we are aching bones and wasted years; exemplary

[magnus]

you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me

Magnus did not understand boredom—he was built to work, worked himself to the bone to distract himself from the pain—but he understand restlessness. He understood the need to wander. It was that same desire, although perhaps exaggerated, that had made him give up his throne. That and a burning guilt that he could not ignore. It was that same need to leave that forced his hand.

But, in the end, he knew what he had done. He had run.

So he maybe does not empathize completely with her statement, but he sympathizes, and it shows in the lacerated angles of his smile. “New can be good,” is all he says in his whiskey tones, his voice husky and deep and full of things unsaid. It was the voice of someone who had seen a lot—some would argue too much. It was the voice of a son, a lover, a soldier, and a King who had failed those he had loved. It was, at the end of the day, someone who knew that new could be good because it meant a fresh start. And more than anyone, Magnus knew that a fresh start was sometimes all that you had to cling to in life.

“How is new working out for you so far?” he jokes lightly, gold-flecked eyes flashing with humor. This was easy for him; this is where he shined. Although he was a warrior at heart, he had always loved taking time to meet others—and he particularly enjoyed the company of mares. He was, after all, raised in the jungle amongst the best of them. He loved their softness and their coyness and their hard angles. They were intriguing; even if she did not recognize it, she was too. She just couldn’t see it yet.

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.