tavianalvia:

The Primacy.  The Primacy.  He wasn’t just talking to someone military, he was talking to someone with rank, someone with far, far too much rank.  His head told him to lie, give a fake name, but panic overtook anything of that nature.  He stuttered out, “T-Tavian…” still staring at the man like he wanted to run away.

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          It was clear, finally, to Victus that something was wrong.  His look turned into a critical stare, assessing the young Alvia with seasoned and judicious distinction.  His heart palpitated in his chest – seeing, for a moment, the hesitancy…the self-doubt and the weight of a decorated lineage burdening a young man.  For that instant, he had seen Tarquin.  He had seen his son.

         “You did not enlist.” He said at last.  It was not a question.  He felt, suddenly, so very old.  Older than even his years.  He did not, could not hide his disappointment.

                           { Just as he could not hide it from his son. }

        He could, at least, do things right this time.  For Tarquin’s sake. “That’s alright, Tavian.” In his mind, he tried to banish the creed he had lived by – death before dishonor – banish the  bright blue eyes–

{ Eyes like his mother’s.  Sweet, lost Calpurnia.  Tarquin had been so like her. }

        –and see this young man, the living one, for what he was.  And to accept him.  “That’s alright.  Tell me about yourself.  What…” his throat felt dry, his subvocals straining to keep the tremor from his voice – “What do you like?”

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