Decisions end up bringing about some life-changing events for two people who meet by accident.
Pairings Beyond Grimmons:
~N/A
Other Notes for This Story:
~Fantasy AU. Probably a Prequel One Shot for a longer story (see notes below!).
~Hargrove is Simmons' dad. Carolina and Church are his cousins.
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Remnants: a Fantasy AU Prequel
The crowded gate area of Valhalla always made Richard "Dick" Simmons feel terribly uneasy. He closed his eyes, willing the queasy feeling forming in the pit of his stomach back down once more.
Granted, there weren't a lot of places within the technologically blessed capital of the Unsc Empire that didn't make him feel that way.
The entire city was a hub of activity for all of the empire. On rare occasions they even did business with certain areas of the Outer Regions in Valhalla. There was always something going on, there was always a crowd here with so many faces that they all became an imposing blur that nearly suffocated him.
Simmons had always been socially anxious and awkward even as a young child, a result of having grown up in a rather isolated household with an intimidating and distant father. It wasn't until years later that he discovered the true reason for his unusual upbringing.
His subsequent banishment from said household when the redhead had turned sixteen years old, along with becoming a ward of the Magic Division of Valhalla's government, had only increased that awkwardness of his tenfold.
Now whenever Simmons was given permission to leave the grounds, or in the rare times when it all just became too much and he ran away, he found that he was even more self-conscious and awkward in his own skin.
It was as if he felt people knew just by looking at him. That they would recoil the very second his shoulder came into contact with their own, as though one could contract Elven blood that way.
He knew it was a silly thing to think. Judged by outside appearance alone, Simmons didn't look any different from any regular human. He was a lanky, pale, red-haired twenty-two-year-old. One who burned too easily in the sun and was always adorned with an embarrassing amount of freckles. No matter how much he despised the shape of his ears, the small scars on their tips were only noticeable if one was looking directly at them.
Besides, the enchantments that prevented his or any other registered Magic User from leaving through Valhalla's protective wards were not visible to the naked eye: a combination of Fragment dust and one of the more useful "freeform" spells that the Unsc had adopted and developed for their own use following the Genocide injected directly into the bloodstream every month.
The wards did their job of imprisoning people extremely well. There were rarely any escape attempts thanks to them since doing so stopped your heart. He had been brought to see the aftermath of such a failed escape attempt firsthand by the ever helpful guards who loved tormenting their wards.
Honestly? So long as he didn't activate his power out in the open, which he knew well enough not to do if at all possible as he had learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago, he knew theoretically he could slip into a crowd undetected and no one would be the wiser.
But knowing that and feeling that way were two very different things.
So, Simmons would often avoid going to the especially crowded areas of Valhalla whenever possible. Instead, he preferred to remain on the grounds of his home in the Magic Division or at quieter spots like the public library.
Sometimes he would sit on the public grounds near where the airship dock and naval shipyard was located while imagining what it would be like to travel, but not getting too close to the hustle and bustle of passengers, crew, and cargo being loaded or unloaded.
It was rare for him to venture to spots like the Gateways. Even more-so when he wasn't given some sort of task to perform around the area. Yet here he was, not only of his own volition, but also having snuck out of his room.
He did somewhat regret his brash decision now that he was standing in the market grounds surrounding the circular portals that were often sealed to keep the Outer Regions at bay. They were places that were, well, outside of Valhalla and the boundaries of the Unsc Empire. For lack of a better description.
The Unsc Empire had sealed off the fast travel links from their end to stem the possible influx of monsters from the Plague now ravaging the rest of the world, justifying it even more due to the increased hostilities with the people who remained there.
They only opened them on rare, heavily regulated instances. It was easier to prevent all-out invasion and war if the only regular travel between the two areas was through either air as the Unsc had a monopoly on airships, or sea since the Unsc navy was nothing so sneeze at either.
Given the rarity of such an occurrence, it was no wonder that the grounds were even more crowded than usual. No sooner had he arrived than Simmons had been swallowed by a sea of people. He felt as though it were entirely possible that he could actually drown in their midst. Sweat was beginning to trickle down his body, and he pulled his maroon cloak closer around his body, already feeling dizzy as if he couldn't breathe.
He supposed he couldn't blame others for being curious since he had chosen to come here himself to view this particular Gateway opening. After all, it was an even rarer occasion than most for a retinue of Orcs from the Outer Regions to enter Valhalla.
The Outer Regions housed many different peoples compared to the strict human-only rules of the Unsc. Yes, there were humans in the areas outside, both native to the lands and those who felt the Unsc Empire was too strict.
There were also the Dwarves who made their homes underground. Then there were the Seas who lived underwater or often close by it, as well as the Beast Folk. He had learned about them in school and at the library, though his chances for encounters with them were decidedly few.
Of course, there were also the Orcs, the group that the Unsc Empire had the most difficulty interacting with. While the other areas of the Outer Regions had a collaborative government, the Orcs tended to only be minimally involved in it.
As a result, there were always a level of friction between the empire and their particular area of the Outer Regions. It did not help matters any that said area was close to where the Elves once lived, and therefore suspicions arose as to how in league with their neighbors the Orcs could have been. Even centuries after the death of the last full-blooded Elf, the suspicion remained.
In a way, given his own situation with Elven blood, that had always made Simmons rather curious about the volatile group, even to the point of defying direct orders to stay on the grounds so he could view the admittance of the first ever delegation of Orcs into Valhalla.
Now, though, it was really only the inertia of the crowd around him that kept him there as the redhead was unable to turn tail and flee back to the Magic Division even as all of his instincts screamed at him to do so.
He could only see a bright pulse of light out of the corners of his eyes, could only hear the loud hum as the Gateway flared to life. The mysterious figures who emerged from it were shrouded from view by several other eager and rather rude onlookers who practically knocked him to the ground clamoring for a better view.
He was sighing and picking himself up, not bothering to try to glance at the humanoid shapes currently making their way past the crowd of curious citizens, when a hand clamped painfully tight onto his shoulder. Simmons winced, though his expression took on an even more drained look when he saw the steel insignia of a Division guard.
"Simmons." The helmeted head held a familiar, cruel voice, "Why is it not a surprise to find you here?"
Zachary Miller was a grade-A asshole, one of those guards who loved tormenting any of his charges that he viewed as being "weak". Unsurprisingly, since he had been transferred to the Magic Division from whatever other hole in the Unsc he had been working at previously, Simmons had become one of his favorite targets.
"Um…" Simmons was drawing a blank as to how to respond, mouth suddenly dry as his heart thudded loudly in his ears.
"Wanted to see the freaks even though you didn't get permission?" Miller's voice was dripping with mock sympathy, "Not the best spot for that, huh?"
As they'd been talking, he had maneuvered Simmons out of the crowd while the redhead was desperately trying to think of how to beg the guard not to tell anyone or bring him back for discipline.
He was caught off-guard when Miller suddenly laughed, "I can help with that!"
Before Simmons could process what he meant, the other man shoved him in the shoulder. Hard.
Simmons stumbled, taking several ungraceful steps with his arms flailing to keep himself from falling backwards when two hands grasped his shoulders from behind, steadying him. He blinked, looking up from the awkward position into a tan, chubby face with orange lines marking it.
"You might want to watch where you're falling, nerd." The guy advised, voice both bored and amused all at once.
It took Simmons in his dumbfounded state about twenty more seconds to realize that Miller had shoved him into the back of the Orc procession, and another ten to realize that the man holding him upright was actually a part of it.
He was fairly certain that there was no way he wasn't going to somehow get killed over this.
"So, you really thought I'd kill you? Over getting pushed?" The Orc's voice had an incredulous tone as he glanced towards Simmons lazily from his spot on the grass overlooking the airship yard.
Simmons flinched, his face reddening once more in embarrassment, "I…I'd never met any Orcs before." He stated lamely in way of explanation, though it sounded weak even to him.
His newfound "friend" raised an eyebrow, "I know the rumor is that we're all big and tough with tempers to match," he began, "But we don't usually kill people for shit that isn't a big deal."
Simmons remained silent, too afraid to speak and show off his ignorance off even more. He hated not knowing things for certain, and that was becoming a rather constant thread in this conversation in particular.
The other young man glanced over at him rather disinterestedly, hands behind his head. He was lying on the ground while Simmons still sat upright, his orange shirt barely covering his tan belly.
…Well, the Orc was trying to appear nonchalant, but Simmons saw a momentary assessing look crossing over his dark eyes.
Simmons had to admit that Dexter Grif was not at all how he pictured an Orc. Unlike the green-skinned, hulking monster he had heard and read about since he was a child, Grif looked more or less completely human save for the orange markings on his skin. He was somewhat shorter than Simmons, a bit on the heavier side, and had tan skin where Simmons had pale. His hair was black and messy, and his eyes were brown.
All of the Orcs had been humanlike in appearance, save for their skin markings that on closer inspection almost appeared to be a different type of skin than the rest of them. Simmons could almost make out tiny indentations of what appeared to be scales in the orange on Grif's skin, and it took all of his willpower not to reach out and touch them for clarification.
"Besides, you were pushed," the Orc said at length, as if wanting to gauge his reaction, "So it wasn't even your fault."
Simmons blinked, having to break his thoughts away from staring at Grif's features in order to process what he had just said. The Orc had seen Miller shove him then. No wonder he hadn't been angrier at the interruption of the procession.
Then again, Grif using the entire event as an excuse to get away from the retinue by leaving to have a few words on "manners" with Simmons, had caught the redhead completely off-guard himself, especially since said "words" were ultimately a means of begging him for a prime napping spot.
Normally Simmons would question someone when it came to shirking duties, but he had been so flustered by the day's turn of events that he had found himself bringing Grif to one of his favorite reflecting spots in all of Valhalla.
"I'm guessing you're a Magic User, right?" Grif asked him a second later, "Because that guy was a Magic Division soldier and I know they don't usually harass people on the street unless they can get away with it."
Which they could if you were Magic User as "disciplining" for whatever reason was allowed within reason.
Simmons paused, unsure of how to respond to the question. If he told Grif, how would he react? Like the others who had distanced themselves the moment they knew they were dealing with someone of Elven blood? He fought back the sudden urge to try to cover the scars on his ears once more.
"Does…does it matter if I am?" He finally managed to get out instead, voice rising to a challenge level.
Grif cracked one eye open to regard him rather lazily. After a few seconds, he merely shrugged. "Not really," he told Simmons, "I was just speculating as to why that guy was being such an asshole to you."
"Oh." Simmons felt himself relaxing somewhat.
"Does it bother you to be hanging out with a monstrous, human-hating Orc?" Grif both joked and asked seriously all at once.
Simmons regarded the man lying next to him, his face turning red as he moved to look away. He shook his head adamantly to the question, "N—no, it doesn't bother me," he paused, "You're different than I imagined, is all."
"That's just because the Unsc Empire likes to keep their subjects ignorant whenever possible. No one here tends to mind that too much." Grif shot him an approving look, "But, you're actively trying to learn things, so you're way better in my book."
"Thanks. I think?" Simmons raised an eyebrow, unsure of how to respond to the weirdly worded compliment.
"We used to wear armor and helmets to hide our faces and instill fear into Unsc soldiers when the conflict was still happening." Grif said quietly, "Apparently, some assholes didn't realize that and said those were our real faces."
Which is why so many people had been shocked to see such relatively "normal"-looking people emerge from the Gateway.
"Do you still wear the armor now?" Simmons was curious.
Grif shook his head, "Only for ceremonial reasons really. There was no point when fighting became focused on the monsters instead of humans."
That made sense. Nothing anyone did seemed to instill fear into the anger-addled minds of the Plague Beasts.
"Besides, we started participating more in the Coalition. I don't think the Elders wanted to scare the other regions." Grif finished his explanation with a yawn.
The other regions. It was odd to think of how larger and less insular the rest of the world was compared to the small bit of it in Valhalla that he was forced to occupy. There were humans living amongst Orcs and other peoples with an entirely different governing structure than here.
Even after having heard the stories from Sarge, Filss, and the Freelancers who had come from the Outer Regions, Simmons still had a hard time picturing it. He couldn't stop himself from asking, "What's it like being a Magic User there?"
He wanted to know, to hope, that maybe it was better than here at least.
"Not nearly as restrictive." Grif's response was so immediate that Simmons wondered if he could read his mind, "You have to register at the Guild when your powers first show up, but you don't have to do anything else."
"The Guild?"
Sarge had actually mentioned that before. The older man had been a Guild member, one who had been brought in to help with training at the Magic Division as part of some kind of diplomatic gesture. Sarge had quickly decided it wasn't for him. His leaving, though understandable, still hurt a bit as he'd become something of a father figure to Simmons in the absence of his real one.
"It's an independent organization within the Coalition." Grif explained patiently, "They do all sorts of odd jobs ranging from monster hunting to errand running."
"I see."
He supposed it would make sense for them to have the records of all Magic Users in their hands. It certainly beat the Magic Division's way of handling matters.
"Do they have a presence in the Orc region then?" Simmons asked.
A nod, "There are several non-Orc settlements bordering us, so that's a given. Besides, having the Guild around is smart since it is extra aid."
They had more ties with the Unsc Empire as well, now that Simmons was recalling things better. In fact, he was fairly certain that members of the Guild had been instrumental in bringing about these peace talks to begin with.
He glanced over at Grif with the reminder of just how they had met. It looked as if Grif really was trying to sleep, so he asked quietly: "Hey, Grif?"
"Hmm?" Grif didn't bother opening his eyes this time, and Simmons was envious of how relaxed he could be.
"Why were you a part of the retinue?"
It didn't exactly seem like Grif was too eager to be in Valhalla, nor did the others seem to protest him having dragged Simmons off to shirk his duties.
Grif frowned, "Ugh, don't remind me," he muttered, "They needed one extra person for the full procession of twenty-one, so they hired me from the Guild."
"You work for the Guild?" Simmons couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that.
He nodded, "I told you they had a presence where I'm from." Grif reminded Simmons, "My sister and I live in one of the Coalition friendly settlements."
Grif had been raised with non-Orcs. It was an interesting bit of information to have on his new friend.
"So, they just hired you to hold a place for their grand entrance?" Simmons surmised.
"Sad, isn't it?" The Orc smirked, "If both sides focused on the matter at hand and not on appearances, things would get done a lot quicker."
He could very much agree, but somehow Simmons was secretly glad in this one instance that that wasn't the case. After all, the procession had given him the chance to meet Grif.
…Not that he would ever admit that out loud and reveal how desperately lonely he was for friendly faces. No, sir!
The two remained there well past Simmons' curfew, but this was one of the few times when Simmons didn't notice or mind at all.
They talked about a lot of different things: how life in Valhalla differed from life in the Outer Regions, where the best places to eat were (at Grif's insistence), and about Grif's family. His little sister, for instance, was half-Beast Folk and was always giving him a rather fond type of headache.
Grif tried getting Simmons to talk about his own family, but it wasn't exactly a topic he cared for so he talked about the Division instead. It seemed as if the Orc noticed the change in topic, but didn't press it.
When one of the other Orcs finally came to collect Grif for departure, Simmons felt as though no time had really passed even though dusk was settling over the city.
The redhead couldn't help but feel a little sad when Grif's line of "Guess I'll see you later, nerd." carried over to him. Oddly enough, Simmons found that he was unable to bring himself to respond.
The heavy, metallic doors to the interior of the Magic Division opened to let him gain access. Simmons was grateful that he didn't have to push them open once again due to the heavy bag that he was carrying.
Filss had asked him to run a few errands for her in the market place and library. Since he knew the diamond being was even more restricted in her movements than he was, both in a self-imposed way as well as in general restrictions, he had agreed to help her out.
Simmons was shocked when, upon looking up from the items that he had gotten, he saw a familiar pair of impassive, cold eyes staring at him.
The redhead swallowed back bile, "F—Fath—"
Malcolm Hargrove, the name that his father had changed his own to in the public sphere, narrowed his eyes at the admission in warning and Simmons stopped talking abruptly. How long would it take him to remember that Hargrove had cut all ties with him when he came to live here? Not that there had been many to begin with even beforehand.
Simmons had realized that his emergence as a Magic User was probably one of many reasons as to why Hargrove had changed his name. His father had known of the potential magic in their family's history and had wanted to symbolically distance himself from it.
If the older man was here, it would be due to the official business of the government and the committee he oversaw. Not because of any long overdue parental feeling, no matter what Simmons might hope.
"Simmons." He was shocked that the man addressed him at all, though it was only on the level he would speak to any other subordinate.
"Y—yes, sir?" His throat was dry, the bag heavy in his arms.
"A second delegation will be coming tomorrow." His father proceeded without preamble, "You are to remain here. Understood?"
He nodded his head mutely.
So, either Miller had told on him or one of his father's spies had. It made sense that his father wouldn't want his "mistake" somehow ruining a potentially lucrative alliance.
He tried to keep from tearing up or shaking too much as Hargrove immediately went on to act as though he weren't there. Now he couldn't even go to see the delegation on the off-chance that Grif might have been roped into coming along with them again.
"Filss." Hargrove tilted his head to the side.
There was a glimmer of reflective light as Filss stepped into view, a woman composed entirely of clear, white diamond.
"Chairman?" Her tone was more muted and less enthusiastic than normal.
"I want the results of those test runs in under twelve hours."
She nodded, "Of course, sir."
Then his father was gone, not sparing either of them a second glance. Simmons couldn't stop trembling even after the doors closed once more.
Filss watched him and then glared at the doors, "I do not like that man." She stated emphatically, distaste curling her lips slightly.
Simmons could only give her a watery smile in agreement.
She shot him a knowing, sympathetic look just then and he quickly held up the bag to cut off any commentary about how he was feeling as he mumbled: "Y—your things."
His friend, really one of his only ones, smiled. "Thank you." She replied, taking the bag from him.
He nodded, "You're welcome."
Filss examined the contents of the bag carefully before observing Simmons with a thoughtful expression crossing over her smooth, shiny features. It was obvious that he was still upset by the encounter with his father.
"I will be allowed to contact my sister soon," she informed him, "It is our customary allowed message every month."
Filss and her sister, Sheila, were special cases among the Magic Users here in Valhalla, ones where their abilities were physically always on display for the world to see. They had been wards of the Magic Division for even longer than Simmons had, and even served as aides of sorts in the mysterious Freelancer program that was now more or less defunct.
That was until Sheila was sent to the Outer Regions as part of an aide program to help foster better relations. Now they were only allowed one personal correspondence a month with one another, and could only speak professionally otherwise.
Both women were always nice to him, and he felt awful at the treatment they received by almost everyone else here due to their less than human appearances. He could only hope that Sheila was happier outside of Valhalla at least, even if she wasn't with her sibling anymore.
"If you'd like, I'm sure I could smuggle out a letter to Sarge." Filss told him conspiratorially, "I know you have yet to respond to any of the messages he has sent to you."
He couldn't help but smile, both at the reminder that Sarge hadn't forgotten about him and sent him colorful letters detailing his monster hunting exploits and at Filss' attempt to help him feel better.
Yet he shook his head all the same, "Thanks, Filss, but I don't want you getting in trouble for my sake."
He said goodbye and quickly walked away before she could try convincing him further.
Besides, even if Simmons did write and they didn't get caught sneaking a letter out, what could he even talk about?
The needle gun shook slightly in Simmons' hands as he glanced around the shady area of the Magic Division's grounds once more to make sure no one else was around.
Fortunately, word of the second Orc delegation had swept everyone into a frenzy so the guards were either inside the building proper or out on patrols. He was completely alone, which meant he had all the space he needed for target practice.
Technically speaking, Magic Users had to get permission for having any kind of weapon. That permission was rarely, if ever, granted.
Simmons was no exception to that rule. The gun had been a gift of his cousins upon leaving the center. Since they wouldn't be around to help keep an eye on him, Carolina had figured the needle gun would be a good way to not only help ensure that he had protection, but also a way to relieve his ever-present anxiety. Naturally, Church just had to joke about how everything came back to maiming things to his sister.
Still, it was something he desperately needed now. Fuck, even thinking about his cousins and wondering what they were up to now that Freelancer was over with caused him to stress out all over again. He had never been able to figure out what had taken place there, no matter how much he pried or begged.
Practicing a bit would no doubt do him some good. The needle gun was a small, pistol-looking device that shot out needles at a very high speed. It was easy to reload, and he had gotten to have a rather decent aim with it after sneaking away for target practice a few times.
He had set up a vase about fifteen meters away from where he was standing currently. The redhead took careful aim while squeezing down on the trigger…
"Simmons?"
Just as an all-too familiar voice spoke up behind him.
Simmons spun around, not even realizing that he had followed through on pulling the trigger as a trio of extremely sharp needles shot out of the weapon and flew directly towards an equally shocked-looking Grif.
He expected there to be shouts or screams of pain, his stomach and chest lurching at the thought of Grif writhing in agony with needles protruding through his far too soft and humanlike skin.
Instead, he was shocked by how quickly Grif was able to extend his staff. There was a momentary glow over the runes embedded in the weapon as he swung it in an arc as if to swat the projectiles out of the air.
Instead, Simmons was shocked when the needles suddenly exploded in midair a second after they were hit. Only one tiny splinter got through still to nick Grif's hand.
"Whoa!" Grif exclaimed, "Watch where the fuck you're aiming, Simmons!"
"G—Grif?" Simmons was so stunned by the other man's presence that he barely registered the retort, "Wh—what are you doing here?"
"Apparently having to work my ass off to avoid becoming a walking pin cushion," he sighed, "and you know how much I hate working. And walking."
"It wouldn't kill you to do more of both, you know." Simmons couldn't help himself.
"It wouldn't hurt you to be mindful of where you're aiming." Grif repeated dryly, though there was amusement more than anything else dancing in his brown eyes.
"S—sorry." Simmons could feel himself become red-faced at that, "I wasn't…expecting you."
Grif sighed, "My fault for sneaking up on you. Partially."
The Orc put his staff away, and Simmons blinked in memory of what had happened earlier. The runes on the weapon were conduits to have energy safely travel through any item, which meant…
"You're…you're a Magic User?" The redhead asked him, incredulously.
Grif shrugged as if the admission wasn't anything major, "Yeah," he tilted his head to the side, "Didn't I mention that?"
"No!" Simmons shook his head adamantly.
"Oh. Guess I meant to and forgot." Grif shrugged, "No biggie."
Simmons felt as though his head were about to explode. "It is a big deal, Grif!" He stated emphatically, "I didn't know Orcs could be Magic Users."
Grif stared at him blankly, "Of course we can. All that means is that somewhere down the family line we had elven blood thrown into the mix. The same as any other person."
Simmons frowned. What Grif said made logical sense, but there were records of the other cultures having Magic Users. There were no such mentions of Orcs that he could recall whatsoever. Grif seemed to catch on to what he was thinking, because understanding crossed over his features a minute later.
"Well, I suppose it isn't common knowledge here in Valhalla since we aren't too keen on sharing that kind of information with the Unsc," he admitted, lowering his voice slightly, "They already think we were somehow connected to the Elves before the Genocide as it is."
Simmons could only nod his head in understanding on that point.
"Besides, my power isn't exactly something to go bragging about." Grif stated, shrugging, "I can blow shit up when I touch it. Awesome for parties, but makes it hard for people to want to shake your hand."
That explained what had occurred with the needles then. Each magic user had a unique ability that developed when they reached their teens.
For Carolina, it had been incredible speed. For Church, he had developed two joint abilities that supposedly went hand-in-hand though he didn't care to talk about them with others. Filss had a body completely made of diamond, while Sarge was able to create weapons from his own life-force.
Grif could apparently cause things to explode through touch. The runes on his staff helped to safely channel that power into whatever he hit it with. As for Simmons?
He frowned when he saw the cut on Grif's hand and reached his own palm, fingers stretched out. Grif watched him curiously as the redhead held his fingertips just a few centimeters from the Orc's hand and the wound. A draining sort of warmth worked its way around Simmons. As he concentrated on stretching the aura outwards the cut began to close up.
A healing aura. Even his ability was considered useless by his father since that was hardly something that could be weaponized.
"I heal things," Simmons said quietly in way of explanation to Grif, "if they're close enough."
He still had trouble expanding his range past a few centimeters, but he was trying.
"Seems like a pretty useful skill to have." Grif grinned gratefully.
"Hardly," he rolled his eyes, "I still have no range and can't even heal myself."
"Yeah, but if I'd had that power instead? I could have saved a lot of energy and time trying to calm Kai down from scraped knees."
Well, that figured. Simmons couldn't help but smile and shake his head, "Lazy ass."
"Kiss-ass." Grif's smile and response was just as automatic.
"So, you're more defensive and I'm offensive," Grif mused once a comfortable silence fell upon them, "Guess we complement each other that way, huh?"
Simmons blinked, taken aback by the comment and the sudden pounding of his heart at the oddly wistful expression Grif seemed to be shooting him, "I…I guess so."
He paused and quickly decided he needed to say one thing at least, "I swear I won't tell anyone that Orcs can use magic too, Grif."
The other man's smile only widened knowingly, "Thanks, nerd. I had a feeling it would be okay to show you."
They talked quite a bit more following that, mostly about what they had been recently up to.
Simmons was so relieved, so happy to see his surprise friend again that he didn't even question Grif's earlier comment any, or ask why he had come back to begin with.
"So, Simmons," Grif took a pause here to choke down an impossibly huge portion of food, "What do you know about the Genocide?"
Simmons blinked, thinking it to be an odd topic of conversation, but he supposed it was of the same vein as their "do you ever wonder why we're here?" one from earlier.
They were still in the shaded area of the grounds where Grif had found him target practicing earlier. He'd subsequently laughed at his attempts to hit the vase and Simmons had to resist the urge to turn the needle gun on him on purpose. Simmons had snuck some food out when Grif had complained that "catching up always made him hungry."
Most of it, beyond a piece of bread that Simmons had to pull away quickly lest Grif tried eating his hand along with it, went to the Orc. How Grif wasn't choking on the sheer amount of food he was inhaling was beyond him. Simmons supposed it was a miracle the man actually was slowing down to talk now, a contemplative look crossing over his features as he waited for Simmons to respond to his inquiry.
Everyone knew the Genocide story though.
"The human-led Unsc Empire was in serious conflict with the Elves of the Outer Regions. It was beginning to affect relations with other peoples," he recalled from all of the history lessons drilled into him as a child, "At the height of the war, the Elves unleashed the Plague of Monsters onto the world and the empire wiped them out in retaliation for it."
It was a really sad story.
"The only Elves to survive intermixed in the population before dying off, which is how current Magic Users are born." Simmons resisted touching his ears again here, though his halted motion to do so wasn't lost on Grif, "Since the Outer Regions were the most affected by the Plague, the Unsc Empire set up the magical barriers to make travel extremely regulated between the lands."
"Perfect textbook response." Grif stated, nodding his head in approval, "As expected from a nerd."
Simmons huffed, "Well, why ask a question everyone already knows the answer to?"
Grif didn't respond right away, fiddling with a blade of grass in-between his fingers. At length, he finally spoke up, "You know, the Orcs tell an alternate version of those events along with what the history notes say."
That caught Simmons' attention and he looked at him curiously, "Really?"
Grif grinned at having hooked Simmons through the other young man's natural curiosity and inquisitive nature.
He nodded, "It's said that the Elves only unleashed the Plague when they realized their deaths were imminent."
Simmons frowned, "But, that would mean the empire had wanted to kill them all along."
The version of events taught to children were horrific enough given the scope of what had happened. If what Grif was saying was true though? He shuddered. That made things even worse.
"Exactly. Which wouldn't help their reluctant peacemaker image in the slightest," Grif stated quietly, "And it would call into question their vilifying of the Elves and Magic Users."
Simmons' hands went to the scars on his ears then. Grif looked as if he wanted to comment, but he thankfully didn't. "Could you imagine what it would mean if that turned out to be true?" Grif asked instead.
Simmons could. In a way. It could change everything. Maybe, just maybe, that would mean some positive changes for Valhalla too.
It didn't hurt to dream of it, at any rate.
He wanted to thank Grif for telling him, even if all it did was fill him with a false sense of hope. It was better than nothing, but as the redhead looked towards the Orc he saw that Grif was already back to trying to fit two hand-sized pies into his mouth at once.
Simmons couldn't help but make a face instead.
Either the peace talks were going well or they were going horribly, because a third one had been scheduled a month or so after the second.
Personally, Simmons didn't really care either way. All it meant was that he had the possibility of running into Grif again. Not that he really knew for certain in the chubby Orc would be coming, but, well, it gave him something to marginally look forward to at least and so he clung to it.
Simmons had even decided this time to say "Fuck it!" to the rules and his father in particular for once in his life, sneaking out of the Magic Division and standing near the curious onlookers at the Gateway once more.
He knew Miller and his asshole friends had been assigned to guard the Magic Division grounds today, so he at least didn't need to worry about getting caught by them. He had been extra-careful in bundling up to avoid detection on his way there to boot.
After all, he couldn't be sure that Grif would be able to ditch his retinue duties just to sneak onto the Magic Division's grounds again just to say hi. Honestly, Simmons was still rather shocked that the Orc had gotten the drive and energy to do so even once.
The redhead supposed it was only fair he did just as much work in keeping this odd friendship of sorts afloat as the lazy-ass did.
The Gateway hummed to life as figures emerged from its circular, mirror-like depths. Simmons stiffened in anticipation, this time having set himself farther away from the gathering crowd so he wouldn't get swallowed up in their depths.
He inched forward slightly as the Orcs came into view. They were all standing there seriously, at attention and with weapons at the ready in a display of power. All save for the final member of the group.
Grif's despondent demeanor and slumped over posture was in surprisingly sharp contrast to his usual "just can't be bothered" demeanor. Simmons' stomach lurched at the sight of it.
Something was wrong, that much he could tell.
In fact, Grif began moving half-heartedly along with the others without raising his eyes to look around at his surroundings. He didn't even try to catch a glimpse of who might be there, waiting for him. Somehow, that panicked Simmons in a way he wasn't even sure he could remotely care to explain.
"Grif!"
Before he could even think about where he was or what he was doing, Simmons had raced forward with a cry and stopped just in front of his friend, hand outstretched as if he had been about to follow through on grabbing on to catch his attention.
There were low murmurs all around them, but Simmons ignored them as his panicked mind still focused on Grif alone.
The Orc blinked slowly down at the redhead's hand, then looked up into his green eyes as if he was just waking up from some sort of weird trance. "Simmons?" He asked, his voice hardly above a whisper.
"Took you long enough to figure it out, fat-ass." Simmons joked in response, just desperate for any way to get a sense of "normal" back between them.
Grif didn't respond at first, but the grip on Simmons' arm just as he was about to put his hand down spoke volumes.
Grif told him it had been a slaughter.
After seeming to get his wits back around him, just as Simmons had started realizing what he had done in front of everyone and began panicking over it, Grif had dragged the redhead off without another word. He had brought them to the park that Simmons had showed him on his first trip to Valhalla, and had promptly began talking about just what had made him so upset.
It had apparently been a monster hunt set up from the Guild that had gone terribly wrong. Grif had been the only survivor.
The Orc shook his head, a haunted look remaining in his dark brown eyes as he gave Simmons a wry, self-deprecating smile, "When this assignment came up again I figured it was a good way to keep my mind off of things, you know?"
Simmons didn't know. Not really. Though he could relate at least partially to using work to get your mind off of painful things.
The Orc laughed a bitter, biting laugh, "Only it really hasn't done shit, which majorly sucks."
"Grif…" Simmons stopped and trailed off, unable to think of what to say before trying again, "I'm sorry."
It was wholly inadequate, but he wasn't sure of what else to say or do just then.
"I know." Grif sighed.
Simmons looked away then, fairly certain he maybe just needed to leave Grif alone in his grief. The redhead wasn't sure if it was something the Orc wanted to remain private, or even of what to really do as he made to get up. He wasn't expecting the other man to look slightly panicked at the motion, nor to suddenly lean forward and wrap his arms tightly around Simmons as though he were a lifeline.
Simmons' brain short-circuited at the contact, and he simply sat there dumbly within the embrace while positive that his heart would burst out of his chest at any second.
"I missed you." Grif's voice was quiet as he pulled away, and Simmons blinked while unsure of how to respond.
He smiled slightly, figuring this was a moment they'd both chalk up to emotions running high and gloss over later, "I...I missed you too, Grif."
When he seemed confident that Simmons wasn't about to leave, Grif relaxed a bit and sat down again. The two lapsed into silence, watching the airships docking and undocking while occasionally stealing glances at one another.
At long length, Grif asked, "Have you ever heard about Linking Magic, Simmons?"
Linking Magic was an ancient form of magic that the Elves had wielded. It was meant to connect two willing souls together, increasing both of their magic in the process.
According to the ancient texts, it was something of a double-edged sword though, as the two people were connected to one another very deeply at all times. From what he knew, any attempts to duplicate the process with Magic Users had been unsuccessful, and that attempting to do so now was generally forbidden.
"Yeah, of course I have," he told Grif, glancing at him curiously, "Why?"
Grif didn't answer him and a few seconds later, the other man was snoozing on his shoulder. Even though the Orc was heavy as all fuck and they didn't have a ton of time, Simmons didn't have the heart to wake him just yet.
The fourth time they meet, Grif was actively looking for Simmons after stepping through the Gateway. He waved upon seeing him, pointing Simmons out to a dark-skinned man who appeared to be one of the Beast Folk. The stranger had black furred, feline-like ears and a tail that matched his hair color.
"Oh, so this is the husband you're always going on about on Guild assignments?" The man, Lavernius Tucker, joked while shooting Simmons a conspiratorial wink as he did so.
"Tucker, shut up." Grif muttered, his face almost as red as Simmons' became following that question.
The newcomer shrugged and grinned, "Hey, I just tell it like it is!"
Tucker was another Guild representative from one of the settlements that housed both Orcs and other peoples. Apparently, the Coalition had felt the need to send some non-Orc representation to the talks now that they had started to heat up. This particular Beast Folk was something of friends with both Grif and his little sister as well.
Simmons couldn't help but smile slightly, glad that Grif seemed to be feeling better now too from the last time they had met. Tucker seemed nice and friendly enough too.
"Kai's going to be so fucking jealous that I got to meet you first!" He whispered conspiratorially to Simmons as both Tucker and Grif were called over to the actual retinue for once, "Do you know that Grif actually volunteers to come on these assignments now?"
"R—really?"
That was a shock, considering that all Grif did was ditch work as soon as possible to hang out with him of all people.
Tucker nodded before sighing dramatically, "But, Kai is going to an orgy this weekend that I am totally missing for this, so I guess we're sort of even there."
"Yeah, yeah…" It took a few seconds for what he said to fully process in Simmons' brain, "Wait, what?!"
Simmons sat in his usual spot near the airship port, waiting for Grif to come back.
The Orc and Tucker had both been asked to actually attend this particular talk, but Grif had assured the redhead that he would meet up at their usual spot while ignoring Tucker's whistle at the fact that they actually had a spot.
Simmons had learned a bit more about Grif's home life thanks to Tucker, which he was grateful for. He was glad to see Grif finally doing work for once, though in a way he was sad too since it meant that their day together would be cut short this time.
He wondered how pathetic it would be if he asked the Orc to visit him again maybe on his own if the talks went well and sighed, deciding that he would just have to make the most of the current situation if he could.
Footsteps came behind him. Heavy ones. Simmons was about to let out a greeting of "What took you, fat-ass?" to his friend when something familiar was tossed to the ground next to him.
His needle gun.
"Hey, Simmons," Miller's voice along with the chuckles of his fellow guards made Simmons' blood run cold as he stared down at the weapon, "Guess what we just found on a mandatory room search?"
He swallowed, throat dry. The weapon was lying right there, but they all knew that Simmons reaching for it would only make things that much worse for him. It would only give them the exact excuse that they seemed to be looking for.
"That's a severely punishable offense, you know," Miller said conversationally, looming over Simmons threateningly, "As is sneaking out during the peace talks."
Suddenly, he was grabbing Simmons by the arm and yanking him forcibly to his feet.
"Some people never learn, do they?" Miller jeered to his friends.
They snickered, and Simmons whimpered—trying to pull away. The first blow hit him hard in the gut. The next one hit his face. A jab to the knee knocked him over, but he was pulled back upright only to be hit again.
Anytime a blow knocked him down, he was pushed upright for the whole process to repeat. He tasted copper. Something warm and wet was making it hard to keep his eyes open, though the flashes of pain weren't helping either.
"Transgressions like that are the ultimate offense, Simmons." Miller informed him, glancing from the gun to the airships in the distance, "Do you sit here because you dream of leaving? Want to see what will happen when you do?"
Then the guards were dragging him to the edge of the park, to the faint shimmer that concealed the barrier that kept Unsc separate from the rest of the world.
Simmons started struggling, trying to dig his feet into the dirt to no avail. Miller was going to push him through, was going to kill him. His heart would give out the second he stepped foot outside!
Would his asshole father even tell his mother or his cousins what had happened? Would they mourn? What about Filss and Sheila? Would Sarge, if they were able to tell him?
…What about Grif?
Simmons wanted to cry, wanted to punch Miller's lights out, but all he could do was weakly flail his arms…
"Simmons!"
Someone familiar was calling out his name, and suddenly Miller was dropping the redhead as if something had just burned him.
As if simply touching Simmons had burned him.
Simmons blinked through swollen eyes, not quite sure what had happened. He was on the ground by the edge of the terrain, Miller writhing in agony next to him as another guard lunged forward…
"Simmons!"
Grif called his name again as everything went painfully, suddenly black.
When Simmons woke up, it was to sheer panic and a blooming sense of pain racing throughout his entire body. He screamed, jumping upright and wincing as he did so, remembering what had happened the last time he had been conscious. Miller had been about to…!
"Simmons," Grif was sitting next to him, putting reassuring hands on his shoulders, "It's okay. You're all right now."
"G—Grif?" The redhead blinked, feeling light-headed and still aching all over.
A healing aura and he couldn't even use it on himself. Oh, the irony. Grif smiled apologetically, helping to ease Simmons back down onto the bedroll he had awoken on.
"Well, as all right as anyone can be after that kind of beating." The Orc tried joking, though there was obvious concern and worry in his eyes.
It was enough to get Simmons to return a weak smile to him, and he then took a second to look around the space he had woken up in. They were in a large tent of some kind, and clearly not in Valhalla. His mind became dizzy at that dawning realization alone.
"Wh—where…?" Simmons managed to get out weakly after a few seconds of still trying to process what was going on.
"A traveling caravan outside Unsc's borders." Grif told him in way of explanation.
For a moment, Simmons thought he was dreaming. He panicked and put his hand to his bruised chest, just to make sure his heart was still beating.
"Something about what happened somehow disrupted your prison enchantments." Grif assured him, "You were already partially outside the barrier and still breathing when I got there."
Simmons frowned, narrowing his green eyes. Not only did that not make any sense, it also didn't explain how he got here. Wherever here was.
Grif seemed to sense this because he added a second later, "I brought you here, Simmons," he informed him quietly, eyes hardening a bit, "There was no fucking way I was leaving you there after that."
The Orc's voice was daring him to try and argue. Simmons almost would have simply for the sake of it if nothing else, but he was having a hard time processing things at the moment.
He supposed it was only natural to feel disoriented and groggy given what he'd gone through. He also suspected he had probably been given some pretty potent medicine for pain while he was out of it too, given how he felt.
"Thanks." Simmons finally managed to get out, "F—for helping."
Grif almost seemed nervous beforehand, letting out a shaky sigh of relief at Simmons' comment. He reached over and held his hand for a second.
"You still need to sleep, nerd." Grif informed him gently, "Rest up. We'll talk later."
Simmons couldn't really argue, given how he was feeling. As his mind drifted back into darkness, it finally hit him that he was free. He had never felt more terrified or ecstatic all at once.
His last conscious thought was of squeezing Grif's hand, of which he would of course deny later, just to make sure the Orc was still there with him.
"You didn't tell him." Tucker's voice was soft when he entered the tent moments later.
Grif didn't look up from Simmons' sleeping face at his entry, "Didn't tell him what?"
"Gee, I don't know! About the whole mysterious linking shit?" Tucker replied sarcastically, ears tilted to his head and looking at Grif like he was an idiot.
In the chaotic moments when they had found Simmons being attacked, a lot of things that Grif wasn't sure he wanted to fully dwell on had happened.
"That's for another day." He finally muttered.
"Really? Because I kind of think I'd want to know about it now if I was in his shoes." His friend said, obviously rolling his eyes by his tone.
The Beast Kin did have a point, even if Grif wasn't ready to hear it. He wasn't sure that Simmons was ready either. He could just picture the redhead panicking. He didn't need that at the moment. If at all possible, Grif didn't want him to see this as anything but a good thing.
Grif sighed, "He just got the shit beaten out of him and nearly died, Tucker," he reminded him, "Not to mention that I technically kidnapped him from Valhalla, which I'm pretty sure he'll chew me out for when he feels better." The Orc sighed, "Accidentally somehow linking can be a trauma we save for another day."
Tucker sighed in return, "As long as you do tell him about it, I guess," he finally relented before becoming uncharacteristically serious, "Believe me, the Guild is going to have questions."
"I know."
It wasn't like Grif didn't have them himself. The linking or whatever it was had saved Simmons, he was fairly certain of that. But, it was definitely something that had come as a shock for both of them at the time.
Tucker exited the tent a moment later with a "Totally married." comment under his breath. Grif wasn't sure how long he stayed there exactly until Simmons stirred again.
"Hey, Grif?" The redhead asked sleepily, still under the influence of the pain medicine he had been given.
"Yeah?" Grif gripped his hand, hoping the reason Simmons had woken up wasn't because he was in any pain or anything.
"I think, well, I'll probably panic afterwards but right now I feel calm so fuck it, right?" Simmons was rambling groggily, "I think…I want to investigate some Elven ruins when I feel up to it. See which story is true."
The Orc was surprised and oddly touched in a way that Simmons had remembered his odd little conversation point from their second meeting.
"Sure. I'll even help you out, though it sounds boring as fuck." Grif smiled, relieved that Simmons was just rambling in his sleep and seemed almost eager to be here. As long as Simmons was okay, he would be too.
"Thanks." Came the groggy but genuine response. Just like that, the redhead was snoozing again.
Grif couldn't help it when his smile widened slightly. He knew there were definitely a lot of things they would need to discuss in more detail following Simmons' recovery, but for right now?
For right now, being close to Simmons like this was more than enough.
Author's Notes: This was my first attempt at writing a Fantasy AU, and it was a rather fun experience! Actually, this was originally meant to be a one shot, but I have an idea as to how it could be made into a multi-chapter story so I view this as kind of a prequel now. If others seem interested in seeing more from this story-verse, I might just try to alternate between chapters of the next installment of this AU (which I'm calling Remnants) with chapters from When We Were Soldiers, the next update of which should be coming soon!
As always, I hope you enjoyed! Thank you very much for reading it! :D
