[ Relaxing is not something which the King is often able to do (debatable, really, if he were capable of it at all, despite the veneer which he donned), but if there were any moment where he so happened to be at some semblance of ease since embarking upon their grand adventure... it would be in the here and now. For Alice has taken the parcel from his hands and will, without a doubt, take advantage of the temporary peace and quiet brought about by her leave to settle herself, meanwhile...
The Queen of Heroes and her Lady Adviser are lovely to watch, becoming embodiments of that which they hold most dear before his eyes. And though the pair remains true to the sequence illustrated by the mural, there are facets of themselves which shine through: Aisha, in pursuit of her dreams, and Caren...
Caren is softer than he has ever before seen her, the sentiment in her eyes bringing a smile to his lips.
The dragon and the phoenix, he did wish Alice had lingered to see them.
As the dance carries on, his golden eyes flit to path which Alice had taken, his feet carrying him to the great stone door which seems less forbidding now that the dance has begun, as though it had somehow awakened. There is no doubt in his mind that the construct is attuned to some memory of old, to the legend which, perhaps, is no legend at all.
(The King knows it well: the stories of old are more often true than not.)
Pressing the flat of his palm to the archway, Sion looks back to his comrades, ever-appreciative as he waits, at the ready to greet whatever it is that lingers on the other side of the doorway.
For their sake, he would always be the first line of defense. ]
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The Queen of Heroes and her Lady Adviser are lovely to watch, becoming embodiments of that which they hold most dear before his eyes. And though the pair remains true to the sequence illustrated by the mural, there are facets of themselves which shine through: Aisha, in pursuit of her dreams, and Caren...
Caren is softer than he has ever before seen her, the sentiment in her eyes bringing a smile to his lips.
The dragon and the phoenix, he did wish Alice had lingered to see them.
As the dance carries on, his golden eyes flit to path which Alice had taken, his feet carrying him to the great stone door which seems less forbidding now that the dance has begun, as though it had somehow awakened. There is no doubt in his mind that the construct is attuned to some memory of old, to the legend which, perhaps, is no legend at all.
(The King knows it well: the stories of old are more often true than not.)
Pressing the flat of his palm to the archway, Sion looks back to his comrades, ever-appreciative as he waits, at the ready to greet whatever it is that lingers on the other side of the doorway.
For their sake, he would always be the first line of defense. ]