I'm still here! Just been busy lately. I hope you're all doing well and staying safe out there.

This idea came from playing through Moonbrooke again. I got to thinking, with how pretty much everyone on Moonbrooke starts to give Malroth the suspicious side-eye, how would he feel about being treated like some wild beast? I can't imagine it would make him feel great, especially not after the events of Moonahan. And I can't imagine the others would be subtle about hiding their suspicion, disgust, and fear.

Prepare yourselves for a sliver of angst, but not too much, because these oneshots are all about builderoth, after all :D

A huge thank you to all my recent faves/followers! And thank you for the reviews, it's a huge honor to know you guys like this series of oneshots. When I initially started writing these, I actually almost scrapped the idea and figured maybe someone else would write a good builderoth thing, that maybe I couldn't quite do Malroth and the builder the justice they deserved, so to see that you guys are really enjoying my works makes me ridiculously happy T_T

Amidst a sea of unfriendly faces, sometimes all it takes is the kind words of one good friend to make everything better.

Not Alone

The negative temperatures of Moonbrooke were not natural.

Even Malroth, whose body temperature ran a little higher than that of a normal man's, shivered when it snowed. Yet more often than not, the frigidness that gave him goosebumps wasn't just from the snow and biting winds. The people of Moonbrooke were cold; ice radiated from them, both consciously and in their body language. They were a cold, no-nonsense people, unafraid to exclude those they deemed unworthy or suspicious.

Malroth was, unfortunately, one of those people deemed "unworthy or suspicious."

Since arriving on the frozen island, things hadn't exactly been going horribly. The builder seemed right as rain, albeit slightly disturbed by the fact that so many people had already died. She wasn't used to death; she was used to saving people and keeping them safe, so when that messenger from Moonahan dropped to the ground dead from a well-aimed explosion thanks to one of Hargon's Heroes, Malroth watched her usual dopey smile fall from her face, a solemn frown replacing it. It had taken a day or so, but eventually, that dumb grin was back on her face as she rushed around, working to complete tasks and requests. Malroth often wondered about her. Did she truly get over the fact that someone had died? Or had she swept it under the rug, instead choosing to deal with it at a later date? Was she bottling her emotions for the sake of maintaining functionality?

He wondered about her because to a certain degree, the builder was too naive for her own good. Malroth understood the realities of war far better than she did, at least, that's what he'd thought until he'd gotten those soldiers killed at Moonahan. Human death was so much different than that of monsters dying. At least when a monster took its last breath, it squawked, screeched, or howled, and then poof! The lifeless body was gone in an purple puff of smoke, no mess left behind. No one cried over monsters... Save for Pastor Al, of course, and even Goldirox. The monsters who fought to protect righteousness were the ones that people mourned over, and rightfully so. Even when Pastor Al had taken his final breath, everyone had been upset, but they'd never freaked out like Warwick had. That's when Malroth got his first taste of what it meant to lose a human ally.

Human deaths were a much more solemn affair. A burial was in order, then a funeral, and finally, mourning. Acceptance. Moving on. The notion of funerals was foreign to him, and while he respected these traditions when they were carried out (the builder hadn't exactly been happy while crafting coffins and headstones), they were strange. The entire concept of death was something he could never quite wrap his head around, although it was easier to process than that whole "love" business he'd encountered on Khrumbul-Dun. Warwick's meltdown at the church had been proof enough that death was not an easy thing to shrug off and move on from; it was a serious, heartbreaking event. It was permanent (duh), and if Warwick was correct, then death was the end of everything, consciousness and memories included. Malroth didn't know what the afterlife held, but he liked to think there was something after death. One look at the beautiful world around them, the shining faces of his friends, the gentle nature of flowers and animals, the sun's ascent and descent, casting glorious colors across the sky as it did so... All of that beauty had to come from somewhere, and while he didn't exactly consider himself religious, he liked to believe something was responsible for all the wonderful things that surrounded them.

As each day passed, however... Malroth found himself more and more unsure of what to believe, if anything.

There was something wrong with this island, there had to be, because ever since his and the builder's arrival, there were entire chunks missing from his memory where there should be perfect clarity. Malroth couldn't even remember running off towards Moonahan: one moment he'd been standing with the builder, Warwick, and Anessa, a mortally wounded soldier from the ruined town pleading for help, shock and fury swirling in his gut, and in the blink of an eye, he was standing close to some church, three soldiers lying dead on the ground, Anessa yelling at him while the builder remained quiet and bitter tears ran down Warwick's face. His memory was blank. He couldn't remember lifting a sword or making his way anywhere. He didn't even remember asking where Moonahan was.

On Furrowfield, everything had been fine, and yeah, sometimes the heat of Khrumbul-Dun got to his brain, but Malroth managed to remember everything that was going on without issue, no alarming gaps within his memory. Even on the Isle of Awakening, where he'd occasionally suffered from wicked headaches and a strange sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he had all his ducks in a row.

What was it about this place that had him all messed up? Even worse was the fact that nearly every soldier within Moonbrooke now eyed him with a mix of fear and disgust. No one wanted to train with him, and no one could bring themselves to meet his eyes. The only one who spoke to him like a normal person was the builder, and even then, it was like a rift was forming between them. He didn't know why or how, but it was happening, and he wasn't sure what to make of it, but he knew he didn't like it. He'd always been close with her—they were best friends, for goddess' sake—and so to feel her drifting away hurt. Even more so when there wasn't a friendly face around to laugh or spar with. He felt.. alone.

He knew he'd screwed up when he'd gotten all those soldiers killed at Moonahan, and he knew he'd said some messed up stuff afterwards that didn't make sense—why would he ever call a church 'profane'? He had nothing against religion, and why would he ever call fallen soldiers weak? Normally confident and not sweating the small stuff, Malroth was beginning to question himself. Did he have a few screws loose? Was he losing his mind, slowly but surely? He hoped the builder had meant it when she'd promised him that she'd set him back on track if he ever went off the rails, because if he ever did lose it, someone would need to give him a proper shaking, and he'd prefer her to do it over anyone else.

Malroth tried not to think too much on the "what if"s, instead trying to focus on the tasks at hand. They had baddies to bash. Simple enough; bashing was his area of expertise. Every day was a fresh, blank slate to prove he could protect the people and help the builder get her plans underway without interruption. That was how Malroth was keeping himself together. He reasoned that yes, he'd made a very big mistake, and continued to feel pangs of guilt here and there (especially when soldiers or villagers would take one look at him and run the other way, sometimes literally, or they'd purposely avoid him, getting up to leave if he entered the same room as them), but he continued to fight to save the others. He pushed himself to keep patrolling and keep protecting the ones who, perhaps, couldn't protect themselves, especially the builder.

The rift between them was something he was still trying to figure out. They hadn't fought or argued, and during the fleeting moments he did get a chance to see her, she always had a smile for him, never once side-eyeing him like Anessa or Gerome. As far as he was concerned, they were fine; it's just that as the war got more and more difficult and the enemies got stronger, he didn't get to see much of her. On the few occasions he did see her, it was either seeing her dozing over her workbench or tiredly shoving food into her mouth. That left little time for conversation or even a simple, "hey, how are you holding up?"

Left to his own devices more often than not, Malroth had a lot of time to think. He couldn't remember much of his past, if he even had one to remember. He couldn't remember if he'd ever experienced love, if he'd ever cried or gotten so angry that he couldn't think straight. He didn't know if he had parents or siblings, or if he was an orphan. The only experiences he could talk about were the ones he'd had after waking up on the sandy beaches of the Isle of Awakening, the builder meeting him and then both of them working to meet Lulu's demands. He knew that despite having friends, lots of people were afraid of his strength, and rightfully so. Even he, proud and cocky as he could be, recognized his immense power and understood why some trembled at the sight of him enraged. He was a force to be reckoned with, and goddess help anyone who pissed him off or messed with his friends.

He couldn't remember having had much experiences prior to the Isle of Awakening, but he'd learned a lot during his time spent adventuring with the builder. Yet with all the experiences he had had, both good and bad... Malroth had never experienced people looking at him like he was a freak. Not like the Moonbrookians were treating him.

Normally, he couldn't care less about what other people thought of him, but after fighting so hard to protect all the people within the ruined walls of Moonbrooke Castle, to see so many soldiers avoid him and give him the cold shoulder... He began missing the Isle of Awakening. The Furrowfielders and Khrumbul-Dunnians never once treated him like this no matter if they found his strength frightening or not. They accepted him. They treated him like family, and in fact, they were the closest thing to a family he could ever remember having.

Malroth would never admit it aloud, but he missed them. He missed sparring with Digby and Dougie, watching Perry, Rosie, and Bonanzo work happily in the fields, and at nights, he missed seeing Babs dance her heart out and give an earful to the miners when they started acting like idiots. He missed his family.

Moonbrooke was a war zone. It was fun and kept him on his toes, but what wasn't fun was being treated like a dangerous animal.

One evening, the builder was up late in her own personal room away from the soldiers' barracks where a multitude of snores could be heard through the door. Zara and a few other members of the king's guard were up patrolling, per usual. Malroth had offered to help them take out any monsters that dared to try and pull a sneak attack, to which he was assured (without anyone meeting his eyes) that they had it under control.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't feel like going to bed; in fact, lately he'd been dreading sleep. Every time he managed to get a few hours of rest, strange dreams and horrible nightmares plagued him. The only time he'd ever gotten a decent sleep was in Skelkatraz, back when he and the builder had been thrown into the Hole. The last thing he needed was to wake up kicking and screaming, and then have to endure whispers about how he was not only a beast on the battlefield, but also losing his mind. That would be the icing on the already bitter, already suspicious cake.

Malroth's feet wound up bringing him to the builder's quarters. He hesitated, straining his ears to listen for any sounds coming from within the small room—was she asleep? If so, he'd let her be; the poor girl hardly got any sleep herself what with the constant monster attacks—and was surprised when footsteps approached the door. When it opened, he was met with the sight of a very tired-looking builder, yet despite her exhaustion, she smiled.

"Oh, hey. What's up?"

"Not much," he replied. He wasn't sure what he was doing at her door or why, of all places, he'd wound up here, but it was nice to be met with a smile instead of hostility or fear. "You workin' on something?"

"Ah..." She scratched the back of her neck. "I mean, I should be, but I needed a break. Do you want to come in?"

"Sure."

The blonde stepped aside and Malroth entered the room, a warmth uncharacteristic of Moonbrooke greeting him. There was a strong fire going in the fireplace she'd built for herself, and the crisp scent of paper and books teased his nose. He wasn't surprised at the array of crumpled-up papers and the mess of materials strewn about; she was a damn good builder, but not exactly the best at keeping her own stuff organized. It reminded him of the various times he'd sat back and watched her work on blueprints and sketches during their adventures on all the other islands, back when he didn't feel like he was constantly walking on eggshells.

While on Furrowfield and Khrumbul-Dun, they'd actually been able to hang out. The builder certainly did have her hands full, yet she could always make time to step away from her work to share a meal with him or go on a walk. Nowadays she was so busy crafting things and drawing up new plans, or fighting alongside him on the battlefield that he hardly got a chance to even say hello. If she wasn't trying to come up with new inventions, she was either quickly stuffing a jacket potato into her mouth or catching up on sleep. He understood that they were in a war zone—her help was greatly needed by the others, and he wasn't a needy, clingy person, so he didn't mind not getting to see her. He let her do her thing and hung back, fighting off baddies when he needed to and making sure the townsfolk worked hard when building up the castle's gates.

That was before he realized a rift was forming between them. He still wasn't a needy, clingy person, but he did enjoy being around her. She, at least, never treated him like a freak. She was the only ally he had, and if he lost her, too, then... Well... It wasn't a thought he liked to consider.

He sat down on her bed, narrowly avoiding sitting on a stack of blueprints requested by the townsfolk.

"Sorry about the mess," came her voice, sheepishness clear in her tone as she gently eased the door closed. "Sometimes when the monsters come, I kind of have to up and leave everything. I don't really have time to keep things neat."

"You don't have to explain anything to me," Malroth assured her. "I don't care if your room is messy or not. You know that."

"Yeah, I know, I just... Sorry." She breathed out a laugh. "I haven't gotten much sleep, so I'm a little all over the place. What brings you here?"

He shrugged. "Not much else for me to do. The others don't want me to help with patrol."

"Why not? I'd think Zara and the others would jump at the chance for you to help them."

Malroth would've thought the same thing. Anytime Britney took the night watch on Furrowfield and the Isle of Awakening, she was incredibly grateful when he started staying up alongside her to keep everyone safe. His brute strength was an advantage; he was actually able to keep his friends safe. On Moonbrooke, however, people took one look at him and ran the other way. They didn't trust him. They acted like he was a ticking time-bomb, ready to go off at the slightest thing. Even the way they would politely decline his help was with shaky voices and nervous, shifting eyes, eyes that could barely stand to meet his. Malroth hated how monstrous they made him feel. He was the kind of man who never left his friends in a pinch and helped the builder restore order to the land.

At least, that's how he used to view himself. The people of Moonbrooke didn't know him as well as, say, Dougie and Digby, or even Perry, for crying out loud, but that didn't matter; they didn't seem to even want to give him a chance. They didn't view him as a great hero who'd help keep them all safe (at least, not anymore); they viewed him as a loose cannon that was going to get them all killed if they didn't keep him on a proper leash.

It never used to bother him. Things had been going great: they'd attained victory after victory, and finally, they'd taken back the entire castle. Anessa expressed her concerns over how brash he could be, but he'd brushed it all off. And then, three soldiers died under his watch in Moonahan, and how had he responded? That they were foolish? Worthless? That they should have fought harder, that if they chose to let themselves get killed, that was on them? How could he ever say such cruel things? That wasn't him... Sure, regular people were weaker than him, but he would never say such a thing about someone who had fought alongside him on the battlefield and met their end. Where had all that come from? He could understand why Anessa screamed at him afterwards, calling him a monster... And because the population of the castle was still technically small despite its slow-growing numbers, rumors about his mistake traveled quickly. A few soldiers who had been begging to become his squire and train under him suddenly gave him the cold shoulder, not looking him in the eye, and retracting their statements if he asked them whether or not they still wanted him to teach them a few tricks to get the upper hand on the enemy. Within the snap of a finger, Malroth had gone from being an idol to becoming an untouchable.

After Moonahan, he wasn't so confident anymore, and it wasn't just because of how the Moonbrookians began treating him (although that didn't help). Something was wrong with him and he wasn't so sure it was something he could fix on his own, but with how busy the builder was... No, maybe it was best not to get her involved. Knowing her, she'd worry and fuss over him, and she had more important things to focus on. He could handle his own problems.

"I don't think they like me much," he replied honestly. "Which is fine, I don't really care, but that's why I'm not on patrol tonight. They don't want me around unless we're in the middle of a battle. I'm only useful to them when they can't handle certain enemies, but other than that, they prefer me to stay in my cage."

The builder frowned at that. After constantly hearing Warwick, Anessa, Gerome, and even the king himself speak to her about Malroth's wild tendencies on the battlefield, it hurt to think Malroth was beginning to internalize the way all these people were treating him. Truth be told, if she heard one more person question his loyalty and sanity, she'd probably pack up her things and let them build their own stuff for a little while. Malroth was her best friend, she knew him better than they ever could, so it wasn't fair that they'd allow him to protect them... Only to later question his loyalty once they'd secured victory again. A victory they probably wouldn't have achieved if not for his help.

"Malroth, you're not a wild animal."

With how they look at me, you'd think that's what I was, he thought bitterly.

"Their opinions don't matter," she continued. "What does matter is that we all live to see another day. Every wave of monsters we face is getting tougher and tougher to take down; if we're all able to survive, that's what counts. The Children of Hargon aren't messing around on this island."

"I know that. I just don't understand why everyone's so afraid of me," he admitted. "I'm no different from any from you."

"But Mal, you kind of are."

Hurt flashed across his eyes. He was about to get up, to make up some excuse as to why he needed to leave, because damn it, he couldn't bear the thought of her looking at him like they did, but before he could do anything, the builder placed a hand on his arm. "You're different from us in the sense that you're so much stronger than all of us combined. You're practically a one-man army all on your own. If you wanted to defect and fight on the enemy's side instead, we'd be done for."

His eyes widened. "But I would never—"

"I know you wouldn't, but put yourself in Anessa's shoes for a second. She, Warwick, Gerome, and the king have only ever known what it's like to be at war, so their brains are programmed to think in terms of war tactics. They see someone as strong as you and immediately think 'if he ever wanted to switch sides, we'd be toast.'"

"But if they recognize that someone who's super strong is on their side, wouldn't that bring them relief? Why would they treat that person like—" He stopped, not wanting to admit the way he'd been feeling, but the builder had a hunch what the end of that sentence entailed.

"Like what?"

Like a feral beast.

The spiky-haired man sighed, running a hand over his face tiredly. "Look, I'm just saying that if someone was on my side and they were ridiculously strong, I'd rest a little easier at night knowing they had my back."

Sympathy colored her expression. She knew exactly how Anessa, Warwick, and Gerome viewed her best friend; they thought he was dangerous, that he could (and would) get them all killed if he wasn't kept on a tight leash, but Malroth wasn't a wild animal. He could be reckless, but he wasn't stupid, and besides, none of them knew him like she did; she trusted him with her life, and rightly so. He'd proved countless times in the past without even needing to prove himself that he had a good heart, that he would always protect those he cared about.

"I think they want to trust you, they just don't know how to trust," she half-joked. "Look at how easily they accuse each other of stuff. It's no wonder no one likes this place."

Malroth tried to smile but found he couldn't.

"I'm honestly surprised they haven't started accusing me of stuff," she pressed on, motioning towards her workbench. "If I wanted to play pranks and whatnot, I totally could."

"They don't suspect you because they're smart enough to know that if they do, you'll pack up and leave, and they'll be destroyed," Malroth replied.

It was a thought the builder had considered as well, that they were merely keeping her around because she was the key to winning the supposed never-ending war. Their reasons were purely selfish. They were lucky she was a good person who enjoyed helping people, otherwise, with how they'd been treating Malroth, she probably wouldn't have stuck around this long.

"They know I screwed up."

"Screwed up?" The builder raised an eyebrow. "But you've never—"

Malroth patted the end of his battle axe. It took her a few minutes to get what he was saying, her mouth forming an 'o' when it hit her.

"Moonahan?"

He nodded.

"Okay, so you made a mistake. Look at the lives you saved on Furrowfield and Khrumbul-Dun, and look at all the times you've saved the people here on Moonbrooke: don't you think that counts more?"

"Are you saying the lives of those soldiers didn't matter?"

"Considering I was the one who had to make them coffins, headstones, and bury them myself, no, I'm not saying they don't matter." Malroth openly winced at her words. "And I'm not saying that to add to your guilt. My point is that you made a mistake. We all make mistakes; what matters is that you learn from it and try to do better in the future. You told me once that when you were in Moonahan, you weren't feeling like yourself. If you had been feeling one-hundred percent, would you have let them die?"

"No, of course not!"

"So it was a mistake, then. What was the lesson in this mistake?"

He tried to think. "That I shouldn't go running off on my own into battle?"

"That, and if you're not feeling one-hundred percent, you should tell me so I can try to help you." She sent him a pointed glance and he looked away in shame. "Seriously, what happened in Moonahan was one mistake. Even I could tell you weren't yourself. I think that takes a lot of the blame off your shoulders, if any, because it wasn't your intention to lead those soldiers into the fray. Plus, if I'm being honest... They made the decision to follow you all on their own. They knew the risks if things went wrong. We're in a warzone, after all. Everyone who joins our ranks knows what they're getting themselves into. Not all of the blame is on you, Malroth. One instance of poor judgment, of running recklessly into a fight is not what defines you. What defines you is not just the good you have done, but the way you act and react now, in the present. Leave the events of Moonahan in the past and focus on how you can do better today."

To say Malroth was surprised was an understatement. He knew she was smart, but moments like these really helped to prove that beyond the simpleton's expression, she really was brilliant. And she was right... Those soldiers had followed him all on their own; he had made a mistake, a big one at that, but that didn't give the people of Moonbrooke an excuse to treat him like a monster.

...Well, okay, maybe it did. And although it was oddly difficult for him to set foot in a church, maybe talking to Esther and asking about repentance and whatnot wouldn't be the worst idea in the world, as non-religious as he was. Maybe doing something like that would help him get over what happened in Moonahan. He needed to focus on the present and the future because that's where he could grow and make a difference. The past was done and over with; what mattered was the here and now, and he vowed to be a better, more reliable fighter.

His best friend had also been correct in pointing out that the amount of times he'd saved them far outweighed the times he'd screwed up. Didn't that count for anything? Plus, the more Malroth considered the blonde's words, the more he began to think about how the others constantly went to the builder to "report" their misgivings about him. What if one day their fears and uncertainty about him began to rub off on her? Did she think he was a monster, too?

Was that... Was that why a rift had been forming between them as of late?

"Hey, Builder?"

She hummed in reply. He watched as she grabbed a few spare tree branches to toss into the fireplace. It was a particularly cold night and the warmth was a welcome change from the chilliness lurking within the castle's walls. If Malroth didn't know any better, he'd say her room was the warmest in the castle, and not just because it had a fireplace crammed into such a small space. The builder herself was like sunshine in human form. Even on gray, stormy days, her smile shone like a beacon. He made a mental note to hang out around her more often while on this frozen wasteland of an island.

"Are you..." Goddess, it was hard to say out loud. He feared what she might say, that there was a chance she would admit that she thought of him the way the rest of them did, and he didn't want to know, but at the same time, he needed to know.

"Am I what?" she asked, using a fire poker to stoke the flames.

"Are you afraid of me, too?"

The fire poker fell to the floor with a dull clatter, and she whirled around to face him, shock replacing her usual cheerfulness.

"What? Why would I be afraid of you?"

He wasn't sure how to reply. He'd thought the evidence was clear enough: what happened in Moonahan, his comments about the church, his gaps in memory, the raging inferno of anger inside of him that kept growing with every battle... Something was wrong with him. Hadn't she noticed? The others definitely did. They gave him a wide berth and they had good reason to. They didn't know him nearly as well as she did, but that was the thing: she'd known him far longer. What if secretly, she was waiting for this particular train to wreck itself? What if she'd been watching him since day one and secretly waited for him to go off the rails on his own, nothing and no one to prompt him?

The builder came to sit next to him. She took his hand into hers and intertwined their fingers together, an action that pulled him from his thoughts. She'd never quite held his hand before, and now that she was, he had to admit that it was rather... nice. If it weren't so cold, he'd suggest that they remove their gloves, but it was cold, and so he remained quiet. Besides... He had more things to worry about at the moment than whether or not he could feel her dainty fingers caressing his own calloused ones. That was something he could worry about later on because he'd never quite wanted to hold hands with anyone before, so why was he making an exception for her? Why did it feel so.. not-bad?

"Malroth, you're my best friend," the builder stated gently. "You've saved my life more times than I can even count. Why on earth would I ever be afraid of the one person who's always had my back?"

"Because they are," he replied, nodding his head towards the door, indicating the castle's other occupants. "And I... I can't say I blame them."

The builder let loose a long, tired sigh, hanging her head in exasperation. If they weren't in the middle of a freaking war, she'd suggest they up and leave. Her conscience was the only thing telling her to stay because she knew she had to save these people, as ridiculous as they were acting. However, if things weren't as bad as they were, she'd suggest she and Malroth grab what little belongings they'd brought and get the heck out of here, let these people deal with their own problems. How many times had Malroth saved their butts? How many times had he surged forward on the battlefield ahead of them all, taking down the most powerful enemies so that they only had to worry about the smaller, weaker ones, putting his life on the line so that they might have a better chance of preserving theirs? And yet here they were, making him feel awful about himself, treating him like an outcast. It made her sick.

When she lifted her head again, the builder was surprised to see a genuine frown on her best friend's face. Malroth was generally a pretty easygoing guy. He wasn't exactly sunshine and rainbows, but he wasn't afraid to smile. He was normally confident, cocky even, and he never once downright frowned like he was now.

...And once the builder truly thought about it, Malroth had never quite come to her for reassurance. This was a first, and not one she liked. She didn't mind being there for him; she did, however, want to smack each of the Moonbrookians who had helped bring him to a point where he began to question himself and how she, his best friend, viewed him.

"I'm not afraid of you," she assured him. "I don't think I could ever be afraid of you."

Malroth released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You're sure?"

"As sure as I'm a builder."

"You're not just saying that either?"

"I'm being one-hundred percent honest, Mal. If I was afraid of you, you'd know it. I'm not afraid of you."

"What about the battlefield?"

"What about it?"

"I've heard what they say about me." His eyes drifted down towards the floor as if one of the worn planks was suddenly of great interest. "They think I'm a beast. A man unhinged. I fight too hard and too eagerly."

"Yeah, and if not for you fighting 'too hard,' we'd all be dead," she snorted, making air quotes around 'too hard.' "I've watched you in battle myself, and I don't see a problem with how you fight. You have the strength and the power to keep us all safe, and it's not like you've ever attacked us. And honestly, I don't know if you've noticed, but the people here like to point fingers and stir up drama. It's absolutely possible that a spy could be among our numbers since we are in the middle of a war and all, but to sit and gossip and watch each other like a hawk as if we're all trying to bring each other down? I don't normally use this word, but the Moonbrookians are a little crazy, aren't they?"

Malroth didn't agree or disagree. She had a point, really, a point that he'd been trying to drive home to Anessa and the others. What good did it do to point fingers when there was no evidence? What they were doing was weakening their own morale, yet no one listened to him. In fact, they began pointing the finger towards him.

A few heartbeats of silence passed. Malroth didn't quite like how raw and exposed he felt in front of his best friend, but it did feel good to express how he'd been feeling to someone. She understood him more than he liked to admit.

"Whatever they say about you doesn't matter. You wanna know what I say about you?"

He looked up again, startled to find that the builder was looking at him with a level of tender adoration he'd never seen before. At least, no one had ever looked at him that way... Not that he could remember, but still.

"I say that you're a hero," she began, squeezing his hands gently. "I say you're brave, you're strong, and you're a great person. I say you should stop putting your value in what those people think and start believing in yourself again, because you've done some pretty amazing things for a lot of people over the past few months. You restored hope to a lot of hearts. You helped me free Furrowfield and Khrumbul-Dun from the Children of Hargon's clutches. I don't like to think about where we'd all be if not for you lending us your strength and battle expertise."

"What about Moonahan?" he choked out, his guilt finally breaching the surface. At his broken tone, the builder's loving smile faded and concern creased her features. "What about those soldiers who died on my watch? I didn't mean for them to get killed, and I heard what you said before, it's just that I..."

No. He wouldn't tell her about the black-outs where he had no memory of what he'd said or done. It was bad enough that he was in such a sorry state in this moment, pouring out his soul when normally the builder was the one getting emotional and he was cheering her up. It should've been the other way around, he should be the one reassuring her. He mentally kicked himself for not being stronger, for admitting weakness when he should be the one helping the builder to stay strong.

"I wasn't myself," he finished lamely. "I didn't mean for anything bad to happen."

The blonde squeezed his hand again. "I said it before and I'll say it again: you made a mistake. You can't sit and stew in one mistake, Malroth, or you'll drive yourself crazy like these people are currently doing to themselves with all this talk of spies and treachery."

She heaved a sigh, her own exhaustion wearing on her as well as the exhaustion of having to deal with the damage done by all these war-obsessed idiots. "I'm not excusing what happened there. Lives were lost, after all, but today is a different day. You have to focus on the present, not the past. That's honestly how I've been keeping my own sanity: I know people have died. I know the monsters have threatened to send bigger, badder forces after us, that we've got entire armies coming after us in the near future. What I need to focus on is what I can do right now, in this moment, and I think that's what you should focus on, too. Don't worry about what the others think of you; focus on what you think of yourself."

"And if I admit I'm starting to let them get under my skin?"

"That's normal, you're only human, after all." She cracked a smile. "I know if they started treating me the way they've been treating you, I'd feel pretty lousy myself, but don't let them get to you. You keep being you. Keep being kind, keep offering to help them even if they don't take the help. I think eventually they'll realize they're being boneheads and they'll realize you're a pretty great guy when they don't have their heads up their own butts."

Malroth chuckled. It was the first time in what felt like forever that he actually laughed. Even the builder joined him, and then they were full-on laughing, as if all the tension and pent-up worry and frustration from the seriousness of Moonbrooke was finally being released. Malroth supposed it was better to laugh than cry, because he was sure the builder had come pretty close to collapsing in a fit of tears, especially when she'd had to bury those poor soldiers.

When they had recomposed themselves, Malroth had to admit that he felt much better. It felt good to have talked to someone, and it felt really good and reassuring to see the builder smile at him again. Not that she'd ever stopped smiling at him, but in this moment, it felt like old times, like they didn't have a war to worry about. It was nice.

It was actually a nice realization to come to. Throughout their time on Moonbrooke, the builder's kindness was a constant. When the others began turning their backs on him, she never once did so, instead continuing to treat him like a man instead of a beast. She never stopped smiling, never stopped being sweet to him.

Out of all the best friends he could have asked for... He was glad to call her his.

"I didn't mean to, uh... You know." He made a circular motion with his wrist, not sure how to say what he wanted to say without feeling like a total wimp. "Sorry. I know you've got a lot on your plate as it is."

The builder smiled, already knowing what he'd meant without him having to break it down for her. "You can talk to me about anything, Mal. Goddess knows you've heard me go off about stuff enough times."

"Yeah, I know. Still."

"I get it." The builder surprised them both by pulling him into a hug, something she didn't do often, but when she did, Malroth secretly loved it. He couldn't remember if anyone had ever hugged him before he wound up on the Isle of Awakening, but if they did, he liked to think no one gave better hugs than the blonde whose arms were currently wrapped tightly around him. He wrapped his own arms around her, for once feeling warm inside and like everything would be okay. Moonbrooke was an island full of war, death, and an overall bad vibe, but at least he and the builder were fine. Even on the grayest days, she really was his ray of sunshine.

"You should go get some rest," she suggested. "We've got another big day of fighting off enemies and building weaponry to hold off said enemies."

"I'm more worried about you," he countered, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. It must have been a trick of the lighting, but for a split second, he was sure her cheeks turned that much pinker. "When's the last time you got some real shut-eye?"

"That's an excellent question, and not one I have a concrete answer for."

Malroth chuckled. "Why don't you get some sleep? I'll stand watch outside and do some patrols whether they want me to or not, make sure the fort stays standing through the night."

The builder went to protest but he held up a hand. "Look, if you're not at your best, we're all done for. They need you just as much as I do, so take care of yourself, alright? I might be brawn, but brawn means nothing without brains behind it. Between both of us, you're definitely brains."

"Good to know that you consider me smart enough to call me the brains of our operation." She laughed. "I'm pretty sure Gerome called me a simpleton the first time he ever laid eyes on me."

The destructive male scowled. "Gerome is an old fart who doesn't know his ass from his elbow."

"Fair point."

"Anyone who thinks you're stupid has never seen your creations. You're a genius, Builder."

"Coming from you, that means a lot." A yawn interrupted her. "Okay, yeah, I should probably go to bed."

Malroth stood up and stretched, about to head for the door and begin his own rounds of patrol when her voice piped up behind him.

"Hey, Malroth?"

He turned to face her once more. "Hm?"

"Do you feel any better?"

"I do." He grinned. "Thank you."

"Good, I'm glad." The builder's grin matched his. "Come back anytime, ya hear?"

"Yeah, yeah, will do. Go to bed, nerd."

"I'm goin', I'm goin'. Good night."

"Good night, Builder."

The next morning, the builder was sitting with Malroth while working on her second jacket potato. Funnily enough, most of the other soldiers decided to join the two of them, some even talking to Malroth and acknowledging his presence for once. As a matter of fact, most of the attention was on him while the builder poured most of her energy into eating and waking up more. They were having a good day so far, and the destructive male was feeling more like himself than he had in the three weeks since they'd arrived here. He wasn't sure if she'd had a word with the others or not (most likely not, considering they'd both walked to the cafeteria together), but either way, it was nice to not feel unwanted for a change.

"How'd you learn to fight like that?" one female soldier asked, watching him with wide, doe-like eyes. "I was trained by the best, and even I couldn't parry like you did with that one monster."

A few others nodded in agreement, their attention fully on Malroth who was eating up the attention and basking in their newfound acceptance. The builder was pleased to see that the soldiers had had a change of heart. Hopefully they would start to see that Malroth wasn't this big, scary monster; he was on their side, and he was trustworthy even if sometimes he got carried away during the heat of battle. He deserved to be recognized and appreciated.

Speak of the handsome devil, her destructive best friend grinned. "It's easy, you just gotta wait for the right moment, timing is everything and—"

Suddenly, a few soldiers came rushing into the cafeteria, effectively interrupting any and all attempts at enjoying a hot breakfast and good conversation.

"Monsters incoming!" one of them cried. "The first line of defenses has been breached!"

The other soldiers in the room scrambled to grab their weapons, a few soldiers who were already equipped sprinting out the door to face the enemy head-on.

Malroth's gaze flickered towards the builder, only to find that she was already looking at him pointedly, the last half of her jacket potato sitting idly in front of her.

"Go get 'em," she said with a wink. Malroth's face grew hot and he stood, grabbing his own weapon and heading for the battlefield. He noticed that as he made his way through the castle walls, a man on a mission, some soldiers fell in line behind him, eager to follow his lead, while others gave him space or purposely moved out of his way, wanting nothing to do with him. This time, however, he didn't let it get to him. He focused on the soldiers who were willing to fight alongside him, rumors be damned, and he focused on the blonde ray of sunshine worth protecting in the bitter blizzard that was Moonbrooke.

The one person who mattered most believed in him. And if she believed in him, then that was all the reason he needed to continue fighting.