Disclaimer: Not mine. Boo hoo. The myths aren't mine either, but I'm guessing that they're in the public domain. :-)
Abandonment
"She's the one who left you, Lex. Not me."
Which he knew was really complete bullshit if he could just slow his thoughts down long enough to think about it. On a very literal level, yes, his mother had died, 'left him' and his father had not. But in any and every other way that a human being could possibly be abandoned, Lionel alone stood accountable.
Lex ran his thumb along the edge of his desk and considered getting out some of the scotch he had been saving, then decided against it. This little 'chat' could have been a lot worse. He could have brought up Alexander the Great, again, or the familiar Julius Caesar. Myths weren't necessarily preferable, but he could see why Lionel might choose to draw out seemingly random metaphors from them. The stories lent themselves to that sort of manipulation.
It could have been worse. He might have chosen the story of Phaeton and his unfortunate use of the sun-chariot. That wouldn't have been quite appropriate though; Phaeton had used emotional blackmail to force his father into letting him use the chariot.
Lionel wouldn't have wanted to ever use the image of a son triumphing over a father, even if he could have used the ending of the tale for a good moral. Phaeton had been rash, and not nearly strong enough to take on his father's role. In the end, his hubris nearly left the earth a raw and lifeless rock. Only a quick bit of action with lightning bolts on Zeus' part saved the day, though of course it did turn Phaeton into nothing more than a chunk of well-done steak.
Lex reconsidered the scotch, as he thought of one more myth that stood out from his childhood. Pamela had read him almost all of the old Greek and Roman legends, editing them quite a lot, as he found later. She had seemed to especially like the one about Daedalus, the amazing inventor who couldn't be held by any prison. When one king tried, he crafted a pair of wings for himself and his son, Icarus. They had flown away together, out across the sea. Daedalus warned his son to be wary of flying too high; the wings were held together only by wax and prayers. The sun would decimate them in no time, and the sea was the only thing that would catch a falling fool.
There, caught between a pitiless sun and a merciless sea, Icarus had disobeyed his father, and had soared, freer than any man alive, but at his peril. The fine line between daring and foolhardy was crossed before he knew it, and only his helpless father was there to hear him scream when he slid beneath the waves.
Daedalus had been unable to save his child.
Lionel just didn't really want to.
Lex clenched his fingers up into tight fists and gripped them until it hurt and his knuckles began to sting, then he relaxed his hands and exhaled, willing away the anger that seemed to fill his chest, and a make it so hard for him to breathe.
He remembered the ending, the ending that Pamela had never told him. After landing, Daedalus had built a temple to Apollo and had dedicated his invention of the wings to the god in thanks for his safety. He had carved out the story of his adventure, including the part his son had played, but when he had tried to etch Icarus' face, his hands had shaken too badly, and he couldn't complete the engraving. The father's love and grief prevented him from completing the memorial to his lost son.
And just how stupid and pathetic was it to be envying a person in a myth, a person who had never existed, and who died midway through the story anyway? But he had been loved, really and truly loved, by his father. Lex sighed. All this self-pity was enough to make him want to hurl, even without any alcohol.
He had envied Icarus as a child too, but that had been because he had been able to fly, for however brief a time.
Lex froze.
He had flown too, now. When he had used the bridge in a way it had never been intended, when the car had plummeted into the river, he had closed his eyes flown. The world looked so strange and so bright and so small, as though you could hold a tiny piece of it in the palm of your hand, but no matter how far away you went, there was no way you could never hold it all in the scope of your vision. He had found it overwhelming and comforting at once.
And then he had been saved. He had been given the chance Icarus was never granted. He could learn from his mistake. His life hadn't ended, it had only begun.
So why was he wondering if his father would have been willing to even try to save him? It was a question that he would never actually know the answer too, but he could lay a pretty good bet on it that the answer was no. Lionel wouldn't lift a finger unless he saw some gain in it for himself. Keeping his son alive had a certain amount of value to it, but if the scales didn't balance, it didn't pay to hold your breath. He would let you drown.
Lex looked at the clock and was startled to find that it wasn't even two yet. He felt as though years had passed. It probably just meant he was tired, that was all. The sound of rain rattling the windows was almost soothing. This castle had stood through a thousand storms, and it would weather this one as well. There really wasn't a whole lot dealing with the chaotic and frantic world. All you had to, was to be made of stone, and never, never care.
Finis
Abandonment
"She's the one who left you, Lex. Not me."
Which he knew was really complete bullshit if he could just slow his thoughts down long enough to think about it. On a very literal level, yes, his mother had died, 'left him' and his father had not. But in any and every other way that a human being could possibly be abandoned, Lionel alone stood accountable.
Lex ran his thumb along the edge of his desk and considered getting out some of the scotch he had been saving, then decided against it. This little 'chat' could have been a lot worse. He could have brought up Alexander the Great, again, or the familiar Julius Caesar. Myths weren't necessarily preferable, but he could see why Lionel might choose to draw out seemingly random metaphors from them. The stories lent themselves to that sort of manipulation.
It could have been worse. He might have chosen the story of Phaeton and his unfortunate use of the sun-chariot. That wouldn't have been quite appropriate though; Phaeton had used emotional blackmail to force his father into letting him use the chariot.
Lionel wouldn't have wanted to ever use the image of a son triumphing over a father, even if he could have used the ending of the tale for a good moral. Phaeton had been rash, and not nearly strong enough to take on his father's role. In the end, his hubris nearly left the earth a raw and lifeless rock. Only a quick bit of action with lightning bolts on Zeus' part saved the day, though of course it did turn Phaeton into nothing more than a chunk of well-done steak.
Lex reconsidered the scotch, as he thought of one more myth that stood out from his childhood. Pamela had read him almost all of the old Greek and Roman legends, editing them quite a lot, as he found later. She had seemed to especially like the one about Daedalus, the amazing inventor who couldn't be held by any prison. When one king tried, he crafted a pair of wings for himself and his son, Icarus. They had flown away together, out across the sea. Daedalus warned his son to be wary of flying too high; the wings were held together only by wax and prayers. The sun would decimate them in no time, and the sea was the only thing that would catch a falling fool.
There, caught between a pitiless sun and a merciless sea, Icarus had disobeyed his father, and had soared, freer than any man alive, but at his peril. The fine line between daring and foolhardy was crossed before he knew it, and only his helpless father was there to hear him scream when he slid beneath the waves.
Daedalus had been unable to save his child.
Lionel just didn't really want to.
Lex clenched his fingers up into tight fists and gripped them until it hurt and his knuckles began to sting, then he relaxed his hands and exhaled, willing away the anger that seemed to fill his chest, and a make it so hard for him to breathe.
He remembered the ending, the ending that Pamela had never told him. After landing, Daedalus had built a temple to Apollo and had dedicated his invention of the wings to the god in thanks for his safety. He had carved out the story of his adventure, including the part his son had played, but when he had tried to etch Icarus' face, his hands had shaken too badly, and he couldn't complete the engraving. The father's love and grief prevented him from completing the memorial to his lost son.
And just how stupid and pathetic was it to be envying a person in a myth, a person who had never existed, and who died midway through the story anyway? But he had been loved, really and truly loved, by his father. Lex sighed. All this self-pity was enough to make him want to hurl, even without any alcohol.
He had envied Icarus as a child too, but that had been because he had been able to fly, for however brief a time.
Lex froze.
He had flown too, now. When he had used the bridge in a way it had never been intended, when the car had plummeted into the river, he had closed his eyes flown. The world looked so strange and so bright and so small, as though you could hold a tiny piece of it in the palm of your hand, but no matter how far away you went, there was no way you could never hold it all in the scope of your vision. He had found it overwhelming and comforting at once.
And then he had been saved. He had been given the chance Icarus was never granted. He could learn from his mistake. His life hadn't ended, it had only begun.
So why was he wondering if his father would have been willing to even try to save him? It was a question that he would never actually know the answer too, but he could lay a pretty good bet on it that the answer was no. Lionel wouldn't lift a finger unless he saw some gain in it for himself. Keeping his son alive had a certain amount of value to it, but if the scales didn't balance, it didn't pay to hold your breath. He would let you drown.
Lex looked at the clock and was startled to find that it wasn't even two yet. He felt as though years had passed. It probably just meant he was tired, that was all. The sound of rain rattling the windows was almost soothing. This castle had stood through a thousand storms, and it would weather this one as well. There really wasn't a whole lot dealing with the chaotic and frantic world. All you had to, was to be made of stone, and never, never care.
Finis
