"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
Once, not so very long ago, she might have come to this kingdom without hesitation, without invitation. But then, that had been when her grandson had held the reins to the southernmost territory. She may have placed faith in Wolfbane, but she has never been one to extend that so freely to others. Even ones closely associated with the blue and gold stallion. But then, Wolfbane’s former second-in-command had not sat at the helm of this kingdom for long, had he?
Given the rapidity in which things had evolved for Loess, it only makes sense that her visitation to this kingdom takes priority. She is ever curious, but now that curiosity is fueled by far more than her own personal whims. No, she has her own kingdom to oversee.
And certainly the turmoil that has laid siege to this kingdom in the wake of her grandson’s departure is worthy of more than a passing glance.
She is of course familiar with the stallion that now leads the kingdom, but she is well aware he has changed a great deal from the shy boy who’d flanked his mother’s heels. Indeed, he’d changed from the man she’d met in Nerine some time ago now. But then, time and life has a penchant for doing that, doesn’t it? Certainly she is not what he might remember either.
Still, perhaps that acquaintance might stand them in good stead here and now.
As she reaches the borders of the kingdom, she slows easily to a halt, coming to rest patiently just shy of entering the kingdom. Perhaps she needn’t be so formal, but then, diplomacy has never been her greatest strength. She might be too boldly spoken most days, but here at least, they would find no reason to fault her.
It’s a simple enough matter to make her presence more noticeable, and no doubt the dragon would soon come. Perhaps others, but he is the one she is most interested in.
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
It has taken more than a decade to associate his predatory nature with comfort. It began as an unknown, a forbidden fruit. Heights and flight were even frightening as he overlooked the rocky cliff of Nerine. Where the other children glided from the precipice, Castile lumbered down the winding path because he imagined himself tumbling out of the sky and falling onto the jagged rocks below.
Eventually, he learned to fly but shifting was still a fear that tightly gripped him and choked him of all air and senses. Shifting meant bloodshed, heartbreak, and pain. It was never an excitable or jubilant act. Turmoil and regret always lied in the wake of his shift as that creature – his inner monster – took control.
But now?
It speaks to him still, its voice a low, creeping rasp like late-night fog curling around his legs. It lurks beneath his placid surface, waiting, but at least it’s mildly controlled now. Shackles are clasped at its ankles. Castile now holds the key.
He is able to bask as his reptilian form with a single leg lazily draped off the edge of the mountain ridge. Behind him is the cavernous tunnel that he has since used as his roost. Although at the western ridge of the kingdom, his refined predatory senses reach farther than they ever could as a horse.
The sun incubates his too-warm body for a long while before Heartfire infiltrates his solitude and peace. Her voice doesn’t ring to beckon him, but her scent – still heavy with Nerine – stirs him from a light nap. A low, quaking rumble reverberates through him and into his rocky step as he clambers slowly to his feet before taking flight. Away from their eyes and cloaked by the clouds, Castile shifts seamlessly back into a horse to pose as a neutral figure with Heartfire although his eyes are far more alive than they have ever been. They settle on her once he has landed and closed the gap that separates them. Her name tumbles easily past his lips despite the time that has passed since their last meeting.
A lopsided, boyish grin appears in the place of formal stoicism.
”Should I still regard you more like an Aunt, or have things changed?” He has known her since childhood. She was a constant in Nerine and at mother’s side, and an unyielding force that he respected even then. But Castile is aware of the tensions that Loess has stirred among the regions. The question is whether he wants to continue the path forged by Kings before him, or to make a drastic change in the politics. The power sits in the palms of his hands.
Castile inches to the side and tilts his body to open the landscape behind him to Heartfire’s eyes. ”I imagine you aren’t here to solely check on an old friend or her son,” he implies that Nayl is here, harbored near his dragon’s nest in the rocky alpines but doesn’t directly admit it, ”So, come in and we can chat near one of the springs.” A terse grin takes the place of his boyish expression as he slowly pivots to lead the way, though keeping close to listen to her.
Patience is a skill she has developed over years (decades even, though that is hardly knowledge she shares so freely. Certainly no one would guess simply by looking at her), and her features remain impassive, unchanging as she waits. Until, finally, a familiar shape burgeons from the sky, nearing until the black and white stallion lands before her with an unmistakable air of confidence.
Castile had grown into his skin finally, and it suits him. The man he is now is a marked change from the boy he’d once been. But then, such confidence is often gained with age.
Her blue eyes are piercing as she watches him, quietly assessing. She tips her head faintly at the familiar greeting, her slender, mottled frame shifting comfortably as he settles nearby. It’s true a great deal had changed since he had been a youth in Nerine, but at the heart of it all, so much remains the same. His truth might have been buried beneath the awkward self-consciousness of youth, but even then she had recognized it. Their base nature does not change that much, after all.
But the world around them certain does. With a faint twitch of her lips, she answers rather noncommittally, “I haven’t changed that much, so I suppose it is up to you.”
They have both found themselves in positions of power now, with more to think of than just themselves. Though they might have the benefit of their rather unorthodox relationship, they still stand before each other as the mouthpieces of their respective kingdoms. And ultimately, that is who they speak for today.
“You imagine correctly,” she acknowledges then, her eyes shifting briefly to consider the kingdom as she steps forward, joining him as he leads the way to the springs. When they finally return to him, she remains silent for several beats of time, the air filled only with the sounds of their muffled steps and the rustling of a faint breeze. When she finally does continue, her voice is carefully neutral, faintly inquisitive. “I must say I have been curious about Loess. A great deal has changed here in such a short amount of time.” She pauses then, eyes sharp as she studies him. “So tell me Castile, why here?”
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
”We are constantly changing,” he reciprocates with an easy grin sliding across the edges of his mouth, ”but what of your perceptions?” As Heartfire has well noticed, Castile is no longer a bashful boy hugging his mother’s leg. It has been more than a decade since he was born that stormy night in Nerine’s caves. Lightning illuminated him as rain swept and pelted the rocky Cliffside. The moment he escaped mother’s womb and drew in his first breath, Castile was battered by noises and images that assaulted his every sense. Nayl knew what she wanted her son to be, and although it took some time, he has been reformed and chiseled into a legacy that she and father could, hopefully, look on proudly.
Years of change – both good and bad – face Heartfire with militaristic-like poise, his eyes alight with an inner fire. Castile cannot help to wonder what thoughts race through her mind as she drinks in the sight of him and Loess at his back. ”Has your perception of me changed?” He asks coolly with a punctuating shrug, ”Or is that still to be decided?”
The spring is at their sides, glimmering in the sunlight as it falls across their backs. It’s comfortable and certainly warmer than Nerine’s northern coast. Nonetheless, Heartfire smells strongly of his original home and birthplace. His heart flutters as memories rise to the surface and flash across his eyelids each time he blinks. Mother’s kingdom – because it was never his to own with its matriarchal society – has always been kind to him and always welcomed him back. It was comfortable, it was familiar. When he had no ambition, it was perfect, but change swept across him like the seasons. It brought him here again, and Heartfire leads quickly into her curiosity. A single chuckle slips. ”It has always been kind to me.” Perhaps few know of his time here because it had been so brief. It was a heartbeat in the grand scheme of things, a fleeting memory. ”I was made Regent years ago when Lepis was only a child with a crown on her head. When she left the throne, I abandoned my title as Regent,” or maybe it was stripped from him, discarded by the girl’s successor. He can’t remember.
”After some trials and tribulations, I came back. Lo and behold, I became King.” He doesn’t specify the short period he was overseer of the Resort. It wasn’t peaceful or accepting; a bitter taste remains on his tongue when he thinks back on it. ”So, I assume you’re back in Nerine based on your scent. Does that leave Leilan alone in Icicle Isle?” The three of them had originally planted their feet on the frozen island and defended it from the hellraisers. Nothing ever came to fruition. It took only a short wait until the island was handed to Leilan, and therefore, Nerine. Castile remembers that, and recalls how dutifully he stood by with the others until fate pulled him into a different direction entirely.
“Not as much as you want it to, I think,” she murmurs softly in response to his somewhat idle line of questioning. Her lips twitch faintly in amusement as she considers him quite openly. Truthfully, she is rarely surprised. And Castile, for all that he had been a quiet boy, had not surprised her in his ambition. She had known his mother well after all, once upon a time. And it could never be a surprise that a son of Nayl should lead the path he had.
She’s not entirely certain if he is aware, but she has had him in her sights for some time now. Of course, anyone who knew anything of her would likely find that unsurprising. Still, it’s not entirely common knowledge that the greater portion of her family resides on the island he had so recently attempted claim as his own. Indeed, her own children had been there during that tumultuous time. She is well aware of what had happened, but she chooses to say nothing of it (though it is what had inspired her to bring her young twins home, where she could more easily protect them). It is history now, after all, and that is where she hopes it will stay.
She listens curiously to his brief tale, lacking more than the most basic points of his succession to the throne, neatly side-stepping the question she had laid before him. Of course, she is quite capable of seeing the details he chose to omit, knows far more of his rise here than he had yet admitted. Still, she is not a mind reader, and the inspiration behind such actions has often been a mystery to her. And if there is anything she does not care for, it is mysteries.
She remains silent however, allowing him to bring the subject around to Nerine. To the activities that had brought them together to defend the northernmost isle those few short years ago. It had been something of a trying time for her, though she hardly expected him to be aware of such a thing. She had always been a very private woman.
“I am,” she agrees easily, for simplicity's sake. Truthfully she’d never left Nerine. Her intent had always been to secure that safeland for Nerine, and when that had been accomplished, she had been glad enough to leave it in her uncle’s capable (if somewhat brash) hands. Or hooves, as the case may be. “He is hardly alone there, but he does lead it, yes.”
She peers at him curiously then for a moment, her eyes sharp and unreadable as she scrutinizes him. After a heartbeat of silence, she draws a breath and continues. “You may not be aware, but Breckin has stepped down and I have taken her place. I am here because I felt it is important we… assess our relationship.”
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
A lifted brow and lopsided grin greet Heartfire’s drawling reply. ”Depends on what your perspective is of me, really,” he mirrors her tone as his mismatched eyes vibrantly flash underneath the summer sun. It has frequented his mind in these past moments how the Nerinian Queen looks at him. Is he still the bashful boy at mother’s hip? Or perhaps the loyal Nerinian that always found solace on her shores? Maybe she replays in her mind his blood-drunk, slow, merciless murder of Klaudius. Surely, she doesn’t yet look upon him and see a King. The crown is still pristine, untainted by his reign. The weight of it remains new to him. The other kingdoms still are grasping for the knowledge, some even unaware of his ascension. He should change that.
But Nerine’s welfare – something that still rings dearly to him – grasps his attention. His assumptions are confirmed and Castile languidly nods, his expression only slightly softening. ”Good. You’ve always been a strong asset to the kingdom,” he doesn’t lie to her. Mother trusted Heartfire years ago and held her as a respectable individual. Castile only vaguely remembers; his childhood was spent there, but he didn’t partake in many of the political matters. He spoke with whomever reached out to him. Back then, he didn’t assess others like he does not. Then, he didn’t classify everyone as prey or hunter (because no one will be his equal). It was a matter of who was kind to him, who spoke to him, and who didn’t want him dead.
”And I’m glad others have joined Leilan. It seemed lonely only having a handful of us on the island – Nerinians – with an endless dispute with the outsiders.” Rey and Set, most notably, but their names are lost on the breeze with the changing seasons. They never surface to his tongue, letting their memories fade into oblivion. ”I owe him a visit.” It’s more of a thought spoken aloud. He had told Leilan he was going to find his children and return, but then fate intercepted and the Icicle Isle was never again in his line of sight.
In fact, much of Castile’s ambitions took an odd turn as of late. Among everything, his attachment to Nerine has even stretched. Although it holds a piece of his heart, he has become less inclined to visit or roam the cave systems like he once did. That could be why Heartfire is here - to bridge the forming gap, or to analyze what the once-prince has since become. With a swivel of his ear, Castile listens and inclines his head. ”Ah. There we go. The real reason you came to visit.” Placid and unbothered, he settles himself and rolls his baroque shoulders in preparation. His wings shuffle and he heavily sighs. ”Alright then. Lay the politics on me, Aunty.” A half-hearted chuckle punctuates the opening of the stage.
She had never been terribly good at playing the diplomat. Never cared for the idle small-talk that so often littered these types of visits. Of course, when one shares a history such as they do, it is inevitable that some amount of the past must be addressed. Especially considering how the dragon had stood at Nerine’s side in the face of the interlopers attempt to claim Icicle Isle (they had disappeared nearly as quickly as they had appeared of course, but that is neither here nor there), and that affords him a greater familiarity than most might have been granted.
Still, a crown weighs heavily upon the head and much can change in the span of a year or two. As evidenced by his recent ascension.
“I am certain Leilan would welcome a visit,” she agrees casually, closing the subject as neatly as it had been opened. Allowing them to move into the true motivations for her visit. After all, she had not come here to discuss her uncle or the history they had once shared.
No, they are here for politics, as he had so aptly acknowledged. Not that she is any more of a politician than she is a diplomat.
“It is no secret that Loess had… something of a crusade prior to your ascension,” she begins bluntly. Perhaps it had not been openly acknowledged, but Castile must know by now that there a few secrets safe from her. That had, after all, been one of the assets his mother had so greatly appreciated about her. Besides, she suspects he is not one to take offense at such boldness. “I’m sure you could understand my curiosity as to whether you plan to continue down that path.”
Of course, she is not foolish enough to believe he would admit such plans so openly to her (unless he felt she might offer him support). Still, her impression of the situation is that he seemed rather undecided. And his reaction to her comment would no doubt tell her far more than his answer might. Either way, she would be better equipped to decide whether their goals are compatible.
and underneath the layers, I find myself asking what's left a hollowed out form, the skeleton of a ghost, the pitiful echo of what once was
Heartfire, as eloquently as she can, navigates their conversation with a precision that Castile admires. With mismatched eyes boring into her, he listens to the accusation of Loess’ previous reputation. A mild shrug ripples through his shoulders and an amused grin wrinkles the edges of his mouth. Each land has its own crusades, as she says, but as the crown is passed along through the generations so is the ambition.
Perhaps, it is wise of Heartfire to be wary. A scrutinizing stare meets Castile, weighing him, preparing for his answer. As much as he wants to be diplomatic and appease everyone, it simply isn’t his nature. To roll over under her stern disdain and uncertainty would be a form of cowardice. Unacceptable.
Castile’s chin wrinkles and his gaze flickers to the distant horizon as though in thought, but his mind has already wrapped around her words and extracted every possible meaning and motive. His responses, blunt as her question, are reminiscent of his mother's tone and approach that Heartfire would readily recognize. ”Did Loess’ previous ‘crusades’ affect you or Nerine?” His head inclines curiously when he looks at her again, a single brow raised beneath his unruly forelock. In his personal history, he cannot recollect tension between the two kingdoms, but he can certainly be mistaken. However, Castile begins treading down a cautious path as he takes into consideration the political ties currently held.
Naturally, there is Sylva and the Pampas beneath his protection, bound by the convenience of their location. Nerine? Although it continues to hold a sliver of his heart, there is no binding tie.
”I apologize, aunty,” again he smiles, ”but unless you’re here to offer some sort of alliance, I’m afraid I cannot – and will not – indulge my plans for Loess.” He inches toward her, but barely, his eyes bright with amusement and mischief (there still lies a playful boy within him, underneath the scales and fire). ”That’s classified information.”
She is not fool enough to believe that whatever attachment he has to Nerine through his mother and his childhood would survive if their respective kingdoms were at odds. And that, more than anything, is why she had come. Because there is too much left to interpretation here, and she does not care for that kind of uncertainty.
She watches almost idly as he considers her question. Of course, she is anything but idle, though one would be hard-pressed to wring any kind of reaction from her. No, she is quite actively observing the nuances of his movements, the gleam of his eye, the subtle shifting of a wing or an ear. Whether Castile wished it or not, each of these tells her something.
Castile might counter her pointed musings with bold curiosity and mischief, but he is as uncertain of her desires as she is of his. She almost smiles at this, recognizing an impasse when she sees one. But then, she hadn’t come expecting to find out anything she didn’t already know. Truthfully, she already knew far more than he would likely be comfortable with. Of course, she had always been very good at holding her cards close to her chest.
“You know these types of events always have a ripple effect Castile,” she replies, answering his question in her usual way. Her blue eyes are sharp as she lifts one brow almost mildly. “And anything that might… ripple into my kingdom is always a concern of mine.”
She would not demure on that point, even to placate the dragon king
Her lips twitch as he continues. He might see it as a response to his sudden mischievousness, but that does not amuse her nearly so much as his mention of classified information. Of course, they likely have vastly different ideas of what is classified and what is not.
“I’m a patient woman,” she replies simply, somewhat cryptically. Though f he recalled anything of her at all, he must know she has a particular skill in discovering information. “But tell me then, what would you propose in an alliance?”
After all, he couldn’t possibly expect her to make such decisions with nothing to go on.
