[Winter] Liath Mòr

The sky was dark and overcast upon the return of the Winter Queen. The fae of Calpa Deigh had lined up in the streets to watch her, walking stoically through the town. There were no cheers or pleads, not even a clap. For such a densely populated city, it was eerily quiet. The only sound was Isolde's footsteps, like snow falling to the ground. She traversed the cliffs and slopes up to Liath Mòr with an effortless grace, as she had done many times before.

Once she reached the castle, she stormed to the balcony, where she could survey the people of Calpa Deigh. They gazed up at her with eyes like her own, alien and distant, as many of the winter fae were. The snowstorm grew in its intensity as the moments passed, tensions rising as they waited for her to speak.

When at last she opened her mouth, the wind howled and carried her voice down to the fae below.

"I have returned from the meeting with the Tyrant. Many changes shall be taking place," she started, letting her eyes pass over the faces before her. "In one month's time, there will be war. The houses shall no longer be restricted from the battles we once waged before the Tyrant decimated our way of life. We must prepare while we still can. I want council with my best combatants. I shall speak to each of you in turn."

"We will also be visited by the Voice of Gold, an envoy of the Tyrant and a former servant of the Summer Court. Do not touch him as he passes through. Such a violation will be met with death. That is a promise."

Isolde turned and left the balcony curtly and strode into the throne room, waiting for her fighters to assemble.

Walking through the foyer and down the icy hallways of Liath Mòr, the battle-scarred sidhe would observe many walking through the halls, not with haste, but not to stroll. Each fae had a task, and those tasks were to be done on time and with poise. They did their jobs well, as not one thing was out of place.

Guarding the doors to the throne room were two dullahan, each dressed in armor dyed with the dark blues and stark whites of their court. In one hand, they held wicked spears made of ice, shaped and hardened by magic. In their other hands, they firmly grasped the hair of their heads, which hung by their knees. They gazed at Evony for a stoic, silent moment, perhaps in recognition, perhaps in suspicion or contempt, before the doors swung open, and they allowed her through.

The throne room may have given the winged fae a nostalgic trip to the past, as it had barely changed since Ithilmir's death a year prior. Every inch of it was built from ice, great pillars and carvings on the walls depicting the rise and fall of many rulers over the Winter Court, now the House of Winter. That, too, was added to the carvings, with Ithilmir's head and her crown being given to the image of Isolde and the depiction of a broken kingdom.

Isolde sat upon the throne, which arched down from the ceiling in the shape of a mighty hand reaching down from the heavens. Some mused that this was the hand of the Grey Man of the Mountain, the first ruler of the Winter Fae. None had lived so long as to remember if the rumors spoken were true, though the great giant was the first carving upon the walls, above the throne.

The current Queen looked down upon the winged fae before her with an inscrutable expression. Even her white eyes did not betray her emotions.

"If the first to come are the finest among them, then that would be true," said Isolde. "And I believe that this would ring true for you, if memory serves right. Welcome back, Evony. You have arrived just in time."

"Astute observation. It is my desire to reclaim the lands of Autumn, however, dominating Queen Hayzea of Vivrenyde will never be an easy task. Sheer strength and powerful magic will not be enough to crush her. Everything she touches decays, as do the leaves of summer after they have fallen to the ground. Strategy will be our true advantage against the House of Autumn."

Isolde rose from her throne and, with a stride so smooth any bobble of footsteps seemed nonexistent, came eye to eye with Evony. "You were an incredibly talented asset in Ithilmir's army. As it is that we learn from our mistakes, I suspect you will be additionally capable in mine. I have been invited to meet with Queen Hayzea. I suspect that she will offer kinship until we have dominated the other houses. Though this would prove advantageous to some of our goals, it is not what we truly desire. The House of Autumn is not to be trusted, and thus it must be dominated. We will do what we can to learn of them. I expect you to use this information wisely."

There was no laughter, not even a smile from the Winter Queen as Evony voiced her allegiance. Veils, fully closed and opaque, as the winged fae said. Despite this, Isolde was not against voicing her approval when she felt it genuine.

"This is more than acceptable. Let this promise signify the beginning of Winter's reign," she told Evony, raising a hand toward the walls. The pictures carved into the ice were suddenly overtaken by layers of frost, building itself into the great tree of Vivrenyde with Isolde at its base, towering over a crumpled and defeated Hayzea. A depiction of Evony floated at the Winter Queen's side.

Isolde closed her hand, causing the image to crumble away. The carvings were only meant to depict events that were already in the past, not things that were yet to come.

In response to the problem with the Dullahan, Isolde beckoned toward the doors, which thrust open with little effort from the ice fae. "Treasach," she called. "Cathair!"

Without skipping a beat, both guards entered and stood before them like statues, waiting for further word from their queen. She looked them over and stared them down. Isolde raised a hand and motioned toward her fellow she-fae and demanded, "As of today, you shall look to Evony as your general, above even Thena Azureye. You are to obey her orders unless they are in conflict with my own. Understood?"

The Dullahan bowed their heads and knelt to the ground instantly, silently voicing their approval. Isolde looked at Evony expectantly.

The Golden Tyrant was a pretender. He was no more worthy to sit upon his throne than these peasants were to look upon the graceful beauty of his beloved Queen. @isolde was the true leader of the Fae as her beauty, skill and wisdom knew no bounds. It was a mistake in reality he would spend his undeath in the pursuit of rectifying. It was not merely that he believed his Queen was wrongfully denied her position, but that reality itself had made a mistake. It was the speculation of insanity, of centuries of obsessive loyalty. Yet, that was to be expected. Although his insanity may have been different than the next Fae's, each were deeply disturbed in some way.

The headless rider's skull was fastened securely to his belt, and he snapped the reigns of Gan, his faithful steed. It carried him to the citadel, just as the two guardian Dullahan entered. He dismounted then, wondering what could be the reason for their dereliction. With that thought he stepped through the gates, seeing his Queen, delegating the two warriors to another.

"My Queen Isolde," he spoke, though did not approach them entirely before taking a single knee. At his waist, the skull's eyes glowed in two sickly green pinpoints of light with his words. His voice was like the cracking surface of a pond. Crisp and clear, although with a chill that threatened to drag you down to its private oblivion. "I am here to assure you of my unending service."

Yes, these Dullahan surely did leave something to be desired when it came to their style. But that was just personal preference, and a rigidness of her own that made her find bowing uncomfortable on many planes.

Evony acknowledged Judikael with the slightest of nods. Eye contact seemed like far too much effort. Yet, whilst she may question his very unpleasant existence, his announcement had woven no illusions. She believed him to be as loyal as he claimed, although whether this was enough merit to make her feel secure throughout this ‘working together’ business, she was unsure.

“My Queen” Evony started in agreeance after Isolde’s instructions “I am no stranger to the less-travelled parts of our region, and I can reach near every valley, crag and treetop. It shall be done.

The winds will start whispering immediately.”

"Sufficient. May your words be as convincing as their reach is vast," said Isolde. She flicked a hand, dismissing Treasach and Cathair. They knew it was only them who were to leave, her will imposed onto them with a faint bit of magic. Once they were gone, Isolde narrowed her eyes at Judikael.

"Mince your words, Judikael. We do not speak ill of the Tyrant in Gold here. He has shown his worthy influence over Tir la Morr. Had Evony been a traitor you would be dead where you stand. Perhaps you do not truly understand the Tyrant's power, Judikael: your loyalty is appreciated but it also blinds you. Ithilmir was the most powerful of the Winter Court. It was her duty to protect those that lived here, and she understood that. For that, she perished. Evony did what she could, but for all her faults she has learned."

The Queen turned toward her throne, striding towards it with the same grace as before. "You shall respect my decision to promote Evony, as much as you will respect and work alongside her. Away. There is no time to waste."

Judikael to his small credit disposed of his doubts at the words of his queen, although if he even heard Evony's promise he made no motion to acknowledge her. His opinion was moot in the face of queen's trust for this failure of a fae and he had no intent on challenging her, even at the cost of his pride for anything short of obvious betrayal.

"I speak out of turn, and beg your apologies." He asked of the pale, willowy woman, whom he had known for so many years. His flames became green once more, a symbol of his subservience, a color spared only for Isolde herself.

"I shall find whom I can to aid our cause, and know I shall never rest until I have your satisfaction."

He noting their uneasy beating as he questioned the Tyrant, yet that was one offense that burned within his hollow breast. The Tyrant was not deserving of more respect than his queen.