Fandom: Havemercy (Volstovic Cycle) Pairing: Hal/Royston Rating: M Words: 15,266

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Royston unbolted the lock and pulled the door open, but the person on his doorstep wasn’t who he expected. “Hello Uncle Roy,” William said. “Who’s Owen?” For perhaps the first time in his life, Royston found himself at a loss for words. He struggled to find the right thing to say, but the problem was solved for him when, after a moment of appallingly gauche silence, the streetlamp behind his favorite nephew helpfully exploded.

Author's Note: Earlier this year I reread Havemercy for the first time since I was Hal’s age (20). I am currently Royston’s age (35), so as you can imagine, the change in perspective was WILD. I liveblogged the whole experience here, including this post about wanting to see William as the fantasy equivalent of a gen-alpha nightmare. This isn't really that, but it's close.

William sat up straighter at the mention of the Basquiat. “They’ll let me in?” he asked eagerly. “I heard anyone who makes it past the front door gets their memory wiped by a velikaia.”

“Not quite,” Hal said distractedly as he skimmed the note. “There are servants, for one, and some visitors are allowed, although usually they need to be accompanied by a Margrave.”

“Hal has special permission to be there,” Royston explained, nudging Hal’s collar aside so he could hook his finger around the chain that carried the key and lift it to show William. It was mostly ceremonial, the doors were warded with magic in addition to locks, but Hal wore it more out of sentiment than practicality. “They don’t give these to just anybody, he earned it by single-handedly saving us all from certain death.”

Hal rolled his eyes and put the paper down, feeling his cheeks warm. “It was not single-handedly,” he corrected. “I had help.” 

He gave Royston an affectionate glare and turned to William to clarify, but the words died in his throat when he saw the look on William’s face. He recognized it from when Royston would tell them stories from the war. William so rarely dedicated his full attention to anything but he was focused, fascinated, eyes wide with something like awe.

And he was looking at Hal.

Hal cleared his throat, not sure how to process the open admiration on William’s face. Royston seemed to sense his internal struggle and dropped the key back down the front of Hal’s shirt before William could explode into a million questions as he had after any exceptionally interesting plot twists in Royston’s stories.

“You’re a magical novelty, William,” Royston said, the corners of his mouth quirking up in a smile. William redirected his attention and Hal took the opportunity to collect himself. “The Basquiat has a vested interest in magical novelties. They’ll let you in.”

“So I am magic?” William asked, leaning forward eagerly. He was halfway through his third serving of breakfast, but the food was instantaneously forgotten.

“I don’t know,” Royston said, and continued before William could look too crestfallen, “but you certainly have some kind of impact on the magic around you, and I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Hal thought that Royston looked nearly as eager as William did. He liked to tease Hal for being a perpetual student and had turned down every request to be a guest lecturer at the ‘Versity because he insisted he’d be a poor teacher, but Royston was a scholar in his own way.

premise: a decade after the events of the first book, William shows up on Royston's doorstep radiating strange magical phenomena. Royston and Hal haven't heard from any of the children in years and have to figure out what the hell is going on

or: William is the fantasy equivalent of a gen alpha nightmare and Hal and Royston don't know what to do

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