anyone;

[Hestia]

She barks out her laughter, it doesn’t cut or mangle itself as it used to. Used far more often now than it ever has been in her past. You mean before they became man hating prissy little twats. Surviving only because of my sisters legacy. The words vomit her venoment hate for the sisters that mangled and thwarted the Amazons name dragging it through the mud to be mocked and scorned on. This is the legacy that they’ve become known for; yet that was never their ideals before… was It Echion? She thinks that was the one that introduced the breeding program and made the secret hate that had been building and festering under Eerie (Eerye?) a public and acceptable fact.

She nods in agreement. Before he continues, these are not the Amazons. She practically snarls, her green eyes flashing with the grating on her nerves. Whyyyy does everyone see them as the Amazons? Her hackles bristle at the mere thought and her flames, that are not yet under control, flare around her, bright and alive with the consuming passion she has against these false sisters everyone believes they are, and fall under a respectful spell of fear from them. She is going to need to come up with a new name for them to silence these rumors. Give her people another thing to look up to and follow. Something to try and achieve if she really wants this name to fall away as the ashes do from her body.

She nods, soothing her anger, counting to temper it. Thank you, she manages to push through her throat. His words ring in her mind, to vague. Not enough for her to determine a date. She’d have to try again with someone else. Though she doesn’t think she will get another shot as he would have the best memory of Nayl, and Nayl would most likely have ingrained in her children the importance of history. Just something that all the Amazons had hammered into their heads, and Hestia doesn’t think the woman would have strayed to far from her roots. She eyes him for a moment noticing that in their conversation she’d sidled closer to him inch by inch. Startled and slightly disgusted that she would do this she shakes out her mane and begins walking, distracting her feet from whatever they had in mind before this.

Her wings lazily stretch from her sides before folding back in on themselves once more. Nerine’s not changed much, physically. She punctuates the end of her sentence fully aware of just how much its changed in other aspects since she left. Her mind can’t settle though and she finds herself itching to ask, what about Nerine makes you believe us to be the Amazons? She will change it, force them to see past that. Maybe if by changing the name, she can lead them back to their ideals, and not fixed on this mythical power-hungry man shaming slut of a past they all seem to remember. She glances over to him nervously. Hoping none of that last bit had come out.

HESTIA

The devil whispered in my ear, you’ll never survive the storm
I whispered back, I am the storm

[Castile]

Hestia’s change in demeanor doesn’t escape Castile’s notice. Her response is chilled, boiling with haste and a dislike for the name Amazons. It had a different meaning once before, he concludes, but all he has ever known are the tales told by his mother. With a contemplative expression, he continues to look at her and listen to the way she spats on the reputation that the Jungle cultivated throughout the generations. Queens varied from having a festering hate of males to having a mutual respect.

Where was mother in the spectrum?

She loved father just as she loved her only son. Surely, she could not have hated stallions?

A brow lifts underneath his forelock while his weight easily enough shifts. Sand underfoot hisses at the weight distribution. ”Yet you remained?” For a heartbeat, Castile pauses to calculate everything. He almost hesitates to continue, but then she is asking for the workings of his mind and he doesn’t bother to ignore her request. ”You hated the reputation the Amazons eventually obtained – almighty females and males are scum – and you obviously still dislike the continuation of that mindset, so why did you stay in the Jungle?” Here, he does pause and shrug his shoulders curiously. ”And why did you come to Nerine knowing it has been ruled by women trying to uphold that generations-long reputation? Why not go to Tephra or something?”

The tone in his voice is level, not at all raised or guarded or rude. His curiosity is drilling deeper into his thoughts as he blinks and continues to watch her with his metallic eyes. ”Naga was the first Queen of Nerine and wanted it strictly women and my mother followed in step when she took the throne for herself, so why are you coming to Nerine to destroy its foundation when there were plenty other places with your preferred ideals?” In an indirect way, Hestia has insulted both his grandmother and great-grandmother (whom he knows only a name). Although he put a halt to their line of daughters, there is still a sense of pride that thrums in his veins with every heartbeat. This is what he knows, what he has grown up with.

And there, in the back of his mind, Castile cannot help but wonder how mother and Isobell would react if they were here with him.

Sorry for the wait! <3

[Hestia]

She can see his surprise. His words echoing in her mind. Yes Hestia, why do you remain. Why? the voice mocks her from its unique perch. Why stay with those that spat on you? Rejected you? her lips thin and quirk in a downward turn. She pauses for a moment growing as quiet at him. Pondering on how to help him understand. The black queen begins walking gesturing for him to follow. She doesn’t answer right away. Instead she leads him among the people; they nod to her in respect. They touch her with familiarity. They offer looks reserved for a beloved leader. When she looks in their eyes she sees the purpose and the fire of hope restored. They do not look dead and haunted as they once did.

She listens to his words nodding in acknowledgement. He's turned her question back on her. She remains quiet as they pass through the kingdom, not stopping until they reach the curled tip of Nerine looking inland. It’s only then, when they stand there an onslaught of salty air stinging her eyes, does she turn to him. She inches closer to him, a pulsing need for him to understand her, urging her forward. She doesn’t understand why. But there is something that compels her to make him understand. He asks her questions peering into her eyes searching for the answers. They stand there searching one another looking for that thread that narrowly eludes their grasp. I vowed to remind the Amazons of their true heritage. I vowed to always uphold the true ideals of the sisterhood until death. The scars present on her leg, chest and hip are a constant reminder of this vow. A wry smile quirks her lips. A dance between death and herself that has been going on since before she bound herself as a sister. Marked as death’s possession since birth they toy with one another never fully grasping one another. Luring one or the other into a dance that wires them to the edge but fuses them to their separate realms.

She couldn’t know why she opens up to Castile, just as she couldn’t know why she opened up to Walter. But the experience with Walter changed her. Would this one with Castile do the same? So much bitterness. Yet she feels their pain and longing as it is her own. Hers even more so as she remembers. As Nayl must have remembered. She’s close enough to him that her breath may tickle his skin. An urge to make him understand overtakes her. He continues questioning, not taking her simple answers of children and vows at face value. He doesn’t yell, doesn’t grow angry. He doesn’t have to. He just continues to press her. pushing beyond physical motivations. Needling her with questions that she has been afraid to answer for herself. Thoughts slipping from her mouth she didn’t know she harbored. Before she can stop them, before she can think to answer all his questions. The words spill from her. Quiet and filled with her pain. How can I abandon them to a darkness that I helped create? Beqanna’s punishment is as much mine as it is theirs. The pain in her voice flows with her words until she stops abruptly, startling herself.

Yes she blames herself. She abandoned them so many times. Scorned their new ideals and smugly thought herself better than them. She fell along with them in this way. Thinking them not worthy of the knowledge and hope she could have provided. Thinking she could wait until they were broken too show them the way back. She left them to their desired fates. Hestia squeezes her eyes shut hanging her head in shame. If only I’d stayed. whispered words hang between them in answer. So maybe she does scorn others, but she also scorns herself just as badly. If not worse. If only I fought harder. Her head turns from him, unable to look at him. Looking out to the ocean she searches for her own answers to questions she doesn’t know how to ask. The Amazons caused Beqanna to break in their own brokenness and she stood by watching, smugly aware that she had already warned them of this. Instead of humbling herself and coming back to help them she lashed out at them by refusing to come to their aid. Watching until even Beqanna lost hope in them. She knows that even she does not deserve to be called a sister.

This is why she wants to change, why she wants to bring back the wholeness of who they are capable of being. The other kingdoms hold no promise of being more than they already are. But Nerine does. There is hope for Nerine. If they believe there is hope for her, then she must return their belief. Hestia also knows that she must make up for her own sins. For her own pride and mistakes. She dedicated herself in blood so long ago, and now it’s time that she fulfill that oath. Before it’s to late for any of them.

She usually leaves the past as something unchangeable. But there are some regrets that weigh too heavily to be left as they are. So young and foolish she was when they forgot who they were. She could have talked till she was blue in the face, but they would not have listened. Did she know that Nerine would take after the new legacy of the Amazons? Yes, but she had hoped to catch it before that happened. To change it before it cemented itself. But she didn’t try very hard, at least she believes that she didn’t. Destroy? No, she holds no intent of destroying more to build and strengthen. Do the people really only want women? She gestures to the growing kingdom as they thrive in the equality and bonds she intends to build between them all. She watches as diplomats, and visitors move comfortably among them, smiling, jesting, and building friendships that otherwise would never have been possible in an all female kingdom.

What I want is for them to be whole, and healthy. To be protectors again. If they can’t let go of their bitterness then what hope is there for me? Or other’s like me? What happens to Beqanna when there is no one left to protect it? When all there is, is selfishness? She’d already seen the results of that twice over. She looks up at him finally, her own brokenness apparent in the smile she offers. Once again she’s been pressed into a corner until her anger and coldness cannot protect and shield her. Once again someone sees through her hard edges and opens her up exposing her to more than she feels capable of handling.

She came back to Nerine believing that she would help them heal. Not knowing how deep or crippling her own brokenness was. As she reshapes it, mending the broken, they do the same to her. Together the kingdom and herself heal. Something she never thought would be possible. She doesn’t realize she’s leaning against Castile. Her head pressing along his neck. Of course, this can easily change should he choose so. But for now, she takes comfort where she can. We needs to change, or else we’ll break. The black queen states the words quietly, speaking of herself and Nerine in them. Maybe this is wrong of her, but she indulges in the moment anyways. A yearning for something more than the calculated banter of politics and the cold hope that grows dimmer by the day of finding her children. She needs something more. And while her friends and those that support her allow her to lean on them. She knows that she needs a constant. This she does not have as of yet. So she steals moments like these soothing herself in her wait for that rock to find her and keep her from drowning in a sea of political bullshit. She steals them and treasures them. Keeping them as a refreshing oasis in her darker days.

HESTIA

The devil whispered in my ear, you’ll never survive the storm
I whispered back, I am the storm

No worries <3 let me know if you need me to change anything.

[Castile]

The questions he asked hang limply in the air between them, idle an unanswered. Castile looks at her, never realizing the intensity his metallic eyes possess, but she turns away from him with a beckoning gesture for him to follow. A glance finds the clouds overhead tempting, but with footsteps that whisper first across the sand then dirt, he follows. It doesn’t faze him how they cut across the kingdom so that she may show him how the residents acknowledge her; he is familiar with this. Every Queen, every ruler, is respected and adored by at least some. He had been but a boy when mother was Queen and he watched how the Nerinians responded to her, spoke to her, and respected her. The difference, he notes, is that Hestia glides among them with a tenderness and adoration; mother ruled with an iron fist.

Eventually, Hestia turns to face him, but it’s only when they’ve reached the farthest point of Nerine. Quizzically, Castile’s eyes narrow. He continues to wait, admittedly festering impatience toward her silence.

But then she responds and the distance that has separated them begins to melt away. Inch by inch, step by step, Hestia edges closer with searching eyes brimming with tales. With rising intrigue, Castile listens and weighs the heaviness of her words and confessions. She blinks, then turns away, but still he continues to watch her, scrutinizing the flexion of her muscles and the dancing of her fiery wings. ”What if you had stayed and fought longer,” he begins questioningly, ”what would have changed? Times change. Monarchies change.” It’s as though the weight of Nerine is on her shoulders, that the Jungle had been her undoing as well. ”Why are you blaming yourself for everything?” He never had great responsibility; he has never tried to change the world as Hestia seems to be implying she has.

When she looks up at him, finally, their eyes lock. Castile shakes his head slowly, uncertainly. ”Why do you think you need to save the world?” He pauses as he can almost see the way she is shattering in front of him under the weight of her truths. ”Some people don’t want to be saved, Hestia.” In that moment, he realizes that he is one of them.

His curse (is that what it truly is?) is a hindrance he fears. The monster that lurks beneath the domesticated surface that Beqanna sees of Castile is his own burden. Others have wanted to save him, to encourage him to overpower it, but he turned them away. He always rejects their aid.

He doesn’t want to be saved.

During his mulling, he doesn’t notice how Hestia moves across him and presses her cheek to the thick plane of his neck. When he blinks, withdrawing him his bottomless thoughts, Castile glances down and sees her. If he was startled by the closeness, he doesn’t show it. He is a statue standing with her weight against him, unmoving except for the tousling of his locks when another salty wind passes through. The need for contact seeps into him and he almost succumbs by pressing his lips to the ridge of her shoulder. Instead, he merely breathes her in and savors how the fire of her body dances alluringly in his metallic eyes. ”Are you sure that we are all going to break, or if it’s just you?” She is fretting about Nerine, about Beqanna, about herself, but when he looks around, peeling his gaze from her, he sees nothing wrong in the world around them.

I just don't even know lmao

[Hestia]

She thinks she understands the risks and thinks that she’s calculated every angle possible to keep her kingdom on top. She thinks that all the time she’s spent rolling the politics over in her head is enough. She hopes that she is doing the right thing and that this tightrope walk she teeters on will bear her weight. She doesn’t know what is coming, what her stance will spark in Beqanna. She doesn’t know that when she coaxes the fire to life in her kingdom that, like a fire, it will spread and grow in others, till it is out of her control. It will eat the land until almost all the kingdoms hold new rulers and laws that will rock the boat she thinks she will have maneuvered so skillfully.

There are unknowns, circumstances, and uncontrolled obstacles that attempt to bulldoze everything she tries to build. They can’t though, in this she has been skillful, in this she does achieve something. As she builds the risks become more precarious, harder to spot, and harder to avoid. The pitfalls of ruling will find her, luckily she has prepared. His words strike true and she takes her time thinking on them. She’s been so busy trying to right her wrongs and hating her pride that she’s not thought of the alternative. If no one tries, then nothing will ever change. Her voice is quiet and gentle in its tone. Isn’t that why Beqanna took herself from them in the first place? Because no one cared to try?

A slight waver, something she mules over listening to every word he speaks. They fall silent her leaning on him, and him allowing it. The salty air embracing them in its own strange form of warmth and comfort. Her lip twitches at his response. Only time will tell I suppose. Her green eyes flick towards his slitted ones once more. A little less darkness in her face than when they’d begun their conversation. Perhaps I can persuade you to consider coming back to Nerine someday. Even if it’s not today. She pauses for a moment before finishing. At least know that you are welcome here anytime you wish. And if anyone gives you trouble just let me know. She quips her words as she senses that he could easily care for himself. There would be no reason for him to need her, even here. Still, something urges her to let him know, indirectly of course, that he count her as a friend.

If it wasn’t for the fact that she knows he’s Nayl’s son, a woman she still sees as that teenager romping around the Jungle… every time. A gentle sigh, it’s a pity really. Ah well, such is life. A gull screeching overhead lets her know that the fish are coming to the surface to feed where they will be easy prey for the predatory birds who call to one another. The sky matches herself when she blazes with uncontrollable rage that if she is not careful may one day consume her in its righteous heat, until she is but ash to be remade. How do you feel about flying?

A sparkle of mischief glints from the low dipping sun. Separating herself, so that he does not get burned from her igniting. She unfurls her wings letting the flames stretch and warm her insides until they burst from her skin the source being of her bones and wings. She opens her eyes once more the black of her pupils filled with the flame that kindles in her soul. She waits for him to unfurl his own wings for her to take off power filling her with a rush as the solidity of the ground falls from beneath her hooves. Hestia never thought that she would enjoy this, until Walter showed her otherwise. Now she wonders how she’s spend such an eternity without.

HESTIA

The devil whispered in my ear, you’ll never survive the storm
I whispered back, I am the storm

@[Castile] Sorry for the wait, seriously they are awesome.

[Castile]

Castile weighs her words, his mind thoughtfully wrapping around her voice as it echoes in the deeper crevices of his mind. She wants greatness and to fix everything; she wants her name marked down in history like any King or Queen. Mother wanted that as well, but her legacy has since been silenced.

Isn’t that what always happens? A name once loudly spoken becomes a low whisper and then becomes lost on the wind.

But what she says next draws him from the lull of his thoughts. A questioning glance finds her, half expecting her to laugh jokingly, but her face is stoic and reads of her seriousness. ”I—“ he almost answers her immediately because when he looks across Nerine, he sees his childhood. He sees himself jumping in the waves with Ivar and trying to fly. He sees his mother and father, can even feel their warm bodies pressing against him in the way they always had. Nerine was home. It was where his family lived. It was where he belonged.

Was.

The salty breeze tousles his forelock as he looks across the ocean, following Hestia’s eyes to the seagulls and the occasional breaching fish. ”Maybe,” he murmurs, his own mind conflicted. ”I don’t know where to be… I’m torn.” He doesn’t elaborate, resigning with a shake of his head until she suggests flying. What had once been his greatest fear has since become his greatest pleasure.

Despite the internal battled waged inside him, Castile somehow manages to still grin. He doesn’t object to her peeling away from his side even as his skin is suddenly chilled by the emptiness. The fiery wings sprout from her sides, blazing and luring him closer again. His metallic eyes gleam in the same mischievous manner as Hestia’s while nodding in acquiescence. ”Shall we?” He doesn’t bother to shift his feathered wings into those of a dragon. Plain, but nonetheless strong, Castile takes to the sky with sweeping beats, always keeping reasonably close to Hestia.