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The morning was cold, the early frost clinging stubbornly to the hills above Redcliffe as the sun struggled to pierce the thin veil of clouds. Their small stone cottage stood sturdy against the breeze from Lake Calenhad. Inside, the warmth of a crackling hearth seemed an empty comfort as a storm brewed between its walls.
Valin stood by the stove, his broad shoulders hunched as he stirred a pot of stew. The spoon clinked against the sides of the iron pot in a steady rhythm. His scarred forehead was furrowed deeply, lips set in a grim line beneath his bushy beard. Oghren staggered in from their bedroom, still reeking of ale. His hair unkempt, and his eyes bleary.
"You promised me, Oghren," Valin said, his voice low and measured. "You promised him." He gestured toward the other room where Finnel was still fast asleep.
“Ah, don’t start with your lectures, Valin. It’s too early. I’ve been good. Months without a drop. Can’t a man have one drink? It’s not like I’m pissin’ away the house!”
Valin’s nostrils flared, and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the spoon tighter. He didn’t turn around. “One drink and I can still smell it on you.”
Oghren’s hand reached reflexively toward the bottle on the table. He hesitated under Valin’s piercing glare when the older dwarf finally turned to face him. Valin’s deep brown eyes were alight with a controlled fury, the kind that simmered below the surface that Oghren was used to.
“It’s never just a drink with you, is it?” Valin snapped. “Don’t insult me by pretending it is.”
“I tried!” Oghren shot back. “I’ve been tryin’, Valin! But it’s not that easy, alright? You think I can just... just walk away from a lifetime of it?” His voice cracked, frustration and defensiveness bubbling over.
Valin stepped forward, the stew left to burn. "And what about Finnel?" Valin snapped, His voice rose, losing its usual stoic calm. "He’s six. He’s already lost more than most adults, and you’re all he has left except for me."
Oghren’s anger dissipated in a second, eyes flicked back towards the bedroom door down the short hallway. He rubbed the back of his neck, guilt flickering across his face. "He’s got you. You’re the steady one. The good one. I’m just… I’m not meant for this, Valin. I'm no father."
Valin closed the distance between them in two strides, his thick boots thudding against the floor. He jabbed a calloused finger into Oghren’s chest.”You’re his father. You don’t get to run from it just because it’s hard."
Oghren tensed, his jaw tightening as he looked back at Valin. “I love the boy. You know I do. But I ain’t good enough. Never was. You want me to be somethin’ I’m not, Valin. It ain’t fair.”
“Not fair?” Valin replied, his voice dangerously low. “You think it’s fair to him when you promise to stay sober and come home stinking like a brewery? You fought worse than this Oghren. Stop acting like a coward.”
The word hit like a hammer, pounding into his past traumas when he was with Branka. When he was the useless coward who got left behind by his own wife. Oghren surged to his feet, his nose almost touching Valin’s. “Don’t you call me that!” His voice boomed in the small space. He trembled with a mix of anger and guilt, his eyes wet with unshed tears.
"It’s gonna kill you." Valin's voice cracked, his anger shifting to a raw desperation. "What happens when I’m gone?" He paused, swallowing thickly as his own eyes got teary. "You want him to lose his parents again?”
At that, Oghren flinched, his face twisting. “Don’t… don’t talk like that,” he muttered, his words quieter now, the bluster drained from him. He fell back into his chair, hands limp in his lap.
“No,” Valin said, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he was trying to force the tears back and failing. “You need to hear it. One day, probably sooner than I’d like, I’ll wake up, I’ll pack up my things, kiss you and Finnel goodbye, knowing I’ll never come back. And when that day comes, who’ll be here for him, Oghren? Who’s going to teach him how to survive in a world that’ll tear him apart if he’s not ready?”
The silence that followed was heavy. The only sound was the soft crackle of the fire. Oghren stared at Valin, his watery blue eyes brimming with something unreadable.
Valin’s tears ran down his face, eyes clenched shut as he let out a shuddering sigh. “I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice quiet now. “When I’m gone, there’s no second chance for him. He won’t have me to hold the pieces together when you can’t.”
Oghren’s face twisted with shame as he watched Valin break. The man who had carried the burden of ending the blight on his shoulders, the man who he had only seen cry once in the years they’d been together, was falling apart in front of him. “Valin…” Oghren’s voice was soft, uncertain. He reached out, his fingers intertwining with Valin’s in a small effort to comfort his husband.
Valin’s voice broke, and his grip tightened around Oghren’s hand, trying to steady himself. “When I’m gone, I just need to know that you’ll be there for him.”
“I will, of course I will,” Oghren replied quietly, half convincing Valin and half convincing himself. He squeezed Valin’s hand back in return, letting his thumb tap against his husband’s skin in a steady rhythm.
From the back room, a small, hesitant voice broke the silence. “Papa?”
Both men turned to see Finnel peeking out the door, his wild ginger hair sticking up in all directions, his big green eyes wide with worry. His small hands clutched the edges of his pyjama top.
Valin’s quickly coughed and turned away, breaking away from Oghren and trying to hide his tears from Finnel.
Oghren gave a weak smile, patting his knee. “Come here, lad.”
Finnel shuffled forward, his chubby cheeks flushed from sleep. “Why are you yelling?” He asked softly, climbing up into Oghren’s lap.
Oghren cleared his throat, "Your papa and I... we’re just talking, is all. Sometimes grown-ups get loud when they’re upset, but it isn’t about you. You’ve done nothing wrong."
Finnel nodded hesitantly, clutching Oghren tighter. "Promise?"
“I promise, nothing to worry about,” Oghren replied, ruffling Finnel’s unruly hair between his fingers. “Sorry for waking you up little man.”
Finnel seemed satisfied with the answer, his face nuzzled down against his dad’s braided beard.
Valin sighed, finally composed enough to talk to his son. “Finnel, go get your boots on. We’ll take a walk down to the village after breakfast. Ok?”
Finnel brightened, his excited grin lighting up the room. “Can we get honeycakes?”
“We’ll see,” Valin said, his lips twitching in the faintest hint of a smile. He moved back to the stove, back to stirring the now-burnt stew.
As the boy scampered off, Valin and Oghren were left standing in the quiet again.