Tiernan Kilgrave's catch phrase "What do ya need?" says it all. He's a dealer in all types of illicit pleasures. This song suits Tiernan perfectly.
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(Excerpt from Donovan's journal with his assessment of Tiernan)
Tiernan Kilgrave swagged with his lazily confident style and his usual smirk of self-satisfaction. Though only a century old his cocky attitude didn't soften even for the head of the Unseelie Elite. Then again, most exiles 'didn't give a shite' about the customs in the Mounds. One thing could be said for Tiernan; he embraced his Unseelie nature with as much vigor as he embraced life on the surface. Those pale eyes just focused on me with all seriousness, never acknowledging the other fey around him. To him 'earthborn' usually was synonymous with 'dumbass.' Although outwardly a laid back individual, Tiernan hadn't established himself in his amoral endeavors and criminal empire by slacking. He had been one of the key informants from some of the most secret and deadly of missions the queen of the Unseelie Court required.
Malcolm goes through a tough time in his first book, Scars of Silver. A song like Breaking Benjamin's "Dear Agony" captures the emotion of his horrific experience. This is a snippet that fits with the song.
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Rand circled around until he towered over Malcolm’s head. He planted a booted foot on the chain linking the wrist shackles before Malcolm could flinch away. “Do it quick.”
Flora smeared the salve over his torn back. It burned like alcohol. The chains clinked as he jerked in shock and pain, but Rand’s foot pinned his arms fast to the ground. Malcolm screamed.
The goblins in the chamber clamored to the bars, hopping and laughing.
Malcolm bit back his screams. Hating… Hating how they delighted in his outcries. His throat strangled the sound. He sucked hissing breaths, shoving down the pain as much as he could. Shoving it down. Down. Down. Feel nothing. Feel nothing.
Rand backed off the chain. Malcolm rolled to his side, as he watched Rand and Flora leave the cell. The prickly burn dropped down to a full body throb.
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Enjoy: Breaking Benjamin - Dear Agony (Lyrics on screen)
I love this song for Lugh in End of the World. Here's a little snippet that fits perfect with the spirit of the song.
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The hills beneath which the Mounds were buried crumbled in on themselves. Deflated as the hollow caverns beneath lost stability. A cloud of dust and debris billowed out as the hills sunk down, turning instead into a crater.
Lugh gaped at it, dumbfounded. The other fey about him wept and screamed in their terror.
Homes… Family… Friends… Lives… Culture… History…
Everything…
Lost…
Just… Just…
Gone.
Lugh dropped to his knees. The strength drained from his arms and they slumped to his thighs. The lesser fey wept about him, but Lugh could not even reach past the shock to begin to comprehend grief. Pain, though… Pain cut right through him. His heart ached as if the silver dagger had been planted in his chest, rather than in the All-Mother’s. His head dropped back as his pain screamed out to the heavens above. The magic bond to the All-Mother, and to the magic of the Mounds, severed like a dirk sliced through it. Lugh clutched at his heart. Everything he was, was linked to the Mounds, to the magic, to his people.
The world had ended. And he, the Champion of the Sidhe, hadn’t been able to save it.
Wizards, like most humans, were born without a shred of innate magic of their own. During an exhaustive apprenticeship wizards learn to use magic from external sources. Alchemy. Charms. Spells. Enchantments. All skills to be learned and tools to be used for one purpose.
To gain more power.
Certain forces and creatures are innately magical. These are ideal to use for magical works. Fey creatures are of particular importance. Their organs can be dried and ground into powder for potions. Their bones used to forge magic tools, such as knife handles or wands. Not a single part of a fey goes to waste. Certain tools, such as amulets, can drain a fey of magic, which can then be used by the wearer as their own until the supply of captured magic is spent. This is most commonly used with Glamour, but any magic can be drained and used in this manner. Because fey are such key ingredients, wizards are highly experienced in capturing them.
This is an excellent song for Donovan (Jhaer) and his Unseelie Elite. Here's a snippet from "Foreshadow", the free prequel to the Rise of the Unseelie available when you sign up for the newsletter.
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Throwing himself bodily at the trapdoor, Jhaer burst into the room above. He dove and rolled, narrowly avoiding the blast wave of flame that chased him. No point splitting his focus on his Glamour now. The smoke filling the room swirled around him as he moved, giving away his position.
Behind Jhaer the wooden table and chairs were already kindling. Across from him, Aoife crouched behind the huge bed. A shackle hung from one wrist. A chain draped from it and attached to a ring hammered into the stone wall. A thick area rug blanketed most of the floor on that side, and it smoldered with smoky flame.
Between Jhaer and Aoife, a Sidhe fire wielder flung out a graceful arm. Fire spread across the room in lines of flame that spread in a spider-web pattern. The Sidhe was a Seelie Jhaer didn’t know, with a wicked laugh and a lethal gleam in his eyes. “Burn, baby!” He screamed, “Charbroiled Unseelie!”
The trapdoor angled up, and a Redcap poked his foul face through the opening. Too many oversized and blood-stained teeth gapped in his maul. Jhaer vaulted over the table, using the as-yet unburnt corner to propel himself. He stomped on the trapdoor with all his weight, slamming it shut on the Redcap. As he did so, he drove his magic downward into the stairwell. All of the mortar ran like fresh mud, and the stones collapsed. The steps literally melted beneath the Redcaps, their bodies smashed to the floor with a satisfying crash.
Jhaer moved once more, dodging the series of fireballs whipped at him. The wall holding the chain in place yielded to his magic and dropped the ring.
Aoife, clever enough to flee the flames weaving along the floor, rushed out onto the balcony. She looked out and down, then back. Trapped. The silver of her shackle chained her magic.
“Oh, the Unseelie knows how to dance!” the fire wielder laughed, sounding a touch more than crazy. His sweaty auburn hair stuck to his face in wild spikes. “Dodge this!” A wall of flame swept toward Jhaer with a broiling heat.
