How far he was from home. Rolling his shoulders Lovis grimaced at the thought of it. He chewed his lip and watched the prairie grasses chase after a playful wind.
Most times he was unsurpassable. A wall that stood firm in its purpose. But days did come where he was a wall that had stood firm for much too long. Some days if you came in close you would see how time had carved worry lines and tired eyes into the wall of a man.
His clenched jaw softened and his weary mind was soothed by the warbling of a songbird. Tucked away on a nest somewhere, in the swaying grasses, the bird crafted the song for its mate. A soft, hesitant, smile on his lips Lovis hummed a single note to himself whenever the song became a duet. The birds wove their voices together to create melodies that even the most gifted musicians were never quite capable of replicating for themselves.
It was a delicate song though. Woven with fragile threads. The magic the song inspired was broken too easily. Lovis flinched at the raucous laughter of a pair of crows who sat huddled together. A song cut short is the most appalling of thefts! Ears pinned he lobbed a stone at the trunk of the tree that the crows sheltered in the branches of. The birds who had sung had now fallen silent. They too sulked at having their song interrupted and muddied by the crass voices of crows. All to be heard was the muttering of the crows.
Lovis became irritable whenever he left Delumine. It left him alone to be lost within the emptiness of himself. He was not one crafted to exist as a solitary soul. He craved the touch of another. Whenever he was away from the jostling bodies of the capital he felt the ache of solitude. He could not force his skin to still feel the lingering touches of ghosts, lost to him so long ago.
Lovis cast another scornful expression to the crows, who only laughed some more, before turning and heading towards the further reaches of the prairie. He had come to collect herbs native to Denocte.
He cussed the fickleness of plants and where they chose to take root. He cussed the ones who still sat dead in his home. He had left them in the window long after they perished at his hand, he had hoped that they might have sprung back to life; that they would have saved him from having to leave Delumine. However they had not and would not.
There is a gentleness found in iron fists and a cruelty sleeping in soft words
It came as no surprise to the mare that she had wandered into yet another prairie — it seemed she would forever be drawn to the rolling hills and sprawling borders. She had wondered at times what sort of preferences she would hold if she had been raised in a meadow and not in a highland temple, if the proverbial grass would still be greener on the other side and if she would catch herself spending countless hours amid a sea of trees instead of oceans of grass. The thought brought a smile to the mare’s lips, further softening her pastel features; would that she knew the answers to all of her questions, and would that those answers were all as kind as she hoped.
The sound of the stallions anger found her first, his words harsh and forceful, swearing at his surroundings with a vigor that surprised the mare. Whatever could have upset him so? Her opal-studded brow crinkled in concern as she followed the ruckus, hoping that the stranger was not injured or ill. Cresting the curve of a small hill, Cerridwen’s silvery eyes took in the faintly dappled form of the stallion, noting with relief that there were no outward signs of hurt. Though, depending on the male’s ailment, no visible abnormalities did not always mean there was no injury — physical or otherwise.
Moving toward the stranger, cloven hooves making enough sound over the dry summer grasses to herald her approach, Cerridwen waited until she was a companionable distance from the ivory and earth stained male before speaking.
“What has Denoctian soil done to upset you so, my friend?” Her melodic voice was as soft as she, “Could it be that you need a moment to rest?”
The dust of travel and the scent of morning dew were not lost on the healer; she may have been a newcomer to Novus, but she knew enough lore to understand that the Night Court’s signature scent wouldn’t be something that could only be found in the Dawn. Inspecting him further, though careful to keep scrutiny from her gaze, Cerridwen noted his lithe form and careful movements with little understanding. If he were a dancer, he was rather passionate; yet the way he stomped about hardly lent itself to his innate grace.
So she stood, and so she waited, a foreigner hoping to understand a foreigner.
He clamped his mouth shut whenever she called him friend. Already he forgot what his next words were to have been. He was not doltish. He was aware that she would have said it no matter who had stood in his place. But still his loneliness clutched at it. His loneliness covered his ears to the voice of reason. His loneliness repeated the word quietly. Over and over. Friend.
"The only fault of the soil that I have found, is that I stand upon it." Her words had sweetened his bitterness. As he spoke his voice lost its cutting edge. He was thankful for it. She was bright. Inquisitive. She stood before him without dithering. Lovis wanted to stand before her as himself. As she stood before him. He wanted to be the man he thought almost lost to himself. Not as a brute with gnashing teeth.
From his grasp time had pried loose and taken more than Lovis could recount, in the moment he desperately wanted to dredge forth a truer version of himself. He needed to know if it was a man that still existed. He needed to know that he had not been taken too.
"My dear," his eyes lit with the mirth of a jest that she would not understand, "I shall rest once I am dead." Jade eyes danced with inner laughter. How different Lovis was whenever his ghosts were dispelled by the amity of flesh. "However, company to pass the time would be a gift most welcome." The laughter quieted in his eyes and his chest tightened. Years without count awaited his coming. The touch of time was cold. How he wished for a warm hand to brush away time's toll.
Normally he would have never asked someone to stay. To do so would risk forming attachment, something he was entirely too apt to do if given half a chance; but he was far from Delumine. What were the chances that they would cross paths again? Softly, oh so softly, he walked closer; his eyes searching for her acceptance.
There is a gentleness found in iron fists and a cruelty sleeping in soft words
He softened before her like so much melting snow, the mantle of rage he had been clinging so ferociously to slipping from the stallion’s shoulders. Only after he had clamped lips shut and the shutters within his eyes creaked open ever so slightly, did Cerridwen see what she interpreted as a level of vulnerability — a tenuous offering of trust. Her crowned head tilted to one side, an unconscious show of her concern, as her leonine tail waved worriedly in the air behind the two. Aching as the mare was to reach out and lay that tail over the male’s furred shoulders, so too was she aware of the tension he held there.
The amethyst healer’s primary shows of affection and comfort may have been via physical touch, but that did not mean that her attempts would be welcome. Instead, she waited patiently for his response, only half noting the dipping of the sun; for Cerri’s counterpart did not make her wait long, no, his pleasantly husky voice dipped into and filled the space between the pair with a painful sort of honesty. Lilac stained lips parted in a silent gasp, as if he had wounded her with his own painful admission.
She would have protested then, railed against his resentment of self, if only he had not continued to speak, dark laughter dancing behind a jade green gaze. “My dear, I shall rest once I am dead.” He moved closer, feathered legs parting the thin fingers of grass as those springtime eyes searched hers for an answer she did not know to give — for what question had been asked? Dipping her head lower, Cerridwen attempted to brush her new friend’s forehead with the velvet of her nose in a proper greeting.
”I am glad to share your company, sir. Though,” She paused, her expression somewhere between wry and sincere, ”I would rather you remain on this side of the dirt for the time being, however loath you may be to stand upon it. I am Cerridwen, and very grateful to meet you.” Motioning toward the undulating horizon with her ivory tufted tail, the Fae smiled faintly, ”Would you like to walk while we pass the time?”
cerridwen
"speech"
table by karma, art by Chillsins on dA
@Lovis you play him beautifully<33 im not sure why, but Cerri Is feeling so choppy recently. Hope she reads alright!
02-05-2021, 04:13 AM - This post was last modified: 02-05-2021, 04:14 AM by Cerridwen
He gave himself to her touch, "And I too; am charmed to be met, Cerridwen," a hesitant smile and a dip of his head were meager offerings, "Lovis of Delumine." He gave his name without flourish. But oh! Oh, how reverently he uttered the name of his homeland.
He followed her. His steps stuttered and unsure. Should he walk before her? Or after her? Or alongside? Lovis was unpracticed in social etiquette. He kept his gaze forward. Unsure of what to say. Fidgeting he adjusted the fabrics he wore. He stole away a good look at her face. A look at her. A look at her to anchor himself in the present. A woman decorated by all the beauty he supposed fae themselves must too be granted.
However pretty a face it can only be a distraction for so long.
"My son--," his voice crumbled and failed him. They caught in his throat. He wondered if his ghosts would ever allow him a reprieve from their existence, "My son," he had cleared his throat, "he loved to visit here. He loved how open the land is. Though I only came for herbs." Sheepish, "You must excuse the mood you found me in, for I am not one to leave home."
Cedoc had inherited the adventurous spirit of his mother. Lovis had so admired their willingness to venture.
Nowhere had tethered his boy. Thus there was no place that Lovis could go where he was not haunted by remnants of tattered memories. Sometimes it was a comfort; to see a loved one peering back at him through the veil of time.
Lovis smiled thinking of how Cedoc would have likely already charmed the woman with wit and charm that so readily came to him. "Do you have children of your own?" A gentle pry.
There is a gentleness found in iron fists and a cruelty sleeping in soft words
He spoke prettily enough, cultured and kind and courtly — a swift transformation from the cursing and grouching that had spilled from his lips only moments before. Cerridwen marveled at this ability, to switch between moods and masks as needed. Indeed, the dusk-painted mare had not been cut from a courtier’s cloth, and while she had once attempted to learn such fine-mannered and subtle ways, her clumsy efforts had resulted in not only near-calamity, but had almost started a war.
She pursed her lips at the memory of her battle between that rage filled and strange stallion, her rushed betrothal to the icy prince she had never met, and of her feather-crowned brother in arms’ vitriol at her impulsivity. How artless, how naive she had been, to believe that she could man the helm of a nation and steer it to prosperity while armed only with good intentions. The maiden shook away her thoughts, selfish as they were, and steered her attention back toward her new companion.
Lovis.
He spoke his name with such disdain flashing in those springtime eyes, but it was no matter to the mare, for she cupped those two syllables in her mouth with as much gentleness as she could manage; they tasted sweet and tender, rounded and melodic — a lullaby of sound. Cerridwen repeated her friend’s name silently, committing it to memory and to heart, decidedly precious. Yet, it didn’t escape her, the way his voice caressed the Dawn Court’s true name. Yes, the mottled mahogany stallion wore his heart not upon his sleeve, but on his nation.
Cerridwen had been about to ask something, dawn-smeared lips parting, when she heard pain in Lovis’ voice. No, the mare decided, not pain — agony; pure and nurtured and held in a heart so long that it had taken root in the bones of this exhausted, beautiful man. It was clear from the past tense and the grief that had seized him, that Lovis’s son was no longer able to visit much of anywhere. Cerridwen briefly wondered if he had been carried aloft on a column of smoke similar to the one she had viewed at Luvena’s side only recently.
Reaching over the small distance that stood between them, Cerridwen brushed her tail comfortingly over Lovis’ side, the ivory strands lightly catching here and there over the small hairs of his hide only to drift free as she pulled the appendage away. ”You needn’t worry, Lovis,” Her voice was low, genuine, ”Homesickness can affect us in odd ways, and I understand that you may be off-kilter for some time. Doubtless, bittersweet memories cannot help in keeping one centered, either. Please, divest yourself of whatever tensions you may hold, I need no pleasantries to enjoy your company.” The femme punctuated her words with a smile, fuller this time, one that caused those silvery eyes to shimmer.
”I am here because I want to help,”
And because I want to be.
The unspoken words hung at the end of her sentence, waiting for a stray breeze to sweep them away. The stallion’s next words brought a rosy warmth into Cerridwen’s chest as she thought of her fierce paladin child. ”I do, indeed,” Try as she might, the Fae couldn’t keep the pride from her voice or from her features. ”My Eden. I brought her into the world when I was rather young — Only three Springs — and she is the closest thing to Holy that I think I could ever come to claim as my own.” The mare was happy to discuss her tiny family with him, to divulge any and all details about herself if it would help him climb from whatever poor mood he had been in. ”But I suppose that must be how every parent feels about their child, yes? A love so overwhelming it is acutely painful and joyful all at once.”
@Lovis GOLLY this got away from me. Sorry. I just love him so much
cerridwen
"speech"
table by karma, art by Chillsins on dA
02-19-2021, 03:24 AM - This post was last modified: 02-19-2021, 03:38 AM by Cerridwen
Her eyes danced with a gentle joy; one that inspired his own features to answer in-same, "You are much too kind." He stretched and basked in her warmth. Some beings were wreathed in the garlands of summer no matter what season touched them. Some were spun of golden, glimmering, sunlight that held strong even as dusk fell. Cerridwen was certainly one of such creatures. The first light of day must seek her out, eager to feel her touch. Lovis quietly mulled over the quiet magic of a warm heart and all that it drew in. He wondered what it would be to allow himself to be enveloped by the heart of another.
To have such a thought woke and set to stirring an inner, quivering, cautious voice that fretfully whispered to him. It pleaded with him. It cried that he should go. Go before the woman did take and swallow a bit of him! Leave; before a fondness took root within himself for her.
Too easily would he become attached. Never could Lovis bring himself to prune affections that he inadvertently grew. No. The gardens he grew within himself for those that he cared for were wild and uncontained. However too quickly time would pass. An inevitable pattern that he could not allow himself to be broken by. Not anymore. Already he tended to too many gardens without their muse.
For so long now he had distanced himself from other beings. He was much too quick to grow attached. There was nothing about his time with Cerridwyn that led him to believe he should change how he lived. Fleeting moments such as these would never outweigh the mourning he would someday have to endure.
To that crippled voice Lovis nearly listened. He had widened the distance between them with intent of bidding her farewell. He had thought to usher her home so that the sun would not fall from her. However whenever Cerridwen spoke of her daughter she pulled the man back in. Back to her. He put to rest the anxious voice within him with promises of doing no more than escorting her once she was ready to leave his side. It would be a repayment to her for her kind company. Lovis would see her home safe. To do any different would be dishonorable. Even the voice within him agreed in defeat.
"Yes." It is a young, inexperienced, fellow that dreams of crafting himself as a dashing man; for his lady chosen. A father is a man made over for the world. He crafts the world around himself so that he might leave something more vibrant for his children. The world is in turn drained of color for a parent who has lost a child.
"Eden?" He tasted the name. It rolled splendidly from his tongue. "Lovely." He was happy to direct conversation from himself. Happy to allow himself a moment of living through the tales of another. Lovis would listen quietly to all that she might divulge. He would clutch to what she told. He would recount them to himself whenever his own loneliness grew too great. So much brighter was her talk of flesh and kin that still drew breath, "Does she travel with you today? Or perhaps her sire?" With such talk came the hope of the future. He wondered at her present too.
