Just when Cupid begins to settle into Firnen, he is turned upside-down. It is not the Rainforest’s fault by any means; he will wear his crown until @Roarke is ready, but nonetheless, recent events have… pressed further development of emotions that the spotted boy is far from ready to admit. Denial is easier, yet it is becoming obvious that he… cannot hide it forever.

Cupid will, however, use every last second he gets.

The borders are an escape that becomes routine. He could simply tiptoe just a bit further to leave the Rainforest behind in a break, but he feels like he oughtn’t travel too far from the terrain. His strides are just… a bit slower than usual. He takes his time, marks where he needs, and ignores the setting sun as he nears Firnen’s coast.

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The last few weeks have been an unstoppable hurricane of events, to say the least. Sangria’s death, Cupid’s reign, the return of his brother - and what was left of the crew - and everything that came with it… suffice to say, Roarke has had more than enough emotions to deal with, thank you. He does what he does best, and throws himself into doing anything that will keep his mind otherwise busy. Looking after the boy, hunting, fighting anywhere he can find someone willing to take him on. It leaves little time for anything else - avoiding several faces that had become important over the last few months. For the best, he supposes; none should have to deal with the time bomb planted inside the giant.

It’s late when Roarke slinks back into Firnen, muzzle bloody and paws damp and red. Teeth clenched around the remains of some dead herbivore; soft bones and fat, but mostly its skin. His den had been sparse before, little needed but a place to sleep. But with the boy, warmth and softness was required. A shift through the trees captures his attention, and the pirate’s gaze flicks toward the familiar shape. @Cupid, making his rounds. If Roarke moves now, he could slip into the pride unseen. If he doesn’t move, Cupid’s path leads directly to him. The lion hesitates, thinking it better if they continue not talking. And yet -

He does not move.

Iron, blood. The scent has him searching; jaws clicking apart with a sudden urgency returning into his slowed steps. Though all at once, his speed quiets into awkward steps when he stumbles upon @Roarke there. Blood stains his muzzle, and has long since dripped into his fiery mane — over all, not a look that Cupid cares for (makes him worry). A quick glance over proves that there aren’t any fresh wounds on the Noble that he must nag over.

“Roarke.” I miss you— Outside of the hunts and a few brief encounters, the giant of a man has only occupied Cupid’s thoughts. It’s enough to bring a fluster to his face — taken off guard by their close proximity now and the fact he doesn’t continue on his path further in. He feels like he’s forgotten how to speak to others as of late, and this is no different. Faced with feelings that he tries to stuff down.

“Are you… uhm, doing okay?” Ah yes, totally what he means to say after everything that’s happened. Yep. Real stand up guy. Cupid wishes he was an ostrich so he could bury his head in the ground.

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Is it surprising that he knows that look? The quick flicker of doe-brown eyes, almost a weight against his skin, as the king assesses his state is as familiar as the man who wields it. Roarke is silent for those few beats, staring impassively at the smaller lion, before lowering his great head and releasing his bloody package.

“I am fine.” The words are a soft rumble; thunder before the storm. It’s the truth - at least as much truth as he can manage. The memory of the joy he’d felt seeing his brother again rots in his mouth, but he can’t bear to spit it out, even as it decays him from the inside. A similar feeling sometimes sparks to life sometimes at odd moments - when the boy catches a leaf, when Lexa teases, when Cupid looks him over as if he’s fragile.

When will that start to rot, too?

“How does the crown feel?” It’s a lame question, but he will talk about anything other than himself. Distracting Cupid with a more serious question might work, as it often does.

Somehow the answer he gets feels like a lie; maybe it’s just the circumstances and Cupid feeling off himself. It sits in a way that has him wanting to prod — poke the tender wound and make it bloody all for him to attempt band-aiding it all over again. Satiated curiosity would hurt, however, and Cupid refuses to give in.

He takes it for now, and gives a meek nod of his head. If Roarke goes onward, he will simply get back to his stroll; lose himself to fantasies and never-happening what-ifs. Easier to mope in his pity party than get up from the grave he’s dug.

Except he stays. A heart flutter betrays him.

“I… It’s weird, I guess? I don’t think it suits me much,” he admits with a dry chuckle, shifting stone eyes away. “It’d look better on you.” Firnen should have been Roarke’s from the start. Instead, they’ve played this game and Cupid clings to it; it’s his connection, after all. The reunion woke him though. Roarke… won’t—

Cupid gives a shake of his head, turning back to Roarke with a smile — distant. “Uhm, with… everything happening and your… crew, was it? That might be around now, I… was thinking it might be good for you to at least become Firnen’s Sovereign.”

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“I think it does.” It slips out before Roarke thinks better of it, before he can restrain his voice so it does not sound almost secretive and soft. Cupid leading the Rainforest may not have an ideal situation to most - maybe all - but he can hardly argue that the lion has done well for one so young. Roarke was near his age when he and Calhoun took over their clan. Up until they end, they did well. Nothing could take that from them.

An ear flicks as Cupid continues on. The suggestion brings him up short, and by all rights it is a reasonable offer - logical. But… Roarke hardly thinks that is all there is to it. “I have not bled for it.” He says, almost carefully. Still - he does not deny it. “What would that mean for us? Am I your equal, or do I keep your rules?”

The tone of his voice — soft and unlike what he is used to for Roarke — nearly makes him miss the true statement of his words; the meaning behind them. The praise that slips out, in a way, leaves the boy blushing and smug all the same.

“We could… spar later, if it would make you feel better.” It’s a suggestion, one that excites him and makes him fear all the same — the last time he fought someone Roarke’s size it ended poorly. “For us— oh, uhm… well, I li- trust, trust, you and your family does, too. I… Firnen was supposed to be yours anyway.” He still thinks of it as Roarke’s, even now. A small part of him whispers ours.

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A spar is no true fight for a rank - for the right to lead. But it is something, and the glint in Cupid’s eye is enough to make the giant agreeable. “Aye,” he finds himself nodding, if only because the excitable mood is somehow strong enough to infect him. “Perhaps the boy who won against three enemies will be a challenge.” Although he sounds almost teasing, it is the truth; Roarke had seen Cupid battle, more than once, and come out the winner. It is part of the reason he followed the younger man now. Part of it.

And as for the rest - Roarke sighs. It is not as if he’d kept it intentionally secret, but there is no avoiding this discussion now. Not with Calhoun lurking in the shadows, and the remainders of their people due to arrive. “We have spoken about how I was - am. My brother and I were born into a clan, our pride. It was nomadic. The crew are the raiding party, the war band. Whatever name it is here. We have always been pirates.” If they still were, or if things changed - Roarke has no idea. Whatever happened now, it was up to Calhoun and himself. But he knew that the crew would not adjust easily to peace.

“You saw that…?” Urgh, to think Roarke was there that day, amongst the crowd while Cupid was so focused on trying to do what he felt right and defend those close to him. While he’d been the last standing, it is his allies that aided his victory in ways — he can’t let it get to his head. “I’ll definitely try my best.”

For once he wants to enjoy the act of the spar, and to impress someone. It is for a different purpose than him seeking protection and defense.

It should’ve been… expected that no matter how quiet Firnen has become, it wouldn’t last. That Cupid, too, would end up finding out more of Roarke, and not simply wear the heart-shaped glasses before him. He feels the sting of it.

“So… you’re one of them,” he mumbles under his breath; caging further with a step back for a beat. He is uncertain how much he, himself, wishes to open to the man. “You… met Riptide, and know of their current state.” Cupid begins, because it’s important to have it click right away.

“We left our home, because a group began to raid us. Over time, they grew more persistent in their wants and needs. Eventually, we didn’t have the warriors to fend them off. Our leader tried to chase them off permanently. He died as a result, and… so did Riptide’s father.” He swallows, biting his lip with ears drawn back at the memory.

“The guy who took over the pride from us… he— he was pissed at Ares for it. He wanted to make him pay even after he’d sent him to the grave,” his lips tremble. “So he tried to kill Riptide, too.”

“We’re here because I want a better life for them. I can’t… sit idle if that is the type of carnage your crew wants to inflict.”

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Something changes. The air feels thicker. Roarke would have to be blind to miss the shift in the Firnen king. As quickly as Cupid’s defences go up, so too do Roarke’s. Unlike the former, however, the giant becomes immovable. Those murmured words aren’t missed, but he doesn’t question - it’s telling enough on its own.

He is silent while Cupid talks, impassive as the horrors of their past is admitted. Whatever group had raided them did so in ways Roarke and Calhoun did not - continuously pressing the same kingdom, murder barring self defence - but like many, Cupid seems to assume they are all the same lot. It hurts more than it should, more than an insult. But he isn’t angry, like he should have been otherwise.

“We do not harm children. We don’t kill unless we have to. Where we are from, many clans were the same. Survival meant fighting for what you owned, fighting to keep it, fighting to live. It is not like this place. There is peace here I have never seen in my lifetime.”

He takes a breath, setting his gaze on Cupid’s face. Unwilling to let it waver. “My brother and I lead the clan, the crew. What is left of them - blood and carnage is what I want to protect them from. But fighting is in our blood, it is our way. Not for food, but for safety. So that no one can take from us again.”

So that no one can touch Riptide, the clan, or his family ever again.