Uriel

He had come and been outnumbered for his efforts. Yet, somehow, he knew that this was ultimately only the beginning of something larger. It was a quest. A quest to find Sariel. A quest to repair his mother’s broken heart. A quest to erase whatever remained of his father’s memory and replace every word, every image, with his own. What a sick way to return, he thought uselessly. The anger that brewed from their scorn only reached a fever pitch until the prince felt nothing but the flames of hatred scorching his very heart. This was not his fault, not his place to apologize for what his father had done. He’d carried this burden for too long and for too long it had simply flowered within until nothing but the weeds of regret took root in his soul. Was Uriel supposed to lift the heavy bones of the Gentle Heart and wear them until his father came back to carry them on his own? It felt unjust for a child of his caliber to be burdened by the past and the truths that came with it. It felt downright discriminating.

Even his mother seemed to miss how hard he’d been trying to mend the wounds she suffered. He hadn’t followed for the sake of running! He had followed in hopes of convincing the oaf from abandoning the love he shared with the prince’s doting mother. But grief and anger clouded her opinions and the prince was forced to accept their weight, still carrying her torch into the night where her hurts existed, but nothing else. Uriel stared defiantly back at the golden one he loved so dearly, the blue of his eyes growing darker somehow. It didn’t matter what the colt had to say or that his wings had been clipped by the words of those others. They would never see in him what he sought to portray, at least not until his father came to take his place within these woes. He’d been made a mockery of, a jester with a bleeding heart, and Uriel would wear the paint valiantly… if only to save them from themselves. They could make what they wanted of him and Uriel alone would be the only one to know the truth.

Even the quiet patchwork mare appeared to feel unsettled in the face of so much scrutiny. Uriel sympathized with her desires to see the tension dispersed, but still he could not find the words to appease them all as they were caught in his throat, choking and full. The prince found in her something true and beautiful, the touch of a healer perhaps. He nodded almost warmly as she introduced herself, thankful for the reprieve. This mare, he thought quietly, is one I will remember. Somehow she had recognized something deeper than the cloak of madness he’d crafted from his father’s  numerous disappointments. She had found a way to tame the rage bursting within by seeing him instead of seeing what she believed he might be.

The King himself was clearly distraught by the colt’s behavior and Uriel vaguely recalled what he thought Kings to be and wondered if this was what he’d always imagined. The colt was uncertain, still unbelieving that they could not detect the pain he felt. But he’d taught himself to tuck it away, to hide the evidence behind walls and doors that he considered strength. For that’s what strength was, wasn’t it? Maybe he’d been deceived into thinking that strength was something altogether abstract, a mere idea that only mortals could craft with their belligerent minds. Was he mortal for thinking they were different from him? Perhaps. Or maybe he was just a wayward child without a cause, but claiming importance. No. It didn’t feel that way, at least not to Uriel. He had purpose… he had will. He only needed experience to make him honest. “Alright,” he stated to the King’s chastisement. With that, he stepped over the borders designed to keep him out and wandered into the mists that had raised a father who was not at all his.

Hide your fangs all you want

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