A S T E R I O N
in sunshine and in shadow*
“We’ve had far heavier burdens than you,” he says with a smile, and he knows that Somnus could say the same. Maybe he shouldn’t be joking about the world Novus has been slouching toward, but humor feels like one of the last balms for grief.
Familiarity keeps his footsteps easy as they walk side by side down the cool pathway, toward a sitting room seldom used by the king. For all his contemplation, he can never be still for too long; like the sea he is always in motion, however calm. But today he is glad for the space, for the thought of a private, cozy room and a tea and coffee service.
They are nearly arrived when they begin to speak in earnest, golden king to bay. At once Asterion waves away the apology, a shake of his head that settles his tousled forelock over the small star that marks his brow. “I wish you had,” he says with a small, swift grin, and it is a strange, surprising relief he feels talking to another king - someone who could understand. Of course, he has Florentine, but she has been away so long, and anyway it has never been easy for her to be serious, even in meetings.
He finds he is glad Somnus has come, though still he is tense, clench-hearted, until the man speaks again.
At last he releases a sigh he hadn’t known he was holding, and the day seems lighter, warmer, when they step into the sitting room. He is relieved enough that at first only puzzlement crosses his expression like a cloud-shadow when the Dawn King continues. It takes him a moment to conjure an image of Atreus, and no part of him expects the word brother.
Asterion’s eyes gleam with questions, but he does not speak until he settles on a thickly woven rug and a server brings them a silver tray bearing a pot of coffee and hot water and all the makings of tea. Before he reaches for any of it, he regards the older man - though not by much, he thinks - and hopes his smile is near enough to a reassuring hand on the king’s shoulder.
“You needn’t apologize to me. I’m so grateful and glad to hear of Prince Regis’s improvement. I can’t imagine your worry. As for Atreus…I am glad to hear he was a help, but I heard no mention of any ill behavior on anyone’s part, or that you are brothers. I hope - ” here he falters, thinking first of Florentine but then of his long-separated twin, Talia. Of how he had grown beside her, heartbeat to heartbeat, and how the last time they’d met she had threatened to kill him if he went after her. It is a scar that sometimes still itches.
“Well,” he finishes instead, “I am glad all ended well, anyway.”
Only now does he reach for the coffee, though he has only lifted it halfway to his lips, rich steam curling up, before a thought strikes him and he sets the mug back down. “And how is your lovely wife? The wedding was beautiful.” And this time there is no sadness, no wryness, in the smile he wears - it is nothing but joy.
@Somnus
