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In the days since Persephone and Iason had left to return to Athenia, the Dimitrou household had been like a quiet tomb. Dorothea was upset with her father and her attitude had seemingly taken over the entire household. She could never remember such an attitude occurring before and so perhaps one was overdue.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t love Gavriil any longer. It was just that she felt completely and utterly heartbroken by him. She thought that she was finally proving her worth in their household. She had proven that she could interact with others, including royalty. She had shown her skill with her weapon and taught it to others. How was that not enough for him? He didn’t trust her not to worry her brother so much and thus distract him into letting them both die. Why did he doubt her so much? Dorothea was unsure of what else she could do to prove it to him and whether or not she would ever get the chance.
She was yearning to make her mark on the world and was determined that it would not be done by marrying someone and having that person’s children. Dorothea was so much more than property to be owned by a man. Even if that man was her father.
As she worked through those feelings and her plan of action, she virtually ignored her father. Whenever he entered a room, she left it. She took meals alone in her room. When Alexa or Dorotheos attempted to pass her a message from their patriarch, she politely requested that they stop. After two attempts each, both her sister and uncle rather understood what it was like to face Dorothea’s wrath themselves and they refrained from passing any further messages.
Of course, she knew that she couldn’t ignore Gavriil forever, but she was determined to do so for now. It was just as much for him as for her. She didn’t want to say anything she would forever regret. However, despite all of her attempts to keep her distance from him, she couldn’t avoid him completely. Although she attempted to avoid places where he might be, one afternoon found them at the stables at the same time. Before Dorothea could make a quick escape, her father called her name. She cringed, but could not bring herself to walk away while she was directly addressed. Yet, she was not ready to have this conversation, whatever it may be.
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In the days since Persephone and Iason had left to return to Athenia, the Dimitrou household had been like a quiet tomb. Dorothea was upset with her father and her attitude had seemingly taken over the entire household. She could never remember such an attitude occurring before and so perhaps one was overdue.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t love Gavriil any longer. It was just that she felt completely and utterly heartbroken by him. She thought that she was finally proving her worth in their household. She had proven that she could interact with others, including royalty. She had shown her skill with her weapon and taught it to others. How was that not enough for him? He didn’t trust her not to worry her brother so much and thus distract him into letting them both die. Why did he doubt her so much? Dorothea was unsure of what else she could do to prove it to him and whether or not she would ever get the chance.
She was yearning to make her mark on the world and was determined that it would not be done by marrying someone and having that person’s children. Dorothea was so much more than property to be owned by a man. Even if that man was her father.
As she worked through those feelings and her plan of action, she virtually ignored her father. Whenever he entered a room, she left it. She took meals alone in her room. When Alexa or Dorotheos attempted to pass her a message from their patriarch, she politely requested that they stop. After two attempts each, both her sister and uncle rather understood what it was like to face Dorothea’s wrath themselves and they refrained from passing any further messages.
Of course, she knew that she couldn’t ignore Gavriil forever, but she was determined to do so for now. It was just as much for him as for her. She didn’t want to say anything she would forever regret. However, despite all of her attempts to keep her distance from him, she couldn’t avoid him completely. Although she attempted to avoid places where he might be, one afternoon found them at the stables at the same time. Before Dorothea could make a quick escape, her father called her name. She cringed, but could not bring herself to walk away while she was directly addressed. Yet, she was not ready to have this conversation, whatever it may be.
In the days since Persephone and Iason had left to return to Athenia, the Dimitrou household had been like a quiet tomb. Dorothea was upset with her father and her attitude had seemingly taken over the entire household. She could never remember such an attitude occurring before and so perhaps one was overdue.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t love Gavriil any longer. It was just that she felt completely and utterly heartbroken by him. She thought that she was finally proving her worth in their household. She had proven that she could interact with others, including royalty. She had shown her skill with her weapon and taught it to others. How was that not enough for him? He didn’t trust her not to worry her brother so much and thus distract him into letting them both die. Why did he doubt her so much? Dorothea was unsure of what else she could do to prove it to him and whether or not she would ever get the chance.
She was yearning to make her mark on the world and was determined that it would not be done by marrying someone and having that person’s children. Dorothea was so much more than property to be owned by a man. Even if that man was her father.
As she worked through those feelings and her plan of action, she virtually ignored her father. Whenever he entered a room, she left it. She took meals alone in her room. When Alexa or Dorotheos attempted to pass her a message from their patriarch, she politely requested that they stop. After two attempts each, both her sister and uncle rather understood what it was like to face Dorothea’s wrath themselves and they refrained from passing any further messages.
Of course, she knew that she couldn’t ignore Gavriil forever, but she was determined to do so for now. It was just as much for him as for her. She didn’t want to say anything she would forever regret. However, despite all of her attempts to keep her distance from him, she couldn’t avoid him completely. Although she attempted to avoid places where he might be, one afternoon found them at the stables at the same time. Before Dorothea could make a quick escape, her father called her name. She cringed, but could not bring herself to walk away while she was directly addressed. Yet, she was not ready to have this conversation, whatever it may be.
Gavriil bore Dorothea’s anger with patience. At first. She’d had a hard hit to her sense of self and what she was and was not entitled to do. He’d known when he’d lain down the decision not to permit her to go that it would not be a popular one. That first night at supper, he hadn’t forced the issue. Even the next morning when she wouldn’t appear at breakfast? Still understandable. But by lunch time on the second day, when her mood was as dark as ever and her absence remarked upon by her little sister, that was the moment he’d begun to lose sympathy. By dinner that second night, his sympathy with her plight was totally gone. This was a tantrum. Lord Gavriil Dimitrou did not put up with tantrums.
At first he’d decided he would test to see how bad this really was, and asked Dorotheos to speak with her. His brother tried exactly twice. Alexa was next and once Dorothea refused even her sister, that was when Gavriil had absolutely had it. All of this because she was told ‘no’? Unacceptable. She was twenty three years old. Not a child and she wouldn’t be treated like one. Children didn’t know better. Adults did.
They hadn’t arrived at the stables at the same time by accident. He’d gone hunting for her and now he’d cornered her. His voice rolled through the stable sharp like a whip in a tone he’d have used on her when she’d really messed up years ago. A tone he hadn’t had to use in recent years. One he’d hoped would never have to be used again. But here they were.
“Are you a coward?” he asked bluntly, fully blocking the way out of the stables. “Or do you honestly assume you can keep this childishness up indefinitely?”
Whatever argument Dorothea might be trying to avoid was pointless. Her father had zero intention of entering into an argument or even a debate. The point was that her brother and Persephone were already underway. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't plant Dorothea on a ship and hope to ever catch up to Iason. Not with a three day lead. Beyond that? It was idiocy. The decision had been made and Gavriil saw no point in acting like there was any way to change it.
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Gavriil bore Dorothea’s anger with patience. At first. She’d had a hard hit to her sense of self and what she was and was not entitled to do. He’d known when he’d lain down the decision not to permit her to go that it would not be a popular one. That first night at supper, he hadn’t forced the issue. Even the next morning when she wouldn’t appear at breakfast? Still understandable. But by lunch time on the second day, when her mood was as dark as ever and her absence remarked upon by her little sister, that was the moment he’d begun to lose sympathy. By dinner that second night, his sympathy with her plight was totally gone. This was a tantrum. Lord Gavriil Dimitrou did not put up with tantrums.
At first he’d decided he would test to see how bad this really was, and asked Dorotheos to speak with her. His brother tried exactly twice. Alexa was next and once Dorothea refused even her sister, that was when Gavriil had absolutely had it. All of this because she was told ‘no’? Unacceptable. She was twenty three years old. Not a child and she wouldn’t be treated like one. Children didn’t know better. Adults did.
They hadn’t arrived at the stables at the same time by accident. He’d gone hunting for her and now he’d cornered her. His voice rolled through the stable sharp like a whip in a tone he’d have used on her when she’d really messed up years ago. A tone he hadn’t had to use in recent years. One he’d hoped would never have to be used again. But here they were.
“Are you a coward?” he asked bluntly, fully blocking the way out of the stables. “Or do you honestly assume you can keep this childishness up indefinitely?”
Whatever argument Dorothea might be trying to avoid was pointless. Her father had zero intention of entering into an argument or even a debate. The point was that her brother and Persephone were already underway. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't plant Dorothea on a ship and hope to ever catch up to Iason. Not with a three day lead. Beyond that? It was idiocy. The decision had been made and Gavriil saw no point in acting like there was any way to change it.
Gavriil bore Dorothea’s anger with patience. At first. She’d had a hard hit to her sense of self and what she was and was not entitled to do. He’d known when he’d lain down the decision not to permit her to go that it would not be a popular one. That first night at supper, he hadn’t forced the issue. Even the next morning when she wouldn’t appear at breakfast? Still understandable. But by lunch time on the second day, when her mood was as dark as ever and her absence remarked upon by her little sister, that was the moment he’d begun to lose sympathy. By dinner that second night, his sympathy with her plight was totally gone. This was a tantrum. Lord Gavriil Dimitrou did not put up with tantrums.
At first he’d decided he would test to see how bad this really was, and asked Dorotheos to speak with her. His brother tried exactly twice. Alexa was next and once Dorothea refused even her sister, that was when Gavriil had absolutely had it. All of this because she was told ‘no’? Unacceptable. She was twenty three years old. Not a child and she wouldn’t be treated like one. Children didn’t know better. Adults did.
They hadn’t arrived at the stables at the same time by accident. He’d gone hunting for her and now he’d cornered her. His voice rolled through the stable sharp like a whip in a tone he’d have used on her when she’d really messed up years ago. A tone he hadn’t had to use in recent years. One he’d hoped would never have to be used again. But here they were.
“Are you a coward?” he asked bluntly, fully blocking the way out of the stables. “Or do you honestly assume you can keep this childishness up indefinitely?”
Whatever argument Dorothea might be trying to avoid was pointless. Her father had zero intention of entering into an argument or even a debate. The point was that her brother and Persephone were already underway. Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't plant Dorothea on a ship and hope to ever catch up to Iason. Not with a three day lead. Beyond that? It was idiocy. The decision had been made and Gavriil saw no point in acting like there was any way to change it.
Even if she wanted to escape, her father was suddenly blocking her way, confronting her in a harsh tone he hadn’t used in years. It used to make Dorothea cringe and regret whatever behavior had led to such speech. She was headstrong, yes, but generally a good child. She wanted her father to be proud of her actions, not angry. Yet, she supposed that there must be a time that every father daughter relationship went through something like this. She had to stand up for who she was or who she wanted to become. Gavriil needed to understand what this meant to her. And clearly he didn’t. That hurt her, in many ways. Perhaps even more so than her banned trip with Persephone and Iason. She could accept that decision, but she was finding it harder to accept that he did not know who she was—who she yearned to be. Would it really come down to a forced marriage and misery? Something she had thought he would never do.
His question to her was almost laughable. Was she a coward? She had thought she proved otherwise by her desire to leave, but clearly that was not what he was talking about. He meant about confronting him. Dorothea had not done so because she was afraid of saying words that she could not take back. She was afraid her hurt and her anger would turn into something unforgivable between the two of them.
“Of course not,” she said, breviloquent at first. Tartness then crept into her voice, as he stood there, clearly waiting for her to say more. “I would have thought you would have respected me enough to give me some time, but see that isn’t so. Perhaps I am as childish as you claim because you clearly cannot see me as an adult, capable of making my own decisions.”
Dorothea did not truly long to have this fight. She was angry at her father, yes, but he didn’t need bitter words from her to know it. They had never had a disagreement such as this one and it wasn’t very pleasant to endure. It was a disagreement on the fundamental being of her character. Did he not know her? Dorothea’s mind was trapped in this circular argument, unable to find a logical way of removing itself.
“What is it you expect from me, father?” she asked, attempting to lose some of her bitterness, but not sure it was working. “Do you even know why I am upset?”
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Even if she wanted to escape, her father was suddenly blocking her way, confronting her in a harsh tone he hadn’t used in years. It used to make Dorothea cringe and regret whatever behavior had led to such speech. She was headstrong, yes, but generally a good child. She wanted her father to be proud of her actions, not angry. Yet, she supposed that there must be a time that every father daughter relationship went through something like this. She had to stand up for who she was or who she wanted to become. Gavriil needed to understand what this meant to her. And clearly he didn’t. That hurt her, in many ways. Perhaps even more so than her banned trip with Persephone and Iason. She could accept that decision, but she was finding it harder to accept that he did not know who she was—who she yearned to be. Would it really come down to a forced marriage and misery? Something she had thought he would never do.
His question to her was almost laughable. Was she a coward? She had thought she proved otherwise by her desire to leave, but clearly that was not what he was talking about. He meant about confronting him. Dorothea had not done so because she was afraid of saying words that she could not take back. She was afraid her hurt and her anger would turn into something unforgivable between the two of them.
“Of course not,” she said, breviloquent at first. Tartness then crept into her voice, as he stood there, clearly waiting for her to say more. “I would have thought you would have respected me enough to give me some time, but see that isn’t so. Perhaps I am as childish as you claim because you clearly cannot see me as an adult, capable of making my own decisions.”
Dorothea did not truly long to have this fight. She was angry at her father, yes, but he didn’t need bitter words from her to know it. They had never had a disagreement such as this one and it wasn’t very pleasant to endure. It was a disagreement on the fundamental being of her character. Did he not know her? Dorothea’s mind was trapped in this circular argument, unable to find a logical way of removing itself.
“What is it you expect from me, father?” she asked, attempting to lose some of her bitterness, but not sure it was working. “Do you even know why I am upset?”
Even if she wanted to escape, her father was suddenly blocking her way, confronting her in a harsh tone he hadn’t used in years. It used to make Dorothea cringe and regret whatever behavior had led to such speech. She was headstrong, yes, but generally a good child. She wanted her father to be proud of her actions, not angry. Yet, she supposed that there must be a time that every father daughter relationship went through something like this. She had to stand up for who she was or who she wanted to become. Gavriil needed to understand what this meant to her. And clearly he didn’t. That hurt her, in many ways. Perhaps even more so than her banned trip with Persephone and Iason. She could accept that decision, but she was finding it harder to accept that he did not know who she was—who she yearned to be. Would it really come down to a forced marriage and misery? Something she had thought he would never do.
His question to her was almost laughable. Was she a coward? She had thought she proved otherwise by her desire to leave, but clearly that was not what he was talking about. He meant about confronting him. Dorothea had not done so because she was afraid of saying words that she could not take back. She was afraid her hurt and her anger would turn into something unforgivable between the two of them.
“Of course not,” she said, breviloquent at first. Tartness then crept into her voice, as he stood there, clearly waiting for her to say more. “I would have thought you would have respected me enough to give me some time, but see that isn’t so. Perhaps I am as childish as you claim because you clearly cannot see me as an adult, capable of making my own decisions.”
Dorothea did not truly long to have this fight. She was angry at her father, yes, but he didn’t need bitter words from her to know it. They had never had a disagreement such as this one and it wasn’t very pleasant to endure. It was a disagreement on the fundamental being of her character. Did he not know her? Dorothea’s mind was trapped in this circular argument, unable to find a logical way of removing itself.
“What is it you expect from me, father?” she asked, attempting to lose some of her bitterness, but not sure it was working. “Do you even know why I am upset?”
Despite her own sulky thoughts, Gavriil would never force her into marriage. Highly encourage? Yes. But force? Absolutely not. It was a good thing he couldn’t read her mind. Her low opinion of him would have wounded him deeply; a thing he was not used to. But that was how it happened. A stranger’s low opinion never cut so thoroughly or as harshly as a low opinion from the ones you love the most. And he did love her. To the ends of the earth did he love her, which was why he would not allow this to continue. Time he had given. Three days of it. This was past a mourning stage and into sulking, which did no one any good, including her, and left the house in a tense silence that he was no longer prepared to tolerate.
Her curt tone did not ruffle him and he listened as she disputed his question of her courage. “I would have thought you would have respected me enough to give me some time, but see that isn’t so. Perhaps I am as childish as you claim because you clearly cannot see me as an adult, capable of making my own decisions.”
Gavriil waved that meaningless and baseless accusation aside, unwilling to even entertain it. This was an argument of opinion and there was no winning such a thing. Thankfully she moved onto something a little more concrete that he could answer for her. “What is it you expect from me, father? Do you even know why I am upset?”
“I expect you to act your age,” he said flatly. “I expect whatever the problem is, you will have enough respect to tell me instead of punishing me and the house staff with petulance. As to why you are angry, I have a guess but I am not here to argue. Tell me what is the matter and we will address this one way or another, here and now.”
He exhaled deeply, the tense set of his shoulders dropping a little and he sat on a stocky crate left outside one of the stalls, now not blocking her way. Gavriil loved to hunt but only as a hobby. He didn’t like hide and seek when it came to people; their conversations, their emotions, their whereabouts - those things he wanted out in the open and laid bare. He did not like or entertain emotional, manipulative games. Not that his daughter was being quite that way, but it did feel like it.
“Tell me,” he said in a much softer tone, to prove he was actually open to a discussion. “What you feel I have missed.”
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Despite her own sulky thoughts, Gavriil would never force her into marriage. Highly encourage? Yes. But force? Absolutely not. It was a good thing he couldn’t read her mind. Her low opinion of him would have wounded him deeply; a thing he was not used to. But that was how it happened. A stranger’s low opinion never cut so thoroughly or as harshly as a low opinion from the ones you love the most. And he did love her. To the ends of the earth did he love her, which was why he would not allow this to continue. Time he had given. Three days of it. This was past a mourning stage and into sulking, which did no one any good, including her, and left the house in a tense silence that he was no longer prepared to tolerate.
Her curt tone did not ruffle him and he listened as she disputed his question of her courage. “I would have thought you would have respected me enough to give me some time, but see that isn’t so. Perhaps I am as childish as you claim because you clearly cannot see me as an adult, capable of making my own decisions.”
Gavriil waved that meaningless and baseless accusation aside, unwilling to even entertain it. This was an argument of opinion and there was no winning such a thing. Thankfully she moved onto something a little more concrete that he could answer for her. “What is it you expect from me, father? Do you even know why I am upset?”
“I expect you to act your age,” he said flatly. “I expect whatever the problem is, you will have enough respect to tell me instead of punishing me and the house staff with petulance. As to why you are angry, I have a guess but I am not here to argue. Tell me what is the matter and we will address this one way or another, here and now.”
He exhaled deeply, the tense set of his shoulders dropping a little and he sat on a stocky crate left outside one of the stalls, now not blocking her way. Gavriil loved to hunt but only as a hobby. He didn’t like hide and seek when it came to people; their conversations, their emotions, their whereabouts - those things he wanted out in the open and laid bare. He did not like or entertain emotional, manipulative games. Not that his daughter was being quite that way, but it did feel like it.
“Tell me,” he said in a much softer tone, to prove he was actually open to a discussion. “What you feel I have missed.”
Despite her own sulky thoughts, Gavriil would never force her into marriage. Highly encourage? Yes. But force? Absolutely not. It was a good thing he couldn’t read her mind. Her low opinion of him would have wounded him deeply; a thing he was not used to. But that was how it happened. A stranger’s low opinion never cut so thoroughly or as harshly as a low opinion from the ones you love the most. And he did love her. To the ends of the earth did he love her, which was why he would not allow this to continue. Time he had given. Three days of it. This was past a mourning stage and into sulking, which did no one any good, including her, and left the house in a tense silence that he was no longer prepared to tolerate.
Her curt tone did not ruffle him and he listened as she disputed his question of her courage. “I would have thought you would have respected me enough to give me some time, but see that isn’t so. Perhaps I am as childish as you claim because you clearly cannot see me as an adult, capable of making my own decisions.”
Gavriil waved that meaningless and baseless accusation aside, unwilling to even entertain it. This was an argument of opinion and there was no winning such a thing. Thankfully she moved onto something a little more concrete that he could answer for her. “What is it you expect from me, father? Do you even know why I am upset?”
“I expect you to act your age,” he said flatly. “I expect whatever the problem is, you will have enough respect to tell me instead of punishing me and the house staff with petulance. As to why you are angry, I have a guess but I am not here to argue. Tell me what is the matter and we will address this one way or another, here and now.”
He exhaled deeply, the tense set of his shoulders dropping a little and he sat on a stocky crate left outside one of the stalls, now not blocking her way. Gavriil loved to hunt but only as a hobby. He didn’t like hide and seek when it came to people; their conversations, their emotions, their whereabouts - those things he wanted out in the open and laid bare. He did not like or entertain emotional, manipulative games. Not that his daughter was being quite that way, but it did feel like it.
“Tell me,” he said in a much softer tone, to prove he was actually open to a discussion. “What you feel I have missed.”
Dorothea somewhat expected the answer her father gave. He was always so even keeled. Even though he was probably just as angry at her and her behavior, there was only a flat tone to his voice, not an angry one. While she didn’t exactly wish to hear him yell, she wouldn’t have minded some outward anger thrown in her direction. Perhaps it would have given her more of a reason to continue to be upset. A part of the young woman knew that she was not going to be able to hold on to this anger long once she confronted her father. It was easier to be angry when she didn’t have a reaction to counter with.
She watched as he sat down on a crate, looking more relaxed and ready to have a conversation. Dorothea couldn’t claim to feel the same way, but she recognized that the conversation could no longer be avoided as much as she might wish it.
The young woman gave her own slight sigh, letting out some of the feelings that had been bottled inside of her. She leaned against the stall, relaxing her posture slightly, pondering what to say. She had spent enough time brewing over her troubles, but hadn’t thought to put anything into a coherent argument for her father to hear. She felt like she just had a mixture of feelings and thoughts—hurt being a primarily underlying one that she just couldn’t get over.
“I am hurt that you have so little trust in me,” she finally confessed. “I feel as though you did not even consider my request to join Iason and Persephone, but dismissed me outright. I have long thought that we have shared a trust in each other’s skills, but I see the feeling is not truly mutual.”
Dorothea knew an apology was in order on her behalf for her behavior, particularly what he had mentioned about the household. Yet, she would wait to hear what Gavriil had to say before she would make that apology.
“I do not feel like I have a purpose in this life,” Dorothea continued, admitting something she was almost surprised to hear herself say aloud. “This was an opportunity to change that, but I feel you will never support me in such a way.”
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Dorothea somewhat expected the answer her father gave. He was always so even keeled. Even though he was probably just as angry at her and her behavior, there was only a flat tone to his voice, not an angry one. While she didn’t exactly wish to hear him yell, she wouldn’t have minded some outward anger thrown in her direction. Perhaps it would have given her more of a reason to continue to be upset. A part of the young woman knew that she was not going to be able to hold on to this anger long once she confronted her father. It was easier to be angry when she didn’t have a reaction to counter with.
She watched as he sat down on a crate, looking more relaxed and ready to have a conversation. Dorothea couldn’t claim to feel the same way, but she recognized that the conversation could no longer be avoided as much as she might wish it.
The young woman gave her own slight sigh, letting out some of the feelings that had been bottled inside of her. She leaned against the stall, relaxing her posture slightly, pondering what to say. She had spent enough time brewing over her troubles, but hadn’t thought to put anything into a coherent argument for her father to hear. She felt like she just had a mixture of feelings and thoughts—hurt being a primarily underlying one that she just couldn’t get over.
“I am hurt that you have so little trust in me,” she finally confessed. “I feel as though you did not even consider my request to join Iason and Persephone, but dismissed me outright. I have long thought that we have shared a trust in each other’s skills, but I see the feeling is not truly mutual.”
Dorothea knew an apology was in order on her behalf for her behavior, particularly what he had mentioned about the household. Yet, she would wait to hear what Gavriil had to say before she would make that apology.
“I do not feel like I have a purpose in this life,” Dorothea continued, admitting something she was almost surprised to hear herself say aloud. “This was an opportunity to change that, but I feel you will never support me in such a way.”
Dorothea somewhat expected the answer her father gave. He was always so even keeled. Even though he was probably just as angry at her and her behavior, there was only a flat tone to his voice, not an angry one. While she didn’t exactly wish to hear him yell, she wouldn’t have minded some outward anger thrown in her direction. Perhaps it would have given her more of a reason to continue to be upset. A part of the young woman knew that she was not going to be able to hold on to this anger long once she confronted her father. It was easier to be angry when she didn’t have a reaction to counter with.
She watched as he sat down on a crate, looking more relaxed and ready to have a conversation. Dorothea couldn’t claim to feel the same way, but she recognized that the conversation could no longer be avoided as much as she might wish it.
The young woman gave her own slight sigh, letting out some of the feelings that had been bottled inside of her. She leaned against the stall, relaxing her posture slightly, pondering what to say. She had spent enough time brewing over her troubles, but hadn’t thought to put anything into a coherent argument for her father to hear. She felt like she just had a mixture of feelings and thoughts—hurt being a primarily underlying one that she just couldn’t get over.
“I am hurt that you have so little trust in me,” she finally confessed. “I feel as though you did not even consider my request to join Iason and Persephone, but dismissed me outright. I have long thought that we have shared a trust in each other’s skills, but I see the feeling is not truly mutual.”
Dorothea knew an apology was in order on her behalf for her behavior, particularly what he had mentioned about the household. Yet, she would wait to hear what Gavriil had to say before she would make that apology.
“I do not feel like I have a purpose in this life,” Dorothea continued, admitting something she was almost surprised to hear herself say aloud. “This was an opportunity to change that, but I feel you will never support me in such a way.”
Through sheer force of will, he was pressing down anger that he had every right to feel. Just because he was angry, though, did not mean it needed to rule him. This was conversation he wanted to have as calmly as possible. Still, he was human and his patience was not infinite. If she decided to continue to be childish, he’d treat her like one. Thankfully for the both of them, Dorothea did not choose to keep acting wounded. His eyes followed her as she leaned against the wall. The tension in her shoulders visibly eased and an exhale of stress escaped his lips as a result. The air took on a heartier feel. Particles of hay floated through the air and Gavriil waited on his crate for her to speak. He sat with his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped loosely together between his knees, contemplative and content to wait for her to organize her thoughts. Much as he might like to, there was never any profit in making someone hurry with what they wanted to say. All you’d get in return was an emotional response, rather than a cool, logical, rational one.
When she finally did speak, Gavriil’s slate blue gaze rested on her face. It was strange to have an argument with a person you loved more than yourself. He could easily remember the moment she was born, the joy they’d felt before her birth. He saw in her face expressions her mother had made and the unhappy tilt of her mouth was an unexpectedly painful in that moment. He’d seen it before but not on her. At least, it didn’t feel that way.
Visions of holding her during her nightmares and teaching her to ride a horse floated through his mind. The first time she’d held a bow and the first time she’d hit a target - every successive time afterwards. He didn’t interrupt her as she accused him of having no trust in her but it was profoundly untrue and he’d explained it to her at the time. His reasons, apparently, held no weight for her and he could see that they would have to have the same conversation over again. So be it.
“There’s no one else I trust more to hit their intended target,” he did not shift his gaze away from her eyes. “I will say it again; my answer had nothing to do with your abilities. Their mission was to be secret. There would be too many people. It is also done. You will have many disappointments in your life. I suggest you do not nurse this one too much or it will grow into a bitterness you cannot escape.”
He wasn’t going to rehash all his reasons; she already knew them even if she chose to ignore good sense in favor of her emotions - a thing he hoped to every god that she would not do. Reacting on emotions instead of reason was the fastest way to unhappiness and calamity. Only fools acted on pure emotion and his daughter was not a fool - but that didn’t mean she couldn’t become one.
Her next admission, though, was a bit painful to hear. She felt she had no purpose. “This was an opportunity to change that, but I feel you will never support me in such a way.”
“No,” he agreed. “I will not support a foolhardy mission. Your brother should not even have gone. It could easily have been done by a servant. Anyone less inconspicuous. I believe both he and Persephone have acted without even a modicum of wisdom, but-” he held up a finger, pointing it right at her. “That I am able to save you from. You will never find purpose if you continue to look inward. Purpose comes from helping others. I did not allow you to go check the well being of a princess. If that is the worst I have done to you, I would do it again. If you lack purpose, be a help to our people here. There is never a lack of poor. I can teach you to help Iason with his barony, if you wish, or possibly work it for you to have mine when I am gone, as you have declared you will not marry.”
Gavriil stood, hands at his sides, though he wanted to reach for her. “I love you more than you will ever understand.” He wanted to tell her did did have purpose. That his life would be bereft without her in it. But those words did not seem like they would touch her. She wanted something else, as she should and he knew she could not stay forever. But he’d hoped that she would want a family of her own. Since that was not the case, and she was determined to take the hardest road to navigate, he did not know how to help - nor did he want to. He wanted her to be happy and he could already see that where she was heading destined for heartbreak.
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Through sheer force of will, he was pressing down anger that he had every right to feel. Just because he was angry, though, did not mean it needed to rule him. This was conversation he wanted to have as calmly as possible. Still, he was human and his patience was not infinite. If she decided to continue to be childish, he’d treat her like one. Thankfully for the both of them, Dorothea did not choose to keep acting wounded. His eyes followed her as she leaned against the wall. The tension in her shoulders visibly eased and an exhale of stress escaped his lips as a result. The air took on a heartier feel. Particles of hay floated through the air and Gavriil waited on his crate for her to speak. He sat with his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped loosely together between his knees, contemplative and content to wait for her to organize her thoughts. Much as he might like to, there was never any profit in making someone hurry with what they wanted to say. All you’d get in return was an emotional response, rather than a cool, logical, rational one.
When she finally did speak, Gavriil’s slate blue gaze rested on her face. It was strange to have an argument with a person you loved more than yourself. He could easily remember the moment she was born, the joy they’d felt before her birth. He saw in her face expressions her mother had made and the unhappy tilt of her mouth was an unexpectedly painful in that moment. He’d seen it before but not on her. At least, it didn’t feel that way.
Visions of holding her during her nightmares and teaching her to ride a horse floated through his mind. The first time she’d held a bow and the first time she’d hit a target - every successive time afterwards. He didn’t interrupt her as she accused him of having no trust in her but it was profoundly untrue and he’d explained it to her at the time. His reasons, apparently, held no weight for her and he could see that they would have to have the same conversation over again. So be it.
“There’s no one else I trust more to hit their intended target,” he did not shift his gaze away from her eyes. “I will say it again; my answer had nothing to do with your abilities. Their mission was to be secret. There would be too many people. It is also done. You will have many disappointments in your life. I suggest you do not nurse this one too much or it will grow into a bitterness you cannot escape.”
He wasn’t going to rehash all his reasons; she already knew them even if she chose to ignore good sense in favor of her emotions - a thing he hoped to every god that she would not do. Reacting on emotions instead of reason was the fastest way to unhappiness and calamity. Only fools acted on pure emotion and his daughter was not a fool - but that didn’t mean she couldn’t become one.
Her next admission, though, was a bit painful to hear. She felt she had no purpose. “This was an opportunity to change that, but I feel you will never support me in such a way.”
“No,” he agreed. “I will not support a foolhardy mission. Your brother should not even have gone. It could easily have been done by a servant. Anyone less inconspicuous. I believe both he and Persephone have acted without even a modicum of wisdom, but-” he held up a finger, pointing it right at her. “That I am able to save you from. You will never find purpose if you continue to look inward. Purpose comes from helping others. I did not allow you to go check the well being of a princess. If that is the worst I have done to you, I would do it again. If you lack purpose, be a help to our people here. There is never a lack of poor. I can teach you to help Iason with his barony, if you wish, or possibly work it for you to have mine when I am gone, as you have declared you will not marry.”
Gavriil stood, hands at his sides, though he wanted to reach for her. “I love you more than you will ever understand.” He wanted to tell her did did have purpose. That his life would be bereft without her in it. But those words did not seem like they would touch her. She wanted something else, as she should and he knew she could not stay forever. But he’d hoped that she would want a family of her own. Since that was not the case, and she was determined to take the hardest road to navigate, he did not know how to help - nor did he want to. He wanted her to be happy and he could already see that where she was heading destined for heartbreak.
Through sheer force of will, he was pressing down anger that he had every right to feel. Just because he was angry, though, did not mean it needed to rule him. This was conversation he wanted to have as calmly as possible. Still, he was human and his patience was not infinite. If she decided to continue to be childish, he’d treat her like one. Thankfully for the both of them, Dorothea did not choose to keep acting wounded. His eyes followed her as she leaned against the wall. The tension in her shoulders visibly eased and an exhale of stress escaped his lips as a result. The air took on a heartier feel. Particles of hay floated through the air and Gavriil waited on his crate for her to speak. He sat with his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped loosely together between his knees, contemplative and content to wait for her to organize her thoughts. Much as he might like to, there was never any profit in making someone hurry with what they wanted to say. All you’d get in return was an emotional response, rather than a cool, logical, rational one.
When she finally did speak, Gavriil’s slate blue gaze rested on her face. It was strange to have an argument with a person you loved more than yourself. He could easily remember the moment she was born, the joy they’d felt before her birth. He saw in her face expressions her mother had made and the unhappy tilt of her mouth was an unexpectedly painful in that moment. He’d seen it before but not on her. At least, it didn’t feel that way.
Visions of holding her during her nightmares and teaching her to ride a horse floated through his mind. The first time she’d held a bow and the first time she’d hit a target - every successive time afterwards. He didn’t interrupt her as she accused him of having no trust in her but it was profoundly untrue and he’d explained it to her at the time. His reasons, apparently, held no weight for her and he could see that they would have to have the same conversation over again. So be it.
“There’s no one else I trust more to hit their intended target,” he did not shift his gaze away from her eyes. “I will say it again; my answer had nothing to do with your abilities. Their mission was to be secret. There would be too many people. It is also done. You will have many disappointments in your life. I suggest you do not nurse this one too much or it will grow into a bitterness you cannot escape.”
He wasn’t going to rehash all his reasons; she already knew them even if she chose to ignore good sense in favor of her emotions - a thing he hoped to every god that she would not do. Reacting on emotions instead of reason was the fastest way to unhappiness and calamity. Only fools acted on pure emotion and his daughter was not a fool - but that didn’t mean she couldn’t become one.
Her next admission, though, was a bit painful to hear. She felt she had no purpose. “This was an opportunity to change that, but I feel you will never support me in such a way.”
“No,” he agreed. “I will not support a foolhardy mission. Your brother should not even have gone. It could easily have been done by a servant. Anyone less inconspicuous. I believe both he and Persephone have acted without even a modicum of wisdom, but-” he held up a finger, pointing it right at her. “That I am able to save you from. You will never find purpose if you continue to look inward. Purpose comes from helping others. I did not allow you to go check the well being of a princess. If that is the worst I have done to you, I would do it again. If you lack purpose, be a help to our people here. There is never a lack of poor. I can teach you to help Iason with his barony, if you wish, or possibly work it for you to have mine when I am gone, as you have declared you will not marry.”
Gavriil stood, hands at his sides, though he wanted to reach for her. “I love you more than you will ever understand.” He wanted to tell her did did have purpose. That his life would be bereft without her in it. But those words did not seem like they would touch her. She wanted something else, as she should and he knew she could not stay forever. But he’d hoped that she would want a family of her own. Since that was not the case, and she was determined to take the hardest road to navigate, he did not know how to help - nor did he want to. He wanted her to be happy and he could already see that where she was heading destined for heartbreak.
Dorothea understood her father’s words to be true for she had heard him say them before. He would not change in his response, just as she somehow could not get over her feelings to it. There was more than just being able to hit a target—that she could do in her sleep no question. Everyone knew that. It was about doing more with her life. More than just marriage and a family. Something meaningful. But in this case, he was right—she could finally accept that it was over. The decision was made and there was certainly nothing she could do to change anything about it now. Iason and Persephone were gone, preparing for whatever conflict awaited them in Athenia.
He was right—perhaps it was a foolhardy mission for them all. Though Dorothea understood Persephone’s reasoning. If it had been her and Iason or Alexa were missing, nothing would have stopped her from trying to find them. And while she could not relate to being a ruler, she could understand how a life shaped with a certain expectation would be difficult to change in the middle of a dark night. There was so much unknown that it made sense for Persephone to return to her home. It was her birthright. How could she give that up?
For all that thought, Gavriil was beginning to make some sense to her. She did not believe that the task could have been done by a servant, it was something that had to be done in person, but perhaps she did not have a part in it. And what was her motivation, truly? To prove herself? If that was at the core of it, she was just as much a fool as her father thought her to be. He was right—it was selfish, it would never bring her the satisfaction that she anticipated. In fact, Dorothea was beginning to believe that she would feel just as empty after their mission was over. Her purpose could not be discovered if she only looked to herself. Just as it was hard to accept, his affirmation of that fact also brought some relief. She had been struggling over this for a long time and likely would for a while to come. But she was beginning to realize that a singular event was not going to give her the fulfilment she desperately was looking for.
It was her father’s next words that took her breath away. She found suddenly that she could not look at him, for the tears that were threatening might begin to fall. Dorothea kept her eyes trained on the ground, not willing to let her emotions overwhelm her. But the apology that had been waiting in the wings was finally ready to be said without anger or resentment.
“I’m sorry, Pappa,” she exclaimed, looking up to find him standing near her. “I’ve been acting the fool and neither you nor the household deserve it. I’ve just been feeling so lost and this felt like my one opportunity to change that. But you’re right—it wouldn’t have done any good. I would still feel the same.” Her words came pouring out almost faster than she could say them, a confession from the heart. She wouldn’t cry, but her eyes were full, glimmering as she looked at her father.
“I love you too, Pappa,” she replied, crossing the stable in a moment to give him a hug. She wasn’t sure if she could admit it aloud, but it was because of that love that she could lash out at him. It didn’t make sense and he didn’t deserve it, but she could always rely on his love even if she was being difficult. Dorothea gave him an extra squeeze, hoping to convey at least some of her feelings in an embrace. It wouldn’t be everything, but she hoped it would be enough. “Thank you for always being here for me, even if I don’t deserve it.”
Finally, she stepped away, wiping her eyes for more water had accumulated. “I’m sorry, too, for being so difficult. It’s just that I have never dreamed of marriage—I cannot see what it might give, only what it will take. I am who I am. I will not change for a man.” She was not sure how she felt about his other propositions—in many ways she longed for more, but she also felt what an honor it was that Gavriil would offer to teach her such things. Of course, she had quietly been learning by his side for years now, but he had never made it so formal.
“It would be an honor to learn from you, Pappa,” she said, “I hardly deserve it.”
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Dorothea understood her father’s words to be true for she had heard him say them before. He would not change in his response, just as she somehow could not get over her feelings to it. There was more than just being able to hit a target—that she could do in her sleep no question. Everyone knew that. It was about doing more with her life. More than just marriage and a family. Something meaningful. But in this case, he was right—she could finally accept that it was over. The decision was made and there was certainly nothing she could do to change anything about it now. Iason and Persephone were gone, preparing for whatever conflict awaited them in Athenia.
He was right—perhaps it was a foolhardy mission for them all. Though Dorothea understood Persephone’s reasoning. If it had been her and Iason or Alexa were missing, nothing would have stopped her from trying to find them. And while she could not relate to being a ruler, she could understand how a life shaped with a certain expectation would be difficult to change in the middle of a dark night. There was so much unknown that it made sense for Persephone to return to her home. It was her birthright. How could she give that up?
For all that thought, Gavriil was beginning to make some sense to her. She did not believe that the task could have been done by a servant, it was something that had to be done in person, but perhaps she did not have a part in it. And what was her motivation, truly? To prove herself? If that was at the core of it, she was just as much a fool as her father thought her to be. He was right—it was selfish, it would never bring her the satisfaction that she anticipated. In fact, Dorothea was beginning to believe that she would feel just as empty after their mission was over. Her purpose could not be discovered if she only looked to herself. Just as it was hard to accept, his affirmation of that fact also brought some relief. She had been struggling over this for a long time and likely would for a while to come. But she was beginning to realize that a singular event was not going to give her the fulfilment she desperately was looking for.
It was her father’s next words that took her breath away. She found suddenly that she could not look at him, for the tears that were threatening might begin to fall. Dorothea kept her eyes trained on the ground, not willing to let her emotions overwhelm her. But the apology that had been waiting in the wings was finally ready to be said without anger or resentment.
“I’m sorry, Pappa,” she exclaimed, looking up to find him standing near her. “I’ve been acting the fool and neither you nor the household deserve it. I’ve just been feeling so lost and this felt like my one opportunity to change that. But you’re right—it wouldn’t have done any good. I would still feel the same.” Her words came pouring out almost faster than she could say them, a confession from the heart. She wouldn’t cry, but her eyes were full, glimmering as she looked at her father.
“I love you too, Pappa,” she replied, crossing the stable in a moment to give him a hug. She wasn’t sure if she could admit it aloud, but it was because of that love that she could lash out at him. It didn’t make sense and he didn’t deserve it, but she could always rely on his love even if she was being difficult. Dorothea gave him an extra squeeze, hoping to convey at least some of her feelings in an embrace. It wouldn’t be everything, but she hoped it would be enough. “Thank you for always being here for me, even if I don’t deserve it.”
Finally, she stepped away, wiping her eyes for more water had accumulated. “I’m sorry, too, for being so difficult. It’s just that I have never dreamed of marriage—I cannot see what it might give, only what it will take. I am who I am. I will not change for a man.” She was not sure how she felt about his other propositions—in many ways she longed for more, but she also felt what an honor it was that Gavriil would offer to teach her such things. Of course, she had quietly been learning by his side for years now, but he had never made it so formal.
“It would be an honor to learn from you, Pappa,” she said, “I hardly deserve it.”
Dorothea understood her father’s words to be true for she had heard him say them before. He would not change in his response, just as she somehow could not get over her feelings to it. There was more than just being able to hit a target—that she could do in her sleep no question. Everyone knew that. It was about doing more with her life. More than just marriage and a family. Something meaningful. But in this case, he was right—she could finally accept that it was over. The decision was made and there was certainly nothing she could do to change anything about it now. Iason and Persephone were gone, preparing for whatever conflict awaited them in Athenia.
He was right—perhaps it was a foolhardy mission for them all. Though Dorothea understood Persephone’s reasoning. If it had been her and Iason or Alexa were missing, nothing would have stopped her from trying to find them. And while she could not relate to being a ruler, she could understand how a life shaped with a certain expectation would be difficult to change in the middle of a dark night. There was so much unknown that it made sense for Persephone to return to her home. It was her birthright. How could she give that up?
For all that thought, Gavriil was beginning to make some sense to her. She did not believe that the task could have been done by a servant, it was something that had to be done in person, but perhaps she did not have a part in it. And what was her motivation, truly? To prove herself? If that was at the core of it, she was just as much a fool as her father thought her to be. He was right—it was selfish, it would never bring her the satisfaction that she anticipated. In fact, Dorothea was beginning to believe that she would feel just as empty after their mission was over. Her purpose could not be discovered if she only looked to herself. Just as it was hard to accept, his affirmation of that fact also brought some relief. She had been struggling over this for a long time and likely would for a while to come. But she was beginning to realize that a singular event was not going to give her the fulfilment she desperately was looking for.
It was her father’s next words that took her breath away. She found suddenly that she could not look at him, for the tears that were threatening might begin to fall. Dorothea kept her eyes trained on the ground, not willing to let her emotions overwhelm her. But the apology that had been waiting in the wings was finally ready to be said without anger or resentment.
“I’m sorry, Pappa,” she exclaimed, looking up to find him standing near her. “I’ve been acting the fool and neither you nor the household deserve it. I’ve just been feeling so lost and this felt like my one opportunity to change that. But you’re right—it wouldn’t have done any good. I would still feel the same.” Her words came pouring out almost faster than she could say them, a confession from the heart. She wouldn’t cry, but her eyes were full, glimmering as she looked at her father.
“I love you too, Pappa,” she replied, crossing the stable in a moment to give him a hug. She wasn’t sure if she could admit it aloud, but it was because of that love that she could lash out at him. It didn’t make sense and he didn’t deserve it, but she could always rely on his love even if she was being difficult. Dorothea gave him an extra squeeze, hoping to convey at least some of her feelings in an embrace. It wouldn’t be everything, but she hoped it would be enough. “Thank you for always being here for me, even if I don’t deserve it.”
Finally, she stepped away, wiping her eyes for more water had accumulated. “I’m sorry, too, for being so difficult. It’s just that I have never dreamed of marriage—I cannot see what it might give, only what it will take. I am who I am. I will not change for a man.” She was not sure how she felt about his other propositions—in many ways she longed for more, but she also felt what an honor it was that Gavriil would offer to teach her such things. Of course, she had quietly been learning by his side for years now, but he had never made it so formal.
“It would be an honor to learn from you, Pappa,” she said, “I hardly deserve it.”
His eyes never left hers but his breath stilled, waiting to see if she would flame up again. For a few seconds, they regarded each other in the silence. Somewhere behind them, a horse snuffled through swaths of hay. The hay straws whispered over each other as they shifted and fell. A hoof thumped against the wood of the stall. The world was calm but across his daughter’s face, war waged. She was at once a young woman he had a hard time recognizing these days and the little girl whom he’d held through thunderstorms and spun through the air when he caught her running into his arms. Fighting with her was one of the worst, yet unavoidable things he’d ever experienced. This wasn’t their first time butting heads, but that didn’t make it more palatable.
The real concern in him now was that she would cry. She looked very much like she might and he wouldn’t have interrupted her as she willed herself under control even if someone offered him the entire world. One of the things that he was nearly powerless against were his daughters’ tears, and Sibyl’s before then, and Yanni before that. He just wasn’t entirely sure what to do with a woman weeping against his chest except to soothe her by doing whatever it was she was asking for. Or bringing justice to whatever or whoever had wronged her. At the moment, though, he was the cause of her upset and so was even more powerless than he might usually have been.
“I’m sorry, Pappa,” she finally mumbled, her bright eyes lifting at last to find his. His heart melted. He did not move as she went on to explain that she was lost. His brows came together in a frown even as compassion flooded his heart. She was not meant to be caged, that much was obvious, but she was. Caged by convention, caged by her sex, cage by the place in which they lived. She had more freedom than most, though. He had allowed her to run positively wild in her pursuits and she’d tasted a little too much of what it was like to be a man with those sorts of privileges. Now there was no stopping her dreams. If he could change the world for her, he would have, which was why he’d offered her his barony just now. It would give her all the security she needed, though what would happen to their family without heirs...that was a little more of a problem.
“I love you too, Pappa.” No sooner had she said it than she was streaking towards him. He opened his arms, bending just a bit to catch her in the hug and lift her off her feet, holding her like he might have if she was still twelve. “Thank you for always being here for me, even if I don’t deserve it,” was said into his shoulder and he wondered if his heart might actually burst from love. He buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her hard, relieved that their days of not speaking were over.
Rather than saying anything back to her, because what words were enough? He turned his head to kiss her temple and gently set her back down again. She stepped away from him, wiping away tears and he tilted his head, watching her with a softness that rarely crossed his features.
“I’m sorry, too, for being so difficult. It’s just that I have never dreamed of marriage—I cannot see what it might give, only what it will take. I am who I am. I will not change for a man.”
He did wonder if her resistance to marriage had to do with her mother’s death. Sybil had been as happy as any woman married to him could be. Which was to say, he did his best and loved her more than life itself and frustrated her in his turn. She’d done the same to him. That was what love was. Hard and wonderful and infuriating and all consuming. But Dorothea had not been old enough to understand. All she would likely remember was the absence of Sybil in their lives. The hole left behind. The ache for someone you could not hold no matter how much you wanted to. If she never married, she’d never have to feel loss.
That was his personal assessment, anyway.
“It would be an honor to learn from you, Pappa. I hardly deserve it.”
“Shhh,” he shushed that sort of talk at once. “You deserve more but it’s what I can give you. Come.” He set a heavy hand on her shoulder, using the hold to turn her towards the house. His arm wrapped around her, hugging her to his side as they walked. “Let’s talk about it later. Why don’t I beat you in on the archery range?” As if such a thing would happen. He’d get close, of course, but she was always better. “Since you’re so bad at it.”
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His eyes never left hers but his breath stilled, waiting to see if she would flame up again. For a few seconds, they regarded each other in the silence. Somewhere behind them, a horse snuffled through swaths of hay. The hay straws whispered over each other as they shifted and fell. A hoof thumped against the wood of the stall. The world was calm but across his daughter’s face, war waged. She was at once a young woman he had a hard time recognizing these days and the little girl whom he’d held through thunderstorms and spun through the air when he caught her running into his arms. Fighting with her was one of the worst, yet unavoidable things he’d ever experienced. This wasn’t their first time butting heads, but that didn’t make it more palatable.
The real concern in him now was that she would cry. She looked very much like she might and he wouldn’t have interrupted her as she willed herself under control even if someone offered him the entire world. One of the things that he was nearly powerless against were his daughters’ tears, and Sibyl’s before then, and Yanni before that. He just wasn’t entirely sure what to do with a woman weeping against his chest except to soothe her by doing whatever it was she was asking for. Or bringing justice to whatever or whoever had wronged her. At the moment, though, he was the cause of her upset and so was even more powerless than he might usually have been.
“I’m sorry, Pappa,” she finally mumbled, her bright eyes lifting at last to find his. His heart melted. He did not move as she went on to explain that she was lost. His brows came together in a frown even as compassion flooded his heart. She was not meant to be caged, that much was obvious, but she was. Caged by convention, caged by her sex, cage by the place in which they lived. She had more freedom than most, though. He had allowed her to run positively wild in her pursuits and she’d tasted a little too much of what it was like to be a man with those sorts of privileges. Now there was no stopping her dreams. If he could change the world for her, he would have, which was why he’d offered her his barony just now. It would give her all the security she needed, though what would happen to their family without heirs...that was a little more of a problem.
“I love you too, Pappa.” No sooner had she said it than she was streaking towards him. He opened his arms, bending just a bit to catch her in the hug and lift her off her feet, holding her like he might have if she was still twelve. “Thank you for always being here for me, even if I don’t deserve it,” was said into his shoulder and he wondered if his heart might actually burst from love. He buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her hard, relieved that their days of not speaking were over.
Rather than saying anything back to her, because what words were enough? He turned his head to kiss her temple and gently set her back down again. She stepped away from him, wiping away tears and he tilted his head, watching her with a softness that rarely crossed his features.
“I’m sorry, too, for being so difficult. It’s just that I have never dreamed of marriage—I cannot see what it might give, only what it will take. I am who I am. I will not change for a man.”
He did wonder if her resistance to marriage had to do with her mother’s death. Sybil had been as happy as any woman married to him could be. Which was to say, he did his best and loved her more than life itself and frustrated her in his turn. She’d done the same to him. That was what love was. Hard and wonderful and infuriating and all consuming. But Dorothea had not been old enough to understand. All she would likely remember was the absence of Sybil in their lives. The hole left behind. The ache for someone you could not hold no matter how much you wanted to. If she never married, she’d never have to feel loss.
That was his personal assessment, anyway.
“It would be an honor to learn from you, Pappa. I hardly deserve it.”
“Shhh,” he shushed that sort of talk at once. “You deserve more but it’s what I can give you. Come.” He set a heavy hand on her shoulder, using the hold to turn her towards the house. His arm wrapped around her, hugging her to his side as they walked. “Let’s talk about it later. Why don’t I beat you in on the archery range?” As if such a thing would happen. He’d get close, of course, but she was always better. “Since you’re so bad at it.”
His eyes never left hers but his breath stilled, waiting to see if she would flame up again. For a few seconds, they regarded each other in the silence. Somewhere behind them, a horse snuffled through swaths of hay. The hay straws whispered over each other as they shifted and fell. A hoof thumped against the wood of the stall. The world was calm but across his daughter’s face, war waged. She was at once a young woman he had a hard time recognizing these days and the little girl whom he’d held through thunderstorms and spun through the air when he caught her running into his arms. Fighting with her was one of the worst, yet unavoidable things he’d ever experienced. This wasn’t their first time butting heads, but that didn’t make it more palatable.
The real concern in him now was that she would cry. She looked very much like she might and he wouldn’t have interrupted her as she willed herself under control even if someone offered him the entire world. One of the things that he was nearly powerless against were his daughters’ tears, and Sibyl’s before then, and Yanni before that. He just wasn’t entirely sure what to do with a woman weeping against his chest except to soothe her by doing whatever it was she was asking for. Or bringing justice to whatever or whoever had wronged her. At the moment, though, he was the cause of her upset and so was even more powerless than he might usually have been.
“I’m sorry, Pappa,” she finally mumbled, her bright eyes lifting at last to find his. His heart melted. He did not move as she went on to explain that she was lost. His brows came together in a frown even as compassion flooded his heart. She was not meant to be caged, that much was obvious, but she was. Caged by convention, caged by her sex, cage by the place in which they lived. She had more freedom than most, though. He had allowed her to run positively wild in her pursuits and she’d tasted a little too much of what it was like to be a man with those sorts of privileges. Now there was no stopping her dreams. If he could change the world for her, he would have, which was why he’d offered her his barony just now. It would give her all the security she needed, though what would happen to their family without heirs...that was a little more of a problem.
“I love you too, Pappa.” No sooner had she said it than she was streaking towards him. He opened his arms, bending just a bit to catch her in the hug and lift her off her feet, holding her like he might have if she was still twelve. “Thank you for always being here for me, even if I don’t deserve it,” was said into his shoulder and he wondered if his heart might actually burst from love. He buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her hard, relieved that their days of not speaking were over.
Rather than saying anything back to her, because what words were enough? He turned his head to kiss her temple and gently set her back down again. She stepped away from him, wiping away tears and he tilted his head, watching her with a softness that rarely crossed his features.
“I’m sorry, too, for being so difficult. It’s just that I have never dreamed of marriage—I cannot see what it might give, only what it will take. I am who I am. I will not change for a man.”
He did wonder if her resistance to marriage had to do with her mother’s death. Sybil had been as happy as any woman married to him could be. Which was to say, he did his best and loved her more than life itself and frustrated her in his turn. She’d done the same to him. That was what love was. Hard and wonderful and infuriating and all consuming. But Dorothea had not been old enough to understand. All she would likely remember was the absence of Sybil in their lives. The hole left behind. The ache for someone you could not hold no matter how much you wanted to. If she never married, she’d never have to feel loss.
That was his personal assessment, anyway.
“It would be an honor to learn from you, Pappa. I hardly deserve it.”
“Shhh,” he shushed that sort of talk at once. “You deserve more but it’s what I can give you. Come.” He set a heavy hand on her shoulder, using the hold to turn her towards the house. His arm wrapped around her, hugging her to his side as they walked. “Let’s talk about it later. Why don’t I beat you in on the archery range?” As if such a thing would happen. He’d get close, of course, but she was always better. “Since you’re so bad at it.”
Dorothea felt just as if she was a child again—her father lifted her into a strong hug, kissing her temple as he set her down. The two of them didn’t seem to hug as much anymore and she was wondering if that was more her fault than his. They were an expressive family, but these kinds of hugs that were mostly reserved for Alexa these days. Dorothea realized that she missed this. Perhaps these kinds of hugs, these kinds of moments would help. They wouldn’t change her deeper feelings of dissatisfaction, but they might remind her of why her life wasn’t so bad. What good things that she had that were worth living for.
She had no way of knowing that her father’s thoughts were so similar to some that had echoed around her head for many years. Her father was a unique individual—a rarity amongst Taengean men. Her mother had been blessed by the nature of Gavriil. He had loved without question or discrimination. He had allowed Sybil to be free, just as he allowed his daughters to be free as well. Unfortunately, Dorothea didn’t see those same qualities in many other men. She just knew that her marriage would lead to expectations that she would never want to fill. Another, even deeper seeded fear, that she had never told anyone, was her fear of childbirth. Those expectations in a marriage would certainly include carrying on the family line—even her mother hadn’t been able to escape that—and ultimately, it had resulted in her death. As wonderful as Alexa was, Dorothea couldn’t imagine herself sacrificing everything for a child. Perhaps that was selfish, but it was how she felt. And she was convinced that nothing would ever change that.
Luckily, those thoughts were brushed aside as her father took her under his wing, promising to give her what he could in terms of her satisfaction. A part of Dorothea wondered if that would really work, but pushed that aside in favor of the peace they had reached. She could think about it more later, but now that she and her father were no longer fighting, she wanted to enjoy the feeling of friendliness again. Although to most, their fight hadn’t lasted long, it was the longest of anything negative that had occurred between the two of them. She was glad to see it go.
Dorothea managed a smile, wiping the final tears from her face as Gavriil moved them outside. “You are an excellent archer, Pappa. You always provide very good competition for me.” She could say that truthfully, though it had been quite some time that he had been able to beat her. Perhaps she would allow him that victory today. That might be a kindness she could give. Then again, perhaps not. “Let’s see how you do today.”
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Dorothea felt just as if she was a child again—her father lifted her into a strong hug, kissing her temple as he set her down. The two of them didn’t seem to hug as much anymore and she was wondering if that was more her fault than his. They were an expressive family, but these kinds of hugs that were mostly reserved for Alexa these days. Dorothea realized that she missed this. Perhaps these kinds of hugs, these kinds of moments would help. They wouldn’t change her deeper feelings of dissatisfaction, but they might remind her of why her life wasn’t so bad. What good things that she had that were worth living for.
She had no way of knowing that her father’s thoughts were so similar to some that had echoed around her head for many years. Her father was a unique individual—a rarity amongst Taengean men. Her mother had been blessed by the nature of Gavriil. He had loved without question or discrimination. He had allowed Sybil to be free, just as he allowed his daughters to be free as well. Unfortunately, Dorothea didn’t see those same qualities in many other men. She just knew that her marriage would lead to expectations that she would never want to fill. Another, even deeper seeded fear, that she had never told anyone, was her fear of childbirth. Those expectations in a marriage would certainly include carrying on the family line—even her mother hadn’t been able to escape that—and ultimately, it had resulted in her death. As wonderful as Alexa was, Dorothea couldn’t imagine herself sacrificing everything for a child. Perhaps that was selfish, but it was how she felt. And she was convinced that nothing would ever change that.
Luckily, those thoughts were brushed aside as her father took her under his wing, promising to give her what he could in terms of her satisfaction. A part of Dorothea wondered if that would really work, but pushed that aside in favor of the peace they had reached. She could think about it more later, but now that she and her father were no longer fighting, she wanted to enjoy the feeling of friendliness again. Although to most, their fight hadn’t lasted long, it was the longest of anything negative that had occurred between the two of them. She was glad to see it go.
Dorothea managed a smile, wiping the final tears from her face as Gavriil moved them outside. “You are an excellent archer, Pappa. You always provide very good competition for me.” She could say that truthfully, though it had been quite some time that he had been able to beat her. Perhaps she would allow him that victory today. That might be a kindness she could give. Then again, perhaps not. “Let’s see how you do today.”
Dorothea felt just as if she was a child again—her father lifted her into a strong hug, kissing her temple as he set her down. The two of them didn’t seem to hug as much anymore and she was wondering if that was more her fault than his. They were an expressive family, but these kinds of hugs that were mostly reserved for Alexa these days. Dorothea realized that she missed this. Perhaps these kinds of hugs, these kinds of moments would help. They wouldn’t change her deeper feelings of dissatisfaction, but they might remind her of why her life wasn’t so bad. What good things that she had that were worth living for.
She had no way of knowing that her father’s thoughts were so similar to some that had echoed around her head for many years. Her father was a unique individual—a rarity amongst Taengean men. Her mother had been blessed by the nature of Gavriil. He had loved without question or discrimination. He had allowed Sybil to be free, just as he allowed his daughters to be free as well. Unfortunately, Dorothea didn’t see those same qualities in many other men. She just knew that her marriage would lead to expectations that she would never want to fill. Another, even deeper seeded fear, that she had never told anyone, was her fear of childbirth. Those expectations in a marriage would certainly include carrying on the family line—even her mother hadn’t been able to escape that—and ultimately, it had resulted in her death. As wonderful as Alexa was, Dorothea couldn’t imagine herself sacrificing everything for a child. Perhaps that was selfish, but it was how she felt. And she was convinced that nothing would ever change that.
Luckily, those thoughts were brushed aside as her father took her under his wing, promising to give her what he could in terms of her satisfaction. A part of Dorothea wondered if that would really work, but pushed that aside in favor of the peace they had reached. She could think about it more later, but now that she and her father were no longer fighting, she wanted to enjoy the feeling of friendliness again. Although to most, their fight hadn’t lasted long, it was the longest of anything negative that had occurred between the two of them. She was glad to see it go.
Dorothea managed a smile, wiping the final tears from her face as Gavriil moved them outside. “You are an excellent archer, Pappa. You always provide very good competition for me.” She could say that truthfully, though it had been quite some time that he had been able to beat her. Perhaps she would allow him that victory today. That might be a kindness she could give. Then again, perhaps not. “Let’s see how you do today.”