Work Text:
Hal followed his crew out of the sewers, relying on Azune and Murray’s senses to find the best paths forward. His body moved mechanically, used to being pushed forward without his mind to direct him.
Thoughts were unreachable, at the moment, other than the constant, ‘Just get home, get home, get home, get home. Make sure Shadia’s safe, Hero’s safe, Elodie.’ Hal couldn’t rationalize anything that had just happened, couldn’t even begin to make sense of it. The Crow Keepers, the mold spirit, the taking of a life. Taking Bolaire’s life.
Hal flinched, and focused on his feet moving forward. ‘Get home, check on the family.’
Time moved around him, through him, without him. Azune’s hand on his arm, Murray patting his leg, Demodus’s voice whispered, Bolaire’s hair bouncing ahead.
Nothing seemed real. Nothing in the last three days had seemed real. He couldn’t forget the rope snapping, Thjazi’s strangled cry as the air left his lungs for the last time. Carrying the body to Olgud’s for burial. Thimble, sobbing on Thjazi’s chest. Hal had never heard Thimble cry; she’d gotten hurt before, in the rebellion, but he knew the fairy would never have let him see her as anything other than a strong, immovable warrior. Thaisha, at his side and in his arms, gone too soon once more. Every time she came home, she etched a wound in his heart deeper still. He had forgiven her, of course, but that didn’t stop the sting each time she chose the lands around him instead of him.
Someone was speaking, low murmurs, and the sound of a grate being pulled brought Hal to the present. He pasted on his normal smile, not gleaming but peaceful, and followed Murray out into the night air. Hal hadn’t realized how much the stench of the sewers had pervaded him until he took a breath of clean, crisp air.
It hurt, almost. Hal shoved that away. ‘Later. Get home. Check on the family. Get home. That’s all I have to do.’
A memory of the war came back to him. His first true day of terror, on the battlefield. Spells flying, weapons flashing, screams, so much fear. He hadn’t killed anyone, that day. His commander had shouted at him, reminding him to put emotion away until later.
Always later.
Hal shuffled into the back of Azune, unaware the group had stopped.
“Are you okay?” Azune asked, eyes flitting up and down Hal’s form.
Hal worried that his mask had failed him. And mask, gods, now he was thinking about Bolaire, and the squelching that had come from the body, no longer Bolaire’s body, was it ever his to begin with? A mask, he was a sentient mask, and Hal had almost put it on. Put him on? The roaring of the crowd pulsed in his ears again, a phantom sound drowning out his crew around him.
What would have happened if he had put Bolaire on? Would his friend have taken over his mind? Trapped him in that dark room? Would he remember anything? Would his mind have gone crazy? Who’s to say the process hadn’t started the second he looked at those words inscribed within?
Arms wrapped around him, steadying his wobbly legs. “Not yet, Hal. Just a few more minutes. Azune is checking the house, then you can go inside and put this day behind us.”
His friend. The mask he had let his children run around with. How many people had Bolaire been around Alogar, Shadia? Even Hero, an adult now, but still his precious child? He wanted to flinch away from Bolaire, but couldn’t. Hal still trusted his judgement, even now.
And what did that say about him? Willing to still trust this man whom he had just killed? But wasn’t dead, would never be dead? Who trusted him to be the one to do the deed? Bolaire was more than capable, but he asked Hal to help him. Should he have helped? Would it have been better to watch Bolaire slit his own throat and stand silent sentry? The blood felt sticky on his fingers.
“My children. Where are they?" he rasped, trying to control his breathing enough to make words appear. Though he was eloquent in his writing, none appeared now. He blinked, making his eyes focus on the house in front of him, the arms around him coalescing into Bolaire’s new body.
Bolaire, noticing that Hal seemed steady enough, let go. “Azune can check on them, if you like. Or we can take you to Elodie’s, but that’s further, and I’m not sure you can make it.”
Hal let out a dry laugh. “You’re being too kind. It’s weird.”
“I can make cutting remarks if you wish, but I was trying for tact.”
“Where’s Murray? And the kid?” Hal looked around, noticing they were missing from the mix. His house looked inviting; a warm bed to curl up in was the most he could manage at the moment.
Bolaire didn’t make facial expressions, but Hal could sense that he was quirking an eyebrow. “They left some time ago. Murray is dropping Demodus off at my apartment, then going home. We all agreed to a few days of rest, while we figure out what to do. You agreed that was a good idea.”
“Hm,” Hal said, but didn’t comment further. That sounded like him. Sometimes, after the war, Thaisha would have an entire conversation with Hal, and when she would refer back to it, he wouldn’t remember a thing about it. He knew that wasn’t a good sign, but couldn’t dredge up any feeling for it.
Later.
Azune reappeared and beckoned them forward. Hal moved woodenly towards his door, turning to Bolaire as he reached the steps. “I…” he started, but couldn’t even think of what to say.
Bolaire hesitated too. Then decided on, “We’ll be in touch, Hal. Azune will check on the girls for you. Goodnight.”
Hal wanted more. He wanted to scream, to ask Bolaire why he asked him for help. Why he made himself vulnerable to Hal, why he thought it was okay to make Hal kill his friend’s body. But he couldn’t. A wound left to fester, this would be.
Later. They would talk later.
Hal turned around and opened the door, walking in without bothering to shut it. Azune would follow behind, he was sure. It was one of the only sure things in his life, right now.
Azune, Bolaire, Murray. They were working together on something insane. Who did he think he was, running around with people like them? None of them had family, other people they cared about to rely on, who relied on them.
Hal had too many people he cared about to make himself into an outlaw, or vigilante, or whatever they were doing. That was Thaisha’s job—he was the stable parent, the one who stayed near his children so they could come to him with a skinned knee or a friend problem or for advice on love. If someone like Misha was getting pulled into questioning, for just knowing someone…it stood to reason that his family could be in danger.
The bedroom was too far away. The blankets called, but his legs were weak, and his resolve weaker still. Hal collapsed on the chaise lounge, curling up tight and letting the emotions wash over him. Only two nights ago, Azune was the one breaking on the old cushions.
He let himself sink into the fear. The Crow Keepers beat Demodus into unconsciousness. What would they have done to him, if he had been caught? Maybe he could have kept his spellcasting a secret, but he was still well known. Would they have cut out his tongue? Bashed his hands, so he couldn’t write any more? And that sludge monster, the fae creature. He had watched it swallow a person and spit out bones. That could have been him, if he had been an inch closer. A second slower, and he would be dead.
The Halovars wanted to see him. What did they want? Would they take away the Hallowed Round? With Wicander missing, would they nullify the contracts he had in place? How far would they go if he refused to comply? They had already executed his brother; would they take Elodie?
And Thjazi. Hal shut his eyes tight, but it didn’t stop the memory from replaying. “I can still hear the falcon’s cry!” his brother had shouted. The rope went taught. He hadn’t hung for long, but it was the worst thing Hal had ever seen in his life. He had tried so hard to get Thjazi free, and in the end, he wasn’t enough.
A thousand moments flashed through his brain. Playing with wooden swords, skipping rocks on the river, forcing his brother to write a poem and laughing at how terrible it turned out. The wedding, Thjazi meeting Hal’s kids for the first time. Laughing over drinks about some stupid joke Aranessa had told, Thaisha at his side. Cards, running through the streets, splashing water over each other.
His brother was dead.
“He’s gone,” Hal whimpered. His fingers clenched into his fists, desperate for something to hold. “I tried, and he’s still gone.” His body twitched, overwhelmed with trying to hold it all in, looking for a way to let it escape.
It was all too much. Everything was terrifying all the time, and it had only been days since his brother had died.
“I can’t…” he gasped, hands clawing at his now heaving chest.
Hands grabbed his, squeezing tight. “I’m here, Hal. Whatever you need, just do it.”
Halandil Fang had only broken like this once before. The night he took his first life. A scared teenager, barely an adult, surrounded by other soldiers who comforted as they knew how. And now, a soldier comforts the best he can.
“Let it out, Hal.”
Hal sobbed, the tears finally falling, unending down his cheeks. He cried for his brother. He cried for Aranessa, Thaisha, Thimble. He cried for Alogar, who might not even know yet, who might be in danger from some mysterious force, so far away from his family. Shadia, Hero, Elodie, everyone in the theater troupe who knew and loved when Thjazi would stop by with presents and news of the world outside. He cried for Murray, who was also connected by something special to Thjazi. He cried for Azune, whom he had held just a few nights ago, breaking his heart with declarations of worthlessness and love. He cried for Bolaire, for all the unknowns and all the late night drinks and all the conversations about performance. He cried for himself, a scared orc just trying to live in a world that constantly wanted him dead.
It hurt. He knew that death hurt, but not like this. This was indescribable. Fear kept him groaning, moving, living. But the pain, shoved away for later, had multiplied, cycling back on itself in a loop that made Hal’s very soul hurt.
Time passed, as it tended to, without Hal noticing. Eventually, the sobs calmed to heaving breaths, then to small noises. He opened his eyes to see Azune, still there, holding his arms in a reassuring grip, sitting on the floor next to him.
Hal laughed dryly. “I know I said we would take turns,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, “but I didn’t think it would be this soon.”
Azune nodded. “Me either, honestly. We’ve had a long few days.” He paused, then added, “Murray said Elodie and the girls are safe in their beds. You can see them tomorrow.”
They sat in silence for a long while, watching the clouds drift by in the moonlight. Hal’s head hurt, and his eyes felt puffy. And the grief wasn’t gone, not by a long shot. The fear of the future lingered. But the momentary relief of the crushing weight being lifted was worth the current mess.
“Thank you,” he said, and squeezed Azune’s hand, magic behind his words as he gave Azune a bit of inspiration. It would fade soon, but Hal didn’t care.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Azune answered with a nod. “Are you okay to make it to bed? I can help you up the stairs if you need.”
Hal snorted. “I’m grieving, not injured. Yes, Azune, I’ll be okay. Just help me off the floor. I’m not as young as I once was.” The help wasn’t entirely needed, but he knew Azune appreciated being useful, and this was an easy task to give the kid.
Azune leapt to his feet, holding out a hand to help Hal off the cold floor. When both men were standing, Hal pulled Azune into his arms, and clapped him on the back.
“Be careful getting home,” Hal said, and Azune nodded.
“Goodnight, Hal.” Azune walked out the door, shutting it silently behind him. Hal walked upstairs, hoping against hope Misha was already asleep. His luck held, as he peeked into the guest room and saw his arcane teacher under the blankets, snoring softly.
Hal walked to his bedroom, undressed from his filthy clothes and shoved them into a pile to be dealt with later, and put on his comfiest pants. He slipped into bed, staring at the ceiling for a long moment, letting his thoughts gather once more. Tomorrow was a new day; he could handle it. His spells would replenish, his body would be less sore, and his mind could find peace. He hoped, anyways.
‘Oh, Thjazi. What have you gotten me into?’