Perhaps the closest equivalent of Caido’s golden retriever energy, Zavien has been the light in an otherwise patch of darkness. Always putting others first, working hard at being a Dragoon and helping Stormbreak thrive in kindness, and always being optimistic, Zavien’s outlook is refreshing and wonderful even with drama and terrible things occurring around him. He always has something helpful to say and a willingness to lend a hand that makes it so fun to keep up with him and we can’t wait to see what else comes his way.
Congratulations, Zavien!
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!
Exactly as his letter had promised, Harper is found sitting on one of many benches overlooking Mourn, lantern flames flickering in the comfortably warm breeze as the sun slowly descends and forsakes its duties of lighting the way to the tiny wicks burning away behind glass panes.
To one side of him lies a small package wrapped in sturdy but otherwise unremarkable brown paper. To the other is an empty space adequate for a man of Hadama’s size, whether he chooses to take the silent offering or not.
Harper’s expression is difficult to parse even for his good friend - if he can call the Tidebreaker that anymore. Far-away, at the very least. A state of being that only breaks and clears when the King joins him. “Thanks for coming. I wasn’t sure if it was too late.” He has resigned himself to the bridges he’s burned to the point it comes out neutrally. Hadama owes him next to nothing, but he’s glad his friend’s good heart is still constant enough to be relied upon. “I think I owe you a better explanation that what I wrote to you. But if you want to ask anything first, please do.” He gestures slightly with an open palm, blue eyes dark oceans that reveal little more than an echo of resignation and exhaustion as they focus - patient and unwavering - on Hadama.
When Harper had said that he was ready, Hadama had come.
The paths of Mourn were new to him, and he had spent the day walking slowly amidst the monuments to memories. There was peace to be found in such a place, and a strange sort of comfort as the fresh blooms of Flowerbirth grew amidst the offerings of grief and young wild creatures frolicked, heedless of the solemnity of their surroundings. It had been time spent considering the meeting to come; what he hoped would come from it, and what he needed to learn from it.
And in the end his feet had brought him to the appointed place where a ghost waited as promised.
There was no hesitation in his step, but emerald eyes drank in Harper's appearance and the changes the years had wrought since they'd last seen each other. Hadama had outwardly changed little, aside from the leather-clad legs below his waist, and he used them to settle into the seat left vacant at the Stalwart's side. He tilted his head in silent invitation and the other man spoke, but soon enough the Tidebreaker was shaking his head in a single, slow negation. "It has never been too late," he rumbled quietly. There had been confusion and pain, yes, but he would not have asked his friend to stay in a position that had become so burdensome had he known.
But he had not.
"I do have questions," he acceded slowly. "But... they will wait. I would rather know how you have been. And listen to what you wish to say." Perhaps his questions would be answered by what Harper already wanted to tell him. And if not, then he could ask them after. For a short time, at least, he simply wanted to sit with his old friend again.
08-30-2024, 11:14 PM (This post was last modified: 09-04-2024, 11:00 PM by Harper.)
Harper
I see what lies heavy on your heart
Word travels fast about demigods, but it’s still strange to see Hadama approach on human legs while the sun is still in the sky. Admittedly it’s the only change he can truly note in the man despite the years that have passed. In contrast, Harper’s tan skin has gone pale and his hair is longer than he would normally allow it to get. The only promising sign of health is his continued musculature, but the new lines in his face take away from that hope just as swiftly.
The immediate denial has Harper smiling wistfully. Not unexpected, but in his eyes undeserved. Hadama’s understanding is not something he’s managed to replicate in himself for his own behavior.
“Not as well as I had hoped. For a time, I thought I was finally living for myself and figuring out who I was without expectations or duties to shape my identity around. It was the only kind of life I’d ever lived before.” Looking out at the sun as it creeps slowly through the sky, turning red as it threatens a sunset within the hour, Harper smiles without feeling behind it. “Swore off love and tried to find comfort in physicality. I missed being touched in any and every way.” The firm grip of a friendly hand or a brusque hug, gentle fingers through hair from a mentor or parent, idle kisses from a lover, all of it had been lost. “The only good that really came was reconnecting with Maea. But I don’t think either of us can fix the other. Or ourselves.” He’d hoped, of course. Against all logic, history, and better sense. Harper’s heart has never known how to stop piecing itself back together to try and beat for someone else just one more time.
“I tried to mend things with Jude after he got hurt during the impact and I wasn’t there. It wasn’t enough - but it wasn’t nothing.” He writes his son every season, but there’s more empty space on the page than words most times. At least he never forgets to say I love you. “I lost my faith in Safrin. I lost sight of myself when I thought I was finding it. And what was a rebellion of indulgence is now the only comfort I wake up for, same as any other crutch.” His downfall had not been so grand as others, far more private and uninteresting, but in his own eyes there is nothing left but ashes.
“I’m hoping you’ll give this to Jude for me. That’s why I called you here.” One scarred hand settles on top of the box, but his eyes are pained and distant on the horizon. “I need to pursue an impossibly small chance at the only thing I think can help. But if it doesn’t work…one way or another I’m not going to be around, and he deserves as much closure as I can give him.” Something clearer than the one-sided awareness earlier in the week when he’d shown up only to hug his boy tight and tell him he loved him. A goodbye only Harper had heard.
- - -
Harper gives all items in his profile to Hadama, to be given (or not!) to Jude.
The careworn lines in Harper's face did nothing to reassure Hadama that the Stalwart had found his peace away from the burdens of duty. He listened quietly to the tale of a man adrift, having lost his north star and out of sight of land. The mention of Maea softened the former-Mer's gaze, but the hopelessness in Harper's conclusion - when once he had been so staunchly optimistic - tightened the skin around Hadama's eyes in silent pain.
He considered his words carefully, but by the time he was ready to speak them Harper had moved on. Jude's name did nothing to soothe the ache in his chest, not when it seemed to bring his friend no solace. More loss followed; more confusion and unhealing wounds that lingered in the heart of a man who had once been a hero and a leader.
"Harper." A name spoken softly, even as Hadama's large hand came to rest gently atop the scarred one on the box between them. "You still have a home in Torchline. A family. Allow us to help you. Please." He gave the fingers beneath his a careful squeeze. "You are not alone."
Hadama is a man of subtlety, like the shadows that persist in the depths of the ocean no matter how bright or long the efforts of the sun. To see him so dismayed - even peripherally, for Harper can't bear anything more direct - is both an honor and a painful burden to bear. To think he'd considered never meeting Hadama this way if only to spare his own heart. Harper needs no further proof to know that, for that alone, he is a selfish man. Or perhaps a man who cannot see what could have possibly drawn the Tidebreaker to him that could have masqueraded as any kind of worth without collapsing under the King's scrutiny.
The mer's hand is large and encompassing over his own, drawing eyes like blue shadows at twilight back to where their skin tones stand in contrast over plain packaging too pitiful to be worthy of its recipient. Harper slowly turns his hand over, and - as has always been his way - does not think a moment of the strangeness of this physicality to some as he silently holds onto Hadama's fingers.
It takes strength he didn't think he had anymore to lift his eyes to meet Hadama's head on. The smile comes easier given it appears almost peaceful. "No, I'm not alone. I have you." But only now. Only for this moment, where hues of red sunset turn Hadama's hair to fire. It will be enough for Harper, but it's an ephemeral thing that can't be lengthened even by the might of Hadama's faith. "But there's no home to go back to. And Jude - well, there are some bridges that can't be rebuilt." Wounds far deeper than the ones he'd caused in his friend, whose ceaseless understanding is the reason Harper has anyone here at the close.
Fingers squeezing around Hadama's, Harper lifts his other hand to envelop the man's hand entirely as his bared heart shines through his eyes. "I've guaranteed myself an unobtrusive exit this time, to make up for the last. No matter what sort of exit it comes to be." To give more information is to arm Hadama with opportunity to stop him, and Harper - for all he loves the Tidebreaker - cannot allow that to happen. "But I couldn't leave you in the dark a second time." Smiling like a pickpocket flashing a watch to distract their target from the creep of fingers into their pocket, Harper squeezes Hadama's hand and jokes, "Poor timing with the sunset, but we've already watched plenty of sunrises together. I thought we should mix it up."
