pennysheets | Swept into Faerie for @punched

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Swept into Faerie for @punched_hitler

The realms of faerie love their frivolity. Great gatherings with music and food and dancing and chatter. Soldier doesn't know which great fae lord this is; it isn't like it matters. He's not here to kill any of them. He's here to prevent anything from happening to his own master, so he keeps his attention on him, as is only appropriate.

Though he does find his gaze drifting from his master to the swirl of movement and color from the ballroom floor, from time to time. There are flashes of leaves and talons and raven wings among the dancers, in cloths and hair and eyes, but the rhythm is engaging, the melody is pleasant, and he knows the steps. His feet itch to move, even though he knows he could probably never keep up with the true faerie dancers, and might lose what little he has left of himself if he tries. He still kind of wants to.

He knows he mustn't ask. But apparently his master can tell what he wants, because he finds the cool eyes on him when his gaze wanders back where it belongs. He straightens up, guilty and afraid, but the old fae just smiles indulgently.

"Go on, pet," he says. "I am safe enough for now."

Soldier goes. He doesn't have the same grace as most of the people on that dance floor, as heavy as he is with the metal growing out of his bones, but he has some value as a dancer still. He spins the real fae around to the beat as it picks up in response to the newcomer, strange steps from another life that they manage to pick up with laughter and chattering amongst themselves-- not for him, never for him, but still pleasant to have around him-- and feels almost happy enough to smile. It won't last, it never lasts, and he might come away from the dance with new fangs hooked into his mind, but he doesn't care. He wants to dance.

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There's a frustrated-sounding pause, with the only sound the leaves of the trees rustling and some distant baying hounds. "I don't know," Soldier finally says, and he's more honest than he should be, because if he said this to Pierce he'd be punished severely. "I don't understand you. You might be a threat. But you might just be very strange and a little stupid."

That makes Steve laugh a little, even if that might be even more strange, to Soldier.

"I am a very strange and a little stupid," he admits, freely, "but I promise, I'm not a threat to you. At least, not directly." Because, "I don't want to bring your lord's ire down on you, for befriending me." Assuming, of course, that Soldier wants to be his friend in return.

"But I realize Lord Pierce is - the way he is," he says, after a slight pause, because Steve might want to say exactly what way Lord Pierce is, but even he has learned there can be ears in places one wouldn't think they ought to be. And he is being honest when he says he doesn't want to be a threat to Soldier.

Well. Up to the point where he absolutely will befriend the human, because, clearly.

He lets out a breath, because there are things he'd like to discuss, but he doesn't want to be overheard. And he's still not sure how open Soldier would be to hearing them, in the first place. Steve's not good at being patient, but he can try.

"Yes," Soldier says simply. "He is." He knows. He's not stupid. He's his Lord's assassin, his tool, his Soldier, of course he knows. But he also doesn't remember anything else, and it's not as if most of the other fae he's met are any better.

He looks back at the merrow with a frown. "Why aren't you?" he asks, brows together. He's not like any fae he's ever actually met.

Steve's eyebrows go up. "Why am I not - the way he is?" he finally decides is the question.

Well. It is a very reasonable question, from most angles.

He falls silent a moment, less because he doesn't have an answer and more because he wants to make sure he give it in a way that might make sense to Soldier.

"Because someone like your master has always been as he is now. In the position he's in. Or close enough. He wants to hold onto it." And will do anything to do just that.

"I - haven't. So I don't know how to be like that, and still be myself."

Nor does he want to, he doesn't say, but it's clear on his face, for someone like Soldier to read.

He laughs a little, to try to lighten things, and adds, "Fae are very bad at change." Some kinds, anyway. The deep kinds.

Even the smallest and weakest of faerie is still superior to a mortal. This is something he knows deeply, has been taught thoroughly. He's never met a fae before who didn't reinforce this. So Soldier is skeptical.

Unless-- "You have not always been fae?" he guesses, and for a wild moment he feels something almost like hope. He doesn't know why or what for, if he would hope to be someday equal to the masters himself, or just for someone who might understand what it's like living among them while being separate from them, and yet not quite human anymore either.

He's never met a male merrow before - and definitely not this male merrow.

Steve makes a face, which is somehow both apologetic and unapologetic, at the same time. "No, I have been," he admits, not looking at Soldier for a moment, eyes going to the path they're walking, then the grain of the wood of his spear handle, then the wicked point of it.

His voice is strangely nonchalant, quiet and understated, with a little twist to his lips when he says, very much intending it for Soldier's ears only, "I just haven't always been powerful."

The hope fades. A fae who isn't powerful is still more than a human. This is what he's been taught, time and again. "And now you are," he reiterates.

Still, he does have a point. Fae are not good at change. "What were you like before you were powerful," he asks, keeping it quiet as well. If this merrow doesn't want it to be heard beyond the two of them, he will follow that cue.

That might be what Soldier had been taught - but what he has been taught is not a universally held belief.

But Steve focuses on the question he was asked.

"Weak," he says, simply, his eyes flicking to Soldier and then away again. He hopes his brutal honesty can be another olive branch to the human, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt him, still, to offer it. He always was prideful.

"Small. Undesirable and overlooked. I was - nothing. No one - well," he finally laughs, a little self-deprecating. "I'm not much of anyone, now. But it's a little harder for anyone to look over me, at least."

"There is nothing wrong with being small," Soldier says, not quite a protest or a scold, but... verging on one. "Or weak. If you have someone to protect you or a good brain or a talent to make up for it." Though they have both agreed that this merrow is a little stupid, so maybe he didn't even have that. "You were overlooked because you were small?"

"Small, weak," he confirms. "Male." Male merrows are rare, and that does not make them desirable. "Merrows don't really do protection." Well. None but him; he tries. "And they prefer human men." Whether they have to leave the sea to get them, or enchant them to lure them under the waves. "They didn't have any use for anyone like me, no matter what else I might have had to offer."

He's trying to sound lighthearted, but there's a small, soft note in there somewhere that can't help but come across as bitter.

Then a soft laugh, as he tries to regroup. "I am still male, these days," he points out, in case that needs pointing out.

It might still need saying! You never know with the fae. Some of them change genders on a whim.

The merrow is being remarkably tolerant. Soldier considers whether it would be wise to ask a question. "How did you get big?" he finally does ask, though there's a tentative quality to it, like he is ready to leap back should he take offense.

Steve knows that you have to give trust to get it. And in fact, he is probably one of the most - if not singularly the most - trusting fae that Soldier will ever come across. It doesn't mean the truth is always easy for him, but when it counts, it is absolutely what he will give.

And it's what he gives now: "Magic," is the simplest answer, and he lets that sit for a moment. "Not mine," he elaborates, after a beat. "It probably shouldn't have even worked. It was - a bad idea. But I'm good at chasing those down."

He pauses again, then adds, "It's not a type of magic that I think anyone like Lord Pierce should ever know about."

Soldier gives him a look that actually edges into alarm. "Then do not tell me any more. What I don't know I can't tell him." Because he knows he can't not tell Pierce things if he's asked. He can avoid inviting questions, but not answering them.

And if Pierce figures out who he spent this portion of the Hunt with, there will be no escaping the questions.

Steve frowns, opens his mouth - then closes it.

For a minute, at least.

Then it opens, again. "He would make you tell him," he concludes, not quite a question. "Because you're his man."

He doesn't look happy, but he nods. "Then I won't tell you." He doesn't want to make things worse for Soldier. Or himself. He doesn't want Pierce knowing the truth.

"I guess we'll have to find things other than ours pasts to talk about," he suggests, with a rueful smile, and pauses, before he asks, "If you didn't have to be here tonight. Hunting. What would you like to be doing?"

There - a personal question that's hopefully not off-limits.

Relieved, Soldier considers the question. "Probably reading," he offers. This is something he can answer well enough. It's not saying he doesn't want to be here, or doesn't want to serve Pierce, but it's still something he enjoys doing. "Maybe practicing. Got to work to keep in shape, unlike these guys." He waves a vague hand in the direction of the baying hounds and the mounted Hunt. Faerie don't change, for the most part: they don't need to exercise the way a mortal does.

Which does make Steve pretty unusual, for a fae. Changing, and all.

Then again, everything else about him is unusual, too.

He feels safe enough to turn the question back on him. "What would you be doing. Obviously not this." After all, Steve still isn't really holding his spear right.

"Reading," Steve says, interest clearly piqued. "What would you be reading? What do you like?"

Also, he's doing his best with the spear, but he's just not used to all the weight associated with a weapon this large. It's not that it's too heavy for him, it's that he expects his environment to react to it - and him - differently.

He sees Soldier eyeing him, and laughs a little, quietly. "Maybe I should say I'd rather be asking you for lessons on how to fit in a little better."

Because, after all, "Maybe I'd be swimming. Or painting. Or both."

He's not judging! Well, okay, he's judging a little, but not a lot. Some people just don't know how to handle boar spears. It's fine.

"I don't fit in," he counters. "I can be overlooked, if I am where I am supposed to be and doing what I am supposed to be doing, but I do not fit in. I would not be much help there."

He scans the woods. They dogs baying is further away now. He picks up the pace a little, not wanting to lose sound of them entirely. "If I can find fiction, I read that first, but I will read anything. How do you paint underwater? Do you have dry places?"

Steve hums. "Honestly, being overlooked is quite possibly the more valuable skill, of those two."

Albeit the more frustrating of them, as well.

He matches Soldier's pace when he picks it up; Steve would much rather just be left behind, but - no. That would be suspicious, and displease Lord Pierce, and he isn't going to let any of that come down on Soldier's head. It's why they're here with those boar spears in the first place.

He does make a mental note - fiction is preferred - before he grins a little. "We do have dry places, although they're few and far between. But we also have ways of painting underwater. You just need the right paint. And only merrows get to see it."

He tilts his head, considering, then grins. "The truth is, there's no substitute for the way paints work on dry land, though. Mortals have come up with some truly amazing inventions. And they're so creative."

He can't very well wax eloquent about how impressed he is with human art anywhere, else, so Soldier might be getting a bit more enthusiasm than he bargained for.

It probably is more valuable, but Soldier's not sure if a fae can properly learn it. Especially not one who is so... big. And awkward about being big. At least he understands now why that is.

"Are they?" he asks, more out of bafflement than out of real curiosity. He knows a few more of them in this realm, but mostly the others are either afraid all the time, enchanted, or very boring and shallow. And he certainly isn't creative. Unless you count ways to kill people.

"They are," Steve assures him. Then: "You are." Because Soldier is a mortal, so Steve fully believes he's got that capacity for creativity, too. Even if he seems very... trapped within the rigid standards Lord Pierce clearly demands of his underlings. Steve sighs just thinking about it, trying to imagine all the interesting, creative things Soldier could do, if given free rein. Mostly his mind drifts back to dancing - and then maybe fighting, given then givens.

Killing people can still involve creativity, he'd agree if asked.

"Most fae are..." He tilts his head, as though he's maybe trying to come up with a diplomatic way to say what he's thinking, "much better at taking than giving. They prefer consuming over creating. Not all of us, I'd like to think. But many. Especially those with no reason to be otherwise."

Those with power, he maybe means.

Dancing doesn't count. (Dancing definitely counts.)

Soldier does allow himself a little snort at the idea of fae being good takers. He's not wrong, after all. Soldier has seen it. He's lived it. He might not remember where he's from or what life was like before, but he knows it was different, and that it was taken from him. He can't do anything about it, so he has long ago stopped being angry, but he still knows it.

"And you aren't one of those," he surmises. "Because no one let you take anything except what you were given."

"I try not to be," Steve says, softly. It's true. He has seen how the Fae are. He doesn't like it. He doesn't think it's innate, believes it's simply how they've taught themselves to be, but in case it isn't. Or in case he isn't as immune to it as he'd like to think. He still makes a conscious effort.

Even if he would like to take this Soldier, and take him far away from here. He would mean it as liberation. Even if there's a part of him that might want to keep him. That isn't right. He wouldn't do it.

"I don't know how long we can live like this. We already have such a small part of the world."

Most of the fae ignore it, focus on the power they hold in the places they hold it. But while the world is very big, the parts of it they hold feel like they're getting smaller.

Even the parts that humans haven't encroached on as much, like the deeps. Not yet. But it's coming. "And humans are not only creative - they're curious."

Soldier is silent a moment. He knows at least some of the things his lord has talked about, and some of the things he uses Soldier for, but the pattern is-- still uncertain. And he, unlike whatever humans this fae is talking about, is not curious. He tries very hard not to be.

And he doesn't want any pattern he might or might not have seen to get this fae in trouble.

"We should go find the hunt," he says after that pause.

Steve senses there's reticence, there; he isn't sure exactly why, but he can think of a few possibly reasons. None of which he likes.

But they are in danger of falling too far behind, and that isn't really acceptable, no matter how little interest he has in any of this. He's here because Soldier's here, and Soldier is bound by far more rules than Steve. He won't risk the man's safety or what little freedom (or even the sick mockery of it) he has by being selfish.

Not now.

"All right," he agrees, if reluctantly, and picks up the pace. "I don't suppose Lord Pierce is the kind to stay out partying all night, after they catch their boars?"

"Not partying," Soldier says after a moment of weighing how to answer, as they push through the forest growth. "But talking to people. Maybe. He will expect me to keep watch over him directly then, though." So he won't be able to talk to Steve then.

He doesn't know for sure when he might see this merrow again. And he finds this has been-- novel. And not as threatening as he'd been certain it would be, not as many probing questions or even any attempts at enchantment or rattling the spells already on him.

"Which family are you staying with," he asks. Because he's been in this part of faerie for both of these events, so it's unlikely he's speeding back to the coast to the merrow territories every night. Maybe he can find a way to... visit. Or at least finagle to be in the same place at the same time again.

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punched_hitler - 2025-11-08 20:07 (UTC) - Expand

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worthallthis - 2025-11-19 04:23 (UTC) - Expand

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Swept into Faerie for @punched_hitler

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well this sure did get accidentally archived

<33 and then it took me half a month to respond ;;

we're just a coupla slow people :D it's fine

lolol SUPER slow in this case /o\

s'all good. I am here for it even if you take months

<33

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LITERALLY three months late (with starbucks)

Re: LITERALLY three months late (with starbucks)

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