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09-02-2013, 12:13 AM
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The king whose word no man relies on
Quilyan
never said a foolish thing nor ever did a wise one.
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She would have fought anyways; maybe this is truth, but he dismisses it, for he thinks he could have stopped her. He thinks she would have listened to him, would have hid behind him. He know he could have protected her, given the chance. Fights have not treated him well, it is true; he was horrendously injured in the invasion of the Foothills, and now he has missed this invasion entirely - oh, gods, does she think he can't protect her? Does she think that she is better able to care for herself? Does she think him incapable? He has to fight to keep the sadness and horror from his violet orbs, but he succeeds. This is wrong, this is so very wrong; he is a prince - no, with Father dead, he is a king - and she could be his queen, if she so chose. Was this why she did not love him? Was it because she thought him weak? Incompetent? She says not, but her admission is almost worse, because she thought to die in the fighting. This time shock does register on his face, and anguish, because the thought of losing her is too much to bear. He was merely left to gape at her, each thought vying for attention, rendering him speechless. Perhaps he should tell her that he is sure she did her best. A part of him knows that he should inquire who died, to put her in such a mindset; little does he know that he met the fair Rowan once upon a time, and admired her greatly for her mind and its talents. She had been who he had confided in, when he needed a moment to reminisce about his homeland; Rowan had listened when he spoke of the godswood, and the palace, and the land as a whole. Perhaps one day, he will hear of her passing and mourn her properly, but for now, he remains blissfully oblivious. He is standing within inches of her, awaiting a response to his declaration of devotion. He watches her eyes glaze over with fresh emotion as she determinedly avoids his gaze, and he wishes that he could take her troubles away, bear them with his own, for surely that would be easier than watching her struggle against herself. A war against the unicorns of the north is one thing; a war against one's own mind is quite another entirely. And here she is, so horribly lost in her own mental battle, muttering softly to herself and swaying, shuddering, absorbed in some errant thought process from which she seems unable to escape. At first, he thinks she is talking to him; her reference to a princess caught him off guard, to be sure. She speaks of a knight, and hurt blossoms with jealousy in his chest as he wonders if she has found herself caught between two living lovers. The knight left her? Well, good riddance (though, in truth, if it caused her this much pain, he is quite ready to find the bastard and drag him back to her). But what is this? The twins? The twins... the twins! Of course, she must be referring to those lost to her, of course he is being ridiculous, of course it is the same old argument again. Why is he so insecure? Why is he jealous of a dead stallion who once called Resplendence 'princess'? Because she is his princess now. That's why. She pushes against the tree, only to yelp and scurry away again; he sees the makeshift dagger go flying, and now she is sobbing harder than ever. A gleam of red on her hindquarters makes him frown, for she must have stabbed herself with the accursed wood. Again he steps toward her, refusing to allow her to run away. She must know that he is not going to leave her. She must. "My lady," he murmurs softly, his vocals sad. "Please stop moving, lest you harm yourself more seriously. Now, listen: you are not broken. You are lovely, and wonderful, and bright. You can be anything you wish to be, my darling. I will be whatever you need me to be. But I will unerringly be here, with you, no matter what happens, be it as a friend or a lover or whatever you will have me as." His voice lowers, his gaze softens, and he reaches to touch his muzzle to hers. "You have always been a princess to me; if you will have me, I would make you mine." @[Resplendence] |
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[W/C | ---] |
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Please tag Quilyan in all replies.
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
Use of force and/or magic (with the exception of death) is allowed at all times.
Want to plot with Quilyan? Visit his plot page here!
