Page 36 of Heart of the Mountain King

"So we have it outside, like at midsummer or a picnic." Pa said. "We can work out the details later. Or not at all — it could be just us and your Ma and your…friend, if you’d rather. Living up there on that mountain as you've said, maybe he'd be more comfortable starting small."

Sten chewed his lips, but…

"He's not just my friend, Pa."

Pa stilled, and Sten held his breath, worried he'd finally gone and said too much.

"Does he make you laugh?" Pa asked, eyes locked on the wool as he turned the wound ball over in his hands.

"I…what?"

"Does he make you laugh?" Pa repeated, looking up at Sten. "You've always been a bright light in our lives, kiddo. Your Ma and I used to joke that you were born laughing. You deserve a …a someone who can be that for you as well."

"He does," Sten replied, a small smile curving his lips.

"And… what about children?"

Sten rolled his eyes. "I have eight brothers and sisters. You'll not want for grandchildren."

But Pa just shook his head. "Not for me. For you. I'll admit, they're a handful to manage when they're young, but they grow on you. Frustrate you, surprise you, amaze you sometimes, frankly. I hate for you to miss out on that."

"That life's not for me," Sten said simply, glossing over entire volumes of nuance his dad likely wouldn't understand even if Sten was interested in bringing it up with him. "Especially not if it means giving up Rask."

"But…you're happy?"

"Happier than I think I've ever been," Sten replied honestly. "Though I'd be happier still if I didn't think it… that I distressed you so."

Pa sighed, tipping his head back against the crate and closing his eyes. "When I first held you; when you would skin your knees as a boy; when your mother and I would dream by the winter's fire of the man you might become…I admit, this is not what I expected."

He'd opened his eyes, meeting Sten's own with an even gaze.

Sten swallowed harshly, his fingers going numb and cold. "I…see," he said, drawing back, fighting the shakiness creeping into his words. "I won't lie and tell you I'm sorry, but — "

"No," Pa said quickly, urgently, "No, you misunderstand me. Your Ma and I, we've …wondered. Especially when you started spending so much time up on the mountain. Never quite knew how to ask, and you never seemed to have an interest in sharing, so… We waited. Tried to let you figure out things in your own way. And if that ever caused you to fear or doubt our love for you, then I'm the one who's sorry. I may not be able to understand the, uh, the draw. But that doesn't mean we love you any less," Pa said, shifting forward to rest his hand on Sten's ankle.

The same one he'd twisted, Sten's mind couldn't help but supply, there on Rask's mountain. The same one Rask had healed all those years ago.

Pa sighed, leaning back again. "I was only trying to say that, we might need you to help us paint new dreams. You and…Rask. And I can only hope you'll forgive me when I get things wrong."

"Only if you promise to do the same for me," Sten replied, his mouth unbearably dry.

"Well, that's just called parenting." Pa laughed. Holding up the ball of wool in its brilliant courting blue, he cocked his head curiously. "Do you know any of their wedding customs? I’m not sure what to expect having a bergsrå for a… a son-in-law, much less — you said that misthing in the pub killed his previous mate? Gods, a son-in-law who's older than I am."

"Yeah, it's… there's a lot to wrap the mind around," Sten admitted.

"I'll say," Pa nodded, then sobered. "Have you considered what happens when he outlives you?"

Sten looked away. "I'm…not sure. I've sent letters to some mages, but I haven't talked to him about it. Not yet. Sometimes I worry that once I ask, that's all he'll be able to see when he looks at me. So… I don't. Is that terribly selfish?"

"I think future worries are a poor excuse not to take your joys where you find them now," Pa said. "And with any luck, you two will have a number of years to discuss it."

Sten grinned. He could only hope.

"So, uh… do you need some help with this thing?" Pa said, gesturing with the ball of wool.

"Oh gods, please," Sten groaned, scrubbing his face with his hand. "I'm completely lost."

"You never could sit still for mending in the evenings," Pas recalled fondly. "Or anything else with yarn or string. But put a whittling knife and a bit of oak in your hands and you'd have us an entire set of spoons within a week."