"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
Not a week since Hestia's passing, Scorch journeyed from Nerine to Ischia. The weight of a crown atop her age-weakened back left her feeling some kind of way - and not a good one, or at least, not an enjoyable one. She would always have a stupid sense of superiority over anyone who stood above her position-wise; but being at the top again frankly sucked. A part of her loved the responsibility and intricacy and excitement of it all - but a greater part of her reminded her just how shitty a mother she was as queen, and of how peaceful life as an advisor had been. Exciting still - just without the headache.
High-tide greeted her as she made her way to Ischia. Without missing a step, she summoned her powers and created a twilight-bridge, trotting stoutly across it as the waves lapped at her hooves. Though she could swim, her mutilated skin shriveled and bled at the sting of the ocean's salt water; and frankly, this entranced had much more of a dramatic flair, and lord knows that Scorch can't enter a kingdom without that, by god.
Meeting with the sand of Ischia's main island, Scorch released her magic and perked her ears, eyes almost crossing at the sound of a jungle's chaos. But she was shook from her revere by a little green bird that came and stubbornly attached itself to her shoulder; a quetzal? Squinting her eyes furiously, she spoke under-her-breath threats to the tiny bird that, if by any means she was Malka, she would have to brutally murder her for being such a tease. When the bird only chirped in response, Scorch snorted irately and slowly turned back to the business at hand.
Ouch! The damned bird just bit me! I swear to god Malka...
Pushing the memory of her immortal Erinak aside, Scorch strode into the shade of the jungle, knowing that Brennen would soon be with her; and when his shadow did descend as she quietly expected it to, she couldn't help the smile that touched her lips. Even tough she bore sad news, the sight of another life-long friend eased the pain of her mourning.
"Bren," She murmured familialry, stepping forward to hide her face in the tangle of his black locks. Even as a hands-on woman, this kind of hello was a little much; but she knew that the pegasus would know better than to question her before she had a chance to explain herself. Stepping back, she eyed that stallion, hoping that the wetness of her eyes was from the salt of the ocean, and not the sting of loss.
"Hestia has passed on," She offered without preamble, not dropping her gaze from where it sat, locked with his honeyed one. "She left me to lead the Leviathans in her stead - but I have instated the Tephran princess, Wishbone, as heir. She shows promise, and in these times, further strength between our kingdoms is not unwelcome."
Falling silent, the mare awaited Brennen's answer, curious to see just what he might say...
But ah, she can't be perfect, can she? Her lips quirked into a grin, and she spoke again.
"Almost like old times, hey Bren? Except you never actually had the balls to step up back then. But ah well; I guess one round of ruling is impressive, too."
hold me in this wild, wild world 'cause in your warmth I forget how cold it can be
In some vague way, he’s expecting a Nerinian visitor of some sort. Hestia had promised a messenger or a visit herself once she had ascertained how she felt about the current status of Loess and Sylva, and Brennen’s diplomats have been returned already a while. But today dusk has already begun to fall, and high tide is well upon them; Brennen has turned away from the shores and headed inland, to where his very pregnant queen is surely settling to rest with some assortment of their almost-yearling children around her. Usually, of a quiet evening, he’d have at least one of said children tagging along with him, but this evening he is alone.
The bay stallion is not far down one wide, well-worn path when the birds overhead who have returned to their nests and roosts for the night begin to chatter excitedly at him, and he pauses to flick an ear towards their noise and when ‘stranger’ is repeated more than once, he turns back towards the shore. He’s on high alert, but only for a moment; when it is Scorch’s form that appears on the path ahead of him he relaxes, and stops to wait for her because he is on a particularly wide section of path, which seems a nice enough place to chat.
Brennen quirks a little grin at her when she speaks his name, welcome in his eyes. If he’s surprised when she steps closer than usual and presses her face into his neck and mane, Brennen doesn’t say anything. He merely widens his stance a hair to accept her weight if she chooses to lean, and he waits. When his friend steps back he studies her face intently, but still the Ischian king says nothing; patience is something he has more than mastered, and it’s rewarded as usual when she finally speaks, offering the news of Hestia. He lets his careful shutters down now, for her, and there is honest sorrow behind his gaze now.
The pegasus did not know Hestia very well, himself, but he knows what it is to live long and lose the people you care about, and he knows Hestia meant something to Scorch. “I’m sorry about Hestia,” is the simple condolence he offers, reaching out to gently touch her shoulder. “But I can’t say I’m sorry to have you standing in her stead, with darkness on the horizon.” He’d been willing to trust Hestia because Scorch vouched for her, but how much better to have Scorch herself on the Nerinian throne? It is too bad, he contemplates not for the first time, that Scorch has Hestoni; together, she and Brennen could create quite the interesting dynasty. “As for your new heir...she’s an Nerinian princess now, no?” He himself is ambivalent towards Tephra either way, but he doesn’t think Scorch would allow any who don’t show devotion towards her cause to ascend to be heir to Nerine; Wishbone must have already shown no intention to return to her homeland.
Still. Scorch offers him more reason to extend firmer hand of friendship to Warrick if opportunity permits than the simple pledge of amity which he has established with Tephra’s diplomat Wound.
Despite the grief she must still feel, Scorch is still able to find a jibe for him, and at her words he tilts his head, eyes narrowing just a hair. “Forest fires burn flash-hot and fast, but glaciers take over the world quite slowly,” he drawls, “but both are equally destructive and powerful.” This is the normal interaction that is so markedly familiar in their friendship; Scorch appreciates his dry humor and sometimes archaically formal way of speaking, and Brennen finds some measure of affection hidden in her sharp teasing. “And anyway, I did my part to ensure I had Kings I was happy to serve, quietly behind the scenes. I didn’t need to be King as long as the Kings served the Brotherhood.” They say time heals all wounds, but for Brennen, he has found that to be not the case. Some of the fallen friends he misses he still thinks of all the time, and sometimes with increasing pain rather than decreasing. Amongst his former Kings, Errant is one such; they had butted heads over a variety of minor and major things over the course of Errant’s childhood and then his two reigns, but now with his Brotherhood around him once more Brennen misses the black magician fiercely on an almost daily basis. Somehow he had never realized that he truly loved Errant, as more than just another Brother.
He can’t bring himself, with lost friends on the mind, to tease her about her age. There will be plenty of time for that when loss is not so heavy on her shoulders; or perhaps if he is too aware of her age, he shall have to find new material. “It is good you are here, because my news is not much better. Loess has taken one of the Brothers captive, and not on friendly terms, so Ischia’s relationship with them is now firmly tanked. Sylva tried to steal another of my people, and though they failed to do so, he volunteered to allow himself to be taken on the second attempt, and is serving a pretend sentence as a captive to gather information, since they expelled my diplomats without even a polite meeting.” Thinking of his grandson alone in Ischia, Brennen’s gaze goes dark and more than a little dangerous. “If they harm him, they will pay for it.”
hold me in this wild, wild world and in your heat I feel how cold it can get
As she left the warmth of his stoic and accepting embrace, there shone a genuine sorrow in his eyes that she could only nod her head at. He understood her with a care that only life long friends could hope to portray. His condolence, though simple, left the mare nodding again, the gloom behind her eyes lifting slightly as the topic of Hestia passed them by. Death is inevitable, came that same mare's voice to Scorch's mind. Now go, and do as I have wished you to.
"You're just a push over," She lobbed back at his very genuine compliment in regards to her ruling during a dark time. But her humor fell short, and in her express a contented happiness sprouted. "But I guess that if I had to choose anyone standing here next to me, as ruler of the Brotherhood to my Sisterhood, it'd be you, too."
Her eyes screwed up slightly when he asked about Wishbone's royal status. Nerinian? No... "I'm not sure I follow - she's a Tephran princess, yes, daughter of Warrick. But she's no princess of Nerine, to my knowledge at least." The bird atop her back chirped as if it, too, were a part of this serious and integral conversation. "But yeah. I'm sure you understand what that means for you, and the Tundra -- er, sorry, for Ischia." She rolled her eyes at the slip of her tongue. "Alliance with Tephra. And with Hyaline, I guess. It's a lot of friendliness, but there's definitely evil to counterbalance the massive blood-family-weird alliance thing we have going on at the moment."
With a squint of his eyes and a tilt of his head, Brennen took to the winds of trash-talking with an eloquence that Scorch duly admired. Her low, smoky chuckle further lightened the mood of their meeting, as she considered what he had to say about fires and glaciers and whatnot. "Who said anything about being destructive?" She countered with a grin. "Besides being slightly above average at kicking horses occasionally, you're the biggest softy I know. I mean, you have more kids than I have - proportionally to our genders, too. Well, almost anyway." She couldn't quite think of another mare with twelve children; at least, none that were with one man.
"I'm beginning to feel that way as well," She stated, lapsing back into her formal way of speaking with politics at hand again. It happened to both of them, this archaic way of speech - as if somewhere in their brains, a tiny version of themselves just couldn't ever quite get a hold of the concept of actual easy-going dialogue. Man, that tiny version of themselves is going to have a tough time writing novels with relatable characters. But wait, what's a novel?? Anyway.
"I'm old, Brennen, but not old enough to actually stop giving a fuck about my home and those who live there. It's my turn to have a Queen to serve, as long as she serves the sisterhood... But while I'm stuck with the crown, we might as well have some fun with it." A mischievous glint entered her eyes, turning them a bright emerald green. Ah, to have a best friend to cause chaos with - or at least, to reign the chaos in with, which was it's own kind of chaos. Which, coincidentally, Brennen had begun to talk about.
"Well shit," She offered uselessly as she considered all he had said - the captives, the evil, the enemies. Her eyes were unfocused along the shore as she thought, but they soon returned to the pegasus' honeyed gaze. "I've met with Arthas while recruiting a number of times, and frankly I did not like him that much. It will be no hardship of mine to count them among our enemies, since they have so thoughtlessly offended our sister kingdom. Consider it done."
"I hope that no harm has come to him for your sake, Bren, but I can't say that that hope is very strong." Her expression darkened, ears pinning to her skull. "But if they have hurt him - the Leviathans will be there to back you and yours, Kraken king." It felt a little funny to say out loud - but more than that, it felt right.
The fire-bitten mare accuses him of being ‘a softy’, and though Brennen does not smile, the depth of affection in his eyes for the children she speaks of belies his solemn exterior. “It is a good thing,” he responds quietly, ”That most of the outside world still believe me to be a grim and heartless warrior.” The other half of that thought - ’as opposed to a doting papa and grandfather’ goes unspoken. “I am also glad that people are more likely to spread the sorely exaggerated tales of my fighting prowess than your pessimistic opinion that I merely ‘kick better than average’, he adds dryly, narrowing his amber eyes for a moment.
The banter between them lightens his heart considerably, at least for the time they can share here. It does not, cannot, alleviate his worry about his erstwhile citizens entirely, but it is good to know that the Brotherhood has strong friends, anchored by Brennen’s own deep friendship with Scorch, and his growing friendship with Solace and Kagerus. He considers the way the world is beginning to be shaped, and he is solemn. The fae had taken a dim view on their propensity to divide the Kingdoms before; into light and dark, or mythical and non-mythical. But he refuses to believe they would take offense to the defense of one’s own people; and despite the mischievous look on his old friend’s face, the bay King knows neither of them will commit their people to a war that might claim lives until Sylva or Loess truly gives them a reason.
He considers the appointment of Wishbone as heir to Nerine, and supposes it’s about time for him to choose one of his own. Before they enter any conflict, certainly, for certainty of his people in the unlikely case he should fall in battle. But however unlikely, he at least has been in a war. He has fought in the utter chaos of the battlefield; he knows the fearful difference between a structured battle on the challenge fields and the death on the plains of war. He knows that no matter how well-trained a warrior is, they can fall, in the protection of others. It is how he lost Jesper’s mother, his fierce daughter, who fell in defense of her own Queen.
Jesper, who has not reported back to Brennen, despite his promise to do so. It could be that he is simply unable to sneak a message past the borders of Sylva - or it could be that he is unable to form a message at all. Scorch pledges the Leviathans to back his Kraken brotherhood once more, the same fury at the thought of hurt to one of their own darkening her gaze, and Brennen says nothing but gratefully touches her shoulder with his dark muzzle. “I don’t want to keep you overlong from your own people, and your young heir. I will come, or send word, as soon as I learn anything more. If luck is with us, naught will come of it, and we can turn our attention towards hosting a social event for our Kingdoms instead. Jesper will be home safe, and though I do not believe Arthas to be stupid enough to offer harm to his own captive, I shall hope that Leilan does not annoy him into doing something stupid.” That draws a smile from him, because despite his own words he enjoys Leilan, who reminds him of a young Nihlus. “Your offspring seem determined to keep me on my toes, even when you are not around to do so.”
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