David and his father stared at each other, with the eyes of people who had been fighting without remembering why.

  David sighed. “Look, I didn't come in looking to make things difficult. I just... it felt like I'd walked back on the last time we'd seen each other.”

  Jacob kept his frown, but angled his head somewhat. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you were looking at me like I was a defective tool.” He replied with more force than he'd expected.

  Silence stretched. His father eventually leaned forward and put both hands over his face, massaging it for a few seconds. When he looked back up, his expression had mellowed, yet his eyes were hard.

  The muscles around his neck tensed. “I am... sorry.”

  David stared back, shocked silent. His father sustained his gaze for some time, but eventually looked away, his frown even present.

  David blinked. “Sorry. You are sorry.” His hands balled into fists, which he forced back open. “Do you think that's going to undo eight years of torment? Of wondering what I'd done wrong to get kicked out of my family?”

  Jacob's head snapped to his son. No words came to him, though his jaw could be seen working under his skin.

  David narrowed his eyes. The scene felt surreal. His father had never been found wanting for words. He was above everyone, in control, powerful.

  This didn't look like power. This looked like the complete opposite. David didn't know what to believe. His father kept his stare on him.

  The silence scratched at his senses. He squinted his eyes at his father. “I don't know if you're playing a game. All my life, it's all I've ever known you to do. Every interaction with you was always a test, a pitfall set in my way. Now, right now, I'm still trying to figure out what your angle is.”

  Jacob opened his mouth. “I am not-”

  David held up a hand. “You can't blame me. It's how you raised me. It's the baggage I left this home with. One of the baggage, anyway; always doubting what everyone was telling me. I admit, it was useful, many times, but... It's all I knew. I have almost no friends, out there, because I kept everyone at arm's length, always questioning their motives, deathly afraid of incurring debts.”

  David sighed. “But, I learned. Some people did get through to me, showed me there were other ways. I thought I'd remember it when I met you face to face, but... everything was burned away the instant we faced each other. I needed Niala to get Mother to laugh to make me remember.”

  He looked up at his father in the eyes. “I'm going to give you a chance. Trust this version of you that you are showing me right now, trust that it's not a lie.”

  Jacob's features remained stolid, except for the smallest of twitches around his mouth, up and down, as if the man didn't remember how to smile or scowl. “What... what version of me is that?”

  David searched the man's eyes, trying to peer under the veil, but kept finding the same thing, over and over: a man adrift and lost, kept afloat on nothing but hope. “Maybe... someone who's trying to remember what being a father means. And if that's true, then I guess I should... give you a chance.”

  Jacob, his mouth thin, sharply nodded, almost eagerly so. “I... appreciate it.”

  David blinked and then chuckled, shaking his head.

  His father's face soured instantly. “What is so funny?!”

  “You! It's like you entirely forgot how a normal human being acts!”

  “And what does that mean!?”

  “It means- Ahhh...” David put a hand to his face, letting it drag down over it. “Just now, when you said you appreciated it, you were thinking in terms of favours, right? I was one of your peers who agreed to your plan on a gamble, hoping for a mutually beneficial result. I'm right, aren't I?”

  Jacob opened his mouth to argue, but found he couldn't deny it. He looked away, a shocked realization on his face.

  David snorted. “I knew it.”

  His father threw a scornful glance his way, but his son shook his head. “I'm not mocking you! You're just so far gone. I think a few more years and the Patriarch would have entirely taken over your brain.” He said with a tint of sadness.

  David approached his father, who leaned back into his chair defensively, his eyes darting around his son's hands and belt.

  Blinking, David looked at his hands, then back to his father. “...I'm not going to attack you. I'm not going to take out a dagger and lunge at you.” He said, his voice soft.

  Even as he said that, he realized just how right his offhand remark might have been.

  And he was reminded of how he had felt, all those years ago, when he had run off into the woods. How, to be the man his father had wanted him to be, he would have had to cut out parts of himself. To stop being himself.

  The very same thing his father must have understood, and yet chose to submit to. He had forced himself to become the man he had to, even if it meant leaving behind parts of himself.

  And now, he was rejecting all of it. Decades of strength, of being in control, of knowing what to do. Thrown out and kept at bay.

  It left nothing but an aging man, desperate for a chance at renewing ties with his son, so afraid of saying the wrong thing that he was unable to even speak.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  David snapped back to the present and saw that his father was still staring at him. Still voiceless.

  And, if he had to admit it himself, he didn't know what he should say.

  He made a decision, and went to pick up one of the nearby chairs, bringing it over and positioning it next to his father's, but at a slight angle.

  He sat on it, still under his father's gaze, and, without a word, moved his arm and grasped one of his father's hands.

  Jacob looked down at his hand, held by his son's, then up to his face, eyes wide.

  David said nothing, and waited.

  The last time Jacob had touched his son... he had been a baby, just born, and again a few days later, during his naming ceremony.

  He scoured his memories, replaying them in quick succession. Each event he remembered, each time he had been in his presence.

  The only other time it had happened was... today. Just now, when his adult son had laid his hand over his. He made no comments, and turned his attention back toward the wall ahead of him.

  The Wardenfel men simply sat, holding hands, in silence.

  Words wouldn't work, not after a lifetime of isolation and lies. Maybe, with time, a path would open, if both sides wished for it long enough.

  Until then, this would have to suffice.

  Niala and Agatha kept chatting away for a full bell, going over David's early life, Niala's own, and events from each other's families. Niala even began inducting the noblewoman into the basics of cooking, a topic which Agatha found surprisingly interesting. The small catkin's infectious energy and passion whenever she talked about subjects dear to her heart might have been partly to blame...

  Their discussion eventually died down, and both women noted that the men had yet to make themselves known. Certainly, they would have a lot to talk about, but this seemed excessive to Agatha.

  She turned her head toward the study door. “I wonder which topic has got them both so occupied. Are they even still in the study?”

  Niala tilted her head, turning it toward the study, and angling her ears toward the door. “I can't hear anything...”

  The noblewoman tilted her head and looked at the catkin, her eyes rising up to the cat ears riding high on her head. A smirk drew itself over her lips.

  “Niala, my dear. I was told that the kins have rather well-developed senses, including their hearing. Would that be true?” She asked, eyelids fluttering.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah! Totally! I myself have a pretty great nose and eyesight, both really useful for alchemy, but my hearing is really good, too!” Niala confirmed, puffing out her chest somewhat.

  “Is that so? Well, would you say it's good enough to listen to two men talking on the other side of a heavy wooden door?”

  “Probably! I'd need to get close but...” Her eyes widened, turning to look at the study door and back at Agatha, whose smirk had grown into a full conspiratorial smile. “You want me to listen at the door?!”

  Agatha waved her hand. “Oh, only a little! Just to know if things are going well, you see? It is completely in good faith!” She stood up and took a few steps toward the door, looking at the hesitating catkin. “And, you can't deny you're a bit curious, aren't you? I can see your ears twitching.” She said with honeyed words.

  Niala looked at the door, then back at the corrupting noble.

  She couldn't deny she was curious, just to see if things were going well, as she'd said. But no more!

  I mean! Even if their link was returning a sense of timid contentment, she couldn't entirely trust it, could she? She looked up at the woman and nodded, getting up and tiptoeing over to the door, gingerly resting one ear against it...

  After a few seconds, she frowned and pushed her head against the door.

  She pulled away and looked at Agatha, whispering. “I can't hear anything.”

  “Nothing at all?” The older woman whispered back.

  Niala shook her head, leading to Agatha frowning, and then motioning for the catkin to step aside.

  Lady Wardenfel took up position at the door and gently knocked on it. “Husband, son? You have been cooped up for quite a while. Is everything all right?”

  She heard the sound of a chair's legs scraping, followed by Jacob's stern voice.

  “Everything is fine, woman. We were discussing our... situation.”

  Agatha frowned. “Oh, well, then you certainly won't mind if I step in and take stock?”

  “I... no, of course not. Come in.”

  She grabbed the handle and pushed in the large door, opening up on Jacob and David sitting mostly next to each other, both with their legs crossed and their clasped hands resting on top of their knee, looking away from each other.

  Agatha looked between the two of them, as they shot her glances like kids who were doing their best at looking innocent. Behind her, Niala was peeking through the open door and under the woman's arm.

  “... Dear?” Agatha asked. “What were you two really doing?”

  Her husband looked at her with annoyance in his eyes. “I told you, discussing! What's got into you?”

  Under his parents' bickering, David locked gaze with his girlfriend, who was staring at him with a wide smile, her tail swishing happily behind her.

  He squinted at her, throwing a glance at her ears, and then planting his straight hand against the side of his head, as if he was listening at something tall and flat.

  It was nearly imperceptible, but he saw the hitch in her tail, and the flinch of her ears.

  He let her know he'd noticed with a look.

  The way she turned red confirmed it.

  “She made me do it!” She blurted out, interrupting David's parents.

  Jacob turned his eyes toward the catkin, puzzled, right up until he saw the betrayed look his wife gave the girl.

  The Patriarch cleared his throat. “And what, exactly, did my lady wife make you do, woman?”

  “Nothing! I gotta go! Very important alchemy stuff to do!” Niala unloaded before attempting to dart away, only to be stopped, gurgling, as Agatha held on to the collar of her dress.

  “Niala, dear.” The Matriarch began. “Wardenfel women do not flee. We stand, and we face the storm.” She leaned toward the shrivelling catkin. “Especially storms that we have brought upon ourselves, hmm?”

  The catkin looked back at Agatha. “But I'm not a Wardenfel woman!”

  The Matriarch quirked an eyebrow. “Are you saying you are not intending on marrying my son?”

  “What!? No, I do! But- I'm-”

  Jacob's barking cut them off. “What storm!? What is this about, wife?!”

  Niala threw a pleading look at David, ears folded.

  He tilted his head and then smirked, offering her a thumbs-up.