"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
He has spent his days sunbathing at Leliana’s side, watching their children turn to adults who have children of their own. They even have grandchildren! The journey that the fairies sent him on seemed nearly forgotten as he bathed in the comfort of his wife’s company. But the burning across his skin remains. And today, it feels an awful lot like guilt. Vulgaris has lounged lazily in Tephra while his eldest child frets over her family. He knows this because Leliana keeps an eye on all their sons and daughters. She wanted to set out and be there for Adna, but he kissed her temple and told her he would go in her stead. Tephra still needed her.
When he crosses into the northern region, he finds it strange to not be surrounded on all sides by trees and vines and the plant people of his home. He finds himself almost grateful for the unseen fire across his skin when the weather turns colder and snow covers the ground. Vulgaris has been spoiled by the heavy tropical heat and hardly remembers tolerating the frigid temperatures. Still, he would rather be neither burning nor freezing, and so he carries on.
He knows Adna’s figure in the distance long before she comes into clear focus. A smile blooms easily across his face when he draws near, hugging her to his chest tightly. “Adna, I haven’t visited you nearly enough. I’m sorry for that,” he begins, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before taking a step back to allow her some space. “Your grandfather came back from the dead like so many others and I suppose I wasn’t entirely prepared to deal with that.”
Vulgaris laughs but his words are painfully true. As much as he loves his father, their relationship has always been strained and difficult. Nevermind the marital woes of his parents. But now is not the time to speak of his own burdens.
“I’m here because your mother is worried about you. I know we shouldn’t pry, but I could never let you struggle alone.”
He falls silent then, his sage green eyes watching hers. Vulgaris would like to say he understands how she feels. For years now, he has reflected on all the ways he failed his children as a father. Even now, he waited until Leliana had had enough before speaking up.
In this shook-up, twisted world, I'm gradually growing transparent and vanishing
Don’t look for me; don't look at me
I will commit my soul to your door tonight, and I'll last 'til the gas fumes float on higher
Her life had not turned into the easy one she had thought she would have as a child. She remembers being young and sun-drenched and full of promise. She had been so sweet and full of life—so ready to face a world that had nothing but good things in front of her. Even in the bitterest of moments in her childhood, she had been shielded enough in the moment to think there was nothing but good waiting for her.
It was only later in the retrospective thoughtfulness of adulthood that it had changed.
Now, she knows life as a bitter thing. Even the sweetness—love found, for example—was stained with the bitter. Her love for Beth is an all-consuming thing. She drowns in it on some days. Feels the way that it wraps around her throat and pulls her under. Especially when he is moody and distant. When his love feels cold and uncertain—when she watches him from afar with hooded eyes and wonders.
But even that dims in comparison to the worry she feels for her daughter. The venom that simmers in her own veins having grown exponentially in her offspring. Gospel is a beautiful, dangerous thing, and she knows to fear her. Knows that eventually it will be the death of her, or of Beth, which is the same thing.
So she is grateful when her father finds her. Grateful that she has put to bed anything but love for him so that she can fold into his chest and close her eyes against him. She relishes the moment where she is but a young girl pressed against him and hot tears spring to her eyes when she feels him kiss the top of her head like he has done so many times before. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, and she feels like a child for it.
When he pulls back, she forces herself to straighten, to try and pretend that she is an adult. She looks at him, her sage eyes wide, blurry with tears. “I don’t know how I got it so wrong,” she whispers, looking to the horizon. “I loved her so much and I don’t think it mattered. How did I fail so much?”
in a dying love I'm nothing but a stone cold liar but, oh, I got an iron in that fire
When he met Leliana, he had always known that he would hurt her and any children they might have. A darkness loomed in every corner of his being and still that awful, wonderful woman kissed his face. His love for her had devoured every bit of caution within him and licked its fingers clean, ravenous in its wanting. In time, it also lapped up his darkness and purged whatever sickness lingered in his soul until it grew fat and content with his marriage. It had cost him so much.
His heart breaks when she begins to cry, and he wishes he could draw it all out from her like a poison. It’s okay, she says, but it’s the furthest thing from the truth. His brows furrow and he watches her when she confesses all the worry clinging to her delicate heartstrings. Vulgaris hates how much he understands.
“You did not fail, Adna. As long as you love her, you have not failed,” he explains with another gentle kiss to her cheek. “The world is not kind. If I could keep you and all your brothers and sisters safe from it, I would. I would never let you go. But that just isn’t how it works.” He thinks of each of his children and how he had tried time and again to give them the world. The world broke Larke’s heart every chance it got. It devoured Linnea’s heart and made Leliana fight to take her back. He sighs slowly as he reflects on these tragedies.
“The man she follows is dangerous. He’s born of the same sickness as my father,” he explains as he feels fear and anger crawling through his veins. He’d hated hearing Larva explain it to him and he hates passing the story along even more. “He is.. family.”
The words taste like bile across his tongue and the frown across his face displays his disgust to call him that. He exhales a slow breath that quakes with anger but he keeps himself composed for her sake.
In this shook-up, twisted world, I'm gradually growing transparent and vanishing
Don’t look for me; don't look at me
I will commit my soul to your door tonight, and I'll last 'til the gas fumes float on higher
Her father’s presence is comforting, even if the words that he has to say are not. She relishes that she is in his presence though and closes her serpentine eyes so that she can focus on the steady rhythm of his breath instead. It reminds her of being a young girl before she knew the fangs of the world so intimately. When he was still the unsullied hero of her story. When she could close her eyes and lean into him and know that everything was going to be okay because he was there watching over her and her mother.
But she had grown and discovered that her father was as complex as the oceans.
He was not without sin, without shadow. He was complex and multi-layered. Haunted by demons that now chased her and there had been times when he had not been strong enough to stand up to them.
But she still loved him. Would always love him.
“I do. I love her,” she finally says, feeling as though she can finally understand the weight that Vulgaris must carry every day. She stays there, stilling, as he continues, and she feels the thrum of her heart grow faster when she understands what he is saying. Family. The Ghaul—this serpent—is family.
Her eyes open and she steps back slightly to study his face. “You’re sure of it?” Her throat is tight and she can hear the tension singing through her voice as she swallows. “He’s related to us?”
It feels so unlikely, but she knows stranger things have happened.
She wonders if she will hesitate to crush his throat between her jaws now that she knows.
She does not wonder for long.
in a dying love I'm nothing but a stone cold liar but, oh, I got an iron in that fire
