Winter Veil 2a: Parenting discussion
Apr. 30th, 2012 11:25 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
“Zul’vii, could you and Furion watch the children?” Tyrande’s tone made it clear that there was only one acceptable answer. “Illidan and I need to talk.”
Druid and troll exchanged startled looks. “Of course, Tyrande.”
Illidan obediently followed Tyrande as she swept inside the cottage, sat at the kitchen table when she gestured, and accepted a mug of honeymint tea while she poured herself one as well.
“Now then,” she said in a calmer tone, hands wrapped around the mug. “We need to talk about Ember. You permit her to do things that I would not-” she held up one hand to cut off his impending protest. “-because you know the peculiarities of her situation better than I. You remember the rules of my mother’s household, I trust. Tell me what is different with how you discipline her, so that we may avert any more problems before they happen.”
Illidan took a sip of tea, relaxing slightly at the familiar taste from his youth. “We discourage her from biting living flesh at all times,” he said slowly. “Sometimes, she is able to vent her feral fury on inanimate objects only – sticks, strips of dried hide, things like that. If the fit is too strong, we are teaching her to come to us while she still can. My arcane enhancements make my skin nearly impossible to pierce, and Zul’vii’s regeneration makes her impossible to permanently wound. We have been taking her to play with the orphaned children in Shattrath on a regular basis; it has been good for her to be around children her own age. She learned very swiftly that most mortals are wounded very easily, and since then she has been erring on the side of caution when it comes to judging how feral she will need to be in order to fend off Archimonde.”
“But even without his influence, she is wild.”
“She is, and that is a side effect of working with her feral instincts. We do not punish her for biting while she is having a fit; her own conscience does that. Biting under any other circumstance is not permitted, and the punishments we give her vary depending on severity and circumstance. Use your best judgment, and I will stand behind it. Ember must learn to respect your authority as she does mine. In fact, for the duration of our visit and every visit after, I will allow you to discipline her so that she understands she cannot pit us against each other.”
Tyrande gave him a startled, but grateful look. “What of her growling?”
Illidan smiled fondly. “She does express her moods with growls, and not all of them are unhappy. I trust you will learn to tell them apart soon enough, but a warning half-question of ‘happy growl’ will remind her to behave. On that note, she does express affection through gentle gnawing, but teaching her how much pressure is too much? That, we are still working on. If she breaks the skin, it counts as biting and may be punished as such. If her gnawing hurts, tell her sternly to be gentle. Usually, the mere thought that she caused pain to someone she cares about is enough chastisement.”
“I notice that when I tell her it is bedtime, she looks to you uncertainly, but does not protest. It can’t be just that we keep traditional hours. Does she not have a bedtime with you?”
“She does not,” he confirmed, “but this is something that she is learning – that things are different in different places, and that other cultures have rules that must be obeyed. She naps as she pleases in the Black Temple, but it is usually active at all hours there and when she settles down to sleep, she always comes to one of us. Her feral instincts will not let her sleep alone. We do not hold formal mealtimes, either, for that matter. She will eat what you tell her to eat, when you tell her to eat it. This is another area in which your word is law while she is under your roof.”
One teal eyebrow raised, Tyrande grinned. “Clothing being another?”
“Clothing being another,” he conceded with a nod and a sip of tea. “Between the warmer climate, the difficulty of finding or making clothing that small, and how rugged such things must be to keep up with how active she is, we settle for a loincloth and vest.” Illidan chuckled. “We had to embroider the design of my tattoos on the vest before we could keep her in it, though.”
“What of her education? I assume she does not merely play all day.”
The half-demon winced. “We tried having her attend lessons along with the orphans in Shattrath. We learned the hard way that Archimonde already grants her knowledge beyond what a child her age should have.”
“Oh dear. That sounds unpleasant.”
“The instructor was only rattled, although whether more by Archimonde debating philosophy and ethics with him, or Ember gnawing the chair to shut him up, he didn’t say. The other children were already accustomed to her fits, luckily, but we decided trying to make her sit through lessons wasn’t in anyone’s best interests. ”
Tyrande massaged her temples. “I know I’ve said it before, Illidan, but thank you for doing this. You’re in a much better position to deal with her unusual needs than I am, both socially and emotionally.”
That sounded too much to Illidan like something he’d say, and he saw through her tired gratitude to what she wasn’t vocalizing. Illidan pushed his mug to the side and took her hands gently in his. “Tyrande, you’re a wonderful mother. Ember adores you.” He smiled crookedly. “You already know that if I could sire children, I would have wanted their mother to be you.”
“I should have been there for her. I should have been there for you.” Her fingers tightened around his in a show of how tightly she was holding onto her self-control.
“I never once blamed you for that,” Illidan said gently. “Maiev told me you’d been forbidden from visiting.”
The priestess sighed, eyes closed. “That’s not what happened. I was discouraged, yes. The people didn’t want me ‘risking’ myself around you. But the truth is that between all my responsibilities as High Priestess, and everything that had to be done to ensure that we survived the winter, I…forgot. I kept telling myself that I’d go and see you next week, but then some minor emergency would arise, and that visit just never happened. I’m sorry, Illidan.”
“I still don’t blame you,” he said firmly. “You are my dearest friend, High Priestess of Elune, the leader of our people, and the wife of my brother. In the grand scheme of things, I was the least important of those.”
Tyrande’s eyes snapped open. “Illidan, stop that. You are my dearest friend as well, and I cannot forgive myself for having abandoned you like that, just as I cannot forgive myself for failing my daughter.”
“You are High Priestess, the leader of our people, and my brother’s wife,” he repeated with gentle amusement. “No one could fault you for not having the time or energy to raise a demon-possessed daughter as well as a normal son on top of all of that, and I will fight anyone that does attempt to fault you for it. It is a leader’s responsibility to delegate tasks that can be better handled by another, and that is exactly what you and Furion did. Ember is a wild thing; Draenor is a wild world, well-suited to her. Falarian would have suffered there, but he thrives in kaldorei civilization. Even if we can find a way to remove Archimonde from her, Ember has too much of her parents’ strong wills to be content in a structured society. Your son may one day lead his people, and your daughter may one day take my place. She is fierce and independent, and she loves you. You are not a bad mother,” he said firmly, “you are not failing your daughter, and I will not hear such words from you again.”
She stared at him for a moment, mouth open. “I confess,” she said at last, “I never suspected you would be as good a parent as you are. I think I heard the echo of my mother in your tone just now.”
Illidan grinned and reclaimed his tea. “Ember knows better than to cross Daddy when he uses that tone. She rarely argues with me even when I don’t, and very rarely talks back at me. If she gives you any lip, be as terrifying as you like with her. Your mother’s methods actually work very well with her feral instincts.”
Despite herself, Tyrande smiled. “Bellow angrily and haul her off by the hair?”
“Or ear, or scruff, or ankle if you have to. You probably won’t; I’ve taught her that trying to evade me when I’m angry does not lead to happy things for her, and she will be able to tell by your body language when you are angry.”
Tyrande sipped her tea thoughtfully. “She never exactly fought me, even if she didn’t always obey. Unless she was having a fit, of course.”
“She gets one warning,” Illidan said. “We tell her to do something once. If we have to tell her a second time, it is with raised voices. If she still does not obey, she is punished.”
“Fair enough. Does she have any favored toys?”
“None; she prefers physical activities to mental ones, for obvious reasons. The most effective punishment we have discovered is ‘time out’ in a small, unfurnished room like a closet.”
“Nothing to do,” Tyrande said with a nod. “Does she have any toys at all?”
Illidan made a so-so gesture with one hand. “The kind of toys you’d give a nightsaber cub: safe to chew on, easily replaced, fun to destroy. When she gets a little older, I plan to teach her how to fight with two weapons. Draenor is full of dangerous beasts, and she has very little fear in her.”
Tyrande frowned. “Why weapons? Why not magic, or unarmed combat?”
“No magic until we know that it won’t strengthen Archimonde. And until she no longer has feral fits, no unarmed combat. We don’t need her to be more dangerous than she is.” Illidan braced himself. “I’ve…allied with the Aldor, the draenei who survived the demons. When we visit Shattrath, it is not only to let her play with the children. We take her to the Aldor High Priestess, who exorcises a portion of Archimonde’s demonic energy out of her. The problem is that she needs that demonic energy or she grows sick and weak.”
“Illidan…what are you trying to tell me?”
He sighed at the warning in her voice. “After such sessions, she feeds on the energy of a demon we have captive. As with me, her body absorbs it and assimilates it. She becomes a fraction stronger to compensate for Archimonde having been weakened a fraction.” His clawed hands tightened around the mug. “And…as with me…she may develop demonic traits from it.”
Tyrande was silent for a long time, silver eyes boring into him while he examined the contents of his mug.
“What type of demon is that you let her feed from?” The words were uttered in a militantly neutral tone that none the less did nothing to disguise how unhappy Tyrande was, or the amount of self-control she was exerting to hold it back. She understood his reason and couldn’t fault him for it, but that didn’t mean she liked it any better.
“A dreadlord,” he replied quietly. “The same type I came to resemble. They look very similar to us in many ways. A lucky arrow caught it in the forehead; Zul’vii healed the wound, but not its mind. It is effectively an empty shell. She strengthens its life energy; Ember feeds off it. There is no risk of it trying to gain a foothold in her body because its mind is dead.”
“And she may come to resemble you by virtue of this.” Tyrande sighed and massaged her temples again. “Furion is not going to like that, but he has no say in it. I assume Ember knows.”
Illidan sighed. “She does, and she checks excitedly every session to see if she’s started to change. She is particularly eager for hooves – her best friend is a draenei boy – despite how much she climbs things. I know her devotion to me hurts Furion, and I wish it were not so. That’s another thing,” he said abruptly in a determined tone. “If she says anything genuinely hurtful to anyone, she is to apologize immediately. I don’t care if it’s truth or lie, friend or foe. One of Archimonde’s greatest weapons is his words. I will not have her learning that from him, and not just to help her keep him separate.” He met Tyrande’s startled eyes and held them. “No threats. No punishments. No promises or rewards. If she says anything hurtful to anyone, she is to apologize immediately because what she did was wrong, and she knows it.”
The priestess nodded slowly. “I remember, last year. What do you do if the subject of the hurtful words is not present?”
“I make her take them back. The orcs have a useful ritual for this: ‘My words were false and bring me dishonor’. She is to announce that she takes back her words, and repeat that phrase, in lieu of an apology.”
“How is it that of both my children, the wild one is also the more obedient one?” She shook her head in mild disbelief.
“She misbehaves more,” Illidan said dryly, “and therefore encounters the boundaries of acceptable behavior more. Her instincts work against her as well, instilling obedience to the leader of the pack. She’s going to be terrifying when she grows up, even without Archimonde.”
Tyrande covered her eyes and groaned. “When she gets old enough to notice boys, we’ll need to have another talk about her. I don’t think I can deal with that just now.” The hands dropped as she took a deep breath. “I only hope she takes after me in that, and not you.” At his startled look, she took his unresisting hands in hers. “Illidan, listen to me. You are her father. Not Furion. I stopped thinking of her as being his child the day he returned from Moonglade in tears to confess that she’d run away from him and gone looking for you. It makes no difference which one of you sired her; you were identical twins. And…” she flushed slightly. “It comforts me to think that I gave each of you a child, and that Furion sired her on me for you.”
“He said…he thinks Elune gave you twins so that you could give me the child Zul’vii and I cannot have on our own,” Illidan said thickly.
“The child that…oh, Illidan!” Tyrande came around the table and embraced the startled half-demon, her cheek resting on his forehead awkwardly. “It didn’t occur to me that you couldn’t conceive with her,” she said sadly.
“I don’t even know if my seed is still good,” came the slightly muffled response.
“It makes no difference.” Tyrande released him enough to look him in the eye. “Ember is your daughter, no matter how much Furion wishes it were otherwise.”
Illidan rose to his hooves and embraced Tyrande gently. “She is your daughter, too. You deserve to see her more than once a year. You and Furion are welcome to visit Draenor, of course, but I would not tear either of you away from your duties. I will devise a pair of crystals that can span the distance between worlds, and give one to you so that we may arrange more visits. I want Ember to know her mother’s world as well as…” he swallowed. “As well as her father’s. Thank you, Tyrande.”
The priestess found herself blinking rapidly lest any tear fall to the heavily-muscled chest she was pressed gently against. “You’re welcome,” she whispered. “You’re always welcome.”