Chapter Twenty-Two –
The Quest of Legends:
Further Escapades,
Including the Explanation of Pings and Hobknobs, Dreams, Some More Arguments,
And a Furtive Truce –
Somewhat
In a corner of Elvendome, deep within the vast, dark forests that the Sentient beings rarely frequented for fear of the unknown and the perilous, there was to be found a civilization of truly intriguing – albeit quite small – beings. They were known as Pings and Hobknobs.
They had always lived in this forest, was the story they told their visitors – whenever they had any, which was rarely enough. And as there were far too many predators and fell beasts for the tiny race to fight off, they had taken to living in the trees: starting from about seven feet above the ground, the forest canopy was filled with hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of intricately built and quite astounding little buildings, connected by bridges and ropes of silvery gossamer, which seemed to glow in the moonlight.
Now, the Pings and the Hobknobs themselves…they were every bit as interesting to look at as their little arboreal city.
They seemed to be similar races, their population divided half-in-half between three-foot-tall fox-like beings – Pings – who wore clothing and walked on their hind legs with great efficiency and grace, and bird-like beings – Hobknobs – who affected the same garb and used their wingtips much as a Sentient might use their fingers. They spoke in a fast-paced, warbling little dialect of their own when together, but also seemed to know the common tongues as well.
As soon as Elowyn, Jaedin, and the rest of their party had looked up, into the trees, they became the first Sentients in many, many hundreds of years to lay eyes upon the Pings and Hobknobs, who immediately introduced themselves. Within a split second, the exhausted and ragged travelers found themselves surrounded, on all sides, by the laughing, exuberant little creatures, who gently coaxed them – after convincing the group that they would like to be friends and meant no harm – into coming up into their city in the trees and stabling their horses nearby.
The adventurers found that all they could do was comply.
Quickly, they were taken, by about thirty of the little creatures, to the largest building in the midst of the trees. This place, they were told, was the Great Hall, where their governor – one Lord Guildar – would very much like to have a word of greeting with them.
It was hard to suspect such tiny and apparently kindly little beings of treachery, although Jaedin eyed the silvery structures about him with high apprehension in his gray eyes.
Elowyn, silently, fell back a bit and wordlessly put her arm through his.
The Dark Lord glanced at her, briefly: questions in the line between his arching brows, but all she did was return his gaze for a brief moment, and then lead them both on.
Upon entering the Great Hall – the vaulted ceiling of which was just a scant two feet above Jaedin's head, its doorway even lower – they were greeted effusively by a Ping garbed in bright green and yellow robes, with a tall sort of crown-like hat on his head. His ears stuck out comically on either side of it. He approached Elowyn first, bowing low as he took her hand in his diminutive paws. At her side, Elowyn saw Jaedin eyeing the Ping askance.
She barely kept from laughing outright.
"Greetings, travelers from the distant lands in the east," Lord Guildar began, standing back to smile at them, in his fox-like way.
Robbie and Sala bit back bursts of hearty, truly amused laughter. Their mirth wasn't malicious at all, and for some odd reason, they all felt that their hosts probably would have enjoyed their laughter, but still…first impressions did mean something…
"I am, as you no doubt have already guessed by now, Lord Guildar. I govern the ranks of the Pings and Hobknobs whom you have stumbled upon here in the woods."
"And it was a great surprise, believe me, milord," Elowyn said, stepping forward to address him, making herself prominent in the midst of her friends. "I am Princess Elowyn of Avalennon, and these are my comrades and traveling companions – Lord Brendan," Her uncle bowed, shortly; he glanced at her quickly and shook his head, signaling that his tracing spell for dark powers had come clean – the Pings could be trusted.
Elowyn mentally sighed, and went on with the introductions, gesturing to each of those with her as she did so.
"And Prince Robeneron, of Lærelin; Lady Salamaïre of Valset, and…"
She hesitated, not sure what to call Jaedin.
"And our guide, Jaedin." "You have no country?" Guildar asked, looking incredulously at Jaedin. The Ping had to crane his head way back to look up at the Dark Lord.
Jaedin's reply was cool and aloof, and give-nothing.
"I am a sojourner – I go where I please, and my only true home is in the winds."
Guildar chuckled at this, as if Jaedin had just told some astoundingly funny joke, and circled around in front of them again, the hem of his robe trailing on the ground behind him in a bizarre mix of the comical and the elegant. Elowyn held back a laugh.
"Well, then," Guildar said suddenly, "It appears as if you are all travelers, and well-worn ones at that; and by what I can tell, you've had a bit of a run-in with our most cherished neighbors, the harpies. I hope you've not lost any limbs to the nasty brutes?"
Elowyn shook her head, a grim smile curving her mouth.
"Not exactly, but we are – as you've noted – a bit worse for wear. His horse," with a gesture towards Jaedin, "lamed its foot, and we were just setting out to ride for the nearest city. You couldn't tell us which way to go, by any chance, could you?"
And she looked beseechingly at the Ping.
Guildar quivered a bit, as if with barely contained energy, and all at once, he burst out in an enthusiastic torrent of, "Oh no! No, indeed! When we asked you if you all wanted to come in for some tea, we said it and we meant it! Oh no, my dear traveling friends – you've just been invited for a stay in our village, Toknok-Redura-Ortel, and we'd be most hurt if you decline to at least join us for a good cup of Darjeeling."
Elowyn glanced at her friends, and began to smile.
"Do you make scones?"
* * *
Over tea, Guildar regaled them all with the history of the Pings and Hobknobs' existence, anecdotes from its early days and more recent events, and entertained them very highly: so much, in fact, that they all almost quite forgot their past weariness.
The room that they had been led into – the tearoom – was decorated all in dark blue and pale rosy pink, and gold, with flecks of a bright, turquoise-green here and there to break up the pattern. The Pings and the Hobknobs, being a race that did not grow to a height of over three feet, had rather smallish furniture, which was a bit of an inconvenience for the much taller faeries, and a blatant annoyance to their vampyre guide; but they managed, however, on large cushions and pillows. They looked for the entire world as if they were reclining at some exotic royal banquet.
At length, Guildar set his empty cup of tea down and clapped his paws together. Instantly, the doors at the other end of the room were swung open, and five Pings and Hobknobs appeared, awaiting orders. Guildar made an imperious gesture towards their guests.
"Our friends here are much tired from their excursion and need to be properly attended to," he said. "Take them off to the most accommodating quarters we have here – whatever you can find – and then for good Fates' sake, please see if you can find them some wearable clothing! I can't think why I hadn't offered that in the first place – my head must have just fallen off."
He apologized with these words, one paw on that particular appendage – his head –, the other placed over Elowyn's hand. The faery princess beamed at him, and it was clear that anyone would immediately become arrested with the obsessive desire to do whatever she wanted, when given that smile.
She looked – indeed – just like a star fallen from the heavens and embodied in faery form: the softly glowing light from the little lanterns hanging in the roof fell upon her hair, making it seem to shimmer and sparkle like pale gold sunbeams, as her eyes lit and her smile split her face.
"Guildar," she said to him, consolingly, "But you've already done so much for us; I can't thank you enough for putting us up for the night."
"Stay as long as you wish, Princess," the Ping told her, with a smile back. "We are honoured to have you, and your friends, here with us."
Jaedin, having watched this entire exchange – and having been utterly silent all during teatime – suddenly got to his feet, moving towards the door after the servants that Guildar had summoned in order to take them to their rooms. Elowyn took her eyes from her new friend and looked up and across the room to him. The Dark Lord paused at the doorway, half turning towards her, and their gazes met, and locked. His lips moved, forming words, but he made no sound.
But she heard it in her head…
Merron nenein.
And then he was gone.
Elowyn turned back to Guildar, rising to her feet with her three companions. "Thank you again, Guildar," she said, softly. "Until dinner, then?"
"Until then, Princess." was the reply.
They turned and left.
* * *
Elowyn pulled the dress that their hosts had given her on over her head, biting her lower lip as she frowned in deep thought. Suddenly, she was having a world of new thoughts concerning a certain Dark Lord, and they were thoughts that she knew were clearly against everything that she had ever believed, ever told herself, ever been taught. Boundaries were being crossed…
Yet she didn't want to have to think about it now.
Cross that bridge when you come to it, Elowyn, she told herself.
Then, adjusting the filmy little sleeves of the gown, she went for the door, and stepped into the cool forest twilight.
The servants had given them all new clothing, which fit surprisingly well considering the faeries' and vampyre's comparatively immense size. She guessed that they had been made, special, that afternoon in order to accommodate the guests.
She now wore a truly lovable and amazingly comfortable little gown, which had a solid under-layer of pale yellow-green silk, and a sheath of delicately embroidered sheer material of the same hue, which slid and moved silkily against her skin. Its hem reached only to a little past her knees, flaring out prettily around her legs, but its drawstring, scooped neckline was slightly more fitted, as were the slightly puffed cap sleeves.
In her hair, she wore a set of combs that were encrusted with citrine, topaz, and pale yellow diamonds; these were her only adornments, and she looked unknowingly, utterly ravishing as she stood there on the walkway in the trees.
Through the forest filtered the soft, hazy ambience of the setting sun, and she could hear the twittering, last songs of the birds as they flew through the air and sought roosting places for the night.
Birds…
She shuddered, briefly, at the memory of another winged creature: the harpies that had attacked them that afternoon. Reaching up, she brushed the fingertips of one hand over her bare throat, remembering how terribly close one harpy's talons had come to ripping her very vocal cords out…until Jaedin had intervened.
Without him, I would have been dead, more than twice over now.
At this thought, she started: suddenly becoming aware of another presence on the sweeping stretch of terrace that fronted the building where she had bathed and changed her raiment. A brisk breeze came frisking around the side of the tree behind her, stirring the skirts of her chartreuse-silk gown and playing with the loose curls of her hair, and she turned, looking out.
A little ways off from her, silently and broodingly contemplating the same sunset that she had been so admiring, was the tall, dark, and rather grim figure of the Dark Lord of Sytherria. He, also, wore new raiment: a gift of the Pings, only his attire was, unlike hers, mostly black velvet again. The only relief from this in the outfit was his undershirt of deep turquoise-green, which showed itself briefly at the high collar, and then from his elbows to his wrists.
Elowyn remained where she was for a moment, studying him.
Then, at length, she joined him at the ledge of the balcony, and stood at his side, silent and contemplative as well. Finally, "When we leave here…you'll not be forbidden from taking more than three steps away from me anymore. I…"
She hesitated, unsure of how to say her next words without misrepresenting what she meant by them. Jaedin turned his head to look at her, one eyebrow raised and slightly quirked, which didn't help with her self-consciousness anyway. Elowyn briefly called herself a dozen and a half names in ancient faery, and then spoke.
"I…disapprove of having things chained…which might have otherwise been free."
With that, she at last looked up at him, and a flicker of something dark and sad went through her eyes. She had let him see it, he realized, and only he could have.
"You didn't have to come back," she told him, her voice barely above a whisper, as they stood there, together, in the twilight. "You didn't have to save my life."
There was no question in her tone.
Jaedin exhaled – long and slow – and reached out a hand to her, brushing his gloved fingertips against her cheek. He looked deep and searchingly into her eyes.
"I know," he said.
"Elowyn! Come on now – we're going in to dinner…" called Brendan's voice, from a distance off, and the princess pulled back, hastily, from the Dark Lord – seeming disappointed at the shattering of their moment.
Jaedin gazed at her as she lifted her hand to the necklace and pendant that hung at her throat, his eyes never leaving her. And then, wordless, he stepped around – half to her side, half in front of her – and offered her his arm.
Together, they moved off towards those who awaited them.
* * *
Upon entering the Ping-and-Hobknob-sized dining hall, Jaedin saw that his companions were already seating themselves: Elowyn was promptly taken from him, by Guildar, and escorted into the chair at the right-hand of head chair, with Sala sitting next to her, and a brightly-plumaged Hobknob sitting across from them. Brendan and Robbie were a little further down the table, on the left, and around twelve Pings and Hobknobs were also present.
Jaedin didn't look at the princess as he took his seat, far down the table on the right. He was too deeply wrapped up in his own thoughts to think of anything else.
Dinner was served, and everyone began to eat, conversing politely all the while with the faery guests. Jaedin eyed the plate in front of him with distaste. Vampyres had remarkably carnivorous tendencies; although they did not, as some people had been led to believe, drink blood, the race preferred a less vegetarian diet than the others like it.
The Pings and Hobknobs, he realized, were exactly that – vegetarian.
Everything he saw before him was utterly devoid of any kind of meat. There was a green-tinted soup, with huge chunks of carrots and potatoes in it; there was several varieties of steamed squash, multi-coloured fruit concoctions…but no meat.
And the soup that he had right in front of him…
Jaedin stood up suddenly, feeling a bit nauseous.
Garlic, he thought. I hate garlic.
He pushed the tiny chair that he had somehow managed to position himself on back against the table, and silently walked down the row of banquet guests, heading for the door. If this was going to be what kind of food the people around this place ate, he resolved, he could go without eating. He would have to adapt, just as he had had to find a way of surviving the hours of traveling underneath the sun with his captors.
Yet his stomach turned, noisily protesting at his lack of attention to it. Jaedin stepped out onto the terrace, wrapping one arm about his torso, and glared up into the star-filled night sky with acrimony in his gray eyes.
It was times like these that tempted him to think that Fate had decided to be forever unfair to him. Times like these…
Behind him, the banquet went on, and almost an hour later, he sensed her presence at his back. Without turning, he gestured to the stars, which he had been studying intently for all that time.
"Rhiara," he said, dispassionately, as if stating a mere, dry fact. "The Green Dragon of the South – she will be ahead of us all the time, if we keep our course straight."
Elowyn came to stand beside him once more, and out of the corner of his eye, he looked at her, speculatively. That gown looked absolutely lovely on her, and the velvety blush that the heat of the close-walled banquet hall, filled with people, had brought to her cheeks only added to her sheer, unparalleled beauty. If only he didn't have to think about the treachery that that silver necklace would afford him… Just then, as he thought this, she held something out to him.
"You should eat something," she told him.
The Dark Lord took the disk-shaped, smallish wafer that she had handed to him between his fingers and eyed it, as if in skepticism.
"What is it?" he asked.
Elowyn looked slightly incredulous for a moment, in the darkness.
"It's a chocolate chip cookie," she then informed him. And, at his still-skeptical raised eyebrow and half-smirk, she continued, "The only proper traveler's fare."
Jaedin turned his gaze back on the object he held in his hand.
"And I'm supposed to eat this…?" he questioned, and then – totally shocking to him – she laughed: clear, ringing, and utterly amused.
"You don't have to imply that I'm such a bad cook."
He shrugged, although his eyes sparkled with inner pleasure.
"I'm The Villain," he told her. "Insults are part of my contract."
But inwardly, his mind was reeling with the thoughts of: How can this be? I am standing here, with her beside me, and she is laughing and talking to me as if nothing had ever happened between us before – as if she could not ever fear me, and as if I was never anything to her…
At this, he straightened, and continued in a more serious vein of conversation.
"Rhiara," he repeated, gesturing to the constellation: a dragon-shaped form with a single green star as its eye, gleaming at them from within the velvety blue-black nighttime sky. "As we near the Dark Gate, she will be ever more over our heads. We are, I think…"
He tilted his head to one side, gray eyes scrutinizing the stellar dragon coolly, objectively.
"We have about a three-weeks journey ahead of us from here, to the Dark Gate, if I don't miss my guess. And I rarely do," he added, expecting a sarcastic look or remark from her.
He got none, however; Elowyn wasn't looking at him. Trying to see her face, he asked, "Now – does this news please or vex the princess?"
Elowyn leaned forward, resting her elbows on the ledge before them, and her eyes took on a distant, pensive cast: sparkling when the light happened to glance upon them. Jaedin stood still, next to her, and waited. The night breeze whirled around them, silently.
"Completing this quest will please me…" she finally said. "Knowing that everyone I know and love is safe is the only thing that will ease the trouble in my heart."
"How long do we have?"
Elowyn, had she taken notice of his use of the word 'we', would have reacted with surprise and stinging disbelief: the reaction he would have deserved, and Jaedin counted it as only a slip in the steps of Fate that she had not marked it.
"The spell can only be activated – put into use – on a certain night of the year. When the moon is at half-phase, and all the constellations have aligned themselves in the exact positions of a clock: twelve, one, two, three, and so on…only then can the words of the spell be spoken, in order to bring it to life. And even at that point in time, there are a thousand different acts that must be carried out first, before the words can be uttered…otherwise, nothing can be done."
She looked at him.
"We have three weeks and a day until your Queen will be able to act, to the ruin of us all."
Jaedin shook his head, a dark look coming over his proud, sharp features.
"Not my Queen," he murmured. "Never again."
He felt her stir at his side, and looked down, calmly, into the face of the one who so tormented his being with thoughts of her – in his each waking and sleeping hour – feeling his heart speed up a beat or two faster as he looked into her gorgeous eyes of jade, dark now in the shadows that surrounded them. Elowyn's expression was one of bewilderment, and of fear.
"Never…" she murmured.
Then, she turned away from him – again – and moved off towards the building where the room that she was to share with her cousin that night was located. Jaedin followed her with his eyes, the wind brushing softly against the fullness of his black velvet sleeves, racing more briskly across the bare skin of his scalp.
"Good night, Dark One."
Her voice drifted through the air to him, and he wanted to reach out and grasp her words, for only in this – he knew – could he ever have anything that she would willingly give him.
"Sweet dreams, Princess…"
And then she was gone.
Jaedin turned back to his contemplation of the dark forest, seeing the pale green glow of the village's lanterns sparkling in the trees like stars fallen from the heavens, floating about in the void of earth. After a moment, he heard a step from behind him, and silently faced the Prince Robeneron, who was watching him with narrowed eyes.
"Isn't it a bit past your bedtime, young prince?" Jaedin asked, his voice like breaking ice.
"I'm considering it," Robbie replied, guarded and careful. "And you—" he gestured vaguely towards the Dark Lord, "—Don't you ever sleep?"
"For me, the insomnia is permanent." Jaedin told him, fingers working in and out of fists at his sides, where Robbie couldn't see them. "I'm a bloody vampyre."
"Apparently. You didn't enjoy dinner tonight?"
Jaedin's eyes narrowed – he knew, without a second thought, that his vampyric inhibitions were not why Robbie had come out to speak with him.
There was something else…
"A trivial matter," he said, coldly. "What do you really want to say to me, Prince?"
Toying with words and stabbing barely-veiled rapiers of threats at one another, they both knew, was merely wasting time. If there was an issue to be dealt with between them, it was best if Dark Lord and prince spoke without subterfuge.
"I want you to stay away from the Princess Elowyn, you blood-sucking freak."
Jaedin's full lips moved a bit, in the flickering semblance of a cynical, dry little smirk.
"I don't suck blood," he revealed, lightly. He took a few steps to the side, and then looked back at Robbie, speculatively.
"So," he said. "I see that you know something about my race, your Highness – including about its inherent weaknesses. And, as I have gathered, you've known of it for some time; but tell me, did the Princess inform you herself of what effect a particular precious metal has upon me, and others like me, or did you simply take the time to look it up yourself?"
Robbie would not take the bait, would not follow off on a tangent of sarcasm.
"It doesn't matter."
"Then enlighten me now…"
Jaedin's tone was a low, musing purr. He studied his hands, as if looking for defects in the smooth black leather of the gloves that he wore, casual as if he were discussing that day's weather at a picnic.
"As we are on the subject of such things…why does the Princess so prize the chain and pendant that she always wears upon her neck? I attempted to entice her with jewels myself, but she seems rather stuck on the simple thing…"
Robbie's blue eyes began to snap with anger. "That 'simple thing', he hissed, furiously, stepping forward, towards the Dark Lord, "was a gift from her parents, upon her birth. It is the only thing that she has left of them."
Jaedin imitated surprise, derisively.
"The only thing that she has left of her parents?" he queried, raising his dark eyebrows. "They are living yet, are they not?"
"No." Robbie snapped. "She is the adoptive daughter of Orandor and Vahlada – her true parents, Diarnan and Lhanallis, were killed many years ago."
"Killed? How?" Jaedin kept his questions short and clipped. "How did it happen?"
Robbie frowned, suspicious of the Dark Lord's sudden interest in Elowyn's past, in the tragic deaths of her parents. Surely… he thought.
"Why is it so imperative that you know?"
Jaedin shrugged, his gray eyes fixing on his enemy coolly and appraisingly, and replied, "It isn't. But I asked you a question, and I expect to have it answered."
"Well then, I suppose that you'll just have to accustom yourself to disappointment."
And Robbie turned to walk away again, coldly. The Dark Lord's voice, however, followed behind him, and halted him in his tracks.
"Why are you so afraid?"
Robbie ground to a halt, a muscle working in his jaw, and then he whirled around, no longer content to remain silent. So Jaedin wanted to know just what had happened to Elowyn's parents? Then he'd hear the full story – condemning truth and all!
His reply resounded into the Dark Lord's mind.
"They were murdered: slain, without cause, by your beloved Ebony Queen. Of all people, you ought to remember that, Jaedin of Sytherria – it was only seventeen years ago. You were most likely there when it happened."
Robbie, if he had had any previous experience with the Dark Lord's temper, might have considered himself very fortunate indeed that he hadn't immediately lost his life – or at least a limb – because of his scathing words that particular afternoon. Jaedin glared at the prince, allowing his immense irritation to clearly show through in his proud features: the lightning of his fury snapping in his gray eyes. But, for whatever reason, he did not strike back in violence.
"I was not there, Prince Robeneron," he replied, in a cold, hard tone that was incredibly even and controlled – stiff and severe as his stance at the moment. "And whatever the lies are that you have been fed all your life and learned to believe, know this – the Dark Realm does nothing without cause."
"And Diarnan and Lhanallis did nothing to warrant their deaths!" Robbie countered.
Jaedin scoffed, coldly, cruelly.
"Not them," he said, putting specific emphasis on that second word; beginning to circle slowly and deliberately around the young man like a tiger on the prowl, hemming him in on every side as he eyed him darkly. "Not them – the White Realm." And here he assumed a tone that was indifferent and cruel in its unfeeling informative tenor: "You see, here you have my confession: I can never pity you, or any of those like you, for your losses – for what damages you have had, you have incurred upon yourselves."
Livid, Robbie snapped, "I'd like an explanation of that!"
The storm broke, in all its long-festered, acrid fury.
"An explanation?" snarled Jaedin, rounding on him: his sudden, sharp movement caused his garments to whirl around him, making him seem even more imposing, even more ominous and bat-like, than ever before. His handsome features twisted into an expression of feral, ancient and bitter rage, exposing his curved incisors much like a dragon's hiss would.
"You think to even dare demand such a thing of me? Do you really want to know of what it is that dooms your race to eternal death and suffering? Then hear now this – my reason! The single thing that caused me to turn to the Ebony Queen and enter into her service: to give her not only my loyalty but my life and my eternal soul as well, to become a Dark Lord feared and despised of all, was your White Realm! You accuse me and those like me of treacheries worse than the greatest of authors could imagine – but the truth is hidden from your eyes, which you yourselves have blinded! I became the Dark Lord because the White Realm murdered my family in cold blood!"
There: the blow was dealt.
Robbie stared at him, with a mix of revulsion, disbelief, and horror in his ice-blue eyes, while Jaedin stood back, trying desperately to steady the heaving of his lungs.
"Yes." he hissed, acrimoniously. "Yes, you heard me rightly, young prince – I, the Dark Lord of Sytherria, once had a family, had parents, just like your princess: I had a mother and father, brothers and sisters, cousins and other kin, whom I will now never know save through my living to claim vengeance for their deaths."
"That isn't true."
Robbie could hardly recognize his own voice, which seemed alien and strange in his own ears, unfamiliar and distant through the whirling of his mind. What had he just told the Dark Lord? He had revealed Elowyn's past…and learnt of a secret of the Dark Lord himself! The Dark Lord had a past akin to the faery Princess…
All he could do was stand and shake: wide-eyed and suddenly bereft of strength.
Jaedin looked back at his enemy with hatred and loathing clearly written on his face. Suddenly, it seemed as if all of his memories, his recollections and knowledge of hundreds of thousands of years past, was coming to the surface, and showing through in the depths of his amethyst-flecked, silvery eyes.
Here, now, was a denizen of the ancient millennia, who still lived in a world that he would ever despise: rendered bitter and cold with rage…
"The White Realm never murdered anyone; it isn't possible."
"Then explain me." Jaedin snarled, and left him.
* * *
He didn't stop in his tearing pace until he had made his way far from the central part of the Pings and Hobknobs' village. The whirling of his mind wouldn't have permitted him the time to have such a thought – of pausing – and when he finally found himself able to have coherent contemplations again, he had nearly reached the outskirts of the city.
There, he halted.
It was late in the evening by now: behind him, he could hear the tiny voices of the Pings and Hobknobs as they hurried here and there, on various errands, while the pale moon and starlight filtered through the trees. The air beneath the canopy of the thick trees branches was cool, and everywhere the vivid green of the forest glowed at him, like a sea of jade, emerald, turquoise, and peridot. The whispering of the wind came to him then, and he sensed the peace around him.
Peace that would never be a part of his soul…
At the thought of this, he made a mocking, embittered little face towards his own folly: all of his shattered hopes and dreams, as if a Dark Lord could even have such things.
Hope – dreaming – is just about as much a part of you, Jaedin of Sytherria, as peace – they are all three things that you will never attain, and cannot therefore truly desire…
Suddenly, gray eyes snapped open: glaring.
"I won't be defeated," he savagely told himself, as he buried his face in his gloved hands, fingertips pressing – hard, oppressively – into his bare skull through the leather that shielded them. "I will not be overcome; I will not be defeated. There is more to my world than that."
But what had he just done? He had told the prince of Lærelin one of the secrets that he almost never spoke of, under normal circumstances! Hardly even a handful of his own subjects knew of that part of his past – the death of his family at the hands of the White Realm.
He himself hadn't known of it until he was nearly eighteen years old.
Then, the Queen had revealed to him the truth: she was not his mother, or in any way related to him. Somehow, the White Realm had decided that his family was a threat to itself, and their death warrant had been made. Everyone – his mother, father, sisters, brothers, everyone – had been slain in one savage, mass attack, and only a seventeen-year-old Jaedin had miraculously survived. The Queen had found him: unconscious and severely wounded, in the charred ruins of what had once been his home.
From that day on, she had treated him as if he was her own: as if he was her son, until the day came when he was at last fully recovered from his wounds, and she had deemed him ready to hear the truth of his heritage. And on that day, Jaedin had sworn a vow of vengeance – if it took him all of eternity, he would avenge the obliteration of his innocent family.
Then, the Dark Lord…
How odd, he now thought, however, that Elowyn shares this with me; she was left an orphan, bereft of her parents and safety in the world, by the Dark Realm – or so they all claim – while the same was done to me by the White Realm.
It was yet another link that somehow served to tie him to her: already, he felt himself more and more within her, as her living presence grew ever more within his mind…
She was all he felt connected to in the world at all – she alone, the princess who he desired more than life itself, and whom he would give his heart's blood to have as his own. She – who represented the only thing that he could never have.
Ironic, that it should be so. He was sundered from his Queen, and was now without a country, without a family, without friends or allies or allegiance, save to himself.
The only thing that held him to this part of the world now was his promise, and – as he slowly pulled back the black velvet sleeve that covered his arm, looking on the faint scar that the knife blade had left upon his forearm – he knew that it would hold him without failing. His promise had indeed been sealed with blood, and he could not break a blood-oath.
Nor would he.
Only after he had done as he was required, would he turn to his own needs – and those changed with stunning alacrity as it was.
But there were so many questions within his mind—
What ulterior motives did the Ebony Queen have now? How far would she go in order to claim what she wanted, and what means would she employ to do so? And, probing even further – what did the revelation of the similarities between his own past, and that of the faery princess mean? What if…could there be a connection between the two…?
Jaedin authoritatively forced this thought out of his head.
No, Dark One, he thought to himself with a grim, mordant little smile, shaking his head a bit: No, that is thinking too far into the black void of uncertainties…
However, now that the memory of his past had been brought into his mind once again, he found himself increasingly riveted on it: the part of himself that he normally avoided, as it made him more than slightly uneasy when he concentrated on it.
For Jaedin could not remember anything of those first seventeen years of his life.
* * *
Neither Brendan nor Robbie – who were to share their quarters with Jaedin – saw the vampyre Dark Lord again that night.
Shortly before dawn, however, he returned to the room that they had been given to sleep in and threw himself into the empty hammock-style bed, without a word to anyone. When his companions awakened a few hours later, they marked his presence there; there was an unspoken decision made, then, to forego disturbing him, and they left.
As Jaedin's mount was disabled with a lamed foot, their journey was momentarily delayed. They could not travel without the magnificent coal-black stallion, for Orpheus could not – and furthermore, perhaps, would not – carry two riders. Especially if one of them happened to be Jaedin. And so the party was to stay for a short time in the Ping and Hobknob village.
Slowly, the day began to climb to its zenith.
That afternoon, around two or three hours after luncheon, Jaedin emerged from the bedchamber. He stood at the doorway for a moment, looking down over the arboreal village with the air of a dispassionate observer and stretching his cramped muscles.
The look on his face then was one of both irritation and tiredness – the bed that he had been allotted had been made for a sleeper quite a bit smaller than the vampyre, and he hadn't slept very well. His back made several loud and almost disconcerting popping noises as he flexed it a bit, which caused him to narrow his eyes. The bedding arrangements, along with his injuries from the harpies – which were beginning to heal now; vampyres recovered quickly from any kind of wound, except for one inflicted by silver – had scarcely served to improve his temper.
Jaedin, being a Dark Lord, had trained himself to ignore pain.
He had experienced much of it in his life, and had seen it in most, if not all, of its forms. Complaining, surrendering to one's less than resilient side, was something that had always irritated him. But this morning, he had several excuses for a bad mood…
A walk, he decided, was his best course of action to take, if he wanted to avoid killing somebody. There was nothing else for him to do, really.
No one took much notice of the tall, black-robed figure with the shaven head and proud, aesthetic features as he passed along the many walkways and stairwells that composed the outside regions of the village in the trees. Jaedin saw many intricate, artfully made wonders of Ping and Hobknob architecture and décor as he meandered through the place…
But he – in truth – hardly took any note of it. His mind was sunk into deep contemplation: the patterns of his thought becoming more and more dark and twisted, troubled like the waters of the ocean as a storm approached.
Eventually, he came to the outskirts of the village, and there he stopped. The quiet, serene golden sunlight came softly through the trees, tingeing the green and silver village with its waning glow. Birdsong, he heard, and the various other noises of the forest.
Once again, his mind wandered to the peacefulness of the place, and then it turned inward, to itself, again…
There was a thick, long tree branch nearby: just beyond the railing of a walkway. The junction between it and the tree trunk itself looked oddly inviting; almost without realizing it, Jaedin went to it, stepped smoothly over the little railing, and eased himself down. Really, if anyone had been deliberately looking for him, they would have instantly spotted his unrelieved black clothing amongst the vibrant green leaves – but, as it was, nobody was looking for him.
Nobody at all.
The Dark Lord let his eyes slip halfway closed, and he found himself gazing abstractedly straight into a shaft of sunlight, which had somehow dazzled its way through the trees to run its playful, meandering way over him. A slight breeze made the leaves rustle, seeming to sing among themselves, and their shadows flickered quickly across his face. He closed his eyes the rest of the way, leaning his head back against the tree trunk, and withdrew within himself, into the black void of endless, silent yet echoing shadows that were his mind…
'Jaedin. Jaedin, please – help us, please help us. You must save us.'
His brow furrowed as he looked on the pair of ghostly gray specters who stood before him: they seemed to waver before his very eyes, as if even the slightest breeze would dissolve them into dust. There was a woman, with long, ivory-pale hair; she wore a long, unadorned gown and stood with her hands on the shoulders of a small, dark-haired boy, who gazed at Jaedin hopelessly out of his blank, white eyes. Eyes – they had no eyes. There was only white within their sockets…
He backed away, holding his hands out, as if to shield himself, staring at them in horror.
'No – no!' he heard himself cry. His voice seemed to break, and shatter into a million echoes, like a fallen mirror. 'No – I don't know you! Leave me; I do not know you!'
And here they appeared even more saddened than before.
They began to recede from him, into the dazzling light that surrounded them all, on every side, and he heard the woman's voice, saying to him first—
'You do not know us?'
Then, the boy's emotionless last call—
'If you do not know us, you cannot save us; and if you cannot save us, then our souls are as lost as yours.'
Suddenly, he was standing in the midst of the Ebony Queen's court; there was blackness all around him – the throne room, just as he remembered it. And there he stood, in the very center of the floor, with every citizen of the Dark Realm standing, ring upon ring, around him.
And they were laughing at him.
'Silence from you!' he heard his own voice snarl at them, and it sounded like the growl of some feral creature – not his own. 'Have you not done enough?'
The Queen: seated in her throne of ebony, high above him, leaned down, and held something towards him – a chain and pendant; the chain was of silver, and the pendant was a shimmering white crystal.
She laughed, coldly and cruelly, with unhidden maliciousness and triumph in her honeyed tones: "There! Do you see before you what you have come for? Are you satisfied now, Ríth-Anstarinaor n'et Sytherria? Bow all, before the great Dark Lord!'
He turned to her, features twisting in writhing fury.
'Where is she?' he demanded of her. 'Where is my princess? What have you done to her – where have you put her?'
The Queen only continued to laugh, but she pointed towards a door at the far end of the chamber, which swung open – at the pull of invisible hands – at her gesture.
Jaedin tore his gaze from her and went for the door, thrusting his way through the crowd of vile peoples and creatures, fighting his way towards that door, clawing like an animal – at last, he reached the door, and fell inside of the room of black malachite and white ivory that was beyond it. In its very center, upon a dais, was a great white bed: over-canopied by curtains that whipped about in the wind that entered through the chamber's many windows, blowing a cloud of rose petals – their fragrance that of incense, their colour that of blood – about on the floor.
Relieved beyond measure, in some strange way, he moved towards the bed: feeling as if every last ounce of strength had been drained from his soul and body; only his heart served to keep him alive now. And he could feel his heart pounding within his chest, its sound thudding in his ears and drowning out everything, threatening to drive him mad—
On the bed, sunken into the deep coverlet, lay his sleeping princess: her eyes of jade resting closed, her pale gold curls flung out over the white expanse of her sleeping place, one hand resting just below her bosom. In it was held a cluster of roses – roses that had been white, but were now almost stained throughout with red…
Red the colour of blood – blood which was streaming from her fingertips and palm.
Jaedin fell onto the edge of the bed, grabbing her hand in his and tearing the roses out of it, flinging them away with a savage passion. Then, he took the fingers of that hand and pressed them to his lips, kissing her soft, flawless skin over and over again, as if his touch held the power to heal her wounds.
He gazed at her, as he did so: his eyes roving over her perfect beauty.
Elowyn lay there, deep in her sleep – utterly unaware that he who would love her more than anything, more than even she could imagine, was with her: at her side. There were rose petals scattered about her figure, mingled even in the folds of her gown of white silk, in her hair, cradled in the palm of her other hand. Her lips were also red as those roses…
If this was a dream, a vision of what was real and yet not, could he not afford himself the comfort of kissing her, softly, just this once? If she would never accept him willingly in the life that they both knew was real, could he not ease the raging pain in his soul at this moment…?
Of course…
He leaned over her, gazing at her pale features with a gaze that was so tender, so longing and careful that it surely would have broken her heart with pity, had she seen it, and slowly – so very, very slowly – he lowered his head, bringing his lips to hers…
It was instant euphoria. The sweetness of her lips claimed him, mind and all, and he surrendered to the strength of it, knowing that only in this – a dream – could he ever love her this way: in an unbroken kiss. Waves of emotion assailed he who had been the bane of nations for millennia, he whose very existence depended on the shadows…
Then, suddenly, her eyes fluttered open, widened – his eyes shot open as well, as the air in the room became biting and cold, stinging him like a thousand furies; he clapped a hand to his cheek, where the pain had centered – and there felt the rough, decaying skin of an undead specter. Elowyn's body stiffened in his arms and he tore his lips from hers, ripping himself away from her; she sat up and shrieked, staring at him as if he were of the underworld itself.
He fell to his knees, as horrified at himself as she was – under his hand, he felt the skin of his face wearing away, withering at the contact between a fresh, innocent, and pure child of the light and the black, depraved lord of the darkness; noooo…
'No!' he shrieked, collapsing onto the floor, feeling as if he was only a child: terrified and lost in a forest full of howling darkness and wind.
'NO!'
Then her voice came to him again – not that of his beloved, but that of she who had betrayed him, who had pushed him headlong into all of this, from the very beginning—
'You will never have her – and she will never love you! Death – DEATH to you, and all those who follow you! The powers of evil have claimed your soul, and you will be LOST!'
And he fell into the endless pit of blackness, where ghostly gray arms reached out and took hold of him, dragging him down into the depths where only agony and torment existed, cutting him off from the light, the only thing that could save him, the light…
"NO! Leave me!"
And Jaedin awoke, swiping his arms about for his attackers. Slowly did his consciousness – his grasp of reality – return to him, and even more slowly did his steadiness of breath return. He swung his head about, looking all around him: he was still sitting up against the tree, the forest surrounding him in all its bright green and contrasting hues. There was the bridge, the golden sunlight, the flanking arboreal buildings…
He could not banish the trembling from his body.
For long he remained there, trying to calm himself, to wrest the thought of that awful vision from his mind. It had contained far too much – sights of the unknown, of the present and the future, and so much more… He shuddered, drawing a hand over his eyes as he recalled the flashes of destruction – fire, blood, and carnage – that had exploded in between the Queen's words to him in that dream, and the feeling of the ghostly fingers on his arms.
Then, his eyes narrowed: the willpower of the Dark Lord had returned.
Zaschaea had lied to him, all along, somehow. He didn't know how she had done so, but she had, and well. And now he knew only one thing…
He had to know the truth.
No matter what it took.
He got up, stepped back onto the bridge, and set out in a firm, very determined, very grim, and very purposeful stride back towards the village: gray eyes flashing ominously.
* * *
A/N: (Here things take a rather unexpected turn – Jaedin, having taken note of the fact that Kates has gone off to attend to something else, spots the computer unprotected, and quickly takes a seat.)
J: *pops his knuckles and flexes fingers* And now to get down to business…
(Shinzon appears in the doorway of the computer room, and takes in the whole scene; after a moment, Erik – the Phantom, not the Count d'Auberie – joins him, and they exchange glances.)
S: You know that you are subject to her wrath if you even so much as think of touching this story…
J: *grins* I suppose that it's too late for that, Praetor. Now, are you two going to help me with this, or do I have to do everything myself? Shinzon…?
(The Reman Praetor sighs, and concedes to keeping a watch on the door. Erik the Phantom, meanwhile, merely looks disgusted.)
E: You fantasy characters and your lack of respect for authors. I wash my hands of you.
J: You're just frightened out of your wits that Kates will take to your mask-collection with the glitter-paint again if you give her any lip. Go on and leave us – I can manage fully well without you, Monsieur le Fantôme.
(Erik glares at him and remains in the room, sitting in a slouch on the sofa, arms crossed.)
E: *through gritting teeth* I should garrote you for that.
J: *already busy typing away, under his breath* But you won't, because you lack anything better to do. *now in a normal voice* Yes…well…unfortunately…it wouldn't do much good for you, I'm sorry to say…I'm a vampyre, remember?
S: *from the doorway, keeping watch for Kates* I'd suggest making a run for either the silver or the garlic downstairs in the refrigerator, then…
J: That's enough of that. Now will the two of you kindly be silent for two minutes here…bloody Fates…
Ladies and gentlemen, this section of the True Hate and True Love notes has now been commandeered by the Villain forces. So, please sit back, and relax – I promise, if you keep a foot back from the line of death, no one will get roasted.
Um-dee-dum-dee-dum…quick recap here, I suppose. Our dauntless faery adventurers – and me – go from a near miss with a flock of bloodthirsty harpies to a visit in a village full of three-foot-tall fox- and bird-like beings, known as the Pings and the Hobknobs. Elowyn makes a sort of 'truce' with me, having grown to trust me (a bit) as I have now saved her life several times; this is true. I am introduced by her to the wonder of chocolate chip cookies, I get to have a bit of an argument with Robbie, and the reader, at length, finds out a little about my past. DON'T ASK, I WILL NOT TELL. Further on…I have a dream and wake up very disturbed, and now I am out to find the truth – whatever that will end up being.
Now, you all tell me if this is confusing…I doubt it'll top the last two or so chapter of Once Upon A Time as far as the baffling-level, but still…
On to notes.
Rosethorn: Well of course I'm a spoiled brat, and more than a slight spoiled brat. But that's what makes me such a fun person, now isn't it? Come on, you know it's true… ^_~
Gryffindor-Gal3: In the way of making a serious reply for Kates, who is not here at the moment, a complex hero/villain is a much more fun character to deal with than your black-and-white hero or villain. That, I think, is why Shinzon, Erik, and I get along so well. All right, fine…most of the time. And believe me, Kates has delved quite far into the study of multi-faceted villains…and a turning point in my life? Mmm…we shall soon find out. *winks* Anyways. Oh, and don't worry – Elowyn and I will stop fooling around quite soon here, doubt it not. Things will be getting very interesting very shortly.
DarkSlytherinAngel: Well, I suppose I should be nice now…Hope your computer has recovered, as we are all eagerly awaiting new segments to your story. ^_^ And when do we actually get to meet the aforementioned Bad Guy in it? We Dark Lords like to hang out, sometimes, you see…
Gloria-Krasy: (Kates left this one, and so I will behave myself and add it in; from her, then…) Thank you so much for your lovely review, and I am so glad that you've been enjoying the story so far. It's been so much fun writing it, as it is quite different from any of my others. Namely, in that I have a villain as my hero – which is a challenge in and of itself. Strangely enough, no matter how horridly he behaves, everyone still seems to like him…
More notes to come in the next chapter, provided that Erik, Shinzon, and I aren't running for our lives—
E: Ha! Provided that you and Shinzon – but namely, you – aren't running for your lives.
J: *coolly* Thank you, OG. Sparkle paint…
E: O_o
J: And my greatest thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! Now do read on…