she was powerful not because she wasn't scared,
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
Today Maerys was more elegant than she had been before, another season thrusting her further into womanhood. The feminine curves of her body filled more and more with each passing day though there was still something so youthful about Maerys. She had that bashful gaze juvenile women often wore, but it was never morose. Regardless of her age, there was an apparent swell of valor and potential that flowed through her veins. The brawn that swelled from her skeleton was not overbearing, though it was undeniably present. Carried at her side was an ax, pristine and deadly, that gleamed softly in the sunlight. Though poised and regal, her movements were swift and fluid, those of a warrior. Maerys seemed to be a juxtaposition, both an elixir and a poison, as she moved through the Arma Mountains.
The nature that composed this region was playful in essence; the skies, timber, and soil all thrived with distinct classes of life. The opportunity for exhilaration and reinvigoration was now more than ever as the frozen fingers of Christmastime were superseded by spring's embrace. Now the storms were life-bringing rather than frosty, liquids deftly delivered by the heavens to breed new promise in the ground. The flags of grass were fresher than they had been in moons, something that was soon to be echoed by the leaflets that budded carelessly on previously void branches. Birds trilled, sweetly high, their melodies as playful as the birds themselves. The perennials raised from the loam as powerfully as one could ever envisage, first developing one at a time before evolving into couples and crowds. These bodies of blossoms appeared to caress the sky so sharply and recklessly, raising themselves from the earth as if it was their obligation to transform the timid winter earth into steadfast and dazzling flares of vibrancy.
The solitary thing that kept Maerys from any springtime diversion was the route her hooves spurred her across. To leave the track was to descend down a precipitous incline of rock or to be lost for countless days, neither of which the girl sought. This pathway was not one that was convenient to follow, spacious in some areas and deficient in others (some points barely there at all, no more than a mild disturbance on the ground). It is as steep as it is inconstant, just enough to hinder her pace from ever evening out. Though the path was unquestionably treacherous, it showed Maerys the undeniable, absolute excellence the area possessed. She grew sure on this path that if the earth had a pulse, the tender throb of the heart, it rose in the peaks and fell in the valleys. Everything she witnessed now was the soft tha-dump of a beating core.
he air was thinner this high up in the mountains, and it is perhaps for that reason alone that Ipomoea has delayed his journey to the peaks.
He was content to stay within Denocte - there was always so much activity, so many ships arriving and departing, so many owls flying through the night with letters clutched tightly within their talons. Even since the fires and the marketplace burning, it never stopped, the Night Court never stopped. He had asked a trader once about it, and the old gypsy man had laughed and waved him close. ”How can we stop?” he had asked him, spinning a golden coin across the table cloth. ”When there’s still so much to live for?” It was a mindset he had embraced wholeheartedly since his arrival - or at least, he had tried to. There was still a cloud hanging over the appaloosa’s head, a sense of foreboding that refused to release him from its grasp. Something was coming, he knew; something disastrous.
His bonded swooped lazily along the path in front of him, oblivious to the steep drops that ended in pointed rocks hundreds of feet below. The songbird didn’t have to be careful of the slippery and rocky slope, not the way Ipomoea had to be; the stallion picked his way slowly across rocky ledges, his wings pressed tightly against his ankles. They would not help him in the case of a fall.
But despite the treachery, despite the darkness that swam in the back of his mind, the climb was proving itself therapeutic. With every step he took, gravity’s effect seemed to lessen, his body seemed to lighten. He undressed his burdens like a robe, piece after piece falling to the ground like a trail he leaves behind him.
On his way back, he’ll undoubtedly find those doubts and worries to adorn himself with once more; but for now, Ipomoea feels as free as Odet as the blue bird twists and dances through the air.
The Arma Mountains have always reminded him of Veneror, the way they reach their craggy fingers into the sky. At the bottom each were covered densely in forest; but at the top the foliage thinned, and the world seemed to bend away at the edges. He was hoping to see a glimpse of the Mors; despite the many times Ipomoea had made the journey through these peaks, his eyes had always been set on Delumine or Denocte. Never Solterra, not until now.
His eyes were bright and pink as he came around the corner and saw her, a young dun coming in the opposite direction. The path here was hardly wide enough for a single horse - let alone two trying to pass side by side.
Ipomoea stopped in his tracks, the wind tugging stray petals loose from the flowers that adorned his brow. “Hello!” he called, his tone as light and airy as the breeze that sung as it wove its way through the mountains. “Are you on your way to Denocte?” He can’t imagine where else she’d be going along this path, but it was still polite to ask he thought.
“I suppose this would be easier if one of us had wings,” his eyes were laughing, a soft smile nodding to the path that stretched between them.
@Maerys | "speaks" | notes: sorry for the wait!! i'm so excited for this thread <3
she was powerful not because she wasn't scared,
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
His orbs were the blush of roses, that peek of champagne pink, with dual-colored jowls that dimpled with the blossoming of a smile. His bulk was the shade of the earth, of nourishing loams and the textured skin of the trees that grew with the variation of fingerprints. It is the sort of brown that is corpulent and expensive, with a definite richness and originality to it. As always in nature, it is an excess of hues able to be felt and seen so generously and so powerfully without words. He was the shade of acorn and mahogany, a brown-haired boy only moderately veiled in porcelain.
Ipomoea was one with nature - something that could never be contested. She'd heard tales about how flowers followed those they desired to and the one she gazed upon now was surely among the chosen. His hoof prints were nurturing, inviting instant germination and efflorescence to the soil. At his head was a wreath of flowers that seemed well removed from wilted, as if they relished in the gift of lounging upon his brow. These flowers flourished and remained pleasantly among the rich, deep red chocolate cosmos of Ipomoea's body and Maerys could not help but regard as children do, with that look of zest and awe.
As he spoke, his timbre was both anticipated and unanticipated - airy and light, the stallion enunciated with no shyness and Maerys' ears tipped forward with marvel. The girl almost wanted to say there was a lyrical quality about it all - potent yet with an agreeable trace of lightheartedness. He chirps a greeting to the mare who's lips have turned upwards into a kind smile, one not overly intense, but with a crisp hint of wonder.
When he inquired if she was on her way to Denocte, her eyes flitted around Ipomoea to the view just beyond the mountain, down the sloping path before her; she saw hundreds of trees that merged into the body of one comprehensive forest before the horizon was deconstructed, sifted into the azure of the heavens. Anything beyond this certain point solidified as unviewable from this distance. When her mauve sights were set once more on the stallion, they were filled with uncertainty as she confessed: "If 't be true I am, I wasn't aware I wast." From her rosy lips escaped a slight laugh, the admittance of her blunder. Wandering in such a manner as she was, was unusual - she didn't quite know what path she took to get here, she didn't know this was the beginning of a well-defined territory, she just appeared. For all she knew, she could be mere strides from intersecting Denocte's border or she could've already crossed it. "I liveth in Delumine and know not an abundance about further territories, unfortunately." What could be a better way to acquaint oneself than experiencing it first hand?
When his eyes fell to the path between them and he reflected on their unfortunate situation and scarcity of wings, her eyes crinkled as her lips split and curled upwards into a brief interlude of giggles. Something about this all seemed humorous to her. His fetlocks were each adorned similar to the birds - soft downy wings. "It appears thou art closer to having this gift than me." Though they would be no use here, his wings retained the same sense of power and definition that full-sized wings did and though they were considerably more modest, the appendages still grabbed an equal amount of attention. "Mine own name is Maerys," she offers finally, her laugh now faded into a simple smile.
er laughter fills the air like birdsong, bright and chirping and pleasant. But it’s not the sharp cries of a mountain hawk or the chuckle of a jay; it’s the soft warble of the forests, the tapping of a woodpecker, the high-pitched zee of a goldcrest. It sounds like Viride, like trees without beginnings stretching as far as his eye can see. She sounds like wildflowers, every shape and color imaginable basking in the sun.
He isn’t going to ask - he doesn’t trust himself to, not when his heart is already thumping so wildly inside of his chest. But she goes on without knowing what her words mean to him, and with a simple admission, his heart stops.
Delumine? It starts again, slowly, tentatively, hopefully.
"You came from Delumine?" he clarifies, his voice impossibly soft. Home?
The interest in his voice is immediate, like a chord plucked from an instrument.
"How are you finding it? How have things been there?" He can’t stop the words that rush now from his lips, the questions that reveal his nationality. Ipomoea had never been good at keeping secrets, nor at pretending to be someone else - his wings flutter open and closed hopefully, his heart lurches in his chest. Thoughts of home race through his mind faster than breathing, faster than his heart can beat.
He swallows, and wills his heart to slow, forces his tone to remain steady. "Is the - are the forests quiet?" He can’t voice what he wants to ask, can’t make his lips form the word murderer. But he hopes she understands, and prays her answer will soothe his soul.
Ipomoea shakes his head, and pulls himself away from her mauve gaze. But her laughter is contagious, and her smile so warm and bright he finds it difficult to resist. So he flutters his wings, so that a breath of wind courses down his ankles. "Closer," he agrees, and his smile is wan. "But still not close enough." They would never support his weight, no matter how many times he had wished upon a shooting star that they might.
The flap gently against his fetlocks, as if to prove their strength to him. He calms them with no little effort, tucking them neatly against his legs so that they are still once again.
"Maerys," he echoes her name thoughtfully, then smiles again. "That’s a pretty name." It has a gentle ring to it, hovering in the air like mist hovers against the mountains.
Ipomoea takes a step backwards, and a rock tumbles down the slope. "The path widened a little farther this way," he says, and gestures over his shoulder. "If you’ll follow me…"
With a grin and a flourish, like a tour guide leading her into the Court, he begins to back his way down the path, carefully retracing his steps in the most literal of senses.
"This is, indeed, the Night Court - or at least the way into it. This path is the only one in and out of Denocte, at least the only one I know of." He’s ready to rattle off any number of facts about the territory, about the flowers that grew in the meadow at the mountain’s base, about the people who call this land their home - but he hesitates, gauging her reaction first.
And for as much as he can say about Denocte, he hopes - he prays - she can tell him just as much about Delumine.
she was powerful not because she wasn't scared,
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
Ipomoea fixed his attention on Delumine more than the rest.
What could ever be wrong with Delumine?
From the bees that fluttered through the blades that composed Delumine's pastoral meadows, to the wildflowers that grew proudly in the light Oriens brought to the citizens every morning it was elegant. The bees... they buzzed around the choir of blooms, nature's music in her very own backyard. The river - Rapax - she remained magnificent with the clearest body Maerys had ever laid her mauve eyes on. It remained ever chilled, refreshment in the heat of summertime. The forest that filled the gaps that remained thrummed with life. It was easy to twirl about, gazing up at the canopy of green boughs, listening to the trill of birdsong that had so easily become synonymous with Dawn Court. The sun would break through the cracks in the trees, lighting up the dirt path that was decorated with outgrown roots, wildflowers, and fallen leaves that crunched pleasantly beneath hooves cloven and non alike that led wandering souls to the library.
The library.
Maerys could not string together any words in any dictionaries in a way that would be perfect enough to describe the library. It was the epitome of fantasy.
"Aye," she returned, reflecting only temporarily before proceeding. "I has't settled in brilliantly at Dawn Court." The grin she contributed to the statement is true and certain, though she has more to say. "I has't not resided in Novus for an extraordinary period," but Ipomoea would already know this. The youthful exuberance that pulsated from her core would alert all nearby: Maerys was by no means aged and experienced. She had a mere two years under her belt, most of which she had not spent in Novus. "Though all mine own daybreaks and nightfalls in Novus has't been as a Dawn Court combatant." There was hesitation now, the subtle pause in tongue to question and doubt her upcoming choice of delivery. What should she truly divulge about Dawn to the stranger? What if he was an enemy; a wolf dressed as a sheep? "Many things have changed since my initial arrival and I do not know where things are truly headed."
Delumine - the fantasy, the fantasy, the fantasy had already begun to switch - it had all become a disjointed and novel experience that engendered a great sense of outlandishness.
Had it all been a fever dream?
Everything and everyone explained to Maerys that it would all be okay in the end, but she felt anxious - like something was eating her from the gut out. It came to her at first as an electrical storm in her brain that shortcircuited her thoughts and led her to dead ends. It was the unpleasant snap of a rubber band against naked flesh just as it was an intense sorrow, perhaps a sort of frozen panic with nowhere to go.
"It is very arguably too quiet." There was never anyone to accompany her. Some days the draft didn't even offer its presence. Those were the most desolate, truthfully. How was it that they could grow in numbers each day, but she would see fewer and fewer faces each patrol?
When he brandished his wings and a joyful expression graced her features, it was a breath of fresh air. For all the affection and passion she had for Delumine, there were equal parts of distress and concern. Too young to do anything about it at the moment, she simply had to sit and watch and wait. In many ways, she required a smile, a little bit of succor. He even went as far as to compliment her and her heart fluttered more aggressively than the wings at his ankles ever could. Ipomoea seemed skilled at diverting the mind to more pleasant things.
She would tell him similarly - Ipomoea, his name sounded like that of a flower which was so fitting for the lighthearted man, but he never divulged his name and Maerys was not going to push for it if he was not comfortable giving it. Instead, a bashful glint of a smile touched her velvet lips in a response that admitted thankfulness.
When the bi-toned man began to shimmy backward, the doe followed with ears pricked forward and the gentle thump of curiosity in her heart. Ipomoea was well-versed in conversation and Maerys felt not a single lull begin to form as topics twisted and merged and shifted completely. She noticed this particularly now as he divulged information about Denocte, a land Maerys knew nothing about.
"Do you enjoy residing here?" She posed the question openly and without hesitation. That frozen ache needed to know how others loved their homes - Maerys needed to know if it was with the same anxious turmoil she loved Delumine with. "I believeth not that I could see myself anywhere but Delumine."
is heart is trembling like something equally fearful, equally hopeful. It had been so long since he had last been home - Mateo sent letters, but it wasn’t enough, would never be enough. And he had heard nothing from Messalina, which made his heart shudder and worry about all the things that may have gone wrong.
Surely Mateo would have mentioned if something had happened, but there had been no mention of the Champion at all. And his mind couldn’t help but fill in the gaps with all sorts of terrible things, remembering the way they had followed a monster deep into the night, wondering if the monster had been following them in truth, if it followed her now…
He blinks quickly, and the dark of the forest fades away. The mountain air is clear and sharp when he breathes it shakily in, but it clears his senses.
"That’s good to hear," it doesn’t sound like his voice speaking, he did not give his tongue permission to, he’s barely aware of saying the words. "Delumine is a good place, a good home…"
She was a soldier she said, and it eases his heart a little. The Dawn Court had always been in need of more soldiers, undoubtedly Ulric would be pleased with the addition of another. And if she was here, that meant she was not needed back home. That meant the Court was safe, or safe enough at least. He can’t help himself from asking. "Are the borders still closed?" It seems so innocent a question, but oh how it makes his wings and heart flutter all the more.
He shakes his head, and soon they come to a part of the trail that widens, just slightly, but it’s enough for him to turn around, enough for them to walk, cautiously, nearly side by side. The drop off here isn’t quite so steep nor so rocky, and as the path turns the prairies of Denocte come into view. He can see the soft tones of the cattails and the blazing stars coloring the landscape.
"Yes," he says, eyeing her with his bright cherry eyes. "It’s why I-" he almost says it’s why he left, but he catches himself. "Why we don’t hear much from them, I imagine." Quiet indeed. A Court that once was known for their travelers, for their love of learning, now locking themselves away at home.
Perhaps now he truly was more Denoctean than Delumine. He no longer understood the need to stay home and hide, not when the other Courts needed help.
She asks him about Denocte them, and he finds himself shaking his head without intending to. "No. I mean, Denocte is wonderful, their markets are lively and bright and the people just as much so. Every day there’s something new and exciting, something to explore." His voice breaks off abruptly, having to stop himself because if he doesn’t, he never will.
He swallows thickly. "It’s a lovely place to live. But it’s not my home."
she was powerful not because she wasn't scared,
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
It was a good place, a good home.
Yes, it was. She was sure of it. It was a community of souls that loved their land so all-encompassing that they did many things for it. Delumine was the new seeds and aged oaks with golden autumnal leaves. It was the smiles of new joys and the mirth of aged reminiscence. It was composed of students and teachers, medics and soldiers, champions and commoners, and any other that desired to live and contribute to society.
Though Delumine was the sunrise and the birds who bathed in it, it lacked something. The man inquired if the borders were still sealed and the girl, too fresh to know of the cryptic things written in Dawn Court's history, had no answer for him. Seasons ago a grey mare had asked for the sovereign and Maerys had said yes and accompanied her to the heart of Delumine. She had not run into a single visitor since. "I believeth not so," she proposed unobtrusively, not sure of her own words.
Ipomoea regarded the prairie as Maerys did, though it was something he anticipated to run into and she did not. As her eyes contemplated how it grew in a way that brought a newly departed bed to her thoughts, he turned and quietly met her side with his. The area was as a duvet that is rumpled in all the proper ways, so carefree rather than stretched straight. That was the way the grasses were, tufting, twisting, windswept.
It's why we don't hear much from them.
It was.
Things had stalled, Maerys imagined, long before she arrived. Though they continued to thrive in their secluded paradise, she wondered if other courts noted the land as easy taking. Surely a court of introverts with no clue of the relevant news of other courts would be an apparent target, but Maerys had prepared for so long already and was committed to the role of protector that she was sure in a time of urgency they would gather stronger than ever.
As he dove into his portrayal of Denocte, she could picture something definite and brilliant and astonishing in her mind, something savagely different than Delumine in its own lovely way. The market he only briefly introduced - stalls lining routes that crossed over each other like a network of carefully stitched cloth - she assumed was a flamboyant scene only enhanced by the milling throng of flesh, lovers side by side, casually browsing, while boys darted between their father's stands and worried mothers chased just behind. It felt like Varak; it felt like something she missed dearly.
Despite its wonder, it was not his home.
And though she missed Varak and the scene of a bustling and active court, Denocte could not be her's either.
"I consider it respectable thee can identify such a thing." When she crossed into Delumine there was an effortless harmony that fell upon her soul. This worry she felt all came from a place of deep love and hope for a brighter and better future. It was more than possible to love and worry in the same breath, the girl simply hoped this feeling wasn't some cruel facade her desperate heart fabricated just for a moment of peace of mind. Home was a feeling as much as it was a place.
There was only one thing that could be left to ask.
"If'd be true this isn't home," she paused for a moment, not wanting to wander into a too sensitive topic, "why doth thee not try to find what is?"
e smiles wistfully at her words, and for a moment - a long, trembling, heart shattering moment - he almost corrects her. And Ipomoea almost tells her all the things his heart is too weak to put into words, and all the ways he knows where his home is, the way it calls to him from a world away.
But then he would have to tell her why he tells it not today, not yet, when the war is over, and he would have to live with whatever judgement she, a soldier of his own court, would lay at the hooves of the regent running away to chase dreams and battles he has no business being in.
He looks at her, and he smiles. There’s a sadness lingering in his eyes but he hopes it looks only like he is still searching, and not like he is hopelessly lost. Maybe one day he’ll tell her the truth, and explain then why he did not tell her now - he hopes, at least, that that day will come. There’s a part of him that is still not sure when he will return home, or even if he will. And then there’s another part telling him to be brave, to be patient, to take fate into his own hand and make a way to return home. Ipomoea has never known what it’s like to direct destiny, but with a city of stars and jewels and dreams laid out before them, he thinks he might be able to learn.
"I figure I’ll know it when I see it," he tells her instead, and it eases a strain on his heart to know that this, at least, is somewhat true. In the way he knows Denocte, as beautiful and daring as it might be, is not the place for him; so too he trusts that Delumine will remind him of all the ways he belongs to it when he sees its meadows at last.
But for now, the grade on the mountain is easing, and the path is widening, and he can see small purple flowers beginning to dot the soil.
"But, for now Denocte is not too bad a place to be. Come, the court is just on the other side of this prairie, and it’s a wonder to see." He hopes she’ll like the city enough to stay a while, long enough to tell the dawn when she returns that the rest of the world is not so bad as it always seemed. Ipomoea smiles, and heads into the rolling hills.
![[Image: maerys-pixel.png]](https://i.ibb.co/kM48w8r/maerys-pixel.png){kind=tracking}
