I do not hold the copy right to Buffy the Vampire Slayer™ or The Merry Gentry Series™, nor do I claim to. All characters belong to their original creators, their publishers, and subsidiaries. I make no profit from the making or sharing of this fanfiction. No slander, insult, or infringement is intended with the making and sharing of this fanfiction.They say opposites attract. God Almighty are they wrong! Besba, my mother, and I couldn't be more different and I freaking hate the cold-hearted bitch. Whoever's up there must really have it out for me.
If you don't know, the sidhe are all about pomp, ceremony, and procedure. Kinda like Aurelian vampires. There are many obscure treatise in the Council library that I ended up digging out. If I was sidhe, which at this point was a pretty useless question, then I was going to do everything right. Willow of course helped when she had time, but she didn't have much. There was a certain way to go about entering the court, a certain way for almost everything. It was worse than some demon cultures I delt with in Africa and Asia.
On top of that was the impression I wanted to make. If I don't mind being on the bottom of the social ladder, and hence becoming anyone's meat, I could just skip that part. Or I could try pre-emptively establishing my social and magical power. Considering that being bottom rung meant brown-nosing, sucking up, and generally going back to Zeppo-dom, I wasn't going to go down without a hell of a fight. As I had recently come into my first hand of power, I might actually be able to do it. And I suppose you want to know how that happened, right?
It was acually a week after Willow did her original spell that found me out. She did another spell in conjunction with the Devon coven. On her own, she did what amounted to an aural diagnostic, showing what spells there were on me. The only one she could see was the one that bound the hyena within me. Let me tell you, that confused the hell out of everybody.
Turns out it was a case of can't see the forest for the trees. My entire aura had been taken over by the spell Besba had put on me as an infant. The general human aural base colour is a bright primary colour, while mine looked like a dull, dark green. Once the spell came off, which took Willow's power and the High Preistess's skill, my aura was iridecent silver, like a curtain of mercury. Or so I'm told.
At the same time, my Hand came on line. Let me tell you, that burned like dragon fire. Turns out I have One of the rarest hands, the Hand of Knowing. Anything I touch, I know
. I know it's beginning, it's end, it's purpose, it's weakness, it's everything. Confusing as all hell the first few times, but I've gotten used to it. Supposedly over time I can eliminate the need for touch and be able to use it at a distance. Would come in handy if there were a filter though. . . It makes research a lot easier now. Touch a book and know everything in it.
I said that my power would help me in establishing myself. Doesn't seem very useful, does it? Knowing my enemies' thoughts, intentions, plans, emotional and psychological weaknesses all with the brush of skin to skin. . . Yeah, I knew you would see it my way.***
Taranis was perched on his high throne, enrobed in light and illusion as was his wont. He was a glittering gaudy thing among the shining beauty of his court. Women flocked to him, posturing and hoping for a glance, a whispered word from him; any token of favour would rearrange the entire social ladder.
Everyone was gathered for supper, as per the Seelie King's command. Taranis liked seeing his entire court turned out and arrayed at his feet. It inflated his ego just that little bit more, to think of them as his children or worshipers, there only for his pleasure. Before the meal itself could start though, what sounded like the tone of a large gong reverberated through the hall. Tinkling bells followed and a pool of shimmering, mirror-silver liquid condensed from the sound. The pool shifted and turned and reformed, never stilling. Two tiny blossoms of speedwell and words of praise for the Goddess slipped through.
A hand slowly emerged and Taranis's guards finally sprang into action, drawing swords and guns. The hand was golden as only a seelie can be and masculine, clutching a scroll firmly. It dropped the bundle of parchment and withdrew, the silver pool vanishing with a pop like a soap bubble.
The scroll rolled to a stop at the foot of the dais. Taranis was shocked beyond measure. It had been centuries since the true formalities had been observed. Someone out there knew the old ways, and was asking to be let in. Someone had penetrated the defences of the sithen with little to no effort.
Beseba smiled where no one could see.