"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
If she had confided in him about the imposter syndrome that she could not shake, he might have been able to put her more at ease for he had been living with the same thing his entire life. It went deeper than coveting a land, deeper than even those awful words that had followed him like a kicked puppy the moment he had slipped free from the womb. It was a part of him woven into the fabric of his soul by flames, misted amongst the connection he made with each lost soul, engraved in every bone, tied in ribbons around each and every tendon and vein. This sense of belonging and not belonging, this sense of knowing something about him was different even if he couldn’t fully understand what that difference truly was.
It had something to do with being terrible, something to do with Terror’s obsession with him, that small dark voice that liked to whisper suggestively to his insecurities and fear, the other thing he called himself. It had something to do with Firion, Aela, and his birth mother. It had nothing to do with them at all.
Such a complex thing, feeling so certain in your own skin while feeling painfully uncomfortable in it as well.
His wild feral gaze never leaves her, following her steady movement through the water and up the bank to come back beside him. “No promises.” He says impishly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his pale mouth as the flames continue to play against the yellow of his eyes. Her head turns to look thoughtfully over the moon spilled canyon but he doesn’t follow her lead, instead choosing to watch her and finds he is content to do so. She is close enough not to be singed by his flames, close enough that he can smell the mixture of her damp fur and that clean feminine scent.
The fire along his shoulders spasms with intensity and he is almost relieved when she begins to speak… Until the words come out. His flames dim in response, fading beneath his jaguar spotted skin until small ribbons of smoke curls off his back and the only orange flickering comes from the three little balls that rotate steadily around them. It is his turn to look out over the silver ripples coming from the river, as his lips press together and frown. “I know.” He finally says in a soft voice because he does. He misses them all too.
The weight of her vulnerability seems to coax out his own and he feels the throb of that headache starting its steady beating against his skull again, the ache in his chest that threatens to break him apart if he has that same terrible thought about Aela. “You haven’t told me about your family. What are they like?” He finally asks her, careful with the choice of words he uses as he finally turns his attention back to her. Looking for signs of what she might be feeling and how he might help... Even as that shadowy voice reminds him that his kindness is a shallow excuse for what truly lurked in his own temperamental soul.
No promises, he says with that same guileful grin she has grown to covet and Lillibet returns the expression with a small, dismissive shrug of her shoulders. “You never know, I might like it.” But it’s the last coy thing she will say to him, at least for now, as her mind decides to take a turn to something heavier. Something she usually shies away from. But there is an intimacy in their meeting, in the dark of the night that is illuminated only by their glow and his circling, roiling flames. Despite her early statements to the contrary, there is something about Fyr that makes her feel safe. Perhaps it is only because they share some of their trauma, but she will take what she can get.
Her confession goes unanswered for a time, but Pangea’s sovereign does not rush the leopard-spotted stallion. Vulnerability is not easy for either of them, this much she knows, and even voicing what she had feels like a lot. When finally Fyr responds, his voice quiet and just for her, she takes another sidestep closer to him in camaraderie and comfort. Not close enough to be singed - though now, when only smoke spools up from his dorsal, she thinks she may be safe - but close enough to feel the heat of him against her ivory side.
She suspects that their conversation will end at his confession, that they will linger in silence and dwell in the feeling of missing those they love and find some sort of catharsis in it. But it doesn’t, and Fyr’s question catches her off guard. For a moment, Lillibet’s lips purse and her ears flick to half-mast, but she pushes through her own instinct to avoid the question and eventually finds it in herself to speak of them.
She starts with Oceane and her undying desire to promote peace and safety, her dedication to diplomacy, and Lillibet’s own desire to be involved in nothing of the sort. She confides in him about the moments she had shared with Oceane when the former Loessian Queen would speak with the wildlife and tell Lillibet of their lives, whether they be a serpent or rodent, or one of the wild dogs who’d called the foothills home. She tells him next of Ledger and her father’s sweetness despite the rugged way he looks on the outside, of his dedication to teaching her to fight despite her lack of magical ability, and about the loyalty with which he always stands by Oceane no matter where her decisions may lead them.
Mostly, though, she avoids talking about their abilities. She does not trust that, even now, she can speak about the magic her family holds that she does not without some form of bitterness taking hold of her voice.
“Link, though,” she tells him as her throat catches, “Link has always been my best friend. I would say we are pretty similar. He, um….” She clears her throat and returns her gaze to the river before attempting to blink away the tears from her golden eyes, “Well, he’s always been there when I’ve needed him. I couldn’t ask for a better brother.”
I do not want to move mountains;
I want the mountains to see me coming
and to crumble.
Silence is not something he has ever been uncomfortable with. Aela had seen that in him and had known exactly what wisdom and advice to give him to enhance this natural feature about himself. It wasn’t so different from the parenting Lilybee’s father had also given her, the power of observation in his long years as a diplomat.
Sometimes silence was the best gentle push you could give someone to spill all their little secrets, their private pain, the things that make them tick. The ammunition you might need to destroy them. Give them the room of silence, the space of saying nothing, and one can’t seem to help themselves to fill it. Of course his mother had other things in mind when she had schooled him in this topic but he found it could apply to a matter of situations and with her, this is no different.
Except Lillibet seems just as comfortable in the quiet stillness of their moments together and he doesn’t expect her to answer his question at all. He’s come to find in the short time of knowing her that the young Crown of Pangea tended to always do the opposite of what he expected. It was one of the many things that he was growing to like about her. The pause extends and for a brief moment, with her as close as she is, he wonders if his skin might steam if she brushed her damp body against his own. He hesitates, considering closing that very small gap between them.
And then she begins to speak and he realizes that his mother’s teachings held merit once again. There is no interrupting on his end as she begins to describe her parents and he listens, rather fascinated, at the descriptions of them she gives. Speaking of Oceane only reminds him, with a pang of longing and grief, of his own mother. Speaking of Ledger brings flashes of images of a golden stallion who looks much like himself and there is a bright streak of green envy that curls around his inflamed heart. It stays, intensifies even, when she begins to speak of her brother.
What would it have been like if his birth mother hadn’t spurned him? Could he have had that same nuclear family that Lillibet had? What would it be like to have a sibling that you could share everything with? There had been a hope, back in the golden days of living amongst the unruly wildflowers, when Sickle had been brought to live with them that maybe she would end up being his new sister. Part of him had hoped that Aela had brought her for him, had somehow seen that secret desire nestled so far inside of him that he had never voiced aloud. It wasn’t that Aela wasn’t enough, she was. She was the best mother he could ever hope for, ever want. Still, he had started life in a lonely way and it followed him… Despite the ghosts that he could summon or the flames that were his constant companions. It still lurked even when he had met Liesma and other friends along the way.
When he had told Sickle in the Ruins that he had wanted her to stay (“I would have kept you” unable to leave his mouth and expose such a vulnerable desire), it hadn’t been a lie.
His pale skull turns to look at her and catches the shine in her golden eyes. It surprises him then, that it hurts him to see her that way. In an instant, he drops the last remaining signs of his flames and then it is just them, the chill, the darkness, and the moonlight that strengthens his golden glow. “Lilybee.” He murmurs as he hesitates for only a second more and then presses his spotted shoulder to her pale one. “We will find them.” He says roughly, his own throat constricted with thick emotion. And while he knows what it might cost him, that it might mean taking an avenue he truly doesn’t want to take, he doesn’t hesitate when his muzzle swings to her neck and nudges her gently. “I promise.”
To Fyr’s credit, he doesn’t goad her into answering his question. The silence between them grows and grows, but never does he poke or prod the silent, pensive Lillibet. It’s not long before she stops noticing their surroundings, her thoughts instead trapped in her gold-striped head. She’d never taken the time to describe her family aloud. Had never had someone ask. Most of those she had interacted with prior to the sinking of the South had known her parents by name, had dealt with one or both of them in some way, and therefore did not need the young Princess of Sylva to explain who they were.
When she does answer, finally verbalizing the jumbled thoughts in her mind, Fyr proves himself a diligent listener. Little by little, Lillibet finds herself more and more enthralled by what hides beneath the surface of the fire-wielder at her side. For now, she pushes the thought away and only barely registers the flames that dissipate as she concludes her soliloquy. They stand in near darkness, illuminated only by themselves, and accompanied only by the soft flow of the river before them. The ethereal woman blinks quickly in hopes of clearing her golden ees of their glistening, but fails before he notices. The dappled man sidles closer, his shoulder pressed against hers in support as her given nickname lingers softly at the tip of his tongue. Lillibet sighs, leans into him.
He vows that they will find her family and Lillibet does not miss the gruffness of his voice that has never been there before. Instead of drawing attention to it by connecting her eyes with his, Lillibet looks down at the dust beneath their hooves and simply enjoys the feel of his warm muzzle against her and the whispered promise that follows.
It’s another long while before the crown of Pangea breaks the silence between them hesitantly, not wanting to ruin the surreality of this moment between them. ”And your family, Fyr? What of them?” He had only ever spoken of Aela, and she had never asked for more. But if there is a good time to ask, she will never find it. And right now seems like the best opportunity she’ll ever get.
I do not want to move mountains;
I want the mountains to see me coming
and to crumble.
There had been a thought that it might feel strange. Having Lilybee lean against him, that is. Part of him had wondered if she might start to sizzle the moment he made contact, if by merely touching him would turn her aflame. That was silly of course, Aela had touched him many times but she, too, was also a fire wielder of sorts. He is both relieved and disappointed when she simply settles against him, unharmed. There is an itch building at his neck, the flames of anxiety longing to spiral unchecked along his shoulders but he resists the call. Instead, he tries to focus on the sound of her soft breathing, the gentle rush of water before them, the tension in his muscles that begins to unclench as he becomes more comfortable with the situation he’s found himself in.
The silence returns and he finds it even more peaceful than before, now that she leans into him. It’s becoming difficult to ignore the glint of her golden markings, the clean fresh scent of her that floods his nostrils and stirs something primal and confusing. The itch is becoming unbearable, much like that constant throb in the back of his head, but he finds a way to release it without harming her or moving her.
Over the surface of the river, he sends his flames. They spread and grow until they follow every bend and curve before them. Then his fire begins to sprout until the river hosts a blanket of enflamed wildflowers that spark and smoke and mirror what he had once seen at home. A trick he had mastered since he had first tried in the Forest with Firion or back in the annihilated field of flowers he had kept in the Pampas. It seems fitting then, that she asks about his family. A muscle spasms across his chest and through his shoulder but he stays put, keeping his yellow gaze firmly on the river of floral fire before him. “Aela is my only family.” He starts but halts, because it’s not exactly true.
“She adopted me when I was very young.” He says quietly after a long pause. He had never spoken about this before with anyone. Not even Liesma. So it becomes difficult to proceed and there is tension in his voice when he finally continues. “My mother didn’t want me and left me in the Den, she found me there.” He leaves out the reason of why. Why he had been abandoned and how awful his time in the adoption den had been. “I suppose if I had any family besides her it would be the others of the Pampas. Obscene, Skander… All of them.” And that is a truth in itself but he hesitates again. There is still something else.
“I’ve met my father a few times. At least, Aela believed him to be my father.” Fyr, now, believed it too. It was shameful really how he had denied it before, deflecting in ignorance. To look at Firion was to look at Fyr and vice versa. They were different enough but the similarities were too many to be denied. “He taught me how to do this. Except with shadows instead of fire.” He ends quietly, giving only a slight gesture of his muzzle in the direction of the flickering flowers.
The flames that emanate from Fyr and dance across the inky black surface of the river are beautiful, and his control over them helps, too, grow the flame of jealousy that curls in her stomach. Its reappearance is sudden and misplaced, taking away from the new closeness she feels for the fire-wielder in a way that is unfair to him. It’s not Fyr’s fault that she had been born nearly devoid of magic, or that he had been lucky enough to be granted it. Lillibet tries her best to temper the green monster inside herself and listens adamantly to the dapple stallion as he continues unfettered and unaware of her inner turmoil.
What Fyr reveals soon distracts Lillibet from her personal hang-ups. She thinks of Oceane and Ledger, how supportive they had been during her childhood, and how traumatic it would have been to grow without that. Without them. She presses her shoulder a bit more securely against Fyr’s, turns her gaze to watch his face as he speaks, but does not break her one-sided silence. He does not need her condolences, and furthermore, she does not want to impart the impression that she pities him for his upbringing in any way. He had been lucky that Aela had found him, that the Pampas had become his family.
And then the sea had swallowed it all whole.
Lillibet frowns at the thought before dragging her attention back to Fyr as he tells her of his biological father. A wielder of shadow instead of flame. She wonders who his mother had been, if she had possessed magic capable of razing forests. Her golden eyes return to the water and its spectacle of fiery blooms, this time without jealousy or malice, and lets a quiet sigh fall from her lips.
”I’m just so tired of being hopeful that everyone is still alive." She pauses, knows full well that this new pessimism will do naught to help them or console their worries.
"We should have found them all by now.”
I do not want to move mountains;
I want the mountains to see me coming
and to crumble.
Emotions are not something he can sense, not like his golden mother can. Her inner battle is hers alone and so he tells her what she asks, unaware of the jealousy that spreads like his wildfire within her. There is no bite in his words, one that might have been there if she had expressed her envy. Was the family she missed so dearly worth the price of power? If they had spurned her for simply being what she was… Would she still desire it so badly?
Regardless, the moment does not come. Instead, she presses herself further into him and for a minute he glances down at her, the flames of his uncertainty now spiraling before her from smoldering petals instead of his spine. He braces himself to find pity in her gaze but she looks out to his sea of burning flowers and in the reflection he catches from the corner of her flickering eye… He is relived to see none.
Instead, she voices the thing that has been eating him alive since he had reached the mainland from the Isle. She’s right. They should have found them by now. Swallowing hard, he thinks of how there is one way to find out for sure. That constant buildup in his head, those souls begging to be heard. While some might be able to ignore certain powers, like the angel of Hyaline, this seems something he cannot turn off. No matter how hard he tries to build up the wall, the plaster flakes and the souls refuse to be cast aside.
He can’t do it. He can’t face them, not even for her. Instead, his muzzle tucks beneath her cheek to bring her golden eyes to him. His own flickering yellow ones searching the delicate planes of her face and wanting nothing more in that moment then to take all of her worry for himself. “Maybe we never will.” He finally says, slowly and quietly. It's not something that makes him happy, that thought, but his expression softens slightly despite the harshness of reality. “I’m glad to have at least found you Lillibet.” A hesitant smile spreads across his lips as the fire dies before her and finds its usual home along his spine.
There’s a hefty amount of freedom in voicing her vulnerability to Fyr that Lillibet had not anticipated feeling. Her comment had been sharp, full of anguish and fatigue, and prompted by the safety that the darkness brings. It could have been a pout, were there not so much weight behind it. She truly is exhausted by it all.
She had been taught the merits of authenticity in her youth, but Lillibet’s pride never allowed her to display anything other than unfaltering confidence in the presence of anyone other than Link. To break down today with Fyr, to share with him the raw emotions she feels and can only assume he does too, reminds her that they are still living. And at least they have that.
The Pangean crown tenses up for a moment, almost expecting the fire-wielder to coddle her. To tell her that it will be okay, that their families are still alive. That they will be found. But to her great relief, he doesn’t do that. He confirms what she believes to be their reality, and that feels better than anything else could have.
A quiet sigh falls from her lips and Lillibet presses her ivory maw to his neck for a brief moment before he softens against her, his words turning from something sad to something much happier. His hesitant smile is met with one of her own and the pink of a blush rises against her ivory cheeks as the flames crawl against his spine once more. Lillibet severs the touch between them begrudgingly, her instincts of self-preservation winning over the trust she feels for Fyr.
“And I, you.” Her words are gentle, perhaps even more vulnerable than her confession of exhaustion. “I am thankful for you, Fyr.”
She leaves it at that for a long while as they linger in the dark, before finally she lets a quiet sigh fall from parted lips. “Share a cave with me tonight?” There is no coy grin or playful smirk, only utter exhaustion and the simple need to be near to the one person who truly understands what this pain feels like.
I do not want to move mountains;
I want the mountains to see me coming
and to crumble.
When he had been shunned as a child, alone and avoided in the Den, there had been a time when he had wished he had never been born. Or at least, hadn’t been born with his spirits and his flames. Even after losing so much, he finds he isn’t as desperate as he had once been as that sad lonely colt. Despite the candle of hope that is nearly extinguished, he is not defeated. Experiencing the love and care of a devoted mother, the friendship of Lies and her stars, meeting Sickle and the rest of the Pampas crew, the kindness from an angel… It had changed something in him. It had given him a different kind of hope that perhaps, no matter how terrible he was, Aela had been right after all. There was still a chance to be the kind of terrible HE wanted to be and not what was dictated for him.
Lily’s muzzle presses to his neck, inspiring a flare of orange and red to spiral up towards the sky along his shoulders. She still does not burn, not in the dire way he had once anticipated. The darkness does little to hide her blush, not when they are so close and wrapped in the haze of their mutual glows. His own pale golden cheeks rise with a similar heat as she pulls away and is surprised by how disappointed he is to no longer feel her touch along his dappled skin. Her words are gentle, raw. The hesitance leaves his smile as the familiar silence falls between them.
Only to return at her request. His mouth suddenly feels incredibly dry and he tenses, unsure. The only other being (and female) he had ever slept next to was his mother. He had been on his own now for so long, he had just become accustomed to it. Being alone again. Yet the exhaustion is clear on her face, in her golden eyes, and he finally gives a small nod in acceptance, not trusting in his voice or his words. The dark voice in his head begins to purr with malicious intentions but he is firm on ignoring it. Not tonight. Not with her, if he can help it.
Following her into the cave, he gives her some space and folds his long limbs beneath him awkwardly when he finds a spot to sleep. However, he does not stay away from her for long. Not when he notices the shiver that constantly crawls across her ivory flesh, coaxing him to move close enough to her to exchange mutual heat. Surprisingly, once she is beside him, he easily finds sleep. Not once does he dream of those that were lost, of drowning in a black ocean. It is dreamless and restful, the best slumber he had gotten since the Pampas fell.
