Disclaimer: I do not own W.I.T.C.H. or any of its characters in any way, shape or form.
Note: Based on the cartoon, not the comics.
One that's perhaps a little lighter than the previous. It follows the events of the previous as well, set perhaps a week or so after. The quality might be a little rough.
"Three."
"Five."
"Three."
"Caleb…"
"Fine!"
That word, a curse upon both their ears. It echoed through the tense vacuum it had created with an almost sadistic glee.
The boy frowned in defiant defeat. "I will stay until you have caught five fish between you."
Julian sighed. That was the best he was going to get. At least Drake more than likely would not actually be fishing. Tynar, however, was good enough for the both of them.
For a moment the man regarded Caleb with tight lips, taking in the drawn face, the well-disguised anguish behind the young brown eyes and the dark smudges beneath them that were becoming prominent once more. Sleep was rarely kind to the sufferers of war in the man's experience. It was even less so to his son.
Julian was still unsure of what had exactly unfolded the day the new rebels had ambushed the palace guards. He, however, knew of the consequences that day had brought. There was talk amongst the people of another war that would match the scale of the last, fears that scale would be superseded. Elyon's well-meaning confidence had taken a blow and she seemed all the more determined to bring peace for it. The guards were on edge. Those of the previous Rebellion were indignant. (And it seemed that there were always rebellions somewhere. No one was every truly happy…) Vathek reported that the bastards locked up were more than interested at this new development. And Caleb-
Caleb had reverted back to the first weeks after the successive fall of Nerissa, Phobos and Cedric. The only difference was that the young commander now seemed to carry a sprig of rosemary everywhere he went.
Ah, young love. A bitter thought as well as a sweet one – Nerissa had made sure of that.
But love was not what had driven Julian to coerce his son into fishing. At least not the sort of love that most stories, both tragic and heroic, contained.
"Would you carry this?" the man asked. "My hands are full."
Begrudgingly his son accepted the unstrung fishing pole. Both knew the request for what it was; a means to ensure that Caleb did not suddenly change his mind and forgo the expedition designed for him to relax.
Smiling in thanks, Julian shifted the objects in his hands a few more times before he was comfortable in setting off without the impending danger of dropping something. More than half he likely wouldn't need, but if it ensured that his overworked son would stay for a few hours then the extra weight would be worth it. All he had to do was get the youth to the river. Drake and Tynar were more than capable of helping to keep him there.
"I do have duties I need to attend to."
"I am sure they can wait," Julian replied patiently.
The man continued walking, his seventeen year old son striding along by his side. It would do the boy good to relax, to take time away from the worries of the day, to be reminded that not everything in his life had to revolve around swords and duty. Julian sighed to himself. Two out of three would have to do.
"Are you sure that Drake and Tynar won't mind?" Caleb asked. "I don't want to impose."
"They will be glad to see you."
"They see me every day."
If only that were true… Julian glanced sideways at his son, but made no comment aloud. He himself had barely seen his son save when exchanging guard duty of Elyon or at meetings focused solely on the issue of the new rebels. It was not for lack of trying, either. The seventeen year old was simply never where he should have been: not in the dining hall, not in his bed, not in the rooms where the men held their games, not even in the peaceful sanctuary of the royal gardens.
Elyon had reassured the man that she had ordered a servant to gently remind the young commander to eat (and ordered Caleb to accept the bowl of food shoved in front of him at regular intervals least he wanted Vathek to take up the same task). No one had reported the boy collapsed on the floor from exhaustion or excessive anxiety. Yet.
No, there would be no getting out of this for his son no matter what he tried.
"Besides, you only brought one fishing pole."
"You are coming fishing, Caleb," Julian said firmly. "You have given your word that you would."
"Only because you forced it from me," the youth muttered.
His father smiled in amusement. This would hopefully turn out to be a good few hours, if not day.
"The river is not much farther," he said simply.
For a short while only quiet surrounded the two, father and son comfortable enough to walk together with nothing else between them. The tension that Caleb felt at his time being eaten up by something not devoted to restoring peace to the fickle world he lived in was evident in his too tight grip on the fishing pole and too jittery pace slowed by lack of sleep. Julian, by contrast, was calmer at least externally. His son was with him and alive. Everything else could be fixed.
The used, but uncommon path the pair were following took them straight to where the rushing river cut through the landscape. Here they began to move downstream along the riverbank, making good time for their leisurely (at Julian's instance) pace.
A horrible twang ricocheted through the air, sounding for every sound that had ever existed like the guttural chokes of a dying lute.
Already stopped short by the first godforsaken twang, the second had Julian grimacing where they stood in a unique sort of pain. Caleb too could not escape the grimace. His head, though, was whipping frantically around to detect the origin of the noise.
"What was that?"
"Drake, I presume," Julian said. "He has been attempting to learn the lute."
"I remember now," Caleb said darkly. Even he, in his self imposed busyness, had been unable to completely avoid the impressive failure that was the red cloaked captain's practicing.
"Ah, Julian! Come to join the torture?" Tynar called as father and son strode around the bend in the river.
"I will have you know I serenaded a young woman yesterday evening and she agreed to walk about the city with me tonight," Drake defended from where he leaned against a tree, the instrument of torture held securely in his hands.
Tynar snorted. "Was it out of pity? Or because that was the only way to get you to stop?"
Julian tuned out the two as he went about placing the gear he carried down and setting up his fishing pole. Carefully he tied a small hook to the end of a length of line, then the line to his pole. On the hook he loaded a small piece of bait. Once finished, the man then stood near where Tynar had cast his own line and drew back the length of wood and line over his shoulders. He drew in a breath reveling in the sharp scents of the river.
The familiar actions were soothing, allowing his mind to clear itself of everything from worry to anger to remorse and be in that simple, blank state he had possessed before Phobos became a tyrant. It was a state of his past self he had envied of for so long during the Rebellion where it seemed as though his mind would never be blank of violence and despair again. Now he had managed to reclaim it again like many things from his old life – his son, peace, a ruler worthy of ruling Meridian and its people. That he had discovered fishing was what gave him the pleasure was somewhat of a half fluke and a half desperate wish that it would banish the darker images from his mind. That he had acquired Drake then Tynar for consistent and relaxed company only added to the benefits of his newfound escape.
Julian inhaled again, feeling the calm atmosphere around him. Then he swung his arm forward like a whip.
There was a small plonk as the baited hook sunk beneath the river's surface.
The bearded man sat beside where his son had resignedly dropped to the dry ground just beyond the bank. A determined series of twangs filled the air like a jumble of confused sounds that were unsure of what their purpose was.
"So, Caleb, you decided to come fishing?" Drake asked.
"Only because my father had me over a promise he extracted to go with him," Caleb replied. "I said I would stay until you caught five fish between you. I didn't say I would fish though."
Drake grinned as he strummed away at the long-suffering strings of his lute. Several twangs resonated unpleasantly through the air.
"With Tynar's luck you'll be here all week then," the young man said.
"It will be your fault if we are here all week," his larger friend shot back.
"How so?" Innocent words in a voice without a shred of innocence.
"Because your instance upon practicing that vile instrument is creating such a damn racket that it will make the fish flee from the pain in their poor, delicate ears!"
Drake gave a bark of glee. "Their poor, delicate ears? There is nothing delicate about the fish in these parts. One could give you far completion for your looks and take Vathek in a wrestling match."
He laughed again and Caleb laughed along with him at the all too true imagery his comment had provided.
The sound startled Julian from where he was inspecting his cast line. Caleb laughing was something he had not heard in what seemed like a long time. Certainly not in the past week and the events that had preceded it. It was a sound he had sorely missed for more reasons than one.
The bearded man wondered if he should have invited Caleb to the one of the earlier fishing trips. Even if it was not working completely, it seemed to be doing the seventeen year old some good.
At least his friends' constant bickering was useful for something if not for catching fish.
"You could at least try to pretend you care about attracting the fish so we can catch them," Tynar growled irritably.
Drake grinned and strummed a few more horrendously twanging notes on his lute. "And once I have mastered this instrument I will be able to serenade the fish to wherever you want them to go."
"That would require talent first."
Another terrible strum. "Have you been talking to Vathek?"
"How could I when we would each be unable to hear the other over your playing?"
Caleb's father caught his son's eye and both smiled in amusement.
There was higher twang this time. "And just how is your playing, Tynar?"
"The least you can do if you are going to assail us with your lack of skills, Drake, is to set up a fishing pole of your own," Julian finally broke in before a true argument could break out.
"I think I will leave that to those who enjoy fishing."
"More likely because you cannot catch a fish if it jumped into your lap," Tynar said.
Caleb's amused smirk at that and his father's subsequent smile seemed enough to sooth Drake's insulted feelings for the time being. Julian had no doubt, however, that the night would not be a quiet one for Tynar.
"Go back to your fishing, you brute," the captain said amiably. "Leave the music to us other folk."
His larger friend grinned genuinely, although his hands tightened reflexively about the pole within them. Had anyone else deigned to call the former soldier of Phobos a brute – an incidence that seemed to happen more often than not despite the leaps that Tynar had his comrades had made – a far different reaction would have taken place. Sorrow was not reserved for the mourning alone and remorse was a universal sentiment.
For a while the natural rush of the river filled the space between friends. The discordant twangs of a hapless lute merely complimented nature's own strange harmony of bird calls that rose and fell with the careless breeze. Not so careless were the breaths that each friend took, measured in everything worth having and worth leaving behind. Truly no inhale or exhale was wasted. Even if the dregs of what haunted them would always refuse to let go, their content was as simple as a soldier's could be.
Drifting unawares to that state of empty sleep, Caleb's breaths were similarly contended, deep and fast and steady. A fish or two bit at the lines set out and a fish or two were caught. It was a peaceful business with no shouts of enthusiasm or exclamations of unbridled ego marring the small victories of the fishermen.
No songs were sung in the absence of conversation, no amiable music made, just that persistent twanging. No tales were shared either for there were tales enough in their heads already. Indeed, soon Caleb's own head was lolling against his father's shoulder as it spun its own tale of restful nothingness.
Julian watched the boy with a gentle smile. It was a father's love the expression bore and a father's melancholy too.
A chord rang through the air more pleasant than most, but still tainted with an amateur air.
"Has he been sleeping?" Drake peered closer at Julian. "Have you?"
"Have you?" the bearded man said, not so much as redirecting the question as making a point.
"It is those damned nightmares. They are impossible to escape with everything that has happened." Tynar shook his head with a grim smile. "Go back to your playing, Drake. Perhaps you will, by some miracle, make such sweet sound that we will all dream of it instead and so get some sleep, or, more likely, such wretched noise that it scares away what haunts us."
The young man shot his friend a withering look before taking up the challenge with more vigor than Julian thought was strictly necessary. By Tynar's not so quiet swearing the guard was clearly thinking along the same lines. Just in a not so polite manner.
The bearded man smiled to himself as he checked his line. It was strangely soothing to listen to one good friend rile up another.
The abominable sound continued for a short while with Julian content to let it be and Tynar content to curse it. After a particular vicious series of twangs that sounded more like something being mangled beyond repair though, Julian thought it would be prudent to remind his friend of a certain fact.
Clearing his throat, the bearded man not-so subtly dipped his head to where Caleb leant sleeping against his shoulder. Drake grinned in apology and calmed his plucking of his instrument's strings.
Another while passed with nature humming along to the lute's pathetic sound. Then a chord rung out in a smooth, clear way. Another followed, just as articulate as the one before. Then another. And another.
"By Meridian's Heart, are you actually improving?"
This time it was Julian who shot Tynar a look, the arm of his shoulder not currently being used as a pillow manipulating a hand into a shushing gesture. The bearded man nodded in encouragement at Drake. The young man needed no such encouragement, however, already urged on by the music he was making.
One chord, then two, then three, then four moving up and down like the waves of a crystal lake so still even stone would be hard pressed to match it. A simple rhythm of a simple tune, endlessly repeated in one, two, three, four. It was familiar too and the unshed wetness in Julian's eyes bore testament to that fact.
One, two, three, four went the childhood that had long since passed. One, two, three, four had gone a rhyme that man nor rebel nor slave nor guard could truly force him to abandon. One, two, three, four went up and up and down. One, two, three, four – Caleb stirred against his father's shoulder, a mere boy for all he was a man.
"Pretty leaves, pretty leaves why do you fall and cry?
Pretty leaves, pretty leaves what does it take to die?"
Julian's voice swelled up like a river filled with rain, raw with power and emotion, yet chocked by gravel and roughness.
"Summer is gone and Autumn's soon past;
Pretty leaves, pretty leaves shall you fly at last?"
A simple song for a simple tune made for the memory of young heroes passed whom the children singing had long forgotten. Winter had always been the harshest of months and under Phobos it seemed to have expanded forever. Julian turned his face upwards and closed his eyes. Once more he joined the music Drake weaved.
"Pretty leaves, pretty leaves why do you fall and cry?
Pretty leaves, pretty leaves what does it take to die?
Summer is gone and Autumn's soon past;
Pretty leaves, pretty leaves shall you fly at last?"
So the song went and so he sang it.
Then a chord became a twang and the moment passed and what seemed like fifty fish committed suicide upon the river banks.
"Well, I stand corrected," Tynar finally said. "Your horrendous playing was useful for something after all."
Drake did not bother with a reply, settling for simply empting his lute of the scaled creatures atop the larger being's head.
"I think that it has less to do with his playing and more to do with-" Julian stopped, unable to continue. He unconsciously rubbed where his son's elbow had caught his jaw in surprise. "It had to have been your playing, Drake. I've got no other explanation. Are you alright, Caleb?"
"Yes." The shock of being woken by flying fish took the familiar anger, evasion and denial out of the answer. It was as genuine as they came. "What about you? I didn't mean to-"
"It's alright," Julian reassured, careful with his words as always. "It probably wont even bruise."
The young commander ran a hand down his face, eyes still too alert and muscles still too tensed as though his mind was not convinced that the danger was over yet.
"Well," the youth said slowly as he struggled to comprehend the bizarre situation and settle his abrupt rush of adrenaline. "You succeeded in making me stay until you caught more than five fish. Is fishing always so exciting?"
"Only when you let Drake practice his horrible skills," Tynar replied with a grin.
"We still have not confirmed that it was me who was responsible," Drake broke in, indignant.
Caleb rubbed his face again and leaned back on the grass with a sigh. He squinted up at the sun, shielding his face from its glare with one hand. "Would you say that it was almost noon?"
"Aye," Tynar grunted from where he was collecting the fish in one big basket.
The near eighteen year old sighed again. "I need to be getting back so I can switch guard duty with Aldarn."
Julian's lips tightened but he made no protest. It was time they all started to head back to their own respective duties in any case. Besides, the man noted with some happiness that his son seemed to bear an air of laziness about him despite his alertness and in contrast to the single-minded drive to work from before.
A curse made the former rebel look around to where Tynar and Drake were staring out into the center of the river.
"You lost the fishing poles," Drake said mildly.
"What's with this 'you'?" Tynar growled. "It was your playing that caused us to let them go in the first place."
"Now they are floating away."
"I've got them," Caleb broke in as Julian shook his head at the antics of the two. Then his son's words sunk in alongside the telltale splash of the youth diving into the water.
"Caleb-"
"Ah, to be young again," Drake said with an overdramatised sigh.
Julian shot the man an incredulous look. "You are still young."
"And he can swim. Stop worrying." The captain grinned at him. "You can always haul him out by his ears later."
"Very funny." Julian kept his eyes on where his son was expertly making his way towards the two floating pieces of wood. All three on the river bank did.
"At least we got a decent haul."
"What 'we'? You did not do any fishing," Tynar said.
Drake worked his face into an expression of feigned innocence. "Here I thought I provoked the fish into flying."
"We all know that I am going to be the one who has to carry it back and then get rid of them."
Julian saw through the mock irritation. It was well known amongst the small group of friends that the former guard of Phobos took the responsibility of repaying the debt he believed he owed the people of Meridian seriously. More often than not in the past months families had found themselves suddenly in the possession of gifts they sorely needed to rebuild their lives. Buckets, blankets, food and even once an entire roof – nothing was too much to give. Indeed, the incidences had been occurring so much so that a myth was beginning to leak into the rhymes of children of the kindly shadow that sought only to do good in spite of the hideous scars it received in battle forcing it to hide.
'Shy Hart' they called their anonymous helper. The name suited Julian's friend well.
"What will you do with the haul?" the bearded man asked. "Give it to another family?"
Tynar shrugged, a movement made more difficult by the guilt that suddenly pressed more insistently on his shoulders. "There is a fish store that is struggling to regain its profits…"
"Will you let them know their benefactor is you?"
The former guard of Phobos looked away.
"Where would be the fun in that?" Drake grinned with disguised understanding for his friend. "It's better to keep alive the fables of the mysterious do-gooder that travels these parts."
Julian nodded his head in assent although inside him seethed…something. The man understood the challenge that Tynar would face if he made himself know alongside is actions, the likelihood of rejection of both him and his services which were once used to oppress– No, the man understood that all too well, nor could he condemn the people for it. And yet, he so dearly wished he could.
Tynar had turned, he had changed, he was trying to right his wrongs. In a Paradise that would be enough and he would be forgiven. But it was not a Paradise they lived in. That much Julian understood (that much Caleb understood – though seemed unable to truly comprehend – no matter how much it pained his father). No matter how much one hoped it was, life could never truly be a Paradise, only better than the life that had come before.
The ex-slave and ex-rebel tried unsuccessfully to stretch his neck as he looked to where Caleb was wading back through the river, both fishing poles in hand. Life was better. He just needed his son to believe it.
ON TYNAR'S 'ALTER EGO' NAME: I thought the people giving his mysterious 'alter ego' the name Shy Hart fitted. Firstly because 'shy' fits with the myth I've got them spinning up about it - that it is a person who deliberately avoids being seen/company. Secondly because 'Hart' sounds like 'Heart' which, in this world, can link to both the heart as in kind, etc. and the Heart as in linking his actions to the Heart of Meridian (or whatnot) something which they deem as powerful and good and is supposed to protect/help the people of Meridian.
ON FISH LEAPING EN MASS: apparently some schools of fish will leap from the water when startled by sounds such as boat motors. I played with this idea (yes, you could presume Drake's playing is that bad), but haven't specified why the fish leapt out en mass for a reason - namely because you can simply imagine yourselves why they might have done so (and if no good reason comes, I'll plead that this is set in a fantasy world ;)
The chapter itself stemmed from a suggestion from Wondertown9 to explore the effects of PTSD from Tynar's point of view. It probably wasn't what you were expecting... I felt that he would be more affected by the reactions of the other people towards him for what he previously did - not that he wouldn't suffer from some probably mild to medium form of PTSD depending on how Cedric, etc. treated their troops - so I think I ended up focusing a bit more of that as well as how the three men have outlets for dealing with their experiences, feelings and/or PTSD (as opposed to Caleb who has none). I love the idea that Drake and Tynar became friends (as I think was kind of shown in the show's second season if I'm remembering right) so I decided to add that as well.
The most fun part about writing this chapter, I think, was writing a) the different ways PTSD has affected them and b) the different ways they each deal with it. Caleb, as you would have figured by now, is a mess (but he's getting there, don't worry). Julian talks to others, focuses on the present and has Caleb to look after which is further incentive to talk and get through his own issues. I also like the idea he goes fishing or does some other relaxing activity. Tynar I also see as fishing (and anonymously giving his catches to the poor/villages), as well as helping out the villages through rebuilding, getting supplies, etc. to help make amends for his wrongs. He also talks as does Drake (see a pattern here between those who are coping and a certain someone who isn't coping so well?) Drake's main outlet I've figured to be his attempt to learn the lute – it requires his focus, gives him a challenge that is different from fighting/guard duties/etc. and gives him a means to express his feelings however badly he plays.
The next chapter should be up by next Sunday because I want to post it on a specific date; I'll be getting back to the more nitty gritty stuff of Caleb's PSTD in it too (unlike this one which kind of only touched on it). Other than that though, I will a) not give anything else away about it and b) the other updates will take a lot longer (although bear with me - I won't give up on this just yet).
Please leave a review if you are so inclined. I miss seeing them in my inbox...