Of the Immortal Father and Immortal's Son

[Vaughn]

63rd of Ashan, 717
midday

Vaughn had thought about what had happened with Elyna trial-last and come to the conclusion that he needed help.

The bad thing was that he needed help from his father.

He found himself outside Malcolm and Elyna's neat new house, the one he had attended a dinner at not more than six trials ago. Looking up at it, as he had that first night, he was able to picture the building not as it was but as what it would become: a place of family and contentment. Though it was newly moved into now, he could imagine the future like it was already there. Laundry hanging on a line, flowers outside. Children's toys. A little messy on the days where life got hectic but nothing too bad. Shoes, large and small, stacked by the door. The smell of cooking food and the sound of drifting laughter. The whole white picket fence.

Who was he to interrupt that?

He had, even if he had not let himself do it physically, threatened Elyna when they had last spoke. Who was he to let himself want to hurt her? If he allowed himself to lay hands on her, to even want to lay hands on her, what would that do to her family? To her daughter and the unborn child she had yet to bring into this world? What would that do to Vaughn himself?

He wasn't certain but he felt there was no coming back from something like that. Not if he hurt her.

Hesitantly he reached towards the door but when he knocked it was loud and insistent. His father would not ignore him this time; this was much too important. Vaughn was sure to be the disappointment again, ever the disappointment. He might even be thrust from their family the way Marcus had been. But if that was how things had to be then so be it. He would pay that price for the safety of those around him. For the safety, especially, of his father's new family.

Having knocked, he waited.

Eventually the door was opened and he looked up at the one who had opened it. During the wait Vaughn's green eyes had gone a dark greyish-blue. He made sure to make eye contact, then looked quickly away, back down at the ground.

"We need to talk," he said when he was ready. "Away from your home." He would not let himself be near Elyna or Elsie until he had control of it all. He didn't think he would hurt them but he had to be sure. "Is there somewhere else we can speak?"

If Malcolm looked closely at him he might recognize the tense set of his son's shoulders, the tightness to his jaw. The dark circles under his eyes. He had not slept and he wanted this resolved as soon as possible. For himself and his own peace of mind as well as for the others' sake.

[Malcolm]

Malcolm had got home late the night before and hadn't been able to speak with Elyna, though he had noticed she seemed a little out of sorts. At the sound of knocking, he pulled on a clean, black tunic, some brown leathers, and collected his sword belt on the way down stairs. The person he found at the door, wasn't someone he had expected to see before his mission a few days from now.
“Vaughn?”
Despite what Vaughn wished to believe, Malcolm knew his son very well. The subtle change in eye colour and the way he held himself meant something was up, but the fact that Vaughn had come to him and reached out was what really concerned the man.
“Of course,” he told him without hesitation, “let me get my boots.”
Malcolm went into the study and pinned the small decorative swords that marked him as a warden, to the breast of his tunic, slipped on his boots, and secured his daggers before leaving the house. He was to go on duty in a few hours, so getting ready now, he thought, wouldn't hurt.
With the house locked up, Malcolm walked with Vaughn towards his father’s temple a few streets down in Midtown, making light conversation on the way, nothing he thought was too heavy, or might upset Vaughn further. Topics such as the university, a trip home he wanted to do with the man next season, and how his horses were after their boat ride from Burhan.
When they arrived at the small, understated building, Malcolm took off his weapon belt and handed it to a guard posted at the door. The ceiling was dome shaped and three of the six walls allowed natural light in through large double doors made of oakwood. There were six pew style benches on either side of the aisle that led to the altar at the front, and a trio of iron dishes, each hosting and element of earth, water, and fire.
Malcolm often came here when he needed to think, sometimes to talk to his father, who rarely if ever answered, but mostly because it was quiet and didn't see many visitors. As luck would have it, the pair were the only people there, and Malcolm walked to the steps of the altar, knelt down, and waited for Vaughn to join him.
As Vaughn took a knee beside him, Malcolm spoke a quick prayer to his father. “You are the reaper and sower, the giver and taker, gatekeeper, forever coming and going, insuring the continued cycle of life and death. Please accept my gift.” Malcolm twisted a plain silver ring from his finger and set it down in the dish of fire, “and watch over my family, those near and far from us.”
He would give Vaughn the chance to speak then, saying no more unless it was called for.

[Vaughn]

They went to Vri's temple. Vaughn remained stoic through his father's calm chatter, answering only when he needed to. He was having a hard time looking at the older man, something he was sure Malcolm would remember from the rare times Vaughn had done something truly wrong as a kid. His eyes, instead, kept getting drawn back to the swords of the Warden that had been pinned to his father's shirt.

In the temple he was equally quiet, kneeling hesitantly when Malcolm knelt to offer a prayer to the immortal who shared their blood. The Warden spoke and as he did Vaughn's gut twisted more and more. When his father finished his prayer, Vaughn, making a decision, reached out and very deliberately put one of his fingers to the flame.

The fire burned him immediately and he pulled back, but not before muttering, distinctly so his father would hear, "For Chrien."

Then he turned, standing, and faced the man.

"Ser," he said, he had fallen into the titles he used when he was nervous or angry. "I didn't know how else to tell you." For a moment he looked liked all hope had gone from him and he was like a ghost. He shook his head, wordlessly. Then, just as hopelessly said, "She marked me."

He pulled down the collar of his shirt to show the edge of the mark on his skin. Then held out his hand so his father could see the fresh burn on his finger. "I think She likes it for me to be hurt. Or if I hurt someone else. I'm not yet sure." He remembered the bandit his father had killed, the way he had just known to touch his hand to the blood and offer it to the mark on his chest.

It was all intuition. He had been marked by a beast and drowned by her in the sea or in a dream, either way made little difference. It had felt real. He had used her mark to bring himself luck when he most needed it, like when he and Malcolm had escaped the Faction, but Chrien wasn't as simple as that. She encompassed much more, so much more. Like the anger Vaughn felt when someone hurt him; the spite inside him that wanted to push back.

Without knowing it he had backed up away from Malcolm, and sat now quietly in one of the pews, head bowed. "Elyna," he said. He gave himself a moment to collect the words. "I met with her yesterday. It was supposed to be about Elsie but we ended up speaking about other things." He glanced up. "About mother and Marcus. I was so angry at her, at the things she said they'd done." There it was, that helpless look again. "I wanted to hurt her. I didn't but I wanted to. I've never..." He had to stop.

When he spoke next it was with a tone manufactured to be perfectly calm. "I just thought you should know. She's your..." She wasn't his wife by Rynmere law. "She's yours. And Elsie too. I don't think I could hurt them but even thinking about it is bad enough."

[Malcolm]

Chrien. There it was again, Malcolm thought, fingers flinching, ready to reach out and slap the boy for praising such an immortal in his father's temple. The warden restrained himself, the newly admitted truth making him sick to his stomach. Chrien had marked his son? This had to be some kind of cruel joke. Immortals like her did not appreciate the presence of half-gods, nor their offspring.
Malcolm remained silent, unable to look at the man for a time as the news only grew increasingly worse. He had wanted to hurt Elyna? In those moments Vaughn might as well have reached into his gut and squeezed. Tension returned to Malcolm’s limbs and he chose his words carefully.
“When you turned four, your mother and I brought home six baby chickens for you to look after. Do you remember? You kept them in the hutch and gave them food and water. Then one night, a fox broke into the hutch and in the morning there was one chick left, only half alive and on it side. You begged me to let you keep it in your room, and every morning I expected to wake up to find it dead, but you nursed the chick back to life.”
Malcolm paused. “There isn't a bad bone in your body, Vaughn…”
He pictured the man as a boy, sitting under one of the trees in the garden two years later with the hen perched on the edge of the book he was reading, a scene the warden would never forget. “Chrien is not your path.” As soon as he had said the words, he regretted them, knowing how Vaughn didn't appreciate being told. “But if the songs the bards sing are true, there was good in the immortal once. I'm sure if anyone can find the good in a bad situation, it's you.”
Malcolm turned to his son and put his hand on Vaughn’s right shoulder. “You should ask Vri for his protection…”
You will always have mine, he thought.

[Vaughn]

He had nearly forgotten about those chickens but what other way could it have been? Even as a child he wouldn't have let an animal die, especially one left all alone. He only had vague recollections of this event, the terror of finding blood in the chicken hutch, and sadness. All he really remembered was that first long night when the chick had been very hurt and near to dying. Had he prayed to Vri then, for Death's protection?

"There isn't a bad bone in your body, Vaughn…"

"Father, that was a long time ago."

That was before. Before he grew up to realize that he was the least loved of the family, or more aptly the least important. That was before he had acted out for attention and then realized, at some point, that the attention wasn't what he wanted, it was to spite the plans his parents had for him because his parents had always expected less. He, who had always felt to some extent useless to his family. Marcus had always been their father's perfect son.

Vaughn was the flawed one. He had reached for his mother in her dying days and then been made to leave her and let her die. He had been unable to fight the Qe'Dreki, had been just as unable to change his own brother's mind. He, who should have stood up for Jonas, the man Yoreth Blackwood had tortured in Vaughn's place. Jonas had died in Vaughn's place.

He had been marked by a monster. He was seeing more and more that he had been chosen for his hatred. His penchant for spiting those who loved him the most. It was the thing he was best at.

He was not that child.

"Chrien is not my path and yet I must follow," he said, finding some reserve. "I think if I don't She will curse me or kill me. She took me from death final. She could give me back." How much did his father know? "I was sentenced to be executed by one of the leaders of the Qe'Dreki. Marcus tried to stop him but I refused to quit fighting. They wanted me to be one of them." He nearly snarled. "I refused and so I was sentenced to die. But on the way to the execution there was a storm or..." Even he wasn't exactly certain.

"There was something. I was tied to a jacadon and we were flying over the sea and then I was in the water, alone, and Chrien was there. I was bound and I was going to drown. She asked me if I wanted to live." He rubbed at his eyes. "I said yes and the water rushed into me." Now he looked up sharply. "I said yes to Her." As if he had only just realized the immensity of what he had done. In that moment he had damned himself.

"I owe Her and not only for sparing me. I used Her luck to free myself from a cage and to break your chains. I owe Her not only for my life but for yours. That I cannot give back. But this anger..." Like before, his eyes were drawn to the little swords pinned to his father's lapel.

"Ser," he said. "I think I should join the Iron Hand."

[Malcolm]

The teeth, the fingers, every piece of flesh Malcolm had been sent, might as well have been torn from his own body. The thought of someone torturing Vaughn had been more than he could bear, more than he wanted to live with. During the war he had wanted to die and the only thing that had kept him alive was the hope that somewhere, Vaughn was too. The retelling of what had happened left Malcolm with a dry tongue, his throat constricted at the thought of the young man drowning.
His face was a mask, but pain saw the edges crack.
It was a lot to take in, what had happened to Vaughn and the events that followed, all leading to this point and an odd decision he never thought he would hear his son suggest.
“The Iron Hand?” he repeated, without giving it thought, it had been reactive.
Was the Iron Hand for a man like Vaughn? Malcolm nodded slowly, his look thoughtful. “Certainly a career for you to consider,” he agreed, but would not make the decision for him by admitting whether or not he approved. “And whatever you decide, you will have my support as always.”
Malcolm squeezed the man’s shoulder. “I did not give credit where it was due, we will make a sacrifice for Chrien. I owe her, for saving my son’s life.”
They made their way from the temple of Vri, and Malcolm collected his sword from the guard posted at the door. He tightened the long leather tongue of his belt through the metal buckle, and continued on down the street in the direction of Lowtown where the barracks were located, along with the stables.
“I have a gift for you,” Malcolm said.
Perhaps the trip would kill two birds with one stone, he thought. After Vaughn was presented with his gift, he might go to the barracks and make things official, joining the Iron Hand with his father at his side.
When they got to the barracks, Malcolm led Vaughn across the yards, the smell of horse dung hitting them like a wall of hot air. “This way,” he encouraged, and led the man into the stone-like building.
The stallion stood with his head lowered against the stable door, muzzle pinched under the weight of his head and heavy neck as he dozed. “Andvari,” Malcolm spoke, and the animal opened his eyes to look at the two of them, skyblue orbs stark against the gold of his coat. “This is Vaughn,” he whispered, turning about to face his son with a warm smile. “Vaughn, this is my gift to you, all the way from the deserts of Nashaki.”

[Vaughn]

"The Iron Hand," Vaughn agreed, though his expression was still rather grim. He softened at the touch of his father's hand on his shoulder.

They left the temple and Vaughn strolled after Malcolm, letting the older man lead the way to wherever they were going. As he walked he breathed deep, curling his burnt finger in towards his palm. Working away from that little slice of pain. Letting the dark thoughts at the Temple blend and dissolve on every breath. Feeling himself get lighter with each step.

He had told his father the worst things about himself, or at least the worst things that were bothering him recently. He'd said aloud the bad feelings he'd had towards Elyna. Had revealed that he was Chrien's marked... and Malcolm had accepted him. All at once Vaughn felt a sense of relief go through him so profound that it nearly made him weak. When he looked up next he was smiling from ear to ear.

He would not lose his family over this. What remained of them. He wanted to crow to the sky.

Instead he skipped forward to walk next to his father like a boy, mood noticeably lighter, and whistled an old, cheerful song.

They went towards the soldiers' barracks and soon as he realized where they were Vaughn wanted to rib his father for being all too eager to get his errant son signed up quick as possible... but then became speechless as he was led to the stables and given a gift.

A horse. A golden horse that Malcolm said was from Nashaki. The animal, named Andvari, was gorgeous in a way that all horses seemed to be, but even among his kind he seemed special. He practically glowed. He looked to be forged by the gods themselves of gold with pale blue gems for eyes.

Vaughn walked up cautiously towards the animal, the wonder clear on his face, and held out the back of his hand for the stallion to scent.

Eventually he turned towards Malcolm. "Why?" he asked, then laughed, bewildered at his father's generosity and at life in general. Here he had begun this conversation thinking he would be cut from Malcolm's life, and now he was to join the Iron Hand and had been given a horse? He shook his head, grinning. He didn't know if he had ever felt this light.

The humor of the situation struck him and he spoke. "Maybe I should check his teeth?" It was an old joke. "Or perhaps I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth." He turned back towards the stallion. Still he could hardly believe it.

"I want to join the skyriders," he announced. "I feel like I could fly."

[Malcolm]

Malcolm couldn't help but smile, his son’s happiness had always been infectious, perhaps because in recent years it had been so sparse, making each smile all the more special. “Why?” The Mortalborn grinned, “why not?” He closed his hand against Vaughn’s shoulder again, watching the horse. “I saw him and I thought of you,” it was the truth and the truth was always easy to say, there had been nothing more to it.
The knight reached out to rub his hand up and down the length of the animal’s head then, pushing his long, wayward mane back from his eyes. “He needs a good brush, and some grooming wouldn't go amiss. I've taken care of his hooves for you and shod him, but he could do with a good bucket of feed and a kind hand.” Malcolm knew he didn't need to tell Vaughn how to look after a horse, after all the young man had always been fond of animals, and they had kept many back home.
Again Vaughn mentioned his desire to join the Iron Hand, and Malcolm made no comment, wanting this decision to be that of his son’s. As easy as it was to project, as he often did, if Vaughn’s silence over the last few years had taught him anything, it was that trying a new approach and breaking old habits couldn't hurt. In many ways, Malcolm had failed his son, but in others, Vaughn was so much stronger for it.
It all seemed so overwhelming all of the sudden, Vaughn, alive, and close to home. A small part of Malcolm didn't want to share his son with the same organisation that had almost ruined his first marriage, and given Marcus the tools and power to rebel. Vaughn was different, he was good, he didn't have what it took to cut down a man, even a bad one, Malcolm had known that in the mountains and he knew it now. But not everyone had to be a killer to see justice served and stand up for what was right.
“I trust you'll do what's right for you,” Malcolm told him. He had been encouraging Elyna to live the life she had, so short in comparison to his own, why shouldn't he expect the same of his son?
“Vaughn… after the baby is born will you… well I hope you'll come to visit.” He knew it was a sore subject, that even if Vaughn wanted to like Elyna, his pride and his loyalty stood in the way. “I want you to know them, to be a part of their lives.”

[Vaughn]

"Are you alright?" he asked, his smile fading somewhat. Malcolm had told him all about the horse and Vaughn planned to get started caring for Andvari this very day. It was sort of funny: his father sounded like a parent giving their child their very first pet. There was that familiar mixture of pride and caution... but there was something else too. Vaughn turned to glance at Malcolm's eyes.

"I am trying to do what's right for me," he said. "I'm trying to do what's right for everyone." It sounded so vain but because his father had told the truth, now Vaughn did. The skyriders were the perfect fit for his circumstances. There were a lot of reasons why.

He needed a place to learn control and, he shuddered to think it, perhaps some humility and responsibility. A place to vent his anger constructively.

He needed to get back at Marcus for all his brother had done, for trying to make him join the Qe'Dreki. In a way he needed revenge on the Qe'Dreki themselves, and joining the military was the best way to do that.

He needed to find his place in this country after the civil war had shown him some pretty stark truths.

He needed, also, to know more about the jacadon, because there had been something about that terrible creature he'd met that had intrigued him, despite his horror. He had run towards that awful monster. Not away. He needed to know why. And like he had said before, he wanted to fly.

In a way he was, at long last, perfecting the trifecta of the military in their family. His father a knight, his brother a sailor, and he himself of the sky.

Mainly, it all just made sense.

"I will try to visit," he said cautiously. Sensing again his father's mood. His eyes darkened. "But I cannot promise. I told you before how I felt about Elyna and I don't want..." He struggled for the right words, then gave up and said simply, "I don't want to hurt them." But I do want to be a part of this family. Even though he still did not know how he would actually fit in.

Then he said, cheerfully because he was not yet willing to give up his good mood, "I think I should head across to the barracks. Seven willing I hope there's not a lot of paperwork. You want to stay, or...?" Leaving it up to the other to join him or not.

He felt silly, but he wished his father would stand by him. Vaughn had always shied from responsibility and now he was to join the Iron Hand. He wanted his father there to keep him brave.

[Malcolm]

“Of course I'm all right.” Malcolm smiled. “Am I not allowed to spoil my son?” His features softened for but a moment, before that stern, somewhat confused look returned to his face. “I thought you were dead,” he whispered. I thought you were dead and I wanted to die too, he thought again, he hadn't stop thinking this since they had been reunited. “So you will let me spoil you without complaint.” the man smiled again but couldn't make eye contact with his son.
The horse sniffed them both and went back to resting, the lids of his eyes heavy.
“You won't hurt them,” Malcolm said, sure of this, sure of the man he knew his son to be. “If you think this is right, I'll walk over with you now and help you fill in the paperwork.” This was Malcolm giving the man his blessing, even though he had his own doubts. “They will be tough on you,” he wasn't going to lie, all nobles got a hard time in the military, but not quite as bad as commoners married to nobles.
“Come,” he put his arm around the man’s shoulder, and left the stables, ready to watch Vaughn take the next step in his journey.