Age has changed him in many ways, but not fundamentally.
His time in space hasn’t shaken him to his core. His foundation does not tremble with the weight of everything he’s done since he’s seen Ea last.
Some facets about him are different, of course, but they’re mostly physical. For one, Ramiel can become the walking, talking dead. He can wear death as an opaque shield. He can visit the souls trapped on the Other Side; he can walk through trees and float high above the hills. He can hide in the light of day, an invisible specter to everyone around him. He can do all of these things, but inside, he is very much the boy she knew from the meadow, all those years ago.
The same, stoic lines are etched into his face. Too many hours standing and pondering life have left him with settled features. He’s still stubborn and strong; the balance of right and wrong constantly tilt his heart one way or another. He’s also prideful. The greying stallion knows of his own worth, knows that he is meant to be exactly where he is right now – what the Dale and its people need. He knows that he’s a thinker trapped in a capable, fighter’s body. He knows that Carnage is weaker than the world thinks him to be. Their god of the abyss who couldn’t even save his woman from the world’s end – what kind of god is that?
He’s less changed than perhaps he looks, less changed than Ea thinks he is. She, however, is another story.
She must be different, because the girl he’d met with Joscelin had been absolute iron. The silver roan filly hadn’t smiled at (admittedly) juvenile and feeble jokes or joined in on Girr’s boisterous play. She had been curious and bright, and that had been enough to elicit Ramiel’s own interest in her. Now, she is softer, sweeter. It seems completely out of place and character. The young king wonders if it isn’t her design. Is Scorch pulling the strings of her daughter, acting as a puppet-master to reign in her unconventional princess? He doesn’t like the thought of it. What had drawn him to her as a girl (who has blossomed into a striking woman, he thinks) is now totally absent in her as an adult.
He’s glad she’s come, at least. Maybe whatever walls she’s built will crumble in her time here – maybe he will help her tear them down. “Of course,” he answers easily, as she touches his shoulder with her muzzle. Ea’s discomfort in the gesture radiates from the point of contact. Ramiel knows what a loving, warm touch feels like (his mother, his father, his sister) and hers’ is void of either. His golden eyes search her own strange eyes. They’re so close that she can’t possibly turn away without revealing how uncomfortable she truly is. “But I want the real Ea here. We need her strength.” He’s not unkind when he says it, but his voice is firm. She’s no use to them trying to play a part she is unable to. He returns her touch anyway, his nose pressing against the hollow of her shoulder before he withdraws. Ramiel tilts his head away, acknowledging the land stretching away behind them. He wonders if she’ll grow to love it like he does or if she’ll miss the humid Sisterhood.
“This place needs some of that famous Amazon fire,” he grins. Anything to light a fire under our asses. It’s steadily growing, at least. They have a loyal core - that’s always been the case –it’s the expanding that’s been the problem. He desperately wants it, though, and hopes Ea will help too. The promise of their parents still lingers in the back of his mind; he does not forget that at one time, they were practically betrothed. He can’t bring himself to mention it, however. She likely has a line of suitors, besides. “Tell me about the Jungle.” He ought to make the trip to their only ally, but one of their princess’s will have to do for now. “How loyal are they? Will they have our backs if the need arises?” And it might sooner than any of them think, if the stirrings of unrest are true.
Ramiel
ghost king of the dale