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!
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
The door closed behind him, an audible click of the wooden frame resounding, as he stepped within the barracks. Evenings came fast within the winter’s squall, snowflakes drifting in and out of the windows, the particles collecting on top of the roof – to be hastened away on another hour. With the last round of his rotation around the Citadel ended, and another beginning for the next interval of soldiers, it meant he’d have time to snag at lingering schedules for the next week, diagram and sketch a few other instruments of war, and still have enough moments to prepare dinner.
Belial’s greeting was swift, the peryton rising from the rug beside the hearth with regular aplomb, while Zuriel tended to lift her head, presiding in her usual loftiness. Both companions were given ample treats as he crouched beside the fire, igniting the proportions to a healthier snap and crackle as the logs popped and the embers flared.
Settling about to ensure they were properly fed before he tended to anything else, the Sword continued into his regular routine – the training grounds down the halls still echoing with blades and spars, the rustle of warriors hastening back and forth enough of a reassurance that working order, rigor, and determination were still to be found, even as they headed deeper into Deepfrost trenches.
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
Cordelia isn't even sure why her feet carry her this way. Where she's going. She's in a daze, wanting to go to Noah, but not daring to consider it. He can't deal with this right now. He had too many other things to worry about. Caido was on the brink of war and Noah was doing all he could to get them ready for it. The idea of making anything more strenuous for him made her sick to her stomach, but she couldn't stand being in their house alone.
It's what made her start walking in the first place. Her feet carrying her further and further from the warm glow of their home, the cold nipping at her exposed skin, cheeks red from the wind. Having not thought things through enough to layer on a jacket or gloves, simply wandering in her base clothes, eyes swollen and red rimmed from the constant crying.
She doesn't even realize that she's wandered into the barracks, barely registering the other voices and the clang of weaponry, simply walking just to walk.
Present all your pretty feelings May they comfort you tonight
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
Extending his usual rumble of greetings towards the other soldiers, and with the schedule for next week’s rotations completed, he placed the parchment along the wall beside the training grounds. Within half a moment weapons ceased in their motions, and there was a flurry of movement as warriors pushed and shoved their way to see where their positions would be for the following venture – permitting him a moment to step aside
And notice the huntress’s presence.
His brow arched significantly, noting the swollen eyes, the forsaken entity meandering into this portion of Halo without a care in the world. Recalling, remembering, the change in personality during several other tasks, the Sword narrowed his eyes speculatively, watching for a few seconds more to see if there was a telltale reason for this behavior. Something like trepidation might have crawled down his spine on a variety of notions – for the man had witnessed and experienced many a tragedy, and unfortunately they never quite left his mind. The possibilities were endless, winding things. Cordelia, he rumbled through the bond, intending to catch her attention without invoking the recruits’ around them. You all right?
Another motion followed suit with a nod of his head, to indicate she could follow him around the corner, and back down into the front parlor, where the fire crackled and companions waited.
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
His voice cuts through the swarm of thoughts in her head, causing it to snap up, eyes wide as she looks around in an attempt to spot the general. She can't answer him. Not like this. Unable to push her own thoughts into his head, but he motions for her to follow him and Cordelia doesn't have a reason not to. Her feet drag across the floor, feeling as if they were enclosed in led, the weight of it all crushing her from above.
They're alone in a matter of moments. No one there to see her crumble under it all. Deimos stands before her. Strong, unmoving, steady, and constant. Everything she wishes she was right now. Cordelia barely hesitates, rushing forward to press herself into his chest, head tucking beneath his chin as the tears start to slip down her cheeks. Sobs are caught in her throat, unable to form more than broken syllables, answering his question without the use of words.
It's all there along the bond. The sting of grief. The heartbreak that only comes from the loss of a loved one. Of family. It pours out with abandon and anyone else might have been overwhelmed by these things, but Cordelia knew that Deimos could handle it all.
Present all your pretty feelings May they comfort you tonight
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
By the time he’d turned back around to see if she’d followed, Cordelia was already clinging to his chest. Confused and bewildered, within a moment the clarity was an overwhelming, suffocating boundary, lifted, launched between Attuned bonds. For a man who’d spent lifetimes carving his way through loss, whose figure was etched in its inscriptions, who’d spent seasons striving not to be buried beneath its weight, the semblance was staggering. Haunting and threatening; interlocked and woven memories of demise. The Sword spent a few moments of his own striving not to drown beneath the surface, inwardly raising his head above the blackening, Stygian waters, where the sea of his failures tugged and pulled, where he’d struggled against the current for as long as he could remember. A tightening of his chest; it dug through ribcages and lungs, through spines and marrow, through flesh, tissue, and bone, before clawing at his soul –
And Deimos breathed, snorting a little as he gained traction again. A warning next time, please he murmured, though it remained somewhat light, ambivalent, as he fought to keep them both from flickering and falling apart in the middle of the damned parlor.
Thereafter, he could peruse the sadness, the heartbreak, the familial ties hastened and destroyed, while steering her a little closer to the hearth, listening to his companions shift around them. Not Noah then – as that would’ve been his first guess – and the whole of the Citadel would’ve been aware if something disastrous had occurred upon their Sentinel. Allowing Cordelia a few more seconds of steady comfort and peace, he then granted her access to the nearest chair, before crouching down in front of her. “What happened?”
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
There is an apology in the mix, too. Something silent, but sincere for the man who is shielding her from the world in this moment. Cordelia doesn't even feel him move her. Doesn't register that she's in a chair by the hearth and no longer in his arms. Struggling to orient herself through the torrent that was her own emotions. Finally, however, she surfaces and her eyes settle bloodshot and glassy as she looks at him.
Swallowing thickly past the sob that almost chokes her, the Attuned manages a few words, "Aino was taken outside of the gates. A dragon. She was hunting with Sah." The bitterness is acrid across the bond, sizzling and searing along the ties before tangling with the remorse. "She's dead." Because of him. Part of her knew it wasn't fair to hold it against the Abandoned. He hadn't wanted it to happen. He'd tried to stop it, but she couldn't help it.
Had Aino not gone hunting with him it wouldn't have happened at all. It didn't matter that she insisted. It didn't matter that he was family. Aino was dead and Sah did nothing.
Present all your pretty feelings May they comfort you tonight
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
Patient and forbearing, Deimos waited. And for all his estimations and calculations, he wouldn’t have been able to render such a prediction, as the words fell in sobs and torrents, blended, muffled cacophonies of grief, strife, and rancor. All of which he could understand, except when the undercurrent of syllables dragged against Sah’s name – something to stray back to.
Aino being dead was a shock in itself. She’d been a remarkably strong, independent individual, someone the Sword would’ve considered fully capable of taking care of herself, knowing, understanding the risks involved with meandering amongst Deepfrost’s chains. “I am sorry for your loss,” he murmured at first, head down, quietly snagging at the anguish, knowing, rationalizing, how it could fill one’s soul until ribcages could burst and hearts could blacken.
The notions that it was a dragon that took her stuck a little too fast in his throat. He tucked away the rapid memories immediately threatening to brim above the surface of Attuned bonds; for neither needed to relive the way beings could be lost, so quickly, so swiftly, when coming across the powerful creatures. Instead, his jaw clenched, just a little tighter, as he moved to stand, crossing over the floor of the parlor and snagging at the kettle remaining there from earlier, heating it up, placing tea bags within cups – something to occupy, until he returned and offered her one.
From there, he sat in the chair closest to hers, considering, contemplating, where and how to wander into the mire. Eventually, it was along the deep rumble of his chest, not permitting it to echo or resound across the den. “Do you blame him?”
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
Do you blame him? The words echo in her mind. Ricocheting around her brain. The moment Sah told her. How she had reacted. The way she lashed out. She did blame him. Whether she wants to admit it or not. Cordelia draws in a trembling breath, wiping roughly at her eyes before lifting them to meet his patient gaze. She clutches onto the tea like a life line. As if it will keep her from having to utter the words. "I do... I- I know he didn't mean for it to happen. I know that. I know him." Her voice cracks again and she drops her eyes, drawing in breath sharp enough to cut through the silence.
"I just don't know how I can forgive him." She admits, knowing that was the crux of the issue. How could she forgive Sah for something he did when there was no fixing it?
Present all your pretty feelings May they comfort you tonight
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
He leaned forward, elbows across thighs, hands holding his own tea mug as he listened, only taking a silent sip every now and then. The abject denial and rejection intermingled, and he understood it for what it was worth – they’d done the same to Sunjata when the dragon had wiped out Adam, Peter, and their companions. When loss was a tender, malicious thing, sudden and jarring, people and friends and loved ones gone within an instant. And while he probably still held a grudge towards the Flood for a great many things, those testaments had faded with time – but Cordelia’s was still fresh.
Forgiveness too, was a difficult measure. Deimos was quick to hold a grudge, and keep it for eternities, grasping at that contempt and loathing, immersed in the predilections of hate and disgust.
His eyes were downcast again, staring at the floor, at the rug beside the hearth, at Belial’s wings moving ever so slightly. Considerations spiraled through his mind, and more than once he opened his mouth to say something, and thought better of it. Eventually though, he turned the statements into measured depths, quiet still. “We all know if Aino wanted to do something, not much would have stopped her.” Which could’ve been a proud, Halovian trait. “What was he supposed to do?”
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
There wasn't anything he could of done. It was a dragon. How could he have stopped it? How could he have saved her? Even the strongest among them couldn't take on a dragon alone. Still, the Shrike had a hard time accepting that. Of not putting the blame on him. Cordelia lets out a shaky breath, dropping her gaze to her tea, grip white knuckled. "He could have tried to get her body back.. something.. anything" Her voice breaks again and she shakes her head, trying to fight back the tears, wincing as they begin to fall anyway.
"How am I supposed to forgive him?" She finally whispers, looking back up at him, eyes red rimmed and glassy. Her anguish is palpable even as she attempts to keep a tight hold on it, not wanting to overwhelm him again.
Present all your pretty feelings May they comfort you tonight
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
His eyes lifted upwards, not to Cordelia, but to the fire, gazing along the flames as she spoke. There was a slight wince at the words, barely noticed or acknowledged, gaze narrowing – remembering, how they couldn’t have retrieved Adam or Peter’s bodies. Frozen solid, stuck to the ground, lingering in a cave horded and lorded by a creature who’d warned them not to return. And thereafter, it hadn’t mattered – not when the Voice snatched.
“Probably not, given a dragon’s nature,” he rumbled lightly, eventually permitting his piercing gaze to land back upon hers. “I am not one to offer advice about forgiveness,” as he rarely gave or rendered pardoning, “but in this circumstance, it is not fair to condone Sah for something he had no control over.” Were she in the same situation, how would she have responded? How would any of them dealt with such a death?
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
Cordelia sighs heavily, wiping at her eyes before lifting her cup of tea back to her lips, taking a sip in an attempt to settle her nerves. It all makes sense and she hates him for it. If only because she doesn't know how to process what she's feeling. The Shrike focuses her gaze on him, remaining quiet for a long moment as she mulls over his words, trying to figure out how to respond. "I know..." She finally whispers, swallowing thickly as her fingers continue to flex on the handle of her cup.
"He hasn't wanted to talk to me. Not that I've tried talking to him." Her cheeks flush, a stray hand coming up to run through her mess of hair, "What should I do, Deimos?" Gods, she'd been so awful to him. Lashed out. Hit him. Blamed him for everything. How could he possibly forgive her for that too?
Present all your pretty feelings May they comfort you tonight
ache first, but then let the cuts close spit out the blood
Sometimes even the knowing, the wisdom of it all, didn’t hold fast to the emotions, to the feelings, of an overbearing semblance. Deimos was ever the pragmatic, but could be caught in anger, in wrath, in contemptuous loathing, if a manner of abhorrence stuck into his ribs, was allowed to fester. Bitterness could claw, could decay, could wither, and glancing upon Cordelia, he never would have thought her capable of those notions – allowing, permitting herself, to give over to rancor.
He took another sip of his tea, brows furrowing in thought as she unfurled another statement. Certain he was missing something – because he’d known Sah to be a talker without much preamble – the inquiry came out measured once more. He couldn’t answer her question without instigating his own. “Did something else happen?” Maybe the Thunder too, had been unraveled and unfurled in his grief.
watch your body pull itself back together then let your soul do the same
Generally Cordelia wasn't one to hold grudges. Doing so in a place like Halo could lead to death. Mistakes were made. People were lost. Feelings were hurt. None of that mattered in the face of hunger. None of that kept the people of Halo from tending to each other. No, Cordelia wasn't one to hold grudges, but then again she'd never been faced with something like this.
"When he told me I lashed out at him." She didn't just lash out. That was putting it lightly. The Attuned had come down on him with hate in her heart and anger in her eyes. Her fists not stopping their attacks until she no longer had the stamina to swing them. Swallowing thickly, shame clogging her throat and threatening to choke her, the Shrike looks at him once more. "He tried to be there for me, but I pushed him away."
Present all your pretty feelings May they comfort you tonight
