Somebody Else

It was chaos.

Everywhere he looked there were soldiers running about, evacuating teachers and students alike. The college was no longer a safe haven, but the last stronghold for the Mainlands. They had been pushed back from the Fae Forest and after escaping from the Highlands he'd traveled south to continue helping with the war effort.

He hadn't expected to see Arran here, foolishly enough, but when he spotted his son ushering some poor fool out he made his way over to the young man quickly. “Arran!” he called out as someone cut him off by walking in his path. Baelfire paused a moment to gather himself then continued until he was standing before the boy... no... Arran was no longer his boy, but a man and one that he hardly seemed to know anymore. He had been so excited to join the Army that Baelfire had overlooked his zealous nature and now it was too late to get him out of here.

Or was it?

Both Gwydion and Orlaith had relayed what Arran had done at the protests and to think his son would attack his own brother and sister was a travesty he could not comprehend. He had wanted to talk to him about it but he had not had the chance and Arran had not returned home since the protests, likely holing up in the barracks back in Yorkshire.

“Arran, why are you here? You shouldn't be here. You need to go home...” he practically begged. Another wolf bustled past him, brushing against his side and he bristled, turning his head to glare at the unknown stranger. They scurried off quickly enough and his attention returned back to his son. His gaze softened and he sighed. “Please, son.”


“Baelfire speaking”

A roll of his shoulders and a grumble echoing from his throat, the young man would urge a stubborn old professor out from his little makeshift room full of things he didn’t wholly understand. Medicine wasn’t his specialty, far from it as the glam of gore was what coated him all along his powdery white frame kissed in a dusting of cinnamon. His lips parted, getting more and more frustrated with the elder but he held back his ire, using only his chest to bump the man out of the crumbling walls he called home so it may be taken over by those of the warfront. They didn’t need pointless casualties of civilians, especially when the draft had dampened the view of the King, the true King. His ears pinned as the professor protested but with lack of physical retaliation, his own wouldn’t rise as he simply nudged the man’s cheek with his nose. Eventually the man would cave and do as he asked with no more resistance, though he was hardly expecting this to be the end of this little meaningly disagreement. “This is for your safety, sir,” he stated with a gruff huff as the weight against his chest finally gave way.

Just as the two were almost out of the building his name would break his steps from moving forward for only a moment, feeling like perhaps he had misheard it. It wouldn’t be long until he was face first with the owner just as the professor had been freed to another soldier to take to a safe haven away from the College. The markingless pelt would hold his attention, offering only a side glance with an increased tenseness poised in his shoulders as he looked at that singular matching socket, having long not seen a relative in the flesh. They had all turned into criminals, and it was disgusted to think he even shared the same blood with any of them.

“Father,” his voice was cool with only a chip of affection tangled within, more affection than he held for the rest. His head would cant at the question, causing his head to turn away for a moment, taking in the scene around them and the bustling bodies that kept trying to keep them apart. His lip rolled just a little in annoyance as he saw the man he had just escorted out, starting to give others trouble now. Should he just let the man lose his head if he was so adamant about it. “I would like to think the same reason you are, to serve Adamh so Jacob doesn’t ruin what has been created. To keep those that need protection, safe from the folly of criminals and the mad,” he answered dryly but with a clear pride.

Slowly his head would slowly return toward his father when he heard the plead. “To leave is to commit treason, you know that as well as I do. I do hope you weren’t the one that freed those siblings of mine and have not been corrupted by their sins,” he held the emerald gaze, waiting for admission perhaps or denial. He hoped for denial.

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"Father," he would say, the word dripping from his tongue so strangely. Baelfire remembered the days well when he was but a child calling him a different title but now he was more formal, more rigid. The boy had always been a bit more so than his other two children but the Army seemed to have hardened him further. “I would like to think the same reason you are, to serve Adamh so Jacob doesn’t ruin what has been created. To keep those that need protection, safe from the folly of criminals and the mad.” At this, Baelfire's lips pursed. He was being hypocritical, he supposed, when it came down to it but he wanted what was best for his son and that was his safety above all. He was still too young for all of this. He didn't belong here, in the midst of war.

“To leave is to commit treason, you know that as well as I do. I do hope you weren’t the one that freed those siblings of mine and have not been corrupted by their sins,” he said, and Bae's ears titled back. If he had been able to, he'd have freed them all but before he could someone else had done it for him. Sorcha had waited out her sentence but he'd visited her daily and made sure she was more comfortable than the rest. It was the least he could do. “No, that was not my doing.” he told the boy. “They didn't deserve to be in there in the first place.” he added, his voice rougher than before. Justice has not been served that day, in his mind. It had only been cruelty.


“Baelfire speaking”

In some ways he expected his father to be gushing with parental emotions, swaddling him like a baby or smiling ear to ear to see he had been alright this time. Neither option would transpire and it felt off to him, as if a current had changed direction behind that lone eye. He could contemplate what had changed in the man he knew as his father, where the ever enveloping warmth had gone but maybe it was for the best that he was no longer so attached. Even if he wasn't the overbearing loving father he always knew, at least there was one thing to be said, he still at least cared based on everything being said. He couldn’t despise him for that. They were both on duty anyway, it would be inappropriate to go beyond a cordial display since family matters were not for the workplace. Still there was a small pit that craved that bit of affection he used to get so readily from his hero.

His hero. How times had changed now, not so sure if he held that place so easily anymore but no one had yet to replace either. It had been his dream and to hear him want him to quit everything he had aspired to be shut down by the very man that gave him those aspirations, it would cause his head to tilt up a little more when he was told he was apparently the one in the wrong. His gaze would narrow a little at this but he would not bear his teeth as much as impulse twitched at his lip.

“Good. At least someone else in the family is sensible,” he would address first and foremost, glad to hear his father had not broken the law to save them before the grimmer side of things would be touched upon. “They broke laws by partaking in a violent riot at the King’s doorstep. They are lucky the King was kind by giving them such a gentle timeout for something that would normally carry a death penalty. There was no reason for them to even be in the Mainlands. So as I see it, this had been a plan of theirs from the start. Why else would they be there at such a critical time?” he sighed, releasing the anger before it could take hold of him.

Looking away from his father, he would peer toward nothing in particular, watching as more and more were removed from the soon to be battlefield. “Can you really condone such transgressions of mediated violence? We were taught by mother that violence wasn’t the answer had they followed her guidance and not yours. A protest should never have gone the way that one had and yet they were in the very center of it,” he asked, gaze soft but stiff, knowing his own answer.

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Baelfire did not know when he son had become so... separated from his family. It was not the way he had been raised and perhaps Sorcha had been right when she'd said the Army would corrupt him. He had not wanted to believe her but here he was, condemning his brother and sister for violent protests and believing they were essentially the cause of the violence or at least that they were a part in it. “I don't believe they were in on the plan to start the violence. " he said with a shake of his head. There was no way Orlaith or Gwydion would be a part of such a thing. He just couldn't believe it. “They got caught up in it like the rest of the peaceful protesters. It shouldn't have gotten out of control but someone planted that seed and it grew.” Who? He did not know. Nobody did. That was why they had all be punished for the crime.

“Violence isn't the answer, we were there to keep the peace and we failed.” he said sadly. He had tried to keep the protesters in line without using lethal force but he knew others hadn't. It was those wolves that made the rest of them look bad. It wasn't a hard thing to do when things got out of control like they had that day.


“Baelfire speaking”

His eyes would narrow as it seemed they were at the crossroads of what to believe and neither of his siblings were here to defend themselves one way or the other. As much as he wanted to believe what his father said to be true, her tilted his head up to make every scar he had obtained from his sister visible. “These were all from Orlaith. If she was innocent, she should have run or submitted. She chose to show herself as nothing more than another instigator that was too strung up on her high horse to do the right thing,” he huffed, keeping every ounce of hostility at bay that wanted to catch at his vocal cords. He wasn’t about to be seen as the cruel one when he had only been doing his job. The scars that decorated his muzzle and throat were proof enough, in his mind, that she was just as wrong as he was, if he was truly wrong at all.

“We were keeping the peace; we were the ones that were risking our lives keeping the town protected from them. Do you see yourself as the villain, or your father before you?” he asked with a sharp curious gaze. Was this only being aimed at him or to his own chest? It sure felt like it was a dagger being twisted and jabbed toward his heart to only make him feel bad about any of this and it brought forth one more question that made him let out a sigh. “Have you lost hope in our King and our Kingdom?”

He could understand if his father felt too old now to carry on the duty, he started but he was starting to think that wasn't truly the case in this moment. His loyalties were wavering.

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As Arran showed him his scars, claiming they were from Orlaith, Baelfire could only stare in disbelief as his stomach churned angrily. He closed his eyes and shook his head, not understanding what had driven a wedge so far between siblings that they could come to harm one another so easily. Was he just blind, or stupid? He had thought they were closer than that but it was clear he was wrong. It made him think of his own long lost brother and he wondered now just where Beltane was, and if he was safe among all this chaos.

He looked at Arran again when he was asked whether he saw himself as the villain in this story and the thought almost brought tears to his eyes. He hated to admit it, but he did feel like he was slowly slipping into a world he did not want to be a part of and it was entirely unwilling. Every choice he had to make for the sake of his job and his country went against half of his family and it felt wrong.

Finally, his son asked him another heavy question and after a long pause, Baelfire would eventually answer. “I don't know.” he said plainly. He felt defeated and didn't know what else to say but in truth his loyalty was wavering.

And that felt wrong too.

In this situation, he could not win, he realized. He would have to give up something and that was more than likely going to be the job he loved and had pursued out of familial ties. “I don't want to lose anyone,” he admitted, his voice sounding strained. He didn't want to lose his wife, or Orlaith and Gwydion but he also didn't want to lose Arran.

He felt like no matter what he chose, he'd be losing someone in the end.


“Baelfire speaking”

He could see his father’s position crashing down with each word that came out of his mouth, watching him wilt so easily with logic but maybe it was more than that. Maybe he just didn’t wish to argue with his son just as he didn’t wish to hold his father on a bad side that couldn’t be healed. Emeralds found emeralds, searching his eyes for a long moment, trying to find some kind of resolve in there somewhere, but came up empty. His brows twitched, not liking the uncertainty that parted those pale lips he once worshiped as his hero. Those beliefs that his father was perfect, that he was everything he wanted to be was slowly crumbling. They say don’t ever meet your heroes but what if your hero was your own father, there from the beginning of life? His ears drew down to the sides, pensive in such thoughts, nearly allowing them to consume him in contemplation. He didn’t want to give up on the man just yet, he wanted there to be a glimpse of whom he once knew to shine past.

Sucking in a breath at the final set of words, he glowered for a few moments, glancing away from those eyes he was searching within seconds prior. “Then stay your path. Stay the man you have always been and never grow to be an enemy. Be the one I had aspired to be,” he said with a set opinion of his own, meeting his face once more with that hardened steel. There was some warmth there, no matter how small it was, though it would become a little more obvious when he took a step toward the ice coat, pressing the bridge of his nose under the gentle flesh of his father’s chin in a respectful way while providing him with affection he didn’t often readily show to everyone. It was a hug but not one that would be seen as embarrassing or too intimate, just one of a child showing his place to his father.

He would gently tip his nose up to bop his father’s chin up higher before drawing his head away to look at him for a moment, becoming a bit more rigid as he readied his legs to shuffle away. “Now isn’t the time for this kind of discussion, it’s time we get back to work. We are removing those not meant for war from this place. I’m sure no matter where either of us stand now, we want the innocent far from bloodshed,” he commanded firmly, taking no more time to talk as he trotted away toward the man that was still giving his comrades issues, ready to do what was needed to ensure his job was completed.

-arran exits-

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He almost expected Arran to walk away from him then and there, but he didn't. He told him to stay his path and remain an inspiration but could he do that? Solemnly, he looked down. He could... at least for now.

He felt his son's muzzle tip his chin up and he looked up at stare into Arran's emerald eyes. They mirrored one another, it was just his own face was older and showing more signs of age.

It would seem their conversation would shift to that of work and Baelfire nodded agreeably. “You're right,” he said. Now was not the time, nor the place, to discuss wavering loyalties among everything else. He would stay true to the cause until the end but when that end came he knew what his next step would be. Hopefully that would not cause a rift between himself and his eldest son. But he could not remain dedicated to the crown and to Sorcha and his family; it just wasn't in the cards and sooner or later he'd be forced to choose so he decided that when the war was over he'd choose for himself.

-exit baelfire-

“Baelfire speaking”