AN: Welcome to Blood Ties! You may be a little confused if you haven't read Blood Poison yet, but thank you for reading!
When Shartan was three years old, his parents laughed and teased each other because he would fuss and reach for his papà whenever mamma held him. He did not have the words to say that though his mamma was gentle when he was awake, in his dreams he would know the slap of his mother's palm, the switch lashing over his back.
When he was nine years old Shartan would dream so vividly of kissing girls that he often jerked himself awake in revulsion. His papà found him once in the middle of the night awake and eating grapes, so Shartan told him about these disturbing dreams. Papà laughed and told him that he would not always mind the thought of girls kissing him, but Shartan doubted it, remembering their too-soft mouths.
At twelve Shartan struggled in learning magical theory, for Madre pressed him to learn and try all of the schools of magic, even those that she did not master. Magic seemed so difficult to shape on theory alone, but when he slept, he felt like he understood it. Power bloomed in his body in his dreams and in his hands he shaped miracles.
When Shartan was sixteen, his very first love said this:
"Of course I want you, Shartan. Have you looked at yourself? You're the most gorgeous boy in the whole village! Everyone wants you! But I'm not going to..." Gian made an uncomfortable face, "…be with you. I'll be getting married in a few years. To a girl. And I know your parents are… important… but you're still an elf, no? It wouldn't look right."
That night when he eventually slept Shartan knew what a bird felt when it cupped air beneath its wings and rode the piercing winds above the clouds, but when he landed again he stood on his own feet.
Shartan was nineteen years old when the Warden came. At nineteen Shartan had been too busy and exhausted to grieve for his mother's death, for he had taken over the vineyard management to spare his father the worry and was also trying to teach Surana control of her magic when his own control was still a nebulous thing at best.
The Warden brought an amulet, the one Alistair always wore, and said that Alistair himself had wanted it taken to Shartan, the son of his heart. Shartan felt grief finally cracking the stone beneath his feet and he left the house. He ran between the trellises, Alistair's amulet beating against his chest, and magic poured through him until he spread black wings and launched into the air, too maddened to question his mastery of a magic that no one had taught him.