"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
and I could easily lose my mind; the way you kiss me will work each time calling me to come back to bed, singing Georgia on my mind
I won't abandon you. They're the last words his sister spoke to him before they left their meeting place in the forest, each of them with a certain kind of warmth growing in their chest at the reminder of the support each held for the other. In Valdis, Rhae sees the spirit of her father and of their shared mother, assuredly stubborn but also caring. She shows her love less than Solace, but its potency and strength matches their mother's stride for stride.
Perhaps this last reminder of love and of optimism is what pushed the prince to make a small adjustment to the path he chooses to return to Tephra, the kingdom he is slowly assimilating into under the careful watch of Magnus. Of course, it would be a lie to say that Valdis is the only woman he has in mind as he treks northwards; a certain blue creature with a nose dipped in gold comes to mind, one whom he hasn't seen since that night at the beach.
Ah, the beach.
Chryseis had been the first to claim her prince, openly showing affection to him and making it known that they might be considered an item. His stomach twists at this thought as he plucks carefully through the forests of Taiga, avoiding other forms of life as well as he can as he makes his way towards Nerine. The arrival of Ivy and of Kensa had been what set the prince off, causing him to high-tail it out of there like an idiot; the presence of Litotes hadn't been helpful either, though he didn't discover exactly why until later on, in Tephra.
The truth, though? He still doesn't know Ivy's name, referring to her mentally as Moondancer - and he could see without even trying that Kensa and Lie had chosen each other. This much is now undeniably true, as he had heard from Solace that the two had been named Ambassador and General of the subkingdom Hyaline. Rising in the ranks where he could claim his birthright, if he wanted to.
But he doesn't want to. All he wants, he realizes as he comes upon the Nerinian border (smelling of salt and of women and of rage), is her.
He considers raising his head and calling, but that would bring too much attention his way; instead, he blinks once and steps across the imaginary line, continuing north in the hopes that he might pick up on her scent, or that she might pick up on his.
What will come after that, exactly, he hasn't dared to imagine; she isn't the type of girl you should ever run away from at parties, and that was exactly what Rhaegor had done.
you were a vision in the morning
when the light came through,
i know i've only felt religion when i've lied with you ;
______________________
She tried to not think about the beach party in Hyaline that had taken place over the summer. A gathering of all the youth in her birthland had been a promising event, one that should have amounted to new friends, and, even if she wouldn’t allow herself to admit it, another chance to be close to the winged prince. She had not been shy in showing her infatuation towards the handsome colt, and he had done little to smother the flames that had sparked. He had done the opposite, in fact, fueling the fire with his lingering touches and gentle embraces. Too young and naive to consider that she was not, in fact, the only one to catch his wandering eyes, it had been an enlightening discovery to meet Ivy and Kensa. Girls were born with an innate ability to see when their love-interest was enchanted by someone else, it seemed, and Rhaegor bolting away from the group and disappearing all together had only cemented her suspicions. More importantly, being deserted by someone she cared about in front of everyone had wounded her in a way she wasn’t prepared for.
Thankfully, Nerine was the fresh start she needed. Her father and Breckin were both gone to Icicle Isle, and even though she was suppose to have joined them, since it was supposedly safe, Chryseis had instead stayed on the mainland. The tall coastal grasses brushed against her knees as she walked, the cold winter wind tugging at her tangled mane. Her coat was thick and dark in preparation for the cold nights and frigid days, and it hugged against her maturing curves as she walked the familiar path that lead towards the coastline. The air smelled of salt and snow, and something — or someone — else. It makes her stop short, her heart stumbling over its beats as she turns her gold blazed face to stare at the winged colt. She can feel the heat rising to her face, but it’s not for the reasons he usually incites; she is not feeling shy and giddy. She’s angry.
Her dark brown eyes narrow, coming to a stop as she tilts her head to regard him with a calculating stare. For a moment, she imagines herself turning around and walking away, or maybe even giving him a taste of his own medicine and just running. But then she thinks that maybe he isn’t even here to see her; he has surely joined another kingdom by now, or was maybe running a brothel of mares out of somewhere, and Breckin probably wouldn’t like if she ran from a guest. And so she walks forward, striding purposefully up to him. She hated that the first thing she noticed was his sweet brown eyes, and the fact that somehow his face had begun to look older and more handsome. Her eyes remain flat-surfaced, steeling herself against the butterflies she could feel stirring, but she lets a small smile rest tersely on her lips. ”Rhaegor,” his name feels like a stranger’s, refusing to taste the familiarity of it. ”Why are you here?”Why did you leave? But she doesn’t ask the question she really wants to ask, the one that has been on her mind since he ran. She just watches him, her face a careful mask of feigned detachment.
chryseis. and i'm still waking every morning but it's not with you
and I could easily lose my mind; the way you kiss me will work each time calling me to come back to bed, singing Georgia on my mind
Just as she had not considered the possibility that he might have wandering eyes, he had not considered the fact that his actions would hurt her feelings so gravely. That being said, both of those things are his fault entirely, and in the time that he's been away from her and from everyone, he's come to realize that. The strangest thing, really; that with the dawning of the plague and his acquiring of it, the speed of his maturation has increased exponentially. Though he comes now only to his second year, he feels ancient: as if the weight of the world resides on his shoulders... But that might be because of the ceaseless joint pain that he has yet to seek healing for.
He rounds a corner, and suddenly, she is there - caught on the top of a cliff with the wind bringing her mane to perfectly frame her elegant face, the newly developed curves of her figure as breath taking as the smile he had seen before but fears he will never see again. Chryseis stops the moment she sees him. Rhaegor does the same. So many different parts of him clamor in his mind, some wanting to run to her, others to fall at her hooves and beg, others to turn and not face the humiliation and pain that is sure to be borne of this interaction. But the prince quiets each of these voices in turn, choosing instead to simply stand, head held neither high nor low, but instead exactly as it was when she found him. The wind blows in his face, too, but it is not elegant nor framing; the wisps of his forelock case his eyes, their dark threads lending his usually bright countenance an edge, and a depth.
When she moves, his breath catches in his chest. The dark length of his wings squeeze closer to his lanky body, an attempt to keep them from shuddering with what might be exultation or terror; he can't decide which. Chryseis walks with a sway that demands the attention of all around, but the only one around is him: and so he gives her his entire attention, eyes tracing the fluidity of her step and the grace in her topline as her shoulders rotate; his ears perk as if the strain might bring forth words from her lips, words he so desperately wants.
(You should not have to beg for a woman to love you).
I hurt her. (Princes do not beg. You are a humiliation; a lesser man; not a man at all).
So be it.
Rhaegor. She says her name and it rings hollow, or, more accurately, as if it is filled to the brim with ash. Where once the warm flame of a tentative love had been growing, now only the ruins of his own making remained; he wonders if there is anything left to rekindle their friendship. He can do without her love: but he cannot do without her forgiveness, and her acceptance. He tries to communicate this as she stands there before him, frosty and guarded; through the threads of his forelock which tangle around his eyes, he tries to communicate this.
Why are you here?
A sharp, ambiguous laugh cuts from his lips, the sound a fast and heavy exhale; his lips don't turn up, but it's not really funny, either.
(Cripple).
The prince lowers his eyes, inhales as if that would ever give him the ability to speak, and looks up again. His forelock still conceals him. Her still frames her, captures her beauty. Rhae wonders if it's a metaphor for something; but a moment later, he realizes that it's just not that fucking deep.
He had inhaled too deeply; in the next moment, a vicious hacking cough consumes him, his chin curling to his chest as his eyes squeeze shut. It lasts longer than a normal cough should. Longer than a cough from a cold should. And when he blinks his eyes opens and strains to find her with them once more, a fine spattering of blood covers his shoulders, and smears delicately across the pink of his lips.
you were a vision in the morning
when the light came through,
i know i've only felt religion when i've lied with you ;
______________________
She wants to be cold. She wants to be able to remain closed off and frigid, even if it was only towards him. She was not jaded, not yet anyway. Even if she spent her nights wondering what she had done wrong, she still spent her days the only way she knew how. She has not stopped being herself, but rather, she has become a quieter, more cautious version of herself. She still is quick to smile at strangers, but she is far more careful. Rhaegor had been a stranger once, after all. A beautiful stranger, that had captivated her attention without even trying, that had left her dreaming and spinning in a way she hadn’t known possible. It was her own foolish fault, she realized eventually, and she wasn’t about to let that happen again.
She likes to think no one else can get to her like that because she’s not letting them. She isn’t ready to admit that she never was, and never would be, in control of what her heart chooses to feel.
They are both silent, which is a rarity for her, but normal for him. He can’t hear the way her pulse is rushing in her ears, and can’t see how difficult it is for her to keep that thin mask of faulty apathy in place. She is silent, but inside she is screaming. She wants to be back in Hyaline, sharing secret valleys with him, and feeling his raspy whispers against her skin. She doesn’t want to be standing here, where only steps separate them, and yet it feels like oceans.
The sea breeze spins her mane and forelock, her gold blaze glittering in the cold sunlight, and still, she is quiet. She doesn’t realize that he thinks she is just as beautiful as she finds him; that he watches the way her hair lifts and tangles just like she traces the angles and lines of his face with her dark brown eyes, or the way the wind ruffles some of the feathers on his brilliant wings. She doesn’t know that he is sorry, just like he doesn’t know that it was not necessarily the act of him running that had hurt her — although that had certainly stung in the moment — but rather, that he never came back.
But the silence that has stretched between them is suddenly broken by his wrenching cough, and just like that, she can’t lie anymore.
Her eyes immediately fill with concern, the rigid lines of her face melting. There is blood on his lips, and she can feel her heart constricting in her chest at the sight of it. ”Rhae,” She speaks his name hardly above a whisper, and she can feel her wall crumbling. She never wanted to fight, and she can’t pretend like she did anymore, not with him in front of her like this. She steps forward, and with her black muzzle she hastily wipes the blood from his shoulder, and then, gently, from his lips. Her own lips move to press against his fever-warm forehead, her eyes closing as a sigh slips from her mouth, followed by her quiet murmur, ”You shouldn’t have traveled this far, not when you’re this sick. And especially not if it was just to see me.” Unexpectedly, she can feel the familiar pin-prick of tears threatening behind her eyes, and even though they well at the front, she doesn’t let them fall, though her voice is tremulous when she says, ”But I’m glad you did. I’ve missed you.” Because she was still just a young, selfish, foolish girl, and even sick and coughing blood, she just wanted him here.
chryseis. and i'm still waking every morning but it's not with you
and I could easily lose my mind; the way you kiss me will work each time calling me to come back to bed, singing Georgia on my mind
As Rhaegor looks up from his coughing fit, he expects to see any emotion except the one he finds; anger, sadness, or that unfeeling stare that only women seem capable of expressing. Instead, he finds the last expression he expected: concern. Perhaps he ought to have expected it given the nature of his illness, but he hadn't; and in seeing it now, the boy buckles. What facade he had up in the minutes before makes way for lips split in a silent cry and eyes half-closed in the same as a sob ripples through him from chest to throat. A pathetic clicking noise sounds in his throat as the emotion overwhelms him.
She steps forward to wipe the spatter of blood from his shoulder, but he keeps her there a moment longer than she anticipated, leaning his neck against hers as the clicking continues. No one else knows about his illness, about his contraction of the contagion - none except her, now. Shifting some of the weight of this burden to her shoulders creates a kind of release in the prince that he'd far from expected, and yet he struggles to regain control of himself and his emotions as they stand together, trembling for the terrors of this reality and clinging to one another as the only two threads of hope left in all of the known world.
The clicking gradually subsides, and Rhae shakes his head vehemently. No more tears. When he pulls back, Chryseis wastes no time in reaching to displace the blood on his lips with the delicate tissue of her own muzzle. The gesture makes Rhae want to start into the water works all over again; but he holds it together long enough to feel the girl's lips press to the sickly warm expanse of his forehead. The boy nods his head gently into her kiss, as if burrowing deeper into the safe place he knows exists within his darling Chryseis.
She speaks, the words as soft as his were loud. Ears, trembling for exhaustion, flick immediately to her such that he might catch every word, every syllable, every whisper of breath that passes from her to him like manna from heaven. It is a scolding that she gives him, but not a heartfelt one; before she can finish saying that coming to see her should have been the last of his plans, Rhaegor slides away from her touch such that he can give a small tug on her mane and then press his cheek against hers, ear pressed to her flesh such that he can hear the sound of her heart pumping.
But I'm glad you did. I've missed you.
The boy waits a moment before answering; the sound of her heart working and healthy take priority, even now as the catharsis they've both being waiting for dawns upon them.
Leaning back, Rhae gently finds the soft flesh of her lips with his own, then retreats further to speak. Not far, though; she mustn't lose his words to the howl of the wind.
"I've missed you desperately, Chryseis." His eyes, clear new from the tears that he'd shed into the dark blue of her coat, find hers and hold them. Sincerity rings in the shallow sounds of his voice. "I don't know how I can ever, ever apologize to you. I was a fool."
you were a vision in the morning
when the light came through,
i know i've only felt religion when i've lied with you ;
______________________
When he leans into her, she is afraid the sound of his near-silent cry is going to split her apart. She can do nothing but hold him, her blue neck wrapped around his golden own. It wasn’t the reaction she had anticipated, and even if Chryseis was more reckless and chaotic than most girls, there was something far more vulnerable that she harbored inside. Rhaegor always seemed to find it, without any effort; it was part of the reason she found him infuriatingly irresistible. He was, perhaps, the only one besides her family, that she felt safe displaying all of her sides.
Her muzzle rests against the top of his neck, murmuring gently to him until his emotions subside and he slips away. Her dark, usually bright brown eyes are far softer than they have ever been, watching him with worry and confusion. There is a part of her — the untrusting, suspicious part of her — that wonders how sincere this is. She cannot stop thinking about how transfixed he had been by Ivy, and how Kensa arriving with another male had been enough to send him away. Even with him pressed against her, with her heart beating in his ear, she cannot ignore the doubt that is hiding in the back of her mind.
But when his lips touch hers, it vanishes, and she is thankful that he can’t hear the way it makes her heart skip a beat before settling into a racing, fluttering pace. He doesn’t even realize the hold he has on her, that he could ask her for absolutely anything and she wouldn’t resist.
When he begins to speak, it brings the smallest of smiles to her face. She had missed his quiet, hardly-used voice, and she had learned to cherish his words since they didn’t come often. A slender ear flicks towards him, the swift breeze almost ripping his words away, and she takes a step closer to ensure she doesn’t miss any of it. With her brown eyes locked with his she listens, and once again she can feel tears making their way back in. ”Of course I forgive you,” and this time it is her turn to press against him, her chest against his as her delicate head lays across his shoulder. Here, without him able to see her face, the tears leave a trail down her cheeks, wetting against his skin. Her body shudders in an attempt to chase them away, and when she speaks, her throat is aching, burning from the effort. ”I’m the fool. I thought...”Her words cut short, unable to finish, and she clenches her jaw to will away the tears that are now collecting in the strands his mane.
She pulls away, and even though her eyes remain watery, new tears do not fall, as she levels her gaze with his and admits weakly, ”It was naive of me to think I was the only one with your attention. I never even had the right to be mad.” Her eyes close for a moment, ignoring how it hurt to admit that painful truth. She doesn’t doubt that there is something mutual simmering between them, but she realizes now that it likely wasn’t reciprocated in quite the same way. She was, unmistakably, his. But she doesn’t think she will ever be the only one calling him hers. ”I’m sorry, too.”
chryseis. and i'm still waking every morning but it's not with you
and I could easily lose my mind; the way you kiss me will work each time calling me to come back to bed, singing Georgia on my mind
In the moments between their quiet conversation, he sees her. Not for the first time (lord knows that he saw her that day on the plateau, with the whole world behind her and her, right in front of him), perhaps, but for a time that he cherishes passionately. The darkness in her eyes speaks to the sobriety of their situation and their contagion, but the softness in the curve of her smile speaks to something else entirely. Although he knows that he broke her heart that day on the beach, Rhae hopes against hope that perhaps one day, he might hold that precious flesh again in the palms of his hands.
He doesn't deserve it, of course; but perhaps in time, he could earn her love again. They were children, back there on the beach; and though they are but teenagers now, they have come into their own. He feels differently now than he did then; the clamour of girls has fell away and left only her, standing as if with a halo of light around her. In this reverie, the only frost he sees upon her is that of a fresh snowfall; for in the depths of her eyes and in the breadth of her chest, he feels only the warmth of something more than companionship.
Of course I forgive you. He blinks softly, realizing that it had not been a reverie in his mind at all, but that which he observes in this, the present. In this, his reality. Tears gather in her eyes and the sight of them render his wet, too. Exactly as she reaches for him, he reaches for her, their hearts and minds already working in tandem despite the short length of their reunion. He cannot see the way her tears leave small markings across his shoulders, but he holds her tightly nonetheless, as if he could mend the pieces of her he'd broken through sheer pressure and love alone. She trembles in his embrace. He holds her tighter still.
I'm the fool. I thought... Although she trails off on her own, Rhae attempts to cut her off with a sharp shake of his head no into her body, his own teeth gritting now as an anger and self-hatred reintroduce themselves to him. His eyes, open and clear now, stare into the distance with the unseeing rage of perfect hindsight. She would never be the fool. In this moment, as she attempts to stifle tears, he pledges to always serve her: to bring her happiness: and to be exactly that which she needed him to be.
He thinks, now, that he can keep such an oath; but though a child is not a teenager, nor either is a teenager an adult. Every fiber of his body makes this pledge; but his fibers will change, and is too young to realize that.
If they're lucky, his love for her won't change... But for now, they are together.
Chryseis pulls away from him at last, eyes wet but composed. Her voice sounds weaker than when last he'd heard it, and it leaves him gutted. She says she'd never had the right to be mad, that she should have been less naive. His ears lay back, nostrils flaring; the spike of anger he feels leaves the whites of his eyes showing, though only momentarily. As her eyes close against the onslaught of his self-hatred, a last apology slides from her lips: and that, that will be hid undoing.
"Fuck that, Chryseis." He says in his loudest voice, though it is barely as loud as one's regular speaking volume. His tail snaps vehemently behind him, head tossing as if to do so might rid his poll of his straining ears. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this." A part of him wants to paw at the earth and to vent his anger, but the other remembers the softness of her smile and the way her tears had traced down his spine; with a single moment of that image in mind, the boy stills.
He feels like exploding for all the emotions he feels, but he stills.
He steps forward, angles his head, and lifts her chin with his.
When she lifts her lashes and finds his eyes, they are not angry, but a different kind of passion fills their depths. Not a hunger, but a need: a need to reassure her, in as intimate a way as she would allow him.
"You alone have my heart, Chryseis." The words fall in a heavy exhale, but it is her breathing that makes his hairs stand on end. The rest of the world, the howling wind and the rocky outcropping, it all fades away. As he stares past the blue colour of her iris and into something far deeper, they are again together in their secret utopia, two children, though his intentions are far from childish. "I see that now. And I will fight for you every fucking day if it means that I may have yours, too."
A pause.
With the languid movement of one older than he, Rhaegor steps into her chest, and places his lips on her withers. For a moment, that is all; but as her lungs expand to inhale, his lips peel back to reveal his teeth; teeth which clench slowly around the flesh of her shoulder, claiming her until her blood, too, spills unto his tongue.
you were a vision in the morning
when the light came through,
i know i've only felt religion when i've lied with you ;
______________________
She doesn’t know if he sees the hold he has over her, the one that he always has had. For so long she had fought against it, even when she was just a little girl and didn’t even realize what she was running from. It should have been just a childhood crush; a fleeting feeling, beautiful and strong, but one that lasted no longer than a star shooting across the sky. Instead that tiny ember had sparked into a flame, and no matter how many times she smothered it, it was ignited every time she saw him again.
But right now, it is no longer a spark. He is stoking it to a fire, that she can feel burning in the far corners of her heart and melting the frigid walls she had carefully crafted. It wasn’t just pity for the way his body shivered with fever and the blood that stained his golden lips; it’s because it is him, and her foolish heart has been his since the first time she met him. She is sure she would live to regret it someday; that they were destined to crash and burn, and that she would be pulling together pieces of herself from the wreckage — whatever he managed to not take with him. And somehow still, she can’t walk away.
His outburst, though quiet in volume, has a strength behind the words that she feels in her core, but only elicits the faintest of smiles. She doesn’t fully believe him. Though still ever sweet, there is doubt that has seeded inside her heart, one that makes her question everything he says. He tilts her chin upwards, her glossy eyes flickering as they search his, trying to find any source of truth to what he is saying. She wishes she could read his mind, and his heart, and maybe she wouldn’t feel so afraid.
She can feel the tears gathering again, but they don’t fall. It would be easy to lie to him, to protect herself from any further damage. Instead, she can’t deny him the truth, as it blossoms in her chest and form so easily on her tongue, ”Rhae,” she begins, her voice nearly cracking but quickly gaining strength as she steadily holds his gaze, ”You have had my heart since the day I met you. And it is still yours.” She presses against him, her gold-blazed forehead against his as she whispers, ”Even if you break it, it’s yours.”
He moves then, their chests touching as his neck drapes across hers, her own muzzle nestled across his back. It is sweet and sensual, if only for a moment, before his teeth grab hold of her skin, and a gasp that evolves into a low moan catches in her throat at the feeling it sparks. A small trickle of bright blood slides down the slope of her roaned shoulder, her entire body suddenly flush and warm. With her slender neck arched she lets her lips slide up his neck, before her own teeth scrape roughly just below his ear and she whispers with a hungry ferocity, ”You’re mine.”
chryseis. and i'm still waking every morning but it's not with you
and I could easily lose my mind; the way you kiss me will work each time calling me to come back to bed, singing Georgia on my mind
Destined to crash and burn they may be, but god, it would be a glorious thing. The eruption of their colliding energies would be enough to fill the night sky with a crystalline fire, a shimmering blue-white-gold whose constellations extended from one horizon to the other. Rhaegor knows this as he looks at her. Her, who stole his heart with her very first breath; her, whose vivacity had at first frightened him, and then immediately enthralled him; her, whose heart she had freely given and allowed broken by one as foolish as he.
And, as her tear-filled eyes meet his, she speaks the very words which made up his innermost fears. You have had my heart since the day I met you. And it is still yours. Even if you break it, it's yours.
A clutching in his throat, one which he fails to dislodge, the vice of it only growing tighter as he struggles to form an argument against these words. Chest to chest like this, Chryseis only feels the way her young lover's muscles tense as he fights to reassure her; the sight of his fumbling tongue and pinned ears bypass her for now. It would be easy to say lies, to force her to believe him based on the merit of his word alone; but the way her smile only twitched instead of stretching to the depths of her eyes reassures the good for nothing boy that to do so would be a waste of his time.
So he moves instead, utilizing his bite as opposed to his bark. Mute and crestfallen, Rhaegor reverts to the most instinctual and comfortable method of communication: physicality.
As the guttural notes of her moan grace his ears, a twisted smile comes over his face, her blood slowly pooling in his mouth; perhaps it is the fever (it is definitely the fever) or perhaps... Perhaps the harming of the girl now, and physically, registers in the boy's mind as a way to ground them, and to subvert the emotional pain he might inflict at a later time... He tongues the warm liquid idly at this thought, swirling its contents around though he's not drawn much by this time.
The feeling of her porcelain teeth grating against his fever-sensitive neck causes his jaw to tighten; but when her words send shivers along his spine, an almost orgasmic wave sent coursing through his neurons leads to a release of her flesh. Shuddering, the boy leans his weight against Chryseis, unthinkingly smearing her blood along the length of his face.
Thud-thud.
His hooves scud along the earth in rapid succession as he nearly loses consciousness, ankles tripping and knees fumbling to keep him upright even as Chry holds him up. Straightening, Rhae teeters dangerously, eyes fixated on her shoulder... Alien, that smeared crimson which darkens her blue to black. He licks his lips, tastes blood. Finds her eyes. Does not realize that he is swathed in her gore.
"...You're bleeding." The whispered statement sounds as otherworldly as the glazed sheen of his eyes appears. A titter escapes him; he stumbles, barely catching himself. "You're --"
![[Image: rhae]](https://66.media.tumblr.com/c013fae479a9e0c775688ff921306b4e/tumblr_pivbqpgHuG1xsr748o1_250.png)
