To put it bluntly, Israfel was scared. With the transition of autumn into winter, the Court life within Terrastella had slowed to a stagnant lull, and she found herself fretting. Oh, she was no fool. Despite the years spent dead, she knew what fate awaited a stagnant land; uprising, overthrowing, danger. Florentine had been a dutiful Sovereign, tending to their needs, going above and beyond the call of duty that had been thrust onto her shoulders like a weighted mantle. She had taken to her position with dignity and grace, and while her presence was reassuring, it was the monotony of it all that began to fill her heart with trepidation.
Where were the other soldiers, sworn into service to defend their lands? Where was Diarmuid? The rose-grey knight had been missing for some time, since the ending of their friendly brawl, really, and she worried for his welfare. Since her return from Solterra, a mission assigned by Florentine herself, things had simply been slow. It worried her.
While Solterra had been a welcome reprieve from winter’s harsh chill, Terrastella was her home. It was here, these lands, this Court, whom she had sworn her fealty. The daughter of a God, she had bowed before her Queen, submitting herself to their golden Sovereign’s whim, ready to defend with her body, her life. Pride filled her veins. Her cause was noble, defending those who could not defend themselves, but what, truly, was she defending? A stagnant Court? Was there purpose here, for her? Was this her destiny? Patrolling the lands alone, without a shield-sibling at her side?
Not for the first time, she wondered. She wondered her path, her course. She wondered if things would be different, had she found herself in a Court other than this one…
No. No.
The Sun Daughter gave a mighty, harsh shake of her head, fierce vermilion eyes staring forward into nothing. She stood upon the balustrade of the Terrastellan Citadel, keeping watch upon their border, staring out amidst the churning waves as snow slowly drifted down from the heavens. It was cold, the land wrapped in winter’s frigid embrace, but the sun was shining, holding the worst of the biting temperatures at bay. It was just after noon, the sun having passed the zenith in the sky, and it was to the bright sphere in the sky to which she turned her vision. The night she had spent atop Veneror was not lost on her; the Gods had not answered her pleas, and she felt no more soothed as to her purpose than she did before making the treacherous trip. Maybe it had been pointless, maybe it wasn’t. Time, she supposed, would only tell.
Still. It would do her well to end the thoughts of uncertainty, of self-doubt and ridicule. They would get her nowhere, and she still had a home to defend. Sucking in a deep breath, Israfel watched, transfixed, as her exhale turned to mist and danced into the sky, only to disappear. If only she could find the answers that she so desperately sought. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel so lost, so forsaken.
The winter has settled into an uneasy rhythm for Asterion.
Oh, there is nothing wrong with the bay, or with the world he’s found himself in. He’s mostly content to work on understanding the black marks scrawled in countless books, trying to unravel the mysteries of words that Isorath had so patiently explained to him. He doesn’t take well to it; he isn’t made for reclining on pillows and reading through books.
Still, he tries.
Sometimes he wonders what his unicorn might think, to see him struggling through dusty pages when he’d claimed to want to learn of war, and he flushes with hot shame.
But there is nothing else to do, here, and his sister is busy with the duties of queen. He is left to wander Terrastella as the winter winds lean against the stone and howl their longing, and he is alone, too, on aimless walks across the sloping fields, leaving tracks quickly covered by snow.
He expects no different when he climbs countless steps to the balustrade, the sounds of his footsteps echoing around him. The bay liked to watch the world from such a height; it was as close as he would ever get to flying. Perhaps, this afternoon, he would catch Florentine on one of her brief arrivals. He does not ask where she goes, but he has a guess – one that makes his stomach twist with vague discomfort.
But he is not alone. As he steps out into the sunlight he sees the girl, standing in a column of light that turns her white-and-gold to something shimmering, something like magic. She looks like sunlight on snow and it takes him a long moment to place her.
“Israfel,” he says when he does, the name half-remembered from Florentine. Perhaps he should leave her be – she seemed to be utterly absorbed by something, hardly an ear twitching his direction – but the bay was too glad to not be alone. He eases up beside her, dark muzzle curving her direction, dreamer’s gaze curious on her vibrant, violent eyes. They, too, looked sun-touched. “Are you expecting someone?” Perhaps she, too, was hoping for a glimpse of their queen.
Israfel is reminded of another time, one just like this. Standing upon the balustrade in relative silence, contemplating her life, her purpose, when she is happened upon by another. The Sun Daughter turned her head slightly at the sound of her name, sharp vermilion depths peering back over her winged shoulders to spot who it might be. A small, hopeful part of her expected Finnian, the charismatic youth of whom she had shared a similar encounter with seasons ago. Maybe even Diarmuid. Instead, it was a handsome young bay, rich in earthen tones and captivating gentle, dreaming eyes. He seemed uncertain of his presence, as though he might not be welcome, and she simply stared, watching him carefully. The mark off-center upon his brow was oddly charming, as were his mannerisms.
His name… Did she know his name? Israfel thought back, trying to recall. It started with an ‘A’. Right? For now, she held her tongue, simply watching the male to see what he would do. She had seen him in passing, but had never stopped to truly get to know him. The thought instilled a pit of guilt within her breast. She needed to do more. Arthur? Aster… Asterion? Yes, that sounded about right.
He settled beside her upon the balustrade, his handsome face tipped in her direction. Israfel finally allowed her gaze to turn forward, watching the horizon for any sorts of foul play, posture erect and at attention. There was nothing, of course. Nothing to be concerned about. Things were slow. Winter made the world move at a slower pace, after all, and she couldn’t help but wonder if this sort of stagnancy was being felt through all of the Courts. Rose-kissed lips twisted upwards in a smile, the first change in expression since the bay’s arrival, and fiery orange eyes glanced once more to Asterion’s direction. Her eyes glistened in the sunlight, shining like molten lava, sun-touched and blessed.
“No,” she conceded, finding no reason to lie. After all, who did she have to wait for? Everyone she seemed to know was either dead, missing, or had just abandoned her, disappearing into the night as though they had never existed in the first place. It was becoming common, and more than a little heartbreaking. A haggard breath left her lips before she shook her head, thick waves of gold and ivory rippling along a sleek neck and broad breast. “I’m keeping watch.” Although from what, she had no idea.
From there, she turned the inquiry back upon him. “And you? Are you expecting anyone?” Then, hoping she wasn’t mistaken, Israfel asked with a somewhat sheepish look, “Asterion, right?”
Asterion is more glad than he can say to be welcomed, but the thought makes something inside him twist, uneasy. Has he become a stray dog, that he’s so hungry for a scrap of companionship? He’d never been bothered by loneliness before – he’d been content to be a pilgrim, after all. An adventurer.
This place is changing him.
But the mare seemed a grounded presence, still and proud, the image of a warrior with her fiery eyes and straight back. She did not look discontent - and why should she be? Ah, if he could only quiet his heart.
“Just wandering,” he confesses with a small smile, and turns his dark dreamer’s eyes back to the horizon. “Though I wondered if I might see my sister. Er, Florentine.” Perhaps he should have said ‘the Queen,’ though that seemed such a stiff mouthful for what he knew of his half-sibling.
Also, the idea that he had given simply Florentine a small scar above her eye in their training scuffle was much less guilt-inducing than the idea of injuring a queen.
At the sound of his name he glances at her again, the smile curving more true on his dark mouth. He dips his chin in a nod but says nothing – he is surprised, in truth, that she knew of him at all, much less remembered his name. He knew first-hand that he was far from the only bay stallion around; at least one of them looked similar indeed.
Her earlier statement, though, has him tipping a curious ear toward her, and he narrows his eyes at the bright snow, as if expecting to see the shapes of enemies rising from the white banks. “Keeping watch – do you expect trouble? I got the impression that this world is…” he trails off, searching for a word that didn’t sound offensive, that didn’t hint at his strange disappointment at things being so safe, so routine. “Sleepy.”
He knows he is a fool for wanting any kind of trouble; but then, he is still little more than a boy, and he has never seen a war.
Asterion’s answer caused a pale ear to tip backwards to his direction. Sister? Florentine? Israfel hadn’t the slightest clue that the Dusk Court Queen had siblings. Then again, she hadn’t really gotten to know anyone that well. There had been Diarmuid, of course, but that was it. And even then, the noble knight had disappeared one day never to be seen again. She hoped that he was well. Vermilion eyes turned away from her careful scrutiny of the horizon to instead focus on the bay youth at her side, eyeing him. Of course the Sun Daughter was not so ignorant to think that one had to be bound by blood in order to be called brother or sister. After all, the warriors she held rank with were dubbed her shield-siblings, a family created by one sole purpose. Still, it did no good for her to push her nose into other people’s personal lives.
Letting her gaze drift back to the horizon, the Daughter of the Sun spoke smoothly. “I can’t say that I’ve seen her yet today, but that doesn’t mean that she won’t stop by shortly.” It seemed that whenever Israfel had seen Florentine, the golden Queen would be darting about the Terrastellan citadel like a busy little bee, all smiles, golden locks, and violet flowers trailing in her wake. She was a good Queen, if not somewhat unorthodox… But that was endearing. The thought of her brought a smile to rose-kissed lips, before remembering her company.
Asterion’s following inquiry caused her to chuckle, a breathless, nearly sensual sound. “This place is sleepy. I’ve never lived in a land so quiet… Yet tranquility and complacency will not defend us from war.” Not that she thought there was a war brimming on the horizon. The land seemed far too peaceful for that. Regardless, Israfel was not about to take any chances. She had seen it all first hand, what laziness might bring, and she had no desire to bow to a usurper or seek out a new home. She glanced once more to Asterion, smiling despite the attempt at a professional front, eyes glittering nefariously in the sunlight. “… But if it puts your mind at ease, no. I don’t expect any trouble.”
“I’ve lost so many homes, I don’t care to lose another. This place has become precious to me, and even if it is quiet, even if it is peaceful and silent and sleepy, I will continue to keep watch and defend it.” Come hell or high water, Israfel would fight. “… Even if it can get a little boring and lonely.” She laughed, a melodic, peaceful, innocent sound. “But now you’re here, and can keep me company. Tell me more about you, Asterion. I know so very little about those in our Court, it’s almost shameful.”
She speaks of war as though it’s a foregone conclusion and he looks at her more sharply, the lines of his own body soft in comparison to her attentive stance. He’s looking for a shadow of Calliope, but there is nothing feral about Israfel. She reminds him more of Raymond, the red blade-tailed stallion he’d met a world ago, but he wonders how someone so young could be so world-worn.
“It’s hard to imagine any kind of trouble, in a place like this,” he says, indicating the battlements they stood on, the court spread out around them, the mountains in the distance. There is no rogue magic, no physical, vengeful gods (Asterion has still no notion of the gods of this place), no reason he can see to take up arms. Not somewhere with books, and pillows, and festivals, and tea.
His brow has furrowed at the thought, nose wrinkling as it remembered the strange curling scents in Isorath’s office, the way the kirin seemed so entirely other. He is glad, then, when Israfel’s laughter draws his attention again, and he steps nearer to her, close enough the bite of winter can’t reach the space between them.
Himself is not one of his favorite topics, but knows what she means, and so he obliges as best he can.
“I don’t know much about anyone either,” he admits, “but then I’ve always been…bad about that.” He breathes a sigh that is snatched away at once by a breeze; down far below them, snow is blown into an eddy that glitters like diamonds in the sunlight and then is gone. There is little else but the washed-out blue of the sky and the dark shapes of a distant v of geese. ¬No windswept, laughing flower-queens; no enemies.
He thinks of meeting the stranger on the shore, the confessions he’d made to himself as much as Eik, the way he felt cleansed afterward. The honesty had stung like saltwater on a wound – maybe it would sting less the second time. And so he glances back at her, though his face is still mostly turned to the plains, and offers her a smile. “This is the first place I’ve stayed for more than a few weeks, though I never saw anywhere like this. I was always looking for…something. Adventure, excitement.” Not sleepiness, and not peace – but then, he hadn’t been looking for a half-sister, either. He hadn’t known he had one.
Asterion tilts his head toward her then, dark eyes curious, thinking over what she has said about her many lost homes. He wonders, of course, at the stories behind him, but shares her unwillingness to pry; it is another question, though, that curls tight around his heart. “These places you mention - what made them all a home?” A home; not just a place, like Ravos had been to him.
As for Novus - how can he say?
@Israfel awwwww poop post from me but he'd love to be her friend (people keep vanishing on him too xD)
01-16-2018, 03:51 PM
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She understood. Israfel felt the same. It wasn’t easy to talk about the inner workings that hade her uniquely herself, finding difficulty in explaining the finely woven threads that built a tapestry that was Israfel. Once, she would have bragged. Once upon a time, in another world, she would have proudly proclaimed her heritage and what made her special. Now she was filled with nothing but solemn humility, humbled by experiencing the fire and ice of death. Death, as it turned out, did not care who or what you were, and inevitably came for everyone. That was simply how it was.
A pale ear tipped in Asterion’s direction, vermilion eyes casting him a sidelong glance and momentarily breaking away from her careful watch of the horizon. She spotted him inching closer, standing within her personal space and chasing away the winter chill. Surprisingly, Israfel did not mind the intrusion. Quite the opposite, actually. His warmth was oddly welcoming.
What made those places a home? Now, wasn’t that a good question? She thought back to her youth, before her premature death, thinking of the foggy forests of the World’s Edge, of her mother and father. Of Mesec, Hototo, and Roskuld. Names that no longer meant anything, in the grand scheme of the Astrals. Of all of those that she had met, no matter how fleeting the moment may have been. What made the World’s Edge not just a place, but a home?
“… The sound of my mother’s wise voice,” Israfel answered softly, surprising herself by the somber tone of her voice, “And the warmth of pride in my father’s. The sense of peace I felt whenever I was around them. A joyful laugh from a close friend. The knowing look in the eyes of someone I cared deeply for.” There was a memory of Mesec and his boyish, charming smile, of Hototo’s heartfelt, loving sincerity, of Roskuld’s rough-and-tumble ways. They were the half-siblings she would never see again, sons and daughters of the Gods. Abruptly, Israfel’s heart ached. How she missed them…
Rose petal lips parted, the vermilion depths of her eyes so insurmountably sad, but the look only lingered for a few moments before she chased it away with the great puff of her chest. Inhaling, the Sun Daughter held her breath, counting to five, before slowly releasing it.
“Those things made where I had lived before a home, and I’m slowly becoming familiar with those very things here. I would hate to lose it all again, Asterion. I really would.” It was honesty at its finest, raw and speaking of terrible pain. Surely he could understand.
Another deep breath as the warrior collected her thoughts, and then she smiled. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get so deep all of a sudden. Sometimes I just get lonely.”
He can’t help it; he closes his eyes as she continues on, listing words of love. He can hear the truth in them, can feel the warmth of those memories as surely as he can feel the winter sunlight on his face or the heat of her body along his shoulder, his ribs. Asterion keeps himself from sighing the way he would at one of his mother’s star-strewn stories, but it is a close thing.
When he opens his eyes he is smiling, but it is a strange thing, happy and sad and hopeful and longing all at once.
It becomes a softer thing at the break in her voice, when she says home. When she mentions the possibility of losing it again. And he can’t help the way he leans toward her, either, and presses his muzzle soft and brief to the pale plane of her shoulder just before her wing.
Only a moment and he withdraws, leaning away and staring back out over the battlements, squinting against the bright gleam of the snow. “I see,” he says, shooting her a quick smile. “Those sound like lovely things. It makes me wonder if I’ve ever had a home at all.” His lips twist, pull the expression into something else, far away and solemn.
,And then he shakes his head like he’s breaking out of a reverie, and scuffs a hoof so it rings out on the stone. “I get lonely too. I didn’t know that’s what it was, for a long time. But if we’re both lonely, here together, then maybe we aren’t lonely at all.”
Silly words, maybe, and perhaps it’s for the best they’re now given to the wind. All he knows is he wants those things she talked about, wants them more than he ever has – and it was nice, to hear his name like that, spoken by a friend.
Israfel was surprised to feel the smooth touch against her shoulder. A gentle caress, a physical show of understanding, of brotherhood, from one who understood her plight and her words but did not judge her for it. The shield-maiden’s vermilion eyes turned, focusing on Asterion, and let out a soft breath. She smiled, pink lips upturning slightly at his consideration, at his blatant display of thoughtfulness. How long had it been since she had felt another’s touch? Far too long. So long, in fact, that she hadn’t realized how much she had missed it until now.
Thank you.
The words were not spoken aloud, for she was fairly certain that they did not need to be. Somehow, Israfel was sure that Asterion understood her gratitude without having to say much of anything at all. She felt at ease, here by his side, standing upon the balustrade of their home together and watching the world go by, as though the world were not so cruel a stranger. As though she wasn’t truly alone. His next words, spoken upon a soothing tongue that sent shivers down the pale maiden’s spine, only solidified the fact.
’But if we’re both lonely, here together, then maybe we aren’t lonely at all.’
She couldn’t help it. A brilliant smile lit up the Sun Daughter’s features, stealing away the lines of her stresses, of her anxieties and self-doubts. Such a smile rarely graced the young woman’s features, an innocence lighting up passionate vermilion eyes that glittered in the sunlight. “I’ve never quite heard it spoken like that, but… Yes. I think you’re right.” Then, because she wouldn’t keep it quiet this time around, she added on, “Thank you, Asterion.”
His words had meant more to her than she could say. Novus had always been a formidable, lonely place for her. After all, it hadn’t been ’home’ when she had re-drawn her first breath, but a strange, new land. Where she had once felt despair and loneliness, standing there upon the citadel veranda and keeping watch upon their horizon, she now felt warm kinship in the young man standing at her side. He was wiser than his years, and she couldn’t help but wonder what trials had made him that way. Perhaps, with time, she would find out.
Deciding to return his touch, Israfel turned her head away from her station and pressed her muzzle to his own shoulder. She lingered only a moment, but when she pulled away, her pale lips were still upright in a smile. “… Will you stay and watch the sunset with me, Asterion? I would like to enjoy the evening with the company of a friend.”
Asterion wants to fidget like a boy beneath that vivid look, but he forces himself still, steady as the beat of his heart. She is such a striking woman; so different from his half-sister, whose gold came tangled with flowers. Despite their outward differences, he does not doubt they have the same internal strength. (Oh, how surprised he would beto know the depth of both mares’ similarities – that they’ve both been touched by the cold hand of death, that they both have risen again.)
It is the smile that catches him off guard. It is as bright as her eyes, and warm – warmer than the sun as it sets, unattainably distant. He’d known Israfel was young, but this is the first time she’s looked it.
He is grateful for any hand he’s had in that smile.
At her thanks he only smiles, softer than hers. Again he is surprised, this time by her touch. Though often solitary, Asterion has never avoided physical contact the way his father has; it is circumstance only that has kept him from such gestures. If not for Florentine he might still have been without it, but that is her way. It means something different from Israfel, and there is gratitude in his dark eyes.
“I would like that, too,” he says, and he is still smiling when he turns back toward the horizon. More settled, now, the bay cocks a hoof and sweeps his gaze across the spread of Terrastella, the sunlight gold on the snow. “I’m always surprised how pretty they can be, even in the dead of winter.”
--
Later, when the light had faded and the stars glittered cold fire overhead, when the first owls began to call and their shadows swept over the snow, Asterion goes to his quarters with a warmer, fuller heart.
Ooc: garbage ending but wanted to get the exit in there <3 can't wait for them to thread again!
