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" interrupt? oh, hardly. " aurora reassured with a flippant wave of her hand, noticing how he stiffed and straightened ⸻ the effect of being a high lady, she supposed. she missed when people were carefree around her, the few times she went to the village near her home, not careful. she smiled softly. " as you should be, it's a lovely place for walking, both the gardens and dawn itself. " the spring maiden had not seen much of dawn yet, but already, she knew the court was as lovely as her own in beauty and grace.
as he mentioned the flowers of velaris, thriving in the dark, she looked intrigued. " truly? flowers that grow without sunshine? " such a concept was unheard of to her, someone who thrived under the spring sunlight just as the flowers of her court did. " are they colorful? or rather monotoned? " the high lady couldn't help but ask more questions.
"They're colorful," he said, and the corner of his mouth tugged upward despite himself. "Not in the way these are..." He nodded at the lavender rose between them. "All bright and sun-drenched. Night Court flowers are more... subtle. Some are white, mostly, but they catch the starlight and sort of shimmer. Silver. Pale blue. Some of them almost look like they're glowing. And there's this other one..." He paused, glancing at her. Rivian felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. "It only opens after dark, and the petals are this deep purple, almost black at the center. It smells like midnight, if midnight had a smell. If... that makes sense."
He stopped himself, suddenly aware he'd been rambling about flowers to a High Lady who presided over the most beautiful gardens in the realm. She probably knew more about botany than he ever would. "My apologies. I'm not exactly a gardener. The closest thing I get to flowers is stepping on them during training." Rivian rubbed the back of his neck and felt his wings shift against his spine.
she recognises the way his wings twitch, her own shifting as she rolls her shoulders at the discomfort of the crowds near them. her own nervous habit that she knows he’d be familiar with after knowing each other so long. “quieter sounds nice.” she replies, grateful for the offer.
she frowns when he trails off, stretching her neck a little with her own nerves, watching him as he rubs his neck. her wings flutter slightly when she shifts again, glancing around again, at the other fae, at the flowers around them, down at the cake she’d forgotten about, back to him. always back to him. she’d been looking all day, every time they’d been separated. she twists the end of her braid around her fingers, biting her lip.
she’s out of place. she had dressed according to what she expected of the events, rather than wearing her usual armour and leathers. although would anyone have questioned it had she shown up in her leathers? armour? she never really knows. she draws herself out of her thoughts and feels her cheeks heat when she realises he’s still watching her.
“fewer people.” somewhere to remove them from the crowds. and she finds, in the moment, she doesn’t care about the rumours so much. time alone with rivian is worth others talking. anyone who matters will hear their version, not some made up story the busybodies of mistvale come up with.
“it would be.” she tilts her head, stopping herself from reaching out to touch him when his wings twitch again, and she nods. her shoulders roll again, “lead the way?” it would be nice to get away, to see parts of the court without the rest of the courtiers around them, with him beside her.
"Yes," he said, and the word came out steadier than he felt. "Okay. Let's be on our way."
He turned before he could second-guess himself, before the nervous flutter in his chest could spread to his wings and give him away entirely. The path was just ahead, a narrow ribbon of gravel winding past the rose trellis and into the trees beyond. He'd found it by accident earlier, had been walking off the sugar from one too many dewdrop cakes, trying to clear his head and trying not to think about how many times he'd scanned the crowd for a familiar pair of dark wings. And here it was. A forgotten corner of the gardens, a bench, some wild roses, a little silence.
The thing about Malvina was that she was always in the back of his head. A quiet constant he'd stopped trying to ignore a couple of years ago. He'd see something beautiful and wonder if she'd like it. He'd hear a joke and wonder if it would make her laugh. He'd find a hidden garden path and wonder if she'd want to walk it with him. Perhaps a little too much wondering for Rivian.
"It's not far. Just through those trees, there's a bench. Old stone... probably been here for centuries. They may have forgotten about it, or maybe left it alone on purpose. Either way, no one else is around." The gravel path gave way to packed earth, soft underfoot, and the lantern light grew dimmer and more scattered. He glanced back at her as they walked. Malvina could have stayed by the water, sent him off on his own, or even decided wandering into the trees with her former recruit was more trouble than it was worth. Yet she chose to follow him and trusted him to lead.
Maybe he was reading too far into it. Maybe she just wanted to get away from the party and he was making it all about himself. False hope was a dangerous thing. But the way she'd looked at him, gold eyes steady, voice soft with no hesitation made it difficult to believe. It made Rivian want to believe something else entirely. The trees opened onto a small clearing. There was the bench he'd found, half-covered in climbing roses, facing a narrow stream that cut through the edge of the gardens. The air smelled of earth and wildflowers and something faintly sweet he couldn't quite name. The party felt like a distant memory, the music reduced to a faint and far-off hum.
"Here," he said, stopping beside the bench. He didn't sit, didn't want to presume. Just gestured at the clearing. "It's not much. No cake or music or... much. Just..." He paused, searching for the right word. "Quiet." He looked at her. His lips twitched, not quite a smile. "What do you think? Worth the walk?"
she loves to be in nature. but… she prefers to be in nature alone or only with those she actually trusts. she’d left out her wings for this — mostly because she had wanted the comfort of not hiding for the first event, even if she may glamour them for later events. it’s a bonus that others seem so much more intimidated by them, that it’s saved her from having to socialise with anyone she doesn’t want to socialise with. but she knows what the high fae think of her, of the other half-illyrians present. they’re wrong. they don’t fit. but she never had. not with the illyrians she’d been raised beside, and not with the high fae her mother had come from.
there may be political reasons for the commanders to attend… but she’d rather remain hidden away with her army, or with omar and penélope. with rivian. she’d taken a bit too many cakes than were likely meant to be her share. she likes cake, though. always has. she wonders if she can convince the night court to cater from her bakery come their turn to host… if only for her ego her cake is amazing though.
her attention turns to him from staring at the cake in her hands, and she perks up a little more. “hi.” her smile is genuine — not the false things she’d feigned for the rest of the crowd. “definitely too many people around.” she nods, rolling her shoulders slightly, wings fluttering with the movement. “i do not mind the flowers.” she glances around. “better if it were quieter. less happening. would’ve liked to see this then.” she tilts her head.
"We could find somewhere quieter." The words came out before he'd fully thought them through, and he felt his wings twitch. It was a nervous tell he'd never been able to shake, one that betrayed him every time his heart started beating faster than it should. He wondered if she noticed. She probably had, she seemed to notice everything.
"I just... I just think..." He rubbed the back of his neck, his palm coming away slightly damp. When had his palms gotten so sweaty? It wasn't even that hot. The Dawn Court was perfect, the kind of balmy evening that poets wrote sonnets about. And here he was, sweating like a raw recruit on his first battlefield, all because he'd suggested wandering off alone with her. This was probably why he was a knight and not an emissary. His gaze dropped to the cake in her hands, then skittered away to the roses, the distant figures of courtiers drifting through the gardens in their silks and jewels. Then his eyes found their way back to her.
She was wearing a dress. He'd noticed it the moment he'd walked up, from across the garden when he'd first spotted her silhouette against the water. She always looked beautiful, even in her armor and leathers and training gear worn soft from use, hair a mess from moving so much. But this was different. She looked like she'd stepped out of a painting, like she belonged in a garden full of roses. Stop staring.
"I saw a path earlier," he said, his voice steadier now. "When I was doing my rounds. It's past the roses. Overgrown, less... manicured." He paused, suddenly aware of what he was suggesting. The two of them, alone, at a party where anyone could see them leave together? Rumors spread faster than fire through dry grass. Apparently he couldn't help himself.
"I just thought..." That you might want me there. That you deserve to be somewhere beautiful without everyone gawking at you. He paused, swallowed. His wings gave one final, traitorous twitch. "It could be nice. To get away." He finished, and the words felt too small for everything he meant.
" absolutely beautiful, " aurora murmured, her focus entirely on a flower in front of her. a rose of pale lavender with the palest of pink on it's ends, the species native to and only to the dawn court itself. when she realized someone was beside her, the blonde jumped a little, " oh! i'm terribly sorry, i did not notice you there. " too in her own little world, like always.
her gaze flickered back to the flower, then to them as she straightened her back to stand properly. " did you know there were flowers that only grew in other courts? " the high lady asked, as if it was a wondrous thing she was only just now learning thanks to the bloom before her.
Rivian hadn't meant to stop. He'd been walking the garden paths with the restless energy of someone who didn't quite know what to do with themselves at a party. Too formal for fighting, too casual for diplomacy, too full of too many people. He'd drifted toward the quieter edges of the garden, where the roses grew in pale shades of lavender and blush. He'd been so focused on the bloom in front of him that he hadn't noticed he was no longer alone. The woman beside him spoke, and he realized with a jolt that he was standing next to a High Ruler.
"Oh, no, that's..." He stepped back, hands lifting in a gesture of apology, wings instinctively tucking tighter against his spine. "I'm the one who should be sorry, my Lady. I didn't mean to interrupt. I was just..." He trailed off, gesturing at the flowers, the gardens, the sky. "Walking." He'd been walking these gardens for an hour, and he still felt like an intruder. Like a shadow that had wandered somewhere it didn't belong. Except she wasn't looking at him like an intruder. Her expression was so openly, genuinely wondrous that it caught him off guard.
"And no, I didn't know flowers could be court-specific. The plants in Velaris thrive in the dark and don't need sunlight to survive." He paused, glancing at the flower she'd been admiring. "And these are... something else entirely. It looks like it would wilt if you breathed on it wrong. It's hard to look away."
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to: @flrestorms
location: the garden party, dawn court gardens
The Dawn Court's gardens were beautiful in a way that made Rivian's skin itch. Too bright, perfect, and full of High Fae who had never known what it was like to be looked at the way people looked at him. It typically went the same: a flicker of surprise when they saw his wings, the quick reassessment, and the obvious unspoken question: what was someone like him doing here? He'd been asking himself that question his whole life. He still didn't have an answer.
He didn't have a reason to be here. He'd already check in with the other Night Court attendees, already made sure their accommodations were acceptable, already eaten enough dewdrop cakes that he was starting to feel a little sick. There was no processional excuse for seeking her out. He just... wanted to. That was the problem, wasn't it? He always wanted to.
"Hi." The word came out quieter than he intended, almost swallowed by the distant murmur of the garden party. He cleared his throat, hands finding their way into his pockets, wings tucking a little tighter against his back. "I thought I would find you here. The party's..." He searched for the right word. "Too many flowers. Too many people. Too much happening."
is that TOM HOLLAND arriving at the ball? no, cauldron bless, it’s RIVIAN ALCASTER, KNIGHT of NIGHT, born to the realm as a HIGH FAE-ILLYRIAN. they have walked this realm for SIX HUNDRED YEARS and they can be LEVEL-HEADED but also EVASIVE. they carry with them the echo of LAUGHTER THAT COMES A BEAT TOO LATE, A STRAY DOG THAT FLINCHES WHEN YOU REACH FOR THEM BUT FOLLOWS ANYWAY, WINGS THAT HAVE NEVER KNOWN THE SKY THE WAY THEY SHOULD. i do hope someone asks them to dance before the night is through.
name: rivian alcaster
aliases: riv, stray
age: 600
moral alignment: chaotic good. follows orders when they make sense and ignores them when they don't. his loyalty is to people, not institutions. his moral compass is occasionally baffling to everyone around him.
hair color: dark, messy, almost always in need of a cut
eye color: green. tired and warm and a little sad around the edges.
talent(s):
like(s): velaris at dawn when the streets are empty and the light is soft, the smell of rain, sweets
dislike(s): crowds, small talk, the cold, formality, titles, the wobble in his favorite chair that no one seems to notice
you are known for: your crooked smile. the shadows under your eyes and the scars on your knuckles. the way you flirt with death and danger like they're old friends. never giving a straight answer about your past. being the least knightly knight anyone's ever met.
the story so far !
you are born in the dark, and the dark does not want you. no... that's not fair. the dark doesn't care either way. the dark is just there, cold and indifferent, the same way it was there the night your mother left you on the steps of an orphanage in velaris and never looked back. you never know her face or the name of your father. you never know if your wings came from your mother or your father. never know which parent gave you the illyrian blood that marks you so clearly and belongs to you so little.
the orphanage is crowded and underfunded. they do their best, but they don't know what to do with a scrawny half-breed baby who already has too much fight in him. everyone is kind but distant. you learn, early, that you are something to be tolerated, not wanted. you learn to make yourself small, to fold your wings tight against your back and take up less space. to be less there. no one is coming for you, and you stop expecting them to.
you can't remember how old you were when you first ran away. a pre-teen nonetheless. the streets are no kinder than the orphanage, but they are honest. no one pretends to want you. they give you nothing and you learn to take what you need: food from market stalls when vendors aren't looking, coins from pockets too loose to notice, warmth from doorways and alleys where the wind can't reach.
you became a stray. an alley cat with wings that don't know how to fly and a mouth too quick for your own good. you survive. that's all you do for a long time.
you're a teenager when the fight happens. a brawl in an alley over money, pride, and nothing at all really. you lost. you bled out on the cobblestones, wings broken and twisted beneath you. you thought this was the end. but then a hand grabbed your collar and dragged you up.
the old commander doesn't ask if you want help, doesn't really offer you a choice. just hauls you to a healer and stands there with his arms crossed while they stitch you back together. when you wake up, he's still there. he tells you that you have wasted potential. no one has ever said that to you before.
you don't believe him. you're too tired to argue, and he's offering you a bed and a meal and something that looks almost like a future, so you take it. you tell yourself it's temporary, that you'll leave in a week, a month, a year. but you stay.
training is brutal. you're behind everyone else: no formal instruction, no family name, no foundation to build on. they look at you and see something that doesn't belong. you've been looked at that way your whole life. it still stings, but you pretend it doesn't.
you learn to fight. not because you're talented, but because you're stubborn. because you've been surviving your whole life, and this is just another thing to survive. you learn to read people, their tells and their weaknesses, because reading people kept you alive on the streets and it keeps you alive in the training yard. you learn to lead, reluctantly, because soldiers start looking to you and you don't know how to tell them you look somewhere else.
you're not special. you can glide short distances with inelegant landings, but you'll never soar. you'll never fight in the sky like a true illyrian warrior. it used to shame you. now it's just... true. a fact like your name, like the scar on your ribs from that first fight in the alley, like the way you still check the exits in every room you enter, a habit from the streets that training never broke.
you're still not sure how you become a knigth. you don't feel like one. you feel like a street rat wearing borrowed armor, waiting for someone to notice you don't belong. you're still waiting to be found out, for someone to look at you and tell you that you don't belong here. but no one does. and eventually, you start to believe, just a little, that maybe you do.
TL;DR: orphan who survived the streets of velaris before being found and trained by the old commander. now a reluctant hero who still feels like a street rat in borrowed armor.
pixelskylines
snowghoul
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