The Ogre Strength Fairy and the Eldest 'Son' Chapter 104 - Frayed Crown Of Withering Thorns

"The expectations and decisions of our family are not your concern, Goltbred."

The sharp, vicious rasp in his old friend’s voice took Ondua aback. He didn’t think it was too far to show concern for his own son-in-law, but held up his hands in a placating gesture. The potential for having caught the man in a bad mood, or potentially a little drunk, ran across his thoughts... as an excuse.

"Peace, An. I ant no offense or intrusion. I only worry for the children’s happiness. Surely you rember how it was, in our youth? We used to talk about the weight of family legacy - the struggle to carve our own paths?"

The black-clad swordsman’s jaw clenched. His disgust at the man’s attempt at camaraderie based on their past was left barely contained. Yet, he could not snap too far... no matter how much else was angering him tonight.

"Tis change, Ondua. As do people."

"They do. Though I had hoped a few things might remain constant, like our friendship forged in battle."

The brunette sighed wearily, realizing that it wasn’t that it had degraded down to a sliver... it was that there was really nothing left. The other man scoffed, letting his stern deanor crack to show true irritation on his face.

"Friendship? Is that what you call this farce of yours?"

The Goltbred was frozen by the continued amount of venom in the Yecine’s tone.

"An, what-"

"Your sentint blinds you. You foolishly speak of others’ happiness and hope, even against their wishes. And-"

He suddenly paused, a tremor of unease growing in his unusually emotional voice.

"That daughter of yours. She’s not the innocent child you believe her to be. You have the freedom to ’worry’ about our affairs, but do you even know what’s happening under your own roof, Ondua?"

A set of quick footsteps approached before the man could respond. A venue worker rounded the corner with eyes wide at the tense mont between the two fathers.

"Pardon the interruption, honored guests. I heard voices and... is everything alright?"

"Quite. I was just leaving. I have people awaiting my presence."

The man was gone before either of them could call out to stop him. Troubled thoughts swirled in both father’s minds, but for one... the joy of the night’s celebrations felt suddenly hollow. Now, it was overshadowed by a gnawing sense of foreboding for the future of his daughter in that family he’d once wanted her to be bound to.

’Qatrand... will take care of her.’

The man wanted to believe it - just as he wanted to believe that the fear he just saw in his old friend’s eyes when he was talking about his little girl was exaggerated. Yet, he had borne his own doubts about Elua not so long ago... and she sotis was far too adept at tricking him with little things - and getting into more than she should for her age.

Didn’t that an she might still be keeping even more from her parents?

Shaking his head to get back on his patrol route, Ondua’s thoughts turned back to Elua and Qatrand in more happy terms. There was one beacon of hope amidst the political maneuvering and family expectations. The love between them had been so palpable that it generated a literal energy that spread through the mountains!

He resolved to get all the information from the Argent Braid he could about those monts. For now, he only viewed this as a potential old tradition that might strengthen his daughter’s public position. In the wake of his encounter with Anper, who also would have been standing there in the crowd and feeling that today... that hope felt fragile.

---

Anper er Yecine stepped silently as he made his way late to the gathering. His encounter with that man had left old resentnts bubbling inside.

But... it was the mory of Elua’s cold, knowing eyes that truly unsettled him. The girl’s words from earlier combined with the unsubtle showcase of her strength was a silent threat that seed to still hang in the air he walked through.

He squared his shoulders, while forcing down the unease. The plans would proceed, because Qatrand did not know anything important. For the sake of the Yecine family, no ddling child bride or sentintal fool would stand in their way.

The remnants of the Yecine family at the wedding venue gathered in a private sitting room. The majority had traveled back on the last train, their varied duties too important to spend the night partying like so many other attendees.

These few pulled together were those of sowhat similar minds... and half of them were ’marked’ by Elua. The atmosphere of the room was thick with the tension of unspoken thoughts.

Anper stood by the fireplace after entering, staring into the dance of flas. Scattered behind him were a handful of male elders - and one young man. Their expressions ranged from pensive to quite openly displeased.

"Well. That was quite a display our ’heir’ put on today."

The father of that very individual said finally in a deceptively calm tone. He had struggled, over so many hours since the Feast, with how to react and cope with his encounter with that cultivator witch of a Goltbred. His anger had risen and fallen so much that it eventually settled on resting in his chest as a burning ember.

"The hair was... unexpected. While I’m aware that there were reports of the blonde appearance being seen within the estate of her then fiancee, I don’t recall Qatrand ever voicing a desire to break from tradition in such a public manner."

The comnts ca from one of the more introspective n, who despite being part of their plot had gotten away without notice from Elua. Another, a much more severe-looking man with a neatly trimd beard, cleared his throat with barely contained wrath.

"It was a deliberate statent. A way of asserting ’his’ independence from the family. From us."

All of them were being careful with their words, with the young ’outsider’ being present. Anper’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his cheek as he was forced to play along - despite knowing he had already let the nephew in on the issue of gender. His use for the young man required him to keep that part up.

"What of ’his’ behavior with the Goltbred girl? The way they clung to each other, the public displays of affection..."

His steely gray eyes t each of theirs during different parts of his slowly spoken sentence. He wanted to get more of them on his side to see things his way. Too many of their faction seed fully intent on continuing with his daughter as ’heir’ after things were through!

"Elua er Goltbred has long been a wild card. You have said that she is unpredictable and uncontrollable. We shrugged you off, and now she has her claws in our ’heir’."

A fourth elder spoke darkly. Silence fell over the room as each Yecine elders grappled with those words. All of them were guilty of believing the father of their political tool was exaggerating at one ti or another. The young teenager’s performance in the bridal testing ritual had planted more tinder to that particular fire.

Now in a few of them, it blazed.

"What do we do?"

The most severe-looking elder demanded an answer to the question on everyone’s mind. Anper stepped from the fireplace, looming in the flickering light.

"We remind Qatrand of ’his’ duty to this family. ’He’ may have had ’his’ mont of rebellion today, but it changes nothing. ’He’ is still a Yecine, still bound by our traditions and expectations."

The elders nodded, so more reluctantly than others. The father felt this was good. He wanted them to have doubts about their ’heir’.

"As for the Goltbred girl?"

Anper’s look at the speaker was cold and devoid of humor. All of his limited warmth was busy feeding the ember of helpless indignation in his core. He would not tell or admit to them the powerlessness he felt as he sat there, unable to move.

’I won’t let her have her way, but if they have to feel the sa as I did, should they push her against my advice... it will only make them further on my side.’

"We watch and wait. What else can we do? She claims to want to support the one she married. We keep a close eye on her."

"I see. In the anti, we should focus on fixing the deviations to our traditions. If the girl really wants to stand beside our ’heir’, then we just need to maintain Qatrand’s alignnt to this family."

The elders began to disperse, and Navuill lingered at his uncle’s prior request. His heart was burdened with ever more conflicting emotions after witnessing this talk. He couldn’t shake the mory of Qatrand’s face during the ceremony - the genuine happiness and love that had radiated from her.

It was nothing like his own chilly experience of a wedding - and further still from the cold, calculating expressions of the elders around him marred only by their own vexations. His empathic spirit only made his analysis of the eting worse, almost making him feel sick.

"You saw how my daughter acted today. The defiance. The disregard for our ways. It cannot stand... but I do not expect that it will change with the witch in her ear."

The young man only nodded, not trusting himself to speak, even if he had other feelings. He felt like he’d already questioned his elder too much out loud the last few tis. The young man certainly wasn’t going to express himself just to defend soone quite capable of doing so on their own.

’I really thought she was going to kill him...’

Navuill had rushed to warn Lirades at the start of the Feast due to that sort of emotion which assaulted him. It was only later that he started to really suspect he had been tricked into doing it - or doing *sothing*. He too, was starting to feel ever more helpless when it ca to the Goltbred heiress.

"Before the competition, if there are any signs of further substantial rebellion and any indication that the Goltbred girl’s influence is growing in our family... you will let know."

Especially now that he had made moves to rebel, just a little, himself... with a wife he would rather be spending his evening with than this angry man - Navuill could only bow his head.

"Of course, Uncle."

"Leave."

The young man was certain that his role in the unfolding drama had beco much more complicated because of his choices that day in front of The Ironclad Order’s building. Deep down, Navuill wondered if perhaps Qatrand’s ’rebellion’ was less about defying tradition and more about finally embracing the parts of herself appreciated by soone.

Soone stronger than anyone he’d t at only near fourteen.

’And if that is the case... what does that say about our family and the rigid expectations they impose on us? Is Elua er Goltbred just unique, or...’