Acylius/Aelia: Sympathy (lover100 Prompt #075)
TITLE: Sympathy
FANDOM: Insektors
PAIRING: Acylius/Aelia
RATING: G
SUMMARY: The Great Pyro has a talk with his daughter about her changing world view.
WARNINGS: None.
NOTES: Immediately post-The Eskape, follows Lugubrious. I swear that I will move away from this episode at some point. It’s just a really important one for Aelia’s development.
The Great Pyro was able to spot the approach of his children and their new friend long before they reached the Great Flower. While Fulgor and Acylius had been able to restore themselves to their usual kolor with a good scrub, Aelia’s wings were still a kaleidoscope of kolor splatters that drew attention from everyone around. The Great Pyro wasn’t sure whether this was due to the…unusual brightness…of the display, or simply the rarity of seeing Aelia looking anything less than beautifully co-ordinated.
Or it could be the presence of a flying Yuk beside his unusually vivid daughter that was causing so much curiosity.
Neither Aelia nor Acylius were paying any attention to the staring insects they left in their wake. They were engrossed in conversation as they approached, and Fulgor (hanging slightly behind them) rolled his eyes expressively at his father from behind his sister’s back. The Great Pyro hid a smile, and waited patiently for Aelia to notice his presence. When she finally did, an expression of dismay passed briefly across her face.
The Great Pyro resisted the urge to lift his antennae in surprise. In the past, Aelia had preferred to have her wings fixed as quickly as possible, and he had made preparations accordingly. But it had been a long day; she was probably tired and hungry.
“Would you prefer to do this before or after you’ve eaten?” he asked her, keeping his tone neutral.
Aelia opened her mouth to answer, but it was Fulgor who spoke first. “Before,” he said, firmly.
His sister whipped around. “And what gives you the right to decide that?” she demanded.
“It’s my job to protect our people, right? Well, I’m protecting them from being blinded. You’re going to give someone a headache if you keep flying around like that.”
Aelia glared. Surprisingly, Acylius frowned as well. “It isn’t that bad,” he said.
Fulgor clapped a hand against the prince’s shoulder. “You only think that because you’re new. Trust me. You can’t just slop kolors all over something at random and expect it to look good.”
“Oh, that is rich coming from you,” said Aelia. “That’s always been your approach to painting.”
“Well, yeah,” said Fulgor. “That’s why you handle the painting. I recognise my flaws.” He put on an exaggerated expression of piety, and Aelia rolled her eyes.
Before the situation could devolve further, the Great Pyro cleared his throat. “Fulgor, the choice belongs to your sister,” he said. “Please do her the courtesy of allowing her to make it.”
Fulgor held up his hands in surrender. Aelia’s small smile verged on triumphant, but it faded when she glanced back at her wings. While Great Pyro had to concede that there was a certain artistic appeal to the random splatters of different kolors-it gave an impression of wild and unrestrained joy that he would not have blinked to see on Fulgor-it did not look quite right on his cool and analytical daughter.
She seemed to agree. “I suppose I should get this done now,” she said with a sigh. “It really is a mess.” She shot a glare at Fulgor that dared him to say anything.
Wisely, Fulgor did not. Instead, he turned to the Yuk prince and said, “This will probably take a while. Ready to see how much better Joyce food tastes?”
Acylius glanced at Aelia, who smiled gently. “Go on. This won’t be particularly interesting to watch, and I could hear your stomach growling all the way here.”
The prince ducked his head. “It’s been a long day,” he said apologetically.
“It has. You should go eat; I’ll be along as soon as I can. Just…don’t let Fulgor bully you into anything, okay?”
Fulgor clutched at his heart. “I’m hurt, Yaya!”
Aelia ignored him. “If you don’t like something, don’t feel obligated to finish it,” she told the prince. “Our food is probably really different to yours.”
Acylius made a face. “Yes, but anything different will be an improvement. I’m afraid that Yuk food is just as dull and dreary as everything else in the Stump.”
A flicker of anger passed over Aelia’s face, so quickly that the Great Pyro was sure the prince missed it, before her expression settled back into gentleness. “I hope you’ll like ours, then. I’ll see you later.”
Fulgor led the prince away, eagerly describing the many dishes on offer at a Joyce meal; descriptions that the Great Pyro listened to with only half an ear. More interesting to him was Aelia’s expression as she watched Acylius go: an oddly wistful protectiveness that he had never seen on his daughter before. Eventually, Fulgor’s voice faded into silence, and Aelia shook herself. The Great Pyro pretended that he had been busy with checking the paints.
“Let’s get started,” she said, sitting down on the curved bench. “I’m afraid of what might happen if I leave Acylius with Fulgor for too long.”
Without comment, the Great Pyro dipped a broad brush in the soft purple-blue paint and began to spread it across Aelia’s wings. Grains of pollen rolled beneath the brush; he could barely feel scales at all. It must have been a particularly ferocious battle, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself. Usually, Aelia needed to be repainted because one of her experiments had gone wrong; this made a nice change of pace.
Or would, he amended, if she would stop shifting as he painted.
Though he was hardly inexperienced in working with twitchy subjects, the Great Pyro couldn’t help feeling a mild twinge of annoyance as Aelia readjusted her position on the bench for the third time in thirty seconds. Aelia had long ago resigned herself to the necessity of wing repainting, though she hated to be taken away from her work, and this level of restlessness was uncharacteristic.
He held his tongue until he had completed the base coat and put away the broad brush. Only then, as he selected a finer brush and dipped it in the darker blue, did he say, “You seem distracted, Aelia.”
He had kept his tone mild, but she still jumped a little, her antennae flicking back and forth. Then, with a visible effort, she controlled herself. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, her voice as stiff as her body.
He patted her shoulder reassuringly, and set the brush to her wing so that he could begin to paint her markings. “That was not intended to be a rebuke, my dear. Just an observation. What are you thinking about?”
Another involuntary twitch; another visible effort to control herself. “I was thinking about Acylius. I hope that he’s okay with Fulgor.”
“I’m sure that he will be,” said the Great Pyro. “Your brother may be…mischievous…at times, but he is more perceptive than you give him credit for.”
“Once in a blue moonrise,” said Aelia. She began to swing her feet in midair. It seemed to give her an outlet for her nervous energy, and at least it kept her wings still. The Great Pyro didn’t comment. “I’ll just feel better when I can join them again. That’s all.”
The Great Pyro hummed, and kept painting as he waited for her to elaborate. It was almost always a poor idea to try hastening Aelia into revealing her thoughts; she preferred to organise them in the privacy of her own head before sharing them with others. It made a stark contrast to Fulgor, who only seemed able to think aloud.
At last, Aelia said slowly, “I’ve never seen a Yuk with wings before.” The Great Pyro could not see her face from where he stood, but he could guess at her expression-eyes downcast, mouth set in a thin line as she thought hard about something concerned her. “I thought that they used machines because they didn’t have wings.”
“A reasonable assumption,” he said, keeping his tone neutral as he continued to dab paint onto his daughter’s wings. “It does seem to be rare. I never would have expected to find it in the Yuk royal family.” He had thought for years that there was less difference between their peoples than was generally thought, and there had been the occasional piece of evidence to bear out the theory, but to see such undeniable proof was quite staggering. Now he wondered how many of the Yuk kings and queens that had preceded Bakrakra and her son had also been winged-and how they had dealt with that fact.
“I think they tried to ignore it as much as possible,” Aelia said, unknowingly answering his question. Anger began to edge her thoughtful tone. “Acylius barely even seem aware that he had wings until I showed him how to use them.”
“He seems to have taken naturally to flying,” said the Great Pyro, still mildly. He hoped that this would not turn into another rant about the inherent evil of the Yuks. “In a few days, I doubt that one would ever be able to tell that he hasn’t been flying since he was a nymph.”
“He mentioned that he might have tried to fly when he was younger, but it was…discouraged.”
“Was that the word he used?”
“Yes. Pause included. I don’t know if I want to know how he was discouraged from it. And if that’s how they treat their prince…” Aelia shook her head. “I always knew that the Stump was a horrible place, but I don’t think I realised how horrible until Acylius told me about what it’s like to live there. He told Krabo that his room depressed him, and Krabo told him that was progress. They think that being grim and gloomy is the sign of a good leader.”
The Great Pyro winced. Boundaries for youthful exuberance were one thing; encouraging misery was quite another, especially in someone so young as Acylius. Perhaps there was a point to some of Aelia’s tirades.
Which, oddly enough, she did not seem to be launching into. True, there was still anger in her voice, but there was also a great deal of confusion. Almost tentatively-this was entirely new ground, unanticipated if not unwelcome-the Great Pyro offered, “I have spent some time wondering about the benefits of such a philosophy. I wonder if there was some period of scarcity or strife in their history when optimism could have led to greater problems.”
“Maybe,” she allowed. “But if they aren’t experiencing that now, why keep it? What benefit is there to telling everyone that happiness and hope are bad? It just means that nothing in the Stump will ever change.” She shook her head. “It just doesn’t make any sense to continue believing something that will keep things from improving.”
The Great Pyro nearly bit through his tongue. To give himself time to think, he gently touched the paint on the outside of Aelia’s wings. Designed to dry rapidly when exposed to air, it had already hardened into a decorative and protective coating over the delicate scales.
“Papa?”
Was there a way that he could say this without insulting her? “Fold your wings, my dear, let me work on the inner surface.” Aelia complied, but she turned her head so that she could watch him as he worked. The Great Pyro chose his next words very carefully.
“Tradition is a powerful thing,” he said. “The longer such a belief has been in place, the more difficult it is to change it. It would likely require something quite earth-shaking to change such a long-standing conviction…some undeniable proof that things are not what was thought.”
There was a brief silence, broken only by the tiny sounds of the Great Pyro’s brush against Aelia’s wings. Just when he was beginning to wonder if she had caught his implication, Aelia sighed. “We aren’t just talking about the Yuks, are we.”
The sheer resignation in her voice made the Great Pyro want to chuckle-and not just out of relief that she hadn’t taken offence. “I can think of other situations in which this may apply, yes.”
“What was I supposed to think, Papa? Every Yuk that I’ve ever seen before today only wanted to destroy our flowers and use them for firewood. How was I supposed to know that there were Yuks that didn’t want to live like that?”
“I would never have expected you to know such a thing,” he said. “You are, first and foremost, a scientist. You believe only in what you have evidence for, and that is an admirable trait. But a scientist must also have the flexibility to accept that there may come fresh evidence that overturns what seemed to be an airtight hypothesis-”
She turned her head and scowled at him. “Are you saying that I’m refusing to accept the evidence that not all Yuks want to be destructive parasites? Who was the one who argued that Acylius should be allowed to stay here?”
“-and the wisdom to know that a hypothesis can apply only to what is observed,” he completed, mildly. There was the defensiveness, but it was much less intense than he had expected. “It cannot be extended to what is yet unobserved. One can’t claim that what is true for violets is also true for gazanias.”
Aelia’s eyes dropped, and her shoulders sagged. “Alright, Papa. I get it.”
He patted her shoulder. “It was not a rebuke, Aelia. You had reason to think as you did. And I am very proud of you for accepting the new evidence that has come your way.” He set down the brush and the dark blue pigment that he had been using, stoppering the container carefully and setting the brush in water to be cleaned. He opened the container of lightest blue, and selected the finest brush, which he began to flick across her wings.
“Papa, do you think they know that they’re unhappy?”
The Great Pyro paused in mid-brush stroke. “What do you mean?”
Her wings fluttered a little before they stilled again. “Sorry. I was just thinking… Acylius was the prince. That probably means that he knew things that a normal Yuk wouldn’t. So that means that a normal Yuk would only hear stories about us and how we live, and those stories are probably wrong. And that would mean that they don’t know that there is another way to live. And if they don’t know what it feels like to be happy…”
“Ah, I see. If they don’t know what it feels like to be happy, then how could they understand that what they are feeling is the opposite?” The Great Pyro was a little startled by this turn in the conversation, and he couldn’t quite see where Aelia was going with this line of thought. “I think that is a deeper philosophical question than we have time to discuss at this moment,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
Aelia was silent for a long moment before she answered. “Now that I know that not all Yuks are…well…not happy with the way they have to live, I want to do something about it, but… It was hard enough for Acylius-and even he was only able to get away with stealing a war machine because he was the prince. A normal Yuk would definitely need some kind of outside help. And even if Fulgor or I or anyone could help them get away, we could only help a few at a time-if that. And that’s assuming that we could persuade anyone to come with us, when they see us at the enemy. We would need to change their perspective on Joyces before we could convince them that there was a better life for them outside of the Stump. But doing that would mean that they would know how sad they are in their current life-or at least, it would make the contrast greater. So for any Yuk that we helped, there would be many more who would be left behind, knowing how unhappy they were. That seems almost as cruel as not helping at all. Acylius told me how miserable he was, when all he wanted was to come here and he couldn’t think of a way to get out. It sounded awful; I wouldn’t want anyone else to feel like that if I could help it.”
The Great Pyro felt a surge of pride so strong that he nearly hugged his daughter then and there. Not only had Aelia accepted that a long-held belief was flawed, and adjusted her views accordingly-not only had she seen that there was a difficult problem involved in that readjustment-but she had already considered how that problem might be solved, the chances of success, and the possible consequences of such actions.
She would be a great leader, one day.
“So,” she continued, oblivious to her father’s silent pride, “that means that the only way to fix this…would be to end the war. And I don’t even know if that’s possible.”
He sobered slightly. Yes, his daughter would one day be an excellent leader for their people, but there was much left for her to learn-and no need for her to learn it all today, or take on such emotional burdens before it was necessary. He lifted the brush again and carefully painted the final highlights onto her wings. “It will be,” he said. “One day.”
“And in the meantime, the Yuks have to live in despair?” she persisted. “That isn’t right, Papa. They deserve to be happy.”
Setting the paintbrush down, the Great Pyro put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Here is something else to consider,” he said gently. “Happiness is different for every one of us. It may be that many Yuks are content with their existence; and if this is the case, the only horror in this situation is preventing those like Acylius from pursuing the life they want.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “We cannot force others to be happy, Aelia. We can only ensure that they have the chance to choose.”
There was silence for a long moment. Then Aelia put a hand over his, and smiled up at him. “I know that you’re right, Papa,” she said. “But…it’s hard to understand. Especially when I look at Acylius. He looked so sad when he thought that he could never be a Joyce, and now he’s so happy.”
The protectiveness had returned to her voice, and the Great Pyro hid a smile. “He was very brave to persevere until he could come here,” he said, seriously. “It must have been difficult for him. You can stand up, my dear.”
“He is brave,” agreed Aelia, rising. “And strong. And…” She trailed off for a moment, fanning her wings slowly to ensure that the paint had dried. Eventually, she continued, “You know, when I first saw Acylius, it never crossed my mind that he might be a Yuk. He was so friendly and kind, and he wanted so much to know about everything he was seeing. I thought it was strange that he didn’t know how to fly, or that he didn’t understand about the necessity of the pollen, but I dismissed it because he was so…” She trailed off.
“Nice?” suggested the Great Pyro. “
“Yes. It just seemed impossible that he could be anything but a Joyce. And now I wonder how many other Yuks there are in the Stump like him.”
The Great Pyro set the last brush in water and stoppered the paint container. “We can only guess-and hope that they have more support than Acylius did.” He smiled at her. “I am glad to see you exploring other viewpoints, daughter. Your compassion does you credit.”
She shifted, evidently embarrassed. “I don’t think I deserve-I mean, I didn’t even think about it, before today. I didn’t want to think about it. If the evidence hadn’t been shoved right in my face-”
“Yet you still recognised it as evidence, even though it ran contrary to your beliefs. Some would not have.” Setting the paints back into their container, the Great Pyro lifted the tray. “Compassion can be developed, Aelia. It is not always an innate characteristic.” He smiled. “But I think that’s quite enough soul-searching for one evening, don’t you? You should find your brother and your friend. You must be hungry, and I’m sure that Acylius is waiting for your return. He seems to be quite fond of you.”
He was secretly delighted when Aelia ducked her head, one hand reaching up to brush nervously at her antennae. Unfortunately exposed to (and involved in) war from a young age, Aelia seemed to have missed out on many typical adolescent milestones-innocent infatuation included. And if the object of her affection was not who-or what-he would have expected, then it was proof of a greater capacity for sympathy than she had shown before.
“It’s not-I mean-I’ve only known him for a few hours, Papa.”
Oh, how he wanted to tease. But he didn’t want to push her to the point of defensiveness, or she might withdraw from Acylius completely. It would be a terrible shame to destroy their fledgling romance-it was rather sweet.
“Quite enough time to decide that you like someone,” he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “I’m glad that you’ve made a new friend.”
She gave him a thoroughly suspicious look. He returned it with one of complete innocence. Their gazes held for a moment, but in the end, Aelia looked away first.
“I should-I should go make sure that Fulgor hasn’t tried to make Acylius eat boiled roots or something,” she said, fiddling with her antennae again. “Thanks for fixing my wings, Papa. I’ll see you soon.”
She fluttered off into the halls of Flower City. The Great Pyro watched her go, managing to keep himself from chuckling until she was well out of both sight and hearing.
“Ah, young love,” he said to himself, stacking the jars of kolor for easy carrying back to the storage rooms. The Great Prism only knew if Aelia’s infatuation with the Yuk prince-or his with her-would blossom into something lasting. But even if nothing else came of it, the Great Pyro could only consider it a good thing that Aelia’s mind had been broadened.
Lifting jars and brushes carefully, he followed his daughter into the Great Flower.
FANDOM: Insektors
PAIRING: Acylius/Aelia
RATING: G
SUMMARY: The Great Pyro has a talk with his daughter about her changing world view.
WARNINGS: None.
NOTES: Immediately post-The Eskape, follows Lugubrious. I swear that I will move away from this episode at some point. It’s just a really important one for Aelia’s development.
The Great Pyro was able to spot the approach of his children and their new friend long before they reached the Great Flower. While Fulgor and Acylius had been able to restore themselves to their usual kolor with a good scrub, Aelia’s wings were still a kaleidoscope of kolor splatters that drew attention from everyone around. The Great Pyro wasn’t sure whether this was due to the…unusual brightness…of the display, or simply the rarity of seeing Aelia looking anything less than beautifully co-ordinated.
Or it could be the presence of a flying Yuk beside his unusually vivid daughter that was causing so much curiosity.
Neither Aelia nor Acylius were paying any attention to the staring insects they left in their wake. They were engrossed in conversation as they approached, and Fulgor (hanging slightly behind them) rolled his eyes expressively at his father from behind his sister’s back. The Great Pyro hid a smile, and waited patiently for Aelia to notice his presence. When she finally did, an expression of dismay passed briefly across her face.
The Great Pyro resisted the urge to lift his antennae in surprise. In the past, Aelia had preferred to have her wings fixed as quickly as possible, and he had made preparations accordingly. But it had been a long day; she was probably tired and hungry.
“Would you prefer to do this before or after you’ve eaten?” he asked her, keeping his tone neutral.
Aelia opened her mouth to answer, but it was Fulgor who spoke first. “Before,” he said, firmly.
His sister whipped around. “And what gives you the right to decide that?” she demanded.
“It’s my job to protect our people, right? Well, I’m protecting them from being blinded. You’re going to give someone a headache if you keep flying around like that.”
Aelia glared. Surprisingly, Acylius frowned as well. “It isn’t that bad,” he said.
Fulgor clapped a hand against the prince’s shoulder. “You only think that because you’re new. Trust me. You can’t just slop kolors all over something at random and expect it to look good.”
“Oh, that is rich coming from you,” said Aelia. “That’s always been your approach to painting.”
“Well, yeah,” said Fulgor. “That’s why you handle the painting. I recognise my flaws.” He put on an exaggerated expression of piety, and Aelia rolled her eyes.
Before the situation could devolve further, the Great Pyro cleared his throat. “Fulgor, the choice belongs to your sister,” he said. “Please do her the courtesy of allowing her to make it.”
Fulgor held up his hands in surrender. Aelia’s small smile verged on triumphant, but it faded when she glanced back at her wings. While Great Pyro had to concede that there was a certain artistic appeal to the random splatters of different kolors-it gave an impression of wild and unrestrained joy that he would not have blinked to see on Fulgor-it did not look quite right on his cool and analytical daughter.
She seemed to agree. “I suppose I should get this done now,” she said with a sigh. “It really is a mess.” She shot a glare at Fulgor that dared him to say anything.
Wisely, Fulgor did not. Instead, he turned to the Yuk prince and said, “This will probably take a while. Ready to see how much better Joyce food tastes?”
Acylius glanced at Aelia, who smiled gently. “Go on. This won’t be particularly interesting to watch, and I could hear your stomach growling all the way here.”
The prince ducked his head. “It’s been a long day,” he said apologetically.
“It has. You should go eat; I’ll be along as soon as I can. Just…don’t let Fulgor bully you into anything, okay?”
Fulgor clutched at his heart. “I’m hurt, Yaya!”
Aelia ignored him. “If you don’t like something, don’t feel obligated to finish it,” she told the prince. “Our food is probably really different to yours.”
Acylius made a face. “Yes, but anything different will be an improvement. I’m afraid that Yuk food is just as dull and dreary as everything else in the Stump.”
A flicker of anger passed over Aelia’s face, so quickly that the Great Pyro was sure the prince missed it, before her expression settled back into gentleness. “I hope you’ll like ours, then. I’ll see you later.”
Fulgor led the prince away, eagerly describing the many dishes on offer at a Joyce meal; descriptions that the Great Pyro listened to with only half an ear. More interesting to him was Aelia’s expression as she watched Acylius go: an oddly wistful protectiveness that he had never seen on his daughter before. Eventually, Fulgor’s voice faded into silence, and Aelia shook herself. The Great Pyro pretended that he had been busy with checking the paints.
“Let’s get started,” she said, sitting down on the curved bench. “I’m afraid of what might happen if I leave Acylius with Fulgor for too long.”
Without comment, the Great Pyro dipped a broad brush in the soft purple-blue paint and began to spread it across Aelia’s wings. Grains of pollen rolled beneath the brush; he could barely feel scales at all. It must have been a particularly ferocious battle, and he couldn’t help smiling to himself. Usually, Aelia needed to be repainted because one of her experiments had gone wrong; this made a nice change of pace.
Or would, he amended, if she would stop shifting as he painted.
Though he was hardly inexperienced in working with twitchy subjects, the Great Pyro couldn’t help feeling a mild twinge of annoyance as Aelia readjusted her position on the bench for the third time in thirty seconds. Aelia had long ago resigned herself to the necessity of wing repainting, though she hated to be taken away from her work, and this level of restlessness was uncharacteristic.
He held his tongue until he had completed the base coat and put away the broad brush. Only then, as he selected a finer brush and dipped it in the darker blue, did he say, “You seem distracted, Aelia.”
He had kept his tone mild, but she still jumped a little, her antennae flicking back and forth. Then, with a visible effort, she controlled herself. “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said, her voice as stiff as her body.
He patted her shoulder reassuringly, and set the brush to her wing so that he could begin to paint her markings. “That was not intended to be a rebuke, my dear. Just an observation. What are you thinking about?”
Another involuntary twitch; another visible effort to control herself. “I was thinking about Acylius. I hope that he’s okay with Fulgor.”
“I’m sure that he will be,” said the Great Pyro. “Your brother may be…mischievous…at times, but he is more perceptive than you give him credit for.”
“Once in a blue moonrise,” said Aelia. She began to swing her feet in midair. It seemed to give her an outlet for her nervous energy, and at least it kept her wings still. The Great Pyro didn’t comment. “I’ll just feel better when I can join them again. That’s all.”
The Great Pyro hummed, and kept painting as he waited for her to elaborate. It was almost always a poor idea to try hastening Aelia into revealing her thoughts; she preferred to organise them in the privacy of her own head before sharing them with others. It made a stark contrast to Fulgor, who only seemed able to think aloud.
At last, Aelia said slowly, “I’ve never seen a Yuk with wings before.” The Great Pyro could not see her face from where he stood, but he could guess at her expression-eyes downcast, mouth set in a thin line as she thought hard about something concerned her. “I thought that they used machines because they didn’t have wings.”
“A reasonable assumption,” he said, keeping his tone neutral as he continued to dab paint onto his daughter’s wings. “It does seem to be rare. I never would have expected to find it in the Yuk royal family.” He had thought for years that there was less difference between their peoples than was generally thought, and there had been the occasional piece of evidence to bear out the theory, but to see such undeniable proof was quite staggering. Now he wondered how many of the Yuk kings and queens that had preceded Bakrakra and her son had also been winged-and how they had dealt with that fact.
“I think they tried to ignore it as much as possible,” Aelia said, unknowingly answering his question. Anger began to edge her thoughtful tone. “Acylius barely even seem aware that he had wings until I showed him how to use them.”
“He seems to have taken naturally to flying,” said the Great Pyro, still mildly. He hoped that this would not turn into another rant about the inherent evil of the Yuks. “In a few days, I doubt that one would ever be able to tell that he hasn’t been flying since he was a nymph.”
“He mentioned that he might have tried to fly when he was younger, but it was…discouraged.”
“Was that the word he used?”
“Yes. Pause included. I don’t know if I want to know how he was discouraged from it. And if that’s how they treat their prince…” Aelia shook her head. “I always knew that the Stump was a horrible place, but I don’t think I realised how horrible until Acylius told me about what it’s like to live there. He told Krabo that his room depressed him, and Krabo told him that was progress. They think that being grim and gloomy is the sign of a good leader.”
The Great Pyro winced. Boundaries for youthful exuberance were one thing; encouraging misery was quite another, especially in someone so young as Acylius. Perhaps there was a point to some of Aelia’s tirades.
Which, oddly enough, she did not seem to be launching into. True, there was still anger in her voice, but there was also a great deal of confusion. Almost tentatively-this was entirely new ground, unanticipated if not unwelcome-the Great Pyro offered, “I have spent some time wondering about the benefits of such a philosophy. I wonder if there was some period of scarcity or strife in their history when optimism could have led to greater problems.”
“Maybe,” she allowed. “But if they aren’t experiencing that now, why keep it? What benefit is there to telling everyone that happiness and hope are bad? It just means that nothing in the Stump will ever change.” She shook her head. “It just doesn’t make any sense to continue believing something that will keep things from improving.”
The Great Pyro nearly bit through his tongue. To give himself time to think, he gently touched the paint on the outside of Aelia’s wings. Designed to dry rapidly when exposed to air, it had already hardened into a decorative and protective coating over the delicate scales.
“Papa?”
Was there a way that he could say this without insulting her? “Fold your wings, my dear, let me work on the inner surface.” Aelia complied, but she turned her head so that she could watch him as he worked. The Great Pyro chose his next words very carefully.
“Tradition is a powerful thing,” he said. “The longer such a belief has been in place, the more difficult it is to change it. It would likely require something quite earth-shaking to change such a long-standing conviction…some undeniable proof that things are not what was thought.”
There was a brief silence, broken only by the tiny sounds of the Great Pyro’s brush against Aelia’s wings. Just when he was beginning to wonder if she had caught his implication, Aelia sighed. “We aren’t just talking about the Yuks, are we.”
The sheer resignation in her voice made the Great Pyro want to chuckle-and not just out of relief that she hadn’t taken offence. “I can think of other situations in which this may apply, yes.”
“What was I supposed to think, Papa? Every Yuk that I’ve ever seen before today only wanted to destroy our flowers and use them for firewood. How was I supposed to know that there were Yuks that didn’t want to live like that?”
“I would never have expected you to know such a thing,” he said. “You are, first and foremost, a scientist. You believe only in what you have evidence for, and that is an admirable trait. But a scientist must also have the flexibility to accept that there may come fresh evidence that overturns what seemed to be an airtight hypothesis-”
She turned her head and scowled at him. “Are you saying that I’m refusing to accept the evidence that not all Yuks want to be destructive parasites? Who was the one who argued that Acylius should be allowed to stay here?”
“-and the wisdom to know that a hypothesis can apply only to what is observed,” he completed, mildly. There was the defensiveness, but it was much less intense than he had expected. “It cannot be extended to what is yet unobserved. One can’t claim that what is true for violets is also true for gazanias.”
Aelia’s eyes dropped, and her shoulders sagged. “Alright, Papa. I get it.”
He patted her shoulder. “It was not a rebuke, Aelia. You had reason to think as you did. And I am very proud of you for accepting the new evidence that has come your way.” He set down the brush and the dark blue pigment that he had been using, stoppering the container carefully and setting the brush in water to be cleaned. He opened the container of lightest blue, and selected the finest brush, which he began to flick across her wings.
“Papa, do you think they know that they’re unhappy?”
The Great Pyro paused in mid-brush stroke. “What do you mean?”
Her wings fluttered a little before they stilled again. “Sorry. I was just thinking… Acylius was the prince. That probably means that he knew things that a normal Yuk wouldn’t. So that means that a normal Yuk would only hear stories about us and how we live, and those stories are probably wrong. And that would mean that they don’t know that there is another way to live. And if they don’t know what it feels like to be happy…”
“Ah, I see. If they don’t know what it feels like to be happy, then how could they understand that what they are feeling is the opposite?” The Great Pyro was a little startled by this turn in the conversation, and he couldn’t quite see where Aelia was going with this line of thought. “I think that is a deeper philosophical question than we have time to discuss at this moment,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
Aelia was silent for a long moment before she answered. “Now that I know that not all Yuks are…well…not happy with the way they have to live, I want to do something about it, but… It was hard enough for Acylius-and even he was only able to get away with stealing a war machine because he was the prince. A normal Yuk would definitely need some kind of outside help. And even if Fulgor or I or anyone could help them get away, we could only help a few at a time-if that. And that’s assuming that we could persuade anyone to come with us, when they see us at the enemy. We would need to change their perspective on Joyces before we could convince them that there was a better life for them outside of the Stump. But doing that would mean that they would know how sad they are in their current life-or at least, it would make the contrast greater. So for any Yuk that we helped, there would be many more who would be left behind, knowing how unhappy they were. That seems almost as cruel as not helping at all. Acylius told me how miserable he was, when all he wanted was to come here and he couldn’t think of a way to get out. It sounded awful; I wouldn’t want anyone else to feel like that if I could help it.”
The Great Pyro felt a surge of pride so strong that he nearly hugged his daughter then and there. Not only had Aelia accepted that a long-held belief was flawed, and adjusted her views accordingly-not only had she seen that there was a difficult problem involved in that readjustment-but she had already considered how that problem might be solved, the chances of success, and the possible consequences of such actions.
She would be a great leader, one day.
“So,” she continued, oblivious to her father’s silent pride, “that means that the only way to fix this…would be to end the war. And I don’t even know if that’s possible.”
He sobered slightly. Yes, his daughter would one day be an excellent leader for their people, but there was much left for her to learn-and no need for her to learn it all today, or take on such emotional burdens before it was necessary. He lifted the brush again and carefully painted the final highlights onto her wings. “It will be,” he said. “One day.”
“And in the meantime, the Yuks have to live in despair?” she persisted. “That isn’t right, Papa. They deserve to be happy.”
Setting the paintbrush down, the Great Pyro put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Here is something else to consider,” he said gently. “Happiness is different for every one of us. It may be that many Yuks are content with their existence; and if this is the case, the only horror in this situation is preventing those like Acylius from pursuing the life they want.” He squeezed her shoulder gently. “We cannot force others to be happy, Aelia. We can only ensure that they have the chance to choose.”
There was silence for a long moment. Then Aelia put a hand over his, and smiled up at him. “I know that you’re right, Papa,” she said. “But…it’s hard to understand. Especially when I look at Acylius. He looked so sad when he thought that he could never be a Joyce, and now he’s so happy.”
The protectiveness had returned to her voice, and the Great Pyro hid a smile. “He was very brave to persevere until he could come here,” he said, seriously. “It must have been difficult for him. You can stand up, my dear.”
“He is brave,” agreed Aelia, rising. “And strong. And…” She trailed off for a moment, fanning her wings slowly to ensure that the paint had dried. Eventually, she continued, “You know, when I first saw Acylius, it never crossed my mind that he might be a Yuk. He was so friendly and kind, and he wanted so much to know about everything he was seeing. I thought it was strange that he didn’t know how to fly, or that he didn’t understand about the necessity of the pollen, but I dismissed it because he was so…” She trailed off.
“Nice?” suggested the Great Pyro. “
“Yes. It just seemed impossible that he could be anything but a Joyce. And now I wonder how many other Yuks there are in the Stump like him.”
The Great Pyro set the last brush in water and stoppered the paint container. “We can only guess-and hope that they have more support than Acylius did.” He smiled at her. “I am glad to see you exploring other viewpoints, daughter. Your compassion does you credit.”
She shifted, evidently embarrassed. “I don’t think I deserve-I mean, I didn’t even think about it, before today. I didn’t want to think about it. If the evidence hadn’t been shoved right in my face-”
“Yet you still recognised it as evidence, even though it ran contrary to your beliefs. Some would not have.” Setting the paints back into their container, the Great Pyro lifted the tray. “Compassion can be developed, Aelia. It is not always an innate characteristic.” He smiled. “But I think that’s quite enough soul-searching for one evening, don’t you? You should find your brother and your friend. You must be hungry, and I’m sure that Acylius is waiting for your return. He seems to be quite fond of you.”
He was secretly delighted when Aelia ducked her head, one hand reaching up to brush nervously at her antennae. Unfortunately exposed to (and involved in) war from a young age, Aelia seemed to have missed out on many typical adolescent milestones-innocent infatuation included. And if the object of her affection was not who-or what-he would have expected, then it was proof of a greater capacity for sympathy than she had shown before.
“It’s not-I mean-I’ve only known him for a few hours, Papa.”
Oh, how he wanted to tease. But he didn’t want to push her to the point of defensiveness, or she might withdraw from Acylius completely. It would be a terrible shame to destroy their fledgling romance-it was rather sweet.
“Quite enough time to decide that you like someone,” he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “I’m glad that you’ve made a new friend.”
She gave him a thoroughly suspicious look. He returned it with one of complete innocence. Their gazes held for a moment, but in the end, Aelia looked away first.
“I should-I should go make sure that Fulgor hasn’t tried to make Acylius eat boiled roots or something,” she said, fiddling with her antennae again. “Thanks for fixing my wings, Papa. I’ll see you soon.”
She fluttered off into the halls of Flower City. The Great Pyro watched her go, managing to keep himself from chuckling until she was well out of both sight and hearing.
“Ah, young love,” he said to himself, stacking the jars of kolor for easy carrying back to the storage rooms. The Great Prism only knew if Aelia’s infatuation with the Yuk prince-or his with her-would blossom into something lasting. But even if nothing else came of it, the Great Pyro could only consider it a good thing that Aelia’s mind had been broadened.
Lifting jars and brushes carefully, he followed his daughter into the Great Flower.