Ragabash Tale: 10. The Caer Taliesin Incident

(This is a section of our e-mail story that was originally called "Sideplot for Jenny". It stars our favorite Bone Gnawer Ragabash Jessie Smiles-Of-Sunshine and her good friend Dame Lorraine Etain ap Liam, Scathach Sidhe. The various e-mails have been edited together and spell-checked, but not scrubbed clean of grammatical mistakes or changed from the present tense used in the original emails.)

With Dame Lorraine at the wheel of the BMW Z3 roadster Jessie just sits back and enjoys the ride. Her head is stretched out the window, the wind blowing her shaggy hair behind her.

Too bad Lorraine preferred the classical station. Rock and Roll was meant for a ride like this!

She felt a little sad that her lover and pack-mate Gilda had gone off to New York without her, but grooving with the Fox-Doc which was enjoyable and she got lots of time with cubs.

But this wasn't a joy ride. Andrea sent them to visit a Fae freehold. At first it sounded like just another boring Fae political junket. Then she learned it was at an artist's colony just north of Boston. Jessie liked artists. Artists were weird, artists were cool. Artists had all sorts of interesting smells on them.

Lorraine downshifts as they turned onto the dirt road that lead to the colony. Jessie's nose twitched. Smoke.

She sniffs carefully. Yes, smoke. There was the smell of wood, smoldering plastics and gasoline. Like maybe a house on fire.

Lorraine instantly and expertly juggles brakes and gearshift to drop the speed of the car dramatically. It's clear Lorraine takes Jessie's warning extremely seriously. At the same time, the puzzled look on Lorraine's face suggests that while Lorraine trusts Jessie's call, Lorraine doesn't know *why*...

Jessie pats her pockets. "Don't have mah cellphone, damn!" She looks back at the Sidhe. "Can ye use yours to call the fire department? Don't want no fires spreading. And we may want to let others know what's a-happenin'."

"If this *is* an attack," Lorraine thinks out loud, "then if we call out we're going to give away our position across the entire cell network when we do. If we do get ambushed, I'll only need one second to punch the emergency beacon and the Black Helicopters will come down on our last recorded position like the Wrath of God..."

Jessie ponders a moment, sniffing the air. "Okay, your phone, your call. But if we gots a big fire - call fer help.

Lorraine nods. "That, and if the place is crawling with Wyrm things they'll rip the fire crews to pieces. The fire's a problem. We might, tho, have bigger problems."

Jessie's face got grim. "And if someone's expectin' us, we may be walkin' into a trap. Ye packin' heat Ah hope?" She sniffed the air again. "'Cause we may need ta use guns."

Lorraine doesn't take her eyes off the road as her left hand stays on the wheel and the right draws one of her twin sidearms. "Hell yeah."

Lorraine looks up at the car's roof. "Good thing I decided not to go with the convertible...roll up the windows, Jessie --the panes and armor in the hard-top's good against 7.62 rounds..."

"You gots a ragtop?" Jessie says enthusiastically as she rolls up the window. "Man, we needs to go on a bender sometime..."

Lorraine grins wickedly. "Did you know this puppy, *before* we modified it, peaks at 135 miles per hour and does 0 to 60 in ten seconds?"

" *After* some of our guys in the shop were done with it... it does quite a bit more."

"So," Lorraine says, conversationally, "do you think we should stop the car short of where the camp ought to be, or drive on in full-speed, guns blazing?"

"Stop short. That'll give me a chance to change ta glabro. That way we can still talk ta each other. And we stick together."

Lorraine nods. "Roger that. I'll stop us at a fork in the road where the service drive loops about one hundred meters up into the main compound."

She flashes a wry grin at Jessie. "Somehow, me being suspicious little me, I'm not betting there some *other* poor group of folks got smacked by the Wyrm..."

Lorraine's grin turns feral, a hunter ready to kick some Wyrm ass. Lorraine, with the butt of her sidearm, gently taps a panel set in the dashboard top between Lorraine and Jessie. The panel clicks open...revealing the stocks of two long firearms and the hilt of a sword, the lengths of the weapons going forward underneath the hood...

"Don't take the one on the left, unless you want to go into battle with a ping-pong ball burp gun," Lorraine says, wryly. "In my hands, call down the Wyld and that chimerical hand-cannon once broke an armored car almost in half."

"The one on the right," she continues, "is just an ordinary Mossberg 590 Compact. Used it myself a good number of times. Fires well, never jams, got ordinary rounds chambered but Dragonsbreath are in the car trunk. Once belonged to a ghoul thug helping guard some leech's child slave pen. Leech could afford the best --people pay well for young boys, so I'm told."

Jessie snags the Mossberg. The way she checks the chamber and the safety on it shows she knows how to handle a weapon.

"Of course," Lorraine says with grim triumph, "when we were done with them what was left of both of the bastards would fit into a coffee can, so since the ghoul didn't need the Mossberg anymore and he'd already gone through all the trouble of erasing the weapon from official existence, I figured I'd requisition it. Something poetic about a leech-bought weapon being used to hunt leeches..."

"You're welcome to borrow it -- I'll even let you add notches to the stock if you bag any of the leech f**kers!" she barks with cold laughter.

The Garou are not the only Awakened with a profound hatred of the children of Caine. Dame Lorraine's attitude is living, burning proof.

"Hey, if you detect anything," Lorraine says, "just holler --you have far better skills and instincts on this than I do...

And the fork in the road appears just up ahead, and Lorraine does the last car downshift.

Smoke. Death. And the stink of the Wyrm --Wyrm beasts, moving in packs, all throughout the woods.

"We gots more than one wyrmy - smells like a pack of 'em, maybe more. Don't know yet."

The car comes to a halt. Lorraine shrugs off her white overcoat, revealing a tight black turtleneck with the characteristic bulges of body armor. With that and her black jeans, she'll be considerably harder to see in the dark. The black baklava she pulls out of an inside pocket will make her harder still. It's clear this Scathach Sidhe knows her way around a fight or two...

"Alright," Lorraine says, tracing out her words with a finger on the car seat, "we're at this fork in the road. Up the service drive here, about 100 meters, it ends in a cul-de-sac in which the buildings of the artist's colony are. It's actually the private residence of Lady Minerva Ashekova, boggan lady, mundanely the author of that whole series of wildly super-popular kids novels? It's also a freehold...and Boston Terminus of a number of Trods whose existence is not widely known. And it's a safehouse. That where we were supposed to go to..."

Jessie considers her reply. "If there's more than one pack we're gonna need help. We'll need Intelligence. Scout quickly, see if we can get tracks. Numbers, strength. But we may have surprise... and there'z people we gots to rescue."

"Okay, normally mah pack attacks directly while Ah goes all sneaky. We'll switch it this time. If they see me all big 'n hair they'z gonna expect Garou with claws and not Fae with guns."

She sighs and puts down the shotgun. "Ah can't shoot this in hispo. If ya can sling it, ya may want it."

Lorraine nods, takes the weapon. It's obvious she knows how to use it, without any of the hesitation other Sidhe might have to such a weapon.

"Here's the signals:" Jessie continues, "One finger or paw scrap -Scout out the place. After that, if we can take 'em - two fingers. I'll flush 'em, you shoot 'em." She grins. "Bet they weren't expectin' the Spanish Inquisition."

"If we can't kill 'em all, but want ta try a rescue - three fingers." She gives Lorraine an inquiring look. "Can ye open the trods? Maybe we can do a snatch and run."

"Make circle," she joins finger and thumb, "or make circle with paw - we call in the Big Boys."

Lorraine exits her side of the car as Jesse exits hers. Ahead is the fork in the road, leading into the quickly darkening woods. The smell of burning is obvious; indeed, to Jessie's sensitive ears, the distant crackle shows the burning isn't over yet.

Lorraine looks to Jessie, points up the fork in the road that leads to the compound, does a quick yes-no shake, clearly asking if they should take that path...

With the predator's sixth sense, that special talent that combines the clues given by scent, the instinct of a hunter, and that connection with the living world only the Garou possess, Jessie can tell that a group of creatures lie in wait just a dozen long loping strides up the path. On both sides of the road.

And Jessie can feel the hair rise on the back of her neck, as she realizes they are concentrating intently upon Lorraine and Jessie.

"They'z a watchin' us already," Jessie whispers. "On both sides. They knows we're here. And Ah don't know what kinda things these are... ain't smelled nothing like this before."

A grim nod. It seems bad-to-bloody-worse is nothing new for this Scathach warrior...

Jessie's eyes narrow. A few long lopes away is within weapons range. She nods to her left and grins. "Hand me that there shotgun, General Patton," she growls. "And get back in the Beamer. In a moment you're gonna have a big furry hood ornament."

Jessie makes a fist and calls upon her Bone Gnawer gift 'Scent of Sweet Honey.' She can't really *see* the target and goes on instinct alone.

"Rock and bloody roll," she softly declares, quietly opening the car door and getting in.

Jessie scrambles onto the hood of the car as the black flies -so famous in the New England woods, hover over the trees.

The Beamer front end sags a bit under the extra weight, but the finely crafted machine takes the stress with ease.

She utters no battle howl, no scream of challenge. Just the simple <clack-clack> as with one hand she throws the first shell into the shotgun.

The car rolls forward and Jessie shifts her feet, her foot claws digging into the hood. One hand raises the shotgun, the other splays out claws ready to strike as they turn to the left....

The enemy numbers a bit over a dozen huge, hulking, four-legged *things*. They had laid in wait, their acute senses tracking Jesse and Lorraine perfectly in the dark, waiting to ambush them as they tried to sneak into the compound.

And then thousands upon thousands of gnats, files, bugs and other creatures swarmed them.

The wind pushes back Jessie's fur, making her look even meaner. She aims... <BOOM!> and one monster drops from it's hiding place.

Another jumps to the ground to assault the vehicle... oops, too close to the road! It shields its eyes from the BMW's high beams. The bumper connects and under the wheels it goes with a satisfying crunch.

Inside Lorraine bats down the air bag. It distracts her only a moment. Long enough for something to land on the roof of the car.

Outside, Jessie claws at another as it foolishly tries to attack. It drops away, minus its face. Jessie turns as she feels the thump of the thing landing on the roof. It roars at her.

<BOOM!><CRACK!> Jessie and Lorraine discharge their weapons simultaneously and with great effect. It tumbles off dead.

And the creatures in the stands are in a panic. These woods are well known for their insect life and the insects go to town!

Jessie cracks its jaw with the butt of the shotgun and slices it with her claws as it passes by. As it sails over the roof Jessie let's go with the shotgun.

In the midst of the mad fighting, Jessie manages to get a glimpse head on some of the creatures, to see the snout and eyes head on...eyes? Eye? On one side an evil red orb pulses with malevolent fire; in the corresponding location on the other side, there is only a blackness. Something tugs briefly at the back of Jessie's mind --was there some legend of the Fae about this?-- but the enemy presses on...

The BMW, lights blazing, engine roaring, bears down on the hapless creatures like some roaring half-metal, half-flesh beast. The would-be ambushers, busily trying to claw bugs out of their eyes and noses and mouths, perhaps only have an eyeblink staring into the dazzling head lamps of the onrushing car before many of them take lethal overdoses of claw, shotgun shell, or BMW fender...

As Jessie expertly dispatches those enemies luckless to be in range and the BMW pitches and bucks directly over other enemies, Jessie will catch glimpses of her enemies --and she will realize they don't look *anything* like anything Jessie has ever seen. Which, given the variety that Fomor come in, is no mean feat. They are hulking, black, ugly as sin, big as wolves in hispo, scaled, have huge jaws filled with irregular but razor-sharp teeth, and six limbs. And they stink of the Wyrm...

And in a moment the monsters are behind the racing BMW, Jessie and Lorraine having powered their way through the barricade. Perhaps at least a half dozen have been felled by gun, claw or car --and the rest are fleeing into the woods, the smell of fear strong on them, fleeing as fast as they can from the thing of steel and fur that exploded down on them, furiously scratching away at the swarms of insects that still pursue them...

It only takes a moment to reach the head of the road, up to the compound. Another *thing* standing guard at the road's top makes the profound mistake of leaping at Jessie.

It is swiftly dispatched. And beyond the top of the road, a fountain bubbles in a cul-de-sac surrounded by...well, what *used* to be a cluster of buildings...

Jessie looks about quickly. It must have been a hell of a fight... and they lost. And there was a heck of a lot of them...

But if there were guards on the roads and at the top of the hill then they must be guarding *something*.

She flashes three fingers to Lorraine - the signal to look for survivors, or prisoners.

Carnage and ruin is all that is left, now. There were, perhaps, four or five buildings surrounding the cul-de-sac, with patios and terraces surrounding them. The complex is actually at the top of a hill, in a space cleared from the woods, with grassy fields sloping downhill. Now all the buildings are blackened, roof-collapsed ruins. And bodies like everywhere amongst them --some burnt; some torn apart. Humans, Fae, and more bodies of the *things*...

Lorraine nods quickly, and begins scouting the area. Her experience in these matters is obvious from the professional, efficient manner in which she quickly covers the compound, stopping only to check to confirm the dead are dead.

Jessie stays pretty close to Lorraine - watching, sniffing, listening. Her 'antennas' are up and active. If someone's still around - living or dead - friend or Wyrm, she wants to know. Her typical relaxed attitude has vanished. She walks oh the balls of her feet - ready to spring.

Whenever Lorraine kneels down to check on a body, Jessie is right there, guarding her back. She will not be caught flat-footed.

The only things living are running as far away as they can; the bug-pursued remnants of the ambush guard posted up front scattered...and one single creature of the same ilk running in a straight line away in the opposite direction.

Lorraine is quick and efficient. It does not take long for her to confirm what Jessie feels. "No survivors. None at all," the Sidhe says bitterly.

Jessie tosses her head back and howls. It may be tinged with sadness but she won't give the Wyrm the pleasure of full sorrow.

Her emotions released she crouches down and becomes very still. She sniffs the ground and then the air searching with her senses. Unanswered questions float in her mind.

The fire, smoke are distracting her and she doesn't catch it for several minutes.

A scent! Distinctive --the fragrance of a brand of child's shampoo, mixed with the sweat of fear, but not of blood. Traces, forming a trail --there! in the mud, the distinctive footprint of a sneaker, child's sized, and then another. Jessie would have never noticed them if the scents on the pavement hadn't pointed Jessie forwards them; Lorraine still hasn't.

From Jessie's current position, now that she knows what she's looking for, she can see the imprints in the grass and leaves of those same feet racing forwards the tree-line, and then a place in the high grass and weeds where the forest begins, across the lawn from where Jessie stands now, where someone ran through...

Gently, ever so gently Jessie taps Lorraine's shoulder and points out the tracks and where they're going.

Lorraine nods. Motions that Lorraine will stay here while Jessie goes...then offers Jessie a communicator so that Jessie can report what she sees?

The communicator has a Morse-code transmission switch for silent signalling, and a "panic" button that can transmit that simple message to Lorraine's own communicator.

Although Jessie has no idea how to use Morse code the big red 'panic' button is an easy thing to use. She takes it and bounds, still in crinos into the woods.

It does not take long to follow the trail as it bursts through the woods, broken twigs, footprints, ripped bits of clothing...the traces of blood from where a thorn tore into flesh...

And then suddenly Jessie finds herself at the edge of a woods-covered cliff. Below her the moss and brush covered rocks fall dozens of meters down a steep angle, and it's obvious the unfortunate victim tumbled right down them...

Putting the communicator safely in the hollow between her teeth and check Jessie scrambles quickly down the slope.

A third of the way down the slope, suddenly there is a strong, strong smell of the Wyrm that erupts suddenly from somewhere in the woods below...

The stench is so strong it startles the BoneGnawer and she loses her grip on the steep slope.

Jessie descends the cliff in a controlled crash, reaching the bottom with a hard thump. It is there she finds the cause of the trail she has been following --a Fae Sidhe childling, barely alive, torn and bloodied from her fall and an arm at altogether the wrong angle. Her life signs are so weak it is no surprise Jessie missed them altogether, at such a distance, in her earlier sweep.

The little girl is not the source of the Wyrm sign. No, that comes from the woods ahead...

The twilight and the bush confound even enhanced Garou sight...but Jessie's sixth sense has no difficulty picking out exactly what she faces. Lurking in the woods ahead are six more of the Wyrm-beasts like the ones Jessie routed earlier...and one which walks upright; a foul bipedal who clearly is in command. Through some kind of portal, many hundreds of meters distant, they first emerged, and what lies through that portal stinks so heavily of corruption that its stench is overwhelming.

The beasts are running, full-bore, converging on Jessie's position. Inside of the count of five, they'll be here.

Of all the wrist watches, pocket watches and other personal time pieces Jessie has lifted from the vampires and other Wyrm creatures, only two were dedicated; one for each wrist. Now one may think that a Crinos Garou has little use for a time piece but Jessie peers at the bright, shiny reflective surface..... and steps into the Umbra.

Just a few heartbeats later, she again hears those same howls, now of triumphant hunger, *in* the Umbra, as a portal opens and the beasts --and their master-- follow Jessie through...

"LEAVE THE CHILD AND WE LET YOU WALK AWAY," a Wyrm-ridden voice speaks in her head.

The Wyrm-hounds, one eye dark and one eye burning with unholy fire, continue their pursuit, slavering jaws suggesting what the alternative will be...

Possibility that even more monsters are RIGHT NOW stepping sideways? Probably pretty high.

Now back in the real world Jessie Runs Like Hell, following the steep face - hoping to find a way up. She may be Garou, but she ain't stupid. She can't fight and carry the child at the same time.

But she hits the Panic Button on the signaling device and hopes it wasn't damaged during the fall.

Alone, with a cub, she looks up the steep cliff. There was no way she could fall *up* that as easily as she could fall down it. And even with Crinos strength she could not merely jump up the long slope. She's just too heavy.

She cradles the child like a football. Then, her legs pumping like pistons she takes a running start and leaps into the air.

In a moment she goes from an 800 lb Crinos to a 90 lb homid. The thrust from the Crinos strength is now pushing a far, far lighter package...

A song pops into her head: "She flies through the air with the greatest of ease..."

Jessie has the momentary satisfaction of hearing the bloodthirsty howls of her pursuers suddenly turn into confused yelps.

Down below, Lorraine has just started sprinting forwards where Jessie had gone down the cliff when the sight of Jessie soaring into the sky catches Lorraine's attention.

Lorraine then swiftly collects herself and begins to sprint in the opposite direction, forwards where Jessie is probably going to land.

Above, Jessie tucks to protect the child and drops like a diver doing a cannonball into the canopy.

She crashes through - the leaves and branches in the trees brake her fall as she breaks the branches and leaves.

Now comes the hard part! With a free hand she reaches out to grab a branch to stop her fall.

A few moments later Lorraine comes tearing through the trees, reaching Jessie. Cursing silently, Lorraine begins a quick check of Jessie's injuries...

"Where the *furk* is the Cavalry?" Lorraine mutters under her breath, taking a brief peek into the sky...

Jessie's clothes are ripped and she's bleeding from where the branches whipped against her. It's obvious that her right arm has popped out of its sock. The impact has cleanly broken her ankle, probably green-sticked a leg and fractured a several vertebrae in her spine.

From her protective curled up position Jessie raises her head. Her eyes are filled with pain and speech is halting.

"S-sorry, Ah lost yer s-s-shotgun." She unfolds like a flower revealing the precious seed within.

Lorraine's combat-poker face shows startlement when Jessie reveals the child --and then unconcealable shock when Lorraine sees the child's face.

She gasps again. "Five Wyrmbeasts - one WyrmMaster. Wyrm P-portal. G-guess w-who's c-c-coming ta d-d-d-dinner?"

As if to punctuate Jessie's assessment, the demonic howls come up again. Lorraine reflexively whips her sidearm up towards the bushes as a flock of birds and a number of small woodland animals burst in blind panic out of the woods line, clearly hell-bent on getting away from what lies behind them.

There's a grinding pop as the BoneGnawer's arm pulls back into place. "T-take c-c-cub..." Jessie says between her teeth, "leave me." She pulls a snub nose revolver from her ragged jacket and grins ferally. "Ah'll buy t-time."

A raft of emotions swiftly makes its way across Lorraine's face as her mind swiftly makes the same tactical assessments Jessie already has...

The BMW is just twenty meters away. Armored and with a massive engine under the hood, it could easily outrace any attackers. But neither the child --who actually, upon closer examination, seems more a pre-teen--nor Jessie can get to the car without Lorraine's help. Lorraine cannot carry both at once. And there will not be time enough to come back. One must be left behind.

Lorraine offers her own her side arm. She sets it down on top of the thick log Jessie fell next to, easily within Jessie's reach.

"You just need to hold until the Cavalry gets here," Lorraine says bravely, as Lorraine carefully but quickly takes the terribly injured child up in Lorraine's arms.

And then Lorraine is off, struggling as fast as she can towards the car, child in her arms, leaving Jessie behind her, between them and the onrushing enemy...

There is but a few moments the Enemy appears in sight, howling in delight at finding the scent of its prey.

The wrath of Her August Majesty, Queen Mab ap Fiona, would be a terrifying thing under any circumstances.

But under that, in both the Red Branch Captain of Guards and Sovereign alike, was a far deeper fear that chilled them both to the core, and made the sun-lit hallways of Caer Palisades, seat of the Tyger Throne of the Kingdom of Apples, feel as cold as the deepest Winter.

A Winter which, if the worst were true, might finally be upon them.

"Explain one more time *exactly* what happened," Queen Mab demanded, her voice both as hard and cold--and as brittle-- as a blade of crystal ice, as she, her guards, and the Captain strode quickly down the palace halls.

The Captain swallowed. He had faced death more times than he could count in years of loyal service to Queen Mab, and then the High King after him. What he faced now was far worse --failure.

"Princess Lenore and her guards left Tara-Nar at eight this morning. She did not arrive at Caer Palisades when she was expected. When we called Tara-Nar, they had no immediate explanation. Upon investigation, they did note that they got one brief phone call indicating that Her Highness and her guards planned to make a brief stop at Caer Taliesin for lunch. This was *not* on our copy of Princess Lenore's schedule. We immediately attempted to both raise Princess Lenore or her guards or to raise Caer Taliesin on the phone, without success."

The group reached a set of double doors. Queen Mab raised her hand, and the guards halted. The Queen motioned for the Captain to follow her through the doors, and the two of them alone entered the small study of the Palace...

The room was a small library. Queen Mab marched straight across the richly carpeted room, right up to a bookshelf. Her hand shot out, grabbed one volume in particular, pulled it out halfway, a click, and an entire segment of bookshelf swung away, revealing behind it a richly carved and ornamented doorway...to nowhere.

Nowhere, of course, unless one could make a Trod.

Queen Mab drew a dagger from her belt --a golden, bejeweled piece meant not as a true weapon but for purposes ceremonial --and magickal. She pricked her finger, so intent upon her purpose that her face never even registered the cut. Sweeping her bloodied finger across the face of the rich dark wood, leaving the thinnest trail of blood, she marked out a complex design upon the wood. When she was done, she stepped back, saying nothing for a heartbeat. But when she finally turned upon her Captain, the fury mixed with fear and rage upon her face made the Captain take an involuntary step back.

"That *should* have opened a Trod directly to Caer Taliesin," she begins in a voice like hammered steel. "Even a Trod blocked by opposing Glamours should still glow with suppressed power."

"I - felt - *nothing*."

"The other end of that Trod is a doorway in the inner library of Baroness Adiara's cottage at the heart of her artist colony at Caer Taliesin, carved into a wall. The only way this Trod could completely fail is if that wall on the other side no longer exists."

She lets the implications hang for a heartbeat. And then her cell phone rings.

She listens for a few moments. And then snaps the phone shut. For a moment, she says nothing.

"Well," the Queen finally says.

"A few minutes ago, Crystal City," using the Sidhe name for the Boston central command node of the Technocratic Union, "received an emergency distress signal from an Eisenreich agent at Caer Taliesin. The transmitter is registered to Dame Lorraine, Andrea's Captain of Guards. Three Union Nightwings immediately hit the air with a squad of Union stormtroopers. They should be reaching Caer Taliesin now."

Queen Mab stares out the study windows into the serenity of the Palace gardens. But the look on her face is anything but serene.

When she finally does speak again, her voice is like cold iron being drawn from a sheath.

"They killed Andalura. They killed David. If now Princess Lenore is dead, I don't care who is responsible. I don't care if it's King Meilge, the High Queen, or the Lords of the Shadow Courts themselves..."

"...I'm going to find them, and I'm going to send them straight to Hell."

Jessie uses the gift "Blissful Ignorance," slides under the log and well, hides. She spends whatever time left to allow her body to heal.

Hey Monkey, she prays - it was a Good Trick we jest did. If you keep me alive I can do *more* Tricks for you.

She listens for the baying of the pack, the starting of the car as she peers out of her hidey-hole.

Intent on their original prey the Wyrm Beast cross right over her hiding place completely unaware of her existence.

A blackfly (the ones with drill bits for tongues) alights on Jessie's arm as the first of the Bad Dogs pass over the log. She points to the Wyrm creatures. "Sic 'em."

The Wyrm creatures vault the log, howling their triumph as they begin the last dash forwards where Lorraine is desperately trying to load the wounded child into the car --howls that suddenly cut off into choked yelps of real pain as their mouths fill with insects and their eyes with bugs. They thrash and roll, basically stopped dead in their tracks.

The dark acolyte too stops, just as he steps over the log. Throwing up his hands to he tries to shield his face from the onslaught of stinging bugs. A few moments later, the deep stink of the Wyrm intensifies tremendously and a bone-deep chill penetrates Jessie; around the Dark Fae, the swarm of bugs surrounding him is pushed slowly away by an ever expanding field.

Actually, to be more accurate, what's happening is that, in a growing bubble around the enemy Fae, everything, from the bugs of the swarm to the plants at his feet, withers and dies. It would reach Jessie within seconds. But the enemy Fae, preoccupied with the swarm of insects and drawing all his willpower to cast his Cantrip, is utterly blind sided.

Jessie pops up like a Jack-in-the-Box and opens fire with both pistols right into the back of the abomination!

Some would disapprove shooting someone in the back. Not Jessie. This is not a someone - it's a something.

She didn't know what Lorraine's pistol was loaded with but her small revolver has something special - little presents from a friends - Bane bullets.

The Fae's field of anti-life destroys spirits just as it does the spirits of living things, and so the spirits bound within the Bane Bullets vanish as the force binding the spirits within is broken.

The thirty-eight calibre hollow points continue on, impacting their target with deadly force.

Lorraine's bullets do even better. The cold iron loaded in them doesn't have quite the effect it might, for this would be one of the boons of the Dark Fae's hellish one-eyed master. On the other hand, the Fae's defenses won't do him much good against the laws of physics and what they say about momentum transfer at high velocities...or the chemistry of lead azide and the enormously exothermic reactions it undergoes.

The ammunition Lorraine's weapon was loaded with was designed by the Union to blast through ballistic armor. The back of the Dark Fae's head explodes in a shower of gore and his body drops like a puppet shorn of its strings.

From ahead the sound of an engine roaring to life suggests Lorraine is about to get away. As badly mauled as Jessie is, her spirits lift at the death of the creature.

The closeness of the Master Wyrm, the bark of the two pistols, the howls of distress of the Wyrm creatures and her own injuries prevents Jessie from being immediately aware of *something* behind her.

But as the Wyrm Master's body hits the ground some instinct within her tells her to look over her shoulder. She only gets a glance - there is no time to turn and bring her weapons to bear.

Her peripheral vision just barely catches the whizz and blur of something whipping just past the right side of her head. And then a second later, a fraction of a second after her brain picks out the figures running at her from the tree line, a projectile --a crossbow bolt-- violently tears right into the flat of her left shoulder blade...

She drops the pistol Lorraine gave her and sags against the tree. Her vision briefly goes dark and she has just enough time for a....

-------FLASHBACK-------

It was a late spring night and she was tipsy drunk. Her friend Carlie was more staggering drunk. They whispered their jokes to each other.

"Wait, wait... I've got another," Carlie said and took another swig from her beer. "What kind of hairstyle did the Crinos get?"

"What?" Jessie had asked with beery breathlessness.

"A shag cut."

Jessie had giggled helplessly. "Oh that's a gooooood one."

"Ah, that's an old one," Carlie replied.

"Who cares?" she'd drawled. "Hey, Ah gots one. Why do Garou have such good memories?"

"Don't know. Why?"

"'Cause at least once a week their life flashes before their eyes."

Carlie open her mouth to laugh but stopped, looked at her and began to cry.

"Hey, hey! What's a matter?" She put an arm around the other woman.

"Oh Jessie, you're my best friend... the best friend I ever had. And you're going to die before your time... and I don't want you to die."

"Well Ah don't want me do die either," she reflected.

"But someday... you're going to meet something to big for you to take on... but you will, because you have too," Carlie sniffled. "I'm just a kinfolk. You'll die and I'll live on all alone..."

"No way! Ah'm *tricky*. Ah'll evade them Wyrmies and bite their asses. Ah'll survive. Gots to. Gots to come home to my friends." She rubbed her cheek against hers. "Gots to."

Carlie grabbed Jessie and kissed her fiercely. "I love you Jessie."

Jessie blinked. "Ah love you too, Carlie."

But Carlie died first - the Sabbat got her. Then she died again as she embraced the sun to redeem herself.

/-------FLASHBACK-------

Her vision returns. But it may not next time. She's bleeding profusely from her shoulder and there is a crushing pain in her back. Life and consciousness are fleeing from her.

She couldn't let the Wyrm get the kid. No. Had to buy Lorraine more time. Time to kill... time to die.

"COME ON!" Jessie cries out and raises her pistol. "COME AND GIT ME! 'FRAID OF A LITTLE OLD BONE GNAWER? GET IN A LINE SO AH CAN KILL YE! NYAH NYAH, NYAH-NYAH NYAH!"

Jessie gets the satisfaction of watching a number of her *new* attackers hit the dirt, seeking cover, even as a third crossbow bolt smacks into a nearby tree trunk just next to her head. Even from here, the smell of their fear is obvious.

Suddenly there is a massive wind and roar of sound from above, blowing leaves and debris like a cloud everywhere. And then blinding light everywhere...

It is said, by the few who truly understand, that the heart of the Technocratic Union is two truths and a lie: the small truth, the bigger lie, and the greatest truth of all. Such as it is for the rank and file who make up the Union's terrestrial strength; and such as it was for the 166th Special Operations Company, Airborne Rangers, United States Army.

The bulk of the Technocratic Union's capability was dedicated to the massive Aegis which held the embattled frontier that separated the fragile home world of humanity from the Hell beyond; the vast fleets of Void Engineer warships; the ranks of the VE Marine; the deep-Horizon battle stations and research complexes, filled with entire generations of Union Enlightened Scientists who had never set foot on Earth --and barred by the laws of Paradox, never could.

Despite this, the Union still held significant power in the mortal world, power that had just barely held the forces of the Wyrm in check over the centuries since the Union had been born in the Gathering of the Square, and war had first been declared against the enslavers of humanity. But as it was then, in these Final nights the majority of the foot soldiers of the Union never really knew that it was a Union that they served.

Two truths and lie: the smaller truth, the bigger lie, and the greatest truth of all. The three squads of Airborne Rangers which held themselves in readiness aboard the advanced Nightwing assault VTOL not-quite-helicopters roaring out over the skies of New England were subject to this reality. Each of the officers were the elite of the United States Army, sworn to protect their nation against all enemies, chosen for their courage and their skill. All held high security clearances; enough to be told that there were dangers out there that the ordinary civilian had no idea existed --and could never be told about, and it was their job to defend America against them. That was the smaller truth.

The bigger lie was that these Rangers --and their brethren all across the world in special operations units and secret government agencies who formed the vast majority of the Union's foot soldiers--were never told what they *really* faced. Stories were spun to them of genetic experiments gone wrong, or illicit designer drugs that could amplify human mental potential, or mad continuations of horrible secret Nazi or communist or terrorist experiments, all cover stories and fictions covering up the fact that more often, they were fighting --and dying-- in battle against mythical enemies older than humanity itself. They knew what they fought was not human. But they were never told that it was ancient magics that they held the line against. In a sense, their lives were lived in a larger lie.

A smaller truth, a bigger lie-- and yet, the greatest truth of all. For they believed they fought and died to defend humanity --and they did. They didn't know the Union existed, but the Union's cause was their cause --to hold the line against the powers that sought to enslave humanity. They never were told what the monsters they fought against truly were. And in a sense, it really didn't matter. Their comrades might have died ignorant. But they did not die in vain.

So it was, on this day, that nobody told the soldiers readying their weapons aboard their assault craft that they had been summoned to come to the rescue of an agent of an ancient Faerie Court. They had no idea their orders came not from the Pentagon but from the Union's Panopticon Command. They had no idea that the pulse rifles they were armed with had their origins in weapons first designed by an allied alien race, nor that the specialized combat sensor goggles they wore were essentially technocratic Wyrm detectors.

And really, it didn't matter. All they needed to know was that they were there to rescue one of their own. And even if they didn't know who --or what-- that comrade was, they were still right.

"FIFTEEN SECONDS TO LZ," a voice announced over the Rangers' communicators and the fleet circled in for final approach.

Door gunners released the safeties on their weapons. Commandos readied their zip lines. The three assault craft began slowing noticeably as they closed in on the tree line, and sensors and displays began to sweep the ground below to find friend and foe alike...

He had burst out of the woods just in time to see the Bone Gnawer ambush her target. Even as she emptied her weapon into her enemy, even as his comrades rushed forward into battle, the crossbowman and his partner had whipped off their shots. His partner had gone for the fancier head-shot and missed; he had taken the more conservative route and been rewarded.

His snarl of triumph abruptly disappeared as he saw the Garou, already obviously badly wounded, obviously limping, stubbornly raise a pistol at them. He threw himself forwards the ground, as her still defiant challenge rung in his ears. Oak and Ash, what would it *take* to *kill* the damned dog--

His head jerked up as a blast of wind and a roar of sound suddenly blew through the leaves above...

It was a door gunner on the starboard copter that found them first. Her HUD integrated gigs of tactical data as she rapidly zoomed his vision in on the emergency tracking signal. A female federal agent --identified by the emergency signal coming from her person-- blazed away with twin pistols --and then was attacked from the rear by some kind of ranged weapon.

Her HUD instantly picked out the attackers and their non-human bio-readings. The rules of engagement were crystal clear. A law enforcement agent attacked by a non-human threat was an immediate cause for use of lethal force. And few weapons ever invented were as precisely lethal as the mounted, computer-assist-aimed, gyroscopically stabilized tri-barrel pulse cannon she manned.

Down below, the wounded federal agent turned to face her enemies for one final stand --Gods, she had courage! Her enemies dove for cover and scattered. It might have saved them against the pistol --but nothing they could possibly have or do was going to save them from the Killer Angels, and the door gunner growled as she pressed down on the firing stud of her cannon.

The very last thing the crossbowman ever saw was the dark figure of a hovering helicopter and the hell-bright flash of a muzzle.

Lorraine flashed her completely legitimate Secret Service credentials to the commando tapping on the BMW's glass. The commando saluted as Lorraine opened the car door, snapping out orders...

One of the Nightstalkers had already landed in the roadway, and per Lorraine's orders, the young princess was being tended to by Ranger medics. Satisfied, Lorraine sprinted back forwards where she had left Jessie...

The second and third VTOLs had landed in the cul-de-sac of the burnt-out artists compound, and the commandos aboard had already fanned out, securing the perimeter. There had been a moment when the Wyrm hounds Jessie had distracted had tried to attack the commandos. Needless to say, teeth against pulse rifles didn't last long.

Lorraine, again flashing her badge, ran up to where other Ranger medics were gently strapping the unconscious Jessie to a stretcher, taping in IVs, breathing tubes, splints.

"She'll live," he grunted. "On three-LIFT!" and a team of Rangers sprint with the stretcher forwards the closer of the nearby VTOLs. Behind them, a second group brought the young girl on her own stretcher forwards the same VTOL. Lorraine fell into line behind them.

They already had gurneys waiting at the helipad when the Nightstalker touched down. Massachusetts General Hospital had long been one of the fortresses of the Eisenreich and Union alike, a front-line medical center for the casualties of the War for Reality, and so it was here that the Princess Lenore and Jessie were taken.

With practiced skill the stretchers were transferred and the staff began running the gurneys to the elevator. Lorraine runs beside Jessie's gurney.

Lorraine squeezes Jessie's hand. "You did it, Jessie," Lorraine smiles. "The cub's safe."

Jessie floated in darkness.

"COME AND GIT ME!" Her own words echoed in her mind. "'FRAID OF A LITTLE OLD BONE GNAWER? GET IN A LINE SO AH CAN KILL YE! NYAH NYAH, NYAH-NYAH NYAH!"

Then came the blinding light... the darkness...

"Carlie?" she calls out. "Ye waitin' fer me?"

Explosions... voices... shouts... pain... a familiar face swims into view...

"You did it, Jessie," Lorraine smiles. "The cub's safe."

Jessie's lips move into a smile as she drifts back into the darkness...

It's night and the cool smell of the lake reaches her nose. Four legged, she trots down the old path to the small dock - her toenails clicking on the boards. At the end of the dock sits a figure dressed in a pink, hooded sweat shirt and tight jeans - her back to the land, her face to the water. Her hood is up, throwing her face into shadow.

The scent of burnt flesh is heavy around her.

Jessie lays down next to the figure and whines softly.

"I'm okay, Jessie," Carlie whispers. A few wisps of black, curly hair have escaped the all encompassing hood and dance in the breeze. "It only hurts when I breathe... and I haven't breathed in a while."

"Miss you," she replies to the ghost.

"Miss you too... but not as much, I think. I can see you, sometimes. Harder now that you're not around Ithaca."

"Got things ta do... things ta kill... little ones to protect."

The water lapping softly against the pilings filled the silence between them.

Jessie spoke again. "Ye don't have ta stay and wait fer me, ya know."

"I know." A glint of teeth appeared in the darkness within the hood. "But I get a kick out of haunting my old man. Besides, I have to walk the earth to atone..."

"Shoot! Weren't yer fault! They *took* ye. And ye took yer own un-life!" Jessie protested. "Ah watched ya strip naked and stand before the dawn! Ain't that enough?"

"For a normal person? Maybe. But not a kinfolk. No, someday... some day I'll be forgiven."

"Well, ye got a little hair now. Ye didn't have any last time."

A blackened hand jerked up to feel the tentative tendrils. "A good sign... good sign."

"Yes, it is." Jessie rolled onto her back. "Now stop bein' so angsty and rub my belly."

"What!?" the ghost laughed.

"Ye heard me... Ah'm the Garou, yer the kinfolk - service me!" Her tail thumped on the planks. "Gimme some lovin'."

"I'll give you some..." and promptly splashed water all over her.

Soaked, Jessie stood up and shook her fur out.

"Ack!" Carlie leaned away but got showered anyways. "I should know better than to wet down a wolf," she chuckled.

The sky started to turn from black to deep blue.

Jessie sniffed and smelled hospital odors. "Ah think Ah gots ta go. Don't get mixed up with no Strider."

Carlie stood. "Bring some beer next time."

Jessie is not alone in her hospital room. She hasn't been, ever since she was brought to the room; on a continuous basis, one of the sisters of Rei Memorandi has been here. Usually, hospitals don't allow visitors on a continuous basis, but like in all things, there are ways to bend the rules, if one is so inclined. Especially if one holds rank in both the mortal and the Fae worlds that intersect here at Eisenreich controlled MGH...

In any case, a guard would need to be placed over the vulnerable Jessie. And it might as well be a friend. This shift was taken by Roxanne.

Roxanne Miao sits quietly by the bedside, saying nothing, until Jessie sees fit to recognize her. On the inside, she's overjoyed that Jessie is awake. The injuries were severe, and Jessie barely survived. A mere mortal --or for that matter, a mere Mage or Fae-- would not have. The damage pushed both medical skill and Jessie's own Garou abilities to the limit. And while one can tell if bones and organs can heal, mental function is infinitely more complex, and the mind of a Garou resists the kinds of Awakened examinations so much more easily done on pure humans. That Jessie is awake is a victory.

Finally, Jessie wipes her face and looks at Roxanne. "Hey," she says hoarsely. Then she smiles. It's the big, broad, infectious grin that is her trademark.

To anyone who knows Jessie, the happy smile and demand for food are sure signs that all is right with her.

Roxanne smiles warmly. "It's all on tha house," handing over the hospital menu, which resembles the very best room service available in Boston's five-star hotels. Which is unsurprising, since the same food service company handles both.

Jessie looks at the menu. "Hey! They gots big print! Ah can read this without mah specs!"

Jessie's hotel room is posh, as would be expected for this wing of the medical center complex. As with most things in the WoD, for the wealthy or the well-connected, there exist a whole different class of service, and now Jessie is a beneficiary.

She looks about at her rich digs and seems a bit uncomfortable. Such trouble for a little old Bone Gnawer!

The luxury wings also have the advantage of having better security and guards paid well enough --in loyalty and coin-- not to betray.

"And it's good ta see ya again," Roxanne whispers, as she wraps Jessie - carefully - in a big hug.

Jessie returns the hug and adds a friendly lick on the cheek. Then she sees Toby and her big eyes widen. Toby, just back again on one of his in-again out-again visits to Jessie's room, grins in delight to see her awake again.

"Hey Toby! Ah didn't expect ta see ye again!" She laughs with a snort. "Didn't expect ta see anybody again."

"Hey!" Toby wipes his cheek with the back of his hand. He mock-glares at her. "You ruined my makeup!"

As Jessie looks over the menu Roxanne says, "The mother of the little girl would like to speak to you when you get a chance," Roxanne notes. "When's a good time for you?"

"After dessert!" she says beaming. "Ah'll have the Flamin' Minions - that's steak, right? with potatoes - extra gravy, steamed broccoli, with extra gravy, a side bowl of Cajun chili with corn bread, with a side of gravy, a glass of milk and apple pie ala mode."

Toby bounces out and back in a couple of times. On errands. Would Jessie like more water? Some flowers? A book? What's that noise? Oooh...

Jessie banters briefly with Toby until the food comes. She applies herself to it vigorously -barely saying a word - but smiling at her friends.

Toby shyly pulls out a candy bar he got from the vending machine one floor down and puts it on Jessie's tray. "You should eat more; the way you always starve yourself is a disgrace."

Towards the end of the meal, as the last bits of pie go down, there is a knock on the door. It's Lorraine.

... but Lorraine herself does not enter the room. Instead, with her bodyguard's formal face on...

The Scathach Sidhe steps aside for the two women who do enter, and Roxanne leaps to her own feet from her chair, sweeping her hat off and bowing in deference...

Seeing Roxanne make her reverence to the new visitors, Toby bows deeply and backs around to the side, trying to be inconspicuous.

Just so she doesn't get dry-mouthed in the presence of all these Alphas Jessie takes one last sip of her decaf.

Entering second is Her Royal Majesty, Queen Mab ap Fiona, in all of her glittering glory. But the sovereign of the Kingdom of Apples and Lady of the Tyger Throne defers to the woman who enters first: the step-mother of the young girl Jessie saved, a woman whose beauty is almost blinding, legendary even among the Sidhe: Faerilyth ap Eiludred, High Queen of Concordia.

Faerilyth is about as famous as Princess Diana combined with George Bush. Just about *every* Fae knows what she looks like.

[This is all post Kingdom of Willows: so Faerilyth's whirlwind romance with the High King, their spectacular wedding at Tara Nar, and their grand tour of Concordia --leading to King David's disappearance in the Kingdom of Willows-- are all public knowledge. -Jeff]

Feelings towards Faerilyth are deeply ambivalent. Not much was known about Faerilyth before she met High King David: King Meilge of the Kingdom of Willows kept her closely guarded, as would be apt for his only daughter. By all accounts, David loves her very much, and she has inherited the Eiludred touch for can trips, as well as a beauty extraordinary even for the Sidhe.

It all happened very quickly: Faerilyth had met the High King at a grand revel in Tara Nar the late autumn the year before. Actually, she captured every heart there, but it was the High King's interest she most returned. Things moved rapidly. Shortly after the triumphant victory of the Grand Alliance, at Midsummer's Revel the High King and Faerilyth announced their wedding. It was held just weeks later. Then their first stop was the Kingdom of Willows, where the High King disappeared.

Opinions were heavily divided about Faerilyth even *before* High King David disappeared, owing to natural distrust of the Eiludred and the rumors surrounding King Meilge; of Faerilyth herself, what little people have seen of her and people who report meeting her paint a picture of a considerate, kind and compassionate lady. If she were House Liam or Fiona, she would be beloved without reservation. But because of her link to the House of Secrets, everyone has to wonder just what the game going on really is...

Jessie's coffee promptly exits through her nose. Fortunately, it is not an explosive exit but merely dribbles down her face.

"Land of Goshen!" Jessie coughs and wipes her face with a napkin. She looks again. "Land of Goshen! Someone shoulda warned me that Fancy Folks were comin' a-visitin'."

Jessie clears her throat. "Well, Ah knows that cub we saved might be someone *important* but Ah didn't know who her mom were." She reddens. "Or that her mom was such a *looker*."

Lorraine, near the door, stiffens and pales. Queen Mab looks a little uncertainly at the High Queen. Any another Sidhe would have taken dreadful insult at the Gnawer's last comment.

Toby, off on the side of the room, is trying to remain very small and inconspicuous.

Always sensitive to other's feelings, Jessie blinks and lowers her head. "Um. No offense meant."

But Faerilyth just smiles warmly; either as someone who intimately understands the way Gnawers treat authority; or someone who doesn't take herself too seriously; or, perhaps, both.

"She is," Faerilyth replies, seriously. "She's sleeping now. But Andrea and her people did a very good job. She'll be up and about soon."

"Tell me," Faerilyth asks, "am I correct in understanding that you were the fighter who slew Theo Bell?"

"Well, yes," she says modestly. "He pissed me off so Ah bit his head off. Spat it right out - vampires taste *terrible.* Got his watch, and both his guns," she announces happily and bouncing a little on her bed.

"But Ah had help. Couldn't have done it without a little Fae and Mage mojo," she says seriously.

The High Queen nods seriously. "And now you have rescued the daughter heir of Concordia," she replies. "You have achieved Renown like few Sidhe Knights or Ahroun of pure breed could ever claim. Yet you remain humble."

Jessie blinks at the Fae as if she doesn't understand the remark. Then she shrugs. "No matter how much Renown and Fame and Glory one gets ye still gots ta squat to shi... er, relieve yerself." She smiles and spreads her hands. "Ya know what Ah mean."

She wets her lips. "Ah don't go beatin' mah chest and throwin' mah weight around. Ah stand by my deeds - mind ya, and Ah'm proud of them, but Ah don't want ta get mah head all swelled like a balloon so Ah can't find a hat ta fit me. I'd look pretty funny too."

She leans towards Faerilyth. "See, it's mah job ta fight the Wyrm. That *thing* wanted yer cub. It didn't matter if she were the poorest of poor or a princess born... Ah weren't gonna let the Wyrm take her... not if Ah could. Uh-huh."

"Ah was happy to rescue her. Ah was happy to fight with my best bud Lorraine - ye remember ta thank her too 'cause we acted like a team we did."

"And Ah was happy to be given a chance ta stick it in the Wyrm's eye and blow that monster's brains out."

"Rest assured that Dame Lorraine will receive just recognition," Faerilyth smiles. "Actually, the question of recognition is one I'd like to take up with you..."

"So I have heard. I am afraid the answer is no. Captain Cromwell sends his regards, however."

"If I and Mab might have a moment alone with Jessie Smiles of Sunshine?" the Queen asks.

Forestalling protest, the Queen raises a hand. "If they can get to me through a door you're all guarding in the middle of an Eisenreich secured facility with two Sidhe sorceresses and a Garou in the room, does it really matter?"

Dame Lorraine and Queen Faerilyth and Mab's guards exchange looks, and then, manifestly unhappy but obedient, they file out.

For a moment Jessie looks uneasy. Faerilyth should easily recognize the express - it's of someone who is very low on the ladder who is suddenly thrust upward into the rarefied atmosphere that exists at the very top rungs.

"I wanted you to have a chance to say no, without having anyone else know. Including --especially-- your friends. What you decide here, does not leave this room, should you so wish it. This I promise."

She pauses a moment to gather her thoughts. For a moment, she is not the mighty Queen of Concordia, but a red-eyed, exhausted, mother, shoulders bowed by the weight of fear and power she bears. And it is with completely honesty she speaks, all pretense stripped away.

Jessie's uneasiness fades and she motions to a chair for Faerilyth to sit in, if she so desires.

"To be honest, you do not need any honors or recognition from me. But in a very real sense, I --and my kingdom-- need you to accept them."

"The system of honors and chivalric titles mean a great deal to many of the Fae --especially the Seelie Fae.

She nods in understanding. "In a very real sense, the honors and titles we wear are the measures by which we Fae measure ourselves. We are a traditional people --maybe too much so. But our traditions and our honors are what tie us together and unite us in a world that changes beyond our recognition. Perhaps changes more than we can survive. They are among the last glue that holds us together as a people. Part of it is the honor that they confer and upon those the honors are bestowed. But an equally important part is in confirming the authority of the conferrer and the legitimacy of the award. Or, put in simpler terms," she says quietly, "titles are only good as long as they actually *mean* something."

"You can, if you so choose, choose to reject the honor I would like to pay you. I will not make you take it. But please consider why I would like you to do so. Not only because I firmly believe you have more than earned it. Not only because it is one of the very few things I can give to even begin to repay the great debt I owe and to express the gratitude I feel. But also because if you do *not*, if you choose to reject even the modest honor I would like to bestow... then the message it sends is that one of the bravest of the Garou doesn't think the honor of the High Queen is worth having."

"Some might take that as a slur against the Fae, and take offense. Some might take that as a condemnation of my own rule. The effects will ripple. But I will not, despite all that, force them upon you. I will not make the offer in public unless you are comfortable taking it."

"All I desire," Queen Faerilyth asks, simply, "is to grant you the honor given many others --including Garou-- for great service to our people and our throne. I would like to grant you the boon of a Knighthood, and make you, in our courts, Dame Jessie Smiles-of-Sunshine. The title would bear no requirements of fealty, nor any obligations of service except those you choose."

"It is up to you to accept this honor from my hand or not. Either way, you have my eternal gratitude, and the friendship of my house. You saved my daughter's life. Whatever else you might choose, for that I am, forever, in your debt."

"A *knight*!" Jessie chokes quietly. "Land O' Goshen! Dame Jessie Smiles-of-Sunshine? Lady ya honor me..."

"Ye know... Ah wasn't born homid. I was born a *dawg*. A *farm* animal. Before Gaia blessed me, Ah spent my days chasin' cows inta the barn and fetchin' sticks. Ah ain't no pure blood. Ah'm a Bone Gnawer - the lowest, the poorest of the tribes. Sometimes my kinfolk are tippin' over garbage cans ta get enough ta eat. Ah know my table manners, but just below the skin here..." she pinches herself, "there's a common house pet."

"Now, Ah think it would be a riot for someone so lowly like me ta have a fancy name and all that, Ah'd be honored!"

Faerilyth relaxes visibly. It's obvious she's trying to hide it. But it's obvious that, despite her outward control, Faerilyth is relieved.

"But ya know... some would say that if yer handin' out knighthoods ta *animals*... well, that don't sound so good do it?"

"Ah ain't rejectin' yer offer... but Ah want ye ta think about it fer a moment. Will my acceptance help, or hinder ye? 'Cause Ah wanna help, not hurt."

Queen Mab stiffens. She appears about to say something, but Faerilyth answers first. Despite the High Queen's youth, the young Unseelie's voice is enough to instantly cut off Queen Mab's reply. Despite Queen Mab's greater age - and experience - it is utterly clear the line of authority here.

"I have," Faerilyth answers, calmly, without any uncertainty. "And I do. Because that is *precisely* the message I want to be sent forth, loudly and clearly, from the Throne of Dreams. Because that is *precisely* the message I want sent unmistakably from the Crown of Concordia. That the only thing that matters - the *only* thing that matters - is courage, and courage alone. Not birth; not kith; not House; not Court. Courage, and courage alone. And whatever your origins, *nobody* anywhere can deny your courage. *No one*."

"Many *will* question my choice. Let them," Faerilyth says, her voice rising with quiet determination. "Let them challenge my choice -- and implicitly, my rule. Many do so already. I am not unaware of the whispers that surround me as to the legitimacy of the throne I occupy. Many would have my daughter Lenore in my place. Or my sister-in-law Morwen. Many question my youth, my Court, many things."

"But *I* am Queen in Concordia. *I*, and not Lenore, and not Morwen, was chosen by David to rule as his equal. And I will not rule this nation by straw poll to decide what is just and right. A true sovereign does not base her integrity upon where the majority of her nobles think they should go. A true sovereign *leads*. My father taught me to do no less. And I will lead this nation true to the vision David lived for -- and perhaps died for. No matter how many or how few choose to follow me."

"Many nobles *will* find further reason to hate me. But not one will be able to find even a single reason why my decision was *wrong*. No one can deny in any way, shape, or form that your courage earned your honor. And while many nobles may be angered, the far greater numbers of the commoners, the lesser Sidhe, the Garou, and all the world will see that the High Throne of Concordia gives honor to even the Bone Gnawers. That is my vision and my challenge to my people, my line in the sand. My Concordia will be a place where courage matters more than birth. To our shame, we are not yet that nation. But I will make it so, or fall trying. And I will lead with me whomever will follow."

"So yes, Jessie Smiles-of-Sunshine, I do want to make you a Knight. I cannot force you take an honor you do not want. But I hope you understand now why I want - I must - offer it. Not only for what I owe you as a mother. But what I want to see my Kingdom become."

"Will you take this honor from me, Jessie Smiles-of-Sunshine? Will you take the place you have earned as a Knight of the Throne of Dreams? Will you accept this, for me, and for my people?"

Jessie starts smiling. It starts as a small nervous grin and blossoms into a face-splitting radiant beam.

"If ye'd have me... low birth and all, because of mah actions and mah courage then Ah'd be honored to accept yer offer."

She giggles a bit. "Might need a little help in the wardrobe department though."

The High Queen smiles. "You do not have to dress up like a Fae, if you do not want to -- the Garou do not make us Fae dress in Garou fashions when we attend their moots; certainly my Court would not require the reverse from you!"

"As for the rest...in the Fae tradition, often a Knight is actually Knighted twice. The second time is in a formal ceremony, filled with pomp and circumstance, as much celebration as ritual --in that way, much like a wedding. Something that you will plan with your friends and loved ones later, at a time of your choosing, in a format of your choice. No two Knighthood ceremonies are quite the same, although there are commonalities among most; you have many friends who can help you plan, I'm sure," Faerilyth smiles.

"But as I had mentioned, most Fae Knights are knighted twice. The latter is that formal celebration...the former, the first, is often done on the field of battle, or in the camp the night after, or elsewheres. It is done immediately, so that there is no rush to have the second ceremony simply in order to formalize the promotion. Think of the first time as the engagement, and the second as the wedding. You *can* change your mind between the first and the second, although few do. The first Knighting is much less grandiose. But it is no less real."

And assuming that Jessie has no objections, some twenty minutes later, right there in that hospital room, with everyone sent outside invited back in, the deed is done.

Andrea was paged off her wards to come for the happy event, and she dabs a few tears of joy behind a very, very happy smile. Dame Lorraine, of course, is grinning like a madwoman. And it is indeed with Dame Lorraine's own sword that the High Queen invests Jesse Smiles-of-Sunshine with the rank and priveleges of a Knight of Concordia. With words and motions unchanged since the Middle Ages; with charges to protect the innocent and to seek justice for all, the deed is done.