asterion,
Asterion hardly notices the birds that escape, flaring up like sparks from a fire, in favor of the sound of his friend’s laugh. For this moment the island doesn’t concern him, and his worry retreats like the tide to sea, for to him that laugh means all is well. Or at least well enough.
Oh, how he is grounded by that touch, the press of warm and salt-smelling skin. Eik is one of only a handful - Florentine among them, and maybe Isra - for whom the physicality carries no weight of expectations he can’t quite name, no tension to make out a meaning that may not be there. For the space of a few heartbeats there is glad comfort, and the steady feeling within him when he pulls away only makes him realize how unquiet he was before.
The king smiles into the air between them, flicks an ear to the trees, with all their mysteries. “I wouldn’t trust it if it were ugly, either,” he says, tempted to laugh again, but he holds a breath instead as something laughs from the woods (likely a bird, only a bird) in a voice so liquid it sounds brand-new. “But you’re right. We’d best be on our guard.” As if, his faint, wry smile says, we aren’t always, nowadays.
He follows the gray man without consideration and without words, content to wander, strangely pleased not to lead. It reminds him of the first time they met, their aimless stroll and meandering talk, and he wonders how long their footprints lasted in the sand before the waves vanished them. In his mind, sometimes, they are there still.
But this is no known beach, and the bay’s gaze is a cautious, curious thing as it scans the trees, rests in the little hollows of darkness between the trunks, glances briefly at the sky. He should be more unsettled, maybe; but Isra is here, with her magic and her dragon, and Seraphina is here, alive, and Eik is here, beside him. And Florentine, somewhere, with her wild joy and a baby in her belly, and -
wherever they are going, they will all be there together.
Asterion tips an ear forward at the question, and his lips press into a line. Leaves and branches brush his sides, and stickers and burrs try for his coat; instinct makes him startle at the bird, but he is glad to place the sound of that earlier laugh.
“Full of all kinds of adventure,” he says, half-wistful, half-wry. “A hundred different coasts to explore, a thousand mountains to climb, monsters that I slayed or saved. When I was a boy I dreamed of being a hero.” Out the corner of his eye a spot of scarlet catches him; without stopping he turns his head to spot a spider as wide as his hoof, weaving a thick web that looks hung with stars. It makes him want to stop and look, and also to shiver; he does none of these things, only continues. There are more wonders ahead, he knows. “But lately,” he continues, his gaze traveling back to his companion (are there new scars, on that pale pelt? Was he always so thin?) “if I’ve been dreaming, I don’t remember it by morning.” A blessing, he thinks.
He still wants to ask if Eik thinks this is a trap, or a trick, or if there’s any reason at all - but would any answer alter what they’re doing now? He wants, too (and maybe more than he ought) to linger in this in-between forever; how it feels to him like they’re exploring, boys playing at being heroes. But they are not boys.
And so, though he is sorry for it, and his gaze stays on Eik with his dark eyes soft (forgive me, forgive me) he speaks steadily, carelessly, and tries not to wonder if the island is listening.
“I have seen Isra, and Seraphina.” There should be joy - somewhere in him, there is, but he doesn’t know what he’ll see as he watches his friend’s back, the fall of his white hair - but it is worry that snags in his throat, to wonder what the gray man knows. “And I am told that Raum is here. If I see him…I will try to kill him. Will you help?”
He remembers, a lifetime ago, Eik asking him as they stood in Denocte overlooking the sea whether their gifts gave them responsibilities. There was never any answer but yes.
king of dusk.
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