Ice Island 3
Title: Ice Island pt 3
Words: 1,381
Rating: PG
His father's fingers were rough when he pulled the finest of Arthur's suits on over his small body and limbs, tsking at the faeling's lingering softness from infancy. When his mission was done and his sireling clothed, he pulled back, his sharp silver-gray eyes looked the boy over. "Still too short," he murmured under his breath, mostly to himself, though it cut at the small faeling like a knife. His glanced down at his feet, a sick feeling roiling in his stomach at his father's criticism.
"None of that!" his father snapped, his voice as sharp as a whip. "You keep your head high, boy!"
Arthur jerked, but nodded, looking up at the fae that was his father. From everyone's words and the House gossip, Ulyven Wyr was a thing of beauty. His skin was pale as fresh snow and his long, braided blond hair the color of white gold. His silver-gray eyes were set under thin, delicate eyebrows, his face neither too thin nor too broad with delicate cheek bones and a strong chin. He took to wearing white and silver and when he walked, when he did anything, his body moved with the grace of a fish through water - everything so effortless and light. His lady mother's poets likened him to a droplet of moonlight in their verses, a blessing fallen to the earth.
The small faeling only saw the coldness in him, his beautiful pale features like ice, freezing to the touch. So cold it burned him. It seemed that all his father's warmth was reserved for his lady mother, fawning softly over her with wicked glances and teasing smiles. Arthur wished that he never saw it. Just so that he did not know what it was that he craved. It was as though his lady mother carved all the affection out of his father the rare times she returned to the House from court, leaving but a pale rind behind for the faeling to swallow.
His father took him by the shoulder, pushing him over towards the door. "Now hurry up. Your lady mother will be here soon. We must greet her when she arrives." Arthur had scarcely the time to nod, before he was shoved out of his living quarters and into the cold hall. His father had dressed him in fine, delicate silk, so soft against his skin that it felt like the brush of downy feather. It did nothing against the draft of the castle and the faeling felt his skin rise in gooseflesh. His fingers trembled as he resisted the urge to hug himself for warmth. That seemed to only earn a hard, disapproving look as his father entered the hall that made Arthur wince. He tried to keep his hands steady by holding them firmly against himself as he ran to keep up with his father's long graceful strides.
They walked out of the great hall and into the pale moonlight and the basking snow that covered the grounds. Making their way past the barracks, the forge and the kitchens, they strode past the well fortified gatehouse. Soldiers stood at the ready, wielding long wicked curved swords, saluting as the heir came by. The House servants had gathered as well, huddled in thin ragged clothes that were more feeble that his own silks. Arthur's brothers were already gathered on the long docks that swept out into the lake. The faeling was a little unnerved when he stepped across its planks out above the water. Below in the black water, he thought he could see one of the turtle's huge wings moving slowly, pulling them across the lake.
Crow was there, along with Cian and Duragh and their own tutor. The twins were chatting idly with Idwallon, yet another half-brother of a different father. All three siblings' fathers were Knights in their lady mother's entourage while Crow's had already passed. Arthur was the odd one out of all of them, his own father lurking behind him. It made him feel his young age all too keenly, when the strode out to join his elder brothers, trying not to shake like a frail leaf in the cold.
Cian and Duragh glared at him sharply when he stood by them. Idwallon gave him but a passing glance, his expression bored, before he ignored him again. Even Crow only looked at him briefly, but he was never kind when there were others there to watch. So Arthur stood and waited, his green eyes peering out into the fog and wishing for some sign of the House barge. The cold seeped into his small body even more, piercing his delicate pointed ears, making his fingers and toes numb. His skin prickled as though he were burning, his face turning more red to match. When it seemed like he could not take it anymore, his father stiffened next to him. His eyes snapped up and he saw the outline of the black barge in the darkness.
Its wicked serpentine bow pierced the fog with a green flame lantern, leading the read of the ship into view. The House Knights stood along the sides of the ship, flanking their liege lady, the Earless of Down. Arthur stiffened as he saw the faint sight of her, drawing his chin upwards as the enormous vessel sidled up to the floating docks under its own power. A dock hand threw a rope over the side, tying the ship to the drifting dock and laid a gilded silver plank down to the dock. Four Knights in silver armor strode down the plank and stood on either side of it, hands raised to help their Lady down from the ship.
Arthur straightened even more as he heard her delicate nearly inaudible steps like the tingle of bells. The fae that stepped down the plank was delicate upon first sight, small and lean with long lustrous raven hair that flowed down to her waist and small soft hands. A long flowing gown of white, silver and black trailed after her, draped like spiderwebs down her bared shoulders. However, her features seemed to sharpen like a blade over a grinder the longer one looked, pointed chin, sharp eyes and a long widow's peak.
Everyone on the docks knelt to one knee, bowing their heads before her. "Welcome Lady Mother," his elder brothers chorused as she swept by them in her flowing robes. She stopped in front of Arthur and he could feel her hard green gaze upon him, looking down at his bare neck with the same eyes that no one else dare to meet.
"Why does he not greet me?" he heard the cool, icy voice of his lady mother ask of his father.
A pause. "He does not yet speak, my lady. He is young still," his father answered, in sweet obliging tones. From his position, Arthur could see the almost accusing look his father gave him.
Another pause as his lady mother considered that. "Very well," she said in clipped tones. "You may rise." The faeling relished the liberty, standing up to knock away some snow that had soaked into his knee. He looked up, not quite meeting his lady mother's gaze for that would have been irreverent. "Come here, Arthur," she called, waving the faeling over.
The small boy hesitated for but a moment, before he silently obliged his lady mother's whim. She knelt down before him, her sharp fingers taking his chin and forcing it upwards to take in his eyes with hers. Arthur's breath caught, staring into the startling green, a color he had never seen before in this black and white island except in his own reflection. An ache suddenly welled up in him, a yearning for something... something other than the snow and the slate that ate up every other color that could and could not be imagined.
His lady mother turned away and just as suddenly, the yearning vanished and Arthur found himself blinking at the fog as the procession flowed around him. "I am tired from my journey," he heard his lady mother say. "I shall refresh before supper tonight."
His father took him sharply by the elbow, wrenching the small faeling from his thoughts, pulling back towards the castle to follow the House procession.
Words: 1,381
Rating: PG
His father's fingers were rough when he pulled the finest of Arthur's suits on over his small body and limbs, tsking at the faeling's lingering softness from infancy. When his mission was done and his sireling clothed, he pulled back, his sharp silver-gray eyes looked the boy over. "Still too short," he murmured under his breath, mostly to himself, though it cut at the small faeling like a knife. His glanced down at his feet, a sick feeling roiling in his stomach at his father's criticism.
"None of that!" his father snapped, his voice as sharp as a whip. "You keep your head high, boy!"
Arthur jerked, but nodded, looking up at the fae that was his father. From everyone's words and the House gossip, Ulyven Wyr was a thing of beauty. His skin was pale as fresh snow and his long, braided blond hair the color of white gold. His silver-gray eyes were set under thin, delicate eyebrows, his face neither too thin nor too broad with delicate cheek bones and a strong chin. He took to wearing white and silver and when he walked, when he did anything, his body moved with the grace of a fish through water - everything so effortless and light. His lady mother's poets likened him to a droplet of moonlight in their verses, a blessing fallen to the earth.
The small faeling only saw the coldness in him, his beautiful pale features like ice, freezing to the touch. So cold it burned him. It seemed that all his father's warmth was reserved for his lady mother, fawning softly over her with wicked glances and teasing smiles. Arthur wished that he never saw it. Just so that he did not know what it was that he craved. It was as though his lady mother carved all the affection out of his father the rare times she returned to the House from court, leaving but a pale rind behind for the faeling to swallow.
His father took him by the shoulder, pushing him over towards the door. "Now hurry up. Your lady mother will be here soon. We must greet her when she arrives." Arthur had scarcely the time to nod, before he was shoved out of his living quarters and into the cold hall. His father had dressed him in fine, delicate silk, so soft against his skin that it felt like the brush of downy feather. It did nothing against the draft of the castle and the faeling felt his skin rise in gooseflesh. His fingers trembled as he resisted the urge to hug himself for warmth. That seemed to only earn a hard, disapproving look as his father entered the hall that made Arthur wince. He tried to keep his hands steady by holding them firmly against himself as he ran to keep up with his father's long graceful strides.
They walked out of the great hall and into the pale moonlight and the basking snow that covered the grounds. Making their way past the barracks, the forge and the kitchens, they strode past the well fortified gatehouse. Soldiers stood at the ready, wielding long wicked curved swords, saluting as the heir came by. The House servants had gathered as well, huddled in thin ragged clothes that were more feeble that his own silks. Arthur's brothers were already gathered on the long docks that swept out into the lake. The faeling was a little unnerved when he stepped across its planks out above the water. Below in the black water, he thought he could see one of the turtle's huge wings moving slowly, pulling them across the lake.
Crow was there, along with Cian and Duragh and their own tutor. The twins were chatting idly with Idwallon, yet another half-brother of a different father. All three siblings' fathers were Knights in their lady mother's entourage while Crow's had already passed. Arthur was the odd one out of all of them, his own father lurking behind him. It made him feel his young age all too keenly, when the strode out to join his elder brothers, trying not to shake like a frail leaf in the cold.
Cian and Duragh glared at him sharply when he stood by them. Idwallon gave him but a passing glance, his expression bored, before he ignored him again. Even Crow only looked at him briefly, but he was never kind when there were others there to watch. So Arthur stood and waited, his green eyes peering out into the fog and wishing for some sign of the House barge. The cold seeped into his small body even more, piercing his delicate pointed ears, making his fingers and toes numb. His skin prickled as though he were burning, his face turning more red to match. When it seemed like he could not take it anymore, his father stiffened next to him. His eyes snapped up and he saw the outline of the black barge in the darkness.
Its wicked serpentine bow pierced the fog with a green flame lantern, leading the read of the ship into view. The House Knights stood along the sides of the ship, flanking their liege lady, the Earless of Down. Arthur stiffened as he saw the faint sight of her, drawing his chin upwards as the enormous vessel sidled up to the floating docks under its own power. A dock hand threw a rope over the side, tying the ship to the drifting dock and laid a gilded silver plank down to the dock. Four Knights in silver armor strode down the plank and stood on either side of it, hands raised to help their Lady down from the ship.
Arthur straightened even more as he heard her delicate nearly inaudible steps like the tingle of bells. The fae that stepped down the plank was delicate upon first sight, small and lean with long lustrous raven hair that flowed down to her waist and small soft hands. A long flowing gown of white, silver and black trailed after her, draped like spiderwebs down her bared shoulders. However, her features seemed to sharpen like a blade over a grinder the longer one looked, pointed chin, sharp eyes and a long widow's peak.
Everyone on the docks knelt to one knee, bowing their heads before her. "Welcome Lady Mother," his elder brothers chorused as she swept by them in her flowing robes. She stopped in front of Arthur and he could feel her hard green gaze upon him, looking down at his bare neck with the same eyes that no one else dare to meet.
"Why does he not greet me?" he heard the cool, icy voice of his lady mother ask of his father.
A pause. "He does not yet speak, my lady. He is young still," his father answered, in sweet obliging tones. From his position, Arthur could see the almost accusing look his father gave him.
Another pause as his lady mother considered that. "Very well," she said in clipped tones. "You may rise." The faeling relished the liberty, standing up to knock away some snow that had soaked into his knee. He looked up, not quite meeting his lady mother's gaze for that would have been irreverent. "Come here, Arthur," she called, waving the faeling over.
The small boy hesitated for but a moment, before he silently obliged his lady mother's whim. She knelt down before him, her sharp fingers taking his chin and forcing it upwards to take in his eyes with hers. Arthur's breath caught, staring into the startling green, a color he had never seen before in this black and white island except in his own reflection. An ache suddenly welled up in him, a yearning for something... something other than the snow and the slate that ate up every other color that could and could not be imagined.
His lady mother turned away and just as suddenly, the yearning vanished and Arthur found himself blinking at the fog as the procession flowed around him. "I am tired from my journey," he heard his lady mother say. "I shall refresh before supper tonight."
His father took him sharply by the elbow, wrenching the small faeling from his thoughts, pulling back towards the castle to follow the House procession.