FAOLAN
COURT Shardless; Seelie-sworn
TITLE Seelie Marshall's Hound
OCCUPATION Bodyguard, Assassin, Spy
ABLE TO FAST-TRAVEL
Teleportation between the gardens of Caer Glaem & Caer Scima
Teleportation in Dorchadas at night
Teleportation to Lancelot's side
Cleg
RESIDENCE IN 2,701 Caer Glaem
RESIDENCE IN 2,702 Caer Glaem
MAJOR EVENTS
HIGHLIGHT
Description [ ✖ ]
HIGHLIGHT
Description [ ✖ ]
HIGHLIGHT
Description [ ✖ ]
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PLANS
- Keeping an eye on Lancelot both in Caer Glaem/the White Citadel and on his travels.
- His mission for Lancelot to connect with all of the agents stationed in the cities closest to Caer Glaem.
- Becoming Spymaster under the direction of the Seelie Marshall should said mission be fulfilled.
- Watching over Bridei when Lancelot is not around and making sure that he is safe.
- Possibly spreading more positive sentiments towards the Seelie court (or at least positive sentiments towards Lancelot) in the form of ballads.
- Upholding his oaths to the best of his ability.
SUMMARY OF KNOWN DETAILS
TBA
TIMELINE OF EVENTS
SPRING IN 2,701 (Mar, Apr, May) |
- MARCH - Gwen is happy to see Faolan alive again. Faolan spends most of the month hiding from the cold under Lancelot's charmed blankets with Bridei, and feeling guilty he won't let him light a fire.
- APRIL - Faolan starts to hear harp-playing everywhere, both in and out of his dreams, and his emotions go off of the charts. He resents harps, and he resents what they mean to him. He would never destroy an instrument in or out of his dreams however so he will be affected the whole month. There are significant interactions with Lancelot and Guinevere during this event.
- MAY - Faolan accompanies Lancelot on the first of his many Public Relations trips, this time to Parrais.
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SUMMER IN 2,701 (Jun, Jul, Aug) |
- JUNE - As of the month before, the lockets and the fairy rings do not work, and as such, communication with agents stationed out in cities has become a challenge. Lancelot assigns Faolan the task of traveling to them and communicating in person, since it is easier for him to travel around than most others these days, being shardless. He starts out with Treun, where he participates in the Melee competition of the Tourney and is bested by Connor early in the running. Lancelot is there to soothe his bruised ego. Also at the Tourney he speaks to Aragorn, Lucrezia, and Natasha. He also meets with the agent in Treun before continuing on his mission south to Leathann, where there is no agent stationed, but he spends a while investigating in their stead.
- JULY - From Leathann Faolan does a massive traveling loop back up to Parrais on his mission for Lancelot to meet with the agent stationed there. And from there he goes on to Doanna for the final stop in his journey, where he discovers that there is some unrest after the hangings that take place there. He speaks to Diarmuid and they exchange information, before he returns to Caer Glaem to share his findings with Lancelot. (All throughout the mission he has been checking in here and there, to let him know that he's alive, and because Bridei misses him.)
- AUGUST -Faolan accompanies Lancelot to Leathann for more Public Relations on behalf of the Seelie court, and tries desperately not to be in the way during the Festival of Lights. While he's there, he takes some time to investigate this new Oracle (and possibly work on establishing a new agent in the city?).
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FALL IN 2,701 (Sept, Oct, Nov) |
- SEPTEMBER - Faolan returns with Lancelot to Parrais for more Public Relations touring.
- OCTOBER - On the 25th of October, the Drabwurld celebrates Samhain once more. Faolan attends, and reminisces about last year with Lancelot. He spends less time brooding than he did last year, and even accepts a few dances, including one with Gwen.
- NOVEMBER - Faolan spends much of the month on regular duties. When word of the escaped convicts from the prison colony in Leathann reaches Caer Glaem, it makes him uneasy - are any of these people a threat to Caer Glaem itself?
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WINTER IN 2,701/2,702 (Dec, Jan, Feb) |
- DECEMBER - Having won the Hunt last year, Lancelot will apparently get it into his mind that he doesn't need to take it seriously this year, thereby ending up getting himself cursed into becoming an animal this go around. An otter, to be exact. Faolan must then watch over him, Lady, and Bridei the three of them for the next few days until Lancelot is himself once more. Any gifts he receives for Yule he struggles to return in kind, even if his own gifts by comparison are likely not as fancy or expensive as those that are given to him.
- JANUARY - Faolan accompanies Lancelot back to Treun once more for more Public Relations touring on behalf of the Seelie court. He checks in with the agent stationed there, and puts out feelers as to what might be going on with the Fortuna family, after the Governor was forced to abdicate his position. (The 26th marks Faolan's return from death, an event that is possibly worth celebrating?)
- FEBRUARY - Faolan travels with Lancelot back to Leathann again for another Public Relations visit on behalf of the Seelie court. (If he has established an agent in Leathann at this point he will check in with them.) Also during this month, on the 14th, Bridei turns one year old.
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SPRING IN 2,702 (Mar, Apr) |
- MARCH - Faolan joins Lancelot and all others defending Caer Glaem by decapitating the skeletons of the risen dead, and is largely unsettled by their appearance.
- APRIL - Fairies start to go missing from Caer Glaem, leaving everyday tasks unfinished. Faolan knows how to make do without them, although it is an inconvenience in certain aspects. This too is concerning, however, and he wonders what it could mean going forward...
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towards the end of the month
But he needs to play, to practice. He's written a ballad, not only the words but the music, all in his head. (He's had a lot of free time to himself recently, with all of this sitting back and taking it easy that he's had to be doing while his hands healed. While he watched after Bridei in the first month of his life.) But now it's time that he found out whether the ballad in his head really works as a ballad aloud. If this is really feasable, what he has in mind, to spread the song around and rally folk behind - if not the Seelie court, than at least behind Lancelot. A lot of people had to be wary, considering the total destruction of Caer Scima. Everything resulting in that would fall on Lancelot's shoulders and Faolan wanted to do his damnedest to make sure that he softened that blow.
Bridei and Lady both sit as his feet, looking up at him and the instrument on his lap with fascination. Lady at least knows to keep her distance. Bridei he's had to coax out of climbing up his leg a few times before he's convinced he'll be safe using his hands elsewhere. Once he (and Lady) have him settled, though, he has no more excuse. He's tuned the harp, and to his chagrin it's perfectly on. So setting his fingers to the strings, he begins...
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More than that, Faolan is singing. He is singing well, in fact, something which surprises Lancelot -- Faolan had always seemed uncomfortable around music. Had always seemed to have distaste for it, for singing. Yet here he is, playing the harp and singing himself. Singing as if it is a thing he is no stranger to, as if it is a natural talent in fact. Lancelot dares not make a sound, dares not step forward even lest he stop so stay still he does. Still and quiet, back in the shadow of the doorway.
The song itself is a charming one, a tale of a battle of some sort, yet the more it goes on the more Lancelot has an odd sense that the story it tells is oddly familiar. Very familiar, in fact -- and then -- then his suspicion is confirmed. A song of the battle they both fought in! He had no idea such things existed already, let alone one which had him in it, and Arturia? He had no idea many people even knew of what happened! Had it been so witnessed? Was the tale so widely spread?
At least, he thinks, the song does not name him directly -- although he supposes there is an implication of sorts. That, and he supposes he should be grateful it does not slander him in some way. Faolan's fingers still finally, the last notes ringing through the air, and Lancelot smiles a little at the sentiment. It reminds him of what he has told Faolan himself many a time, and there is something pleasing about seeing it echoed so here.
"I had no idea you sung," he says, breaking the silence, and Bridei and Lady are suddenly on their feet and scurrying toward him now they realise he is there.
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Which of course is when Lancelot makes his presence known. Faolan's heart leaps into his throat and it's all he can do not to drop the harp in surprise. He hadn't expected him back, not so soon, otherwise he'd never have picked the thing up, and certainly not played it. It was the one secret he had left, and there's no point in keeping it now. Still, the thought of admitting to it scares him slightly, and his knuckles are white on the wood of the harp as he finds himself frozen in place, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears. As Bridei and Lady scamper around Lancelot's feet, oblivious to Faolan's quandary.
"I..." he stutters slightly, feeling strangely vulnerable, having been caught so, even if it is only Lancelot.
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"It's all right," he assures him, "I won't tell anyone, and I can assure you Bridei and Lady won't be spreading it around -- not even if they wanted to."
He takes a careful step closer, turns a chair toward Faolan and eases into it -- lets Bridei continue to use him as a climbing frame contently, wings buffeting him every so often.
"Breathe," he encourages softly, and flickers a tentative smile.
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"How long were you there?" he asks, easing one of his hands from the harp to run over his face and through his hair, trying to will his heartbeat to settle. It's only Lancelot, he has no reason to distrust him with this, even if the idea of anyone knowing the full truth of his past makes his insides turn to jelly.
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His smile flicks up further, warm and friendly as he gently detaches Bridei and sets him in his lap. Bridei immediately begins crawling again, stills after a moment as Lancelot holds him to his chest.
"May I ask where you heard it?"
So far as he knows Faolan has not had a chance to travel far since the battle, his wounds preventing him doing much at all, which makes Lancelot idly wonder if they're singing such songs around Caer Glaem herself. That would be... a little embarrassing, he thinks... Then again he supposes such things are good for morale.
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"It..." He licks his lips nervously, before trying again. "They're not writing them. At least, not that I know of." He hopes that Lancelot understands what he's saying as he regards him carefully and goes on to admit to him, "It was an original."
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Something about that warms Lancelot to know, makes Faolan more whole as a person. It feels like a missing piece of a puzzle he had not realised was incomplete.
"Well," he begins, eyes dropping to Bridei in faint embarrassment. "Then I am more than flattered. It's very good."
He feels like he should say more, but Faolan is so very nervous about it that Lancelot wonders if that would only cause him greater discomfort.
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Faolan flounders with what to say next, what needs to be said, about his past, his intentions with the song. "I. I had hoped, as is the way with bards, if I could get it spread around enough, it might. That is, I. The words were written in such a way, I had hoped the listener would..." Nothing is coming out the way that he wants it to, so after a moment, Faolan sighs heavily, running his hand through his hair again, adjusting the harp awkwardly in his lap. "...I am glad you think so," he says, eventually. It is the first song he has written in quite a long time, after all.
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"Would you like a drink?" he suggests, turning to his cabinet and pulling it open. "You look a little like you could use one." He glances back, flickers a sympathetic smile. "Forgive me if I have intruded in some way, Faolan, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable."
Bridei wiggles again and Lancelot leans to set him down, lets him skitter back to beside Lady where he proceeds to climb onto her. She tolerates it with exaggerated doggy patience.
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"It's not your fault," Faolan says, his voice low, keeping his eyes firmly focused in front of him for the moment. "Nor was it an intrusion. It's your space. I knew you would be coming back sooner rather than later. I should have expected you might overhear me."
He glances at Lancelot now, obviously struggling with the topic. "It is not something I talk about," he says. "It is...a part of me I am not certain belongs anymore. But if you have questions, I would answer them. It is no longer a secret, not from you. And perhaps I will feel better for sharing." He sits forward in his chair, leaning his elbows on his knees, taking in a deep breath. "I'm surprised you have not asked sooner, in all honesty. You had to wonder why I, of all people, would be sent a harp, I am sure...?"
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He reaches over after a moment to gently detach Bridei from Lady, to give her a moment of reprieve from his rougher affections. Bridei latches around Lancelot's wrist playfully and he lifts him clear, settles the little dragon back into his lap as he sips his drink.
"Of course," he adds, setting the drink aside, "if you want to tell me do not let me stop you. I know little enough about music myself."
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"I am not comfortable deliberately keeping secrets from you," Faolan says. "Not when you know most of the truth anyway. Not when you would know that I am keeping it from you on purpose. You've witnessed some of the worst of my past in person. This is nothing, by comparison." Still, he finds it difficult to get the words out, and instead toys with his drink in his hand for a long moment before he continues.
"There was a time," he says, slowly, as if it is difficult for him to get the words out, for in part it is, "when I plied a different trade. In another lifetime, it seems now. You would not recognize me today, perhaps, if you had known the man I was then."
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It's a gentle prompt, one to try and keep Faolan going since he seems inclined toward sharing. Lancelot fully stands by his words, that the man does not owe him as such, but if he wishes to share -- well, this other side of him... it does interest him. That he should have lead such a different life.
"Before... what happened, with your family?"
At least, he assumes that was a turning point -- a violent one at that.
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"I had barely touched a harp since... That event," he explains, skirting around the truth of what it was that had occurred. Lancelot knows what happened, Faolan knows that he will understand. "I sold mine for passage across the sea. I could probably count on my hand the number of times I have picked one up. Before that." He takes in a deep breath. "Before that it was barely out of my sight. My older brother was the political one, the leader, the one to inherit after my father. And I was..." He shrugs, looking up at the other man, his eyes slightly guarded as he continues to say, "I was a bard."
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"You took to avoiding music," he prompts on, "to avoid the memories? It is not for lack of skill, I am sure. You still play beautifully."
Yet Faolan has always been a little withdrawn. Perhaps the time for drawing attention to himself has simply passed.
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He trails off, sitting back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, taking a sip of the drink to fortify himself. "I yearn for the harp again, around music like that. But it is not so simple as that." He shrugs slightly. "You flatter me, with such compliments. I have not truly practiced in over ten years. But, with this harp being here, and with the situation being what it is, I thought..." He trails off again, shrugging and glancing up at Lancelot once more, the expression in his eyes at once shuttered and horribly vulnerable.
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"You yearn for it," he repeats softly, "yet you deny yourself. It reminds you of the past. Yet... those memories, associations, will never fully leave you if you do not let yourself move on. If... the past, a past you do not wish, is the only memory you have a harp then of course a harp will make you recall it. If you want to enjoy it once more, then the only way is to do so. To make new memories, new associations, to live in the here and now -- not the past. Play here -- I will not begrudge you doing so. Play as much as you wish, Faolan, and perhaps one day... your confidence will return enough to play for others as you once did."
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"You will not begrudge it. But would you welcome such a thing?" he asks, quietly. "They are two very different ideas, after all. A bard and a bodyguard are two very different people to keep around. The harp is..." He takes in a breath, letting it out. "Well. I do not want to be a nuisance. You have already done so much for me as it is."
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Lancelot flickers a smile as he gently flips Bridei onto his back, tickles him a little as he squirms -- eyes flicking between the little creature in Faolan.
"You are not only a bard and a bodyguard, Faolan, above both you are my friend. I keep you around as much for the latter as the former two."
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His friend, he says, and it's not the first time Lancelot has reassured him with such words but Faolan finds himself tongue-tied anyway. Friendship. Trust. Such things have never come easy for him, not in a long while. And yet he knows he will find, if he searches himself, both in the man sitting across from him.
"I suppose," Faolan says slowly, awkwardly, not quite able to meet Lancelot's gaze, "that we will learn in time whether he will be still for every sitting or whether, in time, the novelty will fade, then..." Which of course, if one reads between the lines, is another statement as well. I will play then. If it will make us all happy, then I will try.
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His eyes drop again quickly as Bridei latches onto his fingers, free hand moving to tap his nose to make him let go before scooping up the little dragon -- pushing to his feet and crossing to gently place him in Faolan's arms.
"This space is yours so much as it is mine, Faolan, and I am quite capable of sharing. Plenty of people pay for the privilege of having a bard play for them, if I am to get it for free who I am to argue?" Lancelot quirks a playful smile, reaching to gently run a finger over Bridei's forehead as he squirms to settle against Faolan's chest. "Unless you were planning to charge me, of course."
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"No charge," Faolan reassures the other man, quietly. "No money, anyway. It would feel wrong, considering most of it would be practice. I do not want a mindless audience, however. If there should be something I play that you like, something you do not care as much for, I would welcome your opinion. I know... Thousands of songs, somewhere in my head, and could compose thousands more along the same vein of each. You do not need to suffer a piece on my account. That is what I ask of you, in return. Your opinion. Nothing more."
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Lancelot eases back into his chair now Bridei is settled with Faolan, holds out a hand to Lady as she pads closer to sit beside him and lean against his legs. His eyes drop down to the little dog, one hand rubbing at her chest and legs soothingly.
"Lady Brave, honorary Knight of the Golden Cadre, guardian and heroine. If I am to have a song written about me I should think she well deserves her own."
Lady makes a vague grumbling sound of assent, face resting against Lancelot's legs and eyes closed as she's fussed over. Yes, a song about her would be good she thinks. Lancelot's eyes lift back to Faolan and he smiles, something warm and playful.
"I swear there will be no suffering on my part," he assures him more seriously.
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"Be glad that a bard's token instrument is the harp and not a flute or drum. I'd like to think that harps have a good sound to them. They can be gentle when they need to be and harsh when the composition requires it. And this harp is exceptional. I suppose the only suffering you may have to endure would be my playing. And perhaps my singing. You were 'lucky' enough to happen upon both at once," he comments, idly poking fun at and critiquing himself at the same time, "despite my attempts at secrecy." Truth be told, there's nothing wrong with his singing voice in the least. If anything it has gotten better with age, even if he has hardly been practicing with it. Faolan would hardly admit that himself, however.
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