the darkest nights produce the brightest stars
Fennick feels like a man who has finally taken a lover after years and years of determined bachelorhood. In truth, he has done no such thing, but the affect is the same. His needs are no longer his first propriety, his thoughts are not for himself. Always, always, he is planning for the future, and it is not for his own future that he plans.
The black stallion stretched his massive wings and held them aloft, admiring the way the snow fell along the inky feathers. Still, he has not flown on them. He’s waiting for the right moment, he’s waiting until they are strong. They were a gift to him, but more than that, they are a reminder of the duty he owes, of the sacrifices he must make.
Already he has made sacrifices, small things here and there. He’s trying to hold himself with pride and speak with dignity. Demian has put his faith with him, and to do anything other than deserve it would be a slight to his king and kingdom. That, is not an option. Still, Fennick has been pushing himself hard, in his efforts to become what he can be, and the effort has left him a little tired.
He has decided to allow himself a night of rest, a chance to be the awkward boy he is in his heart. Tomorrow he will strive to be the man he wants to be, but tonight he will sit under his favorite tree and count the stars, saying not a word to anyone.
The thought causes a happy little smile to twitch to his lips.
Fennick was at star 214, his wings pulled up around his ears to protect them from the cold. As he purred in satisfaction at star 215, a resounding crack sent Fennick to his feet. The black stallion reared in surprise, eyes going white around the edges.
He only had a minute to react before the flames erupted, and he unleashed a whinny that split the air. Could it be that the Chamber had broken oath? Were they burning like the Gates? Fennick’s nostrils flared wide and his eyes crinkled in anger.
Like hell they would.
With a great heave he leapt into the air, poised to turn himself into a falcon flying overhead. Yet, there his no need, his own great wings respond to his call. Leaves and snow scatter in his wake and a few heartbeats later he is airborne, swooping to get a better view of their attackers.
Yet, there is no attacker. Fennick dips and sways in the air. It is only Demian, Eight and Flamevein. From his view high above, Fennick looked at his king, alight with cosmic fire in his eyes and on his wings. Confusion clouded Fennick’s mind and he began a descent, more free fall than landing. Fennick landed in the middle of the gathering group with an almighty thud. Snow, dirt, and black feathers showered around him.
Even to his own eyes, Fennick looked quite wild. He quickly righted himself. Stamping in his flurry to come to attention.
“Demian —“ Fennick barked, oblivious to the silent, somber mood that was gathering around him. He was trying to learn social queues. He hadn’t mastered them. Yet, before Fennick could continue on, no doubt prattling a stream of unedited thoughts, Demian spoke, and effectively silenced him.
The large stallion listened in silence, his expression unreadable. He watched as Demian said his words, and then Flamevein himself. Gallows quickly stepped up next, and Fennick was not surprised. From the little he knew of Gallows, he understood that she didn’t need a tattoo to pledge herself. That oath was made long ago, even if she had not said the words.
Finally, with what felt like a great deal of trust, Fennick stepped towards the fire wielder. He looked Flamevein in the eye, cast his eyes over Eight, and finally peered into Demian’s cosmic fire. Simply, and with all the dignity he could muster Fennick spoke.
“I will go next.” He said the words slowly, but with conviction. He had wandered into the Valley the very minute Demian became king. Fennick had the oddest feeling that since that moment, he had been waiting for this one.
This promise had been looming large before him, and Fennick had felt it, like an ever present shadow. Finally, he met the shadow and found that it was warm, and bright. He took a deep breath in, but when he spoke his words were soft and clear. A murmured pledge on a dark night.
“I, Fennick, pledge all that I am and all that I will be to the Valley. I shall be reborn in her fire, and I shall die by her name. Let none trespass against her, for evil done to her is evil done to me. I shall be her hands that cradle, her eyes that see and her tongue that speaks. From this day forth and evermore, I do so pledge.” It is, perhaps, the most words he has ever said in a row, and yet he cannot lay claim to them. They came through him, pulled from his gut by an invisible hand. Fennick knows, like a child knows its mother, that the Valley has pulled her oath from him.
All that is left is the fire that binds. The mark singed hotly beneath his eye, and Fennick grinned. The flames felt good, they felt like home.