Watching his grandfather return to Oba brought about strange emotions in Qaisan. Over the years he’d grown into a bratty young man who, for the most part, was allowed to indulge in his ways. So long as he kept up with his training and his studies Qaisan’s parents were generally happy so long as he was unharmed. They tried to correct him as much as they could, but Qaisan was crafty. Behind his snark was a mind as sharp as his twins, even if he deigned not to show it. To the servants he was a terror, to his family he was an angel, but to his grandfather?

He was a disappointment.

Brigadier General Hakan wasn’t known to mince words. He commented on what he saw and observation became law. In Calix he saw an heir worthy of the title. A young man whose mind would be just as tough as it needed to be, but with enough compassion not to let pride rule him. In Qaisan he saw everything he hated about nobility. Arrogance, vanity, greed; what a blessing that Qaisan had been born the second son instead of the first. It didn’t matter that the boys were nearly identical physically so long as Qaisan remained ‘corrupted’ he would always been looked down upon. Everytime the older Oban visited his sharp eyes, so like Sariza’s, would bear down on Qaisan and burn his very soul. He hated that man. Who was he to say what was good and what was bad?

He’d never been shy about complaining to Calix, but the one time he’d allowed criticisms about Hakan to slip infront of Sariza he instantly regretted it. His mother’s soft smile, so reserved and contained on the best of days, had closed off. In that moment he could see the militant leader that Hakan had raised. He hated it; hated that look, that man, and everything that was brought about because of it!

As much as he resisted it Qaisan was changing. In his attempts to rebel against the strict rules enforced on him he was growing into a much more dependable man. Servants could come to him with problems that he could fix, much in the same way they had once done with his father, and if asked he could run drills with his mother. When Hakan next visited his comments were minor, a mere passing blow if anything, and soon they stopped all together.
The boys personality would never be something that Hakan liked, but under his harshness a new man was being born. As Qaisan aged he could begrudgingly realize that his grandfather had only been trying to help and for that he was thankful. For the thought, that is, not for his methods. He still detested the old b*****d, but he wouldn’t say it now. Anytime the two were in the same room it felt as if every word was the jab of a sword. At one point Hakan’s blade would have the upper hand, but now they were sparring on nearly equal ground.

He was thankful for the person that Hakan had raised. Qaisan’s father could be playful when he wanted to be, but his mother was a taciturn woman who only opened up around close family. She didn’t have nearly as many friends as the ladies of court, none that he’d seen anyway, and she worked herself to exhaustion. She cared very deeply for her family and he knew that without Hakan’s influence she wouldn’t have been able to survive this long. Someone may have found her, may have found them but this man’s selflessness had saved them all.

It was something he’d had to begrudgingly ‘thank’ him for. If asked he’d deny it entirely, but Qaisan may have looked up to him. While he had absolutely no desire to join the military he may have been influenced to donating some of his funds to soldier’s benefits. A little something for the families of the fallen; a trifle, really.

As a child he’d been thankful for his immediate family and little more. He took what had been given to him for granted and while he still did Qaisan was understanding the work that went into it all. He knew that without servants who woke up at dawn he wouldn’t have the food he needed to train nor would have a clean home to crash in after. It was a process getting him here, but Qaisan knew without these people he wouldn’t have made it that far.

[753]