He had loved too greatly, too fiercely and it broke him. Rather then stew in the weakness of his broken heart, he picked up the scattered shards and chose himself. All of this had been fueled by reckless infatuation, foolish obsession that left a sour taste in his mouth when he looked back on it. Passion was fleeting. Passion was like a flame fed solely by parchment, hot and burning for a moment before all that remained was smoldering ash and a putrid stench. Still.. He harbored no bitterness. How could he project responsibility of his feelings onto another? No.. He is bigger than that. He loved himself too much to rest in bitterness.
Once before he had been reborn, letting the fire peel away his flesh to craft himself into something new. It had been a second burning, but this time there was no fire, merely the heat of his own determination and the roar of his heart. Too long he had been unkind to himself. Too long he had suffocated in a pit, so he willed himself to carve a new path.
Jude decides to return to Novus. Returning to Vectaeryn is too easy. He has decided to push himself beyond what cage he tried to wedge himself into back home. Life was far too mundane, sitting beside his pond and listening to the ripple of the mortal made waterfall. He isn’t as afraid as he once been. Of course anxiety doesn’t merely melt away, but it is spring and he feels born again.
With a deep breath he steps into familiar territory, Terrastella.. There is no sense of warmth of a return, no sense of homilness. Instead it brings back waves of memories, of hiding tucked in what chambers he had claimed. It had been a miserable time that only a selection of memories could rival. Has anyone even missed me? He thinks, more of a curiosity than a mournful thought. Jude doesn’t lament over the possibility of being forgotten by strangers. There is a small circle that reside in Novus that matter, but it is not the citizens of Dusk..
Do you think Isorath is here? Mittens murmurs through their bond, the small bundle of white tucked in her favorite spot between his shoulders. I don’t know… And it doesn’t particularly matter, Jude responds. Whatever had befallen the prince he has built a wall around his heart and he will not fantasies.. Infatuation is fleeting and his eyes have opened since that time. Princes with glistening smiles and pretty words are not what he needs, and he is content. Never in his life has he felt at peace within his own skin, within the body the gods created for him. Jude releases a breath and comes to a halt, merely waiting to see who or what might greet him upon his return. He is not the same. He is not the quiet boy sniveling in the corner, instead he keeps his head high though he cannot fathom why he's returned to T
It is well and truly spring, now, and all of Asterion’s saltwater veins are beginning to itch with the need to wander.
No longer can he go the way he once did, free as a wandering wave; the bay has bound himself surely to Terrastella, to walls of stone and bonds of duty and only the distant smell of the sea. He is still stumbling through teaching himself to read, still learning what being a Regent entails – and still sleeping outside beneath the boughs of willows, not canopies of silk.
He may belong to the court, now, but he isn’t sure he will ever be at ease within any walls.
But it is enough, for the moment, to walk the smooth plain beyond the castle, to feel the new grass brush his ankles and take in the scent of things growing and new.
It is no flower that catches his eye. Instead it is a flash of white, a touch of pale rose; the bay’s attention catches on the figure and he stands watching for only a moment before moving toward him, some snagged piece of memory coming into clearer focus with each step he takes.
At last he stands a few paces away, his eyes lingering curiously for a moment on the cat before meeting the new-leaf green of the stranger’s gaze.
“I remember you,” he says then, as a cool breeze winds between them. Asterion’s expression eases into a smile somewhere between friendliness and self-deprecation, and he ducks his chin toward his chest. “But I’m not sure I ever got your name. Is this a welcome back?”
If there is a note of hesitation in his voice, it is only because he has just placed who the man was standing beside, at that meeting that felt a lifetime ago. If he were friends with Isorath, than he may not have heard of the events that had transpired since Rannveig stepped down – and Asterion is not wholly sure he is up to the telling.
He somehow knew it would not be long before someone would intercept his path. Jude isn’t sure who he expected, or if he truly expected anyone at all but soon there is a dark figure in front of him. He studies them, trying to place if he knows them but he finds his memory fails him. Surely at some point their paths crossed during his brief time in Terrastella but he never made deeply rooted connections.. No point beating himself up over it he supposes. What does come as a surprise, is the notion of being recognized. Jude stares at the stranger, ears forward and alert. Silence hangs tightly onto his tongue as he formulates a response.
“I’m sorry but.. I am so unfamiliar with the faces here,” Jude says softly, a soft admittance to his lack of recognition. Whether it’ll offend the dark stallion he isn’t sure and it leaves a lingering nervousness buzzing in the back of his head. He wonders if he should scurry off elsewhere, hide away again beneath silken sheets and fleece blankets surrounded by his clan of cats. His feet remain planted though, a new skill he’s acquired in his strenuous journeying. There is a slow exhale as he debates whether an introduction is worth it. I shouldn’t be rude, he whispers to Mittens and glances at the feline who merely offer a subtle acknowledgment. Jude then turns his head back towards the stranger. “My name is Jude.” He says, his voice just as soft as before. “I.. Am not sure if it is a welcome back. I never really established ties to Terrastella.”
He cannot help the movement of his eyes, seeking out the colossal white kirin. Even if what he had chased was a daydream, he is desperate to know that his friend is well. But.. He doesn’t ask after Isorath. Instead he holds his tongue and looks towards the stranger.
“I don’t believe I caught your name,” Jude says and then falls back into silence, his eyes drifting back to the scenery of Terrastella.
Asterion stands under the other stallion’s gaze as easily as he can, aware that he had been staring just as openly. Still, he is uncomfortable beneath such searching eyes, and he keeps his own turned politely away, though curiosity – the color, and the cat – keeps drawing them back.
He is almost relieved not to be recognized, and he smiles even as he rolls a shoulder in a shrug, finally meeting that bright green gaze directly. “I’m still learning them, too,” he says, “and you would have had no cause to remember me.” He is unremarkable enough now, wearing his new title like a boy in an ill-fitting suit – then he was nothing but a windswept stranger, wide-eyed and muddy. When the stranger converses with the cat that crouches between his shoulder-blades, Asterion watches curiously. He has learned many things, now, in Novus, but this is his first encounter with someone who has a familiar.
But he makes no move to close the polite distance between them, and for the moment he manages to keep his questions to himself.
Instead he only nods at the name, dark ears forward to catch the voice that drifted soft as the spring breeze. As the kirin’s eyes searched the court spread behind him, Asterion’s own widened marginally; the feeling Jude had voiced is one he knows. “I can understand that. I only recently decided I…belong.” Even that word seems wrong; Terrastella had claimed him as much as he it. When he closes his eyes, brief sunlight on his eyelids, he pictures Cyrene gathering the children to paint him in colors of home. What word had she used?
Blessings, he remembers, and he’s smiling when he opens his eyes.
“I’m Asterion,” he says, the dark of his gaze meeting that bright spring green, then watching as the stranger looks away. “And I do welcome you back, then, whether or not you choose to stay.”
For a moment he follows Jude’s gaze, his eyes running over the rises and falls of the castle and its surroundings. They were growing more familiar, like the shape of a friend.
“Shall I accompany you in?” His voice is soft, and his gaze, when it settles again on the stranger, is its own soft question.
