by P. S. Power
He tried to articulate it, but his Grandfather just looked at him, his face too much like his brother's for comfort. They were the same person, so of course he'd think it was a brilliant idea, messing with Timon's pattern. Sooner or later he would have thought to try it himself.
The man grimaced.
"It isn't a good idea to change people like this. I've tried, and each time there have been consequences that I didn't project coming into being. Nature is balanced, and trying to alter that is a problem. Of course you're not exactly giving this a chance. As to how people manage feeling as you do, the key is not taking action that will leave them feeling bad. You will grow used to this however, over time. It will take a while. Years perhaps, but sooner or later you'll adapt. The worst will be over in a month or two I think. As I said, you haven't been given the same level of guilt or shame as most. That will make it easier." Looking around the copy of his brother shrugged, his slightly older looking face the only thing that reassured anyone that it wasn't Tor now, since they were about the same size. "Might we have the room? I think that the two of us need to discuss some things that have happened. I should have earlier, but... Well, it's a flaw in the very old. We always assume that we have more time, or that things will fix themselves. In my defense, that usually works."
It was telling that the King stood first, in his own throne room, to give the space over to them without waiting to pontificate or suggest that it might be better if they left than the other way around. Smythe was the second one on his feet. He managed to pat Tim on the shoulder as he walked past and whispered something in a low tone, a thing that the Count heard, being right there, but the others probably didn't.
"This won't kill you. It might feel like it's too great for you in the moment, but you will come out above it, in the end." There was a sound to his words that spoke of having been in a similar place himself. It probably wasn't some wizard making him feel new things that he spoke of either, but rather causing the death of masses of people and having to live with it.
Lairdgren nodded, not smiling or looking at the other man, but clearly agreeing.
"William is correct. In the moment I think that calming your mind would be helpful. I know that you haven't had formal education in meditation, but you have the skills, or else you wouldn't be capable of building as you have been doing."
Timon didn't wait, seeking any trick that would let him get past the crisis of the moment. His body feeling small and sick like it was. It took a while but he managed to breathe, and pay attention only to that. It helped, so he blanked things out totally, like he'd learned to do while being tortured. That made a vast difference. His eyes were closed, so he didn't have to see all the people staring at him, judging his weakness.
When he opened them, feeling better, only the Green man was left. Everyone else had managed to escape, like sensible individuals.
Even with things being held at a remove like they were, it wasn't perfect. He wasn't filled with rage, but he felt a flash of annoyance for Tor anyway. Some feelings were far too strong to easily contain, it seemed.
"It wasn't right. He didn't have a right to do this to me. He shouldn't have, especially after what Nora and that Larval did. Doesn't he realize that it's the same thing? It's another person forcing their will on me, not caring if I have feelings or if it hurts me. For their own pleasure."
The Count used his foot to pull another chair over from the side of the space. It was a simple gray thing and far too tiny for most of the giant nobles that would be there visiting or seeking council, which was probably the point. They'd feel smaller and less adept, placed in the tiny chair. All the while the King would be up there on his huge and decorated throne, raised on a platform of stone, looking down on them, no matter how large they were.
Count Lairdgren sat in it as if it had been built for him. In a way the whole world always seemed to fit him somehow, even if it had been built for people that were much bigger than they were. Timon didn't notice it most of the time, but he didn't fit as well. He stood out, drew attention with each breath. The man next to him just merged with the place, like he'd always been there and would be. A boulder that sat on a river bank for thousands of years. Unchanging to the eyes of mere mortals.
When he spoke, his words weren't exactly what Timon had expected they would be. He'd figured on a pure defense of his brother, but instead the topic changed slightly. In a way that he couldn't like at all.
"I should have spent more time with you, after you were tortured. It takes time to move past that kind of thing. Years. Decades at times. I let things get away from me, thinking that you seemed fine. That you and I weren't that close to begin with, so you might not want me around." Sitting so that he was at an angle to him, but able to see Timon's face the man leaned forward just a few inches, but well out of arms reach. "That isn't a very good reason to abandon you. I'm sorry."
Timon tried to hold his mind clear, but couldn't really manage it at the moment, not while being bombarded by guilt like he was still. The faces of the dead coming at him over and over. Particularly the woman who begged for her life the night before. The innocent one with children and no doubt a husband that loved her. Had loved her. That was worse that all the thousands he killed, in a strange way. Even worse than the men that had been with her, for some reason. She'd been important to others.
Before Timon stole her away forever into a dark hole.
"I can manage, or could, before Tor did this to me."
The man shrugged again, and shook his head.
"It wasn't a great plan. If he'd thought it through, he would have waited, or even thought twice about doing it at all. It's true that many of the monsters of history were people like you were. Those without the ability to see others as more than pieces on the board. It didn't mean that you were evil however, which is what I think Torrance feared for you. That it made you so different from others that your logic and education would fail you, and you'd become cold and unfeeling, as the world heaped terrors upon you. In that way, perhaps Nora Alan and her compatriots were to blame in this as well? Pushing him to action that he might not have ever thought of, if you hadn't been pushed past the edge of sanity already?"
The man didn't react to his own words, but Tim did, clearing his throat.
"I'm insane? Oh, wait, yes, I see it now. Like how I ambushed that boy in his sleep and changed his entire pattern because I had an idea that... No, wait, that wasn't me. Now, what are you talking about?"
"When a man or woman is pushed beyond all reason, like you were, and harmed too badly, they can't exist in the same framework that the rest of us do, for a time. Some never come back from it. There are things that will almost certainly take place that make life harder for them. Reliving the scene for instance? Being afraid of people, or situations that aren't harmful... There used to be names for such things, but now we don't really speak of it often. You need time to heal, and people, to be there for you. I know that right now it's convenient to blame your brother for what he did and think that undoing his work will make it all better, but Timon, I swear this to you; the changes he made were very minor. Most of what you're experiencing has nothing to do with him at all."
Timon forced himself not to think, letting even his breathing stop for a moment, then let what little air he had in him out, shaking softly.
"That doesn't matter. I can fix it. Even if I don't risk changing myself, I can learn to control how I feel. It isn't about what he did to me, it's about the fact that he did it without permission. He had no right. Even if he meant well, or can't see me as a real person, there is no way in which he should be allowed to get away with this. I can't explain it. You probably don't understand what it's like, having all your power taken away from you, being forced to do things, having them done to you, and not being able to fight back at all. That's as bad as the pain, at least after it's over. That lack of being able to do anything. To feel trapped, and like you aren't a real person anymore."
There was a long and drawn ou
t silence, the man's too good looking and almost girlish face a mask suddenly. Not that he ever had a lot of emotional range. His black hair was short and well-kept and his clothing perfect, but for a moment there was a sense of him sitting there with very long hair, naked and covered with dirt. It was, Timon knew, the Ancient reliving something very dark and very strong, so much so it overwhelmed reality for a few moments, until he spoke, coming out of it.
"I might know a thing or two about that. The point here isn't to compare wounds, but to help you find a way to cope and move past what's happened. I was hoping that you might be able to help Patricia, and in doing that, aid yourself. The things that happened with you were different, but similar enough in a way that you should be able to understand each other. Gerent... He's stronger than you or Trice. His life trained him to be able to cope with hardships such as abuse and rape. It isn't a good thing, please don't think that I'm claiming that, but it's why I didn't suggest overly that he be the one linked with her. It would be best if you not force her away however. Not now. She needs stability and someone to care for her at least as much as you do. Perhaps more."
The words just hung in the air, not really touching him for a long time, but after a while Timon could see the sense in them.
"It isn't fair, is it? What happened to us."
"No, it really isn't. It never is, when someone forces their will on another. It's too common, and not always a rape of the soul, but, no, fair it isn't. The question then, is what you plan to do about it? Are you going to let yourself hate the world that allowed it to happen, or will you strive to make it a better place? Most people choose the first one, in case you're wondering. Then, they only have a few decades to deal with. Being selfish and bitter isn't a good long term survival strategy. It can be hard not to take that road however."
It seemed like there wasn't anything left to be said then. That and more things than he had words for. Would talking about pain and bad things truly help him? Or would good works and helping others fix things for him at all? For some reason he doubted that it would. Some things were just too dark for little gestures or platitudes to repair, weren't they?
The fact was... that there was nothing left for him to do. Except try to get past the things that had happened, and maybe, as his grandfather had suggested, help his wife with her problems. If she wanted him too.
The Count surprised him again, his face bland and unfeeling, a thing that Timon thought he might understand a little better now. Something very bad had happened to the man, a thing that was far worse than anything that he'd gone through at all. Loss and pain that would have broken his mind a hundred times over or more. The words he spoke weren't about that.
They probably never would be, because dumping that on other people wouldn't help them, would it? Or him.
"Countess Montblanc will need you too. Not in the same way, but she'll need protection from the society she has to rejoin. People won't easily forget or forgive her actions, standing against the King. If you stand with her, it might ease the transition." Standing he let his right hand float out, and gently patted Tim on the shoulder. Only a few times. "I hear that you've also made inroads with those still fighting against the rest of us? Not the best way of doing it, perhaps, for your own peace of mind, but a rather certain one. It won't hurt for them to see you as someone they can count on, I don't think. I had hopes that your sister would be the one to take that up, to be the bridge between the two factions, but I don't think that will survive the destruction of County Morris, do you? She's going to need you as well soon. Can I count on you to help her?"
Timon rolled his eyes, then made himself stop, knowing it was rude and the Count, while a jerk most of the time, deserved not to have him acting that way to his face. He'd save it for later, when the man was gone.
"Of course. She's my sister. I have to be there for her." It was the way he'd been raised after all.
"Tor's your brother." The man let himself smile gently, the words conversational in tone.
"I disowned him. He's a self-centered moron that thinks he should be allowed to do whatever he wants."
"Who else do you think can stand in front of him and tell him no? If you don't do it, who will? Tiera? She's busy with her own concerns and might be for a long while. Me? I'm barely able to pay attention to the things in my immediate vicinity anymore. It will be a while, perhaps hundreds of years, but I'm failing, Timon. It's why I need Tor, to take my place. That means I need you and your sisters to keep him honest, when I'm gone. Denno will help you. He's always been stronger than I have. That means you have to make it through this. I don't think I have time to start over. You, your brother and Tiera, possibly Taman too... You're all the hope we have left for Noram."
Tim snorted, not able to stop himself. It wasn't a happy sound, a sad and sarcastic thing all at once.
"People can get by on their own. They don't need a shepherd to watch over them. They aren't sheep."
"Perhaps they aren't. The last time we let them rule themselves it didn't go very well. Perhaps they deserve another chance? For now, I'm counting on you."
Timon stood up himself, feeling tired now and old, with guilt coming at him every time he stopped to think about anything that he'd ever done for too long. Maybe he'd learn to deal with it all. It didn't seem very likely at the moment, but if the Count was being honest, other people had it much worse than he did. How they lived with themselves he didn't know. Probably by being better than he was.
"Fine. I need the codes and documents on the Assassins Guild. I was going to steal them from you, but you can just hand them over instead. It will make it less dramatic for them, but save people some headaches. Your spy network too. You've been grooming Trice for that her entire life, haven't you? Trying to make the King think that it was all his idea like that. Clever, if a bit overdone. We aren't really ready to take over, but we'll need to become familiar with the operations and let the people involved know that we exist, so it won't be a shock to them later." Timon smiled and waited for a denial or perhaps a rebuke, but his grandfather just turned and walked away, speaking over his shoulder as he did.
"I'll have the information sent over. You have a new place I hear? Perhaps you'd have Bonita and I over for dinner, after you and Patricia finish your vacation, I mean?" It was pretty clear where the noble tradition of inviting oneself over came from.
"Sure. I'm pretty terrible at the whole vacation thing. Poor Trice. She deserves a real husband, not to be saddled with a child that can't do half of what she needs."
"Our whole family is horrible when it comes to relaxing. It's a valuable skill that I never really mastered myself. Denno, now he knows how to let things go and take it easy. You should take lessons from him on the topic. As to Trice... You may not be what she deserves, but you're exactly what she needs, or at least you can be." With that he walked away, not saying anything else.
Timon felt a bit better then, for some reason. It wasn't exactly perfect, since he probably needed to be the adult and apologize to his brother, even if he was in the wrong. There was also the matter of telling Trice that he wasn't going to abandon her every time he got angry or upset.
That had to come first, he decided, and made his way out to his craft, then got back to his home, half expecting her to be gone. He wasn't that surprised when he couldn't find her at first. She wasn't in her room or in the front of the house. A sad feeling ran through him, thinking that she'd decided that it would be better if she left. Off to live with Tor or something. Maybe her parents.
It was the smell of burning that got his attention then, as he descended the grand staircase, the billowing white cloud leading him toward the kitchen. The sound of coughing got him to run a bit, but she already had the blackened lumps off the stove top, her face looking sad until she saw him. Then she coughed again and pointed with a single and very accusing finger.
"Those cookies did not turn out well at all. I just left for a second. So much for impressing you with my wifely skills, huh? I was goi
ng to use them as a bribe, so that you wouldn't force Uncle Richard to annul the marriage. Is that done already?" She didn't seem weepy about it, but looked away, not making eye contact.
"We're still married and staying that way. We hardly talked about that at all. I was just having a moment. I guess it's going to happen for a while, but I'll try not to be a jerk about it, if I can. Count Lairdgren came and told me to stop being a little wimp and to start trying to be a real person again. I don't think we're getting out of this, so... I can show you how to make cookies? I know some tricks." He looked at what she had and smiled, since the lumps looked absolutely horrible. "For instance, did you know that they're baked in the oven, like a cake, not made on top of the stove, like a pancake?"
Trice smiled and then covered her mouth to cough again.
"Sure. I was just trying something new. I'm good that way."
She probably was. Smiling was still hard and he felt raw and emotional, but he could pretend to be there with her and make at least as much of an effort as she was.
"I love you." The words just popped out, but he realized, after a fashion, that he meant them. "I just want you to know that I wasn't trying to get out of the marriage because I don't like you or anything. I just want what's best for you. That probably isn't me."
She seemed happier then and after too long turned to look at him, and then moved in and held him for a long time.
Timon started to chuckle, which got her to make a bit of a face and then shake her head slowly.
"So I can't just move past the 'I love you' part of things without it being all awkward? I didn't think so. I really do like you. More than I thought I would. I think we can make this work, if you want to try?"
"Sure, let's do it."
That got him held tighter then, "about time, do you want to do that here or should we move to the bedroom?"
He laughed at her, and rolled his eyes.
"Neither, not yet. I did manage to get a bit of a present for you. While I was out. I mean, it isn't flowers or anything nice like that, but you might like it, in abstract."
