~*-*~
Galway 1744
"Da Connor, I'm near seventeen years now. Your stories can't scare me."
The old man smiled.
"Who says they be stories? I've seen one of them meself!"
"The same way you say you saw the Virgin Mary sitting in front of the fireplace? Let's face it, you're turning senile in your old age!"
"Old? Me? I wouldn't laugh Liam. You'll be my age one day."
Liam scoffed.
"Nonsense! I'll be young forever!"
His grandfather merely rolled his eyes.
"You keep telling yourself that son, but it will happen one day. You'll grow old, and then die. Tis a fact of life."
"Well, I'm not too sure about your facts. You're telling me children's stories about vampires and goblins!"
Connor took a sinister tone.
"So, you never wondered about all the goings on in this village? Especially on All Hallow's Eve?"
Liam tried his hardest not to give in to his grandfather's tone, but dammit! Connor was a brilliant storyteller when he had to be. When it came to delivery, he was the best. Liam aimed to one day master the same ability of disguise that his grandfather was so good at. As yet, he wasn't the best, but he had the rest of his life to practice.
"Da, nothing will happen tomorrow. The sun shall rise, I shall go to work with Mr Brennan at the forge, the sun shall set, I shall sleep. The cycle will then repeat, and it will do so without interventions from above or below."
Connor looked at whatever Liam was slaving over. It was a charcoal drawing of a boy, aged about seventeen. He looked similar to Liam, though it was clearly not him. Connor didn't even need to ask.
"It's Lennon isn't it? I imagine it's what he'd look like if he'd survived until now."
Liam nodded in response.
"Will you be lighting a candle for him at church tomorrow?"
"Day after, and yes I shall try. That much I know is true. But Da, I say try. You know how my father is about me going to the church. If someone sees me, he risks getting caught out. You know how he is about money. Values it over his faith."
Connor sighed. He was well aware of his son's attitude towards Liam and he highly disagreed with his actions. Connor could be accused of favouring his grandson, but he wouldn't deny it. Connor knew in his heart that Liam was a special one, and he'd amount to be so much more when he grew up. He'd make a difference.
"You should do more with yourself young Liam. You're such a creative soul, and you really ought do something with that talent of yours."
A deep voice resonated from the doorway.
"I'd think not. No son of mine's going to waste his life away on pictures."
"Back from confession already Father? Didn't think you'd be back for another few days, the way you've been sinning."
Liam responded dryly without ever looking up from his paper, and his comments earned him a sharp slap on the back of the head.
"I'll have none of your flippancy boy. I've been out working. You'd know none of that, sitting around here with your sketches all day. Going to have a proper talk with Brennan, make sure he's making a proper man of you like I asked."
"Indeed. Amazing father isn't it, that your work smells a lot like a pub doesn't it?"
Connor couldn't help but laugh at his grandson's sarcasm. Some would say Connor was closer to his grandson than his own son, and they would be right.
"Don't laugh Da, it's your fault. You're encouraging him."
"I am not."
"You are! It's your fault he's spending his time on alcohol and other nonsense."
"There's nothing wrong with a little ale now and again."
Liam started on a new page as the two men talked about him over his head.
"You need not talk about as if I'm not here. For some reason I have developed these two body parts on either side of my head called ears. There is an amazing thing they do - they allow me to hear you."
Connor attempted to stifle his laughter, and it came out as a sort of snort. He received a glare from his son who then turned his attentions to Liam's paper. Not before hitting Liam's feet off the table.
"What are you working on now?"
"Designing a new hilt. Mr Brennan finds a use for my talent."
"It's no talent boy."
After deciding that he'd heard enough criticism for his pastime, Liam slammed the wad of papers on the desk and grabbed his coat.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"Out."
"Why?"
And for the first time that evening Liam actually looked his father in the eye and replied.
"Because I'd rather be around my peers than a condescending hypocrite like you."
With that he turned and left, ignoring his father shouting after him.
"Don't talk that way to me!"
Connor intervened.
"Let him go."
"What? How can you say that? Did you not hear the way he spoke to me?"
"Yes I did, and I can hardly blame him either. You're too hard on him."
Liam's father sighed.
"I wouldn't have to be so hard on the boy if he'd straighten up. Stopped spending so much time on this nonsense."
"He's not such a boy anymore. You must remember that. So he plays up a little. He'll calm down in time."
Connor watched his son pick up the drawings off the desk and glance through a few of them. He answered the questions before it was asked.
"It's Lennon."
"Yes... well... I don't see why it should affect him this way."
Holding back all emotion, he replaced the pictures. Connor shrugged.
"People grieve in different ways. Leave him be. He will always get worse this time of year anyway. Doesn't help that he can't express himself as he'd wish."
The comment snapped the man to attention.
"What do you mean by that?"
"You know precisely what I mean. He's not fond of having to hide his faith for your benefit."
"'Tis for his benefit as well. He knows that."
Connor raised his eyebrow and silently questioned him for what had been the nth time that day.
"What? It's the truth. Liam leads a comfortable life."
"At the expense of a one-way trip to the hell fires of Hades."
As Connor's voice steadily rose, so did his son's. As the younger of the two men felt more uncomfortable, he folded his arms. A familiar pattern in his family, the gesture being used both as a symbol of defiance and defence.
"Must we continue to talk about this Da?"
"Aye, we must. If it's enough to rescue your soul."
Connor's comments just made his son roll his eyes. This was not their first argument on the matter, and was also far from the last.
"My soul doesn't need rescue. I put my family's well being above all else. We'd stand no hope living as Catholics. This way we live in relative comfort."
He gestured around at the room, the one that had only been furnished by his gains as a merchant.
"I brought you up well without ever being ashamed of my God."
"I'm not ashamed."
Connor shouted back.
"Then why must you act like it?! Can you not see that you're pushing away your only remaining son?"
"Don't bring Lennon into this!"
Connor leaned in towards his son in an intimidating fashion using his tone of voice to his own advantage, a skill envied by many.
"I know why you attend confession as often as you do, and that's because you know what you're doing is wrong. And though you be my son, I encourage the Lord Almighty himself to smite you down for your blasphemy. You put the importance of money and physical goods above yourself and your spiritual purity!"
He allowed the words to sink in before adding the final deathblow.
"You've condemned your own family to hell and I hope you're proud."
Taking his own coat, Connor went out in a similar fashion to his grandson leaving his son alone with his thoughts. The merchant stood still with even breath, contemplating the words of his father, whilst refusing to show any sign of sentiment. For sentiment breeds weakness, and he would never be susceptible to such a thing.
~*-*~
Author's Note: This is what I like to call the wonderful world of Retcon. It's something you do when ME writers cock up majorly and imply that a Catholic in Galway could be rich, when we all know that oppression against Catholics in 18th Century Ireland was rife, to the point where they couldn't even own land.
What can I say? I was watching The Prodigal. It pissed me off.
Okay, so I owe you an apology (especially you Blue Star Galaxy, really). See, I thought things would be okay, I did. When I originally planned this story, it was a short thing. A quaint little 15 chaptered piece. But then the characters took over the story and I was no longer in charge of the plot. I spanked them hard, really I did. I told myself to just finish the story, and then update the chapters. That way, I could be all regular like. But then Angel decided he didn't want to be in his cage when Spike found it. I said "Okay, but hurry it up. We don't wanna go crazy with this now do we?". We had an agreement. A short extension of the plot and then we'd get back to the original plan. But then the characters just kept rebelling against what I told them to do. It was unbelievable! Fifteen chapters soon became twenty. Twenty became twenty five. Plot wise, I'm up to thirty three chapters and ever lengthening. And then they just had to have a plot turn that would mean bringing in the Sunnydale gang (you heard what I said, the Scoobs will appear later). Doesn't help that I've got exams at the moment either. And so that is why there have not been updates recently, and probably might not be for a while.
I Am No Longer In Control Of Opium. Opium Is In Control Of Me.
[J scuttles away whilst being beaten to death by her own characters...]
