Chapter Text
Hovering in Caleb's room, wringing his hands, Essek Thelyss did not look any less out of place than the first times he had deigned to enter the Xhorhaus. His perpetual smile was replaced by an anxious expression that did not seem to befit his otherwise composed appearance.
Exactly fifteen minutes and forty-two seconds had passed since Caleb had bid the Shadowhand enter, over ten of which have been spent in Caleb’s room with Essek evidently trying to gather his courage and his words. All of Caleb’s attempts at conversation – offering refreshments, asking how he might help – had been rebuffed so far, so he figured he might as well wait.
“There has been... an assumption,” the Shadowhand finally managed.
“An assumption,” Caleb echoed. He had no clue what to do with that information.
“And a misunderstanding.” Essek’s brow furrowed even deeper.
“I'm afraid I do not follow.”
Essek Thelyss sighed as if this whole ordeal was a terrible imposition on him. Which it probably was. “It appears as if the first time I entered this abode it had been perceived by another member of Den Thelyss. Who in turn took it upon themself to report your… display to the Umavi.”
Caleb frowned, still not completely sure if he understood. His time in Xhorhas had been characterized by rapid departures and daring missions and had not left much time for studying this society they now apparently lived in. As such, his grasp on the intricate workings of the upper echelons of Kryn society remained rather loose, although he understood that the Umavi were not to be trifled with.
Essek continued: “After that first interaction, we have been watched closely and… an assumption has been made that we are much more closely entangled than we actually are.” For the first time since Essek had come to him, he looked Caleb in the eye with a sneer of contempt and annoyance. “It has been... suggested that you accompany me to the Umavi's ball to celebrate the homecoming of her younger son.”
“I see,” Caleb said although he very much did not see. “And I suppose that is not the kind of suggestion one can refuse?”
Essek looked genuinely taken aback at that. “Certainly not.”
“Well, I suppose there is no harm in that”, Caleb said with a shrug, although the very thought of it made his insides crawl. “I will come with you, and we shall clear this up. Nothing to worry about, friend.”
“And embarrass the Umavi in front of her whole court?” A pained expression passed Essek's face. “I think not. It is much safer to claim we broke this off after this occasion.”
“You said we were followed, yes? But the only times we met were in public or when you teleported us across the continent. How many people can truly believe that we are… entangled?”
“Were wizards”, Essek replied as if that explained everything. And for one such as Essek Thelyss it probably did. Caleb supposed the Shadowhand would have no issue in teleporting to the Xhorhaus without any of the Nein being able to prevent him from doing so. Or Caleb's room for that matter. Awkwardly, Caleb coughed and dearly wished for his beard to hide the flush coloring his cheeks.
“Besides, it does not matter what people believe,” Essek continued. “The only thing that matters is what the Umavi believes. And the Umavi believes that I have been hiding a relationship from her.”
Caleb considered this for a moment. While there were many things that he could think of that he would rather be doing than spend an evening in Kryn high society with only Essek Thelyss at his side, the man in question seemed genuinely quite perturbed by the thought. It seemed only right to try and help him seek a way out of this situation. “I could go on a mission and not return in time,” he suggested. “Or I could pretend I fell sick on the day of the event.”
“The first would be a terrible insult to Den and Umavi alike and in case of the second, clerics would be queueing in front of your house to relieve you of your ailment.” Essek sighed and passed a hand through his perfectly styled hair, liberating one strand that now stood up at an odd angle. He muttered something under his breath and before Caleb could inquire, he continued louder. “I do not know what I was attempting here, but I am afraid I do not see a way out of this situation without insulting the Umavi and ruining your reputation. So, I would be much obliged if you could do me this favor... and take one off the list you and your group owe me.”
“What about your reputation?” Caleb couldn’t help but ask.
“Let that be of no concern of yours.”
“I will do you this favor,” he quickly agreed, hoping he had not angered the Shadowhand beyond measure. “I am happy to be of assistance to a friend. It is only that you seem rather bothered by the idea.”
“I will manage,” Essek snapped. And that seemed to be that.
Caleb politely waited for Essek to speak again but when the silence stretched too long, he quietly cleared his throat. “What will be expected of me?”
“Well, in this case I am glad to say that I happen to be a rather solitary creature. Bringing another soul with me will already raise enough eyebrows, never mind public displays of affection.” Essek winced and Caleb couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at that. “You need do nothing more than hold my hand. There will be enough drink and food and music available to divert you, and you will likely not lack in conversational partners as half the Den will jump at the chance to thank one of the heroes of the dynasty.”
“Conversation, yes? And here I thought you only required me to look pretty.”
“That too,” Essek said, apparently having missed the joke entirely. “I will forward you some books you might peruse with regards to Kryn etiquette, as well as the address if my tailor, if you are amenable.”
“Yes Essek,” Caleb said kindly, “I am amenable.” He did not dare say that he likely couldn’t afford the services of the tailor that usually dressed the Shadowhand; he would find a solution to that when the time came. At least the books should prove to be useful.
It was not long after that that Essek excused himself and Caleb was left with the insurmountable task of telling the Mighty Nein of what had transpired. The recollection of the events was accompanied by much shrieking and hollering that Caleb was glad Essek did not have to suffer, although it did end in the rather conscientious act of Beauregard cornering him later and asking with real concern: “Are you alright?”
Caleb shrugged. “I will be. It is a favor for a friend, ja?”
“Yeah, sure, whatever. But it is a pretty big ask to essentially pretend to be someone’s boyfriend. Especially if you have a crush on that guy.”
He bristled at that. “I do not have a crush on Essek Thelyss,” he insisted perhaps a bit too loudly because next he knew he heard Jester cooing from one room over:
“Cay-leb, it is alright if you are in love with Essek, he is like super hot!”
‘I do not even trust him yet,’ he thought but did not dare say out loud, lest he be harassed by Jester. “I’ll be fine,” he ground out and beat a tactical retreat to his room.
The distance and the wall between them allowed him to ignore Beauregard sedulously: “Yeah man, it’s whatever! I just wanted to offer you to talk!”
The next morning, there was a knock on the door as they all ate breakfast. After they all shouted for the visitor to come in and they didn’t, it was Caduceus who went to great them. When he returned, it was with a confused expression on his face and a stack of books under his arm. “There were some books floating outside the door. I think they’re for you, Caleb?”
Absentmindedly Caleb nodded as he took hold of the books, silently wondering if Essek was nearby or if he had somehow managed to relieve himself of the range restrictions that usually came with the Unseen Servant spell. When he finally concluded that he would never ask but instead try and see if he couldn’t find a work-around himself, he was already surrounded by the rest of the Mighty Nein, who were attempting to see what it was that he had received.
With a sigh he spread the books out for them to peruse while he dug around in his component pouch for a pinch of soot and salt and began flipping through his spellbook.
“That’s not fair, I can’t read any of that!” Jester complained the same instant that Beauregard shouted, “Sick, they’re all in Undercommon! Hey, can I borrow one of those? I really need to practice.” There was no way Caleb would be able to concentrate like this.
Without a word, he pushed back his chair, eliciting shouts from various members of the Nein and announced: “I’ll be in the library to read. Any of you are welcome to join so long as you are quiet.”
In the end, Beauregard indeed did join him but not before she had caused quite a ruckus in the training room. When she entered the library sweaty with a “’sup” and plopped down on a chair opposite of Caleb he leveled her with a detached glare. When she then deigned to make grabby hands for one of the books, his glare grew even more unimpressed.
Only by virtue of being loans from one Essek Thelyss were the books saved from being thrown at Beauregard’s head. Instead, he calmly handed her one of the slimmer tomes via his Mage Hand.
She assumed a position in the chair that Caleb refused to believe was comfortable and began skimming the table of contents. As soon as she appeared to be done, supposedly already bored, she interrupted him for the second time since entering the room: “So how’s the study sesh been so far?” she asked with a yawn.
“Not as quiet as I hoped,” he grumbled. On the other hand, when was time spent with the Mighty Nein ever?
“Hah!” Beauregard laughed at that and looked at the book again. “Man, this shit looks complicated. There’s an entire chapter about hair ties. And another about buttons and cufflinks. Shit and I thought empire rich folk were obnoxious.”
Caleb sighed. He couldn’t say that he didn’t agree. In his time under Ikithon’s tutelage he had received a modicum of training as to how to behave in high society and even though his training had been rudimentary, he could not recall it being even remotely as complicated as what he was dealing with now.
Since this morning, he had made it only halfway through one of the books and despite his perfect memory, his mind was swimming with the exact angle at which one had to bow as well as greetings and different forms of address that seemed to have repercussions on the use of a language he didn’t speak. He could only hope that a casting of Tongues would equip him with the ability to not make a total fool of himself. And that he would have enough spell slots for the entirety of the ball.
The next days were spent like this: Caleb and Beauregard retreated to the library where they would spend their time perusing the books Essek had sent, occasionally debating their contents. They would be left in relative peace from the rest of the Mighty Nein, except for Caduceus poking in his head to ask if they were hungry or thirsty or the usual cracks and bangs that their friends caused. While most of them sounded concerning, Caleb was called only once to cast Control Flames on a misfired Fluffernutter that threatened to set their pantry aflame. What those materials had been even doing close to the kitchen, Caleb thought better not to ask.
Occasionally, he would receive a Sending from Essek, requesting this or that or reminding him of something he had previously forgotten. Caleb acquiesced his every wish and in turn asked Jester more than once to send a message back to Essek to clarify something. While Essek’s books spoke a great deal about the hairstyles of different dens, what about people without dens? Caleb insisted that he could just wear his customary ponytail, Jester insisted that he wouldn’t fit in. Essek assured him that any hairstyle was fine, as long as he didn’t mirror any style from a prominent Den. Caleb asked about the right color of clothing – anything but white – and the need for gifts – Essek would take care of that – as well as if he should wear his token of the Bright Queen – absolutely, if he wanted to be taken seriously. Despite his previously prickly demeanor when dealing with them, Essek remained ever patient in face of the constant probing.
He and Beau did not read every day. One day, Caleb cast Tongues on himself and attempted to hold a conversation with individuals of different stations. They came to the conclusion that while the spell was able to inflect the words correctly, it only did so if the titles were spoken in the original Undercommon. So, the next day was spent trying to teach Caleb the correct pronunciation so the spell would pick up on his intention.
One of the books was entirely about ballroom dances that were currently fashionable in the Dynasty. After quite a lot of ridicule at his attempts, Beauregard finally volunteered herself to help him. The upside of that was that Beauregard was trained enough to pose as a suitable dance partner. The downside was that they had to move to the training room for that and soon attracted an audience.
Jester was the first to jump in and demand to “learn the Xhorhas dances too pretty please!” And Caleb had not yet found the strength to deny her anything and seriously doubted that he ever would. After that came Nott and after Fjord joked that Caleb would only dance with the ladies, he dragged him in as well. After that it was almost a point of pride, to dance with the rest of the Mighty Nein as well, including Yeza, who seemed exceptionally clumsy for a man of his profession.
Almost a week had passed when Jester grew evidently bored with the lack of something to do.
“Cay-leb,” she whined, draped across a chaise longue in a position she had no doubt copied from her mother. “Do you know what you’ll wear yet?”
“No,” he said simply. He was busy trying to memorize the correct order of meal items as well as the corresponding cutlery. Many he was familiar with, but he could not quite grasp how to crack the shell of a giant spider leg or why purple worm tartare was to be eaten only from specialized silver spoons. When she’d read that Beauregard had apparently been unable to keep herself from making a joke about Essek’s circumstances of birth.
“Have you not even… like, thought about it, though?” Jester continued to inquire.
It took a moment for him to recall what this was in reference to. Eventually he said. “Essek gave me the name of his tailor. I’m sure they’ll have something suitable.”
Jester gasped at that and sat up. “Cay-leb!” she shouted way too loudly. “The ball is in like less than a week!”
“So?”
“It takes time to make pretty clothes, you know?”
Caduceus, who was currently watering the plants, nodded sagely. “Nine women can’t make a baby in a month.”
“I don’t need entirely new clothes. They can just alter something for me to fit.”
Without looking up from her book on the genealogy of Den Thelyss, Beauregard snorted.
“What?”
“Dude.” She levelled him with a glare. “There is no way Essek buys off the rack.”
“But-!”
“Just go to the damn tailor, Caleb,” Beauregard interrupted him rudely. With an eyeroll she turned back to her reading.
“I’ll come with you!” Jester immediately volunteered. Caleb wasn’t sure if he found that prospect reassuring. However, he had spent enough time with Jester to know she was a woman not easily denied once she had put her mind to something.
Beauregard had the audacity to sink deeper into her armchair and wave at him. “Have fun!”
It was like this that Caleb found himself in the company of Jester standing in the middle of a tailor’s shop in the Gallimaufry district where everything in the shop window looked like it was worth more than everything Caleb owned combined.
They were greeted by a very friendly Drow who introduced herself as Phaere. “Caleb Widogast, I presume?” she inquired with a small bow as appropriate for greeting someone of a higher station in employ of one of the ruling Dens. “The Shadowhand told us to expect you. We are honored to provide you with whatever you need.”
Caleb was quite taken aback. He didn’t know that he had ever been treated with this much respect and deference, much less since he had become Caleb Widogast. Awkwardly, he cleared his throat, not quite sure how to respond.
At least one good thing came from having Jester around, for he was spared from having to figure that out. “Ohmygosh that’s so nice!” she squealed and barreled to the front. “Hi, I’m Jester! I’m Caleb’s friend and I’m here to make sure that he looks his best for Essek!”
“Then you have come to the right place,” Phaere said with a smile and bowed again. “Whatever your wish, you shall receive it.”
“I am not yet very familiar with the fashions of the Dynasty,” he finally managed to say. “So I commend myself to your capable hands. Whatever you think will suit a wizard of my station and stature I am sure will serve well.”
A minute expression of confusion passed over the tailor’s face. “As a hero of the Dynasty at the Shadowhand’s side? I’ll say you can wear whatever you want to.”
Again, Caleb felt wrong-footed and unsure as to how to respond. This time, Phaere seemed to sense his discomfort and suggested: “How about I show you some fabrics? We can talk about the design later.”
The fabrics Phaere did show him were difficult to comprehend. He had never felt anything as soft as spidersilk, never seen anything as finely embroidered as the borders on display, never thought brocade could look as rich as that. Occasionally they would be interrupted by Jester who had found something herself: “Cay-leb, look at this! Wouldn’t hat be a great sash,” holding a bolt of sheer white fabric that made Phaere freeze. She only relaxed when he explained that white was reserved for Umavi. Or: “Cay-leb, we could weave that into your hair!” pointing at ribbons of cloth-of-gold or -silver that were surely for bound edges. They even spent twenty minutes debating over buttons with Jester insisting he should get the gem-encrusted ones to “treat himself” while he maintained that the plain silver ones would be enough. When he mentioned that he did not want to overshadow Essek, Phaere laughed and assured him that wouldn’t be possible.
Eventually, they settled on fabrics that were simple, but only deceptively so. The cut Phaere suggested was traditional and a little flashy for his tastes, though she was excited to include his suggestions on how to adjust it according to Empire fashions, if only subtly. In the end, Caleb couldn’t help but admit that he was satisfied.
“Thank you,” Caleb said earnestly. He genuinely believed that he was in good hands with the tailor. “I would now like to discuss the matter of payment.” He had been dreading this conversation.
Phaere blinked at him dumbstruck. Eventually, she said: “I can assure you, the Shadowhand has that matter quite handled.”
He suddenly felt faint. It was one thing receiving a new set of robes that probably cost more than his childhood home. It was quite another to have someone else pay for it.
He opened his mouth to protest but before he could get a single word out, he was interrupted by an armful of blue tiefling. “Ohmygosh Cay-leb!” Jester squealed as he hugged him tight. “That’s so romantic! Essek wants you to look so good for him and you don’t even have to pay!”
“Right,” he muttered. “Very romantic.” In his mind he made a note to thoroughly thank Essek for his expense. “Then at least allow me a tip for an excellent service.”
Phaere bowed her head, hardly in a place to object to that. So, Caleb dug around in his purse and set seven gold pieces on the counter, the last he had left to his name. Surely the Mighty Nein would take another mission soon and until then he would get by.
Eventually, the day of the ball arrived and while Caleb didn’t feel comfortable, he was at least reasonably confident that he would be able to spend one night among Kryn nobles without making a complete fool of himself. Or Essek for that matter.
He was fussing with his new robes in front of his mirror, still adjusting to the asymmetrical style favored in the dynasty. Additionally, he fought the urge to hunch his shoulders and disappear in the crowd. That was not why Essek was bringing him tonight. Essek was an individual few could overlook, and Caleb had vowed to do him proud.
Far too soon came the quiet knock on the door, but when he bid them enter, it was not one of the Mighty Nein announcing that Essek had arrived. Instead, surprisingly, it was Yasha, who quietly closed the door behind her. “You look good,” she said after scrutinizing him from head to toe.
“Thank you.”
“Not like when we first met,” she added. “I mean, I didn’t want to say something back then but… you know. You look better now. Good. These robes look good.”
“Thank you,” Caleb said again, unsure how else to react.
“Are you nervous?” Yasha blurted suddenly. When he didn’t immediately answer, she just barreled on: “I mean, I’m sure you are. It’s alright to be. I’m also sure that you’ll have a great date tonight.”
Despite his resolutions, Caleb hunched his shoulders. “You know it’s not like that.”
“Well…” she said with a shrug.
Before he could ask her to elaborate, the moment was interrupted by Jester’s shout: “Cay-LEB! He’s here!”
And that was all the warning he got before the Mighty Nein barged into his room to herd him outside. In the foyer, he was stopped by Nott, who was wiping away a fake tear. “Look at my boy!” she screeched. “All grown up and ready for prom night!”
Caleb frowned deeply. “I’m not sure I’m familiar with that tradition.”
“Never mind. Go get him, Lebby!”
He was about to reply something when Beauregard shouted: “Caleb, your man’s getting impatient!”
Naturally, all the Nein were there to see them off. Caleb wished he could vanish in the ground, especially with all the jeers and calls of “Hot boi!” that sounded from the porch. Fjord managed to shout above them all instructing Essek to “have him home by ten, young man!”
Hurriedly, Caleb walked over to Essek who frowned with confusion. “I do not believe the ball will be done by ten o’clock.”
“Ignore them,” he griped. “Are you ready?”
Essek heaved a sigh. “As ready as I’ll be.” He offered his arm to Caleb and within a breath they were gone.