asterion,
The king is grateful for the relative peace of the night, and the shadows that have risen up like the tide to douse the court in darkness. As Mephisto takes in the court in all its strangeness and splendor, as Marisol walks in silence, Asterion does his best to avoid limping. He can’t help but favor the hind leg, however insignificant the injury; with the coolness of the dark, stiffness is beginning to set in. With it comes exhaustion, the product of drawing so deeply from the well of his magic and the culmination of too many nights with too little sleep.
He does not smile as his gaze lingers on the temple, a beacon in the gloaming, and it takes him a long moment to speak. Perhaps he should not at all - particularly with Marisol only paces away - but their patron goddess’s actions still burn at the back of his memory, a blame he can put out no more than he could put out the stars. When he does answer, the words are carefully chosen and steadily said.
“You may worship as you see fit. The wild was the only god I knew for a long time.” If Vespera blames him, he thinks wryly (or Marisol, for that matter), let her defend herself. He will be no tyrant, to enforce belief of a deity who answers prayers and praise with disaster and death. Nor will he ask his people to do something he cannot.
He breathes no easier when they pass the temple, but something about the night in the city softens him nonetheless. They are all of them shadows and stardust, the king and the dark warriors beside him, and every eye cast his way he meets with pride, even if he is a little chagrined at his slight limp, his torn-up ear. Asterion does not look much like a king, tonight, but that is really nothing new.
When Mephisto makes her offer, wisely phrased, it is Marisol the bay looks to. He, too, thinks of the meeting, and how emphatic the Commander had been, and he has to fight to keep back a smile from his dark lips before she answers.
“If you so choose,” he says in the beat that follows, as his gaze moves between the two of them, “then the Commander will show you the Halycon barracks. Of course you are free to sleep where you like until you make your decision. Welcome to Terrastella, Mephisto.” Now it is his turn to pause and nod (nevermind that it gives him a chance to ease the weight off his injured leg), as on the hill above them the lights of the castle dance in the windows, beckoning to him like the temple had not.
Still he’s a little sorry to leave them, when there is still much to be said, and it shows in his voice when he speaks. “There are matters I must attend to. I will see you both soon, I’m sure - until then,” and with a last smile (and a last searching look at Marisol) Asterion parts his company and makes his way up the path as the crickets sing around him.
king of dusk.
@Mephisto @
