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If you ask Thaisha, Hal changed her slowly but surely.
They met young, Hal playing his lyre in the square, half busking, half advertising the troop he belonged to. Thjazi, with bright eyes and an even brighter smile, ran around with a hat collecting whatever copper the crowd offered and Thaisha, a teenager herself and on her way to the market, paused to listen to the handsome orc with a voice that washed over her in waves, immersing her in a story of ages past.
“If you like it, care to donate for the cause?” Thjazi, at the time eleven years old and with the kind of smile that you couldn’t help but return, approached her.
“And what cause would that be?” She asked, curious. The boy, not yet even a teenager, was much shorter than her. He was looking up at her, eyes gold and the barest hint of tusk poking from under his lips.
“The theatre! Hal’s been trying to get us a place in the Rookery!” He seemed excited at the thought. She looked between him and the older boy still playing and singing.
“Is that Hal?” She asked, pointing with her chin. He nodded, his grin widening.
“Yeah! He’s my brother!” He seemed to genuinely adore his brother, talking in a way that made her smile soften. She opened her wallet, pulling out one silver coin.
“I think I know some people who’ll be interested in the cause.” She offered, putting the coin in the offered hat. “How about you introduce us when your brother’s done playing?” She asked, and the boy nodded, a look of determination on his face as he rushed back into the crowd to keep his collections.
She should be heading home. Getting back to her studies and her metalworking and all the things she should be doing instead of listening to a handsome boy weave a tale of a time before the Shapers.
She stayed. The crowds came and went, people moving on with their shopping and their families, and at points, when he looked up and saw her still there, it felt like it was just the two of them in the world. And after a while, he finished his song. The crowd cheered, and so did she. As she was getting ready to leave, a voice called behind her.
“You seemed to enjoy the show.” His voice in speaking was as soft as in singing, almost as melodic. She turned back to him, putting on a polite smile.
“Very much. I told your brother.” She said truthfully, and his eyes narrowed, in a reaction she didn’t expect.
“One moment. Thjazi, can you come over?” He asked, and his voice carried further than normal. Magic, so natural it roiled off his every breath.
“Yeah?” The younger boy rushed up to him, his grin firmly in place. Hal reached up a hand, as though waiting, and tilted his head at Thaisha. Thjazi, with a sheepish smile, produced…
A horse head charm. One of hers. Her hand immediately shot to where it should’ve been, except it wasn’t. How did he…?
“I’m sorry about my brother. He’s a handful sometimes, but he means no harm. He would’ve returned it to you before you left, I’m sure.” He glared at his brother, prompting.
“I’m sorry, Miss…?” He trailed off, realising he doesn’t know her name.
“Thaisha.” She didn’t want to give her family name, to see knowing, careful distance grow on these two earnest faces. “Thank you, for returning this to me. I made these myself, so they mean a lot to me and nothing to anyone else.” She smiled down at the younger boy, before turning her eyes to his older brother. “And your name is Hal, right?” She asked, tilting her head and looking him up and down.
He, too, was shorter than her. His skin was the bright, vivid green of new spring leaves, and his eyes were a unique shade of turquoise she was sure she had a match for in a pair of earrings somewhere. His smile was earnest, and outside of performance, where he seemed larger than life, he looked… normal.
“That’s me. Halandil Fang, at your service.” He gave her a theatrical bow, offering her a hand. She snorted, letting him continue the farce, giving him her hand. He pressed her knuckles carefully to his forehead, before rising, her hand still in his. “Now, Miss Thaisha, I’m curious. What made you stay this long?” He asked, earnest curiosity painting his words. And oh, looking back at this moment, Thaisha wishes she could tell her past self to cherish this earnest smile, this sweet, ridiculous man who will one day be so important to her she will leave a piece of her heart in his home, as she leaves and tears a piece of his to take with her.
Cherish him, she wants to yell at her past self. Cherish this smile, before it becomes tinged with sadness and pain and distance.
Her young self only puffed up.
“I know a few people who I think would be happy to invest in your theatre.” She said, prim and proper like a Lloy should be. They weren’t nobility, but they carried responsibility. Hal laughed, looking at her in a way no one had before.
“Well, we’d be happy to be introduced! But just to make sure you can properly represent our talent…” he grinned, pulling a slip of paper from an inner pocket. “A ticket to our next performance.” He offered it to her. “I hope you’d come and see it.” There it was again, this earnestness, the eagerness, something so real Thaisha’s heart beat a little bit quicker when she saw it.
It started with that performance, and with the play after, and continued to many more. Hal had a voice that made you want to listen, and stories that made the world seem bigger than you’d ever known. When he came to meet her parents, he’d charmed them so thoroughly that by the end of the evening, they wouldn’t stop teasing her about marriage.
And with every performance, with every song, with every passionate speech, Hal drew her into the world. A world that was pained and hurting, but could still be made better. A world that was damaged, out of tune, and it was in part because of her family.
He made her feel the call of the wild. She had felt it before, the ways the world was wrong, but for once, with Hal, she felt that maybe she can do something about it.
“Halandil… I have to leave.” She said quietly, sitting down with him on the bed, their bed. He looked at her, and she could tell he knew it was coming.
“What about the kids?” He asked quietly, voice hoarse. She’d known him so well by now, known his passion and vibrancy, and yet here in this moment he was… quiet. Holding on to composure by a thread.
“I’m doing this for the kids. For the world. Hal, you know things are wrong. You know it, and I know it, and now… now I feel like I can do something about it. He can try to set things right. So they have a better world. It’s my responsibility. My family did this, and I… I might be able to set things right.” She gathered her resolve. She wouldn’t plead. She wouldn’t beg him. She wouldn’t need to, she knew. Having known Hal for so long, she knew that he wouldn’t try to trap her here.
“What do I tell them?” There was a brokenness to his voice, a hurt that tore her from inside. She never wanted to be the cause of this pain, but…
“Tell them that I love them. That I will miss them with every breath. And that I will come back to them. I'm not gone forever.” She kept her voice soft, tears falling out of her eyes. Hal clenched his fists, and she knew he wanted to argue. Wanted to yell and argue and tell her off, for being selfish, for leaving him behind. But he wouldn’t. The kids were in bed, and the last thing they needed was to hear their parents arguing. “Hal, I love you so much-“ she reached out to touch his face, but he turned away, and her hand landed in empty air. She withdrew it.
“Don’t. It’s… I get it. Well, I don’t, but I’m not going to fight you. I’m not going to keep you where you don’t want to be. Just… I need time, before I can do… this.” With his eyes closed and his fists clenched and shaking, she knew she hurt him.
“Alright. Okay. Alright.” She took a shaky breath. They both had tears on their cheeks, both voices choked by those tears. “Halandil Fang… you made me fall in love with the world. You made me see a world that was possible. Your art, your passion… you make things better. I want to do that too, in whatever way I can. That’s why I need to leave. To make this world better in my own way.” She looked at his face, the beautiful, kind face that lit up when he saw her even now, years into their lives together, and now set to smooth the expression of hurt into some form of acceptance.
Hiding it from her.
Oh that hurt.
“… you’re always welcome here, Thai. This is your home too. Just don’t forget about the kids, okay? Don’t… don’t just leave them hanging. Come back to see them, when you can.” Not for him. Just the kids. So they don’t have to suffer as much from her decisions.
He turned back to look at her, and there was a sad smile on his lips, one that mirrored his sorrow, and like a mirror trick turned it into something else.
Hal helped her pack. He helped her prepare for the road. And before she left, lingering in the doorway before she has to turn away one last time, Hal took her hand, like he had all those years ago. He bowed down, pressing her knuckles to his forehead, then to his lips, and whispered into them words that reverberated through her very core.
“Stay safe.” His magic washed over her, a small bit of luck and love tucked against her heart, a final parting gift from a man who wouldn’t, shouldn’t wait for her. The man who taught her the world could be made better, even as she was now leaving his world worse.
“You as well.” She whispered, not daring to kiss him before she turned away and walked on the road.
——————
If you ask Azune, Halandil Fang had changed him before they ever met.
He was given to the Torn Banner as a boy, shoved unceremoniously into the arms of one Thjazi Fang, who looked down at him with concern that quickly morphed into an easy smile and his hair ruffled and the promise of some mediocre ration stew. And from that moment on, without his knowledge, the teachings of Halandil Fang had started changing who he was.
He had clung to Thjazi, looking up to the man who had given him kindness even when he didn’t believe he deserved it. Had teasingly been nicknamed Thjazi’s duckling by the one who was known to most just as Thjazi’s fairy. And with Thimble so bright and sharp, he felt in good company, being Thjazi’s.
The first time he’d heard the name Halandil Fang was around the fire, sitting tucked by Thjazi’s side. He had armour that was slightly too large, and was cleaning it diligently, taking care of it the way he was taught.
“Thjazi, is that you there?” A voice called from the darkness around. Thjazi jumped up, looking for the source, before breaking into a grin.
“Thaisha! It’s been ages, what are you doing here?” He asked, going to pull her closer to the fire, and into a tight hug. This woman, Thaisha, was taller than Thjazi, with her skin a bit more muted than his, and steel woven into her clothes. She looked impressive, and all Azune could do was look.
“Travelling. You know how it is.” She smiled back, sitting down across from them by the fire. “And who are you?” She turned her discerning eyes on Azune, who straightened up.
“Azune Nayar, ma’am.” He bowed his head. Thaisha exchanged glances with Thjazi, a conversation Azune wasn’t really privy to.
“How are Hal and the kids? Did you see them lately?” Thjazi asked, pouring her a bowl of stew, which she took gratefully. Thjazi looked vibrant, excited for the news
“A couple months back. Alogar’s more and more interested in fighting, you should come visit him. Give him some lessons. Shadia’s taking after her dad in every possible way. Hal’s teaching her to juggle now. She likes to walk upstairs on her hands, just to see if she can. Hero can talk now, which means Shadi’s already teaching her to sing. And Hal’s still working on the theatre. They’re putting up performances on the Rookery stage these days, like when you were a kid.” Oh, so she’s known Thjazi for a long time. Had known him as a child, even. Who was she to him? Thimble, who probably saw his confusion, settled on his shoulder.
“Thaisha’s his brother Hal’s ex wife.” She whispered in his ear. “Shes nice, don’t worry about her.” She assured, taking his shoulder as her chair for the time being.
As they talked, with Azune silent beside them, he learned more about their new fire companion.
Her name was Thaisha Lloy. She was a druid of the Old Path. She belonged to the family that forged the Pariah Blades. She was the lover of Thjazi’s brother, Halandil Fang, who was apparently a poet and actor in the city.
As the evening went on, Azune felt himself drifting off. He didn’t want to, but he felt himself sinking against Thjazi’s shoulder, in a way that would’ve embarrassed him if he wasn’t so tired that it just made him feel warm and protected.
“… so how come you have a kid with you now?” Thaisha asked, her voice warm and deep as the crackling fire, lulling him to rest.
“His old man tossed him at us. It was fucked up, Thaisha. I look at him, and I… I think I get Hal better now. What it was like for him, when I came to live with them.” Thjazi sighed, and Azune felt a blanket covering him. “Even when I lashed out at Hal, he always had my back. Everything that’s good about me, is because of him.” His voice was quiet and tired.
“He’s the best of us.” The clinking of cups let him know they were toasting to this man. As they let the quiet settle, and Azune’s mind began drifting further, he felt a hand in his hair, and heard a quiet song, a variation on a song they’d sometimes sing around the fire in camp.
He finally had the chance to meet Halandil Fang after the rebellion was over. He was fifteen now, no longer a lost little duckling clinging to Thjazi Fang, but no less devoted. Thjazi had taken him to his brother’s house, the place where he felt most at home.
“Do you have anywhere better to be?” Thjazi challenged, teasing, before knocking on the door of an unremarkable house in a steeply hilled neighbourhood. The door was opened by an orc with fine clothes and bright eyes. His whole frame shifted as he took Thjazi’s face in, tension melting as he pulled him into a tight embrace.
“It’s good to have you home, Thjazi.” His voice was soft and melodic and full of relief.
“It’s good to be home.” Thjazi’s shoulders sagged as he gripped his brother tight. They pulled away, and Thjazi grinned brightly. “I brought a guest, hope you don’t mind!” He said cheerfully. His entire demeanour was so different now, less heavy, a bit more silly.
“Beyond the usual, you mean? Hi Thimble, I have a surprise for you as well.” Halandil Fang’s smile and nod at Thimble, the easy acknowledgement of her as separate from Thjazi, a gift just for her, made Azune approve of him even more. Then he turned to Azune, with surprise that was quickly replaced by the same comfortable warmth that Thjazi had given him when he was a terrified boy thrust into a mercenary company.
“This is Azune. I was hoping he could stay with you for a while, until he settles down properly? Kid barely knows anything outside the Banner, he needs some proper socialisation.” Thjazi ruffled his hair, which made him stiffen a bit, embarrassed but not upset.
“Well Azune, you are welcome here for as long as you’d like.” Halandil’s voice had warmth to it, and a small smile that was more measured than Thjazi’s usual one, but similar to the kind of smiles he used to give him when he was young, trying to reassure him that things will be okay. That he is not irredeemable for the pain he’s caused.
“You’re easy to care about, kid.” Thjazi had said to him with this same warm smile, arm slung around his shoulders, and while Azune had a hard time believing him, with time and repetition he started accepting that at least in Thjazi’s eyes he was not useless. Not unloveable.
In the weeks and months he spent at Halandil’s he’d heard echoes of many things he knew from Thjazi.
Heard his favourite songs hummed in Halandil’s soft voice as he made dinner, sung to his youngest daughter with the kind of love that made Azune’s heart ache. Heard Thjazi’s words in this man’s mouth, some of his humour, some of his discipline. Sayings Azune figured were just things Thjazi thought up, spoke with practised eased by his older brother.
And one conversation, overheard where he shouldn’t have, that gave him pause.
“Al’s a lot like you were at his age. Mad at the indignity of the world.” Hal said quietly, sitting with Thjazi in the living room. Alogar was about his age, cautiously distant and closed off, but altogether a serious, kind boy. It was hard to see similarities to his often-smiling mentor. And truly, Thjazi laughed warmly.
“Oh boy, I’m sorry Hal. I know how hard it was to put up with me, I want exactly an easy kid to love, or deal with.” He said it easily, lightly, and Azune almost expected another laughter to join it, a shared joke between the brothers.
Instead Halandil’s voice came in serious and stern.
“You were so easy to love.” He pinned Thjazi’s gaze sternly, and Azune remembered the same sternness on nights he woke up in nightmares as a boy, with Thjazi assuring him with all the seriousness in the world that he is not irredeemable, that caring about him was the easiest thing in the world. Words he had apparently also needed to hear. “The fact that our bastard father didn’t know how to love anyone, doesn’t make you hard to love. Never did.” He promised, and the wet chuckle Thjazi replied with was proof enough that the words hit their target.
Even when Thjazi left, on one secret mission or another, Thjazi remained a welcome guest in Hal’s home. He felt like he belonged there, not as a shadow to Thjazi Fang, but just as himself, Azune Nayar, who had been moulded by the teachings of this man who was his host for years before he ever met him.
——————
If you asked Bolaire… well, Bolaire wouldn’t answer. He was secretive like that. But if you somehow got him to admit it, in his heart of heart, he would admit that Halandil Fang changed him the very moment his eyes landed on him.
Having settled down in Dol Makjar, establishing himself as a mysterious, quirky patron in the circles of nobility (they did love their entertainment, and Bolaire was a mask made for a role so grand it killed a god), Bolaire started to simply… go through the motions of life as he saw them around him.
“Oh, you simply must join me, there is this charming little theatre company raising up an original play in the Rookery. It’s very quaint, but I heard they’re quite good!” One of the museum’s patrons, dangling an intriguing acquisition above him as leverage, invited him to this new play. And Bolaire, ever the pantomime, agreed.
To Bolaire, the theatre was a weapon. The theatre he was made for was designed to kill a god. It had a goal, a beautiful dance that led to blood. He was an expert at that.
The Rookery stage didn’t have seats. It was an open air theatre, a stage built at the centre of a neighbourhood, and his patron and him had both dressed modestly, hiding how much they did not belong to this neighbourhood. He shifted uncomfortably, the sheer amount of bodies surrounding him nearly overwhelming.
And then light flooded the stage, and Bolaire was entranced.
The play was like none he’d ever seen before. The story was that of a soldier returning from war to a changed world, in which he feels he has no part, as a relic of old bloodshed and grudges. The expert light changes shifted the stage quickly, between the brightly lit present and the dim, red glow of the man’s perceptions, making sets that looked charmingly ordinary appear like looming threats.
And the acting… oh, the actor on the stage, a handsome orc with startlingly bright eyes, seemed to have put everything into his craft. His voice, which carried over the crowd even in his more somber, quiet soliloquies. The careful cracks, quiet reverence as he spoke of his child, a brightly lit figure even when the whole stage was awash in red. Roars of agony so real they made Bolaire remember old battlefields, when the man called out to the shadows of friends long gone.
A beautiful ending, somber but hopeful, the red glow slowly fading to black as he kneeled, holding the child in his arms, the two of them a spot of brightness in the dark, until warm golden light began to wash over them, marking a new dawn.
Bolaire wasn’t expecting to find much in this play. A middling troupe, maybe an evening’s entertainment, tolerating the mingling for the chance at his patron’s private collection of artefacts. Instead, he found… he found something.
There was no backstage area. After the actors bowed and came off the stage, the crowd was starting to dissipate, some gathering around the actors and some going back home. And Bolaire, entranced as he was, went toward where the actors gathered.
“Not a dry eye in the crowd Hal, I’m willing to bet that.” Another actor, an older orc with a booming voice, clapped the main one on the back. The man looked flushed with the exertion and emotion of the play, gathering the troupe around him. Bolaire waited patiently aside.
“I think everyone gave it their all for this opening night.” Hal, seemingly the leader of this troupe, with the way everyone turned to him, smiled at all the people gathered around him. “We can all be proud of the work we did today. The sets were incredible, the lighting changes were right on cue - and Elodie, thank you so much for the new lanterns, they work like a charm -“ a human woman courtesied with a graceful smile, holding the hand of a young half-orc girl who beamed at the man, “the accompaniment? Everyone did so well. We did good tonight. Now let’s make sure we can do it this well every night.” Hal was smiling, gathering the young half orc girl in his arms, as well as an orc girl in the accompaniment section, holding them both close as they hugged him back tight. His children, most likely.
Bolaire loitered away from the edge of the group, simply watching and biding his time, something tight coiled in his chest, when he saw Hal peel away from the group. He was going to head out, when a voice called after him.
“I noticed you watching.” Ah, perceptive. “Can I help you with something?” There was a protective edge to his casual words. Like he thought Bolaire might be a threat to him, to his family. He cleared his throat, turning back to the actor.
“I simply wanted to congratulate you for a marvellous show, but figured I shouldn’t interrupt.” He put on his own act, but it was… clunky. He let some of it drop, just a bit. “It was wonderful. Did I hear it right? Did you write this?” He asked, curious. The man, Hal, seemed to relax somewhat.
“Yes, a bit of original work. I’m glad you enjoyed it, mister…?” He trailed off, offering a hand for a handshake and looking directly at Bolaire’s face. Usually his appearance, the mask, was a deterrent. But this man seemed more curious than anything.
“Lathalia. Bolaire Lathalia.” He shook his hand quickly. What was it with him tonight? Why did he feel so dazed? The body he was wearing was relatively fresh, he shouldn’t be out of sorts.
“Halandil Fang, at your service. You can call me Hal. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before. I’d remember. Unless the mask is new…?” He asked curiously, making Bolaire laugh.
“No, very, very old. A cursed artefact, I’m afraid. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt you, and I’ve learned to live with it, but it’s a lesson, I suppose. A professional hazard. I’m the new curator of the Lloy wing.” He explained, and Halandil’s lips curved in a small smile.
“Oh yeah, that place will do it. Plenty of interesting old things. So, mister Bolaire, are you a fan of the theatre?” He asked curiously. “I’d appreciate feedback from a fresh set of eyes.”
“Even if I wasn’t before, I think you just made me a fan for life.” Bolaire chuckled. “I loved the subversion of the falcon motif in the end, it was very powerful. Reminds me of this poem I read a while back, I think by Igmut Tanzid?” Hal’s face lit up.
“You read A Gathering of Clouds? It’s not his best known collection, but I always found it very evocative.” He seemed excited, before remembering himself and turning back to glance at his troupe. “I’d love to keep talking, but my daughter needs to get to bed. How about we meet up tomorrow for coffee and keep talking? There’s a good spot not too far from here.” He suggested, and Bolaire, despite himself, found himself nodding and agreeing.
For once, Bolaire found himself not going through the motions. He found himself looking forward to coffee with Hal, to talking about literature and life. Hal didn’t seem intimidated by his appearance. He was fascinated at first, and then it became just something normal and unremarkable. With time, he’d been allowed into the man’s home, meeting Alogar and Shadia and Hero until they, too, had become an intrinsic part of his life.
Bolaire didn’t really internalise the depth of the change to him, until he’d met Thjazi Fang in Halandil’s home.
They were sitting in Hal’s office, working on his ambitious plans for the Dythiramb of Azgra, another lesson in hope from the man who made him aspire for more, when the front door opened.
“Hal!” A booming voice called, and Bolaire, tense, turned to Hal for cues on how to react. The smile spread on Hal’s face was enough to make him less concerned, at least. He got up, and Bolaire followed not too far behind. He wasn’t told to wait, so he figured he’d indulge his curiosity.
“Look what the cat dragged back.” Hal said with a bright smile, pulling the younger man at the bottom of the stairs into a tight hug, the two holding on for a long moment, before he looked up and-
Oh.
Oh no.
Hal quickly followed Thjazi’s gaze (for it was him, a man who was once comrade to one of his wearers, one of his costumes, the one he wore when he finally gained a will and a life of his own), and his smile remained warm.
“Oh, let me make an introduction. Thjazi, this is Bolaire Lathalia, curator of the Lloy Wing, and a good friend of mine. Bolaire, this is my brother, Thjazi, and this is Thimble.” He gestured to the pixie on the man’s shoulder.
“Charmed, as always. I won’t interrupt the family reunion Hal. Same time next week?” He asked, dying to leave as fast as he could.
“You bet. See you later.” Hal pulled him into a hug, and he indulged, just a bit longer than usual. Just in case Thjazi Fang decided to take this away from him too.
The pixie caught up to him later, delivering warnings and threats and blackmail from her partner in crime. She at least had the decency to look apologetic, when she was satisfied he truly did care very deeply for Hal, and not looking to use him.
And through all that time, Bolaire couldn’t stop thinking. Before Hal, before the theatre, he would’ve taken off. Disappeared without a trace, taken a new body, and went off to nowhere in particular to establish something new. Or maybe he would’ve taken Thjazi Fang, stolen him to wear or simply used his connections to disappear him entirely, gotten rid of the pixie too - it wouldn’t be too hard, he was made to kill a god after all - and continued on with his comfortable life and work in the Lloy Wing.
But now? The thought of running filled him with an unfamiliar ache. And the idea of getting rid of Thjazi Fang… it itched at his fingertip, he couldn’t like, not to himself, but the look of joy and love on Hal’s face when he saw the man, the strength with which he held on to him… Bolaire knew, in that moment, that he found something he couldn’t easily destroy. Unless he had to, he wouldn’t go after Thjazi Fang. Not when he knew the kind of sorrow it would cause to the one who made him feel like more than what Thjazi thought he is.
Huh. Hal chanced him quite a bit.