Once again, many thanks to queenB for her much-appreciated betaing.
The Logres Cycle: Bright Lights and Dark Dancers
By Andraste
Ulfin cursed as he shivered under his wool cloak, careful not to drop the howling bundle he carried, but rather less solicitous of its tender ears. Stumbling through the dark and the rain, he wondered if Merlin had abandoned him to wander the marshes of Glastonbury with the child out of some dark sorcerous intent, or because he'd forgotten them. Arthur Pendragon, heir to the British kingdom (or what was left of it, since Uther was rapidly losing ground to the Saxons while his newly promoted captain was tramping around in the middle of nowhere) hadn't stopped wailing in hours. Away from the comforting arms of his mother and wet nurse, he was probably cold and hungry, feelings that Ulfin could readily sympathise with.
Disoriented, exhausted, and as good as blinded by the encroaching night and bad weather, it was only a matter of time before he caught his foot on a hidden root and went tumbling forward, panicking when he realised that he might kill the baby if he fell on it, even in light amour . . . only to have his descent arrested by a firm and surprisingly strong hand that set him on his feet.
"It will be best if you give the child to me before you fall over," said Merlin, in his usual soft monotone.
Ulfin, past caring where the mage had appeared from, wondered instead whether he had seen a vision of his hapless companion falling into a bog. He resigned himself to his fate, deciding that he couldn't get much wetter. Merlin was perfectly dry as always. The rain avoided him by some arcane process beyond Ulfin's understanding, if not beyond his envy.
"If you don't mind my asking," he said, "could you use some of your magic to keep me dry as well? Before I catch my death?"
Merlin nodded almost imperceptibly as he gently took the baby from Ulfin.
"A sensible suggestion," he said "my apologies, but these things do not occur to me automatically . . ."
An instant later, Ulfin found himself drier than he had even been, or ever wanted to be. His clothes were stiff, as if they'd been hung out on a midsummer day, and several years worth of mud flaked from his boots in an instant. His hair felt brittle, his tongue swollen, numb and heavy. The air around him was filled with a disturbing smell of dust and ashes. Blinking repeatedly in a vain attempt to moisten his eyeballs, Ulfin promised himself that the next time he made a wish he would think it through first.
Not wanting to seem ungrateful in spite of his surprise, he turned to the mage to thank him, only to find that his guide was already striding away, apparently quite certain of where he was going. Ulfin walked after him, trying to decide whether the appalling thirst that had been added to his hunger was better or worse than being wet.
In his frustrating baby way, the young prince had stopped crying as soon as Merlin had taken him. The Breton captain didn't know if this was due to magic, or simply because Arthur was now dry and had been offered a finger to suck. He looked up at Merlin with wide-eyed curiosity, and the mage studied the child in turn, as if it were a particularly obtuse volume of history waiting to be read. Perhaps, from his perspective, it was.
Why that history should include a trip to a God-forsaken marsh at midnight in the middle of autumn was just one of the many questions Ulfin was reluctant to ask. The explanation given to Arthur's gently resigned mother had been that the king's most trusted and mysterious adviser was taking the baby to be fostered somewhere he would be safe from the Saxons, as well as Uther's less exotic enemies. But Ulfin was beginning to have serious doubts about the seer's honesty - there was hardly likely to be a nice secure keep out on this boggy ground. No castle would stand here. Or no kind of castle Ulfin knew.
He wondered for a moment weather the mage actually was going to sacrifice Arthur to demons as rumor said; then dismissed the idea as superstitious nonsense made plausible by the cold and dark. Merlin might be a devil's son for all Ulfin knew, but he couldn't imagine the calm, monkish man gutting babies.
Belatedly, he realised that he had lost sight of the object of his speculation once more, and that it had grown even darker while he was lost in contemplation. This was what he got for thinking too much, instead of sticking to fighting and feasting the way God had intended all proper soldiers to do. He cursed again, turning in a slow circle, eyes searching for his guide, and then immediately realised his error. Now, in the dark and featureless marsh he couldn't tell which way he had been facing at all, and was irrevocably lost.
"Merlin?" he called. There was no reply. Standing stock still, Ulfin strained his ears and eyes trying to perceive something beyond the wind and rain, but to no avail. Helplessly, he could do nothing but wait, for minutes that felt like hours.
At last, he saw something - far off in the distance there was a light, floating above the ground like a lantern, but yellow-green like no lantern Ulfin had ever seen. Besides, it was burning in the rain. Whatever it was, though, he had no option but to move towards it. He had gone only a short way when it blinked out as abruptly as it had appeared. He stopped still and tried to think of a word he hadn't already used to curse his situation, until he saw it appear once more, this time over to his left. Once again, he set off after it, once again he followed it until it blinked out. Soon enough, it reappeared to his right - no, there it was, on his left. There were two. No, three. No, four.
Ulfin froze, spooked, as he saw the lights that had previously been static begin to move, to swirl, in a way that suggested living things - or, worse, formerly living things. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see several more behind him.
"Merlin?" he called urgently, not expecting an answer. Perhaps it would have been better to pray, but Ulfin had little enough faith in God's loving protection at the best of times, and he didn't think that making a cross was about to drive away these particular demons. He drew his short sword instead.
The creatures began to move towards him, trapping him in their ring, and it was then that he first heard the sound. It was not precisely a song (although it did have an odd rhythm that the lights seemed to follow) but a high-pitched, eerie, keening that scraped over Ulfin's teeth and bones. He wanted to put his hands over his ears, but he brandished his suddenly pathetic length of steel instead and waited, heart pounding, eyes darting, while the lights circled closer and closer like a school of hungry sharks.
As they grew nearer, Ulfin thought that he could see patches of darkness on the willow-the-wisps that rendered them into strange faces. When they had come close enough for him to touch with his sword - which slashed through them as if they were nothing more than mist - they started to laugh. His composure cracking, Ulfin twisted and jumped like a deer at bay, searching vainly for an escape, shutting his eyes against the sickly glare . . .
"Stop that!" said the Merlin's voice, raised in an anger that Ulfin had never heard before and didn't want to hear again. When Ulfin opened his eyes, he was relieved to find his saviour as impassive as ever. His tormentors, on the other hand, had dimmed considerably and revealed themselves to be rather smaller, hairier and less threatening than he had first believed. He couldn't see their faces, since they were all bowed so low that their foreheads pressed into the mud.
"I trust that your presence indicates that Titania did not receive my message?" said Merlin.
One of the creatures raised its head, which held a mouthful of nasty teeth. Ulfin shuddered, glad that they weren't gnawing on his bones at that very moment.
"No, my lord, we had no idea that you would honour us with your presence, nor that this mortal was your servant. I pray that you will forgive us for . . ."
"He is not my servant, but my guest, an impartial human witness in our contract tonight."
"Contract, my lord?" said another creature, its curiosity instantly driving out its abject terror.
Merlin moved his arm a little, until the precious parcel he carried was revealed, sleeping peacefully in spite of all the excitement. The creatures looked at it with wide eyes, and Ulfin couldn't help noticing that one of them licked his lips.
"I have brought a changeling for your queen to rear," the mage said.
Ulfin opened his mouth, to shout that the prophet was a traitor to his king and country, gripped his sword with renewed vigor, and prepared to snatch little Arthur away, and to die. But Merlin looked at him with his blank, unnatural eyes, and he recalled mage had saved him twice that night. Perhaps his intentions were good. In any case, he had little choice to follow and hope for the best.
"Now you take us to Titania and Oberon," Merlin said.
They set off through the marsh together, but the soldier found little reassurance in having experienced guides. "I hope you know what you're doing," Ulfin muttered.
"Would you have me give the King's son to guards with no swords?" the mage replied.
"They don't *have* swords! They've got bloody great teeth!"
"Then they will guard him all the better. A sword may be lost, but teeth are a weapon always at the ready."
Ulfin began, belatedly, to pray.
***
When he first saw the fairy grove, Ulfin forgot about Merlin's apparent treachery, about the heir to the throne, about their monstrous entourage, about his tiredness and terrible thirst. He gaped at the ring of oak trees that loomed out of the dark, stretching up out of sight, green in spite of the autumn. Within that haven, no rain fell and the wind was mysteriously still. Each trunk was strung about with thousands upon thousands of lights that shone with the oily glimmer of a raven's wing and patterned everything below in shifting colours. Recalling the way the creatures had first appeared to him, he wondered if these too were alive and dangerous, but his concern was soothed away by the welcoming glow. Lights like those promised drink and a warm fire, not unnatural death.
Lowering his eyes from the illuminated branches, Ulfin saw that the space beneath was filled with marvelous and inhuman people. They were dark as the legendary Ethiopians, pale as moonlight, and every shade between. Some towered over him while others barely reached his waist. He saw cloaks woven of finest silk and tunics of reeds, glittering shoes with heels like daggers and bare feet that wriggled their toes appreciatively on the soft grass. Some had wings like butterflies, some had antlers, others the eyes of cats. Each one was more beautiful than any mortal Ulfin had ever seen. None of them appeared to be monsters, although his skepticism was strong enough to temper his awe.
He paused awkwardly at the edge of the gathering, staying with the mage while their escort surged forward into the crowd and became lost to Ulfin's sight. Perhaps they changed shape again to match their fellows, although he never caught them. As they spread through the celebration, the laughter and conversation died down. Hundreds of bright eyes brushed over him and settled on Merlin, who stood waiting patiently. As quickly as the strange multitude saw the mage, they began to move out of his way, in silence broken only by the soft rustling of their clothes. Ulfin imagined that this was the way the Red Sea had parted before Moses, and Merlin looked every inch the prophet as he began to stride between the ranks of fae.
Ulfin followed and did his best to hold his head up and walk like an ambassador sent by the King of Britain. He was acutely aware that he was a smelly, dirty soldier however, and a mere mortal beside creatures that looked as if they fought battles with dragons and invited unicorns to dine. He swallowed, mouth feeling drier than ever, glad that all attention was fixed on Arthur and Merlin instead of himself.
His eyes flickering from side to side, concentrating on the crowd and staring wistfully at the goblets and morsels of strange food the fae held, Ulfin did not see at first where Merlin was leading him. It was not until the mage stopped that he looked up to see a magnificent dais, a man who could only be the King of Fairies . . . and the Queen.
Ulfin knew that what he saw was another illusion, that the shell of the woman was a phantasm designed to dazzle human men. She was still the loveliest thing in Creation. Her courtiers and her king were nothing beside her, and he knew that this was the true ruler of the fae. Here, where Beauty instead of Strength was Power, it was right that a woman should hold sway, and that all should bow to her as deeply as he found himself bowing. For some reason, Ulfin knew that this was a profound sentiment, or that it would be thought such in another time and place. In later years he would look back on this as a moment when his view of the world was altered.
"Greetings, lord," said the Queen in a voice that was regal and authoritative to match her bearing. She spoke Breton perfectly so that Ulfin could understand her, although she had a strange accent.
"Titania," said Merlin, inclining his head - the closest he ever came to bowing, at least in Ulfin's presence. He ignored King Oberon entirely.
"Forgive me for not receiving you in better style," the queen said.
Ulfin raised an eyebrow, wondering what the fae considered "better style" if this was a quiet evening at home.
"Unfortunately we were unaware of your impending visit," added Oberon, apparently unoffended by Merlin's behaviour. Perhaps he was above protocol at every court, not just Uther's mortal gatherings.
"It is no matter," Merlin said. "I come before you this evening to bring you this child. He is the son of Uther Pendragon, and will rule over all Britain in times to come. You will raise him to be a great king."
He moved forward to the dais and handed the baby to Titania, waking him in the process. Arthur began to cry like any child who found himself hungry and in unfamiliar surrounds, but the queen remained calm as she dipped a finger into the goblet at her side and offered it to him. After one taste of the wine - if it was wine, and not ambrosia itself - he stopped wailing and looked up at Titania with his deep blue eyes, giggling appreciatively. The queen smiled back at him, her eyes lighting up.
"Oh, isn't he just delicious," she said, throwing a curious glance at Ulfin.
He managed to grin back at her, albeit rather shakily. He was almost certain that she was only teasing him.
"Pardon me for asking, lord," said the king, "but who is this other mortal you have brought before us?"
"Ah, forgive my lack of manners," said the mage. "This is Ulfin, a captain under Uther Pendragon. He is here to see that Arthur will be well cared for."
Titania favoured him with a smile, and Ulfin felt his heart jump in his chest.
"Arthur is a fine child, and he will grow into a fine man," said Titania. "You were right to bring him here. I will raise him gladly." She fixed first Merlin and then Ulfin with an appraising look. "But first he must be baptised."
The king's emissary opened his mouth to say that Arthur had already been thoroughly baptised, and shut it again. He began to feel uneasy again, wondering what kind of sinful ritual the baby was going to be subjected to. The courtiers began to murmur speculatively too, although Ulfin couldn't make out any of the words they spoke.
"That will be no trouble," said Merlin, his voice carrying effortlessly and quieting the crowd. "They arrive now."
In the hush, Ulfin heard a sound like wind, in spite of the stillness of Titania's domain. A handful of dead leaves blew overhead and the soldier shivered as if someone had walked over his grave. Behind the dais, he saw three figures. Although they must have appeared there at some point, it seemed to Ulfin that they had been waiting all along, hidden from sight. They were clothed in rags that contrasted oddly with the fine clothes of the fairies and even Ulfin's filthy light chain mail, and the fae began to back away from them cautiously, much as they had done upon Merlin's arrival. Now even the mage seemed expectant.
As they stepped into the light and made their way to the center of the grove Ulfin saw that they were three women. The first was a hideous crone, grizzled and covered with warts, who leaned on a staff that was a twisted copy of Merlin's. The second was neither young nor old, and the rags she wore barely contained her ample expanse of flesh - it seemed that at any moment her thigh or breast or belly would burst forth. The last was young, dressed in scraps of lace and satin, somehow alluring and repulsive at the same time. Her pale skin, blue lips and blank eyes gave Ulfin the impression that she was dead, that she had drowned, and he would have sooner kissed a true corpse pulled bloated from the sea than touched her.
"Ladies," said Merlin, reaching up to pull his hood down further over his eyes almost nervously.
"Where is the child?" said the eldest without preamble.
Titania stood as the women approached her, holding her head high and keeping her face very still. Her arms held Arthur tight, and Ulfin decided that he would prefer to hand the heir over to the fae for an eternity than to let him fall into the hands of the three for an hour. Never the less, the queen gave the child to the middle-aged woman willingly enough. The crone ran a finger over Arthur's cheek and cooed, which didn't seem to please him, although he refrained from crying and instead went disturbingly quiet.
"Let us begin, my sisters," said the youngest.
Ulfin had expected a pagan ritual of the kind still prevalent in nominally Christian Britain - water, or perhaps blood, definitely fire and incense, perhaps even the sacrifice of a kid or lamb. There was none of this. The women simply bent over the child and began to speak, their voices matter-of-fact and not even slightly portentous. Their words had the ring of truth, though, in the same way Merlin's always did, and soon Ulfin began to shiver and to feel as if something horrible was crawling up his spine.
"He will be a great warrior," said the old woman, bending to touch Arthur's forehead, "and none shall surpass him while his spirit remains pure."
"He will be a great king, and reign not merely over the bodies of his people but over their very hearts," said the woman who was neither young nor old, playfully placing a finger on the child's nose.
"He will be a great legend, and will live as long as human memory," said the youngest, tilting the child's head up with her long bone-thin fingers.
Ulfin shuddered, glad that the ceremony of sorts was over even though they were impressive blessings. He waited for the women to hand the babe back to the queen. As if responding to his thoughts, Titania stepped off the dais and held out her arms expectantly.
"Great gifts, ladies," she said, "and for this I thank you, on behalf of the child's several parents and guardians."
Yet still they made no motion to give the child back, and the second woman held him still tighter. Arthur made small whimpering noises, and Ulfin once again found himself gripping his sword, although he had never raised it against a woman before.
"Do not thank us yet, great lady," said the crone, "for blessings so great must bring corresponding misfortune. Such is the balance of things."
Ulfin started in shock, and looked sideways at Merlin only to find that the mage appeared calm as ever. His misgivings returned with full strength, although he tried to tell himself that the mage only wanted what was best for the child. He waited with his fists clenched while the women bent over Arthur again.
"Although he shall be a great warrior, and a great enemy to others, he shall also be a great enemy to himself," said the hag.
"All that he loves will betray him at the last," said the middle woman, holding the child more firmly although he still lay far too still for Ulfin's liking.
"Although his memory will last a ten thousand years, he will leave nothing behind him in this world but that memory. Neither his kingdom, nor the bones of his body, nor the fruit of his loins shall outlast him," said the youngest.
A silence had fallen over the company as the women spoke, but now the fae began to whisper amongst themselves as the queen moved forward and took the child again, soothing away its tears. This time it was left to the king to fulfill the requirements of diplomacy.
"We are grateful for your presence tonight," he said, "and hope that your gifts will be bestowed on many children in times to come."
The youngest woman giggled and looked up at the King. "Remember, Oberon. Curse and blessing are two sides of the same coin, and you cannot hold one without holding the other.
Then they were gone. Vanished, without a puff of smoke or a sound to mark their passing.
"Ulfin," said Merlin beside him, "you are hungry, cold, and tired. Now you bathe, and rest, then there is the feast."
Ulfin turned to the man they said was a seer and clenched his fists still tighter.
"Did you know that would happen when you brought Arthur here?" he said, "All those curses on that poor child? Is he really to build a great kingdom, only to have it crumble to nothing before he's even dead?"
Merlin frowned thoughtfully, and appeared to consider the question for a moment.
"I can see that his kingdom shall rise," he said, "and I can see that his kingdom shall fall. I cannot see whether it shall come to nothing."
With that he turned away and stood apart from the fae and Ulfin both as attendants arrived to lead the soldier away.
***
Ulfin sighed, and wriggled his bare toes in the grass, feeling infinitely better almost in spite of himself. Warm water on his skin and cold white wine in his throat had done wonders for his mood, and changing into an embroidered tunic had made him feel more in keeping with the company, if slightly outlandish. Now all he required was something to fill his stomach with.
Pausing the opening of the tent he'd bathed in, he looked over the grove in awe once again. The fae had prepared to feast in earnest, setting out tables that seemed to be fashioned from crystal, gilded chairs and more food than Ulfin had ever seen collected in one place before. Although the royal party and their other guest were already seated, there were enough fairies milling about to prevent Ulfin feeling self-conscious as he made his way towards them. The beautiful immortals ignored him as peacocks might shun a sparrow - his white garments were the finest thing the soldier had ever worn, but plain beside their attire. As he approached the table he was disconcerted to realise that none of the animal shapes roasting over the numerous fires were familiar ones. Still, he was starving and Merlin surely wouldn't allow him to be poisoned.
Ulfin soon decided that the table was probably made of solid light rather than crystal. It shone brightly enough to detract from the exotic dishes placed upon it, and felt warm under his hands when he sat down next to Merlin. He was relieved that they'd left a vacant chair for him beside his traveling companion, then immediately smiled at the irony of considering the mage the most normal thing about the occasion. Titania and Oberon were seated at the head of the table. The king was occupying himself with a glass of wine, but his wife was ignoring food, drink and company altogether, cooing over her newly acquired baby. Nevertheless, she glanced at Ulfin as he settled into his chair. "Greetings, ambassador," she said, "were the facilities to your satisfaction?"
Ulfin blushed to be called an ambassador, and only managed to nod in reply, looking around uneasily at the fairy folk who were talking and laughing about subjects far beyond his comprehension. Merlin was never the most communicative of dinner guests, and Ulfin perused the food hopefully. Quite apart from his quelling his hunger it would provide a welcome distraction from the strange company. If it was safe.
Touching Merlin's sleeve to get his attention, Ulfin blushed again and looked at the queen out of the corner of his eye. "Merlin? The food is it, well . . . it wouldn't disagree with a mortal, would it?" he whispered.
To his humiliation, his end of the table erupted into laughter, and he saw a twitch at the corner of the mage's mouth that looked suspiciously like a smile. Obviously fairy hearing was also superior to that of ordinary people.
"Be careful, little man," said one creature. Although Ulfin was not especially short for a Celt, the insult had emerged from a giant over nine feet tall, and green besides. He decided not to argue. "Fairy food very often disagrees with mortal stomachs."
"Yes," replied another, this one a woman who looked as if she'd been spun from smoke and silver, with hair that reached to the ground, "it might melt away before morning and take all your strength with it."
"Or turn to snakes in your belly," said another.
"Altogether, it might be safer to be a dish than to taste one!"
This struck the fae as a very amusing remark, and they roared with laughter again. Ulfin turned a slightly deeper shade of red.
"Oh, leave the poor man alone," said a musical voice. Turning his head, Ulfin saw that the reassurance came from a maiden seated on the right hand side of the king. He hadn't noticed her at first among the bizarre shapes of the other fairies, for she wore the shape of a mortal woman. Now that he looked at her, however, she seemed far more lovely than any her stranger companions, and kind besides.
Looking into her smiling face, Ulfin hardly heard Merlin's quiet reassurance. "The fairy food and the fairy wine will not harm you this night." If the soldier had been paying more attention, he might have considered those words more carefully. He might have noticed too, that Merlin didn't touch the food himself, and drank little of the wine.
"So," said the vision of loveliness, "you are pledged to the service of Uther, and are the guardian of his son?"
"I suppose so," Ulfin said, surprised to find that his voice worked in her presence. Her beauty was faultless, but more approachable than that of the women who wore their glamour like strange works of art. "Although Merlin's done a better job of looking after him than I have so far." Suddenly, it seemed easier to believe that the intentions of the fae were good. He couldn't imagine this lady, with her bright blue eyes, hurting a child.
"My name is Nuala. I have a fondness for soldiers, Ulfin. Would you like to tell me of your campaigns?"
Ulfin had been planning to pay more attention to the food than to the company, and in hindsight this would have been more sensible than prattling to Nuala all evening. Fairy food proved as tricky as fairy talk, and Ulfin had enough trouble with the soup without distracting conversation. He tried not to dip the embroidered sleeves of his tunic into the bowl while he explained how Vortigern, the usurper king, had caused all the sorrows of Britain by inviting the Saxons into the country as mercenaries to fight against the Scots and the Picts. For the main course, the fae used no knives, instead cooking their food in tiny bite-sized pieces which were dipped into sauces and eaten with the fingers. Ulfin managed to make a considerable mess as he told the fairy of his early campaigns under Aurelius Ambrosius, last of the Romans. Desert was magnificent, but the soldier paid little attention to it, occupied in giving an enthusiastic description (with accompanying hand gestures) of the final battle between King Uther's armies at the opposing force of Duke Gorlois in Cornwall.
By the time Ulfin had begun to recount a slightly exaggerated version of how he'd come to be at a fairy dinner party as the guest of the most powerful and infamous mage in all Christendom, everyone was leaning back in their chairs getting steadily drunker. He had abandoned all his fear of the fae under Nuala's gentle gaze - she listened to his stories, smiled at his jokes, and didn't seem dangerous in the least. The soldier had forgotten his earlier shyness, and paid no attention to the far quieter conversation that Merlin held with his own female dinner companion, a dark haired woman who wasn't a patch on the fair Nuala in Ulfin's opinion. By that point, it would have taken a bucket of icy water to dampen his interest in the fairy, but the goblet of wine that ended up down the back of his neck when one of the servants tripped at least managed to distract him for a moment.
Yelping, Ulfin pivoted in his chair, reaching for his sword - which was, of course, back in the tent. He managed to grab his unfortunate assailant by the collar with the other hand . . . only to find himself holding an obviously human boy, with the dark hair and eyes of a Breton. Startled, Ulfin dropped his quarry and stared at the child, flushing at Titania's bell-like laughter.
Ulfin sighed. Apparently he'd made himself an object of amusement again, through no fault of his own this time. Now Nuala would think him more of a fool than he had already proved himself. Gloomily, he noted that the wine was red, staining his white tunic like blood.
"Lanval," the queen said lightly "you mustn't be so careless around our honoured guests, or I'll have to give you a smack. Now appologise to the ambassador - his master is an ally of your father's."
Ulfin felt a sobering chill run up his spine. This boy, who couldn't be more than seven summers old, must be the younger son of King Pant of Brittany, the Breton kingdom across the channel that was even closer to falling to the Saxons than Uther's domain. As far as Ulfin had known until that moment, Prince Lanval had been dead ten years and more. Yet here he was, alive and well. Realising at last what fairies really did with stolen children, the soldier wondered if keeping them frozen in time was worse than eating them, and felt his disquiet about Arthur's welfare rise again.
"I am sorry, Lord Ulfin," Lanval said. "I did not mean to trip." The child had a slight accent derived from his homeland, and a musical voice to match that of any of the fae.
Ulfin shrugged, and smiled nervously. "Think nothing of it. It's not my tunic anyway."
The fae laughed again, but this time Ulfin grinned as well, feeling that he'd proved he wasn't entirely devoid of wit. Glancing at Nuala, he was delighted to find her smiling too.
"How long do you plan to imprison the child here?"
Merlin spoke softly, but the fairies stopped laughing at once. Ulfin flinched. It was possible to take diplomatic immunity too far, even when you were as powerful as the mage. Titania was frowning, displeased.
"Like Arthur, he was given to me for safe keeping, and his mother bears our blood."
"His mother weeps for him each night." Merlin said the words with no particular emotion, but Ulfin saw Lanval frown. He wondered if the prince remembered the woman who had borne him.
"Could his mother feed him on ambrosia and make him the strongest knight in the world?" the queen asked imperiously.
Merlin nodded, apparently conceding her point. "He will indeed grow strong, in both limb and will. Yet perhaps not strong enough in heart."
The fae paused just as they had when the three women spoke earlier, and Ulfin missed his sword once again. Merlin might be able to speak his socially awkward prophecies without fear, but he had a mortal man by his side to consider, not to mention the helpless child still clasped in Titania's arms.
"Ulfin, would you care to dance with me?" said Nuala, and the soldier breathed a sigh of relief. His heart flipped over for the fairy maiden yet again - she had not only made him feel at ease in this strangest of places, now she had probably saved his life.
He grinned at her. "That's an excellent idea, Lady Nuala - to round off the evening with a dance. What say you all?"
The fae were nothing if not fickle, and they forgot their discomfort in a moment as they ran to fetch instruments, dim the lights and clear the field of tables and bodies. Even Titania seemed delighted. "An excellent suggestion, Nuala. Perhaps Lord Merlin would care to partner me, since my husband has already retired. As a gesture of good will between his kind and mine?"
Merlin smiled slightly, eyes glittering yellow. "I do not dance, Titania, even with the Queen of the Fairies. You will do better to ask my brother, although he will never dance with you."
Titania turned pale, and at first Ulfin thought that the mage had made her angry with some misplaced inflection. A moment later he decided that it was not fury he saw in her eyes, but dismay. Her sorrows were as incomprehensible to the Breton as everything else about the evening; what had the mage said to upset her?
"I . . . perhaps I too, will refrain from dancing. It is past time that young Arthur was laid in his cradle." Ulfin could see that the child already slept in her arms. "Come, Lanval. Attend me in my chambers."
The Breton watched Titania walk away with the two human princes, aware that this was most likely the last he would ever see of the fairy queen. He last sight of her as she slipped between the trees was a glimpse of dark hair and alabaster skin, strange and melancholy in the gathering shadows, suddenly as fragile as the babe she carried.
Ulfin was distracted from his reverie by the touch of Nuala's hand on his own, a trikle of liquid fire that ran up his arm to ground itself in his chest like a tiny lightning strike. "Come, Ulfin," she said softly. "Let me show you how we dance here."
The hapless mortal began to have misgivings as soon as they turned and made their way into the crowed of dancers. The fae stood close together in the clearing, crushing in on him. Looking at them, he thought that they looked taller than they had, and less human in the half darkness. Even Nuala, who now gripped both his hands tightly, seemed suddenly strange, the planes and angles of her face subtly different, and even more alluring. For the first time, it occurred to him to wonder what she looked like under the glamour. Did she have claws and teeth? Fur? Did she want to eat him? Looking into her blue eyes, he was disturbed to realise that he might have allowed her to. He had lost sight of Merlin.
The music that began to play was eerily reminiscent of the sounds he had heard on the mashes, and he felt his heart begin to pound again. There was no escape now, though, and he had no choice but to begin moving his feet as the other dancers did, trying to accustom himself to their strange circular motions. A minute or two earlier, he might have been embarrassed by his clumsiness as his bare foot trod on that of his partner, but now his only concerns were her eyes and the hands that bruised his own.
Later, Ulfin forgot steps of the strange circular dance that whirled faster and faster, churning his stomach, and the alien words that accompanied the music, and the other words that Nuala whispered in his ears. He only remember that he had agreed to everything that she asked of him, and that he had managed to keep up with the fairies' dance on feet that were no longer his own, until finally the only lights he could see were bright spots that might have been the fae unmasked, or only his eyes playing tricks. Sometimes in the night, for the rest of his life, he would here the music again, and feel the kiss Nuala pressed on his mouth with lips that were not human.
***
When Ulfin awoke, he was lying flat on his back under a dull grey sky. Groaning, he sat up and grimaced at the stabbing pain in his head. His mouth tasted like a graveyard, and his stomach felt empty. The soldier couldn't have said whether fairy food was indeed without substance, or if he'd thrown it all up at some point. His fae garments had vanished too, fortunately replaced by his own muddy clothes and battered light chain, and his sword was back. Just as well, all things considered - it would have been difficult to walk back in a stained embroidered tunic and no boots.
He brought a hand up to wipe his eyes, and only then noticed that there were threads of golden hair still looped around his fingers. Ulfin stared at the proof of the previous night's events blankly for a moment, and then began to untangled them with exaggerated care. He untied his draw-string money pouch from his belt, and placed them inside.
"Ah, Ulfin," said Merlin's voice. He started almost guiltily, and turned to see the mage standing above him, staff in hand. "You awake."
"More or less," he said, and groaned. They were in the middle of the marshes once more, and if it hadn't been for the precious, glittering souvenir he would have dismissed the entire night as a dream. Even now, it was fading in the grey morning light, leaving only the queen's pale skin, a scattering of teeth, and Nuala's hand on his. "Are we going home now?" He was suddenly desperate to be away. Once again, he was horribly thirsty.
"We are going . . ." Merlin paused. "Perhaps home is not the right word."
Ulfin sighed, too exhausted and head-sore to bother with the mage's philosophical musings. "As long as where we're going has a warm fire, something to ease the pain in my head, and nothing to do with fairies, I'll be happy enough." He got to his feet, and followed the mage, never losing consciousness of the unbreakable golden threads he carried, binding himself to the night, the marsh and a woman who hardly existed.
The End