Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A longing gaze out to the warm, blue skies danced upon by white clouds.

The tiniest, frailest of hands, sitting upon a windowsill, trembling the slightest bit as a little body attempts to stand tall enough, strong enough, to continue to gaze upon the world beyond.

His ears pick up the sound of singing songbirds, so gentle, though nearby, the sound stings not, for a moment, his ears, sensitive, do not ache.

They sing to welcome the sun, a dawn anew, warmth enveloping the land, a momentous rarity of light, how it shines, how it glimmers, the golden light of the sun.

A yearning to move ever closer to such a soft, welcoming sound, such an engulfing warmth, such a comforting light, drives him forth.

Tiny arms lay atop the windowsill, his armpits at the edge, and with this, his hands manage to reach outward enough for him to be satisfied.

He stretches his hands far in front, to the world beyond the safe, barren, pale and cold cot that is this room. He feels that warmth upon his skin as he trembles.

The moment will come where it will ache so deeply, but what matters most, for this singular moment, is the joy, for he has moved forward, the tiniest step to the future, a step without footfall.

This is the world you will cherish, the world with the people you cherish.

***

He awakes to a warm weight atop his hand.

A room with a floor littered with papers and tomes, bottles of ink and feathers, blankets and pillows, gathered together to form a mattress.

Two windows, uneven in shape, yet undoubtedly a pair, allowing the light of the moon to shine within, a veil of the constant echo of melancholy.

To awaken alone in such darkness, with even the amethyst light of the electope wiring fused to the walls granting little by way of sight, as they sit with their purpose put to little use, was a common occurrence for him.

A slumber for the unwilling. He is powerless to the whims of the human body. It tires even as he crawls the cold grounds to grab at each and every thing he utilizes to let flow the waters of knowledge, aches at him as he moves his fingers to scrawl, his arm to grab, his neck to lift and drop to look, his eyes as leaves them gazing all too long.

And so it beckons him to slumber. Let your mind be swallowed by the warm embrace of dark, for even a moment, forget what it is you fight for.

How can you fight if you do not rest? Silly little one, desperate little one.

There have ever been times where he was awakened by another. He is cared for, in his weakness. Fed, provided for, and at a moment's notice he may call another from and to within.

But not at this hour, not as the moon rises and smiles so, not with a touch so gentle atop the sole thing that allows him to fight to preserve.

A touch yes, at his back, or under his limbs.

But not his hand.

With an ache, he cranks his neck that his head may turn to look upon who would challenge him so. It is a maiden in a dress black as night, moon kissed skin with hints of rose, and flaxen hair.

She sits upright, cross legged, with her head drooped low. She is in slumber herself, he realizes, and still her hand sits intently stop his.

He knows who she is. Of course he does. Who doesn't? The songbird of our land, our most gentle and beloved canary, a warrior for and of uttermost love.

The newly crowned Queen Sphene, a young and courageous girl, a girl who strives, a girl who…

Her weight atop him is gentle, and is evidently provided in deep compassion. It is careful, it is thought through. If she is here, and because it is herself who stands before him, then she undoubtedly understands, and knows of all that plagues him, all that eats away at his body.

Nevertheless, that weight is noticeable, and for gods know how long it's been atop him, it leaves him with a feeling of numbness. And to push with numbness is to call for an ache.

He doesn't care to speak, chooses not to. A repeated choice, a frequent choice.

Instead, Calyx attempts to pull his hand away from hers, despite the ache, despite how heavy it feels to move his arm, as heavy so as to be pulling with rope tied at your form, he pulls away.

Sphene awakens upon feeling his movement, subtle and slow, heavy and burdened, she is an alert canary, and as though within a mine, feels the winds of change immediately.

Eyes akin to an olive branch open slowly, and instantly drop to meet with ashen gray, she smiles warmly at being welcomed with another as she awakes.

His gaze at her is empty. Regardless, it is upon her.

With a hand lifting to her chest, atop her heart, Sphene looks to hin warmly, and with a soft, hushed voice, she speaks, a balance to a whisper and average tone.

“I do hope you can pardon me my intrusion, please, be at ease, I come to you as a friend.”

Motionless, his gaze is upon her, still.

“My name is Sphene, and you are, I believe, Calyx, are you not?” Her hand reaches to his once more. “I imagine it difficult to speak oft, so please, a gentle squeeze of my fingers if my impression is not false.”

He does as she says, provides her answer. Yes, he is Calyx, and of course, he knows her. Her existence is the most anchoring root to the tree that he strives to keep standing, to keep a beating heart to, and for that he must—

Sphene's smile somehow grows warmer than it already had been.

“A moment, allow me to fetch you something.” Why does a Queen play Lady of The Fetch to one who functions as a servant?

Yes. Calyx, as he is now, as he is today, is a servant himself. He labors day after day after day in what powers him, what his capacity allows, in service to his people, his queen, and himself.

Precisely to prevent what clads her in the dark colors of night, precisely to overcome the fleeting ephemera of nights such a this, nights where the skies are clear, where the moon shines high and bright, bright enough to emit a cascade of light into his quarters.

His quarters… he thinks back to his dream. Yes, quarters, no longer a cot, no longer so small, and still, still, still….

He remains as weak as he was back then, trembling and fragile.

And yet he lives, despite all, against all, for all, he lives, he thinks, before his mind moves back to Sphene.

A rare time where the skies are clear, a rare time where it is safe for a Queen to move about, like as not, today must have been planned overlong, a chance to at last come about without the threat of lightning and storm and waters to drown and strike at one so precious, so necessary, so instrumental.ike and hurt and kill one so precious, one so instrumental, one so essential, one so necessary.

His mind clears as he awakes further and further, despite his head aching the slightest bit.

Yes… yes, he should have expected this, this moment, this day, this occurrence, this outcome, for he has brought forth a strike of change to the fates of the land, for his ambition has ever been the grounds to the salvation of His and Her people, it makes perfect sense that she, newly crowned queen, newly found symbol and embodiment of their dreams, would stand before him now.

He, the gear of change to the instruments of her song.

He, the striking hammer to the build of her design.

Yes, of course the day would come where they must meet as Warrior and Queen, of course the day would come—

His line of thought is broken by her return, he gazes at her walking in the dark, into the dim shine of moonlight, she walks gently, yet tall, as he lay on the cushioned grounds of his quarters, and he sees in her hand a dark cup, contrasted by her light skin.

She crouches, placing the cup the smallest bit afar from them both.

“I’ve fetched you some water, I imagine you’re dehydrated, are you not? I pray that having a sip will help any ailments you suffer as of now.”

She receives no response, only a silent, blank gaze. She understands that he is unable to speak, precisely due to a parched throat, and an aching head, and a fatigue overwhelming.

She reaches her hand to him, under the back of his neck, and the small of his back, he complies, the act familiar to him, a common one as he is oft left under the care of others.

She has him lean against her, head to her chest and shoulder, his arms at her side. She reaches back to the cup of water, and lifts it to his lips.

It is cold, and hard, metallic, he feels as she places her other hand at the back of his neck, and has him lean back the slightest, tiniest bit, that she may have the water fall between his lips and into his mouth.

It is fresh, and not cold to the point of aching his head, at last he feels a bit of life course through him as he swallows it. Sphene is careful as she has him sip, to not have him choke and cough in shock and pain.

Were such a thing to occur… it would surely hurt him so, she imagined, reflecting on days where she herself had fallen sick from fever or cold, how it hurt her throat so to cough and breathe.

Calyx cannot help but let out a sigh as the cup is downed to the end. As he feels his body find the slightest bit more strength, he lifts his head to look upon her.

As expected, she is smiling gently, warm and radiant.

“You have my thanks, Your Majesty. Were it not for you, I surely would have—”

“Ah! Please, there is no need for you to push yourself to overspeak, and certainly no need for you to thank me, I but did what anyone would have done.”

His face blanks, as he holds back a true deadpan. He can’t help but feel the slightest bit of frustration at her stopping him from finishing his words, her presumption that he is too weak to even speak at this moment gnawing at his heart.

He only continues to stare at her in silence in response.

Such a wordless song and stiff dance would be something that she has to get used to, she thinks as she continues to hold him as he leans on her.

Chapter Text

She does not stand before him, no.

His assessment was wrong, distant. Rather, she stands beside him, at his side, and ever beseeches him eye to eye.

Their hearts are as one, joined in determination, sure to be companions, in their faith, their will, their servitude.

Calyx works ever tirelessly, against the odds of the fatigue that claws at his form, he keeps his mind ever active, that he never loses sight of who he is, and what drives him ever forward.

Sphene connects evermore, never stopping short of a single soul but her own, again and again she opens all her being to her and his people, their memory, their life, against the cage of the storms the shroud her lands.

The cage of the storms that shroud her lands… 

In his determination to never lose sight, Calyx is ever far from her reach, she can never reach, and at her heart, the darkness eats.

***

The Tower in which Preservation presides was ever close, ever far, all the same, from The Castle in which The Canary resides.

She sits within her private quarters, atop a stool, her gaze downcast to piano keys, her every sense steeled for the sounds that sing without the castle.

She is met with heavy rain, and for every moment’s pause, the shattering scream of lightning as thunder strikes the trees of the lands she so loved rejoices again, and again, and again.

Her fingers fall atop the keys, gently, as she thinks to herself in melancholy.

What a cruel sound, what a sickening sound .

Perhaps it is in poor taste. As one blessed to be able to stand, and walk, and breathe through it all, inhale every bit that shines and screams and grabs at her senses, she should be grateful, in awe, at all that the world bestows upon her, should she not?

Or perhaps this is what she deserves, this constant veil of deafening darkness over the skies she lives under, a punishment for her failures, for her ego, for her selfishness, she thinks to herself.

But for my people to suffer it too… she wants to weep at the thought. 

Ever young still, and with a heart that pushes and prods to be open to all that makes the formula of life, Sphene struggles still to balance her view of her selfhood within the world.

She lowers her gaze to her lap, and buries her face in her hands in shame the moment she sees her black skirt, heavens forfend, why does she continue to dress so when in private and in the dead of night? 

A constant reminder of what had brought her into her position now, a constant echo, as constant as the roaring of the thunder and lightning.

I’m so foolish! I continue to fail myself, in allowing myself to be consumed by this selfish desire to remember, I wither in the darkness, as does the land, all for this wallowing! I mustn’t be such, I cannot be such!

She is no longer a daughter, for she is queen now, first and foremost.

The singing of the lightning seems to be screaming at her in unison, in agreement. Indeed! At long last, you’ve come to a correct conclusion!

She wonders for a moment, how Calyx feels at being plagued by the selfsame song that is poured from the skies above.

Only to remember that his own quarters are proof of sound, for if he were to hear the roars above, his ears would surely bleed, and his head would be overwhelmed to the point of his losing consciousness.

With intense speed, she lets her hands fall to the keys of the piano once more, this time in frustration, and the sound that arises from it is crude, disorderly.

It is a sound without reason.

Of course, he cannot hear it. 

The unreasonable roaring of thunder as lightning strikes against the yards, the heavy, outpouring weeps of the rains.

Of course he cannot hear it all, he cannot be allowed to, not with the anguish it all brings. Calyx cannot afford such a thing to occur, Preservation cannot afford such a thing to occur, Alexandria cannot afford such a thing to occur.

Like as not, she herself, could not afford such a thing to occur, could she?

With no family to embrace her with gentle and warmth, she can all but hold onto her people and their salvation to keep going, they are her family, now, and if he holds the power to protect them, to keep them at her side, then…

Is this not a selfish view…? She thinks to herself in shame, burying her face in her hands once more, she weeps. 

Ah, ah, ah. 

But this cannot continue to be, it cannot! She gasps in realization.

She balls her hands into fists, and grits her teeth in frustration at her weakness. She has found her resolve, then. To spite herself, to spite her selfishness.

She will look to him not as an equal, not one she needs for their salvation, but as one of her people, another soul in need of light, her family.

Chapter Text

It shined that day, and from that shine, it glittered.

It sang warmth at their bodies, it sang rebirth at their lands. Together they awake, together they walk, her hands guiding him forward this day, his hands at rest this day, on his lap. 

Sphene gently pushes Calyx through the garden grounds of Alexandria’s castle this day, sitting upon a chair wheeled, his head lay to the side as though in sleep, she feels his hair brush against her fingers and nails the slightest bit.

It is a sunny day today, it is a fine day today, as the storms quiet, sing far, far away, and the sun shines without cease, so far away, yet intimately holding the land as much she can. 

Guarded by barriers born of magicks and the pinnacle of electrope technology both, the castle remains intact, safe, radiant, despite the all consuming dark of the storms, it shines as a beacon of hope for the people of Alexandria.

In silence both, they near a field of grass and bloom, a sight which chips away at Sphene’s gloom.

She speeds forward to it, and Calyx grunts as a wave of nausea overcomes him. The sound of the wheels leaves his voice unheard to Sphene’s ears. 

His eyes remain toward his lap, and a ringing sings in his ears. He lifts his hands to his head as it aches, all the while Sphene kneels and sits upon dark dirt and verdant greens.

Her hands fall and touch at the dirt, she digs into it with her nails, her hair falling across her face, swaying energetically.

Perhaps it was her imagination, as the castle did not bear the weight of the storm or wrath of lightning, only its sound, only its scream, only its song—

But she couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of moisture within the dirt, she pictured it being embraced by a gentle rain the night before, sparkling drops, soothing and hiccuping against the walls and the ground.

She understands that is not the reality of it, understands that beyond the walls, the land is as ashen as Calyx’s hair is.

The image in her head is contrastes by the golden blooms that dance shyly amidst the verdant grass around her.

She cups her hands together, holding onto a pile of dirt as though a treasure.

Calyx cannot see her, does not see her, as the ringing continues on and on, he loses track of time, knows not how long he's gripped at his head in pain. 

He feels a heat at his neck and shoulders, as though being gripped by the hands of the sun itself, her fingers dragging through his skin, it aches, and a wave of nausea nearly overtakes him.

He feels gentle fingers against his feet, feels his pure white slippers fall from his feet, one after the other.

He forces his eyes downward, and sees a flaxen colored cloud, hazy, contrasted by a dark puddle.

It is Sphene, he realizes. 

‘What is it?’ he wants to ask.

‘What are you doing?’ but his voice is stuck in his throat, too fatigued to sing out.

He feels something fall and drop upon his feet. The texture is soft yet heavy, unfamiliar to him entirely. His feet twitch, eyes widening.

“What…..is—”

Is all he can voice out, and it is sufficient, it is enough, for Sphene to answer. Her hand reaches up to and drops on his lap, he lowers his own hands from his head so that he can look at her directly.

He is met with a radiant smile. 

“It is dirt!” she beams at him with the might of the sun, and he realizes just how warm her skin is to the eyes. 

“I thought you'd never had the chance to feel it, and it would've been difficult to bring you directly to the field by my lonesome. As such, bringing the dirt directly to you seemed the most optimal choice.” 

He hears a soft chuckle the moment she finishes her explanation.

“It's warm, isn't it? The sun must have been shining on it so ardently, it feels good, doesn't it?”

He is stunned silent looking down at her.

He can't help but clench his fist the smallest bit.

She is so bright. So, so bright. He realizes now. Just as the sun he yearned to stand under, to dance under once long ago, so long ago.

Surely, she herself had danced under it, raced and spun under its radiance, felt the wet of rain dampen her hair and her dresses and her skin and her fingertips, he thinks, he imagines.

Had her tiara ever fallen down as she danced?

Has she danced ever since the weight of the crown fell atop her head?

Had she ever stumbled, fallen down? Did it ache when she did? Was she able to get up again when she did?

A hand drops from his head to his lap once more, and it sits next to hers. She takes the opportunity to put her hand over his, and it comes to him.

He is so much paler than she is. His skin nearly as white as the fabric of the sleeve of his coat. 

He, who seldom graced the sun with his body.

He, who never walked with his own two feet under her light.

It comes to him, now, that he is the one moon kissed, and he alone, for Sphene was kissed by the sun, embraced by the sun.

Sphene was surely, as a daughter to her, to the sun.

He balls the hand still stuck to his head, and leaves the one on his lap to feel the warmth of Sphene's own hand.

“Yes…” He voices out, weakly.

“Indeed, it is warm.” He answers her, with all the might that he can muster.

Chapter Text

The day that Sphene no longer dresses in mourning black was one that he, in his humanity, could never forget.

No longer shackled by darkness cradling the exterior of her chassis, she has, at long last, shined as brightly as her people believed her to shine.

As he, himself, believed her to shine. 

As radiant as the sun, as bright as a field of golden blooms, ever graceful Queen Sphene, ever shining Queen Sphene, walks with her head held up high with hope.

As graceful as a canary, as elegant as a swan, ever glimmering Queen Sphene, ever shimmering Queen Sphene, walks forward onto the future with hope in her heart.

Yes, she is as she should be, now.

She is as he sees her, now. 

She is as her people see her, now.

She is as their queen, now. 

She approaches him this day, once more, they are in proximity, once more, the sun shines over the moon. 

He is seated, as she stands. He is below her, as she stands on high.

He squints his eyes, the cold, monotone steel colored room feeling ever brighter with her presence within it. 

Her dress is spun in golden light and purest white, contrasting the dark electrope cage they stand within. 

Hand to her chest, an gentle smile and gentle gaze falling upon him, she gives an elegant a curtsy. 

“It’s wonderful to see you once more, Calyx!”

She lifts her head to gaze upon him once more, and he bows his own the slightest bit, eyes closing, a curtsy of his own, of what his body is able, of what his body permits him.

Voice polite and courteous, he lets out a gentle: “Likewise, Your Majesty.”

He opens his eyes, and is met with a widening of her smile. “I pray you’ve been in good health, please, take care not to overwork and overexert yourself.” 

We haven’t the luxury of time, Your Majesty . He wants to remark, but finds it a waste of energy to voice out such a thought. He simply nods his head ever gently.

Her smile shifts once again, though she was always smiling, from the moment she stepped inside, he could tell that shift was an expression of her joy growing evermore.

He does not comprehend the source of such joy, but so long as their queen remains in good spirits, the kingdom will remain in such too, he thinks.

And a joyous kingdom equates to a hopeful kingdom, and a hopeful kingdom equates to a people in high morale, so long as that remains the case, there will be room for their great work to continue, for salvation to shine upon them, for a path forward to endure.

She interrupts his line of thought with a singing voice. “Ah! And I do hope you can pardon my change in attire… I’m sure you’ve grown used to seeing my dressing in darker colors by now, but, well—” she awkwardly chuckles into her hand.

She extends her hands out in a manner akin to an exaggerated shrug, though much more graceful, as befits one of her standing. She remains smiling.

“I apologize, but you see, I’ve always had a preference for this manner of color, and in the end, I simply couldn’t resist returning to such—”

“Why the apology?” His voice cuts out, firm and strong and with nerves of steel. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, mouth agape ever so hesitantly.

“It makes little sense for you to express shame for change, even if it were out of courtesy. Why the apology?” Better yet, why the overlong explanation? There was no need for him to know any of this, would it not be better to tell someone she sees each day instead?

In his mind, he tries to brush off the distaste he felt growing in his heart. It was masked with chipper and cheer, she expressed herself as brightly as she is always meant to be, and yet, all he could see was hesitation and shame.

Perhaps it was a thoughtline in projection, much like his initially equating her to the moon when he first saw her, he thought for a moment that, she too, had felt shame for her state of being.

He tries to brush it off, the distaste at that apology, tries to believe that he is only disinterested in her state of affairs, her personal life. This is a matter for her to speak to those who live the way she does, who express themselves the way she does, not him, one cold and blue.

He tells himself it is not a momentous occasion for him, this change in self expression, this moving forward from sorrow and mourning.

It is not a momentous occasion for him, not in the way it is for her.

Sphene folds her hands over each other at her front, her face twisted in an expression that he could not read. Her gaze never left his, as his never left her. They both sit in silence, neither singing nor sighing.

She breaks their moment apart by closing her eyes, and smiling once more. 

“Indeed, you are correct. I’ll have to ask that you pardon such meekness on my part. To express apology in a moment of joy is certain to sully it, even if it’s only formal language.”

For a moment, he wishes she’d open her eyes, that he may read her, for her smile is not enough for him to comprehend her thoughtline. In hiding her gemlike gaze, she challenges him with a distance that she had never expressed once in their time together.

And so his momentary prayer is answered, she opens her eyes, and they glimmer with the slightest wetness. 

Her smile is warm, as it always is. A smile that reaches her eyes as they crinkle with it. A smile befitting the daughter of the sun, even as she withholds her weeping.

Chapter Text

A recollection comes to me.

An ache sings through his body as though a lullaby.

The gentle sound of a piano rings in his ears softly, alongside a loud beeping sound, intrusive and giving ache to his ears, a sound that he does not want to identify.

Twinkle, twinkle. The piano’s singing glimmers in his ears through his fatigue.

It is dark that night, the moonlight that once shined through the glass of a window, his sole facade of companionship, absent. He is alone this night, knowing that even if he had the capacity to lift his head to see if the stars shimmered, they would not be there.

For it is once more, a night in thunder, a night in dark. The glow of electrope is all the light he is met with. Even with it, he cannot see the pale of his skin, his eyes in a haze.

A recollection comes to me.

He can see a gentle gold glow sway in the dark, graceful and chipper, with the smell of dirt and grass accompanying it. The piano’s ringing matches the sway perfectly, and the beeping sound quiets the slightest bit.

He remembers Sphene telling him of gentle dots that would glimmer in the dark of night, at times in the castle walls when she was still small. 

He remembers her stating that she once wondered if a human soul was as bright in its glimmer as those dots once were. 

Twinkle, twinkle. The piano’s keys glimmer as though letting out a gentle chuckle.

He blinks, his eyes hazy.

A recollection comes to me.

He can feel something in his hands, dry and slender. He thinks that he can feel himself lift his fingers through it, and at the top of what it is he holds, he feels something soft and fragile, not like paper nor fabric.

He remembers the sway of gold amidst verdant grass, and chooses not to remind himself of the word of that which was gifted to him when he met with her once.

He can hear a gentle hum alongside the twinkling of the piano, the beeping quiets the slightest bit once more.

A recollection comes to me.

The humming is gentle, and warm. It reminds him of the glow of dawn, shining once as he remained awake overnight. 

He remembers Sphene’s face, frantic and concerned, after she hears his voice grumble and yawn. 

His eyes grow heavy as he stares at nothing in the dark. He remembers falling asleep against her body as she tried lifting him to his bed. He remembers hearing an older woman’s voice scold her for trying to carry him on her own.

The piano’s song sounds like gentle raindrops. He cannot remember the last time he heard a soft rain.

The beeping quiets once again. He thinks of how much he wishes he could have felt the water fall against his skin.

A recollection comes to me.

He remembers listening to Sphene, feigning halfheartedness as his ears focus all too hard on her words. She speaks of her people, she speaks of their people. She praises him wholeheartedly for his work, she praises him wholeheartedly for his determination.

His eyes verge on closing tight, and he exhales gently. He blinks and keeps his gaze on the dancing light. The piano’s song grows louder in his ears, and yet his head does not ring in pain.

He remembers how much movement she expressed with her hand, how she walked as though a swan.

He closes his eyes, weary, fatigued. The light still twinkles. It sways with the piano’s glimmer.

A recollection…

He denies his mind of a visual memoria, instead focusing on the gentle song that grows louder and louder, and the swaying light that grows larger and larger.

A reflection comes to me.

He does not remember the last time he saw her walk, or dance. He does not remember the last time he saw her sway her hands, or run to him eagerly.

A recollection—

He denies himself the image of her laying on her bed, unmoving. 

Twinkle, twinkle. 

Twinkle, twinkle.

Twinkle, twinkle.

He hears her humming voice, he sees her dance aglow. 

That is what she is meant to be, that is who she is, he reconciles. She can’t be anything else, she won’t be anything else.

Twinkle, twinkle.

Twinkle, twinkle.

Ring and ring, not in his head, but all around him as light sways with chipper and cheer. Reverberate the sound, reverberate amidst the golden light.

That is his memory of her, a bird that sings with chipper and cheer, a little canary, gold and pure white, shining with the sun, uncaged though tamed. 

She can’t be anything else.

She won’t be anything else.

Twinkle, twinkle, reverberate with light.

Twinkle, twinkle, reverberate amidst light.

A silver light shines down on him, amidst the golden light. 

There is a final beep, one that he cannot hear, and he sees her smile, one last time.