game unfinished

@wiinterhearted

In the years after the war between the Seelie and the Unseelie, Eithion managed to cast a veil over the dark forest. The Meadow overseer long forgotten beneath the erected tree of the past. It’s shadow still cast against the dark grass, the tombstone covered in the vines of black bushes, he touches it briefly, thrives in the quiet as hidden creatures coo here and there, make their voices known. Blue gaze shifts to a point beyond the meadow Keeper, the being’s branches groaning with age as he passes by pressing his palm against it to feel the power beneath grayish bark.

Finding himself standing at the door to the other realms, his closes his eyes. Memories of war return to him, the silence as his father fell that day seemed to echo so loudly when no noise had been heard. A long pause passes as he steps through, his mind set on the realm of winter. Stepping from a void, the snow crunches loudly beneath boots of black. Blue hues settle on the castle in the distance, another memory hits him harder than his own father’s death.

Jaw sets as he remembers the trail of blood that followed him through snow. Crimson cast against the cold white of ice and earth. A lost princess caught in the middle of war, an innocent who should have never been where she was. However, the markings told him that she had no choice, that she was of those born without a place. Markings of legends that seemed to form in the wombs of those conceived out of light and darkness, a conception that is not spoken of.

He holds no grudge against Freya, the heart wants what it wants. He reaches the castle and a heavy sigh passes his lips. The veil cast over the dark realm would have made it disappear from the others. He could only imagine what she has thought since their last encounter. Since he watched a fae break and turn before his eyes. She was powerful, she was beauty and danger. Not bothering to announce himself he easily slipped past a huntsman and into the castle itself.

It was then he was stopped and a sword pressed to his chest, a soft chuckle leaves his lips then. Amusement danced across his features only for a few seconds before he was able to take the blade and through it along with the huntsman against a wall, his hand moved quickly to stop the others in their tracks, the power gained from the Meadow Overseer strengthened his own, gaze turns sharply to a single guard standing in the doorway with his sword unsheathed.

“I’d suggest you call on your queen, before you’re picking pieces of your friends up off the floor. I’d hate to ruin such beautiful marble….”

There's a moment when silver tipped feathers fall from her face, the link between master and avian spy severed, that she allowed the smallest trace of nostalgia to creep in. So many battles that went unsung, so many Huntsmen who had blooded themselves in her name or who had fallen forgotten in the snows of her conquests. Yet, she remembered with a ghost of smile on her arctic lips, there would always be one would stand out like a raven flame in the blinding whiteness of memory. Ally and deliverer during their dark wars, Eithion. The one would forever be a welcome sight within her glacial fortress. Freya laid the mask on the waiting pillow, her servant being overawed and eager to disappear was easily forgotten as she paced the shining length of her sanctum. Years had passed since she donned her armor, well used and retired in its case in the gallery, but still her dress moved noisily over icy stone. The metal flecked hem clinking with each step, her wars may lay behind her but there were still battles to be won with her own brand of magnanimous skill. It would not take him long to travel the bleached landscape but she sent no one out to greet him. Would her guards still be at the top of their game after so many years of disuse or would her guest merely prove to be the very same mischievous fae she had always known? She thought of calling Eira to her with her soft curls and warm eyes but the echo of her father's smile that was always hovering at the edge of her lips stopped her. Now did not feel like the time for such gentleness. With her instincts rewarded in the flash of weapons before her throne, Freya stood before another of her own heart and mind, approval clearly marked in her wintry gaze.