Beneath the moon no creature stirred. The darkness covered them like a solid force, trapping everything under its heavy rein. The Dauntless is motionless in the grass, letting the dew settle on his swarthy body. The warrior looks peaceful, for once, in his battle-torn skin. The stretch of his pelt over rocked muscle glistens in the chilled night of Birdsong, with his faithful bitch laying stark next to him. To unknowing eyes, the two are simply just beings, brought together by the great force of the Gods. To the hearts of their enemies, they are the bringers of death.

Finally, she entered. Archibald turned his head to watch her, an ethereal being, moving towards him with gallant movements. Eyes of piercing blue watched him, absorbing is very being. Her presence pulled the air from his lungs, the torturous way her body moved as she neared. Ripple of muscle, newly mended by the same touch that wrapped his own not long ago, sent his heart thudding hard against the labyrinth of his chest. It was without thought, without effort, that the giant regained his footing to meet her, level, his very being drawn to her silent command. Was this love? Was this that godforsaken feeling, pushed down by the melanistic jaguar for so many years? Was this, finally, the life that Archibald was designed for?

Anything is possible.

Speak to me. Molten eyes flickered down to Loretta, and it is his icy glare sending her off. The bitch stood, stretching her tired limbs before she lifted her maw to look at Circe. Her amber eyes danced in the ocean of the shadowmere's cerulean iris' as her tail curled over her back. Inwardly, Loretta wished for Circe to be able to mend the bond between the bitch and the Dauntless, and her pressing stare intended to throw the idea into the sorceress' mind. Huffing, the dog turned her heels and troteed into the depths of the surrounding forest, a meal on her mind, forced by the black draft. With a sigh, Archibald flicked his ears black against his neck, aggression deceased. "What do you wish for me to say?" He asked, his tail flicking behind him, swatting at his hind legs, reminding him that he could still feel something of himself. "Do you wish for me to apologize? For me to slander the territory I have called home since the destruction of my birth land? For me to weep at my decisions? I will not--I am Archibald the Dauntless, and I could not stand alongside weakness for another day, with or without the sun." Archibald's voice was cold, colder than he meant it to come forth, but he cannot change it. "I am a machine, Circe, a mechanism of war--and I am damn good. I am not, however, a machine willed by anyone. I was crafted carefully, meant for one commander, and I killed the first one. I baptized myself in the dark liquid of her life, christening myself to stand as the sole wielder of my destiny. I cannot live while under the contract of others. I am too destructive. I need to be free."

The dark knight took several quick steps forward, pillar-like legs swallowing the distance between his might and her warmth. He reached forward to touch his muzzle to her's, to breathe his own breath into her lungs. Blinking, slowly, he let her scent caress his cheek, intoxicate his senses until he lets his militaristic stance soften. "But I wish not to be alone." There is something between them, something dark that he wished to express. She needed to understand him, to know who he was before he asked her to pledge herself to his side. But would she stay, knowing the depths of his past? The box had barely opened, Pandora's lithe fingers curled around the edge of the top, ready to reach inside and release the gut wrenching horror. Archibald lowered his head, falling silent.

"I want you so much, but if you knew what I have done you would not wish to stand alongside me."

Archibald waited, readying himself for the lash of anger he predicted to stem from the sorceress. Archibald knew her, he knew of her pride and of her tongue, and he knew that he should never underestimate her. When her words came, they were hot and white against his skin. Were he any other being he might have flinched, taken the words and moved away with them. She had attacked a herd member, Phaedra, and had almost downed her companion. Those words sparked a flame to ignite within the Dauntless, for all he could feel was pride towards her. He was not angry with her actions, no, for if it were he in the position he would have done the same. The pride, however, mingled with the sense of belonging. She had almost killed Stella, and Loretta had demolished Fajira. The dark pair was more connected than he had believed before.

Her following words were ice against his skin, cooling and igniting a new range of passion and pride. The husky, mellow tone that lingered on every word pulled him closer to her, his body moving to engulf her presence. She called upon him, willed him to take what he wanted. But, the stallion was not taking anything. The matrimony between the pair would linger with them forever, tie them in a golden noose that could not be broken. Archibald rolled his lips over her back, massaging down her spine, nipping gently at her skin. His entirety tingled, body screaming to take further actions. Circe's body reacted, tail curling over her back. With a drunken half-smirk, Archibald shifted his behemoth frame, lifting on sore legs, and gave into desire.

The moments of bliss soon faded and the black stallion removed his weight from the shadowmere. Rolling his shoulders, Archibald shook out his body before moving to meet Circe's eyes. "Do not fear." His words, quiet and yet bold, were a warning and a plea. The knight predicted that the mare's thoughts would travel to their lost daughter, their first progeny taken before her first step. He wished not for her to dwell on that pain, but for her to use it as motivation to protect whatever was the outcome of their meeting in this night.

Reaching out again, Archibald lifted his neck to curl over her's, and he pulled his chin down, hoping to pull the grey-blue mare in as close of an embrace as she would allow. He wanted to fit her under the curve of his neck, rest her against the muscle of his chest, bring her into the safety and protection that was his very essence. Closing his eyes, Archibald drank in her scent, drank in the moment of solace, before, on the horizon, small bursts of light erupted from the depths of nowhere.

The sun was rising.

She melted into him, succumb to the darkness that engulfed her. Darkness of his heart, of his spirit, of his body. The imposing, behemoth figure of the Dauntless seemed to be caught in a state of drunkenness, the opiate of lust coursing through his muddied veins. His eyelids drooped, pulled down by the drug that was Circe. Oh, but she was hemlock, laced with valerian and lavender. The sun spilled over them, encasing them like golden statues. Archibald shifted his weight as the shadowmere moved away, his ears pinning some against his nape, confusion morphing his brow. Sighing, the dark knight squared his weight and thought about the answer to her question.

Truly, he did not, until this moment, think about why he thought she would abandon him. Despite that, the answer was blatantly obvious, at least for anyone that knew anything of the Dauntless' past. Mandrake was the reason. "I have nine brothers, Circe. One mother, one father. Even still, I have been alone most of my life." He started, his eyes hard on the blue seas of the mare before him. "Mandrake is my mother's name. I do not know the name of my father, but I am the very essence of him. My twin brother's name is Vincent. I have not seen him since Knox's birth, almost three years ago. My other brothers are Wilder, Evers, Casimir, Tajheri, Kipp, Emerson, Knox and Darwin. None of them share the same father as I do, save for Vince. Mandrake birthed some of them, myself and Vince, Casimir, Knox and Darwin, but Wilder, Evers, Tajheri, Kipp and Emerson were stolen from their families. After Mandrake bore or stole a son, the other sons were to slay the father or families. I made my first kill when Casimir was born. His father was weak, and I was but just over a year. Knox's father, Roanne the Sentinel, once my leader in Isilme, fell under the hooves of my brothers and I in the deep forest. He was my first kill in Helovia. Finally, my brother Wilder, father to my brother Darwin, was slain. Alongside him, we killed Mandrake."

Archibald turned his head away, looking off into the glowing distance. He felt vulnerable in this moment more than he had ever in his life, even when he was a colt. "I was the favorite son, the best, the machine. I killed without question and did anything that Mandrake ordered, until I learned of Darwin's conception. I knew then that the monster had to die. Since then, I have seen little of my brothers. Knox joined the Foothills, but ran off soon after. Evers left the Foothills as well. The others, well, they could be dead for what I know." Archibald's voice was lowering, getting quieter and darker and more angry with each word. The rage that pent up in the chest of the warrior was finally spilling forth. As he spoke, Archibald realized that he hated his fucked up family. "I believed you so easy to leave me, for blood does not tie us, and even the ones that share blood with me, figurative or literal, have left. I am too strong, too domineering, too controlling of them. I know clearly of Tajheri's hate for me, but I believe my other brothers follow suite."

Archibald sighed again, the muscles in his shoulders and neck tight as they began to shake with rage. He felt so angry at his family, at the Grey, at everyone--except her.