"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
Here is a thing he is not accustomed to: confusion.
He has always known his purpose laid in protecting Tephra. And he had failed to do that when Gale had taken up the throne, shrouding his home in nightmares.
He had gone to the magician then, though there appeared to be nothing any of them could do to combat this specific darkness. There had always been some reprieve in her company, though, the plant magician so like his own mother. (Though it had never occurred to him to look at her as a mother figure when she had only ever been his friend.)
In the peace that had followed Gale’s departure there had been a kind of peace. And now.
Now it feels like things have been disrupted as if by some great upheaval. The throne stands empty and he does not consider himself powerful enough to take up the helm. He had been born a soldier, not a ruler.
He wanders now, aimless, rootless. He will always remain here in Tephra, the only place he has ever called home, the place where his magic is tethered.
But he finds her, Isilya, just as he had intended to. And he smiles when he sees her, as he always has. He draws in a long breath and glances around the landscape that unfurls around them before he speaks.
“What will we do now, Isilya?” he asks, as if she holds all of the answers. Answers that he might never catch a glimpse of.
YOU REMIND ME WHO I WAS AND WHO I WANT TO BE
YOU REMIND ME THOUGH NOT WHOLE, I’M NOT EMPTY
yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene her purest of crystal and brightest of green
Like during the eclipse, Isilya had done what she could to negate Gale’s presence. Unlike the darkness, it could not be solved by crafting birds out of lanterns. She had to settle with carving out a small portion of the jungle where the nightmares could not enter. Where they were turned away by her love and her happiness that she so easily radiated. It only worked within a certain range, and she had done her best to avoid the darker magician lest he try to snuff it out.
She was reasonably sure of her ability to elude capture but Isilya has never had to fight for her life before.
The shimmering mare is not the only warden of this jungle, and she smiles when she sees the other approach - glad to see Savior made it through the recent turmoil unharmed. The flowers that bloom down her spine turn to deep purples and rich reds, a joke with herself that she’s become fond of - decorating herself to match whoever she’s talking to.
The brightness of her expression fades to something softer at his question. “We’ll do what we’ve always done, Savior. We’ll protect what we can of our home.” There’s a small pause, where her green and gold gaze considers him. “Tephra will need a new ruler.” It’s a gentle, though not very subtle, nudge to get his thoughts on the matter. She’d been queen before and was more content with her current status as gardener and occasional life-coach.
’twas not her soft magic of streamlet or rill oh! no, it was something more exquisite still
Perhaps there had been some small part of him that had suspected he would find the answer in her.
He has never fancied himself anyone worthy of this specific kind of power. And yet.
And yet, when she says it out loud, it becomes perfectly clear.
He studies her pale face and then the flowers that bloom along her spine as they take on new color, color he recognizes as belonging to him, and perhaps he finds some answer in this, too.
He smiles, though there is something in it reserved. As if he does not want to appear too eager in a moment like this.
(Not that he has ever been eager for power, Savior, no, it has never occurred to him at all.)
He turns then to study the horizon again, the beautiful landscape, their home. He swallows thickly as he pulls his focus back to her face and tilts his head a fraction, the smile lingering still.
“I don’t suppose you’d be interested,” he says and then exhales a breath of laughter. The heaviness has gone now, lifted free of his shoulders by his understanding that perhaps things were always meant to go this way.
His breathing turns sideways as the gravity of the situation settles around them. Still, there is that same fear of failing Tephra and all of those who call it home. He considers it a long moment and then exhales another soft, shuddering sigh.
“Do you think I’m capable?” he asks and squares her with a surprisingly vulnerable gaze.
YOU REMIND ME WHO I WAS AND WHO I WANT TO BE
YOU REMIND ME THOUGH NOT WHOLE, I’M NOT EMPTY
yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene her purest of crystal and brightest of green
Isilya laughs too when Savior brings up whether she is interested, and she’s shaking her head though they both already know the answer. Although she regrets that she didn’t intervene when the jungle got quiet, or when the nightmares took over, she is sure that her role in this kingdom is meant to be a more passive one.
That quiet grin grows into something far sunnier when Savior asks her opinion and she is quick with her reply. “I do.” Her voice is sweet and sincere - which probably isn’t surprising, Isilya isn’t sure she’s ever spoken so much as a white lie. “I have complete faith in you. It’ll be good, I think, to have a king with some teeth.” Her grin grows even more as she says this.
Isilya had been a decent queen in a quiet time and that had suited her. But now, the invasion of nightmares into their home reminded her that there are some threats to which is not well suited to fight. Her strengths lie elsewhere.
Besides, it wasn't like he would be entirely on his own.
“And while these trees still stand, I’ll be around to help however I can.”
’twas not her soft magic of streamlet or rill oh! no, it was something more exquisite still
It means something, he realizes, to hear her say that she has faith in him. It means even more than he might have expected it to. But he respects her, not only as a mage, but as a friend, and her opinion holds a considerable amount of weight.
Still, there is the glimmer of uncertainty in the pit of his gut. He has never once considered what it might be like to take the helm. But she had been queen for some time and he studies her pale face briefly before drawing in a long breath and turning to stand beside her, surveying the landscape instead.
It has been quiet in Gale’s absence and he is grateful for that. He swallows and nods in the wake of her promise. They have much in common, the two of them, though she is more powerful than he could ever hope to be.
“I’m counting on you not to let me fail,” he says with a sly grin, something like teasing in his tone. But then he releases a breath, his grin fading into something more resolute. He will do it because he can see no other choice. He cannot let Tephra fall into the hands of darkness again.
He shakes his head, something somber settling over him as they stand there together in the silence that follows. “I’ll do it,” he murmurs, thinking of the promise he’d made Casimira. He shifts his focus back to Isilya and asks, “is it normal to be this afraid?”
YOU REMIND ME WHO I WAS AND WHO I WANT TO BE
YOU REMIND ME THOUGH NOT WHOLE, I’M NOT EMPTY
yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene her purest of crystal and brightest of green
It would be nice if Isilya was someone who would step in if Savior seemed to be failing, but the truth was she probably wouldn’t. She hadn’t done anything when Wishbone and Warden had disappeared, after all. Perhaps she should have, perhaps in some ways it was her responsibility to do so, but it also wasn’t in her nature to truly regret her inactions.
She’s far better at being a guide, a minor relief in dark times, than she is at being someone who intervenes.
But Isilya grins back at Savior all the same. No promises come out about this, but she means what she had said before. If she could help, that is what she would do.
His next question softens her expression again but the smile remains and the answer is easy to come to her gentle tongue. "Yes. If you weren’t afraid, I would be worried about our fate. The fact that you are, means that you know this is important." And because it does not bother her one bit to share this, she adds - "I was afraid too, when your mom asked me to take over."
’twas not her soft magic of streamlet or rill oh! no, it was something more exquisite still
It soothes him perhaps more than he might have expected it would.
To hear her say that his fear means that he understands the gravity of the situation.
To hear her say that she had been afraid once, too.
(And in doing so, she reminds him that this was always in his blood. His mother had stood at the helm once, too.)
While he finds tremendous comfort in knowing these things, they hardly slow the rattle of his pulse. An unsteady pulse that speaks of the marble of fear sunk deep in his gut. His breathing is thin, shallow, as he turns his gaze to the horizon again.
There is a slight tremor in his knees, a quiver in his lips. But he smiles, even if just barely. He smiles because he understands that they will bring Tephra back into the light. He understands that Gale will be a footnote in their history, a dark spot that tried to stain their home but failed to leave any real lasting mark.
And, again, he draws his focus back to Isilya.
“Tephra is fortunate to have you,” he says and he means it with every ounce of conviction he has, “we all are. We always have been.”
YOU REMIND ME WHO I WAS AND WHO I WANT TO BE
YOU REMIND ME THOUGH NOT WHOLE, I’M NOT EMPTY
