He would find the note on his desk: a slip of parchment with crisp edges, folded neatly and prettily. There is no wax to seal it, no emblem nor crest, no recipient nor sender signed.
Only a single blue feather, barred with black, placed delicately on top.
He knows Somnus will recognize it the same way he knew the golden king wouldn’t be away from his study for long. It was his usual scene, after all, with a cup of coffee steaming on the table and a dozen scattered books and scrolls surrounding him. Ipomoea did not know what task had pulled the king away from his chambers, yet he was thankful for it; it was far easier to leave a letter explaining his absence, even if it was not necessarily the bravest.
But he does it anyway.
And when he has, he slips out of the room, out of the castle, out past the gates. His heart was beating heavily in his chest, leaping into his throat, threatening to choke him. Tears sting the corners of his eyes, but he bites them back. They were no use to him now; there would be time to cry later, there would be time for guilt and remorse and forgiveness. Now was not that time.
He only hesitates at the border. Although it was not marked, he knew exactly where Delumine began and ended. It was as much by instinct as it was by love; love for his Court and all it represented. There had been many times the spotted boy had smiled in solace when he’d arrived back at the border.
But this time, Ipomoea was not returning to the Court. He was leaving it.
All it took was one hoof after the other, step after step after step. He draws himself up, setting his shoulders straight and steeling himself. One day, he promises, I will return to you.
And then he is gone, disappearing into a night that felt blacker and heavier than his heart.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Dear Somnus,
I did not want to leave a note, but I have no time for anything more proper. I want you to know that I’m sorry for that. I need to do what I think is best, and this is the only way.
I’ve left for Denocte, by the time you read this I should be well on my way. I know now is not the best time, not with the borders closed and an unknown beast in our forest; but if not know, then when? The rest of the world is bleeding, brother, and I cannot sit idly by and watch it any longer. I’ve made that mistake before; I will not make it again.
Moira tells me of monsters that hunt in the night, of fireflies that feed on flesh, of women who lure men to their deaths, of countless other beasts and nightmares. But they are only that: fables. The nightmare to the east is real; our friends need us, and we cannot help from behind our walls. Denocte has shown me kindness time and time again, and now it is my turn to repay them.
I do not know when I will return, but I promise you this: I will return to Delumine once all this is over.
Stay on the lookout. I love you.
Ipomoea.
P.S.
I’ve left you the fables Moira sent me; although our own beast has been quiet, I hope these will help to uncover its identity. If I find any more clues in Denocte’s libraries, I will pass them on to you.
having no one,
forced by my nature to
keep wandering
because wandering
was the only thing
that i believed in
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
"There is nothing noble in being superior to your fellow man; true nobility is being superior to your former self."
Please tag Somnus in all replies!
04-29-2019, 03:27 AM - This post was last modified: 04-29-2019, 03:30 AM by Somnus
The moon was waning overhead, the barest of slivers that cast only a feeble light into the night. Darkness reigned supreme; fitting he supposed, a cloak of shadows to hide him as he slipped away from the Court.
His chest feels tight, so tight he almost thinks to turn around, to head back to where life was safe and comfortable, where decisions didn’t hurt so badly to make. There’s still time; if he’s quick about it, if he hurries back and stops for nothing, he could slip into Somnus’ study and toss the letter into the fire. No one needs to know, his mind whispered vile words into his ear, it’s not too late to take it back.
But it was too late. Ipomoea couldn’t - wouldn’t - take it back.
The forest line was just ahead of him - the shadows creating visions of monsters stalking amongst the trees - when the whisper of wings caught his attention. Her screech cut through the night, unsettling in its familiarity, and it was as if a stone had dropped into his stomach, so quickly did it sink. Ipomoea came to a stop, watching as she spiralled down to rest on the ground before him.
“So. You found me.” How far was Somnus behind her? Surely she was telling him even now exactly where to go.
Ipomoea set his jaw, preparing himself for the argument that was surely to come. It’s what I deserve, leaving in the middle of the night.
But there was no cavalry, no thunder of hooves flying across the Illuster meadow to bring him home. Only Alba’s chittering disappointment, and a roll of parchment on her outstretched leg.
His grasp was trembling as he untied the letter, and read.
For a moment, he was silent, disbelieving.
They were not the angry words he had imagined, and the tone was anything but scathing. They were understanding, proud even - had the golden king, always so cautious and slow to stir, come to understand his need to go? He could hardly believe it.
He lifts the ivory feather up to the moonlight, and Odet is quick to snatch it away. The songbird clicks his beak, as if talking to the owl, as he threads it carefully into one of Po’s braids. A wispy smile, half sad, half relieved, is barely visible in the darkness.
“Tell him thank you for me?” He nuzzles the owl once, her feathers soft again his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Alba,” his voice is tender as he smile at his brother’s bonded.
And then, holding the letter tight to his chest, a new feather braided into his mane, he turns back to the night and the forest.
This was the bravest thing he had ever done - so why did he feel so scared?
having no one,
forced by my nature to
keep wandering
because wandering
was the only thing
that i believed in
