The fight for Arlathan hadn’t been easy, and it hadn’t been something that Kellam had expected so soon after bringing his people to Arlathan for what he thought was their safety. He hadn’t hesitated to fight though, once he knew his people that couldn’t fight were safe deeper inside Arlathan.
It had proven to be a bit interesting though, as he’d actually gotten to see his son in action, something he’d never seen since his son had been fairly young when he’d left the Clan. He had been both annoyed and impressed, though he’d been shit at expressing that. Well, not entirely true, he was good at expressing his annoyance, but shit at expressing his being impressed.
Now that the dust had settled and repairs underway, Kellam had received a request to meet with Megara. He wasn’t sure why, but he wasn’t about not to take the meeting, so he went as requested and once Meg was free he was led in. He flashed one of his best charming smiles as he entered.
Megara, a pleasure as always. You wanted to see me? He asked, curious what it was about, but not making any assumptions either, though he did consider it could be something about his people being there in Arlathan, slowly trying to integrate in as they helped with the aftermath of the battle.
The mass weaving of wards and the effort involved in sustaining that power had taken its toll on the newly appointed High Keeper. Perhaps that was why they had delayed the competition, so that she would be fit enough to answer the challenge after Ruth’s careful planting of her name. Part of her was still angry with him, the other, along with Sylaise, felt it appropriate given her efforts and contributions.
A small secret part was afraid. Not of the challenges of running a city or navigating its people, but the growing power of Sylaise. Two shards were heavier than one, control over where her consciousness ended and Sylaise had become blurred more often than she would like to admit.
One of her appointments today was a mild remedy, an insurance while also allowing the man an opportunity to reconnect with his son. She had ordered tea ahead for their allotted time and in the few minutes before, Megara found herself collecting her thoughts as well as her own feelings. Rut’theran was family to her, her chosen kin and the only one who’d stuck by through her worst days.
It was clear where the rogue elf had got his smile when she’d call the page to let him pass. Meg greeted him with her own usual warmth filled expression. [color=#008e02]“Kellam, I’m glad you could come. I do have a few things I need to run by you, and your people. I hear those who were injured on arrival have all made good recoveries, yes?”[/color] She gestured for him to sit, before taking her own… the ridiculous thing needed to go… [color=#008e02]“I’ve ordered tea, as I’m not sure how long we’ll be at this. Still settling into how I want to run these.” [/color]
Kellam nodded, taking a seat as directed. Yes, most of the injuries have healed well, thanks to the efforts of our healers and the aid provided by your people. We're grateful for the assistance.**** He paused for a moment, his gaze thoughtful. Tea sounds great, Megara. I'm ready to discuss whatever you have in mind.****
He had definitely underestimated Megara when he’d first met her. Not that he didn’t think her important, if she had been given the job of greeting people into Arlathan, but now that she was High Keeper, he certainly hadn’t seen that coming, but her exploits in keeping the people of Arlathan safe during the battle, had certainly shown her worthy in many of the people’s eyes for her new position.
You seem to be settling in nicely, from what I can see. Heavy is the head that wears the crown, we may not wear literal crowns, but the sentiment is there. Sure being Keeper of a single Dalish clan wasn’t the same as being High Keeper of Arlathan, but the principles were the same.
Any concern in her brow smoothed over with his words. I’m glad to hear it. I can imagine it has been difficult with the darkspawn, I’m glad you have all managed to find rest and recuperation here.
With him accepting tea, she tried her best to relax into the awkward chair, offering an equal hesitant chuckle to his words. I see myself as more of a servant than ruler. I may have won my term as High Keeper, but I serve the people rather than Lord over them. I am more at home in a garden or kitchen than these ancient halls.
An attendant came with tea and then politely left after Megara decided to pour. There are a few things I would like us to talk about, gain some further insight, as I have decisions to make. She poured his first and after swirling the pot, made her own and returned the tea back to the tray. One of those things involves your son. A pause. And while he is… sometimes challenging, I cannot fault his heart or his capabilities. I would argue, he is a better healer than I am certainly. A trait I understand he inherited?
Megara knew the answer. Ruth had told her once, drunk or high, likely both, that his mother had been a talented mage when it came to the healing arts. What she wanted to understand was Kellam, how a father, a Keeper, fell to the point his own son wanted nothing to do with him.
Kellam nodded, the decision to flee Orlais hadn’t been an easy one, the journey across Orlais, Ferelden and the Free Marches hadn’t been easy, but Kellam believed they’d be safe in Arlathan, only to then have a huge battle against Elgar’nan’s forces, but he stood by his decision to come there, for a number of reasons.
Leading is no easy responsibility, but from what I’ve seen you’re a natural at it. High praise coming from Kellam, as praise wasn’t something he gave freely or easily, but he was deeply impressed with Megara.
His healing abilities... yes, he got that from his mother. She was gifted, and it seems he inherited that gift. Kellam replied, a hint of nostalgia in his voice as he spoke about Ruth’s mother. Not that Kellam didn’t have some skills with healing magic, but nothing like his wife had had. But his stubbornness, that's all from me. His forehead wrinkled slightly as he thought back to Ruth leaving the Clan. Kellam had just tried to prepare him for the world, and it was all shoved back in his face.
She couldn’t help the natural hesitancy in accepting praise, flashing a small smile. Sylaise chided her in the back of her mind, but the elf ignored her for the moment, steering the ancient being to study her guest instead. His complement was wholly meant, understanding that this was likely where Ruth’s charm came from.
It was obvious his wife, Ruth’s mother, had meant a great deal to the both of them, was the glue that had helped temper the relationship between Father and Son. Eyes focused on the tea, nodding as she continued. I understand she passed too early, my condolences. I have my own experience, I understand the pain. Grief was never easy or clear in its expression.
His stubbornness is an asset, and a hindrance at times. amusement slipping into her smile. He does not lower his guard often, but I have seen the real him when working with the children. Noticing Kellam’s discomfort, Meg went to offer him milk, I’ve known him a long time, but he’s never talked in depth about his childhood. A truth, she knew pieces from both him and from Nairn, enough that painted Kellam in a grey, questionable light. I’m curious if he was as ornery then as he is now.
As Meg mentioned his deceased wife again, offering her condolences, a mix of emotions flashed through his mind. His jaw tensing as he couldn’t help but picture once again his wife squaring off against a bear. There was a part of him that blamed himself, for not having been there when it happened, but a bigger part that had placed blame on his son, for putting her in that position to begin with, because life without his wife was like a grey existence, no colour, no life, just existing and living up to his obligations.
He was always headstrong, even as a child. Always challenging boundaries, always seeking his own way. Kellam's there was still a mix of emotions to his words. On one hand it was clear that it had exhausted Kellam and put him at odds with his son, but there was also a subtle undertone to his words, perhaps a glint of pride.
Ruth can be difficult, but his drive and determination have always been admirable. Even when it led him to clash with others, he never backed down from what he believed in. Kellam's voice carried a note of reluctant respect. Perhaps it was easier to admit to someone he didn’t know very well that there were indeed qualities about his son that he respected, even if it was difficult. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to push the darker thoughts away, but struggling to do so.
Meg settled back, deep into the seat of the chair with her tea. As Kellam spoke she studied him, ears hearing the varying tones underlying his words, the grief he carried eating at him even now.
More alike than I think you care to admit, from my limited observations. A brow arched knowingly, while her smile remained warm and open. She would never carry a child of her own and raise it, if she had, it may have made Nairn’s “passing” all the more bearable, but for Ruth and Kellam the opposite had happened.
Perhaps that was due to a lack of support when she passed. it wasn’t accusatory, only offered as hindsight. She was dear to him, her passing greatly affected him and I’m sure he spent a long time blaming himself, pausing, Meg refrained from rebuking him harshly, reminding herself that Amara had also been his wife, his mate. He was but a child, exploring and doing what every other child does, finding themselves some trouble. A child, unaware of the finality of death would of course act out, rebel against whatever constriction went about suffocating their pain.
Yes. They are admirable qualities, however, more often than not these days they are causing more… clashes as you would say. Fights. He was getting himself more and more into them and not always from his tavern hopping. No, they were bleeding into his professional life the heavier into his habit Ruth descended. They took an uptake on frequency after your arrival. Now, he won’t tell me why, he wouldn’t even if I drugged him, so I am asking you. Why is there so much hostility?
Kellam’s expression hardened as Meg’s words settled in. He took a moment before responding, his tone colder than before. There were some wounds that simply wouldn’t heal, even if he’d been unreasonable in his blame, it wasn’t something he could see.
You’re right, Meg. We are more alike than I'd care to admit. But let’s not sugarcoat this. Amara’s passing didn’t just break something in us—it shattered our family. Ruth’s actions didn’t help. His actions, what those actions were, well, they were hard to say exactly. It wasn’t as if Kellam had been there when Amara died. He’d never admit that much of how he felt was based on misplaced blame and faulty emotions.
He stared into his tea, swirling the liquid absently. Maybe I didn’t support him enough when she passed. But let’s be clear, he was old enough to understand the consequences of his actions. He wasn’t some innocent child; he was reckless, and it cost Amara her life. Old enough, Kellam’s definition of old enough was also clearly faulty, but then his father had been an angry drunk.
Kellam looked up, his eyes meeting Meg's with a steely resolve. Ruth blames me for not being there, for not protecting them. But he’s the one who was out causing trouble, the one who wasn’t where he should have been. He’s as much to blame for her death as I am. He didn’t entirely blame his son, there was also a part of him that blamed himself, for not having been there to prevent it.
His voice grew more intense, his anger barely contained. The clashes, the fights—they started because he can’t face what he did. He’s angry at the world, at me, but mostly at himself. My arrival just reminded him of the guilt he’s trying to bury. More misplaced blame, as his emotions boiled, his eyes drilled into Megara intently. Tears surfaced, but that only angered him more.
Kellam’s tone was harsh, the bitterness clear. The hostility isn’t a mystery. He knows he’s to blame, and he can’t stand to face it. So he lashes out, trying to push the guilt onto me. But I won’t carry his burden for him. It was as simple as that, he simply couldn’t see through his own depression and paranoia, but that’s the thing about mental illness, the mentally ill person doesn’t see anything wrong, at least not consciously.
He leaned back, his eyes cold. I don’t know how to fix this, Meg. Maybe it’s beyond fixing. But I do know this: I won’t coddle him. He needs to face what he’s done and come to terms with it. Only then can we move forward. Until then, the hostility will remain. How he felt about Ruth was a stark contrast to how he felt about others, at least openly.
Unlike most who would usually crumble under the shift in tone and stare, Meg didn’t baulk. Her quiet focus remained undisturbed, head merely tilting as she listened. The cup was calmly returned to its saucer, before hands settled back into her lap. Ruth’s actions? Ruth’s. A four year old boy? while the tone of her words was flat, there was a change in pitch before the woman reminded herself to take a breath, pausing. The warmth in her smile faded, an ice cold stare replacing it. I wonder. If this had been any other members son, would you have been so quick to judge them guilty?
There was disapproval in her eyes but Meg allowed him to continue, observing how he distracted himself by swirling the tea. Her palm suddenly slammed the desk, What four year old chooses to stumble across a bear? Witness not only how brave a woman his mother was, but also how utterly helpless he was to help her? Scoffing, her head shook. Then his father abandons him, blames him, is it any wonder he mourns the loss of both his parents.
Next to her desk, came the sound of pottery cracking causing her gaze to shift. The plant nearby shrunk, its pot cracking as Kellam’s words attacked Ruth and Megara's anger channelled into the plants around them. Some bloomed, others withered before she collected herself again.
Megara sighed, returning her hand back into her lap as she diffused her mounting anger. He never blamed you. He blamed himself. Still does on his dark days and they are growing all the more frequent. What he blames you for is what came after. What Father? What Keeper do you call yourself, that instead of loving him, you set him down the path to self-destruction? A brow arched poignantly, genuinely curious to know.
Neither do I, but I suggest an apology is a start. She’d snap, then after taking a breath began eyeing him, quietly, but quickly deciding. You barely even know him. What you do know is clouded by the blame you place on him instead of on the bear. Amara did what any other mother would do, and yet you blame the person she most wanted to protect, what would she say?
Kellam’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with a mix of regret and defiance. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice noticeably softer but still edged with lingering anger. Megara, you may be right about some things. Maybe I’ve been too harsh, maybe my anger blinded me to what Ruth really needed. But. But. But. But. The buts ran through his head quickly, quicker than his brain could properly wrap around them.
His hands fidgeted, his eyes began to lose focus as they darted from Megara to the plants around her. He wasn’t wrong, he couldn’t be wrong. He couldn’t believe that, couldn’t believe a lot of things, but he also knew he couldn’t lash out at Megara like he might his son. The conflict he was facing was evident on his features.
But understand this: I never abandoned him. I left to protect the rest of the Clan, to keep them safe from the same fate. But perhaps, in doing so, I failed to protect the one who needed me most. His gaze softened, the anger giving way to a deep, lingering sorrow.
Kellam took a deep breath, his expression hardening once more. But an apology... I'm not there yet, Megara. There's too much history, too much pain. I can't just say sorry and expect everything to be fine. He paused, the weight of his words settling between them.
What I can do, though, is work on our relationship from here on out. I want to maintain a working relationship with you and, by extension, with him. Maybe through our efforts, some of the wounds can start to heal. His eyes met hers, a mixture of determination and uncertainty.
I know it's not the answer you were hoping for, but it's the best I can offer right now. Let's focus on what we can do for our people and see where that leads us. He still felt the smothering weight of his wife’s passing and now struggled with the need for some sort of release.
Maybe? Kellam, I have seen the scars. His back tells a very compelling story on its own. She studied him for a moment, watching how he grappled with the reality that he had performed his job terribly, both as a Father and Keeper.
She watched the conflict flit across his face and while Meg’s anger had dissipated some, the vines around the room curled around the desk, her chair, at a slower rate. It was unwise of him to lash out as unlike Ruth, Megara wouldn’t walk away, it was partly why she had insisted on the meeting.
Listening, Meg sighed, noticing that they might be making some headway. Abandonment is not merely about physical absence. You shunned him, which meant every one else in your clan did. Have you any idea what toll that took, that it still takes on him? That isolation permanently damaged how he connects with people, it’s partly why he trusts so few of us.
But then his gaze hardened again and Megara frowned, shaking her head with a scoff. It does not, but the meaning of an apology is an admission of your part in it, your guilt. I am not naive, however. Ruth has his own share of blame, but let's not forget that he was also a child, impressionable, for the majority of this. He may not wish to take the blame, but as his Father, Kellam had no excuse for being somewhat responsible for how his son had turned out.
Hearing how he wished to work on it though, did cause her to relax, the roots and vines slowed their idle curl around the various pieces of furniture. It will not be easy, for either of you, but I think it's for the best. This is a knot in both your hearts and neither of you can move on until you both seek to undo it. As for our people, I will welcome you into the Council in time.
Kellam's gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders sagging under the weight of Megara's words. The tension in the room was palpable, the curling vines a silent testament to the emotional storm raging between them. He let out a long, weary sigh, running a hand through his hair as he processed everything she had said.
I suppose there’s some truth in what you say, he began slowly, his voice edged with reluctance. I’ve let my anger and grief guide my actions for too long. I didn’t see the damage I was doing.
He lifted his eyes to meet Megara’s, the defiance and anger not entirely gone, replaced by a mix of regret and lingering bitterness. With maybe a flicker of paranoia and a dash of entitlement. Who was this child to judge his actions from years ago. Memory was a fickle thing, something not so easily reliable in the best of times.
The truth of things was usually some conglomeration of people’s memories. Because of Kellam’s inner metaphorical demons, as well as the rage demon that resided within him, his memories were hardly reliable, but it was those memories that he’d held on to with an iron grip all these years later.
Things weren’t the same after Amara was murdered. She was the one that wanted kids, and I just wanted to give her everything, be everything she deserved. His voice trailed off, as his mind started to fall into an all too familiar black hole in his brain, a hole that the rage demon did not like to go down. The rage demon was never happy when he fell into his dark depressed places, no it preferred the anger and condemnation from earlier. He cleared his throat, tried to ground himself in the moment, though the conflict was more than evident to anyone with an ounce of empathy.
Well, whatever you think is best, if my son inherited even an ounce of my stubbornness, this won’t be easy of course. At the end of the day, Kellam was backed into a corner, he needed, no, wanted Megara to look kindly on him. He wanted to be a part of integrating his clan into Arlathan, an active part. Partly because he did, at the end of the day, want what was best for his clan, but he also craved power. If trying to make up with his reckless son was what he needed to do in order to maintain some semblance of power within Arlathan, then that’s what he was going to do. Once his son refused, he figured that would be end of it, at least he tried.
There, in that small gesture of running a hand through his hair, was another mannerism she recognised. Ruth did the exact same thing when frustrated, causing a slight smile to break across her face, even as Kellam matched Ruth’s tone of retort.
Some, she snorted, I wouldn’t be in the position that I am if I lied so casually. Grief though, can blind even the best of us, but it is a cloak meant to be shrugged off in time, not wallowed in. That only leads to madness, and I don’t think you are quite mad. Misguided, misunderstood and, quite frankly, difficult. Megara chuckled, though it lacked her usual jovality, Just like your son.
His expression caused her head to to tilt slightly, observing and meeting his flickering gaze and meeting whatever defiance and audacity head on. Sylaise brimmed against the surface, one eye beginning to deepen in colour as the Ancient soul asserted herself. She would not allow this Keeper to besmirch her student unchallenged.
Instead of anger though, Megara reached out with kindness, reaching out to take his hand to squeeze. I lost someone precious once. Quite honestly I have lost nearly everyone in my life that I cared about. I watched Kirkwall explode, dug through rubble and bodies to try and find them. Do you know who got me through it? Ruth. Past the sass and defiance is Amara’s heart, her kindness, her light and magic survives and lives in him.
After a brief moment she withdrew her hand, returning it to her lap with a few nods. No, but unfortunately for him, he owes me a number of favours that I refuse to let him shirk. Only time and genuine participation will begin to smooth the ruff, I don’t expect you both to be singing each others praises overnight. The Path of Peace is no easy road, Sylaise and I can assure you of that.
Kellam's expression softened as Megara spoke, her words cutting through the layers of bitterness and grief that had built up over the years. When she reached out and squeezed his hand, he stiffened at first, but the warmth in her gesture and the sincerity in her voice began to chip away at his defenses. His eyes flickered with a mix of emotions—regret, sorrow, and a hint of something that might have been hope, though it was difficult for him to recognize it as such.
He listened in silence as Megara spoke of her own losses, the weight of her experiences mirroring his own in some ways. The mention of Ruth, of how his son had helped her through her darkest moments, stirred something deep within him. For so long, he had seen only the worst in Ruth, the reflection of his own failures and the shadow of Amara’s death. But hearing Megara’s perspective, the way she spoke of Ruth’s kindness and resilience, made him question whether he had been too blind to see those same qualities in his son.
Kellam swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Amara’s heart... he repeated quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. The thought that any part of his beloved wife could still live on in Ruth was both comforting and painful. He had never allowed himself to see Ruth as a continuation of Amara, perhaps because the pain of losing her had been too great. Or maybe, deep down, he had always seen it, and that was why he had been so harsh on Ruth—because every time he looked at him, he was reminded of what he had lost.
The silence between them stretched for a moment, heavy with unspoken words. Finally, Kellam nodded slowly, his grip on the teacup tightening as he tried to steady himself. I’ve been a fool, Megara, he admitted, the words bitter on his tongue but necessary. I’ve spent so long blaming Ruth for things that were out of his control, and in doing so, I’ve pushed away the last piece of Amara that I had left.
He looked up at her, his eyes haunted but with a glimmer of determination. You’re right. The Path of Peace is no easy road. But I think... I think it’s time I started walking it, for both our sakes. I owe it to Amara, and I owe it to Ruth, to at least try. There was a deep sadness in his tone, but also a sense of resolve that hadn’t been there before. Though his mind was also wandering to wanting a drink, something he would probably give into as soon as he left Megara’s presence. As much as it hurt to hear Meg’s words, he was still too caught up in his own grief and madness of mind to embrace her words entirely, for now he simply has given the appearance of wanting to change.
