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!
07-17-2020, 05:49 PM (This post was last modified: 07-17-2020, 06:09 PM by Finn.)
FINN
He smiles at her words, the way they paint pictures behind his eyes, the way her voice melts around him and whispers moments of peace so rarely found these days. So busy is Finn, imagining these things that aren’t there, that he doesn’t see the tail that curls around her to keep her warm. He probably wouldn’t comment on it either way, too used to the strange to think it anything other than his mind’s own personal pantomime.
”You returned them to us, too. The heralds,” he mumbles, and for a moment his mind is star-bright and velvet black with thoughts of them. ”Though you are right, in that it had a cost. One which we must now find a way to pay. If you asked me, though,” and here his voice lowers, a conspirator on the beach, ”the fight now is worth the cost of all your freedom. We’ll win it, more so because the people of the Hollowed Grounds are not trapped.”
He’s rambling, nearly missing the question about his home, Finn passing a hand over his closed eyes, letting his shoulders relax. ”It’s quite grey,” he remarks. ”With high cliffs. The clouds touch the buildings in the mornings, at times...”
"What was it like? Without them?" As much as Amalia's soul belongs to Vi and the Old Ones, the heralds have played such close roles in her life that she cannot imagine herself without them. Never before has she thought to consider a life without that divine presence, the intervention and interaction she has come to take for granted. "I've always had them in my life, at festivals or to answer prayers... did the Old Ones do that for you?" Envy rings clear as a bell in her voice, an aching longing for closeness with that ideal to which she strives.
The idea of the fight being worth it for their freedom, that shethey might help to win it... "It will be harder for that, too," the Shield murmurs, looking at her feet. She still dreads the inevitable day when she must truly make a stand- not against the Voice, for that she has no doubts. But where others are involved? Amun? Sam? Wessex?
She dreads that moment more than anything else.
He speaks of a home of cliffs and clouds, and Amalia tries to picture it. "Is it... how do you get there?" She has yet to hear of anything beyond Halo or Torchline, but the way Finn talks has convinced her he is a Natural, born and bred under the gods. Like her.
”Quiet,” he say softly, his words starting to slur just a little, though he hasn’t noticed. ”It was very quiet. They sent us signals. Messages, occasionally. But we never heard from them, not in the way... not in the way you describe.” It’s true, that the fight will be harder as well as easier - for all the good that has been released into the world with the breaking of the barrier, the very things they need to fight have escaped as well. The irony does not escape Finn.
She asks how to get to his home and he answers her, he honestly does. He tells her about the different ways to travel, he tells her about the pathways up the cliff sides, and what it’s all like. But the truth is, Finn has only told Amalia about it in his head, and that dialogue is still playing out even now, as he sits slumped on the log, fast asleep. Not for too long though, probably, because he’s already starting to loll to one side, threatening to fall off.
At first she doesn't notice that he's gone quiet, thinking thoughts of her own creation, mind distracted as it ever is. But as the heartbeats turn to seconds Amalia looks back, wondering what she has done to silence him, if he's offended or angry or-
Oh.
The posture of a person sleeping is easy to discern. In a fluid moment Amalia rises, lightly as a bird and just as skittish. Should she wake him? Her hand hovers near his shoulder, hesitating, voice caught in her throat. She's already woken him once, and it's evident he needs the rest quite badly- that, and he doesn't seem to be getting it any other way.
Then what to do? She could probably lift him - he looks to be a delicate thing - but the intimacy of that feels insurmountable, and if he should wake up in her arms the girl doubts he'd be pleased. His wobbling body prevents more overthinking; gently Amalia grips Finn's shoulders, attempting to coax him forward so his back is against the log, seated in the sand beside her. "Finn... You can rest, just... Come sit down here, so you don't fall."
Finn is driftwood. He is sliding off the face of Caido; he is the precipice of a waterfall before the drop. His imagined conversation with Amalia has ended with a tour of his home, the pathways and walls spooling out like an unravelling thread. Some of the pathways have teeth, though, and they cannot be walked, for that way lies—
Hands. They catch his shoulders, warm, secure. Finn rouses, barely, humming some noise of agreement in response to a question he hasn’t really heard. But her coaxing is enough, and he slides forward, his feet churning up the wet sand until he is seated, his back against the log. ”The doors bite,” he sighs, one final thread of his dream-dialogue with her. If she is genuine in that she is sitting beside him, it will not take much for his head to find her shoulder, an act that will embarrass and shame if it ever comes to light.
He falls onto her like water off stone, landing against the embankment of narrow shoulders and hard, old wood and settling in like a stilling sea. Amalia does not move as he settles except for try and adjust herself, to better make a space for him. In her chest her heart beat accelerates and calms, a wild thing coming to accept its entrapment, and even, perhaps, to welcome it.
"Nothing will bite you today." Lying back with her head against the wood Amalia lets the minutes tick by. Breathe in two three the salty air; breathe out two three the tension, the fear. She stays until her shoulder protests and then a little longer, only gently slipping away when she feels he may soon stir and wake.
And when he does he will find his head pillowed on a soft grey scarf, and no sign of the Shield.A barn owl sits in a nearby kukui tree; when Finn wakes fully will it fly away. She doesn't need to embarrass him by being there after; they have given each other a breath of respite, and that can be enough.
He doesn’t wake gently - he never does. It’s with a sharp inhale that Finn returns to consciousness, the Spyglass acutely aware of being somewhere unusual, with the hush of the waves in his ears and cold sand beneath his body. There’s a scent he doesn’t recognise, too, and when he lurches into a sitting position he realises it’s a scarf, folded and cushioned beneath his head by someone he only barely remembers.
But Finn does remember, the longer he considers it; he remembers her standing over him at the shoreline, looking like an angel. He remembers realising who she is, and he glances around as if to try to seek her out. But there’s nothing and no one left on the beach, and Finn isn’t wearing his glasses to track the auras in the air. So he carefully gathers up the scarf, intending to return it, intending to find Amalia again some time soon, rubbing at his forehead as he gets his feet beneath him.
And then without any other choice, he leaves, more energised but not necessarily refreshed, his limbs stiff as he walks back across the sands.
