A Loom of Years

First Weaving
@Anne E. Fraser 2006
 

In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,
In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flower and tree,
Under the breath of laughter, deep in the tide of tears,
I hear the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

The leaves of the winter wither and sink in the forest mould
To colour the flowers of April with purple and white and gold:
Light and scent and music die and are born again
In the heart of a grey-haired woman who wakes in a world of pain.

The hound, the fawn, and the hawk, and the doves that croon and coo,
We are all one woof of the weaving and the one warp threads us through,
One flying cloud on the shuttle that carries our hopes and fears
As it goes thro' the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

The green uncrumpling fern and the rustling dewdrenched rose
Pass with our hearts to the Silence where the wings of music close,
Pass and pass to the Timeless that never a moment mars,
Pass and pass to the Darkness that made the suns and stars.

Has the soul gone out in the Darkness? Is the dust sealed from sight?
Ah, hush, for the woof of the ages returns thro' the warp of the night!
Never that shuttle loses one thread of our hopes and fears,
As it comes thro' the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

O, woven in one wide Loom thro' the throbbing weft of the whole,
One in spirit and flesh, one in body and soul,
Tho' the leaf were alone in its falling, the bird in its hour to die,
The heart in its muffled anguish, the sea in its mournful cry,

One with the flower of a day, one with the withered moon
One with the granite mountains that melt into the noon
One with the dream that triumphs beyond the light of the spheres,
We come from the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

Alfred Noyes

__________

First Weaving.
____________


"Ah, safely down," said Olivia, as the jet touched the tarmac.

"You aren't still nervous of flying are you, my dear?" asked Blaine, amused.

"Forgive me," Olivia said sheepishly. "I still cannot bring myself to believe that large pieces of metal can stay up in the air. It is against all common sense."

Members of the British court smiled. Like any good Prince, Blaine kept a mixture of species around him for extra security; so those on the plane included a witch and two Nameless Ones as well as vampires. Carmine was the only Prince who did not employ members of that strange warrior race.

"Prince Carmine sent us a message that he would have his security people meet us," said the copilot, once he was able to unbuckle himself and come back to talk to his passengers. "He has requested, respectfully, that you remain on board the jet until they can get here."

"Oh, please no," said Olivia, looking up at him. "I must absolutely get off and stretch my legs."

"We will be perfectly fine," Blaine assured the copilot. "But my consort dislikes airplanes; we won't go far." His Prince had spoken; it had been polite, but still an order. The copilot bowed. He was not only a vampire, but one of Blaine's fledglings. He'd been turned _after_ acquiring his pilot's license. "As my Prince commands," he said. He turned back and talked to the pilot, who shrugged. Her responsibility was the aircraft and the passengers when they were on it. If they chose to leave the jet against sound advice not to, it wasn't her problem. Anyway, she was human and in no position to say no to a vampire. She gave permission to have the door opened and the stairs lowered.

Blaine assisted Olivia off. Had she been human, she would have been shaking; as it was, she leaned momentarily against her husband when they reached the ground. "Thank you, luv," she said, and then somebody shot her.

_______________________



There always seemed to be wars in Europe; which countries were involved could change, even allegiances could change, but there seemed to always be fighting.

Wars were not confined to the humans. But when mages, vampires and weres fought, it was seldom over borders. Still, in essence, it was all about power. The wars and feuding were devastating to the various communities involved; vampires died by the score in some skirmishes. Masters would make new fledglings only to have them staked or beheaded before they even drank their first blood.

Which was why the Council of European Princes was eventually formed. Messages were sent out to the heads of the most powerful bloodlines; to those vampires considered the ones mostly like to benefit from, and therefore be in favour of, an enforced peace.



There were two contenders for this honour, if such it could be called, in Great Britain. Two powerful "families" of vampires, each with their own courts, webs reaching throughout the British Isles. Each had magicians, shape-shifters, Nameless Ones, even humans in their employ; each had many fledglings; each deeply hated and mistrusted the other. How could there be peace throughout Europe if they could not obtain peace in one country?

Those who had already been vetted for the Council decided to send delegations to both courts; the heads of the bloodlines would be sounded out for their willingness and fitness to serve as Prince--and to bring an end to the feuding.

So it was that Armand of France found himself travelling to London itself to call on Blaine Whyte-Thomson; while Hans of Austria/Hungary/et al. went to Oxford to call on Olivia Hanover.

Blaine wasn't at all what Armand was expecting. So far all the candidates chosen for the Council were serious, sober persons, determined to bring peace to the vampire world, working hard to create the Law. Blaine was a bit of a shock to buttoned-down Armand. Armand found himself wondering how his successor was faring in his mission to find a suitable candidate in Italy...

"You can't possibly be serious, old chap," Blaine exclaimed once he'd learned why Armand had come.

Armand frowned and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I am serious, Monsieur," he said.

Blaine ran a hand through his already untidy hair, tried to straighten up his hopelessly wrinkled clothing, and crossed his legs. "You want me to be a Prince," he said.

"To tell the truth, Monsieur Whyte-Thomson," Armand began.

"Oh, call me Blaine, man," said the British vampire impatiently. "We'll get bloody nowhere if we keep spouting titles at each other."

"To tell the truth, Monsieur," Armand continued doggedly, "the Council has sent an emissary to your rival as well."

"My rival?" Blaine blinked. "Oh, you mean Olivia?"

"Yes, Monsieur, Mademoiselle Hanover is also under consideration for the responsibility."

"Well, bon chance talking to _her_. She will probably behead you rather than listen. Quite the termagant, that woman."

"Oh, I will not be speaking to her, Monsieur. Prince Hans of Austria has that honour."

"Hans, eh?" Blaine's eyes were sharp, if his mannerisms were not. "I know him; good choice for Prince. Very level-headed chap. He might just be able to get a sentence in before Olivia stakes him." He gave Armand a searching look that revealed the intelligence behind the dishevelled appearance. "So if I don't want the job, you'll give it to Olivia?"

"I don't believe you quite understand, Monsieur. We will each report back to the Council about our findings and then decide. But whichever one of you we decide would make the better Prince must then make their peace with the other one."

Blaine sat down abruptly. "What?" he demanded.

___________



Hans tugged at the collar of his tunic while he watched Olivia pace in front of her hearth. He had attempted to rise several times, only to be impatiently told to sit.

When he'd first arrived, he'd found her dressed in riding clothes, holding a quirt, with a ... well, the only possible collective noun was "pack" ... of werewolves at her feet. When Hans had been ushered in by a grave-faced fledgling, the pack had eyed him with interest. He could have sworn he'd seen tongues lolling and the occasional glimpse of sharp canine teeth, even though their appearance was human. At a sharp word from Olivia, the werewolves had ambled out of the room, not without some backward looks and nudging each other. A sly comment about late-night supper was made.

"Get gone," Olivia told them. Then, to Hans, "Please, sit down. Why are you here?"

He began to tell her about the Council, its foundation and goals. She listened, standing, looking rather as if she longed to call for her horse and escape this boring visitor.

"You want _me_ to be a Princess?" she interrupted him.

"No, Fraulein," Hans said patiently. "The title is Prince, even for women."

"What utter nonsense. Women are not Princes."

"Fraulein Hanover, we feel that vampires not from your bloodline will respect a Prince more than a Princess. It is the power that is important, not the gender."

"Hah. You want me to be a man even though I am not. Very well; but what do I get in return?"

"The honour..."

"Honour? The honour of every dissatisfied vampire who was not made Prince trying to off my head?"

"It will be your duty as Prince to bring peace to the British Isles, Fraulein. To end the feuding with other vampires."

Her sharp, dark eyes widened. "Are you telling me that I have to make peace with Whyte-Thomson?"

Hans nodded. "That is the idea of the Council, after all."

There were a pair of crossed swords over the mantle. Olivia reached up and wrenched one off its hooks with some force. Hans stood his ground, though he wanted to back away from this suddenly insane vampire. Was she going to behead him?

Instead, she held out the sword to him.

"Here," she said. "You might as well behead me right now. It will be easier and save _him_ the trouble."

________________

Having had the need for peace more thoroughly explained to him, Blaine simply stared at Armand.



"You obviously don't know Olivia," he said.

Armand shrugged. "I have not had the pleasure of the mademoiselle's acquaintance," he said. "But that is scarely important. If you wish to be Prince, then your first priority must be to stop the fighting amongst bloodlines. For how many years have your line and Hanover's been at war? What has it accomplished? The power shifts but never stays where it has shifted. Your fledglings and courtiers die. Your own turndam was murdered, was she not?"

"Yes, but I got the blighter that did it..." Blaine's voice trailed off. "And then Olivia killed my newest fledgling..."

"You see?" asked Armand quietly. "It is a cycle you cannot hope to end without one of you making overtures to the other. It is madness that will continue until there is nothing left of either of you but scraps."

Blaine had stopped fidgeting. He was thinking hard. "What would the benefits be?" he asked.

___________

"To join the Council is to help forge the Laws that will guide vampires and bring an end to these wars," Hans said. "You would be part of an experiment, but an experiment with great power to do good."

"Also to do evil," Olivia pointed out.

Hans sighed. "Yes, there is that possibility, but we will act as balances for each other. No one Prince will be allowed enough power to usurp the Council for his or her own purposes."

"There will be ... cabals. Alliances. Attempts to sway the vote."

"Inevitably," Hans agreed. "We will be politicians."

"A great deal of responsibility to put on one person," Olivia mused.

"Ah, we have thought of that, Fraulein. Princes should have consorts, of only slightly lesser status than themselves, to help them rule, to come to meetings and advise them, to organize the courts and see that the courtiers do not become unruly. A Prince should also name and train his or her successor."

"Successor?"

"Fraulein, I must be blunt with you. You can expect assassination attempts, from both within and without the Council. Accidents also happen. We are not invulnerable, after all."

______

"Can the consort also be a successor?" Blaine asked.

"Yes," Armand replied.

"But I don't have to actually marry whoever it is."

"No, that is not necessary. Of course, it would look as if you were more committed to that person should you marry."



"Supposing I wanted my consort to be just an advisor, someone to help me co-rule... I would not have to pick someone of the opposite gender. I'm not about to marry another man, now, am I?"

"I could not say for certain whom you would marry, Monsieur Whyte-Thomson," Armand replied, "as I scarcely know you."

Blaine's eyebrows rose. "Good lord, man, was that an actual jest?" He was impressed. He hadn't thought Armand possessed a sense of humour.

________

"Whom else is on this Council?" Olivia demanded.

"Monique of Belgium, for all the low countries. Armand of France," Hans replied. "Ingrid of Germany."

"Ingrid!" Olivia frowned. "I have heard of her. Her reputation is rather... "

"Bloodthirsty?" Hans supplied helpfully. "Even for one of us? Unfortunately, since she has slaughtered every other vampire who looked to be rising to power in Germany, she was our only choice. Hopefully the Council will be able, en masse, to curtail her excesses."

"Hm," said Olivia. "I approve of Armand, though I find him rather dull. I do not know much about Monique. And?"

"Rodrigo of Spain," Hans grimaced. "He is excitable, but seems to be able to run his court efficiently, and again, there appeared to be noone else in a comparable position of power. We need master vampires, Fraulein, those with established courts."

"Feh. Rodrigo is all bluster. What of Italy?"

"Armand's successor has been sent to Italy; my own is the emissary to Russia. We will send to Switzerland and Scandinavia as well. We have already had an offer from Kalonice of Greece to join; she is acceptable."

Olivia nodded. The vampire aristocracy--and naturally, that was the pool from whom the candidates to Council were being chosen--all knew of each other if they had not personally met. "Kalonice, yes. And I assume Zalyina of Russia, so there is a good selection of women. Switzerland and Scandinavia... that will have to be Yves and Nils. But Italy... my dear Hans. Armand's successor will need to be a skilled negotiator, because the only possible choice in Italy is Carmine Abrizzi."

__________

"You sent your boy Claude to talk Carmine into joining?" Blaine stared.

"Who else is there in Italy?" Armand replied. "Darius is dead."

"My dear fellow," Blaine exclaimed, "Carmine is touchier than even Olivia. He will be mortally offended by getting a mere fledgling as emissary."



"Claude is more than a fledgling," Armand grunted. "I have trained him well. He is more... flexible and forgiving than I am. Carmine will not be able to insult him. And Claude is very persistent. He will get along with Carmine far more easily than I would have."

"You'll be lucky if you get the boy back whole, Armand."

"I trust my successor, Blaine."

____________

"Pity you couldn't have sent Blaine to Italy," Olivia sniffed. "Then I wouldn't be faced with this unacceptable demand from you."

"If you feel it is unacceptable, Fraulein," said Hans with a bow, "then our conversation is over."

"Whyte-Thomson would never agree to make peace, nor bow to me as Prince," Olivia said. "Nor do I feel I am ready to make my peace with him."

"A pity, Fraulein Hanover. Guten abend, and thank you for your time."

"Hans? If you decide on Blaine...." She couldn't finish, and just shook her head.

___________

Blaine, hands clasped behind his back, studied Armand closely. "So now you go back to the others and compare what Olivia and I have said, and decide?"

"Yes, that is so."

"And whoever seems the most willing to make peace will be your Prince?"

"Perhaps; I cannot say for certain what the Council will decide."

"Hm. Well, Olivia always has to have the last word; no doubt she will be your choice."

"And if she is?" Armand pressed. "Should we chose Mademoiselle Hanover, would you be willing to accept her rule and end the feud between your bloodlines?"

"I must confess that I'm a bit tired of constantly looking behind me and coaching my fledglings to scan roofs for crossbow archers." Blaine unclasped his hands and used them to pat his clothing in various places. Unfortunately for him, it would be some time before anyone invented the pocket. "I'm jolly well sick of constant war, Armand. Yes, I would like peace. If it comes at the price of that bally woman in charge, then... I will go along with it. But I'm damn well not bowing to her."

____________

"There's been no word from Claude?"

Armand shook his head gloomily. Perhaps he should have gone to Italy himself, and sent young Claude to England. But he knew he could not have negotiated with Carmine.



The Council, what there was of it so far, had convened in Paris to discuss their progress. Their numbers had grown; Zalyina of Russia and Kalonice of Greece had both arrived to fill Princely chairs. Emissaries were now in pursuit of suitable Princes in Switzerland and Scandanavia.

"He will persuade Carmine," said Monique. "You will see."

"It is England that concerns us," Rodrigo of Spain spoke up. "You have had time to compare the two candidates, have you not?"

"Yes."

Hans and Armand looked at each other; Hans had a slightly sheepish grin, Armand was blandly serious.

"We each feel that the Prince we interviewed is a suitable candidate," Armand spoke. "One is not superior to the other in any way that we can agree upon."

"We cannot have two Princes," Rodrigo snorted. "That would solve nothing."

"Put the question to the two of them," Zalynia suggested.

Monique gave her a frosty look. "They will kill each other, fighting for who gets to be Prince."

"Actually," Hans admitted, "neither of them seem to actually want to be Prince, but neither of them wants the other one, either."

Armand muttered something the others, with super-sharp vampire hearing, affected not to hear. Something to do with what both Blaine and Olivia sorely needed.

"Surely they want peace in England, and the other countries of the Isles?" Kalonice asked.

"Blaine admitted that he was tired of fighting, tired of losing his fledglings," Armand replied.

Hans looked interested. "I received no such statement from Olivia," he said.

"Now we have a difference between the two," Rodrigo noted. "It would seem that Whyte-Thomson is our choice."

"He was not very amenable to the idea of making peace with Olivia Hanover personally," Armand warned.

"He will have no choice. If he and Hanover do not bury their differences, then we will be burying them both and all their bloodlines."

"Perhaps that should be made clear to him. In slightly more diplomatic language."

_______________

"Ah, you're back."

"Oui, Monsieur, I am."

"That boy of yours come back from Italy yet?"



"No, there has been no word from Claude. But I am not worried."

"Liar," said Blaine goodnaturedly. "Of course you're worried. All that time and trouble training up the lad only to have Carmine take his head? However, I'm certain you know your own fledgling best. I gather your being here means that the Council has made its decision?"

"Yes, Blaine," Armand said. "It has."

"Ah. It's Olivia, then, I take it. I'll not bow to her. Nor call her Prince. But if it means an end to this damned feuding, then I will go along with whatever the Council wants us to do. Do I have to shake her hand, or something?"

"However the Prince of Great Britain wishes to make peace is, of course, up to the Prince," Armand replied. "The important thing is that it is made. See to it."

"How the devil am I supposed to see to it that she makes peace?"

"I think you fail to quite understand me once more, Prince Blaine."

Blaine stared at him, mouth open, for a second. Then shook himself. "Me?" he asked incredulously. "You want me to be your Prince?"

________

"Blaine?" Olivia turned on Hans. "It is to be him, after all?"

"Yes, Fraulein. I am sorry, but it was decided that he was the more suitable candidate."

"Because he has a penis, no doubt."

Hans did not pretend to be shocked. Vampires were not judged by human mores, and nobody expected Olivia Hanover to be a proper lady.

"No," Hans said. "We already have four women on the Council, after all; a fifth would have been welcome."

"Then why? Blaine is... hardly noble."

"He expressed a desire to end the feuding," Hans said. "You did not. That was the deciding factor."

______

"Otherwise, there was nothing to choose between us?" Blaine was rummaging through the folds of his cotehardie as if he suspected he harboured vermin.

"It seemed an equal choice," Armand admitted. "We were going to toss dice, or perhaps suggest that you challenge the lady to a game of some sort."

"Olivia's idea of playing a game with me would be to chop off my head and kick it about," Blaine grumbled. "And now I have to go and declare that I am Prince and she had better jolly well stop feuding with my bloodline and obey my commands?"



"Hans will have told her that you are Prince, Blaine," Armand said. "But yes, you must speak to her about putting an end to the feuds. And yes, you must enforce the Law, which means she will be compelled to obey or pay the penalty."

Blaine looked woeful. "Whatever did I do to _you_, old chap?" he asked.

___________

"I could just kill you and seize the Princedom for myself," Olivia remarked.

Getting to this point, the two of them alone and unguarded so they could speak to each other, had been an absolute nightmare. Two fledglings and a werewolf had died in scuffles as arrangements were made. Blaine had found himself with a naked swordblade held against his neck, and three different crossbows with sharpened wooden bolts aimed at his heart as he'd approached Olivia's manor in Oxford.

"Ranulf," Olivia chided the swordsman. "George, Robert, Danielle," this to the crossbow...er, persons. "This is our Prince now. Show him a little respect." She, however, was looking anything but deferential as she studied Blaine. "Pity you could not find clothes fit for a Prince," she commented.

He barely glanced at his travel-rumpled ensemble. "Forgive my appearance, m'lady," he said, with mock courtesy. "But since the title is not a temporal one, I did not think it required a suitable wardrobe. No doubt had you been chosen, you would have found furs more to your liking."

She arched an eyebrow, wondering if she'd been subtly insulted. Most likely she had. "What do you want, Prince Blaine?"

"To speak with you, m'lady. Privily," he added, eyeing the werewolf pack, the swordsman, and the crossbows.

"So that you can stake me yourself and save all the trouble of further feuding?" She shook her head. "I think not."

"I am unarmed," Blaine replied.

That piqued her curiosity. It was either incredibly brave or incredibly foolish of him, Prince or no, to come here unarmed. Not even a dagger?

"Very well. I shall give you an inch of candle."

"Most generous."

Watched by many eyes, Blaine followed Olivia into her manor house, knowing full well that if things went wrong, he would not emerge again. Not in one piece. She led him to what was obviously a private chamber of her own, and carefully marked off a candle that she then lit.

"Begin," she said.

"The feuding must stop, Olivia," Blaine said without preamble. He only had until the candle burned to the mark to convince her. "We must unite the bloodlines and stop the bloodshed."



"Yes," she said, turning to look at him. "I know. But it has been going on too long, Blaine. There is too much bad blood... you see how everything comes down to the blood. How can we stop it, and unite the lines, when we hate each other? Our courts see only that; this will not encourage them to stop the fighting."

"We two must stop fighting each other, Olivia. It's the only way. We must no longer air our hatred for each other; but appear to be united. To champion the cause of peace, we must make it with each other."

"You killed my turnsire."

"You killed my... Olivia! A listing of our grievances with each other will get us nowhere. You see where it leads. Only more bloodshed. More blood will not wash out that of the past." He eyed the candle. Dear God in heaven, how was he to convince this woman in that short a time?

"So," she said bitterly, "it does come to this. I must bow to you and call you Prince, and obey your commands, become no more than your vassal."

"No, never my vassal. I want you to be my consort." He tried to look at his own lips in astonishment. Had he said that?

She certainly didn't seem to believe it. "I beg your pardon?"

More steadily, knowing it was the right thing to say and do even though he couldn't believe he was saying it, Blaine repeated, "I want you for my consort. You will be very nearly my equal, then, and together we can unite the bloodlines. We must work together, Olivia, not against each other. And the best way we can do that is unite with each other. Marry me."

She turned and blew out the candle. Then slumped soundlessly to the floor.

"Olivia? Good God, she fainted!"

He bent over her motionless form. He'd never seen a vampire faint before, but perhaps he had taken her so utterly by surprise that she had lost control over her body?

Obviously not, as before he quite knew how it had happened, she was up and holding a wickedly sharp dagger to his throat.

"Would you care to repeat that?" she asked.

"Marry me," Blaine repeated obligingly, trying to keep an eye on the knife... not an easy thing to do with something pricking your throat.

"That's what I thought you said. Have you taken leave of your senses?"

"It's awfully hard to talk to you sensibly when you're attempting to slice my head off by inches," Blaine said. "Would you mind terribly...?"

"I would, actually, but since you ask." Olivia tucked the dagger away someplace Blaine couldn't quite follow. "You want me to marry you. Obviously the sudden sense of responsibility this Prince nonsense has instilled in you has driven you insane. Perhaps I should consult my physician."



"I am not insane, m'lady. Olivia, there must be an end to the bloodshed. I am charged to make peace with you and all your bloodline; all your court. As you must make peace with me and mine. For the sake of England, Olivia; for Great Britain. However distasteful we personally would find such a union, it is a sacrifice I feel we must make. To set an example."

She glanced at the candle, but she had blown it out and now she did not know how much time to grant him. "I've had more romantic proposals," she said, almost shakily, not quite knowing whether to laugh.

It was his turn to look away. "I cannot offer you romance," he said stiffly. "I am not proposing a love match, but a business one."

"You would give up any hope of finding someone you love as your... consort? You would marry your enemy for the sake of unity?"

"For the sake of my country and our future, yes, I would do this. Would you?"

"You condemn us both to loneliness, Blaine."

He still didn't look at her. "Don't be absurd. I will not require my conjugal rights, nor your fidelity. Only your discretion."

Olivia sat down. "There is some wine there on the sideboard," she said. "I would like some, and pour yourself a glass. I assure you it is not poisoned nor tampered with in any way. If I am to marry you, let us seal our pact with a toast."

He finally turned towards her. "Then you agree?"

"I would rather be your wife than your vassal."

He poured the wine, his face unreadable, and brought her a goblet. He held his own expectantly. "Thank you, Olivia."

She nodded curtly and raised her glass. "To England."

"To England."
 

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