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Alright. This isn't finished, not even close, and I'll be adding to this entry. I just dont want it to be deleted by accident.


To lessen confusion, they are beneath a hill. This is Prince Azuia's coronation ^_~
~*~


Long, low tables were heaped with golden pears, chestnuts, violet petals on crystal plates, and all manner of delicacies. Wide silver goblets sat on the tables, upright and overturned in equal proportion.

Revelers danced and sang, drank and swooned. The outfits worn here were like some demented, organic couture. Collars rose like giant fins. Outfits were composed entirely of petals or leaves. Ragged edges finished off lovely dresses. Ugly, strange, or lovely as the moon, none were plain.

The room itself was massive, so large that it was impossible to see what was on the other side. A fiddler was playing an improbable instrument, with several necks and so many strings that he sawed his bow at them widely. Three men sitting near one of the table dipped their cups in a pile of carnage, lapping at the blood. Far across the room, a throne sat on a dais. Above it all, the domed ceiling was frescoed with dangling roots.

But tonight the revels were quieter than usual. Less arguments had broken out, less fights. Instead there were whispers and smothered laughter. The only light came from chandeliers hung throughout the room, and the small fey that flitted over the congregation.

Azuia looked out from where he stood behind a slightly ajar door. His eyes sparkled with feral delight. He had waited so long for this. Too long, in fact. As the door before him swung open, the talk in the room faltered, and then ceased completely as the flute began to play.

Freshly painted black fingernails moved to brush a strand of silvery blonde hair away from his face.

This was it.

He strode out onto the dais, trailed by two of his courtiers and the court’s herald. As he came to stand at the center of the raised dais he went to one knee, bowing his head so that his hair concealed his face. The congregation was silent.

“The endless night,” the herald intoned, “of darkness, ice, and death is ours. Let our new Lord be also made from ice. Let our new Lord be born from death. Let our new Lord commit himself to the night.” He lifted a coronet of woven silver and placed it on Auia's brow.

Azuia rose, and his two courtiers knelt on either side of him. The court knelt with them.

"I present to you," called the herald, "our undoubted Lord, Azuia, Prince of the Sidhe."

A great and joyful shrieking and screaming.

“You are my people,” Azuia said, grinning with his hands extended. His voice was soft, but it carried far in the natural amphitheater of the hollow hill. “And as I am bound, you are lashed to my bidding. I am naught if not your King!” With that he sat down heavily, grinning to himself as if he held a secret from the world.