((Ok, I swear I -intended- to complete the next chapter for 'Fathers and Sons' and post it, but this idea hit me and wouldn't let me think of anything else. This will be a series of thirteen scenes (thus thirteen chapters), some part speculation, others shown in the series, as viewed through the eyes of Draal the Deadly, because sometimes there's a lot more going on in that warrior that his 'rocks for brains' comment might make people think.
Warning: Angst in the first one! Seriously, I almost made myself cry with I finished this!))
Loss
It was like Aaarrrggghh had forsaken his vows and punched him in the gut. No, it was like Bular and Gunmar had both punched him, first in the gut and then in the chest.
The Trollhunter was dead.
Kanjigar the Courageous was dead!
Kanjigar, his father – WAS DEAD!
Of course it was only natural that it was Blinkous and Aaarrrggghh who were the ones to tell Draal of the mighty warrior's passing. They had been two of Kanjigar's closest friends, after all. Their grief was bared for Draal to see, tears in their eyes and Blinkous' voice had broken in the telling. Even now the Krubera was turning his head away to wipe at his emerald eyes.
Draal wanted to weep with them. His knees wanted to buckle and his heart was both thundering and threatening to stop in his chest at the same time. He wanted to scream denial and rush to the canal grate to see with his own eyes the horrible truth, or beat Blinkous until he recanted the lie. His emotions were boiling over, hands clenched tightly at his sides to mask their shaking.
But that was deep inside. Outwardly he just stared at the scholar with a blank expression, eyes shedding no tears and standing motionless. He was a warrior, a Troll warrior! To grieve and mourn as he wanted to was weakness, and he would tolerate no weakness within him.
Not even for this.
"Draal?" Blinkous asked softly, perhaps unsure whether or not the large Troll had heard him.
"Thank you," Draal heard himself say, though his spirit felt like it was miles away and someone else was speaking for him, "for telling me. Of course I will see to his body, when it is night out." They nodded, and merely watched as Draal walked away, not following.
No one spoke to the warrior on his way. Did they know, or could they just sense that to say the wrong thing, or anything, at this moment would bring dire consequences down on themselves? He didn't know, and honestly didn't care. If they were unknowing they'd find that rectified shortly. The deaths of Trollhunters didn't remain secret for long.
Draal returned to their – no, his – home and went inside. It was quiet, and empty.
So empty, now. It was like his father's spirit, his very memory, had fled along with his life.
For a moment Draal just stood there, in the dark, watching the outside lights of Trollmarket highlight furniture that his father had used Draal's entire life. The table and chairs where they shared rare meals and now where Draal would eternally eat alone, the open doorway to Kanjigar's … former... room, where he'd never take rest again. It gleamed off of Kanjigar's – now Draal's – extensive weapons collection, some from even the War against Gunmar.
With a sudden, violent action Draal grabbed one of the said weapons, enfuriated with it at is its continual existence mocked its owner's demise, and flung it into the opposite wall so hard it buried hilt-deep. Then, silently, he sank to his knees, and let the tears come, because only the weapons would ever know.