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Junpei had had conflicting emotions when he’d entered the Chimaera’s den.
The metallic smell of blood was rich in the air, mixing with the musk of the beast in front of them and the overpowering scent of the forest.
Hrothgar’s blood.
And Junpei could see, scattered about the den, fragments of armor, flashes of flesh. Pale, warm hair stuck to the Chimaera’s claws and threading through the branches. And hanging from the tree by said hair, facing away from the door, was Hrothgar’s pretty little head.
Later, when the wind blew his face towards the guild, Junpei would describe his expression as peaceful.
There was, of course, the emotion of apprehension against facing such a powerful foe when he hadn’t faced anything like it in years. How would he fight on his new legs, with his new arm and eye?
There was, of course, the shock and disgust at seeing Hrothgar’s corpse so utterly defiled. The stench of blood in that room was so strong Junpei had nearly puked on his shoes.
There was, however, something else. Longing, and pity, and empathy all mixed together. How long had Hrothgar been suffering this way? Seeing the peace in Hrothgar’s silent expression shook Junpei to his core; it was like looking into a mirror.
Later, he would tell Vash, that peace shook him in his darkest days, beckoning him to the soothing darkness of the beyond. Why have the burning-hot anger of the light when you can have the cool serenity of the dark, he would ask himself.
But he also wished he could have helped Hrothgar. A dog is a fine companion, but it is no substitute for humans who stand by you after your greatest and most painful losses. But Hrothgar had no humans left to turn to, only Wulfgar.
Maybe he should’ve said something when he heard the fate of Hrothgar’s guildmates, extended a hand of understanding and friendship. Maybe he could’ve saved Hrothgar before it was too late-- but maybe it was already too late.
Maybe he should’ve reached out before then, so it didn’t just seem to be out of pity. After all, Hrothgar had been a kind man, and a handsome one too. But Junpei was too busy wallowing in his own pity and anger to try to help others, to help them not suffer as he did and does. Worrying about fighting battles he couldn’t win, for the sake of gaining the admiration of the dead.
It was really all quite pathetic when he looked back on it. He could’ve spent that time and energy into helping Lagaard more, connecting with its people, saving them from themselves. Or maybe that’s just the desire of someone with a savior complex.
But there were people he could sympathize with-- Hrothgar with his losses, Esbat with their anger, Marion with her grudge and her scars and her devastation, oh the devastation that dragon had wrought upon her guild. But he ignored Hrothgar for too long, provoked Wilhelm far too much, and came upon Marion far too late to give her any meaningful advice or support. By the time he saw inside Hrothgar’s mind, it was hanging from a branch; by the time he’d heard Marion’s tale, his plans were made and set.
But what use was mulling over the past? Hrothgar and Wulfgar were dead; Wilhelm was struggling to keep Artelinde from the enticing draw of death’s maw. And Marion? Well, Marion was doing better, or so Elysia had written, having heard as much from Regina in a letter. But Junpei hadn’t helped with that not one whit.
All he could do was look to the future. Help the ones in front of him now, instead of getting trapped in the past again.
Junpei grabbed his sword from beside the door and headed out into the yard. The crest of Guild Beowulf glinted on its hilt in the Armoroad sun.