AN: I'm splitting this one up into two parts. There's just no way I can fit all of this crap into one chapter.
So you guys voted. It was Asgore who won when I started editing this chapter. By the time it was finished, I check the poll and it had become a tie. DX so I'm going to go with a two parter from Asgore's perspective. The third interlude part 1: Then
Part 2: Now will be up in a few days.
AceLegends: thanks for the references man! I'm glad you're enjoying Sans' freak outs. I was really worried about this one to be honest.
Krimsun: Welcome to the party bud. It sucks—you're gonna love it. ;D
:HourglassMadness: Don't die….0_0
Aurawarrior13 : oh hey! Nice to hear from you again! ^_^
Guest: yeah… everything is kind of a mess right now.
The Honest Chap: haha naw. That would be too convinent.
PantryMonster: I wouldn't worry. Papyrus is literally in the chapter after Asgores interlude is done.
BloodDragon117: Sorry! D: It had to be done. Things will get better though. We've reached a pretty big low. It can really only go uphill from here for awhile.
Hope you all enjoy this super long chapter. (Seriously it's like 17 pages, even AFTER I cut it in half.) Hope you like Asgore and feels because a lot of that is coming at you. ;)
Bonus content on the tumblr page.
#SFTD
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INTERLUDE 3 Asgore: part 1: Then
Two humans stood hand in hand atop a high cliff. A female—young with hair like a wildfire. And a male—gangly; he was missing the lower half of his left leg. Asgore spied them while he was still a ways off on the battlefield. It was remarkable he'd noticed them at all through the roar of battle—the hail of arrows. Asgore hadn't meant to drive the battle so far south—so close to the tiny mountain village. But the human warriors were relentless in their assault, forcing the monsters into a tighter portion of the glen, rocks all around—so much more difficult for the larger beings to move and organize their attacks.
The choice had made sense. It was logical. Thin the defense and surround the humans- then drive them further south to reclaim the higher ground. And it worked. Losing their tactical advantage the humans would fall back. Open areas, and a strong offense was always a fair move. Asgore knew how intimidating a full on charge could be—it weakened resolve, dampening the humans will to fight on. If they kept this up, the humans would retreat. The battle would end with as little bloodshed as possible. It was a good tactic. One he'd used time and time again.
But for whatever reason, the king found his eyes turning again towards the humans on the ledge, peering down at the action from their hazardous perch. They were watching the battle—yes, that must have been it. What followed happened so quickly that Asgore thought he'd imagined it. The pair embraced, clinging to one another. Then they stood, hand in hand, shoulder to shoulder—
And leapt.
Asgore felt a pang of alarm as the distant figures fell and vanished like phantoms beyond the crags. He stared. Had they really just—
Cheers and whoops of victory from the monsters. The human warriors had fallen back, retreating westward. Triumph. Asgore's troops celebrated, laughing and embracing—giddy with relief and the stale buzz of fading adrenaline. Asgore did not rejoice with them. He just kept staring at the far cliff, where the two humans once stood. Apprehension falling over him like a shadow.
Why would they jump? What could have possessed them to...to kill themselves in such a gruesome way? The king realized the answer as his troops crested the hill overlooking the tiny village. He realized a second too late. Too late to call the troops back. Too late to stop them before they couldsee.
Humans linger. Humans do not turn to dust upon death. So there was no shield. No ambiguity to cushion the blow when his people saw was waited for them at the bottom of the ravine.
There were hundreds of them. Faces frozen in masks of death of horror. Bodies twisted and broken. Women, children, the elderly and infirm. Not soldier. Not warriors. No. These were the ones who stayed behind. Those who could not fight. Gazing down on that disturbing scene, it was the first time Asgore had seen General Gerson blanch.
The younger monsters did not understand. Some drew near. Hesitant, timid. They touched the twisted humans' faces. With all the blamelessness of youth, they shook their shoulders, patted their cheeks, in a bid to wake them from this horrifying sleep. They did not understand. The humans were already dead.
Asgore strode away from the others and behind an outcropping of rocks. He kept his strides proud and strong until he passed from sight. Then he allowed himself to taste the horror and expelled the contents of his stomach onto the hard stony ground.
The fallen had seen the smoke of battle hours ago, when the monsters still fought in the glen. They had seen everything.
Asgore had made a terrible terrible mistake. He'd driven the battle too far south. Too close to the foothills of the mountain. The war was new. Still alien to his otherwise peaceful people. He was not well versed in the art of war. He had not realized—how could he have foreseen this?
And for the first time, Asgore realized. Asgore began to truly comprehend the terror his people held for humanity. The humans had heard whispers. Stories of what monsters were capable of. They had been told many things—things which they believed. They believed because there was no one there to assuage their fears, no one to tell them the truth.
The humans believed that when the monsters reached their home, they would raze it, killing every living soul they found. Those who fell at the hands of monsters suffered a face worse than death. Their souls were stolen. Devoured. Used to strengthen the monster troops, to rile them up to more violence like berserkers working themselves into a blood-lust.
This is what the humans had been told. This was the fate they feared when they saw the monsters coming. When Asgore had driven the troops far too close to their home.
Asgore ached, retching and heaving until he felt empty. The humans had been defenseless. All those who could not have gone to war with the monsters. The innocent. Asgore would not have killed them. He would not have allowed his people to exact petty vengeance on a people who could not fight back. In those days the thought of revenge still filled his idealistic mind with revulsion.
But…
When the humans had seen his armies. Seen them driving away their strong ones—their protectors. When they saw the monsters nearing they'd made a decision. Perhaps it was better to die by their own volition, than to wait to be killed. To have their deaths-their stolen souls- strengthen their enemies. It made sense once Asgore considered it. In some bleak and cynical way it was almost noble.
Hundreds died. Hundreds fell either by their own volition or by being pushed. This was the arithmetic of madness. The summation of ignorance and fear. All were swallowed up by it. All became a bloody lifeless nightmare at the bottom of the gorge. All were broken. All perished. All died.
Save one.
It was one of the younger monsters who found him. One of the hopefuls who went about trying to rouse the lifeless humans. The elders—those who understood- hadn't the heart to stop them. To tell them it was in vain. The young prodded with gentle claws, hoping to awaken them.
And one woke.
The boy had fallen like the others, yet miraculously, come away with only a few scrapes and bruises. They'd found him lying face down in a patch of wild asters. It was General Gerson who broke the silence-the shock. It was Gerson who ordered the human to be taken in to custody. Several guardsmen surrounded the boy. He fought madly when they approached, fists raised, head high as if he was ready to take on the entire army by himself. But eventually he was captured.
Asgore remembered all too well their first meeting. He had entered the small building Gerson had repurposed for the human's holding king had been putting off this visit for hours—focusing on settling the troops in for the night. The shock of what they had seen hung heavily over the camp. No one knew what to say or do. It was well after dark when the king finally went in to see his prisoner.
He was...just a boy. Too young to be a soldier. Too old to be considered a child. He sat huddled in the corner when Asgore stepped into the room. Asgore had expected fear. He'd braced himself for trembling and tears from one so young.
Yet as the dying candle lit up the boy's face he saw none of those things. The boy did not cower. Did not flinch away when the king—a veritablegiant in comparison—came to stand over him. The boy raised his chin, and puffed out his chest in what Asgore took to be defiance. The king regarded the boy, smiling faintly in spite of himself.
Asgore had seen grown men—warriors and kings cower in his presence. Yet this boy exuded such boldness such incomparable tenacity—as though he could have moved mountains if given a solid place to stand. The king let out a soft chuckle and knelt down, a fatherly kind of admiration for the boy growing in him. The boy darkened like storm clouds at the sound of Asgore's laughter. His dark brows knit up.
"Hello little warrior" Asgore said softly. The boy clenched his fists, and he glared. Asgore's smile fell, realizing that the boy must have taken his gentleness for mockery.
It was the boy's eyes Asgore noticed first. The eyes that he remembered so clearly. They were angular like the tips of spears. A pale purple. The color of wild asters. And of something else Asgore did not yet have a name for. He soon would. The human held Asgore's gaze with an icy defiance. As if there was nothing in the world he feared—least of all the king. When his voice finally came it was hard and sharp like the edge of a dagger.
"Hello Devil. What happens now?" The boy spat. The venom of his voice sobered the king. "Will you kill me? Break me? Take my soul?" his words came out passionless, and Asgore felt a disturbing calm enter the room—like a gust of cold air. Yet there was no breeze.
"I will not harm you young one. You are safe." the king sighed.
"Safe…" the boy scoffed. He turned his face away from the monster, sniffing disdainfully.
"You must understand. It was never my intention to—" Asgore trailed off. Should he try to reassure the boy of their intentions? Explain to him that they had really meant no harm? That their proximity to his village was little more than a tactical error? A mistake?
Or would that be cruel? This injured soul had lost everything. Everything but his pride. His village had thwarted its enemies—had sacrificed their lives so that the monsters could not take them for themselves and grow stronger. They'd had the last laugh in the end. Done something noble—something important. That was what the boy clung to. It was how he was still able to hold his head high. Even now.
Asgore could not bring himself to take away that pride. It was all the boy had left in the world. He couldn't do that. He couldn't be the one to tell the boy that his friends and family died for nothing. That it was all a just a horrible, tragic waste.
"I am…truly sorry." Was all Asgore could bring himself to say. It was the boy's turn to laugh. A cold, high, humorless sound.
"You take so many things. You think you can really just take back what you did?" His laughter rotted away into ugly retches. "You can't take anything from us now Devil! We-we're already dead!" His voice quavered. He let out another mad laugh and got to his feet. "Do you hear me Devil!? You failed! Y-you can't hurt us anymore!"
Something wet, hit Asgore's cheek. The boy spat on him. Neither spoke for a moment. The only sound was the boy's heaving. Then Asgore rose, took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the spittle from his cheek. The boy back up into the corner, the moment Asgore was on his feet. The human shook, fists raised in a sloppy fighting stance, as if he expected the king to rip him to pieces like a wild animal. It was the most emotion the boy had shown since his capture. The first and only display of weakness. Asgore gave the boy a long look. But said nothing. There was nothing to say. Nothing that could make things right. He turned and left the room without another word.
The troops took the boy with them when they left. No one really knew what else to do with him. They just knew they could not leave him there. The village was still warm—like a fresh corpse. The deaths came so suddenly that the land had yet to catch up. It was a transitory period. Somewhere between death and mourning. No one wanted to linger any longer than necessary.
On the boys second night with them he escaped, running off into the night. Whether he'd escaped by his own daring or if the guards had taken pity and freed him Asgore never knew. Nor did he care. The boy was a pale emotionless reminder of the horrors they'd seen. And the monsters were well aware of the anguish that ached behind his mask of bravura. They were as much a painful reminder to him as he was to them. When he escaped, no one looked for him. No one wanted to hurt him any more than he already was.
Asgore would later regret not trying harder to stop him. He was just a boy. Just a child trying to be brave, trying to be strong. He'd let the boy go. Too guilty to stop him. To accept responsibility. To try and help him. That was his blunder. Another mistake to add to his veritable treasure trove of military failures. Asgore had sown dangerous seeds, caring not a button for where they grew. And years later, he would pay dearly for his mistake.
Summer after summer died away and the war raged on, taking more lives, destroying more families with no end in sight. It was a bleak time to be alive. But they pressed on.
Word spread through his troops like wildfire. Whispers of a human warrior who had worked his way up through the ranks. A leader that had sliced through Gerson's troops to the north leaving hundreds dead. A man who had dusted an entire garrison of monsters with the single minded tenacity of the devil himself. It was years before Asgore would face this man, and realize what his foolishness had created.
They called the warrior Aster. Aster for the funny color of his eyes. For the flowers that were known for their vitality. Their stubborn ability to survive even in the harshest of environments. They called him Aster—for the color of his soul. The color of human Perseverance.
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Chara was eight years old when she fell. Eight years, three months and eleven days on this earth. So young, and she was already empty. She was broken long before she came to mount Ebbot. Broken before she fell. Broken before she even hit the ground.
Asgore remember the first time he'd seen her. He'd been in the garden, pruning a current bush when Asriel came running up huffing and puffing about how his friend had fallen down and hurt themselves. Asgore turned from his flowers expecting to see a froggit with a skinned knee or another of Asriel's usual playemates. He was not prepared for what he found. His mouth fell open, watering can slipping from his paws and clattering to the ground.
His son had brought home a human. The human had an arm over Asriel's shoulders he braced her up—helping her walk. Asriel like most had been born underground. He'd never seen a human before, never known the horrors they were capable of. He merely saw another child. A friend in need. Asgore, however—saw a ghost. The phantom of a hundred battles.
The human went rigid when the king scooped her up and brought her inside the house. She resisted his touch but showed no other signs of fear. She still shoved at his hands and hissed when he tended to her wounds but it seemed more out of annoyance than real panic. The human had come away from the fall with little more than a few cuts and scrapes. That was miraculous for a fall so high. The king assumed that the layers of residual magic from the barrier had slowed her fall. When swatting and pushing didn't convince the king to stop touching her, Chara went still. She folded her arms and raised her chin to a proud angle.
The king faltered. The look she gave him was unnerving. Challenging almost. He knew that look. It was the look of someone who had experienced true horrors. Mistrust. Coldness. Passionless calm. A mask of defiance. He'd seen that look only once before. He forced himself to look away. They were the same. Both carried an apathy so great that could swallow up the world. She was someone you couldn't hurt. Someone beyond feeling. A haunted voice seemed to cry from the dust, finding its way into Asgore's mind. A memory stirring beneath layers of time and dust. The king felt cold.
'Hello. What sort of Devil are you? How will you hurt me? How will you break me? How will you make me suffer? Do what you want. You can't hurt me. I'm already dead.'
Asgore worked silently focusing on the task before him, while Asriel darted around in a panic filling the air with worried chatter.
'Would she be all right? Had she broken anything? What was the red stuff coming out of her knees? Could she stay the night?'
Soon his jabbering drew Toriel into the room. She took one look at the battered child and pounced, showering the girl in motherly concern. Asgore moved out of the way, gratefully letting his wife take over the human's medical needs. He stood off to the side with Asriel, hovering awkwardly over the scene.
The human didn't try to wiggle free when Toriel began bandaging her. She went limp and allowed the queen to do what she wanted. But the child's attention lingered on Asgore. She watched him from the corners of her eyes.
She was just like Aster. Asgore didn't realize this until much it was true. Something terrible had happened to this child. Someone had stolen the light from her eyes. Someone had chased the shadows into her face. Someone had hung those bags beneath her eyes. Had broken her.
But she was alive. She was a survivor, just like Aster had been. She had determination. Give her a place to stand and she could move the earth. She was a marvel.
As the days went on, Asgore regarded the fallen child with a kind of detached kindness. He kept his distance. And the child was all too happy to maintain that distance. He made many attempts to help the child feel more comfortable with them. But he always seemed to do or say the wrong thing.
On her third day with them, Asgore went out and bought her a doll. It was a human doll made of porcelain and horse hair and lace. A rarity in the underground to be sure. He supposed someone had scavenged it from the dump at some point and fixed it up like new. When he gave it to the child she just sat on the floor and peered at it absently. Asgore waited for her to say or do something but she remained silent staring at the doll's face. After a while Asgore cleared his throat.
"Little one…aren't you going to play with your new friend?" He asked softly.
"I am playing with her." Came the human's reply. She didn't even lift her eyes as she spoke. Asgore shifted.
"Ah."
Another stretch of silence. Asgore's back was beginning to ache a bit from hunching over so much. He groped for something to say.
"So…Do you like her?"
"Her dress is green." Chara mumbled. Asgore raised a brow.
"erm. Yes."
"I like green."
"Oh… good!" Asgore chuckled uncomfortably. The child's eyes met his briefly before returning to her staring match with the doll. More silence.
"What are you going to name her?"
"Green." Chara said again. Voice flat. She then got to her feet and skittered off to her room, leaving the king kneeling awkwardly in the Livingroom.
One morning a few weeks later when Asgore got up for the day— He stripped off his bed shirt and went to toss it into the laundry bin. When he'd opened it he was met with a pair of large doe-like eyes staring up at him. He yelped and slammed it shut again without thinking. Chara was huddled up inside of the bin. The human had gathered up all her pillows and blankets and made a strange little nest for herself. The king blushed furiously and thanked his lucky stars that he hadn't been naked when he discovered her. He took several deep breaths, calming himself before he opened the bin back up and looked in.
"Hello Chara"
She blinked at him wordlessly. The king sucked in his cheeks.
"What...what are you doing in there little one? Hoping to give an old man a heart attack?" he forced a chuckle, it petered off pretty fast. Another staring match. "Are… you going to come out now?"
She shook her head.
"Why not?"
She shrugged.
Asgore ran a hand over his tired face.
Just let her have it… its not worth it…
"If Tori comes in to collect the laundry you'll have to find another place to play. Alright?"
The human blinked at him, then reached up and pulled the lid shut over her head. Asgore stared at the bin for a full minute before snapping himself out of it. All of the dirty clothes from the bin had been piled up on the bathroom floor next to the bin. He groaned inwardly before stooping to gather them up. He lifted up a pair of dirty pants and winced when he saw a porcelain face staring up from the pile. He took a deep breath picking up the doll. After a moment of thought he rapped his knuckles on the lid of the bin. No response.
"Chara...?" he knelt down. Nothing. He tried again.
"I've…I've got Greenie…" the bin jerked slightly. Asgore looked over the doll before holding it closer to the lid. "Do you want her? Or should I take her back to your room?"
The bin opened a crack and a tiny arm poked out to reach for the doll. A flutter of amusement came over the old king. He put the doll into her hand and watched it quickly retreat back into the bin.
Hiding in laundry bins, trunks and other small enclosed spaces became a regular occurrence after that. Chara would disappear into them for hours at a time. Coming out periodically to grab a toy before secreting herself back inside. It made Toriel anxious. She seemed convinced that the child would suffocate one of these days, or fall asleep and be taken out with the garbage. Asgore was less worried about this. After what had happened that first time in the bathroom, he was extra vigilant about double checking all small hiding spaces in a room before doing anything else. Especially in the bathroom.
One night while everyone was asleep in bed Asriel came running into the king and queen's bedroom in a panic.
"THEY'RE BITING HER! THEY'RE BITING HER!" the prince shouted jerking both the king and queen from slumber.
"Wha- who?" Asgore said, shaking the sleep from his mind to focus in on the flustered boy.
"The bed bugs! They're everywhere!" Asriel looked close to tears as he dragged his parents into his and Chara's shared bedroom. Chara herself was found hiding In their closet. Her arms and legs were dotted with tiny red sores. Asriel was positively scandalized.
"You told me bed bugs don't really bite!" Asriel accused, stomping his foot. "you said it was just a a'spression!" Asgore attempted to soothe the boy while Toriel stripped the sheets off of chara's bed.
Ants. The bed was crawling with ants. It didn't take too long to realize the source. Chara had been hoarding food. Bits of pie, cookies a waffle, an entire package of uncooked bratwurst. She'd stuffed her pillow full of food. Toriel shook her head and laughed when she realized. The whole situation was absurd. However Asgore wasn't laughing. He was starting to become concerned. This wasn't normal behavior. After the ants were vacuumed up and the sheets replaced, Asgore tried to coax the girl out of her hiding place. She ignored him. He couldn't really blame her. Asriel was still crowing about bedbugs and waving his hands around as if they were under attack. Asgore sighed. It was much too early in the morning for this. He reached into the closet for the girl.
"It's alright now... They were just ants princess, no need to- AHH!" Asgore jumped drawing back.
"What is it! what's happened?" Toriel came running over. Asgore blinked in consternation.
"She…she bit me. She actually bit me…"
Toriel massaged her temples. "Oh honestly…" She shooed him out of the way and reached into the closet. Chara didn't resist. In fact she clung onto Toriel like a lifeline regarding Asgore with wide eyes. Tori was quick to assure Chara that she didn't need to hide food in her room. That there would always be food in the refrigerator and no, they would not forget to feed her. Not ever. Asgore just stood off to the side and watched, feeling strangely guilty. Even though he hadn't done anything wrong.
Asgore noticed early on the child avoided physical contact with him as much as possible. She skirted around him when they passed in the halls, pressing herself close to the wall as he went by, eyes averted. When he entered the room she seemed to stiffen, a few times he noticed her jump at the sound of his voice. It hurt. But Asgore tried not to let it bother him. He was the first fully grown monster she'd ever seen. He reminded himself that this was still all new to her—still frightening despite how aloof she acted. Asgore assured himself that her nervousness would abate once she grew used to things.
Yet as time passed the king began to notice more and more. The child wrestled and played with Asriel. Accepted hugs and kisses—albeit reluctantly—from his the queen. She hugged onto Greatest Dog—captain of the royal guard—hanging off her back like a monkey as the monster loped off to make her rounds. He often heard her voice through the walls, talking with Asriel in their room. She barely said two words to him on a good day. He decided to face fact. Asgore—himself seemed to be the only one she disliked. That stung more than he would have liked to admit. The king was at his wits end with the child. No matter what he did, she never seemed to warm up to him.
It wasn't until her first checkup with Dr. Sylph that Asgore finally understood.
The doctor and taken the king and queen aside to ask them a few questions leaving Asriel and Chara to play alone in the lobby.
"How much do you know about Miss Charlotte's life before you adopted her?" He asked.
"Not very much." Toriel admitted. "She doesn't talk much about her life before we found her. We've asked, but she doesn't seem to want to talk about it."
"When you first told her there was no way for her to return home. Did she cry and make a big fuss?" He asked. The king and queen exchanged glances. Tori spoke up.
"Well…no. Not really. She's a fairly easy going child she doesn't really cry to be honest."
"Not ever?" The doctor's eyes narrowed. Asgore shifted.
"My friend…what is all of this about?"
The doctor didn't answer right away. He eyed the king and queen shrewdly.
"You say she hides herself often." The doctor mused. "… And that she hides food for later even though she has never so much as skipped a meal before. Has the child ever... shown any aversion to physical contact?"
Asgore felt Toriel take his hand and squeeze. He nodded wordlessly. The doctor removed his glasses. He ran a hand over his face, gaze drifting to the lobby where Asriel and Chara appeared to be building a tower with blocks. He grimaced before shutting his office door to give them more privacy.
Toriel cried. Asgore merely held her, listening numbly. Whatever resentment Asgore had harbored against the child. Whatever frustration he'd felt every time his attempts to reach out to her were ignored, disintegrated. The revelation gave way to shock. To horror. To grief.
Chara didn't flinch at the sound of his voice, didn't avoid his gaze because of disgust. She wasn't afraid of him— afraid to let him touch her because he was a monster.
It was because he was a man.
That was the first time. The moment when Asgore's cheerless detachment from the child melted into something genuine. Into compassion. To think that it was horror that first drew his compassion. The possibility this child that had found her way into their lives had not fallen—as they had always assumed.
Perhaps she jumped.
After nearly a ten centuries of imprisonment, and Asgore was still making all the same mistakes.
Toriel had once called him a coward for his lack of action. For his propensity to hide from his problems, to pretend everything was fine when it wasn't. And she was right of course.
He'd made this mistake before with that choice he made long ago. The choice to simply to let the Aster run away. The mistake of not trying to reach him. To help him. Of feeling so relieved when he heard the child had escaped—because then at least he would not have to see him again, not have to live alongside the embodiment of his guilt.
In the end he was worse off for it. And as he watched that boy turned man orchestrate slaughter his people, as he worked with some sort of self perceived righteousness to seal the monsters away forever—Asgore was left to wonder what might have been.
What would have happened if he'd gone after the boy? If he'd taken them in as his own. Taken responsibility for what had happened to him. Tried to make up for taking his family—for inadvertently destroying that tiny soul's entire world.
Could he really have made a difference? Could taking responsibility, showing kindness really have reached the boy? Could it have changed the course of history? Could he have altered the fate of an entire people by being the force of change in the life of one little boy?
Asgore could not have known. He never would know now. And the uncertainty is what haunted him.
But now…. Maybe this was a sign. The universe giving an old failure one last chance. A chance to make things right.
The course of history was forever marred by the choices of one broken child. An entire species of people driven to the brink of extinction. Sealed away to rot in a prison. The child had been special. Strong. They could take life's heavy blows and come up swinging. They could do incredible things.
But if a single broken child could bring about so much suffering, if they could take away a people's entire world—could not such a child also healit? Chara was a survivor. Just like him. Perhaps someday she could do great things as well. Perhaps she could be the driving force—the bridge that could finally close the gap between monsters and humanity. Perhaps she could save them.
Asgore was being given a second chance to make up for a past mistake. To take responsibility. A chance to make things better.
A chance to choose kindness.
From then on the king put forth a special effort to draw closer to the child. He told himself he was doing it because it was the right thing to do, but deep down, he knew he was only doing it to assuage some of his own feelings of guilt. Yet even so, he kept at it.
Asgore spoke softly, smiled often. Asked her about her day. She would answer politely, but the walls behind her eyes never lowered.
After a few months things settled into a comfortable routine. Chara liked to sit by the fireplace and stare at her doll most evenings after supper. Asgore had gotten into the habit of settling into his easy chair with his book. Of passing the evening with the child in a comfortable silence. After a while he began quietly recounting the day's events to the child. He knew that politics and meetings of state were likely a dull topic for a young girl, but he felt the need to speak with her. To help her grow used to his voice, and more comfortable in his presence. He needed to show her that he meant no harm. The child never spoke back, never even looked at him while he talked. She just sat there on the floor, fiddling with her doll as if he wasn't there at all. But to her credit, she was polite enough never too wandered away until the king had finished his stories.
One evening while Asgore was relating his day's meetings, the human interrupted him.
"Dr. Gaster is from Hotland. Not from Waterfall" She whispered in a quiet raspy voice.
"Remember? You…you had a meeting with him about the pressurized chambers in the core. He said he had the specs at home. A-and…" she petered off when she noticed Asgore looking at her. She looked away, hurriedly pressing her face into her doll's dress. Asgore blinked. He'd assumed she hadn't been paying attention to the minutia of his stories.
"That's right…Hotland..." he said softly. "I remember now. Thank you…" An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Asgore grew nervous, unsure of how to fill it. He wracked his brain for something to say to her. Maybe he should try something more personal? Something upbeat. He cleared his throat, setting his book aside to regard the child. She was still hiding her face from him.
"Did you…did you hear the joke about the broken pencil?" Asgore winced inwardly. Why had he settled on a joke? The king was terrible with jokes. But Toriel always had Asriel rolling on the floor with hers. No matter how silly the joke, both mother and son laughed and bleated as if it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. The human lifted her eyes, peeking up at him through her hair. She shook her head.
"No, never mind. It is irrelevant." Asgore said quickly. The human's nose wrinkled in confusion. He winced waving a paw dismissively.
"Wait—no, no that's not how it's supposed to go… its uh…'POINTLESS' yes! That's it. The joke is POINTLESS" Asgore rambled. The human stared. He was crashing and burning.
"Ah… you see? It's…its funny because erm, pencils have points… and jokes also have points—Different kinds of points— but—a-and a broken pencil does not. So the joke is…is…" Asgore pinched his temples, and shut his mouth. That was an absolute disaster. A tiny giggle met his ears and he froze. The human had lifted her face a little more. He could see a tiny smile pressed into the dolls dress.
"You're really weird…" she whispered. The king grinned at her, in embarrassment. A giggle. A genuine smile. That's all it took. And Asgore found himself happily wrapped around her little finger.