I am the fire, I am burning brighter
Roaring like a storm
And I am the one I've been waiting for
Screaming like a siren
Alive and burning brighter
I am the fire
It was subtle, at first, the changes of her own body. Israfel honestly thought nothing of it at first, but then it happened. One morning she woke up in her chambers and noticed that she was rather round.
Winter was upon them so it was only natural that she put on a little bit of weight, right? Her body was preparing for the long freezing nights and the short days. The length of her coat had grown quite a bit this winter season, managing to hide a bit of the strange, sudden weight, but there was no doubt that the Warden was a little bit rounder than she remembered being even just last season. Denial, of course, was her first reaction, because the other alternative was beyond terrifying.
”... You haven’t been eating that much,” Solaris said, her words both welcome and obnoxious as she glided in lazy wide arcs around the Sun Daughter’s head, ”Not enough to gain that much weight, anyway.”
Israfel’s pink lips twisted up in a snarl and she narrowed her eyes, staring daggers of fierce vermilion up at the Phoenix. “Then what else could it be?” Wisely, Solaris chose not to answer.
In the back of her mind, however, she was somewhat certain that she might know. Judging by Solaris’ own sidelong looks and knowing glances, the Phoenix knew as well. It had been awhile since she and Ulric had shared that passionate, frantic night together at the creek, just the two of them chasing the meaning of ‘hope’ beneath the cover of darkness. It was fleeting, and they hadn’t seen one another since then, but the blue roan was on her mind like the plague.
Leaving her chamber that morning, Israfel moved through the halls of the citadel at her usual confident pace, cloven hooves drawing her along at a cocky sashay. It was a cold morning, the freezing grasp of winter in full swing, but the Sun Daughter wasn’t bothered by the chill that lingered in the hallways. Her body ran unnaturally hot, and as she carried herself down the halls her body seemed to steam beneath the cool air. Stopping a nearby soldier that straightened upon seeing her, Israfel inquired where Asterion was. He thought for a moment before answering.
’I saw the King leave just a bit ago, heading towards the cliffs. Try there?’ It was as good of a place to start as any. Thanking the soldier and leaving him to continue his business, the Warden pressed on, navigating the halls of the Dusk citadel by heart. By now she knew this land like she knew her own body. Although with the most recent developments, perhaps that wasn’t the most appropriate of comparisons to make. Regardless, she soon stepped outside and stretched, allowing her wings to fan out with a few cracks from her shoulders. The chilly air was a nice reprieve and soothed away the sweat coating her brow, but soon enough she pressed on, stepping out into the cold morning and moving casually through the snow. It was only when she was a good distance away from the citadel itself that she took to the skies, kicking up snow during her take off.
Overhead she soared, the cold air making her eyes tear as she searched the white coated land pass by beneath her very hooves. It didn’t take too long to find him, an earthen stain upon the otherwise crisp snow-white of the cliffside. Tucking her wings close, Israfel dove down, down, down, stretching her legs out to brace for landing, her hair windswept and terribly unruly. Landing with surprising grace but kicking up a considerable amount of snow and ice, the Warden jogged to a halt a few paces from the Dusk King and grinned, mist curling from her rose-kissed lips. Beneath the sheer drop of the cliffs, the waves churned and crashed against the stone, creating a pleasant ambient noise to her ear.
“Mornin’.” The greeting was said easily enough, called between the brief distance between them. Gilded wings came to rest upon her round sides and Solaris lowered herself to her bonded’s croup, the massive Phoenix nodding her head towards Asterion in a sign of respect. “Just the man I was looking for.”
It would be a mistake to say that Asterion’s visits to the high cliffs with the surf crashing below have increased of late, when for years now they have been his haven; still, his returning there has become more habit than conscious respite. The king had risen with the pearl-colored dawn and walked beneath the still-hanging moon to see the sun come up over the water.
As always, the bite of the cold is a balm to his ever-running thoughts, and he lets them go as though they could be carried out with the current like so much flotsam. Somewhere below him, Cirrus is hunting; her cries mingle with that of the other sea-birds, another familiar layer of sound to the winter day.
For a moment he can almost pretend everything is normal, and everyone is safe. But even the horizon holds no promises anymore, not when he has seen it spill smoke and ash, not when the earth has groaned beneath his feet. Then there is Raum, and his bloody-handed reign, another monster he isn’t sure how to fight. Like whitecaps his worries rise up again and for all his endless love of the sea, for all his tireless care for his people, Asterion wonders if he might not yet drown beneath them.
The bay is glad, then, to see the pale shape approach on wings far wider than any albatross or eagle, accompanied by a bird so bright she puts the midnight stars to shame. There is no laugh on his mouth but one lives in his eyes to see his Warden dive like a falcon for the bright powder of snow, and he ducks his head in greeting as she approaches.
In many ways he is still the boy he was before Novus, untrained in feminine experience; even if he had been the type to notice Israfel’s new roundness, he would likely not guess the why of it. With her gilded wings tucked against her sides, the only thing the king notices is the bright glow of her, a gleam from horn to hooves, and all he thinks is that he is glad to see her looking happy.
“You look well,” he says, and matches her grin with his own. “I didn’t know winter suited you so.”
I am the fire, I am burning brighter
Roaring like a storm
And I am the one I've been waiting for
Screaming like a siren
Alive and burning brighter
I am the fire
As Israfel came to stand just before the bay stallion, she was silent even at his greeting. There was just something about Asterion that put her at ease, that soothed the ire in her heart like a hand might soothe disturbed fur. It was a simple action, existing, but the look that he oftentimes carried within his earthen brown eyes made her think of understanding, of compassion, of acceptance. She wondered what lurked beneath that gentle eyed stare, however, what exhaustion gripped his shoulders when no one was looking.
The woes of leadership. She could only imagine, and the things formed by her imagination were not pretty.
Letting out a soft breath, the Warden’s glittering vermilion gaze was heavy as she regarded her sovereign. An elegant pale brow rose. “Aw, shucks Asterion,” she answered with her typical cocksure grin, tilting her head and moving on ahead, letting the gild of her hooves carry her closer to the cliffside so that they stood side by side, “Neither did I. Typically I hate winter and can’t wait for it to fuck off… But this one hasn’t been too bad just yet.” Madness and lunacy across the world aside, of course.
Head rising, the Sun Daughter let her gaze wander towards the churning waves. The winter current seemed rather prominent, white caps forming on each cresting wave. The sound of churning water crashing against the cliffs was almost soothing, and within her gut she felt something shift. Interesting. Upon her croup, Solaris gave her bondmate a knowing glance and Israfel promptly ignored it.
’No.’
Clearing her throat, Israfel turned her head to meet Asterion’s gaze once more. She grinned ruefully, clearly in a good mood, and when she spoke next the Sun Daughter’s voice was light and carefree. “Progress report time, my liege. Our favorite. I’m here to relay that everything seems hunky-dory on the borderline. The Halcyon are keeping busy, for the most part… But I worry that whatever the fuck happened between Marisol and Theodosia are affecting their tenacity and capability of working together.” She frowned, rose-kissed lips twisting down. “I’ll ask Theodosia the next time I see her. I’m due for a check in on the soldiers anyway”
Casting her gaze back towards the ocean, she hummed beneath her breath. The shape of Cirrus soaring down by the crags and the crashing waves caught her eye for but a moment before the pallas gull was gone. “I’ve been homebound for the most part, so I haven’t heard word on the most recent developments within Solterra and Denocte, but things seem quiet in Delumine. I heard word of a murderer in the Viride, but it either grew bored or went into hiding because it’s been quiet. I’ve kept in contact with the Warden there.” In more than one way, not that Asterion needed to know that. She grinned at the memory.
Letting the grin fade from her lips, the Warden’s expression shifted into something far more somber. Her vermilion eyes focused on Asterion, taking in the fatigue that danced upon his face and the lines of stress that seemed to age him. Poor guy. He was far too gentle a soul to be cast under such pressure, and her heart went out to him. “... Have there been any developments aside from what we already know? Any word from the desert?”
It feels good to laugh - the sound of it surprises him at first, slipping out between his teeth like a brook, like that brief joy has lived in him all along. “Well put,” he answers, and his grin is wry, and he thinks that (for them at least, and for Dusk) she is right. It could be worse, and has been, and may yet be.
But today it is not too bad.
When she turns her attention to the waves he follows suit, save for a quick glance at Solaris. The sight of the phoenix has never yet failed to raise up in him some sense of wonder, like that laugh but softer, another part of him he forgets. Now he watches the sunlight on the water, but keeps an ear tuned to her, and his body angled toward hers even as his dark gaze regards the flat line of the horizon. From here, that island is out of sight. From here, everything is normal.
It’s not until she mentions Marisol and Theo that his mouth turns down and his eyes move back to her, and the king’s star-marked brow is furrowed. “Happened between them? Neither have mentioned anything to me…” but even as he says it he begins to wonder. Of course both of them are tense, when he speaks with them; but they always have been. He has never seen the Commander or the Champion at peace, but neither has he thought that tension came from anything but the trials that face them daily. Now he wonders if he has been too preoccupied with the wounds of his own heart to notice his friends’, and it turns something over in him, a dark guilt like dead and rotting leaves. He sighs, soft. “Let me know what you find out.”
His grim expression does not lighten as she moves on, outside their borders. “A murder, and not an accident?” It is a careful line to walk, but Novus was not without its predators - better a wolf or a panther, he thinks, than some more wily, savage killer. It is the last thing Somnus needs. “I am glad you’ve kept in touch - we should be strengthening our relationship with Dawn. I never thanked your properly for going with Atreus and the others.”
The bay catches the last of her grin, and it heartens him for a moment the way the sun on his shoulders does in December before it fades. And well it should, as their talk turns to Solterra.
“I’ve heard nothing new from the desert - but Isra has returned to Denocte, and they managed to suppress an attempt to burn the Night Court’s supplies.” It is too much to think of them, all his friends across the mountain pass; the only comfort is that the queen is returned, and Asterion knows better than most how strong she is. His words are low, his expression flat as stagnant water; his uncertainty feels like drowning, like a great weight is pressing him down and down and asking him to breathe.
“I’m told Raum is cutting off Solterran’s access to food and water unless they submit to him. We should see if we can bring them supplies - or smuggle their people out.” Now when he meets his Warden’s eyes, his own are asking for help. There are too many decisions to make, too many lives depending on each - oh, what if he is wrong, what if there is nothing right? Deep in him, wherever it is that magic lives, saltwater twists like Charybdis. Asterion has only begun to test the edges of that power; he has no idea how deep it goes - deep enough it vanishes into darkness.
“Israfel, should I go there? I don’t want to bring a war down on our heads. But I could give them water. With my magic, I could…” He swallows, trails off. “I could kill him, perhaps,” he says, and though his gaze is still on her his eyes are dark, and far away.
