RENWICK
The worst monsters were those who had no excuses. No other reason to be cruel and wicked because they could be, born blackened and rotten to the core. Given power and allowed it to fester, spread it deep into the ground around them and watched it consume. Zolin was a product of greed and over indulgence, he'd been given more yes' in his life than nos. But he had a choice, or so Renwick believed, a duty to protect his citizens — when they had come for their foals, to finally say enough. There should of been a chord within him that was struck with the force of a spear through the heart. Yet he hadn't, all that pride had made him blind, left a hole where that something should of been.
It had never sat right, made his skin itch and his blood boil.
When he'd trudged home after the War, Rhen had left the Knights alone. They had limped home with their dead in tow. They buried there dead with words that didn't bring them any comfort, stood in the cold and wet, their cloaks stuck to their bandaged and bruised skin. They'd rebuilt. Slowly the ranks had filled out again, with faces who looked nothing like their predecessors. Sometimes, it was hard to believe that he was Lord Commander, not when Alester had been there before. All his spitfire energy and righteous fury.
…it’s kinder, not knowing.
"Perhaps so." Renwick agreed, thoughtfully, slowly. As much as he wanted to put those ghosts to bed, give answers to the questions they'd all had. It had been enough of a surprise, or rather a shock, to have even stepped into this chance encounter. Tempus' hourglass and timeways were at work here, weaved ever so specifically to allow him and her to meet in a lake in abigo caves, of all places. "A story for another place." Another time, if there was another time after this, where their threads would happen across one another. He would ask.
Perhaps.
…We have not been properly introduced, have we?
That was not the answer he'd been expecting. A question asked with a question, asking for a name no less. Though he supposed that they had spent enough time in each other's company, they have weathered the first of what could of been an otherwise bloody scene. Two warriors on the opposite side of the board once again stepping onto it's surface. If there was any time to test the waters with names, it was now. But names were power, a piece of yourself given to the other, if he decided to reply. Many went through life never knowing the mares or stallions they stood beside, only a face which they were familiar with. A name gave someone an entry way. It's why they used ravens and spies, wasn't it, to learn the names of their enemies.
My name is Seraphina.
Seraphina. It's a tidal wave of icy water doused on his frame. The name sank in like a knife through supple flesh. Or the reality of whom the name belonged, at least. In front of him stands the very Sovereign of the Day Court. He's sure his stiffness is visible, the rod which had replaced his back makes him stand like he used to. Like a solider on the front lines. Stiff, alert. Surprise pants his face like the splotches of cream on his ears, the star on his face and his withers. Flecked carelessly across handsome lines before they shifted to something that might help mask it. He's not sure it worked.
A child soldier, the Queen of Solterra. There's something poetic in that, he thought. Something good in it. Zolin and his monsters had made them to slaughter soldiers from Calligo's lands, who threatened their pride and dressed it up as a nessecity.
Now one ruled, sat upon the throne Zolin had once sat his gluttonous frame on, while he and his enablers were ash in the wind. He's supposed to treat her like the enemy, he supposed, in some far off part of his mind. He's not deaf and blind to the current happenings between Denocte and Solterra. They're treading the thin line and he will be called to action, or they will try and call him to action. Maybe even ask for his opinion, if he's oh so very lucky.
But he cannot see her as the enemy, as he stood there, unmoving with his eyes transfixed upon her the way a wolf might.
If she had introduced herself sooner, before they had shared words, if he hadn't seen the collar. There might have been a different outcome, or maybe there wouldn't have been. He cannot see her as a Queen, even though she fits the image of one. Long haired, fair of face and beautiful, and oh so very deadly. A warrior. The kind of Monarch Solterra deserved, at the very least. Not some pompous oaf with more gold than sense.
He hadn't come here with the intention to be a threat either. There will be no aggression from him this night.
So, he exhaled again, forced the steel from his bones in a breathless laugh. Allowed the irony to ignite his blood in a different way. The Knight hoped that she also saw the irony of it, the way fate had decided to write the pages in it's ancient tome. "Renwick, Commander of the Brotherhood." His frame dipped low into a bow, one leg tucked beneath his barrel while his hair flowed in messy waves over his neck, suspended inches from the ground with their flowers clung fast to the ombre stands.
"So now that we know one another's names, who we are, must we draw swords? call each other by our titles?" He asked, his tone settled into something akin to amusement laced between the questioning note, his head tipped to the side so he could glance across her smoke colored features. "I didn't imagine I would meet the Queen of Solterra on this ranging. A few stray criminals and thieves, maybe. I would rather not fight her, if I can help it." He admitted with a hint of a smile pressed against the corner of his lips.
TAG; @
NOTES; <3
