"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
loving you isn't the right thing to do; how can I ever change things that I feel?
There is a gentle, but persistent feeling gnawing gently at her uneasy nerves, leaving her on edge. Her heart pounds roughly against the confines of its birdcage of bone and muscle, blood pumping so vigorously through the length of her once lithe (and now undeniably plump and rounded) body - it cannot drown out her rampant thoughts; it cannot ease her weary mind. She is quiet, unwilling to meet the eye of any she moves past. There is a stirring within her swollen belly, and she grimaces with mild discomfort as gangly limbs press and move against the taut surface of her flesh from within - her time is nearing, and the unusual and unfamiliar anxiety that settles into her aching, tired bones wears her patience thin.
The sun has fallen, and it gives way to a gloriously clear, bright sky above - glistening with shimmering stars and illuminating the softly wavering stalks of greenery with the pale light of the moon, shining from above. She bathes beneath its light for a moment, tucking herself away from prying eyes and the apprehensive whispers of others - the Earth has moved, shifted and reformed, and yet she can still feel the way the trembling ground beneath her left her shaken and - dare she admit it? - frightened. She had only just been able to doze off, albeit apprehensively (for the loud bellowing cries and low utterances of varied creatures that lurked within the shadows still lit her nerves on fire), when it had all begun. The sun was only just beginning to glisten in the sky, when suddenly everything was moving beneath her - and just as suddenly, her uneasy footing was settled elsewhere.
The gears of her rampantly racing mind only serve to leave her aching for solace, for comfort - and with a gasping breath, as her hazel eyes find his sloping spine and brawny build against the moonlit night, her heart floods with emotion. Her limbs are stiffened from the long trek down from the mountain, with its thin air and icy embrace, and her hips yearn to be rid of the deep, languishing pain that lingers beneath her golden skin - but she does not rest, for seeing him leaves her heart less weary, her soul less trampled on.
Gently, she breathes across his flank, her breath warm but no warmer than her cheek as she presses it firmly against him. Her wings press tightly against her body, but there is no hiding the swell of her growing abdomen as she pushes against him, tucking herself against his side, longing for comfort, though she had never needed it before. Her mind lingers for a long moment on her father, her sister - had they perished? Were they safe? Hot tears sting at the corners of her eyes, and her lashes shut tightly over them, blocking out the memories that brought bubbling hurt to the surface. She follows the hardened lines of his body, delving her cheek and forehead beneath his dark mane, nestling against him and soaking in his warmth.
She had not seen him in so long; not since the day she had been cast away - banished for her strong temperament, for her fiery fury. She attempts to swallow the welling emotion in her throat, but she cannot, try as she might. Within, her unborn child - their unborn child stirs against her side, as her shaky breath rises.
"Magnus," She murmurs softly, unwilling to draw away from him, not yet. He was the only thing that she had once known that still remained. She would be strong again, she would be the same fierce, impervious creature she had always been - but not yet, not now. "there are no words to describe how relieved I am to have found you. Everything, gone - my father, my sister - the heavens -" Her breath catches in her throat, and she says no more.
It was difficult, nay, impossible to convince himself that he was somehow not responsible for this. He knew, logically, that magic had pulled from deep within Beqanna’s breast—shaking the constellations and unearthing the heavens from beneath the soil, pulling back the gifts like the tide pulling from the shore—but he could not shake the guilt that rattled his bones. It was deep as marrow and splintering in pain. He could not think around it, the frantic fear for anyone who had inhabited the land seeping into his chest and seizing his heart. He should have been there. He should have been there when they woke up. He shouldn’t have left; he should have stayed. He should have helped guide them down and find their bearings.
His trip had been uneventful if only because he hardly remembered it. He had found his path mindlessly, step unusually clumsy and heavy as he swung his heavy-jawed face to and fro, trying to see horses through the fog around him—trying to feel out familiar shapes and curves. It had been, ultimately, an unsuccessful venture. There had been no others around him. He had been alone with his thoughts and his fears; he had been left to walk down the craggy slope with nothing but himself for company.
And what he had found when he finally descended had been chaotic. Fear as thick as smoke winding around the crowds, choking many so that their throats closed up and their eyes widened.
He had finally found a corner to himself, where the air seemed to lighten and the noise quietened to a dull roar in the back of his mind. Dropping his head, he took a heavy breath, his sides heaving—and it was like that he stayed until he felt the rustling of her wings and the warmth of her flesh. He would not lie to himself; fear’s death grip on his heart loosened when he felt her near his flank, and he curled toward her instinctively. His inky muzzle reached across to brush against her jaw and then her neck, pushing aside the tangled locks of hair so that he could smell the heady scent of her. Safe. She was safe.
(And so was the life blossoming in her belly.)
He exhaled in relief. “Ellyse,” her name sounded like a prayer on his lips. “I am so glad that you are okay.” I am so glad that you are with me, he thought, but does not voice that just yet. He pulled back just slightly to look around them, his scarred mouth pulling into a deep frown. “Should we start looking for them?” He didn’t know where to start, but if it would bring her peace of mind, he would move mountains.
loving you isn't the right thing to do; how can I ever change things that I feel?
The weight of uncertainty weighed heavily upon her as well; the world had become so tumultuous and it seemed that the war-torn existence she had been forced to endure even at birth would live on. Each and every time the dying embers of violence, greed and lust began to simmer and falter beneath the gentle caress of time, something would stoke the flames into a furious fire, engulfing everything and everyone within its unruly, unpredictable path. Though she had yet to know a life without it, it still feels stagnant - an insufferable, sulfur-drenched intoxication of power and consequence. Her heart longed for serenity, but the fierce warrior that so often stirred within her craved the ferocity of war, and so she remains, trapped in between two better parts of her wretched heart.
Such bittersweet thoughts seem to fade away as she presses close to him, inhaling his natural musk and the acrid, dried sweat that lingers along the nape of his slender neck. She cannot delve into it too long, for soon his whiskered lips brush against her jaw and down along the length of her own neck - she curls into him, savoring the comfort of his touch and the warmth of his breath - a reminder that life thrives once more, that existence is more than simply standing idle. Finally, her lashes draw up from her hazel eyes, which are so usually alight with a flickering flame of mischief and self-assurance - now falter with doubt and vexation.
Studying the hardened lines of his mouth, she gently presses her cheek to his for a long moment, ignoring the gentle voice within her that warns her to move away, to resist the temptation of his allure. He is enigmatic, but she cannot allow herself to settle too deeply into his comfort, she cannot permit herself to let her guard fall too close to the ground below - but for now - just for now.
Her breath catches in her throat, a hitch that interrupts her own voice as she trembles so suddenly against his iron-clad body, leaning against him needily. She has ignored the pangs of pain for too long - (she had known, when the immense waves of anguish began to pull away at her sanity like the salty ocean tide to the bay, that her time had come) - eager for resolution, desperate for solace. Yet now the rippling pain that echoes through every frayed nerve within her gilded body nearly cripples her. His words nearly fall on deaf ears, but she presses through the shuddering torment, catching a word here and there (should, looking, them?) but a low, gutteral groan escapes her where words might have lain.
"Magnus, I - I must lay down; I must."
She begins to press forward, to push her shaking legs beyond the moist soil she has become rooted on beside him, but her limbs falter and with the last remnants of strength, her legs fold beneath her and soon she is Earth-bound.
Her pride provokes hot tears of shame, of frustration from her hazel eyes, which look up apologetically to him as another contraction rattles through her exhausted body from the tips of her nostrils to the very edges of her bristling feathers.
"I'm so sorry," She murmurs, her tone laced with the humiliation of her own weakness.
There is comfort and familiarity here, and Magnus has long since given up denying himself the simple pleasure of it. Life was hard enough; he did not see the point in forgoing the simple pleasure of being there, standing with a beautiful women with a sharp mind and even sharper tongue. At first, when he had crawled out of the ocean, he had thought it was wrong; thought it sullied his memory of Joelle, made him disloyal. But he had known, deep in his heart, that she would not have wished a life of loneliness for him.
So he had opened up to Minette and her soft eyes; he had left himself love her, be loved by her.
But she, too, had left.
It still pained him to think of her, and his child, off somewhere. Was she safe? Had Gryffen returned? He had searched for them but had been unable to find a single clue—unable to unearth a single whisper of where they had gone or what had befallen them. No one had seen of Gryffen. No one had seen where the gentle flea-bitten mare had gone. Eventually, he had resigned himself to the reality of her absence. He thanked her, when he was alone at night and the stars were bright, for opening his heart once more. For showing him love was still possible. Thanked her and wished fervently for her safety.
Now—now, he wasn’t certain he could ever give himself so fully to another as he had done with Joelle—but he knew he had enough to give. Enough to feel his heart swell with affection when he looked down at Ellyse; enough for his pulse to thump when she pressed her nose against his neck.
But the peace, the love, the momentary beauty in having found one another is short-lived. His eyes widen at the exhaustion in her voice, and he snorts in confusion before understanding washes over him. “Oh,” he exhales, reaching down to press his muzzle against her poll. “Don’t apologize, love.” Concern twists his gut, and fear, but he tampers them down, doing his best to be strong for her. “It’s going to be okay. I’m right here.” He breathes out softly. “We can do this, Ellyse. Be brave.”
loving you isn't the right thing to do; how can I ever change things that I feel?
Agony spreads across her as if it were a flame to kerosene, igniting every untouched nerve and leaving her raw and trembling. The sheer uncertainty of the unknown caused her to tremble, though the immense pride that still bubbled mirthlessly beneath the surface causes her to clench her jaw in determined resolve. A shuddering sigh emerges from her parted whiskered lips as the endlessly painful contraction engulfs her in anguish, though she attempts to muffle it by hardening the lines of her mouth, sealing it from an untimely, humiliating escape. Her cheek rests against the steady pillar of his hind leg, and her heavy lashes close over her hazel eyes, which grimace momentarily when the chains of control are too much for her to grasp onto.
Labor had begun long ago, though she had tirelessly attempted to drown out the shockwaves of rippling, harrowing pain. She had pushed herself too far, urged herself to the very edges of a darkening, twilight-painted Earth and now the trembling pain that has surged up through her sinewy muscles, pulsating once more. She knows that it is time, and terror seizes her heart. The unknown lay before her, and she lay helpless among too many to feel at ease, her doe eyes gaze out towards an unscathed thicket not far away longingly. She aches for the sky, for the sea and lands unknown, but for now she sweats and cries for the child bursting forth from her womb. Soon, the caress of moonlight gives way to the warmth of dawn and a sheen of yellow and periwinkle flood the wavering stalks of greener, and with it comes the birth of new life.
He lay still with wide, blinking eyes - brilliant and curious, his body bathed in the very sac that had kept him so safely tucked within her womb with fragile, dampened wings of alabaster glued tightly to his rigid spine. With sweat heavy upon her brow ridge, she presses her whiskered lips to his damp skin, ridding him of the dreaded afterbirth. She has done little else but to tear it away from his pale, gilded pelt when another shuddering aftershock of anguish ripples over her. She cannot do anything but to gasp, for though the urge to cleanse him to and to draw him near is strong, the urge to press again is too much to resist. Soon after, a second emerges from her tired womb, a too-still figure with a too-quiet heartbeat.
Exhausted and spent, she cranes her tired, aching neck to reach each. Her winged son, a bleating ray of sunshine in her otherwise dreary life, stirs and struggles against the moist soil beneath him, but beside him, her daughter remains lifeless. Dread begins to pump steadily along the flow of adrenaline that moves with ease through her pulsating veins, and her heart soon pounds against her chest. Gently, she presses her muzzle to her own, tearing away the sac that had failed to rupture, frantic in her attempts to stir and stimulate her lifeless child - but to no avail.
Soon, an anguish more excruciating than any she had ever felt washes away the pain of previous moments with the rising tide of emotion that floods her weary mind. Though she is reluctant, she forces her depleted, worn body to rise and for her shaking legs to still. With gentle urging on her own behalf, her trembling son rises, and breathlessly, she draws him near to her, preening the delicate feathers that remain damp and plastered to his delicate wings.
Her eyes fall soon to her lifeless daughter beside him, a beautiful, too-perfectly mirrored image of her father, Magnus, and Ellyse's heart clenches as sorrow befalls her, tearing what is left of her soul into shreds, littering the untouched soil with the remnants of her still-beating heart. A gentle sob emerges from her throat before she can stifle it, but she buries her tear-stained cheeks into the thick, unruly tresses of the warrior beside her as she leans on him for strength, shame and grief engulfing her as her only living progeny suckles eagerly from her teat.
"I am so sorry," She manages breathlessly, her breath warm against his neck as she weeps.
If he could, Magnus would bear this burden for her.
He would gladly bend his neck to this yoke, take upon this pain, were he able. Instead, he is trapped to suffer a lesser, but excruciating pain all his own: watch helplessly on as she struggles in agony. There is a beast in his chest that does not quiet, that screams and anguishes. He feels a familiar urge to run until he cannot—until his limbs give out and lungs collapse. He feels the itch racing up his legs and into his heart, but he ignores it. Instead, he stands still, an buoy for her to cling to as she rides along the waves of pain.
As she cries out, he grits his teeth, setting his jaw against a groan of frustration. He would take the own splintering of his skull again before this; he would bleed out gladly onto the beach before having to watch her suffer in such a way. He drops his head, pressing his cheek to her sweat-slick flesh. “I am still here, Ellyse,” his voice was low, throaty, almost hoarse with emotion. “I am still here with you.”
Then, the pace quickens—the tempo of the moment going fast (too fast). Before he knows it, there is a boy (a boy!) on the ground, soaked with fluid, wings curled around his impossibly small body. But before Magnus can exhale in relief, more contractions wrack Ellyse’s body, and he swings his gaze around toward her. He can feel his throat constrict, his pulse thudding. A small girl slips out onto the ground.
Small, delicate, beautiful.
Still—too still.
The world tilts beneath him, and Magnus feels his knees buckle. He catches himself before he falls, watching in disbelief as Ellyse practically crawls to the still child, her sobs echoing around him. He swallows and his tongue is sandpaper in his mouth, swollen and thick. Anguish like he has never known snakes through his veins and tightens his throat; he cannot see around it. He cannot breathe around it.
I have done this. This is my punishment.
The words revolve in his head until he is certain that he will be sick. He almost does not notice when Ellyse stands, when she curls into his side, when her tears fall hot and fast onto his neck. It takes every ounce of strength to rein in the pain, to stop the sobs that break hard and fast into the back of his throat. It takes everything within him to turn toward her, to wrap around her and hold her close.
No words come; no words are right. He just closes his eyes and draws her close, holding her and the splintered world in his palms and wishing that he could piece it back together again.
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