All of this, every bit of it, feels like a charade to me. I have never, in any part of my life, pretended to have a happy family. I was a problem for my father, who was jealous of me for existing even though it was his fault I existed at all, and I was a problem for my mother, who believed I was a harbinger of catastrophe. I was doomed from the start, and everything I had accomplished, or enjoyed, or fought for in my life, was in spite of them.

Even this.

Ryvar… not that it matters. The sass is a welcome break from the sense of vulnerability I feel, and I let the wolfish grin return to my lips, my tail twitching back and forth like clockwork as I answer. "Oh I think it matters plenty, darling. After all, thanks to your mother we're bound to get more acquainted." And because I sense it might needle her more, I speak up again, although the thought of what I propose does not fill me with anything but anxious dread. "Have to get in all that daddy-daughter time before you grow up."

Khar'pern claims the girl takes after me and I snort softly. Perhaps she does, but she is just as much Khar'pern as anything. All fire and defiance and righteousness. The leggy colt draws my attention next and my gaze shifts to him, expecting that I shall be able to continue wielding my sarcasm as a shield. I had feared - for a moment - that the "tenderness" of this situation would be my undoing, but Ryvar's attitude had reminded me of myself and made me feel like I was back on even footing.

Only for Solas to shake me to my core.

Words bubble out of him so fast I have to work to keep up, my ears twitching forward as he happily addresses me, portraying an eagerness to see me that I do not know what to do with. Others have been happy to see me, too, in various situations… but always conditionally. Always guardedly. Always with competing measures of disappointment and joy. There is no disappointment in my son. He seems to bear none of the indoctrination of my status as dangerous, as a threat, as a villain, as a tool.

Instead, he looks at me almost as if I am his hero, and I have utterly no idea what to do with that.

My ears swivel forward and then back, operating of their own accord as I struggle to control the rogue wave of nameless emotion that sweeps over me. I blow out a breath, and force a mask to my face to hide the confusion on it before starting to address the boy's questions. "Yes I am - I do live in a swamp." Or did, anyway. "And I uh-" Khar'pern had wanted me to take him to the Lagoon, but I was flustered by the scenario and out of my comfort zone so far that as my gaze swept up to Khar'pern, I am certain they read almost as a plea for help.

"I don't think she wants to go," I finished lamely, swallowing hard and forcing my disarrayed self back together. I don't know what the hell just happened to me, but I certainly didn't like it. My shoulder shivered as if a fly had landed on it, as if I could just brush off this feeling. "But yeah, you can come." For one brief moment, the idea of my son being in the Lagoon - of this bright, pure soul becoming something as dark as Garmr or Lucifer - unsettles me. I don't know why. I have stood by Garmr since the beginning and don't intend to waver now, and I have sired other sons and gladly recruited them. But I don't want Solas to become like us.

Like me.

My whole body shakes suddenly as if after a roll and I use the motion and distraction to place a grin on my lips that does not match the dark, chaotic look in my eyes. "It's a lot warmer than these old Peaks." I cast a glance toward Khar'pern, and just as soon as my pathetic look had appeared earlier, I replaced it with my signature sass. "Your mom seemed to enjoy it well enough, she keeps coming back to visit, after all." Granted, battles weren't exactly visits, but they gave me a chance to press my lips to her skin and so as far as I was concerned, they counted.

Stallion - Young Adult - 15.2 - Brown Overo