Chapter Text
It’s three days later that Will finally returns to the village. Hannibal carries him most of the way, setting him down in the clearing where they’d first met.
“I’m going to miss you,” Will admits, reluctant to leave the warmth of his lover’s arms. For, yes, that is what they have become. Three days was not a long time for them to spend together, but Will rarely spent a minute of it out of Hannibal’s arms.
“And I you,” Hannibal tells him.
Then why are you making me leave, Will wants to ask, but he can’t find the words. He’d known from the start that their arrangement wouldn’t be permanent, after all. Hannibal is a god and, for all Hannibal likes to deny it, Will is just a lowly mortal. He should be glad it’s over so soon; if Hannibal had waited any longer to send him away, Will might have started getting ideas above his station. No, it’s better this way.
Hannibal gives him one last long, lingering kiss before turning around and vanishing into the woods. Will stares after him for several long seconds, a wistful smile on his face, and then he heads back towards the village.
He expects to have trouble finding his way back- it’s snowed again since that first day, obscuring any tracks he might have followed- but it’s as if the forest itself is guiding him back. There still isn’t a clear path, but the way the branches bend in the wind just happens to create a convenient space to walk in. It seems to be facing the right direction, so Will follows it.
He reaches the edge of the woods in what feels like no time. He’s not by his house anymore, but closer to the center of town; apparently, the forest has decided he warrants a dramatic reveal. He pauses only a moment and then keeps walking forward.
He can see the exact moment people start to notice him. It’s a market day, so people are out in the streets; they stop and stare at him as he walks by, but no one dares to approach. It’s rather surprising to be honest; he’d been fully expecting them to either not notice he was back, or to run up and demand an explanation. This sort of… hushed awe… was not a possibility he’d anticipated.
He sees Alana before she sees him. Really he just wants to get back to his house, pet his dogs, and take a nap. Instead, he takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the onslaught of emotions that’s about to come.
Sure enough, she sees him in the corner of her eye and freezes. After a long moment- too long- she takes a deep, shaky breath. “Will?”
Will gives her a small smile. “Hey, Alana.”
She drops her bag in the middle of the street- Will suppresses a wince as he sees a loaf of fresh-baked bread fall against the cobblestones- and runs over to him. She throws her arms around him in a hug. “Oh my gods, Will. I thought you were dead.”
Will’s smile turns into a bit more of a grimace. “Well,” he says, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’m not.”
She sighs. “Well yes, I can see that. But what happened? Jack said you were the sacrifice, he said we would never see you again.” There’s a moment of horrified realization, and then she breathes, “Did the beast not accept the sacrifice?”
Will supposes that’s a logical assumption to make. He shakes his head. “No, he- he accepted the sacrifice and everything’s okay. He let me go.”
She blinked. “He… let you go?” Then she takes a step back and seems to look up and down his whole body. Will isn’t sure if she’s checking for injuries or examining his new clothes; either is equally likely.
“I’m not hurt,” he tells her, figuring that’s the easier one to start with. It’s true; despite the rather passionate nature of their brief affair, Hannibal had always been careful not to hurt him or leave him with any marks. He’s a bit dishevelled, yes, and he’s walking with a slight limp, but he feels better than he has in a long time.
“I can tell,” she says, frowning. “I… is this mink?” She reaches out to touch the warm, silky fur of his cloak. Will had insisted his old coat was fine, but Hannibal had taken it upon himself to provide Will with finery regardless.
Will isn’t quite sure how to answer that. “Maybe?” He made a point of not asking Hannibal what the new clothes were made of, precisely because he didn’t know how to handle it. Still, he knows, rather than suspects, that they’re more fit for a prince than a poor fisherman like Will.
There’s a long, awkward silence in which neither of them knows what to say. Then Alana shakes her head. “Well, we should probably go talk to Jack.”
“Right,” Will agrees. “He’s in charge of the sacrifices, he’ll probably want to know one survived.”
Alana gives him a strange look. “Well, that, and he’s your friend.”
“My friend,” Will repeats, remembering the rope tied too tight under his ribs and the overwhelming terror he’d felt at being left at the mercy of the ‘beast’. “Right.”
***
As it turns out, Jack is overjoyed to have him back. He has a black eye and several more bruises, many of which Will notes with interest are about the size of Alana’s fist. Neither of them mention the bruises, however, so Will doesn’t either.
“He let me go,” Will repeats, for what must be the tenth time in as many minutes.
“It let you go,” Jack muses. Will resists the urge to correct his use of ‘it’. The villagers think he’s a beast, and Hannibal has never taken it upon himself to correct them before, so Will isn’t sure if it’s his place to do so. “Well, I can’t for the life of me work out why-”
“Maybe I don’t taste good,” Will jokes, knowing full well that isn’t the case. (Really. He knows very well just how much Hannibal enjoys his taste, just not in the way Jack is probably thinking of.)
“-but I’m glad it did. We can have the wedding tomorrow, it’ll be a big celebration.”
Will blinks, sure he’d heard that wrong. Beside him, Alana looks similarly surprised. “Wedding?” she asks.
“Well, of course. The two of you,” Jack says, waving his hand to gesture at Will and Alana, “are a love story. Star-crossed lovers, thinking you would never see each other again, each thinking the other was dead.”
“I didn’t think Alana was dead,” Will objects, but Jack ignores him.
“I know you weren’t going to marry until spring, but a couple months’ difference won’t change anything. You’re telling me you’ve just come back from the dead and you’re not going to get hitched at the first possible opportunity? I know if it had been Bella and I...”
Will sighs. “Well…”
He doesn’t know what to do. He loves Alana, yes, but he doesn’t want to marry her. She’s his closest friend, and once he’d thought they would end up together, but to be honest he just isn’t that interested anymore. He wants to be her friend. He doesn’t want to be her husband. But the only person he currently is interested in in ‘that way’ is Hannibal, and for obvious reasons he won’t be marrying him. Besides, he and Alana have been promised to each other for a long time.
“Alright,” he says after a long, stifling silence. “If you’re okay with that.”
Alana smiles at him, putting her hand in his own. “Of course. It’s too short notice for me to sew a new dress, but Reba owes me a favor. I’m sure she’ll be willing to let me borrow the dress I made for her in the summer.”
Will gives her a soft, warm smile. He doesn’t love her like he should, but he does love her, and that will be enough. She’ll be happy, he’ll be comfortable, and there’s no way Jack will interrupt their married life to sacrifice one of them again, so the two of them and Abigail will be safe.
That has to be enough.
***
The hour of the wedding comes too fast. Will feels like he’s hardly had time to say hello to each of his dogs before he’s being whisked off to get dressed.
(Alana asks him to wear his new clothes, and he refuses. It just seems wrong to marry Alana in the clothes that Hannibal gave to him. She gives him an inscrutable look and asks him what really happened in the forest. He turns pink and doesn’t reply, and in that moment he almost thinks she understands.)
Will stands there, in the center of the town square, wearing his whitest shirt and his cleanest pair of boots, and he feels like an imposter. A few days ago these people had been intent on driving him out of town, and now they’re guests at his wedding. It’s a lot to take in.
Alana’s dress fits her surprisingly well for not being hers. She and Will stand in the center of the square, Jack next to them to officiate, as the community that hated him now gathers to celebrate his return. They can’t truly be happy- Will catches several muttered comments and muted sneers- but they respect Alana and they respect Jack, and for that reason they pretend to respect Will as well.
“We gather here today…” Jack begins. Will tunes out his speech. He’s focused on Alana; she looks beautiful as always, but her smile lacks some of the warmth he had been expecting. He blinks away tears. Fuck, why had he agreed to this?
Will can’t stop himself from scanning the crowd. There’s Frederick Chilton, the town doctor; he’s made no secret of how much he desires Will’s brain, to take it apart and see what makes it tick. Behind him is Brian Zeller, who only a short few weeks ago had been trying to convince Will to move away. About three meters to the right of them is Freddie Lounds herself, ginger curls tucked away under a deer-skin hat as she eyes him judgmentally.
There’s not a single person in the crowd he would call a friend- Jack used to be, until he started to push too hard. Beverly was, back before she was sacrificed two years ago; maybe that had been what fractured Will’s friendship with Jack. Alana is the only person here today who Will would consider to be a friend, and in a few minutes she’ll be his wife.
Not for the first time, Will considers leaving. He considers leaving the square, packing his bags, taking his dogs, and running. The nearest villages would hear of the scandal soon enough, but if he travelled far enough, maybe he could find somewhere where they don’t know his name. But he’s already here, he can’t back out now.
“On this day we will bind these two, Alana Bloom and Will Graham, as husband and wife in front of gods old and new.” Jack is reaching the end of his speech and Will tenses, glancing between Alana’s face and the cobblestones, trying desperately to keep the tears at bay. He doesn’t want this. Oh gods, he doesn’t want this.
Alana doesn’t look particularly enthusiastic either. She looks almost… resigned. Still, she gives Will a small, reassuring smile, and he does his utmost to return it.
“If anyone has reason to believe these two should not be wed,” Jack says, only seconds left before Will will have to make a decision, “speak now or forever hold your peace.”
There is a long moment of terse silence. Will almost imagines it will be broken by Freddie Lounds, here with news of some scandal that will break their marriage. Instead, the silence drags on, and then Jack opens his mouth to speak.
“I object.”
The voice does not belong to Jack. Every head in the square swivels around, trying to determine who spoke; Will’s eyes, however, land on him immediately. Standing at the very back of the square, dressed in an oddly-patterned suit of a material Will has not seen before, is Hannibal.
He doesn’t look like Hannibal, of course. His skin is flesh-toned, his hair streaked with shades of sand and ash. No pitch-dark antlers rise menacingly above his skull. And yet the way he speaks, the confidence with which he stands, the lines that shape his face, all tell Will that it’s him. His lips part in surprise.
Alana follows his gaze and sees Hannibal. She looks back at Will, then at Hannibal again, and then she sighs. Before she can say anything, however, Jack is speaking.
“What is the meaning of this?” he thunders.
Hannibal raises one eyebrow, unimpressed. “You asked if anyone believed they should not wed. I happen to believe that. It is, of course, entirely up to them, but it would be remiss of me not to voice my objections now. To give them a choice, as it were.”
Will’s lips tip up in a tentative smile. He gives Alana one last look and she nods; that’s all the approval he needs. He moved towards Hannibal, one step at a time, the crowd parting around him. Everyone is silent, but it’s a curious silence, the kind that says they know something is happening but they aren’t quite sure what. He stops as he reaches Hannibal.
“I didn’t give you a choice before,” Hannibal says quietly, softly, his voice tipped so only the two of them can hear. “I was afraid that you wouldn’t feel the way I did, that you would reject me. I understand if you would prefer to stay here, with your dogs and your wife, but I could not in good conscience allow you to go through with this wedding without giving you the option.”
Will reaches for his hand. His touch dispels the illusion; a blackness the color of coal spreads out from his touch, up Hannibal’s arm and into the rest of his body, revealing the god’s true form hidden underneath. Will doesn’t even pause as he hears the crowd gasp; he stands up on his tip-toes and presses his lips to Hannibal’s, not stopping as he feels the transition reach his face.
“I choose you,” he whispers against Hannibal’s lips. “Of course I choose you. How could you even think-” he cuts himself off. “We should go.”
“We should,” Hannibal agrees. And they walk, hand in hand, out of the village, with the crowd behind them too stunned to follow.
***
Hannibal is, apparently, thoughtful as well as romantic. He keeps his hold on Will’s hand as they trek through the woods, this time bypassing the clearing and heading straight for the river where they’d spent their time. “I’ve had Margot round up your dogs,” he says when Will asks about them. “Everything should be ready for your arrival.”
Will can’t help but laugh a bit. “You had Margot get the dogs? What would you have done if I’d said no?” He’d thought they would have to go back for them, or even that Hannibal would refuse to have them in his forests- which would have been a bit of a deal breaker- but he’s never considered that he might have already fetched them.
“I would have had her put them back before the end of your wedding,” Hannibal replies, “and you would have been none the wiser.”
Will sighs, leaning into his side. “As dramatic as this was, I wish you would’ve told me how you felt yesterday. Alana must be so embarrassed.”
He knows she wasn’t particularly enthusiastic about their marriage either. Still, the feeling of being left at the altar must not be a good one.
Hannibal shakes his head. “I suppose so, but she’ll be alright.”
It doesn’t sound like he’s just blindly trying to reassure Will. It sounds like he knows something, and Will frowns. Before he can ask about it, though, there are the footsteps of a dozen little paws and Will is on the ground surrounded by dogs. “Oh, hello, darlings,” he grins, ignoring the chill of frostbitten ground under his knees and greeting all of his dogs with enthusiasm.
After a few minutes of playing with his dogs, Hannibal standing to the side and watching him fondly, Will realizes something. “Where’s Margot?” he asks.
Hannibal’s smile widens and Will knows he’d asked the right question. “I gave her a choice,” Hannibal tells him, “much like I did for you.”
“Not the same choice, hopefully,” Will jokes.
“I offered her my knife and a blessing,” Hannibal replies simply.
Will’s brows furrow. “A chance to kill her brother?” he guesses. At Hannibal’s nod, he continues. “In exchange for what?”
“In exchange for her also killing someone that I want dead.”
“Who?"
Hannibal smiles at him. “Freddie Lounds,” he says.
Will blanches, launching off of the ground and onto unsteady feet. “Freddie Lounds? But she’s not- the only reason you’d have to kill her is- are you doing this for me?”
“My darling Will,” Hannibal murmurs softly, reaching out to pull Will into a hug. “I would do so much more than this for you, if you would let me.”
He doesn’t elaborate, but Will doesn’t need him to. He has a sudden mental image of Hannibal completely demolishing Wolf Trap, sparing only Alana and the livestock, and shudders. “Freddie Lounds is- nice. That’s a nice gesture. I would have preferred to be asked first, but… thank you. But please don’t hurt anyone else for me.”
Hannibal sighs as if Will is asking him for a great favor. “If you insist.”
Will nods. “Good. Yes. I do insist.” There is a pause. “Is Margot coming back, after?”
Hannibal shrugs, somehow managing to make even the most mundane gesture look elegant. “It is up to her. She will return my knife to me, at the very least, and retrieve her child. Whether she chooses to stay or leave after that will be up to her and her alone.”
“But you have a guess,” Will pointed out. Hannibal may not emote as much as a regular human, but even gods have some tells, and Will has always been good at reading people.
“I do, yes,” Hannibal agrees. “Are you aware that Margot and your Alana used to be very good friends before Margot was chosen for the sacrifice?”
Will blinks. “No, actually, I wasn’t.” He has some vague memories of seeing the two of them spending time together, but nothing concrete. “You think she’ll move to the village to spend time with Alana?” It’s a rather absurd thought, all things considered, that anyone would give up living in a place like this just for one person. But then, isn’t that exactly what Will has just done, only opposite?
“I believe they will get along splendidly, yes. However, should this not come to pass, we will of course welcome Margot back into our forest.”
“Our forest?” Will echoes, sure he must have heard that wrong.
“Yes,” Hannibal agrees, giving him a light peck on the lips. “Our forest. Now come with me, Will, and I’ll show you to our bed.”
Will pretends to consider it. “Actually,” he counters, “I was thinking I’d just stay right here and spend some time with our dogs.”
Hannibal glowers, but there is amusement in his eyes. “Well then,” he says. “Perhaps I will just go and have fun in our bed all by myself.”
Will rolls his eyes, grabbing Hannibal’s arm and pulling him over to the dogs. “No, you won’t. You’re going to stay right here and let me introduce you to my dogs.”
"Our dogs,” Hannibal corrects, and Will can’t stop himself from smiling.
“Right. Our dogs.”
Four days ago, Will tried just as hard as every other villager to avoid the woods. Now he can’t imagine being anywhere else. It’s the happiest he’s ever been, and he has a feeling this is going to last forever.
(And, well, if it ends up being closer to Hannibal’s idea of ‘forever’ than Will’s, no one is complaining.)