Chapter Text
"And, all things considered, it didn't work out too badly."
Alfur had to pause for a second, trying to comprehend what Hilda had genuinely said. It didn't work out so bad??
"We saw ourselves die... Twice!" He exclaimed in surprise.
Hilda rolled her eyes and sat up. "It's just the part of being an adventurer!" Alfur sighed.
Sometimes it really was astonishing how she brushed most things off as just "the life of an adventurer". He was concerned for her, really.
They chatted for a bit, Alfur asking the most questions to fill in both sides of the day's story. Satisfied with the quality of my info, he eventually bid Hilda a goodnight to start finalizing his next report.
He opens the clockhouse door, greeting Peppercorn on the way in. She follows Alfur around as he travels the house, picking up various books and pens to cross reference and cross reference some more. All the while he tries to ignore the memory that keeps coming up. He ends at his desk, pulling the chair from underneath and sitting down.
Tirelessly working on fully fleshing out the report—Peppercorn joining in by sitting on Alfur's shoulders at some point, he's unable to recall when—something kept picking at his mind.
At first it's a feeling, a nag. A useless thought crowding among the many others in my head. But, as the night grows and stretches, it insists on staying in his head.
That is until he finally pins down the feeling. Alfur sits back, unwilling to acknowledge the weight settling in my shoulders (other than one adorable Nitten).
I died. I actually died there. Twice! And I'm still alive to witness the world. I'm still alive(?) to wonder what would have happened if... If it was the real(??) me that didn't survive the Time Worm. I can still wonder what happened to the other 'me' that wasn't so lucky. And...
Am I the real me?
He tries to shake that thought from his head, berating himself and forcing my mind into trying to focus.
But it's not that simple. Alfur can't just escape from this particular adventure by telling himself it's all good fun, and everything worked out in the end. He stares blankly for a second, at the words on the papers in front of him. There's ripped notebook page that snags his eyes. A hastily sketched timeline map that the other 'him' gave for study.
He picks it up, studying the messy notes from a rushed explanation. It's his. It's his handwriting through and through, but he can't ever remember writing it.
(Alfur realizes that he will never know everything he's written, simply because of this one adventure. He won't know everything he's ever said, or everything he's tried to remember in those few heart-racing hours.)
He suddenly pushes the chair out, scrambling to get up. Distantly, Alfur can hear Peppercorn meow in protest of being jerked off his shoulders. He stumbles, just a bit, before sinking to the floor as his legs gave out under him. He can't even tell why he's shaking. Is he just exhausted, or is he scared?
He remembers the face of the other Alfur before he died.
That can't have been real. Right?
A soft touch against Alfur's legs as Peppercorn tries to comfort him. His eyes focus again, looking around the room to see the same surroundings that he's been living with for almost a year.
"I really need a break from thinking about all this time nonsense." He mutters, not quite believing the words but saying them anyways. Sighing and picking up Peppercorn, Alfur peeked out of the door. Seeing as Hilda was asleep, he pushed the rest of the clockhouse door open and glanced around.
The blinds were still open, and Alfur could see the moon shining brightly. The sight reminded him of someone.
Someone who he knew could reassure him. Maybe even get the sight of himself dying—his own self, that was him—out of his mind for a bit.
So he ducked back inside, still holding Peppercorn. Alfur grabbed a new sheet of paper with the official Elf Mail print, and he got to writing some of his thoughts.
______
With the Elf Mail signed and stamped, he was ready to deliver it. It wasn't anything special, or anything specific either. He mostly kept it vague.
Writing the letter was nice, almost. Alfur felt more levelheaded after bringing his anxieties into the physical world. He might even say he was looking forward to getting it off his chest once he asks Bartell to come over.
Wait.
Alfur almost put his head in his hands, exhaling shakily. How could he forget that the couriers don't run this late, much less close to the house? He groaned at forgetting such a crucial detail. Unfortunately, his frantic, desperate, and almost certainly sleep deprived mind was dead set on talking to his boyfriend. Alfur paced around for a bit until he finally found a solution.
He hurriedly ran to Twig, quickly shaking the deerfox awake and explaining his plan. "I just need you to run this to the crack in the wall, where the southern bell tower is. Please."
Twig nodded drowsily, shaking himself as he got up. Alfur apologized profusely for waking him up to do errands, tucking the tiny envelope behind the pet's ear. Pushing open Hilda's window a crack, he watched solemnly as Twig slipped out and ran into the city.
And then he settled in to wait. It was all he could do, now. So he waited.
But without something to occupy his mind, it wandered. He remembered the other Alfur's face again, and he shivered. How did the other him feel at that moment? Alfur felt that he would've been terrified, and then gone before he could really process it.
Although, that didn't really make sense. Because, well, it was him... wasn't it? He had scribbled that chart and apologized for his Hilda and met Alfur's eyes right as the worm swallowed him
“I just don’t know what to think anymore,” He muttered quietly to himself. Am I real? Is this real?
Quietly under his breath, he whispered in an awful sob-filled tone that cracked his throat. “I don't... I don't think I'm real anymore. I'm still real, right?"
Of course, the silence gave no answer.
Although he still tried to reason with himself, to tell him that it was real, that he was real. And that he was just being paranoid and over exaggerating. It was a long and torturous spiral into self hatred and loathing and trying to crawl out of this ever yawning abyss with only his hands.
Alfur didn’t wake Hilda, even though it was seriously tempting. He just... he couldn't burden her with this, especially because (and it may not seem like it) he's the adult in the situation.
All he wished was to talk with someone, to get his head straight. Because that's all it is, it's all just in his head, right?
But the silence stayed put, and the moon kept shining its pale light. And Alfur eventually found himself curled up next to one of the books on Hilda's desk, trying to distract himself by counting the specks of dust.
That is until a certain pigeon pecked at the window with a deer-fox who was panting heavily. His head whipped around towards the sound, feeling cold tracks staining his face. He touched them instinctively, When had I started crying?
The taller elf that Alfur had sent for stepped off his steed immediately after seeing what a mess he was through the window. Bartell jumped down—hauling open the window before Alfur could climb his way up to the sill—and hugging Alfur with all that he had.
"Alfur, I—What happened? You wrote that you would explain better in person but you... You..." He couldn't continue, seeing as with every word that he said, it made Alfur break even more.
He reached down and wiped Alfur's eyes, planting a kiss on his forehead. Alfur quietly took his hand, leading Bartell deeper into the mess of books on Hilda's desk for some semblance of privacy. Bartell stares around at the amount of notebooks surrounding them, before tugging his boyfriend to sit against one of them, crosslegged.
Alfur dug around to hand him his most recent journal, open to the time graph. He just—he didn't know how else to tell him. Alfur could barely even speak through his rapidly beating heart.
The taller elf gasps sharply, he must've read the paragraph about seeing myself die. Alfur shifted his feet, not knowing whether to cry because of the situation or show a half-hearted smile because Bartell was here and he felt just a little more real at his touch.
In the end, Alfur did neither. Biding his time for Bartell to finish and wrestling with his emotions took most of his focus.
And when Bartell opened his mouth to say something, Alfur cut him off.
"I'm... I'm scared, Bartell. I can't figure out if this is the real me, or if I'll ever be able to live with myself again. For myself again, even." His tone turned slightly bitter at the end. All he felt he wanted was some simple reassurance that he couldn't believe from himself.
Because, well, he's lied to himself plenty of times before. But Bartell takes pride in never telling a lie, unless it's to an enemy.
The notebook dropped to the ground with a dull thump, startling Alfur and making him jump. Bartell leaned over, picking him up in one swift motion and pulling the smaller elf into his lap.
Holding Alfur's cold hands in his, the former looked up at him, a new wave of tears beading from the sudden care and his own emotional whiplash.
(It felt so real. Their legs awkwardly tangled together, the steady beating of Bartell's heart, their even, slow breaths in tune with the rise and fall of their chests.)
"Alfur, I—I had no idea." Bartell said, voice thick as he squeezed Alfur closer. The latter nodded sadly, resigned.
"Y—Yeah. It uhm, it only happened tonight and I was beginning my report, but—"
"You don't need to say anything else Alfur, I understand." He said gently, resting his chin on Alfur's shoulder, his beard scratching at the latter's skin.
Bartell took a deep breath, before continuing, softly squeezing him again. "Is there anything, and I mean anything, that I can do to help?"
Alfur sniffled, feeling the tears well up again. He buried his face into Bartell's shoulder, trying not to wake up Hilda with his sobs. "Y-Yeah, actually. Just—you could never lie to me right?"
Bartell pulled away to hold Alfur's hands close to his chest, looking him in the eyes as his own tears joined the mix.
"No, never, Alfur. You're the light in my life and I could never ever lie to you."
Alfur smiled slightly at him, feeling his words take root in his heart. He's known that for a while now, but it makes him need what he's about to ask for all the more.
"I know, hah—" Alfur chuckled bitterly, feeling the tears well up again. "—I just. I'm, I'm real, right Bartell? I'm still alive?"
Alfur felt more tears spill at the heart wrenching hurt in his partner's eyes. Still, he answered immediately and without hesitation. "Yes. Love, you are real and here and alive."
And he laughed, actually laughed. It bubbled up with even more tears at how solid Bartell's voice was. Alfur's voice hurt and his throat cried out in pain from all the sobbing he's done, but he laughed that awful sad laugh that made his chest feel lighter with each shuddering gasp.
I'm real I'm real I'm real I'm real I'm real—I'm alive and real and living—
Bartell pulled him closer into the hug, sighing in relief when Alfur squeezed back with all he had.
"I'm alive, I'm real, I'm here, and I can feel you and—" Alfur was mumbling into his shoulder, sobbing with heavy relief.
"I love you Bartell, thank you." Alfur finally said when his shoulders stopped heaving, his words muffled by Bartell's cloak. He brought their foreheads together, wiping tears from Bartell's cheeks like that other had done for him not too long ago.
Bartell smiled back, saying simply: "I love you too Alfur."
After all, the warmth between the two said far more than words could.