[P] God went North.

[Asterion]

Asterion in sunshine and in shadow*   Asterion is not prepared – not prepared for the anger that he sees reflected in the red man’s gaze, a colored-glass reflection of his own. Anything else he’d steeled himself for, even up to his sister’s death. How many times, as he waited, did he wonder if the magic was in her dagger or herself? Could he, sharing some part of her blood, wield it well enough to go back and undo whatever terrible thing had happened? (No, his subconscious had whispered, of course not, what use have you ever been? Her magic is not for you, saving is not for you.) But this – oh, Asterion seethes. What right, what right had the red stallion to be as wrathful as the Charybdis that whirled within himself? His was not the queen now broken, presumably at the claws of his own monster. The bay stallion’s dark ears twist back at the response, and he feels his mouth draw a thin line. The red man’s words are meaningless to him, nothing more than empty air. Nothing at all what he’d asked for. “Enough of your lessons,” he says, almost hissing the words, and his tail lashes against his hocks. Oh, how he wishes now he carried such a weapon as Raymond does. Instead he only stands his ground, as undefended as he’s ever been. Florentine had left with the letter almost as soon as it had arrived, but he had been there with her in that sunlit courtyard, and he had seen enough. A champion should be loyal to you and your people. I am not. If Asterion had expected the red’s next words to calm the raging waters of him, he is once more disappointed. “You—” This time he does step forward, heedless of the hulking beast, heedless of his own companion, who flaps her wings and cautions him through their mental bond. His thoughts are only wrath, only clouds that twist and promise such a storm.  Isorath's betrayal had not felt to him so treacherous, so personal, as this. “You left us. Did you find a better position for yourself, then? And then you do return, carrying the broken body of our queen, who you dare call friend.” It is as though his body thinks him in battle, the way his blood rushes like rivers beneath his dusky skin, the way each breath is quicker than the last. He can feel stormclouds gathering like bruises and realizations batter him like waves, and the ugly water keeps on rising. Oh, how many lessons will it take for him to learn? Every hero he makes for himself only fashions him into more of a fool. And now, and now - “You had no faith in us. And now you will answer me – what did you do to my sister?” @Raymond