This story, like all my others, uses the relationships from my own playthrough of the game. Hopefully you can still enjoy it even if it isn't your ideal pairing. If not, look up what ctrl + H does in Word. You'll figure it out.
"Don't you have somewhere better to be?" Gerome scowled with a sideways glance at Cherche, who was rifling through a pile of miscellaneous leather equipment.
"Not when Minerva needs help, I don't," Cherche responded, casting a little grin over her shoulder, "We can't have a worn-out strap interfering with your maneuvers in battle. I'm sure there's something in here we can use to fix it..."
"I didn't ask for your help!" Gerome scoffed, "I can take care of it myself."
"Oh, I'm sure you could, but I want to help you! That's what mothers do..."
"How many times do I have to tell you: you are not my mother!" He practically yelled the last sentence, then spit out the following words with a quiet venom, "You mean nothing to me, and I wish I never had to see you again."
With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the tent without looking back to see Cherche's stricken face behind him. Calling Minerva to him, he swung himself onto her back and launched into the sky. He had no idea where he was going, he just knew he had to get away from that woman who looked and spoke so much like his mother.
Unbidden, a memory flashed across his mind: his mother picking him up and cleaning his scratched knees when he had fallen chasing a flock of birds, and smiling as she murmured "Of course I'm here to help you darling. That's what mothers do!"
He gritted his teeth as he blinked away the tears stinging his eyes. How dare this woman speak those same words to him. She had no right to take the words of his mother on her lips, those lips that smiled exactly as his mother had, while speaking in her lovely, melodic voice...
He rested his forehead against Minerva's back and clenched his hands behind his head, letting the wyvern fly where she would as he fought the flood of emotions battling for dominance inside him. The worst part of it had been his own ridiculous urge to throw himself into her arms, to cry out the pain of the loss he had been suffering for so many years. But he could not allow himself to get attached; not to her, or to anyone else.
"My mother is dead!" He muttered angrily, "That woman is not her!"
If only his own voice were a little more convincing. Tilting his head back, he let the wind whip through his hair and imagined it was carrying away all his tangled thoughts. He needed to clear his mind and get a grip before his unruly emotions caused him even more pain.
He lost track of how long they flew like that, but after a while he noticed Minerva seemed to be tiring. With a grunt, he guided her to land at the edge of a field and led her into the shade of a sprawling willow.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, stroking his fingers down her nose, "I was so absorbed in my own feelings, I neglected to consider yours. We'll rest for a while."
He settled on the ground with his back against the tree, and felt Minerva's warm bulk as she curled up beside him. The late afternoon sun sprinkled down through the branches above him, and a warm breeze skittered across his face with a gentle whisper. Yawning, he closed his eyes and let his mind clear: no more thoughts about lost parents or lookalike mothers. For now, it was just him and Minerva, enjoying the peace of solitude.
When Gerome opened his eyes again, he noticed the light filtering through the leaves had a distinctly different quality. It was paler, less golden, and shone from behind rather than in front of him. The air around him was much cooler as well, and as he sat up his clothing clung to him with an unpleasant dampness.
It's morning... he thought groggily, Must have fallen asleep... I've been out all night...
As he stood and brushed himself off, Minerva raised her head and stared at him, a question lingering in her eyes.
"Yes, I know, we ought to get back to camp," he mused, "Or, we could just keep flying and never go back. I don't need those people, and they certainly don't need me."
Minerva tilted her head to the side and continued to stare.
"Alright, alright, spare me the judgmental glare! I'm going, see? Let's go."
He clambered up onto her back and the two of them took off, flying back towards the campsite. It seemed to Gerome that Minerva was altogether too anxious to be back at camp, and was covering the distance much more quickly than he would have liked. He himself felt an inexplicable sense of uneasiness stirring in his stomach the closer they got to camp, which he tried to push aside as merely dread at having to deal with the interfering buffoons who thought of themselves as his parents.
He continued to tell himself the same things as he landed Minerva a little ways from the outermost tent and led her as quietly as possible along the edge of the camp. He simply wanted to avoid any bothersome interactions; better to keep a low profile; and the sinking feeling in his stomach certainly wasn't guilt. He grimaced as he pushed Cherche's hurt, disappointed eyes from his mind. Definitely not guilt...
"Gerome!"
He froze, his heart dropping despite himself. It was her voice. He glanced up to see Cherche running towards him, her face lit up with excitement. Before he could react she was on top of him, her arms wrapped around his chest in a rib-crushing hug.
"Oh, I'm so glad you're back, I was so worried!"
Recovering from his initial shock, he shoved her away from him with a scowl, "Get off, woman! Do not touch me!"
"When you disappear all night and worry me sick, I believe I am entitled to some touching," Cherche replied with a frown, "Your father and I didn't sleep at all last night; we had no idea where you had gone or what had happened to you!"
"That man is not my father, and you are not my mother!" The sinking feeling in his stomach had grown worse, which only fueled his anger as he practically shouted, "What I do is none of your concern!"
"But we were concerned, Gerome."
Gerome glanced up at the new voice to see Stahl approaching, his brow knit in a disapproving frown that made Gerome more uncomfortable than he would have liked.
"The whole camp was worried. No one had any idea where you had gone," Stahl placed his hand on his wife's shoulder and drilled Gerome with a stern glare, "You can't just disappear all night without even telling anyone where you're going."
Gerome's eyes flashed, "You are in no position to tell me what I cannot do! If I wish to disappear for days at a time, that is my decision to make!"
"Actually, it's not," Stahl countered, "As a member of this company, you have responsibilities to the other members just like anyone else. You don't exist in isolation; surely you can see at least that much."
"Do not patronize me, fool!"
"Gerome, mind your mouth..."
But Gerome was already too agitated to heed what had become something of a common warning, and he continued in the same angry tone, "I am only here because I chose to be. I have no ties to anyone in this time, and I can choose to leave whenever I damn well please! Besides, if this meddling woman had just left me alone-"
"Enough, Gerome! You will not speak to your mother like that!"
"Why can you not get it into your fat head that the two of you are not my parents!? I will speak to you and anyone else in whatever way suits me! You can all go to hell for all I care!"
"That's it," Stahl sighed, "I've heard enough. You're coming with me, young man."
The next moment, he had grabbed hold of Gerome by the ear and was dragging him between the tents.
"Ow! How dare you! Unhand me at once you bastard!" His struggles served only to send pain shooting through his captured ear as he was pulled helplessly along, "Minerva! Devour this insufferable craven!"
Minerva simply gazed after him for a moment before lowering her head to nuzzle Cherche, who watched the two of them retreat with a look of sad resignation.
You traitor! Gerome thought angrily, How could you let this fool treat me this way?
He felt dozens of eyes on him as he was escorted through a camp bustling with morning activity, and he kept his own eyes cast intently at the ground to avoid the questioning or, even worse, the knowing glances. At the end of this humiliating journey his ear was finally released, and he found himself in his own tent.
"W-What do you think you're doing!?"he demanded, whirling to face his former captor.
"Something I think I ought to have done a while ago," In one swift movement, Stahl grabbed Gerome by the arm, spun him around, and sat on the bed while pulling the young man down along with him. Caught off balance, Gerome fell forward and caught himself with his forearms against the mattress. His heart leapt into his throat as he found himself bent over Stahl's knee.
"What the... let go of me!" His attempts to free himself from the dreadful position were quickly thwarted as Stahl pinned his arm against his back and captured both of his flailing legs with one of his own. Amidst his struggles and protests, Gerome suddenly felt cool air dance across his skin, and he realized with horror that his trousers and smallclothes had been pulled down to his knees, leaving his ass completely exposed. Just as he opened his mouth to spew a fresh wave of curses at this new level of violation, Stahl's hand smacked sharply across his naked ass, and the protest on his lips morphed into a startled yelp.
In that moment, another unbidden memory flooded his mind.
"My sword is not a toy, Gerome; do not play with it."
Gerome cast a mischievous grin over his shoulder at his father before closing the last few steps between himself and the sword and wrapping his tiny, chubby fingers around the hilt. The next thing he knew he was being lifted from behind, then plopped face-down across his father's lap, and three firm smacks landed across his bared bottom while his father scolded his disobedience.
Now here he was, nearly fully grown, and found himself in the same position once again. Something very close to panic welled up in his chest as he felt his grip slipping on the cool, detached persona he had worked so hard to uphold since coming to this time.
"Stop this! Y-You have no right!" Gerome cursed the tremble that tainted his voice despite his best efforts. Another stinging swat connected with his backside, and he squeezed his eyes shut and yelled with as much anger as he could muster, "You are not my father!"
"Perhaps not," Stahl responded calmly, continuing to smack his hand sharply across Gerome's ass as he spoke, "And I would never presume to take the place of the man you lost. But you need someone, Gerome. You can hate me for this if that's what you are determined to do, but I cannot allow you to continue behaving as you have been. You will learn this lesson, if we have to stay here all day."
Gerome gritted his teeth and clenched his fists against the mattress. That was the worst part of it: he didn't hate this man; couldn't, no matter how much he tried to. Despite his continual denials, this time's version of Stahl fulfilled every one of the few memories he had of his father, down to his very scent. Yes, even the feeling of being bent over the older man's knee and getting his bottom soundly spanked offered a certain sense of familiar comfort, and the deeply buried part of himself that wanted so badly to embrace those feelings was growing harder and harder to deny.
While Gerome was fighting his internal battle, his external discomfort was growing as well. This was no toddler-sized, three-swat spanking, and Stahl was putting a significant amount of force behind each blow. For a while, the only sound in the tent was the sharp, steady impact of skin against skin as Stahl allowed Gerome to stew in his own thoughts, making sure the cadence of his falling hand never allowed those thoughts to stray too far from the boy's current position. As the smarting skin on Gerome's ass began to deepen from a rosy blush to a brighter scarlet, however, a new category of sounds began to make an appearance.
Gradually, little grunts and sharp inhales began to fall from Gerome's mouth. He tried to keep his lips pressed tightly together, but the tiny, distressed noises seemed to slip out of their own accord, especially when Stahl's hand smacked across the lower, more sensitive regions of his backside. The sting of the individual swats had melded together into a constant burning, and each new impact ignited a fresh flame across his skin.
Between the emotional turmoil in his head and the terrible stinging in his ass, it was finally happening: all his carefully built defenses were beginning to crack.
As if sensing this, Stahl chose this opportunity to drive home the lesson he was trying to get across to his future son.
"Listen to me, Gerome," his voice was quite but completely unwavering, and every word rang as clear as day in Gerome's mind, "You cannot keep trying to exist apart from everyone else. You are a part of this company, and whether you admit it or not, you do need the support of those around you.
"But being a member of a community is more than just receiving support from others; it also means considering other people besides yourself. Rules and limitations exist for good reason, Gerome, and like it or not they apply to you to. That means you don't run off by yourself whenever you feel like it, and you certainly don't yell and swear at the people who care about you when they are just trying to help you."
As he lectured, he punctuated the most important points with particularly hard swats to the underside of Gerome's ass, each of which brought a poorly concealed yelp from the now-squirming young man.
"Cherche and I can't make you love us, Gerome, and we would never try to, but I hope you can believe that we want what's best for you," some of the hardness disappeared from his tone, and he slowed the pace of the spanking, "And I hope you know that I love you."
That was it. In that moment, Gerome was a little boy once again, staring up at his father's softly smiling face through huge, teary eyes as he rubbed his smarting bottom.
"I hope you know that I love you, little one."
Those words echoed in his mind from years in the future of his past, piercing through the layers of armor he had wrapped around his heart. They were the final piece to his undoing: at long last, his walls crumbled.
Gerome's breath caught in his throat for a moment before his whole body slowly collapsed in a long, exhaled sob. Tears flooded his eyes and he made no effort to stop them, instead using his free hand to remove the ever-present mask and press his face into the mattress.
"M'sorry," he sobbed, "Father, m' so, so sorry!"
Stahl paused to look down at the crying boy, unsure he had heard his muffled words correctly through the bedding. Had Gerome really just called him "Father" and apologized in the same sentence? The boy's body had gone completely limp, and Stahl released his pinned arm.
"Gerome..."
"I-I don't- I d-don't hate you, Father," Gerome stuttered between gasps of breath. Now that the floodgates had finally opened, years of pain and guilt came pouring out in gut-wrenching sobs, "I-it's you who-who ought to h-hate me... T-Treat-ted you so-so badly... and-and Mother..."
With a sigh, Stahl rested his hand on Gerome's bright red bottom and rubbed gently, "I will never hate you, Gerome. I meant what I said before: I love you more than anything, and I know your mother does too."
Gerome curled himself more tightly against his father's leg and cried harder.
"M'sorry, m's-sorry..." it was all he could manage through the tears.
Stahl gazed at his son with a little smile. This was certainly a complete turnaround from the attitude Gerome had displayed up to that point. Returning to a sterner tone, he decided to bring this lesson to a close.
"Now, I'll be expecting some changes in your behavior moving forward, young man," As he spoke, he lifted his hand and snapped it down again across the middle of Gerome's ass.
His inhibitions now completely abandoned, Gerome made no effort to stifle the cry that flew from his mouth as the fire in his backside was reignited. His head flew up and his back arched, fingers gripping fistfuls of the blanket beneath him.
"No more running off all night on your own, is that clear?"
Another stinging swat landed slightly lower, and Gerome squirmed and cried under the firm hand holding him in place.
"Ah! Y-Yes sir! I wo-won't!"
"Mmm, and you'll be keeping a much more civil tongue in your head as well, especially towards your mother, yes?"
"Yes sir!" Gerome choked out. As he allowed himself to acknowledged this version of Cherche as his mother for the first time, the horrible words he had spoken to her felt like a knife in his gut.
"You're going to find her and apologize as soon as we're finished here, do you understand me? She was only trying to help you."
Gerome sobbed miserably, "Yes sir, I kn-know... Aha! I-I will, I pro-promise!"
"Good boy," Stahl murmured, and once again rested his hand on his son's hot, scarlet bottom. It was over.
"Father..." Gerome's voice was barely audible through the sobs that continued to shake his body, but the ability of that single word to warm Stahl's heart was unchanged.
"Shh, it's alright, Gerome," he soothed, rubbing his hand slowly across the boy's back, "Take a moment and just breath. I'm not going anywhere."
Gerome melted into the mattress with a slow exhale. The gentle caress of his father's hand on his back dissolved any lingering tension in his body as he soaked in the love and comfort he had been denying himself for so long. Gradually, the desperate sobs waned, replaced by deep, cleansing breaths.
In a voice still tear-soaked and quiet but steadier than before, he finally spoke again, "Father, I... I am sorry for-for how I spoke to you, as well..." He took another deep breath to steady himself before continuing, "I never really meant any of-of the things I said... I thought I did... I wanted to mean them, but-but I never could... m' so sorry..."
"Gerome," Stahl sighed with a little smile, "You're much better at fooling yourself than anyone else. I always knew you didn't truly believe any of the things you said. And you're forgiven, for all of them.
"But don't mistake me," he patted the young man's still-aching bottom, causing him to shift and whine pitifully, "I am not excusing your behavior, and you can expect to be right back here again the next time you decide to take that kind of attitude with me or anyone else. Understood?"
Gerome nodded his agreement with a hasty "Yes sir!"
"Alright then, up you get."
Gerome felt himself being guided upright, and he met his father's soft brown eyes for only a moment before breaking down and throwing himself against the older man, burying his face in his chest and clinging to him with a quiet sob.
"Hey, easy there, Gerome," Stahl chuckled as his son's embrace nearly knocked him over. He brought his hand to the back of Gerome's head and stroked it through his hair, "Shh, it's okay, it's alright. I love you, son."
Gerome let out a long breath. He never wanted to move again. The feeling of his father's arms around him felt like home for the first time in many years. In a voice barely above a whisper, he mumbled against the older man's chest the words he had never had a chance to say before, "I-I love you too...Father..."