Work Text:
I (39M) am an academic by training, and I find myself in the uncharacteristic position of asking strangers for judgment because the people closest to me will not hear my reasoning.
My wife (38F) and I have three children: an eleven-year-old son, an eight-year-old daughter, and our youngest, a two-year-old girl. The pregnancy that brought our youngest into the world was harrowing and fraught with complications; then we nearly lost both mother and child to fever. They survived, but my youngest has been left frail since birth, her joints weak and her body prone to constant illness. No mender, healer, or remedy – whether common or rare – has improved her condition.
Every day I see my elder children running, laughing, exploring the world freely. And every day I am reminded that my youngest is denied the same opportunities, remaining constrained by her own fragile body.
As a father, it is intolerable to see her excluded from the fullness of childhood. As a husband, it is excruciating to watch the grief this brings my wife. I love her beyond measure and the thought of losing her forgiveness is terrifies me.
She too has longed for our daughter to be well, and she has shared in my desperation, though in her heart I know she would never contemplate dedication and certainly not something she would ever seek out. Indeed, she scarcely knows its intricacies, for the rite has long passed out of common knowledge and is rarely spoken of outside scholarly or religious circles.
I took my daughter across the sea to Dunne’s temple. For those unfamiliar, dedication is the solemn act of giving oneself wholly to the service of a god. In exchange, the devotee is believed to be imbued with divine strength or wisdom and is bound to lifelong service. It is regarded as the closest one can come to being directly touched by a god.
However, centuries ago the dedication of children was outlawed. Consent is required, and only those over the age of majority may lawfully choose such a path. Historical accounts detail how desperate parents once forced dedication upon their children, often with devastating results, and the practice was abolished to prevent its recurrence.
I did not act in ignorance. I was fully aware of the prohibition and of the risks. Yet my desperation overcame my adherence to law. I could not watch her suffer while I did nothing.
The high priestess commenced the ritual, and the effects had already taken hold – the ends of my daughter’s hair turned silver, the first sign of dedication. But then the priestess suddenly stopped part way through, refusing to complete it. She informed me that my child had many possible futures and could not yet be bound to just one.
When my wife discovered what I had done, she was distraught, furious, and heartbroken. She accused me of endangering our child and of betraying her trust. My mother too has turned from me in anger and will not speak to me. I fear that, in acting alone, I may have fractured the very foundation of my family.
And yet, I cannot ignore what I know awaits Navarre. I know of the genuine and perilous threat dismissed by most as myth. I wanted my daughter to have the strength to survive what is coming. I wanted her to be prepared when others may not be. I will still strive to prepare her with what wisdom I can provide, but I fear it will not suffice to safeguard her future.
From my perspective, I acted out of love and desperation, seeking only to ease my daughter’s suffering and protect her against what lies ahead. From my wife’s perspective, I transgressed sacred law, defied divine order, and betrayed her trust.
AITA for attempting to dedicate my daughter, knowing it is forbidden, but believing it might be the only way to save her?