Love As It Was Made to Be: 15.
Mar. 24th, 2012 09:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
clare_dragonflyThe next evening they found themselves so close to the bottom of the mountain that they could see the hills stretched out before them, soft and rolling. They looked no different from the hills of Skareya. The next day they came down out of the trees and into the farmland, and that evening (late, but they could see its lights glittering, and pushed ahead) they reached a mid-sized town, the mirror image of the one where Hemlock had gotten his new shoes. It seemed ages ago to Journey. The people were different, darker of hair and paler of skin and with different colors in their clothes, and the buildings were different, more stone and mud and less wood, but it did not feel as though they had come so far.
The people who ran the inn they chose spoke Skareyan, and Journey wondered if the witch had known and chosen this place on purpose, or if everyone this close to the mountains spoke one another’s language; perhaps the people they had stayed with previously spoke Artash, as well. Cicatrix would know the answer, but he did not ask her. He had asked her nothing since she had told him he did not love her, except whether she would change her mind, and she had said no.
At first he had been certain she was wrong, and his heart ached, but the pain stopped quickly, and he thought she might be right. As he had said, he trusted her completely; he did not think she ever lied, or misconstrued something. If she did not know an answer, she said so. If she knew it, she told him what it was.
Now he felt himself anxious to avoid her, and so he once again sat up late in the tavern, drinking and brooding. He half-entertained the concept of flirting with the serving girls, but they seemed frightened of him. Eventually, he stumbled up to his room, not nearly as drunk as he would have liked, though he was not sure what that amount of drunk would be like. Hemlock was in his room, sitting on the floor by the little fire.
Journey frowned and shook his head to try to clear it. “Hemlock, what are you doing here? Aren’t you staying with your mother? You should go to sleep, we’ll be leaving early in the morning.”
He did not turn his head away from the fire. “My mother doesn’t love me.”
Journey opened his mouth to assure him that of course she did, but stopped himself. Had she not told him, just a few days ago, that she did not feel emotion the way other people did? And she had never shown love for Hemlock, certainly not the way Journey remembered other families showing love for their children. He said carefully, “She wants to do the best thing for you. She hopes you will be happy with your father’s family.”
“I don’t know him.”
“We talked about this, Hemlock.” Journey stepped over to join the boy beside the fire. “Your mother knows what is in men’s hearts. She knows that your father will love you. He needs you.”
Hemlock made a little gulping noise, and Journey realized that there were tears trickling slowly down his cheeks. “I’m scared.”
Instinctively, he put his arms around the boy’s slim shoulders and pulled him close. “It will be all right. I understand why you’re scared, but you’ll make new friends, and you’ll be happy. I promise.”
Hemlock shook his head but did not pull away. “How can you promise that? It’s not something you can control.”
“I can try to control it. I could stay with you, if you want me to. There’s nowhere else I need to be.” He hadn’t consciously decided to say those words, but—like the stories he had told about his past as a man—they seemed right.
Hemlock twisted slightly to look up at him. The firelight made shadows and hollows in the boy’s face, and Journey imagined he must look strange, as well. “I thought you had to go back over the mountains with my mother.”
“She does not need me, and I think we would both be happier if we did not travel together.” Journey hoped the boy would not ask him why that was.
He did not; indeed, he was silent for several moments, his breath steadying. Journey did not see any tears on his cheeks now. “I think I would like that. If you don’t change your mind.”
“I can’t promise my mind will not change. But I will do my best to keep you happy.”
Something seemed to settle in Journey’s heart. The words came true as he spoke them—or maybe they had always been true. But he no longer felt as though he was turning in circles, seeking for a path, as he had since he had realized this journey must soon end. His path was laid out before him.
“May I sleep with you tonight?” Hemlock asked.
“You certainly may.” Journey stood, sweeping the boy up with him. “And we should sleep now, because it is still true that we must leave early in the morning.”
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The people who ran the inn they chose spoke Skareyan, and Journey wondered if the witch had known and chosen this place on purpose, or if everyone this close to the mountains spoke one another’s language; perhaps the people they had stayed with previously spoke Artash, as well. Cicatrix would know the answer, but he did not ask her. He had asked her nothing since she had told him he did not love her, except whether she would change her mind, and she had said no.
At first he had been certain she was wrong, and his heart ached, but the pain stopped quickly, and he thought she might be right. As he had said, he trusted her completely; he did not think she ever lied, or misconstrued something. If she did not know an answer, she said so. If she knew it, she told him what it was.
Now he felt himself anxious to avoid her, and so he once again sat up late in the tavern, drinking and brooding. He half-entertained the concept of flirting with the serving girls, but they seemed frightened of him. Eventually, he stumbled up to his room, not nearly as drunk as he would have liked, though he was not sure what that amount of drunk would be like. Hemlock was in his room, sitting on the floor by the little fire.
Journey frowned and shook his head to try to clear it. “Hemlock, what are you doing here? Aren’t you staying with your mother? You should go to sleep, we’ll be leaving early in the morning.”
He did not turn his head away from the fire. “My mother doesn’t love me.”
Journey opened his mouth to assure him that of course she did, but stopped himself. Had she not told him, just a few days ago, that she did not feel emotion the way other people did? And she had never shown love for Hemlock, certainly not the way Journey remembered other families showing love for their children. He said carefully, “She wants to do the best thing for you. She hopes you will be happy with your father’s family.”
“I don’t know him.”
“We talked about this, Hemlock.” Journey stepped over to join the boy beside the fire. “Your mother knows what is in men’s hearts. She knows that your father will love you. He needs you.”
Hemlock made a little gulping noise, and Journey realized that there were tears trickling slowly down his cheeks. “I’m scared.”
Instinctively, he put his arms around the boy’s slim shoulders and pulled him close. “It will be all right. I understand why you’re scared, but you’ll make new friends, and you’ll be happy. I promise.”
Hemlock shook his head but did not pull away. “How can you promise that? It’s not something you can control.”
“I can try to control it. I could stay with you, if you want me to. There’s nowhere else I need to be.” He hadn’t consciously decided to say those words, but—like the stories he had told about his past as a man—they seemed right.
Hemlock twisted slightly to look up at him. The firelight made shadows and hollows in the boy’s face, and Journey imagined he must look strange, as well. “I thought you had to go back over the mountains with my mother.”
“She does not need me, and I think we would both be happier if we did not travel together.” Journey hoped the boy would not ask him why that was.
He did not; indeed, he was silent for several moments, his breath steadying. Journey did not see any tears on his cheeks now. “I think I would like that. If you don’t change your mind.”
“I can’t promise my mind will not change. But I will do my best to keep you happy.”
Something seemed to settle in Journey’s heart. The words came true as he spoke them—or maybe they had always been true. But he no longer felt as though he was turning in circles, seeking for a path, as he had since he had realized this journey must soon end. His path was laid out before him.
“May I sleep with you tonight?” Hemlock asked.
“You certainly may.” Journey stood, sweeping the boy up with him. “And we should sleep now, because it is still true that we must leave early in the morning.”
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Date: 2012-05-13 03:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-05-13 05:21 pm (UTC)