"Guard well the son of the Child of Light for he shall have no brother."

[wellthrownstone]

He staggers in, looking

Comments

[rebelheartalien]

Michael glances up automatically by his seat at the door... and freezes.

He remembers what he Saw.

"...Garion?"

[wellthrownstone]

Garion doesn't answer. He lifts a hand to his face, one finger wiping a tear away curiously.

[rebelheartalien]

Michael gets up, slowly, and walks over.

"Garion?"

[wellthrownstone]

And he moves, too quick for a man of his size. Quick and sharp, like a wolf, like a man, angry and snarling. His hand twists in the front of Michael's shirt and lifts him.

"Who did you tell? Who did you tell?"

[rebelheartalien]

Some instincts you don't lose. He flinches for a second before suppressing it, going still in Garion's grip.

"No one, Garion, I swear. No one but you and Jason."

[wellthrownstone]

And maybe he can tell that Garion's shaking, that the only strength he has left is in fits and bursts of rage. Rage, pain and fear.

"Tell me again. Tell me again what you saw, Michael. Tell me right now."

[rebelheartalien]

He doesn't have to think to remember. He never forgets his visions, not a single detail.

"An empty cradle. And little footprints in the dust, in a ruined house."

[wellthrownstone]

"A ruined house?" he repeats, more to himself than to Michael. Then he looks at Michael. "And nothing else?"

Little footprints. Little footprints meant that his son would walk. Little footprints meant that he'd live long enough to walk.

But also that he'd be away from his son that long.

Garion drops him.

"Oh gods."

[rebelheartalien]

Michael, feeling Garion's grip loosen, is ready in time to land well, and on his feet more or less.

"That's all. It was more... knowing what it meant, than just what I saw."

[wellthrownstone]

Garion doesn't answer, doesn't look at him. Instead he drops back into the seat and buries his head in his hands.

[rebelheartalien]

"I'm so sorry, Garion. I tried..."

[wellthrownstone]

The only answer is a harsh shudder. His hands itch for a sword, for something to cut down, for someone to kill. Someone to pay.

[rebelheartalien]

Michael is a warrior as well as a Seer. His own hand drops to Faith's gift, in its place at his belt.

"If there's anything I can do..."

[wellthrownstone]

He looks up at Michael, eyes red and puffed. He, like his wife, was not made to cry and thus looks hideous when he does. It's not often, not at all, but he had.

"Thank you."

And then his head returns to his hands.

[rebelheartalien]

"Is there anyone... Jason, maybe? Or do you want something to drink?"

He's doing his best.

[wellthrownstone]

"I want my son."