ORIGIN

He grimaced; the magic faded slowly enough, setting them both relatively gently back down on the ground. He tried to grab ahold of the stone, as it drifted lower, and then turned his attention to Azizos.

"Assuming that it's truth, indeed. But I've been told a few times, and by other sources, that there are things even the Masters are scared of. I saw one of them nearly destroy Tenzin. Simply melt Raheerah," he explained, quietly. For a moment his gaze was distant. He shook his head. "Devil's advocate? Perhaps. But I don't see what choice we have; it is more that I cannot make it for everyone. Giving away children is... not an option; I would never hand you or Arsu off to some unknown fate. But fighting will get everyone killed, and I suppose... I suppose I thought it best to lay out the facts for everyone to decide. If we were going to rebel it would have to be together, with all in agreement. There were too many for me to read, but I know the dragons would have refused--would have fought. As for the rest, I do not know," he finished, with a shrug.

For a moment, he was silent, gently tossing the stone toward Azizos. Then his eyes flicked down, troubled, and Pride spoke further.

"In the stories I told you both as children, there would have been some heroic solution. Some hero to come and fight off this enemy. Some good answer, some safe and pleasing ending." His voice nearly broke, faltering with emotion; the guilt that still lingered tore at him. But he pressed on, determined not to fall apart in front of his son. "There is none of that here. Only necessity; and if we were pushed farther--if we are pushed so in the future--I am not sure what ending we will write."

Pride didn't tell his son everything. When memories of the agonized, screaming dragon rang through his mind, he only tightened his jaw a little more. But he did hint at it, at least: "If it were only death, then even that I think I could face: to know that I went with honor. That I fought until the end. That I could take pride in. But I fear their influence does not end at 'death.'" No; they could melt you. Unmake you, and remake you, while you writhed in agony the entire time.

Would they care enough to-? Were the Gembound important enough to try that on? Pride didn't know, but the thought was troubling. Still-... His son was close, his words gently reassuring, and if Pride's forehead hadn't been covered in pale spikes he'd have pressed it to Azizos'. As it was he allowed that nose press, holding it in turn with a soft sigh (and breath that likely stank of grass).

"Of course, we're together, and we're safe, it seems. Everything has worked out, for now--better than I'd hoped. What do you plan to do now?" he asked, taking a step back. Perhaps the conversation was winding down, perhaps not, but Pride would be damned if he didn't show an interest in his son's life. Especially after he'd missed an apparently very interesting chunk of it.

He fired his son a brief and quizzical glance--warm, but curious--at the reference to the Pillars. "You are quite attached to that place, aren't you-?" he added, and then, tilting his head, watched him for a moment. "Had you considered showing others the way there? It might benefit someone, some day, if they choose to bond and so forth."

"As for rest... let's find you some place a little comfortable, hm?" He turned, pacing back toward the throne, peering about here and there. He said nothing about honor--he did not even acknowledge it--for to do so would be to admit that even death might not be an escape. He was still struggling to come to terms with that, himself; and it seemed a fault in Pride that he could not view his sons as adults, yet, as able to truly withstand the world's horrors. It was not that he couldn't see Azizos' strength; it was that he still also saw Azizos as a child, a fawn-cub frolicking in the lights beneath the grove.

He began to work at the grass that someone had grown off to one side; alone, it was too sparse to really lie in but if he could tug some of it loose and pile it up on the rest, it'd be comfortable enough. He was unsurprised to find his worn-out magic failing, and he began to form a bed the hard way--with his teeth. It would take a few minutes to finish.

"Here; help me move some of this grass. Did you want a banana before you sleep?" he added, glancing back with affection at his son.

He had not really noticed the growth of said antlers, at first; and when they clicked against his he raised his head in some confusion. Like realizing a new hairstyle on a beloved family member, belatedly, it was as though his perception had been blown away.

"Azizos! When did your antlers grow?" he cried, surprised. They had been small, before, like Arsu's: the twins had shared the delicate, slender back-twisting antlers, three prongs, that somehow made them look more ethereal and mystical. Now they were a regular stag's rack, broad and many-tined, and somehow Pride hadn't even noticed. Had they been growing, the whole time they were apart-? "That'll be an easier way to tell you and Arsu apart at a distance," he added, amused.

"Just be careful you don't get them caught in things... that's been an unfortunate experience of mine more than once." He turned, then, nudging the last of the grass in place, and stepped away.

"I'll be close by. Is there anything else you want to talk about once you're up? Are you sure you don't want me to come wtih you to Eridanus?" To meet Vivilene, was the unsaid addition to that; but he would leave that up to his son.

Pride eyed the bed, for a moment. He hesitated; he had things to do--he always had things to do, if only by his own over-active design--but Nassir's urging to rest once in awhile rang in his mind. He offered Azizos a smile.

"How could I say no?" he replied.

A moment later, a few clicks of his hooves, and he was settling contentedly in; and Mischief, hearing her name, had bounded over and thrown herself idly over Azizos' back. Should he allow her to stay, she would, simply sleeping there--curling up atop him, eventually, most likely.

Pride himself stretched, a little, working his own neck and thinking. "Perhaps it takes getting used to?" he offered, unknowingly mirroring his son's own thoughts. "My neck doesn't hurt, but I think-" (Dad-like mischief struck) "I have the strongest neck in the caves." A firm nod, to emphasize; a glint of humor in his eyes as he regarded his son.

Then he glanced around, the yawn contagious--he yawned, himself, and laughed. "It's catching," he observed. "Let's get some rest, then."