[AW] DYNASTY

[Seraphina]

Days dragged on in a golden haze.

Seraphina ventured out more often than usual, searching for the relic, but she still spent many hours wandering the dunes, relying on the familiarity of routine to guide her on her unofficial patrols – contrary to what might be expected, she found nothing therapeutic in retracing her trails, nothing therapeutic in her own sense of aimlessness. She found something in her horribly empty, and she did not know how to fix it – it made her long for Viceroy in a way that she could not completely understand, for orders, to be told what she was meant to do. Seraphina did not understand what it meant to want; she did not know desire.

The howl of a summon from the Capitol was a welcome reprieve from stalking the dunes, and she had rushed to meet it. Her proximity from the Court brought her later than most of the rest of the group that seemed to be gathered in the hall, and the meeting seemed to be firmly underway when she finally arrived. Seraphina lingered outside of the hallway, ears twisted to catch the discussion within; she thought that she recognized some of the voices, though others – like that of the stallion who had called them – were foreign to her. She had arrived on the tail end of his initial speech, and caught most of the – discontent – discussion that followed. He responded with explosive vigor; whoever this one actually was, he was not a diplomat, though she’d gathered that from his initial assessment of the courts.

She only meandered into the room, quietly and purposefully, when the stallion had finished speaking again. Seraphina’s multicolored gaze darted across the room with professional accuracy, sizing up the crowd of familiar faces and strangers; Avdotya, a woman much like a sharpened knife, and Oz, the weary old fortress. A delicate, pale slip of a girl with a vicious smile. A massive, black-and-white goliath of a man, coated in scars. Her eyes final fell on the stallion she could only imagine was the source of this meeting, given his relatively central position among the gathering equines.

And who was this man?

She observed him with a gaze like a sharpened knife, dicing him apart to examine his pieces more carefully. Muscular build, just a breath taller than her if she disregarded the wings – but she was somewhat tall for a mare, and his feathered appendages were intimidatingly massive besides. Nothing spectacular to his chocolate brown coat or spray of white markings, though they were certainly more appealing than, say, those of Oz. More interesting, however, were his eyes. For their vibrant shade of blue, she noted that they felt quite cold as the grave, frigid as ice in spite of the sweltering heat. Seraphina was primarily concerned with his accent, in conjecture with the tone of his words, and the simple fact that she had never met this foreigner in her life. Who was he to think that he had the prowess to save Solterra, to draw it from its evident state of decay and disarray? Who was he to think that he could unite them, that they would simply fall into line in the hoofsteps of a foreigner who might know nothing of their lands?

(A twist of her stomach – most of those memories were fragmented, left in piercing shards in the wake of Viceroy’s magic. What did she remember of her younger days? The buzz of carrion flies. Smell of blood so thick it blotted out all other senses. Running until her stomach throbbed, and she tasted copper in the dryness of her throat. A scream. (Her scream?) The sensation of hooves against a her skull – shoving down, trampling, a flurry of limbs that succumbed to panic with the beat of wings. Viceroy tearing, the heat of flames against her throat. A mare crumpled, screaming, twitching – then gone. Blood on her hooves and teeth. Viceroy leaning in to brush his lips up against her ear, flicking his leonine tail to force her to watch. “This is what war feels like.”)

She corrected herself. He did not seem to desire to brandish the mantle of Sovereign, or so he said. (And yet, his mentality of decay still made her stomach knot.) In fact, his cold gaze finally fell upon Avdotya, and he pinpointed her as their next leader. The mare offered a sharp remark to the palamino who’d spoken earlier, then approached the stallion, smiling like the devil. She did not hear what the mare said, but she caught the movement of her lips. The dainty little wraith of a mare snapped back at Avdotya; Seraphina wondered if she had a death wish. For her part, she slipped among the gathering crowd, serene and seemingly unfettered by the tumultuous emotions spread thin throughout, multicolored eyes cold and collected as she surveyed each and every figure. Finally, she took a purposeful step towards the stallion that had called them all together.

“And what,” Came that quiet, eerily calm voice, “do you know of these lands?” Her gaze swept the length of the stallion, perfectly cool and composed, though without a hint of accusation or interest – she was numb. “Forgive my assumptions, but your accent is foreign – what is your stake in Solterra? If this land is in such a state of decay, what is it to you? You are not bound to these lands.” Her eyes flickered up to stare intently into his own. “Why did you call us here? You say that you seek to find a leader…but we have been without a Sovereign, or a court proper, for months. If any of us truly desired the crown – or felt worthy of it-, it would have been ours to take. None of us have.” She paused, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “You say that you wish to toil among the sands, to see these lands returned to prosperity. And how would you suggest that be done?” Perhaps the stallion hadn’t recognized it himself, but calling the Court was a power play in and of itself. Frankly, she did not care who took up the mantle of Sovereign, but it was in the interest of the Court to attempt to parse the motivations of those who sought it, so parse she would. In the back of her mind, she wondered if she’d be next on the receiving end of his seemingly volcanic temper, but, buried even further below, she anticipated his answers to her little test with wolfish, hungry eagerness. For better or worse, this was motion.

resident ice cube has arrived - sorry that this is so long and probably incoherent. it's late. i shouldn't be writing, but i /need/ to get caught up.