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!
Delphine was seated in front of the fire, it was late one night. Her sleep had been interrupted by night-terrors, memories of her children, really. She had one of her various knives in one hand and was slicing through her palm, then she was healing it only to repeat the process.
With each bite of pain, she received a brief reprieve from her thoughts, her guilt, and the low self-esteem that only she could create for herself. She didn't sleep for long and knew Noah was often in the same boat. How many times had he caught her with her knives, taken them away, and found her again with yet another knife, repeating the process?
The world of Halo was spiraling into further and further chaos on destruction. The Citadel had crumbled at the hands of the Eraichi, and Weaver had followed. A dragon, a creature so rare and so feared, had brought the demise of the newly appointed warden...his friend. The sorrow that he felt was deep, something familiar to him. It was etched deep in his heart, but it had not surfaced since his parents died. It had been nearly a decade since Noah's heart had ached in such a way. He knew he would need to find Korbin, to stand sentinel for the younger man, to offer a silent arm and let him grieve. He didn't know of the raven's suicide attempts, but as soon as the Olson would receive word of them he would surely act.
But, for now, he sat in his own grief. His own despair. His own hurt.
His own bottle of whiskey.
After the drinking games held at the Kraai, Noah had asked Weaver for a bottle of the whiskey. She had denied payment from him, insisting it was for his help on her quest for Ludo. He had accepted it. He had hid it from Delphine in his room, where he sat now, only a small swallow left at the bottom of the bottle. He heard her when she woke, when she moved about the house, but he didn't pay much attention to it until she went silent. He was used to her getting up in the middle of the night, knowing her nightmares did not offer her any rest. It was only when she went quiet, but the familiar squeak of the door closing didn't follow, that he worried.
Noah stood, wobbling towards his door. He opened it without hiding his entrance. He loomed into the main space of the house, his eyes falling on the woman just as a long, thin, red slice stitched itself back together on her arm. Anger bubbled in his chest, and he closed the distance between them with the smell of the whiskey so evident on him. "Stop it? Right now?" He demanded, though his curse lifted the endings of his sentences as questions. Anger bubbled even deeper. He gripped the edge of his table for balance, his body swaying in his drunken state.
"Why?" Her own question left her lips before she registered the scent of whiskey and the stumbled steps. She settled the knife down, and moved to stand. "Why are you drunk?"
Delphine was a disaster, but she was also a chronic fixer. She had, as Noah had ordered, stayed clean. No booze, no drugs. Though he hadn't manage to break her from cutting. But she didn't think that was a big deal since she could heal it.
"Noah, are you... okay?" Noah was her lifeline. She didn't know anyone else in Halo, and didn't venture out much because of that. She was... shy, when left alone. Though her choice to stay inside meant that Delphine didn't hear much of the happenings around Halo.
The woman reached to steady him, fingers curling gently into his arm. She had never seen him drunk.
How can I begin again? How can I try to love someone new, someone who isn’t you?
His grip on the table is all that is keeping him upright as he stares down at Delphine. His face knits together, the wrinkles of his face easily displaying his displeasure with her actions. He doesn't answer her question, for he believes she knows the answer all on her own. However, when she questions his actions, he gives back his own questioning statement, "I don't know? I didn't mean to!?" He wanted to take a step towards her, but the drunkenness stopped him.
It was good that he didn't take another step, because Delphine was quick to come to his side. Whenever something was wrong, she was always willing to set aside her own problems. It was something they shared. The commonality of service, of a sense of selflessness at the needs of other people in their lives. It pervaded almost all other qualities at times. He could feel the warmth of her touch despite the fact that his body burned with the whiskey running through his bloodstream. He looked her straight in the eye, though he could only focus on her for a moment before feeling too dizzy and looking away.
"Because my friend died?" His voice was quiet, and slightly choked by the lump that formed easily at the bottom of his throat. Tears welled without warning, and a few slipped passed the dam of his eyelids. He did not look back at her.
Delphine furrowed her brow at his question. No, a statement. Why was he asking questions? "I'm sorry, Noah." She moved to guide him towards the couch, helping him to sit. "Let me get you something to eat, and some tea."
Despite the hour, the woman hurried to prepare tea and a bit of soup, with a side of bread. She doesn't ask if he wants food, because he's so drunk he's either drank the entire bottle or hadn't eaten prior. She remembers coming to Caido and losing her entire life.
All her friends. All but Remi. "Here," she murmured, settling beside of him, bowl in one hand and mug of tea in the other. She leaned to rest it on the table, and carefully slipped an arm around him.
And for a second, she had to stop. For a moment she'd forgotten she wasn't a housewife, was not comforting her husband. "Will you eat?" She pulled a bit of bread from the small loaf, and offered it to him.
Delphine lived to mother, to nurture, to fix. Despite the issue surrounding her children. This was almost her normal, in her old life, it was familiar. Which was a bit sad.
How can I begin again? How can I try to love someone new, someone who isn’t you?
He let himself be nurtured. He sank into the plush of the Ningo feather-stuffed cushion, trying to blink away the tears that continued to form. He knew that the woman before him understood pain and suffering--she had come to his house not unlike he was right now. Torn up with sorrow and grief and trying to repair herself in the only way she knew how. But, Noah meant what he said, even if it was in the form of a question. He had not meant to get drunk. He didn't like being drunk. It was not unusual or him to drink more liquor in the season of Deepfrost than any other, using the drink to help him keep warm when needed. But he always tried to keep his wits about him. Tonight, however, lost in grief and cold and suffering, he had consumed nearly the whole bottle that Weaver had gifted him.
He listened to her as she moved about the kitchen, preparing something for him to eat and drink. At first, the thought of consuming anything else made his stomach turn and twist. It threatened to expel anything within it. Noah swallowed the bile down, though, before Delphine returned to him. The tea was such a calming smell as it entered his nostrils. He took the mug from her and just held it, letting the warmth seep through his hands and up his arms. Heavy-hooded eyelids shifted as Noah looked at the bread in her hands. His stomach twisted again, and he shook his head. He couldn't eat yet.
"Why her?" He asked, looking down at the mug of tea cupped in his large, burly hands.
"You know there isn't an answer to that question," she murmured, eating the bit of bread she had torn off, so that it wouldn't go to waste. "In this world, Mort is the God who deals with the dead, right? He has a really nice hall?"
Her fingers are trailing through Noah's hair, as she settles next to him. "So she's there, with my children. With your parents... and she's safe, right? She isn't here, with you anymore, but she is safe."
Delphine didn't know who had died, but now was not the time to ask. She believed her words, there were gods here and she had met one firsthand, had seen it remove her children peacefully from the world. She continued to pet him, letting silence draw on, as she rested her head against his shoulder.
She couldn't fix his grief. But she understood.
How can I begin again? How can I try to love someone new, someone who isn’t you?
The anger that he felt had subsided as he sat, the grief of losing Weaver too much to be overpowered by his anger towards Delphine's actions. They were both grieving, and as Delphine sat with him, more grace towards her rose in his chest. Grace and grief both, and each of them felt so heavy. His alcohol-ridden state made his head feel fuzzy, but the emotions that surged through every fiber of his being felt tiring. He sighed. Finally, he took a sip of the tea before he set the mug down on the table aside the couch. He let his body lay some on the arm twisting so his back rested against it, leaning and resting. While his shoulder was no longer there for her to lean on, Noah left his chest open for her should she choose it.
Fate truly brought them together, these two distasters of humans in the current moment.
Noah was generally a man of poise and composure--but the recent happenings in his life had picked away and torn apart that part of him. He had killed a man. Delphine's children had died. He took her into his home. The Citadel was attacked. Weaver died. His brother was locked outside of Halo for the season. It all felt too heavy for him to hold. The whiskey, bringing up his body temperature and blurring the lines in his soul, felt good. Sitting here with Delphine felt good. But why did these things have to feel so good? Because the rest of his life felt so bad.
"Delphine..." he started, voice slurry, "do you hate me for being a hypocrite?"
Delphine watched him, and did not pause to think about whether she should snuggle against his chest, she just did. She frowned at his question, and shook her head. "Everyone is a hypocrite at some point in their life... because you can be right until you're wrong." She supplied.
Snuggled into his chest, she was the most at peace since coming to Caido. Familiarity rested within touch, and Delphine was starting to realize how touch starved she was.
In this instance, two disasters created a roiling peace. Delicate and fragile.
How can I begin again? How can I try to love someone new, someone who isn’t you?
She rested against his chest, and the anger and grief and sorrow all flooded him. The tears he had blinked away before returned. They rolled down his cheeks without reservation, and the Olson let them. The Olson was no stranger to tears, as his father before him. He felt things deeply. He lay there, Delphine against him, crying in the pool of all of his emotion. He cried for missing his brother. He cried for his own act of murder. He cried for the lost soldiers of Halo. He cried for the death of Weaver. He cried, a silent sob wracking his body.
His arms moved to wrap around the small woman, holding her against him as gently as he could manage in his drunken state. He tried to control his breathing as best as he could despite his crying. He wanted to tighten his arms around her and press her into himself. The warmth of her body was so comforting. He felt safe here, in his home with this just-as-broken woman, to feel all that he needed to feel. "I am sorry?" What was meant to be a statement came out as a question again, and he gritted his teeth after it left his lips.
He began to cry, and she let him. Tears were healing. "It's okay," she promised, as he pulled her close, clung to her and held her. She shifted in his hold, as she reached to brush his eyes, fingers petting his cheek.
"Don't be sorry for crying, okay?" She had never had anyone but Remi cry in her presence. Bellamy had never cried, but Noah certainly needed the support; and that was something she could give him.
"How can I help? What do you need?"
How can I begin again? How can I try to love someone new, someone who isn’t you?
Noah closed his eyes as her hand brushed away his tears and stroked down his cheek. He let out a shuddering breath, and tucked his chin to press his lips to the top of her head. His breath still smelled of whiskey, but he let out a deep, shaky breath anyway. His arms tightened around her a little more as she spoke. Noah was not sorry for crying, he was sorry for being drunk. It felt like too much to try and explain that, so instead he nodded.
With his lips pressed into her hair, he kissed the top of her head. He couldn't remember the last time that someone had offered to help him. Noah was always the one helping other people. His whole life revolved around the service of others. He had thought this whole time that he was the one helping her in her time of uncertainty and despair. The truth was, they needed each other and fate knew that before they knew that. "Will you just stay with me?"
He kissed the top of her head and she inhaled sharply. It was such a simple touch, but something she had not felt in years. "For as long as you need." She promised, and she meant it.
The only other person she had ever promised such a thing too had been Remi. She was loyal, when she felt someone deserved her loyalty. She wanted him to try to eat, or drink more tea, but she wasn't sure she wanted him to let her go.
His arms around her felt safe, felt right. Once upon a time, Delphine might have felt guilty, enjoying someone else's arms around her. So, instead of insisting he let her go to eat and drink, she just laid against him in silence, the scent of whiskey flooding her senses.
How can I begin again? How can I try to love someone new, someone who isn’t you?
He pulled his head back as she took a sharp breath. In a more normal state, Noah might sit up and scoot away from her and try to assess what was happening. Now, however, he merely waited. When she spoke, he felt the tension relax in his shoulders. He wanted to say thank you, to promise her that somehow he would get better with her here, but he had no words. He did not want to ask his statements, his promises.
A few more tears leaked over his eyelids, despite Delphine having wiped the majority of them away. With one arm still holding her, his other lifted a hand to her face. As gently as he could manage, he lifted her chin so that he could look upon her. His icy eyes were melted glaciers, soft and sad. He lifted up with his hand under her chin and reached down with his own face, and, should she let him, aimed to kiss her again. It would be a simple kiss, straight on her lips, all the "thank you's" he had stored up in his voice pressed into her through the gentle touch and embrace.
He breathed out again, pressing his forehead down into her's, blue eyes closing. His hand stroked up her back, and down again, fingers gently brushing over her.
