Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Happy name day, sisters mine." Leandro smiles as Caia, Myrcella, and Andrea swing the door to their room open hard enough it clatters loudly against the wall and rattles the hanging pans while rushing to the table for the special dishes their brother had made them for their name day.
"Thank you," they chorus together quickly before diving into the sweet pastries, jams, without a glance at either their father or older brother.
Leandro chuckles. "One would think they've never seen food," Leandro says to his father as they watch the red-headed girls' scarf down their dessert for morning meals.
Andreaos merely watches fondly but doesn't say anything, seemingly just soaking this moment into his mind.
"Slow down. Or your tummies will ache all day." None of them listen to Leandro, not in the slightest, and the man sighs, shrugs before he too, picks up a sweet tart with candied lemon with excitement. "Why not."
"Your fourteenth name day," Andreaos pipes up after a little while, watching his son and daughters feast while his hands are wrapped around a horn filled with his favourite herbal tea Leandro had made for him. "Your mother would be so proud of the women you're becoming. As she would of the man you are, my son."
At once, Andreaos' children pause their movements, utensils paused from spreading the fruity jams on pastries, and biting into their sweet tarts or spooning bread pudding and four heads slowly turn to their father.
Leandro recovers first, his voice soft, "Thank you, Father. It means, well—"
"Everything," Andrea breathes, touched as she props her elbows on the table, leaning forward eagerly. Myrcella and Caia nod.
"I don't speak about her because it hurts too much. I deprived you of most memories of your mother and I do deeply regret that."
"You love her still, Father. We understand. We don't begrudge you for not speaking about her," Caia comforts, pauses and then says, candidly, "Well, not anymore."
"Not as much," Andrea inputs.
Andreaos barks out a short laugh. "I don't deserve—" He cuts himself off, his skin paling and features straining.
"You can always tell us, Father," Myrcella assures, softly—excitedly. "There is time—"
"No, my sweet girl," Andreaos interrupts. The girls' faces twist, identical frowns and brows knitted together as they don't seem to realize where this was going. Leandro, however, put the pieces together quickly, from seeing his father ill, the deep sleeps, frail bones, and brittle hair. Leandro sucked in a breath, tears brimming his eyes. Andreaos continues, "We don't have much time. I am dying, you see. And there is so much I haven't told you, about all four of you. So much you need to know, but I don't know how to tell you."
"Father—no. You can't be dying. We—we will find a way to help you. Salves, potions—" Myrcella cuts herself off with a choked noise from her throat. "Anything."
