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Public audiences with King Laios had become commonplace in their burgeoning nation. At the beginning of every new week, a steady stream of inhabitants, encompassing farmers and the old nobility alike, appeared in front of the humble throne to voice their woes. Problems ranged in severity. Some sought land while others complained about a stolen hen.
Kabru found it endlessly entertaining. It was true that some issues reared their heads repetitively – such as the problem of the sea trade routes that had been decimated by the Golden Kingdom’s ascent – and Kabru repeated the same potential solutions with practiced ease. However, new individuals also traveled to the kingdom, interwoven amongst the regular merchants, carrying with them a collection of concerns that actually made him ponder before whispering an answer into Laios’s waiting ear.
It was, at times, thankless work, but Kabru loved helping the citizenry. His thirst for justice had only grown since the dungeon had ceased to exist. Issues could no longer be blamed on monsters and dungeoneering, although the traumas certainly lingered. Now more than ever, eyes and outstretched hands turned toward Melini’s government. There would be judgement, but they also had the power to make a difference in a world where other monarchs ruled with prejudice and conservativism. Their own reluctant King stood uniquely on the side of progress.
Presently, they heard a representative from Kahka Brud, arguing perhaps a bit too boldly about the beached merchant ships in the Dwarven domain. Laios, of course, could not have prevented his kingdom’s remarkable rise from the sea and all of the territorial problems it brought along with it, but people were nonetheless eager to find someone to blame.
“Apologies won’t clear the ships from our shorelines,” the man bellowed, a finger thrust accusingly at Laios.
Kabru wanted to tell him that such disasters were no fault of their own, and Dwarven territories were prosperous enough to see to the wellbeing of their shores. A young kingdom could offer little help, but that was the point. They had set their sights on exposing Melini’s weaknesses, on testing the waters of its diplomatic capabilities. Kabru would not allow them to get the upper hand.
As he scratched his chin, deep in thought, he gazed down the expansive stone hall and past the many ornate columns, until his eyes rested at the large double doors that would be pulled closed when Laios resigned to his quarters. Mithrun stood at attention at the threshold’s center, his steely King’s Guard armor shining in sunbeams that broke through the enormous tripartite windows. Kabru resisted the urge to smile at his uncharacteristic ensemble, a sword hung uselessly at his side. If any threat accosted them, Mithrun’s weapon would certainly never be swung – it would only be teleported into the assailant’s flesh, if that was what the situation called for. The outfit and the knightly position were more for appearances. He would much rather be out hunting for any remaining monsters.
Mithrun stared back at him rather than keeping his gaze straightforward. He was likely waiting to hear Kabru’s answer, as he so often did. In private, Kabru would seek his approval, and Mithrun would eagerly provide it, calmly and with subsequent discussion about new issues that may arise. Kabru always looked forward to the praise that was delivered so naturally that he felt like a fool for ever doubting himself.
For now, he shook away the straying thoughts. There was business to attend to.
In front of him, the Dwarven man stood with crossed arms, eyes narrowed as he waited for the King to speak. Laios, too, sat waiting, just barely gazing at Kabru from the corner of his eyes. “I think we should help,” Laios whispered. “But I want to hear your opinion.”
Kabru nodded. Here was a chance to build relationships with a variety of merchants by helping to free their ships. This generosity may even attract them to Melini’s own harbors. In the process, they could show their goodwill towards Kahka Brud while putting their resourcefulness on display. Yes, they would send soldiers to help dig trenches and partially refloat the boats. Holm was experienced with water magic, so he could help push the ships back to sea with an augmented tide. That would also give Kabru the excuse to visit with his former party.
Again, he nodded to himself, asserting the finality of his thoughts. Yaad would almost certainly approve. Kabru leaned down to speak directly into Laios’s ear.
Just then, a bout of dizziness pounced at him, forcing him to steady his body with a quick step forward. Laios turned to him, obvious surprise painting the face that should have remained stoic.
Kabru stood, hunched unnaturally as he assured himself that he was fine. His body, however, seemed to disagree.
“Tell him that we…” Kabru began, speech dissolving as dark splotches obscured his vision like ink dripping from a quill. While he racked his brain for the words, an uncomfortable dryness invaded his mouth. “We, um…”
His mind was much too foggy, and a combined sense of dread and embarrassment washed over him. What had he planned on saying? The thoughts felt more distant as seconds ticked by, sounds muffled as if hands had been cupped over his ears. He caught the worried look in Laios’s eye, and, before he knew it, he had hit the ground.
Kabru did not recall falling, but his aching shoulder was an assurance that it had certainly happened. He opened his eyes while gasps escaped from the lips of onlookers. His breath was heavy, and a cool sheen of sweat now coated his brow. With great effort, he wiped it away, his arm falling clumsily back to his side with a thunk.
Along the bottom of the gold and crimson throne, he spied a layer of dust so thin that he had not noticed it while standing. He focused on the that minor imperfection, clinging desperately to consciousness until, among the distant chatter, he heard the clanking of sabatons as Mithrun rushed his way.
“I’m fine,” Kabru mumbled, but before help could arrive, his vision had gone dark once more.
Beneath him, Kabru felt the comforting bumps of his bedding, topped with the smoothness of silken sheets. He was careful with the caress so as not to alert those in his company that he had awoken. He did not recall being transported to his bedroom, but that was of little concern. His tainted reputation and the scene he had made in front of their important visitors were at the forefront of his tired mind. If only it had all been an anxious nightmare.
Keeping his eyes closed, Kabru listened to the chatter of the companions that stood by his bedside, eager to hear their judgements. The telltale sound of Mithrun’s pacing – long, heavy strides carrying him to the far wall and then back to the bedstead – echoed against stone walls. Barely audible above the stomping was the soft sound of Holm chanting a minor healing spell, his hand resting gently against Kabru’s shin.
“Why aren’t your spells working?” Mithrun finally asking, never ceasing his clamorous pacing. “Kabru said that you were an adept healer. He spoke highly of you.”
“He did?” Holm joked, words followed by a small chuckle. “How nice of him.”
Mithrun scoffed. “He’s critically injured and you’re laughing?”
Kabru felt guilty at his charade of unconsciousness. He should not be evoking more worry, but before he could feign a sudden, confused show of wakefulness, Holm clicked his tongue.
“He isn’t critically injured,” he assured Mithrun. “He wasn’t poisoned or cursed or anything of the sort. This is simply exhaustion that must be solved with rest.”
Finally, Mithrun stilled. “He collapsed from exhaustion?”
“I’m sure you’re aware by now, but Kabru has always had a bad habit of pushing his own needs to the side in favor achieving a goal with determined haste,” Holm said, his voice lowering to a mumble by the end of his sentence. Kabru guessed that he was shaking his head disapprovingly. “Insomnia has always been a struggle for him as well. His mind is too full.”
Mithrun drew closer, and Kabru felt that single obsidian eye tracing his form. “I know,” Mithrun said after a moment. “But I did not know that it was this bad. He hides everything so well.”
“He sure does.”
With that, silence spread over them, likely strengthened by the uncomfortable task of navigating uncharted waters. Kabru had not meant to inconvenience them, and when they finally retreated, leaving him to sleep with curtains drawn, he could only sigh.
Negative attention was a dreadful menace, tormenting him with worried faces and anxious thoughts. His day should not have turned out this way – by now, he should have been discussing with Yaad his plan to assist the Kahka Brud merchants. He should have been outlining his reports and planning his day for tomorrow. How could he be sleeping so soon?
It was unfair to ask so much of his body, Kabru knew, but he did not possess an ordinary job. The fate of thousands rested on his shoulders. There were no threats for now, but Kabru knew better than anyone that peace could be fragile. All it took was one wrong move, one lapse in judgement, for everything to come tumbling down into a pit of rubble and decay.
And so, it was guilt that gnawed at him as he allowed himself to sink deeper into his pillow and slip his eyes shut once more. It was shame that kept him awake amidst his exhaustion, catapulting thoughts of failure through his mind, until sleep eventually wrapped him in its embrace.
Kabru assumed from the gentle warmth of sunbeams and the twittering of songbirds that it was midmorning when the heavy knock at his door roused him.
Mithrun did not even wait for his answer before slipping inside, arms full with a wild jumble of goods, one smaller box nearly falling from his grasp like stone teetering on a cliff’s edge. The shock of the sight made Kabru wonder if he was still dreaming
“What’s all this?” he asked, the question leaving his lips slowly as he stretched tired limbs.
One-by-one, Mithrun set the sachets and small boxes on Kabru’s desk, explaining the contents of each as they came to rest amongst stray documents. “This is lavender oil. The shopkeeper said it helps people sleep, and I know you don’t like sleeping spells, so I bought two. Here’s a bag of fruit and some pastries so you can have snacks in your room. This is a riverstone infused with an enchantment that will keep your pillow cool as you sleep. This is an eye mask that-”
“Mithrun!” Kabru interrupted, watching as Mithrun’s hand froze, his gaze flitting over the items that had already been thoroughly discussed. A blush had made its way to Kabru’s face as he, too, looked over his assortment of gifts. It was endearing, but the sentiment grew from worry. Such a fact left him feeling abashed. “You didn’t need to do all of this for me. I appreciate your efforts greatly, but I am alright – I promise.”
Mithrun’s brow furrowed, and he dropped the few remaining boxes unceremoniously atop Kabru’s desk. “You’re not.”
Kabru made his voice light, like the airy white froth at the end of a waterfall. “I am.”
From the brown satchel of fruit, Mithrun pulled out a ripe red apple before striding to Kabru’s bedside. “Eat an apple,” he said, extending the fruit to him in his palm.
“I don’t want an apple,” Kabru said, stubbornly turning his head to the side. With anyone else, he would have politely accepted the offering, taking small bites although he had no appetite. He knew that Mithrun, though, could tolerate his true thoughts. He also knew that his bluntness made him seem childish – ungrateful, even – but he wanted to cling to some semblance of control over himself. I can take care of myself, he sought to communicate, even though it might not seem like it.
“If I were the one who fainted, you would be doting on me all the same,” Mithrun said, defensive as he noticed Kabru’s annoyance.
“It’s different, though,” Kabru explained. “Sometimes you forget your limits.”
“That is quite literally the exact reason why you fainted.”
“It’s different,” Kabru repeated, more to reason with himself than to assure Mithrun. “I know I’m overworking myself. This was just a one-time mistake. Mithrun, I swear to you that I am fine.”
Mithrun sighed and sat himself on the edge of the bed, a hand resting on Kabru’s blanketed thigh. He took a bite of the apple, a crater of white, juicy flesh appearing amongst the deep red as he pulled away to chew. His gaze rested on the floor in front of him, expression blank while he searched his mind for the right words. Kabru waited, studying the way his jaw moved as he chewed, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed.
“You remind me to eat and yet you skip meals. You pass me water while you yourself are thirsty. Why?” Mithrun finally asked.
Kabru considered the words, a frown growing along his face. Why did he sacrifice his own needs for the wellbeing of others? It was something that he had always done, usually unknowingly, since his mother had given her life for his in Utaya. Was this his way of paying her back, of trying to embody her selflessness? Had he been conditioned to toss his own needs aside after years of living with an emotionally-fragile foster mother? There was no way of knowing when exactly his self-worth had dwindled, when he had started seeing himself as nothing more than a pawn on a chessboard.
“I…”
“We are similar, you and I,” Mithrun added, his thumb digging into a small bruise on the apple, puncturing its skin. “If you love me, then you should love yourself as well. It pains me to see you this way just as it pains you to see me suffer. Your friends, I am sure, feel the same. I have never seen the King so worried.”
Mithrun’s words were like the stab of a paladin’s sword straight through his heart. It ached, yet the blow was delivered with kindness, with grace. “I’m sure he was just shocked,” Kabru whispered, watching Mithrun’s eye narrow.
“Why do you think so little of yourself?”
“Why do you think so little of yourself?” Kabru shot back.
“Don’t change the subject,” Mithrun pleaded, releasing an exasperated exhale.
“I’m not!” Kabru said, his scrunched expression displaying a silent, sad insistence. He felt his eyes welling with salty tears, threatening to spill with his next blink. “It’s the same subject. I’m just showing you how impossible it is to answer such a question in a way that truly makes sense!”
Mithrun stared in silence, lips parted ever so slightly, while he digested the statement. Kabru faltered under his gentle gaze, shielding his eyes with a clammy palm lest his tears flow freely. “I guess,” Kabru continued, “compared to all that goes on, my needs feel unimportant. My duties are bigger than me – they are more crucial than eating breakfast or getting an extra hour of sleep.”
“Eating and sleeping are not the luxuries that you frame them as.”
“I know!” Kabru sobbed. “I know it makes no sense!”
Mithrun’s hand climbed from Kabru’s thigh to his cheek, cupping it tenderly, his thumb wiping away streaks of tears that emerged from beneath the mask of Kabru’s palm. “Do you think I don’t know how you feel? As I said, we are very similar. We both know what it’s like to be consumed by a goal, and we are aware of the deteriorating health that comes along with such determination.”
Kabru blinked over at him, and when his hand finally fell from atop his eyes, Mithrun met him with a kiss to his forehead. “But someone wise one told me that he doesn’t want to see me live a life that destroys me,” he added, and Kabru sniffled as he heard his own words reflected back at him. “You have helped me countless times in the past, and it was through you that I learned how to value myself. Now, I want to be the voice that pushes you do the same.”
Kabru had always found it odd that he was able to trust his conscience except when it came to matters that concerned his own image and wellbeing. He questioned what others thought of him, and he pushed away notions that he needed rest. He mentally scolded himself for thinking that he mattered while simultaneously refusing to give himself a break, convincing himself that it could lead to the kingdom’s collapse. It was good, then, that he had Mithrun to talk some sense into him, to say the things that Kabru would not have listened to had they come from his inner voice.
To ease the somber air, Kabru hunched forward and craned his neck, taking a bite of the juicy apple from where it sat in Mithrun’s hand. He sucked up the sweetness, chewing slow enough that he was able to think of what to say next before mashed skin and flesh slid down his throat. “What do you think I should do?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.
Mithrun hummed. “I won’t pretend to have all of the answers, but you can come fishing with me.”
Quickly, Kabru shook his head. “I don’t want touch anything slimy.”
A smile spread across Mithrun’s face. “I figured. How about you simply start by taking walks and getting yourself out of this dusty castle.”
“Hey!”
Mithrun waved his hand dismissively at Kabru’s faux offense. “The air is suffocating in here – even I know it. Anyway, we have gardens that you can walk. You can people-watch or even read novels by the ponds. Not to mention, we’re mere minutes from a fucking beach.”
“Such language,” Kabru laughed.
“See, you worry me so much that you’ve made me get crass,” Mithrun joked, his form falling until his head came to rest on Kabru’s pillow. “Next I’ll get wrinkles.”
Kabru tenderly traced the skin near Mithrun’s eye, careful not to poke him. “I think you’d look handsome with crow’s feet.”
“And I think you’d look handsome if you laid back down and slept in with me,” Mithrun shot back. “We will get our breakfast afterwards.”
“You woke me up, you know?” Kabru said while he watched Mithrun close his eye and steady his breathing, already pretending to sleep. Then, remembering the bundle of gifts, Kabru suddenly shot up, disturbing his resting lover with an accidental knee to the back as he clambered over him.
Reaching out, Kabru grabbed the smooth enchanted stone from the edge of his desk. He ran his fingertips along its flat surface, feeling the chill radiate from it as if he were holding a handful of snow. After sliding it beneath his pillow, Kabru finally reclined beside Mithrun, their noses nearly touching.
His gazed traced over Mithrun’s relaxed features, first studying his parted lips, the skin less chapped than when they had first met. He looked up at his glass eye beneath a lid that could not quite close, admiring his long, grey lashes. The short, fuzzy hairs that grew in front of halved ears captured his attention next, making him wonder how often Mithrun had scanned the intricacies of Kabru’s own face while he slept. Which detail was his gaze drawn to? Did he find beauty there? Despite the growing dark circles and the dehydrated skin, Mithrun must have seen something that he liked, for that dark eye always looked at him with such softness. In knowing that he was loved, Kabru found himself smiling.
“Wow,” he whispered, unsure if Mithrun was still awake. “This thing really does keep your pillow cold.”
And, although Mithrun kept up his guise of sleep, Kabru spotted the corners of his lips rise before he, too, slid his eyes shut.