Losing too is still ours; and even forgetting still has a shape in the kingdom of transformation.
Denocte was not home yet. Not the way Solterra was. But maybe no place would ever feel like home again, now that home was more of a person than a place. Regardless, he felt a growing fondness for the night court, and the more he saw of it the more he began to understand.
(the nature of shadow, the tenebrous heartbeat beneath the cobblestones, the curl of moonlight on sloped backs. understand?)
Near the Elatus, the yuccas would be blooming about this time of year. Dramatically, in Solterran fashion, they would unfurl huge fistfuls of creamy white flowers that shoot straight into the sky like a prayer. It was always a little hard for Eik, for any man without much faith, to believe that something so delicate could not only survive in such harsh conditions, but flourish. The tenacity of those delicate white flowers should not have come as a surprise given all that he had seen, done, and lived through, but still, for some unknowable reason, it did.
With the clouds thick overhead it was a very dark night, or at least it would have been were it not for the bonfires that cast a flickering orange glow over the crowded marketplace. The scent of smoke still hit something deep and fragile within Eik that made him feel dislodged. Like his skin was too big for his body. He ignored this sensation, as he so often does, as he trudged forward, deeper into the night and its markets.
As Eik steps quietly through the busy streets and keeps his eyes low, he tells himself he is anonymous. He pretends no one knows him here. (riotous laughter rings in his kitchen-sink brain: just because you don't see them looking, doesn't mean they aren't) As though no one has seen him walking doe-eyed with their (with his) queen, or the pale and dappled daughters running around like hurricanes.
The scarred grey stallion comes to a stop at a table of gemstone-studded daggers. To the left, a woman with milky blue eyes stares into the dark heart of the sky and waits for someone to come have their fate read. To the right, spiced cider sells too fast for the yearling tender to keep up. An impatient crowd is forming fast. But Eik's attention rests thoughtfully on the blades. Rows and rows of them, polished to a deep gleam. Like moon teeth. He doesn't say a word, just looks on quietly as the night moves restlessly around him.
When something’s let go of, it circles; and though we are rarely the center
of the circle, it draws around us its unbroken, marvelous curve
A LITTLE MAYHEM NEVER HURT ANYONE Morrighan remembers when the crowded markets used to bother her. There is always so much noise from people shouting for everyone to buy their wares. There are many scents that mix together depending on the food being shared. Now, she got used to the sensory overload and tuned most of it out. She actually doesn't mind the taste of rice cakes or the sweet spiciness of mulled cider, things she never had back home or thought she'd enjoy.
She walks along the market street on this night in contemplation. Denocte is her home now, although it didn't always feel like home. She had been loyal to Ourania for so long until she finally came to terms with the fact that her homeland was gone. There's no way to know for sure if it had been fully destroyed, but there's no going back. Quite frankly, she has made a name for herself here and now couldn't imagine leaving. Dare she say it- Denocte had become her family.
The mare didn't know everyone within the Court yet as she still liked her solitude. However, she was slowly starting to meet others. They weren't all bad; if anything, those from other Courts were who she couldn't stand. Moira might be one she's not too fond of, mostly because of their skirmish on the island. At least that had no hindrance on Isra's trust of Morrighan and so she became Warden and holds her title proudly.
Tonight she feels her guard coming down a little bit (or perhaps it's the cider) and she wanders more as one of Denocte than the Warden. Thankfully, Bram is not present and she has not seen the wolf in several days. It helps her feel more relieved as the thought of a wolf being her bonded still did not sit well with her.
Up ahead, there is a familiar figure standing in front of one of the merchant tables. Daggers glisten from the light of the fires and it seems he's deep in thought staring at the different types. He is one of the ones she doesn't know well, but she recognizes him as Isra's mate who came from Solterra.
"You don't strike me as someone who would wield a dagger," she says curiously, walking over to stand next to him. He's always come across as the passive type, but at least that's all she's seen so far. It's also curious to Morrighan what Isra sees in him, but she had yet to fall in love. Maybe it would make more sense when that time came.
Eik had never been good at sleeping. He tended to wander mindlessly at night, letting his legs take him wherever they felt like going. They usually led him into the wilds, away from the collective breathing of the city, the smell of shit and smoke, the heat of all those bodies crammed together. He liked it quiet, and clean, and lonely.
Things were different here with Isra and the girls. He didn’t want to stray too far. So he kept to the court proper when he was not with them, and even learned to sleep most nights. It was easier with family, far easier than he ever thought it would be.
A raven had come from Terrastella that morning (or was it a day ago? two? time had been slippery, afterwards) telling of the disappearance of Asterion, Florentine, and Lysander. Regent Marisol would lead the court in the sovereign’s absence, it said. As though they got misplaced on a stroll somewhere in Novus and were just going to be a bit longer returning home.
But Eik knew that Asterion was not coming back.
So old habits resurfaced, and he walked, and he walked, and he kept walking until all those well-oiled blades caught his eye.
It surprised him to look up from his grief and realize how the world had kept moving on. Everyone continued with their lives, completely unaware of what had been lost. Didn’t anyone else feel it? That hole in the fabric of the world where a man used to be? A king? Around him people are laughing, dancing, heckling each other, flirting like yearlings. Completely untouched by the sorrow that hangs so heavy on Eik it almost begins to blur reality. That was just the way life was. Indifferent to the details.
Someone was saying something. To him. He has to replay the words in his head. “You don't strike me as someone who would wield a dagger.” Oh.
“I’m not.” He smiles briefly. She had read him well. “Don’t need one. Just admiring the craftsmanship.” The merchant snorts loudly and busies himself with polishing his stock.
“You know, I once knew a girl with a dagger that could cut through time and space…” he muses with another glance across the table of wares. None of these daggers would be like that, would they? And there was nothing he could do to find his missing friend. This was not a nothing that could be prodded at until it became a something. This was a most certain, absolute, resounding nothing. Asterion is not coming back.
His attention refocuses on the pied mare beside him. He recognizes her. “I’m Eik.” He can’t tell if she knows that already or not. Better not to assume. “Would you like a drink, Warden?”
It wasn’t as if he was going to get any sleep tonight, anyway.
E I K the world, a double blossom, opens:
sadness of having come,
joy of being here.
A LITTLE MAYHEM NEVER HURT ANYONE She brings him out of his thoughts and there is a soft smile from the man. He says he's just admiring the craftsmanship and Morrighan can't exactly blame him. The idea of being in possession of a weapon has been on her mind lately, especially since her fire magic is not yet back to its full potential. Having something else to use for battle would be incredibly useful, but it's just picking the right kind. There were so many that looked promising.
"Really?" she asks, intrigued by the idea of such a dagger. Something of that nature would hold extreme power. It's such a complex concept that the possibilities are endless. "Personally I'd want one that could catch fire, but that sounds interesting too." There is one dagger on the table with intricate carvings that catches her eye. She still doesn't know which one would end up being the best fit for her. The last thing she'd want is to get the merchant's ears up and get him going on his lecture, so she doesn't say anything further about the wares.
They drift from the table as Eik introduces himself and offers her a drink. "Sure, why not," Morrighan replies with a shrug. The scent of cider is strong and it seems the merchants are eager for fall to finally arrive. Given that it's her birth season, she is partial to it as well.
"Morrighan," she says, although it seems Eik may have known her already after addressing her as Warden. She's handed a cup of cider and takes a drink, letting the spices linger on her tongue for a few moments.
"How's life after leaving the desert?" she finally asks. The idea of being surrounded by dirt and the hot sun is not appealing whatsoever. She can't imagine how anyone would enjoy that life, especially since there are many options for shade in Denocte. If that were to get taken away from her, she'd probably riot.
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.
When something’s let go of, it circles; and though we are rarely the center
of the circle, it draws around us its unbroken, marvelous curve
@Morrighan yikes I did not mean to write you a novel :|
A LITTLE MAYHEM NEVER HURT ANYONE At first, Eik's response is not surprising. Going from a desert to woods and an ocean breeze is indeed very different. The change in climate would be something to adjust to as well. But when he says the Courts are similar, Morrighan stares in disbelief. She saw no similarities between the two other than Raum had lived in both.
Eik then mentions not knowing what to do with himself here other than being a civilian. She doesn't know what he did before in the Day Court, but whatever it had been must've lost its appeal, or didn't pertain here. She doesn't know what to suggest without knowing his strengths and weaknesses. "Well, just simply being loyal to the Court - and to Isra - is important. Whether or not you have an official rank," she finally says. In her mind, they could always use more soldiers, but those who represented the backbone of the Court also needed to put their heart into it.
As Morrighan takes another sip of her drink, the man observes that she's not from Novus. She squints at him, but more out of suspicion than annoyance. What gave her away?
"No, I'm not," she replies nonchalantly. Perhaps it's the way she reacts to the markets. While she's more used to the noise, she always looks at the merchants and their wares like a foreigner. There are so many items and food she never had in Ourania. Even being here as long as she has, she still hasn't been fully exposed to it all.
It's his last question that really surprises Morrighan. They stop walking and she stops drinking before she can finish the last sip. "You're really questioning my loyalty?" she asks, still in a bit of a shock. It's quite the question to ask someone like her and for Eik being new to Denocte, he's being quite ballsy. At the same time, the fact he doesn't have faith in her loyalty rubs her the wrong way. For a moment, small sparks come up from her hooves.
"If you must know, I came from a land called Ourania. We were at war with the wolves who also lived there and it was during the battle that I somehow got thrown here. The Court took me in despite being an outsider and then Isra was taken," she explains, remembering the meeting Moira had held to tell them this very news. Back then, she barely knew the woman and she finds it funny how much things have changed since. "It was during that meeting that I knew I needed to step in and do something. I felt in their debt somehow. So, I became a soldier and prepared to fight. I helped catch one of Raum's minions who set the markets on fire also." That still made her proud, especially considering how he had run away twice. She doesn't mention that Boudika was there to help as it's not a detail she feels will help her case at the moment.
Morrighan looks at the man now with a brow raised, wondering if this is the answer he's looking for. She feels torn as he's not anyone she needs to impress, but at the same time he is because he's Isra's mate. The rank of Warden should be enough to tell where someone held their loyalty considering how important the role is.
She decides to throw a curveball of her own at him. "Why does Isra trust you?" she asks with a glint in her eye.
Losing too is still ours; and even forgetting still has a shape in the kingdom of transformation.
"You're really questioning my loyalty?"
Loyalty was highly in demand these days, and in short stock. It's why the former Solterran kept his head low in Denocte-- for he wasstill loyal to Solterra, to the country if not its leader, and this is a fact he would not, could not, deny. Conflictingly he was loyal to Isra too, and by extension the Night Court.
But he was not loyal to those he did not know, even if they served the same institutions he did.
“I don’t know you,” he says plainly as way of explanation. It never occurred to him that he should trust someone because of their rank. In fact Eik lived in a world that was often the complete opposite of most, and in his word rank must be questioned and not trusted. Particularly if it involved working closely with Isra, who been kidnapped one time too many. “But I’d like to,” he clarifies. It isn’t something he’d usually say but the booze always did make him a little too eager to please others. Besides, there’s sparks coming up from her hooves, looking for tinder to sink their heat into, and it makes something deep in his stomach twist nervously. Eik hates fire.
The warden says she comes from Ourania. A land he’s never heard of and– he has no reason at all to imagine this but– he pictures lush, gloomy forests and grey skies. Past the forest, dusty brown steppes with hot winters. It’s all poppycock, but dreamers must dream. And he isn’t about to ask her what the landscape is like. “Do you miss it?”
He uses his magic on her, just a little bit. In a crowd like this, it takes skill to tap in into a specific person’s mind. Before he settles on Morrighan he skims through a merchant frustrated with the lack of sales and an urchin daydreaming of summer. He can still feel the warmth of the dream on his back and the dry summer wind in his mane, even after he focuses on the warden.
Eik does not flex enough to break into her mind, he just skims the top of her thoughts to garner the genuinity of her words. Enough to tell she is surprised and mildly annoyed by his question (but that had already been clear) but answered in earnest (which he had expected). Just as he withdraws his magic, satisfied, she asks him why Isra trusts him.
After a moment he grins, suddenly and a little cheekily. “You’ll have to ask Isra that,” he shrugs. “I don’t speak for her.” But… it’s a good question. Good in that it’s not as simple as it seems, and he can’t help but picking it up and playing with the frayed edges of it. Unwinding all the thoughts and hopes and assumptions. He frowns, and keeps walking.
Eventually, the frown fades. Slowly, like it forgot to be there.
A few minutes later, he revisits the question. “Maybe because I knew her before she was a queen.” Maybe because even now, he knows her the way one side of a blade knows the other. With his magic it was technically an easy thing for him to do with anyone, but… no one drew him in like she did. No one opened him up, shone light into all the shadowy corners. The two lowers were carved by sorrow and loss, so deeply that it only made sense each of them would be the only one who really saw the other.
When something’s let go of, it circles; and though we are rarely the center
of the circle, it draws around us its unbroken, marvelous curve
A LITTLE MAYHEM NEVER HURT ANYONE "I don't know you, but I'd like to."
It's not something that Morrighan has heard before. Most others want little to do with her, especially as soon as they see the sparks of her embers or the whites in her eyes. She usually prefers it this way. Maybe it's the booze bringing it forward, but there is a little hint of loneliness under her many layers. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to have a friend.
Talking about her old homeland makes her feel nostalgic. She remembers the dense conifer forest of Eden, the rolling hills of Anemone and the trailing smoke from Vulcanis. Most of all, she remembers the menacing appearance of the Rift and the way the wind howled through the gap in the earth. There is a warm feeling in her mind as the memories flow through. She looks down at her cup and wonders just how much she's let herself drink.
"I do," she answers sadly to the question of missing Ourania. She will always be a part of that land, even if it feels like ages ago now. It's a strange thing to consider given that she had been a century-old immortal being back in those lands. Here she is nothing more than a mortal, but Novus and Denocte have felt more like home than ever before. Something about it is just different, but in a good way. Even if she had been too stubborn to admit to it before.
The mare does not tell Eik this, but simply leaves it at- "But Denocte is my home now. I wouldn't have it any other way." And it's true. She's grown roots here and it just feels… comfortable. Right.
He finds her question of Isra's trust amusing, but it had been an honest question. Why would their queen trust and love someone from Solterra? Not only is it far, but not much good has come from that Court from what Morrighan can tell. They keep walking for a few more moments and they are left in silence. She wonders if he'll explain himself a little more or if that's all she's getting out of him, but then he speaks again.
The thought of Isra before sovereign-ship intrigues her. This was well before Morr's time in Novus and she didn't hear of this before. She supposes everyone needs to start somewhere, but she has always seen the mare as a driving force. What are her roots?
"What was she like before?" she asks with a tilt of her head. Before she can catch herself, the words spill out of her mouth. "How did you two meet?"
Losing too is still ours; and even forgetting still has a shape in the kingdom of transformation.
Eik knows a thing or to about missing one’s home.
First, there was the land before Novus, the frozen landscape with a great tree at its heart. The first tree, if the stories were true.
Second, there was Solterra. The Solterra the three of them made: Seraphina, Bexley, Eik. It wasn’t perfect, but it was theirs. It was progress, and although his dreams for it would only ever be just that (dreams, dreams, dreams) he fought hard to make a home for himself amongst sand and strangers.
Third, there was Isra. But we already know that story.
So when he says “I understand,” it is easy to believe him. The words ring plain but true.
A pygmy dragon flies just overhead, gleaming obsidian in the firelight, and as Eik’s eyes follows it he smiles sadly, and speaks. “It all seems like a dream now. We… just sort of ran into each other, one night in the plains. We were both sleepless and wandering, and it took us far from home...” It was snowing. She looked so small, with the white piled around her like a blanket. He was afraid to touch her, afraid to even breathe, lest she shattered like glass or just faded away, like a silken dream, like water through his fingers, impossible to hold.
“She was softer.” It is as much as he could give her. Eik couldn’t explain it to anyone, the difference between Isra then and now. The difference in himself. If he could, it would be something like this:
Sometimes, sadness becomes so broad and so deep that beneath the weight of itself, it transforms into something entirely different. For Eik, the sadness just became more sadness. A deeper, darker shade of blue.
For Isra, the sadness became anger. And ager became rage.
It didn’t matter, of course. He understood, of course.
It hurt a little, of course, but so did everything.
He often wishes they could have just stayed there in that moment, wrapped in gently falling snow and bison dreams. Maybe a part of him did, and that’s why the memory seems so much like a dream now-- it’s suspended in amber.
Sleep is still so very far away. But Eik wants to go home anyway, to bury his muzzle in long dark hair, to breathe in lavender and cloves. To kiss the warm scent of cider into skin taut with rage and sorrow.
“Well, I’ve taken enough of your time for one night, Warden.” The word is said with a little more warmth this time. Eik nods his head politely and steps toward a side alley that bends its way back to the heart of the court. “I’ll be seeing you around.” He smiles briefly, then turns and walks down the dark street. So steady and certain, even a stranger watching would know: that man is going home.
When something’s let go of, it circles; and though we are rarely the center
of the circle, it draws around us its unbroken, marvelous curve
@Morrighan hnnn I am so rotten at closers. sorry for the wait, and thank you for a lovely thread! <3
A LITTLE MAYHEM NEVER HURT ANYONE As Eik tells his story, she wonders if she's hit a sore spot, or maybe one that's tender and not talked out loud often. It's a curious story as Morrighan has not known love before. Even her family did not express love so clearly and her kingdom had only been focused on training. There hadn't been time for soft or else you'd be strung out on the outskirts and seen as weak.
But the idea of Isra being soft is especially foreign to her. She only ever knew the Isra that held rage inside her. It was the very reason she looked up to the woman and held so much respect for her. Without that rage, there would not be much for Morrighan to admire. In fact, she'd probably find the woman annoying. Maybe it's not a bad thing she met the queen so late.
She is actually disappointed when the man cuts the story short and decides to be off. In a way, she feels jipped and wanted to learn more. Even if she'd find Isra annoying, she is curious of how the woman ticks and how she truly came to be. Sure Raum had been so cruel, but had that been it? Was that all it took to bring Isra over the edge?
Perhaps she would never know, at least not now. Morrighan watches the man disappear down the dark stone path and then looks down at her now empty drink. It had been alright, she supposes. She chucks the cup to the ground and heads off in her own direction. It's likely the drink, but she feels tired and the comfort of her bed sounds nice right about now.
@Morrighan that's fine, I'm not good at closers either LOL but yes, a lovely thread as always <3 your writing is beautiful
Morrighan remembers when the crowded markets used to bother her. There is always so much noise from people shouting for everyone to buy their wares. There are many scents that mix together depending on the food being shared. Now, she got used to the sensory overload and tuned most of it out. She actually doesn't mind the taste of rice cakes or the sweet spiciness of mulled cider, things she never had back home or thought she'd enjoy.