Athena (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
everlastingsoul) wrote2006-01-25 06:06 am
everlastingsoul) wrote2006-01-25 06:06 am
Entry tags:
Whoa, another Silverberg drabble
Title: Mathiu
Fandom: Suikoden III
Characters: Caesar, Julia (again, Caesar’s wife), Leon Silverberg
Prompt: Rain
Word Count: 857
Rating: 13+ for sensitive topics (death)
Author's Notes: I don’t know much of anything about disabilities or disease, so I’m not sure if it’s genetically possible for vision, vocal cords, and muscles of the extremities to deteriorate rapidly from the same disease. But I’m already taking liberties as a fanfiction writer, so … why not try with this, too?
Started: December 29, 2005
Finished: January 25, 2006
The disease was commonly known as the ruiner of the working man because it slowly robbed its victims of everything that made them self-sufficient. Speech, sight, movement -- all were susceptible to the disease, and those that were incredibly unfortunate suffered a long time as their internal organs slowly shut down one after the other. It usually struck the middle-aged, though it was not unheard of for the elderly to show signs of it as well. Rumor even had it that the great Liukan had died of the disease.
For a man who guarded himself with aloofness and pride, Leon Silverberg handled the disease with grace. The first month had been the worst; he had fought against his failing mobility with all the strength he could muster, more than once almost falling down the stairs in his stubbornness. It had taken the firm intervention of George to make Leon realize the unnecessary dangers he was putting himself in because of his stubbornness. Though neither talked about it, the fact that Elisa had died from the disease was big reason that Leon relented to move in with his grandson.
At first, Caesar had not known what to make of the situation; he did not really know his grandfather, and what he did know of him hardly made their conversations less awkward. Julia had prodded him into taking the ailing man in, and it was with great reluctance on both ends that Leon moved into the house Caesar had inherited from his father.
“He is dying,” Julia reminded her husband every time he looked ready to gripe about Leon’s coldness. “I’m sure it’s hard for him to accept, especially if you’ve inherited a fraction of his stubbornness.”
At 30 years old, one would think Caesar had finally stopped having reasons to brood like a sulking teenager. And yet he sat out in the garden, frowning thoughtfully as he watched his young daughter play with the family cat.
“You brood too much for your age, Caesar.”
He straightened at the familiar voice and looked over his shoulder, seeing graying grandfather standing by the door. Leon leaned heavily on a polished cane as he shuffled over to stand by his grandson. “You shouldn’t be out, Grandfather.” An exasperated sigh escaped the younger man as he moved over on the weathered stone bench, gesturing for Leon to sit down.
“I plan to walk around for as long as I am still able to,” Leon replied dryly, sitting down next to Caesar with no small amount of relief; it was evident by the tenseness in the old man’s face that walking around was physically taxing. “You have lived a rather peaceful life for a Silverberg; I do not see how you can brood so much.”
“Just because not everyone has to brood about the atrocities they did during war doesn’t mean there aren’t things to brood about.” Caesar’s green eyes momentarily met his grandfather’s, and he found himself quickly looking away. There were many things in those dark eyes that he did not want to see. “Death is always something to brood over.”
Though Caesar did not meet his gaze, Leon continued to watch him. “You are much like Mathiu; more often than not, I would see him in the midst of great thought or misery. Perhaps his ideas carry an innate sorrow to them.”
“I would much rather feel the sorrow than pretend to be unemotional; it reminds me I’m still human.” Caesar shook his head at the venom in his own voice, inclining his head slightly in apology. “But that’s not what you’re talking about, is it? You don’t bring up the dead for no reason.”
The wry smile that appeared on Leon’s face was strangely calm; smiles were rare from the man and appeared utterly alien in most cases. “Your father has refused the title of patriarch. He would rather the title be passed down to you.”
Caesar stiffened at this declaration, and he looked incredulously at Leon. “How could he…? Why would Father--”
“There is probably a mixture of guilt and understanding on his part; I am sure he will give a better explanation than I.” Leon’s graying brows knitted together as he recalled. “He sees in you his cousin Mathiu. And I do as well. The confidence, compassion, and intellect that makes a Silverberg a renowned strategist. The selflessness to accomplish what other strategists cannot.”
Perhaps there was something in approaching death that allowed these words to come so easily; Caesar knew his grandfather was not one to praise others. Or perhaps there was something more that the world-weary man was not saying. He spoke hesitantly, not at all feeling any of this confidence that Leon spoke of. “… You were going to choose Mathiu to be the next patriarch, weren’t you, Grandfather?”
The silence that followed the tentative question made Caesar feel foolish for even asking. But Leon simply lifted his head to look at the overcast sky as he unsteadily got back on his feet. “… It looks like it’s going to rain. You should bring Apple inside.”
The skies wept for seven straight days.
Fandom: Suikoden III
Characters: Caesar, Julia (again, Caesar’s wife), Leon Silverberg
Prompt: Rain
Word Count: 857
Rating: 13+ for sensitive topics (death)
Author's Notes: I don’t know much of anything about disabilities or disease, so I’m not sure if it’s genetically possible for vision, vocal cords, and muscles of the extremities to deteriorate rapidly from the same disease. But I’m already taking liberties as a fanfiction writer, so … why not try with this, too?
Started: December 29, 2005
Finished: January 25, 2006
The disease was commonly known as the ruiner of the working man because it slowly robbed its victims of everything that made them self-sufficient. Speech, sight, movement -- all were susceptible to the disease, and those that were incredibly unfortunate suffered a long time as their internal organs slowly shut down one after the other. It usually struck the middle-aged, though it was not unheard of for the elderly to show signs of it as well. Rumor even had it that the great Liukan had died of the disease.
For a man who guarded himself with aloofness and pride, Leon Silverberg handled the disease with grace. The first month had been the worst; he had fought against his failing mobility with all the strength he could muster, more than once almost falling down the stairs in his stubbornness. It had taken the firm intervention of George to make Leon realize the unnecessary dangers he was putting himself in because of his stubbornness. Though neither talked about it, the fact that Elisa had died from the disease was big reason that Leon relented to move in with his grandson.
At first, Caesar had not known what to make of the situation; he did not really know his grandfather, and what he did know of him hardly made their conversations less awkward. Julia had prodded him into taking the ailing man in, and it was with great reluctance on both ends that Leon moved into the house Caesar had inherited from his father.
“He is dying,” Julia reminded her husband every time he looked ready to gripe about Leon’s coldness. “I’m sure it’s hard for him to accept, especially if you’ve inherited a fraction of his stubbornness.”
At 30 years old, one would think Caesar had finally stopped having reasons to brood like a sulking teenager. And yet he sat out in the garden, frowning thoughtfully as he watched his young daughter play with the family cat.
“You brood too much for your age, Caesar.”
He straightened at the familiar voice and looked over his shoulder, seeing graying grandfather standing by the door. Leon leaned heavily on a polished cane as he shuffled over to stand by his grandson. “You shouldn’t be out, Grandfather.” An exasperated sigh escaped the younger man as he moved over on the weathered stone bench, gesturing for Leon to sit down.
“I plan to walk around for as long as I am still able to,” Leon replied dryly, sitting down next to Caesar with no small amount of relief; it was evident by the tenseness in the old man’s face that walking around was physically taxing. “You have lived a rather peaceful life for a Silverberg; I do not see how you can brood so much.”
“Just because not everyone has to brood about the atrocities they did during war doesn’t mean there aren’t things to brood about.” Caesar’s green eyes momentarily met his grandfather’s, and he found himself quickly looking away. There were many things in those dark eyes that he did not want to see. “Death is always something to brood over.”
Though Caesar did not meet his gaze, Leon continued to watch him. “You are much like Mathiu; more often than not, I would see him in the midst of great thought or misery. Perhaps his ideas carry an innate sorrow to them.”
“I would much rather feel the sorrow than pretend to be unemotional; it reminds me I’m still human.” Caesar shook his head at the venom in his own voice, inclining his head slightly in apology. “But that’s not what you’re talking about, is it? You don’t bring up the dead for no reason.”
The wry smile that appeared on Leon’s face was strangely calm; smiles were rare from the man and appeared utterly alien in most cases. “Your father has refused the title of patriarch. He would rather the title be passed down to you.”
Caesar stiffened at this declaration, and he looked incredulously at Leon. “How could he…? Why would Father--”
“There is probably a mixture of guilt and understanding on his part; I am sure he will give a better explanation than I.” Leon’s graying brows knitted together as he recalled. “He sees in you his cousin Mathiu. And I do as well. The confidence, compassion, and intellect that makes a Silverberg a renowned strategist. The selflessness to accomplish what other strategists cannot.”
Perhaps there was something in approaching death that allowed these words to come so easily; Caesar knew his grandfather was not one to praise others. Or perhaps there was something more that the world-weary man was not saying. He spoke hesitantly, not at all feeling any of this confidence that Leon spoke of. “… You were going to choose Mathiu to be the next patriarch, weren’t you, Grandfather?”
The silence that followed the tentative question made Caesar feel foolish for even asking. But Leon simply lifted his head to look at the overcast sky as he unsteadily got back on his feet. “… It looks like it’s going to rain. You should bring Apple inside.”
The skies wept for seven straight days.