our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves

It was a strange sensation to feel the stirring of life in her belly, even early on now, when her sides have not swelled and grown heavy with child. Still, she can feel it within her, this sapling, this reminder of Rodrik and the dark and wild thing that grows between them. She cherishes it, as much as she has ever cherished anything, and while she struggles to articulate those words, she stays awake at night, thinking of the strange turn of events that has led her here, in this new Beqanna with the red stallion curled next to her at night. Both of their kingdoms gone and instead, the two of them deposited in this new wasteland.

She cannot say that she cares for it.

It does not have the rich lushness of the Jungle, the humid air, the plants that bloom with vibrant colors and the wild cries of animals. This land—this one is barren and empty, a dustbowl of a kingdom. Still, she doesn’t complain about the dust that gathers in her lungs and her contempt for the wasteland. It was worth it to remain by Rodrik’s side. So it is not surprising that she is not far when he calls for her, that she was anchored to him and wandering only a bit away when she heard his call. There was nothing else to do.

She does not rush to him, but neither does she waste time, instead walking slowly and cautiously, finding her step amongst the crushed rock and lifeless vegetation. When she reaches his side, her scarred lips brush over the elegant curve of his muscled neck, the motion still new, despite how natural it felt. “Rodrik,” she greets, her voice still soft and deep, feminine and yet husky. “Did you need something?”

Not that he needed an excuse to see her, but still—she was once a soldier and once a Queen and while she doesn’t begrudge being called to him, old habits die hard.

our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves

Brunhild did not fight her darkness in the same way that Rodrik does.

She did not rail against it, throw fists to the ground in anger. She had long come to accept the way it twisted through her veins and settled in her chest; she had come to accept the way it had molded her throughout the years, made her sharp and vicious when need be. She was not a particularly cruel mare, but neither was she as particularly warm one. She was cool, distant, and self-contained. The only true time she got excited was at the prospect of battle. In fact, her thirst for showing up on the battlefield was what had earned her Quark’s attention in the first place, and it was what had earned the numerous scars that riddled her dark, muscular body.

So she was not a fool. She did not think the red stallion by her side was some saint, and she did not expect him to act in such a manner. She knew he had blood on his hands in much the same way as she. It did not bother her—it had never bothered her. From the first time that they had met, she had looked past all of that to see the man he was inside. The man who loved those close to him, who obeyed his own moral code.

The man who did right by kingdom, even when it meant making the tough decisions.

She laughed a little at his proclamation and reached over to nip at him, pinching perhaps a little harsher than was necessary—although that was always the way with them. “You need all kinds of things, Rodrik.” Her husky voice filled the space between them. “Food, air,” her dark eyes sparked with a rare humor. “Etc. etc.” Still, her stomach twisted at the words. She had never thought that she would have love in her life. She had been born and bred for war. She had been raised as a warrior, trained as one, and then left to serve as a warrior Queen. She had not been ever given the luxury of love or even friendship. To have found it, and with him? It was a miracle.

“We are doing well,” she grunted, shifting her growing body. It was difficult to get used to the extra weight and hard to imagine why mares put themselves through it every year. “I swear it feels as though he is going to come out full size.” She cherished these moments, carrying Rodrik’s child, but she still could not wait until she had her own body back, to be in control of it once more. “Tell me more of Pangea, Rodrik.”

Her heavy head swung out the grey wasteland. “Why did you choose to make this our home?”

our demons are all around us and they don't come from hell
every single one of them reminds us of ourselves

She had always been intrigued by his darkness, his intelligence, by the things that ran underneath his skin. She knew that there was more to him than meet the eye—more than he portrayed. He was not just the devil that you first saw when you met the red Chamber King. Throughout the years they had known one another, she had come to recognize him as vengeful, sly, calculating, but also deeply loyal, kind, and even compassionate. The more she had gotten to know Rodrik, the more layers she had unpeeled and the more she was able to get to know him, to understand him, to unwrap everything that made him who he was.

Now, wrapped up within him, it was a different challenge: getting to know herself.

She knew herself as an Amazon, a warrior, and a bloodrider. She even knew herself as a Queen. What she didn’t know was herself as a lover—as a mother. It was new to her and she felt as awkward as she had when she had first stepped onto the battlefield, her own body a weapon that she didn’t know how to wield. That same discomfort lay in her bones now, at war with the heart that beat in her chest, this passion for him that she didn’t know how to express or control, this new love for a child she had never even met.

Still, she gave into some of her base desires, reaching over to touch him gently, her lips roaming over the curve of his powerful neck, the heaviness of his jaw. It was all familiar to her and yet constantly new; as if she could spend every day by his side, curled here, without fully knowing him, without uncovering all there was to uncover. The laugh that he pulls from her is new, dark and sooty, and she lets it ring from her scarred mouth, pressing her forehead into his neck. “I would make a terrible broodmare.”

But then, a small smile.

“Although, I do not mind bearing your sons and daughters.”

She hadn’t desired to have a large family, to carry children every season, but there was something about holding life in her belly, knowing it was made from their love…it brought a softness to her. Enough of a softness that she doesn’t spend too long thinking about the land and his answer to the questions. She trusts him and his judgement. “I suppose I can get used to the smell,” she smirks a little, but then falls silent.