Dawnlark Plains caught in your riptide

the world tilted on its axis, his view shaded but not scathing as he gazed upon his mother. as strong and as ruthless as he remembered. had her gentle heart—the side of her only bore to her sons—survived, too? 

memories flood and threaten to overwhelm. to shake the foundation he'd built, to cause his walls to crumble into nothing but a burning pile of rubble. the gentleness of her voice when she sang, the care she had provided when tending to wounds won out of bride and revelry. 

how she used to shield him from the wrath of his bastard of a father. the only woman who'd ever believed in him, or had cared to nurture him despite the darkness passed from father to son...

she is right there. his chest feels unbearably tight as he wonders if Kaelith had made it out alive as well. guilt will forever eat at him for leaving the two of them behind. but a jaded and angry teenager hadn't given any thought into taking with him the two most important people in his world. 

he's failed them. just as he'd failed his father, his kingdom. 

he cannot let himself be swayed. not now, not ever. finally her eyes find him and it takes everything he has not to dissolve into a boy stewing in the shadow of his father, aching for the love of his mother. 

"it's complicated." he simmers. furious at the man trapped beneath his mother for having stirred her so, and pissed at himself for allowing the weasel of a man to sink his fangs into Emýr's flesh. "he is not worth blood spilled. he won't make it to summer anyway." 

words as cold as ice—he doesn't allow himself to glare down at Erys. if he had been as cruel as his father, he'd turn a blind eye and allow his mother to pass her judgement. he might have even helped. but he is not that man, and so he'd bargain for a life he isn't sure is even worth it. 

"let him go. i will help you find a bigger meal." and if she refused? 

well, he'd be forced to make a decision he'd rather not.