shroudedscholar:
Part of him is so, so grateful to hear Thancred’s attempt at jesting, even if his smile is vaguely terrified — as well it should be. But he is alive again, whole again, after so long away, so long mired in despair and denial. Here he is, back from the abyss, and here they both are. He is glad for Ryne, so glad, for what she’s done for his son. For bringing him back to them. But there is no room to dwell on that right now, he has scolding to do; he can be happy about this later after he’s done strangling his son for his own stupidity.
He herds his son into a private room, and once he closes the door and they’re alone, he whirls on him, eyes ablaze and for the first time in years he drops the speech patterns which had once again become a habit thanks to his time with the pixies. “You,” he snarls, voice alive as his eyes spark with righteous, worried fury. “Are— you are— by the Twelve, buachaill dúr, what were you— you nearly died! You understand that, yes!? You nearly died, and for all your words about protecting her where would she be without you, where would we—” Breathe, he reminds himself, though is voice is still tight and trembling with anger and worry and everything he’d needed to say. “You almost died, and you almost died using something— you cut off your own aether, amadán! Do you— you must realize how foolish— your aether was already damaged! And we all are naught but aether here, you could have— ”
He grabs the collar of his coat and shakes him, spitting mad but at the same time still fond and worried. “Never,” he snarls at him. “Never, ever do that again, are we understood? I will pull you from the Lifestream to kill you myself should you try!” That said and needing a few minutes to catch his breath, he tips his head forward to rest it on his son’s shoulder. “…are we understood, sionnach?” He asks again, softer this time. “Do not scare me like that again.”
The moment they’re alone, Thancred lifts his hands in a show of surrender--- and, admittedly, an attempt to ward off blows that he knows are not truly coming). Not that Urianger requires blows to wound him, as his father turns on him and proceeds to drop both his speech patterns and any pretense of a professional relationship, reverting entirely to the very angry, very frightened father he has been for years. He’d been expecting this very thing, been somewhat wary of it, and yet it seems he wasn’t wary enough, for the level of fury being directed at him is greater than any he has ever known, even after one particularly idiotic stunt he had pulled during his time in Sharlayan, when he was still a youth hellsbound to push everyone away before they could cast him aside.
“I know,” he says, and though he tries to sound steady, in the face of Urianger’s anger he falters, something uncertain and younger than his years on his face. “I know I did, I know ‘twas a risk, and I know she needed and needs me still. But I could not--- Ran’jit was there, seeking to kill her or to capture her again, and she’d only just made the decision that she wanted to be strong for herself, to live for herself and try to save this world of her own volition, not because of her ties to Minfilia, and I could not...” He draws a breath, feeling his eyes grow misty, and he swallows. “...I couldn’t see that wasted, athair. You know I couldn’t.”
With that said, he lets his father shake him, and when Urianger tips forward to rest his head on his shoulder, Thancred wraps his arms around him in as tight a hug as he’s capable of giving. “...Aye,” he says softly, and here, in private, he loosens the iron grip he usually holds over his accent, and adds. “I’ll not do this t’ ye again, athair. I promise ye’ that.” He pauses for a long moment, letting the words sink in, letting his Urianger breathe--- and then pulling both good humor and his more cultured manner of speech back around himself, Thancred grins and adds, “If ever I should have to risk my life in such a manner again, I’ll be sure to give you enough warning in advance that you can off me yourself and save us all the trouble!”
