Storge [Rajaion & Soren]
Continued from here @madnessbefallen
Cold, icily so and venomously sharp, was the presence that lingered in the cool air, but no more could Goldoa's eldest heir decipher upon the musty winds that fluttered down to cascade his warming face with cool respite— warmth which mocked the chills of an eerie unease that had befallen his heart, heavy and lead-weighing. Cold, but not freezing, yes— there was more to the essence which fell upon the shared bond of his kindred, but many more thoughts would only prosper the throb of a bludgeoning ache; Rajaion turned away the onslaught presence and willed away what heavy-hearted pain blanketed his grieving heart.
A sigh— heavy, worn from years of sour poisons— fell from his lips as though it was an ugly defeat, and a rag-cloaked palm— callused and chilled— pressed against the blossoming ache in his crown. To have applied the Dragon Tribe's mental bonds to discern the presence was to him a great struggle, though so familiarly distant had the essence been that Rajaion could not have cast aside the lingering sensation of familiarity; he, too, had withheld himself from the world for ages too painstaking to count, and there was, in the essence of the cold air that seemed to reminisce to him familiar thoughts, a similar feeling.
But he knew it best not to press the mental bond to any great lengths, most certainly not with his withered mind, for, if he shattered the bond, he could not further work to decipher whose presence had called to him, and how he longed for such a challenge once more— something to provide him the opportunity to think of something more than himself, to think of someone else...someone else so familiar that they seemed to linger nearby. To heal his mind with the complexity of a challenge...if only the ache which struck him would subside.
Then the coldness of the bond turned frigid, and from his slouching, withering poise, Rajaion straightened himself with sudden haste, brows furrowing as though the sudden temperature drop within his chest had done him harm. Cold, frigid breaths, each passing by the vile taste upon his tongue. Who lurked nearby to warrant such a familiar trace of kinship in the laguz-influenced bond that flickered between them?
A gaze of ruby fell upon slivers of a matching hue obscured by the dancing shadows of Abyss's lower depths. Soft, heavy breaths passed his lips, and the crease of his furrowed brows lightened.
A weakened bond— half of that which it should be in full— far different and greatly fainter than the mental bond he would have with his other brethren; it was a half-born, surely, if he could still prod at the bond yet not feel it in full. A half-born of laguz and beorc bonds, though no tribe save for those of the Black Dragons saw with eyes of ruby. The slivers of the red gem in the shadows, the weakened bond that somehow prospered through the half-born's presence...
Rajaion took into hand one slip of his ragged robes of graying emerald, folding it over the other half to hide from view his worn robes, and he brushed away what stray waves wrinkled his attire to remedy his vestiges of Goldoan royalty— however, he knew he was far beyond saving his worn garb. His gaze never flickered from the vestiges of garnet against the blackness of Abyss's shadows, though his bewildered mien fell into soft gentleness.
"You..." Coarse words from a weak breath— a gentle voice that had not spoken for so long a time. "Are Almedha's boy." His gaze fell, and heavy grew his voice, wet with guilt.
"I could not save you from him." Not wholly. "I...I am so very sorry."
Soren hadn’t known the full story when Ashnard had been slain. He would do nothing differently, even knowing his bloodline. Ashnard deserved his death, and Soren still held fast by his declaration to Pelleas that he had no affection for the people of Daein.
Yet, ever since the encounter with Almedha, since Knowing, he hadn’t put the last piece of the puzzle together.
Rajaion had suffered.
From the looks of him, maybe he still was suffering.
He had endured Soren’s lifetime of being under Ashnard’s control, driven out of his mind, and it clicked as Soren’s heart hammered.
Had Soren been born a true dragon, that most likely would have been him.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” The words were out before Soren could think, and he ignored the surge of emotion, some unnamed force from within that he fought to keep back, like grappling with the tide. This man had withstood enough to kill most in Soren’s place, and he stood there and apologized. Soren folded his arms, as if that would help him keep what remained of his cracked composure.
“Ashnard cast me out as an infant. It was you who bore the brunt of his cruelty.” He’d never... told anyone except Ike directly before, yet Rajaion needed to know. He had earned the right with his spilled sanity and blood.
With a look, some bond between them, Rajaion correctly knew his parentage. The swell of something he couldn’t identify ebbed and was replaced with something he knew all too well, what filled him when those eyes in the forest had slid from him. Bitterness. Guilt for existing. Wrath at the insinuation that he should feel guilty for being born. The mark on his forehead was not one of pride, but of shame.
All Rajaion had suffered, and for what? The edge came back to his tone, and he dug his fingertips into his elbows, barely keeping from shaking. “You must be disappointed.” There was a lump in his throat. “That the likes of me is what remains. I’m no dragon. You stand there apologizing, when some laguz in your position would lash out for being the cause of your agony and for nothing.”
Another thing he’d never said to anyone. Nothing. How he’d been made to feel as a child. Nothing. With no nation to call home.
All of the dark vulnerabilities of his heart threatened to breach the dam of his ribcage and he bit the inside of his cheek, unable to lie to himself anymore.
Ike had shown him kindness, yes. Ike was his world.
But for so many years, so many lonely, lost, sorrowful years, he’d only wished to be wanted by someone. The idea that he might be, might have always had someone who wanted him in place of the nameless parents he’d hated ever since learning he was Branded and theoretically abandoned, even after all Rajaion had suffered, was too much.
—He wasn’t done lying to himself.
Soren also told himself that his eyes were dry.