A/N: That all three of the Sorrengail siblings have loving memories of their dad reading the Fables of the Barren to them as kids, despite Violet learning that it was a forbidden book, it means Lilith knew. Lilith knew Papa Sorrengail had a forbidden book - knew that it was fables that were actually truth, and the true enemy. Why allow him to read it to them? Why allow Violet to keep it (if it was her choice)?
I had to take some liberties since we know really NOTHING about Papa Sorrengail. But, I did have him nickname everyone. Because reasons.
…
Fatigue tugs at my bones, the cold of the long flight going almost as deep as my soul. The home is warm, however, as always, and that's a comfort. I want nothing more than to climb the stairs and fall into our downy bed for three days, but the humming voice of my husband pulls me to his study.
"The answer is still no."
Clearly, I need to put one of my children in their place - a fairly common occurrence when I've been away for more than a day or two.
Expecting to see either of my eldest standing at attention before the gentle love that is my soul-bonded opposite, I wasn't prepared for the glaring contest happening between two sets of hazel eyes. My ire instantly dissolves when I don't have to be the general in order to step in and handle Mira or Brennan today. Not today.
I've never truly known how to discipline Violet, my fragile youngest with an iron flame heart. Mira and Brennan fight back, argue - defy at nearly every turn, but Violet, even at four, dissects every argument not for a fighting edge, but to convince either of us that we are in the wrong.
Gods help us, she's often right and leaves us both stuttering in her wake without any punishment. I have no doubt that Mira and Brennan will become successful soldiers, but Violet will end up at the highest rank Navarre has to offer because of her already shining brilliance.
The thought sends a chill down my spine.
"That book is too old for you, Little Flower."
Ah, my soft husband - discipline immediately banked by his overwhelming love for our children.
"Daddy, I can read it."
"Can and should are very different things."
Our baby crosses her arms to mimic her father's pose, and it pulls a grin to my mouth while I lean on the doorframe to watch the match unfold.
"You said that all books have a reason to be read."
His sigh is a response in and of itself, and that voice stays calm but firm. One of his greatest assets that I've never managed to absorb. "No. I said that all books have a reason to be read when the time is right."
"Why can't I pick the time?"
"Violet -"
"If I can read the words, why not?"
The arms folded over his broad chest lift with his inhale before he drops them to his sides. "You, my daughter, are brilliant, but your ability to read the words does not make them appropriate for you."
That sets her off and she balls her fists, the stomp of her tiny foot absorbed by the stone of the floor beneath the well-worn rug. We all flinch, her father and I because simple little actions like that could send us off to the infirmary, and Violet because undoubtedly, that action did cause within her a twinge of pain.
A twinge she fully ignores and continues to press her case, one of my favorite of her traits - her refusal to give up.
"I'm not scared!"
"You will be."
"It's just a book!"
"A book of scary tales, Flower."
"I know it isn't real, Daddy!"
I feel like I'm at a duel, and my eyes flit from her feisty hazel glare to his confident one. The amber in her eyes outshines the blue in her fierceness while his remains a cool golden-hued aqua, his face a mask of calm. Violet's is all emotion, the angry little crinkle in her nose exactly like Mira's. I'm not sure where that comes from in our girls.
"Your dreams will have you losing sleep. In a few years -"
"You're not listening!" The tiny shriek hardens me, and I feel the want to step in and become the General. His gentle parenting is sometimes a detriment to discipline in this household.
The way of the soldier versus the way of the scholar.
I see the moment he tamps down his frustration, choosing instead to listen as Violet asks. Well…demands. Certainly not my first instinct. I would have sent her to bed early.
The only person who can soften every part of me is him, and he kneels before our youngest to meet her eyes, moving to her level rather than standing above her. Dominance doesn't work with Violet - or any of our children, though that doesn't stop me.
Again. Soldier versus scholar.
"How am I not listening, Flower?"
Violet softens instantly as well, and again, I marvel at the fact that he wields more power in being gentle than I ever will being hardened. Her tiny hands come up to cup his cheeks, and though I know he tries to hide it, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the twitch of his mouth belies the smile he's holding back. Still wholly unnoticed, I'm not bothering to hide my mine.
"I want to read it, Daddy."
His hands come up to lightly grip her forearms, and they disappear almost completely in his hold, his thumbs brushing against her tiny wrists. He doesn't pull her palms from his cheeks, just holding - connecting with our youngest through touch and look.
"Are you the one not listening, Violet?"
Her eyes flit off to the side as she thinks. She truly thinks. "Maybe."
The fight has been conceded, and he never raised his voice above that of casual conversation.
"I'll allow you to read that book when I think you are ready. Now, go greet your mother and wash up for dinner."
Nothing gets past him, though I wasn't trying to hide my presence. I take a page from his book and crouch down. Violet's emotions shift when she turns and sees me, and while I know there will come a time when she will be too old to embrace her mother, she's not there yet.
Her little feet patter, her happy little voice calls me Mommy, and she jumps into my chest to wrap those willowy, fragile arms around my neck. The sweet smell of sun and snow cling to her lengthening hair and soft yellow tunic, and my throat clogs at how she so quickly shifts my mood. My bright light born in a dark time.
She's off again, her excited steps running down the hallway to the girls' room to do as her father bid.
"Does she ever walk anywhere?"
I feel his sigh in my soul. "I don't know what to do with her sometimes. She has the mind of a scribe and the heart of a rider - so unlike our other children."
He speaks as he stands and leans against the edge of his desk, his hazel eyes scanning me from top to bottom. I feel both his relief at seeing me whole as well as his desperate need to learn anything about the top secret meeting I just flew back from.
Heaviness settles in. I don't feel ready. "What book did she pilfer?" My question is light, though it's easy to see when he spots my avoidance.
"Did the negotiations go that badly?"
He stays where he's at, as do I, but his hand extends in silent invitation. Which he knows I can't resist. I run my fingers through my lengthening hair sending it in a thousand directions.
"I should wash up. I smell like Aimsir."
"Liar." His growl is like a maelstrom of wind in my mind.
"You know I don't care," is all my husband says, his fingers curling in silent demand.
He was well aware of the risks during this bout of negotiations. He knew we flew beyond the wards, Athebyne and Resson our destination. He knew the dragons would stay behind at the fort, the only way Poromiel would agree to meet.
My feet move of their own mind. His fingers are warm, my calluses rough compared to his ink-stained softness, and I don't fully relax until he pulls me between his legs and against his chest.
The hand that cups the back of my neck comes with pressing fingers, the tension loosening. My forehead lands against his as we reconnect. I try to absorb his calmness, sorely needed for the upcoming conversation.
"I'm glad you're well, My Storm."
I try again. "What book pulled her this time?"
His eyes shift to the immaculate top of his desk and mine follow, the book of fables sitting in plain sight. I freeze knowing the contents, knowing how the love of my life ended up with it in his possession, knowing the death sentence that waits if anyone were to find him with it.
"I know, I know," he starts, and lets me pull away. "As much as I love your lectures, I fear I'm a bit too tired today for -"
"Read it to them."
That's all I can say.
It's everything I feel in a rush of words.
"What?"
I know he's looking at me as if I've lost my mind, his surprise probably written on every line of his face, but I just keep tracing the sweeping font. Reading it over and over again until it becomes an echo in my mind.
The Fables of the Barren.
The Fables of the Barren.
The Barren. Barren lands of the south.
"No." His barked refusal is a sharper word than I've heard from him in a long time. I balk, shaking off the trance and watch as he grabs the book and strides to close the study door. His stalk back is more like one of mine, and I'm not used to seeing anger on his face.
"Why not?" I ask.
"For a thousand reasons why not, Lilith."
"If we let them read it - for now it will be nothing more than stories."
It lands with a thud on the top shelf of a tall cabinet, the glass door rattling shut as if he couldn't get the book out of reach fast enough.
"Until it's not just stories."
I hold my ground, and his eyes bore into mine while he rests on his fists atop the beautiful cherry wood of his desk.
"They will know what to do when the time comes if we prepare them today."
"Are we joining the war?"
Anger flares in my stomach, and I don't bother to hide it from him. "Of course not. Tauri offers only protection behind the wards, nothing more."
His head drops, but he remains silent, the weight on his fists heavy as the skin of his knuckles turn white. This prompts me to defend my actions, though I know he would not only never ask it of me, he has no expectation.
"I offered options for riot patrols to extend our protections to the edge of the Esben's into Poromiel - to work with the drifts that fly their northern border and protect the dozens of small towns and villages. This would prevent them from gaining a foothold against our warded boundaries."
He's still silent, so I continue.
"It's not enough. That's not enough, I know. And it doesn't matter because both sides rejected the option. Melgren because it's a risk to our protections, our dragons, and Poromiel because it's useless to them and is still Navarre only protecting our borders and not actually aiding their people."
After long, tense moments, he speaks. "I'm sure they also don't think our riots will ever work together with their drifts. Not after hundreds of years of conflict."
The silence we lapse into is overshadowed by the information he's waiting for, that I'm so wary of giving.
"Just say it."
"They're invading Braevick, the stone quarries of the northwest abandoned and drained. The Barrens are extending - will extend until there is nothing left beyond our wards. All of Poromiel will fall to darkness, and thousands of red-eyed soldiers will be against us."
His hazel eyes burn into me, shining gold with no hint of the aqua that lies at the forefront when he's calm. "And that did not compel Tauri to act? Melgren?"
"The King's response was simply to ask why it was Navarre's problem that Poromiel wouldn't bend the knee to save their people and move into the safety of our wards." The temperature in the room drops several degrees as I stretch and roll my neck to loosen the sudden flare of power that seeks to throw all of Calldyr into a raging blizzard.
"I don't know what path to take. I cannot keep pressing for us to join a war that is not ours with everyone against me."
"Is everyone against you? There was not one at this meeting from Navarre that sided with joining?"
I feel the need to do something with my hands, the nervousness and futility of it all beginning to agitate every fiber of my being. "Tyrrendor sides with joining, as always. Riorson and Lewellen were a united front in efforts to let Poromiel retain its independence while pushing for Navarre to fly within its borders. Potentially to even station riots in Cordyn or at Zolya. I gave my agreement and was the only one of at least a dozen who did so." I growl. "It earned me no favors."
"That doesn't do us much good. As powerful as Tyrrendor could be, too much civil unrest keeps Tauri from giving them its dues, on the battlefield and off. That damn province is two inches away from a rebellion, and we all know it. I'm surprised Tauri let Riorson come to the meeting at all." Gods, his knowledge is a balm, and I watch his thoughts cascade along a flow chart of if's and maybe's, yes's and no's while he absorbs everything I'm telling him - information a Captain in the Scribe Quadrant would never receive.
My shoulders slump, the uniform pulling at me as if it's a sudden weight, one I've never fully felt before. "We can't protect them from this."
He reads me so easily and calls out my greatest fear. "Our children? Or Poromiel's?"
The savage wound widens between my soul and my heart. "You know my choice."
"You know mine."
My jaw tightens. "Both are not possible. If I'm asked to choose, I choose mine."
"And if the decision was yours?"
We've had this argument before. Dozens of times since he was brought into the fold - Markham seeing such an opportunity with his new rank and with me being his wife. I skip to the end as that roaring fatigue cracks into my joints and bones. I'm never the hard General with him. Never. But today, it's all too easy to slip into the facade I wear more often than not these days.
"I will not risk the safety of this kingdom. I will always choose Navarre."
"I know you don't think Tauri or Melgren are right in this." My attitude surprises him, and his response is to soften. "Why?"
"Because it's where our children live, and I have the power to keep it as such. Let them read the damned book," I snap and leave him in my wake, the frost on the doorknob crunching against my palm.
Dinner is quiet, our eldest two picking up on the crackling war in my heart and deciding to be on their best behavior. I hate that my mood shifts theirs, but I just can't bear the weight of it all tonight. Violet is oblivious. She has her nose in a book bigger than her head, her little feet kicking joyfully beneath the table. Her small hand appears and disappears behind the cover to spear a green bean or scoop up a glob of potatoes only when prompted by her father. Soon, the three children scatter once their plates are empty enough for us both to allow their dismissal.
He and I work on the dishes, elbow to elbow, and with each of his deliberate brushes against my arm or feathery touches of his fingers, my walls begin to lower. He's the smartest person I know. He didn't achieve the rank of Captain because of his marriage to me, that is a simple fact. He won it and me on his own. He's destined for great things within the Scribe Quadrant, and that has nothing to do with who I am or the rank on my uniform. He's been my rock for far longer than Markham has seen his potential.
"Tell me what you would do. You are far wiser than I am - and maybe, in this instance -" I swallow the lump of uncertainty, "maybe I should follow and not lead." I whisper, the beg in my tone foreign to my ears.
His movements are as soft and quiet as the man himself, the anchor to my ship that I often set rocking with my own reckless authority. I don't mind the warm, damp palms as he cups my cheeks to force my eyes to his. He only has a few inches on me, but there are days I feel as small as Violet, adrift in the sea of his eyes as they shine a near green in the low mage lights. I settle my grip at his waist, hands bunching his cream-colored tunic, and listen.
"You were made to lead, My Storm, and I will always follow you. Wisdom is nothing without strength. The decision has been made for us. We don't get to give our children the world they deserve, but we can give them a world they can fight for with us."
I don't keep the agony from filling my eyes with tears at the truth of his words. We don't have a choice but to tow the line, and perhaps that's the weight that's settled in my chest, growing more and more over these weeks - months. He's known for so long and yet never uttered these words when we verbally sparred our morals into the night. He waited for me to reach the same conclusion. I've never won a single one of our arguments - he's conceded the point because he knew I'd get there eventually on my own.
"Is it really hopeless?"
His chuckle and his smile pulls me from the despair-ridden spiral that drags my heart down with it.
"Far from it."
"Tell me how." Another beg, and his thumb brushes at the tear that manages to escape as I try and lock down my unfettered emotions.
"You, My Love, will fly into battle with Brennen and Mira. Below you, Violet and I will right the wrongs of generations. I will teach her just how powerful words can be - how to wield them as you do the very storms that will protect us."
The kiss he brushes to my lips is tender and sweet, and I miss him when he walks away and into the hearth-warmed living room.
I barely hear his voice as he calls for the children to come hear a story.
Violet curls against one side of his chest, Mira the other, and Brennan joins only by opening the door of his room and promising that he was listening.
The cold dread fills me as he begins to read the old book, the fables that aren't fables, the truth to our unsuspecting children. Maybe he's right - maybe we shouldn't do this, shouldn't allow this truth into them. But I'll be damned if I don't give my children at least one path to success in this world - in the coming war.
It's never been steel. It's never been dragons. It has always been knowledge.
I'll be the soldier that defends the scholar.
And maybe - just maybe - our children will save the world.
…
A/N: The line of "you don't get to give our children the world they deserve, but you can give them a world they can fight for with you" comes from Critical Role's brilliant EXU: Calamity 4-part campaign, which I'll recommend at the top of my lungs to everyone, even if you've never done anything Critical Role. 3