Rodrik.

[Rhaegor]

I kept my hope just like i'd hoped to
then sang to the sea for feelings deep blue

It would not hurt him, comes my brother's reply. My throat squeezes, though such an answer ought to have brought joy.
I think father would like that. This loosens my muscles, sending a crooked smile to my warm brown lips. I hold Rodrik's gaze for a second, thinking how similar our expressions are, those his is rotting. For a moment, I wonder if father will appear as such too - I have no concept of the magics that extend beyond simple immortality and some colourful patterns upon my skin. But I trust Rodrik to do right by our sire, and so, say nothing of my concern.

As Rodrik steps back, Rhaegor steps forward. I want to laugh at the eagerness of the child but instead find myself tucking him to my chest, holding him still such that he does not interfere with his great-uncle's concentration. When my brother turns his back to us, as if making himself an audience to what is about to happen, my shoulders shake off some invisibly weight. "Be still, my child," I murmur to Rhaegor as he shudders in my grasp, vibrating with what I expect to be excitement but what I am worried may turn into fear. "Be still."

Rodrik speaks then, as Rhae concentrates on grounding his energy; the red devil explains what the extents of his powers are. I am relieved to hear that we will not be seeing the tatters of dust that by now make up our father's corporeal remains. Still, I find myself holding my breath, meeting Rodrik's gaze a final time before he turns away.

Although we are not a part of his power, a coolness comes over both myself and my grandson as the third begins his work. The first tangible sign of magic is the movement in the grass not far ahead, a movement which becomes a stir and then a small whirlwind. It takes me more than a moment to realize that the fixtures of earthly items are building themselves in a predestined shape - more than that, in a shape that slaps me in the face with its familiarity. By the time his chest and neck are rendering themselves out of grass, I know the figure to be my father's. Now it is Rhaegor who must hold me back, himself transfixed in something of an awe-struck horror of the magic before us.

I want to rush to him; but in the silence that comes after the ghost's materialization, I know that I ought'n't move. Perhaps not even to breathe.

Father.
Nothing.
Focus.
A shake of his head, a step forward, the telltale signs of concentration and effort that I alone can recognize from my brother's death-riddled features.
Rhaego.
I touch my grandson's neck, allowing myself past him until my chest is just behind my brother's heels. The child follows too, staying behind and to the side as I have.
You are free to speak.
At the sudden sound of unadulterated love flowing from my brother's lips, tears spring to my eyes; I am privileged enough to hear that voice far more often than many who come across the red devil, but hearing it now in its complete form nearly sends me to my knees. I have not heard such a voice since we were both boys playing at war in the Jungle; since our father came along and showed us how to stand up right when preparing for battle, even just for sport between young brothers.
Please say something.

"I am here too, father." My own voice rings achingly, a barely contained desperation in its depths; I have always known myself lesser than Rodrik in these ways, when it comes to handling emotions. Perhaps different and not lesser, but old habits and old ideas about where one stands in relation to another die hard; I choke on anything else I might want to say, scared to fuck this up and to break my brother's heart for my own stupidity.

But after a long, drawn out silence, it would seem that neither of us are to have our hearts broken today. Not by disappointment, anyhow.

Rodrik and Kavi. The sound of my name upon my father's lips leaves me echoing Rodrik's gasp with a quiet sob, though no others follow it. Without hesitation now I bring myself alongside my brother with grandson in tow, amber eyes brimming with tears and searching the apparition's face as if I might find answers long sought in the blades of grass found there. A crooked grin trembles on my lips; and when I glance to Rodrik, I see a similar expression dancing upon what remains of his.

I want to say something, to speak to him at length of my life and my dreams and my lovers and my children, oh gods my children, but he is too keen even in ghosthood; with an expression not unlike the one his sons wear, Rhaego turns to investigate the youth brought before him, asking after him with a tilt of his mist-filled head.

The boy steps forward, unafraid in the eyes of a ghost. Blue light radiates from him in ripples, a type of energy-release that I've never seen him exhibit before. My lips part to make the introductions - but a voice as wispy as the figure that makes up our father speaks instead, and I am left to silently watch.

"My name is Rhaegor, and I am your great-grandson... It is very nice to meet you, though I've known I would for quite some time now. Will you tell me stories about you? And may I listen if you speak to grandpa and uncle Rodrik? I can tell you about me, too - but I," and here the usually silent boy pauses, dropping his gaze before lifting it again. "I don't want to waste what time we have with you." Stepping forward, the colt gently presses his neck to the broad front of the apparition, barely touching Rhaego and yet curling beneath his might as only a child can.

I look to Rodrik.
I thank the gods for him in silence.

Rhaegor

@[Rodrik]
I am happy to end the thread here and we can assume that they all get a nice chat in about stories and how much they miss each other and what not - if this inspires you to post again, then by all means let me know in the cbox sometime! And I loved this thread, even if it took 2 months. So freakin worth it.