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Raverra was boring as fuck.
It always had been, really, but back then Tim’d had friends around to distract him from how utterly and inexhaustibly tedious it was. Oh, sure, there were things to do, an army to run, Falcons to help sneak over the border into Vaskandar, a Council to flip off whenever he got a spare second to consider just how horrible the orders they were sending him were.
Didn’t change the fact that it was boring.
He told Sasha as much, as soon as she arrived, dragging her into a hug the minute she deigned to show herself after sneaking around dodging people who might recognize her all afternoon.
“Thank god you’re here!” he said, “I’ve been bored out of my skull since you left.”
“Aren’t you, like, simultaneously trying to crush a rebellion while secretly aiding and abetting that same rebellion behind the scenes?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“Well, yes,” he responded, “but that’s nowhere near as entertaining as talking to you.”
They were sitting together, now, perched on the roof of one of the Mews’ inner buildings with their feet dangling down over the courtyard below. It was not technically something they should have been doing - if Tim had caught any of his Falcons or Falconers up there, they’d have gotten a stern talking-to about safety and responsibility and risk-assessment - but it was far from the prying eyes of anyone who might take exception to Sasha’s presence, and far from the seeking ears of anyone who might not approve of the things they were discussing.
“How many have gotten out so far?” Sasha asked.
“Sixteen,” Tim responded, sighing. “Mostly kids, fair few with their Falconers in tow. All the rest say they want to stay and fight for reform here.”
“We’ve only had about ten passing through the Estate.”
“Couple have headed straight for other domains. I think they wanted to stay near the coast.”
Sasha hummed. “Well, I’m sure Fairchild will be happy to take them in.”
“Yeah.” Tim stretched out, crossing his arms behind his head and leaning back against the roof. Sasha watched him for a moment in silence before joining him.
“How did we end up here?” she mused. “Seems a far cry from where we started.”
He closed his eyes and smiled, taking full advantage of the ambiguity of her words. “Well you see, I gave you a boost up that tree over there and you pulled me up afterward, and then we grabbed that gutter to pull us up onto the roof-”
She shoved him, laughing and trying not to laugh, so it came out fragmented and breathy. “Low-hanging fruit, Stoker, you’re better than that.”
“I’m really not,” he grinned, and she laughed again before it trailed off into silence.
A breeze blew past, tugging a few leaves from the tree and sending them dancing across the roof. They were still mostly green, but the color was faded and dull as the tree began the slow process of shutting down for the winter. In a few weeks, it would be as bright red as a fire.
“How’s Melanie?” Tim asked.
“She’s doing well.” Sasha shifted slightly, folding her hands across her stomach and lying stiff as a board against the roof. Tim had never understood why she did that, but she claimed it was comfortable. “She and Georgie have been official for about a month now. They’re good together.”
“No regrets about leaving, I hope?”
“Nah.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “She’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her. You know we visited her dad a while back?”
He did. “You told me about it before you left.”
“Well, he gave her this whole speech about how proud he was of her for getting out, how happy he is to know she’s somewhere off in the world, smiling.”
Tim raised an eyebrow. “Pretty poetic.”
“Oh yeah, Martin had a field day with that when Melanie told him. But she’s good. She… belongs. In a way I don’t think she ever did here.”
“Good.” Tim smiled. “Good, I’m glad.”
“Me too.” A leaf hit Tim in the face, and he brushed it away, spluttering, while Sasha laughed. She waited for him to lay back down before speaking again. “Martin’s started clearing out a few of the more neglected rooms at the Estate, pulling out all the old furniture to see if it’s usable. He’s found a few good pieces.”
“All terribly old-fashioned, I’m sure.”
“Oh, you know him.” Her voice was fond. “He’s got an aesthetic and he’s sticking to it.”
“Good old Martin.”
Sasha looked at him. “You miss him, don’t you?”
“Not exactly a secret.” Tim closed his eyes again so he wouldn’t have to see her expression. “I miss both of you. All three of you.”
She chuckled lightly. “It’s okay Tim, Melanie’s not going to be offended if you miss her less.”
“I do miss her, though,” he said, and it was true. Melanie had been a late addition to their group, long after Tim, Sasha, and Martin had formed their bond, but she was still a friend. “I miss us.”
He didn’t have to open his eyes to know she was frowning; didn’t have to see the movement to know that she was about to grab his hand. He laced his fingers through hers, applying a gentle pressure to hold her close.
“You can follow us, you know,” she said softly.
“I know.”
He had never wanted this. He’d joined the Falcons when he was just a kid, tagging along after Danny when he’d been recruited just so that his brother wouldn’t have to face the world alone. He’d promised to protect him.
Now Danny was gone, long gone, and Tim was running an army.
"Where's the doge in all this?" Sasha asked, and he squeezed her hand in gratitude at the change of subject.
"Against the Council, for the most part. He doesn't want to disband the Falcons entirely, but he agrees that the system needs to change. He needs the Council on his side before he can make any real changes, though."
"And the Council won't budge."
"We'll see." Tim lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "They're not terribly happy with all these unjessed Falcons running around, and the longer their Colonel blunders around failing to discipline the artificers who are doing it, the more desperate they get to find an alternate solution. It's only a matter of time before they cave and start negotiating."
She chuckled. "And when they realize their Colonel is actually quite competent, and is purposely disobeying their orders to punish the artificers?"
Tim didn't respond. Sasha shifted next to him, and he could hear the frown in her voice.
"Tim?"
"I know Jon's not like the others," he said.
She knew what he meant. She knew him better than anyone.
"If you get charged with treason, you have a place to run."
"I'm not sure I can go."
She sighed heavily, but didn't say anything.
"I know he's different. I know- the Lady of Masks is dead." Every muscle tensed with just the memory of her name; Tim made a conscious effort to relax them, sagging back against the roof. "Prentiss too. And I've been over the border, I've been to the Estate, it's- it's nice. Jon's a good guy, you're all happy there, it's- it's good."
"But you still hate it."
"It's irrational," Tim sighed. He knew this. It didn't make it easier. "I've spent so many years thinking of Vaskandar as a monolith, it's… hard, to separate out one domain from the next and say, no, this one's good, this one's different, this Witch Lord is a friend. There's just this- this instinct to distrust, and I can't- I just can't relax, over the border. Even at the wedding, I was on edge the whole time."
"How is it when they visit the city? You've always seemed okay."
"No, that- that's fine." Tim let out a breath in a huff, bringing up his free hand to rub at his eyes. "Like I said, Jon's a good guy, and when- when he's here, I can break the association. I think it's just the land. Just the trees." Even to his own ears, his voice sounded hollow.
Sasha nodded. "It feels different up there. More alive."
"Yeah. It's hard to forget just how alive it can be."
Reaching, stretching limbs, pointed roots surging up from the ground below, grasping and piercing and breaking skin and bone and the screams-
Tim shuddered.
"You ever heard of exposure therapy?" Sasha asked, and he laughed.
"Yes, Sasha, I've heard of exposure therapy. Are you seriously suggesting that running away from the country of my birth under suspicion of treason, into the lands that have left me with a deep-seated trauma, might be good for my mental health?"
"Well, no," she conceded. "But I think it might be good for your physical health to not be thrown in prison."
"True," he sighed. "And- and I do think it's helped, a bit, going over there a few times and being okay. I- I might be able to break the association. With time."
"Is that something you'd want to do?"
Tim considered it. He had precious few things tying him to Raverra - his job, a few distant acquaintances he could keep in touch with by post, habit. The Falcon uprising didn't need him, not really: the only purpose he was serving was not doing his job effectively, and that could be accomplished even more efficiently by just leaving. Vaskandar held all his friends, the people he loved, the people he wanted to see every day and spend the rest of his life with.
"I do want to," he said, surprising himself by how much he meant it. "I'm just scared."
"You won't have to face it alone," Sasha said, and he turned to look at her, meeting her gentle smile. "If you decide to come, we'll all be there to help you."
Tim blinked, vision going blurry until he managed to fight back the tears. "Thank you."
"Any time," Sasha said. "That's what friends are for."
~~~~~
Winter already had Vaskandar deep in its grip by the time Tim arrived, and it helped, to see the land so cold and dead.
He still had nightmares. He’d always had nightmares, and probably always would. They were worse, here, with the forests outside his windows as a dark and grim reminder of his past, but they were getting better, as time went by. Three weeks in and he even slept through the night, not once waking up in a cold sweat with a cry for mercy hanging on his lips.
They would fade again, with time, just as they had back in Raverra.
He didn’t regret leaving.
The Falcons were doing great in his absence. His last act before disappearing into the dead of night had been to promote Francis, one of his captains, to take over as Colonel once he was gone, and under their leadership the rebellion had grown and blossomed, out of Raverra and throughout the Serene Empire. Half the Council had now capitulated, and were working with the doge to bring the rest in line. The reforms would pass, eventually. He could leave it all behind with a clear conscience.
Tim folded the letter and tucked it into the pages of the book he'd brought with him, smiling slightly as the paper crinkled under his fingers. He appreciated the updates from the city, even though he was no longer involved.
"Good news, I hope," Sasha said, flopping down onto the couch next to him with a book of her own.
"As always. Francis has things well in hand."
"Always liked them." This comment came from Melanie, sprawled on the floor with the Admiral and occasionally shooting sparks at the fire to make it glow blue.
They were all there. Tim and Sasha shared the large couch in front of the fireplace, leaning against each other in the middle with their legs kicked out to either side taking up the rest of the space. Georgie and Gerry were in the loveseat to the right of the fire: he was curled up in the corner with a sketchbook while she sat closer to the flames, smiling softly at Melanie and tossing toys at the Admiral. Jon and Martin were both squeezed into a single oversized armchair to the left of the fireplace, one which Martin had unearthed from an unused sitting room on the third floor and roped Tim into helping him drag though half the Estate to bring here. Jon was teaching Martin how to knit. It was sickeningly adorable, and everyone else was doing their best to ignore the sappy looks they kept sending each other and the kisses they traded when they thought no one was looking.
"I stopped by the store today," Sasha said, apropos of nothing. Their evening conversations often went like this, rambling topics shuffling between whoever was in the mood to talk while the others focused on their own projects. "Basira's working on a new luminary, she says it should turn on and off just by tapping it."
"Oh, that's useful!" Martin looked up from the knitting, and Jon hastily grabbed the needles to steady them as the yarn threatened to fall off. "I take it she sorted out the problems she was having with the glasses?"
"Yeah, she's got them working now. I didn't really follow all the technical details of what was going wrong before, but the lenses are working now, going darker when the sunlight light hits them."
Basira and Daisy had declined the invitation to move into the Estate with the rest of the Raverran expatriates, choosing instead to open up a small store in the local village. Basira's artificery devices were in high demand, and she seemed to always have a new project in the works, pushing her skills to the limits to see what she was capable of creating. As far as Tim was aware, she hadn't had a single failure yet.
"Ooh, I could use a pair of those," Melanie commented from the floor. "I was not prepared for how bright sunlight on snow is."
"They'd look good on you," Georgie said, grinning, and tossed one of the Admiral's toys to bounce off her nose.
"They sure wou-" Melanie began, then broke off in a laughing shriek as the Admiral pounced at her face in pursuit of the toy.
Georgie slid off the couch to rescue her from the cat, plucking him off her face and dropping him into her own lap.
"You ignore every toy I've tossed to you tonight, but the one time I throw it at Melanie you attack? Really?" she said disapprovingly.
"He's a very intelligent cat," Jon said, and ducked behind Martin's shoulder as Melanie threw one of the toys at him. "Also, I think you lost your spot," he said when he emerged.
Tim glanced at the loveseat. Gerry had stretched out, taking up the space Georgie had vacated, and he didn't even look up from his sketchbook when she glared at him.
She stood, silently, lifting the Admiral with her, and walked the few steps back to the loveseat. Then, carefully and gently, she set the cat down on Gerry's face.
He spluttered, losing his careful composure and flailing to get the ball of fur off his face as the Admiral settled down for a nap, and Georgie laughed and laid down next to Melanie on the floor, using her shoulder as a pillow.
"Serves you right," she said, quite calmly, and Tim found himself suddenly jostled as Sasha finally cracked and burst out into laughter behind him.
He shook his head, opening his book and turning to the page he'd left off on that afternoon, and trying his best to ignore the cry of indignation when Gerry successfully bounced his pencil off Georgie's shoulder and Melanie threatened to throw it in the fire.
Sasha had settled back down behind him, warm where she was pressed against his shoulder, and the intermittent click of knitting needles from Jon and Martin's armchair blended easily with the quiet crackle of the fireplace.
It was nice, here. It was comfortable, and welcoming, and Tim could forget about the forests outside in the soft glow of the firelight and the careless chatter of the people around him.
He felt…
Home, his subconscious provided, and Tim leaned into the feeling, considering it.
Yes, he decided, a slow smile curling around his lips as he watched his friends - his family - relaxing in front of the fire.
He felt home.