I did say I was gonna do more with our actual main characters in the show eventually, so here’s a little bit of that 😁
I’m just saying, with Marcille’s track record it’s fucking bold of her to assume she’ll make it to 1000
——————
After Dinner Mints - Lifespans
Marcille thought she was handling everything pretty well, considering. She’d been within spitting distance of achieving her life’s dream. She’d finally learned the truth about ancient magic.
She’d nearly killed everyone in the world, or trapped them in an endless prison where they could never move or feel again.
In the end, she’d made the choice to abandon her dream and stop the demon. If she was honest with herself, it had less to do with the way the demon had been manipulating her or honestly anything it had done at all; it was a lot more to do with the journey she’d been on with her friends. With Senshi.
Because at the beginning, sure, she’d been worried about fighting the dragon, but she’d never doubted they’d get Falin back. Her death was just a temporary measure, no matter what, because she wouldn’t let Falin be gone forever.
But… that was literally just what Thistle had wanted. And looking at everything he’d done, and what they now knew about the demon… Marcille knew she would have been just as bad, or worse. Knew how narrowly she’d escaped exactly the same fate; and she couldn’t help but be reminded every time she saw Yaad.
It wasn’t like she wanted to be thanked for deciding not to end the world. It’d just be nice if people could occasionally appreciate what she’d given up for it.
It had been hard, and she’d had to acknowledge she was wrong, which she was damn sure most of the Canary wardens weren’t physically able to do. Nor much of anyone else that she’d met.
She was keeping those thoughts to herself, along with the knowledge of what accepting that she couldn’t fix the world was going to cost her. After all, she’d have decades, centuries yet to think all about that and wonder if she’d made the right decision, if she couldn’t have controlled the demon after all.
She couldn’t have. She’d have had no chance. But it was already eating at her in the dead of night, and it hadn’t even been a week.
She wasn’t going to waste time on it though. Not when the time she still had with some of her friends was so limited.
It’d just be nice if they were even slightly sensitive about that, too.
“C’mon, Chilchuck, you don’t need to go back to Kahka Brud,” she “teased” again, slumping into her folded arms on the table in front of her, “you can just live in the golden city with us! The king’s own locksmith!”
At the end of the table Laios perked up, despite his exhaustion from another long day of hauling meat and cooking.
Chilchuck folded his arms stubbornly and ignored the pair of them.
“All three of my girls are in Kahka Brud, and all my stuff! I was never planning on staying on the Island anyway, and you wanted to meet them all so bad, it’s not like it’s that far to visit,” he added slyly, a smirk tugging at his lips as he shot her a sidelong look.
Which. Was not fair.
Marcille absolutely did want to meet all three of his daughters, and his wife! The sooner the better! It just… could be here.
“They can move here too! We could help them all pick out houses, or where to build more half-foot sized ones, right Laios? It’s gotta be better to live where you’re personal friends with the ruler, right?” She wheedled, giving her best puppy eyes back.
Laios nodded eagerly, fingers playing nervously along the edge of the table.
“Yeah! You said Meijack’s a locksmith too, you could set up shop together! And I’m sure Fleurtom could find a nice dwarf-”
All levity suddenly leaving his face, Chilchuck slammed both hands on the table.
“And that’s exactly why they’re not coming! I’m not having two of my girls chasing around after Senshi giving him googoo eyes!” He snapped loudly, startling the man himself from where he’d been writing in his journal.
“What’s that?” He asked almost absent mindedly.
Chilchuck and Marcille both ignored him, Marcille tossing her hands into the air.
“Kahka Brud’s a dwarf city anyway! There’s got to be way more dwarves there, at least here it’s dwarves you’ve had a chance to get to know!”
“I got to know some of the ones in Kahka Brud anyway! I live there, all the time except when I was working the dungeon, which is gone now! I can’t ask them all to uproot their lives at the drop of a hat!”
“There’s literally never going to be a better time!” It was Marcille’s turn to slam her hands onto the table, surging to her feet too. “We need locksmiths! Half the houses in the risen city are still locked up!”
Chilchuck narrowed his eyes.
“Not all half-foots are locksmiths!”
“MEIJACK is, you told us to hire her if you died!”
“And I’m not fucking dead, am I!”
Senshi and Laios backed slowly away from the table. And went ignored.
Marcille sucked in a sharp breath, the words slamming into the well of fear in her chest. Chilchuck either didn’t notice or didn’t care, pointing an accusatory finger at her.
“And nothing’s stopping you from hiring me! Or hell, coming to visit! You wanted to meet them so bad, Kahka Brud’s not that far away, so why should we be the ones to move!”
Clearly against his better judgement, Laios re approached the table with both hands raised as if to ward off an attack.
“Chilchuck… I dunno how safe it’ll be for Marcille to… y’know, leave…” he said hesitantly, eyes darting between them in case either went for his throat.
To her abject fury, Marcille felt tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry, she wanted to be angry! He was just being a stubborn asshole for no reason!
But.
Yet.
He wasn’t dead yet.
Scrubbing at her eyes angrily, she did her best to glower at him.
“I can’t leave! You were so scared of the western elves, the only reason they’re not taking me with them when they leave is for Laios! That won’t matter in another few decades maybe, but I can’t wait that long! Because even when you’re a dick, I still want to spend time with you!”
Before you do die.
She couldn’t face the words, but they hung in the air in the silence anyway.
Laios quietly retreated. Senshi disappeared, probably in the direction of a kitchen. Chilchuck’s eyes widened briefly, and he sank back in his chair.
Marcille tried to catch her breath, pushing her hair back off her face. He hadn’t braided it for her today, and she hadn’t been able to work up the will to do it herself. Why couldn’t he just see he was needed here…
Pulling his mug back across the table towards him, Chilchuck took a large gulp and snorted.
“Bold of you to assume you’ll live another decade.”
Marcille. Blinked. Utterly dumbfounded. Had he forgotten somehow?
“Wh…. Chilchuck I’m going to live another nine hundred years?” She even sounded hollow and uncertain.
Chilchuck raised an eyebrow at her, gesturing with his mug.
“No, half-elves can live more than nine hundred years. You are a fucking disaster who got killed by a slime the second you left magic school, and now the immortality spell is gone. The next time any of us fuck up is for keeps, so I’m pretty sure I’ll outlive you,” he said smugly, finishing his beer.
Indignation rose to fill the space shock had emptied.
“What! Hey, you died in the dungeon as much as I did!”
Not that they’d ever actually compared death counts (who kept track of things like that?) but she was pretty damn sure he had. Dying hadn’t exactly been a regular occurence with the Toudens, but it wasn’t unheard of either. They’d both been under Falin’s resurrection more than once.
And he’d been working dungeons for years before she ever showed up! So really, he’d probably died more.
“Not ten minutes into my first day I didn’t,” Chilchuck snickered, pointing at her with the hand holding his tankard, “and I only ever died of things that only happen in dungeons, like mimics and traps. That’s not gonna be hard to avoid on the surface. You’re gonna have a much harder time avoiding your own clumsy ass.”
Especially not if he stayed in Melini, where the monsters wouldn’t go, but Marcille was much too indignant to think of that now.
Mouth opening and closing a few times, Marcille huffed and drew herself up, folding her arms. She couldn’t actually refute the whole “dying on the first day” thing, so there wasn’t much point trying.
(It wasn’t like it was her fault the Toudens had been too busy whispering to notice the slime.)
“It’s not like there’s an overabundance of slimes up here either!” She snapped, both hands on the table. “You’re more likely to be lock picking some trap for some obnoxious lord than I am to find another slime!”
“You’re more likely to do some dumbass magic and blow yourself up in a closed room than I am to find a trap I can’t handle,” Chilchuck shot back, looking entirely too pleased with himself.
Heat building in the tips of her ears, Marcille did her best to ignore it and glared at him.
“I’m not going to need any explosive spells! There’s no monsters to fight!”
“I said blow yourself up, not use explosive spells,” Chilchuck said dismissively, waving a hand, “you’re way too into all that weird magical experimenting, and it’s not like you’ll remember to take care of yourself anyway. Senshi and I will get back to our lives and in a week you’ll have forgotten you need food and be wasting away in a tower.”
“Hey! I can take care of myself!”
“You probably couldn’t make a sandwich.”
“I can cook for myself just fine!”
“You’re gonna confuse one of your weird dark magic potions for a sauce and be dead in a week.”
“That was SENSHI! And it wasn’t a dark magic potion, it was a changeling ointment!”
“Yeah, and when you do it it’ll be a weird dark magic potion. And you’ll turn yourself into a mushroom or something.”
“I’m not even doing the ancient magic anymore! And I’m not gonna turn into a mushroom! No one turns themselves into a mushroom!”
“And how many people accidentally turn dragons into chimeras?”
Breathing heavily, Marcille clenched her fists and forced herself not to cry. Or scream. They were finally, finally so close to fixing that stupid mistake, and it hadn’t even been her who’d made it.
If Thistle hadn’t revived the dragon… but no, that didn’t matter.
She’d known Chilchuck wasn’t comfortable with what she’d done. He’d never been shy about it. Although apparently he’d also been holding more back than she’d thought. And none of that mattered, because she didn’t want to waste what little time they might have left on pointless fighting.
“If I’m that much of a disaster, that’s only more of a reason for you to move closer! Any of us could die tomorrow!” She huffed, dropping gracelessly back into her seat.
Somehow, the words didn’t hurt as much when she was annoyed. Didn’t feel as imminent, as real.
Chilchuck snickered and poured himself another beer.
“You could. I actually know how to take care of myself. And you guys don’t pay me enough to babysit.”
Marcille spluttered indignantly, unable to even find the words. Laios cautiously approached the table again, but didn’t retake his seat. He still looked skittish and uncertain, lost as ever when the subject wasn’t monsters.
“Still, Chilchuck… there’ll always be a place for you here. For you, and your daughters, and your wife if you ever want it? Wasn’t Marcille going to help you try and work things out with your wife anyway?” He asked hopefully, giving Marcille the puppy eyes that looked way too much like Falin’s.
She had no chance against those eyes, but luckily in this case he was on her side. Chilchuck faltered, and she shot him a triumphant grin.
“Yeah! It’s gonna take forever if we have to write letters back and forth,” she agreed smugly… although the idea of the story playing out over a long series of letters was appealing too.
It’d be like having her own private romantic serial.
Unless Chilchuck and his wife both moved to Melini, and then she could watch it in real time, and that’d be even better! Or if Chilchuck moved in, and they both wrote to his wife together…
Senshi reappeared, carrying a tray of steaming mugs that smelled of cinnamon, pausing for just a moment in the door before approaching the table. All three men gradually relaxed as Marcille visibly brightened up, as she always did with the prospect of family drama or a slow romance.
Or not rehashing the death of everyone she’d ever met. Or would meet, for another five hundred years.
Senshi distributed the mugs, gently taking Chilchuck’s beer and only getting a mildly disgruntled look as he switched it out for hot milk. The half-foot took a sip of the new drink anyway, humming happily as he tasted the whiskey.
Marcille played with hers, turning the mug slowly in her hands as she mused over all the possibilities. Then she snapped back, shooting Chilchuck a hopeful smile.
“You know… being the royal locksmith would be the kind of position that might really impress her,” she suggested, heart in her throat.
A reluctant pink tinged Chilchuck’s cheeks.
“She doesn’t care about things like that,” he grumbled, looking into the foam on the milk. Just a little too sullen when combined with that blush.
Marcille squirmed in delight. “Just coworkers” or not, she knew him far too well to miss excuses.
“Oh, but we’ll have to get you fitting clothes! Something very well tailored, with fine fabrics, since you’re on the king’s payroll. What’s her favourite colour?” She asked eagerly, clasping both hands over her heart.
Clearly about to protest again, the last question wrong-footed Chilchuck completely.
“What? Why?” He asked cautiously.
Marcille rolled her eyes.
“Because you need to wrap her present in something, and oh! You’ll have to tell me her favourite flowers, and jewellery, and…”
The possibilities spilled out in front of her, far more infinite than the unknown spans of time that might be left to any of them.
True, to an elf (or a half-elf), they’d see so many years that they almost lost meaning. But she had the same twenty-four hours in a day, every day, and if the dungeon had taught her anything it was that those hours could be as long or short as she made them.
Really, even a thousand years probably wouldn’t be long enough for her to run out of romantic strategies to help Chilchuck win his wife back. They’d have to get down to some serious planning really soon, maybe even before the feast…
Actually, there was one obvious place to start.
Beginning to relax into his drink, Chilchuck twitched when her attention snapped back to him.
“Hey Chilchuck… what’s your wife’s name?”
————————
Finally we’re back to short and sweet 😁 and this one has been living rent free in my head for a while
Aaaaaand spawned another terrible little snippet with my most beloved Mithrun that I hope to be sharing with you soon because the only thing making the Marcille-disaster worst is hanging out with Mithrun 😇
Dungeon Lord Besties
And link to my AO3:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
So this was one of my first ideas for the After Dinner Mints, although I wasn’t exactly sure how it was actually going to work… until about 2am yesterday, of course, when the whole thing came out at once
This is how things usually work for me. I regret nothing
Mithrun’s POV this time, and what might chronologically be the last of the mints… depends how many others I have that go past the resurrection 👀
Warnings! Mithrun’s a little maudlin, self deprecating, mildly contemplates death, and cranky for Very Good Reasons Definitely, but nothing serious
Definitely crack, a little self inflicted angst for flavour
AO3 link, which includes the full series you can subscribe to for updates:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
—————
After Dinner Mints - Goodbyes
There was a bag that wasn’t his among the things ready for their ship. Well, that was obvious; Mithrun didn’t actually own enough of anything to fill even one bag, so almost everything ready to be loaded wasn’t his.
But there was also a new, large bag next to his tent, his bedroll, and Cithis’ things that she always put with his stuff so no one would inspect it.
He’d have thought the new bag might have been hers, except there was an entire tallman in it. Cithis wasn’t the type to kidnap anyone in a bag; she’d have them follow her on their own two feet (or sometimes crutches, wheels, or whatever else they used).
This was a mystery, and while Mithrun wasn’t particularly inclined to investigate, Cithis had asked him to stay out of the way while the ships loaded up. So he was out of the way, with the bags, and three suspiciously innocent looking convicts who were all grinning at him.
He didn’t have anything better to do.
How did he know there was a tallman in the bag? It was actually obvious enough that he was mildly surprised no one had mentioned it yet; if even Mithrun had noticed, someone else must have. The Canaries moved enough bodies.
It wasn’t long like a bodybag, of course. It was a standard adventurer’s pack, but larger than normal. There were straps on the back that Lycion had shouldered in his beastman shape, although Flamela had made him change back on her way past.
Lycion wasn’t even sulking about it, so he was probably planning to change again the second he was supposed to be moving anything.
The bag had protested when he’d first put it down, which was the biggest clue to its contents. The second biggest had been Fleki shoving it sharply and telling it to shut up, then stuffing an apple in the top.
Whoever was inside seemed to have eaten the apple, since a core came out not long after and Fleki threw it off the pier.
Mithrun knew it was a tallman for a few reasons; size precluded a halffoot or gnome, weight precluded an elf since Lycion wouldn’t have to change to lift a single elf on the island. Dimensions precluded most dwarves; the bag wasn’t tall enough for one to stand, or wide enough to allow the broader bones while sitting.
Elven hearing may not be as good as a halffoot’s, but he’d heard enough shifting to know whoever it was, was sitting down, probably uncomfortably given the way the bag moved with each shift. It wasn’t a loose fit. And there was something else in the bag, too, so not a large tallman.
Someone else was going to notice at some point that his squad had acquired… a prisoner? A stowaway? You probably had to be on the ship to be a stowaway.
If they actually got the bag on the ship, someone would have to deal with it. Probably Pattadol. It wasn’t going to be him, since he didn’t actually care who got on the ship and would just let anyone who wanted to actually walk on. Pattadol probably wouldn’t.
His gaze shifting from the lumpy bag back to the rest of the docks, a frown pulled at Mithrun’s face.
He hadn’t wanted anything, he still didn’t want much of anything, but… he had expected Kabru to come and see them off.
There was plenty of time yet, of course. The ships were still stocking provisions, the crew’s and the squad’s belongings all still waiting on the dock, so it wasn’t like it was urgent.
Everyone knew the Canaries were sailing today. They always seemed to know, gathered and whispering from the day the ships arrived to the day the ships left.
Mithrun used to care about things like that. He used to enjoy the attention, the mystique and maybe a little the fear that surrounded the squad. He’d liked being known, being acknowledged.
Now it was entirely irrelevant, except that everyone always knew. So Kabru knew. And Kabru hadn’t come to say goodbye.
Tallmen cared about things like that; so did elves, usually. Mithrun definitely didn’t. He never cared who he’d see on a given day (unless it was Senshi. Seeing Senshi was nice. Senshi had come to give him a basket of limes and warn him to eat well at sea. The limes were on top of his folded tent).
But Kabru had come to see him every single other day this week. With the dragon carved, it wasn’t like he actually needed to stay through the night and make sure Mithrun didn’t make himself mana sick finishing the job, but he had.
Until last night.
And now they were leaving.
And Kabru hadn’t come to say goodbye.
It was annoying, Mithrun decided. That was it. Annoying. Kabru had been so intent on Mithrun’s well-fare, insisting that he knew how to take care of him better than Mithrun could himself (accurately, but fuck him anyway). But he hadn’t even bothered to say goodbye.
People got sick of taking care of Mithrun sooner or later, and always left to do something more useful or even just to find a more cooperative or grateful patient. Three weeks was a new record, though.
Except for some of the Canary wardens, but they had died before the end of the three weeks. Kabru… probably wasn’t dead.
He’d have heard. Someone would have mentioned it. It wasn’t like there was anything dangerous going on, or a fight was likely. The monsters wouldn’t even come near what had once been the island.
(That was part of why they had to leave today; the country rising from the sea had already cut off a lot of the shipping routes, and if they waited much longer the ships would have to leave for deeper waters and they’d have to travel over land to meet them. They would already be sailing down a valley.)
It wouldn’t be anything so dramatic as a death, Mithrun was sure. Kabru simply… hadn’t come yet. He would, probably. And fuss about having been late, as if Mithrun cared that he hadn’t been there, or would even have noticed.
He wouldn’t have noticed. Except. He’d been put here, out of the way, with nothing to do. And Kabru hadn’t come to say goodbye.
His gaze wandered back over to Fleki. She’d probably enjoy a chance to use her familiar again, to take a look around the island. He didn’t know if she’d already acquired her mushrooms, but she much preferred flying to standing around anyway.
He could ask her to look for Kabru. As an excuse, to let her take a last flight. She’d like not having to carrying anything heavy on board. She’d complain less, which would be good for everyone.
And if anything had happened to Kabru, like he was lost, or dead, or hurt… he could be hurt. Tallmen were resilient and tougher than elves, but much less so than dwarves.
Just days ago Kabru had woken complaining of a stiff back and arm that he hadn’t been able to move properly all day. That could happen to legs too, probably. He wouldn’t be able to walk across the hill to the docks. Mithrun didn’t actually know when tallmen bodies began failing them on a regular basis, but it took hardly any time at all. A matter of decades.
Kabru was… probably still young, but what did Mithrun know?
The tallman in the bag would probably know. If Mithrun had the faintest idea of how old Kabru even was.
Less than fifty, definitely. Old enough to have been at Utaya, so over fifteen. Maybe not much over? Although Milsiril wouldn’t have let him out of her nest until he was at least twenty, probably.
She did have some other short-lived children at the moment though. And Kabru was very persuasive.
Anywhere from fifteen to fifty, then. That was about long enough for an elf to reach puberty, but tallmen were fast that way. Kabru was definitely an adult for his own people, but that didn’t help at all. When were tallmen adults?
How long did it take for a body worn by adventuring and repeated deaths in the dungeon to begin to wear out? Canaries certainly didn’t make the full 500 years of an elven lifespan, not even those who retired in good health.
Mithrun personally doubted he’d see his second century, although now that the demon was gone and only natural dungeons remained technically his odds had gone up. His reason for living was gone though, and he’d yet to make a new one stick.
He didn’t particularly relish the idea of spending centuries being moved in and out of a bed at other peoples’ whims. Especially if those people were going to give up on him in just three weeks.
Maybe Kabru was upset that Mithrun didn’t have any desires yet. Maybe he was disappointed that despite all his hard work, Mithrun had nothing to offer him. Maybe he didn’t want to admit he’d been wrong.
Three weeks was too short to give up, surely. Mithrun hadn’t given up yet, although he hadn’t really found a change. But tallmen lived so little time, three weeks was a lot longer to them.
He probably should have tried harder. He had tried, had tried to mention it any time he felt anything stirring in the hollow well of his chest. Whenever there was anything even like a desire, Kabru had been so keen to encourage him.
And it wasn’t like nothing they’d done was enjoyable. He liked trying new foods with Senshi, and watching Fleki and Otta chase Lycion around with a collar and leash to be his temporary “dog”. Kabru had laughed so hard there had been tears, and Mithrun had been worried until he understood they were happy ones.
They’d had… fun. More fun than he’d had in forty years. More fun than the rush of a good fight, of watching idiots cower and baffle themselves trying to work out what he’d done to their friends.
The bag sneezed. Honestly, it was like whoever was in there wasn’t even trying to hide. But then why would they be in the bag at all?
Fleki swatted at it a couple of times, and Otta swatted at Fleki. They were bickering about nothing, but Mithrun didn’t bother to listen in.
The Canaries were disbanding now. He would lose his squad too. Fleki didn’t even want him to speak to the Queen anymore about keeping her out of prison, since he was coming back to Melini.
Maybe that was why Kabru hadn’t come. Maybe he thought that since Mithrun was coming right back, it wouldn’t be goodbye at all.
If Kabru stayed in Melini. He’d been busy talking to Laios a lot in the days since the dragon was carved, and Mithrun hadn’t listened to any of it. It hadn’t been relevant at the time. Technically it wasn’t relevant now, not to him.
If Kabru did stay in Melini, it would be at the capital. With Laios. Talking to people, which was what he did best.
Mithrun wouldn’t be able to return by this dock, that much was certain. Too much of the land would have risen before they even reached their homeland. He’d have to return by ship, and then overland, all the way back here to see him again.
He’d probably have to come to the capital just to tell Laios what he was going to be doing. Technically it would probably be phrased as a request; it’d be easier to operate with the king’s blessing if Mithrun was going to patrol his lands.
He was going to do it whether Laios gave him permission or not, obviously. The house of Kerensil could afford to buy most of the country, so even on his trust he could afford supplies for what he wanted to do. He didn’t need permission, or a salary. He could make himself useful.
But he would probably see Kabru if he came to the capital, and Kabru would have information on where the monsters had been sighted. Kabru was diligent like that.
Diligent about everything except goodbyes, apparently. That weren’t even goodbyes, really.
Mithrun would be back in a few years at most. That wasn’t long, even for tallmen. Probably. He’d ask the one in the bag, either when they were caught or once they were on the ship.
That would have to be soon. All of the crates and barrels and supplies seemed to have been loaded; the crew were now carrying smaller nets and bushels of things Mithrun did not care about aboard.
A few of the dock workers had clearly noticed something was up with the bag. They kept pausing on their way past, frowning at it and at his squad. None of them stopped to do anything though, so it didn’t matter.
He did another quick scan of the docks.
Still no Kabru. They were running out of time. The Canaries loaded last, once everyone else was settled down, but even so.
If he wanted…
Did he actually want to see Kabru?
The thought tightened his chest, an ache almost like longing at even the concept of having a true desire of his own. It was just the ache of the void, though.
He’d expected to see Kabru. Had prepared himself for it, although he still didn’t really know what was going to happen. What Kabru would say, or want to hear.
How to tell him that Mithrun still didn’t feel anything, but that he wasn’t giving up. That he’d be back soon. That Senshi had written him a guide for noodle making, and had promised to show him more if Mithrun found him when he got back.
That Marcille had offered to lend him some books when he did return, still shy and uncertain in his presence until he’d mentioned needing a purpose to occupy his time. She’d written him a list too, of books he should buy. And promised him the first when he got back, if he wanted to read it to be sure.
It was some elven romantic drama that the old Mithrun would probably have breezed through and chatted about with her as a wedge; using her obvious passion to endear himself to her for his own ends.
He didn’t read much these days. He didn’t worry about endearing himself to anyone.
And while he’d expected Kabru to come, and probably be complicated and have feelings about everything, and while it was definitely annoying that he hadn’t bothered, Mithrun couldn’t move himself to ask Fleki to look for him. Couldn’t stir the desire to go looking for himself.
Which wasn’t a surprise. It was just business as usual. It’d take more than three weeks to kindle a whole new desire.
He definitely wasn’t sulking in any way, shape, or form. He was as apathetic as ever, and his squad were smuggling some stupid tallman in a bag in the most obvious way possible, and he didn’t care about that either.
He didn’t care about anything, and somehow it felt much more hollow than it had just a month ago. Probably the lack of desire to find the demon.
Cithis finally rejoined them on the dock, elegant and regal and it really was nearly time for them to leave if she was back.
Still no Kabru.
Mithrun’s shoulders hunched. It didn’t matter. He didn’t care.
But it should have mattered, and he should care, and even if he still couldn’t Kabru could. Kabru had said he cared. And maybe Mithrun had convinced himself that if Kabru could keep caring about him, then he could find a way to care about Kabru in return.
Even just repaying a debt.
Which didn’t matter if Kabru didn’t care after all.
Cithis swept them all with an impatient look, then sighed and turned to her fellow convicts.
“If you’re all quite satisfied with yourselves?”
She was probably referring to their extremely poorly hidden tallman. Mithrun glanced at the bag, his eye narrowing.
Maybe he did mind if they brought them on board. Maybe he didn’t want any tallmen on the ship. Pattadol would mind anyway, and she’d be annoying about it if they were already at sea.
The other three were all still grinning, entirely unrepentant and probably very satisfied. After all, somehow they were getting away with it so far.
“Oh come on, he’s not worked it out yet,” Otta snickered. Mithrun didn’t bother looking at her to confirm she was talking about him.
He had worked it out. He’d worked it out right away. He just didn’t care.
Fleki was just as loud, all unearned and unnecessary enthusiasm.
“He’s been like this for about three hours now, it’s great.”
Mithrun’s scowl deepened. He didn’t usually care when she was laughing at him; he didn’t usually notice. This was just ridiculous though. He wasn’t “like” anything.
Cithis sighed even more heavily, then gave the bag a sharp kick.
“I assure you it’s far less entertaining than these fools seem to think, now put the captain out of his misery.” She sounded bored, which was far more appropriate for the absolute nothing that was going on.
Mithrun definitely wasn’t miserable though. He was fine. He was about to resolutely turn his eye away from their nonsense and ignore the lot of them when a head popped out of the top of the bag.
Kabru’s head.
Kabru was in the bag.
Mithrun. Had no idea what to think. He just stared, completely taken aback, and Fleki dissolved into cackles so hard she had to sit on the dock.
“It’s been how long? The ship’s going to be leaving soon, I thought there was a plan?” Kabru asked, frowning up at the other Canaries.
Lycion grinned back at him, entirely unapologetic.
“The plan was not to let you out until we were all on the ship,” he explained cheerfully.
“And cast off,” Otta put in helpfully.
Mithrun hadn’t worked out how to stop staring yet.
Kabru scowled up at the rest of the squad, awkwardly trying to disengage himself from the bag.
“Oh come on, I told you I couldn’t actually go! I have duties to fulfil here, and-“ he cut himself off abruptly when he caught sight of Mithrun, blue eyes blowing wide as a flush rose in his brown cheeks, dark and hot.
Mithrun did managed to close his mouth. The staring was not stopping. He didn’t think he could manage a single coherent thought.
Unbalanced and still half in the bag, Kabru grabbed at Otta for balance and hissed, “how long has the captain been there?!”
It was Lycion who answered though, Otta torn between disengaging herself from Kabru or just laughing at the pair of them.
“Oh, he’s been here the whole time.”
To be fair, Mithrun could definitely see the funny side. Kabru looked mortally offended, opening and closing his mouth a few times while he glowered at the other Canaries.
It wasn’t hard to guess what had happened, although that meant nothing.
Somehow, they had persuaded Kabru that he wouldn’t be welcome at the docks to say goodbye, so they hid him in the bag. Kabru, for whatever reason, had believed they would let him out when they found Mithrun.
And they had found Mithrun, put the bag down, and waited for one or both of them to work out what was going on.
And if Mithrun had spared about three seconds of thought to wonder who they might have put in the bag, it would probably have been just as obvious. Because who else would they stuff in a bag if not Kabru? What other tallman would they even talk to?
But Mithrun had spent the entire time ignoring them all, because he was thinking about why Kabru wasn’t here. While Kabru was at most ten feet away, in a bag.
Lips ticking up into a smile of their own accord, a soft chuckle escaped Mithrun.
He’d spent so long wondering where Kabru might be, and hadn’t even stopped to consider that the answer might be “right in front of me”.
Kabru had gotten well into scolding the squad, and most of the way free of the bag, although one foot was resolutely still tangled. None of them looked remotely contrite, not even Cithis.
They all looked over as Mithrun started to laugh. He didn’t care, hand reaching to his eye automatically to check for tears as he laughed and laughed.
If he’d only asked, it would all have come to a head in an instant. Either asking where Kabru was, or who was in their bag. But instead he’d sat brooding in silence, and Kabru hadn’t even known he was here.
If Cithis hadn’t called them on their bullshit, he’d likely not have said a word until they’d boarded. There was no doubt in his mind that Lycion would have happily carried Kabru aboard, and then they’d have kidnapped him.
And for what? Why? The passing entertainment as they travelled? Not having to deal with Mithrun themselves?
No, he knew that much. He might not value his life yet, but he could respect that they did, and they had never objected.
It was just… all so silly.
He couldn’t have remembered the last time he’d laughed, just a week and a half ago. There’d been nothing to laugh about, not that he’d noticed.
Given that he’d just proved he wouldn’t notice one directly in front of him, that wasn’t surprising either.
**
Kabru’s expression softened as he watched Mithrun laugh, light and carefree.
It had not been comfortable in the bag, stuffy and cramped and, frankly, boring. He’d had his misgivings when Otta had suggested it, but the convicts had all been so sure that someone would kick up a fuss if he just went down to the docks.
It all turning out to be a kidnapping attempt wasn’t actually hugely surprising, although he was sure Pattadol would have made them bring him back.
He just… couldn’t have let Captain Mithrun leave without saying goodbye. And now they had almost no time for that, thanks mostly to the rest of his squad.
But Mithrun was laughing. He sounded happy, and Kabru couldn’t help but smile in response.
It wasn’t like Kabru really knew what he could say. The Canaries would be leaving with the tide, and the captain might be back or might not.
Either way, it would be his decision, and nothing Kabru said was likely to factor into it. He’d already made plans to do something with the monsters stalking the kingdom, which sounded like he would come back. Kabru had to hope he would.
It would be nicer to just let it all go and let their last conversation be an enjoyable one. They’d already wasted three whole hours; he didn’t want to waste anything more being annoyed.
Otta had already mentioned that the squad already had a plan in place for as many of them to return with Captain Mithrun as possible. He’d just have however long that took to come up with a prank of his own, as a fitting revenge.
—————
So the key to this was just realising that actually, neither Kabru nor Mithrun had an actual reason or need for Kabru to be smuggled around in a bag. The convicts just needed to think it would be as funny as I did
Also, Mithrun is Thee unreliable narrator and a filthy liar and I love him he was definitely sulking for absolutely no reason
(No one has told him of the cunning plot for Otta, Lycion, Fleki, and Cithis to all get to come back with him to Melini, but you will all learn about it down the line when I get to decide who will present it
It’s a super cunning plot I’m very proud of it)
(Fleki was definitely on the shrooms when she came up with it but it’s dumb enough to be brilliant and they have til they get back to court to come up with a better one)
Happy Leap Year friends! Another little present from me to you, this time we have a totally sweet little story about Pattadol and Marcille bonding over who is actually bravest 🥰
Just. Don’t look at Kabru and Lycion behind the curtain.
(I cannot be the only person who finds it suspicious that Mithrun was notorious for specifically his warden colleagues dying.)
Warnings: implied past unspecified abuse, definitely actual past murder, abuse of power over prisoners
——————
After Dinner Mints - Death Rates
Honestly, Marcille had to admit that she quite liked Pattadol. Even when they’d both been operating under the assumption that Marcille would be going back west with them as a prisoner, the elf hadn’t treated her badly.
She was kind, a little nervous, and honestly seemed even more out of her depth than Marcille felt. So it had been a bit of a relief that the other Canaries had apparently decided that Pattadol would be her arresting officer.
She probably wouldn’t have been able to relax if the captain had been the one to keep an eye on her; either Captain Mithrun or Captain Flamela, who just seemed lost now that she had nothing to be angry about.
They’d got to talking even that first day, and Pattadol had admitted that the Island’s dungeon had been her first ever mission with the Canaries. First, and probably last, which none of them really knew what to do about.
And then Laios had gone to the Canaries and just told them that he’d be keeping Marcille unless they actually wanted to explain ancient magic to him, which absolutely everyone knew wasn’t going to happen.
So Marcille was sort of, kind of free now.
(Privately, she wasn’t going to count on anything until Laios had died; elves could afford to wait out one human. Maybe even a few generations, if Laios had children or enshrined her place in law.
That wouldn’t be too bad though; she wasn’t sure she’d want to stay in Melini without her friends. But they had decades ahead of them, so she wasn’t going to worry about it yet.)
All of the free Canaries were avoiding her now though, all except Pattadol, who wasn’t exactly comfortable talking to them either. Almost all of them were a century older and decades more experienced than she was, and while she’d officially been blooded in a dungeon now and been part of destroying all of the dungeons… well, it turned out she was actually closer to Marcille’s age than her fellow Canaries by a lot.
Marcille was pretty sure someone had been ordered to keep an eye on her; it didn’t feel like a coincidence that one or two Canary convicts tagged along to whatever she was doing.
(That was weird too; these were the people who understood the most about ancient magic, and Marcille would have loved to just sit and talk theory with them all day. They’d been forced to direct all of their skills to dungeon breaking, sure, but still.
Any one of them could have a useful insight, resources she’d only ever been denied! Which, they’d been denied too. Obviously. And then found anyway.
The thing was… even the ones who actually cared about the magic itself seemed to have split themselves into two camps when it came to her; they all thought she was still a child, since she was fifty.
But some of them insisted on treating her like she also didn’t know what she was talking about, like she hadn’t been the ruler of the dungeon and directly linked to the infinite the ancients had pulled from, like she hadn’t pulled off a resurrection that should have been impossible! And would have worked perfectly, if Thistle hadn’t come along.
And the others treated her like a cute little kid, maybe one who’d done something impressive, but in general someone to indulge and not take too seriously.)
So. She liked Pattadol, who treated her like an equal, and she didn’t mind talking while they both worked. Marcille actually had more dungeon experience than Pattadol, which definitely helped even if no one would ever be getting any more.
Which was how they’d gotten onto the subject of deaths in the dungeon.
“Oh, my first death was to a slime on the very first floor,” Marcille admitted with a laugh, fondly remembering how excited she’d been. Honestly, flooding the planet with mana would probably have sounded like a good idea back then.
Pattadol smiled along, but didn’t quite manage a laugh. Then again, her first death had almost been to Marcille, in a roundabout way.
“Honestly, I can’t imagine the bravery it takes to go into a dungeon so unprepared… we train for years to be ready, and people told me so many times about the captain’s other partners, but I was still so scared when I thought it would actually happen…”
It reminded Marcille of something Senshi had said, a while back. Not liking how comfortable adventurers became with death… then she paused, something else the elf had said catching in her mind.
“The captain’s other partners? What about them?” She looked around on reflex, but the only member of the squad nearby was Fleki, who was busily chatting up someone with a fresh basket of mushrooms.
Pattadol did laugh this time, an embarrassed little sound and flicked her hair back off her face.
“Oh, not our convicts… actually, most of them have been with him for a while, only Cithis arrived just before me. I mean the other wardens. Captain Mithrun has… had a reputation, because a lot of his other partners died,” she explained with a slightly sheepish smile.
Marcille’s brows furrowed.
“Well, sure, but that happens a lot in the dungeons. People die and then they get brought back, it happens all the time,” she pointed out. Pattadol forced another laugh, most of her attention now firmly on the dough she was kneading.
“Oh, yes, for other people. But ah… when we go into a dungeon, it’s usually to close it? So if the mission is successful, but someone isn’t revived before it’s over, they… sometimes can’t be? And Captain Mithrun lost a lot of partners… which wasn’t his fault, obviously! He’s incredibly skilled; he had never actually died in a dungeon at all until you…” she trailed off again, and Marcille ducked her head and got back to kneading too.
The rhythmic, firm motions helped anyway. She still couldn’t believe she’d actually blown a person’s head open. It had seemed so necessary at the time, like she didn’t have a choice, but… still.
Still, the rest of what Pattadol had said kept running around and around in her head.
Going into the dungeon, walking down to face those monsters and knowing that if everything went right… you could die and stay dead. That had to take a lot more courage than any of the adventurers that made their living in dungeons.
Finally she couldn’t keep quiet any longer.
“You know, there was something Senshi said about the dungeon too while we were in it… he never liked resurrections, because they made people not care or think about dying. That when people stop believing that death matters, they get out of step with the cycles of nature.”
Pattadol made a soft noise of encouragement, and Marcille looked up enough to give her a quick smile.
“I was never scared of dying in the dungeon because I never thought it was going to count. I died my very first time, and all it did was make me excited with the possibilities of magic down there. I think what you did was actually much braver than what I did… I don’t know if I could have gone down believing I would die forever.”
This time she got a smile that she actually believed, Pattadol’s cheeks flushing pink. She really was quite pretty, in an awkward sort of way. It reminded Marcille of Falin, when she got flustered.
“Thank you… you know, not many Canaries have ever retired without having been killed in the dungeon at least once, it’s quite an honour. It might just be me and Captain Flamela now,” she added thoughtfully, and Marcille grinned back.
“Then I’m even more glad that you did survive the dungeon, because she already seems hard enough to live with,” she teased, and maybe she’d been hanging around with Laios too much to even have the thought, but Pattadol’s scandalized gasp and nearly dropping her bread bowl made her laugh long and loud.
**
Kabru slipped away from the two elves thoughtfully, an armful of dirty dish-ware in hand. He hadn’t intended to spy on Marcille and Pattadol; he wasn’t even sure it could count as spying.
They hadn’t kept their voices down, or seemed to care if anyone heard them. He’d just wandered by, and happened to overhear.
And one thing stuck out to him like a sore thumb.
He hurried back through to drop off the dishes for cleaning, barely giving a smile and a wave before hurrying back to the dragon’s clearing. Although, he didn’t think this was something he would be able to ask Mithrun…
The captain might not even know, but from what Kabru understood, he’d been assigned Otta and Lycion before any of the others, and Lycion was currently keeping an eye on Captain Mithrun in case he collapsed.
Kabru was… about sixty percent sure that Lycion liked him. It was hard to tell, but even when they’d disagreed (and when Kabru had been directly getting in his way) the elf had been more mildly irritated than angry.
More importantly though, Kabru was pretty sure he knew what buttons to push to get Lycion to talk. It was actually kinda nice; a lot of Captain Mithrun’s squad seemed to have followed the captain’s example, and were pretty open with information if they didn’t have a reason to keep quiet.
Lycion and Fleki especially enjoyed oversharing, especially if it could get a rise from anyone. Kabru didn’t mind giving them one, if it got him what he needed. Half the time it was less feigned than he might like of course.
He was in luck as Lycion already looked bored, lounging against a tree while Mithrun busily hacked his way down a dragon’s ribcage. The hole he was digging was already past his thighs. The pile of frozen meat inside wasn’t too high, so Kabru hurried directly over to relieve the elf.
Lycion perked up when he saw him, giving a nod and straightening to smile.
“Hey, Kabru. Did you wanna take over with the captain? I had him down for some water a couple of hours ago, but he’s probably due another break soon.”
And, well, that was the other thing he could use as leverage. Apparently Kabru was the only person not in the captain’s squad that Captain Flamela had approved to keep an eye on Mithrun, and absolutely all of them were happy to trade a favour for taking a shift.
(Kabru didn’t mind, actually. He wasn’t a great cook, and really didn’t want to touch the dragon meat more than he could help, and in his books keeping an eye on Captain Mithrun beat running pots and pans around or doing dishes.
Although he was pretty sure all four convicts used him taking their turn as an opportunity to go nap, run into town, or cause trouble instead of actually helping.)
So he beamed back at Lycion, bright and welcoming.
“Sure! Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you first, if you don’t mind?” He asked brightly.
Lycion sighed as if heavily put upon, and leaned back against his tree. He was still smiling though, so Kabru didn’t worry about it.
“Yeah, sure. What’s on your mind?”
Kabru closed the last of the distance between them, glancing around to make sure they were alone. Or at least, not being observed by anyone who would care.
“Oh, it’s just something Pattadol said, about a lot of Captain Mithrun’s warden partners dying.” Watching closely, Kabru caught the moment where the elf froze, his relaxed posture suddenly deliberately, carefully lax.
So he wasn’t wrong, then.
Brightening his smile, he did his best “eager and excited child” impression, which usually went down well with elves.
“I was just wondering how that happened, since you were so quick rushing to retrieve everyones’ bodies when you were… when the others fell while we were waiting for backup,” he stumbled a little feebly over the end, remembering the shaky ground he’d stood on at the time.
Sure, he’d joined the fight and helped as best he could once Laios had been found, but he’d probably been headed back to Milsiril in disgrace right before that.
The look Lycion shot him told him the elf remembered all too well, but oddly he didn’t take the obvious diversion. Instead he cocked his head, giving Kabru a thoughtful look.
“Oh? What did Pattadol say, exactly?” He asked with a carefully studied innocence that Kabru immediately latched onto.
Lycion would feign ignorance with his usual untroubled smile, but this felt different. He matched the tone as best he could, leaning against the tree beside the elf.
“Oh, she was talking about how once you successfully close a dungeon sometimes you can’t bring people back. It sounded really worrying, but I didn’t think closing a dungeon was that spur of the moment. Like you rescued Pattadol from the giant mushrooms before she went down, and said it’d be a pain if Water Walk fell on the others but you could still get them?”
Watching from the corner of his eye, he caught the jump of muscle in Lycion’s jaw. Yeah, people usually didn’t like when Kabru showed how much he’d been paying attention.
For a moment, he wondered if he wasn’t going to get an answer after all. If he’d finally reached the end of Lycion’s laid back patience.
Then the elf hummed softly and Kabru chanced a glance over to see him staring at the sky.
“Did you know that before your little friend blew his head off, Captain Mithrun had never died in a dungeon?”
Kabru flinched. It wasn’t like he’d been on Marcille’s… the dungeon lord’s side at any stage. He just… hadn’t wanted it all to be swept under the rug. Before he could speak though, Lycion waved a hand at him.
“Relax. It’s… pertinent. You also know how we Canary prisoners are bound, right?”
Still wary but willing to wait, Kabru nodded.
“You can only use magic with permission from a warden. You were already transformed, though.” He didn’t think Lycion would be forced back into an elf shape without a warden, but he wasn’t exactly an expert.
Lycion shook his head though.
“Not the point. I don’t really do much healing magic anyway, even with permission. We all learn a bit, basic wound healing and poison stuff, but I can’t even do a simple revival. Pattadol’s…” he paused, searching for a word, then sighed. “She’s annoying, and formal, and over eager and a pain in the ass, but she’s one of the good ones. And a damn good healer.”
Kabru couldn’t help but agree with that; he hadn’t gotten an up close look at what Marcille had done to Captain Mithrun, but enough people who had had come to congratulate her after everything was over that he had to believe them.
Lycion nodded along with him.
“So. Let’s say, hypothetically, that you’re a Canary prisoner. You always need at least one warden alive and up to give the orders to fight or heal. And, one way or another, you’ve gotten assigned to a captain who’s a bit weird. A bit high maintenance. But they leave you alone for the most part, no weird orders or creep shit, and they’re the scariest fucker you’ve ever seen in a dungeon. Nothing seems to touch them. So you can be pretty sure, that guy is going to stay up.”
He cocked his head enough to raise a brow at Kabru, who nodded slowly, already trying to work ahead. To see where the story was going.
He kind of didn’t like what he was seeing.
Lycion nodded again.
“Yeah. I can see you’re with me. And you’re thinking our lives aren’t worth theirs, right?” He asked, still with that dreamy smile on his face.
Kabru stiffened and frowned, looking away reflexively. It. Wasn’t that, he didn’t think anyone deserved… what Lycion was implying, for any crime. It just.
“There have to be rules, don’t there?” He asked quickly, spitting the words out before Lycion could keep going, could say anything else. Could think that maybe he would be on the side of that kind of person. “That kind of abuse of power can’t be allowed.”
Lycion chuckled softly, draping an arm easily around Kabru’s shoulders.
“You’re a cute kid. Yeah, there’s all kinds of rules. Regulations, punishment for anyone who gets caught. But in the end, if it’s a warden’s word against a prisoner, who do you think is believed?” He asked lightly, as if they were discussing what to have for dinner.
Kabru flinched again, caught himself hunching, and forced himself to straighten.
“Captain Mithrun wouldn’t…” and then he stopped, wondering. He was completely certain that Mithrun would never perpetrate that kind of abuse, or approve of it. But… the man couldn’t even eat or sleep on his own.
Lycion gave him a friendly pat on the chest.
“Oh, he wouldn’t tolerate anything that’d affect the mission. Damn hard to get too creepy with that dead eyed stare on you, too,” he agreed cheerfully, raising a hand to wave at the captain.
Then he turned just a little, facing Kabru so that no one else could see his face. Lowered his voice so that even Kabru strained to hear him.
“Unless that’s what you like. Not all of them were giving us trouble,” he added quietly, darkly, and Kabru’s eyes widened, staring past him to the captain, still placidly cutting in his hole.
The captain, who didn’t care where he slept, what he ate, or about anything at all.
A sudden surge of anger and disgust washed through him. Lycion chuckled softly, nodding and leaning in until he was talking directly into Kabru’s ear.
“Not everyone took working under a former dungeon lord well, and while we did the grunt work, it was the other warden’s job to make sure he was alright for a while. They didn’t all like that, either. We lose a lot of people in dungeons, and…” he shrugged, his voice still lazy and calm, and Kabru’s fists clenched, “we’re not against losing a few more.”
Suddenly Kabru was pretty sure things had gotten a lot more direct than just not finding someone’s body. And if he were honest with himself, it wasn’t all that different from some of the things he’d done.
So why should it make a difference if it was for the captain or for the convicts?
Sucking in a deep breath, he nodded stiffly, then blew out his tension along with it. Lycion straightened like nothing had happened, still all smiles, and Kabru caught his hand before he could pull back.
“I’m sorry. You’re right, I wasn’t thinking clearly. I’m… glad you had each other.” It didn’t feel adequate, but there was nothing that he could say that would be, or that wouldn’t break their careful bubble of deniability.
Lycion grinned at him, turning and leaning back against the tree again. Out beyond him, Mithrun had actually paused of his own volition and was watching them. Lycion gave him a wave and Kabru fixed a brighter smile onto his face.
“Of course, some of them we did properly lose by accident. There’s all kinds of weird shit a dungeon can do to you to make you impossible to resurrect,” the elf noted cheerfully, nodding towards the hole hiding the remaining mass of Falin, “and I’m pretty sure someone was onto us come the end. We got Cithis… two dungeons ago, I got switched under our other warden, and that one… well, they’d worked with Cithis before. Otta reckons she held a grudge, but I think they were just reckless. They’re fine, retired now,” he added quickly, but Kabru hadn’t planned to ask.
He nodded slowly, watching the captain turn and get back to his cutting. He’d not believed that the Canaries were all noble heroes for a very long time; Milsiril and Helki hadn’t actively discouraged it, but they’d been sure to warn him when he first said he’d wanted to join.
He’d known the kinds of crimes the convicts were usually in for, and long suspected that at least some of the wardens could be corrupted by the amount of power they held over them. Honestly, Lycion hadn’t told him anything he hadn’t already wondered about.
Captain Mithrun’s people just got away with more because their captain honestly didn’t give a shit.
He mulled the thought over for a while, and though he was pretty sure he had the shape of the answer… it didn’t hurt to check.
“You’re very loyal to the captain,” he noted quietly, letting his voice stay soft. It was something he’d noted in the dungeon, at pretty much every turn; Mithrun’s convicts didn’t treat him like a warden, or their jailor. Especially not the way they treated Pattadol, which was full of surface level respect with barely concealed eye rolling.
They treated him as something like an older sibling, or a family friend. Someone to be respected, yes, but not bother with formalities for. Someone they cared about, and cared for in the ways he needed with patience and a fond inevitability.
(In all honesty, Kabru wished he’d seen more of how Cithis in particular usually cared for him; it had been second nature to make sure the captain ate and slept after the week they’d spent together, and he’d kept on being his primary caregiver even after the other Canaries caught up.
Looking back on it, he’d rationalized it by assuming that it was still part of his penance, and that if he didn’t make himself useful they’d just give up the pretence and tie him up the whole time. In actuality… he hadn’t questioned why they passed the captain’s food to him first, or let him take the lead on rest.
Now, he was pretty sure they were intentionally fobbing the captain off on him to slack off since he’d done a good job, even if technically all four convicts were still on the roster with him. Which meant he actually didn’t know anything about how they usually handled him.)
Lycion chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair.
“Does that surprise you? We know a good thing when we have it,” he noted lightly and Kabru nodded slowly, wondering… how to ask without saying the question.
“Honestly? Yes. I understand wanting to keep him alive, and the extra expectations Captain Mithrun needs. I understand the risks of dungeon breaking and trauma bonding, I just… I suppose I’m surprised by how much you care,” he finished with a shy little smile, carefully calculated to flatter.
And Lycion just snickered, reaching up to ruffle Kabru’s hair instead.
“Never, ever let Cithis hear you say that,” he teased… no, that was probably actually a sincere warning, there was too much gravity in his eyes. Kabru noted it obediently.
For a long moment, he thought he’d have to try again, kept trying to frame words to the shape of what he actually wanted to know that didn’t make it sound so… cold. Before he could, though, Lycion had shrugged and straightened, turning to face him again.
“Cithis excepted, obviously, none of us are heartless. The captain is… safe for us, sure, but it’s not just that. He treats me… well, as normally as he treats anyone; he doesn’t look down on me for my body, and so long as I don’t get into trouble he never asks why I want to change. He lets Fleki take her familiar out whenever she wants to, doesn’t bother Otta about her constant flirting with half-foot women, and I’ll deny ever saying this if you tell her, but I do think even Cithis is fond of him,” the elf added, pointing warningly at Kabru.
Who just barely remembered to nod in time, his mind already spinning with questions, calculations, new information. They’d been pretty open with him in the dungeon, answered any questions he actually dared to ask, but…
Well, one of the things Kabru had always wished for was people just telling him how their minds worked. He might still be sceptical of how much he could understand an elf, but this might be as close as he ever got.
Lycion seemed to approve anyway, chuckling again and flicking a ponytail over his shoulder, glancing back to look fondly at the captain.
“He does whatever she wants, when we’re not in the dungeon. Which, y’know, takes all the fun out of it on her side, but I think she respects that he could tell her no but doesn’t bother. It’s not that he cares to make us happy; we know he doesn’t. But he accepts us as we are. Doesn’t try to shame us, or make us feel shitty for whatever crimes we committed.” Lycion paused at that, his brows furrowing for a moment. “Actually, I don’t even know if he knows. They’ll have told him every time, obviously, but if he remembers he’s never said.”
And then, like there was just a string connecting word to action, the elf just walked away. Wandered a little closer to the still frozen pit of dragon.
“Hey, Captain! Do you know what I’m in for?” He yelled, turning the heads of everyone currently collecting the meat Captain Mithrun was dicing. It was piling up at the inner edge of the pit again, and starting to get trickier to haul out.
Realizing that his mouth was hanging open, Kabru closed it quickly (his mother used to warn him a bug would fly in) and hurried after the elf, unsure what he’d hope to accomplish. Unsure what the hell Lycion was looking to accomplish.
For a minute it didn’t look like he’d even gotten Mithrun’s attention, and then the rapid teleporting stopped, Mithrun turning with another thin sheet of flesh in his hands. He squinted at Lycion like he was trying to remember who the elf was… and remembering their encounter with the shapeshifter, Kabru wouldn’t have been surprised if it was true.
Then he shrugged and tossed the sheet aside too.
“You’re our beastman.” And he bent, knocked the loose slabs of flesh aside, and pulled up his cloak to keep going.
Lycion clapped his hands and laughed, turning back to Kabru like he’d just won a prize.
“See? Isn’t he something? Other people keep doing stupid things like asking why I’d want my infinitely superior body, but he just loves me as I am, don’t you Captain?”
The captain did not deign to respond, but Lycion clearly didn’t care. Hurrying back into whispering range, Kabru chanced the direct question. While the elf was in a good mood.
“If you don’t mind me asking, what are you in for?” He asked quietly, and once again Lycion gave him a look a little sharper than his usual calm.
Then he shrugged and gestured to his torso.
“Oh, I have a life sentence. Can’t stop having an illegally modified body, so it’s not like they can let me go.” He paused, brow creasing momentarily before relaxing. “Oh yeah, and the murders. Probably some assault charges. It’s been a while since I saw my rap sheet.”
Aware that his mouth was hanging open again, Kabru closed it quickly.
It. Wasn’t that he was shocked, honestly. No one was sentenced to the Canaries for minor offences, though Lycion may have been right about his transformation being what forced him in; regular murderers weren’t eligible for service.
It just. Wasn’t what he’d expected. Either the crimes or the light, airy tones Lycion spoke about them in, like none of it mattered. The elf even laughed at the look on his face.
“Oh, relax. Most of them were in totally consensual pit fights, first floor of a dungeon and everything. Apparently it counts as homicide even if you can all get resurrected,” he added with a roll of his eyes, like they weren’t discussing actual murder.
“Or maybe you were convicted for the ones that weren’t?” Kabru felt compelled to ask, and Lycion actually looked honestly thoughtful.
“Y’know, that might be it. Mostly I’m still in for being too beautiful for this world though,” he preened, flicking long silver hair around again. And then one eye slid sideways to lock onto Kabru, and Kabru would swear it was the wolf’s. “So you know what’s coming to you if you hurt the Captain.”
About to try to get back on track, Kabru was abruptly dumbfounded.
“I… you… was that a threat?” He asked weakly, mind playing back over all the rest of their conversation. He had thought Lycion was being remarkably candid… but why would he think Kabru even could hurt the captain?
The elf chuckled softly, the light sound suddenly much more menacing than before as he patted Kabru on the shoulder.
“If Milsiril ever asks, no. And if you ever do anything to hurt the captain, in any way, you’re going to need to run straight back under her skirts as fast as you can,” he told Kabru sweetly, his smile still gentle and warm, his eyes dangerously cold, “I know your scent. You can’t hide from me.”
And then he cocked his head and the moment passed, and Kabru would swear he saw his pupils round out to a human shape again.
“So, was that all you wanted to ask? I’ll take the captain for a bathroom break before I head out, and then Fleki should be along in a couple of hours for dinner,” Lycion asked brightly, for all the world as if they’d been discussing the weather. Or, maybe, asking for advice.
It felt entirely inappropriate, but Kabru laughed in spite of himself.
What the actual fuck was his life? How had any of this ever happened to him? He’d left Milsiril thoroughly convinced that a long-lived person could never truly understand a short-lived one, and yet…
An illegal werewolf just gave him a fucking shovel talk. On top of admitting to numerous other murders, which did lend an air of sincerity that Kabru had to admire.
And, in all honesty, Kabru was quite sure he’d never understood anyone more in his life than he did Lycion in that moment.
(Well, possibly still not the whole “preferring a beastman body” thing, but he was also wise enough to understand that he didn’t need to see the appeal personally; just to understand that Lycion clearly did. And, apparently, had made some pretty persuasive arguments about the benefit that body had for others to at least Fleki and Mithrun.
Kabru was blatantly refusing to even discuss beastmen in Laios’ vicinity, because he was well aware the fucker would have all kinds of potential details and information and the greatest curse of Kabru’s life was his all-encompassing hunger for knowledge. Given the chance, he’d ask.
And he was pretty sure he would not let himself survive the answers.)
It might just have been the ongoing nervous breakdown they’d all been going through in fits and starts, but Kabru couldn’t stop laughing long enough to draw breath, tears welling in his eyes.
Lycion caught him as he sagged, giving him a cheerful pat on the back.
“I’m going to call that a good sign,” the elf declared as Kabru clung to him, because it was that or sit on the forest floor and laugh til he puked.
And then abruptly Lycion shifted, growing larger and hairier (probably to support Kabru’s weight; they were about the same height, but he had a tallman’s more solid build and bone density), and their gentle sway was brought to a stop.
Finally regaining at least a little self control (or being swamped under new curiosity, possibly), Kabru giggled himself to a stop and managed to look up and see Captain Mithrun standing in front of them, apparently out of the pit of his own accord.
He looked… a little confused, honestly, his head cocked to one side as he studied Kabru with an intensity that suddenly made him very self conscious.
“Are you alright?” The captain asked, apparently blatantly unaware that it was the most interest he’d ever showed in Kabru, and definitely unaware that he was contributing to Lycion getting entirely the wrong idea. “Sometimes Fleki gives mushrooms to people and this happens.”
His mouth already opening to form the question, Kabru abruptly decided against it.
He could hunt Fleki down later and ask for more details… or Otta or Lycion, honestly, since even when he’d been threatening to kill him Lycion still apparently liked him.
He. Did he just get Lycion’s blessing to date the captain? That was what that kind of gesture usually meant for tallmen, in a roundabout way.
A grudging one, sure, but the unspoken part of “if you hurt this person I care about” was “because I accept you’re important to them enough to hurt them”. That… might be a cultural difference between elves and tallmen, but Kabru doubted it.
It was actually really sweet in its own way, and the idea of even trying to explain to the captain made him want to shrivel up and die, so Kabru just smiled at him and nodded.
“I’m alright… Lycion was just explaining more about the dungeons you used to seal, and he said something about my step-mother that caught me off guard.” It was mostly the truth, even, so Kabru firmly told himself he did not feel bad even when Captain Mithrun’s lower lip slid out in a pout.
It probably wasn’t actually intentional that he turned a very reproachful eye on Lycion; Captain Mithrun wouldn’t have bothered using puppy eyes on anyone on purpose, but that didn’t make it less effective (or Kabru less glad that it wasn’t on him).
Lycion just grinned, straightening Kabru and pushing him back to his feet, and then ruffling his hair with all that stolen werebeast height.
“Kabru came to see if he could help you, Captain, and I promised to tell him some more stories about Milsiril and Fleki later. You know, the one where Fleki tried to get her to take mushrooms and manipulate dolls with her?”
And honestly Kabru almost missed the moment where the switch of the Captain’s attention flipped, he was so pointedly not watching his every move so that Lycion didn’t get the wrong idea.
(He would probably get that story out of him later though. Just. For continuity’s sake. Definitely not burning curiosity.)
But he didn’t. Not the slight widening of his eye when Lycion said Kabru was here to help, or the way he completely ignored the entire rest of the sentence, his gaze tracking back to Kabru as something curious and warm. The slight smile that pulled at his lips.
“Oh?” It wasn’t even a full question, just a sound of curiosity.
Kabru found himself returning the smile without thinking, his own carefully practiced smile becoming something real. There really was something charming in Mithrun’s complete lack of artifice.
Everything he managed to feel wrote itself across his entire face, perhaps muted compared to anyone else, but still so powerful from him alone. Every expression felt like a tiny victory against the demon.
Unfortunately, he was also very aware that Lycion was now looming over the pair of them, and he had more than enough practice with kobolds to know when a fucking wolfman was grinning at him. Smugly.
Trying to defend himself would only make things worse, so Kabru took a leaf from the Captain’s book and made a show of ignoring him entirely.
“Yes, if you don’t mind, Captain? No one else seems to need me around here, and I’d like to be useful.” That was even mostly true too, and Captain Mithrun especially had to know why Kabru didn’t think he was remotely qualified for cooking.
He’d kept them both alive for the week, sure, but the hardtack had been a blessing. There was no greater condemnation of his culinary skills.
The captain watched him for a long moment, then nodded and stilled, watching Kabru expectantly. Half expecting him to go straight back to cutting, it took Kabru a moment to realize what he was doing.
Was… was the captain waiting for permission? Their changeover did usually include a list of questions that the captain barely acknowledged, but it was part of the routine. Him taking an interest could only be a good thing, couldn’t it?
Before Kabru could ask, Lycion had slung an arm around the captain’s shoulders, still grinning smugly at Kabru.
“Let’s you and I take a quick bathroom break, Captain, and then you can get back to Kabru. Unless you’d rather go with him?” It was far too innocently phrased, enough so that it even caught Captain Mithrun’s attention.
The elf twisted up just enough to squint at Lycion suspiciously, and Kabru suddenly really, really wondered what a shapeshifter would have made of the other Canaries from Mithrun’s head. He’d actually really like to know, almost enough to willingly go near a monster even.
Whatever he saw, the captain just shrugged curtly, turning to walk away.
“No, it’s fine.” And then he paused, glancing back at Kabru, and Kabru had to wonder how the elf saw him now. Still the same vague, barely human sketch? Or had their time together rendered him more memorable?
He almost missed the captain’s next words.
“If it’s time for a break again, I can also tell you stories.”
One of the orcs across the clearing swore abruptly as Kabru swore Lycion made a sound that only other canids could hear, then the wolfman had dragged the captain away cheerfully, chatting a mile a minute about stories Mithrun should tell Kabru.
And left Kabru staring after them, entirely dumbfounded.
Was… Captain Mithrun jealous that Lycion had made him laugh? Was jealousy even an emotion he could feel anymore? The elf had been so certain that the demon had eaten that out of him along with his desires, since it had apparently been one of his core features forty years ago.
Would that make it a good thing if it was coming back? After all, jealousy only happened when you wanted something that someone else had, didn’t it?
And. If the thing Captain Mithrun wanted was Kabru’s attention.
Oh no, his cheeks were flushing. He could feel it. Kabru tried to tell himself it was all Lycion’s fault, putting ideas in his head, but he was unfortunately good at spotting a liar. Even when it was himself.
Hurrying across the clearing, he busied himself carrying the most recent hunks of dragon meat up and over to the piles where Senshi was currently sorting and butchering them. Anything had to be better than wasting his time thinking impossible things.
It was probably nothing. Kabru had been laughing hard enough he’d almost taken Lycion to the ground with him, and then Lycion had transformed, which was an even bigger way to get everyones’ attention.
The captain heard they were discussing stories, and he had stories to tell. And no desire to avoid sharing them. It would keep his next break from being boring, or torturous for both of them as Kabru searched for some way to distract him.
It was that simple.
Absolutely no chance of anything else.
And, if down the line, there was a tiny chance that the captain would actually desire anyone… or maybe Kabru specifically… to pay attention to him, well, that would be fine anyway. Kabru was coming to accept that his fascination with the elf wasn’t going away even without forced isolation; it was better for Mithrun to start by wanting something that Kabru could happily and easily give.
And that was probably all there was to it.
That and a nosy, interfering, smug little shit werewolf who had apparently decided to get involved in absolutely everything that didn’t involve him and probably didn’t even exist.
Because when Captain Mithrun came back from their bathroom break, he was shirtless, wearing only the tiny shoulder-piece and sleeves over his skirt and boots . And apparently mildly confused about why he was so, handing Kabru the overlarge shirt that Kabru was rather certain was actually Laios’.
“Lycion said it would be too hot to keep working. I don’t feel hot,” he said bluntly, which Kabru always found a little funny whenever he said that sort of thing.
Who knew better than Mithrun that he couldn’t feel tired, or hungry, or hot?
But this was just silly, because it wasn’t the middle of summer anymore and the afternoon was wearing on, and Captain Mithrun always ran too cold anyway. Kabru firmly handed him the shirt back, determinedly not looking anywhere but his one dark eye.
“He’s just overheating because he’s furry, Captain. Maybe he forgot that it’s colder for those of us without a beast form?”
Which would actually probably be for the best, since Lycion never actually wore much clothing anyway; it would just be destroyed when he changed, which was as often as he could feasibly get away with. Honestly he owed Kabru already for having given him an excuse to change at all.
Captain Mithrun didn’t seem to buy it, giving Kabru a sceptical look but he accepted the shirt back and pulled it on, then shoved at the sleeves until they finally bunched in place on his arms instead of flopping down to cover his hands.
That wouldn’t help; they’d only fall down once he got moving again, and Kabru caught his hand quickly when one started to slip and irritation flashed on the elf’s face.
“Captain, let me fold those back for you. They’ll slide about less… actually, we should probably get you some clothes that fit you, don’t you have some on the ship?” Kabru asked suddenly, struck by the absurdity even as he painstakingly folded the sleeves over themselves up the captain’s surprisingly muscular arms.
The elf shot him an unimpressed look.
“I don’t need armour now.”
Done one arm, Kabru got started on the other.
“Not your armour, some casual clothes. Something you wear when you’re not on duty?”
Even less impressed, somehow, Mithrun tried to turn away.
“I only wear my uniform. I don’t need the armour now,” he reiterated, like Kabru was misunderstanding him on purpose.
Kabru’s brows furrowed. It… probably shouldn’t have been a surprise, since even when Mithrun had bathed he’d dressed straight back into that overlarge shirt. It still felt almost inconceivable.
He knew the Canaries only ever wore their uniforms when on a mission, but all the wardens got to bring a handful of personal belongings; it was one of their perks. A set of comfortable clothes for after the mission’s end was such a basic comfort…
That Mithrun wouldn’t even think of. He might not even have any personal belongings at all, which was terribly depressing.
(And if he did… what were they? Kabru would love to know, and he could certainly just ask; Mithrun had no desire not to answer. But it wouldn’t be the same as seeing those things, and how the captain treated them.)
Sighing to himself, he finished folding back the other sleeve and gave the captain a hopeful smile.
“Well, maybe that’s something we can do after you’re done today? Go into town and see if we can find some better fitted clothes, or back to the ship for your spare uniform,” he added when Mithrun cocked his head, looking confused.
Then the elf looked down at the baggy shirt, then back up to Kabru.
“This is fine,” he said slowly, like he was actually trying to look ahead and work out what Kabru’s objections would be.
His smile becoming fond and more genuine, Kabru nodded.
“It’s working, but better sleeves would get in your way less, and it’ll give us something to do while your mana recovers?” He offered instead, hoping he could appeal at least to the captain’s irritability. It was easier when he had a fixed desire.
Captain Mithrun fell silent again, his head turning as his eye slid over to Senshi, still butchering his way through the meat along with several others.
Kabru hesitated. That… was happening more and more lately. When Mithrun was unoccupied he often wandered off, but more often than not these days Kabru could find him by finding the dwarf. Which was actually really cute.
And way more convenient than scouring the island for a bored teleportation expert with no regard for his own body.
Chuckling softly, Kabru shook his head.
“Alright, instead how about we ask Pattadol to get someone to get your spare uniform, and I’ll run to get one of my old shirts in the meantime? It’ll still be too big, but at least the arms will fit better?”
The captain’s old uniform wasn’t an option; made of arachne silk or not, being back inside the spider had done something horrible to the armour tunic that absolutely refused to come out. The under-armour had managed slightly better, sleeves and skirt scrubbing down well enough, but that left him with a frankly irresponsible expanse of skin between shoulders and waist.
Even the boots were barely salvageable, but at least they still bent.
Captain Mithrun examined his rolled sleeves for a long moment, then looked back to Kabru and nodded. If he was giving Kabru a more appraising look, it was probably just to consider the size Kabru’s shirt would be on him.
Kabru resolved to get something with shorter sleeves. Or maybe just tack them down with a sewing kit.
It had to be better than Laios’s anyway; he was large even for a tallman, and Captain Mithrun could probably get any two of the other Canaries in there with him. It even nearly covered the green slats of his armoured skirt.
Finally the captain nodded, turning back towards the dragon.
“Alright. I’m going to keep going.” And honestly? The fact that he wasn’t just teleporting himself back down was also progress, and Kabru immediately hurried after him to help heft him down onto the remaining lump of dragon.
And figured fuck it, he could lift out the last of the cut chunks since he was already over there. At least while it was frozen he could pretend it was just ice that he was touching.
“Just a second Captain, let me get down first to take a look and then I’ll help you,” he said quickly, suiting word to deed and hopping into the hole away from most of the meat scraps.
It was actually beginning to get pretty deep, a little past Kabru’s waist now when he was just on the uncut surface; they’d probably need a ladder by tomorrow. Kabru made a mental note to ask around for one, and ask if anyone knew just how deep Falin’s dragon portion would sink into the ground.
Based only on the shape he could see… they’d probably need to get someone on clearing away the dirt from the back too, the bones were beginning to curve.
Laios would know exactly what shape and position the dragon was in, probably. Maybe that could be his problem.
Captain Mithrun had obediently stopped at the edge of the hole, looking a little impatient as Kabru took just one moment to survey the situation. Before he could decide to just jump down and probably land in the pile of cut pieces, Kabru hurried back, holding up his hands to help the elf down.
“You’re making a lot of progress! I’ll get a ladder tonight, and maybe some pulleys and things to get the meat back up; we might not need it today, but it’ll make things easier if we have it ready before we do,” he called up, giving the captain an encouraging smile.
Mithrun was light enough on his feet that he’d almost certainly be fine, and able to recover his footing even on a block of ice covered in smaller, melting shards, but he was about equally likely to take Kabru out by accident as he did it.
Or teleport a lump of meat in annoyance without picking a destination, and they really did need to eat as much as possible. Apparently. Never mind that “without a destination” had meant into people more than once.
The captain did give his hands a sceptical look before taking them, clearly humouring him, but Kabru wasn’t about to complain. Or say much of anything, actually, because that was about when he noticed that for a change, the flash of pale between boot and skirt as the elf stepped forward <wasn’t> his leggings.
That was bare skin.
Mithrun’s pale, bare skin. Kabru’s eyes travelled upwards in an uncontrollable slide, his head just barely above the elf’s knees, and Captain Mithrun’s hands slid into his and those were his thighs and they were close enough Kabru could just lean forward and he’d see everything-
And he was so frozen and stiff he nearly toppled over when Mithrun swung down, the elf’s slight weight just enough to knock him off balance while his brain short circuited.
At least he managed to catch them both before they both hit the wall, his whole face suddenly burning and mouth working soundlessly. The captain gave him an odd look and stepped away, not actually asking why Kabru wanted to give him a hand down when he clearly couldn’t even stand upright himself, but he might as well have.
For the best. Kabru wasn’t sure he could make his mouth work well enough to form words.
Not until Fleki arrived, anyway, and then he was going to go and find Cithis and tell her that Lycion had been telling him how sweet and gentle she was with the captain, and that he should ask her… no, that Pattadol would be coming to ask her how they developed such a close bond.
Because the bastard hadn’t just sent Captain Mithrun back to Kabru shirt in hand to fuck with him. He’d also fucking left with the captain’s pants.
All sorts of vengeful thoughts were welling in Kabru’s mind, cut off only by the sudden press of a small, cold hand to his temple. Well and truly snapped out of it, he stumbled a little and blinked, bringing Captain Mithrun’s frowning face back into focus.
The elf made a soft, considering noise and removed his hand, looking at it with mild interest.
“Perhaps Lycion was right. You’re overheating. Sit on the ice.” And he reached out and planted a hand on Kabru’s chest, shoving with a strength Kabru still wasn’t used to seeing and sending him ungracefully to his ass.
Still trying to catch his breath, he watched Captain Mithrun walk away, bend down (and he’d never been more grateful for the length of Laios’ shirt or the armoured skirt because his heart was already hammering against his ribs), and pick up his cloak to get back to work.
It took longer than he’d like to get his breathing under control, or for his pulse to stop pounding in his ears, and for once in his life Kabru couldn’t even use the time to think.
Well. Except one thought, that wouldn’t stop playing on repeat through his head.
Maybe Lycion was more observant than he’d thought.
Hey, you know what turned out to be super a lot of fun? Writing Mithrun from other peoples’ perspectives.
You know what else is a huge amount of fun? Badass evil ladies 👀 I fucking love Cithis she’s the worst
Will be posting this and other lil ficlets over on AO3! Link is at the bottom, I’m just… drastically failing at “short” so far 😅
(I just have a lot of feelings okay?)
Warnings: some mild dehumanization, because this is Cithis’ POV, and Cithis doesn’t think of others as people
Summary: Dramatic gestures are all well and good, but four in the morning is another matter entirely. Mithrun’s used to one particular person tending to his needs; unfortunately, Cithis values her sleep.
Maybe not quite as much as a chance to finally mess with her captain though. Budding Kabumisu
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After Dinner Mints - Afterthoughts
“Cithis.”
Brows furrowing in irritation, Cithis rolled over, tugging the absolutely tragic excuse for a blanket that the Canaries allowed around her tighter and burrowed in.
“Cithis.”
Her name, again, and she considered folding the pillow over her ears, still hazy with sleep.
“Cithis.”
She was going to kill Fleki. Maybe make Lycion do it. Or Otta, or anyone really, honestly, she just wanted to sleep…
“Cithis.”
But the captain would just stand there all night, saying her name in that damn monotone. Probably had been for a while, before it woke her up. Honestly, she counted herself lucky when he respected her request not to just shake her.
It was inconsiderate, honestly. He’d have to have passed all three of the others to reach her, and casting spells always woke her up. It ruined her chances of getting back to sleep, where as Fleki could pop off any number of minor spells and, as Cithis was painfully aware, be snoring again in moments.
“Cithis.”
Yes, this was Fleki’s fault. And Cithis’s rest would be avenged.
Stifling a sigh, she reached for her bells and rolled over, not surprised to see the captain’s shadowy figure looming over her cot. The soft smile came to her lips without effort; that part had always been easy.
“Do you need another sleeping spell, Captain? Lie down now,” she only half asked, the chant already spilling out before her.
Honestly, she didn’t care if he dropped where he stood. So long as he didn’t fall on her.
“No.”
The magic died before it could form, and Cithis bit back a sharp hiss of irritation.
She hated that limitation, the shackle around her power that put her at the beck and call of these pathetic little wardens. The ones not loved enough by their wealthy and powerful families to keep them from a life of pain and drudgery.
And they still dared think they were better than her. When they hadn’t even earned their place.
Resigning herself to whatever the hell the captain wanted now, she forced herself to sit up, and give him her best “obedient servant” smile. Well, the best she could manage at this ungodly hour.
It wasn’t like the captain cared.
“What, then, Captain?” She asked, taking the time to actually look at him.
He looked… her brows dipped down again, frown crumpling the smile almost at once.
He looked… bad. Captain Mithrun usually did, especially on the days where she or Lycion couldn’t be bothered to make him presentable. But even dishevelled, exhausted, covered in blood, she’d never seen him look like this. It set her on edge.
And it gradually dawned on her that even though by his standards Mithrun was practically well dressed in a sleeping tunic and absolutely no filth… he looked worried.
She’d never seen him worry before.
The petulant pouting, that was nothing new, and frankly quite adorable. Annoyed, bored, satisfied, apathetic, she’d seen a lot on what most insisted was a blank face because they couldn’t be bothered to actually look.
But never this, uncertainty, worry, perhaps even fear writ large on his features and in the twisting of the tunic between his hands.
That couldn’t possibly bode well for her.
Setting her legs off the side of the cot to make a space, she pointed to it firmly, letting a little more command slip into her tone. A soft voice often worked for Mithrun, but when he was recalcitrant sometimes he needed authority.
“Sit.”
He folded immediately, dropping gracelessly to sit beside her on the creaky little cot. He didn’t seem to be injured at least, although he rarely bothered acknowledging it if he was. Better to be sure.
“Do you need a healing spell?” She asked, not bothering to prepare the magic this time. If he did, he could wait. If he didn’t, the less she had to deal with the damn leash the better.
The Captain shook his head, hesitated, and then… sunk in on himself.
Also not good.
Reaching out, Cithis gripped his chin firmly and turned his head to face her.
He looked lost, and while he was usually unfocused if they weren’t on a mission, it was never with this much vulnerability. And while she’d once thought she’d like to see that from him, see him actually begin to care about something, it was unsettling.
Not least because she couldn’t imagine what had caused it.
Humming a short note, she released him and nodded.
“Tell me what you need, Captain,” she urged him gently.
Captain Mithrun opened his mouth. Closed it again. Just as she was beginning to wonder if she’d need to enchant him just to get a fucking answer, he sucked in a sharp breath and spoke.
“I don’t feel anything.”
Taking a breath, Cithis consciously smoothed her frown away this time. Impatience had never moved the captain before, except to raise his own. And she just plain didn’t have the patience to deal with that right now.
“And that’s a problem?” It had never been before, so she was expecting maybe a sharp look, and then some more information.
She wasn’t expecting him to turn to her, his eye wide and empty.
“Yes. I…” he hesitated, looking out past her and to the rest of the tent. Cithis waited about as patiently as she felt capable of for him to find the thought.
Or give up and let her knock him out again.
“I don’t… you said there would be new desires. But there haven’t been in forty years. It takes… so much to keep moving. To eat, to sleep, and I don’t feel anything. I don’t even want to. I don’t even want to lie down and die. There’s just nothing.” He sounded almost calm, with the same lack of inflection, except… he actually sounded tired.
Another new not-improvement.
Cithis was surprised to find she was actually almost sad. In as much as she felt anything for anyone, she rather liked the captain.
He was certainly the best warden she’d ever had, even if she couldn’t just twist him to her needs and leave. Most of the spoiled rich brats the Canaries were saddled with made her sick; born into money and privilege, half of them having the first cold meal of their lives with the force.
Mithrun was… well, at the very least always entertaining, even if it wasn’t the kind of entertainment she preferred. You couldn’t humiliate someone who didn’t feel shame, and she’d only ever had one whim he hadn’t indulged, even though he’d apparently been able to resist any of them at any time.
He was… a broken, damaged thing. Usually Cithis very much enjoyed the act of breaking things herself, but she did know how to take care of what belonged to her.
Captain Mithrun had been given to her, body and soul, and while he wasn’t fit to be a proper plaything he was still very useful. Seeing him fall apart had hurt her more than she’d admit even to herself.
Or maybe it was just knowing that she hadn’t been the one to cause it, or been able to do a damn thing about it. She hated other people taking her things.
She hadn’t been able to pull him out of it, either; hadn’t been able to think of a way to try. Not before that little… ah.
Cithis had always had a gift for spotting a person’s weakness.
Reaching out, she covered the hands still twisting through his sleeping tunic to still them. The question was, if he even knew it.
“I’m sorry, Captain, but I don’t see where this is different,” she said carefully, keeping her voice light. By all accounts, the captain couldn’t read other people for shit to spot a lie on his own, but why take the risk? “What has changed to make this a problem?”
And if she was just a little relieved to see a far more familiar look of annoyance flash across his face, he didn’t need to know that either.
“There is nothing I want now. The demon is gone, and I’m not,” he said sharply, and she didn’t bother curbing her smile.
“That was true two days ago, Captain. Yet you got up. What has changed?” She repeated a little more firmly, searching his face intently for any kind of recognition.
Sullenness pulled across his features and he slumped back, folding his arms across his chest.
“Nothing. That is the problem.”
Hiding from her? He’d never hidden before.
Maybe there was something good at the root of this after all, if the captain was going to become more… interesting. She’d not had a new plaything of her own since she’d been given him, or more accurately since she’d realized just how little he actually cared for himself.
And if this surge of passion turned out to be the temporary reprieve and he sank back into motionless, well, she’d just have to enjoy him while she could.
Of course, just giving him the answers wouldn’t be nearly as fun.
Her tiredness wasn’t even feigned as she sighed, slotting her legs back onto the cot behind him and lying down again.
“I’m sorry, Captain, I’m afraid I’m just not sure what you want. Perhaps I’m just too tired… shall we talk more in the morning? When you’ve had more time to gather your thoughts?” She asked sweetly, and yes, there was that irritation again.
That little flash of petulance that only the proximity of a dungeon had dragged out of him before. Honestly, him even taking the initiative to come find her at all was beginning to look like part of a lovely new pattern.
Maybe there was a new desire already forming… at least the desire to have a desire, which she supposed would be a new feeling to almost anyone. Yes, this next part was going to be very entertaining.
A fun little thought occurred to her, and she held the blanket open for him.
“Why don’t you sleep here, Captain? I can cast you another sleeping spell, and then if things are clearer in the morning you can tell me immediately,” she offered with her most innocent, sunny smile.
And if she cast a strong enough spell, he would certainly be asleep past the time his little tallman would come looking for him. And she’d have a lovely front row seat for the show.
The look Captain Mithrun gave her was… honestly, as sceptical as it always was when she put in the effort to be charming with him. He wasn’t a stupid little thing, just incredibly unbothered.
“I don’t always need sleeping spells,” he grumbled to himself, and oh Cithis knew this was going to be fun. He’d never cared about the method of his sleep before.
Still, he obediently lay down beside her, tucked in on his side until they were touching from shoulder to ankles to both fit on the narrow cot. Cithis considered curling a leg around his waist, both for her own comfort and to see what his… Kabru would do.
That could wait for morning.
She did wrap the arm holding her staff around him though, partially for easier spell casting and partially so neither of them fell off the cot. A rare moment of mercy moved her, and she let her lips press gently against the back of his head for a moment, her voice low.
“After all, Captain… tallmen hardly live for any time at all. Even if you never have another desire for as long as he lives, that isn’t so long to wait.”
The captain stiffened in her arms, but didn’t stop her from murmuring the incantantion this time, and with a gentle jingle of her bells he slumped back into sleep.
Making a mental note to find out just how old Kabru was (and how long tallmen actually did live anyway), Cithis settled down and relaxed as much as she could, waiting to join him.
Casting spells always did wake her up, but at least now she had something interesting to occupy her while she settled.
Perhaps Fleki had had a point, and it might be worth being released on the captain’s recognizance, even if he was planning to stay in this backwater country. After all, she was his caretaker. And she’d need a front row seat to whatever disaster Captain Mithrun’s attempts at flirtation were going to be.
She’d have to make sure that Fleki was also released to stay with them, of course. That would be the start of a fitting punishment for her lost sleep.
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