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Chapter Text

Laios

There are a great many things Laios Touden doesn’t care for about becoming a monarch.  Broadly, the issue is that everything is so rigid. There’s a process to everything, whether he understands, agrees, enjoys it, or not. And by ‘everything’, he does in fact mean everything .

One such facet is, of course, the clothing.

Each morning, he is to dress himself appropriately for his duties. Upon ascending to the throne, he had been urged to have servants to assist him in this task. When it was first mentioned to him, he did think it sounded oddly cool: images raced through his mind of Shuro (No – Toshiro, he corrects himself, as he had finally been corrected by others, mortifyingly), arms outstretched and face pensive as his retainers adorned him in his robes. However, beyond that aspiration, he found himself unsettled by the prospect. Wrestling with fabric is disorienting enough on a simple day, but adding extra hands to the mix? No thanks. Thus, he had declined as much as he could, insisting he was perfectly capable of dressing himself, thank you.

Kabru had seemed skeptical of that, however. “It’s not a matter of ‘capable,’” he had argued. “Rather, how you dress is a way to non-verbally communicate to others, and that communication is a complex language all its own.  You shouldn’t have to sort it all out by yourself.”

Laios understood this point well. His parents’ frustration when neighboring chiefs visited and Laios and Falin were still covered in mud, leaves tangled in their hair, had led to many-a-lecture.  And so, resigned to that reasoning, Laios capitulated to significant assistance in the “social etiquette” dimension of clothing, with as-needed assistance in more difficult clothing (even a man as strong as he struggled to layer bear pelts upon robes upon what-have-you, for instance).

The first outfit of the day is always “simplest”: of the outfits he wears, it’s the lightest weight, lacking many decorative metal embellishments or heavy furs. Physically, he could dress himself in this outfit, at least, no problem, though Kabru insists on assisting regardless. At this very moment, he is straightening the brooches on Laios’ collar, eyes focused on the golden pins beneath his fingers.

“Isn’t today just a meeting with Yaad?” Laios asks, doing his best to look down at Kabru through his lower lashes, maintaining the stiffness of his posture. He’s standing so close that the main thing on Laios’ mind is trying to breathe only through his nose. The last thing he wants is his morning breath all over Kabru's face.

“Correct,” Kabru agrees. He hooks his fingers under Laios’ collar, brushing against the skin of his neck to better affix the jewelry. Laios’ battle to hold his breath almost fails then. “However, tomorrow we will be hosting visiting elven dignitaries, and I would like you to wear these then. I figure today can be good practice.” Kabru steps back, admiring his handiwork. “Not too itchy?”

Laios tugs at his collar, trying to feel something other than the ghost of fingers brushing on his skin. He ascertains the comfort level could be better, “It’s.. a little poky.”

Kabru steps forward again, reaching to adjust Laios’ undershirt at his neck and tucking it beneath the protrusions of the brooches. “Better?” he asks gently, big blue eyes staring up at him. Laios has never been fond of eye contact, but there’s something so arresting about Kabru’s eyes, always a strain to wrestle his gaze away.

Somehow though, he manages, rolling his neck and feeling it out (feeling Kabru’s knuckle as it slips out of the collar). “Yeah,” he says, with a soft smile. “Thanks.”

So, yes, the clothing’s not the best. It’s heavy, and always changing: even multiple times within one day, from morning-wear, to afternoon tea, to evening formal. But he is eternally grateful that if nobody else seems to care to make it more comfortable for him, then Kabru does. With that in mind, the clothing is also not the worst part of nobility.

One might think the worst formality would be the long meetings, or perhaps even one of his new curses (and why does he have to have more than one, anyhow): the bottomless pit that had become his stomach, or the impossibly broad barrier between himself and that of monsterkind. No, those were a burden, of course, but there was an even larger challenge ahead of him.

“I believe it is about time the king seeks out a consort,” Yaad states matter-of-factly, hands clasped behind his back as he paces the room. 

Laios leans in his chair closer to Kabru then, whispering even though he knows Yaad can hear, asking even though he fears he knows the answer already, “Sorry, what would ‘ consort ’ mean?” 

Kabru gives the polite smile he always gives when explaining something he thinks Laios should already know, answering gently, “A royal spouse.” 

He did know the answer, then, and thus slumps down in his chair accordingly. He grips the armrests, feeling the smooth, oiled wood beneath his fingernails, wishing instead for unfinished wood that would splinter into his nail beds. He tries to think of anything but the empty void of his nightmares, his parents looming over him, demanding grandchildren. His mind is a dog racing away from it, in search of other focuses. He thinks of Kabru’s finger hooked beneath his collar, of Kabru’s sea-blue eyes fixing him in place, of – 

Kabru’s knuckle prods at Laios upper arm just then, causing him to jolt upright. He must have noticed Laios’ mind wandering.

“Oh, don’t look so sour,” Yaad urges. “You’re in a very fortunate position, you have your pick of the lot.” 

Laios sighs, “But, do I? It has to be politically advantageous, right?” 

“Well, of course, but -” and before Yaad can finish, Laios has already kicked the chair back from under him, standing up in a rush.

“Sorry, I forgot I have… something else, I needed to tend to. Real important. Thanks for your support as always, Yaad,” he says, as politely as he can while making for a beeline to the exit. He doesn’t say as much to Kabru, who is already he gathering his papers, before following him right out the door for his indiscretion.

Kabru 

As Kabru enters Laios’ quarters with him, he gently nudges the door shut behind them, hearing the soft click before stepping forward.

Laios has gone from slumping in one chair to another, now in his favorite armchair. He looks like he’s bracing himself for a scolding. 

Which, maybe he ought to be; what he just did was incredibly impolite, and he certainly should not be making a habit of it. However, it was just a meeting with Yaad, not a foreign diplomat, so Kabru can’t find it in himself to be all that worried. On his way out, he’d even gone to flash Yaad a bit of a ‘ Told you so ,’ look, but had found Yaad so unperturbed that he hadn’t even bothered.

What he is worried about is why Laios did that. Despite Laios’ clear uh - learning curve , shall we say - as a head of state, he does tend to follow rules fairly well and is proud of a job well done. Therefore, there must be some motivation for his sudden retreat. Kabru has some guesses. A lot of guesses, actually. Any person could have one hundred and one reasons for resisting the prospect of an arranged marriage, especially if not given the usual lifetime to mentally prepare for it. Still, he would like more information to work off of for this particular instance. Grabbing the finely cushioned ottoman, he slides it closer to Laios’ chair and sits down, leaning forward. 

Initially, he intends to let Laios speak first, but God, he looks like a kicked puppy. His golden eyes are darting all over the room, looking at anywhere but Kabru. He sighs, “Yaad won’t be upset with you, don’t worry.” 

“It’s not – okay, maybe it was sort of that.”

“I’m not upset with you either.” When he says that, Laios finally meets his gaze. His sloped eyes are soft but troubled. Kabru wants to–

“That.. okay also, a little bit that,” Laios admits sheepishly, his shoulders opening up out of his protective posture. “Thanks. I shouldn’t have run out like that.” 

“No,” Kabru agrees. “But you did. Not jumping for joy at the idea of marriage?” he asks.

“Not exactly,” he answers, blinking away again. “Is that what the meeting with the elves is about tomorrow?” 

Clever boy. “Not necessarily,” Kabru answers. “Yaad and I aren’t aiming to marry you off to the first bride-to-be. He just brought it up because it’d be beneficial to begin… testing the waters.” 

“Yaad and you ?” Laios asks, more confrontational than Kabru had expected.

His words come out clipped, on the defensive, “Well, that is –” 

“Were you talking about this behind my back?” Laios accuses, his shoulders straight, his ribs forward. 

“No, Laios,” Kabru says disarmingly. “He only just brought it up last night, at our nightly debrief. I had said it seemed hasty.” Laios relaxes visibly, his pupils less dilated, his broad chest losing its puff. Good, good. “He agreed, but said that was all the more reason to begin preparations: to take our time.” He leans forward then, placing his hand upon the chair’s armrest, not touching Laios, but still comforting as best he can. The chair’s wood is carved in the shape of lion paws and serpentine tails, seemingly writhing about beneath his fingers. He can see why it’s Laios’ favorite.

“I…” Laios sighs begrudgingly. “I guess that’s fair.” He pauses again, before adding, “Sorry for snapping.”

“It’s quite alright,” he assures. “However, I would like to understand more. It seems to be troubling you a lot.”

Laios fiddles with his cuff links, “I guess. I mean, it’s one of the things I’ve been more worried about with the king business.”

“It’s been on your mind for some time then?”

“I know it’s part of the job description and everything. It’s not exactly new territory either,” he explains. His eyebrows knit themselves tightly together as he peers down at his knees in thought. “My parents still ask about grandchildren in every letter they send to Falin.” ‘ And to you, ’ Kabru thinks for a moment, but decides it best not to remind him just now that he’d agreed to Kabru filtering his mail for him. 

“Do you not want to have children?” Kabru asks. That would be reasonable enough, to be sure, though certainly inconvenient given the circumstances. Kabru himself has gone back and forth over the years on whether he himself wants children, and is sure the pressure Laios is under must only complicate matters.

“N-no, it’s not that - I love kids!” and Kabru could swear there’s some blush on Laios’ cheeks now. “I just - never expected to get that far, I guess?”

“How do you mean?” Kabru tilts his head earnestly. 

“I’m not exactly marriage material, Kabru,” Laios says self-deprecatingly, “barring the king thing, anyway.” Kabru grips his own trousers with his left hand, keeping his wits about him by a thread. 

“The ‘king thing’ is, luckily, the most important thing, in this instance,” Kabru says, hoping it’s comforting, hoping this line of reasoning will be the one that assuages him. “Most royal marriages are purely political alliances planned within childhood. Your case is different as your rule itself is within its infancy, but that’s neither here nor there.” That doesn’t seem to comfort Laios as much as he had hoped it would, though. He bites his lip, weighing the options ahead of him. 

“Well, I have had a fiancée before.”

This is news to Kabru. “Pardon?”

Laios waves his hands hurriedly to clarify, “Not as an adult! Nothing serious! But, my dad was the village chief, you know? And I was the first-born son. So there was a girl from the neighboring village that my parents had planned for me.” He worries at his lower lip, “Didn’t work out. I don’t even really remember why, just the last time I saw her she ran away crying.” 

“How old were you?” 

He has to think about it at first, “Eleven, I think? Maybe twelve?” 

Kabru tries not to laugh, “I think your behavior at eleven years old doesn’t reflect your marriage prospects today, your Highness.”

Laios pouts, “You know what I mean.” 

Kabru hums in acknowledgement, but then says, “I assure you, you certainly are ‘marriage material,’ so you needn’t worry.” 

His head tilted down, Laios looks up at him from beneath his blonde lashes, “Kabru, you don’t have to do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Flatter me,” he answers pitifully.

Kabru can’t help but tilt his head back, pursing his lips and sucking in a breath. He’s really going to make him do this, isn’t he? Of course he is. The lack of self-awareness in Laios, while sometimes charming, is other times incredibly aggravating. Namely, this time. 

“It’s not flattery,” Kabru manages after composing himself. “You are a capable, handsome man who has already received multiple marriage inquiries in the time I’ve known you.” 

“I have?” 

“The orcs–” 

“That was Zon offering his sister, and it made her cry. That’s different,” Laios insists. 

“Fair enough. What of that woman in your party some time ago?” Kabru asks. 

“That was before we met,” Laios says. 

“Sure.”

“Huh?”

Moving on: “Anyway, the point stands: I don’t think you will struggle to find marriage candidates: either for power or for chemistry,” Kabru assures, gently taking Laios’ hand in between both of his now. The sword calluses on his hand are waning, Kabru thinks a little sadly. Laios meets his gaze head-on, though there’s still a fear in those golden eyes that Kabru wants to snuff out. “Especially if we start looking sooner than later. Okay?” 

Laios seems like he wants to argue, but can’t. Pout still on his face, he says, “Okay.” 

There’s a comfortable silence between them. Kabru hopes it’s because Laios is thinking it over, really internalizing what Kabru has been saying. For Kabru’s part, he is caught up with the way Laios has begun idly fidgeting his thumb on Kabru’s hand. Is he also noticing the lessening of Kabru’s combat calluses? Of the increased ones from penmanship? Does he even realize he’s doing it? Probably not. Would pulling his hands back call attention to it? Would that be better, or worse? 

“Hey, wait,” Laios breaks the silence, “did you call me handsome before?”

Kabru has never been so grateful as he is right then for Marcille to arrive. She does her ‘warning’ knock, then enters without waiting for an answer, nudging the doors open with her knees with her arms full of papers. “ Laiios , I need you to check over something for me, if you have a minute in your busy, busy , kingly schedule–” she starts. “Oh! Kabru! Good, you’re here too, I was hoping–”

Kabru deftly slides his hands away, brushing his fingers over Laios’ as he does, and stands up, “Actually, I have some errands to tend to before lunch. Would it be alright if I checked in later?” he asks warmly. 

“Oh, sure thing!” she chirps, not missing a beat and taking the now-vacant seat. 

As Kabru approaches the door, he turns to wave a gentle goodbye at Laios, who waves back with one hand, repeatedly grasping the other at empty air in his lap.

“So explain to me the issue, again,” Mithrun says, hoisting his boots up onto the small table, uncapping his tub of shoe polish in preparation. 

They’re in Mithrun’s quarters – though, it feels more like a guest room, as despite it being his home base between dungeon excursions, he’s hardly made it his own in any meaningful way. It’s tidier than Kabru’s, he supposes. 

He clears his throat, trying not to cough from the fumes of the shoe polish in the air. He doesn’t particularly want to go through all the details another time, but he takes Mithrun’s point that he might have been rambling a little bit on his way in. He might be just a bit stressed about the whole affair. “Laios needs to find someone to court as his consort,” Kabru begins. “Which is uh, problematic because -”

“Because he’s an idiot?” Mithrun offers, eyebrows knitting together in focus as he begins polishing the boot. 

“No!” he balks. “Because he’s - he’s an acquired taste ,” Kabru corrects. “I don’t actually think it’ll be hard to find options to start with. We’ve already had a ton of written inquiries that we’ve turned down in the interest of getting our feet under us first.” Mithrun nods at this, seemingly agreeing with the wisdom of the choice. “But I think it’d be miserable for everyone involved if the match is just the best political alliance. Laios isn’t exactly one to play the game, so if the match isn’t compatible, I think any potential alliance would just become a hindrance rather than a benefit.” 

Mithrun hums in acknowledgement.

“I mean, can you imagine the fallout if he discussed the nature of his sister’s resurrection with the wrong elven suitor?” he asks, before realizing the specification was perhaps unnecessary. “No offense.” 

Mithrun shrugs, seemingly unphased. 

“And that was stressful enough already, but I knew all this last night. But bringing it up to Laios was another matter,” he grumbles in exasperation. 

“Did he lash out?” he asks, inspecting the shine quality on his left boot, before setting it down to move to the next. 

“No, no, he just… pouted ,” Kabru sighs, “which is somehow worse. He just looked so - so sad about it.” And how the hell is Kabru supposed to be the one to talk him into all of this being a good thing?

They sit in a brief silence, nothing breaking the air but the squeak of shoe polish. Then, Mithrun looks up, “Is that it?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“This is hardly the most convoluted aspect of court you’ve talked about. I don’t understand the issue here,” he says. Then, after some consideration, “Is this a desire thing?”, inquiring if that’s the gap in his understanding here.

If Kabru were confiding to most anyone else, he would likely smile tightly and say,  ‘Whatever do you mean!’ However, with Mithrun, who Kabru can’t imagine having any ulterior motives or incentive to hold this over him, the effort hardly seems worth it. With a groan, he leans forward, his face in his hands, “ I’m the one who’s acquired the taste, obviously.” 

Mithun doesn’t even look up as he echoes, “Obviously.” 

He wants to hit him, but doesn’t. Muffled through his hands, he asks, “Then what’s so confusing about the problem? About why I’m so stressed?” 

“Well, you hadn’t said that part,” Mithrun shrugged. “I assumed you had made peace that he was outside your station.” There’s that elven, upper-class sensibility that he resents in Mithrun. Even if at this moment, he is right. He surprises him then, though, by saying, “Though I suppose it is a new kingdom. It needn’t follow the same class conventions.” 

Kabru blinks, processing. “Sure, but that would close the door to alli–” He stops himself. Why is he even entertaining this? Yes, it would close the door to alliances, it could be a reproduction barrier, any manner of things, but also, he cannot stress enough, the extreme presumption of it all. He might be making peace with the perplexing flavor of his own feelings, but that does not at all guarantee any sort of reciprocation. No, he can’t even open that line of thinking. Not in this mess. Taking a deep breath in through his nose, he continues, “That’s not realistic.” 

Mithrun shrugs, “Alright.” 

Squeak, squeak, squeak. 

“When my brother set his sights beyond his station, he courted her regardless,” Mithrun says, setting aside his freshly shined boots as he meets Kabru’s gaze meaningfully. “A thought.”

Laios 

What else was it that Laios hated about being king? Right. Meetings. All day, every day, it feels like he is being carted from meeting room to meeting room, talking to this person or that person. In the morning, it can sometimes be enjoyable - riveting, even, should the subject be something he can actually weigh in on - but by evening he often finds himself drained and praying to not hear another voice ever again, bundling himself under heavy, quilted blankets long before he actually sleeps. (The blankets, naturally, being one of the perks of being king.) 

And then the next day there are, of course, more meetings. 

Today’s schedule is rather light, all things considered. He had the morning debriefing, and now it’s time for the formal reception for the visiting dignitaries. If he remembers correctly, they don’t have an express purpose for the visit. There’s no trade deals, or border agreements, or finance regulations, or anything of that sort. Just a meeting, an introduction, an acknowledgement that “Hey, a kingdom just rose out of the depths, how ‘bout that?” In some ways, these meetings are better, as there’s less need to study and memorize paperwork beforehand. However, the free-form nature means that there’s also always more room for Laios to shove his foot in his mouth, so there’s that.

Which does lead him to, shamefully, his favorite part of meetings. 

Laios is sitting stiff and at-the-ready in his throne to receive the delegation, with Yaad a few steps down and ahead, and Kabru directly at his side. This is mostly the same as it ever is on these occasions, the routine making the rigidity comforting. Just then, Kabru leans in to whisper a clarification, “The woman leading the group is…” This is his favorite part: Kabru, close, helping him out and keeping him in the loop. Kabru, close, his hand resting ever-so-gently on his shoulder as he speaks. Kabru, standing taller than him but leaning down to meet him. It makes a warmth grow deep inside Laios’ stomach: not quite hunger, but not quite satiety either. Something in between, a wish for more and a relief at the having.

His breath is hot on Laios’ ear in the quiet echo of the hall, and Laios forgets to reign himself in as he leans into it. Assuming he can’t hear him, Kabru leans a touch closer, continuing. “And to her right is…” His lips must be scarcely half an inch from his ear, maybe, or something - close enough to touch if Laios wanted. One of these days he’s going to lean closer and see what happens. Today isn’t that day, though. He digs his nails into his palm and sits upright, head leaning away. Kabru, to his credit, slides back into his official place beside him, as though Laios had pulled away at just the right moment regardless. Wait, what had he been telling him? Shit. 

An older woman stands at the forefront - she must be the woman Kabru had first pointed out, the lead advisor. “Your Highness, it is my pleasure to introduce Duchess Aila of the House of Iarna,” she proclaims, stepping to the side to reveal, presumably, Duchess Aila of the House of Iarna. She’s a young adult, likely no older than 100, with long silver hair fashioned in dozens of delicate braids, tied back and around her long elven ears -  looking almost like a gorgon, Laios thinks. 

When Laios doesn’t speak, Yaad does for him, “The pleasure is ours! What great fortune we have to finally meet with our neighbors in the South Central Continent.” 

Duchess Aila of the House of Iarna continues to step forward, curtsying before the throne, “I’m greatly honored to be meeting with you, Your Highness. What a miraculous kingdom you’ve cultivated in such a short amount of time.” She looks up at him through her eyelashes, smiling gently and blinking as she raises up from her curtsy. Huh, Kabru looks at him like that sometimes. 

“The honor is all mine,” Laios says, hoping it’s not too repetitive from Yaad’s similar pleasantry. All pleasantries are repetitive anyway, right? “I haven’t yet had the fortune to go traveling outside our continent, I’m sure your land makes ours pale in comparison.” Compliment, humbling self-deprecation, like he’s been coached. He’s got this. 

“With luck, perhaps you can visit my land soon,” she replies saccharine sweetly. 

Shit. Right. That’s what this is about. Laios laughs nervously, “Uh-huh!”  

Kabru 

Next, they eat dinner. This is one of Laios’ preferred forms of meeting, Kabru knows, especially when they aim to impress: they roll out all the stops, bringing the best feast that Melini can offer. Just because Laios doesn’t get full anymore, doesn’t mean he doesn’t enjoy the act of eating. He’s a voracious eater, possessing far more of an appetite than Kabru has ever personally had. Sometimes, he envies it. Today, Kabru just hopes he doesn’t gorge himself too much in front of their guests.

Clearing his throat, Kabru explains “We have two menus. One of monster cuisine, and one without.” 

Laios excitedly endorses the former, “Although our city is entirely monster-free within its walls, one of the things we are proud of is our environmental efforts in curbing monster populations through hunting and agriculture. Also, it’s all really very delicious!” 

Aila pauses, bringing her hand in front of her lips, likely trying to debate the most diplomatic approach. Kabru feels for her. “I don’t suppose we could have a mix? I would hate to say I didn’t try the local cuisine when offered, but I’m afraid I’m not a particularly adventurous eater.” Laios practically beams at her answer. Good choice, then. 

Kabru clenches his fingers in his grip behind him, “Of course. We will let the kitchen know.”

Dinner goes fairly smoothly. Laios only eats a little excessively, and to his credit it’s not until after everyone has had their fill of the monster portions. His table manners leave something to be desired, still, sauce hugging the corner of his lips. Kabru considers not mentioning it, but when he’s not distractedly peeking at Laios’ lips, then Duchess Aila is. So, he’ll do his due diligence for the matter, then.  

“My liege,” Kabru tries to say softly under his breath, “You have –” and he gestures towards his own lips. 

“Huh? Where?” Laios asks, dabbing at his lips rather delicately, actually, with his napkin. Too delicately; if anything, he’s making it worse, spreading the sauce into a thin layer on his cheek.

“Mm, not quite,” Kabru frowns. 

Laios leans to his right then - oh god, is he sticking his chin out for assistance? Kabru supposes this is the level of physical intimacy they’re at these days, but it still brings a nervous flush to his ears. His eyes dart to Aila to see what she makes of this, but her eyes are pointedly looking anywhere but at them. Mixed bag then. 

He sighs slightly, reaching out with one hand to steady Laios’ chin with a hooked finger, and the other to dab the napkin at his lips, pulling back once his cheeks are solidly sauce-less. “There you are,” he murmurs, warmer than intended. 

And then Laios is smiling his soft, earnest smile, “Thanks, Kabru,” before turning back to continue his kingly discussion with the Duchess. Kabru contemplates throwing the glass centerpiece across the floor, shattering it to smithereens. The brief fantasy is satisfying enough to return his mind to the task at hand. He scans the table for anything else to be concerned with, finding little. Yaad appears to be making successful connections with the elven advisors, smiling faces all around, leaving Kabru relaxed enough to divert all his attention to Laios and Aila’s conversation. Because it’s his job to do so. Of course. 

Aila leans in a bit toward Laios, squinting, “My, are those brooches what I think they are?” she asks warmly. Her eyes are on the brooches at Laios’ collar: each a laurel of golden leaves, with polished amber set in either one. Kabru thinks back to the feeling of fixing them onto Laios’ collar yesterday as well as this morning, his fingers ghosting over the bobbing apple of his throat. Truthfully, he could have simply told Laios which ones to wear and let him put them on himself. He’s a grown man after all. But isn’t Kabru also afforded some simple pleasures here and there? Besides, by putting them on himself, he got to see how the amber matched with Laios’ eyes. A good choice, he congratulates himself again.

However, that’s when Kabru realizes, kicking himself, he forgot to tell Laios what the brooches meant. Goddammit. Laios tries to follow her gaze. “Uh, I don’t know, what do you think they are?” 

“They’re not unlike my family’s crest, are they not?” she offers with a smile, extending her hand to showcase a bracelet with that very crest upon it. In her case, the jewels are emeralds, dazzlingly deep green under the waning sunlight from the skylight overhead.

Laios gasps, “Oh, you’re right! Amazing!” Kabru could kill him. “Kabru picked them out for me, he did great, huh?” Laios says, gesturing to Kabru on his other side. Aila frowns at the acknowledgement.   

Kabru has a mouth full of water, swallowing in a rush to chime in, “Oh, don’t give me that much credit.”

“Kabru, you’re always too humble,” Laios says. He reaches a hand then behind Kabru’s chair, resting it on his back, his thumb brushing his upper shoulders. He nudges Kabru’s plate closer to him, saying, “Hey, you’ve hardly eaten. Did the monster food get too mixed up with the other food again? I’m sorry, I tried to keep my portions more separate.” 

Aila’s eyes are on both of them, making some calculation that Kabru can’t quite read. Where was the misstep, he wonders? Was it Laios’ table manners? Was it when he passed the credit for the brooch connection, wasting the opportunity? Was it because attention was brought to that clear social manipulation to begin with? Is it that Laios is too friendly with those in a “serving” position (despite the status afforded to advisors regardless)? Maybe she just isn’t as into tallmen as she thought she’d be?

Laios is continuing to tap at Kabru’s plate with a knife, playfully nudging it closer and closer to him while looking at him with pleading puppy dog eyes (please someone kill Kabru. Or Laios. Either way, really), when Aila dabs her napkin at her lips and announces, “Well, I must confess my appetite has been well-sated. Thank you again for such a lovely feast. However, I believe it’s time for us to retire for the evening.”

“Oh, are you sure?” Laios asks. “There’s still a dessert course on the way!”

“Terribly sure,” she says, standing. “The journey today was very tiring, you see. And we continue on tomorrow to the next journey, already.” Kabru doesn't think they were scheduled to leave until the day after tomorrow, so that speaks volumes.

“Oh yes, of course,” Laios says, standing with her. He stretches out a hand to shake. “It was wonderful to meet you, Duchess Aila of the House of Iarna.” 

She giggles a bit, presumably at his overuse of the formality, and takes his hand in kind. “You as well, King Laios Touden, Devourer of All Things Terrible,” she echoes. “I wish you the best.”

Laios

“Well, that was a bust,” Kabru says as the three of them file into Yaad and Kabru’s office, already grabbing a quill and paper to write down notes on what transpired.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t planning to marry me off to the first bride-to-be?” Laios says - more indignantly than he should, maybe, but it’s how he feels. The duchess was perfectly nice, but the undercurrent of… expectation had just made the whole thing entirely too stressful. He thinks of when he was a kid and they’d introduce new dogs to one another, waiting to see whether they’d sniff curiously and amicably, or opt instead to snap their jaws at each other. In that dining hall, Laios felt like the smaller pup, ears back and tail between his legs.  

He does feel a little bad, though, as Kabru seems to prickle, tangling his blunt fingernails up in the curls at his forehead, “That’s not – No, we aren’t. That’s not it.”

Yaad expertly mediates, “Let’s just learn what went well, and maybe not so well.” 

And so, they regale Laios with all the many ways he could have done things differently. Eating less, not talking with his mouth full, speaking softer, asking her more questions, facing her when he talked, and on and on and on. He’s sinking further in his chair with each passing moment, wanting to become one with the floorboards. 

Kabru sighs, massaging a knot out from between his dark eyebrows, “The brooches also weren’t as effective as I’d hoped they’d be.” 

Laios peeks up at him from his slouch, “What was wrong with the brooches? She liked them, I thought.” He also liked them, he doesn’t add.

“She did, but she was supposed to think you picked them out,” he clarifies with an edge to his voice. Then, softening, “It was my mistake for not telling you about what they symbolized, I’m sorry for putting you in that position.” 

“Why’s it matter if you’re the one who picked them out?” Laios asks. “I’m sure she didn’t choose to style her hair like a gorgon on her own either.” 

Kabru and Yaad blink, seemingly processing the connection right then. Wasn’t it obvious? There were even snake-like beads in her hair. “Huh, so she was - clever move from her advisory,” comments Yaad, fingers massaging the hairs on his chin. 

“Besides,” Laios says. “I didn’t like how she was talking over you.” He tries to meet Kabru’s eyes meaningfully.

“Huh?” Kabru asks, his eyes even rounder than usual as they blink in surprise. 

“I feel like just because you’re my advisor–” 

“In training,” Yaad corrects.

“Sure, in training,” Laios concedes, “but just because you’re my advisor, she was acting like you weren’t even in the room. And that’s bullshit – you’re more qualified for this job than I am.” 

Kabru’s eyes are - soft, maybe? He smiles, but it’s easier than usual, like a cat melting into a sunny spot. “I appreciate that, thank you,” he says.  

“You were spending more time than necessary discussing with Kabru though,” Yaad admonishes. “Certainly, guests need not be rude, but it was a formal meeting between the two of you: you and the elven duchess, not Kabru.” 

Laios doesn’t care if Yaad has a point. He crosses his arms and sits up straighter, “No, I’m not interested in anyone who takes issue with my talking with my friends during a meal.” 

Yaad and Kabru exchange a look then that Laios can’t decipher. Kabru looks like maybe he’s thinking ‘ I told you so, ’ but what it is that he told Yaad, Laios can’t even guess. Yaad and Kabru do work together a lot when he’s not around, so maybe they’ve developed some telepathic bond. Or something. Or maybe it’s just another obvious thing for Laios not to get. The two of them start sifting through papers, Yaad a touch more hurried than Kabru. Laios twiddles his thumbs, waiting for one of them to let him in on what’s going on.

“The formal approach was a mistake,” Yaad declares. “Although a potential union is of course, a formality, a friendly match would be more optimal. Even a love match if possible.” Laios doesn’t like the way that ‘love match,’ is an afterthought. Isn’t that the point of matchmaking? He guesses not, it’s more of a business transaction, he thinks bitterly. But if Yaad’s finally on the same page that he would like to actually like and be liked by a potential spouse, then better late than never.

“As I said,” Kabru concurs. Okay, good, at least Kabru’s with him on this one. “Certainly, one can’t force friendship, though,” he says, stealing a glance at Laios as he does, for some reason. “But prioritizing making friendly connections first and foremost would be optimal.” 

“What sort of setting would be best, do you think?” Yaad asks, though he’s directing the question just at Kabru. “Sporting events, perhaps? There are some excellent jousting tournaments coming up.”

“Maybe someone would be interested in going on monster fossil excavations with Laios?” Kabru supplies. Laios would be annoyed at them talking past him like this if Kabru’s suggestion didn’t actually sound incredibly fun. He nods excitedly at that one. 

Kabru is still sorting through some of his papers when Yaad asks, “Laios, do you have a gender preference? It occurs to me I never asked.” Kabru drops his papers all over the floor. 

Laios is torn between the shock of the question, and the urge to help Kabru out. His eyes dart back and forth between the two of them, rising out of his seat, before Kabru throws up a hand, firmly indicating, ‘ I got this ,’ bending down on all fours to gather them up himself. Okay, just Yaad’s comment to worry about then. Dragging his eyes away from Kabru, Laios sits back down, stammering, “Uhm - uh - I mean. Wouldn’t the option just be women? For uhm… baby reasons?” God, even he can tell he sounds like an idiot. 

“Not necessarily,” Yaad explains. “While the purpose of acquiring a consort is to establish a royal line, it need not be by blood. I suppose in that case you could declare an heir without marriage as well but… the optics, you see,” he explains with a dismissive hand gesture. “I’ve also read some interesting prospects about experimental magic for reproduction in the Northern Central Continent? But I would have to read up on that further before making any promises.” 

Kabru manages to stand then, his papers in a rustled,  but seemingly in-order, bundle in his arms. He’s pretty startled - Laios feels a pang of regret at not helping him. “That sort of magic is considered taboo so it’s not used often,” Kabru explains, eyes trained on his documents. “Though, I guess, our kingdom isn’t exactly a stranger to taboo magic, so what’s one more thing?” 

“Hm, I’ll have to look into it,” Yaad notes to himself. “Anyhow, back to the question: do you, Laios? Have a preference, that is?” 

Laios is incredibly, unspeakably disoriented. Not having a choice before means not having any answers prepared for this kind of question. He tries to look to Kabru for help, for some reason, but finds he can’t manage to get him to meet his gaze. Weird, that never happens. Is he alright? Wait, Yaad asked a question, right, okay. “Uhm, no, not really,” he answers. “Have a preference, I mean. I guess I usually tend to get along better with men? Maybe?” 

“To be clear, we are talking about a marital, presumably romantic bond here,” Yaad clarifies, which pricks Laios’ ego a little. Yes, he understood that, thanks. 

“Yes, yeah,” he says. “Any… any gender is good.” He tries to check on Kabru again - seriously, is he alright? And now, finally, Kabru is making eye contact with him, but with such a loaded intensity that Laios almost shrinks back a little. He wishes he could have that telepathic connection it seemed like Kabru and Yaad were having. Is Kabru thinking good things? Or bad things? Or both? Huh? When Laios can’t stand the heat of Kabru’s eyes on him, he likes to look at his lips instead, which he does now. His mouth seems to be upturned a little, not quite a smile, but far from the worried line from before, so that seems good, probably. 

Yaad, for his part, is quite pleased by this turn of events, announcing, “Excellent, that broadens our options extensively. Even for women, those who may not desire blood children are now an option as well.” Spreading out his documents on the table, he announces, “Kabru, we have our work cut out for us. We will need to assess any additional candidates, while also keeping a look-out for friendlier excursions for introductions.”

Kabru nods, but he’s not facing Yaad, eyes still fixed on Laios, “Certainly.”  

“Shall we get to it, while his majesty retires for the evening?” Yaad asks. 

That snaps Kabru out of whatever that was, and he addresses Yaad, “Actually, I had hoped to talk with Laios about something. May I join you back here after I walk with him?” 

“Of course, of course. Carry on then,” Yaad says, already getting himself to work. Laios briefly wonders if they still need to worry about him turning to dust at some point; he seems more lively than almost any of them these days.

It takes a moment for Laios to realize that Kabru is standing at the door waiting for him, still looking at him with that serious expression. Laios has never been good at judging facial expressions, but if he had to name it, he’d say it looks… a little like hunger. 

Kabru

The walk back to Kabru’s quarters isn’t… silent, necessarily, but Laios is certainly less talkative than usual. At least, Kabru hopes it’s Laios being less talkative, and not Kabru, so that he isn’t freaking Laios out. Because Kabru for one is freaking out, and he needs that to not be contagious. They both just have a lot to process. Laios, who is apparently confirmed bisexual, and now has wide new opportunities ahead to contemplate and ruminate upon. And Kabru, who is now aware that Laios is apparently confirmed bisexual, and is thus moving up his plans much quicker than he had intended. 

He opens the door to his room, though not inviting Laios in entirely. Kabru has put up a very, in his opinion, refined-looking series of dressing screens to create an entryway of sorts in the room. Practically speaking, it creates a semi-relaxed reception area when hosting guests (for negotiations or otherwise). Realistically speaking, it’s so that said guests don’t see whatever mess he has failed to clean behind the screens. 

At first, Kabru had considered instead meeting Laios back at Laios’ quarters, but that had felt too forward. Even if this whole thing is rather forward. Instead, he rationalized making a quick stop at his own room would be a better bet: totally casual. But now that Laios is standing here, peeking around curiously, he realizes his error. This definitely feels weirder. Oh well, too late now. “Wait here,” he says, and Laios nods obediently. (Kabru absolutely cannot think about Laios and ‘obedience’ at the same time right now.)

Kabru tucks himself behind the dressing screens and begins rapidly rummaging through the miscellaneous pile of junk on his dresser. He literally set things aside yesterday after his meeting with Mithrun, why is everything already under something else? He really needs to get more on top of his shit. After an embarrassingly long amount of rustling, but not enough for Laios to call after him just yet, he finds what he was looking for.

In his hands is a fine leather belt, with a series of four metallic discs over the buckle. They’re golden treasure bugs, each in different stages of opening their wings. When Kabru had spotted the belt at the market weeks ago, he had immediately thought of Laios, bought it, and then shoved it with his other belongings to be forgotten. After his discussion with Mithrun, however, it had given him… ideas. A crucial step of courting was gift-giving, right? This would be perfect. Now that he’s here though, the task feels insurmountable. The polished metal shimmers in the candlelight, burning minuscule blind spots into Kabru’s vision. What is he doing? One conversation with Mithrun, one realization of Laios’ potential, maybe attraction to other men, and he’s already behaving so boldly? To what end? 

It’s too late now to change course though. “Everything okay?” Laios asks, projecting his voice from the entryway. 

“Fine, sorry - just had to find something,” Kabru explains. “Just another moment!” Thinking fast, he quickly disrobes his current tunic, tossing it onto his desk chair (also covered in other articles of clothing, shush). He neatly buttons up the new one, adding the finishing touches. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he says in greeting as he steps back into the makeshift entryway. At first, Laios is standing with his back turned to the screens, fingers shielding his eyes. As Kabru steps into view though, he’s turning toward him and peeking between the fingers, so it was a pretty useless gesture. And an adorable one. Kabru needs to not grind his teeth into dust. 

“Oh, a new outfit?” Laios says, blinking, polite but clearly not quite sure why Kabru brought him here for a fashion show. 

The outfit change in question is from his prior blue tunic, to instead a golden yellow one. Admittedly, the tunic was overkill, because that’s not the important part. He doesn’t know why he did that, other than that he did think of Laios when he got it, and that he’s an idiot. But no, the real star is the belt he’s wearing at his waist, which he taps to bring Laios’ attention to. 

Upon realizing what he’s looking at, Laios practically shouts, “Holy shit!” He’s bending over now, eye-level with Kabru’s waist. “Are those real treasure bugs?” he asks incredulously. 

“No,” Kabru says, though he’s sure if Laios looked longer than his gut reaction he would be able to tell. The wings and legs are also made of metal, giving away the illusion. “But I thought you’d still enjoy it.” 

“I do!” Laios exclaims. He’s angling his head back and forth to see it from all sides, giving Kabru the view of Laios’ head swiveling back and forth at his waist. This was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Why didn’t he just give it to him as a gift? How was this better?

At this point, though, what’s one more selfish gesture? He reaches his hand out and gingerly rests his hand atop Laios’ head, pressing no weight into it, just feeling his straw-blonde hair prickle beneath his palm. He can feel his own eyes widening, committing the sight to memory. Laios looks up at him, not yanking his head away like he’d expected, amber eyes blinking at him, and Kabru feels like he might pass out. “I’m glad,” Kabru says, voice calm and steady by some miracle. “Thanks for indulging my little detour; sorry if it took too much of your time.” 

Laios stands up (smoothly, though, letting Kabru’s hand slide off his head leisurely). “Of course, it was no trouble! Thanks for showing me,” he says, beaming down at him from his full height. Thank god, Kabru made the right call then. He loves seeing that stupid grin on his face, loves even more that he was the one that took the steps to put it there. 

Then, in a feat of putting social hints together that Kabru doubts Laios has ever done before, Laios says, “Oh! Is this like how the brooches were supposed to be exciting for the duchess?” Before Kabru can find a smooth answer, Laios continues, “That makes more sense now. Thanks, Kabru.” 

“Yeah,” Kabru says, ears filling with heat. “Not a problem.” Not wanting to give Laios any more time to contemplate that while in his room, he leads Laios outside. “Shall I walk you back to your room?” he asks. 

“Nah, I’m good, you go ahead and get back to Yaad,” Laios says. “Good night.”

“Good night,” Kabru says. 

Yaad turns his head to greet Kabru, “Ah, that was quick - did you change your outfit?”

“Don’t worry about it."

Chapter Text

Chilchuck

Chilchuck hates romantic drama. 

Well, if pressed, that isn’t entirely true. He loves a good dirty story over beers, but for him to really enjoy it, he needs to be as personally removed from it as possible. Workplace romances? Gross, and also just an obstacle to a job well done. Friends asking for romantic advice? Please, you’re on your own. His own love life? No, no, stop, don’t even think about it (hence the lack of friendly advice). With this in mind, it’s been taking years off of his already relatively short life of late that his daughters are of marriageable age. It’s horrifying; the stuff of nightmares. 

“But Daaad,” Puckpatti’s been known to whine, “You married Mom when you were even younger than us!”

“Yeah,” he always gripes, “And look how that turned out?”

So no, Chilchuck’s not exactly a sympathetic romantic for young love, these days. And yet, it would seem he can’t avoid being surrounded by it. 

He doesn’t take the time to see his old adventuring party too terribly often (even after Laios managed to talk him into opening his lockpicking shop within Melini’s borders, rather than back in Khaka Brud). He’s still retired , okay? He’s not making unnecessary trips out to the capital. Let him enjoy his lazy routines and unpredictable store hours. Yet, he makes an exception once every month or two, when they meet up for a party meal at Senshi’s cabin. (Sure, the cabin can hardly be called ‘in the capital’, but it’s closer to it than Chilchuck’s town, at least). 

“So sorry we’re late!” Marcille gasps, carrying altogether too many burlap sacks in her arms for her delicate, elven frame. She hurries the short distance to the oak dining table in the middle of the room, dropping the sacks down with a graceless huff. “When we stopped at a farm for produce on the way, they unloaded way too much on us. I hope Senshi needs extra, I guess.”

“They were so nice,” Falin muses from behind her with a peaceful smile, setting down some bags of her own with a great deal more of tact. Despite her focus as a mage, she certainly has the genes for Touden strength.

“No,” Marcille scolds, “They weren’t nice , Falin, they were acting like dogs. They just wanted to impress some pretty girls.” She rolls her eyes, but still turns around and beams at Falin, reaching up to boop her nose. “Too bad they’re taken!” 

Falin smiles sheepishly at Marcille, but doesn’t lean away from the gesture. “I think it’s just zucchini season, so they had too many, Marcille…” Marcille keeps nuzzling up to her regardless. 

Chilchuck has to hold back from gagging. It’s not that he disapproves - he definitely thinks they’re a better pair than Falin and Toshiro , for fuck’s sake, but being that they’re still in their honeymoon phase, it can be a bit hard to bear. He doesn’t know how Laios stands being around them so much more often. 

For now, though, he just moves them on, “No worries on punctuality: Senshi and Izutsumi are still out fishing, and I haven’t even seen hide nor hair of Laios yet.” With that, he takes another swig of his drink: a light, frankly watered-down ale. It’s still early in the day after all. 

“Oh, good then!” Marcille declares. “Let’s get to work on prepping then, shall we?” And so they do. 

Today, Marcille is teaching them to make the noodles from her childhood. “I think my dad would cry at some of the creative liberties we’re about to take, but this is how my mom and I like to make it,” she prefaces. 

“First, chop your zucchini into thin half-moons, no thicker than half a knuckle.
Next, lay the zucchini slices out on a kitchen towel. Lightly salt them. Wait until beads of water start to form on the slices, weeping out the excess moisture.
Flip them over to the other side to get both sides.

While waiting for your zucchini slices to weep, it’s time to prepare the cherry tomatoes! Any tomatoes will do, but small, fresh ones work best.
Chop each tomato in half (or more if the tomato is on the larger side). Set aside in a bowl until needed. 

Last but not least, prepare your herbs and garlic. For the garlic, crush the cloves under your knife to release the sulfur, then chop it into fine pieces. 
Recommended herbs are thyme, oregano, and marjoram. Fresh is best, but dried does well in a pinch. If using dried, add them to the sauce earlier on!”

By the time Senshi and Izutsumi return, fishing rods and tackle boxes in tow, Falin, Marcille and Chilchuck have made quick work of the vegetables. Then, before Laios manages to arrive, Senshi and Izutsumi have made good headway into cleaning and gutting their freshly-caught fish.  

“Should we be worried?” Marcille worries aloud. 

“Nah,” Chilchuck says. “You know how he is - he probably ended up on some detour. He’ll make it here soon.”

And, speak of the devil, that’s when Chilchuck hears chatter just outside the cabin’s walls (a blessing and a curse afforded by his half-foot hearing). 

“I hope we aren’t too late,” one voice says, unmistakably a sulking Laios. They must be idling nervously just outside the front door.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” comforts the other voice. It takes a moment for Chilchuck to place, but given the context, it’s almost certainly Kabru. “Though, if we had followed the map I had prepared –” 

“I knoooow,” Laios groans. “But the cliffside view we stopped by was really amazing, right?” 

Kabru laughs, almost too quiet for Chilchuck to hear, “That’s fair enough. We should walk back that way as well on our way back.” 

Then, a knock at the door. 

“I don’t think we need to-” Laios says. 

“It’s only polite,” Kabru says. 

“Coming!” Marcille calls, leaping from her chair to open the door, with Falin bustling behind her as well. “There you are!” Marcille chirps, throwing her arms around Laios and Kabru both. “We were getting worried sick!”

“I wasn’t,” Izutsumi says.

“Me neither,” Chilchuck agrees. 

“Well, we’re glad you made it. Food’s still underway,” Senshi adds.

“Come on, Laios, let’s shuck some herbs,” Falin says, pumping her elbows with determination. Laios scurries into the kitchen after her, leaving Kabru chatting with Marcille at the door.

“Did you know Kabru was coming?” Chilchuck leans to ask Senshi quietly. 

“Aye,” he affirms. “The more the merrier.” 

Chilchuck can’t - or won’t - argue with that. Despite the exuberance with which Falin and Laios are clamoring inside, Chilchuck still manages to pick up on the entryway conversation being had across the room.

“Here, let me take your coat,” Marcille says. Kabru’s always so bundled up, even in the late summer heat. Chilchuck doesn’t know how he can stand it. 

“Oh, thank you!” Kabru says. “So sorry we’re late, I must’ve read the map wrong - I got us all turned around.” 

Hm. 

It’s not that Chilchuck dislikes Kabru - to the contrary, actually. He admires him quite a lot. Were he still the dungeoneering type, he’d long for a party leader with half the people skills that Kabru has. However, sometimes those people skills are… unsettling, to say the least. There’s a time and place for pretty lies, but Chilchuck can’t help but feel that Kabru thinks most times and places fit the bill. 

“Next time we should just come here together. I know you had some errands first, but we could’ve traveled later too,” Marcille says. 

“I’d like that, thank you,” he says. Then, there’s a rustling, “Oh, before I forget, I had something for you. With how busy we’ve both been, I haven’t been able to return it to you.” 

“Oh my gosh! You’re already done with volume six? So fast!” Marcille gasps. They must be talking about whatever that weird book series she likes is. 

“Guilty,” Kabru says. “I can’t thank you enough for lending me your Elven copies. I’d only read the Common translation before, and the original is so much better.” 

“ Right , thank you! Somebody gets it!” 

Ass-kisser . Chilchuck could gag again. More rustling (presumably Marcille stuffing the tome into her own bag), and then the two of them are joining the rest of them. 

“How can I help?” Kabru asks, rolling up his sleeves. Before jumping into the fray, though, he pulls out a small glass bottle, presenting it to Senshi. “I don’t think we’ll need it for today, but I brought you something.”

Senshi leans forward, gently taking it into his hands with reverence, “Saffron?” 

“Yes,” Kabru says with a smile. “We got some in at the latest market, and I thought you’d make better use of it than I would.” 

Ass-kisser. Senshi looks absolutely delighted though as he shuffles it away for later use. “Thank you, lad,” he says warmly. “The gift is greatly appreciated.” He turns then and says, “Let’s get to it, then.”

“Set your pan over a high heat. Add a generous helping of butter. Once melted down, add your tomato halves. Salt well. 
Allow the tomatoes to soften. Then, press them down with your spatula, breaking them down into an even juicy layer. Add half the garlic and herbs. 

Boil a large pot of well-salted water. Once boiling, add dried pasta, preferably a long noodle variety. Cook until al dente.
(Even better with fresh noodles should you have the time and the effort!)”

“Why aren’t we doing that? That sounds fun,” Laios complains. 

Marcille sighs, “We can, it just gets so… sticky . Besides, the noodles we brought are good!” 

“In a separate pan, lightly grease the pan and add your seasoned salmon. Cook until the skin is crispy, and the flesh is white and flakey. 
Set the salmon aside to cool, then dice into bite-sized pieces. 

In the same pan you used for the fish, sautee the zucchini rounds. Cook until the edges are crispy and brown, but be careful not to let them get soggy! 
Add your remaining herbs and garlic, and a generous sprinkling of lemon juice.

When straining the pasta, reserve at least a cup of pasta water. Add that to your saucepan. Stir over the heat until well-combined.
Add your noodles and continue stirring, letting the sauce coat the noodles all over. Finally, add your zucchini, salmon, and any remaining fresh herbs for garnish.” 

“Ta-daaa!” Marcille declares, waving her hands excitedly at the plated pasta. And finally it’s meal time. The table is set with cozy, mismatched dishware, slowly collected now that Senshi has a home base. Chilchuck’s bowl is porcelain, with a rim painted with illustrations of colorful roosters gallivanting about. Everyone is promptly absorbed into the meal, hardly talking through the single-minded focus of slurping up their noodles. 

“I wonder how this would taste with mimic meat,” Laios wonders aloud. 

“Laios, please stop talking,” Chilchuck grumbles, pinching his nose and reminding himself it’s salmon in his mouth. Just salmon. 

Chilchuck fills up earlier than the others, and so leans back to people-watch. Everyone looks to be in good health, all things considered. Post-Dungeon life seems to be doing everyone well. 

Senshi and Izutsumi still go adventuring regularly, but there’s no longer the urgency that their previous adventure had on them. Senshi even looks like he’s gaining an olive-toned suntan from the time on the surface. He's not wearing his classic helmet today, instead opting for his hair out, pulled back in a nice braided bun. Chilchuck smiles fondly at the sight. Izutsumi has gotten a little quieter, a little more grown-up. He thinks this, but she does still need to be corrected to not eat with her bare hands. Maybe Senshi needs to just let her have this one. 

Falin and Marcille are well also, of course. Marcille’s hair looks like it could use re-braiding; he’ll have to sit her down before she heads out tonight. For Falin’s part, she has a glowing suntan of her own, bordering on being just a straight-up sunburn. He thinks she just got back from traveling over the sea recently? Maybe she needs a good sunhat, he'll have to check with her later. On that note, he guesses he should give the young couple some credit: they might be disgustingly gooey, but they're also separated a lot with Falin’s wandering nature, so it’s fair enough that they’re glued at the hip when together. 

As for Laios… Chilchuck does worry about him. If he had to pick an ideal role for Laios, king would be pretty far down the list. Whenever he asks him about it, he doesn’t get glowing reviews of the daily in’s and out’s of the job from him. Mostly just comments of, "I don't know what I'd do without Kabru, he manages so much of it." Chilchuck doesn't quite get why they didn't just make Kabru king with how much he's taken to it. But, a prophecy's a prophecy, he guesses? Thankfully, today Laios seems to be in pretty good spirit. He’s also particularly glued at the hip to someone of his own. Kabru and Laios’ chairs are nudged pathetically close to each other, their heads angled into one another, having a conversation all their own. Do they even realize how they look?

Now, Kabru. Kabru, he had a good feel for what his deal was pretty early on. Yeah, yeah, friendship, right-place right-time, whatever. Chilchuck’s not an idiot, he can tell when a young man has it bad, and Kabru’s been burning holes into the back of Laios’ head right from the beginning. The part he hasn’t quite put together yet is just how long they’ve been sleeping together, and how Laios of all people is managing to keep it a secret. 

But, oh well, not Chilchuck’s circus, not his monkeys. He takes another hearty swig of his ale. 

“Did you want to bring it up now, or later?” Kabru asks in a tone so quiet only Laios (and Chilchuck) can hear. 

Laios sighs, “Never?” 

“I thought you wanted their advice?” 

“I do, but…”

“It’ll be alright,” Kabru assures. There’s a rustling of fabric. Is he grabbing his knee under the table or something? Eugh. 

At that, Laios takes a deep breath in and leans forward. “While we’re here, there is something I kinda wanted your guys’ advice on,” Laios says.

And then he proceeds to explain the absolute bizarrest situation possible. 

“You’re trying to find someone to marry you ?!” Marcille gasps, barely avoiding spitting out her drink. 

“Marcille,” Falin chides. 

She pouts, “Sorry. But you know what I mean!”

Laios gives a withering smile, “I mean, I am the king so, I guess it was… only a matter of time…” 

“That sounds wonderful, Laios. I’ve always loved weddings,” Senshi says warmly, before leaning over to chastise Izutsumi for loudly gnawing on a fish bone. 

Chilchuck tries to read the look on Kabru’s face. Is he upset about this? Jealous? Are they planning to just have like, an extramarital affair or something? Surely it would be easier to just address the elephant in the room and go public with, whatever their deal is, right? It’s not as though marrying into royalty wouldn’t be fantastic for Kabru anyway. And he doubts that their kingdom is particularly worried about traditional gender choices, right? 

Kabru meets his gaze back, and gives him a pleasant smile. So pleasant that Chilchuck can tell it’s entirely forced and straining at the seams. Hm, not an agreed-upon choice then. Trouble in paradise, maybe? 

“Who are you looking at? Do you have any top choices?” Falin asks kindly. 

“Not… in particular,” Laios answers. “We’ve had a couple meetings, but they’ve all gone really badly.”

“You don’t have any dating experience, right?” Marcille asks. “No offense.” 

“Not seriously, no,” he says. Ouch , Chilchuck thinks. Kabru’s face is still unreadable. “So we were thinking it’d be better if I made a friendly match with someone first.” 

Marcille taps her chin, “That’s good thinking, yeah. But it’s not just about friendship, right? What you really need with someone is chemistry .”

“Chemistry?” Laios asks, like a sweet virginal flower. Oh boy. 

“Yeah, chemistry,” Marcille says. “It’s like… when you like someone more than a friend, or maybe you could like someone more than a friend, there’s this kind of electricity , you know?”

Kabru speaks up then, teasing, “Marcille, you’re thinking about the arranged marriage plot in volume three right now, aren’t you?”

Marcille reaches to smack his hand, “Oh stop! You know what I mean!”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” he says with a chuckle. “It’s not a bad comparison though, right? How the duke needed to find a partner fast, but kept feeling a connection with members of the rival houses?” 

Marcille sighs wistfully, “Yes, oh those chapters were so good .” Then, it appears an epiphany hits her. “A ball! You should host a ball!” 

Laios looks like he wants to die. Kabru looks like a kid in a candy shop, his eyes alight. “That sounds awful to host,” Laios groans. “I already hate when we have small dinner parties.” Quickly, he corrects himself, “At the castle, I mean! This kinda thing is wonderful.” Senshi looks pleased. 

As miserable as this whole conversation has been to witness, Chilchuck actually has some thoughts to add now, “Hey, you know the Vasily family?”

“The Golden Country family with the vineyard?” Senshi asks. Of course he’d know them, they still use monster-based agriculture for a lot of their production. 

“Yeah, the very ones. They’re hosting a large event in a couple weeks for their first post-dungeon annual wines,” Chilchuck says. “I bet you could get them to invite a ton of nobles and do some good elbow-rubbing.” (And also, Chilchuck doesn’t add, he really wants to go, and would love a free invite as part of the king’s entourage. They don’t need to know that though.)

“Chilchuck!” Kabru exclaims. “That’s perfect! I can’t believe I hadn’t considered it.” He’s already pulling out a journal from his pocket to make quick notes. “Thank you so much - we’ll have to get right on it to time things correctly.” 

Marcille looks like she’s in heaven. “That’s so lovely! Oh, Falin, we have to go, you’ll still be in town right?” she asks, shaking the taller woman by the arm, managing to get a quick nod out of her. 

And so the remainder of dinner quickly becomes event-planning. It’s mostly just Kabru and Marcille talking, so as the meal wraps up, the rest of them begin gathering up dishes for clean-up. Even Izutsumi diligently cleans up, though for her part she’s definitely on the look-out for leftover fish scraps. 

Before long, everyone is settled in the living space - with how small the cabin is, the kitchen and dining room and living room are kind of all one room, really - with Senshi and Chilchuck both settled into armchairs, sharing drinks. Chilchuck has long ago committed to just staying the night tonight, so he is more than free to loosen up. A part of him is sad that there isn’t anyone waiting up for him at home, but mostly he’s just relieved to be here and so full of food and beer. He sneaks a glance over at Senshi, who returns a warm smile his way. Yeah, not so bad.

Marcille, Laios and Falin are scrunched up together on the sofa, gossipping about some magic affair or other. However, Kabru and Izutsumi are nowhere to be found. Even with Chilchuck’s hearing, he can’t quite place where they’re at. Weird.

Partly out of curiosity, but more than anything to top off his ale, Chilchuck kicks up out of the chair to head to the kitchen. Now closer to the back door, he can overhear the two of them just outside.

“Now, I need you to promise to not tell Marcille about this, alright?” Kabru says softly. “The others are fine, but I don’t want to worry her.” 

“Sure, sure, whatever,” Izutsumi says. “What weird thing are you about to ask me to do? Does Laios need another monster skull for his collection or something?” 

“No, not at all - or, well, not this time, anyway,” Kabru hurriedly corrects. “I have a present for you.” Chilchuck tries his best to lean on his tippy toes to look out the back window, but can’t quite make it. Tipsy as he is, he almost falls over, and has to brace himself on the counter. It’s probably for the best anyway; it’s dark outside by now, and he’d just be giving away his nosiness. 

“Uh… okay?” she asks, clearly not impressed by whatever he gave her. 

“Smell it.” 

He hears what must be the loudest inhale anyone’s ever taken. “What the hell is this?” 

“Catnip,” Kabru explains. “Lycion told me that the cat beastkin he knew really enjoyed it, and I thought you might as well. Just try to stick to smelling or licking it, if you eat it you might get sick.” 

“You’re giving me drugs?” Izutsumi accuses. 

“I can take it back if you don’t want it.” A loud rustling and then a laugh. “I thought so. I’m glad you like it. Let me know if you would like any more in the future, okay?” 

Then, they’re coming inside and Chilchuck needs to hurry to hide just how nosy he was being. He pours himself more ale in a way that looks totally natural. (Who is he kidding, he looks like a fool). 

Izutsumi’s eyes are the size of dinner plates, and she is quickly rushing to roll more quickly than should be possible on the rug at Marcille’s feet. Marcille yelps and Falin laughs. Yikes, she’s gonna get a rug burn like that. 

“May I join you?” Kabru asks, stepping in beside Chilchuck at the counter. He starts pouring himself a teensy tiny glass of beer; he does have somewhere to be tonight, he guesses. Ah well, more for Chilchuck.

“Is it my turn for you to butter me up?” Chilchuck asks, looking up at Kabru over the rim of his glass. 

Kabru deflates with a nervous smile, “Have I been that obvious?” 

“Lil’ bit.”

“My apologies,” he says. “We’ve known each other a long time now, but I still want to be making a good impression, you know?” 

Chilchuck shrugs, “Fair point, I guess we are kind of the in-laws, huh?” Kabru sputters on his drink, but manages to still swallow it fairly discreetly. “For real though, where’s my present?” 

Kabru coughs into his hand, “Well, since you mention it…” He leans up off of the counter and pulls out a leather box, buckled closed. How many pockets does this man have?

Setting down his glass, Chilchuck takes the box into his hands, slowly opening it. “Well I’ll be,” he says with a low whistle. Inside the box, nestled in crushed velvet, is about the loveliest smoking pipe Chilchuck’s ever seen. “You’ve gotta help me shop for people when the holidays come around, you’re damn good at it.” 

“You flatter me,” Kabru says. “I thought about getting you something to drink instead, but I figured you know the liquor market better than me.”

Ass-kisser. But hey, Chilchuck’s feeling buzzed enough, he’ll let it slide. “You flatter me,” he says, grinning as he slides the box away for safe-keeping. 

“I meant to bring this up earlier, also,” Kabru says, “so I’ll talk to you about it again when we’re both a bit more sober. But you’d mentioned Flertom was hoping to join the Seamstress’ Guild in your home country’s capital, but not having much luck, was that right?” 

Chilchuck barks a laugh, “More that she wants a husband, and wants to move to the city for it, but that’s her back-up plan, yeah. ”

“Well, I had a meeting recently with the branch forming in Melini, and they let me know there were paid apprenticeships available, if I knew any new citizens looking for a position,” Kabru says. 

Chilchuck considers him. Yeah, he’s a kiss-ass, but well… the real central part of that is that he’s considerate. He really does do his damn best to know people and what would mean a lot to them. And hell, maybe he succeeded in pulling one over on Chilchuck this time too. “You’re not bad, kid,” he says, lifting his glass a bit up at him. “I’ll follow up about it in the daylight, alright?” 

“Of course,” Kabru says. “Happy to be of any help.” 

Then, Kabru’s about to head back to the group, but Chilchuck puts his foot out, stopping him short. “Hey, about the Laios marriage thing.” 

“Yes?” Kabru asks, tilting his head. Normally Chilchuck thinks of Laios as the dog-like one of their group, but Kabru’s scary blue eyes make him look a hell of a lot like one of those northern sled-dogs. 

“I don’t see what all the fuss is about, the search for someone to rule the kingdom with him,” he says, shrugging. “Seems like he’s already got that covered. Don’t be like me and let that go, okay?” 

“Pardon?” Kabru asks, but Chilchuck’s already stepping out in front of him to slide back into his cozy chair. Ah, young love. Maybe there is something to it sometimes. Chilchuck’s just glad it’s not his problem anymore.