Archive of Our Own

It felt…humid. 

The elevator eventually clanked to a stop, and with it, Ogrim noticed that he had not let go of Mato the entire time. 

“We’re here…we’re…actually here.” Ogrim talked, mostly to himself. Mato quit leaning on him, looking around.

He scooted to sit on his own and fixed his cloak. “It seems we are.” 

They were quiet, still trying to know how to be ready to face all the death that slept above them. 

“I’m scared to stand.” Ogrim admitted, taking in the shade that this elevator bathed them in. Mato fixed his bandages a bit and offered his right hand.

Truth be told, he was scared too. “I’ll do it with you.” 

Ogrim hesitated but took it when Mato moved closer as he insisted.

They held onto each other as they moved to their knees and shakily stood.

“Ghh-” Mato groaned, having to let go once they were up to hold his arm. Ogrim huffed out a deep breath, putting his claw on his chest.

Physical pain met emotional pain. Arms, legs, minds, and hearts were all sore, some more than others.

Ogrim rubbed his eyes, glad he was able to stay standing. He opened his eyes and saw Mato taking long breaths while trying to squeeze the pain out of his arm. 

“Oh, Mato-” Ogrim helped straighten him, and saw that the weight of his arm was straining the injury despite him wrapping it as tight as he could. “...I wonder if we can sling this…we really should.”

Mato shook his head. “We’ve not the supplies to make that happen. I won’t perish from this half-done first aid.”

He straightened and allowed himself to let go of his arm, but had to think about not moving it. “When you finish with whatever you must do here, we can go back to my hut and I can alleviate it.”

Ogrim’s stress was plastered all over his face, but with that, he grabbed Hegemol’s helmet and started to quickly move. “Then I won’t dally-”

Mato caught him by the horn, stopping him. “You best take your time. Do that for me as I will do what you wish for my emotional health too.”

Ogrim was stunned for a moment. Mato let him go.

After a brief pause to reconsider, Ogrim sighed and nodded. Together, they walked out of the elevator towards the gravesite proper. 

An old broken sign waved to them. Mato could remember that it wasn’t always collapsed into the floor. It used to stand taller as he held Sly’s hand (or tried to) and walked with him to this area in the past. 

He and Ogrim simply walked by it, and the noise of lightly flowing water pushed them along. They had no interest in a lake, anyways.

“The walls here are creepy…I feel like I’m being stared at by spirits.” Ogrim said a point, and Mato didn’t want to tell him that they likely were being watched.

To each their own.

Shakily ascending to the top of the room and out of the elevator pass, they both made sure the other could comfortably get out. 

The two were greeted by a cloudy, foggy area. It had a blue overtone that slightly soothed them.

The graves all about took that soothing feeling away, but it was a nice moment of relief even for a few seconds.

They were very quiet as they got a feel for the area, out of respect. It was only after a long pause of stillness that Ogrim broke with a soft, “Let’s find a good spot…”

Mato nodded, and then they began to wander.

There were graves and statues everywhere. Ogrim and Mato stuck close together, but there were little open lots…it was disturbing to think of.

Ogrim thought about going east. He really didn’t want to overshadow someone else's spot like he possibly did for poor little Marmu. 

He patted Mato’s shoulder and signaled this with a point. Mato nodded and they started walking eastward. Good thing, because there was much more land to the east.

Bad thing, because one of the larger graves caught their eyes. Ogrim recognized it, and Mato could recognize that Ogrim recognized it.

The grave was standard even in its large size with a top piece that resembled a long and pointed helmet. It was on top of a hill, which only made it draw more attention.

Mato followed Ogrim in the few steps they took to read its inscription better.

It read plainly: “Cursed are those who turn against the King.” It was a warning. 

Mato quietly asked, “Did you…did you know them?” 

Ogrim sighed and shook his head. “Not well.”

He remembered that fight. How he slid to make sure he was in front of the king, keeping him safe no matter if the enemy struck down his body. How he fell that day. How he knew as he was being bandaged that he’d do it again.

Because cursed are those who turn against the king, so blessed are those who stand with him…right? 

“...Can…Can I ask you a hypothetical question?” Ogrim wanted to put his claws together but could barely do that with Hegemol’s helmet.

“Of course.”

“...Is it possible to turn against someone if they are no longer around? A king shaped someone, specifically.”

Ogrim tried to ask this subtly but his understanding of subtle was as light as a brick.

“I don’t think so. I think that’s just existing.”

Ogrim took that silently and nodded. He and Mato went east, searching around for the empty space they sought. 

Ogrim held Hegemol’s helmet dearly, inspecting some of the graves, but it was all so orderly. There wasn’t a lot of space for anything…

From little statues to the main monument to the Dreamers…Ogrim didn’t want to look at that one either.

He just held Hegemol tighter...His helmet, he had to remind himself. 

Just a helmet.

As they looked, his mind floated to what he didn’t have. 

Absolutely no clues on Ze’mer… and after everything, he couldn’t help but tiredly verbalize it to Mato.

“I…worry for Ze’mer.”

Mato held his arms in a loose cross to help the wound, and asked, “What’re your thoughts?”

Ogrim looked at a grave that sported the Hallownest Seal and sighed, “I just wish I knew more about where she would be…she always kept to herself, even though we all knew she cared for us just as much as we cared for her. She was just…different…” 

He waved his claw, amending .”She’s very very strong and I know she can handle herself but she’s…prone to fragile spells.”

Mato wanted to give him a comforting pat but he liked having his arms crossed and didn't want to let them down. “If she comes around, I’ll be here to help you spot her.” 

“...Thank you…I hope at least she, Hegemol, and I can meet again…”

Mato disregarded the pain and uncrossed his arms to give him a small hug and pat on the shoulder. 

“We’ll get you through it.” 

The “I hope so.” died in his mouth. He didn’t want to think like that. They just needed to press on.

Mato could remember Sly guiding him through here, along with a few others. He remembered the only funeral he had been to before meeting Ogrim. 

He wondered if he could find the spot he was guided to. It wasn’t anything he was going to go out of his way for, but it’d be…interesting if it crossed his path.

After a while of searching, Mato found a spot near the very end of the area. One could practically see the stag station marker from here, but it was a spot nonetheless.

“Will this work, friend?” Mato asked, getting Ogrim’s hazy attention. “Hm?” He looked over and saw where Mato was standing.

His heart sank at what he saw.

It was empty. There was nothing there.

And he had to fill it with thoughts of his parted friends.

He walked up to it and stared at it, looking around before kneeling. It was perfect and he hated it for it. 

With a very heavy heart and shaky gait, Ogrim placed Hegemol’s helmet in front of him, like a gravestone. 

It’s a start.

“...Uhm…” He hesitated. “What to do…what to do…” he muttered to himself, tears brimming in his eyes, 

He adjusted the helmet a bit, making it perfect even though he knew that wouldn’t be a thing. 

Mato watched him minutely adjust it for a while until he unsheathed Dryya’s nail and looked at it. Its cracked exterior and stains of dirt from the Queen’s garden called to him. 

It was where it needed to be. As he was.

Both stained with warm color blood and feeling fragile. 

And he remembered what to do.

With a small movement that twinged his arm with pain, he held the nail with both hands and moved closer. He bowed with it and offered it to Ogrim.

“Oh-” His tears fell as he remembered that's why he wanted to bring the nail in the first place. Mato did the same thing when he buried Dryya with the child of the garden. 

It was a funeral bow. This was…another funeral.

This time, he did take the nail from Mato’s hand. Mato remained bowed and took a step back. His eyes were on the ground as if he was quietly repeating what he did in the past.

He could remember his father holding a much larger nail. Their wounds set the same, even if one was self-inflicted on the shoulder before being struck into the ground as a marker.

A nail kissed by the blood of a regretful sage versus a nail hugged by the wayward son of one.

Ogrim didn’t do anything of that sort. He just…silently looked at it.

He looked between Hegemol’s helmet and the nail, trying to figure out exactly what to do with it. 

Put it inside the eyehole? That’d look tacky…like she harmed him-

Laying it on the floor seems less than outstanding…

Ogrim sat fully on his knees and on the left side of the helmet he leaned the nail up. With gentle taps, he tamped it into the dirt so it would stick up.

That was all it took. That was…all he had.

He couldn’t give them more from what he didn’t actually have.

“...Isma and Ze’mer can only be here in spirit…” He said, putting his claws down on the ground.

“I…what more is there that I can do…? There has to be more I can do…?” He asked Mato, voice cracking. 

“You…could…give the sea a story of them? Our prayer for Isma and a tale of Ze’mer…”

Ogrim wanted to pray last, so he murmured. “A tale of Ze’mer…gods, she gave me so many…I…which one could I tell…” Ogrim rubbed his claws together, thinking.

“Her stories are a story within a story…” Ogrim thought deeply before one slowly came to him. 

He spoke lightly…

---

Ogrim always loved being in Ze’mer’s space. She grew the most beautiful of flowers all around her room and it was a joy to look at. As she was a joy to talk to.

“Hello, Ze’mer! How is your eve-” Ze’mer stuck out a hand and held up a finger, shushing Ogrim without a sound.

She lightly watered a flower and stood so stiffly and slowly like a single nudge would destroy everything around her.

It was habit. She was always so careful.

“Me’hon, dear Ogrim. Watch your step, and please enter with nym’heart gentle.” 

Ogrim softly went “Oh, of course.” as he walked in, standing next to her. “How are your delightful blooms fairing?”

“Mostly perfect…mostly,” Ze’mer said before bending and plucking one from the garden without even much evaluation. With a squeeze, it withered in her hands.

“Oh! What- what was that for??”

“There are times where what’s to be a boon’s leaves turn sour and purple. It’s a sign of death that spreads to the rest. Poison to the garden bed like in Le’mer’s dear life.”

Ogrim looked left and right, not quite understanding.

Ze’mer scattered the wilted flower, its entire being blowing away from the garden as if it was nothing. “Is there a purpose for this visit to my chambers?”

“None of direct note. I simply wanted to be in your presence.”

“Ah…che knows not how to fill this space…” Ze’mer looked away, always a touch shy in her quietness. She was rather distant, but still very sweet when it came to group activities.

It was just never her idea to have them.

“Le’mer may enjoy a tale? Before we must attend to our duties? How of that?” Ze’mer didn't make eye contact, continuing to observe her flowers. “I’d love that, my friend.”

Ze’mer laughed a bit, enjoying the affirmation of friendship.

“Let us see…” She hummed, trying very hard to think of a story. The flowers filled her with a sense of happiness and melancholic longing she never knew how to verbally express in a way Ogrim would understand, so she wanted to filter it into a story.

"...The scene glows a mystic white and grey with flecks of the beautiful green. The maiden in the field stands tall and proud as the wind blows her hair." Ze'mer started, and they both sat down so Ogrim could look at her with curious adoration.

Her voice was lovely. The way she pronounced each word made the story seem more real than anything else she could have chosen.

" The maiden and the field…a friendship, nahlo nahlo, they've bloomed in a beautiful union."

They both watched as she smiled gently. "...It was like a miracle," she continued softly and with a light sigh.

"That they only shared with each other. The maiden and the field." Ze’mer had her eyes closed, even though Ogrim couldn’t tell. He was just enraptured and in attention.

“The maiden hardly left, che’s heart bound. A wind that kissed her head. A puff that made her smile as it blew around her. They would spin and dance and live, the maiden and the field.” Ze’mer rubbed her hands together, making sure she remembered how the tale went.

“Time went on. It felt like it could never touch them, as they sat in their care. Dreams of home…dreams of always seeing that horizon…once did the maiden shiver, a terrible feeling crawling down her chitin. The field grew cold and she feared something terrible approaching, ull…The maiden and the field…” Ze’mer gauged Ogrim’s expression, and it looked…softly sad and confused.

All stories had a high point that led to their conclusion. Thankfully, she knew how the story ended.

“As the ground shook, the maiden talked to the field. Anything she could do? Anything at all? All answers go to the wind. And nothing she could hear. The field was dying beneath the maiden and the field.” Ze’mer touched one of her flowers, gently.

Ogrim didn’t dare pipe up with any of the questions that filled his mind.

“...The maiden loved the field…and she never wanted to leave it. She wanted its blooms to live for others to see, even if she was it's favorite…A sacrifice, ul nai.” Ze’mer touched the dirt, moving it a bit.

“ The maiden placed her hand onto the dirt, and prayed. From her soul through her entire body, she cried for the field to take her heart within it so they may be one and it can thrive.” Ze’mer grabbed some of the dirt and let it fall from her fingers.

“ She glew a holy light, and away she faded into white petals into the wind. Her last tears watered the grass below her and its beautiful green returned. The maiden was gone…but when the field…healed and well, realized she was…"

A short pause..."...After a heavy rain, it noted a new patch of grey flowers delicately blooming from where she last stood.” She looked at Ogrim, giving him a smile he could not see and barely heard in her voice.

“Nobody knew where the small rock wall came from, but they knew it protected her thoughts with love.”

She waited for Ogrim’s reaction, but he was just silent and looked sad still. “...That was…an amazing story Ze’mer, I hardly have words! The ending though…” Ogrim looked down, feeling awkward.

“Ai, not all tales end happily nah all answers awoken, but the message. You know the message, moina?”

“...Don’t…fall in love with a field?”

Ze’mer laughed to herself, a very sweet sound. She gave him a small pat on the shoulder.

“When sacrifices happen…when loss fills your fields, someone or something will always protect nym’heart when it feels so frail if Le’mer will allow. The love will find a way.”

Ogrim looked away, “Oh…” 

“It’s a happy tale, despite the bittersweet, to che. It reminds me that what one misses is never truly gone.” Ze’mer happily looked at the flowers, and Ogrim joined her.

“It’s lovely.” Ogrim smiled at her, wanting to hug her lightly but knowing she didn’t like that.

“It is. It is.”

---

By the time Ogrim finished telling the story, both he and Mato were sitting down in front of the tiny memorial.

Tears were already running down Ogrim’s face and Mato had shed a few, making sure he was on Ogrim’s left side so he could pat his back if need be.

“That was good, Ogrim. That was good…” Mato assured, but Ogrim just put a claw to his face, sobbing once.

Mato rubbed his back, and said softly, “When you want to pray, I will start, if you wish.”

Ogrim only replied with more sobs, because he wanted to hear Ze’mer’s voice again.

He didn’t want to be the field, but the field he was.

He didn’t want to pray, he wanted them back. He wanted to hold them, to remember how it felt the last time he did!

But prayer was all that was left, it was all that he had other than his own two claws and soul.

That soul and broken heart that made this mediocre grave out of a single helmet and a nail...It was all he could be and he hoped it was enough...

Ogrim snorted a sniff, pressing his claw hard into his forehead as if that might keep him from falling apart.

Well, more than this journey has already made him.

He didn't even want to look up and see how much Mato had fallen apart just by being in its presence but it was a thing that happened. They were both hurting.

And now they were sitting together. 

In front of the grave.

That needed its prayer. 

For Isma. For Dryya. For the ones they hope to find.

Ogrim didn't think he could speak at this point, especially not after having told the story as he did. He wanted to, but crying always stole his voice first.

He looked at Mato and hoped he didn't secretly mind when he nodded for him to start the prayer.

Mato would never mind.

“Okay…um…” Mato cradled his arm and bent down while still sitting. He didn't want to stand just to bow, he knew he’d be unsteady in his weariness.

“Let us…call to the sea of soul and those who remain to watch over it.”

Ogrim bent forward too, closing his eyes. Mato did as well, but not before making sure Ogrim was alright in his bend with a gentle visual assessment.

"Let us…hope its currents have found those we have lost well. Dear Dryya the Fierce and Dear Isma the kind. Be your souls in one and many, and flow freely back into the air we breathe between us." Mato closed his eyes, tensing when Ogrim hiccupped at his words. It made his pain flare so he crossed his arms tighter, hoping that it wasn't a damning gesture.

"As you float, let us honor your memories with words and thoughts of love. Though we know not how long, we will pray they reach you swift."

Mato opted to give the first personal words, giving Ogrim time to mentally prepare his.

He appreciated it.

"While I never knew all of you personally when you were a focused unit-" another blind tense for a short breath from the beetle.

"I…always admired all of you-" that made Ogrim shocked to hear himself included but he didn't acknowledge it. That would make him vie back into selfishness he believed.

"And…while I have a smaller ground of grief to stand, knowing that the fair Dryya and beautiful Isma are gone from this realm gives even the strongest stone wall a massive crack in the chest." Mato's crossed arms pressed against his broken armor.

"I pray your pain washes away in the seas of luxury you have truly earned and that from that ride you watch over our beloved friend. Rest well, thank you for your time. And the world, even in ruin, will remember and appreciate your service." Mato finished, eyes wet as he opened them to see Ogrim still actively crying.

He went silent, allowing Ogrim to pick up where he left off in this prayer. 

“Please, please have allowed your pain- to wash away…” Ogrim choked a bit, coughing and trying to find his words. He hitched, not opening his eyes as he rubbed his face.

He bent down more, as much as possible without him flopping on his stomach it seemed. “...My dear- dear friends…I can hardly…I…gods-” He blinked, the pain making his eyes be pressed shut rather than the natural soft-close one does as they mildly pray.

He hissed a deep breath and allowed his eyes to rest as much as he could. 

“...I…saying this prayer, I know you know how much I wish I could be saying anything else. I know because I can so clearly envision us…happy and warm in the palace with our king and queen doing what we knew must be done…but I cannot put faces into place because I know what has been is real. So…I try to extend this prayer into that glistening sea.” He sniffed, and Mato didn’t dare touch him. He just let him feel it out.

“Dear Dryya, what else must I say other than I hope the sea of soul can even compete with the glow you will create within it. I do not think...it even can! You were so bright...What else other than what I said in the Garden?" His voice wavered as he thought back to that horrid experience.

"You deserve the world and I…wish for you to forgive me for these meagre efforts I send to you. Any- any revenge by my claw you wished for, you may have. It has been done.” Ogrim struggled, trying to not stutter or break until the prayer was finished.

However, the next part he didn’t think he could keep that at bay. 

“Isma…oh my shining glowing Isma…How big a message I wish to send…and I…I would if I didn’t think of you and know your soul would sparkle with a million droplets with a single whisper of your name. I-”

Ogrim swallowed another sob, shaking his head and squeezing his eyes shut again.

“I-I cannot quantify how I feel to know your hands will not hold my claws again. How they won’t…comfort the sadness of a child you helped within the city’s walls…how your voice will never be the pride of a room…how your strength won’t pair with all of ours in glorious battle…how it's all to the sea…your entirety…your beautiful entirety…the world is dimmer…and...just-”

Oh, how he wanted to say how he loved her. He loved them all so much, but if he spoke that out loud, he’d combust. It was a love so big his heart could hardly take it because he could not hold it like he did all other loves in his heart.

Ogrim sighed, heart panging painfully. “Dryya…Isma…please, the two lost flowers of the Great Knights…find and watch over Hegemol and Ze’mer first. Please, I pray for their safety and the finest of rests for you…” Ogrim didn’t want to open his eyes as this came to him, small sobs hiccuping around him.

“And please, please please wait for me before you venture deeper into the sea. Please do not leave the last traces from where I can hold you before I get there.” He covered his eyes and began shaking.

“Please hold on for me. I…I’m sorry, but I hope you’ll hear me and stay close so I can find you…please…”

His shaking sobs grew worse as he let it all go, Mato could practically hear his armor clink against itself. 

Mato gripped his lower arm, each sob from Ogrim mentally harmed him and the tears it made in his heart physically harmed him as he tensed. His wounds were yelling at him…so he had to do something.  

Despite his better interest in keeping himself warm, he removed his cloak with a cut hiss.

With one swift motion that sent a spike of pain up his arm, he placed the cloak onto Ogrim’s back and made sure it fit right around his shoulders and head.

It made Ogrim gasp and open his eyes, and he looked at Mato. His claws unconsciously moved to touch the fuzzy blue collar that accented Mato's shoulders, the fat tears still streaking down the fluff of his face.

He noticed rarely sees Mato without it on...it was still wet...but this was the sweetest thing anyone could've ever done for him at that moment. All he could do was continue to sob to himself and stare at him.

He had an expression of weary pain etched onto him and he kept his arms closed off. But there was something more in his expression.

A sturdiness that showed Ogrim that no matter how physically uncomfortable he was...he was not moving...Ogrim hitched and hiccupped, looking back down as Mato moved closer and rubbed his back over the cloak.

Ogrim couldn't help but close it over himself like a warm blanket as he continued to cry. Mato whispered soft nothings into the air, encouraging him to get it all out and to allow himself to continue or stop whenever he wanted.

So he kept crying. It was what this place was made for. 

Eventually, the need for hydration to fuel the tears won, and Ogrim stopped his weeping. He didn't open his eyes or look up, but his shaking was easing too. He coughed a bit, and slowly blinked to try and ground himself back to where he was.

In front of a grave. A grave for those he knows are gone and those he will struggle to find...if he does. If he can. 

Next to a Nailmaster. A nailmaster who risked and faced harm and injury to get him here.

So he can cry.

A nailmaster who cares for him. Ogrim sniffed, cleared his throat, and properly regarded Mato. He looked him in the eyes and croaked. "Mato...?" 

"Yes, my friend?" 

Without thinking about it, the two of them moved into each other's embrace and despite it feeling like his arm was searing, Mato made sure to give him the full squeeze.

He couldn’t even hug all across Ogrim’s back, but it didn’t matter . Not more than holding him.

Ogrim hiccuped again, and could only quietly say, "...Thank you for this..."

"It's nothing. It's absolutely nothing." It wasn't. It really wasn't. But Mato would do it again. This was needed and they both knew it.

The two of them sat like this for a while. Mato rocked Ogrim a bit, though he didn't mean to. The pain was starting to get to him and he wanted to keep comforting him but send small signals that it was becoming too much.

Too much water weight on the anchor. He still had quite a bit on his shoulders too as they finished getting the pressure off Ogrim's chest.

Ogrim understood and moved from a hug to a simple right hand hold. They both held on as they both guided each other's breaths.

They matched how Mato taught and Mato took his own advice. They synced up as they inhaled for four seconds, held for seven, and exhaled for eight. For a while, they did that. Silently breathing.

Through the agony, pain, and fear that would lead them to the future, they both sat as they processed its approach.

And they breathed.

After a good while, a calmness came with the breath. As much as it could.

There was a strange correlation to Ogrim between calm and numb, but he knew at least one of them was within him at that moment. 

"...mato?" With how hard that was to say and focus on his face, it was likely seventy percent numbness.

"Yes?" Mato made sure he could hear him, able to repeat this over and over if he needed.

"...I think..." Ogrim looked at the grave one more time and his heart ached that he couldn't cry more. He imagined he'd cry more and he's done his fair share of that a lot this past while. They always did love him for having stronger emotions.

"...i'm ready to go." He murmured this, almost in a whisper. 

"Then let us go." Mato shakily stood, and held out his hand to help Ogrim up.

Ogrim's claw popped out of the comfy cloak shell he's made for himself and with a grunt, Mato pulled Ogrim up.

Ogrim walked into him, and they hugged again.

Mato could tell the numbness wanted to set completely back into Ogrim, but he was subconsciously fighting it so he could walk and still be respectful to the space around him.

It was sacred ground, after all. Now more than ever.

Mato shuddered, crossing his left arm again, but put his hand back on Ogrim’s back to steady him. “This way. We can call the stag from here. Let’s find our way home…” 

Ogrim nodded, and with one more hazy look to the memorial, he turned and both of them left the main graveyard area. 

Mato made sure the cloak was warming him, and they walked slowly, together.

---

Ogrim was…incredibly fuzzy after the prayer. He could barely feel under his feet but being held by Mato as they walked helped.

As they dipped to the eastern exit, he suddenly gasped and looked to his side. “Wait- I forgot-The helmet-”

Mato kept him from moving. “The goal was to leave it here, remember? To say goodbye?” Ogrim still turned around, peering back to what they could no longer even see. The grave was where Ogrim couldn’t see, and that made him ache.

“I…it’s…until we meet again. It is.”

“But you want to go home?” Mato asked as Ogrim took a few steps forward, looking at the architecture of the area. Other than the graves with it adorning atop, the king’s symbol was nowhere in his sight.

His mind and eyes wandered, and Mato was ready to sit him down and just hold him again...Did he even truly think of the Cliffs as a home? Or had Mato assumed that incorrectly?

They were both incredibly unfocused.

Ogrim took some short breaths, trying to gather his words. “It’s…strange. This is strange, I don’t like it.”

“There’s little who do…” Mato said, honestly. Ogrim turned around and paced a bit, confused.

“I said goodbye- the age of knights is over- It’s over-the king is gone and it’s all gone so- so what now??”

Ogrim looked at the larger stone mass graves that were covered before them, and walked up to one and touched the top to stabilize himself within his rambling.

One in front of it was broken, but it would be cruel to enter, he felt. Desecration. He didn’t want to commit more of that to those who likely didn't deserve it.

He stared at the concave wall and said, “I didn’t…think I’d see it, I didn’t think anyone would- what now? What comes next?” He didn’t think he was going to cry again, but he felt the ache in his chest like his body wanted to but couldn’t.

Ogrim felt the familiar touch of Mato’s hand running across his back, and Mato once again hugged his side. 

“We’ll rest and think of what age comes next, I suppose. An age of peace may be closer than we think, no?”

Unexpectedly, Ogrim snorted. He looked at Mato with glazed eyes and stated, “Ze’mer would say the same thing…”

Mato was confused, and pat Ogrim’s shoulder, making the fluff of the cloak bounce. “Is…that a good thing?” 

“...It’s a sweet thing…” Ogrim looked down, and Mato just squeezed him again. “We’ll figure it out, and you’ll meet them again. One way or another.”

He let him go and wiped his cheek, flicking his wet fuzzy face into his helmet. Ogrim used his claw to fix this but appreciated the attempt to fix the unkemptness that came from his grief.

“We need to go, though. They’re at rest now, as much as we can do.” Mato pointed up, and Ogrim could see he was pointing at where the stag would reside.

Mato wanted to encourage him to feel his grief as much as he needed, but they were at rest.

Ogrim’s job was done even if his emotions weren’t. The next step was sorting through them after sleeping on it. 

Ogrim really wanted to ask of the king, but he knew that the king was gone and Mato could not know where he was either. The destruction he faced at the Palace ruins…the king gone with the palace is his working theory, and speaking of it pained him the worst.

Because all of this suffering all of his friends endured was for him. Ogrim closed his eyes, took one more deep breath, and nodded.

They both walked up to the stag station, nearly shoulder to shoulder in support.

Ogrim tiredly sat on the bench as deja vu from the Garden hit him, it made him sigh.

Mato muttered to himself. “I feel like a sharp book is inside my arm-Gods I do need to sling it, That’s going to be fun.” He would keep ignoring it. He simply rang the bell and stood back.

The stag came rushing in and did his usual swift headcount when he saw Ogrim and Mato both looking utterly exhausted.

Between the dampness of their persons from the rain, injuries, and grief rocking them about, they weren’t the most presentable looking. 

“Oh…hello again, you two…” The stag greeted, as Ogrim stood and walked to be next to Mato. “Are…are you two alright?”

Ogrim was silent, but Mato just said, “We…really need to get home. We can’t go to the crossroads-” Mato realized in that tired sentence, and Ogrim shook his head.

“Dear stag…take us to the nest, please. He lives in the Cliffs too.” Ogrim said, hoping to not have to answer if he was okay. Because he’d say no and figured he’d find a way to cry again when the Stag would ask why.

Mato looked confused, and the stag kept assessing their states. 

“He’s injured. Are you two fit to travel this way?” He asked with a small grunt, not wishing to deny his friends, but it was a matter of safety conditioned deep into him.

Mato waved his right hand down. “Sir stag, we have no choice. I can handle it, but we cannot go the long way. It’s less safe than you think.”

Ogrim nodded. He didn’t think he’d make it the long way again without collapsing and Mato would do the same.

“Ah…Understandable…Would you like me to kneel so you may get on more efficiently?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Mato stated, climbing up much to the disdain of his arm. He didn’t care. He truly didn’t care.

He just had to keep telling himself that so that when he wakes up in greater pain he won’t blame himself. 

He offered a hand to Ogrim as he climbed up, and he asked him, “There’s a stag nest? In the cliffs?”

“Yes, it’s where I was born and raised. The energy of a whole village in one unit but one that was once a great sight to see.” Stag answered as Ogrim looked down.

“That’s…where you’ve been the whole time…? When you disappeared at the candle’s low burn? An old nest...?”

“...” Ogrim snuggled into Mato’s cloak, looking almost ashamed. Mato sighed and said simply. “It’s alright if it was alright with you, dear stag. I...don't mean to embarrass you, I understand.” 

“It was. As long as he’s cared for, I don’t mind him using that shelter.” The stag answered, waiting for them to be ready.

“He has that. I’ll make sure.” Mato stated, and Ogrim felt so strange. He guessed this was part of “figuring it out” perhaps.

Mato gave the stag the go ahead to begin running, and they pressed into each other tiredly.

The journey was almost over.

The bumps pained Mato, but he grimaced through it like the champion Ogrim now knew him as. A champion of friendship. A struggling little brother. A good, strong blunt person. 

He had faith in him.

Ogrim tried not to fade away mentally, but he couldn't help it. His mind floated between Dryya, Isma, Hegemol, Ze’mer and the king and queen…

From what he knew and what he didn’t: he had no idea how to process it. How to go about looking and moving forward, but his life would tick on. He wasn’t about to let it go because of all of this.

He just needed to not fall into stagnancy. Stagnancy at the stag’s nest…well wasn’t that some horrific irony. 

He still felt horrid about Dryya and Isma’s passing, but he at least had to try to heal.

Hegemol and Ze’mer were different cases, but still. He had to try to be patient with the world and where fate will take him and where he will take himself. If it was back to them, he’d much appreciate it. 

And…the king and queen…they just…left him as far as he knew. All of them. He knows the nature of gods.

Death does not just drop upon them like it can for mortals such as he. Something happened, or they left. If he found a way to reach them, he had no idea what he’d do. 

And that scared him.

He would miss them all more than everything in the world, and he could only ask: Did true closure exist for him?

All of these thoughts tired him more than anything. It was hard to sit in fear with all that happened weighing on him.

He closed his eyes and allowed himself to doze a bit as the crackle of the stag’s running continued to fill the tunnel. Mato allowed him to do that. 

The grave was built, it was small and needed its stone. But Ogrim did his best.

With a helmet and a single nail pulled from his beloved Dryya.

Ogrim would make it better in time. He’d add to it. For now, it rests where it is…

And from the dead, forever still dirt…from an old seed stuck to the knight’s cracked nail…

A bud would form. 

Eventually to bloom like new.