|
of dawn court
MAERYS Leaving the warmness within her palace walls had been a painful decision. As the warmth deserted her bones and then her flesh and the chill superseded it, it was a cutting shock. As the zephyr beat her side, she grew sinewy; muscles fighting overtime to keep her diminutive frame upwards and steady. Her tresses were disheveled, a fine flag streaming. Though her hide was creamy, an array of spruce and mule with sections of porcelain, she wasn't camouflaged against the ivory scene before her. Maerys wasn't sure what brought her to the frostbitten steppe, but she was there and in her weariness, she voted to patrol. She hadn't done much since she appeared a few days ago, for how busy could one get in less than a week? Eventually, she would have an arsenal of duties and tasks to accomplish, but for now, simply patrolling seemed natural. Her breath was pale against the numbing air, her mind wandering as she blinked thoughtfully, captivated by the soft, dusty illusions of light that sat heavy on her eyelashes. She adored the snow, moreso when it was falling. Though the snow was beautiful it was cold and sharp. It was a crisp, white, pristine covering that transformed the landscape into something unrecognizable. Despite the beauty that surrounded her, she felt a heavy weight in her heart. Maerys thought that because she had grown up in the violent streets of poverty with a merchant as her caretaker that she had seen everything. Still, she knew well nothing would prepare her for her future life as a soldier. She would see friends, allies, and perhaps even one day her own family perish. With vengeance, however, her foes would see the same perilous fate. The girl, so young and so brave, couldn't promise that her skills would be godly, but her determination and fire would prove unmatched. IT WASN'T ABOUT PRAYING TO THE GOD YOU BELIEVE IN IT WAS SOLELY ABOUT BELIEVING IN YOURSELF |
All Welcome - when snow falls, she listens
Users browsing this thread: 2 Guest(s)
☼ fia the crownless ☼
oh, pity the damned It is some vast, cosmic irony that she meets a girl – on the verge of adulthood, but not yet there – before any other creature in Delumine. Winter has crept into the Dawn Court, and, unlike the winters in her desert homeland, she can feel it; the sharp chill makes her grateful for the mesh of leather and thick fabric that make up her armor, which she wears in spite of her peaceful intentions. She has heard that there is a monster in Delumine. If she truly wishes to gain the Dawn Kingdom’s aid, she should offer her own in turn. (And she had, when she had inquired to Somnus for help; there are monsters aplenty in Solterra, least of all the beasts. Surely, surely, though she is no good at anything else, she can offer some sort of aid there.) Snow crunches beneath her hooves, strange and cold. (It makes her think of the blizzard that enveloped Solterra only months ago, when she was still…) The light is newborn and pale, distorted by the slow but steady trickle of snowfall, and, if her mind weren’t so troubled, perhaps she would have found it beautiful. As she is, she cannot bring herself to linger on the allure of the landscape. It troubles her to leave her people, when their existence is so fragile; one mistake and they will bring the full force of Raum and his Regime down on their heads, and, Solis knows, she has made plenty of mistakes. Mistakes in trusting. Mistakes of confidence. Of morals. Of certainty. Of uncertainty. Foolish things. They are only in this situation because she made a mistake – and she is not sure if it was taking the throne in the first place or simply her loss to Raum. (Either way, everything she had done is undone by him. When she had taken the crown, she had thought of herself as a girl, thought of the other girls, the children of the desert nation. She had thought that she could give them something other than the violence that plagued her girlhood, that, if only she led with a steady and kind hand, she could give them some other way. But there was no end to the violence, and whatever good she had done had been momentary, which meant that it was no real good at all. Her legacy is to be nothing.) Still, she strides across the meadow unhindered and dauntless, as though there are no ghosts behind her eyes; her sword clinks in its scabbard to the rhythm of her strides. Her scarf falls back against her shoulders, leaving her white hair to tumble freely about her neck, pale as the fallen snow. The last time she was in this meadow, she had been at a party…kinder times, before the gods had come down from the sky, before the Night Regime had disappeared, before… It had been the last time she’d spoken to Acton. Now, he was dead. They’d argued, hadn’t they? And now her kingdom was bleeding. And now there were so many dead. And all because he thought that he had the right to decide who lived and died, or all because she hadn’t been enough to stop him- And she’d been fool enough to think that Solterra could ever be otherwise. (Another crime – he was stripping her heart, or what was left of it, away from her. She wonders if she isn’t becoming like him, all heartless and rage and bitter pangs of insignificance. There is something inside of her that she loathes, this black and ugly darkness, and it is full of teeth. She wants it to go away, to leave her alone, but, wherever she looks, there it is, smiling.) The meadow – or what remains of it in winter – is as clear as the Mor most days, with little room to hide. A splash of cream and white against the snow catches her attention, and her gaze turns to focus on the girl. She is lean and graceful and young, and she walks about the meadow with some sense of purpose. Seraphina wonders what she is doing out there alone, with a beast on the loose. She is a child; an older child, but a child nonetheless, and unarmed. She makes a fragile sight, against the snow, at least in the eyes of the silver – so free an unhindered. (She thinks of the children she sees at home, the girls her age, herself what feels like so many years ago; they are so scared, and this girl is so free.) There is no point in trying to avoid her, no matter how much of a rush she is in, so, instead, she strides towards her. “Should you be out here alone, girl?” She inquires, once she has moved close enough to ensure that she can be heard; after all, there are monsters afoot. ---------------------------------------------------------- tags | @Maerys notes | <3  I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence the most dangerous woman of all is the one who refuses to rely on your sword because she carries her own
MAERYS of dawn court @
☼ fia the crownless ☼
oh, pity the damned She is young enough to be a girl, but not a child entire – Seraphina can see the fine veneer of womanhood beginning to dawn over the youth’s soft features. If she had to place her age, she would guess that she is likely into her second year, though barely. She wonders again why such a young creature is out when Dawn’s borders are closed, when she has heard such strange, dark rumors of a man-eating monster creeping in the depths of the oft-verdant (though not in winter) expanses of the forests and the plains that cover Delumine. As something of a daughter of war and strife, raised on the knife’s-edge of violence and bloodshed, she can’t find it in her to appreciate the girl’s solitude in such troubled times, whether it is a sign of some sort of courage or some sort of foolishness; although Solterra is a land of many monsters, not least of all the one who sits on the throne, most tried to shield their children from them. A sandwyrm could swallow an unsuspecting youth whole, and a teryr in the later years of its lifespan could carry off a full-grown stallion in his prime. (For a moment, she thinks of Maxence, and, with him, she thinks of the teryr that dragged him away – dark shapes against the brilliance of the sun, a creeping shadow.) If nothing else, Seraphina can take comfort in the knowledge that she is here now, and she is hardly inexperienced in the art of hunting monsters. She regards the girl again – the budding musculature of her lean, agile frame and the subtle strength in her light build. She wonders if she is training to become some kind of soldier. (Delumine does not have many of those; she is always surprised to encounter one.) In spite of her youth, she wields a heavy, appreciable presence, and, when she speaks, her voice – and her dialect – catch the silver off guard, though any surprise she feels does not register on her dark features. “Aye,” the girl says, in an accent she cannot place. (She is a foreigner, Seraphina discerns; the mismatched lull of her voice does not match any of the courts.) “Doth thee demand something here?” Her wording is arcane, as mismatched to her youth as the look in her dark eyes, but, although unusual, it is hardly indiscernible. (Ereshkigal’s wording is far more bizarre; she is suddenly glad that her companion has flown ahead to the capitol, rather than lingering with her bonded spirit on the journey. She would rather that the demon was never allowed around children.) “I am Maerys of Dawn Court,” the girl adds. She is certainly unafraid, or unconcerned, and, really, why should she be? Seraphina has become accustomed to suspicion, but she reminds herself that not all kingdoms are at war. (If Raum has his way, she thinks that they might be. She pushes that thought aside, though; she has to believe that she will be able to stop him.) “I am Fia, of Solterra,” comes her cool response, accompanied by a respectful dip of her head. (The name has become as easy to repeat as breathing; though she doubts that she has any need to lie to a child, she also knows that it is far better if the world as a whole thinks that Seraphina is dead, for the time being.) “I seek your king – I sent him a letter in advance.” She does not linger on the subject of why; one can hardly speak of vengeance and rebellion and crumbling nations in polite company. Instead, she shifts to a topic of more immediate interest. “What brings you out here alone, Maerys of Dawn? I’ve heard that there is a monster about.” ---------------------------------------------------------- tags | @Maerys notes | <3 I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence the most dangerous woman of all is the one who refuses to rely on your sword because she carries her own
MAERYS of dawn court @
☼ fia the crownless ☼
each branch a midnight candelabrum of the cosmos For a moment, in this passive serenity – the dawn still breaking through a thin sheen of mist and frost, little sound but muffled, distant birdsong and the soft crunch of her hooves against the snow – is enough to let Seraphina fool herself into thinking that the world is alright, or, at the very least, that it will be. She and the girl are alone out here, in the pale, rosy hues, and the desert feels very far away from the chill on her flesh and the bright little creature in front of her, even though she knows that it is not so very far away at all. The world feels much larger than her, or the girl, or the desert – and much, much older. (The sun would still have risen without her, even if she were not around to see it. She is not sure if such simple knowledge is a comfort or a burden – she does not want this to be her fault, but she needs it to be her fault.) “Fia.” She echoes back her “name;” it still feels foreign to hear herself called by a name that is not her own. (Then again, Seraphina was not hers, either, but she made it hers. Will she use it again, once all of this is over?) “If ‘t be true Delumine expects thee, thou shall be taken in kindly.” Seraphina looks at her, and she knows this to be true; the Dawn kingdom has always been known for its hospitality, and Somnus had always been kind to her, though she had never known him well. “I am grateful for such hospitality,” she remarks, with a nod. “It’s a rarity, in such troubled times.” This is not mere cordiality; Solterra has always been home to hostility, and Raum’s ascension had done nothing but made old tensions and violence worse. “’Tis mine own fealty to protect these lands. Though nay paladin, I’ll has’t the know I am a warrior here.” She can hear excitement trembling through the girl’s voice; she blinks, for a moment, before smiling. “Monster…nay monster…I complete mine own duties diligently.” Brave girl, she thinks, with no fear of monsters- Perhaps she just hasn’t met one yet. “You certainly have a warrior’s soul,” Seraphina says, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of her lips. She marvels a bit at the girl, who is so excited – so proud - to be a soldier of Delumine. Under different circumstances, she might have offered her invitation to visit and hunt in Solterra, to learn to hunt monsters and test her mettle against the beasts of the desert; a cultural exchange would have done them some good, but now is hardly the time. “I’m surprised,” she remarks. “I didn’t realize that Delumine took her warriors so young – are you apprenticed to someone?” She does not, admittedly, know many of the people of the Dawn kingdom; most of her effort has been concentrated in Solterra, and, even while she has been outside of the desert, she seems to have encountered Denoctians and Terrastellans far more frequently than Deluminians. However, she does know a few, from one incident or another, and some of them are warriors, though the more scholarly nation did not have many. If she is so young, Seraphina thinks that it is likely that she is still in training, and, given her knightly bearing, she wonders if she is some sort of squire. It would seem quite like Delumine to have Knights. (She certainly knows that Denocte had some, when she was younger; she’d fought against them in the war. But last she’d heard, they’d disappeared with Renwick, when the former Night Regime had left Denocte.) (She does not think of him, save in passing, and she does not think of the way that it hurt – in a subtle, prickling way – when his letters stopped coming.) Maerys turns, then, with a gentle inclination of her skull. “Follow, follow,” the girl says, and Seraphina dips her head in something like a nod of agreement, falling into step behind her. ---------------------------------------------------------- tags | @Maerys notes | if you'd like, we could close this up in the next round of replies <3 I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence she was powerful not because she wasn't scared, but because she went on strongly despite her fear. Hospitality had become a rarity - replaced by terror, malice, and darkness. Dawn Court was not wholly guiltless of this offense (a point proved by the additional guards on patrol and the whispers of thickening the border) but would never say no to guests. Deluminians were not afraid, not to the extent most would expect of them. It was true, they were not recognized for their prowess on the battlefield like Solterrans were, but they had endured this long for a reason. It wasn't martial force that kept Delumine intact, but rather the Dawn Court had persevered because it sought those of lion-heart, scorning those who whimpered at the slightest personal hurt whilst ignoring the catastrophic wounds of others. Delumine had insufficient area for those who would burn the world to save themselves; there was no home here for those who cared not for others. This is why hospitality has existed here more than in other cracks of the world - why Delumine is quick to gain allies and friends. "Loyalty and kindness shall eternally be returned with mercy and accommodation where the grand sun rises, m'lady." Life was nothing but a powerful echo: what you put out, comes back. Though the child knew little of politics, she knew allies were important - and perhaps Fia could be one far more valuable than Maerys recognized. You certainly have a warrior’s soul. A warrior's soul - complex in theory, conceivably less so in actuality. Fear would soon come as splintering waves to Novus, beasts constructed by the blow furiously lashing the surface of the water. It would not be the heat of a tropical summer, but rather a wintry grave. It would come as a chill that went deep within the core of every soul here, snarling rabidly should they cower from it. Those with a warrior's soul would learn how to swim in the ice and live in the brine with only their bravery as a furnace - others would drown with their half-lived lives. Fia's words brought a kind smile to the girl's velvet lips, though she answered with no verbal reply. She only silently prayed that she truly did have a warrior's soul like the grey mare thought she did. When asked if an apprentice, Maerys had only one response. "Nay," she countered soundly. "A fusty declaration, but true anon... ask and thou shalt receive." Maerys had directly verbalized her hope to train as a soldier and no questions were asked. If there had been an age limit to the training, she would've feigned to be older or practiced elsewhere. If she could foal a child and raise it off her own teat, who is to stop her from combat training? No king could. ~~ Their small talk proceeds, pleasantries and all, until they reached the splendid walls of Dawn Court's core. The structures were covered in a thick coating of white, wintertime unavoidable even here. Tips of roofs and spires crested out from below their white caps and on the ground laid trails of hoofsteps crisscrossing each other around the labyrinth of paths. "The sovereign is just ahead." Maerys turned to Fia, her eyes falling on the mare for the last time. This was goodbye for now as the pale-skinned child must return to her duties and continue patrolling the land. She has led her to the main entrance and should Fia simply slip inside, she could find another to take her directly to the king. "I pray thou art able to conduct thy business with ease and efficiency," she offered easily. "Until next time, Solterran comrade." With that, the silver-haired child thought on monsters and combat as she turned to face the snow and disappeared into the distance. M A E R Y S
☼ fia the crownless ☼
the beloved dead are gone, could not be more gone - only the death stays. “Loyalty and kindness shall eternally be returned with mercy and accommodation where the grand sun rises, m’lady.” Her term of address – something that Seraphina had not heard since before she was dethroned – gave the silver momentary pause, before she brushed it aside as another quirk of the girl’s speech. “Thank you,” she says, with a dip of her head. In Solterra, she never knows what to anticipate – the nation (and her people) shift like the dunes. However, even when she was a girl, Seraphina recalls stories she heard of Delumine and their kindness, their wisdom. Save for some – largely historical, as she understands it, but does not know – minor conflicts with Terrastella, the sunrise kingdom had served as a bastion of hope and kindness even while Denocte and Solterra were embroiled in war. Of course, their neutrality came with a certain degree of evil – it always did. She was not sure if she could forgive the passivity of the other courts, knowing what Zolin was doing to his nation, although she could understand it; she would never want to bring her kingdom into a war, particularly if the conflict did not involve her people. And perhaps that was irresponsible, too; she would be endangering her own for the sake of others, something that, as a leader, she knows that she should never do. Should never have done, she corrects. As far as she knows, she never did – and it makes her glad that any deep affection she held for the other courts or their people had been smothered quick in her breast. It’s a cruel way of thinking, and she knows it, and a hard one, but- To lead is to limit your love, to compose your heart and control the way that it beats in your chest. You cannot have both. She smiles, gentle and pleased, at her compliment, and her response to her question is stated simply and plainly enough. “Nay. A fusty declaration, but true anon…ask and thou shalt receive.” She wonders what made the girl decide to become a warrior, to request it before she likely needed to decide her profession – but she doesn’t ask. Not yet. “I see,” comes her response. She rather questions the Dawn kingdom’s judgement, in that regard, sure as the girl seems of her capabilities as a warrior; good soldiers were rarely born without some sort of mentor to teach them the ins-and-outs of combat. (Much as she loathed Viceroy, he was a mentor to her. She did not want to give his “training” any credit, but she was certainly a better warrior for his teachings, brutal as they were.) But, then, she dislikes the notion of any child on the real battlefield, and, though she is on the brink of maturity and far older than she had been when she was made a soldier, Seraphina knows that she is looking at a girl. (She knows that she is looking at a girl, and, though she does not say it – cannot say it –, she fears that Novus stands on the brink of a war, if Raum has his way. She does not want to imagine this girl like her, lying bloodied in a ditch, her flanks ripped open and her body battered beneath a flurry of hooves…) -- They pass the time easily, engaged in small talk that Seraphina has almost missed, though she was never much good at it – but it reminds her of easier things that rebellion and kingslaying. The Dawn Court is as beautiful and pristine as she recalls from the last time that she was here (at the festival, she thinks), all smooth marble and surprisingly lovely foliage in spite of the winter chill. It feels colorful, though labyrinthian, and warm, though the cold is biting into her skin beneath her armor. “The sovereign is just ahead,” the girl says, then, turning her dark eyes on Seraphina. “I pray thou art able to conduct thy business with ease and efficiency. Until next time, Solterran comrade.” Comrade. She thinks of the Solterra of her childhood, resented by the rest of the continent as a bloodthirsty, slave-holding nation of warmongers. Comrade. She hopes that Raum does not make the rest of the continent think of her people that way again – she hopes that they can see evil at the root. “Thank you for your guidance, Maerys. I hope that we may meet again, someday.” And, if she lives through this, futureless as she feels her path is, she truly hopes that she does. ---------------------------------------------------------- tags | @Maerys notes | not mine, either - but thank you so much for the lovely thread! I'M IN A ROOM MADE OUT OF MIRRORSand there's no way to escape the violence of a girl against herself.☼please tag Sera! contact is encouraged, short of violence |
