n_wilkinson (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
n_wilkinson) wrote2010-05-31 10:28 am
n_wilkinson) wrote2010-05-31 10:28 am
Entry tags:
[Requiem of Janus] Sins of the Father
Title: Sins of the Father
Universe: The Requiem of Janus. Canon
Characters: Alfred Deham, mentions of others
Rating: G
Description: His intentions had been the best, even as Alfred knows he’ll be reviled for them.
He remembers the first time Raimele told him about his vision. How in twenty years time, someone would try to destroy Thessalia for their own vain attempt at tyranny.
Alfred Deham remembers how each word had stirred something furious and terrified within him, how he had vowed to do whatever it took to ensure that his country would not fade.
But most of all, he remembers the story of a boy.
Raimele, his blue eyes empty of sight, had somehow looked straight at Alfred when he told the advisor of the child who would suffer the most. It was Raimele who foretold of Janus' existence, long before Janus had ever been born.
And it was Raimele who described a young boy with ice-blue eyes and a sullen disposition, always lonely, and doomed to die young. Even younger than Raimele himself who was only in his early thirties. Whose power would be the strongest any of them had seen in decades, centuries even.
Alfred remembers the emotion in Raimele's voice, how Raimele's fingers had trembled as he recalled the terrors Janus would suffer.
Visions more desperate and painful than Raimele's. Betrayal. A power too strong for his human body to control. A power that would eventually consume him in the end. He would have no life, no future. So long as Janus served the people, so long as he heeded Sybaris' commands, he would never live.
And Alfred remembers the very moment when Raimele had clasped his hand, begging that Alfred take the boy as his own. Alfred had never wanted children. Neither had his wife. They were content with each other, and Julia had several nieces and nephews he could name heir if Alfred wanted. Or perhaps she only ever agreed with him because Julia could not have children of her own.
Alfred will never know because he will never ask. He feels that he understands his wife and the emotions they share for each other. Just as much as Julia understands him. She never rejected Janus’ presence, and Alfred’s heart had always warmed to see how quickly Janus latched on to Julia. He refused to warm to Alfred, but at least, he would open to Julia.
Little by little, Alfred remembers feeling the locks and chains around his heart slip open. Where there had always been only Julia, a blue-eyed, sullen child was now making a nest inside Alfred’s dusty caverns. Janus has always been different, even as a child. Rarely noisy, content to read or sit quietly, but with the curious habit of asking difficult questions. He watches Alfred sometimes and Alfred is so sure that Janus sees with more than just his eyes. It is, often times, a tad disquieting, but Alfred lets those notions roll over him.
He doesn’t regret heeding Raimele’s vision and agreeing to take Janus. Alfred knows that if he had denied Janus, the future would have changed, altered in some way that might then be hidden from Raimele’s sight. He sometimes wonders what would have happened if Janus had been left to wither away in that orphanage.
If Janus would have been adopted by another family, perhaps one who saw his gifts as a means to make coin.
If Janus would have remained at the orphanage until he came of age, cast alone in the world, with a grudge and the power to see himself avenged for an imagined wrong.
If Janus would have been killed by the children or nearby adults, always afraid of a power that couldn’t be completely understood.
Alfred wonders these things. He wonders if Thessalia might have been better served if Janus had never taken Sybaris’ temple after all. He wonders if he made the biggest mistake in allowing Raimele’s future to unfold exactly as Raimele had predicted. And sometimes, even such a traitorous thought as wondering if Janus’ death would have saved everyone.
Until he looks into those blue eyes and realizes he doesn’t care. Thessalia could crack, crumble, ruin and Alfred would sooner stab himself than allow Janus to die. And that, right there, is where Alfred betrayed everything. Everyone. His own ideals. His loyalty to the monarchy. Raimele’s visions. Everything.
It is the hardest decision Alfred has ever made, knowing the destiny that this child must endure, and wanting so desperately to protect him. In such a short time, Janus has clambered inside the caverns of Alfred's heart. He wants nothing more than to shield Janus from that terrible future, to lock him away from all that pain and heartache. They are thoughts of a true father, and not just a temporary one.
His country or his son?
Alfred knows he made his choice long ago, but for the first time, he finds himself faltering. Looking at the boy quietly reading beneath his favorite tree, unaware of the life fate has in store for him, Alfred wavers.
“You will do what you think is best,” Julia has said to him, always supportive, trusting in his decision. She will stand by his side.
Alfred hopes that Janus will not hate him for it. He tells himself that is partly for Janus' sake as well. The boy needs training in the arts if he is to survive them. And acquiring training means someone will eventually notice his skills. At that point, it will be impossible to drag Janus from the arms of theocracy. Alfred can only hope to rescue Janus in the end, when the future has run its course.
Alfred hates himself for this decision, knowing what awaits Janus. Blood and pain and terror and strife. Suffering upon suffering.
But the other possibility is so much worse. Death, and only death. Wasting away from the inside like a devouring sickness. Janus white-haired and fragile, wrinkled and empty, at the ripe old age of forty years old. Nothing more than a pawn for Frejya’s madness. Or worse, nothing more than a shallow husk since his magick had burned the rest.
Alfred wants to see his son live. He wants to see Janus smile, to watch those creased lines of worry smooth out of Janus’ forehead. He doesn’t want his son to be burdened with the sins and troubles of Thessalia. He wants Janus to belong to himself, magickal gift bedamned. Blessing of the goddess bedamned, and no, Alfred doesn’t care that his thought are blasphemous.
Watching as Janus turns another page in his book, the wind quietly rustling his dark hair, Alfred feels a stirring of affection. His son would suffer, but win his freedom in the end. He would scorn Alfred for it, would loathe and despise him. Would be happy if Alfred died a messy, bloody death. But Janus would be free.
Alfred sighs, and turns away, prepared to make his son hate him. And hopes that the sight of Janus’ smile – truly happy – would be enough to ease Alfred’s guilt in the end.
Only ten more days until The Requiem of Janus is released!
Universe: The Requiem of Janus. Canon
Characters: Alfred Deham, mentions of others
Rating: G
Description: His intentions had been the best, even as Alfred knows he’ll be reviled for them.
He remembers the first time Raimele told him about his vision. How in twenty years time, someone would try to destroy Thessalia for their own vain attempt at tyranny.
Alfred Deham remembers how each word had stirred something furious and terrified within him, how he had vowed to do whatever it took to ensure that his country would not fade.
But most of all, he remembers the story of a boy.
Raimele, his blue eyes empty of sight, had somehow looked straight at Alfred when he told the advisor of the child who would suffer the most. It was Raimele who foretold of Janus' existence, long before Janus had ever been born.
And it was Raimele who described a young boy with ice-blue eyes and a sullen disposition, always lonely, and doomed to die young. Even younger than Raimele himself who was only in his early thirties. Whose power would be the strongest any of them had seen in decades, centuries even.
Alfred remembers the emotion in Raimele's voice, how Raimele's fingers had trembled as he recalled the terrors Janus would suffer.
Visions more desperate and painful than Raimele's. Betrayal. A power too strong for his human body to control. A power that would eventually consume him in the end. He would have no life, no future. So long as Janus served the people, so long as he heeded Sybaris' commands, he would never live.
And Alfred remembers the very moment when Raimele had clasped his hand, begging that Alfred take the boy as his own. Alfred had never wanted children. Neither had his wife. They were content with each other, and Julia had several nieces and nephews he could name heir if Alfred wanted. Or perhaps she only ever agreed with him because Julia could not have children of her own.
Alfred will never know because he will never ask. He feels that he understands his wife and the emotions they share for each other. Just as much as Julia understands him. She never rejected Janus’ presence, and Alfred’s heart had always warmed to see how quickly Janus latched on to Julia. He refused to warm to Alfred, but at least, he would open to Julia.
Little by little, Alfred remembers feeling the locks and chains around his heart slip open. Where there had always been only Julia, a blue-eyed, sullen child was now making a nest inside Alfred’s dusty caverns. Janus has always been different, even as a child. Rarely noisy, content to read or sit quietly, but with the curious habit of asking difficult questions. He watches Alfred sometimes and Alfred is so sure that Janus sees with more than just his eyes. It is, often times, a tad disquieting, but Alfred lets those notions roll over him.
He doesn’t regret heeding Raimele’s vision and agreeing to take Janus. Alfred knows that if he had denied Janus, the future would have changed, altered in some way that might then be hidden from Raimele’s sight. He sometimes wonders what would have happened if Janus had been left to wither away in that orphanage.
If Janus would have been adopted by another family, perhaps one who saw his gifts as a means to make coin.
If Janus would have remained at the orphanage until he came of age, cast alone in the world, with a grudge and the power to see himself avenged for an imagined wrong.
If Janus would have been killed by the children or nearby adults, always afraid of a power that couldn’t be completely understood.
Alfred wonders these things. He wonders if Thessalia might have been better served if Janus had never taken Sybaris’ temple after all. He wonders if he made the biggest mistake in allowing Raimele’s future to unfold exactly as Raimele had predicted. And sometimes, even such a traitorous thought as wondering if Janus’ death would have saved everyone.
Until he looks into those blue eyes and realizes he doesn’t care. Thessalia could crack, crumble, ruin and Alfred would sooner stab himself than allow Janus to die. And that, right there, is where Alfred betrayed everything. Everyone. His own ideals. His loyalty to the monarchy. Raimele’s visions. Everything.
It is the hardest decision Alfred has ever made, knowing the destiny that this child must endure, and wanting so desperately to protect him. In such a short time, Janus has clambered inside the caverns of Alfred's heart. He wants nothing more than to shield Janus from that terrible future, to lock him away from all that pain and heartache. They are thoughts of a true father, and not just a temporary one.
His country or his son?
Alfred knows he made his choice long ago, but for the first time, he finds himself faltering. Looking at the boy quietly reading beneath his favorite tree, unaware of the life fate has in store for him, Alfred wavers.
“You will do what you think is best,” Julia has said to him, always supportive, trusting in his decision. She will stand by his side.
Alfred hopes that Janus will not hate him for it. He tells himself that is partly for Janus' sake as well. The boy needs training in the arts if he is to survive them. And acquiring training means someone will eventually notice his skills. At that point, it will be impossible to drag Janus from the arms of theocracy. Alfred can only hope to rescue Janus in the end, when the future has run its course.
Alfred hates himself for this decision, knowing what awaits Janus. Blood and pain and terror and strife. Suffering upon suffering.
But the other possibility is so much worse. Death, and only death. Wasting away from the inside like a devouring sickness. Janus white-haired and fragile, wrinkled and empty, at the ripe old age of forty years old. Nothing more than a pawn for Frejya’s madness. Or worse, nothing more than a shallow husk since his magick had burned the rest.
Alfred wants to see his son live. He wants to see Janus smile, to watch those creased lines of worry smooth out of Janus’ forehead. He doesn’t want his son to be burdened with the sins and troubles of Thessalia. He wants Janus to belong to himself, magickal gift bedamned. Blessing of the goddess bedamned, and no, Alfred doesn’t care that his thought are blasphemous.
Watching as Janus turns another page in his book, the wind quietly rustling his dark hair, Alfred feels a stirring of affection. His son would suffer, but win his freedom in the end. He would scorn Alfred for it, would loathe and despise him. Would be happy if Alfred died a messy, bloody death. But Janus would be free.
Alfred sighs, and turns away, prepared to make his son hate him. And hopes that the sight of Janus’ smile – truly happy – would be enough to ease Alfred’s guilt in the end.
* * *
Only ten more days until The Requiem of Janus is released!