Chapter Text
He tried hard to stand tall, to fill your footsteps even as he stumbled.
He was still so…small.
So small.
And… he saluted you.
“The hell are ye about, boyo?”
“Y-You’re the Orphaner.”
“Not anymore.”
The young seadweller looked at you in terror. You tilted your head, narrowing your good eye at the shaken young thing. He was slim, but strong. You reached out a hand to bat his salute away and he flinched.
You froze.
“S-S-Sorry sah.”
You leaned down, fins flicking in confusion, “WWhat’s got ye shakin’ young ‘un? Ahm not sae scary, am I?”
He nodded, shy.
You couldn’t help it. You chuckled as you stood straight and ruffled his hair, to his surprise. He shrunk from the touch, until he realized it was gentle, affectionate. His fins tilted down, and one scrunched-closed eye opened to look up at you.
“Och, yeh’re a shy wee thing. Good tae know the good traits passed on down.”, you chortled at him.
He risked a tiny smile, that broke for a second.
That’s… That’s when you saw the line of violet around his midsection. Your face fell as you went down to one knee and he pulled away from you. He shook his head, pushing your hands away from the injury until you fixed him with a stern glare, learned from dealing with a rowdy crew for so long.
“Yeh’re hurtin’; nah le’ me take a look.”
You lifted the edge of his shirt.
You felt your throat seize when you saw it. Still healing itself closed; a ghastly scar slowly overtaking what you knew had to be raw and painful.
“Christ.”
You felt his flinch as you looked back to his face. You remembered that terrified expression on your own once, but… You’d been so much older, so much more prepared…
This kid’s fins didn’t even show his stripes yet.
You got to your feet, putting a hand on his shoulder, talking fast and low and trying to chase the terror from his expression.
“Come along wi’ me, a’right? I’ll get ya fixed up, good an’ proper.”
“P-Please don’t kill me.”, whispered the small seatroll, clutching at his cloak (yours, once) and shivering.
You looked at him in shock, “… Ah’d never.. who… who fed yeh such trash abo’t me? Ah’ve killed many a lusus but ah wudnae touch a small ‘un like you.”
“Th-They taught that y’wwere terrifyin’.”, whispered your tiny descendant as he began to relax, “They told you held no mercy in y’soul. That you felt nothin’ at all.”
Your face grew annoyed, “Oh aye, listen tae the pink wench why don’t ye. Ah learnt mah lesson abo’t her.”
You had made your decision. You popped the clasp of his cloak, and scooped him into one strong arm. He clung to you like a limpet, fins down and wavering. You heard the tap of rings against your breastplate as your boots thudded along the misty ground towards your aethership. You picked up the pace when you felt more than heard a soft hiccup from the child in your grasp.
You handed his cloak to one of your crewmen, who bustled away down to the washroom near the galley as you whisked your descendant away to your cabin.
You felt dampness against your neck.
He was so scared, scared and scarred and you hated that those two words were so close in spelling, in meaning.
You sat him upon your desk, coaxed him to pull his tattered shirt from his frame… and ground your teeth in sudden white hot anger.
“Who did this tae you, boyo. I want fuckin’ Names.”
You couldn’t help the growl in your voice. He was littered in scars; coated in them, like paintlines on the old Palace artwork, like the Old Indigo’s hellish designs. Each one raised, keyloidal, some you swore were dark enough to make you wonder how deep the wound had been.
“I did.”
You deflated, sitting heavy in your chair as his glazed eyes met yours.
“What?”
“I had ta help Feferi.”
“With what boyo, what were ye- no. Please, please tell me ye weren’t…”
“Sh-She needed help huntin’ l-lusii please don’t be m-mad!”
You felt your old heart crack a little as this child hung his head and let thin shoulders shiver and shake As aristocrat’s hands came up and covered a damp face and he bit his lip to try and stop it.
“Dinnae cry, little one, please stop yeh’re cryin’ noo.”, you whispered, coaxing his hands from his face and smoothing messy waves of black and violet back, “It’s alrigh’ ah’m no’ angry wi’ yeh.”
He hiccuped hard, sniffing grandly.
You felt the twin lines over your own face shift as you smile, gentle.
“Let’s get yeh patched up and cleaned up, an’ then we’ll talk.”
He nodded.
“What’s yeh’re name? Much as I’d rather just call yeh little ‘un.”
“Eridan. Eridan Ampora.”, he murmured, “Orphaner in Training.”
Silence, and you exhaled slowly to attempt to stifle your rage. She had done this to him, Her desperation to rule Her planet from a million years and cares away.
Your boots had a heavy sound as you walked hither and thither while you patched up your too-small descendant, letting him speak in his quiet stammer as you did so.
You felt rage building in your chest as he told you of the Trials he endured to prove his worth. As he told you of his moirail, of how they failed. Of his murders, and his deep seated regret.
His living guilt, something the dead should never suffer.
And you constantly wondered over how small he was. He was small, closer to the size of some of your crew. He hadn’t hit his adult molt yet, even. One of the crewmates brought clothes that would fit the boy, soft cotton shirt and long pants to hide the scarring.
You found the tattoos, small dark patterns inscribed on still youthful skin, and recognized them.
He was so tiny…
Yet he dwarfed you in comparison.
He fell quiet when you were finished doctoring his injuries, his hurts. He blinked at you in owlish confusion as you ushered him off to the ablution block to go get cleaned up, reminding him gently to brush his teeth (”Both lines a them, Eri.”) and to scrub get behind his aural fins when he washed up.
You heard the door click shut, heard the water start, and snuck away to gather your crew by your door; to give orders that anything mildly pinkish in color be shot full of holes or blasted to oblivion.
You returned to find him dressed, hair still damp and face scrubbed until a healthy lavender tinge danced over his cheekbones. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and he still trembled.
You closed the door softly, the click alerting him to your return.
He looked at you, a scared wolf-pup in the darkness, and you let him watch as you unbuckled your breastplate, as you pulled off ancient armor and toed off your boots with the scuffed heels.
“…C’mere little one.”
Hesitantly, he approached you, fins still down and scared. You knelt, hands on his shoulders.
“Let go a yeh’re guilt, Eri. Yeh don’ deserve such a burden.”
“I’m a killer.”
“Yeh’re a child.”
“I’m a bastard.”
“Yeh’re hurtin’.”
“I’m evil.”
“Yeh’re a survivor, boyo.”, you said to him, your voice a low baritone.
He looked at you. He looked like china, like chalk, ready to break under the weight of a hot shower and affection.
“Yeh’re a survivor, Eri. You made it through things I hadnae faced till I was dozens of sweeps intae livin’.”, you continued, “An’- nah look at me, little ‘un.”
He had looked away, but returned his gaze to you.
“Ah’ve never been more proud tae share mah name or sigil than when ah found ye. Dinnae doubt mah words, ah’m too honest a troll f’that.”
Eridan blinked, and you saw the shrink-wrap of tears forming.
“Ah’m proud ah ye, Eridan. More proud than words can say.”
He broke.
He fell against you, chest shuddering and you rocked back on your haunches, sitting on the floor as he tumbled into your lap and clung to you. He clung to you and let his heart purge itself of all of its hurt, its loneliness, its rejection. He trilled through tears as you pet his hair, tucked his head under your chin, and rocked him like a child.
“Ahm proud a you, so very proud…”, you murmured, to him, as his sobs faded to whimpers, as whimpers petered out into the level breathing of sleep. You chuckled when you saw he had his knuckles to his lips in his sleep, a remnant no doubt of suckling fingertips as a sleepy little boy.
You pulled his glasses from his face, and carried him to your desk, grabbing a blanket along the way.
You draped it over him, and let him doze peacefully against you as you read silently by lamplight, your spectacles glinting in the low glow.
He relaxed against you, and trilled softly.
“Da…”
You paused, glancing down at him… and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
He was your boy, your descendant. He had survived things worse than hell… and you refused to let him hurt again.