Chapter Summary: Working with another party of adventurers gives Fjord the sense of an opportunity missed.

Author's Note: This story. Guys, this story. It was supposed to be simple, just Caleb & Nott with another party. Then I got to thinking about what a mess the Mighty Nein are. Well intentioned and essentially loving, but messy, self-destructive, and unlawful. And I got to thinking, what would the Mighty Nein look like if they were not dysfunctional? So I gave them a leader who accepts leadership and an emotionally available group with a just cause. This was the result, and I still can't decide if the ending is happy or sad.

Chapter Four:
In Another Party (ft. Fjord)

Three hours. For three hours they'd been fighting, and the party was close to being overwhelmed. Fjord's muscles burned every time he raised his falchion, and each eldritch blast grew weaker and more insubstantial, until finally it was a mere fizzle. His breathing grew heavier as heart and lungs labored to oxygenate thickening blood. Sweat poured from him, sticking in every joint and fold of his armor, and through the fog of exhaustion over his mind, he wondered, 'Is this the end?'

A dire wolf stalked out of the darkness, foam on its jaws. It circled Fjord, vocalization roiling in its chest in a way that made Fjord's guts watery. It wore a bib of blood, and its weirdly intelligent eye moved like a gimble over the veins of Fjord's neck, as though waiting for an opportunity to snap those delicate lines with the teeth sitting like shattered glass in its mouth.

Fjord fell back, his knees trembling. 'You were a fool to come down here,' his mind berated. 'You knew you didn't have the numbers or the firepower, but then Beau got into a snit, and Molly started talking about how they did things in the damned circus, and Jester started whining about how nasty the inn was. You took the easy route because you didn't want to argue with them, and look where it's gotten you.'

Regret choked him like a dark current he hadn't had the wit to see. Yet as he dwelt on these thoughts, a sizzle of magical energy burned through him. Out of nowhere, his muscles surged with returning strength, leaving him as fresh and untired as though he'd just woken up from a long rest. What was this? As his heart raced with jubilation, an accented voice answered in a whisper he heard inside his head and not with his ears:

"I've hasted you. Take advantage of it while it lasts."

The voice could have been from friend or foe, fiend or patron, but there was no time to question it. The dire wolf surged forward, but Fjord had become a conduit of power. Every nerve jumped with vitality, and when he carved through the beast with his falchion, the hide and muscle parted as easily as fabric rending, leaving his enemy in two gory pieces at his feet.

He looked up, blinking through the spray of blood misted over his face, and saw it wasn't just his own battle which had turned. Where before there had been dimness, the cavern was now lit with four baubles of dancing light. Illuminated by that light, the pack of dire wolves and the sorcerer controlling them had momentarily quailed. Now they were rallying. However, it wasn't only Fjord's exhausted friends ready to repel them. They'd been joined by seven new fighters, spread over the battlefield.

He saw the cleric first, because how could you miss this cleric? As far as Fjord could tell, she was a half-orc like himself – but enormous, easily seven feet tall and built like a battering ram. In her plated armor, she barreled through her opponents, even as her voice pumped the air with healing magic that Fjord could feel pulling at his tired bones and closing the gristly gaps in his flesh. She was flanked by the strangest fighter Fjord had ever seen, and for a moment he was convinced it was a halfling riding a pony, though how a pony had been convinced to trespass these dripping caverns, he did not know. Then the woman reared, lunging forward with her lance, and Fjord saw the truth. She was a centaur. Her braid lashed around her shoulders as flashing hooves came down. She laughed afterward, calling to the half-orc, who answered with a grunt.

There was music underpinning the conflict and, all of a sudden, two of the wolves squealed and ran. Yasha cut one down, while the other fell with an arrow through its eye. Another arrow flew, and another, but Fjord couldn't tell where they were coming from. Finally, in the center of the melee, two warriors encroaching on the sorcerer, and it was these two warriors who drew Fjord's eye.

They moved together, one with swift and decisive movements, the other in the shadow cast by his passing. The first carried a pair of swords shaped like sickles. His tail lashed behind him, and his ribbed horns rose over his ears. There was a radiance to him, as though he had a spell simmering over his skin. The other fighter – if he could be called that, for he was wearing no armor – was diminutive by comparison. The only thing that stood out about him at all was his flame-colored hair and the fact that he was human.

The sorcerer was angry, but not defeated. He moved his hands in complex patterns, voice echoing like thunder, and Fjord braced himself. Yet even as the air began to fold, the glyphs form, the human stepped out of the paladin's shadow and raised his hands, shouting in a language Fjord didn't know.

The sorcerer's magic fizzled. Enraged, he threw a firebolt, which skittered harmlessly off the paladin's shield. Eager to contribute, Fjord fired two eldritch blasts. One glanced off purple mage's armor, but the other flared and caught in the sorcerer's hair. He screamed, dispelling the magical fire, and in that moment of distraction, the paladin was able to bring his vibrating sickles to bear.

Engaged as he was, Fjord feared the paladin would be vulnerable to attack by one of the dire wolves. But no. The mage remained at his back, and when a snarling animal lunged forward, a magical shield snapped to life. The animal was thrown back by its own momentum and spun along the ground.

Fjord had a close call of his own. He was so engrossed in making his way closer to the sorcerer, he didn't notice the dire wolf until the hoarse rattle of its breath was in his ear. Too late, he raised his arm to defend himself, but before he could suffer a messy evisceration, a short sword stabbed in and out of the wolf's neck, felling it instantly. The crouching figure who'd killed it looked up at Fjord with luminous yellow eyes that seemed too big for her face. Her green ears twitched, and she snarled, "Watch what you're doing, or you're going to get killed." Then, before Fjord could come up with a retort, the rogue was gone.

"Well," said Fjord, stepping over the corpse of the dire wolf.

Fjord reached the paladin and his foe, who were locked in a mortal embrace. For long moments, it wasn't clear who would prevail. Then, with his shield, the paladin bashed the sorcerer prone. This should have been the moment of victory, but instead the paladin collapsed under the weight of an unseen injury. His comrade seized him before he could go down, but their size difference was too great. Both staggered. In that fraught moment, Fjord found himself pinned by the mage's eyes. He jerked his wrist to his mouth, and through the clamor of battle, Fjord once again heard a whisper:

"Are you waiting for an engraved invitation?"

It kicked Fjord into action. His weapon sang with arcane power as he called on the mist. It teleported him directly over their wounded adversary, and then it was only a matter of bringing his weapon to bear. It carved down, an arc of ending, and it was done. A wet rattle was the last sound the sorcerer ever made.

Fjord rested the tip of his sword on the ground as a tremendous wave of lethargy came over him. "It's because of the haste spell," said a voice beside him, and he twitched, half raising his falchion. The mage raised his hands. "Steady. We are allies."

"Who are you?" Fjord asked, aware of how croaky he sounded. It was like a thousand elephants had sat down on his shoulders.

The human gestured. "Come. You will recover quickly, but better to let a healer look at your wounds. Velda, have you any healing left?"

The half-orc woman he'd seen earlier was standing over the paladin, holding him immobile with a huge glowing hand. Gruffly, she said, "Wait a minute. Laurent's turn."

"I'm hardly injured," said the paladin, presumably Laurent. "Anyway, much better than that poor fellow Caleb hasted."

"I didn't know what else to do," the man named Caleb said. "He was barely standing, and we were spread too thin."

"And I'm grateful," Fjord said. He flashed back to the jaws of that beast, its bib of blood. "It was mighty close, and not just for me."

"We're fine, thanks for asking," said Molly, limping out from between two hulking bodies. He was leaning heavily on Jester.

"Oh Fjord! You look terrible." Jester's mouth made an 'o' of distress when she saw Fjord's state. Her hand stretched out. "Here. Let me heal you."

"Better let Velda do it," said Laurent. "You look tapped out, my lady."

Jester's face flushed with color. She swished her dress, which was only slightly ragged at the edges. Nothing a quick mending wouldn't fix. "Well, I am pretty tired. I used most of my spells to help Molly."

Fjord became concerned. "Was it bad?"

Rubbing his side, Molly grimaced. "Might have gone down for a bit, but Jester had things under control."

"What about Beau? And Yasha."

"There're around. Yasha, darling! Where are you?"

Yasha and Beau were, in fact, not far from them at all. Beau was standing in front of an elf holding a lute, who was attempting to kiss her hand. Only Yasha's quick reflexes stopped her from punching him. They drifted closer at the sound of Molly's voice. The pony centaur reached them first, and she went directly to Caleb, playfully flicking him with her tail. "I see you survived, you squishy thing."

The bard grabbed him around the neck. "Plus that excellent use of counterspell. Steller work." Caleb tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but the bard held on stubbornly, shoving Caleb under his armpit and ruffling his hair. "Good wizard."

In a voice slightly muffled by his position, Caleb mumbled, "We all do our part. Some more visibly than others."

"Speaking of which, where are the shadows?"

"Right in front of you, as usual," said a feminine voice, and a woman in a green cloak stepped out from behind Yasha, striding into their midst with an air of authority. She had a longbow over her shoulder, and Fjord remembered the arrows whose source had been unknown. She gave the paladin a scathing look. "Did you get an ouchie while you were barreling directly into range of the enemy?"

"Caleb had my back," said Laurent.

"I barely did anything," Caleb said from beneath the bard's arm.

The woman flicked his forehead with a long, elegant finger. "Take a compliment," she said. "I saw that counterspell, too."

"Hear that?" said the bard. "Mommy thinks you're just awesome." However, before he could finish his taunt, he yelped and jumped back, rubbing his backside. "Nott! What have we said about putting holes in the seat of my pants? This is high quality linen, you know!"

A scratchy, high-pitched voice answered. "Then quit teasing my boy! And keep your hands to yourself!"

The source of the voice materialized, wearing a grey cape. She pushed it down, revealing familiar green ears. "That's a goblin," Beau said.

Molly rolled his eyes. "Oh, very good, Beau. As usual, you're just oozing with couth."

"Hey, shut up. It's a little unusual, okay?"

"Perhaps," said Laurent. "But Nott just so happens to be the best rogue this side of Rexxentrum, and we are very fortunate she chooses to put up with us."

There was no mistaking the warmth of his voice or the way the half-orc cleric shifted to move a little closer to Nott, as though to protect her should Fjord or his friends decided to take exception to her. Fjord wanted none of that. They'd been in a real bind, and they were damn lucky these people showed up when they did. Best they started off on the right foot.

He held out his arm to the paladin, who seemed to be their leader. "Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Fjord."

"And I'm Jester!" said Jester, wiggling her fingers in a fluttery movement.

"Beau." Beau had her arms crossed and looked suspicious, which, to be fair, was her default expression.

Molly struggled into a more upright position and gave a bow. "Mollymauk Tealeaf at your service, and this is my friend Yasha."

The paladin clasped Fjord's arm willingly enough. His complexion was an almost cobalt grey with white eyes and a bearded face under sharp cheekbones. Something about him suggested a soldier's bearing, but Fjord didn't know exactly what. At the moment, at least, he bore no insignia. "I'm Laurent Creed," he said. "My companions and I are The Mighty Nein."

Yasha was the one to state the obvious. "There are seven of you."

The centaur giggled musically, and most of the others spared at least a chuckle. Laurent's mouth twitched around a smile. "It's a bit of a joke," he said. "You've met Harper, I think."

"Harper ben Lyon of Greystone," said the bard, whose bow was a clear parody of Molly's. Fjord had a feeling the two would get along famously.

"The others are my second-in-command, Wren Montspire, Velda, our cleric, and Fern is the troublemaking centaur with the lance." His eyes shifted, and again that warmth seeped in. "And this, of course, is Caleb and Nott."

Fjord looked at Caleb. "You saved my butt out there."

"Twice," said the goblin. Caleb gave her arm a tug, but she insisted, "What? We did."

"And it's a very nice butt," Jester said. "So thank you."

"Thanks to all of you," said Fjord. "But I have to ask, how did you come to be down here?"

Wren, the woman Laurent had called his second-in-command, was the one who spoke. "The short answer is that we knew you were here. A merchant in the Pentamarket was worried you'd bitten off more than you could chew and asked us to check."

"Pumat," said Molly. "Well, that was nice of him."

"He likes you, apparently," the centaur said. Then, more cheekily, "Maybe it's the ragged edges."

"Fern, stop," Laurent said. "Why don't we have a look around?"

It would mean sharing the spoils, but fair was fair. Fjord said, "That sorcerer had a nasty edge to him, and I wouldn't put it past him to leave some surprises."

"Agreed," Laurent said. "Caleb?"

The man nodded, sitting down and drawing a few runes on the ground with a piece of chalk. "I'll need a few minutes."

While he worked his magic, the rest of them began a preliminary search. They began with the outskirts, searching for an alcove or a hidden room. Fjord was testing a pillar when he heard Beau's voice. She'd found something on the sorcerer. It turned out to be box, wooden, ornate, and hooked with a latch. She poked it with her toe. "I ain't doing it this time. You know it's going to explode or something."

"I got it," said Nott, scurrying into view. She took some tools from her belt pouch. "It's trapped alright, but I can see the mechanism. Just give me a second." She worked at it with the tiniest pick Fjord had ever seen, and then finally, there was a soft click. "Done," she said, and tossed the box to Laurent.

He looked at Fjord. "Would you like to do the honors?"

Fjord worked the tiny latch. Inside, he found an amulet on a chain. It had a sigil he didn't know and a weight that went beyond the physical. "You got anybody in your party who can identify this?"

Laurent's voice echoed in the cavernous space. "Caleb."

Caleb wasn't where they'd left him. The ritual circle was entirely abandoned. Fjord's gaze swung around until he caught sight of the man's robe sticking out from behind a pillar of stone. He startled when his name was called, and his furtive response made Fjord suspicious. He watched the man carefully as he approached.

"Yes?"

"We were hoping you could identify this."

His eyes were already glowing. "It's defiantly magic," Caleb said. Then he blinked, and the glow was gone. "I'll need ten minutes to identify it."

The answer turned out to be interesting but not very helpful. "It's an arcane focus," Caleb said, glancing at the corpse Beau had shoved out of the way. To Fjord he said, "It might have value to the right person, but I am afraid it won't be of any use to you."

For some reason, the assessment of his source of power put Fjord even more on edge. Aside from the arcane focus, there was a paltry amount of other loot. Some gold, leather collars. A few gems and other rarer components. "Oh, lovely," said Jester about the jewels, holding them up to see them sparkle. Fjord wasn't interested. He had his eyes on Caleb.

"I think it's time we leave," Beau said. "It's starting to stink in here, and I want a drink."

"I doubt we'll be getting back into Zadash tonight," Caleb said. "It's near sundown."

"How do you know?"

The bard rapped his knuckles on Caleb's head. "Man's got a timepiece for a brain. Can tell you down to the minute."

"Only with the sun or stars," Caleb corrected. "I'm approximating based on the time we've been down here."

"Approximating."

"Ja."

"And how long has it been?"

"Approximately...four hours and seventeen minutes."

"Approximately."

Caleb sighed, but a smile peeked out. "Yes."

They headed toward the exit, walking or trotting, picking through bodies. Beau attempted to strike up a conversation with the archer, Wren, which the woman answered in monosyllables. Nott was riding the centaur, both of whom chatted happily with Jester. Yasha and Velda ended up beside one another and were mutually silent but somehow companionable as their shoulders brushed. Fjord, however, was preoccupied, his eyes pinned on Caleb. He followed the man as far as farthest pillars before his temper got the better of him. Then his arm shot out, grabbing Caleb by the collar. His falchion came to his hand, which he kept by his side for now, and yet it winked, steely in the light of the dancing orbs.

"That's far enough, I think," he said.

Instant pandemonium. Sounds of confusion from his own people, anger from theirs. Caleb had gone still.

Laurent stalked forward, and when Fjord began to raise the tip of his weapon, he barked, "Drop it," in a tone of Command so strident the weapon disappeared from Fjord's hand before he could think to defy the order.

"What the hell –" he began, but he barely had time to parse the words before Laurent was putting pressure on the tendons of his forearm, the one that held Caleb in a chokehold.

Anger burned in Laurent's eyes. "That is my comrade you're threatening, Fjord."

"He took something," Fjord hissed through gritted teeth. "And now he's trying to walk out of here, all sneaky, and keep it for himself."

Laurent looked at Caleb. "Is that true?"

The stress of the situation made the whites of Caleb's eyes more pronounced. "I did take something, ja."

"Why didn't you tell the rest of us?"

Caleb's gaze darted like a prey animal under the shadow of a hawk. They leapt from Fjord to Laurent, then to the various people in the cavern. His jaw was tense. "Because I cannot do so safely."

"What does that mean?" Fjord demanded, his fist tightening to the point where Caleb put up both his hands to support himself. In the background, Nott made a sound of outrage, which Fjord ignored.

Laurent, however, remained calm. "Can you now?"

Caleb looked conflicted. "I'm not sure."

Laurent withdrew. "Then we'll wait."

"Wait? What?" Fjord protested. "You're going to take his word, just like that?"

"This is one of my people, Fjord. I trust him with my life in battle. Why wouldn't I trust him now?" And while Fjord was busy processing this, he stared hard at Fjord's fist. "I'm going to start by asking nicely. So far we are allies, and I'm willing to mark this off as an unfortunate misunderstanding, but not if you don't release him immediately."

Fjord hesitated, thinking feverishly. Then Beau snapped, "Fjord, come on," and he withdrew, allowing Caleb to rock back onto his own feet. The man kept one hand near his throat, watching Fjord warily. Laurent put an arm around his shoulder.

"That's enough," he said softly, and for the life of him, Fjord didn't know if he were speaking to Caleb, Fjord, or the group as a whole. "Let's all calm down. Okay?"

A sense of calm did come over everyone, and Fjord heard the cleric Velda mumbling beneath her breath. Everyone inhaled deeply.

The bard asked, "Ready to blow this joint?"

"You know it," said Molly.

Even without having to peer around every corner for traps or enemies, it took them a good two hours to navigate the caves and emerge into the cool evening air. The sun had since fallen, and it was by the illumination of dancing lights they found a place suitable to camp.

"It would be safer to stay together for the night," Laurent suggested diplomatically.

Despite the tension that remained, the others agreed, and they made adjacent but separate encampments complete with two fire pits and a circle of bedrolls and supplies. Everyone was hungry. Everyone was tired, but there was unfinished business that needed resolving first.

"I've waited," Fjord said, arms crossed. "Now I want to know what your wizard is keeping all to himself."

"Caleb wouldn't steal," said Nott, and Fjord knew he'd well and truly lost all possible liking she might have had for him.

"Says the rogue," Beau said sarcastically. Yasha elbowed her. "Ow!"

Nott was looking surprisingly wounded. "I," she said, fidgeting with her sleeves. They were clean leather bracers, neat and tailored to her tiny body. She ducked her head. "I don't do that anymore."

Velda put a huge hand on her head. "We know you. Don't doubt now." Nott sniffed, leaning into her hand, and the half-orc woman hummed, a sound like river stones rubbing together.

Laurent gazed at Fjord grimly. With measured tones that didn't accuse, he asked Caleb, "Is now the time?"

Caleb breathed out. "It seems we have no choice. Do any of those in your party claim no allegiance?" Non one answered, so he clarified. "Are any of you non-religious? No deity, no patron?"

Fjord looked around, saw the confusion staring back at him. He grew impatient. "What are you saying?"

"There are artifacts," Caleb said. "They bring madness to certain minds. Those whose allegiance is to the law, perhaps, or – and I am speculating based on symbols carved into this particular piece and on books I have read – who claim a higher power. I was wary to share this until we could do so safely, away from those who might be harmed. Even a glance could –"

Beau spoke up, "I'm as non-god-fearing as they come," she volunteered. "And I certainly ain't got a higher power. So, what do we do?"

"I would take it away from here," Caleb said. "I can identify it more carefully, and, if it is what I think it is, it would probably be best to destroy it." He glancing at Fjord out of the side of his eye. "Perhaps it would be better if Beau came with me, as a sign of good faith."

"I want to go too!" Nott spoke up.

"No," said the centaur, sidling up beside her and giving her a gentle pinch. "That might make our new friends uneasy. Best let the humans deal with this."

Laurent asked Fjord, "What say you?"

What choice did he have? He didn't like sending Beau off with a strange magic-wielder, but he knew that opinion would get him nowhere fast with Beau, and he wasn't really her leader. It was one things to be the face of the group to crownsguard and innkeepers, but there was too much about himself he preferred to keep hidden, and that prohibited him from drawing close enough to be anything like a 'leader'.

Which is why he shrugged and said, "Beau?"

She stomped up to Caleb. "Yeah, yeah. Let's go. The faster we handle this, the faster we can eat. My stomach is chewing its way out of my body, man."

They went far enough away that they couldn't be seen, even accidentally. There was a long period of waiting, enough for a ritual spell and then some. Fjord was beginning to grow uneasy when they heard a noise like a small explosive going off, fluent cursing, and a very distinct smashing sound. Only by a great exercise of self-control did Fjord hold his position.

Yasha called, "Beau?"

"We're good," said a slightly strained voice. "Just a second. We're going to bury it."

When they came into view, Beau was dirty from the elbows up, and Caleb looked exhausted, his face covered in tiny cuts that oozed nastily. Nott ran to him. "Caleb, are you alright? What happened?"

Beau was the one who answered. "Ugly looking statue-thing, shaped like a dog. It made my hair stand straight up, I swear. Caleb said it was too dangerous to just smash. Apparently, even the pieces could send someone around the bend, so he dispelled magic. It worked, I guess, but it, like, bit back or something."

Nott whined with distress, but Caleb reassured her. "I am fine. No permanent harm done."

"I'll be judge of that," Velda rumbled, but she didn't move to examine him yet. Her eyes, like the rest of them, were still fixed on Beau.

"After that, I sort of pulverized it with my staff. It didn't feel rotten anymore, but we dug a nice deep hole for it, just in case. Fjord, man, I'm going to have nightmares for weeks. That was not something we wanted to mess with."

Velda was lifting Caleb's chin, gently touching his bleeding cheeks. "Mind or body?"

He sighed. "My head feels a little tender, but the ache is already fading. The cuts are superficial."

Wren came over, her eyes like ice. "Are you hiding the truth?"

He paused. "No. I'm just...tired."

"I think we're all tired," said Molly. "So, can we put this whole mucky business behind us and start up a nice fire?"

Caleb's mouth fluttered into a half smile. "We should listen to the purple man in the funny coat. He has a good idea."

Molly's pacifying expression turned wicked, a grin leaping onto his face in an instant. "Watch what you say about my coat. You're the one wearing a bathrobe."

Caleb plucked at the lining. "It's a wizard robe. Harper made it for me."

Jester chuckled. "Really?"

Harper flashed all his teeth at her. "Oh, yes. You should have seen the shabby getup he was walking around in when we first met. I thought that coat would animate itself and crawl right off his body, it had so much blood and crap worked into it. I couldn't very well let people keep thinking he was a hobo. Besides, a proper wizard deserves a proper robe."

"It still took way too long to pry him out of it. And those bandages of yours, too, Nott."

Nott's answer was surprising. It came after a pause drenched in reflection. "Outsides reflect insides. We just weren't ready."

Caleb put his arm around her shoulders. "That is nicely said."

From the edge of the clearing, Fjord watched the heartbeat of both camps playing out side by side. His own was familiar. Molly and Beau spent several minutes arguing over who would get the fire going before letting Yasha do it. Food had been haphazardly assembled, with Jester attempting to convince everyone to just eat stale pastries out of her bag. Bedrolls were laid out or piled in the cart in a haphazard arrangement, while the group itself lounged around, laughing, making small talk, and bickering. It was like a pair of old socks, well-worn and comfortable. Fjord thought they were coming together well, or at least as well as a bunch of dysfunctional, traumatized pathological liars could. They watched each other's back, and if they didn't always trust one other, then at least they had grounded expectations. Fjord might not trust Molly's attitude, Beau's self-control, Yasha's presence, or Jester's sobriety, but he liked them, and he knew them, flaws included. Until today, he'd considered them a tight-knit group.

Now, as he observed the other camp, what he saw cast doubt on his mind and stirred a restlessness in his spirit he hadn't known existed.

A warm fire crackled in a pit. Harper sat with his back against a tree and strummed his lyre. Fern, the centaur, was dancing coltishly to the melody, her blond mane and tail flicking and swaying. At one point, she drew Nott to her feet, and the two of them did a strange, prancing waltz that ended with everyone laughing. Velda had made a savory-smelling stew and ladled it into bowls, which she passed around to sounds of appreciation.

A crack of a branch underfoot alerted Fjord to someone approaching, and there was Caleb. "Ah," he said. "I apologize for intruding."

"No bother," said Fjord. "Call of nature?"

"Yes, returning." He paused. "Listen, I want to apologize for earlier. I did not mean to put you in a difficult situation."

A thrill of shame went through Fjord. Knowing the reason for Caleb's reticence, it didn't seem right for him to apologize. "Ah, no. I mean, I apologize as well. My response might have been a little hasty."

"You don't know me," Caleb said, "and you have no reason to trust me."

"Your team seems to trust you well enough."

"Well," said Caleb, and the quality of his voice changed to something warm and fond. "They are good people. Perhaps too good for me. Still, I'm striving to live up to their expectations."

"How did you all end up together, if you don't mind me asking." Fjord saw the marginal stiffening and backpedaled. "I don't mean to pry."

"No, it is...not rooted in good memories, but I don't mind telling you. When I met Laurent, I was in jail."

"Jail?"

"Yes, I'd been living on the street for nearly five years, and I admit not all of that time is clear to me. I wandered a great deal, and – a few times – came close to taking my own life. If I had been more cognizant, more clear headed, I might have. But I am a coward. I subsisted, and my body, if not any real human part of me, continued to limp onward. Then I made a nuisance of myself in a small village. The authorities decided to make an example of me, and so I was arrested for vagrancy."

It was an old story. Poverty and homelessness were everywhere, in every city or town of any size Fjord had ever been to. Still, it was hard to look at this man, with his combed hair and neat clothes and imagine him in the state of utter destitution he described.

Caleb said, "I met Nott in that prison. She'd stolen some things. Trinkets mostly, but her race was condemnation enough. Most people judge her on sight, by her complexion alone. You know?"

Fjord, who knew something about prejudicial behavior, ground his teeth together in his mouth. "Yes."

"I don't know who they intended to punish, me or her, but they housed us in the same cell. We were afraid of one another. But eventually, our mutual suffering created common ground. She took care of me, though I had the face of those who hurt her. In the end, there was a bond. I think if we had walked out of that prison under our own power, we would still have stayed together. Of course, I cannot know."

"Because Laurent showed up."

"He did. He was invited to tour the barracks. They...they hurt us, Nott and I, in what I assume was an attempt to impress him, but Laurent does not relish cruelty in the name of justice. As I understand it, it's a bit of a blasphemy to him."

Fjord thought of the sense of focus and command surrounding Laurent, the calm confidence with which he had ordered Fjord to drop his weapon. It made him think of a different man he'd admired. Vandren had also encouraged Fjord to listen rather than react. "He seems like a good man."

"A very good man," Caleb agreed. "He bought our release, though we were a very poor bargain, I'm afraid. If things had gone as intended, Nott and I would likely have walked away from him and his friends, rid of our sores and parasites, fed, encouraged, and with enough coin in our pockets to make an attempt at a better life. But circumstances intervened. The town was attacked by a manticore."

Fjords eyebrows flew up. "A manticore?"

It had been disturbed by a party of adventurers, we later found. It's nest was destroyed, and it was in a rage. Fires and screaming; I remember that night vividly. The others engaged, but Nott and I hid. We were not warriors. We were a vagrant and a pickpocket. Then it got Fern – she is the centaur – in its jaws. I saw it happen."

"And you defended her. With magic."

Caleb looked at him. "Once," he admitted, "I was a student of magic. It was not part of who I was then, but she had been kind to me. She had washed my hair, kissed my forehead, and told me a joke that made me laugh, though I could not remember what my own laugh sounded like. I couldn't let her die, not if there was something I could do."

"A fight against a manticore. That's how it started."

"Nott joined in. She is very adept at waiting for an opportunity to strike. And once the dust settled, the group became...attached, I suppose. They made it very difficult to part from them. I was – I was very afraid. I did not trust them, could not care for them. I felt I would poison them, and I tried more than once to leave."

"Surely if you had really wanted to leave, you could have. So why didn't you go?"

"Nott. She was happy with them, but she wasn't like them. She and I, we knew dirt. We had been dirt. It's not something easily forgotten. So I kept putting off going because, as poor a friend as I was, as destructive as I might be, in some way she still needed me."

"And then what?"

"I took too long." He touched his chest, over his heart. "I didn't know how subtly, how persistently the others had been casting mending. One day, I realized I would die for these people. More, that I would live for them. I gave up the destructive ends that kept me living in the past, unable to accept what I had done or what others had done to me." He looked at Fjord. "I am not fixed. I am still what I was. I can't change that and neither can they, as much as they love me. But I'm not ruined. I have a purpose now, and new friends. It has been...an experience."

An experience. That seemed the smallest way to describe something so profound, but there was power in understatement. The word resonated, like sound waves in water. Experience. "Your group," Fjord said. "It's close."

Caleb looked discerningly toward the second fire. "Do you worry yours is not?"

"We aren't, any of us, what I'd call…upfront. That makes it hard. To know each other."

"Perhaps. But before knowing, there can be feeling. Is there feeling, Fjord?"

He considered. The way Molly slapped him on the back. When Jester's sweet smile grew wicked, a merchant's stock stacked to the ceiling or a mound of poop drawn on the Platinum Dragon's snout. The strength and certainty he felt when Yasha put her back against his. Lessons in etiquette with Beau. "Yes," he said. Just that: "Yes."

"Then perhaps all they need is a person to lead the way," Caleb suggested.

"I'm not much of a leader. I'm –"

Fallible. Insecure. Quick to avoid confrontation. Fearful of attachment. Terrified of exposure. Hiding.

"Over cautious," he finished.

"They say that an abundance of caution can prevent much harm. But also that a missed opportunity can never be regained."

Fjord grunted with frustration. "Which is true, then?"

"Both," a masculine voice said from beyond a tree. "Balance is best. Take it from someone who learned the hard way."

"Laurent," Caleb greeted.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Laurent said. "I walked into your conversation on my way to check that our wizard had not been kidnapped by a pack of gnolls again."

"That happened only once," said Caleb. "And I was barely gone. Days. Perhaps a week."

"Nott was frantic. I thought she was going to make jerky of the entire pack once we finally hunted you down and found out they'd pierced your ear. It was attached to a chain," he clarified in response to Fjord's bewildered look. "Like for a pet."

"One of their pack lords took a shine to my hair. It was embarrassing."

"It was lucky," said Laurent. "It gave us time to find him. Even off the menu or the pike, gnolls are brutal to their slaves. You wouldn't have lasted long."

"A comforting thought," Caleb groused.

"If you can admit that, you shouldn't begrudge your friends the right to keep a closer eye on you. Though perhaps if you let Velda kit you out in armor…"

Caleb tugged at a leather thong tied around his leg. "I have mage armor."

"Which you consistently forget to activate."

"Must we list all my faults in front of our new ally?"

Laurent turned, and Fjord saw something in his eye. He would have called it shrewdness, except that seemed unkind. Perhaps 'perceptive' was a better word. "Taking a walk, Fjord?"

"Clearing my head."

Laurent asked, "Caleb, are you heading back now?"

It was a dismissal, which Caleb accepted with grace. He disappeared into the brush, leaving Fjord alone with Laurent. Neither spoke, but Fjord found the silence was not uncomfortable. Nonetheless, it was he who broke the silence. "Gnolls, huh?"

Laurent's chin tightened. "Caleb finds it easier to make light of the situation, but in truth is was a harrowing experience, one that still wakes me in the night with a pounding heart. Nott is worse, if anything, but she and Caleb sleep together, so it's hard to know how bad her nightmares are."

"You're awful protective of them."

"Nott has known little acceptance all her life, and as a result of that, she struggles with self-hatred. As for our Caleb, he is burdened by both a keen intelligence and a tender heart. They work at cross purposes too often for his comfort, and unfortunately, an unscrupulous few have exploited that to do quite a lot of damage."

"Damaged," Fjord repeated.

Laurent looked at him sharply. "Are you passing judgment?"

"No, no. I just, Caleb told me some things. About how you met. I found it hard to imagine."

They stood together, watching over their people. Voices lifted over the canopy, mixing with the stars. Caleb had gone to sit by the fire. When he joined Velda, the half-orc woman clucked at the scrapes still populating his cheeks and chin. She pressed a kiss into his forehead, which no doubt came with a little burst of healing, because Nott and Fern giggled. Across the fire, Harper was plucking his lyre lazily now. The melody was almost a lullaby, close and intimate. Wren was suddenly visible. She carried a blanket, which she draped over Caleb's shoulders. Then she picked up her bow and left, perhaps to do a perimeter walk.

As he watched them, a peculiar feeling came over Fjord. He didn't know why, but something about the scene seemed wrong. It felt like Caleb's back, tucked under the blanket, ought to be hunched over a different fire. Harper's voice felt like it should have a sarcastic edge, cut by the sound of shuffling cards. Nott should be counting buttons in a different woman's long shadow, and Beau should be the sentinel watching over them all.

'And me,' he thought. 'There would be a place for me, too.'

"You're wearing a contemplative face, Fjord," Laurent said. "Will you be traveling back to Zadash tomorrow?"

Fjord ran a hand though his hair. "I think we should. The Gentleman will be looking for a report." He paused, wanting to be generous. "Would you like an introduction?"

Laurent's nose wrinkled. "I know The Gentleman by reputation, and I don't want my people anywhere near his organization."

Fjord felt the sting of guilt. He had walked right into their relationship with The Gentleman, which he'd rarely thought of as anything other than a mutually beneficial business relationship. Yet Laurent wasn't wrong. The Gentleman was a criminal, presiding over a criminal underworld.

"I'm sorry," Fjord said.

Perhaps it was the conflicted tone of his voice, but Laurent spoke to him in a confidential way, as though they were more than strangers who'd met only hours before. "Fjord," he said. "I can see that you're troubled. It's in your eyes and in these cold shadows, where you linger instead of going to your people. Am I wrong?"

"No."

"Then let me give you a piece of advice, something that took me many years to find out. We have no guarantees in this life. That is our reality. Some chose to agonize over it. Still others forsake all responsibility. After all, how can they have any control over such a chaotic system? Better to focus on themselves, to take no risks. But I have found that we must take life as both a gift and an opportunity."

"I don't know if I follow."

"Okay. An illustration then. You said Caleb told you how we met? But there is another side to the story."

"What do you mean?"

"When we reached that town, I was still divided between my old life – the life of soldier who was never quite enough because of the color of my skin, the horns on my head – and the life I was then living, as a man bound to a justice higher than any man-made law. I was confused by my new role. At times, I despaired that any good I did would matter. I was in such a crisis when I accepted that invitation to visit the barracks. I wanted a break, a glimpse at a life gone by. That's when I saw them. A rail-thin human, being beaten by a cane as he tried to prevent a goblin from being drowned in a bucket for my entertainment. And when Nott was thrown back into that cell, she and Caleb curled around one other, bleeding and raw and soaked, and just sobbed. Barefoot and lousey and covered with sores from how filthy they were, abused by these men of justice, and they were the ones with enough personhood to cry. It was...overwhelming."

"Caleb said you bought them," Fjord said.

"I know that sounds terrible," Laurent said, "but while some systems can be broken or subverted, others are best simply used."

"You took them in."

"It wasn't my first thought. I was still struggling, you know. I thought to myself, 'You can't save the world by pulling every beggar off the street.' I believed I'd done my best by giving them a chance."

"You changed your mind. Because you saw them fight?"

"No. Because a man I thought broken put himself in mortal danger, and in fact nearly died, to protect a life. Why did he do it? That night, he became more than a single man among all the suffering people of Exandria. He became Caleb, and Nott became Nott. Two individual lives with personality, character, and need. By helping them, I knew I might not change the world, but it would change them, and it would change me, and I decided that was enough."

"They changed you," Fjord repeated.

"Frightening, isn't it?"

"You wouldn't take it back?"

"Not in this life."

Fjord extended his hand. "Thank you, Laurent. It's been good talking to you."

"It's been good talking to you, too, Fjord. I hope you find peace, and purpose."

Laurent made his way back into the clearing. Fjord lingered, and so he saw when Laurent paced up behind his friends and teammates. Their conversation didn't break; Laurent was too fully integrated to create ripples. Yet Fjord saw Caleb's chin tip up, and some quiet word pass between them. Then Laurent rested his hand on Caleb's shoulder and his tail made lazy contact with his back. Such small things, yet they spoke of a closeness that did not need grand gestures or profound words. It was apparent even to an outsider, which Fjord was.

That feeling from before came over him again, the sensation of an opportunity lost, and then it passed. He left the woods and the shadows behind, returning to his own fire, his own people. They parted to make a space for him. Like five odd-shaped puzzle pieces that came together at the corners. Yet, even so, Fjord couldn't completely put off the sense that something was missing, that the center was gone. And while they might indeed find their identity as a group, he wondered if it would always feel as though they'd left someone behind or failed to make some divine appointment.

"Are you okay, Fjord? Jester asked.

Fjord glanced over his shoulder, to the sound of faint music. Then back to them.

"Yeah," he said. "I am."

Notes on Game Mechanics:

[1] Haste – Hasted creatures get several advantages: they double their speed, can take an extra action, and are more dexterous and harder to hit. That said, after the spell ends, its target crashes.
[2] Idol of Madness – This was inspired by a homebrewed object. Our DM presented us with an idol which caused lawfully aligned players to be afflicted with madness (a very nasty condition, indeed). Our party had a lot of neutral players, so we escaped the possible fallout, but the might-have-been's still haunt me.