Winds That Will Be — Giselle's Journal
"Why
Did He Kiss Me That Way?"
Giselle's Journal.
Session XX-XX-XX.
© 2000 Sara Mueller
| I have
re-hung my spells and summoned some of my wardrobe and sent an inquiry to
the clothier that the concierge suggested might be appropriate, and I have
taken two showers, brushed my hair until my shoulder is sore, and I still
cannot sleep. My mind will not be still. My body will not be still. If I
had Ailill's trump I would call him and it is a good thing that I can't
because I can't begin to think of how to ask him about his views on extra-affair
affairs. So here I am, writing a letter that will go nowhere but into the fire - along with the sheets of paper beneath it for fear that anyone will know what a fool I am. I was just starting to think I had gotten a handle on things, on how I could be useful in the making of this new reality, and on how I might be able to preserve some of the elements of the past that I am irrationally fond of. I really did think that. I didn't realize how much I wanted Dagda to be playing some kind of clever trick on Chaos by being 'Mandor'. I knew that reality was the other way, that the trick is on the Realms, on me. I had just refused to feel it. Merlin, that still, still way he held his face, the calm in his voice when he thought that I was Mandor's tool said everything, like a dagger in my chest. I cannot believe that I cried. I cannot believe I was so unprepared for Merlin's response. I did know, in a way, what the truth was. I knew. I thought I knew. Perhaps Merlin was only kind to seduce me and hurt Mandor, but his voice was so soft, and his breath on my hair… How can I know? I have only known him for a few hours. It was the argument he gave me, to persuade me. That it would hurt Mandor, that it would make me the broker of myself instead of someone else's asset. One of the hard things is that Merlin is partly right. If I did this - whether in reality or in appearance, it would bring me some power; but it would be Merlin's power, the king's power, and it would only last as long as he did not cast me aside. I would be the king's whore... following in my mother's footsteps? That is what Lugh would say. Even as it did him good, he would not understand the practicality of it. He would hate me. He might even strike me, if he learned it when were alone. Why shouldn't he? I'm the daughter of a king, not some common slut to waste myself in... empty pleasure. But I'm still thinking about it. I can still feel how his mustache rasped, the way he smelled, and how his mouth tasted; and it was real. It was real, not glamoured. Everything about it was real. And I'm so stupid that I started to kiss him back. If he hadn't paused when he did, I would have let go... And I can't stop thinking that I'd like to kiss him again. How could I be so stupid?! I have always been so safe. I was safe with Lugh because he was my brother and then my liege, safe with Dagda/Mandor because he was my teacher and my father's friend and more my father than Finvarra in some ways. I've been safe from anyone's opinion because in the Realms I was my father's baby and in Amber my mother's. I have always railed against the restrictions on me, against the walls that they built around me, never for one moment thinking that while those walls keep me in… they kept the world out. I'm afraid now, of myself, of my weakness. If I went to Merlin's bed, could it be anything but another cage? It would be my choice, but… And isn't it what I was raised to be? A man's toy? A perfect Fae Princess to dangle on a powerful man's watch chain like a jewel. Haven't I been trained to this, as Merlin was trained to be a king? Why did he kiss me that way? Is that the way he kisses all his women? No wonder there are so many different women's clothes in his house. Ailill is so gentle, in spite of what the world says of him. He is always so sweet, so respectful, as if I were made of glass, as if I were the most precious thing in the world. Even when he is at his most passionate, he makes love to me as if I were a Princess. Merlin... he, he kissed me as if I were… a woman. I was without glamour - totally without it, not even the dressed down, 'charming country lass' sort that I have worn with Ailill, and to work in, and to irritate my mother. I was… naked. Merlin did not understand me when I said it, of course. He is not accustomed to the Fae. No one has seen me that way since I was, well, since I can remember. He saw… me. He saw me and he said I was perfect. He said I was perfect without glamour, in clothes that didn't fit with my hair falling down... and now I'm crying and I shouldn't be, but he… wanted me, just me, as I was right then. And I wanted him. It would have been so easy to be the king's whore. To let him 'ruin' me. He kept telling me he was not nice, not noble, but when I was undecided he... had mercy enough to let me go. If he is not 'nice', then it's with regret; and that is unlike anyone I know. And I will have to see him again. I will have to decide. I thought that what I have with Ailill is passion, and I am such a fool. I want to talk to someone, and there isn't anyone to talk to. Dagda, Mandor, whoever he is, I cannot talk to him. He will be so calm, and so calmly disappointed that I could not even do this one simple thing of getting Merlin to investigate the assassination attempt. I completely forgot about it. I was struck dumb, struck stupid. I thought I was clever, but then I suppose all stupid people think that. Mother… she is so much more a mother now than she was only weeks ago. I think I would give anything to be able to throw myself into a mother's arms and just cry. But she has not been my mother in that way until just a little while ago. Flora, what if she is Flora when she is faced with this? What if she is that cool, examining, perfect creature? If I think about it, I will throw up. Just like I used to do before my examinations. Even if she tried to be a mother, what could she say? I have been an orphan so long, have dreamed so long about what having a real mother would be like that I am bound to be wrong. I am my only asset. My body is the only thing that is likely to hold any power in this new world. Lugh, oh Lugh, for a little while you are my base of power and I must spend your coin while you live. If you can change, you might last; but that kind of delusion smacks of hoping that Dagda was not Mandor. I do not think that it will be long before you are part of the past, and then being your sister will be as hollow as being Finvarra's daughter. Mandor thinks that Ailill's position is tenuous. I... I know that. He says that Ailill is heroic. I wish I could believe otherwise, but I know my lover a little better than that. I regret, and I am afraid. I am the lady who felled Lord Ailill. I do not want to be that lady! I love him, but suddenly I'm not sure it is the kind of love that I thought it was. I have never been lost before. Why do I keep thinking of him?! I have thought of Ailill, looked forward to being in his arms, but this physical restlessness is intolerable. How is it that I say I am of the Realms, and acknowledge openly that we are a people of passion; yet I am caught so completely by surprise when it is true? My body begs for something that I would have scorned yesterday. That I scorned only this afternoon. I burn for something more, and less, than polite, chivalrous passion. What I want is real, sticky, base... but not empty. Could I settle for, how did he put it, 'the sheer, empty pleasure of it'? Even if I could go to Ailill, to feel his touch, would those cool hands put out this fire? I could not be honest, I could not say what I want. I could not be this stranger that possesses my body with him. I am afraid of what he would think of me. I am afraid to shatter his belief in me. I do love him, I think. The thought of hurting him is making me cry again. It is not fair, it is not fair! The stories lie! Why does a stranger do this to me when the man I say I love cannot? Is it that I have Amber's blood? Am I too Fae? When I remember Merlin kissing me, my knees are wobbly and I have other... more visceral reactions. Everything I said, everything he said... it was... it was laughable, how badly I handled the situation. Every word I said was like pumping the bellows of a forge. And that is the wrong thing to say too. I illustrate my own idiocy. If the physical were not bad enough, my mind is as weak as my body. I want someone to hold me, to shut out this confusion for even an hour, and Merlin would. He would hold me, if only for a little while. Is my ambition for more than that anything but ego? It would be so easy to persuade myself that pride is hollow. Isn't that what the Thing, Eve, taught Flora? Worse, worse, if he were in a place where glamour did not desert me... how easy to kiss him with honeyed lips, the kisses that mortals will pine and die for. Would it do anything to Merlin? Would I want it to? I do not even know him! I do not even know him. It would make a place for me in Chaos, but for how long? I could not be the link to the Fae that Merlin would want me to be if I were to tumble into his bed. Lugh would cast me off as my mother's child. It is tempting, to think of for one moment wiping that smug smirk off of Mandor's face. If I thought Flora would be angry it might even tip the balance, but the new woman that is my mother might cry. At least I didn't start crying when I was changing into my own clothes. I would have looked like a complete idiot, as if he could think anything else of me. I wonder, I wonder if I could keep him. I wonder if I could get him to marry me. How does one... catch a man? No, absolutely not. I will not get in line with those biting, scratching, bloodless bitches... but what if he loved me? What if, by not getting in that line, by running, I could make him chase me. What if he really loved me? Not that storybook, cleave only unto thee crap, but loved... me. The me without the glamour. The me with my hair falling down. It would be easy to love him, if he is half as charming after a seduction as he is before. On the other hand, he has a closet full of women's clothes and at least one ex-lover who wants him dead, so that may be a bit much to hope for. It would be a way out of the trap of marrying a Chaosian and tying himself to his wife's House. I could give him the same position of independence that his series of flings could, but with a tie to the Realms and to Amber. It could be made to look like a political marriage. Maybe it would be. If we tired of one another, well, let's go on as we've begun, with brutal honesty. I lied about that possessiveness thing. I honestly don't think that I would care if my husband had other ladies… as long as I could be sure that we remained good friends. As long as he could not put me aside. What hold could I possibly have that he could not put me aside, and what in the name of The Derga's toenail clippings am I babbling about?! This is lust, nothing more. It burns itself out. On the other hand, I thought I was in love, too. And don't Fae loves, so deep, so vauntedly pure, fade in the end? Isn't that one of the truisms of Fae love, that it doesn't last? Is that different from lust? Is duration the only difference in them? He was so funny, with his questions. The cockles of his heart getting warm. Ridiculous man, he probably hasn't a heart to have cockles of… did the Corwin thing bother me, did I mind his beard... he was... I don't know how he was. Did I turn coward or get smart? Would he have treated me any differently if I'd been a high class whore? If that is how he treats prostitutes, then at least he has that much kindness. I am hopeless and I am stupid and if this is one of Dagda's little tests, I think I flunked. |