-excitedly waving- THIS ONE HAS NO ANGST AND I PROMISE YOU IT'S FOR ALL YOU CAELLETHOR SHIPPERS OUT THERE *** [16 years ago- exactly twelve hours before Maethor was captured] "You're nervous," said the boy, his blue eyes holding the same merry twinkle as his feystars. Maethor scowled and ran a hand through her regulation chin-length brown hair. "I'm never nervous." He looked at her for a moment, laughing eyes watching her fiddle with the dull brown wristband that she'd worn for three years. Brown. The highest trainee ranking. Before that came black, then dun, then white, the beginner's level. And she had passed them all. There were words stamped into the tough leather: maet et llumenn. Her fingers traced over the flowing errilyian script. Defenders of Light. "You're going to do fine," Caelleum reassured her, a hand placed comfortingly on her shoulder. [10 hours left] The bat-winged man waits patiently at the edge of the castle grounds, hidden in a clump of shrubbery, waiting for the two young adults to come close. A knife glimmers in his hands. He is disappointed. [7 hours left] Maethor shoveled food into her mouth as fast as possible, totally unaware of the fork that lay, dejectedly untouched, by the side of her plate. If she had been aware that it existed, I still doubt she would've used it. Caelleum watched her eat, a smile tugging at his lips, because he didn't see how she could eat that much and stay that skinny. Also, he thinks manners would no doubt be an improvement. [4 hours left] Ascar bent down, folding his wings around Maethor, who squirmed as he hugged her. If she had her say, all hugs would be banned. "My little sister," Ascar said fondly, ruffling her hair, "all grown up and on her way to Initiation..." Maethor squirmed out of his grasp, mentally swearing that when she was Captain, all hugs and other expressions of affection would be banned. "Stop it. You're acting like I'm dying or something... it's just a ceremony." "Just a ceremony that determines your entire life and the fate of the world in general, according to you." "Very funny." she rolled her eyes, "Very. Funny." She adored Ascar, practically idolized him, but he could be the /worst/ sometimes.
[2 hours] "We, Enoriem Finnian Llumennor, acknowledge you on this eighteenth day of ninthmonth. What do you seek?" Maethor's eyes were on the floor, "I seek to swear fealty to the the descendant of Llumenn. Are you he?" "We are." Enoriem dipped his head. On cue, a servant stepped out from the shadow of the Feylord's throne, holding a black-bladed knife on a red velvet cushion. His pure white robes represented impartiality. The crowd behind Maethor hushed, tense, expectant as she stepped forwards, taking the knife in her right hand and raising it, then drawing the blade across her left palm. Blood bloomed red, but she didn't flinch. "Proceed," Enoriem said slowly, raising his right hand and placing it over his heart. She mirrored the gesture, blood dripped down her wrist, bright crimson against her freckled skin. She took a deep breath, turned, faced the crowd, and bowed formally. She could hear them gasping. A sixteen-year-old-feyrie who hadn't manifested yet, whose blood was still red? Shocking. Needless to say, Maethor ignored them. She turned from the whispering throng back towards the raised dias where two thrones were placed. In the larger one sat Enoriem, stone-faced, and Caelleum, sitting in the smaller throne, winked at her. "I swear..." she swallowed nervously, faltering. Caelleum caught her gaze and held it, nodding slightly. /You can do this./ "I swear," her voice was more confident this time, and she should've been looking at Enoriem, but she wasn't, "I swear fealty to the Lord of Errilyia. "I swear to honour the feylord's life above my alone; "I swear to protect him, to die for him, to follow him into whatever dark place he leads me; "This I swear; and swear I also to serve; "To love; "To protect all who seek aid; "To trust; "To fight if asked, unquestioningly, to obey, and lastly to /protect/. "To fight against the darkness." she finished the ancient words, the ones that had been burned onto her heart since she was a young child, "To be a defender of light." Enoriem stood up, spreading his arms. His red robes had long bell sleeves, which fluttered lightly as he faced the crowd, "Our child speaks, swears fealty, we grant her hearing. We grant her trust." Maethor knelt, holding out her wrist as he picked up the knife that had tasted her blood. He sliced through the leather band on her wrist, letting it fall to the earth and taking her by the uninjured hand, pulling her to her feet and placing a hand on her shoulder. "We grant you a place in the Guard." [1 hour] "IT HAPPENED!" Maethor shrieked, literally dancing around Caelleum, her face bright. "I'M A PART OF THE GUARD A PART OF THE GUARD-" "Now that you've accomplished your lifelong dream," Caelleum smiled, his eyes soft as he watched her, "I hope we'll stay friends." "Of course. Friends forever and ever?" she asked. "Forever and ever," he agreed, laughing softly and letting himself be pulled to his feet, squeezing her hand. "Hand on heart," Maethor told him. He knew her, therefore he knew what this jargon meant. He pressed his right hand to his chest and she mimicked the gesture. "Forever." Enoriem watched from the balcony of the castle as his son screeched with laughter, running as fast as he could to try to get away from her, and failing miserably. They were too old for this... this laughter, this easy companionship could so easily be misunderstood... *** [20 minutes] The feyrie watches the two younglings. They're flirting. Or, the boy thinks he's flirting. The girl honestly is just being herself, which he finds hilarious. His black eyes twinkle. The knife flashes in his fingers as her twirls it. He's been waiting all day, he's growing impatient. They're playing a game of tag. The prince runs -the assassin smiles- straight towards him, unaware of his presence. And that's why it's perfect. He lunges forwards, grabbing the prince's ankles and tripping him. [-10 hours] "You've failed." the Master scowls, pressing his knife to the man's neck, "I commanded you to bring me the prince, not this... this /wretch./" He gestures with his free hand to the girl slumped on the floor, blood trickling out of the corner of her mouth. She put up a good fight in defense of her friend. "You only get two chances, Keltäs. You've spent one of them already." *** grrr Maethor's so oblivious sometimes it makes me want to cry also you need to scour chapters for every little detail because every little detail, however insignificant, will come into play later Song: Stand By You (Maethor and Caelleum)
