heaven knows it wasn't you who set me free || heartfire

[Canaan]

I know it wasn't you who held me down;
heaven knows it wasn't you who set me free.

 Too much time had passed.
 
   The sun had risen and the moon had fallen more times that he could possibly count, and yet still, he is confined to the jagged precipice and soft, supple sand along the shoreline. The tropical humidity of summer gave way to a tempestuous sea in the winter, and the many days, weeks and months had gone on without him – time is unyielding; steadfast and obstinate. 
 
   He had been captive for too long, and he had begun to grow restless and uneasy. An uncomfortable knot had formed in the pit of his belly and it had lingered there since his captivity had begun – and it had only grown in the days and weeks that followed the gladiator ring he had unwillingly been thrown into.
 
   He had come out with a hefty bruise along his chest plate (it made it difficult to breathe, and even harder to walk – every step made felt like a sharpened dagger wedged between the bone and sinew of his body) and a sore ache along his hip, which had taken longer than he would have liked to heal because of his stubborn inability to remain solitary and still for too long. 
 
   A heavy sigh passes his dark lips, as his bright (yet tired – so tired; slumber still pulled wearily at his eyelids) eyes settle on the shoreline before him – it has become a source of comfort for him; a way to ease his restless mind. Eventually, he is drawn to the light – its bleak rays shining over his golden skin, weaving its light through the dense, finely preened feathers of his broad, russet wings.
 
   The once subtle breeze is soon a forceful gust of his own doing. There is solace in feeling the wind entangle itself in his two-toned mane; in feeling the enveloping power of a harsh squall urging him along. The soft whistle of the air weaving its way between the dark caramel tinted feathers that line the broad plane of his wings soothes him, and even though the atmosphere is often unpredictable, there are very few moments in which he is content to simply be left with the stillness of stagnant air. He is lonely, painfully so, but he has grown comfortable in the silence and accustomed to the isolation.
 
   He is certain that he could leave beyond the boundary if he desired – but he had seen how easily the pointed apex of each feather had been disintegrated into little else but dust, and with such little effort. She had seen him wield his wind manipulation in battle, but a gust would not keep her from harming him or those he cared for. He did not know the depth of her power, nor of her prowess, but she knew too much. Heartfire knew his mother, and had somehow obtained information as to her connection to him and to his whereabouts – he did not want any harm to come to Circinae; to his sons.
 
   His sons.
   He could not bear to think about either.
   He would be a long distant memory to them by now – 
 
   Too much time had passed.

CANAAN

so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
and we never even know we have the key.

[Heartfire]

show them the joy and the pain and the ending

She would be a poor captor if she did not keep a close eye upon her captive. He would be correct in assuming the worst should he so choose to step beyond the bounds of his prison without her permission. Still, she is not a cruel jailor. She had allowed him the freedom of the kingdom, had left him largely to his own devices after the spectacular display at the gladiator ring. She had no need nor desire to harm him, after all. He is here simply to prove a point, and so long as he remains, the point is made.

Still, these are things she had not deigned to tell him, though she is certain it would come out soon enough. Besides, she has grown rather weary of this particular game, and he has come quite close to completing his purpose here. All that is left is to share such good news with her brooding captive.

He is simple enough to find, even had the powerful gust of wind not given him away. Most of Nerine knew his purpose here, so even had she lost sight of him, it would have been an easy matter to rectify. But she is not so without her own prowess that she would lose track of one measly captive. Even one who could fly, or nearly so (she had done a fair amount of damage to his feathers, but those would surely be growing out soon enough).

Finding her way to the cliff, she eases her way beside him, settling her slim frame as her crystalline gaze focuses on the expansive view of the sea. It is glorious up here, the rippling water stunning beneath the falling sun, framed by endless beaches of soft, pale sand. The wind slips long her sleek roan coat, snagging dark tresses in its volatile fingers and tossing them into wild dances. She pays little mind to it though, whether real or artificial. She has more pressing concerns.

Shifting her blue gaze to find his darkly brooding features, she considers him for a long moment before saying simply, “They miss you, you know.” She is no mind reader, but it would not take one to see where his thoughts had gone. And even if she had missed the mark, it is as good a way as any to begin a conversation. Or at least, the particular conversation she has in mind.

i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts

[Canaan]

I know it wasn't you who held me down;
heaven knows it wasn't you who set me free.

  He had not seen much of her.

  She was far from cruel to him - her quiet, taunting voice held the promise of violence, should he resist, should he be tempted to put up a fight - but she had never harmed him. The edges of his disintegrated feathers had already begun to grow in, and soon he would once more be able to outstretch the broad expanse of his itching, aching russet feathers - but alas, the only wind beneath his winged appendages until that fateful day would be the gust he willfully wrought beneath them.

  He had some semblance of freedom - he had quietly explored every crack and crevice of the cliffside, of its echoing caverns, of its tropical foliage. He had felt the salty brine of the sea (as warm, but not as tumultuous as the ocean that lapped hungrily at the shoreline of the volcanic island he had been born in) rise along the length of his thick, muscular legs - staining the pale gold of his skin into a deep and dark sienna. He had lain amid the swaying, gleaming flora and fauna that extended from the edge of the tallest bluff; he had bathed beneath the sun more often than he had shied away from it, and yet -

  And yet -
  He longed to be elsewhere.

  It is no longer the insatiable wanderlust that is stirring the tension and agitation in his weary bones and anxious, twitching muscled limbs. The wanderlust had been sated, dimmed by the weight of fatherhood (a fatherhood he had yet to savor; he had missed so much already), doused by the way his chest became heavy and aching at the thought of his beloved, emerald wildflower (he loved her; he realized some time after he’d been held captive - he loved her).

  He can feel her presence long before she is beside him, but he does not recoil. She is the living, breathing potential of danger, and yet, there is something altogether passive in her posture, in her voice. He was merely a pawn in some petty game. He has a difficult time suppressing the irritable coiling of his sinewy tendons when her skin brushes across the bristling feathers of his wing - he does not hate her; he does not even dislike her.

  He merely does not understand her.
  And she does not want him to.

  They miss you, you know, she murmurs quietly, and his heart lurches.
  It is a tendril of hope, quashed by the reality of his situation.

  ”I miss them,” he confesses softly, his gaze never averting from the crystalline sea ebbing eagerly at the pale sand below - he can feel her looking at him, considering him, but he does not flinch. ”how much longer, Heartfire? Every minute I spend here is a minute wasted, when I could be with them. You have children,” he mutters softly. ”and you know that I do - how can you be at ease with yourself?”

  And then, finally, the depth of his brooding, hazel eyes meet with her own piercing set - his brow furrowed, uncertain. ”I have done what you have asked. I have stayed; I have done my time. Whatever my mother has done, whatever she has said ..”

  It cannot compare to ruining a family.

CANAAN

so often times it happens that we live our lives in chains,
and we never even know we have the key.

[Heartfire]

show them the joy and the pain and the ending

Families are ruined every day. She has seen far more than her fair share of such tragedies. Death parts lovers, mothers, fathers, children without remorse. Without feeling and often times without warning. It is so easy to become calloused when watching the world through so many eyes, when seeing the cruelty that abounds, the injustice and insensibility of so many lives being torn asunder. To her, Canaan’s fate had been kind. Perhaps he had not deserved such a thing, had not deserved to be kidnapped for the crimes of his mother.

But he cannot change his parentage, cannot change to whom he had been born, no matter how much he might wish it. But what he sees as cruelty, as utterly awful and unjust, she sees just the opposite. So many children never even know their parents. His would at least know him, even if it is rather later than he might have hoped.

Still, she does have a heart, even if it is buried behind layers stone and forced dispassion.

She does not answer him immediately. Instead she turns her gaze to him, shifting from sea to man until she can study him with the intensity one might study a previously unknown specimen. After several long minutes of silence, she shows him. Reaching for his sight with gentle fingers, she replaces it with another’s vision, one from weeks past. His children, their birth, their first breaths, their first steps. She shows him this because, despite everything he thought he knew about her, she is not trying to be cruel. His only crime had been his birth.

“Were your mother the parent you wish to be, you wouldn’t be in this predicament,” she finally responds, her voice soft as she turns her gaze back to the sea, leaving his sight once more his own. She does not answer his second question though. Feels no need to. How she can be at ease with her actions is not something he would ever understand. Nor is it something she has the time nor inclination to explain.

After another long pause, her gaze still upon the ocean, she sighs. “At the dawn of the day following tomorrow, you are free to go.” Her voice is faintly distant as she makes the declaration. “Do not leave before then. You will not like the consequences should you try.”

With that, she turns to go, before pausing to glance back at her soon to be former captive. “Once you go, it wouldn’t hurt to have a discussion with your mother.” A faintly amused smile curves her lips as she turns once more, leaving him to his thoughts.

i filled up my senses with thoughts from the ghosts

Soooo, from here I figured Heartfire could basically go hunt Ellyse down? <33