A/N: Evan is two years older now, and having a bit of a rough patch in his life at Avilla.
Disclaimer: I don't own B7 or Darkover, but I purely love to mess with both of them!
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Avon was reaching for the halter hanging outside his black's box stall when he heard muffled sobs coming from somewhere further into the huge horse barn. Sending out a searching tendril, he felt the mental distress and identified its source. Following the sound and mental signature, he climbed the ladder, emerging through a hole in the floor into the hayloft, a huge, dry, dusty place of mysterious shadows and mounded shapes. A shaft of light from a high open window pierced the gloom. Its glittering golden red spear spoke of a recent passage that had disturbed the bedding and raised the dust. Avon burst through the light, heading toward one of the hay-walled caves the children were so fond of building. Inside, he found his grandson. He paused at the sight, his heart aching, both for the crying child and for the boy's father, whom he'd never really known.
Shaking off his brooding, he strode across the space, his riding boots crunching on the loose-hay floor. Kneeling, Avon wasn't sure enough of his reception to try to embrace the boy to comfort him, so he remained quietly on one knee until the boy acknowledged his presence.
Evan burst out suddenly, "He called me a bastard! So I hit him!" He lifted his blazing dark eyes to Avon's identical ones. Even in the dim light, Avon could see the beginnings of a colossal black eye and several other bruises about the boy's face.
"Here, let me look at that bruise, son," Avon began, raising a gentle hand toward the boy's face.
But the boy pulled back like a head-shy colt. "I'm NOT your son!" Evan shouted fiercely in Avon's face.
This set the man back on his heels, flinching visibly from the outburst. He thought a moment, wondering where that had come from. With the other children he, Vila, and Serran, with her often-absent husband Val, were raising, he'd thought this one had accepted the three of them as his parents. Granted, Evan was four years older than Vila's grandson Gabriel and Serran's twins Liva and Lerrys, even three years older than Serran's younger son Kieran. Evan had seemed to be settling into the household just fine, even if he was such a quiet child. Vila'd said to give the boy time, that he would open up eventually. Evan was even taking lessons from Vila, revealing a marvelous brilliance that thrilled Vila and made Avon somehow proud, even though he'd had nothing to do with creating this miniature of himself except contribute some DNA.
Now, though, he had to deal with this furious child. "Well," he replied evenly, "that's true, you aren't. Torr, my son, was your father. And yes, you are a bastard, as was he. What THAT has to do with anything, though, I fail to understand." He had the boy's attention now, dark eyes weighing his every word. Avon hoped he'd measure up. "All the word means is that a person was born to two parents who were not married. That, in my opinion, is the parents' problem, not the offspring's."
"Oh." Evan Torrson thought on that concept, his face revealing nothing and his thought closed off.
Avon waited several moments before he continued. "You can, however, earn the name 'bastard' for yourself in your own right, by your actions." He slipped sideways, seating himself more comfortably on the floor with his back to a wall of hay. Evan shifted too, so that he sat cross-legged facing Avon. His regard was faintly disconcerting for Avon: it was like looking in a time-distorting mirror. Almost, he looked around for the matching Vila to appear, but Gabriel didn't usually run with Evan, being so much younger.
"You become a bastard," Avon said seriously, "if you behave with no thought to others' feelings and well-being. If, by your actions or words, another is hurt, either physically or emotionally. And, when you do hurt someone, even accidentally, in any way, you don't care or fail to feel bad that that person was hurt because of you." He'd been looking down through all of this, trying to organize the principles properly for an eight-year-old child. Now he raised his eyes to Evan's and saw comprehension there, as he'd hoped. "Do you understand, Evan?"
Nodding, the boy said, "I think so. It doesn't matter that I was BORN a bastard as long as I don't BECOME a bastard myself by the way I behave."
"Yes, Evan, that's correct." Avon smiled quietly, his heart lifting at the boy's understanding and acceptance. Evan's grasp of concepts far beyond his years was one of the things Vila and Avon cherished about him. It reminded them so much of the child Serran had been when she'd first come into their lives, turning their whole world upside-down. The joy they'd felt, the completion she'd brought, the love they'd found together, all of that had made the three of them into a close family unit, one they were joyfully expanding to include this new generation of children.
Still, the child's words and his own brooding had set Avon's mind spiraling back to that unlamented, chaotic time when he and Vila had fought for the rebellion, far, far away from these peaceful surroundings. He'd done many things in his past that he wasn't particularly proud of.
Sensing disquiet seeping from Avon, the child asked seriously, "Are you a bastard, grandfather?"
Shocked at the child's apparent empathy, he replied slowly, "Yes and no. No, in that my father and mother, your great-grandparents, were married. But yes, in the sense that for awhile I…earned the name bastard by my own actions. I lived to regret it, but others…didn't live long enough for me to make it up to them."
Avon's eyes took on a haunted quality that would have pierced Vila's heart and caused him to fret for Avon's sanity. Though Vila wasn't there, Evan was and the child reached out to comfort the man. "I'm sorry you hurt, grandfather," he said, trying to cope with emotions far beyond his years to understand. He only knew Avon was feeling bad.
An almost-visible mental warmth emanated from the child, enveloping the man. Avon's eyes snapped up. Startled, awed, and…strangely comforted, he made a mental note to ask Gwenneth when the boy would be old enough to be tested and start training at her tower. Then, pulling the boy into his lap, Avon hugged him, so very glad Evan had been brought to him, and a touch surprised that the eight-year-old would allow Avon to cuddle him, even if it was Avon who now needed comforting.
After several minutes silence, the boy pulled restlessly away from Avon, the warmth the boy had bathed him in fading away. Avon let him go, both of them pretending nothing had happened, though Avon added those few moments to his 'treasures', as Vila called the precious moments in life that one should always remember.
Avon returned for a moment to the original topic of their discussion. "Remember, young man," he cautioned, trying to look stern, "you don't have leave to call others bastard or to fight if they call you that." Avon chuckled. "Besides, Vila will have a fit when you show him that black eye, and we can't have that very often, can we?" he finished with a smile.
The boy grinned back ruefully. "I hadn't thought about Uncle Vila. He'll be mad for sure."
They both rose from the hay, brushing it off their rough work clothes. Avon held out his hand and, after a second's hesitation, Evan took it. "Let's go face up to Uncle Vila and do something about that eye, shall we?"
Evan looked up at this quiet and usually aloof man who was his grandfather and sighed. "I guess we'd better."
As they crossed the loft to the ladder, Avon commented, "As shiners go, that one's going to be spectacular."
The boy's face shone. "You think so? Wait'll Lerrys and Gabriel see it! Bet they'll be jealous!"
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A/N: So ends the beginning of Evan's life with Avon and Vila. The next chapter, 'Into The Light' is the last one of 'Thieves in Time'.