"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
-Oh my love, don't forsake me; Take what the water gave me-
She’d told Amet she would go, so here she is.
Regardless of what had happened in between, (Ischia was something she could relay to Amet later - when her duty underneath him was completed) her scaled King had this in mind when Circinae had slipped the borders of Hyaline and headed south. Nevermind the fact she’d ended up very far north instead, only to double back when things had been settled there.
Portal hopping had its advantages.
Now she waits, navy on green and framed with the backdrop of Hyaline’s impressive mountain range, for the approach of a mare she’s known in passing but longer than most. Heda. What the winged mare had been up to all this time was lost on Circinae, not to mention that it didn’t matter. What did was Loess’ relationship with Hyaline - possibly even other kingdoms - and that is what she intends to speak about when, (or if) she’s ever greeted.
She doesn’t doubt that Gryffen sniffing around shook the Queen into hiding; his sniffing could shake a boulder. What she worries for is Heda’s sanity. Pressed on all sides, perhaps alone and afraid … no, what Heda needed most was friends. “Hello?” The diplomat calls out, fine head tilting aside so that she might clear her vision of dark, interwoven locks.
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
While he had known changes were coming, he had not expected them to arrive so quickly.
Ivar is still coming to terms with exactly what has come to pass in the last day. He’d taken Isobell back to Nerine, made sure she was safe. She’d be safer here, he knows, but the tobiano mare has a frustrating ability to stand up to Ivar. The scaled stallion had given in for reasons beyond his own understanding (she’s probably a witch, that Nerinian princess), and he had come back to find a distraught Heda. For one long breathless moment, Ivar was sure he’d been discovered. But no, it was not a tongue-lashing that she had ready for him (Heda was surely too sweet to raise a hoof against her lover), but rather a confession.
The buckskin mare had never been cut out for the harsh world thrust upon her. Best that she retreat while able, while undamaged. Ivar did not argue her decision, though he selfishly wants her to stay. She has given him something that no one else can, and Ivar is reluctant to let go of such a valuable font of emotion. It is priceless to a creature without many feelings of his own; there is a reason he had so willingly promised to be the sole defender of an entire kingdom.
If he tells himself that this is no different than any visit before, he can handle it.
He is Ivar, after all – prince, kelpie, general, king. This is what he, and his kind, had been bred to do.
“Do you?” He asks curiously, the smooth rumble of his voice colored with amusement that matches the glint in his brown eyes. “Seems more like Ischia – or had you just been visiting recently?”
The knowledge he’d gained in his youthful forays across Beqanna seems all the more valuable now. He knows the difference between the humid salt air of the islands of Ischia and the cool mountains of Hyaline. This green mare with her flowing navy mane smells more recently of the islands, but the salt hasn’t yet sunk into her skin the way it has with Kylin.
“I’m Ivar,” he tells her, knowing that her nose is probably proving her with information as well. The sweat on his well-muscled figure from recent exertion, the not-so-long-ago lover’s embrace with Heda, the bitter salt of a recent brief jaunt to Nerine that he has not yet washed off his piebald scales. “What can I help you with?”
-Oh my love, don't forsake me; Take what the water gave me-
She’s been to places Ivar might never see with his own eyes. The gentle murmur of his initial question, followed in turn by the glint of a knowing stare, turns Circinae’s viridian head slowly - though she does not match his jab with equal humor. “Come there as I’ve come here, and find out for yourself.” She says instead, choosing now to flash a brilliant grin in spite of earlier hesitation.
No; Circinae won’t shift, or choose to divulge in the smells that linger over his odd scales (so much like Amet, yet so different) because unlike Ivar, she never feels threatened in unknown company. There’s too much strength in the arm that juts from the fist of her power: Jah-Lilah, Canaan, Gryffen, Amet … she’s built a repertoire of justice around herself, a literal chain of support who would slaver at the mouth for an opportunity to avenge any wrongdoing against her.
No; Ivar and his questions don’t bother her. In fact, the opposite proves to be true in that they invigorate her. She’s refreshed to be met with such authority and finds herself at odds with the idea that this stallion elicits both respect and distaste from her. He reminds her of Gryffen, in a roundabout way. “Oh, is it like that?” She asks amusedly, ears and attention perking at his offer of help, “I was of the mind that I could help you, not the other way around.” She laughs.
“Perhaps we could walk and talk?” She suggests, relaxing once more as she waits for an invitation. “I’ve yet to really see Loess, it seems to be an off-limits sort of place these days, wouldn’t you agree?”
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
Circine is a powerful queen: well connected, support at every side. Were the kelpie to do her harm he knows that retribution would follow quickly. It would do nothing to turn back time though, and by the hour justice would arrive, the green mare would be long dead. She is fortune then, that Ivar has recently fed, and in turn his kingdom is benefits from her good luck.
She’s helping him already, it seems.
“We’ve been a bit more cautious of late,” he admits without shame, “though I think that’s understandable, given Sylva’s threat to rip out Heda’s throat and force the kingdom to kneel to Gryffen.”
He doesn’t say anything more immediately, but rather steps to the side, gesturing with his head for Circinae to walk on. His brown gaze does not leave her face though; he wonders how forthright the wraith of Sylva has been in his dealings with the rest of the kingdoms. Loess has been at a disadvantage, isolated from the rest of the kingdoms not by distant, but rather by lack of information. They did not interact with the outside world as perhaps they should have, and it has fallen on Ivar to deal with the consequences of decisions that were never in his hands.
“I am curious,” he begins, charming without conscious effort, accompanying the stranger farther into the hills of Loess. “How were you planning on helping me?” She had probably meant the kingdom rather than Ivar himself, but the piebald stallion is not want to leave any stone unprovoked (he enjoys mixing metaphors). “I’m Ivar, by the way. Who are you?”
-Oh my love, don't forsake me; Take what the water gave me-
His comment on Gryffen rouses a robust sort of laugh from the smaller mare.
My, how the white wraith inspired fear! Circinae slips past the mottled stallion at the brief nod of his head, saying only, “Oh, yes … he did mention stopping by here when he came to Hyaline some time ago.” With the quirk of a grin as she grinds Loessian silt beneath her colored hooves. How distant does he think her interests are, that she wouldn’t know her friends and wouldn’t keep her enemies closer? “A sly dog in sheep’s clothing, this one.” She muses, peering over her shoulder to catch the pointed stare Ivar sends.
“Ivar, I can hear when you speak, even though I choose not to respond in kind.” She chuckles softly, once he prompts her for the second time in way of titles. Still, there’s the allure of being near him to distract her from further irritation so she supplies him with an answer anyways. “My name is Circinae, though my friends call me Circy.”
She falls into silence. It’s a lesson, of sorts; when she feels ready to discuss her thoughts she will, but no sooner than she intends and no later than she wants. He lacks patience, persistence - maybe Ivar is simply used to being given what he wants? Her pale blue gaze flicks away from him and out into the expanse of pretty hills. Winter is eager to chill their bones, and Loess serves only to turn those wayward drifts of icy air into hollow wails that cause Circinae to shiver softly as they walk.
“Heda’s father was an interesting man.” She begins at last, “Important to me, perhaps more than she’ll ever be aware of.” The pied mare explains, briefly. “But he and his daughter left on terrible terms and now, they may never have the chance to reprimand what’s been torn.”
The curling steam of a local water source draws her attention; she pauses in a halt and tilts a vibrantly colored head to where the hotsprings wait. “Excuse my boldness but, I feel that Heda’s been lost ever since.” The little Keeper sighs, altering her course for the one paragon of safety she can cling to in this otherwise dry land. Without the water to cradle her, sometimes Circinae feels … trapped. “I came here hoping to find her and what’s more, hoping to find her willing to mend what may be a final thread to her past.”
Her steps tread over rocky inclines and down sloping valleys until, at last, the tips of her fine toes can rest beside a pebbled bank. This time she stops with purpose, neck craning to lift her attention back to Ivar and his comforting presence. “And yet I find you.”
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
Ivar’s memories of the wraith’s visit to Loess do not inspire the same sort of raucous amusement as it seems to elicit in green Circinae, but the scaled stallion remains quiet, only the slight pressing of his pale lips serving as an indication of his reaction. She adds that she can hear him despite her lack of response, and Ivar’s head tilts a bit to the side. Can she really though? She says she’s come to help, but refused an introduction, and while Ivar is doing very well in his role of welcoming host, there is no requirement that he continue.
Whatever he had expected her to say, it is clear from the surprise on his white face that what she does say is not a match.
She speaks of Heda’s past, of the Taiga’s past. His brow furrows – Heda was not the only one to lose someone to the faeries – but that is all. Ivar’s interest in reperations of any sort is minimal (he prefers immediate gratification) but he knows that the navy winged mare has a far deeper font of emotion than Ivar. Perhaps she feels some need to mend whatever it is that Circinae from possibly-not-Hyaline has to say.
Her boldness in claiming that Heda has been lost since her father’s disappearance is met with nothing more than a blink. Have they had many conversations in the after math of Taiga’s fall, his Heda and this Circinae? Have they had any at all? Ivar has never minded the buckskin’s present state of mind; she is desperate for love and affection and Ivar has been more than happy to supply it. The prospect of the balance being upset is slightly concerning, but that is a worry for another time.
He can always win Heda back, after all. She belongs to him.
“You’ll probably find her by that bluff,” he finally says, gesturing to a limestone precipice that seems to almost glow in the bright winter sun. “She’s been spending more time there since she stepped down.” The tobiano assumes that this green mare knows that Heda is queen here, but he does not elaborate further on the matter of rulers. He is standing in front of her, after all, a bold and brawny stallion dallying with a mare known to be sweet and kind and simple.
-Oh my love, don't forsake me; Take what the water gave me-
There was no requirement for her to come here in the first place. Amet had been more than happy to let Loess and her tentative alliance with Hyaline slip into the cracks, but Circinae had suggested other courses of action because she believed herself capable of dealing with Heda.
With Heda, perhaps, but with this Ivar? She thinks not.
Loess seems intent on never learning from her mistakes.
“Ah, I see.” Circinae says, glancing easily away from the mottled stallion and out once more into the brief expanse of water gifted to them. “Then I suppose there’s nothing left to mend, is there?” She smiles, tail flicking sweetly at her colored sides. Her foreleg shifts, she drops one hoof into the depths and begins to summon a watery sort of gate. “Amet will be expecting word of this -” She says, voice rising over the sucking gurgle of her growing creation.
“- would you like to come with, Ivar?” The Dual-toned mare offers, glancing back to him with the hint of a challenge in her gaze. Does fear slip into his dreams at night? “Oh not this one, no not this one.” She smirks to herself. “It doesn’t hurt, I promise.” She says, her other hoof reaching forward to join its twin. “And scouts honor you’ll be back before nightfall.” Circy tempts once more, eager to see him so bold as he was before.
Does he trust his instinct to belittle her, or does he give in to the enticing promise of new beginnings? He could discover her, if he wanted - get to know the little mare who seems to push his buttons and is pushed in return - or he could stay. One choice was as simple as the other.
I V A R i'll use you as a makeshift gauge of how much to give and how much to take
Circinae had mentioned Heda’s father and sister, their disappearance and a link to the past. She had wanted to mend something, and now that Heda is no longer a ruler that interest is gone. She is from Hyaline – does she mean the alliance between the mountain kingdom and Loess? Surely she does not – the Dragon King he knows would not willingly take the title of Oath-Breaker.
“That depends,” he answers, “on if you came here to mend things with Heda or with Loess.”
Most rulers enjoy their position. They have gained it through hard work or excessive cruelty, sometimes even by luck. They tend to want to hold on to the power they have, and so they must deliberate before acting. They must be prepared, must have foresight. Ivar, who lives in the moment, does not give a damn for what the future might hold. The stallion lives in the here and now, and for that very reason he is less inclined to hesitate when faced with a new adventure.
This meeting has probably been a diplomatic disaster, but Ivar is full and bored. He is always searching for the next best thing.
She asks if he wants to come in, and he has never declined an invitation into the water. The odd vortex is something novel, but he has no fear.
“Where to?” He asks. He meets her gaze squarely, but there is no challenge in his brown eyes; there is very little of anything at all. The hunt is what invigorates him; without lust or rage to drive him he is free to drift from one curiosity to another. When the hunger returns (as it always does) he will hunt wherever he finds himself.
kelpie mimicry | dragon scales | tactile hypnosis minimal grullo tobiano king of loess
-Oh my love, don't forsake me; Take what the water gave me-
“Both.” She tells him with flat certainty. “The only difference is that one matter is personal, while the other is a topic best discussed among those who matter.”
There, is that what he’d like her to say? He wants acknowledgement quite fiercely, this new paragon of royalty, and she indulges by lumping him into the latter category. It will be the closest she comes to admitting his power, for now. Respect is something garnered over time - they’re not doing so well in the current moment but, in the months to come, who’s to say it won’t end up being beneficial for both parties?
She sighs with a lighthearted smile when he questions their destination. “To Hyaline, of course.” She scoffs, easing down into the swirling portal, “Or didn’t you hear me the first time?”
