Before "Human heritage" (The ancient conflict between the dark side & the light side of the Force)

Discussion in 'Fan Fiction- Before, Saga, and Beyond' started by AzureAngel2, Sep 6, 2013.

Moderators: Briannakin, mavjade
  1. AzureAngel2 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Jun 14, 2005
    star 6
    @earlybird-obi-wan: To more what? *is curious here ;)



    @Hazel: Let us see where we head to! :D


    @SWpants: Your anger with Lucien is actually rather charming. It reminds me of myself, when I watch a TV series that I like or a movie. [:D]


    Okay, folks, I was off-line because I was buzzy with the SW puzzle that @Cem_Fel/ @Shawnkyr gave me as a present a couple of weeks ago.

    I also made some new SW felt dolls and shared them with Steve Sansweet via PM on facebook. He loved them!

    [IMG]

    The Chewie and the half-finished Wampa need to go soon because @DarthUncle is allergic against the fabric.

    [IMG]

    Okay, here my update:



    Chapter 16: A whole new world

    Shortly after the Feast of Mabon I have gathered enough courage to visit Agathos. My men encourage me to leave the build site for a while. I pack in a chessboard and a tin box with cinnamon cookies. Lacking a horse or other means of transportation, I walk.

    The weather is nice and sunny. So I decide to unveil myself and let the sunshine stroke over my face. I enjoy the bright colouring of the autumn leaves, asking myself what Grianán would make of it. She has such an eye for colour use when she paints.

    Suddenly, the leaves rustle loudly. And there is the crackle of branches.

    I get myself into combat position.

    Right in front of me a snow-white hind breaks out of the undergrowth. She is in great panic, running for her life. Like a draft of wind she passes by.

    Somewhere between the trees I hear a muffled howl. It is not the sound of frustration or blind anger. Somebody is in extreme pain.

    I follow the lament back to its source. More than once my cloak gets stuck in the branches of little bushes. I promise myself to wear more sturdy clothing in this environment from now on.

    My patient is in deep agony and barely conscious. The spreading bailer of blood around him speaks a clear language. Mountain farmers can be exceptionally dim witted when it is about hunting. Normally, an offset leg hold trap is used for catching bears and not wolves. Filled by the thrill of the chase Commander Cú Síth must have been blind to the danger in his path.

    “Keep still,” I sooth him. “The more you struggle against that vicious trap, the more harm you will do to your leg. I suppose you want to keep it.”

    Commander Cú Síth snarls, but there is no real threat behind it. His body already shifts into a more submitting posture. He crouches in front of me, his rump curling down.

    “A warrior always must help out a comrade in distress,” I state in a soothing voice.

    With one swift movement I tear the blood smeared trap open. Then I get out his left front leg carefully. The tightly closed jaws have bitten deep into the flesh and even punctured the bones.

    While my healing powers flow into his wound and close it nicely, Commander Cú Síth remains lying in front of me. He does not move a single inch. Nor does he complain.

    When the treatment is finished, I take off my cloak and also my bloomers. Under my wide desert robes nobody can tell that I just run around in my under pants. Grinning, I fold them neatly together and place them in front of my patient.

    “Help yourself!”

    To stay and witness his transformation would be impolite. Therefore I get my cookie tin out of my satchel and place it on a tree trunk. I put the thermos bottle with jasmine tea next to it. “Visit me whenever you are up to it,” I tell the werewolf. “You know where to find me.”

    ********************************************************************

    When I enter the royal library of Dún Barr in the late afternoon, there is not a single word of greeting from Agathos. He remains sitting in his arm chair. His eyes are cast towards the chimney fire. I get no telepathical readings from him.

    Frustrated, I sit down in the arm chair next to him, but there is still no reaction. He gives nothing away whatsoever.

    We both stare into the fire together until a thin voice comes from the edge of the library, startling us both by saying, Baba?”

    Agathos hides his face behind both hands. “Caelestris, you were supposed to be in bed.”

    “How can I stay in bed when I know that you are here, hurting? Hurting yourself and hurting your friend, baba. The Vicomte is really very sorry. Can't you tell?”

    The anxious Tjiehennet princess walks towards us. Fear drained all the blood from her exquisite face. She is about nine, perhaps ten years old. Her hair is ash-blond, the eyes are mint-green. She wears a cotton nightgown and is bare footed. Once she has reached her father, she flings her arms around his waist.

    ““Everybody hurts, even somebody as clever as you, baba. But you should make peace with the Vicomte,” she says and gives me a considerate glance. “Look at his dirty clothing. He came a long way to see you and it was not easy.”

    Puzzled, I glance at Caelestris. Her maturity surprises me. But then again, she had a mother who was a notorious Force witch. And, of course, her father is an intellectual book worm and a philanthropist.

    “I had better bring you back to bed,” mumbles Agathos into his beard. “It is past your bedtime.”

    A small, white hand shoots forwards and wraps around my left wrist. “Lidérc have many story tellers among them. I can sense that he is one.”

    ********************************************************************

    Once Caelestris is tucked in bed and sound asleep, we leave her room on tiptoes. I feel oddly relieved after one hour of fairy tale telling.

    In the royal library Narthex already awaits us. “Of course His Lordship will have dinner now and an amicable drink around midnight,” he states.

    I realize immediately that these are no mere words, but explicit orders.

    After dinner I find out that I am to sleep in the West tower, the family part of the castle. My protests are ignored.

    In the grey hours of dawn I awake groggily. Tears have run down my face in rivulets and splashed on my naked chest. I have fought my bed linen like some mortal enemy, shedding it into pieces. At least my pants are dry. I hate nightmares that make me lose control over my bladder.

    On a chair next to the canopy bed Udaler fresh clothing is waiting for me.

    Not before a common breakfast with a smiley Caelestris I can take my leave. At the castle bridge Agathos pushes a sturdy donkey on me and a cart, overloaded with supplies from the castle kitchen.

    ********************************************************************

    (To be continued!)
    Last edited by AzureAngel2, Aug 18, 2014
    DarthUncle likes this.
  2. Lady_Misty Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Mar 21, 2007
    star 4
    Well it looks like he's getting back into the thick of things.
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  3. SWpants Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Oct 28, 2004
    star 4
    “A warrior always must help out a comrade in distress,” I state in a soothing voice.

    That’s true. But it’s weird that he thinks of someone else as his comrade.


    Seriously, what’s with him and cookies? Is that a European thing? Here we don’t make cookies just cause someone is coming over, or offer cookies and tea as they first come in (though if it’s like ASOIAF, and I know some cultures are, offering a guest food first thing is needed so that they know they are safe within the home).


    “How can I stay in bed when I know that you are here, hurting? Hurting yourself and hurting your friend, baba. The Vicomte is really very sorry. Can't you tell?”

    Some things can’t be fixed with true sorrow, kid. Sorry to burst your naïve bubble.


    As Misty said - he'll be getting back into action soon enough.
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  4. earlybird-obi-wan Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 21, 2006
    star 6
    He is using good things here, helping a friend
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  5. Nyota's Heart Combos & Paragraphs Host

    Game Host
    Member Since:
    Aug 31, 2004
    star 6
    Nice that he helped Cu Sith. :) Ah, for the interventionof Caelestris. :) Mending fences between friends. @};- And Narthex with his astute self ;) ... He is very persuasive also.

    [:D]
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  6. AzureAngel2 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Jun 14, 2005
    star 6
    Many greetings from my parents´ home. I kept my mom company the past days because my father is gone for a bike tour with his childhood friends. Tomorrow I head back home because on Monday the new kindergarten year starts. Which also means that my holidays will be over then.

    Because tomorrow will be hectic and Monday as well, I update today, trying to think of more text for my other current fanfic.


    @Lady_Misty: First I thought you meant my husband, then I realised you spoke of Lucien. 8-}



    @SWpants: I love cookies and so do many of my German friends. We all do bake. @MsLanna, does Wookie cookies for example. And do NOT even ask me about my Czech sister-in-law who bakes like a crazy woman.



    @earlybird-obi-wan: Lucien CAN be good. But he can also fail completely at a task ahead.



    @Nyota's Heart: Let us check what the boys are up to, shall we?



    ********************************************************************

    Around midwinter, the work on my dwelling is finished. When all the washing up and cleaning from the house-warming is done my guests fly off. Éibhear and I wave them good-bye.

    “Can I walk you over to Draíocht now?” I suggest.

    My foster-son pulls his woollen cap straight. “Don't. Maman believes you to wander around in the wilderness, seeking epiphany.”

    “What?” I enquire uncertain.

    “Enlightenment.” He stares ahead, a quirky grin splitting his face. “There is somebody who would like to help you out with that quest. But beware farfar drinks like a fish.”

    “Grandfather?” I echo surprised and turn towards the house.

    Commander Cú Síth sits on the lowest entrance step, the open tin in his hairy hand. He wears shabby looking clothing. My travel cloak hangs over his right arm. So do my bloomers. Judging from their state he has given them a decent washing.

    “Fàilte,” I beam. Welcome.

    The werewolf looks flustered. “I wonder if you have more of those cookies, Vicomte.”

    ********************************************************************

    After an extended lunch my guest of honour asks for a harp. His rough voice is well suited to war songs and unhappy ballades. One was written by a poet named Dòmhnall Ian MacDòmhall. It is called the 'White Swan'. Enderv taught it to me once.

    “Mhol thu'n eala bhàn gu ciatach
    Ann am briathran brèagha bàidheil,
    Dh'inn's thu dhuinn mu 'liuthad deuchainn
    Tron deach thu ri beulaibh nàmhaid
    Mhol thu 'n tìr a dh'àraich òg thu.”

    My mind shies away from the memory of my childhood friend and I try to concentrate on the song again.

    You praised the White Swan with elegance
    In splendid, loving words,
    You told us of how many trials
    You survived in going against the foe:
    You praised the land that reared you young.

    I purse my lips, thinking of Sionnach who used to sing such ballads, too. At times I feel like a complete ass for shunning her from my life. But she would not like me sitting here together with her biological grandfather, whom she believes to be a madman and a monster.

    Commander Síth looks up from the harp, his large eyes calculating in his haggard face. “I can stop if you want me to.”

    “No.” I shake my head, trying to clear my mind. “Please continue. Music was my first love and I fear it will be my last.

    “The whelp mentioned that you are a decent violin player,” Commander Cú Síth grins.

    “What else did Èibhear tell you?” I smirk.

    “Enough to know that you need jolly good company this winter. Now stop talking and get your violin case.”

    The instrument that Enderv gave to me in my youth has been silent for too long. My fingers remember how to hold it though. After the first hesitant strokes it all snaps back into place.

    *******************************************************************

    It is the Feast of Imbolc. Outside the world is wrapped in darkness and silence. The snow outside is eighteen inches high. I have a good excuse to stay inside with good food, hot drinks and friendly company.

    Taran has been a guest at my place for about nine week's time and he might be grounded here for longer. Last night a heavy winter blizzard buried the lodge in two meters of snow. Luckily we are well stoked. Half of the kitchen supplies of Dún Barr seem to crowd my pantry. Agathos and Narthex flew by twice to stock them up.

    Fire shadows dance on the werewolf's loose hair. He has retreated in front of the fire place, holding on to his chalice. His crouched form reminds me more of a dog than an Elfin lord. But he is at ease with himself and the universe. I am not.

    “My life, at its best, is misery,” I blur out.

    It took me two shared bottles of Elderberry wine to say that aloud and to another living soul.

    Taran laughs. “Luçien, pardon me for saying so, but you are such a drama king.”

    “Oh really?” I snort and quaff my wine. “So I just make all the bad things up that happened to me recently?”

    “I believe you had enough drink for tonight,” he observes and runs a lazy finger over the silver edge of his chalice.

    “So what do you want me to do?” This is one of those moments when he simply makes my blood boil. “Kneel down in front of the castle walls until Isabeau comes out to accept me back in her life?”

    “This is not really about your step-sister. You don't fool me.” Taran picks me up like some potato bag. “It is a common custom for young wealthy Lidérc to have a concubine.”

    “I have Sionnach,” I state, my eyes staring into the distance.

    He produces a dry, joyless laugh. “The whelp is but a lame excuse for you not getting involved with anybody else.”

    “Sguir dheth!” I bark. Stop that!

    “I rather you not shout dog commands in my mother tongue,” he says promptly. “It's impolite!”

    “Then stop discussing my private life,” I give back fiercely. “If I don't wish to be with any woman then I don't.”

    “A vow of clerical chastity.” Taran makes a whistling sound through his teeth. “No wonder that you are so unbalanced and paranoid.”

    I start hitting his squats, but he moves upstairs like a machine. Indolent. Unerring.

    “I wonder what makes you so afraid of intimacies, young Skywalker.”

    The alcohol makes me too slow, too stupid. I thrash in the werewolf's grip, but he is strong. He pins my arms down.

    “Whatever happened to you in the past, let go of it. That is the only way. Live here and now. And bloody enjoy yourself!”

    “Not everybody can enjoy a simple life in the wilderness.”

    “Pardon me?” he asks dully.

    “A jolly life of hunting and howling...” I start.

    Taran strikes me hard across the face, knocking me off the bed. “How dare you!” He shivers from emotion.

    Blood runs out of my nose. My lip is also split. But that is not the worst part of it. My stomach seizes. I snap my head around and vomit on the floor. Save a trickle of bile nothing else comes out.

    Taran reaches out for me, radiating guilt and compassion.

    “Are you finished?” I gurgle. I clean my mouth with the back of my hand and add more controlled. “For my grandfather used such a punch as a warming phrase.”

    I can hear Taran yelp in alarm and as I slowly meet his gaze, I can see that his eyes are stretched.Let us have more wine,” he chokes up. “Or even better, some decent Highland whiskey.”

    ********************************************************************

    Taran and I both have a complete hangover in the morning, but my friend is the one who manages to stand in the kitchen. He makes honey sandwiches for us.

    “Greasy food will just give us heartburn,” he states, while I cling to the railing. “We will eat light today and stay hydrated.”

    I mutter something unintelligible, but he fills it in nicely.

    “I am one and a half centuries old.” He winks at me. “Believe me, I had a couple of bad hang-overs when I was your age. My mother...” Old pain creeps into his voice, but he bravely speak on, “She knew good remedies. I owe her a lot.”

    “You never spoke about her before,” I say. My stomach roils, but I want to listen to Taran and his story. There is so much about him that I do not know yet. And since last night he knows so much about me. “What was her name?”

    “Milseog.” He pauses with the bread knife in his hand. “She was of Clan O'Aodha. A carefree, happy child of the summer meadows until she was married my Strachan father.”

    I crook a brow. “How so? Did he mistreat her?”

    “One could say so. With her freckles and carrot hair she did not fit in. The ladies of the Seelie Court found her ugly and unworthy, made her a victim of cruel mockery. So my father forced her to colour her hair pitch black and wear white make-up. He made her follow the strict court protocol, even in his own castle. She was not to dance on meadows any longer or attend to the gardens by herself. He forced shoes on her, commanded her to do tapestries and other needle work from dusk until dawn. Frolicking around was not the behaviour of a true lady.”

    I sink down on the head-most stair.

    There seem to be unhappy families everywhere. They grow like mushrooms really.

    “When god queen Victoria Superna took my father's head in battle I rejoiced. My mother was happy for a while and her old self really. We used to dance in the herb garden, bare feet. Even in the deepest winter. We got rid of her ladies in waiting and of the ceremonial master. Life was perfect. But then my O'Aodha grandparents plotted together and married her off to Laird Gaothach.” Anger reddens his hollow cheeks. “Old Carragh, an abusive, harsh man. Driven by the wish to get an heir with her. I killed him the night that he went to far. He also had a whip like you do. But he never used it for praying all by himself.”

    I stare at my own hands. “How old were you?”

    “Around forty-nine years,” he answered, buttering the bread again. “That's around fifteen human years for you.”

    “This is why you joined the army?”

    Taran shook his head, pausing the knife once more. “Oh, I was not afraid getting arrested for murder. Mother died just a couple of hours after him. Our house druid was incapable to heal her. With her dead, I had nothing to hold me in Dún Barr any longer. I ran straight into an army recruiter.”

    I should be down there, giving him a hug. But I cannot do that. It is not what men do. Instead I complain, “Are hang-overs always that bad?”

    “You better walk straight to bed again and enjoy having one,” he states, a smug grin plastered on his bearded face. I will bring you some orange juice and honey sandwiches later on.”

    *******************************************************************

    (To be continued!)
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  7. SWpants Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Oct 28, 2004
    star 4
    Do you make cookies EVERY TIME someone comes over though? I just find it odd since that’s not the “typical” U.S. way of doing things. That’s too time consuming :p


    ********************************************************************

    At times I feel like a complete ass for shunning her from my life. But she would not like me sitting here together with her biological grandfather, whom she believes to be a madman and a monster.

    Well, you are.
    Also, so what? He just might be (I can’t remember) in which case YOU’RE wrong. Or he’s not [to you] and you can have your own friends if you want.


    “The whelp mentioned that you are a decent violin player,” Commander Cú Síth grins.

    *winces* I…that’s a horrible way to address Eibhear


    “My life, at its best, is misery,” I blur out.

    That’s because you’re misery incarnate. You do it to yourself.

    “Are you finished?” I gurgle. I clean my mouth with the back of my hand and add more controlled. “For my grandfather used such a punch as a warming phrase.”

    While I don’t think Taran was in the right, Lucien needs to learn how to keep his stupid mouth shut at times.
    And not drink.


    There seem to be unhappy families everywhere.

    Yes. That happens


    “Old Carragh, an abusive, harsh man. Driven by the wish to get an heir with her. I killed him the night that he went to far. He also had a whip like you do. But he never used it for praying all by himself.”


    :( Poor, poor Taran.
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  8. Hazel Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Nov 9, 2010
    star 4
    Perfect example of what goes around, comes around ;)

    Great chapters Azure!
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  9. Lady_Misty Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Mar 21, 2007
    star 4
    Looks like Lucien isn't the only one to hide deep wounds.

    I haven't ever gotten drunk but I pity them in the morning.
    DarthUncle and AzureAngel2 like this.
  10. earlybird-obi-wan Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 21, 2006
    star 6
    Great chapter with Taran discussing things with Lucien
    Getting drunk isn't right at all
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  11. DarthUncle Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Mar 20, 2005
    star 5
    Interesting, and well written. Lucien is close to his best when his tribal custom of being a good host makes him put effort into caring for others, even if he, of course, overdoes it a bit. The commander clearly is a rather roughened and worn with use gem, but also someone Lucien connects with, and actually might be made to hear and listen to.

    About getting this drunk, clearly not great for physical health in general. However, Lucien can just heal himself using the force, whips himself and worse 'for praying' - or maybe just due to trauma from what his grandfather did, so really not a big deal.

    Considering that, I think getting him stinking drunk enough to lower his inhibitions and actually have him talk about his real problems, which are really his mental state and thought process, was a very good thing to happen. Having a comrade to share that with, perhaps helping him heal a bit or changing his thoughts to become more emotive, I for one think he could do a lot worse. And that goes for the commander as well.

    Much better than him hunting supposed witches, killing his way to a new and better, 'just' world. Really.
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  12. AzureAngel2 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Jun 14, 2005
    star 6
    @Well, when I happen to have visitors I try to do something "nice" for them (= a meal, a cake or cookies). Same with my friends! As for my story, some people are the way they are. And Lucien changes sloooowly for the better, with getting worse now and then. [face_batting]




    @Hazel: Thanks, there is more to come! :)



    @Lady_Misty: Thanks for the pity part. [:D]



    @earlybird-obi-wan: Boys will be boys! ;)


    @DarthUncle: Dear far away husband: thanks for reading and this long, deep answer! @};-


    Okay, folks, my mom is visiting me for a couple of days.

    And I have much to do at the beginning of the new kindergarten year. New kiddos, administration tasks, preparing my extra English sessions with some children carefully...

    So I am seldom on-line the next weeks. Especially with my new membership in a nearby fitness centre with a wellness section (such as swimming pool, sauna)...

    More visitors have announced themselves in my humble home as well.

    But because pants worked so neat the past years, we can enjoy the fruits of her correction labour now:


    *******************************************************************

    It is known that Sodalith believes in four main goals in life: virtuous living, material prosperity, pleasure and liberation. Until now, I only cared about the first one; virtue leads to liberation in the end. It helps being a faithful servant of the light side of the Force. But the longer Taran stays with me in my bachelor's den, the more I must admit that I miss something essential in my life. Something that he cannot possibly give to me.

    When I finally make up my mind to send for Néné, I decide against asking Minou for Oeillet as well. I cannot deal with both of them at the same time. The nature of the entire assignment is too embarrassing already.

    On the day of the moon priestess' arrival I brush my hair until it gleams and apply a pomade. I clearly remember one rule of the ducal pride of lionesses: 'Dress to impress!'

    Taran knocks, waits two lousy heartbeats and pops his head in. “Milady, I must say...” he sneezes and rubs his long Elfin nose dramatically. “What an incredible smell you've discovered!

    “Don't,” I warn him with my index-finger raised.

    “Wash that stuff out before anybody gets seriously hurt!” he laughs.

    “You also smell very nice, old flea bag!” I slam the door into his smug face.

    “Argh!” Taran wails, unable to hide the giggling undertone in his voice. “You broke my smoulder!”

    “Your smoulder, right.” I plunge my head into the washing bowl and brush back the wet strands of hair with my hands.

    Over the course of the next half an hour I use baking powder and shampoo to wash the pomade out as well as possible.

    “And do yourself a favour,” Taran says from the other side of the door. “Forget about mascara and eye liner! Beauty comes from the inside.”

    I take the hair brush and throw it at the door.

    *******************************************************************

    In the early afternoon a spice freighter is preparing to land on my meadow. It is a crude, older space ship. I know the pilot. Dotard Amezeg performed valuable services for me before.

    The landing ramp comes down.

    Néné steps out of the freighter, carrying two metal travel bags. Expensive animal pelts protect her from the cold. When the moon priestess recognizes me she drops the bags into the snow and sinks to her knees next to them.

    “I never meant to hurt you,” she bursts out. “Your mother told me that you could not find it in yourself to make love with Sionnach. That you had an unhealthy fixation on me and my sister. She also told me that the girl was pining for a second child and threatening to kill herself. I only wanted to help.”

    Néné should have spoken to me instead of believing in that creature that claims to be my birth mother. “You can help me now,” I say casually, while I walk towards her. “I am in dire need for a teacher of the heart. You have a chance to atone for your sins.

    Her lovely face brightens as she turns her face up towards me. “I feel honoured that you consider me for that position.”

    “You were my first,” I say and blush. “It has to be you.”

    Néné leaps up, planting her mouth on mine. I put my trembling hands to her head, burying my fingers in the fabric of her half-veil. Her delicious scent fills my nostrils. My heart is beating painfully fast.

    Trust has never been easy for me. Besides, I fear the wilder shores of love. Losing control over my self-consciousness, as I have seen others do around me, is dangerous for a man like me. I want nobody to uncover my past, my troubling secrets. If I ever lose myself, I will lose all.

    Luckily, Néné is one of the few people who knows about Lisiére and my grandfather Châtiment. And as a moon priestess she is sworn to secrecy.

    *******************************************************************

    For two months I was not only taught the Force healer codex with its thirteen keys, but was also introduced to an ancient text from Terra, which is the greatest treasure of the House of Healing. It consists of 1250 verses, which are distributed in 36 chapters. Each chapter is very explicit about how to court a female properly. The essence seems to me mutual trust and honesty, goals that I have difficulties in achieving.

    On the day the teacher of my heart has to leave the planet again, my foster-son helps me to see her off. Afterwards I walk him over to Draíocht's property. In the distance I can see the langhús between the trees.

    Suddenly Éibhear pips up, “Am I really a bastard?”

    “What?” I stop in my tracks and gape at him.

    “I know that my true father forced himself on maman.”

    After much consideration I slowly say, “That makes Dian a bastard for acting this way, but not you.”

    “Dian?” Éibhear asks surprised.

    I feel like whipping myself with the flagellum until I drop unconscious to the ground. How, in the Name of the Force, could my tongue make such a slip?

    The boy's glare is intense. “What else do you know about my father, Luçien?”

    It is the first time that he calls me thus instead of papa. It makes me sad and proud alike. “Too much,” I confess. “You should stop asking.”

    “But I deserve to know the truth,” he continues, stubborn. “Did Dian really hurt maman?”

    “Even if he did, would it make any difference when your mother loves you very much? You are the apple of her eye.”

    Éibhear frowns at me, but says something that I never would have suspected to hear from him. “Did you ever hurt maman in the way that a man can hurt a woman?”

    I make a gurgling sound at the back of my throat.

    The hug that Éibhear gives me startles me, but I let it happen. “Thanks for your honesty. Maman is so beautiful that men are bedazzled by her,” he explains to me, but then a deep frown emerges between his brows. “Is this why my father Dian hurt her? Because he wanted her badly?”

    “I wish it would be so simple,” I breathe, flushing.

    We remain silent for a while and continue walking.

    “I will not tell her that we spoke about him,” Éibhear finally decides. “But I had to know.”

    “Sometimes it is better not to know, my son. Knowledge can make one's life very hollow.”

    *******************************************************************

    After the crucial conversation with my beloved foster-son I start fasting. I also pray with my whip three times a day and wear a spiked metal chain – a cilice – around my left thigh. But my feelings and wishes are not washed away by the pain. Nor is the frantic fear deep inside me. I cannot stand the thought of sharing Éibhear with his true father, O'Gradaigh. I do not want this drunkard and rapist to ever contact the boy. There is just one way to achieve that: cold blooded murder.

    One morning, I pack my backpack and walk out of the front door. But not without leaving a letter for Taran right under the doormat. It contains nothing but the truth. I am on a mission that will take a while. I do not need to be explicit about it, which I am grateful for.

    My teleportation skills have improved since I left Amnion. I can transport myself over great distances without tiring quickly.

    The Montes Nubii mountains are Draconis' are home to the highest peaks, the so-called 'Eight-thousanders'. Their range encompasses about fifteen-thousand glaciers. Ten of the planets largest rivers flow from here. The majority of Elves prefer the permafrost climate of the mountain tops. Just a few choose to live in the lake region which is dotted with hundreds of lochs. Even fewer Elves inhabit the vastness of the Western Prairies with its rich grassland.

    I live in a nomad tent, and fish and hunt below the snow line. The local rivers are full of fish, such as the giant devil catfish. There are also herds of wild thars in the rocky hillsides. Those animals resemble goats, but have far longer hair, red in colour. But it is more their docile nature that reminds me of Sionnach. It almost pains me to cut their throats, but I want to stay away from the yaks. The Sleah Maith depend considerably on those for both food and transportation. They would notice any depletion to their footstock.

    Getting close to the castle of Dún Mor-Shiabh, the seat of House O'Gradaigh is easy.

    During the weeks to come I stay as close as possible to the ancient fortress, encircling my prey:the O'Gradaigh himself.

    The snow fall around this time of year is fine and mild. In the Low Lands spring is coming. That draws O'Gradaigh out of his home.

    Soon I learn his simple habits. Every fortnight he rides out and goes fishing at the Loch Srath, a glacier lake. There is no entourage, there are no guards. Not even a footman. He seems fearless.

    One evening, I wait until my pray has settled in front of his camp fire and starts eating. As far as I can tell it is fish. But in the end it does not really matter what he eats. I am there for a purpose.

    Feasgar math, O'Gradaigh,” I sneer. Good afternoon, O'Gradaigh.

    His horrified look tells me that he knows exactly who I am. Yet he remains seated and does not reach out for his broadsword, though he does nearly drop his food.

    I take time to study his Elfin face with its straight nose and sophisticated cheekbones while he waits. He is thin like most Sleah Maith, with features almost like a fox. The shoulder-length hair is golden brown, tied back in a long plait that wraps across one shoulder. The eyes are dark brown and intense. Éibhear has nothing in common with him. Nothing. That relieves me.

    “Would you like to sit down?” he asks in accented Basic, voice thin and silvery.

    “No, thank you. I never eat when I am at work”

    “Ah,” he croaks. With one hand he pulls the plait tighter around his lean shoulders. The other hand clenches the tin plate with the remains of his dinner.

    “You can finish eating, O'Gradaigh,” I promise and sit down on the opposite site of the fire.

    He ignores my approval. “Can I speak to Sionnach one last time? I was never able to offer her my excuses or to even see our son.”

    “Your son? He is mine, mine alone.”

    “Thank you for raising him.”

    While I want to mutilate O'Gradaigh's face with my fists, I leap across the fire and strike his chest instead, knowing that my own body will fare better in the end. He tries to take my abuse with silent dignity, yet his face mirrors the pain he is in.

    “I deserve that,” he croaks.

    My anger flares up even more. How dare he sound so repentant!

    I hear bones break, but I do not mind. They are not mine. The pain is not mine. It is not his either. It is Sionnach's.
  13. earlybird-obi-wan Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 21, 2006
    star 6
    He shouldn't torture himself. No good will come from pain
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  14. Lady_Misty Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Mar 21, 2007
    star 4
    I agree with earlybird, he isn't doing himself any good.
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  15. SWpants Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Oct 28, 2004
    star 4
    But the longer Taran stays with me in my bachelor's den, the more I must admit that I miss something essential in my life. Something that he cannot possibly give to me.

    Lucien doesn’t float that way.


    “And do yourself a favour,” Taran says from the other side of the door. “Forget about mascara and eye liner! Beauty comes from the inside.”

    I agree! Ugh I hate makeup.


    Néné should have spoken to me instead of believing in that creature that claims to be my birth mother.

    I agree. The lies and gossip from another’s lips can do terrible harm.


    Luckily, Néné is one of the few people who knows about Lisiére and my grandfather Châtiment. And as a moon priestess she is sworn to secrecy.

    He just has to trust that she actually won’t betray him again.


    For two months I was not only taught the Force healer codex with its thirteen keys, but was also introduced to an ancient text from Terra

    Now see, that sounds fun and incredibly interesting. It also sounds tedious, time consuming, and mind consuming but that isn’t always a bad thing


    After much consideration I slowly say, “That makes Dian a bastard for acting this way, but not you.”

    Yes…but…technically Eibhear IS a bastard.


    “Is this why my father Dian hurt her? Because he wanted her badly?”

    “I wish it would be so simple,”


    Right? :(
    Even so, it’s NO EXCUSE



    After the crucial conversation with my beloved foster-son I start fasting. I also pray with my whip three times a day and wear a spiked metal chain – a cilice – around my left thigh.

    *sighs and shakes head* He doesn’t learn and doesn’t listen.


    His horrified look tells me that he knows exactly who I am. Yet he remains seated and does not reach out for his broadsword, though he does nearly drop his food.

    He’s either stupid or doesn’t care.


    “Can I speak to Sionnach one last time? I was never able to offer her my excuses or to even see our son.”


    No, you’re a jerk. You had the time to go to her yourself.
    One step forward, 5 steps back.
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  16. Nyota's Heart Combos & Paragraphs Host

    Game Host
    Member Since:
    Aug 31, 2004
    star 6
    Lord but I love Pants' reviews =D= I agree on the one step forward and half a dozen back :eek: Force-healing - now that's a skill that is all for the good of others if he'll just let that aspect out without hindrance. :p
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  17. SWpants Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Oct 28, 2004
    star 4

    I don't even remember when I started doing reviews in real time, but it was probably in my early fanfic days. I am very bad with reviews of books, and work better if I write things down (except remembering later doesn't help). With fanfic, I actually have the opportunity to tell the author EXACTLY how I feel and when.

    I get so angry for authors when someone else goes "nice update" on something that is long - like 5 or 10 or even 20 page in Word. What the kriff? That's not fair to the author at all. I think Azure had one of those reviews once and I vented to her in a PM. I was more upset than she was :eek:ops


    As far as the fic goes - I bet Lucien forgets his healing power. He's a jerk.
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  18. AzureAngel2 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Jun 14, 2005
    star 6
    Hi everybody! Being sick in bed gives me the opportunity to update my story.

    Thanks for all your witty comments!

    @Nyota´s Heart
    @SWpants
    @earlybird-obi-wan
    @Lady_Misty
    @Hazel

    I am too feverish to be witty myself, so I just give you more of the drama that Lucien calls life. In the end he has a lot of common with people that we love and that do not listen to our good advices. He needs to see the light (of truth) for himself.




    Chapter 17: Frenzy

    A couple of weeks later, I seek out Sionnach at the local Beltane fires. My search is brief. She stands out of the crowd, looking lovely in her violet linen dress. A garland of spring flowers is in her hair.

    When I approach her, Sionnach's mood grows dark. She hurts me with words sharper than my scimitar. “You dropped me off at somebody else's doorstep and vanished out of my life completely.”

    “The household of Draíocht was the best place for you to find yourself again.” My heart is hammering while I gaze at her, trying to find the right words without making myself vulnerable too. “In the meantime, needed my healing.”


    “Please do not tell me that you hunted down Dian!” Sionnach wails and makes a wide, vague gesture round the glad.

    “Do not find excuses for O'Gradaigh!” My voice lashes out at like a whip.

    “He could not help what happened to me.” Tears of despair ran down her face. “He had lost his beloved wife and his unborn child.”

    “I lost dear ones, too.”

    “Luçien, it was the alcohol and despair speaking. I never held him responsible for what had happened that night. It was an accident.”

    Her ignorance angers me. “I restored your honour,” I scream.

    “My honour?” Sionnach steps back in horror.

    “Yes, your honour!” Red dots dance over my retina. “Somebody had to give you back what you have lost at Dún Mor-Shiabh so many years ago.”

    A young couple that had been close to us hustles away from our argument.

    The blow comes unexpected. “If you are so powerful to be able to restore my honour, why would you not restore our children back to me?” Sionnach remarks, sad and forlorn. Her soft voice wounds more than angry words would.

    I drop to my knees. “Can you ever forgive me?”

    “I do not know.”

    My life is on a hinge. Right now I can push it one way or another. The routes of both trust and suspicion can lead to madness. I take a leap of faith. Néné was an excellent teacher. I draw Sionnach into my arms. “I could give you another child.”

    “No!” Sheshakes her head vehemently, her red locks flying. “That will not do.”

    I feel giddy with utter nervousness, try a different approach. “My parents want me to produce an heir.”

    “Out of the question.” Her body and resolve harden. “You and I had agreed on certain terms.”

    “Things change.”

    “You are my master!”

    My pain seeps through my explanations and the longer I talk to Sionnach, invade her with my caress, the more she opens up to my plea. I can tell it by the way she bits her lip subconsciously.

    Then comes a moment when it seems appropriate to gather Sionnach into my arms. She allows me to press my lips against her neck. She smells of bonfire and spring flowers.

    “One night only!” She hesitates before she adds, “When I am with your child, then I want certain assurances of you, Luçien.”

    “You need but to ask.” My heart swells with a nervous, heady elation.

    “This is an oral contract, in the way of your people. You had better not break your word to me as you have often done in the past.”

    Whatever I will do tonight, I need to be kind and gentle. It will not make up for the horrors her past, nor will it sooth a mother's aching heart. But it will grant her some hours of sweetness, of a tenderness that she never experienced before with a male being.

    And on top of all, I can give her, can give us a new child.

    *******************************************************************

    I am woken by a ray of sun tickling my nose. Next to my chin is a fluffy mass of red curls. They gleam like copper threads in the dim morning light. Sionnach. Her face is buried against my chest.

    I smile, while caressing her cheeks. My fingers move tentatively down to her chin , across her soft lips and to her jaw.

    I don't recall ever being so tender with a woman, and now a child is on the way. I used my healing powers to make sure it is a boy. Like the twins, he will be blessed with Elfin beauty and the feline grace of the Lidérc.

    The twins. I still miss them so much that it hurts.

    Careful not to wake Sionnach, I shift under the woollen blanket that I brought with me to prop myself on one of my elbows. I start gazing at my sleeping companion. She looks relaxed and happy, yet I cannot help the impression that I did her wrong in every possible way.

    I refrain from letting my fingers wander around any further. It seems inappropriate. I have what I wanted: heir, presenting another chance for paternity. To want more would be greed, one of the seven cardinal sins the Holy Scriptures warn against.

    When Sionnach wakes up, we talk together in a nice and playful manner. But all too soon our conversation turns more serious. “You are not a breeding mare,” I try to soothe her. Yet while I say this it occurs to me that I had treated her thus the entire night.

    She eyes me critically. “Even so, this child can be your heir. I might even go so far and allow you to raise him in the ways of your people.”

    “Your condition being?”

    “Set me free!” Sionnach says

    “No.”

    Her wishes regarding the ducal homestead and her position as my maîtresse-en-titre,myofficial concubine, are childish and carefree.There will be no decline in her public position as my favourite. Only death can free Sionnach from this position.

    “I am in love with another man,” I hear her mutter woefully at one point.

    My heart is thundering, but I try to fool her with a display of calmness. “A pity for him and much heartbreak for you. My answer must remain the same.”

    As I gaze down at her through my half-closed lashes, she stares back rather startled. Her eyes are filled with dark terror, her lips parted in a soundless wail. Before she can escape, naked as she is, I press her against me gently.

    “I do not wish you to suffer, but your place is at my side.” I keep my voice low, but not stern. She needs to understand. “My only token of good will is to let you live with Draíocht and enjoy a harmonious life.”

    Sionnach's wail startles me to the core of my being. It is indescribable, at the edge of ear-splitting. If I did not behold her with my own eyes, I would not believe that a mortal soul can utter such a lament. It is not terror any longer, it is heartbreak.

    In my embrace, she curls into a thrashing ball, her four-fingered hands fisted. Her eyes clench tight while her mouth stretches wide in agony. She screams and screams, never seeming to stop even to draw breath.

    My honest attempts to calm her are fruitless. After ten minutes that seemed like ten hours, the piercing screams end in uncontrolled sobs. She cries on her entire way back home. I feel useless. Nothing that I can say can restore her happiness.

    ********************************************************************

    During the Millenarian Star Wars, the leader of an Elfin war band was called an aire échta. That roughly translates to 'Lord of Blood-Vengeance' or 'Lord of Violence'. It is a title that Draíocht deserves. She is terrible to behold in the door frame of her family home.

    “Mo mhíle stór, tá tú mall. Bhíomar ag feitheamh ort. Tar isteach,” she coos, when she glares at Sionnach and me. Darling, you are late. We have been waiting for you. Come in.

    Éibhear pops his head out from behind Draíocht. First he smiles when he recognizes me, but then he frowns, aware of the tension that is in the air. His face works as if he is trying to make sense of the entire scene. In a daze he looks up to his mother, who cannot hide her sheer desperation.

    “Maman?” he pipes up and the word resonates like an agonized curse in his mouth.

    “I'll explain later, Amanthar.” Sionnach hunches her shoulders and rushes inside, desperate to avoid skin contact with him.

    For a moment Éibhear only stares after her, mollified by the usage of his Elfin soul name, but then he looks like some feral animal in a snare. With a viper's speed he darts forward and spits on my boots. “Arsa ise 'na h-aigne féin, papa!” he shouts. I won't be able to trust you again, papa!

    My heart is is tight as he runs into the house again and Draíocht closes the door behind him, locking it from the inside.

    ********************************************************************

    At dawn, I am close to the top of the Saxum Lucis. I am sweaty and uncomfortable. My feet have suffered more than one blister, but I am used to pain. With swift steps I approach the lonely mountains path that leads straight to an unmarked grave.

    As far as I know, my half-sister Mórag is still frantically looking for her beloved cousin. Rumour has it that she even has one of her best tóraí na fírinne - Seekers - on the case. Those specially trained priestesses are able to obtain information about a person or object via psychometry.

    Nobody on this planet will look for O'Gradaigh on Tjiehenet land. A lot of people still believe that his corpse is rotting somewhere in Montes Nubii. In life, the laird was known to be eccentric with his hiking trips. Accidents can happen and there is an ugly history of alcohol abuse.

    Absent-mindedly, I stroke the hilt of my scimitar.

    To my annoyance, a cloaked figure kneels in front of the crevice in which I entombed the sad remains. Shoulders visibly shake with soundless tears. The head leans against the rough craig, while a pair of large human hands runs continuously over the stone surface.

    My eyes widen.

    The Force signature that I get along with the anthracite-coloured cloak lead both to the single conclusion: One of Mórag's precious lapdogs has tracked me down. Or perhaps, detected the delicate burial site.

    Bones are but silent witnesses, yet I am worried that the tóraí na fírinne can make them talk in unnatural ways. Not losing precious time, I launch forward.

    In the blink of an eye, we are inside the lodge. I let go of the Seeker, instantly cursing myself. Work should never be brought home. I am breaking my foremost principle.

    Trembling, the tóraí na fírinne walks backwards and manages to stumble over her own feet. I make no attempt to help her up. If I show any pity now I cannot torture her later on.

    “Schön habt Ihr es hier, Graf Ankou. Wo wir schon mal hier sind, habt Ihr vielleicht eine Tasse Tee für mich? Brennesseltee vielleicht?” she says, looking like a ripe tomato. A nice place, Vicomte Ankou. While we are here, you might not be able to offer me a cup of tea? Stinging nettle tea perhaps?

    “Damit Ihr während der Folter zur Toilette rennt? Ich glaube kaum.” I raise my eyebrows in amusement. Just to have you run to the toilet during the torture procedure? I think not.

    “Ich habe genug von Folter, aber wenn Ihr das Gefühl habt es geht nicht ohne, dann machen wir es so”, she seems disappointed. I have had enough of torture, but if it makes You happy, we do it Your way.

    To my astonishment, the Seeker takes off her right shoe and woollen sock, too. I am forced to stare at something that once had been a healthy foot. “What happened there?” I ask, crouching down to be at eye level with her.

    “Einberufungsbefehl.” She shrugs. Conscription order.

    ********************************************************************

    (To be continued!)
    Nyota's Heart likes this.
  19. Nyota's Heart Combos & Paragraphs Host

    Game Host
    Member Since:
    Aug 31, 2004
    star 6
    Lucien's gentleness with Sionnach is oddly mixed with insensitivity. On one hand, he seems to care for her; on the other, I'm not sure he can truly care for anyone at this stage. [face_thinking] I do hope I'm reading this right. :p It certainly isn't the characterization, but he is a tangled jumble. =D= =D=
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  20. Lady_Misty Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Mar 21, 2007
    star 4
    He's complicated but then that's not surprising.
    AzureAngel2 and Nyota's Heart like this.
  21. earlybird-obi-wan Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 21, 2006
    star 6
    complex relations and thoughts Poor Lucien, he has to suffer much and all his doing
    AzureAngel2 likes this.
  22. AzureAngel2 Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Jun 14, 2005
    star 6
    Well, let me let you all suffer with a wee sneak preview for next week:

    [IMG]
  23. Nyota's Heart Combos & Paragraphs Host

    Game Host
    Member Since:
    Aug 31, 2004
    star 6
    =D= @};-
  24. earlybird-obi-wan Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Aug 21, 2006
    star 6
  25. SWpants Force Ghost

    Member Since:
    Oct 28, 2004
    star 4
    She hurts me with words sharper than my scimitar. “You dropped me off at somebody else's doorstep and vanished out of my life completely.”

    Oh sure. SHE hurt you. Shut up.


    “If you are so powerful to be able to restore my honour, why would you not restore our children back to me?”

    Well now she’s being stupid.
    OK she’s depressed.
    But I find her as being a complete idiot here. Lucien too. What the kriff is there to forgive? He’s not a bloody god.


    Whatever I will do tonight, I need to be kind and gentle. It will not make up for the horrors her past, nor will it sooth a mother's aching heart. But it will grant her some hours of sweetness, of a tenderness that she never experienced before with a male being.

    And then he rapes her. What the heck part of “no” is so damn difficult to understand?


    My honest attempts to calm her are fruitless.

    Honest my butt you’re an absolute jerk.


    For a moment Éibhear only stares after her, mollified by the usage of his Elfin soul name, but then he looks like some feral animal in a snare. With a viper's speed he darts forward and spits on my boots. “Arsa ise 'na h-aigne féin, papa!” he shouts. I won't be able to trust you again, papa!

    SERVES HIM RIGHT!!


    Bones are but silent witnesses

    That’s chilling but…so true.


    As earlybird said, this is all Lucien's doing. I don't feel bad for him at all.


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