Twice during the collected trot and once during the piaffe, Sasha could have sworn he'd seen a familiar face between the trees that lined one side of the dressage ring.  But, on each occasion, a sharp "Sasha!  Pass auf! from Herr Fuerst, drew his attention back to the lesson.  Of course, it was highly improbable the man was there - those were, likely, only his mind playing tricks on him.  The lesson drew to a close early, in light of the holidays, and Konrad Fuerst bid Sasha good luck and good bye.

As the older gentleman got into his car, Sasha led the way to the stables, the sweaty Friesian trailing behind him.  Aside from the strange distractions, it had been a relatively successful lesson.  Wobias had been a little stiff on the left side but, once they were settled in Munich, more consistent schooling would loosen him back up. 

Sasha paused at the door of the stable, letting the stallion step into the barn hall ahead of him.  To help keep the warmth in and the cold out, the young man slid the door shut as he stepped inside.  As the horse stole a few mouthfuls of hay from a nearby hay bale, Sasha tapped the handle of his riding whip against the CD player.  He slipped the saddle and bridle off the horse and left the animal to help himself shamelessly to the bale of hay as Sasha stowed the gear away in the tack room. 

There'd been no creaking or grating - nothing to indicate the barn door had been opened but the hallway wasn't empty when Sasha stepped out of the tackroom again.  But, there was no mistaking it this time.  Kronos Malvivicus was standing at the end of the hall, peering into the stall closest to the door.  Elfie, Sasha's polo mare, was reaching her head over the stall door to sniff, curiously at the man. 

Sasha froze, staring at the man, the myriad of stories he'd been privy to after the man's departure from Hogsmeade suddenly whirling through his head. Wizarding Britain's Second Most Wanted.  He murders without a second thought.  Notorious.  There'd been no end to the comments made that afternoon.  But, Sasha had known nothing but kindness, acceptance and generosity at the man's hand.  As much as he trusted the sources (very much so in the case of Dreogan), the comments simply didn't mesh with what Sasha knew and had experienced.  So now, faced with the man again, Sasha was at a loss for what to think or believe.  Except for one very simple fact.

"You shouldn't be here."  He still hadn't moved from the doorway to the tackroom.  There was a distinct edge of panic to his voice.  Sasha was only vaguely aware that Wobias was still at complete liberty in the barn hall and was still taking full advantage of the loose hay.  "I ... really ... please."  Now almost pleading, Sasha quickly shook his head.  Even without the wizard aspect, there was nothing about this man his stepfather would approve of - from his attire to his clearly ... flamboyant ... demeanor.  And, Sasha suspected, tact wasn't one of Kronos' stronger skills.  Those two crossing paths would be devastating. 

It was curious to be poised here in the flesh for a personal visit.  His men had given him reports almost daily, been busy bees at work on the field, furthering his plans to get everything into order -- like good boys -- should anything go... awry in the house of Schlagenweit.  From the perch of his throne Kronos oversaw the rewriting of history -- but tonight?  Tonight he saw the boy -- on the other side of the devious Prophet scandal -- for himself.  With his own eyes. 

With a slight disillusionment spell cast over his body, he watched from the shadows, his sleek form disapparating soundlessly back and forth from various vantage points along the trees and brush.  It was exhilarating to watch his training, remembering their feverish trot up the hills of the Isle of Skye, but Kronos was tamed inside, watching over his rightful son with partially pursed lips.

After the romping round spritefully (which, wasn't so much, what with the trainer who seemed to prefer goose-stepping to a good frolic), Sasha's trainer went away, and Sasha headed for the empty barn.  Kronos waited and watched as the barn door closed behind him, giving Sasha time before apparating in rather casually.  The boy was fixing things in the tackroom, and Kronos occupied himself by inspecting the area, his attention being caught suddenly by a wide-eyed sniffer.  He inclined his eyebrows upward and cocked his head at her.  Yes, curious he was, the man with the wispy white hair and amber eyes -- he had only just cracked into existence before the mare's very consistent perception of reality. 

Looking as casual as ever, like a mellowed youth perusing items in a curio shop, the way he held himself was completely relaxed.  Kronos -- in his silvery-niveous dress coat and shimmering viridian-green pantaloons -- seemed to have no sweat over his very Wizardly and untimely presence.  But -- they were alone.  Not that that fact particularly mattered to Kronos Malvivicus (except that he feared he might've turned murderous on sight of his boy's prison-guard parents), but he figured it might matter to the ever obedient Sasha, and so they were alone.  At least, alone for now.

He looked over with a small smile, still leaning forward toward the mare, inquisitive.  Seeing Sasha's dismay, however, he eased upward and walked slowly in his direction, trying for reassurance.

"Hush," he cooed.  "Hush-a-by little boy -- all's fine!"  Kronos eased closer to Sasha and stopped a few feet short of him, a coy little smile perched on his lips, his hands held quaintly behind his back. 

"I missed you at your show," he said, tilting his head.  "Is ... everything alright?" 

If the mare had been confused or surprised by the wizard's sudden appearance she seemed to have gotten over it rather quickly.  Which wasn't entirely surprising.  Who knew what perception of the world and physics horses possessed?  Awkwardly, Sasha's gaze lingered on the bay mare as the older man moved across the barn hall towards him. 

Sasha didn't have a clue what to do.  He had (apparently) a serial killer in his barn and one guardian in the house who's anger would know no bounds if he knew Sasha was allowing such a flamboyant character to linger on the property.  Sasha had already tried to ask Kronos to leave - was he supposed to require it?  Demand it?  Him?  All he did know was he wished he could appear just a little more confident - even if he could feel his hands shaking, slightly, as he stared at the horse's brown muzzle. 

"No, it's not!"  Sasha finally looked at Kronos, the curt retort escaping him before he could catch himself.  But, it was the truth - all wasn't fine.  His vision clouded a moment and he quickly tilted his head back.  He didn't want Kronos to see him like this - no matter what they claimed the man was, a part of Sasha had grown to trust him and, as a by-product, the man's opinion carried significant weight.  In a further attempt to hide his growing futile panic, Sasha quickly turned, pulling a leather halter from a nearby hook and approach the Friesian. 

He distracted himself with slipping the halter over the horse's head and fastened it before speaking.  "If ... if he finds you here ... it'll be bad.  Just- you've got to understand.  I'll get in trouble for letting you stay."  He wasn't going to elaborate - either the man would believe him or he wouldn't. 

"I - I couldn't go."  It was a redundant statement; Kronos already knew Sasha hadn't gone to the show.  It was, apparently, why the man was here.  "It was just ... we were too busy.  There were time conflicts and it-"

Looking down at the floor, Sasha shook his head but then quickly shrugged.  "Everything's ... It's as good as one could hope, given - they know I was suspended.  They're transferring me to a muggle school in Germany.  We leave tomorrow evening.  I'm sorry - if they catch you here, it'll just make things worse."  The confession had come quickly; almost as if it had been one, singly, jumbled sentence.  Taking advantage of the verbal momentum, Sasha tagged on to the end of it what he'd been dying to but terrified of asking: "They say you're wanted by the Ministry.  For killing." 

He need not peer into the boy's soul to see the trouble there.  It was all evidently clear -- a great, confused mass of injustice and fear tangled in his aura.  He pulled back his attention, turning thoughtful, grim as Sasha explained in a tumult of emotion, skipping words and shuffling sentences, still yet seeming to fight back tears as he kept on with the dull motions of perceived orderliness, the work of servants.  A figure, a father figure, loomed above him as he did so, even as a great cloud would, pelting down threats in an absurd, booming voice.  For they both knew the father's final illumination in Billy Elliot was a phantom of fiction, and not for them.  Their fathers would remain forever stilled in the act of stifling creativity, of demanding cookie cutter shapes of them and punishing acts of individual willfulness.

Boys of character were not meant to be slaves to their fathers.  Still yet, that man was not the father of Sasha Schlagenweit, and had no say over his future, nor his destiny.  Kronos would make sure of that.  He'd make ready work of it.

Still, he couldn't say what he wanted, as he wanted to interject a quick dismissal of this news, but he could not.  He could not say, "You are not going to Germany."  He could not say, "He will not trouble you any longer."  And he could not say, "I am not a murderer," either.  Knowing this was a subject to be addressed, Kronos was not surprised by this question, nor was he by the suddenness of it.  He had thought long and hard about this moment.  Still, he paused.  He turned his gaze to the floor.  He meandered, slowly, hobbling a little till he found a spot to lean against on the barn wall.

"Would you not still love me if I was?" he said, with a sort of downtrodden poetry to his person.  "I am sorry, Sasha, that I have not been entirely honest with you.  What foolishness it was, was love.  In my eyes Sasha, you are my son -- I was afraid you wouldn't understand me.  I do what is necessary in my line of work; it is my strength, my vocation to rule the world beyond imagination's grasp.  What they've said is true, perhaps, but I am not a monster.  And you do know," here he inclined his head and softened his voice.  "You do know that I would never hurt you.  I do what is best, son.  Most people on this Earth endeavor to understand a great man like me, and fail.  They instead make myths to satiate their meager minds.  Do you understand me?"

Here again he paused, then briefly looked to the ceiling in thought.  He turned his eyes back to Sasha and said, "The air is clear between us, son, and you are bright as a star.  Ask me anything you wish, or have me go.  But fear not any man."

Of course, not.  Those are vicious, malicious, ruthless lies - fabricated by those that neither understand nor wish to understand.  You know me.  Kind, generous, incapable of reaping the pain and destruction of life that they accuse me of.  Dismiss those allegations as pure fallacy.

Sasha's gaze lingered on the floor, a stride behind the man's well-polished shoes, as his stilted gait carried him down the hall.  Those had been the words Sasha had been hoping to hear in a concerned, though dismissive tone.  That would, at least, make one part of this whole potential disaster alright.  After all, Sasha had come to trust this man, irrevocably - even if everyone else had been trying to warn Sasha against him.  Oddly, though, it wasn't Kronos' confirmation of what everyone else had been telling him that struck Sasha first. 

"I ... you ... love?"  Sasha looked up at Kronos and froze, startled by the question and the implications of it.  Was that ... He knew, as the man had reminded him, Kronos regarded Sasha as his son - whatever, exactly, that meant.  That label, that perspective had meant little to Sasha, though.  Gerhard called him 'son' as well but, as far as Sasha could remember, it was a label used to claim parental rights.  His was not - and never had been - an emotionally connected family.  The title 'son' denoted a job description more than it did an title of affection.  There was no question Sasha had grown to respect Kronos, to trust him and, even, to enjoy the feeling of having earned someone's pride even when Sasha wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve it.  It never occurred to Sasha that Kronos would so readily claim to love him as his son.

And, how was it, after merely a month, Sasha could earn a degree of unconditional, familial belonging with this self-professed serial killer when, after years, he hadn't managed to earn it from his own family.  And, why was it that when he'd finally found something akin to a loving, accepting father, it was bundled with the type of baggage this man had attached to his history. 

It just wasn't fair. 

Sasha's arms folded across his chest, his fingers grasping his sides, hugging his arms to him.  He shook his head and closed his eyes, tightly, trying to physically hold back the tears that his faltering emotional control was failing to restrain.  "No, I ... I don't," he admitted.  It wasn't entirely true.  Perhaps it was foolish naivety but he understood and believed the man when he said he wouldn't hurt Sasha.  There'd been, after all, ample opportunities for the man to do so if he'd wanted.  He didn't understand why this man would choose to not hurt Sasha when he'd killed so many before but he still believed him.  "I don't -"  His voice faltered and he shook his head.  His head was a jumbled mess of questions and confusion - like a nest of garter snakes, they were so tightly interwoven and writhing with such jumbled chaos it was impossible to tell where one individual question ended and another began. 

So, when the simplest, shortest and easiest question became visible, Sasha latched onto it.  "Why?  Whether he was asking why he shouldn't fear any man, why the man had chosen the life he had, why Sasha was being spared  or why Sasha should believe him, it was impossible to tell.