Page 3 of A Brat's Tale
“That’s right. I’m surprised by what you’ve said, is all. I suspected other things, but not this.”
“What other things did you suspect?”
“We shall get to those things in due time, but first and foremost, I will not be keeping you fromourson. You are his papa, and he needs you. Let that be the end to that one.”
Inside I’m relieved. If Arcade still thinks it best, then I’m glad even if I don’t quite believe it. I know a father is supposed to behave selflessly as regards his son, but I don’t think I could keep myself away from Tristan, even for his own sake. I relax as much as I can; my arse hurts.
“Next on the docket—let this be said once and for all; I hope our son will beexactlylike you. He could be so lucky.”
“How can you say that? That would mean he would need—”
“—someone like me?”
Oh. Oh, right. I nod.
I know Tristan doesn’t see it now, and he won’t until he’s older, but he could be so lucky to find a man just like his father. That being said, the boy is six. Arcade could let up on him some. It’ll be a few more years before he begins training for the position of Warlord. Sure, we bring him to the field and show him some sword stuff, but he’s too young to practice with the big kids. Though Tristan seems to have a way of making it onto the battlefield with them and I wouldn’t be surprised if he was fighting with us sooner rather than later.
“I have some things to say about you and our son,” I say.
“Then let’s have it.” He looks amused, not angry like I think he should be.
“I don’t like the way you speak to him, and while we’re at it…” I pause to seethe for a moment.
“Yeeeeees?” He’s smiling now, as if he thinks I’m cute.
“You punish him too harshly for trivial things. You berated him the other day for just spilling milk,” I continue.
“Ahhh. These would be the other matters, the ones I suspected were upsetting you.”
“Well. Explain yourself,” I demand.
“Mind yourself, Eagar,” he says. There’s discussion and then there’s belligerence. “Tristan is the most agile six-year-old I have ever encountered. Would you agree?”
“Yes, but accidents happen to the best of us.”
“Have you ever seen me spill a thing?”
“No.” It’s true. The man is infallible.
“That boy has more physical skill than I’ve ever seen in anyone his age—including me. That spill was no accident. I would think you would at least recognize that by now.”
Icy tingles spread over me. “So, you already know to what extent Tristan is like me?”
“I know, and I act accordingly. Until he marries and finds a partner of his own, I provide a source of grounding or he’ll get out of sorts. My role is to be that solid form he can depend on. In fact, I shall only approve of such a partner for him.”
“How could you know? Why haven’t you brought this up with me?”
“I know the same way you do—I recognize it because I possess the same threads even if they are a different color; there’s no sign in particular. I was thinking of a way to bring it up that wouldn’t upset you. Though if I’d known how much it was already upsetting you, I would have ripped the bandages off and spoke with you sooner. I should have known you’d recognize it as soon as I did.”
“You’re not mad about it? You don’t blame me?”
“I love you. Everything about you—especiallythe part of you that makes you need me as you do. It’s special, Eagar. I’ve already said it,but if you need to hear it again, I’ll say it as many times as is necessary: No, I don’t blame you. You’ll be helpful counsel for Tristan someday.”
“It’s dysfunctional.”
“I know you won’t believe this now, but I’ll say it anyway: Needing what you need is not dysfunctional, love. But that is something you’ll have to process yourself and it’s not likely to resolve within you today. Think about this: Who would there be for me, controlling bastard that I am, if I didn’t have you just as you are, to complement me?”
“I’m lucky to have you understand my condition, you mean.”
