HOW WELL HE WEARS THAT SMILE MINGLED WITH WRATH
“Fear not, for my ambition is as the sun and not the waning moon,” Apollo began with a sleek smile, seeking to reassure Cyrene. He shifted his weight, dipping his head as the words fell from his lips, a steely glint in his eyes cutting through the light, humorous façade he was maintaining. As Cyrene continued, Apollo fell still, and by his posture alone he sought to show that the mare beside him had his undivided attention, even as his gaze drifted across the grassy earth at their hooves. When he did raise his eyes to her face once more, they were hard, but not cold or closed off. Determined.
“It pains me to think of you with another, I must confess, but I would hold no bitterness toward you.” Apollo spoke his words carefully, a refined measure in them that stemmed from the years of effort that he had poured into building himself up, in order to both impress others with his largely unruffled composure, and to build a resilience within himself, against his own weaknesses. It was important for him, to have full control over himself, and a measure of control over others. After all, it was the mark of a great leader, was it not? To be able to handle those beneath his care, and to have the restraint to never allow rash decisions made by emotions running rampant. Of course, there were a few exceptions, always were. (One in particular, involving a certain reckless and impulsive young stallion, still chafed at Apollo’s nerves.)
His ears, previously turned back in aversion to the thought of losing Cyrene to another, relaxed a little. “If such a thing were to occur, know that I would fight fiercely to win you back.” Apollo was not so arrogant to believe himself infallible (despite what some may think), nor would he show disrespect to Cyrene by refusing to entertain or consider what she had said. No matter how much he disliked the notion that she may turn aside from him if he were to fail her, he would not disregard her thoughts in this matter, nor any other. That she was so forward and forthright in what she expected in return was bracing, and Apollo was appreciative of this, despite the weightiness of their discussion.
If anything, it only fortified his interest in Cyrene. And in turn, he would strive to be open and honest with her.
“I am but a newcomer here, and I say such things, not to make excuses, but to speak to the truth of things. Familiar terrain and the help of family and allies are things that I have relied upon in the past, I am not ashamed to admit. Until I settle in and establish myself, I beseech you not to think too ill of me for any failure of mine against those who are ingratiated here.” It was no easy thing for him to admit aloud his disadvantages, even if there was no shame in him at saying such things. Even now, he felt what he was hoping to build with Cyrene would be unique among other relationships he would strive to form here. It was not in his nature to be open and vulnerable in this manner, despite how warm and jovial he was with those he sought to impress and keep close.
Here, the gold and ivory stallion paused for a moment, allowing himself to delve deeply into thoughtful consideration of Cyrene’s words; the ones she spoke now, and ones she had spoken earlier that Apollo had yet to address. “For all the fanciful words that leave my curling lip…” he began, that same old smile unfurling across his velvety maw, sparking anew in his eyes that same resolute spirit, all too aware of how important the words he said next might prove to be.
“If you believe only one thing I say to you, believe what I say now; you have turned my eye in a way few others ever have.” Apollo turned to her, and risked pressing a gentle touch to her shoulder, impelled to make physical contact, as though the sheer weight of what he means to convey is too much for him alone. Even a soul as independent as his was not meant to be alone. And he was certain, within himself, that Cyrene would be just as much a benefit to him as he would be to her. Never before has he felt so overcome by a belief, so at ease in the company of another, and so moved by the spirit of a formidable mare.
It reminded him of a time long past, when he was very young and naively believed himself invincible. (The shadow of his twin sister had danced alongside his, and for a time, they had been everything to one another.)
Slowly, Apollo moved to brush his muzzle lightly up Cyrene’s neck, if she’d allow him this small liberty. The last words that fell from Apollo’s lips were hushed, reverential almost, husky with genuine emotion that Apollo rarely allowed to show. “There is a strength in you that is irresistible to me, Cyrene, and I would forsake myself before I forgot to tend to you, and the spark of life that may grow in you.”  |
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