He doesn’t miss her rising anger. He knew it was coming and sees it stirring behind the glint of eyes that harden like twin emeralds. What he didn’t know was just how spectacular her rage would end up being. He continues to fill her in and he can see the way his words effect her, notices the way the rain begins to slow around them when he glances away, notices the storm brewing before his very eyes.

He waits for it. “Fool.” It starts. His expression is unreadable and he stays silent, watching her carefully. She wasn’t wrong, a word he had called himself more than once. What she says next makes his eyes narrow but still, he says nothing. Instead he watches the way light filters through her crystals, how her damp mane and tail suddenly rise like dripping snakes around her, the energy pouring from her eyes. He does not flinch in her fury although there is a tightening in his chest.

He’s never seen anything more beautiful and doubts he ever will.

It’s what she says next that breaks the spell between them. He faces down her fury and feels his own flaring back to life as his expression goes hard, the red of his eyes darkening as they grow cold. He is grateful for it, this rush of heat that distracts him from all those sharp broken pieces inside of him. This he understands. This feels more familiar. It doesn’t ease the ache any less though, that reminder of how she had looked at him all those years ago in a dark stormy meadow. “I don’t hurt children.” His voice a low icy rumble as he stares at her, unwavering and eerily calm. “After all this time, the things you think I am capable of.” He laughs, something cold and shuttered.

His voice is something harsh and deadly when he speaks again and those unflinching red eyes never stray from the blinding light that filters from hers. “This place was dead when I took it. Now it is no longer silent which is all I offered to do for your Queen. Have I failed in that endeavor, Cheri?” He pauses, tilting his handsome head at her. He doesn’t give her time to answer, asking her another question. “While you were gallivanting around looking for your missing boyfriend, Loess has remained untouched while your extended family has hurt my people, has hurt your precious North. And yet you do not wonder why Hyaline's eye has yet to turn on you or your kingdom?” He asks vindictively, seething behind his words and the frustration of something she still remained too dense or blind to see. She wanted to be Queen of the South, wanted to rule them all, but hadn’t even noticed what had been happening in her own front yard. Had forgotten that those “vipers” were her subjects too, one’s that deserved protection just as much as Loess did.

Aela had not asked to have her chest ripped open any more than the Northern mare had asked to have her legs broken.

“If you think this would have all been avoided then you’re a bigger fool than me.” He states quietly and takes another step closer until he can almost feel the heat from her fury. He searches her face again and then raises his head, exposing his neck and broad chest, the constellation scattered across his skin shining against her brightness. “Go ahead.” He challenges her, a low whisper, an invitation. “If you want to hurt me, go ahead.” There is a thrill that runs through him, wondering if she would. He wouldn’t blame her if she did, if she wanted to unleash her magic and punish him. He would take her violence, her harsh words, he would take anything she decided to throw at him. He was, after all, still a monster in her eyes and deserved nothing less.

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She had learned well from him at least, how to throw cruel and cutting words. His eyes flash with anger but he doesn’t back away from her ruthless verbal assault or her strange divinity. He cannot deny the truth in them even though he knows they aren’t entirely accurate. There was no contradicting Aela’s brilliance and what she had done for the Pampas, something he would always be grateful for no matter how uncertain their relationship might currently be. The golden mare and her ambitious ideas had been the spark. But to imply that she was the sole reason for the Pampas success was an insult that curled tight around the serpent whose eyes now narrow in his sockets. Just as he had no idea what she had truly been up to in those months apart, neither did she.

He is no hero. He has never thought himself as one, would never claim to be one. There was an amount of shit stirring and villainy that he had taken part of and would raise his hands to it but there had been no murdering and pillaging. What they had done had been harmless, mostly. When it came down to Gale and what had been done to Aela , when he had realized what was happening around them and that those he cared for (including the stubborn wraith before him, he reluctantly acknowledges) were at risk  … He would not apologize for it. Nor would he apologize for stealing Sickle. It had always been a gamble, that deal, and in the beginning he had thought her a means to an end. It had altered when the changeling child and her coat of many colors had finally broke down in front of them. Cheri had not seen the filly for herself. She hadn’t seen the tears in her confused eyes that had tugged at something unfamiliar to him, didn’t understand the mess of where the girl had come from. But he could empathize. He knew what it was like to come from a fractured family and be left alone, abandoned. And when she had whispered her wish to never see Gale again, he hadn’t blamed her for it.

He has no regrets.
If asked to do it again, he would.

So he steps to her and she laughs. That smirk spreads on his soft velvet lips, curling at the corners, even when he is drenched from the rain that suddenly smashes down on top of them. He snarls softly, bracing himself against her torrential downpour, when that voice comes from her. The snake within him writhes wildly with abhorrence and he nearly loses himself then and there but her storm keeps him centered enough and then everything stops and she crumples to the sand in front of him.

All is silent except for the sound of their heavy breathing and the soft click of scales falling in and out of place. A muscle works through his lower jaw as she speaks and for a moment it seems he might just leave her there. Again. But he doesn’t.

His pride keeps his tongue still, keeps him from saying to her “You already have" as he steps to her again and reaches out. His muzzle comes to rest lightly on her forehead, just above her wincing brow, and expels the golden light he had not touched since Obsidio’s birth. Taking the pain for himself.

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Cheri had lived a life that had never been available to him. A perfect family, a purpose in life, magic. There had only been a small taste for him before it had been swept away when his father disappeared. Tantalize had faded into the jungle not long after that, too stricken with grief to look after the spitting image of the one she had loved and lost. But he had never empathized his mother’s pain like Bardot could, had been too consumed with his own the moment he had been left, lost and alone in a kingdom that no longer had a place for him.

It was a mixture of ugly jealousy and pain that had caused him to lash out at her that day. It had also been something more when she had looked at him, before he had opened his mouth, as if he was worth more than what life had handed him thus far. Something he couldn’t fully understand then but was starting to discover now.

He had always been empty, hard, cold. And then she had ruined it, flaring that heat in his chest and stirring emotions that had long been dead back to life.

His muzzle barely brushes against her skin, grazing slightly along the jagged edges of her crystals, as he reaches down into her and pulls the pain out. It momentarily resides in him, making him frown and wince as stars dance behind his eyes, as he takes it and places it into himself. It starts as an ache, a jab, then a fracture as his golden threads wrap around the hurt parts of her and drain away the residual aftershock of what she had become.

He doesn’t answer her question right away, focused on the task at hand and the building pressure in his head. When the golden light dies and he finally pulls away, he releases that throbbing weight (wondering once more where it always went) and there is no pain on his face, only tired lines beneath his glittering violent eyes. “If they come..” He says, knowing that there probably was no if and only when, “Then I’ll deal with it.” He says with a soft roll of a broad scaled shoulder, not expecting (or wanting) anyone to fight his battles for him.

He does not tell her of the way he is losing more control. He does not tell her that when they come, they will more than likely find a serpent hidden amongst the flowers. He does not tell her that he does not expect to survive such an encounter. Instead he simply gives her that infuriating smirk and says in his quiet mocking way, “You still owe me a favor. Better make that two now, Shield of Justice.”

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At the roll of her eyes he merely smirks harder. “Why I intend to cash in now, Cheri.” He says quietly, searching her face as he wonders if she would even be bothered if he was dead. Surely just one less irritation for her to deal with based on their track record. Despite his dark words, crimson eyes glitter with amusement at her annoyance, finding some peace here in something old and familiar.

The Fae in him is delighted by her counter offer and it only shows in those red depths, the rest of his face remaining smooth despite the smirk lingering on velvet lips. He cocks his head down at her, waiting  for her request. He isn’t shocked by what she presents and his smirk fades slightly (although he is still amused by the ferocity behind her words) as he considers her. It had been his intent to meet Gale and Maze alone. He didn’t expect the Pampian’s to stay and greet this guest of death he had invited willingly into their home. He didn’t want anyone to see what he would become.

He didn’t want Gale to be anywhere near the onyx and green mare.

He could twist his words like he had done with the dark magician. He could simply refuse. But Cheri had always been stronger than he had given her credit for and he is reminded of it now as she meets his gaze with her defiantly raised head. ”Please.” He makes a show of rolling his eyes, of sighing irritably. “Alright.” He doesn’t say how, doesn’t speak on his reservations, doesn’t give her any inclination that he will truly follow through on his word. His agreement will have to be enough.

The storm clouds around her still roll like waves but he breaks through them to reach to her on the ground, enough to help her stand if she should feel up to it. “My first favor….” He starts, not quite meeting her eyes, as he attempts to assist her. “My son, Obsidio. If something happens to me, look out for him.” His mother, a wild woman who jumps off cliffs with strangers (and apparently has an affinity for sharks) is not a mare he worries for. But his son, innocent in ways he never was, is not someone he wants in the clutches of the likes of Hyaline’s monsters.

“As for the second…” He says, pulling away from her with the wicked smile returned, “Meet me by the river after your coronation. There’s something I would show you.”

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He snorts with amusement at her acceptance, smirking at her as uncertainty rolls in his gut. “He does have a mother you know. Revelrie.” He says quietly but it lacks its usual biting cruelty, these words not meant to hurt. He can’t help but look at her from the corner of a red eye as he pretends to glance away, wondering if they do unintentionally. Obsidio had never been planned, what had happened with Revelrie had been unexpected (and foolish on his end as he had never paid much attention to sex education). “If they need somewhere to go.. I assume Loess is open to them.” He says with a roll of a scaled shoulder, looking back to her with a flash of amusement glittering in crimson. “Between the two of you, he should turn out to be the most respectful and polite colt to walk Beqanna.” A mock look of horror before he gives a soft laugh, low and quiet.

She yawns and he can see the exhaustion on her face, feels it himself with the lingering exhaustion from taking her pain away. “That is all, my Queen.” He says with a spark in the depths of red, the mocking tone turning into something a little deeper, huskier, as he gives her a playful bow before meeting her gaze and holding it for a moment longer. Before his smirk can give him away too much, he turns and with surprising smoothness, fades back into the shadowed blooms of his own little kingdom.

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