Rhyme paced back and forth, debating about making the journey at all. He wanted to talk to his father though. Like he hadn’t been able to for years. He wanted to tell him about the children that were born into his life. Rhyme wanted to ask him how he’d coped when he’d lost himself and Rhythm. He wanted to tell him about the little boy that no one would ever meet.

Rhyme decided he would go. His emotions were still too high to want to linger, however much he wished to stay beside Shaye or Tana and watch their newborns. He had too much pent up energy, and after his third round around Abaven he headed south. The moon was high in the sky, and though it was only a sliver it was plenty to alight the night. The bed of snow reflected the minimal light and Rhyme could see everything clearly. He wished the future were as clear as the night.

He still didn’t know what he’d say to Valentine as he arrived on the border of Legion. Rhyme wasn’t even sure if he wanted to talk to him about everything. He was.. nervous? Ashamed? He always wanted Valentine to be proud of him, but he’d explored the possibility more than once that he might never make the choices his father approved of. Rhyme didn’t know who his father was really. He’d known him as a yearling years and years ago. Who had he been all that time but he and his mother’s dearest memories? He wanted the perfect man in his mind's eyes to be proud of him, was that was the reality of his father would be?

He began pacing again as those thoughts ran through his mind. His brows were furrowed and his head lowered as the decision weighed on him. He sighed softly as he finally stopped his motion. He picked up his head and peered into what had once been his childhood home. What was it to him now?

""

Winter was here and Valentine, for all his talk of preparation, wasn't ready to go take care of the slavers. Or, rather, he was ready, but something was holding him back. Call it intuition, call it a gut feeling, whatever it was, it nagged at him. Each day he woke up thinking it was time to gather the troops and each day, for whatever reason, it didn't feel right. It didn't bode well and he didn't like it. There had been a lot on his mind recently and perhaps part or all of the blame could be placed on that. At any rate it was an easy scapegoat; how could he do what he needed to do when things at home weren't right? It hadn't escaped his notice that Rhythm was spending an awful lot of time away from home. Nor had the pregnant slave woman at Rhyme's side at the reception. It also wasn't too much of a stretch to assume that Rhythm was spending a great deal of time in Abaven. Neither she nor their son had said anything to him at the reception or in the days after, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was up. All of those pieces, no matter what combination he tried them in, pointed towards something important. That hunch left him feeling a bit unsettled. If something good was happening, why not tell him? And if something bad was happening, wasn't not telling him the same as deceiving him? A lie by omission? He just couldn't leave now. Even though he only had hunches to work on it was enough to make it clear to him that he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to, leave for the slavers. He couldn't go into battle preoccupied. A familiar scent on the breeze pulled him away from his uneasy thoughts. His expression puzzled, Valentine stared into the distance. What was Rhyme doing here? Only one way to find out. --- There on the border, looking pensive as hell, was his son. The sight of him made the old king's heart ache. Valentine hadn't seen Rhyme enough for the joy of seeing him again after so many years to wear off. Every time was like the first time. "You're awfully far from home, son." Once this had been his home. It saddened Valentine to think that those days were gone. To think that Rhyme now belonged to Abaven. ""

Rhyme stared off into the distance, lost in his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed Valentine approaching until it was too late. His bright blue and lavender gaze were swift to find him as he approached. The decision had been made for him, he had to talk to his father. Affection was something he was beginning to get better at, it felt natural with Shaye or Rhythm, but with his father? Rhyme remained still, barely managing to seat himself as the old king spoke. ”Nothing escapes you," He managed to chuckle as he found his father’s bright blue gaze with his own.

He sighed heavily, his gaze falling to the ground between them. "I came to talk to you." Rhyme admitted, realizing how much he had avoided talking to Valentine about. He’d never actually announced his rank as alpha to the old king, and he’d even gone as far as to hide the pregnancies of the two women he loved. "I want.. my Dad’s advice." He always called Valentine ‘Father’ but Dad seemed more appropriate in the moment. "I made a couple of bad decisions recently. Mainly drinking too much." He tried to chuckle away the how severely he’d screwed up, but he couldn’t consider those beautiful little bundles a mistake. "I got really drunk and got a couple of pack members pregnant."

That was an easy way to ease into all this right? The beginning? "Tana, the tiny woman you probably noticed at the party." She might have looked like a tiny waif but Rhyme knew she was stronger than many wolves emotionally at least. She’d watched her newborns be murdered in front of her eyes, he wouldn’t have stayed sane after watching that. "The other is Shaye." He admitted, wondering how Valentine might take that news. "Four girls and a boy." Rhyme choked on his words and averted his gaze to the horizon as his eyes stung with tears. "Two boys." Darilnor’s loss weighed most heavily on him. "He was so tiny and perfect, and I couldn’t bring him back." His voice was hoarse by now and he looked up into the heavily starred sky as he blinked back tears. He couldn’t cry in front of his dad, that wouldn’t help with anything.

""

Rhyme's declaration that he came to get advice from his dad convinced Valentine that something was indeed wrong. It was a bit too soon to be sure his intuition had been correct, but given his son's solemn expression he could only assume that whatever the problem was, it was a big one. He steeled himself for the worst. Somehow his preparation wasn't enough. Valentine's gaze darted to the horizon but he made no attempt to hide either his disappointment or his disgust. Not once, but twice his son had fucked up. That Rhyme hadn't learned from the first mistake didn't speak well of him and Valentine found himself clenching his jaw in anger. His son was a fool. Valentine had been known to chase girls but never, not once, had he done what his son had done. Say he had, though. Had he been in his son's place he'd have righted the situation the moment he'd learned of the pregnancies. The knowledge that he had not one but two sons who had a problem with drunkenness disturbed him. As far as he knew, though, Ashmedai hadn't drunkenly squirted bastards into either a close relative or a little mongrel of a woman. Valentine could only imagine what kind of weak, or in the case of Shaye, inbred, creatures had come from Rhyme's mistakes. Why, why couldn't the alcohol have rendered his son limp or caused him to stick his drunken cock into the wrong hole. The Imperialis name would be better off for it. Valentine took a deep breath and held it as Rhyme continued to speak. He could tell his son was struggling and as much as he wanted to rail against him, to beat him over the head until he understood how badly he'd damaged the Imperialis bloodline with his incompetence, now wasn't the time. Valentine sighed tiredly. "We will discuss your failings later." It was a promise; for the preservation of their strong name, Rhyme's mistakes would have to be dealt with. Rhyme's grief wasn't enough to help him wriggle free of his father's judgement. It only delayed it today, but it would indeed come. "I'm sorry for your loss," he offered gently before sighing again. "I didn't have the certainty you do now, but I know what it's like to lose hope of ever seeing someone again." His thoughts went to first few months after Rhyme and Rhythm's disappearance. How the uncertainty had eaten at him. The many terrible, nagging what ifs. What if Rhythm had stolen Rhyme? What if they were dead? What if, what if, what if. He remembered consoling Rhys and later, when it was just the two of them searching in Auster, grieving with her. ""

He knew he’d made mistakes, he knew there would indeed be consequences, but knowing they were coming and living through them were two different things. The pain and loss of Darilnor cut into him deeply, one consequence he had expected but hoped desperately to avoid. Now he’d have his father’s punishments to look forward to as well, but he couldn’t imagine them hurting as much as burying his child had. Rhyme tried to shrug off the heavy emotion as Valentine promised they would revisit his egregious mistakes. Now didn’t seem appropriate, but Rhyme had fully sworn off alcohol. No matter how much he wished to indulge and drown away his sorrows he had made a promise to himself, his pack, and his newborns. He had also decided to toy with the idea of never having sex again. He couldn’t go through losing a child a second time.

Valentine managed to subdue his anger and offered his condolences, mentioning how he had similarly struggled. Rhyme’s eyes had dried and he managed to drag his gaze back to the old king. "How did you deal with the grief? Or the guilt of continuing on with the living when your heart feels like it’s been buried with your dead?" Of course, Valentine hadn’t known his mate and son were alive, but for all he knew they had been killed all those years ago. He knew very well how Valen may have felt when he first saw Rhythm and himself appear over the horizon years later. Darilnor could never do the same.

""

Very quickly Valentine decided this conversation would be best had if he put the larger picture out of his mind. It was hard to be sympathetic when the first thing that popped into your head and very nearly rolled out of your mouth was the opinion that maybe, just maybe, had your son not bred a weak woman or a close relative whichever had birthed the dead pup would have given birth to another live one. Very wisely he bit those words back, swallowed them and banished the overarching situation from his thoughts. Valentine was quiet for several long moments as he remembered how he'd felt when the realization that he might never see his mate and son again had finally set in. How lonely he'd felt even in the midst of a crowd. The old king sighed again. He hated those days. If there was a silver-lining to the dissolution of Imperium it was that none of those he'd held dear (except Rhys) had seen him at his worst. Angel had gotten a taste before Valentine had returned to Boreas, but he hadn't seen the worst of it. Rhys had - more or less - been a trooper. "You just...do. There's no choice. It's like..." Valentine trailed off as he tried to think of something to compare the process to. "It's like healing a physical wound. You do what you can to help the process along - you try, you pretend - but in the end, it has to heal itself." He shook his head and then tried to search Rhyme's gaze. "I'm afraid I don't have an easy answer for you. The best you can do is focus on the others. Their childhood is going to go by so fast. If you're not careful you'll blink and miss it." ""

Rhyme was much too distracted by his own grief to acknowledge the severe trouble he was in with his father. He couldn’t get the image of the stillborn pup from his mind, and he felt like he could be consumed by the emotions rolling beneath his skin. Valentine would prove to be the great father he’d always been though, and suppressing his own strong feelings he’d offer what comfort and advice he could to his grieving son. Of course Rhyme had worried the whole pregnancy that Tana’s life might be lost and or that of the pups. Reality was difficult though, and despite worrying he hadn’t really been ready for Darilnor’s death.

Valentine’s words were clear and his analogy spoke well to Rhyme. There was no other option but to continue. He couldn’t just bury his sorrow, but he could continue on. There would always be hurt, but like a wound he would eventually heal. There was no real or easy answer, he just had to focus all of his tumultuous emotions into raising the children that had survived. No matter how guilty he may have felt about it.

Valentine offered a bit of advice on fatherhood as well, he had to immerse himself in their young lives because in the blink of an eye they would no longer be helpless pups. They would grow into their own selves, with personalities, dreams, and flaws of their very own. Rhyme sighed heavily, unable to rid himself of the guilt and sadness. He felt heartened, that someday he might be able to live without feeling that familiar pang of pain.

He found his father’s strong gaze, and tried to steal away some of that strength for himself. He just had to power through, he had to be there for his children that remained. Their childhood would be over in the blink of an eye, and if he didn’t make himself enjoy it he would miss it completely. "I know you’re right." When was Valentine ever wrong? "However difficult the task may be." He said quietly, his gaze shifting back to the stars above them.

""

In response to Rhyme's words Valentine simply nodded. Moving on could very well end up being the hardest thing Rhyme ever had to do. It was strange to think that a child, someone who was meant to outlive their parents, wouldn't do that. That they would be a child forever. Never grow up, never have their own children, never grow old. From experience Valentine knew that dwelling on such thoughts was crippling. He hated to think that Rhyme was in the grips of those thoughts now. "Do you love your children, Rhyme?" Of course Valentine knew he did. He was asking with a point in mind. "Whenever things are hard, remember what that feels like. How you felt the first time you saw them. The first smile. Their laughter. A favorite game. That one annoying thing they do because they know it'll get a rise out of you. Nothing can ever take those moments away from you." He searched Rhyme's gaze and his own became impassioned. "But, if you aren't careful, if you let those hard times win, you'll miss moments like those and one day you'll be old like me and you'll look back with regret." Valentine's voice was soft but the strength of his emotion was nearly tangible. ""

He wanted to let himself be swallowed back up by his grief, to mourn the child he’d lost or give his own life to bring him back. None of those options would drive him forward in life though. There were more lives than just his own to think about now. Five tiny little souls that had to be his priority despite how much he wanted to lay on Darilnor’s grave and never stand up again. Valentine would help him see the folly in his wants though as he went on to tell him what he might miss.


He asked if he loved his children, though it was a given Rhyme whispered a reply anyway. "More than I thought possible." He let his gaze return to Valentine’s features as he spoke. A spark of hope seemed to reignite in Rhyme’s chest. The reality of what Valentine said hit him hard. He had to focus on the living. If he remained fixated on death he would miss those that went on. He’d be too focused on death to see the hope and promise of life that remained this side of the void. Rhyme couldn’t smile, not yet, but he could feel himself turning back towards the light instead of darkness. "Do you look back and regret?" He asked softly, wondering if his father spoke from experience. Rhyme couldn’t imagine the old king regretting much in his incredible life.

""

In response to his son's question Valentine nodded but was quiet and didn't elaborate for several seconds. His thoughts were fixed firmly on his regrets. It was impossible to get to his age without amassing a collection of them. Valentine felt he was lucky in the sense that while yes, there were plenty of things he regretted, the number of things he didn't regret far outweighed the things he did. "Yes, but you know what? As much as it hurts me to think about them, I wouldn't change most of them. How could I when they've made me who I am?" A ghost of a smile played across his lips and then he quipped softly, "And I like who I am." There were things he regretted saying and doing. Things that secretly shamed him. But he'd learned from those things. Some had made him stronger. Others had made him wiser. And yes, some still made him terribly sad or embarrassed, but he needed those painful reminders. Valentine recognized that he was hard-headed enough to repeat his mistakes if his memories didn't sting and warn him away. ""

Rhyme almost expected Valentine to say that he didn’t hold any regrets in his life, but the answer he got was much better. The old Imperialis wasn’t perfect and he easily admitted to that fact, but he accepted it and moved on. Going as far as to say they were what made him him. Rhyme felt even more thankful for his father’s wise words. Rhyme grew quiet for a few moments as he lowered himself to the ground. His bright eyes up at the sky as he formed the questions in his mind. Thinking about all that was lost drew him to not often visited places.

"Why have you never mentioned your mother and father?" He asked a bit timidly. Surely if they were worth mentioning they would have been, however Rhyme was severely lacking in his knowledge of his father’s family history. He could recite the names of every Destruction that led to him, but he knew nothing of the lines leading to Valentine. "Obviously you don’t have to answer, but I am curious." Were they part of Valentine’s regrets?

""

Of course Rhyme wanted to know about his grandparents, one of Valentine's least favorite subjects. He'd deliberately not told any of his younger children about them because he wanted them both to be forgotten. It seemed a fitting end for wolves who had so thoroughly fucked up the lives of those they professed to hold dear. The oldest litter had met Cataleya and Valentine's youngest siblings, but the rest had been spared from having to endure them. Valentine answered honestly. "Because they're not worth mentioning." Really and truly they weren't. As a young adult Valentine had tried to earn his mother's affection and he had found out quite quickly that she was incapable of it. She'd left Boreas without so much as word; abandoning her children much like Valentine's father had done. It was ironic, really, that Cataleya had done the very thing she'd lambasted Taurig over. "When I was a child my mother took me to my father and left me with him. A few months later he abandoned me. Just took off; no explanation, no attempt to return me to my mother. I grew up alone. As a yearling I reconnected with my mother but she was never..." He thought back to one of their first encounters, how at ease she'd been when she threatened to harm him over something trivial. "Never a mother to me. So I made a name for myself, the Imperialis name. Something that was mine." Valentine snorted a quiet, sardonic chuckle. "And then she too disappeared and proved I made the right decision." Valentine lapsed into thoughtful silence for a moment before continuing, "In general surnames tell others at a glance what an individual is worth. Where they're from, who made them the men and women they are. What they stand for." Names were fragile things. Sadly, it was all too easy for one individual to destroy the reputation established by his or her ancestors. Valentine was well aware of that fact. "My name means a great deal to me. I've worked hard to make it synonymous with strength. It is the thing that will live on long after I'm gone." "My father was a deadbeat and my mother a heartless bitch, and I didn't want someone to look at me and think of them and all of their fuck ups." The thought of being associated with Taurig or Cataleya annoyed him. As an individual he was stronger than they ever were and the family he had made, while flawed, was one Valentine wouldn't trade for the world. "Don't dwell on them, Rhyme, they aren't worth it. What matters now is our family and," Valentine's thoughts drifted to The Situation, but he brought them back quickly. Not the time. "The strength of the name we give to our descendants." ""