Athena (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
everlastingsoul) wrote2006-05-30 08:06 pm
everlastingsoul) wrote2006-05-30 08:06 pm
Entry tags:
Mathiu and Leon bonding time
Title: Growing Up
Fandom: Suikoden
Characters: Leon and Mathiu Silverberg (mentioning of George and Odessa)
Prompt: Independence
Word Count: 546
Rating: K
Author's Notes: I'm sorry, K. I went over the word limit. *bows head*
Started: May 30, 2006 (6:00 PM)
Finished: May 30, 2006 (8:04 PM)
“Don’t drag your feet.”
“Don’t slouch.”
“Hold your head up.”
“Don’t glare at your elders.”
How was he supposed to take care of a sullen boy? Babies were easy; they cried when they wanted to be held, to be fed, to be changed. They fit into his insomniac lifestyle, though their wailing oftentimes hurt his ears terribly.
Toddlers were also easy; they were easily entertained with things that could be fit in their mouths, and placated by a sweet, a toy, or even a blanket. George was around that age now, and Odessa was still easy to calm with the same methods.
But a boy who had his own thoughts and feelings and was undoubtedly depressed? He had to shake his head in frustration as he looked at the three children in the other room.
Mathiu was much like Johnathan; thoughtful, quietly considerate, and good with children. When the boy thought he was not looking, he would catch him speaking to Odessa and George as if they could fully comprehend his eloquent speaking. Sometimes the nanny would come to him saying that the two children had been given sweets before dinner.
He would never talk to the boy about it, though. Talking to him would require words of chiding, judgment and even understanding, and he had no words for the 13-year-old.
So, instead, he offered unyielding authority in the form of orders—like an army general dispassionately giving commands to his troops.
And, for the most part, it seemed to work. He managed to get through each day with a few trite reminders, and Mathiu quietly resided in his home with that same sullen look on his face. This continued for several months, and before he knew it, they stood in the Gregminster graveyard for the first time in a year.
He let Mathiu do the honor of setting flowers on the twin graves; Odessa was showing flu symptoms and would not be able to go until at least the end of the week. They would visit again and change the flowers then.
Though he bowed his head as if in prayer, his mind was utterly blank as he stared down at the browning grass and small weeds at his feet. He glanced at Johnathan’s son, who was solemn and not sullen on this day when he had every reason to be the latter.
The boy glanced over at him as he lifted his eyes. “Uncle, I want to be a strategist. Like Father was.”
He regarded Mathiu with his usual stoicism, his mind trying to formulate a reply to such a childish statement.
And then he actually looked at the boy, whose eyes met his with such mature resolution that he seriously wondered where he had come from.
The boy had grown up in silence, counting the days since his childhood had been stolen from him. He had not decided spontaneously, hopeful and whimsical, to take on such a mantle. Instead, he had grown up when he was not looking, and had waited for such an isolated occasion to make his declaration.
He rested a hand on Mathiu’s shoulder and set his eyes on Johnathan’s grave.
He could not apologize to Mathiu for ignoring him.
But perhaps he could help him realize his goal.
Fandom: Suikoden
Characters: Leon and Mathiu Silverberg (mentioning of George and Odessa)
Prompt: Independence
Word Count: 546
Rating: K
Author's Notes: I'm sorry, K. I went over the word limit. *bows head*
Started: May 30, 2006 (6:00 PM)
Finished: May 30, 2006 (8:04 PM)
“Don’t drag your feet.”
“Don’t slouch.”
“Hold your head up.”
“Don’t glare at your elders.”
How was he supposed to take care of a sullen boy? Babies were easy; they cried when they wanted to be held, to be fed, to be changed. They fit into his insomniac lifestyle, though their wailing oftentimes hurt his ears terribly.
Toddlers were also easy; they were easily entertained with things that could be fit in their mouths, and placated by a sweet, a toy, or even a blanket. George was around that age now, and Odessa was still easy to calm with the same methods.
But a boy who had his own thoughts and feelings and was undoubtedly depressed? He had to shake his head in frustration as he looked at the three children in the other room.
Mathiu was much like Johnathan; thoughtful, quietly considerate, and good with children. When the boy thought he was not looking, he would catch him speaking to Odessa and George as if they could fully comprehend his eloquent speaking. Sometimes the nanny would come to him saying that the two children had been given sweets before dinner.
He would never talk to the boy about it, though. Talking to him would require words of chiding, judgment and even understanding, and he had no words for the 13-year-old.
So, instead, he offered unyielding authority in the form of orders—like an army general dispassionately giving commands to his troops.
And, for the most part, it seemed to work. He managed to get through each day with a few trite reminders, and Mathiu quietly resided in his home with that same sullen look on his face. This continued for several months, and before he knew it, they stood in the Gregminster graveyard for the first time in a year.
He let Mathiu do the honor of setting flowers on the twin graves; Odessa was showing flu symptoms and would not be able to go until at least the end of the week. They would visit again and change the flowers then.
Though he bowed his head as if in prayer, his mind was utterly blank as he stared down at the browning grass and small weeds at his feet. He glanced at Johnathan’s son, who was solemn and not sullen on this day when he had every reason to be the latter.
The boy glanced over at him as he lifted his eyes. “Uncle, I want to be a strategist. Like Father was.”
He regarded Mathiu with his usual stoicism, his mind trying to formulate a reply to such a childish statement.
And then he actually looked at the boy, whose eyes met his with such mature resolution that he seriously wondered where he had come from.
The boy had grown up in silence, counting the days since his childhood had been stolen from him. He had not decided spontaneously, hopeful and whimsical, to take on such a mantle. Instead, he had grown up when he was not looking, and had waited for such an isolated occasion to make his declaration.
He rested a hand on Mathiu’s shoulder and set his eyes on Johnathan’s grave.
He could not apologize to Mathiu for ignoring him.
But perhaps he could help him realize his goal.