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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He settles back against the wall more comfortably, eyes flicking away from Faolan as he lets out a slow breath and tries to clear his mind.
"Here I thought you were appreciating the paintings." Lancelot takes a moment to think, to consider his approach, then turns a little -- shuffles to face Faolan. "If... something is troubling you... You must know you can always speak to me, Faolan. You are my friend as much as my guard, I do not want you to feel you cannot."
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"You say that, and I understand that you mean your words to be true. And yet. If I tell you," he says, with a heavy sigh, "somehow I doubt that you really do want to hear what I have to say, in the end..." For one reason or another. Faolan cannot help how he is feeling at the moment, and it will not take much to push him to share regardless. Especially not now, with the harp music dragging it all out of him, for better or for worse.
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"Well," he begins cautiously, "sometimes we all must hear things we do not wish to hear. I will listen regardless, if it is what you wish me to do Faolan."
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"You say that I am your friend," he says, after a long moment. "I do not deserve friendship. I am not the kind of man for whom such things are possible. I am a spy, Lancelot. A Gaelic spy. An assassin. It was what I was sent here to Caer Glaem to do, at the first. Spy and steal and trick and lie, and. These are not admirable qualities in a man. You should not want to taint yourself with the association of the likes of me." He brings his hands to his head, threading them through his hair, hiding his face from the other man, afraid of what he might see there should he meet his eyes. "There is a darkness in me, Lancelot. What I am capable of... I have done unspeakable things. I am a curse. And I should never forgive myself if I cursed you as well."
Faolan knows that he has already said too much. It seems whatever dam was burst with the constant strum of those strings inside his head has worked to loosen his tongue as well. He wonders when the last time it was he had gotten a decent amount of sleep, even by his standards. Abruptly, he falls silent.
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"And what of the countless times you have saved my life, Faolan? Have saved the lives of others? Have advised and guided me? Were you a curse then? You do not see yourself properly. You see only the flaws, look at your reflection in an imperfect surface. You do not just do yourself a disservice to think this way, but all those who have fought and bled to protect you. All those who count you among their friends. You forget the sacrifices you have made -- that is an admirable quality, to put the lives of others so easily above your own. To be willing to do the things others cannot."
He reaches out carefully, closes his fingers around Faolan's wrist to gently tug one of his hands down away from his face.
"If you believe you deserve it or not, you do have friends here. Friends who would die for you. So if you are cursed so be it, we will weather the curse together until a cure can be found. We are not leaving you."
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Yes, he has saved Lancelot's life. He has advised and guided him, bled and died for him. He has spent sleepless nights watching over him on the road, and long days sat with him in counsel preparing for battle to come. He has been a party to Lancelot's own doubts and fears, and a witness to his victories. His constant shadow. The hound, dogging his heels. At the heart of all things, he would do it all again. He would sacrifice all that he had and more if it came down to it. Because he believes in Lancelot. Because Lancelot believes in him.
"Why?" he asks the other man, as the incessant harping drives him forward deeper into conversations usually only reserved for the darkest corners of his own mind. His voice is barely above a whisper, everything about him all sharp edges and yet fragile as a frightened child. "Why would you ever do such a thing for me?" Why would he ever insist on such a thing, knowing that doing so all but ensures becoming tangled up in the mess that is Faolan's life. That of a spy. An assassin. A murderer. A man too broken to be able to accept something so simple as the offer of friendship without wondering if he should not leave before he becomes too involved. Before he ruins it all.
"I am expendable," he continues. "Any man would jump at the chance to serve as your counsel. Any man can fight and die for you as I have. I am..." he trails off, his eyes falling from the other man's, and he does not continue along that thought, although the words are there in his mind.
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Faolan's fingers close around Lancelot's hand, the other man's grip strong, solid and warm around his own. His dearest friend. Faolan's mind boggles at the thought of it, although deep within himself he knows that the same could be said of Lancelot himself in return, for all his protests of friendship and not knowing how to care for someone in such a way. It is true that he believes himself expendable. Perhaps one might not be able to find a spy as good, or a guard as wary, but there will be replacements, should they be necessary. There is another truth that wells within him as he sits there, Lancelot clutching his hand as he is, a warm, solid presence at his side there in the chill of the hall, like a lantern in the dark.
"...I wish," he starts to say, his voice the barest thread above the hush surrounding them. "I wish I could see in myself what it is that you do. Perhaps that would make things easier for us both." His fingers close tighter around Lancelot's, and he draws in a deep breath, shutting his eyes to try and gather himself. "I will not leave. If that's what worries you. I don't want to leave. Of all the folk in this land, you are the one who has found me here and now. You are the one who would say such things - about me being a good man - with such a conviction that I know you believe them to be true. You are the one to whom I have sworn an oath, to serve and protect, until blood and bone and breath should waste away into nothing, and I do not regret that. If..." He breathes in deeply again. "If you truly do believe that, and believe in me, then maybe... Perhaps, one day, I might come to believe in myself as well." A soft huff, that perhaps might have been a laugh in another life. "You are awfully persistent on such matters..."
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"I am persistent because you are worth it," he assures him, squeezing him close. "One day, Faolan, we will be equals. I will see you recognised for all you have done. You are brave and fearless, and I will make sure everyone knows it."
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I just hope that, one day, you'll be lucky enough to meet someone who makes you feel like this.
Faolan's heart quickens in his chest despite himself. No. Impossible.
I see the man beneath the armor of indifference. I want the world to see him, too. I want you to be fulfilled and happy, she had told him. You ask the impossible, he had responded, to which she had whispered her retort. I thought that you might be the kind of man for whom nothing is impossible. I'm hoping that, in time, you'll prove me right.
His hand tightens on Lancelot's unconsciously and Faolan suddenly and inexplicably finds himself at a loss for words, caught in between the desire to pull himself back from the other man and the desire to settle himself closer. "I... Brave and fearless? Me? Hardly." He swallows hard, struggling for thought. "I've just gotten good at pretending otherwise. If word got out that the Seelie Marshal's Hound should fear something as everyday as a hearthfire..."
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"Well, you'll have no need to fear a flame while I am close. We will make sure you are not touched by one again." Lancelot takes a breath, lets it out in a slow sigh and studies him a moment longer. "I mean every word I say," he adds, more quietly. "Do not doubt that. I know things have not... been easy, but -- well. They have been easier for having you here. If nothing else, it is a great help to have someone to watch the animals."
He flicks a teasing smile at that, squeezes Faolan's shoulder (a mixture of gentle reassurance and a reminder that yes he is joking) before letting his hand drop from it.
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Faolan watches Lancelot smile at him, listening as he laughs, listening as his voice drops soft and low, watching as he smiles at him. Feeling those emotions within him swell and cement themselves in the face of it. In the face of that damned harp music. "I should hope," Faolan counters, as wryly as he can, all things considered, "that in the end I should amount to at least a little more than that..." Not that he minds watching over Lady and Bridei, of course. But his place, he has always felt, is at Lancelot's side, whether it is on a mission, on the battlefield, or in a meeting room. Gods, to hear himself think that now...
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Lancelot's smile flicks up slightly more into a smirk and he begins to push up to his feet -- tugging Faolan up with him.
"Better?" he prompts softly, not just for the fact that they are standing -- but for how the man is feeling. A little humour is returning to him, at least, but Lancelot well knows how easy it is to suppress things. To smile through pain, hide a feeling. Faolan is so often closed off, reluctant to share much at all, that Lancelot feels he should not let this moment of openness slip past him. Should make sure that he repairs any damage, smooths over any cracks before it passes and Faolan takes to hiding it all once more.
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It's just as well that Lancelot is hauling him to his feet and changing the subject. Just as well that Lancelot still has his hand as Faolan clings to him in support for a moment as his bad knee protests being straightened after so long spent sitting on the floor like that. 'Better?', he asks. Well, in some sense of the word, yes. Faolan doesn't feel half as wretched as he did before. And it's all thanks to him. Of course, there's a new confusion, a new turmoil burbling inside of him. And this one, he thinks to himself, is not going to be nearly as easily soothed away.
He takes in a breath, making a noncommittal sort of noise, although after a moment he does nod. "...thank you," he says, softly. "For." For coming out to find him. For his kind words and gentle touch. For caring. For believing in him. For his patience and his generosity and gods. He lets his breath out in a sigh, shrugging slightly. "For insisting on a friendship with a foolish man, I suppose." He has not let go of Lancelot's hand yet, nor has he stepped away. He's not sure he ever wants to, and that's a dangerous feeling.
"Where have you left Bridei?" An attempt to move on. To stop focusing on him. So much for a moment of openness, although if Lancelot presses, Faolan just might say or do anything for him in this moment. Dangerous indeed.
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Lancelot smiles a little uncertainly, aware of the unsteadiness in Faolan. Not just from his leg, either, but from the way he hangs on to Lancelot's hand like a lifeline. From the hint of something in his expression, the way he cuts himself off.
"It's the music, isn't it." He smiles sympathetically, studying Faolan for a reaction. "I hear it too. If... there's anything I might do... we could go for a walk, perhaps. In the bailey. Clear our heads a little."
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He casts a sideways glance at the other man. On one hand, he doubts that taking a walk with Lancelot will help in any way to clear his head. On the other, he has spent a lot of time indoors of late, and the other choice is to return to the room with him. Their room at the moment, since Faolan - being shardless - has no claim to space in Caer Glaem. "I...would be hard pressed not take up the offer of a breath of fresh air," he responds, slowly.
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He releases Faolan long enough to dust himself off, places a guiding hand at the small of his back to draw him along and begins to walk them both toward the bailey -- smile a little more easy now. Reassuring, he hopes.
"It will do you good, I have no doubt, and perhaps we can pick up something on the way back for Bridei and Lady. Maybe even ourselves too, we might deserve something."
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Pick up something on the way back for Bridei and Lady, Lancelot suggests, perhaps something for themselves, and Faolan cannot help but tilt his head sideways to glance at the other man. "Perhaps we do," he counters, wondering what exactly Lancelot has in mind.
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Lancelot smiles playfully, half flicking his attention between the path ahead and Faolan -- letting his hand slip around from his back as they descend the stairwell.
"A little chicken for Bridei, I think. Perhaps some lamb for Lady if they can spare it."
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At least a trip to the kitchens would give him something more to preoccupy himself with, other than the sudden stuttering of his heart each time the other man smiled at him or reached out a gentle hand in support. It's alarming, his own reaction to such things, and the way the swell of the music is now coinciding with the swelling of his emotions in entirely different ways than it had done, not so long ago.
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He checks his footing as they reach the bottom of the stairs, waits for Faolan to catch up and lets his expression soften into a smile as he waves him toward the bailey.
"Now, do you think you can manage to let me escort you without complaint for a few minutes?"
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He quirks an eyebrow at the other man, slightly. "I can certainly try," Faolan responds, idly, "although you may need to lead the conversation for us for a change, in that case." A joke, again at his own expense, considering he knows how he is and that Lancelot is usually the one prompting responses out of him and certainly not the other way around, but he hopes that Lancelot will forgive him for it anyway.
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Lancelot quirks a gentle smile, recognising the joke for what it is, and gently places a hand at the small of Faolan's back to guide him toward the bailey. He's content to carry the brunt of the conversation, if need be, chatting about Lady and planned visits and little things while Faolan gathers himself. His hand falls away eventually, allowing Faolan space but keeping in step with him as they circle the fountain and trying to quiet the insistent strum of the harp in their minds.