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Circhester, Galar - Date Unknown[break][break]

Cillian has never wanted children.[break][break]

Since he was a child himself and well into his adulthood, his focus had been solely on survival. It was not until his relationship with Emma that he thought of them at all. She had wanted them, he thinks. It was another reason they wouldn't have worked.[break][break]

Temp would make a wonderful father. It feels cruel, almost, to deny him the chance. But Rocket was no place to bring up a child.[break][break]

It stands, then, that Cillian had never adopted the child.[break][break]

It starts with a gentle thud against the heavy tower door, far too light to be any decent attempt at break-in. Sharp of sense, Cillian nevertheless looks up immediately from his letters and narrows his eyes at the closed portal.[break][break]

A few seconds pass before the thump sounds again. He thinks he hears a huff, a muffled mumble, and then the sound of an almost-knock. A child's knock, reminiscent of when little Lulu Flint would sneak out to his room at night so that they might stay up reading a story together.[break][break]

"Away with you," Cillian calls, firm but not cold. "Tower's off limits."[break][break]

Silence stretches, and a heavier weight thuds against the door, as if they'd thrown themselves against it.[break][break]

He sighs and gets to his feet, yanking it open to stare down at the tiny intruder.[break][break]

This, he understands from Temp's descriptions of the reclusive child, is Diot. Hair as fiery as her personality, wide blue eyes and a distance about her that didn't suit her age. She looks back at him without the fear that some of the children held; though he'd never been unkind to them, his mannerisms were not those of warmth and welcome. He did not want children, and she was no exception.[break][break]

She says nothing, merely blinking up at him with something like fascination.[break][break]

"What?" His exasperation is gentled by a softness of tone. "I am very busy, child."[break][break]

"I know."[break][break]

Without an ounce of concern for his earlier restriction of the space, the young girl invites herself inside. Affronted, Cillian can only turn and watch her as she strolls through the room as if it belonged to her.[break][break]

He does not want to reach out and grab her, concerned he might startle or even hurt her if he tried. His parents had not handled him gently, and he had no wish to inflict their poor teachings upon this orphaned child. This was far more his husband's forte, but Tempest Quinn has already gone to bed. There'd been a fond exchange in which his husband insisted only that he come to bed before the sun rose. Thinking of it, Cillian observes the orange-and-pink hues upon the horizon.[break][break]

"It is far too late to be up." He can't well ask 'where are your parents?' "Come, I'll take you back to bed."[break][break]

She turns from where she'd been looking at the birds to regard him with a look beyond her years. She doesn't move as he holds out his hand, though she does stare at it for a moment before her gaze flicks up to meet his own.[break][break]

"I can't sleep with the nightmares." There were no tears, no lilting edge of fear. Only a matter-of-fact statement. "Do you get them too, King Shadow? Is that why you're up?"[break][break]

Cillian opens his mouth, then closes it again. Kids could be terrifyingly observant.[break][break]

"I'd like to stay a while." It's more statement than question. She sits upon a heavy bag of seed, swinging her little legs. "It's nicer here than the orphanage."[break][break]

He has no idea what she means. The Rookery was a drafty old tower on account of the open windows through which the birds could fly, and it carried a faint odor of droppings no matter how hard his attendants fought to keep it clean. The orphanage was a wonderful building crafted with love and attention and special care given to each child's needs. He knew his husband well enough to understand that Diot has never wanted for anything under Temp's care.[break][break]

Except, perhaps, this. Whatever this was.[break][break]

"I'll be off to bed soon," Cillian protests, "and I am far too preoccupied to spare you any attention."[break][break]

He's circled back around to the desk at which he pens and reads his letters, sitting down. Her gaze has followed him the whole way.[break][break]

"I'll just watch the birds until you go, then. I like the birds."[break][break]

I can't sleep with the nightmares.[break][break]

Cillian remembers being locked in the dark, fingernail marks against wood, tears dried on tiny cheeks. How large the world had seemed, then, and how frightening.[break][break]

"Not a word out of you," he says firmly, "and only until I go to bed."[break][break]

The smile she offers is one of triumph.

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