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!
11-19-2022, 10:18 PM (This post was last modified: 11-21-2022, 01:04 AM by Maeve.)
Maeve
Over. Over. Over. That was all that Maeve could think. Even as Noah presses a tender kiss to her forehead, wishing her the best with the silent gesture before departing, and she's left standing there in shock for what feels like ages. The Nightshade doesn't even know where to start. What to even do.
As they reentered Torchline it didn't seem like home. Things were different. Islands floating in the air and the corpse of the Kingslayer on the beach, looming and large even from the entrance of the Court, but her home stood relatively unscathed. Yet she wasn't. Her back still hurt, searing pain lancing through her with each breath, delicate skin knitting itself back together slowly with the aid of Ronin's and Noah's healing. Blood cakes her skin, slicking her hair to her scalp, hiding the silvery ends of her tresses beneath rusty copper. Yet the crown atop her head glows, casting delicate starlight across her features, making her look more like a harbinger of death than the queen of the stars.
She doesn't know how long she stands there, bow having clattered from numb fingers onto the floor, unstirring even as Aidon crooned and circled her. Not even the dragonling able to pull her from her stupor. With a mournful cry, ember eyes pleading and unsure, he takes flight from one of the open windows in search of Harper.
Anything beautiful, people want to break And you are beautiful, I'm afraid
Harper has spent the few days in the wake of the devastation coordinating, rebuilding, cleaning. Anything and everything that is needed of him. He is no King, has never been a ruler despite his ability to lead and instruct, and he knows he falls short in Maeve’s absence. There is nothing to be done about that until she returns.
Because she has to.
He can’t imagine any alternative.
It’s exhausting work, and he scarcely sleeps. With his entire family out of reach he has no need to slow down or consider his own limitations, and so he toils nearly endlessly. Interruptions are frequent and inevitable; citizens in all manner of emotional upheaval, guards, lost people recognizing him as a Councilman and hoping he will assist them in ways he cannot. Aidon, however, is an unexpected interruption, and the second he sees the dragon - still alive, which means Maeve is too - he drops his tools and does nothing more than catch eyes with the foreman to explain his departure.
And then he runs.
While Maeve is motionless, the sand upon the beach, Harper is an implacable wave that rushes to meet her. “Mae-bell,” he chokes, and sweeps her into his arms without hesitation. Though the sight of her covered in blood and a starlit crown is undoubtedly terrifying, she’s alive, anything else can be fixed. “You’re hurt, where are you hurt? Let me get one of the flasks,” he takes command immediately, parting from her only for the few steps it takes to retrieve one of the flasks filled from the Fountain in the city square, returning at nearly a sprint to press it anxiously into her hands. Only then does he begin to inspect her, hands restless but steady with militaristic precision.
Inevitable. That's what they are. That's what they always will be. Inevitable. He's a wave crashing upon her shore, sweeping over her in a wash and she finally moves. An intake of breath, sharp and sudden, lashes fluttering as she trembles in his embrace. Whether it was from pain or simply the relief of having him here. His words are a distant mumble, sounding as if she's underwater, vaguely aware of his question as he rushes away from her only to appear again. He presses the vial into her hands and it's with still numb fingers that Maeve manages to uncork it, bringing it to her lips and drinking deeply, shivering as it hits the back of her raw throat.
His searching will reveal her flayed shoulders, caked with blood and a few streams of scarlet still trickling down from the open wounds, "It came out of no where... The dragon." Dragons. There had been so many. Quick and deadly. That hadn't been the worst of it. Nothing could have prepared them for what waited on top of the mountain and even now Maeve can't fathom where she exists in the aftermath.
Anything beautiful, people want to break And you are beautiful, I'm afraid
She is a numb and frozen presence in his arms, but Harper does not feel snubbed in the least by her lack of reaction. She takes the vial, even manages to drink it, and that is enough. The waters will begin to work on her soon enough, the rest lies in his hands.
Hands that gently peel away clothes around her nape, finding openings without tugging on clotted wounds tangled with fabric that will need to be carefully extracted. And soon, before the magic worked too quickly. His hands are familiar with her body, and sure of their welcome; Harper begins to peel away the shredded material, as gentle as he can manage to be, as he listens to her trailing first words. They aren't what he expected, but Harper isn't sure what he did expect; the Draig is as monstrously unfamiliar to him as any region could stand to be. But dragons are terrifying regardless, and to know she went up against one makes his veins run cold.
But she came back. She already triumphed. Its the only comfort he has, and he holds onto it with both hands. "It's okay love, you're home. You made it back home; we'll get you healed and cleaned up. You're safe." And the relief is palpable in his own tone as he says it, pressing a kiss to a small bit of unmarred skin of her shoulder as he works.
His fingers skate across her skin in a familiar dance. Still just as gentle and intimate, but the touch doesn't bring sparks of pleasure to flare in her belly. Instead her breath hitches with pain, discomfort flaring along the bond, the first real feeling to filter along the bond towards him aside from the overwhelming numbness.
There is more she wants to tell him. About the champions. About the Ascended and the Core. About the vision she was caught in. How invisible she was. How it felt like she was home and yet she hadn't been heard. The Nightshade's throat constricts around her inhale, shuddering at his words, the relief behind them pulling her from those thoughts and it's only then that she feels the heat of her tears sliding down her cheeks.
"Harper... I was so scared." She whispers, sniffling as his lips find one of the only unmarred patches of skin on her shoulder, nestled between deep gouges crisscrossing along her milky white shoulders stained by blood.
Anything beautiful, people want to break And you are beautiful, I'm afraid
He loathes causing her any manner of discomfort, but it is a necessary hurt if she is to heal properly. All he can do is murmur soft, senseless things to ease and soothe his beloved. Harper focuses on love and comfort, immersing his own mind in it so that it can radiate through their bond to wrap around her, shroud her from the agony of both flesh and mind.
As the numbness breaks and her tears begin to flow, Harper pauses in his work and circles her immediately; the water will continue to heal her, he has to prioritize her mind now.
Hands rising, Harper gently cups her cheeks, thumbing away tears as he presses their brows together. "I can't imagine what you faced up there, how terrifying it must have been," he whispers. "You are one of the strongest, bravest people I know Maeve. It's okay to be scared - because you did it anyway. And you made it back." Alongside demigods and champions, shining just as brightly as her compatriots. He couldn't be prouder.
She wants to curl up inside of his chest. To carve out a hole and live there, nestled among the love and warmth he's created for her, knowing she'd be safe there. That he'd always keep her safe. Maeve's hands come up, gripping at his sides, twisting into his clothes as if they're her lifeline as his words fall onto her. She scrambles to collect them, to bottle them up and swallow them down too, much like she did the water from the fountain. Hoping that they'll chase away the images that still flicker and flash behind her eyelids each time they close. Gods, just make them stop.
The plea comes without her even realizing it. Pressing into his mind as she crumples against him, allowing him to be her rock this time, needing him desperately to support her in the way she knows he never fails to do. Maeve is strong. She is. She's strong and capable, but gods, she's tired. So fucking tired.
Back from a war and home to a region in shambles. Unable to even think a coherent thought long enough to decide where to start. How can she be queen? How can she lead? When she can't even hold herself together long enough to speak to her beloved?
