Dawn heralds a solitary figure roosting upon a balcony balustrade of Terrastella’s capitol. A tawny-colored barn owl rests from a long journey, a sealed scroll tied with fine leather cord about one of her legs. She waits, watching with beady black eyes until the one she is searching for arrives.
Asterion.
The order had been clear, and she had promised to uphold it. No one but the Dusk Sovereign shall remove the scroll from her leg, and Alba had every intention on keeping such a promise. Whenever a curious equine would plan on approaching, smitten by the fine-feathered barn owl with a curious letter, Alba would balk, large mottled wings spreading outwards to beat furiously at the air as loud ’pops!’ came from her beak.
No one but Asterion, for the delicately penned words scripted inside held far too intimate of knowledge for just anyone to know.
’Dear King Asterion –
Greetings from Delumine proper. I pray that this correspondence finds yourself and your Court within fine health and far better conditions than our last exchange. Slowly the fires to the north grow smaller, and I believe that we are ever closer to finding and ending the source of our smoke-laden plague.
I pray that Vespera and Oriens both bless your land, and that you and yours recovery swiftly and with little travesty. Soon, my friend, I hope that we can exchange pleasantries in person rather than by ink, parchment, and wings. Regardless, I have written to implore your kindness, and the possible mercy of a friend and ally both.
My son is ill. He was born small and frail this autumn-past, and I fear the fires have only made his condition worsen. Delumine’s most talented of healers cannot aid him despite their best efforts, and I am searching now not as one King to another, but a desperate father to a friend. I understand that your healers are needed on your home front, as Terrastella has suffered greatly these weeks past, but I beseech you spare the wisdom and talent of even a single medic.
I have heard rumors of your great Shamans and knowledgeable Potion-Brewers. Traditional medicine and prayers have offered no reprieve for my son, and I fear that if I do not act soon, we will lose him. His mother nor I would survive such a loss. I cannot allow it to happen.
Please understand, we have little to trade in such dire times, but I swear upon my crown and upon Oriens’ great mercy and wisdom, that compensation will be made. Be it coin or resources, I will provide whatever I can.
Alba has seen this letter safely to you. I beg you allow her to rest and recover, but she is strong and able-bodied. I know you are busy, my friend. I know that you are all mourning and recovering, but please take a moment and write back as soon as you can.
I will be patiently waiting.
Best regards, your friend and ally,
Somnus.”
tag:
@Asterion
Open to everyone else, as well, but Alba will only give the letter to Asterion. :D What he does with it afterwards is up to him.
"There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self."
He is not sleeping when the messenger comes to his door; dreams have evaded him of late, and Asterion has never rested in the castle the way he once did, bedding down beneath the willows or in the open fields.
A letter, they tell him, borne by a barn owl, and already the bay is walking with them to the courtyard. He knows who the letter is from; though he has never met her himself, Cirrus has told him of Alba from her own brief time in the Dawn capitol. When he sees the bird he greets her with a nicker, and takes the letter with his heart in his throat.
As he reads it falls and falls, a sinking stone; somehow, in his foolishness and hope, he had thought the worst was over for all those suffering in Novus. He does not look up until he is finished.
“Bring me Atreus,” he says, soft but firm (he is not as unused to the tone of command as he once was) “and Israel and Theodosia, if they are able.” Before the sound of the messenger’s hooves has faded, Asterion is bent over a piece of parchment, writing in a tight and slanting scrawl. He has come a long way since those scant lessons with Isorath, but his words still fall far short of the grace of Isra’s, or the broad chivalry of Somnus’.
King Somnus, the Fair-Hearted,
I am sending our Champion of Healing, a man well-tested and found true in these last few weeks. He needs only to gather his materials, and then should not be far behind your Alba, once she has had what rest she needs. With him may come a few others, bearing salve for burns and seeds from our storehouses for replanting what has been lost. Please, make use of them however and for however long you will.
The only payment I hope for is to someday meet your son, well and whole. In the meantime my thoughts are with you, and I hope the gods are as well.
May we speak again soon, and then of good news —
Asterion
When he is finished - and there are only a few ink-blots marking the page - he looks to the owl, the pale moon of her face, the liquid eyes dark as a starless night. “When you are rested, and fed,” he says, “I will give you this. Thank you, Alba - I’m sure you would rather not be so far from him.” Even so, he is sure that the owl, like Cirrus, is glad to do whatever she can for the man she shares a bond with.
By this time the others have arrived, and he looks to them in the warm dawn light. The birds are only just beginning to sing, and the stones of the castle gleam like pearls, and Asterion is proud and sorry for all the things his people have been through.
“King Somnus’s son is sick, and I would have you go,” he says, his dark eyes on Atreus. He tells him what symptoms the letter mentioned, his voice only loud enough for those he gathered to hear. “I know you are weary, and I know our own court is only just beginning to recover, but we must help as best we can.” Now his eyes turn toward the others, to the Halcyon cadet and Israfel. “I don’t think the journey will be dangerous, but these are strange times. If you can, if you would, accompany Atreus to Delumine. We will send with you salves and seeds and other things they may need.”
“As soon as you are able, go, and the winds be with you.” Absent is the name of their goddess, the mention of any of the deities; Asterion would not invoke them, not when he still isn’t sure whose purpose they serve.
Thank you, thank you, thank you, his gaze says to them each.
Israfel sure as hell wasn’t expecting to be interrupted first thing in the morning. She had just departed from her quarters, Solaris gliding lazily ahead as they proceeded down the hall towards the courtyard proper. Already she was making a plan for the day, a schedule to follow; gather the soldiers of Terrastella and have a proper meeting with them, then go about her routes and ensure that all was well. What she hadn’t been intending was for a messenger to come rushing up, their hooves scraping upon the cobblestone in their haste.
’Asterion wishes to see you immediately,’ they said, hardly giving her the direction of their Sovereign before they were darting off again in a flurry of movement, presumably to run more errands or fetch whoever else Asterion had tasked them to find. Israfel was left standing in the hall, vermilion eyes blinking slowly in the messenger’s wake, before she looked to Solaris and shrugged an ivory shoulder.
“Guess we better not keep him waiting.”
Altering their path, equine and avian both made haste through the halls until they arrived at Asterion’s door. By then Solaris had come to roost upon Israfel's shoulders, just between her wing joints, and neither of them were surprised to see that they had not been summoned alone. The Sun Daughter’s sharp vermilion gaze drifted over Asterion and the barn owl in his company before glancing to the quirky potion brewer, Atreus, for but a moment before her eyes rested upon the Sovereign of Terrastella once more. Head raising, shoulders rolling back, the Warden stood at attention before her ruler, waiting to be addressed, and it did not take long.
Concern rose briefly in her pale breast. She did not know Delumine’s King, but she knew of him and his kindly ways, and it was never easy to hear that a child was ill. Although her skills in battle would not assist a sickly foal, they could keep their traveling party safe along the journey. Even though she doubted very much that Atreus would need much protecting… Still. It was a task given to her by Asterion, and she wouldn’t deny him.
“I’ll go.” Israfel stated with a dip of her rosy muzzle, expression fierce with determination. “Solaris and I will accompany Atreus to Delumine.” In the back of her mind, beyond the initial weight of the momentous task that had been saddled upon her, Israfel’s thoughts drifted to Ulric, the Warden of Delumine. She wondered, briefly, if he had survived the northern wildfires. Only time would tell. “If we can have a satchel of goods prepared, I can carry them along the journey. I won’t be hindered by the weight.”
over the moaning bones
of those who quit and chose to remain
A low grumble of annoyance rattles in his throat when he is summoned. Early though it may be, the man of crimson and silver threads has been up for a few hours already, toiling over a new formula he’s been striving to perfect. Drawing a curtain to cover his work station, Atreus answered the door, a questioning curvature to his brow. The messenger tells him to come as quickly as he can, that Asterion requires his presence. Atreus merely nods his head in a promissory way and shuts the door on the messenger.
He takes what time is needed to clear away his work, hiding away the dark, inky substance he had brewed for a later time. When he leaves, there is no evidence gifted to the unassuming eye he was ever working on anything in the first place.
He’s the second to arrive, just after the pale shield maiden, and it’s to her side that Atreus saunters up beside. His eyes, one of endless black and the other like freshly molten gold, however, are situated on Terrastella’s newly crowned King.
And, oh, does Asterion have news.
As the words leave the bay’s lips, there’s a flash of a moment where Atreus looks stupefied. His eyes widen and his neck stiffens, and that ever present smirk disappears as dark lips instead draw back, taut as he listens further, but not entirely absorbing the information like he would normally. Had he said... Somnus? The wretched memories threatened to come bubbling to the surface, but to any that hardly know him, it would appear that the Champion was merely mulling it all over and processing what might be best to bring along their journey. But in truth, he was scheming.
Of course, there was a chance that this could be some stranger bearing the same name as his brother - but it was a slim one at best.
By the time Asterion finishes speaking, that familiar, casual grin has returned to the roan’s lips, and he spares a glance to the ivory woman beside him. “I need only grab a few things and I will be ready,” he reassures as he begins to turn back toward the citadel and up to his quarters,
“It would be a crime to make the boy suffer any longer.”
