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!
Whitebrim remained fairly unchanged since the last time they’d ventured out – still partially in a state of ruins, with the waystation rising out of the ashes, and the scattered timber, and various, makeshift huts remaining tossed about and laden by the wind. It was another project on hold, unfortunately, with the state of the war looming closer and closer, and a multitude of other designs becoming far more pressing. Deimos figured as long as no other cannibals aimed to repair their broken and fragile community, then it could sit for a good while longer.
Besides, it made a worthwhile training and obstacle course.
Rolling his shoulders and stretching out his arms, the Sword turned back to regard his sparring partner. “Did you decide on a weapon?” Recalling the glaive, and all the other constituents, parameters, and associations with elements or lack thereof surrounding it, pinpointing what Talyson had chosen for himself might’ve taken more time. Maybe it’d been narrowed and furrowed with time and application, but it mattered, considering the plans he had in his head.
And then another, present and bearing, though not in the way war did – for the present, in moments scattered, in observations, in things rankling down his spine. “I have been meaning to ask,” and never being one to mince words, persisted. “Do you have a problem with Evie?”
Tal had been to and from Whitebrim every couple of weeks, keeping the Waystation stocked and cleaned up and collecting any mail that had accumulated there from hunters on the Tundra who didn't want to come back to the Citadel during the warmer (comparatively speaking) months. Back again with Deimos, the courier this time had brought only his smallest racing sled, his usual items, his companion - and the glaive that he untied from the sled at the General's question, hefting it with a grin.
"It works against Sah," he said smugly, patting the weapon fondly. "Figure I'll stick with it." And Deimos could help him get even better with it for next time.
He swung the weapon slowly a few times, stretching and limbering up after the trip, but he paused at the unexpected question and his good mood dropped away in a heartbeat. The courier's face paled and then flushed before he looked away to scowl at the remnants of the burned and broken town.
"...Kind of. Maybe. A little," he admitted, the words pulled reluctantly from his tongue. He wasn't a good liar and there was no point in denying it, but that didn't mean he was looking forward to the conversation. "She's just... she's not Halovian, Deimos! She's got no business being Warden!" The words exploded out of him with unexpected vehemence as he glowered at the nearest building.
And never mind that Deimos was technically an Outlander as well. Deimos was different.
"We had a Grounder woman show up before, right? An' hook her claws into the Warden at th'time an' get put in charge as soon as she showed up, too! An' now it's happenin' again an' I just--" He bit down on his tongue and squeezed the haft of the weapon like he was wringing a ningo's neck. "Neron deserved that bitch, but I just-- I don't want to see it happen t'you," he finished lamely, tense and unhappy as he hunched his shoulders against a wind only he could feel.
Deimos refrained from an eye roll at the mention of Sah and Talyson’s continual persistence in irritating one another – figuring if it’d been successful, and neither of them were mauled, wounded, or dead, then there’d been some modicum of improvement. “All right,” concluded the notions with a nod, and he might’ve studied the chosen armament, had the inquiry not given way to a whole cycle and range of other factions.
He stood stock still and listened, growing more rigid and reticent as the reasons and tirade went on, feeling the burn of irritation beginning in the back of his skull and branching downward, into bones and enamel. The air of frustration might’ve gone past the fluid mask of stoic bombardments, but it drenched into his tones, and the finality of his brows furrowing. “Then I suppose I am not worthy of leading either, by your standards.” His jaw clenched, the muscles feathering, before he released a multitude of breaths, eyes flickering elsewhere – upon ruins, upon a world he, and Evie, and everyone else, were trying to ensure stayed safe, protected, guarded. The rampant insecurities, the feelings of self-doubt, and the distrust in his own capabilities reared its ugly head; scratching at all the ramparts he'd carefully prepared.
And he tried not to look as though he’d been slapped in the face, but some wounds, especially over the stretch of time, had become deeper, inward scars – the presumption that he had picked someone in his life that would “hook her claws’ into him, or any of the other angles tore along his flesh until Reaper armaments remembered all his walls, all his lacerations, and raised the fortifications higher and higher – tactiturn again. Like the ice itself, rendered in a pretense of hollowed ends and edges. The rumble of his vocals might’ve been dangerous, a hushed designation as his body remained taut, threatening to unfurl somewhere. “So you cast your anger based on assumptions. Evie is not Zariah, nor am I Neron. I have known her for years.” And never had the Evergreen picked apart her own people, driven them into tyranny, or inspired anarchy. Nor was he Neron, a destitute and pathetic individual. “I am insulted you believe either of us to be in such leagues, or that I would pick someone as a partner and fellow leader in the same regards as the Merciless.”
He wasn't looking at Deimos, but he could feel the weight of the other man's displeasure and he hunched his shoulders against it, flinching at the expected retort but jutting his jaw out regardless and not backing down.
"No, you're not Neron. An' you are Halovian, where it counts. At least you've lived here a few years. Been through it with us, through Deepfrost an' dragons an' LongNights. Earned people's trust. Y'didn't just blow in an' out an' in again on the wind when it was convenient an' decide you were gonna lead us like y'led the Ascended before." His scowl deepened and this time he did look up and meet the General's eyes. "No one's forgotten that she led them, too. That she was the Grounders' Warden before she was ours. An' when her people come knockin' on the doors next season, she's sittin' pretty to let 'em in, now. Cuz she lived with them a lot longer than she's been here."
He drew a deep, shuddering breath and squeezed his fingers around the shaft of the glaive. "You're my hero, Deimos. But you're my friend, too. An' y'can make mistakes, just like anyone else. I'm scared t'death that she's one of 'em, with how fast she seduced you. How fast things changed. Y'know damn well that I would follow you into the fuckin' lava pools if you asked. But I'm sayin' I won't follow her. Not on anyone's word alone." He swallowed hard, stubbornly holding his ground and trying not to let the scared shaking in his hands become too obvious.
At a distance, the Ursur looks like nothing more than a snowdrift. Upon closer inspection, however, its thick white fur and huge tusks make it stand out as a once fearsome predator, now fallen and lifeless. There are no major visible injuries upon the creature - no blood at all to be seen - but this does not look natural.
Deimos wasn’t surprised to find Talyson’s explanations bizarre, and full of holes amongst a litany of misunderstandings. Almost as if they’d been purposefully drawn up in random bits and pieces, intending to portray the Evergreen as a villain when no such nefarious actions had ever been taken. When, why, or how he’d dreamed these capricious edges up seemed absurd – and the narrowed gaze of the Sword highlighted those segments poignantly. Ignorance wasn’t always bliss – sometimes it was repulsive, asinine, and insipid; drawing hatred, animosity, and acrimony with little to show for it. His tones remained the same – reticent, calm, composed, over the layers of frustration building. “She did live here for a time. Learned healing under Loren.”
And as for the other notions, that hadn’t been what happened, at all. Whim and chance and her opportunity to finally decide for herself had been amongst the Evergreen’s paths. Had she wanted to stay amongst the Ascended, the option would’ve been available to her, over and over and over again.
But what truly caused his teeth to clench were the other insinuations, and a low growl began to struggle with being smothered along his throat. “Evie is not a mistake. And I am allowed to be happy.” And gods it’d taken him a long time to figure out what that even was, after so many years – longer than he’d known the courier. “Where did you receive the information that I had been ‘seduced’?” For he’d never uttered a word about their relationship to anyone, not even Ru.
The other matters ensured that his furrowed brow stayed, struggling not to roll his eyes as the other reasons surfaced. “Change is often uncomfortable. But none of us believed we would need another round of Wardens again. She was voted in right alongside me.” The people had spoken. Hadn't that always been enough for Halo?
But maybe none of this mattered, considering the last statement. “Then you need to speak to her about your concerns, since my word does not seem to be enough. Or wait for actions, rather than your cherry-picked, broad presumptions.”
"Came here t'study under Zariah, too, I heard," Tal pointed out darkly. None of the Launceleyns were particularly well-loved by the Seawrights, though Loren had seemed the least malicious of the family.
Zariah, on the other hand...
Tal opened his mouth to protest that of course Deimos deserved to be happy, but he also thought Evie was a mistake and the words caught and tangled in his throat so in the end he said nothing. Reaching up to rub fiercely at the back of his neck in tongue-tied discomfort it was the return question that snapped him out of it, blinking in genuine surprise.
"I mean... y'haven't exactly been hidin' it. Y'showed up at the Flowerbirth party wearin' matchin' crowns and her eatin' out of your hand. An' even before that, when we were helpin' with the merchants you... an' she..." A little blood returned to Tal's stress-pale cheeks as he glared down at the General's boots. "Y'made it pretty clear you were sleepin' t'gether then." Teasing that had been misconstrued by Tal and Sah both, as it turned out. He swallowed hard before looking up again. "An' her puttin' her name on the ballot right beside yours, so we couldn't vote you in without her, like she was your consort or somethin'!" The scowl returned as he looked away. "Of course she got voted in, ridin' your name. I wanted you in more'n I didn't want her." But as the Evergreen and Sword had come as a package deal to the Wardenship, no one would ever know how many people felt the way Tal did on the subject.
To the last he could only jerk his head in a sharp nod, shoulders hunched at the pointed words. "Yeah, well. I'm keepin' an eye on her," he mumbled. Which was only making him more jealous of the time Deimos spent with her, but he certainly wasn't going to admit that to the older man. The Sword might have had very good points all around, but logic wasn't terribly effective against the envy and hurt of a lonely young man feeling that he was losing his closest friend to a woman's wiles.
“So based on assumptions, again.” His face remained blank, utterly impassive, receding back to primordial Reaper traditions of showcasing zero emotion, the frustration plainly written in his vocals otherwise. “Perhaps you should do more information gathering on facts, rather than theorizing off of opinions or jokes.” The merchant humor had been entirely on them misleading both younger boys through sheer amusement, but the Evergreen had done nothing nefarious there either. Nor was it any crime to share food, flower crowns, or enjoy one another’s company, even if Talyson’s rampant immaturity seemed to be making wonders of lines crossed. “Nor should my private life be any of your concern.” The Sword certainly never did the same to him.
He broke the seditious mold to roll his eyes at ‘consorts’ and all the other presumptions – as if Noah and Ru hadn’t led together before, with no relationship tied between the two of them. “No matter how I explain the situation, you seem to have deliberately misconstrued things. She only volunteered herself to support me. With conflict coming, it would not make sense to have Halo resting entirely on my shoulders. And we have worked together before.” With Safrin’s latest hand of sagacity, had they gone the route Talyson suggested, they would be without a sovereign during a pivotal moment of battle – with Deimos pulled into the mountains, fighting amongst the range. His jaw clenched on reflex, eyes flickering elsewhere. “Safrin told me Noah and I would be going to the Draig when war begins.” A confirmation of their already spoken potentials. “Halo would still have a leader here when I am gone.”
His gaze lingered back, narrowing, posture still taut and unforgiving. “But none of that seems to matter to you.” And maybe one day reality would smack Talyson in the face – he wouldn’t have lost time with Deimos due to Evie (wasn’t he here, right now?) - but the courier’s own bewildering personal vendettas and poorly contrived bitterness. “Maybe it is best if you train on your own today.”
Tal flinched from the verbal blows, but despite how much it hurt to have Deimos angry with him there was a dawning light of hope as pieces of the Warden's words fit together. If it had all been an awkward, horrible mistake he was going to feel like proper shit and would have to eat an entire pie of crow, but it was worth it if the implications of what the Sword was saying were what the courier thought.
If they had just been joking... if Evie was just a backup Warden... if they were just had a history of working together platonically...
"So... then... you an' she... you're not a couple? Romantically?" Fingers wrapped around the metal haft of the glaive as if he could squeeze it into wire as he met that unforgiving glare with a desperate, wild hope, even as the Warden's decision - not phrased as a question, too flat to sound like a suggestion - wilted the courier's shoulders, regardless of the other answer.
The slightest inkling on confusion came along furrowed edges and brows, but the residual reticence wasn’t lost in the bewildering presence. Given the amount of information and parameters Deimos had just granted Talyson, he’d expected something else – maybe concern for either of his friends going into the lion’s den, maybe understanding of the harsh road ahead, maybe comprehension dawning and flickering on his face.
But there seemed to be none of that at all, and the air of disappointment and frustration pulsed on the vestiges of breath collecting from his mouth, in a long, unfurling sigh. He was torn, rather seditiously, in not telling the fool anything at all, and leaving him to his own devices. But considering how many times his words seemed to muddle along and leave room for the messenger to collect the numbest lines, spelling it outright might’ve been the best option. “We are, but I do not see how that is any of your business.” Eyes narrowed, and jaw clenched again; for he’d never been a fan of releasing anything he found unnecessary. “I am through with this conversation, Talyson.”
And to ensure that wouldn’t be left into delusions or falsehoods, he spun on his heel, forgoing any training that would’ve taken place.
