Originally written for Father's Day, but better late then never!
In the Labyrinth, few children knew their fathers.
For those born to Runners, this was undeniable. A son or a daughter would instead be raised within a Squatter village, raised by the few who could control their feet from wandering down the path. Sometimes, a mother would remain, usually one who had been a Squatter herself. But a father, guided by his will to see the Final Gate, would move on before ever seeing his child's face.
Haplo knew his situation had been a special, unusual case. Instead of birthing him in a village, he had been brought into the Labyrinth's domain inside a cavern, his cries echoing across the walls, his parent's magic nullifying the sounds as best as they could. They had passed through camps as he grew, but had never left him there. He has been granted a few years with them, committing their faces to memory, before their end. He had known his mother's voice, and he had known his father's lessons, his hands stinging from the corrections, that pain given out of a sort of love that all Patryns inherently deny.
He had never planned on having children. To bring a child into the Labyrinth seemed cruel, and even when the possibility showed itself to him, he had rejected it still. The constant hunger, the aching feet, the torn bodies - these had been the remnants of his childhood. Why grant it to another? But now, here in the Nexus, the Labyrinth's hatred was stemmed, with even the darkness of night was abated by the water-colored texture of their skies. Certainly now, the presence of children can be encouraged.
Even so, when he was constantly surrounded by young faces, by those who had been abandoned, he couldn't help but wonder what gave him any right.
"Mikel," he said a little harshly, watching the child trace the patterns across the wooden board on the ground. "The length of that command is wrong. Try again."
The boy was only eight gates, just turned last month. He had a mess of brown hair, its color nearly turned to rust, offset by the tips coated in bright white. He sat cross-legged on the floor of their home, tracing a finger to carve whorls into the wood, leaving a thin trail of smoke in its wake. An inscription, with none of the real magic put into just yet. This was merely a practice session.
He saw Mikel's shoulders slump, but made no other motion otherwise. "Yes, sir."
Watching him work after a short moment, Haplo bent down to the floor besides the child, arms resting on his squatted knees. "How many sides should the key rune have?"
"Seven," Mikel answered obediently.
"Where should it be placed?"
"Next to the foundation rune. Above the novice rune. Away from the finisher."
"No," Haplo stated. "Above the finisher. The novice rune and the key together would dismantle the spell."
Mikel blinked. He saw a shame spread across the young boy's face. Giving a brief nod, the child went about to reconfigure his entire spell structure all over again. A simple warding spell, used to keep the weaker of the Labyrinth monsters away. One a child should know, or his life was forfeit immediately.
A growing number of Patryns had started to become lax in the Nexus – it made one feel too comfortable, even with the threat of dragon-snakes that were practically right next door. Only now was vigilance really needed, moreso than most. Haplo wanted to say that to the child so he could realize why this was so important to learn, even this most basic of spells. His own father had taught him that, the reed lashing across his palms when he stumbled upon a vowel. No mistakes must be made, for it only took one to completely lose everything.
The child would not disdain him if Haplo took the same approach with him. He knew this. It was more than likely that Mikel had gone through some harsh lessons in the Squatter village they had found him in. Still, Haplo would make excuses to himself. Not the time, he would not know his own strength, and he was inexperienced in the disciplining of children.
But the frustration would surface when he saw the child make a dot along the right line, when it should have been placed on the other side. Mikel immediately sensed the disappointment, trying to hastily erase it with a thumb.
Haplo stopped him. "Explain why you thought it should be there."
The hesitation was only for a split-second, but Mikel's answer was said with ease. "I always have trouble with that sigil. I used to use the firelight spell a lot before, so the lines look really similar to each other. I was… thinking about that. I'm sorry."
To lend themselves to distraction was an affair that most children grew out of by the time they were five or so. But it made sense for Mikel. When he and Marit first took him home to the other children they had rescued, he seemed one who was most distant with the magic that should have been his most reliable tool. It was possible that he was a slow learner, but slow learners back in the Labyrinth never lasted for very long.
Though they may have rescued him from that, he wanted the boy to be prepared. He took every chance he got to do so, using this empty space in the living room of their home, tables and sofas pushed far aside, the rest of the household busy with other tasks. The hours extended as long as he could, yet would it be enough still?
"Don't apologize," he simply said. "Just correct your mistakes."
Mikel didn't get a chance to do so. The sound of the front door opening caught the Patryns' attention. Both raised their heads up to find a tall, balding man standing in the doorway, carrying a porcelain dish in his large hands.
"I- I'm sorry to intrude." He lifted the dish a bit higher as if they hadn't seen it yet. Its surface was spread out with multicolor baked treats. "I thought I'd bring you some snacks."
Haplo immediately grew suspicious. Not like it was strange for Alfred to do random acts of kindness. What was strange was that he was supposed to be at the other side of the Nexus, helping Vasu decipher some aged texts that the preceding Sartan had left behind. It was a hassle for most Patryns to go through many of the florid depictions that so many Sartan, especially of the older generations, loved writing in their books. Alfred proved invaluable for such a task, able to simplify a dense fifty page essay into a three paragraph description.
His first instinct was to bluntly ask the Sartan what his intentions were, but it was the child who spoke first.
"I would like some." Mikel turned to Haplo then, realizing his outburst. Still, his eyes were eager.
"We have work to do," Haplo reminded.
Even a stoic Patryn child could let slip their emotions. Mikel's was of disappointment. "Yes, sir. You're right."
"A break wouldn't hurt."
Haplo stared at Alfred with none too subtle displeasure. But the Sartan didn't seem to notice. Or was just flat out ignoring it.
"If you overwork yourself, you won't see much improvement. I know from experience." Here he smiled modestly. "I can do research for hours at a time, but if I don't rest, I tend to forget more than half of what I read."
"Or collapse from dehydration," Haplo said. "Had to have chaperones in the library to watch out for you."
The memory brought forth a kind of sentimentality, mixed in with the usual annoyance. Those first few months in the Nexus, he had thought how the Sartan never ceased to amaze him. He'd often needed to shake the man's shoulder during one of his researching trances, bringing him back to reality when he was deep in the Sartan archives. Since then, he also made sure to relay an order to have a pitcher of water placed nearby if he wasn't around, as Alfred would usually be too exhausted to even conjure up some water for himself.
At Haplo's comment, Alfred smiled a little shamefully, but not sadly. It took a while for that small change in his expressions to happen.
Mikel looked from one adult to the other, sensing a change in the air, but not having the resources to determine what that was. But obedience warned him to not question it, though that only made him refocus his gaze onto the plate of cookies that Alfred was still holding.
The Sartan held it out to the child. "Your brothers and sisters are outside planting the vegetables. Why don't you go see them?"
Mikel's hands twitched, already about to take the offer, but had turned to Haplo just in time to silently ask permission. At that, the Patryn gave a sigh, but nodded anyway. "Be back in an hour."
Clearly, Alfred wanted to talk to Haplo. Well, he'd oblige. The Sartan wouldn't usually interrupt him for nothing.
The child couldn't keep down his smile. "Thank you," he said to them both. Then nodded to each in turn, "Father. Grandfather."
Haplo stared, but Mikel didn't notice.
Instantly forgetting manners as children often do, no matter if they were the offspring of mensch or demigods, he grasped a handful of cookies, rushing out the open door. There was a brief flash of the gardens outside, of the young kneeling besides each other as they patted the earth, before the door shut it away.
Recovering, Haplo shook his head. "You're a spoiler, you know that?"
Alfred set the dish down at a nearby table. He moved to seat himself on the plush sofa, large hands placed in his lap. "Hope you don't blame me for that too much."
Haplo got up from the floor, and sat beside his friend. "Guess not."
What followed was silence, but a comfortable one. There were moments when Haplo needed such a thing, just a quiet look from Alfred to remind him of where he was and what had been done. It was more than the fact that they had shared souls, it was a mutual understanding that sometimes, throughout the hectic events happening in the Nexus, a rest from it all was needed. Just a small space separate from the Runs, from the meetings with Vasu, from the sights of the Pryan dragons, their green only a shade brighter from the serpents that housed themselves nearby.
Still, there was that thought that nagged him in the back of his mind. There is so much more to do.
"You know you don't have to do it all yourself."
Haplo blinked, turning to Alfred. Reading his thoughts again, but it was nice not having to explain.
"Is that the reason why you skipped out on Vasu today? To tell me this?"
Alfred shifted his eyes away in guilt. "It's not actually. But it helped in my decision."
"Of course." Haplo leaned back on the sofa, head craned upward at the ceiling. "But there's more, right?"
Alfred didn't answer right away, still looking at his hands. The skin there didn't look so raw-boned or wrinkled as before. "I don't think you need to push the children so hard."
The Patryn stiffened, more in surprise then in offense. "If you mean with Mikel-"
"No. No, not just him." Alfred took a breath, determined to continue, but visibly going past his own barriers of politeness to do so. "You and Marit. You both always have them go through these sort of training sessions every day."
It was true that they had worked the kids they had rescued to memorize the runes more, to determine the means of battle magic, to strategize on when retreat was necessary, as well as having them map out the entire layout of the Nexus should they ever have to hide or escape from enemies. They were drills that were born out of necessity, especially so as Ramu would threaten every few months or so that he and his chosen Sartan would go against both Patryns and traitors.
"They need to be prepared," Haplo said, his tone a little hard.
Alfred nodded, not put off by it. "I understand that. I know, with the way your people lived, that to do those things would only make sense."
Haplo looked to him in confusion, unsure what he was getting it. "Well, doesn't it?"
"Yes, if you're still in the Labyrinth, if there really is no where for you to rest or take things easy." And Alfred stopped again, finally wrenching his gaze from his hands to look at his friend. "But the magic of the Labyrinth can't reach here."
"First time for everything," Haplo countered.
"But, we can't live life always on edge like that. I mean, with us, we have to take the responsibility, surely. Sometimes, we can't afford to just leave things as they are for too long, I know. We do have to work hard, and consider all the possibilities before us, especially with all those people still trapped."
Haplo watched Alfred carefully. "So you agree. Then what's the problem?"
"Children shouldn't have to take on those responsibilities right away." He looked down again. "I mean, at least not so severely. They should be free to be their own."
Haplo waited for Alfred to continue, which he did, in a soft tone. "They only have so much time before they grow up. They shouldn't need… to be trained like soldiers already."
Haplo considered, thinking back to him towering over Mikel, ordering the child on what should be done next. Is that what I've been doing?
With a tinge of nervousness, Alfred turned his gaze to him, clasping his right wrist in his hand in an unclear gesture. "The purpose of the Nexus is to provide rest, first and foremost. And even with what we-" he stopped, amended his statement, "with what the Sartan may have planned, this place still belongs to your people. You can train but you should also… recover from it all."
At least the man wasn't outright blaming himself. Haplo would have complimented him on that if his own mind wasn't so filled. The children planting the vegetables did so out of his and Marit's commands, to teach them the importance of crops when magic would not be sufficient. Though food could be replicated, sometimes the reserves of such a spell proved too much for the body. Thus the garden could be relied on. Always good to have a back-up plan, as he would say to each boy and girl as they stood before him.
"Sometimes… children like to play games instead," Alfred tried to supply, taking Haplo's silence as a question on what he should do. "I remember Bane would always liked to hide food stuff around the castle for the servants to- okay, that's… not a very good example." He flushed, rubbing his arm. The changeling was still a difficulty for him to talk about. "Well… I remember I used to do so when I was very young. We were given a lot of lessons, but we also had time to discover other things to do on our own."
"We didn't though," Haplo said swiftly.
Alfred stopped, the thread of his next thought already flitting away.
"Time on our own was when we slept or ate. Every sprint through the forest was a training exercise, every sigil that we made was judged. If something was wrong, it was corrected. If something was right, we were told so, and how to do it better."
Haplo looked at his hand, palm upward, one of the few places on his body where the runes weren't inscribed. A part of his body easily susceptible to pain, but done so to not lose his sense of touch, a sense that could and had proved beneficial to survival. But each time, after a lesson, the marks would heal. And his father's reed would be thrown away, a new one gathered for the next day, as hard and tough as the previous.
"I do not know anything else, my friend," he said softly. "Training, working, fighting; that is what I do know for certain. Anything but softness. And that is all I have to pass onto the children."
"That's not true."
Haplo turned to him, perplexed.
Alfred smiled once more, eager to share what he knew. "You've already done so. Even when you push them, it's clear that you can see their limits. You're very considerate with them, more than Marit. And that's only on a subconscious level even."
The Patryn felt the sincerity in such a claim, but he had to make sure. "So you're not just saying that to make me feel better?"
Alfred shook his head. "When it comes to certain perceptions, with pity, mercy, and compassion, you give that more than most. And the children can sense that from you. If they hadn't… I don't believe they would have come around to liking me in the first place."
Those first few months with the children in their home, regarding Alfred like a monster hidden in plain sight, staring at him with distrust, remembering the tales of their Sartan jailers - it had not been an easy road for the young to come to accept him. But because they were young, they could change their perceptions, at no expense to their own personal beliefs and self-worth.
During that tentative time, Haplo would explain, in a logic that his people always preferred, that if this meek Sartan had intended them harm, he would have done so long ago. After all, a Serpent Mage could do a great many things, from changing the structures of the land to engulfing them whole in his dragon-shape. Alfred would look to him during those explanations, paling a bit at the feats that he apparently could do but would never in any reality could ever actually commit. But they had worked, and after careful observations of their own, came to regard Alfred as a part of their strange, mismatched family.
Haplo shrugged. "Couldn't have them avoid you in the house forever." It had been a necessity, after all.
Alfred was still smiling. "But you understand what I mean, don't you?"
The Patryn considered. His father would push him hard, driven from a desperation that the Labyrinth had instilled in him. Xar had done so as well, out of ambition and the inheritance of hatred that all were taught to carry. From both, he had been disciplined. But only one would make him shudder at the memory. Xar's lessons had never held back on anything.
"Sometimes I worry," Haplo admitted. "You already say I push them."
"And now you will change that."
"Will I?" he challenged.
"Of course," Alfred spoke with complete and utter truthfulness. "You were always open to change."
Haplo thought about arguing that point, but then remembered that the very fact that Alfred was seated right here beside him… certainly that must mean something.
"Even with what you've been through, and what you've been taught… even with Xar's influence, you always found your own way to better things. You may push the children, yet you restrain from ever going overboard. But it's something that you don't seem to realize, so… I only wanted you to know."
He recalled what Alfred had mentioned earlier and elaborated on that point. "So now you're trying to make my subconscious… become conscious then?" he asked. "And you're sure that's how I am?"
"You wouldn't have let Mikel go outside if that was so," Alfred countered back. "And also, you wouldn't have let me go as well."
Haplo had to search through his memory. "Back on Abarrach, there had been a lot of things on my mind," he said, excusing any of the goodness the Sartan claimed of him. They had shared souls after all, so it would only be natural-
"Not that. I meant before."
Haplo honestly felt a little stupid. "I'm not sure I follow."
"Back on Arianus, you let me go. I'm sure it would have been troublesome to take me back to the ship then, but that was not out of the realm of possibility. Yet you chose not to."
"That's because-" Haplo started, then stopped. I wanted you to lead me to your kind. At least, that's what I told myself. Convinced this had been the best course of action, so convinced that he had been able to make his previous Lord believe it was so, he had protected the Sartan from a dragon attack. Protected myself, he argued with himself again, but his magic had not been limited, did not know any limits back then before the rise of serpentine beings that spoke of chaos. Alfred would have been useful to the cause. Xar would have extracted all those secrets that the man held, those he did not even know. He himself could have slit Alfred's throat in his sleep, because he had firmly believed he was capable of it.
"Haplo," spoke a voice. A gentle hand pressed against his shoulder, bringing him back from the blackness of his own thoughts, at his own ineptitude. "You're a good person."
Somehow, that statement is enough to sting Haplo's chest. No, that was simply untrue. Even during his upbringing, he had not been taught the morals of right and wrong. Only the means to survival, the drive to achieve what he desired, no matter the consequences. His father had taught him that, his mother had bred that into him. Alone, single, he who travels fastest travels alone, with no ties to weigh him down. And then they had dragged him to the bushes to face the beasts, completely going against everything he had been told from birth.
He had not learned.
"Haplo?"
Alfred's tone was of concern. The Patryn looked to the man, to the one who had braved the depths to bring him out of the dungeons. "Am I really that different?" From Xar.
Unequivocal, without mercy. "Yes."
The Sartan could evade the truth, twist it to their means. But they could not lie. Still, he needed confirmation. "And you believe this?"
"Of course." And there in his eyes was the ghost of a memory, a memory that wasn't his own. A side-effect of their connection, but not that it had ever been detrimental to them before. Quite the opposite, Haplo realized. "Your parents were good as well."
The Patryn grew hopeful. Tempered down, keeping it within reality's limits, but still existing within him. It was hard to express gratitude still, but the Sartan had always understood his difficulties.
"The old ways are familiar," Haplo admitted. If not comforting.
"They are. And from the old comes the new."
But that was comfort, completely.
Haplo breathed a deep sigh. The conversation had somehow left him winded, despite that it was the Sartan who had taken control of most of it. It was also comforting to know that the Sartan had confidence enough now to do that.
"So how exactly do we go about… resting then?" Haplo asked, genuine in his concern. There was sleep… but that was meant for rejuvenation and that seemed almost too purposeful to be truly relaxing, even for the children.
Alfred thought about it, his hands back in his lap, fingers steepled together. "Well, we can take everyone out for picnics. It would be good for them, being outside and free to run around. We can even encourage the kids to make their own dishes to share with everyone."
Haplo tried to imagine it. They had over a dozen or so children, some of their ages spread wide apart, from as young as two gates to as high as fifteen. "Seems like it would be complicated."
"Or I could make the food myself if you prefer," Alfred said a little shyly. "I used to do that when I was in King Stephen's court, whenever the nobles wanted to dine outside."
Haplo frowned. "Didn't they have actual chefs for those sorts of tasks?"
"Oh, of course, but I was chamberlain to the prince. Well, even if he wasn't really… I suppose… but still, I had to take care of the desserts, determine what foods he was picky with, and any allergic reactions he might have had-"
"Alright, that's enough," Haplo stopped him, patting the man on the back. "About that rest thing, you should probably take your own advice."
"Ah, sorry," Alfred immediately apologized, accompanied by Haplo's sigh. "Still - would that idea be alright with you?"
The Patryn had to think about it. It was not out of the norm for his people to spend the day outdoors (frankly, that was what they had been forced to do for most of their lives), though dining outside with the children, with a tablecloth and some picnic baskets, might invite some strange looks. Luckily, when a Patryn hung out with a Sartan for most of his hours, it was something that Haplo had gotten used to.
He shrugged. "Sure. I'd need to let Marit know first before we go."
Alfred blinked. "You mean you want to go now?"
"Why not? We have the rest of the day, don't we?"
Alfred straightened his posture more, hands lifting up to his chest as half a dozen thoughts flitted across his face. "I didn't- I didn't exactly prepare for this just yet! Though if I get started now on making a list of what we need… let's see, it can't be food that's too complicated, so I suppose some sandwiches are in order. And a salad dish for those wanting something a bit light. Oh! And the children would like some desserts after, and I still have some leftover truffles from last night's dinner. But would that be enough and what if they don't like what I've-"
He stopped at Haplo's chuckle, a warm sound that reached out to still his frantic words. The Patryn's gaze matched his laughter, friendly and grateful for the man seated beside him.
"Coren, considering how Mikel looked like he wanted to snatch the cookie plate from your hands, I don't think you have much to worry about your cooking."
It might have been the mention of his name that got Alfred to do what he did next. Suddenly, he picked up the dish in both large hands, lifting it from the table and handing it over to Haplo. "Here. Why don't you have some then?"
Haplo glanced briefly at the baked cookies, then back to Alfred. "Ah, well, I don't really like sweets personally."
"So you've had some before then?"
His question was a dare. Anytime there were cakes and pastries in the home, it had always been for the children. Haplo tilted his head, slightly. "Well, no-"
"Then - pardon me - how would you know if you don't like them?"
"I just do," Haplo retorted, knowing he sounded petulant for a grown man.
He saw Alfred's smile widen, indicating how comfortable he was. "Wouldn't hurt to try one."
Of course, the Sartan had a point. If it had been three years ago, Haplo would have had many reasons, mostly proclaiming that Alfred had poisoned the treats. But, well, that was then, and this was now. Such thoughts were too foreign for him to even believe he had once considered such things. Back in the past with Xar, ever-present, yet only to remind him of how far he had traveled with the help of another's light.
He took one of the chocolate chip cookies and took a bite. A few moments of crunching, of the Sartan watching him carefully.
"It's good," he said, meaning it.
Alfred's face was practically beaming.
The spot they picked wasn't too far from their home, which Haplo thought was rather reasonable. It wasn't easy traveling with multiple children, even those as well-behaved as his own. Each member of their family had their own weight to carry, including the hastily prepared dishes, the utensils, or sometimes carrying other, younger children as well. Alfred wanted to carry as much as possible, his arms filled with the dreadfully folded up tablecloths (and three pairs of it too), their ends dragging across the ground, threatening to trip over his feet. Seeing the man nearly take a dive more times than he could count, Haplo was glad he had convinced him to not hold any of the dishes.
In the Nexus, the Sartan had indulged themselves in their architecture, spinning up their buildings into graceful arches and columns, infusing the streets with the aspects of nature. They had guided the trees, forming their boughs to hover over a passerby on the sidewalk, shading those from the twilight of the sky. There was order, even in the parts of the city where buildings were far apart and scarce. Wide expanses of grass covered the ground, forming parks that some Patryns would retreat to for their rare moments of peace. But those moments were usually quick, and with many of the Patryns having been Runners, their need to move overrode their time there, off to do tasks for Vasu, for another excursion into the Labyrinth, or to help a freshly-rescued comrade adjust to a life that was not fraught with danger.
He saw that same need in Marit's movements, how she turned her head around in subtle, slight gestures. Eyes that pierced through the hanging foliage from the trees, that determined the number of possible routes that would lead them the most swiftly out of the park and back towards home. Like a falcon, her gaze was always sharp, always aware.
Haplo patted her gently on the shoulder, bringing back her focus. "We should help the children prepare," he said, gesturing to the picnic spot.
She turned to him, still showing off a little bit of displeasure. "Prepare for battle? Or how to best balance a plate of rice on the grass?"
His response to her was his usual quiet smile. "I think both have their own kind of importance to them."
"Of course," Marit sighed. "I forget how soft you could be." But she went to the children regardless, helping a small girl unearth the bread slices from one of the baskets. Alfred, still trying to get a tablecloth to not wrinkle up at any chance it got, looked relieved at this.
Told you that you shouldn't worry, Haplo communicated to him. A small trail of thought, brought with them since Abarrach, one of the advantages that his near-death had given him.
Alfred turned his head to him, then nodded happily before going back to his useless task.
In the corner of his eye, Haplo saw a boy kneeling on the grass not too far away. He shifted, seeing the child have that wooden board before him as he wrote, keeping him rooted, away from his brothers and sisters, away from the food.
Mikel had already jumped to his feet when Haplo's shadows fell over him. He tucked the board under his arm self-consciously, trying to hide the patterns inscribed there.
"I was going over today's lessons. To get better."
Haplo gazed down at the boy. A scrawny thing, with rust-colored hair, with eyes continually downcast, as he must have done at his village. Had the adults back then snapped at him, frustrated at his ability to learn? Out of a fear for his well-being, out of an attachment that no one would ever dare mention? After all, Patryn's don't love. One was only guided by instinct.
Haplo gently took the board out of Mikel's grasp, to the boy's silent wonder. "That's good of you," he complimented. "But there's a time and place."
Mikel looked down again. "Of course. When I get home then."
"No. Later this week. You'll burn out if you keep forcing yourself."
The child looked up in confusion. "But shouldn't I be-"
"Remember what your Grandfather said," Haplo advised. "You don't want to end up the way he did all those times, would you?"
A small attempt at a joke. Even so, Mikel smiled at that, though still seemed a bit nervous. "I can… help Senna with the sandwiches then."
Before he walked off completely, Haplo called back to him. "You're doing fine, Mikel."
The boy stopped, staring back.
"I am not always patient, and I'm sorry for that," he continued. "You don't need to be rushed to learn all there is to know. You've already been making progress anyway. You'll have some free days for yourself from now on. Use that time to do whatever you wish. Sleep, play, or learn something different if you want."
Mikel looked down, struggling with what he wanted to say next. When he faced Haplo, he did so not as if in fear of the man, but in fear of his own voice. "I have actually…wanted to learn to cook as well. From Grandfather." A hand went up to his head, nervously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Well, that's familiar, Haplo thought. "It seems to be a useful thing to know."
Haplo smiled gently. "I think Grandfather would be very pleased with that." Then, a sudden thought, and before he could stop it, "I've been meaning to learn a bit from him, too. So I might join you both at some time or another."
He couldn't help but feel surprised that Mikel was grinning at that. Overjoyed, satisfied and happy. There was an admiration there that he hadn't noticed before, yet was familiar. Alfred's words came back to him, those words that he had such a hard time believing.
Flustered, though he didn't show it, Haplo motioned Mikel back to the picnic. "We can talk about that later though."
Before leaving, Mikel nodded to him, and said, "Thanks, Father."
Again, he was stunned. The child left then, not seeing the effect his words had on the Patryn. Young voices filtered through the air, taking a moment to register inside his head. Voices that were lighter in tone, not as brisk, not as clipped, not weighed as much. These were voices that were content with what they are.
He was content.
Haplo looked out over the group of children, over at Marit who was being uncommonly gentle, trying to be matter-of-fact in her preparation of the food and failing, for her hand would brush aside a young girl's lock of hair away from their face, or gently a tug a boy back to his seat. He looked over at Alfred, who was trying so desperately to balance a stack of sandwiches for a hungry child, looking ready to faint when a bread slice had slipped off the top. And finally, he looked over at Mikel, who was near his Grandfather, speaking to him softly as he placed a bowl of freshly heated soup nearby, still having that smile on him.
It is these moments that are worthwhile.
It was still difficult to imagine his role in all this. Yet when he, Alfred and Marit had gone back into the Labyrinth for all those missions, when he had seen the children, orphaned but determined to follow him home, he could not find the drive to reject them. Three years ago, he might have, as he rejected the idea of the possibility of having a child of his own blood. It was still something that he could not forgive himself for, even if Marit had, even if Alfred, entwined within him, had already done so.
But, as a father, he had to take responsibilities, didn't he?
He joined the rest of them, seating cross-legged besides Alfred, trying to save him from overturning the soup that Mikel had precariously set too near him. Marit was across from him, her lips twisted in a smile that she was not aware of. The sounds of the children surrounded him, like cool water washing over his head.
The old ways within him weren't gone, of hardness, of the need to drive forward. But from it came the new, of understanding, of change, of a shared space with all those before him. Even the Patryns that walked by them, with perplexed looks, did not distance themselves completely. There was longing there, and in them was that same potential to become more than they were. Like him, they could become accepting, and not disdain that for weakness.
He would do that with Rue when he finally found her. He would accept her and everything that came with her; all the hardness she must have learned, all the hurt she must have bore through the years, and the unspoken bitterness for the parents that had left her there. It would not be a reunion of happy tears, but of awkwardness and indifference. Still, he would make that attempt, offering her a home for her to finally rest in.
He would do this, even if she didn't do the same with him, even if she rejected the father who had once never wanted her to exist. And that, despite the pain it caused him, would be understandable.
She will though, he heard the voice within him say. He shifted a glance to Alfred, who was trying to slow a child down from devouring all the cakes at once. He didn't have to show any visible tells for Haplo to know it was him.
Perhaps it was naïve, but he could admit to himself that there was enough hope in him to believe that voice. Besides, the Sartan hadn't been wrong before.