Ash sat in the carriage, peering out the window as the landscape changed. He refused to meet the eye of Mr. Ackroyal, his father. That in itself would have been a tell for anyone that knew him; Ash felt that you couldn’t really listen or convey understanding within meeting person’s eye. He couldn’t do that now though, not with his eyes still misted. He had stopped sobbing at least, but the pain of his actions still stung him. Mr. Ackroyal seemed to understand that, and did not push the conversation for the first leg of the journey.
The silence still seemed to break too quickly, as Mr. Ackroyal leaned forward. “You’ll take the family name of course, Ackroyal, and you’ll be in the line as a legitimate heir. Say, boy, what is your name.”
Ash wanted to refuse to answer, but that seemed a simple enough request. “Ash.”
Mr. Ackroyal grew angry. “Don’t lie to me, boy!” Ash looked at him then, shock plain on his face. Mr. Ackroyal’s anger changed to disbelief. “Ash! You’re named after the plague of our world. That must be changed.” Ash whispers a soft, “no”, but Mr. Ackroyal did not hear him. “Ardinand would do well for you, or Ralston, or… oh, Straff.” Mr. Ackroyal rubs his chin. “Yes, Straff is a good, strong name.”
Ash looked back to his fa- Mr. Ackroyal. “My name is Ash.” There was a sternness to his tone that time.
Mr. Ackroyal angered again. “I will not have an heir who is named after mountain spew!”
Ash shrugs, but doesn’t drop his gaze. He chooses his words carefully. “I very much appreciate the new life you’re giving me, but I am not ready to give up my identity. Ash is just a name, but it is a part of me. Can I please keep it as my name?”
Mr. Ackroyal frowns, then looks over at his manservant in the carriage. “Wasn’t there a fellow named Ashweather in the government?” The manservant thinks for a second and then nods. Mr. Ackroyal gives Ash a fake smile. “Then you can be Ashweather, a proper name for a noble.”
