— she was safe and that’s what mattered. he’d wanted to find her at the wedding— in the wake of chaos and panic, his mind had immediately gone to her, fear wrapping an icy hand around his heart while blue eyes scanned the sea of faces, looking for those golden curls and her cherubic face. the plans- so far as he was aware at least- had not included the tsarina but the fae’s confusion, panic, fear had been contagious and without realizing it, he’d found himself infected— his mind running on a one way track: tatiana.
that one track mind had lost him the favor of the lord who’s arm he’d graced for the evening though alexei had chalked it up to no great loss though perhaps he should have a greater care for his connections with the autumn court in the wake of this... tragedy. his lips pressed thin, the sounds of his boot heels echoing back to him and his mind wandering back to words painted crudely on the wall in the slain fae’s blood: the resistance sends its regards. it was always going to end in war, he knew that— but there was something about the words themselves that had alexei’s hackles rising. taunting. it had been taunting— like a child wanting to egg on another much bigger child, goading them into striking back.
would the retaliation not start with those they held captive? making an example of those who hadn’t slipped so easily from the grasp of the fae? what if— ( no— stop this. there is nothing to be done with what ifs. )
a glimpse of golden curls and slight stature pulled his thoughts from the morose train it had been on and his heart leapt in his chest. she was safe— he’d known so in his mind but his heart hadn’t quite accepted it until that moment— and alexei had to force himself to not sprint down the castle corridor, the sound of his boot heels against stone perhaps coming a bit quicker in his eagerness to reach the tsarina, falling into step beside her almost seamlessly.
“i’m quite cross with you, koshka,” alexei spoke in their mother tongue, his tone betrayed his words, coming out conversationally with the slightest hint of a smile hidden in his voice, the corners of his mouth trying to twitch up with it while his brow furrowed in a pantomime of the aforementioned crossness, “i was riddled with worry and concern for my most precious tsarina.” that as much was true but the relief over seeing her face had his brow smoothing and his mouth lifting in a smile, sincerity ringing in his words, “my heart is warmed by the sight of your face, koshka.”
“you know,” tolyn started, leaning slightly down to murmur under his breath, his tone even and measured, “if you wanted to wander off when my back was turned, i’d give you a five minutes head start.” it had probably been the longest she’d stayed at a court function and for once, tolyn found himself wishing she would wait until his gaze was averted before slipping out from under his nose. this was probably important considering what had transpired at the wedding of the night king but the advisor’s voice had been droning on for what felt like three centuries— tolyn had almost fallen asleep twice. it was a wonder that guinevere hadn’t already tried to slip away.
he considered why she hadn’t— perhaps the murder at the night court had given his charge a good wake up call. ( convenient time to have a wake up call— just in time to listen to councilor boring give his monotone speech. ) perhaps this was her way of showing more support to lady rowan and if that were the case, he’d almost feel bad about asking her to wander off.
almost. this man was mad boring— he wasn’t sure he’d be able to jerk himself awake a third time.
In the wake of all that had transpired at the Beaumont-Wren wedding, Aurora was more desperate than ever before to find the solution to her problem that was growing direr and direr still with each day that passed. The iron-laced collar she wore around her neck, glamoured today to appear as an innocent heart-shaped locket of glimmering gold, felt as heavy as a sack of bricks wound around the ivory column of her neck, and even the slightest tilt or inclination of her sunshine-tressed head caused her to wince with pain. Alexander Barrett - if that was even his real name - was the bastard to defeat all bastards, as far as she was concerned, and after all of the damage he and his friends had caused within the Night Court, Aurora was bound and determined to do whatever she could to free herself from the spell he’d used to ensnare her.
There had to be something she could do. The enchantment that had been placed upon her - the binding agreement she had been tricked into - it was fae magic at the heart of it all, and that meant that there was far more knowledge to be found among the Fair Folk than would ever be present in the hivemind of the Resistance. It was with the same sort of desperation that one would normally expect from a caged, wounded animal that Aurora had allowed a visiting lord to take her by the hand and drag her to the back of one of the Orchards’ many mating cottages; in her clinging, rose-petal dress, and with her brilliant gossamer wings, she received no shortage of attention, and while she usually would have reveled the numerous pairs of eyes scanning up and down upon every inch of her lush, scantily-clad frame, her mind was focused elsewhere…for once, it wasn’t sex that she was seeking, but information. She’d done her research, and the man pinning her up against the trellis now was supposedly one who specialized in curse-breaking.
Could he be the one to save her, then?
“I want to talk,” she insisted breathlessly, delicate button nose scrunching up in distaste as she centuries-old lord - Dante, apparently - continued to ignore any and all of her attempts to converse in favor of sliding one of his large, heavily-ringed hands around to the curve of her ass; he squeezed roughly through the fine silk of her gown, grunting something about how sweet and soft she was for him, and the frustrated little nymph just barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes in response. “Listen - I didn’t come out here with you so that you could scratch me up in the rose bushes,” Aurora said with a firm shove of her dainty hands up against his broad chest, letting out a shaky exhalation as she looked up at him in the moonlit darkness. “I need your help, okay? And yes, if you’d like me to pay for it with sex, then fine, but not until I know for sure that you’re as good as they say.” A glittering, greedy sheen glossed over the lord’s hungry-eyed gaze then, and he nodded, clearly eager for Aurora to get on with it as she finished with, “What do you know about unbreakable bonds?”
it seemed like all any one across astralis could talk about was the beamont-wren wedding. not the ceremony or the extravagant reception or the fragile sense of peace that settled between the courts if only for a night but of course, the part that everyone always wanted to know: the gruesome murder that had soiled the whole affair. rumors ran like wildfire through those present and their ripples were reaching the ears of those who hadn’t been in attendance— but of course it wasn’t the rumors that alexei was interested in. the moment the news had reached his own ears of what had happened, alexei knew that it was only a matter of time for all of the courts to begin to mobilize, if only to have at the ready should something happen. mobilizing armies most assuredly meant alliances and in times like these, those could shift as easily as powdered snow in the wind.
he couldn’t be in every court at once and there were a handful where he was certain his affiliation with the winter court would only hinder him— but the nymphs could. and would certainly be privy to more information than he was.
— it wasn’t exactly easy to have access to the nymphs, the garden being forbidden to outsiders. well, at least, mostly forbidden. it was amazing what doors would open for the right amount of coin though alexei wasn’t sure if it had been worth it all that much; after all, it was something of an incredible longshot to bet on the nymphs sharing their knowledge with him. the secrets they held were power for them just as much as they were for alexei— he’d just have to find a way to convince them to share what they knew. again: incredible longshot.
he’d been wandering- trying to settle himself among those in the orchard without attracting any attention ( he didn’t want attention, not yet ) when he heard her voice. the huffing and grunting was a noise he was all too familiar with and while alexei could certainly guess what was happening behind the quaint cottage, curiosity got the best of him. eyes darting one way and the other to make sure he wasn’t followed, he slipped on silent feet down the side of the cottage, his back pressing against the stone wall, hiding him in shadow while his ears trained on her voice. there was a impatience in her voice, the words not quiet registering in alexei’s ears at first but he heard her question loud and clear: what do you know about unbreakable bonds?
that in itself was enough to pique his interest— unbreakable bond wasn’t exactly the sort of garden variety enchantment you just put on someone. the why was sure to be an interesting story that might lead to bigger discoveries along with other possibilities depending on what the old bastard said next. perhaps she should need help with this unbreakable bond— the kind of help that wouldn’t require anything on her part except to talk.
&&. cauldron above, TOLYN RYKER was just spotted in the fae lands — word has it HE is affiliated with THE DAY COURT. HE is a 153 /APPEARS 28 year old HIGH FAE. it’s been said that HE resembles JOHN BOYEGA. HE has been said to be LOYAL & PATIENT but also quite RESERVED & PERSISTENT. HE is currently serving as A GUARD IN THE DAY COURT.
CHILDHOOD ——
it had been a blessing the day they came into the world— his sister first, squalling her displeasure at being born to begin with, a red cord wrapped tight around her brown fist and he followed immediately after, sounding more surprised than his sister’s discontented wails at the new environment. the midwife had to pry the cord from her small fingers, commenting on how the little girl’s wails had grown to shrieks at the loss of connection to her brother and found that the two babes only quieted once they were both settled against their mother’s chest, snuffling against her warm skin, reaching tiny hands back for each other. how fortunate they were, their mother had said, to always have one another.
they named them tolyn and tavra and there isn’t a memory of his young childhood in the day court that doesn’t have her in it. tavra was elder by hardly a minute but from how the two interacted, one would think she was ages older than her brother. some would call her bossy or rude- the other children of those that served the high lord and lady of the day court refusing to with either of them if tavra was going to be making the rules- but tolyn never saw it that way and was quick to defend her. tavra wasn’t bossy— she was direct; she wasn’t rude— she was blunt. the funny thing was that for as much as the other children said those things, he never once saw them and who cared if the others wanted to play or not— they had each other, didn’t they?
the twins grew up in the golden city; their mother was a lady-in-waiting for a minor lady of the court and their father, a night pledged in service to the high lord. children can never tell the difference between highborn and lowborn, servant or princess— everyone is equal in the games played in the dry lawns or stretches of beach sand. tolyn never thought of his fellow playmates growing up to lead the court or fight under it’s banner or serve the house to pay of debts that had been passed onto them. his concern lay instead in who would follow him up to high alcoves to watch the processions of court, to watch the festivities or cheer alongside tavra and himself during games and tournaments. even as he grew and was made aware of the distinctions- because childhood innocence never gets to stay long- tolyn still held onto those friendships, clung to some even tighter as he grew older and walking the path alongside them.
tolyn always knew he would grow up to be a knight like his father before him and his father before him for generations. unlike how most children view legacies their parents leave them, it didn’t come with some heavy weight of dread to hang around his neck— no, tolyn had known from childhood that his path was already carved out for him but more than that, it was the right one. the only problem was that tavra wouldn’t go along with him on this journey— not couldn’t, but wouldn’t. while his interests lay in following the path that was set before him, she had wanted to carve her own, taking greater interests in her studies and in the inner politics of the court they had grown in as opposed to defending it. they wouldn’t speak much on it- this fork in the road that would take them in different directions from each other- even up to the point where the paths diverged, telling each other that it wouldn’t matter: they had each other regardless.
YOUNG ADULTHOOD ——
he was still a relatively young fae when he left his family to become a squire- the first step on his quest to knighthood. he along with two other boys from the golden city had been sent to apprentice in the court of a minor lord under the watchful eye of an old knight who had long since retired— the hulking, limping hardcase named cort. he’d seen countless battles, their stories told in scars all over his body and in the limp in his left leg- an old war wound dealt to him by a griffin from the winter court- and told him that he had even less patience than he had of his leg and to the boys credit, they learned that fact fast enough. it really only took one solid thunk of the gnarled wooden cane to the top of the head to get it— though tolyn was a slower learner than everyone else. it took him at least three smacks to get with the program.
over the years, cort would become mentor, teacher and friend to the boys under his care— three from the golden city and two from his own lord’s court. he taught them how to wield a blade to defend themselves, each other and their lords and when the blade was gone, he taught them how to use their fists and their wings. they were taught how to honor the lords and ladies and he gave them tools of diplomacy in the event their journey on the path took them before the high lord and lady or far from the sands of the day court. so that you don’t embarrass me, he gruffed when asked why they were given these tools of diplomacy, his cane swinging towards the head of the boy who’d asked. tolyn studied these especially hard, having never left the land of the day court in his life and his mind wondering what lay beyond the boundaries.
it would be years before he would return home to the golden city, still a fae in his youth and still training for the day he would take up his lord’s banner and ride under it but a stark difference from the childling he had been when he’d left. tolyn was not the only thing that had changed during that time; tavra had become nearly unrecognizable, having grown into the ‘bossiness’ or her youth and shaped it into confidence among the elite of the court that had been home to both of them. pride had filled his chest, watching her among them and knowing that at the rate she was progressing and her close friendship with those who would grow into leadership, her dreams of being an advisor were easily in her grasp.
she attributed her growth to her own mentor— one of the high lord’s advisors. though tavra looked at him with eyes that glittered with adoration, tolyn immediately felt uneasy around the older fae but he couldn’t quite put his finger one why. perhaps it was because his smile felt like a shark’s grin- too wide and too bright and a little oily- or the fact that when he spoke, there was something of a laugh hidden behind his tone— a joke hiding behind his eyes that tolyn had a feeling wasn’t funny at all. or maybe it was how the advisor’s eye would wander from his sister’s eager face and land on tolyn’s mother, standing to the side of her lady, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smirk that matched the joke tolyn wasn’t in on.
tavra had been eager to know her brother’s feelings on the man who had shaped her education over the last few years and when tolyn spoke true, he had never felt further apart from his sister than he did in that moment. he could practically feel her pulling away from him and the distance was greater than any physical distance that had ever stood between them. tavra spat venom in her hurt- saying that tolyn was jealous, that all the time he’d spent as a squire and all it had taught him was to be threatened in the face of a man who wielded power without the need of a sword or ax- and tolyn fired back with his own poison, snapping that tavra was so blinded by what she thought of as power that she couldn’t see her mentor for what he was—— though, what that was, he couldn’t give an answer to. not then anyway.
his father had been off- riding under the banner of his lord- when tolyn walked in on his mother and his sister’s teacher. though he wasn’t touching her when tolyn opened the door to her chambers, his eyes- carefully trained to pick out every last detail, no matter how miniscule by cort- had seen everything and pieced together the crime without a word: the shoulder of her robe slipping to curl around her bicep, the flush that darkened their faces, the way his mother wouldn’t meet his eyes and lifted a hand to try and hide the blooming love bite on her throat.
indignation and rage had followed his abrupt departure from his mother’s chambers and into his sister’s. you knew, he accused, you knew he had tempted our mother and you allowed him to shame her and our father! tavra’s denial fell on deaf ears— she could swear all she wanted that she didn’t know, cry until she had no tears left to give but tolyn couldn’t hear it. it felt like a deeper betrayal than seeing his mother’s unfaithfulness, that tavra had known and had allowed it to happen without any regards to their father, to him— so long as she got what she wanted. the distance between them widened all the more and the piece of himself that was tavra cried out at the division.
JOURNEY TO MANHOOD ——
tolyn returned to his training- to his teacher, to his brothers in arms, to what had become more of a home than the castle that had cradled him as a child. he fought, he road, he flew and time passed in the blink of an eye; tolyn’s training was completed and while he had yet to be knighted, he had earned his place as a member of the seaside lord’s guard. he spent decades in those walls and those lands, flying under that lord’s banner to defend and protect. that path he’d set out on so long ago stretched out before him endless and tolyn knew who he was and what he was meant to do with his life— how fortunate that he had achieved that sense of purpose that some never found?
purpose has a sister and her name is destiny and while purpose puts us on a path, destiny will sometimes stick her foot out to trip us up.
her name was elonia and she had a booth in the market where she sold the most beautiful beadwork. every color under the sun in different types of beads- stone, clay, glass- that were woven together to tell a story and tolyn found himself captivated by it. he would make excuses to patrol the market only to linger at her booth, examining her wares with interest but reserving the majority of it for her— for the stories of her customers and the days that had passed since he’d last seen her (though the time between visits grew shorter and shorter), the things that made her laugh and the memories that brought a bittersweetness to her expression. he wanted to know her in the deepest way and when she returned his attention- acknowledging his awkward attempts at courtship- tolyn was certain he’d never felt happier in his life.
he couldn’t promise her much. though he was grown and no longer training, his allegiance was still to his lord and he had entered into his service for the next fifty years. he couldn’t shower her in gold and jewels or give her a life without hardship but he could promise to love her more and more every day until the end of eternity. he could promise her stability and faithfulness. he could promise her love and for whatever reason that was enough. elonia was golden radiance and tolyn would’ve gladly gone blind— but nothing gold can stay.
it had been a case of the wrong place at the wrong time— there was no other explanation for it in tolyn’s mind, no other rational for what they’d done to her. human headhunters had caught her on her way home from the market, slaughtering her and stealing her wings, leaving her body on the road for another merchant to find. tolyn had waited for hours, the sense that something was wrong growing with every passing moment until his brothers-in-arms had arrived at his door, their faces solemn with the news they carried.
his grief had felt endless- an ocean with no bottom and no land in sight, threatening to swallow him whole and drown him. it came in stages- the loss that left his chest feeling hollowed out only to be filled with rage at her attackers, swearing vengeance and that he would avenge her death, only for that vengeance to shift back into that drowning grief. thank heaven he wasn’t alone— whenever the grief threatened to drown him, he was pulled back up by one of his fellow guards, his brothers and sisters in arms. their companionship, patience and love helped him in the years that followed elonia’s death, bringing him out of the ocean and back onto dry land. they wouldn’t let him go and tolyn knows- and has sworn as much- that he owes each of them a debt of gratitude.
THE LONG ROAD HOME ——
when his half of a century in service to the lord was up, tolyn was faced with a new crossroads and this time? he chose to go home. he hadn’t spoken to his sister or mother in over half a century following the betrayal he’d witnessed. his father had written a few letters here and there but tolyn rarely wrote back, finding himself forced with the knowledge that he knew about his mother’s infidelity and not knowing how to tell his father. the desire to run in the opposite direction and not have to face these confrontations with the people he loved most in the world was strong but... he’d been taught better. cort and his father, his mother, tavra, elonia— they’d taught him to be better than that and so he would be.
his return to the golden city had yielded in a much less anticlimactic resolution than he’d built up in his head. the first night of his return he’d decided to tell his father what he knew only to come to find out that his father had been aware the entire time— that the power tavra had attributed to the advisor was very real and to not upset his children’s chances in court, tolyn’s father had kept his mouth shut. the sacrifice of his father’s pride for him- for tavra- left the young man feeling ashamed— thoughts of had i known now what i didn’t know then in relation to his father’s letters swirled around in his mind but were met with the sweetest words: i forgive you.
tolyn never got a chance to reconcile with his mother. according to his father, upon realizing that her husband knew of her infidelity, she had spent hours begging for his forgiveness which he readily gave only to disappear in the night. rumors around the other ladies- in- waiting was that she had gone to their lady and begged to be released from her service, claiming she feared for her life. she and her lover had disappeared into the night and the rumor mill claimed that they might have slipped off into the territory of the dawn court. to this day, neither he, tavra nor their father have received any word from her on her whereabouts.
it was the reconciliation with tavra that mended his spirit. they’d both taken their own paths and grown separately but it was the forgiveness in her eyes when he acknowledged how he had been wrong to lay the blame at her feet the brought the distance that had kept them apart from each other for so long to a close. a lifetime had passed in the time since he’d last seen her face and while he knew he’d never feel whole again after the loss of elonia, having his sister- the other half of himself- back where they both belonged in each other’s lives was the closest he’d felt in years.
SKILLS & TALENTS ——
THE ART OF PRINCESS WRANGLING: he was not the first to be assigned as the personal guard for princess guinevere and it was always with something akin to amusement that he watched his brother in arms struggle and complain about her disappearing acts. he’d been back for a little over a year before the task was handed to him. oh, he’d heard the stories. she was always trying to run off, always doing things contrary to her station and position— frankly, he couldn’t help but find the entire situation comical. that was of course, until it became his situation.
the first year was an exercise in patience— unlike his mentor, tolyn had miles and miles of patience and perhaps that was what made their match work. no matter how many times she ran off or how many meetings she skipped out on or avoided, he was there to bring her back. truth be told, he finds gwen a little funny— that wild child attitude never failing to bring a quick smirk to his face and a snort huffing through his nose. it’s been five years that he’s been her personal guard and not much has changed; the princess still runs off and he still goes off to collect her. the only difference is now he has no problem telling her highness how her running off inconveniences him— always with that tell-tale smirk and snort.
COMBAT: whether it’s armed or hand to hand, tolyn is able to hold his own, particularly when gwen’s safety is at stake. he’s trained with a blade, ax and bola, always carrying the latter at his hip despite which of the former he carries. due to being from the day court, his wings are exceptionally strong and he is adept at aerial combat as well.
COURT POLITICS/ETIQUETTE: he should have paid closer attention to cort’s lessons growing up because frankly, tolyn has a very small understanding of court politics and etiquette. really, most of what he does know comes out of common sense— which sadly, he could use more of most of the time
TLDR; big heart empty head your honor featuring dysfunctional family that gets it together and dead girlfriends.
&&. cauldron above, ALEXEI KOVALCHIK was just spotted in the fae lands — word has it HE is affiliated with THE WINTER COURT. HE is a 28 year old HUMAN. it’s been said that HE resembles LOGAN LERMAN. HE has been said to be CHARMING & INTELLIGENT but also quite MANIPULATIVE & VENGEFUL. HE is currently serving as A COURTESAN / SPY FOR THE HUMAN RESISTANCE.
TRIGGER WARNING: parent death, mild gore
CHILDHOOD ——
the second son to a traveling bard, alexei’s earliest memories are those of packed dirt tavern floors, the warmth of the fire to keep away the winter court’s chill and the sound of his father’s fingers dancing over strings while his voice stirred up images of long ago heroes and long dead kings. his mother’s skirts would swirl in layers of color, feet scuffing against the oiled floors and people would clap, tossing coin at her feet while his father laughed. his older brother- alexander, his sasha- would lead him through the tightly pressed crowds or crawl under the wooden tables, their small and nimble fingers untying knots in coin purses or slipping into pockets with the owners of said coin purses and pockets none the wiser. sometimes, their papa would bring them up to sing with him and afterwards a well dressed merchant or perfumed lady with a low cut dress would press a coin into sasha’s or his hands and comment on what good boys they were, brush their dark hair from their faces and tell them to remember the words they were singing because they were important. of course they were important— so much so that his father would lose everything because of them.
songs are powerful weapons in the hands of those who know how to use them; a song can comfort the heartbroken, celebrate moments of joy but they can also incite anger, call for rebellion. to this day alexei has no idea if that’s what his father had intended to do with his songs as they traveled through the lands of the winter court and beyond into cloverwood forest but as he grew older, he started to understand the words that would follow in their wake. he can remember his father being warned once when he was seven— the owner of the tavern telling his father in hushed tones under his breath to avoid those songs- to stick with the lovelorn ballads or hearty jigs- but to leave the others tucked away tonight. ilya had done no such thing even with three fae paladins sitting tucked away in the audience, his fingers strumming the balalaika as yearning tones painted pictures of epic battles, of freedoms won- ripped from the hands of those that would keep the heroes of the songs in subjugation.
they found his mother the next morning, laid at the door of their caravan. sasha had pulled alexei’s face into his chest, refusing to let him see but curious eyes will find a way; peeking as much as he could around sasha’s arms, he remembers her dark hair hanging limply and her head lolling back unnaturally, dead eyes staring back at him before his own squeezed tightly shut to try and banish the nightmare. they buried his mother in the village cemetery, in a pauper’s field. they had always been travelers, never staying in one place for more than a few months— never being tied to any one place; standing beside sasha, gripping hard to his cloak and watching his father and another man from the village shovel frozen ground on the wrapped body of his mother, he thought from that moment on, they were tethered to that place. they’d always manage to find their way back.
the days that followed were frozen in time. his father for once in alexei’s life was silent. no laughter, no singing, no reprimanding his brother and him for being too rowdy nor sobs of grief or wails of loss— just silent tears and an empty gaze. he stayed silent for months and the caravan didn’t move; it was sasha that kept everything going. sasha who worked as an errand boy for merchants, who scrubbed down tables and cleared empty tankards at the tavern to pay for food. sasha who made sure there was always wood for the fire and made sure their father ate what was set before him. those months of silence shaped alexei’s entire perception of his brother, shifting from seeing him as just another fourteen year old prat to the living incarnate of the hero from his father’s songs. in his eyes, sasha can do no wrong.
CHILDHOOD INTERRUPTED ——
the silence didn’t last forever. the caravan moved, his father plucked at his gusli and there was singing. it took a while for the joy to come back to him and the sound from his instruments come out lighthearted instead of mournful but the joy never quite reached his eyes again.
there was singing- taverns allowing his father to sit beside the warm fires and pluck out his tunes for a bit of coin- but the songs were not the same. sure, there were still the love ballads, the merriment jigs that would raise the whole room to dance but the heroes laid silent in their graves and the hard won freedoms stayed buried in far off legend. sasha had said that after what happened to mama that papa wouldn’t risk it something else happening. alexei understood of course, but as with most things like heroes and adventures and the yearning for freedom, they never stay buried for long.
three years after they buried his mother, his father sang about the heroes again. tales of every day people vanquishing monsters with eyes that burned like fire, claws that could crumble bones to dust and wings that mocked their foes on the ground— tales of loss and sacrifice where good always triumphed and in the end, the demon always laid dead on the ground. it started out like it did before- the cheers and stomping feet that would drown the tavern, the little acts of rebellion that would follow in their wake, the whispers that traveled ahead of them. the longer it went on, some taverns would refuse him and the fear in their eyes would speak volumes of what sort of repercussions they feared from the fae should they give him an audience.
it was a festival for the new year that gave ilya his largest audience. he started in the normal way- ballads, jigs, epics- before his stories turned to the new material, his voice drumming up images of rebellion, of bright wings ripped from the backs of monsters. a minor lord of the winter court had come to take part of the festival sent one of his guards to silence ilya but when the guard tried to shut him up, the bard swung his balalaika upside the fae’s head and that’s when chaos started. the fight- if one could even call it that- didn’t last more than a few minutes but as soon as alexei saw the glint of the sword disappear under his father’s breast, the world stopped and it felt as if it would never end.
he remembers screaming— legs buckling and spinning underneath him uselessly at the same time. sasha’s arms grabbing him roughly around the waist as he screamed himself hoarse, dragging him away from the panic stricken crowd and the shouts of the fae for order— the rest is darkness until he realized he was back in the caravan. sasha pushed the horses as fast as they could manage, putting as much space between them and the village as possible.
YOUNG ADULTHOOD ——
it was just the two of them now— sasha and alexei. sasha had no inclination to be a bard like their father but the nomadic lifestyle they had grown with was not easily abandoned. they traveled from village to village spending months on end traversing the cloverwood forest, working wherever there was work to be had. scrubbing tables or mucking horse stalls or building a new barn, no job was too grand or too low for them. sasha would work harder labor with the men of the village, leaving alexei to the taverns and inns where they would eat their meals and find community wherever they went. that was how alexei found galina, a middle aged woman who had once been a courtesan in the court of the high lord of winter who owned the tavern that employed him as a busboy every time they stopped by the village outside of the winter court’s castle, regardless of how long he would be there. so long as galina was around, alexei knew he would always have gainful employment.
it was galina who encouraged him to take out his father’s gusli, his fingers plucking at the strings, the sound going from discordant to melodious under galina’s gentle tutelage and praise. under his breath as he cleaned the tables, he would sing the songs his father had taught him and it was due to galina’s playful teasing for a song that he gave his first performance. a smile pulled at his lips and a laugh rang in his voice, his fingers plucking the strings while a few drunks clapped and galina hitched her skirt and danced, the heels of her shoes tapping against the wood floor. the song ended and the scattered claps that came from around the tavern were nothing near the thunderous cheers his father would get but alexei understood why his father did what he did— there was power in the songs.
perhaps he had gotten too lost in it— in the feeling of eyes on him, the pretty girls and how their skirts twirled, his fingers dancing across strings and his voice bouncing against the wooden rafters— to notice what was happening with sasha. it seemed as if they spent longer and longer time in the village outside matovaya zemlya- not that alexei ever minded- with sasha always being called back for another job— sometimes jobs that would have him away from the caravan for days at a time, leaving alexei on his own ( carefully watched over by galina ). he’d never thought to question it, trusting sasha implicitly— besides his brother always came back. except for the time that he didn’t.
sasha was a week late before two men alexei had met before only in passing- knowing they worked on the same jobs as sasha but never being interested enough to press and see what jobs these were- told him that his brother had been working with the human resistance for the last five years; he had been on a mission and had gotten himself caught. that was how alexei came to know the resistance and found himself swearing his allegiance without a second thought— his brother had been taken alive and would be kept that way for what he knew and they could help him get sasha back.
COURTESAN IN TRAINING ——
as charming as he had learned to be over the years, no one told anything of any real importance to a sixteen year old songteller. he was too young to have really made any sort of name for himself as a bard or court minstrel and the legacy he carried with him wasn’t exactly one that would allow him to move freely among the fae— definitely wouldn’t earn him their trust. that was where galina stepped in. she told him that at one time, she had held enough state secrets that could’ve brought down three different courts— she could teach him how to do the same.
for two years she taught him the intricacies of being a courtesan. she taught him the rules of court, the titles, the secrets she knew about each one; he learned how to dance, how to heal with medicine and his hands, how to listen. she taught him war terms to know how to deal with guards and knights and soft talk to charm the handmaidens and ladies in waiting. her hand guided his, teaching him the names and uses of various poisons and potions, different inoculations and precautions he could take to protect himself against any poisons someone might slip him. at the same time, he worked with the human resistance to learn how to defend himself. the sword felt too clunky in his hand and an ax felt too barbaric for him— but the ring dagger felt at home in his hand. there was room for improvement to be sure, but his confidence with the weapons grew to be damn near unshakeable.
a lifetime of knowledge and skill and he had learn it all fast if he was going to be able to get the information he wanted as quickly as possible— if he was going to get sasha away from whatever hole they had thrown him in and to safety as soon as possible. when he was eighteen, galina used what connections she still had left from her days as a courtesan to have him presented at court, giving him her last name ‘kovalchik’ to carry him with recognition and hide his history from those that might know and use it against him.
TOUCHED BY FROST ——
that was ten years ago and in that time, alexei has made himself a presence at court. his home and loyalty is the winter court but he is known in the spring and autumn courts as well, spinning a web of political connections across the land over the last decade. he’s made plenty of allies as well as enemies in all of the courts which has led to him having a bit of a paranoid streak though it’s one he hides well. he keeps his ring daggers close, their tips dipped in fast acting poisons in the event that someone suspect too much or decide to act first against him. he’s fed dozens of secrets and information to the human resistance, still searching for the one secret that will lead to his brother.
alexei isn’t stupid— he knows it’s been ten years but he can’t give up the hope that sasha is still out there and alive because if he does then what is he even doing any of this for? there has to be a reason for it all. so, he holds onto the hope that his brother is alive in some fae’s dungeon, still refusing to give up information on the human resistance and waiting for alexei to be the one to rescue him for once.
time scarcely touches the faces of the fae but it leaves it’s mark on him. there are lines at the corners of his eyes, between his brows and frost streaks his hair— a staunch difference from the fresh faced boy he had been once upon a time. there’s a fear in the back of his mind of his time at court getting shorter— of getting to the age where he would be dismissed from court and not being around the fae. alexei knows that he’s addicted to the fae’s magic— to their games. he’s a member of the resistance and yes, of course he believes in the message... he’s just lacking in that whole ‘kill all fae’ feeling of revenge. what makes it worse is the knowledge that he should feel that way- it was the fae that murdered his parents, held his brother captive for ten years. but the thought of living in a world without the fae- without the magic- is suffocating.
SKILLS & TALENTS ——
MUSIC: alexei grew up with music, sitting at his father’s feet and watching his fingers dance over the strings- strumming or plucking- and fell in love. it was two parts natural affinity for the instruments and one part training from galina that he mastered the BALALAIKA and GUSLI. his younger aspirations of following in his father’s footsteps to be a bard— a songteller— has given him a large collection of folk songs, most native to the winter court or more specifically, the human settlements outside of it, though he has a handful from each of the various courts tucked in his back pocket. his voice is a soft baritone that can convey lifetimes of longing and heartbreak from the old songs or lift the spirit to make you light on your feet in a hearty jig.
POISONS: a talent he learned from his mentor galina; she taught him hundreds of poisons, their symptoms and antidotes and how to protect himself from poisons that one might slip him. his weapon of choice- a pair of ring daggers he keeps in sheaths strapped to the side of his chest- are dipped in various poisons.
MINOR HEALING: galina taught him how to treat a surface wound, what herbs eased a stomach ache or what roots to chew when one had a headache— very basic first aid. he was also taught massage and basic chiropractic skills. after all, as a courtesan, he is trained in the art of pleasure and what is more erotic than a relaxing massage? and what’s more satisfying than getting your neck popped and being able to sleep well?
MODERATE SELF DEFENSE: he was taught by members of the resistance how to fight- not the street fights he would get in with boys of the village growing up but a real fight- and how to win. he wasn’t satisfied with a weapon until he found the ring daggers and he learned to handle them with a practiced grace and accuracy. is he a perfect shot? not at all. but he’s a damn good one.
STRATEGY: alexei has spent the last decade whispering in the ears of those at court, sharing what little secrets or information he’s gathered here and there, watching alliances form or break just over the use of his words— a new song to sing. he keeps track of all the key players and their relationships and any other information he can gather on them, using it to play against the others at court.
ESPIONAGE: he’s fed dozens of secrets and confidential pieces of information to the human resistance while maintaining his appearance at court. after ten years, he’s become well acquainted with how to play this game.
wanted connections will come! but i’m also open to any and all connections you might have in mind. i’m so sorry this is unbearably long and i can’t even think of a good way to make a tldr. but hi, i’m sam and i’m so excited to plot with you guys!
