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!
There is a haunting beauty to watching a woman so hard become vulnerable and soft, the emotion of her voice nearly thick enough to touch. Amalia watches in awe and delight, all the tensions of the world dissolving in light if this miraculous thing. A bond formed, souls finding each other in the endless expanse of a chaotic world, a new life formed between the two-
There are tears on her cheek when she raises her hand to it.
How does she know? Amalia shrugs, settling onto the floor a comfortable distance from the new pair. "I can hear her. I... I can hear the minds of most things. Animals." She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, a little embarrassed. "It's somewhat new." Another thing that's changed in the interim between when they were close and who they are now.
Arms wrapped loosely around herself, the honey-haired Shield tilts her head. "What's her name?"
she's just like the weather can't hold her together
Wessex crouches down with her arms out, inviting the dragonling to enter them - and it does with enthusiasm, darting forward to leap up to the Wraith’s upper chest, her claws catching on Wessex’s clothing even as she adjusts to hold on to the little black bundle close. Ear meets snout as she nuzzles into the crook of the her neck, making all sorts of chirps and croaks and various noises that seem to signal her acceptance and approval.
“You’re always full of surprises,” she says to Amalia at the reveal of her new abilities, having seen the qilin-shift and various other tricks in the heat of the moment or in a crisis. It’s something she just accepts without question, knowing Amalia is beloved of the Old Gods. “I know we traditionally name them, but does she not already have a dragon name?” Her hands are busy petting and exploring the scaled body, leathery wings, and long tail, trying to decipher things through a newly forged bond. Which is Wessex and which is her companion?
"So are you," she replies with a small shrug, remembering vaguely how Wessex had seemed to be everywhere during the ill-fated festival. Back when Amalia had believed the worst thing that would ever happen to her was the building falling upon her spine, and the days of convalescence that followed.
Back before Adam died.
Pushing her brows together quizzically, Amalia smiles at Wessex with surprising gentleness and patience. "You should be able to feel her better than I can, now." Easy as it would be to act as dragon translator - a name is already hovering at the fore of its thoughts, as well as a great deal of gratitude and infatuation for her Ascended rescuer - the Shield wants to encourage the Wraith to cultivate this bond.
It's a strange thing for her to be in the position of teacher with Wessex, but she tries not to think about that too hard.
she's just like the weather can't hold her together
“We’ve come so far,” she murmurs, glancing at the girl through lowered lids. If anyone had asked them two years ago where they might be, neither would have been able to picture Shields and queenships and demi-gods and talking to Vi.
It’s miraculous, really. They are living miracles - look at the rest of their people, the way they hunker down and stick to their beliefs. So few are able to rise to the occasion and make themselves more than Grounders. That’s not to say that they need to be more than farmers and craftsmen, but with the opening of the world, why wouldn’t they want to be?
Anyway. On Amalia’s instruction, Wessex begins to focus on the little black bundle, trying to hone in on the thoughts and ask her, mentally. What eventually comes to the Wraith is more of a general sound, lo… “Lo… lo… lor… no.” Making a weird ‘focusing’ face, she tries again. “low… kay? Low… key? Loki?” The dragonling trills a confirmation, a burst of elation traveling through their bond.
“Loki!” What an odd name. But it’s hers, so Wessex likes it.
Watching Wessex focus and struggle, her face pinched as she searches for the name, would have been comical in other circumstances. Even in her current state of unhappiness a smile teases at her lips, amusement and affection softening her expression. "Loki." Extending a hand toward the newly bonded pair, the Shield regards the dragon with eyes the color of her scales. "Welcome to our world."
Of course, if Loki does turn toward her Amalia will drop her hand like it's burned. As it is she pulls back suddenly, retreating into herself. An image flashes before her eyes: Coffee falling as he's encased in ice, Adam's scream, the white dragon's anger. So many dead, and nothing she could do.
Inhaling a shuddering breath, Amalia turns away.
"I should... Let you two get to know each other." Rubbing her wrist, she moves to stand. For a moment she pauses, looking like she might say something. Thinking better, she shakes her head. "I... I'm sorry."
she's just like the weather can't hold her together
Loki does indeed turn her attention to Amalia for a moment, but is rather nonplussed with the girl drops her hand away, turning her attention back to her bonded as if nothing had happened.
Wessex misses most of Amalia’s post-traumatic reaction, knowing only that edge of sorrow and stubbornness in the girl’s voice, knowing that it’s pointless to insist otherwise. She should bond with the dragonling. She should feed her… rising to her feet, Wessex nods and is about to leave the Spire as well, but the apology stops her. “Hmmm? For?” she asks quietly, brows furrowed. Frankly, she can think of several things the baker might want to apologize for, but she won’t put words in other’s mouth.
Once, Amalia might have watched in awe, rejoicing as Wessex finds a bond, asking millions of questions and lavishing adoration upon the dragonling. Once she would have sat here for hours, happy with the new addition to their little family. Her mother would have been so proud of the Wraith; her grandmother would have invited them all for a celebratory meal.
Countless traumas and a myriad of trials later, and that once upon a time is only a distant dream.
Rising to her feet, the Shield licks her lips. Why is she sorry? "For... For not coming to thank you." It's not the only reason, nor the one most forefront in her mind, but it feels like the safest one for now.
Turning to the door of the Spire, Amalia takes her leave.
{Fin}
she's just like the weather can't hold her together
