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!
Whoever he had spoken to downstairs after the disastrous time outside, Sam would eventually sneak away up to the bedroom he shared with Nate. Perhaps it was fortunate that he had not yet seen his lover, for he didn't even know what he'd say. Nate had an added layer of investment that no one else did, had already bemoaned Sam going out at night when it had been a normal week.
Knowing Nate would eventually come, he went to kneel on the bed and grabbed his pillow, one side of it looking odd as he could only hold it with one finger and his thumb (at this point he'd almost grown used to the pain, aching and constant), and began to scream into it, trying to get out all of the confusion, anger and pain inside himself before it exploded on someone else.
He knew that bad was coming. People would be mad. Wessex, Rexanna, Bastien, The Voice...Remi, even. Ronin, probably. So many people had been hurt by his actions and he hadn't even considered them until it was too late. He was evil. Selfish, cruel, stupid, stupid to ever think he could make being Ascended a good thing, that he could save himself from becoming one of those monsters.
Sam pressed his face in further and continued to yell, wordless pain muffled by the pillow.
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
Nate was trying to... well, he really didn’t know. Give Sam some space, maybe, hovering just outside the door of their shared room. Or save himself from what he knew was coming, the pain, the dealing with the relationship he’d fallen into. Things were easier when he moved fro one night stand to one night ya did, never getting to know anyone, not really. This was something he wasn’t really prepared for
Screaming, muffled but unmistakeable, echoes through the door. He couldn’t hold back anymore, Nate tugged the door open and rushed in, coming upon a sight that made his chest throb painfully. Almost immediately, he started moving, body on autopilot while his brain worked overtime to try and cope with the situation. A hand came down on Sams shoulder, heavy, but warm.
”Hey.” He said softly, once he had some of Sams attention. Nate was fighting a battle to keep his composure, and he was losing, fear and panic and things he hadn’t felt in a very long time making his eyes glassy, his voice hoarse. ”C’mere.” It wasn’t a request, or a question. As he spoke Nate crouched down, trying to pull Sam up and onto his lap, into his arms, sitting on the bed proper.
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
Sam flinched hard and gasped as Nate touched his shoulder, not expecting the sudden contact. He whirled around, as if ready to fight, but when he saw Nate something in him crumbled and he let himself be taken into the man's arms, leaned into his chest.
They had had so much promise. But they had been doomed to be together now, when his whole life was crumbling, and Sam worried that it would ruin this too. Shaking he pulled away a little, looked Nate's face over then wordlessly lifted his hand, showing him the stubs of fingers and soaked bandage, the thick fluid bubbling out of holes in the wrapping. It had begun to clot, as much as the strange synthetic blood could do, but it was still bleeding fresh, not helped by his poking at the wounds.
"I...I d-didn't mean for it to go like this. Please believe me." He whispered, his good hand coming to touch Nate's cheek.
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
Nate was ready to pull away the second Sam turned on him, ready to give him space, or whatever he needed. But he was glad when he didn’t have to, the other man instead curling into his touch, letting himself be held, and hopefully comforted. It didn’t exactly fall into bedside manner, but Sam was different than just a patient, as much as he didn’t want to face that quite yet.
Luckily (in the loosest possible definition) there were other things he could focus on, grasp to. Like the leaking stumps where Sams fingers had been. It was the first time Nate had to actually face the inhumanity of the ascended, but he was interested more than anything, staring with equal parts quiet horror and rapt focus at the spaces between the bandages. He licked his lips, trying to keep his voice from cracking when he spoke. ”I know you didn’t. I... I would be more concerned if you did.” There May not have been and cracking, but the words trembled, barely held steady.
Tipping his head into the hand on his face, Nate reached out, gently taking the injured hand into one of his own and holding it still. ”Do you... can I help this? Stop the bleeding, get it cleaned? I... don’t know if you can get infections, but it might... hurt less, of nothing else.” It was really all he felt qualified to offer.
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
Hearing cracks in Nate's voice, Sam leaned back and looked his lover up and down, for some reason surprised that this had affected him so deeply. It was obvious, really. He'd been horribly hurt and had been in danger of death and Nate had to care about him in some way by now. Still, actually hearing the evidence of that care...in any other context he would have been thrilled. Now it broke his heart.
He let Nate take his hand, trying not to cringe as their hands touched over one of his sore areas. "...Alright. Jigano already wrapped it, but..." With everything else, he hadn't really thought too much about the repercussions of his hand wound; suddenly the realisation of what it would mean came to him.
"I...I won't be able to...make books, anymore. Nate, I don't know..." Tears bubbled up in Sam's eyes and his next words were wailed, almost like a child. "I don't know what I'm going to do!"
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
”Wrapping it is all fine and good, but you need more than that.” This was an easier place to settle in, the brusque words coming naturally. Nate thought about what he’d need, then pared down his list to the most simple things, hot water, a hot blade, and clean bandages. He didn’t know where they’d come from, but there had to be some kind of medical supplies here.
Just as he was about to stand, leave Sam on the bed, alone (why didn’t that feel like a good idea?), the ginger man started wailing, and Nate felt his chest throb all over again. A strong hand rubbed over Sams back, pulled him in closer against Nate’s chest. ”I... don’t know either. But you... we’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll talk to... the voice, or something, or worst come to worst I’ll teach you to do things with your left hand. Okay?”
Nate was getting a little frantic now, trying everything he could think of to reassure the man sobbing in his arms. ”I’ll help you. I’m going to... I’m going to be right here.” He knew, as he said them, that the words were true. He would be by Sam’s side, despite the things he didn’t understand, the troubles it brought. ”Just take a breath. Try to calm down.”
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
Sam had absolutely no idea what was needed to repair the wound he had so he didn't argue, just nodded weakly. He was sure having it treated would hurt further, and he dreaded the pain to come. He needed to be at the end of this already, but there would be much more ache and arguments and punishments to come, he knew.
"The Voice is going to be so angry with me, Nathaniel. I can't ask her for anything. I ran out in Longnight, wasted the chips she'd given us and almost got Rexanna and Bastien killed." As he spoke his voice got more and more panicked, as if he was just realising in that moment all the reasons his Goddess had to be mad at him.
Learning to do things with his left hand sounded absolutely impossible; all he could do was push himself into Nate's chest and breathe deep - as much as he didn't need to do that, there was still something calming in forcing air into his lungs and out, creating a rhythm. "I...I don't know why you're staying. We hardly knew eachother for long before it all started going so badly. You would be entirely justified in leaving." He voiced this because he felt it was likely to happen anyway and it would hurt less if he said it first, as soon as he could.
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
Nate took a deep breath, matching his breathing along with Sams. ”She might be angry, yes. And... that does sound like a lot of bad, when you put it like that. But you can’t start to make it better until you start to face it, believe me.” It was hypocritical for him to be saying this, so much so that he had to swallow back a wince. Nate had never faced something head on in his life, had always squeezed around the consequences and the anger. ”I’ll go with you if you want. If you need.”
It seemed he had gotten himself more under control, Nate’s voice still worried, but calmer now, no trembling. His hand moved absently over Sams back while he considered what the other man had said. He hadn’t even really considered walking away until Sam said it, not right now at least. ”I’m not going to leave you. Well, I am going to walk away, to get things for your hand, but... you don’t need to worry about it. You give me... something I’m missing Sam. Stability, or... someone to worry about, or something.”
It was the closest Nate would get to any kind of real confession, and he immediately stood up after it, depositing Sam gently on the bed and leaving to grab the supplies he needed, trying to go as quickly as he could.
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
Sam feared that when he faced it it might be his last day, though in his current mood, he thought perhaps that might not be so bad. At least, he thought, The Voice might let him go quietly (though the scared, paranoid side of him worried that she might instead make him into one of those monsters as quickly as she could, an ironic end).
At least Nate would come with him. He nodded. "Okay...b-but I'm worried she might hurt you too...but she probably wouldn't. She's fair, and you haven't done anything to her." Sam seemed to be more reassuring himself than Nate with this.
For a moment he was lifted out of his depression by Nate telling him he wouldn't leave. Had he been in better spirits Sam would have laughed from hearing he gave anyone 'stability'; right now he was so desperate for someone on his side he just nodded, hand lingering on Nate's arm until he was gone for supplies.
Alone, Sam curled up on the bed, hand clutched close to his chest, and stared at the window. If he tried, he was sure he could climb out of it and fall down to the street below, a broken and willing meal for the monsters.
After a moment, he turned over and shut his eyes, making himself think of reasons to not do it.
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
Nate hustled through the Monster Hunter's Guild, grabbing things that wouldn't be missed, a knife, a roll of bandages, a bowl, some kindling and some water. The bare minimum for what he needed to do. It took him less than ten minutes, and then he was stepping back into the room, the bed creaking as he assumed Sam turned towards him. There was a smile on his lips, shallower but more genuine than what usually lived there.
Without wasting any more time, Nate got started, lighting a small fire in the bowl and letting the blade he'd brought sit in its heat. Sitting back on the bed, Nate reached out, gently took Sam's broken hand and began unwinding the bandages that had been wrapped around it. "What I'm going to do will hurt, but, it'll keep you from losing anymore blood, er... fluid. Ready?"
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
Sam curled up on the bed, waiting for Nate to come back and trying his best to not turn around and look at the window, which still held the all-too-tempting fantasy. His obsessions were interrupted by the loud groan underneath the bed, which had him sitting up with a start, looking to each side of it as if expecting to see gnarled hands reaching out across the floor.
There was nothing, but he still blinked away tears, the word 'marked' coming up in his mind again.
At least Nate's return made him feel a little safer, even if the man did enter carrying a blade which he began to heat. Sam knew what that meant, had read enough to know what Nate was going to do, and he reflexively drew his hand close to himself, dreading what was surely going to be a very painful experience. "...I don't think I'll ever be ready, so just...do it, please."
He held out his hand, a show of trust in Nate that he would award to very few people.
Or honey hope even on this side
of the grave again?
”Well I’ll distract you through it. Keep you talking, right?” Nate smiled, and shifted his grip on Sams hand, his fingers sliding down to grip around the other mans wrist instead of holding onto his hand. ”How did you get the bed to make that noise just now?” The first question that had come to mind had been far more tasteless, something about the world outside, but Nate kept the subject far away from his tongue, at least for now.
With his eyes mostly still on Sam, Nate reaches over and grabbed the knife, the blade smoking slightly, but not red hot. ”Look at me.” Nate said the words like an order, waiting for green eyes to meet his. The moment their eyes locked, his hand dipped, pressing the hot metal against the gory wound. The smell wasn’t what he had expected, and he tried to not wrinkle his nose.
After a second, though it had to feel like an eternity to the other man, Nate withdrew the blade, holding firm to Sams arm and lifting it slightly, so he could look at the wound. With a sympathetic wince, Nate squeezed Sams arm. ”One more. Look at me.” Again, he waited for their eyes to meet, and pressed the knife against Sams skin. Somehow, it seemed worse the second time. Nate didn’t look this time, just set the knife to the side and pressed a damp piece of gauze against Sams hand, the slightest relief he had.
And who could ask it to be sound
or to feel saved again?
But stick around until you hear
that music play again
"I...I don't think any amount of talking will make it better..." Sam mumbled, for a second sounding like his usual self. Though he really did doubt it. Pain was still such a new sensation to him, any massive surge of it was guaranteed to make him feel overwhelmed with it; even stubbing his toe could make him cry some days.
The specific topic Nate chose really didn't help either. Sam's hand shook like his voice as he handed it to him and he slowly brought his eyes up to meet Nate's. "I didn't, that's the thing...I'm worried that--" He was cut off by a scream ripping out of him as Nate pressed the hot blade to his knuckles. It was a burning intense shot, different from the ache he'd experienced before, it felt like Nate was stabbing him from the inside.
It took all of his control to not snatch his hand away. He shut his eyes tight, only opening them when Nate told him to look again, barely opening his eyes filled with tears to look into Nates, then screaming again. As soon as the deed was done he pulled his hand away and curled up, shaking.
