Siren: Well, here it is. A real serious story. We've been toying with this idea for while now.

Muse: It just occurred to us that Lloyd, as a younger kid, might try to contact his real dad.

Siren: This isn't going to be real long. Maybe...five chapters? I don't know.

Muse: It's not going to change the plot-line or anything like that. Just adds something random to the story.

Siren: Disclaimer!

(poof) Lloyd: Huh?

Siren: Hi! We just wrote a story about you!

Lloyd: Great...

Siren: Say the discaimer!

Lloyd: Sirens & Muses don't own ToS or any of its characters. Can I go now? (poofs away)

Muse: Please review! We hope you enjoy our serious story. (bows)

Siren: (kicks in ass and runs) Bye!

"So, let's say you want to write your father a letter. You'd begin it with, 'Dear, Dad.'"

Up until that moment, twelve-year-old Lloyd Irving had been paying no attention whatsoever to the lesson. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure what it was even about. But the second he heard that sentence, his hand popped up.

"Yes, Lloyd?" The teacher asked wearily. She was an old woman, due for retirement soon, and Lloyd was one of her reasons for it.

"Teacher, can you send letters to people you don't know?"

"Well," she said, surprised that Lloyd was actually asking a real question, "I suppose you can, but there wouldn't be much point in it. Letters are more for the purpose of having conversations with people you already know, who are far away."

Lloyd paid rapt attention to his teacher as she explained the proper structure of letters. When she began another lesson, he put his head back on the desk, but not to daydream or sleep. To think.

He wasn't sure when the ideas had popped into his head, but he'd always had a fantasy about his real father. He loved Dirk, and he was happy to call him 'Dad', but there was always that curiosity in the back of his mind. What was his real father like? Was he alive? Did he have a house somewhere, where he lived alone? Or was he at the human ranch, a place where Lloyd knew people went and never came back?

For some reason, Lloyd's vision of his father was built on a combination of super heroes in comic books and the stories Colette told him of the ancient heroes. He imagined him to be strong and tough, but have a gentle voice and a soft tone. He pictured his own brown hair on his father, sticking up in spikes all over his head. And, of course, like Mithos the Hero, his real father was a swordsman.

Lloyd had always admired Mithos because of his swordsmanship. It seemed like a noble weapon, and Lloyd himself wanted to learn it. He would practice outside his house every day with a wooden sword, pretending to slice up trees.

His daydreams, he knew, were nothing but fantasies dreamed up to make him happy. But it still made him feel safer when he walked through the forest to imagine his father, swooping down from the trees to save his long lost son from monsters.

"Lloyd!" The pre-teen's thoughts were cut short by Colette dancing over to him, tripping on a desk before righting herself and calling his name again. "Lloyd! Why aren't you leaving? Are you asleep again?"

Lloyd's head snapped up. He'd been so engrossed in his thoughts, he'd failed to notice that the class had ended.
"I'm coming," he said, standing and stretching as his thoughts reverted back to real life.

That night, Lloyd was unusually quiet while eating dinner. "Something wrong, Lloyd?" Dirk asked.

"Ah, nothing," he answered, even though he knew Dirk would see right through it. Before he was interrogated any further, he stood up. "I'm finished. I think I'll go to bed, I'm kind of tired."

Once in his room, Lloyd pulled out a blank tablet and a pen. What should he write? 'Hi, how are you, I'm your son'? For that matter, where should he send it to? Maybe he should just forget this whole thing…

But as much as Lloyd tried to push it out of his mind, the idea sat there, growing and expanding. What if his father never read the letter? What if he was already dead, as Lloyd suspected? What if someone else decided to answer the letter and pretend to be his father? What if it turned out to be a stranger, playing cruel tricks on him?

On the other hand, what if, by dumb luck, the letter did reach his father? What if his father read it and came back for him?

There were too many questions. The only way he would ever find the answers to them, Lloyd knew, would be to send a letter to his father.

It took him a while to decide what to write; he'd thrown away at least a dozen sheets of paper with unfinished letters. In the end, he finally had what he considered to be a reasonably good letter:

Dear Dad,

My name is Lloyd. I don't know if you remember me, but I'm still out here. Where have you been? I've been here, outside of Iselia. It's a nice place, Dad, and I'm happy here. I just thought I'd write to you, because I miss you. I don't really remember you. Where are you now? Do you think about me? What about Mom? Do you miss us? I give her flowers every day now, in front of her grave.

Did you know that she died? I don't know how, but I wish I did. Then maybe I could tell you. Do you still want to see me? It's okay if you don't, I live with Dirk. I hope you don't mind that I call him 'Dad' now. He takes care of me, so he kind of is my dad.

I hope you get this letter and remember me, Dad, because I do miss you and I want to meet you. I guess I was just lonely and was thinking about you.

And, after some thought on how to end it:

Love,

Lloyd Irving

Lloyd sat back to admire his handiwork. It seemed like an okay letter to send to his father. He stowed it inside his pillowcase, being careful not to rip the paper. He'd mail it tomorrow on his way home from school.

"Lloyd, who are you sending a letter to?" Lloyd looked up to see Colette, grinning as she peered over his shoulder.

"Ah, no one in particular," he answered, sealing the envelope. He'd gotten one from their teacher, who'd been immensely impressed that Lloyd was trying something he learned in class.

"Who's it addressed to?" she asked.

Lloyd shifted uncomfortably. Colette was his best friend, and she didn't keep secrets from him. Still, he wanted to keep this private.

"No one, really. Nobody you or I know," he said, smiling cheerfully. As a change of subject, he asked, "How'd it go at the Temple yesterday? Did you have fun with the priests?"

Colette's smile faltered. "It was okay. Kind of boring, though." She giggled. "We just learned about the Chosen's journey and stuff like that."

Lloyd grinned as the teacher clapped her hands together. "Lunchtime's over, back in your seats." Colette left, waving as she went to her seat.

"Today, we're going to learn about fractions…"

Lloyd stared at the letter on his desk, wondering how he was going to send it. He knew that Dirk would go to the mailbox at the entrance of town to get requests to craft something, and he'd send it back though the mailbox. But what if you weren't sure where to send it?

When class was dismissed, he made a beeline for his teacher's desk. "Um, Teacher?" he asked nervously.

"Yes, Lloyd? Something else about your letter?"

"Yeah, I was wondering," he said, "how do you send a letter?"

"Well, you send it through the mailbox, Lloyd. There's a person who delivers it to the person you're sending it to. You see, you just put the person's name and the city they live in and put it in the box."

"What if you don't know where that person lives, or their name?"

"If you don't know where to send a letter," she answered, staring down at her pupil threateningly, "you might as well put it in a bottle and float it out to sea! Young man, this had better not be some kind of a joke."

But Lloyd didn't hear the last part. It had just clicked in his mind. An idea, a brilliant idea, of how he could get the letter to his father.

"That's a great idea, Teacher! Thanks!" He ran out of the school, leaving his teacher to wonder what exactly he was planning on doing.

Lloyd rushed into the item shop. "Do you guys have any empty bottles?" he asked excitedly. He was presented with a glass bottle with a cork cap. "Thanks!" he yelled back as he ran towards the shore.

Why hadn't he thought of it before? The ocean went everywhere. If he sent the letter that way, it'd have more of a chance to reach his father! He rolled the letter up and stuffed it into the bottle, replacing the cap. Then he stood back and tossed it into the ocean, where he watched it float until it was out of sight.

On his way home, Lloyd wondered where his father was. Walking on the beach, maybe? Or perhaps he was traveling on a boat. Would he get his son's letter? And, of course, the question whose answer meant the most to Lloyd...

Would he send a reply?