A/N – I wrote this chapter to Only by RY X, but mostly to Stay by Gracie Abrams – especially in the scenes with Malcolm. Both are in the Master Playlist on Spotify, and the Aiasthlyn one too.

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Lincoln’s P.O.V

Lincoln,

I do not write this letter with an eager hand, but there is no other better suited to head these words.

My time in this realm never held any permanence. I know you, more than anyone else, always understood that. It was limited and granted Kalem has told you everything, you may hold a better understanding of why that it is.

I suspect you are rather confused by this whole ordeal that cast you as the focus. In some areas, I am the same. I was meant to help you win the war. For what purpose? I do not know, but I saw it through to the end, and I did not allow any personal qualms to get in the way of that.

I know you have no trust in me, but you have my word that my charge never directed any ill intent upon you or your people. I never swayed your mind or your wants, only supported your plan from its root.

I did, however, form connections and that, I was certainly not meant to do.

My inability to stay focused resulted in the fabrication of several honest relationships, and I know because of that, I have left behind much destruction with only you to tend to it. For that, I am sorry.

I am truly sorry, Lincoln.

As I am remiss in asking this of you – take care of Malcolm.

I know I have no right to ask it, not now, not after all I’ve done, but I ask it anyway. Take care of him.

Malcolm has told me the tale of how you two became a pair many times, of the decades he spent relentlessly securing your friendship. He was there for you even when you didn’t want him near. I ask now that you do the same for him.

Stay at his side. Protect him. Do not let his light fade, and never let him flounder, even if you have to force your company onto him… even if he hates you for it.

Please, Lincoln, take care of him.

Aias

✠

I stare at the shimmering golden page and the carefully written words atop it that were causing my ears to ring.

I read it again, and then once more whilst my fingers tighten around its bottom edge, the bones there threatening to snap against the pages enchantment.

With a curse, I drop the pristine mockery, letting the page fall back to my desk where it had lain since the night its writer fled.

It had appeared the day after he left, waiting patiently like a spot of light in an otherwise shadowed castle. I hadn’t thought twice before I’d tossed the offence into the fireplace, leaving it to fend against smouldering coal, but it remained untouched.

After endless attempts to rid this planet of the last mark of that rotting being, I soon discovered that the letter was enchanted. It survived any hardship or attempt of ridding it of the intended reader, which, unfortunately, was me.

The matter was simple then, ignore it for the rest of eternity, and I would have done so if not for Malcolm’s suffering.

To witness it, day and night, and have no understanding of how someone could ever leave someone so good behind, and in so much agony at that, was maddening. So I’d sought out the taunting letter, desperate for anything, only to find myself even more enraged.

How dare he?

How dare that wicked creature tell me to take care of Malcolm after what he’d done?

Malcolm was fine before him. Happy, naïve, caring, Malcolm was doing just fine and now…

Aias had done something to Malcolm. Beyond his leaving, beyond breaking his heart, that bloody elf had done something cruel or perhaps, something had been said, but it had broken him entirely.

We may never know which it was, but by the time we’d caught up to Malcolm, he was knelt alone in an empty field, unmoving even with the downpour raining hell onto him. Face soaked, not only by the tears, he hadn’t even noticed our presence, his grey eyes made empty.

Whatever that bastard had done, it had snuffed it out – that joyous light that Malcolm held from the day he was made and managed to keep all the centuries later. The one that saved souls- saved my soul. That elf had wiped it out completely, and now he asked me to care for him as if I would do anything else?

Fire burns in my veins, setting my blood aflame as hatred flares within me. It takes on a new form as it settles at the core of my very being, breeding itself within each passing second.

If I ever saw him again, and I prayed to the Gods that I would, it would be death. Not threats or tamed annoyance, they’d be no more of that.

I would find a way to kill that foul creature, and I would make him pay for what he’d done.

At my sides, I feel my fingers curling into my palms, my fists becoming so tight my nails draw blood. With only death on my mind, it’s not long before Lyrra stirs within me, ready to spread my will amongst my people with a vengeance.

No.

No, not like this.

My rage was my own, not theirs. I couldn’t allow the clan to falter now, not when we were finally finding our footing.

Where misery reigned amongst my dearest, the clan found itself thriving.

Every vampire, every clan and former Pylen was adjusting to the new structure of our species without fault or challenge. There was a chain of command that they’d all agreed to when they’d joined, so it wasn’t any hardship to make sure it was applied now that the war was over.

Things were falling into place as they were meant to, coming together just as we’d planned. It was all we’d ever wanted, and Malcolm didn’t even get to see it because of that selfish, rancid-

“Lincoln,”

I shift my gaze to the doorway, finding Kalem waiting there, his hazel eyes red and horribly puffy.

For a split second, I’m faced with a version of my love that felt like it belonged in decades-old memories. Gone was the nyphilim, and in his place stood Kalem as I’d known him, but with a few adjustments.

Under Zhoron’s guidance and Aias’ last instruction, Kalem had created a new skin for himself that mirrored his first in almost every way. So much so that he looked like he had at the beginning of us, small and painfully fragile, but there was also a hidden strength to him.

Truth be told, I missed the soft giant Kalem naturally was and those beautiful, golden wings, but my love for him wasn’t feeble enough to waver by how he looked.

In this form, his wings were tucked away, as was his staggering height. Where he stood now, I no longer had to strain my neck to look at him, and he no longer had to duck his head to enter rooms.

With his long white mane replaced by short dark brown curls, the only real differences could be found in his sharp fangs and the fact that his skin was slightly paler now.

I’d never turn Kalem, but to everyone else, their memories after the war contained a newly-turned Kalem instead of an angelic one.

How Zhoron had so easily altered everyone’s memories, I did not know, nor did I like it. Even as I understood the need to protect Kalem and himself, I hated that the two elves hadn’t left any room for my say in what they did to my clan.

As was proving to be Aias’ methodology, he’d acted as he wished, not remaining to see what happened afterwards.

“Lincoln,” Kalem calls again, making me blink past the anger trying to mount once more. He sighs as he looks at me, “You can’t hate him this much, Master. It’s not good.”

I hear myself laugh nastily, “I’ve always hated him,”

“But not this much,” Kalem replies, his heartache evident. “I can feel it. It’s dark and bad, Master. I don’t want you to keep such angry feelings inside you.”

I sigh, meeting Kalem’s sweet hazel eyes, wondering how he managed to be so good when he was hurting so deeply.

Taking a look around, Kalem’s expression turns hopeful when he finds the ever-present golden sheet atop my desk, “Did you read it?”

“Yes,” I admit begrudgingly.

“What did it say?”

Kalem had tried to read the letter when I showed no interest in ever knowing its contents, but to his eyes, the paper was plain, the scribbled words only appearing to me. The message was clear; no one else was to read the letter but me.

“That his little mission wasn’t anything bad for the clan or us,” I say as I recall the worded charade of accountability, “that he was sorry for the mess he’s left behind and a request for me to take care of Malcolm. That fucking bastard. ”

The hope sputters from Kalem’s eyes as his shoulders fall, “I thought maybe it would explain things.”

“Explain things?” I scoff, shaking my head as my glare passes over the letter once more, “What explanation could possibly make up for how he selfishly led Malcolm on for over a year?”

“He didn’t lead Malcolm on,” Kalem insists, making my temper flare. I turn, not willing to cast it on him, but Kalem kept his hold on me, forcing me to look at him. “He didn’t want to hurt him or anyone else. He didn’t!”

“But he did!” I snap, “He did!”

Kalem falls quiet, his head falling and making my heart ache with regret and equal frustration.

“How do you not hate him?” I ask, desperate to know the secret. “He lied to you, he used you for his own gains, and he played with Malcolm’s heart-”

“Aias loves Malcolm,” Kalem cuts in, arguing the point, not for the first time.

“You can not love someone and do what he did to Malcolm,” I grind out, anger burning hot, “Malcolm can’t even repeat the words, Kalem. He can’t even-”

I stop short, a lump forming in my throat, saving me from voicing what that elf had done to the strongest man I’d ever known.

Kalem ducks his head, “I know.”

“He knew he would leave and not be able to return, and he let Malcolm believe in something eternal anyway. He gave Malcolm everything he ever wanted and then took it with him.”

“I know,” Kalem mumbles again, his eyes filling fast.

“So then, how can you not hate him?” I ask, my chest tight and struggling to cope. “How can you not hate him for being so selfish?”

“Because I love him,” Kalem whispers with a weak smile, his lips trembling. “I know what he did was wrong, but he was my best friend in every way, and I love him like he loves me.”

The tension eases from my body as I stare at my love. That was it for Kalem, and while I hated it, I also understood. After all, was my love for Malcolm not much the same?

Sighing, I pull Kalem into my chest, not eager to start another argument, especially when he was so fragile. Kalem’s arms immediately wrap around me, holding me close as a fresh stream of tears dampens my shirt.

Not a day passed since Aias’ leaving that Kalem didn’t mourn the loss of his friend. He felt abandoned, which made him angry with Aias and then himself for not spending more time with him while he could.

I could hate Aias forever, and I would, but I couldn’t deny that he’d been the friend Kalem had always needed.

I just wished he had been what Malcolm needed as well.

“You go see him,” Kalem says as he draws back and hastily wipes at his tears. “I’ll make sure everything is okay and talk to anyone who comes looking for you.”

My heart fills, “Would you?”

I hadn’t seen Malcolm today, and though it was still early morning, it was still too long.

Kalem smiles as he nods, “I’ll take care of everything.”

I kiss him quickly, “Thank you, love,” I breathe into another kiss before I rush out of the room.

I move fast, racing to the same place Malcolm had been since we’d brought him back to the castle, the room that had always been his before it became his and Aias’.

I force myself to swallow down my anger as I near his quarters of the castle, knowing it would only cause more damage now.

Malcolm was angry too, but more than that, he was hurt beyond measure, and he did not need my rage constantly casting down the man he still loved. He just needed… I didn’t know what he needed, but I knew I could be there for him.

I’m mere steps away from his door when it cracks open and Wequie steps out.

“How is he?” I ask as I draw close despite already knowing the answer.

Wequie shakes his head as he folds his arms over his chest, trying to keep himself together, but I could tell he was nearing his limit.

“How long can this go on? It’s been a month,”

“I took years,” Wequie retorts, the sadness in his features looking so misplaced.

“You lost your family and everyone you ever knew,”

“And he just lost the love of his life,” Wequie argues grimly, “it might take even longer.”

I curse as I run a hand over my face. I’d watched Malcolm fall in love over the years; he loved hard, and he fell even harder. But every time, he picked himself back up and tried again, believing that it just hadn’t been the right one.

This was different. The tears weren’t stopping; his pain was akin to an open wound that our blood couldn’t heal.

“Just take it easy with him,” Wequie advises as he rests a hand on my shoulder, offering me a small smile, “pushing him will only make it worse.”

I nod, staying still long after Wequie’s gone so that I can ready myself for the one thing I never thought I’d have to.

Malcolm’s familiar room is nothing like it itself, barely lit and overcast by shadows. The only light came from the wall of stained windows, which wasn’t much in the section of the castle. Usually, Malcolm had candles lit all about, bringing soft light and warming the room, but now there was just the unforgiving cold.

In the form of a lump at one end of his bed, Malcolm lay unmoving; he didn’t shift to see who entered, didn’t try for a greeting. He didn’t do anything.

How had such a force of happiness been wiped out so completely?

It didn’t seem possible, it shouldn’t have been, but there was no denying the sadness hanging in the air.

My steps stagger for a moment before I circle the bed to see my friend.

Only Malcolm’s face shows above the sheets, his grey eyes empty and unfocused as they gazed out of the windows opposite him. His eyes were wet, the source of the fresh tears trickling over his nose, but he didn’t wipe them away. He couldn’t because that would require moving his hand, and Malcolm’s fingers promised to remain forever locked around the collar on his neck.

“Malcolm,” I try as I sit at his side. “Malcolm.”

It takes a painful amount of time for Malcolm to shift his eyes over to me, and by the Gods, the misery waiting in them was overwhelming. Agony and longing reigned unabashed, haunting the wonder that was supposed to be there.

“Mal,” I whisper, not knowing what to do or say.

I wanted to tell him it would get better, to promise him that time would heal this, but we both lived long enough to know that some wounds were eternal. And by the look in Malcolm’s eyes, I could tell this was one of them.

This would not get better; it never would.

In the silence that follows my incompetence, Malcolm lets his gaze fall back to the stained glass. Drained and broken, he does nothing but trace the length of his collar with one finger.

I stifle a frustrated groan as I stare at him, painfully helpless and lost. Gods, how had Malcolm ever done this?

How had Malcolm helped people grieve and heal all at once? How had he put a smile on and tried time and time again to make things better for so many when they were little more than a shell?

He’d done it for Wequie, and he’d done it for me, but now that it was my turn, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to do or say when just looking at him turned my gaze misty.

“I wasn’t enough,”

The whisper is so quiet, so broken, that my ears almost miss it.

“I tried, but…” more tears topple from his stormy eyes. “I wasn’t enough.”

“Don’t say that, Malcolm.”

“I’m never enough. I’ve never been enough,” he continues, unseeing. “If I were, then someone would stay, but nobody ever does.”

“That’s only evidence that not everyone has common sense. They’re idiotic people missing a good thing!” I insist as I peer at him, but he doesn’t even blink. “You’re more than enough, Malcolm, more than anyone can ever deserve.”

“I was never enough for them, and I’m not enough for h-him,” he croaks as if I hadn’t spoken at all. His shaking fingers tighten around his collar, its clasps straining as his tears fall. “I could never be enough for him. I don’t know why I ever thought-”

Malcolm closes his eyes, visibly trying not to break down again, but he was already in pieces. He tries for a breath – to make some part of him work – but it turns into some awfully wounded cry that breaks my heart.

“That’s not why he left, Malcolm,” I promise, pulling closer in a feeble attempt for him to head my words.

“It’s why he didn’t stay,” Malcolm whispers as he leans into his pillow, trying to quiet his sobs. “I wasn’t enough to make him stay.”

“No, he didn’t stay because he never could, and that’s on him!” I correct, failing to keep my anger caged in the face of his raw, undeserved pain. “That is on him, not you!”

Malcolm stays achingly quiet, the words having no effect on him whatsoever. He’d convinced himself that this was on him, that somehow he hadn’t been enough.

It hurt like nothing else to see, especially when I knew how hard Malcolm tried.

Whenever he fell into a relationship, a chance at love, he gave it his all, despite all past hurts. He tried to be everything the other could ever want, ever need, to the point where he sometimes forgot himself.

With Aias, I thought it was different.

I’d honestly thought that finally, someone had seen the wonder that rested in Malcolm. I thought the elf, for all his faults, saw that Malcolm was a treasure others had foolishly passed up on.

I saw how Malcolm smiled at him, holding nothing back, saw the way he was open and honest with himself, his wants…his love.

I thought it would be different, that Malcolm had finally found the love of his life. In some ways, he had, but that love hadn’t been what either of us had thought.

“Malcolm,” I start only to quiet as the weight of my own sadness and disappointment rises. “You could not have stopped this. There was nothing you could’ve done to keep him here. He was always going to leave.”

Malcolm stays quiet, staring tearfully ahead as I feared he would for a coming lifetime.

“I thought he loved me,”

It’s a strained confession, one I could tell takes the world of him to get out.

“I thought…I thought he didn’t want to say it but that he showed it to me in different ways.” He laughs a little, but the brittle, scarred sound crumbles on his trembling lips, “but that was just wishful thinking. Foolish, hopeful thoughts. He never loved me.”

I pause. I didn’t think Aias did – someone who truly loved another would never purposefully cause them this much pain – but to hear Malcolm say the words aloud was more excruciating than I’d ever imagined.

“′This collar is made of magic, but it’s sealed by love’,” Malcolm says softly, each word a fragile recount of what was clearly, one a treasured memory. “′It can only be removed if no love exists between us’ – that’s what he said.”

As Malcolm trails his shaking fingers along the length of his collar, a fond smile creeps onto his lips. For a moment, he was back there. I could see it in his eye, the spark of joy that soon splinters, collapsing as quickly as it had come.

“I thought it was his way of showing me that he loved me,” he rasps, his face crumpling as reality tears the memory apart. “This was my proof that Aias loved me, but it’s not. It’s proof of my stupidity.”

“Mal-”

“He never said it took two, just that it was sealed with love,” Malcolm carries on despite the way his voice cracked, just like he does on the inside. “It’s still here because I still love him. Even now, I still love him, so it’s here…it will always be here because I will always love him.”

Malcolm’s eyes focus on me for a moment, exposing all the taunting misery to me, “I thought he’d show me in the end. I-I thought he’d showed me that he cared about me when it really counted, but I was wrong, Lincoln,” Malcolm says, shaking his head as his tears come faster, his building sobs making him tremble, “I-I was wrong about everything.”

Malcolm sinks into the mattress, trying to hide his bleeding heart from the world and the pain, but there was no way to escape this. This was pain. Real and terrible pain that was too deep inside for me to fix.

My mouth parts, searching for something to say, but every word was insufficient. I couldn’t fix this with words or actions; I didn’t think anything could ever fix a heart broken so cruelly, especially not one as big as Malcolm’s.

I didn’t think there was anything one could say, so what else could I do?

“Why do you keep him when he doesn’t even talk to you?” I’d asked Malcolm once, centuries ago, when it had only been the two of us.

Malcolm had stopped short, tilting his head with a frown as if I’d spoken in a tongue he didn’t know.

“If this ‘Wequie’ is as broken as you say, why do you try?” I’d clarified, but the confusion hadn’t left Malcolm’s face. “It’s pointless,”

“You’re pointless,” Malcolm snapped back, earning a glare from him that made him smile giddily, “Just because you can’t see its value doesn’t mean it’s pointless.”

I remembered staring at him, wondering how such a foolish thing had survived for so long, and as if reading my thoughts, Malcolm had laughed heartily.

“Sometimes people just need to know they’re not alone, Lincoln,” Malcolm replied as he placed his satchel over his shoulder, his ever-present smile somehow growing even bigger. “We don’t need to talk for me to help him. I think just having somewhere there makes it better.”

Back then, I’d thought Malcolm was naive and far too giving for someone so consistently betrayed, but now, as I looked down at what was left of that sincere, loving man, I recognised the strength I’d missed for so long.

Malcolm had been there, that was all. He’d been there, and that was enough.

Mustering up my own strength for a man who deserved the world, I climb atop the bed and curl myself around Malcolm’s back. I draw as close as I can, wrapping my arms around as much of him as I can reach.

Malcolm’s shaking doesn’t stop, and neither do his cries that were tearing my soul apart, but I hold on. I keep him close and rest my hand atop his so he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wasn’t alone, that I was here and that I always would be.

It wasn’t much, but I hoped it was enough.

Time passes, promising no aid as Malcolm’s cries grow. The tears never stop, the evidence of his pain excruciating, but I hold on, and slowly, his hand closes around mine.

Fingers intertwined, he clings to me, using me as his only anchor while his heart struggles to make it through the storm.

And he would make it through. He had to.

—————

*runs away crying*

Thoughts????????????

Thoughts on the letter? Thoughts on our baby, Malcolm???

Honestly, this chapter hit me really hard. I don’t know if it’s the same for yall, but Malcolm is always so happy and there, to see him like this when he’s done no wrong – it fucking hurtsssssss.

I really wanted to dedicate this chapter to Malcolm and Lincoln. From the very first chapter, we’ve seen Malcolm at Lincoln’s side and I wanted to show that despite his protests, Lincoln loves him just as much, and would always be there no matter what

So that last scene, where he held him – I’m fucking cryinggggggggggggggg.

We’ve got two more chapters because I ended up splitting the original 63 into two. I REALLY wanted to finish Master this month, I was trying my hardest, but I’m just a little off. Which is fine, no rushing this project.

I’ll be writing the last Patreon extra, and then chapter 64 will be out soon enough.

Until next time,
Byeeeeeeeeeeeee humansssssssssssssss