From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
I remembered I had fists today I wash my hands and they are red like the sunsets of paradise
Jude has a letter sitting on his coffee table in his little studio apartment in Torchline that he hasn’t responded to. He’d been halfway through a response when Sohalia had shown up, throwing what little sanity and composure Jude currently has into the ocean and leaving him staring at half-written words blankly for days on end. How is he supposed to keep lying to his mom?
He visits her every few weeks. Not as often as Edmund given his brother is able to traverse the distance much faster - something he was never bitter about before, but which he has started to feel creeping in along his ribs as if born into existence by all the other hateful, unfamiliar feelings he’s been experiencing. He hasn’t been by this season though, and for good reason. There’s no way his Maman won’t see through his abysmal poker face in person. At least in letters he can lie and reassure, invent fun things to tell her that don’t exist outside his own head.
But he doesn’t think he can keep moving forward anymore. Noe is his only crutch, because he tries not to lean too much on Edmund - bright, bloody star that his brother is, with all his potential and power - but even that crutch isn’t enough.
So he packs up a small bag, bids goodbye to Noe, and takes the first skyboat to the Grounds without any notice for his mother.
He shows up at her door, face still mottled with old bruises because he hadn’t stopped by the Fountain before he left, clothes and hair ruffled and eyes dark. “Salut, Maman,” he murmurs when she opens the door, throat tight. Jude doesn’t want her to see him this way, doesn’t want to worry or disappoint her, but the need for her comfort outweighs his reluctance.
Am I a murderer? Or did I just kill all my thoughts in self-defense?
12-05-2023, 09:26 PM (This post was last modified: 12-05-2023, 09:30 PM by Maeve.)
Maeve
Aidon senses Jude at the door before he even knocks, having caught his scent through the rain as he was coming down the worn street, but Maeve is too focused on the dinner she's preparing to pay her bondmate much mind. Even as he flashes images of Jude in her head. "I know... I miss him, too." Assuming that the dragon was simply expressing his desire for her son to visit.
She's barely finished with the thought before there is a knock at the door, causing her to jump, pulse ratcheting up as her scalp prickles. Eyes flicking over to Aidon and noting his clear lack of concern, the Nightshade pushes the feeling of unease down, wiping her hands clean before she's opening her door.
Her jade eyes widen at the sight of her youngest son darkening her doorstep. The unease shifting into concern as she reaches forward, fingers barely brushing across his cheek, "Oh... Ma chérie... What happened?" She whispers, feeling her own throat grow tight before she's ushering him inside, arms circling around him as she pulls him into her embrace. Her blood quickens through her veins, driving her in a way she's not felt in some time, urging her to seek out whoever hurt her boy. She'd have their heads.
Aidon pushes the door closed with a clawed foot, circling their legs as Maeve brushes her fingers through his hair, "Parle-moi, mon soleil. Dis-moi ce qui s'est passé. S'il te plaît..." Her words are murmured against the top of his curls, lips pressing a gentle kiss to his crown as she cradles him close.
And I was catching my breath Staring out an open window catching my death
I remembered I had fists today I wash my hands and they are red like the sunsets of paradise
Jude’s gaze can only hold hers for the briefest moment before they fall, ashamed, to the space between his feet as her gentle fingers brush against his mottled skin. This is the feeling he’d been wanting to avoid; shame, embarrassment. He’s grateful beyond all measure that it seems to be temporarily rhetorical, because he goes quiet and submissive into the embrace of her arms, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder despite the slight ache it inspires.
The gentle way she cards through his curls and croons with concern between kisses makes the tears come, slow but scalding, making his shoulders shudder beneath her arm. Ever since his dad left, he’s been entirely alone. Even Noe’s easy physicality couldn’t stand to replace the way his family has always been so physical, so present. To go an entire season without it has left him raw and aching, and to have those hurting spots finally filled makes everything else overflow.
“Désolé, Maman,” he rasps, though he isn’t sure what he’s apologizing for. Showing up unannounced? Crying all over her immediately? Though he isn’t sure he’s truly sorry, not with how his own hands cling to the back of her blouse, refusing to part from her. “Everything is wrong. Tout fait mal,” he cries, trying to withhold the worst of the torrent so he might actually tell her what’s wrong instead of how badly he hurts. He’s already worrying her enough - he has to get it together and actually tell her, or he’s just going to keep holding the record for worst son ever.
“Sohalia and I broke up, and dad left with only a letter, and then Sohalia saw him first and came to visit and - and I was so angry, I hated her,” he sobs, glad she can’t see the confusion and shame on his face. He’s horrified by the way it had all gone down, but at the same time…Gods, he isn’t really regretful, is he? And that must make him a terrible person. “I was so horrible to her. And I’m not even sorry.” It’s whispered like a confession at the end, terrified to ruin the image of her perfect, polite son with whatever monster he has become lately. “And fighting is all that feels okay anymore.” The only suitable replacement for the growing holes in his chest.
Am I a murderer? Or did I just kill all my thoughts in self-defense?
It shatters her to pieces to hear him cry. He shakes and shudders in her embrace, face buried against her neck in an attempt to hide from all that is hurting him. Every emotion ravaging his mind and body; not satisfied until he's completely destroyed. His apology is quiet, rasped against her collarbone with the way he folds himself against her and she shushes him gently.
He would never need to apologize to her. Not for something like this.
His hands grasp her blouse in a death grip as if she's his only life line in that moment as his words spill out. Vague and unclear and leaving her trying to piece together what exactly has happened to make her sweet boy weep in her arms. He doesn't keep her guessing for long, letting everything go in a fumbled rush, finally revealing all he'd kept from her in his letters.
Maeve holds him the entire time. Her fingers never stopping the gentle way they card through his hair nor the slight sway of their bodies as he clings to her. She shushes him again, lips pressing against his temple, "Respire, chérie. Je t'ai eu." Maeve murmurs in their shared tongue, waiting until his shoulders aren't shaking nearly as violently to lead him over to the small couch. She takes his hands in hers, brushing her thumb across his busted knuckles, already making notes of what she'll need to treat his injuries.
"Listen to me, Jude, and listen well. You are allowed to feel anything you need to. If you hate her, then you hate her. If you're angry with your father, then you're angry with your father." Maeve begins, not forcing him to meet her eye, but instead letting the sincerity bleed through her tone. "All of those feelings are valid. Vous êtes valide." She reaches up with a free hand, cupping his cheek in the soft cradle of her palm, thumb barely brushing over his cheekbone. "It doesn't make you a horrible person. If it did, then there would be a lot more unredeemable people in this world." As if sensing that was part of the issue at the root of it all. His fear of disappointing those in his life.
Wiping away at his tears with a feather soft touch, Maeve regards his battered appearance, taking him in from head to toe as he continues to snuffle. "Mais pourquoi ne me l'as-tu pas dit plus tôt? I could have helped. I would have helped."
And I was catching my breath Staring out an open window catching my death
I remembered I had fists today I wash my hands and they are red like the sunsets of paradise
Her quiet reminder has him inhaling a shuddering breath, salty with tears and the smell of her perfume. It hasn't changed since he was born, and it's as comforting as her gentle hold. He sinks into the couch and lists sideways to keep his head propped on her shoulder, not wanting to face the world outside of the sense-memory of her warmth and scent.
He's grateful beyond measure that she doesn't force him to look her in the eye. He's always found it hard, even when he was a kid, and the soft vibrations of her voice through her chest are infinitely more soothing. As her words settle in and shore up the broken defenses around his sanity, her hand cups his cheek, uncaring of the mess of tears she finds there.
It's validation he never expected to receive. Jude had prepared himself for all manner of chiding and condemnation, but perhaps that was just because he was doing enough of it himself.
"I didn't wanna make it harder for you," his voice wobbles out, not quite ready to talk about Sohalia or his dad yet and focusing on the last piece. "I keep tryin' not to be a burden, but everyone keeps leaving anyway." He'd even aged up the second time because he could see how his dad was hurting and struggling after the war, and still it hadn't helped, because, "Everyone just seems to want to be anywhere but with me." His tears come back hot against his cheeks, but at least they're silent painful things instead of the sobs that had nearly shaken him apart. "But I don't know how to fix it anymore. I don't know what to do." All he'd known was that his mom would have the answers.
Am I a murderer? Or did I just kill all my thoughts in self-defense?
Of course she was uncaring of the tears that stained his skin. She was undeterred by his snot and tears, focusing on cleaning them off of his face instead, allowing him to cradle his face against her chest. The former queen turns to press another kiss to his curls.
Her sweet, sweet boy. Always too soft for this world. Yet, here he was, gnashing his teeth and banging his fists into anything he could. Fighting with rage against something he didn't fully understand.
It made sense that he needed his mother to come in. To pick up all the pieces and patch him back together again. With nothing but love and understanding waiting for him in return. He would never find judgement with her. She was glad that she could remind him of that now.
She hisses out a breath, giving him another gentle squeeze as she draws him ever closer, "Oh... Darling, you could never. Ever. I will always be here for you." Maeve murmurs against his curls, rocking him lightly as she lets him lean heavily into her arms, uncaring of his weight. If anything she reveled in it. Her heart clenches in her chest, constricting painfully as she, "It isn't you, Jude. Those who left... They left because of themselves. Not you." Maeve draws a heavy breath, "Your father, Soh, me... People are complicated, messy things. We make mistakes. We leave things behind and in rubble."
Maeve brushes at his tears again, leaning into him just as much as he was leaning on her. "Sometimes it isn't your job to fix things. Sometimes your job, the only thing you can do, is walk away. You don't owe it to anyone to be torn apart because they're in shambles too." A hard lesson that she was still learning to this day. That she had to learn over and over again.
"Come stay with me a while, ma chérie." The former queen murmurs, lifting her head so she can look down at him, eyes regarding him softly.
And I was catching my breath Staring out an open window catching my death
I remembered I had fists today I wash my hands and they are red like the sunsets of paradise
Children push their parents away to learn that they will always come back, time after time, no matter what. Jude should have learned to do it sooner in all reality, but the lesson is just as effective even as a teenager. It feels like he has waited years to hear these words, and the ugly sobs return in waves, though there are scarcely any tears left to shed alongside the shaking of his shoulders. It isn't you, Jude. It isn't you, Jude. It isn't you, Jude. It feels like absolution.
"Is that what you did?" It's a pitiful, warbling question half-pressed into her skin. Had coming to the Grounds been the walking away she needed to do? Jude can't deny that she is healing, no matter how slowly, so surely that must lend credence to her words. "I don't know where to walk away to. Everyone else already did." Which has only left ghosts and memories to accompany him through Torchline, making it all the harder to stay there.
Even so, the prospect of leaving makes his stomach twist. He knows she would respect any decision of his, whether that be staying for a week, until the end of the season, or forever. Forever still feels like too much of a burden to Jude. Even as a child, his rearing was split between Torchline and the Greatwood, never fully imposing himself upon either family unit. He thinks maybe it fucked something up in his head, because neither place feels like home now, and staying with anyone but himself makes him feel like a burden - something she might guess at from the furrow in his brow and the way his eyes dance away from hers even as he says, "...okay. Okay." Sucking in a shallow breath, he nods as if it means anything after already giving his agreement. "I...are you sure that's okay though?" He bites his lip, unable to stop fretting. Would she have enough space? Room? Mental energy?
Am I a murderer? Or did I just kill all my thoughts in self-defense?
The tightening in her chest is so painful it steals her breath, bringing tears to her eyes, making them sting as she clutches him closer while the sobs wrench through his body. His thin frame shaking almost violently in her grasp. Gentle fingers still card through his hair, letting him release the emotions he's so desperately bottled up in an attempt to keep himself together. Her lips press against his temple, a quiet shushing slipping past her lips, the universal sound of a mother soothing her child.
His question pulls her attention, causing her to draw back ever so slightly, face tilting down towards the top of his head. A heavy sigh expands and deflates her chest, lips parting as she struggles to pull together the response he deserves. It was what she had done. Why she had left. To heal, to put the pieces together again in peace, away from prying eyes and questions from those who meant well. "Yes... It was." And he is right. It had helped. She was healing. "I know. I know... We haven't made it easy for you. Either of us." She was at least coherent enough to acknowledge what her choices had done to her family. To her son.
The furrow between his brow adds another crack to her heart and Maeve reaches forward, smoothing it gently with her thumb before she's cupping his cheek. Her palm warm and solid and real against his skin. Jade eyes hold his as she nods in response. "Yes. I wouldn't offer it otherwise. I want you here." Want. Need. Both of them holding the same weight. Drawing a shallow breath of her own, Maeve corrects herself, "I need you here, Jude." It was time for her to stop hiding from people. Her own family included in that. Her lips manage to curl into a slight smile, barely tugging the corners of her lips up, but somehow still forming a wane smile.
And I was catching my breath Staring out an open window catching my death
I remembered I had fists today I wash my hands and they are red like the sunsets of paradise
Jude doesn't know why his parents taking ownership of all they've done is so surprising. Harper had said much the same in his letter. Perhaps it's because Jude has always heaped the blame onto himself instead of them, adamant they were perfect parents, just struggling beneath the weight of unfair circumstances. Maybe he needs to give himself that kind of grace, but it feels wrong, like trying to pull on a too-small coat.
Leaning his cheek into her palm, Jude slowly raises his eyes to hers. Want is what he desires to hear, but the word need coming directly after makes him quail, the weight of responsibility sinking in around his collarbone like a chain; what if you mess this up too, Jude?
"What do you need? What can I do?" He quickly considers his own state of affairs; he can ask Noe to watch Winifred via letter, that will be easy enough. He doesn't have many more ties than that. "I can stay for the season? Then we'll have a few weeks together." He isn't sure the Grounds will be as healing for him as it has been for his mother, or maybe he's just scared that if he stays forever he'll never learn to stop relying on her.
Am I a murderer? Or did I just kill all my thoughts in self-defense?
Maeve shakes her head at his question, still cupping his cheek, the pad of her thumb gently swiping across his skin. "Just knowing your around is enough, Jude." She murmurs, sensing his unease and doing her best to soothe it in the same breath. In truth, there wasn't anything he needed to do. Just exist. Just be closer to her. It was all she really desired. Nothing more.
"Okay. For the season." Little did they know what was coming for them. That Torchline would soon be underwater, the civilization established there taking a detrimental hit from the moon threatening them, but how lucky that they were making this choice now. "After that you can decide where you want to go."
And I was catching my breath Staring out an open window catching my death
