he's still. painfully still. it looks wrong, feels wrong, feels like he's got to be about to break out into a grin, snort laughter and grin that terrible grin of his. it's not like he hasn't done shit like that before.

but that's not going to happen.

you found his body in the middle of a pile of charred bones, though he only seems to have suffered scratches- the deepest of which are probably laced across his torso. it's not the injuries that finished him, and you're pretty sure it wasn't his enemy, either. it was his own power, overtaxing himself, overwhelming his body and burning him out from the inside.

he's not the self-sacrificial type. doesn't fight for any reason other than because it's fun- didn't. didn't. wasn't. he would have died in a fight before just because of his own curiosity if he hadn't been always carefully watched, but it's not like he ever wanted to die. maybe he was afraid of death. it's not like you ever talked about it with him.

no, he's not one to martyr himself, but maybe this fight- for the world, which was so close to ending just hours ago- was enough to make him want to protect something. maybe. you'd like to think so. Ja'far would give you the stink-eye for that, thinking there's anything good to be said about Judal.

but it's true that Judal was a key figure in this victory. you can see a broken staff some distance away, and you wonder if anyone saw him defeat her, saw him lose his life and ultimately win the war.

you think there was probably no one who saw, no one who might know what was going through his head right before the end.

his hair is singed. he would hate that.

with a heavy sigh, you bend down, brush his hair away from his eyes. it's caked with blood in places, but you're pretty much drenched with it. it makes no difference. you look at him for a moment, his face empty, neither peaceful nor twisted in pain or anger or cruelty, and then you pick him up with what strength you have left.

you don't need to be careful, but you lift him very gently. he would complain about that, too.

as it is, the others didn't want you to come looking for him, but you slipped away while they thought you were resting. you probably would have had a guard, since Ja'far knows exactly how you are, but every spare hand is tending to the injured, so you didn't have any trouble getting out.

he's done many, many terrible things in his life, but you want him to be remembered with gratitude. it'll give the people hope, at least- the dark Magi turning against the organization that made him, just in time to save the day. romanticized, utter shit to anyone who knew the boy, but you remember that he wasn't so horrible once. and you know that the blame for who he was never purely lay on his shoulders.

and now here you are. both of you.

your head hurts.

he'll get a proper burial, like the rest. honored for his sacrifice and all. there won't be many people there to mourn him.

you feel like the world is on your shoulders, dragging you down with all of these losses- like this one is just another drop in the ocean. but it won't be a numb pain later. it'll be- you don't want to think about it.

you don't want to think about any of it. you want to sleep. the burdens of a king have never felt so heavy before.

tomorrow you'll help dig out the rest of the bodies, and the day after that, and you'll attend the mass funerals. you'll mourn for all the lives lost, you'll provide whatever comfort you can scrape from the bottom of your hollow heart, and then when all is said and done, you'll rejoice with them. rejoice for the hope of life ahead, for a future not darkened by the likes of Al Sarmen.

for now, you hold Judal's still body a bit closer to your chest.