He had come to terms that his former life was over. The love of Doe had been a difficult mangle of varying degrees of misfortune. It is probably hereditary, in fact, considering the misfortunes of their son. That she had died, or he had thought she had, had left him only with a son who hated him and a sense of nothingness that drove him to survive some other way.

He would have done all manner of things to repent, but alas, his son’s Alpha would not hear of it and so he was relegated out to the companionship of his brothers - where he discovered the woman he was now mated to.

He did not expect forgiveness. He was destined for to be the paragon of disappointment, it seemed, no matter what paths he chose. And now that his life felt as soft as fog - he is sure he will die that way. Seamus had encouraged him, had insisted he tell Taliesin the story - the reason that Fenrir had gone with Doe - and it was as for naught as his efforts to fight his age and the brutality of his long life.

He would wish for better odds, but he was never the fighting brother. He had been the katana to the fantastic four, the silent but premium blade. He was the one who walked softest and spoke softest. So unlike Alexander and far more like Arthfael, if he was honest with himself.

As he is walking, however, fate is with him. Fate that tells the axis of the world to shift and turn now leads Taliesin straight into his path and Fenrir seems truly taken aback as he breaks past undergrowth and is face to face with the very son for whom he laments. “Taliesin.”

His voice is old, still ghostly in it’s quality but now weaker and more near a whisper than a voice at all. The rush of air from his mouth to his lungs ceases it’s steady in-out flow and he stares, pale green eyes locked on the visage that sometimes now greeted him cruelly in his nightmares. He had been sure he would die without seeing this child of his again - so sure that he was destined to die in the mire of his choice between imprints wanderlust and child’s future.