Baldur had never imagined himself as the family type. But this wasn't necessarily for lack of wanting. When Freya, the only family he'd ever had, left him, his world had been shaken. He'd begun to reimagine what family meant, and if he was cut out for that kind of life. His mother clearly hadn't been, so what should make him think he was? Throughout his formative years he'd remained steadfast in his decision to not take on the burden of fatherhood.
But as he got older and the years began to pass quicker, he began to realize: being lonely was doing him no favors. Where once he'd thought being on his own was a mark of strength, he began to realize it was just making him bitter of those who had what he did not. He could contemplate the reasons mother left until the cows came home, he could hunt for her to the ends of the earth if he wanted, but doing it alone was no longer the only option. He wanted companionship.
So Baldur sought out his half-brother, Freya's pride and joy Bjorn, and begun building his life anew. Piece by piece, he'd assembled a small rapport with his newfound clan. Even if he'd never have the typical family he'd always longed for, he at least had someone, and at the end of the day that counted for something. But still it felt like something was missing, yet he could never figure out what. For a moment he'd thought it was love, and in his misled venture had bedded a pretty young mare who'd said her name was Gynievvere. Their time together had been quite lovely, but a restlessness inside the sooty stallion kept him from staying, and he'd been gone with the morning light.
Of course he'd felt bad about leaving her, but had quickly moved on with his life. He'd known going into their little affair what might happen as a result, but it'd never been at the forefront of Baldur's mind until he was abruptly faced with a new reality: he was a father.
It was a bright summer day when fate brought him and Gynievvere together again. Baldur had grown bored of the Inlet, his brother off doing whatever it is kings did in their spare time. There was an itch under his skin and in his mind telling him to go. Nowhere in particular, just... go. So he plunged himself into the frigid Tinuvel sea and boldly ventured to the Crossing isle. First he found himself skirting 'round the Peak, trying to avoid the ire of the amazons that called the towering mountain home. Next he went to the Meadow, watching as a group of foals chased and tumbled their way across the clearing under the watchful eyes of their mothers. Lastly he found himself at the Falls, drawn by the comforting roar. He'd spent many hours reflecting at this pool, and considered it one of his favorite places on the Islands. It was here that he found the most peace.
But his peace was short lived. As he lowered his head to the glassy surface of the pond and took a deep drink, Baldur heard the thud of hooves against packed earth. Someone was on the trail and coming rapidly towards him. Two someones, actually. Ears pricking forward in alert interest, the dappled stallion lifted his head and turned to fix his eyes on the trailhead, little droplets clinging delicately to his pink muzzle. He waited eagerly to see who his unexpected company was, and when at last they slowed to a walk and came 'round the bend, he was thoroughly surprised to see who was in front of him.
"Gynievvere?" He asked, taking a curious step forward. "Hi. Again. Funny seeing you here." His tone was cheerful, despite the potential awkwardness of the situation. Of course he was aware that there was a strong possibility Gynievvere would be mad at him, but he had to take it on faith that she would have a reasonable reaction to this reunion.
Baldur took another step forward, and it was then that he noticed the little filly that accompanied his former lover and stopped mid-step. For the briefest of moments his expression fell flat as he processed what he was seeing. Is that — was she — but he thought... so many things raced through his mind at once. From 'what have I done' to 'this is amazing' and even, shamefully, 'is she even mine?' He hated himself for even wondering, no matter how fleeting the thought. He knew full well what the possible result of wooing her might have been, and he was sure she did too. If she hadn't then she certainly did not, considering the child — his child? — attached to her.
The child... thinking of her seemed to kick Baldur's brain back into gear. He blinked a couple times, absorbing this sudden overdose of information into his reality. He forced himself to tear his gaze away from her tiny frame, looking up at her mother for answers. The corners of his lips slowly curled up into a hopeful smile, not wanting to believe that this was true until he heard it spoken.
"Is this your... our...?" Unable to help himself he looked back down at the little grullo, admiring the patches of ivory painted across her smoky coat and the sheer blueness of her eyes which could rival any tropical pool or cloudless sky. Baldur lowered his head so he could reach out and offer the foal his nose as greeting, letting her come to him if she pleased. Glancing back up at Gynievere, he asked the one question he was suddenly dying to know the answer to: "what is her name?"
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