n the edge of the meadows where the grass turns gently to sand, then waves, then an endless ocean, Ipomoea can still see the stars.
The smoke is thinner over here, the wind sweeping it back towards the fires and the forests (and there is a moment when he looks back and sees the glow of them that his heart beats a little bit faster, and he cannot stop asking the tangled map of roots beneath his hooves if the hunger of the flames has stopped being satiated by their offerings yet. And each time, he is relieved when he feels the grass press against his ankles and whisper no. All is yet well.) And when he tilts his head back and sees the stars, and he hears the laughter and cheering in the distance, and he smells the salt of the sea washing the smoke from his face —
it feels like Denocte.
Ipomoea has always felt like his home was both nowhere and everywhere, never in any one place but rather a feeling. He had always thought it was because he was an orphan, because he had been born into a place that neither loved him nor pretended to. The desert was no place for a sick child; the Davke were no place for a boy who would rather plant a garden than water the earth with blood.
But now that he is watching two pieces of his heart meet as if for the first time, as if he is separate from it all, he recognizes that this has only ever been an excuse.
Even when his heart should be singing, and he should be laughing and dancing and looking for hidden messages in the flames, still he leaves them all behind (he is always leaving, he sees that now.) Even when his city is opening up their home still he is looking for it elsewhere. And he can feel every contradiction on his skin tonight, the way he is both smoke and char, sharp and soft, a shadow and a silver-bright flower; a king who feels like he has no home. Ipomoea listens to the waves and he is wondering how many other worlds are out there, and how many of them might feel like home for a day.
He does not know how long he stands there for before the shoregrass presses against him and whispers she is here. And he does not have to ask them who? when he feels the heat of her hooves against the sandy shore.
“Morrighan,” he says quietly, without taking his eyes off of the stars overhead. “You’re a ways from the bonfires.” And he wonders, when he feels her settle beside him, if she has come to the sea for the same reason as he —
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
The sounds of the festival ring in her ears, but somehow, it doesn't bother her. There is a chorus of singing and laughter, mostly kids, somewhere farther away and the calm crackling of the bonfires. Before she would have scowled at how loud the kids were being and told them to settle down and go away. Now, she just sees Maeve in their grins and light in their eyes.
For once, Morrighan is content and she smiles.
Being a mother has changed her, but she doesn't mind. Even if loving someone destroyed her, she would not have it any other way because now she's truly not alone. Now she has Maeve.
Her daughter is off playing with some of the children, but she has tasked another Denocte soldier to keep an eye on her while Morrighan takes a walk. The festival has been an interesting experience to say the least. At first, traveling so far made her sick to her stomach and she hated not knowing her surroundings well enough. The longer she spent here though, the more comfortable she became and she realized it wasn't too bad. There were some horses she's met that she could've done without, but Maeve has been enjoying herself completely and that's what matters in the end.
So she looks out at the sea now after making her way to the shore. It's the same water as Denocte, but it still looks and feels different somehow. Maybe in a way, so does she.
The Regent can hear the faint footsteps in the sand that tell her she's no longer alone. When he speaks, she does not raise her fire in defense because she recognizes the voice instantly. She actually feels glad that he's found her.
"I can see why Maeve got so attached to this place. You have a beautiful home," she says, keeping her eyes on the sea and the rippling water. A light breeze caresses her face and it reminds her of home even just the slightest bit.
Perhaps it is out of sorts for her to be far from the bonfires when they are truly the closest thing she has to comfort. "I've been… thinking," she replies, looking down at the ground before meeting Ipomoea's eyes. There are billions of grains of sand beneath her, so what makes any one of them special?
"I feel like I have more of a purpose. I don't really know how to explain it," Morr admits, feeling a bit silly for saying so. She's already the Night Court Regent and a mother to Maeve, so shouldn't she feel happy? Fulfilled? She does, but she can't help but notice a nagging feeling too like there could be more.
omewhere, he knows, his daughters are staring into the flames, and Thana is dreaming of worlds carved from the ashes of them. Somewhere a shed-star is reading a young girl’s fortune, and a man is trying to prove himself in the races, and a group of kids are daring one another to run close to the flames. And somewhere Rhoeas is running wild through the forest, running and running and running until he cannot hear the music or smell the smoke or see the light of the fires reaching out into the night.
There is a moment in which Ipomoea wants to set himself free to run with him.
He supposes now that it must be the desert in him (a realization he is only now beginning to embrace) that has him craving the wild. Or maybe it is still the call he can hear resounding somewhere in the forest, that wolfs-song that begs him to find overgrown trails leading him deeper and deeper north. His heart speeds up whenever he hears it, that unmistakable otherness of it cutting like an arrow through his chest, like it knew him better than he knew himself.
Perhaps it did. Perhaps he had only ever been a fractured part of the earth, broken apart and carried off by the wind. Sometimes he felt as though the earth were calling him home, home, home to it, like at any moment it might collapse beneath his hooves and take him back to the heart of it.
The thought is not so terrifying as it once was. When Ipomoea pauses and turns back to look at his city dancing between the bonfires, he thinks it will go on without him. For a long time since taking the crown (and even before, when Somnus had gone silent and he was left to do what he could not), he had not been so sure.
Now it is harder than ever to resist the call of the earth. Of the forest. Of the desert. Of Thana, every time she looks at him with the violence rising in her eyes, the wildness he loved nearly brimming over (and oh! how he would love her still if it did, but he was afraid sometimes of watching that happen in their city). So when Morrighan turns to him, he recognizes the look in her eyes as the same one he had looked upon Isra with, all those years ago.
She reminds him of himself, he thinks. A regent who looks upon her court and is worried by the deathly quiet of it, a regent who’s pleas fall on a deaf sovereign’s ears. It had not been lost on him that she had been the one to bring the Night Court here, instead of Antiope. He can see what is happening to Denocte, for it is the same thing that had happened to Delumine.
And he hopes now that she will act before it is too late. Before he did.
He looks at her slowly, quietly, for a long while. And then: “I know how you feel.”
For a while only the waves whisper between them while he listens to them, to their breathing, to the distant music stretching lazily across the sand. “You aren’t being selfish for feeling that way, if that is what worries you. Our hearts have a way of letting us know what needs to be done before our brain has a chance to process it.” His smile feels foreign, like it doesn’t belong on the face of a man who has worn as much blood on his lips as he has. But it is a gentle smile, despite the way he feels; like he is breaking all over again, breaking with her, because he knows (he does not know how he knows, but he does) what the next part of the story will be.
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
In the silence she tends to think, more so lately than usual. She thinks about all of the ways that Maeve has grown, or will grow soon. How she will have to start getting used to her daughter getting crushes and possibly getting her heart broken (or she could just never get into a relationship, Morr thinks it'd be a safer outcome). Maeve will also likely want to go out with friends more often and by herself. Even though she likes to explore a lot already, Morr is always having someone keep an eye on her when she can't. Most often that's Bram, but sometimes she'll give the task to some of the guards. Morr will have to start trusting her daughter more and giving her the freedom she deserves with getting older.
For now, she wants to think more about all the moments they can continue having while she's still young. All the moments she didn't realize were special and fleeting until she became a mom.
But that's not the only thing that's on her mind. She said to Po that she feels like she has more of a purpose and it's true. It had been more in the back of her mind up until now and maybe now it's more clear what it is. Maybe she's been working up to this well before Maeve, but now it's even more important because of her daughter.
"I know how you feel." The words have never felt more relieving than they do in this moment. Without knowing how to articulate it properly, he knows what she's going through. There is a bit of hope then that maybe he can help her figure this out.
Selfish. The thought did cross her mind a little bit, but isn't it selfish to want more when she already has so much? Shouldn't she be appreciating what she has and the life that she's made for herself here?
No, there's still more to be done.
"What made you want to be Sovereign?" she finally manages to ask and puts words to the want. It almost feels like the day she knew she could be more than Warden and had worked so hard to show her loyalty and strength for Regent. She had hoped all that hard work would be enough to get Antiope's attention, but she still had to arrange a meeting and speech. It had worked out well then, but she's not so sure about something like this. There aren't very many things Morrighan gets nervous about, so why is she so afraid?
"When did you know you were ready?" It's with these questions that Morrighan hopes to get more of her answers. Whatever Po's been through, hopefully he can instill more confidence in her than she seems to be able to do herself.
f there is a right way to burn, to be fierce, to be the new-god the world demands of him, he has not discovered it yet. No matter how hard he tries, Ipomoea cannot find the end of all this sorrow-disguised-as-fury that devours the softness of him. Always it’s there, an endlessness that runs deeper than the shadows of the Viride, consuming him bit by bit.
He wonders if it will ever stop. Or if it will eat and eat and eat of him until there is nothing left.
For every ache he carves from his bones there is always another lying beneath it. For every sense of purpose that takes root in his heart there is a little less soil of him for it to grow in. Again and again and again he tears out the weeds and new ones take their place: he had found a home, only for it to stop feeling like home. He had found peace, and then the war came. He had gone to war, and lost pieces of himself he did not know he needed. He had challenged his friend, and found the sickness of his court ran deeper than he once thought. He had become a sovereign — and now, now when his court is finally dancing, and laughing, and singing, now —
now he wants to abandon them.
He still refuses to admit to himself the truth of it. When he finds himself looking east (always, it is east) he tells himself it is because Solterra has been through enough. When he hears the whispers of the sand moving in his veins he thinks it is only the past and not his future. Ipomoea has become so good at making excuses for himself he can almost believe them.
But sometimes he comes to the water. And like the waves eroding the shore away bit by bit, he feels the ocean stripping the lies away. All that is left is the regrets, the things he could not do well enough, the things he wants to do but knows he should not. The holes his own fire has left in him through which he can feel the rest of himself bleeding out.
And he hopes, oh he hopes Morrighan does not let her fire consume her. Inspire her, fuel her; but never consume. People reduced to the ashes of themselves were hardly people at all.
“I had a vision for Delumine. A vision I believed I could better achieve as their Sovereign,” his words are spoken in nearly a whisper. He does not tell her that he thought he was right when others were not; he does not tell her there is a dark side to righteousness.
He thinks back to Antiope, to their meeting on Veneror — ”I am tired of burning. I have burned for so long, Ipomoea.” Her words haunt him now. And they set every bit of his anger, his regret, his apprehension aflame again, every last bit of his kindling that has been all but burned away is hurtling towards consumption. “I didn’t.” His smile curls, the edges of it self-mocking. “But sometimes it is when we do not feel ready that we have the most potential. Our own expectations, our own pride, can get in the way of growth.”
He shakes his head, and pauses only long enough to listen to the cheers that echo from the meadows behind them. “There’s never one right way. You’ll always question whether you were ready, or right, or if you could have done something differently.” he turns to her then, and wonders if she can see the memories that are playing over and over in his mind.
“But if you don’t, you’ll forever ask yourself why you didn’t take the chance.”
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
As Morr listens to Po speak, she can't help but feel exposed. The last time she had spoken from deeper within herself, it had been with Tenebrae on Veneror Peak. It felt more private there, like it was just the two of them. While it still is just her and Po, it feels more open here. Almost as if her voice could be carried along on the breeze and to the ears of someone else. It's what makes her a little thankful for Po whispering so that they can still try to make this conversation their own.
What he says does resonate within her too. The more she lets this feeling come to life, the more that it makes sense. She could see herself becoming a leader and then leading the Night Court into a different direction. Things had become quiet, even with the event here in Delumine. They could do all they want with other Courts, but if they didn't repair things within their own home, nothing would improve.
It takes a while for her to speak as she takes everything in. Every word he speaks is true and Morr knows if she doesn't take action, she may lose her chance and regret it later. There is a lump in her throat and for once, she is scared. She can't get herself to say these words out loud though.
"You're right," she finally says, her voice also a whisper. If Po hadn't been close to her, it might've gotten lost among the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. "I guess I know what I need to do." In the distance, she thinks she can hear Maeve's laugh. Truly, that's what keeps her going.
For now, Morrighan stays in this moment with a friend and the light ocean breeze against her skin. It's peaceful despite her fear and maybe just what she needs. She turns to him and offers a smile. It's not something she does often, but she trusts him. "Do you want to take a walk? Maybe you can tell me more or we can just talk about whatever." It's an awkward ask, but she's not ready to go home yet and face everything. She won't put it off, but for now she doesn't want to lose herself too much in her thoughts.
n every shout, every cheer, every flare of light that rises up at their backs, Ipomoea feels a piece of himself be settled. In every dance, and ritual, and whispered dream spoken over the flames he feels a bit of hope that his Court — his people — will go on. There is a home here between the bonfires, with its song and its colors layer down layers and layers of heat across their spines like promises.
There is a life here that had not been here two years ago. There is a liveliness singing again that they had all but forgotten the notes of.
And he’s there in the wild places of their hearts with them, their king who feels less and less each day like a king. And he is trying, trying, trying still to be that king for them when he lifts his head alongside their’s to the smoke drawing patterns through the sky. Like his soul still moves to all the same beats as their’s, like he is not the beast the desert has tried to turn him into (but sometimes, he thinks it succeeded all along and he just doesn’t know it yet.)
Ipomoea knows it’s dangerous, to walk among them and tell himself this is all he wants. He knows it is a terrible thing, to pretend he does not hear that call that echoes to him when he is alone in the forest, that whispers to him when he is awake at night.
He knows it is slowly eating away at all the still-soft parts of him, the parts that would belong here if only he knew how to save them.
Later he might come back to this moment on the beach and think he should have told her something, anything else. Later he might look at the way Denocte flourishes under a new queen and feel one less piece of himself being pulled away from Delumine. And the space it leaves will only create room for those other parts of him to pull harder, and harder, and harder until —
Later, he will give in (and he will wonder how he was not stronger, how it had not been enough to be their king.) But now he only looks at Morrighan, and he smiles to see the determination that is creeping across her face, so much like that which he once felt. “I will be here when you do. If you need me, I am here for you. You do not have to be alone in this.”Not like I was, he does not say, not like I am.
The waves are still stripping away the lies, the fabricated pieces of him, but this, this he still has. This he will give her, even if it is because a part of him knows that if she did not step up to meet the sickness of her court, there would have been nothing stopping him from doing it instead.
Around them the night is closing in, and the shouts behind them is still settling that frayed piece of his soul that has been slowly coming apart over the years. “Of course,” he says, and tries not to think of the way his voice still sounds like a tree collapsing in the winter frost than a wildflower breaking through the melting snow. And still he looks at her like the immortal, young god who he is becoming, the one who has only now discovered the new current of his soul bleeding through the holes he has carved into his own heart.
He tucks his shoulder into her’s as they turn to head along the beach. “There is a story about our Courts I would like to tell you, if you would hear it.”
And that is how they go into the night together, like two friends leaving their monsters behind them to replace them with a new story.
we're climbing until we transcend
higher, higher to where the skies end
Her thoughts drift to their first official meeting in the markets when she had been unsure. Morrighan still finds herself that way with how strange trust can be. She doesn't put much faith in anyone anymore and as she had reflected before, doesn't have many friends because of it.
When Po tells her that he's here for her and she's not alone, it almost doesn't fully register in her mind. Morrighan has always been one not to seek help, so even opening herself up even more to him tonight had been a big leap forward. But there's something about him that she feels she can trust, just as she does with Tenebrae. He too offered friendship and maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have a few more by her side. It had always just been easier to be stubborn and independent.
"Thank you," she finally replies to him, coming out of her swarm of thoughts to come back to the sand and the pull of the waves. She is here now and it's okay if she doesn't have it all figured out yet.
He invites her to a story and she nods to him as they walk away side by side. Morrighan still isn't used to being so close to another, but she wants to welcome it. Maybe it's what she had been missing all along.
