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The coach rattled along the cobbles, noise muted a little by the closed curtains that cut Bolaire and Azune off from the rest of the world.

Bolaire was grateful to Azune for pulling the curtains closed the moment they’d both gotten in and taken their seats.  It allowed him to be separate from the outside, allowed him to get his emotions under control.  He needed to relax, to control that anger that had gotten him into the coach in the first place.

You’re nothing but a weak, pathetic mortal now.

Bolaire shook his head.  He hated that voice, he didn’t know what it was, but it was pointing out truths that he simply didn’t want to hear.

He was a pathetic, weak mortal, changed from a predator into the prey he’d used to keep the existence going.

Was this a bad thing?

He wanted to say a decidedly vehement no.

He slumped into the thin cushions of the coach, letting his cloaked head rest against the wood of the wall behind him.  He blew out a breath – another idiosyncratic mortal thing to do – and tried his best to calm down.

He found himself pulling at his cuffs where they buttoned flush to his wrists.  The silk was soft under his bare fingers, but it didn’t give the way he wanted it to, to not be so tight against his skin.  Bolaire understood suddenly that this was a new nervous habit, and forced his hands to rest on his knees.

He needed to be on his game if he was going to be facing Lady Amariya Cormoray…that is, if she showed up, if he was correct about someone at the Archanade was informing her of what was going on within the walls of the very museum that had been his life’s work.

The last thing he wanted was to suspect anyone he’d hired.  Despite his behavior toward them all, he was quite fond of his archivists and didn’t want any of them to be a traitor.

He felt sick to his stomach.

It was another reaction that Bolaire didn’t care for.  He hoped he wouldn’t vomit there in the coach.

Vomiting was something he never wanted to add to his list of things this new body had done, as matter of fact.

“Are you all right?”

Bolaire straightened his head to meet the sunset eyes of his companion.  Azune was sitting almost to attention on the opposite bench, his war hammer on his knees, looking at Bolaire, his expression concerned.

“I…”  How much did he say?  Yes, he trusted Azune, but it wasn’t to the same extent that he trusted Hal.  Perhaps that wasn’t quite right, but then he hadn’t known the young man all that long, except for times when he’d come by the Archanade to do the usual magical scans that were required by the Revolutionary Council and, by extension, the Chamber of Lords-Advisory. 

He also knew that Azune had his own issues he was dealing with, like the death of the man who’d been almost like a father to him, and it didn’t seem fair to burden him with what was going on right then and there.

Still, he did consider Azune a friend.  And, perhaps, sometimes a friend was needed instead of a loved one.

“I’ve got this strange voice in my head,” he went for broke, “that sounds disgustingly like Thjazi reiterating the same tired old tropes to describe me: an object, a predator, and how this,” he waved a hand down his new body, “is a punishment, to make me weak and soft like…like the people I had to hunt in order to survive.”

There was a part of him that felt guilty about what he’d had to do.  Bolaire had always gone after the dregs, the ones no one would miss, the bad ones who would have preyed on the innocent if he hadn’t taken them as hosts.  Only his first host, Castep, had been different, and Bolaire had gone out of his way to repay the man for stealing his life.  He could have just run after taking over Castep, and he hadn’t.  He’d owed that soldier, and Bolaire  had done his best to pay him back.

“I know you considered Thjazi important,” he hastened to add, “and the last thing I would want to do is make you angry at my opinion of him, but you must know he was a complicated person who sometimes didn’t get things correct –”

Azune shook his head.  “No need for that.  I know very well that Thjazi did some very questionable things if it meant his agenda was advanced.”

“Yes, well…I also know he took care of you as a child.”

“To be honest, that was really a lot of Hal, when we were able to come back to Dol-Makjar.”

Bolaire wondered if he should start counting Azune as one of Hal’s children.

“Hal is an excellent father.”  He couldn’t help but brag on his dear friend a little.

Azune smiled.  “I agree with you.  However, I do know that Thjazi was an ‘end justifies the means’ sort of person, so I can understand your perspective.”  He crossed his arms over his chest.  “I can also understand how his opinion would hold a lot of weight.”  It was evident in his tone that Azune knew exactly what he was talking about.

Bolaire sighed.  “I don’t think it helps that I mostly believe it myself.”  After all, he was a thing, created by mortals to help in writing a Shaper out of existence. 

At least, he used to be.

“Look, far be it for me to give any sort of advice on this, because I’ve done my fair share of lying and killing and other sorts of bad things in my life, but that’s what mortals do.  Besides, you’ve said you were  careful about who you take.  Which must be true, because nothing has come over the desks of the Arcane Marshals about this sort of thing.  And now, you don’t have to do that anymore.  You can turn your hand to something else instead of hunting down your prey, so to speak.  I can’t think this is some sort of punishment for you.  It’s a new start.” 

Bolaire appreciated Azune’s words.  “So you’re saying I should stop listening to Thjazi Fang and live my own life.”

A smile twitched up the left side of Azune’s mouth.  “Pretty much, yes.”

“Then you should do the same thing.”

Azune chuckled.  “That obvious?”

“Perhaps a little.”

“Hal has pointed out that I need to forgive myself for some things I failed at, when it came to Thjazi.”

Bolaire wanted to ask, but the last thing he wanted to do was step into a bigger mess.  He decided to change the subject.  “Did you know I’m a veteran of the Falconer’s Rebellion?”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”  Azune was grinning.

For the rest of the trip to the Archanade, they talked about the Rebellion.  They didn’t linger on any of the battles; it was more like the people they’d met and the places they’d been to.  Bolaire had to admit that he’d learned much from observing the mortals who’d fought…although there were times when he considered that they might not have been the best examples to follow.

Bolaire also shared a little about Castep without using his name – that just seemed far too personal – but he was sure to tell Azune how he’d been with his first host and had fought as recompense. 

Azune seemed to take that well, nodding when Bolaire explained. He didn’t ask why it was just this one and not any other, but then Bolaire had been quite plain about his decisions regarding that choice.

They chatted easily until the carriage came to a halt, signaling that they’d arrived at the Archanade.  The moment it stopped, Bolaire’s heart beat sped up a little, and he felt his chest tighten in response to his breathing.

“It’s going to be fine,” Azune murmured. 

“My mind knows that,” Bolaire gasped, “but this body is having none of that shit.”

Azune huffed a laugh.  “Let’s go and get this over with, so you can go back home again.”

That sounded lovely.  Bolaire was all for that.

Tossing the hood back over his head, Bolaire followed Azune out of the carriage, letting him support him as he stepped down onto the ground, grateful for Azune’s hand in his elbow.  He hated being this weak. 

And no, this wasn’t Thjazi’s ghost speaking to him this time.

They made it to the doors of the Archanade, and this time it wasn’t nearly so bad.  Maybe he was getting used to it?  There really was no need to panic like this.  He was just walking into the place he’d spent more time in than even Hal’s home, and this wasn’t something to worry about.

Well, there was that Cormoray bitch, but she was just an inconvenience.  Bolaire hated her out of sheer principle.

Stepping into the coolness of the interior of the Archanade, they took the side passage to the Lloy Wing.  There wasn’t a crowd at the moment, which Bolaire felt was a good thing as he got his panic under control.

Azune took up position at his left shoulder, like a bodyguard.  It felt good to have him at his back…although, if he was honest, he would have preferred it to be Hal.

That was far too dangerous, though.  Amariya Cormoray had mentioned his darling friend, and Bolaire didn’t want any more attention drawn to him.

He pushed the hood down, shaking out his hair.  He wanted everyone to see him, to know that Bolaire Lathalia was back in his domain, and that he wasn’t taking any shit from anyone.

Yes, it was time he took back his identity, the one he’d worked so hard on in the years since he’d gained his personal freedom.

The first person to see him was one of his junior archivists, Layra.  She’d been coming from deeper within the building, and she stopped in her tracks and stared for a full thirty seconds until she lurched forward and bustled over to him and Azune, a large smile on her face. 

“Curator Lathalia!” she exclaimed.  “We weren’t expecting you!  Welcome back!”

Bolaire was gratified that she was glad to see him.  “I’m not back, but I have a few things I need to do before I take the mandatory time off due to magical mishap.  Can you please find Spiro and Rosadella and have them come to my private office?”

“Of course!”  She turned on her heel and headed back the way she’d come.  There was a bounce in her step that lent an excitement to her movements.

“Looks like you have a fan,” Azune teased.

Bolaire scoffed.  “She’s still young.  She’ll learn.” 

Still, it was good to know that his people were loyal to him.

At least, Layra was.

Others, he had yet to see.

He deliberately bypassed his public office, heading back into the interior of the Archanade.  This office is where he kept his personal effects, as well as books and manuscripts that didn’t fit into the Wing’s aesthetic.  Bolaire also needed privacy at times; having the rush of the museum around him grated on him sometimes, especially when he was getting toward the end of his current host body.

Bolaire supposed he didn’t need to worry about that part any longer.

Reaching the door, he passed his hand over the knob, hoping the magic would recognize him now that he was a different person.  He’d had to worry about that before; a couple of times a new host simply didn’t trip the wards properly.

This time, the door unlocked and swung open.

As fastidious as he kept his public office; Bolaire wasn’t quite as careful with his private one.  It was large, with a desk at one end in front of a set of floor-to-ceiling shelves that held all sorts of tomes, scrolls, artifacts, and knickknacks that he’d collected over the years. 

On the other side of the room was a scarred table with a light on a framework that allowed it to be positioned in whatever way Bolaire would need in order to examine documents and such.  A fireplace was behind that; not lit, and the room was chillier for it.  One of the things Bolaire had noticed more was the cold, and he was tempted to ask Azune to light it for him.

Azune, proving that he was obviously some sort of mind reader, knelt before the hearth, loaded it up with logs from a basket off to the side and kindling that was available, and had it burning in moments.

In front of the workbench were two chairs facing the desk, and once the fire was going Azune took a seat in one, stretching his legs out a little.  He rested his war hammer’s handle against his shoulder, the head on the floor, looking as if he’d always belonged in these surroundings.

Bolaire tossed his “borrowed” cloak into the second chair, then sat behind the desk.  It felt…good, to be back in his lair, even if it wasn’t quite the same. 

For one thing, his chair was fairly uncomfortable, now that sensation was closer to the surface, as it were.  He was going to have to get a cushion or something so his ass wouldn’t get sore.

Bolaire blinked.

Oh.

Could it be that simple?

“What are you thinking?” Azune inquired. 

Bolaire rolled his eyes.  “I’m going to have to remember that this face shows emotions more.”

“You have lost some of your inscrutableness.”

He was going to have to work on that.

“I’ve come to a conclusion,” he answered.  “I think we’re both correct: that artifact is both a punishment…and a new beginning.”

Azune cocked his head in curiosity.

“I also think you’re right about that artifact being used in some sort of ritual…only that ritual was used to not only punish criminals, but to show them the error of their ways by changing them into whatever it was they were guilty of.  For me, that was mortal, since I preyed on them to survive.

“However, I also believe that magic gave me a second chance by giving me the opportunity to correct myself by showing me the perspective of what I’d done.”  It was all conjecture, but there was something about it that just felt right.

Azune frowned.  “It makes sense, I suppose.”

Bolaire just knew he was on to something.  “When the criminal was exposed to that statue, they were given that chance.  If they did, I would guess they would be allowed to live their new lives to the fullest.  If they didn’t…well, perhaps they were exposed to the artifact again, or there was a next tier of punishment.”  He shrugged.  “Let’s face it…that happened so far back in time there really isn’t a way to know what was intended.”

Azune sighed.  “I can see your point, but you’re right about it being so far in the past there’s no way to truly know.  I…Bolaire, I’m not sure I like the idea of you thinking yourself some sort of criminal.  You did what you had to do to survive.”

“Well, yes.  I did.  But you have to admit in certain circles I would be considered a murderer several times over…even if I was thought to be sentient enough to make that determination.  And, to be honest…I didn’t exactly treat my hosts very well.  Perhaps I was negligent, or I simply didn’t know what I was doing…or I was a cold-hearted bastard who only cared for my own survival.  I can make a case for all three.”

It was true.  At first, perhaps Bolaire could claim innocence of how bodies worked; after all, he’d never worn one long enough to really pay attention unless asked.  When he’d taken over Castep, he hadn’t had a lot of information to go on.

However, after being exposed to mortals more than just a couple of hours at a time, Bolaire had gained more knowledge on how better to take care of his hosts.  That didn’t mean he’d taken that and acted on it.  Really, he could certainly be called cavalier by some, downright criminal by others.  He could even empathize with those sentiments.  He hadn’t been a very good person.

So yes.  This was a punishment, meant to point out to him that he hadn’t been decent to those he’d taken.  He could use the excuse of bodily functions being disgusting and not wanting to deal with them, but if he’d cared he could have done more. 

This was quite the epiphany he was having. 

It made him suddenly wonder just how he could truly deserve Hal. 

Hal knew about him.  Knew about Bolaire’s sins.  Was willing to help him through this change and give him a home. 

Wanted to grow old with him.

This was his second chance.  He wasn’t going to wreck it.

“All right,” Azune capitulated.  “I get what you’re saying.  And, as an Arcane Marshal who knows the law, I can see where your very existence might be seen as breaking several major ones.  But this is your second chance.  And, even though we don’t know each other as well as we might like, I think I’m a good enough judge of character to know just how important this is to you.”

Before Bolaire could say anything else, there was a knock on his office door.  Azune hopped up to answer it.  

Standing there were Rosadella and Spiro, both looking surprised and pleased.  “Good day, lieutenant,” Rosadella greeted.  “We were told to come and speak with Curator Lathalia…?”

“Please.”  Azune held the door open for them. 

Bolaire rose from his chair.  “Come in, come in,” he invited.  “Lieutenant Nayar, would you care to wait outside please?”

This wasn’t something they’d discussed, but Bolaire was fairly certain Azune would get the hint about not wanting to give his archivists any sort of clue that Azune was also involved in  plotting.  As much as he trusted these two, the less people who knew that Azune was in on this as well, the better.

“Of course.”  Giving a small smile, Azune left, shutting the door behind him.

Good lad.

Bolaire waved toward the cloak in the chair.  “If you wouldn’t mind returning that cloak to its proper owner?”

Spiro’s eyes glanced over.  “Yes, sir.  Be glad to.”  Then he smirked.  “I borrowed it from Lord Wurnst.”

Bolaire barked a laugh.  “Well done.”  That might explain who tipped off Cormoray about the accident, if Temoday Wurst had been in the Archanade at the time.  He was such an ass kisser Bolaire was surprised the man’s nose wasn’t permanently stained brown.

“It’s good to see you, Curator,” Rosadella said.  Unlike Wurst, this woman wasn’t an ass kisser; she was being honest.

“I’m only back to get things in order,” Bolaire pointed out.  He waved his hands towards the chairs, silently asking them to sit, then taking his own seat.  “I’m arranging to take a week off, due to some sort of rule the Arcane Marshals have.  Also, I’m…still not recovered yet, and I don’t want to come back prematurely.”  Bolaire just wasn’t ready.  He could admit that to himself.  He needed time to get used to this new body and what it could do. 

He was determined to do this correctly.  He really wanted to spend the rest of his life with Hal, and learning about his mortal form was the way to do that.

He hadn’t cared until he was, himself, mortal. 

He really should have been more attentive to his hosts’ needs.  Bolaire did feel guilty about that.

If what he’d guessed about that artifact was true, this was a part of the punishment phase of things.  Bolaire was going to do his damnedest to earn this second chance.

“As I’m sure you’re aware,” he continued, “there have been things happening behind the scenes here…”

He went on to explain about House Cormoray making a move on the Archanade, and about the demand to move the entire Lloy Wing over to Selodyne.

“That makes no sense,” Spiro protested.  “The Lloy family built and paid for this wing.  Surely they wouldn’t be happy about this if they knew about everything getting moved out of it.”

“Especially since the Lloy Wing is all about our freedom from the Shapers,” Rosadella added.  “The Selodyne Wing  is the opposite.  Who would want to see the weapons that the Shapers used to keep us under their thumb front and center?”

Bolaire knew that would be their response.  “This is why I’m confiding in the two of you on this.”

Both archivists exchanged glances, then smiles.

“I actually am of the opinion,” Bolaire went on, “that somewhere we have a piece of paperwork that says everything from the Lloy family is on loan and has to be returned to them. I've been looking for it everywhere, but…” He looked at them shrewdly, hoping they would pick up on what he wasn’t saying.

Rosadella’s smile turned cunning.  "We can make sure to find it and several copies that might say conflicting things."

“Absolutely,” Spiro agreed.  “You know, that might be somewhere in the deeper Archives…”

Oh, his brilliant archivists.

Bolaire had been blessed when these two young ones had come to work for him. “I will leave you two to find that paperwork.”  He opened his right-side upper drawer, pulling out a leatherbound ledger.  He set it on the desktop, resting his folded hands on it.  “I want all the Lloy artifacts stored in one place.  That means there’s going to be needing an inventory.”  He tapped the journal with his index finger.  “I’m certain it would be a lot simpler if there was a master inventory that could be compared against what we actually have…”

“It’s a shame such an inventory doesn’t exist,” Rosadella answered, her eyes glittering.

“It truly is.”  Bolaire picked up with journal, handing it across the desk.  There was no way those two hadn’t been expecting him to have anything like that.  They knew how anal he was about such things.

Spiro accepted it, practically hugging it to his chest.  “It’s going to take us so much longer now.”

“And I’m certain things have been recorded in all sorts of cataloguing systems.  That’s going to take even longer, I fear.”

“The paperwork is going to be a nightmare,” Rosadella confirmed.  She looked highly amused.

Yes, Bolaire had chosen correctly when he’d decided to put these two in charge while he was out of the Archanade.

“One more thing.”  Bolaire leaned back in his chair.  Yes, he was going to need some sort of seat cushion…or a brand new chair completely.  He’d known that his sense of feeling had been blunted between himself and his host bodies, but this just proved it.  “It’s fairly suspicious that our Cormoray nemesis knew about my accident so quickly.”

“I thought that as well,” Spiro said, “but at the time we didn’t know it was something more than a patron concerned about you.”

“It does explain Lieutenant Nayar’s behavior,” Rosadella replied.  “He was quite curt with the lady in question.”  She had a knowing expression on her face.

Oh, someone was very smart indeed.  “I’d really like to know who informed her about it.”

“If we hear anything, we’ll make sure you know about it,” Rosadella promised.

“Excellent.  I shall let you get back to your duties.  Please ask our Arcane Marshal friend to come back in.”  He’d got what he’d set out to do: his two most trusted archivists onboard. 

“Yes, sir,” they said in unison.

It seemed as if the new freckles hadn’t affected either his dignity or his authority at all.  He was going to have to rethink that.

Spiro tucked the journal away in his tunic, and even remembered the cloak on his way out.

However, Rosadella stopped at the door, turning back toward Bolaire.  “Curator, are you all right?”

Bolaire was touched by the concern.  “I’m getting there.”

She nodded in reply, then left, passing Azune as he came back into the office.

Closing the door, Azune glanced at Bolaire.  “Mission accomplished?”

“Indeed.  Have a seat and I’ll explain as we wait for Lady Amaryia.”

Because Bolaire was certain she’d be showing up fairly soon…if her spy had been present.

Well, he’d wait about an hour.  Then, if she hadn’t appeared, he’d go home. 

He was missing Hal.

**********

Hal didn’t know what to do with himself once Bolaire had left the house with Azune.

He’d witnessed what had occurred, the panic that Bolaire had been feeling being suddenly overwhelmed by rage.  Hal had been trying to prop his friend up, to convince him that he was the same even if his outer form had changed, and it had somehow made Bolaire angry.

Had it been something Hal had said?  Had he used the wrong words?  What had gotten Bolaire so angry that he’d walked to the waiting carriage in a fury?

He paced his living room, thoughts tumbling about in his head like a landslide.  What had he done?  Had it been him?  It had to have been, right? 

“Shaper’s ashes,” Murray’s voice cut through it all, “will you have a seat and calm your ass down?  You’re gonna wear a trail in your carpet.”

Hal had forgotten that she was there. 

He stopped in his tracks, then sat down in his chair as if he was her puppet and she’d cut the strings holding him upright.  He met her eyes; she was still seated on the sofa, her feet not touching the ground as if she was a child and not a grown woman, looking as serious as he’d ever seen her.

“That’s better,” she said. “Now, what’s got your underthings in a bunch?  I’m guessing it has to do with Bolaire.”

Hal closed his eyes and took a deep breath.  “I don’t know what I did wrong.  All I wanted was to reassure him that he was still the same person he’d always been, but then he got angry…”

Murray snorted.  “You’re an idiot.”

His eyes snapped open.  Murray was looking at him, mildly irritated.  “Excuse me?” he retorted, his own anger growing a little.

"You. Are. An. Idiot.”  She made it sound as if she was chastising one of her students.  “Bolaire wasn’t mad at you…he was pissed off at the whole ass situation.  Do you honestly think he wanted to panic in front of us?  He might trust Azune and me, but we aren’t as close to him as you are.  He was embarrassed and it made him mad.”

That brought Hal to a pause.  Was she correct?  Was that why Bolaire had gotten so angry?

He thought about it.

It made sense.

He sighed.

“I seem to be taking things personally when I shouldn’t,” he admitted.

‘Well, yeah.”  She shook her head.  “Would the person who impulsively kissed you on the way out then accepted your Bardic Inspiration get pissed at something you said, when you were only trying to help?  Either you don’t know Bolaire well at all, or you’re second-guessing yourself so badly you can’t make decisions properly.  I’m tending toward the latter.”

Murray was right. 

Hal slumped back in his chair.  “There are times when I wonder if I’m doing the right thing with him.”

“That’s understandable.  You love him.  That’s always gonna color your perception.”

Hal’s mouth dropped open.  “What?”  He’d never said that out loud, not even to Bolaire really.

“Oh, please.”  Murray waved a hand at him.  “The way you two make cow eyes at each other?  Shit, I never even knew a mask could make cow eyes until I saw Bolaire do it.”

“So, you’re saying we’re not hiding it well.”  And here Hal had thought himself a better actor than that. 

That he’d never seen that in Bolaire was also telling him that he hadn’t actually been looking for it, either.

“Nope.  And I’m not about to judge you for your taste in creepiness.  Although, I really haven’t been around this new version to notice if the creepiness is still there…”

“And you’re telling me you didn’t find him cute?” Hal had to tease.

Murray flipped  him off.  Hal snorted.

Getting back onto the subject, Hal sighed.  “I just feel like I sometimes mess things up.  That I hover.  That I’m in so far over my head I have no clue what I’m even doing.”

“Honey, you’re all of the above.  This is something no one’s ever been through before, as far as I can tell.  Bolaire has just had his entire existence tipped onto its ass with barely any experience in acting human.  He’s been a murder mask for so long – it was how he was created, for the dead gods’ sakes – that he needs someone to guide him into fully integrating into his new reality.  And, for some reason, he thinks you’re the one to do it.”

Hal wasn’t sure how he felt about Bolaire being called a ‘murder mask’ but it was accurate.  After all, he’d been made as a weapon, and that was all he’d known for a long time until he’d decided he wanted to escape that life.  He couldn’t escape it completely, but he’d tried.

And now, that mortal façade was gone, replaced by the real thing. 

“I don’t think he’s doing all that well,” Hal admitted.  “He hides it, but there’s the panic at not standing  out anymore, about people disregarding him, and even though he hasn’t come out and said it…there’s a very real fear of him not being able to cope with being mortal.  It’s obvious in the way he rants about bodily functions and not being able to sleep properly.  I’m not even sure he’s really come to realize it himself, to be honest.”

“It’s only been a day,” Murray comforted.  “Have you given any thought to having him see a professional?  Like a healer specializing in trauma?  Someone he can talk to who isn’t emotionally attached?”

Hal considered that.  It was a good idea, but… “I doubt he’d do that.  He’s been hiding for so long, and the thought of letting go to a stranger…I don’t think he could do it, even if it meant it would help.”

While Hal no longer really doubted that Bolaire had wanted to tell him long ago and that Thjazi had stopped him, it would be completely different with anyone else.  The only reason Murray and Azune knew the truth was that they’d been there the night it had all come out.

Knowing Bolaire as he did, Hal understood now just how terrible that had been for his friend.  And Hal hadn’t really helped until he’d gotten over himself and had sat down to talk with Bolaire about it all. 

What would it have meant if Bolaire had fallen into the wrong hands?  Would he have gone back to being that weapon that had been passed around and used as if he wasn’t sentient and aware?  Or would he have been put on display as one of the God-Killing Masks of the Panto, so that people could come and gawk at him for the price of a silver coin? 

Bolaire had had to be careful, to build up a cover for himself in order to live a life that he’d wanted so desperately.  He’d admitted that there were times when he’d wondered if it was worth it, but his survival instinct had always overpowered such thoughts. 

And he’d hated having to take bodies in order to exist.  When he’d admitted that, Hal could tell he was truly disgusted by the notion.  Yet, he had, and had become one of Hal’s closest friends. 

Now, he was human because of a random artifact that happened to come into the hands of the Archanade.

Yes, there truly was nothing normal about this situation at all.

“I just can’t see him even wanting to talk to a healer like that,” Hal admitted.

Murray nodded.  “Yeah, I thought you’d say that.  He’s a secretive bastard, but he’s had to be.”

That went without saying, really.

“Azune and me can help, but we’re not as close to Bolaire as you are –”

“But maybe that’s what we both need.”

It suddenly occurred to Hal that he was correct. 

“Look,” he went on, “perhaps having friends who aren’t as close to us as Bolaire and I are is a good thing.  I’m pretty certain there are things Bolaire isn’t telling me because he’s worried how I’ll react because, as you’ve so bluntly pointed out, he gives cow eyes in my direction”  That felt almost freeing, saying it aloud, knowing that someone had noticed his friend’s emotions when Hal had been blind to them. 

Even if she’d used the term ‘cow eyes’.

Hal really wanted Murray to say that in front of Bolaire.

He was bound to be appalled.

Anyway.

“I’m certain he doesn’t want to confide certain things in me because he believes they might color him in a bad light with me –”

“Which is practically impossible,” Murray cut in.

Practically was the correct word, because Hal could easily recall his reaction to the truth about Bolaire’s real nature.  He’d said things that had hurt Bolaire, but they’d eventually worked it out. 

“He’s most likely remembering my response to his confessing about being a sentient mask that had to use mortal bodies to survive,” Hal admitted.

Murray flinched.  “True that.  It got ugly for a bit.  Still, it’s not the same…although I bet he doesn’t think that.”

Hal sighed.  “Maybe he’ll take the time to talk to Azune.”  He smiled slightly.  “I’ll see if I can broach the subject when he gets back.”

What Hal wasn’t saying – which defeated the purpose of speaking to someone about his concerns – was how worried he really was about Bolaire going back to the Archanade so soon after his transformation.  It wasn’t because of the panic attacks or anything like that.

It was Lady Amariya Cormoray.

And the spy she might have within the Archanade.

Yes, Azune was with him, and Hal trusted Azune to take care of Bolaire if needed.  It was still uncertain just how much Bolaire’s magic had been changed as well as his physicality. Hal wanted nothing more to be with him, but understood why he couldn’t be.  Bolaire had explained about Cormoray’s questioning about Bolaire knowing Hal himself, and they didn’t dare corroborate her suspicions.

It almost felt as if Bolaire was walking into some sort of trap.

Perhaps Hal was being paranoid, but if they really were out to get you…

“I see those gears rolling in your head,” Murray accused.  “So much for talking to a friend…”

Hal shook his head.  “You don’t have to take that personally, I promise.  In fact, I’m pretty sure you’ve had your suspicions about Amariya Cormoray and her spy.”

Yes, flip that back around to Murray.  It wasn’t as if she wasn’t as paranoid as anyone else about just what the Sundered Houses were up to.

“Yeah.”  She chewed on her lip with her gemstone teeth.  “Hal…I’m gonna say something that you might not like, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about ever since Bolaire reported back on his conversation with her.”

Hal’s heartbeat began to race.  She was deadly serious, and that frightened him.

At his nod, Murray went on, “I…I think she might suspect the mask to be more important than Bolaire ever let on to the general public.”

He felt the blood leave his face.  “You think…”

“Cormoray might not know exactly what Bolaire was, but even he admitted that she’d been asking questions about what the Halflings did to kill Rauwyn.”

Hal remembered Bolaire saying that, and it had him panicking.  He jumped up out of his chair.  “We have to get to the Archanade!” he exclaimed in sheer terror.  Bolaire was going to test whatever spy there might be, to bring Cormoray to him…

He didn’t want to even think about what might occur…

“Calm down!” she shouted.  “Hal, Bolaire isn’t the mask anymore!  He’s human.  She can’t steal him away and hide him from you.”

He managed to look at her through the sudden tunnel vision of his terror.  Murray was standing, holding her hands out beseechingly, trying to get him to settle. 

She was right…of course, she was right.  Bolaire was fully human, there was nothing to steal any longer. 

Hal took a deep breath, then a second, and then a third.  He needed to get out of his panic mode, because Murray was looking at him as if she totally regretted saying what she had.

Plopping back down into his chair, Hal put his head between his knees and talked himself down from the ledge. There was nothing to worry about.  Bolaire was going to be fine.  He had Azune with him; and, besides, Bolaire could take care of himself.  Cormoray wouldn’t do anything since it wouldn’t be worth her while anymore.

Calm down, Hal.

Your dear friend has this under control.

He and Azune would be back soon.

Eventually his heart slowed and his breathing fell to normal.  He straightened up, leaned against the back of the chair, and closed his eyes.  “You might have kept that to yourself,” he said dryly.

“Now you tell me.”  Murray sounded irritated.  “Should’ve guessed you’d have a bad reaction to that.”

“It’s fine.  It…should have occurred to me, as well.  During that same conversation was when she asked Bolaire if he knew me and made comments about the Hallowed Round once being holy to Azgra.”

It…made sense.  Although, how she’d found out – or at least guessed at it – was beyond Hal.  Bolaire had been so very careful, crafting a backstory that covered the reason he wore a mask.  He’d been cursed, he’d explained, and was afraid to take the mask off because he hadn’t known what that would do.

And now, the ‘mask’ was gone.  It had been morphed into a mortal body by that random artifact. 

That accident had quite possibly saved Bolaire’s life.

Hal had never been more grateful for anything in his entire life.

He made the same comment to Murray about the accident.

“Yeah,” she answered.  “There was no telling what had been planned by that Cormoray bitch, and an ancient, fucked up, Wish spell had just stopped her in her tracks.”

Hal had to wonder if this had occurred to Bolaire yet…

“Now…you’re going to go to the kitchen and cook something for dinner,” Murray insisted.  “That should keep your mind off things.  And, when Bolaire and Azune get back, I’ll hustle my boy outta here to leave you both in peace.  Deal?”

“Deal.”  Maybe she was right.  Focusing on a recipe might be just what he needed to not freak out any more than he already had.

**********

Bolaire was tired of waiting.

He’d gotten what he’d needed to complete done, and now was trying to do some forgery for many of the artifacts in the Lloy Wing, hoping to get them safely away before Cormoray got her hands on them.  There were several he wanted to get to out of the Archanade, including the Blades; there was that casket that he and Murray had started looking into, and he had some serious questions about it…

He was grateful for both Spiro and Rosadella, willing to take on the tasks he’d given them, standing on the proverbial front line of the mess he was hoping to make.  He had every faith in them, and couldn’t wait to see the chaos they were about to sow.

Bolaire felt bad for doing this to them, but with everything that had occurred he just didn’t feel up to the task.  Guilt wasn’t anything new to Bolaire, but at this point he understood that he needed to step back and let others handle things.  The actual curator causing havoc wouldn’t have flown, while if things were chaotic under the archivists it would be more accepted and not questioned.

He made a note to give them both the best recommendation for any job they wanted if this blew up on them.  He’d already put through the paperwork for pay increases.

He glanced over at Azune.  He was sitting in his chair, eyes closed, as if he were napping.  Bolaire wasn’t surprised; he and Murray had done a lot of work in the last couple of days, and he was grateful to have had them on his side through this.  He wouldn’t have made this trip alone, he could admit to himself. 

Bolaire still had that anger in him, settled somewhere in his gut.  That was a surprise, although maybe it shouldn’t have been  He’d seen mortals hold onto their fury with both hands, so it had to go somewhere. 

He wanted to be himself again.

Oh, not the mask that had had to take bodies to survive.  He finally felt as if he was getting a little more used to this new form, although it was still odd to him, what with its stronger sensations and the way emotions felt within his chest and heart and everywhere else. 

Punishment, then a second chance.

Surprisingly, ever since he’d considered that, the voice that had sounded like Thjazi’s hadn’t whispered to him anymore. Perhaps his acceptance had been enough.

Bolaire was just about to consider this part of the trip a wash when there was a knock on the door.

Even before he could react, Azune was up and answering that knock.  “Yes?” he asked politely, body blocking the way inside.

“I wish to see Curator Lathalia,” came the unmistakable voice of Lady Amariya Cormoray.

Well, it was about time.

“Please let her in,” Bolaire requested.  He straightened the papers he’d been working on and slid them under a journal that didn’t have anything to do with anything, then he folded his hands on top of it, pretending patience he didn’t quite feel.

Azune stepped back, and the lady bustled in.  She was dressed as if she’d come from a party of some kind, which Bolaire doubted; this was just her showing off her wealth and position.  “Curator Lathalia!  I’m glad to see you back to work –”

And then her voice stumbled as she took a good look at his current state.

With that single glance, Bolaire’s heart felt as if it wanted to stop.

She’d known.

She’d known about his true nature.

Her expression was filled with shock, dismay…and horror.  Sheer and bright horror. 

Suddenly, the Bardic Inspiration that Hal had given him tingled down his spine.  Bolaire quickly pasted a smile on his face, hoping that she wouldn’t notice what he’d just realized, knowing that the Inspiration would help. He could freak out about this later.  “Well,” he drawled, “I understand why you might be surprised, but I thought my new face was somewhat handsome.”

“It is,” Azune spoke up.  He was standing behind Lady Cormoray, his posture loose, but Bolaire could tell he was ready to strike if needed.  “It’s very handsome, actually.”

Bolaire didn’t blush by the sheerest miracle.

And Hal’s Bardic Inspiration.

Lady Amariya quickly changed her expression, attempting something pleased but it looked more like she was in pain.  Well, if she’d known what the mask was, and seeing that it was gone and she wouldn’t be able to use it…

A brilliant rush of joy flooded him.  Without knowing, and completely by accident, her plans for him had been thwarted.

That knowledge made the smile that much easier.

“To what do I owe the honor?” Bolaire waved her to a chair.  “You just caught me; I was on my way out and I won’t be back for a week because of my accident.”  He chuckled.  “I’m quite certain Lieutenant Nayar wouldn’t care for it at all if there were some other effects to the artifact I was exposed to.”

“That would certainly be a bad thing,” Azune agreed calmly.  “I did have one poor victim fall into a puddle of purple goo once.  I wouldn’t want a repeat of that.”

Bolaire wondered if that had ever happened.  He’d have to ask.  Knowing Azune, it could go either way really.

“A week?” That seemed to wipe the last of the shock from her face. 

“It’s procedure,” Azune replied.  “Anyone who has had a reaction to a magical artifact is technically supposed to be under quarantine for one week.  However, Curator Lathalia had to make certain preparations and, with him being Head Curator of the Lloy Wing, it was thought judicious to let him get to it before his containment.”

“You make it sound like jail,” Bolaire teased lightly.

“House arrest, certainly.”

Not that Bolaire minded staying at Hal’s, the safest place he could think of.

“I do admit to some surprise as to how you knew I was in today,” Bolaire went on.  He made it sound innocent, and hoped she’d buy it and tell him how she’d found out.

Instead, she sat daintily in the right-side guest chair. 

Azune took up the space behind her.

She didn’t look happy at that.  “Perhaps we can speak alone?”

“I apologize, My Lady,” Azune said diffidently, “however, it’s procedure that I not leave Curator Lathalia by himself during this time.”

Not at all true, but Bolaire wanted a witness to whatever was about to happen.

Bolaire smirked.  “There’s nothing either of us could say that wouldn’t be kept in confidence by Lieutenant Nayar.”

“Of course, Curator.  The Arcane Marshals are extremely discreet.”  Behind her head, Azune had started smirking.

Bolaire was glad he was enjoying this.  He was still pretty much on the edge of panic over the fact that this bitch might have known about his true nature.  There was no telling what she’d had planned for him once this move was done.

He was tempted to cast Suggestion on her to see if he could get to the truth.

However, Bolaire had no idea how powerful she was.  The last thing he and Azune would need was a dead member of one of the Sundered Houses to get rid of.

Or, being on the receiving end of what sort of power Amariya Cormoray could command.

“So,” Bolaire got them back on track, “how may I help?”

“I wanted to know how things were going with the transfer,” she answered. 

“Ah.  Yes, of course.  Well, as I will not be back here for a week, I have set my two senior archivists onto starting the inventory.  I would assume you’ve spoken to Curator Gelfidar regarding the move?”

“I have.  He seemed less interested in it than you did.”

Oh, it would have been worse than that, knowing Makmaz Gelfidar the way he did.

Bolaire shrugged.  “It’s understandable.  As Curators of our separate wings, we are of course protective over our collections.”  He leaned forward a little.  “I’ve been meaning to ask…have you spoken with any of the Lloys about this?  After all, this wing was built and funded by them.  I cannot see they would be best pleased by this notion of switching their wing with another.”

Let her chew on that, although she had to have at least considered the Lloys when this harebrained scheme had been initiated.

Lady Amariya waved her hand negligently.  “That’s of no matter.  As they are not a member of the Sundered Houses or on the Chamber of the Lords-Advisory, their opinion is moot.”

Oh, Bolaire couldn’t wait until he could tell Thaisha that.  She wouldn’t be amused at all.  She was quite proud of her family history…and had a perfect right to be so.

Azune rolled his eyes.  Bolaire barely kept himself from laughing. His expressions were calming his nerves a bit. 

He would have to thank Azune later.

“Do you find something amusing?” she demanded.

Oops.

Yes, he really had to remember this face was much more emotive than his true self had been.

“Not at all,” he answered smoothly.  “I can’t be certain how long the inventory would take, and there may be some paperwork issues to iron out, but we have certainly started the process.”  He now leaned back.

Damn, this chair was terrible. 

“I thought you would want us to get things going even though I will not be here,” he continued.  

“Of course.”  Lady Amariya rose gracefully.  “I shall leave you to it.  Please let me know when the inventory is done and you begin to pack things away.”

“I shall.”  Bolaire inclined his head, but did not stand.

Azune ushered her out of the door, his own expression pleasant yet dull as he gave her a slight bow in farewell.

And then, they were alone once more.

Bolaire proceeded to go hysterical.

She’d known.

He put his arms on the top of the desk and rested his head on them, and laughed.

And laughed.

That damned accident had just saved his life.

Of that, he was absolutely certain.

He couldn’t stop laughing. 

And then sobbing.

He’d been discovered, which had terrified him.

Then he’d been saved by a fucking accident.

Being found out had always been his greatest fear.  That someone would figure out that he’d been the mask all along.  Thjazi had, and that had turned out to be one of the worst experiences in his existence.

What would that Cormoray bitch have done to him?

He never needed to find out now.

Bolaire felt a hesitant touch on his back.  Knowing it was Azune, he didn’t flinch away.  Instead, the hand felt grounding, as if Azune were somehow holding him in place in that damned horrible chair. 

It didn’t take too long for him to regain control, the laughter and sobs dissolving into this strange sensation that he thought might have been hiccups, but wasn’t sure.  They jerked his new abdomen uncomfortably, and he wondered how to get them to stop.

Raising his head, Bolaire looked Azune right into those amazing eyes he had.  His friend was very concerned, and he gave a slight smile when Bolaire met his gaze.

“Are you okay now?”

Bolaire nodded.  “That was…embarrassing.”

“No need to be, we’ve all been there at one point.  Azune shook his head.  “What brought at on?”

“She knew.”

His friend frowned…and then seemed to get just what Bolaire was saying.  “She knew your truth.”

“I saw it in her face when she first noticed me.”  He swallowed.  “My existence was just saved by a dropped and shattered ancient artifact.”

Azune blinked, then smiled slyly.  “Punishment?” he asked gently.

Oh, of course he was going to bring that back up. 

Bolaire lifted an eyebrow, ignoring just how scratchy and wet his eyes felt.  “Second chance.”

Azune shook his head fondly.  “Wipe your face and let’s get out of here.”

He hated the eye leaking, but the uncontrollable crazy laughter and the hiccups were somehow worse.

Bolaire reached for his handkerchief, tamping his eyes carefully.  “Let me get my papers together.  I’m ready to go home.”

********** 

Hal was beginning to get antsy at how long Bolaire and Azune had been gone when the door opened and they were home again.

“Something smells good in here,” Azune commented as Bolaire removed his cloak – one that actually fit this time.

“It does,” Bolaire agreed, hanging the cloak on a hook by the door and turning to face Hal.

He got a good look at Bolaire, and all of his worry about his dear friend came rushing back.  Bolaire looked paler than usual, his eyes a little red and a tired expression on his face.  Azune was hovering a little, but seemed content to let Bolaire move on his own, so maybe it wasn’t quite as serious as Hal’s imagination was making it?

Still.

“What happened?” he asked.  He’d somehow come to stand in front of Bolaire without being aware that he’d moved from his chair.

“Do I look that bad?”  Bolaire inquired.

“No,” Azune averred, stepping around him and heading deeper into the house.

Taking Bolaire at his earlier word about touching, Hal rested his hand on his cheek.  Bolaire leaned into it, sighing.  “Turns out Cormoray knew what I was, and gave it away when she saw me for the first time.”

Hal thought back on what Murray had shared earlier, that she suspected, and shuddered.  “At least she can’t take you now.”

“No, she can’t.  My continued existence was guaranteed by a random artifact and an accident with said artifact.”

“And a fucked up Wish spell,” Murray piped up from behind Hal.

“And a fucked up Wish spell,” Bolaire agreed. 

“We’ll be leaving now.”  Murray was ushering Azune out, although he looked perfectly fine with accompanying her.  “Gotta be up in the morning for work.  Some of us don’t have the day off.” 

She sounded irritated.  Hal couldn’t blame her.  They had so many things going on, and Murray was in the thick of it at the Penteveral.

“Meet at the Seven Stars tomorrow?”  Azune inquired.

“We’ll be there,” Bolaire answered, stepping away from Hal in order to say farewell.

Hal was a little surprised at the quickness of the reply; however, Bolaire did need to get out more, to settle more into the notion of being himself. 

Azune looked pleased at the response.  “You were pretty fine with the trip home.”

“I was riding the razor-thin line between anger and hysteria,” Bolaire countered.  One side of his mouth was turned up, the expression one of self-deprecation.  “I didn’t have any more brain power to waste on panic.”

Hysteria?

Hal wanted to hug him and interrogate him and wrap him up in blankets and…damn, he’d been afraid of overprotectiveness, but in this instance he felt totally justified.

“Good night, boys!”  Murray called as she tugged Azune along. “See you tomorrow!”

The door closed behind them.  

Hal shook his head.  Honestly…

Then he looked at Bolaire.  “Care to explain the whole anger and hysteria comment?”  He couldn’t help but be concerned.

“Absolutely.”  Bolaire dropped down into what had become his chair, sighing.  As Hal watched, he fiddled with his cuffs, unbuttoning them and rolling his sleeves up almost to his elbows.

It was a little bit of a shock.  Hal just wasn’t used to seeing Bolaire so…naked.

 “I went out of here angry because, until you said something about me being myself, I’d been lost in a pit of weakness and self-pity.  That was when I realized I needed to get myself back, and being angry was the way to do that.”

Hal went down in his own chair, feeling relief at that.  Murray had been reassuring when she’d told him it hadn’t been his fault that Bolaire had gotten angry, and to have it confirmed was a weight off him that he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying still.  “And the hysteria?”

“That was just plain embarrassing, but it was because I’d figured out that Cormoray had known what I truly was.  That Bardic Inspiration pretty much saved me from tipping her off.”  Bolaire rubbed his hands across  his eyes.  “I forget that this face shows my emotions a lot more than the mask ever did.  I did almost give myself away at one point, but I believe I managed to salvage things.”

Hal could understand why Bolaire would have lost his shit over that woman knowing what he’d been created as.

He wondered if he should tell Bolaire what Murray had said, that their friend had figured this out before anyone else.

Yes, he should.

So he did.

Bolaire’s mouth fell open.  “And she couldn’t have said anything before I went to confront that witch?”  He was genuinely outraged.

He might have been right about that.  “I have no idea why she waited and only said something to me.  You’ll have to ask her.”

“Damned right I will!”

“I was about to come to your rescue when she pointed out that you were human now, and Cormoray couldn’t do anything.  And Azune would kick her ass if she tried.”

A surprisingly soft smile graced Bolaire’s lips.  “You were going to try and rescue me?”

“Well, yeah.  You were walking into danger.  Sure, I understood why you wanted to go, but there was information you didn’t have.” He shrugged.  “I should have figured it out myself, from what you’d said, but I didn’t.”

“I didn’t work it out, either.  Yes, I think Murray and I need to have a little conversation.”

Hal wasn’t sure he was looking forward to that.

Bolaire went on to explain everything that had occurred at the Archanade, including how he’d set his archivists to make as much of a mess as possible.  “We may have to take some things into our own hands,” he finished.  “As much as I trust my people, I don’t trust Lady Amariya.”

“And the spy?” 

“Rosadella and Spiro are going to check into it, but now I’m leaning into Temoday Wurnst, he’s the patron who showed Cormoray around that night of the Palazzo Davinos massacre.  Apparently, he was at the museum the day of the accident.  Now, of course I don’t know if he was there today, but he’s pretty much a lapdog for anyone with enough prestige to increase the status of the Archanade.”

Hal thought that would make sense.  “But your archivists are still going to see what they can discover.”

“Yes.  Of everyone there, I trust Rosadella and Spiro the most.  They’ve really stepped up.  Although I do feel guilty about putting them on the front line, so to speak.”

Hal had met both archivists a couple of times; the last when Bolaire had brought that paint that Thjazi had left.  They’d seemed level-headed and loyal to the Lloy Wing…and to Bolaire.  “Then it sounds like your people have things under control.”

Bolaire laughed.  “Well, if you consider chaos as control, then yes.”  He settled a little more comfortably in his chair.  “I also realized something about that artifact.  I can’t necessarily prove it, but it makes sense…”

As Hal listened to his dear friend explain his supposition about the sculpture being used as a punishment device, but would also give a second chance to whoever would be exposed to it, he grew alarmed and upset that Bolaire would think he would need punishment for following his own nature.  While it was true that his friend had taken lives, it had been to survive. 

He remembered Murray calling Bolaire ‘murder mask’, and that Hal had found that accurate.

Damnit.

“Even if that’s true,” he averred, “and we don’t have any way of really knowing, this is your second chance.”

That earned him a fond smile.  “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

It was a change from some of the things Bolaire had been saying before, which Hal took as a very good sign indeed.

“I have to ask…are you going to feel up to going out tomorrow night?”  Hal was concerned about his friend, although the last thing he wanted was to doubt Bolaire.

“I…need to start acclimating myself to my new state.  And it’s not like I’m going to be alone.”

Hal met Bolaire’s eyes.  He wanted his friend to see how sincere he was when he said, “If I have anything to say about it, you never have to be alone again…unless you choose to be.”

That adorable blush spread across Bolaire’s cheeks even as he was returning, “I feel the same way, you know.”

He did. 

Hal wanted nothing more than to get up and kiss Bolaire. 

But he was interrupted in that thought by a knock on the door.

Saved by the bell so to speak?

He wasn’t sure.  But the one thing he knew was that it was far too early to act on any sort of feeling he might have.  Bolaire wasn’t ready for that sort of thing…if he ever would be.

Before he could even get up to answer, the door opened.  “Anybody home?” came Elodie’s unmistakable voice.

Hal smiled.  “Hey, El.”

She wasn’t alone; Hero and Shadia were with her.  All three piled into the living room, with various-sized smiles on their faces.  “I hope you don’t mind us all just dropping in,” Elodie said.  She was holding a deep-sided plate in her hand with a cloth towel draped over it; it looked suspiciously like a pie dish.

Bolaire was standing in that polite way he had.  “Have you come to gawk at me?” He didn’t seem all that upset by the unexpected arrival; in fact, Hal could tell he was amused.

All three turned toward him. 

Shadia, of course, had seen Bolaire just that morning, so she wasn’t shocked by his new appearance. Her smile turned into a grin, and she moved toward him.  “Hug?” she asked.

“You have to ask?” Bolaire answered.  He opened his arms to her.

Shadia slotted into them as if she’d always belonged there. 

Bolaire kept one arm out.  “Well, come on then.” He was looking at Hero.

Hero, herself, had a gleeful expression on her face, and what looked like tears in her eyes.  She practically threw herself into him, and it was only because he had to have expected it that Bolaire didn’t get pushed backward a little.

“When Shadia told us,” Elodie said in awe, “I didn’t believe it at first.  Oh, I knew she wasn’t lying, but…it’s like a miracle.”

Hal was also on his feet, and he moved over to stand next to her.  “It really is.”  His eyes were on his girls hugging the stuffing out of their adopted uncle, and Bolaire accepting it despite the fact that he had to have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of affection as well as the physical contact. 

“I brought a little something to celebrate.”  Elodie handed over the dish. 

Hal grinned.  “Is this what I think it is?”  He lifted the towel that Elodie had put over the contents, getting a good look at the pie underneath.

“And just what is it?” Bolaire inquired.  Both girls had moved out of the hug, but were standing beside him, his arms around their shoulders.  Hero and Shadia looked quite content to stay right next to Bolaire, and Hal didn’t see any sign of discomfort in his dear friend’s face.  Either he was hiding it, or he felt just fine with the proximity.

Hal hoped it was the latter.

“El’s specialty: her apple berry pie.”  Hal was practically salivating over it.  Elodie had always made one for his birthday, so getting one more than once a year was a treat.

And she’d made it for Bolaire.

Hal had never been unsure about how Elodie felt about Bolaire.  She had accepted him into the family a while ago, recognizing how much he meant to Hal.  She’d trusted Bolaire with Hero fairly easily, after witnessing how protective he was of all the children.

Yet, to see that she’d done something like this to commemorate him becoming fully human even though she was an extremely busy person…he wanted to hug her for that. 

So he did, one-armed so as not to drop the pie.

“I’m not certain I’ve ever had it,” Bolaire mused, looking intrigued.

“You haven’t?”  Surely Hal had shared one of his birthday pies?  However, if Bolaire claimed not to have had a piece…

“Hal,” Elodie smacked him lightly on the arm.  “You never gave Bolaire a piece of pie?”  Her tone was scandalized.

“To be fair,” Hal had to defend himself, “your pie is highly addictive and I am a selfish, selfish, man.”

Bolaire shook his head fondly.  “Now I have to try it.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” Hero told him.

Elodie sniffed the air.  “are you making your mother’s chicken soup?”

“I am indeed.”  He’d had the makings, and it had been something that his mother had always made for him when he wasn’t feeling well.  Not that Bolaire was sick, but it had seemed like the perfect thing to advance his friend’s eating habits.

“Would you all care to stay for dinner?” Bolaire invited.  Then, his face turned worried.  “Unless there isn’t enough to go around?” 

Hal hastened to reassure him.  “We have plenty.”  He’d made an entire pot, and even with five of them eating there would be leftovers.

Mom’s soup had never been made by halves.

And, if Bolaire wanted the family around, who was Hal to argue?

The girls both looked happy at the notion.  Elodie was smiling.  “We’d be happy to.”  She took the pie from Hal.  “I’m going to put this out in the kitchen.”

“And I’m going to check the soup,” Hal declared.  “Girls, keep your uncle occupied while things finish up.”

“You’re going to leave me at the mercy of these two?”  Bolaire snarked, grinning.

“Hey now!” Hero exclaimed.  She was laughing, as was Shadia.

Hal couldn’t help the love that burst through his chest.  This was his family.  Not the full family, of course, but one part of it, and Bolaire was in the center of it just as Hal was. 

Fuck that punishment/second chance shit.  As far as Hal was concerned, that artifact had given Bolaire Lathalia – and himself – the best gift ever.

As the three of them made themselves comfortable and Bolaire had asked both Shadia and Hero about their day, he followed Elodie into the kitchen in order to check on dinner.  It did smell just about done, and the last thing Hal wanted was to have it scorch.

“I can’t believe it,” Elodie murmured as she put the pie plate on the counter.  “He looks…well, like himself in the mask, but he’s not.”

“It is a little uncanny,” Hal replied.  She didn’t know that Bolaire’s features were created from the very mask everyone thought he’d been cursed with, and now there was no real need to correct anything. 

He lifted the lid from the pot, using the large spoon he’d left out to stir.  The chicken looked perfectly cooked, the vegetables not overdone. 

“Are you going to court him?”

Hal was pitifully grateful that he hadn’t had anything in his mouth when Elodie asked that question.  As it was, he choked a little on his own spit, giving her a wide-eyed stare.  “W-what?” he squeaked. 

Elodie rolled her eyes at him affectionately.  “Oh, please.  It’s not like you haven’t been in love with him for ages.”

Had he really been that unsubtle?  He must have been, since this was the second person today to mention it.

“Elodie, I…” How was he going to explain this?  “He’s still getting used to his new state.  I’m not about to overwhelm him with my feelings.”

“All right, that was my fault for not being clear.  I didn’t mean right now…I meant sometime down the road, when things are more settled and Bolaire adapts.”

Hal considered.  Of course he’d thought about it.  It was on his mind almost constantly.  He wanted Bolaire in his life for as long as his dear friend wanted to be, and he was aware that Bolaire felt the same.

And then something else occurred to him.

“I don’t want Bolaire to think I’m only pursuing him because he’s human now.  I want to make sure he understands that him losing the mask isn’t the reason I did anything like that.”

It was true now that he’d said it aloud.  It had been swirling around in the back of his mind and he’d really hadn’t noticed it until now. 

The very last thing he wanted was for Bolaire to even doubt Hal’s feelings for a second.  And, he could easily see Bolaire consider that if Hal began to make his intentions known too soon.

Or at all.

Yes, they’d both said they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, but that didn’t necessarily mean as a romantic couple.

Did Bolaire even feel that way about Hal?  He’d been around his friend now for so long, and knew that physical intimacy was sort of off-limits…although, Bolaire did have a certain reputation around the circles he inhabited.  Bolaire had confided in him that it had been carefully created, to make people believe that he was as normal as possible. 

Hal could understand it, now knowing the truth about just who Bolaire had been.  It was a cover, to make people believe his story about being cursed. 

There were always people out there who were into novelty.  And, to be fair, Bolaire had been very novel indeed.

So, courting was out of the question right now.  He wanted to be certain that Bolaire didn’t take it the wrong way.

Elodie was smiling proudly at him.  “You are a good and decent man, Halandil Fang.”

Hal could feel himself blushing a little at her praise.  “You want to get the bowls down from the cupboard?” he changed the subject.

He wasn’t fooling Elodie one bit.  She was as canny in her personal life as she was as a business woman.

She did as he’d asked, but that expression was one that Hal knew very well.  The one that said, ‘I’m going to indulge you because I love you and I have the answer I was looking for’.

“Don’t forget the bread,” she reminded.

Hero loved bread with her soup.  “I’d never,” he responded, reaching for the loaf in the breadbox. 

They worked to ready the rest of the meal in silence.  As always, it wasn’t uncomfortable, and there was a part of Hal that wished things had worked out enough between for marriage to have been on the table.  He and Elodie had always gotten along so very well.

Still, it hadn’t lasted.

And now, Hal had to consider Bolaire.

He couldn’t see his life without Bolaire.

Bolaire had always been the one who’d stayed.

His ears caught the happy chatter from the living room, then Bolaire’s familiar, wheezy laugh.  He hadn’t lost that; it was as if when he laughed, it surprised him that he was actually doing it.  That sound Hal could pick out of a crowd.

“Everyone ready to eat?” he called out as he ladled soup into the waiting bowls. 

There was an audible scramble as Shadia and Hero piled into the kitchen to grab their food, Bolaire a more leisurely pace behind them.  Hal passed a bowl over to his friend, and his fingers brushed Bolaire’s; he saw Bolaire startle a little, then he gave Hal a small, pleased smile.

Elodie glanced at Hal behind Bolaire’s back, giving him a teasing wink.

Hal ignored her.

“What does anyone want to drink?” he asked.  “We have tea, water, and fruit juice.”  He’d deliberately put the kettle on, figuring that Bolaire would want tea.

Hal was grateful to be correct when his dear friend asked for a mug.

It was a small stampede for the table but, once everyone had taken their seats, it was quiet except for the sounds of eating.  Hal caught Bolaire watching Hero drop pieces of bread into her soup then eating them, and he looked intrigued. 

Hero proceeded to explain, and Hal stifled a laugh as his friend tore off a piece of his own bread and place it into his bowl. 

He ate it.

Bolaire looked pensive, then his eyes lit up.  “Texture,” he commented.

Hero smiled.  “You’re the first in my family to understand.”

Elodie blinked, and Hal couldn’t stifle his bark of laughter.  “Hero has been doing that for years,” Elodie said in awe, “and we never got it.  Bolaire takes one bite…”

Hal was absolutely delighted that Bolaire understood Hero so well as to realize just why she had to have bread in her soup.

“You know what might be better?” Bolaire confided in Hero.

She was obviously interested in what he had to say, leaning toward him.

Bolaire smiled slyly.  “Toast.”

Hero gasped, and was out of her chair, snagging two slices of bread from the plate Hal had put them on, then was darting toward the kitchen.

Bolaire was right behind her.  He looked positively giddy.

“Did that just happen?” Shadia asked in wonder.

“It did,” Hal answered, laughter in his voice.

Before he’d changed, Bolaire would never have done that, even though it was Hero and he’d always adored the girls.  Hal seriously doubted Bolaire would have noticed the difference between the soup with or without bread as his old self, having been around this new version for only a little over a day…let alone seeming as if he was actually excited about eating.   

Hal was looking forward to seeing what else had changed about his friend.

**********

“I cannot believe I didn’t think about toasting the bread,” Hero complained.  She grabbed the toasting rack from its cabinet near the sink, putting the two pieces of bread into it and turning on the closest hob.

Bolaire leaned against the counter, enjoying just watching Hero make the toast.  The one thing he’d never counted on knowing were children.  He knew he sometimes had difficulty judging both Shadia and Hero by their actual ages, and had gotten caught on several occasions treating them as much younger than they truly were.  Neither of the girls had ever said anything about it, although he’d been aware of Shadia rolling her eyes at times. 

Alogar, not so much.  He’d been at an age that he’d seemed adult to Bolaire, and then he’d gone on to join the Barrowguard, so to be fair there hadn’t been all that much interaction between the two of them.  He cared deeply for Alogar, but Bolaire had never quite gotten to the unofficial uncle stage with the young man.

Hero had the bread set up to toast, then turned toward Bolaire.  Her eyes were curious, but she didn’t say anything, as if she didn’t want to insult him by what she wanted to speak.

“You know you can ask me anything,” he murmured, not wanting to bring the attention of the rest of the table toward them.

She took a deep breath, then blurted, “How does it feel?”

Bolaire cocked his head to the side, taking a second to work out what she meant.  “I mean, it’s different.  I feel different.  But I’m getting used to it.”

He should have expected the question.  Still, he felt touched by her concern. 

“I’m glad Dad is helping out,” she went on.  “You’re family, and we care about you.”

That now-familiar warmth that Bolaire was quickly equating with love flushed through his chest.  It was such a pleasant sensation, and was one of the things he certainly enjoyed about his new form.

Bolaire did something he usually didn’t: he reached out and caressed her cheek.  “The very best day of my life was when I was welcomed into the Fang family.”

Hero looked pleased.  “That’s a good thing, because you’re stuck with us now.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  Then he grinned.  “Check the toast.”

He laughed as he stepped back, watching Hero mutter under her breath then pull the toasting rack off the hob.  He helpfully retrieved a small plate for her out of the cabinet, which she thanked him for then, using a towel, flicked open the rack and pulled the toast out. 

“I hope this works,” she said, as they went back to the table.

“We won’t know until we try.”

Bolaire could feel the eyes on the others at the table on them as they returned to their seats.  Hero set the toast down between them, and they each took a slice.

Bolaire conjured a small, glass knife and cut his into small squares.  The bread had been a nice addition to the soup, so he was glad he’d followed Hero’s lead and tried it, but the toast would be something completely different. 

Before the accident, eating wasn’t something he’d ever been interested in.  Yes, he’d fed the bodies he’d worn, but to his new-found guilt he’d come to realize that he’d been intentionally cruel, at first out of ignorance and then out of uncaring.  Hal had attempted to teach him that taking care of his hosts was the way to go, to make them last longer, and honestly Bolaire had tried…but it had all come down to those disgusting bodily functions that he’d had to deal with after the consumption of food.

Now, however, he needed to eat, drink, and of course, sleep.  He was learning just what his casual cruelty had cost him.

Punishment…and second chances.

He still wasn’t certain about the whole thing, but it was necessary.  And if he wanted to stay with Hal, then he was going to have to at least get used to it.

“Ready?”

Bolaire looked up at Hero’s happy face.  “You know I am.”

They both dropped a piece of toast into their soup bowls.

Using his spoon, Bolaire took up some soup and the toasted bread, putting them into his mouth. 

Flavor burst across his tongue, chicken and spices and vegetables…and the flavor of perfectly toasted bread along with it.  It added a crunchy texture to the soup that was…quite pleasant.

Hero’s eyes were wide, and she was smiling.  “This was such a good idea!” she exclaimed, putting more bread into her soup and eating. 

“Now she’ll want toast every time we have soup,” Hal declared. 

For a split second, Bolaire thought that his dearest friend was put out with him; however, when he glanced over, he could see that Hal was smiling.  Bolaire relaxed, raising an eyebrow. 

Yes, he truly enjoyed the eyebrow raising. 

“I believe Hero deserves toast,” he replied.

“Thank you, Uncle Bolaire,” Hero said gratefully, then she ate some more soup.

Bolaire went back to his own.  Yes, this toast was quite good.  He had to wonder just how good it would be if they had croutons…

He realized, in that moment, that he actually could start to enjoy eating.  Not immediately, but at some point in the future when he’d gotten used to the notion that what went in, inevitably came back out.

Who would have thought?

Conversation flowed around the table.  Bolaire listened attentively as he ate, adding his opinion when needed, and simply enjoyed the familial atmosphere.  He fully understood just how lucky he’d been – he’d use the word blessed, but that hardly applied anymore – to have found Hal and his art and the family that he’d grown around him…and that included Bolaire himself now. 

He felt privileged beyond words.

It could have gone so badly between him and Hal.  Thankfully, and despite all the stress of events in Dol-Makjar, they’d managed to carve some time and talk about it.  And now, everything was different again, and Hal was the one to help him.

For the longest time, Bolaire hadn’t really understood emotions.  Now, they were close to the surface, overwhelming in many ways, and his new body was part of that equation. 

Just like the sensations of things against his skin.

And those damned bodily functions.

Everything was just so new to him.  Bolaire had to wonder if babies felt this way, coming into the world without context and having to deal with all of those new emotions and sensations.  He’d been around babies, but he honestly didn’t understand them, although he did know why they were necessary.  And, of course, they grew up, to hopefully become as delightful as Shadia and Hero.

Bolaire did suppose he had some context, though.  He’d been around mortals, had done his best to emulate them, to understand them as best as he could.  He’d really thought he’d accomplished that, only to be proven wrong by an unknown artifact and a weird magical spell.

Everything was just so close to the surface now, and it was a little difficult to deal with. 

Still, it was giving him a better perspective on his own actions and just what he’d been missing.  And because he hadn’t been able to really figure out his own emotions, he’d done some very despicable things.

There would always be a part of him that would wonder if he could ever be worthy of Hal. 

He would just have to do his best and work in that direction.

“Is everyone ready for pie?” Elodie’s voice distracted him from this thoughts.

Bolaire glanced down, and to his surprise he saw that he’d finished both his soup and bread.  He hadn’t even realized it.

“You know I am,” Hal declared. 

He was echoed by the girls, and Bolaire had to add his own opinion into the mix.  He was very curious about this pie, and was looking forward to tasting it.

“Let’s clear the table and bring out the pie,” Elodie said.  She stood and reached for her bowl, then took Shadia’s.

Bolaire was out of his chair.  “Let me help.”

Elodie waved her hand.  “Hal can help.  You’re the one we’re celebrating tonight.”

“It’s a good thing I don’t mind being volunteered for things in my own house,” Hal drawled, reaching for his own bowl then grabbing Hero’s.  Stacking them in each other, he reached out for Bolaire’s.

Bolaire handed his over.  He remembered when he’d gotten his soup earlier, and Hal had stroked his fingers.  It had felt…nice.  Intimate. 

And so he tried the same thing.

Bolaire had never really considered touching bare skin to anyone.  After all, it hadn’t been his bare skin and the very notion felt…wrong.  One of the reasons he’d always worn gloves had been to avoid any sort of identifying marks or scars; but the major one was that  he could avoid touching anyone.

Hal’s fingers were warm. 

This felt right in a way he didn’t think he could ever describe.

Hal favored him with a fond smile, then pulled away, taking the bowl with him. 

Mission accomplished.

“You are going to love Mom’s pie,” Hero gushed a little. 

“The way Dad acts,” Shadia added, “you’d think she added some sort of addictive substance to it.”

“Dramatic then?”  Hal was an actor…of course he would be dramatic about certain things.

“Just watch.”  Shadia winked.

Bolaire had a feeling he was going to enjoy this.

Hal was grinning like someone who’d just been given the best present ever as he sat back down, placing the new plate in front of him.  Bolaire immediately thought it was hilarious that his friend had only brought the one serving out; apparently, so did both of the girls.  Hero had a hand covering her mouth in order to stifle her giggles while Shadia shook her head fondly. 

A plate was set down in front of him, and Bolaire turned to smile up at Elodie.  She returned it, then put a plate in front of Hero.  She left then returned with one for Shadia, taking her own seat with her own piece of pie.

Hal took his first bite even before Elodie’s ass hit the cushion.

Perhaps dramatic wasn’t quite the word.

Hal’s eyes closed, and he looked as blissed out as Bolaire had ever seen him.  There was a groan that sounded like it had come from the vicinity of Hal’s feet, deep and rich and with a tone Bolaire couldn’t identify

And then, the oddest sensations flooded his body.  Bolaire’s fingers tingled, and that warmth he usually felt in his chest moved down toward his stomach, slightly uncomfortable and very confusing.  He twitched in his chair as the now-familiar blush heated his cheeks.

Luckily for him, everyone was paying attention to Hal. 

Bolaire turned his attention to his own pie, as a distraction from whatever was happening with his emotions.  He shoved them down to analyze for later, picking up his fork and taking his own small bite of pie.

So many strange flavors burst across his now-human tongue.  Some he couldn’t identify at all; others, he could taste apple certainly, and various sharp berries…and sugar?  He wasn’t certain of that. 

He closed his eyes to concentrate.  The crust was light, and yes, there was definitely sugar in this.  He couldn’t quite figure out the various berries, but perhaps strawberries?  The problem being was that he’d never really paid attention to anything he’d eaten before.  He’d only fed the bodies he’d worn to keep them useful, and while he’d had a lot of fruit on hand it had never been anything he’d never wanted to explore.

Identifying what Hal had made for him had been easy.  He’d eaten with his dear friend many times, and had kept his mind on what he’d been doing.  It had been simple to do so, because whatever Hal did was important to Bolaire himself.  He deserved the attention.

“Bolaire?”

It was Elodie speaking, and she sounded concerned.  Bolaire opened his eyes to glance in her direction.  She did look worried, as if she’d done something wrong.

He hastened to reassure her.  “I’m fine,” he promised.  “It’s just…”

How was he going to explain this in the context that Elodie would understand?

Oh, of course.

Tell the truth.

“When I was like this,” he waved a hand over his face, “sensations were…blunted.  That included my sense of taste.  Now, everything is brighter and stronger and more intense, and I was somewhat taken aback by how much flavor there was.  It was a little overwhelming.”

Elodie’s worry cleared a little.  “Maybe I should have made something else…”

“Not at all.”  And to prove the point, he took another bite.

He was well aware that the entire table was watching now.  It made him a little nervous as he put the fork into his mouth, but Bolaire persevered.

It was a little less overpowering this time.  There were certain ingredients he couldn’t make out, but he couldn’t argue the fact that the pie was actually quite delicious.

Yes, he really might begin enjoying food…if it was as good as everything he’d had so far.

If there was only a way to do something about those blasted bodily functions…

“I will be expecting one of these for my own birthdays as well,” Bolaire told her.

Elodie laughed delightedly.  “Count on it.”

Hal was looking at him fondly. 

Bolaire nodded in acknowledgement, then turned to Shadia and Hero.  “You were not wrong about that reaction.”  He winked at them.

Both of them cracked up. 

Bolaire glanced back toward Hal, who was shaking his head knowing he’d been the brunt of the joke.

As he finished his pie, surrounded by family, Bolaire wondered if he and his siblings could have had the same thing after the Play.  Could they have become a family of sorts?  The six of them, learning to live together and becoming true siblings? 

Bolaire wondered where they were, if they were asleep, active, or even dead.  He’d tried to search for them, but everything he’d done had been fruitless.

Would they even recognize him?  Now that he was human?

His attention went back to the people he was with now.  They all looked so happy, and he was a part of that.

They were celebrating him.

Suddenly, Bolaire wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Because what they were celebrating was a lie.

Was it better to believe the rumors he’d spread around about the mask?  Or did his loved ones deserve to know the truth, even though he’d now been irrevocably changed?

It was something he should probably think about.

And discus with Hal.

He didn’t want to lie to anyone, but was the point moot now?  Yes, talking with Hal was going to be the best bet in this situation.

After the pie was done, Elodie and the girls got ready to leave.  Bolaire found himself disappointed, although he could understand.  Elodie would need to work in the morning and, to be fair, Bolaire himself was getting quite tired.  He’d had a busy day, with several emotional upsets, felt ‘peopled’ out, and he really just wanted to sit in his chair and relax with Hal.  He wanted to take off the clothes he was wearing and put on those decadent pajamas Hal had lent him.  Oh, and a shower.  While Hal’s tease of a bubble bath sounded nice, he wasn’t quite ready for that sort of thing yet.

He wasn’t looking forward to sleeping later on.  But he’d cross that bridge later.

Bolaire made sure to hug both Shadia and Hero, although it still felt a little weird to him.  He knew he’d grow to like it as well, but right now his skin was still a little too sensitive.   Still, these were his unofficial nieces, and he just couldn’t deny them.

He and Hal bade the three of them good night.  Bolaire went back to his seat, while Hal watched them all leave, sighing and closing the door about two minutes later.

“I was not expecting that,” Hal commented, taking his own chair.  “I really should have.”

Bolaire leaned his head back.  He could feel the comforting scratchiness of the yarn in the afghan he’d folded up back there.  “It was nice.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Bolaire closed his eyes.  “I am ready to relax now.”

“It’s been a busy day for you.”

“You are not wrong.”  He sighed.  “As soon as I get my second wind, I’m going to avail myself of your shower and change into more comfortable clothing.”

“That sounds like a plan.”

He could hear Hal bustling around a little, most likely cleaning up after dinner.  Bolaire let the sounds lull him, and a voice in the back of his head that didn’t sound like Thjazi was saying that he really needed to get ready for bed before he dozed off in that chair.

And then, after a little while, Bolaire heard the strings of Hal’s lyre playing softly. 

He never did get his shower or his change of clothing that night.

Fin