Havemercy Fic: Waiting
Title: Waiting
Characters: Thom, Balfour, mentions of Rook and Adamo.
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to the marvelous Jaida Jones and Danielle Bennett
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1611
They’d been disturbingly quiet since they’d come back.
I’d sat on my couch, straining my ears to hear the explosions from the other side of the Cobalts, trying to stop my imagination from supplying the horror of what they were facing.
I clasped my hands tighter and shut my eyes. I’d been foolish to once wish things weren’t so loud and hectic around here.
I’d thought that things couldn’t get much worse that Rook flying our most nights, risking his life as I wondered selfishly if it was to distance himself from me. How wrong I was.
The carriage ride to the palace was now a bit of a blur, but I could remember the apprehension shrouding the Dragon Corps and I as we once again crowded into one of th’Esars rooms. Hal and the Margrave Royston were already there, the latter looking gravely ill; the former as though he hadn’t slept for a week. The lads had nudged each other over Adamo’s concern for his friend, Compagnon letting out a giggle as he noticed Hal and the Margrave’s clasped hands. Cindy, Rook’s voice declared unbidden in my head.
Things had been a bit of a rush from there, th’Esar explaining the situation to us, ordering the Corps to fly out at once to destroy the Ke-Han magicians. The previous agreement echoed in my head as Adamo agreed for all of them.
Once back at the Airman, they’d hurried to their dragons, preparing themselves to go to war. There were the few usual jokes, then a kind of empty quietness as some of the men tried to convince their dragons that they could fly out, just one last time.
The silence had been broken by a nervous giggle, then they were all swearing and insulting the Ke-Hans and exclaiming what they were going to do to them when they got there. It was all noise and chaos and testosterone, as the roof retracted and suddenly thirteen metal beauties were leaving the ground, whirring and grinding.
Neither of them had even said goodbye properly.
I returned to my couch, feeling useless, listening to the rumbles of the dragons as they flew away from the city until I could no longer hear them.
No one came back that night.
Dawn found me in the same place I’d been in since they’d left, perched on my couch, feeling useless, tense and waiting for someone - anyone - to return.
I hardly moved that day, or the day after.
On the third day, unable to stand the suffocating silence of the Airman any longer, I’d ventured into the city to try and find out some information about the war’s progress. A friend of mine from the ‘Versity said he’d heard that the magicians were feeling much better, and that some had already been deported to the front line, along with ordinary soldiers. Apparently the Margrave Royston was among them, and I’d briefly thought of Hal, and wondered if I should go to see him. Then I’d realised that I’d be in no fit state to comfort, and I wasn’t sure where he was staying. Besides, I needed to be at the Airman, in case someone returned. I asked after the ‘Versity professors and was relieved to hear that Marius was ok.
I returned to the Airman and waited in the stillness once more, so different to its usual boisterousness.
On the fourth day, I had a message that Adamo, Ghislain, Luvander and Balfour had been submitted to the hospital. I’d stared at the paper for a long second, relieved that I’d finally received some news on their well-being, but my heart sinking as four names was such a small number -and none of them was the one I was hoping for - before rushing off to the hospital.
When I got there I’d felt uncomfortable, as if I were intruding on their privacy, and I wasn’t exactly a friend. I didn’t stay long, and returned to the Airman feeling only slightly less empty than before.
A few days later, Adamo, Ghislain and Luvander returned, more because they didn’t like being confined to hospital beds than because they were fit enough to. Adamo gave me a brief description of what had happened and I pictured my brother amongst the terror they must have gone through. I swallowed hard.
I barely saw the three of them, as they opted to stay in their rooms for most of the day, only coming out for food and a brief chat in the evenings.
It was a further few days before Balfour returned to the Airman, his complexion even paler than usual, a metal prosthetic hand attached to the end of each arm. I imagined what it must feel like for a man to lose his own hands, and my own imagination sickened me. I wanted to kill the whoresons who had done this. He, too, kept to his room, so there was no difference to the Airman’s stifling quietness.
It had been two days since Balfour had returned when I found him on my couch. I was on my way back from the kitchen when I’d heard some gentle weeping. As I drew closer to my couch, I realised that he was sobbing quietly, as though hoping that no one would hear. I could imagine him doing the same when he was a new member of the Dragon Corps, locked in his room, a victim of all the other men’s pranks. He was hunched over, arms resting on his knees, hair half-hiding his face as he fiddled with his gloves. No matter how long he’d be here, he’d always be an outsider. My heart went out to him immediately.
He looked up as I stepped closer, surprised by my presence. He jumped up.
“Sorry,” he apologised, hurriedly moving a hand to wipe away his tears. It was a clumsy movement, the hands slightly too large for him, and a moment later he cursed and screwed his eyes shut.
“Oh,” I said, going nearer to help him.
“Bastion! Stupid,” he cursed himself, blinking rapidly. “Who pokes themselves in the eye?”
“It’s an easy mistake,” I reassured him. “Here, let me help.”
“No, it’s fine, I just-” he paused, blinking slightly less now. “I haven’t really got used to these yet.” He held his hands out towards me, looking at them miserably. An awkward moment of silence passed between us.
“Did you want to speak to me?” I asked.
“Oh, well, I- if you’re busy, I can-”
I reassured him that it was fine, sensing that he needed this; he needed someone to talk to. I sat on my couch, and a moment later he joined me, leaving a little distance between us.
“How are you?” I cautioned.
He opened his mouth but did not answer, closing it again and glancing around the room instead, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he swallowed hard. I put my arm around him instinctively, as I had done with Hal.
“It’s too quiet,” he sighed. “I used to wish that they wouldn’t be so loud, but now…” he sniffed. “I know we’re in a war, but…I though that more of them would be back by now.”
He looked miserably at his hands once more.
“I used to hate everything they did to me, but I’d give anything to have them back. Even if they do steal my boots or paint my hand blue every day.”
I tightened my arm around him, expressing my agreement.
“I expect it was horrible, waiting here on your own,” he continued, looking at me kindly.
“In terms of what we’ve been through recently, your situation seems far worse than mine,” I answered honestly. I thought about the possibility of losing my brother in the fighting, and then remembered that Balfour had already lost his for exactly the same reason. We both looked at his hands, and the limp gloves grasped in them.
“They won’t fit,” he announced suddenly, clutching the gloves tighter. His voice caught on the last word, and he was struggling to keep his composure once more, looking anywhere but at me. I pulled him closer, until he gave in and buried his face in my neck. I murmured meaningless reassurances to him, my chest contracting tightly.
We stayed like this for a few minutes, letting out everything that had been building up for the past unbearable weeks. When he was a little calmer, he pulled away slightly and apologised. I told him that he didn’t need to; it was better to let things out. We sat in companionable silence.
“He will come back,” Balfour said suddenly.
I asked who he meant, even as Rook’s face came to mind, the pained expression as I said his true name.
“Rook,” Balfour replied, as though he thought the answer should have been obvious.
“I’m sure of it. If anyone’s going to survive, it’s Rook. He’s the best fighter.” He gave a tentative half smile, the word ‘if’ burning itself on my mind.
We made small talk for a while longer, speaking of happier times and our hopes for the others. Then Balfour made his excuse to leave, but turned as he stood up.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to the others,” he said quickly.
I reassured him, and told him that if he ever needed to speak to me - if things got too much again - I would be here. He nodded, giving a bigger smile this time, relief curling the edges, before disappearing into his room, gloves limp in his cold hands.
I thought back to what he'd said about Rook and desperately hoped that he was right.
Characters: Thom, Balfour, mentions of Rook and Adamo.
Disclaimer: All the characters belong to the marvelous Jaida Jones and Danielle Bennett
Rating: PG-13
Length: 1611
They’d been disturbingly quiet since they’d come back.
I’d sat on my couch, straining my ears to hear the explosions from the other side of the Cobalts, trying to stop my imagination from supplying the horror of what they were facing.
I clasped my hands tighter and shut my eyes. I’d been foolish to once wish things weren’t so loud and hectic around here.
I’d thought that things couldn’t get much worse that Rook flying our most nights, risking his life as I wondered selfishly if it was to distance himself from me. How wrong I was.
The carriage ride to the palace was now a bit of a blur, but I could remember the apprehension shrouding the Dragon Corps and I as we once again crowded into one of th’Esars rooms. Hal and the Margrave Royston were already there, the latter looking gravely ill; the former as though he hadn’t slept for a week. The lads had nudged each other over Adamo’s concern for his friend, Compagnon letting out a giggle as he noticed Hal and the Margrave’s clasped hands. Cindy, Rook’s voice declared unbidden in my head.
Things had been a bit of a rush from there, th’Esar explaining the situation to us, ordering the Corps to fly out at once to destroy the Ke-Han magicians. The previous agreement echoed in my head as Adamo agreed for all of them.
Once back at the Airman, they’d hurried to their dragons, preparing themselves to go to war. There were the few usual jokes, then a kind of empty quietness as some of the men tried to convince their dragons that they could fly out, just one last time.
The silence had been broken by a nervous giggle, then they were all swearing and insulting the Ke-Hans and exclaiming what they were going to do to them when they got there. It was all noise and chaos and testosterone, as the roof retracted and suddenly thirteen metal beauties were leaving the ground, whirring and grinding.
Neither of them had even said goodbye properly.
I returned to my couch, feeling useless, listening to the rumbles of the dragons as they flew away from the city until I could no longer hear them.
No one came back that night.
Dawn found me in the same place I’d been in since they’d left, perched on my couch, feeling useless, tense and waiting for someone - anyone - to return.
I hardly moved that day, or the day after.
On the third day, unable to stand the suffocating silence of the Airman any longer, I’d ventured into the city to try and find out some information about the war’s progress. A friend of mine from the ‘Versity said he’d heard that the magicians were feeling much better, and that some had already been deported to the front line, along with ordinary soldiers. Apparently the Margrave Royston was among them, and I’d briefly thought of Hal, and wondered if I should go to see him. Then I’d realised that I’d be in no fit state to comfort, and I wasn’t sure where he was staying. Besides, I needed to be at the Airman, in case someone returned. I asked after the ‘Versity professors and was relieved to hear that Marius was ok.
I returned to the Airman and waited in the stillness once more, so different to its usual boisterousness.
On the fourth day, I had a message that Adamo, Ghislain, Luvander and Balfour had been submitted to the hospital. I’d stared at the paper for a long second, relieved that I’d finally received some news on their well-being, but my heart sinking as four names was such a small number -and none of them was the one I was hoping for - before rushing off to the hospital.
When I got there I’d felt uncomfortable, as if I were intruding on their privacy, and I wasn’t exactly a friend. I didn’t stay long, and returned to the Airman feeling only slightly less empty than before.
A few days later, Adamo, Ghislain and Luvander returned, more because they didn’t like being confined to hospital beds than because they were fit enough to. Adamo gave me a brief description of what had happened and I pictured my brother amongst the terror they must have gone through. I swallowed hard.
I barely saw the three of them, as they opted to stay in their rooms for most of the day, only coming out for food and a brief chat in the evenings.
It was a further few days before Balfour returned to the Airman, his complexion even paler than usual, a metal prosthetic hand attached to the end of each arm. I imagined what it must feel like for a man to lose his own hands, and my own imagination sickened me. I wanted to kill the whoresons who had done this. He, too, kept to his room, so there was no difference to the Airman’s stifling quietness.
It had been two days since Balfour had returned when I found him on my couch. I was on my way back from the kitchen when I’d heard some gentle weeping. As I drew closer to my couch, I realised that he was sobbing quietly, as though hoping that no one would hear. I could imagine him doing the same when he was a new member of the Dragon Corps, locked in his room, a victim of all the other men’s pranks. He was hunched over, arms resting on his knees, hair half-hiding his face as he fiddled with his gloves. No matter how long he’d be here, he’d always be an outsider. My heart went out to him immediately.
He looked up as I stepped closer, surprised by my presence. He jumped up.
“Sorry,” he apologised, hurriedly moving a hand to wipe away his tears. It was a clumsy movement, the hands slightly too large for him, and a moment later he cursed and screwed his eyes shut.
“Oh,” I said, going nearer to help him.
“Bastion! Stupid,” he cursed himself, blinking rapidly. “Who pokes themselves in the eye?”
“It’s an easy mistake,” I reassured him. “Here, let me help.”
“No, it’s fine, I just-” he paused, blinking slightly less now. “I haven’t really got used to these yet.” He held his hands out towards me, looking at them miserably. An awkward moment of silence passed between us.
“Did you want to speak to me?” I asked.
“Oh, well, I- if you’re busy, I can-”
I reassured him that it was fine, sensing that he needed this; he needed someone to talk to. I sat on my couch, and a moment later he joined me, leaving a little distance between us.
“How are you?” I cautioned.
He opened his mouth but did not answer, closing it again and glancing around the room instead, eyes glistening with unshed tears as he swallowed hard. I put my arm around him instinctively, as I had done with Hal.
“It’s too quiet,” he sighed. “I used to wish that they wouldn’t be so loud, but now…” he sniffed. “I know we’re in a war, but…I though that more of them would be back by now.”
He looked miserably at his hands once more.
“I used to hate everything they did to me, but I’d give anything to have them back. Even if they do steal my boots or paint my hand blue every day.”
I tightened my arm around him, expressing my agreement.
“I expect it was horrible, waiting here on your own,” he continued, looking at me kindly.
“In terms of what we’ve been through recently, your situation seems far worse than mine,” I answered honestly. I thought about the possibility of losing my brother in the fighting, and then remembered that Balfour had already lost his for exactly the same reason. We both looked at his hands, and the limp gloves grasped in them.
“They won’t fit,” he announced suddenly, clutching the gloves tighter. His voice caught on the last word, and he was struggling to keep his composure once more, looking anywhere but at me. I pulled him closer, until he gave in and buried his face in my neck. I murmured meaningless reassurances to him, my chest contracting tightly.
We stayed like this for a few minutes, letting out everything that had been building up for the past unbearable weeks. When he was a little calmer, he pulled away slightly and apologised. I told him that he didn’t need to; it was better to let things out. We sat in companionable silence.
“He will come back,” Balfour said suddenly.
I asked who he meant, even as Rook’s face came to mind, the pained expression as I said his true name.
“Rook,” Balfour replied, as though he thought the answer should have been obvious.
“I’m sure of it. If anyone’s going to survive, it’s Rook. He’s the best fighter.” He gave a tentative half smile, the word ‘if’ burning itself on my mind.
We made small talk for a while longer, speaking of happier times and our hopes for the others. Then Balfour made his excuse to leave, but turned as he stood up.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention this to the others,” he said quickly.
I reassured him, and told him that if he ever needed to speak to me - if things got too much again - I would be here. He nodded, giving a bigger smile this time, relief curling the edges, before disappearing into his room, gloves limp in his cold hands.
I thought back to what he'd said about Rook and desperately hoped that he was right.