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Title: Things Needed and Things Deserved

Summary: After hearing from several concerned Crown Bearers, Kudaai goes to check on his sister, only to find her collapsed on the ground of her home.

Rating: T

Ships: N/A

Content Warnings: Non-explicit suicide ideation.

Read it on AO3

----

Why did he have to be the mature one, Kudaai wondered, marching away from his home to the small stone building across the field.

Every time something happened with Chemach, he ended up being the one to go check on her. Why couldn't the concerned Crown Bearers go bother Clauneck? It seemed high time that it was his turn to make sure Chemach hadn't made a mistake she was scrambling to fix.

Kudaai slumped his shoulders forward.

Who was he kidding? Clauneck, more often than not, was useless in situations such as this. With his tenancy to be lost in the past and future, he would lose focus on where he was going or believe he had already done it.

So the duty of keeping both his siblings on track fell squarely on Kudaai's sturdy shoulders.

Kudaai knocked on the thick hardwood and metal door of the stone building. He hadn't liked the change Chemach made from her past home to this strange boxy thing of gray bricks.

Her dwelling, a quaint wooden shelter with a thatched roof and flowers crawling along the walls, had been as welcoming and airy. It was open and inviting to mortals that wandered by or a god seeking a moment of respite from the struggles of divinity.

Her new home reminded Kudaai too much of a fortress desperate to keep everyone out.

Moments passed with no response, so he knocked again, louder this time.

If not for the circumstances that pushed him to come check, Kudaai would have left then, but when three different Crown Bearers tell him Chemach seemed 'off,' what choice did he have but to wait at her doorstep?

"Sister!" He shouted. "It is I, Kudaai. Open your door if you are here." He strained his ears, listening for signs of life from within. Finally, he heard a faint groaning. Clenching his bill shut, Kudaai pushed the unlocked door open.

The stench of sweat, rot, and defecation hit Kudaai so hard, he took a step back.

"Chemach?" He called, covering his nostrils with his hand. The groaning came again from within the darkened brick box. Kudaai reached into his pocket and took out a piece of coal. Cupping it in his hands, he blew magic into it. A flame sprang to life around the coal. Holding the warm coal in his open palm, Kudaai stepped inside.

The inside of her home was a mess. Papers scattered across the floor. There were dark red and brown stains on the disheveled rug and several loaves of stale or moldy bread sat half-eaten on various surfaces. Something that had once been alive now rotted on the table with a knife sticking out of it, and in the middle of all the mess lay Chemach, sprawled out on the floor.

Careful of the papers and bread and stains, Kudaai picked his way to his sister.

"Chemach?" He tried to put more concern in his voice than he felt.

Chemach enjoyed being around mortals. She liked talking with them, working with them, and partying and dancing with them. More than once recently, Chemach had wandered towards his forge, stumbling over her feet, giddy and tipsy not just from drink, but the atmosphere of a rambunctious gathering.

She had even tried to drag him along with her to the festivities, despite Kudaai's repeated requests not to do so. He did not care for large parties. A small gathering of a handful of friends congregating together was the kind of social merriment Kudaai enjoyed.

A long departed friend, rest his soul, once called Chemach 'an extreme extrovert', and Kudaai had to agree. He never understood how she could enjoy such frivolity.

Chemach moaned, rolling over to reveal a puddle of vomit. Vomit also coated the side of her face and her dishwater blonde hair. She squinted at him.

"Koo-Koo?" She muttered with a voice that sounded faraway.

"I have requested that you not call me that childish nickname anymore, Chemach." Kudaai tossed the flaming coal into the nearby fireplace. The half-burnt logs and leaves inside caught alight instantly.

She rubbed her eyes, blinked hard, before moving her hands around her to search. Kudaai sighed and tapped his forehead.

"On your head," he told her. Chemach touched her head to find her glasses tangled in her hair. She untangled the temples then settled the glasses on her bill.

The First Ones made Chemach farsighted so she could judge mortals on their character, not their appearance. Only after Chemach held a half-hour conversation speaking towards an oxen-shaped rock instead of the Crown Bearer beside her was she allowed to wear glasses to improve her vision.

"What are you doing here, Kudaai?" She asked as she hauled herself up to her feet.

Kudaai held back a wince. She looked crumpled while on the floor, but now that she stood with the light from the fire and the open door on her, Kudaai had no choice but to admit his sister looked positively terrible. Not only did she have vomit on her face, but the feathers of her blue tunic were in disarray and covered in unknown filth. Her own body feathers did not fare much better. The ones Kudaai could see, too, were in disarray and dull. Her messy hair shone with grease. The whites of her eyes were red-rimed with predominant veins.

Kudaai ignored her question for one of his own. "What is that?" He gestured to the half-rotted thing on the table.

"Was, ah, dinner, I guess," she muttered, taking the knife out of it. Kudaai eyed the knife with a frown. It didn't look like any of the butchering knives he had ever seen. Its jagged edge reminded him of a sacrificial dagger, a knife not for clean cuts but for pain.

Now that he was closer and in better light, he could tell whatever the something was, it probably hadn't been a regular critter. It had fingers and toes and wore shredded clothing.

He sighed. He knew what had happened now and why Chemach had been acting so strange.

"Did they try to hurt you?"

With the power and duty to assign Crowns to worthy mortals, Chemach had plenty of rumors about her floating around. All three of the siblings did, in fact. Kudaai still had mortals come to his forge under the impression that if they bested him in a duel, he would award them a godly weapon. Mortals thought that if they returned one of Clauneck's misplaced cards, he would change the course of fate in their favor.

And, of course, Chemach now had one that said she would present a Crown to anyone who broke into her fortress-like home.

Whomever this person had been must have broken in to Chemach's home. When they attempted to threaten Chemach into giving them a Crown, she defended herself.

Chemach did not meet his eyes. "Something like that. I…I didn't mean to go that far." She set the dagger beside the putrid corpse before drawing half the tablecloth up to cover it. "Now, what are you doing here?" She repeated her earlier question.

He shrugged. "I was nearby. I wanted to check in on you."

"Well, you have. Now you may leave."

When Chemach took a step to shoo him out, she wobbled and fell. Kudaai moved to catch her. The malodourous scent wafting off his sister made him choke back a gag as she landed against his chest.

"When was the last time you bathed?" He asked, helping her stand steady with his hands on her shoulders.

She raised her shoulders in response. Still, she did not look at his face. Kudaai sighed and took a step behind her. With firm but gentle hands, he pushed her towards the door. She resisted, trying to keep her feet planted, only to fall to her hands and knees. Rolling his eyes, he ducked down, slid his arm under hers and around her back, then hauled her to her feet.

Chemach grumbled at him, but allowed herself to be half-dragged and squinting into the sunlight.

----

Chemach sat nearby in the grass as Kudaai prepared the bath. The large wooden tub usually only saw use twice a year when Kudaai took a day off to scrub the six months' worth of sweat and soot from his body.

The smaller bucket of soapy water sat near by. Usually, it was what Kudaai used to clean the soot and dirt from his hands and face on a day-to-day basis, but Chemach, he felt, needed a full soak to remove the smell from her.

He dumped another bucket full of boiling water inside the sealed tub. He dipped a finger in and frowned.

As came with holy nature, Kudaai was more or less fireproof. The heat of the hottest flames could not harm him, but his siblings did not have such a luxury, so he needed to make sure the bath would not scald Chemach.

"It will need to cool for a few moments," he told her.

Chemach plucked a blade of grass and then dropped it.

"You can put your tunic in that bucket there and wash it too. I have a spare you can borrow."

Chemach plucked a blade of grass and then dropped it.

"I will…I will go start lunch while we wait."

Chemach plucked another blade and then dropped it.

As Kudaai went into his own home, a wood-and-canvas lean-to built onto the other side of the wall that ran behind his forge, he wondered why that intruder's death bothered Chemach so much. If a mortal was impure and wicked enough to attack a child of The Last Of The First Ones for power, then they were a heretic. Heretics against The First Ones were not the kind of mortals their creators would have wanted around a Crown in the first place.

Besides, it would not have been the first time she had to defend herself from mortals who sought power. He could even remember the first time, since he had been with her.

They were mere ducklings back then, still with a few tufts of downy feathers, when a mortal much older than they were approached and demanded that Chemach give them a Crown. The First Ones had not allowed Chemach to carry Crowns at the time. When she found a mortal that possessed the special something Crown Bearers needed to have to make a proper match with a Crown, she was tasked with bringing the mortal to The First Ones to ensure her choice was correct.

This mortal picked up Chemach by her tunic and shook her, ordering her to give them godhood. Kudaai tried to defend his sister, but the mortal was stronger and pushed him away. He was about to turn and flee. If he called loudly enough, one of The First Ones would be likely to hear and come help.

Before he could, Chemach swung out her leg and kicked the mortal square in the jaw. Their head snapped back at an unnatural angle with a CRACK before they crumpled to the ground.

Chemach and Kudaai didn't check to see if the mortal was alright before the two fled.

Now that he thought about it, Chemach had been quiet after that event, too, but she recovered and returned to her normal self soon enough.

Admittedly, despite being a weaponsmith, Kudaai had never taken a life. He had defended himself before, but once a ten-foot-tall duck pulls out a sword, even a poorly-made mortal sword, most would-be attackers disengaged. Those who still wished to fight gave up after one good hit with the side of the blade.

Still, though, he did not understand why Chemach felt such guilt over it. She said she hadn't meant to do it. It was an accident while trying to defend herself, same as the first time. There was no reason to be so hard on herself for it.

Kudaai opened one of the baskets he kept his food stores in. He winced.

He'd been asked to make a weapon for Laplace recently. That gambling-addicted fool wanted something that would either hurt or heal their enemies at random. Kudaai was up to the challenge, of course, and had sunk days into the urumi. The whip-like blade would do exactly as Laplace desired. No matter how foolish that desire was. When he got hungry while creating the urumi, instead of cooking, he just reached into baskets and ate whatever was inside, raw or quickly browned over his forge's flames.

He hadn't realized all he had left was a half-basket of flour and a sprouting potato.

Tossing the potato outside, Kudaai put the lid on the flour basket. If he didn't have food, Chemach probably did. Since he was making lunch for them both, she wouldn't mind if he went and borrowed some.

As he walked towards her home, Kudaai looked over at Chemach. She had a large pile of plucked grass blades by her, but hadn't moved otherwise.

If her new dwelling had the same layout as her old, then Chemach kept her food stores in the back, on and near some shelves.

He eyed the rotten intruder, covered in its makeshift burial shroud. The delicate hand stitching and embroidered flowers on the tablecloth had been stained an ugly brown. Maybe he would offer to help bury it once Chemach was cleaned up.

A proper burial for the intruder would help her feel better.

Stepping over the vomit and a few other sticky-looking puddles, Kudaai went to the back of the room. As he suspected, Chemach kept her food in the same place. After opening the nearby window, he looked into the first basket only to be greeted with flour. As he went to put the lid back, he noticed something moving inside. He scooped up a handful and let the flour fall through his hands.

Several small, yellow-brown beetle larvae wriggled in his palm. With a shrug, he popped the larvae into his mouth. He had always liked the taste of worms and insects in his bread and other baked goods. The crunch was satisfying and the food more filling, but Chemach had never been a fan.

"Bread is a desert! It's not supposed to be filling," She would say, picking out any insects that made it through her shifter into the mixing bowl.

Good to see she changed her tune on that topic.

In the next basket, Kudaai found long, leafy stalks. He took one out to identify it. The large leaf was a rounded fan shape and dark green, while the thick stalk was a reddish color. Kudaai took the plant to the window and held it to the light.

It seemed familiar, but he couldn't place it. Kudaai took a nibble of one of the leaves and spat it out almost instantly.

Now he remembered it.

Rhubarb.

Once, long ago, Clauneck had either been gifted by a farmer or stolen from a farm—Kudaai never got a straight answer—a bushel of rhubarb, which he then ate half of over the course of a whole day, completely raw. Clauneck liked sour and bitter foods. He claimed the strong flavors helped him stay in the present instead of off in the past or future.

Chemach and Kudaai took turns nursing their brother through the stomach pains and lethargy over the next few days.

Later, the three would learn from the Yellow Crown's Bearer at the time that eating a lot of rhubarb leaves was dangerous to one's health.

"An occasional leaf wouldn't hurt anyone, especially you three, but anymore and you've got yourself trouble. Just because you are immortal doesn't mean you can't hurt yourselves. Either cook these properly or don't touch them, you young ones understand?" He'd chided them, taking the rest of the bushel away from Clauneck, much to his disappointment.

Kudaai turned the stalk over before tossing it back with the others.

After searching, Kudaai finally found some sad, shriveled peas and dried corn. He took a large container and put a scoop of each inside. He went back to the flour and sifted out a few handfuls of larvae and beetles and added them to the container.

It wouldn't be the best soup, but it was better than nothing.

---

When he returned, Chemach lay on her back, eyes shut, in the sunlight. She was relaxing. Kudaai nodded to himself. Maybe they didn't need to do an entire funeral ceremony and could just toss the intruder into a hole.

All Chemach really needed was some fresh air, warm sunlight, a nice bath, and a good meal to get over her unnecessary guilt.

Kudaai stuck his hand in the tub. The bath felt a little cool to him, but steam still rose from the water. He assumed that would be a good enough temperature.

To Chemach, he said, "It's ready."

Chemach didn't respond.

He repeated himself, louder, "It's ready."

Nothing.

With a huff, Kudaai went to her and tapped her shoulder with his foot.

Chemach cracked open an eye at him to glare.

"The bath. Get it in." He nodded to the tub. She groaned and pushed herself to a sitting position, but didn't stand up.

Taking a breath, Kudaai tried the diplomatic route one last time.

"It's ready. Get in yourself, or I'll put you in, just like you did to me when we were children." He held out his hand to her.

Many eons ago, Chemach regularly had to be the one to remind her brothers to bathe.

The reminder was all Clauneck usually needed, but Kudaai had to be wrestled with. She would ambush him when he left his forge and drag him towards the nearest river, shouting, "You're a duck, Koo-Koo! Act like it!"

When he, enviably, grew too strong for her to wrestle away, she recruited Clauneck to help throw buckets of soapy water at him.

It wasn't that he hated bathing, of course. He felt it was a waste of time that he could be using to sharpen his skills.

Chemach snorted something Kudaai thought was a laugh before she took his hand and allowed herself to be pulled up.

Satisfied, Kudaai took the container of ingredients and left Chemach to the bathe.

----

After some searching, Kudaai was able to scrounge up some herbs and spices and a few dried fish to add to the soup.

It wouldn't be great, but it would help ease her mind once Chemach was done scrubbing herself.

He wiped his hands on his tunic, then realized he'd forgotten to bring Chemach anything to wear once she was clean. Kudaai went to the chest by his nest and dug around to find her something.

He and Clauneck might be the same height, but he had spent eons swinging his smithing hammer and strengthening his muscles, so he was wider and well built than his brother. Chemach wasn't as thin as Clauneck or as wide as Kudaai. She wasn't that much shorter than her brothers, either.

Once, Chemach elbowed him in the side and joked, "It's not fair. You have a bigger chest than I do."

Not understanding what she meant, he had replied that if she wanted large pectoralis muscles, she should try moving her arms and chest more. "You only ever exercise your legs by walking from place to place. I can make you weights to lift if you'd like."

Chemach had just rolled her eyes at him.

Kudaai took out a soft cotton nightshirt from the chest and held it up.

It was a gift from an old friend, a former student who, though talented, could never handle the heat of Kudaai's flames. In the past, whenever Kudaai settled near his home, the friend would come and see him.

Kudaai made a mental note to stop by his grave next time he visited the area.

The nightshirt had short sleeves and tiny weapons embroidered on the neck and sleeve hems by his former student's wife.

Most nights, Kudaai flopped down in whatever he had on. Sometimes he didn't even remove his hooded cloak. After finishing a big project, Kudaai would indulge himself by wearing the soft nightshirt and sleeping until two whole hours after the sun rose.

With the nightshirt over his arm, he headed out to the tub.

"Sister? Once you are done and have shaken yourself off, you may put…Sister?"

Chemach was nowhere to be seen. Her tunic lay in a heap, well away from the bucket it should be soaking in. Even from where he stood, Kudaai still could easily see her home. She hadn't left with it in the siblings' usual fashion.

Perhaps mid-bath, she needed to relieve herself?

With a frown, he wandered towards the tub and peered inside to see if the water was dirty or not.

Under the surface, Chemach floated, her bill open and eyes half-shut.

Kudaai plunged his hands into the warm water. He yanked Chemach's naked body out and over the side of the tub.

Taking part of the nightshirt that hadn't gotten wet, he wiped her face. He should have known better than to leave her. He remembered how lethargic and tired Clauneck had been. Just because Chemach was older didn't mean she wasn't affected the same way.

Gently slapping her cheek, he cried, "Chemach? Chemach!"

He knew she wasn't dead. Clauneck and The First Ones confirmed that all three, he, Chemach, and Clauneck, would live until the day the world let out its final, gasping breath.

That day, Kudaai was certain, it was not going to be today.

Finally, Chemach coughed. She rolled over and hacked until water flooded from her bill.

She cringed at the puddle she threw up.

"What was that?" Kudaai demanded.

Chemach didn't look at him, instead forcing herself to sit up and fixing her gaze on the grass.

"I fell asleep," Chemach mumbled.

"You fell a…" Kudaai trailed off, exasperated.

He wanted to pull his hair out. Kudaai nearly threw back her own childhood taunt that she was a duck and needed to act like one.

And ducks don't drown.

He held his tongue and said instead, "You've been eating those rhubarb plants, haven't you? I saw them in your home."

A look of panic flicked across her face, confirming his suspicions.

Chemach swallowed hard, then coughed again, before she muttered, "Those were given to me by…They were a gift. I couldn't just toss them out. I suppose I wasn't cooking them as properly as I thought."

Kudaai put the nightshirt over her shoulders.

"Dry yourself with this. I will get you something else, and you are going to stay here so I can make sure you recover from your folly." He paused, then added, "I'll help you pick up your mess in your home, too. We'll bury the person you mistakenly killed. Don't worry. It won't burden me at all."

Chemach flinched before glaring daggers at him. She threw the nightshirt at his face, then patted around until she found her tunic and glasses.

Pulling the tunic on, she growled, "I'm fine, Kudaai. Let me go home. I just need more sleep, and all my problems will go away."

"Sleep?" Kudaai gestured to the tub. "How was sleeping just now going to make your problems go away?"

Chemach stood shakily, bracing herself against the tub. "You wouldn't understand. You never understand. I'm just tired of it all. I'm tired of waiting to see if I'll ever get what I deserve."

"And what is it you think you deserve so much?" Kudaai clenched his bill.

"Recognition! The same as you get!" She shouted. "Everyone knows the great blacksmith Kudaai. To have a weapon you discarded halfway through making is considered an honor." She laughed dryly. "Or even Clauneck. Kings and chiefs search the world over to hear him ramble about the future and draw their cards. But me? No one cares who gives out the Crowns, only who gets them. "

Kudaai began to argue she was wrong, that wasn't true, and she knew it, but Chemach continued to rant.

"I want praise and recognition for being able to tell the best mortal for a Crown! I want mortals to look at me with awe! I want their devotion, their loyalty!" She slapped the water with her open palm, splashing both her and Kudaai. "Mortals only care about me if I have a Crown to offer—and I would make a better goddess than those greedy fools who come asking anyway!"

She let out a quack of frustration. She started to speak again, but her voice cracked. Chemach wiped her eyes.

"It's not fair. It's just fair. I didn't choose this…"

Kudaai's stomach twisted as he slowly stood.

This topic of recognition and praise made him nervous.

None of them were supposed to want those things. They were to fulfill their purpose without expecting gratitude or praise. They were to be happy with continuing The First One's ideals and take pride in what only they can do.

Though it did not sit well in his crop, Kudaai couldn't find himself totally surprised that Chemach was jealous of his accidental accomplishment.

"Clauneck and I didn't choose this either. We accept our duties and fulfill them without question, as we were created to do. That we gained fame is simply a side effect of doing so." He frowned, clenching his fists. Why couldn't she just be happy that she was so blessed? Why did she want more?

Chemach searched his face for an awkwardly long moment. She sighed, but must have found whatever she was looking for since she sent him a tired smile the next moment.

"That's about what I thought you'd say." She shook her head with a sniff. "Thank you for the bath. You said you had lunch earlier, didn't you, Koo-Koo?"

"I do, but come with me for some clean, dry clothes first." He looped his arm around hers.

The knot in his stomach began to untwist itself. He knew all Chemach needed was fresh air, sunlight, food, and a dose of good sense from her brother.

----

AN: Anyway, Kudaai has the emotional intelligence of a brick.

I was talking with DarkGaiaBishop / @extraterrestrial-jackal about my interpretation of her and just Chemach in general, and they brought up a deliciously angsty and amazing idea.

The ducks are destined to live and do their jobs until the world ends—Chemach hands out the Crowns, Kudaai hands out the weapons, Clauneck hands out the cards.

So, extraterrestrial-jackal pointed out that Chemach going so far against her design to no longer be able to do what she was created for was like she committed suicide to escape her binds in an ego death kind of way.

And thus I now headcanon that the lead-up to Chemach making her crown, she was passively suicidal and dealing with a lot of suicidal ideation.

Originally, I considered writing part of this from Chemach's perspective, since I wasn't sure it would clear what she was doing, but I trust you guys are able to put on your thinking caps and figure it out.

Though if you've read this far or just the content warnings, you probably can put two and two together anyway…

I might write a part two, but no promises.