"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
At first he had been delighted that he was able to see again, eager to take in the beauty Beqanna had to offer, but soon after he had become confused and even somewhat afraid. The sudden change had surprised him, as he had never expected his wish to be granted. If he had known that Djinni could grant wishes like a genie he wouldn’t have been this careless with his words. Brynmor wasn’t even sure if he would have wished for eyesight, but if he would’ve done so he would’ve waited till he was prepared for it. Now it had taken him by surprise.
After the first joy he had thought that Miss, or the Mistress, had come back. That she had come back to force him to participate in another of her sick games. That time had been the first time he had been able to see. She had given him a human form – which later was transformed into a werewolf – and in that form he hadn’t been blind. It had been temporary though, probably to serve him during her games, to make sure he would at least be a little ready to face her challenges. He did. But it had only lead him to the point in which he had killed his two companions, he had their blood at his hands. One of them had deserved it, but the first not and Brynmor still felt guilty for giving in to his friend’s convincing words.
That leads to another question. During Missy’s games he had been able to see his friend, he had been his companion when they fled from Jack the Ripper. But Brynmor had also been pretty sure that his wolf form had killed his friend, yet as he had been able to hear his friend speak again after he had come back to Beqanna he had brushed his memories of Missy’s maze off a contained memory. He had honestly believed that his friend was real. Brynmor didn’t know any better than that his friend was always with him, he had been always been there, even in the dark pit of the Chamber he had been kept in. So why would he suddenly start to question his friend’s existence? Well, that time has come now. Now his sight had been restored – although his eyes were still a little odd with a slight glassy look – he had come to realise that the voice only existed in his head. It explained why Djinni had been hesitant of him and he now clearly remembers Shaytan telling him the truth too. He just hadn’t been willing to believe her, but now he knew better.
It creates opportunities. He no longer feels like that Gryffen is pulling his strings, that Gryffen is deciding his one and every move. No. Finally, finally he could start to become the puppeteer of his own life. And the first step in doing so was to talk to Hurricane. Even though he was pretty sure that the Tundra king wouldn’t like the truth about Brynmor’s arrival at the Brotherhood kingdom, yet it was the only way. He liked to believe that the other male would see his loyalty and that he was eager to fight for the Tundra. Heck. To prove it he would even enter the caves right now and then if Hurricane would ask it of him. That didn’t mean he hoped that things would go to that far. But Brynmor did feel like that Hurricane deserved to know the truth. All of it.
”Hurricane” he greets the gray, winged man. It was the first time for in to take in the other male and he let his eyes wander across him shamelessly. They shared the same coat color, yet Hurricane’s had already totally grayed out, where his own still showed some gray. But unlike him Hurricane supported a set of wings. Brynmor’s bluish white eyes meet his king’s gaze, the look in his gaze serious, yet a small smile plays with the corners of his lips. ”There is something I wish to share with you” he continued to clarify his sudden approach. He didn’t mean the fact that he could see, Brynmor was sure that the king could notice that himself, no, he wanted to speak about the more important matters.
The gray stallion has seen many things in his very long life. Little surprises him anymore, but Brynmor manages it in a simple and unexpected way. Despite his surprise, none of it shows upon his pale features. They are as stark and serene as ever, mouth unsmiling and dark eyes flinty. He has lived too long to allow such things to affect his demeanor in any great way. In truth, he is likely more surprised at his surprise than he actually is at Brynmor. It truly has been ages since anything has taken him unaware.
It is immediately obvious upon the other man’s first approach that something has changed. It is there in the confidence of his step and the tilt of his head. And while it’s true he is an easy enough man to find, considering that he is so often either still and silent or far above in the clouds, he would not have thought it would have been so for a blind man (though he is certain Brynmor would have had no difficulty communicating the fact that he wished to speak, even if he could not see him. Hurricane is aware enough of his own kingdom to know when he is needed).
He knows little of Brynmor’s past, nor has he felt the need to pry. They all have skeletons in their closets, even Hurricane. He is not so rigid as to believe that precludes a man from being a devoted brother. Of course, neither is he so lax that he would give a man keys to the kingdom until they have proven themselves. He is a hard man and has no compunction about calling another out if he feels it is warranted. But he is also a patient man. He is perfectly content to wait until the die is cast, to see on which side it might fall.
In this case, his patience has paid off, though he cannot yet know that. He sees only the difference in Brynmor as he approaches, and he knows something has changed.
”Brynmor.”
He greets the other man in his usual, rather brusque manner. His black eyes pass over the man’s graying frame in a brief, assessing study. He might have guessed that the gray stallion wished to tell him that can now see, but that seems too obvious. So instead he hands the reins to Brynmor, allowing him to lead the conversation.
Even without his sight Brynmor had been able to locate the Tundra’s king before the man’s hooves caused the soft thud of landing on the ground. Other than that there had been the wind that carried the man’s scent. And if his senses wouldn’t have been enough to find Hurricane, he could always have called out to him. Yet none of that all was needed anymore, as he had found the gray king already.
Although he doesn’t know everything about his own past, he is determined to tell Hurricane about the things that he does know. The part that he doesn’t remember isn’t important, after all, if it would be important he would’ve remembered it, right? If Brynmor only would’ve known that Gryffen had set things into motion on the day of his birth he would probably think otherwise. Knowing that Gryffen had killed his mother would only fuel his anger and hatred towards the red eyed male. Yet that wasn’t something he could share with his king, as he wasn’t aware of the murder.
He dips his head slightly, offering the other male a small smile, before his gaze grows more serious. ”The truth about you finding me in the field” he replies, hoping that this first vague answer would make it clear that there had been a foul play. Brynmor lets his gaze travel off in the distance, his eyes staring into the distance without really taking in any of it, much like he had done during the time he was blind. Old habits die hard. ”I spent my youth in the Chamber, in a lone corner with no company, except for apparently this voice I keep hearing without seeing anybody near.” It wasn’t like Brynmor liked to admit that, but he was sure that Hurricane had noticed something was off before, because he had talked with his friend in the presence of the gray king. ”Gryffen came to collect me from that hellhole, but only to take on the role of puppeteer. He and the queen send me to the field, after lounging some time in the meadow, for the Tundra to pick me up. I was a pawn, a puppet, someone disposable and threatened to be their blind spy. Yet I haven’t noticed his ravens around ever since you brought me here, so I’m not sure if they are just happy to have disposed me, but that doesn’t change their intentions. I was sent to the Tundra to spy on you.”
His former confidence is now gone and Brynmor hesitantly steps back to increase the distance between them. He doesn’t know how Hurricane would react to the news. Maybe the king had had his thoughts on him and his appearance in the meadow, but he was a little unsure of how things would continue further. As he swallows the lump in his throat the graying man lifts his head, his gaze meeting the kings’. ”My loyalty lies with the Tundra, I’ll enter the caves right here and now if you would ask it of me” he almost hastily speaks up. Brynmor means what he says, he would enter the caves, but that doesn’t mean he was really eager to do so. His time to enter the caves had not yet come, but maybe his king believed otherwise.
He had of course known for some time something was off with the male standing before him. Had known that he spoke with an invisible friend (more invisible than what Hurricane’s own gift of invisibility might provide). And while he hadn’t particularly suspected the gray man of acting as spy, he had treated him with the caution he treated any newcomer of the Tundra. That is to say, he provided him with enough rope to either hang himself or make a ladder with which to climb.
In truth, had the man actually been spying on the Tundra, Hurricane likely would have noticed. He pays far too close attention to the comings and goings of the kingdom. The Tundra has very few places to hide, nor is it easy to slip in or out unnoticed. Which is likely why the Chamber had felt the need to plant a spy. Ravens are far too obvious. One could spot the birds from a mile away in this landscape, especially if one could fly as well. It is easy enough to avoid the birds. That, perhaps, is why the Chamber might not have noticed how ineffectual planting a spy might be. He has never been one to share sensitive information with a newcomer. Certainly Brynmor as yet has had no chance to gain any information worth sharing.
Besides, the Tundra has little to hide.
Ultimately however, he is actually glad the younger stallion has come forth with his tale. The thought of a spy within their ranks does not sit well with him, even if he did have the foresight to withhold potentially sensitive information from unproven newcomers.
Hurricane fixes a steely gaze upon the graying stallion, remaining silent throughout his confession. He does not respond immediately, lips thinned into a hard line as he studies the other man’s features. Finally, after a long, tense moment, he exhales on a sharp sigh.
”Can I assume then, that this confession means to wish to make your allegiance known?
His gaze slips then, flicking briefly to the caves visible in the distance. Were he a vindictive man, he might insist that Brynmor enter the caves today. Alas, he is not, nor has he ever been. If the man speaks true, then he would rather keep him whole and his mind as intact as it could be under the circumstances. The caves were not kind even under the best of circumstances. He would not wish to see the results in a situation like this. Regardless, if he truly wished to stay, he would need to enter them eventually.
”I won’t require you enter the caves now, though the time will come soon enough. Just be sure that when you do enter them, you hold no disloyalty in your heart.”
He still clearly remembered the frightened look in Djinni’s eyes, just as his own confusion when he learned that the voice of his friend only existed in his head. He had been around so long – Brynmor didn’t know any better than that his ‘friend’ was around – that it had become something that the gray man didn’t question. The voice was still around and the formerly blind man still hadn’t been able to stop the habit of talking back to him, yet Brynmor only did that when he knew that nobody was around. It was frustrating and irritating and he didn’t like it that he had to admit that Shaytan had been right all along, but he had gotten used to the idea. Next to that it was easy for him to put the blame on Gryffen, who had been the cause he had grown up like that. It was just another thing that added fuel to the fire that now burned in the graying male.
As he was still a newcomer to the Tundra he wasn’t known with the extension of Hurricane’s ways to keep track of the things that happened in his lands. All Brynmor knew was the threatening words Gryffen had spoken to him, using the blind man as his puppet and giving him no way of fighting back. Now he had gained sight Brynmor could. Sure he would need some training, but he was more than eager to work hard for it. He wanted to be able to contribute to the Tundra, in one way or another.
His gaze didn’t leave Hurricane’s anymore. He had spoken, he had told the truth, and all he could do was hope that the king would have mercy on him. The silence doesn’t give him the best feelings and ideas. Neither does Hurricane’s answer, but this question was always better than a direct attack. ”My loyalty lies with the Tundra.” He doesn’t say more than that, if the gray king would want a more specific answer he would have to ask for it, as Brynmor doesn’t know what to add. He wanted to stay and he wanted to fight for the Tundra, but he wouldn’t refuse to go on missionary missions if that would be asked of him.
His gaze follows Hurricane’s towards the caves. It’s like Brynmor had pictured them to be, but it’s actually the first time he takes in the sight. For a moment he’s struck by sudden confusion again, his mind conflicting and worrying over this miracle that had happened to him. It was like he was discovering the things he already knew. He knew it all, yet the sight of it was all so extremely unfamiliar to him. ”The Tundra is my home now and I would gladly face whatever might be in the caves once the time is there. I can’t say that I’m ready by then, but I’ll work hard in the meantime” he replies after a short while, his gaze moving back to look at Hurricane. He was genuinely driven to fight for the Tundra, to contribute to the Tundra, maybe not entirely for the right reasons, but his loyalty lied here and nowhere else. Hurricane had welcomed him where others had kicked him out and finally, finally Brynmor was able to do something to repay that kindness. However, his brooding revenge and anger towards the Chamber and Gryffen was something entirely else.
In truth, he is not a kind man. Conversely, neither is he cruel. No, he is a logical man, one who knows intimately the foibles and failings of his fellow equines. He has never been one to hold grudges, nor has he ever considered himself exceedingly unfair. That Brynmor had come forward with this information speaks volumes. Enough to give Hurricane pause. He would give the man as fair of a chance as he gives anyone else. In the end, he would either earn Hurricane’s trust and camaraderie, or he would learn just how hard of a man he is.
As Brynmor states his intentions emphatically, Hurricane studies the gray man with a flinty eye. When he has finished, the pale stallion hesitates only a moment before dipping his head in a nod of acceptance. He would take the man’s pledge as he had given it, holding him to his word as proof of his allegiance. In the end, his deeds would show the truth of his words.
But there is more, a thought that he cannot let ago until it is fully satisfied. He wonders why the man’s confession comes in conjunction with his newfound ability to see. It is an odd coincidence, to say the least. And so he asks, though his question is spurred far more by curiosity than anything else (even if no hint of that curiosity registers in his tone, his features remaining as impassive as ever).
”Tell me, Brynmor, how did you regain your eyesight?”
He had been eager to find Hurricane, eager to tell him the truth, eager to set some things into motion. But now he stands in front of the winged king he realises that things don’t come this easily. It’s not that he can blame Hurricane, after all, he had been send to the Tundra to spy on the kingdom. To inform the Chamber about what’s going on in the Tundra, settling himself in the kingdom while it was still weak. And although Brynmor hates to admit it, he knows he needs to prove himself, just as he knows he needs to be patient.
The king is right. His newly gained eyesight is the sole reason why the graying male had stepped forward to tell Hurricane the truth. Call him a coward, but it’s the truth. First it had seen helpless, he had thought of himself as helpless, but now.. Now he was finally able to stand up against his tormentors. And he would.
Brynmor cannot say that the question comes as a surprise. Honestly, the fact that it was delayed this long was more surprising. ”A genie granted my wish” he answers, the corners of his lips curling a little, knowing how strange it sounds. It was the truth, and a gift. ”She heard me say that I wished to see again, as I was fighting with myself, and tada, this was the result.” It wasn’t any different than that, just this simple. He had been arguing with his imaginary friend when Djinni had found him, and from one thing the other had come.
