A chocolate-brown mare with a newborn foal at her side follows a good distance behind the first stallion. They do catch up, eventually, but the newness of the child seems to greatly slow their pace. Ramiel smiles warmly at the pair of them once they are close enough to see. He’s not so far removed from his own childhood, after all. It’s still shocking how quickly time has passed for him. Only two years ago, he had taken the crown and all the responsibilities that came with it. A year before that, he’d been a young boy playing pretend with his boisterous sister in the forests. Surely it will pass much the same for this filly as well: fleeting and cause for nostalgia. “Welcome Wichita and Bly,” he nods to each of them in turn before settling his gaze on the buckskin stallion again.
Rapscallion dives into his kingdom spiel, thanking the two Daleans for their attendance. Ramiel settles in quickly. He even cocks a hind leg out, resting the tip of one hoof on the ground comfortably. He’s given a lot of thought into their alliances as of late. It’s been two years since his coronation, and while there had been a span of time necessary to settle into his role, the young king thinks that time has long since expired. Action is in order. The time to flex his muscles – to see where the Dale stands in the grand scheme of things – is upon them. He’s not sure where the Gates will fit into this new strategy or if they will at all. They’ve historically been on friendly terms, he knows – perhaps their future will be much the same.
Ramiel is trying to think of a way to eloquently phrase his thoughts in response to Rapscallion when he is soon interrupted by Weir’s approach. He doesn’t turn his head towards the man at first, assuming he will fall in line with Elysteria and himself. But his outraged words soon have the grey stallion’s head on a swivel. He’s too shocked himself at first to comprehend what has gotten Weir all up in arms, but he quickly understands. So, too, does the Gates diplomat.
Rapscallion tries to continue on as if nothing has happened, as if the Dalean hadn’t practically shouted and accused him of something he hadn’t done. It is to his credit that he’s able to carry on, but the peace only lasts for so long. Ramiel agrees with his own student that, father or not, the man should have waited for his kingdom mate if she was so close to delivery. But it is not his judgement to make aloud, and he expected Weir to understand it as well. Of course, Rapscallion doesn’t know that Weir has recently lost his own child. He doesn’t understand how heavy that burden had weighed on the eccentric but well-meaning man. It’s not his place to tell this, either, but he will remedy the situation as best he can.
“Our apologies for being presumptuous,” he says, looking as solemn as he can at the buckskin and then the new mother. “Weir is not from Beqanna. The unique bands we form and traveling companions we choose are still new to him.” He references the wilder, ancient herds that exist outside of their lands. The king is not sure it’s the entire truth, at least for Weir’s experience, but he gives the red stallion a hard look, hoping he’ll take the hint and agree. I’m doing you a favor, his golden eyes try to say, don’t piss all over it. He rolls his shoulders, trying to roll the incident off as well. When he turns back to the Gates congregation, it’s with an apologetic smile.
“We are also in the process of considering allies,” he says honestly, looking briefly at Elysteria with a measured gaze. He’s not sure how much to divulge to these horses and he wonders what the more experienced mare knows of the once-light kingdom. “As for the Dale’s well-being, it is growing every day.” Growing, but still slow in the process. The story of their lives in the mountain land. “How about the Gates? Are they still ruled by Mast and Fiasko?” The last his mother had told him they were, but things could have changed by now.
Ramiel
ghost king of the dale