DEIMOS
the resurrected sword
The Sword had been very careful about his promises. Duties and pledges aligned instinctually towards eventually getting back to the mountains, rankling the power structure to their liking once more, and everything else nestled in between had been conspired in airs of liberation and deliverance. Perhaps it’d been a mistake to snag at the newest responsibility, to ensure another foundation didn’t collapse under absences. Maybe this wasn’t something else he should’ve taken on. But Deimos preferred to be busy – it was just the potential abandonment of King’s End, and their small settling of land that left him adrift.
He hadn’t given word to Cordelia or Noah yet, not until he’d met with Maeve and figured out the parameters due to come up in conversation. So instead of bowing his head to the weight threatening its way back up his shoulders, he held it high and aloft, marching diligently towards the Court – at which the opulence nearly made him laugh.
The soldier presumed Safrin had been enthralled with it – it represented her in a myriad of ways. Nodding towards several attendants showing him the way, notes sent ahead of time to sang at some appointment time with Maeve, his eyes flickered and followed after columns, stairs, and evening gardens. Only once he reached the designated door to the sovereign’s office did he knock, a reverberating echo against the surface.
He hadn’t given word to Cordelia or Noah yet, not until he’d met with Maeve and figured out the parameters due to come up in conversation. So instead of bowing his head to the weight threatening its way back up his shoulders, he held it high and aloft, marching diligently towards the Court – at which the opulence nearly made him laugh.
The soldier presumed Safrin had been enthralled with it – it represented her in a myriad of ways. Nodding towards several attendants showing him the way, notes sent ahead of time to sang at some appointment time with Maeve, his eyes flickered and followed after columns, stairs, and evening gardens. Only once he reached the designated door to the sovereign’s office did he knock, a reverberating echo against the surface.
under the bludgeonings of chance
my head is bloody, but unbowed
my head is bloody, but unbowed
