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Bolaire awoke.
It was completely unlike any other time he’d come back from sleep.
For one thing, it was slow. His consciousness floated out of the darkness lightly, as if he were flying through midnight cloud. It felt almost…decadent, and he couldn’t explain why.
His eyes flickered open…eyelids, still weird. And the corners of his eyes felt…gummy? How did eyes get gummy? Maybe there was another word for it he didn’t know yet, but it wasn’t pleasant.
He rubbed them lightly, and that seemed to do the trick. Maybe he should keep a handkerchief by the bed for just such circumstances. That would work, and he wouldn’t have to use his fingers.
Another odd bodily excretion he was going to have to deal with.
Ugh.
There was a ceiling over his head, one that looked familiar…because this was a spare room in Hal’s house, and he’d gone to sleep in it last night.
That…felt better, knowing he wasn’t coming to consciousness in a strange place.
He sighed. Sighing also felt a little strange, but he’d done that sort of thing in his hosts so it wasn’t as odd as eyelids.
So, that was what sleep felt like. He wasn’t sure about it yet, but he needed it in his new body so he’d better get used to it. It wasn’t quite like when he was removed from a host, not so abrupt, so perhaps it might be a little easier to not be afraid of it.
No, he was definitely afraid of it. He couldn’t help himself. Sleep might not be quite the same – it felt more…peaceful? Was that the word he was looking for? – but there was still that very real fear of the darkness lasting for years and everyone he’d known and loved would be dead and dust.
That was perhaps his greatest fear…going to sleep and waking up alone. It had gotten worse ever since he’d gained family and friends.
Bolaire sighed again, trying to shake the melancholy from his head. His muscles felt a little logy, so he stretched. That…yes, that went into the ‘I like it’ column he’d been writing up in his head. It was almost as decadent as how he’d awakened.
The sleep, though…yes. Not what he wanted to do at all, but there was no choice in the matter.
And it wasn’t easy. He suspected it might never be, not unless he could get a handle on his own fears.
At first, every time he’d felt himself slipping away, he would jerk awake, suddenly terrified that he wouldn’t wake up again, his breathing rough to his ears and his heart pounding painfully in his chest. He’d try to settle back down, but it would happen again, and again…he’d considered asking Hal for help, but then he’d just get stubborn and just laid back down again, body stiff and fists clenched, determined to do this on his own.
He’d finally fallen asleep, too tired to keep his eyes open any longer. It…hadn’t been that bad, he supposed, once he’d gotten over the actual drifting off part, which wasn’t something he’d had previous experience with. And he’d awakened in the same place, which was a plus.
That didn’t mean he was going to like it, though. Or that it wouldn’t take a very long time to be able to sleep the night through.
Then there was the fact that he’d had to also get up to relieve himself. In the middle of the night, at that. He’d almost missed the indications, but the pressure in what had to have been his bladder had been the sure sign. Certainly, he’d known what it felt like to have to do that sort of thing; however, this had been a stronger sensation than what he’d been used to and…middle of the night. That bore repeating, if even in his own head.
The middle of the fucking night.
Ugh.
Bolaire sat up and, because he felt like it, he stretched again, lifting his arms over his head easily. None of his formerly worn bodies moved like this, as if it was almost effortless. He thought he could get used to that. The ease of movement would certainly be helpful, and he wouldn’t have to ever worry about joints starting to break down.
The pain he’d been feeling was now gone. Bolaire took that to mean that this newly created body had finally settled into whatever its final form was going to be. His skin was still sensitive under the pajamas he was wearing, though it wasn’t quite so bad this morning. Perhaps he was getting used to it.
He still wasn’t certain how to feel about being mortal. Yes, he’d long ago realized that his existence would have been a lot simpler without having to switch bodies when the one he was wearing would eventually disintegrate. And that he’d outlive everyone he loved, being alone in the world after decades of existence.
But this…he hadn’t been given a choice. This had been done to him without his consent, which made him angry. Bolaire figured it would work out in the end, but this was a case of the ends justified the means, only involving a rogue spell and no thought whatsoever on what that might imply.
He frowned. He realized he was a hypocrite for even thinking that. He’d been an ends justified the means sort of person. Now that it had been done to him, he was figuring out that he didn’t care for it one whit.
What a way to learn the lesson.
Bolaire sat up, rubbing his face. Still skin and not mask. It felt warm and soft under his hands, except…he startled at the prickly feeling on his jaw and chin.
What?
It took him a few seconds to realize what he was feeling were whiskers.
No way. He was going to have to learn how to shave?
He could let it grow, of course. Hal looked absolutely wonderful in a beard…
Thinking of Hal made his new heart beat a little faster and a warmth fill his chest. It…felt nice, but what did that mean?
Oh.
Of course.
Being a sentient mask meant that Bolaire hadn’t had a corporeal heart or anything like that which would register physical feeling when he’d thought about Hal. Certainly, he’d loved Hal for a while now, but this was the first time he’d considered that mortals would have that sort of reaction to someone.
This must be how mortals felt when they loved each other.
It was a revelation he needed to think about. He couldn’t ask Hal, because he wasn’t sure his friend felt the same way. Yes, he knew Hal cared for him, but was it like how Bolaire felt?
He couldn’t take the chance that Hal didn’t love him the same way. Still, Bolaire had hope after their talk last night, about growing old together. Hal wouldn’t feel that way if he didn’t at least love him as a friend?
All right, he’d just talked himself into realizing he could be mistaken about Hal and emotions. Still, Bolaire would have to wait and observe his friend. To see if there were any more outward signs. He wanted proof before he confessed anything. He was still so unsure of how bodies reflected emotions…even though he’d had eight years to watch Hal and his family and how they showed affection with each other. Now that he had his own body, he was uncertain he might have been interpreting it all correctly.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed. He didn’t feel as unsteady as he had yesterday, which was good. He would have to do something about finding something to wear besides these pajamas, as comfortable as they were. Perhaps some shopping…
Suddenly, the very notion of walking outside to face the world made his breathing pick up and his hands shake. Bolaire knew he was panicking and his body was reacting to that, but he had the lesson he’d gotten from Azune yesterday. He began to breathe in and out, head bending over his knees, and while he did manage to get himself under control after a while, his hands still trembled.
He wondered how long Hal would let him hibernate in his home. He didn’t want to leave, to be seen by others, by strangers, and he didn’t understand why. Bolaire just didn’t think he could handle it.
He wasn’t going to ask Hal. He didn’t want to seem any weaker than he already was, although he was pretty certain his dearest friend would understand. He still needed some dignity left even if Hal wouldn’t judge.
Bolaire sighed again, glancing around the room. When he’d come up to sleep last night, he’d noticed a small vanity table in the corner, one with an oval mirror on it. He hadn’t gotten a really good look at his features yesterday; that small mirror hadn’t been the ideal surface to see into, and of course he’d also been too shocked to really pay all that much attention.
And so, Bolaire stood and made his way toward the table, sliding the wooden chair out from under it and taking a seat, facing the mirror.
He was glad it was light enough from the sun streaming through a crack in the curtains over the window. He really didn’t want to get up again to light a candle or something, and it was just bright enough that his darkvision would have been useless.
Yes, his features were basically the same as he’d had in his former form. Everything from the bridge of his nose down was very recognizable, and Bolaire felt a little better for that. At least he was still him in that respect, because getting used to one more new thing might have driven him hysterical.
He no longer had the carved tear streaks, which felt odd, but it really was one of the very minor differences in his appearance and didn’t really miss them all that much. It was just knowing they weren’t there that itched.
His new eyes were very blue. His first impression yesterday had been correct, that they were the same blue as the gemstones that had once set within the black sockets in the mask.
Another good thing.
Eyebrows and eyelashes were the same color as his hair. Bolaire felt strange having both, since he really hadn’t before, but he had to admit they looked quite nice. His eyelashes themselves were quite long, and he batted them in the way he’d seen mortals do when they were flirting.
He had to laugh at the ridiculousness of that expression.
And then he thought to himself about trying it with Hal, to get him to chuckle over it.
His new skin was pale. It wasn’t that grey-white of his old form; it was tinged with pink, making it look very healthy for a mortal. He glanced toward his ears, which were exposed under the thick braid that Hal had twisted his hair into last night, and they were curved like a human’s.
Then he leaned forward a little, to get a better look at his earlobes.
Did that damned spell give him pierced ears?
Huh.
Interesting.
Bolaire was about to lean back in the chair when he noticed something else.
What the…
Freckles?
Were those faint freckles across his nose and cheeks?
Bolaire moaned. How was he supposed to exude any sort of authority if he had damned freckles?
How embarrassing.
Then he thought of Murray, who had an overabundance of freckles, and doubled down on his concerns about dignity and authority.
The last thing he paid attention to was the light dusting of whiskers across his lower jaw and under his nose. It, too, was the same color as his hair…no, not quite. He thought there was some gold within it. Where had that come from?
Bolaire knew enough about mortal bodies to choose a new one when it was time. He understood that they had icky bodily functions that he’d had to learn to take care of, and he’d had Hal to help starting to take care of once he’d been able to admit his true nature.
He’d also seen all the variety of forms and such that mortals took. Each was different and it had been fascinating to see over the years that Bolaire had been his own person. But there were still so many mysteries that he would have to unravel if he was going to live with this new reality.
He had to admit…he was really going to need a lot of help.
Judging from the amount of light coming into the room, Bolaire guessed that it had to be late morning. Taking a deep breath, he stood up, figuring he would need to put in some sort of appearance downstairs.
His stomach rumbled.
Why did the body have to make such noises like that? Couldn’t it be at least a little well-behaved?
Oh wait.
Apparently not, with all the other bodily functions he now had.
Ugh.
Enough of that. Bolaire shoved all his anger and worries down and left his room, heading down the stairs, wondering if Hal was somewhere on the lower floor.
The moment he set a socked foot onto the bottom of the stairs, Bolaire thought he heard voices coming from the kitchen. Frowning, he wondered who was here…perhaps Azune and Murray? They’d been unable to stop by last night, which had been fine with Bolaire; he’d been tired and antisocial after all that had occurred; Hal had been the only person he could have stood to be around. He doubted he could have processed much of anything.
As he padded closer, he recognized the voices he’d heard: Hal, and Shadia.
Bolaire should have expected Shadia at some point. Hal had explained that she’d been at the Round when Murray had contacted him about Azune and Bolaire coming to the house, and he was so aware of the young woman’s natural curiosity that it had been only a matter of time before she showed up.
Before he’d even known what he was doing, Bolaire was turned to go back upstairs. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face her yet.
But he stopped when he heard,
“—a good thing, right?” Shadia’s voice shook a little. “Uncle Bolaire is okay?”
“He’s been through a lot,” Hal answered. “It’s going to take a while for him to get used to all this.”
“We’ll help him,” Shadia vowed. “He’s family and we love him.”
Tears prickled Bolaire’s eyes. Crying wasn’t something he’d planned on doing today.
And how was he going to walk away from that?
“That we do,” Hal agreed.
Bolaire had no choice. He made his way toward the kitchen entrance, making sure he wiped his eyes so he wouldn’t give away that he’d overheard father and daughter talking. As he stepped around the corner, he could see Hal at the stove, working over something in a skillet; and Shadia, leaning against the counter with her back toward Bolaire, her attention on her father as he cooked.
He caught Hal’s attention immediately. His friend turned toward Bolaire, smiling softly. “Good morning,” he greeted.
That had Shadia spinning around quickly, her eyes widening as she caught sight of him. Her hands went up to her mouth as she teared up, her gasp audible even behind her fingers.
“Uncle Bolaire?”
Bolaire gave her a smile, touched by the happiness he heard in his name. “Hello, sweetheart.”
**********
When Hal got up this morning, the first thing he did was check on Bolaire. Hal had heard some noises coming from his friend’s room through the night, and there had been a couple of times he’d almost gone to the spare room to see if Bolaire was all right, but he didn’t want to seem like he was hovering. He figured Bolaire would come to him if he needed anything.
He opened the door to find Bolaire sprawled out under the blanket, his face turned toward the door. His eyes were closed and…Hal almost laughed, because he was actually snoring lightly. He’d left Bolaire to sleep more, smiling fondly as went to get dressed and perform his morning routine.
He’d just gotten downstairs when the front door opened and Shadia came in. “Hi, Dad,” she said brightly, hugging him.
“Good morning, Sweetheart.” He returned the hug. “We might want to keep it a little quiet, Bolaire is sleeping upstairs.”
“Then whatever happened yesterday it was to Uncle Bolaire?” she demanded worriedly. But she kept her voice down.
Oh, his perceptive daughter. He should have expected her to want to know what had occurred to pull him away from the Round yesterday. “There was an accident at the Archanade,” he explained, taking her hand and pulling her into the kitchen with him. He was in need of coffee.
Shadia went with him with no argument. “Is he all right?”
Hal busied himself with the coffee, putting the pot on the hob and scooping the grounds into the basket, pouring water into it to boil “He’s going to be fine,” he assured her, “but there was…” How was he going to put this? Shadia didn’t know about Bolaire’s true nature, so she wouldn’t quite understand what the changes to his person meant.
He dug out a skillet from inside the counter next to the stove and collected some eggs and butter, just to give him a chance to get his story straight.
“Just tell me, please Dad.” Her eyes were wide with concern.
Hal was very well aware of how much his children loved Bolaire. The feelings were entirely mutual. There was no one he’d trust with them more than Bolaire outside of their blood family. He’d questioned it when he’d learned the truth, but he and Bolaire had talked it over and they’d regained most of their old camaraderie. Bolaire would never do anything to hurt their family; in fact, he would have put himself on the line for them.
And Hal had never lost any of the feelings he had for his best friend.
“All right.” He’d been about to get the eggs started for breakfast, but Hal thought he needed to be face-to-face with his eldest daughter for this.
Hal wouldn’t tell her about the mask being her uncle, though. That would be up to Bolaire if he chose to say anything about it.
Not that he really needed to, not anymore.
“There was this artifact,” he explained. “It was shattered, but your uncle touched it before it broke. He was hit by some sort of spell – so far they think it was either a Wish or a True Polymorph – that…well, that changed him.”
Tears were forming in Shadia’s eyes. “Changed him? How?”
He could see she was thinking the worst. “Hey.” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “It’s not as bad as all that, I promise.”
She nodded. “Please, Dad.”
Hal hated seeing her beg like that. “He…doesn’t have the mask anymore.” He couldn’t honestly say it was gone, because Bolaire was still the mask, but this was as close to the truth as he could get without spilling Bolaire’s entire story.
“The curse is gone?” she whispered. There was such hope and joy in her voice that Hal had no choice but to hug her.
Hal couldn’t admit to that. So, he just embraced her, letting her cling on.
She backed away eventually. “This is a good thing, right?” she asked timorously. “Uncle Bolaire is okay?”
“He’s been through a lot,” Hal answered. “It’s going to take a while for him to get used to all this.” Hal was determined to help his friend. It was going to be a hard road, but hopefully everything would eventually be fine.
“We’ll help him,” Shadia said stoutly. “He’s family and we love him.”
“That we do,” Hal agreed, turning back to the skillet and putting butter into it to start melting. Eggs should be something simple for Bolaire to eat; he’d handled the broth and tea just fine last night. He was going to have to get him used to foods slowly.
Movement in the corner of his eye had Hal turning toward the kitchen entrance. Bolaire was standing there, looking disheveled and still a little tired. And was he growing whiskers? Well, Hal was just going to have to show him how to shave, then.
He smiled softly. “Good morning.”
Shadia was moving before Hal could reasonably anticipate. As soon as she saw Bolaire in the entry, she had her hands over her mouth, as if trying to muffle the gasp that escaped.
“Uncle Bolaire?” she exclaimed softly. There was so much happiness in those two words that Hal couldn’t help but smile even wider.
She had to see just how much Bolaire’s face resembled the mask he’d once been. It was so obvious to anyone who’d known him before. Yes, the skin was a shock, Hal understood that completely.
Bolaire gave her a sweet smile. “Hello, sweetheart.”
Shadia stepped forward. She moved slowly, as if she was afraid to spook him or something. “Are you okay?”
“I’m…still getting used to this.” He waved toward his new face. “And I have freckles, which is so undignified.”
Hal snorted a laugh. He hadn’t really noticed last night, but he’d had other things on his mind.
“I think they look nice,” Shadia proclaimed. “Your whole face looks nice.”
She took another step forward, and Hal could read her intention to hug him before she got much farther. “Be careful, please. Your uncle’s been through it, and he’s still feeling the effects.”
“Sorry,” she said.
“It’s fine,” Bolaire assured her. He opened his arms. “Gently, please.”
Shadia accepted the invitation, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Nice to see you, Uncle Bolaire.” Her voice was muffled and sniffly.
Hal wondered if Bolaire was still hurting and sensitive this morning. There was barely a flinch when Shadia embraced him, but that could have been him trying not to startle her.
Still, Bolaire had never been able to say no to any of the kids. Hal should have expected him to accept a hug from Shadia no matter how badly he was feeling.
He could see the tightness in Bolaire’s eyes after just a few seconds; he was getting overwhelmed. “Shadia,” he murmured.
She took that as meaning she needed to release Bolaire, just as Hal had intended. She stepped back, looking at him closely. “You look quite handsome,” she said. “Even with freckles.”
Bolaire rolled his eyes. “That’s enough out of you, young lady.” He wasn’t upset, he was teasing, and Shadia giggled.
“I’m making eggs for breakfast,” Hal proclaimed, turning back to the stove so no one could see just how close to crying he was. “Shadia, have you eaten?”
“Yes, Dad. I can make the toast though if you want.”
“Perfect.” He began cracking eggs into his now warm skillet. “These are just going to be plain scrambled eggs today. Your uncle went through it yesterday and still isn’t quite recovered." He couldn’t mention that Bolaire had a brand new stomach, and the last thing Hal wanted was to make him sick. That would be the fast way into bad habits again, and his friend needed to take care of that new body if he was going to make it to old age.
Shadia bustled around him, grabbing the bread, a knife, and the toasting forks. “Do you want jam?” she asked.
“Not this morning, darling,” Bolaire answered.
Hal turned to nod in agreement. Jam might be a little too heavy and sweet for Bolaire’s stomach.
His friend was hovering in the doorway, looking unsure of what to do. Hal hated seeing him so hesitant; Bolaire could be a force of nature, stepping in to help wherever he was needed.
He left the eggs for a moment to step over to his friend, smiling softly. “Why don’t you go and sit down?” he suggested. Bolaire didn’t appear to be as unsteady as he’d been yesterday, but there was no need for him to stand there and watch him and Shadia make breakfast.
He lifted a hand in silent question. Bolaire smiled sadly and nodded, giving permission.
Hal rested his hand on his dear friend’s face, thumb stroking along the now flesh and bone cheek. He looked into Bolaire’s eyes, seeing tiredness and uncertainty, but there was hope as well.
“You don’t have to check with me about this,” Bolaire murmured. “Your touch is always welcome.”
Hal felt warmth fill his chest at such trust. “I just don’t want to overwhelm you.”
“I think you’ll know if that’s happening.” He nuzzled Hal’s palm, then stepped away, to turn toward the living room.
Hal sighed quietly, then turned back to the stove, where he gave the eggs a vigorous whisk.
“Dad.”
He glanced over at her. Shadia had sliced several pieces of from the loaf, and was putting it into the prongs of the toasting fork. Her face was as serious as he’d ever seen it, and it had nothing to do with making toast.
Hal bumped her gently with his shoulder. “He’s going to be fine,” he pitched his voice low to avoid it being overheard in the living room. He didn’t want Bolaire to know they were talking about him.
“Something else happened, didn’t it?”
He was so very proud of his intelligent daughter, but this wasn’t something he wanted to get into with her. He took a deep breath. “Shadia,” he murmured, “your uncle has been that mask for…well, a long time.” Which was the truth without coming out and saying everything. “Yesterday, he went from being that person, the one with the mask and the confidence, to someone else with their face exposed to the everyone, with no way to hide. He’s uncertain about his place in the world right now. The weight of his mask has been taken away from him.”
The eggs were done, so he scooped them onto the two plates he’d prepared for them. “And,” he went on, “the investigation into the artifact that did this to him isn’t done yet, so we don’t know exactly what caused all this.”
“You said it might have been either a Wish or True Polymorph spell…” her eyes went wide. “Are you saying the mask might have been changed? And it could be affecting him?”
Oh, yes. He was such a proud father. She’d pulled that right out of the air, and her supposition was so close to the truth.
“We just don’t know. It’s also that uncertainty that has Bolaire acting off. When we know more…”
Shadia sighed, scooping two slices of toast onto a plate and began to slather them with butter…a little roughly, like she was trying to take her emotions out on the defenseless bread. “This is such a mess.”
“Yes it is.” He put his arm around her shoulders. “But we’re going to get him through this, no matter what happens.”
Shadia leaned her head on his shoulder as she finished with the toast. “I just don’t want to lose him, Dad.”
Hal’s heart went out to her, and to the man sitting in the living room. “Me neither.”
After their conversation last night, it had settled into Hal’s mind that he wanted Bolaire to grow old with him. He wanted Bolaire in his life for the rest of it.
He loved Bolaire. He had for a while now, even before the truth had come out.
This was exactly the wrong time to get into this sort of thing. To have the conversation that they would need to have. Bolaire was far too out of sorts for this to be a good idea anytime soon.
Even if nothing ever came of Hal’s feelings, he still wanted his best friend to be beside him for the rest of their lives. He wanted Bolaire to continue to be the uncle his children deserved, the one who had always been there for them. To work with Hal in the Hallowed Round, and to support Hal when things went wrong.
He wanted to be the same thing for Bolaire, as well.
The major problem was, besides Bolaire’s sudden bout of mortality, was that Dol-Makjar was a powder keg and some of that was down to their merry little band of plotters. The Archanade was in very real danger of being looted under the guise of moving artifacts into another wing. Their campaign of whispers was finally beginning to pay off, and they all needed to be at their best in order to keep the pot on boil, so to speak.
And now…Bolaire wasn’t himself. Well, he was…it was just that he’d been through too much just within less that twenty-four hours and there was no telling how long it would take him to get back onto an even keel, as it were.
Not that Hal was going to rush anything. He didn’t want to risk messing this up.
Shadia had finished with the toast and was pouring a cup of coffee. “Would Uncle Bolaire want juice or something else? Should he even have coffee?” She didn’t seem at all certain of that.
“Let me ask him.” He picked up Bolaire’s plate and made his way out into the living room.
His friend had taken up the same chair he’d been sitting in last night. Bolaire was leaning back, head tilted a little and eyes closed. For a moment, Hal thought he’d fallen asleep, but he raised his head as soon as Hal had gotten close enough to set the plate down on the end table.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked, as Bolaire picked up his breakfast. “Do you want to risk coffee?”
“No, I don’t think so. Maybe just water.”
“One glass of water, coming up.” Hal smiled and went back to the kitchen, where Shadia was already pouring water into a glass.
“I’ll bring it out,” she said. “You grab your own breakfast.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Hal picked up his own plate. “Oh, do you mind running things at the Round today while I look after your uncle? I hate to ask, but I don’t want to leave him on his own just yet.” It just didn’t feel prudent at this time. Hal had a list of things he’d need to help Bolaire with, including teaching him how to shave.
Although, that little bit of scruff was sort of cute.
Oh, cut that out.
“I don’t mind,” she answered. “I don’t want to leave him alone, either.”
“Thanks, sweetheart.” He kissed her on the forehead.
“Just look after Uncle Bolaire. I’ve got the Round handled.”
Hal had faith in her. She knew what she was doing.
Now, he just needed to figure out if he, himself, knew what he was doing.
**********
Having Shadia here made Bolaire feel comforted in a way he’d never known until he’d been adopted into this rather singular family.
After her first reaction to his new state, she seemed to take it all in stride, which also did more to settle his nerves. Bolaire hadn’t been sure if she would accept him in this form; it was so different from the one she’d known since she was eighteen.
To be honest, Shadia didn’t know the whole story, about Bolaire’s true nature and what this bloody artifact had done to him. How he was struggling with just the bare necessities of mortal existence. Still, she was doing just what he really needed…treating him like she always had, chattering away about her acrobats and their antics, and subjects that could have been boring to anyone else but was endlessly fascinating to him.
He couldn’t have loved her more than he did that morning, as he ate eggs and toast in Hal’s living room, listening to her and laughing at the right places. He was smiling so much…was his face hurting? Was he not used to that sort of thing or was this something that just happened to people?
Eventually, she did leave, siting needing to get to the Round. Shadia kissed him on the cheek – asking permission first – and then promised she’d be back tomorrow to check on him as well as saying she wouldn’t share what had happened until he was ready to inform anyone else.
“You can tell family,” he allowed. “But family only for now.” He was aware that she was currently staying with Elodie and Hero, and he had no issue with them being aware of his change of status.
“I’ll do that,” she promised. With a backward wave she was out the door.
Bolaire missed her when she was gone.
Hal collected their plates. “Would like some tea?” he asked, smiling.
Bolaire considered that. “No, I think I’m fine with the water. Thank you though.”
“No problem.” With that, Hal was heading into the kitchen, a little bounce in his step.
The house was quiet without Shadia to disturb the silence. It was fine, though. Peaceful. Bolaire sat there, leaning back in the chair, just letting it calm his nerves. As much as he did miss his niece, he just wanted to be alone for a bit.
Alone with Hal.
It was easier to accept that he’d been changed when he was with Hal. Yes, Shadia had acted as if everything was normal, and he adored her for that, but it wasn’t normal anymore. He wondered if it would be different if she knew Bolaire’s truth, and wasn’t treating it as if he’d just been cured of a curse.
He could hear Hal washing the dishes, whistling a jaunty tune that floated on the air to Bolaire’s ears. It was peaceful, listening to him going about his day; Bolaire rested his head against the back of the chair, just letting the sense of home wash over him. In his head, he knew this wasn’t his home, but his heart was beginning to wonder what it would be like to live there with Hal, to be surrounded by family.
His new, mortal, heart.
Bolaire closed his eyes. The darkness didn’t frighten him then, because he could hear Hal and the soft clatter in the kitchen as well as smell the sharpness of the coffee that had been brewed earlier. His minds’ eye was imagining for him what it would be like in the future, living a life with Hal, both of them grey with wrinkles that only made Hal dearer to him more than ever. Of Shadia and Hero and Alogar, with children of their own; Thaisha coming to make certain that the jasmine outside on the trellis was thriving and Elodie gently teasing Hal about retiring from managing the Round and letting the younger generation take over.
Of the two of them, after the family had gone to their own homes, sitting by the fireplace, Hal reading his newest play and Bolaire critiquing it gently, just being with each other in a way that made Bolaire’s heart ache.
He felt the tingle of tears in his eyes; he couldn’t help it. He’d never yearned for anything more than that possible future.
He could have it, now.
And yet, there was still that part of him that felt angry that he’d been changed so drastically without his permission. That whatever this spell had been, it had been random. He’d just gotten in the way trying to help Rosadella, not wanting her to get hurt.
Bolaire hadn’t consented to this huge a change. He wasn’t himself any longer. Now, he was a human, with a human lifespan, and no one had asked if he’d wanted this.
There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind, whispering that he hadn’t given any of his stolen bodies much of a choice, either. Perhaps this had been some form of karma…
He’d told Hal last night, that he hadn’t been certain he would have even chosen it. Yes, it meant he no longer had to seek out bodies, to kill to survive. And it put that daydream he’d just had within his reach. Growing old with Hal would have been as close to paradise as he could imagine.
But he honestly just didn’t feel like himself. His thoughts were definitely his own, those hadn’t been transformed by his new circumstances. But this body wasn’t really him, was it? He’d been created to kill a god, a Mask of the Panto. Not a human with a very real mortal form.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, eyes closed, just drifting lost in his thoughts, when Bolaire suddenly felt something being draped over him. His eyes flickered open to see Hal standing beside him, tucking a knitted afghan around him gently. “I’m sorry,” his friend said, “I didn’t mean to wake you.” He looked upset at the notion.
“I wasn’t really asleep,” he reassured. Bolaire remained reclined in his chair, tugging the afghan up to his chin. It had been made from all sorts of colorful yarn, in a pattern of diamond shapes that resembled a domino pattern; he believed Hal’s mother had knitted it. He felt cared for, and warm, and he smiled up at Hal. “Just thinking, really.”
“A silver for your thoughts.” Hal stepped away, going back to his own chair, pulling it a little closer before taking a seat.
“They aren’t worth that much,” Bolaire denied.
“To me, they are. Are they sad thoughts?” He was concerned.
Bolaire reached up and touched his cheeks. Yes, he’d been crying. “No, not really. Honestly, how do mortals keep their eyes from leaking? You weep if you’re sad, you weep if you’re happy...it's embarrassing, is what it is."
Hal grinned at Bolaire’s complaint. “At least that bodily excretion isn’t as nasty as some.”
“Yes, about that…the middle of the night, Hal! The middle of the night and I had to actually piss.” Yes, he was still a bit salty about that. “No sense of better timing whatsoever.”
His friend was laughing, a full-on belly laugh that had him leaning back in his own chair, hand on his chest as he tried to breathe through the guffaws. Bolaire himself was trying to stifle a grin, because that would break the scowl he was wearing in mock disgust at the vagaries of the human body.
Well, it was a little more than just mock disgust, but Hal’s reaction was delightful and he didn’t want to ruin it.
So, he decided to try and extend it. “Then I wake up with my eyes all sticky. It was gross and what causes that anyway? And I will continue to decry freckles until the end of my days. None of my juniors at the Archanade will ever take me seriously again!”
“But they’re cute freckles,” Hal gasped.
“Cute?” Bolaire’s voice went up almost an octave in outrage. “Halandil Fang, you take that back this instant! I am not cute!”
Hal was grinning helplessly. “You really are!” His eyes were bright from unshed, laughter-induced tears, and soft with fondness.
Bolaire let the afghan drop to his lap and crossed his arms, glaring at his dearest friend in pretend fury; however, his chest was back to feeling warm and he truly felt a comfort down to his new bones. It made it just a little easier to accept his new state, that Hal thought that about him. Bolaire certainly didn’t feel cute, but Hal said he was, and that meant something.
Hal was out of his chair, still chuckling, and moved toward Bolaire. Bolaire continued to glare, but for some reason his heart was beating faster and he didn’t know why.
His friend leaned forward, putting his hands on the arms of Bolaire’s chair. His smile had dropped to affection as he looked Bolaire straight in the eyes. “Dear, you are beautiful. You were beautiful before this change, and you are beautiful after. And I will keep telling you that until you believe it.”
Bolaire’s mouth was suddenly dry. His heart was fluttering, and he felt as if he couldn’t breathe. It was completely different from a panic attack, not that he’d ever have one of those involving Hal, anyway. Hal looming over him, looking at him as if he was something precious, would never make Bolaire afraid.
Still. “I don’t feel that way.” His voice was timid, and he hated it but he couldn’t help himself.
The affection tinged with sadness. “I know. I cannot even imagine what you’re going through. But I’m here. And I’m going support you, no matter what. Do you believe me?”
How could Bolaire not? When Hal was standing there, so close, all of his attention on Bolaire himself? He’d been the source of Hal’s regard before, but this went far beyond that. “I believe you,” he answered, somewhat helplessly.
Hal gave him a sweet smile. “We’re going to get through this. It’s not going to be quick, or easy, but we’re together in this.”
Then he leaned forward more, and pressed a soft kiss to Bolaire’s forehead.
Hal had done that before, back when Bolaire had been in his created form. It had felt special then, that his dear friend was acknowledging Bolaire’s own physicality as a sentient mask.
But this…
Of course, his clay hadn’t been as sensitive as his new flesh was now. Hal’s lips set his skin tingling. He could feel Hal’s breath, how soft his lips were, the sleekness of his tusks. Bolaire’s eyes fluttered shut, he had no control over them, and he let the sensations take over.
He’d never experienced anything like this in his entire existence. It was almost overpowering.
Hal pulled away far too soon, but he lingered just long enough to rub one of his tusks against Bolaire’s temple. It sent a tingle down his spine, something just a little too intimate for a friendly kiss. He couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped his lips.
Had Hal done that before and Bolaire just not felt it? He couldn’t be sure.
Bolaire opened his eyes just as Hal was stepping back. The expression in his friend’s – his love’s – face was a little surprised, as if he hadn’t expected to do what he’d just done. Hal’s smile though was crooked, and just plain lovely. “Now that we have that cleared up,” he said, “why don’t we get cleaned up and dressed before Murray and Azune arrive with whatever they’ve discovered.”
“I think you mean ‘me’, not ‘we’,” Bolaire commented, glad that his voice was normal. Hal’s kiss had shaken him a little with how it had felt, and he wasn’t sure how to unpack that yet. “You appear to be dressed and ready for the day. Whereas I am still in my night clothes, my hair is a disaster, and I have whiskers.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It is exactly that bad.”
Hal rolled his eyes. “Then we need to do something about it.”
Bolaire stood up, carefully folding up the afghan and laying it across the back of the chair. It was warm and he wanted to use it again sometime. “I don’t have anything to wear except for what I had on yesterday.” He didn’t say that he wasn’t sure about putting those clothes back on.
When he’d had to steal bodies to exist, he’d chosen purposely tight clothes in order to hold the bodies together when they started to degrade. It had become his fashion.
Now, he wasn’t certain he could handle something so constrictive against his skin. Perhaps, when he got used to the new sensitivity, he could go back to them, but for now he really didn’t want to be that bound.
Hal tapped a tusk with his fingernail in thought. “I don’t think what I usually wear is much your style,” he mused. It seemed as if Hal had figured out that Bolaire didn’t want to wear his signature leather and silk.
“It’s very much your style though, darling,” he answered, smirking. He fell back on old habits with Hal, in order to hide the fact that he was still rattled by that kiss.
Hal shook his head fondly, and then went back to thinking. “I have some old things of Shadia’s that might work. Some loose blouses that should be gentle on the skin…she might have some skirts too, if that would work for you.”
Bolaire considered. He certainly preferred men’s clothing, but he wasn’t going to object to anything that was comfortable. And, as Shadia was his height, he could see how that might fit well enough. “The only problem I see with this is Shadia is a bit narrower in the waist than I am.” He wasn’t about to put his corset back on, not under these conditions.
“True.” Hal looked a little frustrated. “I suppose a pair of my trousers would be fine, although they’d be a little long and baggy. Like those pajamas which, to be fair, look better on you than they ever did on me.”
Bolaire ignored that comment, although for some reason his face felt a little warm. “We can turn the cuffs up.” It wasn’t sartorially to his taste, but did that matter? He wasn’t going to be seen by anyone except those who knew the truth about what had occurred. He could worry about more fashionable clothing later.
He thought about the closet he had in his secret bunker at the Archanade, filled with his favored outfits. Bolaire supposed he could ask either Murray or Azune to sneak in and grab him a few things, but they had the same problem that what he had here: they’d been tailored to fit tightly.
“We can always go shopping later,” Hal said, “if you wanted to change anything in your wardrobe.”
That meant going out.
Bolaire took a deep breath, not wanting to bring on a panic like he had earlier. He didn’t want Hal to see how bothered he was with the notion of being out in a crowd.
However, Hal was quite perceptive. “What’s wrong? You just went from blushing at my observation about the pajamas to pale as a sheet.” He moved closer again, looking as if he was going to touch, but didn’t.
Bolaire was a bit disappointed with that.
But…blushing?
Was that why his face had gotten warm?
Well, shit.
That bodily reaction was certainly going to be inconvenient.
He’d once sworn that he’d never intentionally lie to Hal. Bolaire had done enough of that over the years, thanks to Thjazi. The truth was important to him, always had been, so he was going to be honest.
“Whenever I think about going out,” he answered reluctantly, “I feel panicked. I don’t know why.”
He felt a little ashamed at the admission. Before, he really hadn’t minded being out in public. He’d reveled in making scenes, and drawing attention to himself in certain circumstances, but even when he’d wanted to pass unseen he’d never once felt scared about being in a crowd.
And it wasn’t as if he couldn’t disguise himself. He had magic that could do that for about an hour or so. He didn’t use it as much as he used to, because Bolaire Lathalia was almost a staple in Dol-Makjar’s society so there was no need for it any longer.
Did he still have his magic? That…wasn’t something he’d thought about before now. He knew he had darkvision still, from his bathroom trip last night, but he hadn’t attempted anything else.
He was almost afraid to check.
“I think it’s fairly obvious,” Hal replied, his voice gentle. “You’re so used to being out with your true self front and center…but that had resembled a mask, which made you stand out. Now, you’re a flesh and blood person, and you’ll fade into the crowd. You’re no longer out and proud, as it were. You’re…just like anyone else. And that’s terrifying.”
Bolaire blinked. Was that it? He’d drawn attention to himself for so long that blending into the background was frightening?
“Am I that dramatic?” he asked. He wanted to be incredulous about the whole affair, but he had a feeling that Hal was onto something.
“Well, I wouldn’t say dramatic,” Hal answered. “You’ve had the same personality and presence for so long, it’s a matter of habit now. You just have to get used to being a little different. Build yourself back up. Let’s face it…there are a lot of mortals with that sort of style and charisma who draw the eye, as it were. You’ll just have to get your footing back. You’re still Bolaire Lathalia…you just have to find yourself again.”
Bolaire had admitted to Hal last night that he didn’t know who he was anymore. Was that all it took? Finding himself somewhere within this new flesh?
“Come on upstairs,” Hal invited. “Let’s get started by brushing out your hair. I think the braid is the way to go, but you’re still going to get snarled. It just won’t be as bad. Then, we can figure out shaving and clothes for today.”
Bolaire nodded. He had some things to think about.
**********
As they walked upstairs together, Hal thought about what he’d seen this morning concerning his friend.
It had worried him last night when Bolaire had claimed that he didn’t know who he was anymore. Hal wanted to understand, but this was outside of his experience, and he’d noticed Bolaire’s hesitation and uncertainty in the confession. He wanted to help but he wasn’t sure how he could.
He’d seen sparks of his dear friend over breakfast. Bolaire had been genuinely happy to see Shadia, listening to her as if she was the center of his personal universe. He’d laughed at her story about a mess that had occurred with her acrobatics troupe, his eyes sparkling with joy.
This was why his children adored their unofficial uncle: he always listened, always paid attention, and treated them as if they were his own. For someone who’d never had children of their own, Bolaire certainly knew how to act like a parent.
“Let’s use the vanity in your room,” Hal suggested. “I’ll grab the brush and comb.”
“That’s fine,” Bolaire agreed. He headed into the room that Hal considered his for as long as Bolaire wanted it.
Hal wouldn’t mind if his friend moved in permanently, if he was honest with himself.
That made him think about the kiss he’d given Bolaire a few minutes ago, as he ducked into Shadia’s room to grab the things he’d need. It had been sheer impulse in the moment; he’d kissed Bolaire on the forehead many times, so he hadn’t even considered not doing it at the time.
It had been immediately different.
It hadn’t been clay against his lips this time. It had been skin, warm and pliant, surrounded by wild strands of dark red hair that tickled his nose a little. It felt right, in a way no other kiss to his friend had been before.
It hadn’t taken anything at all for Hal to move slightly to the side and stroke his tusk along Bolaire’s temple. It was a sign of affection amongst Orcs and it had been as natural as breathing.
His heart had hammered in his chest as he heard Bolaire softly sigh. His friend’s eyes had closed at some point during the kiss, and they’d blinked open, such a look of surprise in their deep blue depths.
Hal had doubted at once that this sigh had meant anything else other than Bolaire being shocked and overwhelmed by the gesture. He’d backed off, managing to smile and suggest they get ready for the day.
Hal, though, could vividly recall to mind the blush that had painted Bolaire’s cheeks at the compliment he’d given him. That pale complexion was going to give his friend’s emotions away.
He had to smile at that thought.
Moving into Bolaire’s bedroom, he caught sight of his friend sitting at the vanity, staring into the mirror. Just how truly freaked out was Bolaire over this involuntary change? Last night, he’d expressed some doubt that he would have chosen this for himself. Hal could understand. How did one go from being a sentient mask, created to help kill a god, to a human, with all the mortal weaknesses and strengths?
It seemed like an impossibility. And yet, Hal was looking at that impossibility, Bolaire examining his new face – so much like the old – as if he was trying to memorize it.
Bolaire’s eyes caught Hal’s in the reflection. He gave a slight smile. “It’s bizarre,” he said. “Sometimes it’s like looking at a stranger…but other times, it’s obviously me.”
Hal felt bad for his friend. It had to feel uncanny, with a face so much like your old one, and yet different.
He rested a hand on Bolaire’s shoulder briefly, then let go, with just enough pressure so he wouldn’t feel as if he was alone.
Hal didn’t mention that he actually liked his new face. He didn’t think it would be taken well at the moment.
Bolaire wasn’t looking at him any longer. He adjusted himself in the chair, taking a deep breath. “Well, let’s get this mess over with.”
He sounded put out by the whole situation.
Hal chuckled, setting the brush and comb down on the vanity top. “I don’t think it’s going to be quite that bad.”
“You say that now.”
If Bolaire was being snarky, then he was going to be fine.
Eventually.
Hal began to untie the ribbon he’d used to hold the ends of the braid together. He’d chosen a green one from Shadia’s collection; it seemed like it would be a perfect complement to Bolaire’s wild locks.
He carefully unwound the plait, using the comb to gently tease the strands apart. Hal hadn’t been fancy in his braiding, knowing that this was an experiment and, honestly, he’d just wanted Bolaire comfortable. But maybe Bolaire would let him do that sometime. There were several styles that would look amazing on his friend.
He’d missed braiding hair. Shadia could do her own now.
Bolaire’s hair was soft as Hal ran his fingers through it, searching for snarls. When he would find one, he’s begin working through it, apologizing when he’d accidentally pull a little harder than he needed to and his friend would make a pained noise. “It could have been worse if we hadn’t braided it,” Hal pointed out after Bolaire hissed the third time.
“I’m used to combing out a wig,” Bolaire gritted. “No pain doing that.”
“Perhaps we can try two braids tonight. That might lessen the chance that any hair gets loose.”
“I could get a haircut.”
Hal found he didn’t like that idea, but it would be up to Bolaire. If that made it easier to live with, Hal had no right to argue against it. He tried to imagine Bolaire with shorter hair, and he just couldn’t do it.
However, something must have shown in his expression, because Bolaire said, “It seems, darling, that you don’t like that idea.”
“I…it’s your decision.” It was all he could say as he put down the comb he’d been using and grabbed the brush.
Because, in the end, it was Bolaire’s body. It might be new, and something he wasn’t used to yet, but there was no way Hal was going to argue against Bolaire’s bodily autonomy.
“You realize how ironic that is,” Bolaire mused. “That I, as a sentient mask, stole other’s bodies and took control of them. And here you are, telling me my body is mine and I can do what I want with it. Some might have believed that taking away my control would be a perfect punishment for any crimes they might think I’ve done.”
Hal’s hands ceased their movement in Bolaire’s hair and his heart began to pound. “Well, I’m not someone.” It was all he could say. He hated when Bolaire talked like that.
It had been no secret that, in the beginning, Hal had been uncomfortable with the idea that Bolaire had to take bodies to exist. To be honest, his dear friend gaining his own body had been the answer to all of Hal’s wishes, so Bolaire wouldn’t have to do that anymore.
However, he’d accepted it, if it meant keeping Bolaire in his life. It helped that Bolaire didn’t like doing it either, even if that more because he hated having to have a body than not wanting to eventually killing anyone again.
Azune had once told Hal that soldiers had a different perspective on life and death; Hal could understand a little, having fought in the War of Ash and Vine, but he’d never once considered himself a soldier. From what they’d heard about Bolaire’s experience in war, Azune had said, it hadn’t been exactly healthy. Bolaire had been created to kill, and that had translated to the life he’d built up. Azune hadn’t exactly agreed with it, but he’d claimed to appreciate it.
And, Azune had pointed out, people were willing to do anything to survive.
Bolaire turned his head, trying to look at Hal directly. “I know you aren’t. It’s what makes you Halandil Fang, my darling friend.”
Hal moved just enough to meet Bolaire’s eyes. They really were so very blue, and if he wasn’t careful he could get lost in them. This was neither the time nor the place. “You know I didn’t care for what you had to do, but I also knew it was that or you not being around anymore. I would have rather had you in my life than not. And I would never judge you for what you had to do to exist.”
He could see the moment that tears gathered in Bolaire’s eyes. His friend cleared his throat then turned back toward the mirror, taking a moment to scrub the water away. “Stop making me cry, Hal. I hate it when my eyes leak.”
Hal chuckled, going back to working with Bolaire’s hair. “No promises.”
He’d started brushing around Bolaire’s ears when he stopped in surprise. “This spell whatever gave you pierced ears?” he asked incredulously.
“Oh. Yes. I noticed that myself this morning. I hadn’t been expecting that.”
“Are you going to keep them? Or just let them heal closed?”
Bolaire was quiet for a moment. “I…hadn’t given it any thought.”
“If you wanted to try something new to go along with your new life, you could give it a try.” Then he hastened to say, “Although you don’t have to –”
“Hal.” There was laughter in his voice.
He glanced down again; Bolaire was smiling.
“I will always take suggestions from you because I know you won’t force them on me.”
Hal was chagrined. “Sorry, I just get a little nervous –”
“We need to decide right now if we’re going to be the same around each other that we were before yesterday, or if our friendship goes in a different direction.” He was looking up into Hal’s eyes once more. This time, his expression was determined, the smile gone. “I have told you that I will always trust you. That goes for your words, your touch, everything about you. You will never force me into anything I don’t wish to do.”
Hal’s shoulders slumped. “I think we’re both struggling with this, but in different ways.”
It had to be said. Hal just didn’t know what to do. This change was so huge, it was mindboggling. Oh, he knew that he hadn’t lost his friend, that Bolaire had just been changed, but it was accepting that change and his own helplessness that were bothering Hal. He kept thinking he was going to overstep and do something that would wreck their friendship.
“You’re my friend,” Hal said. “I cannot imagine you not being around, being a good uncle to my children, and letting me bitch at you when things go horrifically wrong. I don’t want this to change, but it has, and I’m terrified of making the wrong step with you.”
Bolaire spun in his seat, the better to face Hal completely. “You have done nothing wrong. I cannot stress enough: I trust you. You are the only person I do trust to help me figure this out. I wouldn’t be here if that weren’t the case. And, perhaps I haven’t really said it, but I am looking forward to growing old with you.”
It was Hal’s turn for his eyes to ‘leak’.
“Do you believe me?” Bolaire asked intently, holding Hal’s gaze.
He set the brush down and cupped Bolaire’s cheek. “I believe you,” he whispered.
It was almost exactly the same thing that had occurred downstairs, only on opposite sides. This time, it was Bolaire trying to reassure him, instead of Hal reassuring Bolaire. It felt like they were somehow gaining a tentative sense of equilibrium between each other.
A sweet smile blossomed on Bolaire’s lips. “Good. Now, let’s finish my hair, so I can get dressed. Oh, and I need a shaving lesson as well.”
Hal smiled, feeling a little better about things. “You might also want a bath tonight.”
“Oh my word, yes. Although I prefer showers they’re…faster.”
What wasn’t said was that Bolaire took showers so he wouldn’t have to see his naked body for longer than necessary. Which made sense. However… “I think a bath might be better for now. That way you won’t have water beating down onto your sensitive skin.” He went back to brushing. Hal thought he’d never get tired of brushing Bolaire’s hair.
Bolaire didn’t look convinced by his bath versus shower comment.
“We can add bubble bath to the water,” he added, trying to be convincing. “I doubt you’ve ever had a bubble bath before.”
All right, now his friend looked intrigued. “No, I haven’t.”
Hal could tell he was considering it. “You can think about it. And…there we are.” He stepped back, admiring the job he’d done. Bolaire’s hair had curled right up, framing his face. A single lock had fallen artfully across his forehead.
“Hal, that’s perfect. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” And Hal meant it.
And not just about doing his friend’s hair, either.
Fin