Warning, the following lore is getting very dark.
The flames flickered and died to thunderous applause as Ferris straightened up, grinning as his birthday cake was taken away to be cut. His mother ruffled his hair as his brother, Gildos, cheered. It was his eighth birthday and they were celebrating in Tremaine's Ceilidh Hall. All the children of Tremaine had been invited and a jester had been hired to entertain them. His loving mother had spared no expense, as she never did when doting on her children. Yet throughout the night there was one face the boy always missed.
"And how fares the Count?" the many courtiers would ask his mother, and every time she would reply, "He is indisposed." Even at her son's birthday party, the politics of Tremaine haunted her, and she knew it. Ula, bless her, had tried to support her mother by entertaining the adults and keeping them occupied with innocent questions of the court and their various roles. Fortunately for Morgana, the only thing grater than the courtiers' curiosity over her husband was their vanity and they would spend most of their time explaining the intricacies of their various roles to the curious thirteen year old, who succeeded in always steering the conversation away from her family with her quick wit and faster tongue.
The end of the night could not have come soon enough for Morgana, who hurried her youngest sons and daughter out of the Ceilidh hall by the rear door to avoid the crowd demanding her attention for 'just one more minute'. Indeed it was only with the assistance of Hermoch, an old friend that had joined them from Glas Claddach, that they manged to evade them and find their way back to the castle.
"Hermoch, will you read me a story before you go?" Gildos asked as Ula rolled her eyes.
"You just want to hear another story about men bashing each other with shields, don't you?" she asked, folding her arms in a motherly fashion.
"I wouldn't expect a girl to understand," Gildos sneered. Ula looked up at her mother then and did not even have to say a word before Morganna was upon him.
"And would you expect your mother not to understand?" Gildos turned bright red as Hermoch let out a small chuckle. He was a kindly man, one of the eldest in Tremaine and born from a noble family in Dunn. It was his recommendation which played no small part in Felandris' countship, and Morgana counted him one of her few friends in Tremaine.
"I would be happy to treat you to another tale, but what says your brother? He is, after all, the birthday boy," he grinned as he looked over to Ferris, who had remained quiet. Even now, as the others turned to him, he could only look up at his mother and beckon her closer. She leaned down toward him and heard him whisper in her ear, "I want Dad to read to us," Morgana remained still for a moment before straightening up and holding her son closer to her.
"I'll ask him. Why don't you go get ready for bed and I'll be through in a bit. Hermoch, could you take them?" Hermoch bowed his head and guided the children to the tower that led to their wing of the castle. Morganna watched them go before she hurried down the grand staircase to the lower hall where she knew Felandris was hiding. As night had fallen it was only the flickering torchlight which illuminated the cold, high ceilinged hall Felandris had dedicated so much of his life to designing and constructing. Even walking through these halls filled her with an imposing melancholy. Suddenly she wished she was back in the Ceilidh hall being hunted by politicians. She hated this castle. Even before the incident, it had consumed Felandris and she could do little but watch him obsess. As she arrived at his door she faltered slightly before knocking. There was no response - there never was - so she opened the door. Inside the room was dimly lit by a single candle upon a desk covered in blueprints and measuring equipment. Several filthy plates were stacked on a table by the wall along with even more empty wine bottles. Upon the desk stood another opened bottle and an unused goblet. Upon the chair behind the desk rested the bundle of rags that was her husband. The room filled her nostrils with a stench she found reminded her of her younger days when she would tend to wounded farm animals at Glas Claddach. Then it was a smell of hard work and determination. Now...she did not know what the smell was, but she knew it was not her husband. She approached the table and the figure stirred, gazing at her with one half-opened eye. His beard was unkempt and the scar on his face looked raw and irritated. She swallowed.
"Your son wants to see you." She said simply. He grunted, turning way from her. "Hermoch is with them now." silence fell.
"Hermoch is a good man," Felandris spoke at last, his voice cracking as if he hadn't used it in several days. He reached for the wine bottle and lifted it to his lips. He set it down heavily before heaving himself from the chair, grabbing his cane.
"He is a good man," she agreed, "But he's not you. Felandris, Ferris wants his father back."
"And I want my leg back!" Felandris snapped, his voice rising as he struck the cane against the table, turning suddenly to her. For a moment his force and determination reminded her of how he once had been. It sickened her that she had to taunt him to get him to act human again. She let out a hollow laugh.
"Your leg? Come on, we both know this isn't about your leg!"
"You don't know anything," Felandris said, turning to the window to look out over the bay.
"It's a foot, Felandris!" she yelled, hitting her fist off the table. "It's a fucking foot! It's been a year and you've barely left this office! Your sons and daughter need you!"
"They're managing without me," he dismissed.
"Managing? They miss you! Murtagh is in Glas Claddach, doing your job for you!"
"And he's doing it well,"
"He's fourteen! When you were fourteen, did Uncle Robert leave you in charge of running Innean?"
"He left me in charge of the farm," Felandris countered, "And then he left me without a home the next year!" She stared at him for a long moment.
"He loved you. He still loves you. He gave you everything and all you can do is sit here in your own filth and blast him to hell!"
"What else can I do?" Felandris yelled, waving a wand in the air before it connected with the wine bottle again. She watched him take a long swig before replying.
"You could sober up." she offered. "Have a bath. Shave. And maybe even make it to your own son's birthday." Felandris stiffened. "You don't even know what day it is, do you? Ferris is eight today." He turned slowly, still holding the bottle as he hobbled back to the desk, the cane supporting most of his weight.
"Happy birthday to him." He sneered as he leaned forward and blew out the candle.
_________________ Ainmire Sera-Blodh of House Flenadrison, second of his name, King in the South, Ruler of Carrickshire, and slayer of false Kings. "The Crippled King" "Flanders"
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