If he’s disappointed that I’m not an insulting slinging outcast anymore, it isn’t immediately obvious to me; then again, what Thranduil feels never seems to be. I don’t really know what it is that he expects from me, or what any of them, do, really, the elders who had watched me grow, and, during that time, foresaw the man I would become. The problem was that none of them had seemed to pick the same ending, each as different from the first as the next, and so, time and time again, I would learn I was somewhat of a disappointment to them. All that mattered in the end, however, was that I was proud of myself, right?

There definitely is an air of suspicion to my allusion that I’m happy to see him, though, which I pick up on with a smile. You’re not the only one with cloaks, I think to myself, glad to have thrown him off for a time – but its not like the statement was untruthful, either, just without teeth. I was glad to see him; it meant all of my past had no fallen away into the void of death or the vanished, and that I might get to see yet another person threaten to blow him up or skin him alive before either of us were due to leave this world. It meant that, someday, others might walk back through the forest, too, others who I held warmer memories for, and deeper relationships than simply skirting around his barbed questions, deflecting with my own sharp retorts. He was a tutor, yes, a master of the art that we both shared, and, in his own way, I supposed he was a familial figure, watching from the distance, and manipulating me towards his own desired future for me with his warped ways… but he was not a friend. He was a necessary and never ending presence in my life, and like the rest of the things I would rather go away than be forced to deal with, I was learning to accept him. Appreciate, even, all the ways that he wasn’t a splinter in orphan’s skin, as much as he reminded me of the hurt with his presence.

"Never old," I grin at the rosy mare’s jest, though it is dampened somewhat by what I say next, "just one of the few left that did, is all."

Hotaru reminds me of my ultimate loss, too, in her own way, but I remember her learning from mother, not plotting with her; there were no whispers between them that were not truly shared, unlike those that Thranduil and the GildedBlade had exchanged, each a half truth designed to serve the speaker or harm the listener. The memory of Hotaru is not stained with the nature of my dam which allowed her to turn her back upon her family and herd, as Thranduil’s is, and, while I had been unable to understand why I’d hated him so much when I was younger, I was now able to deduce all the more clearly that it likely wasn’t his fault at all.

Besides, I have a daughter, who, after a cheerful grin of greeting is exchanged between the Valkyrie and I, is quickly usurped in the pretty mares wiles, as I had been as a boy, too.

"On the contrary, I like to think the world tried to burn me down for a little while," I banter back; it’s sort of true, I guess. Gaucho did use a lot of fire magic while kicking the shit out of me. "To its credit, I have always been the sort to gallop with lit torches, of course."

Or thieving eyes. Whichever. Does it matter?

When Rexanna and Kiada arrive, I look back to them, happier to see the appaloosa youth’s mother than I am her. Not that our meeting had gone badly, of course, but, over my time upon returning to Helovia, I’ve grown quite fond of the gold-smoke mare, and my buck has formed quite the friendship with Marembo, who had been there moments after he’d hatched. Torn between his vast interest in the crooning Haldir and the arrival of his furry friend, the cerndyr bleats an apologetic hello in the direction of the polecat, before meeting the gaze of the other stag, and returning a robust, male call, ears lifted and green eyes watching.

A sudden desire in me to careen towards the other deer with strong bounds and crash antlers into his in a gentleman’s contest fills our bond, and with a snort, a bob of his crown, and a stamping of one toed, golden foot, Duir barely resists his entirely natural, male instinct. With quiet whuffing exhalations of breath, he makes the first move towards the other cerndyr in his usually peaceable fashion, though his antlered head is held high; when the distance closes, he reaches out with his muzzle, to exchange breath, like horses do.

Distracted by Hotaru’s questions, I look away from Duir, and back towards she and Thranduil. Glad to be the bearer of any news, even if its bad, especially seeing as they clearly expect it, I go ahead and throw it all on the table.

"The Rift Gods have been reborn as a being called Kaos, who at first deceived the people of Helovia into serving him, under the false name of Kisamoa," I begin, "he claimed to want to heal the Spectral Marsh, at the behest of the Earth God. None of that is true. He killed several, instead, with a giant bone creature – I know it sounds mad, bear with me - and is now a disembodied voice holed up in the Marsh, seemingly focalized about this weird rock pillar. There have been reports of attacks on patrol units ever since. It serves logic that they are correlated with Kaos’ presence. As of yet, I have not heard anything about the herd lands having been subjected to these attacks."

Pausing to gather my next stream of thought, willing to field questions later, I forge ahead.

"The Earth God has also disbanded the Hidden Falls, to better serve towards the cause of dealing with or defeating this latest threat to our kingdoms. His people have scattered across Helovia," I don’t think either of them hold ties to the green realm, so I carry on without much more detail, "and I myself returned to the Basin, upon the death of…"

Where I had strongly surged ahead through the various calamitous news of the day, it is not until I make it here, to the deepening, black pit of my mourning that I avoid and avoid some more, that my voice breaks.

"The death of Ulrik the Engineer and Lord Deimos the Reaper in the mid-weeks of Birdsong," I finish, stealing away the emotions that broil beneath that golden, cold wall so that I cannot be manipulated anymore than I already am by them; further bolstering their heights and breadth, I lacquer my newest job, aside from father, clearly, over the bleeding heart that had momentarily been glimpsed seconds prior, "and I am now the reluctant Brat King, alongside the Lady Tiamat."

Wondering what Thranduil will think of that, I try to meet his eyes with a faulty grin.