He'd been dreaming. A warm, soothing dream, swirling with laughter and cheer. It was a pleasant change of pace. Sleep usually brought nothing but an endless chasm of pitch black for him. It was boring, yet he'd gladly take that over the images he'd suffered through before Idla. Nights when wine couldn't quiet his mind and he was faced with nothing but terror built from coals and crimson. This morning's dreams were a far cry better than any of those.

There was something tugging at him through the dream. Something off. Something real. The warmth of the dream became a living, breathing warmth. Delicate, slight puffs of air in his face. He cracked one eye open to catch a glimpse of Hyacinth peeking up over the side of the bed. Her eyes were shining with tears, her cheeks marked with the trails of wetness.

"What's wrong, flower?" he rasped, clearing his throat.

"Mummy can't find me," she whispered. Such a small, gentle voice; barely making a dent in the air around it. Landon and she had just passed their fourth name day. She had hardly seemed to grow at all in the past two years; still a chubby faced sprite.

"Why's that?"

"'Cos I split alda milk," she trembled. He knew Idla would have scolded the girl perhaps, nothing more. Sometimes the trial of having so many young ones wore on her. He lost his patience as well at times. It came with being a parent. The sound of Idla's boots clicking down the hallway sent Hyacinth into a panic; a squeak of fright leaving her. Her pale blue eyes pleaded with him, and damn it, he couldn't say no to those eyes. He lifted the blanket and she grabbed at the sheets for leverage to pull her doll like frame up onto the bed. Once she was tucked tightly up against his chest he lowered the blanket back down on her just as Idla rounded the corner to their bedroom. He scratched at his face. Little hands clutched at him under the blanket.

"Have you seen Hyacinth?" Idla asked, tapping a foot on the floor with her hands on her hips. He shrugged. Idla waited until the blanket wiggled.

"You'll spoil her," she chided.

"Worse things to be done to a girl," he rumbled. Idla let her arms fall to her sides. She sighed taking in the full meaning of his words. He knew better than most that there were far more horrifying things for a girl to endure in life. He didn't mean to undermine her; only remind her that there were more serious issues a girl could face in the world. The fact that he chose to indulge the little one's need to find safety in her father's arms wasn't one of them. Idla stepped lightly over to them and lowered herself down to cuddle the lump in the bed between their two bodies.

"Little flower," she called sweetly. "The sun is out. Won't you come out too?"

There came a defiant, "no" from under the furs. He snorted. She was a fragile creature for him and a stubborn child for her mother.

"Mummy is sorry she snapped," Idla tried. "You didn't finish your meal. There's still berries and cream now that the milk's gone."

A black mop of mussed hair sprang up from under the covers. "Berries an cream?" the girl clapped.

"Yes, sweet one," Idla told the girl, pulling her the rest of the way out from under the blanket. "After you've helped me clean up the mess." Hyacinth twisted in Idla's arms, looking back over at him and pouting. She could play him well, but not that easily.

"Do as your mother says," he told her. Her pout grew into an angry scowl. She was his daughter, no doubt about it. He kissed her nose. "Even flowers have to clean up after themselves. You make a mess, you help with the cleaning."

…

It never became an issue. His face. Not to the children. He'd worried about it to an almost obsessive level as Sanyi's birth drew near. It was a new fear and one he wished would go away. He'd seen enough children on the streets turn their face, hide in their mother's skirts, or take off in the opposite direction during his life. Even the Little Bird had shivered in front of him for a time. He didn't think he could bear to see the same look come from his child's eyes. He grew agitated over the course of a month as he stewed in his new fear. When Idla had finally pulled his worry from him, confessed by candlelight in the late night hours, he saw compassion and understanding in her gaze. The back of her hand came up to meet his scars and he leaned, gratefully, into it.

"He won't know the difference," she told him, referring to the babe she insisted was a boy. "You'll be one of the first faces he'll see. He won't know anything other then what you and I teach him the first few years. And when he gets old enough to listen to others, by then, he'll love you just as much as I do. It won't ever matter to him. You'll see."

She'd been right, of course. It never mattered to any of them. The first time Sanyi had smiled at him he knew he'd found his place in the world. Sometime between the boy's first and second name day he had been holding the toddling babe while Idla tidied up the hut. Sanyi was smacking his palm to his rosy little lips, and flinging his hand back out at Idla shouting, "Ish!"

Idla paused to blow the babe a kiss back and continued on until Sanyi would shout at her again. They giggled at each other. He turned the lad around to face him.

"She'll never be done if you keep doing that," he scolded playfully. The boy only squealed in happiness at him.

"Da!" the babe laughed. He found his cheeks being patted in a manner that was one shade away from hurting. The words to tell the boy to calm down were on the tip of his tongue when Sanyi placed his hands upon him much like Idla did, attempting to hold his face within minuscule fingers. And then the little one planted a wet, sloppy kiss on the corner of his mouth, right where lips started to turn to twisted scar tissue. Sanyi's laughter was loud and he was silent. There'd been enough hugs from the lad but never a kiss. His son saw him whole and untainted. He had to turn the boy over to Idla with haste. Lowering himself to the bed, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to keep the tears that had gathered from turning into something more. Tears didn't come as often; he was growing more used to kindness and love due to the never ending fount of it that his family provided. But there were still those few rare moments when they could smother him with a force that was both glorious and wretched.

He felt Idla's hand in his hair. She whispered something to Sanyi and then the boy's hand was smacking at his head as well.

"Da!" Sanyi called. "huv you."

He nodded his head to let them know he had heard. His breathing was harsh while he rode out the emotions his son had stirred within him. They were both patient with him; their fingers slipping through his hair while he cried. Once he was certain he could look at them without losing himself again, he stood. Kissing each one of their foreheads in turn, he spoke.

"I love you too."

…

It was Landon that brought home the first bruised face. The boy had a fiery temper and was as big as Sanyi despite the four year difference. Sometimes he worried that perhaps he'd passed on too much of Gregor but Landon could be reasoned with. The boy would be your enemy one moment and your best friend the next. Gregor had certainly never had any friends. Landon was nine; a time when boys started to try and act like men, settling their disputes with fists.

Idla was dabbing at the boy's face with a cloth in the kitchen. There were several ointments on the table at her side. She was looking at the lad in a flustered, motherly way when he came upon the two of them. Quintin and Abigal were tending to supper by the hearth.

"What's that about?" he questioned, pointing a finger at Landon's busted lip and purple eye.

"Your son got into a brawl," Idla explained, a bit of anger in her voice. He cringed. They only became his children, and not theirs, when she was truly cross.

"Why?"

"I don't know," she snapped. "Does it matter?"

"Aye," he told her. "It matters." There was a difference between boys settling petty quarrels and purposely seeking out the blood of others for no reason at all.

"Fine," she huffed and turned back to Landon. "What happened?"

"Braydon, said you were fucking a demon," Landon stated, no shame in his voice. Abigal gasped.

"Landon!" Idla hollered. "Language!"

"You asked!" the boy shot back. "It wasn't me who said it. It was Braydon Archer. Wash his mouth out if you don't like it." It was time for him to step in.

"Boy," he said sternly, "watch your tone. Aye, she asked. Doesn't give you the right to talk at her like that. Do it again and you'll give Quintin a break at dishes tonight."

Landon scuffed his shoe on the floor and lowered his head. "Sorry, mother," the boy mumbled. Idla tsked and went back to scrubbing at the lad's face.

"What's Braydon Archer look like?"

Landon grinned, proudly. "Worse than me."

"How worse?"

"Two black eyes. Bloody nose too!"

"Your son was only trying to defend you," he tried to reason with Idla. But he caught the troubled look in her eyes. They hadn't had these issues with Sanyi. The first born was stubborn, as all their children could be, but the young man wasn't prone to fighting. He squatted down so he was level with Landon's dark blue eyes.

"Don't go looking for fights. You want to protect your family? Use words first. You can't get out of it that way, use what you have to. Make it hard and quick. Make sure he goes down and then leave him. Don't ever kick at a man once he's down. Don't be cruel about it."

Idla nodded her head. She understood. The boy was too much like himself. He couldn't tell the lad to stop. That would only make things worse. But he could try and guide Landon down the right path. One that involved less anger than the one he had chosen.

…

It was a quiet evening. Idla was off somewhere with Jocelyn and Hyacinth. He was stretched out with a glass of wine in front of the great room's fire place. Royston was near; playing with an odd assortment of toys his siblings had passed onto him. There was a dragon craved out of stone that Sanyi had left when he took off for his smiting apprenticeship. There were a few leather balls, a wooden horse, a fading picture book and, oddly, one of Lilac's dolls. Landon and Clover lounged on the floor, using a pair of hounds as back rests. Landon was nose deep in a book for a once and Clover was busy stitching at a pillow case. He turned his head a bit to read the title of Landon's book. Some sort of battle strategy guide. That explained it. The boy was thirteen and eager to turn squire. Lilac was seated near her younger brother, talking with him in hushed tones.

Lilac was a gentle girl. All of his girls were a sight to behold; fair of face and quick of mind. They all seemed to embrace being women. There were no Arya Stark's in his clan. Hyacinth was mischievous and daring but not boyish. Clover was talented in many ways and took after her mother with her thirst for knowledge. She could sew a far hand better than her mother could. Lilac though; Lilac was his little lady. She had her mother's looks but not her spirit. Lilac was tame, thoughtful and kind. It made him often think of the Little Bird he once knew. It gave him pleasure to see this one being raised in a nest full of love, not a den prowling with lions. She was looking at him now carefully.

"What's going on in that head of yours?" he asked her, setting his cup down on a nearby table. She stood and approached him, chewing on her lip. Gods, she looked like her mother more and more everyday.

"I know you said it was fire," Lilac started, "But how?"

He smiled ruefully. Of course it would be his gentlest child who would ask for details. She was done with the simple child's answer he had given all of his children when they had eventually asked about his scars.

"Come," he bid her, holding out his arms. She crawled up into his lap. He knew the other children were all listening now except Royston who continued to babble to the dragon. They tried to act cunning, but Landon's book pages no longer turned and Clover's hands were still above her project.

"You see your brother," he asked Lilac. She nodded her head. "Sitting there playing with all your cast off toys? Do you feel anything about it?"

She shrugged. "Happy, I guess. I don't use it any more. He might as well play with it."

"And what if he took it straight from your room without asking?"

"Then I might be angry."

"What would you do about it?"

"I'd let him have it after I told him it was wrong to do. Or come get you to take it back. What's this got to do with fires?" She was getting impatient but her thoughts made his heart soar. He'd done something right after all to get answers like that out of her.

"I had a brother once," he told the girl. "Older than me. Bigger too."

"Bigger than you!" she cried in shock. "You're the biggest man ever da."

"My brother was larger and taller. A shocking mountain of a man. Even when we were young he was always towering over me."

"One day he was away and I got it into my head I wanted to play with one of his toys. I wasn't trying to take it. Only play with it. I was sitting by one of the hearths and he caught me."

Lilac was too lamb like to even consider what might have come next in the story. Landon had it though.

"Did he . . ." the boy asked, catching the fierce look in his father's eyes. "Bugger me!"

"Landon! Language!" he reprimanded. "There are ladies present."

"Sorry!" the boy yelped.

"I don't understand," Lilac whined.

"My brother was an awful man. Wicked and evil. He scooped me up and stuck my face down in the coals to teach me not to touch his things."

Lilac clapped her hands over her mouth. Landon cursed again, behind the cover of the book, and he didn't correct the lad. Clover's fingers and chin trembled.

"Your own brother did it?" Lilac cried, while her hands began to from fists around the fabric of her dress.

"Aye, little blossom. The world isn't all pretty," he told her while he smoothed her hair. Fat tears fell from her eyes. Clover sniffed and made her way over. Both girls hugged him while Landon picked Royston up, tossing the babe up into the air and catching him again. Royston's delighted squeals filled the room while he held his girls, promising them all was well. He had them and that made it all worth while.

…