i used to rule the world

seas would rise when i gave the word

The Macedonian King had always had a distinct soft spot for those war horses. Where so many attempted to break their spirit and force them into submission, Alexander resorted to a sort of uncanny care, one that fostered a unique relationship between rider and steed build upon adoration and understanding. His own rapport with Frost hardly held a candle to those creatures he had so steadfastly fostered such affection for in the past and yet, there was little doubt, in that effort he put forth to ensure that blind side of the creature remained relatively untouched that he did, indeed, care for the ivory creature's comfort. A part of him was well aware of those muscles that tensed beneath his form and yet, his blue-green eyes still watched that battle with intensity, even if his hand reached out to brush the closest wayward branch away from the stallion's side. After all, Alexander needed Frost's attention to remain wholly upon producing some measure of believe-ability within those illusions. They were by far some of the most fine-tuned creations he had seen, in his infinitely long life. It was almost foolish, the way Xerxes so quickly believed them and yet, he knew well the Persian saw what he wanted to see rather than the truth that lay so blatantly before him.

He watched with a near critical eye as the Persian and his ebony steed so quickly utilized that very affinity for teleportation, the man hardly oblivious to that clear cowardliness that so remained so strong within the man. Cowardliness and a thirst for power. It was which had gotten him killed the first time - or at least, it should have been. Someone had failed him and yet, he supposed, as much as he hated to admit it, that it hardly mattered now when his whole army had already been laid waste to by time itself. That idle thought that so crossed his mind clearly belong to Frost's own and in return, the Macedonian man found himself unable to suppress that snort that left his nose. "I am not surprised, he must still remember the last time he crossed me.". Alexander, after all, remembered it with distinct clarity. He had been forced to subdue that resistance force the man had so attempted to rally, only to be captured by men of his own country and turned over to the King's forces. He'd had him whipped, collared, tortured, and put to a slow, agonizing death. Yes, it sure as hell better have been enough to instill some level of fear within the Persian man.

Still, even despite his discontent of Xerxes, he could hardly help the way those blue-green eyes so lingered upon that sleek ebony steed with some measure of appreciation. Darius, despite all the trouble he had brought Alexander, was nothing short of astounding. The creature reminded him entirely of his own greatly beloved Buchapalus, from that steadfast faith to the way he hardly wavered in what was requested of him. That admiration was decidedly short-lived, that sudden tensing beneath him so immediately pulled his own attention back to the rebellious creature beneath him. His lips pressed together in a terse fashion, Alexander hardly oblivious to that ploy to earn the stallion his attention. A soft grunt was all he gave the stallion in return before his attention returned to that battle. That reminder that they were hardly able to take their time was hardly necessary, Alexander more than content to offer that soft reassurance that he knew well of just how little time they had left. They would have to move quickly.

It was that which finally prompted the man to urge the stallion to a stop, his attention turned towards his own stolen ally, that near ancient language fell all too easily from his lips as he sent Sheppard and his rider off to deal with those archers that would so thwart that plan. It was only once the pair had disappeared among those streets that the King slid from Frost's back, his touch light upon the man's blind side to assure the creature he was there. Though he knew well Frost disliked that lack of sight, it was a necessity that his throwing arm was hardly restricted by another being so particularly close. His hand reached out for that spear, his fingers grasping that shaft with certainty as he stepped from that treeline, his gaze entirely focused on his foe. Alexander was oblivious, at that moment, to the doubt that so filled Frost, much less the man's instinctual desire to pull him back under the cover of that foliage. That javelin left his fingertips but moments later, that wooden shaft near spinning in the air as it streaked through that night sky. The King hardly worried himself over whether or not it would it his mark, rather, he closed that distance between himself and his mount, pulling himself back onto Frost's back.

He was hardly surprised to find that ebony horse riderless by the time his blue-green eyes rose once again to that battlefield. His feet easily pressed gingerly into Frost's sides, encouraging the horse forward at a rather slow, assured pace. His gaze only briefly shifted from that fallen enemy to meet the curious stare of those purple hued eyes and yet, hardly a word left his lips even despite that clear sensation of awe that seemed to radiate from Frost. He should know better than to doubt him by now. His own attention, however, remained steady upon the fallen form of Xerxes. That idle inquiry of another spear was wholly ignored by the hunter, his own thoughts filled with vastly more creative ways to murder the man all over again. It was a shame, really, that the trees that lined the forest edges were not sapplings, much less the simple fact that he could hardly leave the fellow for a particularly slow death within those populated forests. A soft sigh left his lips as they approached the dying Hunter, that blood that poured from his wounds and down his own mouth told well of his inevitable death, those Persian words hushed upon his lips and yet, Alexander heard them all the same.

The sudden presence of that limping stallion was hardly unexpected. That aggression upon Frost's frame was quite near clear, even to him and yet, for all the threats he knew well Frost was throwing the Barb, Alexander was content to counter them. "I have no intention of killing you, Darius - don't waste your life for a man who is already dead." Darius, after all, would prove decidedly useful, particularly if Frost denied him after tonight. It was only once Frost felt safe enough to take those final steps before Xerxes that Alexander slid, once again, from his own mount's back. "Bessus will not be left to breathe much longer." He offered aloud in reassurance to both stallions and yet, he had a promise to fulfill in that very moment. Alexander paused before that age-old enemy, shifting in a near lackadaisical fashion to squat in front of him.

His hand reached out to touch the man's cheek, those Persian words left his own lips in a familiar fashion, even though he hardly needed a response to that question. Rather, he let Xerxes thoughts fill his mind, providing him with those very answers he sought. His fingers trailed downwards towards Xerxes' chest, pushing away the layers of that shirt to reveal the very medallion that had prompted that unexpected alliance between himself and Frost. His hand easily embraced the age-old coin, near ripping it from the fellow's neck in such a way that the chain that once held it broke. That artifact was shoved into his pocket before his hand reached again for that spear. That weapon was, after all, the incarnation of his own soul. He could hardly leave it within the man. It was too valuable to be left to be found. It was with an almost sickening sound that he slowly pulled it from Xerxes' chest, hardly perturbed for the pain he might have caused or the renewed flood of blood that such a gesture prompted. He stood, that javelin disappearing from existence and yet, his gaze remained trained upon the man. Alexander had no qualms about simply leaving him to die of blood loss and shock and internal damage and yet, this time, he wanted to be sure with his own eyes that Xerxes was dead.