There is something behind the throne

Quilyan

greater than the king himself.

He shuffles silently through the snow, the gold splotches on his pelt obscured by a layer of frost. Zarina huddles in a blanket of mane at the base of his neck, as usual, and remains unfrozen only by periodic movement. The rest of his mane has managed to sprout several small icicles. They break against each other as he sways only to appear again and again in the driving sleet. He does not seem to notice the wet, or the wind, or the gods-cursed chill of the winter storm, but Zarina does, and her thoughts quickly turn dark as the progress through the northlands. If she knew words, she would likely be spewing every expletive she could get her little hands on, but as she did not, vivid mental imagery has to do. He cares little, and though she knows it is only the depression making him act so ornery, it is getting very old.

A dark silhouette appears against the wall of white through which they traipse, and she chatters angrily from her curled position. There, she seems to insist. GO. THERE. He obeys purely for her benefit. If he were lost to the storms, he would care very little. After all, what purpose does he have in the world without Resplendence? He asks himself daily how such a small, fearful mare has captured his attention so avidly when he was once the whore of the Th'orquian capital. Well, wouldn't they just laugh to see him now, heartbroken over one scrawny, captivating mare? He is not laughing; in fact, it is all he can do to keep from crying. Perhaps he would be, if the tears would not freeze on his face as they fell. Perhaps they have already frozen there. Honestly, he probably would not notice.

As he passes into the cavern, the wind dies as though someone has flipped a switch. He walks until his nose bumps an icy wall - the cold of that seems to wake him up a bit! - and then halts, lifts his cranium, and looks around. It is an icy wonderland, to be sure, riddled with an ancient beauty that is at once entrancing and terrifying. Outside his hideaway, he sees only a wall of white; he quickly decides to simply continue in the caves. It is not any colder here than it is out there, and the lack of wind makes it almost pleasant in comparison.

He wanders aimlessly for a while through the caverns. He cannot seem to remember how long he has been in their depths. Is it day, or night? Has the storm passed? He doesn't know, but he continues on. From somewhere around a corner, he thinks he hears a voice. He follows it dejectedly, barely bothering to listen to the notes. At first, he thinks he is imagining it, it is so faint, but as he walks, it grows louder. It begins to sound like her, but he is sure that the universe is simply playing tricks on him. Is this what I get for being so awful at home? he wonders ruefully. A death hearing her voice in my head? But he is nowhere near dying.

Still, there is no hope within him anymore.

Eventually, he comes upon a tunnel that has caved in. The singing is louder here, and he spots a small hole in the ice up top. Can he see through it if he stretches his nape? No, not quite. Zarina, however, can, and she scampers up his neck, complaining all the while of the cold. When she reaches the top, she freezes, and in the split second between when she sees the contents of the room and when it arrives in his mind, he dares to hope again.

And then, there she is.

"RESPLENDENCE!" he calls, his vocals a mad roar, and then he wheels and begins to kick.

[W/C | ---]
Walk walk walk.
Talk talk talk.
Think think think.

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