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!
She can see his face even when she doesn’t want to, the look he gave her in the Tundra, the silence stretching into an impossibly long (no, infinite) span of time, where all other things go silent and look at her, Wessex Theskyra, Wraith and murderer.
There’s blood on her hands isn’t there? Yes, yes there is.
Kiada. Maea. Aedion. Kristopher. 108. The Fae. Lucas. Rex. Clemente. Halo stops and stares with Eirachi’s eyes, the ice-world brought to life.
There’s a list in her head. The names, repeated. Who can she begin with? Oh yes, Chuy.
So she must find Chuy.
Well that’s easy, isn’t it? One morning (it is early, early, though both sleep and time are irrelevant now), Wessex puts on her cloak and teleports to the Citadel. Getting directions from a guard, the woman finds the Minister’s house and knocks on the door, insistently. Over and over and over until either the Outlander answers or someone comes to stop her knuckles from leaving their fluid all over his door.
Morning and night had become one and the same in Halo, with the sun never setting since the turn of the season. It had meddled with his sleep, just as the LongNight had, his body unable to maintain normal patterns - not to mention everything else keeping him awake.
The dream. Had it been real? Did it matter?
He wanted it to be. Was that enough?
At least his dreams had conclusions now. At least, when he saw her fall, he saw her end too - and he didn't know if that was better. Didn't know if her falling before had meant he was in denial still; didn't know if the fact that now he saw her be consumed by the lava at the end of her fall meant he had on some level accepted it, finally.
It was grating. Exhausting. It meant he awoke in a cold sweat, tremors shivering their way through him most mornings. It meant poor Auni had to suffer through it as well - or perhaps his presence also made it worse for Chuy. Or perhaps without him, Chuy would be worse.
There was knocking at the door. He was on his lounge, laying, an arm slung over his eyes. At the knocking, Auni lifted his antlered head to peer about, bleating uncertainly. Chuy lifted his head too, frowning as the incessant knocking continued.
He got up, when it seemed to not be going away. "Coming." A few long strides got him to the door, and he pulled it sharply and quickly open, a bit of a scowl on his face - it was from fatigue, not directed at Wessex, though she would likely receive it full on.
"Wessex?" He questioned pointedly, looking the demigod up and down, confusion softening his features a moment as Auni appeared at his side, bleating curiously.
The door opens and she freezes in place, deer caught in headlights, brain suddenly off. Who is he and why is she here, again? Confusion is evident, and then her eyes flicker to somewhere behind Chuy, something moving. She blanches (if this is even possible), shrinking a little, something she rarely does. Whatever is behind him (nothing, nothing but the ghost of Kiada, of course) moves and she tracks it visually before it goes out of sight.
That’s when she recognizes him. That’s when she sees Auni and recoils against the doorframe. The little luxere had always been receptive to treats, but for her to be here, instead of dead - Kiada’s ghost must truly be inside.
“Did she tell you what happened?” Desperate now, Wessex looks again to Chuy, her nails gripping the doorframe for all its worth. “How it happened?” A brief pause, where her mood once again shifts to something sad and moroseful. "Does she hurt?"
There's a moment where he just looks at her, just as caught, as stuck, unsure of what to do next. He knows he behaved deplorably the last time he'd seen her, he knows whatever anger, whatever rage he'd felt at the time had largely dissipated - like a drunk waking up hungover after a binge, he regretted it almost immediately.
He was surprised though, at her reaction to him. Had he really had that much of an affect on her? Did they have that much of a 'friend'ship between them that they cared that much how they treated one another?
He wasn't sure what to make of it, but did throw a glance over his shoulder to see if he could track whatever it was Wessex looked at behind him. How often had he mistaken a shadow for Kia? How often had he mistaken Auni, out of the corner of his eye, for Kia's form sitting beside him? It was easy to do, when grief and denial consumed you.
Then Wessex began talking, and his attention swiftly returned to her, noting the desperation, the confusion, the morose pleading nature that had overcome her. "What?" he automatically said first, though his first instincts knew who she was referring to when Wessex said she.
Glacial depths narrowed sharply, distrust blossoming. But Chulane was ever patient, ever kind, and even though he wanted to, he hesitated before acting rashly again. "Come in, Wessex," he urged, opening the door and stepping back to give her room. "I know what happened." In as much as he could know, at least, he knew.
Never before has the Wraith crawled like this; not that the Outlander would know, but Wessex, even when faced with death, fights. She does not hide, does not scoot her way into a house, trying to get as far away from Auni as she can.
When she’s inside, leaning against the wall, or whatever furniture is nearby, she looks back to where Kiada’s ghost slipped by, wide-eyed and worried. Anxious? Yes, that might be better. Guilt and nightmares brought her here, only by confessing can she set herself free.
Only - what is there to confess to?
“Is she here?” Wessex asks again, “Does she hurt?” The words want to vomit forth but she can’t seem to let them, choking on, “I - I can’t -” until she finally squeezes out an “I’m sorry.” Sorry that she didn’t know, sorry that she couldn’t save her, sorry to cause this pain, and sorry for herself. Because there were few people who seemed to accept Wessex Theskyra for who she was, and Kiada was one of them. It’s selfish - utterly, completely selfish, but it’s what she mourns the most. Right after the loss of a spirited woman.
Chuy would never claim to know Wessex well, but he estimated he knew her well enough to know that this was not normal behaviour for her. The luxere, sensing something was off, whether through his bonded or through his own sense of survival, backed away to his corner of furs and ningo-feather-filled blankets, content to stay out of the way despite wanting to greet the familiar woman.
Chulane on the other hand, watched with a guarded expression, concern etching into the lines of his face, as the Wraith literally crawled across the threshold and to the wall. The vet followed her, trying to maintain a distance that wouldn't startle her, but ultimately deciding to stay relatively close.
Her questions were erratic, and all the more concerning. A knot formed in his stomach, as slowly but surely more and more concerning thoughts rose up in the forefront of his mind.
Wessex," his tone was softer now, his expression less harsh, as he felt a swell of emotion, of grief, of empathy for the usually composed and intimidating woman. He sat down beside her, on the floor, leaning against the wall. "She's dead." Had he said it out loud yet? "Kiada's gone. She fell into the lava." He was surprised how clearly he was able to say it.
Glacial eyes looked to the woman beside him. He wasn't sure what brought him to do it, but he then tried to extend an arm out over her shoulders, to bring her into an embrace, a hug that he suspected they both could use.
“I know,” she whispers fervently - and she does know Kiada is dead. “I know, but the Climb must be too far for Mort because -” peering around his shoulder, she can see something that is most definitely the ghost of the girl. Pointing suddenly at her “she’s here. She’s waiting. Or -” Or what? Wessex doesn’t know specifically, only that it’s possible that Kiada is waiting for something.
“And Auni. So she must not have left.” She’s never heard of a companion making another bond before, all companions, to her knowledge, either die or return to an untamed, almost feral state. Wasn’t that what happened to Sugar? Didn’t she stay with Remi and Aoife?
Caught up in trying to figure out why Auni is here, the Wraith lets Chulane pull her into a hug, stiffly and reflexively patting him on the back, but allowing herself to stay there. “Do you see her?” She whispers again, eyes locked on the place where the ghost disappeared, suddenly feeling very sorry for the man who had to live with a ghost. Especially one they were in love with. “She has to come back so I can say sorry.” Plaintively whispered in his ear, she watches with the intensity of stalked prey, or perhaps a dog, absolutely convinced that a treat will appear if they wait long enough.
He listened, and he swallowed down all the retorts he wanted to say, all the denials, the explanations, until she came to a pause on her own. He'd been learning about 'handling' those who were in a delusion, learning how to let them have their delusion (unless it endangered them). And he was coming more and more to the conclusion that Wessex was suffering from it too, from the same thing that he'd seen in others. The paranoia and fear that shook her was undeniable, and the mention of the Climb also triggered another line of thought in his mind, which he tucked away for later.
He'd be here, for her, in this moment. He could deal with the implications later.
"I found Auni in time, and he bonded to me." It was delivered simply, factually, calmly. The luxere bleated softly from his pile of blankets in the opposite corner, and he felt the swell of emotion rise up across the bond - the gratitude, the grief, the slight sense of confusion for what was happening in this moment. Chuy sent soothing notes back, and the beastling settled back down again.
"I've seen her," he admitted, not exactly buying in to her delusion, but not exactly denying it either. He had seen her, held her, confessed the true depths of his feelings to her, after she had died - all in a dream, where he wasn't sure where the lines of reality and pretend were. But he'd seen her, all the same. "Sometimes you can't always see her, but she's there all the same." He sighed, as he gave the woman a gentle squeeze - forgetting in this moment that as an ascended she probably barely felt it. "Say what you want Wessex. She'll hear it." I will, too.
It’s so fucked up that it’s come to this, and in the ‘early’ days of the illness, perhaps it’s easier to break through to the surface, rise for a breath of fresh air before beginning to drown again. Some lucidity seems to come to her eyes at the Outlander’s permission, and she swallows without needing to.
“I feel it some times,” she whispers to the dark corners of Chulane’s abode. He is there, and he is not there. Her words are for Kiada and herself. Memory sends her back to the bowels of the Earth and the heat rises in her. “I shouldn’t, but I do. I feel the lava and Deepfrost drives it back. And I don’t -”
the flaming feathers disappearing into into the magma,
the heart-broken cries,
“It wasn’t supposed to happen. I thought - people, maybe? Nothing like that, and there’s nothing about it, nowhere to learn -” Wessex’s nails scratch at her face in despair, Goddess, she’d tried and tried and tried to find out more. She’d tried to get others to come along, tried everything. “And you were so nice to me at the guild, I know it’s what Monster Hunters do, but you were too young.” She hangs her head. “We made mistakes. I’m sorry. It’s my fault.”
You can see it in their eyes, in Hotaru's and Amalia's and Chulane's.
It isn’t, really. But as head of the expedition, it is.
Saying it aloud is sobering. Wessex lifts her head and looks at the veterinarian with clear eyes, delirium gone for now, for now, for now. “And now we’re all sick, and that’s my fault too.”
He almost goes to respond, to question what she says, but he catches himself just in time, belatedly realising that Wessex wasn't talking to him, but to Kia. He lets her, swallowing hard at each confession, each revelation, each remembrance of times past with the woman they both loved in their own ways.
And the Wraith spoke of the Climb, spoke of exploring, of wanting to take other people - and gods does he wish he had found other people, and then he hated himself for that thought, because it would've meant Kia not being Kia, it would've removed her choice, her freedom, her desire to explore and learn and discover. It was yet another part of her he loved, and yet if someone else had gone along…
Then someone else might be left without their lover at the end of the day.
He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. What did one say when in this position, when presented with a delirious individual involved in the incident that led to your lover's demise? What could he do?
He took a deep, shaky breath in, and held onto the Wraith's hand.
"We're in for a rough time." He didn't want to dismiss her confessions with a 'we all make mistakes' comment, didn't want to make her feel like she said it all for nothing. Her words had weight, especially the words she just said to him, but he still floundered for a way to show her that.
Auni rose from his bundle of blankets, and tentatively approached the two who huddled together along the wall. With a soft bleat, he joined them, reaching to nudge the clasped hands with his nose. Despite everything, Chulane's expression softened some. "We'll get through it, though." He met her gaze. "We'll get through it, Wessex."
Sure, they’ll get through it, but at what cost? She shakes her head - not in denial, though it is in a way - because her body is not her own and this is what the Blight felt like, isn’t it?
She’d done that too. No, her head shakes in despair as the Wraith begins to spiral down into an existential crisis. “I’m dangerous, Chulane. Gods, I’m lucky I haven’t hallucinated a friend into an enemy.” Her gaze falls upon her hands and she clenches them, releasing to stare at her unchanging fingertips. “Or touched fire. It would -” she has to look away as she forces the words out, “Sam and Neron and Nate. Amun. They would -”
Die. They would die. She would die.
And then the rest of the Ascended would die, picked off by the Old Gods.
“I have to fix it.” The Wraith’s voice sounds strangely thin and plaintive, child-like, even. A girl whining instead of a woman made of action. Or is a question, a plea? She begins to fixate on a spot on the floor, picking at a sliver of wood with her nail.
It would seem a moment of clarity had overcome Wessex, though it was still foggy around the edges, still marred by the delirious ramblings of an illness that afflicted even the ascended. Perhaps what was most haunting about her words was how true they rang - even when he first met her he knew she was a powerful woman, a capable woman, with great strength, not to be defied.
And with all that, there was danger too, though he'd never been concerned that she was a danger to him, or to Halo.
But what if she was? What if this illness was out to infect them all, and ultimately… kill them all? What if it took her mind, and used her body, her abilities, to wreak havoc across all of Caido?
"Hey," he began, "hey," he repeated to be sure he got her attention. "I'll help. You're right. We need to fix this. We will fix this." What more could he say, what more could he do?
"I'll keep an eye on Neron," he promised her, unsure if it would mean anything, but it was a promise he could make easily, with the local ascended being a friend. As for the others? He knew Nate, a brief meeting on the Tundra and an icy trek to the Citadel giving Chuy enough time to know that the man hailed from Torchline, not Halo. But the others were even more unknowns to him - though clearly they meant much and more to Wessex.
"There has to be something," he murmured, more to himself this time - but he was too tired, too rattled and haunted by ghosts of his own to take the thought any further than that.
Neron is here? No, Neron should be at home. The two thoughts make her scrunch up her face, very much like a child trying to figure out if what they’ve heard is upsetting enough to warrant a cry, or if she should just pout about.
Apparently she chooses pouting for now, feeling too tired to do anything about it. It’s been a long night, emotionally and physically, and whatever this is seems to affect even the hardiest of them. Wessex doesn’t yawn - because she doesn’t need oxygen - but she does look noticeably weary, her eyes doing that half-flutter of ‘trying not to fall asleep.’
Chulane’s words sound far away. “I need the metal,” she says, “to figure out -” no, that’s not it, she isn’t figuring anything out. “To show -” mmm, yes, that’s more apt. Show who? Who? “Why so tired?” she mumbles, her body flaring up with something and no longer cool to the touch.
“Hot,” the Wraith exhales, with her eyes closed, discomfort evident. Too hot. She needs to get outside.
10-03-2020, 03:01 PM (This post was last modified: 10-03-2020, 03:01 PM by Chulane.)
CHULANE
I believe that dreams are sacred
"The metal..?" he repeated automatically, clawing at his own mind and memories for any mention of a metal that could help in a situation like this. But his mind was drawing blanks, whether because he'd not heard of any metal or whether he was just as weary (but for vastly different reasons) as the afflicted ascended seemed to be.
"Something from the Climb?" he asked, a thought hitting him out of nowhere, a memory of Loren talking about releasing Tanau from something, about Frey saying something was changed about him, something about something that he just couldn't quite iron the details out of right now.
Then the fever came. Not his, but Wessex's, and he made to press a hand gently to her forehead (if she would allow) to ascertain its severity. He frowned.
"Hey Wessex? Let's go sit in the snow." he said simply, making to rise slowly, holding a hand out for her to take and assist her, should she need or want it.
