Terlin Fire-Eyes rested in his throne, the slow, impossible architecture of the Harkhall encasing him in a cocoon of ancient wood and filtered gold light. The Harkcrystal, suspended in the high vault like a drop of captured sunlight, pulsed with a heartbeat he could feel in his very soul. It was a symbol of his rule now, a crown gem in a way, and by rights of cleverness and conquest, it now belonged to him.

He liked to admire it in these few quiet moments between audiences. The Harkcrystal's corona filled the chamber with a syrupy golden haze, putting him at ease. It was beautiful, but it was also a warning: one moment of arrogance, one slip, and he could lose it all. As long as he kept that freak away from here, things would go along smoothly…

He reclined, hands draped over the thickest roots, and let his mind wander. The humans of Akan-Dar would soon arrive, and Terlin would receive them with open hands and carefully measured threats. All he had to do was hold, and the world would remember the House of Fire-Eyes as the most cunning, most ruthless, most necessary clan in the Faewood. It wasn't long before his thoughts were disrupted, however.

He did not see the Watcher materialize. One breath, the vast chamber was empty, and the next, a figure in shimmering black stood below his throne in the circular root bowl, eyes lowered, body locked in a posture of absolute submission.

"My King," the Watcher said meekly, voice barely carrying across the chamber, "forgive the intrusion. I needed to get here as quickly as possible. I came by way of mist travel, provided by one of your most trusted mages. I have urgent news."

Terlin sat up in his throne, intrigued. If the Watcher's return here was expedited by way of mist travel, then the news was important. The old Harkhall had been foolish, not allowing their most powerful mages out to work with the Watchers. Mist travel was difficult and hard to cast even by the best mages, but the speed in which one could travel in such a form was wondrous. He'd ordered the few mages that could to set up outposts near the edges of the forest, ones where Watchers could return to request transportation here to the Harkhall to give Terlin only the most urgent of news.

"Proceed." He ordered

The Watcher's throat bobbed, a deer's tic in a man's body. "I bring two matters. The first: there is… a disturbance on the far perimeter. A copse has appeared on the edge of the forest, between it and the Bone-Plains, where none should be, and-" The Watcher swallowed, "—The Outworlder, Hoplite, I spotted him near it."

Terlin sat up, bark creaking beneath his hands. "That is not possible," he said, firmly, "We would have known had they passed through our woods, you must be mistaken."

"Majesty," the Watcher stammered, "I saw with my own eyes. I was far away but I could not mistake him for anyone else. Hoplite is there, I-I swear it! "

For a heartbeat, Terlin's mind was totally blank, incomprehending, and then it filled with a heat that threatened to burst his veins. How had the Outworlder crossed the Faewood without his knowledge? Had the Watchers seen him through without reporting it to him? That must have been what happened, nothing else made sense, unless he somehow flew right over the forest. Even then, someone should have seen something, right? He grit his teeth.

"Continue." he snapped, voice flensing the air.

The Watcher's composure was crumbling. "The second matter, my King: the Akan-Dari delegation, led by Lord Baelish—"

"I am aware of Baelish." Terlin interrupted.

The Watcher pressed on, desperate. "Baelish has turned back. I saw him in conference with the Outworlder at the edge of the forest, and after that, he turned back to Akan-Dar. I don't know what happened, but I believe that he will not be attending the audience."

Terlin's whole body tensed, his skin becoming a furnace as indignation and wrath filled him. This wasn't just insulting, it was humiliating. That monkey thinks him so high that he can defy a summons from the King of the Faewood!?

Terlin's nails dug into the root armrests, the skin at his wrists going white. "He refuses an audience?"

"He does, Majesty. I don't know what Hoplite said to him, or what he will tell the Lord-Ruler once he returns to Akan-Dar, but this is dire news."

Terlin was silent for a long time, amplifying the fear he read in the elf's eyes as he kneeled. The humans could have learned the truth, or suspected at least, and were already moving to counter… at least, if Jason told Baelish of Terlin's new body. The copse on the plain was a potential nest of enemies, especially if it wasn't supposed to be there, as the Watcher had claimed. Meaning that- his eyes widened. Those damnable Trinkett's, thinking they could skirt his just ruling by living on the border of the Faewood!? He would drive them from here once and for all, tear that fool Nelan's head clean off, and- and… Fear filled him when he remembered who else was present at the copse. Jason was there, the man that would kill Terlin and fulfill the Spiral Queen's prophecy, should they ever come to blows. He couldn't risk going there, nor sending a force to force the Trinkett's from the forest's edge, as he could not risk provoking Jason to come here.

Terlin could do nothing.

The urge to lash out, to liquefy the Watcher where he stood, was almost overwhelming. Terlin's heart pounded in his borrowed chest, the old blood pressure spike of Tuji's rage threatening to flood him with violence. He leaned into it, let it burn the confusion away, then rode the wave back down to cold calculation. Wrath would not provide him the solutions he needed.

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Thinking about it, Jason's intent was clear. The Outworlder intended to come face Terlin, it was only a matter of time. He shoved down the terror budding in his chest, hearing Tuji chuckle in the back of his mind. He wouldn't be able to avoid a confrontation, that much was obvious, but waiting for Jason here would surely spell the Ilum tree's doom. If he went to face him that far away from the Ilum tree… then maybe he could stand a chance, perhaps the prophecy wouldn't come true, he would be saved by distance from the Ilum tree.

Yes… He nodded to himself, he couldn't burn the tree if it was hundreds of miles away! Of course, the answer was never to hide away inside this tree, it was to go and face Jason in a controlled location, away from the Ilum. Even if Terlin could not defeat him on his own, he would have his best mages accompany him, armed with Outworlder weaponry, they could penetrate that armor, that combined with Terlin's might, and Jason would be toppled. He would assemble his best to accompany him to the copse, but first, a new order would have to be given.

Terlin gave a devilish grin, "The Fiendwall now lacks its hero. For defying me, the Fiendwallers are to be put to death. Leave no man, woman, or child alive, crush them utterly."

The Watcher bowed so low his forehead touched the roots. "Yes, Majesty. At once."

Terlin smiled, all teeth and nothing else. "You have done well, Watcher."

The Watcher vanished, not even a shimmer left behind. Terlin let himself breathe, slow and deliberate, then as he gathered his thoughts. The Harkcrystal above him flickered, the color gone from its corona, replaced by a dull, pulsing red.

Terlin's gaze lingered on the Harkcrystal, Its pulsing, gravid energy was seductive in a way he had not anticipated, even after all he'd done for the Faewood, it still responded to his proximity like a trapped animal, eager for any chance to escape him. He extended his will toward it, a tendril of Foundation, an assertion of his right to rule. Perhaps if it just felt his power, his core… they could understand one another. The thing immediately shivered under his attention, as the tendril of Foundation made contact, casting a fretwork of blood-tinged light across the floor. Terlin felt the presence behind the crystal, watchful, patient, and infinitely repulsed, the Greater Fae. He had never spoken to it directly, nor would he dare, but he had to learn to command it if he intended to protect the Faewood.

He glanced around the empty chamber—no Watchers, no servants, not even a mouse scampered through the roots. The silence was perfect, as was the lack of witnesses. If a watcher appeared again, he'd hear their report, then kill them to ensure they didn't spread rumor of his tampering with the Harkcrystal. He set his jaw, flexed his hands, and reached further with Raw Foundation. Not with gesture, but with the pure, unmediated assertion of his will. The Harkcrystal thrummed, its current washing over him in successive, ponderous swells.

There was a barrier there, The Fae within the crystal—the real mind of it—resisted his claim, meeting his will with open defiance. Why couldn't it understand that Terlin needed its power for the days to come? Did it not care for the forest? The humans would carve out everything they could, if they were allowed to march on them, he needed its power!

He exhaled, and began building his spell. Spirit-Sight usually required only a flick of the mind, a mere filament of Foundation to extend one's senses beyond the flesh. But with the Harkcrystal as a lens, that thread became a cable, the spell's reach magnified a thousandfold, at least it could in theory. He felt the matrix of the Harkhall warp under his touch, roots trembling as power ran through his body and up into the crystal. The sensation was breathtaking, as if he'd swallowed a hearthfire and now glowed from within.

He grinned, triumphant, and reached further, trying to draw in more power to amplify his spell. He wanted to see where his enemies were, to listen in on Jason's plans... But the moment he tried to force the spell through the crystal, the Greater Fae resisted. Its pulse went from fearful to furious, the red corona flickering like an aneurysm. Terlin tried to force it further, pouring his will into the channel. He would not be denied, not after everything he'd done to earn this throne.

He felt the first twinge of pain at the base of his skull, a pinprick of cold so pure it made his teeth throb. He bore down, not breaking the connection, determined to see the whole of his kingdom, to know his enemies' every move. The pain grew, a knot of agony that spread through his jaw, down his spine, into his hands. Still, he refused to let go.

Something inside the artifact shrieked—not a sound, but a spike of mental noise so sharp it nearly split his mind in two. His vision blurred, the world splintering into colorless shards. Terlin felt himself falling, not in body but in authority, his grip on the spell and the crystal wavering. He tried to rally, mustering the full weight of his hatred, his pride, his name, but the Harkcrystal answered with a counterforce of such violence that for a moment, he was certain he would die. All of his veins pulsed with agony; his tongue swelled, his nails drove themselves into his palms. He tasted copper on his tongue as his lungs forced out a cough.

He tried to scream, but found that all he could do was convulse, his body wracked by silent tremors as the Harkcrystal made its displeasure known. He saw the death of the Faewood in lurid flashes: the burning of the Ilum tree, the slaughter of his line, the Outworlder's hand closing around his own throat. Each image seared itself into his memory, a curse for every future moment of doubt.

He had to keep fighting, for the elves of the Faewood, for the lesser Fae, for the fate of this very world itself! The crystal would obey him! It did not. Instead, it punished him, countering his force by driving a spike of raw Foundation straight through his core. It was not something that could be seen, only felt.

His eyes widened as pain flooded through his whole body, forcing him to his knees with a cry of agony. The crystal had defied him, lashing out to strike him as it hadn't before. It stung, both because it betrayed its king, and because his whole nervous system had been flooded with fire. The Harkcrystal hummed, the sound so high-pitched it nearly split his skull.

"You cannot defy me this way." Terlin's fingernails dug crescents into his palms as he staggered upright. The crystal's hum vibrated through his molars, rattling his jaw. "I am your king." The room tilted sideways, edges blurring like wet paint.

"I am the King." A laugh bubbled up from somewhere not entirely his own. "Me! The King!" The words tore from his throat, bouncing back at him from the chamber walls while the crystal's harsh glare softened to the white of old bones.

Minutes or hours passed. Terlin blinked, tasting copper. His hand was pressed against the wall, though he couldn't remember crossing the room to touch it. He didn't know where he was or what he had been doing for a moment, until clarity returned. That was right, he had just been making plans on how to deal with the Outworlder… but how had he ended up on the other side of the room? He must not have been paying attention, perhaps he had begun pacing as he thought, not realizing he was even moving. That happened sometimes.

"Come, then," he said to himself, "Let us see who dies first, Outworlder!"

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