Quilyan

The king shares a moment of peace with the painted stallion, for which Quilyan is grateful. He smiles, then retreats to the small half-circle forming around the new monarchs, all the while contemplating why it was that he could be so close to this stallion, while he had not managed to be so with his own brothers. You and he more alike, Zarina whispers in his mind, and he nods to himself. Though he had loved his brothers, they had not shared many interests. He wonders now if they ever resented him, for being the heir when he had done nothing to earn his place.

Others arrive. Some are familiar, and some are not. He watches them come, standing with his weight balanced easily and his wings tucked to his side. Though he fears the danger is not over - after all, it is far too soon to forget the damage done by the darkness - he is relaxed at this moment, happy. It is so wonderful to be happy. A shriek from above draws his attention; surprise registers on his maw and he starts, wings flaring aggressively. But then Nasreen barrels into him clumsily, babbling affectionately about her own experiences in the caves. He relaxes once more, settling with a cheerful grin as his sister realizes that she is not alone. She hides in his banner, and he chuckles, reaching for the crest of her neck gently with his teeth, trying to tug her up for a proper greeting. "It's 'Your Majesty,' Reeni," he corrects her softly, his eyes laughing. Had her lessons from home truly gone so astray that she could not remember how to properly address her monarchs?

Well, she had been young when the Anarchists came. It is not her fault.

But Kaj is unbothered, brushing it off lightly. The deposed prince begins to worry, craning his neck for a sight of his princess. Then she is there, nuzzling her way under his wing, which he lifts for her without thinking. Her gentle voice reaches his auds and he grins at her, overjoyed by her words. Every time she tells him she loves him, it is just as thrilling as the first time. "As I love you, my princess." He murmurs it softly in her ear, just for her, their own private reunion even among the numbers gathering. Moments pass, words are exchanged - and then Resplendence begins to panic, all because her egg begins to crack. He barely has time to get out reassurances - "Steady, my lady, it is only hatching -" before a dragon falls out. He smiles, nods to her as though to say, See? before he realizes - a dragon fell out.

He stares at her.

Zarina stares at her.

It would be a dragon, his companion grumbles, watching the newly hatched creature crawl into its nest. The prince sighed softly, raising an eyebrow. As long as the hatchling does not get between him and his lady, he had no real preference as to what it was. "I would say he has chosen you, my lady," he says reassuringly, smiling into Resplendence's eyes. "He is quite lovely." And then the meeting is underway, Kaj stepping forward to gain the attention of his kingdom. Quilyan looks to him, auds pricked to catch his words, knowing that this moment was when he would prove himself to those gathered, those who questioned his authority and longed for the DragonHeart to return. His eyes urge the Stormbringer on, offer support for when he might need it.

But it seems that the herd has already accepted the stallion, for his speech proceeds without a hitch. He speaks of the future, of new life - Quilyan glances sidelong at Resplendence as Kaj speaks of foals, wondering for the first time if he might make a good father. And then the talk spirals into rankings and captains. The prince has no desire to be a fighter - he hasn't the training for it, not coming into Helovia as the heir to a throne. They hadn't wanted him to get hurt, so he had been trained only in the basics of combat. Perhaps if there had been anything but peace before the Anarchists, he would have gotten more training - but there was no war, no need for a soldier-prince, and so he had become much more well-versed in the trade of secrets.

His name surprises him, but he steps forward nonetheless. For one accustomed to ruling, he had not expected to be placed in a position of power. He does not want it - that is not to say that he wants to turn it down, gods no! - but he had not asked for or desired it, and somehow that makes it all the sweeter. He swallows, his mouth dry, but he bows deeply nonetheless, curling a foreleg under his chest and arching his nape gracefully. "My liege," he says formally, his soft tenor carrying across the gathered ensemble. "It would be my honor to serve our family in such a way. I pledge my life for yours," he tells the King and Queen, his words ringing with a time-honored promise from his land. "And," he adds, rising and looking to the herd, "for all of yours." He nods deeply, and steps back, his throat tight with pride and emotion. Zarina chirps shyly, stroking his nape with a small hand, as though to tell him he spoke well.

He listens to more appointments with pride, watching his brethren step into the titles given to them. He is particularly pleased when Resplendence's name is called; it would seem they are to serve together, as council for their friends and monarchs. He whispers congratulations in her ear, careful to be quiet lest he disturb the meeting.

It is a new day, and he is one of its heralds.

"Talk talk talk."