Owls of Mages - for wojelah

[ex_pippin880]

Title: Owls of Mages
Gift for: wojelah
By: milkbar
Gift type: Fiction, aprox. 4100 words
Genre: Fantasy
Rating: PG, I guess? There’s only a little swearing.
Warnings: none
Summary: Owls are like multi-sensorial, inter-dimensional telephones for mages, and a wizard Prince wants to adopt human kids.
Giftcreator's notes: Hi, Wojelah! I tried to mash up a little bit of the prompts you provided, so it has connections to: “Something about family - about the merging of the family you're born with and the one you make yourself and trying to bring the pieces together”; “Something about a parliament of owls, and what happens afterward”; and “Something that starts with a person walking down a road, carrying a book”. I don’t know if you’ll like it, it’s really fantasy-esque, but I tried. Really, I really tried hard to make something decent. I’m also drawing a little something that goes with it, but probably won’t be finished on time, so… I hope you like what I wrote!!


It was reasonable to assume that there was no other living thing on the street at that moment other than one man. He was a generally average man; Average height and weight, hair cut in an average, normal looking style and an average brown; His skin wasn’t particularly dark or pale, either; but his eyes were a painfully clear blue, almost a little unsettling. The man was dressed in plain clothing, but something in the way he moved would make people notice him, if there were any on the street; He carried an air of confidence, wearing the simple, cheap clothing like a prince would wear his most formal attire.

An owl was flying behind him, and if someone could interpret the body language of an owl, they would say that the animal was behaving exactly like the man.

The human was walking down the street almost silently; His footsteps were soft like a cat’s, and he walked slowly, his eyes flipping through the pages of an old book. It was late in the evening, and the stars were shining brightly against the deep purple sky, so dark it seemed almost black. The gentle breeze swept the leaves in the trees, warm like a breath, and summer danced through the night. It made him start to hum an old song to himself, a song that he couldn’t exactly remember if he tried but still slipped from his lips when he wasn’t paying attention, and flipped carelessly the pages of the book in his hands. It was old; the leather on its cover was damaged, cracked and thin but the pages, on the other hand, were mostly intact. To the human eye, there wasn’t anything written in it; the pages had only a large watermark, a swirling symbol, repeated in every page. The man, however, could see the handwriting, alien symbols in small and precise calligraphy, drawings and diagrams that were painted on the pages in a color that no human eye would ever see.

He knew these symbols by heart; he knew these pages by heart, as well as he knew his own face on the mirror, as well as he knew his name, his age, his body and his soul. He spent what seemed an eternity reading them, and lately he had been reading it with an almost feverish devotion, but now all that could be seen in his face was a bored disinterest with a pinch of worry. He finally took his eyes off of the book, checking the surroundings, and seeing that it was the right place, he stopped and sat in the ground next to a tree, waiting. Time passed slowly, and the man started to feel ever so slightly sleepy, sitting against the tree: the smell of summer was more intense over it, wind mixing with something sweet and citric that was exotic and calming. This smell, combined with the sound of the breeze moving the trees was soporific, and he was barely awake when he heard the sound of wings coming closer as an owl landed in a branch over his head. There was a snap, the sound of someone cleaning his throat, and then a voice came out of nowhere.

- Good morning, Your Highness.
- Morning, Pririam - He said slowly, trying to find the owl. - Any news?
- There are some, yes. But first of all, the Council wants to know if everything is moving according to the plan.
- Are they there with you? - He asked, rolling his eyes, and the owl sighed.
- I have one of their boys breathing in my neck as we speak, Your Highness. Our meeting was delayed because of your refusal to give any information. I believe the exact wording would be “because of the stubbornness of that spoiled, air-headed fucktard little brat with no respect for the authority and importance of this council, His Royal Jackassness Prince Ungrateful Piece of Shit” and some other adjectives that I respect you way too much to repeat.
- If that’s true - the man replied, laughing - tell them that I did nothing. I spent all these years here, and particularly the last few months, doing nothing except getting drunk, partying, and using the books to make bonfires.
The owl snorted in a very ladylike manner and informed, amusement dripping from her voice, that the Council messenger had run away, horrified. They laughed, and then a comfortable silence fell between them.
- Hey, Pririam. – he called, closing his eyes again.
- Yes, Your Highness? – the owl answered, ruffling her wings.
- I’m sorry for being such a terrible boss.
- You’re a good boss, Octa – she answered, dropping the formalities, and there was a tender tone in her voice – You just doesn’t make things easy for me, you know that.
- It’s not easy for me, either, and you know why. Blame it on the Council, on my father, I don’t really care. But I can’t let them have their way this time. I know you think it’s wrong, but…
- I don’t think it’s wrong, Octa. I really think it’s very admirable of you, and I’m glad you’re doing things this way.
- Even if they are Earthlings?
- Even if they are Earthlings, Octa. I trust you and I know you wouldn’t be so reckless. You may have unbecoming behavior for someone in your social position, but I know you wouldn’t do anything to put us in danger. – She flew to his side, and he patted her head, smiling. The owl sighed and rolled her eyes as much as owls could, annoyed, but didn’t move.
- Does anybody else think the same, Pririam? Or are we alone in this flagrant disrespect for the rules of the Council?
- Your mother thinks the same – She answered quickly, and he let a wide smile take shape – But she isn’t making any progress with the King. Lord Melaus, Lord Shirion and Lady Etirn also support you, and… - she paused, took a deep breath, and continued, with disgust half-bakedly hidden in her voice – Lady Drisirn. I believe she said she can put out a good word for you, if you just “ask nicely”. There was a wink involved too. And lots and lots of giggling. I don’t like her.
- Are you jealous of her, Pririam?
- I am not jealous of that girl – the owl said, rispid, and it just made him laugh louder – I am just flabbergasted by her improper conduct and blatant flirting with every single male Highblood. And some females, too, if what the maids say are true.
- For short, you’re jealous. Don’t worry, Pririam. I don’t have eyes for anyone but you. – he said, caressing the side of her head, and she sighed again.
- You’re making me blush.
- I know. I love it.
They fell in silence again as she nuzzled her head against his hand; he smiled, bended a little, and kissed the top of her head gently. They started talking about the meeting – the owl updating him as much as she could, and he told her that everything was going actually fine; Except for that one problem, there wasn’t anything holding them off. Everything was moving perfectly.
- Anyway – she said - It would still be useful if you sent an owl to the council. There’s just too much I can’t do, and I don’t know anything of your circumstances besides what you tell us. It could help… Most of the Lords and Ladies won’t listen to me, but will certainly listen to you.
- Is someone being rude to you, Pririam? – he asked, frowning.
- Of course not. I’m still Pririam Phiriedirn, personal assistant of Your Royal Highness Octadrius XI, Prince of the Wizards and Heir Apparent to the Seventh Council. Nobody would be stupid enough to be rude to me. But they very courteously inform me that they are too busy, and that it doesn’t make a good picture of your commitment to your cause if you can’t bother sending an owl to request their cooperation, instead sending your “secretary”.
- I can’t send an owl to the Council, the humans cut down the three to it. Do you think they would give me the pleasure of having a meet in this tree, next time?
- No way – she said, shaking her head – You have no idea what kind of neighborhood is connected to this tree, Octa. There’s a brothel across the street. Try to imagine your poor old grandmother here. – Pririam coughed a little and lowered her voice to almost a murmur – Lady Drisirn, on the other hand…
- I’m sorry I had to drag you to such a terrible place, Pririam. I’m in a very nice place myself, I didn’t know…
- It’s ok, really. I don’t mind coming here. I was born in a neighborhood very similar to this, so it kind of makes me feel at ease.
- You don’t really like the palace, do you?
- The palace is nice enough – She answered, with a vague look in her owl’s eyes – But the people in it aren’t so much. Everybody respects me because I’m your assistant, but I see the way they treat people like me. And I hear things, too.
- Well, you won’t have to worry about it for long. I’ll be back soon.
- I know. And I can’t wait until you’re back, Octa. I really miss you. – She said, looking miserable for a moment, and it made him want to hug her.
- But before I go back to you, Pririam – he said, looking around lazily, the sleepy sensation that he felt in the beginning coming back – I have some things to do, and you have the Council meeting to attend in my place. If we’re lucky, the next time we talk we won’t be using the owls.
- Goodbye then, Octa.
- I’ll see you later, Pririam. – He said, kissing the owl again and relaxing against the trunk of the tree. He was sleepier than ever before; and had trouble keeping his eyes open for a moment. After almost falling asleep, he stood up and stretched, yawning, turned his back to the tree, opened the book in the same page as before and started walking away.
He had preparations to do.

In the exact same spot, but an universe away, Pririam Phiriedirn yawned and rubbed her eyes, walking a few steps away from a tree that looked exactly like the one Octadrius used. It was their method of communication – a way to bring the Wizard City and the Earth closer. Special trees, magically created, that existed simultaneously in both words worked as a link between them, allowing that their owls - a wizard’s primary long-distance communication device – to briefly fly from a world to another. Under special circumstances, a few powerful wizards could do that, too: Octadrius didn’t need much effort to go to the human world, and she envied him: everything would have been much easier if she could travel between worlds, too. Alas, she was a low blood and therefore had a very limited magical ability; Even sending her owl trough the worlds, a fairly simple process which used mostly the magical energy of the bird left her exhausted for the rest of the day, and now all she could do was think of her cozy and comfortable bed, as she waited in the cold night standing under the tree until her companion came back, the lights of the brothel shining dimly across a faint fog. Other wizard’s owls were flying in and out the house, and she could hear the music and laughter of the patrons and their ladies clearly. It made her smile inside, thinking about how different it was from the sober and austere atmosphere of the Council and the Palace, and Pririam sighed. If it weren’t for Octa, she would never put up with the act. She would never have the strength to deal with all the musings and minutia of the court. She was a low blood. She deserved better.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of her owl, a common barn owl fitted for a commoner, but in Pririam’s eyes she was still a magnificent animal in her own right. She flew gracefully, landing in Pririam’s shoulder, and gave the woman a light peck on the ear as she patted the animal’s head. They looked very much alike – a heart-shaped pale face framed by pale brown, with dark, glossy eyes; but Pririam was a little bit plump and round, while her owl was slender and elegant. The woman sighed; surely her animal was more comfortable with being among royalty than she was and, speaking of royalty, there was a low hum as the driver’s owl, a small and gray bird as round as a ball, flew over Pririam’s head and started flying in circles around the two. Pririam sighed and rolled her eyes, walking quickly to the Palace’s driver, a tall Middle blood fully dressed up in ceremonial regalia. Standing in the corner next to a pile of trash, he looked as out of place as a muscle beast in a potion shop, and Pririam couldn’t quite put her finger in whether the look in his face was because of the smell coming from the bags or because of her. She apologized half-heartedly for the inconvenience of making him come with her to this place at that hour, and his assurance that it was perfectly fine sounded as fake as the divinations of a Six Ball the true meaning dripping: “It is not your fault, Miss Phiriedirn, (if you are such low blooded scum you can’t even transport yourself freely without the aid of someone of higher birth.)”

Sometimes she really hated being among the nobility. But oh, the things you do for the man you love.

Octadrius didn’t have the time to wait for his owl to come back. The wall between worlds was thicker this time of the month, and it had taken a huge chunk of time to get across it; it would take an ever longer time for it to come back. He hated how everything seemed to take a much longer time and need much more effort when he was on Earth; Even Pririam, weak as she was, did not had to wait more than a couple of minutes for her owl to get back. Fortunately for him, though, the mental link with his owl was weaker on Earth, too, so he could walk away; and he had to walk to his house instead of just appearing, which left plenty of time for his owl to catch up with him. Where he lived wasn’t really far from where he was, but every moment was precious; the sky was starting to get its color back, and he had to be back at home before morning came.

He had no problems with the sun, really – He wasn’t any kind of vampire or other creatures of night, that can’t live under the sun – It was just that the people he lived with woke up really early, and he would hate to make them worried about his whereabouts.

Pririam was seating in one of the chairs in her office. It was a very comfortable chair, one of the many very comfortable, albeit broken, chairs in her office. It wasn’t some sort of weird collection, only a small demonstration of scorn by the Royalbloods. Pririam could be the Price Apparent personal assistant as much as she liked and as much as he wanted; It was still the king that assigned rooms in the palace, and he made sure that the old deposit’s door got the fanciest sign they could nail down, with her name written in the fanciest and brightest blue paint they would care to afford, saying that, unfortunately, all the other rooms were already occupied – blatant lies, of course. Octadrius was furious with that not so veiled insult against his assistant, but Pririam took it much more gracefully: She made her most educated and formal reverence and said, with as much sarcastic humility her voice could muster, that it was a pleasure and an honor to know that the king had taken such liking of her as to honoring her with the consideration of her honest, deeply rooted artistic interest in broken chairs. She and the prince then started an habit of buying at least one chair every other week, laughing and trying to find the most outrageously designed sitting apparatus the wizarding world could offer and artistically breaking them in one of the gardens. The Tulips garden has a soft spot in their hearts, and it has nothing to do with it being right under the King’s chambers. The King avoids seeing anything Pririam-related as much as he can, trying not to be openly against her presence as he knew it would make his son upset - Even if his son’s feelings weren’t his priority, Octadrius was an exceptionally gifted magician, and it never hurt to be careful.
Her presence was still a blatant break in the tradition, and it still angered him to no degree; Her presence included her owl, and it was why, as the animal entered the Council Chambers, his and Lady Ezrebedirn were the only other owls present.

For a wizard, sending an owl to a meeting could be both a sign of humility and a sign of scorn, both informal and formal. Owl etiquette was quite complex and depended on a series of signs and factors. The animals made interactions much less personal than meeting face to face, but much more personal than letters; The link an wizard had with his owl was such that he could not only hear and speak trough it, making his voice be heard wherever his owl was, he could also see, feel and smell trough it; However, sight, feeling and smells weren’t clear, and the wizard would remember it with as much clearness one remembers a dream. So, it was polite for new friends and not that intimate acquaintances to send their owls in a visit. It was also polite for Pririam, who was a low blood that, if not under special circumstances, wouldn’t even be allowed near the Council, to send her owl. It meant that she knew her place – that she didn’t thought of herself worthy enough to be there personally. It meant she had fewer, less clear memories of what the place looked like – fitting, as low bloods weren’t supposed to know what the Council Room looked like. It was a highly formal situation for a low blood, and it called for an owl.

But for the Masters – The King, the Queen, and the Lords and Ladies – it was a severe break of etiquette. They were supposed to be fully aware of everything that was happening during a meeting; the dream-like quality of the memories created by using an owl meant that they didn’t care for what was being said, and they didn’t care much about who was saying that. It meant that they didn’t thought of what was being said, or who was saying, worth their attention.

But Pririam wasn’t surprised by it. She was glad enough that only the King and Ezrebedirn were making public statements of disgust by her presence in the Council: The first time she was there as Octadrius representative, only the Queen and Lord Melaus, the prince’s tutor and best friend, were there in person. Having now only two of the nine masters in owl was much better than she expected, and she hoped the king would crack soon. Ezrebedirn was a lost cause; she was the Prince’s former fiancée, until he came along with his arm locked with Pririam’s and the scandal broke loose. But it was still a sore subject, and pushing these thoughts aside, Pririam cleared her throat, made the owl in the Council Room fly to the center of the room, and everybody went quiet.

Octadrius closed the door as silently as he could, but the old, badly kept hinges screeched loudly, protesting against the improper maintenance. The man half-heartedly mouthed an incantation, but wasn’t surprised when it didn’t work. He always wondered how humans could live without magic to do things, and it was shocking how much time was spent doing things like locomotion and chores. He had been in that world for little under six years now: Six long and troublesome years, in which he had too much to do and too little information.

He knew it was an important mission - a plan that was in motion for over a thousand years, in many other worlds beyond this and the wizarding world; hundreds of other universes simultaneously, the wizard’s agents scattered among them and in various places in their timelines. He wasn’t sure why this plan was set - Nobody really knew, not even the King. It was the biggest secret the Eleven Councils could guard, and knowledge of its reasons and purpose was reserved for the King only - a secret shared with the Dead Kings and Queens upon crowning. For the Princes, Princesses, Lords and everyone below them, it was forbidden knowledge, inaccessible information.

They had human collaborators, too. Most were descendants of mages from the past that gave up their lives for that plan, other were humans that somehow got magical abilities, other were government agents or simply bystanders that got caught up in something, people that liked conspiracy theories or historical artifacts; Simple humans with simple lives suddenly caught up in a millennium long plan - usually with catastrophic consequences. It was the case of his collaborators, the people he was living with, the ones he wanted to bring back to his homeland.

He walked around the small living room in the dark, avoiding the furniture with casual, practiced ease, and opened a slit in the door by his left; Inside, two young kids were sleeping: the older was a girl barely over ten and the other, a boy almost seven. They had chocolate-colored skin and black hair, hers long and held in a hundred small braids, his short and poofy. Octadrius sighed, closing the door again and going to his own room, an even smaller cubicle so full of books and boxes it had little space for the man. The walls were covered in magical diagrams and enchantments written in the same invisible color as the ones in the book, and the boxes were labeled with various ingredients for potions and rituals; Most of them were empty, though, because they were all the supplies he got when he left his home-world for this mission; Running out of them meant his quest was almost over, and he worried about the future of the kids.

They weren’t his, obviously. Their father was a nice man with incredible bad luck and a fascination for old books, and accidentally bought a Grimmoire - the book he was reading earlier, and that was left on Earth by the last mage there, two hundred years before Octadrius arrived. Grimmoires were tricky little cursed books: Only a mage could own one without having a curse cast upon them, bringing bad luck and slowing killing the bearers. It was easy for Octadrius to locate the book, but too late to save the kid’s father, who had already lost much and was losing his health, too. The mage felt sorry for him, and felt sorry for his kids; He helped the man as much as he could and, in the end, became a guardian for the children; the only one they had.

Which was why he wanted to bring the kids to his world, even if they were humans with no powers; Even if it was such a huge break in the law it would never cross the mind of any other wizard. It would be polemic, and it would be difficult for the kids to adapt, for his society to adapt to their presence. But he wanted it, he grew up to love the kids like they were their own, and he was sure Pririam would love them too; so, in his mind, he would manage that: It was worth the trouble.

Octadrius sighed, opening the Grimmoire again in a random page, like he did so many times before. He still had preparations to do, and it was better to trust in his lover and not worry about his father’s approval. Outside, a severely misplaced Cape eagle-owl hooted, and the sun began to rise.