The banquet has finally ended - or at least, the queen's participation in the banquet. It's been a rather long day already, considering how packed with events, magic and meaning as it's been. One gets tired of being gracious, no matter how relaxed one is, after a while. Fiona's excused herself in order to tend to some business, asking that her Captain of the Guard meet her at the top of the cliffs...
She stands there, waiting, watching the ocean, surveying the shape of the land with her gaze. And now too she begins to draw in the questing waves of Self that she has sent out, emanating from her in exploration of the essence of her kingdom - not withdrawing the Self that she has invested, but drawing her attention inwards to a fixed point here, on the cliffs above the waves.
"I think I see how to do this," she murmurs, to herself. "It will be difficult. And exhausting. I'd best wait a bit - once I do this, it's straight to bed for me. Glad I ate first." Yes, Aurelius, your new Queen is in the habit of talking to herself. Worry or not at your pleasure.
But she has not forgotten you. She turns, waiting for your arrival, standing against the sky as if there were no barrier between herself and it. It has been a long day...
The one thing about centaurs -- their arrivals can't be missed or go unheard. He does not gallop, nor does he prance. It is a simple four-legged stride, his spear sheathed along his side. He cuts a Heroic figure in his gradual approach. The Grecian helmet with its great comb, the bronze breastplate with its intricate carvings, the golden links that drip along golden fur, the blonde tail held high in carriage.
When he nears you, his gradual pace slows even more -- for it is easy to feel as if one were being run down by a centaur even when they are simply walking. He stops and removes his helmet.
Oh, how the nymphs of the cloud empire must delight in attempting to Tempt him. He is, in short, the most wondrous-visaged creature you perhaps have ever seen. Including your husbands double. Including the fairies and the angels you have met. Including the demons of lust and Casanova vampires. His skin is brushed gold, smooth as gold leaf over a statue. His eyes are likewise golden, and his hair is the color of pair juice, and is fragrant with such and other oils, bouncing golden curls like Cupid's own halo. Is it a shame those lips have not been kissed? That cheek caressed?
Aurelius bows his head. "My Queen..." There is obvious respect he pays you, and considerate distance he keeps between your self and his...
I can see that I'm going to be getting in trouble. Noone is going to believe that I can resist this temptation...
The corners of Fiona's mouth quirk faintly with the wry humour of the thought that occurs to her. Fodder for the Oak Queen's rumors, perhaps. Almost certainly fodder for Rhodri and Davydd's quips and remarks. Hopefully not for their jealousy...
"Captain. Feel free to join me if you will. I'd hoped to speak with you sooner rather than later, and this seems a good time. I am," Fiona explains, "preparing myself to do something I've not done before. Which is ... not uncommon for me, I suppose, but still..." So what does one say to an absolutely gorgeous but sexless male? This is the first time I've met one.
"Huw has told me a bit about you, although not your entire life's story. And I know he has told you about me, though I do not know what, or how much." The corners of her mouth tug up again. There is a lot that Huw could have said. "I would prefer to speak with you myself and know you more directly - and for you to learn of me, by the same token. After all, if you are going to be keeping me alive, you may as well know what sort of task you've signed on for."
The Queen is not, apparently, altogether humorless...
"Of course, your majesty," he speaks in a honeyed tone, even his voice is beautiful. This four-legged forbidden fruit. He approaches in another slow step. "I am honored to pledge my service to you, and my life in protection of your kingdom, which shall be the manifestation of your hopes and dreams. I was... encouraged to hear of your endeavor."
He begins to settle, so that he's not staring down at you. It takes a few moments, for the equine body, though not a draft horse by any means, is still much to move and situate. But there is such grace to it, such ease to it. He sets his spear aside and his helmet, turning the fullness of his... beautiful countenance to you.
His pear-colored hair shifts as he turns his head to you, you may see his mane, of platinum spun silk lying across his withers. His chain and armor chimes as he settles.
It is a bit unnerving, having that sort of look focused on her - the more unnerving for it being so apparently chaste. No wonder the nymphs all run after you in their desire to tempt you - not necessarily in the hopes of proving you corruptible, but in proving themselves beautiful enough, that you might desire them where they can see it, whether or not you then give in...
"I have many hopes and dreams, and I intend to make the most of what I have," Fiona says simply. Easier, perhaps, to take that tack, than to invite too much comparison. "I have much to do and only a little time in which to accomplish this first step. As you know, I live a dual life. In two weeks' time, I must return to London for a few days, and then return here to go to Avalon." She should get frequent flier miles.
"Why don't we begin by ... first ... allow me to ask what you have heard of my endeavor," Fiona suggests, turning to look out at the sea again, and again examining the land's shape. "And ... what you would ask of me, in return for your service. And then if you have questions for me, of course ..."
"The Viceroy has spoken to me of a kingdom that harkens back to the Golden Age, where music, art, philosophy and beauty reigned, before the time of Purity's Purge. That the world of Men, the children of the Bronze Age, might remember their Past and look to a future where they may be better than they are. You wish to create an example of how to Live. Of the greatness of Goodness. As it was explained to me..."
"I have dedicated my life to atone for crimes past, the crimes of my people, the crimes of Man, that caused the loss of such paradise on earth. In other places, far from here, battles are raging toward this same goal. I have pledged my service that I may take part in the greater struggle, and in the greater Good that I hope shall come of it."
There is a faint roseate blush that bronzes his golden cheeks. "As no doubt you have been told, I have pledged my life to Purity, to Goodness," Aurelius softly continues, his eyes lowering to the grass. "I view my service to you as being a part of a whole. I believe I may be able to do the most Good by ensuring that you are able to affect these worlds with your own Good Acts. I ask nothing for this service, but for the opportunity to serve, my lady."
"I hope to provide more than an example," Fiona murmurs, "but yes. I would like there to be something ... More. People have abandoned ideals in the pursuit of the material, and in clinging tightly to the material, they have forgotten ideas. They have forgotten how to dream. It is true that one dreams the most longingly of what one does not and cannot have - but it is possible to attain as well. It begins with the dream and the idea, and people need those dreams and ideas - just as they then need the toil of their hands to attain those dreams."
Inspiration ... and Harvest ...
"I have been told of your vow," Fiona agrees, turning towards you again. "I will not criticize you for it. We all make vows to ourselves and to others. We keep those vows until they are fulfilled, or lifted from us, or we outgrow them. Some break the vows without lifting them, but I do understand why you cannot and will not do so. I labored a long time under a vow of my own creation, until the age of it passed."
She holds her gaze on you for a long moment, then turns back to the cliffs, taking a step closer. "You ask nothing for it, but I will not have you go unpaid. When the time comes, you will find that there may be things which you require, for yourself or another. When that time comes, inform me. As it is," Fiona smiles with a faint irony, "your first task in my service will be approaching."
"I happily await your command, My Queen. I have established a personal guard in coordination with your General. Once you have your palace constructed, I will work with you in whichever way you wish to establish rounds and will assist the General with defensibility. My main concern, and my main charge, is You your Self. I am here as your protector, your Champion, the sword and shield for your hands. However you wish to employ me, I give myself to your care."
He accepts your offer. You see a moment where he might have protested you, but who is he to second guess a queen's desires? "I shall do so, Your Majesty," Aurelius speaks quietly.
He says nothing more of his vow. He made it when the winged ones passed over the great expanse of all creation, the house of myth when the Golden Age had passed. There, Olympus was, and Asgard, and Camelot and many of the others. Only a very few are left, and of those only Camelot has flourished. The Fair Folk have seen to that.
"The palace shall be constructed shortly. I will leave it to you and the General to decide upon its best defense, and will give any additional instruction I have at that time." Fiona smiles again, but it's a faint smile, distracted; already she is turning her senses outwards, her energy rippling in that questing, questioning fashion out over the landscape.
She is young, and knows nothing of those ages past. As young as you look, she is younger by centuries; a state which she has come to accept, to acknowledge and to move on from. Perhaps her two kings have aided her in getting past that. Perhaps it is just that here, despite her youth, she is Queen of what she sees...
"I am about to Change things," Fiona says simply. "When I have done so, I will be very tired. I may not remain awake; I don't know. I will require you bring me to a safe place to rest once I have done this. Consider this my first display of my trust in you and in the General's recommendation of you... and your first task. I will be unable to defend myself, for all or almost all of the energy I have at this moment will go into this task, unless I am mistaken."
It is always draining to Change. The last time she Changed, she had to jump off of a bridge to do so. And this is at least as great a change, even if much more external. Small, delicate hands lift, palms pressed together in front of her mouth, and the changing, changeable eyes drift shut. "Is there more that you would ask or know, before I do this, Captain?"
"No, My Queen, nor would I keep you from your duty and your task." He begins to rise and to take position. He will remain with you, his spear at the ready. You see him turn his head, a look to the eastern plain, a whistle makes the plain come to life with the lifting torsos of a centaur army of fifty.
"Proceed as you will, Your Majesty, your safety is assured." The oiled pear-colored locks are covered once more by his helmet and he takes a serious stance (as all things with him seem to be, serious). He does not remain your shadow, but gives you space to work.
He gestures with his hand and his army remains at ease. A part of them moving toward the western border, in case your energy encourages the curiosity of those beyond your borders.
Aurelius takes a position, his prancing gait at once warlike and beautiful. Oh for a royal steed like that... you would not be the first to think of it. If your safety may not be assured with him, it may be possible that it may not be assured at all...
Eyes open, then. This is not something to be done blindly, though her concentration is such that she does not take in that which she sees. Her hands fall to her sides, fingers smoothing along the folds of her gown. The energy that ribbons from her begins to increase, snapping outward and unfurling like a sail before the wind, as a great banner might. Fiona turns slowly in a circle, not looking to the centaurs but to the land and then back to the sea. Her land. Her ocean. Her kingdom.
The energy rises from her, palpably, sinking down into the earth and rising up through it towards the sky. It is the most powerful working she has ever attempted, consciously or otherwise, and the most sustained. Now her eyes drift shut again, using such attunement as she's gleaned rather than relying on only what she can see...
Fiona begins with the bowl of the coast, one hand coming up to ball into a fist between her breasts. There's the sound of water slapping against the beach, drawing downwards and then back up as she begins shaping the harbor. Deep, then - deep enough for a blue-water harbor, the gentle round of the coastline smoothed. It is a beginning, a test - but only a beginning. A faint incandescent glow forms on her skin, the nascent energy given some visible substance as she takes a deep breath, then holds it. Gradually her power swells, output jumping. There is lightning on the air, regardless of any Princes of the Winds...
This goes to eleven...
Sand shifts, earth shakes and the air and water glow as if with an electric sunset. Fiona is the sun, the heart of that sunset, her magic fueling the effort she makes. The beach alters, long piers jutting out into the water, a seawall rising to one side to provide a jetty, docking even for the most magnificent ships in the deep blue waters of the port. A long, tall building rises in cream-coloured stone, set into the side of the cliff closest to the newly formed harbor, smooth and unearthly in its grace. Outwards along the edges and building back up towards the cliffs, towards the open land, streets and buildings begin bit by bit to appear.
The streets are broad and everything slopes slightly downwards towards the sea at a very gradual cant, triangular cuts made into the sides of her roads. They are set with pale roseate stones that shimmer in the bath of magic that creates them. A tracework of these roads, then - the roads are mapped out first, from the harbor, along the harbor, up among the as-yet formless magic that hovers and floats along the cliffs and the fields nearest the sea. And then the building begins in earnest.
Grey stone, white stone, pale blue stone - carved as they are not from her woods but from the solid and shifting earth. There are dwellings - structures which overlook the harbor, balconies which may someday be graced with lovely occupants, windows to reflect the sun and open to accept the salt breeze. Stalls and shops and inns and taverns - Fiona is not without her darker side, as who is not? There will always be a place for such. But there are parks as well, gardens in which grow snapdragons and nettles and roses and fuchsias, tall graceful apple trees who bear blossoms but no fruit regardless of season...
There are trees here. The ways are lined with them. Oak and ash and thorn indeed, but not limited to them. Nearest the water, willows bend their graceful tresses, and there are sycamores and rowan and elder and hazelnut...
Halfway up the cliffs, a natural platform occurs, shaped from the very rock by the concentrating queen. A statue is formed, some twenty feet high and proportionate, out of pure silvery marble. The statue is angelic in subject, face beautiful and seeming both benign and terrible at once. Wings spread slightly, robes leaving wings alone, feet bare. One hand is lifted, palm outwards towards the waiting sea, the other held palm upwards and slightly cupped. The face would be familiar to those who Know of such things. There is only one angel that Fiona has met to model such from, however well or poorly her memory might work...
And who better to be modeled from for such a city, such an endeavor, than Galadriel, Sentinel of Dreams and Aspirations?
One might think that she would stop there. She has paled slightly with her effort. It has been a mighty effort already. But she is not done - she is not ... satisfied ...
From the cliffs moving upwards, now, there is a low rumbling as she forms and shapes a palace of golden stonework. It is gently rounded to match the coastline, with diamond-glass windows facing the ocean bravely. There are ways through the cliffs, through the bowels of them, from coastline to the palace itself. The tunnels are arched and gradually sloped, free of stairs and high and wide enough for two centaurs abreast with a man to either side, set with portcullis and gates and other manner of defense. For Fiona is not without her paranoias. And then there is the palace...
The outer walls are thick, and behind them is such loveliness. The courtyard allows visitors or armies to sit or stand or pass beneath a white balcony, trailing vines and climbing roses clinging to the spires. Inside, there are rooms upon rooms - each of her advisors will have quarters here, with room to spare. Visiting dignitaries will find no shame in being her guest. There are ballrooms with doors that open to gardens and hedge maze, there are dining halls and small audience chambers, there is a library in whose shelves rest every book Fiona has read or dreamed or even imagined...
There is the throne room, with the raised dais and high ceiling with windows high in the walls for golden sunlight and silver moonlight, there is the chapel with its walls of woven living wood and no religious symbol visible but the cup and the cloth, there is the Queen's chambers with its solid walls and canopied bed that looks almost large enough for a helicopter to land. There are staircases and there are ramps, there are turrets and watch-posts. It is palatial indeed.
Slowly, the magic dwindles and fades away - but the city, the harbor, the palace remain. Fiona remains standing as if frozen, unmoving. "...Can edit it later," she mumbles. "I need to - I need to..." What she needs to do must, it seems, remain unknown. There is a brief shimmer that crawls along her skin as long oak-blonde hair reverts to the chin-length fuchsia pageboy, the pale gown to denim and cotton and leather. The rings she wears remain, as do the necklace - and that face, seeming the more ethereal for its pallidity. She sways, then topples over, literally asleep on her feet.
You missed the stamping hooves. You missed the thudding spears. Did you feel it at all as you were lifted by several pairs of masculine hands. Always with you, always with Men, always it is in the multiples...
You are borne in the most beautiful arms, the arms of a Champion, golden as your kingdom, accompanied by an armored procession, a personal retinue in full regalia. Will you dream of it? Will it fill your sleep and will you wake with remembering eyes, the visions captured against the color of them like the very rays and flowerets that make up a human iris?
The prancing march of your equine guard creates the percussion, the slow measured heartbeat of a song. A song? Yes, and by one of the most treasured voices ever born or made, a beautiful and golden tenor.
She has come...
See the kingdom
She has created
She has come
To return Gold to the world of men
To join the armies of the Dreaming
Where all things
All things
Are possible
Think not of what cannot be done
Think not of what cannot come to pass
For none of those things exist
On earth, in dreams, or in the highest heaven
With a tender face benign downcast to you, Aurelius carries you to where you, Queen of Blossoming Hope, may rest. In the center of the Queen's private garden, the winding stairs to her rooms stretching skyward. There, in the blooming heart of your new creation, the centaur champion settles with you yet in his arms.
He sings...
He guards...
He holds...
He prays...
And ... better believe it... rumor of that angelic statue will spread. For Aurelius knows that face. He remembers it well. The Sentinel of Aspirations, servant of Blandine, Archangel of Dreams and mistress-master of all kingdoms of Fancy, Fantasy, Dreams and Hope. Blandine, the Queen of Queens and King of Kings. So She-He, too, will know of this. A new warrior for a battle now rejoining.
Posted by rowan at December 31, 2004 10:06 PM
