Force-claiming is not allowed here. This is a peaceful, neutral area meant for socialising.
| Kheldar for everything that rises must converge |
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While yet the companion of his soul cannot help but dwell on what they had left behind - and for the very last time, for there would be no returning, and in time, Kheldar would learn of the great and unpreventable tragedy - the Crown Prince looks ahead, as he always had. When traversing unknown territory, he allowed little to distract him, truly, whatever inattention he seemed to lapse into was always a farce. But the mood of his Captain of the Guard indeed drew his attention. Like a storm brewing on the horizon, Kheldar could feel it, the tension in the air. It prickled near constantly along his spine, but he numbed himself to the apprehension, knowing he could ill afford to sink too deep into introspective contemplation whilst they were strangers yet in these strange lands separated in the sea. Knowing he dare not. It had been something of an internal struggle for him, when he’d first learned of how Rosto was at once a mirror and a foil to him, presiding over the shadows of the realm, where any who called themselves after the royals never lasted long, for to claim any type of kinship with the Monarchy, even if as rivals to the ruling class, was to paint a target upon one’s back. But his cunning Prince of Thieves alone survived, for he was careful and clever and Kheldar was certain that there did not exist a soul on this earth whom Rosto couldn’t win over with his charm and charisma, if he thought that the better course. But it rarely was the better course, for when it came to politicking Kheldar knew well enough that time was scant and precious. Compromises had to be made and ties had to be cut, for talks could easily draw out for days, and the last few years had been especially trialsome, with too much for the King to contend with to allow for so much time for one matter. From the first, proper, Kheldar had owed his life to Rosto, and though the taller, leaner stallion hadn’t suffered injury then, with how swiftly and skilfully he had fended off the assassins, dispatch his own People to run the down before they made the border, he had certainly suffered enough at the King’s command after he was found with the wounded Crown Prince (staying at risk of his own life, no matter how Kheldar, who struggled even to rise to his own hooves, begged him to run after his own ilk, lest he bare the blame and suffer the consequences), duty bound to obey, to face down the most dangerous of foes without strategic, nay, even adequate support. "I always mind the quest, Captain," came the reply. Where Rosto’s tone had seemed purposefully blunted, to an outsider, Kheldar’s swift reply would easily be taken to be some sort of reprimand. But when the white crested stallion glanced to him from the corner of his eye, the ebony Prince turned his face full to his heart’s companion, so that the soft creasing in his expression is shielded from the world, meant only for Rosto to see. And in the moment of stillness that followed, in the fleeting tensing of Kheldar’s jaw, in the wrinkling of his muzzle and the tightening of his mouth, in the depths of his eyes with their dilating pupils, the truths that he cannot speak are written there, clear as day. I mind you, which meant I am worried about you, and was something he dared not speak aloud for he knew from experience that Rosto would have something to say about that - it was one of the things his Guard Captain least liked to hear from his mouth. It was not proper for the Crown Prince to remark on any perceived weakness there might be found in his Captain of the Royal Guard. (Even when they thought they were alone. Even here, where none who knew them were skulking about in the shadows. ) And deeper, beneath this worry, around it and tangled all through it, were feelings he wished to convey, but that he’d never found words for. It lived between them, they breathed it in whenever they were near to one another. The depth of Belonging that would be found nowhere else. Longing and yet not lordship enough. For despite everything, including the acceptance of many in the court and throughout the realm of what was clearly irrevocable, the reigning King stood adamant on his stance; where his spirited daughter was destined to be married off to secure an alliance, and the middle-child, the second son, green-eyed and spiteful, had his own purpose in strengthening ties with a nearby kingdom to the north, Kheldar, too, was not granted the freedom to choose his own path. Not while his father still had the right to demand his heir lie prostrate at his hooves. Such was the curse of being born into a grand and blessed household. But in every way possible, navigating the loopholes in the old laws of the kingdom with such polite grace (or was it cunning disguised as elegant wisdom?), Kheldar contrived of ways to keep Rosto close to him, for as long as the ivory-edged Prince of Thieves was inclined to serve at his side (an equal in Kheldar’s eyes, even if all the world, and Rosto himself in the darker times, was inclined to think otherwise). It was not enough to rival the likes of the numerous ways Rosto had devised to protect him, and many times, it was not needed, for it was through no shortage of wit and wiles that Rosto had claimed his own throne. But Kheldar wouldn’t have done a single thing different, and he reveled in what small freedoms his position as firstborn son afforded him. All his life, he’d told himself it was enough, it was enough, it was enough. He had not the freedom to ask for more, no matter how much he wanted. Perhaps, some day, it might be different - when he was King... Rosto is as water to him now, for Kheldar can read him so clearly. Though, for so long as they have belonged together, he has remained always in the shallows, where it is safe for him. The waters are dark and deep, and sometimes Kheldar is afraid - of drowning, yes, but more than that, of never truly knowing all there is to know about his closest and truest friend, of never seeing the whole of him, but - in the manner of the moon - only the sides of him that he turns toward the light. "A new world," Kheldar muses. They had certainly come to the very edge of the world that was known to them, and these Islands in the sea, which the pair had observed disappearing into a misty haze when viewed from the mainland not yet two days past, as if they had been little more than an illusion, or, indeed, on some kind of cosmic threshold, which the Princes had crossed over, undaunted, in search of a heart. "I imagine we shall learn soon enough what manner of men are raised here, and whether we might yet sway some to our cause." He meanders from Rosto’s side, snagging blades of grass idly, though he has mostly eaten to satisfaction by now. "The early winter is mild, and in spite of this I find faint scents and fewer traces." By this one thing alone, Kheldar had gleaned much already, the most curious and pressing being that these Islands must not be near so populated as the kingdom the two stallions hailed from (and thus held the promise of bounty, which was not forthcoming among the common people under Kheldar's father's rule), and that, if many were seeking shelter already, in favor of feasting upon this lonely field of good pasture, the cold was likely to be cruel. "What say we rest awhile, and then go off in search of fresh water and a place befitting to shelter from the worst of the wind?" Kheldar ventured to ask his companion, one ear ticking toward Rosto in anticipation, whilst Kheldar himself lapsed into silence, deliberating on how best to navigate the storm, if his paying mind to the quest bestowed upon him, as his other half had put it, did not appear to steer their course away from it. |