"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
you were a vision in the morning when the light came through, i know i've only felt religion when i've lied with you and i'm still waking every morning but it's not with you
.
She can’t explain the strange pull she has to go to Ischia. It had been nagging at the back of her mind ever since that day at the River, when she had met the ever so intriguing kelpie-man, Ivar. The mark he had left on her shoulder had long since healed over, but of course not before her father had seen it. The endless amounts of lectures that had ensued had done little to sway her opinion. At first she had tried argue, even though her father was convinced Ivar had wanted nothing more than to wait for her to be old enough to be a “kelpie broodmare”, as he called it. Whether or not Chryseis was truly aware of the dangers that the sea-creatures could possess, it didn’t matter anymore.
She was here out of spite.
When her hooves find purchase on the sandy shores of Ischia, her blue roan coat dark and saturated with the water that drips from her, she feels a thrill of rebellion course through her. Sneaking off to see Rhaegor was different – that was expected. Her father hated the winged Prince, for absolutely no reason, but coming to Ischia was the ultimate act of defiance, because she was pretty sure he hated Ivar more. Or all kelpies, she’s not really sure.
It is noticeably warmer here, and she stops for a moment, taking it all in. To be honest, it was stunning. She had seen so much of Beqanna, but nothing quite like this, with the golden sands and the verdant plants, and the turquoise water that stretched behind her. The air was warm and fragrant – floral, mixed with the sea. She begins to walk forward, her hooves sinking in the sand, swiveling her gold-blazed face around as she tries to take it all in. Her eyes, wide with wonder, are only partially searching for the familiar kelpie stallion, so entranced by the tropical island, and wondering why she had stayed away for so long.
12-31-2018, 01:03 AM (This post was last modified: 12-31-2018, 01:07 AM by Lothbrok.)
So many chose to come to the tropical land. So many sweet faces, upturned and eager, their eyes rolling with the tall trees that were inhabited by cackling birds who knew a further truth that waited for the pretty mares. If one listened closely enough, their secrets would be told but the pretty girls with their high laughs and stammering answers never made it very far into the the humid lands.
On this particular day, the smoke and snow stallion has beached himself upon the white sands, sunning himself after leisurely swim in the warm waters. Fish currently sated his need for food and he intended to sleep it off beneath the warm gaze of the sun, blessed and golden, a favored son in the gilded eye. Yet something shines brightly, a sharp contrast, to the silver eyes of the male beneath his shuttered eye. The lid lifts to catch the reflection of the sunlight against the gold blaze of a strange face. Lothbrok rolls to his shoulder to sit up, watching from the tangled damp strands of his mane.
Her scent is easily brought to him on the downward breeze. She is not of Ischia and she is certainly not kelpie. Lothbrok draws his feet beneath him to rise, shaking the pale sand off in a cloud. He does not hide his presence and the surely the young mare would heed the sound of his furious movement, the dark mane and tail flying without care. Lothy eyes the blue roan for a moment as he is sure he has attracted her attention. Silver eyes rove the form that was nearing womanhood but still held the awkwardness of a filly's blush. She would blossom to a lovely mare one day.
His father's voice in his head wonders what she would look like beneath the waves, stilled with the darkness of her mane fanning the gold blaze, forever youthful and beautiful...but his belly is full and he is happy to converse with someone other than his family. "Hello there." He finally released the words from dark lips, the forelock of his long hair covering a silver eye while the other is exposed and staring at her. "Welcome to Ischia...looking for someone?" Lothbrok had once been the spitting image of a young Ivar before his change but now he stands a reminder of what once was.
Ivar has thought of Chryseis approximately zero times since their last encounter.
Even the remarks from a gold-marked roan had not conjured her image, so as he sees her standing on the pale sand he pauses for a moment to remember her name. In the time that takes, the blue filly is joined by a third horse. The shimmer of heat makes it difficult to identify by sight, but there are few dark piebalds on the island, and by the time Ivar has reached them he’s already smiling at his son.
“Chryseis.” He says, introducing the girl to his son, “This is Lothbrok.”There is no denying the resemblance between the kelpie and his son; creatures cut from the very same cloth. The tricolored creature glances down at Chryseis, and then back at Lothbrok. “I’m glad you came to visit,” he says, the very picture of politeness. He’d meant to keep the girl here for himself (it is never hard to convince young women to stay in a literal paradise), but perhaps Lothbrok would like to have her instead. Ivar has no interest in her, not yet. Her father’s warnings weren’t wrong, but the kelpie poses no danger to her, at least not for now.
“Or did you come for something else?” There have been a surprisingly number of diplomatic visits of late. Ivar had nearly forgotten how to deal with them, and he is grateful that Hyaline had been thoughtful enough to send someone pretty. Chryseis is young for a diplomat though, and she doesn’t seem to have arrived with anyone else. Ivar’s golden gaze sweep the horizon once more, just to be certain. Unlikely that she’s here on official business then.
He glances then at Lothbrok, curious how his son might react to the stranger.
you were a vision in the morning when the light came through, i know i've only felt religion when i've lied with you and i'm still waking every morning but it's not with you
.
She is still wondrously oblivious to what they really are. She sees their flash of scales, and their charismatic smiles; but not that they are monsters. Even with her father’s warning and his harrowing tail of being drowned by a kelpie-girl and only saved by his immortality, she shrugs it off. Ivar had brought no harm to her that day at the river, even though he had every opportunity. The River had been desolate, nearly abandoned, everyone too afraid to wander with the recent release of the plague. He could have lost control when his bite sank into her flesh, could have dragged her under icy waters, and no one would have been the wiser (funny, how that scenario was exactly what her father has been trying to drill into her head, that this was why he was terrified of letting her be on her own).
But Ivar hadn’t done any of those things, and they are not thoughts that cross her mind now.
It is the sound of rapid footfalls against the sand that causes her to twirl around quickly, her raven-dark mane billowing around her roaned neck, and she sees smoky and white colored stallion. He is young, perhaps just a bit older than herself, and a smile immediately alights her face. ”Hello,” her slender legs take a few steps forward, her eyes noting the angle and shape of his face that seem to be similar to Ivar’s, but she doesn’t assume. Before she can answer, she hears her name, spoken by a familiar voice, and she swivels her gold-blazed face to observe the familiar kelpie stallion. ”Ivar!” Her voice is nearly a chirp of delight, pleased that she doesn’t have to search the island for him. With dark brown eyes she looks back to the younger stallion when he is introduced, offering him another kind smile as she dips her head. ”Nice to meet you, Lothbrok.” She doesn’t see the danger in being in the company of two predators; never even occurs to her.
She looks back to Ivar, and she shakes her head in response to his question. ”No reason, I just wanted to get away from Nerine.” A soft sigh flutters from her tongue, looking to Lothbrok, and then back to Ivar. ”My father is being a little unbearable right now. He’d kill me if he knew I was here.”
