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They can't break me as long as I know who I am
"Y'aren't a Strand and not of any other family 'round here, so what are you?"
Half the size of the boy staring him down, the young halfling trembles with tension.
"Well? You haven't even got an answer have you?"
"Oh shut up, Bran," Aislin snaps, her eyes sharp as any storm. They look like their mother's. "He's a Strand sure as any of us."
"Same way a fish picked up by a gull is a bird."
Ro's hands hurt, balled into tight fists by his side. All he wants to do his slam into Bran - anything to make him stop talking.
"Look at him, he's going to cry now."
He can't. Not in front of Bran or any of them. Ro spares a glance to his sister, who looks like to murder, but the look she gives him is softer, worried. He can't stand that, either. He turns, striding away as fast as he can and hoping Bran won't follow - his legs are longer, he'll always catch up. As soon as his feet hit the grass, Ro breaks into a run. Past the fishermen mending nets, past folks tending kitchen gardens or seeing to livestock, past the little houses built against the wind.
He doesn't stop until he reaches the spring hidden in the hills beyond the village, and there he collapses. Ro hits the ground the way he couldn't hit Bran until his fists are sore. Anger spent, he sits back and watches the water bubbling out of the earth and into the stream that will take it to the sea. He moves, tucking himself against a tall rock, hiding as only he can.
It's not twenty minutes before familiar footfalls approach. Ro presses himself to the rock, as if he could truly hide from his mother. Morwen sits nearby, her back against the other side of the stone, right near the edge that separates them. She doesn't speak right away, just sits there and listens to the water and the wind, the way she taught him to. Eventually, she rests a hand on the grass within his sight. Ro wipes his nose on his sleeve and eases closer, until he can hold the hand she's offered. He doesn't come around the other side of the stone, but he knows she won't ask him to.
"Aislin said Bran deserved a broken nose. I'm quite pleased you didn't give him one," she says. "You know not to listen to his nonsense, Ro."
"Easy for you to say," he mumbles, upset with himself for even saying it. He squeezes her thumb. "You're a Strand."
"So are you," she counters quickly. "As much as any of the others."
Ro scoots around the edge of the rock until he can look at her. Morwen's heart aches for the dark, soulful eyes looking at her full of tears and hurt. She holds her other hand out to the boy, and without a word he climbs into her lap. She wraps around him, drawing her knees up to well and truly hold him.
"Oh my Ronan," she murmurs as she strokes back his hair.
"I don't know who I am, Ma. I know I'm a Strand, but I'm not. Even Nuala's bigger than me now and she's six. If I could just--if I could just know..."
Morwen doesn't answer him right away. Ro sighs and leans against her, expecting she won't say more. But she does.
"We don't know where you're from, dearest one. We've some ideas, but no way to be sure. But you're ours as sure as anything. We found you, and we love you." She hurts for the son of her heart. Morwen shifts so that they can properly look at each other. "Would that I could tell you better."
Ro looks at his mother, the only he's known. He wishes he could just be as she says he is: a Strand true and through. But there's no hiding that he's different than the rest of his human family, whatever anyone says. And most won't let him forget it, no matter how much his family tries to protect him.
"You know you're a halfling," she says - that's not something they've ever hid from him. Ro's grateful for that in some ways. They never pretended he's something he's not. They also never treated him all that different from the other children, save perhaps worrying a bit more for him given his small size and his growing propensity to engage in all manner of dares and challenges. Anything to earn the passing respect of his peers in the village, tall folk all.
Morwen strokes his small hand. There is a part of her that wants to keep him as her own forever, but it's possible there's a people out there missing him, family left yet who wonder of his fate or who mourn the loss of him. She sighs quietly and brings up both of Ro's hands to kiss them.
"You know there's tale of folk living to the east, the Ashari. There's a chance you're one of theirs."
Ro looks at her, gods but does he look right through her sometimes. He's been like that since he was a babe in her arms, eyes older than an infant's ought be. Dark and deep like the sea they pulled him from. She brushes his hair back.
"Really?"
The way he lights up assures she'll lose him someday, but she won't keep that hope from him either.
"Might be," she says gently. "When you're older, I promise we'll try to find out if that's what you like."
As far as she's concerned, he's still far too young to be going on any long voyages on an open sea. Ro sits up more in her lap, pulling his hands free to brace them on her shoulders.
"Do you mean it?" He doesn't dare hope too much, but could it be possible that he's from somewhere? Ro almost misses the tears welling in his mother's eyes. He suddenly looks contrite. "Ma..."
"Hush now, I know what you meant. Wherever else you go, my love, you'll always have a home here."
Ro softens and leans into his mother's embrace, burying his face into her dark hair as she squeezes him close. He doesn't even complain this time that it's too tight.
Ten Years Later
Ro stands on the shore, the tide rising around his ankles and lifting his heartbeat faster as he looks out at the ship waiting in the cove. He looks over his shoulder at his family gathered on the shore. His mother and father, a few of his siblings - the newest one a babe in his mother's arms. He smiles at them and turns back. Morwen kneels to meet him and wraps her free arm around him as he hugs her tight.
"I'll come back, Ma," he murmurs in her ear. "I promise, I'll come back."
"Hush now," she says, her own voice tight. "There'll be a candle in the window to light your way when the wind brings you back."
He squeezes her tighter and breathes in deep the scent of her hair: sea salt and heather. Morwen gives him a little push.
"Go now, before the tide turns on you." He steps back as she stands and he looks at her, memorizing her. He hugs his father in turn, and his youngest siblings. Then Ro leaves them, picking up his pack on the way back to the boat waiting to take him out to the ship. His oldest brothers stand by it, ready to row him out.
Ro hops into the boat and looks back as they push into the water. Then he looks ahead, breathing in the wind coming off the water. This is it. He's going to Vesrah.
Half the size of the boy staring him down, the young halfling trembles with tension.
"Well? You haven't even got an answer have you?"
"Oh shut up, Bran," Aislin snaps, her eyes sharp as any storm. They look like their mother's. "He's a Strand sure as any of us."
"Same way a fish picked up by a gull is a bird."
Ro's hands hurt, balled into tight fists by his side. All he wants to do his slam into Bran - anything to make him stop talking.
"Look at him, he's going to cry now."
He can't. Not in front of Bran or any of them. Ro spares a glance to his sister, who looks like to murder, but the look she gives him is softer, worried. He can't stand that, either. He turns, striding away as fast as he can and hoping Bran won't follow - his legs are longer, he'll always catch up. As soon as his feet hit the grass, Ro breaks into a run. Past the fishermen mending nets, past folks tending kitchen gardens or seeing to livestock, past the little houses built against the wind.
He doesn't stop until he reaches the spring hidden in the hills beyond the village, and there he collapses. Ro hits the ground the way he couldn't hit Bran until his fists are sore. Anger spent, he sits back and watches the water bubbling out of the earth and into the stream that will take it to the sea. He moves, tucking himself against a tall rock, hiding as only he can.
It's not twenty minutes before familiar footfalls approach. Ro presses himself to the rock, as if he could truly hide from his mother. Morwen sits nearby, her back against the other side of the stone, right near the edge that separates them. She doesn't speak right away, just sits there and listens to the water and the wind, the way she taught him to. Eventually, she rests a hand on the grass within his sight. Ro wipes his nose on his sleeve and eases closer, until he can hold the hand she's offered. He doesn't come around the other side of the stone, but he knows she won't ask him to.
"Aislin said Bran deserved a broken nose. I'm quite pleased you didn't give him one," she says. "You know not to listen to his nonsense, Ro."
"Easy for you to say," he mumbles, upset with himself for even saying it. He squeezes her thumb. "You're a Strand."
"So are you," she counters quickly. "As much as any of the others."
Ro scoots around the edge of the rock until he can look at her. Morwen's heart aches for the dark, soulful eyes looking at her full of tears and hurt. She holds her other hand out to the boy, and without a word he climbs into her lap. She wraps around him, drawing her knees up to well and truly hold him.
"Oh my Ronan," she murmurs as she strokes back his hair.
"I don't know who I am, Ma. I know I'm a Strand, but I'm not. Even Nuala's bigger than me now and she's six. If I could just--if I could just know..."
Morwen doesn't answer him right away. Ro sighs and leans against her, expecting she won't say more. But she does.
"We don't know where you're from, dearest one. We've some ideas, but no way to be sure. But you're ours as sure as anything. We found you, and we love you." She hurts for the son of her heart. Morwen shifts so that they can properly look at each other. "Would that I could tell you better."
Ro looks at his mother, the only he's known. He wishes he could just be as she says he is: a Strand true and through. But there's no hiding that he's different than the rest of his human family, whatever anyone says. And most won't let him forget it, no matter how much his family tries to protect him.
"You know you're a halfling," she says - that's not something they've ever hid from him. Ro's grateful for that in some ways. They never pretended he's something he's not. They also never treated him all that different from the other children, save perhaps worrying a bit more for him given his small size and his growing propensity to engage in all manner of dares and challenges. Anything to earn the passing respect of his peers in the village, tall folk all.
Morwen strokes his small hand. There is a part of her that wants to keep him as her own forever, but it's possible there's a people out there missing him, family left yet who wonder of his fate or who mourn the loss of him. She sighs quietly and brings up both of Ro's hands to kiss them.
"You know there's tale of folk living to the east, the Ashari. There's a chance you're one of theirs."
Ro looks at her, gods but does he look right through her sometimes. He's been like that since he was a babe in her arms, eyes older than an infant's ought be. Dark and deep like the sea they pulled him from. She brushes his hair back.
"Really?"
The way he lights up assures she'll lose him someday, but she won't keep that hope from him either.
"Might be," she says gently. "When you're older, I promise we'll try to find out if that's what you like."
As far as she's concerned, he's still far too young to be going on any long voyages on an open sea. Ro sits up more in her lap, pulling his hands free to brace them on her shoulders.
"Do you mean it?" He doesn't dare hope too much, but could it be possible that he's from somewhere? Ro almost misses the tears welling in his mother's eyes. He suddenly looks contrite. "Ma..."
"Hush now, I know what you meant. Wherever else you go, my love, you'll always have a home here."
Ro softens and leans into his mother's embrace, burying his face into her dark hair as she squeezes him close. He doesn't even complain this time that it's too tight.
Ten Years Later
Ro stands on the shore, the tide rising around his ankles and lifting his heartbeat faster as he looks out at the ship waiting in the cove. He looks over his shoulder at his family gathered on the shore. His mother and father, a few of his siblings - the newest one a babe in his mother's arms. He smiles at them and turns back. Morwen kneels to meet him and wraps her free arm around him as he hugs her tight.
"I'll come back, Ma," he murmurs in her ear. "I promise, I'll come back."
"Hush now," she says, her own voice tight. "There'll be a candle in the window to light your way when the wind brings you back."
He squeezes her tighter and breathes in deep the scent of her hair: sea salt and heather. Morwen gives him a little push.
"Go now, before the tide turns on you." He steps back as she stands and he looks at her, memorizing her. He hugs his father in turn, and his youngest siblings. Then Ro leaves them, picking up his pack on the way back to the boat waiting to take him out to the ship. His oldest brothers stand by it, ready to row him out.
Ro hops into the boat and looks back as they push into the water. Then he looks ahead, breathing in the wind coming off the water. This is it. He's going to Vesrah.