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"Nothing terrible, but still bad." That's what Rook had told Bellara when he opened up about being a hero to redeem himself.
"Nothing terrible, --"
Blood slicked ground, screams filling the air, no one can hear them, we're too far from the camp. Hot breath clouding out from a panting mouth, heart pounding in my ears, must strike them down. One's already in the mud, their blood soaking my arms, sprayed on my face, I can't feel it now, it doesn't matter.
"-- but still bad."
Weapon heavy, fingers curling tight around it, the pointed edge spun forward before connecting with the fool's skull. The noise is loud, wet, sucking as the pointed edge pulls free, his body collapsing in a disjointed heap. Next. Next one. Can't see right with blood in my eyes but I hear him.
Rook's smile thinned, his arms shifting to cross over his chest to steady and hide the shaking in his hands. The memory waned a little, enough for him to look more attentive to Bellara, nodding at the right times.
"Nothing terrible, but still bad."
His own words lingered in his head. The phrase repeated as he left Bellara's room and made a beeline to the dining room to talk, to laugh, to do anything with any of the others instead of letting himself think about it. Shaking a little less, he let one hand rest on his outer thigh as he walked, his fingers clenched roughly into the fabric of his pants. Rook counted each step, focusing on the thudding feel of his boots against the stone, the way his steps sounded different, lighter, as he went up the thin steps to the dining room doors. Only then did his grip ease up to carefully flex his hand as he took a few soothing breaths. Calm. Collected. A leader. When he was sure the mask was in place, he gently pushed the doors open, smiling brightly at Lucanis and Neve as he always did.
Answering Bellara's question so honestly was foolish, he scoffed internally at himself. He should have known this would happen.
Why would you? Feelings far away, faded, further, suddenly bright and sharp, scraping on the side of my skull.
What his team did now was different from what he used to do alone, he rationalized. His team was constantly killing Venatori and Antaam, it was necessary. There's never been hesitation in it, not when the alternative is being killed themselves. Rook had gone through similar motions from years ago just the other day.
Right foot planted back so I can swing into the momentum to my left, the rattle up my arms leaving a pleasant numbness as I impact an enemy and knock them down or away. The numbness feels good.
He doesn't use two handed weapons anymore.
It made it easier to function, maybe. Especially when his teammates would call out directions, guidance for where Rook was needed next. It was easy, just like breathing, to lean into the orders and strike on command. Receiving praise throughout each fight was just a nice side benefit. Rook roughly shook his head as he sat at the table, near the fireplace. Push the thought away, he could unpack that later. Out of the corner of his eye he saw he'd earned a small glance from Neve, but mercifully she said nothing.
"Nothing terrible--"
The fighting he did with his team now was different. It was necessary then as it was now, sure, but he's a different person, so it must be different. It has to be. It must. It must. The desperate feeling was starting to claw up his throat.
Bellara slipped in, giving Rook a beaming smile as she settled at the table. One that Rook returned, though it felt crooked and wrong. Can she tell?
Davrin, Assan, Emmrich - and of course Manfred - filed in not a few minutes later. There was enough conversation filling the room that the fog in Rook's head eased up just a little. He shouldn't feel guilty about this.
But you do. Hurt smothered, suffocating, but still staying silent.
It didn't take much longer for Taash and Harding to finally join for the evening. Rook inhaled sharply as unmistakably guilty relief crashed into his ribs. The desperation slowly felt muted, safely tucked to the side while Rook drowned himself in conversation and companionship. If drinks also helped, he kept that thought tucked away too.
"-- but still bad."
Ignore it, ignore it.
His head felt like he was underwater, watching everything flow by. Rook knew he was talking, laughing, sassing his friends with ease, but he wasn't part of it. Not truly. When had he floated off like this?
Just as soon as the night had started, it was over. Rook realized that everyone was going to bed for the night as he looked up from the fireplace at the noise of chairs scraping against the floor. The serenity his mind had found was broken as if he had burst from water to gasp for air.
Why?
Find something to do, draw this out.
"Rook?" Harding had paused as she passed the table. "It's late, worry about that tomorrow."
The cards they'd all been playing with were left scattered across the table. Plates with scraps leftover from the dinner Lucanis had made, and empty - or mostly empty - cups cluttered up the remaining space.
Rook gave Harding that same thinned smile he'd given to Bellara, hoping it didn't look as strained as he felt.
"No, I've got it. I'm not tired yet," His voice felt a little flat. Was it flat? He stacked the plates on top of one another, cradling them on his forearm, pressed into his ribs as he turned away. "It'll just take me a bit to clean this all up, it's not a problem."
"Do you want help?" Harding's voice was a bit softer when she asked. Rook tensed, hazarding a look over his shoulder at her. Her eyes were searching his face, a frown tugging at the corner of her mouth just slightly.
Rook wasn't sure what look he'd given her initially, but he quickly smiled wide, his eyes crinkling as he reassured her, "No need, go on and get some rest, Harding."
He waited just long enough for Harding to find - or maybe give up on - whatever it was she was looking for before she shrugged and turned to the door.
"If you say so. G'night, Rook."
"Night."
It didn't take nearly long enough to clean up, even when he took his time leisurely washing up the dishes and putting away (even reorganizing!) the cards. It would be a problem if he was caught and questioned on why he was still up, doing nothing when he should be sleeping. Lucanis would likely be back from Neve's soon if Rook lingered too much longer.
Not that he needed to justify being out, he wasn't doing anything wrong, but it would be too obvious--
If they look too close, they'll see the cracks, they'll know I'm not cut out for this after all, that I can break. If they ask me, I'll shatter.
With a sigh Rook left the dining room, dragging a hand against the doorframe as he reluctantly stepped outside, catching the door as he passed to pull it shut behind him. Off to bed. The sooner he slept - if the elven god lurking in his head left him alone tonight - the sooner tomorrow would come, the sooner he could focus on more important things. This festering pit in his chest needed to go.
I'm a different person now. So why?
The question echoed in his head louder and louder as he laid on the chaise in his room, staring up at the ceiling.
If he's truly a different person now, why did his mouth taste ashen like a lie?
In the soft blue light of the room, as Rook finally drifted off to a restless sleep, Compassion frowned from where they stood at the edge of the room.