Roland takes a deep breath, quiet and sure. Tries not to rush this, so that he knows exactly the words to say to Inigo before he even opens his mouth. A lot of what Inigo feels comes natural when you are sovereign. Regardless of his princehood, he should be glad that a sense of responsibility already occurs to Inigo. But not like this. Not in this way. Unlike Evan who discovered it as he grew along their journey, with enough space to spread his wings and find his voice as king. Inigo's world, the halidom of Ylisse, was broken. Wrecked with a fate worse than death. This isn't how it should be. And besides, more than anything, what crime does he think he has committed apart from being born in an unfortunate time?
Roland wonders if Inigo's father feels the same as he did once, when he too, could not stop the inevitable. Wonders if he will ever meet such a man who did what any monarch of sane mind would; what a king would do for his nation and its people. A fate Roland has lived, shares with them. Even the passing of Inigo's mother, as Roland looks upon the boy sat next to him, the higgledy shining its light on them both. If it were Will in his shoes and Roland was turned to dust - he sees it as reflections of another life, one he truly wishes will never come to pass.
But those are musings that can no longer take root for Inigo, can they? His words are like daggers ripping him apart. Not knowing what it means for someone of Roland's person, that there is more truth to Roland's words about Inigo than Inigo's thoughts about him. And maybe it's time to shed some of the locks dangling around him, covered in dust and shadow. So he too, could understand; from one king to another, soon-to-be. One day. Of that, Roland has little doubt.
He takes Jumblie gently from where she stands, and she allows to be carried on the palm of his hand. Holds her up so he can see her brightness, before he smiles somewhat, settling her on top of Inigo's shoulder. She makes a temporary home for herself there, nestling against Inigo's neck. Whatever hand Roland is holding now, he lets go of, sitting a bit more straight, looking ahead.
"I'll tell you a secret about leading a nation." He starts serious, but there is no edge to his voice, only softness bordering on nostalgia. As if speaking to Inigo from another place. "Most of the time, if not always, you're going to be your own worst enemy. And...it makes sense. Especially when so many people look up to you, asking you for guidance. Of course the guilt follows. It's natural. I think it's what every good leader needs, anyway. It means you care enough to hold the weight of the land on your shoulders."
Roland glances up, watches the static of the lights in his room. A vision he falls asleep to, embraced by the same nightmares that won't ever go away. "But..." He heaves an exhale, finally turning to meet his eye so he can see it for himself. The Brand that glowed; a gaze hiding pain. Familiar.
"...You can't take the blame for what happened. It's not your fault, Inigo. Grima's coming, the rising of the dead...How could that be on you? On any of you? It was out of your control." He says it because it has to be spoken out loud, Inigo has to hear it from someone. A beacon to ward off his own darkness. The mind can get muddled. He knows it well, too.
"You're a good prince. That's the truth of it. Whether or not the end of that world came to pass, you were willing to return to a time before Grima destroyed everything, knowing what it would cost you. That's the mark of a great man. A great ruler." The greatest sacrifice. Change the world for the better, even if you're not part of the picture any more. Roland could only hope.
"You did it, right? They're saved. You made it. That's why you can rest. Unshackle yourself. Chase the future. Now...the future can be anything you wish. You can make it yourself. Whatever you want. Whether it's here on this train, or somewhere else, far, far away. Maybe even a visit to our little kingdom. Who knows? But wherever you go, you deserve to do so. Inigo, you did good."
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Roland wonders if Inigo's father feels the same as he did once, when he too, could not stop the inevitable. Wonders if he will ever meet such a man who did what any monarch of sane mind would; what a king would do for his nation and its people. A fate Roland has lived, shares with them. Even the passing of Inigo's mother, as Roland looks upon the boy sat next to him, the higgledy shining its light on them both. If it were Will in his shoes and Roland was turned to dust - he sees it as reflections of another life, one he truly wishes will never come to pass.
But those are musings that can no longer take root for Inigo, can they? His words are like daggers ripping him apart. Not knowing what it means for someone of Roland's person, that there is more truth to Roland's words about Inigo than Inigo's thoughts about him. And maybe it's time to shed some of the locks dangling around him, covered in dust and shadow. So he too, could understand; from one king to another, soon-to-be. One day. Of that, Roland has little doubt.
He takes Jumblie gently from where she stands, and she allows to be carried on the palm of his hand. Holds her up so he can see her brightness, before he smiles somewhat, settling her on top of Inigo's shoulder. She makes a temporary home for herself there, nestling against Inigo's neck. Whatever hand Roland is holding now, he lets go of, sitting a bit more straight, looking ahead.
"I'll tell you a secret about leading a nation." He starts serious, but there is no edge to his voice, only softness bordering on nostalgia. As if speaking to Inigo from another place. "Most of the time, if not always, you're going to be your own worst enemy. And...it makes sense. Especially when so many people look up to you, asking you for guidance. Of course the guilt follows. It's natural. I think it's what every good leader needs, anyway. It means you care enough to hold the weight of the land on your shoulders."
Roland glances up, watches the static of the lights in his room. A vision he falls asleep to, embraced by the same nightmares that won't ever go away. "But..." He heaves an exhale, finally turning to meet his eye so he can see it for himself. The Brand that glowed; a gaze hiding pain. Familiar.
"...You can't take the blame for what happened. It's not your fault, Inigo. Grima's coming, the rising of the dead...How could that be on you? On any of you? It was out of your control." He says it because it has to be spoken out loud, Inigo has to hear it from someone. A beacon to ward off his own darkness. The mind can get muddled. He knows it well, too.
"You're a good prince. That's the truth of it. Whether or not the end of that world came to pass, you were willing to return to a time before Grima destroyed everything, knowing what it would cost you. That's the mark of a great man. A great ruler." The greatest sacrifice. Change the world for the better, even if you're not part of the picture any more. Roland could only hope.
"You did it, right? They're saved. You made it. That's why you can rest. Unshackle yourself. Chase the future. Now...the future can be anything you wish. You can make it yourself. Whatever you want. Whether it's here on this train, or somewhere else, far, far away. Maybe even a visit to our little kingdom. Who knows? But wherever you go, you deserve to do so. Inigo, you did good."