I too have a destiny

Morgan

Fear is dark but my love is a lantern
Shining up like coins in a fountain

While the water had not had results for everyone it had been given to, Morgan had been pleased to see it give a temporary reprieve to at least some. She would willingly go back to the Climb for more if needed, to keep the sanity of her citizens, but for the first couple of days after the water had been given out, Morgan wanted to revel in their partial success, if only for a moment.

She had asked for Deimos to be brought to see her after he had had some time to rest. Hopefully, his mind would be restored, if only for a while, and she could discuss with him what had happened and what he was intending to do now. Morgan didn't want to pry, but it would be a lie to say she wasn't curious about what had brought him here, if he still worked as the General for their new Queen or...she really couldn't ask about this, but what had happened with his wife.

Sat in her office she waited, fingers laced together on the desk. It was difficult to know Deimos would probably have to slip back into delirium before this matter was settled, but she hoped he understood that (and that he was using his time with a clearer mind wisely).

Hope is a tree sitting on a mountain where the grass don't grow
There's a sad old sea but my love is an island

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

A return to sanity also meant a return to anguish. The Sword had thought about tucking himself away for an eternity; permitting himself to gradually fade into nothing, the way Helovia had pierced and slid him apart until he was perished and gone. He had no explanation for why he’d ended up wandering into Halo’s depths, and he sincerely doubted they appreciated a weakened monolith around, or another figure to have to watch over. The mountains called in acts of delirium wasn’t an adequate response, even if it had been the thing that tugged and pulled, cajoled and enticed, until he’d been a fallen piece of the backdrop, waiting to no longer exist.

So he wasn’t surprised by the summons as he meandered and lingered (and had no explanation for that either – other than he had nothing to return to; a scrape of spirits dwindled and gone and so were the rest of the figments he’d loved and cherished). Though he’d loathe to admit it, a portion of apprehension had curled and lodged its way down his backbone as he walked towards the Warden’s office, expecting Morgan to ask him to leave. Expecting to be vanquished again. Expecting that his time in any area was up.

Zuriel followed, snorting behind him, and though his full strength had yet to return, he still maneuvered under his own power, enough to walk, to enough to knock, summon a straightness to his spine, rigid once more. “Warden,” he began, and then poked his head through the doorway, waiting to be scolded. “You wanted to see me?”

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Morgan

Fear is dark but my love is a lantern
Shining up like coins in a fountain

Morgan straightened up in her chair as the knock came and nodded, gesturing for Deimos to enter. "Yes, please. If you have the time." She was a little surprised to see Zuriel follow him in too, but she was far from the first companion in there, so Morgan said nothing of it, merely watched the unicorn enter with a faintly interested expression. Once Deimos was sat she leant forward on her desk and smiled at him, trying to make it clear that this was a positive meeting (though the expression, cajoled from her as it was, probably looked rather awkward).

"It's good to see you well again. I hope we can keep up a supply of the water until we find something more permanent." It was a shame that Frey's Breath wasn't enough on it's own, but Morgan was pleased enough that they had found something, at least. It was a beginning. "I hope you are finding the room in the palace fitting to your needs."

Leaning back, sucking in a breath through her teeth, Morgan tried to work out how to transition into her real questions. "I am curious. Do you remember why it was you felt the need to come to Halo?"

Hope is a tree sitting on a mountain where the grass don't grow
There's a sad old sea but my love is an island

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

The Sword missed the way Zuriel stared at Morgan, as if expecting a challenge – a very imperial, seditious set to her brow, waiting to be told to leave again, and then presumably, to refuse the action. When the Warden didn’t tell her to vacate the premises, the unicorn tilted her head vaguely, and then proceeded to stand very still, a protective element for her bonded, whether he required it or not.

The monolith noticed the smile and the tension in his spine eased, though still wary, still striving not to succumb to the series of circumstances bombarding, rampaging, and blasting at him from all sides. He thought about staring at the ground, about becoming a piece of earth underneath, a steadfast retreat from incoming barrages, but the comments remained pleasant, and a shuddering breath was relinquished from the hold in his lungs. So instead of slinking and falling and crumbling back into the floorboards, the beast rendered his gaze back upon her, polite, forthcoming, the tone regretful, never yearning to be a burden. “I apologize for any inconvenience I caused. Let me know if there is anything I can do in return.”

A nod about the rooms, indicating they’d been fine and adequate, and then a stunned contortion causing the briefest widening of his eyes. How to explain the need, the draw, of Halo? In all his lunacy? In all the delirium? In the way the sickness had pressed against his mind, lured and enticed, cajoled and tempted, until he fell apart in the snow, listening to ghosts? “In another world, I ruled a place very similar.” Summits upon summits, peaks upon peaks, a formidable monster at the top, wearing his icy crown and relentlessly piercing those who dared to mire their way into his threshold, his kingdom, his roots. “Perhaps I was looking for something familiar.” A place that had been home, no matter how damned his heart had been there.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Morgan

Fear is dark but my love is a lantern
Shining up like coins in a fountain

It was nice to hear Deimos speak clearly, not shrouded away by layers of fever and confusion. His tension also seemed to ease within the first moments, something Morgan was glad for indeed; he was not here to be made to feel unwelcome. "No apologies are necessary, Deimos. You are ill, it is not your fault. If you really must, consider it a payment for your generosity for the catapults." She knew that some liked to think of things as transactional; if he wished to think of it as a deal, she'd let him.

His reasoning for coming to Halo was something she understood well. Morgan nodded and looked off for a moment, wondering briefly where it was she'd go for that familiarity. Probably the mountains themselves, deep in the caverns and snow drifts, where she'd found herself once.

"Well." Looking back to Deimos, she pressed her hands together. "I wanted to ask if you have intentions to stay, because if you do...Halo could have great use for a man of your talents, Deimos. Of course, though, I know you have things tying you to the grounds-" The wife she knew so little of, the Queen he supposedly served. "-I just want to make it clear if you feel you have found a sanctuary here, you will not be asked to leave at any point. In fact, if you were to stay, once you are well, I would ask you to join my council."

Hope is a tree sitting on a mountain where the grass don't grow
There's a sad old sea but my love is an island

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

His eyes narrowed in focus, age-old, primordial, an inherent reaction to scrupulous foundations, an aspect of normalcy. The monolith nearly intended to argue over the semantics with the catapults (because those weapons had been in return for housing the Grounders over LongNight), that it had been his fault for venturing here, when he could’ve turned and wandered into any other sovereignty. He was usually the first to place blame upon his shoulders, and perhaps that accounted for why they were so heavy, so cumbersome, so weary. So when she countered that it was no fault of his own, he could only force himself into compliance and agreement, nodding to indicate the transaction (except, in the back of his mind, he’d already begun to coordinate and orchestrate some measure of another).

Remaining very still and stoic, Morgan didn’t seem to regard his sick wanderings as foolish or ridiculous, granting another reprieve from any other explanations. It’d been the only one the Sword could muster; mountains and ice and snow running through his blood, funneling away into contortions just as much as the sea, elements of turbulence, tempests, and strength barraged into his figure, until sometimes, like when he was ill, or when he dreamed, they curve and carved together.

So while expectations towards a lecture had been disregarded by the Warden’s easygoing measures towards his own stupefying actions, he certainly hadn’t predicted the next set of statements. If he appeared baffled and bewildered it was only for a series of seconds, a widening of piercing eyes, a certain slack to his jaw, before they were gone, replaced by the steady reticence, the miring of calculations.

Was he being offered a place to stay? Another refuge, another sanctuary? A world to heal within, to weather the next storm? Despite his ailments, his mind contorted and machinated in singular rapacity, not as quick, not as sharp, but the details all still there, rendering in multitudes and factions. “I do not have any remaining ties to the Grounds.” A blunt regard, but a truth. Rexanna was gone. Kiada was gone. Amalia was gone. Evie and Hotaru had disappeared. All that flickered there seemed to be remains, ashes in the dust; and perhaps it was time to remember who he was, without them. Who he could be.

The thoughts still lacerated, harsh and unrelenting, in the columns and vessels of his scarred heart.

An offering of a council position stunned him further – and the impassive mask slipped once more, found itself ill-fitted in the instances thereafter. Another argument began to brew and kindle behind his teeth, but he held it away; ready to diminish and demean himself at a moment’s notice – when he should’ve been asking about the designations. They were generous, and ultimately not something he deserved in the slightest. Morgan must’ve known that. “In what capacity?”

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Morgan

Fear is dark but my love is a lantern
Shining up like coins in a fountain

There was, in a way, some joy in the way she was clearly surprising Deimos. Morgan had gathered the impression that the man had been through a lot of hardship (he had the recognisable hard edge of a blade that had been sharpened many times), that he was used to seeing the worst possible outcome. To provide something better felt good, as if she might help turn his fortunes around, as they were at the moment.

Maybe that was egotistical, but it wasn't her only motivation, anyway. He was a genuinely skilled man, honest in a way she could understand and appreciate; a good fit on her council, which sorely lacked anyone specifying in defense and attack.

"I see. I..." Morgan paused, wondering if it was any of her business to ask after his relationships at his home in the Grounds. Eventually deciding it wasn't, instead of inquiring after any particular matter she simply opened up the conversation for him to say if he wanted to: "I must admit I am curious to know how that occurred. Last time we met, well, before your sickness, you seemed dedicated to the Grounds. Is it merely Rexanna's death that has spurred you to move over here?"

As for the council, she tilted her head side to side. "At first, perhaps a less active position, as you learn about Halo, the Citadel and our unique position within the Fangs. However, once you were familiar, I would appoint you as a warmaster and defense expert for our Citadel. We live in volatile times. I will do everything I can to prevent Halo being involved in any conflicts, but..." Morgan looked down to her desk, papers of writing on political and divine situations scattered across it. "...Well. In any case, it's good to be defended and ready to attack, should we need to."

Hope is a tree sitting on a mountain where the grass don't grow
There's a sad old sea but my love is an island

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

What Morgan uttered wasn’t wrong – the Sword and the Reaper had been portions and pieces, backdrops and surroundings, ample placards in lands they occupied. His commitments were usually instilled by the notions of responsibility, of ambition, of aspirations. But the Grounds hadn’t been like the Aurora Basin, where he felt the need to uphold anything and everything, no crowns worn, no sovereignties gathered. He’d served because his family was there, a living, breathing part of his heart, lungs, enamel, and soul. He’d served because Wessex had once asked, and then Rexanna, and Evie thereafter. In alteration in his dedication had only been because none of them existed for him anymore – and he’d lived in enough cinders, enough embers, enough ashes, to know he’d only become one of those perished flames if he remained. If he tried to build something out of nothing again. If he attempted to revitalize a dying star.

A clench to his jaw feathered and shuddered through the muscles there, an indication he really didn’t want to discuss the matter further; and only did because he’d been prompted, and he had no intention of instilling some foolish regard that he was a beast who wandered from place to place, leaving everything behind. “I lost Rexanna, then Kiada, then Amalia. The Queen prior, Evie, has disappeared. So has Hotaru. I stayed and helped for all of them.” And now they were gone and out of his life – some by choice, some by death and demise, some by other measures he’d yet to understand. What would you have me do? buried and mired itself in his thoughts, not voiced, not shared.

He remained tall and steadfast through the rest, his mind struggling to churn away from the labor and loss, circumventing as best he could to the matters at hand. What the Glacier offered was perfectly reasonable, and understandable given the circumstances regarding his illness, and any other unknown parameters. The monolith had been a force within the Grounds, and not so much within Halo – he had friends frozen solid in a cave beyond the Fangs – eyes lifting back to her. “If and when that time comes, and you find me suitable, I will do my best.” The mention of defenses, of attacks, of avoiding conflicts, brought forth recent scramblings of information, and best not to put it off until he forgot it in some act of delirium again. “Then you need to be made aware that there is some organization called The Order. From what I have heard, they are targeting demigods, or those to become, in order to combat against the Voice.” Where that left the Ascended, or the rest of the world, would be anyone’s guess.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Morgan

Fear is dark but my love is a lantern
Shining up like coins in a fountain

Deimos' explanation was a solemn one. Morgan did not know all of the names mentioned, or all of their relationships to him (Amalia, Hotaru - how did they know Deimos?), but she could understand the sentiment. "I see. I understand then - the need to move somewhere for a fresh start, where you might avoid the losses." She nodded, asking no more of it; there was no doubt it would be painful for him.

"I would expect no less from you. When we have found a more permanent cure to our current problem, I will draft a plan for you to begin training, if you still wish to then." It would involve some exploration, some talking to the people of the Citadel; nothing too intense, just a basic introduction to the land, before he served for it; she thought it only reasonable.

The information he then provided her with was a complete surprise; Morgan leaned back in her chair as she learnt about the shadowy organisation called the 'Order', of which she had not heard of. "..I see. Targeting how? In order to recruit them, if their aim is to fight against The Voice?" As far as she knew, she'd never met a Demi-God; however, if there was a threat to the Ascended, she wanted to know. "Where is this Order based? Do you know any of it's members?"

Hope is a tree sitting on a mountain where the grass don't grow
There's a sad old sea but my love is an island

We're lost in the space between
who we are and all that we're trying to be

Could loss be avoided? He’d never been able to – perhaps the escape was only temporary. Maybe he wouldn’t be strong enough here either. The apprehension rose unbidden through his lungs again, and he spent multitudes of silence, of moments, ferociously smothering it back down, down, down, where he couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t show its edges. Where it poked through his enamel, his armor, his vessel, how a series of abandonments, death, and derision had eaten away at him, swallowed, consumed, devoured until he really wasn’t certain what was left.

So he didn’t argue his point; that he merely had nothing left.

Because maybe it wasn’t quite true any longer, but he didn’t want to give that hope either. It was always too easily crushed.

He nodded at her assertion and thoughts, plausible venues given the circumstances, his unfamiliarity with the area (Halo was not the Aurora Basin, regardless of dreams immersed in sickness). “Understood.” Deimos had done so naturally when it came to the Grounds, because it’d been the only area they’d known for a time – eventually knew the ins and outs, from where he roamed and hunted and wandered. At the very least, he hadn’t lost his spirit for inquiry and curiosity. Halo was relatively unknown, save for the Sea of Glass, ill-begotten caves, and other various ventures.

The Sword watched the Glacier react to the other information he provided – but had little else to extend, given the shadowy convictions, the relative unknown. “Supposedly they are from where the Voice originated.” His gaze met hers, pondering any reaction. “I have nothing else, but I will listen and provide you with what I can find.” Lifetimes ago, he’d been a hoarder of secrets, specious, duplicitous, kept for his sovereign causes, and here, he kept them too – an ear to the ground, a process of finding, discovering, extending, and parsing through nuances.

DEIMOS

Stop trying to show how to save our souls
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts

Morgan

Fear is dark but my love is a lantern
Shining up like coins in a fountain

"Good. Thank you, for lending us your skills." Morgan said with a faint smile, pleased indeed that Deimos was joining, already getting lost in the plans and preparations that would be need to be made, what more they might be able to do in the Citadel now that this was in place. At the very least, it would make her more confident in Halo's ability to defend itself against any new unknown threats, as more of the world slowly made itself known to them.

Deimos had scant information to give Morgan on the Order past what he'd already said. She nodded in acceptance of what he could tell her, thinking it should be a priority to find out more soon. "Alright, thank you for bringing it to my attention. I'll...look into it."

With all said, she didn't want to keep him too long: Deimos may have only had a limited amount of time before his sanity and clarity returned, and she wouldn't force him to spend all of it in stuffy offices. Wishing him well she showed him out then sat down to begin working on plans and ideas for the coming future with their new council member.

{FIN}

Hope is a tree sitting on a mountain where the grass don't grow
There's a sad old sea but my love is an island