tiamat

like the ocean kissed the sky—

Up within the brightly-colored boughs, Nimue trills happily when her cerndyr friend comes over to join her. Rolling her head against a nearby branch, she is able to knock several blooms free, and watches with bright eyes as they twirl below, landing around the golden-marked stag. Crooning a low whistle, she clutches a small bouquet in her mouth, and floats down from the branches, sprinkling the vibrant petals around Duir while her little lashes flutter. There is something of a smile around her lips (as much as a whale can smile, that is), and her gaze sparkles in a way that is familiar between the ocean pair.

On the other side of the large trunk, lying among the grasses and basking beneath the sun’s playful rays, the blue mare’s eyes have wandered from Rikyn in thought. She ponders on what it must feel like to have someone else control your body for you, and while she is relieved to know that it isn’t entirely painful, she can’t shake the chill from her shoulders. “I can imagine,” the maiden murmurs, believing that that experience would be very—unquestionably—unnerving. Perhaps seeing a glimpse into the Time God’s wisdom, she thinks that it is fair for Rikyn to feel what he can put others through.

There are few things that are more dangerous than someone who wields such potent powers, with no understanding or regards to the plight of their victims. It is something that can separate a man from a monster.

Looking at the darkly-colored stallion, Tiamat doesn’t see a monster—even when he continues, explaining the lessons he has learned and the horrors he has experienced because of the stone, she doesn’t see a beast. Initially, the ocean mare is horrified— “Hated? Raped?” —she repeats with wide eyes, her voice little more than a choking gasp as her fragile mind tries to comprehend that someone can be so twisted. How could someone ever take advantage in such a sick, cruel way? It is then that she sees the man, hurting, behind gilded eyes that have perhaps seen too much.

Shifting her body so that the peculiar stone tumbles from her stomach and into the crook of her foreleg, Tiamat moves closer to the stallion, reaching out to bring her neck over his in an embrace of comfort and friendship. Their conversation, so easy and bright moments before, has suddenly become more raw. The struggle is etched into every line of Rikyn’s expression, and Tiamat fears to think what sharp pain it would be without her own influence. She pulls him closer, breathing into the thickness of his dark mane, her glass heart twisting compassionately for her dear friend.

“You shouldn’t hate yourself,” the mare whispers, fervently, while she clings to him with her body and soul, “You shouldn’t hate anyone, really...but especially not yourself.”

Tiamat wills her words into his heart, as though she could make him see what she sees—not a monster or anything to be ashamed of, but a man who has only been battered and bruised, torn and reaped by the terrible woes of life. He feels, he wrestles with remorse, and she loves him for that.

Inhaling a breath that trembles with emotion, the sea maiden pulls back a little, tracing her lips over his shoulder. “Maybe it’ll just take time. You understand someone now in a way that you never could before. Being a good person doesn’t necessarily mean that you like everyone. It’s so much more than that,” a chuckle manages to thread through the passion in her tone, the sound crackling through the tightness of her throat, and she has to swallow before continuing. “It’s...respecting someone else, trying to understand someone else, especially in spite of any misgivings the two of you might share,” her muzzle is resting against his skin by the time she quiets, her eyes watching how her breath plays with the flowers braided into his mane, while her thoughts remain suspended.

Suddenly she pulls back, wanting to meet his gaze. “You’re not a bad man, Rikyn,” she insists, assures, and promises him, knowing that while Rikyn may be haunted by the shadows of the world, he is not one of them.

Out of the habit of her inhibition, the ocean mare trails her muzzle along the bridge of the stallion’s nose, tracing the golden line of his marking as it curves across his cheek. It is not unusual for her to be close or intimate—it is not in her nature to hold back any part of herself—but once silence is able to settle between them, Tiamat abruptly realizes just how close they are now. A warmth suddenly blossoms within her chest, both delicious and painful at the same time, and her heart suddenly beats erratically in her ears. She stops, looking into his eyes before she has to look away, uncharacteristically flush.

“Do you think,” Tiamat begins, suddenly shy. “Do you think we would be having this conversation if I didn’t touch the stone?” She’s afraid to meet his gaze, and only does so from beneath the protection of her lashes, wondering through her bashfulness if she has taken advantage of him.


“Speech.”