A/N: Just a silly plot-bunny with my NWN 2 KC – Adele Farlong (a half-drow, so that explanes her 'reddish' darkvision) – when she was a child. Not entirely fluffy, though – parental technique does a job with a person, after all. And, well, I don't own Daeghun Farlong. But that's obvious.

We All Have Trolls

She opened the door of her bedroom palm's width and peeked into the corridor, quiet, empty, and dark, smelling of moss and wet wood – the smells Father always brought from the Mere. Adele blinked several times, until the shadows before her eyes faded from pitch-black to soft grayish-pink. She had learnt to do that a year ago. 'Duckvision' Father called it. She became so fascinated that used it even when it wasn't needed and peered everywhere until her eyes hurt – but much to her frustration saw no ducks, no matter how hard she tried. Well, at least, it diluted the darkness, so was handy after all.

Bare feet felt cold. Adele rubbed her left sole against the right ankle, then switched the legs, but it didn't really help. Just like standing in the doorway didn't help the situation. 'Duckvision' chased away the shadows, but left her with the feeling that they just ran and hid behind her back. And would do the same if she turned.

Pursing her lips stubbornly, the girl padded along the corridor. Light as her steps were, little bare feet made no sound touching the wooden floor, all the way until she reached the door and knocked softly. No answer came. Sighing, she clutched at the door-handle and pulled it down with all her weight, opening a chink wide enough for her to squeeze through.

Pinky-grey washed across the silent room, the figure on the bed flashing more intensely, almost with crimson. Adele came up to the bed, tilting her head to look down at sleeping Father, easing her vision so that his face didn't burn such an angry red. His eyes were only half-closed, whites glistering between the lashes, face still. Taking in air, she blew lightly over his face, disturbing his dark hair, but he himself didn't move.

"Father," she called, her voice barely above whisper.

Bevil called his father 'Dad'. Well, Bevil's father was a Dad, laughing, joking and sometimes grumbling Dad. But a mere glance on her father, only once meeting his intent green stare that seemed to penetrate her to her bones, was more than enough to understand – there was no 'Dad' here.

"Father," Adele repeated, a bit louder. She couldn't raise her voice much, unless she wanted her plan ruined. No one else should have heard her. When, again, no answer came, she gave another weary sigh, placed her palms on his shoulder and pushed. "Father, Father, Faaaaaaatheeeeeeer."

Eyelids blinked, then came up, revealing familiar emerald iris that moved to the side to rest upon her. Adele grinned.

"Hi," she let go of his shoulder. "'s me."

"What is it, lass?" he asked, without moving, let alone getting up, but his stare travelled to her chest, where a thick ugly scar was hiding under her sleeping-gown. "Does it hurt again?"

"No, 's not that," she shook her head, bringing her wild tousled hair to disarray. Sometimes she would have ache in her chest, especially if she was catching a cold and coughed a lot, invoking sharp tangs of pain among dull aching, like there was something else, something alien stuck inside of her lungs. Sometimes she would even cough out blood. But it surely wasn't the case, tonight she had other thing to worry about. Adele leaned closer, her voice back to whisper: "The's a t'oll unda my bed."

Father looked back at her face, his brow furring slightly. "What?"

"A t'oll," she repeated. His brow furred more, stare growing grave, seeing right through her trick. Adele bit her lip and sighed in defeat, articulating clearly: "A troll."

She could pronounce words, but pretending not to be able to and mangling her speech seemed so much funnier. Aunt Retta, Bevil's mother, always smiled when the girl did that, even laughed at times, though it was Adele who wanted to laugh when the woman did her best to teach her to speak properly. She played silly and feigned to work hard on talking, now and then slipping out correct words – it seemed to please aunt Retta, and Adele liked making others pleased and happy, even if it took pretending foolish. But with Father 'foolish' never worked. No, sir, no foolishness in the Farlong's house.

"There is a troll under my bed," she said.

He studied her face, then hooded his eyes again, as if was going back to sleep: "There is no troll there, lass."

"There is," she huffed indignantly, grasping his shoulder once more, intending to shake him again if needed. "I know."

"Indeed. And what is a troll doing under your bed?"

"Dunno," she shrugged and rubbed her nose, never really thinking about that. Maybe he got lost and decided to live there? But her room was her room! "Let's ask him. Maybe he'll go away. Home? I'm scared," she added her last argument with dead seriousness, earning another fixed stare. Father probably could tell that she wasn't. But still, it wasn't really all that nice, to have a troll living under your bed. What if he'd decided to eat her while she's sleeping?

"Very well," Father finally sat up, his measured voice even and calm as always. "Let us see your troll."

He rose to his feet, and Adele grinned triumphantly, leaping up at his now empty bed and dangling her legs, taking time to look around Father's bedroom, all his things, and hunting stuff, and weapon-rack in the corner, clean blades glittering – it always held some kind of endless appeal to her. But Father didn't leave, opening the door wide and standing in the way, watching her expectantly, waiting for her to follow. The girl jumped down and loped after him obediently, almost hopping to match his long strides.

Well, seeing Father give a wigging to the troll should be great. No nasty trolls here, no way.

When he stopped on the threshold of her bedroom, she sneaked behind his legs and peeked inside, blinking special vision back to her. Father didn't move, his hand on the doorframe, looking into the room, then glanced back down at her.

"No troll I see," he pointed.

"Of course not," with a sigh she rolled her eyes. "He hid. Heard us and hid. He'll come out when I'm alone."

"Lass, there is no troll here at all."

"There is."

"Troll is too large to hide under your bed."

"He's a magical troll!" she stamped her foot. Sometimes Father was so stupid! "He can become small."

"..."

"And he'll bite my head off, you'll see."

"..."

"I'm scared."

"..."

She sighed again, this time in a doomed way: "Well, maybe, I can run away… But if he catches me?"

He didn't answer, just staring at her. She stared back, hoping he'll come up with something. He could stay with her for the night. Surely, no troll could hold against Father. Father was almighty. Even if stupid sometimes.

"Come with me," he brushed past her, striding back to his own room, and Adele followed, curious. Was he going to let her stay with him?

Upon entering the bedroom, he headed straight to the weapon-rack and crouched in front of it, studying the stuff. She rose to her toes, close to jumping from excitement. Was Father going to fight the troll? In her room? In real earnest? With a sword?! Adele pressed her clutched palms to her chest, rocking to her heels, then to toes again, too thrilled to stay steadily. Father finally got up and turned to her, a long narrow dagger in his hand.

"Ah," she grinned broadly. "You'll stab him?"

"No," he suddenly handed the dagger to her. "Not me."

Adele blinked, looking at the blade, then glanced quizzically at Father's face, stern and solid in the darkness.

"'tis for me?" the girl asked, not really daring to touch the knife.

"Yes," he placed the hilt into her palm, then squatted down again, his eyes locked on hers. "If the troll comes back, you'll stab him. You don't need me there to do it. You are able to yourself."

"Yeah?" she stared at the dagger, almost mesmerized, then grinned again. "Yeah! Sure!" she grabbed the blade, huge in her small hand, and poked it into the air for test, then lifted her glittering eyes at Father.

He nodded, watching her closely: "You don't need to run. If he comes… if anything comes - face it. And defeat it. You can."

"Yeah, I can," she chuckled and twirled hastily on her heels towards the door. "Thanks!"

"Just do try not to cut yourself," he called after her, and Adele couldn't help but roll her eyes again.

"I know," she stopped, looking at the weapon-rack, so many blades there, not far from Father's bed. The girl turned back to him, waving at the rack. "Do you have a troll under your bed too?"

Father straightened himself up, brushing his palms against crumpled linen breeches he slept in. "We all do," he answered calmly, then inclined his head slightly. "But that doesn't mean we should be afraid of them."

"…Yeah," she beamed at him. "Good night!"

He nodded one last time, and she slipped into the corridor, skipping back to her room, slashing jokingly all the shadows that got in her way, no longer bothering to keep her steps quiet...