Clara sat in the dining room, as usual, at the long table with four chairs. The air was cool, the chill inside the house a constant presence. She held her rosary in one hand, fingers sliding over the smooth beads as her eyes focused on a statue of the Virgin Mary across from her. In the other hand, of course, was her glass of champagne, which she sipped from every so often. Her expression was serene, lips moving in quiet prayer, interrupted only by the occasional pause to drink.
The door creaked open, and Taren and Orin stepped inside, both boys now accustomed to this strange routine. Clara looked up from her prayer with a smile, her jovial mood always in contrast to the intensity of her faith.
"Good morning, darlings!" she greeted, her voice bright as ever, despite the solemn activity she had just been engaged in.
"Good morning, Mother," Taren said, offering a small smile as Orin followed, echoing the greeting. The boys walked over to her, and seeing Clara praying, they instinctively joined in. Orin sat next to her, hands clasped as his young face scrunched in concentration, mimicking her posture. Taren hesitated but soon joined, though his thoughts were distracted by the looming threat of the Dothraki horde.
Clara occasionally paused to take a sip of her champagne, her refilling glass making no sound as it topped itself up. When the prayers were done, she gave them both a gentle smile. "Lovely, boys. Thank you for joining me."
Before they could respond, the door opened again, and in walked Mark, his usual relaxed but sarcastic air filling the room. He looked over at Clara, who was still holding her rosary in one hand and her champagne in the other. "Still praying, I see," he said with a raised eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. "Must be nice, believing in invisible friends."
Clara didn't miss a beat. "One day, Mark, you'll see the light," she replied, her voice dripping with affectionate sarcasm, the same tone she'd used in their countless debates. "It's never too late."
Mark chuckled, shaking his head as he moved towards the table. "Never gonna happen, Mother. Not in this lifetime or the next."
Their back-and-forth was familiar by now, almost comforting in its predictability, but this morning, Taren couldn't help himself. "What are we going to do about the Dothraki?" he blurted out, his voice laced with the fear that had gripped him since yesterday.
Mark and Clara paused, turning their attention to him. Clara's eyes softened with motherly concern, while Mark's usual casual demeanor took on a more serious edge.
"Taren," Clara said gently, "sit down, sweetheart. There's no need to worry."
Mark gestured toward the chairs, and the three of them sat at the long table while Orin settled in with quiet confidence beside Clara. "I've told you," Mark said, his voice calm but reassuring, "there's a shield around the property. Nothing can get through it. Not a single blade of grass moves in this house unless I allow it."
Taren's brows furrowed, doubt still clinging to him despite Mark's assurances. "But... they're Dothraki. They're not just anyone. They're warriors."
Mark nodded, unbothered by the challenge. "True, but even the fiercest warrior can't fight against being turned into dust." His voice was cool, certain. "If they so much as step foot on the property line with hostile intent, they'll be vaporized. Instantly."
Orin, always trusting of their adoptive parents, smiled slightly. "See, Taren? They've got everything under control."
Taren looked between them, finally allowing himself to relax a little. The tension in his shoulders eased, but the unease in his stomach lingered. He wasn't entirely convinced, but he trusted Mark and Clara more than anyone. He'd have to take them at their word, even if his nightmares said otherwise.
Clara clapped her hands together, breaking the serious mood with her usual brightness. "Enough of that for now. Let's have breakfast!" She glanced at Mark expectantly. "Well?"
With a flick of his wrist, bowls of cereal appeared in front of each of them, accompanied by cold milk. Taren and Orin smiled at the simplicity of it, but to them, even a bowl of cereal still felt like a feast after what they'd been through.
They all sat down, the sound of spoons clinking against bowls filling the quiet room.
"So," Clara said between bites, turning to Mark with a raised brow, "how's your online class going? Still surviving?"
Mark made a face, pushing his cereal around with his spoon. "Barely. You know how I feel about online classes." He sighed dramatically, though it was clear he wasn't actually that upset. "It's going fine, I guess. Just... more of the same."
Clara smiled knowingly. "Well, it's important work, dear. You'll be grateful for it one day."
Mark smirked. "Yeah, sure. Right after I find that 'light' you keep talking about."
Taren, in the midst of eating, took a deep breath. "My nightmares have stopped," he said quietly, "but... last night I had one. About the Dothraki. About what'll happen if they get here."
Clara reached over and placed a warm hand on his arm. "You're safe, Taren. As long as you and Orin stay within the boundaries of the property, no harm will come to you. We've made sure of that."
Mark nodded in agreement. "You've got nothing to worry about. We're prepared for anything."
Taren looked at them both, and this time, the reassurance in their eyes was enough. For now, he'd have to trust that the protections they'd set in place were strong enough to hold against whatever threat might come.
But deep down, he still couldn't shake the feeling that something was coming—something bigger than just the Dothraki. And he wasn't sure if even Mark and Clara's magic would be enough to stop it.
For now, though, he focused on his bowl of cereal, letting the comforting clink of spoons and the soft chatter around the table drown out his worries.