Author's Note: I'd just like to take a little space to thank all of you who have read, reviewed, recommended, subscribed to, bookmarked, or otherwise participated in Solicitude - and Chapter 10 is as good a place as any to do it.
My especial thanks goes to princespeach. You've been a #1 fan since the beginning. Your reviews have meant so much to me, and I find myself living for them with heady anticipation after each additional chapter. You make me a little better. Thank you so much.
I'd also like to thank
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' THE TOM HANKS EXPERIENCE, all of whom seem to be "regular regulars." Your feedback does not go amiss. It's a good feeling to know that people actually read this - and I know that my writing isn't the easiest to read. So, thanks, kind readers.
To everyone else who skyrocket my hit counter, many thanks. I see and appreciate it.
I don't know what else to say but that it's time for the story to go on, kind readers.
There were many defining moments in Kratos Aurion's life, moments where his entire psyche hinged like a swivel on an autonomy-be-damned event that claimed him headlong. Quite a number of these defining moments were invented by Mithos Yggdrasill. Undeniably. For better or for worse, but undeniably. There were several during the Kharlan War, some bestial and, in turn, some ideologic that were like rushes of adrenaline for the spirit rather than for the body. The consummation of Origin's Seal was one. His Cruxis Crystal was another. Each of these events manifested a kind of perenniality from within him. Each pegged a piece of him outside humanistic tendency and fallibility so that he could endure for reasons bigger than himself. Meeting Anna was another defining moment in his life, as was her death, and as were the birth and subsequent loss of his son. In fact, there were plenty of defining moments in a life as long as his had been. A lot of them weren't in any particular order, but all of them had turned him inside out, yanked the path from under his feet, and deposited him farther along it. These little wrinkles in time – these defining moments where the human existence is broken down into sheer seconds of jinx or serendipity – were what made a man who he was and enacted courses and destinies and worlds.
Interestingly enough, along with his belief that these defining moments did indeed exist, Kratos Aurion was a fatalist. After Anna died, he stopped believing in control – for the very paradox of the attempt; it had gotten her killed – because man did not define these moments but these moments defined man. Given knowledge and "now," a man wasn't anything more than who he was, and his actions during the events of these defining moments would unfold exactly the same way if repeated ad infinitum because there was only one path. Yes, the path could be yanked and shifted under his feet to deposit him at a different point, but it was inevitably a different point along the same path.
Contrary to all the things that Kratos Aurion was, there were many things that Kratos Aurion was not, and on that grievously long list was being a good father. Fate – in its sick, twisted way of doing things – had spared Anna this revelation. Kratos' incompetence had outlived her, which was a pretty lousy blessing, but it meant that she didn't have to suffer seeing her son in this predicament that only Kratos could change but wouldn't. Kratos wouldn't have traded Anna for the world, and – faith damn him! – he was afraid, in his guilty heart of hearts, that Anna's son was no exception. He was afraid to even think about Lloyd, as if mere reflection would curse the child… because he was afraid that he might let himself believe he wished for Lloyd's death that day instead of Anna's, and it was a filthy, filthy thought. Yet circumstances dictated those crucial moments with sonorous judgment, and, indelibly, Kratos had traded Anna for her son. And then he had lost her son. And he wept. That meant something, proved that he loved the toddler at one time – he did.
But Lloyd Aurion rose from the ashes as Lloyd Irving, and Fate mocked Kratos again because – no matter how many times Yuan told Kratos that Lloyd was the spitting image of him – all he could see was Anna, and that was what made him feel so vile. He loved his son with his whole heart, but he feared to stick around and find out if that was really true or not, and that inability to come to terms with the boy whom he loved with a vengeance made him guilty, so guilty, on multiple accounts. He didn't know what to do with Lloyd or his sick thoughts, but he would not be the one to taint him. He was determined that he would not sully this. He'd already killed his mother. He couldn't stand the idea that maybe he would have sacrificed his own son to prevent that end, but— No, enough; he would not think about it. It was a maddening, cumbersome pattern of thought, almost like being caught in a lie that was never spoken to begin with, and worse still when he had to stand in Lloyd's presence and look him in the eyes.
Father material he was not, yet the Tethe'allan evening found Kratos traveling through Centrum's holds in search of his son. He had no escort this time; he knew the way. But when he rounded the corner to Holding Two, he was met by an empty cell.
Just as vacantly, he touched the gate with a hand gloved in alabaster.
They had moved his son?
Kratos' eyes, the color of walnut ink, skimmed smoothly over the interior walls. He lowered his hand back down to his side. Assuming an expression of placidity that would rival Mithos' calm, he turned away from the hold and retraced his steps. Mithos should be out of his pre-meeting – a meeting that would likely spell inequity at theirs – and Kratos had only just made his return to Centrum an hour ago. He should be taking his place at the table by now, but he was all ready to get to the bottom of this. He felt as though he'd been robbed. It was always hard to shake that feeling, so he only confined it to the scantest degrees of discomposure before it could jettison into anything conspicuous. There was always that propensity to panic when it came to Lloyd, even for the slightest of changes – like him not being where he was supposed to be.
Kratos passed by Cruxis subjects who nodded their heads as one in an overture of respect. As always, he looked like a Seraph who had somewhere to be, and they would not hinder that. Even without the sight of his wings, he wore status. It wasn't the tastefulness of his attire or that he was wearing his formal whites – bleached lily from shoulder to feet, with the close-fitting jacket, double-cuffed sleeves, and standing collar – as was custom for these closed meetings. It was something in his bearing, in his hard face and even harder eyes, like a man too long in his profession who had traded sweet dreams for sleepless nights and power in his fingertips. Well, it didn't matter what these people thought of him as long as they stayed tame.
He passed through a curving archway, descended another flight of stairs two steps at a time, and veered left to the mouth of a corridor that led to the double door entrance of a dining hall.
It was bad, he thought grimly as the doors were pushed open for him by attending servants, that he already had a headache.
Here came the man of the hour.
Lloyd slept maybe three hours the night before, and not a smidgen of an hour more than that. He had been unable take his mind off the fact that Kratos would be back in less than eighteen. Or that now, as he stood outside the dining hall schlepping dishes and glasses to trays, he had been appointed to the feast of Ranks due to some strangely self-serving foul-up. When given the news, he had turned to Cook a face blinking with proper naivete, as if only just last night he absolutely hadn't been clued in by one of the Seraphim that he was meant to be at that table.
Cook was a little baffled that Lloyd was swapped into the job at the final curtain call. He'd been working all day with him in the kitchens, and then they'd been called for more serving hands in the waiting circle, whoever each kitchen could spare – who knew why besides Yuan? – so Lloyd was switched out of the frying pan and into the fire, so to speak. But Cook was a little pleased for the boy who had become one of his count. If Lloyd gained headway personally serving Lord Yggdrasill it likely meant good graces and a quicker end to this unexplained punishment. That's the way Cook saw it, anyway. The boy deserved a good hot plate as soon as he was allowed, begrudgingly or not.
Not everyone could be happy for Lloyd, though. There was Osha, who said that he'd rather be skinned alive than have to work that dinner party and good luck and good riddance and he'd be out of Centrum by the time those guests of honor were assembled. Lloyd took Osha's rant in good humor, the only kind of humor he had that day.
Lloyd was told that he and the other workers, whom he didn't know beyond faces, would be serving a banquet of thirteen. This thirteen would include Lord Yggdrasill himself as well as the two other living Seraphim, Grand Cardinals, and a number of Ranks handpicked by Grand Cardinals. Good luck indeed; this was a hot spot, and Lloyd thought thirteen an unlucky number. But Kratos would be there. That's all that mattered. Kratos would be there, and so maybe his life could still be salvaged from Cruxis. Mithos couldn't do anything to him as long as Kratos was back.
And now he was ready. He wore a smock over his clothes, identical to those of the other servers. Stupid that it was white, though – stupid in Lloyd's opinion, anyway. Colette would never have been able to disguise her spills if she were the one wearing it. That made him grin and look down at the floor, easing the chaotic flight of butterflies in his stomach that somehow got there without him noticing when. The smock was supposed to cover him from food and drink and also give all of them a semblance of matching uniform, but Lloyd guessed it probably didn't hurt that it was camouflaging his quite-shabby red-grey ensemble. That outfit was quite a piece of work now. Lately, Lloyd always kept his sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up to three-quarter the length of his arms. His sleeves were too short for his arms – or, rather, his arms were too long for his clothes – by an inch and a half, and the sleeves were too tight around his wrists. So buttons needed to stay unbuttoned, and sleeves out of the way. Plus, bare arms were best for dishwashing. He would run around in his looser undershirt except that he got chilled when he did.
As Lloyd waited to be useful, his downward gaze shifted so that he was admiring his "new" black boots. He was proud of those boots. They were definitely—
"Spiced wine!"
Lloyd's head snapped up.
"They're calling for more spiced wine," one of the serving girls said. She was a chef, not a waitress – a chef better suited her personality, anyway – but they'd needed people and so she was roped into this the same way that Lloyd had been. Rumor had it that Seraph Yuan had perfectly handpicked a number of workers – equally, by kitchen – to prepare a certain private dinner in his quarters last night. In exchange for this service, he relieved them of tonight's duties, which made the waiting circle shortstaffed and transformed it into a last-minute rush job of secondhand recruits. Like Lloyd, who pretended not to know anything about the delicious feast at Yuan's last night.
Lloyd nodded his head and hoisted the wine bucket in plain initiative. "Got it."
The woman blinked owlishly at him, as if noticing him for the first time. Whatever it was that went through her mind when she looked at him, it must have been satisfactory enough to stopper any of the questions she had. "Then don't just stand there – go!"
"Agh— geez! Who?"
"The Grand Cardinal!"
"Which one?"
"Lord Magnius! Now go!"
She practically shoved him through the door.
"You're getting off track, Magnius," scoffed Grand Cardinal Forcystus. "Drink or debate, but please avoid doing both at one time."
It was insult to injury, especially since Magnius' face was changing red. And he'd just requested more wine.
Magnius' man cleared his throat, did not reach for his own glass, and did nothing more. He was, more or less, a sit-in. Everyone of merit knew that. The Ranks were brought to the table for other reasons. Some would say that they were fallback redundancies.
Even still, Kratos was obliged to speak. He was supposed to listen and give full due, whether or not he thought it a waste of time. So he began:
"Magnius, your proposition abuses Derris-Kharlan's capacities." This was stupid. Why was he even bothering?
"It gets you what you want, Lord Kratos."
"At issue," came Yuan's measured voice, sounding very bored.
"Respect, Lord Yuan, but there would be reductions. Half with Exspheres. Less that with Cruxis Crystals."
"Kratos knows," The Grand Cardinals fell silent when Mithos spoke, "better than any of us what can and cannot be done on Derris-Kharlan." He sat at leisure in his chair, presiding over the meeting like a glorified referee. His aim was as scrupulous as his words. "So, Kratos, can Derris-Kharlan support this population?"
Kratos looked fixedly at Mithos, and Mithos looked right back at him. The leader of Cruxis was well on his way to a closed-lip leer.
"Derris-Kharlan cannot support even half that number, Lord Yggdrasill," Kratos answered.
"That ends that, then." And Mithos went back to swishing his wine.
"We could ask Origin," said Yuan. He made it out as a suggestion, but it sounded borderline insincere. The Grand Cardinals couldn't tell if he was being serious. They couldn't tell with Lord Yuan period.
But Kratos could. Kratos gave him such a look, would have glared if he could, and had to put in two cents more after that. "I have a scenario that may work," he focused away from all the others and onto Mithos. "and an outline for you, Lord Yggdrasill, that calls for Rodyle's Cannon."
"I don't see that helping Derris-Kharlan. One might call it counter-productive."
"A risk," Kratos agreed, giving Mithos that much – and he was speaking only to Mithos now. "but I know what she can endure."
Pronyma, the only woman at the table, piped in. "This is pathetic."
"Your tongue, Pronyma."
"There's no getting around what has to be done."
He'd come back to Mithos later. For now, he had to address Pronyma, give her some attention.
"What is that?" Kratos had to ask.
"We lose one of them. Likely Sylvarant."
Yuan looked at Kratos from across the table. He said nothing. But he didn't need to. Kratos felt his eyes.
Pronyma continued, "The only real advantage of holding onto Sylvarant over Tethe'alla would be for the privatization of mana. As I very firmly doubt any of you would opt for that, given our present situation, the only sensible thing to do is to expire Sylvarant."
"It's still not that easy," Forcystus jumped in.
"It is," Pronyma countered hotly. "We begin where we left off, if Lord Kratos won't farm on Derris-Kharlan."
"Derris-Kharlan would be supporting the Ranches, not the other way around. As previously stated, it can't do that." A reminder from Kratos.
"Yes, my lord, so we restart the Ranches on Sylvarant."
Kratos had the mental image of Yuan raising his brows at him. He folded his hands and crashed in. To save the world…
"With all due respect for the opinions on the table, I don't know that—"
Kratos' eyes suddenly shot somewhere just off, between Yuan and a Grand Cardinal. The cold iron in his irises flared for a single, violent instant. His eyes shook, but he galled that emotion so swiftly – whatever was there – and nobody took notice. Seraphim excluded.
"You don't know what, Kratos?" Mithos had taken a glance toward the same spot, saw what had caused Kratos' mercurial fit, and prompted him just the same. He smiled. Cruelly.
"I don't know that the Grand Cardinals are seeing this from the proper angle."
Kratos launched into his speech. Yuan, all the while, watched him closely and willed him not to be stupid – no stupider than was necessary. Yuan saw Kratos' eyes flicker during the moments between moments, saw when his eyes seemed to stray just beyond his listeners, felt Lloyd, the object of Kratos' horror, when he came up to the table to refill drinkware. Yuan watched Mithos, too, and gauged his response. He did not disappoint. Mithos played his game impeccably, even though he was as incensed by Lloyd's unwarranted appearance as Kratos was shaken by it.
"… using them as a source. The Exspheres don't create mana; they resource it …."
Yuan held onto the thread of Kratos' voice while his eyes wandered. Lloyd had circled to the other side of the table. Kratos' side. The boy actually looked scared. Well, good for him. This was the lion's den, Lloyd was the lamb – and, oh, Pandora's box might open any second, too. That happened when two Seraphim were provoked at exactly the same time. But Lloyd trusted Yuan, and that meant that he trusted Yuan could kill two birds with one stone. Even if the birds were falcons.
Don't look at me, Yuan mentally reprimanded Lloyd, damn your eyes.
Lloyd came right up alongside Kratos.
He hesitated.
Then Lloyd went ahead and topped off his father's wine glass.
And that's when Pandora's box was wrenched open and Kratos slipped up:
"I am saying, Magnius, that the world is backwards in your head," he snapped, coolly.
Yuan, back on track with the debate, didn't know whether to laugh or cringe.
"A word, if I may," Kratos had abruptly stood and turned on Mithos. "In private."
He didn't want to bleed Sylvarant dry. It was already deficient, cut off from the wellspring of mana. Let the generations live for as long as they could. Those were Lloyd's people. He didn't want to kill anyone anymore, not over these boasts that were hardly credible. Was Mithos hanging him over the Cardinals' heads for sport? Now Yuan was looking at him, and he knew they were of like mind. Sylvarant must be spared. He was going to be polite about this.
"With all due respect for the opinions on the table, I don't know that—"
While Kratos was in the mid-sentence of his words – truly as though the spirits wanted to strike him down with lightning but decided that choking would suffice – his son strode into the hall through the doorway directly across from him. Point blank in his field of vision. He just strode in, as if by rote of business, carrying drink. Before Kratos could fathom what Lloyd was doing here, the teen had edged over to the table and lifted the wine from the bucket. The knowledge was a split-second absorption for Kratos: dear Martel, his son was going to wait on them.
Kratos didn't freeze up exactly, but his hesitation may have been with too little grace to be taken for a meaningful pause.
"You don't know what, Kratos?"
Kratos met Mithos' direct gaze. He was sick for using his son to toy with him like this, without apparent cause or justification. There was no reason for this sudden attack. He had done nothing to be spurned like this by the lead Angel of Cruxis – and in front of everyone. It seemed out of line even for Mithos' methods. Yet Kratos' words flowed forth, as if nothing had happened. "I don't know that the Grand Cardinals are seeing this from the proper angle. They have contextualized the definition of mana to suit their timespan." They always did, and that wasn't necessarily wrong because people shouldn't live for as long as Mithos, Kratos, and Yuan had.
The Seraph Aurion let himself run his eyes over Lloyd again. The boy was refilling Magnius' glass. His head was bent. Brown, wavy-like locks passed over dark jasper eyes. But closer, and to a parent's eyes, Lloyd looked that much more appalling.
"Please continue."
Kratos had to tear his eyes away from the figure. That shabby red image wasn't the Lloyd he remembered leaving here. "The Desians have been farming Exspheres for so long that you believe host bodies are a requirement for our ends. They aren't. Mana outdates people."
Not to linger too long on the boy, Kratos moved his sight again. He could make out peripheral motions of his son as he was circling to serve one of Pronyma's Ranks. It took considerable willpower for Kratos to keep jagged anger from his voice as Mithos flaunted his child this way, as a tool. Lloyd kept looking at Kratos. Nervously, he thought. It made Kratos all the angrier because Lloyd's face was so open. But that wasn't all. His eyes looked too-huge, and around them his face was all bare-boned angles, without a trace of complexion to be had. It nearly drove Kratos to the floor. The boy was emaciated. Kratos could see that through the cooking smock that Lloyd wore. This was absolutely not how Kratos had left him. He was obviously not being cared for, and Kratos wanted to kill whoever was responsible. The voice inside his head told him, though, that if he was looking for the guilty he need only look into a mirror. But as Kratos covertly studied Lloyd, secondary and tertiary observances showed even more changes, though more of the natural variety; Lloyd was getting noticeably, officially tall for his age. He was at least a handswidth beyond average, where Kratos had seen him last, but in combination with his ill-fitting clothes his height presented him as awkwardly spindly, scrawny even. He also looked like he had been given neither haircut nor hairbrush during his stay.
"But the Exspheres are cultivated through their biology. Mana is in them."
"Mana is in them, but it's not of them," Kratos corrected, trying hard not to stare at his silently attending son. "While you're redefining mana, what is a man?"
Nobody seemed to have any comment toward his rhetoric.
"If you analyzed the corpse of a man, you would find several gases in his body that match those prevalent in our own atmosphere. But the man didn't produce those gases. He breathed them in because they were all around him." Too many impressions of Anna in Lloyd's appearance. Too many. Kratos had to keep speaking. "People are consumers. People weren't put here for mana. Mana was put here for people. Contrary to that rule are your Exspheres. You are using them as a source. The Exspheres don't create mana; they resource it, concentrate it within efficient little encasements for us. What you've been doing is recycling mana, not creating it. For Derris-Kharlan, we will try to create it."
Magnius kept shaking his head.
A Desian – one of Forcystus' Ranks – spoke up. "The source of mana was the Tree."
"Which is dead."
"Now you see the bigger picture. Bury your Ranches and put to sleep your host bodies."
"But we can only use what we have, Lord Kratos. Sylvarant is a resource."
"So is Tethe'alla, if you put it that way."
He couldn't see Lloyd now because he was right next to him. He could feel him, and his presence did not feel like that of the shadow he resembled, but of realness – of Anna's flesh and Anna's energy. This was his son, the only reason that Kratos had left to love. And this was… wrong. All wrong. He couldn't weather this storm for much longer. His impatience began to leak.
"Everything is a resource. People are a resource, but a finite one. We need a true source. You need to think outside of people."
"What are you saying, Kratos?"
His own son, Anna's flesh and Anna's energy, began serving him wine like the lowliest, detestable slave of Cruxis that he was.
And Kratos' heart burst into flames at this act of desecration.
"I am saying, Magnius, that the world is backwards in your head."
Magnius sobered up fast.
The Ranks shared sudden looks, as if silently asking themselves if they'd heard that.
Pronyma muttered impieties.
Mithos and Yuan said not a word.
And Kratos… Kratos stood and faced Mithos.
"A word, if I may. In private."
Then, all at once, the Grand Cardinals wanted to talk.
Mithos gathered himself to his feet, like a cat disturbed from its roost. "Enough," he quieted them, then he headed for the double doors with the right hand of Cruxis in tow.
Lloyd didn't know what they were discussing as he approached the table, but the Grand Cardinals sounded like a brood of vipers. Whatever it was, it was important enough that politeness was only the thinnest layer of ice bound to crack before raging black waters of discordance.
The table itself was lengthwise, similar enough to his usual tables. Mithos sat at the head. Lloyd couldn't tell what he was wearing, only that his outer garment was loose and white. He noticed that Mithos held a glass of wine which he tilted back and forth and watched as rivulets of burgundy sloshed against its curve. He was relatively quiet in present company, letting Kratos do most of the talking. He sat there and bombarded the others with his razor-sharp, light-hued scrutiny. But he didn't act like this was a chore that way that Yuan had made it sound last night. The Seraphim don't share the same agenda. Time to start remembering that. It should have been obvious by now.
Lloyd didn't understand the internal Seraph – his father included – but he watched Mithos spin his wine and recalled that Yuan had bitten into that string bean last night even though he hadn't joined Lloyd in his feast. Colette didn't need food or drink either during the Angel Transformation. But food hadn't hurt Yuan or anything weird like that. So he wondered of the Seraphim's relationship to food and if it was categorized as necessity or not.
Kratos, too, had a plate set in front of him. He had wine that looked untouched. He sat at Mithos' right. Yuan was directly across from Kratos, at Mithos' left. The rest of the table was Desians – three Grand Cardinals mixed in with Ranks.
Lloyd's first few steps into the hall felt like a marathon race. His pulse quickened, and he was insanely self-conscious. The Ranks ignored him, but the Grand Cardinals knew who he was. They knew that Mithos had been keeping him, but they also knew better than to say anything. They studied him like a piece of meat, the way that they didn't seem to give the other servers a glance. This was Anna's son. Pronyma favored him with distaste in her stare. If he hadn't already known what they were eating, Lloyd might've assumed that she'd just taken a bite of something sour. Magnius, on the other hand, grinned maliciously at him, like Lloyd really was a dirty pet of Cruxis. Forcystus was indifferent, covering up for some personal offense, perhaps. But Kratos was the reason behind Lloyd's plummeting heart. Right from the start, he caught Lloyd's eyes, and Lloyd had witnessed the flash of horror as it paved Kratos' expression. His father vibed anger in waves of pent-up release. Lloyd didn't know how he knew, but he did. Kratos was… upset, disappointed, disgusted. He was trying to look anywhere but at Lloyd, which did a number on the boy's confidence level. Kratos really didn't seem to want him there, and Lloyd caught on to that early.
He served the others, overhearing their conversation and Kratos' inflectionless tone. He felt cheapened; not by their looks – because he would give not a damn about them and be glad to tell them the story – but by the way that Kratos ignored him except for the offbeat glances that made him feel pretty terrible. He understood that Kratos had to get through this meeting and that he shouldn't take it personally. But that initial stare of disgust and aversion and… and fear… came from his father especially for him.
I should've never agreed to this.
Lloyd stopped beside Kratos. For truth, he wasn't sure what to do. The man hadn't touched his wine, but Kratos was a Seraph of Cruxis and Lloyd was a server. So he erred on the side of caution and followed what duty entailed. He topped off Kratos' glass—
—and hastened backward when he could suddenly hear emotion in Kratos' words. It wasn't a full-force barreling, but it came from nowhere and targeted Magnius.
Everyone was a little confused.
Kratos rose. Wouldn't look at Lloyd.
"A word, if I may. In private."
Hostile whispers, dripping with sarcasm, began to trade, even among the Ranks.
"Enough."
And off Kratos went with his Cruxis master.
Lloyd abandoned the wine, took a breath, and broadened the gap between him and the rest of the people at the table. Some of the other workers began to flock there to collect dishes, and it was only a matter of time before the Grand Cardinals noticed that he was still standing nearby. He turned and stalked out of the hall as Yuan conducted the Desians, sharply reinstating order.
When Lloyd reached Yuan's chambers – as sure thing he went straight there – the first thing he did was tug the smock off, ball it up in his hands, and toss it to the side. Next, he began to pace to and fro, to and fro. That was a disgraceful sham, back there. That was… well, he wasn't sure what that was supposed to be. Lloyd didn't have a mind for politics, but he could smell when something was fishy as well as he could smell a rat, and the dealings at that table had been nothing but rat eating fish overlaid with Kratos' greying allusions. If you analyzed the corpse of a man… Lloyd blinked skeptical eyes into a frown. There was a science to mana, an application that would mean total involvement if those at that table could only decide on the right one. Mithos had Kratos to the rut, and they were planning something big by the sound of it, but through some curtained glimmer of contradiction it was Kratos who stayed his head above the current, it was Kratos who made the calls… it was Kratos who was more or less in charge of Derris-Kharlan now.
Lloyd was tunneling his hands through his hair when Yuan arrived.
"Lloyd Irving, are you all right?"
"Why did you want me there?" Lloyd turned on his feet, to. "Nobody else did – not even Kratos, and I thought that was the whole point," he vented, turning again, fro. His pacing was steady but relentless and not at all what Yuan had in mind for those boots when he gave them to him.
The Seraph folded his arms and let Lloyd go. He didn't ask him to stop pacing even though it somehow made his quarters feel small, like a cage for an animal twice as little. He didn't ask Lloyd to stop raking his wine-spotted fingers through the lengths of his dirty dark brown hair – or, in the same way, to stop teasing himself. He didn't ask him to do anything, knowing that this tempest must run its course. Yuan just let him get on with it.
"They were talking about Sylvarant like it was some sort of a crappy sacrifice— he didn't even— Did you see the way he looked at me?"
"Yes."
"Then I'm surprised! I was beginning to think that I was invisible or had something on my face or—something."
"I put him in a very difficult position tonight. Both of you. Thank you for your trust."
Lloyd halted and remarkably didn't skewer Yuan with his gaze as Kratos was surely going to.
The Seraph was staunch, his face unmoving.
"You got something out of this?" Lloyd guessed, not sure why he was even surprised anymore.
"Yes, a few things, actually."
"Tell me."
Yuan drew near to Lloyd and, recognizing when and when not to withhold information from the boy, he spoke. "Kratos is talking to Yggdrasill as we speak, for one."
"Who cares? They're probably both mad."
"They are." He always made things sound so incidental. He also seemed to think that instigation, when following a good recipe for protocol, could be rewarding. "But each reacts differently to anger."
"Please just come out and tell me whatever it is that you're trying to say," Lloyd groaned. He didn't have the stamina for Yuan right now, not when his words were their own dialect.
"Yggdrasill never wanted you there, Lloyd. You guessed that last night. When you arrived, he did what I expected him to do: he took control of the situation."
"When is he ever not in control?"
"When Lloyd Irving entered the dining hall tonight." Yuan's lips angled into a faint smile. "Yggdrasill doesn't like anomalies, but because your father was there Yggdrasill performed admirably. He's a master pretender, you know. He always has to be a step ahead. So he pretended you into the plan. As for Kratos, he was upset the moment he saw you, but when Yggdrasill assumed charge your father had somewhere to direct his anger. He immediately held Yggdrasill responsible because Yggdrasill claimed responsibility."
"…"
"Well?"
"How do you get all this from what happened tonight? They didn't even say a word."
"I know them. I'd be a bad friend if I didn't."
"Pissing them off is being a bad friend."
"He wasn't mad at you, Lloyd." It seemed like a digression of topic, but Yuan read Lloyd's contention in his face and edgy tone, and it was obvious who he was talking about. "And if he has any sense, you're getting out of here." As it should be, Yuan added to himself.
Lloyd opened his mouth for a turn, but just then:
"Tell me just what it is that you think you're doing."
Lloyd spun around.
"Hello, Kratos." Yuan didn't sound the least bit excited, though he acted like he'd been expecting the man sooner.
Kratos was like a shadow, a tall, smoldering fire-shadow, until he stepped into the flat and imposed just by being. Yuan would have thought him pale if it weren't for the way his Cruxis whites betrayed his ashen face. His eyes, cut from garnet, fell on Lloyd.
"Lloyd…" Kratos said in a voice beside his voice. There was that expression again, the one that made him look sick.
"Kratos…?" Lloyd ventured, tentatively, before Kratos switched his gaze back to Yuan.
Yuan met his gaze dead-on, and, for the moment, Lloyd was ignored.
He glanced from Yuan to Kratos then back again, caught in the crossfire of their wills, and he knew that for the rest of his life he would remember how unpleasant it is to be caught in between two Seraphim.
"I'll just… I'll be outside…" Lloyd offered. When nobody spoke or moved, Lloyd made good on his words and skirted around Kratos, heading out of the suddenly stifling quarters.
He didn't really have anywhere else to go besides his cell, and that wasn't a place that he wanted to be. So he chose to go back to the lower level kitchens, and when he arrived the familiar clatter of bowls and rattles of glassware were therapeutic to him. They needed to be because there were questions in his head that were racing a mile a minute. He was almost as dazed as he'd been his first time there, just for different reasons. Funny how life worked that way. Lloyd even found his original sink. He plunged his arms into the lukewarm water, elbows-deep, fished out the brush and a plate, and began to scrub dirt away. Every kind of dirt. Merry met, scullion. Have at it.
A beat after his son was safely exited, Kratos resumed. "'We could ask Origin?' Were you trying to upset Mithos? Were you trying to throw me into the blaze?"
"You made your move."
"But not on my time, Yuan. You forget that you're not the only one with plans."
"What did Mithos say?"
Kratos ran his hand across his face. He gave pause before responding. "You're not talking about Derris-Kharlan."
"No."
Kratos began to move through the room like oil through liquid, never touched by anything around him, and not focusing on any one thing either. Guilt weighed his shoulders a fraction more. He was eternally guilty when it came to Lloyd, eternally damned, because despite everything that Anna had wanted it was another man that raised his son for him. Another two men, if he counted what Yuan had been doing for him.
"He thought it odd that I would accuse him of starving my son when my son has more access to food than any other man in Centrum."
"He was being contrary with you."
"I know."
"Then why do you sound as though you'd just given Mithos his way?"
Kratos looked back at Yuan, tightened his expression, and skewered Yuan with his gaze – as he'd been expected to do.
"Lloyd will no longer be starved. I've abolished his restrictions."
"Kratos…" Yuan was shaking his head.
"Lloyd will no longer be committed to a cell. This, too, I've stipulated. He has partial clearance to walk within Centrum and will be given my quarters while I'm away."
Yuan kept shaking his head. He had closed his eyes, though, to seal off Kratos from sight so that it was just another voice of Cruxis speaking these words.
"Mithos sees nothing wrong with Lloyd doing his part while he stays here."
"Is that how he put it?"
Kratos ignored him, just continued to spit out mandates like a machine. "While I don't like it, Mithos won't budge on this. Lloyd will continue his work, but his time in the kitchens will be cut."
Yuan opened flat eyes to Kratos, obviously not impressed. These tiny victories meant nothing now. These tiny victories only condemned Lloyd. As far as Yuan was concerned, Kratos had stomped progress into the ground through his acquiescence.
"What would you have me do?" Kratos suddenly posed the question with a thundering emphasis, reacting to Yuan's unspoken accusations. "What?"
"When can I stop lying to your son, Kratos? You don't get to see the look on his face. I get to. It's nothing that I want to see again."
"Mithos will not stop until he has Lloyd's Exsphere."
"And you don't seem to be taking either side when it comes to that. You're letting the boy fight this battle alone."
"What is there for me to do to protect him other than what I am already doing? Do you want me to tell my son to throw away conscience and give in to Mithos?"
Do you want me to mold my son into me?
"You have ground to take him away from Mithos."
"I can't."
"You are Origin's Seal."
Kratos laughed bitterly. "That title is nothing more than a placeholder now, and you know it."
"It's something that you have over Mithos. You can use it. He won't challenge you over your right to your son. He can't. It is your fear that lets him get away with what he shouldn't."
"There's no getting out of this, Yuan. I've tried once, and for it I have blood on my hands. Would you have me lose Lloyd too?"
There were a dozen things that he wanted to say to Kratos, and twelve of them would hurt. Yuan shouldn't have been involved in all this, but he was as a favor to his friend who didn't seem to appreciate the favor. This whole thing was Kratos' worst nightmare, Yuan knew. This wasn't supposed to have happened, but it did, and the only right path was for Kratos to stand up against Mithos and get Lloyd out of here, even if it meant running for the rest of his life. It was part of the bargain of family. It was the price he paid for blending perspectives.
The thing was, neither of them really knew what Mithos would do.
Yuan speculated that Kratos should risk it all for his child – that he owed that to his child.
To Kratos, the very "all" that Yuan wanted him to risk was his child.
And the combination of these really made a mess of things.
"I can't be around all the time," Yuan said more gently. "I'm not. I told you that I won't babysit your child."
"I know," Kratos acknowledged, and he sounded oddly deflated, as though all fury had left him in a single breath and he was back at the beginning of an endless circle again.
"I meant it. Someday I won't be here, and you'll be stuck on Derris-Kharlan because of some complication."
Yuan stepped forward and placed his gloved hand upon Kratos' left shoulder.
"What would happen to Lloyd then, if we're both not here?"
One month later...
"Kratos is stuck on Derris-Kharlan because of some complication," Yuan announced, emerging from his bedchamber and shaking out the cuffs of his sleeves.
"Oh yeah?" Lloyd sounded from his place on the settee. It was his favorite spot, laying there bent-kneed with his head propped against one arm of the furniture and his feet planted against the other.
"Technology," contributed Yuan. He strode across the room to his desk, flashed green coral eyes at the copious amount of briefs.
Lloyd paused in mid-chew of his seasoned roll and glanced up from what he was drawing, then he quickly gulped down his mouthful of food. "Is he okay?" Concern creased Aurion features with an intensity reserved for anything related to Kratos.
Yuan crossed over to Lloyd and took a glimpse of the cream-colored parchment balanced against his curled legs. "He's fine. Communications will be off-and-on, but according to the last transmission Derris-Kharlan is stable."
The dark-haired teenager nodded his head, finished off his roll, and ousted himself from the settee. "Any idea when he gets to come back?" Lloyd asked, and the hopefulness presented itself in his voice as he drifted over to the cooler. It was an upright rectangular cold-storage unit, fashionably grey – or perhaps simply new-tech grey. He bowed his head as he rummaged through it. Yuan kept it well-stocked specifically for Lloyd's appetite, which seemed nigh insatiable most of the time. Really, Yuan couldn't blame him; Lloyd ate like someone who had experienced starvation.
"It might be a little while, Lloyd," he vaguely stated, as he disappeared back into the bedchamber. "He's supposed to get farther before he gets closer."
Lloyd carefully scrutinized a piece of fruit before closing the cooler and returning to the settee. He bit into the apple, deemed it alright, then took another bite. True, Lloyd had Kratos' living apartments now, but he spent most of his free time at Yuan's, and Yuan was at peace with the arrangement. He looked out for him in ways that Lloyd made as simple as possible. Lloyd did not cross any boundaries that were not meant to be crossed, and so Yuan afforded the unusual companionship. They had what was very close to a routine during the weeks that Yuan wasn't shipped out in the name of diplomacy.
"How long, though?"
Yuan returned with an impassive face. "That depends on the botched technology. He could be here in three weeks or in three months." He refused to lie to Lloyd anymore, refused to give him false hope when it came to his father. Even when Kratos was expected back, the date changed like a current of wind – if he came at all. That was hard enough. But when he was back, he left too soon, like he didn't care. That was the hardest part. Yet Lloyd took it well and kept Kratos disproportionately blameless.
Yuan held out a white tunic to Lloyd. "Here."
Lloyd eyed the shirt and finished swallowing. Bare fingers caught it up and spread it open. "I don't know…"
"Try it on."
"But…"
"Emaciated wasn't a good look for you, but neither is wear and tear."
"That's what I'm afraid of." Lloyd stood and entered the back room. It had only been a month, but it was a month of fair treatment, and Lloyd's ribs stuck out less prominently. He showered and was fed and lived only a few skips shy of normal, and these little conveniences that everyone else took for granted did wonders in curing him, body and soul. Yuan was the mysterious benefactor who gifted him a nuance here and there to get him closer to presentable so that as time wore on Lloyd would not. These days, Lloyd exhibited a mostly average appearance, except for his ratty hair and his tallness that was beginning to carry some signs of strength behind it. It seemed the small freedoms that Kratos had won back from Mithos did some good after all.
"That doesn't look horrible," commented the Seraph when Lloyd came back wearing the tunic. "You don't look stuffy, anyway."
Lloyd shrugged insecurely while Yuan inspected him.
"You seem afraid of it."
"I just… I don't want to destroy your clothes, that's all."
Yuan chuckled – actually chuckled! "Destroy is a harsh word. Give yourself more credit."
"Wouldn't it be something if what destroyed my people could save so many more?"
"Are you sure about this?"
"Yes."
"But I thought that Volt—"
"You're right, Zelos, but I just want to check.
"Did Yuan clue you in on this— hey, no need for that. It was just a question."
"Shh, do you hear that?"
"Let me boost up over this ro—whoa…"
"Wow…"
"Geez… Sis, there are so many of them."
"It must be something quite important for them to stand guard."
"In a Thoda cave?"
"Genis, we're looking at this from two sides: Cruxis and us. We haven't stopped to consider the third side."
"What third side?"
"The Renegades."
"Do you think that— I dunno…"
"Would it change anything if I suggested to you that maybe it was the Renegades who started the rumors?"
"...Raine, it would."