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The first time he met Halandil Fang he was sixteen and drunk for the first time in his life.
Nausea consumed him. He was going to throw up! He was going to throw up in the middle of his lady's wedding and ruin it and bring shame to his house and–
He stumbled and hit something solid, which caught him by the elbow. He was quickly dragged to a subtle corner where he was just able to empty his stomach into a potted plant. He glanced behind him, finding himself shielded by an orc.
“Just in time then,” the orc said playfully, turning to face him with a look one part exasperated one part sympathetic. “Any better, kid?”
“I’mer Sir,” he protested before almost vomiting again from the burn of bile at the back of his throat.
Julien expected the knowing wince to become the smirking condescension of Thjazi Fang. He was almost confused when there was no glee at Julien's misfortune, or teasing barbs, or little mocking grins. Mostly, there was just sympathy.
“Thjazi… just. Leave me alone,” he said somewhere between a grumble and moan. He was terribly dizzy.
“You must be far gone if you think I'm Thjazi,” Thjazi– not Thjazi tutted. He was being taken by the arm again. “Come on, let's get you to bed, at least for the sake of the ficus, hm?”
Julien blinked, stubbornly trying to make sense of the man guiding him out of the ballroom. He looked like Thjazi, but it wasn't him. He was… a bit slimmer, shorter. Higher cheekbones, a nicer jawline. Thjazi had roguish charm and handsome looks. This man was gorgeous. Black hair, emerald skin, long callused fingers and gentle hands.
The tension that always followed when talking to his lady's fiancee–husband wasn't there.
Thjazi was a good man. He saved his cousin, was a war hero… his father cherished the man's friendship. Spoke on his behalf to Lord Royce.
But he always made Julien feel like a fool. It always felt like Thjazi was laughing at him.
This man was… gentler. He made jokes, but to break tension, make light of the situation, not to humiliate Julian.
(“The little knight lets loose once and gets piss drunk off his ass? Aranessa you need to let the boy off the leash more often.” Or something terrible like that.)
This man. Thjazi's brother. That must be who he was. The man guided him into one of the guest rooms.
“I ‘ave a room,” he slurred and groaned when the foul wine tried to surge up again.
“And I doubt you'll be able to direct me to it. Come on, sit here. The kids are having a bit of a sleepover with the lordlings in attendance, and Thai's still dancing. She has a lot more stamina for a wedding party than I do. You can sleep here. I'll make sure you don't choke.”
Julian shifted and suddenly he was sitting looking up at Thjazi's brother–
“Who’reyourname?” he asked–
“Halandil, you can call me Hal.”
–looking at Halandil. He really was only similar to his brother at first glance. His eyes a jewel turquoise-green instead of burnt gold, peering at him through long black eyelashes.
He was getting lost in the details.
Julien stared up at him stupidly.
“Drink this,” Halandil ordered. Julien obeyed. The water was cool and cleared out some of the sick coating his tongue.
Halandil offered him an apologetic grin. “You're going to feel awful in the morning, but I think you'll pull through.”
“M’fine… Aran–Lady Aranessa, I should…”
“Lie down on your side,” Halandil interrupted. Julien's field of view shifted and he was now on his side. The room was spinning. He closed his eyes tightly letting out a groan.
“Your lady has no need of your services on her wedding night. Trust me.”
He felt truly awful. He embarrassed himself at his lady's wedding. He wanted to cry, but that would be adding to the shame he'd brought on himself. His father would be so disappointed.
Halandil started humming a soft lullaby. Julien wanted to protest. He was not a child, he was the lady's protector. His father's first son of his house. A knight. He might have even said all that, but the tune was so soothing. A cool hand brushed his hair back.
It wasn't a familiar gesture, but the safety he felt reminded him of when he was a boy on his father's shoulders. Back when he was too foolish to feel all the expectations weighing him down.
...
Waking up was a gruesome hell. His eyelashes were gummy, his mouth tasted of latrine, and he reeked of sour sweat.
Getting his bearings he saw a tall glass of water sitting for him on the nightstand of one of the guest rooms of the Royce estate…
What?
Oh. Oh no. He remembered chunks of the previous night. Of Thjazi's brother coming to his aid. Of a sweet melody and soothing murmurs.
He chugged the water and ran to his rooms to straighten himself up and go down to breakfast. He wanted to hide, but not showing up at all would be far worse.
His father was amiably chatting with Thaisha Lloy who threw back her head, laughing in delight. Beside her, Thjazi's brother–Halandil, seeing to their children. They spoke animatedly about the ‘sleepover’ and how strange the noble children were and asking if they could meet their Uncle's pixie.
"I'm sure he'll introduce you when he gets back," Hal said. "They seemed to be getting along well."
"That's Thjazi for you," Thaisha said, nudging Julien's father.
Julien stopped shy of the table, expecting knowing looks or mocking smirks, or his father's anger.
“You're late for breakfast,” his father commented when he finally acknowledged him.
He opened his mouth to speak, to apologise, but Halandil smoothly cut in. “You only made it down yourself not ten minutes ago, General.”
His father didn't rebuke, in fact he gave a rumbling laugh, slapping Halandil’s shoulder. “Your children are still young! When they grow you must keep on top of them lest they fall into bad habits, although my Julien has never been one to acquire bad habits. Isn't that right, son?”
“No father,” Julien said dutifully, a little stunned at his father's easy compliment. Showing him off?
He glanced at Hal who offered a wink.
“I can tell,” the orc replied effusively. There was none of the sarcastic playfulness that his hero brother would add, and no judgment for Julien's foolish behaviour at the reception.
Halandil seemed to genuinely believe his father's praise. He said nothing of Julien's overindulgences. Somehow, Julien had dodged shame on himself and his house during the lady's wedding after all.
Julien was seventeen. Halandil and his children were a common sight at the estate.
The bard's partner had left him for her calling to the Old Path. The moment the news had come Thjazi took every opportunity to offer to host his brother and his family. The lady was tentative, but delighted in the children running around the carefully manicured gardens. She beamed, watching them play-act their uncle's adventure stories or weaving daisies into crowns, accepting their messy gifts with grace and genuine appreciation.
Julien, as always, stood a little aways, arms crossed as he watched the going-ons in the garden.
Thjazi was rapidly talking back and forth with his little pixie, ignoring his wife. Lady Aranessa would try to interject, but quickly realised whatever they spoke of was over her head. Instead, she shifted her sweet gaze to watch the children pull their father into a game.
“Sir Julien,” Halandil called to him.
Julien jerked his head up at being addressed, used to fading in the background unless his lady had need.
Halandil always called him Sir Julien, perhaps because of Julien's drunken insistence during the wedding reception. His brother though had started giving him irritating nicknames that his lady claimed were out of affection and not malice.
(He doubted it.)
“We need a fourth, the Lady’s skirts will get torn and my brother is busy scheming. Want to play?”
“Child’s games? No, I am currently on duty–”
But his Lady smiled at him, her eyes alight. “Oh, go on, Julien. Look how eager they are!” She gestured to the energetic children. The boy in particular was fidgeting with hope, often forced to defer to his older sister's whims which were artistic in nature. He enjoyed more physical games.
He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t, not to his lady. Not when her eyes shone with such bright joy.
He let out a gusty sigh, but approached Halandil and the children.
“Do you know the rules?” the boy, Alogar asked. His smile was wide enough to show his two little tusks that were starting to grow in.
Julien rolled his shoulders and froze at the boisterous voice from the set tea table. “You're not that much older than them, Jules! Surely you know how to play games!” Thjazi called, his pixie giggling in response.
Julien’s jaw tensed. He didn't know the rules to this game. He didn't want to show his ignorance in front of Thjazi, nor did he want to seem childish by claiming to know a game meant for children. He felt stuck.
His father respected Thjazi Fang. He held the man dear in his esteem, and yet Julien couldn’t figure out how he could be the man his father wanted while also impressing his lady’s husband. In the end he was always made the fool.
“Sir Julien has more important duties than cheating at circle ball,” Halandil called back pointedly.
“You're a cheater uncle Thjazi!?” Alogar asked, aghast that his hero uncle would break the rules.
“Only to keep your dad humble,” Thjazi replied, waving a lazy hand, an unrepentant grin on his face. He leaned closer to the pixie conspiratorially (and not his wife Julien noted). He didn’t drop the volume of his voice at all. “It was because I liked wrestling better. Cheating at circle ball always ended with him in tears trying to clobber me for not playing right.”
The pixie's, giggles became bell-like laughter and Aranessa put a hand over her mouth to cover a smile.
“Oh dear,” she chuckled softly.
Despite their mocking, Halandil didn't seem at all put out, letting the comments and laughter roll off his back. He had his own grin on his face as he turned to Julien. “When I teach Sir Julien the rules I bet he'll keep to them." He winked. "You seem far more trustworthy than my brother, Sir Julien.”
Julien didn't mean to let the small smile slip out.
Halandil proceeded to teach him the game. He could see why Alogar liked it, running and hitting the ball back and forth.
It was fun– and there was some athletic gain to be had from the quick pace. Even strategic manoeuvres when coordinating with your partner.
He wouldn't admit he was disappointed when the girl (Shadia) got frustrated with Alogar and Julien’s consecutive wins.
“Dad, he's way better than you!” she accused.
“And he's not even cheating!” Thjazi laughed loudly, clapping at the last skirmish.
“Well...” Hal said, a little breathless pushing his long dark hair out of his face, skin shiny emerald from exertion.
Julien followed the line of beading sweat down his neck toward his patch of exposed chest before looking away. His own face was hot from all the running around.
“He is a knight of the realm after all. I’m just a humble bard.” Halandil gave a playful bow in Julien's direction.
“So humble!” Thjazi mocked.
Halandil rolled his eyes in his brother’s direction before turning back to the children. “How about something slower paced? A story? A song?”
“Yes!” Shadia cheered eagerly.
“I want to play more!” Alogar protested. “You just don't want to because we were winning!” he accused, pointing at his sister. “We always do what you want!”
The children began to bicker, their argument heating until both were nearly in tears.
Julien felt himself become rigid. He was waiting for something, although in the moment he hadn't realised he was.
Just a thread he was sure was about to break.
Then Halandil's kind voice interrupted, loosening the terrible tension that had overtaken Julien's body.
“Hey, hey.” The bard put a hand on each of his childrens' shoulders. “One breath at a time, okay? Let's not let a game get between us, alright?”
Alogar sniffed. “I just… I just. It was fun.”
“Yes it was,” Halandil agreed with that easy smile of his. He didn’t tighten his grip, his voice didn’t grow stern, or cold, he didn’t shake either of them. He wasn't angry at all for their childishness over a silly game. “We can play again another day,” he ended soothingly.
“You need four people,” Alogar said.
There was something heartbreaking and plaintive in his words.
Julien didn’t quite grasp it.
He expected Halandil to rebuke his stubbornness, or perhaps even carry on with his soothing words.
Instead there was a flash of pain on his face before it was hidden behind a patient smile that didn't quite reach his jewel coloured eyes.
“Well,” he said. “Uncle Thaz visits a lot, and Olgud–”
Shadia’s face had fallen too, but she tried to comfort both her brother and her father. “We could see if Mister Lathalia will play." She nudged her brother. "Can you imagine it? In his fancy clothes?”
“I don’t want to play with them,” Alogar said quietly.
He wanted to play with his Mother, Julien finally realised.
Oh.
“I know, I know Al, I’m sorry—” Halandil began.
“We can practice throwing the ball if you're not tired yet,” Julien heard himself say. “It's good training for hands and eyes.”
Alogar’s head whipped up.
Halandil’s eyes were on him too.
He shrugged, trying to be casual. “I might even show some of the men. It would be quite the work out in full kit.”
Thjazi groaned in the background. “Of course you would make circle ball about knightly duty! Jules you got to lighten up!”
But Alogar was already zipping to the other side of the garden, his sunny smile back again.
“Go farther!” Julien called lackadaisical, the corner of his lip caught in an upward curve as the boy ran as far as he could to catch Julien's throw.
Alogar hadn't tired by the time the sun started setting, but his father called to have him say goodbye to his uncle and his lady aunt properly.
“Thanks for playing,” Alogar said, cheeks spring green from exertion. He had his father's bright turquoise eyes. “You're so cool.”
Cool?
And the boy was running off to his uncle.
Halandil lingered nearby.
“Thank you,” he said.
Julien shrugged nonchalantly.
“You're a good kid.” Halandil's real smile was back, making his eyes sparkle in the golden light of dusk. “He looks up to you, you know?”
Julien didn't know what to say to that. He had noticed the boy watching when Julien practiced his sword forms, trying to copy him with a stick.
All children were like that though. He used to do the same, watching the guards train, although he was given a wooden sword and correction when he misstepped.
“Wouldn't his war hero uncle be the one he'd look up to?” Julien asked. Most of his men did… he did too, he just wished he knew how to interact with the man.
Halandil shrugged. “Thjazi’s all stories to him. You have a real sword and you're not his embarrassing uncle that pinches his cheeks and measures his tusks with his pinky.” Halandil clapped him on the shoulder. “Thank you. Truly. It's been hard for them,” he said. He didn't mention himself. “Coming here helps. You help.”
“I just played a silly child's game.”
“And it meant everything.” Halandil gave him a final serious nod before jogging to catch up to his children.
Julien went to claim his place at his lady's side. They watched from a distance as Thjazi gave the children affectionate head bumps and hugs.
“Julien, do you think our children will be like them?” She asked longingly.
Julien startled for a moment before understanding.
She didn’t notice. “Do you think they’ll be as… joyful? Energetic? Smiling and laughing with their father's smile?”
Julien’s heart felt soft. “I would hope any child of yours takes after you my lady,” he replied, offering a tiny smile to his friend.
She looked so hopeful, so happy. Her hand went to her stomach. “As long as they're smiling like that, I don't care what they look like.”
One month later, Julien would remember that golden dusk, that sweet yearning smile on his lady's face.
She wasn't smiling now.
“Just a little longer,” Lady Araenessa said quietly. They were eating dinner together. Halandil was trying to convince Alogar celery wasn’t a useless vegetable, constantly interrupted as Shadia begged to be excused so that she could finally show her uncle the monologue she had been working on.
Julien wasn't so distracted.
“There are traditions. Besides, it’s supposed to be bad luck this early,” Aranessa whispered.
“No such thing, Fangs make their own luck, right Hal?”
“Hm?” Halandil asked. He had a stick of celery hanging from his mouth, as if miming enjoyment might win over his son's doubt at the vegetable in question.
“Please? I’d like to tell Grandfather fir—”
“You’re going to be an Uncle,” Thjazi said at the same time, voice a little louder.
Halandil’s face broke out into surprised awe and joy, the celery fell to the floor, forgotten. The children gasped in excitement, asking if they knew what their baby cousin would be named already.
His lady smiled at their congratulations, her worries swept to one side.
Julien was almost eighteen when he witnessed the first of many betrayals Thjazi Fang would commit.
Anger burned everything out of him. There was only adrenaline as he continued on and on and on, every drinking establishment, every arcane salon, anywhere he could think a man like Thjazi would go.
Eight hours into his hunt someone suggested Hal’s place if he was looking for Thjazi Fang. The house there near the top of the Rookery, can't miss it!
He didn't take in much before he was jumping off his horse and banging on the door.
In his ire he almost punched the man that answered, but registered concerned turquoise, not cocky gold.
He straightened to his full height of 5'11". His growth spurt put him eye to eye with the concerned orc.
“Where is he?” he demanded. “Where is your fucking brother?”
Halandil took him in, then noticed Julien's panting horse.
“Al!” he called. The raised voice made Julien flinch under the skin, but the boy’s worried frown was at Julien's disarray and not his father’s commands.
Hal put a hand on Alogar's shoulder. “Take Sir Julien's horse to Fred's and have it stabled. It's in rough shape, but should be alright. Don't ride it, walk it nice and slow. Understand?”
“Yeah, dad!” Alogar said, straightening at the task he was given. He had enough time for another worried look toward Julien before he dashed outside to grab the horse's reins.
Julien saw all this, but it didn't really register.
“Is he here? Where is he?”
He had only one goal in mind.
Halandil shook his head. “No, but–” he grabbed Julien's shoulder before he could turn to go. “No, but he was, and I'll tell you everything I know, but you're going to come in and sit down.”
“I need to find him!” Julien gnashed his teeth.
“You need to rest,” Halandil countered with gentle sternness. He caught Julien by the elbow and led him to a small breakfast nook that was big enough for four.
Julien blinked, there was a plate of sandwiches in front of him paired with a pot of tea. He rubbed his eyes trying to focus.
“I don't have time for this,” he muttered, but Halandil’s natural calm pulled at the anger that was keeping him going. The tiredness and pain crashed into him like a tidalwave.
He felt empty now.
He kept seeing her face, covered in tears.
He looked up sharply. “I don’t have time for this!” he repeated more urgently.
“Your horse is near dead. You don't look far behind,” Halandil said steadily. “You need to slow down. Whatever has happened—”
“You said you knew something.” Julien held back his frustrated tears. He was not a child. He was his lady's protector and he was useless. He was useless to her. This was all he could do!
“Eat.”
Julien shoved the sandwich in his mouth if it would only move things along.
“He came late morning,” Halandil said slowly. “He was….frenetic. Said he had to go visit our old Commander and it couldn't wait. It wasn’t … exactly out of character, but I was going to send a bird to your lady in the morning to see if all was well.”
Julien said nothing.
“I take it all isn't well.”
Julien stayed silent.
“I know better than to ask about the affairs of a noble house,” Halandil said slowly. “Even one my brother's so closely tied to, but please, give me something.”
Between her tears was only begging that he find her husband. She was small and shaking and just wanted Thjazi Fang.
“Where does your old Commander live?”
Halandil exhaled heavily. “I don't know. As far as I know she's always on the move. After the war she became a traveling mercenary. I heard something about the Falconers ages ago, but they're weeks away. She could be anywhere.”
He tried to rise. Halandil put a firm hand on his wrist. Julien was forced to meet his eyes.
“He said he would be back in three days, and if anyone inquired he said they shouldn't worry.”
An ugly laugh bubbled out of Julien. “Worried. Worried!?”
"Please. Please I need him here. I need to tell him I'm sorry!"
“He'll be back,” Halandil said with surety. “So you should rest before you head back to your lady’s side.”
“I need to go to her now.” She was alone. She was all alone and that bastard, Thjazi Fang was out somewhere in the world leaving her to deal with it on her own! The only comfort Julien could give was promising to find him. Now, he would return empty handed with a vague promise of three days and a mealy reassurance to not worry.
What about her? What about her?!
He tried to stand. Tried to pull away from Halandil. His face was too much like his brother’s.
He was a smaller man than his brother, but Hal was still larger than Julien.
Julien was the better fighter, but he was too shaky to even try to fight.
Then he realised he wasn't being restrained. Halandil was hugging him, rubbing his back, cradling his head, pressing it against his shoulder.
"Shh, shh, it's okay. You're okay."
To his horror he was crying, his tears soaking into Halandil's shirt.
He wanted to struggle, but his soul crumpled at the firm warmth of Halandil's arms. He tried to remember the last time his father had hugged him he tried to remember if it had ever felt like this.
He needed to leave, but that damned sweet voice was impossible to disobey.
“Julien, your horse can't carry you, and I'm not about to let you walk from here to the estate at this hour, knight of the realm or not. Eat some food, sleep for a few hours. I have a neighbour, Rhys. He works as a driver. Has his own horse and carriage. He'll be home soon. I’ll ask a favour and send you along as soon as possible, but for now, rest. You've done all you can.”
If he had done all he could he would have prevented Aranessa from ever setting eyes on Thjazi Fang.
He shoved food into his mouth down because he was starving. He furiously ignored the voice in his head chiding his table manners. He chugged the lukewarm tea and faced Halandil rebeliously. The bard ushered him to a guest room. Julien let him because he was is right about his horse and complying meant a carriage.
Julien reclined on his side, not bothering to take off his clothes. He stared at Halandil's silhouette in the dim light.
"It's going to be okay. Just rest."
“Your brother is a fucking coward,” Julien said to Halandil’s retreating back.
Halandil stilled.
“I won't defend my brother to you, not tonight,” Halandil said softly. “Get some sleep, Sir Julien.”
He couldn't take those gentle words. Not when Julien had failed. Not when this wasn't how people reacted to failure.
“Before he left, did he tell you that you wouldn't be an uncle after all?” Julien hissed.
He wanted him to react in a way he understood.
Julien felt no victory. Halandil turned, his mouth fell open, grief in his eyes.
“There was still blood on her bedsheets.” He said it to be cruel, waiting for him to snap. Waiting for anger from the man that only showed him kindness. So that he would have a share of Julien's pain.
Julien hadn't asked for his kindness anyway. He continued to push.
“They hadn't even dried before he was gone.” Let him know the kind of man his brother was.
Halandil bowed his head.
“Get some sleep,” he whispered, turned, and closed the door.
He didn't plan to, but then he was being shaken awake.
“Your carriage is here, Sir Julien,” Alogar whispered. “Dad’s writing a bird, but I knew you'd want to know right away,” Julien didn't have the time or patience for his eagerness.
He pulled himself out of the bed and rushed out the door.
His lady, face still streaked with tears, looked relieved when he told her that her husband should return in three days time.
And when he did return she was soon smiling. She didn’t even forgive him, as if there was nothing to forgive.
He was eighteen the next time he came to Halandil Fang’s home.
He took in more of the sights this time. It was nice. The cheerfully eclectic houses were colourful. Bright paints, murals, graffiti. Magpies stealing shiny beads from laundry drying on the line. Everything centered on the stage down below.
It was nice.
This time he was calm and there were twelve of his finest men behind him as he rapped on the door.
He was in control this time.
Halandil did not answer and it was only instinct that stopped him from flinching backward.
“Hal dear, company,” Bolaire Lathalia announced blandly with a thread of underlying anger.
Halandil appeared at the door at his side looking grim. He squeezed Lathalia’s arm in thanks or warning.
“My home is open, always and for all,” the bard said, a traditional orcish greeting of hospitality. He stared right at Julien. There was no warmth in his eyes.
Julien offered a cold smile. “We are here for Thjazi Fang, known member of the Torn Banner and betrayer of House Royce. Is your brother in, Halandil?”
Halandil's eyes slid over the soldiers before coming back to Julien. He moved aside and gestured for them to enter. The masked man beside him gave a small hiss, but didn’t stop them; instead he moved inside as well. He placed himself on a settee where both the Fang children were seated looking scared and confused.
It was abundantly clear if the men came anywhere near the settee the curator was the one that would respond.
With prejudice.
There were stories.
His father and Thaisha Lloy had once gossiped about how terrifying the man was.
(“I'm pretty sure he's fed people that annoy him to some of the artifacts. The only one he’s nice to is Hal.”)
(“Your partner has his brother’s talent for charming the most interesting characters.”)
Julien made a subtle gesture to leave the seated trio be. He wanted no quarrel with a cursed man, especially one that enjoyed friends in high places that looked the other way for his peculiarities.
And he wasn’t about to interrogate a teenage girl and her little brother.
“Tea?” Halandil offered forcefully.
Julien’s eyes snapped to him. Halandil had noticed his eyes on the seated group.
The offer of tea was sarcastic and mocking and sounded exactly like Thjazi.
Julien sneered. “If your brother is here–”
“He isn’t,” Halandil said firmly. “I haven't seen him in weeks, but your men are free to look around. My family and I are cooperating and there should be no need for things to turn sour. Right?”
He said it like it was an order. Like he had a say in any of this. Like Julien couldn't have him dragged out in chains, guilty by association.
“Someone warned you we were coming,” Julien accused.
“That a troop of Royce’s men were marching up the hill toward my home where my children and I reside? Yes, I was informed. I also know that this isn’t just Lord Royce's orders." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "This is personal, so you and I are going to drink tea while your men search for my brother, who they won't find. Then, you're going to leave my children's home. I will follow you out and we'll part ways. Then you and your soldiers will walk out of this neighbourhood and not return.”
“You are not in control here.”
“I know this is personal for you,” Halandil repeated quietly, his voice low and severe. “Whatever my brother and your … difference of opinion is. Whatever my feelings are, I know why you are here. For her. This isn't just politics.”
“Don’t you dare—”
“Julien!" Halandil barked. Julien froze. "I don't think you understand. You have walked into the Rookery where they're singing Broken Wing in the tavern every night. Putting on plays of the Shapers war in unsubtle metaphor. Making art and stories and legends of your enemies. You march to my house where it is open always and to all. My neighborhood, my home. My community. Where you are surrounded by nervous and scared people who are ready to be brave like in the stories and songs if one of theirs is attacked by one of yours.”
“You're saying they're all Torn Banner?”
Halandil was a good actor and had an excellent pokerface, so the annoyance that slipped out was on purpose.
“No. But many have friends, and brothers, and sisters, and spouses that are. You are not thinking clearly here. You are surrounded. ‘Seven Overlords or twelve thousand of us.’ Thirteen well armed, well trained men or not, it will be a blood bath and send the Rookery into chaos. We are not going to let that happen. Are you hearing me, Julien? We are not going to let that happen.”
Julien's stomache dropped. This was a neighborhood of the city, not one of the battlefields. He hadn’t seen the danger. This was a powder keg, and if he wasn't very careful he would ignite a spark. One big enough to give the Torn Banner what they needed, more boots on the ground, more anger and resentment from the commoner class toward the Sundered Houses, more ammunition.
Hal was a Bard. He had a troupe and he put on plays. What was he against a Knight?
Thjazi had once boasted how much the Rookery relied on his brother. How well known and how liked he was. How he was the one that solved problems and gave solutions.
Julien may as well have spat in Primus Tachonis' tea.
This place was Halandil Fang's small kingdom, and his subjects were all unerringly loyal.
Julien sat down at the table he had sat at only a handful of months before.
“Tea then,” he said, pretending to make himself at home. As if he were only deighing to humour the powerless bard as sweat trickled down the back of his neck.
He gestured to his men. “Go–”
He stopped and met Halandil's eyes. “Don’t make a mess of the children’s rooms. I doubt there will be anything useful there.”
Halandil gave the smallest nod and sat down across from him, pouring tea.
He didn’t drink any.
They sat in tense silence.
No messages, no magic items, no Thjazi Fang.
Nothing was found.
He was angry, but Halandil's cool head had saved him.
The debt sat poorly.
His men exited the house. It was completely tossed save for Alogar and Shadia’s rooms. Lathalia's mask grew more and more grim at each thud and clang. Halandil didn't flinch at the sound of broken glass and pottery.
“Thank you for your lovely hospitality,” Julien said at the door with some irony.
“Open always and for all,” Halandil said, his hands were shaking. The only sign of the fear and adrenaline surging through him. “Now get the fuck out of my home.”
Thjazi Fang would be spared.
He was drinking heavily despite orders from his father to return to the estate.
Thjazi Fang would be spared. Would be spared after everything he did. Would be spared after the suffering he caused his lady. Would be spared after nearly bringing Julien’s father to ruin as a traitor to his liege lord.
Julien was twenty and his hatred for the man had never faded even a little bit.
“Oh… that’s… ah… no, it's okay Marica, I'll take care of it.”
When he turned he stood with his hand on his sword.
“Thj-azi,” he growled, trying to keep himself steady.
“Sir Davinos,” Thjazi… no… no maybe not Thjazi. His vision blurred and he was being held up by Thjazi now. He didn't push his sword through his gut because he had lost his sword between one second and another.
“This is a bad habit,” Halandil Fang muttered.
And fathers hate bad habits don’t they?
“Fuck off, Hal,” he managed, “Why in the hells are you here?” He pushed the man off him, then he grinned meanly. "Lonely? Looking for company?"
Hal let go. Crossed his arms. “You're in the Rookery, surely you're not wasted enough to be ignorant of that. My business and this one have a lot of crossover. I was asked to help with an out of control drunk. I didn't know it was you.”
“But you’d come anyway, right?” Julien sneered. Hal looked a bit more worn than the last time they met, but hadn't lost his looks. “You son of a whore.”
Thja–Hal saw it coming, had been waiting for it, but wasn't fast enough to dodge the blow.
He felt deep satisfaction the moment his fist connected with the handsome face. Hal staggered back.
And the brothel’s tavern became dead silent.
Then Julien was being swarmed.
Panic filled him as he tried to struggle away, his back to the bar. There were too many and he was too drunk and where the fuck was his sword?
Suddenly, there was strong steady back blocking him. He was sixteen again, drunk for the first time. Dizzy and sick and being shielded from the shame of throwing up at his lady's wedding.
But now he was being shielded from an angry mob.
Hal's firm voice rose over the crowd out for Julien's blood. “It's fine! I'm fine. You cannot. We cannot. The Sundered Houses are looking for any excuse after being denied blood. We put him in a carriage. See him home. Hopefully, he doesn't remember any of it.”
Julien remembered that moment at least. Understood now that the tense conversation at the house from years ago was not a bluff.
That it was Hal alone that had stopped him from being ripped apart.
And he was doing it again. Saving him from himself again.
Bastard. Goddamn fucking bastard!
“Do you know, he had the gall to ask her to run away with him!? Ruin her further and spit in Lord Royce's eye one more time! After what he's done to her! After all the pain he caused!? He thought it would be better with a meaningless romantics gesture? Your brother is a fucking coward!”
He was being swept up by hands and shoved in a carriage and didn’t know if Hal heard him.
(He had).
“I'm taking you home.”
Hal sat across from him in the carriage face completely neutral.
“Why not stab me right now?” Julien dared, leaning against the carriage walls, spreading his arms in invitation. He stared openly at the orc, who was disheveled from the brief tussle, one of his cheeks swollen. It didn't lessen his appeal.
Julien took him in, drunk enough that he didn’t deny himself looking. Didn't feel embarrassment or shameful. Hal was not his brother. He didn't have his brother's height or roguish smile. The sparkling golden certainly in burnt gold eyes.
No. Halandil Fang was far better. Gorgeous. A man in his prime. Expressive brows, dark hair contrasting emerald skin, long eyelashes, and a face meant for smiles. Not a fighter, but body sleek and firm, his neck and chest on display in his loose white shirt. Sweet eyes the colour of a lit ocean, plush soft lips under white tusks.
“Not one person would speak against you,” he said with a poison-sweet smile, tilting his chin. “You could avenge your brother right now.” he let his gaze trace the Bard's jaw. The fashionable stubble that would burn against his cheek.
“My brother is alive,” Hal said calmly. “Nothing needs to be avenged.”
“Fuck you,” Julien spat. He glared at the man across from him. Hal saw him as a child, every time they met. The teenager that had accidentally overindulged, playing child games, searching for answers and breaking down in his arms, even with a troop of twelve men behind him. Even when at odds he kept that in mind. That Julien was a child and he should make allowances. Let him act out, as if all it ever was was a tantrum.
Indulging things that should never be indulged.
"Your brother begged to be spared," Julien said, jabbing at the calm facade. "He gave us everything we needed to cut the rebellion short in exchange for his pathetic life. That is the real Thjazi Fang. That is who your brother is. Nothing matters to him but himself."
"You're a liar."
There was no indulgence now, Hal’s look was pure disgust.
Perhaps this was the first time he had fully acknowledged Julien was a man. A man that chose his side. A man that defied his father and brought honour back to his house. A man that brought down Thjazi Fang. A man that made his own choices.
And took what he deserved.
Julien grabbed Hal by his loose collar and crushed their faces together, half on top of him pressing close.
The kiss was violent and short. Full lips and the taste of apple and cinnamon. Hal jerked back immediately. One of his tusks caught Julien’s upper lip.
Julien landed back in his seat, smirking in satisfaction. He casually wiped the blood from his mouth and let his eyes linger deliberately on swollen lips before meeting turquoise eyes.
“Fuck you're a mess,” Hal cursed. “You really need to stop mistaking me for Thjazi.”
Revulsion hit him in time with the liquor gurgling in his stomach. He stuck his head out the window before he was sick on himself.
He hated Thjazi Fang. One day the noose would catch up to him and Julien would have the pleasure of spitting on his grave.
He wasn't sure how anyone could mistake him with his brother.
He had no desire for Thjazi Fang, but Hal? Hal he would kiss again if permitted.
He didn't try again.
He was twenty-five and he sent the bird because he knew the difference between a bad father and a good father.
Alogar was hunched over, a glass of water in his hands. He looked ill, his green skin ashy.
His slurred rant mentioned something about his mother and his uncle and his father. About anger and unfairness.
"It was always okay that she was gone. It was always fine. And he's a good actor so he pretended, and Shadi is good too and took his cue, but I wasn't. I've never been good at it. I felt guilty that I was the only one that wanted her to choose us! Whenever I made dad wince, asking if she would stay this time. I wanted her to come back, but she had to be allowed to go and we couldn't go with her. I was too young to get it. He acted like it didn't hurt him. Hurt us. Maybe he hoped if he pretended long enough it would be true. But it felt normal again when we were with you and Thjazi, and Aun-Lady Aranessa. Before that Thjazi was always on adventures and never stayed for long, but then he was around all the time, and he always knew when we needed him, or I thought he did. It almost felt like maybe things would be alright, but then Thjazi was gone, and Dad was alone again and playing Broken Wing when he thought we were asleep. If it wasn't for Uncle Olgud and Mr. Lathalia I don't know what would have happened. Then he met Elodie and she was good for him! She was good!"
It had been an hour of this. Alogar was about to get robbed when Julien had found him. Tall, even for an orc, the bartender had been serving him far past a boy's limit.
Julien silently took him in hand and brought him back to the estate through the servant’s entrance so they wouldn’t be observed. He was sure even now that Lady Aranessa would welcome her nephew into her home, but the boy had grown tall and resembled a bit too much of his uncle for Julien to allow it.
Halandil’s hair had streaks of white. Obvious laugh lines, some wrinkles.
Still gorgeous. Still making something in Julien's gut curl with desire even as it soured with bitterness.
Julien had gained enough wisdom to realise he always wanted what he wasn't allowed to have.
There was nothing but relief on the still handsome face when Halandil's eyes catch on his son.
“Al!” Julien put himself in the door frame, stopping him. It was the first time Halandil had ever looked at Julien with true rage in his eyes.
A novel experience, the sparks in his gut lit up.
He shoved the feeling aside and held up his hand. “He's stinking drunk and ranting about the revolutionary guard and you and his mother.”
Halandil softened, anger gone in an instant. He nodded his understanding and didn't try to push through.
“He came to you?”
“I found him,” in the brothel I frequent, he didn't add. “Consider this me paying a debt.”
“What debt?” Halandil asked with raised eyebrows. “For Thja–?”
Damn the man!
“This has nothing to do with your fucking brother." Julien interrupted heatedly. "If it did you would not be here, and I would not be so helpful."
Did he really not remember the wedding? Julien supposed it was a long time ago, and it had only meant something to him. To Halandil he was just making sure a drunken youth slept safe for the night. How many people had he peeled off the floor before?
To Julien it had felt like Halandil had saved the honour of himself and his house.
Did he really think he would apologise for unhorsing Thjazi Fang?
There was no better moment in his life, even after what came.
“Dad?” Alogar sniffed, finally noticing his father's arrival.
“Al…” Halandil waited to be let through this time.
Julian scoffed and moved aside. Alogar needed to face reality after all.
He knew the lines by heart.
As usual, Halandil was off script.
No lecture about disgraceful behaviour, no slap to the face.
He just hugged him.
“Are you okay?”
“I'mgonnabarf.”
Halandil wasn’t fast enough to grab the bucket, but Julien was.
The bard silently rubbed his son’s back. Julien made out a very quiet “thank you.”
“I can't go home,” Alogar said. “Not if you keep letting her come back. I can't. I can't do it anymore.”
“Al…” Halandil’s voice cracked, just a little.
“I'm so mad at her. I'm mad at you. I don't want to be mad at you!”
“I know,” Halandil said soothingly. “I know. I understand why, but–”
“No you don't!” The young orc said hysterically. “You don't get it at all! Uncle Thjazi ruined my life! They'll never let me join now! And you keep letting her come home and now Elodie is leaving!”
Halandil seemed to take his meaning. “Your mother isn't the reason Elle is leaving. Sometimes–”
“It's never her fault. It's never anyone's fault, but it keeps happening over and over! Why do you keep letting people leave you!?” Alogar shouted in his father's face.
Halandil’s back was to Julien so all he could see was the slump in his shoulders.
But his voice was strong when he answered. “Because you don't cage the people you love. Even if that means they can't be beside you.”
“You don’t have to cage people to prevent yourself from being alone, Dad.”
“I’m not alone. You aren’t either.”
“I feel alone.”
Julien left to let the two speak. Eventually they both exited together. Halandil paused at the door.
“Thank you... for the hospitality.”
“Always and to all,” Julien said with a mocking eyebrow.
Julien remembered that conversation years later. He was twenty-seven when his father told him the son of Thaisha Lloy wanted to join house Divinos’ guards.
“Thjazi Fang’s nephew,” Julien began. Halandil Fang’s son. Thaisha Lloy’s son.
He and Halandil had not met often, and Hal was prone to talk when there was no alternative, despite the history between their families.
Thaisha he ran into far more often and she had once nearly bitten his leg off. Her family was also the reason the soured fey boon on his arm was kept at bay.
That was to say, his history with her was far more storied and volatile.
It occurred to him he had only seen the two together once and didn’t set them together in his mind, but he knew they were still close. He pictured them. How suited and unsuited they were.
And both nice to look at individually, so together they would be quite a lovely sight if he was being honest with himself. He's be lying if he said occasionally hiring orcish companions for an evening wasn't meant to fulfill a particular fantasy.
“Seeing to his education is the least we can do for that family,” his father said, interrupting his inappropriate thoughts, tone leaving no room for an argument.
Julien mentally flinched, but didn't give ground. “Fine,” he said carelessly. “But I'm not the one dealing with Halandil Fang when he comes to take his son home.”
“Hal asked that I consider the request.”
Julien stared a beat too long. “No,” he shook his head clear. “He’s aware that I would be the one in charge of his child's education–? Ah, of course he is. Of course he did. And Thaisha Lloy?”
“Currently in your office with her son on the warpath. I said you would be happy to reassure her concerns. Good luck.”
Why?
Why did Fangs catch him in the worst position every time?
(Every time except when he brought Thjazi off his horse, when he kissed Hal's lips, when he finally repaid his debt.)
He moved quickly though the hall and didnt' spare Hal a glance as he pushed into his office. He had had terse conversations with Thaisha before, but she might actually kill him this time if her expression at his arrival was anything to go by.
But Alogar, with his mother's height, father's eyes and Uncle’s boldness, moved in front of him, meeting Thaisha’s stubbornness head on.
Julien disengaged and slipped out of the office, leaving them to it.
Halandil Fang was, of course, still in the hallway. His arms were crossed and he was leaning against the wall.
Their eyes met.
Julien stupidly remembered the attempt of a drunken kiss that he still felt a foolish thrill of victory over despite it being twisted with embarrassment once he had sobered.
“Oh, Halandil, you're still here?” Julien asked.
Halandil shrugged.
He was tempted to say how the tables were turned. Halandil firmly in his territory. That at a word he could have the man thrown into the street.
But Julien knew why Halanadil was here. Not for the reason his own father would be.
He didn’t like Hal. He couldn't. Not with all the history. Not with all the moments of vulnerability and shame.
But he knew he was a good father.
He pushed down his envy, resentment, and yearning. Instead he asked what he burned to know.
“Why would the nephew of Thjazi Fang want to work for my house?”
Halandil didn't look amused exactly. It was more exasperation.
“The RA won't take him, no matter how well he does in their fitness tests. Too much politics involved. His face is too much like mine.”
Which was too much like Thjazi’s to the untrained observer.
“So?”
“So your father is a friend of our family and he went to him.”
“And you agreed so I hear? You know I would be his trainer. He would be under my control,” Julien offered a villain's smile, just to see what he would do.
Halandil was unimpressed with it.
But with the villain he had as his brother maybe he was used to it.
“He's always looked up to you,” Halandil said, meeting his eyes with challenge. “Ever since you were kids. He was always trying to emulate you.” Halandil got a pained far away look on his face. Thinking of those times when his family had barged into Julien's life and the life of his lady and made a mess of all of it. The bard looked upon those times fondly.
Sometimes Julien did too.
He remembered Halandil’s eyes when Julien tossed the ball around with Alogar. How thankful he was.
“I've seen your worst Julien. I know what drives it. You're a piece of work, but you're loyal, and have a strong sense of honour, despite what others may think. I trust you to look after him.”
“You have no idea what my worst is–”
The door opened.
Thaisha towered over him.
He couldn't deny he was just a little bit taken by the powerful woman in front of him. The fear for his life sort of added to it ...
She spoke, clear and deliberate. “My family crafted the sword that killed the god of war. Consider that before you think of letting harm come to my son,” she said succinctly.
Then she turned and walked away.
“You won't see it coming,” Halandil added, giving a faux-friendly clap to the arm.
Alogar exited the room. He looked to his father.
“If this is what you want, and if Sir Davinos accepts you, then of course,” Halandil said to the unasked question.
“Always open and welcome to all,” Julien said, but didn’t add too much bite to it.
Alogar didn't look happy. He looked…
Maybe still angry and a bit regretful.
The boy—young man went to his father and gently thumped his fist to Halandil's chest.
“Yeah, Dad, leaving is what I want,” Alogar told him, head bowed. “I don't know why I thought you would try to stop me. You never do. I really don't know why you thought she had any say in it.”
Halandil entreated his son. “Your mom loves you.”
Alogar sighed. He pulled his hand away and crossed his arms. “Yeah, I know. But sometimes that isn't enough, Dad. I hope you understand that someday.”
Then Alogar stepped in front of Julien and saluted.
Julien considered Alogar and gave him a short nod of acceptance. He would take him on, and not for any other reason than he was suited to the work. Tall and strong and driven.
Halandil’s shoulders drooped. “I hope you learn the opposite. Just… know you can always come home.”
“I know, Dad,” Alogar said, sad for his father, angry at his father.
His father who raised him, and was good to him, but who fundamentally did not understand his hurt.
He thought of Thjazi Fang who claimed to love Aranessa every time they met and every time he left her.
He thought of his father throwing Julian’s life away for the sake of a traitor. The bitterness of Julien’s disobedience when he became the man he was raised to be.
No, sometimes love wasn’t enough.
He was twenty-nine the day Thjazi Fang was hanged. He tried not to smile too much at the funeral. Thaisha caught his grin, Halandil did not, or if he did, he ignored him.
There was little left for them to say to each other.
“Thank you for your lovely hospitality,” Julien said.
“Always and for all,” Halandil replied simply.