Niala's ears twitched. “What do you mean, killed!? His own son?!”
Agatha sighed. “I know, Ms. Niala, but you need to understand that in Jacob's life, emotions were a luxury. One that he didn't allow himself to have very often. As proud as he was of his children, he would never allow his emotions to leave our bedchambers. Once he stepped out, David was nothing but a very important piece on the playing board.”
She shook her hair back over her shoulder. “Having him stolen away would have been catastrophic, and, despite appearing cold and distant, Jacob understands human nature. It is, perhaps, his greatest strength. He knew people, our enemies, would try. Even if the risks were great, even if failing meant the eradication of their bloodline for daring to go against the Patriarch, they would try.”
David narrowed his eyes. “And... did they? Try, I mean. I never heard of any attempts on my person.”
Agatha smiled. “Our wardens are the best, of course, you wouldn't hear about it. Do you remember how Uncle Granvill had to leave urgently without giving you his goodbyes?”
He nodded slowly. “You mean he...”
She dipped her head. “He did. He had poisoned one of your drinks with dream worms. We found out, gave you the antidote without you even realizing, and he was executed.”
“Oh.”
Niala glanced at David from the corner of her eyes, murmuring. “Your family is so much worse than mine.”
David gave her a sad smile, looking back at his mother. “So, Father's fears were true; people were trying to kidnap me. His plan was to... what, turn me into a living weapon who couldn't be captured?”
Agatha nodded. “It was. Between your innate powers, refined to an overpowering edge, and the full support of our family's wardens, you would have been untouchable. For close to a year, he had the arcanosurgeons and aetherologists work relentlessly, scouring the archives for any and all imbuements. Refining them, testing them, and making them ready for engraving unto you.”
Niala tilted her head. “Test them?”
Agatha's eyes strained. “...yes, test them. On criminals and the ill. To make sure they would work and wouldn't hurt David.”
“...How many?” The catkin asked.
Agatha shook her head. “Too many. Time was important. Lives were a cheap price to pay. In the end, they compiled a list, enough to fill your body to the brim, and that's when he summoned you to the room in the basement.”
David gave a nod. “To ask me those questions. What was power to me.”
Agatha's mouth tugged upward. “Yes. Do you remember your words?”
The young man leaned his head back, rummaging in his memories. “I wanted to make people happy, to see them smile. To make the bad go away.”
Isaac snorted. His mother's smile grew a bit wider. “You have always been too good, David. That was your weakness. You would hide your hurt behind indifference, but your father and I could always tell that you cared. You couldn't stand injustice.”
David could only stare back. He distantly felt Niala's hand close over his own.
Agatha let her smile drop. “The answer you gave back then convinced Jacob he had the right idea. He would give you powers, have you trained to wield them, and teach you how to properly rule, for the eventual day when you would take over the role of Patriarch.”
David remained silent for a while. When he spoke, his tone was heavy with memories. “But it didn't work out.” He said.
Agatha shook her head. “No. Jacob pushed you too fast, too far. Instead of refining your will and heart, he broke them. When you asked to be renounced as the heir, it broke him.”
David blinked. “Broke him? He stomped off, raging like a bull and then had me dumped out the gate the next morning!”
His mother's eyes softened. “Oh, David... your father is not an evil man. He was moulded by our family, just as he was doing with you. He was angry at you, in the beginning, blaming you for not speaking up sooner, for being too weak of will, for so many other reasons. That anger only lasted for a short while. He quickly realized that he had failed you.”
David's hands squeezed, his muscles flexing. His voice had a hard edge. “I don't... I don't understand. If he really felt that way, why did he throw me out?! Why not have a sit-down and talk it out, like sane people!?”
Agatha sighed. “I know, David. I had never wanted to speak out more than I did at that time, but I, again, killed my words and supported my husband.”
She swallowed, wetting her drying throat. “We did not sleep that night. He danced between decisions, his mind going in circles. In the early morning hours, exhausted, he chose banishment. He justified the decision by saying the family's reputation had to remain strong, that failures would not be tolerated, even if they were the Patriarch's own son.”
David scowled, hands balled. “That's so imbecilic!” He raged. “I was going to stay and help. Call me a failure, then give me a thankless task, call it my punishment! Don't... throw me out! And what of your enemies who wanted to get their hands on me? How would throwing me out there keep me out of their reach!?”
Agatha shook her head. “David, he was justifying his actions. Your father had a much bigger problem. He was ashamed.”
“Oh! OH! Ashamed!? Oh no! The poor man! Better throw out your kid to the wolves! That'll solve the issue!” David mocked, fire in his voice.
“My dear son, I don't think Jacob had ever known shame. Regret, at most, but never shame. Please, listen to me; I know your father acted distant, disciplined both of you harshly, and you especially, David, but when it was only him and me, he could barely stop speaking about you, his children.”
Water pooled in his mother's eyes as her gaze turned to past memories. “He kept informed on everything all of you did, made certain you received the tutoring you needed, always pushing you forward. He wanted you at his side and, eventually, to step up to the seat of Patriarch. He had already planned out everything for that ceremony, so far in the future, by the time you were five.”
David blinked, his face blank, before it scrunched up once more. “Then why was he always punishing us?! Why was I afraid to talk to him? About my life? About things I struggled with? Why did he act like a pit-bound taskmaster rather than a father!?”
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By the time he was done, panting, he had gotten to his feet, leaning toward his mother, fists at his sides.
Agatha looked at her son. She looked at the wounds on his heart, swept under the passage of time for so long, now bearing their fangs.
She got up, slowly, and approached him. With one hand, she reached out to one of his fists, taking hold of it and bringing it to her, where she delicately enveloped it with both her hands. Her eyes met his. Her voice was soft like silk.
“Because that's how he had learned to be. That is how his father had taught him. That was how a Wardenfel acted. When you confronted him, you shattered his confidence. You showed him there had been another way, to stand up and speak for yourself. I was betrothed to your father quite young, when we were not even yet ten years old. I remember the Jacob from back then.”
She wiped a reluctant tear off her face, returning her hand to her son's. “He was much like you. Proud, valiant, wore his emotions like a sword and shield. Little by little, as he was brought under his father's tutelage, he began to change. His outbursts became fewer, more muted. He traded his consumption of life for cold calculations. I, too, was being moulded to be the silent support. To always act in accordance with my future husband's wishes and will, to offer a united front, because Wardenfels had to be strong, David.”
David's rage struggled to remain, his face contorting as what he knew of his father clashed with what his mother was telling him.
He remembered how he had felt. How the crushing weight of responsibility loomed in his future. The need to change himself to conform to his father's wishes.
All things his own father had apparently gone through. But, instead of running away from it as he had done, his father had endured.
And had become a man who couldn't compliment his children openly because it would make them soft.
Was that what being strong meant? To have the strength to cut out the part of you that wasn't afraid to show love and compassion?
He wanted none of that. This was so stupid. Nobles were so stupid. This family was so stupid. A dynasty of stupid, passed down from father to son, a long line of stupid.
That he had broken by being weak.
He registered a small, warm body hugging him from behind. Niala.
She felt my distress through our link...
And she had done the only proper thing. She had walked up to him and hugged him, because he was hurting, and felt adrift.
He heard a soft plop. He looked down at his hand, covered in his mother's. Saw they were wet. A tear hit her hand again.
Plop.
He raised his head to see his mother's face. Her lips trembled, and her eyes were losing their battle, beads of water escaping them.
She was hurting. She was adrift.
“So stupid,” he whispered.
At hearing his voice, she flinched. She brought herself back to the present, pressed down with her eyelids, willing the tears to stop. She opened her eyes and forced a pitiful smile on her face.
She was trying to be strong.
He cursed silently. He looked back at Niala, scared of the next step. Of the proper thing to do when someone you realized still mattered to you was hurting and adrift.
His wonderful, amazing girlfriend looked up at him and erased all of his doubts with a beaming smile. She slowly pulled her arms away from him, freeing him for what he had to do.
David sighed. He removed his hand from within his mother's. In the instant she noticed, as her smile shattered, he stepped forward, putting his arms around his mother and pulling her into a hug. She gasped, her eyes going wide, her breath catching in her throat.
His voice was soft, a tremor riding it. “Mother, I will tell you something very important. Something someone much smarter than me taught me. You don't always have to be strong. It's ok to be weak. It's not shameful. It's not going to destroy you, because being able to show weakness is what true strength is.”
Agatha's sobs soon filled the room.
Isaac looked at the scene, unable to comprehend what was happening.
What was his brother playing at!? Making his mother cry!? This was not the way of the Wardenfels! This was... preposterous!
He laid his eyes on his brother, the cur... was he crying as well!?
Just how low would his shameful display go? He felt his innards compress, the gall of this-
A small catkin woman filled his vision. His brother's woman had stepped in front of him, glaring at him. At him!
He glared right back! That little runt! What did-
She grabbed his arm and pulled.
Surprisingly strongly pulled.
More than he could resist. She forced him up to his feet, where he stood for a second, wondering how he was now standing. Before he could turn and scold her, she went around and shoved him forward.
Straight into his sobbing mother and his barbarian of a brother, hugging her.
Before he could even think of stepping back, the brute had clamped one of his arms around his back, holding him in place.
He looked up, ire in his eyes, ready to tell him off, and he...
He felt his mother's body tremble, rocking with every gasp of air she gulped down between her strangled bawls.
His mother was... hurting.
He didn't want her to be hurting.
The young noble's arms rose of their own volition, depositing themselves around his mother's fragile form.
Her wails redoubled.
But...
This close, he could see her face.
He realized her cries were not born of sadness. They were born of happiness, and were dragging the sad out of her, kicking and screaming.
Because on her face, was a smile.
A broken, uncontrollable smile.
What's going to be messiest?
