Tadhg

Memories

• A New Leaf

  Time had passed. Just how much, Tadhg was unsure. That was the typical curse of faerie eternity, the years roll on and you’re still here pining away. It seemed like ages since he’d gone out of the trod, like centuries since he served House Balor, like millennia since he tried to usurp the usurper, and like decades since he’d joined the motley. His memories of Arcadia were in the distant past and he could hardly remember his tutor, let alone his family and friends. At first, such shaky memories, Tadhg thought, must be due to the depression that engulfed him these past few weeks whenever he woke up in the mornings. The boy hoisted himself out of bed, padded over to the fridge, and groggily poured himself a glass of orange juice. Was it depression or banality? The bane ran deep in the mortal world, with so many disbelievers and people living on their 9-5 schedules.
  
  It had been two weeks since he left Dublin for the United States, at least that's what the stamp in his Irish passport said, and Louisiana wasn’t much different. The culture was exquisite, to be sure. And the visuals were splendid: the wrought iron fences, the architecture, the burgeoning flora, and the raging Mississippi. But that didn’t change the fact that it was hard to be fae in these parts. The baron stood on his balcony looking at the people who scurried about on the busy streets below him. It occurred to him then that he was lonely. He’d sworn off court life, nobility, and everything he hated about being born sidhe. Still, he was lonesome. At least in South Dublin he had his hurling with the lads. Not being around fae or changelings felt like someone had cleft his heart in twain, then taken a fist-full of his intestines and twisted them. Now his hurley hung on his wall, mostly decorative, though it had come in handy against a mugger the other night.
  
  A meatball fell from an apartment above and splattered on the ground at his feet. If he weren’t sidhe, it probably would have hit him on his head. Luckily his birthright often protected him from botches and embarrassments.
  
  “Watch it, fucker! You almost hit me!” He said, looking up at the offender and brandishing a fist. But there was no one there.
  
  It was at that moment, looking at the mushy beef that now resembled a crusty brown paint splatter, that he had an epiphany. He needed to find companionship or he’d continue to be miserable. He’d be like the mundane meat-wad at his feet, and he’d continue being angry at the word. Surely there had to be fae living amongst these mortals. Surely there were mortals who would relish being dreamers. So too, must there be a court that he could join. He wouldn’t mind serving again, not if it meant he could be around mates. Afterall, in Arcadia, he had been a baron once. A fair and just one at that!
  
  Before you could say “changeling” the lad was sliding into his leather jacket and heading out the door. Finally he was ready to meet this strange new world. No more living in the past!

• A Forgotten Page

  The following event took place years ago within the Dreaming (however one measures time there), happened long before Arcadia came under siege and Tadhg returned to present day Earth and long before Tadhg was exiled and disinherited from his kingdom for treason.
  
  The baron’s face twisted itself from a cheesy wide grin, which he had plastered on his face for the past two hours, back into a cold frown as he shut the door behind him. He dropped all facade of cheeriness as he made his way back to the great hall. Unable to hide the pure hatred in his face, a lingering side effect from his recent meeting with the earl, he spoke quietly to his slaugh butler. Tadhg Mac an Ghoill ni Balor was a tall figure, though not quite as tall as his older cousin Lucif. Clad in ceremonial armour blazoned with the charge of House Balor’s tower, his hair was the colour of midnight, save for a streak of black in the front. Unlike most of his family, he did not have a pair of wings sticking out the back of his sidhe armour and he was covered in tattoos. The count met two other male sidhe in the great hall. They were similar in appearance, clad in black robes, but sporting the Ailil dragon. Both were pale and had long well kempt locks, though one had dark features with brown eyes and black hair and the other had fair features, blue eyes and red hair.
  
  The sluagh butler, who wore a skeletal livery and white bowtie, poured the three sidhe a shot of a clear substance in crystal tumblers. He passed them out as the baron spoke.
  
  “A toast ter th’ idiocy o’ the Seelie court” said the redheaded sidhe.
  
  “And to family ties, Sir Finbar, for without the blind devotion of House Dál Fiatach, we’d have been found out” added Tadhg, as he raised his glass.
  
  The three drank of their cups and the sluagh collected them.
  
  “Shall we go throu’, yer excellency?” asked the dark haired sidhe, cocking his head at the door.
  
  “Indeed Sir Nollaig” said the baron, as he weaved briefly through the corridor and opened the door to the drawing room, gesturing for the two knights to enter.
  
  A fire roared in the cozy room as the four fae went about their business. The three sidhe sat at a table upon which a heavily modified map of the Kingdom of Idlewild sat. A dagger was driven into the centre of the wooden table to hold the document in place. Little pawns were strewn liberally across the cartography. The Baron flopped down in an armchair, crossing his legs.
  
  “Tossers” scoffed the baron.
  
  “Tulip Tossers?” asked Sir Finbar with a smirk.
  
  “No, just regular tossers. Brush up on your Emerald Isle slang, blokes.”
  
  “We know Éire” responded both knights in unison.
  
  “Of course you do lads. Nearly was well as Ailil himself; I’d surmise from your namesakes. I know each of you evil little feckers had your humble beginnings in the Kingdom of Hibernia,” said the baron with a chuckle, in his Northern Irish accent. “Anyway, I believe her grace found my informality and childish behaviour charming; though she still suspects me of foul play. Because of her, they will leave in the morning with the Countess.”
  
  “Ah’m sorry yer honour” consoled Sir Nollaig.
  
  “Sorry? No. Let them go forth and spread around their pox. Both of them reek of bane. We will see how much they are wanted there, assuming they’re even let back in. I’m surprised the Dreaming has not expunged her Grace already. And this trip will get my cousin out of my hair… for the time being. We will have to fly the Eiluned banner along Ailil for the time being, of course, but it is a small sacrifice to make. They need to stay up for the time being, as there may be informants in the march still loyal to him. If it had to be a seelie house at least it’s Eiluned. My old house, you know.” He glanced at the slaugh for a second.
  
  “Lovelace, you will need to go with them. Another small loss, butlers are worth tuppence at the moment. Sirs, I imagine they will not take my offer of your company” He muses, eyeing the pair of sidhe.
  
  “Wos it somethin’ we said, yer excellency?” asked Sir Finbar with a cheeky grin on his face.
  
  “I should bloody well hope you did not say anything to the FUCKING EARL. Point in fact, I remember specifically asking you to leave his excellency to me.”
  
  “So I did, Baron. An ‘ow exactly did yer excellency handle ‘im, ey?” questioned Finbar.
  
  “I convinced him my ideas were his ideas. I swear seelie sidhe are so fecking stupid.” Tadhg put his feet up on the table, leaning back in his chair.
  
  “Ye speak so ‘arshly of the sidhe yer excellency, but there’s no fairer kith, nor none more fit ter rule” noted Finbar.
  
  “Oh right you are matey! But you know that you two and my beloved, maybe a couple of others, are the only sidhe I can stand for more than ten minutes or fifteen minutes. And the seelie are enough to make me retch. Another of his stipulations was that I cannot sack anymore of his precious little sidhe advisors and guardians.”
  
  “Where wos ‘is great lump of a troll? I’d loike ter cross swords with that oaf again” interjected Sir Nollaig.
  
  “A just question” said Tadgh frowning “The big horse's arse. I’d have loved to feed the noble brute Sir Glendower to my ogres.” His frown increased as he screwed up his face thinking. “Prudence dictates the marquis has him protecting something. Or someone. Still, we are probably lucky he wasn’t here.”
  
  “Wots important enough to ‘is eminence that would make ‘im part with his most honorable troll bloke?” asked Sir Finbar.
  
  “He is Eiluned and he is my cousin. He has deep fears and dark secrets. So, a great many things, each more curious than the next.”
  
  “An’ a Grand Duchess does nay become a Grand Duchess witho’ pissing a few fae off on her climb tae th’ top of Tara. I’m sure ‘er trail to the throne wos wet wiff blue blood. Tis pity it’s no longer apparent tha’she is heir apparent” chimed in Sir Nollaig with a wicked laugh.
  
  “Let’s keep it that way. Sir Nollaig, Sir Finbar, one of you will see missive delivered into the hands of Countess Claira and one of you will see to Duke Malivi. Both need to know the Duchess and Earl Lucif were here. I will pen the letters, you see that your people deliver them. Laertes, you can go and pack your things whilst pondering where your loyalties rest.” He looked at the sluagh with disdain “though I am not optimistic for your return.”
  
  Baron Tadgh Dál Fiatach ap Balor, Sir Nollaig Ó Muraíle ap Ailil, and Sir Finbar Mac Cárthaigh ap Ailil continued to caucus and plot in private as the sluagh slinked out of the room.