I skipped a little down the hill, luckily not breaking my ankle, although I can’t affirm or deny my looking foolish.  I did put on my best business smile, you know, the one you offer before a handshake even if you don’t like the client.  I didn’t actually put out my hand, though.

“A hearty hail and well-met, Shadow King,” I said in my most booming voice.  I did not quite hope that the Gillikins died of humiliation right then and there, but I would have bet a sizable portion of any kingdom I was heir to that, if they were prone to human emotion, that that they would have wanted to at that.

“Greetings, mortal.”

He had to say it.  It’s practically a law, or at least (I suspect) written in some sort of handbook somewhere.  Besides, this scene was coloured by my interpretation of the surroundings, and so since I expected it, he might have said something else, but it came out that way to me, anyway.

I sat down at the table across from him.  Now that I was closer, the sheer immensity of the gate behind him, its constant strumming of power at intervals that could only be called random was almost as distracting as the little voice in my head saying, “You’ve got the stones to sit down as if you were an equal to a god.  Dude.  If the universe was fair, this totally ought to get you laid.”

There are reasons I don’t listen to the voices in my head very much.  Even when they’re sensible, they’re all guy voices.

The Shadow King leaned over the table, his elbows very much in a way that would have gotten his etiquette teacher into a tizzy.  Actually, I guess the rule that you follow the behaviour of the host trumps the no-elbows rule, but I know I would have gotten my knuckles slapped with a ruler.  I don’t know if the gods have the equivalent of schoolmarms, but the Shadow King also could have used some corrections to his posture.

The shadowy depths of what could have been his eyes stared into me.

I have been stared down before.  It happens.  Sometimes it’s the fathers of the girls I’m dating.  Once it was a cop, but I *was* drunk, and I *was* underage, and at least I wasn’t driving or breaking the law, but he laid into me quite righteously anyway.  Maggie’s been known to do it, but she doesn’t fight (or stare) fair.

This wasn’t one of those times.

The Shadow King considered, and something changed.  He became less shadowy, like the wraith-y bits kind of curled up and solidified into the shape  of a man more my size.  He fashioned a face from the mists, one not too handsome, but definitely memorable.  Dark, dark blue eyes, almost black, and a beak of a nose with a crag-like break to it.  Thin lips, a bit of a five o’clock…um… shadow… as the darkness continued to play around his aura.  I guess his dress was historical, but I didn’t recognize it.  Ask a costume geek.  At least he wasn’t wearing tights.

“Bread?” he asked.

“Don’t mind if I do,” I nodded.  Yes, yes, to eat or drink in faerie is bad juju.  On the other hand, there were depths and depths to this situation, and all I’d had was cheesy-poofs and a Coke.

He pulled apart a piece of the broken loaf, and offered me a slice.  He chewed on a bit of his own.  To my senses it tasted like sourdough, a little dry, not as sour as I like, but not bad.  Plus, it was kind of crusty and chewy at the same time.

I waited for him to continue, but instead, he just watched me.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’m here,” I finally said, resisting about a thousand punchlines.  “It’s not for the bread.  They could at least have offered you some olive oil and herbs.”

For a moment, I wondered how what I said was translated to him, in the mind of a minor god.  Maybe I spoke in tadpoles.

That was actually kind of a disturbing thought.

He didn’t respond.  The tadpoles might have scared him off, but I don’t think that was what it was.  Oh, yes, I was about to make the offer.

“How are you liking it here in the shadow of the castle?”

“I have had more gracious hosts, but these surroundings are not to my disappointment.”  He leaned back, scratching under his chin.  I found his body language a lot more readable than Doloise’s.

“Wine, women, and song?”

“Lacking, yes, lacking in that.  But I am not a merry god by nature, prone to lascivious droughts of subtlety.”   Interesting phrasing, that, but I thought I got the gist of it.   He thought I was going to try to fool him.  Well, there went that idea.  Good thing that was only Plan B.

“You’re a sharp one, you say.  But there’s more to a bargain than bread at the table and a place in the sun.”  Ah, I love it when my mind turned literal.  It helped me gain a better perspective.

The Shadow King looked more and more familiar to me.   It was odd, but I couldn’t decide where I’d seen him before.

“Or blood in the bowls, the sound of sword against sword, and death in the darkness,” he said.  I decided it meant he agreed.  He continued.  “And a mortal negotiator is no match for the tide.”  He smiled a wan smile.  “And you are too tough a morsel to be a gift.”

“I’m not a negotiator.  I’d come bearing a deal, or presents, or even an idea of who you are and what you wanted.  Or what someone else wanted.”  The sound of his gate was muffled while he spoke, which helped me focus.  “I’m here for me.  Sounds selfish, but sometimes it’s still true.”

He put his fingers together in front of him, tapping them every once in a while as if pleased at a joke only he knew.  Darn, but he looked familiar.

“You are not my usual supplicant,” he pointed out.

“See? You are a sharp one.”  I leaned towards him, thinking my next words carefully.

“You do not want your enemies suffocated by the fogs of war, or their minds confused by the mazes of conceits.”  He hmmm’d loudly.  “Your desires are not so obvious.”

Well, she had to have long legs… oh, wait.  He was trying to compliment me.

“No, I was just going to invite you to leave.   See, those who summoned you aren’t playing by the rules.  You’re bored, you’re hungry, and you’re uncomfortable enough that you’re having to spend the energy to keep the portal home open just to stay entertained.  These aren’t your people.  They’re dilletants, and they’ve eternity to waste your time.”

“They are fey,” he said, chuckling.  “Eternity is incomprehensible to such as you.”

“Yeah, yeah, so I’ve heard.  You’re missing the point.”  I had a bright idea.  “What are they stalling for?  What’s going on at home that they want you dancing at the end of their rope so bad?”

Hah!  I had almost placed him.  It was something in the way he looked when he considered this.  I’d thrown him a fine knot of possibility.  I had no idea if it was real, so he couldn’t do the god thing and poke at my intentions and thoughts.  It was better than likely, it was entirely plausible.

My brain had painted this idyllic picture.  A god who craved anything of battle was being bored out of his immortal skull.  And don’t forget the rainbows.

Nevermind.

“And what of what I was promised?”

“Eat, drink, and be merry,” I said, “for tomorrow they deceive.  Look, you can do what you want, but I know what I want, and that’s to go home.  It’s been a heck of a long day for me, especially as someone who can’t perceive eternity.”

“And that’s all you want?” his smile… wait.

“Oh, I could use a…” I bit my tongue.  Nothing good would come out of finishing that sentence.

“It is,” he pointed out, standing up, “an interesting proposition.  I think you should get what you want.  I shall take that as my example.”

He raised his hand, and the harmonics of the gates grew just off enough that I grit my teeth and closed my eyes.

A moment later, the air felt different around me.  A gate?  A breeze?

I opened my eyes.