He had been afraid to leave the island.

There everything was still a dream - surely it was no waking world where stars were born in great clouds of rose and violet and the ground was the smooth cold of glass. Even Thana was not a true creature of Novus, or a tame one; there, in that swirling darkness and galactic light, she had been more like a harbinger than a horse.

It had still felt like the kind of dream where you might wake up and all the wrongs would have been imagined, where drowsy morning found you safe in your bed with the sun at the window and everything as you left it.

But Asterion has not been such a foolish dreamer for a long time, now. And at last he came to the thick, strange mist that curled at the edges of the island, and stepped through.


It is the kind of summer day he’d learned to love in Novus, the sun warm on his back and the wind cool against his face and neck. Asterion walks along the shoreline the way he always has, and the cold foam rushes up to kiss his hocks, and the seabirds cry and clamor overhead. The bay can’t help the way he listens for one gull in particular, or the way his heart feels heavy and hard as a stone when he doesn’t hear her voice, either in the wind or the pathways of his mind. Perhaps Cirrus is only traveling, too. Perhaps they will both find their way home, accidental wanderers.

A petal tumbles past him on the breeze, as pink as the inside of a shell. For a moment his dark eyes follow it, brow softly furrowed, and when he looks forward again he sees the figure on the beach, a silhouette of a pegasus at this distance. The stallion’s heart stumbles in his chest, more uncertainty, more little-fear; does he prefer to meet a stranger, is he ready to meet a friend? What if, what if - those words have always threatened to swallow him whole, but he is tired of their teeth.

He walks forward, and the figure resolves into a mare with a crown of flowers (minus at least one petal), the color of rich earth, gold marking her like rare treasure. Samaira turns, and he can see the moment when she recognizes him, too, and then the distance between them is eaten up by each until they face each other amid the sun and the surf and the deep blue of the sky.

Are you a dream? she says, and he shakes his head even as he smiles, an expression soft and worn as driftwood, thinking of other conversations treading similar paths.

“Samaira,” he says instead of answering, with all the soft warmth of a summer’s dusk. “No. I am…awake again.” The small dark smile slips from him, drawn out by the next wash of incoming tide. He doesn’t move to touch her, but something in the dark of his eyes suggests he wants to - nose to cheek, shoulder to shoulder. And when he speaks again it is in a low voice that knows it is speaking something the first of a hundred times. “I am so sorry I left.”




@Samaira <3

hold me amongst all your cards;

 
It is a relief to see her smile. Asterion hadn’t realized that he’d been braced for anger, or disappointment, until he sees the curve of her lips and something in his chest unknots. A similar sound leaves him, half laugh and half sigh, and when she steps forward he is swift to meet her embrace.

Her words are as soft as the whispering foam, and seem to linger between them. For a long moment he doesn’t answer, only breathes standing pressed against her dark and sun-warm skin, his eyes tightly shut. She smells like summer sunlight, and flowers, and the sea he loves; Asterion smiles against her shoulder.

“Then I have another reason to be glad I’m home,” he answers softly. Though his expression doesn’t change, something about what she’s said makes his heart pang, a mixture of sorrow and guilt. Thana’s warning is a fresh scar in his mind, cold and flashing like a drawn sword - do not find me again, Asterion. He wants to tell Samaira that he’s never been able to keep anyone aloft; that he always wanders in the end, well-intentioned but bound to disappoint. But there is a tenderness in her voice he doesn’t want to bruise, and it feels so good to be held, to bury his nose in her dark mane and breathe in all the scents that mean home.

When she steps away, he is reluctant to let her go. To her apology he shakes his head, a laugh in his eyes, not reading her blush, or the meaning of the intensity in her moon-bright gaze. “I like your boldness,” he says, and a boyish little grin curves his mouth. “I often wish I had more of my own. And it’s a far kinder welcome than I deserve.” For a moment his thoughts turn to those reunions to come - Marisol, Isra and Eik. Moira. He worries there won’t be open arms from any of them, and his expression fades to solemnity.

But Asterion doesn’t want to be solemn, not now, not when her joy was so palpable. The once-king reaches out to touch her cheek. “Tell me how you are, Samaira. I missed you. I missed everything.”





@Samaira he's clueless.

hold me amongst all your cards;

 
“Many more,” he answers, his voice as quiet. It doesn’t feel like a betrayal to say so; the scales are tipped in Novus’ favor, with all his hopes lined up before him. Yet he can’t help but think of Florentine, and Gabriel (it still feels too strange to think of him as father, and the others still in those dark and dreaming lands of the Rift. By choice, he reminds himself, as he has a hundred times already.

And as he has before, he lets those thoughts gently go as Samaira withdraws enough to look him in the eye. Her own look to him like moonlight on water, though his gaze strays beyond them as she continues to speak. The words are a balm to him - but he will not know how much until days from now, when he has made other reunions that are not received with such grace. “No,” he agrees, “I would not have.” The horror at realizing how long it had been is still fresh enough to make him want to flinch; to keep from doing so he looks back to her, his gaze tracing the tattoos etched lightly on her cheek and neck, the petals bright against her dark hair.

His smile at her news is more grounded, his heart and thoughts less faraway. “Congratulations. They’re lucky to have you.” It doesn’t occur to him, yet, how strange it might be to say they instead of we when he speaks of Terrastella. “I do,” he says, and thinks of Alaunus, and of a woman who’d learned to fly again. Of joy, and how simple a thing it could be.

As she continues to speak, Asterion is silent. The wind pulls at their dark hair, fragrant with salt and lilies; her cheek is satin against her own. But the bay notices nothing outside her words, first curious, wondering, and then -

you are the thing my heart has always wanted for.

His own heart stumbles. For a moment he only breathes, watching the clouds drift overhead, his thoughts surprised to blankness; and then he withdraws, gaze level with her own, his smile faded to something serious. “Samaira, I - I had no idea.” He wants to ask, How could you know? How could you be sure? He wants to warn her, Not me, do not choose me - it only ever ends in ruin.

Maybe he should have left it at that, and let her hold onto her happiness. He does not want to be responsible for her sorrow. But Asterion cares too much to lie to her, or to pretend, and each beat of his heart still sounds like Moira.

“But I…I am in love with someone already. If she will still have me, after all this time.” He doesn’t expect the way his own heart bruises to say it.




@Samaira :(

hold me amongst all your cards;

 
It is strange, in a way, that for all his years and heartaches he has never been on this side of the sorrow. He thinks now that he would rather have his heart broken a hundred times than watch it happen to someone else, and know it is his doing.

Before he spoke the words her silver eyes had been luminous as the moon. He sees the shadow pass over them. He watches the smile curve her lips, graceful but half-gone. The beach is less beautiful; the gulls aren’t laughing now but sobbing, mournful, a Greek chorus despairing. The ocean sighs at their feet and Asterion wants to sink into its cold and dark.

She is lucky to have your heart. There is nothing he could say to that, not when he disagrees - his wandering heart is nothing but a burden. He smiles too, tightly. Behind him the waves murmur, aware of his turmoil. And when she speaks again they dash themselves over the rocks and dissolve into foam and memory.

Pain sears Asterion like a bolt. He shakes his head, emphatic. “Don’t say that. Not after my abandonment.” And even now, he thinks, she doesn’t know the half of it - how he doesn’t want to lead again, can’t bear to face his countrymen, how if he tries he knows he will only reap failure over and over with every harvest. He almost continues - I’ll get what I deserve- but bites his lip, swallows the words. He hasn’t the right to confide in her, not now.

So instead he sighs, as deeply as the waves. For a moment he watches the gulls as they sweep over the water, always circling and never settling. He says, “Forgive me. I - I should find Marisol, and let her know I’ve returned.” It takes a new kind of courage to look her in the eye again, to study her elegant features and see the sorrow he’s put there. His voice is quiet when he speaks again, hardly more than a murmur. “I hope your spirit remembers its wings, Samaira. And that they are yours, and no one else’s.” For a moment he hesitates, then reaches, slowly, to brush her cheek.

When he withdraws, his eyes are cast down. “We’ll speak again soon. I…I am sorry. Truly.” And with that he turns to begin the long walk to the capitol, leaving her with her heartache, cradling his own. And in moments the waves wash his footprints away.




@Samaira :( :( :(  

hold me amongst all your cards;