Chapter 4 – J'y suis, j'y reste

"Here I am, here I remain."

Nuala stood before the glass prison with an air of calm serenity. She faced her brother, and he her; less than four actual feet apart all told but with a gulf as wide as the universe between them.

"Hello, sister."

She was actually somewhat surprised that he chose to speak first. To her understanding, he had not spoken at all since his capture, though that should not have been shocking to anyone. Prince Nuada did not make a habit of parlaying with guards and he certainly didn't have the patience to deal with midlevel negotiating. Moreover, she found his entire demeanor astonishing. In the dim, ethereal, lights of the vault, he appeared meditative; cast in a soft blue glow that accentuated his sharp features but obscured the rest of him in the gloom. Spending his time in silent contemplation or engaging in a variety of martial katas, he kept his senses and strength honed and ready but he did not attempt to escape the confines of the room nor did he rail against the walls or window. What had previously been a tense, vengeful, mien was now relaxed, almost agreeable. His eyes were no longer stained with the red flush of hate nor did they retain the golden glimmer of barely repressed rage. Instead, he regarded her with an amber gaze reminiscent of their youth; before war and death had stolen all the joy from their lives.

He had arrived dressed in his usual black knee-length court coat and knotted leather armor, long boots, and red sash, all of which he still wore. Though, he had forgone the usual seal of the Tree of Bathmoora at his waist in favor of a whetstone torque pin she had never seen before. It was a simple ornament, more functional than anything else, but she found the pattern on the stone odd. Black, vein-like, markings woven across a marbled surface and set in a thick golden circle. The tarnish on the outer edge belied its age. It was not the sort of thing he had ever been inclined to wear before and it didn't suit him now.

"Brother." She finally replied.

"I figured you would come sooner or later." He began to idly pace the length of his cell.

"Yes." The Princess sighed and tugged at her sleeves. "There are some things I wish to ask you."

She thought she could almost detect a smile. "Ask then." He rejoined. "And if it pleases you, start with the obvious."

Nuala took a steady breath and glowered at him. Her brother, though noble and dignified, was endlessly difficult and she was not sure she trusted him to answer her truthfully in this matter. Unfortunately, that they were also almost certainly being watched through the closed security camera system didn't instill much confidence, either. What he might otherwise have revealed to her in private would probably not be spoken aloud here.

"How have we come to live again?"

He stopped but did not turn. "I was blinded." He said to no one in particular. "I did not see. And for that, sister, I am sorry."

Nuala was stunned. Never, in their many passing centuries, had she ever heard her brother apologize so readily. Altogether, death had certainly made something new of him. He turned on his heel and met her again at the glass.

"I was awakened. At first, there was nothing but silence and emptiness until I heard a great shout in the distance. And then, it was as though I were being born again. Heat and light everywhere around me and pain I have never felt the likes of before. Not even in dying. Then, I realized that the shout was mine and the flames I felt consuming me were the first sensations of blood reclaiming flesh from stone." He raised his hands from his sides and calmly observed them. "I began to move, to feel, to thirst in a way I did not think I would again. I felt my heart begin to beat and all the while the pain seared through me, it was as though the chaos and confusion in my mind were also burning away. I remembered myself but I was not the same as I was before. And I lived."

Nuala's hand fluttered to her mouth to stifle a gasp. "But how is this possible, brother? There is no magic like this in all the world and no technology of Men, either. We were destroyed!"

"Yes." He rounded on her suddenly. "And by you, of all people!"

"There was no other way!" She snapped. "You would not have had it. You would not have accepted any submission other than death. Be not the harbinger of revenge only because it was I who finally gave it to you."

"Revenge?" He countered, tilting his head predatorily. "Is that what you think I have come here for?"

"Why else would you have led the assault?" She challenged.

His voice went low, almost quiet. "Because I am bound by my Oath to find and defend her. I am bound by the threads of the Arboreal Tradition, as are you. Bound to shield and protect the Court of the Sun for all eternity, until the end of time and place itself. Orbis Alius, Aos Sí."

Nuala regarded him as a madman and thought, in that moment, that rather than cleansing him of his vengeance, death had rendered him insensate. She understood his words, but his meaning was impossible. The Court of the Sun had set millennia ago and there simply were no Aos Sí, no ancient ancestors left.

"There is magic yet in the world that grows in the roots of Old Dair, sister. Yggdrasil and the Wells of Fate in the Urðarbrunnr do not lay barren. Something yet remains."

"You are making no sense, Nuada." The Princess argued. "You speak as if the Old Magic were still among us, when all that has come to pass in our time makes it certain that it is not!"

Nuada straightened and gazed impassively out of the glass at his sister.

"I do renounce my claim to life, be it no longer mine." He recited.

Nuala took a step back. As any royal would know, these first words of the Caomhnú Geas; the Oath of Protection, signified the creation of an unbreakable vow which could, given its power, rain down destruction onto those who would violate it and, on occasion, those who had even witnessed it.

"By day or night, in twilight or in morning, clothed or naked, in Threshold or in Wild…"

"Stop! Nuada!" She slammed her hands up against the glass in a vain hope to disrupt him. "What are you doing!? You cannot make this vow. This is Geas. It is insanity! It could kill you!" The elven Prince did smile then. "The vow has already been made." He replied. "There is only one Magic that brings life to the Undone. There is only one answer to the question you so indelicately speak. You know this! There is only one possible reason that you and I endure!" he advanced on the barrier between them. "Tá an Aon-bheannach ina chónaí!"

The Princess choked and turned, letting the first tears fall unforced to the floor as she put what little distance she could between the two of them. His words cut her. Not in insult but in implication. If what he said was true, then the Time of Trees had not yet passed, despite what their current circumstances would suggest. The roots of Magic had only grown deeper. The War of Man had not been the apocalypse her people had long believed it to be nor, as it might seem, were the first snows of Winter upon them. A dark age almost certainly, but by no means the end. If what he said was true, there was a Unicorn in the world.

But how could such a thing be? And yet, here they both were.

She looked back at him, still inches from the glass, his face now dark with passion and his eyes bright with conviction, filled with an ardor that she had long thought bereft of him. She tentatively approached the cell once more.

"If my question is so trifling to you, brother, then why have you come here? Seek out this miracle if you have proof of it."

"That is precisely what I now do, sister." He countered. "She is the reason we breathe again and it is she that I have come for. I think you know of whom I speak. I owe her a life boon. And so do you."

Ailith was morose. For three days she'd been ignored. Except for Nuala, of course, but with the new flurry of planning and preparing since the battle and the Prince's capture, she'd barely seen the elven maiden for more than a few minutes at a time. It was something she had grown used to, however. She could often go unnoticed for weeks before anyone seemed to feel her absence. At first, she had taken it personally, thinking her wardens thoughtless and uncaring, but after a while she had learned that this wasn't precisely the case. For whatever her Fae heritage might be, it must have come from something Shadowed or, she shuddered to think it, Unhallowed. Such Fae often possessed the capability to go unseen, even in a crowd, when they wanted to. Her abilities were not quite so pronounced but she was aware that her presence in a room was often inconspicuous and that few people ever remembered if she had turned up somewhere or not. That is, until she spoke. Calling attention to herself by way of yelling or speaking someone's name always seemed to break the spell and get everyone's attention. At least, for a moment.

Now, she intended to put the vagaries of her puzzling existence to a little good use. Ahead was the Vault and beyond the great spinning and locking doors, the cell that held Nuada Airgeatlámh. She had observed quite a few people going in and out over the past day or so. Abe Sapien, twice now. Director Manning and Johann Krauss. Nuala. But she could not suppress the urge to see him again for herself; this tempestuous elf whom everyone spoke about both reverently and irritably.

On quiet toes, she stole down the hall. The agents in the hallway took no notice of her and she slid past a few large armament cases to pass beneath the mystic markings scribbled over the archway; markings that ensured (in theory) that Nuada and his spear would not be able break free of their imprisonment easily, even if they were to somehow escape the physical confines.

From there she stepped through the hydraulic porthole, which usually sat open when scheduled visitors were expected. A few scraps of linen bandage and a stray bag of lavender and yarrow informed her that the medics, and likely Nuala, had already been present today and were, perhaps, soon to return. She stopped at the entrance to the vestibule and took in the cell block itself. The large metal room was bisected by a thick, glass, wall down the center to create the prison itself across the back and a viewing room of sorts at the front. It also ensured that every movement or position the Prince might be in could be readily observed and that he would have no access to isolated shadows where he might work unknown trickery. The lights were kept low and tinted a sea-foam blue, but why that was she had no idea.

His back was to her. As she drew closer, she noted that Nuada appeared to be concentrating on a basin of water but whether he was indulging in some nefarious scrying or simply lost in thought was unclear. She slowed her approach and was mere feet from the glass when he suddenly tensed, cocking his head to the side pensively.

"There are not many in this world, Man nor Fae, who can sneak up on me." He stated. "I commend you."

She coughed nervously, almost embarrassed at the fact that she had been so caught up in watching him that she had not thought to politely announce her presence, at the very least. It never paid to be rude, after all.

"Hi." Was all she managed in reply.

He turned unhurriedly. It was then that she realized that he had been washing a wound on his hand. One which he was now carefully wrapping in the provided bandage and poultice. She recalled Nuala favoring a similar injury on the day before yesterday but it hadn't seemed to her quite as severe as the one the Prince now tended. The nature of their shared injuries was apparently more complicated than she had thought.

"What can I do for you, my Lady?"

The honorific surprised her but not as much as the gentle, almost formal, bow he offered after it. She might almost have accused him of making fun of her if not for the continued calm regard. For someone so notoriously blood-thirsty, she thought him rather mannerly. She started to worry absently at her necklace.

"Nothing." She realized she wasn't really all that sure what she wanted to say to him. "I mean, I was just…worried. If you were alright."

"How is my sister?"

"Um. Fine. I guess?"

"Then you can be assured that I am well. Anything that might befall me will certainly make itself known through her as well."

Ailith glanced down at his hand. He followed her gaze.

"A disagreement with my captors." He answered. "But nothing you need worry about. It will heal."

An uncomfortable silence fell.

"I know who you are!" She blurted out suddenly. "I mean," she scrambled to pass off the outburst knowingly. "I know your name."

"I'm sure you do." He finished wrapping his hand before taking a seat on the short pallet bed in the center of the cell. "Is that what you've come to tell me?"

She scowled at him. It wasn't as if he was being purposely obtuse but she had the distinct feeling that he was not saying something he meant to. It hung in the air of the room with a palpable tension.

"No, I'm…pretty sure you know your own name." She huffed. "I was curious. There was a big fight and then everyone just kind of…stopped. And now everything feels like it's on edge. It's like we're all just waiting for the other shoe to drop. No one even knows why you're here."

"I'm looking for someone." He acknowledged forthrightly.

"I…oh." She continued to fidget with her necklace. "You came back for Nuala?"

"I don't have to look for my sister. I know where she is."

He was not helping.

Ailith took a deep breath and glanced back at the doorway. Not hearing any incoming voices or the sounds of others in the hallway, she pressed on.

"Ok. So. Who are you looking for?"

He smiled at her. A light, questioning, expression that was almost endearing. "What is your name?"

She bridled a bit at the change in subject and wondered for a moment whether it was wise to answer him.

"Ailith."

"And how did you come to be in captivity, Ailith?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not in…captivity." She replied. "I came here on my own."

Nuada remained unperturbed. "And for what reason did you come here?"

She wasn't sure she liked this line of questioning but his tone was amiable and he had done nothing to imply hostility.

"I'm…" She paused. "Not really sure. Better than being lost in the woods, I guess."

He nodded, massaging his injured hand in his lap. "And your home?"

"I don't remember. That's why I'm here, really." She shrugged. "I don't know where else I would go right now and neither does anyone else, apparently."

Nuada did not reply.

"And it's nice." She continued conversationally. "I have a room and there's the whole complex to explore. And the library. All kinds of music and all the books I want to read. It could be worse."

He took a brief look around the cell. "Yes, I imagine so."

She had a thought. "Do…you want me to bring you something? It probably gets pretty boring in here after a while."

"If you would like."

...this is how time passed; from hours to days, and from days to weeks. And in that time, she learned that he quite enjoyed Coleridge and Longfellow or an afternoon of passable Dickenson or Browning. She divined something of a soft spot for Eugene Fields and that he hated Wadsworth. Sometimes she would even temper a more volatile evening with Rumi or Tagore (whose cadence he seemed to like) or gleefully gesture her way through Shakespeare in such a manner as she was certain that, once or twice, he had even laughed. In this regard, Twelfth Night was a far better bet than Midsummer Night's Dream, as he could never stop correcting her about the peculiars of Robin Goodfellow. One very late evening, far too distracted to sleep, she had chosen to introduce him to Bram Stoker and as such, the titular Dracula. It was almost a success if not for his lengthy and detailed critique; one that took nearly the entire length of dawn and most of the early morning hours as well. This is how she learned that, for an immortal, Dracula's ability to cogently operate within short-term historical narratives was rather abysmal. Or something to that effect. "Temporal chauvinist" was the term he used. Perhaps Victorian horror fiction as a whole was really not the best choice for him in the end.

Outside of their insular world, winter was slowly turning to spring in Washington D.C. and as the first two weeks passed, all of B.R.P.D seemed to be breathing a slow sigh of relief. Prince Nuada was a model prisoner. He was generally compliant with the demands of his capture and had not, as far as anyone could tell, made an attempt to escape. Nor was he inclined to harm any of the guards posted to his door or the medics who still occasionally came to treat the last of his remaining wounds. The only point of contention that lingered was between him and his sister, who continued regular visits even though all they did was argue. And since most of it was carried out in the Ancient Gaelic tongue of Bathmoora, no one was completely certain as to what it was that they were arguing about. Unfortunately for the broader administration, whenever they did, neither was Nuala forthcoming on the subject matter.

Ailith, for her part, had come to look forward to seeing Nuada whenever she could. He might have been a captive audience but he was always an enthusiastic one. Nuala seemed to be avoiding her, for the most part, preferring to spend her time with Abe or alone in the reading rooms above the library. She and the Princess spoke only briefly when they did encounter one another and though she was always decorous and sincere, Nuala had little to say to her on the current situation. Instead, she usually made her pleasantries, asked after Ailith's well-being, and then took her leave. And so, Ailith found solace, and rather unexpected companionship, with the Prince. They occasionally read together and discussed their interpretations or, from time to time, she was able to convince him to speak of the Fae, of the Kingdom of Bathmoora, or of events in his life; though the latter was quite seldom.

On one particularly memorable evening, she had even, somehow, gotten him to describe his father's court in the ancestral lands of what was now County Antrim. It was, unfortunately, the last time he would do so, given their exchange.

"Wait." She had said, looking up from the illuminated Book of the Dun Cow in her lap. "But if the King is dead, doesn't that mean that you're King?"

"No."

Had she detected the edge of the sorrow in his voice, she would have chosen her next words more carefully.

"Is it because you're twins? Is there something wrong with that?"

He sighed heavily and took several moments before responding.

"I am guilty of the sin of patricide. I cannot assume a throne I have dishonored."

Ailith stared silently forward, cursing herself and wishing in that moment she could revoke everything she had ever said that gave weight to the mourning that consumed him.

"It would not matter anyway." He continued, idly waving his hand about. "The Crown of Bathmoora is destroyed, and with it, the sovereignty of command. The seat is empty and the line is at its end."

She wanted to protest but he would not elaborate on it any further. After that, he did not speak of his family again.

He was, however, exceptionally well-versed in history and philosophy and she loved to listen to him talk at length about subjects he clearly had had a passion for at some point in time before this one. Nuada also treated her with unfailing kindness and seemed genuinely interested in her thoughts and experiences. Which made Ailith somewhat sad that she could offer so little. She continually reminded him that she had no memory of her time before B.R.P.D. and that all she had retained of her former life was her name and a cheap carousel necklace. But he was patient. Patient beyond all creatures she had ever met before and when it was time for her to leave each day, he always asked when he would see her again.

It was, for this and other reasons, that she found Nuala's terror one rainy spring morning, almost four weeks to the day of their awakening, to be so startling. It was just before dusk when the Princess rushed into the library, frantically turning around and around and she tried to locate the pale, crackle-skinned, girl. "Nuala?" She called, rising from the stacks near the hearth. "Ailith!" Nuala raced to her side and took hold of her wrists with frightful urgency. "There you are! You must come with me. Come with me now, please!" Ailith did not hesitate to follow her. "What is it? What's wrong?" "You must stay away from my brother." She demanded, breathless with panic as they emerged from the library vault. She then pulled the other towards the far outer doors. "You must get out of this building and stay as far away from Nuada as you can! Run, Aon-bheannach! You are in danger! Tá sé ag teacht!"