Chapter Text
“Everyone ready?”
Chilchuck nodded, then looked up and around. The party was a little larger than he was used to - he was the only pick lock, but there were four different fighters and two magic users. Their eyes were focused forward, the air electric with the anxiety that always came right before stepping foot in the dungeon.
Their leader, a tall-man named Raina, turned and started toward the entrance. “Then let’s go.”
Chilchuck found himself falling to the back of the group. Most adventurers' energy was translated into forward motion. They were moving toward their goals, toward the monsters, toward the end of the day. He, on the other hand, had always found his instincts taking him back. It was safer to stay behind the others, away from eyes and monsters and questions until his skills were needed.
This group was also one of the shorter contracts he’d ever taken on so far - two weeks in one of the larger dwarvish dungeons near Kahka Brud. They’d pass through the first floor to spend most of their time on the second, with the exception of three days on the third, then directly back up.
Most of the groups he signed on with had been after treasure, but this one was after monsters. Chilchuck didn’t know all of the details, and after more than a year of dungeon delving he’d learned it was better not to ask, but given that their targets were primarily basilisks, he assumed they were working for some weapon maker or another. So far no one had been able to process basilisk venom successfully to use on weapons, but that didn’t stop them from trying.
The dip to the third floor was for treasure bugs, and that made sense enough. Given that they’d be heading to the surface immediately after, he wondered if they were going to try to bring them back alive? That might be dangerous, but unless they ran into something else while dealing with them, he supposed a group this size could take care of it easily.
Best of all, at this point he was reasonably familiar with the first two floors and had made a few forays into the third. It was still dangerous, of course. Going into the dungeon would always be dangerous. But at least he knew what sort of dangers to be alert for, what sounds to be listening for. His attention still remained taut like a wire, but at least he didn’t feel like he needed a few more wires to stay safe.
“Everything all right?”
He looked up to see one of the mages - an elf with long, silvery hair - had matched his pace, her steps truncated to keep alongside him.
“Oh! Yeah, fine,” he said, trying to put on a brave, nonchalant face. “I was just falling to the back. Let the fighters in the front, right? Better to stay out of the way.”
“Hmm,” she said, smiling down at him. “If you say so little one, then I’ll leave you to it.”
He bristled at the phrase “little one” but kept his mouth shut as she returned to her normal pace.
It wouldn’t do to start trouble before they even got inside.
Overall, a week in, things were going really well. The group moved slowly and cautiously once they got to the second floor, setting up a central camp in an area where part of what looked like it used to be the guardhouse for an old dwarven fortress stood in the middle of a heavy forest. The team went out in two groups every day, usually bringing back a total of five or six sets of basilisk legs and occasionally a few feathers.
Chilchuck spent his time split between acting as lookout for one of the teams and repeatedly disarming the same set of traps in the guard house. They all seemed to reset themselves every day, though the meaning of a “day” was a tricky concept down here. During their downtime, there were companionable conversations over meals and around the fires, but mostly everyone kept themselves to themselves , which was just fine by Chilchuck.
But there was one exception.
“Alone again tonight, half-foot?”
He leaned his head back to find a face peering down at him, entirely too close.
“Woah!” he yelped, scrambling out from under those staring eyes and a curtain of silvery hair.
“Sorry,” she said, straightening up to keep her green eyes on him. “I wasn’t trying to startle you.”
How did this person move so quietly? Was it an elf thing? Everyone else felt like they stomped around all the time, lumbering and thudding. But just like that first day, he hadn’t heard her approach at all.
No, he must have been absorbed in his work. That was all.
“You didn’t-” he started to say, but honestly? It would be more embarrassing to finish that obviously false denial. “No, I wasn’t paying attention. My bad.”
She smiled. “I see. May I sit?”
“Suit yourself.”
He wasn’t very used to elves. Whether because they were afraid of the dungeons or were just too snooty to join adventuring parties with the other races, there were very few who even deigned to venture into the Kahka Brud area, much less the dungeons below.
Then there were the rumors of course. When he was a kid, his uncle had been fond of warning him that if he didn’t hide from elven eyes, they would mistake his curiosity for the work of dark magic and take him away.
At first he’d believed his uncle. Then he’d gotten older and realized he was being teased.
And then, of course, he’d gone out into the dungeons and found out that maybe his uncle was right after all.
There were stories of half-foots, who so often worked as pick locks and thus were often the first to encounter any hidden and locked-away magic items, simply going missing in the days after returning from those missions.
The elf settled onto the old stone bench next to him - irritatingly, her long legs stretched out in front of her. It made her even more aware of his own, which dangled a couple inches from the floor.
“What are you working on?”
“Just fixing this backpack,” he said, turning back to his project. “Karin was going to throw it away, but I asked her to give it to me.”
“I thought you already had one,” she said. Her voice lilted, like she was just barely containing herself from singing her words.
“I do. Maybe I’ll sell this one. People are always looking for basic supplies up top.”
In truth, he thought maybe his daughters could use it. They were still mostly sticking around the house, but soon they would get more adventurous. Something like this might make them feel like they were more grown up - something he could leave with them during all the times he was out-
“Very industrious,” she said from a little too near, startling him again and causing him to stick the needle through the fabric in an unexpected direction, stabbing his finger. Hissing, he pulled it free and stuck his finger in his mouth before the blood could bead up. It wasn’t much, but old habit led him to avoid anything that might attract unwanted monsters. The bleeding would stop in a moment.
To his left, he heard the elf say something sibilant in that musical voice of hers. His finger began itching briefly.
“There,” she said.
He took another look at the wound - or where the wound had been. It certainly wasn’t there now. His head whipped around to face the elf.
“What… what did you…”
She smiled pleasantly at him. “Better?”
“Why did you use magic on something little like that?” he gaped, unable to fathom the waste. Was she expecting payment? Or did she have some favor she wanted to ask? Sometimes adventurers could find small locked chests or boxes and might ask him to open them away from the group, so they wouldn’t have to share the contents with everyone. Maybe that was it?
But to his confusion, she shook her head. “It was a small spell. They’re good to practice too. So often, I only get to use larger healing magics. It was my pleasure.”
“Oh,” she said, looking back to his work but casting one more quick glance up at her. She was watching him still with a strangely pleased expression. Elves were weird. “Uh… thanks. What brought you out here?”
“I just needed to stretch my legs,” she said. “They don’t need my magic to kill basilisks - two tall-men with sharpened sticks could handle it if they know what they’re doing. So I’ve just been standing around.”
“Yeah?” he said. “What made you sign up for something like this then?”
He registered after the words were out that that probably sounded rude, and he sure as heck didn’t need to turn the party’s healer against himself over something like this. But the words were already out there, impossible as always to recapture. So he felt a little dusting of heat cross his face and lowered his attention to the bag again.
Maybe she’d just leave. He didn’t want to deal with an argument when things were going so well, but adventurers were sometimes a prickly bunch.
To his surprise, however, she made a thoughtful hum. “That’s a good question,” she said. “I suppose it was foolish. My brother certainly thought so. But you know? I was curious.”
“Curious?” He could certainly relate to that.
“Yes. About what the interior of a dungeon is like. And about what sort of people would willingly enter into them.”
“And have you satisfied your curiosity?” he asked, peeking over at her. She was weird, but she seemed nice.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head. “You know? I’m not sure. I have been focused on experiencing everything the dungeon has to offer me. I will probably process it all once we finish up and I’m back in the city.”
“Yeah, that’s normally how it goes,” he said, looking down at the ripped bag again. “For better or worse.”
“Worse?”
His hands stilled again. One drifted to his neck, smooth and whole. “Like the first time you die,” he said. “That gives you a lot to think about.”
“Oh dear,” she said. “Yes. I imagine that must be a strange sensation.”
“It is.” Every time. He’d died three times so far, but that first one followed him like a ghost - the blur of motion inside the treasure chest, a sudden searing pain through his throat, the surprising heat spilling down his chest. They’d resurrected him as soon as they’d killed the mimic, which he was grateful for, and then he had to carry on like it was all normal.
He’d worn that normal face all the way back to the surface, all the way back home. It was only when his wife had shaken him awake with frantic, clawing hands, asking what was wrong, why he was screaming-
“What did it feel like?”
The words came from far closer than he expected, startlingly loud despite her low tones. When he looked up, she was right there, leaning in close and intimate.
He almost fell off the end of the bench in surprise.
“Woah!” he said. She drew back a little, eyebrows knitting in concern. “Um… I mean, nothing. Death is just … death. You don’t feel anything when you’re dead.”
“Is that so?” she said, sitting all the way back up, polite and proper. “Interesting. I think I should like to try that sometime.”
“No you wouldn’t,” he muttered, pointedly not looking at her. He was not going to let this elf know this topic got under his skin.
“Well. Don’t worry. No one will be dying with me on healing duty.”
“That’s good,” he said.
“I’m Andaline.”
This felt pretty late in this very weird conversation for her to be introducing herself. But he supposed, he hadn’t introduced himself either. “Chilchuck,” he said.
“So Chil, what-”
“Chilchuck,” he repeated firmly. He wanted to be polite, but they weren’t friends.
“Chilchuck,” she repeated. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood half-foot names.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “Anyway, was there something I could help you with?”
She smiled again, serene and pleasant. “No. I just wanted to talk, but I’ll leave you to your work. Thank you for sharing your time with me.”
They bid each other good night, and he got back to the bag.
When he first started going into the dungeon, he wanted to be a comrade - a partner with the rest, working toward a common goal. But as months turned to years, he found he preferred not being perceived unless there was something he specifically needed to do or say. It was…
It was safer that way.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about this strange but friendly person. Maybe it was the elf thing throwing him off. All those bedtime spooky stories had made him overreact.
In which case, he supposed he should try to be more welcoming.
But every time he saw her from there on, that awkwardness hit again and he mostly avoided her. They saw one another almost exclusively at meals.
Twice more she called him Chil. Twice more, he reminded her of his full name. Each time, she smiled and apologized, but he got the feeling that if the mission would have lasted longer, she would have found opportunity to do it again. Still, she was otherwise unfailingly polite. As the group split up, she made a point to wish him well before they went their separate ways.
He figured that would be the last time he saw her.