Work Text:
There was no battle, no negotiation or fatal error that filled him with as much trepidation as the potential to disappoint. Within the Garlean Court, the image one maintained was the pillar upon which their status was built. Every move they made was with intention, a carefully curated veneer of rectitude despite whatever cheap substratum they carried within their soul. Earning disappointment was tantamount to death—only sometimes metaphorical.
Gaius was no different. He played the game like the rest of them, accepting his status as a knight until his mirror image reflected back to him a pawn—the rain beating down upon his pillar of sand. Since then, he felt as if he’d traveled along as that pile of dust. A man is not a thing so easily rebuilt, and he had only practice in crafting these ramshackle structures. He could no longer gamble with the notion he had nothing left to lose; proven wrong time and time again as more and more was stripped from him. At this point, he guarded even his tattered clothes like a starving mongrel growling over week old scraps.
When he was told to arrive with nothing but himself, he harkened back to those days within the Court. Those who conceal their wish to see you fall plant little traps to chisel away at the hardened surface, exposing cracks they could use to tear it apart and reconstruct it to make you a stepping stone towards their ambition. While he was certain he was a fool, he was not so foolish. He would not arrive empty-handed only to be ridiculed, or allow an affront to his presently meager status—a forced admission of how little of him was left. He prepared a gift despite his instructions.
He didn’t anticipate saving face, as the gift itself was measly. It bothered him. Almost enough that he considered nothing to be better. In his days as a legatus, he was well equipped both financially and in reach. He could travel nearly anywhere to retrieve any item, afford to pay any specialist, and often would. His gifts were suitable, out of necessity, for royalty.
He never took pride in it; the practice was only a show of faith, and little else. Gratitude, emotion, sentiment—none of these things were in consideration. Integrity and ambition alone were his sole drivers, and now, when he finally had reason to care, he had none of the resources.
Gaius paused at the door, settling his turbulent nerves with the sound of the light humming that traveled through the wood. It opened before he could knock.
“You’re here!” Small arms wrapped around his torso, gray ears flitting against his coat. Makoh’to pulled away to pat him on the chest, leaving Gaius to admire his smile—deep palisades of joy worn in over a lifetime framed and emphasized his grin. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“And I you,” Gaius returned in earnest, feeling some relief at the miqo’te’s presence. He proffered the small bag, a string serving as its bow. “I brought you a gift. I hope your nameday has been pleasant.”
Manicured claws carefully took the bag into his hands. “It’s perfect now. I told you there was no need for this.” He looked Gaius in the eyes and added, “Thank you.”
Gaius felt his sincerity, and quietly coveted it. Not for himself, and not now, but for all the moments he could have had this, were he someone less a vessel for destruction. “I know you enjoy Thavnairian spices. Though this amount may serve for only a single meal, it’s—“
Makoh’to grabbed his hand. “This is perfect, Gaius. Thank you again.”
“I know it’s paltry, but—“
“Paltry?” Makoh’to let out a small laugh. “Gaius, just by being here you’ve made my whole day. You’ve given me the world.”
Gaius huffed. “There was a time I really could, and I might have tried.”
Makoh’to looked at him pensively for a moment. “You’re right,” he said finally. “This is much better. The world would have made a terrible gift.”
Gaius smiled. “I agree.”