Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Will knows what’s coming the moment Jack knocks on his door.  It’s that time of year again, and although Will isn’t exactly the usual type of sacrifice, that grim look on Jack’s face can only mean one thing.

“I suppose this is it, then,” he says, opening the door and allowing Jack inside.

For his part, Jack does look rather solemn as glances around Will’s small cottage.  “I suppose it is,” he agrees.  “I’m sorry, Will.”

Will just shrugs.  He isn’t happy about it, certainly, but he’d rather it be him than yet another innocent maiden.  “Abigail will be safe, then?” he questions Jack.

The older man nods.  “You and I both know she was an accomplice to her father’s murders, Will, but… I know you and Alana both have a soft spot for the girl, and to be honest, the villagers have been trying to get rid of you for a long time.”

Will nods.  He knows it’s true.  He’s never exactly been popular, preferring a solitary life with his pack of strays over any real interaction with the community.  After Freddie Lounds moved to their village, though, the atmosphere turned outright hostile.  He knows they want him to move away; being used in a ritual sacrifice surely won’t disappoint them.

“Have Alana look after my dogs,” Will says after a long silence.  “They’ll need someone.”

“You don’t want to tell her yourself?” Jack asks, clearly surprised.

“No. It’s better this way.”  Will and Alana have been promised to one another for over two years now.  They’re due to be married in the spring.  “Tell her I’m sorry.  And that I love her.”

Jack studies his expression for a moment, as if trying to work out if he’s serious.  Then he just sighs.  “Alright.  We’ll head out as soon as you’re ready.”

Will laughs, then, a bitter laugh.  “Ready?  I’m not ever going to be ready.  But if sacrificing myself to an ancient forest monster is what it takes to keep my family safe, then that’s what I’ll do.”  He grabs his winter coat from the back of his chair, shrugs it on, and gestures for Jack to lead the way.

“You know I have to bind you,”  Jack warns.  Will nods reluctantly.  He allows Jack to tie a thick length of rope around his wrists.  Criminals have their hands tied behind their backs, but sacrifices have them tied in front.  Will’s not entirely sure why, only that it’s been this way as long as he’s been alive.

Will wishes he could have more time to say goodbye to his dogs, but if he sees them, he’s fairly certain he’ll break down crying.  So instead, he follows Jack out of the house, wincing as the ropes around his wrist rub the skin raw, and does his best to face his death with dignity.

Jack leads Will down the path to the forest.  There is a thick layer of snow on the ground, reaching almost to the top of Will’s boots in the places it hasn’t melted or been scraped away.  The few people they pass on their way there point and whisper.

“Is Graham being arrested?” One man asks his friend.

“Don’t be stupid, Frederick,” the other man hushes him.  “He’s being taken to the forest.”

Will is sure that news of his sacrifice will spread through the village like wildfire.  Within the hour, everyone will know he’s been taken to the forest.  Alana will know.  He feels a small stirring of guilt at that, for not having the strength to tell her himself, but did his best to ignore it.  She would be okay without him.

They reach the edge of the forest and Jack stops.  “I suppose you’ve already been in the woods,” he says, “no point in dragging it out.”

Will nods.  He avoids it whenever possible, as all the villagers do, but the best fishing spots are hidden behind the trees and he’s had to chase down more than one dog that decided to go on an adventure.  “I’ll be fine,” he promises Jack.  “Well, not fine, but you know what I mean.  You don’t have to worry about me.”

Jack sighs, but they continue walking.  “Alana might actually murder me when she finds out.”

Will gives him a wry grin.  “Well, you’d have it coming.”

He’s only half joking.  Yes, Jack is something of a friend to him, but Jack is also the one who picks out sacrifices every year and who demands use of Will’s mind without consideration for his well-being.  Alana won’t actually kill him, but Will won’t be surprised if she gets a good few hits in.

They make the rest of the journey in silence.  The altar- if it can really be called that- is about twenty minutes into the woods.  There is no path that Will can see, but Jack seems to know where he’s going regardless.  They reach a small clearing, no more than eight feet in diameter, where the snow is untouched by even the smallest of pawprints.  On the other side of the clearing is a large, dead maple tree.  It can’t be more than twice Will’s height but the trunk is thick and twisted, the shadow it casts on the ground dark and chilling.  He’s glad he wore his jacket.

At Jack’s direction, Will stands with his back against the tree.  Jack binds his ankles together, making it impossible for him to run away, and then wraps the rope twice around his torso to connect him to the tree.  The rope digs uncomfortably into the bottom of his ribcage, but Will doesn’t complain.  In a few hours, he won’t even have a ribcage.

“This is where I leave you,” Jack tells him quietly.  He almost sounds guilty, which is a rather unusual emotion coming from the man.  “The beast will come for you by nightfall.”

Will nods silently.  He knows how this works.  The monster will come, assess the offered sacrifice, and if he’s deemed acceptable he will be eaten.  Well, he’ll most likely be eaten regardless, but if he’s deemed acceptable then it will spare their village another year and bless them with good hunting.  Judging by the deep gouge marks in the tree and in the dirt below, he expects the eating will be a rather violent one.

Jack waits a few moments, but when it becomes clear he’s not going to get an answer, he sighs.  Jack kneels in the snow in the center of the clearing, closes his eyes, and begins to speak.  “Oh, hear me, beast that roams these lands.  I, Jack Crawford of the village Wolf Trap, present you with this offering, may we be blessed with your protection.”

With his prayer finished, Jack stands up, unsheathes a small blade from his belt, and brings it up to Will’s throat.  Will swallows but does his best to hold still as Jack makes a small mark against his jugular, not enough to truly harm him but just enough to draw blood.  Will hisses in pain as Jack draws away.

“I’m sorry,” Jack says again.  “Goodbye, Will Graham.”  With that, he turns and walks away.

Will is expecting a long and boring wait, but Jack’s footsteps have barely faded when he feels another presence in the clearing.  He shuts his eyes, takes a deep, steady breath, and waits to be brutally murdered.

The pain he’d expected does not come.  Instead, the presence seems to move around him, making no audible footsteps and yet clearly there all the same.  It comes to a stop on the edge of the clearing, just in front of Will.  There is a pause and then something- a hand?- touches Will’s jaw.

He inhales sharply.  The hand moves about an inch further down, caressing Will’s adam's apple, and he flinches.

The hand withdraws.  “Well, this is interesting,” the monster says.  It doesn’t sound like Will would have expected a monster’s voice to sound.  He- for it was a distinctly male voice- sounds well-educated and well-mannered, with a strong yet dignified accent coloring his voice that Will cannot quite place.

“Interesting?”  Will repeats, hardly daring to speak.

The monster chuckles.  “Yes,” he says.  “Interesting.”  There is a moment of silence, as though he is giving Will a chance to speak, before he continues.  “They’ve never sent me a male before.”

Will does his best not to make a face, but based on the amusement he can feel radiating off the monster, he’s fairly certain he doesn’t succeed.  “A bit sexist of you to demand only female sacrifices,” Will points out.  He’s going to die anyway, there’s no point in holding his tongue.

There’s a brief pause, and then the monster asks him, “What’s your name?”

Will frowns.  There are all sorts of stories about how dangerous it is to give your name to the fae.  But then again, those are just stories, and although the fae aren’t real, this monster clearly is.  Besides, Jack hadn’t seemed to mind throwing his name around when he was presenting the offering.  “Will,” he replies after a moment, not wanting to make the monster repeat itself.

“Will,” the monster echoes consideringly.  “Will, I want you to open your eyes for me.”

Will opens his eyes, stares for about half a second, and then screws them shut again.  He presses himself as far back against the tree as he can, his breaths coming too fast.  He feels like he’s going to pass out.  Fuck.  Because even from just the brief glimpse he’s seen, he knows he had it all wrong.  The villagers call him ‘beast,’ Will himself has been calling him ‘monster’ in his head, but that’s not what he is at all.  He’s a god, and Will has offended him.

“Will,” the voice says again, sharper this time, and then there is the weight of a hand pressing against Will’s chest, just over his heart.  It’s just hard enough to ground him without truly hurting.  “Breathe, Will,” the monster- no, not a monster- orders.  “Slow, deep breaths.”

Will does his best to comply, but panic attacks don’t just turn off on command.  The rope around his stomach is suffocating and he realizes, more than a little ironically, that Jack’s rope is probably going to kill him before the god even gets a chance.  The rope tightens infinitesimally and then releases and Will sags forward, still gasping for air.

He must have blacked out for a second, because the next thing Will knows, he’s curled up in a ball on the ground.  Or, no, not the ground- he’s in the god’s lap and that’s a thousand times worse.  His face is a mess of snot and tears and yet the god does not seem to mind, running his hands through Will’s curls and holding him close to his chest as he murmurs comforting words.

Will tries to pull away and the being holds him tighter, just for a moment, before letting go.  Will moves so he’s no longer sitting on his lap, although the wet snow is nowhere near as comfortable, and does his best to wipe his face off with a rough-hewn sleeve.  When he is finished, he looks up at the god with wide eyes.

He is, to put it quite simply, terrifying.  His skin is a deep coal-black, his eyes a pupil-less white, and a set of huge black antlers extend out from the top of his head.  He is no longer radiating the sheer amount of power that he had when Will looked at him before, although he’s certainly not weak, and Will almost wonders if he’s toned it down for Will’s benefit.

“Are you alright?” The god asks mildly after it becomes apparent Will isn’t going to say anything.

Will opens his mouth to reply, closes it, and then opens it again.  “Surprisingly, yes,” he says, frowning.  “I… apologize.”

The god wasn’t frowning before, but he is certainly frowning now.  “Apologize?” he repeats.  “Whatever for?”

Will blinks, uncomprehending.  “I insulted you and then… well, I’m not entirely sure how we ended up on the ground, but I’m sure that was my fault as well.  You must be used to your sacrifices acting in a more dignified manner.”

If anything, the god’s frown deepens.  “It’s not your fault that you had a panic attack,” he says.  He almost sounds angry, although not at Will.  “I should have considered how overwhelming my true form might be for you.  Which brings me back to my previous question: are you alright?”

“I said yes, didn’t I?”

The god laughs then, actually laughs.  It’s not a heavy laugh, but it’s a laugh nonetheless, and Will can’t help but feel a flicker of pride that he’s managed to amuse such a powerful being.  “That you did,” he agrees.  “Are you hungry?”

Will can’t help but let out a startled laugh.  “I- I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s supposed to eat me, not the other way around.”

The god’s smile grows.  “Believe it or not, Will, I have no intention of eating you.”  He stands up, then, and offers Will his hand.  “Let’s try this again.  I am Hannibal, the god of these forests.  Would you care to dine with me?”

Dining with a god is almost certainly breaking some sort of rule, but refusing a god’s hospitality must be worse.  Will takes his hand.

***

“I didn’t say goodbye to my dogs,” Will realizes as Hannibal leads him through the forest.  Or, rather, he’d known he didn’t say goodbye to them but the reality of that statement is just now beginning to sink in.  “Fuck, I can’t believe I just…”

Hannibal squeezes his hand in reassurance.  That’s another thing Will has noticed; Hannibal had originally offered his hand to help Will up, but then he just hadn’t let go.  Will’s not quite sure what to make of that.

The very air feels different, here, and he’s quite certain that no human would be able to find this place even if they knew exactly where to go.  Will glimpses a stag through the trees, but the stag’s flank is adorned with a thousand shining black feathers.  He’s no woodsman, but he’s fairly certain that’s not normal.  Every step is edged with a sense of danger, and yet he has the strangest feeling that nothing would dare to hurt him while Hannibal is here.

They must have been walking for over an hour by the time they stop beside a wide river.  There are large, smooth stones dotted along the sides and even through the middle of the water, creating small pools and miniature waterfalls that Will can’t help but stare at.  Small sections are coated with a thin layer of ice, but the main body of the river flows freely.  He’d thought the river by the village was beautiful, but it’s nothing compared to this.

“It’s beautiful,” he murmurs.

Beside him, the god smiles.  “Of course it is.”  He guides Will over to one of the larger stones that protrudes out into the water.  “You can sit here.  Are you warm enough?”

Will nods.  His winter coat is old and ratty, but it gets the job done.  His one hand is in his pocket and the other has been kept warm by Hannibal’s hand in his own.  He sits down where directed, shifting over to make room for Hannibal.

Hannibal looks oddly delighted by this action.  He sits down beside Will on the stone, their shoulders brushing.  “My maidservant will be along shortly with some food for you.  In the meantime, perhaps we should talk."

Will can’t help but tense up.  He’s sure Hannibal notices, but if he does, he doesn’t comment on it.  “...talk about what?”  He asks guardedly.

“Let’s start with why you were chosen as the sacrifice.”  When Will tenses even further, Hannibal sighs and brings a hand up to cradle his cheek.  “I accept the sacrifice,” he assures Will, “and your village has nothing to fear from me.  You have nothing to fear from me, either; of that, I can promise you.”

Will gets the feeling that he doesn’t make such a promise lightly.  He swallows.  “I’m weird, I guess,” he admits hesitantly, avoiding meeting Hannibal’s eyes.  “I’ve never really fit in.  They’ve been trying to get rid of me for over a year now, I suppose they just hadn’t thought of doing it this way before.”

“Get rid of you?”  Hannibal’s voice has an edge to it that Will should probably be afraid of.  Instead, he feels almost flattered that Hannibal feels so strongly in his defense.  Hannibal releases his face, but Will doesn’t move away.

“Nothing sinister,” he’s quick to say.  “They just… don’t go out of their way to make me feel welcome, I guess.  Give me dirty looks, talk about me behind my back, that sort of thing.”  A huffed sort of laugh, and then, “Zeller was very excited to tell me about the land for sale a few villages over.  Said he’s sure I’d love it there.”

Will isn’t even sure if there was land for sale a few villages over.  He just knows that Zeller had wanted him to think there was.  Jack had been one of the only ones who hadn’t bought into the gossip surrounding Will, but he must have gotten tired of defending him eventually.  Choosing Will as the sacrifice had, in a strange sort of way, almost been doing him a favor.  At least this way Abigail will be safe.

Hannibal growls.  It’s a sound more suited to a wolf than a stag, a human, or a god; Will is frozen in place as one of Hannibal’s clawed hands gouges deep grooves into the stone beneath them.  He takes a few moments to calm down, flexing and then relaxing his hand before settling it back in his lap as though nothing had happened.

Before Will can say anything else, he hears footsteps and his eyes snap to the trees.  A young woman steps out, carrying with her a hand-woven basket and a bit of cloth.  She eyes the grooves in the stone with more curiosity than caution.

“Hello, Margot,” Hannibal greets her levelly.  It is then that Will realizes where he knows her from.

“Margot?” he echoes her name.  “You were sacrificed a few years ago.”

She nods, regarding him coolly.  “I was,” she allows.  “Luckily for me, Hannibal chose not to kill me.  Just as, I presume, he’s chosen not to kill you.”

She sets the basket by Hannibal’s feet and gives him an almost-nonexistent curtsy.  “I suppose Morgan must be needing you,” he allows.  It’s a clear dismissal and she takes it as such, giving him a small and grateful smile before turning and making her way back into the woods.

“Do you spare all of your sacrifices?” Will questions, then shakes his head.  “Never mind.  Of course you don’t.”

“Of course I don’t,” Hannibal agrees pleasantly.  “I spared Margot because, as I approached to kill her, I could hear a second heartbeat beating from within her.”

“She was pregnant,” Will surmises.

“Indeed.  It’s a rather tragic story, and entirely hers to tell, but the short version is that her brother had discovered her pregnancy and sought to punish her for what he perceived to be a betrayal.  I offered her a chance to raise her child in peace and she took it.”

“Your maidservant,” Will says, recalling Hannibal’s words from just a few minutes prior.  “A lifetime of servitude in exchange for her life?  That hardly sounds fair.”

Hannibal looks almost offended.  “She is free to leave whenever she may wish.  She chooses to remain because I can guarantee safety and protection from her brother.”

Will sighs, but can’t help but relax a little more.  “And me?  Where do I fit into this whole scenario?

Hannibal smiles, reaching into Margot’s basket and pulling out a small blue cloth.  He dips it in the cold water of the river and lifts it out again, bringing the now-wet fabric up to Will’s face.  “You, Will Graham, fit in wherever you would like.”

Will holds still against the bracing coldness of the wet cloth.  As Hannibal dabs the dried tears from his cheeks, he can’t help but make a comment.  “You know my name,” he says.

“Yes,” Hannibal agrees, continuing his gentle cleansing of Will’s skin.  He wipes the thin line of blood off of Will's neck as he speaks.  “I heard Jack Crawford saying it before he left you.”

“Why did you ask me, then?”

Hannibal’s coal-black lips twitch up into a smile.  “I was curious to see if you would lie.”

Will’s brows crease.  He hadn’t even considered at the time that it might be some sort of test.

Hannibal finishes cleaning up his face and pulls away, carefully folding up the cloth and setting it on the rock to dry.  “I chose to spare you,” he says slowly, “because I found you intriguing.  I never asked for female sacrifices- I never asked for any sacrifices, in fact, although I do appreciate them- and yet the village has always given me females.  You were a deviation from the routine.”

Will chuckles.  “Wow, thanks.”

“That deviation is what inspired me to have a conversation with you.  Your panic attack, or rather your reaction to the panic attack, is what made me decide to spare you entirely.”

“My panic attack?”  Will repeats dumbly.  He had made a fool of himself and fallen to pieces on the shoulder of a god.  That wasn’t the sort of thing Will would consider ‘inspiring’.

“Your immediate assumption that the attack was your own fault, something you should have been able to control.  That I would be angry with you for it.  That raised… a level of concern.  And now here you are.”

“Here I am,” Will echoes.  His face is cold, but he can’t bring himself to care as Hannibal reaches into the basket and plucks out a thin slice of cooked meat.  He offers it to Will, who hesitates before accepting it.  He takes a small, tentative bite and is almost overwhelmed by the amount of flavor.

Hannibal watches him intently as he chews and swallows.  Will can’t help but get the feeling that he’s waiting for something in particular.

Will considers the slice of meat in his hand.  It’s small enough to be finished in two or three more bites.  “What kind of meat is this?” he asks, and there is a flash of something in Hannibal’s eyes that tells him this was the right thing to ask.

“Pig,” Hannibal replies easily.  He says pig, not pork, and there's something strange about that.

There is a long pause.  “... long pig?” Will questions.

Hannibal’s smile says it all.

“Fuck,” Will says, looking at the meat still in his hand.  It’s been a year since the last sacrifice, which means Hannibal has been going out and hunting humans at other times of the year.  They can’t be from Wolf Trap, or Will would have noticed, but there could be any number of missing persons from the neighboring villages and Will is eating one of them.

“Does that upset you?” Hannibal asks him, tilting his black-antlered head as he studies Will’s expression.

“Does it- of course it upsets me,” Will answers, then takes another bite anyway.  “That doesn’t change the fact that I’m hungry and this is delicious.  But yes, as a general rule, cannibalism does upset me.”

The corner of Hannibal’s eyes crinkle up in a way that suggests he’s smiling, although the rest of his expression remains rather stoic.  “I am neither human nor beast, so using the term ‘cannibalism’ seems rather inaccurate.”

“I’m human,” Will points out, having finished devouring the meat while Hannibal was talking.  “You just gave me human meat.  Ergo, cannibalism.”

“My apologies,” Hannibal apologizes, in a tone that very much suggests he does not mean his apology.  “Would you like some more?”

“...yes,” Will says, because he has not eaten all day and he is hungry.  Refusing to eat the meat would hardly bring this person back to life, and so there is no sense in denying himself the meal.

Hannibal offers him another slice and Will takes it.

“Thank you,” he tells the man.  It would probably be rude for Will not to thank the literal god who has taken the time out of his day to feed him.

“You are very welcome,” Hannibal gives him a smile.  Will finishes this second slice and then pauses, glancing up at Hannibal’s face.  Just as he’d thought, the god’s gaze was focused directly on Will’s lips.

“You’re staring,” he points out, amused.

“Indeed.”

There is a moment of silence, during which Will becomes intensely aware of how close they are sitting on this stone by the river.  “I’m engaged,” he says after several seconds have passed, mostly just because it feels like he should say something.

“Your fiancée must think you are dead,” Hannibal tells him.  This is, of course, true.  Alana will have found out by now and confronted Jack about it.

“And yet, I am not."

“Do you love her?”

Will hesitates, considering it.  They are so close together now that he can feel the ghost of Hannibal’s breath on his lips.  “Not in the way she wants me to,” he decides.

A pause, and then, “May I kiss you?”

Will surges forward and kisses him first, the taste of human flesh still on his lips.

Chapter Text

It’s three days later that Will finally returns to the village.  Hannibal carries him most of the way, setting him down in the clearing where they’d first met.

“I’m going to miss you,” Will admits, reluctant to leave the warmth of his lover’s arms.  For, yes, that is what they have become.  Three days was not a long time for them to spend together, but Will rarely spent a minute of it out of Hannibal’s arms.

“And I you,” Hannibal tells him.

Then why are you making me leave, Will wants to ask, but he can’t find the words.  He’d known from the start that their arrangement wouldn’t be permanent, after all.  Hannibal is a god and, for all Hannibal likes to deny it, Will is just a lowly mortal.  He should be glad it’s over so soon; if Hannibal had waited any longer to send him away, Will might have started getting ideas above his station.  No, it’s better this way.

Hannibal gives him one last long, lingering kiss before turning around and vanishing into the woods.  Will stares after him for several long seconds, a wistful smile on his face, and then he heads back towards the village.

He expects to have trouble finding his way back- it’s snowed again since that first day, obscuring any tracks he might have followed- but it’s as if the forest itself is guiding him back.  There still isn’t a clear path, but the way the branches bend in the wind just happens to create a convenient space to walk in.  It seems to be facing the right direction, so Will follows it.

He reaches the edge of the woods in what feels like no time.  He’s not by his house anymore, but closer to the center of town; apparently, the forest has decided he warrants a dramatic reveal.  He pauses only a moment and then keeps walking forward.

He can see the exact moment people start to notice him.  It’s a market day, so people are out in the streets; they stop and stare at him as he walks by, but no one dares to approach.  It’s rather surprising to be honest; he’d been fully expecting them to either not notice he was back, or to run up and demand an explanation.  This sort of… hushed awe… was not a possibility he’d anticipated.

He sees Alana before she sees him.  Really he just wants to get back to his house, pet his dogs, and take a nap.  Instead, he takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the onslaught of emotions that’s about to come.

Sure enough, she sees him in the corner of her eye and freezes.  After a long moment- too long- she takes a deep, shaky breath.  “Will?”

Will gives her a small smile.  “Hey, Alana.”

She drops her bag in the middle of the street- Will suppresses a wince as he sees a loaf of fresh-baked bread fall against the cobblestones- and runs over to him.  She throws her arms around him in a hug.  “Oh my gods, Will.  I thought you were dead.”

Will’s smile turns into a bit more of a grimace.  “Well,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly.  “I’m not.”

She sighs.  “Well yes, I can see that.  But what happened?  Jack said you were the sacrifice, he said we would never see you again.”  There’s a moment of horrified realization, and then she breathes, “Did the beast not accept the sacrifice?”

Will supposes that’s a logical assumption to make.  He shakes his head.  “No, he- he accepted the sacrifice and everything’s okay.  He let me go.”

She blinked.  “He… let you go?”  Then she takes a step back and seems to look up and down his whole body.  Will isn’t sure if she’s checking for injuries or examining his new clothes; either is equally likely.

“I’m not hurt,” he tells her, figuring that’s the easier one to start with.  It’s true; despite the rather passionate nature of their brief affair, Hannibal had always been careful not to hurt him or leave him with any marks.  He’s a bit dishevelled, yes, and he’s walking with a slight limp, but he feels better than he has in a long time.

“I can tell,” she says, frowning.  “I… is this mink?”  She reaches out to touch the warm, silky fur of his cloak.  Will had insisted his old coat was fine, but Hannibal had taken it upon himself to provide Will with finery regardless.

Will isn’t quite sure how to answer that.  “Maybe?”  He made a point of not asking Hannibal what the new clothes were made of, precisely because he didn’t know how to handle it.  Still, he knows, rather than suspects, that they’re more fit for a prince than a poor fisherman like Will.

There’s a long, awkward silence in which neither of them knows what to say.  Then Alana shakes her head.  “Well, we should probably go talk to Jack.”

“Right,” Will agrees.  “He’s in charge of the sacrifices, he’ll probably want to know one survived.”

Alana gives him a strange look.  “Well, that, and he’s your friend.”

“My friend,” Will repeats, remembering the rope tied too tight under his ribs and the overwhelming terror he’d felt at being left at the mercy of the ‘beast’.  “Right.”

***

As it turns out, Jack is overjoyed to have him back.  He has a black eye and several more bruises, many of which Will notes with interest are about the size of Alana’s fist.  Neither of them mention the bruises, however, so Will doesn’t either.

“He let me go,” Will repeats, for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.

“It let you go,” Jack muses.  Will resists the urge to correct his use of ‘it’.  The villagers think he’s a beast, and Hannibal has never taken it upon himself to correct them before, so Will isn’t sure if it’s his place to do so.  “Well, I can’t for the life of me work out why-”

“Maybe I don’t taste good,” Will jokes, knowing full well that isn’t the case.  (Really.  He knows very well just how much Hannibal enjoys his taste, just not in the way Jack is probably thinking of.)

“-but I’m glad it did.  We can have the wedding tomorrow, it’ll be a big celebration.”

Will blinks, sure he’d heard that wrong.  Beside him, Alana looks similarly surprised.  “Wedding?” she asks.

“Well, of course.  The two of you,” Jack says, waving his hand to gesture at Will and Alana, “are a love story.  Star-crossed lovers, thinking you would never see each other again, each thinking the other was dead.”

“I didn’t think Alana was dead,” Will objects, but Jack ignores him.

“I know you weren’t going to marry until spring, but a couple months’ difference won’t change anything.  You’re telling me you’ve just come back from the dead and you’re not going to get hitched at the first possible opportunity?  I know if it had been Bella and I...”

Will sighs.  “Well…”

He doesn’t know what to do.  He loves Alana, yes, but he doesn’t want to marry her.  She’s his closest friend, and once he’d thought they would end up together, but to be honest he just isn’t that interested anymore.  He wants to be her friend.  He doesn’t want to be her husband.  But the only person he currently is interested in in ‘that way’ is Hannibal, and for obvious reasons he won’t be marrying him.  Besides, he and Alana have been promised to each other for a long time.

“Alright,” he says after a long, stifling silence.  “If you’re okay with that.”

Alana smiles at him, putting her hand in his own.  “Of course.  It’s too short notice for me to sew a new dress, but Reba owes me a favor.  I’m sure she’ll be willing to let me borrow the dress I made for her in the summer.”

Will gives her a soft, warm smile.  He doesn’t love her like he should, but he does love her, and that will be enough.  She’ll be happy, he’ll be comfortable, and there’s no way Jack will interrupt their married life to sacrifice one of them again, so the two of them and Abigail will be safe.

That has to be enough.

***

The hour of the wedding comes too fast.  Will feels like he’s hardly had time to say hello to each of his dogs before he’s being whisked off to get dressed.

(Alana asks him to wear his new clothes, and he refuses.  It just seems wrong to marry Alana in the clothes that Hannibal gave to him.  She gives him an inscrutable look and asks him what really happened in the forest.  He turns pink and doesn’t reply, and in that moment he almost thinks she understands.)

Will stands there, in the center of the town square, wearing his whitest shirt and his cleanest pair of boots, and he feels like an imposter.  A few days ago these people had been intent on driving him out of town, and now they’re guests at his wedding.  It’s a lot to take in.

Alana’s dress fits her surprisingly well for not being hers.  She and Will stand in the center of the square, Jack next to them to officiate, as the community that hated him now gathers to celebrate his return.  They can’t truly be happy- Will catches several muttered comments and muted sneers- but they respect Alana and they respect Jack, and for that reason they pretend to respect Will as well.

“We gather here today…” Jack begins.  Will tunes out his speech.  He’s focused on Alana; she looks beautiful as always, but her smile lacks some of the warmth he had been expecting.  He blinks away tears.  Fuck, why had he agreed to this?

Will can’t stop himself from scanning the crowd.  There’s Frederick Chilton, the town doctor; he’s made no secret of how much he desires Will’s brain, to take it apart and see what makes it tick.  Behind him is Brian Zeller, who only a short few weeks ago had been trying to convince Will to move away.  About three meters to the right of them is Freddie Lounds herself, ginger curls tucked away under a deer-skin hat as she eyes him judgmentally.

There’s not a single person in the crowd he would call a friend- Jack used to be, until he started to push too hard.  Beverly was, back before she was sacrificed two years ago; maybe that had been what fractured Will’s friendship with Jack.  Alana is the only person here today who Will would consider to be a friend, and in a few minutes she’ll be his wife.

Not for the first time, Will considers leaving.  He considers leaving the square, packing his bags, taking his dogs, and running.  The nearest villages would hear of the scandal soon enough, but if he travelled far enough, maybe he could find somewhere where they don’t know his name.  But he’s already here, he can’t back out now.

“On this day we will bind these two, Alana Bloom and Will Graham, as husband and wife in front of gods old and new.”  Jack is reaching the end of his speech and Will tenses, glancing between Alana’s face and the cobblestones, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay.  He doesn’t want this.  Oh gods, he doesn’t want this.

Alana doesn’t look particularly enthusiastic either.  She looks almost… resigned.  Still, she gives Will a small, reassuring smile, and he does his utmost to return it.

“If anyone has reason to believe these two should not be wed,” Jack says, only seconds left before Will will have to make a decision, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

There is a long moment of terse silence.  Will almost imagines it will be broken by Freddie Lounds, here with news of some scandal that will break their marriage.  Instead, the silence drags on, and then Jack opens his mouth to speak.

“I object.”

The voice does not belong to Jack.  Every head in the square swivels around, trying to determine who spoke; Will’s eyes, however, land on him immediately.  Standing at the very back of the square, dressed in an oddly-patterned suit of a material Will has not seen before, is Hannibal.

He doesn’t look like Hannibal, of course.  His skin is flesh-toned, his hair streaked with shades of sand and ash.  No pitch-dark antlers rise menacingly above his skull.  And yet the way he speaks, the confidence with which he stands, the lines that shape his face, all tell Will that it’s him.  His lips part in surprise.

Alana follows his gaze and sees Hannibal.  She looks back at Will, then at Hannibal again, and then she sighs.  Before she can say anything, however, Jack is speaking.

“What is the meaning of this?” he thunders.

Hannibal raises one eyebrow, unimpressed.  “You asked if anyone believed they should not wed.  I happen to believe that.  It is, of course, entirely up to them, but it would be remiss of me not to voice my objections now.  To give them a choice, as it were.”

Will’s lips tip up in a tentative smile.  He gives Alana one last look and she nods; that’s all the approval he needs.  He moved towards Hannibal, one step at a time, the crowd parting around him.  Everyone is silent, but it’s a curious silence, the kind that says they know something is happening but they aren’t quite sure what.  He stops as he reaches Hannibal.

“I didn’t give you a choice before,” Hannibal says quietly, softly, his voice tipped so only the two of them can hear.  “I was afraid that you wouldn’t feel the way I did, that you would reject me.  I understand if you would prefer to stay here, with your dogs and your wife, but I could not in good conscience allow you to go through with this wedding without giving you the option.”

Will reaches for his hand.  His touch dispels the illusion; a blackness the color of coal spreads out from his touch, up Hannibal’s arm and into the rest of his body, revealing the god’s true form hidden underneath.  Will doesn’t even pause as he hears the crowd gasp; he stands up on his tip-toes and presses his lips to Hannibal’s, not stopping as he feels the transition reach his face.

“I choose you,” he whispers against Hannibal’s lips.  “Of course I choose you.  How could you even think-” he cuts himself off.  “We should go.”

“We should,” Hannibal agrees.  And they walk, hand in hand, out of the village, with the crowd behind them too stunned to follow.

***

Hannibal is, apparently, thoughtful as well as romantic.  He keeps his hold on Will’s hand as they trek through the woods, this time bypassing the clearing and heading straight for the river where they’d spent their time.  “I’ve had Margot round up your dogs,” he says when Will asks about them.  “Everything should be ready for your arrival.”

Will can’t help but laugh a bit.  “You had Margot get the dogs?  What would you have done if I’d said no?”  He’d thought they would have to go back for them, or even that Hannibal would refuse to have them in his forests- which would have been a bit of a deal breaker- but he’s never considered that he might have already fetched them.

“I would have had her put them back before the end of your wedding,” Hannibal replies, “and you would have been none the wiser.”

Will sighs, leaning into his side.  “As dramatic as this was, I wish you would’ve told me how you felt yesterday.  Alana must be so embarrassed.”

He knows she wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about their marriage either.  Still, the feeling of being left at the altar must not be a good one.

Hannibal shakes his head.  “I suppose so, but she’ll be alright.”

It doesn’t sound like he’s just blindly trying to reassure Will.  It sounds like he knows something, and Will frowns.  Before he can ask about it, though, there are the footsteps of a dozen little paws and Will is on the ground surrounded by dogs.  “Oh, hello, darlings,” he grins, ignoring the chill of frostbitten ground under his knees and greeting all of his dogs with enthusiasm.

After a few minutes of playing with his dogs, Hannibal standing to the side and watching him fondly, Will realizes something.  “Where’s Margot?” he asks.

Hannibal’s smile widens and Will knows he’d asked the right question.  “I gave her a choice,” Hannibal tells him, “much like I did for you.”

“Not the same choice, hopefully,” Will jokes.

“I offered her my knife and a blessing,” Hannibal replies simply.

Will’s brows furrow.  “A chance to kill her brother?” he guesses.  At Hannibal’s nod, he continues.  “In exchange for what?”

“In exchange for her also killing someone that I want dead.”

“Who?"

Hannibal smiles at him.  “Freddie Lounds,” he says.

Will blanches, launching off of the ground and onto unsteady feet.  “Freddie Lounds?  But she’s not- the only reason you’d have to kill her is- are you doing this for me?”

“My darling Will,” Hannibal murmurs softly, reaching out to pull Will into a hug.  “I would do so much more than this for you, if you would let me.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but Will doesn’t need him to.  He has a sudden mental image of Hannibal completely demolishing Wolf Trap, sparing only Alana and the livestock, and shudders.  “Freddie Lounds is- nice.  That’s a nice gesture.  I would have preferred to be asked first, but… thank you.  But please don’t hurt anyone else for me.”

Hannibal sighs as if Will is asking him for a great favor.  “If you insist.”

Will nods.  “Good.  Yes.  I do insist.”  There is a pause.  “Is Margot coming back, after?”

Hannibal shrugs, somehow managing to make even the most mundane gesture look elegant.  “It is up to her.  She will return my knife to me, at the very least, and retrieve her child.  Whether she chooses to stay or leave after that will be up to her and her alone.”

“But you have a guess,” Will pointed out.  Hannibal may not emote as much as a regular human, but even gods have some tells, and Will has always been good at reading people.

“I do, yes,” Hannibal agrees.  “Are you aware that Margot and your Alana used to be very good friends before Margot was chosen for the sacrifice?”

Will blinks.  “No, actually, I wasn’t.”  He has some vague memories of seeing the two of them spending time together, but nothing concrete.  “You think she’ll move to the village to spend time with Alana?”  It’s a rather absurd thought, all things considered, that anyone would give up living in a place like this just for one person.  But then, isn’t that exactly what Will has just done, only opposite?

“I believe they will get along splendidly, yes.  However, should this not come to pass, we will of course welcome Margot back into our forest.”

“Our forest?” Will echoes, sure he must have heard that wrong.

“Yes,” Hannibal agrees, giving him a light peck on the lips.  “Our forest.  Now come with me, Will, and I’ll show you to our bed.”

Will pretends to consider it.  “Actually,” he counters, “I was thinking I’d just stay right here and spend some time with our dogs.”

Hannibal glowers, but there is amusement in his eyes.  “Well then,” he says.  “Perhaps I will just go and have fun in our bed all by myself.”

Will rolls his eyes, grabbing Hannibal’s arm and pulling him over to the dogs.  “No, you won’t.  You’re going to stay right here and let me introduce you to my dogs.”

"Our dogs,” Hannibal corrects, and Will can’t stop himself from smiling.

“Right.  Our dogs.”

Four days ago, Will tried just as hard as every other villager to avoid the woods.  Now he can’t imagine being anywhere else.  It’s the happiest he’s ever been, and he has a feeling this is going to last forever.

(And, well, if it ends up being closer to Hannibal’s idea of ‘forever’ than Will’s, no one is complaining.)