The remnants of the daylight lit up the forest in bright hues of reds and oranges, but the sky was dark. To Titania’s chagrin she still hadn’t found the damn kid— no, HER damn kid— no matter how many times she traipsed about every path she could find, calling his name. Titan, was it even his name? Did she even know his real name? Did he have one?
What a shitshow, she thought, as she circled around the same path for the umpteenth time. A shit-hurricane really, with one washed-up demon lady at the epicenter.
She wasn’t ready to give up just yet, but her leg was absolutely killing her at this point. There was a little pond nearby, off and down to her right, her view of it partially obscured by a few decently-sized and connected rock formations that stuck out from the rest of the landscape. She could see it had a couple perfect-for-sitting stones around the water’s edge; and it was looking incredibly tempting right now. She, for one, was not about to resist this time, seeing an opportunity to both rest her leg and clear her head, hoping to reach some sort of epiphany as to where in the world she might find her prodigal son.
Not long after she’d sat down and buried her head in her hands, listening to the wind pick up handfuls of leaves and set them down elsewhere, she heard a small but familiar sniffle from somewhere nearby. It was somewhere behind her, specifically, and it was one that instantly made her snap back to reality, swiveling her ears about in the breeze to pinpoint its location. She didn’t hear it again, but she did start to pick up on the rhythmic breathing of an animal deep at contented rest, and rising to her feet she turned around and saw…
Ezekiel, of course, tucked away in the looming shadow of one of those myriad outcroppings of rock about the perimeter of the pond, just a little up the slope. Curled around him was the large and docile gray bird-beast, protective of him even in its slumber in a way Titania only hoped she could start to be. Limping up towards him decently fast made him tense up, as if expecting punishment, but she only bent down to sit a little ways off to his left, looking down at the water.
Neither spoke for a bit, both of them merely opting to stare out at the congregating waterfowl as they sought shelter from the oncoming storm in the little valley pond, bickering occasionally amongst themselves as some of them tried to tuck themselves in the nooks and crannies of the rocks around them and squabbled over their individual shelters. Eventually, it was Ezekiel who broke the silence.
“...Do you hate me?” he asked, without turning to look at her. His voice was meek, but it didn’t waver.
“No,” she replied, softly. “No, I could never hate you.”
“Then why don’t you like me?”
Oh, she thought, That’s where that came from.
“I do like you,” she answered again. “I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t.”
“But you don’t want me.”
“That’s a bold assumption, bud.” She looked over at him. “I wasn’t expecting you, sure, but that says nothing of whether or not I want you around, so don’t go getting any ideas.”
“Hmm,” he replied, tucking his knees up towards his chest as she moved just a little bit closer. Whenever she got this close to him it always struck her just how small and scrawny he was, looking incredibly fragile especially with the overtly obvious pink scars that arced across his face and body.
Another period of silence.
“Um, I thought about going back.” He blurted out. His voice was shaky and unsure now; Titania was beginning to feel mildly disconcerted.
“To the Isles?”
“To… to—” he cut himself off to sniffle and cough again. “To the Emperor, I meant. Um, Emperor Belos.”
She turned her head to look at him, though he still didn’t look at her aside from a nervous glance out of the corner of his eye. She knew when she first laid eyes on him that it meant that Belos must be alive, though the logistics of how were unclear to her; but to hear it from him hurt far more, especially learning that he wasn’t just some prophet now but had instead so thoroughly succeeded at his mission that he was now an Emperor. It meant she really could never go back, and though she’d already accepted that at this point it still wrought nascent fear in her heart. Really though, it hurt more to hear about his thoughts of going back, that it was even something he’d considered. That her own problems had been driving him off to an extent he thought he might find better luck and really love waiting for him back with the man who’d tried to kill him, and Titan knows what else.
“Oh,” was all she managed to say.
“I’m sorry,” he replied quickly, and defensively. “I know that was out of line. If I was good I—”
“It’s okay,” Titania interrupted, and this time he genuinely made to look at her. He blinked, confused, as she continued. “You are good.”
“...Huh?” He sounded genuinely perplexed.
“I said… I said you’re good. You’re not out of line. You don’t have to worry about that here, and if anyone’s out of line, it’s me.”
He tilted his head at her like a small wounded animal, still looking terrified but just as confused. She sighed.
“Kid — Ezekiel — look. I have… I have some problems, there’s no denying that. And I haven’t been fair to you because of them. I can’t… tell you what they are, just yet, but I swear I will when you’re older. And none of them, and I mean none of them, are your fault. I’ve been…” she exhaled harshly, “out of line lately, to put it your way. But I want that to change.”
He was silent, starting to look past her like he always did when his thoughts were creeping up on him. Gingerly, she reached out to wrap her right arm around his shoulder and gently moved him closer, though she didn’t want to outright pull him into a full embrace at present for fear she’d set him off.
Opting to sit like that for a moment she was surprised when she suddenly found him burying his little face in her side and very obviously trying not to cry… and failing miserably. She watched his shoulders shake and saw him startle himself with a hiccup as she drew him a little closer, gently patting him on the back.
Yes, indeed, she’d never dealt with something like this before. Crying children were one thing, but crying traumatized children were in a whole different league, she noted, as one hiccup became a whole fit of them that he was still trying very hard to stifle— trying to make himself as quiet, small and ultimately palatable as possible, an obedient little thing who most certainly didn’t go stealing hippogryphs and riding them off into the woods to hide from his guardian.
“I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her shirt, “Please don’t be mad.”
“I won’t,” she replied. “I’m not.”