[OOC | Well, this went in a bit of a different direction than I expected o.O]

Just what is weakness, anyway? How can one word hold so many meanings? She heard it exchanged between doctor and patient, a medical condition including lack of physical strength, fatigue, dizziness. A more figurative definition could be found in descriptions of character - perhaps one is feeble, unable to make difficult choices; perhaps one is simply lacking in vigor, in durability. But is that all that it means to be weak?

The shadow-mare had always thought that weakness came from emotion. If one showed love, or affection, or sadness, or any real feeling at all, one showed weakness. An enemy, after all, could take that feeling and use it against you, couldn't they? In their eyes, you would be weak - wouldn't you? Or did they simply consider it a tactical advantage? When they used it against you, would they look upon you with pity for having felt at all, or would they look upon you with respect for daring to try to have it all?

As her amber gaze watched them disperse, her family, or as close as she had ever had to one, she was aware that weakness was not in their makeup. Perhaps they each had weaknesses as individuals, but as a whole, they were strong. It was not enough, but it was more than it had been before. If they continued on this trend, who knew what they could do?

The FrostHeart was the last to hold her attention, and somehow she was not surprised. As the sounds of hoof on stone faded, she waited, somehow knowing that he would speak first, knowing that he had something to say. She watched him in silence, and was rewarded. "Thank you... I guess." She tilted her head to one side, an unreadable expression on her face. "I... you are doing well." The praise warmed her even as the chill of the cave sent a shiver down her spine; but the frown that accompanied it confused her.

"Thank you," she said, and the words felt foreign on her tongue. She took a step toward him, and then another, peering at him with something almost like concern in her orbs. She had understood the play of emotions when he had first returned to them, but she did not know how much time he would need to return to his old self - or even if he would. "I was waiting for you, you know," she finally added in a halting voice. "You were gone, but... I hoped you'd come home." There was longing, now, a raw, but altogether truthful edge to her vocals. "And I wanted to be ready for you."

Ready? Ready in what way? Clearly, she had brought them all together, had strengthened the Plague. All of this was prepared for his return. But had she been ready? Had she gathered her thoughts, her - her feelings? Emotion was something that she had not known that she was privy to, and yet... here they were. She had learned in his absence, and she continued to grow and morph until she didn't even know who she was anymore - but she knew herself now better than ever. But was she ready for him?

"Talk talk talk."

What had they become?

She hadn’t ever truly understood their relationship. At the beginning, it was a union to gain power. At the beginning, she had given in to the guise of love, perhaps – but no. Not even that, for he had known the difference, he had known her all along. And perhaps they could have loved, before she left – wasn’t that what had scared her into hiding, after all? That potential weakness that accompanies affection? And when she had returned, she had found him scarred beyond repair, the father of a new colt (where was the bastard now, she wondered) and the bearer of a newly frozen heart. Perhaps it would have been easier if she had never returned, but she had, and she had determined to return herself to his good graces. Perhaps she had learned from her past mistakes – or perhaps she simply hadn’t had the time to repeat them.

The invasion came too soon, his disappearance came too soon, and somehow the shadow-mare had assumed the role of leader. She had hated him then, though she could not say where her anger came from. If it was because he had left her, because she needed him, because she wanted him, she would never say it. Instead, she buried her fury and her grief (if it were there at all) beneath a layer of frigidity that had not previously existed. She began to understand how he had become the FrostHeart. How he had felt when she had left. No, she could never understand that, for her departure was voluntary. How much more that must have injured him!

The dream had broken her, his return had overjoyed her – but what were they now? At times, she felt that she owned him, not in the way that she owned the Plague and her followers, but in the way that one lover claims another. At times, she could entertain the fantasy of what might have happened, had she stayed. What might could happen now that she had returned. But at other times, he remained at a distance, a placement that she accepted more than willingly. They placed each other in neat little boxes with tidy little labels and left them to rot, not caring to further any relationship that might have been. And yet, regardless of how she felt about him, the knowledge remained that she needed him. It was a weakness that she might have been loathe to admit, once, but now she recognized the impossible: they were stronger together than they were apart.

Who needs love? Perhaps a pairing based on mutual need, mutual trust, mutual goals – perhaps not a pairing of carnal desires, but one of mutual respect – perhaps that was what they had accomplished, perhaps that was what they should have had all along. (What is love, anyway? Is that love? Does she love him?) ”I wanted to come home, too,” he told her, and there was something horrendously sad about the way he said the words. ”Because this is where I belong.” The silence that followed was oppressing, suffocating. He was so close to her, so unbearably close, and it would have been so easy to simply breach the tiny chasm of space, to press her maw to his shoulder. It would have been so easy, but would it have been right?

”You’ve grown.” Of course she had grown. She had been forced to, hadn’t she? The moment had passed, and she regretted her lack of action. Such an emotion was a new one for the Dark Empress – regret and guilt were simply not in her repertoire of emotions – but it was there nonetheless, and she looked away to mask it. ”I had to,” she replied simply. ”There’s more than just hatred,” she found herself continuing. ”There are other things to consider. To feel. I thought that caring would make me weak, but… it would seem that my bond with the organization is stronger. With the herd, too.” With you. But she couldn’t quite say it.

"Talk talk talk."

There was silence, and she wondered if she had said the right thing.

Is there any such thing as destiny? Fate, as some would call it? Is it possible that her past – that their past was meant to be as it was? That even now, even knowing the results of her actions, that she would do it all over again the same as she had before? Would she emerge as the same mare that she had come to be? She had grown, Mauja was correct about that – but would she have grown in the same ways, had things been different? Would he have groomed her into becoming his queen? Or would he have given up on her? Would she have ended up alone, or would they be standing together now?

Did she even want to know?

It was for the best that things had gone the way they had. She had somehow made the right decisions, even if they had seemed wrong at the time. Perhaps her leaving was the crack in the iceberg, the beginnings of her heart thawing. Perhaps the overwhelming guilt at stealing their daughter away had been her undoing, for it was surely what had started her on the path to this – this redemption. Once she would have considered herself weak, even in the role that she held now. Her personality would have been deemed weak, her ideals weak, everything about her weak. But now… now she saw only strength.

How liberating it was to realize that she had broken free of her father’s oppression. How wonderful is was to understand that caring did not lead to your downfall – instead, it was as Mauja said. Affection would lift her up where fear would not, would grant her loyalty where threats would inspire only hatred. She had grown, yes, and it was all somehow, inexplicably thanks to him. She wanted him to share in it, not for the glory of it, but because they truly could do more together than they could apart.

His voice breaks the silence, breaks through her myriad thoughts and emotions. She nodded as he acknowledged her discovery. His weight shifted toward her, and for the briefest moment she thought he meant to lean upon her – for what, support? And then he plunged into reminiscent words, explanations – perhaps even a bit of an apology? Something inside her shied away from him as he recounted his experience with the Thief, another part of her rearing its ugly, jade-eyed head with jealousy, and still another seeking solace for its wounded heart. But when his eyes met hers, the pieces of her mind that had spiraled so briefly out of control returned, fell under her command once more.

Once, she might have held him responsible, might not have understood the trauma that he had been through. She still could not hope to completely empathize. And yet she knew that he had not been himself during that dark time, and she had, in fact, tried to give him his space so that he might find his own way. And he had returned to her side, admitted to his wrongdoing (for she did indeed think that his actions were wrong, even if she chose not to hold it against him). But it was his last words that caused her breath to catch. It was only for a second, perhaps not even perceptible – but somehow she knew that he would hear.

But how to respond? For once, the Empress was well and truly at a loss for words. I forgive you, seemed too broad, too assuming. How could you? was too false, too affronted. And more than anything, she could not hope to come up with an eloquent response to that last. ”We've all made mistakes. I can’t hold you accountable for those you might have made,” she finally whispered, unsure. ”I… we weren’t… there was no reason you shouldn’t have….” Was there? No – no, of course not. They were nothing, then. They had never been anything, though she had been to blind to realize it. Never, until that day in the Meadow with Delinne and the skyrat. And even then - never, until today.

”Did you want to be together?” That question was softer even than before; the next, barely audible: ”Do you want to be together?” Her mouth was suddenly dry, a feeling much like trepidation blossoming in her bosom. This was hallowed ground over which she walked now, the path untried and untested. She could only hope that it did not fall out from under her. Panic grew, and she wondered if she wanted to hear the answer, if perhaps this might be too much honesty. But perhaps it was only shame: I do, she couldn’t quite say, the words catching in her throat. But in her amber gaze, perhaps for the first time, there was something akin to hope.

"Talk talk talk."

Perhaps it would be better, to not have a name for their relationship. To create a word for what may or may not be there. Wouldn’t it just complicate things? Well, she, for sure, had just complicated things. Of course she would have grown weak and stupid, of course she would ask the hard question. What did she even mean by it? Did he want to be together – together how? What does that imply? About her? About them? And how was he to answer without either causing harm or leading on the façade of a relationship – something that neither of them could truly partake in – could they?

The panic began to set in then, at first a building pressure in her chest, growing into a cacophony of voices yelling at her, screaming for her to run, to leave, to get out while she can. But she wouldn’t – or couldn’t? – do that. She would be weak. Stupid. She would be like every other mare. And, after all, what had she to fear from the FrostHeart? Rejection? She scoffed at the idea. After all, she was the Lady of the Basin. She was the Dark Empress. She had led them to glory, with the hope of gaining them still more.

And yet – why was her heart beating so inexplicably fast?

The balance was precarious – he trusted her, but then he did not trust her – not that she had ever truly given him reason to. She could hope that he would stand by her, remain at her side, support her, do all that her Bane was meant to do. And if she hoped for more, for some semblance of love or adoration, well, she wasn’t going to admit it. Not here, not now. Perhaps she could play off her question as luring him into the Lord position in the Basin. Perhaps she could say that was all she meant.

But that all depended on his answer, now, didn’t it?

His orbs seemed to see right through her, to her very soul; she had never felt more bare than she did in that moment. If he saw her for who she really was, why didn’t he laugh in her face and leave? Why didn’t he crush the shrivel of hope that dared show its face, throw it to the winds, shut her permanently behind that unbreakable wall that had been sealed for so long? Had it been fear that had kept her innermost thoughts locked away? Would it be fear that would send them back now? Or anger? Or would he answer her summons with a promise and leave her battered mind to recuperate from this strange conversation?

”We can be great together,” he said, and he leaned into her side. Perhaps another fae would have allowed that soft sigh to slip from her lips, but the Empress remained silent, offering only a long blink of the eyes as a sign of relief. They did not have to answer the difficult questions today. Perhaps they would never have to answer them, though a small part of her longed for it to be laid out, plain and simple. At least then she would know – and wouldn’t the knowing be better? "I know,” she said simply. "We will be great together, you and I.” A pause. "I believe this means that I should call you Lord Mauja,” she teased, and there was a hint of playfulness that spoke of her relief, of her tightly controlled joy (if one could even call it that). But in the syllables of his name, there was no joke, only that indescribable emotion.

"Talk talk talk."

The Dark Empress had been called many things. Frightening, for one. Evil. Cruel. Cold. Manipulative. If it had a negative connotation, she had probably been called it. All except one: socially awkward. Of course, she knew how to convince others to do her bidding. She knew how to get people to follow her. She knew how to hold a conversation. (Though, in all honesty, when was the last time that she had a conversation that wasn’t manipulative in some way? The last time she talked about something other than her racism?)

She did not make bonds, not of the personal variety. Her relationship with the Plague was one of a mother to children, a teacher to students. Truth be told, her relationship with the Plague was probably better than her relationship with her own flesh and blood. Gods knew that she never got along with any of her family before – why should her bond with Sno be any different? Regardless, her relationships, until now, had been strictly professional.

And so when the FrostHeart turned playful - truly playful, not in seduction or manipulation or any of those other wonderful things that the pair of them had found themselves privy to over their time together – the Empress froze.

She stared at him for a moment, not with superiority or disgust, but with confusion. How did one react to such a show? It was not the affectionate dance of lovers, it was not the angry assault of fighters – and those were, after all, the only ‘embraces’ she had come to know. The closest to a friendly bond she had come was destroying the family in the meadow that day – and while it was with Mauja, it had been the pair of them deeply entrenched in manipulation. This – this – this silliness was simply foreign to her.

And so as so often happens when one panics, she blurted the first words to come to mind: "What are you doing?” As though her words broke some kind of barrier, a smile danced across her maw. It was not particularly venomous, but there was something wicked in it all the same. "I thought we’d established that I am no lady.” The pressure of the tug on her mane still tingled along her nape, and she chuckled darkly, lowering her gaze to shield her eyes in what was generally considered a very feminine way. A dance forward, a light nip toward his chest before she sidestepped away, hoping to anticipate any retaliation on his part.

"Talk talk talk."

For moment, she was afraid that she had ruined the moment. Something in his gaze darkened and faded, as though the lightness of the moment was retreating behind that ever-present mask. But her voice seemed to draw it – him – out again, and the knowledge of that power made her almost gleeful. There was a strange freedom that seemed to permeate the air around them, an emotion that was so surreal and unknown to her that she felt as though she were in some alternate universe. It was not the same as her dream; she had felt bare, then, almost stripped of her ability to mask her feelings. But now she showed herself by choice. The difference was astounding.

That crooked grin bought one in return; her nip coaxed a carefree laugh from him. ”No,” she repeated, her tone teasing. She heard the clip of teeth as she danced out of reach, and her own laugh was almost a giggle. It was, perhaps, the oddest sound to ever come from her body. ”Only barbarians could live up here, Spots,” she informed him. His advance drew a playful squeal from her – or perhaps it was the gentle tickle of his whiskers as he pressed his nose against the tender flesh of her hip. His breath sent a chill up her spine, and the resulting chuckle was a bit breathy as a result. ”As long as I’m the queen barbarian, I suppose I’ll take the title.” There was something almost childish in her tone now, as though they were foals assigning roles for their newest game.

But this wasn’t a game. This was so much more.

"Talk talk talk."

Something simply had to be wrong with her. Here she was, in an ice-cold cave with an allegedly ice-cold King,frolicking like younglings in love for the first time. But if it were so wrong, then why was she enjoying it so much? All her life, she had done what was expected of her; she had taken her family's goals and values and made them her own, as any daughter of the great Riekahn should, and she did not regret the choices that she had made. But she had to wonder if perhaps she had become so consumed that she had missed other, more trivial things in life, such as friendship. The shadow-mare was not one to trust easily, and yet here she was, not for the first time placing her life at least partially in the FrostHeart's hooves. And she was not afraid - in fact, she was starting to think she liked it.

His touch was not electrifying, as so many described the touch of the males that they cared for. It did, perhaps, tingle slightly; of a certainty it was relaxing. That, in and of itself, was a foreign thing to the jackal - relaxation. Bah, humbug. Who needed relaxation when she should be preparing for the takeover of Helovia? And yet, here she stood, watching with a lazy smile on her maw as he moved to press his shoulder into her, to stretch his maw towards hers, a crooked grin and a joke on his lips. But there was something else there now, too, something that was not so easy to pinpoint as simply their friendship, their renewed (and stronger) alliance. The light touch against her shoulder made the taut skin twitch; some feeling that she would identify as fear, but would in actuality be some form of anticipation, reared its head again.

"Well, you know, Lord Spots Barbarian, others tend to have expectations of the ones who rule them," she reminded him in a faux-haughty whisper. The arrogant tone, though, was dispelled by the grin that revealed her joke, and hidden in the shadows of her words was an expression of the coiled emotions within her: the almost-but-not-quite-fear, the expectation of something more to come, for wasn't that was his throaty murmur had promised? She had twisted her head around so that she might keep eye contact with him, and she watched as his icy blue gaze shifted over the contours of her face. Did she look different, now? She certainly felt different. Lighter. Freer. Happier. And invincible. His maw came to hover beside her shoulder, stretching towards her, and she stretched her own muzzle toward him. The flexibility of her nape, twisted and stretched as it was, only allowed for so much movement, but if he remained stationary, she would manage to just brush the velvet of her nose against his.

"Talk talk talk."

Companionship was a figurative atrophy for the shadow-mare. What use was friendship when it was so easily severed? Why trust others when they would as soon put their knife in your back as look at you? There was no point to it, no reason to place your life – no, more than that, your happiness - in another’s hooves. Even if they did not betray you, any number of things could happen to them: they could die, they could be stolen, they could be tortured, and all of it simply to get at you, to hurt you. And it would hurt, she knew that now, the loss of something so precious would cause an unbearable amount of pain.

And yet these feelings were precisely what she felt for the FrostHeart. His presence, not only in the frigid caverns, but also in her life, was welcomed. His affections were desired – not in a romantic way, necessarily, but they were yearned for all the same. Even more than that, the shade wanted his attention, his approval - all things that one might want from a close friend, an ally. An ally. Since when had she stooped so low as to claim one of those? But here she was, her life becoming so closely intertwined with another that their ill-fitted relationships from past times seemed almost like a bad dream rather than reality.

And if she lost him? If she caused him pain?

No.

Life as she knew it had simply ceased to exist.

His grin brought another flutter of glee into her thoughts, and her own crooked smile remained rather firmly on her features. His question finished just before the touch began, so close that it almost seemed that her gesture had cut him off. His scent spilled through her nares and into her mind, intoxicating. A part of her wanted to close her eyes, to savor the moment, to preserve it in all its perfection in her mind forevermore; a larger part wanted to memorize every hair, every mark, every little imperfection on his hide. The larger part, winning the mental battle, allowed her amber gaze, oddly warm in the frozen caverns to dance over the features of his face, along his nape, drinking in every part of him that she could see. His question was forgotten as her orbs returned to his.

A gentle tug at her forelock brought a gentle shake of her head, as though to coax the locks into place again. She was aware, too aware of every place that their skin touched. Heat emanated from each contact point; a light tingle started and slowly spread throughout her body. It was so very easy to give in to this temptation, to this affection – why had she resisted for so long? Friendship, particularly with the Ice King, would not delay or eradicate her plans – in fact, he would help her. So why fight it? Why had she? His muzzle slowly traced a line up to her nape, hovering near enough that his breath again sent shivers down her spine. ”They aren’t all barbarians,” she whispered, his final statement reminding her of questions unanswered. ”Some of you need to be impressed.” She did not realize that she had substituted ‘you’ for ‘they’. An unconscious wish, perhaps?

"Talk talk talk."

Every minute detail of his touch was becoming something that was intricately branded into her mind. The simple brush of his nose against her nape was a plethora of sensations: the velvet down of the skin between his nostrils was felt even through the course dark hairs of her nape, the longer whiskers sprouting from the tender skin of his maw tickled her skin as they whisked ever-so-gently across her taut pelt. Under her gaze, the FrostHeart seemed to melt, but rather than shrinking, he grew, almost as though to live up to her unspoken expectations and desires. Something almost smug lurked beneath the warmth of his eyes, and she wondered if that satisfaction’s roots lay in her newfound freedom and affections.

An unintentional slip of the tongue left her breathless as he pulled away, but it would seem that he was as drawn to her for the time being as she to him, for the absence of his touch did not last long. A cheek was laid along her nape, one eye closed in relaxation, one peering at her thoughtfully from beneath a snow-colored forelock. It was odd, the stark contrast between the two of them, his light coat pressed against her dark, when she had never felt so close to another being, so… so similar. His words were joking, that much was clear from his tone and the spark in his orbs, but mixed into the humor was a genuine sense of possession. This, too, was foreign to the shadow-mare, and she wanted to dispel the thought that there were, perhaps, more of him

There is only you, she might have said, and the words were on the tip of her tongue as he pulled away from her again. The space between them was charged with energy, but his absence still left her cold, lonely, despite their still-touching bodies. He asked her to impress him, and in the three simple words that he spoke there was a challenge that she wasn’t sure that she could rise to. How was she to impress him? What could she do that he had not already seen, already experienced? How does one impress the object of one’s affections – the only object of any affection that one might feel? It has always been you, she amended her previous thought, but still the statement refused to part with her.

The moment was long as she regarded him with a shadowed half-smile on her face, a mysterious and previously unseen expression in her oddly heated gaze. They had been through much, the FrostHeart and the Dark Empress, but never before had she looked upon him with such desire, though she could not have explained precisely what she wanted from him. Partnership, for a certainty, but had she not already gotten that?

Did she want more?

What was more?

A joking pout settled on her features, set off by the sparkling amusement of her eyes. ”Well, I’m the Queen, aren’t you supposed to impress me?” she teased. But there was no pressure, no venom in her words to make them real, and instead of awaiting his response she reached out to tug playfully at his hanging mane. She grinned then, and tossed her head as though about to move away, about to start their dancing ritual about the cavern once more, but she seemed to think better of it. His warmth was impossible to resist, she found, and she settled herself. Taking a few steps backward, her hide skimmed lightly against his before she halted, pressing herself against him once more; she pushed her maw into the crook of his neck, the place where it met his jaw. The side of her head lay against his nape, against the coarse hairs of his mane, and she took a deep breath of him.

More.

"Talk talk talk."

[OOC | Well, this is... rambly.]

Perhaps she ought to have been offended that he would insinuate that she had had others. Perhaps a more ladylike shade would have been, but she had never suffered from the same sentiments as most mares. Since their affair - gods, it seemed so long ago! - she had been with no other, not in the way that she had wished to be with him. Isn't that why she had left, after all? Because after all the politics subsided, she was left with the same unknowable emotions that coursed through her veins now, so many things that she hadn't the ability to name or understand. It had terrified her, then, hadn't it? It had sent her running for the hills, afraid that she was becoming weak, dependent, and she wouldn't - couldn't - do that, could she? And yet here she was now, freely giving herself to this stallion with the heart of ice, leaving herself to him to make or break her.

Should she hold it against him that he had given into his masculine imperfections, his unnecessary desires? Perhaps. But she could not bring herself to anger, could not hate him for those physical sensations that so many stallions sought out. It was in their natures, was it not? She had flirted with many, of course, offered herself for amusement but for no more. Had she secretly just been waiting for him all along?

Her lacking response seemed to leave him wanting, and for a moment she felt an awful crush of disappointment, though it may well have been imagined. She didn't know how to act, how to react. Flirtation was one thing, and it seemed to be a thing that the pair of them shared in very well. Whatever this was, this heated, passionate, hidden desire, she hadn't ever had any part of that. How did one indicate their interest at this stage? How did she return his affections? How could she tell her her feelings without really telling him? After all, although she would trust him with her life, she would not trust him with her emotions, least of all when she failed to understand them herself. Not when a surge of jealousy coursed through her as she remembered that he had been with another - or were there more than just the one of which she knew? Was it wrong that she wanted to be the only one?

Well, she had never truly cared for right or wrong, anyway.

She was possessive; she always had been. She had offered herself to the FrostHeart; he had returned her favor. That made him hers, in a way, didn't it? And didn't she had a right to him? Wasn't she the first? Didn't she deserve his loyalty, in more ways than on the battlefield?

The touch of his skin on hers sent tingles through her very core. Somehow all the questions, all the impossibilities, all the wrongness seemed to fade away, and she wondered briefly if they really needed to exist at all. Wouldn't it be easier to simply allow things to happen as they would? Did she really need answers? His half-neight sent shivers down her spine; he was sure to feel them, pressed together as they were. Impulse took over; she lifted her head, her maw gently brushing his ear. In her amber gaze was a look that was half-challenge, half-anticipation. "Impress me," she whispered huskily.

"Talk talk talk."