það var farið að skyggja og fuglarnir þagnaðir It was curious, really; perhaps these small touches with his past had been what he had needed. Returning from another time and place to find himself unsure of his friends, unsure of the faces around him, Psyche changed (even if it was for the better), bereft of the place of power he had had.. since talking to d'Artagnan at the start of summer he had come to realize that it was not power itself he had felt lost without, it was not power itself he coveted and wished back, but in so many ways being the King of his people had defined him. Leadership had been his identity, not in the commands he could speak and see carried out, but in his duty as guide and shield to his people. He had thought that what he had needed was some quiet time alone to find the missing connection to his soul, but isolation had not done things better. He'd grown stabler, but no less lost within himself, until the past caught up. Daltoff, bowing, calling him King. d'Artagnan, expressing a desire to see Mauja take up control again. Ulrik, glad that he was back. And now Tolio, having bowed and admitted to a loyalty that went deeper than blood and hearts. Being confirmed as Bane had taken a weight off his shoulders. He did not need to quell his instincts to lead, did not have to wonder at what he did, second guess, doubt; he was a leader. Not the leader of the Plague, for that was Psyche, but one of them. They had never meant to operate alone. They had meant to work together, Mauja's cool chilling the fire of her passion.

And each time the past came back to touch him, he felt another piece of himself fit back in. It was odd, how something so simple as a face from another time, a memory of who they had followed, could seal so many wounds and turn them into scars. Cheek against cheek he stood with a brother-in-arms, who, simply by having a loyalty like a bonfire, had strengthened him in ways he could not entirely understand. Grimy, filthy, dust and dirt mingling with frozen sweat by his loins and elbows, tired from a too-long day and with his eyes aching from the brightness of the Heart — and at the same time, he felt so much stronger than he had before.

He was Mauja. He did not need Gods.
All he needed was his people.

Tolio called himself a coward, and Mauja smiled wryly. He wasn't sure he agreed, but he was not going to argue the point. If Tolio wanted to see it as cowardice.. well, he wasn't sure it wasn't, either. He was abandoning his family, his children, his King, but was it strong of him to know that he had to leave, instead of toil in the same old tracks? It took strength to leave the ones you loved. Sometimes it was far more taxing to break away and make a change than just lower your head and keep going, despite the way it wore at your soul. At least he knew that his children would be safe. His wry little smile turned gentler, the exhaustion in his eyes softening for a moment, honestly hoping that it did not surprise Tolio. He couldn't have thought Mauja heartless, could he? No; he would not have followed him so blindly, so lovingly, then, would he? Silence came down again but he let it be, merely studied the chestnut quietly while he composed himself. It was easy to forget his own worries and pains, his own failed strength, when faced with the anguish of another. Perhaps when Tolio was gone, the regal cloak would fall off and his stance slacken, but the memory of devotion, the image of a bow, was burned into his mind.

Before Frostfall ended? So he already knew that he intended to be gone no longer than two seasons. Perhaps he could not bear to abandon his children for longer, and Mauja inclined his snowy head, pressing his dark muzzle against Tolio's as it came before him again. The subject of cowardice and healing returned, and he actually pulled a small grimace. He didn't exactly like his own weakness laid bare like this, even if Tolio was harmless. He was supposed to be there for others, not the other way around, and despite the long, exhausting day he'd gone through, this meeting was proof that there was still some iron in his spine. But before he had a chance to respond, reassure Tolio again, his voice turned playful and for a moment Mauja felt blank. Then, a grin broke out across his dark lips and he rubbed his horn against Tolio's, a little frost coming off. "Thanks, Mom," he said dryly, realizing that whenever he handed out nicknames that wasn't just a shortening of their real name.. it was something entirely stupid, like Sir, Pet or Mom. He almost rolled his eyes at himself before sobering slightly.

"You are not a coward. I appreciate the thought, that you want to help me, but-" He frowned slightly, and turned to glance out across the snow, not sure how to phrase himself. "No matter what rank someone sticks on me, I will never stop being a king. Don't get me wrong, Tolio, I will never demand power or force others to submit to my commands, for that is not what being a king is about to me. It's always been about.. protecting, caring, being there, leading and guiding. We look to our leaders when we're sad, frightened or angry, and as a king, I can never show that I am the same. I will always be strong for my people. I will always bury my own pain and exhaustion to inspire hope in them." Gently he reached out to tug at Tolio's chestnut mane, a small smile playing on his muzzle. "You say you feel bad for leaving me when I am tired. Don't. To shoulder this pain alone so that you can heal is part of being king.. part of being who I am." Angling his head sideways slightly he slipped his muzzle down, traced the underside of Tolio's jaw with the bridge of his nose. Raising his head he tried to push the chestnut's chin up a little higher, before his eyes sought out his; warm, comforting, even if sad and tired beneath. "Does that make you feel any better?" he asked kindly.
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