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The faint glow of a crystal danced on the intricate beadwork of the Crestbreezes’ gowns. Seeing that soft enchanting light fell well outside of Alistair’s plans for that evening – the latter part of it, at least.
And yet there he was, his back against the wall of their RontMar estate’s narrow entry hall as his father pressed a crystal revolver to his chest. The baron’s eyes burned with the intensity of a hundred of those crystals, however, as he hissed out a question.
“Where the fuck is my son?”
Alistair should have expected this. With his knack for getting into colossal amounts of trouble even through no fault of his own he should have foreseen a suboptimal plan coming down crashing on him. Honestly, Errol’s “Not good” in response to the young noble’s question about their little mission should have definitely tipped him off. But, through it all, Alistair clung to an ignorant, almost blind optimism, or moreso he simply couldn’t afford to imagine one more thing going wrong on that wretched wretched day without losing it entirely.
The last of his positive outlook shattered as the cold of the steel muzzle bloomed on his skin. Despite having faced threats far more deadly than an old man with a pocket revolver, Alistair could barely force himself to keep on breathing.
“Father, I can e-“
“I said where the FUCK IS MY SON?!” The baron barked, pressing the revolver harder against Alistair’s ribs. “I have no idea who you think you are and what you stand to gain from this, but if you think you can take away my son and make this- this mockery of him, you’re sorely mistaken. You better tell us where he is now, or the Shatterguard will not arrive fast enough to take you alive.”
The adventurer’s eyes darted between his similarly stone-faced parents. The soft soothing violet of his mother’s eyes, the gaze he had clung to for comfort ever since he’d known the meaning of it, offered him nothing but fearful disdain as Lady Crestbreeze readied a callstone for a distress signal. With his heart feeling as if it was pounding directly against the gun, Alistair sucked in a long breath and began speaking.
“Please give me a moment to explain everything. I AM your son. I am Alistair- Alistair Crestbreeze, son of Karl and Elvira Crestbreeze, Baron and Baroness of Warmbray. This is all a massive misunderstanding, and I apologize for it from the bottom of my heart. I’m ready to undergo any procedures necessary to clear your doubt. Have the Shatterguard detect any signs of magic on me, burrow through my thoughts, or any other measure you might deem necessary. Mother, father, please, I… I trust you to be sensible about this.”
“..What was your favorite childhood toy?” The baroness asked before her husband even had a chance to react.
Both Alistair and his father seemed equally blindsighted by the sudden question.
“A- A wooden silver-maned pegasus.” Alistair quickly gathered himself despite being caught embarrassingly off-guard. “It had a.. frankly ridiculous hairdo for a horse. I named him Maximillion.”
Upon seeing his mother’s plan in action, Alistair couldn’t help but relax. Perhaps he would even be able to convince them that it’s all nothing more than the latest events getting to them. Get back to his party before the heavy truth of today and nervous anticipation of tomorrow lulls them into uneasy sleep, send the day off with cold hard plans and a warm encouragement.
The baron furrowed his brows and glanced over to his wife, who gave him a small nod, which he, in turn, responded to with a sigh. All things considered, their communication was quite effective, as the two seemed to have reached some sort of an agreement.
Their little exchange came to an abrupt end as Lady Elvira spoke up once again. “Do you know the proper table etiquette for handling fruit courses?”
“Fruit is to be eaten with a fruit fork, a utensil with narrow tines and a long slender handle, which is usually served along with the course. Unless the fruit is strawberries, of course, which have their own distinct much smaller fork for dipping in condiments. I may be an adventurer now, mother, but I’m no heathen.”
The brief levity Alistair was hoping to bring to the conversation fell on deaf ear completely. Instead, his parents exchanged a glance – quick, unsettled and nothing short of unreadable.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence the baron presented a question of his own. “When was the last time you have tried to impress the Keltiers during a formal event?” The man pursed his lips as he loosened his hold on the revolver ever so slightly.
Well, this one was sure to get them, right? “Oh, when I was eight. I had the gall to come up and introduce myself to them during the late emperor’s imperial jubilee… I still get shivers thinking about that.” Alistair shook his head. “I mean, the look the Duchess gave me was bad enough, but the Duke- His Grace gave me a smile so cold and unnerving I would refuse to leave your side the entire evening-!”
“One last question then.” The young noble felt both of his parents’ empty stares burning into him. The only source of cooling relief, the gun pressed against his chest, was suddenly dropped to the floor with a hollow thud. “Who was with us at the coronation?”
Shit.
“Well, didn’t we just-?”
“Oh?” The scoffing baron quickly dismissed the rebuttal. “Or do you mean to tell me it was you who forgot the names of our longtime partners, wolfed down fruit with your bare hands and made eyes at the Duchess of Tavslaya?”
Errol, man, what the hell?
Despite the weapon meant to keep him in fear and stillness no longer being there to pose a threat, Alistair kept his back pressed firmly against the wall. A part of him wished it was still pointed right at him. It was easier to tell the truth that way. Easier to look at them.
The young man stammered, circling through turns of phrase and snippets of truth for the most palatable version of his story. The words, however, stubbornly resisted weaving together.
“I.. Mother, Father, I’m sorry. I would have been overjoyed to share this day with you. That is precisely why I agreed to attend in the first place. However, a guild- guild business of vital importance came up after I already sent you the confirmation letter. With how.. frankly terrifying the situation in the capital has been for the last couple of weeks I thought it would be best not to worry you with my duties. So-“ He took a deep breath. “I asked a fellow colleague of mine to fill in for me shortly after the official introductions were over. I never expected for it all to go so horribly wrong. Please forgive me.”
The hall fell ghostly silent. Alistair looked to his parents for any hint of response. For anger. For disappointment. For heated arguments and hurled accusations and anything. Instead, time itself fell frozen over as the last of the primal scorching fire in their eyes died out, giving way to a bitter wilted grey of intertwined relief, dejection and deep hurt.
Alistair was no stranger to the silence that fell as a heavy burden. The booming aftershock of explosions, succumbing to injuries in the heat of battle, the very outside of the broken sky itself – he’d seen it all. Or, rather, Alistair Nobledrifter had seen it all. This one was for Alistair Crestbreeze to fix.
“I understand that I-“
“No, you do not. You do not.” Lady Elvira repeated herself, her voice barely a cracked whisper. “We thought you were dead, Alistair.”
“…I’m sorry.”
“Are you, though?” The baron chimed in. “I suppose it’s nice to confirm exactly where your loyalties lie. Though I must admit I did not expect you to be so cruel. But that’s just your naive old fool of a father’s silly mistake, right? It’s his fault for not learning his place all those years ago.”
Ah. Through all the tension and guilt the young hero nearly let himself forget just who he was talking to. “You know that’s not true.”
“The fact that my only son abandoned me and his mother during one of the most important events of our lifetime, is that what you mean? Or is it the fact he went out of his way to humiliate me with a cheap trick he knew would not fool an infant? Just to show us how much his darling family means to him? Is that not true?”
“Father, please- I fully understand your anger and how tactless it was for me to ditch you like that. I know that. And I apologize. But it was a time-sensitive situation, and I have responsibilities to I simply can’t neglect!”
“You have responsibilities to this family you’ve been neglecting ever since you set your mind on joining that godforsaken academy! And you know what’s the worst part, Alistair? You’ll keep on doing it. No matter what or how much I did for you, no matter what I do or what I will. You’ll keep on choosing the cats who need help getting off the trees and the drunkards who swear it was a monster they saw in the bushes. Hell, maybe I should start climbing up trees. Maybe then I’ll finally be a priority to my own son.”
Alistair took a deep breath, lightly tracing his fingers over his shoulder. Just a few days ago it had been struck by an arrow of the woman whose marksmanship had, long ago, slain a god. Barely any evidence of the wound remained now, courtesy of Win, Ashbaugh and the guild infirmary staff, but the soreness of the freshly healed skin felt strangely empowering. “You know what, dad? You’re right. I will keep on choosing it. Because if I didn’t, or my party, my colleagues and acquaintances didn’t, half the people joining you on that plaza as you watched the new emperor give his speech would be dead, if not more. I was not able to spend this day with my family. But they, amid these dark and truly fucking scary times, got to have a day, a week, hopefully even years with their own. That’s reason enough for me.”
An uncomfortable, but much less suffocating silence hung up in the air once more. This time, it was awfully familiar to Alistair Crestbreeze as well. His father was out of ammo, and the argument would soon draw to a close.
After a while, just as predicted, the baron drew his eyebrows together as he made his final move in this match. “Fine. If you’ll excuse me, I am heading off to bed. Running oneself into the ground worrying for the safety of one’s child tends to leave men my age quite exhausted.”
He stopped in the doorway, turning his head towards his family ever so slightly. The lazy evening afterglow only served to highlight the finer and deeper lines the years have meticulously painted all over his face. “You should as well. Who knows when your beloved guild will need their little lap dog to drop all plans and come running next.”
With that, baron Karl Crestbreeze was off. The gazes of his wife and son lingered on the doorway, unsure of how to carry on the conversation.
“Don’t hold it against him, alright..? You know how your father gets. He’s been especially on edge since the whole.. Ondoll masquerade situation.” Lady Elvira cautiously began.
“Mhm.”
“And.. He’s right, you know. We spent half the day convinced you were held hostage or- much worse. Ever since you’ve left we’ve been losing you a little every single day, but not like this. Not this much.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“..I know.”
No words could ever attempt to express what they longed to convey to each other. None needed. The mother and son shared a long poignant look, basked in the last gentle sighs of the fading sun. Alistair really had to get going. More than that, he wanted to. More than anything.
He did not have to say a word about that either. His mother could always decipher the slightest squint of the eye or the softest flutter of the fingers. Or, perhaps, she could just always read him like an open book. Regardless, with a somber smile, the baroness rid him of the need for silly excuses.
“Good night, Alistair. Please stay safe.”
With a small nod, the hero pushed the large decorated door open.
He must leave all of his worries behind it. He has no other choice. The world is ending, and his team needs him.
He’s long since accepted the fact that he needs them just as much.