- Ode to the FALLEN STAR - 

ii.  But for all he’s worth / He still shatters always on her earth / The cause of every tear she’d ever weep / Rushing ashore to meet her / Foaming with loneliness / White hands to fondle and beat her / Give her his onliness – I likened these verses to Oberon/Orion and his relationship with Freya/Artemis. For me, the song as a whole is a musical representation of Oberon’s desperation for Freya’s love, and there are several allusions to ‘ancient souls’ and their shared misery.

iv. You’re a bow and arrow / A broken guitar / While the rainwater washes away who you are / We go over the mountains and under the stars – Another poetic representation of a facet of Oberon’s character, although I believe that this is more so related to his nature, the allusion of being a hunter in his former life, and his willingness to “go over the mountains and under the stars” for what he is passionate about.

viii. I’m at the darkened hillside / And there’s a haze right between the trees / And I can barely see you / You’re like an ocean in between the waves – Another song regarding Oberon’s relationship with Freya, although this is perhaps more of a generic bystander’s observation, rather than a musical account of the frustration Oberon has developed in response to certain parts of the engagement.

ix. Attacking, defending / Until there’s nothing left worth winning / Your pride and my pride / Don’t waste my time / I don’t wanna fight no more – There is an urgent, frustrated, pleading nature about this song that I believe really communicates Oberon’s own growing exasperation over the matter of his engagement to Freya. He feels as though he’s being dangled on a string, and that there is a constant need to push back against Freya’s reluctance, which he is getting dreadfully tired of. It’s a different sort of ‘fight,’ but nonetheless one he never wished to be a part of.

x. Find resurrection in the flames / And in the fury of alarm bells / We shalt begin – Oberon is willing and eager to fight in any way he can. He will support his country and his King without a single hesitation, not only for the fame and glory that it could bring, but also because his allegiance, loyalty, and dedication are all immeasurably strong.

“Is that so? How’s that working for you right now, then?” He mocked her, although his jest was not as wholly heartless as he might have seemed. Tensions were high amongst his customers, what with some arguing that they wouldn’t support him if he refused to side with the rebellion and some arguing the opposite, and, unfortunately, the woman fulfilled the role of being his nearest punching bag - not literally, of course. Still, he stood in place, his gaze fixed hard enough on her to serve as an invitation to a staring contest. 

“Forgive me, but in my experiences stern orders have given me faster results than ‘please’ and ‘thank you’s.” An iron authority was needed when barking orders at a crew of pirates.  Unfortunately for others, it often extended to Pamela’s personal life as well.

There was a comfort in Rose’s words despite the overwhelming despondency that colored her revelation, the saltiness of what should have been a wound somehow being salvaged by the sincerity of her voice, a sweetness that rarely ever graced his presence even despite the kindest of customers. Rose was a rarity to his weary soul, her friendship valued no less than the stars and heavens above - but it was too easy for him to see her as just that. 

The fondness he held for Rose had flooded his thoughts with a ghastly rosiness, tainting just a section of the picture rather than allowing him to see it in full. Oberon had forgotten his place as well as hers, and, more importantly, the distance between them - a distance that rivaled the oceans in between islands. No, they could not be compared to the place where the sea met the sky, even if they were just as close and just as compatible. 

The merchant nodded, the sobriety of her words pulling him out of his mental pondering, and he understood, not just on a superficial level, what he should have assumed all along. Why in the heavens he had to ask her such a stupid, ego-assurance seeking question, Oberon couldn’t quite know for sure. The unrest of his mind and his heart seemed to have brought him here, perhaps directing the frustration over his relationship with Freya - one who was supposed to be the closest to him - to the arms of the one person who he knew could actually hold such a title. 

“Rose Rousseau,” he started, his countenance greeting her with a warm smile as he finally looked up to meet her gaze, “you deserve the best and brightest of galaxies and if all I can give you are mere stars, I hope I still remain within the rays of your sunlight.” He was not always a man of such colorful words and poetic phrases, but this did not feel foreign to him. On the contrary, there was a rush of self-derived assurance that washed over him, a calming quiet settling into his mind where there had once been naught but worry. “After all, who else would help me find my way through the dark, dark world of unnamed horses?” 

The return to normalcy - or, rather, the normal atmosphere of two friends after what very well could have turned into a devastatingly awkward encounter - was a relief to him, and he was thankful to hear the words coming from Rose herself, rather than the walking abhorrence that was her godfather. Admittedly, a bitter distaste grew from her descriptions of the man’s actions, and he frowned in response, though he still aimed to cheer her up in whatever slight way he could.

“Perhaps, if we both end up old and grey, with nothing but failure to show for our relationships - our paths will entwine then,” the merchant joked once more, a familiar lightness resurfacing in his words. “Now, onto much more important matters.” His hand gave hers a light squeeze before breaking away, only to disappear into his store for a few moments, reappearing with four small vials in his hands. 

“I know how much of a hold the beach has on you, so…little tokens from Spain, France, Italy, and Tunisia,” the merchant offered, pointing to each one as they rolled about in his palm, hoping that his little gift would bring a well-deserved smile to her face.

A small warm smile was on her lips at hearing Oberon’s laughter. While it was not the one she was use to hearing rumble throughout his chest and then out into the open, it was still a sound she was fond of hearing. Her gaze was on him as he tried to formulate whatever thought was turning over and over in his head. Her steady breathing was her only response and acknowledgment that she was still with him. She had found herself interjecting into people’s train of thoughts sometimes. Her own language, that of her hands or verbal one, taking control. Keeping her hand stilled on his arm, although it wished to move freely, Rose waited till Oberon found the right words. 

The words that he said were ones she did not expect for him to say. Her head tipped down while the hand that was on his arm, barely curled over the fabric that was beneath it. Silence hung in a thickness around them like the humidity of the day. It was almost stifling the way it moved across her skin and tightened. Her eyes shut as her own thoughts of what he said danced in her head. There were no easy words for what he had asked. She did not wish to hurt him anymore than she had. Her godfather was a man of the worst intent. Selfish actions fueled his manners and his thoughts for a child that was not of his flesh and blood. 

“Oberon,” her voice was soft and less audible than any other time she had spoke. Her head tilted back up to look at him, eyes opened to find his’ and her hand smoothed out once again. “Oberon,” she said with less hesitant and with more sound than she had before. Once again she said his name twice, like the chorus line in the songs that drunken men sang in taverns, tunes mother’s sang to their sleeping babes, or the court musician sung out to a crowd full of merriment. When did one time not become enough? Was it the matters they spoke of that caused her to do this? Get his attention in the only way she knew how.

Her thumb moved over the area her right hand was placed on. Back and forth; back and forth. The steadiness she had one controlled was gone, her actions taking over and speaking for her in ways she could not string together into words. “My dear friend,” she set the glass that was in her other hand on the ground to her side, choosing that spot so it would not be topped to the ground by her. “Your apologize for speaking your mind I will not accept for you spoke your mind. I value that and it has caused me no offense.” Rose knew she had to choose her words carefully over this. To say the wrong thing could bring upon a pain not just to one of them, but the other as well. She focused on the way her thumb moved, set in its action once it had begun. It was very much the same as her godfather; set in their ways. 

Oberon would have been a fine match for her. A friend in a sea of potential foes. They would have worked and perhaps a love, one that she seeks, could have formed between the two. But, her fate would not extend that kindness to her when the strings were pulled by a man with ambition. “It is our friendship that prevented it,” Rose stated, the thoughts finally being turned into words. “My godfather is not a kind man in these matters. I am reduced to nothing but the a pile of wool, an animal, a bauble, fabric, or anything else going to market. He is the king of his castle, a crown of tarnished, worn gold tilted on his head. He seeks a wealth far beyond his reach that can turn tarnish to glimmering. To have you at my side and I at yours would not have fit into the picture that he has painted for himself. Please. Please, do not misconstrued my words when I say this, for they are not my sentiments.” How prying eyes would scold her for such act she was doing. To be this tender and close to a man that was not her betrothed and no less betrothed to another was ripe with scandal. Her free hand was brought to take one of his hands in her own for she cared not for the whispering of the many who did not matter to her. 

“You are not the highest bidder. What you have would not satisfy him. He would never approve of match to someone who is a trader. He seeks a true crown or at the very least, one closest to it. Did you know he tried to make me the king’s mistress? Pushed and pulled till I attended that ball the king was holding, displaying me like one of his finest silks for all in attendance. Even if I didn’t catch the eye of the king there were other men who would surely see me. This is why a match between us was never arranged. His ambitions are so high the heavens that even they quake from it. He will not give me kindness or friendship. He will line his pockets in riches, titles, lands, and influence while giving me just a man.”  

“Well, I’ve heard that words of kindness can move mountains. And...I am no mountain, miss, so one can only assume that a single word of kindness would do wonders.” He responded cooly, his own impatience beginning to surface.

“So my saying ‘please’ would aid me with my difficulties you say?”  Pamela usually wasn’t so testy during first meetings, but it was a stressful day.  Her patience was not her greatest virtue.

“I imagine your lack of politely asking one to simply move out of the way is a larger contributing factor to those...difficulties.”

“You not moving out of my way is making things much more difficult than they need to be.”

Twice. 

Twice she had called out his name and both times had been met with a weak smile clearly tinged with an apologetic sadness he wouldn’t have wished on his dearest friend. He had often worried what revealing this…more vulnerable side of himself would be like, but had never quite committed to finding out what such an experience would be like - until now, that was. It seemed as though his travels had caused his heart a greater longing than he had anticipated, a stronger tug at his heartstrings suddenly surfacing as Rose offered her sympathies. 

His hand motioned to cover her own this time, relishing in the warmth and smoothness of quite perfect porcelain skin, laughing lightly at the mention of her godfather and his typical antics. “I will give you every challenge in return for your friendship, though what you say does make me…wonder something, Rose. Perhaps it’s a challenge, or perhaps it’s not, but…” Oberon’s voice trailed off as he aimed to collect his thoughts, hoping that his question would not offend her. “Why did we… No. Why did your godfather never arrange anything between us? Our friendship has stood the test of time. It would’ve worked, no?” 

It would not be a surprise if silence fell between them, hanging in the air, desperate for an answer or an escape.He regretted asking almost instantly, but it was the brief pause before the regret sank in that bewildered him further. Eyes no longer meeting her own, Oberon removed his hand from her own and topped off his glass of wine. 

“I…apologize,” the merchant offered weakly. “I suppose being left in the dark with one matter of the heart has caused me to be rude and impatient with another one. Although, I hope you’ll forgive me, lest the tokens that returned to Albion will be for naught.”

She saw as the lines appeared on his face. Roadmaps to a pain that she had inadvertently given. One could only jest so much before another felt the sting of them. “Oberon,” her voice had lost the its teasing tone as she said his name. Gone was the lightness and the drawing out of words to play in to the dramatics of it all. It was soft now; gentle. Although he waved it off by changing the subject back to something more cheerful, she felt the need to right the wrong that she had done and to soothe what had been hurt. She’d soothe his ego this one time, god only knows what might happen if he thought this would be a regular thing. 

Rose took the glass that was handed to her. Her eyes were downcast on it instead of him. Good friends. That is what they were. It was a friendship she would not lose. She waited a few moments before bringing the glass up to her lips and taking a sip from it. Even before she tasted it on her tongue she could smell the aroma, knowing that this wine would be just as pleasing to her taste buds. “Oberon,” she stated his name again as she shifted the glass into her left hand while her right reached out to place her hand on his’. “How you have asked me for forgiveness is beyond my comprehension. It was something that I had said that brought those lines to your face, something I would never have wished to occur. You have more charm in you than every man I have had the displeasure of meeting thanks to my godfather. You mustn’t let that my jest nor them bring those lines back. It makes is that much easier for me to read you. I thought you preferred to give me a challenge.” She smiled at him them, adding one teasing sentence into ones of sincerity. 

She’d try to bring another smile to his lips or at least get him to talk. “I am here if you ever need to talk about the Vadas or even Freya. I will also still be here if you wish to never converse on such things and instead praise your stallion with fine wine and fine company. I am rather good at both.”

Good. A warm welcome from Tristan was a relief to Oberon, for smiles and kind gestures likely meant that his most recent expedition went well, whatever that might entail. “Old age comes from the feeling, not the number, my friend. I know you are still far behind and will indeed live that life you desire. I returned to Albion not long ago, only a few days before you, and still my bones ache from my travels.” He spoke truthfully, but soon waved away the notion of continuing further, and said, “But, do not make me older by talking of such things, or waste the precious minutes of your bright life, my friend. How has your recent conquest fared?” He asked, genuinely interested.

Tristan turned towards the voice, curious at its familiarity. When he laid eyes on the merchant, the largest of smiles played on his face. “If you consider yourself an old man, then I am not far behind.”

In a few short steps, the pirate closed the distance between the two of them, and lifted an arm to clasp his friend on the shoulder. “And I like to think that I still have plenty of my life left to live. But how do you fair, Jagr? Do you feel like an old man?”  

“In defense of the chair, it is - was an antique,” Oberon spoke, a hint of dark humor coloring his words as the sight unfurled before his eyes, a tragic mess of a former chair knocked to the ground. “I suppose it’s in your best interest that not a soul witnessed this but myself, and... Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to begin, were I to tell this story.” He realized (perhaps a bit too late) that it was rude not to extend his hand in assistance, and did so, even if it was obvious that such a man would be able to help himself out.

“God fucking damn it-” he huffed as he felt himself being flung onto the floor, the handy-work of a lousy chair being the reason for the first time, and not a thoughtless fight for once. “You would think they would have chairs that could actually seat people in this place.”

Leaving potential sales behind was not in his nature - forgetfulness was simply not a familiar friend, and yet, here he was, returning to his ship for a set of plant seedlings he had promised a local farmer, seedlings which had more than likely died by now what with a fair few days of not being properly tended for. He did blame himself, but to a greater extent, he blamed his eagerness to get back to Albion, to his family, his friends. What awaited the merchant, however, was nothing short of a surprise: the pirate captain of a pirate ship, a face he hadn’t anticipated seeing for quite some time.

"The trouble that comes along with surprising an old man with your presence," Oberon answered, a light smirk appearing upon his lips.

When The Trident dropped anchor in the Abion harbor, the crew dispersed like disturbed seagulls. Many headed to The Pit, others to spend the coin earned off their latest venture. As the captain, Tristan was the last to leave his ship with no idea where to head first.

“Wonder what trouble awaits me today.”

Rhodes & Her Brothers; Orion oberonjagr & Triton captainofcalmwaters: Children of the Sea 1/?

If anything, this was a start. The start of what, Oberon could not know, nor could he assume. He felt the restrictions of a bind, and yet still more freedom than before. The merchant didn’t know how such a paradox could exist within the confines of one conversation, but, then again, he had limited experience dealing with the members of the Vadas, as the male twin seemed so keen to point out.

“I expect I shan’t return to the sea until Freya and I are married,” Oberon spoke, his words a bold choice given his current company. In a quiet voice, he added, almost as an afterthought, “Or, perhaps until another exchange of vows has crossed my path.” Such vows, of course, would be the promise of a lack of vows; he hated the gnawing nature of uncertainty, and knew that, even now, a refusal would be better than this unending, maddening affair of words gone back and forth to no extent.

“I would like nothing more than that, Merek. Truly. I was hoping that you could...arrange something between us? I have heard Freya is quite interested in athletics, and it would be my pleasure to perhaps introduce her to a sport or two.”

He was surprised by the willingness of Oberon to simply put everything about himself out on the table. It was a quality that Merek could respect, and even though he did not like his sister’s fiancee, he could see that he wasn’t a terrible person. Still, Merek grit his teeth at how easily he did so.

“The path that has been laid out for you, yes. It seems we all have one duty and that is to what we have been given.” He said, more to himself than to Oberon. He knew the feeling of having to do something only out of duty and nothing else. It seemed there was more in common between the two than Merek thought at first glance. Looking at the man, Merek offered a small, although tight, smile.

“How long do you intend to stay in the city? Perhaps you and Freya should meet with each other, at least for small talk.” Merek would grudgingly say that if the pairing between the two was to go through, they should at least know each other. He wouldn’t comment on how willing his sister would be on the meeting though, that was up to her.

I left parts of myself everywhere The way absent-minded people leave Gloves and umbrellas.

Charles Simic, Sixty Poems (via wordsnquotes)

Michiel Huisman ph. Petrovski and Ramone for L’Officiel Hommes NL [x]

The dawning smile on her pleasant face certainly told him that she was quite receptive to the necklace, though he hoped she didn’t think him as being romantically forward, Far from it, Oberon simply wanted to have a pretty face showcase his newest conquests from exotic lands - in essence, eye-catching jewellery that couldn’t be replicated within Valencia’s borders, let alone Albion’s. That being said, he knew virtually nothing of this girl - though he was certain he had seen her somewhere before - but she was pretty enough to attract the right crowd, of that he was sure.

“Only for the day, perhaps,” he responded, fastening the latch before grabbing hold of her shoulders. “Do you see those older women over there?” He rotated her ever so slightly, pointing her in the direction of the potential customers he had spied. The two women had been flitting around the marketplace, buying little trinkets that they most definitely did not need. Still, Oberon wouldn’t mind his jewelllery being a part of that ever-growing list of pretty, but overall vain and pointless, material goods. His voice lowered, he continued to speak. “They’re more impressionable than children. Charm them and I imagine they’ll walk away from these tables having spent more than they have all day,” the merchant spoke with a chuckle.

Manipulation was not a natural nor constant facet of his business - not in this sense, at least - but it suddenly seemed fitting when he encountered the young girl, whose kind was all-too familiar to him. He could read her quite easily, and took advantage of the visible brightness behind her eyes and the charming smile upon her lips, if only to better his own earnings for the day. “Go on, then.” Oberon encouraged, a tightly-lipped smile forming as he gently nudged her towards the women’s direction, wondering if the young girl would prove or disprove his assumptions of her.

Aurora could sense an almost disappointment in him that she didn’t want to purchase any wine. However she knew she would make no use of it and she need save her money. The men at the brothel already had a tendency to drink and buy her wine, for what purpose she still wasn’t sure. She was there to take care of the men and they need not try to proposition her over wine. She knew if she were to buy wine it would only sit in her home and be forgotten in the kitchen, she had no one to drink it with there. She would hate to put any delicious wine he had to waste in that way.

She couldn’t help but smile softly at his words, nodding her head slightly in agreement. “Right you are kind sir, pleasant company is always welcoming in my opinion.” She watched in mild interest as he fixed the beautiful necklace that he had set out for sale. It was a piece she wouldn’t mind having, although she would hate for it to be stolen or ruined somehow if she were to ever have it. Such beautiful jewelry would be a waste on her, they would be much more fitting on a woman of higher ranking. She tore her gaze away from the necklace when she heard his question, unsure at first what he was suggesting. As he lifted the necklace she suddenly realized, and for a moment she couldn’t respond as she watched the way it shone in the sunlight. The beautiful blue color of the jewels reminded her of the sky at dawn, it really was an amazing piece. “If you are certain you trust it on my neck sir then I certainly can’t refuse.” She smiled before lifting her hair off her neck and turning so her back was to him. “Would you mind helping me put it on?” 

“Do I taste disdain or are your words really so...obtuse?” He asked, mostly rhetorically, if only for the sake of words as sharp as the sword he would refuse to battle with, at least when it came to Freya and her family. Oberon ran his thumb and index finger along his jawline in thought, unsure of exactly how was best to proceed from here. “Allow me to illuminate your darkness, then, Ser Vadas. Please, ask me whatever you desire to know. I am an open book for you to read, if you only have the patience to flip through my pages.”

Although Oberon himself wasn’t entirely sure of the validity behind his offer, he assumed that putting himself out there for Merek to scrutinize even further would mean something. And if it turned to backfire against him, then he would know for certain that the two most important members of the Vadas family would never accept him, which, in turn, would propel him to seek other shores of more promising families.

“Merek, I come from a place of truth when I say that I intend no harm towards Freya. I only wish to fulfill the path that has been laid out for me, which...includes her.”

He was almost surprised by the amount of heat that Oberon had spoken with… almost. Merek held back a smirk, trying so hard to keep his face straight. He didn’t want to give away that he had been called far worse things by his own sister in her fits of anger.

“I would hardly know what you would do, Ser Jagr. You’ve been gone for quite some time and I don’t know much about your person at all. In fact, both me and Freya are quite in the dark about the man that you are.” He said quite honestly. Neither him nor Freya knew much about Oberon, save for his standing and his family. There certainly hadn’t been any arranged meetings between the man and his sister, as far as Merek knew. He watched Oberon closely, looking for anything that might tip him off to what the man was thinking. Merek knew he was being more of an ass than he should have been, but something about Oberon just set him off.

“You are quite the mystery to us both, Ser.”

Rose & Oberon Moodboard aka cheeky bastards 1/? 

Still, she was a curious soul to him. For whatever words she spoke, whatever slight explanations she offered, Oberon was left in a fog quickly shrouding him, clouding him with nothing more than equal parts confusion and interest. Typically, this was not the most desirable concoction, and yet it was one that was quickly proving itself remarkably engaging, facets of conversation and characteristics of people that rarely ever surfaced within the borders of his store, whether on the fault of reluctance or a undoubtable lack of such appealing qualities.

He was inclined to learning all that he could about his customers - and gain such information through study and experience, rather than sheer rumor alone - and the woman was no exception. However, what he could gather about her, based on naught more than her appearance and their interaction thus far, was almost next to nothing. Her dark clothing was either a sign of mourning or was brought on by the convenience of choice, accompanied by a certain lifestyle. Without question, Oberon already believed it to be the latter; the unexpected and publicly ‘unfashionable’ attire seemingly mirrored her actions in the brief encounter between them. Perhaps, if time and pleasant exchanges allowed, his belief would be verified, but now was not the time, not when the realization that he had been staring caused a faint blush to creep in his cheeks.

She was no queen, and yet commanded his attention exactly as one would. His eyes followed her towards the entrance of his shop, ears fixed onto her words. “I trust I won’t be privy to knowing what that might be until the moment you walk out these doors, either empty-handed and disappointed or well-equipped and pleased.” Oberon spoke easily, a hint of a tease hidden behind the mild smirk at the crest of his lips as he walked to join her, hands firmly clasped behind his back until he opened the door for her, quite thankful that his latest travels had brought him many things of great beauty and worth. 

It was not a surprise that she knew his name, but rather that she used it so freely, particularly when he had no name to call her by, and likely wouldn’t until she gave it to him. His eyes remained fixed on the recent conquests of travel as he responded to her jest. “Impossible. You’d set me right immediately, I’ve no doubt. Not that I intend on getting lost in my own store, of course, but, should the occasion arise, I’ll be sure to thank my lucky stars that a nameless woman was here to lead the way.”

As the resident (not)witch, a woman supposedly stitched with midnight darkness and with curses kept tucked and ready under her tongue, Bernedette made it a habit of knowing what she could about a person before they came into contact. And if she could not gather details individual to the person, logic would do (for a woman purportedly of the supernatural, she was quite the rational mind). Though naturally inclined to keeping half of herself hidden, she would cast herself in a shadow a shade darker now, knowing it took a mind in permanent wanting to pursue the trade Oberon had. 

“So it would seem.” She raised both brows, her lips kept pressed together but displaying a smug amusement regardless. “What an uncertain day it is for a woman about town.” She did not shy or stray from the closeness of a man as more modest women would have, keeping by his side as she rolled the dust between her thumb and forefinger. She could enjoy the sleek lines and muscle of a body without being intimidated by its strength or beauty. The dirt of lands of old, lands of new. She wondered which had suited him best. She wondered which would call to her. Bernedette’s eyes went back to Oberon, holding his gaze in answer to his jest, his ghost of a smirk mirrored in the slightly curving line of her lips. He had a boldness in him. Good. She liked those that lived in bright colours.

She paused before next responding, moving past him - she waited for no invitation - and towards his shop. “We shall see if what I seek matches what it is you have for purchase.” Bernedette stopped, looking over her shoulder.

“Come now, Oberon.” Yes, I know your name. “I should not like you getting lost.”