[private] all of history collapsing in its wake; kagerus

[magnus]

magnus

howling ghosts, they reappear
in mountains that are stacked with fear

The least he can do, he figures, is give her a conversation that is not burdened with his own guilt.

It would be easy to sit and remind her of his guilt, to push it on her, to make her feel the weight of it with every breath, but it would be a selfish thing to do—something that would only make him feel better without helping her. So he draws it inward. He internalizes the shame and the agony, letting it simmer in his belly but no longer sit so naked on his face. She knew how he felt. She knew the rawness of his emotions. He did not need to remind her at every turn, force her to grapple with it for him.

He relaxes even more, falling back on the learned patterns of his manners, of diplomacy learned through his kingdom-raised upbringing. Such things did not come naturally to him, but his roguish charm and natural appreciation for women had honed them. He genuinely liked their company, and he had learned how to navigate complex, even tense, conversations with some semblance of grace.

He called on that skill now, doing his best to put her at ease.

“I have all the time in the world, Kagerus,” and his voice is genuine. He always loved to hear about other people’s stories. They so wildly varied, after all. So many of them had started from similar beginnings or shared common threads but they always branched out, taking on unique twists and turns.

So he settles, cocking a back leg, the sun-bleached edges of his tail flicking idly at his haunches.

He listens as she explains, getting lost in her tail—and if his crooked smile grows a little deeper when she casually mentions his father, he says nothing of it. At least not yet.

As she finishes, he drops his head, keeping his gold-flecked eyes on her.

“It sounds like you’ve made quite the life for yourself, Kagerus. You should be proud.”

It strikes him, how she talks of her life with Solace and their children reminds him so deeply of his time with Joelle and their family in the Gates. At the time, it had felt like forever. It had felt like the kind of love that would always be there—the kind that would never leave. It’s difficult to think about the fact that he has now spent more time apart from Joelle than he was ever allowed to spend by her side.

Time is a funny, wicked thing.

“You could never bore me. It’s fascinating to hear about your life. I’d love to hear more about it, whatever you are willing to share.”  But then she prompts him, and he just laughs and shakes his head. “Which life, Kagerus?” One corner of his mouth deepens into something between a smile and a thoughtful frown. “I was born a long, long time ago. Maybe over a hundred years ago, but I lost track.” A roll of his youthful shoulders, the pink puckered flesh catching the light. “I suppose you can blame it on a senile mind.”

A pause.

“It’s funny that you mention Atrox. He’s my father. Not that that’s exceedingly rare.” Magnus was well aware of his father’s ever-increasing brood. “I told you before that I was raised in the jungle. My mother, Twinge, was perhaps the only thing that ever kept my father’s interest longer than the Chamber. She raised me and I was quite enamored with the Amazonians. I considered staying there amongst them for a long time, but my ambitions eventually got the best of me. So I left to serve in the Chamber when my father was still King. I eventually became Lord there.” Another pause, the golden stallion flipping through his memories to find the right words, to piece together the right pieces.

“But I met a girl. Joelle. She was the daughter of the Gate’s King Liefde and I followed her there. When her father stepped down, he named her Queen and made me her General. A few years after that, she asked me to serve alongside her as King.” His smile deepens here, the agony easing as he thinks of her. “We had a few of the happiest years of my lives. We had children. We had friends and family. It was wonderful.”

He swallows.

“But I’ve never been able to hold onto things like that for long.”

He doesn’t go further. Doesn’t tell her about how he eventually abdicated the throne, convinced that he wasn’t good enough for the Light kingdom. How he ran to the Dale to lose himself to work in the army. How Joelle and his family was kidnapped. How he and Librette had to fight so hard to get them back. He doesn’t tell her about how Joelle and him were eventually murdered on the beach, and how he watched her die with his body bleeding out. How he was eventually brought back to life and what he had lived through since then. Finding and losing Minette. Protecting the Gates as war threatened the horizon but being trapped in that otherworldly place by Woolf as a protection that felt like a prison.

So much history that always threatens to rise up his throat and drag him down.

So many years lived, chipping away at him, scorching his fingertips.

He doesn’t mention that. He just gives her a smile.

“I am grateful for all of the good that I have been given in my life. I have been very lucky.”

but you're a king and I'm a lionheart