RENWICK
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; @
NOTES; <3
