Welp. My prediction about not being able to update last week was correct. I apologize.
And I've only got, like, one more finished chapter left before I have to start writing again. Eep! I've been so busy I'm gonna lose my mind. 0_0; I really don't want to put this on hiatus until I can have time to write more, but... Sigh. I'll keep you posted.
Thank all of you for your reviews! The support is wonderful- it's great to hear from readers and know that there are a few followers who actually still read this meandering tale. :)
Anonymous7: Ughh, I hate when that happens! D: You've just gotta (I need to follow this advice too) push through it and keep writing. And I think this chapter will answer some of your questions. Thanks for the review!
Home
It was just after dinner when a soft knock came at Varasach's door. Senai set down her knitting needles as Varasach's usual afternoon Guard- a middle-aged man named Jera- opened the door for the visitor.
"My King," Jera murmured, bowing as Garmadon stepped into the bedroom.
Garmadon dipped his head to the Guard, and then to Varasach. "Good evening," he said.
"What do you want?" Varasach asked tersely. Garmadon froze.
The King sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. "Leave us," he said, gesturing to Senai and the Guard. "Don't return until you are summoned."
The pair left promptly; the door was shut.
Pigeon, who had been dozing on Varasach's lap, yawned, stretching out to a remarkable length before hopping from the bed to greet the King.
"Heyyy," Garmadon murmured to the cat, bending to scratch him affectionately behind the ears. Pigeon purred, rubbing his face against Garmadon's sleeve. The King smiled, cupping the cat's face in both hands to rub him a few moments longer before standing. Pigeon hopped back onto the bed, still purring as he watched Garmadon.
"Twelve days," Garmadon said to Varasach, ignoring the cat. "That's how long it's been since I rescued you from Sheshin Keep. Hard to believe how fast time flies."
"It feels like it's been much longer than twelve days," Varasach replied.
Garmadon's shoulders tensed. He broke her stare, seeming to deflate. His entire being exuded weariness and contrition.
Good, Varasach thought, and shoved down her own feelings of guilt. After all the unhappiness and discomfort he had caused her, it only seemed right for him to have a taste of his own poison.
"It's…been a few days since our last private talk," Garmadon managed at last. "I heard your doctor has cleared you to leave the bed?"
"Only for a little while," Varasach said. "An hour a day. And I spend most of that time in my wheelchair."
"Do you feel strong enough to walk for longer than he lets you?"
Varasach paused. "I…would like to walk more. But I can't without help."
"That's understandable. I would listen to your doctor." Garmadon sat in his customary seat beside her bed. "Your muscles have atrophied. You were in a wheelchair at Sheshin, too, yes?"
"Yes."
"Just give it time, then. You'll get your strength back soon enough. Don't strain yourself." He offered something of a smile. "That's a pretty pin in your hair."
Varasach reached up to touch the pin holing her curls back from her face. "Um…thanks."
"Senai gave it to you?"
"Yes. Senai has lots of pins."
Garmadon chuckled. "She used to do Misako's hair," he said, and sadness darkened his face. He looked down at his hands, folded on his lap. "You are certain that Misako is well at Sheshin?"
Varasach watched Garmadon, her head tilted slightly. There was a deep sorrow and longing- desperation- in his countenance. What was she to make of that?
"You said that she was fine. But…but knowing how they treated you, I cannot be sure of anything anymore. Was she…wounded, in any way? Did you ever see her, I don't know, crying? Could she move about the keep at her leisure, or is she confined to a single room? Did she look well the last time you saw her?"
Varasach wanted so badly to believe that he was faking concern. Thinking that he was acting- that he didn't truly care, and was just trying to elicit sympathy from her- made it so much easier to hate him, the man who had hurt her mother and exiled them both to the Dark Island.
Zak's laughter echoed in her mind. His bared teeth. His own blood, dried to his face, his neck, his shirt. Howling, cursing, thrashing.
Whispering, crooning, pleading.
Two sides of the same manipulative coin.
Garmadon seemed to notice her hesitation. He raised his head, imploring. "Please, Vara. I want the truth. Is she all right?"
Varasach looked away, unsure why she was suddenly fighting sadness and pity.
Damn you, Garmadon, she cursed, staring at her own scarred hands. Just let me hate you.
"Yes," she said through gritted teeth. "She is unhurt. She is allowed to walk around wherever she wants. But she does not leave the keep."
Garmadon released a breath. His shoulders loosened, like her words had lifted a great weight from them.
"I hardly care that you may be lying to me," he said, and wiped his eyes with his thumb. "Thank you, Vara. Perhaps, hearing that, I may be able to rest a little easier tonight."
Varasach said nothing. Really, what was there to say? She understood their mutual mistrust and discomfort.
It seemed that the only difference between them, curiously enough, was that he was eager to allay these feelings between them. He wanted to close the gap.
And I only want to widen it, and be left alone. Varasach sighed through her nose, quietly, and fingered a healing burn scab on her arm. Most of her bandages were gone now, though her skin was still tender all over.
"I uh…I brought something for you," Garmadon said, composing himself, and reached into his pocket. He held out a small, round bronze frame. Varasach hesitantly took it and turned it over. Her stomach lurched.
"It took a while to find this," Garmadon said. "I had a group of my private investigators track down her family. They let us take one of their portraits. Begrudgingly, but…well, that's to be expected."
The face in the frame stared serenely at Varasach with a faint twinkle in her brown eyes. Delicate shoulders and neck, high cheekbones, and curly, thick red hair braided loosely and thrown over one shoulder.
My mother. Varasach reverently fingered the glass over the tiny painting, fighting a fierce surge of mixed emotions.
"It isn't much, I know," Garmadon said. "But I thought you would appreciate something more than just a broken locket to connect you to her."
Varasach could not understand why she suddenly felt the need to vomit. Tears splashed onto the glass. Her eyes blurred. She shook her head, loosing her hair from the pin Senai had so carefully placed there that morning.
"Vara?" Garmadon leaned over the bed, concerned. "Are you all right?"
The portrait fell from her shaking hand.
What's wrong with you? she scolded herself, wiping her eyes. What is wrong with you?
"Vara?" Garmadon's voice, hardly even a whisper, only made Varasach's tears fall harder.
"I- I'm fine," Varasach muttered, sniffling, drawing in a shaky breath. "I'm sorry. Thank you. It's just…I haven't seen her in so long… I ha-ad forgotten…"
"I know. It's all right, child."
"Sh-she had a family!" Varasach blurted, taking up the portrait again, struggling to take in the details of her mother's face through the tears. "She h-had a m-mother, and a fa-ather, and friends, and- and…and it was all taken from her!"
Which side of the family did those brown eyes come from? And how many siblings did she have? Varasach knew of her brother, Gihara, but were there others as well?
Kaeli had been so young when she'd been taken to be a slave. What had she wanted to do with her life? Did she love animals, or art, or baking bread, or…
"Ka-Kaeli had a life, once," Varasach wept. "Wh-why?" She searched Garmadon's face, pleadingly. "Why were her- her joys stolen? Why was she left with…with…"
Tears glimmered in Garmadon's eyes. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and then spoke in a small voice. "I'm sorry."
"She had happiness, an-and freedom," Varasach sobbed. "And then it was t-taken, and she was left with me instead." She pointed at herself, certain that she was making enough noise by now that half the keep could hear her. "She cou-could not have wanted me."
"No," Garmadon said. The firmness in his voice caught Varasach off guard. "No, Vara. Kaeli loved you."
"But how d-does anyone love the child of such a terrible crime?" Varasach shook her head. "She must have hated-"
"No!" Garmadon sat on the bed and grabbed Varasach's shoulder. "No, Vara. Don't believe that."
Varasach touched his arm, intending to shove him away, but she found she didn't have the strength of heart. She gripped his hand- so warm, so firm, so gentle- and gasped a hiccupy breath.
"Shh, shh…" Garmadon touched her face with his other hand, wiping away her tears. "Listen to me, Vara. Kaeli loved you. She loved you more than she loved herself. She named you Aida. Hey." He brought his face close to hers, gently squeezing her maimed hand, cupping her cheek. "Do you know what 'Aida' means, Vara?"
Varasach shook her head.
"It means 'happy.' " Garmadon smoothed her hair from her tearstained face. "She was so, so happy to have you. She loved you with all of her heart."
Varasach closed her eyes, sniffling, trembling under his tender touch. "You d-don't know that."
"I do," Garmadon said. "No, look at me, Vara. Listen. Kaeli went to great lengths to preserve your life. Nobody would have blamed her for doing otherwise. She didn't have to. I…I gave her other options."
Varasach paused. She looked up at him. "What?"
Garmadon grimaced, glancing away. He filled his chest with air, then let it out determinedly. "I…wasn't entirely forthright with your past," he said. "This is why I came today. If anything were to happen to me in the coming days, I wanted you to hear this from me, and not from the Lord Rector."
Varasach's tears stilled somewhat. She frowned: there was an uneasy feeling in her gut. Garmadon gave Kaeli other…options?
"What do you mean?" she asked.
Garmadon pressed his lips together and ran his fingers through his hair again. The length of time which he spent formulating his words- and the deliberation with which he finally spoke them- only made Varasach more anxious.
"A member of the Blessed bloodline having illegitimate children isn't all that uncommon," Garmadon began slowly. "Kings, like me, or Queens, or Princes and Princesses. Every so often, the sins of the Blesseds are not able to be confined in the bedroom. It has happened countless times throughout our history.
"It's a terrible thing, though, to have these children running free on the island. Growing up, starting their own families, rebelling and trying to take the throne for themselves… It's all in our secret history. And so, we have adopted a method of dealing with this."
A coldness settled into Varasach's bones.
"I told Kaeli not to worry: once the baby was born, I would have it killed secretly." Garmadon's eyes- so deep, so distressed- moved with difficulty from the far wall to look at Varasach. He looked so bent, so weighed down.
"Kaeli refused. She didn't want to kill the child. So I tried to bribe her. I promised to have her mark voided- I promised to free her, so she could return to her family!- if she would only hide quietly in the Northern Temple until the child could be terminated.
"I thought she'd agreed to my terms. But, once the baby was born, the Northern Lord Rector helped her escape to Keitorin before my assassin could kill it." He paused, making a pained face. "…Kill you."
In the following silence, Varasach's heart pounded in her ears. The blizzard itself seemed to still.
"Kaeli loved you, Aida," Garmadon whispered. "She loved you so much that she chose to keep her slave mark and risk escaping to Keitorin. She knew that I could have followed her, and killed both of you. Hosts, she knew that I, as the King, could have made the entire island pay dearly for what she'd done! But she took the risk anyways."
He let Varasach go- the coldness spread through her like an icy wind- and sat on the edge of the bed, his back turned to her, elbows on his knees.
"Hosts," he murmured, burying his face in his hands. "I thought we were getting somewhere, Vara. I thought that maybe, maybe we could start trusting each other…"
His entire frame shook, and Varasach realized that he was weeping.
Garmadon, King of all Ninjago. Rapist, murderer, warlord.
And he was weeping.
There were so many words which Varasach wanted to say, and yet she was speechless.
There were so many emotions which she longed to express, and yet she was numb.
As much as Varasach would have liked to believe it, the man who wept before her was not a man without a heart, or a conscience. He was human, just like her, just like Cole, just like Alerik, or Zak…
We are all the same, Varasach realized. We have all made the same mistakes- if not with our hands, then with our hearts.
Garmadon was not putting on a show when he was kind to women like Zak's abused wife, Haeva. He was not making a shallow gesture by giving the most mistreated slaves, like the mute man Laval, a home. It was all so clear now.
He had not "rescued" Varasach from Sheshin Keep to foil Zane's plans, or because he needed an heir to keep the Lord Rector's grandson off the throne. He had rescued her because she was his daughter, and Hosts consume them all if he didn't make things right with her- and beg for her forgiveness- as quickly as possible!
Oh, God, she prayed, gripping her arms, shivering. What a fool I am. What a selfish, prideful fool. She raised her eyes to the ceiling. How could you have ever loved me when I could not even find a place in my heart to love my own father? Please forgive me.
An inexplicable feeling fluttered in Varasach's chest, warming her- giving her courage and peace- in such a way as she had not felt in a long time.
Though her limbs shook, she crawled out from under her blankets and sat beside Garmadon. She reached out, slowly, to place a hand on his back.
"But you didn't," she whispered, placing her other hand on his face, gently turning his head toward her.
The lost, trembling, teary eyes of a human, not a monster, struggled to meet hers.
"…What?" he rasped.
Varasach pushed stray strands of hair from his wrinkled forehead. "You didn't try to follow Kaeli, did you?"
Garmadon frowned and shook his head, looking puzzled. He wiped his face on his sleeve.
"You should count yourself fortunate." Varasach's voice became so tight, so quiet, so pained, she marveled that she was able to speak at all.
"Why?"
"Because you, at least, did not succeed in killing your child."
Garmadon blinked, puzzled. Dried his face again, and searched hers.
"You can have peace in your heart," Varasach breathed. "You can know that you are forgiven, and loved. But I…I can never have that. Not until I die."
Why would I tell him this? Varasach wondered as realization illuminated the King's face. Shock, pain, and sympathy, shaking his head, creasing his brow, sending more tears down his cheeks. The hidden blackness in my heart. My secret guilt, which I have shared with no one- not even Cole, or Josi, or Kyle?
She knew why, deep down.
We are the same, my father and I. We are more alike than I ever could have imagined. No one else would ever understand why I did what I did- or why it haunts me so cruelly. Not in the way that he does.
"Oh, Vara…" His arms encompassed her, as warm and relieving as the tears that again flooded her eyes. "Ohhh, my child…"
Before Varasach had entirely registered what was happening she had her own arms around him, gripping the back of his shirt as if he might turn to water and slip through her fingers. He clung to her with even greater strength, resting his wet cheek in her hair, murmuring through his shaky sobs.
"I'm so sorry, child… I'm so, so sorry…"
"I'm sorry!" Varasach cried into Garmadon's shoulder. How had she never noticed his scent before? So sweet and earthy, like medicine, like her mother's garden of herbs so long ago. Like a healing salve for her tainted, damaged, bleeding soul. "I-I'm so so-orry!"
"It's all right. It's all right, child."
"I'm sorry!"
"I forgive you, child. I'm sorry, too. Please don't cry…" Her father kissed her behind the ear and ran his hand over her hair, holding her so close, so dearly, so desperately.
Garmadon had come to her tonight hoping to make things right- to ensure that, should he not ever return to her after this coming war, she would know the truth about her past.
Garmadon had come to her hoping to be freed from his guilt, not realizing that he would instead free her.
He knew her secret. And more than that, he understood. Varasach had never dared to believe that this could be possible until now. She was connected to Garmadon in ways that she never would have imagined even yesterday, in a bond much more powerful than their blood.
Finally, after all these years, she had found the place where she belonged.
She was home.
"D-don't leave," Varasach gasped. "Please, don't lea-eave!"
Don't leave me alone. Not after I just found you.
"Ohh, Aida." Her father's voice resonated in her chest, fervent and deep. "I will never leave you again."
An undetermined amount of time later, and still a touch watery around the eyes, Garmadon left Vara's bedroom. There was an inexplicable lightness in his heart as he stood in the hall; his fingers lingered on the doorframe for a few moments as he struggled to compose himself.
She forgave me.
Hosts, when was the last time he'd felt this…this free? He could not contain his soaring heart: he smiled broadly, and was quickly overcome by tears again. He wiped his eyes and took a deep breath, smoothing his hair with both hands as he turned away from Vara's door.
She forgave me!
As much as he had hoped, dreamed, and prayed that she would, he still could not wrap his mind around it. She had listened when he poured out his heart- one of his deepest, darkest secrets- and had in turn entrusted him with one of hers.
With that triumph, there was also newfound grief. Dear, dear Vara. No wonder she had been so uncomfortable during their conversation with the Lord Rector about producing an heir.
The poor child, Garmadon thought, and glanced up and down the hall to make sure no one was nearby before drying his eyes again. After all the pain and abuse she had endured on the Dark Island, he supposed he could understand her desire to terminate whatever children came of it. But it still shook him.
To think that his Aida- his gentle, soft-spoken, timid child- had been capable of such an act… It put things into perspective. As much as he could wish it, nobody was guiltless. Even the most beautiful souls had their shades of gray.
Even the First King was not perfect, Garmadon reflected, and began walking briskly down the hall toward his study. Though he was purer than any other man on this earth, he was still flawed. He still had his secrets…
Garmadon sighed. Smoothed his outer jacket, which had become twisted and creased when Vara embraced him.
Ohhh, Lloyd, my son, he thought sadly. I know you always wanted a sibling. I hope you can forgive me for keeping your sister from you.
How much different would their life have been if he hadn't tried to kill his daughter? What if, instead, she had been accepted as part of the Blessed family from the beginning? She would have grown up comfortably, with a half-brother to play with, learn with, laugh with…
What would Misako think of Vara? Nineteen winters ago, she would most certainly have not taken the news well. But now, they were both older, wiser, more patient with each other's flaws.
Or, at least they had been, before Garmadon's mind had been damaged by Kaytake's poison.
Garmadon could not understand how finding Vara had cured him, when nothing- even Zane's Blade- had helped before. How could merely being in Vara's presence bring healing to his fractured mind? How could listening to her voice, even if her words weren't always kind, assuage his angry spirit?
Why did her eyes, so earnest and astute, make him want to change- to become a better, more honorable man and King- when before even his beloved wife's pleadings had been met with disdain?
Misako will love Vara, Garmadon decided, his throat tight with sorrow. But she will hate me.
Garmadon at last reached his study. Two Guards, as always, stood outside the door to ensure no unwanted eyes could access the important documents inside. He cleared his throat and addressed one of the Guards.
"Go find Senai and the Guard Jera," he ordered. "Send them back to the Princess' room."
"Yes, my King," the Guard saluted, and left his post to fulfill this task.
"The Lord Rector is waiting inside for you, my King," the other Guard said.
"The Lord Rector?" Garmadon frowned at his closed door. "What does he want? Why did you let him in?"
"I apologize, my King. I didn't know your study was off-limits to the Lord R-"
Garmadon held up a hand to silence him. "It's all right," he said. "How long has he been there for?"
"About a half-hour, my King."
"How often does he enter my study when I'm not around?"
The Guard hesitated. "Not frequently, my King. He went in yesterday while you were at the library. He said he would wait for you to return, but he left only a few minutes later. He must have changed his mind."
"Thank you," Garmadon said, still eying his door. There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Next time he does this, please inform me right away."
"Yes, my King." The Guard bowed and opened the door for the King. Garmadon steeled himself and entered the study.
The Lord Rector reclined in a chair before Garmadon's desk, reading a thick tome. He closed the book as Garmadon approached, smiling pleasantly. "Good evening, Garmadon."
"Lord Rector." Garmadon dipped his head to the Priest. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Oh, nothing in particular." He gestured with a wrinkled hand. "I think you have burn medicine on your sleeve."
Garmadon hastily scrubbed at the greasy ointment with his handkerchief. By the thirteen moons, he should have been more careful about that. Had he hurt Vara's sensitive skin when he'd inadvertently rubbed this medicine off? She hadn't complained, but…
"You seem to be making progress with the girl," the Lord Rector remarked. "You were in there for quite a while."
Garmadon glanced at the clock on the wall, surprised. It was almost time for his meeting with the High Generals. How had so much time passed…?
"There was…a lot to discuss," Garmadon said.
"I'm sure there was." The Lord Rector looked amused. "I heard predictions that the storm may die down by tomorrow, my King."
"Will it?" The dark feeling in the pit of Garmadon's stomach swelled. "I suppose I should find High General Derek. Tell him to prepare the Guards for-"
"Already done, my King."
"Ah. Thank you." Garmadon went to his desk and sat. "I need to summon the doctors to get a plague count within the Guard ranks. We need to know how many men are still in fighting condition."
"Also done, my King."
Garmadon sat back in his chair, restraining a sigh. Not that he wasn't grateful for the help, but there were days when he wondered who truly ran this country.
Not that I want to be responsible for this infernal war on the South, Garmadon thought. But still…
Rebelliously, Garmadon wondered how his decisions regarding the South would have changed if not for the Lord Rector's firm direction. Would he have honored his own treaty and shown mercy to the South? He would like to think that he would have.
He thought of Lady Kaytake, pregnant, grieving the loss of her husband and two children. Of her signature on the page of his treaty, pleading, begging for mercy.
Of course she didn't want war. Anyone with death as their neighbor understood that sentiment- Garmadon included. He looked across the desk at the Lord Rector.
This Priest, however, did not understand. Yes, he had experienced the deaths of many loved ones in his lifetime. But life had been unreasonably kind to this Priest in these past few winters. He lived a comfortable life, far removed from the horrors of this world. He had a family, and a grandson who, according to law, was next in line for the throne if Vara did not become Queen.
The Middle-North's victory in this upcoming war- upcoming massacre- was unquestionable. He had nothing to lose. Garmadon, on the other hand…
"Has the Princess come around yet, my King?" the Lord Rector asked. "Do you think she will support us in this endeavor?"
Garmadon shook his head. "No," he admitted quietly. "No, I don't think she will."
"Mmm… That's unfortunate." The Lord Rector set his book on his lap and leaned forward, crossing his arms on the desk. "Please remember, my King. You cannot entertain ideas of her taking the crown. Not until she has come to our side in the matter."
"Your side," Garmadon corrected, and immediately regretted his words.
The Lord Rector tilted his head. "What?"
Garmadon cringed inwardly. "It's nothing. I misspoke. Forgive me."
"Hmm." The Lord Rector seemed thoughtful, but to Garmadon's relief did not press the matter.
"Don't take me the wrong way, my King," he said. "I am very happy that you are beginning to connect with your daughter. I wish you all the best."
"Thank you."
"But do not entertain false hopes." The Lord Rector stood, smoothing his black and green uniform. "Remember the law: it is not entirely your decision who will take the crown next. If all three Lord Rectors disapprove of Vara, then she will not become Queen, regardless of what you, herself, or even the rest of the country think."
Garmadon lowered his eyes, jaw tight. "Yes, Lord Rector," he said.
Lord Rector Waren nodded his approval. "I'll take my leave," he said, and bowed. "You have a lot to prepare for this upcoming war. I shall see you later, my King."
"Yes," Garmadon gritted.
The Lord Rector knocked on the study door. The Guard opened it from the outside, and he left without looking back.
Once alone, Garmadon fell into his chair, set his head in his hands, and groaned.
He recalled Zakari Tui's trial the day before. How nasty and vile that man had been, how he had laughed at the discomfort of his own wife, agreed so readily- so proudly- to the accusations that the High General brought against him.
How Vara had forgiven him. How she'd asked, later, whether there was any chance he could be saved.
When his time was up, Garmadon knew with certainty that he wanted her to rule Ninjago. With a little work- a little more knowledge of Ninjago and its laws- Vara would make a wonderful Queen.
But a selfish voice deep inside himself said otherwise.
Garmadon did not expect Lord Rector Waren to outlive him. The Priest, he hoped, would be replaced long before Vara became Queen. But the thought of any Lord Rector standing at Vara's shoulder, whispering in her ear, telling her what she could or could not do, made Garmadon's blood boil.
She is stronger than me, Garmadon told himself. She will not allow them to push her around, like I have for so many years.
The thought brought him little peace.
Oh, Mena, he prayed, rubbing his forehead. Help me make the right decision.