The weasel sat upon their cold, stony throne.

The stars glistened far above the ruins of the throne room, their world cool hues of silvery grey softly shimmering, silent, still. Even Livius themselves was quiet. Too Quiet. Waiting. Charity's place by their throne had long since cooled, their orders still whispering in echoes around their mind.

Find Pride, they had said. Bring him here. I need to speak with him.

They didn't know what it was, but they felt... strange.

It was as though the world was too easy, too silent, too still. Their ears barely twitching. Now that Reseda had gone, they finally had room to breathe. And yet, something wasn't right. Something nagged at the back of their mind even as they struggled to blot it out. They were a King; they should be proud to be here. And yet, apprehension chewed at them. Their reign had long been fraught with danger, with controversy. Surely it couldn't all just... end? Where could they go now? Where could they go from here?

Now that the adrenaline had faded from their limbs, the weasel felt lost. Terribly, and truly, lost. Apprehension tugged at their heart still, with a strange sense of urgency.

Something was about to change, and they didn't know what.

But, perhaps Pride could help with that.

The message had been given; he'd greeted Charity warmly, asking how she was, reassuring her that he'd be around. He always was, but the child often seemed to need reassurance. Not a child anymore, though, is she? And I wonder when she will take her life in her own paws. Pride had encouraged her, of course, and promised to support her--and assured her, too, that Livius would, as well. But Livius's summons, for now, was at the forefront of his mind.

The King rarely summoned him at all, let alone without good reason. His steps, then, were swift: his hooves clattered quietly over stone as he trotted through Orion, seeming almost to float as he made his way.

The Throne seemed, at first, to be empty; it took a second glance as he approached to see the tiny green weasel perched atop it. The bones still lay nearby; he'd not bothered to hang them anywhere, in the end, or at least not yet. Amazon's distaste still needed time to fade.

Pride's silvery eyes flicked over Livius as he slowed to a stately, delicate walk. Closer up, he could see some tension in the weasel's body--but when was there not? There seemed nothing wrong with them, nothing terribly urgent, and so he swept into a low bow; one knee bent, his antlers nearly touching the floor. He then rose, and paused for a polite instant before asking, "My King..?"

@Livius

Livius looked up as Pride approached, and although they had seen him, called for him, many times, they felt a twinge of nervousness in their chest. What could they say? What could they do? They'd been thinking, a lot, about the happenings as of late. They'd rehearsed their words in their head before his arrival, and yet now... words deserted them.

The fact of the matter was, they'd come close to death so many times. It had shaken them, too, knowing just what they were capable of. Livius avoided Pride's gaze for a moment and then looked up at him. Their throat tightened. They still didn't have any words.

"Pride," they answered finally, a sigh of relief in their tone. "You're here."

They closed their jaws, a second later opening them, and then, once more, hesitating. They were quite still; there was no tension in their body, only a slight droop. Finally they spoke.

"I've just... I've just been thinking. We've been through a lot, Pride. We've seen a lot of things. A lot of bad people, a lot of... you know..." They cleared their throat. "...Death."

The weasel gulped back the lump in their throat.

"And I've been, well, I've started to wonder..."

Finally, their head shot upright, and they spoke, their voice shrill and sudden.

"Pride, what would happen to the Kingdom if I were to die?"

Pride, listening patiently, was rather taken aback at the blurted question. His ears flicked back at the shrill voice, and impatience flickered up within him always so soft, so in need of reassuring-- but it was more emotion than actual words, and he quelled it before it could become so. Most of him--the old him, the patient him--saw Livius as a friend, and dutifully thought about the question.

"If you were to die..? It is a strange question, King Livius. I hope you aren't planning to, any time soon?" Pride sounded faintly amused, but just a tad worried. Something had sparked this rather odd question, and he had the feeling it wasn't something fleeting. It was on Livius's mind for a reason. "The Kingdom would mourn you, I imagine? I certainly would, and Charity, as well? I would not know to whom the mantle would fall; perhaps myself, but I would do my best, regardless, to ensure that those remaining, remained safe. And I would keep trying to build them up, and of course tell them what a wonderful king we used to have," he added, with faint amusement--trying to stifle back that bit of himself that viewed Livius with disdain, that insisted they'd never tell a soul. It wasn't true, anyway. Livius had shown great strength and even backbone in the fight against Reseda. These were old prejudices still haunting him, and he put it in mind that he'd have to do his best to shed them.

"But what makes you ask this, Livius?" he went on, his head tilting to one side. "Is something on your mind?"

@Livius

As always, Pride's cool demeanor and soft amusement soothed them, making them instead feel slightly embarrassed, as though this were, in itself, a silly thought. But it wasn't, they were certain. They remembered vividly the crushing sounds of Elderberry's demise, the screams of the goose, and now, most recently, Reseda's... quite fitting, end. It seemed like there were so many creatures dying in the caves. Why shouldn't they be next?

They shivered, quills lifting upright, and met Pride's eye.

"No, no. Of course not," they answered, and there was sincerity in their tone. "It's just..."

Here they hesitated, ears slightly twitching. They listened to Pride's imaginings, of how to keep the Kingdom going after they were gone. Of mourning. Tales of a wonderful king.

Their heart warmed, and melted, all at once. They imagined Pride using magic to tell their tale as one of glory and wonder, generations of Gembounds growing up to revere them as the king they had always wanted to be. Even the warmth, though, was tinted by sorrow; if such a glorious future were to happen, they would never see it.

They steeled themselves before continuing. "We've... seen so much death, Pride. Caused so much. We're survivors, it's true, and powerful, powerful magicians, but... what makes us different? Surely our turn will come?" They looked up at Pride, before dipping their head to nibble worriedly at a patch of green chest fur. Even as they straightened up, they kept on combing through it with their paws. "I've died before, Pride. And next time, I don't think I'll be so lucky."

They paused, letting the words sink in, considering.

"Pride?" they asked again, after a moment of silence, a twinge of hopefulness in their voice. "What stories will you tell them?"

We've... seen so much death, Pride.

Pride stared, some part of his stomach sinking with annoyance, and for once he voiced it. His tone, though, was mild, if dryly amused. "Livius, we have seen maybe two Gembound die."

At Livius's request, he bit back his irritation further. Why did it seem, sometimes, as though half his duties were emotional support for his king..? You're supporting a friend; it isn't a duty, he told himself. And lowering himself down to his knees, he buckled--rather literally--to the task once again.

Pride made himself comfortable on the rock, adjusting his position lying near the throne, as he thought back on their history together. "I am sure we will both die eventually, but what is important is doing what we can meanwhile. I do not think any of us are bound to live forever, bar perhaps the so-called Masters? But who knows." Pride, at least, had no plans to die any time soon. "As for stories..." Hell, what could he even say? "Neither of us has been alive all that long. There isn't all that much we have run into, I think. I would tell them that you overcame great hindrances--your stone, mostly; that it caused you great distress early on but that you pushed past that to be royalty. That you are an example that anyone can overcome anything, with enough fire and determination," he began. He tried not to hate every minute of this; his impatience at the weasel's insecurity, at their need for validation, battled powerfully with his liking of Livius as a friend.

"I would tell them that despite your small size, you mastered magics far beyond what most would ever touch, and often discovered new ways to use it, ways no one else had ever thought of. -You have yet to teach me how to control someone's movements," he added, a reminder delivered with, again, dry humor.

He then looked to the throne, again, thinking. "I would tell them that you faced enemies far larger than you, and more numerous, to protect an ally's pride; and that you were struck down, only to rise stronger and more fierce than ever." Okay, a little overdramatic, but he felt that was probably quite all right with Livius. "And I would tell them of the battles with the enemies of the caves, and how at first you tried to treat them with mercy, and when they only betrayed you, you at last put them down." He glanced off to one side, trying to summon up a magical image: to reform the light itself to dance in wondrous shapes. He wanted to show Livius, casting Reseda down into a fissure in the rock--and then Reseda slinking back, only to be slain. Though--without the more gruesome aspects, at least. As he spoke, the images shone there, dancing and shimmering, seeming to ignite the drifting dust motes of Orion's air that sifted down through them.

"I would tell them that you trained those of your Kingdom who requested it; that you offered an ear when others asked you to listen," he went on, more because this was the sort of thing a king should do, and because Livius had mostly listened when he'd asked. He himself had rarely approached them with anything personal, though; it had always been business, with him. But that was his problem, not theirs. "That as a wise, just king and friend, you were always open to change, if it were good change." Flattery, perhaps, and reinforcement of what Pride considered useful. But again, true enough.

He paused, watching as the dust-glittering light-formed Livius faded from the air before them, where it had stood for a moment larger than life. "What else would you have me tell of you?" he asked, idly. Part of him wondered what stories Livius might tell of him, if he died, but he didn't really care all that much. His legacy was not part of his pride--the actual changes he might make to the caves were far more important.

Time wound down, as they spoke, until sleep drifted in. But it mattered little; it was clear, now, what was to come, and in whose hands the Seven would be carefully stewarded--until Livius's return.

editing into an exit
@Livius