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Caduceus wouldn’t say that keeps secrets from his friends, though he does sometimes neglect to tell them things. For example, he has never found a reason to tell anyone that Kingsley had given him a sending stone so they could keep on contact without a wizard ferrying them about or relying on Jester to convey a clear message.
Something tells Caduceus that Kingsley isn’t going to say anything on his own. Maybe it’s the way he hoards secrets about himself. Caduceus thinks he gets it. People who have been around you your whole life can feel entitled to every inch of you, and the rest of the Nein knew Kingsley before he was even Kingsley.
The sending stone doesn’t get used all that often. Kingsley is usually the one who reaches out, when he feels the need to tattle on something Fjord has done or check to see if Jester was exaggerating some story about the Nein. Nothing that would really hurt if Caduceus misses the message, and almost always when Kingsley is out at sea, practically impossible for Caduceus to join them.
It’s not that he wouldn’t help out his friends if they were in real danger, it’s just that he thinks that the best way for him to help them is to encourage them to get away from the water, and they’re never going to learn if he indulges them.
Still, Cad keeps the sending stone his by his side, just in case. Like now, when it lights up when he knows that Fjord and Jester aren’t at sea and Caduceus is threading his way between Calliope’s makeshift forge and Clarabelle’s studio to check on the wards.
“Could I get a pick up in Nicodranas? No rush, but maybe soon?” Kingsley’s going for unconcerned but is missing it by a mile. There was a rasp in his voice too, and a small hitch in his breath.
It’s not the first time Kingsley has asked to be brought to the Blooming Grove, and Caduceus can travel between the Wildmother’s temple in Nicodranas and his home in one day. But usually Kingsley gives a few days notice.
He considers finishing checking the wards before going, but before he could even say that, he discards the idea and casts Word of Recall. Kingsley’s not too hard to find, sitting on a bench near the entrance of the temple.
There’s no trail of blood. Good. Caduceus had been worried.
“Ready?” he says, not bothering with much more of a greeting. Doesn’t seem like a good time for small talk.
Kingsley blinks, then nods and slowly stands up. Either he’s shocked that Caduceus arrived so quickly or his reactions are off. Caduceus is better at firbolgs and humans than tieflings, but he thinks Kingsley’s color might be a little off. He wonders if he should check to see if his nose is wet. Either way, it’s probably best to question him at home.
One more Word of Recall, and they’re back in the Grove. Then Kingsley is the palest Caduceus has ever seen him - almost the palest he’s ever seen that body - and he’s trying to catch a rather pointy tiefling in a dead faint.
“It’s a type of flu - some humanoids can catch it,” says a voice. Deep, female, familiar. Soothing. Kingsley tries his best to hold onto consciousness, but he doesn’t think he can get his eyes open.
“Jester mentioned that she’d been sick in her last sending. Spent all her spells curing the crew and didn’t have much for herself.” Another deep voice. Slow, male, even more familiar. If he could think, he’s sure he would recognize it.
“It spreads quickly. Probably faster if you’re on a ship.”
“Should we?”
The female voice cuts him off. “We’re fine - giants are different enough, or maybe we’re just strong enough it doesn’t harm us.”
“All right. Anyone have a cure disease ready?”
“Hmm, wait a bit. Taking the disease out too quick at this point can cause more trouble than it’s worth. His body’s mustered an army to fight them off, and bad things can happen if they have nothing to attack.”
“He looks bad,” says the male voice, and Kingsley tries his best to object. It’s a requirement; he has to defend his looks the way that Jester has to defend Fjord and Orly has to defend his musical ability. But the only sound his mouth is capable of making is a groan and some faint mumbling, which probably doesn’t do much to change their point.
“Give him time for the fever to break on its own. Give him broth and let him rest, and prepare your own cure disease in the morning. If things look dire, Calliope can call on him overnight, but I think he’ll be all right.” A cool cloth covers his forehead, then there is a gentle squeeze of his wrist. The sound of a dry kiss nearby, and then some footsteps away. Then something scraping, wood against wood.
“No insult intended,” says the male voice from closer by, and it takes Kingsley a moment to connect that to his earlier objection. “Now pretend that I’m not here. I can set the wards from inside today.”
After that, there’s some chanting - a muttered spell or prayer or maybe both, but Kingsley can’t seem to hold on to any of the meaning. He struggles to find a reason to, really. He’s exhausted, and the voice, faint sense of magic and smell of earth all combine to create something so soothing that he can’t help but feel safe. He stops struggling for consciousness, lets himself drift off.
It’s warm. There’s fire. There was fire here before. He’d set a fire. Why had he set a fire? His brother had died (he’d had a brother, and he was his own brother, but he’d had another).
His brother had died and the witch brought him back wrong. Empty. So he set a fire to set it right. He had died and came back wrong. Not wrong. Different. Saying Empty. MT.
Caduceus had brought him back. At least once. He wasn’t really sure who had brought him back the other times - a panther’s hungry face and the sweetest song in his mind when he tries to think of it. The memories aren’t his but they’re all closer when he’s like this, different minds curling in on each other for protection. Or is he weak and the others have escaped?
Suddenly heat is gone and it’s been replaced with cold. He’s chilled, can’t ever get warm. He’s left the fire after Jester reads his fortune and he is fuming. He’s left the ruins with that cursed Empire woman and had nearly died, but only has a book to show for it. It’s his first moments, on the strange living cavern floor and it is cold, so cold, and he doesn’t understand why they are crowding him, why are they so happy to see him? He knows now that they are only happy because they are not expecting him.
There’s water. It's a cool damp cloth on his forehead, and then being he's being coaxed to swallow. It’s cool, it’s refreshing. His mouth tastes a little less sour. There's a deep murmur he can't make out, and a soft, warm gently furred bulk propping him up. It reminds him of a tabaxi’s kittenfur and a cold hard night long ago.
He sinks further into the darkness, but the darkness feels softer, warmer now.
Caduceus thinks he sees when the fever breaks. Kingsley’s breath deepens, his body relaxes, and his body breaks out into sweat everywhere. Caduceus pulls out their small tub, casts Create Water in it to fill it, and adds some rosewater to make it more pleasant. By the time he’s finished, Kingsley actually looks like he is somewhat alert - and smelling himself.
“Bath is ready, if you want it.” He barely gets the words out before Kingsley is stripping out of the shirt Clarabelle lent him and practically launching himself into the tub. The water didn’t splash too much, at least.
Kingsley might have been a liquid with the way he melts into the water, and Caduceus watches to make sure his head stays above water. It does, but Kingsley bends the rest of his body so it fits underneath, leaving his head at what looks like at an uncomfortable angle. Kingsley’s eyes close, and Caduceus watches his breathing to make sure he doesn’t fall asleep.
After a few moments, Kingsley opens his eyes and pulls himself into a sitting position. “Thanks muchly. Don’t think I’ve ever felt that gross before. At least not outside of Port Damali.”
Caduceus has never been to Port Damali, but he’s heard enough stories to get the joke. “Anytime. Feeling better?”
“Lots. Honestly I feel amazing - almost makes up for feeling like shit the last couple of days.” He’s smiling now, skimming his hand across the top of the water to make some small waves.
Caduceus nods. The rush that comes after a heal or the end of a migraine is a familiar one. At least for him.
“Good. I’m glad. Was this the first time you’ve been sick?”
“Like that? Yeah, I guess so. I’ve been banged up before, and I’ve gotten hangovers, but I’d always done something to deserve it.”
Caduceus is trying to think of how to mix the right amount of empathy - that it’s annoying to be sick, but must be especially bewildering the first time - with good advice, when his dad interrupts.
“Caduceus, have you seen the laundry...” His dad takes a look towards the repurposed laundry tub, currently filled with one irate tiefling, and pauses. “ah. I see it’s in use.”
The door closes again, but not before Kingsley flings a curse towards it. It leaves a black scorch where Clarabelle had painted some vines. He’ll have to fix that before she sees.
“Please don’t curse him. We did a lot of work to bring my dad back, I’d like to keep him around.”
“I like my privacy.” Kingsley says, then drifts further down in the water, hiding his scars. “You know, if you think about it, you’re kind of like my dad.”
“I don’t follow you.” Maybe the fever did more damage than he thought.
“Brought me into this world, didn’t you?” Kingsley says with a smile and a laugh. Caduceus still doesn’t really understand, but Kingsley’s humor is like that - more likely to pass something off as a joke because he’s troubled by something underneath. Give him enough time, and he’ll probably bring it up on his own.
“Why’d you do it, anyway? Resurrect this body? Yasha told me what happened.” Huh. Took less waiting than usual.
“Have you had to deal with death yet?” Caduceus asks. Kingsley could get prickly when people assume he hasn’t experienced anything - and when people talk as if he should have obviously experienced it.
“I’ve killed a lot of people,” Kingsley says dryly.
“Have you lost anyone?”
Kingsley frowns, thinking it over. “I guess not.”
“Back when I met the Nein, I was alone, and I’d been alone for a long, long time. I thought I’d lost everyone, and they’d lost him. But we helped each other, and we got my family back. Well, mostly intact, my aunt’s still a little funny some days. And then we went and saved the world, and they weren’t going to get anything for it. Life’s not fair, I know. And I like death to be final. But it didn’t seem right.”
“You ever disappointed that you got me?” Kingsley’s voice is unusually quiet, and he’s still, watching Caduceus’s face intently.
Caduceus shrugs, then tells the truth. Nothing else will do. “Didn’t know the other guy. Besides, he had his chance. Had a chance to come back, even, if he wanted to. It seems right that you get a chance, too.”
It’s a little too much for Kingsley to handle, apparently. He gets up and out of the tub in one fluid motion. Before Caduceus could hand Kingsley a towel, there was an odd thrumming noise and the water just … vibrates off of him. It scatters in droplets across the room like dew.
Kingsley looks at Clarabelle’s shirt in disgust, then finds his torn and sweaty clothes from the day before and proceeds to put them on. Clarabelle’s shirt was mostly clean, lovingly embroidered, and only had a few paint stains, but there’s no accounting for taste.
“Jester showed me the Thamuturgy trick. Comes in handy while at sea.” Kingsley says.
“Huh. I like to use a towel.” Probably less of an issue about getting everything wet on a boat.
“I notice that you haven’t asked me why I Sent for you, even though the others were in Nicodranas.” Which is either Kingsley’s way of saying he’d like to tell Caduceus why, or he’s still suspicious of kind deeds from friends. Caduceus hopes it’s the first one.
“Didn’t think much of it.”
Kingsley pauses. “I can get a little … strange. When I’m drunk, or tired. Like something gets thinner, and I get less me.”
Ah. Well. That explains it. Kingsley reminds him of a wild animal sometimes - like he’s got the instinct to hide into a cave when he’s vulnerable. It’s nice that Kingsley thinks the Grove is safe.
Kingsley is currently putting a lot of effort into remaking the bed, considering that they desperately need to change the sheets. “You’re the only one who looks at me like they’re not expecting someone else. Didn’t want to give them the wrong idea.”
“That seems fair. Don’t mind the company,” Caduceus says evenly. It also feels nice to have people depend on him again.
“Did I say anything? While I was out?” Kingsley still isn’t looking in his direction, but his tail is more alert.
“Nothing that made any sense to me. Couldn’t tell you which parts were you and which parts were someone else.”
“Hey.” Kingsley finally turns around. “Thanks. For looking after me. And, I guess, being responsible for me being here.”
“Of course.”
Suddenly, Jester’s voice rings in his head loud and clear. “Hi, Caduceus - how are you? Hope everything is okay in the grove! We’ve had an itty bitty break - if King is with you tell him…”
“You got cut off there,” Caduceus says, but Jester is already sending another message.
“That we’re leaving port tomorrow so he should make his way back. Also, if he’s not can you message him? I’m running out of spells.”
“He’s with me. Will do.”
“Jester?” Kingsley asks.
“Yep. Sails up tomorrow. Want a ride back, or are you sitting this one out?” Caduceus thinks that Kingsley should probably rest more, at least another day. But Kingsley will figure it out one way or another.
Kingsley takes a moment to look around the room - the tub, the bed, the scorched door. “I’ll go back. But that’s tomorrow - today I’d rather spend here with you. Maybe conscious this time?”
Kingsley ends up falling asleep in the garden half an hour later, but it’s fine company nonetheless.