S O M N U S

"What if I fall?"
"Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?"


Night had fallen.

The air was warm but not uncomfortably so, a balmy evening in the midst of summer and lacking the grueling bite that came with the sun. Stars twinkled in the dark skies up above the land, beckoning like sirens in the depths of the oceans, shining brightly amidst the Moon and her companions. Beacons, they were, guiding lights for the lost souls who hoped, so desperately, to find their way. Perhaps one day they would.

For Somnus, however, sleep had not come. It eluded him, the fickle mistress, dancing forevermore out of his grasp just as he was about to grab tight to it, eyelids heavy with bodily exhaustion but his mind rapt and vigilant, yearning for some form of competitive quandary. The golden tactician yearned for a good debate, for an equal match of wits and wills that would put his brilliant mind to the test, and allow him at last to settle down with a peacefully clear head. Complacency and stagnancy ruined a man like him, and with so little going on during the day, his mind ran like hell during the night and simply would not stop. It was maddening, overwhelming, thoughts, scenarios, plans, and schedules running over and over in his head before either exhaustion would grab hold and sleep would take him, or he would concede the battle and go wandering.

On this pleasant night, wandering was what Somnus found himself doing. Through the winding halls of the Court did he venture, his steps light but sure, confident with every stride in this impressive construct of talented masonry and amber wings furled close to his body, as so not to knock into anything. It seemed that every new hall brought new discoveries, but he was not treasure hunting. No. Tonight, the young gentleman had one destination in mind, and that was the courtyard, where he could stare up at the heavens and map the stars with his eyes, just as he had done since the days of his youth.

As he made his way through the halls, cream-kissed hooves rasping against the ground with every step he took, Somnus took to humming that same, nondescript song from his colt-hood, fully expecting to be the sole sufferer of insomnia on such a night.

Fate, as it seemed, would have other ideas.

S O M N U S

"What if I fall?"
"Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?"


Since his recent arrival into the Dawn Court, the halls had been oddly quiet. Perhaps it was due to his own tendency to withdraw himself from the loud and boisterous that he missed the present going-ons, preferring solitude and thoughtful silence, but he had anticipated some form of livelihood beneath the towering citadels and impressive masonry that made up the Capitol of Delumine. Yet, there seemed to be nothing of the sorts. The halls were silent whenever he passed, the rooms barren of souls and aired out, courtyard void of life and still as the world around them seemed to carry on. It was not anything new to wander and not encounter another soul, especially so late in the evening.

It was that very reason alone that he did not expect to encounter another. A beckoning call, a formal, softly spoken greeting is what he receives in the darkness of the courtyard beneath the pale moon and shimmering stars.

The song upon Somnus' lips dies in his throat as intuitive verdant eyes seek out the speaker who has interrupted the solitude of his venture. The golden tactician stops, rich amber feathers fluttering upon pale flaxen sides as he straightens to his full height, posture erect and collected, ears forward and at attention, piercing gaze raking up the dark one's form and watching as he pulls himself from the shadows, like a wraith wearing a smile. Somnus does not know him. The realization is instant. This shadow is a stranger in his mind, but his eyes, perceptive, visceral, see the stallion for what he is; of a greater height than the tactician's own stature, he is lean with flexible muscle, a smooth, rich bay that nearly appeared black beneath the moon's weak glow. Dark, proud, strong wings grace his shoulders, collected with an elegance and control of a gentleman.

It is only then that the tactician dips his head, onyx crown lowering in a dipping nod to acknowledge the shadow's arrival

He thinks of Charlemagne, the chestnut gentleman who had been the first, and only, to greet him to the Court in this very courtyard. He thinks of how, in a rather foolish move, much to his embarrassment, he had assumed that the horned stallion had been the Dawn Lord. Charlemagne, the blessed, good sir that he was, had only laughed off his inquiry and stated that no, he was mistaken. Oh, did he wonder now, but Somnus had learnt his lesson well, and would rather not have a repeat venture of sticking his own hoof in his mouth.

The shadow's words cause a polite, reserved sort of smile to grace the dunalino's dark lips, eyes crinkling slightly at the good nature of his tone. "It most certainly appears so," he began politely, the elegant lilt to his accent easy to acknowledge the truth that he was not native to Novus. It was all too easy to fall back into old habits of his days as a chamberlain, his tongue remembering well the art of diplomacy and speaking to delegates, emissaries, and those of far more noble of birth than himself. Never had Somnus been more grateful for the servitude he had paid in Vhallen than he was now.

Silence once more lapsed between them, and the dunalino allowed an insightful verdant gaze to stay rooted upon the rich bay male. His inquiry was an honest one, spoken with nothing but genuine desire to know, and Somnus could not belittle him for that.

"I am Somnus, good sir," he answered politely, evenly, his words direct and to the point, as he was not a creature to waylay information or 'beat around the bush', as it were, "Sage to the Dawn Court proper. And you are?"

S O M N U S

"What if I fall?"
"Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?"


The shadow does not leave him wanting. A smile is cast in his direction, but Somnus does not miss the weariness of his expression, nor the fatigue that seems to drape about his shoulders like a mantle. This fellow is far more busy than he himself, Somnus realizes with a touch of trepidation. Perhaps there is /more/ that he can do for his new Court, if given the chance... The gilded tactician, however, does not utter a single word in regards to it, for it is far from his place. Instead, he simply meets the smooth bay stallion's gaze, holding it within curious verdant depths, questioning and reserved.

Then, the winged stallion speaks. Dulcet tones express gratitude in their greeting, and once more, Somnus dips his head in acquiescence, in agreement, for the feeling is greatly reciprocated. He would always take pleasure in meeting those of his new home, of his new kin. Dark lips remain shut, however, expression thoughtfully neutral, and it is only upon this stranger's revelation of his name that Somnus better understands his words, that every piece of the puzzle finally slide smoothly into place. Kasil. The Dawn King. The Sovereign of Delumine. How ironic, then, that they meet beneath the cover of pale moonlight and a shower of glimmering stars.

"Ah," Somnus says at last, composed and placid, "Kasil. Yes." He knew of Kasil. Charlemagne had spoken the Sovereign's name in their first meeting, albeit shyly, but while he knew of Kasil, the dunalino gentleman did not know him. "If I may be so bold... I am quite familiar with what you are, Sire, but I fear that I do not know who you are." The statement was accompanied with a slight upwards quirk of dark lips, Somnus' intuitive emerald eyes glittering in the pale moonlight as he stared forthright into the Dawn Lord's mahogany depths.

Yes, he knew of Kasil, to a degree. The stallion was King, they all had to know of him... But the tactician did not know him. Somnus did not know what drove Kasil forward. He did not know his deepest fears, his greatest passions, his most personal beliefs. What spurred him on? What drove his desires? What pushed him onward, striving to be the best Sovereign that he could be for his people? These were the questions that Somnus so desperately wanted to know, for how could he serve a King to the best of his abilities without it?

Then, almost apologetically, Somnus dips his head in composed respect, verdant eyes sliding shut as strands of pale mane fall about his face. "Forgive my forthright audacity, Majesty, but one day, I do hope to know you, and not simply the title you respectively hold."