Private Tales Ash and Iron

[Lorcán]

The further he flew, the more pain he felt. It was as though whatever tethered the two was being pulled tighter and tighter, tugging painfully at his sternum and he silently wondered if it might snap. The handprint on his chest burned, but he only flew faster, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Shadows burst from him, slicing through forests and quaking the mountains, sending rock crumbling from their peaks. Flames tore through the trees below him, and the land was devoured in smoke and shadow. The carnage didn't stop as he crossed the invisible border back into his own realm. Blaze erupted through the western forest and shadow followed him, blotting out the light and shrouding his land in darkness. From above he could hear shrieks and screams, he could see all manner of fae creatures run. He didn't care. If this was who he was to be then fine, it'd just been made a whole lot easier for him.

His home shuddered as he arrived, doors and windows flying open and shadow spilling in through them, tendrils of it looking for anything to devour. They rippled over his bare torso as he strode in through the hallway, slithering along the floor behind him.

"MIDIR!!!" his voice boomed through the Autumn Court, his strength and rage unquestionable.

 

[Midir]

"S-s-sire--!" The púca who served him as one of his secretaries looked as though she might shed all of her fur in fright as the sun disappeared. It would be a dreadfully annoying mess if she did, the Erlking thought and his brows knitted briefly together in displeasure. He had just had brought these rugs and they had cost a fair amount to have them shipped from the Dawnish Courts. Nobody else made quite such vibrant patterns though. Even the muted dark navy and black he had chosen looked vibrant - alive, almost. The black, the rug-maker had said, was an entirely new shade of the deepest black possible. It had called to him as much as the night itself did. His eyes lifted only briefly to glance at the fox púca who seemed to understand and stepped several steps back, away from his carpet.

If he seemed at all concerned for the source of the bellowing and the trembling of his home however, he did not show it. Instead he slowly leafed through the documents on his desk whilst the lesser fae sweated and glanced over her shoulder as the sounds grew closer. When one of the guards outside began screaming he waved a hand towards the door which swung inwards before his son could knock it down.

"So, the Prince returns does he?" Midir's tone held equal parts contempt and amusement as though he had just heard a horse fit for being put down had won a race. He read the page in front of him then signed it and set it aside. "I see you have your..." he paused and finally looked up to study the man in front of him. Something different... A slow smile spread across his face as the realisation dawned on him.

"Leave us," he ordered in that frightfully calm tone to the púca who curtseyed hurriedly, grabbed the stack of papers and fled the room slamming the door shut behind her. The Erlking leaned back in his chair and studied the swirls. "So you found a third option."

 

[Lorcán]

His father's guard had come flying through the open door to collide into the opposite wall, crumpling into a heap with a pained grunt in announcement of Lòrcan's arrival. The Prince snarled at the Erlking's question, approaching the desk and slamming his hands down on it's surface, talon like claws splintering into the wood and his eyes beady black.

"Fuck you." he growled darkly, and the dark tendrils lashed out at the King, attempting to wrap themselves around him and slam and pin him against the wall with particular emphasis on his throat. There was a new, thick scar on his side where his own father had run him through with a poisoned blade.

"Enough."

 

[Midir]

"You forget where your magic comes from, boy."

Midir's eyes were perfect chips of ice as he watched his son lose control. Shadow met shadow tendril for tendril seeking to strangle the other fae's in its own grip. Though anger laced his words like a finely woven silk, he looked to be disappointed more than anything else. It was a look Lorcan no doubt knew well for it was not often that the Erlking had been anything but disappointed in his son. Truely, it was a shame. There had been such promise when Aubretta had told him she was pregnant with his child. The Dawn Priestess had been a power unto herself - it was why he had been so attracted to her in the first place - but together... They had both known their son would outstrip them one day.

Not yet though.

He flicked his hand as though swatting a fly and a solid wall of air hit the raging fae squarely in the chest. With any luck it would throw him back into the awaiting chair.

"Enough is enough. I have watched you flail your way through the last few centuries in this pathetic teenage temper tantrum but you are the Prince - my son - and I will not stand for such childish behaviour any longer."

 

[Lorcán]

Lòrcan lifted an arm, the shadow solidifying in front of him causing the air to rush around his form without uprooting him.

"Watched me flail?!" he roared at his father, his shield dropping as he swung a whip of solid fire at the male's face. "You have beaten me down every fucking chance you got.." another whip "You can't stand the sight of me.." and another "And yet you insist on making me a fucking prisoner!" whip.

"You tried to fucking kill me - but you failed." A blast of shadow. "You tried to make me kill her, but you failed." he snarled with another ball of fire.

"No more!!"

 

[Midir]

Aubretta had once used that fire on him in a very different way. It was hard not to smile at the memory even if the situation before him was somewhat serious. Whips of fire met whips of air which sought to rip the oxygen from its heart and leave it nothing but smoke or at other times simply battered it away like a kitten might a fly. Lazily, arrogantly. He wasn't old enough to believe himself capable of matching him.

"You've needed it," The Erlking replied calmly and finally pushed back his chair and stood, hands spread smoothly on the table as though trying to restrain his anger. "If it wasn't me it would be someone else. Did you die?" he quirked a brow and then gestured towards the swirls. "I did not try to make you do anything but grow stronger. It is you who comes up with these ridiculous notions there are only black and white in the world, boy," he took a deep breath and then shook his head slightly.

"I didn't foresee you taking her magic, however. Now that is a very interesting third option," he sauntered over to the small bookshelf he kept in the corner stacked with decanters of different sizes. He plucked one off the middle shelf, picked up two crystal tumblers and walked back to the desk where he began to pour them both a drink.

He offered him a glass.

 

[Lorcán]

Hatred and frustration burned through him as he avoided every blow so easily. It was maddening. "Nobody needs cruelty." he sneered.

As he mentioned Mae, whether by name or not, his skin burned with rage. No, with light. He could feel it underneath his very skin, and at the offer of a glass, Lòrcan growled incredulously at him.

"I don't want a fucking drink!" he roared, and threw his arms out at his sides, letting the light burst from him to barrel into the Erlking where he sat.

 

[Midir]

For once, surprise flickered across the Erlkings face a second before a thick, black wall of shadow came up. The light funnelled into it as if probing for a way to tear it apart but thankfully, Lorcan only had a tiny little wedge of that power. Even so the light penetrated patches of the shadow making it thinner... If he had had more... Which made whoever he had gotten it from dangerous. Midir narrowed his eyes and stopped defending himself.

He let his power finally show and thrust the darkness right back at him with weaves of earth and air thrown in. His aim was to bind his son back down to the chair so they could have a rational conversation.

"What do you want? If it's not alcohol you want it's usually women. You haven't shown the slightest interest in anything else," he sneered.

 

[Lorcán]

The light wasn't his power, he knew little about it, how to hone and centre it, how to project it to his advantage. He'd been so intent on hurting his father that he left himself exposed as he dropped his arms, his strength significantly depleted.

He was thrown back into the chair, arms pinned to his sides and a loud growl of frustration was thrown from his lungs, his head falling back as his chest heaved in deep breaths. He was silent aside from his heavy breathing for a long moment before he let out a deep huff.. "I want to leave this place. I want you out of my life and an end to this fucking torture. I want my own land, cut off from you, where you cannot set foot." he scowled at him.

 

[Midir]

Midir slowly slid a hand through his blonde locks to settle it back into place. At least his clothes didn't look as rumpled as he felt and he made sure to take a sip of the whisky rather than pour it back to make sure he remained the perfect picture of poised and aloof. He sat back down in his own chair and crossed one leg over the other, foot tapping as he considered his son's words.

"You've never shown an interest in having your own lands before," was that pride in his voice? It was hard to tell. From his facial expression he just looked thoughtful about the proposition and not at all like a father who had had his son tell him he wished to be as far away from him as possible. He took another sip and a small smile appeared on his thin lips. "I was a few centuries younger than you when I asked my father for my own estates.... Very well," he nodded and in a blink a map appeared on his desk which spanned the Autumn Court lands.

"Of course, it will still be a part of the Autumn Court and under my rule... but," he held up a hand before Lorcan could interject with profanities. "I will only step foot inside with your express invite to do so and one day a year, so I can see for myself that my subjects are being treated right."

 

[Lorcán]

Lòrcan's expression remained one of dark disdain, every bit of hatred he felt for the male in front of him practically radiated from him as he sat bound to the chair, his knuckles white. He was tired, his power had been almost entirely spent destroying everything in his path between the cabin and his home, and his father's study, but the splintering arms of the chair would have to do for now.

He didn't care if his father approved or not. "So you can ensure that I am not turning your subjects against you, you mean." he snorted. "You will never have my express invite. If I never have to look at your face again for as long as I live, I'd die happy." he dragged his eyes from his father's pale features, letting his gaze linger a little longer on the whisky before letting his head loll forward with a huff.

"Raphael will reside within my estate. The General too." he rumbled, his eyes rising to meet his father's gaze.

 

[Midir]

Midir let out a low chuckle but he didn't bother to correct him. Truthfully, he wanted to see what his son made of his estates. He would have his own spies, no doubt too, but he wanted to see it with his own eyes. See if it would be Lorcan who would one day wrest power out from his grip and take over the Autumn Court. Perhaps having responsibility for a large amount of people would make him grow up. Idly he wound his fingers over the vast sprawling map he reigned.

"Your friends can reside wherever they wish, but their jobs will not change. If they are willing to... commute," his lips twitched with the word. "Then they are free to live wherever they want," even if Raphael leaving the palace irked him some. It was simply practical to have his inquisitor close at hand.

"Here," he tapped the small isle that fell within his boundary carefully, his magic yanking Lorcan's chair closer to the desk so he too could see. "You can have this entire island to yourself, far, far away from me," his smile was almost feral but it faded quickly as he made a stack of papers appear on his desk. Deeds, details, maps. He shifted through them carefully, sorting out the ones he needed and set them in front of Lorcan.

"Everything you need to know about the land is there. Currently it is uninhabited so you shan't disturb anything but Olyssa's training grounds, but I will speak to the Beast Handler," the magic about his son unravelled, releasing him, and leaned back in his chair with his glass. "This is still Autumn Court land, you still belong to the Autumn Court as will anyone who resides here and the laws I keep will apply to them all," his voice was clipped and serious, business like. Perhaps the first time he'd ever spoken to his son like an... adult. Law and order were pillars of what his court stood for despite the dark way he had to met out justice across the fae-world. "I expect you to uphold them there, but additional ones I will leave to you."

He held the boys gaze a moment longer then the seriousness slipped away and a look of boredom crossed his face.

"Is there anything else or can I get back to my work?"

 

[Lorcán]

A muscle tightened in his jaw as his chair was pulled closer, his nose wrinkling indignantly, but his eyes fell instead on the map of the Autumn Court and to the isle where his father had pointed. What's wrong with it? He wanted to ask, but he didn't care. Whatever it was, it couldn't be worse than here. It was land and it was his and he could build a place where those he cared for would be safe, a sanctuary for those who lived in fear of his father, where he could live as he wanted to, as who he wanted to.

"No spies, no assassins - you are not to send anyone into my lands to capture or harm." he added, just because he had agreed not to set foot on the isle, didn't mean he wouldn't find a way around that if he wanted to. "We are to be left in peace." he glared at him, rolling his shoulders as the bonds around him loosened.

He'd wait on his agreement before throwing back the whisky and getting to his feet.

 

[Midir]

A lazy smile dimpled one of his cheeks.

"No spies, no assassins," he agreed smoothly. Unless the inhabitants were not permitted to leave and were too afraid to speak of it, news would soon trickle out of the little island Lorcan intended to call home. He'd learn. And if he didn't... well he could be all the more surprised on his appointed visit day. "Just my one day, unless invited otherwise," he held up his own whisky glass as Lorcan grabbed his off the desk. Together they threw back their drinks and Midir placed his glass back down. He was already going back to his work as Lorcan made for the door. Before he could leave though, the Erlking said softly.

"Good luck, son."

 

[Lorcán]

“Like I said, you won’t be.” Lòrcan answered dryly as he turned to stride from the room, though he gave a brief pause at the door at his father’s parting wishes. His hands fisted by his sides, and he wordlessly continued. He knew his father well enough to believe this another of his tests. There was no real pride, no true wishes of luck, just another opportunity for him to enjoy his son’s failures.

He didn’t feel strong enough to travel across the Autumn Court right now, in fact he stumbled into walls and tables all the way to his room, still as trashed as it’d been before he’d fled. Lòrcan poured himself a large drink and quickly downed it before pouring himself another. He caught sight of himself in the standing mirror, at the swirling markings that now decorated his olive skin.

His father had agreed to his wishes. He had a safe place, some place he could build a home and she could be safe with him. And yet,..

Goodbye Lòrcan.

He replayed the words over in his head as he drank, and drank until his pain rippled free of him and he threw the glass against the wall to shatter and he fell to his knees, rolled onto his side, and passed out on the floor.

 

[Maeve]

It's for the best...
​

They were words Maeve repeated often to herself over the next few months when she found herself gently fingering the black feather that hung in her hair by a camp fire or on the road. How would she ever figure out herself if she allowed him to come and get her? Still, it was hard to shake that last feeling he had had before the wall came down and he left. Pain. It had made it difficult to breathe let alone walk away from that cabin. Every step pure agony. But as the distance grew larger and the bond with it fainter she had been able to stop throwing up and breathe.

Not that that was any better for figuring out what to do.

Going back to the Isle was completely off the table, she ruled after catching sight of herself in a stream she stopped by to fill her water skin. Vivienne's smithy too. It felt too small for what she was now. Like... she knew she didn't have to use her hands if she didn't want to to make those weapons any longer. Arun was her biggest debate but despite the elf being so patient with her last time, and keen to help, she couldn't shake the feeling it was the wrong path here.

That was how she had found herself on the road, somehow hoping it would help her find the answer. She picked up work here and there; her skill with horses made her a good help with carriage teams and the free rides she got gave her feet a rest. She had once tried to form the wings from her dream but all she had managed was to wobble around with them before they vanished. Her feet were more reliable; the last thing she needed was her wings vanishing when she was in the air.

She had actually begun to enjoy her nomadic life. The people she met told her interesting stories she found herself writing down and those who didn't have a story had things to teach her like music. That all changed as she began to reach the hot lands beyond the Cortosi coast.

"No, no, like this," the gypsy boy laughed and altered her finger position on the odd little flute he had been playing that sounded like the sweetest birds. Mae frowned and awkwardly held the thing side ways to her lips at the boys nod of encouragement. Her first attempt at making a note that made even her wince. The group of travelling dancers laughed and Maeve flashed them a grin before trying again. She had happened upon them when one of their horses had gotten free of the rigging and made a break for it to pastures new. As a reward for bringing her home they'd offered Mae bed and board to the next town. As they travelled Rajjesh's sister Ravie had taught her to dance and use her hips in a way that she hadn't known they could move, whilst Raj had been attempting to teach her to play. She had thought they were friends. But after a week on the road she begun to hear mutterings amongst the older gypsys. The word faerie was banded around too often to ignore and she had decided to leave the following morning and turn south when they headed north. At least, she could enjoy this last night. With plenty of wine, music and stories she stayed up later than she intended and stumbled a little as she found her way to her rollmat, falling asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

She should have known something was wrong. Mae could handle her drink, especially human wine which barely seemed to touch the sides anymore. It was the feeling of being moved that made her groggily open her eyes. Raj was carrying her with a grim look on his face which turned to panic when he saw her eyes open. He shouted something to someone else and then something was being forced down her throat again. Sleep claimed her soon after. It happened twice more and each time she tried to beg whichever of them were near but they were too frightened to do anything but put her back to sleep with that vile concoction.

"Well, well, well," the harsh grip on her chin dragged her out of the darkness of her mind and she opened her eyes to meet the cool, terrifying black eyes of the fae opposite her. She tried to wrench herself back but only jangled the chains keeping her hands above her head and her feet almost off the floor. Pain filled her as the iron brushed against her skin jolting her fully into the waking world with a sharp cry.

The black eyed fae grinned.

"So you do feel the same pain," he tilted his head to the side curiously. "What has the little Autumn Prince been up to now?"

 

[Lorcán]

The land that he’d been permitted had taken some work. Work that he had gladly poured himself into. Some of the creatures that had inhabited the island were the worst sort, and Sid had to summon a legion of soldiers to aid in exterminating them, to prevent Lòrcan from doing it all on his own. He had needed the outlet, and when there was nothing left to be fought he threw himself into building.

When he wasn’t building he was drinking himself into his usual stupor. He hadn’t had to tell his brothers about Mae for them to realise that what plagued him was more than simple family dramas or lover’s scorn. Whenever he let himself sit still and sober for few minutes it was like he was dying, like some vital piece of himself had been torn out and he’d been left to slowly wither without it. Aside from building and some rough sparring, he kept mainly to himself, assuring that he was fine and forbidding anyone to ask him otherwise.

The island was beautiful. Wards were cast over the entire area, and so to anyone else, human, fae or otherwise, it didn't exist. It was just sea with some jagged rocks and rough waves, too perilous to approach by boat or to land by air, but to those who knew that it was there saw the paradise for what it was. The island was coves of beaches of fine, white sand, with rocky cliffs and crystal waterfalls, alive with cherry and pear blossoms. It was large enough to comfortably fit three cities, but the land was too precious to destroy and the last thing he wanted was overcrowding. It was a haven, a place where he and anyone else who wished to escape the cruel glare of his father to live peacefully.

He named it Endora. It was the name he'd thought to give to her power, that light she had within her, that he now had within him. In the months that passed more and more Fae came, presented their case to him and were permitted to call Endora their home. More and more homes were built in the hills and mountains that surrounded the turquoise lagoon in the heart of the island. The city was named Azora, given the colour of it's lakes and waterfalls, the the buildings were each a work of art all on their own. Lòrcan's own home, aptly named the Orchard given the abundance of fruit trees that surrounded it, was nestled high in the mountain overlooking the developing city and the land beyond, and he had spent the last two days drinking on his balcony, staring at the falling blossom. He'd tried to burn them down twice now..

Whenever he slept he saw flashes of images, heard snippets of voices, felt brushes of emotions. He had no idea where she was but he was certain that he could find her if he just flew, he knew his wings would take him straight to her. But he had promised, and she had said goodbye.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep for when the jolt of pain and fear shook him from sleep. His heart was pounding, his skin drenched in cold sweat as he looked around him. It wasn't his pain. Rage and fear crashed into him like waves slamming him into rock. He was already on his feet, wings bursting from smoky shadow to stretch out on his back as he leapt from his balcony and took to the sky.

"Maeve? Show me where you are.." he said, tearing down walls and tugging hard on that tether that still existed between them as he tried to break into her mind. "I'm coming for you."

 

[Maeve]

"I don't know where I am..."

All sense of time and space had ceased when the torturing had begun. It had started off as small things to begin with; a press of iron against her skin to leave a welt mark, or a tiny little nick with the knife's edge. She thought them small now, at least, though when it had first begun she had thought her body on fire every time the dreaded metal came close to her skin. She was repulsed with herself for ever considering using it on any fae, no matter how scared or hateful she had been of them. No pain she had suffered as a human came close to this. When she had refused to answer any questions about who - or what - she was and her connection with Lórcan they had upped the pressure.

She still hung from the iron chains but she had long ago given up trying to keep her precarious footing on the ground and so dangled from her bonds like a slab of meat in a butchers shop. Her hair was damp with sweat and crusted with blood in great clumps. The shine was gone from her skin which looked almost grey where it wasn't covered in gaping, nasty wounds. The clothes she had been given by the gypsy's which had consisted of a long skirt that came a hairs breadth from the floor and a short top that exposed the stomach were filthy and tattered.

Maeve gave a small whimper when the fae with black eyes - Mercutio, she had learnt, when he had attempted to sweet talk information out of her some hours past - gripped her hair in his fist and yanked her head back.

"You only need to know you're safe, safe with us little mouse. You know, this hurts me much more than it hurts you. Just give us the information that we need and I can take these bonds off - you'd like that wouldn't you?" She hadn't realised she had spoken out loud, nor that the question hadn't come from one of them. Her mind felt like it was shrouded in thick fog but she knew something... was there. An escape. She tried to crawl towards it.

"I d-don't know anything," her voice broke on a sob. "I don't know who Midir is! These gifts are from Fia--" the hard, sharp sound of a slap rung her ears and her vision danced. Yes, unconsciousness, that would be far better than being awake...

"Oh, no, no you don't," energy trickled into her. Just enough to keep her awake but weak. "I thought we'd gotten past this lying, Maeve-dear. I told you, I can smell that Princeling on you. Now tell me what I need to know."

 

[Lorcán]

Panic rose up in him so quickly he felt sick. He felt every cut and sting, and his fury boiled so violently it was difficult to keep control. He tried to send comfort and reassurance, tried to soothe the pain she felt through the bond they shared, tried to listen and see through her senses, anything to get him there faster.

Then, that voice. He realised who's eyes had stared back at her. She was in the Summer Court.

Lorcan winnowed through the air and within moments he was crossing the border and diving into the courtyard, casting guards effortlessly aside as he followed that thread. He felt her so much stronger now that they were close, the frayed tethers binding them, knitting their bond and souls back together.

Shadow followed him as he winnowed to where she was, his eyes instantly landing on Maeve. He'd felt rage like this only once before. It was violent, destructive, and it made him look every bit the monster people said he was. His eyes were entirely black, his hands and forearms were black to the elbow and long, razor sharp claws replaced his fingertips. Even his canines were visibly sharp as he snarled and tilted his head.

"You could've just, sent me an invitation." he growled at the inquisitor, his voice as dark as the smoky shadow that slithered over his skin and in the air around him as his wings dissipated. He hadn't thought to lift a weapon, but he didn't need one.

 

[Maeve]

Mercutio, to his credit, didn't look the least bit surprised to find the Prince of Autumn suddenly in their midst though the other two fae with him flinched back. The Inquisitor idly ran his fingers down Maeve's bruised and swollen cheek causing her to give an involuntary shudder and shut her eyes. This had to be a dream. How often had she dreamed of him coming to get her? Of taking back that goodbye? It hadn't just been her mind playing tricks on her in the throws of pain either but her captors gifts filling her head with things she wanted to see in the hopes she would talk.

"I said I don't know! S-stop, please, make him go away," she couldn't take the moment of fantasy of his hands gently taking her down and carrying her away only for it to all snap back into place and be hanging there with the threat of iron against her skin once more. Tears rolled down her cheeks in great hacking sobs as she pleaded weakly. The Inquisitor only turned his grin to Lòrcan.

"Maeve that's no way to greet our guest," he purred and trailed his fingers through her hair making her flinch as though it were a slap. "I didn't think you would accept an invitation to tattle-tale on your dear friends. How is Raphael?" mirth danced in his eyes. Unlike the Autumn Inquisitor, Mercutio embraced his job, loved it to the point of obsession even.

 

[Lorcán]

I'm here Maeve... It's alright.

She'd hear him whisper, but his glare remained firmly fixed on Mercutio, his jaw tightening as he insisted on touching her face. The mention of Raph prompted another sneer and he ran his tongue over his sharp teeth. "No, instead you torture a female who knows nothing of what you're asking. Typical Mercutio, never has his fucking facts straight." he stepped forward. "Touch her again and I'll make your death a little slower." he offered a menacing grin, but there was no amusement in his tone, nor his expressionless, black eyes.

"Does Titania know that you've just started a war?.." he asked curiously as he moved closer, his shadows snaking around the feet of the two other fae, should they decide to move. "Details we can discuss, but for now I'll be taking her home." he warned, the self restraint it took not to have obliterated him already was painful, but he wasn't the priority here. She was in pain, and gods help any who tried to stop him from taking her.

 

[Maeve]

That voice spoke of safety and she crawled towards it through the fog. If she could just get there...

The two other fae froze upon seeing the shadows begin to pool about their feet. Their faces paled. Mercutio, however, went on without a care. Not only did he not move away from where his new toy dangled but he slid his fingers over her neck to cup her chin and force her to open her eyes. He barely paid her any attention, his keen eyes watching Lórcan's every move.

"A war over a mortal? I'm not sure your father would be so stupid. But I suppose she isn't a mortal anymore is she?" he looked at her finally like one might look at an interesting bug and turned her head this way and that in a clinical manner. "What did you do to her? She's very tight-lipped about the whole affair no matter how much I made her scream. Oh and you did scream, didn't you Maeve dear? Would you like a demonstration My Prince? After all, it seems she has made off with some of your little gifts, some of ours too. An interesting, interesting creature. One well worth starting a war over don't you think?"

 

[Lorcán]

The shadows spread out, coiling up the legs of the two fae who were now rooted to the spot. Tendrils crawled up each of their bodies and muffled their screams as they slithered into their mouths and down their throats.

As Mercutio studied Maeve, as he mentioned her screams, her felt his body physically shake. "You think I need my father to have a war?.." he asked. Still, he couldn't deny the deep rooted fear that his father might find out about Maeve, there was no doubt he'd take a vested interest.

Three tendrils of shadow shot out toward the male, one to wrap around each of his wrists, the third to lash around his throat. "I warned you, not to touch her again." he snarled.

 

[Maeve]

Any snide remark he was about to make died on his lips as the shadow lashed around his throat. His hands left Maeve, whose head instantly dropped as though the effort of holding it up was too much, and instead desperately clutched at the shadows twining about his neck. A wet laugh escaped him despite the situation.

"If you kill me, it really will start a war," he rasped, his face beginning to lose its colour as the shadow tightened and cut off the vital flows of oxygen and air. He didn't even pay a second glance to the lesser fae who had vanished and he was arrogant enough to believe he would survive this. Killing minor fae would not be blinked at but a Duanann? Though any excuse for war was a good excuse for war.

 

[Lorcán]

The tendril of shadow rose, lifting the male off of his feet and slamming him back into the wall as Lòrcan strode toward him, staring at him as he attempted to pick at his mind and rake his claws against his consciousness. Pain. He wanted to cause the bastard as much torturous pain as he possibly could.

"I. Don't. Care." he answered darkly, a fire igniting under the male's dangling feet. "You tortured an innocent member of my Court, the spark was already made. If it's a war she wants it's a war she'll get..." he laughed under his breath, the tendrils squeezing tighter.