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Ronan didn't know what time it was, he really had to either make or buy a clock to put in here. It would have to be something sturdy, something that could take abuse and the heat. For right now though, it would have to wait. Even though it was March, it was still fairly cool out. The nights were colder than the days, but being a walking heat lamp made it slightly more bearable. The days when it felt like it was over a hundred degrees, it was like a walk in the park. It was the cold days that Ronan noticed the temperature. There were more people in the forge, crowding the space of those that made this place home. Nova had gone, Tessa wasn't scheduled to show up till later on that week, Lance wasn't here since Nova wasn't. He was alone. The thin sliver of silvery moonlight casted into the forge, it was a different light than what was given off of the red glowing coals of the forge. Heat didn't bother him at all. The sweltering heat off of the flames of the forge was enough to give anyone else pause. Sweat glistened across his chest, not from the heat, no it was from the exertion that he had been putting out the past few hours. His muscles seemed to scream in protest as he raised his hammer. there was too much to do and too little time in which to do it.

Ronan blinked his tired eyes as his arm raised and fell, pounding out the shape of a sword. This had to be the tenth sword repair today. Those stupid Mars children were too abusive of their weapons. There was maybe one or two out there that knew how to take care of their armor and weapons, but not many. Sparks flew has he pounded the hammer into the red hot metal. There was a flip of his wrist and Ronan went to work on the other side. Picking up the blade, he thrust it into the water barrel, a hiss of steam escaped at the moment the water touched the heated blade. Once cooled, he picked up the blade, inspecting it with a careful eye before thrusting it into the coals once more. He let out a sigh as he waited for the coals to heat up the metal once more. He could have done it himself, but to do it too quickly wasn't good for the metal. Ronan stared at the flames before sitting down at his workbench. He took out his helmet, some polish and a rag. He went to shining up his helmet. It was just something to keep his mind occupied till it was time to pull the blade from the fire.

Ronan's eyes wandered over to Edmund's vacant work station. He felt like it was his fault his little brother left. There had to have been something different he could have done, something he could have said, anything to make his brother stay. He knew that it wasn't his fault, that Edmund always was one to do what he wanted and say what he wanted. The look on little Lyn's face, however, was something that tugged at his heart. She was oh so sad and in pain. He wanted to fix what was wrong with her, but people were still a bit of a mystery to him. Give him a sword, a shield, give him an engine, or any device he had never seen before and he could fix it without a problem. Trying to help people get over problems? That was a job for the therapists in New Rome. Without reaching for a pair of gloves, Ronan pulled the blade out of the fire and placed it back on the anvil before picking up his hammer. The fire of the forge licked his skin, it didn't hurt, it never did. It was like any other part of his body. Ronan was home here in the forge, his home hearth in a way. He always carried a lighter, not that he needed it though. His warhammer hung at his side, any time he placed his hands upon it, it lit up and blazed like a fiery sun. Being a pyro wasn't a curse, not like he was lead to believe at first. It was a gift and a weapon.

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Tags:  Ronan| Words: 613 | Notes: Sorry it took so long, was thinking about what to write.

Vulcan knew the stress riding on his children and the amount of things they did to make the camp function. They took after their father in numerous ways and their love for forging was no different. The god could always find his children lurking about in the forges no matter what time of day it was and for that he felt a little better. His children had potential for greatness but most would be overlooked because of their fathers status. There had been word of his sons departure from camp, and deep down the god felt a tinge of guilt for not being there in his time of need. He had appeared in camp a few moment prior to anyone's knowledge and made his way towards the most comforting zone he could find. As he reached the forge he could hear the clanking of metal which sent a small uncomfortable feeling of sadness, he knew when he opened the door that the face he`s see was not the one he wished to talk to. He opened the door and made his way into to forge a neutral face taking over as he looked about. His eyes locked onto Ronan the son any god would have been proud to claim and the one he feared speaking to the most. Vulcan stood tall though his steps where short and slightly unbalanced. He spoke in a deep tone almost raspy as he managed to get the words out, "Hello Ronan." 

Vulcan of all the gods was the least suited for contact with even his own family, how could he have ever hoped to speak with any of his children? His children would never know true love from the god and for that he felt sorrow but at the moment looking at his son he was proud even if he wouldn`t come straight out and say it. He looked at the war hammer on his side, the weapon he was working on, everything about his son reminded him that not everyone out there was terrible. He walked over to Novas work space his hand touching the desk before turning back to his son he kept silent for a moment as he thought about what to say. The wrong thing could send yet another son into the arms of the enemy and that was the thing he feared the most. "With the current events and your brothers sudden departure I can only imagine the pain that you feel." He picked up a gear and fiddled with it the stress of being an active father and communicating with his son made him uncomfortable its just who he was. "I can not bring Edmund back to camp, and I can not make up the years I missed in your life all I can do is attempt to be around more to help the best I can." 

He placed the gear back onto the desk and moved to grab a chair sitting down with a sigh, he looked up at his son his expression was still blank. He had done his best to help his family without getting involved more than he should have. Now sitting in the forge and looking at his son he understood why he`d chosen to be alone for all those years. Emotions where the most painful thing he`d ever experienced and he couldn`t bear to imagine the thought of what his children felt living with one another. Feeling the warmth of the fires he relaxed slightly here in this forge he felt comfortable but tension filled the air. The only question was if it was just Vulcan imagining it or was there really an underlying cause.

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For as long as Ronan had been alive, he had been a target. From being a child in the orphanage and being relentlessly picked on, to finding out he was a demi-god and being somewhat akin to an open flame for the moths that were monsters, he knew what it was like to be hunted. He knew what it was like to be unwanted, to be shunned and pushed aside, and he knew what it was like to fear for your life. It hadn't helped that he had been made centurion, that added to the massive pile of stress. His back was to the wall, his shoulder pointing towards the door as he hammered away, trying to reshape this blade. It had seen better days, that was for sure. It looked like someone had tried to stab a mountain with the poor blade. At the sudden woosh of cold air and a voice, it seemed that almost instantly his war hammer was in hand, alight with blazing fire as the flames snaked around his arm, flickering and licking like a protective armor. His head turned, his long dirty blond hair pulled back into a pony tail. He stared at whomever had decided to enter into the forge.

There was no mistaking the figure that stood there. It wasn't Tessa or Lyn or Lance or Nova. It was obvious who it was. Ronan set his jaw before replacing his warhammer along side his waist. The flames flickered and then died as his beckoning as he met the eyes of someone he hadn't quite expected to see. He half expected to see his brother standing there. It wasn't him. There was so many things Ronan wanted to say, but words seem to have gotten caught up in his throat. He and his brothers and sisters had never been much for emotion or talking things out. Ronan licked his lips, trying to wet the dry things before speaking. He opened his mouth, nothing came out. He closed his lips and bit on his bottom one. He had met the queen of the gods, he had met Mercury and Mars, he had even met the god of death Mors. None terrified him more than the deity standing right here, speaking his name. Ronan dipped his head, not taking his eyes off of the massive frame of the male standing right in front of him. “Father...” He said, his voice low and raspy. “Or would you prefer Lord Vulcan?” Ronan's Russian accent was thick. He had never really gotten rid of the accent in all the years he had been here in camp.

Ronan wasn't used to being forced to deal with people. So he watched his father walk around the forge. While the siblings of Vulcan didn't look much alike, they had some of the same mannerisms, some of the same traits, it was easy to tell where Ronan's massive frame, his muscles and stature came from. It was safe to say that the god in front of him reminded him more of a volcano. If the mountains themselves could come alive or if he could see the elemental in the stories that some of the retired soldiers told, he expected them to be something like this. His father spoke, talking and fiddling with a random gear he had picked up. Ronan noticed him pause at Nova's desk. While there were very little emotions that could be seen on the face of the god, it seemed to him that it was a sense of tenderness. There were many people that wondered how such rough and calloused hands of a Vulcan child could create wonderous items, delicate workings or intricate weapons and armors. “I...” Ronan started to say after his father was finished speaking. Ronan looked away, pausing, trying to calculate what to say so that he wouldn't insult the god. “I don't expect you to bring Edmund back. He's always done his own thing...” Ronan said, shaking his head.

Ronan looked at the still hot but dying blade that was in his hands. He thrust it into the water barrel, sending up another plume of steam as he then placed it back into the forge fires. He reached up easily, grabbing the bellows and pulling them down, making the fire flicker to life once more. “I don't blame you. We know the rules. No direct contact, no interference.” Ronan said with a shrug. His father didn't make the rules. The king of the gods did. Some of the gods were quick to break said rules to a degree. His dad just didn't seem to strike him as the kind to do so. He looked into the fire. Why now? Why bother to do something about it now? Ronan wasn't that chicken straw augur, he couldn't think to divine the will of the gods.

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Tags:  Ronan| Words: 1,064 | Notes: Sorry about the massive post

No demi god had a perfect life, if just wasn`t in their fates to be happy as children. Vulcan had never been around physically with any of his children, he felt no desire to be the loving father that could ruin their training. Romans needed to be cruel and calloused warriors not weak willed boys and girls who couldn`t raise a hand to defend them. Though his children might have thought him to be uncaring or a terrible father figure he kept an eye on them through it all. Had it come to their lives he most likely would have intervened in some way. Vulcan had never had a father figure so the whole thing was still a tad bit new to him, and while he longed to have a family who didn`t care how he looked the pressure was always on. Ronan had been through much in his lifetime and while Vulcan wished to embrace his child in a fatherly manner he did not dare touch the boy. When it came to affection he never understood people or their needs all he had ever been good with was inanimate objects. His eyes watched the boy who had drawn his hammer, thankfully once he realized who it was the weapon was placed back to his side without further hassle. This boy standing in front of him now had become who he was through the hard times that he had been through. He was stronger than any other god in his opinion, sure they lost their children in wars or of old age but the gods had been a family for many many years. They never really experienced losses like the mortals who suffered through the pain and for that the god had respect for his son.

When Ronan called him father Vulcan kept a straight face waiting for the insult that would fallow it, but it didn't come  in stead he asked him which he preferred. "Father is fine, but if you feel uncomfortable with the term Vulcan will suffice for now." If there was one thing he could handle it was being called by his name. Originally the god was closer with man kind than any other before him, teaching the males of the island his tricks and trades. He had not commanded them to call him lord or whatever they had tried, it was simply Vulcan. Hearing the accent in his voice made the tan skinned males lips slightly curve up into a slight smile. His accent was what made him different, no one liked the plain Jane people anymore. Vulcan was picky with the females who won his heart he would never just let anyone in and seeing his children he felt that his choices where never wrong. He loved each woman and their off springs just as much as the last. He hardly felt disappointed in any child he`d ever met, even his son Edmund made the god proud. Sure he betrayed the camp and his family but at least he had taken it upon himself  to find his place in life. Vulcan has physically built in his upper body much like the son standing in front of him however he could see the reminisce of the woman he`d fallen for. Vulcan kept his comments about Ronans mother to himself knowing emotions could run high.

He felt a bit relived when Ronan confirmed that he did not blame him for Edmunds choices. Thankfully he knew Nova did not blame him either but he had promised her he`d do his best to keep the boy alive. Vulcan had placed such high expectations on his children and yet he had never even spoken to any of them before this moment. If it were not for the broken leg and insecurity of being a bit lopsided he would have stood to help his son. He leaned back watching the male work on the sword. The steam, the fires everything reminded him of home and he for once had a look of approval on his face. Watching his children work on something so close to his heart sent waves of happiness through him, perhaps he didn`t fail them as much as he thought. Everyone on the planet earth knew that Jupiter had called the shots no matter what religion they where in. Not all the gods where like him, though he could name five that had taken after their father with ease. He raised a brow watching the boy he knew the rules and yet here sat his own father in the forge speaking with him, did he not wonder why? "Times are changing Ronan. There is a war coming and both our families will be placed into the middle of it. I myself am no fighter so I will be doing what I do best. I have no right to ask favors from you or your siblings but I will ask you one simple one. What you do with it is up to you."

Vulcan rose from his chair and walked over towards the male slowly but steadily, he placed a hand on the blondes workplace his voice was softer than it probably should have been. "As a father I fear for my children`s safety. I fear the most for Nova. She is merely a girl and while she is very bright I do not know how this war will take affect on her. I know you`re strong willed and I have faith that you`ll stand strong so all I ask is that you never turn your back on your sister or your brother. Family will be our greatest weapon Ronan." Where was all this coming from, Vulcan was the last god to know anything about love or family. His own family had once turned their backs on him so how could he stand here now preaching about something he`d yet to find on his own. He looked at the sword taking in the design and crafting his eyes watching the flames as though his life depended on it. Being a father was harder work than the male had actually thought. Vulcan looked towards the empty desk once more, he would do his best to bring his son home but there was nothing set in stone, not now not ever.  Ronan was his last hope to preserve what family he would have left. 

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Ronan set his jaw and let a small breath out through his nose. Emotions had to be set aside in times like this. There wasn't much room for pouting, worry and crying. It was the roman way to be strong and unyielding. After speaking to the god of Death, Lord Mors had put aside any doubt that Ronan had in his mind. Though on occasion, he had worried that what he had done to those children all those years ago was wrong. But now he knew that he was defending himself. Those boys had every intent on hurting him, how was he to know that it would be the last time that they would make the mistake of trying to hurt him or anyone else for that matter. He could still see the smoldering ruins of the orphanage in the snow in his minds eye. Sometimes the nightmares were still there, but any seasoned veteran had nightmares. Ronan had grown out of his passiveness, he had become a fighter and a warrior. There was little that he would not do to fight for his home and his family. This was the first time he had people depending on him to be a leader. Children of Vulcan were not leaders, they were builders, creators and menders. While they were the backbone of New Rome and the camp, their lack of social skills made them ill equipped to lead people. Ronan thought about Tessa and her little problem with the charmspeak. She was a better choice for a centurion than he was. But there was apparently something inside him that Remus and Jason saw that he himself couldn't see. He would try to live up to whatever it was that they thought made him worthy of being a centurion. He couldn't help but glance over at the centurion badge that sat upon the breast of his jacket and the plume of the centurion that adorned his new helmet. It all just seemed to be strange, he still wasn't used to it.

“I've never had anyone to call father.” Ronan stated in an obvious manner. To call a god, let alone his father, by his name just seemed wrong to him. His eyes never left his father. There were a thousand and one questions he has always wanted to ask his father about his mother, mostly since his mother died when he was so young. His grandmother never really spoke about her that he could remember and then all he knew was the orphanage. He found his mother's camp file, but other than that, it left more questions he wanted to ask than answers. Little Nova, he knew she had felt horrible when she found out her mother had died. Instead of reaching to the side where the tongs were to retrieve objects from the flames, Ronan simply reached in and produced the white hot blade from the flames. He placed it upon his workstation as he continued to pound it. Sparks flew from the blade as he flipped it over and then again placed it into the water bucket. He looked at his father as he said he had a request to make of him. A favor? From his father? Ronan blinked as he looked at him. Ronan wasn't sure what to make of this. He fitted the blade into the hilt, wrapping supple leather strips around the hand grip. He took a whetstone and wet it, running it along the edge of the sword in a methodical manner. What on earth did his father want from him that he couldn't do himself? The gods were supposed to be powerful and strong, why did they need the demi-gods anyway? Other than to pray to them so they wouldn't vanish from existence of course.

Vulcan placed his hands on Ronan's workstation. His first instinct was to swipe at the man. A Vulcan child's workstation was personal space, but he didn't. He knew his father was trying to get his attention. Ronan looked his father in the eye as he spoke in a low voice. He spoke about family to him. To a degree it was almost like rubbing salt in his wounds. Ronan did his best to ignore it. “I never had a family to protect. I never had people depend on me. Now that I have it, I do not intend on letting it go.” Ronan stated in a matter of fact voice. He looked Vulcan square in the eyes as he then calculated the next sentence that was about to come from his mouth. “That means you. You're my father and you're part of my home, I will never turn my back on that, I swear it.” There was no mistaking the resolve that the younger male had in his voice. “I am prepared to defend Nova, to keep her safe. She is Roman, she will have a hard time not fighting, but I will do whatever I can for her.” Ronan looked away for a moment to check the sharpness of the blade before sliding it into the sheath and he placed it on the wall. “Why come now? Do the gods not trust us to get the job done?” He asked. This was simple curiosity, no animosity or disrespect tainted his voice. It was only questions. At least they were questions that he had that he felt were appropriate to ask.

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Tags:  Ronan| Words: 523 | Notes: Not sure what else to say honestly.

Seeing his son acting so distant really showed Vulcan what he has feared the most in all of his life. His children where much more like him than he had ever wanted. They didn`t stand a chance making it to god status, it was far than likely to happen and even though he had started to become "accepted" in the lands of  the gods he could still feel the hatred coming from his mother each time he stepped into the house of the gods. Was this the life he passed down onto his children? None of them had gained their fathers birth defects which he thanked Zeus for each day, but the fear that one would still lingered within the god. Seeing how strong Ronan was here and now sent a wave of proudness through the god. Time after time he`d gotten the same speech from demi gods alike, " I never had a father or  a mother" depending on which parent was godly and deep down he understood the feeling.  He had never had a mother or father figure for most of his life, instead he lived among the mortals and taught them his skills. When he spoke his voice was calloused and rough almost like he had no emotions. "I will not force you to call me father. I have no earned that title and I do not expect you to accept me into that slot." He sighed and as he noticed the males reaction to him touching his desk, it was to be expected. He removed his hands from the cool surface and looked around the forge. "This place seems much smaller than what you should have. Just know Ronan that my forge is always open to you and your siblings. I will never turn away my kin." He didn`t know if that would make up for the desk leaning but he felt a bit better about the meeting now.

Seeing one of his children missing from the forge sent a rush of hatred and disdain through the male’s body. He was a god first and a father second, perhaps that was why he had lost something so precious to him? Though his children did not know it he kept up with them over the years. Visiting camp here and there, stealthy watching from an iris message, or even from his own devices. Now with talk of the band being lifted it was much easier for him to work on those relationships starting with Ronan. Nova loved her father, he knew it more than anything that she would not remain young forever and so she was safe for now. Ronan however was aging and the older he got the more worried he became on losing yet another son before the mending process. His singed beard flickered to life for a second as he thought of yet another idea for him to begin once he got home, luckily his beard was fire resistant to an extent at least. He looked back to Ronan unsure of what else to say to someone who had never really gotten to know you.