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!
And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed,
So many things he never really did. Never fought. Never hunted if he could avoid it - he never could - never cried and never let his guard down all the way. But never was a place in time and it had caught up with him, no matter that he'd spent a lifetime trying to outrun it. He'd been the one to drag his sister on a hunt this time. He'd thrown the first punch. When she pulled him down into a tight embrace, he wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him, too hard, too tight... and he cried. Quiet tears that leaked unbidden from his eyes, soaked into the feathers of her cloak - his feathers, damn it - and froze before they ever hit the ground.
It would almost have been better if she'd chided him. Scolded, for going out there. For If only she could repeating at least one of the scathing, bitter thoughts he kept throwing at himself. If only she wasn't so understanding.
But she was. Always had been. And the vow was the same now as always, even if guilt and shame and horror left a grimey taste on his tongue. Made him wonder if choking the life out of the world would be anything like killing that man.
"I remember," he whispered hoarsely. Throat almost too tight to get the words out. "I came home."
Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.
She holds him, as tight and as long as he wants. There’s no rush, no telling him it’s okay, no telling him to grow up. It doesn’t matter how much you have seen or done, to take a life should never be easy. It gets easier, yes. She can snap the neck of any small creature as if it doesn’t break some part of her too, but it does. There are little wounds all over her heart from watching the life drain away from something even as stupid as a ningo, and though the cannibals of Whitebrim were hardly human anymore, to kill one would still take it’s toll.
She’s not really sure how much time passes as they stand there in the snow. What a strange sight they must be to anyone not from Halo, two people hugging in the middle of the tundra. The thought almost makes her laugh. Let them wonder, let them live on the outside of true understanding. Though they visit, they will never really know this place without calling it home for as long as the Hale’s have.
Eventually he speaks, and she doesn’t let go unless he seems like he wants her to. ”Do you want to tell me the whole story?” It is a question with room to say no. Perhaps it is easier not to, but perhaps it is better to get the thing out from start to finish, to leave it behind to be buried beneath the next snowfall. She isn’t sure, and so she gives him the choice.
And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed,
Though he straightened after a while, Korbin didn't let go of her. He kept his arms draped about her shoulders, feeling acutely the need to keep his sister close. It's something he hadn't done in years, not like this... and he was too tall to hide away against her shoulder like he had back then. But it was still nice. Still comforting.
For a while, he just stared blankly off into the void. Thinking, weighing the options. It would be easier not to speak... but he did not doubt the story would reach her sooner or later anyway. Better it came from him first.
"I was just flying," he began, keeping his voice quiet. Distant. "Taking a break. Found some tracks and followed them out of curiosity. Then that healer from the Palace showed up... Loren. I've run into him more than once and wasn't really thrilled, but... didn't have a reason to tell him to piss off either."
And he preferred to have one, before he let his temper take over.
"We caught up to the people who made the tracks... It was a massacre. Three cannibals had caught up with a fourth person... dunno who got who, but two lay dead. And the other two... they were chopping them up. Like so much dead meat."
The disgust in his voice was a physical thing. The story too vile for his usual musical cadence, too raw and personal to weave into a tale. It wasn't one he ever wanted to tell in the tavern.
"I told Loren we should leave... But it seems one of the exiles was Attuned. He heard us talking, or maybe saw us... he shifted and came after us. The other shot arrows in the air... so I went down for him, while Loren dealt with the first." If 'dealt with' was the right word... The eagle had gotten away in the end.
"We fought. I got in some trouble. Got my arm broken... Might have gotten worse, but.. I don't know how, but Loren got a dragon to come down. A fucking dragon. We got the man cornered, and I thought that might be it. But then he got that look, Wee. Like a cornered animal. He charged Loren, and I... just stopped thinking. Jumped him, got him down, and... and... I... choked the life outta him.."
It had been fine talking up to that last bit, but Korbin felt his throat seize up on him. Choking the words out, leaving him numb. Unable to continue.
Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.
Some part of her melts as he stays close, arms draped across her shoulders. It reminds her of when he was little, how he’d bury his face against her shoulder. Life had been harder then, in the most primal sense. They spent so much time trying to just survive, and yet, in some ways, hadn’t it been good? Better even, perhaps, than life with all it’s new opportunities that spread before them? Not that Weaver disliked the changes to Caido or that she wanted to go back, but it’s funny how you can look back on things and see them so much differently. It helps her understand all Korbin’s reservations.
For a while, the only sound is the wind around them, though eventually he begins to speak. She stays quiet, listening to the story without interruption. Though she almost chuckles at the mention of Loren, wondering how her brother would feel if he knew how close Weaver was with the Grand Healer. Well, how close they were given their still limited number of interactions, but it was a relationship that seemed to be growing quickly.
The mention of a dragon perks her interest a bit, recalling the bear she’d seen the healer summon. For a once-weak boy, Loren had certainly flourished in Caido. He was a bag of tricks, it seems. Though she keeps her face neutral, focusing on the story Korbin tells her and hearing only how he’d acted to save someone’s life. ”You know,” she begins, and now there is a soft smile playing on her face, ”how proud Erebor would be?” Mom and Dad too, but he has the best memories of Erebor. ”You saved not only your life but Loren’s. You acted, despite how hard that was, because you had to in order to do the right thing.”
And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed,
A deep, slow breath was required to steady him. Her words struck a chord deep within, in a manner he had never expected. He, the youngest, the weakest, the one least likely to ever make anyone proud... Had he finally done something worth keeping his head high over? Then, why didn't he feel good about it? All he could think of was how filthy nails had scrabbled over his face while he held the man down. The impact as Loren's fist hit a defenseless face.
What was there to be proud of?
"I... hope he would be. It just doesn't feel very right. I wish there had been another way," he sighed. Slowly, Korbin released her and took a step back. Pulled off the cap and a glove and dragged fingers through the messy black hair... savoring the punishing bite of cold against the exposed skin.
"Weaver... Loren saved my life," he said quietly, after a while. "I owe him." Glancing down at her, Korbin was not sure what kind of reaction it would bring. The man was a Launceleyn. Brother of the much out of favor Warden. Being indebted to him was not necessarily a good thing.
Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.
He underestimates himself, if he thinks that they would not have been proud of him. They were always proud of him, even if he was the ‘black sheep’ of the family (the black raven of the family, really). He was the best of them in so many ways. Kind, artistic, joyful. He brought light to a family that otherwise would never have known it. He brought laughter, happiness, some comic relief. Erebor would have been proud of him for being him. He also would have been proud of him for surviving, for doing what it takes, and learning that sometimes life isn’t pretty.
”Sometimes there isn’t,” she says simply. He knows that well enough. They have spent their lifetime scraping by, making ends meet, doing what it took to put food on the table. Death was a part of the life they knew, and sometimes, you had to be the killing hand. They were lucky, really, that such a thing didn’t come for them more often. ”But he would have been proud of you for simply being you. For every day that you stand up for what you believe is right. For learning and growing, and coming into yourself.” And unlike Weaver, he wouldn’t have punched Korbin for being a moody teenager about it.
Weaver chuckles a little, adding yet another damn tally to the reasons she likes Loren, though she keeps her face largely impassive. Korbin would be less than pleased when he figured out just how much she liked the Launceleyn Outlander. ”He’s a good one, if you have to owe a debt to one of them. He actually cares about people, and about Halo. I think this place has given him a purpose.” A title, a job, a second chance at life.
And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed,
He had to turn away on hearing those words. For a long time Korbin stared off into the distance, unseeing, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he fought to keep his emotions under control. There was an urge to laugh or cry, and he wasn't sure which was stronger. If she'd had the attuned bond, he would have shared with her the complicated mess that rolled within... And the gaping void in his heart the brother had left behind. Full to the brim with a grief that wouldn't heal, and love the raven couldn't find an outlet for, now that Erebor was gone. Who else could carry the weight of it? There were two other such holes in him. Pieces of him that had been ripped out with every loss.
But Weaver was still there. Still very much alive, and as always capable of reaching into him with words that never failed to hit their mark. No one knew him better.
"I don't know," he replied, reluctant to say anything positive about any of them. But it was perhaps less vehement of a rejection than he showed for Sunjata. "He gives me this feeling. Like I want to trust him. And that gives me even more reason to think I shouldn't. My gut keeps screaming they're bad news, all the outsiders."
Stepping away, Korbin went for the hare and sat down on his heels. Pulling out his knife, he began to clean it; already it had almost frozen, and the job was messier and slower than he would have liked.
Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.
She doesn’t need an attuned bond to understand the holes in his heart. Though she cannot know exactly what he feels she can guess well enough. She carries the same holes in her heart. They were perhaps of different sizes, different shapes, then the ones he carried, but they were similar enough. His loss of their parents was a loss of their memories, a chance to simply know them at all. For Weaver it was a loss of more of what she had the good fortune to experience in the first place. For him, losing Erebor was perhaps to lose the closest thing to a father Korbin could have had, given how young he’d been when John had passed. For Weaver, losing Erebor was to lose her best friend and her support. It was different, but in the end, it was not so different that she could not understand.
So as he turns and stares off, she gives him time. She waits, quiet and patient (a rare thing for Weaver, but she can be when she needs to). When he finally does speak, Weaver chuckles slightly as his reluctance to like any of the outsiders. ”Or maybe you want to trust him because he might actually be trustworthy. Of all of them, I believe Loren really does care about Halo.” He’s given her plenty of reasons to believe that’s true. ”Besides, whether we like them or not, the outsiders aren’t going anywhere.”
He goes to work on the hare, which she was just going to carry back as is and deal with later, in the warmth of their home. But of course her dutiful brother never did wait to do anything that needed to be done. It might benefit him to just leave something, for a change. Still, once he starts, there’s no turning back. It’s too small an animal for her to help with, but she conjures a fire and sends it near the hare, helping to unfreeze the creature. She wouldn’t be able to hold the fire long without some wood, but it should be enough to make his job easier.
And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed,
He mulled over her words as he worked, the way he usually did. Took his time to consider, feel, turn everything inside out until he knew what he was really feeling about it. After a while, he sighed heavily.
"They really aren't, are they..." he muttered. "I wish we could just throw them out and destroy the portal and make everything go back to the way it was... But that's a childish notion, isn't it."
Finishing up with the hare, he plunged the knife into the snow until it was cleaned of blood and gore, and sheathed it again. Using his foot, he kicked up a pit in the snow and buried the offal, then cleaned off his boot. Slinging the hare over a shoulder, he stood, ready to head back home.
"Alright... If we can't get rid of them, how do we make those who are serious about staying here a part of Halo?" he asked, leveling a serious gaze at Weaver. "Adopt them? Make them run gauntlets? I don't think the way things are now works... there's too large a gap between us and them at the moment. How can they know Halo when they haven't lived through what we have? Is caring really enough without knowing?"
They kept coming, kept saying they wanted what was best for Halo and yet...
And yet.
Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.
”Yes, it is,” she says as he suggests throwing the outsiders out and closing the portals. No sugar there, not that Korbin should have expected any. ”And I’d venture to guess that the Outlanders aren’t the real source of your issue. So what is? Maybe if he was forced to actually face it, to think it through, they might come out on the other side of this a little better off. She is not suggesting they simply trust said Outlanders without some proof, but rather, that maybe the possibility of trusting them is an okay thing to consider.
As Korbin finishes up the hare, she lets go of the fire and turns, beginning to make her way for home with him beside. ”Is it possible you are overthinking this, little brother? I’m not sure there’s one magical thing that will make them belong.” They could jump at command, but that didn’t mean she trusted them to act in Halo’s best interest. ”I think time will help. They can’t know Halo until they experience it, and that doesn’t happen overnight. Also some open mindedness on our part. If we are willing to give them a chance, and they are willing to prove themselves by successful actions, then what more can we ask for?”
And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed,
Possibly they were not. But it was a convenient outlet for issues he couldn't bring himself to address with her. Korbin wasn't sure he could even really put words on what was really wrong. There was something lacking in his life, that even Weaver couldn't make up for. And that in itself just added to his burdens, because he wanted her to be enough. Didn't want to be lacking, or frustrated or this grumpy asshole he had become.
He just didn't know how to stop.
In the end, all he could offer was a shrug. All Loren's unwelcome advice were ringing in his ears, but only made the boy close the words tighter into himself.
"That's the thing though," he said, using the topic of Outlanders as subterfuge to keep hiding the painful workings of his mind. "How many have even offered to try? Yet they expect to be welcomed and treated as equals when they are not. If they weren't so fucking arrogant about their supposed right to be here, then I might not resent them as much."
Maybe. But then again...
Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.
She doesn’t want to be enough for him. That’s too small a life for her brother, too small a life for her. Even if the portals were not open, that was still too small for either of them to live with. He deserved his own life. His own hopes and dreams, his own plans. She wants to be part of his life, always and forever, but not his whole life. There is a difference, and she’d smack him upside the head for not realizing it. Except he does not answer, and for the moment, she does not press.
He rants, and she lets him, disagreeing rather entirely though still, giving him space to have his opinions. ”Tell me where you got that impression from?” It is a question, though clearly framed with some skepticism. ”Zariah doesn’t count though, because it’s Zariah.” Based on what Weaver had learned and experienced of the woman, that was a different problem entirely. Neron though? He was thrown here, and yes, he might act like he owns the title that was given to him, but why had the Eirachi picked him? Loren? He just wanted to find his place in the world, as far as Weaver could tell.
And round about his home the glory That blushed and bloomed,
He bit his jaws together, the usual boiling starting to pick up again. Impotent rage against everything and nothing, channeled into a scorn that really wasn't him. Not truly.
"Sunjata. Whoever that other person is that's setting up shop - do they even live here? All the outsiders that keep waltzing in from that portal, like this is some show to gawk at. And yes, I do count the Launceleyn gaggle in the Palace. I don't care what deals Neron struck with Eirachi, there was absolutely no reason for him to try and place himself above us. And now we're supposed to look after half the Grounds because they can't live with their own problems?"
He couldn't contain the building anger, and kicked at a clump of ice. It skittered off over the snow with astonishing speed, but it did nothing to calm him. Gods, what was this...? When had he become like this?
Korbin didn't even recognize himself, or the sound of his own voice. Did he usually growl like that, speak so vehemently against people?
Is but a dim-remembered story Of the old time entombed.
”Gods, Korbin,” she rolls her eyes at him. ”Fuck, who cares if they are entitled assholes as long as they are entitled assholes who do a decent job?” She takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to collect herself. Because honestly, she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t listen to him rail against the world as if there was something to change about it. Send them out into the tundra for a week? Sure. Ask them to run laps with an ursur? Hell, why not. It changes nothing in the end. But if it would make him shut up about it, she’d back the idea all the same.
”I’m going to teach you what mom would have,” she says instead. ”Except I’m going to do it way worse than she would have, because she taught it to us over years. You get the crash course. Shit in life will rarely go your way, Korbin. You won’t like half the people you meet, maybe more. You’ll look over your shoulder at every dark turn and alley. So either you can run scared, angry, hurt, whatever, or you can learn to see what else might be there.”
She pauses for a moment, still walking, but her eyes turned to him to see how he might take this lesson. Straia would have sat him down at the bar, given him a better version of this speech, and would have hammered in the lesson at every opportunity. He would be given no such luxury now. ”Or, instead, you can find the opportunity. Hotaru may or may not stay here, but does it matter? We get a spa, which means more business, which means better livelihoods for a lot of people that do live here. The same is true of the Kraai, whether you like Sunjata or not. He helped make a thing happen and gave it to me. That bar is mine Korbin, and we’ve hired caretakers and chefs and eventually another bartender or two, people who otherwise might end up begging in the streets to make it through Deepfrost.”
She stops again, giving him a moment to think about it in a different way. ”I’m not sure what the opportunity is with Neron yet. Sometimes it’s not so obvious at first, but I promise you, Mom would have found one. She also would have made us try to find it, and told us that sometimes these things take time. Sometimes you just roll with the punches and you wait. There will be an opportunity.” She already knew one path through, though it wasn’t fully open yet. There may be others she is unaware of. ”While you wait, you play nice, you collect information, and you use it. We have each other, and we can learn what we need and decide what to do. But you damn well can’t do that if you chase those potential sources away with your shitty attitude.”
