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As the afternoon wears on, Llyr briefly leaves the Queen's side and descends from the dais to the courtyard. A throng of curious bystanders, perhaps having waited hours for this very moment, immediately surrounds him. Though Llyr's expression remains impassively—almost preternaturally—polite, his bearing is stiff as he pauses to evaluate the situation; he much resembles a swan with a piece of bread in its beak, trying to figure out how to keep it from a clamoring horde of ducks without either swallowing it or attacking them.

Aside from his eyes, which are a very strange shade of amethyst violet, Llyr looks surprisingly normal. He is wearing the same fashionable high-collared waistcoat and jacket as the other courtiers. He is average or perhaps slightly less than average in height, possesses a slender build, and is attractive in a slightly wild manner: there are lines about his narrowed eyes that suggest stress, weariness, or disdain, and his auburn hair is ungroomed, overall giving him the look of a feral animal that has recently been captured outside, washed up a bit, and unwillingly stuffed into a dinner suit. Or perhaps not entirely unwillingly, for there is a distinct hint of vanity in his haughty mien.

Finally a timorous young woman squeaks, "Are you truly a spirit, as everyone is saying?"

"Yes," Llyr replies, looking at her. "I am Llyr, of the House of Autumn."

The throng erupts in excited whispers. No doubt these guests are preparing a barrage of trivial questions… now, while they're distracted, might be the perfect time to step in.


Seeing that an opportunity had arrived to speak to this strange, fascinating man, Anna made her way over to him. "Good afternoon," she said, less daunted by his proud, wild appearance than others might be, and considerably more intrigued. "I have never had the pleasure of speaking with a spirit before. You say you are from the House of Autumn. I wonder. Could you tell me about the Houses?"


"I am not surprised," Llyr replies. "There are four Houses among my people—one for each season—the largest being the Houses of Summer and Winter. We are born into them, and largely remain within them. I have learned during my time among you that humans sometimes mistakenly divide our Houses into two Courts; I regret to say this is a human myth only, though it is true that spirits of the House of Summer are often unusually gently disposed toward your kind. Or were, for there are few children of summer yet living."


Anna was quite fascinated. Four Houses, one for each season. It only made sense, she supposed. Still, she could not help but wonder...

"How terrible. What happened, that few of the House of Summer remain?" Did it have something to do with the last great war that Sunderlander legend was so enthralled with?


"Many perished in the War of Flowers, nearly a millennium ago by human measure, and more succumbed to grief and lingering wounds in the centuries after. Still others—" a minute hesitation, as if Llyr isn't certain how much to divulge "—later gave their lives in the pursuit of aiding your kind against the Wolves, during what you call the Great War."


Ah. So her suspicions were confirmed, at least in part. How sad that so many had perished in war. She lowered her eyes. "They will be remembered," she said. If by no one else, then at least by her family.

Anna was curious about this War of Flowers, and wondered what bearing it might have on the present, if any. However, she did not wish to take up too much of his time. Instead, she settled on a more pertinent question. "If the Summer House felt kindly disposed towards humans, then how do the other Houses feel?"


"That is… gracious of you," Llyr replies, with no discernible emotion in his voice. "We often wonder whether humans are even capable of reflecting on events outside the fleeting scopes of their own lifetimes, or perhaps at most those of their grandsires; it is pleasant to find that indeed you occasionally are."

Again, a pause. "The House of Winter has ever been the least patient with humans. It, too, has greatly diminished over the past thousand years. The Houses of Spring and Autumn have fared better, being less invested in the affairs of humans overall—but you must understand that our perspectives toward humans are often as much a product of our own individual inclinations, and not wholly dictated by our Houses."


Anna's lips quirked in a wry little smile. She was not certain whether to be insulted or amused by his...opinion of human perception. Still, he did have a point. "An unfortunate facet of humanity. While as individuals, we strive for better understanding, as a race, we are often doomed to repeat our mistakes." Still, she held optimism for the future.

"Of course," she replied. The individual was separate from the whole. It was only natural that the individual opinion might differ from that of the general consensus. She tilted her head just so, sharp grey eyes narrowing slightly. "And what of your perspective?"


Llyr pauses and then gives Anna a slight nod, as if acknowledging an unexpected play in a game of wits. "That truth forms the core of our contention with your kind, yes," he admits with a slight air of apology—not regret over the strife between their races, it seems, but rather over having chosen to utter something so unquestionably impolite.

"My perspective is an unusual one. Also, perhaps, a foolish one; but time will reveal all." Llyr pauses and looks away as another guest moves forward in the crowd for a chance to speak, and adds in dismissal, "Thank you. You are an unusually insightful conversationalist for a mortal, but then—you are what humans call a hedge witch, are you not? So the blood of spirits lingers in you yet."