Fate had the oddest mechanisms, ways of working that Cera would never understand. He had been left to fend for himself as a weanling, only to be found and raised by the hero of the land he'd once been but a ghost on. Raised with a crown he'd never felt he deserved, only to rarely see the soul who had taken him under wing and given him life and purpose once more. Then he had been abandoned, one after another, until all he'd had left was the desert sand beneath his hooves. He'd been left with nothing, been living with barely anything. A bleeding heart on a tattered sleeve, no guide and nobody to give guidance. Gaucho had been a distant memory, and once upon a time he too had abandoned Cera. But in the end, what was important was that Gaucho had come back. So while Gaucho questioned whether a time would ever come when he would ask Cera to give it all, to give past his limits, for Cera there was never any qualms with his answer. Yes. It had always been and always would be a singular, inexplicable, yes. Gaucho had not left Cera alone to drown in his sorrow, his weakness, and so Cera would give and give and give until his body gave way and he was of no more use.

It had never crossed his mind that he might be allowed to take, sometimes.

A slow smile creased the cherub's lips. "Yes. Always." As if Cera thought it were somehow impossible to not tell Gaucho that, to not make it obvious that he had Cera wholly, completely. As if he somehow needed to always remind him, make it obvious. The topic died peacefully, put to rest by the strength of their bonds. Cera did not like to think upon Gaucho's blindness, it made a surge of desperate protectiveness swell like a tidal wave in his breast, instinctive. Not that he didn't believe Gaucho could handle himself even incapacitated, but Cera's love had no bounds, no logical capacities. Still, he did not notice for a moment that Gaucho was staring down at him with those exact sightless eyes, but Cera calmly turned to meet his gaze, hoping he would find whatever he sought reflected in the Prince's eyes.

Whatever it was he found, it was not mentioned, though Cera sent an inquisitive look at Gaucho (hoping Mara would capture the expression with her eyes). He was still ever reliant upon the language he and Gaucho shared, one of the body rather than the tongue. His blindness was not something Cera could grow accustomed to yet, so used to expressing himself physically to Gaucho.

A soft, humble laugh escaped the young forger. Happiness washed into his very pores at Gaucho's simple praise, and he seemed to glow, like a broken star leaking brightness onto his frame. "Thank you, Gaucho. I want to do...everything. Ilaria heals, I forge metal...I used to be Diviner, too. I want to fulfill whatever you ask me," he admitted easily, eyes turning to Gaucho as if they'd never left. "Midas..." and it hurt to say his father's name, to have the endearment ripped away by his own will, but he had to power on. "Midas did not approve of me learning to fight. I was too eager to help, when he went to war. Perhaps you can teach me? So I may be better, for the Throat, for our kin?" Cera would rather die a horrible death at the hands of his people than fail them when he could march into battle and be an effective fighter.

@[Gaucho]