[ SORRY FOR STILL SPREADING DISEASE n__n; I am trying to get rid of it lmfao but that is slow going so far .. xD ]

He head misjudged everything. (No shit.) He had.. well, fuck, what experience did he really have with this? He could easily chalk up a handful of odd encounters in the Threshold—some sick mare raining acid that caught fire, dying and emaciated mares, stubborn and dying horses refusing to get off the ground, broken souls, lost souls, wandering princesses, strong souls, everything between heaven and earth. A mare who had looked at him like he was a complete and freakish idiot, and then followed him to his home anyway (using a retreating, crying Mauja as an indirect guide).

Having woken a young Pegasus filly (to be fair, aside from his attempts to infiltrate the Throat, this reign he now had was the first time he even attempted to bring non-unicorns home) from troubled sleep and have her spit some kind of accusation in his face was a new one.

(Still, words are words; he much preferred that to acid, flaming rain.)

There was a reason the majority of his children ended up distanced, detached, or angry with him—the fact that he lacked some kind of fundamental, intuitive understanding of how shit worked.

And it wasn't only with kids. It was with everything. Mauja expected one thing, because it was how he would react, but of course that never happened because he didn't react but everyone else had hearts that still beat and bled.

For years his emotional spectrum had been reduced to a narrow band of curiosity, mild amusement, and mild irritation. Love... Love had come with Irma; dark and wild and weird, intoxicating and frightening, powerful, overwhelming. Perhaps the strongest force of nature.

And as the icy dam kept bursting, cracks and fissures marring the solid perfection, more and more had come out in errant sparks; fury. Different kinds of love. Confusion.

Pain. Sorrow.

Yet he still expected everyone to just shrug everything off and act like nothing had happened. Mauja had run out of his own life with what seemed like no second thoughts, only realize years later that he wasn't done with that chapter.

Would never be, unless he started admitting things.

Point in case: the filly spitting out a tough “Vat you vant?” through the teeth of her fear was unexpected, and mildly hurtful. It felt like the whole I-licked-Johnny thing all over again, shying back inside and slamming the ice-walls down.

Apparently the brown filly felt the same, shrinking back behind him in a silence that spoke volumes of how those arrows had pierced her armor. And to be honest, Mauja felt like doing the same, to hide behind someone like a kicked dog that had only meant well.

But he had no one to hide behind, so he hid behind his dispassionate demeanor.

Ears flicked back in a half-sour face, pale eyes narrowing, every trace of emotion chased out of them, replaced with the rock-solid emptiness a close friend might recognize as that hurt. "To make sure you're alright," was what he responded, a vague note of hurt threading its way through his voice. "To make sure you have somewhere safe to go. To help you." He was old enough not to add, but I take it our help is unwanted, though oh gods how he wanted to—to just walk out on her, but that.. that would be the easy way. It wasn't what he was here for. It wasn't what he was King for.

It sometimes meant swallowing liters of tears and pain for the sake of someone else.

[ @Galiel @Areli ]

lord, the demands you're making-
help the monster on two feet
walk him down the hall, repeat
and when he's strong enough to stand alone
you'll notice what big teeth . . .