He is too kind, in a way that Ásta feels undeserving of. The blush on their face spreads charmingly to the tips of their ears, down to their collarbones. Their head dips, shy, but their voice does not falter, even as it falls into a whisper only he can hear. “It is forgiven.” And yet it would be many days before it would be forgotten.
Their head tilts, curious yet cautious. Oh. Hopefully it would not be too bold to hope that his presence now was more than just enduring. The worry would’ve turned in Ásta’s head for longer, were it not for the name that slips from his lips next.
Oh, no. Stiffness does come, an uncurling of their spine. How could Ásta not recognize such a name immediately, when they had traced each candidate written in the notice’s ink? Some primal awareness comes then, as they blurt anything to reassure him, even as they cannot help the panic in their eyes and the buzzing blankness in their mind that comes then. “No, it won’t bother me!” Their hand closes around his wrist in reflex, quick yet lacking a strong grip, to urge him to stay. “It is not—I just… I just.”
They flinch, frown once again as they seem pained. It is a moment before that they speak. “Is it alright if I… If I do not tell you my name?” So often had they been but another nameless minstrel, that the propriety of introductions had been gladly forgotten. Had not thought it important until now, but— “Please.” Their black eyes rise to meet his, pleading as if they were asking of unfathomable things. “I will not lie to you and—you will surely know, next time we meet. It can remain true and simple, if you permit it. I would just rather not think of it—not linger on it anymore.”
To not linger on that which had taken Ivar, not think of the curse that the only brother they have left chases after next, cloaked in the righteousness of his duty. I’m sorry, they think, towards the others that they hope would win. Nameless and faceless sacrifices, those that do not matter in the face of their fear and love. Another apology, to Vaelor's wish, for the way they hope desperately it will never come to be. And a final one, to this man that has only now stopped being a stranger, for being cursed with now Ásta's wayward desire that he would lose and live.
They notice then, where their hand had come to lay. Pull back as if burned. “Sorry, but—” Ásta smiles at him, if a tad trembling. “Don’t go, not yet.” They gesture towards the lyre. “We have some hours yet. Let me play you a few songs until you tire of them.”
the very moment stiffness seemed to enter them, cavit could see it. now, don’t get him wrong… there was a certain enjoyment he carried in himself over how people reacted to him. whether it be because of his name, his land, or the fact that he was going for the crown (while newer, still enjoyable). it was like a delicate taste on his tongue. something to be savored – the fear, the unease at looking at someone like him… unknown unlike so many others.
but in this moment, he truly wished the nerves and somewhat easy way they had been speaking would remain, so he didn’t judge them when they spoke questions if they could keep their name a secret. smiling softly, he nodded, “that wouldn’t be a bother at all,” he acquiesced without a second thought. cavit already had an idea of just where they were from, who they could be. perhaps he did not travel so often but he certainly paid to be informed. reclusiveness did not always mean a head in the sand.
“let us keep our simplicity,” was added as he moved to sit again, relaxing on the bench as if he had been made to be there. an easy confidence he carried in himself most if not all days. however the crown was determined, he would make sure he had a connection to it and with any luck, a careful hand on the throat of the council as he gripped tightly.
“what shall you play next? is there any that help you think of home?” was questioned as his gaze shifted to the flower in their hair and back to their face. “or perhaps that helps you think of flowers and new meetings?”
That she would consider him worthy of being her friend gladdens him in a way he thought beyond reach. To be allowed such tenderness, before her death duty is due, means too much for him to pay it justice in mere words, and thus even if Denma refuses payment, refuses his help, he will not hesitate to offer what he can from his own hands.
Cian goes easily, hoping one day slipping into the inevitable will be half as gentle, considering what is to come. His fingers on hers squeeze slightly. “Still, your duty shames me. When I think about how much has been ignored by the Council…” He looks shamed and determined both. “I will do my best to make sure you are heard. They would be fools to remain deaf to you.”
The breath that leaves him is weary and deep. Right, despite it all, Cian remains yet another of the velkynar, and he is not above banal hurts underneath the wooden skin he wishes to burrow under. He fidgets, almost wishing to flee, and it is only her that stays him. “I do not feel worthy of even that bit of her.” He admits. “I failed her. From cradle through life and into death. So many paths I was unable to tread due to my own weakness, where I might’ve become one that could’ve protected her.” Cian sniffs, another tear slipping down his cheek. “And yet I still want something that can remind me of her besides the memories; the effigies we spoke of… If you think me worthy of it, at all.”
He stops himself then, because otherwise it would all turn into nonsensical grievances, unending in the river of his grief. But such silence brings his mind elsewhere even while remaining near, and he can only hope she allows him to ask, if only in the wish he could maybe trace the steps she has taken. “Did you make one for your brother, as well?” He swallows. “How did you bear such pain?”
his words did little to soothe the worry she held for him. cian spoke of unworthiness as if he wore it like the cloak he had put on her shoulders. speaking of making sure her own voice was heard like it was a pledge of duty. she couldn’t help but wonder how many pledges he had been forced by himself or others to make in the short time of being on the council? of course, the families of braxigar deserved to be heard. her’s just as much as any other. denma could not help the way her heart ached for him.
“i know you will do your best,” she started softly, tilting her head so he could not hide from her gaze, “but we all must put in the work. it is not only on your shoulders,” while, perhaps, her reassurance would not be heeded, she had to try. her hand moved to wipe the stray tear from his eyes while he spoke of his mother. of being unworthy of her. of never doing enough. yes, she knew this dance. one she had danced only a month ago. one she still held in her heart.
could she have done more for akira? was their neutrality truly worth it all? “you will always be worthy of your memories of her. no one can take those away from you,” she started already thinking over ways to create one that would honor the lady garramoth. denma had met her on many occasions, she hoped she could assist in doing her justice.
“as for akira,” she leaned back a little, giving her a slight space to breathe as she thought of him. “i did. we as a family did. took our time choosing the right things and setting what we had of him to rest the best way we could.” she spoke with a sad smile on her lips. oh, how she missed him already. “we knew the life of a chosen could be dangerous, more so in the time of the choosing. but this, this we did not have the power of the stars to see…”
humming, she squeezed his hand gently as she pulled herself from her own thoughts of saying goodbye. “i fear for you too, cian. are you certain the throne is what you wish?”
His gaze dropped briefly to the final weapon she revealed, the dark axe catching what little candlelight reached them. for perhaps the first time since the conversation began, beric looked genuinely impressed, not alarmed, not threatened, simply impressed. the corner of his mouth curved faintly. “i'll admit,” he said evenly, “that one was unexpected.” his attention returned to her as she spoke again, whatever trace of amusement had lingered fading into something quieter, more attentive. he listened without interruption, and as her words sharpened, so too did the stillness in him. there was no mistaking the weight of what she was asking now. this was no longer a sister's warning, nor a threat veiled as courtesy, this was trust being dragged across stone, reluctantly offered only because circumstance demanded it. when silence settled between them, beric did not rush to fill it.
“you ask as though i stumbled blindly into your sister's orbit unaware of what she is,” his voice remained low, calm, but something firmer had entered it now. his gaze held hers steadily. “i pursued lenore knowing her reputation. knowing exactly what blood runs through her veins,” a small pause followed, deliberate, “knowing she is kaelvorn.” the words settled heavily between them, “i did not choose her despite the dragon.” the corner of his mouth moved faintly, though there was no humor in it, “i chose her with full understanding that dragons tend to burn whatever gets too close.” slowly, beric's gaze flicked once toward the small arsenal now resting at her feet before returning to morella. “and wolves do not cower to dragons, lady morella,” there was no arrogance in the statement, only certainty, something old and instinctive. “they survive them. fight beside them. sometimes bleed for them,” his jaw tightened faintly before easing again, “so if what you're asking is whether i will stand beside your sister when you cannot, the answer is yes.” no hesitation. none at all, his expression softened only slightly, though the weight behind it remained. “without hesitation, without morality, if necessary.”
this was all she needed. it was a rare smile that tugged the corner of her lips. “good,” she started lightly, eyes looking around them for a moment, as if she could find the unseen before it could make it to them. there had been a fear running through morella’s mind since she stalked her sister to vexmarsh before doing as requested – watching over kaelvorn. to her, the fear was not unfounded. the more her elder sister’s plans progressed; it seemed that things were out of any sort of control the dragon souled could wish to have.
one day, there would be a time, her sister would go where she could not follow…
the idea made her caged heart growl like the beast she was. to know that her sister could be in danger and she would be able to do nothing. even if beric was a man. even if he wasn’t her… someone watching her back was what mattered most to her. truly watching her back.
“i fear one day, my sister will go where i cannot follow. where i cannot watch her and protect her,” the frost born’s words were low but edged with the true worry she held. morella promised no masks. “and if at least one person is there, watching over her that truly cares for her and not their own agenda… -” she looked to him again, sizing him up and seeing he didn’t falter, was good. soothing an instinct in her that had been frayed for the last month.
“i will be less likely to burn the world given the opportunity.” a simple truth with very little fanfare. something in her had ached to do so for a very long time. perhaps the first time she was left to navigate home in the deeps snows of the mountain? or when she had to tear apart an animal she killed with her bare hands and teeth. mora would burn the world for nora or drown it in blood, whichever came first…
going out to see the markets of heliophra, at a time like this one, is a frivolous enough endeavour to make lian feel guilty. there is too much danger on the near horizon, so much politics wherever he goes, and the unknown stretches on and on. the useful thing would be to remain at elaris keep to figure out a glimpse of what's going on. the unfortunate thing is that he tried- he is trying- yet it's stressful enough that it is difficult to sleep at night and to remain sane in that space.
if he can convince himself to believe it; he really needs this. to leave where everything is happening in their world, to the world of everyone else. to see bustling life here in the city center is a relief, a reminder that nocturnia will continue going on, people will laugh and fight and drink, make a living for themselves, and have fun. it is inevitable, and incredibly reassuring to lian, a sharp contrast to how things are looking increasingly more bleak the more time spent in castles and manors.
plus, he plans to pick up a few souvenirs, both for sheng and cian, wanting to attempt cheering them both up, as small a drop as it would be in the ocean, he still wishes to try. it is hard to pick up what exactly, and he spends an ample amount of time wandering through different stalls, talking with vendors, learning more about the city. it is then that he runs into someone, and before he can apologize- the voice reaches his ears, recognition sets in.
the words are sweet enough to make him flush, a smile spreading across his face as his eyes widen. "nerian! i- it's- it's good to see you too." stumbling over only the first words, he laughs, nodding again. "it's good to hear i have made an impression- though... i hope it's a good one?" it's only half a tease, for he isn't fully sure the other enjoyed his time in braxigar. then again, if he had to take a guess, he'd say so.
only after a brief pause, he asks, eager to spend more time together. "do you have time for some drinks or a snack? i was just talking to a vendor about the local specialties. since there is sun here, he was saying everything tastes sweeter. more ripe."
while the younger son of mirethorn was flushed with embarrassment, it wasn’t lost on him how gracious lian truly was to seemingly not judging him for it. “a very good impression indeed,” he offered quickly, doing his best to soothe any worries his fumbling may have brought. "so much so that i thought of you as i entered this market," while they had only known each other for a short time before the dance of the chosen, it had been an enjoyable experience. at first, they were both willing to ignore any sort of lordlike behavior between the two of them and in truth, that was more than a little lifesaving.
taking in his question and looking to the stall nerian was just going towards, a dilemma provided itself. “well, i would thoroughly enjoy finding some snacks and drink with you. but could we do one thing first?” he question softly, his hand gesturing towards the stall with the books. again, although their previous discussions and nerian’s curiosity had been sated for a brief time, there was no way the other hadn’t already come to understand the younger man’s thirst for knowledge.
“not only will the foods and drinks provided be vastly different from our respective homes, i believe they will have a plethora of information available in the stories and books as well,” he explained as he moved towards the stall quickly. motioning for the other to follow if only so they could leave right after his purchases. “are you looking for anything specific other than good food or drink?”
For a moment seraphyna could only stare at her through blurred vision, denma’s voice was soft and steady, untouched by pity and untouched by discomfort, and somehow that made everything worse. or perhaps better. she could not tell anymore. somewhere beneath the grief and humiliation and the desperate effort to remain composed. shame had wrapped itself so tightly around her heart, shame for crying like this. shame for breaking over love when so many had broken over death, shame for wanting comfort at all. when denma took her hands, seraphyna felt the warmth of another person anchor her to the present in a way nothing else had managed since hiran walked away. the apology died on her lips, her breath hitched instead. broken sound escaped her, small and wounded, the kind of sound that seemed torn from somewhere far younger than the woman she had become. for one suspended moment she looked as though she might resist it, as though years of grace and discipline might still hold. they did not. seraphyna moved before thought could intervene, trembling hands released denma’s only so she could throw herself forward, arms wrapping around her with startling desperation as if clinging to the only solid thing left in a collapsing world. the sob that followed was raw, stripped of every last ounce of composure.
“I tried—” the words shattered against another sob. her fingers clutched tightly at denma’s clothing, almost like a child terrified of being left alone in the dark. “i tried so hard not to break,” tears soaked freely into fabric as her shoulders shook, “i tried to be good, to be understanding, to let him choose, i tried—” her voice dissolved again, breath coming uneven and painful. every word felt like it scraped against her ribs on the way out. for the first time since the white oak burned, seraphyna stopped trying to carry her grief with dignity. she buried her face against denma and simply wept, “he left me,” she whispered at last, the confession so fragile it barely existed. another sob broke through her. she clung to denma like shelter, like sanctuary, and when she spoke again her voice had shrunk into something heartbreakingly small, “why does it hurt this much?” the question trembled between them, soaked in tears and disbelief. “i’ve lost so much, i thought i understood grief.” her hands shook where they held onto her, “i didn’t know it could feel like this.”
it was only with an arm full of the other woman did denma allow her eyes to close and simply feel the moment. there were very few times she was overcome with sadness that was not of her own making or her own heart. this was from another. another who clearly could feel their agony so fresh that it was breathing down their neck like a rabid dog. softly, she wrapped her arms around lady seraphyna gently, holding as if she had a million times before. there had been no friendship between them but no matter how long the other woman would live, she was still just velkynar, and perfection was out of their reach.
only when the other woman began to murmur what ailed her, that denma finally began to piece together some of her sorrow. she could not assume to know it all, but she could understand that much – the other was plagued by sadness of the heart. someone had held her, loved her, perhaps tenderly soothed her. but whatever occurred between them was now lost. it had to have been difficult to try and allow someone to make their choices, only for them not to choose you.
denma feared that the grief could eat someone alive if they did not fight through it. “i know it does not feel it, but you can survive this,” she murmured softly, gently running a hand down her back looking to soothe her in the sadness that constricted her heart so. “we are made to weather even the most painful moments,” even if they shouldn’t have to be. some days, she wished for a utopia for there had been far too many pains as of late..
Warm amber eyes follow the path of Morella’s finger as she traces it over the blade. " A sensible habit. " Diya comes to say with a lilt in her voice as she follows each movement of the woman in front of her, for she always did find it fascinating, the concealed pockets that were enveloped in the hidden lace of a woman’s gown. Diya’s smile widens as her eyes fall onto the blade. The axe was a beautiful work of art, the bite of Yverhald Keep bestowed upon it to preserve it in all that it was. It reminded her of the harsh snow that was found in Drakathar. Diya had never seen snow. " And I cannot fault that reasoning. "
A breath as it soared through the air, grooving itself in the target. " Though, " Diya started. " Should I be concerned about the number of contingencies you have planned? " For its beauty was not of a gentle order, and in Morella’s hands, it was strangely suited. Her complexion bore the pale purity of freshly fallen snow, held with little fragility, and strength seemed to settle differently in her hands. Diya does not falter her eyes from Morella’s each dextrous finger, quietly feeling the phantom weight of the thin throwing axe in her own grip. But the question that’s lain upon her washes her with cold water, and Diya sucks in a breath, like a swan ruffling its feathers as it dries itself off from the river. " I suppose there has been much to consider since. And I fear my mind was troubled long before I said my vows and earned my knighthood. " For duty would be a burden heavier than her armor. Chained by both oath and mortality. " The title merely gave me new reasons. Though, I suspect my troubles before have been simply amplified. "
It's then that she thinks of leaving her home when she'll receive her charge; forsaking the sweet breath of jasmine that wafted through the warm air of their halls, and the vines that run across the Solari Sanctum stones, crawling with wander over each groove, persistently threaded, as it hooked a verdant path right towards the stone banner of her window. Diya knew each twist of it, knew each tendril as one might know a familiar hand. She watched them through each of their summery seasons, through rain and blistering sun. Diya thinks how she’ll miss it, the fresh scent of the dew in the morning mist, where the heat lingered right behind it. Diya presses her lips together before she draws in a breath, a slight hitch, the weight of it not a foreign motion. As she speaks, the shift in her tone is sudden, the subject even more so. " Do you miss home? When you leave for another hollow - do you think of it?”
there was still much lost on her when it came to knighthood. the youngest kaelvorn didn’t specifically hate knights. but she certainly didn’t respect most of them. even when she had met diya a few months previously, before the dance when they were all called to watch and participate. morella had been half a mind to ignore the lot of them. she didn’t care that there was someone out there probably thinking they failed the previous king, as if a knight could stop a dragon once they deemed the man, they followed unworthy….
but, when she had seen diya training, learned a little more of her story, how she wished to prove herself. the frost born understood. there was nothing more important in her body than proving herself worthy of the connection she was graced with. a soul’s calling, she understood. someone else putting rules upon her because someone else made them up one time? not exactly her favorite. still, that didn’t stop her from curving her lips lightly as she listened to the other woman. “trouble will find us everywhere.” she murmured lightly, thinking over the very idea that troubles could ever be run from.
it reinforced her want to go purely wild and disappear into the world. how much more enjoyable life would be if she could tear it open with her hands and drink it’s juices. blinking she shrugged softly on the subject of home. “i miss the stillness and the quiet,” her words were smooth as she leaned against the wall. “but home has been… complicated…” pausing her jaw clicked slightly as she sighed, "i do not miss complicated. but i do miss the cold. the heat here, i don't think i am made for."
the two woman sat next to each other in an opulent room and did not speak for some time. sloane had known denma for many years. had spent time within the fukuyama house in braxigar, had even followed denma to her duty in order to catalogue the event and the practices that it entailed. so now after at least two decades, they had found a quiet companionship that did not need words to feel see or heard. however, given the nature of denma's position, she was privy to information that sloane could not help but be curious about. "i assume you were the one to guide valeria garramoth into the next journey?" she asked, looking up from the parchment she had been writing on to pass the time. "have we any need to worry on her cause of death?" the woman seemed healthy the last time they had all been together, and now with the decision on crownwearer approaching, and her daughter in the running, sloane needed to know if there was any reason to worry. or worry less, that is.
it was an uncommon moment for a stagnant moment to take over. certainly, there was the intrigue of the crown and who would be getting it but in truth, that had never interested denma very much. not before nor after the loss of the last crown wearer. despite the more recent loss of the chosen, they still wished to force the hollows to dance to a tune that, perhaps, they didn’t all hear. it had heir fukuyama writing quietly, while sloane caldrithen was in their vicinity. the question gave the braxigarian pause for, no she had not attended to the late lady. to her knowledge. no one had. it worried her in a sense.
“i fear, outside of the nature of it’s surprise, there is not much i can tell you,” she admitted truthfully, gently noting signing her letter before allowing it to rest and dry. “i had been traveling here already. unless they contact me here, she may lay in wait.” or there was always a chance that the lord garrmoth could take it into his own hands. she could not read the stars for the future. “though, i do find it odd…” there had been no sickness mentioned, though still possible. just something new to add to denma’s growing concerns.
where. elaris market somewhere
who. nerian mirethorn & nuwa lian @wanshangs
when. the forgotton world
it wasn’t unusual for the younger brother of the mirethorn family to go on many of the same travels as his brother. what, perhaps his brother wasn’t aware of – is that many of the places they travelled to were not new to him. while heliophra was new, many of the others hadn’t been. bless his brother, but he had to know their library ran out of options. it was not infinite like the sky above them. there was a limit and when nerian had hit it there had simply been no choice but to find the resources.
his movement between hollows began with lands within his own hollow. draegor where many different dragons called home. yverhald lands where the ice and snow had proven to nearly been deadly. soon he branched out, looking into other lands. braxigar, morkhul, and now heliophra. no stone unturned.
while there were many more areas he wished to visit, perhaps braixgar in the land of the nuwa had made the largest impression of him. it was a thought that came to nerian in crowds of people. markets where there were always so many. from vendors to buyers, and perhaps those with needs that were not legal. keeping a small hidden purse worked for such things as he walked down the area, doing his best to weave through with no regalia of a lord. only the simplest clothing of the area was what he had on him. careful to look among the stalls for those that sold books and other materials.
moving towards one such seller, with his gaze on the seller more transfixed than usually – only to run into a stranger. “oh, sorry.” he murmured gently before looking to the other only to be greeted by a face he had not seen in some time. much like a fish, his mouth gaped for a moment. “i was just thinking about you –“ only as his words were out of his mouth did he realize how they may sound.
“no, i mean – not that –“ nerian rush out afterward, a flush skittering across his skin before he cleared his throat and shook his head. “i mean, it’s good to see you lian.”
There was serenity to the silent darkness that enveloped him. Cihan did not shy from quiet. He found a great comfort in what silence could bring — no distractions, the perfect space for reflection and deep thought. Most of his life was spent within his own mind, in rich and broad thoughts and yearnings. Growing up in isolation meant he preferred the company of a select few, and of those he most cherished spending time with there had only been one to survive the recent horrors that befell Nocturnia. As he sat quietly, bent over a desk covered in papers, themselves littered in equations and blueprints mapping out the intricate mechanics and inner workings of another idealistic automata design, and illuminated by the warm glow of two burning candles, he couldn’t help but wonder what this silent space would have been like had Cem been with them.
It was not that Cavit was not personable — his elder brother was perhaps charisma personified as far as Cihan had been concerned. He could command the attention of others in a way the more studious and shy younger brother could not. But as their family dropped down to just the two of them, there was a chilling thought which lingered in the mind. They were being pushed to near extinction, a fact that did not sit right with the power they wielded. Perhaps it humbled the moments between them, caused for much silent and inner monologue. The outcome of this bid for a crown which Cavit followed could land their house in several scenarios. Ideally, it meant they gained more power and control, but there was the fear that more death lay at the end of the troubled road the brothers had been traveling. If Cavit met the same demise as their other brother… then Cihan would be left completely alone. It was an outcome he was not prepared for.
A sigh, as soft as summer’s breeze, fell from his parted lips as Cihan leaned back in the chair. He felt a strain in his wrist and began flexing and rotating the joint. He had been writing for far too long, and the chair creaked under his shifting weight. It had caught the attention of the other figure standing silently a short distance away. It was not until he heard his name that Cihan lifted his gaze, brown eyes speckled with green finding similar ones across the way. When beckoned, it was not with much argument that the younger set aside his quill and lifted his strong frame off his seat. Much like an obedient son, he adhered to the call of the elder Dagdelen, but he took a moment to stare out the window, curious as to what had held his brother enraptured moments ago. “ Cavit? ” his voice was soft but gravely, the low rumble of distant thunder.
The question did not immediately dawn upon Cihan, having become just slightly engrossed in a dark silhouette ambling aimlessly in the courtyard below. A drunk noble trying to find their way back into the keep it would seem. “ Hm, a child, ” the slow nod was a recognition of the word until the sentence had finally settled on him. With wide eyes, Cihan’s head snapped back to his brother, gaping back at the incredulous question as he searched Cavit’s expression. “ What? ” He barked out in response. The humor was clear the longer he looked at Cavit, marks of teasing jest on his brother’s face quickly evident to the younger. It had not stopped the reddening of his cheeks or ears at being teased as such.
Clearing his throat, Cihan lifted his chin and swept his gaze back to the darkness below. “ But of course, ” he started, attempting a joking tone that was not as proficient as his brother. He was typically so serious, but he was known to let loose with Cavit and Cem. They were the safety wherein Cihan could experiment and try at new things and personas without being judged. “ A number of them, actually. You have shirked your uncle duties for too long, I fear. ” The grin that broke out upon his face was boyish, making him appear young and unbothered. As though their family’s dwindling numbers were just fodder for jest and no deep concern. “ Come now, abi, do not tease me so. You know me incapable of hiding such a large secret from you. ”
“ Is this your terrible way of leading in to a reveal of your own? ” Cihan asked curiously, wishing to avoid more teasing and jest at his expense. His arms crossed over his chest, brows pulled together in a mixture of curiosity and concern. “ Am I to expect a new sibling-in-law and littler Dagdelens to be invited to our keep, or are you just trying to get a fretful reaction from me for your own amusement? ” The warmth in his face still persisted from the initial embarrassment from before, though he hoped it wasn’t so obvious. Cavit knew him well, knew of his naivety in certain respects. His hands had always been built for crafting and smelting more so than tenderness, what good could they do if holding onto the soft form of a lover? His cheeks burned at the thought alone.
many siblings know each other their entire lives, but not many end up being the parental figure in that life. cihan, some days, was more like a son to him than a brother. dutiful and obstinate all in one go. cavit could remember the first time he took him to the mines, showed him the hard work their people had been doing. every advancement they had made was slowly explained in detail. just like any curious child, he needed to learn. needed to understand the ways of nithiri keep. a place that was dear to their family even as it grew smaller.
chuckling lightly, he watched as his brother caught up to what he had asked. the shock of surprise until a playful response was finally given. there it was. something they had been working on for years it seemed. a little light banter. willing laughter. some days the boy was so serious, even amongst those that would never judge or harm him. if there was one thing cavit knew he needed to do before he left this world, he had to make sure he lightened the other’s heart.
“oh come now, kardeş, we both know i work hard in that area,” he teased right back, leaning in his chair, a larger smile curving his features. “but not hard enough to be giving you any surprise yet. although, perhaps one day, we will both be surprised.” while his words remained lighthearted, the thought struck him as a true possibility. perhaps, with any luck.
soon enough he sighed out his good humor but never the simple enjoyment of his brother while he watched him. “sit with me for a time, i find myself contemplative.” cavit explained as he motioned with his head to the other seat near him. all of their other days it would have been filled by cem, a third pulled of for cihan but times clearly changed.
“which we both know is save for no one. perhaps you can temper my appetite with your clear logic?”
Lenore calmly met the hues of her twin reflection, saw the way they immediately shifted, turned blazing like wildfire. Sometimes, she imagined her sister might be able to pierce a man with the edge of her gaze alone. Her own eyes coolly descended to the set of Morella's jaw; she knew her little dragon would grind the culprit between her molars if she could. “I will get two,” she affirmed, obedient in a way she seldom was. But where she was a quiet voice in the dark, Mora had always been a whisper of steel. They both played their parts, and did so excellently, and ceded to the other when needed.
Her fingers loosely entwined with Morella's, as cool to the touch as her own, as if the winter that blanketed their keep had also woven its way inside their veins. “Thank you for understanding.” More bodies moved past them, a sea of impressions. Lenore never lost sight of the details, ever, and watched all she saw with the necessary consideration, whether that be a carriage trotting down a path or an infant pulling at his mother’s skirts. The greater part of her attention, however, was reserved for the tilt of Morella’s shoulders, the strong grip of her hand, and the way she moved through the crowd like a cutting edge.
“Venom seems like it could be troublesome. A knife can exchange hands as easily as it can be turned on its owner,” Lenore said after a few moments. Her eyes settled on a rack of metal armor, gleaming, polished in the moonlight. “Unless there is an antidote I can keep on my person. I presume you already know of someone who is both trustworthy and discreet?” Her thumb lightly caressed the back of her sister's hand, trying to calm her temper.
in her silence, it wasn’t lost how willing her sister was to go along with morella. a note that she quietly made in her head. whomever had dared to touch her clearly made an impression. it helped her mind narrow it down slightly but if her sister did not wish to tell her, it meant she did not wish her to act on it. frustrating and rage inducing? yes. her jaw clenched a little tighter, impossibly so before she forced herself to relax slightly. it wouldn’t do if she ground her fangs into dust.
making sure to move people around them, being the one in front, they began to part like water. good. let them be afraid of her. as a good guard should be. her cool eyes only glanced back at nora once, to look at her as if to say she wasn’t stupid enough to believe that morella would not make sure she also had the antidote. “today is for steel,” she said softly, cooling at the feel of skin brushing against hers.
“the venom shall be chosen later.” was added as they finally reached the place she had in mind. it had been in the conversations she had heard of the area. guards of the keep mentioned the fine blades, and it was good enough for start. while morella believed drakathar or braxigarian blades would always be best. these would work for the moment.
pausing, she confirmed they weren’t followed before stepping in first. surveying the room, she shifted so her sister may enter and she could resume her position of standing guard beside and slightly behind her. “i have heard these will make a fine choice, for now.” the taller frost born spoke softly, meant for her sister’s ears only. “something light but sturdy will do.” her eyes already gazing at the racks and allowing her sister to make her choices but ready to supply any need knowledge at her side…
Payment for a song is no surprise; in their travels, they had been paid in coin and wine and lodging both, and, sometimes, those boldest would offer their warm beds with their own bodies still in them. Even as they had grown used to such offerings, their cheeks had still flushed each and every time as if it was the first. But now, the reddening to their face rivals even then, as they accept the flower and thumb at the stem.
“Wow.” They laugh, heart rabbitting, voice like a tittering bell. “Never gotten a flower as a payment before. We don’t have a lot of these back in Drakathar. It’s—It’s nice.” Ásta doesn’t know what to do with it, so it remains in their hand, lyre now resting against their side. “Thank you.” It is really pretty, if possibly extremely common. Ásta likes it a lot. “If you want another song just let me know! I’ll play again. The night’s young and all, ha!” Maybe then they would get another flower, and that wouldn’t be half-bad.
“You are so direct!” What was Ásta to do with such attention besides try not to flee? It was one thing to have eyes on you as you play, and another when you are simply sitting. It isn’t unpleasant, but the exhilaration is so foreign they do not know what to do. Ah, at least there is some respite in knowing with each passing second, their awkwardness is bound to drive him away. Not. “Uhh…. Both?” Winces. “I was, uh, my brother used to joke I must’ve been born with my lyre in my hand, which would've been terrible for my mother if true, and that when he was born, I must’ve been playing as well, because I always made him have a ditty stuck in his head.”
Ivar. They pause for a moment, struck by the wave of sadness that leaps at their feet, before they hurry to continue. “It is just easier to play, than to linger on what is happening, nowadays. I—I know that sounds foolish, one cannot be blind to it all, of course, but... But yes, it is soothing. Really soothing. If I could play instead of speaking then I would—though it depends to whom ones speaks to, I suppose.” Some people, Ásta did not mind talking to. “AndI’mspeakingsomuchrightnow.” Damn it.
“You probably don’t need much soothing, though. You seem very comfortable, it is kind of enviable, you know! Wish that were me.” Pause. “And not in a way that makes one uncomfortable in turn! Believe me, I’ve met some of those.”
like a waterfall, they spoke. in truth, cavit couldn’t bring himself to care about it. not in the sense that he wasn’t listening, but in the sense that he was getting to their rambling. truly, it curved the edge of his lips as they continued. from the flower, to his boldness. it was when they hit something about what was happening as of late that he picked up something specific in their tone. mm, loss perhaps?
“forgive my boldness once more,” he started with a reach towards the flower, allowing the other to track his movement before plucking the flower from their hand. carefully, cavit reached even further with the flower. gently slipping it behind the moonlight blonde's hair to rest on their ear. “this should be a wonderful place for it.” he gazed at their wide eyes for a moment before leaning back and placing a safe distance between them again.
“i am unbothered by your words or the length at which you are speaking them. my nature took a long time to curate in preparation for moments like this and all the other moments where i speak with the other lords and ladies.” cavit allowed himself this moment of calm of respite among all of the machinations that were required of him in this throne chase.
“in truth i am from an area that is not commonly open to others. please, allow me to finally remember my manners,” this time he stood allowing a slight bow as he began, “i am cavit dagdelen of nithiri keep.” perhaps an overdue introduction but it was time if only so it could remove some of the uncertainty that they held of him. or really, it would probably add to it. both a boon and a curse. certainly, a curse at the moment. “even with this revelation, i beg you allow us to stay simple and stick to our truths.”
making a move to sit down again, he motioned to the lyre they still held in their hand. “i would be delighted if you still wished to play after this..”
In the other man's candour, Cai found a strange sense of comfort he rarely drew from courtly interactions. Seldom did he encounter a courtier who did not have preconceived notions, of his name, at the very least. Whispers of his fanciful nature had often reached them, painting the image of a young, idle man who did not care to entangle himself in the complexities of their world. Such assumptions frequently preceded him, more gild than gold -- charm without substance, grace without discipline.
Cavit, instead, offered truth so plainspoken that it astonished Cai into a momentary spell of silence. It did not elude him that the tactic was a clever one. If Cai were truly as vapid as gossip made him out to be, Cavit's warning would pass over him entirely, leaving him untroubled. If, however, it struck at some deeper apprehension -- his response would betray misgivings readily enough.
A test. Cai's lips curved faintly -- to use or to be used, indeed. "I am inclined to agree, Lord Cavit. One need not practise opportunism oneself, to be caught in court's machinations." A revelation: Cai was more aware than he cared to admit. He may have been wasteful of opportunities, of privilege he held in abundance. But he knew none at court would emerge untouched by its intrigues. "And there is some relief to be found in your wisdom, given you may yet find yourself balancing said crown."
It seemed that honesty was the prevailing thread of their conversation. The death of a sibling, the loss of a life gone before his time -- the memory of bloodspill, harrowing, senseless. Cai's gaze pooled with a fear he had faced often, as of late: The fear of losing one of his own. Perhaps, his father had hoped for one of his brood to make a bid for the crown. Cai could not even measure his own relief that none of them had tried to grasp at it. "I do not think I could conceive of life without my brother and sister in it. I have never had to." It was true; what few months of his life he had lived with his birth parents, he could not remember. Evandris and Aeliana had shaped every season of his life, ever since. "It pains me that you are faced with such a reality."
no matter how raw the thought of his twin left him, he always came to a moment where the sadness ended and it was replaced by rage. it did not allude him that choosing a dagdelen for the chance of being a crown wearer had been an interesting choice. especially of the older ones that had been living longer. had been in charge of nithiri keep longer. been the ones to say no for the last twenty years anytime the council came knocking on their door for the secrets they kept to themselves.
the woods spoke and were covered with eyes, keeping all those they did not wish to come to their doors far from it.
“you still have them,” cavit began lowly, forcing away the rage that he held in his soul. hoping to blink it from sight in his eyes. “do not make the mistake of keeping your care for them to yourself. house fukuyama will visit us all in the end.” another simple truth. at this point, he didn’t believe anyone would get to hold on to immortality in the end. one day, they would all be gone. it had already left his house completely.
sighing lightly, almost in a huff, he shook his shoulders to try and pull himself out of the melancholic reverie. “despite of all this, melancholy, i do have my younger brother still. i am not alone in this world yet.” it was truth. another reason he needed to be careful. the lone person he needed to protect other than himself.
“with that i will do my best not to drag you into my sadness nor my suspicion to the things that have been occurring as of late,” a slight smile curved cavit’s lips, small and true. “as such, i have not had the chance to visit heliophra before, have you? i am looking for recommendations of life experiences to force my little brother to live… if you are so inclined…”
where. elaris keep - mirethorn rooms
who. nerian mirethorn & varyn mirethorn @moonvcils
when. the forgotton world
heliophra, the land of the sunwalkers. well, it was once such but over the last decades that had slowly begun to change. it seemed the lands radiated eat. warmth from a star that most could no longer see. a situation that tantalized nerian’s mind. for the first few days of their stay, despite the cloud of uncertainty hanging over many a head, he had buried himself in the closest available library. a secret that needed an answer always seemed like such a good time to him.
with a new journal acquired, he had begun digging earnestly. each page a careful codex of all and any details he could find written among the books held within the room. perhaps there was a link in all of the hollows slowly losing the gifts they once had in abundance? morkhal shifters, heliophra sunwalkers, drakathar dragon riders, vallarion immortals and last but never least, braxigar the ones that held strength and might. in all of his research of his own families and lands predicament, nerian could not help but ponder the significance of it. could they all truly be linked? was it evolution or divine intervention? was it punishment for choices? could it be a worthiness? could it be something that lay now corrupted in velkynar blood?
his mind was so dizzy in thought that he nearly jumped when his brother opened their shared rooms door. no, he did jump. jumped and tipped the ink well on his desk he had just been hovering over. a pained sound left him as he scrambled to lessen the impact on his journal and of course… the table… an afterthought.
with cloth and ink covered hands, the younger brother turned to his elder with an absentminded greeting, “evening brother.” he provided clearly exasperated while he did his best to clean the debacle that was now his work desk. “the library here is quite extensive. i’ve been among the stacks for the last few days,” how often had he left to eat? truly, he couldn’t remember. his energy was harried. “i could not help but devour each page i could get my hands on,” was added with a huff as he had finished trying his best to clean the mess, his full attention finally on varyn. “how are you?”
—(••÷ [ MATTHEW BROOME, MALE , HE/HIM ] in the darkness you arrive , it seems NERIAN MIRETHORN has emerged from malriths embrace. the LORD OF VEXMARSH, brings with them such passion in their wake and they are known for being INTELLIGENT but also OBSESSIVE. the bloodmoon shines when the TWENTY NINE year old joins the war. what songs would be sung in their name ? [ PRAY FOR ME + THE WEEKND & KENDRICK LEMAR ] for in the decades to come they will speak of : a scent of damp and cold earth on the wind, the sound of parchment moving with a furious quill dancing across each page, ink stained hands covered in dirt, and a lingering need for answers clinging to a soul. may your journey bring fruit , welcome to nocturnia forgotten one. ÷••)—
it was like a hand wrapping around my throat;
to be born of the water a great dragon once blessed them with was a gift. or so that is what his parents always told him. born on the hottest day of the year in the waters of the marsh, nerian game to life with a gurgle of swamp water in his lungs before a cry could ever ring. a baptism in the lake of the water the dragons was marked upon his brow before he had ever been swaddled in cloth.
the first thing a mirethorn would learn was the world was not on their side. ancestors had long since vexed fellow velkynar with their methods of trying to find out why the dragons they worshiped turned their backs on them. a near obsession for each generation to try to unravel. this is the world nerian was truly born into. behind all of the fancy lords and ladies, there was an undercurrent of distrust. of hate.
a mirethorn couldn’t trust that people would believe in them. that they would truly have their back. it was learned the hard way with his parents. little slights and some large ones. as the second son, soon followed by another child after him, it was not something he would truly need to ponder. no, nerian learned that quiet was a blessing. opinions were not always appreciated and if he could keep his wits about him, he could outthink every single person in his household and land blended as one.
years of quiet and yearning within the confines of libraries, nerian built a world in his mind. a world where perhaps they could ride dragons once more. there had to be a way.
this curiousity would not let me breathe;
age did not stifle this growth, if anything, it made it burn brighter. the more he learned, the more he wanted to know. languages were devoured, mysticism and sciences. anything the young lord could get his hands on. his journals and thoughts grew and has he got closer to adulthood; he knew one thing – he could help his family with the dragons.
while his mind was perfectly willing, his heart wasn’t sure if he could be able. there had been many years that they had resorted to things that were harmful. many a nest or an egg that had been sacrificed to the cause. nerian wasn’t certain he could do such a thing himself. could he truly take a life? not with the chance that he himself could be a rider. it was only after he learned he never would be. when he saw that look in his parent’s eyes…. that disappointment.
it had taken a conversation with his brother varyn and thus their parents had to get involved for the idea to try. for them to even allow him. perhaps it was his shy nature that held him back in their minds? without dwelling his work began. all of his journals slowly being unraveled from the years to try and assist any way he could. but his hands could never do the work. nerian could never bring himself to harm one of them on his own. something that still stands to his current age.
but things have changed since the beginning of his involvement. nothing is working, no matter the cost. but a thought occurred to him in the last two years – why would they do the same things over and over again? was that not a type of madness? perhaps it is a dawning of a new age for now, nerian hunts for different paths. a man now allowing himself to leave any stone unturned. if it is mysticism needed, he would find it. if there was a language hiding it, he would learn it.
if there was one lesson he took heart from childhood, it would be that no matter the cost – this time, to himself – he would find the answer….
full name: nerian vere mirethorn
nickname(s): neri
faceclaim: matthew broome
birth date: june 20th
age: twenty - nine
gender, pronouns: cisman, he/him
orientation: demisexual, panromantic
relationship status: unwed
hails from: vexmarsh
height: 6'2
hair color: curled black hair, often grown out
eye color: brown eyes with a hint of darkness
notable features: a few scars on his feet & hands
reference characters in media: milo thatch [atlantis: the lost empire], jacob grimm [brothers grimm '05], spencer reid [criminal minds]
"It is a pity, so few trust one another; but perhaps, we are poised to eclipse such antipathy with a new tide of fraternity. I must admit --- it is a rather foolish hope, isn't it? But if I do not endeavour towards peace, I shall be lost; I have no place in open warfare." Denma spoke to him gently, her tone warm and open; if she was disinclined to his blind optimism, her cadence did not betray her true sentiments. Such a reflective humour in another was comforting -- it would always please Silas to sit still, and gaze upon current affairs without agenda. "My family is well; they are removed at least, from bodily harm. But the prospect of the council's decision weighs on them --- but who amongst us can escape such thoughts? The prospect of stability is too tantalising, as is the fear of the unknown. Power; even the most elusive cannot avoid its might."
for a moment, denma could do nothing but sense how surreal it was to be having such a conversation. her entire life, outside of her home, she avoided them. careful with every word. every move she ever made. neutrality was always the goal of her family. if one could truly remain neutral, they could continue their life’s purpose – to take care of those that had passed. it was only in the last years that they began to raise their voices. still, it had been tied to the dead once more. the worry of them walking among them. the sounds they heard at night. heir fukuyama did her best to not allow it to color her day to day actions. breathing softly, she nodded.
“i fear there are games beyond our sight that will make decisions for us. whether we wish to be involved or not,” she thought of her brother. of holding his body in death only to burn it. true anger filled her then. her hands had shook for the first time when she took care of their bodies. his body.
“you are dear to our people. one of the few who can still see the sunlight. be touched by it without fear. while many have made homes in the dark, some still envy.” it was a warning she could provide. not because she knew of anything, but she did know of people and those with power. “i pray your family remains safe. that you never need me because of hands that were not nature’s own.”
