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Valere and Zale grieved in different ways. Oh, in some ways they were similar, sure. After they’d buried their longest-lasting and dearest—even while they were digging Garl’s grave, really—they couldn’t stop the tears slipping down their face, shimmering as the rich dark earth swallowed them up. They cried well into that first night, together in what used to be their secret hideout as kids, and then they’d fallen asleep there, tangled up in each other.
They both wished that there was a third tangled up with them like he used to be.
Valere spent time in meditation, quietly withdrawing from the world as she processed the loss of one third of their triad. Up so high, with the sound of wind and magic in her ears, the pain dulled and slowed like her heartbeat, but still pumped steady through her. She focused on her mind, her body, her training. When she couldn’t help it, she focused on the shape of Garl’s face, the brightness of his smile, the warmth of his body, and then she had to take a break to cry and curl in on herself before settling and trying again.
Zale avoided training altogether, instead clinging to the more frivolous things they’d done with Garl over the past few months. He tended the campfire in their hideout, where he and Valere were still staying. He baked and brought cookies made with Celestial Willow jam to Garl’s now-ancient nan; they weren’t as good as Garl’s, but she had thanked him for them anyway and given him a hug so tight he could barely breathe. Zale kept one aside for himself and Valere, for when she came back for the night. He fished for long hours, reeling fish in and tossing them back and reeling them in and tossing them back, as if when he looked into the mirror of the water, Garl would be standing behind him, ready to make a fish pun that made Zale full-body laugh.
Every night, the two of them came back together in their hideout. They weren’t quite ready to talk, yet, but they gave each other everything they had of themselves, propping each other up because they couldn’t prop up themselves. They both felt broken, without him. Without being able to fulfill their promise to him, the one they’d given at the beginning of their journey, not his end. Without Garl, it was as if a leg of a table had broken off, rendering the entire thing unusable. Broken and tilted against the floor.
Garl had always been the best of them. But without him, in the absence of him, they had to comfort each other. No longer was it three tangles of legs wrapped up in one massive sleeping roll, it was just two on the cold stone floor.
Just two, touching and grieving and loving each other, loving their late beloved.
Seraï gave them all the time they needed to grieve, didn’t even push them. A few weeks wouldn’t make a difference when they were attacking the Fleshmancer’s hideout itself. He wasn’t even expecting them to come, probably. She herself mourned too, mourned the loss of such a kind, tender soul. She knew Garl had been special too, though she herself felt no attraction to him the way Zale and Valere did.
When Valere and Zale were ready to talk about it more than a few platitudes here and there, it wasn’t in bed. They were on the edge of Evermist Island, the edge of their world. It had seemed so small, back then, when all they’d planned to do was cleanse a single Dweller alongside their fellow Solstice Warriors.
They talked about Garl, truly, for the first time since his memorial service. Hand in hand, heart tenderly, painfully brushing against heart, they talked.
They would always remember him, no matter what. Garl was theirs, and they were still Garl’s even in death.
Since they couldn’t make good on their promise to protect him, they would ensure that all of the rest were honored. To not forget him. To take him with them.
And, to defeat Erlina and the Dweller of Strife. To make good use of Garl’s final sacrifice.
They would do it, or die trying. Together.
For Garl.