Chapter 26 (Patreon)

Chapter 26

Atreus:

“Oh my you are a sight.”

The complement made Atreus blush; feeling the heat along his cheeks.

He was dressed in a yellow ensemble. The coat not unlike the one Lord Orden typically wore. His undershirt was white, as were the pants, the shoes were tough leather that were a softer cream color, all brought together in a sash of royal blue across his waist.

Stark, just next to him, was dressed in red, the outfit almost an exacting replica to the one Wirt had in that towering portrait overlooking the stairs on the family wing of the house. No doubt Lord Orden wanted to reduce any chance of someone identifying that Stark wasn’t Wirt, giving them the same outfit would go a long way in fooling the eyes.

The maids that were helping them dress in these strange, and very complicated garments were looking ever more pleased with their work, smiling as they flitted about.

“It’s so strange.” Stark commented looking at the clothes he now wore like they were some alien entity. “I never thought I’d ever wear something like this… be in this situation.”

“I’m pretty sure I know exactly where you’re coming from.” Atreus smirked, making Stark laugh.

“Two boys from the mountains, came pretty far I guess huh?”

“For three months at least.” Atreus reminded.

“Mountain boys or not the clothes do suit you.” Amalie, the head maid, reassured, smiling gently before her hand rose to run through his hair. “Still, we will need to do something about your hair.”

Atreus brought a hand up, fingers brushing at his red locks. “What’s wrong with my hair.”

Amalie gave him a dry look. “It has never seen a comb for one.”

Atreus resisted, with great effort mind you, the urge to ask what a comb is.

Just then, the door opened-

And his father walked in.

Like him and Stark his father was now dressed in a Noble’s ensemble. 

Coat, pants and shoes in onyx black, contrasting sharply with his pale skin. The coat was lined in silver accents threaded into patterns, and the bold red sash matched the red of his father’s markings perfectly as it coiled around his torso from shoulder to hip.

“Oh.” Amalie’s hand covered her open mouth. “Now that is a well made suit Mr. Kratos.”

His father adjusted his sleeves, the clothing, even though it was fitted perfectly, still looked like it strained to contain him. “It is… different.” He rumbled. “However, the Craftsmanship is undeniable.”

His father finally looked at him, nodding once in seeming satisfaction. Atreus smiled back, and couldn’t help himself from puffing up with a bit of pride.

Granted; he wasn’t sure if his fathers approval right now came from him wearing the clothes well… or that he was wearing the clothes to begin with…

“Well everyone’s cleaned up very nicely.”

Mimir’s voice made Atreus turn to look, clear across the other end of the ballroom, entering through the grand doors (because those were the ones wide enough to comfortably fit him through) the Horned, stone bodied head marched closer, dressed in a robe of sage green with chains of gold and pearl dangling from his horns, matching with the Bifrost eyes. 

There was a cloth, a scarf really around his neck, no doubt covering up the place where stump met stone. He was still massively tall and very inhuman no doubt but it was possible to miss it at a… very light glance now. 

His father looked at Mimir with a raised eyebrow. “The green suits you.”

Mimir grinned. “Aww, thanks brother.”

Sindri was suddenly right next to him, making several of the maids jump. “Honestly there’s quite a bit of skill in the stitch work, its very ornate.”

“Sindri!” Atreus smiled- his Dwarf friend, like Atreus himself was also dressed in yellow, or… maybe more gold, with accents of red in the stitching. No sash for him though. “Where’s Brok?” He asked, searching for the second Hulda brother.

“Oh no.” Sindri laughed shaking his head. “I am going nowhere near that fight.”

“He’s still belly achin about the clothes?” Mimir shook his head.

“Last I checked he was threatening to burn them- she was threatening to cut off his… well-”

Mimir chuckled. “Well, the party is in just a few more days. I’m sure one of them will win regardless.”

“My money’s on her.” Stark snickered.

“Well, I think you all look wonderful.” Amalie smiled. “And the Soiree will go down just as Lord Orden hopes.”

—

Kratos:

The clothes were strange.

They would never not be strange.

Too heavy, too foreign, too elaborate. 

But, he looked at his son, and saw perhaps the vision of a man he would one day be. 

Perhaps not in this place. Perhaps not with these mortals. But one day he would make his own way. He would find his own friends, need to be a man different to him, the Ghost of sparta. Better than him in every way.

And so he wore these clothes. Leading the only way he knew, by example. 

And though it was different, and foreign and strange, it was no great sacrifice. 

And when Fern emerged, dressed in white, Kratos could admit that she was a young woman who would make many a young man turn their head. His son was perhaps, just a mite too young for such, but the scarlet blush dusting Stark’s cheeks showed that he did see it.

She did that movement that had been taught to her, the curtsie and with the Dress he could now see the elegance it conveyed.

The Maids cut Atreus and Starks hair, one approached him to style his beard… he allowed it. It had been many years since he allowed another to style him. Faye had been the last. In Sparta, the brothers in your Phalanx did so before each battle, to meet death properly should it find you.

This was no battle, and the man who did it was neither Faye nor a spartan brother, but these were not his lands, not his customs, and if he allowed another to cut at his son’s hair, his was not so precious.

He did make it clear however… if the beard was removed, a head would follow it…

Kratos rather liked the beard he’d grown.

The man looked nervous. But he’d been duly warned and was thus, duly cautious.

And so, time marched on.

The last few days vanishing in a blink.

Before they knew it- the night of the Soiree, odd word, was upon them. 

Kratos was not one for spectacle, or frivolity… and it was both a spectacle and frivolous.

Mortals, Aristoi, dressed in fine silks, bright colors and gleaming jewels. The crystals of the chandeliers above glittered like starlight, the ballroom shined as though it had been forged from gold, while wine flowed readily enough that Dionisus would have been right at home here and the food was made ready, good and hearty.

He did not like it.

But he saw how Atreus’ eyes shined with wonder, he saw how Mimir was pleased to regale a new audience with tales of distant lands, he even saw Brok dressed in his own finery- and… then… a young lady, he did not know her, young, perhaps no more than ten, boldly marched up and asked, or perhaps demanded Atreus dance with her. And his son, shocked as he was, did not deny her.

And he saw him dance. He hesitated, the girl was not so skilled, but she did not need to be, she had her prize, and he could not help but look on with a smile creeping onto his features. 

A lady asked him, and he was surprised- but he would not cause a scene by humiliating her with a refusal, and so, he bowed as he was taught, offered his hand as he was taught, grasped her fingers gently in his own as he was taught and led her as he was taught.

She was the first, but not the last. 

Perhaps they were lovely, in their way. Perhaps they were women of substance, or perhaps not. Perhaps they were vapid and empty, so many people were.

He could not say.

As he danced and closed his eyes, marching through the steps as he was taught with one lady and then the next, he imagined Faye in their place. Perhaps Lysandra. Lysandra who deserved a better man than he, Faye who had so many secrets and yet even beyond death did her best for him and Atreus.

He missed them both.

But he did not show this, he never would, instead, he bowed to each lady as they deserved, lowering himself enough to brush his head on their knuckles in lieu of a kiss, because that they did not deserve.

And then, Stark led Fern onto the dance floor.

And all eyes were on them. Even his. 

Frieren watched and smiled from afar, watching the two as if gazing upon something lovely. Sein too, for all of his misery and foolishness since the revelation looked upon them with kind eyes. 

Brok, dressed in his purple finery catcalled and whistled- loudly.

Sindri… was crying.

Ridiculous.

And then; Kratos saw Lord Orden across the other side of the ballroom, and in the man’s one visible eye… Kratos recognized that look. That regret.

The regret of a father, looking upon a vision he could never truly have. 

It was the look he imagined he himself held… the day he saw Calliope; just before he had to push her away one last time.

He averted his eyes. The man’s grief was his own, his mourning his own. Kratos should not… spectate it.

He turned his eyes back towards the two in their dance. 

Stark and Fern’s steps were near perfect. True synchronicity, harmony. 

He could admit… they looked a vision upon a stage.

And he knew, right then- that one day Stark would look upon Fern as he had looked upon Lysandra, and Faye. She would be that for him, and he for her. 

“Wow”

Atreus quiet whisper brought Kratos’ eyes to his son, who looked at the two, all but stunned.

Kratos smirked. His hand reaching, placing itself upon his son’s shoulder, bringing the boys eyes to him.

“See now.” He smiled, ever so slightly- “A man must know to dance as well as fight.”

There was a chuckle in his voice and Atreus smiled back, wryly. “Yeah… think I get it.”

He nodded. “Good.”

Mimir would tell him later that his words had been overheard, and many a lady had gossipped endlessly after wards.

Granted, Kratos was unsure just how or why Mimir had infiltrated noble ladies gossiping circles… but evidently he had. 

—

When the festivities were ceasing and night began to fall heavy, the Guests retreated to their many rooms, Kratos waited until it was polite to excuse himself before he did exactly that.

He did not expect to find Lord Orden in the halls.

The Lord of the Manor stared at a portrait of his dead son, standing utterly still amidst the moonlit Gloom. 

Kratos moved to walk past him, silent apart from the thump of his heavy boots upon the wooden floors.

“Have you ever lost a child?” The Lord asked suddenly, not turning to look as Kratos stopped, just behind him.

Kratos did not look either, staring straight ahead down the hall.

“I have.” He admitted. “My daughter.”

The man was silent. It was a silence Kratos knew. A silence that could drown a man if he allowed such.

“How did you do it?” The Lord finally asked. 

For a long moment, Kratos too… was silent. 

It was a silence that could drown a man.

“I haven’t.” He finally whispered… confessed. “And I hope, I never do.”

The Lord sighed, his shoulders falling, as though a great weight had fallen on them, a weight too heavy to be borne“Then what do you do?” 

Kratos did not know the words… Not really. But he offered the only ones he could.

He reached up, towards the runestone necklace that let him speak the language. The words needed to be said in the proper tongue, as he’d first learned them. 

“Να ζήσετε να τον” The syllables sounded almost foreign to his ear. It had been many many centuries since he last spoke greek.

“What does that mean?” Lord Orden asked, still staring up at the portrait of his son as Kratos once more placed the runestone upon his person, letting the magic take over. 

“Live.” Kratos surmised. “Live, and carry their memory for as long as you do. That is what you owe them now.” 

The Lord did not answer.

Kratos did not say more.

There was nothing more to be said.

(X)(X)(X)

Sorry for the delay but this chapter did go through a rewrite.Nothing was really clicking for me, at least, until I swapped and went with Kratos' POV.

Because I realized very quickly that while yes we could have a humorous moment of Kratos 'wowing' and 'wooing' several noble ladies on the dance floor and making this chapter almost borderline crack, it wasn't "fitting"

Because I realized that Lord Orden and Kratos could have a very very nice and important moment for both of them. Something that reflects Who Kratos is and how he's dealt with the grief of his loss.

So while the bones of the humorous section is there, I hope ya'll agree that this quiet moment of introspection fit much better here :)

Anywho, hope ya'll liked it, read review and all that fun stuff. :)