He is at the library again. Just like yesterday and the day before, at his favorite table (broad and roughly hewn of a beautiful dark walnut) by his favorite window (well shaded, so that direct sunlight never streams in and harms the sensitive scrolls) with a large pile of books, a stack of good, handmade paper, and (of course) his favorite pen and ink.
It would be impractical to light a fire here, surrounded by ancient scrolls and perhaps even more ancient trees, so a heavy winter chill permeates the quiet air. Outside the sun is almost violently bright-- it almost seems mocking as Mateo's breath rises in huffs of steam.
One of the foxlike library helpers suddenly bounds in. Mateo looks up, startled and frankly annoyed to be so abruptly disrupted. He opens his mouth to say something when a familiar face enters behind the creature. The helper chitters happily at Ipomoea and then darts away again-- off to either help one patron or cause mischief for another.
The pegasus stares for a second, taken aback, then quickly closes his open mouth, swallows, and opens it again to stutter "R-Regent Po!" He takes a deep bow. "Were you... looking for me?" He can't imagine why that would be... unless his most recent cookie-stealing escapade with Reggie had been found out. His heart races at the thought but he keeps a brave face. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
He does not have to fake sincerity when he smiles-- it was truly always a pleasure to see Somnus' right hand. They were not close by any means, but Mateo found that the Regent's kind nature was always uplifting... and his hair was downright inspirational.
Ulric was not wrong - it was not hard to find the black pegasus. All Po had to do was browse the skies then head towards the library.
The dark, earthen floor muted his footsteps as he walked, the woven canopy of the trees blocking out sound both within and without the library. It was always a strange thing to him; one moment he was walking through the forest, following a well-worn trail that winded back and forth through the trees. The path would gradually become more overgrown, the trees wider and spaced closer together, until they seemed to grow into one another altogether. Where once a thousand trees stood, a single massive tree now grew, merged into one being through the years and by magic. It was a wonder and a mystery to behold, one that never failed to amaze Ipomoea.
He would happily stay here forever - in another time, another life. Perhaps one with less responsibilities, less war and strife, one where a spotted orphan could read to his heart’s content.
Alas, that was not this life.
The library helper was all too happy to help the Regent. So happy in fact, that for a moment he feared they were playing one of their beloved tricks on him, pulling his leg and stringing him along in the direction opposite of what he’d asked. But true enough, when they lead him to the hidden alcove it was Mateo there waiting for him. As the fox-like creature ran back into the depths of the library, Po offered a warm smile to the pegasus.
"Mateo," he greets, his voice feeling strangely hushed. It was hard to not speak quietly here, where it was so peaceful the drop of a pin would be heard. "I was indeed."
He wanders forward, letting his eyes roam over the scrolls and book titles arranged on the table. It would seem the scribe had been hard at work for a while now - and he was not surprised to see it. One in particular caught the Regent’s attention, and a half smile hid at the corner of his lips. "Ah, the A Journey Along the Rapax, with Zosimas the Monk. I believe there’s some illustrations of our pink river dolphins in there that Regis may be interested in." He turns the pages gingerly, admiring the fine script of the man who’d written it all those years ago. "Of course, Zosimas was quite doubtful of their existence in the beginning, but you can feel the wonder in his words when he writes about seeing them for the first time. Really the best part of the book if you ask me."
Ipomoea closes the book, setting it slowly back down on the table. He was stalling and he knew it; he only hoped it wasn't too obvious.
"You’re hard at work I see, I hope I’m not disturbing you?" I have a favor to ask, he didn't say, not yet.
In Mateo's world, the gods reigned supreme. One level beneath them, and regarded with similar reverence, was the dawn court regime. Despite having met Somnus and Ipomoea and sharing perfectly normal conversations with both, he still views them as these larger-than-life figures, closer to myth than reality.
So the boy is highly alert, paying close attention to the way the light falls and the air shifts and The room is lightly perfumed with flowers Ipomoea wears, and that trademark scent only reinforces the feeling that Mateo is standing in front of a character who walked right off the page of a storybook in search of the young scholar... but why?
Although not a small room, Mateo is so used to being alone here that the regent's presence makes the space seem tight. His eyes dart along the shelves he's long since memorized the contents of, in hope that tea or cookies or some other offering for the Regent might have materialized since the last time he looked. His mother taught him to offer food and drink to visitors, and although this corner of the library is not his home, it might as well be for the amount of time he spends here.
Alas- the shelves have not restocked themselves and Mateo only has books to offer his guest- who has already started to delicately leaf through one. The pegasus flushes with surprised pleasure to hear the other stallion is familiar with the text. Zosimas was the author of four books in his time, and despite his fine script and distinct voice, he never reached the popularity of his contemporaries.
Po hits the nail on the head, so to speak, when he mentions Zosimus' sense of wonder upon seeing those pink dolphins. Reading it had struck Mateo so much that he began to question if perhaps he was going about things the wrong way... maybe by researching as much as he could on the subject, he was stealing from himself the wonder of discovering it for himself for the first time. But it was too late to undo the words he read and illustrations he viewed, so he stubbornly refused to let himself feel regret.
"Ah, yes. Those pink dolphins seem to enchant everyone who's seen them." Mateo had been investigating the river dolphins in his free time ever since his strange new friend Pan mentioned them. His natural interests were in the realm of the historical world, the personalities and actions that shaped Novus, but Pan's enthusiasm had been contagious. "Have you? Seen them, I mean?" His slender black ears perk forward in intrigue.
When the book closes there is a strangeness on the air between them. Mateo finds himself fidgeting his wings. Finally, the regent asks "You’re hard at work I see, I hope I’m not disturbing you?"
"Oh, no, not at all! I was just about to take a break anyway." It's a lie, but a harmless one, and it slips from his lips as easily as truth. The nervous, chatty side of him (the dominant side, let's be honest) wants to say something, anything to keep the conversation going. Talk came easy, patience did not. But he does not think that Ipomoea is here for meandering conversation, so he swallows and asks "What's up?"
His smile is soft, nearly hidden yet ever-present. Perhaps it was more habit than anything else, or maybe the Regent truly was happy all the time. He was an optimist at heart, and a dreamer; life was always vibrant and bright when he was around even on a rainy day.
Even when the world was aflame and queens were dead or missing - but that was a talk for another time.
Have you?
He lifts his eyes from the book, turning them to Mateo instead. “I have not,” he admitted. “Unless you count glimpses, but those may have been more imagination than anything else, a trick of the mind.” For a moment, he was thoughtful. Ipomoea did not spend enough time at the Rapax, especially where the water ran deep enough for the dolphins to enjoy. He always told himself he would visit more - but then again, he supposed the infrequency of his trips were precisely what made them so special.
“But I know honest men who claim to have seen them, and I trust them and their writings.” He nods towards the book in question, with its worn leather cover and fading, golden title. “Perhaps one day I will, I would like that.”
But when? His mind is turning into a wicked thing, with its doubts and its questions. He would much rather live in sweet, eternal oblivion - and for a while, Delumine had been that for him. The Dawn Court was a field of red flowers and a good book, the fragrance of petals and parchment and the warmth of the sun. It was easy to lose himself in joy and peace when every day was spring within their borders. Somehow Delumine had a way of staying pure even while the rest of the world struggled; like a breath of fresh air coming off the ocean. And yet…
He lets out a shaky breath, unaware that he had been holding it while the silence stretched between them. His eyes float around the room, from the stacks of books to the shaded window, anywhere but Mateo.
“I’m leaving.”
The words felt strange on his tongue, like he shouldn’t be speaking them. They didn’t belong to him, couldn’t belong to him. Who was Ipomoea, if not the Regent of Delumine? And who was a Regent, if he abandoned his court? Even being certain in his choice, he still could not believe he was speaking the words aloud.
“I’ll be on my way to Denocte by nightfall, and I- I need someone to be my eyes and ears here while I’m gone.” Finally out of places to look, Ipomoea finds himself returning to the verdant gaze of the pegasus. For half a heartbeat he can’t speak, his tongue tying itself into knots. But he can’t stop now, not yet.
“Will you, can you do that for me? I know we’ve only spoken a few times, but I-“ he couldn’t say for sure why he had chosen to go to the pegasus. Mateo was friends with Regis, who was like a nephew to him, and he was well read and charming; but it was the language they shared that drew the Regent to him. It was one of songs and stories, of daydreams and love, flowers growing through a concrete forest.
According to the texts, to encounter a pink dolphin required an abundance of patience and luck. One of those things Mateo did not possess, and the other he did not believe in.
On a handful of flights his attention was drawn to a flash of pale pink movement far below, but like the Regent he does not consider these as proper encounters. They could be too easily written off as the reflection of the sun on the water, or a large fish at the surface, or even just, to borrow Po's words, a trick of the mind. No, Mateo wanted to see the color of the dolphin's eyes and the speckling of their skin and the way they moved,silent and graceful below the cold, fierce waters. He wanted to see what Zosimus saw for the first time on that fated summer day, and to draw the lines between the monk's experience and his own. It was as though there was a secret hidden there, in the parallels of their experiences, and if Mateo could just line himself up in the right position he would sink into a deeper level of understanding.
He only ever wanted to Know.
"Perhaps one day we both will see them." He says brightly, and if he hears the unspoken words, if he notes (and, of course he does) the way the other man's breath is hitched in his chest, it does not temper his optimism. "Together." He says it with such certainty that it sounds more like a promise than a surmise, and in that moment he commits himself to becoming the master of the pink dolphins, so one day he may show Ipomoea.
Quickly carried away by thoughts of dolphins, the boy has almost forgotten the oddness of this encounter-- until the silence stretches thin, broken only by the whoosh of air that Po had been holding in, and then his words-- "I'm leaving."
Mateo is rarely shocked into silence. It is good for Po that his words have this effect, or else he would not have been able to get in a word else-wise.
"But... but..." He bites back the selfish words "we need you". It almost takes more restraint than he has. His face feels blank, like the blood has been drawn from it. (Oriens, don't let me hurl on my Regent) "Can't someone else go?" He is not so bold to offer himself. Although he has begun to venture farther and farther from the familiar confines of Delumine (thanks in part to that green-eyed girl) he would not so readily offer himself to venture to Denocte in times of war. What good would he be there? What would he do, sing to make everything better?
He clears his throat, remembering his manners, and folds himself into a decadent bow. "I mean, of course! I would be honored. I won't fail you, sir." He should feel honored. ("I know when I can trust someone") He will, later. ("I know when I can trust someone")
But right now, all he really feels is uncertainty.
He wonders if Mateo can see the sadness in his smile, the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes or stretch across his features the way it would any other day. He hopes he doesn’t; Ipomoea would hate for the pegasus to think it was something he had done, or that the Regent did not like him so much. It was only the heaviness weighing on his heart, the admission that was yet to come.
But he pushes it to the side for a moment longer, and his tone is sincere when he turns back to the other man. “I would like that,” he says softly. “Very much, in fact.”
He holds his gaze for a long, wavering minute before looking away. He doesn’t make any promises, doesn’t vow to hunt down the elusive river dolphins with him. It’s impossible to know yet when he’ll get the chance to - if he’ll get the chance to. So he settles for a smile and bites the inside of one cheek, willing the day to stop, willing the hour to turn backwards and repeat itself so that they might have all the time in the world to talk about fables and plan adventures.
But alas, the world didn’t stop for anyone, let alone for Po.
He watches Mateo’s face carefully, witnessing the lines deepen and the confusion etch itself in those grooves. But he doesn’t have any more of an explanation to give - he had kept himself up at night arguing with his own mind, and still he had come to no solid conclusions.
He was certain that he had to go. But he was less certain on why.
Ipomoea had told himself he would find out when he arrived, that if it was some destiny pulling him to the other Court then surely all would be revealed soon enough. But that was hardly a good excuse to give anyone who questioned him, especially when for all means and purposes it appeared as if he were about to abandon his Court. His smile diminishes, until it’s a sorry wisp of a thing hiding on his lips.
“It has to be me.” His words are as soft as his smile, and almost as sad. How could anyone stand in his place when his mission was intrinsic in nature? Denocte didn’t need him, of that he was almost positive; he needed Denocte.
He watches as Mateo clears his throat, and lowers himself into a bow. His heart feels unsettled by the gesture, as if whispering to his veins of how undeserving it is of such regard. But his doubts are his own, and not something he’ll unload on the other pegasus. Not here, not now.
“Thank you,” his voice is warm, but his brows are still furrowed. He forces them to relax, to make his smile softer, his face more welcoming, but it’s hard. Harder than it ought to be. “It makes me glad to know you’ll be here.” And it does - despite the uncertainty he catches in the scribe’s tone, despite his youthful nature. Ipomoea had been young and tentative once. It was his rank that had made him blossom, that had secured him his confidence. He had no doubt that Mateo would rise to the occasion; and besides, the Regent was a man with a forgiving nature.
He clears his own throat now, trying to swallow past the thickness that closes around his chest. “I don’t want to keep you too long,” he says. ”And I’m sure I’ve given you much to think about already.” The library was often a place of solitude; there was an atrium calling his name even now, where the canopy parted to reveal the sky and a small pond played sweet music to fill the quiet room. It was his favorite place to come and reflect, when he made the journey to the library. He wanted to visit it one more time before his departure.
But he doesn’t leave just yet. Hesitation is etched into his soul, knowing that once he leaves this room, he can’t come back. Time won’t ever stop.
There is a sadness that is foreign to the black pegasus. He's never concerned himself with the passing of time, never wanted or felt like he needed to just stop for a moment. "It's a date, then!" He was so focused on injecting positivity into the statement that it slips out before he realizes the romantic connotations of the word date. The silence fills with his tense laughter and the shuffling of his wings. "I mean, uh... it's set then. We'll see the dolphins." Not that Ipomoea was not attractive... and intelligent, and kind, and powerful, and always smelling lovely. Mateo looks away, flustered.
In the wake of his awkward blunder, which he will be painstakingly reliving over and over again for weeks to come, the air is heavy with both finality and uncertainty. Neither of these are comfortable for the boy, as he was often referred to-- so often that he came to think of himself by that title as well. It felt... safe, to have a nickname like that. A boy was always the product of someone else's choices. A boy could get himself into trouble and right back out with the innocent widening of the eyes.
And a boy could very easily lead the life he lived. See, life had always been simple for Mateo. In part because of his buoyant nature, but mostly due to circumstance. It was not that he shirked his duties so much as he never had major responsibilities to begin with. Most days he was up before the sun to partake in morning devotionals, either in the temple with the monks or (more and more often) in the sky by himself. Then throughout the day he was typically at the library scribing. He loved writing, although not as much as he loved singing (he was always very generous with the word love, and thought everyone ought to be) and so the work was deeply satisfying to him. Evenings were his to spend freely, and that was a very sacred time which was mainly devoted to music, mischief, and socializing.
So.
Beneath the heavy weight of that expectant air, Mateo's mind is racing. What does it really mean to be the regent's eyes and ears? He decides that he must send letters, regularly, and probably frequent the tavern more often... for professional reasons, of course, it being the most lucrative place for those with information to sell. But what about the bigger issues? What if Somnus falls ill, or the murderer attacks again, or Solterra turns their violent sights to Dawn, for some cockeyed reason?
What if I fail? He wonders. It feels as though there is a great weight on his shoulders-- and it is not comfortable. He was built for lightness and speed and flight.
"When will you be back?" He asks finally, sensing that their conversation is closing, knowing that the many other questions he has will go unanswered. (why are you going, when are you going, does Somnus know, of course he knows does anyone else know, are you going alone) And even as he asks the question, he thinks he knows the answer-- I don't know
How could such an innocent question hurt so badly?
It tore at his heart, tearing a hole that surely didn’t belong there. It hurt to breathe, hurt to answer, hurt to hear those words reverberating through his mind, burning like fire through each synapse. Ipomoea took a slow breath.
Did he lie?
Or did he tell the truth?
“Hopefully soon,” he settles for, even though it’s no proper answer at all. But swallows it anyway and chases it down with a smile, one that he desperately wishes to be as full of joy as he is of sadness. He doesn’t want Mateo to know what he’s feeling, to see the uncertainty hiding between the sharp planes of his face.
He turns to leave then, dismissing himself -
”- Mateo?”
He stops at the door, hovering just upon the threshold.
A thousand words hover on the tip of his tongue, jumbling themselves up until they’re so badly entangled he can’t put together his own thoughts. He tilts his head around to peer at the dark pegasus over his shoulder, taking in again the dark walnut desk strewn with books and bits of parchment, the small alcove with the dark green trees just outside the window.
Then he smiles again, and he tries - he really does this time - to fill it with all the warmth and optimism he doesn’t quite feel. It was a good thing he was doing, the right thing. He could make himself be happy about that, if only to ease the minds of others.
“Don’t go looking for those pink river dolphins without me, okay?”
The laughter that touches his eyes, the smile imbuing his voice, is real, promising himself that his first order of business upon his return would be to seek out his new friend. Surely, if the world could keep itself together for that long, it would make a little more time for two friends to enjoy a short visit to the river.
He turns back to the door, and the hair upon his spine raises as he crosses the threshold.
“And I’ll make sure the owls know where to find me in Denocte.”
Then he’s gone, wandering the quiet library halls to find his own quiet place to think, his heart feeling the smallest bit lighter than before.
