Falls

Of everything that Kvothe had envisioned for the inevitable reunion with her King, she had imagined that the truths he spoke would be the hardest thing for her to face. That she might crumble in the face of the undeniable accusations— that she’d disobeyed him, defied him, broken him. That she’d taken the delicate fabric of their family and torn asunder. That she didn’t deserve his protection or his love.

But in the end, it was Ironclad’s silence that broke her.

Let me talk, Ironclad had begged only moments before— but at this, his lips had remained still and the heat of his pale gaze unwavering. And despite the paling stallion’s promises— despite his pleas— Kvothe’s heart was too scarred for her to trust in the gentleness that she’d glimpsed in both his voice and his expression. After all, he’d spoken of what they’d had. Of what she was to him, those two key words implying that the era of their love was in some unreachable past. Anything, she’d offered in exchange for the possibility of returning home; for the promise of her son’s life. But as seconds passed in heavy silence and the full impact of her lover’s words sunk in, the slender chestnut could not help but to wonder, and doubt. Perhaps Ironclad had doubted her honesty when she swore that she did not love Tyr. Perhaps his own fervent, desperate words had not been entirely true. Perhaps there was nothing she could do to atone for her crimes.

Perhaps there was no returning to the kingdom and man that she loved— not without paying in the coin of her child’s life, as Brunhild had already done.

Heart twisting in the grasp of this painful truth, Kvothe had turned abruptly and fled. Fleet as a deer, she’d raced through the forest with Aslan at her side, deafening her ears to the desperate calls of her grey King’s voice. Running from the pain that she felt as much as fear, she’d retreated further up the side of the mountain than she’d ever ventured before, stopping only when her son could go no further. And even then— as he’d slept, his little face peaceful and calm— she’d paced a restless circle about him, prepared to run again at the slightest sound.

It was many days before the red Friesian found the courage to descend again— and then, only because of the Vulcans’ silent, sentinel-like presence. Kvothe could not know that they watched her only out of concern; that the women of the Peak were sworn to protect the more fragile and downtrodden individuals of their gender. She knew only that it was a mare killing her own child that had set the endless tumbling of her life into motion— and as such, she was quick to herd the dunalino colt away, fleeing back into the no-man’s-land between the Falls and the mountain that lay to their north. And fortunately, Ironclad did not wait for her there as she both dreaded and vaguely hoped.

The mother and son had traveled under cover of darkness, guided only by the dim light of the stars and moon. As soon as she reached the bottom of the rocky slope, Kvothe paused to nicker encouragingly to her son, who was less than certain about the uneven terrain that dipped and swelled beneath his hooves. In the silence that followed, she heard the shift of small hooves on rock as Aslan began the final part of his descent...and then a deeper call, like an echo of her own, that left the timid mare quivering in both fear and anticipation. Tyr. Who else could it be but the stallion who was so inexplicably kind to her in spite of how poorly she’d repaid him? Who else could it be, but the golden man who was somehow always there when she needed him— even if that need was a purely selfish thing?

Returning his call, the chestnut Friesian ached to go to him. To beg for his forgiveness, to offer him something more than the less-than-nothing she’d given in exchange for his sacrifices. But suddenly, there was a desperate cry somewhere above her, followed by the sound of hooves slipping, of a small body clattering noisily down amidst stone.

And Kvothe— turning towards the chilling sounds with a scream of her own— could not break the chains that held her motionless and wide-eyed as she watched the son she’d given everything for roll to a lifeless stop at the foot of the mountain.