12-30-2015, 04:15 PM
it is not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves
He is ill prepared for this situation, and who could be? Yet, it would seem that death is not quite as permanent for some as it is for others. Magnus stands beside his son, and he smells of life where there should be the stench of death. He smells of home. Fiero can remember days in the sunlight of Heaven’s Gates, back when his mother and father reigned. He remembers staying until he could no longer. Those early years were full of pretending for the sake of his sister, Lylah. He wonders silently if his entire life has been an act, because here he stands in the same Meadow that has been here for centuries, with a dead man, and an unknown son, and somehow it seems more believable than anything he has ever known.
“If I would have known, I would have come for you.” The unquestioning happiness he feels at his father’s embrace lingers for a small while, before guilt creeps in. The words bring in a heavy sadness to his eyes. Months ago, Fiero had mistaken his father’s scent for a trick, a ghost. Instead of believing that he could be alive, Fiero had shunned the possibility, and sulked away in the Meadow, where he did not have to pretend - where he did not have to be strong for anyone. The realization that Magnus’ scent had been very real, that Fiero could have found him, but didn’t, cuts him to his core.
He simply says, “I know.” and smiles despite his guilt. He has always been a good pretender.
But, there is so much more left to reveal. While Magnus has been beneath ocean waves, Fiero has been beneath an ocean of ignorance. Here, a fully grown stallion stands, that is clearly his own son.
Of course, he remembers Vineine. He remembers her as the scent of honeysuckle, and the taste of salty skin. He nearly chokes on the sweetness as he remembers where he stands. Memories come flooding, like saltwater into lungs. He drowns in these revelations, as the fire of dusk slowly fades into cool blues, and grays.
“I do know her.” He says slowly, carefully. He watches his son as he stares at the ground. To say he has never wondered about the possibilities of he and Vineine’s consummation would be a lie. The truth is spoken here more clearly than words now, and Fiero finds some sort of resolve. The tender foal-hood years have been missed. Fiero’s chance at fatherhood has passed. He knows better than to expect Trystane to connect with him after years spent as strangers, but he cannot help but hope for embrace.
“Forgive me for not finding you sooner.” He says, to both of them, no longer able to keep the guilt from tightening around his throat. He looks to the ground, searching for composure.
“If I would have known, I would have come for you.” The unquestioning happiness he feels at his father’s embrace lingers for a small while, before guilt creeps in. The words bring in a heavy sadness to his eyes. Months ago, Fiero had mistaken his father’s scent for a trick, a ghost. Instead of believing that he could be alive, Fiero had shunned the possibility, and sulked away in the Meadow, where he did not have to pretend - where he did not have to be strong for anyone. The realization that Magnus’ scent had been very real, that Fiero could have found him, but didn’t, cuts him to his core.
He simply says, “I know.” and smiles despite his guilt. He has always been a good pretender.
But, there is so much more left to reveal. While Magnus has been beneath ocean waves, Fiero has been beneath an ocean of ignorance. Here, a fully grown stallion stands, that is clearly his own son.
Of course, he remembers Vineine. He remembers her as the scent of honeysuckle, and the taste of salty skin. He nearly chokes on the sweetness as he remembers where he stands. Memories come flooding, like saltwater into lungs. He drowns in these revelations, as the fire of dusk slowly fades into cool blues, and grays.
“I do know her.” He says slowly, carefully. He watches his son as he stares at the ground. To say he has never wondered about the possibilities of he and Vineine’s consummation would be a lie. The truth is spoken here more clearly than words now, and Fiero finds some sort of resolve. The tender foal-hood years have been missed. Fiero’s chance at fatherhood has passed. He knows better than to expect Trystane to connect with him after years spent as strangers, but he cannot help but hope for embrace.
“Forgive me for not finding you sooner.” He says, to both of them, no longer able to keep the guilt from tightening around his throat. He looks to the ground, searching for composure.