A S T E R I O N
in sunshine and in shadow*
In Rhone’s sigh Asterion hears an echo of his own feelings - sorrow and grief like the sea in his veins. At the man’s statement his lips curve into a wry smile, and his thoughts run away with the autumn breeze. He remembers when Vespera led them to the Hospital, when she spoke to him with all the warmth of dawn.
And when she did nothing to stop the death of her people, and only judged them when they tried to fix the problems she had set for them.
“I thought they might be kind, at first. Perhaps it is only in the nature of gods to give with one hand, and take with the other.” But as he presses his lips into a grim line, as the wind tousles his dark hair and the gulls call out from the cliffside, Asterion thinks that there is nothing in these gods of kindness, or mercy, or love.
He closes the feeling away as he turns back to Rhone, smoothing his features into something softer. He nods at the name as he might at a warm handshake, though his dark-eyed gaze is curious. There is something not quite familiar and not quite comforting about the man’s presence, the way he spoke and watched the sun over the water. Asterion has the strange feeling of seeing himself through a cracked and foggy mirror.
The king flicks an ear at the man’s next words, and his smile grows stronger even as he shakes his head, heading off his apology. “Well, Rhone. I can let you be, if you wish. Goodness knows I’ve come here for solitude often enough.”
But it is not those times he remembers - not when he has made so many introductions here, and so many friends. Moira, and Pan, and a dozen others besides; Asterion is far from the only one who is called to the wild cliffs far above the sea.
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