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Time, some would say, is a weird soup.
Caduceus would generally agree.
Time was a fickle thing, floating around and vague, marked only by one grave after another added to his garden. Caleb told him, in one of his visits, that in one of the courts they toy with magic that affects time. Frankly, Caduceus thinks it’s a bit silly.
No matter how much you toy with it, time will come for you eventually.
Caduceus was often relegated to his solitude, watching seasons pass. He liked his little corner of the wildlands, his small temple and his garden of graves, but… he often missed his family. They were out in the world, making graves and travelling and learning, showing the world that nature is beautiful. They returned on occasion, when they could, but Caduceus was the one left to protect his ancestral home, their little grove with the fountain and the pools and the graves.
He didn’t use to feel lonely before.
His tail flicking lazily as he meditates in the morning sun, Caduceus heard voices coming his way. They were familiar, as his ear twitched to catch them better.
Tam ta- Tam ta- Tam sounded Jester’s skipping steps, with the jingling bells in her horns adding a melodic ring to it.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom Yasha’s sure steps echoed as well, large feet in large boots, full foot on the ground in front of her.
Taptaptaptaptap Beau’s whispering steps, light on the ground and fluid in his ears, approached quicker than the others. She was usually hurrying somewhere. He liked meditating with her, just to see her calm a little. Slow down. There’s no need to rush, after all, everyone arrives at the same destination eventually.
He got up, stretching toward the sun, before going toward his little temple. He had a little bit of time to put a kettle on. They were always delighted whenever he was ready for them. Like the thought of being expected, welcome , was foreign and exciting. And maybe it was, coming to think of it. They were all isolated for many years, as all his friends were. As he was.
They all managed to be a little less lonely together.
“ Caduuuuuceus !” Jester’s cheerful voice rang through the temple, and he couldn’t help but smile warmly. Jester was very warm. She was adept to the cold, so it made sense for her to be warm. He thought at least. She would make a lovely tea one day, soft and sweet and warm on the tongue. But right now she made a lovely friend, jumping to hug him. He returned the hug, tucking the short woman against his tall, lean frame.
“Hey. I was just making tea.” He gestured for the mugs on the kitchen table. Their mugs. Each of their friends had a mug in his home. Jester gaped at the mugs, happy, spaded tail flicking before wrapping around his ankle.
“How do you always know when we’re coming?” Beau asked, bumping her shoulder against him like a cat claiming someone as her own. He appreciated that. She was great. Sharp sometimes, but always caring. Loyalty ran deep with this one, woven into the bones of the earth beneath their feet, carving paths with patience and determination.
“I told you, I can hear you.” He said peacefully. She rolled her eyes, leaning against the table as Yasha stepped in as well.
“Yeah, I get that you can hear people coming , but you got our mugs. How did you know it’s us?” She asked, eyeing him. He just kept an even smile.
“Like I said, I heard you .” It was a compliment, the way he saw it. He knew them well enough to recognise them by the sound of their footsteps, to put the kettle on. “Would you go out and pick some tea? Yasha, you already know most of the garden here.” He smiled at them. “I’ll get some bread and jam.” Jester grinned, and they all got out of the small house to pick what tea they wanted to drink. Yasha smiled at him, the last to leave, and he nodded at her.
Caduceus hummed a warm song as he pulled out a loaf of light, airy bread, and some rose petal jam. It was one of his favourites, growing from his great grandmother’s grave. He never knew her, but he respected those who came before him. He will join them in time. For now, he can enjoy their fruits.
“We got some tea.” Yasha smiled, showing him a handful of leaves and flowers. She knew how to pick from his garden of graves, respectful and sure. She helped grow some of these graves with him. He noticed she picked some of the flowers she planted for Zuala. Beau’s hand rest on her arm, stabilising and soothing. He was glad she had that support.
“Excellent. I got the rose jam.” Caduceus started spreading it on the bread. A thick layer for Jester, thinner for Yasha and Beau. He started brewing the tea when Yasha took the knife and the bread, making another slice. Did she not like hers? Did she want another one? No, when Yasha was done spreading the jam, she offered the slice to him. “Oh thank you. I forgot.” He gave her a warm smile. She saw deeper into his heart than he intended.
Caduceus was a gardener, through and through. He made it his business, his mission, to care for others. He made it his mission to care for others, and it was hard, sometimes, to remember to care for himself.
Before these friends stumbled upon his small temple, Caduceus tended to neglect himself. Alone out in the wilderness, it was easy to forget small things like eating, like resting. But these people brought warmth into his life. They were his garden too, to care for and cherish and maintain. But he found that he was a part of their garden too, theirs to protect and care for and hold.
It was nice.
They all left eventually. They left, and Caduceus remained alone. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed alone, but he suspected it was longer than usual. His friends were busy. That was okay. They would return eventually, one way or the other. He hoped at least.
It was late at night, when Caleb came to find him by the pond. He was distracted enough to not notice, until his friend sat by his side on the ground.
“Hey. What brought you here this late?” He asked curiously, giving him a small smile. Caleb looked at him with perceptive, discerning eyes. He tried to hide from that knowing gaze, but he was never very good at deception.
“A good friend.” He smiled warmly, his hand resting on Caduceus’s forearm. Caleb was always warm, on the edge of too warm. A fire growing into a roaring inferno, then fading to embers. Was this an embers kind of day? It would be good if it was. Caleb tended to close himself up, whenever he faded like that. To curl into himself and snarl at anyone who got too close, like a wounded beast. Like the bleeding boy who would still peek out sometimes.
But no, Caleb’s gaze was warm and steady, the smile on his lips genuine and his eyes kind. He was in a good mood. So what was it? What brought him here to seek Caduceus this late at night.
A good friend, he said. Would Caleb be so calm if one of their friends needed his help? No, that wouldn’t be. If they were hurt, or ill, Caleb would have been frantic and blazing, rushing them to where they were needed. If they were already gone, he would barely be an ember, shaky and unstable and broken.
Why was he here? What would bring him here, looking like this, at this hour of the night? What should he make of this? How should he react? Caduceus felt a squeeze on his arm, Caleb’s patient eyes still on him.
“I am here for you , my friend.” He clarified. Oh. Oh, that made sense. Yes, he had words for that. Right words. Good words, genuine words that would obfuscate the things he didn’t want to admit to himself.
“Oh, that’s nice.” He started, his smile gentle. “I’m okay, Caleb. I appreciate the company.” He assured. He was here before their friends. He will be here long after they all died. Caleb would be the first, if fate is kind. If the only thing to take his friends from him would be age. He would be there long after them, but he appreciated them while they were here. A short time, but no less meaningful. An entire lifetime, for these people he loved dearly.
“I know it is… hypocritical of me to say, but you’ve been neglecting yourself lately. More than usual.” Caleb’s voice was soft. Hypocritical was certainly the word for it. Caduceus could see Caleb in the depths of his self loathing, refusing food and drink and even a shower. Hissing at even Veth when she tried to come close. At all of them.
Caleb touched his fading hair gently. The shaved sides of his head had grown longer than he normally allowed them. The moss and lichen grew unruly in it. His beard was a bit out of sorts. From Caleb’s look, he realised he must be more gaunt than usual, too. He really had been forgetting to eat.
“The others are all coming as well, probably tomorrow. Even Kingsley promised he would. But I figured I would come a bit earlier, since I can travel easily. We’ve been… unsure, of what to do, how best to help.” He explained, and as Caduceus leaned into the touch almost by instinct, he began combing through the tangle of hair on his head.
“That’s nice. It would be nice to see everyone again.” He hummed, eyes closing. He missed the affection, the touch that came with a large and loving family in a small and loved house. “… would you help me with it?” He asked hesitantly, gesturing at his wild hair.
“Of course. I am quite good at shaving.” Caleb assured. It was funny, sometimes, watching him shave when he could just change his shape to not have a beard. His shape was as impermanent as the flickering flame. But he liked shaving. Appreciated the solidity and realness of the careful movements, blade gliding over skin without causing harm. It made sense.
They walked in, and Caleb let Caduceus wash himself. The house felt empty and dusty, like he hadn’t been there in a while. How long had he been sitting outside? Time was a strange thing.
When he returned, there was soup simmering on an arcane fire, his favourite nighttime tea just freshly poured into his favourite mug, and his friend airing the room and cleaning, just a bit. Organising a space for what Caduceus asked his help with. They drank and ate, all in companionable silence only broken by Caleb humming a song; Caduceus knew it belonged to his mother by the look he wore in his eyes.
With food and drink done, Caleb brought a basin over and wrapped a towel around Caduceus’ shoulders. A meticulously sharpened razor came to the side of his head, taking the hair that grew too long, too itchy for his sensitive ears. Not too short, not too long. He shaved it just right, combed through it with wet fingers and a silver comb he knew was a gift from Essek, sturdy enough to withstand his unruly, thick hair, and dyed it with Caduceus’ favourite pink lichen, fresh and vibrant from the staff Caduceus left leaned against the table. With every brush, every nick of the blade, every pass of fingers through freshly dyed hair, Caduceus felt more connected. More in his body. Time was a weird thing, but now he was floating on its currents, not sinking slowly downward into oblivion.
As they both fell asleep, a warm tangle of limbs on the floor of his bedroom where they started on separate sides, Caduceus thought about the shapes love took.
Love looked like a slice of bread with just enough rose jam. It looked like a kettle on the fire and your favourite mug on the table. Like a lonely house full of sound, and hearth-fire warmth, and the tingle of a comb through his hair. Like an old song. Like a shoulder bump and jingling bells. Like meditation. Like a prayer. Like a tree on a grave.
It looked like two lonely people tangled on the floor together, each content in their own skin and in the knowledge that the other is cared for.
In the grand scheme of things, this was but a blip in his life. He would watch them grow old. He would watch them return. He would watch them pass on. He would, that was just how it was. But this was a lifetime for them. And in a way, a lifetime for him as well. It would be good.
Yes, this was nice.