Private Tales Madness in Truth

[Fray]

“You lie.”

It came out as a snarl, all gravel and teeth, and for the first time in their woe begotten life the Unseelie Fae felt hatred. Fray was no stranger to pain, anger, and suffering of endless variety. But never had they been given cause to truly, viscerally hate.

Until now.

Crouched before them was a Fae made of completely opposite parts. Where Fray was all broad planes and dark angles, Fianen was delicate and fair, with gold spun tresses that swept along the forest floor. Her hair was so soft, so fine that it felt like silk. Fray only knew because they currently had a tuft of it in their fist.

Fianen grinned through bloodied teeth and wiped her chin, leaving a streak of crimson. “I can’t, you idiot.”

Of course, Fray knew this, as all of their kind did. But their mind railed against the cruelty of Fianen’s confession all the same. Funny, how they thought they had sampled savagery of every flavor amongst the Unseelie. Leave it to a Seelie fop to make their antics seem like child’s play. Fianen’s beauty was just a tool, a way to sink the knife deeper so she could gut you from the inside out. Her perfect dimples and dazzling charm served as nothing more than a distraction. A way to lower your guard so that it hurt that much more when she inevitably betrayed you. She was a viper in disguise, and she preferred her prey hot blooded, still writhing and kicking as she drained them of every last shred of joy.

Well, Fray wasn’t one for finesse. They just wanted to rip Fianen’s stomach through her puckered little asshole. They didn’t quite know how yet, but they were sure as hell going to try.

The Seelie Fae pushed herself back up onto her feet, wobbly at first but smug as ever. She brushed some of the dirt from her gossamer dress. Sunlight shone softly behind her through the summer green canopies, haloing her in white gold. From this angle, Fianen looked more savior than tormentor. The thought alone was enough to get Fray scrambling upright as well. They spat at their enemy’s feet, too, for good measure. Those pale, pinked toes sprinkled with an absurd amount of glittering mica had no business being so clean, given Fianen’s rotten nature.

While their Seelie nemesis stood bathed in sunlight, Fray found themselves beneath the shade of a gnarled old elder tree, calloused hand rested against its bark for support. And for the first time in their life, they understood why they could feel that the tree was sad.

The Old Gods be damned. Fray’s lifelong mystery was finally solved, only to be forever sullied by the likes of Fianen.

“I recognize that look in your eye, Freak,” Fianen sneered. “But you know the price of going against your betters. I dare you to try.”

As she turned to leave, her movements ever graceful, she paused long enough to add, “And to act against your own blood…loathe as I am to admit, we are family, after all. I would hate to have to put down a sibling of mine. I happen to like dogs, you know, even if they’re mongrels.”

Her laughter trailed behind her like tiny bells as she faded back into the forest. By the time Fray trusted themselves to move again, their palms were bloody from where their nails had dug into a fist around the tuft of golden hair.

The only thing holding them back from a fit of violence was the strange echo of sadness emanating from the tree. Fray tucked the hair into a pocket, vowing to use it later, and set aside their troubles temporarily to focus. They placed both hands on bark, closed their eyes, and listened.

The first things Fray sensed were memories. Only…they seemed to be those of someone who was very much not a tree. The Unseelie Fae’s brow furrowed in confusion. More memories. Ones of daring and adventure. A mortal, of great wealth and ambition, set out to summon something beyond their understanding. Success at first, then terror, and then finally madness.

Fray sucked in a breath of warm, Summer air, stumbling away from the tree. They looked around in growing horror. An entire grove of elders blooming with fragrant white bouquets. Just sitting there in the middle of the forest, with no rhyme or reason for being there.

It dawned on them why Fianen had chosen here, of all places, to meet.

Fray looked around in a wild panic, heart battering against their chest rabbit-quick. If they touched every tree in this grove—and there must have been hundreds at the very least—would they find their parents? Or was this just another sick joke Fianen was playing? And even if they did…

…would it even matter, if they couldn’t be turned back?

A deep, guttural scream ripped free from Fray’s chest. They wept as their stomach filled with vile, potent hatred, and in a moment of near insanity dropped to the ground on all fours. They dug their fingers through soil, clawing their way into the earth, until they could grab at the terrified tree’s roots.

Show me how to summon him, Fray demanded. And under fear of pain from having its lifelines ripped away, the tree obliged.

Through wild tears of rage, they spoke those fateful words:

“Relorath, Lord of Madness, Bringer of Chaos and Insanity. I summon thee to my aid, for I have a fool’s deal to make.”

 

[Relorath]

Upon the dias in the center of the room, Relorath lounged, feeling somewhat bored, his life as of late lacking flare. Mortals had been slow to summon him recently. Perhaps word was spreading amongst them of his last activities a bit too quick. He had been last summoned by revelers to join a great feast that had been occurring in a distant city. The boy who had summoned him had not petitioned him to perform some act or smite his enemies, he had simply said that he wanted some of the greatest wine he had ever tasted. His request had been so interesting, Relorath had obliged him risk free, which was rare.

The feast had continued for four straight days, descending into greater and greater mania under Relorath’s influence, who had of course stayed as a guest. The mere presence of the Fury of Madness typically had that effect on mortals. A party was no place to hold back, and he had not suppressed his aura as he usually did when dealing with mortals. Many of them had descended into prolonged fits of madness and taken weeks to recover their faculties, but it had been an exceptional party. Relorath was eager to do it again sometime. Perhaps he’d find that mortal and convince him to make a pact.

Now, unfortunately, Relorath was becoming bored again as he sat in his estate, swishing wine around in a golden goblet. It was good wine; it was always good wine. Wine grapes simply thrived wherever he went. It stood to reason that the place he spent most of his time had the best wine. Outside in the courtyard, the eternal party of Cincerth raged onward, as mortals from across time existed in a state of suspended time, drinking and laughing mindlessly as ages passed and empires rose and fell. Time did not exist in Cincerth, the now freed minds of those inhabiting having no need to keep track of its flow, and many had lives prolonged into the thousands of years.

Nearly deciding to go out and wander the mortal world again, as he did periodically, Relorath suddenly felt it. On the edge of his perception, a flash from that place, a whisper of a deal made long past. The words of his summoning were being communicated, but not as a ritual, as a memory. It was a strange sense, and he had a feeling of what would come next. Suddenly, the ley that ran through Cincerth began to radiate, a shiver of power passing down it, and an image came to his mind, of another creature, fey in nature. His interest suddenly peaked, and he tossed his wine glass across the room in a random direction, its contents spilling onto the floor as the metal clanged across the stonework. Sometimes, he became angry at spilled wine and had cursed mortals for spilling the fruit of his vineyards, but today he was not. There was no explanation as to why. That fact simply was.

The words echoed in his mind, clear as crystal, spoke in the gravelly voice. “Relorath, Lord of Madness, Bringer of Chaos and Insanity. I summon thee to my aid, for I have a fool’s deal to make.” The words radiated through his being, filling him with glee. Letting out a cackle that shook the chamber, he stretched out his hand, the marble floor beginning to glow as he accessed the power of the ley line. Leaping from the dais, Relorath’s feet never touched the floor, instead phasing through it and into the warm purple glow. In a flash, he was gone, and the light vanished. Traveling through the ley lines was near instantaneous, and he was familiar with the path he was taking. He had been here before, but it had been many centuries. He could not fully remember when it had been, but it was no matter.

As his arrival became imminent, he saw it, an elder tree that had a distant past connection to him. That would work, it was close enough to the ley line for him to manifest. A deep purple light, the color of wine grapes, began to emanate from the trunk of the tree. Those nearby would see, for a second, the sunlight around them tinged with a purple hue. The smell of wine grapes and an echo of laughter from a feast in the distant past whispering in the wind filling the grove as Relorath stepped out of the great elder tree. His yellow eyes and slit, cat like pupils took in the world around him, a large grove of trees of various ages, the smell of blood, and a mind pushed to the edge of insanity from intense grief. He stepped forward towards the fey collapsed on the ground, who was grasping at the exposed roots of the tree. A momentary flash of recognition filled his mind, Relorath could almost remember the mortal that now made up this tree’s composition, and then it was gone, his interest no longer on the tree and now focusing on the creature in front of him. The heady scent of freshly pressed grapes grew more intense with every step forward towards Fray.

Keeping a casual pace, he stopped directly in front of the kneeling fey. Relorath’s tone was pleasant, though it was obvious he was incomprehensibly impossible to read or predict, as if he was chaos incarnate, and his next action might have no other rhyme or reason than a simple decision to perform it. “Greetings, I am Relorath, Lord of Madness”, his somber tone suddenly taking on a lilt of gaiety with little warning, “and purveyor of fine wine and the most fantastic parties you will ever experience.” He twirled his staff, which looked more like a cane with an orb on the end, and spun around, letting out a short laugh. In what most would consider the most jarring and unsettling way possible, the gaiety left Relorath’s demeanor in an instant, eyes going from warm to completely cold. The Fury squatted down, meeting Frey’s gaze with his own. Relorath's tone had also changed, the mirth replaced by a quiet melancholy. “What is your name, and what is it you would request of me?”

 

[Fray]

Fray panted for air, body hunched over turned up soil as their tears watered the earth, disappearing as quickly as they fell. Every muscle on their body was tensed. They wanted—no, needed to hurt. To maim. To destroy. Their sharp fingers clutched at dirt with all the futility of a helpless baby.

So frustrating. So damnably infuriating! Every time they pictured that look of arrogant triumph, they wanted to maul Fianen’s perfect face to shreds. But the other Fae had already strategically vanished, leaving Fray to wallow alone.

Well, not entirely alone. Fray looked up in misery at all of the elderflowers blooming around them. Picturesque by any other standard, now turned to nightmare fodder. Certainly, they could have let loose right then and there. Unleashed the rampage of fury inside of them and smashed whatever was in their way. But the only possible targets for their wrath were the victims of a pact gone wrong. Hurting them would have only served to make Fray feel a thousand times worse.

They bent their head again, this time in shame. What were they thinking, summoning the likes of chaos incarnate? Fray had certainly heard their fair share of stories revolving around the Prince of Dementia. Sometimes his antics were funny, hysterical even. Other times, downright terrifying. But now, having spoken those borrowed words, and even though they still wanted to cut up Fianen’s dainty toes and force feed them back into her foul little mouth, Fray found themselves hoping that the summons had failed. Perhaps the Lord of Madness was busy today. Plenty of other, far more interesting deals to make, one could hope. Maybe even, for once, Fray could not be graced with the shittiest luck in all of feydom.

Then the tree trunk started to grow a strange shade of purple, and Fray knew that they were fucked.

For a moment, it didn’t seem all too terrible. The tint of purple made the summer sun less harsh against their eyes, and the accompanying scent of wine was a welcome change from Fianen’s insufferably candied perfumes. Tinkling laughter echoed around them from nowhere and everywhere. Fray shivered, the thought of ghosts floating acutely in their mind.

Not long after came the Duanann himself. Fray heard more than saw his footsteps, too paralyzed with fear to look up and measure his approach. They didn’t need to see to know the danger he posed.

The closer he came, the more potent the smell of grapes grew. It wasn’t until Relorath spoke that Fray finally worked up the nerve to meet his feline gaze, and when they did they knew this was going to be the last day they spent in the fey realms.

Because they were either going to get themselves killed, or they were about to do something unforgivably awful.

Relorath cut a tall, imposing figure, noble from head to toe. His clothes were fine, his manners finer still. And yet, there was an unsettling quality about him. All the high ranking court members were like this to some degree, but the air of discord surrounding him was entirely new to Fray. He laughed merrily one moment, spinning around his ornate staff as if thoroughly amused. And then the next, he was stone cold sober, voice taking on an air of gloom that left Fray reeling with whiplash. Most disturbingly of all, even though his tone remained somber, something swam behind those amber eyes. His Unseelie inferior got the distinct impression of anticipation. Of a cat, nudging a delicate object towards the edge of a table. Of quiet before a storm. That precarious stillness, balancing on the precipice of pandemonium, right before all hell broke loose.

Well, good thing Fray was here to help push.

“My name is Fray,” they answered simply, with neither flattery nor guile. It was hard to think of the right things to say while maintaining eye contact with the Fury of Madness himself, but they pushed doggedly on, their desire for vengeance burning a hole through the pit of their stomach.

“I request of you power, Lord Relorath, but not for me. Recently, I have been unmade by truth at the hands of Summer’s own. She has torn my reality asunder and now I cannot tell up from down, right from wrong.”

Fray took a breath, steeling their resolve. A faint sheen of sweat lined their brow and their arms were beginning to shake, but their gaze held with a wild, stubborn will.

“I don’t care what happens to me. But I want her to know, want them all to know, what it’s like when the truth has been turned against you. I wish for all their pets and slaves—those who’ve been tricked, stolen, and seduced into a world not their own—to be given revelation. To wake up in horror, and be granted the power to do whatever they please after the fact.”

With a shaky exhale, Fray leaned back and extracted the tuft of golden hair from their pocket. They offered it to Relorath, for what they had no idea. But it was all they had, aside from the terrible pain eating away at their sanity, and it felt wrong to offer nothing.

“It starts with her,” they rasped, face streaked with tears and terrible conviction shining in their snakelike eyes. “But where it ends…the madder the better, I say.”

 

[Relorath]

Relorath regarded the fae coldly as he kneeled, listening to his request in complete silence. Not a single muscle moved, eyes remained unblinking, still as a stone. One might’ve even questioned if he had simply died or fell asleep on the spot. It was a peculiar thing, then, when as Fray finished speaking, Relorath stood back up with blinding speed, his somber and melancholic gaze replaced instantly, almost as if taking on an entirely different face, with mirth and glee.

Raising a hand into a beam of sunlight, Relorath made a claw shape as if holding a wine glass from the bottom. The light seemed to bend around his hand and a long-necked glass appeared, seeming as if it was made of light. Deep purple wine filled the glass, as if out of thin air. It was a neat trick, a simple spell he had learned from another solar fae and it never failed to impress. The wine he summoned from his own wineries, which always had a bountiful supply. He took a sip, the fine taste tickling his palate.

“When you first began to speak, I thought this was going to be another boring request for me to go deal with all of your problems. That’s no fun, you understand. I’m not simply a butler who flounders about whimsically solving every eensy weensy little problem every king or other similarly ranked ruler finds himself challenged by.” He held up his hand and made a small gap with a finger and a thumb to emphasize small.
“I was initially feeling a bit of irritation.”

He held up his other hand, summoning forth another glass of wine and setting it on the ground in front of Fray. “But then…” his mirth suddenly shifted into undisguised mania, his tone raised to an unhinged shout, “you had to go and make it interesting. Oh, so very interesting. Interesting enough to pique the interest of one such as me.” Relorath drained his glass and threw it against the same tree he had emerged from, the material shattering into a thousand shards and disappearing, fading back into the light it had came from.

His face shifted again, suddenly returning passive, even, and relaxed. Relorath began to speak at a normal volume, seeming to return to lucidity, at least for now. “Very well, I understand. I was considering cursing you, I had a good one, too. I was going to make you eat a blade of grass every time a grasshopper jumped in your field of vision, but you’ve presented me something I cannot pass up. A chance to spread my gifts in that”, his demeanor shifted blindingly fast to open rage, voice raising to a shout that thundered across the grove, “arrogant, obnoxious, revolting court full of the most repulsive fae to exist in all of the world. Even the Night Court is better than those wretches.”

The sky, which had darkened slightly when he began to shout, cleared as he regained lucidity again. “The summer court isn’t very popular among us at the Dawn Court, as you know or maybe you don’t know. After all, who am I to know what you know or don’t know. But anyway, some take offense with them for taking slaves, some take offense with their behavior, but as for me, I take offense, simply because, the queen is a bitch. Thus, I have decided, as the chief authority on madness, that I will accept your request. Spreading madness among slaves and servants, them turning on their masters. It all sounds like a valuable use of my time. Once madness consumes them, I will give them the power you have asked for. This is even such an interesting request, I could grant you power to enact revenge. I can feel it, the grief coursing through you, your grip on sanity beginning to fade. You are drawing closer, perhaps we will live together in joyous madness someday. ” Relorath spread his arms magnanimously, a smile that could be referred to as beautiful painting his face.

As if he just had a startling thought, Relorath snapped his fingers and swung his right arm outwards across his chest. He leaned down, his face taking on a questioning look and his voice lowering to a whisper, leaning in close to Fray. “I find myself missing a vital piece of information, however. Who is she that you are referring to?

 

[Fray]

Fray nearly shat themselves when the Duanann moved without warning. They fell back, bottom hitting grassy earth and arms thrown up in a futile attempt at self preservation.

Not that it mattered, in the end. Evidently, Relorath’s first move wasn’t going to be the twisted irony of turning them into yet another tree, as they had initially feared. He was lightning quick and unpredictable, but otherwise, to Fray’s utter shock, strangely amenable, his once solemn expression now glowing maniacally.

I think I really might be losing my mind, Fray wondered as they watched Relorath summon a glass of wine out of thin air. He did so with about as much difficulty as breathing, or thinking. Everything he said and did felt like a fever dream, throwing his summoner completely off kilter.

And yet, Fray found an impossible seed of hope taking root in their chest. Maybe they had been worn thin enough by Fianen to simply go along with the chaos. Or, maybe Relorath was as problematic of an influence as his reputation suggested. Regardless, when he conjured another magical glass of wine and set it before them, Fray spared the barest twinge of doubt before grabbing it by the neck and throwing back all of its grapey contents.

Blinking, Fray grew completely still for a moment. Shit. That was really, really good.

Before they could comment on the quality vintage, however, Relorath’s voice rose to its most deranged volume yet. They nearly dropped the damned glass from being so startled. They were still bouncing it around clumsily in their hands when the Dawn Fae suddenly threw his own glass against the tree, shattering it with zero remorse. Following his lead, Fray gave up any semblance of grace and launched the empty glass over their shoulder.

By the time Relorath simmered down to a more mellow state, Fray thought they were kind of maybe starting to get used to the volatility. Then he started describing in detail their missed opportunity as a grass eater, and they decided it was better to quit while they were ahead. It couldn’t be a good thing to grow accustomed to madness. They could live with being startled now and then.

So it was that when the Fury of Madness exploded in rage, Fray scooted back a few inches with no shame whatsoever. It was unnerving seeing someone hate the Summer Court just as much as them, if not more, and for similar enough reasons.

Because he was right. Titania was a massive bitch.

How many times had Fianen gone unpunished, not even a genuine look of disapproval on her queen’s ageless face? How many memories did they have of being sneered at by the entire court, as if their very presence tarnished the summer air? And now, those memories fell under an even harsher light. Turned out Fray did belong after all. The Seelie just couldn’t stand the thought of it, so they let Fray burn instead.

Well the whole lot of them could be thrown in a cage at the bottom of some nameless sea and rot for all Fray cared now.

It was tempting to accept power from the likes of Relorath, though they sorely doubted they’d survive long enough to find out what living together in joyous madness even meant. Unfortunately, Fray had precious few seconds to consider this before Relorath leaned in conspiratorially with a question. It took every ounce of self discipline not to flinch away.

Remembering, Fray looked down at the golden hair still grasped in their hand. They held it up higher for Relorath to see, the warm buzz of fine wine sitting comfortably in their belly.

“She is Fianen,” they answered, unable to mask their scorn. “The bane of my existence since I was born. She hated me the moment she met me, and it wasn’t until today that I learned why.”

The wine seemed to loosen their usual reservations, and before they knew it the truth was spilling out from them, a torrent of memory and hate and revelation. “She tortured me every chance she could when we were children. Yet she never faced any consequences. I used to think it was because she was Titania’s favorite niece, and for that alone I hated the Summer queen. But now, I know it’s because we share blood, and that all of Summer Court allowed—enjoyed, even—her cruelty because they despised me. They were repulsed by just the idea of me. So they let Fianen do to me what they would never deign to do themselves. Spineless, craven bastards. They let one of their own be cursed for the crime of loving Autumn and decided that wasn’t punishment enough, so they decided they’d punish their child, too.”

Fray let the hair slip from their fingers, a cascade of spidery gold drifting to the forest floor. They stood, slow and sure, and something terrible burned in their eyes.

“But I am not a child anymore. She hits, and now I can hit back. Whatever I must do, wherever I must go, I will not hesitate. You need only say the word, Lord Relorath.”

They could feel that spark of mania grow, and they welcomed it.

“I will give anything to make her scream.”

 

[Relorath]

Standing back up and walked towards the tree, Relorath placed a hand on it. “Anything? Anything is quite a lot, but anything is the quickest route to achieving your objective. That’s a word I hear quite a bit from those I deign to pay visits to.” Turning back to Fray, his voice took on a rare calm, a moment of lucidity amongst the storm of his mind, and his cat-like eyes narrowed to slits.

“I am very old, dear fae, and I have spent centuries on this mortal plane. Your request, I can grant. We Furies are unique, as the highest-ranking members of the Dawn Court. Any one of us is old and powerful enough to vie for the throne. The reason we don’t is, we don’t want it. We pity the one who must sit on that dusty old chair and be chained down by its rules and traditions.”

His face changed again; the unmistakable smile tinged with insanity. “Someone even suggested I challenge the King once, someone obviously even more insane than I, and I laughed in his face.” He danced around the tree, coming to stand back in front of Fray once again. Relorath pivoted from topic to topic at a breakneck pace, never remaining on one subject too long and usually circling back around to it later. The smell of wine grapes always became more intense when he would enter a fit of mania or rage and would dissipate slightly when he would fade back to lucidity. “I do pity your circumstances and my hatred of Summer is well known. I do not believe I have ever met Fianen, we should certainly change that.”

Reaching down and picking up one of the hairs, he examined it carefully. It was obvious that it was from a very beautiful fae. Without warning, fire flared up around his fingers, consuming the hair and instantly burning it to ash. His face took on harsh lines, the mirth vanishing once again in a moment, the heat from the sudden burst of flame still sitting in the air. “Now, my dear fae friend, while I do know where the Summer Court is, I think charging in and killing the queen is quite a tall order, even for me, as I am no god, but we certainly can pay a visit to this Fianen and her retinue and bring them into my camp. The average Duanann should pose little obstacle for granting your request.”

He bent down and extended a hand to Frey, the harshness of his face taking on a sinister light. “Come, lead on, take me to where this Fianen or perhaps a favored servant belonging to her resides and I shall see how we can liberate them from a life of dull order, and do tell me your name, before I forget to ask.”

 

[Fray]

Perhaps it was just their wined up imagination, but Fray swore they saw the tree shudder when Relorath placed his hand against it.

As the Dawn Duanann chattered on, careening from one topic to another before frolicking around the tree, their Unseelie spectator observed with only slightly tipsy attentiveness. If Relorath could be compared to an energetic fox, all erratic movements tinged with mania, then that left Fray as the wary snake in the grass, unsure of whether the fox was going to lead them to their next meal or simply turn them into one.

I guess there's only one way to find out.

The scent of burnt hair lingered in the air as Relorath laid out a simple enough objective. There was a feeling of surrealness as Fray imagined how it would all go. It did not feel real. Could not. And yet, it was happening regardless.

There was no ignoring the dark touch of malice on his face, nor could Fray see any way of backing out now. So, they set their sights on the horizon of Fianen's inevitable doom and focused on putting one foot in front of the other. The first step was leading Relorath closer to his victim, which would be easy enough. Though they would be loathe to admit it, Fray was fairly familiar with Fianen's comings and goings. They knew all the major places, as well as who all might be involved.

They balked only for a moment before answering a second time, "My name is Fray." Which, of course, was merely a nickname, but even drunk on fey wine and revenge as they were, they weren't foolish enough to give their true name. Maybe it was just a test, a sly attempt at seeing if they might slip up. Or maybe the Lord of Madness was so mad himself he simply forgot trivial facts like these all the time. Whatever the case, Fray figured it was the least of their worries. They were about to willingly setting foot in enemy territory and would need every shred of wits about them.

"I have a good guess as to where she might be."

Without further preamble, Fray turned and led Relorath away from the grove of elders, toward where Fianen had disappeared. The trees grew gradually more lush and dense, thick trunks rising well above their heads. It seemed so peaceful in spite of the savagery about to be at play. Clumps of lavender stuck out everywhere, swaying in the breeze so that their fragrance filled the air.

It didn't take long for signs of inhabitance to start appearing. There was an overgrowing of bright, colorful flowers, for one. For another, fluttery lengths of fabric could be found draped across various shrubs and branches. Fianen had probably decided on another wardrobe change, recklessly tossing out the old as she added the new. A fickle practice for a fickle Fae. Fianen had always been easily bored. It showed, in just about every scheme she orchestrated.

The farther they walked, the more they saw. Elegant lounge areas started to appear, complete with ornate tables low to the ground and plump cushions for seating. What looked to be mortals could also be seen dotting the scenery, working with unnatural cheer as they pruned roses and neatly folded discarded clothing.

At the center was a large clearing, complete with a pavilion made entirely of dahlias, peonies, and marigolds. Most boasted the signature peach shade that Fianen was so fond of. Sumptuous pillows, blankets, and other luxuries littered the forest floor while more servants bustled to and fro, serving some lounging Fae chilled drinks. It was quite the sight to behold, mainly because of the bold, clashing colors assaulting Fray's eyes.

Of all the usual haunts, they knew this one was Fianen's favorite. And what better place for the Summer Fae to celebrate a victory decades in the making?

From their place beneath the shade of a great, gnarled oak, Fray pointed to a shimmering head of gold. It was tipped back in raucous mirth, and there was no mistaking the sound of Fianen's wicked laughter.

"There she is," Fray muttered, giving Relorath a doleful look. "The princess of all things rotten herself."

 

[Relorath]

Relorath spun around again as Fray introduced themselves. Was it their real name? Relorath wasn’t sure, and he also didn’t particularly care. He hardly needed to know a fae’s real name to dominate them, should he so choose. He rarely, if ever, chose to perform such an act. It was much more fun to simply drive a being mad and let them perform whatever action they desired. That was what was about to happen to these summer fae. Rarely did Relorath feel malice, but he was certainly feeling it today.

As he followed Fray, Relorath took in the site of the gardens and pavilions. Seating areas arrayed in delicate order around water features, burbling fountains, and clearings full of mortals working with an unnatural cheer. Likely under some sort of glamour. That would break easily in the face of madness, as most glamours did. Relorath and Fray had stopped by a beautiful pond filled with delicate lily pads, another lesser summer fae seated away from them as mortals toiled away around her, likely one of Fianen’s closer confidants. The fae was seated some distance away under a gazebo that sat on a small island in the center of the pond. Mortals provided various service for her as she sipped from a goblet.

He stopped and picked up a discarded garment nearby. Relorath rubbed the garment on his face, smelling its delicate flowery scent. His face twisted into a look of pure disgust. “What a revolting scent”, he shouted suddenly and the garment erupted into flames in his grip, the mortals nearby cowering in terror. Noticing them, he stooped down and placed a hand under a young man’s chin in an almost loving manner. The human was what you could consider pretty with light blonde hair and blue eyes, his skin flawless and pale, and he appeared to be about sixteen. The Summer Court liked to collect things they considered pleasing to the eye. Relorath brought the boy’s tear-streaked face up and leaned in close. “My my, I apologize, I didn’t mean to scare you”, Relorath crooned in a soothing tone. “Allow me to release you from this mortal coil and invite you into a world of freedom.” The intense scent of wine grapes filled the air as Relorath blew on the young man’s face, a thick purple substance coming out of his mouth.

The young man breathed it in, having no real option to avoid it, and coughed. “What…what is thi…”, he exclaimed in a delicate and light voice. Suddenly, he fell silent and stood, his eyes suddenly widened, and a full, toothy smile came across his face. The boy’s pupils dilated and a slight purple hue filled the whites of his eyes. His mouth opened, and he began to laugh, loudly and manically. “Oh, I see now, I see it all Lord Relorath. You’ve freed me from the influence of that bitch.” The other mortal slaves around him gasped, rushing over to try to subdue him as he began to tear flowering vines off of a nearby lattice. “All of this is too rigid, there’s no freedom here. Don’t you see, fellows, we can be free now to be who we are meant to be.”

His strength seemed to have dramatically increased as he threw off those who assailed him. Grabbing one of his colleagues by the throat, the young man kissed him deeply, the kiss holding for a full thirty seconds before releasing him. For a moment, the other young man stood motionless, before his face reacted similarly and he began to laugh, as well. It took only a minute or two for the mortals to all have traded passionate kisses, and they began to tear the garden down, stomping flowers and pulling down structures. Relorath put a hand on his chin, tilting his head in thought. ”Huh, I haven’t seen people spread it via kiss before. Very interesting.” By this point, the fae sitting in the center of the pond had noticed the commotion, shouting at the mortals, and attempted to order them to cease.

Suddenly, with the unnatural and jarring manner which fae moved, her head whipped around and focused on them. She lifted off the ground and floated towards them, coming to float several feet above them, giving herself away as an air fae. “Who do you think you are? Intruding upon the grove of Lady Fianen like this. Do you know who she is?”

Relorath hefted his staff, stepping forward and looking up at the floating fae. The fact that she was looking down on him didn’t bother him in the slightest, as the Dawn Court had absolutely no interest in ceremony or custom. He bowed comically and introduced himself. “A fine morning to you, fair fae. I am but a humble visitor from the Dawn here to spread cheer and goodwill amongst the queen’s closest subjects.”

The fae narrowed her eyes and raised a hand, conjuring a ball of water into the palm. “Dawn Court? How dare you intrude upon this place with your boorish…” She paused, floating down a few feet and scrutinizing Relorath’s face closely. A cold spike of recognition colored her features. “You…you can’t be here, you rarely visit other courts unless summoned. Who could have…” Her gaze flicked to Fray. “What have you done?”, she shouted with visceral terror as vines whipped out of the ground, seemingly out of nowhere and wrapped around her at blinding speed. With a startled yelp, she was unceremoniously yanked downward and placed in front of Relorath.

Smiling and bowing once again, he walked up in front of her. “I grow tired of shouting up at you like you’re some kind of guard on a tower. What do they call you?” The fae said nothing, glaring at him, her face twisted in hatred. Shrugging, Relorath closed the distance between them, the vines forcing one of her delicate arms to extend. Gripping her arm with one hand, Relorath traced a fingernail down her forearm. She struggled in vain, hurtling insults the entire time. As if he suddenly became aware of what he was doing, he released her and stepped back, spinning around four times, and doing ten jumping jacks. “Very well, I don’t need your name. You can tell me when you join me later.”

The smell of wine grapes became overwhelming, filling the clearing as Relorath skipped back up to her, his smile twisting into pure malice, he leaned in. “You disgusting wench, you don’t deserve the gift I am about to give you, but I am giving it to you anyway.” He placed the orb on the end of his staff under her chin and it began to glow a dark purple, the color of wine grapes. The female fae ceased to struggle and curse, a tear running down her face as her eyes took on a purple hue. The vines quickly released their grip as if instructed by some unseen force, and she fell to the ground on her hands and knees. “My new friend Fray seems like they would enjoy some music, why don’t you take a few of these mortals and play us a tune as we continue on.”

Her face twisted into a manic smile as peals of laughter erupted from her. “Why yes, Lord Relorath, I think that is a great idea.” It took her and a few of the mortals several seconds to pick up instruments from under the pavilion. Those who had previously played peaceful and relaxing music for summer fae now played discordant and jolting notes, composing a tune that echoed the madness in their minds. They continued as Relorath turned, the destruction of the garden continuing by those not playing under the manic influence of the music.

Relorath turned to Fray and motioned on, and they continued onward. As they walked, Relorath gave Fray some form of explanation. “Normally I prefer to approach things more subtly but rather than trick them, I decided to make an exception for them and use what I call the catalyst of madness, which is that purple substance I can blow out of my mouth. I never know how it’s going to affect who I use it on. In that instance, the mortals spread it amongst each other with passionate kisses. Eventually, it’ll wear off. It could be hours, months, or years. I cannot say.” His face shifted from jovial to one of fury. “Those musicians and that fae will continue to play until their fingers no longer work and the music they produce will keep those mortal slaves on a path of destruction which will continue until someone else finds them and stops them.” His face shifted and a look of grim satisfaction replaced the good natured mirth. “They may recover their faculties, but they’ll never be the same. Madness will always be snapping at their heels no matter where they go. Even if life returns to some normalcy, they will still always feel the pull of my realm for the rest of their days.”

They carried on in silence, finally arriving at the clearing where Fianen was drinking and socializing. Relorath turned to Fray and gave them a look composed of conspiratorial good humor and leaned in to whisper in their ear. “Our little party is some distance away continuing their joyous destructive revelry and I am suddenly in the mood to have a bite to eat. What do you say we visit her for a spot of afternoon tea, and when the mood strikes me, I will perhaps drive everyone to kill each other, or I will cause a wild party to break out or I will cause mental anguish and suffering and forgetfulness. I really do not know how my power will choose to manifest itself. What do you say?”

 

[Fray]

Fray did their best to quiet the jangle of nerves roiling about in their belly. The Lord of Madness, despite having only exercised a modicum of power, was beginning to live up to his name. There was no point where Fray could predict what would happen next, and at each turn things grew more and more chaotic. A part of them knew that they were being carried further along this current of lunacy, unable to leave or control its course, and it gave them pause. But then Fray would remember the horror of Fianen’s confession and that little wriggle of sanity would cease its protest.

The Unseelie watched as Lord Relorath began to make good on his word, waking the first of many mortals to come. A young man, freshly freed, began causing a ruckus as his awakening quickly turned into mania.

Fray’s face twisted into mild abhorrence as he forced a deep, prolonged kiss on another mortal. For a moment, they were worried that Relorath’s influence would lead to some kind of massive, Summer orgy that Fray truly had neither stomach nor will to witness. Thankfully, it seemed to merely serve as a way to infect more people with supernatural hysteria. Fray might have felt guilty, had they not already resigned themselves to the absolute shit storm headed their way. They would have their revenge, consequences be damned. Fray be damned.

Their face hardened back into neutrality and their broad shoulders squared for all that was about to inevitably come.

There was a flurry of movement, and suddenly Fray’s baleful gaze came to rest on one of Summer’s own. They recognized this particular lap dog of Fianen’s, though the name escaped them. It was undoubtedly something inane. Daily, Cornflower, something of that ilk.

The haughty Fae floated above them, insufferable as Summer could ever be, and Fray could not help but snarl. They watched with increasing satisfaction as Relorath cheerfully, diabolically submitted the fae to his will, until there was nothing left but tear stained compliance. A terrible, jarring music was struck up upon Relorath’s orders while the rest of Fianen’s artfully arranged garden was torn asunder.

A decent start, Fray thought to themselves. Their heart felt frozen, impaled through and through with icy spikes of hate. It infused their blood with the burn of cold, unchecked malice. Suffer, you inbred bastards. Suffer and bleed, as I have, as I will for the rest of my days.

Fray half heard Relorath’s ramblings. Something about catalysts and purple stuff coming out of his mouth. They made a mental note to remain perfectly kiss-free for the rest of this misadventure, as they had no desire to find out what it was like to be directly under the influence of purple breath.

“Good,” was their venomous response to Lord Relorath’s explanation of their fates. Fray could only hope that whatever he had in store for Fianen would leave her similarly crippled. Ideally worse. Much, much worse.

By the time they came upon Fianen’s core group, Fray had nearly forgotten about purple breath. Then Relorath leaned in for a conspiratorial whisper and they remembered so belatedly that they almost jumped out of their own skin halfway through his question. With an ironclad will, the Unseelie fae schooled themselves back into stillness.

They tried their best not to breathe in too much as they answered, “Why, Lord Relorath, I say I’m suddenly feeling quite thirsty myself.” Then they turned to meet the Duanann’s unsettling gaze, the glint of rage in their snake-like eyes growing ever wilder. “However it manifests, I only hope it will not be quick.”

May her suffering be as eternal and damning as my own, Fray added in their own mind. I will make it so, or die trying.

And with that thought lingering in their head, Fray slowly emerged from the shadows. They cleared their throat, grabbing the attention of Fianen’s coquettish coterie, and made the most ridiculous flourish of a bow they could muster.

“Announcing the arrival of Dawn, his most esteemed Lordship Relorath, Prince of Chaos, Master of Mania, the Bringer of Madness himself.”

Fray didn’t even know if half of these titles were real, focusing only on being as ridiculous as possible. It was a total mockery of Summer protocol.

Which, of course, they reveled in with spite ridden glee.

The look of pure outrage on Fianen's face was worth plowing through all of that flowering nonsense. But, unluckily for the Summer lady and her posse, it was merely the beginning of their penitence.