From every there to here

"Dad?"

"Hm?" Lugh looked up from the stitching, smiling kindly as he spotted Dimandra at the doorway, peeking from behind the curtain. "It's alright, sweetheart," he nodded, beckoning her to come over before merely continuing to work as she climbed onto his lap, happily pulling his quilt over her shoulders as well. Lugh glanced down at her, gently prying: "Got bored of that book? We really oughta find you a new one next time we stop by a big town."

She simply shook her head. "I like it fine," she huffed and leaned against Lugh's chest, chewing on her words as she watched him work the needle. There was a quiet unease to her reply, one that her dad never took long to spot and bring up so she quickly distracted him with a chipper question. "What are you working on?"

"Gloves."

"Those are papa's, aren't they?"

"Mhm, he mentioned the leather was starting to get pretty worn around the thumbs. I'm taking them apart and replacing this piece here with a new one, see?" He put the needle and thimble down, letting Dima pick up one of the gloves and examine it herself.

"When will he come back?" She asked.

"Not before nightfall."

"Can I stay up till then?"

"Hmm," he hummed, considering her plea but his teasing tone was fooling no one. He could hardly say no to her, knowing how happy it’d make Mordreaux as well after a long day out. Peeling his gaze away from Dima’s puppy dog eyes, Lugh sighed easily enough, "Sure, but only if you help me finish these. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal," she grinned back, but something kept dampening her mood, growing more and more difficult to ignore. Wordlessly a slight frown took her bright smile's place and she placed the glove back on the table to timidly look at her soft-spoken dad, brows drawn. "... Why do you and papa fight?"

"What do you mean-"

"I heard you two argue when Llyr helped me pick acorns yesterday."

Lugh's smile faltered. Gently he closed his arms around her in a lax hug, sincere as he said, "You shouldn't have. I'm- we didn't mean to worry you - you know that we both love you, right?"

"I know, I know, but that’s not… that’s not the point. I've heard you two fight before," she huffed, side-eyeing the gloves that were halfway done. "... I don't get it. He always helps you with everything too and... and I brush Gwynned and Frith and Sala, every day, and make sure I practice my writing like you two asked me to! But even so… you still end up fighting."

Her fingers curled around the blanket's edge as she slowly pulled her knees to her chest, leaning into the comforting hug as her voice grew quiet. "You always do."

Lugh was silent for a moment, feeling shame stir in his chest. Of course Dima would pick up on it sooner or later, inevitable as it was with their ruefully frequent, sharp-worded disagreements that all too often had nothing to do with her, or how to best keep her safe, but those old wounds that refused to heal despite the contentment they all felt living together as a family. He sighed and lightly kissed the top of her head. "Forgive me. It’s not something you should have to worry about." He glanced over his little project too. "... Say, how do you think your papa would feel about some embroidery? Something small, perhaps on the inner lining so it lasts?"

Dimandra lifted her head a little. "Dad, you are avoiding it."

"Ah, suppose I am," Lugh exhaled through a thin smile. She wouldn't let this one go, would she? He hummed thoughtfully, taking his time to find the right words which Dima patiently allowed him. She really was a good kid, and very much like Mord with her keenness for the human heart.

"He doesn't want to get hurt, so sometimes we just... misunderstand things," he finally offered.

"But that's silly, fighting hurts too."

"That it does, but he... I can't make him not-afraid. We adults can be quite silly at times, indeed." He said in a quiet voice, half lost in thought. It'd been so long since his betrayal, but apart from their daughter, what had changed since Ilkova and Llyr's beheading? What pain had been eased by having that floating skull around as a constant reminder of his mistake and worst offense?

"Your dad did something stupid when we were younger. It hurt him - scared us both, really - but never, never think that this is in any way your fault, Dima."

It had been so long and yet there was nothing he could do to change their past nor present. Mordreaux would never believe Morgan to be at fault, and Lugh wasn't so sure any more either if there truly was anyone else to blame but himself. Even without Morgan sealing his lips on their terrible secret, the cruel favor she had asked of him in return for this immortal life, it was still him who had believed her over Mord's fervent promises of needing just a little bit more time, just a little bit more trust. All would be well, his love had promised.

But if the secret ever came to light- if he could speak freely and let Mordreaux see for himself what happened in truth way back when, perhaps then their fights would cease, as well as this needless grief that now threatened to consume his mind, making him jump a little when Dima tugged his sleeve with a worried look. Lugh blinked at her, swiftly shaking his head then. "I will talk with your papa later, little wren. I promise." He said soothingly, murmuring that it was a matter best left for her two dads to sort out before ushering her to go fetch her sewing kit so they could get back to work. In the meantime, Lugh rose from the table to prepare them both some tea, and Dima a slice of acorn cake with a spoonful of honey as a little afternoon treat.

Afterwards, they continued with the repairwork, lighting a few candles when daylight wasn’t enough anymore. Lugh smiled fondly at Dima over the table, enjoying the silence while she tried to decide which colored thread would fit the gloves best, and more importantly, what color her papa would like.

"What about our initials?" She chirped suddenly, smiling at her dad.

"Oh, no birds this time?" Lugh asked back to which Dima smirked very reasonably that there'd be no time for birds - in just a couple of hours papa would return, right?

"- and… I'd like it too if we were always together, I think," Dima said in a small voice, settling on a light blue thread, bright like a summer sky. "What do you think, is it... Is it good? Will papa like it?"

Lugh returned that smile as he finished another seam, cutting the thread as he softly said, "He will love it."