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Jul. 21st, 2009 06:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oakandashIt's only the Dark Lady's power that keeps him bound. In any normal circumstance, he'd be free of the bindings in a minute or less, wreaking havoc on the room, those guarding him, and he'd disappear into one of the hidden paths leading back to the Seelie Court. It would only take him moments. But he's not free of the Lady; she keeps him by her side.
For now. Tonight is the truce and the party at Tower Hill Park. Will Eddi, with her admission and infatuation about the phouka, notice his absence? He would be there if he could. He'd never miss a gig. Is there a way to leave this place, this tower of darkness where he's being kept, where the Queen of Air and Darkness has set up court? Not with his hands bound behind his back and his mouth gagged. It would be better if he were blind and deaf as well: hearing what goes on here is almost more than he can stomach.
She's got herself a throne, of sorts: a large gaudy chair inlaid with dark gemstones; her fingernails, exquisitely manicured, tap against them restlessly. He's being kept at her side, on his knees, hands behind his back. Every now and again she reaches over to pet the top of his head as if he's some dog, some lesser being, and he's helpless to stop her.
"Tower Hill Park." Her voice is sharp as a knife, cool as an icy wind. "My dear Willly Silver, what do I do with you?" Reaching over, she strokes his hair like a lover would but he doesn't so much as blink or look in her direction. The only freedom of movement he's got is what allows him to jerk his head away. In turn she grabs a hank of his hair and pulls sharply; he closes his eyes and almost despises her, or would if he could. There's a logical component to the Daoine Sidhe that most never see, but he can be as calculating and sharp as the next Lord of the Court. Looking over at him, the Lady turns him to face her.
"Blood. Blood on the face of the youngest Lord of the Seelie Court. What would they say?" Suddenly impatient, she turns to one of her minions. "Bring him to me. Bring me the human. My presence will be requested tonight and we need to make sure this handsome young conundrum doesn't escape." There's no smile in her voice to match the dangerous curve of her lips. "How does it feel, Mr. Silver? Being so... impotent?"
The only thing he can do is close his eyes. He won't dignify her question with any other sort of response. It's almost music to his ears when he hears the door open, hears the scuffle of feet, and knows that Stuart Kline has entered the room. He's not even surprised when he hears the rush of breeze indicating he's about to be hit again, and hard. A prisoner who's unconscious can't try to escape, and the Lady's magic is strong indeed, but the ropes around his wrists only truly restrict him when he's in her presence.
He wakes, but slowly, and only because he's being pulled upright again. There's a new area of discomfort, this time at his ear and he can feel the lack of earring dangling there. Why... why tear it from his ear when it would be so simple to just remove it? There's blood crusted on his forehead, he can feel it, and he can see it in the strands of hair straggling down. She must be enjoying this very much. His head pounds and his arms ache. His knees want to buckle all over again but he notices with some small satisfaction that Stuart's not in the room. Good, no more physical injury, at least for now. Even the Dark Lady doesn't have the power on her own to spill his blood.
"Hello, my lovely bargaining chip." Now she strokes his face with the edge of one fingernail. "I thought you'd like to know that the terms are set. A bloodless victory for the Unseelie Court at Como Park in exchange for your freedom. The message is being relayed to your cousin just now." The Lady snaps her fingers, nods in his direction; one of the gray creatures moves around behind him, too close for comfort, and unbinds the gag in his mouth. He says nothing, purses his lips -- they're extremely chapped -- and looks straight ahead with his chin raised haughtily.
"Have you nothing to say?" Taking his chin in her hand, she turns him to face her. "Tell me, darling young Lord. Your cousin. She'll cede the battle to me for your return, although I'm not so sure I promsed that such a return would be safe." There's malice in her face and again, her magic is strong: he can feel the words wanting to escape but he won't let them. He has no desire to speak to her, no desire to feed her satisfaction in any way whatsoever. "I will have my answer, Willy Silver. Speak. I command it."
No, no, no: he won't, he can't, he... what will his cousin do? Words, the Dark Lady wants words: he'll give them to her. There's no music when he speaks and his voice is hoarse from thirst and disuse, but he manages to spit out his response with all the dignity of a member of the Seelie Court.
"By Oak and by Ash, Lady, my cousin is no fool." That's all she'll get.
"Fool enough to send her human to carry the message." With another snap of her fingers the gag goes back into his mouth; she reaches over and pushes him to the floor. It's only because her chosen human is nowhere to be seen that the wound on his forehead doesn't bleed anew. For the first time in many years, he knows the cold grip of dread.
For now. Tonight is the truce and the party at Tower Hill Park. Will Eddi, with her admission and infatuation about the phouka, notice his absence? He would be there if he could. He'd never miss a gig. Is there a way to leave this place, this tower of darkness where he's being kept, where the Queen of Air and Darkness has set up court? Not with his hands bound behind his back and his mouth gagged. It would be better if he were blind and deaf as well: hearing what goes on here is almost more than he can stomach.
She's got herself a throne, of sorts: a large gaudy chair inlaid with dark gemstones; her fingernails, exquisitely manicured, tap against them restlessly. He's being kept at her side, on his knees, hands behind his back. Every now and again she reaches over to pet the top of his head as if he's some dog, some lesser being, and he's helpless to stop her.
"Tower Hill Park." Her voice is sharp as a knife, cool as an icy wind. "My dear Willly Silver, what do I do with you?" Reaching over, she strokes his hair like a lover would but he doesn't so much as blink or look in her direction. The only freedom of movement he's got is what allows him to jerk his head away. In turn she grabs a hank of his hair and pulls sharply; he closes his eyes and almost despises her, or would if he could. There's a logical component to the Daoine Sidhe that most never see, but he can be as calculating and sharp as the next Lord of the Court. Looking over at him, the Lady turns him to face her.
"Blood. Blood on the face of the youngest Lord of the Seelie Court. What would they say?" Suddenly impatient, she turns to one of her minions. "Bring him to me. Bring me the human. My presence will be requested tonight and we need to make sure this handsome young conundrum doesn't escape." There's no smile in her voice to match the dangerous curve of her lips. "How does it feel, Mr. Silver? Being so... impotent?"
The only thing he can do is close his eyes. He won't dignify her question with any other sort of response. It's almost music to his ears when he hears the door open, hears the scuffle of feet, and knows that Stuart Kline has entered the room. He's not even surprised when he hears the rush of breeze indicating he's about to be hit again, and hard. A prisoner who's unconscious can't try to escape, and the Lady's magic is strong indeed, but the ropes around his wrists only truly restrict him when he's in her presence.
He wakes, but slowly, and only because he's being pulled upright again. There's a new area of discomfort, this time at his ear and he can feel the lack of earring dangling there. Why... why tear it from his ear when it would be so simple to just remove it? There's blood crusted on his forehead, he can feel it, and he can see it in the strands of hair straggling down. She must be enjoying this very much. His head pounds and his arms ache. His knees want to buckle all over again but he notices with some small satisfaction that Stuart's not in the room. Good, no more physical injury, at least for now. Even the Dark Lady doesn't have the power on her own to spill his blood.
"Hello, my lovely bargaining chip." Now she strokes his face with the edge of one fingernail. "I thought you'd like to know that the terms are set. A bloodless victory for the Unseelie Court at Como Park in exchange for your freedom. The message is being relayed to your cousin just now." The Lady snaps her fingers, nods in his direction; one of the gray creatures moves around behind him, too close for comfort, and unbinds the gag in his mouth. He says nothing, purses his lips -- they're extremely chapped -- and looks straight ahead with his chin raised haughtily.
"Have you nothing to say?" Taking his chin in her hand, she turns him to face her. "Tell me, darling young Lord. Your cousin. She'll cede the battle to me for your return, although I'm not so sure I promsed that such a return would be safe." There's malice in her face and again, her magic is strong: he can feel the words wanting to escape but he won't let them. He has no desire to speak to her, no desire to feed her satisfaction in any way whatsoever. "I will have my answer, Willy Silver. Speak. I command it."
No, no, no: he won't, he can't, he... what will his cousin do? Words, the Dark Lady wants words: he'll give them to her. There's no music when he speaks and his voice is hoarse from thirst and disuse, but he manages to spit out his response with all the dignity of a member of the Seelie Court.
"By Oak and by Ash, Lady, my cousin is no fool." That's all she'll get.
"Fool enough to send her human to carry the message." With another snap of her fingers the gag goes back into his mouth; she reaches over and pushes him to the floor. It's only because her chosen human is nowhere to be seen that the wound on his forehead doesn't bleed anew. For the first time in many years, he knows the cold grip of dread.
