It was easier to deal with everything that had happened when he viewed it as second chance.

It had first felt like an enormous weight, pressing down on his shoulders, piercing his chest. It had been a catalyst for all the years of regret and guilt, everything he knew that he had done wrong. He had left his home of the Gates; he had not been there when the earth shook and the heavens cracked open. He had not been there when they had all woken up to guide them down the mountain—to ensure their safety.

These are the things that he carries like stones in his chest. These are the things that weighed him down as he had found his way slowly down the craggy slopes and made his way into the meadow for the first time.  

But they had, eventually, dissipated and had been replaced with some different—something foreign and familiar all at once. Purpose. Purpose to create the sanctuary that he had always dreamt about. The place of peace and safety he had wanted for the Gates. It struck at him, and he carried it closely to his chest as he had wandered the meadow, the forest, the field until his limbs ached. Until sweat had darkened his coat, until exhaustion blurred the edge of the vision. It forced him to slow his pace, to rest.

Still, though he had slowed to a walk, he still continued to move. He made his way around the edges of the forest, appreciating the slight breeze as it picked up his mane from his neck, whispering down the heated flesh. He exhaled slowly, gaze turning slowly toward the multi-colored mare nearby. Altering his path just slightly, he made his way toward her, expression neutral and warm. “Hello there,” he greeted casually, tilting his head slightly, crooked smile lifting in the corners. “How are you doing?”

As he came to a stop, he glanced over her quickly, scanning for any obvious injuries.

“My name is Magnus.”

magnus

She is guarded, and he respects the distance she keeps between them. He could hardly blame her for being a little careful around the new way of doing things. Their very world had cracked in half to birth this new one; who wouldn’t be a little cautious? So he doesn’t attempt to breach the distance, instead staying several paces back, keeping his crooked smile warm. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lucrezia,” he offered, looking around them at the crowds that still milled about. “I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

An understatement. Perhaps the understatement to end all understatements. Homes had been destroyed; gifts ripped away. Their world shaken and turned upside down. Words did not do justice, and he did not attempt to encapsulate the loss within a few phrases. He had to trust that she would know what he meant.

She may have been a diplomat, but he was always a soldier first. The gift of words had not always come easily to him. As a young boy, he had to fight to control the wildness that the jungle had nurtured. He had been savage and beautiful and wild—running amongst the vines with wild cats at his shoulder. He had been untamed. That savageness had been later cultivated in the Chamber, where it had been groomed into that of a soldier’s discipline, a warrior’s ferocity. He later learned how to soften it with charm, but it had been a hard-fought battle. Even now, he could not always control his tongue. Diplomacy was not easy.

But, for now, it was easy with her. “The change has shaken up quite a few people. Today has been,” he paused to search for the right word, “tense, to say the least.” At her concern for him, he just rolled his shoulders and laughed lightly, the sound husky in his throat. “I’m doing okay.” He considered her for a second before adding, “I’m just doing my best to help people. It’s the only thing there is to do, I think.”

magnus

“Maybe one day it will be,” he responded gently, letting himself enjoy the brief respite from the hard work in her presence. She was one of the first he had met that did not look outwardly broken or in pain; she was not wracked with sobs or bleeding or shelled out. She, instead, seemed to be braving the change with a set jaw and her head held high. He could respect that—but it also worried him. Did it mean that she simply had nothing to lose? Was she turning a blind eye to the pain? He watched her carefully, tucking away the thoughts for a later time; he wasn’t willing to psychoanalyze her, but he wouldn’t ignore his intuition.

At her inquisition, he found himself momentarily unsure of himself, rolling his scarred shoulders.

“However, I can, to be truthful.” One corner of his mouth lifted into a cautious smile, dark-flecked eyes flickering. “Offering physical support to help those injured travel. Offering to help find lost ones for those who shook apart during the incident. Whatever it is that I can do, I think it is my duty to do so.”

Magnus did not consider himself to be a particularly selfless stallion—he could be arrogant, cruel, and even self-serving, at times—but he did his best to ignore those desires. Someone once said that good and evil were like wolves fighting in your belly: the winner dependent on who you fed. Magnus knew this to be true. Every morning, he rose with light and shadow wrestling in his very core, fighting for the dominant hand. While light did not always prevail, he did his best to strengthen it however and whenever he could.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he inquired gently, wondering if she was in need of anything at all.

magnus

Magnus was and had been many things in his life: Son, father, lover, soldier, King, warmonger.

He had been called names with tender love and raging fury. His names had been whispered and spat in equal measure. Names that had spanned across not one, but two lifetimes; names that had been early known an easily forgotten. But, of all those names, he had never once considered himself a hero.

There was too much darkness brooding in his heart, too much blood on his hands.

So the smile he gave her in response is a little sad, one edge curling with a warmth that did not manage to light his eyes. “I’m no hero.” Maybe at one point, he might have wished that he was; he might have wished to be the white knight that Bond managed to be. He might have wished to be the Gates’ saving grace—protecting and loving them in equal, flawless measure. But such dreams had long since been bled from his heart, leaving him with the remnants of truth and possibility. The hope for redemption.

“Thank you though,” his eyes flickered with a little more light. “It is kind of you to say so.”

When she offered her honest opinion, he made a small noise in the back of his throat in thought, his head looking toward the horizon before his gold-flecked gaze swung back toward to latch onto her. “I may be able to help you with that.” His smile was not shy, but neither was it brazen, instead the curves of it flickering around the edges of his mouth. “I am working alongside Offspring and Eight to petition the fairies for a land; a place where we can provide stability and safety for those who are in need of it.” More people than not. “It would be an honor to help you find a home again should we be granted it.”

magnus

In some ways, Magnus is an open book. When prompted, he will explain his story—he will show you his scars and will tell you of how his own body had bled out. He will tell you how it felt to lie there on the beach and feel your life drip from your skull, how it felt to know that death was around the corner and its teeth were at your throat. They are not fun truths, but they are not truths he feels compelled to hide. Were you to ask, he would yield to curiosity and tell his story. He had done so before and would do so again.

But in other ways, he was deeply personal. He kept certain cards close to his chest, hid them away in the back of his mind. He kept them pressed close to where he would not have to focus on them. It was easier to deal with his own personal failures when he kept them there, buried deeply. He did not want to have to shed light on his bloodthirsty soul, on the feverish excitement that used to swell in him when war was on the horizon, on the selfishness of his heart, on the black and white vengeance that would steer his hand.  

These were the black parts of his soul. These were the secrets he didn’t divulge.

And these were the parts he tucked away quietly as he looked at her, brushing away the sadness from his gaze like one might push aside cobwebs. “I am so happy to hear that.” He glanced toward the horizon, to where the sun was beginning to climb further and further into the sky. Part of him wishes that he could stay here forever in the quiet solitude he now shared with her, but he also knew that there were other things he needed to attend to—duties he needed to uphold. So he glanced back toward her. “I must go now, unfortunately. I have fairies to talk to about creating a home,” a smile, “for us both.”

He dipped his head. “It has been a pleasure meeting you, Lucrezia”

Then, before he walked away: “I will come find you soon.”

magnus