Post by Moira ap Eiluned on Jan 26, 2009 9:11:56 GMT -8
I was a firefighter. You’d be amazed how many Trolls are. I can’t remember a time when I wanted to be anything else. But it’s a hard life. Fire destroys, and we see so much lost. Property, certainly, but sometimes lives as well.
When we can’t take it anymore, we go to McCoy’s Firehouse in Pioneer Square. It’s our bar, you see. Drinks, sure, but lots of good food, too – food that feeds the senses as well as the body. It’s a cop favorite, too, and there is more than one Troll in the SPD. Serve and Protect is right up our alley. We – Trolls, I mean – try to pick one night a month to get together and eat there. The kitchen help hates it, but we tip them well to make up for all the extra work. We eat a lot.
I saw him there first. He stood out amongst all of us, slender and whip-thin, short by comparison, elegant pointed ears and so beautiful it made your eyes hurt. He wore a small silver lion pin at the collar of his firefighter’s coat, and a small ruby stud in his ear. I took note of the number on his patch, and requested a transfer to Station 2 the next day. I couldn’t help myself.
I knew I never had a chance. Oh, there are Sidhe women enough who find our men desirable – men are supposed to be tall and brawny. I’m not all that tall, especially for a Troll, but I have muscles on muscles instead of graceful curves, and my face is too rugged for female beauty. It was enough to be near him.
His mortal name was Jordan McBride. But to our kind he was Baron Jorey of house Fiona, and the best of everything Sidhe. He was charming, forthright, reliable, fearless and kind. It would have taken someone much stronger than I not to fall in love. And since I could not hope for an Oath of Love, I bound myself to him with an Oath of Fealty. I swore to protect and obey.
I broke both of those. But that comes later.
I was certainly old enough to know better. He was only 20, a Wilder at the height of his glory. I was 36, a Grump fighting against the Undoing. I tried hard not to do the math – I didn’t need help feeling old. But he made me feel young. The more time I spent around him, the more lost I was. I loved him, loved his passion and his courage and his gentle heart even more than his fair face, brilliant gold eyes and dark curling hair. His passion was for his work, and my passion was for him.
I really should have known better.
1976. The Bicentennial was a time of color and celebration around the nation. Anticipation was in the air, as though the whole world was holding its breath. I could feel something wonderful coming. My mother said that it was because people were getting ready, ready to celebrate winning our freedom. I thought that sounded wonderful. On the Fourth of July, my father took me to see a parade. I loved the marching men in their uniforms, blue and red and white in long, long rows, with shiny gold instruments and proud, loud music. It was better than anything I’d ever seen. The sun was sunnier, the sky was clearer, dragons and will’o’wisps danced with the fireworks, and people of types I’d never seen before marched along…tall and blue, dark and veiled, ruddy and goat-legged, there was so much to see! I tried to point it all out to my father, but he only smiled and nodded at his daughter’s imagination. I waved wildly to everyone, I wanted to be a part of it. When the fire truck passed by, surrounded by dancing salamanders, I ran out into the street behind it. A huge blue man in a yellow coat smiled and picked me up and carried me. My father looked worried, but the man waved at him and put me on the truck. I had never seen so much! I laughed and waved, and tried to catch the sparkler-bright butterflies that flitted by, and the big blue man laughed with me. My skin was blue too, but somehow that seemed all right. Blue is my favorite color.
My father paced the truck for the length of the parade, smiling and waving at me. Afterward, he and the big blue man shook hands and the blue man put me in my father’s arms. My father squeezed me until I could see stuffing coming out of my seams.
That night I couldn’t sleep. I watched the moon from my window seat, how the streamers of moonlight wove into lace and spread itself over the trees. The lace got all tangled up, but the squirrels and robins worked at it and got it free. I wasn’t at all surprised when the big blue man appeared at my window, a strand of moonlight caught in a button. I opened the window, and he reached in and picked me up. We went off together, under the trees, farther than I’d ever been. There was a big fire, and lots of people sitting around it. That night I learned who I was, for real. It was also the first time I fell in love, with the big Troll fireman who had come for me. His name was Michael, and he was about twenty years older than me and already married, but at the time I didn’t care a bit. He was my first impossible crush, but far from the last.
I have always envied people in love. More than anything I have wanted someone to love me. My early years as a Wilder were spent yearning after one boy or another. Strange, how the faces and names blur over time. They were so important then. But I was not attractive. And I was strong, too strong. None of the boys wanted anything to do with me. So I focused on my goal – to become a firefighter.
In my junior year I worked weekends to earn enough money to get my basic Firefighting and EMT training at North Seattle Community College. I took the entry test at for the Seattle Fire Department straight out of high school, and got a job at Fire Station 38.
The years flew by. I had a few lovers, mostly other firefighters and Trolls, once a Satyr. But it never lasted. They always found someone better. You would think I would have learned. But I didn't.
When I met Jorey, I found Love. We were never lovers, but I swore fealty to him. I was Knighted in House Fiona, and my passion for him only grew. But I took no action. I did not think it would be proper. He was in love with another, an Eiluned Countess who took no notice of him, and so he loved as I did, silently and from afar. This I could bear. If only it had remained so. But All Hallows Eve makes liars of us all.
I should have stayed home. I usually do. But this time I did not want to be alone. They do say misery loves company. I ended up at a masked ball in North Bend, watching Jorey dance with all the prettiest ladies. Dance…and more. The unmasking at midnight started with the masks – but did not stop there. By the end of the night, I had watched Jorey in the arms of every beautiful woman. But when I approached him…
He spurned me, and turned to another.
We didn’t speak the next day. We were both on shift, but found other ways to pass the time. We didn’t speak when the alarm went off just after sundown, we just went to do our jobs. The fire was in a warren of apartments built from a converted warehouse, south of downtown on 4th. Both of us loaded up and went in to clear the building. We made a good team. Usually.
Fire respects no one. It follows its own rules, does what it will. It can be guessed at, but never predicted. We moved through the maze of halls, through building smoke, checking rooms as we went. Most of the residents had already gotten out, but the building alarm and sprinklers had both failed to go off, and we didn’t want to take any chances. But it took time. Too much time.
I knew better than to head up to the fifth floor. We’d already gotten three warnings that the roof was compromised, but with only one floor left to clear, I didn’t want to leave it unfinished. Jorey gave me the fall-back wave. I ignored him. He grabbed my arm, looked in my eyes. That’s an order, he mouthed – Baron to Knight, I knew from the fire in his gaze, and because he did not use the radio. But I ripped my arm free and pounded up the steps. He had ignored me. I would ignore him. The smoke here was blinding-thick, and I almost ran into Jorey just past the top of the steps. He had sped past me, Quicksilver-fast, and blocked my way. He pointed back down the steps, silent and demanding. I started to push past him, but his leverage was better. With a well placed shove, he pushed me down the steps. I struck the steps midway down with a huge crash…and the ceiling collapsed.
Debris tumbled down the stairs with me. Something heavy struck my head.
I woke up in the hospital the next day. I had suffered a concussion and three broken ribs. The crew tell me I was all but completely buried when they found me. They were amazed I was alive. I know I wouldn’t have been, except for my Oakenshield.
Even that protection wasn’t enough to save Jorey. They told me that there had been an old wrought iron greenhouse on the roof, that the roof had given way and brought it crashing through. They said that even if he had survived the crushing weight of the steel and concrete, the huge shards of glass and the iron strut from the greenhouse that had been driven into his chest would have killed him for certain.
I don’t know what happened after they told me that. The office shrink says I went crazy, striking out, smashing everything in reach. I’m sure I did. I just don’t remember.
That night I dreamed, and the night after that, and the night following. The same dream for three nights, and what you dream three times running always comes true…
Blackness. Burning heat. A boiling, swirling wind. Then a voice, cold and empty, whispers in my ear, always from behind me no matter which way I turn: Cursed is the Oathbreaker, three times three times three. Let the fate of thy lord be the fate of thee. The wind strengthens, and then it is laden with shards of Cold Iron, flaying me alive, through my clothes and my flesh and my bones, pain upon pain upon pain, until I feel my soul itself shredding…
I know it’s coming. I know I deserve it. I know I’ll never be a firefighter again. I’ve got a little money saved, enough to last through the end. I don’t know how much time I have, but I know it isn’t much. I’ve been having the dream again. Like it doesn’t want me to forget that it’s coming for me.
I serve Baron Alejandro now. He’s a good man, not Jorey but no one ever will be. He’s assigned me to help a group of Kithain new to our realm. I think he meant to help, but it hasn’t. They don’t want to be here, seem uncomfortable and distant. But this place has claimed them, I have seen it. One has been chosen Knight of the Realm. The world knows them. They have wakened from their first Dream, to enter this one. I hope they accept it, embrace it. But that will take time, I fear. And I will not be here to see it.
I wish them well, more than they know.
The dreams come more often now. Every night now, sometimes more than once.
But I’ve seen that there are worse fates than Cold Iron. At least this way I’ll never hurt anyone again.
To those who know, to those who care, to those who understand – not au revoir, then, but adieu.
When we can’t take it anymore, we go to McCoy’s Firehouse in Pioneer Square. It’s our bar, you see. Drinks, sure, but lots of good food, too – food that feeds the senses as well as the body. It’s a cop favorite, too, and there is more than one Troll in the SPD. Serve and Protect is right up our alley. We – Trolls, I mean – try to pick one night a month to get together and eat there. The kitchen help hates it, but we tip them well to make up for all the extra work. We eat a lot.
I saw him there first. He stood out amongst all of us, slender and whip-thin, short by comparison, elegant pointed ears and so beautiful it made your eyes hurt. He wore a small silver lion pin at the collar of his firefighter’s coat, and a small ruby stud in his ear. I took note of the number on his patch, and requested a transfer to Station 2 the next day. I couldn’t help myself.
I knew I never had a chance. Oh, there are Sidhe women enough who find our men desirable – men are supposed to be tall and brawny. I’m not all that tall, especially for a Troll, but I have muscles on muscles instead of graceful curves, and my face is too rugged for female beauty. It was enough to be near him.
His mortal name was Jordan McBride. But to our kind he was Baron Jorey of house Fiona, and the best of everything Sidhe. He was charming, forthright, reliable, fearless and kind. It would have taken someone much stronger than I not to fall in love. And since I could not hope for an Oath of Love, I bound myself to him with an Oath of Fealty. I swore to protect and obey.
I broke both of those. But that comes later.
I was certainly old enough to know better. He was only 20, a Wilder at the height of his glory. I was 36, a Grump fighting against the Undoing. I tried hard not to do the math – I didn’t need help feeling old. But he made me feel young. The more time I spent around him, the more lost I was. I loved him, loved his passion and his courage and his gentle heart even more than his fair face, brilliant gold eyes and dark curling hair. His passion was for his work, and my passion was for him.
I really should have known better.
1976. The Bicentennial was a time of color and celebration around the nation. Anticipation was in the air, as though the whole world was holding its breath. I could feel something wonderful coming. My mother said that it was because people were getting ready, ready to celebrate winning our freedom. I thought that sounded wonderful. On the Fourth of July, my father took me to see a parade. I loved the marching men in their uniforms, blue and red and white in long, long rows, with shiny gold instruments and proud, loud music. It was better than anything I’d ever seen. The sun was sunnier, the sky was clearer, dragons and will’o’wisps danced with the fireworks, and people of types I’d never seen before marched along…tall and blue, dark and veiled, ruddy and goat-legged, there was so much to see! I tried to point it all out to my father, but he only smiled and nodded at his daughter’s imagination. I waved wildly to everyone, I wanted to be a part of it. When the fire truck passed by, surrounded by dancing salamanders, I ran out into the street behind it. A huge blue man in a yellow coat smiled and picked me up and carried me. My father looked worried, but the man waved at him and put me on the truck. I had never seen so much! I laughed and waved, and tried to catch the sparkler-bright butterflies that flitted by, and the big blue man laughed with me. My skin was blue too, but somehow that seemed all right. Blue is my favorite color.
My father paced the truck for the length of the parade, smiling and waving at me. Afterward, he and the big blue man shook hands and the blue man put me in my father’s arms. My father squeezed me until I could see stuffing coming out of my seams.
That night I couldn’t sleep. I watched the moon from my window seat, how the streamers of moonlight wove into lace and spread itself over the trees. The lace got all tangled up, but the squirrels and robins worked at it and got it free. I wasn’t at all surprised when the big blue man appeared at my window, a strand of moonlight caught in a button. I opened the window, and he reached in and picked me up. We went off together, under the trees, farther than I’d ever been. There was a big fire, and lots of people sitting around it. That night I learned who I was, for real. It was also the first time I fell in love, with the big Troll fireman who had come for me. His name was Michael, and he was about twenty years older than me and already married, but at the time I didn’t care a bit. He was my first impossible crush, but far from the last.
I have always envied people in love. More than anything I have wanted someone to love me. My early years as a Wilder were spent yearning after one boy or another. Strange, how the faces and names blur over time. They were so important then. But I was not attractive. And I was strong, too strong. None of the boys wanted anything to do with me. So I focused on my goal – to become a firefighter.
In my junior year I worked weekends to earn enough money to get my basic Firefighting and EMT training at North Seattle Community College. I took the entry test at for the Seattle Fire Department straight out of high school, and got a job at Fire Station 38.
The years flew by. I had a few lovers, mostly other firefighters and Trolls, once a Satyr. But it never lasted. They always found someone better. You would think I would have learned. But I didn't.
When I met Jorey, I found Love. We were never lovers, but I swore fealty to him. I was Knighted in House Fiona, and my passion for him only grew. But I took no action. I did not think it would be proper. He was in love with another, an Eiluned Countess who took no notice of him, and so he loved as I did, silently and from afar. This I could bear. If only it had remained so. But All Hallows Eve makes liars of us all.
I should have stayed home. I usually do. But this time I did not want to be alone. They do say misery loves company. I ended up at a masked ball in North Bend, watching Jorey dance with all the prettiest ladies. Dance…and more. The unmasking at midnight started with the masks – but did not stop there. By the end of the night, I had watched Jorey in the arms of every beautiful woman. But when I approached him…
He spurned me, and turned to another.
We didn’t speak the next day. We were both on shift, but found other ways to pass the time. We didn’t speak when the alarm went off just after sundown, we just went to do our jobs. The fire was in a warren of apartments built from a converted warehouse, south of downtown on 4th. Both of us loaded up and went in to clear the building. We made a good team. Usually.
Fire respects no one. It follows its own rules, does what it will. It can be guessed at, but never predicted. We moved through the maze of halls, through building smoke, checking rooms as we went. Most of the residents had already gotten out, but the building alarm and sprinklers had both failed to go off, and we didn’t want to take any chances. But it took time. Too much time.
I knew better than to head up to the fifth floor. We’d already gotten three warnings that the roof was compromised, but with only one floor left to clear, I didn’t want to leave it unfinished. Jorey gave me the fall-back wave. I ignored him. He grabbed my arm, looked in my eyes. That’s an order, he mouthed – Baron to Knight, I knew from the fire in his gaze, and because he did not use the radio. But I ripped my arm free and pounded up the steps. He had ignored me. I would ignore him. The smoke here was blinding-thick, and I almost ran into Jorey just past the top of the steps. He had sped past me, Quicksilver-fast, and blocked my way. He pointed back down the steps, silent and demanding. I started to push past him, but his leverage was better. With a well placed shove, he pushed me down the steps. I struck the steps midway down with a huge crash…and the ceiling collapsed.
Debris tumbled down the stairs with me. Something heavy struck my head.
I woke up in the hospital the next day. I had suffered a concussion and three broken ribs. The crew tell me I was all but completely buried when they found me. They were amazed I was alive. I know I wouldn’t have been, except for my Oakenshield.
Even that protection wasn’t enough to save Jorey. They told me that there had been an old wrought iron greenhouse on the roof, that the roof had given way and brought it crashing through. They said that even if he had survived the crushing weight of the steel and concrete, the huge shards of glass and the iron strut from the greenhouse that had been driven into his chest would have killed him for certain.
I don’t know what happened after they told me that. The office shrink says I went crazy, striking out, smashing everything in reach. I’m sure I did. I just don’t remember.
That night I dreamed, and the night after that, and the night following. The same dream for three nights, and what you dream three times running always comes true…
Blackness. Burning heat. A boiling, swirling wind. Then a voice, cold and empty, whispers in my ear, always from behind me no matter which way I turn: Cursed is the Oathbreaker, three times three times three. Let the fate of thy lord be the fate of thee. The wind strengthens, and then it is laden with shards of Cold Iron, flaying me alive, through my clothes and my flesh and my bones, pain upon pain upon pain, until I feel my soul itself shredding…
I know it’s coming. I know I deserve it. I know I’ll never be a firefighter again. I’ve got a little money saved, enough to last through the end. I don’t know how much time I have, but I know it isn’t much. I’ve been having the dream again. Like it doesn’t want me to forget that it’s coming for me.
I serve Baron Alejandro now. He’s a good man, not Jorey but no one ever will be. He’s assigned me to help a group of Kithain new to our realm. I think he meant to help, but it hasn’t. They don’t want to be here, seem uncomfortable and distant. But this place has claimed them, I have seen it. One has been chosen Knight of the Realm. The world knows them. They have wakened from their first Dream, to enter this one. I hope they accept it, embrace it. But that will take time, I fear. And I will not be here to see it.
I wish them well, more than they know.
The dreams come more often now. Every night now, sometimes more than once.
But I’ve seen that there are worse fates than Cold Iron. At least this way I’ll never hurt anyone again.
To those who know, to those who care, to those who understand – not au revoir, then, but adieu.