hareofhrairafterdark

Growing up, he'd never been alone. He was the oldest of six, and forever obligated to be cleaning up after somebody. Even when he managed to get away from his family, there was Fenwic. He and Fen had been best friends since the day Fen was old enough to hit Cam with a stick and say "we're friends now." Cam, thanks to his younger siblings, was used to both being press ganged unexpectedly into activities, and to being randomly hit with things by rude children, and thus accepted.

After that, it was always just the two of them, never apart, always talking about how they'd be adventurers together one day.

But in the end they were only really an adventuring party for a year before Cam realized that the reason Fen had been his only friend all those years was because Fen was deeply unpleasant and no one else could tolerate being around him. Cam had been drawn to that, because it gave him a convenient excuse to avoid meeting anyone else. He didn't want other friends. He didn't want to have to make the effort of managing other people's emotions and personal problems (which he always felt he had to). Fen filled his entire capacity for managing another person quite completely.

Cam had liked that about him once. He liked feeling needed, and having someone else's issues to focus on meant he didn't have to think about his own.

It was a good arrangement. Until they were trying to work together. Then, Cam had to handle absolutely everything that involved talking to another human being, because otherwise they'd never get hired, pay twice as much for supplies, and spend half of any mission avoiding getting arrested.

Cam would try to hire some help, or fill out their party with a tank or a rogue or, god forbid, another caster, and Fen would seemingly make it his goal in life to drive them away as quickly as possible. Cam would spend a few infuriating weeks playing go-between, trying to keep things together, while his stress went through the roof until he exhausted himself too much to hide his irritation or keep up with all the unnecessary responsibilities he'd demanded for himself, and it all fell apart.

Fen hadn't even looked surprised when Cam said it was over. Everybody got sick of Fen's shit eventually. But that was the part that pissed Cam off the most. Fen could have at least pretended it hurt. Like the years and years of loyalty and devotion and putting up with all his self destructive misanthropic bullshit had meant absolutely nothing, and Cam leaving him was no different than any random barkeep turning him out for starting fights.

So yeah, he'd had a hard time keeping a steady party for a while. But still, even without Fen, he was rarely really alone.

Until now.

He was still in the dungeon, he was relatively certain, based on the ambient magic and the fact that it was a windowless stone room with the unmistakable oppressive air of the deeply subterranean. The color of the stone indicated he was still in the region of the dungeon known as the Labyrinth. So whatever had happened, he hadn't been moved very far from where he'd gone down. He was having trouble remembering exactly how he'd gone down in the first place, probably thanks to the big bump on the back of his head.

He must have been captured by some monster. But that would be unusual on its own. Monsters didn't typically bother with keeping prisoners. And then there was the fact that, despite the chain securing him to the wall, this wasn't a jail cell. He was lying on a pile of mismatched blankets and colorful cushions, worn but well cared for. A hand painted clay pitcher sat within his reach, filled with water. A brass lantern glowed in the corner, the sun-crystal within it throwing shards of vibrant color against the wall through the gems and bits of broken glass that hung around its aperture. There was a braided rug on the floor, and a rudimentary kitchen built around one of the small fountains that provided fresh water this deep into the dungeon. The manacle around his wrist was old, marked with rust, secured to an anchor in the wall that had clearly been there a very long time. And yet, this was unmistakably someone's home.

There was no sign of his party, or his captor. It was just him and his aching, numb arm and his probable concussion. He tried to estimate how long he'd been unconscious. His hand was blue and the pain was significant, and his breathing felt wrong-- though that might be due to the panic he was trying very hard not to give in to. That meant it had probably been over an hour or two, but not much more than that, or his hand would be swelling and the pain would be significantly worse.

Regardless, he had at most two or three hours more before permanent nerve damage became a serious concern. Much longer than that, and the prognosis started to include fun words like "acute" and "multi-organ collapse", "sepsis", "necrosis" and "sudden death."

He'd had more than one very angry conversation with other adventurers about the dangers of prone restraint which, in Cam's opinion, nobody took seriously until they'd been restrained themselves long enough to start hitting those second hour symptoms. Then suddenly it seemed really obvious why being forced into that kind of position for prolonged periods of time was really god damn dangerous, and if you wanted your very valuable captive to be alive to interrogate in the morning it was probably a bad idea to leave them hanging by their ankles, trussed up like a ham all night!

He'd learned to wait until it got bad enough that even the stupidest of his companions would be able to recognize they'd fucked up, even if that meant he had to spend most of the day's spell slots on keeping whatever poor bastard they'd caught alive. They would just keep ignoring him otherwise. Because he worried about everyone, didn't he? Even the murderous bandits and monsters. Cam, the terminal busy-body, perpetually fussing and trying to take care of them.

Initially, they'd find his nagging endearing. The halfling cleric was decidedly unintimidating, with his cloud of unruly curls and perpetually stormy gray eyes under dark furrowed brows, it was like being scolded by a temperamental cherub. But inevitably they'd realize that, actually, it was annoying and invasive and that Cam's growing frustration with them over problems they had never invited him to get involved with in the first place was downright obnoxious.

"Don't offer me help and then treat me like a useless inconvenience for accepting it!"

One of his former party members had shrieked that while beating him over the head with the manuscript on evocation he'd just been complaining about having to get for them, even though they'd told him repeatedly that they didn't mind getting it themselves and he'd just as repeatedly insisted.

It was the last straw in a long line of similar incidents. As soon as he got to know someone, he'd immediately make all their problems his problems, even the things they didn't think were problems. And then he'd start to resent them for the extra work he didn't really want to be doing but felt like he HAD to because obviously they weren't going to deal with it themselves…

Cam was very aware that this was a personal failing which made him nearly as unpleasant to be around as Fenwic. Worse possibly, because at least no one felt guilty for telling Fen to fuck off when he was acting like an ass.

Unfortunately, the only solution he'd found so far for the problem of caring so intensely about anyone who got close to him that he became incapable of minding his own business and trusting them to take care of themselves… was to not care about anyone at all. And that, obviously, presented its own problems.

He wondered if there was any hope his party would rescue him. He'd only met them a few days ago, he didn't even really know their names yet. But he'd already pissed off the ranger by repeatedly informing him that the way he was lacing his boots was the reason he kept getting such nasty blisters. And then he'd just taken the boots and relaced them himself when the ranger didn't do it in a timely fashion. And then-- when the ranger was rightfully pissed off about Cam doing that-- he blew up about how he was tired of wasting magic on healing the guy's nasty feet just because he didn't want to admit he had high arches…

Yeah, chances of rescue were probably pretty slim. He didn't really hold it against them. The worst part of being the annoying ass person that he was, was recognizing exactly the ways in which he was being unbearable, and understanding precisely how reasonable people were being in not wanting him around because of it, and still not being able to stop.

The scrape of stone on stone pulled him from his thoughts and he tensed, reaching for his magic, only to find his reserves were spent. He was down to nothing but cantrips. He had a feeling he wouldn't be 'sacred flame' -ing his way out of this situation.

Heavy footsteps approached while his heart raced faster with each one, bracing for the worst.

A hand easily larger than his entire face swept the hanging blankets aside. Bending to avoid scraping its horns on the doorway (which could easily have accommodated someone at least 6 feet tall), a massive figure stepped into the light of the lantern, looming over Cam like a mountain. His eyes traveled upwards, from the heavy black hooves to the powerful legs covered in thick red brown fur, to the broad barrel chest and muscular arms, the sleek black hide wherever the longer red fur receded. After what felt like days of travel his eyes reached the great bovine head glaring down at Cam with dark, intelligent eyes.

A minotaur.

Most minotaur were constructs, like the majority of monsters. Mindless creations of hostile magic users, or in the case of an autonomous dungeon without an overlord, ambient magic reacting to what people expected to be there. As constructs, they didn't require food or sleep, and were beings of pure thoughtless aggression, created for the purpose of killing and capable of nothing else.

But there was a second variety of minotaur, far rarer, upon which the construct was based, usually the result of a curse or exposure to dangerous levels of uncontrolled magic in utero. There had only ever been a few true minotaur, all of them historically significant, all of them known for their immense strength and incredible violent rage.

And Cam was looking right at one.

It was obvious immediately that this wasn't a mindless construct. There was too much intelligence in its eyes, and no weapon in its hands. So, it wasn't going to immediately violently murder him. But that just meant he had no idea what it wanted or what it would do.

Right now, it was just staring at him. Cam stared back for a long silent minute. It wasn't killing him right now, and it must have captured him for a reason. So it probably wanted him alive, right? It was getting hard to think about anything but how much his hand hurt.

"…You need to unchain me," Cam said, slow and firm, not sure if the minotaur could speak Common but figuring it was worth a shot. He gestured to his hand. "If you keep me locked up like this much longer it's going to get really bad. Do you understand?"

It continued to stare at him for a moment, then snorted so suddenly that Cam flinched hard enough to rattle the chain holding him.

The minotaur shifted its weight, dropping the hand that was holding back the curtain and raising the other, in which it held a long chain attached to what was, unmistakably, a collar. Leather, good quality. Cam was fairly certain he recognized it as what the goblins on the floor above this used for their wargs.

He drew back, wide eyed, as the minotaur suddenly sank to one knee in front of him with a thud that made the stone walls tremble slightly. Cam fought to keep control of his breathing as panic seized him. But it didn't attack. It just held up the collar again, showing it to Cam pointedly, before gesturing at Cam's shackled hand.

Cam put the meaning together quickly. It would unchain his hand if he let it put the collar on him.

"No, no way," Cam said immediately, shaking his head. "I don't know what you want from me, but you're sure as hell not putting a god damn collar on me."

The minotaur made a low grumbling sound of irritation and grabbed Cam hard enough to produce an undignified squeak, just one of its massive hands sufficiently large to pin his unshackled arm to his side, holding him in place as it tried to get the collar around his neck.

But putting a collar on someone one handed would be difficult even without that person thrashing and biting and throwing cantrips at you. Cam was incensed but not surprised to see his only attacking cantrip all but bounce off the minotaur's hide without so much as scalding it, so he attempted to make up for it by turning himself into a whirling dervish of flailing limbs and sharp teeth.

Eventually the minotaur gave up with a growl of frustration and let go, retreating. Cam hung from his shackled wrist, wheezing with exertion, glaring at it as though daring it to try that again. Instead, it huffed impatiently and sat down on the rug directly in front of Cam. It placed the collar on the floor between them, and settled in to wait.

As soon as Cam realized what it was doing he unleashed a torrent of incredible profanity, but the minotaur didn't react, either unable to understand the words or simply unimpressed by the halfling's tantrum. Cam glared at the minotaur hatefully.

It was just going to wait him out. It clearly knew how painful being chained that way already was, and how much more painful it would get. Cam would have to give up and allow himself to be collared eventually, if only to avoid the risk of losing his arm.

But the minotaur was not aware of just how stubborn Cam could be.

He held out another two hours, at which point he started getting delirious, his vision swimming and his thoughts darting away from his grasping hands like minnows. The pain was bad enough that his ashen face was set in a rigid grimace, jaw clenched and tears in his eyes, a hitch in his shoulders with every labored breath.

It was difficult to read the minotaur's facial expressions, but he could tell it was agitated by Cam's continued refusal. It shifted and tapped its fingers on the ground restlessly. Eventually it started pacing, whip-like tail lashing behind it. It was growing visibly more tense every few minutes that passed in which Cam refused to cooperate.

It pushed the collar towards him with a low, impatient sound, almost a plea. Cam couldn't speak at that point, but his continued glare made it clear he intended to die here rather than willingly put that collar on.

Fortunately, he passed out shortly after that, taking the matter out of his hands.

—

He woke some time later to discover, first, that he was now wearing the damn collar, which was not particularly surprising.

Slightly more surprising was that his arm was not only no longer chained, it was also no longer in pain. It had been laid across his chest, secured by a simple sling, the wrist bandaged where the metal cuff had cut in, and wrapped in a cloth with a small sun-crystal to gently warm it back into proper circulation. He felt only the slightly foggy discomfort typical of pain relief magic. Even his head felt better, and he no longer felt the itch of dried blood on his face.

Both of these surprises paled in comparison to the last, which was the fact that he was sitting in the minotaur's lap.

It was holding him, cradled against its chest, absently stroking his hair like it was petting a cat. It stopped as soon as it realized he was awake and for a second time that day the two of them stared at each other for a long tense moment, each of them trying to puzzle out how to proceed.

Cam was paralyzed by being so close to it. The minotaur's enormous chest moved like a bellows against his side, warm and almost resonant, the thunderous roll of its heartbeat seeming to echo in the vastness of its lungs. He was certain it could see the frozen terror in his eyes, as clearly as he could see the surprisingly elegant structure of its face beneath its hide. Or how the longer rust colored fur of its mane caught the light in copper tones, shadowing it's large, solemn eyes, which gazed down at him through a fringe of long dark lashes.

Cam didn't see any malice or anger in those eyes. Only a kind of quiet sadness. He'd expected it to smell like a barn, but its scent was no stronger than could be expected of any large man at the end of the day.

After a moment, the minotaur carefully set him back down on the blankets where he'd been chained previously. The chain attached to his new collar had been affixed to the same anchor as the previous one, but it was thankfully much longer. He would be able to lie down, and even get up and walk around a few steps.

This minimal freedom did little to assuage Cam's fear and anger at the situation, but it wasn't nothing.

The minotaur moved slowly back, as though trying not to startle Cam. But it didn't go far before it sat down and resumed silently watching him.

"What do you want from me?" Cam asked, frustrated. "Why did you bring me here? Are you… hoping for ransom, or something? I'd be pretty surprised if you were planning to eat me at this point. Are you working for someone else, a wizard or…?"

If it could understand him, it didn't show it.

"I know you're not one of those mindless constructs," Cam huffed. "If you're trying to play dumb you're doing a bad job. Just tell me what's going on already!"

It said nothing, and continued to watch him.

Cam continued to yell questions and insults at it periodically over the next few hours and it continued to placidly, silently watch him. After a while it got up and made dinner, roasted vegetables over rice with some kind of dark, aromatic sauce. It filled two bowls from the same pot and set one in front of Cam, before sitting across from him to eat.

Cam eyed the bowl suspiciously for a moment, but the minotaur had started eating without hesitation, and Cam had watched him cook it, so he knew it couldn't have added anything weird. Still…

The minotaur saw he wasn't eating and nudged the bowl closer with a soft, low sound.

Cam pressed his lips together in annoyance, considering refusing just on principle. But he was hungry, and he'd need his strength to escape. He pulled the bowl closer and picked up his spoon. He recognized the vegetables as the kind that grew commonly all over the dungeon. He'd eaten them many times before. Not particularly flavorful, but he supposed that's what the sauce was for. He took a bite, hummed thoughtfully, and continued eating.

This seemed to make the minotaur inordinately happy. He looked up from his bowl because its tail was thumping on the rug. It wasn't smiling, precisely, but he could see something like a smile in the relaxed set of its facial muscles and ears. It could hardly sit still, though it tried to contain its fidgeting and… was it sighing? It was! Cam watched it in confused fascination, wondering what it was about watching Cam eat that made it so damn happy?

He half expected to find out the food had been drugged after all, but he finished eating and the minotaur took the bowls to clean, and nothing happened. He didn't feel woozy or sick. And the minotaur didn't seem like it expected something to happen. It was just cleaning up after dinner.

When the kitchen was tidied, it filled a basin from the fountain and began to wash with a clean cloth and a bar of beeswax soap, from the giant bees a few floors up presumably.

It clearly wasn't self conscious, washing in businesslike fashion and occasionally looking over at Cam again with that almost-smile. When it started to lift the loincloth which was its only clothing, Cam quickly turned to face the wall.

He stayed that way, until he heard it approaching, and turned back to see it setting the basin (refilled with clean water) down in front of him. It offered him the soap and another clean cloth.

Cam thought it over for a moment, and couldn't see any reason to refuse (beyond spite) save one. He pulled the bowl a little closer to show he was accepting it. The minotaur seemed pleased. It stayed where it was, watching.

"Turn around," Cam said, flustered. "I can't do it while you're watching."

He made a gesture for 'turn around', then demonstrated, turning to face the wall.

The minotaur seemed confused by this, but it turned away without complaint.

Cam watched it mistrustfully for a moment, but then he began quickly washing. It was awkward with only one hand, but not unmanageable. The minotaur didn't turn back until Cam finished and pushed the bowl back towards it.

"Thanks," he said a bit stiffly. "You're weirdly nice to your prisoners, you know that? You ever going to tell me what you're keeping me here for?"

It didn't answer, just took the basin away, dumping it into a drain in the kitchen. Then it began lowering the shades on the sun crystal lamps, getting ready for bed. Cam watched it pace past the little alcove where he was chained, and now that his chain was longer, he could reach far enough to move aside the fabric wall that hid the leftmost corner of the home from him.

It was obviously where the minotaur slept. A very wide, comfortable looking mattress on a slightly raised platform, an abundance of blankets and pillows— all of the kind adventurers tended to bring down here in their bedrolls, Cam noticed. Another small lantern, and some drapes to close when it was cold. A chest and a tall cabinet for holding linens and belongings. Like the rest of this place, it was bewilderingly cozy, well kept, and normal.

The minotaur stood in front of its bed, but rather than lie down it stayed there, fiddling with the lantern. It seemed to be debating something. It turned, looking back over its shoulder at Cam, and Cam quickly dropped the fabric wall back into place and retreated to his spot.

He laid down facing the wall and pretended to go to sleep. He heard the minotaur pacing back and forth for a little longer, and then it seemed to make up its mind. He tensed as he heard it approaching, twisting quickly to see.

The minotaur was dragging a few blankets and pillows over, and as Cam watched in utter bafflement, it laid down on the floor facing him. Was it worried he would try to escape during the night, so it had to keep an eye on him?

It settled down, lying on its side, watching Cam with those big, dark eyes. Cam waited for a long few minutes for some kind of explanation or for it to do something else. But it just lay there, watching him. Finally Cam laid back down, facing it. It felt dangerous to turn his back on it. It also felt dangerous to close his eyes, but he couldn't keep staring at it forever.

Eventually, inevitably, he fell asleep.

—

He woke to find it MUCH closer. It hadn't touched him, but it had definitely moved after Cam was asleep to lay right next to him. As soon as he stirred, it woke and stared at him for a minute, eyes half lidded, with a kind of absolute contentment that felt very out of place to Cam. Then it got up, like this was not at all unusual, and made breakfast.

Cam accepted the rice porridge and dried fruit it brought him without complaint, and it sat and ate with him again. Again, it seemed absolutely thrilled by this for no clear reason that Cam could discern.

He noticed, as the minotaur was preparing breakfast and eating, a strange stiffness in its dominant hand. It seemed to have trouble holding small objects or doing anything that required a higher level of dexterity, and would switch to its other hand for these tasks. Cam observed this peculiarity without comment.

After breakfast, it cleaned up, then picked up a bag and headed for the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" Cam called after it, strangely worried. "Are you just leaving me here?"

It looked back at him, tilted its head in consideration, then walked back over to Cam and, to Cam's bewilderment, patted him on the head, stroking his hair a few times, before turning and leaving with no further explanation.

Cam's confusion ceased to matter as soon as he realized the minotaur was really gone. He immediately tried to remove the collar, only to discover it was arcanolocked. Not only was it impossible for anyone but the person who locked it to remove, it also sealed his spell casting abilities innately. That wasn't a feature the goblins needed for their wargs, who were quite unmagical, it was just a quirk of the arcanolock. Any magic inside something sealed with an arcanolock, stayed inside.

After that he figured out just how far the chain would let him go, searching for anything sharp he could maybe use to just cut through the leather. Unfortunately, there was nothing of the kind within two steps of the spot he was anchored to, and that was as far as he could get. There was nothing at all within reach except the curtain that separated his little alcove from the minotaur's sleeping area.

He spent some time yanking at the anchor in the wall, which was old and thus potentially weakened. But Strength was unfortunately his dump stat, so no dice. The next hour or so he spent scratching at the mortar between the bricks of the wall the anchor was attached to, which had potential, but not without some kind of tool.

Potential escape options exhausted, Cam spent most the day either napping, or staring into space, bored out of his mind.

He was forced, at last, to contemplate again that anchor in the wall of the minotaur's home and its apparent age. The short shackle that had been attached to it, equally old, and appropriately sized for a halfling. The stiffness in the minotaur's hand. Nerve damage. This level of the dungeon was called the Labyrinth, after all. He'd assumed that was because of its maze-like structure and proliferation of construct minotaur. But perhaps the meaning was more traditional.

Sometime in the late afternoon, he sat up as he heard heavy foot steps approaching. A moment late the minotaur was ducking through the doorway.

"Finally!" Cam said with a note of frustration. "Do you have any idea how long I—"

He didn't get the chance to say more, because the minotaur dropped its bag, strode straight towards him, and wrapped its arms around him in a crushing hug.

Cam made an alarmed sound at first, until he realized it wasn't trying to hurt him, just holding him quite tightly, its great muzzle nuzzling into his throat. It was, he noticed, trembling just slightly. Had it missed him that much during the day? Or had it just been certain it would return to find Cam was gone? Perhaps it was simply overwhelmed at finally having someone to come home to.

Cam was cautiously stroking its head and returning the hug before he quite knew what he was doing.

"Was this all you wanted me for?" he murmured to himself, thoughtfully. "Were you just lonely?"

—

The first true minotaur, according to myth, was an accident. The result of an intense magical conflict which poisoned the landscape with dangerous magical fallout, causing unpredictable mutations in children born there for the next century. The first minotaur was supposedly one of these unfortunate children, and according to myth grew to a tremendous size almost over night and went on a bloody rampage against the kingdom it held responsible for the war.

It was an obviously highly mythologized account about which little could be proven. But it turned the minotaur into a monster of legend, and inspired the next minotaur, centuries later, when a certain king of the land of Minos made the classic mistake of pissing off a god, who cursed his unborn child. The king declared the child a monster, locked it away in the center of a terrible maze, and fed people to it on a regular basis. Until eventually the king's daughter got sick of it and gave one of the sacrifices a sword and the secret to escaping the maze. The great Bull of Minos, that fearsome man eating monster, died to the first person that came against it armed.

The third was the product of pissing off, not a god, but a mortal wizard, and was born to a noble lord and lady. In fear it would be as violent as the one from legend, the child was locked away while its parents desperately sought a way to remove the curse. It eventually escaped, killing its parents in the process, and stalked the nearby mountains for nearly a decade before it too was struck down.

The handful of true minotaur that came after were either killed shortly after birth, or imprisoned forever in the belief they would inevitably be consumed by rage and become uncontrollably violent.

Cam thought about those monstrous children, while he ran his fingers through the minotaur's mane, his head lying along side the beast's while it huffed great shuddering breaths against his neck.

How long had it— he, Cam corrected himself— been down here? Cam didn't know how long minotaur could live. It might depend on their parentage. If the minotaur's mother had been an elf, he might have been imprisoned for upwards of a hundred years. His entire life, regardless of its length, down in the dark, in one of the deepest levels of the dungeon, with absolutely no one.

Cam felt a flare of righteous anger and had to hide his face against the minotaur's shoulder to contain himself. Could he blame the poor thing for kidnapping him and locking him up down here? If it had approached Cam in the dungeon, he wouldn't have stayed put to hear it out. If Cam had woken up here unchained, he would have fled immediately, and never thought about it twice. And how was the minotaur to even know this wasn't an acceptable way to meet people? He probably grew up chained this way.

When Cam squeezed it a little tighter the minotaur made a low sound, almost pained.

"It's okay," Cam murmured. "I'm here."