Work Text:
Alan of Trebond was not, contrary to popular opinion, an idiot. He had, in fact, met his children. He was, if not close, at least moderately familiar with them. He knew Alanna wanted no part of being a lady. He knew that Thom was too much like himself: a scholar rather than a warrior. He knew that neither wanted the path he was setting before them.
He knew they thought he hated them.
And he was self-aware enough to know he had not been an ideal father. Perhaps not even a good father. Certainly not a father that Marinie would have approved of. But, well, there’s the rub. He could have, would have been a better father with her at his side. At the very least, he could look at his children and see her and it wouldn’t hurt. It would be a comfort. Well, he mused, sometimes it would probably be an exasperation. She had been more than capable of provoking such from him, and his children had at the very least inherited that from her. And then he would only have to be a father, not a father and mother both. He knew nothing about being a mother, especially to a daughter. He knew little about what girls were supposed to be taught at all or how to relate to them because he had never been around girls! He had no sisters, no first female cousins, and he was a full ten years younger than Catherine who was the only noble girl close to his age he had been around at all until he had to attend banquets at court, by which time, they were hardly even girls any more. And even as women—he had few enough years around them. Marinie’s death had seen to that.
He knew it was unorthodox to educate his daughter the same as his son, but what other choice did he have? Not educate his daughter? Absurd. At the very least a daughter would need to be able to assist in managing a keep, and he would never deny any child the joy of knowledge that books held. That would be cruel. The only lesson he knew was required for one of their station was music but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not when the sound of music in the keep would remind him so keenly of Marinie. Marinie, who could play any instrument she got her hands on like it had been crafted for her. Marinie, whose singing could bring a joyful man to tears and a distraught man to smiling. Marinie, who was—
And even if he had known what lessons a daughter should get, it seemed a kindness to keep Alanna and Thom together for their lessons, with how they clung to each other. He was glad they had each other, at least. And it was a kindness to him and to their other tutors to keep them together because separating them would be more trouble than it was worth. More than one governess had learned that when they were young.
It didn’t help that the idea of doing the lessons of theirs he oversaw separately exhausted him. He barely had enough energy to get through one set of lessons.
He knew his children thought he loved his books more than them. His books were dear to him, true, but it was not that he valued his children above his books. It was that he simply did not have the energy. And yet, he still needed to manage a fief. If he did not do it, they would not have food, nor heat, nor clothing. If he did not do it, they would have no staff, nor guards, nor a keep sufficient to keep any Scanran raiders out. If he did not do it, there would be no record of income, and come the tax collection, the fief would be in a bad spot.
Currently, the fief was…not in a good spot. But if it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Some crops failed, raiders stole someone’s sheep or goats, bandits on the road needed to be taken care of, and all of it required his attention and his money and whatever he did was never, ever enough, and he was practically drowning in it. And Alan knew Coram knew things were not good. He knew Coram had been due a raise in his pay several times over, and Coram well knew it because he had been hired as a guard and manservant. Not as a tutor, not as head of the guard, and not as a gods-forsaken steward . And Alan was so ashamed he could barely look Coram in the eye for being unable to pay him his due, even unable to thank the man for his labor because how could that be anything but an insult to such a man.
Alan did not know how he would manage without Coram at the fief. There was no better man to send with Thom to Corus though. Coram would champion his finicky, delicate son with the servants and would not let him be mocked by his lessers at least. Alan did not hold out hope that Thom would not be mocked by his peers. Perhaps without the twins in the fief to wrangle and to educate, he would have enough energy to see to the fief as it needed to be seen to. Hah, pigs might fly.
Maude at least could be trusted to serve at least as chatelaine and perhaps even take over some of Coram’s duties as steward. And with the children gone, he might even let her resume her attempts to find some herb or potion to give him more energy. She had tried so long at first when Marinie had died, but none of it had worked, and enough of it had had negative effects that could not be tolerated with two children around that he had forced her to stop.
And Alan knew Maude had been teaching his children how to use their Gifts. He wasn’t a fool. But having some control was better than none, and he had forbidden that of them mostly because he couldn’t bring himself to teach them. He couldn’t bring himself to use his Gift. Not after it couldn’t save Marinie. What was the point of his Gift if it couldn’t save his wife? And even if he could bring himself to try to use his Gift, he wouldn’t be able to. Using the Gift required will—required desire. Wanting. All he wanted was his wife back.
Alan had thought about keeping his children here. They were the last parts of Marinie he had in the world, and as painful as that was at times, their presence was still a reminder that she had not been a dream. That she had been real. But what choice was there? Eldest sons went to train as knights, daughters to the Convent and then to Court to find a husband approved by her family. That was the order of things, as ordained by the gods. Only the most arrogant man would go against it—he would know. And look at where that left him. Alone, with a dead wife, a failing fief, and two children who thought he hated them. No, better to send them off on their proper paths, to live proper lives, so that they would have a chance at a happier life than the one he had.