Chapter Text
Caduceus surprised all of his friends by saying he would take the firbolg teenager.
“You know, Caduceus,” Jester said, elongating the middle of his name, the way she always did. “You don’t have to take the firbolg kid just because you’re a firbolg.”
“I know,” he told her, refusing to elaborate. “I’ll take him anyway.”
In reality, he was taking the boy because he saw that the boy was troubled, and Caduceus--
Well, Caduceus loved a project. And what better project--or sign from the Wildmother--was there than a troubled fifteen year old firbolg, intending to throw his life away the first chance he got?
“Don’t I get a say in this?” The boy asked, his face scrunched up. His name was Ozmandias--a good name, strong and a little bit wild, which Caduceus approved of-- and he had darker fur than any of the other Clay family members, who tended to be a bit albinoish as far as firbolgs went. His hair was dyed a wild shade of green, though, which tickled Caduceus to no end. Perhaps he’d show the boy how to dye his hair pink, later.
Fjord opened his mouth to say something, but Caduceus stopped him. “Of course you get a say,” he said before Fjord could ruin it, leaning heavily on his staff. “You could stay here in Port Damali, and join up with the Myriad like you plan to,” he had spotted the boy earlier in the week, talking to a Myriad recruiter while they were following someone else. “You’ll be dead in a week or so, as a young skinny thing like you isn’t much use to them for much beyond cannon-fodder. Or,” he waved his arm out wide. “You can come live with me in a magic swamp dedicated to the Wildmother.”
The boy’s nose immediately scrunched up in disgust. “A swamp? ”
“It’s a magic swamp,” Caleb repeated, hoping it made a difference.
“It’s near Shadycreek Run,” Veth added helpfully. “Lots of opportunities to pick pockets there, just in case you don’t like the Grove. Try it out; it doesn’t mean you’re stuck there forever if you don’t like it.”
The boy bit his lip, breathed in deeply, and then exhaled. “Okay.”
Ozymandias--or Ozzie, as he preferred--was the oldest orphan they rescued from Fjord’s original home. At fifteen, he was tall and lanky but nowhere near grown, at least as far as firbolgs were concerned. He had been in the Driftwood Asylum practically his entire life, since his parents died when he was three. Unlike many firbolgs, he didn’t have a clan or tribe to return to when he lost them, so it was to the Asylum he was sent.
He’d lived in Port Damali his entire life, and in spite of his hair matching the wilderness surrounding him, he stuck out in the Blooming Grove like a sore thumb.
He didn’t know how to garden, and he didn’t have much interest in learning how. The graves creeped him out. He missed the taste of meat, and didn’t appreciate the vegetarian lifestyle the Clays had. He struggled to sleep at night, fighting the humidity and the bugs, missing the cool ocean breeze and the noise of Port Damali’s streets.
Sometimes, Caduceus wondered if he had made a mistake, bringing Ozzie here. But every time he asked the Wildmother for guidance, she always said the same thing: patience.
So Caduceus Clay tried to have patience. Something he previously thought he excelled at.
But it was hard. Fjord at least had wanted to change. But Ozzie was content to be himself, the rude little thing that he was.
It bothered Caduceus, a lot, actually. But his parents were amused, at least.
“He’s a child,” his mother told him, folding laundry while Caduceus asked her for advice. “You can’t rush a child’s growth, no more than you can rush a growing plant.”
“He’s no worse than Clarabelle was at that age,” he father chuckled with amusement, passing him a dry dish to put away.
“You aren’t worried?” Caduceus whispered, feeling a bit insecure. “That he doesn’t fit? That he doesn’t belong?”
That Caduceus had made a mistake, bringing him here?
“What’s an O but two C’s put together?” Corrin chuckled heartily. “He’ll find his place in time. You just worry about loving the boy, and making sure he feels safe. The rest of it will find its place in time, Wildmother’s will.”
So, Caduceus had patience. Even when the boy snuck out at night to go to Shadycreek Run and pick pockets. Even when he insulted Constance’s cooking. Even when he snuck dried meat rations into the temple.
Even when the plants he placed in the garden withered and died.
“It’s no use,” Ozzie whined, looking over the barren part of the field he had attempted half-heartedly to plant. “I’m not good. I can’t make them grow.”
Caduceus dug up the plants, and breathed through his nose, trying to practice patience. “You can be better. Come on; let’s try again.”
In the end, things didn’t change between them until Calliope came to visit, and asked the two of them to join her on an adventure.
“I could use an extra pair of hands,” she told them. “And the little one knows his way around locks. That’ll be useful, I think.”
“I’m not little,” Ozzie said, at the same time Caduceus said “Don’t encourage him.”
Still, she had a point. Ozzie, in addition to being good at breaking locks, was also quite proficient in breaking traps, which was something they desperately needed on this little excursion. Here in the frozen wastes, in an abandoned temple to the Raven Queen, there were more than just frostbite and monsters trying to kill them.
Ozzie was just a boy, though. Young, and inexperienced,
When he heard the trap click, Caduceus moved without thinking, shoving the boy out of the way and taking the guillotine straight to his shoulder.
The scream the boy let out would be alarming if Caduceus could focus on more than just the pain and the blood loss. “That’s not good,” he said, looking at his shoulder, half-holding his arm together.
“Stop screaming,” Calliope told Ozzie, pulling Caduceus out of the trap, laying hands on him to heal him, just a bit.
But Ozzie continued to cry, having never seen so much blood before in his life. “A-are you going to die? ” he asked in between sobs.
Caduceus dumped a heal into himself. “Someday, I suppose. Not today, I hope.”
“Why would you do that?” Ozzie sobbed. “Why would you shove me out of the way and get hurt like that?”
“Because I love you,” Caduceus said, and surprised himself by how true it was.
Oh. He did love this kid. He wondered for a moment when that happened, and then decided it didn’t matter, because it was the truth. This was his kid, and he was willing to die for him.
Apparently, it was the right thing to say, because Ozzie threw himself into a giant hug, clutching Caduceus like he might die any second now. “ Dad,” he sobbed, clinging to him like a little baby.
His name had never sounded so good before, he decided, hugging his son back.