Fic: The Best Dad In the World (3/?)
TITLE: The Best Dad in the World
RATING: G
FANDOMS: The Coldfire Trilogy.
SPOILERS: All three Coldfire books.
NOTES: This was meant to be a short series. Now, I'm not so sure.
_______________________________
Evening had fallen quicker than he would have liked. Damien looked around the living room. To his surprise and consternation, it had remained neat, the simple furniture free of the usual array of drawings and dolls that Jen collected.
He wasn’t sure why he wanted to make a good impression, but then, with the guest in question, he had long since stopped pondering his own actions.
Jen was sitting on the low couch, kicking her feet, even though her toes were practically touching the floor. Her hair was in two bunches, tied with pink ribbons. He had tried pigtails for her, but after an hour, she had sighed, taken the ribbons out of his hands and tied the ponytails herself. Years of practise and he still had never managed it. Her dress, however, was purple, which made him smile in recollection at how ill-suited he was to the colour.
Still, she had picked it.
As soon as he had informed her there would be a guest, there had been an impromptu shopping trip, because she maintained that no girl could be a good host’s daughter without a pretty dress with ruffles.
It stopped her asking questions for a while, at least.
She looked up at him expectantly.
“Don’t move,” he warned her. “Stay on the couch until he arrives.”
It was not a warning to be given lightly. He knew too well his daughter’s inopportune timing when it came to playing games that would lead to skinned knees, crying boys and dirtied dresses.
“Yes, daddy,” she said dutifully. One of her favourite dolls was cradled in her lap. She had named it Hesseth, and he had never been able to tell her how much hearing that name made his heart ache, even now.
He returned to the small kitchen to check on his best attempt at a meal. He had improved, but still, there was something about vegetables that rebelled against him, and at least half of them tended to end up black and stuck to the bottom of the pan.
A sharp rap at the door almost made him drop the spoon.
“I’ll get it!” Jen cried out eagerly and he heard the patter of her feet before he could call out her name.
Taking the pans off the stove, he followed her through, stopping dead in the hall.
Bay-Farron was looking down at Jen with clear amusement, and Damien covered his face with his hand, smothering a groan. “Jen, we don’t pull knives on our guests.”
With Hesseth under one arm, the child mutinously glared up at the man. The dagger from the belt he had left hung by the door was gripped snugly in her small hand. “I was telling him he’s not allowed to make you grumpy again,” she said. “You were all sad when you brought me home.”
“I consider myself sorely reprimanded,” Bay-Farron said dryly.
“Jen,” Damien said quietly. “Put the knife down.”
“Daddy...”
“Jen,” Damien repeated quietly. “Now.”
She turned to look up at him, then coloured and put the small dagger away. He saw the tremble of her lower lip and was unsurprised when she crossed the room and held up her arms to him. He sighed and bent to lift her up, her arms going around his neck, Hesseth flopping against his back.
Bay-Farron raised his eyebrows, removing the broad-brimmed hat he was wearing.
“You’d better come in,” Damien said. “We don’t usually threaten visitors.”
“He was mean, daddy,” Jen whispered miserably against his neck. “He made you sad.”
“Excuse us,” Damien said, grateful when Ger... Bay-Farron waved them away. He carried Jen through to her room, sitting on the edge of her bed, his daughter in his lap. “Jen, you can’t just threaten people when they upset me.”
Dark eyes, bright with unshed tears, blinked at him. “But you do it when they upset me, daddy.”
He hugged her. “That’s because I’m a grown up and I know when I’m allowed to,” he said softly, kissing her dark curls. “Mer Bay-Farron is an old friend of mine. If he upset me, then it’s between him and me.” His daughter’s small fingers curled into his hair and she nodded against his shoulder. “You’ll be polite to him.”
“I don’t like him,” she told him in a whisper.
“You don’t have to,” he assured her. “You just have to be my beautiful girl, okay?”
She nodded, sliding down from his lap and holding out her hand to him. “If he’s mean again, I can be mean back?”
“Only if I say so,” Damien murmured, rising and let her pull him back through.
Bay-Farron was standing in the middle of the living room. He had shed his coat and was examining Jen’s drawings that were pinned up around the wall. They were originally to disguise the patchiness on the wall that Damien had never got round to decorating, but now, he couldn’t imagine the room without them.
Jen edged sideways, tucking herself against Damien’s side.
“I hope I didn’t inconvenience the young lady,” their guest said, turning to bow without a trace of irony.
“Not at all,” Damien said, gently touching Jen’s head in reassurance.
“I expect I won’t be meeting her mother?”
Jen stiffened by Damien’s side.
“No,” Damien murmured, then groaned again, when Jen took a step forward and smacked Bay-Farron sharply on the arm. “Jen!”
“He was mean!”
Bay-Farron crouched down to her level. “I meant no offence, little Mes,” he said. “It only appears that your father and you take care of this house yourself.” He smiled at her. “I find it very commendable.”
Jen stared at him, scrutinising him, until Bay-Farron straightened up, Jen’s eyes still fixed on him intently. “You’re not to make my daddy sad again,” she said fiercely, stepping back and grabbing Damien’s hand. There was no fear in her stance, only pure defiance, daring Bay-Farron to speak out of turn again.
“I will strive to behave,” Bay-Farron replied with a courteous bow.
Jen glared at him once more for good measure.
“Jen,” Damien said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Go and wash up for dinner.”
“Yes, daddy,” she said, fixing Bay-Farron with a warning look before she traipsed away, Hesseth trailing behind her.
As soon as she was gone, Damien turned to Bay-Farron. “Sorry about that.”
“Nonsense, Vryce,” the man said, a smile turning one side of his mouth up. “It’s something of a relief to know that you have someone taking care of you, even if she is half your size and lacks your self-control.”
Damien looked at him suspiciously, but there was nothing but sincerity in the man’s face. “Come on,” he said. “Food’ll be getting cold.”
Bay-Farron followed him into the kitchen. He looked out of place in the small, modest house, but then Damien remembered that he always looked out of place, a step above whichever location he chanced to be in.
“Your own home?” he asked lightly.
“It is now,” Damien murmured, turning away to fetch the pitcher. “The Church provided compensation for ‘services rendered’. They felt it was only appropriate.”
Bay-Farron draped himself into a chair. “I see,” he said quietly. “So your current position?”
Damien found turning around hard. “My time is entirely Jen’s,” he said quietly. “Little more than that. A few students for theology, occasionally.”
“But no longer Reverend.”
Damien laughed tightly. “Did you think I would go back?” he said quietly. “Everything had changed, then. Even if they had accepted me back, my faith had been put through the fires of hell and damnation. Not something that I can forget.”
“They wouldn’t know of it.”
“I would,” Damien replied, sitting down opposite Bay-Farron. “Isn’t that enough?”
Bay-Farron nodded slowly. “You always were a stubborn idiot,” he said, but he was smiling slightly as he said it.
“Stubborn idiot? Me?” Damien couldn’t help laughing. “If I’m stubborn, I’m only a student in front of a master.”
Bay-Farron uncurled his fingers expressively. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean, Vryce,” he murmured, dark eyes glinting with amusement. He leaned sideways. “And I believe the lady will be joining us?”
Jen, who had apparently been lurking in the doorway, stalked in imperiously and climbed onto one of the vacant seats. “Yes,” she informed him. “And you’re not allowed to say anything bad about my daddy’s cooking. I think it’s very good.”
“That,” Bay-Farron said dryly, “bodes well.”
RATING: G
FANDOMS: The Coldfire Trilogy.
SPOILERS: All three Coldfire books.
NOTES: This was meant to be a short series. Now, I'm not so sure.
_______________________________
Evening had fallen quicker than he would have liked. Damien looked around the living room. To his surprise and consternation, it had remained neat, the simple furniture free of the usual array of drawings and dolls that Jen collected.
He wasn’t sure why he wanted to make a good impression, but then, with the guest in question, he had long since stopped pondering his own actions.
Jen was sitting on the low couch, kicking her feet, even though her toes were practically touching the floor. Her hair was in two bunches, tied with pink ribbons. He had tried pigtails for her, but after an hour, she had sighed, taken the ribbons out of his hands and tied the ponytails herself. Years of practise and he still had never managed it. Her dress, however, was purple, which made him smile in recollection at how ill-suited he was to the colour.
Still, she had picked it.
As soon as he had informed her there would be a guest, there had been an impromptu shopping trip, because she maintained that no girl could be a good host’s daughter without a pretty dress with ruffles.
It stopped her asking questions for a while, at least.
She looked up at him expectantly.
“Don’t move,” he warned her. “Stay on the couch until he arrives.”
It was not a warning to be given lightly. He knew too well his daughter’s inopportune timing when it came to playing games that would lead to skinned knees, crying boys and dirtied dresses.
“Yes, daddy,” she said dutifully. One of her favourite dolls was cradled in her lap. She had named it Hesseth, and he had never been able to tell her how much hearing that name made his heart ache, even now.
He returned to the small kitchen to check on his best attempt at a meal. He had improved, but still, there was something about vegetables that rebelled against him, and at least half of them tended to end up black and stuck to the bottom of the pan.
A sharp rap at the door almost made him drop the spoon.
“I’ll get it!” Jen cried out eagerly and he heard the patter of her feet before he could call out her name.
Taking the pans off the stove, he followed her through, stopping dead in the hall.
Bay-Farron was looking down at Jen with clear amusement, and Damien covered his face with his hand, smothering a groan. “Jen, we don’t pull knives on our guests.”
With Hesseth under one arm, the child mutinously glared up at the man. The dagger from the belt he had left hung by the door was gripped snugly in her small hand. “I was telling him he’s not allowed to make you grumpy again,” she said. “You were all sad when you brought me home.”
“I consider myself sorely reprimanded,” Bay-Farron said dryly.
“Jen,” Damien said quietly. “Put the knife down.”
“Daddy...”
“Jen,” Damien repeated quietly. “Now.”
She turned to look up at him, then coloured and put the small dagger away. He saw the tremble of her lower lip and was unsurprised when she crossed the room and held up her arms to him. He sighed and bent to lift her up, her arms going around his neck, Hesseth flopping against his back.
Bay-Farron raised his eyebrows, removing the broad-brimmed hat he was wearing.
“You’d better come in,” Damien said. “We don’t usually threaten visitors.”
“He was mean, daddy,” Jen whispered miserably against his neck. “He made you sad.”
“Excuse us,” Damien said, grateful when Ger... Bay-Farron waved them away. He carried Jen through to her room, sitting on the edge of her bed, his daughter in his lap. “Jen, you can’t just threaten people when they upset me.”
Dark eyes, bright with unshed tears, blinked at him. “But you do it when they upset me, daddy.”
He hugged her. “That’s because I’m a grown up and I know when I’m allowed to,” he said softly, kissing her dark curls. “Mer Bay-Farron is an old friend of mine. If he upset me, then it’s between him and me.” His daughter’s small fingers curled into his hair and she nodded against his shoulder. “You’ll be polite to him.”
“I don’t like him,” she told him in a whisper.
“You don’t have to,” he assured her. “You just have to be my beautiful girl, okay?”
She nodded, sliding down from his lap and holding out her hand to him. “If he’s mean again, I can be mean back?”
“Only if I say so,” Damien murmured, rising and let her pull him back through.
Bay-Farron was standing in the middle of the living room. He had shed his coat and was examining Jen’s drawings that were pinned up around the wall. They were originally to disguise the patchiness on the wall that Damien had never got round to decorating, but now, he couldn’t imagine the room without them.
Jen edged sideways, tucking herself against Damien’s side.
“I hope I didn’t inconvenience the young lady,” their guest said, turning to bow without a trace of irony.
“Not at all,” Damien said, gently touching Jen’s head in reassurance.
“I expect I won’t be meeting her mother?”
Jen stiffened by Damien’s side.
“No,” Damien murmured, then groaned again, when Jen took a step forward and smacked Bay-Farron sharply on the arm. “Jen!”
“He was mean!”
Bay-Farron crouched down to her level. “I meant no offence, little Mes,” he said. “It only appears that your father and you take care of this house yourself.” He smiled at her. “I find it very commendable.”
Jen stared at him, scrutinising him, until Bay-Farron straightened up, Jen’s eyes still fixed on him intently. “You’re not to make my daddy sad again,” she said fiercely, stepping back and grabbing Damien’s hand. There was no fear in her stance, only pure defiance, daring Bay-Farron to speak out of turn again.
“I will strive to behave,” Bay-Farron replied with a courteous bow.
Jen glared at him once more for good measure.
“Jen,” Damien said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Go and wash up for dinner.”
“Yes, daddy,” she said, fixing Bay-Farron with a warning look before she traipsed away, Hesseth trailing behind her.
As soon as she was gone, Damien turned to Bay-Farron. “Sorry about that.”
“Nonsense, Vryce,” the man said, a smile turning one side of his mouth up. “It’s something of a relief to know that you have someone taking care of you, even if she is half your size and lacks your self-control.”
Damien looked at him suspiciously, but there was nothing but sincerity in the man’s face. “Come on,” he said. “Food’ll be getting cold.”
Bay-Farron followed him into the kitchen. He looked out of place in the small, modest house, but then Damien remembered that he always looked out of place, a step above whichever location he chanced to be in.
“Your own home?” he asked lightly.
“It is now,” Damien murmured, turning away to fetch the pitcher. “The Church provided compensation for ‘services rendered’. They felt it was only appropriate.”
Bay-Farron draped himself into a chair. “I see,” he said quietly. “So your current position?”
Damien found turning around hard. “My time is entirely Jen’s,” he said quietly. “Little more than that. A few students for theology, occasionally.”
“But no longer Reverend.”
Damien laughed tightly. “Did you think I would go back?” he said quietly. “Everything had changed, then. Even if they had accepted me back, my faith had been put through the fires of hell and damnation. Not something that I can forget.”
“They wouldn’t know of it.”
“I would,” Damien replied, sitting down opposite Bay-Farron. “Isn’t that enough?”
Bay-Farron nodded slowly. “You always were a stubborn idiot,” he said, but he was smiling slightly as he said it.
“Stubborn idiot? Me?” Damien couldn’t help laughing. “If I’m stubborn, I’m only a student in front of a master.”
Bay-Farron uncurled his fingers expressively. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean, Vryce,” he murmured, dark eyes glinting with amusement. He leaned sideways. “And I believe the lady will be joining us?”
Jen, who had apparently been lurking in the doorway, stalked in imperiously and climbed onto one of the vacant seats. “Yes,” she informed him. “And you’re not allowed to say anything bad about my daddy’s cooking. I think it’s very good.”
“That,” Bay-Farron said dryly, “bodes well.”