Judging by the noises of argument a minute ago, Grace was having a debate with her little brother. Chest puffed out while a little hand tugged at Rolan's sleeve.
❝ Who will take over the tower when you & mom are too old ? ❞ Like her father, the little hellion didn't think of a way to soften the blow & threw it at him with magnificent bluntness.
Rolan listened to the two argue back and forth with a content smile. He knows his own mother had spent many hours listening to the bickering fights between Lia, Cal, and himself. It warmed his chest to live long enough to
Yes, the argument in question was rather… morbid, but they were old enough where they were going to start thinking about these things. He looked down at their eldest as she tugged on him, handing her one of the apple slices he was working on as he piled their plates up with fruits and vegetables.
“Well, we probably won’t move out until we die.” Rolan says flatly, already working on cutting the grapes he’d washed into quarters. “If one of you is particularly magically inclined and wants the tower at that point you could have it. If both of you want it, it will always be your home.” He split the grapes between the two bowls. “I suppose you could duel for it, but I don’t think your mother would appreciate me saying tha-”
Rolan’s turned around to be faced with not just one, but two faces that were rapidly tearing up at the news Rolan just gave them. Oh no.
“You and Mom are going to die!?” Came Mitya’s voice, shrill and high in shock, thick with tears already.
Rolan stood stock still for a moment before he set the bowls down and he knelt down to their level. Arms wrapped around Grace and Mitya to pull them in close… this seemed to make the pair cry harder, even though Grace in particular was clearly trying her hardest not to. Mitya was a smidge too young to make that effort, emotional regulation was still a work in progress for them both. It was still a work in progress for him too as an adult. Rolan rocked them back and forth where he held them.
Snacks bowls were abandoned in favor of them sitting in the living room together on the carpet. Rolan spoke softer now, but he did not lie to his children.
“Yes. Your mother and I will die one day, but-” There was a round of sniffles, “that will not happen for a long, long, long, Long time.” He swore to them, knowing too well that a promise only held so much weight. “Not until long after you’re as old as I am now.” While he was giving his speech the two of them had cuddled up close to his sides, little hands find hand holds in his robes. He kissed both their heads, rubbing the base of his horn gently into their nubs to soothe them.
Babette would find the three of them napping on the floor several hours later, their children tucked against either side of him as an aftermath of the conversation, but for now he just held his children tight and close as they would let him in this moment.
