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It was dark — had been dark for a few hours already — by the time Gaius reached the Garlond residence. The big house was quiet; Cid would be sleeping already at this hour. Gaius felt a pang of disappointment over having missed the nameday celebrations. The Garlonds had always treated him like family, to the point that Midas had taught little Cid to call him ‘uncle Gaius’ even though there was no blood relation, and he hated the thought that he’d let the kid down.
“There you are,” a familiar voice said, and Midas nan Garlond strode forth to clasp his friend’s hand. “We expected you earlier.”
“I got held up,” Gaius replied. “I am sorry I missed the party. Was Cid very disappointed?”
Midas chuckled as he waved away the servant who had admitted Gaius. “Cid? I was disappointed; does that count for nothing?”
Gaius gave his friend a wry smile. “Had it been your nameday, perhaps.”
“So cold, Gaius. You wound me,” Midas said shaking his head, but his expression was warm. “Nonetheless, I’m glad you’re here now. Come,” he went on as he ushered his guest onward into the sitting room. “You look like you could use a drink and I certainly could… If you think leading the XIVth Legion is stressful, you should try watching over a dozen five-year-olds for an afternoon. …Ale? Wine? Something stronger?”
Gaius sat in the armchair, watching as Midas opened the liquor cabinet. “I’ll have wine, if you’ve got anything good.”
Midas snorted. “It never fails to amuse me that you of all people should have developed a taste for fancy wines. I remember a time when if it had alcohol, it was good enough for you.”
Gaius smiled faintly. “Do not think that I’ve forgotten, either,” he said. “A time when you weren’t a Grand Minister of Industry and I wasn’t a Legatus, the Empire was young and things were simpler.” Things never had been simpler, Gaius well knew; and he knew that Midas knew. They had seemed that way, however, to a boy of twenty summers. “Just pour that damn wine, Mid, or do I have to come and do it myself.”
“Listen to you both,” a new voice said from the doorway, equal parts exasperation and amusement. “You’re neither of you old enough to be talking like that.” Lucretia, Midas’ wife, entered the room and set a tray of pastries on the table. “I can wake the cook to whip up some proper food if you’re hungry,” she continued, but Gaius shook his head.
“That will not be necessary,” he said. “Thank you.”
Lucretia nodded as though she’d anticipated his answer. “You’re staying the night, yes?” she asked. “A guest room has been prepared for you.”
Gaius smiled wryly. “I suppose I am.” He had a house of his own in the capital, of course, but he spent little enough time there, and most of the time the scant handful of servants that made up his household were left to their own devices managing his property. Only once over the past decade had a retainer tried to take advantage of his absence; after he had dealt with the matter, he had needed little further reassurance of the loyalty of the remaining staff. There was nothing there that required his immediate attention.
Lucretia nodded again as though there had never been any question about his answer. The lady who had captured the heart of Midas nan Garlond had always been strong-willed enough for three women. While she never seemed to bully people into submission, she never seemed to need to; more often than not, people ended up doing as she wished quite of their own volition.
“I’ll leave you boys to it, then,” she said, and Gaius more than half suspected that her word choice was deliberately poking fun at the bout of nostalgia she had interrupted. At the door she turned and fixed Midas with a pointed look. “You may not want to stay up until dawn again. You know Cid will be up with the sun, regardless of whether you’ve slept.”
“Yes ma’am,” Midas replied, earning an exaggeratedly long-suffering look before Lucretia made her exit with a final good-night.
“So,” Gaius ventured after a moment, “I take it family life is still all you imagined it would be?”
There was no hesitation or evasion in Midas’ voice as he replied, “Yes. All of that — and so much more.” He shook his head with a faraway look that Gaius didn’t recall seeing on his face before. “Watching Cid grow… watching him already take interest in magitek, the boy’s a genius I tell you, he’ll surpass me before he’s twenty if I don’t double my efforts — anyway, even if he wasn’t interested in engineering at all, watching my son grow, being a part of his life, being a father… is so much more fulfilling than I could have ever imagined.”
Gaius nodded silently. He could see that Midas was being perhaps more sincere than he had ever been in his life, but he found himself at a loss for how to respond. This was completely outside his field of expertise; he had known Midas for well over a decade, but he didn’t know how to relate to this newfound aspect of his friend.
Midas, of course, noticed the shift in the mood. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to go on so.” He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “But hells, Gaius, it’s been… five years of slowly discovering that I’m not doing too badly as a father. Truth be told, despite all I said before Cid was born, I never expected to adapt this well. I was worried I’d feel tied down but I don’t, and… I’m happy, you know?”
“I am glad to hear that,” Gaius said, and he meant it. He remembered that conversation still. He had questioned if Midas was ready start a family, pointed out that there was a war to fight… To which Midas had simply said that there would always be a war to fight. The engineer, it turned out, had been right. He often was.
“What about you? Still no plans to settle down?” Midas asked, but his tone told Gaius that he already knew the answer.
Gaius shook his head anyway. “I have a war to fight,” he said with a faint smile. He’d never wanted a family of his own, and once upon a time Midas had tried to convince him that he would change his mind once he was older. That had yet to happen, and if Midas still thought so he had at least given up on voicing his thoughts, for which Gaius was grateful.
Midas nodded slowly, a knowing look in his eyes. “I suppose you do.” He drained his glass and rose to pour another; he knew better than to force the topic. “Speaking of which, how goes the conquest of Othard?”
“Your information is likely as up to date as mine, or near so at any rate.” Gaius stretched his legs and leaned back in the chair — then reconsidered and sat up straight again. He was liable to fall asleep if he let himself get too comfortable. “The Doman resistance offers some minor trouble, but they’re more of a nuisance than a true threat.” He raised his eyebrows in a questioning look. “The Emperor tells me the new airship should be operational soon?”
Midas sighed. “Well, it should be, he’s right about that,” he replied. “Whether it will, remains to be seen.” The engineer frowned at his drink, then tossed it back. He looked at the bottle for a while as though considering refilling his glass again, but decided against it. “The bloody thing consumes so much power I’m having trouble getting it to stay airborne for long enough to reach Othard. Would be embarrassing, having it drop into the sodding ocean before getting there.”
Gaius had to chuckle at that. “You will think of something,” he said. “You always do.”
“Your confidence is heartwarming.” There may have been a hint of wry humour in Midas’ voice, but he took the opportunity to keep talking about his work on the airship. It was the biggest airship the Imperial fleet had ever seen, although the engineer already had plans for an even bigger one, which he would begin working on as soon as Typhon was fully operational.
In the end Gaius wasn’t sure how long he listened to the other man talk; when Midas started talking about his work, he might not stop for hours unless told to shut up. Gaius didn’t mind. He was no engineer himself, but the topic was fascinating enough, and Midas’ enthusiasm and obvious expertise made it all the more interesting. Suddenly he however realised that Midas had stopped talking and was looking at him as though expecting an answer.
“I’m sorry, would you mind repeating that?” Gaius asked.
Midas shook his head. “I asked if you’d like more wine, but I don’t think you need any,” he said. “You were practically sleeping there.” Then he flashed a mischievous grin. “Not that it would be the first time I’ve talked someone to sleep…”
Gaius grimaced. “My apologies. It’s been a long…” Week? Month? Year? All would have been accurate enough. “…day.” It was a testament to their friendship that he felt relaxed enough to nearly fall asleep. However, that didn’t mean he’d meant to do so.
“I bet it has,” Midas replied. He set his glass on the table and collected Gaius’ as well. “You should go to sleep.” A snort of laughter. “Hells, I should go to sleep as well. Lucretia wasn’t kidding when she said Cid tends to wake at obscenely early hours…”
Gaius wasn’t going to disagree. He stood and bid his friend good night, and added before leaving, “Thank you, Mid.”
Midas didn’t ask what for; he merely nodded. “That’s what I’m here for.” He clasped Gaius’ shoulder gently. “We’ll speak more on the morrow before you leave.”