[ It is not an offer he makes lightly, for he is so viciously protective over the existence of his child. The promise he made to Anubis before being banished from Heliopolis (his own, not the one of Springstar — ) an integral piece, if not the only one, that bound him to Meridian's forces. That he speaks of his child with Hayame is because,
Because she is stalwart and true.
A hard woman, but one he feels he doesn't have to be worried about turning around and using the information in an underhanded way. If she does, well. It will not be the first nor the last betrayal he's experienced, though he knows he would be — disappointed. Bereft, perhaps, of whatever grows between them. As what rests between them now is the join of their hands, his fingers clasping the sides of hers as she holds fast to him. He draws her into Communion, anchoring them together by the pressure of their hand hold, as he turns his head into the nonexistent distance of their mental bridge. Looking far, across what is both bleak emptiness and a full scene that begins to sprawl.
He holds Hayame's hand, and in the same moment, he draws away from her to chase the sound of boyish cries. Striding in gleaming, gold jewelry and soft linen shendyt towards the stumbling, toddler-sized child that runs forth from the inner depths of the warm, sandstone halls of Heliopolis's chief temple. Fat hands and fat legs, he is far too young for his own momentum, and very nearly falls over himself were it not for Set's hands sweeping under the crux of his arms to gather him up. In that memory, he tucks the dark hair of his son under his chin and presses the rounded body close to his shoulder, cradling him with skill — attentive and tender in ways he does not show himself to be otherwise.
Anubis, he chides softly as the child begins his hiccuping, clutching at the white cloth attached to his father's dark, animal-face headdress, I'm home now, don't cry. Your mother was here all this time, you weren't alone. The word that Anubis cries is jty, a miserable little thing that must be 'dad', as he thrashes and wriggles and gives in to every ill-tempered action to punish his father for being gone so long. Eventually, the headdress is knocked askew, falling towards the floor where it scatters into sand first — and Set's hair is clutched at next, fistfuls of red that he bears with stride.
His expression is nothing short of adoring, as he pushes his nose into the short fall of dark hair and bounces his son softly in his arms: What is it, then? What has you so distraught today?
Anubis warbles: I couldn't find you, as if such a thing were the end of the world itself, you went too far, and you couldn't come back and I couldn't find you. Again, he chokes on his own tears, while Set strokes his head, his neck, the fat curve of his thigh so reverently. I know, he says, I'm a terrible father to you, how do you always forgive me? Here, come meet my friend. I brought a friend home, you'll like her. She is tall and strong like your father, a brilliant warrior with the bow and spear. You love the spear, remember?
He won't let Hayame protest, nor retreat. The memory becomes a new reality, divorced from the historical proceedings that must have followed, as Set quietly carries the calming child to where he has left Hayame in their communion. There, his son peers at her with large, dark eyes and sniffs heartily against his father's shoulder. ]
Hayame.
[ Set's expression is nothing short of calm, careful. ]
This is Anubis. He is older now than you see him, but my favorite memories of him are ones like this. He cried all the time; when he was sad, when he was happy, when he was angry, his heart the most tender thing you could have imagined.
sobs and hands this to you
Because she is stalwart and true.
A hard woman, but one he feels he doesn't have to be worried about turning around and using the information in an underhanded way. If she does, well. It will not be the first nor the last betrayal he's experienced, though he knows he would be — disappointed. Bereft, perhaps, of whatever grows between them. As what rests between them now is the join of their hands, his fingers clasping the sides of hers as she holds fast to him. He draws her into Communion, anchoring them together by the pressure of their hand hold, as he turns his head into the nonexistent distance of their mental bridge. Looking far, across what is both bleak emptiness and a full scene that begins to sprawl.
He holds Hayame's hand, and in the same moment, he draws away from her to chase the sound of boyish cries. Striding in gleaming, gold jewelry and soft linen shendyt towards the stumbling, toddler-sized child that runs forth from the inner depths of the warm, sandstone halls of Heliopolis's chief temple. Fat hands and fat legs, he is far too young for his own momentum, and very nearly falls over himself were it not for Set's hands sweeping under the crux of his arms to gather him up. In that memory, he tucks the dark hair of his son under his chin and presses the rounded body close to his shoulder, cradling him with skill — attentive and tender in ways he does not show himself to be otherwise.
Anubis, he chides softly as the child begins his hiccuping, clutching at the white cloth attached to his father's dark, animal-face headdress, I'm home now, don't cry. Your mother was here all this time, you weren't alone. The word that Anubis cries is jty, a miserable little thing that must be 'dad', as he thrashes and wriggles and gives in to every ill-tempered action to punish his father for being gone so long. Eventually, the headdress is knocked askew, falling towards the floor where it scatters into sand first — and Set's hair is clutched at next, fistfuls of red that he bears with stride.
His expression is nothing short of adoring, as he pushes his nose into the short fall of dark hair and bounces his son softly in his arms: What is it, then? What has you so distraught today?
Anubis warbles: I couldn't find you, as if such a thing were the end of the world itself, you went too far, and you couldn't come back and I couldn't find you. Again, he chokes on his own tears, while Set strokes his head, his neck, the fat curve of his thigh so reverently. I know, he says, I'm a terrible father to you, how do you always forgive me? Here, come meet my friend. I brought a friend home, you'll like her. She is tall and strong like your father, a brilliant warrior with the bow and spear. You love the spear, remember?
He won't let Hayame protest, nor retreat. The memory becomes a new reality, divorced from the historical proceedings that must have followed, as Set quietly carries the calming child to where he has left Hayame in their communion. There, his son peers at her with large, dark eyes and sniffs heartily against his father's shoulder. ]
Hayame.
[ Set's expression is nothing short of calm, careful. ]
This is Anubis. He is older now than you see him, but my favorite memories of him are ones like this. He cried all the time; when he was sad, when he was happy, when he was angry, his heart the most tender thing you could have imagined.