually took some liberties with the agloolik. I don't know what they look like (I haven't been able to find a picture or description) and so it's left up in the air as to whether she is humanoid or if that's just glamor because she likes the way she looks all frosty. Since she looks humanoid right now, I made her look Inuit. And she's in charge of the dogs bred by the royal kennels for hunting and fishing (there are such things as fishing dogs).
- Abatwas are "little people" in Zulu mythology that ride around on ants. Their function at the castle is to keep the royal gardens free of crop/plant-eating insects by killing them and feeding them to their ants. I assume they ride on those ants that are the size of hot dogs (the ones in Africa that eat cows and stuff... Seafu? Pronounced See-Ah-Foo, but I don't know how to spell it) since they don't say how little they are.
- What does Dylan mean "got up to bear her testimony?" Okay, it's the first Sunday in November in the fic right now. The first Sunday of every month is Fast Sunday (we explained that in a previous chapter) and the Sacrament Meeting is called "Fast and Testimony Meeting." Unlike the other Sundays, on this Sunday members of the congregation get up and bear their testimony, or talk briefly about the truthfulness of the gospel and how it has affected their lives. One of my favorite times someone got up to bear their testimony, it was a little kid, maybe nine or ten at the oldest, who talked about how he knew paying fast offering (the money that would have been spent to buy the 2 meals you don't eat on Fast Sunday, which instead goes to charity) was important because it helped people who didn't have anything to eat get food, and he was like, "I'm glad I have a testimony of helping people," except in kid-speak, but still. I was like, "Go you!" Except I didn't say that, because it would've been disruptive. But I was thinking it. Fast and Testimony Meeting is my FAVORITE Sunday! I love it. I'm always crazy hyper like Dylan was afterwards (and so are most people). Especially when kids and teens bear their testimonies.
- More martial arts! Aikido, the Japanese martial art developed by Morihei Ueshiba as a synthesis of his martial studies, philosophy, and religious beliefs. Aikido is often translated as "The Way of Unifying With Life Energy" ("ki" being "life energy," similar to the Chinese "chi"). It also sometimes translates as "The Way of Harmonious Spirit." Ueshiba's goal was to create an art that practitioners could use to defend themselves while also protecting their attacker from injury. Aikido is performed by blending with the motion of the attacker and redirecting the force of the attack rather than opposing it head-on. This requires very little physical strength, as the aikidōka (aikido practitioner) "leads" the attacker's momentum using entering and turning movements. The techniques are completed with various throws or joint locks. As Dylan lacks much of Eamonn's strength, she's mostly going to be using throws, I'd imagine, and not joint locks. Today aikido is found all over the world in a number of styles, with broad ranges of interpretation and emphasis. However, they all share techniques learned from Ueshiba and most have concern for the well-being of the attacker.
- Hapkido! Hapkido is a dynamic and eclectic Korean martial art. It is a form of self-defense that employs joint locks, techniques of other martial arts, as well as kicks, punches, and other striking attacks. There is also the use of traditional weapons, including a sword, rope, nunchaku (nun-chucks), cane, short stick, and staff, which vary in emphasis depending on the particular tradition examined. Hapkido contains both long- and close-range fighting techniques, utilizing jumping kicks and percussive hand strikes at longer ranges and pressure point strikes, joint locks, or throws at closer fighting distances. Hapkido emphasizes circular motion, non-resisting movements, and control of the opponent. Practitioners seek to gain advantage through footwork and body positioning to employ leverage, avoiding the use of strength against strength. The art evolved from Daitō-ryū Aiki-jūjutsu (the base for Aikido) after founder Choi Yong-Sool returned to Korea after World War II, having lived in Japan for 30 years. This system was later combined with kicking and striking techniques of indigenous and contemporary arts such as taekkyeon and tang soo do (I don't know what those are yet, but I'll find out). Its history is obscured by the historical animosity between the Korean and Japanese peoples following the Second World War, however. Although this is a modern style, do you really think Nuada's not going to learn every single thing he can about fighting while he plots the downfall of humanity?
- Shīzi Hŏu is the ancient Tibetan martial art "Lion's Roar." It is surprisingly ruthless, and it would put Dylan in the right frame of mind to fight someone hand-to-hand. Nuada wants her to learn this style because of its emphasis on being ruthless and following through with strikes. The original Lion's Roar system is attributed to a monk named Ah Dat-Ta, also sometimes known as the "Dai Dat Lama". Ah Dat-Ta was born in 1426 and was a member of a nomadic tribe that traveled throughout Tibet and Qinghai. After becoming a Tibetan monk, he also learned a martial art that was apparently from India.
The story goes, that for several years Ah Dat-Ta retreated to the mountains to live in seclusion, studying Buddhist texts and practicing meditation. He also hoped to improve his martial art skill. One day Ah Dat-Ta's meditation was disturbed by a loud sound. He left the cave he had been meditating in to investigate and found an ape trying to capture a crane. He was astonished. Despite the ape's great size and strength, the crane eluded the great swings and pecked at soft, vital points. Ah Dat-Ta was inspired to create a new martial art. Ah Dat-Ta created a system that mimicked the deft evasion and vital point striking of the white crane and the ape's powerful swings and grabbing techniques. It was based upon the number eight, an important number in Chinese cosmology and numerology.
The fundamental fighting theory was known as the "eight character true essence". The "eight character true essence" can be roughly translated as "strike the place that has a pulse, never a place that has no pulse, and stretch the arms out while keeping the body away." The system consisted of 8 fist strikes, 8 palm strikes, 8 elbow strikes, 8 finger strikes, 8 kicking techniques, 8 seizing (clawing) techniques, 8 stances and 8 stepping patterns.
There are four other points of philosophy behind Lion's Roar: 1) Chan, ruthlessness, represents the mental state that must be achieved. When attacked, there is no room for ambivalence or hesitation. The student must commit themselves to being totally ruthless. All strikes must be executed full force, and all blocking motions must destroy the opponent's limbs; 2) Sim (dodge, evade, avoid) represents the preferred defensive method. It is considered superior to evade all attacks whilst simultaneously striking exposed vital points. This is achieved through footwork, body positioning, and jumping (oh, gee, jumping. Who do we know who jumps around while kicking butt? Can't think of anyone off the top of my head); 3) Chyuhn (to pierce, penetrate) represents the primary offensive goal, for all strikes to pierce and destroy vital points. It also refers to vital point striking; and 4) Jit (to stop, intercept) represents the second line of defense. Attacks that cannot be evaded must be intercepted and the attacking limb destroyed (I got all this from Wikipedia). It is this emphasis on destruction and hard offense versus attacker-conscious defense that makes Nuada want to teach Dylan this style.
- You know there are faerie sluts trying to get in Nuada's pants just because he's the prince, or because they want to be Queen, or because they want to have his baby (and thus trap him into making them his Queen). Poor guy. Being royalty sucks sometimes.
- That quote of Dylan's that Nuada remembers is from chapter 10. =)