from_the_west: ([mac lugh] jia - serpent's daughter)
a bit sketchy, but hey. jia, caladh, huan and the ard ri.


There were a few things Jia understood, even at such a tender age as she was, and one of them was that the things that she and Huan were oft most excited about were things that their lady mother tended to disapprove of.

Their lord father, on the other hand, was another matter entirely. )
from_the_west: ([mac lugh] brenan - the hound)
a bit of veeery early brenan.


Grainne Frangag was a sidhe woman who identified mostly with the handful of dust in their fabled origins. Neutral of aura, gray of cloth, completely methodical, and inclined to settle at the least excuse, she thought mostly in slow comfortable circles, and was inclined to believe that every problem could be solved, if not avoided outright, if one were only sensible enough about it.

Read more... )
from_the_west: ([mac lugh] alistar - the faerever)
stone & aly, near the beginning of stone's extended visit to tirnanog, during wwii.

I think your father's house is full of ghosts. )
from_the_west: ([mac lugh] lilimin-deamhan's child)
aly and lilimin. first posted here. the song, if you wish to d/l it.


Alistar woke with a very sore head, a very stiff neck, and a very sour mouth. )
from_the_west: ([mac lugh] eoin - the dryad's son)
[n.b.: first posted here.]

the pride's children. this takes place shortly after caladh's first successful voyage as captain of his own ship. (huan went with him.) he's a bit young himself, high school senior or early college age equivalent and very excited and full of himself (he got better?), all the way down to brenan, who's lurking somewhere in pre-teen territory. not that one can tell. they're actually all between a century and change, and three centuries and a few decades old, and rather silly. that much never really changes.


I think you've all been out to sea too long; he's lost all his wit and charm, tá. )
from_the_west: (Default)
[n.b: reposted from here.]

In every land, hardness is in the north of it, softness in the south, industry in the east, and fire and inspiration in the west.


She had barely escaped the desert in the east with her own skin; she knew she was headed in the right direction when the rain began. She didn't stop running. She knew better than that. She ran until the soles of her feet split upon the rough earth, she ran until her breath clawed at her raw throat and her heart faltered in her chest, her arms went numb, and she could scarcely hear over the sounds of her own exhaustion; she strained to hear anyway, even knowing that it was useless, for her sisters hunted in silence. She recklessly claimed the heart and soul of a lone boatman to get passage across the rocky, wind-tossed Short Sea, and left an empty, staring thing, still pleading feebly for her return, to mark the place when she stepped to solid ground. She dropped briefly to her hands and knees in shaky relief. That one act of violence, of unlawful possession, might serve to make her a great deal less welcome. It didn't matter. She could not think of her reception, could not think of anything beyond reaching her destination. She had nowhere else to go. Her options had narrowed to the space of a single door.


Most faery tales start out with a once upon a time. But that would imply that these things had only happened once. )


from_the_west: (Default)

May 2010

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