In Which Adwyn Declares Who Should Shoulder the Load

December 27, 1198

"Bar's closed for th' night," the lone remaining drunk--an older man, late sixties or early seventies by the iron hair and wrinkled hands--slurred from the corner table. "Landlord cleaned up in here, just cleanin' up the kitchen now."

Adwyn frowned. Judging by the number of discarded tankards by the man's feet, he was in no small part why the landlord had chosen to close the bar early--and yet, he was still here. "Can you find your way home?"

"I'm stayin' here. Meant to head to Naroni for th' New Year."

"Interesting. I'm heading there myself." For the sake of discretion, he didn't mention that he was accompanying the Carvalli Royal Family. It may have been his free night, but he was still a professional--on the surface, at any rate. "Can't say I'd fancy traveling with the hangover you'll have tomorrow, though."

"Not goin' now. Sit."

Shrugging, Adwyn obliged. He supposed he could keep the man from falling off his chair for a few minutes while the landlord tidied up in the kitchen. He'd find a more happening place soon enough, as always. "Why the change of mind?"

"Chickened out--like las' year, and the year b'fore that."

"And what's so terrifying about Naroni that keeps you out?" Adwyn smirked. "You don't believe all that bullshit about the creatures in the forests, do you?"

The man sighed and pushed himself upright--or, as close to upright as he could manage in his condition. "My son."

Guilt, then. Adwyn got that. "Ah... my daughter's in Naroni too. I haven't always done right by her, but she's been more forgiving than I deserve. Something about that place, maybe."

"Dunno." The man sighed. Another side of the table wasn't far enough away to avoid his breath. "My son never liked me--an' I never liked him, really. But, I'm old an' disgraced an' alone. He's all I have left in the world."

"Huh." Adwyn leaned forward, not entirely sure of what to say to that. He supposed he'd have to wing it. "You know... I don't think children always owe their parents anything, at least as far as emotion is concerned. A kid doesn't choose to be born, and sure as hell doesn't choose a shitty father like you or me. But, we're why they're here, and we have to live with that; it's only fair for the parents to shoulder the load for bridge-building and whatnot."

"You did that with your daughter?"

"Like I said, my daughter's more than I deserve--and if nothing else, nothing I put her through was out of malice. She understood that, even if my selfishness and recklessness left her more than a little inconvenienced."

"Hmph. Tha's you, then. I meant to hurt my son. Thought it would toughen 'im up, maybe." The man kicked over one of the tankards by his feet. "Or maybe I jus' couldn't stand the sight of 'im. Couldn't stand his mother. Never would've married her if we hadn't made 'im."

"Well, good luck reconciling, in that case." Adwyn cracked his knuckles beneath the table. His own father, at least, had had the decency to run like hell and leave his mother to her own more impressive devices. "Kids know when they're not loved properly. They don't recover from that."

The drunk sighed again. "Wouldn' be here if I didn' know it."

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