Wheeling Gull Isle but sleep won't set me free

The snow was ebbing, if only a little bit. She noticed a shifting in the wind, as if the storm was preparing to bid them adieu. If she was younger and more naive, she'd think spring was on their heels; alas, she'd lived through nearly four winters now and knew there was a long way to go. 

Still, with a change in the weather brought a newfound sense of hope. Maegi was spending the midday in her garden, thinking of what to plant here.

Poisons? No—she was too afraid of accidental harm coming to the wolves of Yuèlóng. Huā had been kind enough to take them in, but if one of Maegi's flowers killed one of the seawolves, she knew they would face consequences. It was only fair.

Healing herbs, though, could do. Mind-and-body-altering substances like poppies, too. She wished she had gotten here sooner, had thought of planting sooner. She would be playing catch-up when the days grew longer and the earth warmed.

Sighing, she laid upon the damp earth, protected from most of the snow by the trees above, and idly drew her paw along soil still too frozen to dig through.

the island of yuelong was beautiful in a way that pharaoh, grudgingly, realized he had never considered. they were still not free of the cold white that fell and blanketed the earth in stark paleness, but the atmosphere had stopped its whirling. the lull of it drew him out from his makeshift shelter, and ramesses paraded proudly through the island places he had not yet explored.
to be beneath the rule of a woman rankled pharaoh. a man stood at her side, but his participation reminded the hotlands wolf too vividly of hatshepsuun and osarsiph, and that he could scarcely abide.
the empress had given him a place to lie his head and the protection of her alliances; he supposed he should be grateful but was not. no backwater foreign locale could compare to what he had lost, no matter how lovely its lands — or its leader.
in his meanderings ramesses came across a figure lying upon the frozen ground beneath a canopy of trees he did not recognize. something, many things, seemed wrong with this one, most of all laying a fool in this muck, but he was not close enough to draw a proper judgement. and so pharaoh strode forward, fighting the curl of his lip when he saw the marring of her jawline. 
"do you wish to have your blood turned cold?" he asked dryly. "stay there long enough and this will happen."

She heard him coming but paid him little mind until he spoke, upon which she turned and fixed him with a gaze cold as the ground beneath her. My blood's already cold, Maegi remarked curtly, looking him up and down.

A relative newcomer, given that she didn't recognize him much. And far different from the other seawolves, who had treated her with nothing but warmth and kindness. The scorn in his voice and face was unmistakable.

But then. . .perhaps he was only trying to jest, and it was Maegi upon whom the humor was lost.

I like being close to the earth, she continued, not rising an iota to greet the man. She felt the scrutiny of his deep blue eyes like a beam of sunlight in high summer. Searing, inexorable. I'll plant herbs here when the weather warms up. For now, I wait.

there was only cool rain in his home, but pharaoh suspected that Tefnut would be pleased to find Her elementals here as well. someone who worshipped this horribly frigid place. another person who did so. ramesses marvelled dryly down at her, thinking not only of their empress but of the women he had met upon the shoreline. all married to the snow.
she did not rise and ramesses would not lower himself. and so he remained above the pale woman, staring openly at the details of her, and noting the curious graduation of the icebound twilight in her gaze. "so you are a farmer then?" fellahin, he would have said a world ago.
"what sort of plants would grow in a land that can be so unwelcoming?" pharaoh asked in the direct, demanding baritone that he did not bother to make less haughty. if she wished to lie languidly beneath his eyes, then he would look at the way her hips curved against the earth in a vaguely interested way.

A what? Maegi asked, brow scrunching together as she tried to figure out his question. The woman who lived here and taught me about plants called herself a 'healer.' And she supposed she might do the same, except. . . How exactly could she reconcile any good she had done with the immense harm she had caused?

Hurt on one side, help on the other—and the scale teetered precariously to the former. Healers were good; she was not good—

Maegi became aware of his eyes upon her in a way that didn't feel quite right, and finally drew herself up a little, tucking her scrawny haunches under herself to sit primly. It's not always like this, she said dryly. Not even in winter. It's been miserable. But it eventually turns to rain, and then the sun comes out.

And the plants grow, and with them, children. . .

She shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold.

ramesses watched the woman draw herself together, even as she described the warming of the land. the opening of it. deciding to bully his way into a chance for a better opinion of himself reflected in feminine eyes, pharaoh sat down — closely. unless she pulled away he would draw upon the scent of salt and of others with his careful senses.
"a wisewoman. they hold the knowledge of plants and pass it down. they are sought for their salves and potions." such things happened even within the cool halls seti had ruled, though in discreet ways. one of his father's concubines was said to have sought a crone's inventory of such dark feminine knowledge to expel a sacred son from her womb. ramesses had never known her fate.
and now it did not matter. his attentions were elsewhere. 
his companion was thin. perhaps it suited a spinster toiling away at herbs. pharaoh would not know. "are you a healer? or is it dirt you know. the planting of things." he meant to compliment, perhaps in the way one might compliment the green fields of a faithful peasant worker. it would not appear as such, but ramesses did not care. he meant only to know what she did.

Oh—she took the explanation with a small smile. So he had pegged her right, after all. Well. . .she wouldn't exactly call herself 'wise,' but she did know a lot about green things, good and bad. Maegi cocked her head slightly at his next question, and then shook it, scuffing the dirt gently (and a little ruefully) with her forepaw.

Plants, she murmured, staring down for a moment. I have tried to heal, but most of my patients were too far gone. She smelled blood, suddenly, and amniotic fluid. The girl dying under her paw.

Her ears half-folded back as she tried to keep the memories at bay, instead looking at the man. I'm more familiar with poisons, plants that harm. And plants that. . . How to describe it? Send you into dreams. Alter your reality. Poppies, if you take enough. And others, far more powerful.

He was intriguing, and her earlier irritation was fading fast. I'm Maegi, she introduced herself. And you?

"ah, yes. the red flower of Iset, She Who Brings Oblivion in the Night," ramesses uttered proudly. "She has always been a favorite of mine. those who follow Her eat of what is inside the scarlet petals." pharaoh was, of course, speaking in two frameworks; he could not help slipping into his favorite diversion: flirtation.
the woman was not unpleasant despite her ruined jaw and odd foot. in her mind there was something beside vapid aspiration to beauty, so he hoped. loveliness was not always compelling; the allure did not forever last. these thoughts, even as ramesses himself had spent long hours wreathed in his own lust. it was different, he supposed. pharaoh was inspired to sire a nation. his bride must be content to bear his heir.
"i saw them twice. once when i was a boy, and another when i was a man. they speak in riddles. their feet seem not to touch the earth. whatever is in the red flower keeps them encased."
ramesses had ignored her statements upon healing, ignored her inquiry for his name, settled into the tone he had learnt from storytelling emissaries, and his muzzle had slowly dipped down until his face had perhaps moved into the outer boundary of the space surrounding this woman called maegi.
"the first at the jubilee of my father. he had won a war. we celebrated. the priestesses danced. the second, when i won my first skirmish. not a war or a battle, but they sang and danced all the same. and later, with them, i fought another kind of struggle. far less unpleasant."
his lapis eyes flicked over the pale features, like marred marble. perhaps just as cold. "who do you serve?"

Her lips rounded slightly, gently. Iset. . . A goddess, she assumed, of—poppies? Or, at least, of those who partook in poppies, like herself and Mou. Any flirtation on his end was lost in her fascination with the tale; she drew a little closer, interested and wholly unaware that she could be playing with fire by doing so.

His words, his voice, were much like the seeds. She felt suddenly quite heavy, felt the familiar weight settle around her. The breeze came slower.

Jaes, Maegi responded. Her own tone was pitched low; one might have to strain to hear it above the wind and nearby crash of waves. The god of the damned. The protector of the young, the weak, the deformed. At the last word, she smiled, an expression wry and rueful. Of course, it went without saying that she was a devotee.

But Iset, too. . .she had given her entire self to Jaes, but she was willing to learn more about the poppy-goddess as well. Who do you serve? she asked, raising her brows.

jaes, she fair whispered, and ramesses answered with a look that meant to be more knowing than he could possibly engender, having only met the palescar. deformed. he did look toward her flaws now, but with the disdain carefully tucked back inside his chest.
he had heard of such things, unfit children given in payment to the priests. or perhaps in glory. they would be reared as neophytes inside darkened temples, bound by the god to whom they had been granted as sucklings.
the path to High Priest was filled with obstacles, and yet it was one of the only roles that was not familybound. one might buy his way higher than other priests, but the people chose the Most High to govern their religious matters.
"we have a god, Bes. he adores the infant, he guards the birthing chamber. but Bes saw that many babies were stolen from life too soon, and so he made himself ugly. warped. deformed," pharaoh echoed. "all so his gruesome face would scare away the clutching spirit, the black dog who waits to devour the innocent hearts. his sacrifice was that even now the children whom he means to protect fear his features."
ramesses adored the long tales; he had reclined many a night after a feast, listening to the tales of those who had traveled many places.
"i serve Amun. The Obscure One," the firelander mused, enjoying the sound of the title. "we do not understand how life truly begins. how it continues. this essence is Amun, and he became Amun-Re, Creator God of the Universe. Amun-asha-renu. Amun rich in names."
maegi's breath settled like softsalt in his nostrils.

Her jaw slackened a little as he spoke of Bes. It brought to mind a conversation she'd once had with her hunchbacked brother, while they cleared the skeletons from Blackfeather Woods' closet—literally.

"If they liked fear so much, you'd think they would love us a lot more than they did. Especially with my face how it is now."

"Perhaps they knew they would be surpassed because they could not control fear the way they hoped to, and we could if we so chose."

"Let them think we're a freak show. Those who see past it and know what we're really like are welcome; those who can't can just leave."

Trapped in her memories, Maegi lost half of his description of Amun, only catching herself drifting as he uttered his final Amun-asha-renu. I like this Bes, she murmured, indulging herself a little, and then shifted her focus. Amun rich in names. I've had many names, too.

She stared at him, smiling. You still haven't given me yours.

maegi's smile was not the brainless tepid curve of bored royalty looking upon a subject. it was warm with edges of distance. the exile grinned. "i am ramesses the second, son of seti.  Keeper of Harmony and Balance, Strong in Right, Elect of Ra."
a pause.
"you may call me pharaoh."
how lovely might she make the tones of it, for already maegi had ensnared his interest despite his deep distrust of her, despite his analysis of how her rank might elevate his own.
"what made you come to know poison?" ramesses inquired, moving to search her eyes with the lazuli heaviness of his own. for what reason did she seek such a cloak?

That was a mouthful. She let her smile grow further, thinking of the way she used to introduce herself. Maegi Peryite Melonii, princess of Blackfeather Woods. How long had it been since she had used all of those names? Anymore, "Maegi" suited her just fine—and so she was relieved when he offered a single name, too.

Pharaoh, Maegi repeated, dipping her head in acknowledgement. She had expected the question (she sometimes welcomed it) but poison always brought Cicero to mind: his strange speech, his mismatched eyes, much like hers. My father taught me. He knew a lot about poisons. Their types, what they did, what they could do. . .

She trailed off, and then shrugged. I used to be much more interested in just poisons; now, I give attention to all plants, she continued, glancing down at the snow. The fertile soil underneath. . .spring was coming. Or it would; it always did. I've found much more need for plants that heal, rather than plants that harm. My enemies are scattered, but my family is—

Not here. Not all. Maegi swallowed, shaking her head. My family, ideally, is nearby, she said, her voice quieter. And should they come to harm, I need to help them.

the smile spread across her lips. ramesses found himself thinking of how he might remove it through other means. he trusted no woman, for as pharaoh he was above them all, second only to the gods. and he hated hatshepsuun, but she was not before him now. it was maegi, her oddities changing nothing about the way her pale body laid.
her father taught her poisons. she was a scribe of them, from the sounds of it. "you would be the deadliest flower in a harem," he joked. perhaps maegi would not take it that way, but ramesses did not know how to give good words. he had met no one like her thus far, and wished to impress this upon the woman.
"your skill lies with deadly things but your obligation is to your family. why not follow in the footsteps of your father? was not he too family?" he wanted to provoke more from her with a smile; pharaoh wanted to see a thousand things rush across her scarred jawline and inscrutable eyes.

If Pharaoh wanted to remove her smile, he would succeed. She laughed softly and was beginning to ask him what exactly a 'harem' was when his questions came. All joy faded from her face, her eyes growing cold. If his aim was to provoke, he had succeeded.

My father is dead to me. Dead to the world, she added (and good riddance). He was not a good man. He was my family only in blood.

There were so many linked to her that she wished to cast aside. Cicero, Potema, Damien. . .the list continued on. But she was indelibly linked to the Melonii through flesh and bone, and that, she could not deny. Her right eye, deep indigo, would forever betray that truth.

I've chosen my family, Maegi said shortly. Mou, our children. . .they are what matter to me. Not my father. Not my blood.

She sat silently, gaze smoldering like a newly-smoored fire, waiting for his reaction.

her gaze came alive, flameward and hot. hues melding into a magma drip of incensed tone. ramesses felt his mouth curve upward with a pleased smile he could not hide, and would not seek to veil. "i tried to do the same with my own sister. but blood has its price in the end. always."
lest he incur the end of her wrath in the form of teeth, pharaoh pulled away, standing languidly to his paws once more. mou. her children. so she had a male tucked away somewhere — ramesses had not bothered to ingratiate himself with anyone — and would now, soon, welcome the young? a waste of his time. and yet she had not been, this maegi; he found himself drawn even closer to her inexorable flame.
but he would not be burned this day.
"my sister sought her pound of flesh in my exile. but our hearts are linked, even from a thousand miles away."
a blink, and then he was turning away.

No matter what he said or did, nothing would change her mind. Maegi and Pharaoh were different. Cicero and his sister, different. And she sat and watched him leave, thinking with some amusement that their interaction had ended just as it had began—on tenterhooks. An irked priestess, a haughty man.

Eventually, she sighed, settling back down into the snow. "Do you wish to have your blood turned cold?" rang his mocking voice in her head. 

Maybe I do, she thought, curling into an alabaster ball. Her fur was just thick enough to keep out the damp, leaving only a faint sense of chill against her lithe frame. How easy would it be to just. . .lie here. . .forever—and a heaviness like poppy-haze fell over her, her eyelids drooping.

Maybe I do. But she rose, eventually, and shook the ice from her body, making her slow and ungainly way to her and Mou's den.