Chapter Five
Maclyn Arrydwyn was completely, stupendously, and utterly peeved.
Well maybe that was too harsh of a word; perhaps he was irritated? Maybe not. He certainly was something. Running for his life was not fun, falling on a prince who seemed to spend a third of his time glaring at him, another third of his time talking over his head to his twined friends about him either so he could understand it or not. Maclyn hated being the butt end of people's jokes. Worse yet was the fact he spent the rest of his time stonily silent or whining about his father in vague terms, which prompted Maclyn to start calling him a banshee.
He had almost gotten away from it before it started too. A shield slam up and a pitifully weak cloaking spell (which was the best he could manage in his state) followed by running like hell. If it hadn't been for the bite on his leg he would have escaped. Thankfully they had bound it up for him.
The mutters from the guards though, while half the time he did not understand the words, the tone was open, that had been interesting, made him wonder if the Banshee-boy was prone to frivolous overkill, which only caused him to hold him in higher distain. But, it didn't feel that way, quite, more like there was something off, 'Not All Right.' Which fit, he could feel their emotions vaguely though his shields, they respected him, and worried about him, 'Not All Right' indeed.
Once he had re-gathered his wits and deliberately 'looked' about with his other senses he was surprised. A Low Court elf could almost survive here, if it wasn't for the certain Unseleighe poison taint to the magic. But though that magical 'gloom' he could feel the prince, a dis-balance in his magic, it rather reminded him of human mages abilities about to bloom. That typically happened around puberty and made it all the worse because of it. But the prince, well if Mac was any judge, which he was, though typically of feminine flesh, the Prince was quite deliciously far beyond puberty.
He shook himself off that line of thought, though his people didn't really care about gender in relations, or even numbers for that matter, he was a ladies man, which, he reminded himself ruefully, is what got him into this mess. It wasn't that he couldn't get out of his cell. Befuddle the guard, shape shift, gate, his means of escape were virtually endless. He was just very, very lucky they didn't put him in irons.
But he was still vaguely.something. Certainly it was negative, he wished that things could go back to how they were a few hours ago.
His life had been good, very good actually. Two years of on and off campaigning against the Unseleighe and was still alive, unlike many of his year-mates, to tell the tale. Not to mention take care of his adopted daughter.
Ah, Amanda, or the Amandas as they were sometimes called, three little girls in one body, a single person tortured until they split apart into three different people. Abused Anne, prim Alice, thoughtful Abby. They were the children of his heart and he spoiled them rotten. Just thinking about their father was almost enough to send him into a rage, and certainly make him physically ill. But it didn't matter she was with him now. Why they even had a mother to add to their happy f-
Well that wasn't entirely true. Felouen, well--it hadn't worked out, he just didn't feel that way about her, and so they separated. Though he half suspected that she was still mooning after him.
Even his father was proud of him, and he knew that he had been moving up in the line of succession for the Elfhame. While being a middle child none of his remaining half siblings had the experience he did on the field. Indeed given the incentive of making Underhill safer for Amanda (and keeping his own head while doing so) he had picked up his studies on magic and fighting, finding a drive in himself that he never suspected had existed before. He certainly was never again found without a several Telekinetic spells. Thanks to a suggestion from a human friend he even had a layer of un-enchanted Kevlar added under his armor plates. The original parts, enamel and metal all, were rife with elvish enchantments, so much so that steel would pass though it like a hot knife though butter. Getting shot once was enough, thankyouverymuch.
Eventually his father had decided enough was enough and that his son was running himself into an early grave and ordered him to take a rest or he'd make him take-ah, an enforced bed rest is what he had called it. Amazing how Princes could be so threatening and well spoken at the same time. Or maybe it was their (distant) relationship to the royal family. He heard that Oberon had a silver tongue.
He had relented, because he did not doubt that his father could and would beat him into the ground if it came down to it. Besides Amanda wanted to go visit New York City. Of course, that hadn't gone so well. But, who knew Ria was with that Bard? Certainly no one had told HIM. He still thought that Eric was in that menaga troi with Korindel of Sun-Decending and that human witch.
And, of course, getting thrown into the unformed plains certainly hadn't made that trip any better. He honestly hoped that someone of his elfhame had gotten the message to get Amanda. He couldn't possibly bear to lose her.
He had almost lost her once, twice if you counted when he saved her from her father.
Life was hard. And this just made things so much harder.
Maclyn Arrydwyn was completely, stupendously, and utterly peeved.
Well maybe that was too harsh of a word; perhaps he was irritated? Maybe not. He certainly was something. Running for his life was not fun, falling on a prince who seemed to spend a third of his time glaring at him, another third of his time talking over his head to his twined friends about him either so he could understand it or not. Maclyn hated being the butt end of people's jokes. Worse yet was the fact he spent the rest of his time stonily silent or whining about his father in vague terms, which prompted Maclyn to start calling him a banshee.
He had almost gotten away from it before it started too. A shield slam up and a pitifully weak cloaking spell (which was the best he could manage in his state) followed by running like hell. If it hadn't been for the bite on his leg he would have escaped. Thankfully they had bound it up for him.
The mutters from the guards though, while half the time he did not understand the words, the tone was open, that had been interesting, made him wonder if the Banshee-boy was prone to frivolous overkill, which only caused him to hold him in higher distain. But, it didn't feel that way, quite, more like there was something off, 'Not All Right.' Which fit, he could feel their emotions vaguely though his shields, they respected him, and worried about him, 'Not All Right' indeed.
Once he had re-gathered his wits and deliberately 'looked' about with his other senses he was surprised. A Low Court elf could almost survive here, if it wasn't for the certain Unseleighe poison taint to the magic. But though that magical 'gloom' he could feel the prince, a dis-balance in his magic, it rather reminded him of human mages abilities about to bloom. That typically happened around puberty and made it all the worse because of it. But the prince, well if Mac was any judge, which he was, though typically of feminine flesh, the Prince was quite deliciously far beyond puberty.
He shook himself off that line of thought, though his people didn't really care about gender in relations, or even numbers for that matter, he was a ladies man, which, he reminded himself ruefully, is what got him into this mess. It wasn't that he couldn't get out of his cell. Befuddle the guard, shape shift, gate, his means of escape were virtually endless. He was just very, very lucky they didn't put him in irons.
But he was still vaguely.something. Certainly it was negative, he wished that things could go back to how they were a few hours ago.
His life had been good, very good actually. Two years of on and off campaigning against the Unseleighe and was still alive, unlike many of his year-mates, to tell the tale. Not to mention take care of his adopted daughter.
Ah, Amanda, or the Amandas as they were sometimes called, three little girls in one body, a single person tortured until they split apart into three different people. Abused Anne, prim Alice, thoughtful Abby. They were the children of his heart and he spoiled them rotten. Just thinking about their father was almost enough to send him into a rage, and certainly make him physically ill. But it didn't matter she was with him now. Why they even had a mother to add to their happy f-
Well that wasn't entirely true. Felouen, well--it hadn't worked out, he just didn't feel that way about her, and so they separated. Though he half suspected that she was still mooning after him.
Even his father was proud of him, and he knew that he had been moving up in the line of succession for the Elfhame. While being a middle child none of his remaining half siblings had the experience he did on the field. Indeed given the incentive of making Underhill safer for Amanda (and keeping his own head while doing so) he had picked up his studies on magic and fighting, finding a drive in himself that he never suspected had existed before. He certainly was never again found without a several Telekinetic spells. Thanks to a suggestion from a human friend he even had a layer of un-enchanted Kevlar added under his armor plates. The original parts, enamel and metal all, were rife with elvish enchantments, so much so that steel would pass though it like a hot knife though butter. Getting shot once was enough, thankyouverymuch.
Eventually his father had decided enough was enough and that his son was running himself into an early grave and ordered him to take a rest or he'd make him take-ah, an enforced bed rest is what he had called it. Amazing how Princes could be so threatening and well spoken at the same time. Or maybe it was their (distant) relationship to the royal family. He heard that Oberon had a silver tongue.
He had relented, because he did not doubt that his father could and would beat him into the ground if it came down to it. Besides Amanda wanted to go visit New York City. Of course, that hadn't gone so well. But, who knew Ria was with that Bard? Certainly no one had told HIM. He still thought that Eric was in that menaga troi with Korindel of Sun-Decending and that human witch.
And, of course, getting thrown into the unformed plains certainly hadn't made that trip any better. He honestly hoped that someone of his elfhame had gotten the message to get Amanda. He couldn't possibly bear to lose her.
He had almost lost her once, twice if you counted when he saved her from her father.
Life was hard. And this just made things so much harder.