A Court of Blood and Feathers

30

Branwenn

"Del, get your leathery ass out of bed—breakfast is ready!" This is the only warning I got this morning while I was going through some documents that arrived courtesy of new acquaintances from the other night. Apparently, Ian is a cranky morning cook with a side of eggs. I allow myself a small laugh, setting the documents down on the low coffee table before removing the spectacles I wear when reviewing materials during these muted hours of the day.

I stand and stretch, making my way toward the modest kitchen in the cabin the three of us have holed up in. Over time, Delwyn and Ianto have frequented Warhaven enough through their continued service that a cabin was opened for their use when present. Although I'm not overly thrilled to be back at our old stomping grounds, it's convenient, and we didn't have much choice when Teagen winnowed us smack-dab into the middle of the Spiked Falcon that night. We made sure to drain him for all he was worth, resulting in a few-day hangover for all four of us.

I shuffle into the kitchen, the warmth from the fireplace brushing against my back as I approach. Ianto stands at the stove, a spatula in hand, his usually neat hair slightly tousled from the morning's efforts. The smell of sizzling bacon and freshly cooked eggs fills the air, a stark contrast to the chilly morning outside.

"What have we here, Chef Ianto?" I tease, leaning against the doorway as I take in the sight of him—apron slightly askew, with a focused expression that betrays his usual demeanor.

He glances over his shoulder, giving me a mock glare. "A breakfast that you'd better appreciate, considering the ungodly hour I had to get up to make it."

I chuckle, moving closer to peer into the pans on the stove. "I can see the sacrifice. Eggs, bacon... Is that toast I smell too? You're spoiling us today."

"Well, someone has to make sure we don't starve," he replies, turning back to his task. "Delwyn's still in bed, though. If he doesn't get up soon, he's going to miss the feast."

"Good luck dragging him out," I say with a smirk, grabbing a mug from the counter and pouring myself some coffee. "You know Del's never been much of a morning person, and after the last few days, I don't blame him."

Ianto huffs in agreement, plating up the food with the efficiency of someone who's been doing it out of necessity for years. I take a sip of coffee, savoring the rich bitterness, and allow myself a moment to appreciate the simplicity of the scene—the quiet morning, the warmth of the cabin, the smell of breakfast, and the company of old comrades. No, friends.

"How's the paperwork going?" Ianto asks, breaking the comfortable silence as he slides a plate of food toward me.

"Slow," I admit, setting my coffee down to take the plate. "But at least it's keeping me occupied. Better than letting my mind wander too much."

Ianto nods, his expression softening with understanding. "Well, we've got all the time we need here. No rush."

"Yeah," I mutter, more to myself than to him, as I take a bite of the eggs. "No rush."

The sound of heavy footsteps signals Delwyn's arrival, and I can't help but grin as he stumbles into the kitchen, looking like he's been dragged through the night. His hair is a mess, his shirt half-buttoned, and his eyes are barely open.

"You look like death warmed over," Ianto comments with a grin as he hands Delwyn a plate.

"Feel like it too," Delwyn grumbles, taking the plate and slumping into a chair. "What time is it, anyway?"

"Time for you to eat and wake up," I say, nudging him with my elbow. "You can go back to bed after breakfast if you want."

"Don't tempt me," he mutters, but a small smile tugs at his lips as he digs into the food.