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!
The Temple had provided a sanctuary for many over the years, including Gideon himself. Even with the spirits having recently punished him within it's walls, he could not deny the calming influence of the cold stone and strong pillars. It felt a testament to the God's strength and their eventual victory and grandeur over all.
It was not a surprise then that Amalia had wanted to stay there to rest and find her place among the faithful. Gideon had taken on many disciples before and while she was not quite as eager as he'd like when it came to what had to be done, she was still blessed by Vi. She had been given a room and his attention whenever she needed it, as well as meals; it had not passed Gideon's notice that he now had two young women he was almost a father figure too. Was that getting old?
Knocking on the door of the small room she stayed in, he called through the wooden slats: "Amalia? I have some lunch. I need to talk to you."
And when he laid across my chest My cutting stone it did the rest
The room itself is lit by starlight and littered with books. Among the books are loose sheafs of notes, scrawled in a sharp, lilting hand, the letters sometimes fastidious and sometimes illegible. It is organized chaos, all punctuated by a desk tucked into a corner where the Archangel now sits.
Despite the room, despite the meals, the girl who looks up at Gideon's entry looks a little bit haggard, a little bit thin. It has not been an easy few months for Amalia, and the strain is beginning to show. Her usually sun-kisses complexion has taken a sallow tinge; her dark eyes somehow appear even darker, underlined by deep circles and slightly sunken in. These characteristic are made all the more stark by the halo of light that surrounds her head, illuminating a corner that may we'll have earned the moniker of gloomy without.
"Hold on." She doesn't look up immediately, instead taking a moment to finish and carefully bookmark a page in the tome she reads. That finished, the girl rolls her head upon her shoulders, picks up her half-full mug of lukewarm tea, and finally, turns to the Priest. "You didn't have to do that," the girl mumbles softly, hiding behind her cup. "I'm not hungry. What do you need?"
With all the knowing certainty of a tired parent, Gideon walked in still holding the tray and looked up at her. "You will be. I don't know when I last saw you leave to eat. The Gods will not be happy with me if I present one of their Demi-Gods haggard and merely a husk. Come on. It's from the bakers by the gates." Known for their wonderful breads, which he'd gotten stuffed with various Stormbreak specialties.
Ignoring how she hid behind her cup, he placed the tray down in front of them and sat next to her, observing Vi's chosen; not quite the figure of intimidating beauty one might expect, but Gideon liked to think that maybe this was his role: to care for and assist the God's chosen as they grew into their tasks.
"I wanted to talk to you about the outside world. You've been cooped up in the Temple so long I'm worried you'll forget it. Do you even know what's going on right now?" He asked, taking a sandwich to eat himself, whether she did or not.
And when he laid across my chest My cutting stone it did the rest
The aroma which wafts from the tray of bread is undeniably enticing, and despite her earlier protestations Amalia's stomach rumbles a hopeful note. Her dark eyes flicker from the rim of the cup, long fingers fluttering against the page of her book, but she doesn't reach for a pastry. She won't give him the satisfaction.
Not yet, anyway.
His chiding is met with a wrinkled nose and the edges of a scowl beside her eyes, though she does not snap back yet. He's holding something as tantalizing as the food in front of her now, and he knows it. Alas for her pride, curiosity gets the better of Amalia in the end; "What's going on?" she wonders tersely, caving entirely and grabbing a sandwich with a reluctant and defeated air not unlike that of a cat consigned to scratches. It tastes good, at least, and the girl closes her eyes as the first bite melts into her mouth, a deeply ingrained appreciation for food softening the angles of her anxious face.
They locked eyes for a moment longer, wits battling, then Amalia gave in and took her lunch. With a wide, smug grin, Gideon nodded and hummed at her question, looking at the ceiling and considering where he ought to start.
"Well...I don't remember when you were last out in the world, but..." Chewing a bite, he tilted his head side to side before he began. "Tensions keep rising. I saved a girl on Torchline's beach that had been bled out and left to die by the Ascended. There has been some kind of fire in Torchline too, a major one...but I don't know the cause." He wouldn't have been surprised if it was related to the Voice, of course, but he had no proof of that, and Gideon was at least not far gone enough in his hate to assume every incident had to be connected to the Ascended.
Looking out of the window onto the stone street below, people wandering by, he continued: "I have been given further tasks by Ludo to help with the fight. I spoke to the people in Torchline and was attacked. They are passionate in their ignorance. They need people to inspire. Demi Gods, like yourself." With this, he sent a pointed look in her direction.
And when he laid across my chest My cutting stone it did the rest
"I go out," Amalia mutters darkly through her mouthful of sandwich, shooting the Priest a glare. But her protest is half-hearted and fades quickly beneath her surprise and alarm at Gideon's tale. The rest of the food is hurriedly swallowed; "Wait, a girl was attacked? Who? And a fire? Was anyone hurt?" Immediately her mind jumps to Adam, and she has to remind herself that she doesn't care, she cannot care, because caring about him will tear her apart and leave her broken on the Temple floor.
But still, a part of her cannot help but hope and fear to know.
But there's more, and now it's funny. Amalia snorts, shaking her head. "Torchline... with Nate as Governor now? I don't know. Sunjata can't be trusted with the war, and Morgan is even worse." All they have are the Greatwood and themselves. Frustrated, she takes another bite of sandwich, chewing it in pensive silence.
This time the bite takes longer to swallow, and when she speaks again it's in a softer voice. "I've been... wanting to go home. To the Grounds. To Safrin's library to see if anything can be saved, before... Y'know." The end.
It seemed despite her outward appearance of not caring, Amalia actually did want to know what went on. Smugly taking a bite of his pastry, Gideon filled her in, gesturing about with one hand as he spoke: "Her name was...Arialla? I think? I found her on the beach in a pool of blood. Badly wounded, bite on the neck." He waved his fingers about his neck, sure that Amalia knew what to visualise.
"I prayed and sure enough the Gods healed her, using the sea. It washed over her and when it was gone, she was healed." He beamed proudly at this, happy his intervention and petition to the Gods had worked. "She told me she had been attacked by an Ascended on the beach for her blood - awful. I told her she's welcome here anytime, if she would like to see a sanctuary without their influence."
As for the fire, he really couldn't say. "I know nothing else about it. They don't want to talk to me when I tell them the truth about the Ascended." Gideon shrugged. He didn't know anyone he cared about in Torchline and didn't know that Amalia did.
The leaders around the world were too trusting of the Ascended, it was true, but Gideon only saw that as inspiration, all the more reason to work and fight. He silently nodded at her comments on them; in time the Gods would make their judgements and corrections. At Amalia's second comment though, he shook his head. "They've recently added protections. I can't go there anymore. I don't know if you'll be able to. It's becoming a real Ascended stronghold."
And when he laid across my chest My cutting stone it did the rest
Color drains from Amalia's face as Gideon names the attackee: Arialla, a girl the Angel knows, who'd been so earnest and lost when they'd met. But she'd been saved by the Priest, of all people... Almost speculatively the girl looks back at Gideon, as though seeing something in him for the first time. "It's fortunate you were there," Amalia murmurs softly, without a hint of guile or mockery in the notes of her voice.
Maybe it's this that lowers her guard, makes her more receptive to Gideon's suggestion that she take more of a stand. She puts the remnants of her sandwich back onto her plate, looking somewhere around Gideon's chest as color rises in her cheeks. "Maybe... I could go with you, next time. To talk to people. If you think it would help?"
That the Grounds has built firmer borders is no surprise to Amalia, though it pains her to learn. She snorts derisively, clenching her hands on her lap; "Wessex said I'd always be allowed home," she mutters back flatly, her faith in the promise (or lack thereof) clear. "All the more reason to save what we can, as soon as we can."
Gideon was used to Amalia regarding him with sarcasm, at best apathy, to see something in the woman's eyes close to admiration for a moment was special. His grin softened to a smile, sincerity in his own expression as he nodded. "Yes. I do think sometimes the Gods nudge us in the right direction to be where we are needed; had she laid there much longer she would have died." It had been a lot of blood, the brutal nature of the Voice's 'children' blatant.
Even with her genuine words, he was surprised to hear her offer to come with him. Gideon hesitated, nodding but taking a breath as he thought of what to say. "I'd certainly welcome the help and I think your presence might be beneficial, but...you'd need to be prepared for violence and anger. People will shout in your face, throw things at you. Scream and mock you. Could you take that from a crowd?" He could, because he had years of experience and faith behind him, but Amalia often seemed fragile.
Putting down the plates back on the tray, he looked over at Amalia's snort. "Oh yes, you know the Queen, don't you...?"
And when he laid across my chest My cutting stone it did the rest
Violence and anger are unsettling things, but what does it matter compared to the image of Arialla's body broken and bleeding in the sand? To the memory of Sam, fleeing a similar murder scene? Amalia's pale face is drawn and hard with determined fire, a flickering semblance of the impassioned girl who once stood in this skin. "If it saves one life or changes one mind, it is worth it," Amalia replies steadily, looking up to meet Gideon's eyes. "I'm not afraid."
Of many things, yes. But not of this.
Wessex is never a comfortable topic these days, and Amalia grimaces at the reminder of her relationship to the Queen. "Yes. Since I was born." She looks down at her hands in her lap, opening and closing them as she struggles to find words. "She... used to be like family to me. When I was young... before she changed. Before we both changed." Before she was a Shield and Wessex a Wraith, when things were simple and life was kind.
Casting her gaze toward the window, Amalia lets out a sigh. "I've lost so many people to the Voice," she murmurs sadly, as much to herself as to the Priest. "I used to think that I could save them, but now... now I'm beginning to see that freeing them and saving them might not be the same thing."
Her eyes met his and he saw within a fire that had been notably lacking until this point; Gideon smiled, glad to finally see some passion within Amalia. "Then yes. Come with me, next time I speak - probably not in Torchline, for the next season. Give them some time to forget why they're angry with me. Halo, though.." He tilted his head back and forth to show he was considering it.
They would need to make plans and possibly take some protection, this time, but Gideon found himself excited to have not just a partner for his sermons, but one so blessed by the Gods as Amalia; she would be a wonderful asset.
"She changed...by going to the Voice? Do you know what drove her to it?" From what he'd heard she was a strong woman, not weak of spirit, yet she had gone to follow the false Goddess. The Voice's reach was terrifyingly broad and took all sorts, despite impressions Gideon might have had about their will.
As for Amalia's revelation, all he could do was nod. "It is best to think of it this way. The person you knew has already died and the Voice is puppetting around their body. It is respectful and kind to end their torment as her pawns."
And when he laid across my chest My cutting stone it did the rest
"What about here?" The fire burns brighter, as Amalia considers this new possibility. "Why not speak to the people of StormBreak first? We can invite the other demigods, give them a chance to truly meet us - and to learn the truth about what we've seen of the Voice." Not Cian's pared down version, not myths passed through the ages. A true informational session, about all they have missed, sequestered in their tower as they are.
What drove Wessex to the Voice? The same thing that drives everyone, Amalia thinks, a small sigh leaving her coral lips. "Grief. Fear. There was a sickness, some years back. It took her family... and mine." She clenches her hand in her lap, closing her eyes against the memories of loss. "It was... terrible. There was nothing we could do. So I turned to the Old Gods, and she to the New."
The person you knew has died. Amalia's eyes clench more tightly as tears spring up behind her lids, threatening to spill over. Anger, grief, the very things that kept her in the dark for so long - they swim invitingly, beckoning her back to isolation and dark. "He was already dead," the not-Shield murmurs, nails biting into her palms. "And it was my fault. It's my fault he's like this."
When her dark eyes finally return to Gideon they are hard as flint, glittering, her face a mask of hard determination that hides her softer grief. "You're right- I need to do something, Gideon. I just... I don't know what."
Amalia's suggestion was met with a shrug; Gideon knew he would be well received in Stormbreak, but of all the cities, he was confident the people here knew right from wrong when it came to the Gods. Still, to help Amalia get used to public speaking, perhaps it was a good idea to start with. "Alright; what other Demi Gods would you recommend we invite? I met Safrin's...daughter, the other day, and she didn't seem prepared for the realities of the fight."
He could see she struggled too with some aspects of this, but Amalia was growing, her innocence fading as the Voice took the people from around her. It was painful, he knew that, but Gideon saw it as the only way for her to come into her own. To truly be a force of justice, she had to know what she was fighting against.
"Tell me the situation. I might be able to help you figure it out. I've dealt with Ascended before." He said nothing more than that, but there was a dark glint in Gideon's eyes as he waited for Amalia's story.
And when he laid across my chest My cutting stone it did the rest
"Seren is young," Amalia agrees with a thoughtful nod, "But I think she would be good. And Ronin - the people here respect him." As for the others? Much as she loves him, she doesn't know how helpful Remi would be in front of a crowd, and she hasn't seen Phoebe or Delphia in some time.
Tell me of the situation. Truth be told, Amalia is tempted. Since that night at Sera's side - the night it all happened - Amalia hasn't spoken of Adam aloud, and the weight of it burns like an ember in her chest, begging to be expelled. She wants to get it out, and here is Gideon, the Priest who listens, and oh, the words are so close there! "It was..." she begins, voice trembling, eyes downcast. "I - he--"
But no. The words grow thick and heavy in her mouth, dying before they can be born. Clearing her throat, Amalia shakes her head, her vulnerable expression hardening off as she locks the emotions down. "It was just another Ascended. It doesn't matter. There's more important work to be done."
Rolling her shoulders in a stretch, the demigoddess looks back at Gideon with a crooked almost-smile. "Thank you for lunch - and the wake-up call. I'll speak to the others. Can you arrange a space for us to meet, and to speak to the people?"
