A S T E R I O N
in sunshine and in shadow*
“Twelve?” he echoes, and shakes his head. “I feel glad now that there are comparatively few here - that I know of, anyway. But it sounds as though you were lucky to have them, and they you.” He says nothing more, but it is Ravos that he thinks of then, of No and Selke. Asterion had only been a boy, then; too young and ignorant to know (or to care) what good gods they were, how gentle and how wise. And yet he isn’t sure if he would be glad to see Selke materialize from the saltwater-spray as he had done so many times.
Maybe Calliope had finally worn off on him, but the king is finished with gods.
He is prepared to go when Rhone shakes his head, and a little of the tightness in him runs out like water when the man asks him to stay. His smile is soft as the dew clinging to the grass as he steps alongside the bay, and the wind stirs between them, bearing the scent of the sea. Asterion is always glad to see the sun rise over the water, to hear the gulls’ mournful voices, to feel certain and strong in only the way the water can make him.
His smile grows broader when Rhone speaks of it, and he feels a strange kind of pride, as though he could claim any part of the beauty of this place. As though it was his, and not the other way around.
“Everything about them,” he says, and laughs. “I was born on a shore not so different from this one, and I have lived most of my life no more than a day’s walk from the sea. This is the perfect place to watch it from, and to learn from it. Sometimes it is serene and calm, sometimes the waters are choppy and rough, and when a storm blows in - “ he shivers, but it is delight as much as the rising sun that lights his eyes, delight and a fierce kind of joy. “It teaches me,” he finishes, and one sloping shoulder lifts in a shrug.
Maybe it sounds silly, saying it out loud - but he will not apologize for this. Anyway, he figures Rhone might understand.
“And I still have a lot to learn,” he adds, and laughs again.
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