"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
09-03-2016, 09:37 PM (This post was last modified: 09-03-2016, 11:16 PM by Lucrezia.)
Silence.
It lingers here in the confined dark forest that is pushed off to the side of the meadow. The trees that stand so close together—rise up together like one—stretching out their hands for something, whether it may be the gods or curiosity. A fog intertwines through the trees. There is eeriness among the forest as it is nothing but still – nothing here seems to live. It is a frightening place, but it does not compare to the home, a home she knew so long ago.
She remembers the cold and darkness. It once was a distant memory, tucked far away, never wanting the memory to resurface again. However, here in the middle of the forest, where she stands, the memories come flooding back and shake the very core of her like an earthquake. These trees remind her of the ancient giants that hardly could be seen by the consistent thick fog that surrounded them. The stillness of the shadows and the quietness of the land only bring her heartache. Home, she thinks. Yet, this place was not here home. This was not the kingdom she knew, not the Chamber she remembered. This quiet little forest had nothing compared to the ancient giants of the Chamber.
Home would only be another distant memory now. A memory she knows she may one day forget, or not quite remember. The magic of Beqanna had taken it away from her—they had taken it away from her, those heathens. She hates them for what they have done. First it had been the Deserts flooding and then it had been the entire land of Beqanna. She wanted to hit them all, scratch out their eyes until they could no longer see—death is what she wanted most of all.
The multicolored mare sighs, a small fog rising in the early spring morning. She moves through the forest in zig-zag like fashion, keeping close to the trunks and shadows of the trees. The shadows cannot conceal her though, Lucrezia is nothing but an obvious target within this forest – she is covered in spots and peafowl markings (white, brown, orange, and yellow). She is alone out here like this, alone in the dead of this new life—this second chance she tells herself.
It was easier to deal with everything that had happened when he viewed it as second chance.
It had first felt like an enormous weight, pressing down on his shoulders, piercing his chest. It had been a catalyst for all the years of regret and guilt, everything he knew that he had done wrong. He had left his home of the Gates; he had not been there when the earth shook and the heavens cracked open. He had not been there when they had all woken up to guide them down the mountain—to ensure their safety.
These are the things that he carries like stones in his chest. These are the things that weighed him down as he had found his way slowly down the craggy slopes and made his way into the meadow for the first time.
But they had, eventually, dissipated and had been replaced with some different—something foreign and familiar all at once. Purpose. Purpose to create the sanctuary that he had always dreamt about. The place of peace and safety he had wanted for the Gates. It struck at him, and he carried it closely to his chest as he had wandered the meadow, the forest, the field until his limbs ached. Until sweat had darkened his coat, until exhaustion blurred the edge of the vision. It forced him to slow his pace, to rest.
Still, though he had slowed to a walk, he still continued to move. He made his way around the edges of the forest, appreciating the slight breeze as it picked up his mane from his neck, whispering down the heated flesh. He exhaled slowly, gaze turning slowly toward the multi-colored mare nearby. Altering his path just slightly, he made his way toward her, expression neutral and warm. “Hello there,” he greeted casually, tilting his head slightly, crooked smile lifting in the corners. “How are you doing?”
As he came to a stop, he glanced over her quickly, scanning for any obvious injuries.
09-04-2016, 12:15 PM (This post was last modified: 09-04-2016, 02:54 PM by Lucrezia.)
Purpose—she remembers having one before the mountain had come. She had gone to the Falls to find her old friend, then a king, Kreios. In her heart she knew Kreios would know what to do about reviving the Deserts – the flood that took her home. Her purpose had been to bring back the one thing she loved most, to save the Deserts. She would have done anything to bring back the sandy dunes—even sacrifice her life for the kingdom.
She will forget what it feels like to have her hooves sink in the golden sands; she will forget the feeling of the warm sunlight on her face; she will forget the fresh taste of the water at the oasis. All she has left is the golden sphinx tattooed on her right hip—a gift from the gods, the guardians, of the light kingdom. It was a reminder of their lessons, a reminder that she had failed them, all of them.
It wasn’t enough.
Lucrezia needed something more now. A purpose – a direction of some sort – is what she needed most right now. This is her second chance, a blessing from the guardians of the Deserts. It was her turn to actually do something, to actually be somebody. But she is only one, and she is terrible at being brave lately—Yael would’ve slapped her in the face for acting this way. She knows she is capable of much but she has never given herself credit enough.
Maybe this is why she came to the forest, to reminisce on old memories, to find some sort of solution that she can change things for the better. The Chamber had been her burial ground; the Deserts had been her birth. Maybe this forest was where she would leave every thing behind that held her back—a step in the right direction.
Her nutmeg eyes are quick to catch the sight of the approaching buckskin stallion. Lucrezia watches him carefully, she is cautious of strangers more than ever now. However, she has mastered the art of deception so it is not hard for her to put on a warm and neutral expression that matches his own. He asks me as if the world has not fallen apart, she thinks to herself when he greets her. The question makes her want to laugh almost, the irony of it all really.
“Hello Magnus,” she says coming to a stop when he does. She keeps herself back a little, a distance that was comfortable but enough for her to run if needed to be (though she hoped not). “I’m Lucrezia.” Her name rolls off easily. She had been a diplomat one time before the mountain had come. Greetings and conversations came easily to her. “I’m doing okay.” She admits freely, though the idea of being okay was farfetched one. “A little shaken from the change, but it will be okay.” She smiles softly—trying to find hope in her own words.
“And you? How are you?” Her head tilts to the right slightly, as a mask of concern conceals her face. Truthfully, she isn’t sure if she should trust this stranger. Lucrezia has always been careful of others—a skill she often used without thought until she learns the true intent of the other. It was a skill her father taught her once that she is thankful for despite everything else he had ever shown her
She is guarded, and he respects the distance she keeps between them. He could hardly blame her for being a little careful around the new way of doing things. Their very world had cracked in half to birth this new one; who wouldn’t be a little cautious? So he doesn’t attempt to breach the distance, instead staying several paces back, keeping his crooked smile warm. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lucrezia,” he offered, looking around them at the crowds that still milled about. “I wish it had been under better circumstances.”
An understatement. Perhaps the understatement to end all understatements. Homes had been destroyed; gifts ripped away. Their world shaken and turned upside down. Words did not do justice, and he did not attempt to encapsulate the loss within a few phrases. He had to trust that she would know what he meant.
She may have been a diplomat, but he was always a soldier first. The gift of words had not always come easily to him. As a young boy, he had to fight to control the wildness that the jungle had nurtured. He had been savage and beautiful and wild—running amongst the vines with wild cats at his shoulder. He had been untamed. That savageness had been later cultivated in the Chamber, where it had been groomed into that of a soldier’s discipline, a warrior’s ferocity. He later learned how to soften it with charm, but it had been a hard-fought battle. Even now, he could not always control his tongue. Diplomacy was not easy.
But, for now, it was easy with her. “The change has shaken up quite a few people. Today has been,” he paused to search for the right word, “tense, to say the least.” At her concern for him, he just rolled his shoulders and laughed lightly, the sound husky in his throat. “I’m doing okay.” He considered her for a second before adding, “I’m just doing my best to help people. It’s the only thing there is to do, I think.”
Conversations with strangers, just like right now, have always been an interest to her. She enjoyed just about any small talk—including simple hellos or about the weather—and deep, meaningful conversations that kept you up until the next morning. It was the simple things like conversations with a stranger that she did not take for granted. If it had not been for the change in her world she would have enjoyed this conversation very much with Magnus.
It indeed was an understatement—such a strange way to find pleasure in meeting someone when the world around you has just recently broken. Lucrezia understands though. She doesn't need to hear any further explanations or apologizes for the way things are now. She has always believed that there were no irrelevant actions, that every shift in sentiment, every move and every idea was part of something bigger. After all, it was part of a big, mysterious puzzle called life.
“Maybe one day it will be a pleasure,” she adds with a soft smile, though she still remains guarded. But she cannot help but find a little humor in it at least—she cannot let the rain take away her charm and wit. She would be the one dancing in the rain and enjoying getting soaked to the bone. But, for now, she doesn't find herself doing that.
Her ear flicks forward at the sound of his laugh—its hard, but she likes the sound of it in all this mess. It was simple and easy, but this mess around her – this crowd that milled about – was not. “Yes, it has been quite a day.” It was something she could agree on, something she knows won’t be easy for the next couple days (maybe even weeks).
“Help?” She asks curiously, considering him for a just a moment. “How are you doing that?” It’s not something she considers for others to do lightly—this selfless act was not a common one. She has seen others only take for themselves, like her father and that beast on the mountain. She knows what greed is like, what it looks like, and how she wants to burn them all for it.
“Maybe one day it will be,” he responded gently, letting himself enjoy the brief respite from the hard work in her presence. She was one of the first he had met that did not look outwardly broken or in pain; she was not wracked with sobs or bleeding or shelled out. She, instead, seemed to be braving the change with a set jaw and her head held high. He could respect that—but it also worried him. Did it mean that she simply had nothing to lose? Was she turning a blind eye to the pain? He watched her carefully, tucking away the thoughts for a later time; he wasn’t willing to psychoanalyze her, but he wouldn’t ignore his intuition.
At her inquisition, he found himself momentarily unsure of himself, rolling his scarred shoulders.
“However, I can, to be truthful.” One corner of his mouth lifted into a cautious smile, dark-flecked eyes flickering. “Offering physical support to help those injured travel. Offering to help find lost ones for those who shook apart during the incident. Whatever it is that I can do, I think it is my duty to do so.”
Magnus did not consider himself to be a particularly selfless stallion—he could be arrogant, cruel, and even self-serving, at times—but he did his best to ignore those desires. Someone once said that good and evil were like wolves fighting in your belly: the winner dependent on who you fed. Magnus knew this to be true. Every morning, he rose with light and shadow wrestling in his very core, fighting for the dominant hand. While light did not always prevail, he did his best to strengthen it however and whenever he could.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he inquired gently, wondering if she was in need of anything at all.
Truthfully, she was broken and in pain. She was grieving silently for the loss of a home and those she knows—she wonders if they are dead, but she’s beginning to think they are. These emotions are something she isn’t sure how to handle. Sometimes it feels okay and the next she can feel the rush of them coming on so quickly, like she is stuck in some sort of brewing storm that hasn’t quite started yet. However, instinctively, she is hiding it from showing Magnus. She isn’t ready to grieve outwardly; to show she is hurting. One of these days she will crumble, but, for now, she cannot let herself—she has to wear this mask of deception.
She listens to him silently while her eyes are on him only—disregarding the crowd that surrounds them, those trying to figure out where to go next or find their loved ones. Lucrezia considers what he says carefully. She knows this is the part of the process of finding what his intentions are. It wouldn’t be the whole truth, she knows this, because deep down not everyone wore their emotions and secrets on their sleeves. There would always be that part of you that you never truly told anyone—and sometimes you could be lucky to find someone to share that little, dark part of you.
“You sound like a hero,” she says bluntly, but it’s the truth in her eyes. She wonders what made him turn out to be like this—what kind of secrets he hides beneath this dark eyes of his. Lucrezia doesn’t prod though. It wouldn’t be the right time to, and who knows if she would ever see Magnus again (he is just another stranger trying to find his way in this chaotic mess. “It’s good though. It’s kind of you to help others like that.” She smiles softly at him. “I think we could use more others like you right now in this time of need.”
Lucrezia was no shining star either. She had her own set of flaws as much as anyone else had of their own. However, despite all the mess of her imperfections, she knew sometimes how to work through them. She tried to do her best to be the person she wanted to be—although failing many times over the past year. Maybe, she thinks and hopes, one day she can learn and be who she desires (whatever that person might be, she isn’t sure exactly who that is though).
He offers his service to her—his duty to help—and she wonders, even second guesses if she needs it. Lucrezia could easily toss him to the side, move on from him and be on her own again, but even that sounds like a terrible idea. Alone is something she does not want—she wants to be with others, others that have hope for a better future, others that will remember the reason they were given a second chance, and others that will build upon those values is has always hold dearly. “I want a place to call home again,” she says honestly. “I don’t want to make the same mistakes I have in the past before.” And exactly what those are she does not say, but she hopes that maybe he might be able to led her in the right direction.
Magnus was and had been many things in his life: Son, father, lover, soldier, King, warmonger.
He had been called names with tender love and raging fury. His names had been whispered and spat in equal measure. Names that had spanned across not one, but two lifetimes; names that had been early known an easily forgotten. But, of all those names, he had never once considered himself a hero.
There was too much darkness brooding in his heart, too much blood on his hands.
So the smile he gave her in response is a little sad, one edge curling with a warmth that did not manage to light his eyes. “I’m no hero.” Maybe at one point, he might have wished that he was; he might have wished to be the white knight that Bond managed to be. He might have wished to be the Gates’ saving grace—protecting and loving them in equal, flawless measure. But such dreams had long since been bled from his heart, leaving him with the remnants of truth and possibility. The hope for redemption.
“Thank you though,” his eyes flickered with a little more light. “It is kind of you to say so.”
When she offered her honest opinion, he made a small noise in the back of his throat in thought, his head looking toward the horizon before his gold-flecked gaze swung back toward to latch onto her. “I may be able to help you with that.” His smile was not shy, but neither was it brazen, instead the curves of it flickering around the edges of his mouth. “I am working alongside Offspring and Eight to petition the fairies for a land; a place where we can provide stability and safety for those who are in need of it.” More people than not. “It would be an honor to help you find a home again should we be granted it.”
She cannot help but wonder, question the thoughts that run through his head, that make him not smile like he did before. He does not hide the sadness that he feels now, where unlike her, she hides it in the darkness of their conversation. She wants to tell him that he is wrong for not saying he is a hero, but she doesn’t. If he didn’t feel that way at all why should she force him to? They were still strangers, might likely be that after their conversation—but a part of her hopes not.
Then his eyes light up a little, the familiar warmth she had seen in his dark eyes before. She smiles softly at that, but she knows it isn’t really enough. There is something darker beyond words, something that stirs within her heart—she wants to know, to pull it apart and discover what it is, but she does not. She did not prod because he did not prod her, and likely never would unless she felt strongly to. They all put up walls for a reason, struggling with their own internal demons. She wouldn’t want hers to come pouring out either. “I only speak what I see,” she says only and leaves it to that because that is all she feels she can do, and should do right now.
It’s the strange noise he makes that throws her ears back forward, unexpectedly. He swings his head back, dark-golden eyes clinging to her own nutmeg eyes. She cannot help but laugh to herself at the change of his mood—the excitement he felt was amusing but pleasing to her, knowing that he did not linger on his dark thoughts for just this moment, and neither did she. It was peaceful to keep them far out of her minds, in the shadows where she left things she did not want to uncover.
She smiles when he mentions Offspring—though the name Eight also rings a bell, something Rome might have mentioned when he was only a couple months old. “You have a good team it seems. I met Offspring once, years ago, and only found pleasant things to say about him.” But she doesn’t know if he may have turned into something else, done different things after they had met. It was long ago, but she hopes for the best in this path they have all chosen. This safe haven was needed right now for many, even she needed it too.
“I would like that very much.” The idea of starting over—a new home—was a happy thought, but she felt a little sad thinking of it too. She cannot help to think of the Deserts and the Chamber (despite not ever truly liking the kingdom once very much, but it had been here home at one point). Yet, she couldn’t let herself fall down that dark path of the past. She has accepted to move on and leave everything behind on the mountain—this was her new start, her new life. There was no time to look back. “Thank you, Magnus. You have been very kind to me.” She says with a warm smile at him thoughtfully.
In some ways, Magnus is an open book. When prompted, he will explain his story—he will show you his scars and will tell you of how his own body had bled out. He will tell you how it felt to lie there on the beach and feel your life drip from your skull, how it felt to know that death was around the corner and its teeth were at your throat. They are not fun truths, but they are not truths he feels compelled to hide. Were you to ask, he would yield to curiosity and tell his story. He had done so before and would do so again.
But in other ways, he was deeply personal. He kept certain cards close to his chest, hid them away in the back of his mind. He kept them pressed close to where he would not have to focus on them. It was easier to deal with his own personal failures when he kept them there, buried deeply. He did not want to have to shed light on his bloodthirsty soul, on the feverish excitement that used to swell in him when war was on the horizon, on the selfishness of his heart, on the black and white vengeance that would steer his hand.
These were the black parts of his soul. These were the secrets he didn’t divulge.
And these were the parts he tucked away quietly as he looked at her, brushing away the sadness from his gaze like one might push aside cobwebs. “I am so happy to hear that.” He glanced toward the horizon, to where the sun was beginning to climb further and further into the sky. Part of him wishes that he could stay here forever in the quiet solitude he now shared with her, but he also knew that there were other things he needed to attend to—duties he needed to uphold. So he glanced back toward her. “I must go now, unfortunately. I have fairies to talk to about creating a home,” a smile, “for us both.”
He dipped his head. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Lucrezia”
Then, before he walked away: “I will come find you soon.”
magnus
i figured we could pretend magnus found / told her about tephra and she can meet him there? <3
![[Image: gqYjsHr.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/KjqNDKxc/gqYjsHr.png)