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It was a strange thing, to watch as one’s son became a far better man than you’d ever be.
Wyll… It had been so long. Seven years. When he left the Gate he’d been barely more than a boy; a fresh bandage covering one eye and a devil whispering in his ear. Now there stood a man, steadfast and proud, certain of his abilities and his allies. All the things a Ravengard should be, and more.
And all in spite of his father, not because of him. Ulder had failed him in so many ways, starting just moments after his birth when the life had left his mother’s eyes and his father had sunk into despair instead of focusing on his newborn son.
He had done his best, hadn’t he? He had tried , over and over again, to do what was right , to do his duty. But for what? Archduke Gortash had taken over the city, and his son… gods, his boy, Wyll… His remaining eye had the black sclera of a devil, and great ram’s horns now framed the head Ulder had once hoped would be held high as he accepted the honors and title of Grand Duke. Still hoped, in truth.
By the gods… can you ever forgive me?
But the lad refused to accept that there was anything to forgive. He had insisted Ulder did nothing but act to protect the city. Wyll had always been so much kinder than he would ever be. Braver, and stronger. A true paragon of honor, where he seemingly always faltered whenever it mattered.
How could he have not seen ? His son had stood before him, begging his father’s forgiveness, his understanding. But a devil’s contract kept him from speaking freely. And all Ulder saw was Mizora’s infernal chains binding him, her seductive manipulations filling his ears.
You sold your soul to save Baldur’s Gate - and I cast you out for it.
He’d vowed to make amends, but how could anyone ever make amends for this?
“Chin up, Grand Duke. He lives yet, no?”
“High Harper.” Ulder nodded in acknowledgement. Jaheira had always been a valuable ally in securing the safety of the Gate. “What can I do for you?”
“You could stop sulking and talk to the poor boy, for one. He thinks your struggle to connect with him is due to his failings, and not your inability to remove the fist shoved so far up your posterior it’s a wonder you manage to walk.”
“Jaheira!” he sputtered.
“Ulder,” she deadpanned, clearly deeply unimpressed. “I may not have children of my own body, but I know what it is to be a parent. And what it is to struggle to balance the needs of my calling with the needs of my family. They, too, have much to forgive me for.” Jaheira’s proud posture slumped as she sipped from her cup of tavern swill. “And much I must forgive myself for, as well.”
“It is not the same.”
“But it is all in the past, and you are deciding to let it define the present, and shape the future. Are you truly going to let your relationship with your son be ruined by your past failures?”
He could not simply erase what had already happened, no. But he could choose what happened now, couldn’t he? And in this moment, he was choosing to squander this chance at reconciliation. At starting anew. Wyll's hand was outstretched, and he was batting it away. For what? Pride? Guilt? Simple foolishness, perhaps?
Ulder looked towards where Wyll sat, next to the large tiefling, Karlach, and across from the wizard, Gale. The two men were playing lanceboard, Karlach cheering them both on. Wyll had always enjoyed lanceboard, even if Ulder had first taught him for the sake of lessons in strategy and command.
They looked happy. Content. Tired, yes, a bit battered, perhaps, worn from the stress of the Absolute bearing down on them all. But Wyll had found true friendship in this odd collection of adventurers. True companions.
Did he want to risk spoiling that with his presence?
Wyll deserved to be happy. To spend time with his friends, and to celebrate their victories together while they could, and Ulder would ruin that. He was many things. Fun or happy were rarely among them. His son deserved this respite, this calm before the storm.
But Wyll deserved a good father, too. A father that made an effort. A father that tried , even if he sometimes, or always failed. Hells, he was an old fool.
“Jaheira, I have no idea what to say to him.”
“Start with ‘I love you.’ Then, ‘I’m sorry.’ And then perhaps a game of lanceboard. That boy is always playing lanceboard.”
He had taught him the game, when Wyll was but a young boy.
Dark eyes lit up with joy, the perfect mirror of his mother’s, a still-childish voice raised in excitement as he finally, finally won. “I did it, Father! I did it!”
Had he laughed? Had he smiled? No, he’d scolded him for raising his voice.
Ravengards always act with the utmost decorum. It is our charge, and our duty.
A small head, bowed in remorse. Yes, Father.
Where had he gone so wrong? Had he become so obsessed with his own legacy he failed to see the child in front of him? So fixated on molding the next Grand Duke he was more tutor and drill sergeant than father?
How much damage did I do even before Mizora?
“Go to him. Fix this, or by the gods, I swear to you the Absolute will be the least of your problems.”
Wyll had forgiven him. That was the greatest barrier, was it not? Was he willing to sacrifice the chance to regain his relationship with his son for his own guilt? Was he going to let Wyll lose that chance? His poor boy had been through so much already.
He blames himself. He thinks it’s his fault. He thinks he did something wrong.
Wyll deserved better. He deserved so much better than what Ulder could give him. But was that reason enough not to try? Ulder couldn’t change the past. He couldn’t fix what he had broken. But could he not try to rebuild it? Did Wyll not deserve a father who tried, at least, to make up for his mistakes?
Ulder had raised him, shaped him from birth, educated him, all with one purpose. A scion to continue the line of Ravengard, a fine officer and eventually commander of the Flaming Fist, perhaps one day a Grand Duke. Wyll had the heart of a hero, the spirit of a leader, and the mind of a strategist. Superior to his father in almost every way. But heroes rarely live to grow old and fat, do they? It was not unlikely he would go through much more, before this was over.
Perhaps it does not matter if I deserve to be forgiven. Perhaps it only matters that I do everything I can to earn it.
“Thank you, Jaheira.”
“You’re welcome, Ravengard. Now speak to your son, or I will make you.”
He chuckled exactly once, barely more than a huff of air. “I do not believe that will be necessary.”
Still, it takes him a few moments more to gather up the courage to approach the table where his son sat. The conversation stilled as he did, just as he had feared, leaving a heavy, pointed silence. Two pairs of eyes beyond the one he cared about bored into his.
Avernus was easier than fatherhood.
But Wyll… Wyll’s one remaining eye, despite its change in color, shone with hope.
“Wyll? If you could spare the time… I’d like to speak with you.”
Wyll’s hand is outstretched, and I have to stop batting it away.
Ulder reaches out his hand in an open offer. “Please?”