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The light fades with each passing minute and Pieter tries his best not to glance out the window as the shadows climb their walls. He tries his best to leave Mirto’s questions to Yanna as he stirs the soup in the pot, letting the repetitive motion distract his mind for a sliver of a second. He knows as well the rest that Coen should be home by now. Should be standing next to him adding logs to the fire while he gently scolds his siblings.
Coen is not here and his absence is louder than anything else in the house. His mind drifts to their last conversation…if you can even call it that. It had been a fight, tensions once kept firmly controlled that had boiled over because in the time that Coen had been fighting for them- he had come more into himself. Changed, in more ways than one. The man who looked Pieter in the eyes was not his son from before, no longer did those eyes hold any of the trust they once had. He had been watching Pieter with something closer to weariness, disappointment. Later those same eyes reflected a deep hurt when he didn't return the hug Coen had given him.
He can still feel the strength of it and the warmth. Warmth he didn't return. He had just stood there like a fool, wrestling with his own demons and fears. The embrace ended with Coen stepping back like he'd been cast aside, hurting expression quickly schooled off his face and excuse to leave on his lips. Pieter watched him go silently. He again remained silent as later he watched Coen emerge from the house in his armor, the man tightening the bracer on his wrist. His nose scrunched slightly, something his son had always done when faced with a minor inconvenience he didn't like. He knows for a fact that his son is unaware he even does that, how easily he gives his own thoughts away with such a small reaction. He never pointed it out him and he hopes no one ever will. Then their eyes meet again and Coen waits for a beat as something hopeful creeps into the space between them. Awaiting his Fathers word on what he was doing, was wearing.
Pieter says nothing and the hope is snuffed out for good. His son looks at him like he had run a sword through him personally and Pieter thinks that's for the best. What was it that Brencis had said?
'Cut your tethers with the past, it is hard but must be done.'
His son is gentle, reasonable, a bleeding heart with a fang lodged in it. It was foolish to believe that Coen doesn't notice the shift in attitude towards him in this god forsaken village but Pieter also knows that Coen would never cut the rope first, even if it was ripping his hands apart. So he cruelly cuts it for him right here and now. He loves Coen, he prays that perhaps his son will see that one day.
As Coen walks past him he pretends not to notice the tears on the verge of falling, he offers no comfort. For this wound to heal it must be clean and he cannot leave room for the man to even consider a doubt.
That had been hours ago.
Pieter sighs as he ladles the soup out into the bowls and he sets the table. “Come eat.” He says finally, allowing Mirto and Yanna to select their spots before helping Esme over. She doesn't fight him this time and allows herself to be led over and sat. Pieter busies himself with feeding as the two children talk amongst themselves. It isn't until Mirto’s bowl is half empty that the boy speaks up.
“Is Coen coming home tonight?”
Pieter shakes his head as he offers another bite to Esme. “No.”
“Will…he be coming back?”
A pause settles over the table and he takes the moment to set the bowl aside, he can feel them both watching him. “No, and it's high time your brother moved on anyways. It's your turn Mirto, to step up.”
“But!”
“No buts!” The response is harsher than he had wanted and Mirto shrinks back a bit but offers no additional protests. Pieter hesitates a moment, debating on apologizing but instead he sighs again. “Now finish your food and wash up, the both of you. We have a lot to do in morning.”
The night outside grows darker as the ache in his chest worsens. One day Coen would understand, and would hopefully forgive him. Pieter just desperately wishes he had returned the hug.