"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
He was a failure as a leader, and he is no longer afraid to admit it. He was upset when Eight came out of nowhere to dethrone him—who wouldn’t be?—but he has long since accepted that. He had only stayed because he had hoped his grey lady would return to him, and she had! She came back and blessed him with a beautiful daughter, only to vanish again, leaving their golden girl—and him—behind. That was the final straw and he, too, abandoned the kingdom he loved. Eight came along after him to pick up the pieces he had shattered his kingdom into. He is not ashamed anymore of his kingship. He has done nothing to be ashamed of.
Aside from abandoning their newborn daughter. He has no idea if the child had survived infanthood—he almost wishes that she has perished. There is nothing worse than leaving a child for dead. If she has survived, she has grown up alone in a harsh world. Hopefully she isn’t in the Valley still, but he wouldn’t be surprised if she were drawn to the kingdom of her birth; she is royalty, after all. He isn’t sure, though. She was a stubborn foal and she probably wouldn’t have liked Eight too much. The thought brings a half-smile to his face. She deserves to be happy, wherever she is. Alive or dead, he wants nothing but the best for his only daughter. He has abandoned everything he has ever cared for, yet still he wonders if she remembers him. If the Valley remembers him.
He misses home, but he cannot go back.
He can never go back.
It’s already been half a decade since he last looked upon his kingdom as its king, and he misses it more than he rightfully should. He still remembers the day he had stormed into Kindling’s declaration, claiming the Valley as his and not hers. They had hated each other those first few days, but it hadn’t taken them long to convince Frejya (unbeknownst to him, his half-sister through the former ruler of a neighboring kingdom) that the kingdom was theirs for the taking. They had worked to build the kingdom back up from the deathly silence it had fallen into under the previous rule. The Valley had been theirs. He had power and a woman he convinced to love him. He had enemies—don’t they all?—and those he dared call friends.
He has no thirst for power anymore. He lost that thirst when he lost Kindling (again). He cannot count the number of times she has slipped through the cracks like water tumbling down a streambed. There has been no trace of her in the six years since he’s seen her last; she might not even be alive anymore. He cannot stand the thought… there’s no way she could’ve died—he would’ve known, somehow. Their fates are too intertwined. She, like him, has just vanished. That’s all that has happened to them. He may live the rest of his life alone, but it is better than living alone and knowing that the light of his life is dead. Because she’s alive.
The fallen are numerous, they scatter across Beqanna in different shapes and sizes. But they all have that one thing in common, they have all fallen from grace in one way or another. The jaguar mare knows a thing or two about being a disgrace, when others look her way and whisper to each other. Bad things, curious things, confused things. Most don’t recognize her but think of her as another washed up old cat, a Grizabella of her time. She’s barely aged much and in the looks department she’s still quite stunning. The lack of her confidence, not knowing who or what she is anymore, is what makes her seem weathered.
She too had thought she couldn’t go back. But she did. Whatever courage she had left, she gathered. Whatever pride that remained, she swallowed. And back to the jungle she went, simply because she hoped it wouldn’t spit her back out. So far it hadn’t. Yet she was here in the Meadow. Most of her time was spent here now. The jungle wasn’t the same, she wasn’t the same. Lost cub in the body of an adult predator. Her golden eyes lacked spark, her spirit lacked purpose. It had been so long since she had been touched, since she had felt any range of emotions. It was definitely hard being in the jungle where she seemed to hover between reality and the past. Hard to not turn her head when someone called for the Khaleesi, the title still as familiar to her as her own name but it wasn’t hers to claim anymore. She hadn’t been the worse ruler to fall. At least she had built her kingdom to something, drudged it up from silence, before she had fallen silent herself. The time of her ruling was still sprinkled in the kingdom of now, the dothraki hierarchy for one thing. Yes, she had left her mark. She hadn’t been completely forgotten or worthless.
Returning to the jungle though…. It may have been a mistake. There was something coming, she could feel it, and maybe the tides would turn. For now, she considers the thought that she’s once again made a bad choice. All that really matters to her now is putting herself back together and confronting the past that had torn her apart to begin with. The Meadow is her solace, winter calling to her. So strange that she sought out the cold when she had spilt her blood for the heat. Of fire and brimstone they had said of her. But the cold was soothing. It reminded her of the boy of stone, the one that had first broken her heart. The very first piece of her puzzle that wouldn’t fit back together again. It’s been years since his death, his bones decaying along with his lovers on the sands of the beach. How odd that he can still have this effect on her. Lion is always pacing in the back of her mind as well, more absorbing than her granite man. He haunts her every step. Involuntarily, her muscles shudder at the thought of him. It’s taken her a long time to accept how much of a toll he had taken on her. They both hadn’t realized it.
Golden eyes search for a distraction, constantly wanting something to take her mind off these ghosts, and she sees him. A forlorn figure but what draws herself towards him is the expression on his face. She can’t place her finger on what exactly it is but she understands it. So with her prowling gait, she comes to him. ”Would you like company or would you rather be alone?” Maybe she should leave him be, after all she had quite the history of disappearing. As if he needed to meet someone else who could pull that vanishing act. Though she would do her best not to, not this time.
Oxy does not consider himself one of the fallen, though he supposes everyone else will look at him as such. He had abandoned his kingdom, after all… but he had also brought it back from the brink of total death. Frejya had been slowly poisoning the Valley with her silence and he (and Kindling) had rescued it from her. She had tried to fight them for the right to the crown, but she had no hold over the kingdom anymore. It had been theirs for the taking, and taken it they had. They had breathed life back into the kingdom; they had saved her.
He had promised fire to the people of the Valley; she is known as the burning kingdom for a reason. Some had seemed to be unhappy about their takeover, but no one tried to stop them. They belonged there as much as anyone else and Kindling’s mere name had suggested that they would set the Valley ablaze. She was destined to burn and Oxy was just making sure to fulfill an unspoken promise. Had they succeeded in stoking the flames? For a while, they certainly had. When Smolder came along, the Valley smoldered as well. The flames started to die out and so did Oxy’s ambition to help their burning. He had tried to restart the fires by himself but it was useless. Kindling had taken every bit of motivation with her when she vanished. He had grown too dependent on the little grey mare.
His younger self would scoff if he knew what had befallen the still young once-King. A fall from grace? No way. His destiny was far too great for that. As a colt with no name and no family, he had promised himself greatness. It was what he deserved for having no one to raise him. Greatness was his entire mantra.
Falling in love? Having children?
Nonsense.
He is quite alone when the woman finds him and he watches her with a cautious eye. He is not afraid—he has no reason to ever be afraid of anyone—but it has been a long time since he has felt the desire to communicate (but he must have returned for a reason, no?). She carries herself with a sort of regal air that he would expect of a Queen, but she also smells faintly of the Jungle and he knows that Scorch is still Khaleesi there. Former royalty? Perhaps, but she looks too young—Scorch has been Queen for as long as Oxy can remember (probably longer than that, even!). But what does it matter? Maybe she was a queen once. She is just looking for a conversation, too.
A brief moment passes before he remembers to be courteous and respond. “I have been alone for nearly a decade, my dear,” he tells her with a wry smile. His voice has deepened with age and he doesn’t sound the same as he did six years ago. He likes to imagine that he’s matured mentally as well. Pffft. “It will be nice to have some company, no matter how brief.
