(They're in the air, flying on the back of a dark dragon in the night. A large man covered in scars secures a smaller boy, just barely a teen, holding him close to his front as they leave a sleeping city and travel across a vast desert.
It's always exciting when he can see the lantern of a traveling caravan or the campfire of some wandering nomad down below. In some ways, the green eyed boy can relate. No matter where they went in this land, they wouldn't really belong. He could travel this entire nation and never be accepted.
Up ahead, mountains rise and at the base, a scattered forest. The trees might not be the most impressive but they're tall for this land and it isn't often that they get to see this deep shade of evergreen in this territory. The dragon lands and the man lifts the boy off, setting him down.
"This is it, kid," He says, removing some items from the dragon's packs. He gives the boy a bow, a handful of arrows, a knife, and what appears to be just enough food and water for a day— two, at most. "It's all about surviving. If you're weak, you'll die. If you're strong, you'll live."
"I'm not weak." The boy snaps reflexively but there's no real bite in his voice. At least, there's no anger at this man. His defensiveness comes from somewhere else.
The man checks the bow's string before handing it off to him. "I know you aren't, kid." He says, his voice surprisingly soft for one so large and intimidating.
"Make it count." He explains, counting the arrows and passing the provisions, "You'll have to manage the rest on your own. You won't find anyone out here to help. The only help you'll find here will come from the earth itself. I'll pick you up in three days."
The man kneels down in front of the boy, tucking the knife into the boy's belt, adjusting the strap of his pack and quiver. As he works, the boy's hands swat at his. He tries to tend to everything on his own. His pack is fine, his quiver is ready, and that knife won't be going anywhere. The entire time, he doesn't once meet the man's eyes. If he does, he's worried that he might show how nervous he truly is to be left out in the wild like this. He isn't afraid. He's not a coward.
"Hey, kid," The man sighs, ruffling the boy's hair one last time before he gets back atop his wyvern, "Don't die."
"I won't." He promises and man leaves on his dragon.)
He supposes he should be more surprised by what he sees, but after the many conversations he has had with Claude, seeing him dropped into the wild with nothing more than a bow, arrows, and a knife keeps in line with what he's learned.
His eyebrows raise a little at the dragons -- my, it is fairly tame, and that's probably the most shocking thing about this memory -- but eventually he cants his head at the real Claude, voice musing]
(Sometimes you come from a culture known for their wyvern riders and you just have the best dragons. But wow, this is going to be a complicated mess because there sure are parts of that memory that don't make a lot of sense to him.
Was he flying? Talk about a view! And he isn't exactly sure where he was coming from even if it was clear where he was going. Most kids don't get to ride on wyvern back home like that, even if it is with an escort... Hm.)
Please, I've survived worse.
(At least he remembers that much )
That guy was my first teacher. (And... he feels like he should say more but when he tries to explain all that he can manage is-) The best general in the land.
(Which... is also strange. Why would someone like that take him in as a student? Maybe his parents were also soldiers...)
Anyway, I guess you could say his teaching style was... real tough love.
Depending in the cultural climate, teaching students such survival skills is necessary.
[...]
It is very clear that he cared about you.
[which, chiron notes, is why he has no criticisms of what he's seen. Tough love is still a form of it, after all, and he approves of the fondness on display]
(That gets Claude to smile. Yes, it's clear that he cared about him. He agrees with that.)
Even if he was always pushing me and trying to get me to prove myself... yeah. I was always giving him a hard time and I wasn't the easiest student but he put up with me when most wouldn't.
(As for the cultural climate? He has to think for a moment. There's an answer he can give but it doesn't feel completely whole,)
I'm from Fodlan but I grew up in another place. That place is known for being a nation of warriors. Strength is important and there's no place for weakness. (So yeah, it's a tough culture! A place where everyone has to prove themselves early or, well... they might just end up dead. It really does feel like there should be more there, though and he wonders what it must be. What did he forget? Hm.) That's why he was hard on me.
(Because he was just a weak little boy as far as anyone else was concerned. No amount of screaming, fighting, or explaining himself could ever change that.)
[not just in the sense that Claude is alive -- unless fate was very unkind to him, it seems the youth has stuck around on his homeworld. But there are harsh realities waiting for him, and Chiron wonders if this teacher was there to help him meet the challenges.]
... I'm pretty popular here but the truth is, back home, I'm probably one of the most hated guys in the world. But not because I did anything. I was hated from the moment I was born.
(He says this plainly, as if he's talking about something as normal as the weather.)
If I wanted to live, I had to be strong and I couldn't rely on anyone else. (That's what he was taught and that's what he learned.) He wasn't wrong and I learned my lessons. I'm still alive so I'd say they worked.
[Head tilting a little as if those words mean something to him... but no, if there is a memory there, it's long forgotten. So he nods instead]
It is a heavy burden to bear that type of hate from a young age, but you either rise above it or fall prey...
[Though as he talks, a stray bubble finally sneaks up on the the unsuspecting centaur from behind, and there is a slight moment of surprise before he settles in resignation -- apparently it's his turn. Their surroundings twist until they're both in a vibrant meadow, almost as if the colors are overly saturated.
The perspective shifts
And with the first breath of life, you are born.
Unlike the other gods, you do not enter the world fully formed. You are a babe crying on a soft bed of grass, little hands clenched as you kick all four of your legs in an appeal for comfort. The wind is cold on your skin, and you are hungry for food.
You are an infant, but you are still born of immortal blood. And so you remember everything you see, hear, smell – how the light shimmers through the leaves of a nearby tree, and how the wind feels on your skin as you continue to cry.
And you remember the face of your mother, horrified and disgusted, when she takes her first look at you.
Even in her horror, she is beautiful, you think -- her features delicate and eternal in a way you will inherit. But you still feel the weight of that hatred, and it makes you cry more in a desperate plead for love. Instead your mother recoils the louder you are, tears streaming down her cheeks as she turns away with her hands turned up at the sky. There is a shrill cry for mercy, for peace – to be taken as far away as possible from the monster she’s created.
And then her limbs harden, her legs take root in the earth, and very soon all that is left of your mother is a linden tree that has already begun to bloom soft, yellow flowers.
You continue to cry – you are an infant, after all. But this time it is because you know that there is no love for you in this world yet, not from her. ]
(He has a reason to live. There's a̷̒ ̸̓͜t̵̠̄h̴̤̒ŗ̴̆oṇ̶̅e̶̱͠ ̸̱́t̶̼̑o̵̝̽ ̴̜̔i̴̟͐n̶̈́h̷͋é̴̝r̷̠͋í̶̱t and he would love to see the looks on everyone's faces when he rises above them all.
(... As what, exactly? He's inherited a title in a foreign land but he can't imagine anyone back home caring about that. Maybe he could return as a great general or something instead. Someone who would surely impress the king regardless of his birth.)
Ah, but before he can really dwell on it, he's sent back into a memory and
The memory of birth is a strange one. It's not a memory that most people can really recall but the sensation of being born and alive and aware of everything from that first moment is almost overwhelming at first. It would be one thing of this first moment had been warm and gentle but... it's anything but that.
He recognizes that look. The look of disgust and disdain. She doesn't want anything to do with him. She's looking down on him. She wants to be rid of him. He's seen this look so many times in his life but not once had he ever seen it from his own mother. In that sense, he was quite blessed to have parents who loved him when the world wanted nothing to do with him.
Unlike Chiron, whose first memories are being rejected by even his own mother, Claude's earliest memories had been his mother's embrace. He loving smile. Her gentle voice. Her beautiful face. He didn't learn how hated he was until he was older. His first few years had been innocent and unaware... He was hated by others from the moment he was born but he hadn't realized it until much later.
And his heart aches for Chiron who had to realize from his first breath. His jaw clenches tight, he bites down on his tongue, and he closes his hands into fists at his side. The memory fades and the words that tumble out of his mouth are--)
I'm glad you're here. (Honest words that spill carelessly,) And I'm grateful to have met you.
(He has always belonged in the world. He has always deserved to exist. These are just revised versions of certain words. Words he'd heard only briefly from time to time in his life. Words he'd wished he'd heard more.)
[His eyes tick over, almost surprised by the comment that Claude offers him, but his eyes will soften a beat later as he shakes his head]
Now? I do not remember that memory, or that woman's face.
[...]
So it is... strange, seeing the face of my mother, when I thought I did not have one.
[Her hate, her disgust, and yet picking out the features that are reflected in his own. How... bittersweet, he thinks, to know these were his first few moments]
I had students who cared for me once I was older. I was not completely alone. [A faint smile] I was loved, even if only briefly.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
It's always exciting when he can see the lantern of a traveling caravan or the campfire of some wandering nomad down below. In some ways, the green eyed boy can relate. No matter where they went in this land, they wouldn't really belong. He could travel this entire nation and never be accepted.
Up ahead, mountains rise and at the base, a scattered forest. The trees might not be the most impressive but they're tall for this land and it isn't often that they get to see this deep shade of evergreen in this territory. The dragon lands and the man lifts the boy off, setting him down.
"This is it, kid," He says, removing some items from the dragon's packs. He gives the boy a bow, a handful of arrows, a knife, and what appears to be just enough food and water for a day— two, at most. "It's all about surviving. If you're weak, you'll die. If you're strong, you'll live."
"I'm not weak." The boy snaps reflexively but there's no real bite in his voice. At least, there's no anger at this man. His defensiveness comes from somewhere else.
The man checks the bow's string before handing it off to him. "I know you aren't, kid." He says, his voice surprisingly soft for one so large and intimidating.
"Make it count." He explains, counting the arrows and passing the provisions, "You'll have to manage the rest on your own. You won't find anyone out here to help. The only help you'll find here will come from the earth itself. I'll pick you up in three days."
The man kneels down in front of the boy, tucking the knife into the boy's belt, adjusting the strap of his pack and quiver. As he works, the boy's hands swat at his. He tries to tend to everything on his own. His pack is fine, his quiver is ready, and that knife won't be going anywhere. The entire time, he doesn't once meet the man's eyes. If he does, he's worried that he might show how nervous he truly is to be left out in the wild like this. He isn't afraid. He's not a coward.
"Hey, kid," The man sighs, ruffling the boy's hair one last time before he gets back atop his wyvern, "Don't die."
"I won't." He promises and man leaves on his dragon.)
no subject
He supposes he should be more surprised by what he sees, but after the many conversations he has had with Claude, seeing him dropped into the wild with nothing more than a bow, arrows, and a knife keeps in line with what he's learned.
His eyebrows raise a little at the dragons -- my, it is fairly tame, and that's probably the most shocking thing about this memory -- but eventually he cants his head at the real Claude, voice musing]
I assume then that you survived, yes?
no subject
Was he flying? Talk about a view! And he isn't exactly sure where he was coming from even if it was clear where he was going. Most kids don't get to ride on wyvern back home like that, even if it is with an escort... Hm.)
Please, I've survived worse.
(At least he remembers that much )
That guy was my first teacher. (And... he feels like he should say more but when he tries to explain all that he can manage is-) The best general in the land.
(Which... is also strange. Why would someone like that take him in as a student? Maybe his parents were also soldiers...)
Anyway, I guess you could say his teaching style was... real tough love.
no subject
[...]
It is very clear that he cared about you.
[which, chiron notes, is why he has no criticisms of what he's seen. Tough love is still a form of it, after all, and he approves of the fondness on display]
no subject
Even if he was always pushing me and trying to get me to prove myself... yeah. I was always giving him a hard time and I wasn't the easiest student but he put up with me when most wouldn't.
(As for the cultural climate? He has to think for a moment. There's an answer he can give but it doesn't feel completely whole,)
I'm from Fodlan but I grew up in another place. That place is known for being a nation of warriors. Strength is important and there's no place for weakness. (So yeah, it's a tough culture! A place where everyone has to prove themselves early or, well... they might just end up dead. It really does feel like there should be more there, though and he wonders what it must be. What did he forget? Hm.) That's why he was hard on me.
(Because he was just a weak little boy as far as anyone else was concerned. No amount of screaming, fighting, or explaining himself could ever change that.)
no subject
[not just in the sense that Claude is alive -- unless fate was very unkind to him, it seems the youth has stuck around on his homeworld. But there are harsh realities waiting for him, and Chiron wonders if this teacher was there to help him meet the challenges.]
no subject
(He says this plainly, as if he's talking about something as normal as the weather.)
If I wanted to live, I had to be strong and I couldn't rely on anyone else. (That's what he was taught and that's what he learned.) He wasn't wrong and I learned my lessons. I'm still alive so I'd say they worked.
no subject
[Head tilting a little as if those words mean something to him... but no, if there is a memory there, it's long forgotten. So he nods instead]
It is a heavy burden to bear that type of hate from a young age, but you either rise above it or fall prey...
[Though as he talks, a stray bubble finally sneaks up on the the unsuspecting centaur from behind, and there is a slight moment of surprise before he settles in resignation -- apparently it's his turn. Their surroundings twist until they're both in a vibrant meadow, almost as if the colors are overly saturated.
The perspective shifts
And with the first breath of life, you are born.
Unlike the other gods, you do not enter the world fully formed. You are a babe crying on a soft bed of grass, little hands clenched as you kick all four of your legs in an appeal for comfort. The wind is cold on your skin, and you are hungry for food.
You are an infant, but you are still born of immortal blood. And so you remember everything you see, hear, smell – how the light shimmers through the leaves of a nearby tree, and how the wind feels on your skin as you continue to cry.
And you remember the face of your mother, horrified and disgusted, when she takes her first look at you.
Even in her horror, she is beautiful, you think -- her features delicate and eternal in a way you will inherit. But you still feel the weight of that hatred, and it makes you cry more in a desperate plead for love. Instead your mother recoils the louder you are, tears streaming down her cheeks as she turns away with her hands turned up at the sky. There is a shrill cry for mercy, for peace – to be taken as far away as possible from the monster she’s created.
And then her limbs harden, her legs take root in the earth, and very soon all that is left of your mother is a linden tree that has already begun to bloom soft, yellow flowers.
You continue to cry – you are an infant, after all. But this time it is because you know that there is no love for you in this world yet, not from her. ]
... Mm.
no subject
(He has a reason to live. There's a̷̒ ̸̓͜t̵̠̄h̴̤̒ŗ̴̆oṇ̶̅e̶̱͠ ̸̱́t̶̼̑o̵̝̽ ̴̜̔i̴̟͐n̶̈́h̷͋é̴̝r̷̠͋í̶̱t and he would love to see the looks on everyone's faces when he rises above them all.
(... As what, exactly? He's inherited a title in a foreign land but he can't imagine anyone back home caring about that. Maybe he could return as a great general or something instead. Someone who would surely impress the king regardless of his birth.)
Ah, but before he can really dwell on it, he's sent back into a memory and
The memory of birth is a strange one. It's not a memory that most people can really recall but the sensation of being born and alive and aware of everything from that first moment is almost overwhelming at first. It would be one thing of this first moment had been warm and gentle but... it's anything but that.
He recognizes that look. The look of disgust and disdain. She doesn't want anything to do with him. She's looking down on him. She wants to be rid of him. He's seen this look so many times in his life but not once had he ever seen it from his own mother. In that sense, he was quite blessed to have parents who loved him when the world wanted nothing to do with him.
Unlike Chiron, whose first memories are being rejected by even his own mother, Claude's earliest memories had been his mother's embrace. He loving smile. Her gentle voice. Her beautiful face. He didn't learn how hated he was until he was older. His first few years had been innocent and unaware... He was hated by others from the moment he was born but he hadn't realized it until much later.
And his heart aches for Chiron who had to realize from his first breath. His jaw clenches tight, he bites down on his tongue, and he closes his hands into fists at his side. The memory fades and the words that tumble out of his mouth are--)
I'm glad you're here. (Honest words that spill carelessly,) And I'm grateful to have met you.
(He has always belonged in the world. He has always deserved to exist. These are just revised versions of certain words. Words he'd heard only briefly from time to time in his life. Words he'd wished he'd heard more.)
... Do you really remember that much?
(The very first moment of his life?)
no subject
Now? I do not remember that memory, or that woman's face.
[...]
So it is... strange, seeing the face of my mother, when I thought I did not have one.
[Her hate, her disgust, and yet picking out the features that are reflected in his own. How... bittersweet, he thinks, to know these were his first few moments]
I had students who cared for me once I was older. I was not completely alone. [A faint smile] I was loved, even if only briefly.
[So it does not hurt in the way that it could.]