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!
Having to navigate the city he had known like the back of his hand (complete with a web of his very own spies) whilst accompanied by a guard was... strange. And entirely unnecessary, in Neron's opinion, given that Weaver was dead, and the Citadel was left without a leader again. But this particular guard thought it his duty to carry out the woman's dying orders, and Neron didn't have it in him to object.
The Hailstorm was not looking well, pale (wasn't he always) and drawn as he headed into the Kraai. Life without being able to get to the shrine in the Fangs was starting to take its toll, and given that the last and only person to offer to feed him had been - would you believe it - the late Warden, he wasn't keen to start actively petitioning people for it.
"Loren," he called, wondering if his twin might be nearby. He knew the healer and the huntress had been intimate. And now? ...Yeah. He didn't imagine Loren would be taking it well.
After hearing the commotion, Loren had gone down to the gates. Had stared at the bloodstain on the ground. Had heard the explanations of the guards, the horrified expressions on everyone's faces, the fear and the mutters about what they were going to do now.
Then he'd stumbled away in a daze. His feet took him to the Kraai, where he'd seen too many people for his liking. So he'd snagged a bottle of whiskey, and made his way into the cellar he knew was hidden there.
The bottle was open, now, but untouched. He just held it, expression numb. Even when Neron arrived, the healer didn't stir. He just sat there, staring at the wall, everything about him blank.
Were it as simple as checking the bar and then leaving again, Neron might have done. But his Ascended senses knew something was off even if they didn't quite know what, and that had he and his guard of honour wandering around to search the place. The kitchen, the stock rooms, behind the countertops...
And finally - the cellar. He spotted his twin as a dark shape silhouetted against the light of the doorway. Neron recognised in the healer signs he'd seen a hundred times before, which probably explained why he didn't hesitate to close the distance between them and clap a hand on Loren's shoulder. "It's too cold to be down here," he remarked softly. "Come upstairs. We'll talk."
As Neron's hand rested on Loren's shoulder, he finally stirred. However, it was simply to shake his head, just once in an abrupt and jerky motion. "No." The refusal fell from his lips bluntly. "Neither of us feel cold." Lifting the bottle to his lips, he took a long pull from it.
Still staring at the wall, he pressed his lips together. "We can talk down here." Shifting, he pulled his knees into his chest. Wrapping his free arm around them, he let his head fall back to hit the wall. "Not that there's anything to talk about. She's gone." His voice was raspy with grief, and his eyes glittered with unshed tears.
His hand slipped from Loren’s shoulder as the healer pulled his knees to his chest, Neron sighing out a breath that didn’t cloud the air before them. He watched his brother for a moment, the guard escorting him a dark silhouette in the background of the cellar steps, and when he spoke his voice was low and quiet, as though for Loren’s ears only.
”She is,” he agreed, not attempting to sugar coat it. ”But those she cared about are still here. People still need help. They still need to rebuild. She wouldn’t have wanted you lurking about down here, hiding away and drinking yourself into oblivion. Would she?”
Giving Neron an unimpressed look, Loren took another swig from the bottle. "Don't act like you knew her better than me." The words came out with the stinging edge of a rebuke.
Jaw feathering with tension and fingers shifting to claws, he sighed. Speaking in a far quieter and more reasonable voice, just for his brother's ears "You're right. I just...need a minute to collect myself, okay?" The healer shook his head sadly.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to spiral. But I'm not any good to anyone else right now." Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead on his knees. "I should've known better to hope for a season without loss." That came out in a whisper, barely audible more to himself than Neron.
Narrowing his eyes right back at his brother, Neron spoke quietly and softly. "Don't act like I didn't know her at all," he retorted, though between the two of them, it was true that Loren most definitely had known Weaver better. Still, the moment passed in no more than those few hushed words, like ice cracking under the pressure of those standing on it. Forcing his shoulders to relax, the Hailstorm nodded. "Take as long as you need," he said.
When Loren spoke again, Neron could only press his lips into a sad smile. "Yes," he agreed, not sparing him the truth. "You really ought to have known better, especially in a place like this. She won't be forgotten, though. No doubt someone is already composing a song about it."
Staring at the bottle, Loren finally sighed and capped it. Setting it down on the ground carelessly, he rose to his feet. However, he made no move to head back towards the main room.
Instead, he just leaned against the nearest wall and closed his eyes. "No doubt." Shaking his head, he grimaced. "Guess I should also know by now that I can't have nice things. Or happiness. Or peace."
Opening his eyes, he gave Neron an almost blank look. "And before you make some witty comment, yes I know I'm wallowing. I'm just...so fucking tired of losing people." The words came out in a quietly despairing tone. "And most of them won't have songs written about them."
Neron wisely closed his mouth to decidedly not make that witty comment, the Hailstorm sighing instead and shifting to lean against the wall beside his brother, arms folding across his chest. He supposed they were staying here, then; hopefully his guard didn’t get too cold.
”Then I suppose you or I had better get good at writing songs,” he said matter of factly, glancing sidelong at Loren. ”However long you need to wallow, we’ll wallow. Just remember you need to eat, unlike me these days.” Not exactly true, but it would do for now.
