In Which Haldred Tells What He Has Learned

March 26, 1174

Some secret heart of Haldred's had always hoped that--in spite of everything--he would one day be able to make things right with Searle. Though his rational side knew the idea for idiocy, some delusional corner of his mind had believed that after bringing Searle home from Severin and Alina's castle, everything would just work itself out. But that was an age ago now. Weeks and months and years had dragged by, and the relationship was still lukewarm at best. At least it was something of an improvement? Wasn't an awkward coexistence preferable to cycles of blazing anger and icy silence?

Sometimes, he wondered about that. But at least he was here now. "Happy birthday, son."

In all likelihood, Searle had forgotten. Or maybe he had remembered Riona's birthday and failed to make the connection. Or maybe he just figured that his parents had been fighting again and now Haldred was trying to win back Cladelia's favor by presenting himself as a good father. Of course, that was utter rubbish--sort of. "Thank you, Father."

"Care to join us for dinner tonight? The cook is making your favorite." If Searle had a favorite anything anymore. Poor baby. How bitter it was that he wanted nothing more than to take his boy in his arms and hold him now--now that Searle was far past the age when he cared to be held.

"Thank you, but no." Searle fiddled with the old ring his hand still housed. It seemed to have been beneath the knuckle, and all these years after the divorce, he'd never bothered to wriggle it off. "I received a letter today, and I was hoping to write back."

Oh? Haldred's brow peaked in interest. It was not like Searle to respond to letters straight away. It was hardly like Searle to respond at all. "Who is it from?"

"Someone who shouldn't be writing to me, but keeps doing so anyway." The boy's teal eyes flickered the way of the hearth and lingered a moment on the flames. There was a certain sobriety about them that Haldred had only seen once, back in a time before he'd known it for what it was. "But am I horrible for hoping she never stops?"

A correspondence that never ended. It was a profound thought, in a funny sort of way. Haldred's own longest series of letters had begun when he was thirteen. He'd received a letter from a snarky eight-year-old girl, saying that she'd rather eat cow dung than write to him but her father was making her, that she wished he would take a long walk off a short cliff, that the sheer size of his nose must have been compensating for something. She wrote something similar each month after that--each month for six years, until she turned fourteen. Then, she married him.

All these years later--all these children and tears and kisses and fights and heated sessions of angry lovemaking later--and she had no idea that those letters were still sitting in the back of his sock drawer. "Sounds like you're in love."

Searle sighed, his eyes dull and the corners of his mouth fallen to the floor. A nagging tug at his heartstrings told Haldred that he'd just validated some secret dread. "Why do I always fall for girls I shouldn't? Girls who would be better off having nothing to do with me?"

"Why? Who is it this time?" Haldred grabbed hold of his own forearm as he looked his son up and down. If Searle had a type, it was 'inappropriate'. "Married? Betrothed? A nun?" Oh dear God, not another one of your sisters!

"No, but she's young and delicate and I don't want to hurt her."

Well, that was a given. Tense, Haldred studied his wedding band, a small red splotch just visible against the gold. He'd been too drunk to remember much of the argument the night before, but there was a series of fist-sized bruises on his abdomen and Cladelia's lip had looked rather puffy at breakfast. What had they even been fighting about? Something stupid, no doubt. And yet, them being them... "Searle, you couldn't claim to care for her if you did want to hurt her."

Want to... what man wanted to? And yet, what man didn't?

But half-assed folk-logic didn't hold much sway over Searle. "It hardly matters. The fact is that she deserves better than me."

Another given--from Searle's perspective, anyway. Haldred was far from a perfect man. He'd been married thirty-three years to a beautiful, brilliant woman and they didn't always treat each other right. But in all that time, he liked to think that maybe--just maybe--he'd learned a thing or two. "Searle? Can I tell you something?"

Searle raised an eyebrow, but nodded. Haldred ran the tip of his finger over the blood on the ring until it was little more than a bronze-colored smear. "There never was a man who loved a woman and didn't think she deserved better than him."

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