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Gillion felt… not good… when he was around Oliver. Uncomfortable was probably the best way he could describe it, though that didn’t feel quite right. What he felt… it wasn’t more than uncomfortable, per se, just a little bit different. It wasn’t any problem with the boy himself. No, he seemed very nice and pleasant. There was just something about him that put Gillion off.
Maybe it was how easy it’d be to ring his neck in two, or drive his sword straight into his chest, or-
Nope! Moving right along from that train of thought! What else was there to focus on? Pretzel? Chess? Yep, sounds perfect!
— — —
Gillion was obviously upset when he heard that Marshall John and young Oliver had both been captured by the same sirens that captured them, but it definitely could be worse. They could have… you know… been trapped in the same cell together. Gillion and Oliver, that is, not Gillion and Marshall John. That would actually be fucking awesome if Gillion and John were in the same cell together. It’s not like Earl was a bad option, though. He was very old and loved orange juice, what isn’t great about him? He had so much wisdom to share, like that one time when he…
…yes, Gillion was fully aware that he was doing it again. He was being cowardly. Whenever he started thinking about those things he would immediately run to think about something else. Because, in all honesty, those thoughts scared him. And it worked sometimes, but it took a conscious effort to avoid, and when it came back it always seemed to be worse than before.
Kill it at the source. Whatever means necessary. It doesn’t matter how you do it. It doesn’t matter how messy it gets. It doesn’t matter how much they scream, or cry, or beg. Just get the job done. Kill it. At. The source.
He tightened his grip around the bars until his knuckles turned sky-blue. Those were never real, he reminded himself, those people were just simulations.
Distantly, he could hear Chip speaking, and he took a deep breath. Chip’s voice was grounding, even if it was spewing nonsense, and Jay’s exasperation made him chuckle. He wasn’t in the Undersea anymore, he was with his friends, his human friends, and he didn’t have anything to worry about. They weren’t trying to hurt him and he wasn’t trying to hurt them.
That’s a lie though, isn’t it? Don’t you remember holding your sword to Chip’s throat? You weren’t training, the Elders weren’t present, you attacked him because you wanted to. And you know what? You disappointed your mentors by not finishing him off. You should’ve grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the ice until his teeth fell out and he was too weak to keep screaming, and then-
Gillion pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes and focused his mind back to the sound of Chip and Jay’s voices. He had a feeling this was going to be a long night.
— — —
He did it! He actually did it! Gillion Tidestrider, Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep, solved a puzzle! Chip seemed a little freaked out, but he would probably be fine. And he was able to save Jay too! And he didn’t even think about letting her drown, either!
Hold on, what was that last bit?
…Well shit, now he was thinking about it.
Normally, Gillion would be the first to charge into battle, but Chip was already far ahead of them, and suddenly Gillion felt strange walking next to Jay, so he chose to lag behind slightly. No, he would not be thinking about hurting Jay- grabbing her by her hair and dragging her to the bottom of the ocean, watching as slowly, painfully, the last bit of hope and life drains from her face- because that is not how people are supposed to think about their friends.
But he can’t be friends with them, right? They’re land dwellers. He has his people to protect, a prophecy to uphold.
And the fact is they’re going to be killed by your hands anyways, someday. Why does it matter? Why not deal with them now? If you truly want to, you could be merciful about it. A clean slit of the throat and they won’t feel too much pain-
Oh, would you look at that! A big coffin! That’s definitely important! Diverting attention now, thank you.
— — —
Gillion discovered something when he was fighting the strange coffin and Empress Malice: slaying evils seemed to subside the unwanted thoughts, at least for a while. Maybe it was the adrenaline or relishing in his glory that occupied his mind, but, whatever it was, he was definitely grateful for it. At least subconsciously, because he didn’t really notice they were gone until they came back again.
So when a ship of goblins- decidedly evil goblins- sailed next to the Albatross and declared they’d be taking no survivors, he was overjoyed. Maybe he got a little too intense in the fight, but hey, he was just blowing off steam! And he was protecting his crew, so win-win! Okay, maybe it wasn’t a win for the goblins he was now slaughtering, but a win-win-lose was still mostly a win.
And it was all fine until one of them had to go and cut Oliver down the middle.
Truthfully, Oliver getting hurt wasn’t really the problem (obviously it was a problem, but not the problem). No, the problem arose when Gillion’s overloaded, combat-focused mind let something slip. Something that somehow made it past all the mental barriers as he tossed a weapon of ice at the goblins’ captain.
“That’s a quick way to do it.”
It was only a mutter under his breath, lost to the wind and to the sounds of battle. He knew no one could have possibly heard it. Except he heard it, and it shocked him to his core. Once he fully realized what he needed to do, he turned on his heels, ready to rush to Oliver’s side and heal him with every drop of magic he had. But Chip and Jay were both already there tending to his wounds.
He blocked an incoming attack and turned to face his opponent again, but his mind was far, far away. Deep below the ocean, in the place he once called home, he heard his mentors’ voice ringing in his ears.
“A split second of hesitation on the battlefield means a lifetime of consequences in the aftermath.”
— — —
Gillion’s hesitation could have meant Oliver’s demise.
He was lucky it worked out fine in the end, but there was a chance. A chance that he could not risk again. So he needed to figure out how to get past these problems. He tried his best to think back, and it seemed to start when Oliver started sailing with them. Before then he was nervous around his crew mates and kept a vigilant eye on them, but he did not think about hurting them. He had a feeling the young boy had inadvertently unlocked something unpleasant in his mind.
He knelt down, making a point to look at his hands and not the carnage in front of him. Thick, red blood coated them, traveling down his arms and dripping onto the dirt below. It felt warm, it felt real, but, slowly, his surroundings faded away. He stood himself up on wobbly knees and forced a smile. He did what they asked. He killed it at the source.
He wasn’t sure if it would help, but, either way, he needed to apologize.
Oliver was sitting on the ground next to the door of the kitchen. The sun had sunk under the horizon a few minutes ago, and now only a phantom twilight remained as the stars slowly faded into view. Chip helped the boy up to his feet, telling him it was late, he had a long day, and so on. Gillion saw an opportunity and offered to walk him back to Marshall John’s ship, which he accepted.
Neither Gillion nor Oliver were known for their balance, but the wooden plank that connected the two ships was luckily wide enough that they could cross without too much concern. They made their way below deck into a room that once belonged to an unknown navy soldier but was now occupied by the half-elven child. It didn’t seem that the two on the ship changed the room too much, besides the noticeable lack of weapons in their rack and a stool that had an extra pair of much-too-large clothes on it.
He rubbed his eyes and yawned as he sat on his bed. “G’night, Mister Gillion.”
“Goodnight, young Oliver…” he made his way towards the door and hesitated. He needed to do it now, it was the right thing to do, but why was his hand shaking so much? “Before I leave, if you don’t mind, I feel I need to say something.”
He heard shifting coming from the bed. “Okay, what is it?” Oliver asked with an unsure curiosity.
He took a deep breath before turning again to face him with a solemn expression. “I… I apologize greatly for what happened earlier today. I should have helped you.”
Oliver was getting his bedsheets situated now, and he sat up again to look at him. “It’s okay. Chip and Miss Jay were there, and I’m fine now.”
Gillion pulled at his fins out of a nervous habit. “But I- I could have done something.”
“Well, I mean, you were kinda busy. Hey, do you think you could teach me to shoot ice like you do?” he asked with a childish glee.
At that, Gillion couldn’t stop a smile from crossing his lips. “Maybe, Oliver.” And as quickly as it had come, it was gone. He was likely too young to be following any of this, but he still felt the need to get his point across. “I am just terribly, terribly sorry for my conduct today. I promise you I will find a way to properly apologize, but for now I hope my words will be enough.”
“Mister Gill?”
“Yes?”
“Do you want a hug?”
The question caught him off guard. He looked up again to see Oliver, now out of the covers, with his legs dangling off the side of the bed. He looked a little worried, Gillion wasn’t sure how to respond. “I… don’t know.”
Oliver’s brows furrowed ever so slightly. “Okay. How about I give you a hug, and if you don’t want it we can stop.”
He straightened his posture, suddenly feeling under pressure. “That sounds like a good compromise,” he said, though it came out as more of a question.
Oliver jumped from the bed and bounded across the room before locking his arms underneath Gillion’s. They were practically the same height, so it was easy for Gillion to pat him on the back in an unsure sign of mutual reassurance.
“I know it’s been a long few days for you guys; Chip told me about it some. I always felt better when mom gave me a hug.”
The pats slowed until he felt comfortable with letting his arms stay still. “I can see why it’d be helpful.”
He giggled. “But seriously, you don’t need to worry about me. It’s just a little sore, I’ll be fine.”
Gillion’s expression melted into a soft smile. “I’m glad to hear that.” He squeezed slightly, being careful not to hurt the boy, and casting his last bit of healing magic for the day for good measure.
He shivered slightly, but relaxed more into the hug after. “Your hands are cold,” he said with another small giggle, and Gill let out a laugh too before finally pulling away.
“Right, well, I better not keep you awake much longer. Like Chip said, it’s late.”
He smiled. “Goodnight, Mister Gill.”
As he stepped out the door, he smiled too. “Goodnight, Ollie.”
Gillion didn’t know if the conversation would help him in the long run, but for now he did feel better. He was now certain of one thing: even if he thought about it, he did not have the heart to hurt any of his crew mates, his family. And maybe, just maybe, the Elders were wrong about this one thing. Maybe not all humans were always bad, and maybe not all heroes were always good.
He wasn’t sure if he believed it yet, but for now it was a nice thought to entertain.