Variations on a Theme of You – Excerpt

My apologies for the delay. Here’s an excerpt from “Variations on a Theme of You.”

Cinnia [SIHNNiyAH]
Caolàn [KWAYlon]
Aodhàn [ayTHAWN]


“Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

The boy looked for the source of the voice amidst the twirling, leaping bodies and bright colours in the fairy ring. There was a figure standing outside of the ring. She looked like one of the warriors he’d seen once on a tapestry. Her armour was outdated, but well cared for. He couldn’t quite see her, but he saw blonde hair and dark eyes, glimpsing brown leather, chain mail, and a blue skirt.

He tried to reply, but the dancers became more frenetic, the tempo increasing. A hand reached out toward him.

“I can pull you out,” she said. “If you want to be free, take my hand.”

The boy almost reached out to her. Thoughts of home, what was left of it, filled his mind. There was nothing for him there. Drab grays and a harsh life compared to lurid colours and bright laughter of the Fair Folk. He wanted to stay.

The soldier watched as the boy vanished with the morning light, whisked away by the Fae. She turned away, shrugging. What was one boy taken by the Faeries? He would become one of them, or a favoured mortal of one of them. His Fate was no longer her concern.

She knew the Fae and their ways, and thought it best not to interfere. Maybe she’d see the boy again. Most likely wouldn’t.

Days became weeks, which became months. She forgot all about the boy dancing in the fairy ring. She made friends with a few of the Fae, but only when their worlds overlapped.It was on one of these occassions that she made the acquiantence of one Cinnia, sister of Caolàn, who was to become a Prince after his mother.

Cinnia seemed an ageless thing. Fae she was, yet not. She knew too much, saw too much. Her gaze was fathomless, and drew you in. She was otherworldly in a way the Fae were not. The Fair Folk often said they were older than the earth yet younger than the dawn. If that were true, Vaeramae would wager that Cinnia was as old as the ancient waters, which were older than the first dawn. But she was the daughter of the current queen, making her young. Time was tricky thing when the Fair Folk were involved.

But there was a wildness about her not seen in her breathren. Her constant companion Aodhàn unsettled everyone, and Vaeramae was sure that he wasn’t quite Fae. It was the mystery that they presented that caught her attention, and maybe that was why they were something resembling friends with her. Whatever the case, it prompted an invitation to a party. Vaeramae was sure that it was to have someone to talke with while surrounded by the glamour of the Fae.

She almost turned it down, remembering stories of time escaping the attendees; days, even centuries passing before returning to the mortal realm. What was time to her? It didn’t mean the same thing to her as it did mortals. What did it matter if she lost a year? She accepted the invitation in the end.

Unsure of what to wear, Vaeramae wore her best dress and jewelry, small beads and trinkets in her hair. She arrived at the apointed hour at a crack in a cliff. Aodhàn was the one to greet her.

He nodded approvingly at her choice of dress. “Don’t stray form the path,” he warned.

She was careful to step where he stepped as they passed through a narrow passage in the rock awall. They descended into the earth. At least, she thought they did. Or maybe it was out. Either way, they emerged in what she could only describe as a glade, but the trees created the walls of a room and their branches the ceiling. The area was lit with a warm light that reminded her of lamps, and the moon and stars were glimpsed throught the trees.

The tables were filled with food and drink she had never seen before, and the guests were just as otherworldly. Whisps and elements flitted amongst more corporeal beings, shades and colours she had never seen before.

“Don’t stare,” Aodhàn murmured.

Admonished, Vaeramae jerked her gaze away. “I thought I knew and have seen all manner of man and beast, but I am wrong.”

“You likely have,” Aodhàn told her, “but the Fae are far different.”

“Is it true they were the first to walk the earth?”

Aodhàn snorted. “No.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Dragons were first.”

For a moment, and only a moment, Vaeramae swore Aodhàn’s eyes changed. It happened so fast she wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or not. There was a pause in her step, wondering – not for the first time – who or what Aodhàn was. He was far from human, and he ceratinly wasn’t a soul she could one day collect.

As if sensing her growing question, Aodhàn looked over his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, simply looked at her.

The question died on her lips.

Satisfied, Aodhàn said, “Thank you.”

That was how it was between them. If she didn’t ask questions, he didn’t lie to her. She took it as a sign that on some level he liked her well enough to not want to lie to her.


A Brief Aside – Variations on a Theme of You

Title: Variations on a Theme of You
Characters: Vaeramae, misc
Plot: Vaera visits an old friend
Notes: Raw and unedited.

Don’t mind me. I’ll be an emotional wreck in a corner for a bit


She buried Ehno by the ocean. She was able to grieve properly, having a place to visit and place the odd trinket or two. She didn’t dare visit his grave immediately, and especially after she was offered to becoming a goddess and turned it down. She would be watched.

It wasn’t until Ingvarr brought her to Brocéliande did she risk it. She was protected by Cinnia’s magic, masking her from prying eyes.

“I met you again.”

Vaeramae sat next to the headstone overlooking the ocean. There were shells and pretty stones on his grave. Others visited, but she wasn’t sure who. There were food offerings and burning herbs. Maybe people saw her here and thought it was a shrine to her.

“I think you remembered something. You looked at me and your face changed. The look on your face, I mean. You remember what I did. A human lifetime later and you still remember.

“By the way, you’re a woman this time. Not that it matters, your gender. You’re happy, though. You met a woman. I’m not sure what to make of her, but she does right by you.

“I promise not to interfere, but I’ll check in on you now and again. Make sure you’re okay.”

She watched the ocean for a time, listening to the waves crash on the beach and the gulls cry out. “I miss you. I miss our talks. I have hurt and betrayed you so deeply that I don’t blame you if you do hate me.

“Maybe in the next life. Maybe. If you’re willing to talk with me. We might be like this for all eternity.

“And I swear I’m not going out of my way to seek you out. You’re always in a different place, in a different realm, sometimes not even human. You’re a hard person to find even when I do meet you.

“Really, it all comes down to chance. Sometimes, you find me.”

Vaeramae sighed. “I should go. Cinnia is teaching me to find the secret passages that she and Aodhàn use. And Caolàn. Something happened between her and Caolàn. Maybe they’ll tell me one day.”

She rose stiffly to her feet, stretching. “Next time I visit I’ll have better stories for you. Rest well.” She patted the headstone, then walked down the hill toward the forest in the distance.

Drabble/Short Story

Title: Variations on a Theme of You
Characters: Vaeramae, misc
Plot: Vaera doesn’t remember all of the people she meets, but some leave a bigger impression than others. Especially one that she meets more than once
Notes: I cried more than once writing this. Memories are in italics. For those with Spotify, the playlist can be found here. Link will open in a new window.


The first time she met him, he had blonde hair and a piercing gaze that she would remember from every incarnation of him. His eyes were blue. Or had they been brown? She couldn’t remember, except the intensity of his gaze and how they seemed to see right through the guise she wore to be among the mortals. He never asked questions, and so she never lied to him. He died young, in battle, and she mourned his passing as she did every warrior.

The second time she remembered him, he had brown hair. A merchant’s son, if she remembered correctly, and in love with the sea. Meeting him again took her by surprise. How many years had it been? She lost count. Time didn’t mean the same thing to her as it did mortals, ageless and timeless as she was. They spent two glorious days together before he went out to sea.

His ship never returned.

She started looking for him after that, wondering what form he would take. Would he be a woman next time? A priest? A scullery maid? A philosopher? A great ruler? She only knew him by  the look of vague recognition whenever he saw her, and little things that seemed to carry over from each lifetime. His favourite colour was green, he loved to travel, he didn’t like the way he sang, and his favourite time of day was between dusk and twilight.

Sometimes, they would almost meet. She would pass him in a crowd, their gazes meeting for a brief moment. It was always the same look: confusion mixed with a fleeting memory. Déjà vu, she heard it called once. But he would be pulled away, by business, by friends, or shaking himself of the idea that he knew her somehow.

“Do you know her? You keep looking at her,” his friend said.

“I… don’t think I do. She looks familiar, though,” he said.

She wouldn’t pursue, caught up in her own business with high stakes. The gods weren’t known to be patient.

She met him once when he was a woman, full of bitterness at the unfair fate of being treated as a bargaining chip to cement alliances. There was so much she wasn’t allowed to do for no other reason than the circumstance of her birth. She railed at the heavens, but there was no answer.

“This is cruel and unfair!” she screamed at the heavens. “This is not the life I wanted!”

He was born as a man not long after, or maybe it had been some time. Centuries blended together, and she had a hard time remembering mortal history unless it was a momentous event. Wars and inventions happened all the time, and unless it changed the shape of a great many lives, she didn’t care. She merely observed him this time, too busy with whatever machinations the gods had planned for the universe.

When he was a child, she found him dancing in a fairy ring, and the Fair Folk whisked him away. She didn’t expect to see him again after that. At least, not in his lifetime. She did, much to her surprise, at a gala hosted by the Fae. He wasn’t immortal like them, but his life was extended greatly and some of their glamour lingered on him. His features were almost otherworldly, and he knew things before they happened. He wasn’t quite mortal, but he wasn’t one of the Fae, either. Maybe it was something from his fleeting memory of her that prompted him to admit, quite ruefully, that a part of him missed being wholly human.

“Are you made of stardust, then?”

The question made him laugh. “We are all made of stardust,” he said. “I simply have moonlight that lingers on me.”

There weren’t enough hours in the twilight of the faerie realm that she could spend with him during this lifetime. She knew him, then. His hopes and fears, his sorrows and joys, and his favourite things. She wondered if any of them would carry over to the next life that she would meet him in. She held fast to these small things, wondering if she could find him again when he didn’t recognize her with these little details.

“Why is green your favourite colour?” she asked.

“It reminds me of the forest, dark and deep; of the moon that hangs in our twilit sky; of the ocean when the sun hits it just right.”

He was a woman this time, bucking against tradition and running away from home to live life as she saw fit. She was an adventurer, determined to see the world. They met at an inn, the night before she was to set sail for parts unknown. They spent the night drinking and talking. Her favourite colour was still green, her favourite time of day somewhere between dusk and twilight (and she wondered if that had anything to do with her time as one of the Fae, who lived somewhen, before the coming of Man with a pale green moon and sweet smelling air, living in perpetual twilight). They spent the night together, and when they woke in the morning she asked the semi-divine being if she wanted to come along. She could hear the unspoken, “Tell me you will” in the air between them. With deep regret, the offer was declined.

“My duty is to the gods.” Maybe it was the wrong thing to say.

There were other times they met and he hated what she stood for, hated the gods, hated her, and it nearly broke her heart. She tried to see if the colour of his hair had anything to do with it, or even the colour of his eyes. She gave up over time, concluding that how he looked and what gender he was had nothing to do with whether or not he hated her. Those times she met him were some of the hardest. She began to wonder if maybe she shouldn’t have told him about her sworn and bound duty to the gods and the heavens above.

Maybe it was his bitterness accumulating from those past lives she met him so long ago. He sought to tear down the Heavens themselves. It was her duty to defend the gods, and she fought against him. He seemed to remember her, somewhere in the deep recesses of his memory, of his soul. She tried to use that memory of her to turn him aside, to relinquish this foolish quest to destroy the gods. It was one of her most bitter sorrows, cutting him down and casting him back to earth. But it was that moment that was her greatest joy. Just as the life began to flee him but before he fell back to the mortal realm, he smiled.

“I found you again,” she swore he whispered, and he began to fall away. “I remember you.”

She was given the opportunity to become a goddess for her steadfast duty to protect. She turned it down, choosing to remain semi-divine. If she became a god, would she be able to find him again? The gods didn’t dwell among the mortals often, and when they did it was never for long. He told her that he remembered her. Some part of her didn’t want to let that go.

It was centuries of lifetimes for him, and he still didn’t want anything to do with her or anyone like her. He always turned away from her, a brief flicker of something half remembered before he looked away, as if some part of him still recalled what she did. Maybe it was a thousand years. She wasn’t sure. A thousand lifetimes, at least.

He was a gambler when he spoke to her again. He had a devil may care attitude and a lopsided smirk that reminded her of the time he was a merchant’s son.

“I like the way you smile,” she told him.

“You like this crooked grin?” he asked, disbelieving.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

He could read tells and played his audience well. He quit the table before his luck ran out (or, she believed, before his fellow players became suspicious of the cards he held up his sleeve), and wandered in the direction of the bar. She couldn’t remember what she ordered but it was a stiff drink, neat. She remembered the order impressed him, and he asked for the same. It wasn’t long after that they started talking. He mentioned that he traveled, and she knew it was him. It was one of the constants about him: love of travel.

“Have you traveled far?” she asked. He told her of all the places he saw, sailing beyond the horizon to places never visited by winter and of the northern reaches where the sun never truly sets. His favourite colour was still green, and his favourite time of day was still that moment between dusk and twilight. They spoke of everything and nothing. When the hour drew late, he wished her a good night. He looked as though he wanted to say more, but refrained and was on his way.

“Yes?” she prompted.

There was a look on his face, as if something was on the edge of his memory but he couldn’t quite place it. “It’s nothing,” he said finally with a faint shake of his head. “Enjoy your evening.”

When he saw her the next day, his face broke out in a grin and he made his way over. “Hey there, beautiful.” It was, to her memory, the first time he ever called her beautiful. That day, he reminded her of who he was. It was the moment that they fell in love, and when his life came to an end she experienced a grief so profound that she withdrew from the mortal realm.

The next time she remembered him, he was missing an eye and an arm. Both were replaced by magic silver, allowing him to see and fight. They were dragged into a great war, one that even the gods were invested in. He was loyal to her, even as she destroyed worlds, framed as she was by her gold hair and lightning. They did so many terrible things during the war, things that they would likely never be forgiven for. The very last battle, it was she who left him. Unwilling and without a drop of divinity left, having used it all to cleave a great divine beast in two, she fell to earth.

They met again on a beach. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, she was asleep for so long. For the first time, she was mortal, her body healed but her divinity just out of reach. He was different, but the same. He was younger this time, full of hope and ideas. He was the nephew of one  important man or another. She didn’t care. All that mattered was that he was here, and she was mortal.

“Why is twilight your favourite time of day?” she asked.

“The moment between dusk and twilight,” he clarified. “I’m not sure. It seems to be filled with a magic long forgotten by the world. Anything could happen.”

The truth of who and what she was became apparent. It was necessary, and she knew it was bound to happen as her powers manifested. She could see the old resentment there, and she wondered if he knew what the true source of it was. She didn’t want him to hate her again, the last time being unbearable. With an apology and a wish for safe travels, she returned to the heavens.

She existed listlessly, ignoring the passage of time and willing the hurt away. Time heals all wounds, she was told. It didn’t, but the ache dulled. She performed her duties and did little else. She collected the souls of those who died in battle and brought them to the halls of their fathers. None of them were aware of her, until she nearly stumbled over one who could see her. It wasn’t his time to die, and she returned him to the living world. The second time she saw him, he was in that inbetween place of the living and the dead. He delayed his return by asking her a question. On some whim, she answered him before returning him to his loved ones.

She began to watch him. He was a prince, brother to the king and general of the army. He was reckless and brash, gambling on chance and somehow, someway coming out the victor. He was smart, his men loved him, and his seemingly chaotic plans made a great deal of sense from a broader perspective. He was young, but not so young to be a callow youth.

They met, again and again, in that inbetween place. He always asked her questions, and she began to think that it was him. He knew what she was. “Death maiden,” he called her in his tongue. There was no resentment in him for what she was. Did she dare hope that she found him again? But always meeting in this inbetween place was slowly killing him. She admonished him, told him not to return. He made a deal with her.

“Tell you what,”  he said, “if you win this hand, I’ll do whatever you want. But if I win, you have dinner with me. Deal?”

She laughed, knowing full well that he would likely cheat. She didn’t mind. She wanted to have dinner with him. “Deal,” she said, shaking on it.

She agreed, but on one condition: he would have to find her.

He did find her, after a time. She was in a wheat field, harvesting, separating the wheat from the chaffe. He remembered little pieces of her life that she told him over time. There was no more resentment for what she was, that she belonged to the gods. He was content to be with her, for however long this moment would last.

“What would you have me do?” he asked her.

“I hate my singing voice,” he grumped.

“Why? I love it,” she told him, her smile bright.

“Come, and sing me to sleep,” she said.

They fell in love, all over again.

I haven’t had a chance to participate

oy12 by timepunchingin NaNo this year, or last. Why? The simple absurd drama that is my life. I ought to carve out some time, but I can’t promise to meet a certain word count every day. I’m sharing this here because I think I found the beginning that the story and myself are quite happy with. It’s rough, and by no means polished. Enjoy! (cross-posted to Destinare)


She stared ahead, her gaze unfocused. Caolán glanced at his sister as each knight, warrior, would be protector presented themselves. She acknowledged their presence, but did little else. Their mother handled all the proceedings, passing out the favours given to each participant.

The sister he once knew was gone. In Cinnia’s place was some wildling, a feral elf. She disappeared some years go, spirited away by a neighboring kingdom. But a dragon had attacked, and so they thought that their princess had perished with the raiding party. The kingdom grieved for the loss of their princess for years, until one day they heard a rumor of a dragon with a hatchling and a young elf.

They searched tirelessly for years, but always they found an old nest. It was as if the dragon knew they were coming. They hoped that the dragon was simply taking care of their princess and not saving her to feed the hatchling. By the time they did corner the beast, Cinnia was near full grown.

No one recognized her. Her hair was matted , her skin grimy; her clothes the colour of the woods, patched together with sinew. She wore leather that looked like dragon scale and used razor sharp blades as talons, and she snarled like a wild beast at their approach. The princess fought like a creature possessed, far stronger than anyone had thought possible as she was determined to protect the dragon and it’s juvenile offspring. The dragon was brought down, which sent their erstwhile princess into a rage. When the juvenile was captured and killed, she killed half a dozen men. It took three times that to subdue her.

She fought being cleaned. She fought having her clothing taken away. She fought being confined. She railed against their mother and defied everyone, shouting that she didn’t belong within cold walls. When she did escape, Caolán often found her in the garden. But there was one night that it seemed to him that the garden was different. There were fae flitting about, and the night air seemed warm and the moon appeared a faint shade of pale green instead of harsh white light. He followed her into some darker place of the garden. When she stopped abruptly, she turned to look at him. There was something unfathomable in her gaze. She seemed ancient, knowing what his intention was before even he knew what he was doing in the garden so late at night. He coaxed her back to her room. Since that night, each time he found her, she would come back to her room peacefully and wait until dawn.

Over time, she fought less and talked even less. She was subdued, and refused to acknowledge anyone but Caolán. She retreated into herself. He didn’t recognize the feeling that settled into his sister’s heart at first. Fearing the worst, Caolán took her out to the gardens in the hopes that she would react to something besides him. It was then he recognized the look in Cinnia’s eyes: hopelessness. It nearly broke his heart. He would much rather fight with Cinnia when she was full of fire than this empty husk that now sat at their mother’s side. It was Cinnia’s current state that brought about the need of a protector for the princess.

Cinnia’s gaze suddenly focused, her nostrils flaring. It was a small thing. So small that Caolán wasn’t sure he saw it. There was a man with dark hair and amber eyes, his features somehow off. Caolán figured he was one of the fae folk come to fight for the honour of protecting a princess of their fair woods. Cinnia did no more than watch the man approach the queen, take a favour, then depart.

That New Story

masque05 by timepunchingI’m still working on it. The trouble is that where I want to start the story and where the story wants to begin are in different spots. I’ll be heading down south for Thanksgiving. The plan is to work on an outline and perhaps do some writing. I’ll be reworking a playlist on my iPod to help.

It’s not a novel, the story I want to tell. It’s a background story. A short one. It explains a lot of the nature of a few characters’ relationship with each other and others.

Wish me luck.