open post & overflow

[versigny]

texts ౨ৎ starters ౨ৎ prompts
[ open to random pms if you'd like to plot beforehand! otherwise, feel free to throw something up. (: ]

Comments

[eternalmagic]

[Margaery's company never fails to invigorate him, even during the hours that pass with nothing but the music to disturb the quiet. He could drive the entire distance with her laughter in his ear, and takes plenty of the miles himself so that she has the chance to rest and enjoy the view. And when she falls asleep on his shoulder, the fragrance of her hair wraps itself around him like ribbons, carrying him even further along the road that unwinds ahead of them.

But of course, they're just friends.

By the time the woods close around them and the sun is swallowed up by a forested horizon, Mordred is feeling right at home, although Margaery's unease is palpable beside him. It isn't until the radio dies that he starts to really pay attention to the aura of the woods around them - aura that, until now, he'd simply taken for granted as the mystical nature of most woods in the world, when left well enough untouched by humans.]

No... that is a little odd.

[Then, suddenly, the car itself goes dark; the engine sputters, and the tires slowly roll to a halt.]

And so is that.

[Very unusual. Mordred has enough confidence in his own capabilities that he isn't worried, per se, but he's not exactly a mechanic. If Margaery's phone isn't working, that seriously limits their options. He unhooks his seatbelt and gets out of the car, prompting Margaery to pop the hood so that he can at least look for anything as obvious as a fire or a snake or some kind of gremlin.]

I can't say I know much about cars, but it looks fine to me. Are you getting any service at all?

[versigny]

[ she doesn't want him to leave the car, but in the end, Margaery ends up joining him outside in hopes of getting better luck with her phone service. it's significantly colder outside than the warm sort of nest her car has become, and she instinctively lingers close to Mordred as the crisp forest air cuts through her lungs with each inhale. ]

No, I'm not getting anything.

[ which is fine. worst case scenario, they can try to roll the car somewhere off the road and camp inside for the night until morning. all of this is probably just a coincidence. never mind that she's positive she saw a Supernatural episode super similar to their current circumstance...

but if there's anything she knows how to do well, it's looking calmer than she really feels. after another quick survey of the car engine to make sure they didn't miss any leaks, Margaery puts her phone away to save its battery and folds her arms over her chest to keep herself from shivering. the moonlight favors Mordred, his sharp features delicately softened by its silver glow until he looks almost ethereal. ]

We can try to wait and see if any other cars come along? Maybe we'll get lucky and - wait. Do you hear that?

[ at first she thinks she's just hearing the sound of the wind through branches en masse, like an empty chorus of winter, but the more she listens, the more it sounds like human voices. impossible. a figment of her overactive imagination, perhaps, or the little-known skill of excellent mimicry on nature's part. ]

[eternalmagic]

[Mordred goes still when prompted, half ducked under the open hood of the dead car, straining his ears for sounds on the rustling wind. He catches it a moment or two later - the sound of voices, distant and broken by the trees, and definitely more than one.

He straightens up and slams the hood closed, and as the loud sound dissipates in the air he listens for a change in the voices, but there is none; they continue in wisps through the trees unabated. After a thought, Mordred lifts a hand and, with a subtle wave, passes a silent spell through the trees in the direction the voices seem to be coming from, opening up the distance between them. In response, a soft light blooms from the trees, faint and barely noticeable, and the voices become just a little bit stronger.

And he detects a trace of magic. In that moment, Mordred's resolve is set.]

Well, that's lucky. [He glances over at Margaery with a wry grin.] We might have been stuck here a while.

[He extends a hand to her.]

Shall we go find out who they are?

[versigny]

[ lucky?

the look she gives Mordred is incredulous, further cemented when he suggests heading towards the source of the voices, and for a second, her arms tighten over her chest.

but it doesn't take long for Margaery to realize that the only reason they're both here now is because she'd already said yes to him before, and probably will again if they both survive this night. he doesn't seem to be aware of his ability to tug on heartstrings that should no longer exist and overpower her logic, but then again. with his endless patience on constant display around her, maybe he does.

he'll do everything he can to keep her safe. somehow, Margaery knows this to be true, down to her bones.

her arms unfold reluctantly, a cold hand reaching out to take his - so warm - before her expression becomes only very mildly disgruntled. ]

If we die, I'm going to haunt you forever.

[ her threat falls flat when she immediately steps closer to him, her other hand winding around his inner elbow for extra emotional support. ]

[eternalmagic]

[There's no question that he would never allow any harm to come to Margaery. The lengths he would go to keep her safe are perhaps best left to their respective imaginations, for the sake of remaining friends with benefits and not adding a new layer of complications to these trysts that are already threatening to become complicated. If he thought there was a chance that something waited in the forest that he couldn't handle, he would be guiding her in the other direction at this very moment.

But Mordred is confident. Here is where he thrives, as he promised her, and if nothing else they might be in for an interesting experience tonight. The trace of magic in the air - growing stronger, as they approach the soft light and the sound of people - offers at least a hint of what may have happened to their car. Something strange is stirring in the woods.

He keeps her close, tucked at his side with his hand over hers on his arm, until suddenly the darkness of the woods gives way to - warm light. With no sign until that moment of what they would find, suddenly Mordred and Margaery are in a clearing, and there are indeed people: many of them, gathered together, wearing loose gowns and robes, completely at odds with the winter air. That, too, is different: the air is warmer, thanks to a large fire at the center of the clearing, illuminating a glade overrun with tables full of food, laughter, dancing.

Mordred is delighted. But he keeps his hand on Margaery's, and gives it a firm squeeze, as if to remind her I've got you.

'Welcome!'

He looks over at a young woman approaching them in warm greeting, wearing a blue dress with a bodice that might not be out of place at a Renaissance faire. She smiles at them both, and offers a tray of sliced fruits and small cakes.

'Have you come for the ceremony?']

No, thank you. [Mordred declines the offer of food, and casts Margaery a doubtlessly unneeded glance to do the same.] Our car broke down on the road nearby, and we heard voices.

['Then you were meant to be here,' says the woman with confidence, her smile still bright on her face. 'We're speaking with the ancestors tonight. Come, sit and drink and dance!'

Mordred looks at Margaery again, with a glittering in his eyes from the firelight.]

I think we should. What about you, darling?

[versigny]

[ strange. despite the unexpected twist of their circumstances, Margaery doesn't feel the same intensity of trepidation as she did before - in and of itself, that should also be alarming, but there's something so infectious about the warmth and joy that she finds herself relaxing despite herself. Mordred's squeeze helps, reminding her that she's not hallucinating this whole experience somehow, and if he looks this much at ease, then she can follow his lead.

but it still takes her a moment to respond, her thoughts on slowed reception, taking in all the details, before she looks up at Mordred and steels herself further from what she sees in his eyes. ]

That sounds wonderful, thank you.

[ a tentative smile is offered to the woman, who somehow seems to radiate positivity even as she dips her head in acknowledgement and walks (dances?) away gracefully. in her oversized pullover and winter leggings, Margaery suddenly feels very overdressed. still, her smile widens when she looks up at Mordred again, comfortable enough to tease him: ]

Was that an agreement to the dancing?

[ since she's gathered that they shouldn't eat or drink at all, which is perfectly fine with her. ]

I didn't know you dance.

[eternalmagic]

[He grins at her again, his attention drawn back to her from casting round at the contents of the clearing once again.]

You never asked.

[He leads her by the hand over to one of the tables where there is seating, so that they both have a chance to get their bearings. Another young girl twirls over and offers them a bowl with different slices of freshly baked bread, which Mordred once again politely declines. He leans close to Margaery again once the girl has happily danced away.]

It's generally good practice to be wary of accepting food from strangers, but strangers in the middle of the woods in particular can be tricky. If you accidentally accept food from fairies, you won't be able to leave their world.

[He says it to her as if it's meant to be common knowledge, and not the sort of thing that an ordinary person would never consider. Mordred turns behind them and picks up a winter plum and a nearby knife, and cuts a slice out of it; in full view of Margaery, he whispers a soft spell, and a shimmer goes over the plum as if it became transparent for only a moment.]

Ah. This, however, appears to be fine; we're not in fairy company tonight. You can eat if they offer it to you again.

[versigny]

[ for once, her mind struggles to come up with a graceful strategy for the situation they're in. they're not caught up in some hidden-camera prank out in the middle of nowhere, especially not when there is no such thing as special effects in reality. one second she'd been in the cold woods and the next, an entirely new sort of world. Mordred has the pleasure of seeing the incredulous expression return as she listens to his advice - not that it lingers when he. casts a spell?

there's a long silence where her eyes dart from him to the plum, clearly torn between outright disbelief and curiosity. in the end, curiosity wins over by a slim margin. clearly, she's out of her depth. ]

Would it be rude to ask what you are?

[ because even when her mind is being figuratively blown, it's no excuse to be rude; Olenna would be disappointed if Margaery gave into her initial instinct to be more direct - how do you know all this? what are you?

her hand reaches for the plum, letting the shape of it naturally roll into her curved palm; it looks and feels - and even smells - like every bit of the ripe fruit it is. and yet. something curdles in her stomach as it always does when she's felt woefully unprepared. ]

Based on what you've said, you must not be a fairy.

[eternalmagic]

[Mordred looks at her, and for a moment he's simply overcome with his affection for her, hinted by the trace of a smile at the corners of his mouth and the light in his eyes that belongs to her alone. Faced with the most unusual things she must ever have seen before, Margaery's decorum still doesn't fail her. This woman is endlessly graceful, and although he can hear the question that she doesn't ask, he can't help but be charmed by the polite one that makes it out of her mouth.

He offers her the knife - to cut the fruit, if she wants, but also as a gesture of goodwill. Don't be alarmed. You're still in control.]

I'm not. But my aunt is.

[It feels strange to be telling her, almost as strange as she must feel to be experiencing it, but Mordred simply cannot bring himself to imagine that she would take all this in and then run out to tell the world. That simply isn't who she is, and if anyone knows how to keep things out of the public eye, it's Margaery Tyrell. (He refuses to think of her with her husbands' name.)]

I've told you I spent most of my adolescence in various boarding schools. That's true, but it isn't the whole truth. I stayed with my aunt Morgana for several years, and learned... well, magic.

[As a demonstration, he holds up a hand and turns a little toward the food spread across the table. At a beckon, a fresh persimmon leaves its bowl and floats to his palm.]

I wouldn't be telling you, but we're surrounded by it now. I suspect this is a coven, celebrating the approach of spring.

[versigny]

[ Mordred's expression makes Margaery look away - not because she hates it, but because something about it makes her feel almost shy, something she thought she forgot how to feel a long time ago. the knife is taken as a grateful distraction, something to keep her eyes and hands focused as she carefully cuts away another slice with ease and eats it, which turns out to be the right decision as the flood of sweetness in her mouth becomes something of an anchor as she takes in the information.

magic, fairies, and witches are real. a whole new world existing beyond the realm of the logical and mundane. but more importantly, he trusts her enough to bring her into this experience, fully ready to share a truth that she might not have been able to accept.

she looks at the dancing women, remembering what the first woman had said: then you were meant to be here. and takes a deep breath. ]

Okay.

[ hesitant acceptance, because more than anything her mind can conjure up to explain all of this, she trusts him, too. and given the nature of this secret, they're more tied together now than they ever were before, which she doesn't dislike. ]

Is there anything else I should know, just in case?