Mael
Mael watched in silence as Eleas took his leave, then sank back into his chair with a sigh and reached for his cup again, draining it in one go. He heard Jaryd speak, but answering took way more effort than it should have. Was Eleas nothing like him? As far as Eleas was concerned, Mael had abandoned not only his family but also his sworn duty to defend the Blightborder when he’d left for the Black Tower, his duty to the people in the village who depended upon the Akashis to defend against Trolloc raids. Eleas would have had to grow up to fill that position even faster than Mael himself had; he would have had to do it all without a father to guide him. The older soldiers would have been able to help him, of course, but he had still been their lord. It was an unforgiving position, and it was an unforgiving land that Eleas had been charged with defending; how could anyone expect Eleas himself to have grown to be more forgiving?
Jaryd might understand if he explained it— or at least pretend he did, for Mael’s sake, and he shouldn’t have to do that and so Mael didn’t try to defend Eleas’ behaviour. Maybe that was the way it should be; Mael, as a father and the guilty party should forgive or at least accept his son’s attitude, but Jaryd, who wasn’t as closely involved, was free to judge Eleas more harshly. Mael wasn’t sure if that actually made any sense, but it didn’t matter as he wasn’t about to try to articulate it anyway.
When Jaryd spoke of Valentin, Mael managed a faint smile. “He’s young,” he said. “He shouldn’t be too set in his ways yet.” Even a block would be an inconvenience and a source of frustration for the new Soldier, nothing more dramatic than that; Mael had never seen a block that hadn’t been broken eventually.
*
The dinner was nearly as awkward as Jaryd had predicted. Eleas had the grace to refrain from being outright hostile, which meant he didn’t speak much, and most of the conversation was carried by his younger brother, Leander. Leander was very unlike Eleas in many ways; he was courteous and smooth-mannered and though he wasn’t entirely unaffected by the awkward tension bubbling under the surface, his efforts made the dinner a tolerable affair.
And when the grown-ups ran out of things to say to each other, the children took over. Especially Valentin’s younger sisters seemed very fascinated with the Grey Tower and Jaryd, who dealt with the unexpected amount of attention quite patiently until the girls’ aunt Ilse decided enough was enough and told them to let him finish his dessert in peace. Mael couldn’t help wondering if Jaryd had ever wanted children of his own— not that he could have any with Jaren, but adoption was an option… Though combining the Red Ajah work with a family would be difficult, if not impossible.
*
Once the dinner was concluded, Leander approached Mael. “A word with you, Father?” Unlike Eleas, he didn’t avoid calling Mael that; he spoke the word as though the concept amused him, but there was no malice in his amusement. He glanced at Jaryd, who had not left Mael’s side, and gave the Altaran an apologetic smile. “Alone, if you please.” Jaryd waited for Mael’s nod of confirmation before withdrawing and leaving Mael alone with his son. Leander smiled again, ever polite if a little wry, and gestured for Mael to walk with him.
“I won’t apologise for my brother’s behaviour,” Leander said as they walked up to the second floor. “It’s nought to do with me. And,” he glanced at Mael, “I figure he’s entitled to his sentiments.”
“That he is,” Mael replied. The stairs weren’t agreeing with him and he was leaning heavily on his cane by the time they were done.
Leander, of course, noticed. “You look younger than most of your grandchildren,” he commented, “yet you’re the one with a walking stick.” But, again, though the words were humorous, there was no mockery in them.
Nonetheless, it made Mael feel awkward and on edge. “What is it that you wished to talk about?” he asked, somehow keeping most of the tension he felt from his voice.
Leander didn’t answer immediately, instead opening a door and waving Mael through. The room was otherwise unremarkable, though cosy, but above the fireplace on the wall there was a painting. It depicted a woman just short of her middle years, with two nearly grown boys on her either side. Ariane’s dark auburn hair was not yet touched with grey and the piercing blue of her eyes was as brilliant as Mael remembered it. Eleas’ resemblance with his father had never been more striking, and Leander’s softer, youthful features somehow combined the best of his both parents, giving him a look that would have turned heads where ever he went.
Mael wasn’t sure how long he stared at the painting in silence, nearly overcome with a host of emotions he’d not felt in a long time. There was always regret when he thought of his family; there was always guilt and shame and a half-formed wish that things had gone otherwise. But this— this longing, to have been there, to have been part of their lives, that was something he’d thought he’d buried that night with Alastair, when he’d accepted it was never going to work.
Evidently not deep enough.
“She forgave you before the end,” Leander said softly, breaking the silence. Then his voice took on the wry undertone again. “Eleas hasn’t, though, and I don’t know that he will. He didn’t even want me to tell you — about Mother, I mean — but I thought you needed to know.”
Mael nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.
Luckily, Leander didn’t seem to expect him to. “It can’t be easy,” he went on, almost as though talking to himself, “looking at a lifetime measured not in decades but centuries. Outliving not only your wife and children, but grandchildren, great-grandchildren.” A quick smile. “Except Valentin. I remember the letter you sent, the year Eleas turned nineteen. I wanted to be tested for the ability, but Eleas wouldn’t hear of it. I always felt like I was missing out on something.”
That made Mael glance at him. “Why didn’t you come when you were grown up?” he asked.
Leander’s voice held a hard edge when he spoke, “The choice was between a father I’d never properly met, and a brother I loved.” In other words, not a choice at all; Mael could understand that. “Maybe,” Leander went on, more softly again, “if I outlive Eleas, I’ll come to your Grey Tower to be tested.”
“You would be welcome whenever,” Mael replied.
Leander smiled again. “I’d best go, there’s a ten-year-old who wants me to help him with his arithmetics and I can’t keep him waiting.”
Mael returned the smile, and it came surprisingly easy. “You do that,” he said. “I’ll remain a while longer, if you don’t mind.” The smile held for exactly as long as it took Leander to close the door behind him. Once he was alone, the stoic facade — which rarely even felt like a facade anymore — collapsed in on itself and he sank to his knees in the middle of the floor, silent tears rolling down his face.