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The Totem stares at the dead body of his architect, his regent, his… family ? All he can think while Bad was spouting whatever excuse he had for killing her and Aimsey shouting at him in rage was.. not again. Whenever Ros told them that the Fools were family he had always silently rejected the notion. He already had a family and he lost them. He was growing to hate the word and the world of hurt associated with it. In his head they weren’t family but it seems his heart didn’t listen, because if it didn’t he wouldn’t be feeling like all the life has been sucked out of him, like it died along with Ros.
As the blood pools around Ros like a halo he can’t help but feel a sense of deja vu and he wants to look away but he can’t, he couldn’t shield her in time.
A boat
A huge splash of water
A whale
A red cap falling
Blood spilling into the water
He couldn’t shield her in time
He can never shield time and despite the reminder he notes he feels similarly to when he said his final goodbye to Leo…maybe not as bad but emotions cut from the same cloth, the finality of it. This time though instead of Bad being there to comfort him he’s the perpetrator, throughout their long years as friends and enemies they had a line, an unspoken line that none of them has ever crossed..until now. The thought fills him with rage.
“Leave.” he whispers. The incessant drone of Bad’s voice stops.
“What?”
“Leave. I would like for you to leave.” His tone is soft, unusually soft for him.
“And go where?” Foolish finally tears his eyes from Ros to Bad. The usually sparkly green is now dull and cold, a low burning fire behind them.
“Anywhere but here.” and as Bad searches his eyes he decides he doesn’t like what he sees. It’s different from the totem's usual demeanor or even his unusual demeanor in the times he was actually serious. This was something else and it spooked him, he quickly takes his leave. Foolish looks back to Ros and he lets out a heavy breath.
“Foolish?” Aimsey says. Foolish doesn’t indicate he heard them. All he does is fall to his knees and cradles her head..she’s still warm. He doesn’t care that he’s sitting in her blood and he doesn’t care about the arrows in his arm and shoulder that he sustained in the crossfire. If he’s honest, he deserves this pain, a reminder that he’s failed yet again. Golden blood starts to drip and mix with the red on the ground. He looks at her eyes, eyes once a bright purple now a dull grey and he can’t stand to look at them, he closes them for her.
Aimsey also falls to their knees on the other side of her head. He can almost feel their anger and he’s pretty sure they're shaking but he quickly realises it’s because they’re sobbing. He feels no such urge; he just feels...empty, unusually empty but he tries not to dwell on the reason or else he would deduce that the vast emptiness he’s feeling is because the life that was taken from her was his.
In all his years he had never given someone life directly from his lifeblood. He had always used whatever totem magic he possessed to aid those around him and prevent death but he had never just..given life to a person still alive or not on the brink of death. He thinks maybe a part of his soul has departed with Ros. That would explain the vast emptiness and the thought makes him feel infinitely worse. Even when he’s given his very soul to a person he still can’t save them.
He starts to think at last that the gods curse on him isn’t immortality but the inability to save anyone around him despite being a literal personification of life. That they made him defective on a fundamental biological level and he can never fulfill what he thinks is his purpose in life. He thinks maybe he should go back to not caring. It was certainly easier.
He doesn’t know how long he and Aimsey have stayed like this, time has no meaning anymore. His legs have started to go numb but still he does not move. He hears footsteps behind him but doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Oh my god.” It’s Zam. He hears him rush over.
“Oh my god what happened?” Foolish stays silent but Aimsey gets up.
“It was Bad..he killed her. They had a deal or something, she wanted to die.” Their voice shakes as they explain. She wanted to die . In a sick and twisted way he feels oddly jealous, that she can just decide to die, he wishes he had that option but he doesn’t dwell on the thought, he has spent decades dwelling on that thought. He spent far too long dying in all manners of ways to see if something sticks but he’s always come back. Although he hasn’t tried - There’s a commotion behind him and he snaps out of his spiral.
He realises Zam is shouting, he’s talking too fast and too angrily to make out what he’s saying but he can feel the rage radiating off of him. Usually he would match in his rage but the emptiness is overpowering, the rage feels hopeless to him.
“I’m gonna kill him.” Goodluck with that.
“No! You’re not powerful enough yet, you have to wait or else you die as well.” Aimsey reasons. Zam is shouting again, it’s starting to make his head hurt, the overwhelming emotions are too much for his shell of a state.
“You’re right..God!!” Gods..cruel vindictive Gods . He might spite them and become death again, go back to the reason they cursed him..if only he had any energy.
“We need to make her a grave and probably get those arrows out of Foolish”.
“Right..Foolish?” He doesn’t acknowledge Zam.
“He hasn’t said a word since he told Bad to leave.” Foolish feels a hesitant touch on his shoulder, he tenses.
“Foolish? Foolish can you turn so we can take the arrows out?”
“No.”
“No? Foolish we can’t leave them in.”
“No.” is all he says and he cradles Ros more. Aimsey sighs.
“Maybe we can start working on the grave?” Zam suggests.
“Sure.” and he hears them get to work. He makes no attempt to help, no attempt to do anything except stare at the lifeless body in his arms. He wishes he can give more of his life to her but he knows this time is different, that it’s up to her if her soul wishes to come back. Even though she was suffering he selfishly hopes she comes back.
He doesn’t know how long he’s kneeled there exactly, just long enough though that her blood had started to dry on the ground and on his clothes and that she has gone completely cold. It was an odd feeling..Ros cold, not when she is was the heart of the kingdom, the very lifeblood.
Inevitably they had the grave all prepared and all they needed was Ros. He feels a hand on his shoulder.
“Foolish..it’s time.” he clutches Ros tighter like he can will her back to life with just his touch.
“Please, she needs to rest.” Rest . Zam made it sound like all she needs is a nap and she would be just fine. He hated when people said that.
“Foolish please.” The misery in Aimsey’s voice gives him pause and he realizes it would be cruel to torment the others any further with this image of Ros that so contradicts how she truly was. Tormenting himself was fine, he was an expert at it but the last thing he wanted was to cause that misery on others.
With great pain he slowly lets her go and he somehow feels even emptier. Both his hands are stained with red and gold blood. It takes both Aimsey and Zam to carry her and still he doesn’t help, the vast emptiness makes him so tired, he can barely even bring himself to turn his body and look as they lower Ros into the grave. He notices the signs on the tombstone. R.I.P Roscumber. Beloved Royal Architect. The Heart Of The Kingdom. More Than Enough. It’s a nice touch. She really was more than enough, if only she saw that.
As they plant flowers, Foolish starts the painstaking process of standing up, not only is he tired but his legs are asleep and it takes all of him to not crash back down. Fortunately he only has to take a few steps to get to the grave and he crashes to his knees again, the impact jostles the arrows lodged in him and he grunts in pain.
“You should probably change out of those clothes.” Zam suggests.
“No.” Aimsey sighs.
“At least let me take out the arrows, that can’t be comfortable.” Foolish doesn’t deign to reply. That was the point. He continues to stare at the grave and decides that the very least he can do is stand vigil for as long as he can. No matter how hungry or in pain or tired he is he will pay his utmost respect. He couldn't save her but he will honor her. He takes the crown off his head with shaky hands and lays it in the middle of the flowers. She is more deserving of the crown, he had failed. Aimsey lights some candles around the grave. He likes the thought.
The only indication that time is passing is the slow darkening of the sky. Many people come and go, paying their respects, leaving more flowers, kneeling by his side for a little. To everyone who visits the grave it was an odd and concerning sight to see the King half drenched in blood, two arrows sticking out of him, stiff as a stone kneeling at the grave. All of them got the rundown of his stubborn vigil and no one dared to do anything but it didn't last forever.
When the sun had completely set and the only light was from the moon and the low burning candles he heard familiar sets of heavy footsteps.
“Oh Ros.” said Clown, he sounded more somber than Foolish has ever heard him.
“The arrows-”
“He won't let anyone take them out, Sneeg.”
“Oh.” no one else says anything. The footsteps get closer. Both Sneeg and Clown kneel in front of the grave on either side of him. Everyone else that kneeled earlier had given him a little bit of space, these two do no such thing, his shoulders touching Sneeg’s to the right and Clown’s to the left. It brings him a small sense of comfort and.. warmth . He didn’t realise how cold he was until he felt their collective warmth.
“We just heard everything that happened.” starts Sneeg.
“You did everything you could, my liege,” continues Clown. No I didn’t. I’m a terrible King. They laps into a silence for long minutes until he feels Sneeg’s hand on one shoulder, it startles him so much he flinches more into Clown.
“Easy King,” Sneeg says. “Can we please take out these arrows?”
“No.” He has to clear his throat from the disuse and thirst.
“This can’t be healthy for you,” pleads Clown. I have survived worse. “I doubt Ros would want you to suffer like this.” It doesn’t matter if she's dead. He feels Sneeg’s hand on him tighten and he fights against it. It causes him even more pain. Sneeg notices.
“Foolish, with all due respect, I won't hesitate to knock you out and treat you. I would rather face the consequences later than have to stand seeing you like this.” His tone leaves no room for arguing, he’s heard it many times, never aimed at him though.
“We’ll even treat you here, we don’t have to leave,” adds Clown. Stupid stubborn treacherous -
“Fine,” he whispers. They quickly get to work and turn him to face Sneeg. He notices in the moonlight the unnatural shine of Sneeg’s eyes, he’s pretty sure they’re red-rimmed, it’s a stark difference to his usually cool demeanor.
They get all the supplies set up. Sneeg inspects the arrow in his arm first, probably since it’s the easier one to remove. He cleans around the arrow.
“Brace yourself,” was all the warning he gets before Sneeg quickly pulls the arrow out. He sucks in a sharp breath, the pain an uncomfortable welcoming feeling to the void of emptiness. Golden blood leaks out of the wound and Sneeg quickly staunches the blood flow with a firm press that hurts like hell. He gets some sort of concoction and pours on the wound, it stings. He makes quick work of wrapping it up, like he’s done this many times before. He has.
The other arrow in his shoulder is more complicated; it went cleanly through and they would have to cut the head off. Clown moves from behind him to beside him. He pulls out his dagger and grabs the top of his shoulder for leverage.
“Forgive me, liege.” He says before he starts cutting away at the wood, the movements jostling the arrow in him causing him to see stars. He must have let out some pathetic noise because Sneeg is grabbing his hands with a softness he had not come to associate with the smith. He rubs his thumb on top of his hands in an attempt to comfort him and it surprised him so much it did, his calloused hands grounding him.
“I'm almost done, I'm so sorry.” Clown whispers. When he finally cuts off the head and Sneeg pulls out the arrow he's in so much pain he sees black, he's pretty sure he passed out for a few seconds. He comes too to them holding him up, both of them stanching the blood on either side of him at the same time.
Being life and the usual caretaker for others, it's an odd feeling being on the other end of the care. He feels…safe within their arms despite them being able to hurt him at any moment and he wouldn't be able to stop it. But he trusts them despite the multitude of warnings from others. He likes to be his own judge and they’ve been by his side through thick and thin.
They finish wrapping him and Sneeg makes him drink some sort of health pot he thinks. He feels a lot better and instantly he's hit with guilt. Why do I get to feel better? He doesn't even get the chance to spiral further when Sneeg takes his hands and washes the blood off of them while Clown does the same to his face. He hadn't realised there was blood on his face, it must have been when - nevermind . The softness of their actions catches him off-guard. Both their hands usually used for violence are ever so delicately washing away the trauma.
“There you go my liege, all better.”
“Thank you.” and he turns back to the grave. There’s silence for a little bit more and that is when he hears a flutter of wings and Joe Broski lands on his crown. It makes him feel so much worse, another reminder of his failure.
“I’m gonna go kill him.” Sneeg says. You do that.
“I’m going with you.”
“If you can find him,” pipes in Aimsey “and tell Zam. He wanted to as well.” Maybe with all three there’s a chance. The thought of Bad getting his karma doesn’t fill him with his usual excitement, he still feels empty. They both take their leave and there is silence once more.
Time loses all meaning when he continues his vigil well into the night and into the next day and the day after that. The people come and go but the vast unending emptiness and Joe Broski sitting on the crown reminding him of his failure and shame keep him in constant company until the sweet release of unconsciousness puts an end to his vigil.