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

Thanks for commenting, SWpants, Lady_Misty, earlybird-obi-wan and @Nyota´s Heart. Once more I am in a bit of a hurry: fitness, dentist & Dutch tax form. I always enjoy your comments, questions and critical opinions. Next time I take more time answering in a better way. The past weeks flew by in a hurry & somehow I am always on a run. And hardly online.

Chapter 19: Bright eyes

On Midsummer Eve I cannot stay inside the lodge any longer. My instincts tell me that Sionnach is in trouble. She never realised that, without my protective hand hanging above her, she would have been unprotected game for most male Lidérc on Sapuhru. Her status as a moon priestess in training was just accepted in the desert settlement of Fort Grand. Being my maîtresse-en- titre has granted her an interplanetary recognition as member of the House Ankou.

I mask my presence in the Force and walk over to the Mössa property to watch the merry celebrations from the undergrowth.

Sionnach is not hard to miss with her curly mane of red hair. The dress that she wears tells me that she intends to impress somebody special. The curves of her bosom show in breathtaking ways that I really haven't seen before.

“For from garments cometh a moth, and from women wickedness,” I whisper to myself. “Better is the churlishness of a man than a courteous woman, a woman, I say, which bringeth shame and reproach.”

While Sionnach dances with Ciall, I take the time to scan the crowd of party guests for her potential lover. He has to be here, the man who sets her on fire. Painfully, I am reminded of Arcānā who was always too beautiful to be called decent.

“Of the woman came the beginning of sin, and through her we all die,” I say, trembling with oppressed rage.

Before Sionnach gives Ruadhan the honour of her company, I spot Skje Jörd. He is a nephew of Draíocht. Everything that I know about him says that he is decent young man. He is very popular in this region, working as a seasonal lumber jack and horse trainer.

I sigh into my veil, feeling so sorry for him. “Don't force me to kill or maim anybody tonight, Sionnach.”

My wishes seldom come true.

Not much later Skje Jörd sneaks into the undergrowth, just eight inches away from me. He moves on until the old oak tree, that marks the edge of my property. There he sinks down.

I squeeze my eyes shut in agony, until tiny spots of colour dance on my retina. A spasm of grief shakes me. Not much later leaves rustle and somebody brushes past me, almost touching my shoulder.

“Jag älkar dig av hela mitt hjärta, Sionnach Tjiehennet,” Skje Jörd says with a trembling voice. I love you with all my heart, Sionnach Tjiehennet.

Her only answer is a happy sob while I feel disgusted that I am forced to witness this declaration of love. But if I go away now and anybody else stumbles over them, there will be a great scandal.

I hide my face in my hands, as the gentle moans four yards away from me become more intense.

Those fools! They are making a new baby. The sheer thought that it is my duty to cut it out of its mothers belly makes me sick. There must be other solutions than a triple murder.

I stay with them until day break, watching over their privacy. When they finally wake up and start a flirty conversation, I gather the Force around me like a cloak and vanish.



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

When I do not pick up Éibhear and Garou two weeks later, an enraged Draíocht comes storming my door. She carries my youngest on her right arm and drags his brother along with her free hand.

“What are you doing in here!” she explodes.

“What does it look like?” I answer and do not even raise my head to meet her eyes.

Building a nest box is trickier than I thought. I need to make the entrance hole so small that no cuckoo can enter it. Just tiny songbirds will find sanctuary in here.

“Breeding season is ten, perhaps eleven months away,” Draíocht complains, while she glares at my wood work.

“Are you sure?” I suggest coolly, my attitude the ice. “I think we will see some hatching before that.”

Draíocht does not understand the given hint, but Éibhear does. He flies towards me and makes me drop my tools. With the strength of a cap crimper he takes me into his arms.

“Please!” he whimpers.

Draíocht, interpreting my son's move wrong, rants on, “You better be on time next visiting day. Sionnach is a princess of the Blood and you surely do not want Draconian authorities at your door.”

She leaves with a howling Garou, but I do not stop her. I have already one distressed boy to deal with. Èibhear looks at me, shaken to the core. “You can have another baby brother,” I sooth him. “This is not Sapuhru; I can alter the rules.”

“When you change the rules all the time, papa,” he whimpers, “you lose yourself even more.”

“I know what is good and what is evil.”

His Elfin eyes darken. “You do not!” He steps closer to me. “When you were very small, much smaller than Garou is now, you were badly hurt.”

I stare at him. All my hidden traumas, all my dirty secrets are dragged into the open by a child that I took in as my own.

Èibhear reaches up, trying to place his small hand on my trembling chest.“You do not need to be honest to me. But start being honest with yourself, papa. Rule breaking makes you lose your way even more.”

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

I let Skje Jörd live. But I make it perfectly clear to him that I wish more discretion in future. I confront him with a nervous Éibhear clutching my hand. “If there is one more stunt like this outside or another pregnancy...” I snarl at the large Udaler.

“Papa, you promised not to get angry.”

I let go of the human man's throat and take a step back. “Lost my composure here for a heartbeat, sorry.”

“You better be!” grumbles Éibhear and leads me to the chair that I overturned in the heat of the moment. “Pick that up!”

I do as I am told.

“Now you sit down here and Skje will sit opposite you. You both will behave like the gentleman in Grandfather Alezan's parlour.” He fumbles around in the pockets of his trousers and produces a pipe. “I want you to smoke this calumet.”

Skje Jörd, rubbing his throat, grunts in disbelief.

“Parley for my new baby brother.” The steely determination in Éibhear's voice is hard to ignore. “Now! Or I run straight to Dún Barr and then you are both in so much trouble. Great-Grandfather Narthex will not be lenient.”

I exchange a long glare with Sionnach's lover, before I reach for his left hand. Gingerly, he gives me his.

“Milord.”

“My dear Skje,” I say as cordially as I can manage.

We pass around the ceremonial pipe, blowing white smoke rings into the air. None of us is willing for Agathos, or even worse Narthex, to be involved with this.

Éibhear runs off to fetch a bottle of akvavit, which is often drunk by Udalers during a formal gathering.

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


(To be continued!)

 

Well at least Elbhear is trying to help Lucien.

 

A jumble of emotions and blurred boundaries.

 

Lucien should listen to Eibhear. Let go of the dark

 

Oh the days fly by way too fast
I agree with earlybird: Eibhear is smart. Lucien just doesn’t get it. *sigh*


“For from garments cometh a moth, and from women wickedness,” I whisper to myself. “Better is the churlishness of a man than a courteous woman, a woman, I say, which bringeth shame and reproach.”

*rolls eyes* Geez. She’s allowed to impress a lover. If sex is wicked then YOU keep it in your pants. Jerk.


Her only answer is a happy sob while I feel disgusted that I am forced to witness this declaration of love.

YOU ARE NOT BEING FORCED TO DO ANYTHING! YOU’RE THERE OF YOUR OWN VOLITION!!


“When you change the rules all the time, papa,” he whimpers, “you lose yourself even more.”

Seriously.
You DON’T know the difference between good and evil. You only know Lucien good. Mostly, that’s world evil.


*sigh*

 

@Lady_Misty, Nyota's Heart, earlybird-obi-wan, SWpants and Hazel... I do feel rather guilty that I am seldom on-line & not really answer to your kind comments.

The days run by so quickly and turn into weeks of excitement. It is not that I am not happy with my work. The opposite is the case. But at the end of the day I seem to have little time and energy left. So instead of sitting down in front of my computer, I can be found in the nearby fitness centre, where I also use the wellness opportunities rather happily. They have several types of saunas and three different swimming pools, one of them being a whirl pool.

Oh and by the way, @Cem_Fel/ Shawnkyr is coming to visit me for Halloween/ Samhain. I thought my husband DarthUncle would not be in then and we could have a girl´s weekend, but he actually is in the UK this weekend. But I am sure that we girls can do something nice with him anyway and not cast him out into the dark night. Besides Cem wants to have the digital files of this fanfic here, because she is always too busy to comment. But she really loves this epic, too.

I am also happy to announce that Tyranus230 is well and called me via skype before the weekend started, but he is too busy reading.

And @MsLanna/ Etain also called me with her mobile to let me know her new postal address. She would never read my stories, because they are not her cup of tea, but I do love our long chats about plot bunnies, character development and such in RL.

So once more, loyal readers of mine, thanks for sticking to this story and SWpants for being the brilliant beta that she is. All your comments make me smile when I find them on-line after each up date.





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

It takes me another six weeks before I can face Sionnach. The day I choose to visit, she is outside with the washing. The new life in her body already shines like a beacon in the Force. We are alone on the property save for Garou in his cradle. Skje has lured everybody else away as promised.

In one fluent movement I move behind Sionnach and cup her belly. “Give me one reason why I should not cut this child out of your womb,” I grunt. “One single reason.”

“Because you care,” she replies firmly. “Skje Jörd is still alive and well.”

“I am a father, Sionnach. We lost two children together.” I rest one of my cheeks against the back of her head. “I just demand from you that in future you act more responsibly. There is no great need for populating the universe.”

“What will become of the child?” The anxiety in her voice clenches my heart.

“I cannot recognize him as my own. The House Ankou must never know of his existence. Both your lives depend on it. Officially, it has to be one of Draíocht´s children.”

She nods.

Unfortunately, the House Tjehennet is not so easily fooled. Several days later, when Skje and I are in the middle of construction work for a tree house, a man on horseback arrives. The rider looks startlingly familiar.

“Why is my grand-daughter pregnant again, Luçien?” snarls Narthex.

While I flush, Skje puts his hammer away and walks towards the master valet. “He has nothing to do with it this time. It was me.”

Disbelief stands written in the master valet's eyes. “Pardon me? You got her with child? You? Despite all we discussed the past months?”

“I was not thinking,” Skje mutters and stares down at his hands.

Narthex closes his eyes for a while, tightening the grip on his reigns. “For the sake of the Force, she is still but a teenager. Get that both into your heads, would you?”

“Would you like to come in, my dear Narthex?” I suggest hopeful.

He narrows his eyes. His bushy brows look like thunder clouds. “Do not dear me, Luçien. A piece of tart or a glass of red wine will not pacify me this time. You both got yourselves engaged with the Draconian crown.”

“This is not a state affair,” I protest.

Narthex spits back. “If I need to play dirty to keep Sionnach out of trouble, than I will. Agathos is too lenient with both of you.”

A sour taste is in my mouth. “What are you going to do? Have both our heads? Make Misera send an army squad to burn us to the ground?”

His look turns even more aloof. “My love life with the highest commander of the crown is my business only, Luçien. But the love life of Sionnach is a different question altogether.”

With that he tugs at his reins and rides away in grim silence.

Skje's bearded face contracts. “You should not have angered him by mentioning Misera.”

“It is no secret that they have an on-and-off relationship since the late queen mother died,” I interject.

“There are secrets that keep themselves. Like the affair that your cousin Valiant has with Isabeau.”

“What?” I choke up and drop the hammer that I just picked up.

“You amaze me, kitty. Even though you are at court, you are not part of it.” Skje shakes his head and picks up his own tools again. “Both are very discreet about it, don't you worry about it. The Ankou family name will not be dishonoured by them.”

He starts working again while humming a love song, but I cannot continue. My step-sister and my blood cousin. This is surprising news and I do not know what to make of it.

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

On my return from a fishing trip with Skje and the boys several days later, I find a letter on my kitchen table.

Vicomte Ankou, You are summoned to be the private secretary of prince consort Agathos Aletheia from this point forward. Skje will help maintain the royal stables of Dún Barr. You are both allowed a break on the weekends, as well as regular holidays. I also want to see my three great-grand-children more often at court. The terms of your employment will NOT be discussed.

Narthex Kyrene, Keeper of the Holy Isle and Grand Steward of Dún Barr

I kick the table in anger. Old men can be even worse with their intrigues and blackmail than the ducal pride. I have to obey. The master valet is desperate enough to have me under his thumb.

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

Around the spring equinox a healthy baby boy is born – half Elf and half Tjiehenet. He has ginger hair and light blue eyes.

Shortly after the birth, Temperance shows up and delivers a letter from Agathos to me. The Lantern Feast is coming up in the River Valley of Cunabula. He writes that he wants to see his niece and her two sons for this special occasion.

A couple of hours later I bring Sionnach, Garou and Skylt on board the Paraceus. There is no need to worry about the farce we need to put up for the royal family. Agathos and Narthex know what is at stake. They want to protect the young woman from Lidérc protocol as much as I do.

Éibhear does not mind being the one left behind. He started a new tree house project, this time on Draíocht's property. He could not care less about a rain forest that needs to be discovered.

Once we set foot on the Holy Isle of Cunabula, it is more than obvious that I am not welcome. Our reception committee are six of Agathos children. They gaze at me wide-eyed, with a mixture of curiosity, fear and contempt. Yearning for Grianán, my sunshine par excellence, I reach out in the Force, but only silence answers me. That makes me unbelievingly sad, more than it actually should. Why is she hiding from me? I wish she would give me the chance to offer my heartfelt apologies.

While we are led through the jungle, it is only Èibhear who is addressed directly by his royal great-cousins. They seem to get along well.

Finally, we come to the large veranda of the bungalow that Agathos, Narthex and Isabeau inhabit together. The air is sticky and hot as we are seated. My veil smothers me and the chair that I sit on feels torturous.

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

By the time Isabeau chooses to appear for dinner, I am drenched in my own sweat and wish myself many parsecs away from Cunabula. With a dry mouth, I take my step-sister's stunning appearance in. In her tight bast corset she looks like a clan mother of the Draconian desert region. Her once-lovely hair is done in dreadlocks too. Aloof, she states that Grianán is too ill to attend, but I do not believe that. It is clear to me that the girl is forbidden to come anywhere near me. That hurts me more than it should.

Carefully, I scan Isabeau with my gaze, trying not to make her more annoyed than she already is. My step-sister is twenty-five now, one year my junior. Since Arcānā's death she has been the new mater familias of the Tjiehenet family. They even made her the Holy Consort, which means that she is the head of state until the new crown princess is fit enough to reign. Knowing the dreamy, mild-tempered Caelestris fairly well, that day might never come.

My muscles abruptly lock and I am unable to move. A thin thread of fire blooms across my chest. I cannot hear or see the apparition, but feeling Arcana among us sets my teeth on edge.

The conversation at the dining table is totally lost to me until I hear Sionnach say, “Honoured sister-in-law, my husband and lord is very disappointed about the shadows of the past. My lord tries to make amends by all means. Against his father's wishes he offers his services to the royal house of Tjiehenet. He does not seek power or more vengeance. Healing is his purpose. For that, he would serve as the lowest vessel.”

Sacré bleu! This is not happening. Since when are we married? Has she any idea what she just did to us?

“That may be, mon sœur,” answers Isabeau almost viciously, acknowledging that Sionnach is my lawfully wedded wife by referring to her as her sister. “But the children and I were never asked.”

My mouth opens in protest. “I...”

Isabeau stares me down with the heat of a thousand suns. I drop my look to gaze down on Garou's head.

It is pointless to explain myself. Narthex and Agathos are like the saints of old for her, infallible and upright. She would never believe me that it is because of them that I am here, with a job position that I never sought in the first place. Or the status of a husband.

Words hold much importance on Sapuruh, even more than rituals. The divine word was the first thing that sprang into existence. And I am sure it was not 'husband'.

“Since Agathos has already made his decision,” Isabeau continues sourly, cutting through my bitter thoughts, “Seeking neither my council nor common sense, I will only say this to my step-brother: this family suffered enough in the past. If there is any more heartbreak and he is the cause of it, I will finish him off. I am not afraid of him, the core of his Midi-chlorians, or the very side of the Force he considers himself to be on.”

My lips curl in a sardonic smile, hidden well by my cotton veil.

I am born to be the scapegoat. That is the price for being the scythe in a field full of rambling briars, mowing down those who refuse to repent.
Suddenly, a shiver runs across my shoulders. My bones begin to stiffen.

The texture and odours of the jungle air seem to have changed. There is a peculiar smell, confusingly familiar to me. I frown, while I try to sort it out for what it is. Something like salt, like rotting meat. It feels foul in my mouth and, even more, on my soul.

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

Not much later I stand in front of the royal crypts. Damp air wafts out and I blink inconfusion at the unfamiliar warning sign, that says “Keep out!” in eighteen different languages. I regard it as a mere suggestion, not as a prohibition.

Determined, I step onto the deeply grooved basalt steps. The passageway is narrow, the floor an uncertain affair. There are places where the ceiling is bowed. Overall it is heavily cobwebbed, but I do not mind that. Tarantulas and other vermin are no threat for me. Without a candle or a torch I move along. The Force is with me, even in this rotten place.

As I get near the centre of the crypts, the chill of the dark side bites deep into my bones. It settles in the pit of my stomach, but I will not flinch away from the ritual of exorcism. The choir of unholy voices will never be heard again when I will leave this place.

As I bend down to draw a protective circle with a piece of chalk, a handfalls on my shoulder. It is solid and warm.

“Are you unable to read, milord?” a concerned voice asks in heartbreaking honesty and a bright light sweeps the crypts.

A petité woman stands by my side. In her left hand rests a large natural quartz crystal cluster. It sheds a soft, pleasant light, whose range is surprisingly high. In that pink brightness I recognize that I am up against snake priestess of Ischáh. Yellow garments conceal a thin body that looks shaken by illness. I get bathed in a sorrowful look.

“Why, in the Name of the Force, are you down here again, Lord Ankou?”

I frown, but then I remember. I remember her voice, her name. “Clementia?”

“You never learn, do you?” She shakes her head and her anguish about my obvious failure makes me ashamed. It almost feels like I failed her in person. “Always running in circles,” she moves on. “Blocking your own growth process by clinging on to old pain.”


A dark shade forms behind her. It pulses with a dull malignance. “We invited him, crypt keeper.”

“Crypt keeper?” I explode. “You look like a Force phantom yourself. They should have found somebody healthier for that job.”

When I beheld her last, she had been a teenage girl with a wide-eyed fresh beauty. Now she looks like a hag. Her once clear, unblemished skin has turned into a leathery substance. It is scorned with countless wrinkles. Her voice is rasp, her breath wheezy. What has not changed though are her lime green eyes. They are still bright eyed and full of love for the entire creation.

“This is not about me, milord. It is about the peace of this place. The salvation of others. I am but a servant of the Great Mother, a pawn of the Force.”

A face, old beyond imagining, lurks behind Clementia. Its sight sickens me. The skin of the creature is shrivelled and shrunken, allowing the bones shine through. A pair of strangely illuminated eyes has sunken deep into the hairless skull. The awry mouth, framed by rotten teeth has collapsed inward. Even though the lips do not move, a voice echoes in my head.

“Thousand years of Star Wars and what do we get as a reward for our deprivations and self-sacrifices? A priesthood that is weak with mercy. Women who preach forgiveness and tenderness, instead of giving us our due blood sacrifices every day.”

Clementia smiles, her eyes brighter as a cloudless day. “I serve, therefore I am.”

A horrifying noise comes from the creature's withered mouth. It sounds more like hacking up phlegm than a laugh. “The code you live by is useless, you soft-hearted fool. Conquer Arrogance. Conquer Overconfidence. Conquer Defeatism. Conquer Stubbornness...”

“Conquer Recklessness,” adds Clementia, radiating a serene calmness that surprises me. Her right hand is raised to shoulder height, the arm bent and the palm facing outward with the fingers upright and joined. The left hand simply hangs down. “Conquer Curiosity. Conquer Aggression. Conquer External Loyalties.”

“And why don't you conquer the cancer that you have?” the Force phantom sneers.

Silence floods the crypt and all that I hear is the wild thumbing of my own overtaxed heart. My eyes narrow. There are extremely ugly dots in the snake priestess' aura that I did not notice before. Marks of the dark side eat into her white light.

“If it is the will of the Force that I get healed, then it will happen.” Clementia joins the tips of her right thumb and her index together to a circle. Her hand is now held with the palm inward toward the heart. “I am responsible for each entity that is down here. You made the wrong decisions in life and continue to do wrong in death. I will not let you alone in the dark. Nor will I let in the living down here unguarded.”

Baffled, I let the snake priestess take my hand and lead me outside.




Interlude 1: Farm-woman Shmi Skywalker/ 22 BBY in the Outer Rim Territories

I pause my story, feeling a pair of genuine blue eyes resting on me. For my people, blue was once the holiest of colours. The virgin moon goddess Calme was often portrayed in blue garments.

“You should have listened to what your heart told you,” Shmi Skywalker gasps. “In a universe that has gone cold, the heart is the most reliable compass.”

I wish she would not make the effort of talking to me aloud. It costs her too much energy. I place a finger on her cracked lips. “Shush, Shmi! I beg you.”

“You have such a noble heart,” she continues as if I had said nothing. “But it was scared, too scared to reach out for help.”

I give her a rueful smile. “You should not pity me for my bad choices.”

She sighs and closes her eyes. Her body is a battered landscape of open wounds. Her heartbeats are far apart and her breathing is shallow. The Tuskens did their utmost to integrate her into their tribe.

Bitter memories come to me.

I survived my basic training as a witch hunter and, driven by my religious fanaticism, I caused the death of many. Instead of grasping the message of love that the Holy Scriptures contain, I clung to the hate, agony and self-loathing inside of me. There was one woman who changed all that, gave my life a different course. For that woman, I am here tonight, to guard her precious legacy.

Shmi Skywalker does not notice that she is losing her life energy. Instead, she gives me a look of commiseration. It puts me back on my mission: To buy time for Anakin.

I can feel my youngest descendent outside now, a dangerous sand storm that is forming. He will not like what he finds inside. It will enhance his darkest emotions, push him even further into the abyss that is the dark side of the Force.

“You should go now, Luçien,” says Qui-Gon Jinn from behind me, speaking in our realm so that Shmi doesn’t hear. He strokes his dense beard. “I will take over from here.”

“How long have you been here?” I try not to sound flustered and make it so my words also don’t reach Shmi’s ears.

“Long enough to understand where all the darkness in your blood line comes from and why it poisons the future of the Chosen One.”

I think of the love of my life and do my best to keep my temper at bay. “Excuse me, but as far as I can remember, I am the one who is to prepare those of the Skywalker line for their passing.”

The eyes of the former Jedi Master sparkle with amusement. “You of all people should know that love has no bounds.”

Before I can snidely speak the name of his secret love interest, Anakin enters the scene and he is only able to focus on his mother. The bond between a parent and a child is one of the oldest and strongest in the universe.

I draw back, no longer visible to Shmi, but Qui-Gon stays near. He senses the rising storm as much as I do, but we will not not interfere. A person’s choice and their chosen path is their own.
Right now, Anakin chooses to let his wrath rule him. He slaughters everything that is alive in the Tusken camp.

Qui-Gon breaks the rules and screams from the shadows.

Anakin falters for a brief moment before continuing more ferociously than before. Women, children, household animals and warriors – they all are hacked into pieces by a blue light sabre that knows no boundaries.
Sighing, I take Shmi's hand and walk away with her Force ghost while Qui-Gon still tries to process what went wrong. If he listened to me from the beginning, he would understand by now.

“Can my Ani be saved?” Shmi asks, her eyes wide with terror.

“It is written in the stars,” I answer truthfully. “There is always hope out there.”

“Padmé,” Shmi beams.

I shrug my shoulders for I do not have the gift of seeing the future. “Time will tell. The dark side is a viscous opponent. It blurs the path of truth, cripples emotions.”

Shmi seems enthusiastic still. “Love will be the answer. Padmé's unconditional love.”

It is not my place to tell her that she might be wrong. Love is not always enough to redeem a Darksider. But it is a step in the right direction.

********************************************************************
Senator Padmé Naberrie/ about 19BBY in the Outer Rim Territories

The sea of fire on Mustafar cannot scald me. I do not feel its murderous heat. Nor can I choke on the black clouds of ash, the smoke or tephra around me. There are clear advantages to being a Force ghost.

With crossed arms I stand my ground, a silent witness of the drama that takes place in front of me. My descendant is a brute. I am ashamed of him and his unbelievably horrific choices.

Padmé Naberrie cries inconsolably. Tears smudge her face, turn it into a mask of agony. “Anakin, you're breaking my heart!” she wails. “You're going down a path I cannot follow!”

“Because of Obi-Wan?” her husband sneers.

Padmé is confused, tries to explain her point of view. “Because of what you've done... what you plan to do. Stop, stop now. Come back! I love you.”

The former Jedi knight does not see her, his angel, any longer. All that he can see is his own irrational hatred. Of course she has no affair with Obi-Wan. Nor did she take the Jedi master here to Mustafar on purpose.

I hang my head, because I once walked the path of anger with the same blindness. The cost was more dearly for others than for myself.

While Anakin makes the situation worse for everybody present, I carefully reach out for the twins that Padmé carries inside her.It astonishes me that their parents do not know that they will receive a double blessing.
The boyis the first to answer my telepathic contact. His sister is somewhat reserved and sceptical. I do not blame her. There are many Force-sensitives who do not believe in their skills, or even deny them.

Padmé's eyes bulge as her beloved husband starts strangling her with an especially vicious Force grip.

Obi-Wan's attitude is not helpful here. Clearly he does not understand how the dark side works. It is the arrogance of purposely failing to learn and understand that so many of the Jedi Council members possess.

Suddenly, I realize why I was sent here. This is not about Anakin. I am here for Padmé. She is about to die. I cannot sanction that. She needs to give birth, be a mother.

While both men engage in an intense battle, I stabilize Padmé's breathing, even though it is a major crime against the Prime Directive. It is my duty to watch over those who will pass over into the Force vortex. I have no right to keep them alive. But knowing that the future of the children are important, I must take action.

As I stroke the hair of the unconscious senator, I send warm thoughts of comfort and joy to her anxious twins. I hate it when children are made to pay for the sins of the adults around them. The boy is grateful, yet his sister recoils even more than before. I hope I do not give her some sort of pre-natal trauma with my attempted contact.

Two robots that seem familiar descend from the ship. The smaller one can not only sense me, but also see me.

“This is not possible!” I breathe, as he beeps along.

“What is the matter now?” asks the taller robot with golden plating, annoyed. “Stop talking gibberish, R2, and help me to get Miss Padmé on board again. She is not well.”

A Force-sensitive robot. The Force truly does have a sense of humour.

For a brief moment I even wonder if the golden droid is family of mine, too. Anakin made him for his mother Shmi so many years ago. I must ask her later when I am back in the Force vortex of his familial status.

When Obi-Wan finally boards with no Anakin in sight, I can sense that the dark side has won for now. My descendent is not dead, but the boy that Shmi gave birth to and raised is definitely gone. And, close to me, a woman's heart is unexplainably slowing down.

Agonized, I stay at the senator's side, waiting for her to re-awaken from her faint. I hope that my life story can prove to her that there is still hope for love. That there is no need for her to die.

 

Wow, brilliant and intense update Enjoyed Isabeau's outspokenness and Narthex' and Agathos's strategy to keep "an eye" on Lucien.

~ Interlude #1: Excellent showing Anakin on the brink and tumbling off the cliff and Lucien in a wiser timeframe, full of compassion.

~ Interlude #2: Yikes, now Anakin is totally submerged beneath Darkness. But Hope remains.

 

wonderful update.

I like Lucien as a redeemed Force-ghost. He is saving children

 

* beams all over her face

Now I actually feel warm and cosy with so much praise. See, the central warming does not work in the living-room at all. That is bad news with the temperatures falling.

* therefore managed to get a severe cold somehow

But do NOT worry. I already treat myself with self-cooked chicken soup, onion juice, ginger root tea and a water bath above a bowl filled with camomile blossoms. With my fellow kindergarten teacher being on holidays for a week, I cannot become ill. 12 children are otherwise lost.

*is angry that she cannot go to the sauna this way

Hopefully, I do not get my parents sick who are here since Thursday evening and will stay until tomorrow.

*has too sneeze and sniff too much into handkerchiefs to write or paint anything

Sorry, at Nyota's Heart. Perhaps there is something for you via PM at the end of next week again.

 

Good to hear.

 

I love catching up with this story. Awesome!

 

Honestly, there is nothing to apologize for. RL comes first.
Actually RL has me swamped that this was a VERY long update for me. Oh my goodness I can’t believe you put both interludes in.


“I am a father, Sionnach. We lost two children together.”

And that’s something I think she needs to understand.


“Why is my grand-daughter pregnant again, Luçien?” snarls Narthex.

Well, you see, when a man and a woman have sex…


Skje's bearded face contracts. “You should not have angered him by mentioning Misera.”

Lucien isn’t a rational person, Skje. He’s also a self-masochist.


Yearning for Grianán, my sunshine par excellence, I reach out in the Force, but only silence answers me.
…
Why is she hiding from me?

Yoooouu’re an evil creeper!


It is clear to me that the girl is forbidden to come anywhere near me.

GOOD!
It’s not that he shouldn’t be hurt by it, but he HAS to understand that all he does is abuse, over and over again. People should not be around him.


She would never believe me that it is because of them that I am here, with a job position that I never sought in the first place. Or the status of a husband.

No, it’s not a complete believable story


the unfamiliar warning sign, that says “Keep out!” in eighteen different languages. I regard it as a mere suggestion, not as a prohibition.

*rolls eyes* You bring pain upon yourself.


Clementia is quite creepy.


Interlude 1

For my people, blue was once the holiest of colours

Blue is quite amazing

Poor Shmi though

I love that Qui-Gon is there, looking over someone who he loved. It’s heartwarming.


The eyes of the former Jedi Master sparkle with amusement. “You of all people should know that love has no bounds.”

Very true. <3


“Can my Ani be saved?” Shmi asks, her eyes wide with terror.

“It is written in the stars,” I answer truthfully. “There is always hope out there.”

Not for many, many years.
It’s so sad though that Shmi understands where her son is heading and knows exactly the darkness he has inside.


Senator Padmé Naberrie/ about 19BBY in the Outer Rim Territories

The former Jedi knight does not see her, his angel, any longer. All that he can see is his own irrational hatred.

Huh. His hatred and irrationality sounds like someone else we know…


Suddenly, I realize why I was sent here. This is not about Anakin. I am here for Padmé.

Anakin can’t be saved right now, please come back in 20 years.
(beep)


Padmé dying without a reason was the stupidest thing. ROTS had some horrible lines, and that was one of them. There had to be a collapsed lung or hemorrhaging or SOMETHING. Padmé would NOT leave her children like that! She was so much stronger than that!

 

It is interesting how people interpret Scripture differently. Some latch onto 'an eye for an eye' while others focus on 'do unto others as you would have others do unto you'. Some focus on Hellfire and Damnation while others say 'forgive and forget' and so on.

Looks like Lucien is being manipulated to some extent.

 

Cannot really fall asleep. Too many things are on my mind. So let me thank you once more for all your kind comments.

@Hazel: Good to see you around and catching up!
@Nyota's Heart: I love your enthusiasm.
@earlybird-obi-wan: Thanks for always finding a little praise for Lucien. He needs positive energy.
@SWpants: I agree on the lame Padmé characterization of RotS but for my story I need her to be stubborn and willing to crossover.
@Lady_Misty: Yes, the interpretation of a text can indeed change the world.

Well, let me present you with a little Halloween/ Samhain thrill:


Chapter 20: The magic lingers on

During the next two weeks I am moody and unbearable to everybody around me, except Garou. His presence is enough to hold back the darkness within me. I sing lullabies for him, tell him stories. When Sionnach is busy with her new baby boy, I take care that my son does not feel lonely or even worse, overlooked.

One morning, after a rather vicious and inexcusable verbal attack of mine, Sionnach startles me with a sudden announcement. “You wanted to stay here forever. I never agreed to anything, my master. You both can go on killing each other slowly without me and the boys.”

She will not be begged, she will not be forced. Narthex carries her bags to the waiting space shuttle. I am allowed to hug Garou good-bye and hand her a letter for Éibhear. But that is about it.

When I am at the breakfast table, only Agathos sits there, reading a book. He lowers it when I approach. “Isabeau and the children went on holidays,” he informs me.

I clench my fingers around the back of a rattan chair.

“Luçien, we need to agree on some things here,” he sighs and scratches his bushy beard. “Otherwise this will never work.”

“You forced me to be here,” I cajole and kick against the chair in ire.

“Narthex and I hoped that you would have the ability to deal with your new duties to House Tjiehenet with more grace.” He puts his book away. “We really would like to integrate Sionnach more into the family. But with you and Isabeau behaving like two quarrelsome teenagers this is impossible.”

I swallow my sharp remark.

“Another thing?” he says and rises his voice almost apologetically. “Don't go down the crypts again. Not for my sake, but for your own.”

“Did Clementia come running to you?”

Sorrow spreads over his features. “She died last night. Her body could not fight her various tumours any more.”

I close my eyes and hang my head.

“But yes, she confided to me that you are open to the suggestions of the Undead. Arcānā was the same. She looked for power to stop her from feeling helpless. What draws you near the crypts? Your grandfather's teachings?”

The news of Clementia's death stuns me too much to be angry with him. “I want to destroy them,” I growl.

“The royal ancestors already destroyed themselves, my friend. Leave them be!”

I jerk my chin upwards. “You should order that place to be erased.”

“You cannot erase a Force wound that easily. I fear we all need to live with it, in one way or the other, and learn from it. By the way, what will you do with the marriage announcement that my niece made? I could convince Isabeau that her ears played tricks on her, you know.”

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

After watching Clementia's cremation from a safe distance, I inform Agathos, Narthex and Skje that there will be a hand-fastening ceremony around the Feast of Samhain. It will be a farce, but Sionnach is not to know it. Her lack of knowledge is to keep her in line in future. No more pregnancies. To the rest of the universe she will be my flawless wife, while in fact I will protect her affair with Skje by all means.

Taran does not like the entire plan, either. It will cost me the rest of my credibility that I possess with Sionnach. And it certainly will increase the grudge of Draíocht and her clan. But I have no choice.

“I happen to have good connections with the Korriganes,” Taran announces while he helps himself with more bacon quiche.

The mention of the Elfin outcasts, makes me feel uncomfortable. They are bizarre creatures, their bodies marked by dark energies. “Why should I want them at the feast?”

“Néné taught you to provide a romantic atmosphere when wooing a female, right?” Taran chuckles and takes a deep gulp from his grog.

********************************************************************
(To be continued!)

 

During the next two weeks I am moody and unbearable to everybody around me, except Garou. His presence is enough to hold back the darkness within me.

Children have a weird tendency to do that.



“We really would like to integrate Sionnach more into the family. But with you and Isabeau behaving like two quarrelsome teenagers this is impossible.”

SOME people can’t grow up


Taran does not like the entire plan, either. It will cost me the rest of my credibility that I possess with Sionnach. And it certainly will increase the grudge of Draíocht and her clan. But I have no choice.

Dude, you’re a moron. You always have a choice. Poor Sionnach. She doesn’t deserve his abuse at all.

 

Yes Lucien, listen to those wise words and act

 

@SWpants & earlybird-obi-wan: Thanks for reading and commenting even though you both have very busy lives.

I had no time reading and commenting other fanfics yet, because I had a lot to do after the visit of Cem_Fel for the Halloween weekend.

Before I stop watching the German news about the 51 hour long strike of the railway workers & hop off to the nearby sport centre, let me give you another update:



Once I meet the invalids of the Star Wars, I have to admit that the Korriganes are more honest and joyful then the members of the Elfin High Court. They do not care for the outer appearance of a being, nor its social rank. The true person matters. I like that. They put up a beautiful feast for Sionnach, but she could not care less. She feels betrayed by me once more.

When we stand in front of the langhús she is somehow pacified, even invites me in. I refuse polity. Perhaps tomorrow morning I can face Skje, but not right now.

“Is there another?” Sionnach wants to know.

“Apart from the occasional flowers I happen to come by in the House of Healing, no.” To speak of Irmgard or Temperance would be my undoing. “I have not found her yet, Sionnach. But you will be the first one to know, even before my mother will.”

“Can you even love?” she suggests.

I am deeply hurt. “What makes you believe that I am indifferent to such feelings?”

“You are of the Brotherhood of Shadows.”

It makes me nervous that she wants to touch me. I find myself babbling, “I love my parents. I love old Minou like a family member. I love Telenn and her clan. I...”

“This is not what I am speaking of, Luçien. The dark side makes you think in absolutes. It poisons your heart. To love somebody means...”

“Don't!” I advice her, shocked that she joined the circle of those who believe me to be tainted beyond any repair.

“There might be somebody willing to share her life with you.” Her hands cup my head, while she talks. Making me gaze down on her. “Be true to her! Try not to make her a victim of your...”

I push Sionnach‘s hand roughly. “My heart is my concern only, not yours.”

“No, you made it mine tonight. We just married. I cannot take it as lightly as you do.”

Choler rises in me, mixes with my dry laugh. “If you cannot make me happy, nobody can.”

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

The next day Agathos invites me into the loyal library of Dún Barr. There he makes an unusual request. “You want me to help you to re-categorize your book collection? Who do you think I am?”

He sips calmly from his tea mug. “My private secretary.”

Aghast, I stare at the billions of books that surround me. “This will be the work of a life time.”

“This is why I hired you, besides for my little heart problem that is.” He smiles his usual winning smile. “The pen is mightier than the sword. Learn to control your feelings around here. Practise patience, humbleness even.”

I snort in disbelief.

“Books have something about them that calms the mind, opening new horizons, my old friend.”

Grudgingly, I set to work.

But only one hour later I feel more at ease. The odor of old paper is wonderful. The texts that I skim through enlighten me. This work is a blessing.

At noon Narthex brings tea for two and Agathos joins me. The three of us talk for many hours like in the old days. And much later on, I help Skje to tend to some sick animals.

All is well and peaceful until Isabeau and the children, apart from Grianán, arrive for the midwinter holidays. After a very nasty scene at the dining table Agathos suggests that I have a holiday, too. I am to come back for the Feast of Light that is about three months away.

Sionnach allows me to go ice fishing, skating, sledding and skiing with my sons. They can even stay overnight which means that I can have raclette evenings with them and tell them their favourite bedtime stories. Like real Lidérc boys, they want gruesome stuff. Stories that make the blood freeze.

The Feast of Light arrives far too soon, and I need to make new arrangements with Sionnach. She is not overjoyed that I ask her to visit me with the children at Dún Barr, but she feels that she owes regular contact to the members of the House Tjiehenet. I know she prefers the simple life of the langhús.

I am also slightly disturbed by the staff of Dún Barr. They are too friendly, too precise in all they do. I feel exposed to their discrete glares. But there is another, who watches me intensely.

One evening Nathex asks Garou and me into his private chamber. It is small and humble, only containing a bed and a trunk. He should grant himself more comfort.

“Garou, please come and sit beside your old grandfather.”

My son obliges while I remain standing.

“Why did you slow down your own growth process, child?”

I am taken aback by this announcement. My work kept me so busy that I have not noticed.

Garou grins carefree. “Éibhear is my older brother and it seems not right to leave him behind.”

“Are you sure that you want to continue this way?” Narthex moves on, his brown eyes shaded.

“Oui, grand-pére.”

Narthex exchanges a long glare with me, before finally saying, “So be it. But your father will keep an eye on you as a Force healer.”

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

When spring turns to summer I have barbecue evenings with Éibhear and Garou. We go fly fishing and swimming. I introduce them to weapon training and exercises.

When Alezan summons us, we follow his invitation to Sapuhru immediately. The man who raised me like his own is overjoyed. My mother though keeps at a distance. I do not seek her company either.

Soon, the Brotherhood of Shadows asks for me, I am anxious about leaving my sons behind. After the exchange of the usual pleasantries the Council comes out with the delicate contracts they have for me. They promise me that they will not bother me for the next ten years if I take out various persons.

Monsieur Corentin, a well-respected businessman who is into human trafficking.

Mademoiselle Gwenneg, an evil Force witch in the making.

Monsieur Corentin and Madame Katell, engaging in an extramarital affair with one another.

Grand-mére Rozenn, daring to predict the future for coins.

I bring them all down in the way the Holy Scriptures demand that from me. It is an arduous work digging all those holes into the sand, but I will not deny any of my victims a decent burial.

Suddenly, I feel my boys hiding behind a nearby dune. “Why?” I call out and sink to my knees.

They flock around me, high on emotions and concerned for me.

“Why?” I ask again.

“We needed to see this with our own eyes. Words can be so meaningless,” suggests Éibhear, his voice a bit shaky.

“Be glad that the laws of my people will never be fully your laws. I try to keep you both out of reach,” I mumble.

Back at home I cry even more when I have to spank them for their foolishness. Despite their severe protests I am determined to make this trial as short as possible, give them three strokes each instead of a dozen. Ever so gently the bamboos cane dances over their exposed backsides. Once I am finished, I put on healing lotion on the irritated skin immediately.

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

(To be continued!)

 

Absolutes are slippery.

At least he tries to be a loving father.

 

Oooh, good advice from Sionnach and cataloging in the library - nice way to stay busy Like Lucien with his sons... happy that he can have those vital connections.

 

That’s like…all he’s good at



“Can you even love?” she suggests.

I am deeply hurt. “What makes you believe that I am indifferent to such feelings?”

“You are of the Brotherhood of Shadows.”

He’s also a jerk. I wouldn’t believe him of romantic love either. I mean, shoot, even Gri essentially imprints herself on him so is it love or a forced obsession?


“You want me to help you to re-categorize your book collection? Who do you think I am?”

THINK OF ALL THE BOOKS YOU WILL COME INTO CONTACT WITH AND PUT ON YOUR TO-READ LIST!!


“Why did you slow down your own growth process, child?”

I am taken aback by this announcement. My work kept me so busy that I have not noticed.

*shakes head* Now THAT is bad parenting :/
Garou’s reasoning is irritating because of the difference in species, but it’s also cute.


When spring turns to summer I have barbecue evenings with Éibhear and Garou. We go fly fishing and swimming. I introduce them to weapon training and exercises.

Now that sounds like fun!


After the exchange of the usual pleasantries the Council comes out with the delicate contracts they have for me. They promise me that they will not bother me for the next ten years if I take out various persons.

I don’t like the terms, but the people he needs to take out pretty much deserve it. Especially Corentin GRRRR


Suddenly, I feel my boys hiding behind a nearby dune. “Why?” I call out and sink to my knees.


Hm. If I didn’t know what was going on, I’d be confused as to what is going on. Also, I think a spanking isn’t a good enough punishment.

 

Love the nice moments with his sons and in the library. He should do that more

 

@Lady_Misty: This is why Lucien is never 100% in the grip of the dark side. Vader returned from there because he loved his son. Let us hope that parental affection is enough to keep the darkness and cold away.

@Nyota's Heart: I simply love books and reading. To be a member of the local library certainly helps me to live with my small salary and enjoy good literature anyway. I am a fan of thrillers. At present of Michael Robotham. Just finished his novel "Shatter".

SWpants: When writing Lucien I neither wanted the perfect lover or father. He has many flaws & therefore is very accessible for the dark side.

@earlybird-obi-wan: Let us check then what he does next.



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

Several hours after my return to Draconis I find myself in front of O'Gradaigh's grave. A small bouquet of Forget-Me-Nots rests in my gloved hands. Carefully, I reach into the rock crevice. The familiar bulk of the jute bag is there as usual, but is has sunk in a bit. I drop the flowers on top of the sad remains of the Elfin noble man.

“Who lies here?” Temperance asks, who has insisted to join me on my walk.

“A friend,” I find myself answering. “Somebody who knows how heavy wrong accusations can weigh.”

Her gaze is clouded. “Did he kill himself here? Or did you want him to get a burial sitewith a view?”

“The latter,” I mumble.

“That was nice of you,” she beams, her eyes brighter again.

“I suppose.” I turn away from the crevice to face her again.

Temperance looks as stunning as ever. She wears one of those tight flight suits of the Draconian Air Force, a black leather coverall with a zipper. Her honey-coloured hair has grown considerably since I last saw her.

“I heard you have accepted a new master,” I say, verbalizing suspicions I had.

“Yes, there is somebody who keeps me in line.”

“Anybody that I know?” I probe, narrowing my eyes.

“Sorry, Luçien, I cannot tell you.” Her regret is genuine and stops me delving into her mind. “All that I can say is that he does not shrink back from his responsibilities.”

“Sorry that I was such a disappointment.” Upset with myself that I even considered spying her thoughts. I stare at my boots.

“You were not. I just demanded things from you that you cannot give in a relationship.” She steps closer, trying to renew our eye contact. “Between the two of us, anyway. You are more romantic, and into large gestures that don’t suit my personality.”

“Ah,” I say, unable to think of anything else and still looking away from her gaze.

“You know what you really should try?” I feel her fingertips on my left cheek.

“Wax play?” I snort. “Because its colourful patterns can brighten up my life?”

“No,” she laughs. “You should find yourself a kind widow. Somebody whom you can spoil, whose tears you can dry. A woman who understands loneliness and loss as much as you do.”

“You make me feel like some charity case.”

Her smile widens. “As a sub you need to know what the person in front of you needs. And you, Luçien, have many needs. Getting another chance for happiness is but one point on your extremely long bucket list.”

“I am more than happy with my two stunning sons,” I counter.

“Your kids are great; I am not disputing that. But your love life is in ruins.” She lightly strokes my cheeks. “It does not have to be.”

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

Draíocht grants me a malicious smile when I offer to accompany her to the monthly meeting of the local widow support group. Her Elfin eyes, gleaming almond shapes in the twilight of her home, are calculating for a moment. “Of course you can help me to carry some food, Luçien,” she finally says.

Then she starts packing me with baskets like some donkey. We also walk a detour, of which I understand. I am forbidden to enter the home where the women meet, even though it starts pouring down from the heavens.

Four hours later, the meeting is over and I dutifully take my place at the door like some manservant. I start watching Coire MacGhillie through the window. She is a heartbreakingly thin Elf woman about three-hundred-seventy years old and flaxen-haired. Her violet eyes are puffed and her gaze is empty.

In the weeks after the meeting I come to know that her husband was a tiarna, an earl. Hedied in a boat accident on the river five years ago. There are no children, causing the locals to gossip about the “inevitable dissipation” of her small estate.

There is a deep problem embedded in Elfin society. Whether married or single, all Elfin woman of higher birth are expected to be weak and helpless. They are likened to fragile, delicate flowers, incapable of making decisions beyond selecting the daily menu and ensuring her off-spring is taught moral values. Their prime use is to maintain a smooth family atmosphere where a man need not bother himself about domestic matters.

On Sapuhru, descent and relationship are determined through the female line. Women are the core members and the primary hunters for each pride or social group. In the cities it is not as openly displayed as in the open desert itself, but in principle my culture is as much matriarchic as the one of the Ophidiae.

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

One month later I decide to pay Coire MacGhillie a visit. With a sense of comfort I take in the dim and misty landscape. Instead of my desert outfit I put on a midnight-blue over tunic that is tight fitting across the chest. It has a simple button and loop of thread to fasten the neck opening. The keyhole neckline is high, since a garment that reveals the chest is considered effeminate here in the North. Underneath the kyrtill, I wear a broad skirt that covers trousers that have been tailored for my comfort.

By now I have drawn near the tract of moorland. Rush and moss overgrow the marshes. I seem to have a huge landscaping project ahead of me. Perhaps I should suggest to Coire MacGhillie that she keep sheep or to begin selling turf. Growing wheat or vegetable here without using Elfin magic is impossible.

After walking for a while I come to a gate, framed by holly bushes on each side.

Árda Wuthering itself is a Tower House from the Star Wars of old. It is a bleak affair to look at. The narrow, five story tower is only eight square metres. I suspect each level has only a single room, with a winding stair, built into the thickness of the walls, wrapping around and linking the floors. At the basement level I can spot a low vaulted cellar with its own outdoor access. The main door at the first floor level is likely to give me access to a small hall. Over the top of each window is an ornate hood, but it does not distract from the fact that the openings are protected by iron grills. It looks more like a prison than somebody’s home, even though the surrounding stones are skilfully decorated with plaster.

It is no wonder that Coire MacGhillie is always visiting other widows in her neighbourhood. This place needs flowerbeds or at least an herb garden.

I knock at the massive entrance door, holding on to the glass plate in my right hand.

A human matron opens the door. Her ash-blonde hair is covered decently by a knotted handkerchief, which shows her marriage status. She wears an ankle length linen shift over her hangerock, a traditional apron-skirt that is suspended by shoulder straps, fastened by brooches.

“God dag!” I greet her. A good day to you.

“Yes, please?” she asks suspiciously in Basic, her hand cramped around the handle of her frying pan. If I moved too hastily, I am sure she would knock me out without regret. I love fierce loyalty in a servant.

“I am a neighbour of Draìocht Mössa,” I introduce myself. “She asked me to bring back something that Her Ladyship forgot during the last club meeting.”

I do not know whether it is the name or the cake plate that I hold up in front of me, but I am ushered inside immediately. All distrust is gone. Not much later I am led inside a small, but cosy room with a fire already going.

While I look at the ornamented tapestries and other needlework of Coire MacGhillie, I hear hushed voices in the background. It is definitely the Udaler woman together with a male voice.

I vaguely remember Draìocht mentioning that Árda Wuthering had not many personnel. The cook is the chambermaid and gardener. There is also a man-at-arms who is also the coachman and butler whenever necessary.

Leaning back in the large wing chair, I close my eyes and tune into the conversation. My ears are not as accurate as those of other Lidérc, but the Force assists me.

“But I am sure it is him, the Ankou.”

“Kol, you make it sound like he is death himself.”

“Aska, the Ankou is far worse than death. On his home planet, he used to be the greatest contract killer and witch hunter that there ever was.”

“Perhaps he retired when he came to Draconis?”

“A hog in satin is still a hog. We can be glad if he leaves Her Ladyship alive before the Brunscrackers are served.”

“Then I will take time to bring him cookies.”

Their tone of sorrowful audacity pains me. My reputation always precedes me. It is a curse I carry with me, no matter where I go.

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

A small eternity passes until the lady of the house herself appears. Not everyone can pull off pastels, but a blonde like Coire MacGhillie can. The soft yellow of her long, silken dress – scoop necked – flatters her. The fabric is heavily beaded with gems and jewels. The wide sleeves that make give her an angelic look.

But there is a huge disharmony in her careful arrangement. Her facial make-up makes her look more like a painted doll than a living-being. I feel a pang of regret that she follows the court etiquette of the High Kings. It destroys the natural beauty of any woman.

“Milady.” I bow stiffly in the fashion of an Elfin gentlemen and achieve a shy smile for my effort.

“Vicomte Ankou, I presume?” she asks carefully, her aquamarine eyes scanning me.

I stifle a smile.

Coire MacGhillie is eyeing me with a hunger I know she has not given in to for ten years. I sense her desire for company, and reciprocate it.

Adrenaline rushes through my veins. It also has been a while for me to be with someone who was a worthy challenge. This woman is beautiful under all her layers of rigid make-up. Intriguing. And perhaps exactly what I am looking for at present.

I stride forward and take her right hand to kiss it in courtly manner. “Indeed,” I breathe on her snow-white skin. I hear her quick intake of breath as she takes a step back.

“It is an honour to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you.” Her voice turns husky.

“I hope Mistress Mössa did not give you the impression that I am some madman and a heartless murderer.”

She frowns deeply. Then she cocks her head from side to side. “I do not think that Mistress O'Conghaile married you without considering your character, your status in life and holy duties as a defender of your people's faith.”

I am glad she brings that up, but before I can think about an appropriate reply, Coire MacGhillie continuous speaking.

“A rich desert prince like you is obliged to have a mistress next to his main wife, is he not?”

I look intently into her eyes, which suddenly seem so much older than before. “You are well informed about my culture, milady.”

She smiles and makes herself comfortable next to the fireplace. “When my good husband was taken from me so suddenly, I took refuge in books. They gave me not only consolation, but a lot of information as well.” She folds her hands together in her lap, trying to keep her excitement in. “Sapuhru seems to be a fascinating place and your race, the Lidérc, are much more than the bloodthirsty pets of the Tjiehennet dynasty.”

Coire MacGhillie is not only beautiful, but also literate and witty.

“So, I can stay for tea time?” I enquire and give her a playful wink.

“I expected nothing less of you.”

“And you are not afraid of your reputation, milady?”

“Kol Blåbär and his wife Aska have served me since their teens. My reputation is safe with them. No one would need to know.”

Surprise grips me at the earnestness – and urgency – in her tone. She already considers becoming my lover, even though I have not brought it up yet.

I sit down in the arm chair opposite to her. “You would not tell, Sionnach?”

A shadow falls on her face. “From all the conversations I had with her in the past, I learned that she almost knows nothing about your culture. I suppose you have your motives so I will not question them. But allow me to say the following...”

I hold my breath, not sure what she wants to address next. It could be anything from my urge to control the situations that I am in to the tricky subject of bride grooming.

“Her heart belongs to somebody else,” Coire MacGhillie says. “She loves you like an older brother, like some blood relative she admires and fears at the same time.”

“Ah,” I murmur.

“You would not be here, milord, if you did not already carefully consider your marriage vows and feelings for your wife. It actually pleases me that you enter an affair this discreetly. The Elfin High Court has turned into a snake pit over the past centuries.”

From her words, I can make out that Coire MacGhillie is willing to trust me as her future lover. I swear myself not to break this trust.

 

hmm Lucien, what are you up to?

 

It's always interesting to learn about different cultures.

I will say that it is ironic that this chapter talks about court intrigue since one of my sisters and I were discussing court intrigue in a series that we used to love until the author started to show a disregard for her characters and series.

 

Interesting, this Coire... quite a difference from Irmgard. Hopefully she'll have a positive influence; I am truly fascinated by all the various relationships Lucien embarks on...