Though they are rusted and reluctant, the wheels of his mind begin to turn at her mention of revived lands. The commotion of their unoiled movements drowns out her unease over whatever magic the sprites had shared with her and a fog creeps over his eyes once more as he is returned to a different past.
Control.
Though he does not yet know its name, that is one of the incorporeal elements he feels slipping through the fingers of his very being, and it is also the true root of his distress. The old days had given him the chance to stand at the helm of his own ship, the confidence and charisma to lure beautiful creatures to his side, the nerve to take what he wanted from those that resisted his charms. All ingredients in the cup of false control that he’d eagerly sipped from, but none a winning combination to create a well-balanced cocktail on life’s menu. The resulting mix was intoxicating enough to maintain his delusion, but the truth is that it did little to nourish anything of substance.
He could have regained some semblance of that illusion, despite the seeming eradication of his former lifestyle, for surely there women out there that were still content to subjugate their freedoms to a man. So while the conclusion of his portion of their shared quest had left him feeling powerless, that alone was something he would have eventually moved past. What continues to needle at him is not just the realization that he has always been sociopathic in his tendencies.. it the knowledge that he actually wants to change but does not have the tools to manifest his desire.
Bearing witness to the traumatic deaths of the foals, seeing the Baltians and Stratosians wailing in grief and preparing to fight for the lost lives of their children had tugged at strings he had not known he possessed. Perhaps, at his core, he had uncovered envy for connections so tightly twined that they produced such dramatic responses. He had engendered the loyalty and affection of the mares in his herd, but he had never seen most of them as more than a means to satisfy his cravings. As for the children, the bonds were so frail that he could barely remember their names while they lived with him.
Her voice pulls him back to the present again. She wants to know how long he has lived here. Does he even know the answer to this seemingly simple question? No, not really. ”I was born not long after Beqanna herself.. so, centuries. I wouldn’t say that I’ve really lived though.” The sheerest veil of regret wraps itself gently around his statement, but he is swift in discarding it before it can fully settle into his voice.
When he asks of her past, it is as though she spills ink across the pages of the annals of her life to protect them from his prying eyes and it is entirely predictable. He does not begrudge her the acidity of her words, nor does he let it erode at him, for defenses are rarely dropped so easily when they’ve stood for as long as hers have. However, the raw emotions seep between the cracks and rolls them over his tongue, taking in their flavors, still wondering the nature of their creation. This is when he realizes that though he cannot be sure that he’ll be able to provide the same for her, there are lessons to be learned from the guarded woman, for she knows of the kinship that has been lacking in his life.
But, if she is unwilling to share the details, then perhaps he will have to take his tuition elsewhere. The idea does not seem as daunting now that he better understands what he is searching for, but he is also not ready to abandon this opportunity. So he listens patiently as confidence replaces bitterness and she asks of his wings and horn. ”No, I’d barely begun to accept that they actually exist before you showed up.” She referred to the horn as a weapon and this fits with the appearance she creates. He tips his horn toward her as non-threateningly as possible. ”As for this.. I’ve never been a soldier, so I wouldn’t even know where to begin. It sounds as though you do. Perhaps you can teach me someday.”
He’d never sworn allegiance to a king or queen, thus had never been called into service. In fact, he could not even recall a time when another man had called him out, seeking to separate him from his prized ladies. He does not know anything of the returning lands yet, but perhaps this inaction would no longer stand beneath the potential to learn the art of war, or even the nuances of diplomacy. But those are still part of a distant future that he is not quite ready for, so he circles back to the moment of vulnerability that she had shown him.
”I’m sorry that your ‘reward’ is not as straightforward as what I’ve been given..” Sarcasm drips heavily from his tongue at the word ‘reward’, for he is not sure that is an appropriate term for anything that they’d received from the sprites. ”You can tell me about it, if you like.” He pauses, remembering her hesitancy to divulge the deeper parts of herself. He wonders if an offer of familiarity might be the key that she needs to open the lock she keeps everything under. ”And if it makes a difference, my name is Assailant.”
@Famkee