Whenever You Are
15, Ara, year 632
Now, more than ever, Cole felt a sharp sense of regret and nostalgia as the bow caressed the strings of his beloved violin. Fingers flickering across the fingerboard, sound as soothing and enchanting as a candle's flame. With a tempo as subtle yet steady as the changing tide, the song carried Cole to days long past, when he'd perform with his family in stuffy taverns, quiet inns, or out on crowded streets during festivals. A rare sense of joy and peace fluttered in Cole's chest.
The music ended, and Cole sighed with an inexplicable reluctance, turning his eyes to a slit in the wall through which scattered rays of dawn light shone. Outside, Cole heard the soft but cheery murmur of children playing in the orchards.
When he had first awakened nearly four weeks ago with a half-healed broken back and had been informed of Overlord's demise, Cole had been dubious. Even now he had trouble letting go of his fears: Overlord had become a key player in Cole's life, and to think that he was now gone…
A few minutes passed in silence. Cole closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, mindful of his aching spine. With Kai's help, Ronin had been able to heal most of the remaining damage with his Gem. But Kai himself admitted that Cole would likely never be pain-free again. Perhaps with surgery once they returned to Ninjago, but Kai didn't seem hugely optimistic.
Much to Cole's own surprise, he was calm- almost resigned- about this prognosis. It wasn't too bad: he could walk, though he sometimes got strange, tingling pains in his legs. For this reason he always carried a cane with him: seemingly good days could turn sour on Cole faster than the Mena-cursed weather.
"Cole?" a voice addressed him, and he reopened his eyes and looked at his father.
The man who stood before Cole looked nothing like Overlord. With his peppered hair in a loose but tidy tail, Lou stood with a slight slouch whenever the violin left his shoulder. His face, once caught in a violent, perpetual sneer, had an aged and sallow look about it: though he was hardly into his forties, he looked old enough to be Cole's grandfather.
One could hardly blame Lou for looking this way. He had spoken little of his year as Overlord's host, but Cole had gathered enough to know that Lou had been lucid through most- if not all- of the traumatic ordeal. He admired his father for handling it so calmly.
Lou approached his son, holding out the violin. Their eyes locked momentarily, but Lou soon looked away. He'd been having trouble keeping anyone's gaze for longer than a few heartbeats since his awakening from the coma a week after his exorcism.
"You bet," Cole chuckled, reaching out for the violin as Lou handed it to him. Cole set it on his shoulder and put the bow to the strings, mentally recalling as many notes and measures of his father's song as he could.
Before he could begin, however, Lou's gentle hands went to Cole's elbows. "Does this hurt?" he asked, adjusting Cole's posture slightly.
Cole grimaced: the change, slight as it was, forced him to straighten the most sensitive part of his back.
"Mmm…" Lou recanted the change and instead moved the cheekpiece slightly under Cole's jaw. Then he tapped Cole's wrist. That last bit was only a habit. When Cole was a child, his father tapping his wrist was a reminder to keep it loose.
Cole's wrist was loose- had been, for a good number of years- but the habit seemed to have stuck, and Lou now did it with each lesson.
Then Cole actually turned his eyes to his wrist, and he noticed with some alarm that his sleeve had fallen halfway to his elbow, revealing a good number of his scars. His father had touched them deliberately.
"Relax your shoulders, son." Lou's voice, which had years ago been strong and proud as he instructed his boy, now had an unfamiliar, mellow bearing. As if he were afraid to speak any louder than a whisper. As if he'd spook himself if he dared raise his voice above that whisper.
"Breathe."
Bow resting lightly against the strings, fingers in position, Cole obeyed.
"Any pain now?"
"I'm fine, Father."
"Is there any pain, Coleman?" Lou added an edge to his quiet tone. Cole sighed.
"A bit. In my legs. Nothing unusual, Father. Please; I'm fine."
Lou nodded sympathetically. "Put that violin down for a moment."
"Father, please don't…" The plea fell on deaf ears. Cole tapered off with another rueful sigh as Lou ran from the room. Not one to disobey his father, however, Cole set the instrument on his lap. He absently strummed the strings with his thumb as he waited for Lou to return.
It wasn't long before Lou returned with a soft-skinned canteen. Setting this on the cot, he went to a corner and dragged out a crate filled with the few belongings that had been salvageable from the Overlord-induced wreckage of Cole's cave. Bringing the crate close, Lou gently lifted Cole's left leg and rested it on the crate.
"Father…" Cole objected.
"No," Lou countered firmly, lifting Cole's other leg up. "Hold still. Tell me when it hurts."
"Ah!" As if in response to Lou's demand an intense pain ripped through his right ankle. Lou fussed with his leg for a moment, ripping a thin pillow from the cot and situating it under Cole's feet. Then he took the first water bottle and slid it into the gap between Cole's lower back and the chair. The comfortably warm container offered Cole almost instant relief. He barely restrained a relieved breath.
He felt uncomfortable whenever Lou did things like this. But despite his father's newfound timid, almost mournful disposition, he was firm on things like this.
"Is that better?" Lou asked. Still his eyes remained averted, resting at best on Cole's hair or ears, but never meeting his gaze full-on.
"Yes," Cole said. "Quit fretting over me already. I promise, I'm all right." He set the violin on his shoulder and began to play his father's song.
"I didn't tell you to start, boy," Lou said, the smile evident in his tone as he cut Cole off. He pushed on Cole's head gently with his thumb. "You're still too tight." A light tsk. "You have such promise, son. But this injury is harming your posture…"
"I know," Cole said ruefully. "There's nothing I can do about it, though, except wait for it to heal. Kai says the pain should continue to go down on its own, as long as I'm careful."
"Yes, of course," Lou said resignedly. His thin fingers, which seemed to have been created for the sole purpose of playing music, ran along Cole's shoulders and arms with subtle gestures, tuning his son's posture as well as Cole's injured spine allowed.
And then, at long last, the anticipated command came.
"All right, Cole. Go on."
Inhaling, Cole ran the bow down across the strings. On the exhale he pushed the bow upward, fingertips stepping lightly through the intimate beginnings of the piece.
And then Cole was there, in that euphoric world where only he and his violin existed. His eyelids fluttered shut; all sounds of the outside world left him. He recalled his father's melody in his mind, and his fingers seemed to work on their own to interpret the piece.
This was one of Lou's "ear training exercises," which Cole had been playing on multiple instruments since before he'd even learned to speak full sentences. To some degree, at least: Cole's more recent pieces were astronomically more difficult than the little tunes he used to plink out on the piano with tiny hands that hardly spanned four keys.
The song eventually ended, and Cole reopened his eyes and set the violin on his lap. "I messed it up," he admitted. "On that transition between-"
"No," Lou said. "You deviated from my demonstration a few times, but you improvised wonderfully."
Heat rose into Cole's face. This was another aspect of his "new father" that would be hard to get used to. Three years ago Lou would have admonished Cole for forgetting the notes and playing the exercises wrong.
"You don't have to treat me like this," Cole said. "I was stupid. I'm the reason you're here, and Mother…isn't here anymore." And Viola, he thought, but didn't say so out loud: Lou had already confirmed to him that Viola had died as an infant many, many years ago. This information frustrated Cole: what had Overlord done to make Cole's mind so pliable to his lies?
Lou's brows pinched with grief. "You were a fool," he admitted. "But for that I blame myself, Coleman. I should have been kinder to you." A sad smile that showed some white teeth. "If I had known that argument would have this big of an impact on our lives, I would have admitted fault on the spot and saved all of us this grief."
Cole murmured his agreement, looking down. "We both know I was in the wrong. And I shouldn't have run away like I did."
"Yes. Well…" Lou took the violin from Cole and held it to his own shoulder, his perfect posture demonstrating a lifetime of practice. "That's all in the past now, son, and no amount of wishful thinking will change that. Let's attend to the future." He looked down the length of the violin's neck at Cole, dead in the eyes, and smiled. "Are you ready?"
An inexplicable warmth filled Cole's being, and he returned the smile. "Whenever you are."
