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Azune opens the door to the aviary to find Wicander crying.
On instinct, Azune freezes in the doorway and does a quick sweep of the room, checking for a potential threat and also hoping to find Tyranny somewhere nearby. However, nothing dangerous or demonic lurks in the shadows. Wick is the only one present in the space.
A large traveler's cloak blankets his hunched shoulders as they rise and fall in time with his sobs, covering any insignia that pertains to the Creed. His teal hair is a mess and continues to worsen with each run through of his fingers. The relentless tears, every so often, track down over his filament tattooed cheek and glow briefly, like dappled sunlight emerging through the canopy. He does not yet raise his head to face the door, seemingly unaware of Azune's arrival.
It's one of the last views he could ever anticipate. Azune is often first as he tries to arrive at the Seven Stars early, but there are always instances where someone beats him here or he gets held up at the Brethren Hall. Wick and Tyranny have been arriving later into the evening as they have to go to greater lengths in order to make an excuse or sneak out of the Villa Aurora— Murray, Hal, and Azune only have to clock out. Finding him weeping alone is also strange, considering how close he is with Tyranny and how he never shies away from expressing his honest opinion or emotions around others— outside of House Halovar. And, yet, here he is.
Hesitation fills him as he decides what to do. Of what Azune is known for, properly comforting someone who is crying, especially someone he does not know terribly well, is by no stretch of the imagination near the top of that list. The Hallowed Round, at the base of its central tree, as Hal frustratingly asks why Thjazi made his choices, flashes in his mind. Hal had been desperate for a single clue on why Thjazi kept all of his shadows away from him, why he couldn't provide Hal with a single bit of context despite how the paint being at his theater was so vital to his plan. Azune had much of the same questions, the same reeling desires, so nothing useful came to mind. He is no wordsmith. Even though he promised Hal he would be there for him to lean against, he failed to respond.
Facing Wick, a still relatively new, but, for the most part, dependable ally, causes all the words in Azune's throat to dry up again.
He slowly shifts his foot backwards. The chance to make a quick getaway back downstairs to hopefully find Tyranny arriving or anyone other than himself is still within his reach. The heel of his boot only moves a few inches before settling on the one creaky floorboard on the entire landing. It releases an almost comically loud groan. Shit.
Wick immediately raises his head, eyes wide and full of tears. He hastily starts wiping them away.
"Azune! Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting anyone just yet. I was just, uh…" He trails off, unable to come up with a viable excuse for his current state. He sinks further into his seat as the silence stretches awkwardly and surrounds them.
Now officially spotted, Azune steps into the room fully and closes the door behind him. He makes no move to get much closer, still giving Wick space. Despite the gentle breeze flowing in and out of the aviary, a sort of pressure starts to build in the air, like a storm is soon to hit. The logical part of him starts anticipating rain, but the intuitive side, the one that aligns with the fire running through his veins, feels the magic coiling around Wick, building.
He tries to shake the feeling off and, against any of his better judgment, Azune asks, "Are you…alright?"
Wick's eyes snap up to meet Azune's. Light streaks through his irises as the tension reaches a head.
"No!" Wick explodes into a standing position, sheer anger clouds much of the despair, but not all. Azune instinctively takes a step back, but stands his ground like any good soldier.
"Of course not! How could anyone be alright right now? I have to lie to my family at all hours of the day and sneak about, trying to dig up their secrets, hoping that they don't catch on to my true intent! Because if I'm not careful, I'm a dead man! I have to find some reason to steal away every evening to meet here and I know my sister is starting to suspect something! The other aspirants already do, so I can't even arrive here with Tyranny anymore! And, that's not even the half of it with all the others plans we have to maintain so some other House doesn't kill us all!"
Wick's hands fist into his cloak, pulling it tighter around himself. For a brief moment, the light from the lanterns bend and shift into the silhouette of wings behind him, feathers flared out, before they return to their normal rays.
"And I killed someone! I murdered that girl in cold blood! She was innocent, doing her job, and I sliced through her throat like it was nothing because I was afraid! I was a coward! I fumbled my words around Primus and I killed her. I don't even know her name and I decided my life was worth more than hers. It's my fault!"
Wick starts to pace. "And, I can't even stand to be around Tyranny right now. I trust her with my life, of course I do. I depend on her, but she keeps insisting I did the right thing and it wasn't my fault, and I can't stand it! Because it is my fault! It is! The right thing would have been sparing her life and letting him take mine. It would have at least been noble even if the Tachonis' aren't. Maybe it could have meant something! I just… I can't handle these reassurances. I don't deserve it."
Wick exhales unsteadily, the sudden fight immediately fading from his form. The rage vanishes to reveal clear melancholy and a deep seated grief. A lot of what he said was a rehash of what he proclaimed in Hal's home, only now bubbling back to the surface after it had a chance to simmer. After the stress of being a magpie in Dol-Makjar frayed his nerves and exacerbated it. Nothing about this role is easy, especially with how he has to constantly maintain a facade within an enemy House. The shine of tears continues to persist in his eyes.
He shakes his head roughly. "Sorry, that wasn't… you didn't need to hear all that. I just, I couldn't—"
"No, I get it."
Azune would never dare say anything to the contrary. In the weeks after the execution, he's already broken down twice. The pressure building like a geyser until it all had to explode outwards, burdening those he loves with the emotions that bled through the cracks. Azune is surprised that Wick had been able to keep it together for this long.
Wick drives his palms into his eyes before turning to lean on the banister overlooking the city, still visibly upset with his posture all tense and rigid.
From a logical standpoint, it is better that Wick still stands before them. In war times such as these, sacrifices unfortunately have to be made. It doesn't make it right, but that is the reality. They need Wick and Tyranny inside the Villa Aurora, gaining information and possibly thwarting their schemes before they reach the ground. That women did not deserve to die, everyone can agree on that, but her blood is on Primus Tachonis' hands. He is an extremely powerful sorcerer that killed Hannan with only a word. Something in Azune's stomach twists at the thought he is onto their band of magpies, that he could be onto Azune himself from his interest in how Occtis' signet ring ended up in evidence. He was the one that forced Wick's hand. He is the one responsible for so much bloodshed all across Aramán. And, Wick knows this.
Wicander Halovar is no idiot, far from it. He was naive, certainly at the beginning, but his time with Azune's companions from the Torn Banner have shown him more of the real world, more of what the Sundered Houses do to maintain their power and control. He witnessed first hand how their corruption infests. He was innocent until he discovered the blood that's always been on the Creed's and on the Halovar's hands. He already understands everything logical about what happened, about the situation as a whole.
But, logic hardly means anything in the face of uncaged emotion. It doesn't mean anything to that poor young woman's family. She's still dead and Wick's hand is still the one that slit her throat. He can't let that go. And so he remains caught between understanding the facts of the matter and unwilling to fully accept them. He's stuck.
Dead Shapers, Azune, truly, is the last person in the world who should be here for this. Hal is more familiar with Wick and, with his bardic talents, is far better at providing words of comfort and inspiring hope within the hopeless. When Azune felt as though he was ripping apart at the seams, Hal held him together and stitched him back up. But, Wick doesn't seem to want that type of comfort right now. The type that would try to absolve him, the type Hal's paternal instincts often strive for. Though Wick clearly wants reassurance still. Murray could give him some of her typical tough love— Azune often finds he appreciates her bluntness— but he's been receiving plenty of that, alongside ridicule and distrust from the other members in their group. That wouldn't go over well either. He might just feel insulted or will purely lash out again. Tyranny was Azune's first thought for helping Wicander, she's been by his side through it all, but he already said that she has been no help.
Regardless, Azune is the one currently here, the only one that can offer up anything. He could excuse himself downstairs for one reason or another, leave Wick to be with his thoughts until he pulls himself together. He could stand here in silence and simply wait for the others. No one would fault him, but neither of those options feel right.
A few of Wick's words struck right to the core of him, mirroring some of the feelings that Azune has been forcing down for as long as he can remember. Wick is seemingly struggling the most with taking his first life and the weight and guilt that comes with it— Azune has seen the look too many times in his brothers and sisters in arms to not recognize it. Azune is very familiar with that loss of innocence and the desperate desire to clutch onto it even as it's already gone, like trying to shove organs and force life back into a disemboweled body. It's futile, it's something no one can never get back, no matter how much they ache for it. Leaving Wick as he currently is wouldn't be right.
Azune slowly makes his way over to the banister. Keeping several feet between them, he braces his forearms against it and watches the setting sun start to dip below the mountains. Pinks and oranges spread across the sky. It's one of the rare evenings where overcast doesn't completely shield the view.
"I was thirteen when I took my first life."
"What?!" Wick whips his head towards him looking appalled. Fuck. "Oh! Oh, that's horrible! That's what you lead with?! That?! And, here I am going—"
Azune raises a hand and cuts him off. "I'm not saying this for any sort of pity or... I'm trying to—" What is he trying to do? Wick currently has the exact same expression Murray did when he accidentally, offhandedly mentioned how young he was when he joined the Torn Banner. But, he has to push past that. Perhaps if he simply continues, maybe he'll find the right thing to say that lessens the strain bearing down on Wick's shoulder and not worsen anything. Besides, it's the only thing he can think to try.
Azune clears his throat. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse. I have a point."
Clearly still baffled, Wick clicks his mouth shut and goes back to staring out at the city. Confusion now lingers on his face, but he lets Azune go on.
Azune starts slowly, letting the memory reach the forefront of his mind. "It was during the rebellion. We were on the road, between camps, fresh off of a supply run. It was an open highway right next to a tree line, the perfect spot for bandits to ambush caravans and pillage all that they desire. After hours of straight travel, we must have appeared to be easy pickings.
"As soon as they jumped out and charged at us, maybe around ten to fifteen of them, Thjazi put me into the back of one of the covered supply carts. Told me to stay out of sight until he returned. I didn't have a good vantage point, but I could vividly hear the fight happening all around me. I was terrified, but I hid as best I could, hoping it was us who had the upper hand.
"Right when things started to quiet and I finally let my guard down, one of the bandits suddenly climbed into the back, smeared with blood and wild eyed, seemingly hoping to make out with something before he fled. He easily spotted me and then froze for a moment. I thought he was going to cut his losses and bolt, but then he grabbed my wrist and started to drag me out of the cart."
In between the throes of a nightmare and wakefulness, Azune swears he can sometimes feel that same tight, bruising grip on his arm. The strength that paled in comparison to his then malnourished body. He was at his complete and utter mercy, ready to be taken once more from a family that welcomed him under their wings.
Azune's knobby knees slammed onto the mud of the road, still damp from the earlier rain. His other hand tried to pry the hold from his wrist, struggling with everything he had. And then, like lightning in a storm cloud miles and miles away, something alighted within him.
A crack, about two inches in diameter, sits on the banister. Azune's fingers subconsciously maneuver through the somatic elements of mending. "So much of that night is clear, but that part was a blur. At the time I only had a small dagger as my weapon, I wasn't quite apt with a sword just yet. I can only recall flashes, but Thimble had taught me where to optimally strike at an opponent to cause the most damage… By the time anyone from the Banner could reach me, the bandit was dead."
Brief memories flicker across his vision. The first swipe of the dagger at his thigh so he'd release his hold. The stab at his stomach that keeled him onto the ground. The sureness that ran through Azune's body as he became eye level with the bandit's Adam's apple. The sounds of pain that swiftly turned into a gurgles as the bandit's hand clutched futilely at his throat. The glassy brown eyes that stared up at the sky, unable to see the stars.
"I was lost, covered in blood, clutching that knife. I didn't know what to do until…"
A wave of grief breaks through the dam and swallows his next words. His breath catches as he remembers paws grabbing at his shoulders and moving him away from the body.
"Until what?"
Wick stares at him with imploring eyes, rapt in the story, hungry for what comes next. Any trepidations he had are all but gone from his expression.
"Teor," Azune says quietly, only slightly above a whisper.
Beside him, Wick takes an uneasy breath in and reflexively, but carefully, puts his right hand in his pocket. It hasn't been long since they've buried the Pridesire brothers— at a quiet spot outside the city; neither of them had ever shared their burial location preferences. While Wick didn't known Teor long and Azune hadn't seen him in years and had only been able to talk to Cyd in the days prior to the execution, it still aches terribly. No matter the length of time they shared with the brothers, they both long for a potential future they'll never get.
"He removed me from the situation and helped me clean the blood off."
The nama's arm wrapped over his shoulders, keeping him close, protected. Not saying a word as he gently washed the blood from his hands and from where the viscera sprayed onto his face. Found him a change of clothes and rebraided his hair. Above everything, Teor held him as tight as he could while Azune cried and heaved and sobbed until no more tears would come. And, then he still held him after that, when all Azune could do was babble apologies to people that were no longer there. His small fists ensnared the fur of his mane like it was a tether, the only thing securing him to shore. Teor didn't try to offer useless consolation that Azune was not ready to hear; he only offered his presence to lean on and that was enough.
During the remainder of their march to their new campsite, Azune had a lion shaped shadow. As the Banner put up their tents, unloaded supplies, and lit bonfires— tasks Azune should have been helping with— Teor pulled him aside to stand in an open area of the field. A paw braced behind his shoulder blades, anchoring him in the present.
I wish there was something I could say or something I could do to take this burden from you. But, I cannot, it is one all soldiers must bear if they choose to walk this path. None of us blame you, you acted in self defense, but that does not ease anything. I would know. We all know.
Teor knelt down in front of him and brought a paw to Azune's cheek. He wiped away the last stray tear with his thumb pad and lifted Azune's head to meet his gaze. Azune looked up at him, the stars wreathed behind his head.
It hurts, but we cannot let it define us. We all have your back. Remember that.
You're not alone, little one.
"He reassured me when I didn't think anyone could." Azune's fingers stop winding their way through the motions for mending, letting the crack remain. Steadily, his hand reaches to hold the bracelet strung on the leather cord around his neck. "He reminded me that I wasn't alone."
Wick's head is tilted skyward, but it has not yet gotten dark enough for constellations to emerge. "I had forgotten that you also fought with Thimble, Kattigan, and Teor. I'm… glad he was there for you."
I'm sorry he's not here for you now.
But Azune doesn't say that, he knows Wick wouldn't want to hear it. More apologies will still not bring anyone back, no matter any oaths that were pledged.
"I learned a lot from him… from all of them."
A rush of memories continues to cascade over him; a part of him longs to be out there with his Banner mates, protect them like they used to shield him. But, fulfilling his position here is the best way to serve them, more so than aiding in any battle. Even as his fingers itch to take out his hammer.
He tightly grips the banister before remembering himself. He returns his focus to Wick who has his brows furrowed, seemingly also lost in a barrage of thoughts. Right, Azune had a point to this retelling.
Azune clears his throat again and Wick startles back to focus.
"Now… I'm not Teor—"
Wick suddenly laughs. It sounds more akin to a sob, more wet and broken than anything done with glee, but still a laugh nonetheless. The ends of his mouth quirk up into a small smile as another tear forms. He doesn't elaborate and Azune decides not to pry, letting whatever Wick finds humorous fly over his head. It wouldn't be the first time.
Azune continues, "But, I do understand what you're feeling, even if our experiences were not the same. I know the guilt and the want to change what you did. I wish there was something that could be done to make it stop. That there could be a way to rewrite the past and erase it from existence. But, there isn't. That feeling doesn't go away, even after all these years."
It's the sad truth of the matter. Sometimes the pain dulls and he can almost ignore its existence before it finds a whetstone and it feels sharp and raw all over again. There's no nice and tidy solution. There's no balm to soothe it. Yet, it feels wrong to leave Wick with nothing more than understanding what he's going through.
In place of anything he could come up with himself to add, he draws on someone else. Though he doesn't grab Wick by the sides of his head as he says it.
"But… life continues on, even when he feel like we cannot. All we can do is try to run beside it and maybe help someone in some shape or form along the way. In spite of what we feel." Azune lays a hand on Wick's shoulder and catches his eye. "We can try to do better tomorrow."
Wick holds his gaze and nods. He removes his hand from his pocket and dries the remainder of his tears. His next breath is steadier, more sure.
"We can try to do better tomorrow," he repeats, like it's a prayer, like it's the last sacred relic of a dying religion. "Thank you, Azune. I believe that was the honesty I needed to hear."
Azune nods in place of a more suitable response, removing his grip from his shoulder.
Wick hesitates for a moment before quickly adding, "I'm sorry you had to go through that so young."
Azune wearily sighs. "It's never easy, no matter how old you are."
The pair returns to silence, refocusing their attention back to the city as darkness begins to flood through the streets and lanterns begin to alight. Magpies flitter to and from the aviary. More activity arises in the tavern area beneath their feet as more patrons enter to try and forget their troubles, if only for a few hours. Tension no longer lingers in the air; the magic that flows through both of their hearts quiets for now.
As he probably should've anticipated, Wick doesn't stay silent for long. "Azune?"
"Yes?"
Wick leans towards him as if he's about to pass along a secret message— the same body language he has when he pretends to be Nick Falcon.
"Is murdering Primus Tachonis on that list of yours?"
Azune raises an eyebrow before he palms for his notebook. "No." Then he looks to Wick as the ends of his mouth upturn into a slight smirk. "But, it can be."
Wick returns the same smile. "I would very much appreciate it."
He thumbs to the newest version of his list and adds the suggestion as a new bullet point right at the bottom. It's certainly a long term goal— Primus' power level still greatly surpasses their own— but it is one that every magpie and perhaps many of the souls stuck in the veil can get behind. One day, Primus will fall and all of the he's lives taken will be avenged.
For the time being, until that moment, they have to take it all one day, one night, one meeting at a time.
It's not long before the rest of their companions tumble through the door in a flurry, all with their own updates and complications. Dol-Makjar is still in a state of unrest, even as they both briefly found a state of quiet. Wick takes a deep breath and rejoins the table, ready. Azune follows and prepares for the real work to begin.