Chapter Text
Preening was always an activity that Scott hated. It felt like an inconvenience, more than anything, because flying always got his feathers out of alignment again, and it always took so long to set them right. He was a king, he was supposed to be proper and put together at all times; how was he supposed to do that when his wings refused to lay flat for more than five minutes?
Now, though, he would do just about anything to have regular feathers again.
He hadn’t really processed what had happened to his wings after his outburst in Gem’s academy. He’d just seen what he’d done to Gem, panicked, and ran as fast and as far as he could.
And even when he had started to settle in that icy, frozen wasteland, when he had realized that his wings were different now, he hadn’t bothered with them. He wasn’t a king anymore, it didn’t matter. He could let his wings get unruly for the first time in his life, couldn’t he?
When he’d come back, when he’d tentatively put on the robes of a Rivendell king again, he had finally turned to his wings.
He had started by gently pulling up the first layer of primaries, hoping to peel off the thick layer of ice that had formed. Maybe once the feathers were free, the ice wouldn’t reform. Maybe the icy wings had just been a result of his outburst with Gem. Maybe.
The panic only started setting in when he’d examined the third row of feathers and accepted that there were no feathers underneath. After a thorough examination of both wings, Scott had realized with a sick sort of horror that his wings weren’t coated in ice.
They were ice.
His wings still had the same base they’d always had - skin and muscle and bone, familiar limbs that he was used to. But rather than feathers, what was growing out of them were small, feather-shaped sheets of ice. They rattled softly together like icicles when he moved.
Scott couldn’t feel cold anymore. But he found as he wrapped his wings around himself (a childish reaction, but an instinctive one) that unlike the beautiful white feathers he was used to, the ice wings couldn’t make him feel warm, either.
(If he cried, no one else was around to see it.)
The ice wings took a lot more maintenance than he was used to, too. They had a tendency to solidify if he wasn’t using them or focused on them, the “feathers” sticking to each other however they were laying, meaning they would be constantly out of order. And the edges of the “feathers” were sharp; Scott cut himself quite a few times that first week or so.
It didn’t help, of course, that wing maintenance made him emotional now. As annoying as preening had been before, the texture of the feathers and the repetitive motions had been familiar and comforting. Now? It was just ice.
Just ice.
Scott had never been so sick of ice.
Something was off about Scott.
Jimmy tried to give his fellow ruler a bit of grace, what with the whole developing ice powers thing, but there was still something off that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It felt important.
He needed an opportunity, though. Scott was busy because of his absence, so he hardly had time to sit still so Jimmy could figure out what was going on.
The opportunity came in the form of a meeting, as Scott called all his allies to Rivendell to discuss Xornoth. Apparently there were concerns about the crystal he was being held in. Jimmy went, because Xornoth coming back would be a big problem, but he also promised himself that he wouldn’t leave Rivendell until he had figured out what was wrong with Scott.
Scott seemed fine during the meeting. He held himself with the same aloof, I’m in control here posture he always did, his voice was calm and even, and his fancy robes were as neat as always. Jimmy had nearly convinced himself that he was imagining things and Scott was fine when the ruler of Rivendell turned to gesture at something.
Oh.
Scott’s wings.
Everyone knew they’d changed. It was hard to miss the way the striking white feathers had changed to sharp, icy blue. But Jimmy, sitting near the end of the table and therefore given the best view of Scott’s back in that moment, realized with a start that Scott’s wings weren’t neat. They were folded as nicely as they ever were when Scott was indoors, but the feathers were messier than Jimmy had ever seen them before. Scott never let them get like that.
Jimmy was so distracted by the realization that he nearly missed when everyone else filed out of the room.
“Jimmy?” Scott had moved to stand in front of him, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. A familiar sight. “The meeting’s over, you’re free to go if you want.”
“Are your wings alright?” The words were out of Jimmy’s mouth before he could stop them.
And Scott froze.
His wings flexed slightly, flaring out a bit to the sides, and he went just a little paler than usual, and there was a flash of - something on his face. Fear, maybe? Shame?
And then the mask slammed back into place, and Scott’s spine straightened. When he spoke, the tone was stiff and formal. “Yes, my wings are perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern. You may leave now.”
Jimmy immediately felt awful. He’d obviously found a sore spot, and he needed to explain he hadn’t meant to, he just wanted to make sure Scott was okay. “Scott -”
“Out.”
“I’m sorry -”
“Out, Jimmy.” Oh, and Scott was glaring at him now, like he had back before they were allies, his wings tucked so tightly against his back it had to be at least a bit painful.
Jimmy needed to explain, but Scott obviously wasn’t interested in an apology right now, so he just turned and left the room as quickly as he could without running.
He spent the rest of the afternoon walking around his empire, desperately trying to distract himself. He and Scott had been getting along, they were allies, and now there was a very real possibility that he had just messed all of that up with one stupid question about something Scott obviously didn’t want to talk about.
There was only one thing for it, he decided eventually. He would need to bring Scott a gift, so he could properly smooth things over. Something homemade.
Bread should do. Everyone liked fresh homemade bread, right? Even elven kings. Probably.
Making bread took the rest of the day, and by the time Jimmy took it out of the oven and passed out, it was past midnight. In the morning, though, he got ready to go as quickly as he could. He let the loaf warm up in the oven just a little before putting it in a cute little basket with a handful of poppies. Scott liked cute things, and flowers, so that seemed safe enough.
The trip to Rivendell was long, as always. It felt even longer. Jimmy’s stomach wouldn’t stop trying itself into knots. Scott was - this alliance was important, he didn’t want to lose that.
(He also didn’t want Scott to hate him, but that felt like a less noble reason for this trip than protecting an important alliance.
He very carefully ignored the fact that a gift to protect an alliance should be something big and impressive, instead of one small basket of bread and flowers.)
Jimmy eventually made it to the town hall that Scott used as his palace. He waited in front of the door for at least a minute, trying to gather his courage, before he finally forced himself to lift a hand and knock.
A few seconds went by. A minute. There was no answer from inside.
Jimmy knocked again.
Still nothing.
Was… was Scott out for the day? That might actually be perfect, Jimmy realized with a breath of relief. He would leave the basket on Scott’s table with a note or something, and then Scott wouldn’t even have to see him. That was good, that was a good plan. Scott would probably like that plan best.
Jimmy carefully pushed the door open, wincing at the soft creak it made. The inside of the building was still and quiet; perfect.
“Scott?” he called softly, just to make sure. “Are you home?”
No response.
“Okay,” he sighed, easing the door open enough to step inside, then closing it behind him again, just in case. “Great. I’m just gonna leave this here, then.”
There was a convenient table near the entryway, and Jimmy set the basket on it, spinning it slightly a few times to make sure it looked good. Then he hunted through his bag, letting out a little hum of triumph as he found a crumpled scrap of paper and a pen.
He had just touched pen to paper when he heard a soft hiss from upstairs.
Jimmy paused, listening.
A quiet rustle.
“Hello?” he called out, cautiously setting the pen down. “Hello, is there someone in here?”
Dead silence. Then, after a moment, something that sounded like a stuttering breath.
Jimmy made his way to the stairs, one hand resting on his sword hilt. He had never actually been up here before - Scott didn’t like people up in his bedroom, which Jimmy could certainly understand. But he didn’t want to leave a potential intruder up here, either; Scott would definitely hate him if something happened to Rivendell and Jimmy could have stopped it.
He took a breath, then began climbing the stairs, nice and slow, trying not to let them creak under his boots. He was just going to check for intruders, then he would leave immediately. Easy.
Except, when he got to the top of the stairs, it wasn’t an intruder he saw. It was Scott. Scott, curled up in the middle of a large bed, wearing just a simple, loose woolen shirt and pants, with tears in his eyes, clutching one hand close to his chest. His wings were curled tightly around his shoulders.
Jimmy didn’t know what to focus on first. “… Scott?”
“Get out,” Scott rasped, but his voice was shaking.
“I didn’t know it was you up here, I’m sorry.” Jimmy slowly held up his hands, trying to think of a way he could help without making Scott even more upset. “I’ll - I’ll go, but… you don’t look so good. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
Scott huffed out something that might have been a laugh. Maybe it was a sob. Jimmy couldn’t tell. “I’m fine. Get out of my kingdom.”
“I will as soon as you tell me the truth.”
“Oh, and you think you’re owed that?” Scott’s voice sharpened, a move obviously intended to drive Jimmy away.
“I want to make sure you’re alright, because we’re allies, Scott,” Jimmy reminded him, fighting to keep his voice even. He couldn’t take the bait here, he couldn’t. “And… and I thought maybe we were friends? I just… That’s what we’re supposed to do, we’re supposed to help each other.”
Scott was quiet for a moment, still tensed up like he was ready for a fight. He was glaring at Jimmy like he wanted to pull him apart to find the truth. Then, finally, after what felt like an eternity, he jerked his chin toward a barrel in the corner. “There’s a bag in there. I need it.”
Jimmy let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, then ran for the barrel. The bag was right near the top, and he held it up for Scott’s nod of approval before bringing it over.
Scott let go of his own hand to grab it, and -
“Is that blood?” Was Scott bleeding?
“I cut myself,” Scott snapped, rummaging through the bag with one hand until he’d pulled out a roll of thin bandages. “It’s fine.”
Jimmy stared at him for a second in disbelief. “Scott, you’re bleeding, that isn’t fine -”
“It’s fine,” Scott said again, starting to wrap the bandages around his bleeding fingers.
His hands were shaking. Jimmy watched as Scott tried (and failed) several times to wrap the injury properly before taking a cautious shuffle toward the bed. “… Do you want help?”
Scott let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes for just a moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.
Jimmy very carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, taking the roll of bandages out of Scott’s shaking hand and gently taking the other hand to examine the injury.
It wasn’t too bad. It was just a shallow slice across two of his fingers, like he’d slipped a bit with a knife. Jimmy could handle first aid like that. He wrapped the cuts as gently as he could, trying not to cause Scott any more pain than he was already in. He was focusing so much on it, in fact, that he didn’t realize Scott was crying until a drop fell onto his hand.
Jimmy blinked, looking up and feeling his stomach drop at the sight of Scott in tears. “Scott? Scott, what’s wrong? Did I tie it too tight, does it hurt? I was being really careful, I’m so sorry -”
“No.” Scott cut him off, raising his uninjured hand to wipe his eyes. “No, it’s - no. You didn’t do anything.”
“Well, that’s a first,” Jimmy tried to joke, but winced as Scott didn’t react. “… Sorry.”
Scott didn’t respond right away, instead just staring down at his bandaged hand in silence.
He had finished wrapping it, Jimmy realized absently. He could probably let go of Scott’s hand now.
He didn’t really want to, though, and Scott didn’t seem upset by it. So he didn’t let go.
“… Don’t tell anyone,” Scott said finally, very softly.
“I won’t,” Jimmy assured him. He had no reason to, really; no one else needed to know about this.
Scott sniffled. “I don’t even know why I’m crying.”
“Sometimes,” Jimmy said slowly, running his thumb back and forth over Scott’s knuckles, “people cry because they don’t know what else to do. Or at least that’s what my mother told me.”
“A king is always supposed to know what to do,” Scott protested, his grip on Jimmy’s hand tightening just slightly. “That’s our job, Jimmy, I - I can’t not know what to do. Not so soon after getting back, I just… can’t.”
Jimmy hesitated, then reached over to carefully brush some of the tears off of Scott’s face. “You’re going through a lot right now! No one can blame you for struggling a bit. It’s okay to not be okay sometimes.”
“Not for a king,” Scott said again, and this time Jimmy felt the weight of it. This was old, and familiar, and Scott said it in the tone of a mantra.
“Kings are people.”
“Kings can’t be people.”
“But we are,” Jimmy said gently. “We’re people, and sometimes we don’t know what to do, so we cry.”
Scott let out a long, shaky breath. Then, as if he didn’t have the energy to stay upright anymore, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Jimmy’s shoulder. “… I don’t know how to fix them, Jimmy.”
Jimmy had a flustered moment of trying to remember how words worked, automatically wrapping a careful arm around Scott’s shoulders. “Fix - Fix what?”
“My wings.” Scott’s shoulders were shaking, and his free hand came up to grab Jimmy’s shirt, like he was an anchor in a storm. “They - I can’t fix them, I don’t know how, I don’t think I can, and they just keep getting worse and -” He cut himself off with a harsh sob.
“Okay.” Jimmy had no idea what Scott was saying, really, but the elf obviously needed someone right now, so he was going to try his best. “Okay, let’s - one thing at a time. Don’t worry, I’m pretty good at figuring out what to do next when you don’t know anything.”
That one got a little wobbly huff of a laugh.
Jimmy started rubbing gentle circles into Scott’s shoulder with his thumb. “So let’s go one problem at a time. Start with the basics. What’s the matter with your wings?”
Instead of answering, Scott sat up (Jimmy ignored the twist in his stomach at the sight of Scott with red eyes and tear tracks on his face) and spread out one wing.
It looked normal, or as normal as it could be while covered in ice. But then, as Jimmy looked closer…
He reached out, very slowly, and brushed his fingers against a droplet on one of the feathers. They came away smeared with red.
“I can’t preen properly anymore.” Scott’s voice was strained. “It - They’re sharp, and they tend to freeze together, and…”
“You cut yourself on your feathers?” Jimmy breathed. That seemed wrong, in a visceral, fundamental way. When he thought of flight, when he pictured wings, he thought of Scott, and his elegance in the air, and his neat, beautiful feathers -
And the words I can’t not know what to do rang in Jimmy’s head.
… Maybe Scott had never been as put together as Jimmy had always thought.
Scott turned his head away, blinking hard.
Without thinking, Jimmy reached out to gently turn his head back. “Gods, Scott, how long has this been going on? Have you hurt yourself a lot? Have - Is there anything I can do?”
“… What?” Scott’s voice was softer than Jimmy had been expecting. More fragile.
“I want to help, this is -” Wrong. Painful to witness. Terrible. Heart-wrenching. “This isn’t something you should have to deal with by yourself.”
Scott stared at him for a second, and all Jimmy could do was stare back into those clear blue eyes, vibrant as the noon sky. There was so much in them, so much more than Scott had ever let him see, so much pain and fear and hope all twisted up together.
Then Scott blinked, and the curtains pulled closed again, though his eyes still looked watery. “Unless you know how to preen icicle wings, no. But I appreciate -”
“I’ll figure it out.”
That seemed to startle Scott. “I - what? What do you mean you’ll figure it out?”
“If you can’t do it by yourself, then I want to help,” Jimmy said stubbornly. “At least until you’ve got it figured out. Just… That’s what friends are for.”
“… Helping each other,” Scott said very softly. He was looking at Jimmy, but it almost felt like Scott was looking past him rather than at him. Like he was too lost in his own head to really be paying attention.
Jimmy nodded, holding out a tentative hand. Not touching Scott’s wing yet, just… offering. “Yeah. If you want, I mean, I’m not gonna force you to accept my help or anything, that would be kind of messed up.”
Scott was quiet for another few seconds. Jimmy let him think; anyone who looked at Scott for more than five seconds could tell that his wings were important to him, and Jimmy would be hesitant too before he let somebody mess with something that precious. Besides, it was important that Scott came to his decision - whatever it was - on his own, without Jimmy trying to persuade him or rush him.
Finally, Scott’s wing rustled, and he moved it forward to very gently bump against Jimmy’s fingers.
“Thank you,” Jimmy murmured, not daring to move his hand yet. He really didn’t want to mess this up.
Scott nodded, then cleared his throat and shook out his hands, like he was releasing extra tension. “Fair warning, I think they’re very cold. I can’t really tell anymore, but the feathers are just ice now. Don’t let your fingers get numb or you might cut yourself and not notice.”
That did make sense. Jimmy thought for a second, absently running a finger over one of the ice feathers, then gasped as an idea occurred to him. “Oh! Wait a second, I’ll be right back!”
He ran downstairs, nearly managing to trip in the process, and grabbed his bag, which he’d left by the table. After a moment of thought, he grabbed the basket too.
“What’s that?” Scott asked as Jimmy reappeared upstairs.
“Oh, I thought you might be mad at me for trying to push you to talk, so I made you this!” Jimmy sat back down on the bed and handed him the basket, then started rummaging around in his bag. He was sure he’d left a pair of gloves in here somewhere…
There was a rustling as Scott unpacked the basket, and then he went quiet for a moment before softly asking “… Bread?”
“Made it myself last night.” Jimmy grabbed his gloves with a soft little noise of triumph, holding them up with a grin for Scott to see. “Knew I still had these in here! See, they’re pretty thin so I should have some dexterity, but they’ll protect my fingers!”
Scott was holding a poppy loosely in his hand, looking as Jimmy as though he was seeing him for the first time. “… That’s… That’s useful. To have handy.”
“Yep!” Jimmy nodded, still grinning. He had already made the executive decision not to comment on Scott’s odd behavior today; Scott was having a rough time, he didn’t need any more questions piled on top of the ones Jimmy had already asked. So instead of asking more, he just pulled on the gloves and flexed his hands a few times to make sure he kept as much dexterity as he thought he did.
Scott set the basket to one side, though he did keep holding the poppy. “So do you have any idea how to preen?”
“It’s…” Jimmy hesitated. He wasn’t very familiar with birds, but he knew a tiny bit. The only issue was how to communicate what he knew to Scott, who was in fact very familiar with birds. “It’s kind of like… brushing your hair, but for feathers, right?”
Scott gave him what Jimmy had mentally dubbed The Look, raised eyebrow and all.
Jimmy fought valiantly not to wilt or back down under The Look. “Am I wrong?”
“It’s much more delicate than just brushing hair, Jimmy,” Scott grumbled, but he didn’t seem genuinely upset. Good. “Look, I’ll show you.”
He opened his wing fully, curving it slightly so he could reach the feathers properly, and - oh. Oh, wow.
That just might be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life, Jimmy realized distantly. If Scott’s wings had been lovely before, they were stunning now, shimmering and glinting in the light from the lanterns Scott had hung around his room. The colors were iridescent and shifting and as startling as Scott’s eyes.
“Jimmy?” Scott asked, pausing to blink at him. “What is it?”
“I’ve never seen your wings this close,” Jimmy breathed, his heart in his throat. “They’re beautiful, Scott.”
A soft little spasm ran through Scott’s wing, making the icy feathers clink softly together. “I appreciate the sentiment, Jimmy -”
“No, no, Scott, I…” Jimmy shook his head, trying to get his thoughts into a semblance of order. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen something that lovely. It’s… I know how you got them was weird, and you don’t like talking about it, but… they suit you. They really do.”
Scott just stared at him for a second, then said in a voice that was shakier than it had been a moment ago, “Thank you. Now, if you’re going anywhere near my wings, you need to have some idea what you’re doing.”
Scott walked him through the basics of preening, and Jimmy watched intently, trying to memorize the motions. He had to do this right, the first time he tried it, for Scott’s sake.
And then it was his turn.
Jimmy took a breath, trying to will his hands to stay still and stop shaking ever so slightly. They didn’t listen to him, but it was worth a shot.
Touching the feathers was different with gloves on. He couldn’t feel the smooth, chilled surface the same way, but somehow that made it feel like so much more. Like it was more Scott than impersonal ice.
Jimmy could feel heat crawling up to his ears and cheekbones and really hoped Scott wouldn’t notice.
“Don’t drag.” Scott’s voice was slightly rough, and when Jimmy glanced over at him, his gaze was firmly on Jimmy’s hands. “You’re letting your fingers drag through the feathers too much, make sure you don’t pull.”
“Right, sorry.” Jimmy refocused on the wings, working slowly through the feathers.
It was hard work. He had to make sure each feather was in alignment, and didn’t disturb any of the other feathers in the process, and didn’t tug on any of them and hurt Scott. And he had to make sure the sharp edges didn’t cut through his gloves.
Scott had to do this alone without gloves, he reminded himself, and kept working.
When he switched to the other wing, he glanced at Scott’s face again. This time, the elf had his head tilted back and his eyes closed, his expression twisted a little with an emotion Jimmy couldn’t place. Mostly, it looked like he was trying not to start crying again.
Eventually, he finished the inside of both wings. Then he paused, looking to Scott yet again. “So… do I move around you to get to the backs, or… ?”
Scott opened his eyes, let out a sharp breath, and turned to lay down on his stomach, wings spread. No hesitation.
Jimmy blinked, startled for a moment by how fast Scott had moved. “… Okay, that… that works, I guess.”
He found his rhythm on the back. It was easier, with Scott laying down, to find the right angle to preen, and despite how slowly and carefully he had to work, he could feel Scott’s tense wing muscles relaxing very gradually under his hands. It was nice, to feel like he was actually helping.
“… Thank you,” Scott whispered as he neared the end of the first wing.
“It isn’t a problem,” Jimmy returned quietly, smoothing down another feather. “I just wanted to help.”
Scott made a little disagreeing noise in the back of his throat. “No one’s helped me with my wings in… a long time.”
Jimmy frowned. “How long is a long time?”
The answer, when it came, was so quiet Jimmy nearly missed it. “… Since my parents died.”
Jimmy’s hands stilled. That was… a long time. Too long. Being the first person to touch Scott’s wings since his parents was almost too big of a thought.
“My mother taught me how to take care of them,” Scott continued at the same volume, and it sounded like he was starting to cry again, though he kept his head pillowed in his arms and refused to look up. “I… They’re not the same anymore, Jimmy.”
That was… big. And vulnerable, in a way Scott rarely was. Jimmy’s throat felt tight, but he needed to do something to take the pressure off of his friend. “… I haven’t been trident fishing since my father died.”
“Trident fishing?” Scott glanced up at him this time, with a tiny shift of his head and a small glimpse of noon-sky blue.
Jimmy nodded, starting to preen again to keep himself occupied. One of them needed to not be crying, after all, and Scott obviously needed to cry more than Jimmy did. "He’s the one who taught me how to do it. I loved going out with him, but… you know, ever since, it hasn’t felt right. I don’t think I could manage to go alone.
“Lizzie says there’s magic in things like that. I don’t know if I believe her, but…” Jimmy shrugged, trying not to pull on any feathers as he did so. “I just know it’s different, now.”
Scott hummed softly, shifting his head away again.
As he kept working, Jimmy almost felt like he was constructing a bubble around them. Just a safe little space where he and Scott could breathe, and their secrets would be kept.
He finished all too soon, though he ran his fingers over a few more feathers, just to make sure they were all laying right. He wanted to sit in the comfortable little bubble for just a little longer.
He didn’t want to force Scott to stay there with him, though, so he reluctantly pulled his hands away and sat back.
Scott didn’t move for a moment. Then he pulled in his wings, pushing himself upright and running a hand through his hair to make sure it was laying correctly, too. “… Thank you, Jimmy. Really. I… I appreciate the help.”
“Anytime you need it, just ask,” Jimmy told him as sincerely as he possibly could, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “I mean it, Scott. That’s why we’re here. That’s why I’m here.”
Scott hesitated. “… Wings need to be preened often, Jimmy, I don’t know if you would want to come over here every time it’s necessary…”
“I do, though.” Jimmy gave Scott’s shoulder a very light squeeze, trying to convey the lightness in his chest at how relaxed Scott looked, the twist in his gut at the idea of leaving Scott to struggle alone. “I’ll come over any time you need me, and that’s a promise.”
Scott’s mouth opened and closed for a second, like he was struggling for words. Then he let out a shaky sigh, reached out to gently cup the back of Jimmy’s head, and pulled him closer.
Jimmy froze at the feeling of Scott’s lips against his forehead. It felt strangely intimate, with how gentle it was, and there was an odd sort of warmth along his brow as Scott pulled away.
“That’s the least I can do, then,” Scott said softly, with a faint but real smile on his face, golden light shimmering in his eyes. “For protection on your way home.”
“… Thank you,” Jimmy told him, a bit floored at the thought of Scott just casually using his god’s power to grant him protection. Just because.
Scott dipped his head in a regal sort of nod, but somehow, it didn’t feel distant. It felt like a deep, true thank you. “You should probably go. You have your own kingdom to think about.”
“Oh! Right!” Jimmy nearly threw himself off the bed, grabbing his bag as he went. He had things to do today, this trip was supposed to be short! Though he couldn’t say that he regretted any of it, which is probably what made him pause at the stairs and look back. “Now you promise me you’ll ask next time you need help?”
“I promise.” There were still tear tracks on Scott’s cheeks, but something in him seemed to have shifted, ever so slightly. He seemed lighter, somehow, less weighed down.
Jimmy believed him.
So he grinned, nodded, and ran for the front door, the faint, shimmering impression of Aeor’s antlers on his forehead.