“How…?”
 
The antlered stallion finds himself struggling for words, his mind grasping for understanding and denying what is apparently so obvious before him—it all looks so familiar, so real. Etherim. The gently rolling landscape and the stone buildings are unmistakable, recognized immediately by a stallion who had spent all the years of his life in their shallow kingdom. He would know every hall and corridor of that great castle, every notch and hiding place, having shirked many duties in his youth for more favorable, pleasurable tasks. He is roiling inside, his body left frozen in something between awe and confusion—and, of course, bitterness.
 
Rohan hadn’t been forced to leave this place, after all.
 
He had ran.
 
It is the black mare’s voice that spooks him out of his trance. Having not heard her approach, her sudden proximity behind him is unexpected, ears flicking back in agitation before tilting forward at her voice. It is different again—no longer the impossibly perfect, surreal tone of the temptress before, but holding the depth and volume of an incantation now. It is as if there are many voices harnessed within her own, voices of his past, perhaps even his future—the whole weight of all of their disappointment and criticism fusing into something of shame and distress.
 
The Warlander realizes this too late. Their Her words buffet him without mercy, like the fiercest wind in a vicious storm, and he feels as though he’s been pummeled in the stomach. “What—I didn’t—!” His breath comes short and he gasps, not understanding why or how Sialia—of anyone—would be cursing him like this. Maybe he had been wrong, maybe his instinct had failed him, maybe he had been blinded by her temptations—maybe his father had sent her after him after all. Blinking against the chaos of his mind, it is then that the horned mare strikes something deeper, a nerve, and he feels his confusion release into fury.
 
“How could you let your brother down… Even in death, you let him down…”
 
Killian—
 
“No,” Rohan gasps, his large body suddenly squaring as his thick neck arches, snaking his head forward in nothing short of a threat towards her. “How dare you!” His deep voice, usually so smooth and broad, thunders now from his chest in an angry bellow of indignation. He sees himself as a leggy colt again, glancing up at his older brother and puffing out his chest at the pride he would receive, idolizing the perfect warrior and friend. Killian had been everything, to everyone—everything that he wasn’t. “You know nothing of Killian, or me for that matter. You have no right to accuse me of such things, you rotten, mindless little cur,” the Warlander spits at her with a hiss. He can feel a snarl building up in his throat, building up inside of him, fueling this heated mixture of confusion and rage and fear.
 
His tongue blisters and his body feels hot from whatever has taken him. Snapping his jaws together, green eyes follow hers to a young colt—a child, who has no business in this place, who shouldn’t be here. “Who is this? Why have you brought him?” Rohan thrusts his bearded chin gruffly towards the youngster. He is far too angry, distracted, and hurting to comprehend the plural ‘us’ at first, or to even consider the striking similarities between the two males. The mare’s words hit him again—like a knife this time, sharp and quick, he almost doesn’t feel it at first.
 
“…To me, and our son.”
 
And then it sinks in. Deep and piercing, the sinews of his flesh and muscle settle around the whetted blade, and he knows he couldn’t possibly remove it. “Our—what?” Rohan stumbles a step back, aghast, suddenly feeling very lightheaded and unsteady on his feet. His large body sways as ears bury into the mess of his mane, his attention unable to leave the colt. No. The stallion can’t believe it. With his eyes snapping back to the mare, they narrow dangerously. “I don’t recall that we ever did that, Sialia, what the hell are you talking about?!” His angry voice is nearly a plea now, a cry for explanation, for all of this to make sense.
 
“I couldn’t have let you down if I hadn’t even known about the little bastard, now could I?” He snarls, eyes flashing beneath the shadow of his brow as he glares at the black temptress, this evil angel that has come to punish him now. Somewhere deep inside of him, Rohan feels the stab of guilt. If this was, in fact, his child, perhaps this conversation would steer in a different direction. But he can’t admit to that—he can’t even allow a centimeter of margin in his position. Doing so would damage both his pride and his standing, and he is too foolish for that now. And so inhaling a trembling breath, he pins Sialia with his heavy stare, forcing from his lips a shuddering plea demand, “What the hell is going on?”


notes; I'm sorry for the wait! I'll try to keep them coming faster now, I'm excited! Can't wait for him to confront her in reality xD
“Speech.”

Lend me your hand and we’ll conquer them all,

but lend me your heart and I’ll just let you fall.

Lend me your eyes I can change what you see,

but your soul you must keep,

t o t a l l y   f r e e.