#caythaes

As Cay took apart a comms device and popped off the outer paneling of the old arm to get to work, they wondered whether they ought to start watching their language around their prosthetics from now on. Obscenities aside, the constant tapping and grabbing was making things difficult.

"I'm trying to do surgery, here. If you can't stop fidgeting I'm going to put you in the vice."

Suitably chastised, the arm settled down, and Cay mentally filed away what a sulking arm looked like as they worked. It was a matter of minutes before the speaker was set up, and of moments after they'd hooked it up to power before it crackled to life.

Cay noted the fidelity was rather lower than it should've been, but the speech was at least audible. "If this isn't working, I'm going to be very upset."

"No, sorry, it's broken, I can't hear you."

"God DAMN i--"

There was a brief silence, broken after a few seconds by a barely stifled giggle from Cay.

"God damn it."

"Sorry, I couldn't help it." Cay set their elbow on the countertop, and their chin in their hand. "You don't even have nerves in the traditional sense and- and I can feel the tension coming off you."

"Funny. But don't do that again. I've had a very long … eight days and thirty-six minutes, give or take."

"Given that's how long it's been since Fate got kidnapped, I'm sure this is about her." They paused, and the other set of dots they hadn't quite connected yet slotted into place. "She ran headfirst into danger again, didn't she?"

"As is our wont, yes."

Cay couldn't help but notice the pronoun use there, but it mattered rather less than the problem their arm had just presented. Of course they'd been worried about the dracthyr ever since she'd disappeared into the earth, but this was... rather different than how they'd expected to end up hearing news of her. Truthfully, they'd expected her to either come sauntering into Mereldar herself with a trophy or two over one shoulder, or just been brought news that she'd died, maybe. If it wasn't either of those, then... oh, Leon was going to be upset.

They sighed. "I'll go get my Meddler gear."

"I would much prefer to have my own body to work with, but I realize that would take entirely too long. Thank you for not wasting time." The arm drummed its fingers on the countertop, unable to properly pace with all the extra wiring hooked up to it. "You will need weapons. Or good cloaking. Ideally both."

"I am the weapon. Also--" Cay dropped a pile of Stealthman devices on the table. "Do you think this is enough, or should I bring more?"

How a speaker that sounded like it was playing a recording of a recording of a recording managed to convey both exhaustion and amusement, Caythaes wasn't really sure, but they figured they ought to be proud of their work because of it. "I suppose I should be pleased with my manipulation of this prosthetic's sensory array that you think I can see whatever you just set down."

"Oh, good point!"

It took longer to install the camera than the speaker, but they had to fabricate a few of those parts on the spot first. Once done, their arm rose up taller on its fingers and then promptly wobbled. "Ohhhh, it is a very good thing I can't get nauseous. Disoriented, but not nauseous. Fascinating. What is the maximum duration on these devices?"

"Half an hour as long as I'm sneaking, and don't kill anyone or touch things I'm not supposed to!" They flashed a bright smile to their arm, now that it could see it. "I will probably stop to touch things I'm not supposed to. That's why I bring extras."

"I will advise very strongly that you curb that impulse. Fatalion is currently a guest in a laboratory, and most of it appeared to be alchemical in nature. I was able to help her contrive an explosive, but that went as well as you can expect, given my presence now."

The words "labratory" and "alchemy" made Cay's ears perk even higher than normal, and the gremlin giggle returned with a vengeance. "Ohhhhh, I'm gonna touch so many things." With that giddy declaration, they picked up a heavy pack and swept the pile of Stealthmans into it, then started tossing in even more.

After a moment, they stopped, raising a finger and shaking it authoritatively at the arm on the table.

"I should bring help."

The arm had about a nanosecond of time where it allowed itself to be relieved. "I am admittedly uncertain whether more bodies would be better or worse, but--"

And then Cay leaned their head out the door of the workshop and shouted, "LEON, I NEED SUPERVISION WHILE I'M RESCUING FATE AGAIN."

If mechanical limbs could flinch.

---

"...Listen, I know yer gonna go no matter wot I say so obviously I'm goin', but I 'ave t' at least be th' one t' say tha' this feels very much like a trap."

Cay's ears tipped down just slightly, only to stand back up with a hopeful offering of, "…We can have the Meddlers on standby?"

Leon and Cay's arm both sighed at the same time. Leon had the presence of mind to be discomfited by that, but opted not to comment on it. He'd spent the first five minutes of his interactions with the talking limb pointing out how bloody strange the entire scenario was already and beating a dead horse didn't make the horse any less dead. "Yeah...yeah."

"I mean, we can't not go, Leon. I'll- I'll bring lots of explosives, and- I mean, I have lockpicks, an auxiliary grappling hook, I can't die in a meaningful way..."

"You should be more concerned with capture than death."

"You should--yeah, wot h- sh- ... wot tha' said. An' fer th' record it's def'nitely toppin' th' charts o' th' bizarre tha' we're takin' tactical suggestions from yer hand!"

"Yeah, but one of the Fates is piloting it! Isn't that cool?!"

Leon had the look of a man considering one of a thousand questions, or possibly just debating pretending he didn't actually hear anything and going back to baking. He'd gotten that look a few times already. Eventually, he settled on, "If we're gonna go, we oughta get movin'."

"Agreed. I cannot lead the way back, but once we are in the main caverns, I should be able to locate the laboratory."

"Yay! I'm gonna touch so much stuff!"

For the moment, she simply watched it approach, though she tightened her grip on her axe. Wary, but not overzealous, that was the key. It would have to make the first move, but she was expecting that move. Let it try, if it was going to.

Except it didn't. The arm came to a stop about three feet away from her, and--as much as a limb could be said to do so--stood fully upright, balancing on all five fingers. After a tense and deeply confused few seconds, it promptly flopped over, and stretched itself palm-up toward the lamplighter. It was like watching one of the lynxes pretend at a desire for belly rubs, but infinitely wierder.

Lacking any other ideas, she shrugged one shoulder and took a cautious step forward. After nothing exploded and no ambush emerged, she bent down. When that continued not to produce a sudden eruption of violence, she finally wrapped her hand around the thing's wrist, and lifted it up as she stood.

"Well, you're a banged-up old thing, but I suppose you're not the world's strangest vanguard after all. The question remains, though... what are you? Besides an arm, anyway."

Ignoring a renewed bout of flailing from the fingers, Castalia slowly rotated the arm in her hand, musing to herself as she turned and began walking back up the path toward town. Up close and personal with it, she knew it definitely wasn't Earthen now, but she couldn't shake the feeling she'd seen designs like this one before. Oh, but it was damaged! She'd never been much for the mechanical side of anything, but she knew enough to recognize wires that had been snapped off, rather than cut. It drew her attention to the metal up on the shoulder end being twisted and--yep, there was scorching, too. Some poor bastard had lost this in a hurry. Maybe there was a--

"There you are." She felt a small sense of satisfaction when she spotted what had to be a maker's mark, though it took some prying at the already loose paneling of the bicep to get at it enough to get Beledar's light on it. As soon as she made out the cogs of a gear and a pair of M's in the center, she let out a half amused, half exasperated hum and began walking a bit faster.

Of course it belonged to that one. Everything made more sense now.

---

"But what if it's good though?"

"There is absolutely no way in 'ell I'm puttin' tha' in a donut."

"You did it with slimes! You made a whole franchise out of it, basically!"

"CAY! I am not puttin' BLACK BLOOD in a DO--"

"Ah, sorry, sirs, am I interrupting something important?"

Leon looked up from the cutting board and the dough in his hands, and Cay looked up from their seat at the end of the counter Leon was working on. Castalia started to explain herself, only to be cut off by Cay's startled exclamation of "Oh hey, that's my arm!"

Cay's ears stood straight up as they hopped off the counter to take the limb from the poor lamplighter, but they didn't really have to; it waved at them, then sprang out of her hands and scrambled up to Cay's feet.

As the hand started frantically tapping on Cay's toes, Castalia held up her hands in surrender. "That answers that. Your problem now. Good day to you both!" Wisely, she turned on her heel and left them to their own devices. This whole morning had been well beyond her pay grade, and there was a lingering feeling of unease that she was sure wasn't go to go away until she'd had at least two strong drinks.

It wasn't beyond Leon's since he was self-employed, but he got the distinct impression today was going to be a very long day. He'd already had that feeling right about the time Cay had started asking about the culinary value of black blood, even if he was...pretty sure Cay was just messing with him, but now there was a self-propelled mechanical arm involved. That was two elements of wierd before noon. That was an alarming amount of wierd.

And then Cay crouched to peer more closely at their disembodied arm as it continued to tap away. Their ears pinned back for a moment, then shot back up again. "Oh! ...Wierd, but doable!"

"You wot?"

"It's asking for a voice!" Cay chirped brightly as they scooped up the arm, already heading for the door of the apartment. "Time for some Science!"

And now Cay was saying science with capitals. That was three elements of wierd before noon. He'd been tempered in the fires of the Meddlers' nonsense, he recognized impending ridiculousness, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Leon resigned himself to probably having to do something stupid and reckless by end of day, heaved a long sigh, and went back to cutting donuts.

"I'm- I'm not projecting, I'm just. Informing..." Cay mumbled as they sat back down, looking up at Shedwyn like a kicked puppy. Dipping a napkin in a glass of water, they began to clean some of the mud from Tulford's face, blithely ignoring any sounds of protest. "He- he threw a knife at Terry, that's- he's clearly ignorant to- to the many alternative methods of-"

They paused, taking a really good look at the spot they'd cleaned away. Combined with the perplexingly parental treatment from the Ambroces, the indignant rage on Tulford's face put something of a spotlight on just how young he was underneath all the road grime. "Oh my gosh, y-you're a baby! L-look at you, not- not a single wrinkle on your face!"

"I'm not ignorant, I'm not a bloody baby, and what the bloody hell is happening right now?!"

"S-sorry," Cay murmured, flashing Tulford a sheepish grin and a shrug. "I- I have a hard time with human ages, es-especially between the ages of uh... 16 and 30? I- I can't really tell how mature humans are un-until they start getting in a few wrinkles."

"Family breakfast. The most important meal of the day, so eat up!" There was something uncomfortably keen--he might have used the word 'predatory,' if he'd had the presence of mind--in the way Shedwyn looked him up and down before adding, "You're going to need your strength."

Cay passed Toby a plate of pancakes so that he could help Tulford eat, which after a few deeply suspicious looks at the first forkful, he did finally do. If they were gonna kill him, they'd have already done it by now, right? And pancakes were hard to resist for long. There was no way these people knew they were his favorite food, right?

"I'm- I'm Caythaes, by the way. Lady Shedwyn's Boy Toy." They paused, then looked to Shedwyn. "Or- or is it consort now? Do- do I get a fancy title to make our relationship sound less scandalous?" Another pause as Cay's eyes go wide. "Oh no. Or- or should I have just not said anything at all?"

"I knew it" tumbled out of Tulford's mouth as soon as 'consort' hit his ears. The scowl he aimed Shedwyn's way was very familiar, since Terry used to have roughly the same one all the time when he and Cay first met. It lost a lot of its punch when he was doing it over a mouthful of pancake, though.

Shedwyn merely giggled, even as she rolled her eyes at Tulford's disgust. With the big table and all the kids she was a little too far away to reach out to physically comfort Cay, but the desire was there in her tone (not that Cay needed it, having completely ignored Tulford's reaction). "You're not a secret, Caythaes. Not ever." She brightened visibly, "And, unless you prefer 'consort,' I think we can leave that off until Terry and I take you somewhere formal, hm?"

"Oh. Oh good," they sighed, laughing softly and giving Shedwyn a reassuring smile. "I'm fine with- with whatever, I just, uh- Well, there's- there's a lot of rules to Nobility, isn't there?

"I'm- I'm still learning a lot of it, myself," they added, turning their smile on Tulford and giving his shoulder a friendly pat. "If- If you can't trust Terry, you can- you can at least trust me as- as a fellow commoner and laborer. I was- I was known back home as a rabble rouser, you know."

Finally, the kettle whistled, and Shedwyn got up to make a pot of tea. "Has Terry ever told you that he wanted to join the revolution and help overthrow Genn Greymane? And now here he is, hand-picked by Queen Tess. All this land here in Duskwood was bought specifically to get and keep it out of the hands of the 'nobs,' just like Keel, and now it's a barony. Life's funny like that." Shedwyn didn't feel it necessary to include that she was the one that grabbed up the land in Duskwood and Terry had taken the inspiration directly from her. "As far as you and the 'rules,' half those people already have their own 'secret' lovers. And unlike most of them, ours can't have children."

"I can have children..." Caythaes mumbles, because that was clearly the most important thing Shedwyn said. "I think," they add, pouting as they look over their purple hand, ears tipping downwards as the pout becomes a frown. It doesn't last long, and Caythaes shrugs, flopping back into their chair. "Anyway, I don't want kids. I'm- I'm perfectly happy with being the weird uncle."

"Tea or coffee, Tulford?"

Their captive audience had been struggling to keep up, head pivoting back and forth like watching a tennis match. It was hard to yell epithets when the people holding you hostage and being frickin' wierd at you were barely even paying attention to you. It didn't help that what they're saying was fascinating, in an additionally 'what the fuck' sort of way. Which mostly meant by the time he was addressed, his expression was back to 'what the fuck' again and all he could do for a second once he looked at Shedwyn was blink while he rebooted.

Then, he spat in her face. "Iunno what wierd-ass game you're playin' but I'm not joining in."

The kitchen fell immediately silent as all five children and Caythaes watched in anticipation. Even Corben and Ulfrich, the youngest of the bunch, had gone still and stopped eating.

Shedwyn blinked a few times, then smiled beatifically. “Water, then.” She picked up a napkin from the table to calmly wipe her cheek, then slid a rather large cup of pretty decent coffee in front of Cay. She took the opportunity to give them a kiss on the top of their head, and finally poured green tea for the rest of the table. Ulf turned up his nose at it, Corben batted the cup around while making mewing noises for a minute and then guzzled it, Junior opted for water instead, and Graeme and Toby swapped cups for no discernible reason.

“There’s no game here, Tulford. I don’t know what you went through before you got to the keep, but since we met you’ve been beaten, left in a cell, and strung across the back of an elderhorn for hours. You’re tired, dirty, hungry, and thirsty, and that is being remedied while my husband gets a good shower. You're free to join or even lead the discussion until then, or you can just enjoy the food and happy company."

Just like every other time someone had spat in Shedwyn Lias's face and gotten no-sold in response, Tulford could only stare angrily in silence, too baffled that he hadn't been punched to have a different response loaded. As the kids were given their green teas and the mild noise of multiple children under the ages of ten, Cay, and Shedwyn having breakfast resumed, he rebooted once again and just groaned.

She set the water, in a kid-safe wooden cup, in front of him. “Of course, the third alternative is to wait in a cold cell, with no food, no water, and no hospitality.”

Drinking from the cup would be tricky without the use of his hands, but Tulford seemed ready to try and manage up til Toby stuck a straw in it for him.

"I can- I can also provide some light healing, if- if you'd like," Caythaes offered, smiling happily up at Shedwyn and wiggling their ears as they sipped their coffee. "Despite all of this-" They gestured to their entire shadowflame self, "- I- I haven't lost my connection to Belore. The warmth of- of the Eternal Sun will soothe your aches and- and keep bruising to a minimum, at least.

"Y-you'll want to wait on the bath until this evening," they add, nodding sagely to themself. "I'll- I'll make sure one is prepared for you before dinner, that way- that way you can feel like a person again before you pass out. Do- do you like oranges and vanilla, by the way? Or- or are you a patchouli sort of guy."

If he could have, Tulford would've slammed his hands on the table. "I tried to kill your husband. And all that happened was getting my shit kicked in for a while, then a shitty nap. Why am I here right now?" After a few more sips and a minute to get himself riled up again, he added, "And fuck off with your bath shit already, elf. That's wierd. You're a wierd elf."

Shedwyn gave another airy, brainless giggle. "Ah, Tulford. Weird doesn't mean bad. But you have hit the nail directly on the head. Why are you here? Why did you try to kill my husband?"

"You threw a knife at Terrence Ambroce, Eonar's champion and- and the guy who committed Grand Theft Siege Engine! Among other things!" Cay added, their voice rising in pitch with each exclamation. "Why did you think that would work? Wh- why did you think you, a baby with- with likely no military training, I assume - could pull a- a fast one on someone old enough to- to be your uncle, at least, who's spent his life on the battlefield?

"F-face it, Tulferd, right? I'm- I'm bad with names..." Cay shook their head and waved a hand. "Anyway- y-you're here because y-you're young, stupid, and- and you made a stupid mistake and Terry's trying to- to be reasonable about it.

"Anyway, I'm not-" Cay pauses, huffs, and rolls their eyes with a shrug. "Okay, I am weird for an elf, but- but not because of the bath thing. That's- a hot bath with scented candles is- is nothing compared to- to what many elves get up to, especially the rich ones. I'm weird because- because I like getting dirty and playing in the mud. And also fake blood."

Now with no further distractions and the kids seemingly bored of mum and dad's new project, Tulford was able to focus on what really mattered: getting pissed at being insulted. He bristled, and despite his youth he did appear to have some bulk that made bristling at least a little impressive. At least, it would be if he weren't tied up. Most of it was further undercut by how red his face went right out the gate.

"Shove the giggles and the smug right up yer arse! If I'm not gonna be executed then I'm damn sure not gonna sit here lettin' some nancy jackrabbit pontificate on how stupid I am and how untrained I must be because I happened to get caught! Soldiers get caught, dumbass! Sometimes that's the best case scenario, actin' like it isn't tells me you probably don't have the training Elune gave a pheasant!"

After a moment to catch his breath, and blink, he backed up a couple steps. "...Wait, Eonar? That holy champion shit was real?"

"Well, g-given that I'm from Quel'thalas, y-you're right," Cay says calmly, setting down their empty coffee mug and tipping their head to the side. "I- I do, however, have the training Belore gave a phoenix, and I - I rather think that suits me better. Now, as- as much as I'm enjoying your, uh..." They gesture at Tulford's bristling, then his face. "The shade of red you're turning, I- I do think you should answer Lady Shedwyn's questions. They're, uh- well, they're bit more important than, well..."

Caythaes coughs politely into their hand, blushing faintly. "They're more important than me condescending from- from my high perch again. I- I am sorry about that. It's- it's a bad habit I've been trying to break. Anyway."

"The holy champion thing is- is very real. I've- I've had to shoo her off a few times just- just because my proximity to Terry means that, well. She kind of just. Drifts into my space."

Shedwyn tamped down on the grinning, falling into a pout instead, even after Tulford's brain hiccup. "While I am incredibly eager to find out how much of the stupid nonsense he's gotten up to has been successfully mythologized, I really do want to know... Why would a trained and educated soldier try to kill him?" She was a master of the sad, confused puppy eyes, and was not afraid to break them out now. For bonus points, she rested one hand on her stomach. They were talking about her husband, the man she loved to distraction, the father of (most of) her children, and she could not fathom why someone who wasn't a paid assassin would be trying to kill him.

All of that was utter bullshit, of course; she could--and had--come up with a dozen reasons people might want to kill Terry in under 30 seconds.

Tulford, to his credit, did take a moment to actually process a few of the bombshells that just went off right in front of him. Long enough at least for the redness in his face to dial back a few shades. He was still angry, confused, and not sure whether or not to be scared, and being uncertain about that was more terrifying than just being terrified. It didn't help that Shedwyn drew attention back to her pregnant belly; if anything gave away his youth, it was how easy pulling at that heartstring was. He rallied beautifully, though.

"Because he's a fuckin' traitor, why else? Gave up bodies, ran off to join the deaders, went full red for years, finally got tossed in the clink like he deserved when he pissed off some mercs in Draenor. Fast-forward to now... none of that happened, far as the crown seems to care. A fuckin' turncoat coward betrays his family and friends and country and gets a ton of land and a foreign wife and a damn blood elf consort apparently. There's your damn myth."

Shedwyn's lips pursed as she made herself stop and think instead of getting angry at the racism or the enormous holes in this version of the "myth."

Leaving her one hand on her belly, she placed the other on the table and started counting things off. "First, yes, he was going to sell out the location of the graveyard, in return for…. what turned out to be empty promises. It's not my place to tell you exactly what those were, but I will say… I don't know how much you remember of that time period, but much of Gilneas--even those who escaped the Curse--was mad from grief. He was no exception, and he bears intense shame for that even now.

"Second, he did not join the rotters," the slur slipped off her tongue with the easy vitriol of long-born hatred, "He was kidnapped and tortured for years. We all know the stories of what they did to prisoners; this was worse. Use your imagination.

"Third, when he was put out on a leash, he did upset some mercs--my family and his brother. They caught him, and cut his leash. On what he thought was his deathbed, he pointed us to the place he was tortured, enabling us to destroy a particularly heinous laboratory located where the keep is now.

"Fourth, you're missing out on his time in the military, of which you have clearly heard stories, just without his name connected to them, or that you disbelieved because they were so shockingly outrageous. 'The holy champion shit' is an excellent example. He did everything he could to keep his name out of it, but debriefings are only so avoidable, so records were kept.

"That is what got the attention of the Crown. That is why he was one of those who was here to retake Gilneas. And why, in the aftermath, he was offered the opportunity to grab up as much land as possible, to keep it safe.

"Which brings us to fifth: the Crown cares a lot about his entire history. We are under close watch by the governments of both Stormwind and Gilneas."

For her last point, she finally allowed her anger to seep into her voice. "And of course, sixth, if you don't stop saying racist things about my friend, I will have to ask my children to leave the room."

"That means she's gonna fuck you up." Junior had been watching the whole scene play out in more or less silence, like he generally did, but much like his father, once he got invested in the show, he couldn't keep his enthusiasm to himself. And, unfortunately, his brand of enthusiasm was infectious in a room full of little boys. The younger twins cackled like gremlins, Graeme shot milk out his nose in pure surprise, and Toby blushed.

Shedwyn froze, then closed her eyes for just a second with a raw, unfiltered face that all but screamed 'god damn it, not again.' She only opened them again when she felt Ulfrich tugging at her sleeve. "Mm?"

"What's a consort, mum?"

"Oh-KAY I think it's time to take this outside WHO WANTS TO GO FLYING Shu-fen if you would please take them to go meet Scooter bless you you're a gem..."

Much like the spooky elf earlier, Tulford had almost forgotten about the pandaren attendant until she stepped away from the wall. She hadn't even been in shade or anything, she'd just gone all not-noticeable on him. The second Shedwyn said her name, she was there, and shushing the little chorus of combined protest and eagerness as she led the herd out the door.

Despite his very real predicament and the very touchy topics at play, Tulford almost burst out laughing anyway. (Caythaes was no help, they were still laughing once the kids had gone, and excused themself to the next room to finish getting it out.) It was all so fucking absurd! And he was pretty sure the one kid had done that on purpose; it'd cut the tension like a cleaver.

Right up til he looked back at Shedwyn, to find her staring straight through him, all pretenses completely dropped. Her eyes were glowing blue, unmistakably magical, and she looked ready to fucking eat him. In spite of himself, he wilted a little. "None of it sounded real. It still doesn't sound real. I think you're fuckin' with me, saying it is. That kind of shit doesn't happen to Gilneans."

"It was real, and it was horrible, and wonderful, and we barely got back in one piece. There are still things neither of us can talk about, even to each other. But it was all real."

Another tense silence followed. Then, "The Lighthound."

She slowly smiled, and leaned back a little. She was still staring, though, and there were too many teeth in her smile. "The one and only."

His brow furrowed, and he fidgeted with his bound hands again. "What was it?"

"It was him. He was desperate. They all were. He called out for help, to anyone or anything that would listen, and... Eonar owed him. I don't know what number you heard, but he carried five people out of the Blight clouds. It was classified--and instantly became a folk tale--because absolutely none of them showed a single sign of being Blighted."

Tulford scanned her face while she spoke, and for a while after she finished. Whatever he was looking for, he was increasingly distressed not to find. "I heard fifty."

"Only five. Five men who would have died in agony made it home."

"How-" He choked, swallowed a few breaths, and started again. "How does a slag like him get a favor from a fucking titan?"

She finally looked away, glancing down at her belly (where there were once a matched pair of holes in her torso), and huffed a little laugh. "Right place, right time. How much do you know about the Antorus campaign on Argus?"

More fidgeting. "Not much. I was only ever ground support here."

She peered at him, looking him up and down again as she did some very fast math, but let it pass. "Mm. The short version is, he answered her call, and they helped each other a few times throughout the campaign, establishing a... connection. She lives because of his actions. He lives because of hers."

Incredulous, Tulford asked, "Are you telling me they traded?"

"After a fashion. There was some back-and-forth. As I understand it, there is some mutual respect at this point, established when he agreed to be her champion during the Nazjatar campaign."

Not knowing what to say or do was fast becoming Tulford's baseline, and he didn't like it. It wasn't the normal kind of not knowing, either; not being sure whether a mission would go to plan or whether he'd get to go home for dinner was one thing. Being presented with answers he had no idea how to interpret, by someone he could not figure out whether to trust, and having no idea what the endgame was... That wasn't something he could have prepared for.

When he finally broke the silence again, he sounded even younger yet, and terribly lost. "What are you gonna do with me?"

She glanced at the door Terry had gone through earlier. "We haven't decided, yet. You seem to be a confused kid, but we'll have to do some background on you. However, as long as you're not some hired assassin or someone with a personal axe to grind, you're not in any danger from us."

After some uncomfortable throat-clearing to pretend he hadn't let his voice crack that way, Tulford gave her an evaluating look. "You're not actually a dipshit, are you."

"No more so than you."

A rude snort escaped him, and he shuffled with his bonds one more time. "Fine, that's fair." With that, he slid his hands right out of the ropes, letting them fall to the floor, then looked back up at her again.

After how calm she'd been each time he expected her to punch him in the face, it came as no surprise that she didn't really react aside from a slight nod. Acknowledgement? Approval? No telling. "Thank you for waiting for the children to be out of the room."

"Yeah, well." He rubbed at one wrist with a quiet grunt. "You already knew I didn't have any weapons. And you didn't slit my throat and dump me off the cliffs. So... Iunno. I wouldn't call what we've got trust, s'much. But I'm willing to at least believe you aren't gonna kill me now."

"Duzzat mean I kin come out now? Only I'm gettin' real sick o' sittin' 'ere all pruny an' I'd really like some clean pants."

Ah. Right. Terry'd been showering.

Shedwyn rolled her eyes. "I told you it was a mistake not to connect the bathroom to the master bedroom!"

"An' I told you there's nothin' wrong with 'avin' more'n one bathroom! Can I come out now or not? Are we done bein' murder-'appy idjits yet?"

"We're done being murder-happy idiots."

"Good. I'm fuckin' cold." With that, Lord Ambroce emerged from the bathroom, mercifully with a towel around his waist, and strode across the room to disappear through another doorway. As he passed the pair, Tulford once again blinking helplessly, he leaned over and pecked Dwyn's temple. "You owe me five gold."

Then he was gone, and Tulford was still blinking.