the baffled king composing Hallelujah

A letter lay purposefully atop his desk, placed delicately in a place where the deliverer knew he would immediately see it. It was folded perfectly, the edges crisp and precise, but plain in its adornments. No signature embellished it, no stamp or wax seal giving away who may have written it. Somnus did not need one to wonder who it belonged to, for the small blue feather barred in black was more telling than any signature.

His breath caught in his throat, the ugly tread of fear crawling with talons up his gut and into his chest, clutching his heart with knives. It stole his breath, yet his heart continued to thump wildly within his chest. Nothing else mattered as he reached out and plucked the letter from atop his desk, unfurling each fold with great care as though any wrong touch would reduce it to ash.

Hundreds of emotions fought for superiority as he read. His fears did not abate. Within his grasp, the letter trembled, but still he could not tear his gaze away.

First, disbelief. Ipomoea had gone to Denocte? He had left Delumine? The letter stated the reasons, it did, and every reason was sound,  but Somnus could not believe it. It just didn’t make sense, couldn’t make sense. His eyes scanned the words, skimming the familiar swoops and curls of his steadfast Regent’s familiar handwriting, over and over until within moments, minutes, he had each and every word memorized. Still, it did not make sense. Nothing stuck within his mind, save for the slowly growing realization that it was not only disbelief that he felt.

Anger. That was second. Fury unlike anything he had ever felt ignited like a lethal fire within his breast, poisoning his body and mind and making his blood run cold. It made him want to rage, to carelessly throw away the dignified, refined mask of a proud tactician and polite gentleman that he so consistently carried and shove his desk aside. He wanted to knock all of the papers to the floor, to see the destruction he felt personified, the turmoil, the betrayal that struck far deeper and more agonizingly painful than any blade or weapon could ever hope to achieve.

Despair. Oh, but the familiarity. This was not so foreign, for he and despair were quite intimately familiar. Somnus’ dark lips opened as though to speak but no sound came out save a wheezing gasp. His heart raced. He felt struck down, exposed, abandoned, alone. Pavetta had left them, and now Ipomoea had followed after. It was only in his grief that he dropped the letter, letting it sway and fall beneath the desk. The feather still remained, an innocent reminder of his own transgressions where it rested upon the desktop.

Guilt clung to him. Had he made the wrong choice? They had deliberated, he and Ipomoea, and together they had agreed to close the borders to keep Delumine safe. It was not ideal, no, but their options had been limited. Was that not Oriens’ way? To remain neutral in the face of travesty and approach everything with an open, even mind? Had he been wrong?

The striving perfectionist within him could not fathom it, could not accept it… But Somnus had learned a lot since coming to Novus, and the greatest lesson he had learned to date was that he would never, ever be perfect. To hope for perfection was a fool’s errand, and while foolish at times, the Dawn King was not a fool. Or so he thought.

For the first time in what felt like hours, Somnus drew a breath, the sound horrid and wretched. He still remained standing upright beside his desk, blinking slowly, unaware that he had been staring without truly seeing. Thank Oriens that he had been alone within his study, for surely his moment of emotional ineptitude would have made for a poor display of a King. He was shaking, quivering, trembling as though he had been standing out in the freezing cold. Slowly he began to breathe, to focus, to try and clear his head.

No. Ipomoea would not abandon him. This is not what he was doing. Ipomoea would never abandon Delumine and the Dawn Court. He was taking action, taking initiative, stepping forth to help those in need while Somnus himself hid like a coward behind their imaginary walls.

Perhaps he was a fool.

Ever so slowly did Somnus tear his gaze away from the vacant nothing that he had been staring at, letting mournful, verdant eyes come to rest upon the blue, black barred feather that still sat so innocently upon the desk. Reaching out, he plucked it up with deliberate care, then let out a long, measured breath.

“You always were the better of us, little brother.” The statement was whispered upon a choked breath, stricken with unshed tears that Somnus would not allow to fall. Then with his limited magic, Somnus clumsily braided the blue feather into his mane, just behind the juncture of ear and jaw. It was a precious token, a thoughtful gift that Ipomoea perhaps did not mean to leave behind. The Dawn King would carry it close until his brother returned.

“Alba. To me.” The barn owl immediately swooped low from her observatory perch, letting out a litany of soft, concerned pops and clicks while mentally reaching for him. Through their connected minds he caressed the top of her head, letting her spirit feel his. Oh, but it was a wretched, terrible mess, yet he had never seen so clearer.

Turning back to his desk, Somnus snatched out a clean sheet of parchment. He plucked a quill from his assorted collection, dipped it in ink, and then began to write. His heart pounded within his chest, but his strokes were confident and assured. There was little that he could hope to do right, but this was one of them. Perhaps it would be the first small step of many larger ones to come. Once it was written, he did not fold it. Not right away. First, the Dawn King let himself breathe and relax, forcing his muscles to unclench and his stresses to pass. He would not let his last touch upon a letter delivered to his noble-hearted little brother to be stained with turmoil and grief.

Knowing what he had planned, Alba plucked one of her downy, speckled ivory feathers from her own chest and offered it. He took it.

The moments passed, and only after he was no longer trembling did Somnus begin to fold the letter, the gift tucked inside. He sealed it with wax simply to keep it safe for the journey but did not stamp it, not with a formal insignia. There was no need. This was not a message of formality. It was a letter from one worried brother to another. Holding the letter, the golden stallion took a moment to affix it to Alba’s leg with a leather strap, ensuring that it was secure before stepping back. His eyes sought out hers, staring hard into her beady black eyes. He knew she would not fail.

“Find him.” Rushing to the window he flung it open, uncaring of the sound it might make as it clattered open. “Go.”

Like an arrow the barn owl tore through the window, tucking her wings close as she darted through only to shoot open. She fell, plummeting towards the earth before her wings opened once more and with an ear-splitting scream, she tore through the freezing winter air, desperate to find the wayward Regent, and Somnus?

He waited, watched, and prayed.

---

Alba flew well into the evening, consumed by the colors of night. Darkness descended but she did not halt her journey, strangely unfazed by fatigue or exhaustion. Not once did she pause to rest, determined to see this through, to find the gentle-hearted stallion that had become a brother to Somnus. Only then would she stop to catch her breath.

Like a soundless, pale shadow she soared through the night, the winter moonlight glinting against her alabaster feathers. Her piercing black eyes scoured the earth that passed by beneath her, searching, searching, searching, scanning this way and that, never looking away until… Until….

There.

With a screech that pierced the veil of darkness around them did she slow, spotting the mottled, rosey-kiss of Ipomoea’s coat. Even in the darkness she recognized him, and spiraling down, down, down in great, arcing circles did the barn owl come to rest just before him. Her little chest heaved, the staved fatigue finally catching up to her. She blinked up at him, popping her beak as though admonishing his behavior, before she waddled closer and extended her leg to show the letter.

The letter was a simple read;

’Ipomoea,

The words will not come, at least not as graceful as I wish them to. I feel rattled and uncertain, but I trust your judgement. Mistakes are lessons that can haunt us for the remainder of our lives if we so choose, but we cannot let them define us. Like stones we can hold them and build with them, forming a new life, learning from our previous transgressions. I have no doubt that you will do just that.

I will worry and fear for you until you return. Please send word to me once you have arrived within Denocte, and send their Regime there my regards.

I would say ‘make me proud’, but you have already achieved that and more. Take care of yourself, little brother.

I love you.

~ Somnus.’

And there, tucked within the folds, was a single ivory feather, speckled with tawny spots.

---

tag: @Ipomoea