Post by Moira ap Eiluned on Dec 26, 2013 9:43:35 GMT -8
It hadn’t gone at all the way she intended, but Moira decided that this was probably the best Winter Solstice she’d had in years.
Though the fae in general take very little note of the Solstice, Moira was enough a student of the occult to feel a special connection to the longest night of the year. It was the time of transition, a time for contemplation and memory. So she told all her nobles that she was by all the gods going to take this day off, and that they were on their own. She was going to return to her Seelie Legacy, hole up in her room, listen to very depressing music and see just how much of a bottle of goldschlager she could get through. She was going to remember Hans, even if the whole world forgot him.
It didn’t quite work out that way.
For one thing, “taking the day off” must have been spoken in Ancient Enochian, because virtually every noble under her hand managed to find a reason to visit at least once, to give her status reports, updates, and generally check on her. And she couldn’t find it in her heart to be annoyed at them, no matter how much she wanted to be. Instead, she found herself feeling ridiculously proud of all of them, of how hard all of them were fighting to overcome their losses, find the right paths, and generally try to do the right thing. Even when Pyrol, Nelson and Roger managed to land themselves in jail for setting a Yule Log on fire in her backyard and had to be bailed out by Walkie-Talkie, she just couldn’t get mad. They’d been swept up in the spirit of the season, and allowed the joy of the idea to override the potential consequences. They’d been fae. And though she tried very hard to be stern about it, she was delighted to have the opportunity to forgive them and send them out to have fun again. There’d been precious little of it for so long, she was glad to see the spark again.
And despite the interruptions, she had the chance, finally, to mourn Hans, to talk about him, to remember him. The tarot spread in front of her was anything but subtle. A foundation of Death, crossed by the Fool, surrounded by inverted Pentacles and surmounted by the inverted Star, her Hopes and Dreams the Lovers…it was a painful spread, full of portents of stasis and stagnation. But the final card, the final outcome…the Ace of Wands. New hope, new beginnings, a way forward. She’d lost all her Arts of Divination to the White Queen, and yet this reading seemed to hold truth in it nevertheless. She stared at it for hours, as people came and went, as she worked her way slowly through the bottle of goldschlager, as she contemplated Hans, what she had had, and what she had lost. She didn’t honestly think she’d ever get over him, but finally she was able to remember him with as much joy as sorrow. Every day she looked out on the world through magic shaped by him, and she wore the ring she had given him, Named to fit her, in remembrance of him. The world may have forgotten him, but as long as she lived, so would he.
And in coming to that realization, she also realized that for all the Winter Queen’s power, for all she’d stolen, she hadn’t taken the one thing that really mattered to Moira. She hadn’t taken her mind, her memory. Knowledge, information, even her mortal skills…Moira didn’t need magic to make a difference for the Realm. She’d realized that when she used her gift from Father Christmas to empower one of her minor Treasures and give it to Baron Friend. He and all the other people of her County would need every edge they could get, would find strength and hope in the restoration of what they had lost. They were on the front line of this silent winter war. She would ensure that everyone had the knowledge, the information and the opportunities they needed to succeed. She would take nothing that could be gifted to another. For herself, she had her mind, and her hunger to learn, and that was enough. There were always more things to learn, and if one road was blocked, it only meant that a new path must be found, or broken.
She ended the evening in a haze, due, she suspected, primarily to blood loss. Her stamina was too good to permit the alcohol she’d imbibed to get her totally plastered, but she’d been comfortably relaxed when she coaxed Stephen into drinking from her. He’d said he couldn’t get drunk unless he drank from someone who was drunk, and Moira felt like sharing… And the opportunity to find out firsthand what the infamous vampiric Kiss felt like was too good to miss.
Something in her blood must have disagreed with him, because she vaguely remembered him getting all weird, forgetting who he was, and wandering off. She really couldn’t bring herself to care at that point. She felt light, and tired, and peaceful. She wanted to stay up and keep drinking, but Baron Friend came in and got unreasonably fretful. He worried over her, and said something about blood loss and dying and wasted a perfectly good Heatherbalm on her, and tucked her in bed. She wanted to object, but she was really far too tired and she decided it was easier to go along. At least, that’s how she remembered it. It was probably pretty close to accurate.
No, it certainly hadn’t gone at all the way she’d planned, but Moira decided that this was probably the best Winter Solstice she’d had in years. Every Winter held the seed of Spring, and if the Winter Queen though to stop the cycle, she was about to discover that some things were more powerful than even she. Whether or not Moira lived to see that Spring was irrelevant. She could look out on the people in the county and see the seeds sprouting. In the heart of every Fae was both Winter and Summer; give ascendancy to one half, and the other fights back. Now was the time of Winter, but whatever the Queen said, it would not and could not last forever. The very nature of the Fae would not permit it. And that, at the last, was sufficient for Moira. It had been, indeed, a very merry Solstice.
Though the fae in general take very little note of the Solstice, Moira was enough a student of the occult to feel a special connection to the longest night of the year. It was the time of transition, a time for contemplation and memory. So she told all her nobles that she was by all the gods going to take this day off, and that they were on their own. She was going to return to her Seelie Legacy, hole up in her room, listen to very depressing music and see just how much of a bottle of goldschlager she could get through. She was going to remember Hans, even if the whole world forgot him.
It didn’t quite work out that way.
For one thing, “taking the day off” must have been spoken in Ancient Enochian, because virtually every noble under her hand managed to find a reason to visit at least once, to give her status reports, updates, and generally check on her. And she couldn’t find it in her heart to be annoyed at them, no matter how much she wanted to be. Instead, she found herself feeling ridiculously proud of all of them, of how hard all of them were fighting to overcome their losses, find the right paths, and generally try to do the right thing. Even when Pyrol, Nelson and Roger managed to land themselves in jail for setting a Yule Log on fire in her backyard and had to be bailed out by Walkie-Talkie, she just couldn’t get mad. They’d been swept up in the spirit of the season, and allowed the joy of the idea to override the potential consequences. They’d been fae. And though she tried very hard to be stern about it, she was delighted to have the opportunity to forgive them and send them out to have fun again. There’d been precious little of it for so long, she was glad to see the spark again.
And despite the interruptions, she had the chance, finally, to mourn Hans, to talk about him, to remember him. The tarot spread in front of her was anything but subtle. A foundation of Death, crossed by the Fool, surrounded by inverted Pentacles and surmounted by the inverted Star, her Hopes and Dreams the Lovers…it was a painful spread, full of portents of stasis and stagnation. But the final card, the final outcome…the Ace of Wands. New hope, new beginnings, a way forward. She’d lost all her Arts of Divination to the White Queen, and yet this reading seemed to hold truth in it nevertheless. She stared at it for hours, as people came and went, as she worked her way slowly through the bottle of goldschlager, as she contemplated Hans, what she had had, and what she had lost. She didn’t honestly think she’d ever get over him, but finally she was able to remember him with as much joy as sorrow. Every day she looked out on the world through magic shaped by him, and she wore the ring she had given him, Named to fit her, in remembrance of him. The world may have forgotten him, but as long as she lived, so would he.
And in coming to that realization, she also realized that for all the Winter Queen’s power, for all she’d stolen, she hadn’t taken the one thing that really mattered to Moira. She hadn’t taken her mind, her memory. Knowledge, information, even her mortal skills…Moira didn’t need magic to make a difference for the Realm. She’d realized that when she used her gift from Father Christmas to empower one of her minor Treasures and give it to Baron Friend. He and all the other people of her County would need every edge they could get, would find strength and hope in the restoration of what they had lost. They were on the front line of this silent winter war. She would ensure that everyone had the knowledge, the information and the opportunities they needed to succeed. She would take nothing that could be gifted to another. For herself, she had her mind, and her hunger to learn, and that was enough. There were always more things to learn, and if one road was blocked, it only meant that a new path must be found, or broken.
She ended the evening in a haze, due, she suspected, primarily to blood loss. Her stamina was too good to permit the alcohol she’d imbibed to get her totally plastered, but she’d been comfortably relaxed when she coaxed Stephen into drinking from her. He’d said he couldn’t get drunk unless he drank from someone who was drunk, and Moira felt like sharing… And the opportunity to find out firsthand what the infamous vampiric Kiss felt like was too good to miss.
Something in her blood must have disagreed with him, because she vaguely remembered him getting all weird, forgetting who he was, and wandering off. She really couldn’t bring herself to care at that point. She felt light, and tired, and peaceful. She wanted to stay up and keep drinking, but Baron Friend came in and got unreasonably fretful. He worried over her, and said something about blood loss and dying and wasted a perfectly good Heatherbalm on her, and tucked her in bed. She wanted to object, but she was really far too tired and she decided it was easier to go along. At least, that’s how she remembered it. It was probably pretty close to accurate.
No, it certainly hadn’t gone at all the way she’d planned, but Moira decided that this was probably the best Winter Solstice she’d had in years. Every Winter held the seed of Spring, and if the Winter Queen though to stop the cycle, she was about to discover that some things were more powerful than even she. Whether or not Moira lived to see that Spring was irrelevant. She could look out on the people in the county and see the seeds sprouting. In the heart of every Fae was both Winter and Summer; give ascendancy to one half, and the other fights back. Now was the time of Winter, but whatever the Queen said, it would not and could not last forever. The very nature of the Fae would not permit it. And that, at the last, was sufficient for Moira. It had been, indeed, a very merry Solstice.