ORIGIN

Pride flicked his ears, and sneezed. Damn this dust, he thought, wrinkling his nose a few times. He was picking his way off toward the Throne, looking for Temperance; there'd been something he'd been meaning to talk to them about now, for rather a long while.

Tail flicked behind him, and he paused, leaning back, to nibble at his hocks for a moment. It was definitely a reason to pause, grooming the white fur there, for a moment. Itchy. Most certainly itchy.

Anyway-... He looked forward again, after a few moments, and started off again. He had to speak to Temperance about his stone-giver. About Nassir. Ah, that was a nice patch of grass; juicy-looking, best not let it go to waste.

A few moments after starting to crop at the grass, Pride realized that he'd been delaying. He didn't want to have this discussion, really. He had a feeling that Temperance would ask more questions than Ember had; with Ember, he'd been able to glance over the worst of it, not mentioning the whole "anyway, I was told your stone-giver burned himself alive to drive evil shadows off of a bunch of Gembounds that mostly died anyway." Thankfully.

With Temperance? Temperance was more talkative than Ember, less likely to accept explanations at face value. He wasn't going to give him the worst of it, either way, but he was debating with himself the morality of white lies in general, especially to his own child. If he lied, if he said he didn't know how Nassir, exactly, had died (and in truth he did have only strong rumors), and Temperance found out later that he'd been lying, he'd destroy their bond of trust. But if he told them-? If he told the poor kid, "well yeah, I heard he drowned horrifically in a mud-pit and then had his body puppeted around to frighten the others?"

...Damn, the Hydra trials were rough.

Pride had determined, at least, to focus on the positive. To tell Temperance about the good qualities Nassir had held; about their bond. He regretted not having been able to tell Ember more about Fireheart--a wolf he'd hardly known. The pup had been disappointed, and he'd felt awful about that--but nobody had really known Fireheart. The wolf had kept rather to himself.

Nassir, though...

Pride took a deep breath, grief welling up anew. "Temperance?" he called, and hoped his child would be somewhere not far off.

Hmm--is that reluctance in their tone? Pride wondered. He wasn't about to force a conversation on the kid, particularly one not as heavy as this, and so he tilted his head a little as he came up.

"Hello, Temperance. I hope everything's all right-?" he asked, and then glanced around. There was no real sign of what the cub had been doing--nothing really that he could politely remark upon--and so he looked back to his child. "I just wanted to check in with you. I thought that... at some point soon, we might have a conversation about Nassir--about your stonegiver, if you wanted to. It's something I know I told you I'd explain when you got a little older, and, well, here we are," he tried, and it came out awkward, silly; his gentle attempt at humor fell flat, even to himself.

This is so difficult to even broach, he thought, and felt some faint guilty hope that Temperance might simply tell him, "no." To put it off for another day, even though the worried wait would be a burden of its own on Pride. "But if you don't want to have that chat now, I can come back another time--or you can simply seek me out when you would like to hear it. I just wanted to put the offer on the table."

It was all quietly-said, sincere and solemn, but he wouldn't push the cub. They had to be ready to hear this; even omitting the horrific details, it would likely be hard to listen to.

Pride had no idea, of course, of his child's inner condundrums. He knew--he could only know--what he was told, and he accepted this at respectful face value. He could only hope that whatever talks Mercurius had shared (Pride had done his best not to listen in, to break that privacy) had done Temperance some good.

"Well, take your time in waking," he began, easygoing. A roll of his own shoulders, as he glanced away, out over Orion--not away from Temperance, per se, but simply thoughtful. "I should have better considered how to begin," he... began, glancing with sad humor at Temperance.

He turned, pacing closer, reaching for his magic. "Let me see if I can start by showing Nassir to you," he suggested, gently. He wasn't sure if the magic would come, but it had been something-... poignant, he thought, for Ember. Ember had looked upon the image of Fireheart for long and silent moments; surely Temperance deserved the same.

He came up alongside the hybrid--if Temperance allowed it--and turned to face the same direction, focusing on a space a few feet away. The air began to shimmer, then flicker, and Pride found it harder to maintain than he'd hoped: but it was there, a halting (shifting, at first) image of a melanistic leopard, with milky eyes and a quartz-tipped tail. Even in the image--as unsteady as it was--there was a sort of shyness to him, a haunted slink to his posture, a soft gentleness to his pose. It was how Pride remembered him; a little tentative (never wanting to intrude) but confident in his support of others, ready to slip up and offer a kind word when it was needed. But Nassir had, too, always been exactly haunted by his past, some grim tale of fairies and a terrible fall, of toxic chemicals and nightmare. It had left him with (or perhaps he'd always had) the soft wariness of a wild thing.

"He was... kind," Pride began, quietly. "Soft-spoken, a little unsure of himself, at times. Unless he was helping someone; it was when he offered his advice, his support, that he was at his strongest. I think... at those times, his heart knew that he was right, even when his mind was uncertain." It was a quiet observation, given with the image still standing there; he shifted it a little, so it seemed to look at Temperance, to peer at them like some strange ghost. "When I was near to breaking, at times, he would come and hear my words, and offer reassurance. But he held his own fears, too. Things that had come for him, harmed him, in the past. I imagine they... followed him, in his dreams, his worries. He was always a little tentative, a little soft," and Pride didn't say this like they were bad things.

He'd move on, but first he paused--to see if Temperance had anything to say, or any questions. Undoubtedly the "how did he die" would come soon, if Pride didn't get there first; but he didn't want to overload the cub with too many things at once. The vision alone was liable to be overwhelming.

He'd give them some time to adjust.

Temperance's quiet reassurance was met with a light nod from Pride, one of solemn acknowledgement. He was always polite, of course, in his dealings, but he did add on a quiet "Thank you," before continuing.

The quiet question left Pride thinking it over, glancing at his own image, though it now faded. "I did not know him from his hatching," he admitted; "I met him later on in life. He'd already been through a great deal--trauma, I think. I came, too, to tell you a little of how he died," and silver eyes cut back toward the cub, troubled, "It was important to who he was, and I think it's something you should know, though even I haven't got every detail. Are you ready to hear that?" he asked, and his caution kept a gentle tone.

Pride gave a little sigh--a sad exhale--and nodded. "You're right, I suppose nobody is ever really ready. But still--you have the right to know." Pride paused, considering this, studying Temperance sadly for a moment. "...After we talk, if you're upset, we can do something else, if you like. Visit Tenzin in Pisces, maybe. Go to Pegasus, if you'd like to see it. I don't plan to dump this on you and then leave you with it," he added, a little more open, more blunt, than usual. "There are many beautiful places in the caves that you haven't been to."

Was it like offering ice cream after a dentist visit-? Perhaps, but just a little more grim than that.

Pride exhaled, pacing slowly, very distinctly troubled. He was tense, and it showed in every line of his body: stressed, ears flicking forward, then back, head raising and then lowering, as he tried to figure out how best to addres all of this. How to begin. And when he turned back to face Temperance, his was not the usual stoic calm, the peaceful father; he was clearly saddened, made miserable by memory. The grief had welled back up with even the thought of Nassir's loss, and it showed in the sag of his features and the droop of his ears.

"Forgive me, it's--it is difficult for me, as well. But I will do my best. Nassir was one of the Seven--you know that. I've told you... a little; how he wished to help others, to guard them, guide them. When he joined us--when I first met him--he had only recently emerged from a long sleep," and Pride turned away again, pacing, pacing, pacing. The click of his hooves played anxious drumbeat to his words. Yet even so he stole concerned glances back at Temperance as he talked; how was the cub taking this? "Thrown to his chrysalis by trickery. His sleep had been haunted by visions--nightmares--of creatures tormenting him, instead of dreamless, as it usually is. When he woke it was in a pool of poison, and his blood had turned blue. He went to the master Tenzin to heal him--and Tenzin did, he is a kind, good being. But Nassir was... still haunted, after that. He could barely speak, stammering each word. He feared--feared everything, I think."

Pride thought back, eyes growing distant, and came to a slow halt on the rock. "When he arrived--forgive me, Temperance, I know I am going back rather a ways but... I want to tell you everything." And I need to work up to it. To his death. His loss. "But when he arrived I was fixing those bones atop the back of the Throne. You've seen them-? I haven't ever told you about them--an enemy of the Seven, in our formation, and there's a lesson in that too, if you ever want to hear it. A lesson about enemies, about rage and temper." The white stag's nostrils briefly flared, and Temperance was granted the briefest glimpse of Pride in anger: ears sweeping forward, eyes sharpening. He did not often look dangerous, but for a moment--standing tall and stiff--he did. If the cub held concerns about their temper, they needed look no further than this.

"I had killed her, and I was fixing her bones atop the back of the Throne with diamond, as a warning to others who might threaten us. Nassir arrived, and it was rather awkward timing... but I explained that she had threatened innocents. That we had to protect those who could not protect themselves. Though stammering--though still tormented by his dreams--he chose to join us. It was a remarkable show of strength, I think, given what he'd been through."

Back, then, to pacing: to turning, clicking, unable to stand still. "And he lived up to it. When we were called to fight Mother's influence in Cetus, Nassir came, and he stood alongside the cave's finest soldiers. It wasn't his magic or power that helped the most, though. Not for me. It was his kind words, afterward. His quiet sympathy. The others--they were fighters, but Nassir... Nassir was a healer, in his heart, I think. Through and through. Even if his magic didn't mend, his mind, his words--they did."

Pride exhaled, and turned away again, circling slowly.

"When word came of the trial in Hydra, he went, along with Fireheart--that's Ember's stonegiver--to try and protect others. I told them it was a fool's errand. That those Gembounds were going by their own free will." Pride paused, a moment, thoughtful--in motion and in word. "I was wrong," he added, and half-glanced back at Temperance, guilt flickering through him. "There were those there that were hardly more than children, forced into Hydra against their wills. Nassir, Fireheart--they did everything they could to save them. And I know some lived because of their intervention. The group--from what I was told--was closed into Hydra; and then the cave went dark. Anyone who strayed, vanished. Did not come back. Bodies were found. They couldn't see what was killing them. I don't know exactly what got Nassir--I don't think anyone does. To my memory, he died pulling someone from a silt pit, someone who then escaped. But I don't know who--only that they escaped, and that he drowned in their stead. All I know is, he did not make it out. But those children did."

Turn, pace, click.

"Some came, to thank us, and in time I ventured back to find his stone. One of those children served as my guide: we took back his stone. Fireheart's. That of a dog I hadn't met, someone else who died there." He still had that one; he'd been waiting for someone to step forward, to claim it. But no one had; perhaps it was time to grant it, too, life. Pride considered, and then resolved to do so, if it came to that. "I don't know what his last moments were like. But I know that others still live full, whole lives because of him."

Pride turned, looking back at Temperance. "I brought his stone back to life, in you. Not because I wanted to remake Nassir," and he had no idea how close this might be to Temperance's thoughts, "but because he would have wanted new life to spring up in his stead. For someone to live, instead of that stone lying dead. I think," he added, a little sadly, "that he would have liked to meet you."

As temperamental as Temperance could be, they were not a bad child; and Nassir would have been a wonderful guiding influence. "I think you would have gotten along with one another very much, and I'm sorry that it cannot be."