CONTENT WARNING: familial issues, violence, discussion of trauma, and a mild sexual reference. Also a pretty depressing revelation at the end.
Róisín
It was a full moon last night. I said some things to Mother that I did not mean, and I will apologise tomorrow. It get so angry on full moons, and I find it hard to calm down. The trouble is, Father gets the same way, so he tends to stay out of the way so he doesn't argue with Mother
I think about Father. I still haven't seen him in the form of a wolf. I wouldn't be scared. I wonder what he looks like? It scares me to think I, too, when I'm older, will become a wolf upon the full moon. I worry about what I might do, if I might hurt someone. Father says he'll teach me everything, someday.
I don't like praying to the Watcher alone. I miss Father. He's only gone for a few more days, but I miss having him here. Mother has been taking me out for walks, and I should be seeing Oskar soon. I haven't seen him for a long time. I hope he's okay.
Dear Watcher, I don't ask for much. I just want my family to be happy. Mother, Father, Grandpa Oskar and Uncle Eli. Please make sure they are happy...but maybe a new toy from Uncle Eli would be nice too. And maybe to make sure people in Henford have enough food and aren't sick...
Mother tries to explain in a lighter way what's been happening, but I know what's happening. Witches are being killed. Mother tells me to never play with magic outside unless she or Father tell me it's safe. What's so bad about magic? Father and I have healing magic. Don't people want that? Don't people want us to help them with our magic? I don't entirely understand. I hope that one day I can use magic whenever I want, once I learn more about spells.
Reynold
Someone enters the Peteran monastery. I only have a few more days of this, and then it's time for fun, food and celebration, and not sitting here in the lonesome dark doing nothing trying to find ways to make people feel better about the long-dead. It's my job to always know what to say, but I often don't.
The man who enters speaks in a gruff, nostalgic voice. At first, I don't recognise it, but it's not until he finishes speaking that I realise exactly who it is. He's been lighting candles for a while.
"For all of my brothers and sisters lost during the Bloodmoon-"
"-And one for Blythe."
His voice and his words tear through my chest. I didn't expect him to still be alive after all of this time, but what a way to find out the fate of my mother. I had expected them both to be dead, but it still pains me to know for definite that I will never see Mother again. I pray it was a painless passing, but she was one of the moon-shackled. Of course it wasn't. My chest fills with rage, dread, and a longing to return to the past and repeat everything with what I know now. Then again, I suppose we all feel like that, and Peterans ought to know not to dwell on the impossible.
"Father."
He turns his head towards me, his cloak obscuring all but an eye.
"Father." His reply is soft with pride, a kind of pride in me he rarely showed.
I try to hold in my anger. It won't help. I need to give him a second chance. It's the only way I can truly be the best father I can be to Róisín, as well as possibly securing an ally against the witch-hunts. For once, Oskar butting in has actually done some good, though I dread to think what Oskar's reaction was when he'd found him.
As I approach him, his eyebrows slowly raise. "Goodness, look at you. You've matured so much. An abbot of the Peteran monastery, and at such a young age. It seems like just yesterday I had you cradled in my-"
"Don't tell me you're proud of me," I interject. "You've never once said you were proud of either of us- and I'm certainly not proud of you for everything you've done."
He turns his gaze toward the floor. It seems he expected something of a cold welcome back from me. He puts a hand on his head, and gives me a dark look.
"Oskar already gave me his share of the ire," he replies, his voice tipped with self-pity. "I should have been a better father. I should have taught you better."
"Never mind that for now. What you did to me is nothing compared to what you did to Clem. To what we did to Clem." I can't stop the emerging tears. "I got away with everything, and all Clem was told to do was to deal with it and shut up, and I did nothing for her growing up. She ended up on the receiving end of my lack of experience with the wolf. I've spent years trying to make it up to her for the way I treated her- for what I did to her-"
"Reynold, please...Oskar said something about you and-"
"I almost killed her, Father," I explain. His eyes widen, both in shock and in guilt, the parental kind of guilt, the diluted, half-honest kind. "We argued about the way she was treated. It became heated fairly quickly. then I didn't remember anything until I came to with her bloodied on the floor. She's only alive because I healed her with lunar magic, and because the Peteran abbess let me in here when I ran to her for help with Clem. That's how I ended up here."
"Mother Joyce was a kind and understanding woman. She gave me a second chance despite my mistakes. That's why I'm offfering you the same, but if Clem doesn't want to see you again, then that's up to her."
Years' worth of pain resurfaces. I keep thinking I've either buried it or healed from it, but I haven't done either successfully.
"Reynold, you have no idea how much I've-"
"I don't want to hear your excuses, Alistair-"
And there it is. The werewolf's rage comes back to him. He could go from calm to seething within seconds. That hasn't changed.
"You tell me you want to give me a second chance, and then you interrupt me every time I try to make a point? I spent years wondering where you both were! I searched everywhere for you two for two years! Both myself and your mother! I spent countless years thinking you were both-"
"I knew it was you I've seen skulking around."
The two of us freeze. We were so engrossed in the argument that I hadn't spotted Clem. Her eyes move between me and our father, furious at us both.
She always covers up her scars most of the time. Why not now? Every time I see them, my breath catches in my throat at the horror of what must have happened back then. I don't want to believe that I really did that to her...
Before I can try and talk to her, she pounces for Father, tackling him to the ground with surprising strength and holding her sword to his throat. He doesn't bother to fight her back, only trying to force the blade away from him.
"Clem! Put the sword down!"
"Do you have any idea what kind of a fucking mess you've made?" she screams, withdrawing the blade from his throat and moving it closer again to taunt him. "The blood is on your hands as much as it is on my brother's- only he's tried to make amends instead of hiding out for the rest of his life in the middle of nowhere, sulking to himself!"
Father doesn't reply, staring in horror at all of her scars. The physical scars only touch the surface of what I did to her- what we did to her.
"Clem-"
"What's he doing here, Reynold? Were you so desperate for him back even after everything he put us through?"
"Clem, please, just get off him. I'm trying to sort something out."
The glare she gives me isn't one I've seen for years.
Clem helps him to his feet, and I sit them both down in the chair and let them both have their say. Hopefully we can do this without anyone getting stabbed, bitten, or clawed to pieces. There's a long pause before anyone starts talking.
"Clementia...I owed you better. I focused more on Reynold than I did on you, and every time you rightfully spoke up, I told you to just deal with it."
"Congratulations, then," Clem spits. "You're just like every other father from Henford."
"I don't care how much self-reflection you've been doing and how many apologies you want to give me. You and Blythe and Reynold treated me like I was nothing. You took out all of the full moon's anger on me and told me I wouldn't understand. You were all allowed to be angry and I wasn't. Reynold has at least tried to change, and has done well. Meanwhile, you gave up looking for us and stayed wallowing in your own self-pity in Lunvik."
Alistair side-eyes me, but I nod to him. Clem deserves her say, regardless of how blunt and regardless of what I think of what she's saying.
"I didn't give up, Clem. I never gave up on you both-"
"You did."
Clem's stoic front begins to wear down.
"It doesn't matter now. I'm thirty. I don't need you to be my father anymore. Shepherd Julian did what he could to be a father figure to me."
"Shepherd? You don't mean-"
"Yes, a Jacoban shepherd. I was a High Shepherdess until recently. There is no kind Watcher. If there was, neither me or Reynold would have ended up in the situation we were in. None of this would have happened if you'd have taught him properly. You owe him more than just an apology."
Until recently? What happened?
"I think that's enough," I say to them, and I swap over with Clem. I'm sure Father has plenty to say to me, and it only seems fair I let him have his say without any interruption.
"Clementia is right. I didn't teach you as much as I should have because I didn't want you to become like me. I didn't want you to ever have to deal with the curse of the wolf, but all I did was leave you with a great power and no way to properly control it. I'm deeply sorry, Reynold- both to you and your sister."
"I can't make that same mistake, Father. All I've had to go off of is learned experience and one old book I found in the monastery's library. I want Róisín to know everything she can about her power."
Alistair coughs in his throat and gives me a solemn nod. "I will, son. I promise."
"Wonderful," Clem interrupts. "Now if you don't mind, I want a moment alone with my brother."
Alistair leaves without another word, and Clem's face is coloured with fury.
"Why is Alistair back in Henford?!"
If anything, I feel worse for Clem. It wasn't that I didn't think about Clem's reaction. It was that me knowing more about my own heritage would benefit my daughter. I can't take the risk of having her repeat the same mistake I made. If that meant Clem becoming enraged at me, then so be it.
"A friend of mine knew him from back in the war and went back to see if he was still alive, and then he came back to Henford with him. When he asked me if I'd ever want to see Father again, I said I would."
"After all he did to us? To you? You want to give him a second chance? And don't give me any of that 'turn a dark heart towards the light' Peteran ramble...He knew what he was doing. Someone like him isn't going to be turned towards the light. You're wasting your time!"
"I'm doing this for my daughter more than anything, Clem."
"You've been a better father to her than Alistair ever was to us! You don't need his help!"
I'm never going to get through to her about this, so I stop replying to her entirely until she walks out. Before she leaves, the look she gives me is enough. She thinks I've betrayed her, doesn't she?
* * *
I hear familiar voices outside of the door, and this time, they're the good kind of familiar.
Róisín runs up to me and hugs my leg, not letting go.
"Father!" she squeals. "I missed you so much! Mother and I have been busy."
"I missed you too," I reply, holding her close. Every time I have her in my arms, I can feel the underlying wolf resurfacing. I won't let anything happen to her. The witch-hunts seem to be burgeoning again lately, but it seems everyone still thinks they're dealt with. Trouble is, for how long?
"Come on, come home now, Father! We miss you!"
"Be patient," I reply, playfully. "Just a couple more days and you and your mother get to join in on the celebrations."
Róisín lights the last candle, saying she's lit it for the witches and all the sick people who won't make the winter. She's eight years old, and this is what's on her mind...and yet she just gets back to her usual cheeky self straight after. Children are much stronger than us. They take everything in their stride.
Áine chuckles to herself, and gives me a knowing look. Sometimes I wish she couldn't read me like a book.
"Go on- what's troubling you?"
"To put a long story short, my father returned from Lunvik. I'm going to have to try and give him a second chance, for our daughter's sake. I want her to know everything that I didn't when I was her age."
"You need to stop doubting yourself so much," she replies, in a whispery voice. "You're an amazing father. She loves you to pieces."
Those eyes are giving me thoughts no priest should ever have under the roof of the monastery...It's been a while, hasn't it? Only a few more days, at least. Áine wraps her arms around me, and a sorrowful expression crosses her face.
"She's been worrying about the witches. She saw a witchfinder the other night through the window when she woke from sleep, and she keeps asking me about them."
Growing up and realising that, even at your tender age, grown adults wouldn't have blinked before running a sword through you- that was no way for anyone to live, but certainly not a child.
"I promise I'll do everything I can, Áine."
The constant underlying self-doubt of parenthood rears its ugly head once again. No matter how prepared Áine and I are for what might come, there's always the nagging feeling that I'll do something wrong. I hold Áine tightly in my arms, and she's warm to my touch. Áine's warmth forces the tears from my eyes again, and I turn myself slightly so Róisín can't see.
Whether it's my father, my sister, my daughter, my partner...I wish we could all just exist happily.
* * *
Owen
I give my father little choice in this meeting. I call him into our laboratory, but despite my harsh tone, he doesn't seem fazed or displaced by it at all. Has he been expecting me to speak up, I wonder? I ignore the part of me that is telling me I shouldn't be doing this, that I shouldn't be so cruel to my father. He's been cruel enough, and I cannot let that slide any longer.
"I've been through your alchemical notes-"
His good eye narrows.
"-and you spent four years working on a cure for vampirism, without my knowledge, alongside the Strong bloodline?!"
He chuckles in his throat. Does my ire mean nothing to him? Most likely, but that doesn't mean I can let him off the hook.
"Perhaps you should keep your nose out of others' property, Owen. It's bad enough that 'survival of the fittest' is now a dead concept in Henford thanks to your sudden desperation to be a philanthropist."
"I don't care. You can make accusations at me all you like, but you leave Eli be. You know that Oskar is an important figure to Eli, and I know this is just as much getting back at him as it is as his father."
I half-expect him to correct me there until I realise how little he cares about Eli. He never has cared about Eli. I should have noticed when I were younger, instead of soaking up my father's false praise.
I look away, not wanting him to see the fury across my face. "I understand why you would despise Oskar, but the fact that you've done this to Eli is inexcusable. Regardless of what he did to you, he's been more of a father figure than you ever have to him. Why even go this far, anyhow? Even without vampirism, an ex-soldier is going to still plough through every witchfinder Lord Volpe throws at him for you."
He's far too calm. There's definitely something else up his sleeve, and he'd best spit it out.
"The strong bloodline weren't entirely sure how a cure would affect a vampire, but I have my own theory. After some time, I may not have to send another witchfinder at all, Owen."
“I see. And why is this?"
He stretches his back, and a sick pride rises on his lips.
"Let's say that vampirism is less of an override of someone's humanity, and more a 'pause' on it. Now, let's take into account that, just before he was turned, Oskar was possibly hours away from dying of a terminal illness...an illness that still, to this day, despite all efforts across the globe, is still incurable."
My voice catches in my throat. I can't bear to think of it. Eli...
"That's no less cruel than what he did to you."
"No, you're correct. It's not less cruel. It's far more cruel. He ruined my life, so I'll ruin his in return. It's what he deserves."
"You bastard. You're no better than Oskar to retaliate like this. You're a physician! An alchemist! You're supposed to heal people!"
His smug smile just grows, almost monstrous.
"You owe an explanation to Oskar about this. I don't care how much you hate him. I don't care if he tries to finish you off! You owe it to him!"
I don't expect him to agree straight away, but he gazes down towards the flooring and admits that he does.
"I shall. I'll have to give it some time, but if I write a letter, you can go and post it for me. Won't you, my son?"
I spit at him and walk away. I should probably tell Eli about this, but I can't. Father's ramblings are purely theory, and if I'm wrong, he'll be furious if I've told him his father is dying when he isn't. But if Samuel is right, and I haven't told Eli...There's no way to do this in the right way. I don't know if I want to post that letter at all...Perhaps I ought to wait and see if Oskar comes to me first.