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09. tongue
Valm came looking for him after he addressed the tribe. She was older now, stalking towards her majority with the pride and determination of a true hunter in the making. Her clothes were loose and flowing, and her childhood dagger hung heavy on her hip, paired with a long sliver of wood—the telltale sign of a mage. If she so chose, she would make a fierce mother some day, and undoubtedly she would prove a valuable member of the family.
She looked around him, and then spoke directly, “Are you alone?”
He spread his hands to either side of him, unsure of exactly where Quinn was at the moment either way, and offered her a smile. It would be a lie to say he wasn't fond of her.
Valm seated herself with careful arrangement, one of her lingering childhood habits, and gave him a serious look. When she spoke, though, her expression faltered, “Is he why you would not father any child in the tribe?”
He heard her unspoken question, the one regarding her and why he refused to recognise her as his child even though it was obvious they both knew, and sighed heavily. Here she was making an adult effort towards him, and he was unsure if his response would do her question justice. Still, he couldn't lie, “No. I met Quinn later than...” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, before he forced himself back, “And even if he were not in the world, I would not be a father. I am Daimd, and nothing else.”
“I don't understand.” Valm stared at him, perhaps misunderstanding his pause, “Why can't Daimd also be a father?”
“Because I am not one.” He heard himself say that far more gruffly than he meant to, and bit back on his cheek as she shrank away into obedient silence. He had always lacked the words to explain this, and he wasn't about to make the effort of finding them now. It was not important. He pulled on his beard thoughtfully and adjusted his tone to one more conversational, “What did the master say when you were tested for your magic?”
He saw the pride in her smile as she replied, “He says I am clearly talented, though not as much as someone else from our tribe.”
Daimd huffed loudly, keeping his outward expression carefully neutral. They called him gifted, blessed—apparently, power resources like his were unheard of, especially in the children of non-magical parents. There was only one fire within himself he considered worthwhile, and it was not the sort that made arcana bloom from his fingertips.
“My magic serves me.” He said finally, when he caught Valm gazing questioningly at him. She would never know the real meaning in that sentence; Daimd had to doubt anyone would. Quinn would never ask. Quinn only ever wanted to see.
“And mine, me. And the tribe.” She drew herself up, and bowed to him before she walked away. Daimd had to wonder if he'd offended her worse than usual somehow. After she vanished into the distance, he decided that he didn't care. It was all a mess, anyway. He pushed himself to his feet and turned, looking for the kindling to stoke his fire. He listened, and then headed towards the nearest angry voice he could hear. Where there was someone being pricked, Quinn often held the needle.
She looked around him, and then spoke directly, “Are you alone?”
He spread his hands to either side of him, unsure of exactly where Quinn was at the moment either way, and offered her a smile. It would be a lie to say he wasn't fond of her.
Valm seated herself with careful arrangement, one of her lingering childhood habits, and gave him a serious look. When she spoke, though, her expression faltered, “Is he why you would not father any child in the tribe?”
He heard her unspoken question, the one regarding her and why he refused to recognise her as his child even though it was obvious they both knew, and sighed heavily. Here she was making an adult effort towards him, and he was unsure if his response would do her question justice. Still, he couldn't lie, “No. I met Quinn later than...” His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, before he forced himself back, “And even if he were not in the world, I would not be a father. I am Daimd, and nothing else.”
“I don't understand.” Valm stared at him, perhaps misunderstanding his pause, “Why can't Daimd also be a father?”
“Because I am not one.” He heard himself say that far more gruffly than he meant to, and bit back on his cheek as she shrank away into obedient silence. He had always lacked the words to explain this, and he wasn't about to make the effort of finding them now. It was not important. He pulled on his beard thoughtfully and adjusted his tone to one more conversational, “What did the master say when you were tested for your magic?”
He saw the pride in her smile as she replied, “He says I am clearly talented, though not as much as someone else from our tribe.”
Daimd huffed loudly, keeping his outward expression carefully neutral. They called him gifted, blessed—apparently, power resources like his were unheard of, especially in the children of non-magical parents. There was only one fire within himself he considered worthwhile, and it was not the sort that made arcana bloom from his fingertips.
“My magic serves me.” He said finally, when he caught Valm gazing questioningly at him. She would never know the real meaning in that sentence; Daimd had to doubt anyone would. Quinn would never ask. Quinn only ever wanted to see.
“And mine, me. And the tribe.” She drew herself up, and bowed to him before she walked away. Daimd had to wonder if he'd offended her worse than usual somehow. After she vanished into the distance, he decided that he didn't care. It was all a mess, anyway. He pushed himself to his feet and turned, looking for the kindling to stoke his fire. He listened, and then headed towards the nearest angry voice he could hear. Where there was someone being pricked, Quinn often held the needle.
addendum.
As an adult, she has never been treated this way. She is shaken, but snaps her response all the same, "But we are bound, and we both know it. You are my father no matter how little you may like it."
"I am not your father, nor that of any of your brothers and sisters." Daimd gave a pained moan of untold stress, going on rapidly in his low rumble, "You are Valla's child by me, but I cannot be a father. I am not a father, Valm, I am only Daimd."
"You keep saying that. What do you mean?" Here, and only here, her voice took on a pleading note, desperate to understand, "You are Daimd, and Daimd is my father."
"Daimd is a traveller, a wanderer, an orc both blessed and cursed with the touch of the arcane. Daimd tirelessly loves a beautiful blood elf with a barbed tongue, and takes the barest of comfort in his old homeland and family. Daimd is all of these things and others, Valm, but Daimd is never a father. Never a father, never a brother, never an uncle. I can explain it no better than this." He loses his fury here, sagging against the impossibility of the explanation that explains nothing.
Valm shakes him off as his grip loosens, her patience lost again, "Daimd is a coward. Daimd fears his natural place. Daimd is a fool."
Daimd watches her leave, not without catching the wetness glittering in her eyes, and sighs heavily. His fingers nervously dance old, familiar patterns, and he laughs aloud suddenly, stilling them. He goes to find Daliquinn.
Of all the things Daimd is or may be, he is ever lonely without his elf by his side.