I know this hurts (it was meant to); ANY

[magnus]

we all carry these things that no one else can see
they hold us down like anchors; they drown us out at sea

Everything is the same and yet different—even the air is unusual. Magnus sighs heavily, feeling the weight of his loss, of his failures press onto his shoulders. He had not lived a particularly long life, but it had been an eventful one—and, unfortunately, so many of those events had been deeply disappointing. He had been a failure as a King, as a father, and, worst of all, to Joelle. He had let her down again and again, never living up to her expectations of him. She had deserved everything good in the world; he had just never been able to deliver that to her. All he had given her was pain. And when it had come time to defend her, he had fallen.

The memories are wraiths around him, and he can practically feel them on his skin. Shifting uncomfortably, he glances up and then stops cold. Magnus does not trust himself to move, to speak, to do anything but watch the now grown stallion approach him. His gold-flecked eyes burn bright and the muscles in his jaw twitch, but it is the only sign that he had even noticed the other. It had been years (lifetimes and deaths) since he had seen Ledger, but he would have known the other anywhere.

The buckskin stallion doesn’t speak at all until his son does, and when he finally responds, his voice is gravely and thick with emotion: “Son.” Taking an unsteady step forward, and then another, he reaches toward the stallion and wraps his neck around him, drawing him close to him. Ledger may now be grown, but he would always be the young, fearful colt that he saw in his memories. He would always be that boy with questions in his eyes; the one who seemed so unsure that he was deserving of love.

Feeling the world right itself, Magnus takes a deep breath and exhales, finally pulling away from his son. “Alright, let me take a look at you.” He nudges him with his nose, the smile ghosting around his lips the first genuine happiness that he had felt since crawling out of the saltwater. He is about to speak again when the mare approaches. Closing his mouth, he tilts his head toward her, obsidian-tipped ear swiveling in her direction. Had he known that she was a granddaughter of Librette, perhaps his heart would have raced. Instead, all he feels is the familiar pull of politeness, that old tug of manners.

“Indeed, we are,” he says smoothly, surprised at how quickly it came back to him—the years and years of Kingdom training falling back into place with familiar clicks. “Just a happy reunion.” His golden gaze flickers toward Ledger before it moves back to the magician before him, “My name is Magnus.” There is silence for a moment as he considers her, eyes lingering on the jewels of her cheek and the silvery shimmer of his eye, but he had never been particularly drawn to magical things. He had lived his entire life without traits of any kind—relying simply on his own grit and muscle to power through. Magnus liked to think of himself as a simple man. The world could have their tricks. He just wanted the quiet.

MAGNUS

once king. once general. once dead.