Chapter Text
It was decidedly surreal, Kanjigar mused, to be walking through the sewers of Arcadia Oaks behind Bular and not be in his armor.
One of them was going to die tonight. In spirit, if not physically, in his case. He had no doubt that Gunmar would do everything in his power to break him, bend him to his will with the Decimaar Blade, and...
And, if Draal chose the path that would lead to Gunmar’s freedom, it wouldn’t be a difficult task for the Gumm-Gumm king.
Kanjigar was already breaking, though there was a faint thread of hope, still. Hope that Imbar would be willing to give up his father and brother for his mate and daughter. Hope that maybe, just maybe, the Changeling who had obviously fallen for his son just as hard as Draal had fallen for him would be willing to change sides in this war.
It was a weak, stuttering hope, but it was there, and he was clinging to it at tightly as he could.
“I’m surprised you’re not trying to kill him.”
He looked up in surprise, not having expected Bular to actually talk to him at any point along this journey.
Kanjigar had to assume that the ‘him’ Bular was talking about was Imbar. The implication that he would hurt his own son...
He shook his head to dislodge that thought process. “...He’s made Draal happy. That’s... all I can ask.” Imbar had done a far better job of that than Kanjigar had, recently.
Red eyes glanced back at him, something in Bular’s expression setting off alarms in the back of his head. Surprise. A hint of frustration. But also something like resignation, and reluctant pride. It... occurred to him, not for the first time in the last few days, that perhaps Imbar hadn’t had the most honest of intentions when he had begun his friendship with Draal.
Not that it mattered much now.
Draal was happy. The relief and love in Imbar’s expression just moments ago had been real. Whatever the intent had been years ago when this started, the end result was two trolls who dearly loved each other. And whatever the two of them decided... All he could do was hope that there wouldn’t be any regrets left when the sun rose in the morning.
“You can’t possibly approve of your son mating with an Impure.” Bular sounded like he was in some kind of denial, and Kanjigar couldn’t blame him, given the common mindset about Changelings. And yet...
“It took me weeks to realize Draal had left Trollmarket, presumably forever. Years to find out he’d been sneaking out to visit a Changeling. I don’t think I’m entitled to be complaining about who or what my son’s fallen in love with when I couldn’t be bothered to see what was happening right under my nose.” He forced himself to hold his tongue here, biting back anything else that wanted to pour forth.
He was the Trollhunter, still. And while he carried the Amulet of Daylight, he would maintain a certain level of decorum.
Part of him wondered if his spirit would join those of the past Trollhunters in the amulet when he died. He doubted it. If Draal chose the Gumm-Gumms, he knew exactly what his fate would be.
Imbar had stopped his brother from killing him on what, it turned out, had been more than one occasion. They needed him alive because he had to be the one to open the bridge.
If Draal and his mate asked it of him... he would do it. He wouldn’t be happy about it, but he would do it. Because he’d told his son the truth two years ago, likely quite early into that relationship: if the Gumm-Gumms took his son, he would do anything to keep him safe.
If Imbar was certain that Draal would be safe with them... Well. Who was he to argue? Clearly he didn’t know his own son anymore.
He remembered the troll that was constantly asking (begging, that traitorous whisper in the back of his head corrected him) to train with him, to help him fight...
He almost hadn’t recognized the troll who’d gotten between him and Bular two nights ago. Oh, he’d known who he was, but that strength, the simmering anger that got tamped down and sat on...
His son had changed so much, and all he could do was stand by and watch, because that’s all he’d ever wanted Draal to do, and that distance had only grown with the introduction of someone else for Draal to latch onto.
“...You have me extremely tempted to risk my brother’s ire.”
Kanjigar looked up, realized they’d stopped walking, and blinked at Bular in mild confusion.
“You can stay here and wait, or you can come up with me,” Gunmar’s son grunted, nodding to a ladder that had clearly been reinforced for his use. “If you’re going to keep brooding, do it somewhere I don’t have to watch.”
He winced, but was willing to give him that much. He needed to stop. It wasn’t doing them any good, and...
It was out of his hands. Whatever Imbar and Draal decided, he would accept. He had lost this fight as soon as Imbar had claimed his son.
He could hope for an end to this fight that wouldn’t release Gunmar back into the world, but... He suspected he was grasping at a delusion. And there was nothing that lingering on it was going to do except torture him further.
As he watched Bular climb the ladder, he could admit that perhaps he deserved that. But then... if these were to be his last conscious moments, perhaps he should focus on thoughts that were a little less upsetting.
He climbed up behind Bular silently, freezing for a moment when he emerged from the sewer. Draal had told him the bridge was complete, but...
It hadn’t quite sunk in, fully, that Killahead Bridge was rebuilt. Every stone, every piece that had been reduced to rubble, a project that Kanjigar had been a part of... put back together. Whole. Ready and waiting to open the gateway to the Darklands.
The bridge glowed faintly, trying but failing to open, and Kanjigar had the sudden feeling that he should have stayed in the sewers, because he knew Gunmar’s voice, remembered it.
A deep breath, and he pulled himself up out of the tunnels, letting the slab lower behind him. He found himself a corner and sat down, idly listening in, but not truly expecting to learn anything Draal hadn’t already told him.