"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
06-19-2021, 08:20 PM (This post was last modified: 06-28-2021, 11:11 AM by galadriel.)
GALADRIEL
In the end, Galadriel will always be prone to wandering. Her heart wants what it wants, simply put - and what it wants is never entirely clear, just that it always wants something different. She pines, as blue as the color of her coat, so longingly after a change in scenery even just moments after finding a new one.
It's not easy to keep her entertained, no; but she has yet to encounter death or near-death, and today she thinks she will find out what it's like to almost die.
It is the deepest parts of the Forest that call her the most: rumors that the shadows in the tangled trees are deep enough to house any remnants of the monsters of the Eclipse. The girl approaches those monsters with a grin on her face, eyes sparkling with a plan she finds entirely full-proof. She'll change their vision, easy as pie. That will stop them dead in their tracks, no matter any left over swinging claws or teeth.
The monsters are not what Galadriel finds, though. A den of mewling fox kits screams up at her, or so she thinks. She blinks down at the little orange things, wondering if and when their mother might return. A fox is not a formidable opponent, no; and Rel thinks she'll turn deeper into the wood, to find something much larger, larger than she can imagine.
But the kits are mewling, and the closer she looks, the more of their ribs she sees. Rel breaths out, feeling empathy hold her legs frozen in place.
As far as favourite spots went, the forest wasn’t somewhere Laurelin particularly favoured. He preferred to either be by water, so that someone could appreciate how nice he looked next to it (and so he could catch his reflection every now and then), or in the open - so someone could appreciate how nice he looked without any obstruction. For the most part, he did not venture very far from the river or meadow.
For some reason, today he tries something different.
He has a vision that in the heart of the Forest, his blue glow will be a beacon of hope to someone. Perhaps even a pretty someone, a wayward prince or princess who is lost and seeking something, anything, to show them the way out of the den of monsters they’ve found themselves in. He will not fight those monsters - oh no - but he can walk around and look pretty and maybe that will be inspiration enough for the prince or princess to slay their own monsters for once.
What he’s not expecting, as he walks around and waits to be noticed, is for a mewling noise to interrupt the silence and really just ruin the whole entire mood of what he has planned.
Laurelin follows the sound, and finds a mare - now we’re getting a little closer to what should be happening - but she’s looking at something and that seems to be where the noise is coming from. With a huff, the blue stallion steps forward and asks in an annoyed voice: “What is that racket?”
Galadriel is enamored with the kits, feeling a twisting in her chest that she's never quite felt before. She blinks rapidly down at the thin foxes, wondering if there's anything she can do to help them (and also wondering why she, of all beings, cares for their mewling so). They're terribly helpless, the little kits, and perhaps it reminds her of when she was so helpless and misunderstood.
Where is there mother? she thinks, turning her head left then right, moving just in time to catch the approach of Laurelin. The indigo of her eyes sparkles as she peers at him, considering his pretty face and glittering gold.
"That racket," she states pointedly, "is coming from these defenseless kits here." She doesn't offer her name or any pleasantries, just turns back to the slightly shifting babies. Rel sighs and droops her head down toward them, close enough to see if there is a fresh motherly scent. It's too close, though, and the babies start squealing in fear. "Mmm," she hums, pulling away, back to Laurelin.
He doesn't look like he'll be any help, she thinks, offering nothing but a blank stare. Eventually, Rel does sigh and concedes, "I'm Galadriel. You are? Do you think there's anything we can do to help them?"
Laurelin is a little offended when the topic doesn’t shift from the racket to him immediately, even though he was the one who asked a question about it. He steps forward to join her, and sees what she’s talking about - the loud, kind of cute, kits that do not seem to enjoy the fact that there are now two horses peering down at them. But he can’t really distinguish from their earlier cries so he doesn’t really notice.
“Laurelin.” He offers, happy for a moment to talk about something that matters - him - but he can’t ignore her question forever, he supposes, even though he’s pretty sure her name is just as pretty as his. Those blue eyes return to the kits and he frowns at them.
He doesn’t like frowning, it doesn’t look as good as a smile he’s sure (though it doesn’t look bad, he’s also sure). But it just sort of comes out naturally when he is trying to think. Which is not something that comes naturally to him at all. “Oh I don’t know. They probably need to eat? Do you think they’re uh… eating meat are they still on… you know. From their mom.” This was quickly turning into an uncomfortable conversation and for some reason Laurelin was having a mental block with the word ‘milk’.
"Milk," Galadriel states bluntly, a touch of disbelief coloring her voice. She arches a brow and studies Laurelin, only now noticing how striking he is. Dark blue with accents of gold pair with a wild, unkempt mane accentuating his already handsome face. She blinks, tilts her head to the right and then sighs, turning back to peer down at the kits.
"They probably need milk," she concedes with a sigh, body slumping in a physical sign of defeat. Rel closes her eyes and thinks, wondering if the only solace she can offer them is a fake version of their mother. "Well," she begins, once again turning her head to look Laurelin in the eye, "I don't have milk and you definitely don't have milk, so." She thinks to shrug but can't bring herself to such nonchalance. If she had more of a motherly instinct, perhaps she would have an answer for the babes; but, she begins to tell herself this is the way of nature, natural selection, ect.
A memory strikes her, though, of when she used to run away from home for no reason other than to be a brat to her family: the Adoption Den. She fondly recalls the mildly exasperated den-mothers rolling their eyes every time she wandered in. They accepted her, though. Each time. Quietly asked her what's wrong and fluffed her foal's mane.
"Actually, I think I can lead them to the Adoption Den," Rel states resolutely. "Wanna help?" she asks. Before he can answer, she loops him and the kits into a simple vision: one she stole from the babies' limited memories, their mother. They start squealing and wriggling, but Rel quickly realizes they're too weak to do much more than that. She sighs again, wondering if this stranger will do what she asks next.
"I can make them think you're their mom. Would you carry a couple of them on your back?"
Milk! That was it. Laurelin nods sadly with her agreement of his assessment. Yes, he was very smart for thinking of that, yes, it was a tragedy that neither of them would be able to help. Maybe now they could go off and talk of more pleasant things - like how very pretty the pair of them were.
But just as he’s about to present this brilliant idea, Galadriel has one of her own. Way in the opposite direction of where his own mind had been wandering. “What?” He asks, stupidly, and a second later the words settle in properly. The adoption den. Where foals who didn’t have as great of a mom as he did went to go wait to be picked up by strangers
“Ummm….” He continues, very eloquently, and finally relents. This was not better than what he had intended to do today if he had not found company - nap, maybe look at his own reflection - but he doesn’t have a good enough excuse to not help. So with a snort, Laurelin nods and moves - angling himself so that it will be easy (theoretically, he’s given no real thought about the logistics) for Galadriel to put the little beasts onto his back.
“Oh alright. But they better not scratch me up. And I don't see how you're gonna make me look like a fox.” Except as soon as those words are out he flashes her a devilish grin and his mood brightens. "Well, not the type of fox we need, anyway."
Galadriel frowns, violet eyes catching light in fiery ways that match her irritation. She peers at Laurelin, wondering what on earth this stranger has done to make it this far in life if indeed all he is preoccupied with is beauty. But even while those flashy, agitated thoughts pass across her mind, Rel finds a sort of quiet affection for Laurelin when he concedes. A small, genuine smile pulls at each corner of her lips.
A blink, then a gentle order: “Get on your knees so that they might climb up.”
Vision magic, snapped into place with a practiced quickness, tricks the kits into thinking that Laurelin is indeed their mother; and as they start squealing and weakly trudging in his direction, Rel lightly muses, “I thought foxes were supposed to have quick wits.” Her eyes never leave the kits’ path, but her lip twitches with friendly amusement.
When the babies begin to look for nursing nipples, a touch Rel didn’t think to add, she quickly nudges them onto Laurelin’s back and weaves another image for the kits. While each of them thinks they’re being carried by their mother, they are actually being walked away by Laurelin. Rel dares a sweet, thankful smile in the male’s direction before setting into a brisk walk in the direction of the Adoption Den.
“We’ll have to cross the Field,” Rel suddenly realizes, turning to peer at her companion. “It might take a couple hours to get there.” It’s a quiet addition, more of a hope that Laurelin won’t suddenly decide he’s not helping her.
“So tell me, Laurelin,” Galadriel begins cheerily, hoping to deflect from the journey. “Have you always been so beautiful?”
@Laurelin for plot purposes and my own sanity the field is NOT that big <3
His knees?? Wasn’t that taking things a little too far? Laurelin scowls but obliges, wishing they were rescuing something with wings or something more useful than those stupid stubby little legs that the kits had. No wonder their mother left them.
(Though he doesn’t really mean these thoughts and maybe the guilt over having them is what finally gets him to lower himself - very very carefully - to the ground.)
He watches the kits warily as they move towards him and he laughs when their little noses touch his belly - poking him as though they are looking for something. With Galadriel’s help, they are as secure as they’ll ever be onto his back and he very very slowly rises up. Having never been to the adoption den and not knowing where it exists, his companion’s quiet admittance that it is a few hours away is met with a widening of his bright eyes.
But he doesn’t have the heart to dump the squirming little rodents off his back, and it helps that Galadriel brings up a subject that he’s very fond of. He noticeably brightens at the compliment. “Yes of course. You don’t just get this pretty overnight you know.” It took years of… well no work at all, really. In fact, the less work the better. “I’m the prettiest of my family, you know. Though my brother is alright.”
Laurelin might be tempted to check in on Varick, just to make sure he was still worth boasting about in this roundabout way, but his brother's wife was scary and fear just wasn't good for the complexion.
And he might have normally left it at that, but though this blue stallion is a very slow learner he does pick up things now and then and it is almost easy for him to look over to the rainbow hued mare with him and return the question. “And what about you?"
LAURELIN
@galadriel realized in the process of writing this that Riptide is Laurelin's nephew
A pleased look crosses Rel’s face at the lack of protest from Laurelin, though she is not foolish enough to think he is happy about the position he is in. She smartly doesn’t draw attention to it, instead opting to watch the kits intently, as if just by peering at them she will be able to keep them from falling.
“Mhmm,” Rel hums at the stallion’s response, closing her eyes as a small, amused smile lifts her lips. “Of course, I’m sure you had to grow into it. Though with looks as strong as yours, I’m sure there was no awkward teenage phase.” She grins, realizing that she means what she says as she says it. He is very pretty, incredibly so—though she has been known to be unpleasant, Rel can’t say she has ever been a liar. Or inclined to deny herself a lovely view.
“I believe it,” she answers, then adds, “Who is your brother?”
Though surprised by the subtle compliment, Rel doesn’t deny that she is beautiful. Her pale blue and white coat shimmering with every color of the rainbow—she looks like a walking summer sky, clear and sunny and invigorating.
“Yes,” Rel answers simply. She was cute as a child despite having the attitude of a banshee trapped in a toddler’s body.
“You’re the most beautiful, but is the rest of your family pretty?”
There had definitely been no awkward teenage phase, Laurelin was pretty sure - and he nods seriously in agreement to this observation. No one had remarked on him looking awkward, anyway, and for him his face had always been his face.
“Varick. He’s in Nerine now, I think.” Although mildly curious about whether the name would be familiar, Laurelin forgets to pay attention to see if there is any recognition. Presumably Varick had friends, though if she did know his older brother then he hoped she’d like Laurelin best.
It seems proper that Galadriel is the prettiest in her family - and he doesn’t think anything of the simple and short answer his question gets. No explanation needed. As a pair they are just stunning - the walking summer sky and the deep blue of a clear evening. Or perhaps the depths of the ocean. Laurelin hasn’t found anything in nature that truly compares to himself, but the imagery associated with day and night and his new friend suits him.
Which makes this almost a perfect meeting. If you forget about the kits that are using Laurelin as a bus, which he does for a moment until one of them shifts around. He pauses in his stride, giving it time to settle itself, and grins again as Galadriel asks about his family.
“They are. I don’t know for sure if my dad is, I’ve never met him, but my mom is.” He was quite proud to have inherited the gold marking on his face from his mom. “We’re a small family but that’s probably for the best.” Those bright eyes of his dance with laughter as he says this. The world might not be ready for Laurelin’s family to expand.
Complaints about his passengers fade into the back of his mind as he seeks to satisfy a little more curiosity about the pretty mare. “Where do you live? You know, when you’re not out in the world rescuing woodland creatures.”
