03-29-2016, 10:13 AM
when you fall I'll be the only one who looks away;
when you call I'll be the first to tell you I can't stay.
when you call I'll be the first to tell you I can't stay.
"I've been a father many times; the idea of trading their lives for an alliance does not sit well with me. I appreciate that you are able to agree with me on that stance." His voice is steady, but his mind rattles and shakes with the force of memories of the many lives that have touched his own. Gentle bleats, soft kisses and endless adoration - children were something to treasure, indeed, and he would not have any tradition telling his instinct to follow any other path. His gaze lingered on Isle and her lithe, but swollen figure as she rests in the bleak sunlight of day - he could not cease the wandering thoughts that perhaps their night of passion had led to something else, to something bigger than himself and bigger than them.
He could not deny that there was a small bubbling of hope simmering just beneath the surface, though he clung to his stoicism as the thought passed through his mind. He cast the other male a look, studying him for a long moment, listening steadily. The wind slowly slides along his frostbitten skin (day by day, he is becoming more like ice - frigid, icy and encased in a constant sheen of frost), tangling itself in his matted tresses as his dark maroon gaze bores into the other, meticulously calculating his every line and feature. He sensed something much more complex about his brother before him, and he knew in due time, he would come to know each intricate layer intimately through their travels, endeavors and battles shared.
"It is possible that one or two may be disappointed in us, but admittedly, I do not believe we had much to offer the war when its time came." He says finally, his baritone reaching above the whipping gusts that have settled between the plains. "Our military forces have been lacking, and our diplomacy has been little and set far between. With our numbers previously containing so few, we had little to give and had no right to make any alliance with no plans in motion to strengthen our numbers.. To fight in battle does not equate to strength, Brynmor. If you ask me, the war was nothing but senseless violence and a reckless display of magical talent. I see no valor in that."
A low, breathy sigh escapes him now as his gaze averts to the flatland ahead of him, lined with stunning, ice-capped mountains and low-hanging clouds that caress their very peaks as they press through the canyon. The gears within his mind had been stirring and churning heavily since his coronation, as his mind weighed heavily on what would be best for the brotherhood in the long run. What would sustain them; what would revive them?
He knew what (and who) he would prefer to avoid in the weeks and months preceding the war, and he knew who still stood strong and determined amidst the chaos of bloodshed and loss. The kingdom of ice was at an advantage - many of the kingdoms were licking their wounds; tasting defeat and seeking alliances and loyalty in spite of the deafening ferocity of death. All were now equals, climbing from the rubble and preparing to rebuild. If they were to revitalize the kingdom and bring the icy plain to its former glory, it would take change. Drastic change. No longer could they settle for the usual procedures; it was time to rip up old roots and bury new ones into the fresh, blood-tainted soil of a new day.
Finally, he studies the dappled male again, scrutinizing his every facial twitch as he speaks. "She is fresh to the throne, not unlike myself. I want to know of her alliances and what she sees ahead for her kingdom; I have my suspicions but I would like to have them settled." He does not suspect; he knows. Demian had become, in the very least, a personal amicable ally - and now he had gone away, trading thrones in exchange for an alliance. "If she asks of our intentions," He begins slowly, gaze set intently on his. "tell her that we seek alliance. If she is interested, I will come to her myself and we can settle the terms. Change is upon us, Brynmor - I hope that you are prepared."
He could not deny that there was a small bubbling of hope simmering just beneath the surface, though he clung to his stoicism as the thought passed through his mind. He cast the other male a look, studying him for a long moment, listening steadily. The wind slowly slides along his frostbitten skin (day by day, he is becoming more like ice - frigid, icy and encased in a constant sheen of frost), tangling itself in his matted tresses as his dark maroon gaze bores into the other, meticulously calculating his every line and feature. He sensed something much more complex about his brother before him, and he knew in due time, he would come to know each intricate layer intimately through their travels, endeavors and battles shared.
"It is possible that one or two may be disappointed in us, but admittedly, I do not believe we had much to offer the war when its time came." He says finally, his baritone reaching above the whipping gusts that have settled between the plains. "Our military forces have been lacking, and our diplomacy has been little and set far between. With our numbers previously containing so few, we had little to give and had no right to make any alliance with no plans in motion to strengthen our numbers.. To fight in battle does not equate to strength, Brynmor. If you ask me, the war was nothing but senseless violence and a reckless display of magical talent. I see no valor in that."
A low, breathy sigh escapes him now as his gaze averts to the flatland ahead of him, lined with stunning, ice-capped mountains and low-hanging clouds that caress their very peaks as they press through the canyon. The gears within his mind had been stirring and churning heavily since his coronation, as his mind weighed heavily on what would be best for the brotherhood in the long run. What would sustain them; what would revive them?
He knew what (and who) he would prefer to avoid in the weeks and months preceding the war, and he knew who still stood strong and determined amidst the chaos of bloodshed and loss. The kingdom of ice was at an advantage - many of the kingdoms were licking their wounds; tasting defeat and seeking alliances and loyalty in spite of the deafening ferocity of death. All were now equals, climbing from the rubble and preparing to rebuild. If they were to revitalize the kingdom and bring the icy plain to its former glory, it would take change. Drastic change. No longer could they settle for the usual procedures; it was time to rip up old roots and bury new ones into the fresh, blood-tainted soil of a new day.
Finally, he studies the dappled male again, scrutinizing his every facial twitch as he speaks. "She is fresh to the throne, not unlike myself. I want to know of her alliances and what she sees ahead for her kingdom; I have my suspicions but I would like to have them settled." He does not suspect; he knows. Demian had become, in the very least, a personal amicable ally - and now he had gone away, trading thrones in exchange for an alliance. "If she asks of our intentions," He begins slowly, gaze set intently on his. "tell her that we seek alliance. If she is interested, I will come to her myself and we can settle the terms. Change is upon us, Brynmor - I hope that you are prepared."
the ice king of the tundra
OFFSPRING