"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
01-05-2016, 02:20 PM (This post was last modified: 01-05-2016, 02:20 PM by Brynmor.)
Brynmor
"With my speechless calm eyes."
With his sight restored, his wish granted by Djinni, there had been things that the graying man had to do first. Well, that was after he had calmed down enough of course. The fight that he had had with himself and the imaginary voice in his head had taken him a few days, utterly confused and struggling with the fact that the one he had relied on for years didn’t even exist. After that Brynmor had gone back home, to face the winged gray king and tell him about the truth after his arrival at the Tundra. And with that done there was room for other things to do.
He still wasn’t that used to his regained sight again, found it strange to walk familiar paths while he at the same time discovered them for the first time. Then there was still the voice in his head and Brynmor had a hard time to not fall back in his old habits. Even though he now knew that the voice only existed in his head, he always had to fight to not reply. There were moments he gave in, but that was only if he was utterly sure that nobody else was around and that their conversation was private. But right now that also wasn’t the thing that kept him busy. No, the graying male was looking for one of the rare female’s that lived in the Tundra; Roan.
If he would be honest he would easily admit that she hadn’t left his mind for long periods. Right from when they first met – although he hadn’t been too welcoming at first – he had felt comfortable around her. It had sparked something within him and he was eager to see Roan again, or actually, to see her for the first time. Brynmor had never been close to other horses and he couldn’t even remember his mother, but that all didn’t change anything about the fact that now longed to be at her side again. With his loyalty pledged to the Tundra the formerly blind stallion was more than ready to get to know her better.
He calls out for her and his whinny travels easily across the snow covered lands. Even though the spring had kicked in the Tundra’s lands were still covered with snow and things would stay like that until the summer would come. The gray male lifts his head, his nose searching for her scent, as he couldn’t rely on his newly gained sight right now. He follows his nose, still trusting his ‘old’ senses more than the new one, and eventually forces himself into a trot. Not used to any form of exercise he is soon panting and he clearly lacks some balance, but he does no longer stumble across the things he cannot see.
She has never imagined the possibility of having her vision restored; it simply has not occurred to her that this could happen and she has never once harbored a wish to see all the things she cannot. Roan has compensated in other ways - her sense of smell is not quite super but far more advanced than a normal horse’s sense of smell should be and her hearing is unbelievably accurate as well. If she dreams, she dreams the way she sees - blindly, in black and white, so the loss of color and life has never bothered her. Then again, Roan was too rooted in the here and the now to give in much to flights of fancy and that’s just what dreams were.
In their time apart, she has explored pieces of the Tundra that were once familiar to her and while never quite forgotten, the lay of the land had changed little but enough for her not to be familiar with every ridge and hollow though much of the land was flat - deceptively so, but flat enough all the same. The little roan mare usually comes back from these jaunts shivering and exhilarated to the point that her face shines with happiness at the progress she makes. She is committed to knowing the faultlines and fractures of the permafrost as well as they do - the bachelors that live here, and while she has smelled them (like the hulking King’s scent and Bryn’s), she has kept herself apart for a time, too eager to enjoy the feel of the cold wind on her face and the snow falling on her back.
Too soon though and spring melts a good portion of the snow; they can eat more than lichen and moss and she enjoys mouthfuls of good grass that has lain beneath snow all winter long. Some of the rivers have cracked their skin of ice and she has sipped of their pure coldness. But in the end, despite having kept busy, Roan has started to feel like there is something missing - him, and she knows it is the stallion she first met upon her return to the Tundra. It is convenient then that they look for one another and she hears him call to her with a loud happy whinny that she answers rather happily and loudly herself. But he comes to her with a pant and she is immediately concerned, poking her nose at his shoulder and asking, “Are you okay?”
(Roan cannot help the way her heart thumps faster in her bay roan breast at the way he says her name, like it’s the only important thing his lips can shape.)
He had been able to see before, and he had been just as amazed as he had been when Djinni granted his wish. The difference was that he could see in his horse form this time, that was something entirely new to Brynmor. During Missy’s quest – from which he still didn’t know if it had happened really or that he had only dreamt it – he had been given a human form. In this form he had been able to see, yet he had ended up in a totally different world than Beqanna. And although the graying male wouldn’t admit it out loud, it’s horrors still followed him and haunted him in his sleep from time to time.
That had exactly been the reason why he had been scared at first. The possibility to see again, the sudden change, had caught him by surprise, just as Missy had right before her games. He had only settled down after a short while, but only to be confronted with the fact that he heard a voice that belonged to nobody. Even though he still hadn’t ‘fixed’ that problem he had come to peace with it for now. The Tundra and telling Hurricane the truth had been more important and now that was done he finally had time for the one being that he desperately wanted to see.
His breath would’ve stocked as he hadn’t been panting for air like this. His eyes widen and while her delicate bay roan form steps closer to him and closes the last distance between them, he can only stand there frozen. Never had it occurred to him that she had been just like him, that she was blind. Slowly coming back to his senses he offers her a small smile, out of habit because he now knows that Roan cannot see him smile. ”I’m okay, better now even” he answers her, pulling back a little before pressing his own muzzle against her neck. ”I.. I didn’t know that you are unable to see.. That you were just like me.” Brynmor’s voice is only a whisper as he let his muzzle roam through her mane, taking deep breath to fully take in her scent time after time.
Brynmor didn’t knew how he had pictured her to be, surprised by the fact that they had shared the same defect. Yet now he knew her appearance only made sense. Her little, delicate form, the lack of muscles – just like his. However, it are the scars that hit him the most. He is at utter lost on how she could’ve gotten them, but imaging the possibility that someone had done this to her while she had been vulnerable fills him with rage. ”I’ll protect you..” he mutters, not really aware of the fact that he had said that out loud, but genuinely meaning what he says.
”How have you been?” he then asks, pulling back once again to let his bluish eyes ghost across her form. Yet he cannot stay away from her for long and within seconds he finds himself stepping closer to Roan’s side again. This time he let his muzzle gently touch her cheek, moving slowly to make sure to not startle her.
She nearly says his name because the silence is too long and lonely for her to believe he is honestly okay until he answers her and she feels the press of his nose to her neck. Roan is bereft of words the moment his nose moves into her mane and blazes a path through the knotty hairs there. How can she talk at a time like this when the thump of her heart is surely loud enough for him to hear? “Yes,” she breathes, unable to say anything further the more his nose stays in her mane. She can feel the little hairs on her neck stir at his every exhale and she knows that he breathes her in as deeply as she does him - until it seems like they have embedded their scents in each other’s souls.
Roan is frozen by what he murmurs, certain that he had not really meant to say it but once said, it cannot be taken back and some part of her is glad that he had said it. Only her father had ever sworn to care for her and it feels strange but welcoming to know that Brynmor feels the same way and she tentatively reaches out her muzzle to his shoulder, her lips feeling along the ropes of muscle beneath the skin. Deep down she knows that he has discovered the scars - probably felt them with his lips, because she is still unaware of the fact that he had once been blind but now he sees and they are not the same any more. It would sadden her heart to know that even though she would shine with happiness for him and the simple fact that he was granted a gift that few of them are ever given - the ability to see. To the blind, that is almost as good as life itself - almost.
She can only murmur her thanks to him, pressing her gratitude into his skin until his shoulder bears the impossibly tiny weight of a thousand thank you’s entrusted there. But she wonders what he must think of the scars? Is she ugly? How can she be when she has nothing by which to measure a thing such as ugliness? These curiosities plague her but the unexpected absence of his muzzle from her mane distracts her and she answers him after a moment’s hesitation - “Good, and you?” It sounded so banal - so expected but hers is a life best lived careful and dull which left little room for excitement and besides, she knew the ice slopes well for all that she roamed them repeatedly.
He closed the gap between them and she felt the great furnace of his side blazing so deliciously near her own that Roan couldn’t help herself and she leaned in closer to him so that their bellies and shoulders touched. She went impossibly still the moment his lips met her cheek and dared not to breath lest he pull away and the contact between them could be lost. There were things that she wanted to say but they caught in her throat and went unsaid as her lips curved into a slow sweet smile which said so much more than any words ever could.
He is conflicted. Never would he have thought that they had shared the same fate, missed out on the same things in life and limited in the everyday activities. On top of that she´s so little, so scarred, and yet at the same time there is a certain calmness around her. Except for that vibe that makes him feel like he should say something. Yet Brynmor does not realise that all she needs is to learn that he cares for her. And that he isn´t disappointed by what he sees. Only a little shocked and angry, which clearly isn´t held against the bay roan mare. ”I’m sorry..” he speaks softly, voice only reaching her ears because he’s muzzle is close to it.
Unlike what she believes, Brynmor means every word of it. Anger is sparked by seeing the scars. Scars that once were wounds. Wounds that have been caused by someone. ”No-one, no-one is ever going to hurt you again. I won’t let them” he continues as she stays silent, the fuel burning up more and more. He doesn’t understand, nor does he really want to, as Roan is the best thing that has ever happened to him. And he wouldn’t give up on her that easily.
He positions himself beside her, pressing back against her form as his muzzle never leaves her skin. Even though her appearing might be not too dazzling, the graying male had fallen for her long before he had seen her. So yes, leaning the truth shocks him, but it doesn’t change anything about how he feels about her. Well, that is not entirely true, as Brynmor feelings have only grown in these last moments and the dire need to keep her safe and sheltered – although she has managed herself quite well for all these years – at his side.
He answers her smile with one of his own, not able to stop the corners of his lips curling up, until he realises she does not see it. The feeling confuses him, but he decided to leave that mental battle for another moment. Instead he presses his muzzle against her skin again, nibbling it gently. ”I’m good. Better even, especially now I’ve been able to see you for the first time.” He breathes out against her skin, taking a deep breath to make sure her scent would keep engraved into his mind forever.
Ianto had returned, although he was content to just be with Emelia to linger along her side and be with her, when he had just been with himself for so long. To feel her, to see her, to breathe her...it was more than he could even describe. But he had to leave her if only momentarily because his daughter, his beautiful resilient Roan was here and he had to find her. So it had been a touch of his nose against her own and a promise he says with his eyes and his mouth, with his body before he left her to find his daughter.
He is in the sky, looking for her. It does not take long and there is another stallion touching her. Rage colors his eyes for a moment, a type of anger he had not felt in a long time and subconsciously does not understand. He forces it away, circling as he does so, and this takes longer than he would look.
When he lands near them, his gaze is guarded and wary. He eyes the stallion that is touching his daughter and while he knows that it had been bound to happen sooner or later he could not shake the feral feelings he had that said someone was touching HIS daughter. His hooves itches to attack to drive the threat away from his, and while she was not really of his blood, he would kill for her. Kill for the daughter he adopted while she had been left in the snow.
He would never forget the day his life changed forever.
He does nothing of what his instincts scream at him to do. Instead he tucks his wings against his sides, his very shaggy coat and strange scent all saying he was an outsider. The shaggy coat hides his own scars, hides the spot on his haunch and the place on his shoulder, but the two claw marks across his eye are a little bit more prominent. All scars of the trials of being King.
"Roan." He says, his voice scratchy and hoarse but he walks to her, his lips touching against her neck even as he slides along one side of her, and then comes around to the other side. It was the one thing his protective instincts couldn't help but do as he marked her with his scent.
Too much time amongst the wilds had left him more feral than usual. And then he puts his lips against her cheek, his eyes still on the other stallion who he doubted would like his show at all. But who knows, Ianto had seen stranger things.
Ianto
Nothing burns like the cold.
(I'm sorry Ianto went all RAGE at this in my head when I read it and DEMANDED words. He will be better...I hope.)
He had been so eager to see her, eager to finally lay his eyes upon her figure, eager to tell her about the wish that had been granted. Before he had told her that he would take her side, that he would stand in for her, if Hurricane would decide to kick her out. Not that he had expected the winged king to do such a thing, but he had wanted Roan to know he wouldn’t let her get kicked out of her home. Now, now he could promise her to look after her, to protect her, to keep her safe. Brynmor had been willing to promise her that before too, but the lack of sight had made it impossible to do so.
You could pretty much conclude that his new found sight had changed a lot for him. The graying male could finally stand up against his tormentor, his puppeteer, and live the life he wanted for himself. Finally had he been able to honestly show Hurricane his loyalty, but he had yet to enter the caves to prove his worth. But that didn’t stop Brynmor from training. Most of his life he hadn’t been able to do any more than just walking slowly, his blindness blocking him from participating in all sorts of activities. But pledging his loyalty to Roan was just another thing. The little bay roan girl had found herself a spot in his heart.
His sensitive senses notice the approach of the unknown male quickly. It is even before the winged stranger lands. Within seconds Brynmor’s ears are pressed tightly against his skull and teeth are bared when he steps forward, trying to place himself in between the stranger and Roan. ”Who are you, trespassing into our kingdom like this?” he questions direct as always. But this time his voice is also hostile, not liking it at all how the pintaloosa was looking at Roan.
Brynmor is about to lash forward, his own protectiveness rivalling the stranger’s, but is stopped when he calls her name. He hisses, not at all pleased with this development, and his angered stare lingers upon the stallion as he watches them. He’s itching to position himself between them, to drive them apart, to keep her safe, and his bare teeth show that. ”Don’t touch her” he growls underneath his breath, getting more and more angry with each touch that linger on her skin too long.
It is when the stranger’s lips rest on her cheek that he snaps. Growling he launches himself forward, snapping at the stranger’s throat to have him retreat a little, trying to get himself in between them. Brynmor brushes his muzzle lightly across the bay girl’s skin, as to tell her things would be fine and that he won’t let her down. And secretly also to make sure his scent lingers upon her, instead of this strangers’.
"Nothing is coming to rise."
OOC: It was impossible to not word Brynmor after this. Hehe, and as long as Ianto accepts him in the end~
She cannot fathom why he apologizes. The scars are not his fault - she assumes she was born with them because she knows they didn’t happen after the snow and her father saved her with his wings and his warmth. She can hear the sincerity behind the sternness of his voice and it steadies something in her - something that she has felt brewing since their first conversation. Something that she swears she will not name to herself because it is too holy to think or say but she feels it. It feels a lot like the wings and warmth her father showed her only it comes in the nearness of him - the way their sides touch comfortably, the way he calls for her whenever he returns to the Tundra from his forays outside of it.
Anger sparks in him; she can almost feel the heat of it before she hears it in his voice. It is a quiet fury that would have frightened her if she didn’t know him better. If she is afraid, she is afraid for those that would trifle with her simply because he vows to never allow it and the justice he would deliver them would be swift and terrifying. She almost tells him that she doesn’t know if anyone really hurt her. There never was a mother that she can remember - just father and his wings and the Tundra. She can remember the pain of her healing-hurting skin and the terrible cold that came before father saved her. It was almost easy to give in to the cold, to just lie there like she did and sleep forever and very nearly had but she is glad the cold lost out in the end and that she triumphed over every challenge that came her way because it all came down to this - him and her and the vast tundra around them.
The Tundra is home, always has been but not in the way that his side is fast becoming home to her. She could stay there for all time, she realizes or maybe the realization is something that she has always known but never really let out of the shadowy secret part of her because of just what it entails: love. It doesn’t surprise her that this is what has happened in so little time but what else could it be but that? They are too comfortable in these skins, standing on these legs beside each other, and the touches from their lips to necks and ears that communicate so much more than words ever really can.
“You couldn’t see before?” She is surprised even though she knows that if she reflects back on their earliest moments together, it makes sense that he was just as blind as she was. Strange isn’t it? That out of all the horses in the land, the two blind horses find each other and fall in love and somehow he can see again and she can’t but even she can’t fault him for his luck - instead, she is ever so grateful that his eyesight has been restored because he was deserving of such a feat in her humble opinion. Then she realizes that he says he is better because he can see her now - really see her, all of her, and she feels like she can just melt at the very idea that all this time, he’s been looking for a way to look at her and the world and that whole silly-sweet idea of love comes back to her with a hurried thump of her heart and she can only tuck a smile in the skin of his shoulder as her lips lay there.
Her ears - every upright and vigilant - detect a noise familiar to her, the beat of wings on cold cold air and she cannot help the way her face cranes upward expectantly, nostrils flaring to catch the scent of the horse that wings his way towards them. She almost thinks it is the current king but the scent is all wrong - it is too familiar, too… “Father!” she cannot stop the shout that leaves her lips as her whole body sings with the taut awareness of him and her immediate happiness at his return. His voice is wrong - rough with disuse but it is him, she could never mistake the scent or sound of him as his lips touch her neck and he sidles in close. Her own nose is persistent in touching all the familiar places on his body like the marks on his haunch and his shoulder, the throatlatch that she used to stand tippy-toe on just to nibble at with her baby teeth.
She breathes him in ragged happy breaths and trails her nose along his neck until her cheek rests against his shoulder and her breathing slows to a more normal pace. “Dad…” she sighs happily and then everything changes in the worst possible way - she can feel Brynmor stiffen at her side and the hostility in his voice shocks her stupid and silent as he angrily accosts her father. They posture and bristle like bachelor colts cast out from the herd and she is caught between them and her own ire mounts by the moment as they jostle and bicker around her. “Guys…” she says softly before pinning her ears back to her head and shouting at them, “Stop it! Please!” She cannot bear the thought of the two of them fighting like this and for what - her?
“Brynmor, this is my father!” She barks from somewhere in between them, small but squaring herself up as they snap their teeth and act like colts still at their mother’s flanks. “Dad, this is… well…” Embarrassment shadows her face as her head swings frantically between the two of them and her voice grows terribly quiet in its whisper-pitch as she says, “I love him.” and once said, she cannot take it back but she knows it is true - all their moments together have been building up to this and she wants her dad to be happy for her and for both of them to get along for her sake because they are the two most important horses in her entire life.
Ianto was not afraid of the younger stallion and so when his teeth snap towards his throat, Ianto tucks his head tight to his neck and only flinches a little when the teeth snap on air. He would grow if he could. In fact right this moment he wishes he changed into a tundra wolf so he could rip this stallion's throat out, instead of the smaller fox that wasn't much of a threat. He makes some rumbling in his throat, his hooves planted in the snow, unmoving against the threat.
Of course it takes all he has not to let this escalade. His body fairly vibrates with anger and that ridiculous testosterone he can't control.
"I'm sorry sweet girl." He murmurs to her, properly chastised as she yells at them both. His anger leaves him as quickly as it had come when she spoke those three words oh so quietly that had his stomach dropping and his heart stop beating. His lips still touch her, his eyes still on the stallion before him (later he would realize the stallion was right for her with the protective way he had stood before another). He still was unsure, despite her declaration, despite it all.
He was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that his daughter had met and fallen in love with someone. Somewhere in the commotion when he had been acting like a fool he had heard her say his name. "Brynmor." He says it experimentally, and why he probably should move and let her love walk to her side, he doesn't, not quiet yet.
"How long have you been a resident of the Tundra?" He says, beginning his own phase of conversation that doesn't have anything to do with love and everything to do with making sure this boy was good enough for his baby. His shoulder bumps against her gently, even as he smiles slightly when he turns to look at her. "I have missed you."
Ianto
Nothing burns like the cold.
(this is horrible. I'm sorry <3 He was all over the place tonight.)
Unlike Roan he hadn’t figured out what was happening, what this feeling was that messed with his thoughts. All he knew was that he wanted to protect her, to keep her safe and sound at his side, forever. But right now he cannot help but to smile at her, already nodding his head before realising that she cannot see. ”I was born blind” he answers her, leaning in brush his lips against her cheek. ”I don’t know how, but my wish to see was granted by a genie. She restored my sight. She freed me from the ties that were held by my puppeteer.” Brynmor’s voice is soft as he explains, like their conversation is a secret, something shared just between them. He would tell her if she would ask about the strings and the puppeteer, he wouldn’t keep secrets from her. Especially since they had sculpted him ever since his birth.
He wouldn’t have believed it if their sweet, calm moment could turn into such ugly thing within moments. Jealousy consumes Brynmor, not at all liking it how the bay roan girl focusses her attention on another man. On top of that Roan allows this stranger to touch her, to mask her with his scent. He’s trembling, having trouble to hold himself back.
The graying male’s anger only rises once he realises that this stranger has much more experience in battle than he has. Not that it is something surprising, but right now it only adds fuel to the burning fire within him. Brynmor replies to the wordless threat by copying the sounds, almost growling like a feline or canine animal.
He can hear the protesting words somewhere far in the distance, but his clouded mind registers them as the sounds of a damsel in distress. It isn’t Brynmor’s intention to ignore her, but his mind has only room for the threat that this unknown male possesses. And he had promised to keep her safe. But then Roan stands in between them, forcing them both to snap out of the ridiculousness that has overcome them as she shouts. A ragged breath escapes his lips, but he no longer moves to launce himself at the male.
His ears stay turned back and his narrowed eyes angrily stare at the man a little longer, before he turns to look at her. Instantly his features soften, but Brynmor does not yet relax. His teeth grit together, throwing another angry look at the stranger. No, not a stranger, her father.
’Well, her father. You made a good first impression, pal.” Right when he had lost control, when emotions and testosterone take over the reign of his body, the voice of his imaginary friend decides to pop up again. Ever since Brynmor had gotten his sight back he had learned that the voice only existed in his head, but he had yet to overcome it. His lips are already parted to snap back at his non-existing friend, only managing to stop himself just in time.
Instead his breath stocks, utterly surprised by her words. Love. She loves him. Brynmor cannot help but to stupidly blink, but then the deep rumbling sound comes from deep within his chest. ”Roan” he breathes before reaching out to her. The graying man is still trembling, but he no longer has the urge to throw himself at the former Tundra king, no instead it is only the bay roan girl that is on his mind. ”Me too” he murmurs, telling her about his feelings, yet without saying those three words. Not with her father standing this close. He doesn’t like it that he still stands close to her too, but the urge to press his nose gently against hers is bigger than the dislike.
He only looks up when her father calls his name and although his ears are still standing back a little, the most of his anger is gone. Her words – and realisation of what his own strange feelings are – has calmed him down. ”Ianto.” He had remembered the name from when he and Roan had first met. She had told him that she had been looking for her father, a former Tundra king. But he was nothing more and nothing less than that. The gray stallion turns his head a little, glancing in Roan’s direction for a short second, before meeting Ianto’s gaze again. ”Long enough to feel at home, to have pledged my loyalty.”
"Nothing is coming to rise."
OOC: 'Italic' is what the imaginary voice in his mind says, "colored" is what Brynmor says.
