Private Tales In Your Dreams

[Mab]

Some things about being queen of a Solstice Court never changed. There were cases to preside over and judgment to be passed. There were political maneuvers veiled as urgent business and half-truths spoken with candied smiles. There were endless hours of paperwork and foreign affairs and military updates. Her days seemed endless, and so was the work. To say Mab had grown bored with the whole routine was an understatement.

Yet, she was bound to it. Mab could not leave her underworld city, even on the rare occasion she wanted to. Social invitations amassed alongside the concerning reports from her generals. Things were happening. The world was changing. Terrible things were beginning.

So, with few opportunities to escape, she whittled away sleepless and dreamless nights with visits to friends. Mab haunted Cee’s dreams most regularly, an invasion that was welcomed and loved. They lounged at faraway scenic parks, nibbled delicacies that only existed in dreams, and gossiped and laughed to make up for the years they’d been apart. Mab drifted through Ruosin’s colorful dreams, riding unicorns on puffy pastel clouds and training to be knights under the tutelage of the Erlking and his friends, the fierce dragon race – an unlikely team that amused her. She no longer visited the Erlking himself, since she so loved to exasperate him. She tagged along on all sorts of silly and dramatic adventures with her friends.

Tonight, however, she had planned for a long journey to a dreamer far from Underhill.

Mab was dressed in her dreaming clothes as she left her rooms for her private garden. She wore comfortable, loose robes that would be warm without becoming sweltering as she meditated. Walking carefully along the stone pathway and crossing a narrow bridge that arched over the still surface of the pond, she arrived at the island pergola at the garden’s center. Wards shielded the open-air sanctuary from the noise of Underhill, leaving only the quiet of the pond, the birds, and the wind. The Maw yawned over this part of the palace. From her garden, Mab could see out into the mountainous forests, the fog rolling between mountains, and the icy northern sky.

Inside the pergola was an array of cushions and pillows. Blankets were neatly folded or haphazardly strewn across mounds where she’d left them. By the bridge was a single surface, where staff had left a carafe of clean, cool water. Otherwise, the space was hers, inviolable.

Mab fussed with her nest until she was comfortably sprawled. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and let her mind quiet as she began to meditate.

Wulren was, as expected, an easy target. His mind was well-guarded, as expected from the retired Hound. He was more intelligent than her peers gave him credit for, placated by his boyish charms and coarse manners. Mab was not fooled. She’d spent enough time in his company during his Wild Hunt years to know his family’s budding Court was a powerful ally waiting to be formalized.

With wicked delight, Mab spun a dream and waited for Wulren to sleep. When at last she felt his dreams stirring, she took a mental step to the side, she slid into his dreaming mind as if invited. Because she had been invited. Wulren had extended the invitation himself. How had their exchange gone?

“As for our next soiree, you are of course more than welcome to share our halls. It'd be quite a pleasure to welcome you into our home," Wulren said.

“A pleasure, indeed. I shall endeavor to call at your earliest convenience," she had replied.

It was now convenient to visit.

Mab whispered with magick and let Wulren’s mind build the scene. A tavern you enjoy, she instructed his subconscience. Mab has finally come to visit.

A barstool popped up first, offering her a lovely spot to observe as Wulren’s dream built itself around her. With a giddy kick of her feet, Mab waved her hands over herself and fashioned an ensemble more suited to the occasion. She donned black trousers and sturdy boots fit for travel and gods-knew-what Wulren's imagination might summon. She wore a loose linen blouse with puffy sleeves and a short, embroidered vest. Her streaming hair was tied back and flowed behind her in a single, oily tail beneath a fun, wide-brimmed hat with an exquisite red feather that complimented the folk embroidery on her vest.

This was already promising to be a great time. Now all that remained was to wait for Wulren to complete the dream and arrive. Mab waited with rare excitement in her silver eyes.

|| Wulren ||​

 

[Wulren]

"The Fair Queen Mab," Wulren drawled as he stepped through the doors, the threshold still a bit fuzzy as he came into his dream. "The woman of my dreams." He flashed a smile as he strode over to her barstool. His clothes, originally little more than a night shirt and trousers started to change. His shirt became something of a grey tunic lined with silver filligree and his pants filled out into something a bit sturdier. And while he doubted he'd need it, a silver small sword appeared at his side. Even in his dreams, it was only right to go out while armed.

"How have you been? I hope your court hasn't been running you too ragged?" Varos and Rerreno's briefings while boring, did give some insight into the goings on of the other courts, especially those of the seasonal variety, their looming conflict of greater and greater interest to the Vitae Lord of War. As he awaited her response, Wulren focused on forming the scene around them. The room expanded beyond their stool into a long building. Behind them, in the center of the room, was a large dance floor crowded with individuals stepping to a raucous band. Flanking that floor were two long tables, each packed with patrons drinking, eating, and chatting to their hearts content. It was the spitting image of one of his own favorite places, the Pewter Wolf. He wondered if the owner knew that the "god" who's face alighted his sign had come in many a time in the guise of a mere mortal.

Mab

 

[Mab]

Ah, and there he was. Fae, especially those as old as Mab, tended to be a little on the vain side. She and Wulren were quite alike in that matter. He stroked her ego at every meeting, showering her with charming compliments which she reveled in. She, in turn, played hard to get – because after many years as acquaintances, she knew that the hunt was what Wulren enjoyed; the moment he caught her, she’d no longer hold the same luster, and she’d sparkled for so long in his affections that she didn’t think she could bear to lose it. Not that she dared to let him know that; his ego was too large as it was without him knowing she considered him a friend.

So when he complimented her, she smiled and swished her long black hair, glowing in the spotlight he shone on her. Their friendship was built on this playful requital that went nowhere yet pleased them both. Mab loved the attention as much as he loved giving it.

“Wulren, my dear libertine Vitae,” she smirked. Mab laced her fingers and rested her chin on them as he took the stool beside her. Around them, a tavern was taking shape. It was the sort of place she imagined he would haunt: rugged yet charming, unrefined yet welcoming. It suited the man who dreamed it.

There was a certain ease in the knowledge that Wulren knew this was a dream. She could feel it, his awareness, like an itch between her shoulders. Mab looped her magick into his dreams, rooting him there. It wouldn’t do for him to wake up, since he knew he was dreaming. As a result, the dream became more vivid and more tangible. The stool squeaked as she shifted. The wood on the bar was rough under her elbows. The smoke in the room was pungent. Wulren's dream was as strong as his memories of this place.

“Ragged? Me?” she asked, tipping her head to the side and batting her eyes coyly. “Never.” Mab smiled and a laugh bubbled out of her, breaking her playful moue. She straightened, crossed her legs, and draped her laced fingers over one knee.

“I am well, Wulren. Thank you for asking. My courtiers are very quiet, which bad news for somebody but splendid for me.” Her voice took on a warmer tone as she relaxed. A rare few got to see Mab at ease, and the privilege was often reserved for old friends.

“And how have you been faring?” She tipped her head to the side. “I hope your brothers haven’t kept your leash too short. Oh, and I brought you a little something from home.”

Wulren’s dream had finally grown a barkeep, who broke the crimson seal on a black-glazed pot and began pouring out its contents into cups. Mab inhaled, the fragrance of bitter fermentation and sweet fruit mingling in her lungs. Her vineyards were millennia old and samples from her personal cellar were coveted in the waking world. This little something was easily given, as it didn’t really exist at all. Its material counterpart was well on its way to Malakath, however.

 

[Wulren]

"Libertine." The wolf rolled the word around his tongue as he said it, a silver tail flicking behind him. "Sounds like a word for Reno. Me, I'm just a soldier tryin' to live 'til his last battle." He slid into one of the stools, the well worn wood creaking beneath his weight.

"Good to know you've been well. A lady of your caliber doesn't deserve calloused hands." He lifted his arms to rest them on the counter of the bar, hands with palms of stone after millennia of sword work folding together. "At least, none of her own making."

Her talk of leashes elected a short barking laugh from the warrior and he fixed her with a wide fanged smile. "As if either of them could hold me back. No, we've been fairing rather well. Hard times have faced our mortals, but they're recovering well. At least, well enough for what's to come."

His ears perked at her mention of something brought from home and he snigged the air as the barkeep poured out the drinks. "Smells like something Reno would sip at. But I'll give it a try." Wulren, lord though he was, was a simple fae. Good ale washed down his meals with a freshness beyond any fine wine. Cheap ale was almost as good. Afterall, many a quaffing contest had been held by soldiers in his name.

Mab

 

[Mab]

At least none of her own making. Mab snickered. No, she wore the testament of her tireless work differently. Her wrists complained often, her fingers going numb when writing for too long, and her grip wasn’t as powerful as it once was, either. Fine lines around her mouth and eyes testified to the unfathomable number of frowns she had worn in her career – and the many smiles, too.

Compared to the usual court polish she dealt with, Wulren was refreshingly blunt. He was exactly as he said: a warrior. While she belonged in the glittering games of politics and intrigue, he belonged on the battlefield. Their paths rarely crossed, since Wulren was no longer part of the Sluagh and his brothers typically represented their Court. However, Mab was more relaxed in this one’s company than either of his cunning brothers’, put at ease by his simplicity. It was nice, having people she could take at face value. It was why he was her favorite Brother Vitae.

“I am glad to hear it,” she remarked. Neither of them needed to acknowledge what’s to come. It weighed on all of their shoulders, a burden that was growing heavier with every passing day and with every update from the border between Summer and Winter.

Ah, and to hear about their lucrative project. The Brothers Vitae made no secret what they’d done on Malakath; it was quite public that they’d grown a whole race of mortals that worshiped them like gods. Still, Mab always listened closely to news about the Zorren. A part of her marveled at the idea, even if she had no need for supplicants when her magick flowed as freely as the aspect it could command. The differences between Tuathan and Duanann magicks were vast.

That, and controlling a Court full of conniving, bratty nobles and merchants was hard enough. Mab would leave fostering generations of mortals to someone more tolerant.

“Careful, Wolf. That wine is my pride. If you don’t like it, I might take it back,” she teased. Mab loved her orchards and the spirits made of their fruits. It was distilled with the distinct purpose of knocking powerful faeries on their asses – and it never missed the mark. Surely, rough-cut as he was, he’d still enjoy a stout (and lovely) kick in the gut.

Mab matched him, tossing back an equal amount. Leaning back in her seat with a languid sigh, the stool grew a backrest. She crossed her knees and draped a lean arm over the new back of the chair in comfortable repose.

“While we’re on the subject, and before we get too carried away this evening,” she segued smoothly, “let us discuss the elephant in the room: have you and your brothers considered your participation in what’s to come?"

She raised a hand and leveled him with steely silver eyes, signaling that she had a piece to say before he answered. Mab spoke gently, but firmly. A subtle shift in her gaze and posture marked the presence of a foreign queen, not a friend.

“I will not pretend that you would not make powerful allies to our cause, but I am not here to pressure you, Wulren. Neither do I presume that you would balk from such an opportunity to prove your might to the rest of the Courts, but no one — especially your subjects — should be forced to march into a war of this scale in which they have no interest and little to gain. The fae of Malakath are not vested in the affairs of Liadain and Epressa.

“However, I must warn you that, should Autumn not prevail against Summer, there will be widespread consequences across Arethil, and it won’t stop at the Asherah Ocean. Twice I have stopped Summer’s fanatical push to reclaim its lost territory from 'heretics', and twice we have ended in drawn armistices. I cannot say anything with certainty, except that zealotry is a powerful force, and it will take all we have to end this rivalry once and for all.”

Mab let her hand fall, permitting him to answer.

Buttering him up wasn’t going to convince his brothers, so she didn’t bother. They were friends enough that she could take a no and still have fun in his dreams. Mab certainly didn’t blame him if he and his brothers kept their horses out of this race. It was a race she didn’t even want to run in, but she had no choice. If Winter didn’t stand with Autumn, the Courts would fracture further, and that division could mean catastrophe for the northern continents.

 

[Wulren]

Wulren chuckled and held up his hands, surrendering to the Winter Queen's challenge over her poffered beverage. "May it always be beyond me to sully your pride, fair Mab." His hands dropped down to his cup before bringing it to his lips. It wasn't the sweet wine he expected, but something stronger. It burned in its sweetness and its potency roiled against him. All in all, he found himself grinning as he quaffed down the rest. "Especially when pride is so well founded."

As Mab moved on to matters of business, a pair of clawed fingers tapped on the rim of the cup, signaling the bar keep to pour him another. What Mab presented was nothing less than a challenge. It was the call to battle, and for all her talk of not wanting to push, it was a request for aid, even on the off chance that she had not intended it to be so. This time, he only took a sip of his drink before responding. Though before the words left his mouth, his body shifted and shimmered.

Wulren lacked the finesse of his brothers. In the realm of dreams, Rerreno could twist himself with elegance. For Varos it was second nature to make things as he wished, even in the minds of others. For Wulren, whose thoughts beyond tactics were brazenly displayed for all to see, there was no guile. Tavern clothes fuzzed into something else. A medal decorated doublet, the uniform of an experienced general. His hair shortened and pieces of armor appeared on his shoulders and shins, "Queen Mab, all the peace we have sought was in preparation for when peace was not a viable option. The Summer Court threatens the balance. They threaten life and scoff at freedom. The Zorrens will not be forced into combat. At the slightest nudge, they will run to a just cause. Our court will always hold an interest in the lives of others whether they be mortal or fae. And if we secure some land for ourselves... all the better. The wider our net spreads, the more of these tainted fish we can catch."

Already, Varos and their Champion were talking with the spring court. Already the Zorrens were building their ships to sail the wide oceans. Already the Summer Court had an enemy in the Vitae Court. They had been there for the last war. They had left afterwards to recover and prepare. But they had never been broken. As Mab knew, they had never and would never balk at the challenge. "We'll be there. We'll be there and we'll show them that the Court of Stars can outshine the Summer's sun."

Mab