The Fear of Loss/ Business Not Your Own-Derthaad/Beets/Marto

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Derthaad had not been to the Four Fair Winds but upon entering he could see why some people would prefer this establishment over the ostentatiousness of the Gilded Mirror. With its wood panelled walls, sturdy beams, and tastefully plush furnishing, the impression the sergeant got was more of a lodge than a tavern. Seeing the clientele told him enough that the people who stayed here generally came from or had money, but they weren’t flaunting it like they may do at Leocanto’s hotel and casino.

The main foyer had a large staircase that held the front desk where a well dressed, handsome dwarf stood, smiling and serving a guest who appeared to be checking out. The halfling had a beautiful case with him, decorated in what Derthaad assumed were fey designs and symbols. On one side of the case was a shield emblazoned with a bountiful cornucopia. On the other, two fine, magical axes. The halfling was merrily chatting with the dwarf, seemingly familiar enough to be on a first name basis.

“Then Lolli, Miss. Cottontail, shot up into the sky, soaring across the basin where were testing these inventions in. I was about to let loose on this dummy, but she landed some 10 feet away, completely missing the mark. And yet the steam from these boots blasted at the training dummy, completely obliterating it! Honestly, Yoru, you should have seen it. After wearing those boots, Lolli seemed practically normal.”

“Haha! You sure spin some great tales Marto. I will have to ask Miss. Cottontail when I next see her,” Yoru says. “It sounds like quite a tale that would only get better with more perspectives. Ah, excuse me Mr. Copperkettle, I should help this gentleman. Hello Sergeant. How can I be of assistance?”

Marto turns. “Oh! Derthaad. Good morning. Walking the beat already?”

Derthaad greetingly nods towards the dwarf but then puts his right hand up as if to stop him. The other hand, holding up a rather small nondescript white box. “No need, my business is with him,” he says, nodding towards Marto, turning his head to face him. “And what do you mean ‘already’? Some of us have to get up at 6 and start their patrols at 7,” he ads with a smirk. “Thankfully, I’m on the second shift today.”

“Good! Cause I don’t know what the City Watch would need to talk to me about since I’ve only been back in the city less than a day,” Marto replies, amusement colouring his words. He turns back to Yoru. “S’alright if I leave my case with the desk Yoru whilst I treat my friend, the Sergeant, to a spot of breakfast?” he asks.

“Of course, Marto,” Yoru says. “I’ll keep it where I usually do.” He comes around and lifts the case with surprising ease.

“This way, Derthaad. Have you been here before? The pancakes are great but I might try the waffles this morning instead,” Marto says, leading the way into the lounge and bar area.

The wood panelled walls continue in here, though the ceiling hangs slightly lower than the main entrance. Four beautiful glasswork chandeliers hang at the four cardinal points of the room. At this time of day, they are unlit, so their coloured glass is dark, showing only a static scene of what is North, south, east, and west of the city. Derthaad imagines what these pieces of fine art must look like when they are lit in the evenings, when bards or bands play for entertainment.

“So how have you been?” he hears Marto ask, as the halfling waves a friendly hello to the waitstaff. Derthaad notices the greetings Marto gets are slightly warmer than what he does, almost like they’re very familiar with his friend. Not too surprising since Derthaad has never been here before. “It’s been a while since we last saw each other. Since coming back with Gerhard and Orianna. What have you been up to?”

“Oh, nothing much, just helping around,” replies Derthaad casually. “Hmh, did you know that Kundar is a great place if one wants to start achieving godhood? We’ve got two so far.”

His tone is so nonchalant that at first Marto thinks he is joking.

“Morning, I’ll have whatever he’s getting,” he says as the waitress arrives at their table.

“Two orders of waffles please, both with apples and cinnamon, and a large pot of kaeth to share,” Marto orders for them. When the waitress is gone, the smile Marto had fades. “So. More wanna be gods huh? Do I even wanna know?”

“Well, you’re going to,” came a half-hearted reply. “First is this dude called Desathrax that’s been stealing the divine essence from dragonborns, kobolds, dragons and the temples of Tiamat and Bahamut and another is this entity called Librarion that’s been made god by a tribe of kuo-toa.” A short chuckle escapes Derthaad. “The former, Orianna, is neck deep in it, so I’ve took it upon myself to help her with it and the latter, Celina and Glint, who have unceremoniously dragged me into it as well. Another day in the Dawnlands,” he finishes as a sigh escapes with a hint of frustration.

“What about you?”

Marto mutters something under his breath but Derthaad doesn’t understand it.

The waitress swings by, depositing a large pot of kaeth and two small cups. She leaves a small bowl of sugar, a pot of honey, and a thick cream, does a little bow with a lingering look at Marto, who smiles pleasantly, and then departs. Once she turns her back the halfling’s smile fades as he shakes his head.

“Nothing so exciting and you know what, for once I’m grateful. Last time I went to Kundar I tried to help someone find her sister, but it turns out the girl in question didn’t want to go home. Haven’t done much ‘adventuring’ or ‘helping people’ since except for the other day, where I helped a tinkerer test out her inventions. That was good fun.” The smile comes back and the dragonborn sees how relaxed his friend has become. It’s a marked difference compared to how Marto was before.

Derthaad takes his cup, placing two teaspoons of sugar and then pouring in the kaeth, taking a moment to enjoy the delightful smell. “Oh, is that the one you were just talking about, with Lolli,” he asks, placing the pot back down.

“Yup,” Marto says, pouring his own cup.

Derthaad softly blows some of the steam rising from his cup, takes a small sip and places it back down on the table. He takes a moment to ponder the fleeting smiles that Marto has been giving just now. “Anything bothering you recently? You always seemed eager for an adventure. Unless I somehow misjudged you and being a lumberjack was always your true calling. Or is it just the invasion that put you out of commission for a while?”

“After everything that happened… I needed time. I was in a bad place a few months ago. A really dark place. Guess I hid it well then because you didn’t ask anything about it until now,” Marto teases, a half grin on his face. “But recently? There hasn’t been anything troubling me, not really,” he states. But then Derthaad sees his eyes change as a thought crosses the halfling’s mind. Marto’s easy expression seems to snag on it, like a piece of silk getting tangled on a thorny branch. “Well, I guess, maybe. But it’s not something I can do much about.” He picks up his mug, cradling it in his calloused hands. “There’s only so much help one can give before it becomes debilitating to one’s health and happiness. If you’re not met halfway… then boundaries have to be set.”

“Care to share? I’ve been getting really good at this recently. I surprise myself sometimes,” Derthaad says with a small, teasing smirk, but before continuing, the smirk fades into a more honest look. “Unloading emotions helps… way more than you may think.”

“I’m okay, actually,” Marto says genuinely, taking a sip from his cup. “I don’t feel the need to ‘unload emotions’ as you put it. But I’ll keep you in mind if I ever need to work something out.” He gives the dragonborn a searching look. “Is that why you came? Because someone told you to check in on me?”

“Not really, I came of my own volition. And yes, I have noticed your mood was slightly different when we went with Gerhard, but in the rush of the moment I didn’t think much of it. As to why I suddenly decided to come, it does have to do with a certain someone we’re both familiar with.”

Marto just sits back with his kaeth, content to wait for Derthaad to spill the beans if he chooses to.

Derthaad cannot help but release a small smirk at Marto’s reaction, as if he was expecting it. “Clearly she’s a handful, to say the least, clearly you’re exhausted and clearly I am here wanting to help you both.” He then leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “I came here because I wanted to hear your side of the story. I came here because I want to help you as much as her.”

“Hmm,” the halfling intones, amused. Before he can say anymore the waitress comes over with two plates of the largest waffles Derthaad has ever seen. Smothered over both is a tantalising aroma of nutmeg, cinnamon and the sweet tang of fresh apples. She places both plates in front of them, Marto thanking her also by name, and then she departs.

“Damn, these are huge,” says Derthaad in amazement when looking at the fresh waffles. “Surprisingly, I never had waffles before, pancakes yes, but not waffles,” he adds, picking up the cutlery.

“How much did she tell you? Did she just make vague allusions to me or was she more forthwith about what we discussed?”

“Neither. She only said you two had an argument and I didn’t press forward into it. But she’s clearly affected by it and regrets a lot of what she said towards you.”

There’s a humourless chuckle from Marto. “I bet she does.”

The words surprise Derthaad though they are not malicious. Marto begins to eat, seemingly savouring each bite he takes. When the halfling doesn’t continue right away a frown begins to colour the dragonborn’s face, but just like with Beets, he doesn’t push. He waits until his friend is ready.

“‘Clearly she’s a handful, to say the least.’ What made you describe her in that way?” Marto finally asks.

“‘There’s only so much help one can give before it becomes debilitating to one’s health and happiness.’ What made you say that?”

Marto raises an eyebrow as he looks across the table. “Are you merely going to keep asking questions of me like this is an interrogation? Or are you going to think about the question I asked and actually answer it?”

Derthaad’s hand stopped halfway as he was about to take another bite from the waffles. It stops at Marto’s sudden bite in his words, clearly seeing the meaning behind them.

He lowers his cutlery, crosses his fingers and leans on his arms, looking Marto dead in the eyes. “She’s like a child. Her behaviour, her language… At times she’s hasty and just charges in without a second thought of what might happen or of the consequences of her actions. Like a child, she can be quite a handful. But,” he continues before Marto could get a word in, “there’s a charm behind that childish behaviour as well. It’s like she’s playing through her own fantasy adventure, on her quest to slay the mightiest of foes. It’s like she’s playing pretend to be a knight with a stick, a basket and a bucket on her head on her way to slay a dragon made out of a chair, broom and some bed sheets. There’s something inspiring about that, the zeal that used to drive us forward like there was nothing in this world that could stop us. Something that many of us seem to lose somewhere along the way. Something that even Beets herself seems to have lost.

“Like a child… she’s also lost and afraid,” continues Derthaad, trying to get as much out before Marto could intervene and say something. If he wanted to see what Derthaad knows of Beets, then he shall have all of it. “I mean, what would one expect when you get thrown out of the village you grew in, the only place you’ve ever known for so many years and flung into the open world… alone… and with nothing by your name. Thrown away from anyone you’ve ever cared about, the prospect of never being able to see them ever again looming heavily.

“She’s so lost that she doesn’t even know who she is.” Derthaad’s eyes lock on the waffles, gazing distantly at their patterned shapes. “At some point while we were talking, she started crying as she told me how she felt guilty for asking Qirliria for help in the war, how that act led to her death. Her war paint, the mud she keeps putting on her face started slipping away and she instinctively started putting more back on. I asked ‘why does she keep putting it on’, to which she replies that it’s part of her ‘strong bug act’. She told me that Beets… was an act. I told her that the courageous Beets was the actor itself, not the act. But when I asked finally if Beets was indeed the act and not the actor… she did not know the answer to that.”

Derthaad’s eyes look up, locking onto Marto’s waiting to see if this is indeed what he wanted to hear.

He is nodding his head slowly, a strange relieved expression on his face. “There is a difference between playing pretend in the fields of youth, and choosing to carry that forward into adulthood though. I understand why she has — life has not been gentle nor kind to her — but-…” Marto pauses, the grip on his knife and fork getting tighter. “But she is not a child, Derthaad, and we, her friends, need to stop treating her as such. We allow her to get away with her antics because we’ve tried to show her and tell her that we love her, we accept her for who she is but she- she doesn’t see it. We’ve been too forgiving even as we try to show her that she is welcomed, accepted… yet she keeps pushing things, ignoring us. She-” He catches himself, taking a breath, releasing the grip he has on his utensils. Marto places them next to the half eaten plate waffles and folds his hands one over the other.

“She attacked The River King at his own party in front of his own court, Derthaad,” Marto says, his voice flat. “All because she feels ‘ashamed of who she is’. She feels that way because she values the opinions of people other than her friends, other than those of us who really care about her.” He shakes his head. “I can’t keep giving to someone who masks suicidal acts of bravery behind foolish, childish brazenness. Until Beets deals with what’s really going on, I’m keeping my distance. I hope you can respect that.”

At that last statement, Derthaad gazes down at the white box he had with him, now placed by his side, before returning his gaze to Marto. “I understand. I’m not forcing you more into this, I only wanted to know your side. Also,” he then continues, slight confusion on his face, “you said she attacked Ulorian? How, when?”

The halfling shakes his head. “Ask her when you see her next. I wasn’t there, so I don’t know the details. But, Derthaad, when Beets told me, she tried to play it off as a harmless prank.” Marto lets his words sink in before continuing, “If she continues as she is she will get herself, and others, killed.”

Marto takes another sip of his kaeth, then pushes his chair back, standing up from the table.

Derthaad sighs and gets up as well, picking up his white box in the process. “I’ll see about that when the time comes. But I didn’t say she was a child because we should treat her as such, I said it because unfinished issues from that time tend to carry over into our adulthood and become extremely difficult to resolve. I said it because if we understand why she’s behaving the way she is, then we can find out how she can be helped and steered towards better.”

“It’s not us who need to understand, though. It’s her,” Marto says, fixing Derthaad with a steady look. “We can be as understanding and helpful as any good, true friends can be. But if she doesn’t see it, or wants to see it, or even try… then she’ll keep making the same mistakes. That kind of change needs to come from within.”

Then he turns and walks away.

“I know, which is what I’m working on helping her with.”

As Marto leaves, Derthaad releases one last sigh. “I only hope that in the future a bridge may be built across the distance you’re willing to put between you two. Good day,” he finishes, a slight note of something that Marto may pick up as sadness. Then, with the sound of a crackling tear within space, he leaves the halfling to himself.