summer king

Fresh out of the Hedge. That was me, the blood from the scratches the briars had given me barely dried. I had to go into hiding for a while, and let that anger and hatred swirling around my brain settle. That took a while. During that time, I picked fights. Won every single one, too. It was shitty of me, so shitty to keep indulging in the very thing I'd run from, the thing that twisted me. But the emotions were intoxicating. Not just mine, but theirs, too. But it helped me get the initial feelings out of my system. Replace them with something slightly more productive, if it could be called that. Grounded me.

Given how many of us there really were, the freehold's hidey holes weren't exactly hard to find. Follow any weird-looking poor son of a bitch to some little coffee shop, it really was that easy. I found mine soon enough. I said my hellos and they gave me the whole rundown, and I thank whatever gods may exist that I'd taken that time. Even with it, I kept eyeing every table leg, even the ceiling fan at one point, thinking that maybe I could beat down every vestige of stupid fairy shit and leave it all behind. Get on with my life.

Common sense won out. Only those that knew what I'd lived through could steer me back on the path to some kind of humanity.  So I listened. I made my promises and my agreements.

Then they told me of the courts. I was so ready to write it off as some cobbled system, made of cobweb and a stupid longing for what we'd all escaped. But then I was told of one that immediately appealed to me.

The Court of Summer. The Iron Spear. It spoke of not meekly accepting our lot, but actively fighting back.
I said as much, and they told me I would meet with the King.

I was told he'd wanted to meet with me directly, alone just like he did with every new Courtier. I agreed, but what could this possibly entail? A court of fighting and violence may ask the same of me to prove myself. I was ready for that.

The King entered the room, and my body tensed. The sight of him... even I, with all my experience, with all my skill, I knew I would lose to this opponent. He could have been twice my height, with a thick rack of antlers that nearly scraped the ceiling. He walked heavily on cloven hooves, his weight leaving prints in the carpet. His massive frame was bristling, not just with muscle but with hair-trigger reflexes, lined with tawny brown fur.

He looked down at me, and his strange-pupiled eyes sized me up. I tensed harder. He smiled. He moved over to me. And then past me. Over to the kitchen area, where he poured water from a steaming kettle into two mugs. He carried them over to the coffee table and set them down. With a movement that nearly shook the room, he sat down on the sofa, leaning forward.

"Well, take a seat." he spoke. His voice was... warm. Warm as the bright summer sun on my face. He smelled of humidity and lush vegetation, of fresh water and apples. It wasn't an aura of aggression, but one of sweet, sad nostalgia. There was strength there, of course, but it was masked, at least for now.

I sat down.

"You look very tense." he said, "I can understand why. Those that come to me always are. Drink some of your tea. It will help"
I didn't answer. Not because I was angry, but because I was dumbfounded. This? This was the leader of the Iron Spear? This wasn't some hardened warrior or a passionate freedom fighter. This was someone's dad.

He might as well have read my mind, because he was smiling again.

"I get the feeling that this isn't what you were expecting." he took a sip of his tea and I followed. It was sweet, floral-tasting. "It's alright. You're allowed to speak."

"I... Yeah. I gotta admit. You look the part, but..." I couldn't finish the sentence. I guess I was afraid of being impolite. This kind of person just warranted that kind of response. So it just kind of trailed off.

"I don't act it? I hear that often." He set his cup on the table, staring down at it. "But isn't it my responsibility to not be the one to lose control? I feel the same anger, the same desire for revenge as the rest of you. Don't misunderstand that. But giving into blind hatred... is just another way of being afraid. Of being insecure. And I'll be honest. That isn't what we do."

He looked at me. "We can be afraid. But we can't be weak. To join the Summer Court is to commit to putting your fear and anger to good use. To channel it into strength. To our brothers and sisters of the other courts... we can have our differences in philosophy. But we can't give in to hating them. Because ultimately... we have to be strong for them, as well."

I'd gotten so caught up in listening to him I didn't notice tht I'd drank all my tea. I tipped the cup and nothing but a soggy tea bag hit my lips. I felt warm. Just as warm as his voice.

"Yeah..." I said, "Still... if being strong is our whole thing, aren't you going to test my strength already? We're just going to sit here drinking tea?"

"That's right." he said, sounding amused. "There's a reason those that come to me are always so tense. Those brought to such hatred from their durance have, more often than not, survived the horrible. When they feel comfortable and safe... I can draw out true strength, which by the way, isn't always physical. So enjoy it. You'll get your tests in good time."

I nodded, then realized I was smiling too. Guess he was right.