A small gust in the tempest of time

Andras was 10 when he first came across the notion that his parents were going to be- or already were -traitors. To what, exactly, he wasn’t too sure. He was eavesdropping with his twin, Oliver, as most children do when their parents are hiding something from them. The Lady and Dame of the house Erskine were saying things like:

People will die

He turned to his brother, finding an expression that mirrors his own. Quite literally. They were identical after all.

and

People die regardless

He shared a look of fear with Ollie; like most children, the concept of death was foreign. And like most fae, it was just as far. 

and

We can take the fall, but- dearest, think of our children.

To which, said children fell through their parents’ bedroom door, landing on the soft carpet of their room. The soft ‘thunk’ of their fall was far from unnoticed by their parents, not to mention their very appearance. The twins were soon swept up into their parents’ arms, previous conversation lingering, but not quite sticking, kissed away by soft whispers and gentler hugs. It was about 7 or maybe 8 years later when Andras recalled this particular event. The twins were almost two decades old by then, still children, not even juveniles.

Andras was 20 when he was sure his parents, and he, are traitors. And it was to their entire species, not only the fair folk of Prythian.

This time, the entire family was all in the drawing room, and everyone was aware of anyone who might be listening. Well. Them and a few others.

Human, others. 

Humans, that by some way or another weren't bound by name or magic to the fae in eternal servitude. And they'd like to keep it that way, thank you very much. In fact, they'd like for it to be that way for every single human as well. So much so that they are having this meeting. 

In this room. 

With this family.

For negotiations of some sort.

And maybe an alliance.

They sat across from each other, the two species separating themselves neatly. A long low table set between them, with a large bundle wrapped neatly but rough, standing out amongst the delicate tea set. Though the humans hadn't touched theirs.

The self-proclaimed general, Jurian, as he introduced himself, was about Andras and Oliver's age. Somewhere between 5 to 10 years older. Were he fae, that'd be nothing, but as a human, it meant he was fully grown up or something. So much more mature. Andras didn’t understand what the excitement was for, so what if this Jurian was maybe a decade older. So what if that meant he was more grown up. That's only about thirty at best, which meant he was still a juvenile. Other than him, there was 4 more humans, outnumbering the fae by one. They were all more or less the same age.

Their little group stood or sat awkwardly around the room, each watched the fae with varying degrees of wariness, their faces worn and hard, yet some were hopeful. Their mother, being from a long line of spring nobles whom her parents decided would be the heiress since her twin was off at the capital serving, was perfectly comfortable—hosting and commanding the room with quiet confidence. Their mama, a dame who formerly served with their uncle as a Sinclair guard, though she was a knight rather than a sentry, stood beside, more akin to, well, a guard than a wife. He and Ollie sat one to each side of their mother, staring down their—visitors, so to speak.

"Are you prepared for the consequences?" Amalie, a stern—also self-proclaimed—general, though Andras was fairly certain they had no army, was saying. "You're experienced enough, but your kids…"

Andras blinked. Were they... referring to? Him? And Ollie? He was not paying much attention to their conversation as he should have, in favour of inspecting the humans; maybe that was why Andras was caught by surprise. Were he listening like Oliver was, he would've realized the severity of what was suggested in this room. He would've realized that his twin's face had gone slightly ashen, with the implications of what their parents were trying to do.

"Andras and Oliver can handle themselves if need be, but they will be kept away." Their mama, Dame Ilona, replied tersely.

Andras took that as a sign to focus more on the substance of the conversation, rather than cataloguing the humans' habits and personalities. Negotiations continued back and forth, of what exactly Andras was not too sure at the beginning, glancing every so often at his brother to fill in the blanks, as he would later detail what he had learned of their visitors. But Ollie was not looking at him, attention rapt with the negotiations.

Something about personnel, and equipment. Swords, bows, artillery, even runic things as magical protection. Almost as if they were going to war.

That wasn't right.

Humans don't do that.

They don't fight. Not against each other, and certainly not against fae. But their mothers continued, and one of the humans, a gentle-looking Miryam, was drawing up a contract. Another, taller, almost as tall as the fae, and determined, Gerrit was drawing maps and predicting movements of the other courts. And, guarded Emery was considering what other allies may join their cause, many names that Andras recognized as other prominent nobles from various courts, each with their own forces and traditions. By the scale and various negotiations, it appears that they wish to rebel across the whole continent. Planned, careful revolt.

Free themselves from indefinite servitude, which, according to parents, was a bad thing.

Surely not, Andras had thought.

True, slavery is awful; their parents had taught them such. But the humans were simply too weak. As fae, they were certainly more powerful than any human can be. Humans can't even match basic physical traits. Much less harm a fae.

While iron could do damage, it was long before fae developed resistance; they have to be forged well now, very specifically and take a certain skill for the softness of iron weapons to harm. These humans intend to fight a war in which they would not be able to harm their opponents… unless…

There was one material that the fae have always been vulnerable to. Not that humans would know. It has been a closely guarded secret for eons. Telling them that would be betraying a fae's very existence, letting humans know that—

"Ash trees. Weapons made of those would suppress our magic, and then we will be killable." His mother said quietly.

Both Andras's and Oliver's gazes snapped to their mother in shock. Their mama, however, had simply closed her eyes and taken a deep breath.

The humans seemed to stop breathing altogether.

"Mom?"

"Mother?"

The fair Lady Erzsebet hushed them.

Their mama continued, "We believe in justice," she said simply, in response to their allies' (?) disbelieving looks.

All humans' temper rose at that. Only Jurian spoke out.

He stood, sneered a "Where-" before getting cut off by Amalie, who simply pulled his arm and got him back on the sofa.

Mother continued, "We have the support of more fae than ever before; even a couple of children of the high lords have delivered their support," she tried,

"Right, and they know you are telling us this?" Emery's shrewd eyes watched the Lady closely.

She hesitated.

"They… are not aware of this exactly." That gave all the humans a pause. "We said that we would arm you, that is all. They assumed weaponry, but,"

Their parents looked at each other, expressions heavy. "We wish more so, to balance, at least to some extent, the scales in this. To ensure such atrocities can't happen again,"

Andras was 21 when the seemingly small rebellion became a full-blown war. There was a failed Spring coup, a somewhat successful one in Winter, and very successful ones among most of the nobles across the continent, which got neatly divided on different sides of the conflict. He and Oliver helped as much as fae children could; they still are, after all, essentially equal to mature humans, so whatever. Their parents were worried about consequences; after all, it would only be right to prove to them that it was the right thing to do, to uphold justice, the way they believed so.

Andras was 26 when that notion died along the remainder of the Erskine clan. With his mother, mama, and brother. Screaming with anguish as he was taken to safety, barely a juvenile, magic hardly developed. What were they thinking? Their mama can't even fight through this war; how could he and Ollie?

Andras was 28 and wandering, hiding from Spring officials, and helping out other broken families, human or fae alike. It felt like there could be no justice, no righteousness that their parents spoke of. He had at some point at that time, figured he wouldn't become a knight.

Andras was 29 when the treaty was done negotiating, and the war officially over. He, along with everyone else in the southern parts of Spring shocked and hollowed out when they realized Spring negotiated away their home. He moved north, like all the other fae remaining in southern Spring, passing by humans as they began moving in.

Andras was 34 and lost. Taking odd jobs here and there, getting reckless with abandon, chasing any feeling he could just to feel alive again. It was impossible. Perhaps if Ollie also… no.

He can't even visit his grave.

When Andras was 48, he met the third prince of Spring, and he was going to kill him.

South of Spring felled noble Erskine

Every one a traitor

Offered lore with iron spine

As Ash burned Prythian later