"You never talk about your mother."

It was a simple statement, but open ended.  The way the psychiatrist looked over the rim of her glasses, however, the way her cool, gray eyes held his, and way her lips curled 'mother' up at the end, almost made it a question.

You can trust me, it said.  You can open up to me.

"So?"

She smiled.  It was a pretty smile.  Garrin wondered if her look, slightly severe in that studious way, was meant to make people more trusting.  It was almost a matronly, librarian look on the face of an angel.  "Garrin, we're supposed to be evaluating your mental state.  If you're going to be a Guardian, especially for someone li-"

"We both know who she is.  And you know what happened to my mother," his answer was smooth.  Too smooth.  Too emotionless.  He knew it.  She knew it.

"But I want to hear you say it."

"She's dead."

The doctor smiled a bit and looked down.  Her stylus danced as she wrote something on her tablet.  When she looked up, she paused long enough to fix her glasses, then continue.

"You were nine?" Her eyes were intense, boring into him.,

"Ten," she nodded at his answer and dipped her head to write again.

"Has it gotten any easier to talk about since then?"  Garrin was seventeen.  He would be eighteen before the start of the school year.  Eighteen when he stepped up as Chalice's Guardian.

A smirk crossed the teenager's face.  "Easy-peasy," he muttered softly.

The psychiatrist's head jerked up just quick enough to catch the faint, ghostly smile on Garrin's face.  "Beg your pardon?"

The smile was gone.  "It's something my mother used to say," he sat there, fiddling with a button on the flannel shirt.  The sleeves were rolled up, just like normal.  "Every time she taught me something.  She would say it was easy-peasy," he looked up, finally, and smiled.

A smile covered the doctor's face.  She really was lovely.  She almost reminded him of his mother.  Garrin had to close his eyes at that, the memories playing in his head like a slow movie real.

"Garrin, are you okay?"

It took him a moment, but he nodded.  "Easy-peasy.  Then my dad would pinch my cheek, or ruffle my hair and follow with 'Lemon-Squezy.  It always made me laugh."

The doctor nodded and smiled again, looking down as she started to jot down notes.

"Tell me about your father?"

"There's nothing to talk about."  Garrin's good humor faded so fast, that when he spoke, the doctor had to make sure it was still him sitting on the couch.

"Garrin," she frowned, reaching out with one hand.

Garrin leaned forward, those pale blue eyes suddenly intense.  The doctor leaned back as if pushed by a physical force.  "My father was vilified as a traitor when he should have be lauded as a hero.  He saved tens of thousands of lives, solider and civilian alike, and was crucified for it.  You ask any man who served under him.  They would have followed him into the darkest hell."  He sat back, his hands at his sides.  The first tear slid down his cheek.

"What, you want to know if I loved my father?" Garrin nodded.  The doctor's comforting face had little effect.  "I do.  Almost as much as I hate him."


From the first moment they see those cold eyes, the color of faded denim, no one doubts that this young man's demons drive him, as surely as the sun and moon drive the tide.

Too serious by far, too studious and focused to a fault, he is a young man blessed with the gifts of a keen intellect and physical prowess, often outstripping his peers by leaps and bounds.  Most people feel that the skill he possess in the school of war leave him lacking in social graces.

They take that quiet, withdrawn demeanor, the reserved manner of talking, the way he rarely draws attention to himself, and they think him gullible and trusting, or at least lacking in the guile many of his peers take for granted.

Usually one short conversation is enough to show them the truth of this lad.  While Garrin may lack mastery of courtly intrigue, he is far fram anyone's fool

Height: 6'2"
Weight: 200 lbs
Hair: Dark Brown
Eyes: Pale blue - the color of faded denim
Tattoo: Flowering tree in front of a moon with a howling wolf on his left shoulder.
Family: Marin [Mother, Deceased]; Tomas [Father, Unknown]; Grandfather [Darren]; Grandmother [Cassandra/Cassie]