A gentle bite lingered in the dewy early morning air as strengthening rays of weak autumn sunlight bathed the mountain cliffs, surrounding forests, and clearings in a warm glow. The nights had grown distinctly cooler and in the mornings, dense fogs obscured most of the lower-lying lands surrounding the mountains which divided these lands. The first signs of winter were just around the bend, perhaps only weeks away. Yet despite the slight chill that nipped at the colorful leaves on the trees and the stubborn cool-season grasses that flourished in the year's end, a fierce heat burned within the mass of muscle and brawn that was the mealy bay stallion.

After so much blood, sweat, and time went into carving out his very own plot of land and building upon it a grand kingdom fit for a King such as himself, Rhaego never thought that anything could ever cause him to lose it. He'd been well onto the path for greatness and fame - exactly what he'd set out to accomplish - but he'd never expected the luck to turn on him as it did, as fierce of an opponent as he'd ever faced. Turns out his most dangerous opponent was himself... because even though he'd held every intention to obliterate any threat to his home, the challenge he received for the Dale last fall will haunt him forever.

The demanding call from the horned brute, Nightwatch, couldn't have come at a worse time. Of course Rhaego had rallied to the challenge, answering the taunting call with eager malice in his throaty battle cry as the ebony beast headed for the cliffs where they would clash. There had been no reason at all in Rhaego's mind at the time of why he couldn't crush this threat like he had all the rest... and normally nothing would distract him from that violent goal. Only as he had began to rush off to defend the Dale, the abundant scent of blood and the distressed screams of one of his mares broke through his battle-focused mind so abruptly that he stood no chance but to react to what seemed to be a more immediate threat, he initially assumed to be caused by another stallion. Yet it had been dear Aileen birthing the foal they had conceived earlier that year - he had rushed upon the horrific scene to find the loyal little nymph laying in a pool of her own blood alongside the form of their daughter. The towering form of Thunder Bolt stood near, weakened from his healing efforts - and perhaps the only thing that saved the already battle-ready Rhaego from attacking right then was a stirring from Aileen and the foal, Andela. He'd taken instantly to their sides, standing protectively as he warred between nudging his favored mare and sending death glares to the unipeg who stood many hands taller than himself. Rhaego could think of nothing more than how loyal Aileen had proven herself to be, of how she was the only mare he felt truly respected him from day one... and he'd grown to respect her for the same and her own strange little quirks. She'd been entirely reasonable and mostly agreeable, all things that he valued as well. Not to mention she had willingly offered herself to him that year to carry this very foal. But she had looked dead at first in that moment, he thought she was at first, and for a time the battle with Nightwatch was shoved reluctantly to the back burner. He was terribly worried for his friend, in his own afraid-to-show-it way. Yet after lingering at their sides long enough to know that Aileen and Andela's health were at least not worsening and slowly coming to realize Thunder Bolt had been the savior, he suddenly recalled the battle and reluctantly pried himself away with only a promise to return.

Rhaego had been too late though, Nightwatch had already claimed the victory in the midst of his distraction. The mares of the Dale scattered under the new stallion's rule and so did Rhaego. It'd been his first defeat in a long while and it had been the only time that he had failed to meet a challenge head-on and without hesitation. He couldn't understand it. He had foals of his own, a promising young heir to step up to the throne when he himself was no longer able; but most of all, he had his own mares - and almost everything he had ever wanted. But then he tossed all that away to rush to the side of one mare? He had risked and sullied his reputation to be there. The stallion had been left terribly confused and most importantly angry at himself and at everyone... he vanished for a long while, going back to his familiar rogue lifestyle and lashing out at other unfortunate bachelors who thought to have a friendly spar. This time he spent venting his frustrations and doing some soul searching for the reason he'd do such an idiotic thing. Slowly, ever so slowly, the passing months saw his boiling temper settle to a controlled simmer and as rational thought became more possible and he opened to the thought, he began to realize it was because Aileen had built a foundation of trust and respect with him... only the sort that the closest of friends or family share. It was the bond that he had craved so much as a youth and still deeply longed for even now. The thought of losing that so soon, he discovered, he just was not prepared to face... even if the Dale had been on the line.

However, he'd found an opportunity to redeem himself when the kingdom of Roma fell with the departure of their king. It had not been exactly what he wanted - because the borders were all skewed in comparison to what he had to begin with... plus there'd been others interested in it, particularly a cocky young mare seeking to rule it for herself. Proof of their encounter on the battlefield lay in the fresh cuts and abrasions littering his hide and the blood that soaked through his copper coat. The battle in turn with the cool, overcast weather had both aggravated the years-old injury in his right rear leg, causing him to limp a bit as he walked across a gently rolling slope. Despite the wounds he sported, Rhaego carried himself proudly and with renewed confidence. His heavy masculine head was lifted high upon his thick neck, scarred and bloody - his rounded ears twisted and pressed forward alternately as he surveyed the land and tested the air. How many of his old herd still remained in the area after a year had passed? Snorting at the myriad of scents drifting on the damp autumn breeze, Rhaego inhaled deeply again and ushered the breath out in a deep throaty whinny of dominance across the hills. He was King again.