Losing too is still ours; and even forgetting
still has a shape in the kingdom of transformation.
A blade on fire. It would suit the warden. He heard she wielded fire with her magic– he heard many things about her over the course of the past few days. The court had been hungry for news that was not death or destruction or Solterran, and in the wake of the recent flurry of promotions Night Court was buzzing with talk of the new appointments.
It’s a fine thing Morrighan accepts his offer– he could use a drink, and her company is more than welcome. He has questions of his own for the newly appointed warden, although he had not expected the opportunity to vet her so soon. She was little more than a stranger to him, and while Isra’s trust went a very long way… well, at the end of the day Eik needed to have his own opinions to stand on when it came to those who worked closest to the queen.
Solterra is the first subject of conversation, of course. He isn’t sure if he hears slight distaste in her tone, or if he just imagines it. Either way, the question is not posed as a jab. This is just small talk. (we cringe.) Nothing more or less.
“It’s different,” he admits. He almost says easy, but that isn’t entirely true. By all means life here should be easy. Here he has family, a bounty of rain, and a tentative sense of peace. But Eik’s psyche did not make anything easy. Happiness was a thing too easily taken away, and so he only allowed himself it in small doses.
He does not attempt to explain how there was a certain beauty to be found among the hardship and the dust, a certain grace that only revealed itself beneath the brutal heat of the sun. He does not say how the yuccas would be blooming now, the yuccas would be blooming white and delicate and heedless of the vicious desert on all sides. It is not a feeling that could be conveyed in words, at least he could not convey it, and although he might be able to show her with his magic he chooses not to. No, the beauty of Solterra was one of those things, like his love of Isra, best held close to his heart.
Eik takes a long drink of the spiced cider, and the words begin to come easier. “Yet… the two courts are similar, in a lot of ways that surprised me.” He looks at her carefully to gauge her reaction– she seemed the type to quickly lose her patience with men who talked in circles.
(and oh, how familiar Eik was with circles!)
They wander the market, away from the cider stall and down the stone streets. From the corner of his eye he sees gleams of red and green and blue– precious stones scattered among the grey. A love poem to a metre no one else knows, for it flows to the beat of his too-full heart.
“I’m not sure what to do with myself here. It feels like so long since I’ve been a civilian.” He had no rank to throw himself into, and domesticity did not suit him– of course, neither Eik nor Isra thought it would, for they knew and cared for each other in the soul-rooted way that allowed one to love without changing what it was they loved. Anyway, the girls were growing older and scathingly independent.
In his free time Eik could– should– probably devote himself more to being a soldier, but that was a position which had long lost its appeal. Eik had seen too many fights, too many deaths. The rise and fall of Raum had taken more life out of the grey stallion than he cared to admit. He was tired. Bone-tired, with no end in sight to the fatigue.
Boredom was a stupid thing to complain about, and complaining was not his intent. Eik shrugs and takes another drink. “You’re not from here either, are you.” It is not a question. Maybe it was the way she spoke or moved that gave her away, or maybe he took a quick peek into her mind. Or it’s possible he simply overheard the gossip– there was much to be heard, when you knew how to listen. Now's the time when the soldier should probably attempt to be tactful. To show a little more of the respect that was due from a man of his station speaking to a woman of hers.
He finishes his drink and stops walking. "How loyal are you to Night Court, and why?" Tact be damned, Eik never cared for mincing his words.
of the circle, it draws around us its unbroken, marvelous curve
@Morrighan yikes I did not mean to write you a novel :|
Time makes fools of us all
