Have a Paralogue instead

In all truthfulness, Lon'qu thought of himself as a terrible father.

He had absolutely no experience with children and the memories of his own childhood could hardly be used as a noteworthy example. After all, how much meaning could one draw from a childhood in the slums and apply it? One of the reasons he had married Tharja was she had told him in her typical blunt fashion that if he ever expected her to be any sort of domestic then he'd best prepare for a sniffling hex that would last all his life.

He assured her that he wasn't expecting anything of the sort.

And honestly, he couldn't even begin imagine himself as any sort of father figure to a child. Or a baby for that matter. Ugh, especially babies. To use his wife's own words, babies were loud, vulgar little time sucks that took too long to be any sort of worthwhile investment in the long run. And children were worse. Curious, grubby children with their grubbiness and inane babble. Urgh.

Really, they had each other and for him, that was all he needed.

That was until she showed up.

It was made all the worse that Noire was a girl. And not just any girl. A daughter. His daughter.

In a complete change of heart, his wife ended up being more intrigued than annoyed by the sudden appearance of their offspring. For the first few weeks, she spent every waking minute coercing the girl into helping her with various experiments and hexes and getting closer to their offspring. Apparently, her rule regarding children didn't to extend to children already grown.

He, on the other hand, was sure this was some sort of divine punishment sent by Naga. Or Grima. Maybe both. All his fears, all his phobias and memories of Ke'ri came rushing back to him and for those first few weeks, he had studiously avoided her. Not even his wife's deadpan displeasure could deter him.

"Cowardice doesn't suit you, dear," were her exact words. There was no affection in the endearment. Only disappointment.

He had paused and then simply pretended that he hadn't heard her.

That worked for a while. Until he learned that their offspring's shadowing habit didn't just apply to his wife.

"What are you doing?" he finally asked when he couldn't take it anymore. He never really cared for when people watched him perform his training exercises so long as they left him alone. But the girl…

It was slightly unnerving how the girl would simply show up without a sound and copy his every move to the point. As if someone had taught her all of the forms before.

She had been in the middle of a complex form when he asked her and she nearly stumbled over in surprise. "Oh, s-sorry!" she said, tripping over herself in her haste to apologize. "I d-didn't mean to distract you from your training."

"You weren't," he said bluntly. "Just… your constant silence is… disquieting."

She tilted her head confusedly. "I thought you didn't like when people talked while you were training?"

Well that was true. The girl knew his habits better than most. "I… yes."

He really didn't know what to say next and apparently, neither did she. After a few awkward seconds with nothing accomplished, she relaxed back into her stance and began performing the next movement in the sequence. Idly, he noted that she moved with the same sort of feline grace his wife had.

"Your stance is wrong," he said before he could stop himself.

She stopped mid-motion. "Hah?"

He pointed to her leg. "Right foot in front."

"Oh." She shifted and performed the movement correctly. "Like this?"

"Perfect." Something niggled the back of his brain. "I thought I would've taught you how to do this correctly in the future."

"W-well, you did… sort of…"

"Sort of?"

She shrugged. "You showed me the basics but I was too small to really remember them fully. And then you were… gone before you could show me the rest."

Ah. That would explain it. "I see," he said awkwardly. How to apologize for a death that was and wasn't his?

She nodded and the two of them descended into another uncomfortable silence. Finally, she spoke up.

"I-I guess I'll see you tomorrow."

She said it so warily, so cautiously, as if she was asking for his permission to come back again. And that made it all the more worse.

Suddenly, he was angry. Furious at himself. This wasn't fair to her. Phobia or no, it was still no excuse for his reticence towards her.

Just because he was afraid of her didn't mean she had to suffer because of his cowardice.

"Wait."

She stopped and looked back inquisitively.

He crossed his arms and schooled his face into a stern expression to hide his anxiety.

"Show me your crane stance."

She blinked confusedly for a few seconds before she realized what he had said. Then her face slid into an excited smile.

My eyes, her chin, he noted absently.

"Right away, father!"

Somehow, the word didn't evoke the feeling of fear that he thought it would.

Overtime, he learned that Noire hated being sick and the mere sight of a runny nose could make her feel ill for hours. She had a passion for bug collecting and was rather fond of scarab beetles and could wax poetic on the finer details of their carapaces for lengths on end.

She had her mother's talent for dark magic and was a natural with a killing edge but she sheepishly confessed that she preferred the bow, a fact that he couldn't find himself to begrudge her for.

She enjoyed taking long walks but the heat of the sun usually forced her to retire early. When she let slip that she used to suffer from bouts of anemia when she was younger, he found himself slipping a portion of his own food onto her plate.

Noire never noticed but his wife did. She found it highly amusing that he gave her everything but the potatoes.

And funnily enough, her alternate personality never did bother him despite her repeated inquiries. Actually, he found it a strange sort of comfort. If anything, her alternate personality knew how to take care of herself. It was the soft spoken side of his daughter that frightened him. Though he found that fear lessening as the days passed with her.

Until the day it suddenly returned full force.

He didn't know why he said it. Maybe it had been complacency that had lulled him into the false sense of security. Maybe it was because of her general twitchiness. Or maybe it was because she was his daughter and it just seemed the natural thing to say.

She had stopped right in the middle of a form and looked stunned for a few seconds before promptly bursting into tears.

"I-I'm sorry," she said wiping at her eyes. "I-it's just… you used t-to c-call me 'little bird' all the time back in my t-time. S-sorry." She gave a watery chuckle. "It- it's just b-been so long s-since…"

"You don't have to apologize so damn much," he said gruffly as he shoved his fear to the side and wrapped her in a hug.

She sniffled again and buried her face into his chest.

"I m-missed you s-so much, f-father."

He nodded stiffly. "I know, little bird. I know."

Later, she'd apologize for ruining his coat and wasting their training session and he'd scold her gently then.

But for now, he'd pretend to be a good father and a decent man and let his daughter cry all she wanted.

Family was family after all.

Chapter title taken from an image by narpoodles. It coo'