Thread of Heart
That November night was unusually freezing, announcing the winter was near. The darkness was solid, like a heavy blanket of blackness. In the cold silence, the voices were even more striking.
"Stupid cripple..."
Five or six men were walking through the night forest, their feet breaking sticks and stems of the plentiful vegetation.
"With even a stupider name..."
"Disgusting... Like a slug..."
Their silhouettes were barely seen against the dark sky but it was obvious they were dragging somebody with them. After a few more metres they reached a hut, rather a dilapidated one, with no light in the windows. The sound of somebody falling on the ground could be heard, followed with a kick.
"That's for sweet dreams!"
"And stay away, you goblin!"
"One more time we see your face around and we'll burn the lair of yours to the ground!"
With that words they turned and disappeared in the forest, walking away. For a few minutes everything remained silent. Then a light appeared in the hut's window. The door opened and a small figure ran out of it into the freezing cold. It was a young boy in ragged clothes and he knelt into the grass covered in glazed frost.
"Papa!"
He touched the man laying on the ground.
"Papa, are you all right?"
But he wouldn't answer. The boy didn't waste his time any more, dragging his father inside of the hut and closing the door behind him. He was alone the whole day while his father was in the village on a market, trying to sold some yarn. Baelfire knew his father's yarn was of great quality but very few people would buy it. His father didn't have the best reputation over there.
Baelfire managed to get him on the sheets close to the fireplace, making sure not to twist his sore leg. He looked at his father by the light of an oil lamp and his heart ached as he saw the bruises and bloody scratches on his face. So the villagers beat him. Again. Why, why did they keep doing it to him? What did he do wrong to deserve it?
Beside the bruises he was covered in forest dirt as they were apparently taking him all the way from the village. Baelfire honestly wondered why didn't they just leave him in the forest. He took a wet piece of linen and wiped the dirt off his father's face.
"Papa?"
His father moved then, opening his eyes. He turned his head and met his son's glare. Suddenly, the pain in his eyes was replaced with deep shame and humiliation.
"Bae..." he said, pressing his lips hard together.
"I hoped you wouldn't see this..."
Baelfire ignored his concerns. Why would he care if he saw it or not.
"Does something hurt you, papa?" he asked with worries. His father shook his head, but he was most probably lying.
"There were six of them... Such cowardice!"
His father winced with the word.
"Why did they do it?" Baelfire asked with urge.
"That doesn't matter," his father said, getting up, his eyes hardening.
"That's nonsense! I want to know why they keep doing this to you!" Baelfire said, also jumping up. His father didn't even look at him. He limped over the one room of their hut to the door.
"Where's your cane? Did they break it? Wait, I'll find you a new one. Wait -"
"You stay here!" his father blurted, shooting him a glare that froze Baelfire where he stood.
"Don't leave the house, do you hear me?"
With that words, he left the house and closed the door behind him. Baelfire stayed still, watching blankly the rotting door. He knew why his father was so angry. And he would be happy to tell him he didn't blame him for anything. But he was no fool, his father's personality wasn't a secret to him. And he was sure he wouldn't want to hear it, nor to understand it.
But... his father was a wreck. He was just like their hut. A ruin. He tried to keep it all to himself, of course. When asked directly, he would never admit it. He would keep saying how their life was going to take a better turn in future, how he was absolutely positive about it and how it wouldn't take much time anymore. And that there was some fantastic future for them.
All lies...
Baelfire was aware his own father was underestimating him. For Baelfire noticed it all. Every look on his face, every unwillingly made gesture, every hidden sign of depression that was in contrary to his hollow words.
His son could easily feel anger and mistrust toward him for that. But he did not. He couldn't. Whatever wreck or ruin his father was, Baelfire loved him deeply. And he saw everything his father was doing, every single thing, he was doing for him. Sometimes, Baelfire was about to tell him he didn't want him to work like a dog - all for him - but he knew he would never listen to him, so he didn't waste his time trying.
Baelfire sighed heavily, walking to the door and opening it, breathing in the icy night air. He wasn't even going to try to go to bed like that. Firstly, he would find his father and talk to him.
He circled around the hut, knowing his father wouldn't go far. He went down a narrow path leading to a tiny forest stream - their water source. Soon enough he spotted him, sitting on a fallen tree and watching the gurgling water. He obviously heard his steps but didn't turn at him.
Bealfire watched his bowed figure hidden in dark. He remembered all the evenings when he was young and his father would sit on the edge of his bed, telling him incredible stories Baelfire loved more than anything. Or the mornings he was singing while chopping the wood. He wasn't doing any of that any more.
"Papa?"
Baelfire approached him.
"Go home, son," his father said. "It's dangerous to be outside at night."
"It's not less dangerous in the hut," Baelfire objected. He would love to help his father somehow, anyhow, to lift the burden he was carrying with him every second of his life, but not only didn't he know why, his father would never allow that.
"You didn't bring any yarn back," Baelfire noted. "So you've sold it all."
"They took the money," his father said and his voice was raspy with tension. Baelfire paused. That was worse than he thought.
"There were too many of them," he tried to make it easier. "Even a strong man wouldn't stand against them..."
It seemed to have zero effect on his father. He remained silent, glaring in front of him. Baelfire made another step forward, still unsure about what to do. All the yarn his father was so hardly working on was gone... But however horrible that was, Baelfire didn't care about it. He cared about his father.
His father hid his face in his hand then, breaking down with cry. Baelfire breathed in, widening his eyes slightly.
"Papa..." he said softly, stepping behind him and hugging him tightly. He felt him tremble with cry. His father reached for his hand, clutching it. He turned, embracing him and burying his face in Baelfire's hair.
"I'm sorry, Bae... I'm so sorry..."
"That's fine... It's all right, papa..." Baelfire kept repeating.
"I'm not angry, papa. I could never be angry. I see how hard you work, how much you want me to live a good life."
Baelfire knew well his father was no hero, no brave prince. His heart was made of a different kind of fabric. That was what was given to him. He had to live with it. And that was the exact reason he was a sort of hero anyway. For never giving up. For keeping doing all that was in his powers. Every day. For him.
"I keep failing you, my dear child, every day," his father murmured with a shaky voice. "What an excuse for a father. You deserve so much better..."
"That's not true!" Baelfire disagreed immediately, shaking his head. How could his father think that? Was he assuming Baelfire was completely blind?
"I love you, papa," he said. "Don't be sad any more, please. I'll always love you no matter what. You can be sure about that. You are not failing me, that's nonsense. You're the best father I could have!"
His father just squeezed his hand firmly.
"Tell me you know that. Tell me."
"I know that," his father said silently. Baelfire smiled and closed his eyes, resting his head upon his father's back. In his eyes, his father was the greatest hero from them all.
Hope you liked this one shot of mine:)) I honestly can't wait till the two of them meet again! Let me know what you think and thanks:-)