For the rest of their journeying that day, Til’s just thankful that it was nearing evening when they found the babe. It meant that in spite of all the complaining that Noan managed, they only had to go a little further to find a bigger village to stop for the evening.
Noan’s complaints had started with the smell, but had moved to how his clothes had dried, and were somehow more irritating than before.
Til had blocked most of it out, more focused on riding with a baby and keeping an eye out for any dangers of the road than on his companion’s nonsense.
Fortunately for both of them, the village has a small inn, which really seems to just be someone’s barn that they’ve added a few more walls and doors to. It’s got multiple rooms, of which they get two, since they’re able to afford it at the moment, and for the sake of Til’s lightly frayed nerves. And it has a bath, which is a service that Noan gladly orders for them.
The rooms smell strongly of hay and horses and something else Til doesn’t want to put a name to. In his own room, which is barely big enough to lie flat on the floor and have just enough space to turn around once, the bed seems to be a strong source of the smell of hay, and small as it is, he thinks it’ll hold his weight well enough so long as he doesn’t move too much. Or breathe too hard. The rest of the building seems much the same, not meant to hold as many people as it’s been converted to, but it’ll be good enough for now.
The tub alone will make it all worth it.
Til dunks himself again, enjoying the chance to relax for once, when the lock on the door shimmers, warping colors, then shimmies, then pops up without anyone touching it.
It takes whoever’s opening the door a moment to realize the lock is unlocked, and Til uses that moment, the extra breath of time, to throw on the helmet from the shelf and grab his sword from where it’d come to rest by the tub.
The door swings wildly inward, Noan in the doorway, looking just as gobsmacked as Til feels.
Til stands, frozen in the tub, water sloughing off him, nothing but his face covered from the very unexpected interruption.
Noan’s face freezes without even a twitch of movement, then goes white.
Then his gaze drops, and he goes very red.
Spinning around, Til can see that he’s holding the babe, though it doesn’t do anything to help his confusion at the situation.
“What are you doing?” He manages to gasp out past his own embarrassment and wave of adrenaline.
“I was- I mean- Uh- The baby needs a wash, I thought- You’re already in there, maybe you could bath him too?” The words practically fall over themselves as Noan stutters a response.
Unsure if he should cover himself, uncertain if he should even bother, Til half yells, “So why didn’t you say that?”
“I was trying to talk to you!” Noan yells back, “But- You didn’t say anything, I thought you’d fallen asleep or something!”
“So you broke in? Why didn’t you bang on the door or something?” Til can’t shake his confusion at the Wizard’s leap of thinking.
“I-I didn’t-” Noan stutters, seemingly fighting with himself to even get that much out.
With an internal sigh, quickly followed by an external mon, Til steps out of the bath, “Don’t turn around.”
“What are you doing?” Comes Noan’s panicked cry, though he manages to keep himself from turning to look back.
“Grabbing the baby.” Til tells him slowly, “You don’t need to see more than you have already.”
Propping the sword against the tub, Til quickly crosses the space to lift the babe over Noan’s shoulder from his suddenly limp hands, a strange counter to the stiffness of the rest of his body.
“I’ll be out with him in a little while,” Til tells him, settling the babe into his arms.
“I’m sorry- I-” Noan’s head turns a bit, then he freezes, jerking to face away again, “I didn’t mean-”
“No hard feelings. Just- Just get out.” Til can feel how red he is, the heat from the bath still there, but no match for the heat in his cheeks. Even with that, he can’t find it in himself to completely push Noan away and shut the door behind him.
“Would it help if I said you look nice under all that armor?” Noan squeaks, voice pitched so high he has to clear his throat after.
“Considering you didn’t actually see my face. No.” Til goes to close the door behind the other man, pausing, considering if there was something he could say, something worth saying, before realizing that he’d been lingering too long, nearly naked in the doorway where anyone might be able to see him. “And knock louder or something next time.”
Finally, Til closes and locks the door before leaning against it, wondering what he was even supposed to do in that situation, and wondering if he’d handled it.
The babe squawks in his arms, and he thinks for a moment about how he’s going to do this.
“So we meet again…” He murmurs to the babe, tickling his side and getting a happy giggle in return, “How should I do this?”
For a moment, he wishes he’d thought ahead and kept his armor together like he was supposed to, but it was too late for that now, and he could still feel some of the mixture he’d been scrubbing with dripping down his back and chest from his hair. He’d need to deal with that first.
Setting the babe on the ground, Til keeps an eagle eye on him as he works himself up to pull off his helmet and checks the damage.
The one rule Til was most steadfast about, and he’d nearly broken it by mistake. He was always so careful, so sure about when and where he was when he took off the helmet, and still, Noan had nearly seen his face more than any other person since Til had been Honored.
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Luckily, there wasn’t much there, and a couple of quick rinses later, he could pat it dry with his undershirt, thankful he’d gotten the worst of the gunk from his hair. He sets it, once again, on the little shelf before stripping the babe and settling back into the much cooler tub.
King Donner always knew, somehow, when one of the Honored had broken their vows. He was loud about it, criticizing and often so very mad about it. Would he have known if Til did it? Would he care that it had been Noan to see him? Would he have cared?
What if Noan barged in here again?
They both knew now that at any point, Noan could just unlock the door; it didn’t matter if it was shut and latched. The Wizard could open it again just as easily as Til could.
But would he do it again?
A little hand, reaching up and grabbing his nose, distracted Til from his thoughts.
The babe seems absolutely enthralled with Til’s face, little hands reaching up and around to pat at the strangeness that Til knew he’d never seen before.
Til shakes the encounter from his head, he still had himself and a babe to clean, and the strangeness of it all would still be there when he was done.
“Are you sure?” Noan asks, “I mean- there’s gotta be a wet nurse or something nearby.”
They eat together; rather, Noan eats, while Til avoids looking at his mostly naked form by feeding the baby a gooey mush that the couple running the inn had rustled up for him.
“No point in it really, I’m almost certain he’s old enough to not need one anymore, and we’ll be leaving at first light, and if you don’t want him vomiting on the little clothing you have left, he might as well stay with me.”
“Well, I can’t argue with that.” The WizardWizard says, obviously not willing to put up a fight. He still refuses to take the baby, much to Til’s great sadness. He’d only held him one other time, and that was just long enough for Til to get off his horse.
Noan had spent the entire time muttering darkly at the baby.
Til wasn’t worried about the dark muttering, though, as it had mostly been about all the disgusting things he planned to show the child once he was older and capable of truly comprehending genuine disgust.
They sat in silence. Til focuses on feeding the baby, who seemed quite happy under Til's attention, giving him nothing but big smiles, while quietly observing everything when faced away.
Noan finishes his meal quickly.
He doesn’t get up, possibly enjoying the time spent sitting together, or just choosing not to leave yet. Til notices he seems to be carefully not looking at Til’s still full, untouched bowl. He’s sure the WizardWizard has something to say, something he wants to say, but the silence stretches on without a word escaping the other’s lips.
The baby seems to be done eating, no longer paying Til much attention, and looking around instead.
The young woman’s instructions were thorough, possibly even too thorough, but at least he had a rough idea of what to do with the babe when he was done eating, and of what he’d need to do next.
Noan watches him, nearly expressionless. Then, quite suddenly, he smiles beatifically at Til and the child, “Have a good evening, Til.”
It’s a dismissal, though a subtle one. But one that says if Til doesn’t choose to leave, Noan would.
“Good evening, Wizard.” Til answers, gathering up his food and the babe before retreating to his room for the evening.
The room isn’t much, a small table with a small chair near a small bed, and barely enough space to walk around them, but it would be enough for this evening.
Setting his food on the table, Til wonders what exactly he’s going to do with the child.
Could he even take his helmet off around them?
The rules for the Honored were straightforward: you don’t take your helmet off around anyone, and you don’t look at your reflection.
That had to be only around adults, though, to keep them from telling apart the guard. Surely for a babe this small, the rule wouldn’t apply; he was too young to remember what Til looked like, and it wasn’t like they’d be around each other much when the quest was over. Til would fade from his memory fast enough.
Well, that was one question solved, but what was he actually going to do with a baby?
Where was he going to put the baby, too?
Perhaps the bed would be best? But he might roll off. Til considers the floor just long enough to consider the sheer number of splitters he’d have to pull out of the child’s hands, then settles him in the middle of the bed, hoping that he won’t be able to roll off just yet.
Til strips his armor off slowly; there’s no need to hurry, and although he could sleep with his armor on, Til doesn’t know the next time he’ll get the chance to be free of its weight. To set the burden down for even a moment.
His eyes drift shut while he takes it all off, so used to taking it all off in the dark that he doesn’t need sight to do it, acting off touch alone. The baby giggles when he takes off each piece, and, unsure of what to say to a baby, he makes a show of each part, telling them what it is, where it protects, and why it’s important.
The baby grabs at each piece excitedly, trying to chew on the ones that Til lets him hold. The helmet, though, when Til tries to let him hold it, he does everything in his power to throw it. Laughing at the odd little creature, Til asks him why he doesn’t like his helmet, but he doesn’t get a response.
Til sets it all aside, but somewhere he can get to it in a hurry, and finally allows himself to take off his boots and overshirt before sitting down to eat his own meal.
The baby watches him, and as Til eats, he realizes he doesn’t know the child’s name.
Noan never told him, and he can’t remember the woman telling him.
“You know, Noan seems to have forgotten to give me more crucial information.” The baby looks up at him as he spoons some food into his mouth, “Your name seems like something I should know.”
The baby seems to like Til talking to him, and coos as he reaches for him.
“He seems to do that a lot.” Til offers his hand so the baby doesn’t overbalance, and says, “If you promise me, promise me to sleep all night tonight, I’ll tell you our plans, alright?”
The baby plays with Til’s hand absentmindedly, but his attention is locked on Til’s face.
“Well, we’re going to do our best to save a lot of you kids, others like you, too.” Til wiggles his fingers, but the baby is entranced by his, well, lackluster storytelling, “Now, I know Noan doesn’t seem to like you much, but I promise that was just a case of a bad meeting. I know he was nervous, and I’m sure you were nervous, and that’s what caused the throw up, but he’ll warm up to you again eventually. For now, though, I’ll take care of you. And Noan, well. He’ll have to get used to you eventually. And then we can be a little happy family, and find the other Touched children, and they’ll be like your family too.”
Til thinks of the few Touched he’d met in the castle; rarely did they come down from the towers, living and learning away from the masses, away from everyone. The few he’d met hadn’t seemed, well, very impressive; they couldn't measure up to the magical prowess, the ability that Noan displayed.
“You’ll get to live in a castle, with other children like you. And you’ll learn so many new things. Think I could only dream of.”
Most of the wizards left the capital when they were adults, or close enough. Often sent to work as emissaries for the king, acting as healers, wardens, and protectors for small or growing towns. They rarely came back to the capital, though, at least not as far as Til could tell.
“I wonder what your skills are, who you’ll be when you’re older. Maybe you and the other children we find will be able to teach each other. When we find them, that is.”
Til notices his little eyelids dropping, and remembers that babies need more sleep than adults, but even he’s feeling tired.
The bed is small, but Til builds a nest for the baby with the pillow and his cloak, hoping it’ll be enough if he rolls around at all. Even with it, he settles lightly, hoping he wakes if there’s anything odd, or if the babe wakes.
Yawning, Til thinks that he’ll have to ask Noan about the baby’s name in the morning.
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