☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼

try try your whole life to be righteous and to be good
wind up on your own floor, choking on blood

It is a pity, that their nations had continued their long standing animosity toward one another, or rather, revived it. Revived it with a vengeance, it seemed, like how a flame errupted at it's summoners command. Raven's come and go, each one with a report attached to their leg. One cannot account for the whims, choices and fancies of the other however, there are too many variables in the form of equines scattered across Novus. If one wanted to cause a fight, they wood, and it mattered little if they did or didn't wear a crown.

Renwick didn't put much stock on faith, and the Gods. They had long grown silent, if the stories were to be believed, less interested with Mortal affairs. But he cannot help but wonder if Calligo and Solis had sowed discord into their lands for each other, as they faced the opposite way, dooming them to continue to play a game they did not enjoy.

It's that knowledge, and the scars visible and invisible upon his skin, which caused him to tense. To stiffen before he relaxed. It is hard to beat it out, when it had been what kept you alive. This is his first conversation with a Solterran, in seasons. A real conversation, a real meeting, with the Queen no less.

His reply to her words, does not come as immediately as he liked. His moon colored gaze lingered on that darkened expression, and he briefly wondered what caused it. Renwick preferred it when a ghost of something had brightened those features, there is something luminous about it. The barest hint of what he thinks is amusement, a smile provoked to surface, not fully, but lurking. "The cocky ones are the most gratifying, when you knock their ass into the dirt." Renwick commented with a huffed laugh. "You've got that to look forward to." How many had he caught like that? Their cockiness eventually became their weakness. He's also no fool, anyone who tries to pick on a wounded nation is poking at a den of serpents. Renwick didn't dwell too far on who or what banners those individuals could fly, he's too caught up in the snort he emitted when she mentioned Solterran nobles. "Solterran Nobles, last I heard they were all far too concerned about their legs giving out underneath their girth. Have they finally gotten off of their piles of gold?" He wondered outloud humor dripped generously over every word.

The Knight cannot help but preen, ever so slightly, at the surprise he provoked out of the Queen at his compliment. Not so much that his words had an effect, no, he's more transfixed on the way her face changed in response, right down to the fine details of her cheekbones and the corner of her eyes.

I’ve always thought that Viceroy chose it out of irony, personally.

"There is power in owning a name. This Viceroy might have given you it, but he doesn't own it. A name can mean many things, depending on who hears it, or what they see from it's meaning or who it belongs to." He stated, his mother had named him Renwick. Raven's Nest. Calligo only knew why. He supposed she wished to invite fortune with the Raven's cunning and intelligence. To make up for what she had lost, considering that it had been Renwick's father who had left her wanting, her future an uncertain, tattered thing. Well, she had got that somewhat, she had a son who had done well — but she had not profited from it. He'd upped and left her to join the Brotherhood and that had been that. Briefly, his mind wandered to her, it had been some time since he'd seen her. Would she still have the same disappointed, but hopeful look in her eye?

He can worry about that another night.

That suits me.

"Perfect." It is much more comfortable like this, beneath the canopy of stars, whose faces glittered and glimmered on the mirror like lake. There is the sound of rushing water from a waterfall somewhere near, a constant rippling sigh. Strange, perfectly so, is this chance encounter. Here the Lord Commander and Solterran Queen tossed aside their cloak and crown, he should fear her. But he doesn't. Silver eyes remain on her, warm despite their cool color, drinking her in. She's as silver as the swords he's wielded, the swords who had bitten against his own. Touched by the fog of the mountain and the mists of the sea. The stars paint her in a luminous glow, and Renwick could almost believe the moon had gifted her, her silver strands. Or perhaps it is fire who gifted her the lustrous molten strands, white fire given by the sun.

At Seraphina's question, and explanation of the absence of information about Denocte, his features turned attentitive. Pensive. It would make sense, that not many know the infamous Court of Smoke and Stars, and Solterra even less. Lack of communication had nearly ruined them before, and trading history is not an evil. History lead to understanding, a common interest. "We're an ancient order." Renwick nodded, as he mulled over his words. "We were founded just before the Night Court elected it's first Sovereign. Our founder was a Noble born son, but he cast it all away so he could protect Denocte truly, and he hid that until he died. So to make sure the Nobles could not interfere. He understood that power was a fickle thing, an addicting thing. He didn't want our citizens to suffer, if the Nobles and King ever allowed it to go to their head. Rather than use his talents for ill, he used them for good, and founded us. They say he was loved by the commonfolk, and the highborn alike." He shifted a little, aware that his voice had turned soft, the kind of soft when someone recited their favorite story.

"When the truth came out about who he was, the Nobles tried to summon him back to Court. To advise the King, apparently he burned the letters and sent the ashes back in a box. The didn't ask after that. Then there was Paxtan, who by all accounts was a bit of a twat, and that's the Maester's words, not mine." The knight grinned, that part had always tickled him, if only the scholars had recorded the Nobles' reaction in ink, to Harlen's rather clipped response. "Then Alester the Bard, Nysah who was one of the two female Commander's of our order, Sanah was the other. Then there was Elrin, there's been a lot of Commander's but those ones stood the test of time. Each one has a statue in their likeness at our Fortress. Our last Commander was Alavin. They called him the Sun Bane, but he found it to be a rather silly title. He'd grouch about it whenever someone mentioned it..." He didn't mean to trail off, but. Well. Old friends no longer present always managed to hit a nerve. Slid the knife in such a way that it twisted just a little bit deeper. "...He died during the Solterra and Denocte War. He didn't want to march, but he understood duty, there wasn't much choice. So now there's me, Renwick Theron." Renwick added the last part with a smile, one arguably brighter than the sadness in his gaze, which drained as he shifted his focus onto Seraphina's land.

"So, what about Solterra?" The knight queried, the messy curls of his forelock slid over his face as his head tipped, forcing him to shake the ombre strands from vision. There's no masking the amusement, the burning look of interest in his gaze. "I don't know much about you and your culture either. What was it like? I doubt the Nobles really shat gold, like the rumors said they did."

---

TAG; @Seraphina
NOTES; let it begin!

☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼

try try your whole life to be righteous and to be good
wind up on your own floor, choking on blood

There are some things which are ingrained deep, they become part of who you were. They persisted, unconciously, even when one tried to do anything but. It is not a slight against Seraphina, the subtle lines of his frame poised for action. Try as he might, Renwick was a soldier. A Knight, before he was anything else. If fate had been kinder, or at least more considerate, he might have been something that was allowed to rest in the presence of the Sun Queen. But, then the Sun Queen to, was like him, in that regard.

If they didn’t, they’re long dead by now.

The disdain in her voice coaxed his head to tilt, silver eyes reflect a note of curiosity before the pieces slid into place. Ah, they were the first to fall then. It made sense, the ones who pulled the chains the hardest, who profited from them the most were the first to find blades pointed at their throats. "I see." Is his only response, caught somewhere in the long stretch between amusement and acknowledgement of a move well played. Denocte had always painted their Solterran counterparts as heavy upon their own greed. The mental image of their swollen frames slipping and sliding off of their chaise's and piles of gold, their blood splattered on glinting surfaces, had permeated the high and low circles — when news had finally reached them of Zolin's demise. "Cannot really fault those who felt the whip the most, for seizing the whip and making them pay ten fold." Renwick murmured after a beat of silence.

And what if it is given by stealing something else?

Renwick doesn't know this Viceroy, not intimately at least. He's a ghost, a target. Someone who inevitably died, and while he cannot say he opposes his fate. He wished it had come sooner. It does not take a Sage to understand that this stallion is the cause of much grief, and for a moment he pondered why he did not know more about him. Though, the War had been critically acclaimed as Zolin's War. Not his advisors, not his shadowy generals and their schemes. Zolin's. Renwick had been a soldier, told to charge into the thick of battle and hinder the Solterran advance. Harass them, cripple their routes, send them back where they came from dead or alive. Names had been for those who rubbed shoulders with the Night Sovereign.

Brows pulled together as he mulled over his answer. But when he spoke, there is no hesitation, or careful words placed within it. It is as strong as sure as the spear he wielded, the bow and arrow often strapped at his side. "Then you must forge it into something that is yours. Reforge it, thrice fold if you have to. It is an unfair trade, but you can forge what was given into something that is worth more than what was taken. Make this Viceroy rue the day he gave you the name Seraphina. Make him regret ever giving you the tools to be great, burn him from the history books in the magnificence that is you and you alone."  

He could go on and on about the commanders, each and every one, if he was allowed. Renwick tried to at least spare her that, his mouth could run and run and run as the wolves did. The Knight could of described their crypts beneath the stonehold of Direstone, their likeness carved into the stone, silent sentinels to all those who called it home. One would think they would spring out of the stone at a moments notice, if their carved ears so much heard a ghosting of a threat. He didn't expect the soft sorry from her, but the sadness in his eyes shifted to one of warmth, appreciation. "He was a good man, I may miss him terribly, but I honor his sacrifice. I only hope I live up to the expectations he set forward, and the legacy he left behind." And he prayed, that he would not live to see a rekindled War. A true War, where banners were called. They had all seen enough of it, they had all paid for it.

There's no time to linger on that, not that he wanted to. Seraphina regaled him with the history of the Realm of Sun and Sand and Renwick happily, eagerly settled into attentive silence. Her words weave an image in his mind of rolling desert dunes and equines scattered across them, each tribe dressed in different colors beneath Solis' gaze. Even if his mind painted him a vision of the dawn of the Day Court, his moon colored eyes drank in the vision of the Queen as words guided the images in his head to play out each and every scene. It's not every day one received a history lesson from the Sovereign of the Sun, and he wagered it was not every day they got to see her like this.

Could there ever have been a more lovelier sight?

He doesn't want to interrupt her, so the questions which bubbled and burned in the back of his throat were swallowed down. In turn they were answered in the next breath, Solterra hadn't been such separated community. Once upon a time, the highest interacted with the low, there were no mountains of gold lifted up on the backs of slaves, greed hadn't turned their gaze green and their minds hungry. A shame, is the singular thought which permeated that part of the story, that they had fallen so far. It's hard to keep the frown and the twist of his maw, down and down until it's like that of a wolfs. Somewhere caught between a snarl and a sneer.

It was downright barbaric, what happened. How alienated the common people must of felt. How many were born with the feeling of resentment and shame in their breast? All for the sake of the Highest Echelons to feel superior. How many sold their children just to make ends meet? How many perfectly capable equines felt like their home was not their home? simply for the caste they were born to?

"I know, in Denocte's own terms. About Zolin's ascension, and his father." Renwick admitted, though he was reluctant to interrupt her. Suddenly he's aware how close he had leaned as the Sovereign had spoken, and he drew back with a feigned casual note. The spell is still not completely broken however, her words have left an impression in him. A hoof print that will not so easily be washed away by the tide or the passage of time. "Though I imagine what we were told doesn't hold a candle to the reality of what happened. I cannot blame them for them striking off their chains and taking their payment in blood." Renwick had never gazed at Solterra's Capitol. But he imagined it to be a grand place made of old stone and the sweat of those who had once loved it. To imagine it smoking and soot stained, it's streets littered with those whose chains clattered against the cobbled stones and lay tossed across walls. He imagined, in it's waking days it was much more beautiful, if a city built by the fierce and determined could be called beautiful.

Once more, he allowed silence to come easily to him as she detailed the modern day standings of the Day Court. After Zolin and his treacherous Court. Maxence, he had heard of here and there, but the Brotherhood had been too far removed from the Day and Night situations, better focused on aiding the people who lived outside of the walls of the Night Court's capitol.

Nevertheless, we are a hardy people – we survive in a desert full of teryrs and sandwyrms, and struggle each and ever day just to find food and water. We can do far better than what we allowed ourselves to become.

"With you as their Queen, I can believe that. You are everything that the people need, and the very thing the Nobles fear." The Knight smiled then, sincere and easily. "The Nobles do not want to consider a future without slaves and chains, where gold speaks. It would make them obsolete, make them wrong. It would mean that equines would not have to learn to love their chains, and the ones who pulled them. It would make them equals, and they have no place in that world, where equines can think and speak for themselves. The Solterra you want to build does not sound like such a bad place." Renwick stated. The history books would not paint her as a lavish thing, with her gilded crown woven in the shape of leaves, and slaves at her feet. Instead, he can imagine them painting her in all her raw glory, the collar upon her neck a symbol of something different. An ownership of oneself, not the slavery she was thrust into, not the games of cruelty envisioned by another. The flames of the sun were not Solis' but her own, with the trust and loyalty of the people. No slaves. No Nobles. No venomous advisors depicted as serpents around her throat.

The silver queen, painted in the shades of mountain fog and sea mist. The precious veins of the earth kissed upon her skin.

Truly, again, Could there ever have been a more lovelier sight? The God's were playing their games again, a gilded arrow aimed at a Wolf.

"The Capital may be in ashes now, but I do not think it will stay that way for long. Solterra won't know what hit them, with you as their Sovereign. The ground will even out beneath your hooves, in time, change is a drastic thing even for those who have benefited from it the most. The nobles will either change, or perish. After all...what does not bend..." He trailed off with a grin.

---

TAG; @Seraphina
NOTES; <3

☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼

try try your whole life to be righteous and to be good
wind up on your own floor, choking on blood

I was in the Capitol, at the time of the revolt. All our sins were lain bare – I had seen war before, but never…never anything so horrifying as that, back then. Much of it was deserved, but…no one walked away unscathed.

Surprise swirled in those moonstone eyes of his, as he learned she had been in the Capitol the day the news slipped that Zolin had breathed his last. Renwick is not immune to such stories, he's weathered days by the Port before, listened to grizzled sailors recount tales of their homeland. Some spoke of Slave Revolts, some were former slaves themselves, feed upon chance and opportunity. He thought of them now, and a painted ear buried itself momentarily within his plush locks. "There was years there, in the pain they inflicted on everyone in that revolt." Renwick mused thoughtfully, head cocked a fraction to the left and he shifted in place to better sprawl his legs. "All bottled up and suddenly it was allowed to be free, freer than they ever had been. War is War, it's a dance. Regardless of the moves or the tactics, there is always a beat which it dances to. Revolts? Chaos. There is no predictability in it, no sense of honor and justice within it's fires. There is no controlling it, as you can a field of battle, you can only hope the flames are kinder than an inferno, and burn out quickly."

Renwick had never had it in him to be cruel, at least where flattery is concerned, the tender places of life bloom largely absent of malice. He has long learned to keep war separate from life, after all, he has tasted enough blood and ash on his tongue to know better. Seraphina, as time lingered between them languidly, free of their titles and the paths they had chosen (and forced) to take, deserves better than it. She is captivating, with all the exquisiteness of a masterfully crafted blade by a equine with an eye for art.

I often wonder what of me was not made by Viceroy.

He heard the bitterness laced within her words, and in turn his mouth pulled into a frown to match the way his brows had knitted. It's momentary, when she moved on. Acknowledged that looking back was not the answer. Paths continously opened, one lead to another, a gate opened and a door closed. There is no going back, but now there is a chance for freedom, the choice to choose where to go for her. Renwick hoped, for her sake that the roads which bore the crown were kinder than those that held the collar. "You will make a better future for yourself, I have every confidence." The knight offered with a smile, eyes bright as he regarded her.

His smile soon turned to a grin, as she remarked on how it seemed impossible for him to fail. That he would uphold the legacy and in time, perhaps, add to it. It was already written, that his face would be carved into the pillars within Direstone. He will join Alavin, Harlan, the fair Nysah and even the rebellious Paxtan immortalized and ever vigilant. But his saga was not yet inked, the stone was only half of the story — it was the ink and the sword which would do the rest. "Thank you." Renwick stated softly, sweetly. He is used to flattery and kindness of other natures, but this is a different kind. Softer and warmer, a different tune than the smirks and glinting gazes which usually accompanied words. "I'm sure Jaeren and the other members might disagree that they are lucky to have me, they'd also tell you that you will make my ego dangerously large with such compliments." The knight laughed in good nature.

Perhaps it's a quirk, Denocte was a realm built upon stories, upon stories, upon stories. The very stones have witnessed ages spoken, there are souls which dance upon the lake who have witnessed stories being born. Every one of them who flew beneath those starlit banners were drawn, like moths to the flame to a story. He is no different, maybe he was afflicted worse. For he has the wolf's curiosity, the raven's thirst to know. There is that boy still in there somewhere, who would huddle close to a fire when the gnarled and crooked mares and stallions coughed to alert everyone to the impending story. Seraphina is the keeper to a World he had never really witnessed. It is all too easy to get wrapped up in her lilted voice, glimpse into something he could never truly know, and get lost in the images within his head.

Renwick listened, attentive as she recalled each and every rank in Solterra she has encountered. From the highborn to the low, their ignorance's and plight. He cannot help the cold that crept into his blood, icicles hanging off of his bones at the idea of those who still deny the horrors caused. That there are those with ribs showing and stomachs empty. It is a momentous task, to cure all that ails Solterra. It is not just the hunger, the aftermath of souls freed of their chains, the accursed nobles and their greed, to restore the balance. It is allowing those who could not mourn to mourn, to clear the rubble brick by brick, to console age old grievances with powers who were just as strong, if not stronger. It is to begin again, but better. The knight said nothing, he stayed silent and let her speak until she uttered that one optimistic sentence. She believes that she can do it. That alone will be enough, he thought, if she thinks she can do it. The first step was always the hardest, but one must always have faith. Faith was needed to take the first step, and the second, and the third.

"If anyone can do it, you can. You have seen every aspect of Solterra, you have walked among them, you have fought for them." While she may not have fought for them out of want, and at the expense of a childhood she would never know. She is a champion of Solterra, in her own right, a survivor of the War of Night and Day. She has proved that she will bleed for the people. That itself inspired hope and faith in the poor and meek. The collar around her throat marks her as different from the nobles who had oppressed them, she is one of them in a way. It is a beacon in the dark, a fire for which they can huddle around and glean warmth and safety. If she believed in herself too, if she wanted to change Solterra for the better, then she could. She can be the Queen Solterra has long been starved of, one not bedecked in gold, rubies and emeralds — not one whose cloak is dyed in the blood of broken slaves, whose gold they sit upon is accumulated in the suffering of innocents. Seraphina is a Queen of silver, a Queen whose hooves have stayed against stone and sand and her eyes cast forward rather than up.

Inspiring. Hope bloomed for Solterra in Renwick's breast, and for her.

…thank you, Renwick.

He can only offer her a genuine smile, soft and sincere at it's edges. Moonstone eyes reflect a similar warmth, and in turn find comfort in the warmth which glimmered in the sapphire's of Seraphina's own eyes. "You do not have to thank me, I should be thanking you." For this, he doesn't say. For this moment, for a chance for them to connect outside of their roles. For allowing him to see her as she truly is, than what he had imagined when he had spied that collar around her neck. For giving him hope that they may see an end to the strife that continues to swirl between their Courts.

You know, if you would ever like to see the court for yourself…Consider this an invitation to visit, if you ever feel so inclined.

Silence enveloped him, but not the unpleasant kind. It is a silence which knows that Seraphina has given him a gift that should not be taken lightly. It is a key to a path that he has long determined unknowable by him. It's answers hidden behind stories and snippets he gleans from the Inns of Last Light. There is a selfish part of him too, which fluttered and coiled at the idea of seeing Seraphina again. More than the knowledge that it could also be used as a tool to patch the holes in the bridges between their Kingdoms. He has grown fond of the Silver Queen and her sapphire eyes, the warmth within her that is measured in it's burning. He had begrudginly been content to allow this to be the one time he could see her like this, and wait for the chance encounter where they might meet again — as Sovereign and Lord Commander.

But it didn't have to be that way.

"I would like that...very much." He replied finally, a grin ghosting on his dark lips. "It'd be nice to see Solterra without the banners of War above my head, and hear more stories about it's people and history." Then he paused, his mind is already going over the dates. When can he send word to her that he would be arriving, where they might go, what should he bring? He cannot turn up to the Sun Kingdom without some token of appreciation for it's Silver haired Queen. More than that, he realizes there is another opportunity. Well, Renwick had never been the sort to never jump. "Then, perhaps, after my visit in Solterra. You could come see Direstone? It is not as grand as the Night Palace, nor the Day Palace but—" He shrugged then with a laugh, having realized the start of his own rambled excuses to get her to say yes, and cutting them off before they became anymore embarrassing.

---

TAG; @Seraphina
NOTES; <3

☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼

try try your whole life to be righteous and to be good
wind up on your own floor, choking on blood

This is...nice the word lazily circled his mind like fog in the port. Even while their conversation occasionally touches upon wounds that will never truly heal, Renwick never lost the feeling. This warmth which settled within his chest and twinkled in the moonstone hues of his eyes. His nerves are not frayed like they usually are, when the echoes of war visit him in his dreams. When he swore he can still taste the ash in the breeze, and his own blood in his mouth. It is pleasant. The ghosts are gentle while they carded their spindled fingers through the vast oceans of his hair, across his brow.
The stars shimmered and the water is still, and they are both illuminated by the soft light of the lanterns discarded at their sides. It is picturesque, something out of a children's book, he's sure there are stories like theirs. Somewhere in those dog-eared pages, not quite the same, but the melody they sang would be a similar bittersweet tune. Two souls on the opposite sides of the battlefield, their lives churned and span in opposite directions, but always ended at the same point.

I believe I should be telling you not to feed my ego.

"There isn't any harm if what I speak is the truth, is there?" Renwick replied with a quirk of his own brow, a smile ghosted upon his lips a note shy of sly. He doesn't elaborate that he enjoyed seeing her subtle gestures, little things that make his chest light and his eyes sparkle in delight. Lightness suited her well, like morning light streaming between gauzy curtains. The dappled forest floor speckled by morning. Little things many did not appreciate, but he did. Did Solterra know she was capable of such things? Had they witnessed the quirk of her brow or the ghost of her lips in a way that he had this night?

He was getting overly romantic, his brother's had often sighed when he waxed poetic. Got lost in his head over seemingly unimportant details in the picture.

Seraphina's gentleness in her next words proved that much to him, that small details were worth their weight in gold. "I do." But he didn't elaborate further, it's left as a bemused huff and a fond smile. She has opened his eyes, while he hadn't hated Solterra — how could one hate a nation that could not help itself, could not protect itself from the monster who wore a crown of gold dappled in the blood of innocent — he had an acrid taste in his mouth. Seraphina had showed him hope. That the images he had left Solterra with were not the reality. That they could change and overcome. Seraphina was not those little dead things which ambled over the sands with one singular purpose; to kill or be killed.
She had grown, and while the road would be long and rocky. She had already accomplished much, she had arisen from her ashes. Now all she had to do was take flight. A part of him hoped he was there to witness that moment.

I cannot guarantee that we are in our…most appealing state, at the moment, but perhaps you will see us more clearly that way.

"Regardless of it's state, I will enjoy it." Renwick stated gently. He means it, whatever raw and ugly truths are laid bare on those sandy cobblestones and written in soot upon sandstone walls. Renwick will drink it in with awe. It doesn't have to be beautiful, he would rather see it as it was, than hastily spun illusions, ill fitted pieces slotted together to form some semblance of normalcy. "If there is...anything I can do to help with the state of it, while I'm there, consider my hooves yours to use." He doesn't quite understand the depth of the situation, of course he doesn't. But he wants to help. Do some good, while his countrymen continue to dance the fine line of ill repute. A little good can go a long way, helped wounds close. "I will come as soon as I can." Renwick said in the next breath, his grin tamed more into a more reasonable smile.

I…would like that.


Renwick cannot hide the grin that burst on to his features, even if he tried. He had hoped she would accept, though he would of understood if she declined. Sovereign's crossing borders in times of trouble was not the most strategically sound option. But, then again. She will be protected, safe. "You'll be under the protection of The Brotherhood, and you are there under invitation of the Lord Commander." He grinned impishly. "Besides...what they don't know, cannot hurt them, can it?" She is not visiting there land as a threat, and he saw no reason to run the regime ragged with the knowledge. No doubt the Winged Kirin who they called emissary now, judging by the meeting he had just attended, would appreciate at least on Denoctian with their head on straight.

---

TAG; @Seraphina
NOTES; <3

☼ s e r a p h i n a ☼

try try your whole life to be righteous and to be good
wind up on your own floor, choking on blood