A soft breeze rustles the leaves, the sky dark and starry above the trees. In the moonlight a head is outlined, one tattered half of what used to be an ear still pointing up. Not for the first time, Lucien’s belly clenches at the sight. He doesn’t know who or what injured his son, but he wishes he could have been there to protect him from it.
With almost silent footfalls he steps closer to the old Khajiit until he is standing next to him. When he looks to the side, he can see his son’s eyes glowing, the pinks and purples contrasting against Lucien’s own blue glow. He wishes he knew what his eye colour used to be, before he turned into a vampire, but he never had the opportunity to ask.
Or maybe he had, and he had just never been brave enough.
It is strange, Lucien thinks, to be standing beside someone who should have been so close to him, yet at the same time hardly knowing anything about him. If only things had been different, all those years ago… He regrets that he will likely never have the chance to meet his daughter. He hardly knows anything about her, either. Ma’ree doesn’t like to talk about her much, pain filling his eyes whenever the conversation threatens to turn towards that subject. Yet if she was Yarcha’s child, she must have been wonderful. There is just no other way.
For a long moment they stand together in silence, looking down the cliff into the forest below. Lucien tries not to think about the memories he has of this place. He had been alive then, and had not even seen fifteen years. It was a different time, and no longer important.
He wonders what Ma’ree thinks of him. It must be strange, meeting the father you never knew existed for hundreds of years. Ma’ree talks so fondly of the man who raised him, and Martin. J’Zidar always wants to know more about Martin, too, hanging on Ma’ree’s every word about him. Jealousy threatens to flare up in his belly, but he forces it back down. He should be happy that they have someone to look up to. Happy that Yarcha had someone to take care of him, after Lucien wasn’t capable of doing so anymore.
He can feel the air stir beside him, and glances at Ma’ree to see him opening his mouth. It looks as if he is going to say something, but then the dark brown Khajiit starts chewing on his lip, and the moment is gone. A shame. He would have loved to learn more about what goes on in his son’s head.
“It’s cold out here,” Ma’ree finally murmurs, his fur fluffing up slightly.
“I wouldn’t know,” Lucien responds. “I haven’t felt anything but the cold for two hundred years now.”
Ma’ree jerks away from him, his eyes wide, before he turns his gaze away, the remains of his ears moving about wildly. Too late Lucien realises he has said the wrong thing. If only he could think about what he said. Thinking was the only thing he could do, before he was summoned by J’Zidar. The Void has left him of any ability to speak, with his lower jaw missing. Yet back then he hadn’t known he had a son he could speak with. This kind of conversation had not been among his thoughts.
He wonders whether apologising will make this conversation even more awkward. It must be the right thing to do, though, and he parts his lips, but Ma’ree is already shaking his head.
“I’m going on a walk. Join me, if you want. Or not. Whatever you decide.”
Lucien glances back at the door to the Falkreath Sanctuary. He doesn’t want to leave J’Zidar alone, knowing how desperate he can get when there is nobody around.
“He’ll have his Family with him.” Lucien looks up to see Ma’ree staring at him, a knowing look in his eyes. “He’ll be alright for now.”
The Spectral Assassin sighs. “I suppose you are right.”
The two continue to walk, moving deeper into the woods. Things have changed since the decades that Lucien has last been here, yet some familiar buildings still remain, albeit in ruins. He can hear the occasional hoot of an owl, and a fox screeches in the distance, but it’s quiet otherwise, neither he nor Ma’ree speaking. He likes it, that way. There is no need to worry about what he is going to say, or whether he is going to push his son further away from him. He wonders if speaking really did come easier to him when he was alive, or whether it has been so long that he has created a picture in his mind, better than the reality.
Ma’ree looks around occasionally, lifting his nose to sniff the air, so much like Yarcha used to do when they were on a mission together. It reminds him to be wary. Lucien might be invisible to anyone but J’Zidar and Ma’ree, but the vampire himself will be vulnerable out here. Not everyone will take kindly to him and allow him the chance to explain he has no wish to harm anyone. It must be hard, living a life like that. Was Ma’ree turned by someone else in a fight, and had he been too late to save himself? Or had he become a vampire on purpose? He doesn’t dare ask. What if he upsets Ma’ree again with his carelessness? If anything, he wants him to be happy… yet he looks anything but, his glowing eyes glancing through the woods, his shredded ears twitching and turning.
Finally, the Khajiit comes to a halt, sitting on the large stump of a tree at the edge of a stream. Lucien remains standing, uncertain what else to do. He doesn’t wish to tread on Ma’ree’s toes and destroy their already fragile relationship. Yet he has finally found his son, his and Yarcha’s, and he knows he would hate himself for the rest of his existence if he let Ma’ree walk away without attempting to get closer to him.
“It was you, wasn’t it?”
Ma’ree is staring at him again, his eyes slightly narrowed, the tips of his long fangs gleaming in the moonlight. Lucien stares back, feeling utterly confused. He hasn’t missed part of this conversation, he is quite certain. He didn’t do anything special, either, that he is aware of.
“At that farm,” the dark-furred Khajiit continues on. “The one near my childhood home.”
A chill spreads through Lucien’s veins. “I don’t… know what you mean,” he tries to say, but he finds it suddenly hard to speak. He feels sick. Perhaps he should sit down.
Ma’ree scoots to the side to make enough space for him to sit, the tip of his tail brushing the pine needles on the ground restlessly. “The one in the mountains, not too far from Bruma.”
It is good that he sat down. If he hadn’t, Lucien would have surely fallen over. He wishes to say something, but his words flee from him before he can grasp a proper thought. He tries to take a deep breath to calm himself, but oxygen doesn’t do much for his deceased self.
“I didn’t know what it meant for the longest time,” Ma’ree continues on. Lucien tries to focus on his eyes. He looks concerned. “I felt what happened. I didn’t understand the details. It was… bad. I didn’t like to think much about it.” The Khajiit leans closer to his ghostly father, his whiskers twitching. “I bet you could tell me why the ground disappeared underneath my feet. Why you are the traitor.”
Lucien leaps to his feet, anger burning in his chest like fire. Strange, how for once he isn’t feeling cold. “I was never the traitor,” he snarls, curling his fingers into tight fists. “I have always been loyal, to my dying breath! My entire life has been in the service of—”
There is a sensation, a feeling against his hand, and he breaks off in surprise when he sees Ma’ree’s fingers wrapped around his fist. The Khajiit snorts, and pulls Lucien back down onto their shared seat. “I am aware. You have told me that since I was a child.”
The anger subsides, melts away until the ice trickles back into his heart, filling him with the usual cold. He grits his teeth, his gaze focused on the stream before his feet. Finally, he lets out a sigh. “It was me in that farm. I’m…” He swallows, feeling a burning sensation prick at the corners of his eyes. “I am sorry that you… had to experience that.”
Ma’ree shakes his head. “It was merely a vision. It felt real, at the time. But it never was. I was never in any danger.” He snorts again, but Lucien doesn’t see what is so amusing about this situation. “I was a kid, then. I was overwhelmed. But I learnt to control what I see and feel. There’s only echoes now, making themselves clear when I try to listen. I can walk away at any moment.” He tilts his head, a questioning look in his eyes. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t.”
“I don’t wish to talk about this,” Lucien murmurs. It has been two centuries, but he can still feel everything that happened as if it were yesterday, if he tries hard enough. It is easier to talk with J’Zidar about this subject. He doesn’t know how Lucien felt. What he went through. “Perhaps another day.”
Ma’ree falls silent as well, following Lucien’s gaze towards the stream. “Of course. And then you might tell me what happened in the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, as well.”
That is a subject Lucien definitely wants to avoid, and he is glad that Ma’ree doesn’t pursue the question. He is aware that Ma’ree’s hand is still on his own, and the touch feels strange to him, but he doesn’t pull away. It feels calming, somehow. Reassuring.
Suddenly the hand is gone from his, and the next moment Ma’ree is heaving himself onto Lucien’s lap, grunting with the effort. His nose brushes against Lucien’s jaw, before he forcefully thrusts his muzzle underneath his father’s chin and rests there. His tail wraps neatly around his legs, one arm resting on his lap, the other around Lucien’s back. The ghost sits in silence for a moment, unmoving. Then, he leans down to brush his nose against the soft, dark fur on Ma’ree’s forehead.
“I’m sorry,” the Khajiit groans. “I haven’t fed in a while. It makes me feel my real age.”
Slowly, Lucien places his hand on Ma’ree’s shoulder. Only now does he feel that he is trembling. It feels strange, holding the son that was allowed to experience life twice as long as his father. Ma’ree’s mane and muzzle have turned grey, his fur dull and patchy. Yet as he sits there, his face pressed against Lucien’s throat, it feels as if he is holding a child, desperate for the loving touch of a parent. Lucien now wraps both arms around him, holding him as close as he can. Again his eyes feel wet, but he blinks the tears away. Maybe he wasn’t there to raise his children, but at least he has Ma’ree now, and he can try to be a good father to him, as long as the world allows them to be together.
A weak, rusty purr comes from Ma’ree’s throat, lasting one second before it dies away again. The Khajiit has his eyes squeezed shut, and Lucien almost thinks he has fallen asleep, before the vampire suddenly looks up, his muzzle tilted towards the sky.
“We should head back. Dawn is approaching, and I would rather not be burnt to death.”
Lucien feels slightly empty when Ma’ree pulls away from him, but he allows the other to do so, standing up after him. “It would be… a shame if that happened,” he murmurs.
Ma’ree looks up at him for a moment. Then, he leans forward and bumps his head against Lucien’s shoulder, before continuing on his way through the forest. Lucien smiles, his heart feeling lighter as he follows. There will be difficult moments ahead, but they will get through them, together.
i don’t know if other people like. care about cat genetics. but i love researching cat genetics and using them for my own stories. i’m gonna ramble and not stop myself
it’s funny because I didn’t care about that with Yarcha and his family tree. Yarcha isn’t technically correct. maybe he himself is but not in relation to his family!
Yarcha is genetically a black cat. Him becoming orange is caused by a phenomenon called ‘rufousing’, which means the background colour of a tabby cat (brown in case of a genetically black cat) turns reddish! This is mostly the case with Abyssinian and Somali cats (which Yarcha was based on!) If he didn’t have this strong rufousing he would look the same as his son Ma’ree, who has mostly brown fur.
This causes a problem with his daughter Rilyn though. She is a tortoiseshell, which means one of her parents must have red too (since red is one of the most dominant colours). This would mean that Yarcha would have to be a tortoiseshell too!
The second problem is with his mom, who is just a general tabby. Yarcha is a ticked tabby (again, like a Somali) but usually if you have one ticked gene you’ll see stripes on the face, legs, and tail. Ma’ree has this same problem :)
And maybe I'm still a stupid little boy
too weak to understand what will come
I want to find peace of mind
maybe no mind is the answer to that conundrum
Oh I want to be a baby again
Oh I want pure thoughts in my head
Oh I want to be a baby again
Oh I want to forget
Ma’ree’s fur is standing on end, his tail fluffed up to nearly twice its size. It is the first time in his life that he is outside without Baurus or Jauffre by his side to look after him. It is scary, but somehow freeing as well. Finally he can do whatever he wants, without one of the adults telling him to stay close to them. What would even be out there? He has heard all sorts of tales about the Oblivion Crisis from his father, but it had ended before Ma’ree was even born, so that wouldn’t be a threat anymore… He had seen a wolf in the distance on his way down the mountain, but it hadn’t seemed to take much interest in him. Honestly, sometimes he thinks Baurus is too protective of him.
The young Khajiit shivers as he pushes his way through the snow, wrapping his arms around his small body. At least he, unlike his father and grandfather, has a thick fluffy pelt to keep him warm, but right now the cold is getting to him, too. His dad has told him that it is less cold farther south, but Ma’ree hasn’t ever been there. Not that he can remember, at least. He wishes to go there. Some day, when he is old enough.
Who is he kidding? He is old enough now. Nobody is going to stop him. According to everyone else, Yarcha was always on his feet, always travelling from one side of Cyrodiil to the other… Ma’ree, being his biological son, would be able to do the same, he believes. Not that he likes thinking of Yarcha as his father. That honour is something he will only allow to Baurus, the man who raised him, who loved him, who held him in his arms whenever Ma’ree was sad. Baurus would never have left him or his sister behind.
Suddenly he feels terribly lonely. Quickly he turns around, his eyes narrowed against the brightness of the snow as he searches for Cloud Ruler Temple. It is so big and high up, one would say that it would be noticeable from every part of the land… But the trees and the hills are hiding everything, and for the first time in his life, Ma’ree believes that he is entirely lost.
He quickly forces away the tears that are pricking at the corners of his eyes. He is a big boy, and he shouldn’t cry because of something like this. Baurus doesn’t cry when he is lost, right? He only cries when he is talking about Martin. Ma’ree can be just as strong as his father. He only needs to go back the way he came from, and he’ll be able to see his home soon enough.
He starts heading into that direction, his excited mood now disappeared entirely. His ears are flattened, and he holds his head low as he forces himself to go forward, step by step. Pushing through the snow is tiring, and now he can’t go to his dad for warmth and comfort and a lift on his strong shoulders. Soon, though. Soon he’ll be back home at the Temple, and he’ll be able to sit in front of the fireplace while Baurus, or perhaps grandpa Jauffre, tells him another tale of Martin. Those are his favourite stories. Martin is so strong, and so kind as well… Ma’ree is glad that Martin is his other biological father. They say that he looks a lot like him, and that makes him proud. Perhaps when he grows up, he can become just like him.
He shivers again, his teeth clacking together. He can hardly feel his toes anymore, and the tip of his tail is trailing through the snow by now. The only thing he can think of now is that fireplace, and the warm arms of his family.
The dark brown Khajiit lifts his nose, sniffing at the air as he narrows his eyes. There’s a shape in the distance, and though Ma’ree can’t see the details, he believes it’s a building. He doesn’t know what kind of building it is, and he faintly remembers Baurus’ warning not to go into buildings he doesn’t know unless absolutely necessary… but he believes it is very necessary now. He is trembling heavily, and it’s starting to get hard to see his surroundings.
Forcing his fears to the back of his mind, he makes his way to the building. It looks old and abandoned, several beams missing from the roof. The door is hanging from its hinges, leaving a slight gap that is just wide enough for him to slide through it.
Ma’ree hesitates, nervously looking around. He’s not sure what lays waiting for him inside… The area around the building looks like a small farmland, the remains of a fence surrounding it, and that by itself wouldn’t be any cause of suspicion. Yet the row of gravestones a little bit away from him makes him feel watched, as if the ghosts of the past are judging his every move. Would they be angry that he came on their land without asking?
“I’m s-sorry,” he whispers, his teeth chattering from the cold as he attempts to speak. “I’m sorry I intruded on your land. It’s just… I’m so cold… Could I… stay in your house, please?” He assumes it is their house, at least.
For a moment nothing happens, and all is still. Then, he feels a warm presence by his side, softly nudging at his arm. Pulling him towards the building.
“Thank you,” he mutters, quickly stepping forward. He is glad that the ghosts allow him to stay. He doesn’t know what he would do if they wouldn’t. Now, he’ll have a place to warm his bones before setting out again, back on his journey towards his home.
When his foot touches the ground, a strange shiver passes through his body. Immediately he feels an overwhelming sadness tugging at his heart, his mind, his belly… It is as if his entire world is gone. Everyone he knows, everyone he loves, gone… He doesn’t think he can ever smile again. He doesn’t even have the energy to lift his head.
No, he’s just upset that he isn’t home now. He shouldn’t be standing here in the cold, no matter how sad he is. He takes another few steps, immediate relief surrounding him. He glances back, wondering if there is something peculiar about the place where he set his foot down. The only thing he can see is a slight dip in the earth, hardly noticeable, but otherwise it looks normal.
He shakes his fur out, quickly sliding through the gap in the door. Right away he feels warmer, the old walls shielding him from the worst of the wind and the snow. There’s an old bed in the corner before him, and Ma’ree wonders if the ghosts will allow him to stay there. The blankets are half devoured by what he suspects are mice and rats, or perhaps bugs, but anything would be helpful in this situation. He starts on his way towards the bed.
Then, he freezes.
At the edge of his vision, there are four tall figures, sending a fierce terror through his body. He jerks his head around to look at them, but all he can see is the wall. Quickly his eyes dart around, his gaze moving rapidly to every corner of the room. The figures are nowhere to be found. Perhaps it was just his imagination.
Yet the terror remains, and he feels too afraid to start moving again, as if staying exactly in this position will keep every danger away from him. He longs for… for anything to comfort him. Even the warm presence of the ghost outside would be good enough to ward off the evil.
The shapes have returned. They’re still hovering at the edge of his vision, as if they’re afraid to be seen by him. Or maybe they’re waiting for him to let down his guard, before they turn on him…
He gasps, turning on his heel when he realises one of the shapes is right behind him.
I have to save him.
The thought enters his mind without him knowing what it means, almost as if it came from outside. Before he can think about the meaning, he feels a fierce pain on his chest, enough to bring him to his knees. He lets out a loud screech as he raises his hand, certain there is a large, bloody slash on his chest, but he feels nothing but his fur, still sitting where it should. He strains to breathe, glancing up at the shadow before him, now joined by the three others. Their faces are clearly visible, but he doesn’t recognise any of them.
I’m sorry, he means to say. I’m sorry that I entered your house. I thought I was welcome here. What comes out is something entirely different.
“I’m not the traitor,” he whispers, hardly able to speak properly. “I swear by the Ni-...” He shakes his head, forcing his jaws shut. These aren’t his words, he doesn’t understand what he is saying… Even if they feel like the right words to say in this situation, he shouldn’t do anything that he regrets.
In a moment of clarity, the shadows are gone again, and he pulls himself to his feet. He should get out of here. He’d rather be out in the cold than stay in this house for one more moment…
Before he can even move, the forms are back, one on each side of him. They are closing in on him, sharp knives gleaming in their hands.
“Please!” he begs, large tears rolling down his face. “I’m not the traitor! I wouldn’t do this! I’m loyal!” He starts screaming, his legs moving to get him towards the door, but before he knows it he has landed on his knees, deep painful slashes burning on his back. “I’m not the traitor!” he gasps. “I’m not the traitor. I’m not the traitor. I’m not the traitor…” Yet he can’t see a thing anymore, a red liquid entering his vision. “I’m not a traitor.” The shadows are gone, but his arms are bleeding, his jaw aches, it feels as if one of his eyes isn’t even there anymore. “I’m not a traitor.” He feels dizzy, as if his world is being turned upside-down, the ground disappearing beneath him. “I need to save him.”
Ma’ree gasps for air, his chest heaving wildly. He moves weakly, all the energy drained from his body. Suddenly, he feels something beside him. One of the shadows? No, it feels warm… comforting, somehow. Awfully familiar.
The warmth spreads out over him, almost like a blanket. It wraps himself around him, feeling not unlike the way Baurus would hug him when he has a nightmare. He opens his eyes, fresh tears dripping down again, but he sees none of the shadows. The floor has returned beneath him. His skin is unharmed, except for a scrape on his knee where he fell. The child leans into the shapeless warmth, letting out a deep, shuddering sigh. It smells familiar. He has the feeling he smelt this before in his youth, but he can’t recall when.
“Ma’ree!”
As fast as it came, the warmth disappears, and Ma’ree lets out a wail in fear. It can’t leave him now! He needs it to be safe!
He blinks when the room suddenly brightens, and he realises that the door is now open, a cold breeze blowing the snowflakes into the house. In the opening stands a small Khajiit form, only a silhouette in the bright light behind them. Terror grips him again, making him unable to breathe. The shadows are back. They’re going to finish what they started.
“Ma’ree! Where have you been? Dad and I were looking for you!”
He sobs, pressing his palms against his face. “Please don’t kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you, silly! I mean, dad is very angry. But I think he’ll be happy that we found you.”
Ma’ree blinks a few times through his tears, and watches the world around him become a little clearer. He sees orange fur before him, and gentle grey eyes blinking at him. No, they’re green, and the Khajiit before him is orange and black. “Rilyn,” he breathes in relief when he recognises his littermate.
“Let’s go back, okay? Dad’s coming here soon. I went ahead of him when I smelled you,” Rilyn explains.
“I… Okay…” Ma’ree mumbles, though he feels too tired and upset to move. Maybe the shadows will come back and hurt not only him, but Rilyn as well… He can’t let her get hurt.
He feels her side pressed against his own, her tongue rasping over his face to clean the tears away. Her hands search his own, her fingers intertwining with his. “I’m here,” she whispers. “I’ll hold your hands. I won’t let you go again. I’ll stay with you forever.”
Ma’ree nods, squeezing her hands back. They reassure him. They chase the shadows away. They give him the strength to stand up, and follow her outside, away from this terrible place.
Boy, when I left you, you were young
I was gone, but not my love
You were clearly meant for more
Than a life lost in the war
I want you to be happy
Free to run, get dizzy on caffeine
Funny friends that make you laugh
And maybe you're just a little bit dappy
I was tagged by @hircines-meatloaf !!! Thank you very much!
Rules: Bold the traits which apply to your OC. Italicize the ones that apply sometimes.
Under the cut because I decided to do this with Yarcha’s children as well!!! I also... couldn’t really put tiny pictures in here so you get the huge versions owo
#project hail mary
#photography
#aromantic
