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!
10-08-2022, 09:46 PM (This post was last modified: 10-11-2022, 10:41 PM by Evie.)
Evie
Did you ever love her? Do you know?
There had been one more piece of news Deimos had alluded to in the Feverlands, and Evie had only recalled that fact after they’d returned to Halo. It takes a few days to find the time, but she doesn’t let herself forget in the interim. It’s a very early morning; having gone for her normal run even earlier to plan for this, so that she might catch Deimos before he begins his daily routine. A heads up for the soldiers midway through her running route, and she had the perfect reason for Deimos to dawdle.
She comes laden with stealing breakfast foods in little boxes, balancing them on one arm - and ensuring they don’t fall with a touch of magic - to knock in her normal pattern on his door. When he answers, she pops open the lid on the top box, revealing eggs, bacon, and fluffy pancakes with little tins of syrup lined like soldiers beside them. “I bring gifts,” she cajoles, as if the food alone is the only reason he’d let her in.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Deimos hadn’t forgotten. But it hadn’t been the right time, amid delivering already overwhelming news, and no need for a heightened range of roiling, boiling emotions – knowing and understanding the notions would’ve brought her discomfort of another kind. So he’d kept it under lock and key again, stored neatly behind teeth and tongue, in the back of a careful, meticulous mind. Still worth addressing, but uncertain how to impart the necessary words without the acrimony and hostility reserved within its space.
And maybe he couldn’t.
The Evergreen had been correct in her observations – Deimos was already well awake, preparing for the day, the sun barely pressing its way through the sky. Ensuring companions were fed, his bag was packed with the necessities, plans, schedules, and routines fostered for the soldiers, he had every intention of snagging a piece of toast on the way over to the barracks and leaving it at that.
The familiar and telltale knock on the door left him pondering and wondering though, brows furrowing slightly as he opened the door to find Evie – with piles of food balancing on each arm, offerings extended to him. Snorting lightly, he took one layer off of the teetering stack, inhaling the aroma of eggs, bacon, and pancakes with a breathless ease. “I suppose you can come in then,” he winked, leaving the aperture open and stepping aside to give her room.
Belial’s head instantly went up – but he ignored the beast for the moment, bringing the food to the table, a light smile resting on his features, naturally inquiring. “What brought this on?” Usually with their schedules, they met later on in the day, or evening; accustomed to the alterations.
Evie does a little half-curtsy before she slips through the open door with a hop of energy, still flushed and perky from her run. Shutting the cold out behind her, the Evergreen follows in his wake, setting the remainder of the food beside his on the table. Steadying herself with steepled fingers on the surface of the table, she rises and presses a quick, gentle kiss on Deimos’ lips in proper hello. “Thought we could have a little change of pace, give you a proper breakfast. I stopped on my run to let the Barracks know you’d be delayed this morning, so we have some time.” As much as they want, really. Despite Deimos’ desire for oversight, Evie trusts the Shields to stay out of too much trouble for at least a few hours.
Plucking a piece of bacon from her own box, she bites a piece off and chews it before tilting her head in conciliation. “But you did say you had one more piece of bad news for me, and I thought I’d offset it with good food and a quiet morning.” Two things they often strive for anyway; delicious meals and peace and quiet. Just a different hour of the day now.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The kiss was returned, deepened with gratitude, snagging at the cold on her face with the remaining warmth of his presence, content in giving another reason for flushed cheeks. He only stepped back to snag at another piece of bacon before she could, head tilting vaguely as he listened her explanation – eyes narrowing slightly at the thought of the warriors relief at not having him hovering nearby. But time, especially now, was a finite thing, and despite the multitude of weights bearing over his shoulders, he could take these transient, flitting moments.
Even if they were due and damned to be consigned to discomfort, if the alternating subjects were to be believed. The Sword would have gladly taken other opportunities to spend the fleeting hours, rather than the impending discussion.
Shrugging off his jacket and placing it back on the hook, his long strides swept along the kitchen, snagging at plates from the cabinets as the heart of the matter strung its way down his spine. A long, perhaps sullen, sigh began to unwind behind it, and he found the residual irritation beginning to form along the back of his skull – as frustrated as he’d been amidst the conversation with the courier. “I fear it may ruin your morning,” and then he returned to the table, snagging at utensils to parse through the food and ensure they had equal portions. “From what I understood and saw, Talyson seemed to have a problem with you. So I asked him if that was true, and for the reasons behind it.” His gaze flicked towards hers, watching and waiting, a perusal, a study in reactions.
It does indeed make her flush, leaning in closer, just about to lift her hand from the table to steady herself against his chest when he pulls back, leaving her in a bit of a daze. Until the sight of him grabbing his food reminds her of her own, and allows her to busy her hands and mouth with something other than his own.
Admittedly she’d known this would be a difficult conversation in some way, but she’d stubbornly hoped that food and the privacy of his dining room would make it all a little easier to bear. As he returns with the utensils and plates, she loads her own slowly, listening attentively. If he fears it will ruin her morning, perhaps it is just as dire as the news of his fated call to the Draig.
She’s not expecting it to be about Talyson.
Boggling for a moment, she takes a bite of her eggs, using the opportunity to consider her response. “His animosity has been blatant, but I hoped Time and me giving him his space would suffice. But from what you’re saying, perhaps not…?” Tentatively probing, uncertain and wondering how bad this could truly be.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
There’d been half a hope that she wouldn’t want to hear it, and then they could move on to more pleasant things. But based on the quiet consideration, the mutual silence, and then the expansion of inquiries, that wasn’t to be the case. Sitting down with only a slight grimace, he snagged a portion of eggs with his fork with a little more force than necessary – contemplating how best to begin.
Because the Sword had always strived to be a person who fixed things; saw broken proportions, and strived to segment them back together when he could. Perhaps it came from the protective nature inherent along his bones, from years spent on battlefields, from seasons wound along one chaotic situation to the next. Finding the root of the problem had been first and foremost in his mind, uncertain why Evie had been the target of Talyson’s ire. “I am not certain that will do anything,” carved along another long, unfurled breath, though it’d been Deimos’ current solution. “He took issue with you being Warden. Drew some comparisons to Zariah,” to which he rolled his eyes, the level of disdain for the comment clear in his gaze as the piercing stare leveled back to her. “Thought you had ‘hooked your claws’ into me. Seemed to not like the idea of us being together.” His jaw clenched, biting down on the food, and swallowing down proportions before continuing; for winding back into the sanctions drew forth the frustration all over again. “Any logic or explanations I had in response did not seem to sink in.”
She is able to listen calmly even through his gentle let down, though it furrows her brow. Why would time and space not mend Talyson’s inexplicable distaste for her? Surely her joke at the banquet couldn’t have courted an eternal grudge? It simply didn’t make any sense if that was the case. The response far more drastic than the perceived injury.
Until -
“Drew some comparisons to Zariah.”
Her fork makes a loud, ringing metallic noise as it slides from her limp hand to ricochet off the side of her plate, falling to the table. Evie stares, perhaps at or maybe through him, the rest of what he says sliding in her ears and finding root but paling in comparison to a slight Talyson couldn’t have possibly constructed into something more hurtful.
A hand made for healing fists itself on top of the table.
“What does he presume to know about Zariah to claim the confidence to compare me to her?” It spits like acid in a tone gone icy and far too perfectly pronounced. Almost arrogant, regal, the same tone she employed to sneer down her nose at Sam for so many, many years. “How does he even know about us? Has he -” a dawning, furious realization cuts off her inquiry, eyes widening into an expression that would best befit horror were it not for the flush of rage steadily rising in her cheeks. “Hooked my claws? What was he implying?” Like a cobra’s shaking tail her voice is a warning, knowing there is more behind Deimos’ carefully considered words and needing an explanation before she determines just how severe her reaction will be.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The clatter of the fork didn’t surprise him, though Belial seemed to jump from his position near the hearth. Deimos’ calm, clear disposition, along with all the other nettles and thorns pressing in amongst them, remained solidified, watching her along the ridiculous distinctions and stupefying conclusions the courier had gone through. “Lived through her reign with Neron, which apparently lent to an assortment of assumptions,” which wasn’t an excuse, but a bewildering consideration, given how different the two women were. How much had been endured. How they’d all seen and cultivated revolutions beneath the nose of such a tyrannical fiend – the implications that Evie would be of the same ilk caused his jaw to clench again. “I told him the very thought was insulting and asinine.”
Absorbing the rage, because he understood it well, he shook his head, picking at the pancake beneath his fork. “Matching crowns, sharing cookies, and making jokes apparently means we are sleeping together.” That portion had been absurd, and it felt even more bewildering as it settled across his tongue.
As for further inferences and insinuations, he likely didn’t have to spell it out – but did so, at her request, with another long sigh, waiting for the rest of the anger to bank and brew. “That you seduced me to get into power.” Which couldn’t be further from the truth, and so his nose wrinkled once more, gaze flickering from his plate and back to her. “I informed him that he needed to speak to you about his concerns, instead of making these broad, heinous presumptions.” And, going by this conversation, the fool had yet to do so. “I am sorry. I had meant to try and solve things.”
Normally, his calm would level her back down to earth, an anchoring presence that reminded her of better, more logical ways to contend with difficult matters. But there is no weight that could anchor her down, not now. “Reign!” she barks furiously, taking the word between her teeth like a starving dog with a scrap of meat. “She was the head of the magic school, not even a Warden! How pitiful his existence must have been as a magic-less whelp living out on the ice, compared to what we suffered locked in a barrier with that woman!” Freckles nearly extinguish themselves from view beneath the force of her flush. Even Deimos could not fully empathize with a life lived in close proximity to the Launcelyn cult, long before the Outlanders began pouring in. To be compared to Zariah was an insult far, far graver than anything else Talyson could have dreamed of leveling against her.
All the blood drains from her face in the next moment. Legs that had nearly pushed her from her chair to partake in stalking, pacing motions go week at the knees, leaving Evie slumped in her chair like an abandoned marionette.
Sleeping together?
Gods, they hadn’t even -
And he assumed?
Each word is so much worse than the last, and vaguely somewhere far away in the back of her head her own voice comments on how fast her heart is beating and yet how it does nothing to stop the wave of cold through her limbs. Deimos is apologizing, and even in her shell-shocked rage Evie can’t imagine what he possibly has to be sorry for.
“I appreciate you trying. If I’d known it was more than a boyish grudge I would have…” done more? Approached him sooner? The words feel wooden in her mouth. Evie is no saint, and certainly not puritanical. Being accused of seduction at large is not the problem, it’s the context in which it had been placed. The rage could restless beneath the ice, demanding attention. Slowly she warms through once more, thawing, melting, and steaming as she emerges from the icy shock. Teeth grit and grind until her jaw twitches and feathers with fury. “Clearly he is due a visit from me then,” she growls, incapable of any more graceful expression of her roiling, tumultuous emotions.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
As a man who’d often built his life around moments surrounded by fury and contempt, he remained the calm, composed, and calculating individual amidst the storm. Ice intertwined with portions of his own cold, nonchalant fire; chest only tightening to see her reactions restlessly woven and seething. Her tempest, rightfully so, swirled around him, and he sat amid the rage and uncertainty, listening. While he knew some of Talyson’s backstory, of a father lost along the cultists’ rage and instigated fervor of Zariah’s inklings, it still didn’t mean Evie was the same person. The ties were loose and barely held together at all – origins be damned.
And because they knew the truth, and many more citizens besides, this one speck of irritation seemed to grind further. “The Merciless inspires loathing wherever she goes.” But the Evergreen didn’t, and Deimos had to wonder how deep the prejudice for the former Grounded ruler went, to be so blinded, uncomprehending, and deprived of all sense. “But that is not who you are.” And here he leaned forward; for he’d heard no other inklings, no other disregards, no other slander save for the courier; a hand outstretched across the table if she wanted it.
“I thought that was all it was too,” and had deigned to clear the air – but this precipice was a gaping, hollowed out, lack of perception that he hadn’t considered Talyson capable of. Impulsive, rash, and mercurial to be certain, but so were most foolish youths – maybe he’d expected more. At her notions though, he unfurled a long sigh, wondering if some actions would simply make it all worse, fan the flames, and disregard moments carefully wrought and built. “What do you intend to do?”
It is not who she is. Somehow, hearing it so concisely said for the second time takes the wind from her sails, soothing a hurt that her rage had cleverly concealed. Anger was easier to hold onto. Hurt was simply hurt. While she had no relationship with Talyson prior to this wound, the depth of it was unmistakable. Evie had been proud, humbled, even honored by the fact she’d been voted in willingly by the citizens of Halo. Had Talyson cast his vote entirely because of Deimos’ name?
Had all of them?
It hurts so deeply it brings wetness straight to her eyes, and her fingertips shake as they reach for the hand Deimos lays upon the table, unashamed to need him in this moment. Her throat feels thick, like she’d swallowed sap instead of the unassuming syrup of a meal she has lost her appetite for.
“I’ve done nothing to make him think these things of me, so why?” Her voice trembles slightly. For that, she is indeed ashamed. The courage and fire her anger had lent her is now vanished, and she feels small and uncertain. And yet, still, grateful; that she is merely Evie right now, not the Evergreen, whose reactions would be scrutinized far more closely were this a public affair. “I insulted his pride perhaps, but the level of animosity doesn’t match. I don’t understand.” Which is why when he asks her what she intends to do, Evie props her free arm onto the table and drops her head into her hands, long pale fingers covering her eyes. “I - I don’t know. It’s not as simple as it was before I became Warden. A quiet talk in my office would give me leverage he could feel scorned by, a challenge might make him claim I’m forcefully removing any disagreeing voices the way Zariah did…” she trails off uncertainly, sharp mind at a loss for once. Hurt blue eyes peek from behind her hand, searching for Deimos’ own. “Leaving it be hurts only me, so long as I don’t partner with him during our larger projects. Maybe I should just…leave it?” It is not in Evie’s nature to let such an insult lie, but regardless of Talyson’s assumptions of her character, Evie cares more about being a good Warden than she does defending her own good name.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
The moment the rage subsided he dragged his chair closer, calloused digits wrapping around palms and fingers, remaining firmly upright, towering, a shield even in the privacy of his home. Her trembling voice caused his eyes to narrow, his head to hang slightly, wondering if he should have said anything at all. “I do not know,” was an honest answer; and while one could always surmise the reasoning behind some of the broad speculations, none of them had ever come close to the truth. It wasn’t the first time Deimos had been mystified by the courier’s actions, but perhaps it’d been the foremost incident where he was stunned, marred, and hurt by them. That they wounded Evie as well only led to further irritation, the nettling of thorns stumbling and bumbling around his ribcage, the tightening of his hand over hers.
“His pride? The joke at the festival?” Had that been an inspiring action? The Sword himself could lean towards spite and pettiness, but only when actions had been taken and surmised – a jocular tone seemed particularly ridiculous. His eyes followed her movements, features struggling not to flicker into a frown or furrowed brows, striving to remain reticent and pondering amid the inanity of the entire thing.
And then what to be done.
Because he agreed; the options were limited. Pummeling him in a spar would only lend her further into the likes and ilk of Zariah, even if everyone else had done the same. Scorn would ensure his petulance remained a firm notion. A challenge in the middle of the streets for the rest of Halo to see would lend her no credibility either. Finally, all he could do was sigh. “Actions will always speak louder than words. All you have done since you came to Halo was help.” Restoring a healing area. Assisting in everything they’d done and accomplished. “Persist in what you have been doing, and he will have nothing to stand on.” The high road, unfortunately, always seemed to be the more difficult path. “I doubt he will approach you on his own anyway.”
It is difficult not to feel selfish, needing his protection and comfort in his own home after she’d deigned to show up without warning, but Evie knows she would do much the same in his shoes. It’s okay to lean on him, and so she doesn’t stop herself from edging closer herself, allowing thighs to touch and fingers to intertwine. Evie had known she would never be capable of ensuring everyone liked her, but Talyson has been so loyal to Deimos, effectively within an inner circle of one was to be drawn around the constituents of Halo. It feels like a dagger through the back of her ribs, cruelly struck from an intimately close vantage point.
She shrugs helplessly at his efforts to narrow down reasonings, inspirations. “Maybe? I barely know him, honestly.” They’d spoken all of a handful of words to one another, and all before she’d been voted in. It is unfair to have these stones cast against her, especially with comparisons to someone who hurt Evie deeply in her own time, and for what? “Maybe he’s just defensive of you, if he said I was seducing you,” she offers, uncertain of any other lines to draw with so little to work with.
It’s far from a resolution. Inaction feels acrid on her tongue, like defeat, but if Deimos’ mind can do no more than agree with her own, Evie knows there is no other solution. At least not one that would truly fix things. “I don’t want this to ruin your friendship with him,” she admits softly, squeezing his hand in the quiet. “I know you won’t sit by if he disparages me blatantly, but I don’t want you to lose him because of me. Or, well, him technically - it still feels like me when I’m involved.” Her tongue is thick and clumsy with the words, admittedly, but she trusts him to understand her intent. It feels strange to ask him to turn even a partial blind eye to Talyson’s treatment of her, but Evie cares more for Deimos having friends and loved ones than she does being defended.
the ocean does not apologize for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness
Offering refuge was an instinctual, inherent practice; done without fail for those who needed it. He’d never begrudge the Evergreen her moments of sanctum and sanctuary, just as he presumed she’d do the same for him. Moments of peace were fleeting; grasping it with both hands sometimes a necessity, and with these ridiculous blows, comfort was readily granted. At her shrug he could only grant a small smile, like an indulgence into the minds of capricious, mercurial fools. “Misplaced defensiveness, then.” Deimos didn’t require protection from Evie. From his own faults and flaws, perhaps, but he doubted anyone besides himself were capable of that. “His insinuations were wounding to me as well.” He shrugged his shoulders too – for the uncertainty of where their friendship lingered teetered and stumbled.
Another breath loosened from his chest, as if given free reign from tethers and shackles. “If I heard an apology…,” things could be different, not so altered, not so maimed. But at this point, the Sword wouldn’t be seeking the youth out. “Any undermining to our friendship was by his actions.”
The small grin reappeared, with a vague tilt to his head, fire incantations seeking to warm the food before it grew cold again, casting a joke into the air to see where it resonated. “There. Have I sufficiently ruined your morning?”
