The monastery never felt like a big place. It has its grand gates and expansive courtyard, but the living quarters take up little of the space the monastery occupies. It never felt large to Wu, but the morning after Garmadon's banishment, he walks through its halls and sees them stretching before him, the ceilings growing taller, the rooms getting wider. He is aware of the silence that sits in every room, an unwelcome guest.
In short, Wu has never been more aware of his own loneliness than in those days after Garmadon fell. It is a strange and disturbing feeling, for Wu thinks he should feel something else, not the sense that the monastery is an empty place.
Garmadon was not the most inviting presence on the best of days, and in his last before his banishment, the air in the monastery had a distinctly foreboding quality about it, an almost electric hum or buzz. It is the same air Wu feels before a storm, the violent, late summer kind that goes as quickly as it arrives.
Much like Garmadon, in that sense.
Misako is gone, as is Lloyd. Wu doesn't know when Misako left with the child, whether she knew that Garmadon intended to steal the Golden Weapons, but regardless, Wu doesn't fault her for leaving. All he hopes is that she can provide Lloyd a better life than what might have been had here.
Wu can't bring himself to imagine whatever that might have been, good or bad.
Now, Wu sits alone in his monastery, several mornings after Garmadon fell. He brews himself a pot of tea because he doesn't know what else to do, and he watches the sun rise over the courtyard.
The hand that holds his cup shakes, as it has all morning. Not a cloud drifts over the pink sky, and the light that shines over Ninjago is a testament to Wu's victory—or Garmadon's defeat. Wu repeats this fact to himself; if the events that happened on the night Garmadon fell had not happened, the world would have remained in darkness.
The light illuminates the courtyard slowly, and the shadows of its walls fall away. Eventually, the light passes over a white crack twisted upon the cobbled stones.
This feature is new, but the color is faded, almost like a scar where the stones and mountain stitched itself back together. It looks decades old, if Wu didn't know better. While Wu came out to watch the sunrise, his gaze catches on the thin white line, following its crooked path. Time slips away as he memorizes every dart and zag it makes over the stones, noting how it bows towards the center, giving it the shape of a wide smile.
Wu sips his tea and finds it cold. With a sigh, he turns away and disappears inside his empty home, like every morning.
It should be a relief that Garmadon is no longer here. Wu recalls the terrible final days that Garmadon, and in turn, everyone else, suffered as the effects of the venom got worse. His mood swings were frequent and often not a good thing to be on the other end of. He had paled to the point of sickly, and he complained of headaches of which he never explained the source.
He may have lost weight, too, but Wu isn't sure.
The worst part was the strange gleam in his eyes, something Wu glimpsed when Garmadon was first bitten. It was a vile, wicked thing that used to only shine in passing, but then appeared one day and never went away.
Garmadon had a miasma about him that seemed to poison the air he breathed, choking the world around him. He became less and less like the person Wu knew, almost unrecognizable.
Garmadon was all sharp lines and scowls on the night of his banishment, and while Wu could claim that he didn't recognize his enemy as his brother, that is a lie.
So it should be a relief that this presence is out of Wu's home, his life—
(Though not forever—does Wu hope this? He debates the answer.)
Wu stares at his breakfast one morning, wondering why he bothers making it anymore since he hasn't eaten much in recent weeks. He sits in his usual spot at the head of the table, trying not to let his gaze wander.
Garmadon always sat at the table's other end, though never opposite of Wu unless there was company; he joked that Wu's ugly mug threatened to ruin his appetite.
Wu sniffs in disdain.
They only really shared breakfast together, and Garmadon began every day with the same meal. Wu remembers it well, since he complained about it so much.
Garmadon's breakfast consisted of a bowl of porridge, or noodles if they had any, a cup of fruit, and a dish of eggs that were never cooked all the way. This fact drove Wu up the wall and was the reason for Wu's incessant nagging, though he can't remember why he cared so much.
"Must you eat your eggs like that?" says Wu, watching as Garmadon uses a slice of bread to dab at the yellowed yolks running across the plate, "Why not crack them directly into your mouth when you collect them in the mornings?"
Garmadon casts him a dirty look but doesn't bother meeting Wu's eyes before returning to his food. "You would complain that half the eggs never make it to the house if I did such a thing."
He finishes his eggs and moves to his fruit, and Wu doesn't bother Garmadon about it for the rest of the meal.
He will never admit it, but Garmadon is right.
The days are long, much longer than they used to be. Wu brews a pot of tea in the morning and listens to the silence. No one tells Wu how much they hate tea, like Garmadon so often did.
"It's nasty and ruins a perfectly good pot of water."
"I took one sip of that green stuff you brewed and cringed so hard it left wrinkles."
"I don't want to drink leaf water, Wu."
Silly stuff, always. Another thing Garmadon did that drove Wu up the wall. As Wu pours himself a fresh cup, he affirms that it wouldn't have killed his brother to give Wu's tastes a chance, really.
Garmadon never did that. He just jabbed and jeered and sat at the table, looking miserable.
The silence behind him overwhelms Wu to the point that he takes his tea outside, where he sips what he can of his brew before dumping the rest, a waste.
It is good that Wu has no one to poke fun of his tastes anymore, and it is good that such a source of negativity is out of his life. Every action Garmadon took—however innocent at the time—was ultimately leading up to his betrayal, and this thought is the only way Wu can justify the change in his head.
Garmadon has always been evil, therefore, it is good that Garmadon is gone.
This fact doesn't stop Wu from poring through memory after memory, nor does it quell the feeling of emptiness that chews on Wu's insides. Because despite his best efforts, Wu thinks to himself how it wasn't always bad having Garmadon here. This was their home, after all. They grew up here.
Their lives played out in the courtyard, where they sparred, played games, built forts, and held formidable prank wars. This is where they returned after a grueling war against the Serpentine, where they fended off the Time Twins, where Wu woke up and saw Garmadon every day, training, working, or simply staring into the quiet.
What would he think about in those moments? Wu never asked.
Wu sits in the courtyard and recalls a memory not too long ago where Garmadon stood near him, hands tucked in his pockets.
"A baby?" Wu says, struck with several feelings at once.
Garmadon nods, staring off somewhere in the sky.
"A real baby?"
"No, a doll." Garmadon frowns at Wu, though this isn't an expression of malice. "Of course it's going to be a real baby."
Wu feels a smile stretching across his face, but it shakes a little as the disbelief subsides. It shouldn't be possible for him to be feeling both awe and terror at the news, but the thought of his brother becoming a father is the only thing in his recent memory that can inspire such a reaction.
"I can't believe it," Wu finally replies when he notices Garmadon looking at him with a somewhat anxious set to his mouth.
"I almost can't, either," Garmadon replies, dropping his gaze to his toes.
"You'll be a father," says Wu, the words feeling strange as they come out of his mouth, "…and—and I'll be an uncle! A real uncle!"
Garmadon laughs at this. "Yes, you will be."
"Have you a name?"
"Not yet," says Garmadon, "but we'll come up with something good. Wait and see."
"I look forward to it," says Wu.
He's smiling, and he can't stop. A baby. Garmadon is going to have a baby.
Wu wakes in the middle of the night from a nightmare and shuffles into the kitchen to brew himself a pot of tea. He won't be going back to sleep, so he might as well stay awake, now. He opens the cupboard for the tea leaves and realizes he is out of his usual. He reaches for another and goes cold when he realizes what type it is.
It's all he has left, though. He has run low on many things around the monastery.
He brews a pot and sits at the table, staring at Garmadon's seat. Months ago, Wu prepared this same flavor, and Garmadon sat across from him.
Garmadon's hands are at his temples, hair wild from where he's been running his fingers through it. It is a certain time of night that is both considered early and late, and though Wu normally protests to being woken up so early, Garmadon's frazzled state has him allowing an exception.
He has an idea of what Garmadon is about to say, but he is still surprised when Garmadon speaks.
"What if the baby is evil?"
Wu laughs before he can stop himself, turning away from Garmadon's heated glare and reaching for two teacups. He brews chamomile tonight, a flavor Garmadon tolerates.
"Don't be silly," says Wu.
Garmadon still frowns when Wu turns around, so Wu tries hiding his smile.
"You oughta know when I'm being silly, Wu."
"I do," says Wu.
He pours the tea and passes a cup to Garmadon, who takes it and sips once before cringing. Whether this is a response to the flavor or the fact that he didn't stop to let it cool is left unsaid, and Wu takes his seat at the head of the table.
"How can a baby be evil?" Wu asks, "It's a foolish thing to worry about."
"That's easy for you to say," says Garmadon, still sipping the tea—a sure sign that Wu needs to match his brother's seriousness, "You're not going to be the kid's father. Evil people hate their fathers. I would know!"
"Hm," Wu says, more contemplative. Though the argument is hardly compelling, Wu thinks he sees where Garmadon's worries are coming from.
"You think that the venom will affect the baby," says Wu.
Garmadon shrugs. "I don't know."
"You're considering it."
"I have to, don't I?" says Garmadon, "With our bloodline, it might cause…I don't know. It could cause some unexpected difficulties."
Wu hums, sipping his tea. "Would that alone make someone evil?"
Garmadon frowns. "What do you mean?"
"It comes back to nature," says Wu, "Would the baby be evil because of how it was born, or how it was raised?"
"Raised, obviously."
"Then answer me this," says Wu, "Do you love this child?"
Garmadon blinks. "Of course."
"Do you want what's best for him?"
"Absolutely," says Garmadon, gaze falling away, "I want to do right by him, always."
"Really?" says Wu, "That kind of attitude doesn't seem like it will breed hatred in that baby, so what are you worried about?"
Garmadon closes his eyes and turns his head to the side. He takes a deep breath, and Wu cocks his head, curious at the hesitancy in Garmadon's entire posture.
"I'm worried that I won't be able to do it," says Garmadon.
Wu places his teacup against the table with a soft clink. Garmadon folds his hands to stop them from fidgeting.
"I want him to be kind," says Garmadon, speaking slowly, "I am worried that is something that I cannot teach him, or that I can't teach him right because of—you know. I don't want him to ever wonder if his father loves him. I don't want him to end up like—" he pauses there, and continues, "What if I mess all this up?"
Wu shakes his head, leaning forward. "I wouldn't dwell on any 'what ifs.' You're just as capable of teaching kindness as anyone else."
Garmadon almost rolls his eyes but stops himself, and Wu catches the action.
"You are," says Wu, really believing it in that moment, "If it helps, I believe you'll make a great father."
Garmadon finally meets his gaze. "Why?"
"Because you care," says Wu, "and I don't think you have anything to worry about. No one said raising a child would be easy, but you're capable of doing it, and certainly of learning along with everyone else."
Garmadon stares at him after this, and Wu returns to his tea.
He almost makes it to the bottom of the cup when Garmadon says, "Thank you, Wu."
Why does Wu think of these memories so much? Why can't he only think of the night when Garmadon was banished? It would be easier, probably, to go on with life if he could only think of Garmadon as a monster. It is a foolish thing to miss a monster. Monsters are nightmares to be banished with the sunrise, and that is exactly what became of Garmadon.
If Wu thought of Garmadon that way, his mind would let him rest. It might also dispel the haunting air that sits in his monastery.
Today, Wu tries meditating and remembers the day that he held Lloyd for the first time.
"Make sure he's comfortable." Garmadon's voice is unusually soft.
Wu holds Lloyd in one arm, a bottle of milk in his other hand. Lloyd fusses like he's dying, but Garmadon is calm as Wu handles the child.
"How do I know if he's comfortable?" says Wu, worrying for the child and his heart as it beats erratically in his chest.
He mustn't mess this up. He can't betray the trust that Garmadon has given him by allowing Wu to hold his son.
"He'll fuss if he's uncomfortable," says Garmadon.
"What—how do I know if he's fussing because he's uncomfortable or fussing because he's hungry?" says Wu, casting Garmadon an incredulous look.
Thankfully, Garmadon is smiling. "You're doing fine, Wu, I promise. Make sure you support his head."
Wu shifts one moment more before he thinks he has it right, though he looks at Garmadon to be sure. He raises his eyebrows, and Garmadon nods.
Wu sighs and enjoys one brief moment of relief before Lloyd's fussing reminds him of what he needs to do. He raises the bottle for Lloyd to take, then holds it in place.
The fussing stops, and the sound of Lloyd feeding is the only thing in the room for a while. Wu smiles, overcome with affection, then looks at Garmadon again to see if he's doing it right.
Garmadon looks over the pair of them, a soft expression on his face.
Garmadon was all hard lines in the end. Wu reminds himself of this and does so with ease. The image is trapped in his mind forever.
At some point, Garmadon reaches over and lifts the hand Wu uses to hold the bottle so that the angle shifts the milk entirely towards the bottom.
"If he swallows too many air bubbles, he gets gas," says Garmadon, smiling at Wu.
"I see," says Wu, "You're already learning all the tricks."
"The hard way, I'm afraid."
They chuckle.
Wu watches Lloyd for a moment more. Then he says, "I can't believe he's here."
"You're telling me."
"He's cute."
"Naturally."
"Must be Misako's genes."
"Yeah, some of them, probably."
"I'm glad he didn't get your nose," says Wu, smirking.
"Watch what you say about my nose," says Garmadon, "It's your nose, too."
Wu laughs, and this is the last time that he laughs like this.
He asks, eventually, "Are you still worried that he's going to be evil?"
And Garmadon laughs this time. "No, not so much. I think…I've got a good feeling about this. About what's next."
Wu studies Garmadon's face again. He is pale. It's gotten worse.
Had he lost weight? Wu isn't sure.
When the bottle empties, Wu sets it aside. Lloyd works his mouth for a moment more before settling down with a sigh. At this point, Garmadon reaches for his son.
"I'll show you how to burp him," he says, "Hope that isn't a nice shirt."
The monastery seems empty without Garmadon, and this fact is both surprising yet entirely expected. What makes Wu upset is the hollowing sort of emptiness that it is, the kind that leaves him aching inside. He shouldn't miss Garmadon, or maybe he should. He can't decide.
Several weeks after Garmadon is banished, Wu brews a pot of tea in the morning. His hands no longer shake as he handles the dishes, and when he watches the sunrise in the courtyard, he doesn't go inside after seeing the line of the mouth that swallowed his brother. In fact, Wu hardly looks at it anymore, but he knows that it is there.
He hasn't made it to the point where he finishes his entire pot of tea, but he grows closer each day before returning to his empty monastery.
Because every day, with miserable resignation, he grows used to the emptiness around him. It was bound to happen to him to eventually, and he will learn to ignore the amalgamation of emotions Garmadon's fate leaves him.
In the meantime, he brews himself a pot of tea and listens to the silence behind him.
Thank you for reading!