Disclaimer: I do not own the Medoran Chronicles
Spoiler warning for both W3H and Vardaesia, though I sincerely hope you've read both by this point
Also a review would be greatly appreciated!
I'm fine to go by myself, B. Thanks for offering.
Suddenly the memory of his parting words to his boyfriend was coated with bitter regret. Tension lined every last inch of him, straining to snap at any given moment. His hands curled into fists before falling slack again. His heartbeat was racing, his lungs craved air, his mind was thrown into a frenzy — yet a numbness was slowly overtaking his inner chaos, spreading slowly through him like a thundering flood crashing through a branching system of bone dry riverbeds.
All sorts of emotions were sweeping through him. Waves of agony, followed by blistering rage, spilling into a young boy's pain that had been buried but never forgotten; all underlined by lingering, chilled disbelief. He could have been struck by lightning and it wouldn't have made any difference in how he was feeling. He was consumed by all sorts of urges — to scream, to cry, to bolt, to punch something.
Because for the first time, in just shy of six years, Declan Stirling was face to face with his mother.
She's not supposed to be here, roared one of the many voices clouding his mind, barging through any rational thoughts. Who the hell does she think she is, showing up to Dad's grave today?!
Declan had been kneeling beside Randon's grave, quietly watching the hologram of when he was still a happy little kid with an intact family, when he'd spotted another figure weaving in and out of the glass headstones of Hallowgate. It had taken several long moments before he not only observed her features — but had recognised her.
Like an animal caught in the line of one of Hunter's arrows, he had frozen for a long moment, trying to regulate his jagged breathing as he considered whether to run or stand his ground. He had been so trapped in his panicked thoughts that there was no opportunity to get himself away when his mother had looked up — and she had … she had …
He had risen unsteadily to his feet, keeping a protective stance over his dad's grave. She didn't deserve to be here. She'd dishonoured Randon's memory completely and utterly, first by abandoning Declan, and then by flouncing around with another man within the next year or so.
They were at a standstill, staring at one another with wide eyes. Declan kept his silence, trying to swallow the lump rising in his throat, and gathering the courage to face his mother like he would face anything else. His eyes combed slowly over her profile. Cecelia Whatever-her-surname-was-but-absolutely-not-Stirling was just like he remembered: fair hair, porcelain skin, delicate features, light grey eyes. Compared to him and his dad, she was so … pale. Like one of those china dolls, waiting to be dressed in a pretty frilled dress before being tucked away carefully, well out of harm.
If he wasn't so frozen, then Declan would have probably found their differences rather comical, especially that they were mother and son. Supposed to be mother and son.
Thankfully, she was alone. No good-for-nothing scumbag replacement husband or any little brats that he'd probably feel inclined to hurl rocks at. And just like she always had been, when he was growing up, she looked so pretty and put-together. Tastefully applied cosmetics. A crisp cream coat with a powder blue umbrella hooked in the crook of her arm. Dainty little boots. Every last detail about her was carefully chosen and co-ordinated.
Then Cecelia was the first to break the silence. She took one step towards him, her eyes filling with tears. "Declan," she breathed. "My little boy —"
Declan cut her off before she could continue. His voice was rough, but it was better than the alternative of breaking down himself. His words came out in an uncharacteristic snap. "Don't call me that. What the hell are you doing here?"
He tensed as her eyes ran carefully over him in turn, drinking in every last detail about him. Suddenly Declan felt exposed, like his clothes had vanished and left him completely starkers, in the centre of a public place. He wondered if she was about to break down into a blubbering, hysterical mess at the realisation that he looked like his dad more than ever. That was bound to make things even worse.
Why didn't I let Bear come with me, why didn't I let Bear come with me —
"Oh, sweetie," sniffed Cecelia eventually. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were blotchy. She tried to take another step closer, but as soon as she did, Declan only took another back. "I'm so sorry, for everything I did, I've regretted it every day —"
"You're full of shit." His words took him back a little. A longing for his boyfriend swept through him — because Bear would know what to do. He'd know how to keep a lid on Declan until it was safe to let it all loose, and how to civilly keep Cecelia well away from both Randon's grave and Declan himself.
Cecelia looked stunned. "I — Declan — what would your father say, if he heard you speaking to me like that?"
It felt like he'd just copped a steel-capped boot to the stomach. He'd received that sort of a verbal blow once before — from Jaxon, of course. That had been the one and only time in his life that the cranky old bastard had ever apologised to Declan. Shoving aside the hurt, Declan somehow leashed his words into a convincingly steady drawl. "Gee, if he'd disapprove of me cussing, then I wonder what he'd have to say about you ditching your own kid?"
His words had meant to hurt, and they did. Maybe, if the wounds weren't so deep, he'd try to be a little calmer, a little more sympathetic. In all perspective, Cecelia was just a widow visiting her husband's grave. But — she'd left Declan. Deserted him, when he was thirteen, and left him in Jaxon's hands. And not only had she replaced Randon with her new husband — but she'd also replaced Declan. Thrown him aside because he no longer mattered to her.
Cecelia looked like she'd been struck. "I've made many mistakes, sweetie —"
"Stop calling me that."
"Then what else am I supposed to call you?" Her tone was meek, almost hopeful. And if she looked at him like that once more …
"Nothing." Declan said shortly. "You've made it pretty clear you don't want anything to do with me. And Dad."
"I'm so sorry," Cecelia tried again. Had she always been this persistent? Declan couldn't remember — his memories of her, as in her as a person, were pretty limited. "I—After everything that happened with the Meyarins, I felt I had to make things right —"
"How well did that new husband of yours take this news?" Declan said, unable to keep the bite from his words. "What about all your new kids, huh? Have you told them they've got some half-brother they've never met, because his own mother couldn't even stand being in the same room as him, for no damned good reason?"
"What would you know?" Cecelia fixed him with a stern look, but after spending way too much time around much more intimidating females, Declan found himself completely unfazed. It was also pretty hard to take an overgrown, blubbering doll seriously.
"Yeah, well, I know a couple of fatherless guys by now," Declan droned. "And as far as I'm concerned, none of their mums have up and left them, especially just because they shared a decent resemblance."
Cecelia shook her head. "Declan, you were never like this. You were always so happy, never holding any judgement —"
"Wonder why that changed."
"You should come around for dinner." The words hung limply in the air between them. Cecelia holding out the offer, having fallen onto a final stroke of hope, and Declan unable to believe she had the audacity to say such a thing. "You can meet my husband, meet the kids, we can talk —"
A disgusted sound fell from Declan's mouth. "You've got to be joking."
"Please, Declan! You could talk about the academy, the kids would love it —"
"What, did you decide to try snatching me up after working out you could make a spectacle out of me?" Bile rose in his throat, his stomach twisted so violently he was certain he would hurl. "Wow. Thanks, but no thanks, Cecelia."
"Mum," corrected Cecelia.
Can she please just rutting drop it? "You're not my mother." Realising his hands were shaking, Declan stuffed them in his pockets. "You haven't given a shit about me in six years, and I don't think I want you to start now."
"Declan," said Cecelia softly, oh so softly. "Do you really want your deceased grandfather to be your only family?"
He ignored the stinging reminder. She was wrong. So wrong. If that was Cecelia's definition of family, that it was solely either DNA or marriage, then she was seriously mistaken. Faces flashed across Declan's mind — all of the people that had taken him under their wing, looked out for him, cared about him. They were his family.
"That's none of your business," he responded levelly. "Get out of here, Cecelia."
She blanched as if she'd been struck across the face. "I — what makes you think you can say that to me?"
"What makes you think you have the right to show your face here, on the day he died?" Declan snapped, feeling the tension once again rising, flooding his veins with quiet anger.
"Baby, please —"
He'd had enough. Unable to stand it any longer, Declan stepped away from his father's grave on shaking legs and strode away from Cecelia. She didn't say a word, only watching him with wide tear-filled eyes as he walked away.
Declan didn't head back to his dorm that night, instead venturing across the slumbering campus to the Combat arena. There, he slipped quietly into one of the side rooms, the one with punching bags suspended from wooden beams that Karter always left out as 'alternative therapy'.
He stayed in that room, until he noticed the bleak rays of dawn inching steadily into the more open-air section of the Combat arena. He needed a shower — reeking of sawdust and leather and exertion, most of his knuckles split, his hands stinging and the muscles of his torso and arms now aching thoroughly with every minor movement. He shrugged on his jacket back over the rest of his sweat-soaked body and quickly jogged back across the campus to the dorm building, the early morning air a brisk refreshment from the steamy heat of the last few hours.
He let himself back into the dorm, only to stop short when he noticed the strange shape occupying his desk. Declan took several steps forward, eyes squinting through the darkness, trying to pick up what on earth it was. He was certain he heard it breathing, slumbering and deep, and he was near certain it was person-shaped —
The shape stirred. "There you are," Bear said, his voice thick with sleep. It was apparent he'd fallen asleep waiting up for him.
Instantly, some of the tension finally dissolved from Declan's shoulders. "Hey, B." He fumbled forward, his fingers clumsily moving across his boyfriend's jaw. Using that as a guide, Declan leaned down rather blindly. Their mouths found one another's pretty quickly.
"It's dawn," Bear said once they'd pulled apart again. "Were you really at Hallowgate the whole night?" A hint of concern had crept into his words.
Declan suppressed an ungodly variety of swear words, stepping back and shucking off his boots and jacket. "Not exactly."
Bear groped for the lamp at the desk and instantly the dorm flooded with light. They both blinked at the sudden brightness — and then Declan braced himself for the lecture when his boyfriend's gaze narrowed on his sweaty clothes and split knuckles. "Please tell me you weren't out streetfighting."
Well, it wouldn't be a first for Declan. It was a solid way to earn a large amount of money for only a few hours' effort. Kaiden had even come along with him for a few years, splitting their winnings between them. And then Aven had happened.
And everything that wasn't already shitty had become hell.
He turned away from his boyfriend to face the chest of drawers. "Not tonight."
"Then what?" He heard Bear rising from the chair. "Declan — you went to Hallowgate, and then what? Did you run into rogues?"
"No," Declan said flatly, and raised his split, bleeding knuckles at his boyfriend. "These happened at the academy."
Bear's expression was a portrait of confusion. "What happened?"
He released a deep breath. "I ran into my mum."
Bear was quiet for a long moment. Contemplating. And then: "What did you say to her?"
Declan made a short, bitter sound that may have been a laugh. "Basically told her to fuck off, without those words specifically." Without warning, Cecelia's tears danced across his mind's eye, her words carrying through the still night air.
"Declan. I'm sorry."
"What the hell do you have to apologise for?"
"Not being there, for one."
Declan looked up from cleaning his hands with disinfectant wipes, meeting his boyfriend's clear gaze. Warm brown eyes looked back — the same ones he'd stared into a million times before. Even before he dared dream that he had the slightest chance with Bear Ronnigan.
"That's my fault, too," he said quietly, and tossed the used wipes into the trash bin.
The floor creaked as Bear moved quietly across the dorm and stood behind him, his hands settling on Declan's waist as his boyfriend rested his cheek against his shoulder. "If we've been over this once, then we've been over it a million times," Bear murmured quietly, the comforting words washing over all the anger and stress that had built up these past few ours — washing over them, and washing them away.
A choked sob tore from his throat, and Declan clamped down before the rest of the emotions could fly out.
"No compartmentalising," Bear warned. "You know I'm here for you."
Those words were all the permission Declan needed before he whipped around and buried himself in his boyfriend's arms, needing the assurance that his family wasn't limited to a father six feet under and a mother that had abandoned him all those years ago.
So for whatever reason, this new app is glitchy asf and won't let me italic nearly the italic words. So you know, apologies if some of the formatting is dodge. A review for the fic itself would be appreciated!