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!
"Wished I lived in the bar." He mumbled, though really he didn't. While Adam had had many fine nights in inns, had told stories and sung songs, found clients and won fights...he'd also lost money, dignity, memories of nights made fuzzy by too much drinking afterwards. While the horn meant the temptation to drink now followed him out of the bar, he found he didn't really miss the sickeningly familiar view of the underside of bar stools.
Surprised to find Amalia seemed to find his words offensive, he shook his head. "No, no, you got me wrong. I'm not knocking it -- look, I've slept in stables or even one time, an alley that was filled with piss and I saw a rat..." He mumbled off, pulling a face. That had been in the Bad Time he didn't talk about, not usually, with his face half wrapped up and his voice ripped from him, the only solace he'd had a certain kind of herb you could breath in.
"Are we nearly there, though? I feel a nap in my near future." It would be considerably more than a nap, he knew that, but didn't want to sound like he'd stay for too long.
She softens a little as Adam recants, though tension remains in her figure, discomfort obvious in the way she walks. For a moment she is silent, letting the words fall and settle, her expressive face marred by a furrowed frown. Finally Amalia sighs, her shoulders slumping slightly, her arm pressing a little tighter around the staggering man. "You deserve better." We both do.
"Not too far," Amalia replies, sensing the impending collapse by the way Adam has become more and more of a dead weight. "Don't you dare fall asleep before we get there. I have to prove that bakeries are delightful to sleep in." She grins, nudging him again, though the light in her eyes is a little shuttered, her dark eyes distracted by unpleasant thoughts. Shaking her head, she carries on walking, looking for topics to soothe that dull pain. "Where do you live, anyway?"
"Eeehhhh." Adam waved a noncommital hand before him. In another place, with far less weight in his chest and more people around, he'd have insisted he knew that; that he deserved a mansion and cash and anything else the world could give him. But really, he wondered sometimes if he even deserved to be alive anymore.
She assured him the bakery was nearby and he picked up his step a little, anticipation of a soon to be rest giving him a bit more energy. "Me? Oh, uh. I live in a guy's farmhouse out in the fields. Nate, he's called. Grumpy guy, but he lets me stay in the room and only gets annoyed at me a few times a day, sooooo..." He shrugged.
"I've been thinking about getting my own place, but uh...I've never had one, so I think it might feel kinda weird." He'd always lived out of a bag or a rented room, on a horse or in an abandoned carriage. A house felt like far too much room, far too much of anchor.
"Nate... Sterling?" Amalia asks, sounding a little incredulous. She raises an eyebrow questioningly - the big man hadn't seemed the type to take in strays, let alone an Outlander, but perhaps she does not know him as well as she thought. Trying not to giggle at the idea of them as roommates, the baker wrinkles her nose. "Definitely the bakery, then. I don't think either of us will make it to the Fields."
The declaration of anticipated independence has her raising her brow again, Adam never having struck her as one who could handle living alone. "There's plenty of extra houses around," she replies with a shrug, trying not to think about her empty family home, the dust and spiders and ghosts who live there now that her mother is gone. "Though it sounds kind of nice, living with someone... Better than being alone." There is a distinct wistfulness in the statement, Amalia's loneliness never far away.
She thinks again about the hole, and how hollow they both are.
Not far from the settlement now, Amalia falls silent once again, letting him fill the gaps. There is a question on her lips, but she doesn't know if she should voice it, for once possessing self-awareness to hold her eager tongue. Amalia does not know Adam, not really, but she knows she does not want to scare him away. She meant what she said: it is nice to have someone there, even if it's just a bandaid used to fix a sinkhole.
"Yeah, that's the one." Adam had known the second he'd met Nate that he'd be able to weasel his way into a room. There were people who were actually prejudice, then there was just grumps. He was finetuned to know the latter and to be able to work around it.
She mentioned that it would be nice to live with someone and for a second Adam wondered if she was gonna ask him to move in, but she didn't and he was glad. Though it did make him wonder.. "Well, is there not anyone y'could live with? You said you didn't have a date last time, but I bet there's a lotta Outlanders or just friends around who would. Hell, it comes with awesome food, right?"
He chattered about this and that as they walked through the settlement; things he saw, things he had done that day, nothing important. By the time the bakery was in sight, it was clear Adam was flagging, his words coming slower and his feet beginning to drag on the cobbles.
Amalia is grateful for the low light, because Adam's statement makes her color suddenly crimson, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "Ah, I... I do have someone now, actually." She isn't sure what else to say, but the bashful pleasure in her voice is enough, a strong proclamation of how much this budding romance means. "The bakery is too small for two people, though, and I haven't lived at home since... since my grandmother died." Shrugging, she tries to shake away the pang of bitter sadness, the absence of the older woman still felt acutely within her soul. She misses the nights of family dinners, warm candlelight and laughter filling their small space. She misses when her mother and grandmother would sing, teaching her words to a hundred songs, their differences briefly put aside, replaced by love for her.
She misses belonging somewhere.
Amalia lets Adam chatter as they walk, contributing when appropriate, quiet encouragement for him to go on. The girl is a purveyor of stories, and she welcomes all the strands of his: they distract her from the emptiness which gnaws and coils in her stomach, threatening to swallow her whole. When at last they reach the bakery Amalia carefully opens the door. "The bed's upstairs," she cautions, a bit of a challenge in her voice. "Think you can manage? Otherwise I could grab some blankets and set them up down here." It is warm, at least, in the nooks by the oven: Amalia had slept there at times as a child, though she had been much smaller than the tall, lanky man.
As soon as Amalia announced she had someone Adam's face lit up with the delirious smile of someone who had just discovered a wonderful secret. He didn't ask about it right away, too busy focusing on making it all the way to the bakery without falling over or throwing up (it appeared he had not been that tactical after all).
He stumbled through the door and immediately went to lean against the wall, staring at the ceiling in the hopes it would stop the world tilting and spinning. "I could prolly make it upstairs, but where are you gonna sleep? Oh-- are you gonna go spend the night with your lover?" The way Adam said 'lover' made it clear he could not take this word seriously.
She tries to ignore Adam's obvious delight at the knowledge of her relationship, frowning through the vibrant blush that ignites her olive skin. For some reason that she cannot properly name, Amalia has been reluctant to tell people of her new romance. Perhaps it has to do with her own anxieties, that naming it will make it real, and thus easier to break. Perhaps she is waiting for Deimos to take that step, worried that he does not want the world to know, does not want others to think he has been tied down and trapped.
Perhaps it is because it is hers, and she is jealous of the things that matter most, a dragon protecting her dearest treasure, the ice king's golden love.
Her reverie is broken by his teasing, and the flush returns in crimson force. "And leave you alone to destroy my bakery? Unlikely," she replies, trying to ignore the fact that she never has slept at Deimos' house, and would he even want her to, and what does it mean if he doesn't? Leading Adam toward the stairs, Amalia tries to bury her doubts. "Besides, I can sleep anywhere, if I shift." It was a clear advantage of being able to become a cat or bird: the girl had no lack of sleeping positions or options, no matter the occasion.
Amalia expertly dodged the question about her partner, and for the moment Adam let it be. He was sure he would find out eventually, and when he did there would be a lot of gossipy glee. Right now he had the tricky obstacle of the stairs to tackle, which swayed and pulsed under his feet as he crawled his way up.
"Okay -- but just for the record. If you're uncomfy, you were totally welcome to sleep with me. I don't wanna be the guy that kicked you outta bed." He yelled behind him, sitting on the top stair for a momentary breather. "...Wait..."
Blearily, he seemed to realise something. Looking at Amalia with an unreadable expression, he asked: "Did you go to the temple to pray?"
She watches him crawl climb the stairs with no little amusement, an eyebrow raised at his stubbornness. Reaching out to offer support, the girl gently eases him forward, am arm extended in case he stumbles and falls back down the steps. Remarkably, though, he reaches the top, and Amalia leans on the railing as he turns around, looking up through glittering black eyes. "I think I'll pass." Sleeping with a drunk man in a small bed doesn't particularly appeal to the girl, somehow. "I'm gonna get you some water, though. Stay there."
Rounding the corner to fill a cup, she comes back to his question and blinks. "Yeah." Climbing the stairs to join Adam, Amaila gently scoots him over, moving to sit beside him while extending the drink. "I try to go every day... or I used to. It's hard to find the time, these days." Putting her elbows on her knees, the baker rests her chin on her palms and turns to look sideways at the self-proclaimed thief. "Why?" Why does it matter to him why she went, if it was to see the gods or for any reason besides?
Water sounded good, even if Adam wanted to pretend he didn't need it. When Amalia was gone he rubbed his face, put his face between his knees and stamped his feet, making an odd noise. It sometimes helped to sober him up, but it seemed to only serve to make him feel a little nauseous.
He took the drink from her upon her return and took a big sip, swilling it around his mouth and behind his teeth. Immediately, he felt better. Holding the cup tight in his hands he nodded at her. "Er, well...I...I feel kinda bad, stopping you from praying and stuff. But...I mean, I was wondering what you got outta it? All the praying all the time. I know people who used to do it in my old world and at least here someone talks back, but...why do you do it?"
For a second Amalia debates placing a comforting hand on his back, wondering if it would be inappropriate. The ridiculousness of this idea, of course, is immediately apparent - they have come much too far for a comforting pat to be misinterpreted or unacceptable. So she places her palm between his scapulae, gently rubbing along his spine, a comforting motion learned from her mother on days when she was ill. Her voice comes out as a low, comforting murmur, soothing despite its practical content: "Please don't throw up on my stairs."
Tilting to look at him, Amalia blinks in a little surprise, a warm smile lighting up her face. "It's okay," she replies honestly, head still in her hand. "I can say my evening prayers here." There is a small alter in the front of the shop, after all, tucked beside a window, and the baker frequently prays in her home, the street, the meadow - the location does not matter much, in the end.
But the question that follows is harder to parse, difficult to answer with words alone. Amalia hums softly in thought, her dark eyes distant as she turns back to gaze down the stairs. "I suppose... part of it is because I'm grateful. The gods made the world for us, after all, and even though though there are things about it that hurt... it's beautiful, too. And I'm grateful for that." There is something in the reverence which lights her gaze, leaves her almost incandescent with affectionate fervor for her gods.
"And part of it is because... because it makes me feel less alone. To know they're out there, and that they care."
The hand on his back was welcome, if a little surprising; Adam was not accustomed to comforting touch. Usually, if someone touched him, it was sexual or violent and little inbetween. Her hand was warm, soft even through his shirt, and he leaned back a little into it.
Apparently, it didn't matter where she prayed, which was news to him. He'd always thought of religion as something that happened in high-ceilinged halls with golden statues, for people not like him, those who would spend their time reading the scripture and ignoring all of it's lessons. But even though he thought her choice of location was interesting, he still couldn't relate to her reasons for doing it at all.
"But...why should you be grateful, though? You didn't ask for it and there's a hell of a lotta shit that ain't good in it. I'm not...trying to knock your prayers n stuff. I just never got it. I guess it makes more sense here cos the Gods actually reply, but I dunno.." He shrugged. He'd never been pious.
Continuing to watch Adam through thoughtful dark eyes, Amalia shrugs, not really sure how better to explain her relationship with her gods. "There is a lot of shit that's not good." Vi knows that she is aware of it, the cruelty of the world. And yet to the baker, the things that go wrong are not the god's fault. Caido has built a haven for life to survive, and it is the responsibility of those within to do their best with the gifts they have been given, the life of Vi and the nature of Rae and the loving afterlife of Mort. "But I try to do the best I can. To be a better version of myself. And I guess... I guess the idea that someone out there actually cares makes it easier, somehow."
Whether or not Amalia believes she ever will be good enough is not an easy question to answer. Thankfully, it is not the question being asked tonight.
"You've met Ludo." It gave him the horn after all, the one that currently sits on Amalia's counter. "Do you know much about the rest of our gods? Safrin and Frey, or the old ones, Vi and Rae and Mort?"
