"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
09-07-2016, 12:10 PM (This post was last modified: 09-07-2016, 12:11 PM by Eight.)
no matter what they say, I am still the king
You had met in passing – at the birth of his last three children. Their legs were spindly and they rose bowlegged and unsure, still wet from their mothers’ womb. This was the first (and only) time Eight had formally met you. You were a Valley member though (for however short of a life she had once you arrived) – and Eight was keen to watch for your where abouts. You were always at the edge when first footsteps fell, and spent the rest of your time silent and boding in the thick pine forests. You were never ignored though, no – how could you be when you spent so much time so close to Kilter?
While the magician king had not spoken with you in depth, it was as if he knew you. He prodded your mind as you roamed free and wild and lone. He tracked your progress through the heart of the Valley, in his ever omniscient way. That was what entailed being a guardian and a king, right? It was imperative to have a keen eye for those who lived with you.
And now? Now the world was amiss. Now the Valley and her dark thicket of pines were no longer. Now, the Valley had split apart, and so had many of her citizens. Now there was no pack of wolves to guard her walls, nor any traits to bless her denizens. Now, Eight could not seek you out in his mind, now the magician king could not find his child as easily as plucking an apple from a limb.
And this is why he seeks you out. Because, while he tried his best, he was no true father figure, and Kilter had run rampant and quiet on his own. Because Kilter has not returned home, has not come back, and has not shown his face after the ruins of Beqanna. “Ruan.” He finds you easily enough at the meadow, the only place where most of Beqanna could be now.
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
The sound of his name slips through the winter breeze as if a part of it. As if the stallion who spoke it still commanded the elements.
Ruan turned to him, wary of the powerful man, but curious. Feathered wings ruffled, lifting lightly and resettling at his sides. His eyes flicked behind his former guardian king, reflexively searching for the boy. He dared hope he was escorting Kilter for a visit; if wishes were reality. He wasn't even sure the young prince would have an interest in doing so.
But he was not with the formidable bay, and Ruan's deep blue eyes met his after bowing his head respectfully to him. "King," he greeted solemnly, honoring the title whether it still be relevant or not.
He began to feel a little foolish in thinking the mighty stallion would bring his own child to see him, and wondered instead why he was indeed seeking him out. What could Ruan possibly do differently for him that the many others so willingly at his beck and call could not? A calm curiosity settled over him and he waited patiently for instruction.
Oh to be at the mercy of the elements once more! In truth, Eight had never cared to manipulate the world around him in order to give himself comfort. In fact, he welcomed the biting cold – the beating sun – the shattering rain. True enough, he wielded the elements to his pleasure when necessary – for battle or protection or comfort of others. But the most strange sensation is knowing he could no longer do this. That the withering winter winds that ravaged the two men were just that – winter winds, no longer wieldable by the (once) magician (once) king.
You turn, and there is a flicker of inquisitiveness that blazes across your eyes – it is unmistakable in seeing your eyes flicker to Eight’s side. You act as if no time had passed – that Beqanna did not eat her young and recreate a new world. Eight exhales tightly, a form of a laugh if you will. “ I am no king, Ruan. I never truly was.” In fact, while Eight councils at Tephra, he would still no longer be your king (although it wasn’t quite a monarchy in the lands they had chosen). Strange, how freely you accept what Eight was, how you refer to respect for him although you were never truly close with him. Strange, just like Kilter.
Eight’s eyes flicker behind you – for small footprints in the snow (wolven or equine) – but he knows it’s fruitless as he sees the silken smooth snow behind you. There is no Kilter here. “Have you seen-” and as Eight says this, he finds it almost laughable. He was a magician once, a king a half a dozen times over – he was feared and respected and perhaps even hated. And yet here he was, without any inkling of where his child may be (of even who his child may be. “Have you seen Kilter? His mother has not seen him and is worried.” He thinks of the raptor queen, muted without her telepathy, lost without her band of grullo children. “I have seen you watching him in the woods. You are the only one he has spoken with save for his family.”
∞
and now the storm is coming, the storm is coming in
"I am no king, Ruan. I never truly was."
A small smile tugged his lips at the king's modesty. Or perhaps honesty; Ruan wouldn't know the first thing about ruling a kingdom.
The edgy wariness he usually felt in Eight's dominating presence lightened a little, more at ease speaking one-on-one with him. As equals. It was not lost on him that the bay stallion chose this path for them, brushing aside Ruan's deference to his former title.
He also didn't miss the glance that slid from him to the fresh snow at his back, and he found himself almost following along with it. He stopped halfway and peered sideways at the man, mildly confused.
"Have you seen-" he faltered. Ruan's brows came together; he'd never seen the valley's guardian king hesitate with anything. But he continued then, "Have you seen Kilter?"
Worry started seeping in before Eight finished speaking. He told Ruan he'd seen him watching Kilter, and for some reason the spotted male felt a little guilty at this; like a child caught sneaking a piece of candy. Fear for the boy overpowered him though, wiping away all other thoughts. His face set in determination.
"I have not," he admitted grimly. "But I will do all in my power to find him" Already he seemed restless, his feet shuffling eagerly and his new wings arched in preparation. For the first time, he was glad he'd been given them, for their speed would aid him insurmountably. "...and return him to your care." he added belatedly, his face flushing in slight embarrassment.
Of course he would return Kilter. No matter his love for the little wolf. It would never be goodbye, though. Ruan make certain of it.
What was it about Eight that caused others to shy back and quiver? Yes, being a magician meant holding powers inside you that no others had seen, and yes, Eight had a tumultuous history. But it was strange, knowing that very few trusted you. Yes, there were plenty that sought refuge with him - who placed their lives in his kingdom, who sought him out when cracks needed healing or battles to be won. But there were very few who stood at ease next to him - you are not alone in that, Ruan.
And yet, enlightenment seemed to wash over you. Perhaps it was the idea that Eight was no longer the magician he once was - he had no more power than you or any other (save for those who had already fought for their talents back from Beqanna). Or more than that, the bonding of loss. Although Kilter was not yours to claim, there is certainly some form of kinship there, some unspoken connection you had with the child- perhaps one more than even Eight had.
No, Eight was no king - while he held the title countless times, it was not his forte. He had little to do in the way of others- his diplomacy was shaky at best, and bonds of friendship were something he had no thought of. You may have called him king, but it was nothing more than a titled threat - for who would want to raise arms against a magician king?
Eight drinks in your gaze as it wanders with his - no doubt he knows your mild confusion. You two have never spoken, save for when you saw the birth of his children. You knew him as king, a veiled shadow who protected the Valley. You had never seen him unsure, unsteady, or beseeching for help. He had never needed help, truthfully- and this was perhaps the first time he had ever been humbled enough to do so.
The realization was startling - he, the father of Kilter, could not place where the boy could be. He had spent so much time seeking you and the little colt in his mind, but never cared to venture to the depths of the pines to run alongside him and the wolves. Eight may have watched over him, may have had the magic to appear beside any danger that may have overtaken the boy - but it was you who stood near him, it was you who watched him not through your mind, but through your own eyes.
At your response, Eight’s face turned grim. He knew Beqanna would never harm her own people - but Kilter? Kilter knew nothing of the outside world. He was alone, creating ribbons of his own story with wolves and pine trees (with you nestled in between).
“Truly, it is not your task.” The once magician spoke surely - he knew you had no blood relation to the boy, no need to risk yourself to find him. But your immediate response, the flutter in your wings and the tensing of your muscles told Eight that this had little to do with your prior devotion to the Valley. This had much to do about your ties to the boy.
“I live in Tephra now - should you ever find him. Thank you, Ruan.” He nodded his head, and with that picked into a gallop through the thick snow before lifting into the air with the only thing the fairy left him with, his thick, black wings.
(So, I'm kinda thinkin' Kilter will be in the forest (: )
