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For Mithrun, every day is tough, but it’s getting easier with support. He wakes up and, most mornings, Laios carries him to the bath. He cannot will himself to sit up in bed, much less stand, much less keep himself clean. But he still gets washed, still gets fed, still gets cared for.
It’s the same thing with the other ex-dungeon lords. The half-elf lets her hair tangle into knots, unless someone brushes it for her. The thin tall-man passes out in the street because he forgets to sleep, unless his son reminds him. The bearded gnome cooks his food then leaves it on the table untouched, unless his company insists he have a plate.
With Mithrun, it’s all of those problems at once. More, even. He hadn’t been simply snacked on by the time he was removed from the dungeon. He was eaten whole and then the remnants of him were spit back out. He had one desire left and when that last one resolved itself he had nothing. He was at peace with the prospect of dying right then and there. No, that’s not the right wording. He was apathetic to the idea of dying and could not force himself to care enough to keep going. Kabru had to talk him into giving life another chance.
He couldn’t do it on his own, though. Right now, he has Laios and Kabru propelling him forward. Kabru cooking lamb stew, always just a little worried it will end up tasting of crab again. Laios excitedly sharing bites of his dessert, lifting the spoon up to Mithrun’s mouth. It’s different than it was with Cithis. She respected him, after a time, but it wasn’t loving care. It was duty. The way that Kabru and Laios look at him… It rekindles something inside him that he thought he’d lost.
Laios counts aloud how many strokes he needs to brush out Mithrun’s hair. Kabru shakes his canteen to make sure he’s had enough water that day. They take him along for meetings, despite how bluntly he speaks to the diplomats. They make sure he spends time outside. They hand him books to keep his mind active. They’re not afraid to be harsh with him when he’s giving into apathy.
Again; most mornings, Laios carries him to the bath. The important thing is that it is most mornings, not all mornings. He’s made progress. It isn’t that he’s gotten back the desire to bathe; but that he wants to see Kabru’s face when Laios tells him Mithrun did it on his own. If he forces himself to brush his own hair, then Laios will have time to run his fingers through it and muse about how soft it is.
Right now, he’s willing himself into town to purchase something for each of them. He wants them to smile. He wants them to be proud of him. He has a small notebook strapped onto his belt and written inside are things that make his partners happy. When he gets to the produce stand, he opens it up and compares notes on the kind of tomatoes Kabru likes to the stack in front of him.
“Not too firm. Not too soft. When you test them, don’t squeeze so hard you burst it.” Is written out in Kabru’s adoptive-mother’s handwriting. Above it is a sketch of a squat, slightly ridged fruit. “Yellow, red, or purple are best.” He buys two of each color to be sure.
Next, he walks to a bakery. “Brother likes anything with cheese or yogurt. Cheesecake is his favorite. He likes it when it has a fun design, like a monster drawn on top with chocolate.” He holds up the notebook to compare the drawing of a cheesecake with a dragon on the top to one that’s coated in swirls of brown and white. Is that fun enough? He has no way to know. He buys it anyway.
He hears his stomach growl but doesn’t process the feeling of hunger. Instead, it just reminds him that he’ll soon be sitting at a table with Kabru and Laios. They’ll tell him they’re proud of him. They’ll smile and laugh. Maybe, in the morning, the memory of that will be enough to get him on his feet.