“I remember very clearly telling you not to interrupt me when I am meditating. Go back to sleep.” Tyr didn't need to open his eyes to feel Farron's presence in the doorway of his chamber. He'd gotten rid of everything in his well decorated bedroom. The months rolled by and the semester ended abruptly, too many petitions from parents to remove their students from a soon to be war zone had left the halls empty and quiet. Everyone felt that storm on the horizon, and yet Hastur never came. Nor did the crusading army riding at his back. Tyr's reproach of the boy was gentle, his voice soft from the wear on his mind. Not one day had gone by that he wasn't pushing himself to the limit and his prodigious stamina was starting to wear down. But only through that breaking would he be able to reach further, to tear himself down in a constant cycle of building something better.
How very appropriate, and now he was far beyond the human he'd been in the past. It was hard to keep a grip, but no longer in the way that he'd been going insane, he was growing bored of this.
“I couldn't sleep.” Farron said, seating himself opposite Tyr and emulating the pose his adoptive father was making. What a strange thing, his father. Even Tyr found it a source of comedy, he had 39 children now by law, none blood related. And he was only... What? 24 or 25 years old? Probably the former, far too young to be old enough to have a child of Farron's age.
“Then go find Alex, I'm sure she'd love to entertain you.” Tyr wasn't sure if his wife was awake, it was still early but she'd taken to sleeping less after her change. Just like him, eventually she wouldn't need rest at all. Tyr had tried to convince the boy to leave, but he was obstinate. He'd tried to have Farron dragged from the city, but the boy had somehow slipped the blackguard and snuck back in. Or... Sneaked? Sneaked? Snuck? It was really too bad that his refinement of self didn't apply to his intellect.
Farron was refined, too – a ferocious talent lay in that boy to the point where Tiber had made it his pet project to turn him into the ideal knight. Not Sicario, as Tyr was more comparable to, but someone who could properly carry on a chivalrous legacy. Farron succeeded, a little 'too' much – perhaps courtesy of taking the blood and awakening at such a young age. Henrietta in particular was beginning to terrify him. There was the benefit of removing the handicap sooner, and the detriment of allowing a child to take it before they were mentally developed. So far it had worked out, but there was no telling how long that'd last.
“What are you doing?” Farron asked.
“Meditating, as I said.”
“Why?” Tyr did this every day, but Farron didn't understand the point. Tiberius also 'meditated', but his version of this simple act was very different. Tyr liked the quiet, but Tiber would go to the loudest place in the city, usually on the wall above the central marketplace, and would write the threads of conversation he heard with both hands on two pieces of paper. Ambidextrous, and he'd jot down as much information as possible that he could gather through his mundane senses. All while holding his breath.
As with everything there was no one single system. No 'right' way, everyone approached it differently and that was the way of the Sicario. Farron had no gift for such proficient multitasking.
Tyr opened his eyes slowly to stare at the boy. Young man, on the precipice of becoming what most cultures in this world considered a man, at least. And always asking questions. “Why does Tiber make you exercise with that mask on?” The mask being a traditional artificio training tool with slits where less air and therefore oxygen could make it through to the lungs. It was uncomfortable, but there was a point to it, an exercise like any other.
“He says it will help me keep my breathing more stable during strenuous activity.” Farron said. “It hurts.”
“It expands your lung capacity and strengthens your cardiovascular system in general.” Tyr replied calmly. “Just as I circulate my energy to increase my capacity for them slowly over time, this is the same. Our bodies have channels and conduits inside of them and by abusing them like any muscle they will expand.”
The actual scientific process was using his spira to stretch and massage his mana conduits to bring both forces into equilibrium. And vice versa, something a normal person couldn't do. If imbalanced, it was hard to passively increase one's own ability, but Tyr was the opposite of a human mage, having far more spira than mana. It gave him an advantage in growth potential, presumably, but it hurt in a way that was difficult to describe. It felt like someone was pumping freezing water into his bones until they they might crack from the pressure. Marrow being drilled and scraped from head to toe. He was reaching his limit and the growing agony was a sign that he shouldn't try to force it anymore, but he was going to do it regardless. There were no limits that he was willing to accept, not now, his convictions were carved of mountains – not so weak any longer.
“Why though?” Farron asked again, and Tyr was a little perplexed as to why he'd ask such a silly question.
“To become stronger. More able.” Tyr replied, only the smallest thread of annoyance present in his tone.
Farron rolled his eyes impetuously, teaching him to respect his 'father' was an idea Tyr had long surrendered. The boy, for whatever reason, seemed immune to the suggest of his aspect, unlike every other person he'd tried it on just to see. “Obviously, but when will enough be enough? You should spend more time with your family and actually get to know them before you get yourself killed. Did you know that there were maybe only three or four people that were sad when we thought you died? Doesn't that bother you?”
“I do this for them, so no, it does not bother me. I spend time with them every day.” Tyr ceased in circulating his energy, resting his hands on his knees and tilting his head at his son. His time was limited, but he'd come to a conclusion some time ago that he had an opportunity to be a better father figure to these children than his own had been to him. “Just yesterday I took a walk with Alex, I had breakfast with Astrid and Tythas, and lunch with Sigi, Brenn, and Micah. That's an apt question you asked, when will enough be enough? How much time am I expected to spend with them? What do you want to do, I will spend more time with you if that's what you want.”
“Dunno.” Farron shrugged. He was a scrawny lad but growing quite tall, in the middle of an attempt to grow a patchy beard before Alex made him shave it again. It was odd how quickly humans grew and changed from cute children to vaguely irritating teenagers. And yet Farron was a test bed, proof that the light could survive this transition – it hadn't dulled a bit. This one was special, they all were, but the others hadn't seen or been done to what Farron had. That bitterness had changed him, but the light remained. “I don't think it's always about the time, I think it's how much you care about them and how you show it. That's what granddad always said.”
“I do care about them.” Tyr frowned. It was too bad how those two old men back at the village were dead. According to Farron, quite a bit had evacuated before the danger came. He wondered if the girl with the 'stolen virginity' was still there. Or the man Tyler he'd nailed to the rose post. Those were the days... Gone now, never to return, when things were simpler. In that way, Tyr had regretted finding conviction as he'd been told to again and again. It hadn't made him happier, purpose was not bliss nor necessarily contentment.
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“Don't lie to the kid.” Sigi's voice came from the doorway. She was dressed in her training kit, her halberd-esque 'jorunn' resting on her shoulder. All padded leathers except the full arm gauntlet sheathing her dominant hand in burnished steel. Hair growing a bit longer than he was accustomed to seeing on her, gray and neatly combed locked as straight as an arrow, not a follicle out of place. “Been looking for a rascal, you know? Since you're awake, let's get some early training in. The cool air of the morning is good for your skin.”
Farron shuddered, Tiber was as tough an instructor as one might expect, but he wanted to one day become a knight and had fallen under the cooperative tutelage of everyone. Tyr was a knight, and Alex held a position that was roughly equivalent to that among mages in Haran. Close enough. All of them were hard people to please, some were not very complementary in their encouragement even when Farron had performed above expectations.
Conversely, Sigi was incredibly supportive, always smiling and telling him he was doing a phenomenal job. Patient, too. The only problem was that he was usually on the ground puking or gasping for air while the praise was being given to him. She was a demon who never tired, never allowed for rest, and never left him alone. Very doting, but exceptionally driven. She was scarier than all the blackguard combined, and left no room for complaint unlike the older men who had a shred of mercy to them.
“Sit down with me, just for a little while.” Tyr said, made an offer rather than a command through his body language. Sigi would never take an order from him, but they weren't on bad terms anymore. She accepted, laying her weapon on the only table present in the chamber and taking a seat at his back, her fingers began to pick through his hair and braid it, unsolicited as ever.
“It's getting long again.” Sigi observed. She was still grumpy and prone to insults but they were fairly amicable after Tyr had begun making an apparent effort. A small one, perhaps even a shitty one, but it meant something. He worked hard at everything these days and she found it difficult to find fault in what he was doing, staying rooted in place even while a doom loomed over them. Even when 'his people' had betrayed him, turning their backs if not holding the knife that had cut the throat of Huron and left him a grunting mute. Like a primus. If Trafalgar had been Tyr's roost rather than Cortus', things might've been different. Someone who refused to retreat or even die, the back that did not turn. “I wish it was a bit long--” Tyr pushed his spira out and made it so. His shaggy hair stretching down to a few inches below his shoulder blades in snow white strands. “That's a neat trick. Can you do that with every part of your body?”
“Yes.” Tyr replied, winking and wagging his eyebrows suggestively at the disgusted boy in front of him. “Every part.”
“You're sick, man...” Farron groaned, and Sigi poked her head from beyond Tyr's bare back to look at the boy in askance. Clearly the 'joke' had gone over her head, but Farron wasn't answering the implied question in her glance, allowing her to return to the braiding with a nonchalant shrug.
“I'd believe that you care to make us feel that you care for us. But only for yourself.” Sigi said in a relaxed tone, his hair was already perfect in her mind, it didn't really need braiding. She contented herself with a simple knot at the crown, while letting the fringe hang free in the eastern style. So common among knights and wardens of far Arendal.
“For myself? What gain would I get out of that?” Tyr closed his eyes again, not to circulate the mana but to focus on her short nails as they played with the back of his scalp. It was a very pleasant sensation, one of his favorite things. He could feel Sigi's breath on the back of his neck as she sighed, continuing to scratch him because he'd frown at her if she didn't.
“To feel like you're a good person. Doing the right thing, maybe. But spending a few hours a day with your friends isn't how you do that. Care is in the knowing. Knowing us, and allowing us to know you, and I don't think you do. I certainly have no inkling as to who you are, so dark and mysterious all of the time. There's a limit to how much interest that'll draw from someone, you are a shallow man.”
“And what should I know about you?” Tyr humored her in dialogue while Farron listened on. The boy had his eyes closed but based on the screwed look he had on his face, he wasn't able to successfully meditate. Tyr had been that way, once, before finding his method. “Your birth date? Favorite food? Favorite color? Hobbies?”
“Did you know that Alex was the all time career leading scorer from the striker position in collegiate blitzball? Wasn't even close, she passed the next highest by nearly twenty touches. Astrid just recently received an award from the bardic college on her collective works. Micah managed to generate a stable gate, alone, and has graduated early with his masters in spatial magic. Brenn was officially been promoted to knight paladin, and might just hit vindicator before he turns thirty. Jura and Ayla both have succeeded in their gold rank examination, and Magnus is nearly there as well. Tythas too has graduated with his masters and been offered a position as professor, to replace Urden. All of their individual efforts are for themselves, not for you, but noticing would be nice.”
“And what about you?” Tyr asked, and all Sigi did was say something about it 'not being the point'. Truthfully, he did know some of these things sans Alex being a notable athlete, but he was always too busy to give much time for it. It seemed off, asking him to do these things while the rope holding the guillotine was being gnawed at by rats – but he wouldn't argue. “So what you're saying is that I should be celebrating and congratulating them for these achievements? That by not doing so, or not remaining watchful to notice and celebrate with them, I have been a bad friend?”
It wasn't a sarcastic question, but a real one, he was frowning and Farron's eyes opened back up just for the boy to roll them in their sockets. Tyr was, as always, truly missing the point.
“When someone does something good, you praise them. I wouldn't say you've been a bad friend, but a little appreciation goes a long way.” Sigi calmly replied, and it seemed so obvious that it was troubling her that these things needed to be said in the first place. But she was well aware that Tyr was strange, someone who hyper focused on something until all around him was a blur. Time would pass and he'd miss the changes in the people around him, like it had all happened at once rather than a gradual process. Celebration was about the achievement, surely, but also about the journey and all of the effort it took to get there.
“Did you throw me a party when I was promoted into the gold rank?” Tyr asked with a smile on his face. To be honest he had pretty much just shown up and they gave it to him, but...
“That is a petty way of looking at things.” Sigi chided. “You were not here with us when it happened, and wouldn't answer your amulet. I did congratulate you, and you know this. In any case, it's a valid point, I am very proud of all of your hard work for that and all things beyond.”
Even from the rear, Tyr's ears reddened enough for her to notice the blush. He was very childish in some ways, strange ways, his flaws were as clear as day to anyone who looked. Perhaps that kind of bashfulness wasn't a flaw at all. He'd never lost the drive to be seen and impress upon others that he was better than they'd thought him in the past. Perhaps, people were complicated and Sigi herself certainly wasn't good with them.
“Really?” He asked.
“Of course. I said it in my messages and I know you read them, but I'll entertain your vanity.” Sigi nodded. “You brought great honor to our combined houses with your victories in the republic and suffered through loss to get to that point. I know it wasn't easy, and while most of my day is preoccupied with thoughts of clubbing you for being an imbecile, we are all proud of you. You might not be a heroic person, but you were a hero in that moment. And you'll be one again.”
“Okay.” Tyr nodded, the side of his head turned toward her to reveal an almost fanatic conviction in his eye. It left her a bit shaken, it was insane how determined he looked in that moment and over such a simple thing.
A mere reciprocation of what she'd just said would've been enough, but as with all things she feared he might just do something a bit too extreme.