Canna sat quietly in her room immersed in a deep
meditation. She rested on her heels; her eyes sealed as she focused on
maintaining a steady breathing pattern while going over her tenets once again.
Years had passed since the violent vixen first learned of her destiny with the
Unfettered Queen, and the angry teen was now an adult preparing for the
greatest challenge in her life. In a week’s time she would be heading north to
meet with Bryth Wyrmslayer about a scouting mission over the wall, although the
lie she told her family was that in a week’s time she would be embarking on a
pilgrimage to visit various shrines to Avandra all across the world. In the
eyes of the inconsiderate avenger, she felt everyone bought the story. Now she
would enjoy her last week at home mentally preparing for this daunting task
while trying to spend a few precious moments with her family as she knew they
could very well be her last.
A heavy knock at her door startled Canna out of her
trance. “Hello?” she muttered, a bit confused at who could be contacting her
this late in the evening.
“It’s me.” Though he spoke so very rarely, Canna could
still recognize her father’s voice. The faithful follower of Avandra stood and
tucked her holy symbol back underneath her shirt as she ran to her door and
opened it with an earnest curiosity. Kaevyn was still a large man, but Canna
couldn’t help but find her views of him more modest ever since meeting the
behemoth that was Cormag. The blacksmith was now well into his forties, and the
signs of age were apparent in his features. His once boyish head of hair was
now grayed and thinning from the back, and his strong facial features were now
accented by worn wrinkles tanned from his long hours spent in the forge. He
wasn’t ancient, but he was a man with more years behind him than in front of
him anymore—not that anyone could tell given on how rarely he spoke of the
past. He stared down at his daughter with the same expressionless eyes he
always did. Canna had long since learned not to take it as an insult. She just
knew it as her father’s peculiar way of carrying himself. “Canna, I need to do
something back at the forge. Could you help me with it?” That was always the
way Kaevyn spoke; abruptly to the point as though each word cost him a silver
to say.
Canna slightly perked an eyebrow at the request. On rare
occasions he would request the aid of his daughter to help him around the
forge, though generally only for very mundane jobs like cleaning. She hadn’t
been asked along for one of these last night chores since she returned from
Arkhosia, so she assumed her younger brother had been enlisted in her stead.
The eldest daughter was about to question why her father didn’t turn to his son
for this task, but she realized this might be one of the last times she would speak
to her father for a very long time so she forced a smile, nodded lightly, and
followed behind.
The walk to the forge was made in complete silence, but
that was not strange for the situation. Neither Corbett enjoyed idle chit-chat
very much, and it was something they silently appreciated about one another. Canna
occupied her mind by focusing on the sound of her father’s feet as they clapped
against the paved stone streets of Southgate. Did his footsteps always sound so
booming? Canna hadn’t really thought about it before, but her father had a very
particular way of carrying himself. His shoulders were broad and straight; his
back erect and forcing his view ever forward. Kaevyn may have been anti-social,
but he clearly wasn’t shy if he walked with such power and confidence in his
step. Canna wasn’t sure why it had taken her until now to really notice the
pride with which her father carried himself. Maybe it was because she knew she
likely wouldn’t see him again for quite some time, and she wanted to capture
every nuance of his person in her memories. She thought back to her childhood
and the few, but precious moments she shared with her father. Her daydreaming
abruptly ended once she caught sight of the inside of the forge.
Canna was expecting the chamber to be covered in ash with
random bits of steel strewn about the floors and shelves. Instead the cold
cobble stone floors were neatly swept, and all of the weapons had been
organized and stored away just as usual on a standard day of business. Canna was
utterly confused, but her father pulled up a set of chairs and motioned for her
to take a seat. Canna, feeling as though she was once again a child just about
to be scolded, took a seat without speaking a word. Her father slumped into the
other chair with a relieved sigh accompanying the groan of wood underneath his
weight. For another moment the two sat in silence. Canna studied her father
waiting for any of the telltale signs of his agitation she had memorized as a
child, but her father seemed strangely at ease. Almost joyously so—although it
was sometimes difficult to interpret the very picayune details of emotion in
Kaevyn’s face. After a couple minutes had passed Kaevyn finally felt
comfortable enough in his chair to reach out onto a nearby shelf and pull out a
long wooden chest from behind a solid steel cuirass that Canna swore had always
been at the forge.
The chest was long and thick, and constructed out of a
well-polished wood. Canna stared at her father curiously as he positioned the
chest on his lap before slowly lifting the lid. Inside was a long olive tinted
bottle gently cradled by maroon silk. Kaevyn carefully lifted the bottle out of
its casing before setting the remnants of the chest to the side. He studied the
bottle carefully as Canna peered over his shoulder to examine the label. “Mountain
Heart, Dwarven Whiskey” it read. Judging from the lavish container Canna
initially presumed this was a legendary brew, but then she noticed the seal on
top had long since been broken and more than half of the liquor was missing.
Kaevyn paid no mind to his daughter’s curiosity choosing instead to grab a set
of small glasses that rested on a table beside him. He diligently poured the
whiskey into one of the glasses making sure to stop at precisely three quarters
of the way up. He then turned to give his daughter the other glass. “You can
clean it if you’d like.”
There was no explanation to why he was serving drinks or
why he’d been keeping this stock of liquor secret, but if he was intent on
sharing then the former mercenary would not decline his generosity. “No, that’s
fine,” she said with a quick hand wave. The truth was she had drunk from cups far
more filthy during her year in Arkhosia, but she would deliberately leave that
detail out. In response her father poured a duplicate drink approximately
measured at three quarters of the way full and handed it to his daughter. Canna
took it with an unintentionally curt, “Thanks.” Kaevyn rested the bottle at his
feet before cracking his back against his chair and then taking a long sip of
his drink. Canna waited for any sign of emotion from her father to gauge what
this drink was all about, but Kaevyn displayed no strong emotion other than a
comforted contentment as he savored his whiskey.
Confused, but not unappreciative, Canna took a sip of
Mountain Heart. It was immensely powerful even for a drinker who favored liquor
with a punch. Canna nearly gagged at first as though she had ingested a brew
meant for Dragonborns again. However just as quickly as the kick appeared it
faded away into a vapid taste that left Canna wondering if she had just
ingested medicinal alcohol. She nearly commented on the apparently poor quality
of the drink when she suddenly sensed a very faint assortment of spices on her
tongue. As the whiskey settled in her mouth she picked up a medley of subtle
flavors that lacked a presence but, after swallowing they left the consumer in
a comforted state. In was a bizarre blend to be sure, but Canna could tell it
was one that had to be tolerated before it could truly be appreciated. She
wasn’t sure why her father favored such a strange drink, but as the slightest
curves of a smile grew on his face Canna knew that he enjoyed it.
“I’m proud of you.” Kaevyn’s single sentence broke the
silence but left his daughter speechless. He didn’t stop to gauge her reaction
or stare at her wide-eyed bewilderment, choosing to instead take another sip of
his drink as he relaxed further. Canna had to consciously keep her jaw from
dropping in response to her father’s praise. She had become used to being
berated for her attitude and her lack of discipline by her parents over the
years, and the violent vixen couldn’t even remember the last time one of her
parents complimented her in any meaningful way. Against her will her cheeks
began to blush, but internally she had no clue what she did to prompt any sort
of appreciation. She was hesitant to say anything—afraid her father may retract
his words if she inquired about the specifics. Several blissful moments passed
by before Kaevyn finally elaborated. “It’s been a long time since your mother
or I have been able to go to sleep without worrying about you.”
Canna’s good cheer came to a tragic end. She wouldn’t
admit it, but she secretly hoped her father was referring to her noble fight
against oppression as the reason for his pride, but it was clear he was still
deceived by the illusion of Canna’s supposed life as a pious follower of
Avandra. Canna wanted to be angry at her father for him still misunderstanding
who she was at her core, but she couldn’t bring herself to despise Kaevyn for
saying such an earnest thought. It was clear to Canna that her father was
relieved to finally be able to say those words from the rare, slight
vulnerability that was laced in his tone. She hated knowing that her father’s
reassurance was only a mirage she provided so that she could keep her real
agenda a secret. It was a cruel twist of fate that taunted her unspoken
obsession with connecting with her father, but Canna went back to scowling the
same as she normally did as she pushed those close to her further away.
“Thanks,” she mumbled with any true appreciation in her inflection. Kaevyn’s
stoic expression never changed, but Canna imagined he probably picked up on her
unsubtle insincerity.
With one final sip Kaevyn finished his drink and set the
empty glass down by his feet. Canna was stunned to see the speed at which he
swallowed the whiskey; she herself had only managed to peck at her beverage in
comparison. She took the feat as an
insult to her own fortitude and responded in kind by taking a deep gulp of the
whiskey only to find herself immediately regretting that decision. The alcohol
hit her like a punch to her delicate chin, and it took all of her self-control
not to spit the contents back into the glass. Kaevyn didn’t seem to pay the
reaction any mind though as he stood up and walked slowly over towards a
collection of weapons that hung across the wall. Morningstars, glaives,
daggers, and all assortments of arms in between rested carefully on hinges that
lined the walls of the forge, but Kaevyn was focused on an enormous axe that
seemed freshly crafted in comparison to the aged steel that surrounded it. The
smith lifted his work from the wall and managed to dwarf the behemoth
instrument in his hands.
“You should take this on your pilgrimage. You probably
won’t be able to swing it, but seeing it should be enough to scare off
thieves.” Once again Kaevyn’s voice carried a paternal pride in it, but now
there was a concern mixed inside that Canna couldn’t ignore as he brought the
brutal weapon over and set it beside her. Canna inspected the axe from top to
bottom, and felt a tingle of intimidation run down her spine. The head of the
axe was larger than the avenger’s torso, and thick enough that it could easily
hew a well grown oak in a single swing. The handle was long, cold, and
featureless sans a single point that took the place of the pummel. It didn’t
need crude curves or elaborate decorations to command attention to its sinister
purposes, and it seemed an appropriate weapon for a holy assassin.
Satisfied, Kaevyn returned to his seat and began pouring
another glass of Mountain Heart. The drink rested casually on his knee as he
stared forward towards his life’s work. Every weapon that hung on the wall was
a mark of pride to the blacksmith; a testament towards his own self-validation.
These instruments of battle were the reason he could support his family, and
yet there was always a lonely feeling that crept up in the pit of his stomach
when he stopped to admire them. It was a cold reminder of the man who threw
away this same opportunity.
“I used to share these drinks with Leon.” The mention of
her uncle’s name instantly snatched Canna’s attention as she whipped her head
to face her father. Kaevyn’s eyes had begun drifting lower, but they kept a
firm stare forward despite the lingering remorse slowly emerging in his lenses.
“We used to share drinks just like this. We didn’t say a lot to one another,
but it was something I always loved.” The slow cadence in his voice made
Kaevyn’s monologue sound more like a eulogy as a powerful influence of sadness
replaced his usual apathetic tone. Canna
shifted uncomfortably in her chair as her father spoke casually of his brother;
an unspoken crime in the Corbett household. Normally it was due to the
condescending nature of which Jude commonly referenced Leon causing Canna to
get enraged, but now she just felt awkward as bittersweet memories filled her
mind. She had long since passed the point where the mere mention of her uncle
could bring her to her most extreme emotion, but she found her resilience
tested more than she anticipated after hearing her father’s somber words melt
away into a painful silence. She prayed that anything would break the quiet,
and unfortunately got her wish.
“I wish I hadn’t let him go over that wall.” Canna’s ears
perked again, but the maturing tears in her eyes were cut short by a glare. “I
don’t know why he could never understand the impossible.” Canna’s teeth
clenched and she felt her muscles begin to tense. “He could have lived a normal
life. Had his own kids by now. And he threw that away to die for a cause no one
cared about but him.” Canna’s right hand clenched tightly into a fist before
releasing as she tried to hold back a vicious obscenity. She hated the notion
that Leon died as a fool, but she took particular umbrage to the words “his own
kids”. It seemed too personal; as if her father was actually daring to accuse
his little brother of trying to steal the love his daughter—the very thought of
which made Canna want to scream. How could a man so distant and unapproachable
dare to accuse someone else of being emotionally inappropriate? Her lips were
curling upwards, and her brows shifting into a fierce scowl as she eyed the axe
beside her with very wicked intentions. Ironically though, it was Leon’s words
that kept her from unleashing her rage. It was his first rule to Canna that she
should always appreciate the value of family, and she knew if she acted on what
her emotions told her to that she would make a decision she’d come to regret
for the rest of her life. Her father may be ignorant and vapid, but it was
Leon’s lesson that said she should always love him no matter what. She was still
struggling to understand if that sentiment was true in reverse.
Kaevyn was ignorant to her daughter’s physical and mental
conflicts as he found his mind wandering in memories he oft kept tightly to
himself. He drifted back to days spent chasing his brother around Southgate
when they were children; days when the values of complacency and war didn’t
alienate the siblings from one another. A nostalgic reminder of the
unconditional camaraderie of fraternity surfaced in Kaevyn’s mind, and the
alcohol loosened his lips enough to say a set of words he otherwise would have
buried deep in himself. “I miss him,” Kaevyn uttered with a suffering stare.
Those words struck Canna on a familiar level she never
thought she’d share with her father. Canna implanted her own desperate whine
into his voice, and mimicked the same fragile cry she uttered on so many lonely
nights. Moments ago she was barely restraining herself from physically
confronting her father, but now it was all she could do not to sob. If she
hadn’t spent the better portion of the last decade mourning Leon’s passing she
probably would embrace her father, but now all she could do was sit back and
take another sip of her drink. She didn’t want to say a word. Nothing she could
say would feel appropriate, and there was little room in her heart for sympathy
at this point. Instead she sat quietly and let her father enjoy one last night
embraced in the memory of a fool with the biggest smile.
----
Kaevyn is a bizarre guy to write for namely because I
tend to rely on powerful dialogue to get across character motivations. The fact
that Kaevyn barely speaks makes it so I have to get across his feelings mostly
through subtleties. In the odd point he does talk, I need that line to carry a
tremendous amount of weight without being awkward. In retrospect I wish I had
made Kaevyn’s nature just over the top sexy. Probably would have made him
easier to write.
Honestly though, Kaevyn’s distant nature is a big issue
for Canna because after losing Leon she desperately wanted a father figure.
Ironically enough, her father never was that for her. He’s always been a lunch-pail
type of guy who works, goes home, and then just sits back and tries to
appreciate his family. Unfortunately, he’s quite and emotionally stunted to the
point where he tend to let his wife express his feelings for him. Thus he
always comes off as the fly on the wall or the third wheel watching the
conflicts in his family. It’s a situation where Canna loves her father, but she’s
not close to him on any level. Of course, Kaevyn wasn’t close to Leon either
which is something he’s come to regret.
These last two parts are designed to show Canna’s
relationship with her parents. She has a slightly better relationship with her
father, although that’s mostly because there’s not much of a relationship to
speak of. The main difference however is their opinion of Leon. Jude hates the
guy and doesn’t shed a tear that he’s gone, but Kaevyn does regret his brother’s
passing. In his opinion, Leon threw away an amazing opportunity, but they were
still brothers at the core. Family is important to Kaevyn just as it was to
Leon. This is likely why Kaevyn is so quick to believe Canna’s lie about a
pilgrimage. He’s quickly latched onto the idea that his daughter isn’t making
the same mistake so that he can keep his peace of mind.
To Canna, her father is a good man, but a shitty father.
Still, that relationship doesn’t necessarily ruin a family. In the final piece,
Canna will have the conversation with her mother that spells an end to her
place in the Corbett family, and makes the last significant event Canna
underwent before heading north over the wall. Change Yourself, Change the World
ends next week everybody. Hope you’ll enjoy the finale.
Kaevyn (which took me 5 tries to spell correctly I'd like to add lol) is an interesting character. You don't see someone quite as emotionally stunted as he is in fiction. Not to mention usually the quiet ones are wise beyond their years sort but he isn't that either, just a father that can't relate to his daughter in the slightest. It was a good piece, nice to see the exchange carry out between them with so few words but still showing the meaning.
ReplyDeleteThat said, next week (the last one T_T) is the one I've been looking forward to the most. Can hardly wait.