Ice Island 5
Title: Ice Island pt. 5
Words: 1514
Rating: PG
"You look radiant today, milady," Athur's father purred. "I have missed you terribly in your absence." Arthur suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, turning away to look down at his food, though he was not quick enough to miss his father's hand trail down to his lady mother's bared breast.
"Ulyven, stop," his lady mother giggled, batting his hand away. His father nonetheless continued to whisper wicked words in her ear that made her titter shamelessly. Arthur was the only one who seemed to take offense at this behavior. The twins were plotting something between themselves or otherwise listened earnestly to their father's tales of war. Idwallon was likewise occupied by his own father, though he continued to maintain his state of perpetual boredom. Crow... He had his own little human waif draped over his shoulder, feeding him from his plate. It was a gift from his lady mother for his new knightship, a pretty dusky skinned Gael with frightful bushy hair and the vapid eyes of an enchanted mud-person. The sight of her made Arthur sick, reminding him of Crow's near departure from the House.
"Are you well, Art?" Crow asked quietly when no one was paying attention. "You have not seemed yourself." How Crow could tell was a wonder for the small faeling had yet to speak. Nor did many expressions pass over his small cherubic face. His father had trained him out of it. His hand ached in remembrance of the knife cutting into him until he stopped screaming.
Arthur glanced up at his elder brother and shrugged. The dumb mud pet was fawning over him, trying to get Crow's attention with its barbaric grunts. Crow reached under the table, giving the faeling's knee a comforting squeeze. "I know you are smart enough to solve whatever comes your way, but whatever ails you, you can tell me."
Until you leave, the faeling thought, his thoughts turning as sour as lemon-milk. All he could do was nod. His father and lady mother were watching. And Crow was leaving.
"I will be sure to get you your own pet," Crow said, scratching the mud pet under its chin. "Or you can have this one to eat if you like. I will not take it with me."
The faeling found himself liking the idea very much.
"He's too young to have his own pet!" Cian protested, barging into the conversation. "He can't even talk yet! How is he supposed to command it!"
Arthur's head snapped to the twin, who sneered before his lips curled into a patronizing smirk. The faeling's chest grew tight, as though his heart grew taut with anger. Cian and Duragh could not do anything openly, not with his lady mother, his father and the First Knight all present. Neither could he retaliate against them. All he could do was narrow his eyes and transfix them upon his ugly half-common brother.
I can command you just fine with just a look, cur. You think I need a voice? I could shear you head from your very shoulders with a flick of my wrist.
The longer that he stared, silent, his features as still as stone, the more that the ruddy haired twin began to fidget. He squirmed in his seat as though there were brownies making mischief under him, his face growing pale, hands shaking. Duragh stared at his twin in growing alarm, eyes growing wide.
"The little shit in trying to enchant him!" Duragh shouted, flying up from his seat. All the heads at the table spun towards him, then to Arthur who sat in shock. He had been doing nothing of the sort! Or at least not intentionally. Yet it seemed that either Cian was acting, which was quite likely, or he had indeed suddenly contracted the blood shivers. His body seized and he whimpered like a fox pup. It was pathetic.
Cian's father, overgrown beast that he was, stood and slammed his axe down on the table. "You let him go, you disgusting little whelp or I'll have your head!" At this, the First and his father both stood, as Arthur fought the feeling of helplessness threatening to choke him. He had not done anything!
"Jora, what is this all about?" he heard from the head of the table, his mother's silky powerful voice. She did not seem in the least bit nonplussed, just mildly annoyed at the disturbance as she curled a finger around a lock of hair.
Jora, the twins' father, pointed over to his son, who was most definitely acting now as his entire body writhed and his limbs jerked as though he were at the hands of an amateur puppeteer. Arthur had to admit he put on a good performance, though he would not admit that even if the stupid boy was not trying to get him into trouble. "Milady, that - that faeling has my son bespelled!"
"Our son," his lady mother reminded him, causing the Knight to flush. She turned her gaze between the twitching twin and the silent sullen heir. "So it seems in any case. How did this come about?"
Duragh answered for his brother who was too busy convulsing to speak. "Cian was just jesting with the faeling is all. Then Arthur stares at him and he came out like this! All twitchy and everything!"
His lady mother snorted softly at the boy's language, but she turned to her youngest. "And you Arthur? What do you have to say for yourself?"
"I believe that Arthur was proving a point, Lady Mother," Crow answered for him. "That he is not too young to have a pet."
"Oh?" she said softly, with an interest that suddenly made Arthur's blood curdle. "A pet is a spoil of war and my little heir is too young to fight as I am led to believe." She smiled at him. "Are you too young?"
"Of course, he is, Milady," his father said with an urgency that Arthur had never heard in his voice before. "He is not even yet a hundred years old!"
His lady mother reflected on that for a moment before replying, "Well, if that is the case then the faeling is in the wrong and he must be punished for his transgressions against his dear brother." That seemed to squelch his father's protest and his pale skin turned a pallid sickly white. Arthur jerked in his seat, wanting to protest. He did not do anything!
Crow's hand flew to his knee, fingers digging into the skin so tightly that Arthur had to stifle a hiss. He looked up at his elder brother, but Crow's eyes remained fixed on their lady mother, calm as a grave despite the intensity of his touch beneath the table. It trembled softly, from the harshness? No, it would hurt worse if Crow was using his full strength. Then... fear?
Yes, fear. Somehow Crow knew. He knew that Arthur could end this farce of infancy at any point he wanted. That he had the power to break his silence and defend his pride. He wanted Arthur to choose the easy path of deception over his pride. But Crow was leaving. Pride would be the only thing he had left...
"I am not too young." The words left him before he realized it. There was an unpracticed lisp of infancy to them that made him cringe. Was that faint high pitched voice really his? Did he really sound so young?
Crow's fingers bit into his knee, nearly forcing the faeling to cry out, but it was too late. His lady mother smiled whilst his father turned a furious shade of flustered pink. The rest of the table looked at him in collective shock and interest.
His lady mother rose from her seat, her gown of silver silk and hawk feathers fluttering behind her as she glided over to him. Her hand came out, gently stroking his cheek still plump from infancy. "Good boy~" she cooed softly, "I knew you could speak if you set your mind to it." Arthur stared up at her, seeing himself evolve in the reflection of her eyes. He was no longer someone insignificant to her. He was becoming a Fae of his own right. Someone who had a say, who could make-
Her hand flew up and she struck him across the cheek. The attack was so sharp, so unexpected, that Arthur could not help the harsh gasp that passed through his lips. She struck so forcefully that he was knocked from his chair, sent sprawling onto the floor.
Lady Annowre cracked her knuckles, getting the feeling back into her fingers. "That," she said in a voice of ice, "is for not greeting me at my arrival." With that she returned to her seat and leveled her gaze out at the astounded table. "It seems that we must hold another feast." She glanced over at Arthur who weakly pulled himself back up to his chair, the whole side of his face on fire. "My little heir shall be joining us on the battlefield."
Words: 1514
Rating: PG
"You look radiant today, milady," Athur's father purred. "I have missed you terribly in your absence." Arthur suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, turning away to look down at his food, though he was not quick enough to miss his father's hand trail down to his lady mother's bared breast.
"Ulyven, stop," his lady mother giggled, batting his hand away. His father nonetheless continued to whisper wicked words in her ear that made her titter shamelessly. Arthur was the only one who seemed to take offense at this behavior. The twins were plotting something between themselves or otherwise listened earnestly to their father's tales of war. Idwallon was likewise occupied by his own father, though he continued to maintain his state of perpetual boredom. Crow... He had his own little human waif draped over his shoulder, feeding him from his plate. It was a gift from his lady mother for his new knightship, a pretty dusky skinned Gael with frightful bushy hair and the vapid eyes of an enchanted mud-person. The sight of her made Arthur sick, reminding him of Crow's near departure from the House.
"Are you well, Art?" Crow asked quietly when no one was paying attention. "You have not seemed yourself." How Crow could tell was a wonder for the small faeling had yet to speak. Nor did many expressions pass over his small cherubic face. His father had trained him out of it. His hand ached in remembrance of the knife cutting into him until he stopped screaming.
Arthur glanced up at his elder brother and shrugged. The dumb mud pet was fawning over him, trying to get Crow's attention with its barbaric grunts. Crow reached under the table, giving the faeling's knee a comforting squeeze. "I know you are smart enough to solve whatever comes your way, but whatever ails you, you can tell me."
Until you leave, the faeling thought, his thoughts turning as sour as lemon-milk. All he could do was nod. His father and lady mother were watching. And Crow was leaving.
"I will be sure to get you your own pet," Crow said, scratching the mud pet under its chin. "Or you can have this one to eat if you like. I will not take it with me."
The faeling found himself liking the idea very much.
"He's too young to have his own pet!" Cian protested, barging into the conversation. "He can't even talk yet! How is he supposed to command it!"
Arthur's head snapped to the twin, who sneered before his lips curled into a patronizing smirk. The faeling's chest grew tight, as though his heart grew taut with anger. Cian and Duragh could not do anything openly, not with his lady mother, his father and the First Knight all present. Neither could he retaliate against them. All he could do was narrow his eyes and transfix them upon his ugly half-common brother.
I can command you just fine with just a look, cur. You think I need a voice? I could shear you head from your very shoulders with a flick of my wrist.
The longer that he stared, silent, his features as still as stone, the more that the ruddy haired twin began to fidget. He squirmed in his seat as though there were brownies making mischief under him, his face growing pale, hands shaking. Duragh stared at his twin in growing alarm, eyes growing wide.
"The little shit in trying to enchant him!" Duragh shouted, flying up from his seat. All the heads at the table spun towards him, then to Arthur who sat in shock. He had been doing nothing of the sort! Or at least not intentionally. Yet it seemed that either Cian was acting, which was quite likely, or he had indeed suddenly contracted the blood shivers. His body seized and he whimpered like a fox pup. It was pathetic.
Cian's father, overgrown beast that he was, stood and slammed his axe down on the table. "You let him go, you disgusting little whelp or I'll have your head!" At this, the First and his father both stood, as Arthur fought the feeling of helplessness threatening to choke him. He had not done anything!
"Jora, what is this all about?" he heard from the head of the table, his mother's silky powerful voice. She did not seem in the least bit nonplussed, just mildly annoyed at the disturbance as she curled a finger around a lock of hair.
Jora, the twins' father, pointed over to his son, who was most definitely acting now as his entire body writhed and his limbs jerked as though he were at the hands of an amateur puppeteer. Arthur had to admit he put on a good performance, though he would not admit that even if the stupid boy was not trying to get him into trouble. "Milady, that - that faeling has my son bespelled!"
"Our son," his lady mother reminded him, causing the Knight to flush. She turned her gaze between the twitching twin and the silent sullen heir. "So it seems in any case. How did this come about?"
Duragh answered for his brother who was too busy convulsing to speak. "Cian was just jesting with the faeling is all. Then Arthur stares at him and he came out like this! All twitchy and everything!"
His lady mother snorted softly at the boy's language, but she turned to her youngest. "And you Arthur? What do you have to say for yourself?"
"I believe that Arthur was proving a point, Lady Mother," Crow answered for him. "That he is not too young to have a pet."
"Oh?" she said softly, with an interest that suddenly made Arthur's blood curdle. "A pet is a spoil of war and my little heir is too young to fight as I am led to believe." She smiled at him. "Are you too young?"
"Of course, he is, Milady," his father said with an urgency that Arthur had never heard in his voice before. "He is not even yet a hundred years old!"
His lady mother reflected on that for a moment before replying, "Well, if that is the case then the faeling is in the wrong and he must be punished for his transgressions against his dear brother." That seemed to squelch his father's protest and his pale skin turned a pallid sickly white. Arthur jerked in his seat, wanting to protest. He did not do anything!
Crow's hand flew to his knee, fingers digging into the skin so tightly that Arthur had to stifle a hiss. He looked up at his elder brother, but Crow's eyes remained fixed on their lady mother, calm as a grave despite the intensity of his touch beneath the table. It trembled softly, from the harshness? No, it would hurt worse if Crow was using his full strength. Then... fear?
Yes, fear. Somehow Crow knew. He knew that Arthur could end this farce of infancy at any point he wanted. That he had the power to break his silence and defend his pride. He wanted Arthur to choose the easy path of deception over his pride. But Crow was leaving. Pride would be the only thing he had left...
"I am not too young." The words left him before he realized it. There was an unpracticed lisp of infancy to them that made him cringe. Was that faint high pitched voice really his? Did he really sound so young?
Crow's fingers bit into his knee, nearly forcing the faeling to cry out, but it was too late. His lady mother smiled whilst his father turned a furious shade of flustered pink. The rest of the table looked at him in collective shock and interest.
His lady mother rose from her seat, her gown of silver silk and hawk feathers fluttering behind her as she glided over to him. Her hand came out, gently stroking his cheek still plump from infancy. "Good boy~" she cooed softly, "I knew you could speak if you set your mind to it." Arthur stared up at her, seeing himself evolve in the reflection of her eyes. He was no longer someone insignificant to her. He was becoming a Fae of his own right. Someone who had a say, who could make-
Her hand flew up and she struck him across the cheek. The attack was so sharp, so unexpected, that Arthur could not help the harsh gasp that passed through his lips. She struck so forcefully that he was knocked from his chair, sent sprawling onto the floor.
Lady Annowre cracked her knuckles, getting the feeling back into her fingers. "That," she said in a voice of ice, "is for not greeting me at my arrival." With that she returned to her seat and leveled her gaze out at the astounded table. "It seems that we must hold another feast." She glanced over at Arthur who weakly pulled himself back up to his chair, the whole side of his face on fire. "My little heir shall be joining us on the battlefield."