And they would’ve made it without issue, too, if Kier hadn’t intercepted them. He’d been making his way up from the lower tunnels — he’d been spending a lot of time there lately — when he spotted them, immediately making a beeline and falling in cheerily beside Sablemaid like an annoyingly constant pest. “Hello!” he greeted his kit, so far ignoring her mother. He waved at his daughter, swinging from Sablemaid’s jaws, with an excited smile and a purr, eyes wide. “Where’s your mother taking you, mm?” He asked it like he and his daughter were conspiring against the hapless mother, like she was being such an over-protective worrier and they were condescendingly playing along to appease her delicate heart, so far above it as father and kit. He finally straightened and dragged his eyes up to the black she-cat at his side; the lazy grin was still on his face, dismissive and fondly teasing, like she was such a fussing woman, and yet mildly accusing; he simultaneously didn’t ever want to be bothered by her outside of the hours he chose to be a doting, loving father, and was affronted by the fact — his chest squeezed with that familiar sick jealousy — that she was operating on her own, making choices for his child without consulting him.

“Mm?” he hummed again, still smiling, padding alongside close enough beside her that their pelts brushed; it was both casually intimate, a thing of shared parenthood, and threatening. Everything about Kier was — he was so friendly, so endlessly friendly, and then suddenly he snapped. “What could possibly necessitate a trip to the medicine den?” Like he hadn’t ordered nightly check-ups on his kits; that was being sensible, this was being hysterical — quite simply because he wasn’t the one doing it. He again glanced down and shared a mocking little grin with his daughter, letting out a little breath of laughter through his mouth. His eyes flicked back up to Sablemaid; his voice grew a little dryer, a little more judgemental. “She looks perfectly fine to me, Sablemaid. The medicine cat has better things to do than placate your feminine anxiety, especially now that we’ve lost Lilacpaw — just because you bore my kits doesn’t make you a queen. If you were worried, you ought to have sent someone for me. I would have made the prudent decision. Really, you’re going far beyond your jurisdiction — getting very uppity, aren’t you? You’re just a,” his voice bubbled with sudden laughter and his eyes flicked down her body, grin crooked and venomous and so dismissive, “just a farm girl.” He really did sound annoyed now. Then, smiling softening again, he looked back down at his daughter. “Isn’t she, my dear?”

For a moment, he was almost going to ask which one is this again? But of course he remembered — Blisskit, little Blisskit.

sorry for the length <33


The change in Sablemaid wasn’t lost on him; he was deeply gratified when the fight went out of her, when her stubborn anger, her insolence, faded away and she bowed her head. He gave her a smile, all oppressive praise; what a good girl. When she slowed to a stop, he slowed with her, pleased by the idea that he had gotten through to her and this silly little foray to the medicine den was over; they’d stop here and turn back around to the nursery, and there they would stay.

And then Blisskit held out her paw for him. I have a spot. Kier’s eyes flicked down to hold his daughter’s, listening very respectfully as she spoke with an unreadable, hooded sort of gaze. When she stretched out her paw for him to look at, he slipped his own underneath it, holding it up as his gaze wandered down to it; his paw was small, all black and sinewy and slender, but hers was impossibly smaller, like a fragile doll’s. Oh, is that all? he wanted to laugh, so dismissive and unconcerned and coarse, but he bit back the words; he didn’t want to be crass in front of his daughter, didn’t want to be seen to be waving aside her fears even if he was — even if he felt a faint frustration that this was clearly just the result of her mother’s incessant worrying; a kit with anxiety over a little spot, his kit with anxiety; it defied thinking. He held her paw gently, still not saying anything as he listened attentively, pretending to take her concerns seriously with sombre quietness. He turned her paw this way and that, looking at the spot from different angles, and finally sank into a crouch to look at it more closely.

Finally, he looked up at her with a smile, now more at her level in his crouch, and let her paw slip away. “My dear, you come from a line of runts and,” he wanted to say psychopaths, “all sorts of peaky characters — your grandfather, my father, was sickly as they come, and black and white on top of it; whose to say a spot might not come out here and there? And,” he laughed, again conspiratorially, like he and his daughter were in on a joke at Sablemaid’s expense; he brushed his paw pads back and forth under her dangling paw comfortingly, idly, as he spoke, “heaven knows what your mother’s lineage is; likely in-bred, you know.” His voice tightened with amusement. He didn’t look away from Blisskit as he spoke so tenderly to her, so comfortingly, his voice warm and amused like it was her mother that was over-reacting. “A white spot is the least of your worries. But come, come,” he pushed himself up, back up to Sablemaid’s height once more, “by all means, let’s go put your mother’s anxieties to rest — it causes wrinkles, you know, and she really can’t afford to lose much more of her looks.” He laughed, glancing quickly at her out of the corner of his eye to make sure she was listening. Now that he knew it was such a silly thing, he was more than happy to let her go to the medicine den — if only so Sablemaid could be embarrassed. Waving his paw dismissively at Sablemaid in a rather vague motion that might have meant stand aside or put her down, he immediately deemed her too slow to pick it up and instead manhandled her aside, bumping his cheek against hers to take Blisskit from her with no room for complaint. As soon as she was in his jaws, he set her down, still not acknowledging Sablemaid. Once Blisskit was on her own legs, he flicked his muzzle towards the medicine den and padded forward, letting her fall in and toddle along beside him. They left her mother in the dust behind them without a look back or a scrap of acknowledgement from Kier, leaving her to walk behind the royal carriage like a servant as he padded ahead alongside his daughter. It was beyond explanation why Kier was being so rude to her that night, but if one had to wager a guess a fine one would be that he was irritated with her parenting and sought to assert his dominance as the sire. She could nurse the kits, but he made the decisions.

He smiled down at Blisskit as he walked, slowing his pace with seemingly infinite patience to let her keep up with him. “I’m sure it’s no more than a fine little imperfection, a blemish. You’re so young, my dear — when I was little, you could hardly see me for my ears, and I…” He paused. “Somewhat grew into them.” He threw his daughter a rakish, self-mocking grin, head tilted. “Things happen.” Stopping briefly outside the den, he ruffled her between the ears roughly, affectionately, and then padded ahead, leaving her behind. “Hellooo,” he called, padding in like he owned the den — which he did. His voice echoed slightly, but was mostly deadened by the thick moss on the walls. “Anyone home?” He was almost relieved when no answer came; really, this was all one big joke to him, and he certainly didn’t want to speak to the medicine cat — still deliberately nameless to him after Eris’ miscarriage — for a farce. That said, maybe putting her on the spot about his daughter’s little spot and bathing in her presumed incompetence, her lack of knowledge on the subject, would be gratifying. Truth be told, he’d thought of going to the medicine den once or twice the last week; Eris had been staying in bed later and later or all night, and he could tell she was sick — eaten something bad or caught some regrettable little bug. He brought her food she’d only nibble at, groomed her stomach in case of some sorry nausea, came in earlier than usual to try and soothe her in case she was lonely, but nothing seemed to work; she was so quiet lately, just staring into space like she was angry, and he got the feeling she was giving him excuses. He wanted to ask the medicine cat if there was something wrong, or if she could look in on her, but he didn’t care to speak to her. And, reluctantly, he finally decided against it. He didn’t pry, gave his mate comfort and silence and nothing more — he never did pry since her miscarriage. It must have just been a bad week. She would come to him when she was ready.

Smiling, Kier turned back to his daughter from where he stood in the middle of the lush green medicine den; the moss was soft and spongey under his paws. But he was blind to the beauty, blind to the whole thing; this was where Eris had lost their kits, and it held nothing for him. “Well,” he told Blisskit with such warm finality, like it was the end of their adventure and she’d have to go home now. There was nothing for them here. When they got back, he’d hold Sablemaid back and tear into her — a doctor for a spot? Are you a little idiot? Do you want to rear fragile, whimpering dullards like your sister, afraid of their own shadow? You’ve seen how anxious (and here he’d wave his paw, trying to recall her name) Flutterkit is; do you want to encourage that? Mm? What are you teaching them to be? One simple task and you can't even do that. Honestly, Sablemaid, you call yourself a mother; all you’re good for is a quick lay. “I’m afraid she’s not here. Off gathering her parsley.” He moved to usher Blisskit back out; time for bed, and to let daddy Kier go. “Shall we off, my dear?”

When Sablemaid ground her teeth together, Kier cast her a sidewards glance, all little smile and triumph and oh, don’t look so glum.

And then he was ready to leave the den — and his daughter wasn’t listening to him. She was wandering about, pushing her nose into piles of herbs that the medicine cat had been too negligent to sort straight into storage, not bothering with him. Somewhere along the way she’d clearly learned her father didn’t mind not being the centre of attention — that would have to change. Someone else might have been fondly amused at being ignored, at her unintentional show of insolence; Kier was irritated. So many smells… “Yes, that would be the plants,” he sniped back in a hiss, all teeth, leaning forward slightly over the tips of his forepaws. He always seemed much older than he really was — until he was suddenly just a teenager muttering insults at a child he was too young to have. He snapped his head around to hiss at Sablemaid. “You’re raising a halfwit.” He didn’t acknowledge the fact that she wouldn’t be so overwhelmed by foreign sensations if anyone around her was allowed out of camp, to collect the scents of pine and tansy and wild violet on their fur and educate her through sheer subconscious experience; nothing was ever his fault.

And then a thought occurred to him. Kier’s ears pricked. He cast a brief glance at Sablemaid — it was meaningless, just a look to assure himself and her that if she argued, it wouldn’t mean a thing — and then took a step forward. “My dear…” he interrupted Blisskit again, trying to draw her attention back to him with none of the irritation he’d shown her a second ago; now, he was deferential and wary, like she was suddenly a nervous little deer he didn’t want to frighten away before he could entrap her. “You find all this… interesting?” As he came into her field of view, there was a smile on his face, filled with so much hope. He was a lawyer leading the witness with no hint of scruples or guilt — he was hopeful, he was excited; a daughter wouldn’t want to disappoint her father, would she? He didn’t ask do you like the smells? because that was too vague — he supplied precisely how he wanted her to feel for her: she found it interesting.

Reaching her, Kier slowly settled down into a crouch at her side, tucking his paws underneath him and giving her his full attention — full affection — with his head turned to the side to watch everything she did. The smile was unmoving. For a few seconds he was silent, just watching her like a parent would watch their child play. And then he spoke, like he was so pleased with her, like they were bonding. And what daughter didn’t want to grow closer to her dad? “You know, I’ve always been tremendously interested in medicine, too. Your grandfather, you know, he was sickly, so I learned to help him when we were on the road. It was much harder there — no nice patches of herbs regrowing every season. And another of your ancestors was a Shaman. It’s in your blood.” He smiled, tilting his head; he was close enough to feel her warmth through his fur, his daughter looking like a softer version of himself beside him. After a pause, he added, “medicine is a wonderful endeavour. So helpful. So fun. Always something new to do. And with our medicine cat apprentice gone…” He trailed off, eyes lingering on hers pointedly.

Oh, what a thought that was — what an opportunity that could be. His daughter, a medicine cat. Someone who would do what he wanted more than her mentor would — someone who wouldn’t want to let him down. Someone to— oh, interpret for him, feed stories for him, lie for him, get under the skin of other Clans and sabotage for him… Lie without knowing she was lying. And she would never turn against him, because she was his kit and they loved each other. That was what he needed — he would never want a kit for a deputy, because then they’d lose the fear of the other Clans and gain their contempt for such nonsensical nepotism; they would think he was blind to his kits faults, and he’d be a laughingstock. And especially not a son — then he’d be paranoid about being usurped and grow to hate him, stoop to plotting against his own kit to put him in an early grave.

But a daughter for a medicine cat…

There was an idea.

That was a specific brand of power and control.