In Which Haldred Outlives Himself

April 8, 1194

Haldred's two surviving sons sat on the benches by the fireplace, just as they had in turn when Cladelia had been in his place. They'd had eight children together, and four had remained when Cladelia's time had come. Since then, he'd lost Searle. Jadin and Tarien remained, along with their sister Celina.

None of their boys had been lucky enough to inherit much of their mother's strength. Jadin had the most of it, perhaps. So long as he could see a reason to go on, he would, and he was young enough that many remained ahead of him. But, he was still recovering from the death of his eldest daughter less than a year ago. That was not enough time between losses.

Tarien... well, it had been apparent since the boy's first wife had died. Tarien was incapable of being alone. After his first wife had died, he'd married his sister-in-law. After his second wife had died, he'd searched long and hard, four failed betrothals before he found his third. His third wife had been gone a few years now, and Tarien had been dropping hints about perhaps searching for a fourth. He'd taken to writing his cousin Lettie in Dovia rather frequently, though Haldred suspected she only replied to humor him. That would not end well.

"Comfortable, Father?"

His daughter--his only remaining daughter--sat down on the empty side of the bed and reclined, practically daring him to send her off. He chose not to. "Yes, thank you. Where is Sidwein?"

"He went to fetch his mother. She'll want to see you." Viridis. His sister--his only sister, only sibling at all. She was nine years older than he, and probably hadn't expected to outlive him. Frankly, Haldred had outlived himself.

"Poor Viridis. As if she didn't have enough mourning this year already, what with her grandson." Perhaps she and Jadin could commiserate. Jadin, at least, had his wife. Viridis... well, her son and daughter-in-law and granddaughter-in-law would be hurting in different ways. "I don't envy you and Sidwein. No doubt you'll have to lend support to both households."

"One more than another; we both know Aunt Viridis is tougher than Tarien."

"And you're tougher than both of them. I'm sorry we never noticed. We never noticed much about you."

She shrugged. She likely had a lot to say to that, but found no phrase appropriate for a dying man. He would have deserved it, but he appreciated the restraint.

"I'm sorry."

His daughter sighed. "Sidwein and Viridis should be here soon."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Haldred Counts Apologies

October 17, 1182

"Should you be tending fires in your condition?"

It was not so much a question as a means of dispelling silence. Catalina was with the children, and Tarien was in conference with Sidwein and a couple other knights about some issue at the border--once Tarien had said he'd take care of it, Haldred had taken that as license to stop listening. But that left him and Celina, and Celina had never liked being alone with either of her parents, but since he'd just returned from burying Searle, she must have figured that leaving him alone was not negotiable. Too bad that Jadin was now married and out of the house, or else they'd both have been spared the tension.

"Father, I'm pregnant--not an invalid." To prove the point, she pushed one log from near the bottom over the others and to the other side of the base. Haldred leaned to the side and peered at her stomach. There was a bit of a bump now, but he supposed she was right; if she still felt up to basic tasks, there was nothing in her way.

"Your mother never much cared for being pampered either."

His daughter sniffed. It might not have been the best idea, comparing her to her mother. "She did love you, you know. We loved all of you." Even if we did a shitty job of it. "I know your brother loved you."

"I know he did." That was one for three.

"I gave him that bracelet, like you said. I tucked it into his belt."

"Thank you." She gave the hearth one more nudge, then set the poker aside. "Will you be retiring soon?"

If he told her yes, she would have left. She would have gone down to the nursery and kissed her children good night, then returned to the guest chamber (she never set foot in her childhood bedroom) and curled up with a book until Sidwein joined her. She would have had a pleasant enough rest-of-the-evening.

Haldred had told her enough lies. "No."

Celina bit her lip and sat down--on the other bench, not next to him. He wasn't sure she'd ever sat next to him. His little girl had never been a cuddler, and that had suited him just fine. At least, before he'd considered that she hadn't been so little after all, and that maybe she hadn't been so much averse to cuddling as she was to him.

"Celina?"

She looked up. She had his eyes, down to the seething, barely constrained anger. "Yes?"

"Can you ever forgive me?"

The corners of her mouth fell. Her eyes may have been his, but the ice on her lips was all Cladelia. "No."

"I see."

But the next morning, when his family and hers were seated at the breakfast table, no one speaking but babbling children, he would break the ice to tell her that he was sorry. He would tell Tarien that he was sorry, and he would ride over to Jadin's later that day and tell him the same. Haldred had fathered eight children, and only three still lived. There were already five apologies he would never give.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Cladelia Tries the Unpracticed Thing

January 28, 1179

After nearly thirty-eight years of marriage, Cladelia had yet to discover a third event in which she and her husband had any reason to share a bed. They slept like any husband and wife. They fucked like... well, maybe not any husband and wife, but they did. But had they ever just sat and talked? Not on the bed, no.

Actually, they'd never done much sitting and talking to begin with, which made his joining her all the more strange. "What do you want, Haldred?"

He mumbled something. The room spinning as it was, she couldn't be bothered to ask him to repeat it. "I see."

"You didn't hear what I said, did you?"

His voice usually handled those words with a fiery grip of impulsive anger, not the soft, almost sensitive whisper he laid before her now. It was not like Haldred to ask meekly. When Cladelia's husband wanted an answer, he expected to get it. "Perhaps you ought to speak up."

"I said I still have your letters."

An odd thing to bring up at a time like this. "The ones in your drawer?"

Her vision was hardly clear and she saw him only in peripheral, but she thought his face looked a little pink. "I didn't know you knew."

"Well, I did." And if she'd never mentioned it, then clearly it meant little. "Why did you bother keeping them? They'd serve a greater purpose as kindling."

"And I suppose you think I never considered that?" The violet of his eyes intensified in their narrowed state. She'd once thought she had remarkable eyes, but that was before she'd ever gotten a good look at Haldred's. Only three of her children had his eyes, and one was dead besides; if only the rest could have been so lucky. "You're beautiful."

Cladelia sniffed. "You're a horrible liar."

"No. I mean it. I always thought you were beautiful.

"Sorry it took me thirty-eight years to say it."

Sorry. He'd never been sorry in his life. And of all the things he'd done, not calling her beautiful wasn't what he ought to be sorry for. But she supposed it was more than he thought it was. "Haldred?"

"Hmmm?"

"I don't really think your chin can crush a dozen rocks. Seven or eight at most, but not a dozen."

He grunted. It was more like him but not quite the man she knew. She'd long suspected he was insecure deep down, but she'd never guessed he'd fall apart without her. It was too romantic a thought for such an unromantic pair. "Haldred?"

He glanced over and she threw some spare energy into an unpracticed smile. He responded in kind; she hoped she didn't look quite so stupid.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Searle Asks the Polite Thing

January 28, 1179

Searle had five sisters. Four of them were dead. It figured that the last of them was the one he'd always guessed would make the worst companion for his quiet, thoughtful young wife. Lileina had always been friendly and accommodating, as had Cladelia and Learianna in their softer, shyer ways. Riona, all awkwardness aside, had been a social shape-shifter; she may not have enjoyed Viridis's company, but no one ever would have known it.

Celina, though... well, she was the tricky one. She wasn't brash or loud like their parents, but Searle almost wished otherwise. Celina left nothing unconsidered. He never knew what she was thinking until it was too late, and for a sensitive girl like Viridis, such a thing was never pleasant.

But today, pleasantness was hardly an expectation from anyone.

"Son."

Searle fought the urge to look back at Viridis. "Mother."

He hadn't seen her in a nightgown since he'd been a little boy, and he couldn't remember her hair ever unbound. She was thinner than the last time he'd seen her, paler, a little puffy in parts of the face. She might have been a stranger if not for the eyes. "Good of you to come."

The fire behind him cracked as his father jabbed at the logs. His father had barely said a thing since they'd arrived. His father always had something to say. The letter had said she was ill, but his father's quiet had been the first hard-and-fast proof that something was amiss. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit." Searle flinched. His mother laughed, so much as a gasping breath could be a laugh. "Physically, that is. I've come to terms with it. Never saw the appeal of living too long anyway."

He wondered if that was what she told herself when she thought about his sisters. "You might live."

"The doctors say not to count on it. Or are you a doctor now?" It was sarcasm, but he shook his head anyway. His mother sniffed. "I thought so. And I know you; if any part of you thinks this won't be the last time you see me, you never would have come."

It would have been barely consequential, but nonetheless he struggled not to wince. He hoped he'd changed since Viridis. He thought he had, but his mother would have read a wince as an admission otherwise. "I came because I was invited and I hadn't been home in a while."

Another log fell from the lift of the one beneath it. His mother's eyes darted amongst the other three, his father and his sister and his wife. It must have been a full minute before they were back on Searle. "Don't worry too much about everyone here. Your father's an old fart, but he's survived worse. Tarien can run things around here if need be and Jadin can keep him laughing. Celina will keep him in check; Lord knows she gets enough practice with that idiot husband of hers."

"And you?" He wasn't sure if he was hopeful, or if it was just the polite thing to ask.

"Me? I've been doing all that for one hell of a long time." She flipped a wavy lock over her lace-clad shoulder and sighed. "I'm tired."

NEXT CHAPTER:

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."

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Haldred Counts His Failures

February 16, 1166

Haldred had known Searle for almost nineteen years now, since he'd been a squalling, tiny creature fresh from Cladelia's womb. It had been a difficult birth, as was often the case with twins, but while his sister had fought a quick, decisive battle with any resulting illness, Searle had labored long and hard for weeks; he'd scarcely had the strength to take to his mother's breast, and several nurses had needed to take shifts at his crib-side in order to make sure he didn't stop breathing. He was three months old before he was strong enough to be held.

He might have made a point to forget that day, but for whatever reason, he now remembered it clear as yesterday. He had been with a tenant when the steward had burst in, telling him that the wise woman had declared that his little baby son was going to be all right--and he had nodded and told him to thank her, then continued on with his business as usual.

He'd been young then--not a whole lot younger than other men of similar rank and family status, but he hadn't been ready to be a father. Both Tarien and Lileina had been healthy, active, independent children, and he had made the mistake of assuming that his third-born would be the same. Neither of the older two could ever sit still long enough for a cuddle or a quick conversation, and in all honesty, that had always suited both Haldred and Cladelia just fine.

In fact, they'd been so preoccupied with defense and diplomacy their own petty day-to-day arguments that neither of them had noticed that Searle was a little different. Quieter, more delicate, and in need of more direct nurturing. Tarien and Lileina and Riona had all needed the freedom to run around as they pleased, which was what Haldred had been good about giving; he'd never been one for hugs and bedtime stories, which he realized now had been the requirements of young Searle.

"...son?"

Searle didn't react. Maybe Haldred deserved it; after all, he hadn't been too responsive himself all those times that little boy had crawled onto his lap and wrapped his tiny little arms around his neck. If he'd been in a good mood, he might have given his son an awkward pat on the head--at a bad time, the child might have even gotten a scolding for bothering him.

Perhaps he was being too hard on himself, Haldred considered as he made his way to his son's side and nudged his arm. How should he have known what would happen a decade later? Was there any way he could have found out that the sensitive child he and Cladelia been unwittingly pushing away would instead latch onto his sister to the point of perversion? Was it possible that this would have happened even if he had known how to be a parent?

No. He couldn't look at that hopeless, disheveled form and deny that he'd played his part in this tragedy. If he hadn't been so neglectful, then his son wouldn't have fallen into his disturbed misery. If he had only been more loving, then his daughter would still be alive.

And it had taken his depression, her death, his brother-in-law's crazed liberal ravings, and his wife's utter collapse to get him to see that. "Searle... baby, please look at me."

He placed his hand on the kid's shoulder and began to gently rub, only to be shoved aside as Searle sprang to his feet. "I have nothing to say to you!"

Haldred took his son by the elbow and turned him so that they were face to face; Searle struggled, but he seemed to lack the strength to break free. "You look so ill. Just... just get some sleep, and we'll head home tomorrow. If you don't think you can ride, then I'm sure we can find a wagon for sale somewhere. If we have all three of our horses pulling it, then you and your mother can just relax while I drive."

Searle coughed, keeling forward; Haldred had to prop him up by the shoulder in order to keep him upright. "Don't you trust me? I was going to go home when I started feeling better; I've already inconvenienced Aunt Alina and Uncle Severin enough."

Frowning, he tilted his head and studied his son's face. Whatever Searle said, the bags under his eyes couldn't lie. "Son, I honestly don't think you'll be well enough to make your own way home any time soon. Danthia and Tivalia need you, and I've made enough mistakes as a father to warn you not to do the same."

"But maybe they're better off without me," Searle muttered, his eyes falling to the floorboards. "All I ever do is make a mess of things--you said so yourself, remember?"

Dear God, he had. He'd said that when he'd caught them. He'd been angry--he was still somewhat angry, even if it was no longer his prevailing emotion--but he hadn't meant it... had he? Had he meant any of the things he'd said? Had he meant it when he'd pried Searle off of Riona and shoved him to the wall? "Searle..."

How had he gone so wrong? He thought of all of Searle's younger sisters, the baby Cladelia was carrying, all his grandchildren--he couldn't let anything like this happen to any of them. He'd already failed two of his children.

Two too many.

Shaking his head, he flung his arms around the boy and embraced him tightly. How long had it been since he'd done so? Just before he'd left the boy to live with Cambrin and Lileina. Searle had been seven--seven! That was twelve years ago now. What if all that time, a single hug could have prevented all of this?

"We all miss your sister, baby," he tried to soothe him, only to realize he didn't know how to soothe. "You're ill. You need to sleep."

He felt his son's tears soak through his sleeve. He and Cladelia had always been stern in regards to crying--Lord knew his own father would box his ears if he ever caught him crying--but perhaps tears could only be contained for so long before the dam burst and the flood began. "I... I can't sleep. I always... see her..."

What could he say to that? He'd probably see her in his dreams tonight too. "Just... try to think good thoughts. Think of your wife, your baby... whatever makes you happy. Do you think you can do that?"

Searle gave a muffled sob that Haldred took as a 'no'. Well, Searle... that makes two of us.

NEXT CHAPTER:

In Which Severin Witnesses Jericho Fall

February 16, 1166

The marriage of the Baron and Baroness of Hoprine was the first wedding Severin could remember attending. He'd been eight years old at the time, so it wasn't as if he'd never known either of them separately--indeed, Haldred was the brother of his stepmother, and Cladelia was Alina's sister--but somehow, he couldn't help but think of the pair as a unit. Hearing the name 'Haldred' unaccompanied by 'Cladelia', or vice versa, just didn't sound quite right for some reason.

Perhaps it was their dynamic. They were both passionate to the point of being downright stubborn, which had rendered them one of those couples who were constantly either at each other's throats or in each other's throats, exchanging screams and arguments and insults until they could no longer contain themselves and he took her in his arms and whisked her off to the nearest empty room, from which the carelessly loud sounds of wild, unrestrained lovemaking could then be heard. As soon as that was over, the cycle resumed.

Of course, on the off-chance that they did agree on something in more than the physical sense, then heaven help all who opposed.

But of the two of them, there was a more formidable one. One of them would not hesitate to take a man by the throat, or crack a vase over his head. One of them had no qualms about picking apart a person and applying insults directly to the most sensitive nerve. One of them could spend five minutes with a total stranger and find a way to make them wish they had never been born.

But for some reason, it seemed that Cladelia's thoughts were elsewhere; Severin couldn't tell if it was a ruse designed to catch him off-guard, or if she truly was distracted.

Either way, Haldred was the more verbal party at the moment. Trying to remain mindful of Cladelia, Severin shifted his focus to the baron. "Look, I told you--I was planning to send your son home as soon as his health improved. I wrote to Danthia explaining that and told her that she and Tivalia were welcome to come stay here if they saw fit; she declined the offer, since Tivalia had also been ill. He still hasn't quite recovered, so I would be reluctant to send him on his way alone, but now that you're here, you're more than welcome to take him back with you if that's what you think would be for the best."

"And rest assured that I will," Haldred snapped in response. "The boy's obviously troubled, and it won't do him any good to have bleeding hearts like you encouraging his... delusions."

Severin raised an eyebrow. "I'm not 'encouraging' him. While I know Danthia is a capable woman, Searle has a duty to her, and their daughter needs a father--however, who gets to choose who they love? I pity him, and I understand that he's hurt, but don't think for a second that I am encouraging this behavior. Now that you're here to escort him, Searle needs to go home and make things right with his family and try to move on with his life, and I can only hope you won't berate him for the whole ordeal with Riona."

He watched as Haldred grew tense, eventually lifting his boot a few inches from the floor and stomping like a child throwing a tantrum. "You can't honestly believe that he's the only one hurting, can you? I lost my daughter as a result of this twisted affair, you do realize!"

"Believe me, I'm sorry for your loss, but I don't think it's fair to pin the blame on your son. Sometimes things just... happen."

"And we were all just supposed to sit back and let it? What would you have had me do? Let them ride off into the sunset and talk Secundus into a match between Danthia and Nythran? I only did as our family has done for generations--of course, it isn't as if you would know anything about that, is it?" snarled Haldred as an afterthought. "Running off with my sister-in-law on the eve of her wedding?"

Seeing who it was he was talking to, it had only been a matter of time before that came up. He looked to Cladelia, as she had never failed to capitalize on that topic before and it seemed wise to get her rant over with--but she merely shook her head and ran a hand over her swollen middle. "Haldred, what the hell does that have to do with anything?"

Severin frowned. "Are you all right?"

"She's probably just tired from the journey," Haldred dismissed. "I told her before we left that she shouldn't be riding with a baby on the way, but as usual, she wouldn't listen."

"Shut up."

Shaking his head, Haldred turned away from his wife and back to Severin. "Look, just let me talk to my son--God knows that there are a lot of things that have to be said to that boy!"

"All of which you would be wise to leave to his wife," insisted Severin, feeling his frustration swell to dangerously near his breaking point. "You're all suffering, but she's the one with the reason to be angry with him personally. She can punish him for running off, but you can't hold a matter of the heart against the boy. You're his father, for Christ's sake! You're supposed to love him!"

Haldred's hand clenched into a tight fist, his scowl enlarged and his brows furrowing. "How dare you accuse me of not loving my son enough! My love for him has nothing to do with his disgusting obsession with his sister!"

"Perhaps not, but maybe if you had reacted more calmly this entire time, he might have been able to cope! Have you seen him lately? The poor kid is a wreck! A lost, miserable wreck! He needed your support, and all you gave him was your scorn."

"Severin?"

It was Cladelia who had spoken. Perhaps she was finally ready to make her move. He wished Alina hadn't opted to remain with the children; he could have used an ally here, particularly one who Cladelia loved.

His sister-in-law heaved her pregnant form from the couch and waddled to her husband's side. "Severin, just... just... please."

He frowned; he had never seen her so incoherent. Even when she was drunk, her words had always been a complete arsenal. "Haldred..."

She rested her head on her husband's shoulder, a tear running down her cheek. Shocked, Haldred brushed it away, then wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair. "Lia? Angel, what's wrong?"

Her breath quivering, she buried her face in the nape of his neck. "Where... where did we go wrong?"

"Lia..."

Severin swayed in discomfort. He did not think he would ever see the day when Cladelia of Hoprine crumbled like the walls of Jericho, but now that he had, he was inclined to believe it the most tragic sight he had ever witnessed. "Cladelia, I don't think--"

"Shut up, Severin!" she choked between sobs. "The day you catch one of your sons with his t-tongue down the throat of one of your d-daughters, then you can come to me and t-tell me it wasn't you anything you did! Right now... j-just let me be! God, Haldred--we f-failed him! We... we failed both of them! We're horrible parents!"

Haldred shook his head. "Lia..."

"Don't you 'Lia' me!"

She shoved him aside with the force of a battering ram, then charged from the room at an alarming speed for pregnant woman, leaving the two men alone and thoroughly speechless. Cladelia Sadiel had always known how to catch a man off-guard, but so far as Severin was aware, this was the first time she had done so with no direct intention.

They stood in silence for several awkward minutes, until Severin muttered at last, "I'll have a room prepared for the two of you. You have every right to speak with your son, but please use your discretion. He's... delicate."

Haldred sighed, glancing over his shoulder after his wife. "He gets it from his mother."

"He's also stubborn and prone to holding grudges," Severin added. "That, I believe, he gets from you."

NEXT CHAPTER: