With no small sense of pride, her Grace, Duchess Aurora ap Fiona entered the Commoner mews of Freedom. To mortal eyes the old town hall didn’t seem like much. But to the Enchanted it was often abuzz with the glamour of debate, its very seeming transformed into something reminiscent of early democracy. Which, of course is what she wanted. Her Uncle and predecessor had given the commoners this hold as a kindness and sign of respect. She increased its rights as a sign of her own beliefs. Let them discuss democracy, or communism, or even the outdated monarchy that she personally thought was best put away, but at least they were talking and thinking. Her voile was simple, nothing fancy. She and Ewan had talked about it. Her husband was a good man and she was glad she’d shared her title and power with him, despite his Traditionalist stubbornness. But he worried too much about appearances some times. Today’s audience would be childlings, and intimidating them with silk and lace or steel and fluttering cloak was the last thing she had in mind. Sidhe were people, like any other kith. THAT was the message she had to spread. Her raven black hair descended lazily about her shoulders on plain crimson voile. Harold, the old Boggan, made some wry comments about his lady liege’s choices of voile as well, in good humor. Her herald had served her uncle before and now served her and her husband with the wisdom, kind-heartedness, and hidden smugness at his indispensability that marked many of his kith. She had to point out that he was hardly in his Court finest himself. The gray haired herald’s fanciest bit of voile was his own tabard with the ducal symbol upon it. After a lively debate with him on the way here, things ended as she thought they should have: he having gotten the grump need for advising the younger generations out of his system and her getting her way anyway. Aurora was less than pleased with the guards along, but, in these dangerous times, she could understand, and they meant well. The four Trolls hung behind her like large blue shadows. She’d have most of them wait outside during the talk. She was actually looking forward to this. So to, it seemed, were the childlings. A few balloons had been put up, as had a banner that said “Aurora Day”. She almost beamed when she saw no mention of her title had slipped into the decorations, though a few drawings of her with a crown were done in crayon. Roughly twenty of them from ages six to ten (though it was always hard to tell with changelings) gathered around on a floor, gawking, a few bowed, but most gawked. A delightful mix of almost every kith was there, though her own was missing. Still, she thought this was how it should be; together, each with their own ways but united even in their differences.Harold inclined his head to the children. “Young ladies and gents…” he announced theatrically, old eyes dancing, “I present to you the Duchess Aurora of Twin Hills.” With that, he moved aside. While Aurora wondered if the mention of her title was at the insistence of her husband or Harold’s own stubborn streak, she had to smile nevertheless at the cheers that came from the majority of the childlings. Young faces lit up with wonder and curiosity. Some few eyed her a touch suspiciously, but even that was adorable. She spoke to them gently, and rather than taking the seat provided, sat down on the floor before them, with them, Indian style. “Hello everyone. It’s a pleasure to see you all. My name is Aurora and I wanted to keep you up to date on what’s been going on these days.” She watched them shuffle about, some leaning forward as if to better catch her words, and she continued. “First, I’ll answer any questions you have. Who wants to go first?” She smiled again.One Pooka girl’s hand shot up instantly, her whiskers aquiver as she asked earnestly, “Are you a GOOD tyrant, or a bad tyrant?” Aurora laughed musically and responded, “A leader or ruler is only as good as his subjects. I’d like to think that means I’m a good leader.” The childlings beamed at her praise, but one Nocker boy blurted with concern in his voice, “But some Sidhe are bein’ mean in other places. Will they be mean here? Will they take-” Concern was turning into fear, so Aurora interrupted then and there. “Absolutely not.” She said firmly, shaking her head. The boy finished with a “-Freedom away?” then looked at her curious again, her emphatic denial catching his attention. She continued. This needed to give them confidence and besides, she meant it. “There is no chance. Everyone knows better than to attempt oppression here by now.” Harold leaned on his walking staff listening, unaware or ignoring the Pooka childling that was now mimicking his movements almost precisely. Aurora knew he’d have opinions on her words he’d voice later. His counsel would be welcome, but she hoped he knew better than to try to change her course on some matters. A young girl of Harold’s kith, sighed dreamily, “Is Duke Ewan as handsome as they say?” Several other childlings rolled their eyes. Some groaned. Aurora could not help but grin. “I think he’s the handsomest man alive.”One Eshu lad charged on boldly, “My mentor says you’re okay for a noble but that monarchy is all old and moldy. Why can’t we vote everywhere?” His curiosity and confusion was obvious. Harold gave a subtle rub of his own temples. Aurora could practically read his thoughts. Yes, it was definitely a good thing Duke Ewan wasn’t here to field that one. Aurora, though, seized this opportunity gleefully to sow a few of her own seeds. “Old habits die hard. Sidhe are pretty unused to anything but monarchy, so they’re a little afraid of change. I was lucky enough to have forward thinking mentors so I know the benefits that equality and democracy bring. They’ve been good for the mortal world, they can be good for us.” Harold winced as his duchess happily arranged for her own job’s demise in the future, and mouthed quietly “A bit much, don’t you think?” Despite the disapproving comment, Aurora knew he couldn’t really get mad at her for being who she was. She shot him an impish grin. The childlings, of course, cheered. Most here were local, and their parents or mentors were the ones who debated and talked of democracy, socialism (and often simply monarchy reform); it was hard not to pick things up in this sort of environment. One little Troll girl, younger than most of the others despite her size, blurted out, “What about the High King? How comes we can not find him…NOwhere?” Her worry was tangible. Soothingly, Aurora responded, “It’s a big country, and trods connect the world, the Dreaming, so many places, he could be anywhere…” Behind her, one Troll guard entered, seeming hesitant to intrude, he bowed low. Aurora nodded to Harold to see what was going on, and stayed focused on the childlings. While Harold went to the guard to exchange quiet words, Aurora looked about. “Any other questions?” She almost missed the Sluagh’s whisper amid the low mumuring of the childlings. “What about the Dark Kin?” the boy’s low mutter somehow made it to her ears, “Will they kill us all?” “No, of course not.” Her blue eyes assured as much as her words. “We will fight them off. They and the Fomorians lost to us, and will again.” A fierce protectiveness rose in her at the mention of the Fir Bholg and the Black Horned Lord that sought to unite them against the Kithain. “What does a Duchess DO anyways?” One baffled childling asked, but Aurora could not help but notice the guard had departed, and Harold was looking a bit nervous. Her old friend was not one to spook lightly. “Excuse me a moment, “ Aurora said gently, and motioned to Harold. The Herald tapped over, and whispered in her ear. “Your Grace, a Bholg, apparently wounded, was seen in the area. A few guards went to capture him, and heal him up for questioning. I told them to go ahead, but be careful.” Aurora nodded and turned back to the childlings, putting her trust in her men. “A Duchess...does a lot of paperwork. It's not really as exciting as quests, but some people like it.” She grinned playfully at the childling who’d asked. “I’d rather quest.” one faun said with a smile of his own, eyes alight under buds that would one day be horns. “See?” Aurora smiled still, ”It’s not for everyone.” Then, outside the holding, was the clang of metal on metal. The Duchess’ hand went to her hilt at the sound and she gestured to the guard to see what was happening. The guard immediately stuck his head out, to investigate, then staggered back, clutching at his eye, a spear imbedded in the socket. “Good God!” Harold stepped back from the sight, and looked to the Duchess. The childlings screamed at the impaled troll, save of course for one Redcap nine year old who simply gawked and said “Coool.” “Stay calm everyone.” Aurora pulled forth the bauble that would flicker flash her and some few others to safety, and handled it to her Herald. “Harold, take them somewhere safe. Use this if you can’t get out any other way. I’m going to help Sir Tyrrin.” Though she suspected the noble troll was beyond much help, she had to try. “Your Grace...” Harold protested, “ I can't leave you like this. This was made to get you to safety if need be, and you know it only takes three!” Aurora turned to the childlings, assurance in her voice. “Everyone, follow Harold. He'll keep you safe.” She side glanced to Harold as the childlings gathered about him like white on rice. “Harold. Do it. I can defend myself, they can’t.” Her tone was firm. Driven by fealty, and the plea of childlings in need, the old Boggan bowed. “I…Yes your Grace.” He herded them like sheep, staff directing, “To the trods children.” And he tried to make his way to the back of the hold. Aurora went to the door, checking on Sir Tyrrin, realizing he was likely already dead. She bent down, and swallowed at the sight of the grievous wound. Heatherbalming was beyond her power. The Troll clinged a bit longer than she would have thought possible, his mien melting away like snow piles in a rain. He managed to gasp out, “Dozens...we were split up...fools…sorry...failed you.” Aurora shook her head, and she cradled her fallen comrade. “No. You're brave. You've allowed the children to get to safety.” As the Knight died in her arms as if he had more to say, the door splintered and cracked open. Aurora sprang to the ready. Antlered warriors called Fir Bholg brought, as always, madness to the Dreaming about them. The hold itself seemed to waver as the primitive nightmares stormed in, bearing spears, axes, and armor made of bronze and bone. “Take the children!” one called out. “Not on your life!” Aurora announced, realizing the Bholg either already knew the childlings were here or had just seen the last of them fleeing the hall behind. She lunged at the first who spoke. “Weakling Tuatha spawn I-” The boastful creature’s comment was cut short as her blade weaved past his parry and pierced his belly. Ichor flowed free from the wound. Bottlenecked at the door, still others came on, one plunging a spear the Fiona’s side. Flames arising from her body as the Dragon’s Ire radiated, she shouted in pain and lashed out at the spearman. The Fiona heart knowing no fear, she stood her ground. “WITCH!” The spearman screamed as his weapon, and two of his fingers that once held it, dropped to the ground from the force of her blow. The others shoved at her, trying to press past her. Panting and bleeding but not willing to give up, Aurora brought her sword to the ready once more. She slashed at every one of them she could to keep them back, settling for shallow cuts if need be, to slow them down. The Bholgs did not know who this woman was, for Aurora did not bring her crown, but this one had incurred the wrath of a race older perhaps than her own. “We have learned things since we came to this Autumn world…” He signaled, and the strange glow temporarily engulfed him, a sign of the Wyrd being called upon: The battle was suddenly something none would walk away from. Others followed his lead, only to regret it, for Aurora took the opportunity to continue hacking and hewing as they did so. Sobered by what they did, Aurora nevertheless stayed eerily unafraid. “Your blood,” she spat, “Will flood the town by the time I’m done with you.” Her mien flared with the rage driving them back almost tangibly. One of the younger Bholg backed away in fear after mistakenly locking eyes with her. Another from the side screwed up his courage and brought his axed down, screaming insult. Behind her, Aurora could feel the Trod working. She plunged her blade into the same foe whose axe struck her and felt the chill of Banality as she took yet another life. Frustrated, the other Fir Bholg pushed past the one-woman gauntlet. Which would destroy her first - they or the Banality their deaths were bringing - would soon be decided. Her blue eyes almost missed one Fir Bholg that was NOT fighting. He had made it to the trods, and was chanting. She knew that they were technically banned from the silver, but still…the childlings were only barely gone. The antlered caster intoned as he worked his bunk, “Dagda …thy boon I demand.” They were trying to circumvent the Silver somehow. Aurora reacted almost instinctively, flinging her wedding ring through the Trod and expending glamour of her own. With a crack, the gateway to the trod sealed tight. Aurora gave the Bholg a death’s head grin, and brought her sword to the fore again. “NOOO!” The Fir Bholg who had been casting wailed. “She has closed our path, we can not reach the Silver to walk it!” They turned upon her, bringing blades and points down upon her. But they had been thwarted already, and for every blow they lay they lost a brother to the flashing sword of the lioness. Finally, the killing blow struck against her, Aurora fell to the earth. In an augury of her own entrails and the pool of her own blood, she saw it…a vision granted by the Dreaming itself perhaps, of the childlings making it to safety at First Hill holding. She died, a smile of victory on her battered face.
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Today, if one goes to the mortal town of Freedom and visits the Freehold therein, one will discover, in this place where Commoners openly talk about 'better' systems than the Monarchy, a statue of one of those nobles. She bears no crown, but a blade, she guards the path to the trod here, stance ready, defiance in her eyes. Even the writing holds no title...the engraving on the stone simply says ‘Here died Aurora. Freedom's Shield -April 23rd, 2001’