Tristram
“Well, then I’d turn out to be allergic to both Delving and Healing, and, my, wouldn’t they be stuck,” he replied, sitting back on his heels and forgetting about the brush once more, a grin on his face. Likely the reason he’d already got so much of the floor done was probably because he had had no one to talk to up until now. He was never one to shun his duties, but when the duties consisted of something as unimportant and humiliating as chores-? Well, Tristram was willing to make an exception to the rule just this once.
He tried not to think too much of his son when he was here. Sometimes he wondered if he had done the wrong by coming to the Tower; if he should not have, in fact, stayed behind, but he was doing this for son, for them. The House was still struggling, would continue to struggle, but his learning to channel could and would change that. People were often far more willing to pay attention to those who could wield the One Power. More influence would mean more power, and more power would mean a better inheritance, a better life for his son. It was the only thing he could think of to change the way things were going.
Of course, he’d never admit that he hated being back at home, where the absence of his two children and their mother haunted every room and hall to the point where it had become unbearable for him. He felt them in the silence, in the absence of their laughter. It hadn’t improved in three years. It had only gotten worse.
He pushed the thoughts aside and let himself smile. “But...” and he paused, shrugging his shoulders. “Would you believe me if I said I came here for my family?”