The Summons

The Summons
by niennaainur

Story Notes

Contact: nienna_ainur@hotmail.com

Pairing: Lianvis and Thiede

Rating: PG-13 – (?) who knows I’m very liberal

Summary: This was originally the character intro and setup for an RPG. Unfortunately, due to a horrific crash and tragic death of my hard drive, a considerable increase in workload, an overly active Mommy schedule, and an errant muse, I was unable to play … *sobs* This was intended to position Lianvis in Imbrilum so that he could play with Vaysh.

Disclaimer: All the pretty Wraeththu, as well as the world they live in, were created by, and belong to, Storm Constantine, who (bless her!) is gracious enough to allow fans like me to take them out and play with them occasionally. No disrespect or copyright infringement is intended.

Warning: AU

Beta read by: a very patient bigunen – all the rest of the mistakes are mine.

The Summons

Lianvis stood in the entrance of the tent and watched absently as hara put the finishing touches to the encampment. He noticed with a certain degree of satisfaction the veiled, guarded looks hara sent his way. “Let them be slightly wary of their leader,” he mused; it’d serve him better than too much ease and familiarity. Today, however, the wary watchfulness was perhaps warranted as he was brooding. He was Lianvis har Kakkahaar, leader of the Kakkahaar tribe; no har summoned him anywhere, and yet he had, in effect, been summoned. What was even more disturbing than the summons, at least to Lianvis, was the fact that he had heeded them.

A self-satisfied smirk spread across the Kakkahaar’s face for he had only partially heeded the summons. The missive had not contained any details. Lianvis had a fairly good idea what the meeting was going to be about; Immanion was currently busy tying up loose ends. His presence had been requested in Imbrilum “immediately.” He had come but not alone: he’d brought his entire camp. He had come but not to Imbrilum: he’d camped in the desert at the very edge of Kakkahaar territory close enough to access the town. He had come, but most certainly not immediately.

With the war over and tentative new alliances forged, he was, as were all the non-Gelaming leaders, walking a thin line between tribal alliance and tribal consolidation into the Gelaming machine.

He sighed softly and let the tent flap fall. Turning, he headed back to the bed, lowering himself gently, so as not to wake the young har who lay sleeping peacefully. Lianvis reached out, and with a feather light touch, traced the soft contour of the sleeper’s shoulder. The har, one of the tribes’ listeners, stirred slightly and snuggled closer into the curve of Lianvis’s body. Lianvis was half-tempted to wake the sleeper and lose himself once again in pure physical pleasure; the young har had been so deliciously accommodating a few hours earlier. At the memory, Lianvis felt his body begin to stir to life.

Then, with a sudden sigh, he rolled onto his back amid the small mountain of soft pillows, and stared intently at the tent wall.

He’d dreamt strange dreams for the past several nights. He’d dreamt about Ulaume for the first time in a long time. Along with his erstwhile chesnari Ulaume, Thiede, General Aldebaran, and Pellaz, and even Pellaz’s ever present shadow Vaysh had flitted in and out of the dreams. Were these just dreams? Were they some shadowy messages from the ethers?

He made a face at himself as he rose from the bed and tied his knee-length honey-coloured hair back with a leather thong. He left the listener’s tent quietly. As he threw up the hood of his dune-coloured robe and strode off in the direction of his own tent, the skies above him darkened and appeared to fold allowing one lone sedu to exit from the otherlanes depositing it and its rider on the desert floor.

Any visible surprise Lianvis might have displayed at the identity of the rider was well hidden in the shadows cast by his hood. He folded his arms across his chest as his visitor dismounted and handed the reins of the sedu to the young stable-har who had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and now stood in wide-eyed awe of the sedu and its rider.

Standing motionless, Lianvis waited as the new arrival approached him; when they stood face-to-face, Lianvis inclined his head by way of greeting.

“Welcome”

His visitor inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

“I am honoured, but somewhat surprised that you have …” Lianvis paused pointedly “thought to visit.”

His visitor inclined his head slightly.

“Please…” with a slight gesture of his arm he indicated that his guest should accompany him. “I shall have some refreshments brought,” he added and they both set off towards his tent.

Drawing back the tent flap Lianvis ushered in his guest. Lianvis swept past him, extending his arm gracefully to indicate a low pillow-strewn couch; he settled himself onto the couch directly across and lounged back regarding his exotic-looking guest with candid interest. His guest remained standing and motionless in the center of the tent.

The guest studied his host with an inscrutable gaze and said nothing; in return Lianvis offered nothing. The silence remained and under the intense scrutiny Lianvis began to feel an unusual sensation: a slight sense of awkwardness. He was saved from appearing uncomfortable by the arrival of a tall willowy serving-har carrying a tray bearing delicate anise biscuits and a lightly spiced tea.

“I can send for something more substantial if you prefer…” Lianvis offered, but his guest shook his head and with a brief wave of his hand dismissed the attendant. Lianvis busied himself by pouring the tea. With a practiced and theatrical flourish his guest seated himself on the low couch opposite Lianvis, and leaned back, and observed Lianvis, his head cocked to one side somewhat pensively.

“Lianvis, Lianvis, Lianvis” Thiede began in a bemused tone “whatever am I going to do with you?”

“Do with me?” Lianvis replied dryly “How about giving me a seat on the Hegemony.”

Thiede chuckled “I don’t think so”.

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Maelstrom and Mage, Desire Thine Darkling

Maelstrom and Mage, Desire Thine Darkling
by Thevina

Story Notes

Editor\'s PickAuthor’s Email: thevina33@gmail.com

Web page: http://www.thrihyrne.net

Pairings: Ashmael/Vaysh, Ashmael/OC

Overall Rating: NC-17

Word Count: 49,000

Spoilers: The Enchantments of Flesh and Spirit

Summary: Genesis. Paradise. Illumination. Exodus. Before they went to Immanion, before Thiede manipulated their destiny, before death and despair, Ashmael and Vaysh knew and loved each other. This is one way their story may have been told.

Disclaimer: Ashmael, Vaysh, and the harish world all belong to Storm Constantine; I’m merely playing with great abandon in her sandbox.

Author’s Notes: I fell in love with the tragedy that is Vaysh/Ashmael; the desire to write a gap-filler from Ashmael’s POV up through the point of Vaysh’s death became overwhelming, and these are the fruits of that obsession.

Sequel: Down the Whispering Well

Maelstrom and Mage,Desire Thine Darkling

Vaysh burned.

I’d watched him ride into our collective, and steered away as any sane sentient being, whether human or har, should do around open flame. He would burn and scorch; he was seared into the very marrow of this mutant blood that flowed in my veins; from sight alone my cells were branded. Of course I briefly tried to keep my distance, knowing as instinctively as a plant turns to the sun, or a drowning man clings to anything to keep him from dying in watery depths, that to get close to him would cause an elemental transfiguration.

I was stone: solid, yet porous when necessary.

But you know what happens when rock is punished by relentless heat. Lava. Liquid, destructive, transient.

Could anyone ever look back at our lives and not marvel at our exploits, our so un-refined, un-controlled, Wraeththu-anathema love for each other?

* * * * *

My first thought when the small entourage came riding in was that some har, somewhere, had made a grave error in judgment. All of us, we Wraeththu, are this mutated amalgam of the sexes, two combined into one, yet presumably not both at once. Ever the enthusiastic pioneer, however, I’d vowed to myself to try and find out, which I did, successfully.

The hara who approached wore leather of rich chestnut, designed scored into them that resembled constellations. They looked heavenly, quite easy on the eyes, but also as haughty and distant as the stars, radiant and far off. We’d known they were coming, as the one who seemed to be their leader had sent out a thought-call. Our clan head, Monarch, had replied and warily bid them approach. Wraeththu hadn’t been in existence all that long then. We were still actively hunted down though of course we fought back with deadly vengeance.

Their horses were as well fashioned and groomed as their masters. I wondered if they had some kind of occult or spiritual connection to equines. Each tribe and splinter group I’d come across or heard about appeared to have taken on its own unique personality, passion, and/or perversion. I didn’t know, philosophically, what I thought of that, as it reeked of humanity to me. We all came from different backgrounds, though, had been incepted in myriad ways with tales of bliss and horror (or both), so I supposed it made sense that each small stronghold would have a very different culture shaped by their respective leaders.

A willowy har with long hair the colour of burnished sand dismounted, his presence commanding despite his fetching, sinuous body movement. Before I had become har, I’d of course been a human male, with raging hormones that had churned and bruised me though I’d not had an outlet aside from solo release. My fantasies hadn’t involved men, back when the decaying world still boasted of its male and female polarities. I’d had a love affair of sorts with the insatiable creature between my legs, dreaming of burying it in a silken heat of some secretive, foreign darkness. A flare of my former self, the insipid human part I’d hoped had been scoured away forever, raised its regressive head when confronted with Vaysh, as I soon learned this compelling har was named.

“He’s flaming.”

The ancient slur blindsided me, some dormant, pre-har wire in my brain tripped by the sight of him. Perhaps back in the past this Vaysh had favoured his own gender, and been flamboyant about it. It wasn’t for me to ferret out of him, or care. We were Wraeththu now, beyond such banal and reductive concepts of she and he. This har evoked more of the feminine in outward display, but I soon discovered he had balls of steel. Vaysh was a sword, clothed as a sylph.

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