lend me your hand and we’ll conquer them all,
but lend me your heart—

He stands at his place towards the back of the group, sure that there couldn’t be much more excitement packed into one of these things—a King had stepped down, after all. However, his assumptions are soon buffeted by the arrival of a familiar black stallion. Rohan’s ears flick back before pressing forward again, one side of his brow rising when Torleik speaks, the Friesian’s voice cold and pointed. Brown lips twist into a hard line, green eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of his brow, his gaze flickering briefly to Tembovu before settling again on the black.

Not that Rohan has any true frosty feelings towards the older stallion, but their few encounters have not been exactly pleasant, and the Warlander fears that Torleik might be more like the ruthless king he had escaped from. Presumptuous deductions of course, but the antlered male is far too proud and wary of his past to see it as such. If anything, the black has yet to be around to prove himself differently—or be around at all, for that matter. Rohan flicks his thick tail about his hocks, wondering how their former lead will be received.

But it isn’t the herd he need watch.

Lilting words sink into the cool air, quickly followed by their owner. The Moon Goddess—he remembers her from one of the battles, but has not seen her since. Once again, he is struck by the beauty and unadulterated femininity that swathes every curve of her slender figure, ensnaring his fickle male mind too easily. Green eyes linger appreciatively over her, foolishly unabashed, and Rohan nearly misses the following events.

Elsa is named Queen, a mare he has yet to meet (but has every intention of doing so) before other ranks are chosen. Dark-rimmed ears shoot sharply forward when he hears his own name, bright eyes pinning onto Tembovu. Unlike most, Rohan has had no intention of moving up in the ranks—he will rarely shirk duties, but he does not seek power, or even want to be responsible for anyone other than himself. He usually laughs it off to himself, saying it is too great a burden and not of his concern, but these are only masks for the truth. In actuality, he fears who he will become if given such rights (his father?), or that he will disappoint them more than he already has—truly, he fears power. Fears what it might do to him.

But it is a fear he keeps tightly tucked away, smothered and hidden.

Thus far, Tembovu is a King he could most respect, and most decently follow—perhaps, if the mammoth elephant believes in him, he should do so himself. And besides, it would be embarrassing to turn down an offer in front of everyone, and he can’t have that. That fact, perhaps more than anything, finalizes his decision. Squaring his shoulders, the Warlander gives the large stallion a curt nod. “Of course,” he rumbles lowly, and the meeting continues without pause, without knowing the rioting of the stallion as he stands so silently.

Fortunately, he is not left to wallow for long—the Goddess, in all of her divine and beautiful glory, strips Torleik of his kingdom with hardly a shred of mercy. Rohan might have felt sorry for the fellow, but then he speaks. He chides Tembovu, chides them, and the Warlander bristles with indignation. You were NOT the only one suffering! He wants to roar, having contracted more than one disease himself. Hell—even Tembovu had suffered, but did he abandon his herd?

The Goddess speaks wisely, he thinks when she continues, returning to the black with a rebuking of her own. Of course, if Rohan knew anything of her cruelty, of her crimes, he might have felt different; but all he knows now is his agreement with her words, and the familiar, dastardly selfishness in Torleik that he had seen in his wretch of a father. Rohan scoffs—Tembovu is already a better King than Torleik had ever been (that Rohan had ever known), and in his prideful and ignorant indignation, the Warlander will not see himself under an iron-fisted fool again.

The Friesian’s departure is not missed by Rohan. He watches the older stallion retreat, too vain to try and grasp at understanding, too caught up in his own exasperation to try and see any other reasoning. As far as he is concerned, they are better off now. Looking back to Tembovu when the large stallion dismisses them, the Warlander flicks his tail before turning, vanishing into the mists—departing as unceremoniously as he had arrived.


notes; Just wanted to reply since everything happened! Didn't mean for it to be so long .___.
“Speech.”

AND I’LL JUST LET YOU FALL.

rohan