The sun was just beginning to rise over Terrastella and Rhone decided that this particular morning, he would watch the sunrise over the cliffs. It was a part of his new home that he had yet to explore, and he figured it would be a good place to see as well as a good place for some silent reflection. You see, Rhone had not been the greatest steward of the gifts he had been given. He’s made a lot of mistakes in his life and now he was paying so dearly for them. At least here, he was able to come to terms with the life he had been given and try to make his stay here in Novus far more beautiful than he had ever expected it to be.
He stood a safe distance from the edge of the cliff, his eyes looking out over the waterline and watching as the sun began to slowly crest over the horizon. The wind whipped through his mane, stinging his eyes and reminding him that he was still alive. He heaved a giant breath, feeling the way the salty sea air stung his lungs. And yet, it felt refreshing.
Eyes looked down to the ground beneath his feet, the dirt blowing in the wind. The land had been ravished far before he had ever arrived. But after the meeting with his other court members, he had volunteered to make this place beautiful again, a little bit at a time. Even though he had not met the gods of this land, he said a silent prayer to Brighton, the god that he had been born to worship.
As his prayer came to a close, the area around him began to sprout grass. It was only a small area, his magic small and limited. But he could feel his magic course through his veins and he enjoyed the way it made his body tingle. Out of the grass sprouted flowers and a single budding tree. It would take years for this small tree to grow into adulthood, but it would have a great start at life. Rhone made sure to implant its roots well, so the wind from the cliffs would not blow it right over.
And when he was satisfied with his small 15ft radius of beauty, he sighed as his magic began to dim. Already he could feel his energy drain. Tomorrow, he would start on the next patch and each day, a new patch would sprout. In due time, this place would be beautiful, he knew it would be.
So often does Asterion slip away to the cliffs before dawn breaks the horizon that Cirrus doesn’t even stir when he rises with the autumn mist.
In truth it was a wonder he was in his rooms at all; after the letter from Moira about the disappearance of Isra he had not slept at all, and his hair is tangled and his expression weary as he steps out into the cool morning. The sea breeze does little to straighten the knots of his mane as he approaches the cliffside, but it eases his mind the way it always does.
But the king is not the first to his usual place this morning.
For a moment in the pearly light he only stands, regarding the figure of a man who might well have been a copy of himself. A dark bay, the wind tugging at his hair, alone on a cliffside looking out over the sea - how many times had Asterion made himself the same image?
Knowing his own preferences in such moments, the king does not draw closer, giving the man his peace. But his interest piques when he recognizes the newcomer from the previous day’s meeting, and wonder at last coaxes him close to see wildflowers bloom at his feet, followed by a thin and budding sapling.
“You remind me of a man I knew in Ravos,” he says softly, once the man has finished his task, and his smile is as warm as his voice with remembering. “Together we helped heal the scars of a god’s anger, him with his earth-magic and me with my water.” Like his own sort of prayer, Asterion bows his head and touches his lips to the new grass, and water wells up and soaks down again in the same breath, nurturing the new-planted tree.
When he lifts his head again his gaze is a little more solemn, though the smile has not yet faded. “I thought I was done with gods and their vengeance when I left that place, but alas. What is your name, friend?”
Had Rhone known that he was being watched, he might not have starting his rebuilding of Terrastella. Rhone had always preferred to be private in his worship, preferring to do things when unnoticed. He wasn’t here to draw attention to himself, to make sure that it was known that he caused the blooming flowers. He would rather do them in secret and then watch others show their wonder at the sight. That was what brought him joy, not showing off for others to see.
So when he hears the voice of another, he is immediately unsure of himself. He knows his gifts are nothing lavish, and as a result it makes him feel a little self-conscious. He felt small. As he slowly turns his head to rest on the king, he now feels small and insignificant. He wished he could do more for this place, but there was only so much he could do with his limited magic.
But instead of dwelling on such things for too long, he turns his attention to the approaching king. He listens quietly, nodding his head softly in understanding. Eyes watching as he offers his own magic to help feed the new grass, flowers, and the small sapling. It was quite beautiful to see, him with his magic to create the plants and the king’s to water and nurture. How ironic was is that his job was to water and nourish his subjects, not just the plants at his feet.
Rhone is silent a moment, listening as he laments about the wrath of a god’s anger. Rhone cannot help but heave a heavy, emotional sigh. "The god’s here are so different…so vengeful." He remembered that most of the gods and goddesses where he had come from were loving, accepting. For the most part, they built up instead of tore down. But from what he’s seen and heard, these gods were so very different.
He smiles softly, though, when Asterion asks his name. Rhone looks out to the sunrise once more before he turns his attention more fully on the bay beside him. "Rhone. My name is Rhone." No longer was it King Rhone, father Rhone, or “Rhone, my lover”. For now, it was just Rhone. This place was a place to forget his past, to right his wrongs, and find some sort of meaning for the remainder of his life. Rhone was here to live out his days in peace. "I did not realize I was not alone up here." He apologizes if his presence had interrupted the king’s day in some way. After all, there weren’t many reasons why someone might come up to the cliffs. Thinking and reflection were one, suicide another. However, something told Rhone that suicide was not on the king’s agenda for today.
In Rhone’s sigh Asterion hears an echo of his own feelings - sorrow and grief like the sea in his veins. At the man’s statement his lips curve into a wry smile, and his thoughts run away with the autumn breeze. He remembers when Vespera led them to the Hospital, when she spoke to him with all the warmth of dawn.
And when she did nothing to stop the death of her people, and only judged them when they tried to fix the problems she had set for them.
“I thought they might be kind, at first. Perhaps it is only in the nature of gods to give with one hand, and take with the other.” But as he presses his lips into a grim line, as the wind tousles his dark hair and the gulls call out from the cliffside, Asterion thinks that there is nothing in these gods of kindness, or mercy, or love.
He closes the feeling away as he turns back to Rhone, smoothing his features into something softer. He nods at the name as he might at a warm handshake, though his dark-eyed gaze is curious. There is something not quite familiar and not quite comforting about the man’s presence, the way he spoke and watched the sun over the water. Asterion has the strange feeling of seeing himself through a cracked and foggy mirror.
The king flicks an ear at the man’s next words, and his smile grows stronger even as he shakes his head, heading off his apology. “Well, Rhone. I can let you be, if you wish. Goodness knows I’ve come here for solitude often enough.”
But it is not those times he remembers - not when he has made so many introductions here, and so many friends. Moira, and Pan, and a dozen others besides; Asterion is far from the only one who is called to the wild cliffs far above the sea.
Rhone listens quietly as Asterion tells his own tale of his experience with the Gods here on Novus. They sounded so different than what he was used to. And for a moment, Rhone wonders what it would be like if the Gods and Goddesses that he worships would have followed him here. Would the world be different? Would they inflict such pain on their subjects? There was only a god or two that might, but most of them were kind souls, only wanting to ensure the well-being and success of those beneath them.
Rhone has a soft gaze as he turns to look at Asterion more fully, to see the sorrow and grief that match his own. He sees a lot of himself in the young king. Perhaps they were more alike than either one of them realized. "I worshiped twelve Gods and Goddesses before coming to Novus. Only one or two would seek vengeance like all the gods here. Most were kind, loving even. They gave me my gifts, helped me to lead. They deserved my worship." Rhone had dedicated his life to the Gods and Goddess that had given him his abilities over the elements. He had control over earth, water, air, fire, light, darkness, and even psychic. Out of all of them, he worshiped Brighton (God of the Earth) and Elyria (Goddess of Psychic) above all the others. Both of them had given him infinite wisdom - something worth worshiping. These gods here in Novus…he didn’t deem them worthy of anything.
However, when Asterion tells that that he can let him be, Rhone shakes his head. No. He did not want to be left alone. Despite the peace and solitude he felt up here, feeling the wind against his face, he knew that company was everything. Having a friend, even in the darkest of times, was beneficial. Perhaps he should open himself up to more friends - perhaps a friend was just the medicine he needed. "No, please stay. Reflection can only calm me so much." Reflection opened the doors to him thinking about the family he lost, the kingdoms he had lost, and his sense of being that he had somehow misplaced. Such thoughts were taking him down a dangerous path and he needed a distraction. Asterion would be the perfect distraction.
Turning, he steps away from the edge of the cliff, moving towards the other bay until he was a safer distance from the rocky ledge. "Though, the cliffs are rather soothing…the sound of the waves calls to me." It’s his magic that he misses. At least he could once use his magic for good. Here, it was useless. "What draws you to the cliffs?" Everyone had their reason, their calling. Rhone was curious, though he wouldn’t be upset if it was too personal an answer to share.
“Twelve?” he echoes, and shakes his head. “I feel glad now that there are comparatively few here - that I know of, anyway. But it sounds as though you were lucky to have them, and they you.” He says nothing more, but it is Ravos that he thinks of then, of No and Selke. Asterion had only been a boy, then; too young and ignorant to know (or to care) what good gods they were, how gentle and how wise. And yet he isn’t sure if he would be glad to see Selke materialize from the saltwater-spray as he had done so many times.
Maybe Calliope had finally worn off on him, but the king is finished with gods.
He is prepared to go when Rhone shakes his head, and a little of the tightness in him runs out like water when the man asks him to stay. His smile is soft as the dew clinging to the grass as he steps alongside the bay, and the wind stirs between them, bearing the scent of the sea. Asterion is always glad to see the sun rise over the water, to hear the gulls’ mournful voices, to feel certain and strong in only the way the water can make him.
His smile grows broader when Rhone speaks of it, and he feels a strange kind of pride, as though he could claim any part of the beauty of this place. As though it was his, and not the other way around.
“Everything about them,” he says, and laughs. “I was born on a shore not so different from this one, and I have lived most of my life no more than a day’s walk from the sea. This is the perfect place to watch it from, and to learn from it. Sometimes it is serene and calm, sometimes the waters are choppy and rough, and when a storm blows in - “ he shivers, but it is delight as much as the rising sun that lights his eyes, delight and a fierce kind of joy. “It teaches me,” he finishes, and one sloping shoulder lifts in a shrug.
Maybe it sounds silly, saying it out loud - but he will not apologize for this. Anyway, he figures Rhone might understand.
“And I still have a lot to learn,” he adds, and laughs again.
His attention is on Asterion, in the way that he too looks to the cliffs and the waters below. This was truly the first time that Rhone had lived near a beach - at least an ocean beach. He had been born in a jungle, raised in a volcano, and lived out his prime on a lakeside meadow. The sea was new to him and he was quickly learning just how beautiful and dangerous it could be. Asterion didn’t have to tell him about the dangers of the water, he already knew.
And when Asterion speak, Rhone is silent, listening to the way he talks of the cliffs and the water below. He understands what he means when the water can be serene and calm, much like it is on a day like today. He also understands the dangers it presents when the waters are rough and angry. Such times the waters are dangerous and the cliff side even more so. It is at the beginning of a storm that is most dangerous, when the wind picks up and the tide rolls in. The waters can claim more lives during this time, rushing a person into a rip tide and then thrashing them against the cliff. He had heard of deaths in these cases, the bodies mangled and unrecognizable. And yet, Rhone chooses to dwell on the beauty of the cliff, the way the sea seems to call his name. The way the wind whips through his mane and the saltwater stings his eyes. It’s comforting, really, in a way Rhone never thought it could be.
Rhone understands when Asterion claims that the cliffs teach him. He understands, even though he’s not sure how to voice such a thing. If one was quiet enough and studious enough, a lot of things could be taught. So many times Rhone had seen the younger generation rush through life without stopping to smell the roses, to feel the wind in their hair, to admire the silence of a winter evening. There were so many things they could learn from nature if they just listened.
It is Asterion’s laugh that makes him smile. The way he so easily loses himself in the conversation. It is truly refreshing. "I believe it’s safe to say we all have a lot to learn. There is so much we can be taught if only we would stop and listen." Perhaps he is a little old school thinking in the way he looks at life, but it seems to fit.
But then Rhone is sighing. It’s not a sigh of defeat, but a sigh of almost relief. His eyes rest on Asterion and he offers the man a simple smile, a simple thanks for stopping to talk to him when he could have been doing so many other things. "You have told me a little about your own upbringing, so I suppose I can at least offer you the same." He had so much history that it would be hard to pick and choose the parts that seemed important. In the end, he supposed he would start off with his own birth story - about the band of women that raised him. "I was born to a herd of women who tucked themselves away deep in a jungle. My mother, bless her, raised me as best she could. I learned a lot from those women, from the jungle too." And yet, despite all the learning he had, he was still prepped to go back to his father, to join the band of stallions as one of their peers. When his life had been so carefree in the jungle, he had no idea what his life was destined to become. The hatred, the love, the heartbreak, the hope. So many things had come of his life that the small boy raised by jungle queens had yet to even comprehend. "But that was only my beginning. Life has taught me many lessons, and not all of them pleasant." There were things he wished he would have done differently and yet, he did not regret any of them. They each had a hand in shaping him to be the man he was today.
Asterion finds himself nodding at the bay man’s words, even as he looks away across the water. He lets them sink into his heart like smooth river-stones, little ripples echoing listen, and he obeys as Rhone continues to speak. At the sound of his sigh the king glances toward him, studying him as he speaks, and his smile is easy to return. He wonders what it might be like, to live in a jungle - too far from the sea, he thinks - but his interest sharpens as Rhone continues.
“Most of my teachers and companions have been women, too,” he says, and considers them for a moment, the ways in which each have shaped his life. From Aridela and Talia to Florentine, from Calliope to Marisol - whether soft dreamers or fierce fighters (or a mixture of both, as so many of them were) each have made him better, stronger, wiser. He wonders what he might of been, had he a father, an older brother - but then he thinks of the men he has known and looked up to (Isorath, Reichenbach, Raymond) and the ways each have betrayed him. There are good men, he knows - Eik is one of the best he has met - and he hopes Rhone is another.
He thinks he might be, as he regards the bay’s smile and the way the dawn light reflects in his dark eyes. Wisdom and humility seemed rare things, in Novus, but the quiet scholar reflects them both.
“I’m afraid not all lessons will be pleasant here, either. But I’m glad you’ve joined us, with your wisdom, and your magic.” He is a little rueful, at the start, though the smile does not fade wholly from his dark mouth - it is small but sincere when he meets the man’s eye. The sun is above the horizon-line, now, and the gulls have begun their clamor on the cliffsides; it is time for the king to return from his little pilgrimage, as much as he’d rather remain here, helping things grow.
“I will leave you for now, Rhone, but I hope to see you again soon. Find me if you have any questions about Terrastella - and thank you.” At the last he gestures toward the new sapling, where the water has soaked into dark soil. Asterion wonders who might be standing here beneath the shade of it, in twenty years or more; laughing children, and bright-eyed Halycon cadets ready to cast themselves from the cliffsides and soar above the sea, and solemn men like themselves.
Before he turns away, he presses his muzzle, briefly, against the other bay’s shoulder; and then he is gone, back down the cliffside as the sunrise begins in earnest, his heart lighter than when he had come.
@Rhone <3 hope it's ok to close! figured I should wrap his previous season threads, ha. they should chat again soon!
The jungle had never been a favorite place that he had lived. When he was just a boy, it was all that he knew. The jungle was hot, humid, and dangerous, but he had learned to survive and thrive there. He had learned to appreciate the abundant flora and fauna, the waterfalls, and even the drastic changes in weather. And yet, he had lived so many other places. The volcano had been hot, to the point where water was hard to come by. And yet, Rhone had still survived. It was the mountain valley that he had truly called home. The mountain scenery as a background for the beautiful glacier lake. The North had been where he had learned most of his lessons - especially the ones involving love and family.
While Terrestella was different than the jungle, the volcano, or the mountain valley, it was beautiful in and of itself. It had beautiful cliffs that allowed him to see past the horizon. Rhone could only imagine what this place had been like before the flood waters had wiped it out. And as his eyes look to the small sapling that he had grown, he hopes that the Gods will allow the giant oak to grow, to be able to see the beautiful that Rhone knew was possible here.
He finishes his story, the very beginning of his story, when he hears Asterion speak. He nods his head at the notion that not all lessons here would be pleasant either. Rhone knows he is speaking the truth and he is not naïve enough to think this new place would be nothing but happiness and rainbows. "They never are. The hardest lessons are the ones that promote the best growth." The easy lessons were the ones so quickly forgotten, but it was the lessons that broke another down that helped them to build themselves back up again but only stronger. As much as Rhone hated to go through those lessons, he knew that with them came a growth that could not be described into words.
Eyes meet those of the king and he accepts the man’s thanks with a soft smile. "Perhaps my magic will grow and become much more useful than planting a small sapling." He wished he could so easily blanket this place in green, but he was at a loss. His magic simply was not strong enough to do such things.
As Asterion begins to turn away, Rhone watches him turn, but offers a smile at his kind words. "It is my greatest pleasure." Rhone would always be willing to grow more of these small saplings. Over time, he would help to replant Terrestella. It would not be quick or easy, but Rhone was up to the challenge. And as Asterion makes his way back down the cliff, Rhone turns back to the ocean. He sighs heavily, his eyes closing. He takes a moment to feel the wind within his mane, the smell of saltwater fill his lungs. And when he can feel the warmth of the sun on his face, he opens his eyes with a smile. Only when he is satisfied, he turns and begins to head back down the cliff towards the rest of the court. There was more things to plant.
