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!
Morgan had put off this meeting for several days after the trip into the Hollowed Grounds. She had distracted herself with admittedly important tasks and missions, delved into research and meetings; for a while she had tried to convince herself that talking to Neron didn't have to happen at all. But as the days went on and she caught his eye every now and then, each time resulting in a stormy hour of confused anger and regret, she knew she'd have to do something. Before she acted out of impulse and had him thrown to the Ursurs.
The worst thing about it all was that she could hardly pretend he'd tricked her into anything. The bite had surprised her with it's power, but it was more akin to permission than manipulation: she'd seen within herself a side that had wanted to do what they had for a while.
A part of herself she was determined to bury.
Neron was apparently in one of the remaining reading rooms of the palace. A quaint place, all books and low tables with delicate tea cups, not the kind often found in Halo: as Morgan entered, the door opened so heavily that they shook in their saucers. With a single look, she commanded the guard to leave. She took a step into the room and opened her mouth, but found when she actually saw Neron nothing she could say seemed suitable: for the moment, she settled for a glare, waiting for him to make the first word.
07-28-2020, 08:57 AM (This post was last modified: 07-28-2020, 08:57 AM by Neron.)
WISE MEN WONDER WHILE STRONG MEN DIE
Since stepping down from his role as Warden and picking up the mantle of humble bar owner, Neron had become quite used to people (read: Morgan) barging in on his time unannounced. And he had no choice but to accept it, given his rather tenuous position in Halo. Still, he didn’t flinch as the doors opened so heavily in the reading room; Neron was slouched in a comfortable chair, one foot propped on the low table before him, a book in hand.
Steel blue eyes lifted to see who was there, already knowing the answer, and he lowered his novel to regard Morgan’s glare with a placid sort of confusion. ”Something wrong, Warden?” he asked, sitting up in his seat and glancing behind her, as if expecting to see guards - different guards, anyway, given that she’d ordered the existing ones out. ”As far as I am aware, these rooms are still open for use. But I’ll happily sequester myself away elsewhere if that has changed.”
Oh, how Morgan wished Neron would flinch; to see him squirm just a little. The man was so annoyingly smooth, seemingly never intimidated or bothered by her strength and ferocity like so many others were. On the one hand, she could respect that, but most of the time it infuriated her that she couldn't get to Neron the way she so easily could most men.
"Don't joke with me. You know this is not about the room." She said flatly as she walked further in to sit down opposite him, purposefully keeping her body stiff and proud; chin high and eyes hard. "We need to discuss what happened on the way to the Hollowed Grounds, as much as I would like to forget it ever occurred." There was a little bit of heat in her face as she brought up the topic, but Morgan was well practiced at bringing a wall of ice down over herself, not allowing it to show.
"You agree, of course, that no one shall ever know?" She began with, wanting to make sure they were on the first page together.
Ah, but Morgan had seen Neron flinch - out on his knees in the snow, with her orders ringing in his ears and his mouth between her legs. But... they were doing their best not to mention that, weren’t they? They were a picture of opposites in the reading room; Morgan strong and proud and upright, Neron slouched with an elbow propped on the arm of his chair. ”My apologies,” he said of his apparent joke, though it wouldn’t surprise her that he didn’t sound sorry at all.
”Do we?” Tilting his head, Neron’s smile showed perhaps the smallest hint of fangs, and he shrugged his shoulders. ”It’s already forgotten, Warden. No one will ever hear a peep out of me, I assure you.” Giving up the mantle of leadership had been good for him, he thought. It had made him far too stiff and responsible; so unlike his nature.
The way Neron was sitting radiated disrespect and a casual attitude that Morgan felt did not at all reflect the situation, but it would be a waste of her rage to use it on indignation about seating positions.
Morgan wished they didn't need to discuss it, but she would not be able to put it to bed until it had been decided just what it had all meant. "I have not forgotten it. I need to know if your biting me has any long lasting effects. Since you imposed yourself upon me, I have..." She paused, opening her mouth and taking a breath, unsure if it was wise to admit this...but the door was shut and as much as she disliked Neron, she found that she did trust him to keep this between them. "...I have found my thoughts more occupied by you than is normal. Is there some kind of magic in the bite?"
It would absolutely be a waste of her rage, for all the changes it would provoke in the Ascended. Still, whilst his posture might not have been respectful, he did listen keenly to her words. Too keenly, one might think, based on how his steel eyes widened a touch, how he sat up a little. Did he draw out their silence unnecessarily? Perhaps. And ought he have been smiling? Probably not.
”None whatsoever,” he purred eventually, sounding far too pleased with himself; indeed, Neron cleared his throat as if to stop himself from being quite so insufferable. ”The bite is just that - it only affects you in the moment,” he said. ”Anything else is just... good old fashioned magnetism. I’ve been thinking about you too, though - while we’re on the subject.”
Every second Neron spent smiling that stupid smile at her was a second he inched closer to an untimely death, but for the moment Morgan managed to restrain herself, even through his claims of 'good old fashioned magnetism'. "I'm sure you have; I am the Warden. I am integral to the runnings of the Citadel: I must come to many peoples minds through the day." She was sure Neron meant something else unthinkable, but for the moment she preferred to believe that.
She folded her hands in her lap, one over the other. "I do not want you to think this changes anything between us. It was a temporary mistake."
”Oh of that I have no doubt. Perhaps you have some magnetism of your own, Warden,” Neron mused, at least managing to get his smile under control lest Morgan lose her patience and bash his head in. That would be quite the shame. Still, he raised his eyebrows at her conclusion of the events that had transpired between them, the Hailstorm nodding his acquiescence. ”Of course,” he said. ”I wouldn’t expect you to compromise your morals.”
And yet, there was still something wicked in his eyes as he lifted his gaze to meet hers, tilting his head a bit. ”So will you be accompanying me, the next time I need to visit the shrine in the Hollowed Ground?” It was half invitation, half speculation. What, indeed, would happen the next time they went there?
"No. I don't." Morgan said plainly, determined to shut that down as soon as she heard it. Thankfully, Neron seemed to control the smile on his face and she felt some of the tension in her chest soften, though this whole situation still filled her with a taunt frustration that threatened to blow up any time the man before her so much as smirked.
Oh, but then he had to go and ask his question. On the arm of the chair, Morgan's hand tightened into a fist, her teeth gritting together. Did he not realise how easily she could snap him in two? "There is a shrine in our mountains. For now, I think it will remain. You can go yourself and if you should meet any dangers on the way..." She shrugged. "I would not send any guards with you for fear they may also fall prey to your perversions."
”I consider myself corrected,” Neron said with a nod of deference. Indeed, Morgan’s type of magnetism seemed the sort to leave him with a broken arm or a black eye (or whatever the equivalent was for an Ascended), and he resolved not to get involved in it if he could help it. But that was precisely the problem, wasn’t it? Neron wasn’t entirely sure that he could help it, a lot of the time. At least when it came to the Warden. Was it entertaining just to wind her up? Certainly. But there was something else too, something he couldn’t quite find the words for.
Still, to hear that the shrine she had tried so hard not to get him to visit was now back on the card... it seemed convenient. As did his going unescorted, regardless of the reasons. But Neron wasn’t the type to look a gift horse in the mouth (even if it carried a war hammer), and he nodded again. ”Very well. Thank you,” he said, tilting his head back against the chair. ”I suppose I’ll see you this evening then, for the usual? At the Kraai.”
That Neron was so damn agreeable made the whole thing so much worse. Morgan had never been able to hide her emotions and thoughts when angry or passionate, always finding her true self showing without a second consideration. Neron seemed like he hid under so many layers of snarky smirks that it was impossible to know how he really felt, and it infuriated Morgan.
Perhaps this was why she considered asking what would be undoubtably a very embarrassing question indeed, but one that she did want Neron's answer to. Putting it away for the moment she nodded, wishing there was somewhere else to eat her evening meal but not really having many options. "...What made you go into bar management?" She asked, a question miles away from the one she had mulled over. "I don't want to find out this was some kind of scheme down the road."
”Warden, forgive me for saying so, but you think everything I do is part of some kind of scheme. Why would this be any different?” Neron asked mildly, not seeming to mind it at all. Suspicion was good, especially in a place like Halo. It kept you alive and it made for good leadership, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was always well founded. Her question was a curious one - personal, almost, and not something he had expected.
Drumming his fingers along the arm of the chair, he shrugged. ”My eldest brother owned the Tempest Tavern, back in Northaven,” he said slowly. ”I had seen him work there, watched the pride he took in the place. And when it transpired that the Kraai needed someone to oversee it... call it nostalgia. I thought I’d give it a try. Besides, I think the Citadel would fall if the people did not have a decent watering hole.”
Morgan paused, then before she could hide it, an amused smile spread across her face; it only took her a moment to quell it but she knew Neron would have seen. This was what really infuriated her about him: she liked him, and found he was often her intellectual equal in a way that she felt few people around her often were. "...I suppose you're right." She finally said, managing to restrain her voice to be as flat as possible.
She really hadn't wanted this to be a conversation, a chat, but something made her stay, made her lean back just a little in the chair. "Your brother owned a tavern? From what I've heard about your family, that hardly sounds like the expected sort of occupation." From the Launceleyns tales (and entitlement to positions of power), Morgan had assumed they came from a long line of important positions in government or powerful guilds. "I was surprised to hear you'd let yourself fall so low, after having such a magnificent palace made in your honour when you first arrived." Her voice dripped with sarcasm and she fixed Neron with a dry look.
”Sorry, I swear you just said I was right. I must have misheard.” It was strange - as Morgan thawed, so did Neron, and the smile he shot her way was just a little bit more genuine than at the beginning of the conversation. Having assumed this would just be a quick back and forth consisting of you never speak about what happened or I’ll kill you, he was a touch surprised as Morgan started to get comfortable, but didn’t mention it. (He didn’t dare).
”You would think that, but in Northaven my family were all spies. As the eldest, owning a tavern was probably the best way to get eyes and ears on the rest of the town,” Neron reasoned, shrugging his shoulders. ”It’s also one of the reasons I was considering Weaver as our new Spymaster, given what had happened to Peter.”
The sarcasm was almost welcome, taking them back into comfortable territory, and Neron tilted his head at her. ”I have fallen low, and yet you come and eat from my plates and drink from my cups, and sit next to my fire,” he pointed out. ”I quite like it there. The palace was too big. Though it did have some excellent places to hide.”
