#(Told from the perspective of the lovely Robert Lark borrowed from my dear friend at:

[livestosave]

"So I dragged the family name through the mud? Not you, then?"

(tw for implied/past child abuse/neglect, typical aristocratic bad marriage and society practices, and just generally toxic parent/child relations)

Yelling was a normal occurrence in the Goodkind Manor. It always had been, or so Robert gathered from the way it no longer phased the staff, and the way none of them stood near the still-open sitting room, eavesdropping. Not that anyone had to be: Alfred's voice was higher than his own, but still deep enough to carry when the weasel raised it. And his mother had what should have been a pleasant alto voice, that similarly carried as her own anger grew.

He wasn't trying to listen in, either. Alfred had made it clear - not in words, but in every action he made in each row Robert had seen the fallout of - that his rows with his mother were not something for Robert to save him from. Despite how that first night had gone, Robert would admit Alfred mostly handled them well, matching his mother's ire blow for blow until one or both of them decided to retreat. If it didn't make him so angry, if his chest wasn't always so tight with a protective rage to hear anyone try to cut Alfred down so harshly - in his own home, no less! - he might have been willing to concede that Alfred had certainly inherited his sharp tongue from the woman.

But this felt…different. He wasn't sure what it was, but Alfred's voice had an edge to it that felt more…raw. More brutal.

"There was only ever one rule, wasn't there? There always has been. You just don't get caught. You had a good marriage, a good husband, a good life! Just one little problem: Father couldn't have kids, could he? No, so that threw a wrench in things, because there had to be an heir. How many men did you take to your marriage bed, while Father was on campaign? How many affairs did he tolerate, because he loved you, and he couldn't give you the child you wanted, that he needed? All you had to do was produce a babe that could conceivably be his, and no one would ask those inconvenient questions, would they?"

There was a bark of laughter. As Robert approached the door, he couldn't see the woman's face, but he could see Alfred's. Handsome features twisted in a fierce snarl, a false enthusiasm and bravado as he glared down at his mother.

"No, you had to take faunus lovers. You made the terribly ill-advised choice to not be safe with that one. And everyone knew, didn't they? They knew I wasn't Father's, but so long as I was close enough, they would never say. The game would continue. They'd turn a blind eye, as Father did, because that's how it always goes, isn't it? Except you lost. Because your gamble failed.

"I hope the dicking that fox gave you was worth it, Mother."

The resounding smack filled the small sitting room, and the silence after was somehow worse. Through the open door, Robert could see a faint trail of scarlet leaking from the corner of Alfred's mouth, even as the weasel rolled his tongue across his teeth. One hand reached to wipe the blood away, tongue licking the smear of crimson from his thumb, before he began to chuckle. A dangerous, low, calm noise that was so at odds with the cold fury in Alfred's eyes, that Robert hesitated. He should put an end to things there, give the old bitch a piece of his mind and get Alfred out, but the way the weasel was looking at his mother…Robert was almost wondering if he should be getting her out. Not for her own safety, exactly, but because he wasn't sure Alfred could handle matricide.

"That's all I've ever been to you, isn't it? The one chance you had to make it all up to Father, and then there I was. A faunus. Your shame and disappointment made manifest. And the worst part, the shame of the whole damned thing? He forgave you. When they all tore into you, screaming about your affairs, crowing about how the baby was a bastard, he saved you from them. He forgave you, and he told them that he condoned it, asked it, because he so wanted a child and couldn't have one. He took the brunt of that shame, to save you the humiliation. He just didn't realize that it was worse, doing that, did he? He didn't realize that you could never look him in the eye, knowing he stained his precious honor for you. You could never look at me as anything but the smirch on his honor that you caused." Alfred's voice was raising again, the illusion of calm fracturing as the cold inferno blazed in him, and yet he made no move to touch his mother.

"I could never measure up to him because I was always the sign of your failure. He might have legitimized me in the eyes of the kingdom, but to you I'll always be the bastard that is the sign of your failure to be a loyal, loving wife. And now, the failure to be the mother you always wanted to be. You gambled with both our lives...and you lost."

Alfred reached up to his breastpocket, turning from his mother to start towards the door, handkerchief raising to wipe the line of crimson from his face.

"By the end of the year, you will be moving in with aunt Lolita. I will not walk on eggshells in my own home for the sake of your shattered ego, nor watch my guests worry they offend your pathetic sensibilities. Take who and what you will...but you will be gone, Mother."

Silence answered him...but it was defeated. Alfred's pace slowed, a slight...hesitation entering it. But he kept moving for the door.

"Alfred?" His mother's voice. It was...softer, than Robert had yet heard it. Gentle. Defeated, and subdued...but not unkind.

"...yes, Mother?" Alfred had paused, though he didn't turn around. His mother was still facing the fireplace, not looking at him, either.

"...I do love you." Was it just Robert, or was there a whisper of...pride in that? Buried in the other emotions, the grief, the guilt...the shame. Perhaps it was sappy foolishness.

"....I know. That's why you need to leave."