Azu is the first to go.
It's not really a surprise. Hamid knows, sitting around the fire that night and looking up at her soft, benevolent smile, that once she goes back to Cairo, she won't be leaving it again. He joins Zolf in quietly encouraging her to stay as long as possible, and when she does finally leave, he goes with her on the excuse that he'd really like to meet her grandchild to spend as much time with her as possible. Eventually he does have to go as well; he's promised to teach a lecture next term, and postponing it's not really an option. Cel's there by then, though, so at least Azu isn't alone…inasmuch as she's ever alone, with Amir and Chinua both living with her, and all the children she loves so dearly. Azu surrounded by children is where she's always been meant to be.
She at least lives long enough for the book, their book, to be published, and Hamid travels back to Cairo to personally present her with a copy that she accepts with delight. She vows to stay up all night to read it; Hamid teases her gently about being too old for late nights and she pokes at him with her stick and laughs. The next morning, someone goes in to fetch her for breakfast and finds her laying back in bed with a fond smile on her face, her hands clasped over the last page of Erasing the Line, with the drawing that artist Sargent had made from Hamid's descriptions of all the people who had fought beside them over the years to make the world a better place.
Between Azu's work at the clinic, what she did with the Venge in the early days after the Change, and the fact that she was one of the people involved in…well, everything, dignitaries and influential people from around the world travel to Cairo for the funeral. Eren Fairhands performs the funeral; Oscar begs off, claiming that someone needs to watch the Hope and Heart, but Zolf privately tells Hamid that he just doesn't want to deal with the Elf. Hamid is asked to give a testimony, which he manages to do without breaking down in tears—just—and afterwards everyone in her family by turns thanks him for his kind words, which he appreciates more than the politicians he'd once have felt himself one of piling praise on him.
Cel takes it the hardest, and comforting them helps. Some. Even though they're the most used out of all of them to loss and grief, Hamid privately thinks Cel expected to be the next one of them to die. After all, they're old; they were old when they met, and even though Half-Elves age more slowly than humans (and Halflings, come to think of it), they're still almost a hundred and twenty years old and starting to slow down. For Azu, who was still in her teens when they met, to be the first to die is a hard blow, especially for it to be of old age. Zolf points out, too, when Cel walks away from their table for a few moments, that Cel's stepsons are around Azu's age and they haven't seen them in a while, so this is probably reminding them that they're likely to die soon. If they haven't already.
Hamid goes alone the next day to the grave and stands for a moment, staring at the mound of freshly-turned earth. He thinks back to the first time he met Azu, standing in a sandstorm so fierce it rendered the streets he knew like the back of his hand unrecognizable. How she'd sheltered him from more than just the weather, given him the hug he'd so desperately needed, given him a chance to breathe before seeing his parents. How she'd come to his sister's funeral despite not knowing her or him. He recalls how it felt to be in her body, how good it had felt to be the one comforting her for a change, how secretly delighted and relieved he'd been to learn she wasn't entirely perfect. He thinks back over every interaction they've had in the last twenty-odd years.
He kneels down, places the bouquet of pink roses on the grave, and walks away.
It's only a matter of time before Cel dies, too.
In fact, it's another seven years after Azu, and it's not even from age, or at least that's not the direct cause. Hamid is lecturing to a packed hall when an explosion on an upper floor nearly throws him back thirty years. He's the first one out the door and upstairs, even though he knows, logically, there's nothing he can do, not now, but he has to try.
There's just no way of knowing if it was Cel or one of the students in the room with them who caused it, so the administration just says unfortunate lab accident and shuts down the Chemistry department for the semester and leaves it at that. Hamid's given a leave of absence as well—ostensibly because he was close to Cel but also because there's at least one person in administration who knows about his student record and recognizes he's still got a bit of trauma relating to that—and spends it laying Cel to rest.
Having them cremated feels a bit…ghoulish, given the nature of their death, but it's what they wanted. Cel's lost too many people who are buried in too many different places, and there's just no way for them to be buried with everyone they care about, so when they came back to the university after burying their younger stepson, they declared they wanted to be cremated and have their ashes scattered out to sea, in the hopes that they would flow to be with everyone they love, especially since—save Azu—they're all buried relatively near the coast.
They have to have a public funeral, of course. It's held in London, in Westminster Abbey, and Ed presides over it this time; the same dignitaries and self-important people attend, along with quite a few more. Hamid's uncomfortable but can't really say why, so he keeps his mouth shut. At least he's not asked to speak this time. Gragg, surprisingly, does that, delivering a heartfelt tribute to someone he really only knew for about a week. Hamid finds out later that Jasper actually wrote most of it, but it was felt I wouldn't make the right impression on things, he tells Hamid, furiously polishing his spectacles so he doesn't have to meet his eyes. Hamid keeps his temper with difficulty and only says, They'd have loved to hear from both of you.
Zolf and Oscar close down the pub for a few days, and the three of them go out on a boat that probably isn't really meant for long voyages. It puts Hamid a bit in mind of the Poseidon boat from all those years ago, in some ways, but he's sensible enough not to mention that. They cross out into international waters and Zolf tosses out the anchor, and Hamid scatters the ashes into the currents. They swirl playfully before being carried off. For a moment, it's like Cel has been able to turn into a dolphin again.
The sun sets and the stars come out, crystal clear and beautiful, and the three of them lean against the boat's mast to watch them. Oscar begins reciting a poem, his voice quavering slightly, and they all pretend it's emotion and not age. Hamid finds himself murmuring the last two lines along with him—Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; I have loved the stars too truly to be fearful of the night—and when the other two press him on it, confesses that Sasha taught it to him, long ago, one night when they both stood on the deck of the airship, too excited about what might be coming next to sleep.
Zolf knocks his shoulder against Hamid's, but doesn't say anything. Oscar lets the silence stretch on for a moment, just the three of them quietly breathing and the waves against the boat, and then starts reciting the Tennyson poem about crossing the bar and Hamid has to close his eyes.
He can almost hear their voices on the wind.
When Oscar dies, Hamid gives up lecturing.
The telegram comes while he's trying his hardest not to scream at the smug, smirking student all but daring him to refute his assertions. It's been some time since he had students even in his graduate-level classes who were born before the Change; this world is all they know, and so few of them understand the work it took to get them there. The Champagne Socialist nickname hung on him all those years ago is spoken with a lot less affection and a lot more derision these days, not that he ever embraced it. He's seeing the signs of society starting to slip back towards the way it was under the Meritocrats and there are fewer and fewer people willing to try and stop it, and now this wannabe punk with the faux-rebellious attitude is claiming that it was magic specifically that was the issue before the Change rather than power in general and trying to wield Hamid's ex-Sorcerer status as a weapon.
The university page running in with the yellow slip of paper reading COME TO HEART AND HOPE AT ONCE IF CONVENIENT IF INCONVENIENT COME ANYWAY is almost a relief, even if Hamid knows in his heart of hearts why he needs to come.
Earhart surprises him by meeting him on the lawn with a familiar smirk, a pair of goggles, and a map, with instructions to strap in, Mr. Tahan, I can't have my navigator falling out en route. The bright-yellow contraption she calls the Canary isn't a patch on the old Vengeance, nor on the wings Hamid still remembers fondly, but it's the first chance he's had to fly in decades and he's glad for the ride. It certainly gets him to Dartmouth faster than the train would have.
Oscar lies in bed, pretending he sent the telegram as a mere excuse to workshop puns with Hamid because Zolf's no fun, he's always so heavy-handed with them, but the pain and exhaustion on his face following his apparent fall is obvious, as is the way his age-scarred hand curls around Zolf's. He stays lighthearted and seemingly carefree, fondly reminiscing and poking gentle fun at both of them, giving suggestions for a spring renovation of the interior decorating of the pub. Zolf puts up a token resistance to that—Hamid can see in his eyes that he knows damn well Oscar's not getting out of this bed to do anything—but when Oscar declares either those curtains go or I do, he promises to change them out first thing in the morning. Oscar smiles, brings Zolf's hand to his lips, and kisses it gently, then drifts off to sleep, pressing Zolf's hand to his heart.
It's remarkably easy to pinpoint by the look in Zolf's eyes when that heart stops beating.
Oscar's been out of the public eye for quite some time, but he's still known and there has to be a big, public service. Hamid recognizes most of the other attendees, even if he doesn't know them, and afterwards he finds himself donning his "public face" (which feels stiff and unpleasant after all these years) and trying to intercept as many people as possible before they descend on Zolf, who has sat silent and stone-faced since Oscar breathed his last. Carter, Kiko, and Earhart—thank the gods—help as well, and Hamid is finally able to get Zolf discreetly away.
There's a tomb in Père Lachaise with Oscar's name on it, but he's not going to be in it; Zolf and Hamid bury him privately on the grounds of the Hope and Heart, which is what he wanted. They stand together at the grave, but neither of them has the words to express it. In the end, Hamid makes tea and they sit in front of the fire and reminisce about the days before they really knew Oscar, before they knew how important he was to them.
Hamid at first only intends to stay one night and then at least finish out the semester, but he sees Zolf sitting on the edge of Oscar's bed and staring at the green carnation laid on the pillow and goes in to him. Zolf finally breaks when Hamid touches his shoulder, crying in a way he's never done that Hamid can remember, and Hamid can only hold him and try to fight back his own tears.
Don't leave again, he chokes out, sounding just as desperate and shattered as Hamid did when he made the same plea of Zolf in the inn in Japan all those years ago.
And Hamid, finally letting his own tears fall, can only say the same thing Zolf told him then: I'm not going anywhere.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Their book's never really gone out of print. Hamid wrote a new introduction for the twenty-fifth anniversary edition, and another for the fiftieth; Zolf did the one for the seventy-fifth, since that was the winter Hamid was sick. They did the hundredth anniversary one together, but they agreed it would be the last one they did, mostly because they both wonder if people are reading it for the right reasons anymore. It's the same reason Hamid stopped accepting even occasional invitations to guest-lecture, or at least one of the reasons—that they'd become a novelty rather than something anyone was really paying attention to. The arrogant students who used to insist that would never happen today have become the leaders who either can't recognize it without the gloss of magic or don't care as long as they're the ones reaping the benefits of the power imbalance, and Hamid can't stand in front of a packed hall anymore and look at all the examples of what he used to be knowing they aren't interested in becoming what he is. Change doesn't happen on a grand scale anyway, and there's only so much that he can do on an individual level, not that he's really stopped trying. Still, the lectures aren't worth it.
Actually, the main reason he stopped is that Zolf doesn't like being alone these days.
They don't go out much anymore. Occasional day trips, the odd drive in the countryside, and once in a great while a weekend or so to visit somewhere that used to be important to them—Kew Gardens, L'Arc des Ordinateurs, the Soggy Admiral—never anywhere they didn't go with Sasha. Mostly, though, they keep to home. The last time they left Dartmouth for more than a day was for Ishaq's funeral two years ago—or was it three? Cairo's nearly unrecognizable, and Hamid's pretty sure it's not just his eyesight.
Actually, that's true of the entire world. The Foundation doesn't do what it was set up for, and Zolf stopped asking why a long time ago because the way they justify it says more than they think it does. Someone took the ideas Marx came up with and twisted them all out of recognition and it led to so much pain, and now the popular sentiment is that the idea itself is bad and a more "traditional" power structure is the way to go. Zolf and Hamid both saw the signs of what was happening, back before the war, and tried to stop it, but even then there were so few people willing to listen. They've become relics of a bygone age, and in the end, all they were able to do during the war was open their home to refugees and hold each other's hands while they listened to the radio, helpless.
They still get the occasional request for interviews—students mostly these days, someone studying what to them is ancient history who's startled to discover that there's anyone left alive who remembers life before the Change, but every once in a great while some journalist looking for a fluff piece or whatnot. At some point almost every one of them asks about Hamid and Zolf's relationship, questions that range from a polite what are you to one another to a very blunt are you lovers, and Hamid almost always deflects them with a smile and a shrug and a graceful change of subject to avoid having to explain that neither of them have ever really been able to define it. Probably there's a word for it. There seems to be a word for everything these days, which Hamid thinks is wonderful, that people are able to come up with this entire rich vocabulary to express their relationship with the world and with others and with themselves. And no doubt everyone who asks the question will apply the label that best aligns with their world view when Hamid refuses to give them one. But to Hamid and Zolf, it is what it is. It's not romantic; Hamid's not attracted to men, not like that, and there's still an Oscar-shaped hole in Zolf's heart that neither of them expects or wants Hamid to try and fill. It's definitely not what anyone would term lovers, either, since neither of them has ever been remotely attracted to the other in that way. They're just them. They're each the most important person in the other's world. They're all they have left. They care about one another. They're comfortable in each other's presence. They've built a life together. Why bother labeling it further?
Supplies get delivered in, and there's just enough occasional traffic that they can keep up the pretense they're still running a pub. Zolf's cooking is as good as ever and Hamid's still more than capable of pulling a pint and playing host, but more often than not it's just the two of them in front of the fire and whiling away the evenings. The winters seem to get colder every year, and the debate on whether Hamid feels that way because he's originally from Cairo or because he's part Dragon has become sort of an annual event to be trotted out and given an airing on the longest night of the year (this year Zolf deadpanned maybe you're just not as hotheaded as you used to be and inadvertently touched off a pun contest that ended with both of them slumped against one another, sides aching with laughter).
Right now, though, it's spring, warm enough to be comfortable but not so hot that staying inside is preferable. It's actually Zolf's birthday, too; they don't really celebrate them anymore so much as gently tease one another about having survived another year, but it does at least mark the time and give them an excuse to close up the pub for the day and spend it outside. Zolf's wearing his prosthetic legs today; he doesn't usually, they hurt if he wears them for too long, but for some reason today he insisted. It does at least mean they can walk—slowly, Zolf leaning on Hamid's arm and Oscar's old stick—down towards the shore. They're both in fairly good shape for their age, but, well, they are both old, so they take their time. Hamid knows Zolf well by now, and when they reach the point where grass starts to become sand, he suggests they sit and have a rest.
There's a little cluster of trees right near where they stop, so they move into it, grateful for the shade and the sturdy trunks at their backs. Hamid settles back with a sigh and stretches out his legs, letting the sun warm the bottoms of his feet with a grateful feeling that makes him wonder why he ever fussed about shoes. He's not really surprised when Zolf unfastens his prosthetics and sets them aside, rubbing his obviously aching stumps for a moment, then lies on his back and rests his head on Hamid's lap with an ease born of familiarity. In fact, Hamid almost suspects this is why Zolf chose to wear the legs; Hamid's never been particularly strong, and these days it's about impossible for him to help Zolf back into his chair from the ground.
There are three trees in this mini-grove: a silver-barked ash, a white-flowered hawthorn, and one of those stately English oaks that seem to be a whole world of their own. Hamid combs his fingers absently through Zolf's hair and slips into a ramble—familiar to them both—about the significance of oak, ash, and thorn in certain bygone magic rituals. This isn't the first time they've sat here, and they both find it a sort of distant comfort.
Do you miss it? Zolf asks, for the first time in a century, and Hamid actually has to think about it for a minute before admitting that he does. The constant ache of being grounded, of feeling useless, has been gone for a long time, but there are still days when he longs for the sky instead of having to walk or nights where he wishes he could snap his fingers and ease Zolf's aches and pains. It would be nice to have the option, at least.
He finds himself telling Zolf about the Clank factory, about Oscar snapping his fingers and tossing up fireworks to convince them he was all right, about that whole adventure. And he knows Zolf knows the story, but they haven't talked about it in a long time and the memory is fresh in his mind, and it's not until he gets to the part where Grizzop and Sasha got into an argument about her dagger that he realizes why.
I dreamed about them again last night, he says softly, and Zolf is silent for a minute before admitting that he did, too. They've never really talked about that aspect of removing magic from the world—about the possibility that they might have disconnected their world from the afterlife, too—but Zolf's never given up on hope, and he makes it easier for Hamid to believe too. The dreams seem almost like messages, but they might just be dreams. Either way, they're getting more and more frequent as they age and some mornings it hurts to wake from them.
Without really thinking about it, Hamid begins to hum, and Zolf stiffens for a moment before relaxing. His eyes drift close, and one hand reaches up to clasp Hamid's free one where it rests against his chest. Hamid feels his hand trembling slightly and realizes he's humming one of the songs Oscar once used to weave his magic, but something tells him not to stop.
He feels the moment Zolf drifts off to sleep and smiles down at him, still humming, then leans back and closes his own eyes. The song trails off as the warmth of the day, the gentle perfume of the flowers around them, and the comforting weight of Zolf's presence sends him to sleep.
Oi, sleepyhead, you going to waste the whole afternoon? The voice startles Hamid and he opens his eyes and blinks, disconcerted and disorientated. The face of the old woman staring down at him is wholly unfamiliar, but something about the eyes…
He blinks. The woman smirks, and the wrinkles melt away from her face, her eyes growing less clouded, hair rippling from white to black, and it's Sasha grinning down at him and saying c'mon, mate, it's getting late and I'm not making this walk in the dark.
Hamid is dreaming, he's sure of it, and the proof is going to be that he's going to look down and be wearing his old suit and sitting somewhere else, but when he does look down, he just sees Zolf, eyes closed peacefully, a faint smile on his lips. He looks back up at Sasha and gestures silently, indicating why he can't get up, then pats the ground next to him hopefully. If this is a dream, he'd like her to stay as long as he can. Sasha laughs and tells him that of course Zolf's coming too, she knows they promised not to leave each other again. To prove it, she leans over and pokes Zolf in the shoulder and says wake up, boss, we're all waiting on you.
Zolf opens his eyes, obviously just as confused as Hamid, and blinks twice, and then he sits up—with some difficulty—and stares at Sasha. Her roguish grin softens into an affectionate smile, and she holds out her hands to both of them and says give me a hug, then, I've been waiting a couple millennia for this.
Hamid gets up with an alacrity he hasn't had in years and surges forward to hug her tightly; she feels warm and solid in his arms. Zolf's arms, so familiar now, come around them both and they cling to each other, laughing and crying in equal measures, and in the back of Hamid's mind he knows he's dreaming for sure now because Zolf shouldn't be able to get up on his own, not with his legs off.
He pulls back and shifts to taking Sasha's hand and starts to turn, to tell her to come with them, because he's never dreamed about her being near the pub before and even if it's a dream he'd like her to see it, but she stops him with a tug and a shake of her head, suddenly serious, and tells him don't, you don't need to see that, trust me, it's okay.
Hamid looks anyway, and far from upsetting him, something in him settles into a feeling of comforting rightness when he sees that he, or his body at least, is still seated under the tree, head tipped back and a soft smile on his face, one hand still curled protectively against the crown of Zolf's head, the other still loosely linked to Zolf's. And he can see, too, that there's no slight rise and fall of their hands on Zolf's chest.
He looks up at Zolf, whose hair is still white but who has otherwise lost all signs of age, then turns to Sasha with a smile and hugs her again, telling her how thankful he is that whatever they did to cause the Change didn't keep them from the afterlife after all. Sasha hugs him back, then pulls back and tells him death magic has its own rules, I guess. C'mon, I fought Oscar and Azu to be the one to get to come meet you, but they're all waiting for us.
Hamid takes Sasha's hand on one side and Zolf's on the other, and Zolf actually laughs as he looks down at his legs, which aren't prosthetics or flesh or water but seem to be made of the same golden light as his spells. And together, the three of them start to walk, then to run, down the hill towards the shore, and then faster and faster until they're running into the water. And then the water seems to shift and they're running down a road made of color and light, and the material world warps and shifts and fades around them in a kind of a tunnel as they run towards the light and the voices calling their names. Welcoming them home.
At last, at long last…they'll all be together again.