Feadril's Guidance

Log Info

• Title: Feadril's Guidance

• Emitter: Telamon

• Characters: Ravenstongue, Telamon

• Place: Ravenstongue and Telamon's house

• Summary: Telamon and Ravenstongue are outside their house when Telamon's ancestor-ghost, Feadril, appears. They talk for some time about the Corpse Eater, and Feadril offers much in the way of advice about how to handle the fey entity. Once the ghost leaves, Ravenstongue and Telamon speak for a while on Feadril's plight before they return inside... because it's very cold out there.

Lúpecyll-Atlon home, evening

The days grow shorter, the nights grow longer; such is the nature of winter. The air heavy with cold, the promise of snow even if it hasn't arrived yet. Already, though, people are bundling up to ward off the icy winds, closing windows, stoking fires, and cuddling up.

Outside in the backyard, Telamon is examining the now sadly-denuded flowerbeds, and hmphs. "Maybe I should put in a little greenhouse or something." Even the pixies have been chased indoors by the biting winds, and Telamon himself is bundled up in a heavy coat. Glancing up at the starry skies, he smiles a bit. "Well... there's always spring."

His dark eyes, matching the skies above, sweep around the backyard, inspecting it... and then stop short at the robed figure standing by the gate. An indrawn breath, seeing the figure, and Tel's hands come up reflexively.

Cor'lana steps outside with two large mugs of steaming hot lavender-mint tea, dressed in her own heavy wool dress and coat over it. She sidles up to her husband as he looks around the bare garden and holds out a teacup. "It's sad now," she says, "but at least we have plenty of excuses to stay inside and bundle up--just the two of us." A glint of cheer crosses her eyes as she grins.

But then he draws his hand up for the robed figure at the gate, and Cor'lana's eyes narrow. "That couldn't be the rook," she says. "It'd be far too stupid and far too bold... Tell us your name, mysterious stranger." That's a demand, and it can't be mistaken for anything but.

A soft chuckle, familiar. "A woman of steel indeed. You've wed well, lad." The hooded form raises one hand -- the other arm hanging at its side. "Peace. I have come, as I promised."

Tel's eyes narrow, before he relaxes slightly. "Feadril?"

The hand comes up to draw back the hood, the angular elven features of Feadril Atlon revealed. "Indeed. I ...am sorry it took this long. But, the paths I tread are long and winding. And I can never remain overlong. It is... not good for me, or for others. But... I am here. I sense a soul in search of answers. I cannot answer all your questions, but I am strong enough to guide you."

The ghost walks -- or perhaps, not quite, gliding along in a semblance of such -- forward, pausing before the couple. "Who is the rook?" Feadril inquires.

Like her husband, Cor'lana visibly relaxes as she sees it's Feadril, letting out a small sigh of relief that frosts a little in the cold air. Her violet eyes fix on him as he explains himself. She presses her lips together into a thin line when the question is asked.

"The rook is what we call the Corpse Eater," she explains. "He is the cousin of my beloved fey ancestor, Alud'rigan, the Feathered One. For reasons neither of us fully understand, it appears he's decided if he can't torment my Grandfather, then he will be satisfied with tormenting Telamon and I, as well as my sire." It's clear from the bitter tone of her voice that she has no great affection for the rook.

The ghost tilts his head, lips curling into faint amusement. "I might have cautioned you against becoming entangled with the fey, but..." Feadril shrugs. "Water under the bridge at this point. What has happened, has happened." His eyebrows come together. "However, from my own studies, I can state that such creatures from outside Ea are not motivated by the same things that would drive you."

Telamon scowls slightly. "Well, yes, we know he's a sadist, but--"

Feadril tsks and waves his finger. "I am not finished, student. Hold your questions. The nature of such creatures is that they cannot resist these drives for they are a part of them. Consider hunger; short of full starvation, you could put off eating for a much more important task. To such creatures, these urges are far more defining than hunger, thirst, or fatigue."

Tel slowly starts to nod. He looks at Lana. "He has to do these things. If he resisted, he might start to... deviate. To change. We... could use that. Prey that cannot resist bait will walk into a trap."

"Telamon knew what he was getting into when I confessed my feelings to him," Cor'lana says with a slight smirk. She takes a sip of tea from her teacup as Feadril continues to lecture, and pushes the other one into Telamon's hands. While neither of them are bothered much by the cold, tea is certainly a nice thing to have while listening to the 'professor'.

She nods at the conclusion that Telamon arrives at. "Similar to how Grandfather needs to be around non-fey," she says, "the Corpse Eater needs to antagonize them. They... really are like opposites in that regard."

Cor'lana looks at Telamon. "I think we could use that," she says. But then she arches a brow and looks at Feadril. "Do you have much experience with the fey, noble Feadril?"

Telamon takes the mug, sipping from it. "Indeed. I've no regrets now. There will always be someone causing trouble, and this... can be handled. Carefully, but it can be handled." He smiles at Lana tenderly, eyes full of warmth.

Feadril nods. This close, both Lana and Tel can see that Feadril is slightly translucent. Indeed, his foot does not really touch the earth, and there's a little frost where he hovers. "I mean no disrespect. When..." He pauses, then continues. "When I lived, it was simply good sense to examine all the angles."

At Lana's question, Feadril hms. "No. I was a conjurer, but I never tried to bind fey. Too... unpredictable. No offense intended. But... as I said, many creatures that exist outside the circles of the world are not..." He pauses again, thinking for a proper word. "Sane? No, too pejorative. But they do not think as the living. Even the dead have the memory of life to anchor them, to help understand. These entities do not. Some mean well, and are kindly creatures -- and others, well..." Feadril's lips turn in a sardonic smile. "Consider the demon you faced, Telamon. It would've been wiser to conduct its business behind closed doors, or to simply evade you and your friends. Yet it could not help but try to make offers, to flaunt its evil."

"No offense taken on any count," Cor'lana says with another smirk, her violet eyes twinkling a little with amusement. "I'd be the first to admit the fey are unpredictable. I think sometimes I make Telamon's head spin when I flit from one mood to another, and that's from centuries of distant descent."

She mulls over the point that Feadril has and nods. "By nature, a demon is evil... and by nature, the Corpse Eater is evil. And yet..."

Cor'lana looks thoughtful. "My Grandfather admits that he struggles with the darker emotions that come with being Unseelie," she says. "But yet he makes a conscious effort to resist. Whereas it seems that this cousin embraces it whole-heartedly."

"So we actually have two options here," Telamon replies. "We can use his nature and bait him into a trap, or maybe we can completely bamboozle him by putting him in a situation where he has to betray or suppress his nature. Not sure how we'd manage the latter, but considering Grandfather has struggled with it for centuries..."

"I admit I am surprised your fey sire has not..." Feadril contemplates for a moment, then continues, "...changed, if he has been at war with his nature for so long. Extraplanar creatures cannot abide such discord in their essences. The tales of angels falling, becoming demons and devils, are true -- but any such entity who deviates too far may change as well."

Feadril fixes Cor'lana with a stare. "I suspect your sire strives to balance the books in some other fashion. Perhaps through destructive impulses?"

Feadril's inquiry has Cor'lana thinking again. Her lips press together into a tighter line than before, and she exhales a moment later. "I think," she says, "he gets his... destructive impulses out by defending me. I think that he exercises that part of his nature in small ways that he can hide from me or that he can justify." Perhaps for Telamon, the image of Grandfather's claws around Glórenacil's head comes to mind as she says this. "He is capable of great wrath and great carnage, especially if he gets into certain moods."

She exhales a long sigh. "But we are talking about his cousin, who embraces it wholeheartedly, and I can't think of any scenario where he'd... choose to do good for the sake of doing good. Where he'd willingly choose love and not the twisted form of it that can pass for it in the Unseelie Court."

Cor'lana looks at Telamon. "But I can see using his nature against him for a trap. Very easily, in fact. All you and I would have to do is to leave the city and venture somewhere that he wouldn't be in the presence of city guards--and somewhere that he could easily spot us."

"Do not do anything by half measures," Feadril cautions. "In fact, I would lay the deepest trap you can find. Cold iron -- yes, I know, it may offend your sensibilities but better to deal with such later than weaken the teeth of the trap. Allies, provided they understand the danger of this thing. You seek the defeat of a creature that does not know the ravages of time; if he is not checked he may return at a later day -- or thirty years later -- to seek revenge."

Telamon exhales. "...Yeah. We need to plan this, Lana. Pick it apart, put it back together, until we're sure he can't surprise us." He closes a hand into a fist. "Then we bring him down. If we can extract an oath to never bother our family again, so be it -- but I won't flinch from the alternative."

Feadril nods approvingly. "I... for all my sins, I never harmed our family, Telamon. In the end, that was perhaps the rope that helped pull me free. It... pleases me that the family continues in you, and is in good hands."

"I have no intention of letting him harm our children or our grandchildren years down the line," Cor'lana says with a slight huff. "So yes, much as I'd rather not have to touch cold iron--I've handled it before, and it just feels wrong--it's an expense we'll have to make."

She looks to Telamon. "Unless we know someone who could give us cold iron traps to borrow. Algar, maybe? He strikes me as having those as part of his line of work."

Then Cor'lana turns her interest back to Feadril, and gives him a small smile. "I apologize that I couldn't offer a 'safe' and 'uncomplicated' wife in the form of myself to your descendant, Feadril, but... He has resoundingly told me that it's me that he wanted." She lifts her curuchuil hand, the smile spreading into a wider grin. "After all, it would be very difficult to get this undone."

Telamon just shakes his head at Lana's comments and sally. "We'll talk. I got a letter from Algar, he's supposed to be swinging through here at some point. Something about having some business in the Mythwood first." He furrows his brow. "He usually doesn't need cold iron for the forest creatures and fey, though. Still... I know Dirk, for example, carries silver bullets. Bet he knows where we could put our hands on some cold iron traps."

He grins at the ghost, and holds up his matching hand, also bearing the curuchuil. "As you can see, my esteemed ancestor, I have dove into these waters without looking back. I will face this foe as I have faced others, and we will triumph."

Feadril simply nods, his expression betraying amusement. "You are definitely far more impulsive and fearless than I was, lad. But I admire your resolve." The ghost leans forward a little to study those marks. "...That bond may persist in ways far greater than you realize, you know. I suspect when you pass from the circles of the world, you will not be separated -- no matter the will of the gods." Feadril smiles slightly, before exhaling. "But perhaps that is how it should be. The stars above, the raven's flight, and none shall gainsay them."

Cor'lana can't help but lean a little into Telamon, nuzzling him slightly. "Not the first nor the last foe we've faced," Cor'lana adds on. "And we are stronger together than we are apart."

Her eyes twinkle a little. "I'm pleased to hear you say that, Feadril," she replies, "because I have always felt Telamon and I were, in some fashion, fated to be together. I firmly believe that if we were not reunited in the Halls, but were, for some reason, elsewhere--we would still meet again. We would still fall in love. That's the definition of a soulmate, don't you think?"

She finally gestures to the house. "Now, I'd invite you inside out of the cold, but it seems like you might not have much longer left."

Telamon puts his arm around Lana's shoulders, and presses a kiss to her brow. "For me, I don't know still if I believe in fate or not. But... I do believe in us. And as long as I draw breath and she'll have me, I'll remain with Lana." He nods in agreement with her. "We'll face this together, and be the stronger for it."

Feadril nods, eyes full of respect. "There are still lessons to learn, Telamon. But I suspect you will be ready for them. I... envy you, a little. But it is tempered with something I have not felt for a long time -- happiness."

At Lana's invitation, Feadril simply shakes his head. "True, my time runs short -- and I cannot enter your abode. The ward prevents my entry, even with my journal in your possession." He raises a hand to forestall any protest. "This is my penance. I will abide by it, and hope that one day, my case will be heard once again."

Cor'lana's certainly smiling with that kiss to her brow and with Telamon's arm around her shoulder, but Feadril's words put a sadness to her smile. Nonetheless, she nods firmly. "Do you have any more to say before you fade?" she asks. "Don't let Telamon and I delay you any more than we already have."

The cup of tea is still warm in her hand. There are questions she could still ask--the curiosity in her eyes is undeniable--but she pushes it down for the moment. Telamon's mentor could always visit again on another occasion.

Feadril reaches up to draw his hood over his head again. "Only to trust each other, because such creatures have a limited understanding of it. This Corpse Eater will not value trust -- to him it would be a weakness, but his lack of comprehension makes him vulnerable to it." His face crinkles. "A failing I found in myself, and then cured."

Slowly, the ghost turns, and begins to walk towards the fence. As he does, he grows less distinct, more transparent, and by the time he reaches the fence he has vanished like fog in sunlight.

Telamon watches, starting to half-raise his hand before letting it drop again. When the ghost vanishes, he shakes his head... staring at the frosty outline left on the fence by the ghost's passing. "I guess it makes sense, he can't enter the ward." He drains his mug, before looking at Cor'lana, his expression vulnerable. "I... feel sorry for him. Being like this, all these years. Am I wrong to do so? Even if this is his penance, as he calls it."

Cor'lana watches Feadril fade away, and she turns her gaze to Telamon. Her sad smile still remains, but grows all the more empathetic the moment she sees the vulnerable state Telamon is in. "No, I don't think you're wrong to feel sorry," she says. "He is an ancestor, for one thing... and I also think that maybe you would have begun to walk a path like his. That is, if your parents didn't recognize what was happening when your talent was identified."

She draws closer into him. "Feadril himself said that if, perhaps, he had someone like me--he would have done things differently. That line has stuck with me since he said it. If someone had loved him enough to save him from the aboleths... Then the Watcher wouldn't have had to intervene. He wouldn't be stuck in the state he's in for pursuing knowledge that should have been left unknown."

Telamon folds his arms around Lana, tucking her under his chin. Comfort for him, as he exhales. "Yeah. I can... kinda see why. I read The Circles of Longing, it's easy to start taking those steps down that path, until suddenly one day you don't recognize the person in the mirror any more." He strokes her hair, nuzzling her. "I'm glad it's you to keep me grounded."

For long moments he just holds her, ignoring the cold, cuddling her close. Finally, though, he lifts his head. "Can we go inside now? The stars are nice, but... I find I want light, warmth, and happy voices tonight. I want to listen to Pothy make snide comments, and the pixies argue over who has the best muscles in Alexandria. There'll be time for stargazing tomorrow."

His violet-eyed bride is more than happy to give her husband the comfort he needs, wrapping her arms around him in turn. "You do plenty on your own--you realize that, right?" she says from the comfort of the nook underneath Telamon's chin. "But it's true what they say. No man is an island, and there is not a single person who can successfully live totally alone in isolation forever. Acquaintances, friends, family, and lovers--people need people."

She nuzzles further into him as they cuddle. "And I need you. And you need me. And... there's comfort in that, I think."

Once he lifts his head, her gaze follows suit. Cor'lana smiles warmly at him, her violet eyes taking in her husband. "But Tel," she says. "I'm already stargazing every time I look into your eyes."

...It takes her a moment, but she's giggling at her own line. "Let's go inside," she says.

Telamon just laughs softly at her and squeezes his wife gently. "Thank you. I definitely needed that, and I do need you." He takes her hand, and leads her back to the door, opening it and walking back inside. Back into the light and warmth, away from the darkened cold garden that patiently awaits spring.

Once inside, he shuts the door and latches it, before looking around, as if reviewing what fresh chaos the pixies and Pothy have wrought when his back was turned for five minutes.