Kheldar’s Captain of the Royal Guard
The hard truth was that Rosto, as Kheldar’s only protection now, had to think in all directions. In past, in present, in future. He must think of where they came from, keep aware that they were ultimately yet unfollowed. He must think of where they were, extrapolate from surroundings that they were in a place of safety and bounty. He must think of where they went now, determine what means he could gather to keep Kheldar in this new world and settle those princely roots into new soil. He was transplanting this prince not for idleness. They would need an occupation or else Kheldar would truly do nothing but return.
If it were a simpler person, a typical stallion, he’d find some locally ingrained beauty and indebt his Prince’s heart to her so near and dear that he’d never choose to leave. But for just himself? Kheldar would not sacrifice his family, his duty, so easily. Always his love had been given within the bounds of his father’s dangerous whimsy. Rosto was only useful as a Captain of the Royal Guard. Being a stallion himself, there was no hope for the genetic future. His usefulness, after speaking aloud what they both simply ‘knew’... would supercede his usefulness with hinderance.
He is addressed this time as ‘Captain’. Thief was an endearment, Captain was a reminder. A reminder that they always had a mask to wear in the dangerous places - that he need rein in the overflowing of discomfort he’d been strangling on to keep them safe. Exposure of feeling and weakness often led to disasters. The affection and warning that they exchange serves to bleed away some of the tension and he shakes for one last time and rights his head high up instead of allowing it to hang low.
This is what had brought Rosto to love Kheldar. His awareness of the immediate need. Where Rosto was always on the Hunt, Kheldar was exactly what a future king ought to be. Staring as if from a great height… perhaps missing the most minute of details, foggy about the shadowy areas and things on the peripheral, but so aware of the big picture as to generally follow and respond responsibly to any situation or battlefield. A big cog in his picture was often Rosto, so of course Rosto could not hope to be left in his own wallowing.
The quick response to the look they shared was precisely because the Prince had finally begun to naturally speak in their unspoken language - not airing their weaknesses, not airing dangerous affections. He had never been one to hold back within the Thieves Court and hide his emotions - but being amongst the Noble Court had taught him the importance of pretending at imperviousness.
Kheldar muses aloud and Rosto rolls his shoulders to remove the last of the tension he can out of them. At least the Prince did not keep provoking the thoughts of returning to the Kingdom… the origination of much of his stress, discussing something that reminded him that he was withholding immense and dangerous information. "I imagine we shall learn soon enough what manner of men are raised here, and whether we might yet sway some to our cause." In this case, Kheldar was more aware, perhaps, than Rosto. The idea of ‘culture’ being different never occurred to a man who ruled a single empire in which the rules were universal. Culture had little to do with underbelly dealings of the world. The Code was known to all, even across borders, in their part of the universe.
Rosto does acknowledge the information about the winter, though. He is not sure what he’d do in a world like this one - so much more space than people - but he supposes that it is only to their future benefit. "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?" Rosto nods, dutiful and poised as a commanded creature rather than a casual partner in travel. "I can hear a waterfall." He flares his nostrils wide, scenting it in the direction of the wooded area he could see on the horizon. "Maybe we slowly head in that direction while we eat, then rest better once we are there to see the quality of the drink there..." Also give him more ease than standing and resting in the real silence of the Meadow when he so desperately wanted the weight off his heart of telling his soulbond that he was orphaned and stripped of his title.
OF THE LOST ISLANDS WILDS
▻ 6 years - iberian mutt - sooty bay tobiano rabicano Sabino - 16.1 hh ◅