Antebellum

[Vylrath]

The rum had worked wonders for Vylrath, until a piercing voice forced him out of a deep sleep. He was quickly reminded of last-night, with a relentless migraine and blurred vision. After Caela had left him, he had drunk himself into an oblivious stupor. The alcohol had done its magic, but not without an obvious consequence. When the young man demanded that he dress in his finest, Vylrath scoffed in response. He'd be damned, if he was forced to wear something uncomfortable and stuffy. If he had to suddenly react, he wasn't about to have his choice of clothing slow him down.

Vylrath quickly dressed in his “finest,” all the while he cursed in some jumbled dialect. So far, the King was making a poor impression with him. He was making demands, forcing his family to parley, and expecting all of them to roll over on command. Secretly, he wondered what type of power this man had. Should he be worried? His mind was too full of pain and discomfort to house any other emotion.

“He can accept me for how I am. I am not here to impress anyone.” Vylrath rubbed at his forehead a moment, confused as to why the monk was not waiting with them. “Where the hell is Ryuku? I want to get this damn thing over with...” He talked to no one in particular.

[Igraine]

"Ryuku is not joining us on this journey. I dare say my newfound mentor will be glad to remain my teacher and confidante -- and not aide to any royal matter." Igraine emerged from her room wearing the sky blue dress with gold embroidery. The neckline was a modest square neckline that accentuated the curve of her neck. The bodice was tight but not overly so, in the manner that was traditional for a pregnant woman. Igraine was not showing, but there was no doubt that time flowed differently in the Unseelie and Seelie realms.

"Caela will be joining in his stead." Caela emerged from the room behind Igraine, wearing a dark green gown with a less modest neckline and a tighter corset. Her gaze leveled on Vylrath and wandered to Orso. She nodded her head to their guide.

"I believe we are all in attendance. Oh, Father, you are to behave yourself. There will be no war, no fighting during this time of peace between the factions. That is what a Parley is, if you were wondering." Igraine spoke, her voice edged with steel. She was going into this unwillingly but for a purpose. She had to show courage even if she felt none.

"Orso, let's get this over with shall we?" Igraine said, extending her hands to the Lumen with a gentle smile.

[Vylrath]

Vylrath looked at his daughters. One had the splitting image of Kahlan and the other resembled an almost exact copy of Isabella. He'd be damned, if he wasn't being haunted until he died another death. His emotionless eyes watched Orso, the sniveling little man who had come to fetch them. His manners were decent, but it wasn't as if Vylrath had ever kept tabs on someones behavior.

When he spoke, he sounded older, as if weary. Vylrath wasn't necessarily tired of wars, but he had never been fond of so-called conferences to arrange peace. Arranging peace, meant that someone had to give up something to get there- he knew that much. From the looks of things, it seemed like King Pendaran assumed they would bend for him.

“He threatens my children, forces us to Parley and has imprisoned Sebilla, Trydian and Thorin. It will be very hard to remain composed, with someone who has ripped my family apart.” Vylrath finished, looking serious for the first time in his life. He had his moments and limits. Looking toward Igraine, he wondered if the King knew she was pregnant. “If we are forced to give you to the bastard, I wonder how he'll treat your child from another father?” Vylrath sighed. “No doubt, he won't appreciate the taint you both carry.”

“Right now, I am a father first and warrior second. If he threatens anyone, I won't hesitate to fight to protect my children. Until he makes that move, I will try to behave myself, but I can not make absolute promises.”

Vylrath was beside himself. He had never actually declared himself a father in front of Igraine or Caela. The moment with the Parley would be a test of his nature and patience.

“I hate crossing the veil. Never did well for my stomach. I suppose this is why I let Isabella handle the politics. Women are easier at winning peace over than men.” Vylrath waited to be told what to do. He remembered crossing the veil, but it never did well for his senses.

[Paroxysm]

Orso took a deep breath and nodded to Igraine, but he was still apprehensive about Vylrath . . . and, sure enough, Vylrath's words confirmed his worries; it was brief, but Orso considered losing Vylrath on the trip over. Igraine's demands had been vague enough that such was a possibility. So long as Vylrath accompanied the Queen of Ulster to the Unseelie Orso would have completed his job.

He sighed, inwardly. That would have solved some problems but he didn't want a hot-tempered demon-not-demon-whatever-thing angering the powers that be, either. Shit.

"Mister Xanathi," Orso looked at the other man with harsh, unfriendly eyes, "Don't pretend to be something you aren't," he would've spat if it wouldn't have been rude, "and unless its self-defense, if you attack King Pendaran, you will get your family killed. Suffice it to say," Orso took a sharp breath, "None of you have any worry of glamour or violence so long as you don't break the truce first. If you do forego your only protection, well, it was nice knowing you,” Orso stuck his thumb out and made a gesture across his throat.

Unless stopped (or attacked, he now assumed), Orso focused his attention around the room, grabbed a hold of the various particles of light, began to bend and repulse photons, until, eventually, a large, rectangular doorway was erected in front of him. The door way as darkness incarnate, absolute and impenetrable, and flat, almost sheet thin. It lead nowhere, yet . . .

Walking around the doorway, Orso held out his hand, the scarlet light of the rune on his glove flaring to life, and he uttered a long, incomprehensible word; it was a word that flooded the room with a sweet, yet somehow bitter magic that danced across the surface of the doorway.

“I’m sure the trip will be gentle on your stomach,” Orso mocked, “but, so be it, ladies first,” he smiled and made an exaggerated crossing gesture with his hand.

[Igraine]

Igraine smiled at Orso serenely, as if she had made peace with something within herself while she was getting dressed. She shook herself a little before stepping away from the group and toward the portal erected by Orso. She looked over at him, almost like a shining light before the dark rend in the room. She tipped her head in acknowledgement of his power, reached out and squeezed his hand, and stepped through the portal in one fluid motion. She had, of course, let go of Orso before stepping through the portal.

Caela put one hand out before Vylrath, cutting off his escape into the portal. She glanced at Orso before turning her unnerving attention on the Vuri.

"You will do exactly as he says. You will not cause undue harm to this family through your false bravado. No one cares if you were a war hero half a century ago. You have been dead a long time and this family was getting along just fine without you. Do not presume to come in, screw everything up, and get us all killed." Her eyes were riveted on Vylrath and she was completely unafraid of him. She pressed a hand to his shoulder and gripped it firmly. Her fingers were like steel and he would find it difficult to tear away from her until she was done.

"Will it serve Igraine any more with your life in the balance? Or mine? Or Trydian, Sebilla, and Thorin's? Do I have to call for Kahlan and ask her to take you away so that you can't cause chaos? You are truely like minding a two year old, and I would know, I've had three." Caela laughed, somewhat bitterly, and looked at her "father" and shook her head. "I will kill you myself if you so much as breathe in the direction of jeopardizing this mission. Are we understood? I can face Kahlan's wrath, but can you face it getting her only daughter killed?"

Caela motioned to Orso and the portal, shoving Vylrath away from her.

"Don't think that this King wants Igraine so badly that he wouldn't kill her too if he couldn't have her, or if she becomes too taxing with her family. Or worse, by now he knows she's pregnant. Will you be the reason she loses the child?" Her glare was hard and she shook her head vehemently before turning away from her father and stalking through the portal. She didn't say anything to Orso, but then she had just viciously put Vylrath in his place -- Orso might be glad to be overlooked.

[Vylrath]

Vylrath felt Caela's steel-like grip, her fingernails even penetrating through the clothing and into his skin. With the temper of Xanathi women, he didn't really have any reason to worry. If the King crossed them, he would have to deal with Caela and Igraine. Maybe they didn't need him after all. He felt sorry for the bastard, if he ever decided to upset them.

“Half a century ago. Have I been dead that long?” Vylrath was proud of his daughters, only because they stood up to men- even to someone like him. He half-saluted Caela and followed her reluctantly. “Whatever you say, Your Highness.” His shoulders were sore, but they were healing fast enough with his Vuri powers. The others didn't know of her new Vuri rank, but he was glad to be rid of that responsibility. He would take orders from her, even if he wouldn't have normally.

Vylrath was thankful for one thing: the fey armor. At least he was the one wearing it and not some untrained warrior. He appreciated the fey smith's, having spent most of his time in Kahlan's realm. Crossing the veil was never easy, but it wouldn't be for someone with his soul. He had to stay close to Caela, the temptation to stray was a greater risk for him. Vylrath didn't doubt that they would be glad to lose him, but then they'd be without a useful blade.

He decided not to justify his actions, staying completely silent during the entire journey.