#osswald

He gave a meek wave and introduction to the Archdruid, Sylnus, then ensconced himself among some roots to pray and contemplate. There had been moments of stillness since his return, but his mind had been a blur of emotion and thought; only here did they finally lull.

In the Feywild, he’d been every bit as surrounded by nature. If he had been of his own mind, he would have been overjoyed, but instead, he’d been robbed. The puppet wearing his skin had no appreciation for what was there, only parroting the scripted lines of the Theatre. He’d only found beauty in meaningless performance and not the vibrant, untamed existence around him.

He had an irrational wonder from all the madness: had he at least been a good actor?   

New voices roused him from his meditation. He opened an eye. Another middle-aged man had entered, silvery roots criss-crossed with blonde. Sarenrae's holy symbol shone from his breast, resting atop a fraying green scarf. Zephir rose from his crouch with both eyes open. 

Dayereth’s father—Osswald?—looked hesitant, eyeing the scenery like it would reach out and bite him. Zephir caught his eye and invited him over with a quirk of his head before the other druids could swarm him. Osswald blinked, waved them aside, then approached with the same caution, his boots crunching over morning frost and armour clicking underneath the layers of cloth.

Zephir didn’t have any strong emotions about Osswald. Gentle feelings of sympathy and understanding, but nothing negative. It didn’t pain him to think his wife had found love after his disappearance so much as it hurt that she hadn’t tried to save them. She had just accepted the fallout of her decisions without putting up a fight—or, more likely, not putting up a fight had been explicitly part of the contract.

He hadn’t known Chandrelle to be the kind to accept her fate—it was what led to her forging the contract to begin with. But could have filled a lake with all that he didn’t know. 

“Welcome,” Zephir said. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to visit all the places of worship in Westruun,” Osswald explained. 

“And how’s that going for you?”

Osswald tilted his neck and lifted his gaze to the branches latticed across the sky. “Well. I think. This is the last one on my list.”

“Saving the best for last?” Zephir teased.

Osswald ducked his head minutely, a gesture Dayereth shared. “To tell you the truth, I was worried this place would resemble the Feywild. I’m more of a city man, but the nature here is…” He groped for a word, waving a hand. “...normal. Like it should be. My fear was for nothing.”

“But not unfounded. I thought I’d be sick of the Feywild, too, but I can’t help but admire it.”

“I guess Chandrelle has an affinity for people of worship even if we prefer different landscapes.”

“I don’t know what she has an affinity for,” Zephir sighed. His wedding band was uncomfortably cool around his finger, but it would stay until they sorted themselves out. He couldn’t shake his optimism or his resolve for wanting to make it work, despite it all. 

“I don’t think I’ve had the chance to properly introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Rockcaller Zephir Lanna from Terrah, an Ashari. A long-winded way of saying I’m a druid.”

Osswald smiled and offered a mittened hand. “Osswald Whiteheart, of Sarenrae. From Emon.” 

Zephir grasped it. They shared a squeeze before Zephir retreated to his pockets. “Seems your son took after you in the religion department, and mine…uhm…” He stared at the ground. “He’s…” It wasn’t his place to out Cihro as a practised killer, but that much was clear to him after the fight with Euripides and observing the way he carried himself. 

It was the first time it had given him pause, though. 

“I’m sure you don’t want your son worshipping blindly,” Osswald said, reading him wrong.

“Oh, it’s not that, I don’t care about who he worships or doesn’t. He’s just…nothing and everything I expected.”

“They each did what they had to do to survive,” Osswald supplied. “I’m sure you don’t fault him for that.”

“No.”

“It’s good they have each other,” Osswald stressed, gaining confidence. “I know it can be difficult to see your child on a different path from the one you envisioned because they had to struggle, but they’re alive, and we can support them now. I bet they’re old enough to support us.”

“Never thought I’d have someone to commiserate with over such a specific, displaced feeling,” Zephir said. “I know it’d be easy for us to ignore each other, but I think we have more to gain by talking. And I want to, anyway."

“We have that in common, Zephir.”