by S A Archer
And he’d helped her, when she was falling with him and would have been splatted between the street and the building.
She was a human. An enchanted human.
And he didn’t hate her any more.
Which was kind of weird. A lot of the hate he’d carried so long that it welled up and lodged in his chest was gone now.
Maybe blowing up a building with a bunch of wizards in it was therapeutic. Actually, though, he thought it really happened when he’d Touched her. He’d let go of something then. Something he’d hung onto since he’d first been stuffed into a goblin’s cage.
Malcolm stood up straight and looked towards the noise of the town. His hand slipped into his jeans pocket, and closed over the silver bullet.
It went quiet.
Except for the soft swishing of the waves making the boat bump against the dock and the gulls circling over head, bickering with each other. The breeze carried only the sea scent as it tousled his hair, not the mess of magic smells.
London slipped her arm through his.
Malcolm glanced down at her. She only came up to his shoulder, when he was standing up straight. He’d never really noticed before now how small she was. She winked up at him, but in a friend way, not like she meant anything by it. “Come on.”
He debated about shrugging her off, but he really didn’t want to go back to being that way. Always pushing people away.
So they walked together up through the town. Malcolm had seen where the really intense magic had been. He knew where the Sidhe were gathered.
None of the fey said anything about the bloodhound and a human walking among them as they passed through the town. Not even when they went into the tavern where all of the tables had been shifted away to make a dance floor did anyone even seem to notice.
All except for Kieran, and there was a smirk and a swagger about him that he didn’t even attempt to hide.
London gave him some look, and then slipped away from Malcolm, leaving him to face Kieran’s widening grin alone.
Malcolm narrowed his eyes. “What?”
“What do you mean ‘what?’ You know what.”
Exasperated, he said it again. “What?” By which he really meant, ‘leave it alone.’
Kieran leaned closer. “I thought you hated her.”
“I guess she’s ok.” Malcolm mumbled, but when he still felt Kieran grinning stupidly at him he snapped around with a shrug. “You can kiss her if you want!”
Kieran laughed to hear Malcolm say that. But instead of going after her, Kieran grabbed Malcolm on the sides of his face and kissed him smack on the mouth.
Sputtering, Malcolm swatted him away. “Ugh! Get off me you perv!” He scrubbed at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Go kiss a human!”
But Kieran just laughed at him and slapped his back in a brotherly way. Then his laughter softened into something more personal as he offered up his hand, palm up.
Malcolm glanced down at the leather wristband. Kieran said, “I found this.”
Reaching across, Malcolm accepted it. The matching one was in his room back in Ireland. Donovan had given them to Malcolm. But he wasn’t hiding his scars any more.
He wasn’t hiding anything about himself any more.
“Malcolm!” Kaitlin’s voice rose above the music as she rushed towards him. She launched herself into his open arms and he caught her with an ‘umph’ as she impacted his mostly healed chest.
Anything he might have said to her was lost in the kiss she planted on him. His mouth opened to hers. Even with the silver closed in his fist, which trapped his own magic inside, the magic of her Touch licked into his mouth with her tongue and he inhaled. The music in her magic washed through him like breath, pure and glorious.
Kieran nudged against Malcolm. “Oh, I see how you are. You’ll kiss her, but not me.”
Leaning his forehead to Kaitlin’s and smiling at her, Malcolm just absorbed the gift of her Touch. Since he’d first caught the hint of her magic, he’d been drawn to her. He couldn’t explain why. He just was.
“Your cat has been wailing for you endlessly.” Kaitlin swayed in his arms, moving to the music. “Not that I didn’t understand how Tom Cat felt.”
“Thanks for taking care of him.” His hands slid down to her low back, keeping their stomachs flat to each other.
Even still, her hand caressed down his chest to the bloody hole just a bit off center from his heart. “What happened to you?”
He smiled a little, shaking his head. “Long day. Long story.”
“I want to hear all of your stories.” Kaitlin hooked her finger through the hole in his shirt and drew him along with her.
***
Kieran watched as Kaitlin led Malcolm to the dance floor, with her finger hooked into the hole of his shirt. Malcolm was grinning with the look in his eyes that matched Kaitlin’s, bright with excitement and passion for each other. His closed fist settled against her low back, probably holding something silver within so the magic of the fey that flooded through the Isle didn’t overwhelm him. His other hand curled over the curve of her hip. The roughness of the scars around his wrists weren’t hidden any more, Kieran noticed. Malcolm hadn’t made any attempt to cover them up, as if he’d finally come to accept them. As the DJ played “Slow Down the Song” by Selena Gomez, they danced slow and close, talking privately in soft voices Kieran didn’t try to hear. If they found comfort with each other, he was happy for them both.
Especially Malcolm. Kieran cared about him as more than just a best friend, even if Malcolm couldn’t return that affection. Nothing came easy for the bloodhound, and to see him smiling and relaxed gave Kieran hope that maybe he’d be alright.
Kieran backed away from the dance floor, giving them their time. His crew burst into laughter in a booth to his right. Kieran glanced their way, watching as Riley and Joe raised their bottles to clink them against the ones held by Willem and London. The four of them laughed and talked with animated gestures that described the battles they’d survived.
When Riley noticed him looking, he waved Kieran over to join them. The smile on his face carried the relief of release from his bond to the patron that had neglected and misused him. They’d talked about the pain it caused for Riley, and it had been difficult to listen to. Like listening to a lover describe a past relationship that had soured. It was a pain Kieran didn’t mean for him to endure again, if he could help it.
He slipped into the booth next to Riley, bumping him lightly in the hip as he scooted in next to him. Across from him, London’s bright and easy smile dimmed a few shades, hesitant as if she wasn’t sure what he’d make of her hanging out with his crew. Kieran gave her a wink that relaxed the tension from her smile. From what Donovan told him, he’d be spending quite a bit of time around London, and it would be far more pleasant if they could find a way to start over.
The smile grew brighter as her patron drew up to stand beside her. Lugh’s fingers slipped into her hand. When she lifted her face to smile at him, he bent to kiss her mouth. The soft and lingering kiss wasn’t without compassion, even if it wasn’t overtly romantic. The affection between them was obvious, as patron and druidess.
***
The sunlight of his Touch warmed from his hand into London’s as he squeezed it. Her mouth softened to his kiss, as it always did. She’d earned the trust and pride he placed in her, and through the Touch he let her feel his love and appreciation for her. They would talk soon, of her adventure and of what remained to be swept up of the wizard’s empire, but for now he’d give her this time to relax and celebrate with her friends.
When Lugh straightened, he reached to shake Willem’s hand. The Scribe had been there with him since the start and had been there to witness Manannan’s reign end. The young Scribe brightened at the Touc
h Lugh shared with him, which recognized the key role the lesser fey had played in the tapestry of fate.
With a smile and a nod, he acknowledged the others at the table, before parting from them. Lugh chose to leave the younger fey and humans to the glory of their celebrations. He’d lived long enough to know that such times should be savored, because they were few and fleeting.
Besides, he had someone else waiting for him. His Rhiannon reached out her arms to gather him in as he approached the bar where she’d been socializing with Trip and Cormac. She wrapped her pale arms around his neck and they fell into the kiss like they fell into bed. Perfectly natural. Her lips gave under his. When the Touch of his magic shone into her, her moon magic reflected back. They were a pair, the two of them, with magic that complimented each other to perfection.
Taking a fluted glass of pixie wine from the barkeeper, Lugh leaned his back against the bar. As he lounged, Rhiannon draped against him as she returned to her conversation. His bent elbow propped him up, as Lugh enjoyed the energy of victory and celebration without partaking in it. The conclusion of this bloody chapter in their history punctuated a different ending for him.
He’d intended to ponder this quietly within himself, even as the joyous partying of the fey played about him. But his moment of contemplation was short lived.
Kieran slipped away from his mates, bringing one of the humans with him.
Lugh finished his glass and set it aside on the bar top, before turning his attention back to the young man.
The new Champion of the Sidhe.
Even before Lugh broached the conversation with the Creator, Donovan had known his weariness. For nearly ten thousand years, Lugh carried the weight of Champion. He’d been younger even than Kieran, when Danu had begun to groom him for the role. The loss of Danu and the Mounds nearly crushed Lugh’s spirit. He’d fought through, not allowing himself to falter until the new realm was created. The betrayal of the Seelie king, and the battles within himself to see justice done, wearied his soul beyond his endurance to continue.
The time had come.
With grace, Donovan had accepted Lugh’s unspoken resignation. He’d revealed to him then the Sidhe with the compassion and dedication that would take up his mantle.
Kieran.
His bright, dark eyes rose to meet Lugh’s now, something hopeful shining within them. The young Unseelie knew of his new role, even if he’d so much yet to learn. Lugh would guide him until Kieran possessed the knowledge and confidence to carry on without him. Through his connection to the realm, and to Donovan, Kieran wouldn’t be without the support and insight of the All-Father in the centuries to come. In this, Lugh placed his faith as he relinquished his control.
“I wanted to ask you something.” Kieran leaned in close to Lugh, speaking over the music and the voices.
Lugh glanced from Kieran to the human at his side, and suspected that he knew the request before it was even spoken, but he allowed Kieran to continue.
The Unseelie glanced back to London for a moment, as if formulating the words he wanted to say, before turning back. “Can you teach me how to become a patron? I mean, the magic weaving part of it?” He cut a quick glance to Riley, as if making sure they both agreed on this before pressing onward. “I wouldn’t want to mess it up.”
So the lessons would begin sooner than Lugh expected. After whispering a parting word to Rhiannon, he gripped Kieran’s shoulder and steered him towards the exit. “We should go some place quieter to discuss this and if you are both still in agreement, then I will instruct you.”
As he guided the others through the crowd, Lugh made eye contact with Donovan. The Creator and All-Father watched with approval in his dark and serious eyes. They exchanged nods. With Lugh’s aid, Kieran would become the Champion that Donovan needed him to be.
***
Donovan watched Lugh and Kieran leaving the party. He’d not had any doubts on that score. Since the Creation, he’d known the desires of Lugh’s heart. No other than Kieran had come to his mind as the new Champion for the Sidhe. More than the others, Kieran relied upon his connection to him. As long as Kieran drew his strength from Donovan, he wouldn’t suffer the torments of his Leannan nature. He trusted in Donovan and he believed in the goodness of the fey, and not just the righteousness of the Unseelie or the Seelie. The ancients assured him that just as the All-Mothers and All-Fathers of the fey had been born, and risen to their status by the weaving of magic and destiny, so had the Champions. The next had been prepared just as the former Champion reached retirement. Lugh had held that title far longer than any of his predecessors, waiting for his successor to be born.
“Reminds me of the Glamour Club.” Tiernan commented, coming to stand by Donovan’s side.
Donovan glanced at him. With Tiernan next to him, it really did. Only Tiernan had changed from those days in Kilkenny. The insight of Rhiannon’s insanity hadn’t been lost on him, as he watched Malcolm dancing. The distrust and distaste wasn’t darkening his expression any longer as he considered the bloodhound. When Tiernan noticed Donovan catching his look, he smiled ruefully. “I guess you were right about him. A leash wasn’t what Malcolm needed.” He lifted his pale eyes up to search Donovan’s face, as if still in a little awe to find him alive. “So what are you going to do with him.”
“Make him truly free.” Donovan walked away from Tiernan.
The fey parted for him, as he drew closer to Malcolm on the dance floor. The bloodhound hadn’t seen him coming, with the silver in his fist keeping him blind. Only when Donovan was right next to him, did Malcolm jolt with awareness. His big, brown eyes blinked up at him.
Donovan held out his hand, palm up. “Time to give it up.”
The confusion flickered over Malcolm’s face, and with realization, the doubt darkened his expression.
Donovan waited, hand open.
Slowly, Malcolm raised his own hand. He opened his fist over Donovan’s waiting palm, dropping the silver.
To Malcolm’s eye, the truth of Donovan’s form would become evident. The ‘body’ was nothing more than magic made flesh. It was an avatar that could interact with the world and the fey in a more personal manner. In reality, Donovan was the realm. Every ounce of fey magic manifested into matter, energy, and spirit. All of it was Donovan. The silver in the hand of the avatar didn’t harm Donovan. Just as Manannan’s silver blade couldn’t have harmed him. Unlike Danu, the All-Mother of the pseudo-realm of the Mounds, Donovan had no body tied to his spirit and magic. His body had been absorbed into the realm at the Creation. He was not dead, for the loss of his corporeal form, but alive in all magic and all fey. Once Manannan opened himself up, to connect to the realm, he’d unintentionally submitted himself to Donovan’s power and will.
Wincing, Malcolm closed his eyes to the onslaught of the magic on his senses. Donovan could feel the weight of it crushing in on the young man.
One day, Malcolm would mature into his magic. One day, he would be able to endure all that his senses could bring in.
But for now, he needed Donovan’s mercy.
Hooking his hand to cup the back of Malcolm’s neck, just as he’d done acting through Lugh on the Isle of Man, Donovan Touched Malcolm. And slowly, he lowered the volume.
The blaring sounds of magic softened to a murmur. The crushing brightness, he dimmed to a comfortable light. The intense buzzing of vibration battering his flesh, Donovan calmed into a gentle caress.
Malcolm’s eyes flashed open, shocked.
Donovan smiled fatherly at him. Taking Malcolm’s wrist in his palm, Donovan lifted it.
Even more than the change of the magic, Malcolm startled to look at his own skin.
It was unmarred and perfect. No scars remained. Not on his wrists. Not on his back.
Through the power of the realm, Malcolm was healed.<
br />
Donovan anticipated Malcolm’s reaction, and side stepped the bloodhound.
As he faded from flesh, Donovan followed Malcolm with his mind. The young man raced from the tavern on the Isle of Fey. His arms and legs pumped as he nearly flew up the hill towards the portal. With a leap, he flung himself through it.
Donovan reformed his avatar within the realm, watching as Malcolm burst into it. His senses drank in everything. Seeing the amazement through Malcolm’s thoughts, Donovan found himself smiling. The crystalline colors and auras illuminated everything to Malcolm’s eyes.
Even his family, who waited there as Donovan had bid them to do.
Malcolm flung himself into the open and welcoming arms. His sister wrapped his waist in an embrace as his parents hugged their children and each other in a group hug.
Dawn moved up next to Donovan, her arms crossed with satisfaction. She watched the reunion for a moment, before finally speaking to him. “So, have you decided on a name for the realm?”
“Bastion,” He said. When she glanced up at him, he added, “Because it is a bastion for the fey.”
She smiled. “Nice choice.”
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