I S O R A T H
Time weaved it's web with little regard to whom or what it made wait, Kings and their crowns, the Beggars and their rags. Each one was a servant to the ebb and flow, each grain of sand in the hourglass unpeturbed by the woes and anguish of that which it effected. It is a lesson all must learn, whether they wish to endure it or not. So he waited as any one with a meeting with destiny would, composed, elegant, refined. Even as ice coated his skin and seeped into the marrow of his bones, turned his blood from the fiery veins of magma to the frozen landscapes of the West, jagged rivers of ice ready to snag and tear. Somewhere in the distance, a Dragon roared, and it's ardent song only serves to fuel him forward. A taloned grasp wrapped tight around the melody between them. 'She will be angry, no doubt.' 'I know.' 'What will you do?' Aether's gruff voice rippled across the vastness. Amused. Curious. 'What a Prince does.' Is his simple reply, elegant and sharp as the swords he danced with, how he longed to feel their weight in his grip once more — to feel the spark of magic in his veins as he used to. Those would be a boon and a comfort as finally the grains of sand ran out. Florentine arrived in a swirl of magic and petals, bloodstained with fury in her veins, and he met her with the force of an ancient glacier. Cool, composed and unyielding down it's frigid core. He turned into the onslaught, wrapped in his gold and silks, hair wild and coiled like venomous serpents snapping at the bold and foolish. Forgive my delay. I was tending to the sick. "I knew where you were, Lady Florentine, I assure you." The Kirin replied simply with an elegant shrug of a scaled shoulder, a neutral look of understanding on his face. He had seen the blood on Reichenbach's dark lips, splattered on his iron hued hooves. He had lanced Reichenbach with a spear of ice and contempt for the move. Yet, the irritation now bloomed in niggling needles that Florentine deemed it appropriate to fill their inevitable exchange with paltry excuses and reasoning for her delay. He had never cared much for such trivialities when he had been King, and he had cared even less in his home. Better to simply rip the bandage from the assailed wound and let it bleed, so it may eventually scab and heal. He had born witness to greater tragedies that rogue hearts and young maids at the dawning of a new day. Blood is just the paint of war, the paint of treason, the paint of life. He had witnessed dragons incinerate the damned, watched with unreadable eyes as their ashen remains billowed in the morning wind as the land howled in lament. Except, Florentine was new to such realities, where Isorath had grown old. Her words are absorbed with keen ears, delicately curled forward to better drink in her words, but he remained unmoved. A marble statue dotted with gold and offerings one might find in the shrines of the Gods. Perhaps he was just as unmoved and cold as the marble which they carved their faces, maybe not. The Kirin felt deeply...but this. "And I did not wish to leave Terrastella for Denocte." Isorath answered, his head tilted a fraction so the moon charm clinked against his antlers. "You assume my loyalty tied with my emotions, which they are not. Loyalty to ones Court is separate from the desires of the Heart. To muddy them both together is a fatal and foolish mistake." He elaborated after a long pause, his tone clipped, but polite. A diplomats tongue, years of hard lessons and hard handed tutors. He can see them all now, see the gilded trappings of the Solar Palace and the Court which held it's games within. They knew better. He knew better. In the time where he had blurred the line only once, there had been an iron rod of reasoning within which his emotions fastened to. His Kingdom needed their Queen, and their Queen happened to be the woman he had loved. He's content to hear her out after that, the glacial cool of winter settling deeper and deeper until the star fire in his chest is crowned in it. He wore it like well fitted armor, a digniaries satin cloak. Even when she denounced him as her Regent, a single brow was his only response, quirked inquisitively as his pale lips twitched. Even when she gave him an opportunity to speak, he does not. Not for a long stretch. He let the silence echo between them as a God might, a breath in the span of a mortal's milenia. Then he spoke, slow, calculated. Cold. Gilded talons peeled from the floor to clutch against his chest, standing tall. Towering. Like those cold marble statues in long slumbering temples. "While it matters little, I feel I must at least indulge you for just a moment, if only to declare my innocence, at least of the flesh. Upon me and Reichenbach, we knew better than to act upon our feelings. We did not seek the embrace of another, stolen kisses where none can see." Draconian pupils narrow to slits as they regard her, lilac's hardened to amethysts and then back to the softness of silk. A dragon unfurling from it's pile of treasure, to let the beholder have just a peek, before it's sinous body enveloped it once more. "My loyalty is not tied to my heart, nor the whims and wants the selfish parts of us feel. Those whom I come to share an affection for. The Court has my loyalty, the equines who call it home, have my loyalty. As such, I will not continue to swear fealty to a Court who allows their emotions compromise the betterment of their nation. I thank you, Florentine, for the gracious allowance to remain within Terrastella, but I must decline." Isorath decreed with a short nod, as Aether pulled at their bond, closer and closer the Dragon flew and outside the stained glass — snow began to fall, Aether's storm approached and the leviathan settled upon the citadel tower. The stones groaned underneath his great weight, and deepened his already rumbling baritone. Ready. Waiting. But not quite yet. 'Soon.' 'Of course.' "I will leave immediately, I see no reason to stay in a place that no longer shelters me nor cares for the talents I possess." Now he turned, graceful and ethereal as he ever was. A ghost of mist and gold, and glided for the Doors Florentine had dragged from their slumber. "I do so hope you and Lysander find the happiness you desire, and Vespera smile upon you both." With that, the Kirin left the confines of the Throne Room, diadem pulled from his gilded head and tossed aside for the next, sliding until it clattered nosily against the cold and shadowed walls. TAG: @ "sunshine dasies butter mellow!" |
