Chapter Text
"Do you like it?"
She was looking at him with such open eagerness that he was taken aback. The item had been thrust into his hands so quickly, he had almost dropped it. It had tangled around his fingers, and after several tries, he managed to unravel the chain and let it dangle between his hands. The purple crystal shone brightly at him, slotted into a pendant on a thin necklace chain. His image reflected in it, eyes now pinkish and slowly reclaiming the bright crimson they had one been.
"When did you . . .?" He began, but Entrapta was already speeding off into an explanation.
"I thought about putting it into another armor for you, but there's no need! No war! No armor! So I thought about a ring, but I thought it would keep your finger from bending when holding a tool. Then Bow said a necklace would be pretty, so here you are!"
"It's very . . . sound, Entrapta," he said, regarding the necklace as if it were an unusual object. It was for a clone.
They were never given any adornments save for their clothing. Jewelry was wasteful products of hedonism and vanity. Only lesser beings partake in trivials. No, that was the old way of thinking. This was different. This was a gift, a show of love he did not deserve but will accept if only to see her smile. "Thank you."
"Put it on!"
It took several tries, and he enlisted her help to secure it at the nape of his neck. The crystal lay against his breast, inches where it had once been when he first received it in another life. She drew close to him, her hands on his shoulders and her hair almost swaddling him.
"Hordak, I'm glad you're back."
"Me too, Entrapta. Me too."
Actually, he wasn't back in the Fright Zone or Peaceful Fields as it's now called by the Scorpion people who reclaimed it as their home. He lived with Entrapta in her castle in Dryl for almost a month - since Horde Prime was vanquished.
Most of their days were spent in the labs, dismantling each of the weaponry Horde Prime had brought to Etheria and repurposing them for beneficial purposes. A mile outside of the castle, a farmer made use of white robots to till his field for a new crop, and a merchant used half a dozen to defend his wagon from raiders in the Crimson Waste, which was currently experiencing a boom in trade. Not to mention they were designing new ships for Etherians to visit the rest of the galaxy. If there was one positive thing Horde Prime had brought to this planet, it had been the untold amount of information on technology and galactic travel.
Entrapta had worked so long into the nights despite his insistence she rested. He had to outright carry her toward their room while her hair took along a component to work with on the way. The nights she had allowed him to bring her to her . . .their room . . . had been . . .exploratory.
His hands linked with hers. It was still early morning. The servants wouldn't come for another hour and knew to ring the bell before coming in. There was time yet for more exploration . . .
A knocking at the door set his teeth on edge. Who would dare . . .?
"Brother? Brother! They are doing it again!"
"Oh, it's Wrong Hor . . . I mean Zed," Entrapta corrected herself, disentangling her hair from him.
Hordak sighed, rubbing a thumb and finger above his eyes. "This is the fifth time this week . . ."
"They can't help it," Entrapta said, perching on the bed next to him. "It takes time to learn something new."
He took pleasure in her presence, wishing they could have that hour now, but knew there were many nights to come. "Go ahead to the labs. I'll be along once I deal with this."
The kiss on his cheek was balm to his nerves. "I'll see you later."
With help from her hair, she was dressed within minutes. Upon opening the door, Zed came in a whirl of fear and anxiety. He winked a greeting at Entrapta, who gave him a quick squeeze with her hair as she dashed out the door.
Zed, once known as Wrong Hordak, was a myriad of colors. Once he learned he could wear and adorn himself with colors other than white and gray, he was almost struck down with indecision by so many colors until he decided to choose them all . . .save for green or white. His mop of hair was a strangled rainbow, and his eyes were lined by silver glitter. He wore a tunic that gradient from a light shade of blue to darker blue at the bottom.
"They are praying again, brother!" Zed stammered, fidgeting with both hands. "I would go, but they do not listen to me."
"I will make them listen to me," Hordak grumbled, feeling cold without Entrapta's presence by his side. He grabbed a cloak on the way out, and Zed followed close behind him.
"Brother, you shouldn't shout at them."
"How else will they listen?" Hordak growled, fitting the cloak around his shoulders.
They reached the courtyard, and Hordak flinched at the sudden cold air blowing against him. Etheria was reaching it's cold season sooner than he would have liked. He would see into having long boots made to protect his legs from the cold.
A transport was waiting in the courtyard with a grinning driver boy waiting for riders.
"You do not need to come with me," Hordak said over his shoulder. "I can handle this alone."
"No, you shouldn't go alone," Zed replied, following in close behind him.
Being eager to finish this unwanted chore, Hordak didn't argue. He had forbidden Zed from ever going to the Enclave by himself and for a good reason. If Zed went alone, there was no guarantee that he would return unharmed, or if at all.
With Horde Prime gone, so too was his control over the clones. For the first time in their existence, there was no collective consciousness, no voice in their heads giving them orders or direction. Many had panicked and broken down in terror. Others were numb, unable to process the unlimited freedom they had never known. Over the weeks, and with much patience from the Princesses, the clones began to learn to live for themselves. Most have chosen to make their homes on Etheria, discovering communities willing to welcome them. Some left with Adora, She-Ra, and her companions to spread the word of freedom among the clones on other planets.
However, a small group refused freedom and individuality and longed for Horde Prime's return.
And they would be waiting for eternity, Hordak thought to himself as the transport lifted from the courtyard and into the wind that promised snow in the coming weeks. A bitter part of him thought it would serve them right if they all froze to death this winter. Etherian winters could be bitterly cold and perhaps more so with the magic released. Yet, he knew that Zed wouldn't let that happen. Or he would nag and pester Hordak until he sent supplies and winter wear to their Enclave. Zed was responsible for ensuring the robots took plenty of food and water for them.
At the edge of Dryl was a series of cliffs with a cave formation where one of Horde Prime's towers had landed. During the last battle, it had been toppled by Dryl's inhabitants, and the Enclave made its home under its shadow. They could see the metal frame, now overgrown by foliage, lying like the skeleton of a deceased giant.
As the transport lowered, Hordak could see the ring of metal hulls fashioned into huts. Hordak knew they shared four to a shelter, sleeping side by side. Not one of them owned their individual dwellings or possessions. Everything was shared in a communal storehouse where food and water were equally rationed out.
Now all twelve of them were outside wearing cowls, forming a ring and praying, calling for Horde Prime's voice to come back to them. And the one standing in the center of the circle, his cowl back and head bare, set Hordak's teeth on edge. White hair glistened in the sunlight, save for the slash of black cloth that covered his right eye lost it in the final battle. Hordak recalled that a piece of shrapnel had been removed from where the eye had been. His face was upturned, hands upward, leading the chanting prayer. Since Enclave clones refused names, they called him the Speaker, but Hordak called him the Enclave Instigator.
The transport landed just outside of the ring of huts. From inside the carrier, they could clearly hear the chants, and it sent a shiver down Hordak's spine.
Prime is eternal! Prime sees all! Prime is us, and we are Prime!
Over and over, loud enough to echo from the cliff and carry the sound to a neighboring village. The Etherians have forgiven, but they have not forgotten. Salineas refused entry to any clone; the people's memories were still fresh from when the Horde Army, led by him, had nearly destroyed it.
The transport hadn't fully settled on the ground when he flung open the door and bailed out. The wind pulled at his cloak, tossed the sarong of his tunic as he stalked towards the gathering, shoulders bent, and eyes narrowed as if he were going into battle. In a way, perhaps he was. It was a fight he had been struggling with since the end of the war.
The Speaker lowered his hands when he saw them, single eye narrowing and lips tightened in a thin line. The followers' chants slowly stopped as all green eyes turned in their direction. Zed caught up to him but stayed behind with a nervous step. He was never one to like confrontation, but it spoke volumes for his character to support Hordak now.
"Stop this!" Hordak snarled, stopping at the edge of the parting circle. They were withdrawing, gathering behind their self-elected Speaker, green eyes staring blankly at him, taking in his every action, but empty of any thought. It was unnerving as he had once been as them. "Prime is dead. Gone. Your chants and prayers do not reach him."
And that got a bit more of a reaction. Several eyes glinted furiously as his words sparked outrage. Though angry, they stayed silent as only the Speaker could use his voice.
"How dare you come here, traitors," the Speaker sneered, single eye switching between the two of them. "And speak such profound blasphemy!"
"It is the truth!" Hordak shouted. "He's dead; his very being erased by She-ra."
A rattling hiss rose from the group at the forbidden name, and more eyes turned vicious. And it only inflamed the Speaker's vehemence. "You dare! You dare speak that name!" Spittle flew from his lips from the ferocity of his outcry.
"Hordak," Zed whispered, and there was a light touch at his elbow.
From the corner of his eye, his younger brother was eyeing the crowd cautiously. It had never come to violence before, but it was only a matter of time until it did. The majority still functioned as if they were part of the hivemind, not acting unless ordered to do so, but the Speaker could spur them into action with a word. And his triggering them wouldn't de-escalate the situation, nor did it help them realize they were severely outnumbered. Coming here alone after today may no longer NB be safe.
Stilling the burning emotions, Hordak chose his words carefully, which was still new for him. Back when he led the Horde army, he had been at liberty to speak his mind to underlings, but those days were long gone. Now he must learn to talk with others as equals.
"Your prayers upset the Etherians," Hordak said cautiously. "If you must pray, do so quietly and in your hovels."
"You have no say here, traitor," the Speaker replied. "We only heed Horde Prime's voice."
Arching a brow, Hordak inquired, "And does he speak to you now? Have you heard his voice since the end of the war?" To his satisfaction, the angry eyes went wide, confused, and fearful. He pressed on, in some dire hope that his reasoning would stick in their minds. "Do any of you recall a time when we couldn't hear his voice? If he still lives, then why is he silent now?"
"It's a test!" The Speaker cut him off. "A means to test our loyalty to him!"
"Why would he want to test loyalty when he can see it in your minds?" Hordak countered.
A few clones looked at each other, and another inclined his head at a confusing angle.
"It is not our place to question Him!" The Speaker rasped.
"Yet the questions still come," Hordak said, speaking only to the clones behind him. "For the first time in your lives, you have questions, but you will get no answers here. Not with him," he pointed at the Speaker in an accusatory jab, "filling your heads with misconceptions and lies. You do not have to listen to him, nor do you have to listen to me! Listen to the voice inside your heads, the voice that is yours! It's the same voice that tells you that you're hungry, you're cold, you're tired, and you're lonely. It's your voice! What is it telling you now? Don't be afraid to listen to it!"
As he spoke, he approached them, looking into their faces, like his own, but confused and some even frightened. Even a few that were offended and defiant.
They persisted in wearing the Horde's white robes, but they were soiled and tattered with a myriad of inadequate patchwork. Zed had offered them new clothing in the past, but the clones wouldn't touch them and remained in their threadbare and soiled robes, which would not keep them warm during winter. And their hovels would not block out the cold winds. Did they even know how to build a fire?
"The voice in my head is telling me," a tentative voice rose and fell, no more substantial than a leaf on the wind. "That I am scared."
The crowd parted, all eyes turning from Hordak to the clone in the center. He was fidgeting, the edge of his cowl hood ripped and never mended. He was thin compared to the other clones, and for the first time, Hordak began to suspect that he was wrong about the clones equally dividing supplies. There might be a pecking order or hierarchy in place he wasn't aware of.
He stepped closer to the clone and offered his hand. The clone stepped back in fright, ears cast downward, and trembled.
"It's understandable to be afraid. Everything is new and something you've never experienced before. I, too, experienced such fears when I was first cut off from the hivemind. Back then, I was alone, but today you are not alone. You do not have to live in the wilderness, waiting for a voice that will never come. The invitation to come to the castle is and will remain open to those who wish to come. We can help you find a place in Etheria and create an identity for yourself."
They were listening to him, actually listening with some consideration. Was he reaching them at last?
"Do not listen to him!" The Speaker howled, hands curled into fists as if he would start throwing blows. "He has been corrupted by this world and its princesses! He even lies with one of them! Partaking in the flesh is forbidden."
How in the Universe did the rumors reach this far?
"Yes, partaking in the flesh is forbidden," Hordak said with cold steel in his voice. "So is imbibing and eating food and drink not of amniotic fluid. These 'forbidden things' Horde Prime has done countless times before us! He has eaten rich food we cooked with our own hands. Drank wines we poured into his crystal glasses. And . . .” He paused as revulsion filled him. He had forbidden Zed from ever mentioning to the Etherians, lest word of it reached Queen Glimmer's ears, was of Horde Prime's harems. "He had partaken of the flesh many, many times. How can we follow a leader that would break his doctrine when it suited him?"
"Because we could never question him," Zed answered from where he had been standing silent the whole time.
A wintery wind chilled him and made the dull ache in his limbs sharpen. It was time to return. They had done what they had come to do. Moving through the crowd, he motioned for Zed to head for the transport. "We will leave you alone. You are free to come with us. There is room in the transport for a few more and we can send another for more. Or if you change your mind later, you know the direction to the castle. You are welcomed there."
None of the clones followed them as he would have hoped. Maybe later or another day, some of them will appear at the castle gates. He felt the furious glare from the Speaker's single eye boring a hole in his back, and it brought him comfort to know that if the clones of the Enclave were miserable, so would the Speaker suffer.
"Why won't they come with us?" Zed whispered as they neared the transport. "I don't understand why they wish to remain here."
"They believe that if Horde Prime returns, they would be rewarded for their suffering on his behalf," Hordak muttered as he climbed into the transport and enjoyed the warmth inside.
"Horde Prime isn't coming back . . .is he?" Zed looked at him like a child wanting reassurance that the monsters won't come in the night.
"No, Horde Prime is dead. She-ra burned him away from my mind," Hordak assured him. "Think no more of him and let us return home."
***
The air in the labs carried the strong smell of machine oil and the echoes of components cranking together. The pleasant bubble of Entrapta's monologuing was home to him. It took him back to the days when they had built the portal; she had confused and entranced him with her passion for science and devotion to him. And there was still the ache of believing he had lost her forever.
She spoke so rapidly into a recorder that she failed to notice him until he touched her hair. The recorder clicked off when she paused to explain how the circuits regulated power throughout the systems unit. Turning to Hordak, she drew him close with a lengthy pigtail.
It was safe touches with her hair first before they escalated to casual caresses. She set the recorder on the workbench and reached for his hand. "You're still wearing it."
It took him a moment to recall her gift earlier. The pendant lay against his breast, and she tenderly lifted it into her glove.
"I have no intention of ever taking it off," He replied, curling his hand around hers, enclosing the pendant in her palm. "Now, you hold my heart."
"It's not really your heart," Entrapta began, then faltered. "Oh! You're being romantic! I can be romantic too . . .Ummm . . .” A tendril of hair tapped her lips in thought. "Give me a second to think of something . . ."
"Whisper it into my ear when you do," Hordak drew her close into a quick hug and released her. "So, where did we leave off from yesterday?"
Entrapta zeroed in on the task at hand, taking him around to a robot's processor that kept looping errors. It wasn't until later that night when she did whisper something romantic into his ear, and it sent warm tingles throughout his body. The pendant gleamed in the low light of their bedroom, warm on his skin, next to his heart where Entrapta will always be.