In Which Severin Is of the Lucky Few

September 6, 1200

"Still willing to visit your old stepmother after all these years. How sweet of you to come all this way."

Severin tried to return the smile as he sat down on the empty half of the bench. It wasn't like the last time he'd seen his mother, when he'd been shocked and unsettled by the sight of her so suddenly fallen--nor was it like the last time he'd seen his father, aware that it was least possible that he was dying, but still not quite believing it.

But now, with Viridis... well, it made sense that the death of the second parent would be faced with more grounding than that of the first. That trend would only continue for those lucky few who had a third. This was the last time he'd ever see her. There was no way he couldn't have visited.

"You were always more than a stepmother to me. You're more like a second mother."

"And you're more like a son to me than a stepson. My feelings toward both your parents were complicated at the time, but that was never the case with you; I loved you since the day you were born."

She had. And he'd always known that. He took hold of her hand and squeezed it. It was cold now, old and shaking, but it was still the same strong hand that he'd grasped by the finger as he'd figured out how to walk. "I think I loved you since the day I was born too."

"Possibly! You were such a happy baby. That was a nice change of pace for me after your brother."

A nice change of pace. For a woman who'd had no obligation to even acknowledge his existence. And she thought his mere being here was 'sweet'.

"I've known a lot of good people--some of whom I didn't really recognize as 'good' until it was too late for them. But I always recognized you as good." How could he not have? A person didn't love a spouse's bastard as their own if there wasn't some goodness in them. "You're the best person I ever knew."

"Oh, I don't know if that's true." She laughed her same modest laugh, the one she always used when she couldn't take a compliment--no matter how sincere that compliment was. "But I'm glad to hear I never did you wrong."

She couldn't have. She'd had no obligation to do him right.

And yet she thought it 'sweet' that he'd visit her in what were likely her last days.

"Not many people are lucky enough to have three parents. Thank you for letting me be one of them."

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