"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
Winter dissipates once again, its frigid grasp slipping away with the gentle dawn of a new morning. The sunlight breaks through the clouds above, its pale rays illuminating the permafrost below as the ice melts away into small pools of crystalline water. The warm breeze that carries through is an unusual sensation against his numb flesh, and the heat of daylight stirs him from his reverie. It had been a long, dreary winter - emotionally tiring, physically draining and more callous than in years' past. He wondered for a long moment if it were only his own perception - the Gods had stripped away his ability to manipulate ice, and in turn, he no longer possessed control over the soothing, numbing sheen of frost he had so often covered himself with. Without it, he felt exposed to the elements, and his nerves once more stirred with life.
Perhaps, it was needed - unfeeling was not becoming of a King, and numb was no way to live.
His muscles ache and flex beneath his weight as he presses forward from the taut, snug cave he had burrowed his behemoth form into. It is not often that he allows his eyes to rest, and the heavy sting of allergens which flood the thin mountain air cause his searing red eyes to flinch - he has not slept nearly enough, but then again, he never has. It is impossible to let the burden of his thoughts slip away, as they follow him into the depths of his dreams, deforming ethereal visions into those of his worst nightmare. It is simpler to remain awake, to push his own boundaries of sanity to better hold on to what reality is and what it is not.
His nostrils flare with a long exhalation, and the icy temperature tickles gently at his whiskered lips as his legs pick up a hefty pace. His weight presses heavily onto the sludge below - a blend of mud and melted ice - and he leaves lasting impressions behind, while his eyes search the dreary land for something - no, for someone in particular. It does not take long for him to find him.
The unusual bio-luminescent spots that line his spine reflect brightly beneath the bright sunlight of morning, his silvery body shimmering beneath. He had been too preoccupied with too many things, and he hadn't been able to take the time to present himself to the male who had already become incredibly invaluable. A tinge of shame tugs at his heartstrings; he had once prided himself upon being prompt and courteous. In light of war, of violence and nursing his many bruises and wounds, he had forgotten a part of himself. A part he must claim once more.
"Romek," He begins, his voice carrying across the feeble distance between them. "Offspring - though I have a feeling you may already know that." A rumbling chuckle rises from his throat as he ceases his pace at last, his massive scarred body standing before him, though there is a light of mischief in his eye. "I have failed to take you aside myself, to welcome you. I apologize for that - but I do want you to know that I appreciate your loyalty; that your actions have not gone unnoticed."
Buried beneath water and who knows what else. It sounds like it shouldn’t be true. He wishes it weren’t true. The dunes, the oases, the caves…everything. Drowned. Memories washed away, like sand in the wind. He would never return there. Would never feel the sun on his back. And Vanquish? Yael? All the children? Did they all escape in time? Even if they did, they haunt him. He can barely sleep without their silhouettes in the back of his head. He couldn’t escape the feeling that perhaps he should be there too, in a watery, sandy grave.
But there must’ve been a reason why he went to the Field, there must’ve been a reason that Mari decided to take him home. Here he has found the purpose he was lacking his entire life; where he was free of expectations, where he could work as he pleased and not worry about letting anyone down – because he had no-one to let down but himself.
He had friends for the first time in a long time. It felt good.
A voice startles him out of his thoughts. He looks up, and it belongs to the King, his King. Offspring, his coat criss crossed in scars which spoke of age and experience – certainly more so than Romek’s own scars, war-gotten (because no-one really gains anything from a war), telling of his age.
”I may have heard of you once or twice,” he says, with a steady smile. King of the Tundra. Mari’s father. He’s not really sure which of these titles are the most important anymore.
”It’s alright, Offspring. Fortunately I have passed the time of my life where I need constant praise for my actions. Once a month will do me just fine.” he says, with the kind of humour he hadn’t really had before coming here. ”But with all seriousness, your kingdom is very busy, it is not surprising that you have not had time before. All is well.”
He pauses, and looks around them, at the warming Tundra. Still cold, but less so. Melting slowly. Puddles of water.
”Do you know if Vanquish made it out of the Deserts before it flooded?” he asks, looking towards his King. He had to know.
His eyes are watchful, observing the way the smoky male's eyes peer across the barren plain and the way his muscles twitch and roll beneath his skin - body language is everything, but he seems at ease, even within the presence of a King. He cannot conceal the faint tug of a smile that pulls at the corner of his whiskered lips; he was more than a simple title and to see such an easiness settle between them soothes him. He is not a callous King, nor one who prides himself upon the power he possesses - he is a simple being, wielding fire and wisdom to bring forth a kingdom from the long forgotten shadows. A servant of those who seek his knowledge and judgment; a companion to those who seek it.
"Alas, you have exceeded any expectations I may have had, Romek. Your presence is appreciated, and you have done well to set yourself apart from the others," He murmurs, his heavy neck craning to the left to peer out towards the heavily lined pines that trickle off in the distance, separating the jagged mountains from the overtly barren, yet still breathtaking valley. "and it is good to see the kingdom thriving."
Suddenly, the tone of the conversation shifts, with a simple but heavily weighted question. A dark, flashing red eye peers warily at Romek as the name Vanquish lingers between them, and he exhales slowly, his mind rampantly playing the images of blinding light, of the shrill cries and sudden explosion - it had been seen from miles, but only few witnessed the unraveling of the great Deserts King. "Though Vanquish was not taken away with the sea, I regret to inform you that he is no longer with us. After the battling settled, something went .. amiss. The magic, it somehow destroyed Vanquish, and in its prowess, stole away many. Vanished, out of thin air."
A silence settles for a long moment, stirring through the thin, icy air as the weight of his words become the burden of another.
"Vanquish unraveled as if he were woven together, something I have never seen in all of my years. I did not know him, but had I known the result of combat would be his loss of life .. I would have chosen differently." He murmurs honestly, uncertainty lingering on his mind. "and I am not certain as to what happened to Yael and the others. There one moment, and gone in the next. I am sorry for your loss; did you know him well?"
Of course, Romek is much too stubborn to ever be intimidated by anyone, regardless of what title they have given themselves or what powers they have. So few remember that they all came from the same place (crept up out of their mothers’ waters, no less) and they will all go to the same place when they die.
”I am glad you think so,” he says, with a gracious incline of his head towards the black stallion. Of course, the official reason anyone does anything is to receive recognition, and to be appreciated, but it’s a little different for everyone (some may want power, or friends, or whatever else) but for Romek, it is for his own sake. Keep the wolves from his back by proving to himself that he is capable, and growing, and changing. After all, to stay still is to stagnate. And this is something that Offspring must know, for his ranks were now open to all, for the first time in history.
Offspring regards him warily and in that moment he realises that it will not be good news. And, despite the countless years and disappointments which had pushed them apart and built a gulf which always seemed insurmountable (yet never was) between them, he felt crushed. He lets the silence sit between them as he processes this news, and as Offspring elaborates on what happened exactly. It’s only when a good deal of time has passed that he realises that the man had ended his speaking with a question, and Romek, seeing no reason to need to hide from his past anymore, says ”Yes. I knew him well.”
”I was his General first, when he first came to the Deserts. And although he was a very fresh newcomer, he fought alongside us all as we went to war on the Valley. Gave himself to kingdom and cause easily and whole-heartedly.” he paused, looking off into the distance momentarily.
”And then soon afterwards, he was my King. There was some disagreement about someone so new taking the throne, but I soon put an end to that.” he paused again as he remembered, and a smile briefly flit across his face. ”Vanquish was right for the role in ways that I was not, at the time. And nobody could disagree with me, someone who had more of a claim to it than anyone else. He won everyone over soon enough, though, although that was hardly a surprise.” Perhaps he ought to sound bitter here, but he truly was not, had never felt an ounce of any kind of anger towards his good friend. Vanquish had been everything that a King ought to be, had been everything that the Deserts had needed at the time. ”He was my best friend, for a long time, and forgave me despite all that I failed to do, and believed in me, and, well, Beqanna has lost a good man, is all I will say.” realising that perhaps the black King will not have such a positive view of someone who was an enemy.
A pause once again, and he looks to the hills and the snow-capped peaks of those mountains, and he looks to the huddles of horses gathered, and to the King in front of him. He thinks of Mari, and their three children, soon to be four. Born into a world of war and soon-to-be-war. Born into a world of either anxiety, or bloodshed, and never in-between. Peace had never been peace, but rather a cease fire as each kingdom fortified against an oncoming attack, imaginary or otherwise, or found a reason to be angry. They all wanted the same thing in the end, didn’t they? Somewhere safe to raise their children. Somewhere to grow, and to enjoy themselves.
”And I look at you now, an enemy of his, and I do not see much different in you. You are a good man, a good King, a good father. Maribel admires you greatly, and it is not hard to see why.” he pauses again (pause pause pause). ”I think I’ve had enough of all the war and all the fighting. Everyone is scared. Everyone is thinking of ways to defend themselves, by swelling their ranks, and their armies, and training hard and being hard.” he sighs. ”But that is just like fighting the threat of flooding by making it rain. Look at all of us, all tossed up and tangled in our anxieties of other kingdoms attacking. When the solution should be simple, really. Yet no-one has thought to do it.”
”We should all be united, not by conquering, but by friendship. Alliances. An entirely united Beqanna, the likes of which have never been seen in its history. And not one where there is a power struggle, or where one kingdom is in charge, but where all are equal, and happy, and willing to open its borders to everyone. Everyone is so worried that the other will attack. When the other is worrying the exact same thing.”
He looks to Offspring. ”War is boring. It’s the time for peace. And the Tundra, I feel, is in the best place to initiate this. As the most powerful kingdom, or one of them, we have respect and we will have others wanting to get close to us, for safety. And you could do what every other ruler has ever done, and take advantage of this through squabbling and asserting your own dominance over underdogs who will inevitably grow strong enough to rip off your legs, and thus continue the cycle. Or, how I see it, is you can break it.”
And Offspring, well, had certainly proved he was no stranger to breaking tradition in favour of progress.
