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Colum could feel himself grow more and more stir-crazy for every second that passed. He had resolved to stare up at the ceiling for the last hour and a half trying to count the bleach white tiles with their silvery inlays covering it. He had tried many things to keep his mind off the reason that he was stuck here in the antechamber of the Supreme Matron’s quarters. At first, he tried to pace back and forth, count his footsteps. When that had failed he attempted to pray, repeat stanzas he learned by heart since childhood but his mind was too scattered to truly recall them. So now, he was sitting on the sofa facing an unlit fireplace in the room, staring up at the ceiling and trying to not think of Silas’s tear-filled eyes which had been the last thing he’d seen before he was dragged away and deposited to wait in the room he was currently stuck in.
Just when he started to fear he was gonna have to wait a second full hour, the tell-tale clack of the Supreme Matron's heels could be heard stalking down the corridor. Finally, she pulled open the double doors to the room.
Colum was on his feet the instance she entered. He was eager to ask if his necromancer was alright but before he could open his mouth, the Supreme Matron put her hand up to silence him.
“Sit down, Brother Asht, and listen.”
Colum didn’t want to just sit and listen, he wanted to return to Silas’s side, reassure the boy that all was well, to make sure he wasn't injured. But he had little choice and did as was asked of him.
“The Master Templar is well, if that is what you intend to inquire about,” she said, stern as always. It was odd, still, to Colum to refer to the boy as the Master Templar already even though that was his title. It had been the boy's title for over a year now ever since Colum’s grandfather, the previous Master Templar Phoebus Octakiseron had breathed his last at the age of ninety-two, thus bestowing the title and responsibility as head of the Eighth House to his seven-year-old son.
But the Supreme Matron had always been a cold woman, a stickler for rules and regulations and ever critical of how Colum ‘coddled the boy’, as she would claim. The impersonal attitude with which the woman chose to approach caring for the child never sat right with him, but her authority on the matter was not to be questioned. She was the one in charge of the boy’s rearing after all, it had been her intended duty ever since the previous supreme matron, Silas's mother and Colum’s grandmother, had passed ten years before Silas had even been born.
“I do hope you understand the gravity of your failure to perform today, Brother Asht,” the Supreme Matron said, narrowing her grey eyes at him.
“It was never my intent-,” he tried to say before she interrupted him.
“For over a decade you’ve been trained for this very purpose, Asht, you’ve known the risks and been prepared yet you still would dare to show such weakness.” She spoke with a strong hint of contempt to her tone. Colum had known she had a dislike of him and this recent incident was only adding fuel to that fire.
“That you would do such a thing to the Master Templar shows a grave lack of competence,” she said through gritted teeth. “Had you not already sworn your oath, I would strongly implore the Council Elders to have you replaced.”
Her words stung but all that was to do for Colum at that moment was to swallow his pride and grovel an appropriate amount. The faster he got this over with, the faster they would let him return to Silas. By God, Colum couldn’t remember ever feeling so dreadful as he did having to look into Silas’s eyes when they were so full of fear, tears streaming down his face. He wasn’t an especially expressive child and it made every time Colum could beckon a smile out of him a personal victory. That also meant Colum was woeful unused to seeing him cry.
“I apologize, Supreme Matron,” he said, “it will not happen again, I swear it.”
Colum couldn’t say truly what had caused it, he was not yet fully accustomed to being plunged into the River but the sensation was hardly new to him. Yet it had been something, perhaps the raw fear of it that he experienced had pushed the memory completely out of his mind in some attempt at self-preservation. He didn’t know but the moment he felt himself back in his own body, he screamed - in pain? Fear? Misery? A putrid concoction of all three appeared the most likely.
He hadn’t known where he was, other than that he was hurting and scared, he lashed out in his panic, screamed bloody murder and cursed them all for tasking him with this duty of being the vessel from which the Master Templar was to draw power. It had not been a life he’d chosen yet he was doomed to such an existence, to be drained until he died, prematurely as all cavaliers of the Eighth are destined to. He’d barely been able to see anything but darkness around him. Colum had not been capable of discerning the small white-clad shape rushing to his side for what it was, the only thing he’d felt inside himself was an overwhelming feeling to protect himself. Perhaps in his head, the small shape had been another of the River spirits hungry to consume him.
As such, he, Colum the Eight, youngest of the Asht brothers, cavalier to the Master Templar of the White Glass, struck his own frail and tiny necromancer so hard it had knocked the small boy off his feet. Mere moments later, Colum regained his senses and saw the consequences of his weakness. Within seconds he’d been dragged away, the tear-filled eyes of his young uncle seared into his mind.
“Whatever penance is to be asked of me, I shall perform it,” he said, still bowing his head to the Supreme Matron in reverence. He deserved it after all, some part of himself couldn’t even bear to look at his own hands knowing they harmed his necromancer. The Supreme Matron simply scoffed at him.
“Any penance you would be capable of performing might well be mute and null, as it will not undo the damage you’ve done,” she sneered. It hurt Colum to hear but it was understandable, after all, what had it looked like to Silas? He placed his cavalier under as he’d been instructed to and when calling him back, all of a sudden Colum had screamed and flailed like a man possessed and when he reached out to him to calm his cavalier down, his nephew had stuck him.
“Please, I beg of you, allow me a chance to repent, to try to regain his trust once more.”
Colum wasn’t far from falling to his knees to truly start begging but the old woman’s face barely moved at all. “Please, I swear it on the White Glass. I would never besmirch my oath by raising a hand to him.”
“It is not the Master Templar’s trust in you that has been damaged by your failure, Brother Asht,” she said, “Indeed, the boy appears to foolishly believe himself to be at fault for your inadequacy, so you need not fret. His regard for you is as high as ever.”
While logically he knew it shouldn’t, a flood of relief came over Colum at her words. Silas wasn’t afraid of him. Silas didn’t hate him. But more than ever he felt the need to return to the boy’s side to reassure him that he was safe and sound, to convince him he’d done nothing wrong. No matter the pain siphoning brought out of him, Colum couldn’t bring himself to hate Silas for simply doing as his instructors told him.
“The damage I refer to has all to do with the fact that by your little display of incompetence, the Master Templar is now of the belief that the act of siphoning brings some form of irreparable harm upon you, Brother Asht.” She almost spat the words at him. “And as you keep incessantly working on aggrandizing yourself in Master Octakiseron’s regard, he has now expressed an unwillingness to ever attempt to siphon from you again.”
“But…” Colum felt at a loss for a moment, “it does bring harm, Supreme Matron?” The woman took a deep breath, then stared at him with a gaze of equal parts contempt and annoyance.
“Hence your training, Brother Asht, hence the very reason for your birth, you were built to withstand the strain that your duty as cavalier primary places upon you,” she said, “If you had proper sense and kept your distance from the boy as is expected, then knowledge of the dangers you are at the risk of wouldn’t matter. But as you do not, the Master Templar cares for your wellbeing and as such doesn’t wish to harm you.”
She still spoke to him as if he was a dimwitted child and not a man of twenty-four. Part of him wanted to scream at her that maybe he would have kept his distance if they hadn’t all left the poor child so isolated and alone. How did they expect him to be sleeping at the foot of the boy's bed and not soothe him once he woke from nightmares?
“But such things are beside the point, they can not be undone, as for now the only thing we can do is try and mitigate the damage,” the Supreme Matron continued. “It’s imperative that you convince Master Octakiseron that the act of siphoning from you doesn't put you at any risk of long-lasting damage, that you are impervious to such harm to be done to you through the act of siphoning.” She crossed her arms as she looked at him. Her words confused Colum for a moment.
“Why would you have me lie to him? Is it not better for him to know the risks, to treat it with respect and not make use of it frivolously?” He asked. Silas was still young but if his instructors considered him old enough to perform the rites of siphoning then should he not also know all the risks. The fact that the Supreme Matron appeared to imply that Silas knew none of it didn’t sit right with Colum at all.
“As stated, if the Master Templar was inclined to treat you simply as the tool you’ve been bred to be, then such knowledge wouldn’t matter. But he doesn't and now that he’s begun to doubt your capabilities, he is unwilling to put you in harm's way at all and you must understand why that can not continue, Brother Asht.” She was growing even more exasperated it appeared, close to enraged that he wasn’t simply folding and obeying her orders.
Colum stood up to his feet, using at the least his physical height to leverage some form of intimidation.
“I must confess I do not understand, Supreme Matron. I must ask you to inform me as to why that’s the case.”
The Supreme Matron sighed, not even attempting to hide her contempt for him.
“If Master Octakiseron does not perform the rites, if he does not practice the necromancy upon which our house is built, then you do understand what that makes him don’t you?” She let her words hang in the air for a moment, she didn’t expect him to answer, yet Colum had the sinking fear he knew what she was going to say.
“A failure, Brother Asht. A templar who will not perform his duty is a failure, no better than the stillborn brothers and sisters that preceded him.” Her words were icy and still they lit a fire of panic in Colum’s gut, she couldn’t possibly be suggesting…
“But he’s just a child, you can’t just discard him if he won’t perform this one thing.”
There were other necromantic schools the boy could practice and probably excel in that weren’t soul-siphoning. He’d be a prodigy in any of them, of that Colum was sure. Silas was so young but already so very brilliant.
“A failure to perform his duty of such a magnitude can not be overlooked, Brother Asht. We have few options before us, either we allow the boy his choice and he continues to refuse to perform his duty. With that, we will need to strip him of his name and rank. He shall be sent away to one of the outer colonies where he perhaps could do some good, and we shall need to restart the breeding program. We still possess an adequate amount of genetic material from the previous Master Templar and his wife to make a number of attempts, and perhaps you will be lucky twice, Brother Asht, and our new heir will be compatible with you as well.”
They wouldn’t, no, they couldn’t take Silas away from him and send him to some far-off world where Colum would never see him again. Colum would never hold him, never brush his hair and sing him to sleep when the nightmares were haunting him ever again, never see his shy and rare smile, hear his even rarer laughter. There were few joys allowed to him in his life and having his little uncle's attention and love were one of the most precious he possessed. He couldn’t let them take him. As if she could read his mind the Supreme Matron's face took on a slightly unsettling smile.
“Or, you will convince him that no matter what, you will not break.” She knew fully well she had won the argument. There was no choice in it, not to Colum and not to Silas. Yet it turned his stomach so to lie to the boy, to trick him into believing he wasn’t slowly killing the one person in his life to show him unconditional love and affection.
“I understand, Supreme Matron,” Colum said with a nod.
“And we can count on you to do your duty then, Brother Asht?”
“Yes,” was all he answered with.
After agreeing to play along with the ruse that he was somehow unkillable, Colum was finally allowed to return to Silas's side. He was let into the Master Templar’s chambers that he shared with him.
The rooms were dark, the lights had been shut off and as he closed the door behind him, he could hear the faint sound of crying. It was still so utterly heart-wrenching to him to hear Silas cry. It didn’t take him long to find the boy where he sat curled up and hidden away beneath his desk.
Silas didn’t appear to see or hear him approach at all, lost in his weeping as he was. Colum crouched down as he looked under the desk.
“It’s alright Si, I’m here,” he said finally, doing his utmost to make his voice sound calming and reassuring. Silas looked up fast as soon as he heard his nephew's voice, and before long the small boy all but leapt into Colum’s arms. Winding his frail little arms around his neck and crying out his name.
“Colum!” The boy's voice was hoarse with crying and he held onto Colum as hard as he could.
“Hush.” Colum embraced the boy in return, holding the small little body close to his chest. “I’m fine, you are fine, it will be alright Si,” he repeated.
“But you can’t be!” Silas exclaimed, voice still full of tears as he pulled away to look at Colum’s aface. “You… you were so- you looked so…” the boy stammered out as he looked him over, one of his small hands hovering slightly by his nephew's face as he desperately tried to find any possible injury on his person.
“It’s alright, Si, I’m fine, completely unharmed.” Colum picked up his little hand in his much larger one and placed a small kiss on the boy's knuckles. “If anything, I was worried you might have been hurt.”
Silas shook his head.
“No, no, I thought I must have done something wrong. I don’t want to do it again, please!” Silas leaned back into their embrace burying his face against Colum’s broad shoulder.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he all but whispered against his cavalier’s shoulder.
It warmed something in Colum’s heart to know Silas didn’t want him to be in pain, that if he was told the full truth he would refuse to siphon from Colum ever again. But he couldn’t know the truth, and Colum hated it. He hated having to lie, he hated having to use deception to force the small child in his arms to become more callous and cold, just to fit into the role they had bred him for - just as they had bred Colum. Silas wasn’t a cruel child, he wasn’t cold or lacked compassion, but there was no use for compassion in a master templar.
Colum had to repeat the threat of what would happen if he didn’t convince Silas over and over in his head to keep his purpose clear in his mind. That they would take him away, that Colum would never be allowed to see the boy again. And if the choice was between a lifetime of pain and suffering or a life without Silas… there wasn’t much of a choice at all. He would be in just as much pain and suffering in spirit, were he to be bereft of his necromancer as he would be while doing his duty. Perhaps the Supreme Matron was right; he was bred and trained for this. Perhaps he could take it, perhaps he truly wouldn’t break.
Colum pulled away to look Silas in his large dark eyes, so antithetical to the pale white colouring he carried in all other features, the sole part that truly linked them together in familial appearance, those dark brown eyes. Colum loved them so, he loved the young boy more than anything, more than himself. He’d convinced himself long ago that he’d gladly walk into the pyre if it was for Silas's sake.
He forced a smile to his face before he spoke.
“You could never harm me, Silas,” he lied through his teeth.
“But… but you were screaming.” The boy looked so perplexed. Colum kept the exaggerated smile strong.
“No, I wasn’t,” he said, “I was disoriented slightly when returning to my body, my fault, truly, you did nothing wrong.”
The confusion was almost overwhelming Silas at that point but his fear and confusion coupled with being faced with the one person he trusted more than anyone else in the universe telling him differently made him slowly start to doubt his own recollection of the incident.
“But you-”
“Silas,” Colum interrupted him. “I was made to be your cavalier, which means you can’t hurt me. I was built to complement you in every way. It might be frightening sometimes to perform the rites, I might even look like I’m in great pain but it’s all temporary. I will always return to you, I swear it on my oath.”
That last part was at least not a lie, till the day his body might truly fail and break completely, he would always return to his necromancer's side.
And for better or worse, his young uncle heard his words of reassurance that he wouldn’t break and believed him with his whole heart.