ORIGIN

Pride followed along, quietly, his delicate steps clicking hoof to stone. He listened to Mercurius's hesitant tale, and he sensed that something lay beneath--something only hinted at in the shuddering exhales, in the pauses, in the furrowed brow. Pride eyed him sidelong, but did not interrupt, did not press him; only at length, long after the lion had fallen silent, and when it became clear that Mercurius would not continue, did he speak.

"That is a shame," Pride said, quiet but warm. "I am curious as to what happened. This tower?" the stag asked, glancing back at the Tower of Orion.

He looked forward, to the growth before them, hidden as it was so deeply in the ruins. He'd never seen this place--never caught sight or scent of it--and was fascinated at once as to what might lay within. Cautiously he approached, and when Mercurius seemed unable to do... something, he guessed that it was opening an entrance. He couldn't be sure, however.

Gently he gathered his magicka, and gentler still he reached out with his mind, touching the walls of foliage and curling them aside to form an entrance of sorts--a way in, a way past, without harming the plants.

He turned to gaze at Mercurius, his expression somehow ancient and self-possessed, as if filled with kindness, wisdom, and infinite patience. It was the lion's presence that did it to him, somehow--that lent him that patience, that willingness to aid.

"I hope I do not overstep," he said softly. "Despite hatching in this cave, despite living much of my life here, I have never even seen this place. It is well-hidden, as are all your secrets, it seems--please, after you." A polite, low sweep of his tines, and he stepped aside.

Pride glanced to Mercurius, somewhat bemused by his statement--he could not, of course, know what it was that the lion was attempting to cast.

He didn't worry about it overmuch, though. He was too at ease in the lion's company to worry about the details. Instead he stepped within the grove, looking slowly around him.

He took in the baubled lights, the overgrown moss and plants, and imagined to himself what this place must have once looked like. The lights themselves must have lent it a truly ethereal beauty, back when it was managed, in a sense--but even wild, there was a strange otherness to it, as if he'd stepped into an ever-so-slightly different world. It was like the Eridanus garden, but... different.

Pride did not know that he was, in a sense, stepping into Mercurius's past--and a darker past than he realized; he didn't know that this had been the lion's refuge and his haven. He knew only that the garden had clearly been tended with care, and with, he imagined, love. With a bow of his head he stepped through, looking over the plants quietly.

He tried to summon up his mists, to fill the place with a gentle fog, as he had in Eridanus--but his own magic also seemed to want to defy him, and instead he saw the dust intensify, the air drying even further. Brow perked, and he glanced at what was, once again, his host.

"I am trying to draw forth mist," he explained, "but my magic does not seem to want to do so." Quietly, each hoof precisely-placed, he circled the grove. Pale eyes looked over each plant, wondering at the care that must have gone into placing and growing each and every one. As his circuit came to a finish he turned to regard Mercurius warmly.

"You spent a great deal of time here, too, I take it--but it seems you have not been here in an age, as you say. May I ask why you left it?" It was not accusatory, but rather curious; it seemed odd, to him, to put so much love and effort forth and then to simply abandon the results. Perhaps the lion had found himself busy elsewhere, or perhaps he had left this place for a reason, but Pride wondered what the answer might be.

Given Mercurius's abilities in storytelling, the answer might even be wound into something fascinating--assuming, that was, that the stag was not prying too far.

Pride pricked forward his ears. The mention of such fear and violence was terrible, of course, but he couldn't help but be enthralled at the idea of an ancient king in Orion. Was it one of the Three Kings? It couldn't possibly have been Envy themselves, could it? Why were there so many who wished to call themselves "King?"

"A King?" he asked, quiet and curious. "I have met many who would call themselves 'king.' May I ask which one this was?" He paused, then, eyeing Mercurius. The lion was clearly... touched, by his own story, and not in a good way. He was doing a good job of hiding whatever it was, whatever emotions gripped him, but Pride felt that it must be something fairly deep to affect him so.

More than that, the story of a skin-and-bones cub was clearly, this time, his own. He spoke of being freed--and yet of leaving; he spoke of a demon that fought the king, a bear. Who were these Gembound? Had Pride known any of them? He half-wanted to ask who they were, to try and match description to memory, but realized at once that this might hurt Mercurius even worse. Instead, he carefully asked, "Were the others... anyone I would have known?"

The question was asked gently, head tilting, as he stood there in Mercurius's grove. He didn't want to pry, to press; yet at the same time Mercy was his friend, and he also did not want to brush the story away as if it had not just been partly shared with him.

Pride startled, just a little, at the description of Vazi--of a stag, unlike himself, yet--... a stag, nonetheless.

It was the first mention of another of his kind that he had ever heard of. Another stag. Like him. Uneasy, he peered at Mercurius--yet before he could speak, the white lion was continuing, and Pride kept quiet. And the lion's offer awed him. His pale eyes widened, and he dropped to his knees, antlers sweeping low, as if kneeling before his friend.

"I-... did not expect it to be so soon, or so sudden," he said softly, peering down at the tiny sliver of moonstone. He considered, and in turn, closed his eyes--a shimmer of his own magicka briefly visible around the central gemstone at his throat. It did not float forth in a bright shimmer, or even clatter with glinting light--instead, the small sliver of diamond simply fell, as had the moonstone, and Pride used his soft nose to push it toward Mercurius.

"A gift, in turn. Your tale of this... Hasira reminds me that I still do not know who birthed me--who gave the stone or the magic that created my life." He lifted his gaze solemnly to Mercurius, pulling the lion's stone close, preparing to infuse it with his own magicka. "Let us raise them carefully, and well--so that they know who created them, and value life, kindness, and the stories that our existences weave--and many tales beyond."

A gentle smile, a bow of his head, and he pressed his nose to the moonstone, preparing.

Pride watched, solemnly silent--and listened. When Mercurius had finished, he closed his eyes and concentrated.

"They will," he murmured. "We will guide them, and they will have the greatest of wise protectors in you. I will also do my best," he added, with gentle mirth.

There was the faintest shimmer--so easily missed--as the white stag's magic passed into the shimmering moonstone. He then looked to Mercurius, still awed by the moment... and thinking, too. "They... take root, in a sense--I think--and grow. We can remain here, and tend your garden--grow it once more, and raise them near my allies. Or we can return to your grove in Eridanus, if you wish, among all that live you've been cultivating there, for so long. I leave this decision to you, though--I think that they should be together," he added quietly, a thoughtful cant to his head.

I... cannot believe I have done this. That we have done this. Have we done this, really..? Or am I dreaming?

Pride's face lit brighter, abruptly, and he peered at the lion, almost seeming to smile. "What will they be like, do you think?"