~Chapter Thirteen: Mother~
Sleep does not come easy, and it is not just because I am afraid of whether or not I will see Atlas - whether or not he is dead. Sleep does not come easy because Gwyn told me a very important fact about tomorrow morning when I asked him why he refused to leave the room and had taken up residence in his chair instead of seeking out a guest bedroom for the night.
"Your mother will be here by breakfast, and I'm to watch you until then."
And isn't that a terrifying thought?
It is stupid that I cannot bring myself to feel excited about seeing my parents again. Stupid, and frustrating, and I just feel so guilty because, by all rights, I should be happy, but I am not. It has been centuries since I have seen either of them, and there has never been a day where I have not missed them. However, there were also reasons I did not go to them the moment I was free last time; I feared their reactions to my return, and they probably would have turned me over to the Dagda, which, at the time, had seemed like trading one prison for another.
And I was too blinded by stupidity to realize that, prison or not, it was probably the best choice I had at the time.
Still, despite the fact that I have already sealed my fate with the Dagda, the thought of reuniting with my parents only fills me with dread. I want to see them - and it is unfortunate that my father had apparently visited while I was unconscious because maybe it would've been easier if I saw him first - but what if they are different? What if I have an episode? What if they are angry?
"I can hear you thinking from here, Nephew."
The low grumble that breaks the silence of the dead-quiet room makes me flinch. "I thought you were asleep."
"I promised my sister I'd keep an eye on you," is all he says in response, though it is still enough to figure out that he apparently has no intention of sleeping tonight in case something happens while he is not awake. "What's on your mind?"
For a moment, I consider lying or simply skirting around the truth, but my uncle will know if I lie to his face, and he will also see through any attempts at deflection. He might let it pass anyway, but...but maybe it would not hurt to talk to him. "If I pretend to still be unconscious tomorrow, do you think it would work?"
Gwyn scoffs softly. "They're your parents, brat," he replies, because despite my vague question, he understands. "They're not going to eat you. Now, go to sleep."
Admittedly, that is not the best reassurance I have ever received, and I am not sure if it even really counts as reassurance at all since he might mean that in a literal sense. Some types of Fae eat offspring, after all, even if it is not usually their own offspring, and Gwyn does spend more time with the Fae than the gods. Still, whether or not it counts, it does allow something in me to settle, even if my heart feels like it is twitching with apprehension.
Because, truly, no matter what happens, I won't be dead at the end.
Yet.
Yet...
I close my eyes when an anxious buzzing beneath my skin comes alive, though for a different reason entirely. After all, I might not be dead or be on the verge of walking to my own funeral pyre, but that does not mean everything is all well and good. What if the Titans who were left behind are dead? What if Atlas is dead? If he is not in my dreams tonight, is that a normal absence, or is it because he is not coming back?
Something horrible starts building in the back of my throat, and even closed, my eyes burn.
What if I left him to die?
I bite the inside of my cheek and clench my jaw around the choking emotions building in my throat, trying to ignore what feels like a vice around my heart.
What if he's dead, and I never see him again?
I...I should just get up and walk around, burn away this choking, cloying sense of grief - which is unwarranted because I don't know anything; no one knows anything yet - but Gwyn will want to know what is going on, and I only just barely stopped myself from crying in front of him earlier. If he asked me while exuding that calm acceptance that he has been giving off since I woke up, I doubt I would be able to stop myself this time, and I cannot have him thinking of me as a weak, emotional godling. I miss Atlas, but Gwyn won't understand. He will just think me pathetic and incompetent, and I-
I stiffen when a sigh and the sound of rustling fabric draws me out of my thoughts, and I almost jump out of my bed when it is shortly followed by the mattress dipping as Gwyn sits beside me onto the bed again. "It will almost seem worse at night, Nephew, but it will be better in the dawn light," he says quietly, and one of his hands gently lands on my head and immediately starts carding through my hair. "Go to sleep. There is always more to come, and you won't be able to face it with little sleep."
Though I hate every second of it, there is no denying the wetness trailing down my face or the small sob that escapes at some point, but he does not comment on any of it, even though I know he knows. Instead, he just continues to pet my hair like he used to do when I really was a godling, barely taller than his hip, struggling with nightmares and feelings of insecurity over the duties I would one day take up as the god of magic. My parents often comforted me as well, but even when I was not visiting him, Gwyn was frequently visiting my mother and me. As I got older, I thought it seemed like he was starting to disapprove, and I still think he probably will in the morning, but for now, he is offering comfort, and I am not going to be stupid enough to shake him off.
Not this time, at least.
And that is how I fall asleep, exhausted, eyes sore, throat scratchy, and slightly numb, but also protected and comfortable in a way that I have not felt in a long time.
- - - - - - -
Morning arrives all too soon, and I would not be surprised if Red Caps stole into my room in the middle of the night and twisted my stomach into a literal knot, as that is certainly what it feels like happened. In fact, I am pretty sure I might be sick.
When I mentioned this to my uncle, though, he just rolled his eyes and dragged me out of the guest room by my elbow. He only lets me go when we are surrounded on all sides by his Cŵn Annwn, and I very carefully pretend not to notice the way one white wolf-hound in particular attempts to glare holes in the side of my head. Clearly, Maelgwyn is not the forgive-and-forget type, as he still seems angry about the time that I ditched him to return to the statue. Considering that I likely got him in trouble with my uncle for that, though, I do not blame him for still being unhappy with me.
I'd just appreciate it if he would stop eyeing my head like he's considering whether to eat it or not.
Still, distracting though Maelgwyn's hostility is, it does very little to ease the nervous energy slowly building up under my skin the closer we get to the dining hall - I may not have spent too much time in what was formerly Lugh's castle before the power exchange when the Dagda took over, but I do know my way around - and it takes effort to keep my teeth from grinding and my jaw unclenched. And when we come to a halt just outside the unassuming doors leading into the room that Gwyn assured me this morning my parents would be in, it is tempting to just turn on my heels, Gwyn be damned. He cannot force me into that room, and I-
Gwyn, tired of waiting, places on hand on my back and shoves me forward. The doors swing inward at the barest touch, so I stumble right through them and into the room. Before I can turn around and yell at him for doing that, or even just outright flee, there is suddenly long, blond hair in my face, leaving me momentarily sputtering when it almost gets in my mouth. It quickly becomes the furthest thing from my mind, however, as there are arms wrapping around my waist, and though she is shorter than me, that does not take away from the fact that my mother gives great hugs.
Because she captured my arms, though, I cannot properly hug her back, and no amount of fidgeting or attempting to free them does me any sort of good, as she just squeezes me tighter. And, unfortunately, her smaller stature and thin appearance are entirely for the sake of deception, as she is strong. Strong enough that breathing rapidly becomes a challenge.
"Mother," I choke out, and while some might believe it is entirely out of emotion, it is actually because I cannot breathe. Rather than let up, she only tightens her grip, and I have to wonder if she is actually angry and this is her revenge - death by crushing hugs.
"You have been gone for too long, Ainmire," Creiddylad says, and my head rolls back in dismay because that is her lecturing voice. If I am lucky, perhaps she will actually let me fall into unconsciousness. Death might even be a mercy, if that is what is going to happen. "It has been far too long, Ainmire. Do you have any idea how worried I have been? What I thought had happened to you?"
She does not give me a chance to respond - not that I even could, considering the fact that she is all but strangling me - before she continues, "I thought you were dead, Ainmire. We were all convinced you were still out there, somewhere, but-but you were gone for so long.
"We all knew - we knew - you couldn't be dead," she says, and to my horror and growing sense of guilt, I am pretty sure she is crying, but with her face all but buried in my shirt, I cannot see enough to actually know. "I knew you couldn't be dead. We'd know it; we would have felt it. B-but..."
The guilt that I had been trying to ignore burrows into my heart with vigor because this...this right here is my fault. Not entirely, because I never intended to disappear for this long; I thought I would be free within a week or two of taking Atlas' place and be back amongst my family in no time, having proven myself capable of altering the tides of war by helping to free the Titans from their prison following their loss of the Titanomachy while also providing my worth as Atlas' future partner. Instead, Atlas was tricked, I was stuck, and nothing changed for centuries.
Still, what is entirely my fault is the fact that I did not return when I first had the chance, and I still did not even technically return of my own free will the second time. In fact, if Odin had not given me the ultimatum of speaking to the Dagda for aid, it is entirely possible that I would have continued hiding for longer. I might have even tried to find alternative housing for the Titans, as it is possible I could have talked the Egyptian, Yoruba, or Lusatian pantheons into hosting the enemy of their enemy for a time. The Yoruba pantheon would probably even do it eagerly if it meant angering Zeus because, from what little Veles told me, it sounds like the Greek king god really managed to irritate them a couple years ago.
"B...but," my mother continues, her voice hardening with her resolve to finish what she is trying say, "but I am a horrible mother because there were times I had h-hoped you were because the alternatives were....if those cursed family-killers and m-manipulators had you all this time...if y-you..."
The sudden loss of crushing weight around my sides allows me to breathe again. I inhale sharply, both out of surprise and the need for oxygen, as it is only now that I can see again that I realize how much my vision had started to fade. Without hesitation, though, I reach out and pull my mother into a hug of my own because though the guilt is a whole other level of crushing, and hugging her does nothing to ease it, it feels right to have her close.
Even she apparently hoped I was dead. No, especially because she hoped I was dead.
I have no doubt that she wanted me alive more than anything, but...she is not wrong that what happened to me was painful. However, she could not have known that I would be relatively untouchable in a statue all that time. Zeus has a reputation for rape, torture, and so much more, and if our roles were reversed and I had believed that Zeus possibly had my mother for all that time, I probably would have hoped the same for her.
A hand lands on my shoulder, and when I turn my head, my father stares back at me with a solemn look, but he does not look angry. If anything, he seems guarded, but he is not hiding his relief, nor does he pretend like he is not looking for injuries as he eyes me from head to toe. We might be alone in the dining hall aside from Gwyn, who, when I glance over my shoulder, is standing just inside the doors with his hounds, but my father was never really the type to join in on hugs. That does not mean he is any less tactile than my mother, though, as his hand does not leave my shoulder while my mother cries against my chest, and he only squeezes it comfortingly when I feel that choking ball of emotion from last night settle back in my throat. My eyes do not burn, though, and I thank the universe for the small mercy of having cried myself out of tears last night.
I love them. I missed them. I love them, filters through my mind on repeat, and I close my eyes eventually to just take a moment to properly appreciate this. I failed to bring Atlas back, and-and I am afraid to think of the consequences, but it is hard to call upon that lost feeling when they are just so warm. It is still there, in the back of my mind, but it is easier to focus on here and now when...
The world feels like it tilts a little, and I nearly hiss as my eyes fly open when I am forced to adjust my stance a little to keep from losing my balance. My vision clears after a moment, but my skin starts to tingle in what I have learned to interpret as a warning of a particularly bad episode, and I fight back the instinctive rage that bubbles to the surface because how dare an episode threaten this. I do not want to lose this, and I will if I-if I...
Everything lurches again, but it does not start spinning, not yet. Still, I quickly release my mother and take a step back, forcing my father to choose between dropping his hand or moving with me. Both of them seem to realize that something is going on, though, as they allow me the space I created.
"Ainmire?" My mother asks, her tone sharp with concern, for all that it is still watery and cracked.
My father takes a half-step forward. "What's wrong?"
And then Gwyn is there right as the room gives another threatening lurch, and he shoves me down to the floor, forcing me to sit. Since I had already been in the process of falling, my knees suddenly too weak to support my weight, I appreciate his quick thinking, as I probably would have ended up on my side if he had not directed me down. It takes me a moment to realize that everyone is not just allowing this to happen without question, though, as I distantly recognize that my parents are asking worried questions and that Gwyn is explaining what he knows, but then I stop caring because everything is spinning, and the moment of peace has been ruined anyway.
The curse of the broken, I decide, before reality begins spinning out of control.
- - - - - - -
It took four hours for the episode to end, and by the end of it, I was so tired that, when they suggested I return to bed and all but tucked me in, I only complained enough to make it clear that I was not happy with this decision, not enough to actually stop them. However, when I woke up again around dinnertime, it was to a growing sense of dismayed defeat because Atlas was once again absent from my dreams. It was not too uncommon for him to be missing for long periods of time before, but with each passing dream, it is starting to feel more and more like it is just confirming my fears.
[AN: It might seem harsh that Creiddylad wanted Ainmire dead, but keep in mind, that was/is a common thought process when faced with that kind of situation. For example, the women of the Cimbri, a Germanic-Gaul tribe, killed themselves and their children upon their defeat to the Romans to save them from a life of slavery and torment, though they were not entirely successful. Anyway, I hope you are all doing well, and have a great rest of your week!]