Meadow

Naked and vulnerable, he stands alone in the amphitheater he's created in his mind. Those that he cares for line the seats nearest the stage, and only feet behind begin the ranks of those that hate him. The rows of his enemies are both fuller and more sparse than he remembers, but their number is less concerning to him than the fact that he is up there before them, alone and unguarded. Uriah has undone him, forcing the bare truth into the spotlight and he finds himself uncomfortable with what has been uncovered. With who he has discovered himself to be. Without the excuses he has always used to cover his actions, and the justifications to back up his decisions, what was left was the sort of stallion that made him uncomfortable.

How could he claim to care for his family, if he did not care for the mares that birthed them?

Fear collides with grief in his mind and he stares at his audience, unable to form the words that will deliver him from this hell. Seconds tick by, the time between each drawing into their own little nugget of infinity. He does not know how long he stands there in the spotlight before she joins him, but when she does, the rest falls away and he focuses on the liferaft she tosses him by her very presence on stage with him.

Fixing things with Sabriel is no get out of jail free card. There's no magic button he can press to undo his sins, and yet she offers the first step in a long journey of self-realization and growth. If she can forgive him, perhaps in time he can learn how to do the same thing for himself. Solomon is not immune to the way she stiffens at his touch, even as she falls against him for the meager comfort his warmth can provide and his jaw tightens in response as the self-recrimination flares brighter. What if this was just an act meant to pacify a stallion she believed too violent?

He could pull away from her, perhaps. Force her to meet his gaze so he might see the truth there, but he does not. He is not sure he could handle the results of such an action, and as such, only pulls her closer as she nods into the space between them. If this was his only chance to hold her close again, he would take it and gladly so.

Heavy silence stretches for a moment as his words die in the crisp fall air, and he waits for her agreement with his assessment. He does not deserve more forgiveness than that which she has already shown by simply coming to him again, and is not so bold as to expect it, not now. Perhaps in the past, his inflated sense of self-importance would have demanded her apology in the same way it padded his confidence and grew his ego. Now, with the added benefit of hindsight and months of introspection, he had a fuller grasp of who he really was, or perhaps more importantly, who he wanted to be.

That's not true, Solomon, she says, and his brow furrows fiercely in surprise. How? Her expression of fear and loathing may have gained more intensity in his memory over the intervening months, but he knew that he had not invented it himself. She had hated him. Had still hated him when Cullen's attack had driven her to the Cove's shores. Why now, would she disagree with him on this? Stubbornly she stretches forward to lift his chin from where it had sank, and his green eyes rise to her brilliant blue ones as she elaborates.

Even as she explains and tries to share the burden of blame, he finds that he cannot let go of the mantle. It's not that he's grown comfortable wearing it, nor that he finds any sort of pleasure in being the guilty party, but he cannot shift any of this to her. She deserved to have had someone who was gentle and careful and kind for her first time. To have a stallion that would take the time to make sure she was comfortable and happy. Someone who would've stopped when she'd asked. To treat her the same way that he did the mares in the Cove, and not as he had.

To hear her explain that she had wanted him, and that her desire had not abated was a balm that soothed the still raw edges of his self-hatred and erased his lingering doubts as to her sincerity. Shock expanded his chest and he drew in a ragged breath, his ears flicking from their neutral tilted position to straight forward. Fixated on her words, he is even temporarily immune to the siren call of his hormones in her proximity, his mind far too distracted on the renewed possibility that there might yet be a way for him to fix things.

"I'm sorry," he offers, his lips pursing as he swallows. "You shouldn't have to be afraid of me."

There were equines out there that he'd be happy to know were afraid of him, even a little. Cullen, Roheryn, Xiomara. But not her. What he wouldn't give right about now to have been the savior to Sabriel that Golden Illusion saw him as, or the kind-hearted protector that Nadja considered him. Hell, he'd even settle for being the nascent partnership that he shared with Ysabel. Hesitantly, painfully aware of the subtle change in the tone of their discussion, he stretches out to trace her cheek again.

He knows that he has no right to ask it of her, but the words bubble up before he can think them through. "Then let's try again." A tentative smile lifts up one corner of his lips and he shakes his head, aware of how sappy and soft it sounded. "It doesn't have to be that," he tries again, feeling much like a colt with his first awkward crush. She made him breathless and anxious at the same time, a combination he hadn't dealt with at this level for a number of years. "But you deserve something better than who I've been."

Again his gaze searches hers, hunting for the slightest fraction of a softening there. His voice deepens, gaining both sincerity and longing. "Let me make it up to you."

Solomon