Author's Note: Hello, again! I hope you enjoy this next chapter! As there are things to take care of at work and I'm going to go on vacation soon to visit a friend, I don't expect to post another chapter for at least the next week. But in the mean time, enjoy, and please leave a review letting me know why you want me to post another chapter at all. Or how I need to approach this story in the future to keep from common writer's pitfalls. That works, too. :)
"Thanks for dinner, mom," said Asriel, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
"Manners, Asriel," Toriel chided while gesturing to the untouched napkin by Asriel's bowl. "Use your napkin, not your robes. That goes for you, too, Fluffy."
Asgore froze in place, his sleeve at his mouth. Without moving his arm he took his napkin with his other hand, wiped the remaining soup from his mouth, and carefully laid the napkin on his sleeve atop the evidence of his bad habit.
"You know, I should just not wash that, just to teach you a lesson," Toriel sighed, gathering her own dishes and standing up.
"I'm sorry," Asgore said meekly as she walked towards the kitchen behind his chair. "I guess I need to clean up my act!"
Toriel stopped in her tracks, her groan muffled by her pursed lips. She then took a step backwards, spun on her heels, and gave him a kiss on his temple.
"You stole my line," she muttered. She gave him another kiss on the nose before walking to the kitchen and chuckling. Asgore smiled and used the napkin and a bit of water from his cup to clean his sleeve before any stains could set. Chara stared at themself in the shiny, empty soup bowl. Asriel's mother and father kept doing things that bewildered them.
The only adults at the House were the Caretakers and the occasional mother and father who would arrive with a child and leave one fewer.
Any interaction between adults were either promises of money, silence, or status reports.
Any kindness between the Fallen Children had to be kept in utmost secrecy.
Any camaraderie beyond accomplishing team tasks was punished.
Chara had long since resigned themself to the gradual loss of what little bit of a soul they had left, the culmination of which would undoubtedly mark their status as an adult. Nothing left but power and determination inhabiting a body.
They must be physically-matured monsters, Chara wondered. So why do they still care about anything?
"They love each other," Asriel said. Chara glanced sideways at him, nervously locking away any other thoughts he might have heard. "They act like normal monsters when Dad's busy with helping everybody in the kingdom, but they get all weird and stuff whenever we visit here. I asked Mom about why they act so difference once, and that's what she told me: 'We love each other,'" he said, slowly repeating an answer that gave Chara even more questions.
"Son," Asgore said, causing the two young ones to look up defensively, "why don't you help your mother with some of the dishes?"
"Okay," Asriel replied, hopping out of his chair, about to lead Chara to the kitchen. They looked at Asgore and pulled their hand away.
"Actually, I'll go with you in a minute. The kitchen's over there, right? I," they looked at Asgore, "I need to ask the king something first."
"Oh. Uh, okay." Asriel picked up his dishes and quickly went to the kitchen. Chara turned in their chair, keeping one hand close to the knife which was still behind their back.
"Do you think I didn't see your weapon," Asgore asked softly, leaning back in his chair, his chest vulnerable. Chara grabbed the knife hilt. "I've only seen pictures of soldiers like you."
"What," they whispered as the ability to breathe slipped their mind for a moment. One of the mantras of the House was that secrets mean safety.
"Not of human soldiers, of course." Chara tried to keep their relief silent. "But back in the war. Paintings of soldiers, like…" He leaned forward, elbows on the table as his intertwined fingers made a platform for his chin. "What always got me was the eyes. How could they be so dead-set and yet, well, dead? Of course not all of the soldiers were like that, but most of them weren't notable enough to have a portrait commissioned. Now tell me, soldier, what could cause someone to become like that?" Chara leaned back a bit, holding the back of their chair with their free hand. If they answered, maybe it would make it easier to finish the mission sooner than later.
"Need," they answered. Asgore tilted his head in interest, so they continued. "The need to serve the kingdom. The need to protect others. The need to stop danger at all stages and at all cost."
"'Others' is a bit of a vague term, soldier," the king countered. "Even the most noble of us have specific faces in mind, and protecting everyone else is simply an added bonus. So tell me, whose face is in your mind?"
Faces and voices came and went freely in their mind as their resolve seemed to both harden and weaken. They remained silent. They blinked slowly, leaning slightly to the empty chair next to them. When they opened their eyes, the one they saw instead was the monster king, mere inches from their nose.
"I know who I'm protecting, young pup," he snarled. "When you have lived as long as I have, more faces come to mind. If any of them were injured, justice would be swift. And if you betray him, well, I might be inclined to live out a few negative stereotypes."
"Dad?" Asgore turned his head to see Asriel staring, wide-eyed. "What's going on?"
Asgore quickly slipped the knife out of Chara's clutched fist and said, "Are you sure we should trust a thief who tried to take one of my grandfather's war prizes?" Turning to Chara with a shallower anger, he shouted, "I don't know how you got this from me, and I don't care if it was made by your kind. This is an heirloom of my family, and I will not tolerate thieves!" Chara stared as his eyes gave a final message: We can be allies, soldier, if you can prove yourself.