Chapter Text
Mithrun wakes to find himself in the dilemma he's found himself in every morning since the day the demon chewed him up and spat him out like a bone not quite clean. That is, he finds himself alive in the most basic sense of the word and with very little motivation to do anything about it.
He can feel the crisp white blanket of his bed and knows not whether it is too cold or too hot. Therefore he has no desire to leave it, downy and heavy, or to remove it entirely. Likewise he has no opinion on if the bed is comfortable. It is a bed. He is in it. That is about as far as his thoughts go on the matter.
He is in a sleeping shirt that is light and silk– silver embroidery adorning the sleeves. It is objectively elegant. He used to like it– used to want for the finer things on missions before he had become what he is. Now it means nothing to him. He wears it because it is little effort to slip on either on his own (when he can be talked into it) or for the other canaries to force him into (far more common).
This is the usual routine when not in a dungeon. Though Mithrun can’t differentiate what really makes this any different aside from the lack of imminent danger. The ground and a bed are the same to him. Sleeping in his armor and sleeping in his clothes hold equal appeal. Waking up to the smell of food or to nothing at all couldn’t be less important. That is the way it is. That is the way it has been for years.
In all regards this morning is the same monotony as any other.
Except it isn’t. He knows it isn’t.
The demon is dead. Has been for… a length of time now. Enough time for there to be a coronation ceremony for the new king and for himself and the others to be moved into quarters that Pattadol assures him are worthy of their new position.
He is functionally no longer the Captain of his team of Canaries and instead has been relegated to the role of the world's least enthusiastic ambassador. He’s not sure why he’s been included in this offer. Pattadol would surely be enough. Perhaps it is because he has no desire that would cause him to lie to the Queen. But likewise he has no desire to lie to the new King and the others. He remembers from his lessons as a child that good ambassadors do quite a bit of lying.
He knows he would be better suited for joining the rest of the Canaries in Pattadol’s honor guard. Yet he can’t find the desire to argue so here he is: laying in his ambassador worthy room in his ambassador worthy bed as unable to find the will to escape it as ever.
He does not want to stay in bed. In equal amount, he does not want to get out of bed. The natural outcome is that he does not expend the energy. He stays where he is. This is how it should be– how it always was. Without desire to drive him he cannot make himself waste the energy to make meaningless gestures. No matter how he tries he can’t seem to find the purpose in pulling himself from his bed.
But there is one, he knows, if he can find it. This is the most telling difference.
It’s become something of a game for him now. One that he’s been losing but one that he’s trying to win nonetheless. He is trying to identify his wants.
He has not wanted in many, many years. But now he does. With the plethora of things he doesn’t want it should be easier to identify a true desire. And yet they remain few and far between– elusive despite his best efforts.
It had been Kabru’s suggestion to try to give them a name. Something about how giving them form might let Mithrun feel them– might let him navigate them and use them in the world around him. For all the others had scoffed and mocked, Mithrun had listened. He had dismissed Kabru at the beginning of their journey– too focused on the demon and the dungeon– too self absorbed and superior to notice the quiet brilliance of the man who was at most a quarter Mithrun’s living age. It was a failure on his part. He does not intend to repeat the mistake. Kabru, despite his youth, carries great wisdom.
So he does as Kabru had said. He searches himself for desires.
First and foremost the desire that had been left by the demon is there. He feels it now, weighing down his limbs almost more than wanting nothing at all could. The desire to be entirely devoured. The desire to not be discarded. The desire to be desired . And the anger that it fuels that he was not granted the dignity of being wanted for all he was– the dishonor of being spat out.
Next is the desire that Kabru and the Canaries had instilled in him. The one they had poked and prodded till he’d been forced to take Kabru’s hand and acknowledge it. His most unsettling and tiring desire.
He wants to try .
He is boneweary and heavy and it would be much easier to stop forcing himself and fade away. But instead he clings to the desire to be better and tries to wield it to find a reason to get out of his bed. He hasn’t been able to do it yet. But maybe today he can.
He can smell food cooking. It doesn’t particularly move him. But he knows that it's Kabru. Of the many habits he had developed in his quest to keep Mithrun alive, food is one of the ones he has kept. He still cooks Mithruns meals (specifically breakfast) and forces him to eat. Which is odd because he very quickly had been made one of the king’s advisors. He must be busy. Why he continues to care for Mithrun and check on him each morning is a mystery. Mithrun knows he has been nothing but trouble for the man (and for most other people). He can’t make it make sense. Regardless of whether he should or shouldn't be, Kabru is down the stairs of Mithrun’s makeshift ambassador’s lodging cooking for him.
The scent of bacon wafts through the air warm and thick. He never had a particular taste for it. The food means nothing to him but…
He told Kabru he would try. He wants to try. For Kabru and the Canaries, who believe he can be better, and for himself, who he finds wants to believe. A novelty, this new desire. He thinks it would be… nice to please them. To take the first step for them and himself. It is with that thought that he finds, for the first time in many years, that something besides revenge is enough.
He pushes aside the downy blankets and rises.
His feet touch the cold stone of the floor and he knows that the man he was before would have wanted to cover his feet. He would have desired the comfort of warmth. He doesn’t have that now. He knows that he should get dressed– should trade the long sleeping shirt for clothes that will make his daily life easier. But again he fails to find a need to do so. He stands in the middle of the room trying to will himself to want it but ultimately decides that hes done enough. He got out of bed on his own. Surely he can’t be expected to do any more than that?
There is a knock on his door. He glances to it as Pattadol lets herself in followed by Cithis. The taller woman is in the middle of her usual morning greeting of, “Captain. It’s time to get out of bed. The tallman–”
She stops dead mid sentence and practically runs into Pattadol who is frozen staring at him. He expects Cithis to take advantage of the moment. The woman is sharp, quick to cruelty, and has a distinct loathing for Pattadol despite the other woman’s request for her to retain her freedom as one of their honor guard. He expects an errant kick or shove to throw Pattadol to the ground and an insincere excuse to fall from her lips. But it doesn’t happen. Cithis’s eyes are fixed on him standing in the middle of the room, her mouth slightly agape.
For her part Pattadol’s eyes are blown so wide they must get dry. That is the only explanation for why they begin to water. Mithrun meets her stare blankly and looks down at himself still dressed in his night clothes. Perhaps they are disappointed?
“I can’t change,” he says to them. He thinks that it might have come off as petulant.
“You’re out of bed,” Pattadol says, her eyes still wide.
“Yes,” he agrees. Because it is true and Pattadol apparently needs the reassurance.
“You’re out of bed on your own!” she screeches. Nothing he’s encountered thus far has brought him so close to the desire to cover his ears.
But then he lets out a quiet huff of air as he finds himself in the not unpleasant position of being wrapped in a tearful Pattadols arms. Cithis is close behind. Her wary eyes scour his form and he can feel her casting about with her magic to see if anything has a hold of him. She should know better. Her illusion casting is the best he’s seen and not even she could truly bind him. When she has finished poking and prodding him with her senses she meets his gaze.
“On your own?” she asks.
He nods in confirmation.
A small, sincere smile tilts her lips. It is a rare sight. One Mithrun thinks he has seen the most of and yet never appreciated. He wonders if one day he will find a desire to see them more. He dares to hope so when she reaches out and runs a hand through the front of his hair to pull it back from his face. After a long look she reaches down and roughly pulls Pattadol away with a scathing “You’re in the way. We need to feed him.”
Pattadol yelps and glares at Cithis. She reaches out and wraps her hand around Mithruns in a move he isn’t expecting. The two begin to squabble as they practically drag him down the stairs and towards the kitchen where the rest of his team waits.
When Pattadol announces(yells) over Cithis’s latest nasty remark that Mithrun had gotten himself up that morning he thinks the only comparable joy he’s seen in his companions is when he had risen and taken Kabru’s hand after the death of the demon. They all scramble to their feet crowding around Mithrun. They’re all smiles and cheer and Otta unexpectedly slaps him on the back so hard he stumbles. Luckily Lycion is close enough to steady him and favors him with his own gentle smile. They are all crowding around him and talking at once. Mithrun can’t find enough desire in himself to pick apart the voices. Nor can he find the motivation to free himself from the throng.
When he sees Kabru’s hand break through the wall of canaries Mithrun takes it without a second thought. He is pulled through the barrier of Lycion and Fleki and to the otherside of the circle. He doesn’t stumble. He looks up.
Kabru grins down at him and Mithrun can see a fleck of some ingredient or another that mars the side of his cheek. He has the inexplicable urge to brush it away and then furrows his brow. He can desire to force his confusing companion to be clean but he can’t dress himself? No wonder the Canaries are cheering for him over a little thing like getting out of bed. He’s a lost cause.
Kabru releases his hand.
“All on your own?” he asks and echo of Cithis.
Mithrun nods in confirmation a second time. Maybe not all on his own. After all, it was Kabru’s advice that gave him the push he needed to break through the listlessness and misery. Kabru doesn’t stop smiling but it dims from blindingly delighted to ridiculously warm.
“I knew you could do it,” he says. Which is ridiculous. Objectively he couldn’t have known. It would be perfectly reasonable to think that Mithrun would remain useless in this regard forever.
“I knew you could do it too!” Pattadol cries from behind him. A wave of ascent goes up from the others and even though Mithrun can’t dress himself he has the wherewithal to know that this is getting, frankly, embarrassing for all of them. He forces himself to walk away from Kabru and make his way to the table.
“Feed me,” he states as he takes his seat. He hears Kabru nearly trip over himself and swear. He waits. Kabru appears on the other side of the table hopeful and awed.
“You want to eat?”
Kabru’s voice is filled with so much hope that Mithrun almost feels bad when he says, “No.” The dimming of the mood in the room is palpable even to him. He pushes forward. “I am eating anyways.”
“Because?” Kabru prompts. It’s less enthusiastic than before but Mithrun sees it as the challenge it is. It was Kabru’s suggestion after all.
“Because I am trying,” he replies. “One day, I want to want to eat again.”
The answer puts Kabru back to full blinding and the Canaries erupt behind him once more. Tired of waiting Mithrun waves his hand and the serving trays from across the room appear on the table in front of him. The teleportation magic earns him an unimpressed scowl from Kabru. But when Mithrun gives no reaction and simply heaps a spoonful of scrambled eggs onto his plate it turns into a snorting laugh. Mithrun can’t help the return smile he feels slip onto his face as his companions flock to the table. Its small but it feels enormous. Like taking the first step out of bed had. Like taking Kabru’s hand the first time.
As he takes the first bite surrounded by the noise and cheer of his companions, he thinks he will probably never desire to get out of bed again. But when he meets Kabru’s gaze across the table, he thinks that tomorrow it will probably be easier.