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To someone else, it might have been embarrassing to have the gaping disparity in interest between themselves and their travelling partner laid out for all to see. People’s egos were fragile, and it was a well-known fact that investigating just who had been the source of a shapeshifter’s form was a regular cause of disbandment among adventuring parties, let alone when a party was made up of just two people.
But once he had buried his initial irritation, now, as he stared at what looked like a walking child’s drawing of himself and the two indistinguishable Mithruns before him, Kabru could only feel relief—Mithrun’s lack of interest in him meant he could move and plan freely without alerting his suspicions, and the perfect replica of the elf served as a reminder that Kabru’s own observational skills hadn’t dulled. Which were both, without a doubt, positives.
Besides, it’s not like they were even an actual party.
It was strange. Kabru thought he knew better than most that elves weren’t all weak and frail despite their elegant appearance, and that Mithrun was no exception. He had seen just how much power Mithrun could pack, had experienced firsthand the shocking sting of his punch, and he had watched as he doggedly trudged on through this dungeon without pause. Of course he was surprised when Mithrun suddenly collapsed on him for reasons unknown—How could he not know?—but he was more surprised when he shifted the elf’s weight onto his back and found that it felt like carrying…a person. Sure, he was lighter than most tall-men his size, but he wasn’t light. Not the way Kabru had expected from the way he looked, at least.
Kabru could hear the wheezing pants of Mithrun’s breath, could feel the warm dampness of it on his neck, and he paused to hoist Mithrun a bit higher—until his breath blew past Kabru’s ear in hot puffs and his cheek rested against the back of Kabru’s head. He pressed his fingers into the firm meat of Mithrun’s thighs and hurried onwards.
Learning about Mithrun’s past shifted something inside Kabru’s mind.
It wasn’t that he was seeing Mithrun in a new light—after all, everything he was learning was about the Mithrun from before—but rather it felt like he was seeing the Mithrun that wasn’t. Like using charcoal rubbings to reveal a statue that had long since turned to dust. He was learning about a Mithrun that no longer existed, about the negative space around the Mithrun that lay before him now. He was learning that Mithrun was negative space: an empty outline left behind in this world.
He wondered, silently, if that outline could ever be made whole once more.
"What are you doing?"
Mithrun didn’t respond, didn't even glance his way as he dropped his glass eye on the bedroll before lying back down and closing his eyes.
A moment later he was asleep, breath not quite whistling past his parted, cracked lips.
With a sigh, Kabru pushed to his feet. Crouching at his side, he pulled the blanket up to Mithrun’s chin and tucked it in around his shoulders, then picked up the glass eye where Mithrun had left it by his head. He turned it between two fingers, watching the way the light from the campfire played on the surface, dulled by years of apathy.
Kabru looked back to Mithrun, his face open in sleep. It would be so easy to forget about it—to knock it with one misplaced hand and send it clattering across the floor, lost to the dungeon. It would be so easy to destroy yet another thing tying Mithrun to this existence.
Kabru slipped the eye into his pocket and returned to the fire.
It struck Kabru, finally, as they were rinsing their changed bodies: Mithrun was stronger than he would ever be. For all he thought he had come to better understand Mithrun, Kabru was only now realising just how sturdy the elf was, how hard he worked to train his body even with nothing but revenge driving him. Next to him, Kabru felt like a fraud.
But it would all be for nothing if he died from something as foolish as changeling spores.
"Seriously, I get not caring, but why lie?" Kabru muttered as he scrubbed Mithrun’s scalp with his fingertips.
Mithrun said nothing. Kabru stood and reached one hand round under Mithrun’s chin to tilt his head back so he could scoop water over his head. He ran his fingers through the silvery strands from root to tip, over and over, feeling them soften and watching how they shone as the water rinsed them clean.
When he glanced up, Mithrun was watching him.
He suddenly felt shy, flustered—as if he’d been caught doing something wrong. "What?"
Mithrun stayed silent, his eye unmoving, and Kabru sighed before returning his attention to Mithrun’s hair as he gently squeezed the excess moisture from it.
"Does it feel nice?"
Kabru almost jumped at the sound of Mithrun’s voice. He guided Mithrun’s head back up and leaned round to meet his gaze. "Does what feel nice?"
Mithrun put a hand up to touch the damp hair tucked behind his ear. His tall-man ears were so small, damaged as they were, that the hair seemed like it barely fit. He hooked his pinky in and loosened the hair until both ears were covered once more.
"You seemed to be enjoying yourself just now."
Something in his tone set Kabru’s heart beating askew, but before he could even think of an answer, Mithrun was up and pulling his cloak on.
"Let’s eat and rest. Our bodies will turn back soon."
When Kabru woke some hours later in the middle of the night, it was with a jolt and the feeling of being back in his own body. He patted himself down to make sure everything was back to normal before he glanced up to check on Mithrun.
Perhaps it was the effect of having sat behind his hulking tall-man body a mere few hours earlier, or perhaps it was the shadows playing tricks on him, but the sight of Mithrun's slight form, curled on his side with his narrow back to Kabru, suddenly felt much too small.
In seconds he was across the room and at his side. The blanket caught under his knees as he leaned over the captain, one hand braced against the bedroll, heart hammering in the cage of his ribs—but it calmed when he saw that, yes, this really was Mithrun, air whispering past perpetually dry lips and silver hair falling across his nose, catching against his eyelashes where they shuddered in his sleep.
Kabru straightened up with a slow, steadying exhale. He let his gaze trace the length of Mithrun's bare neck, the ragged edge of his ear, the angles of his face. It was hard to tell in the dim light left by the fire's dying embers, but Kabru could just about make out the shape of his right eyelid, open a sliver, sagging into the empty space of the socket.
Kabru reached into his pocket, fingers searching for the smooth surface of the glass eye. He pulled it out and held it up between two fingers just as he had the previous night, but there was so little to reflect in the darkness now that it almost looked new. He gave it a quick polish on the hem of his tunic and carefully placed it on the bedroll by Mithrun's head. Then he sat back on his heels and continued to watch the gentle rise and fall of Mithrun's shoulders.
Eventually, he looked down and noticed the blanket pooled in his lap. He started to pull it free from under his own knees so he could cover Mithrun again, but then he paused, blanket still trapped. Before he could think better of it, he placed one hand against Mithrun’s back. His palm flattened, fingers spreading wide, as he felt the lithe muscles beneath his cloak; felt the way his ribs expanded with every breath he pulled into his lungs; felt the warmth of his skin seeping through the fabric; felt the steady thrum of his pulse as it pumped his blood round and round his body, over and over and over—keeping him strong and whole and alive.
And Kabru was sure, desires or no, that his journey with Mithrun was far from over.