09-05-2016, 07:42 PM
She is the last queen of the chamber, and yet she does not mourn its loss. The destruction of such a selfish Kingdom feels like freedom, it is almost enough to justify the world coming undone. The chamber had demanded a heart from her grandfather, the heart that had beat forever beneath their heels, and a life-debt from her father. She had always known the kingdom would want something of her next; she had not been drawn there without reason, without purpose.
But now it would have nothing.
She might’ve forgotten the kingdom entirely if she had not found Rodrik, a former king and her grandfather by something more than blood, and two of the former princes. But finding them reminded her that Killdare would have tried to gather everyone, he would have wanted to protect them still.
It was always him that she had served, never the kingdom.
So she goes now, in his name, to find their people.
She had tried to find Killdare first despite that he would not have wanted her to (she is as selfish as the kingdom she hated, as hungry for what she feels is hers) but she had found him nowhere, not even a whisper. Unease twisted in her chest, it wilted any flutter of hope that might have ever tried to exist in the dark of her heart the longer she was without him. She felt tethered to him in every way, had always vowed to protect him, and she had failed.
When she enters the meadow it takes only a second to place the familiar silhouette of Nymphetamine. Touching her nose to Erebor’s dark shoulder to let him know where she’s going, she turns to join him. But before she can he is joined by someone pulled quite literally from her nightmares. She would know those red eyes anywhere. Her body turns fluid and feral, her ears disappearing into the tangle of dark and blue mane as she closes the distance between them in great, bounding strides.
But when she reaches Nymphetamine’s side, pressing her nose to his neck possessively, it is just in time to hear Killdare’s names on the lips of this not-stranger. She watches him darkly, it is impossible to look anywhere else because suddenly she cannot see anything but the barn, the rows of stalls and those glowing red eyes watching her from the dark. It is only when Erebor appears at her side and touches his nose to her neck that she understands the rest of what this black stallion says.
“I am his Queen, though I have not seen him anywhere.” The admission feels like fire in her chest, a carved out loneliness she wants nothing to do with. Her brow furrows darkly beneath the point of a long, spiraling horn as she pieces together enough of what he had told Nymphetamine, and then she steps forward. “You must be Offspring,” he was the only ally left unmentioned, and of course he wouldn’t name himself, “I cannot speak for Nymphetamine, but if you will help me protect those that are mine, then I will join you.”
His eyes flash again in the half-light and she flinches, turning from him, from that which makes no sense.
She had convinced herself that he was not real, that he was just one more lie in a series of impossible things.
But he stands here before her, all flesh and blood, confirmed by the heat of his pulse when she reaches out to touch her lips to the curve of his mouth. “I thought you weren’t real.” This confession is quiet, just a whisper, and then she has pulled away from him again to rejoin Erebor and Nyphetamine.
But now it would have nothing.
She might’ve forgotten the kingdom entirely if she had not found Rodrik, a former king and her grandfather by something more than blood, and two of the former princes. But finding them reminded her that Killdare would have tried to gather everyone, he would have wanted to protect them still.
It was always him that she had served, never the kingdom.
So she goes now, in his name, to find their people.
She had tried to find Killdare first despite that he would not have wanted her to (she is as selfish as the kingdom she hated, as hungry for what she feels is hers) but she had found him nowhere, not even a whisper. Unease twisted in her chest, it wilted any flutter of hope that might have ever tried to exist in the dark of her heart the longer she was without him. She felt tethered to him in every way, had always vowed to protect him, and she had failed.
When she enters the meadow it takes only a second to place the familiar silhouette of Nymphetamine. Touching her nose to Erebor’s dark shoulder to let him know where she’s going, she turns to join him. But before she can he is joined by someone pulled quite literally from her nightmares. She would know those red eyes anywhere. Her body turns fluid and feral, her ears disappearing into the tangle of dark and blue mane as she closes the distance between them in great, bounding strides.
But when she reaches Nymphetamine’s side, pressing her nose to his neck possessively, it is just in time to hear Killdare’s names on the lips of this not-stranger. She watches him darkly, it is impossible to look anywhere else because suddenly she cannot see anything but the barn, the rows of stalls and those glowing red eyes watching her from the dark. It is only when Erebor appears at her side and touches his nose to her neck that she understands the rest of what this black stallion says.
“I am his Queen, though I have not seen him anywhere.” The admission feels like fire in her chest, a carved out loneliness she wants nothing to do with. Her brow furrows darkly beneath the point of a long, spiraling horn as she pieces together enough of what he had told Nymphetamine, and then she steps forward. “You must be Offspring,” he was the only ally left unmentioned, and of course he wouldn’t name himself, “I cannot speak for Nymphetamine, but if you will help me protect those that are mine, then I will join you.”
His eyes flash again in the half-light and she flinches, turning from him, from that which makes no sense.
She had convinced herself that he was not real, that he was just one more lie in a series of impossible things.
But he stands here before her, all flesh and blood, confirmed by the heat of his pulse when she reaches out to touch her lips to the curve of his mouth. “I thought you weren’t real.” This confession is quiet, just a whisper, and then she has pulled away from him again to rejoin Erebor and Nyphetamine.