Chapter Text
"You should be the first who understands!"
"Ka'am, come here. Now." Ka'am swallowed and shot a look to Kaysìp, who was trying her best not to burst into a laugh. "Did he sound angry?" her twin brother asked, his light blue eyes completely terrified. She had to admit their dad sounded a bit irritated, but they had heard worse. There was that time they swam at the border of the reef with their ilus and, when they came back, they almost shitted on themselves hearing their dad calling their names with the coldest tone ever. Now there was a hint of coldness in his tone, that was true, but it wasn't like the wind coming from north during winter. Which meant it could actually get worse if Ka'am didn't move his ass. "Nah, but I think you should hurry." His brother bit on his bottom lip and quickly stuck the unfinished arrow in the bun on his nape. "It has been nice to grow up with you till it lasted." He rolled his eyes and stood up, brushing off some sand from his long legs, his light blue skin beamed under the morning sun.
He walked towards their pot, where probably his dad was at that hour, usually breading Nafol's hair. His eyes found the consumed fire of the night before, but the space around it seemed to be empty. Where was his dad? "Ka'am." He jumped, his thick and long tail lashed on the side for the fright, while he was turning around to shoot a glare to whoever scared him. Only to find his dad in front of him, his arms crossed to his chest and a challenging raised brow. Ka'am swallowed and forced a smile, a terrified one. "Dad..."
"What did I say about skimwings?" So it was about that. Maybe his sister and he got to the border of the reef right at eclipse time, when they had to work on tying nets, to try to master two wild skimwings. But that's just a theory, they didn't actually do it. Maybe. "I- I don't-"
"Don't even try it, young man." He swallowed for the third time in few minutes, his mouth felt really dry. Usually he was always fearless with others, he also took pride from it: he was the fearless son of the chief, an example for other young Metkayina. He said he was scared of nothing, but the truth was there was something he was scared of: his dad. Papa was less scary than dad, something hilarious saw from the outside since papa was taller, bigger, with bigger muscles, he was the Olo'ekytan after all. His dad was slender, even though he had toned muscles too, he was shorter, at first sight he wasn't someone who could instill worry, let alone fear. But Ka'am had seen him angry, real angry, fortunately not towards him or his sister. Yes, his dad had gotten upset because of them a lot of times since they started to go swimming by themselves, but never really furious.
Once, years before, Ka'am and his sister were around seven years old, a close clan accidentally hurt their dad's ikran with an arrow. The two young Na'vi responsible for it came to apologize with their parents to his dad and his papa, who had to hold his dad from cutting the kids' father's throat, Ka'am still remembered very well his dad hissing with his sharp teeth bared, his tail twitching nervously and slapping his papa's side, who was giggling nervously. His dad was already irritated because his ikran got hurt, but he wasn't furious yet because he understood it had been an accident caused by kids, his anger was more towards their parents who let them exercise with weapons without supervision. Then the father of the kids had the brilliant idea of commenting the cold stare his father was giving them and the situation went south from that.
Two years after, when Ka'am and his sister were nine years old, they were playing with their ilus when some older guys came to them and started to make mean comments, because their skin wasn't the usual aqua green of the water Na'vi, since their dad was an earth Na'vi. Usually nobody picked on them, because they were the chief's children and quite soon they even understood how to handle themselves thank to their uncle's advice, but that group was particularly dumb. Their dad saw the scene and called the kids' parents. Ka'am would never forget how they all left their pot crying, but crying for real, they were almost weeping. He was seated beside his papa, who was laughing at the show.
So his papa was the one who scared the most at first sight, but the real scary one was his dad.
Ka'am lowered his gaze. "How do I have to tell you that your time will come but now -and his dad marked on that word- you are still too young?" He was going to ask why he was being the only one scolded, but a look at his dad's flaming green glare warned him not to. "You could've got hurt, mastering a skimwing isn't like riding an ilu." His dad tilted his head on the side, his pupils a bit wider. "But I bet I've already told you this thousands of times." He did, Ka'am knew the speech by heart by now. "Why do you keep doing it then?" Because they were ready: they practiced with the form, with flows, with speed, with flying too riding with their uncle on his ikran. They were ready and they wanted to prove themselves.
Their parents always treated them like they were made of glass, like they could break with a strong swing of wind. He wasn't upset because of that, because after all they were still giving them time to be kids, talking to them about responsibilities but at the same time not burying them with those. He didn't want to pretend he was already an adult, but people expected it from them: kids looked up them waiting for a big magic trick like they were some kind of magicians because of their parents' importance. They were the chief's children, they weren't like others. They had to prove themselves to their parents and to others, because others would have to respect them as leaders one day. But their parents' worries didn't give them the chance to do so. Maybe it was early for everybody else, but they had to be early, earlier than the rest.
Ka'am remembered when his grandpa, the mighty Toruk Makto, told him about his dad's childhood. His dad claimed his ikran when he was twelve, so much earlier than usual, why couldn't they do the same? His other grandpa, the previous Olo'ekytan of the Metkayina, told him when his papa learnt to master his skimwing, when he was thirteen, earlier than usual. They both did everything earlier because they were the chiefs' sons, the chiefs' firsts born. Ka'am and Kaysìp were too, so why couldn't they do the same? At least try to do the same. Their papa was less strict than their dad, but under his supervision: sometimes he let them go with him at the border of the reef to scout the waters, he let them ride with him on his skimwing and he let them practice with him on hunting. And that one was already a step forward and they were going to take everything given to them, but they wouldn't have disliked a bit more freedome. Their dad practiced alone with bow and arrows already when he was seven, their papa started to scout the waters alone when he was nine.
"Dad, I- I'm sorry, but..." His dad lowered a bit his shoulders, his gaze softened just a bit. "But?" Ka'am squeezed his bows, crossing his arms to his chest. "I know we aren't adults, but...we aren't even kids."
"What are you trying to say?" There was no threat in his dad's voice, after all they could always talk with their parents, they were never going to judge them. "That you...treat us like we're made of glass." He hesitantly looked up at his dad, who was turning up his nose just a bit. "You are our children, we have to protect you. It's not like you're made of glass, it's just..." He saw him sigh. A gentle hand rested on his shoulder and kindly pushed him over to the nearest rock, where they sat down. "Ka'am, as long as I can I want to protect you from this world."
"I know and I appreciate that. But...that way we can't prove ourselves." His dad left his hand on his nape, his fingers delicate and warm. "You don't have to prove yourselves."
"Of course we do!" He pressed his lips in a thin line, regretting raising his voice. He wasn't exactly angry, he was more exasperated. His dad was a chief's son, why did he seem not to understand what he was talking about? "Sorry..." he muttered. His dad caressed his nape, then surrounded his shoulders with his thin yet strong arm, trained by years of archery and climbing everywhere possible. He didn't say anything, but it was that silence that always made Ka'am start talking taking it all out. His papa made you questions till you exploded and talked everything out, his dad was more for the silence treatment, both ways always revealed themselves effective. The young Na'vi managed to keep quiet for less than a dozen of minutes. "We are the chief's children and the children of the mighty son of Toruk Makto that fought beside him during the war against the sky people leading the clans of the forest." His voice was soft, quiet for the weight of those words, the words which defined him and his siblings. But they were even heavier for him and his twin sister, the firsts born. His dad squeezed gently his arm and Ka'am leaned against his side. "They all expect something from us, like they did from you when you were young. But...you don't give us the chance to meet these expectations." He met the soft gaze of his dad, finding his green eyes more shiny then usual, a bit...tearful actually. He knew he shouldn't be stressing his dad, not in his conditions. A pang of guilt hurt in his chest. "We are trying to prepare you to do so, but...safely, without rushing things." Ka'am sighed: "We have...different pace from others, but you are- You didn't slow down when you were young, why do we have to?"
"Do you think the way I and your papa grew up is the good one?" Ka'am was young, yes, but he didn't miss the bitterness on his dad's voice doing that question that sounded a lot like a rhetorical one. But he did think that was the good way. "Yes." he answered anyway. His dad shook slowly his head, shooting a quick look to the sea in front of them. Warm water crashed against their ankles calmly, unaware of the uncomfortable conversation they were having. "Ka'am-" Ka'am knew what was coming: another rejection, another speech of them still being kids and not knowing with confidence what was best for them, that everything their parents' were doing was for their best. "You should be the first who understands!" He saw his dad blink, surprised by him raising again his voice with a crack in it. But Ka'am didn't stop, his hands raising to give more emphasis to his speech. "You are the son of Toruk Makto, you should know what people expect from children of such personalities! And you should know how important and gratifying is to show them you're worthy of your name!"
"Your gratification shouldn't come from others, you have to be proud of yourself first, not others." He knew, his dad always made that point clear. "I would be proud of myself if I got the chance to prove myself!" His dad tilted his head on the side and let out a short sigh. Ka'am couldn't understand what his dad was thinking, he couldn't read his expression. His papa was easier to read. "Why did you have that chance and we can't have it?"
"Because I want you to have a childhood!" Ka'am pressed his lips together, his dad's strict tone gave him the sensation that, for the first time, he was talking to a wall. It was useless talking about childhood, because Ka'am could hear what others said about them: 'they're going to do great things soon' or 'their parents should be really proud of them when they'll show their full potential' or 'they're such nice teens'. They could be eleven, but they weren't seen like kids, not by others, not by themselves, only by their parents. They didn't need a childhood. They needed to prove they were worthy, prove it others and maybe to themselves too. They wanted to. "Well, I- we don't know what to do with it!" He wiggled himself out of his dad's grip and stood up, ignoring how his tail searched for his dad's. He wanted to go away, staying there to talk was useless. "What's my punishment?"
"Ka'am..." His dad sounded a bit tired, so it was one more reason to cut there that conversation. "What's my punishment?" he repeated, in a more demanding tone, that came out more like a whine than anything else. His dad sighed and stood up, resting a hand on his head, hand that Ka'am didn't have the heart to avoid. "Just this time you'll get away with it, -really?- but it has to be the last one." Another proof talking took them nowhere. He forced a nod and even tried to make it convincing, but seeing how his dad pursed his lips he didn't have a lot of success. "Your acting is as terrible as your father's." A small smile crossed his face. "Now go."
When he came back to Kaysìp, she checked him up to down. "You're whole..." She seemed surprised. Ka'am rolled his eyes and sat down on the sand with a huff, the voice of his dad kept rumbling on his mind about how he wanted to protect them and give them a childhood. He seemed deaf to Ka'am words and it was the first time he felt not heard by his dad. "What did he say? What was it about?" He couldn't answer, because his papa's voice thundered on the shore. "Kaysìp, here. Now."
"Oh, Eywa!" she whispered. Ka'am gave her a sympathetic look. "Your turn."
---
Neteyam looked at the fishes swimming around his ankles, his son's words kept ringing in his ears from that morning and so far he hand't been able to forget about them not even for a few minutes, not even busying himself with some hunting in the forest at the center of the island. He let Aonung talk with their daughter and he had received not so later after the worrying news she gave more or less the same speech. It was worrying, because two out of two meant they were doing something wrong. He had never been the type to put the blame on the kids and he wasn't going to start now, so he had to face the fact something wasn't right and probably the fault was theirs, his and Aonung's.
"Brother!" He looked up when a hand clapped his shoulder and Lo'ak plopped in the sand next to him soon after. "Why are you here all alone?" Neteyam sighed: "Thinking."
"You've always thought too much." A hint of a giggle left his lips, knowing too damn well his brother was right, at least on that one. When they were younger, Lo'ak always preached about Neteyam's intensive thinking giving him a headache even though they were miles away from one another. "What are you thinking about this time?" He shrugged, pointing his gaze to the dark horizon. "This is all ours now." Aonung had told him after he became Olo'ekytan. Neteyam still remembered pretty well how the few months old Ka'am had held his little chubby finger out pointing at the same horizon he was looking at now. At that Aonung had nodded and repeated: "Yes, little prince, all of this!" That day Neteyam couldn't have averted his gaze from his mate even if he had wanted to. It seemed so far, so back in time. "Brother, I can see there's something troubling you." He nodded, as always his brother knew how to read him and point out something was wrong. "Do you remember how we grew up?" Lo'ak leaned back to rest his hands behind himself and met his eyes a bit confused. "Yes, I do. Why?"
"Do you think...mum and dad had sometimes doubts about what they were doing?" His eyes got tearful as soon as the words left his mouth, he hated being so emotional, it was one of the cons of pregnancy he hated the most. He sighed deeply, closing his eyes for a moment and letting the breeze ruffle a bit his braids. "Do you and the kids...have some lack of understanding?" When he was younger, Lo'ak was really an idiot, but with time Neteyam understood it was because his brother didn't put his mind into things, fortunately he started to use his mind a bit more after the things between him and Tsireya got serious, he fully matured when their first child, a cute little girl whose name was Oeytx, was born. But when the other read so deep in him from few sentences, Neteyam almost missed the old young dumb Lo'ak. "Unfortunately."
"What's it about?" He picked on a lonely blade of grass biting his bottom lip. "They think we treat them like they're made of glass." Lo'ak chuckled: "Well, you kinda do!"
"Oh, you talk!" His brother treated his daughter like even a feather could hurt her badly. He knew why his brother did so, by the way, but he was the last one who could criticize how Neteyam treated his children. "I'm not criticizing you, -Lo'ak shrugged- but your kids aren't wrong." He was particularly attentive when it came to his children, maybe he was a bit overprotective: he didn't want them to get hurt and he wanted them to live their childhood, which they needed, without too much worries. Protecting his family and giving it a chance to live well what was a father a did. It was what Neteyam was trying to do. And he thought he had succeeded in that, but it seemed he was wrong. "We grew up worrying about everything, we grew up risking to lose it all." He shook his head slowly, remembering the noises of guns and bombs. "I want them to grow up without worrying about any of this!" Lo'ak nodded: "I know. You almost died in my arms twice." And they weren't even sixteen when it happened. "I want them to have the childhood we never had."
"And I want that too." So where was the fault in that? Lo'ak sighed and with a small smile patted Neteyam's thigh. "But...we can't suffocate them for that." He leaned back letting his eyes gaze to the night sky. "So...am I suffocating them?"
Ka'am said he should've been the first to undertand their point of view and Neteyam really understood what being the chief's son meant, what being the chief's first born meant. He knew about expectations and responsibilities, and he would've never forgotten how he desired hard for them to disappear, how he wanted to be like the others. He had nothing to recriminate to his parents, they had been the best, keeping them alive and unite in war time, the only thing they missed was peace, but it wasn't on their parents. But Neteyam couldn't deny he had to grow up so quickly and well, he had to be always the perfect son, the perfect brother, the perfect example for young earth Na'vi in their clan. It was exhausting and, as long as he could, he wanted to spare his children from that. He was going to let them do everything, but at the right time, not at the anxious chief's children's rhythm. But it seemed they were still feel the pressure and...they wanted to answer to it, to fight it, to prove themselves.
"I thought the pressure of being the chief's children would've been suffocating." He locked looks with Lo'ak. "Like it was for you." his brother finished for him. He nodded. He remembered too well how stressed he was when he was only sixteen, he risked a nervous breakdown every day. He didn't want his children to go through the same. "Since you remember it so well, you can guide them without putting them in a bunker!" He wasn't putting them in a bunker. Or maybe was he? He passed a hand on his face sighing.
"Ah-" His hand flew to the side of his belly and he had to catch his breath for a moment. That one was a strong one and a low one. "Are you okay?" Lo'ak asked, immediately, putting a hand on his shoulder, ready to stand up and rush somewhere they could settle and put the giving birth process into motion. But Neteyam let out a breathless chuckle. "It's okay, Lo'ak, just a kick."
"Are you sure?" Neteyam raised his brows: his brother hadn't changed a bit, practice didn't give him confidence at all. After Neteyam giving birth twice and Tsireya giving birth once, Lo'ak hadn't gotten a bit calm in such a situation yet. He knew what to do, but it seemed that knowledge he gained during the years didn't give him any reassurance. "I think you're gonna faint again when I'll finally give birth and probably you're going to have a heart attack when it'll be Tsireya's turn." Lo'ak backed off faking offense for his brother's mocking words. "It happened just the first time!" It was still be told around how Lo'ak fainted when Neteyam gave birth to Ka'am and Kaysìp. Neteyam thought his brother could be of support on that situation and he ended up making sure Lo'ak didn't hit his empty head while falling to the ground unconsciously. It had been funny, a lot funny. Well, in that moment Neteyam would've loved to kill his brother, but when the worst had passed...
"Ah-" Lo'ak laughed: "That's called karma, bro!" Neteyam glared at him with an amused smile, which got wider when his brother leaned in and caressed his belly gently. "Good guys, defend your uncle from your mean dad!" Only people of the family could touch his belly, other had tried and they had risked to lose their fingers. "Oh, shut up!"
They stayed on the shore messing around with each other for some time, until they stopped hearing the usual chaos of dinner time coming from the village. Then they knew they had to come back. Neteyam was greeted in his pot by Aonung, who gently pressed his lips on the other's. "Hey!" His voice was warm and soft, a sound that had become Neteyam's home. He brushed his cheek and rested his forehead against the other's. "Hey..."
"Do you feel a bit better?" He had been in a bad mood all day after the talk with Ka'am, between the feeling of being a failure itself and the hormones he was dragged particularly down. "I've thought about it." He took his mate big hand, that hand that even when they were teen could grab most of his hips. "Lo'ak helped me."
"Then everything is solved!" He chuckled and pecked his lips. At first Aonung and Lo'ak were enemies, but not in a friendly way: they really hated each other. Now they were like brothers: Lo'ak, Aonung and Rotxo were called my Neteyam's father the three musketeers, they were practically inseparable. Now they friendly mocked each other: Rotxo was targeted because he was substantially a servant of his mate, something both Lo'ak and Neteyam appreciated since his mate was Kiri; Lo'ak was an easy target because he gave himself raw material for jokes to the other two, both in the present days and in old days, when he was still a complete dumbass; Aonung was mocked because of his two personalities, the one he showed to everyone, the Olo'ekytan's, and then the one he showed only to few carefully chosen people, especially Neteyam since he was the one who made him understand that that personality had nothing wrong.
"Maybe I'm being a bit too much...protective over them, over their childhood." Aonung caressed his hip with a small smile, his light blue eyes shone in the dim light of the warm fire, which sent an orange shadow on the water Na'vi's skin. Neteyam had always thought orange really suited him. "So what do you think we should do?" They could understand their children's point of view, they had been in their place, but their children hadn't been in their place, they didn't know Neteyam and Aonung's point of view. "Maybe we should tell them why we act this way, tell them our story." What leaded them to that point. "Maybe we could find a...meeting point." They could put all the cars on the table and see where it could take them. After the war, Neteyam had understood the best way was communication, he had enough of conflicts and violent answers to it. Plus his mother had always told him that the key was to talk things out, she told him hundreds of times how she and his father made it work: they talked. Aonung squeezed his hands. "Well, they're waiting for their bedtime tale, so..." Neteyam chuckled: "Perfect!"
Their children were waiting, chatting softly between themselves, Neteyam could hear them rambling about how disgusting their parents' effusions were. He let out a small grin: they kind of reminded him of his youngest sister, Tuk, when she was little, she also complained about their parents' effusions reacting to them like they were the most disgusting thing in the world. "Okay okay, enough fuss!" He sat down right before Nafol's bed and gently ruffled his son's braids that he personally did every morning, like his mother did with him when he was younger. "Your papa told me you're waiting for the bedtime tale." Nafol nodded, his light green eyes shone like small stars. Neteyam smiled and looked to Ka'am and Kaysìp: the girl elbowed her brother on the side, who glared at her. It was never a good sign when the two of them shared those looks. "Dad, -Ka'am shyly looked at him- I'm sorry." He frowned confused and was going to ask for what he was sorry about, but it seemed his son could read his mind more quickly. "For...making you sad this morning."
"I'm sorry too, -Kaysìp bit her upper lip- we know you do only what's best for us." Neteyam and Aonung shared a look, a sweet one. It was cute their children were apologizing for what their words caused, but they actually had no faults, it was so mature of them to search for dialog instead of ignoring them completely and keeping doing what they wanted and probably, if they were older, they would've insisted instead of apologizing, but they still needed to grow up. And accompanying them in that growth was Neteyam and Aonung's job. Neteyam smiled and stood up, taking place between the twins, while Aonung took Nafol in his arms and sat down in front of them. "You didn't make me or papa sad." He circled both kids' shoulders with his arms and hugged them loosely. "We were a bit...taken by surprised and we weren't ready, that's why we reacted that way." Ka'am looked down, sniffing softly. Neteyam squeezed his arm gently. "And you made us think."
"Does this mean we can finally master skimwings?" He chuckled and ruffled their daughter's curls. She saw Tsireya's hairstyle once when she was seven and since then she was unmoving on how she wanted her own hair. Her light blue eyes waiting for an answer with a hopeful light in them. Neteyam didn't really want to ruin it. "We'll see."
"Really?" She was even more excited, because it was the first time he didn't dismiss it with a quick and strict 'no'. "But first... You told us your point of view and -he looked at Ka'am- we do understand it, trust me." Their son grimaced a bit and snuggled next to him, leaning on his side, muttering another 'sorry'. Neteyam sighed with a small smile, his heart melted at that sight, so he placed a kiss on the boy's forehead. "We want to express our point of view too, why we've been acting like this, hoping we can find a meeting point."
"Bedtime tale!" Nafol exulted. Aonung chuckled and tickled their son's hips, filling the hut with joyful laughs. Neteyam smiled wider, his heart a bit lighter at that sight, at least one was carefree like they tried to assure them. "This could be the most interesting bedtime tale you've told us so far." Kaysìp permitted. Sometimes Neteyam had to admit she was their daughter: she had Aonung's confidence and Neteyam's sharp tongue, while Ka'am had taken Aonung's big and kind heart and Neteyam's caring manners, but that didn't mean he didn't take part to his sister's mischief, they did everything together, everything. "Are you finally telling us how you two got together?" Ka'am asked. Nafol chuckled: "Every time we ask, uncle Lo'ak bursts into laughs." Either Neteyam or Aonung was surprised: they both didn't know if they had to laugh or cry when thinking at how they got together. They shared a look.
"Why don't we just jump on the telling part then?"