Aster

I belong to onemessyperson



Once there had been a time when he would have viewed the sunset with pride, knowing that it marked the end of a fruitful day devoid of idleness. A day where potential traitors had been rooted out. A day where his ambitions had been furthered. Staring at the sunset now, he could only see wild out of control fire in the red gold edges of the clouds reminding him of a swirling inferno, torches snapping dangerously close and betrayal. He had attained the highest rank one could without being born of the blood. He had been second only to the queen herself, but such a rapid ascent had made him forget that it would be a very long way to fall.

Confident as he was (or had been), he could not fathom that the knife would come from the one who stood closest to his side. Affection had blinded all of his senses. Perhaps the Gods had found it fit to give his twisted little love affair another cruel turn. The oranges of the heavens above him were slowly darkening to red, and when he closes his eyes all he can remember is a feral smile, and a sticky, thick pool of ichor spreading out below him. His body shudders as violently as it had back then and there is a pain in his chest that he was sure would never heal.

Feeling sick of the sight before him, he makes his slow way down. His journey is marked by many. And though his observers go unseen, he cannot shake the weight of their gazes upon him. Their emotions come to him like a wave. He is used to awe and fear, and so the stark absence of both is palpable. Curiosity, indifference but also anger and resentment. He was here while she was not. He was a poor replacement indeed. To say that the leaders had done their best to keep the worst of the Clan's ire from him would not be wholly accurate to his past expectations of how he should be treated. He was used to no cost being spared to ensure his comfort, but here he had only been given choices. Chose between squawking indignantly at the healer or being patient while they administered to him at their own pace. Chose between going hungry or dining with everyone else in the clearing where there was no high table and everyone, was on par with each other. Chose between going cold or a simple room between the roots of the great tree.

In the early days of his arrival, he had tried to impose himself on the leaders. The Mirror female calling herself Kaletia had only fixed him with her unfathomable eyes and stated that there were no crowned heads here. There would be no recognition given of his title or his rank and his first and only attempt at getting her to change her opinion had yielded only rebuke. The ferocity of her will had slammed into his senses so hard it had made him physically nauseous. Too used to others trying to hide their emotions from him he had not been prepared for an onslaught of the opposite. She had not moved a muscle while he had writhed in pain and when she left she told the golden guard at his door that they had come to an understanding and that there was no need to watch him further. To be fair to her and the Clan there had been no more mishaps after that. They were civil to him. They were kind and sincere no matter what else they were feeling. They too had choices, and instead of revenge, they chose to let him be.

His head bowed low with the weight of his thoughts as he limps down a lonely path and enters the quiet, ancient gravesite. The crypt keepers are nowhere to be seen, but where he would have once spit at their existence, he did not look for them now. Instead, his gaze fixes on the only other visitor here. They said she had been a close friend of his saviour. The Tundra who had jumped into the raging rapids to pull him out and had not herself made it to safety. Never had he been inclined to voice apologies but-

"Do you think it ever goes away?"

Surprise makes him hesitate, and she continues.

"Grief I mean. Does it go away?"

Once he would have laughed at her and lied. Now he only shakes his head.

"I thought so." The pustules of her eyes quiver. He wonders if she was crying. "It will be hard, but we will remember and be all the stronger for it." She turns away and lays down flowers at what he knows is an empty grave.
"Shall we help each other?"

There was hope there, he could sense it pulsing strong amidst her despair. She tries to smile at him and succeeds. "What is your name?"

Another pause. Helianthus sits heavy on his tongue, but the Inquisitor had long since been washed away. Voice soft and hoarse after weeks of disuse he chooses and answers,

"Aster."










Art credit: Dialogue Skydancers