And it dragged at him, like chains, manacles, something hard and heavy attached to his heart—

Mauja the Idiot Queen. For a moment, when Sacre's voice had spilled the name into the air, he had heard a shadow of d'Artagnan in him—the same inflection, the same cadence. It was spoken from fucking memory. There was no other way—no way Sacre could've just made it up on the spot, delivered it in the exact same way as his father would've. Idiot had probably been the Nightshade's favorite nickname for Mauja.

So as he had finally gathered his wits and his courage and nodded, looked Sacre in his blue, blue eyes, it was with mixed feelings that he processed the news that d'Artagnan still cared for him. It hadn't been enough to make him stay, it hadn't been enough to fix him as his daughter had died before his hooves—

(Helpless—)

But Mauja's firstborn daughter had died, too, and he had been just as helpless to save her.

He had wanted to run, too. To leave. To flee from all this heartache scouring him from within. He had thrown his crown, his duties, aside, had been read to simply abandon the Edge, go back to his wandering, roaming ways, waiting for some sunrise down the line to rise and take some of his shadows with it.

But he hadn't. Somehow, he had stuck around, dragging himself along, leaning against Tembovu—so with Sacre in tow now, his treacherous heart whispered, I could've saved you, I could've fixed you, if only you had stayed, if only you had dared, if only you had let me—

Mauja picked his way over the Thistle Meadow, thinking his hooves moved too lightly for the weight in his body. Everyone had a right to make their own choices, live their lives as they pleased, come, go, live, die. d'Artagnan had made his choices, social suicide without the dying part, but leaving the same pain behind as he left. Rugged, Mauja stole a glance at Sacre. He had been able to leave. He had been able to find d'Artagnan. He had—

The envy was a hot hammer striking his core until he thought he would burst with it. Why him, why you, why not me..?

Why not come back, d'Artagnan?

I miss you.

The noon sun had burned the fog from the Edge and its haunted trees, leaving it little else but an evergreen forest rising gently towards a hidden horizon. A blue sky arced overhead, a few lazy cirrus clouds strewn about. The limestone cliffs giving the place its name were hidden behind the forest, out of sight, out of mind, bearing with it the memory of standing upon those cliffs and meeting d'Artagnan for the first time—calling him brother and sounding him out about his opinions on the other species.

It had been a different life, something he couldn't imagine doing anymore. His great head flicked to the side, and "well, here we are," he said, sweeping through lush spring grass and through the ruins of the tumbledown glass wall. Few shards littered the ground next to it anymore; most of it had been cleaned up. Once past it, the Frozen one sidled into the shadows, hiding from the sun rays coming down through the crowns and falling like dapples over the ground. "The World's Edge, where.. where your father and I first met."

[ @Sacre + anyone capable of accepting him! ^^ ]