The Seven Stages of Empathic Mimicry (IV)

4: Introspection

He was 7 and he knew triumph for the first time.

Triumph in a contest of arms, but the triumph did not lie in winning it so much as in how he won it. Or perhaps what it didn't devolve into. He was fairly certain what concepts of right and wrong Gorion adhered to by now, so Cyrus could attribute qualifiers like "good" and "bad" and "terrible" and "no, don't do this, son, ever" to things, even if he himself didn't have it in him to form any emotional opinion on most matters.

That triumph also resulted in his first punishment but in retrospect it really wasn't much of one, much to Gorion and Winthrop's shared dismay.

Or, really, utter horror. Cyrus was familiar with that soul shade by now.

For his part Cyrus really wondered why they could ever think that being grounded along with Imoen would be any sort of hardship. Especially when he was only expected to sit down and practice his calligraphy, which he expected to be doing anyway for Dethek, or Dwarvish as it was called by most people. He supposed that this might have been a ploy to render Imoen more compliant to the idea of learning her own letters (finally) but the boy was fairly sure Gorion would have told him that straight out. As it was, the man had been fairly obviously and honestly incensed. And his reasons had not at all pleased the Watchers-in-training and their trainers.

"What were you thinking, son? (It was something new to try, father.) Whose idea was this? Fuller's? What possessed you to go along with anything he suggested!? (That had been aimed more at Jondalar than him). And the rest of you, I cannot believe that… (Here Gorion fairly fumed for half a minute). And you, son! I honestly expected more sense from you than any of these sense-forsaken simpletons! (Hey!) Especially simpletons who think full-contact weapons sparring is a viable pastime for seven-year-olds! (We had the weapons spelled for safety!) (I was only doing what Imoen would have suggested I do, Father). Well that makes everything alright then! It's not like bruising or broken bones or crushed eyes or smashed throats are anything to worry about!"

Cyrus was fairly certain that was called sarcasm and was determined to remember the self-shade it came flavoured in forevermore.

In all honesty, Cyrus enjoyed the Winthrop-supervised "time out" with Imoen more than he had enjoyed most things in life. Which, admittedly, wasn't much to go on with since the general amount of enjoyment he found in things usually levelled off at "none at all," but it was still something. On the other hand, two hours of being bathed in constant hope-glow did have the effect of making him think some unexpected (troubling?) thoughts too.

Thoughts he expressed to his father when he came to collect him that evening. "Father, can people spontaneously become stupid?"

Imoen giggled behind him but Gorion gave him a startled look. "Why would you ask that?"

Cyrus thought carefully about his answer because even he wasn't sure of it. "Until today I was… fairly sure that I was at least moderately intelligent." The incredulity behind Father's eyes was a rare sight, but the boy had something too heavy on his mind to pay heed to that too much. "But now I learn that getting to spend more time with Imoen was as simple a matter of following her example and getting myself grounded." Winthrop suddenly radiated dread behind him, and Gorion's self-light surged with the same, but the question demanded asking, so he looked up at his father and did just that. "Why didn't I think of that before?"

And that was when the horror overcame the hearts of all nearby.