ven here, even in the middle of winter in a world that only knows how to take, and take, and take without care for who it takes from, his flowers still grow.
Ice covers their petals like a veil, weighing down their crowns until they bend on their long stalks to kiss the ground. He wonders, as he watches them stiffen and grow still, as the ice spreads higher and higher so that they look more like crystal sculptures than living plants, if the snow is preserving them, or killing them. And for a moment, he can’t help but think that there is no difference between the two.
He almost hadn’t come — it feels almost wrong, standing in the snow and the cold and knowing this was not the court frozen in a young winter that called him king. When he looks towards the horizon he imagines the forests creeping up the edge of the Armas are his forests, the ones that run endlessly in shadows and dappled light. If he closes his eyes he can still see the sunlight slanting in between the leaves, limning saplings in a gold so bright it hurt his eyes to look at. And he can still see the flowers that bloom red and bright, even knowing they were asleep under blankets of snow.
When he opens his eyes he sees it all, as clearly as if he were standing in that spring meadow.
But then it drains away, fading bit by bit until the snow bleeds back through. And when the flowers shiver against his ankles and chant welcome home through his mind, he forgets the memory entirely.
The sky was changing by the time he walked into the Court, deepening at the call of twilight. On one side the blue expanse was nearly black, and the first stars began to shy reveal themselves. On the other end the horizon exploded with color, and the retreating sun drew golden threads across each of the clouds. The bonfire smoke cleanses him as he walks through it, changes him —
it makes his heart beat in time with the music drifting through the streets.
It makes the streets feel like home again, it fills the empty spaces between all the cracks in his soul. Each time he inhales his lungs fill with lavender and sandalwood, and there is an almost-music crying out in his veins like so many blackbirds taking flight, and oh how he strains to catch the music with his heart and relearn the beats of it. He wants to be the dancers in the streets, the fearless ones who paint their bodies with stories and hopes and look to the stars when they have a dream aching in their bones —
He wants, he wants, he wants —
He wants to be a part of Denocte.
That orphan-song is aching in his chest when he watches them. That part of him who does not want to be a king, but looks through the crowds searching, searching —
at first, he is searching for Isra, turning their dreams into reality. But she is not their queen anymore (not in title). Their new queen, with her warhammer and warpaint and warsong echoing in her veins, is not in the streets with them.
Still he searches. And he aches. And he wants. And his magic is a tidal wave in his chest that does not know how to be gentle, not anymore. He is too sharp, too jagged, to look at their fires and not feel his own fire rising bright and hot in his veins. His own dreams are still too raw to not turn the seeds in the earth to flowers when he walks over them.
Once, they had a queen who would do the same.
Now, he is not so sure.
§
you have dug your soul out of the dark
do not go back to what buried you
t took me so long to get this far down the streets again. For a while, everything reminded me of her. What once used to be the calming smell of woodsmoke became a bitter reminder of my mistakes. The music I came to enjoy was the same way and I couldn't stay very long to bother watching the dancers. My eyes got so used to looking for her and they still do.
But I know she will never come.
There's a small possibility that something happened to her, but I doubt it. She never loved me, or us- she definitely didn't love Maeve enough to stay. I remember the way she looked at me when I told her the news. By the end of it, we were nearly at each others throats. It had been regret, a night gone too far. Maeve and I were her mistake, while she was mine.
Maeve deserves better than that.
I don't really know what compels me to be here now. Maybe in some way I'm trying to desensitize myself so I can stop being a baby about it. I know I can't avoid this part of the markets forever, especially for the sake of keeping an eye on things. Others will likely catch on and know where to hide.
I'm almost relieved to see the Dawn Sovereign because it distracts me from all these thoughts. Although, I'm a bit surprised to see him here. I know he had spent some time here while Raum was destroying the world, but he had since taken the mantle of King over in Delumine. Part of me hopes his arrival doesn't bring some kind of bad news.
"You're far from your meadow of flowers, King," I muse, recalling the very limited knowledge I have on Dawn's scenery. Most of it now is from all that Maeve's told me. Apparently it's mostly pretty flowers and trees. I figure at least her memory of it isn't tainted by Al'Zahra abandoning her. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" I ask, coming to stand by him. I don't know that I've ever spoken to him much before but, for once, conversation doesn't seem too bad right now. Bram brushes my shoulder with his muzzle as if to agree with me.
✦
i've lost a part of me ; tell your friends to sharpen their teeth
e had been here for their last festival — for the unveiling of the new gates (no, not a gate; an arch), for the songs and stories that had heralded a new era. He had wanted to believe them. Oh, he had wanted to feel their same hope and excitement, had wanted to replace the shadows in his eyes with the dreams of his youth.
But he only stands there, and when a coin is passed to him with Caligo’s emblem on one side and her constellation on the other, and he is pushed forward and told make a wish — there are none to make. He stares down into the dark waters of the well, firelight dancing across its surface and turning it into a mirror. The coin breaks it into a thousand different pieces when he tosses it in, but only for a moment, only while he blinks, and then it rushes back together again. It feels like a sin, to cast an empty wish into a well.
When he steps away he sees the Regent, her face bright against the darkness and the woodsmoke. It makes a part of his heart begin to sing again, to know she at least still joins her people in their markets.
His teeth flash like moonflowers unfurling in the night when he smiles at her. It makes him feel almost-soft again, like he remembers how to be anything but the ghost drifting between the trees of a decimated forest.
“Denocte has always been a second-home to me,” the half-truth feels strange on his lips. “I’m sure my people won’t miss me for a night.” He always tells himself that — that it’s only one night, that tomorrow his heart will belong to Delumine again. Sometimes he wonders how many times he’ll need to say it before it becomes the truth.
Around them the gypsies are dancing. The musicians are playing their flutes and beating their drums and raising their voices. It’s easy to imagine the whole world is singing along tonight. Note by note it rises, swells in pitch, echoes in his blood. A part of him remembers it still, from when he was only a boy who ran away over and over and over to Denocte.
“I came here to see,” he begins, only to pause while a fire-dancer bends a flame-crafted horse around the onlookers. The fire warms his face, embers sparking and blazing in the air. “To see how Denocte has been,” he finishes, turning back to her. Because he loves it too much, more than a king of distant meadows deserves to.
§
you have dug your soul out of the dark
do not go back to what buried you
he looks down at the well where the man had made his wish. Although she wouldn't say, there had been many times she had tossed a coin down this same well and made many wishes. Morrighan didn't believe in many things, but somehow, those wishes had come true. However, it didn't mean they all had good endings. She's not sure she'll be trying her luck again for a while.
He smiles as he speaks of Denocte being his second home. The Regent tilts her head, wondering just how invested in their lands he had gotten (or had he lived here before she arrived?). There are many histories she does not know.
"Well, I suppose if they're that clingy to you, I don't blame you for stepping away," she replies with a small laugh. Maybe there will come a day that she can take up the mantle too, but she would make sure that everyone gave her space. People were just too exhausting.
Morrighan tries not to focus too much on the music and singing in the background. It brings back too many memories that make her heart hurt. While it's good to see others happy and dancing and all that crap, she just keeps seeing her and smelling her. The last thing she needs is to lose it in front of the Delumine sovereign, really in any shape or form.
Of course, she still finds herself following the man's gaze to the show. She has to admit the fire-dancer is pretty cool. She always admired his techniques and wanted to learn how to do that herself. Not to become an entertainer herself, but just for the hell of it (and maybe to conjure an intimidating dragon or two). But she has to force herself to look away still.
It surprises her a little that he seems so interested in how they're doing. They have never visited him and felt the same way (were they supposed to?). Antiope didn't tell her much of this, but Morrighan can't recall ever asking either. Travelling was not on her list of fun things to do.
"We're okay," she replies, maybe more nonchalant than she should be. "Not too much happening I suppose. We just had a fall festival." This small talk thing was not her forte either.
What had been in the back of her mind resurfaces again. She remembers Maeve coming home with a stranger, a bit confused but talking nonstop about all the things she had seen. She especially talked highly of Delumine and its beauty (she really wanted Morr to visit with her some day to show her, so maybe she will after all). But regardless, Maeve didn't return with Al'Zahra. When Morr asked what happened, Maeve got very quiet and sad and just said that she left. Zahra had ordered this soldier from Delumine to return their daughter home. She didn't have the guts to say goodbye to anyone.
Morr finds her anger growing so she has to bring herself back before any of her fire escapes. She lets out a deep sigh. "Thank you, by the way. I don't remember his name, but one of your soldiers brought my daughter Maeve home from your Court's festival. He made sure she was safe and for that I'm forever grateful." It's not often the Regent thanks anyone (it's usually very hard for her to set her pride aside to do that), so when she does, she definitely means it.
Then, she smiles. Another rarity.
"She couldn't stop talking about your Court. She keeps calling it Dellymean." Leave it to Maeve to soften such a fiery woman.
✦
i've lost a part of me ; tell your friends to sharpen their teeth
« r ; art » | @Ipomoea (sorry for the sudden tense change! Not feeling 1st with Morr anymore)
hen did he start looking at people and places and seeing only what they used to be, instead of what they could be?
He looks at the streets and remembers when there were more moonstones than rubies. And he remembers a time when a king with dark hair and flashing eyes had welcomed him home like an old friend (and perhaps they had been — all orphans were bonded that way, a lifetime of shared experiences knitting them in place of blood.) It still feels as though he is looking for Erynvale, and Reichenbach, and Isra, and all the others he has lost.
Sometimes he wakes in the middle of the night and sees the walls of his castle surrounding him, and feels the press of love’s ribcage against his own, and none of it makes sense. And the world doesn’t feel right again until he steals out into the moonlight and falls back asleep with the poppies dancing on long stalks all around him.
And even now, he’s surrounded by a court of dreams and dreamers and yet —
he is not dreaming with them. He is only looking back, at the way the streets used to look when a unicorn with scales dusting her belly had pressed her cheek to his.
“I know,” he tells Morrighan, and even his voice sounds more like a memory than anything else. “I was here for it.” He had lit their lanterns beside the lake, and when he wandered through the markets afterwards no one in their autumnal costumes had recognized him (he had hardly recognized himself.) It was, in some ways, why he always returned to Denocte. To remember.
So why, then, did remembering also feel like forgetting?
Why did it feel as thought Denocte were slipping past him like water through a creek?
Morrighan sighs beside him, and he has to hold his breath to keep from joining her. Instead he has to force himself to smile, even when it feels as though a part of his heart is dashing itself into pieces against his ribs. “I’m happy she made it home safely.”
There is gentleness in his smile now, that feels as foreign as if he were a wolf instead. “Your daughter,”is nothing like my daughters, he wants to say — but then again, was there anyone like his unicorn twins? “is quite the adventurer,” he says instead, soft laughter punctuating his words. “She is welcome to visit Dawn whenever she’d like. There are some vineyards near the court that she liked, I should have thought to bring a bottle of cider back with me.”
Next time, his eyes promise.
§
you have dug your soul out of the grave
do not go back to what buried you
orrighan is surprised to hear that he had been here during the fall festival. She doesn't recall seeing him around, but then again, there were many dressed in costume. Some were not so hidden, but others, maybe they chose to be that way. Perhaps if he had been wanting a break from his Court now, he felt the same before and didn't want to be recognized.
"Ah, shame we missed each other then," she says, partly trailing off. Part of her feels foolish for having missed him. Even if he doesn't seem to be making his Sovereignty a big deal, at the end of the day, he is still a King, and she would always respect that. That is, so long as he never crossed her or her Court. So far, he doesn't seem to be the kind to do so. Morr worries more about other Courts than she does with Dawn anyway, especially with how well they had treated Maeve.
Really, it had been a miracle that her daughter came back safely. Novus is a large world and full of many monsters- equine and creature alike. She could have easily been swallowed whole or captured by someone with ill intentions, but she hadn't. Thank Caligo, she hadn't.
"Me too," she says quietly, trying not to think of all the horrors that plagued her nightmares. Yes, she made mistakes when Maeve was first born, but she's not perfect. She's learned since then and she would do anything to make sure her daughter is safe and well. Truly, she owes everything to Po and his soldiers.
An adventurer- the title makes her laugh (again, it feels so unnatural but natural? There is something about speaking to this Sovereign that makes her feel like she can let her walls down without regretting it later. It's something she doesn't feel too often with anyone).
"Yeah, she doesn't get that from me," Morrighan admits, remembering all the ways her stomach twists whenever she passes through Denocte's archway. Al'Zahra had been the carefree one, the one with no limits, the adventurer. However, there is no way in hell that Morr would let Maeve follow in that woman's footsteps. "I'll be sure to let her know she's been invited again. I know she'll be excited to hear it." She pauses, but tries to hide her awkwardness. Small talk has never been her strong suit.
"Next time," she says, referring to the cider. "Maybe her and I can make a trip over to visit? You could give us a tour. I… haven't been through before." It feels strange to make the suggestion, but she just tries to think of how happy it would make Maeve. She knows how much the girl likes to see more of the world and learn about all the things in it. Just like she couldn't stop talking about how pretty Delumine was, she also kept talking about those grapes she had. Morr had to agree that they tasted pretty good (Maeve made sure to bring back a couple with her). At least this way, Maeve's next visit would not lead to her being abandoned.
For Maeve, she would do anything. Even if it meant facing her fears of leaving the safety of Denocte's borders.
✦
i've lost a part of me ; tell your friends to sharpen their teeth
t almost feels, for one small moment, as though all the world had spiraled down to only this: a Sovereign and a Regent of two courts bathed together in firelight, the smoke between them making up for any space that might have otherwise felt like division. It’s the moment she laughs, a woman who’s reputation did not lead him expecting warmth instead of fury, that has him remembering they are each more than what their stories say about them. He had been afraid of fire once, but the light of it can lead the way as often as burn.
He had been afraid of so, so many things before.
Now all those fears have been whittled out of him by sorrow, and anger, and duty, by a world full of teeth and hunger. He feels more a weapon than a flower, a torch holding a flame that once kindled, does not know how to settle again into anything less than an ember waiting to erupt. The magic running beneath his skin feels as much like an inferno as the forest has, and whispers to him now that he could do more, could be more, than the devastation the gods had brought into his home.
And he does not need to wonder now if it was magic enough to remake the world. The truth of it is there spiderwebbing across the backs of his eyelids every time he blinks like a promise.
“It’s quieter than Denocte,” he warns her, as the crowd and music filters back in, as his world brightens again and opens. “But sometimes, you might find the quiet is exactly what’s needed to listen. I’ll be expecting her then,” and here he brushes his nose against Morrighan’s shoulder and smells smoke and ash. And it makes him wonder if stars and their wishes smelled anything less like a fire raging, as they burned themselves down to nothing. Did promises equal wishes, he wonders now, did they cross worlds the way stars did?
“And you are always welcome in my Court. I would be honored if you would make the trip.” And he hopes she will. He hopes that maybe she’ll see then that the world is bigger than Denocte.
Each of his eyes reflect the flames around them back at her when he blinks and turns back to the performance.
“Denocte feels quieter than it used to,” he muses quietly. And although he does not look at her, it feels more like tell me why that is than it does a question.
He thinks he may already know, the longer he scans the crowd and thinks only of what he sees missing.
§
you have dug your soul out of the grave
do not go back to what buried you
magining a land that's quieter than Denocte doesn't feel right. Morrighan is so used to the sounds here that it isn't even loud to her, but anything quiet would seem way too out of place. She would probably only hear the ringing in her ears and nothing else. It would likely stress her out more than put her mind at ease. Still, for Maeve, she would make the trip and this guy didn't seem like too bad of company either.
Then, he brushes his nose against her shoulder.
For a moment, Morrighan is brought back to the spice and smoke that had been Al'Zahra. The many dances they performed together where they had caressed each others' skin and took some bites that were hard enough to draw blood. Obviously, this is nothing like that and not nearly the level of intensity, but it had just been too long since anyone had touched her. Even when Maeve nuzzles her from time to time, it sets her on edge. She has to remind herself over and over that it's okay. She does this now because it's clear this man doesn't mean anything by it other than being friendly. Still, she finds herself flinching and taking a small step back.
She clears her throat. "Thank you, we will definitely put some time aside for it," she replies, hoping to distract from her terrible reaction to all of that. "You're always welcome here too, although I'm sure Antiope has mentioned that to you before." The woman doesn't disclose much to the Regent when it comes to Court to Court matters, but as far as she can tell, Dawn is always welcome (Day, of course, she's still skeptical of).
It doesn't entirely surprise her that he mentions the quietness of the Court now. It had been much louder during their fall festival, but that has since died down. There aren't as many merchants in their markets this season, but it tended to be hard to make or sell much during the winter months. Morrighan herself sometimes preferred the comforts of her warm home than walking around the Court, but she still forced herself to do it to ensure the borders were safe.
"Yeah, we are in a bit of a lull. Seems everyone is a little tuckered out from the last festival," she guesses, although she has been wondering all that Antiope has been busy with lately. "Maybe I can suggest to Antiope that we hold a festival together next season. We can bring some of our loudness to you," she suggests, another hint of a smile on her face. Maybe it's time for Ipomoea's Court to learn why Denocte had so much fun here.
✦
i've lost a part of me ; tell your friends to sharpen their teeth
hen he looks out across the night market square, he cannot stop seeing things as they were.
He cannot stop seeing a king os stars with twin-moon eyes laughing with the orphans in the streets. He cannot stop seeing Reichenbach walk beside him through the citadel like the distance between their courts had been reduced to the space between their heartbeats. He cannot stop seeing a queen who had risen from a sea filled with her own sorrow teaching him to be brave, to be soft in his anger.
And he cannot stop seeing the people who had mourned beside one fire and danced beside another, and all of it, they had done together. All of it they had done with a whisper holding them together tighter than blood, a dream that reached for the stars because they had been taught to settle for nothing less.
Ipomoea looks out at the fires and the people reflected in their flames and wonders what it would have been like to stay here. Had he never gone home to steal a crown from a friend — had Grainne brought him down from the mountaintop with her instead of watching as the Dusk soldier took him to foreign lands. If he had grown up here, would he have learned to be brave without having to cut away the fear from his veins? Would he have kept reaching, and reaching, and not stopped to look out at all the darkness of space pressing in around him?
It hurts to think of all those what if’s that keep him awake in the middle of the night, but he cannot push them away. He cannot run from them, not when he has already welcomed them into his heart and made for them a home. They have become him, and Ipomoea has cut away so many pieces of himself that he thinks to cut away this, too, would be to make himself unrecognizable.
So he smiles, when he turns to her. He smiles, despite the pain filling the cracks of his heart. He smiles, even when he looks at her and wonders if in another life, another universe, if he might have been the Regent of the Night Court learning to do what he must to save his people.
“I would love that.” And he tucks his shoulder alongside her’s as he turns away from the markets and into the rest of the city. “Until then, perhaps we can get to know each other more. Tell me, Morrighan, what is it you love most about Denocte?"
And that is how they go into the night together, and he hopes (oh, how he hopes) that it will teach them how to dream together.
§
you have dug your soul out of the grave
do not go back to what buried you
orrighan is not the type to make friends because she is not the type to trust so easily. She went through too much pain, too much heartache, too much disappointment in her many years of living that trust became too risky.
She's found lately that there are some, not very many, that she can still trust. For Po, they still don't know each other very well, but there's something about him that feels different. He is not like many of the men she's met and she's pleasantly surprised. Even as a Sovereign, the way he carries himself isn't like someone who acts holier than thou or is otherwise drunk or mad with their power. It's something she is starting to appreciate.
So when he suggests they continue the night talking, Morrighan, for once, doesn't turn it down. This is someone she would like to get to know better.
As they turn to walk on, she starts to tell him all the ways in which she loves Denocte. From the way the mountains protect her and in the way the fire calls to her differently than her homeland. They head into the night together, hooves on cobblestone, as their friendship starts to blossom.
✦
i've lost a part of me ; tell your friends to sharpen their teeth
