Disclaimer: All rights to Tamora Pierce.

Dom is Thirty

Dom sat in a tavern. 'Twas a very lovely tavern.

He was tired, and muddy from the road. He was also drunk. A lovely kind of drunk. He stared at his mug with his mouth open, trying to remember if there was still ale in it. Then he got fed up and said, "Eugh." He leaned forward to try to look in, one hand on the edge of the table, which started to tip. The mug fell off the table. Dom, teetering on his chair, looked over to see the ale in a puddle on the floor. "Dahmn," said Dom, and put his cheek on the table.

It was after midnight, this was evident. Everyone was rowdy.

Rooowwwdy, thought Dom.

If it was after midnight, then that meant that the very important day that used to be tomorrow was now today, and he was no longer drinking to that day that would dawn but the day that had already dawned. But it wasn't dawn yet. Dom crinkled his brow. That wasn't right at all. What was the nature of time, anyway?

While Dom was pondering this, a boy cut his purse.

Coming to no immediate conclusion, Dom sighed and pushed his cheek further into the table, trying to ward off the thought he knew was coming next. He succeeded only in getting a splinter at the same time as thinking the thought, which made it worse. Ow, I just got a splinter in my cheek, thought Dom. He also thought, I am thirty years old today. The number echoed in his head, thirty, thirty, thirty, thirty, thirty, thirty…

This went on for quite some time, until he realized that Neal was whispering in his ear. "Thirty, thirty, thirty," he continued. Dom tried to punch him, but could only touch Neal's cheek with his fist. So he wrapped his other arm around Neal's neck and kissed him. His cousin struggled violently as Wolset came over, roaring with laughter, and slammed his tankard down on the table, ale sloshing everywhere. Behind him Lerant was roaring, too, but did not slam any tankards because he had no money to buy one, and already owed just about everyone in the tavern. Neal punched Dom in the stomach, hard enough that the sergeant let go of him, fell off his chair and vomited in the corner. Neal was glad that wasn't in his mouth. The barman cursed them but didn't throw them out. Wolset and Lerant were still roaring, but they found their jaws were starting to hurt a bit and died down to a chuckle.

A half an hour later, Dom was back in his chair with a mug of water, this time, his head bobbing unsteadily on his shoulders as Neal talked to him. He didn't know what about. It was the usual drawl, he supposed.

"I'm thirty," he said, interrupting his cousin.

"Yes, Dom. You're thirty years old."

"I don't want to be thirty, Neal… Nealy."

"I know you don't, Dom, but you still have your whole life ahead of you."

Wolset, a pretty barmaid on his knee, broke off sweet talk and made an encouraging sound for Dom. Lerant also added helpfully that Neal was right.

"No, I have about fifteen years less than my whole life ahead of me. And the whole life that's left is the less good part. 'Specially since I've done nothing to make sure it's good."

"Oh, Dom," said Neal.

"It's true. I'm still in the Own. I'm the younger son. No one wants to be betrothed to me. A few times, sure, they like me for a while, before mummy comes and decides I have no prospects with a capital P." Lerant rolled his eyes but held his tongue. "I'm the unsavoury bit they scrape off their boots before coming inside."

"Nooo," said Neal.

"Yes! I'm going to end up with the pale girl they keep in the attic, with the birthmark and the lisp."

Wolset, now with two barmaids hanging off him, said, "Dom, that's so shallow!" Then he tucked a coin between the blonde one's breasts and slapped her on the rump.

"Secretly, I'm shallow. Don't tell," whispered Dom.

Lerant whispered, "I won't tell."

"Dom, Dom, Dom," said Neal, his arm snaking around his cousin's shoulders, "It wouldn't matter if you were thirty or seventy. Ladies flock to you like cats to cream. You are going to find the most wonderful girl—

"I won't."

"Yes, you are, you are going to find the most wonderful, beautiful girl…"

Dom sighed drank deeply from his mug, pulling a face. "This is water."

"…blonde, shining, wavy hair…"

"You asked for water," said Lerant, pulling the mug of ale he had stolen from Dom closer to his chest.

"…and huuuge tits!"

Dom looked at Neal. "I didn't ask for water or tits."

Neal winked. "Well, you're getting them! Huuuge tits!" He mimed tits by cupping his hands on his chest and moving them up and down.

"I got tits!" said Wolset, burying his face in a barmaid's bodice as she screeched with laughter.

Kel, who had just been walking up to say hello, turned abruptly in the opposite direction.

"No," said Dom, miserably sipping water, "I'm hopeless. And thirty." He collapsed in a puddle of self pity. Some of the puddle got on Neal's boot and he quickly moved his foot.

"You know what you need?" said Lerant brightly, "A good bout in the practice rings. First thing tomorrow. Or after the first thing because I think you might be feeling this. Just think of it!" Lerant smiled his most winning smile, which was not very winning, really. "Don't you feel better already, just thinking of it?"

Dom farted and burped at the same time.

"Come on," said Neal. "Let's go home, cousin, it's time to go." Neal grabbed one of Dom's arms and Lerant the other. Wolset grabbed the two barmaids and went upstairs.

The threesome (the male one) walked and stumbled over to the door, but once they got there Dom wouldn't leave. "No!" he said, "Another ale! I need another ale! I'm not leaving until I!" He glared at Lerant and Neal, so hard that he forgot to finish his sentence. "When I'm thirty tomorrow, I want to be so drunk I don't even realize I'm thirty. I want to be so drunk that I forget about how time and aging work. Let got of me, you bastards! I'm gonna drink till I'm fort—"

A large shadow loomed over Dom from outside the tavern. Lord Raoul, coming home from the juice bar, had heard his best sergeant squalling in the doorway and headed over to investigate. Hearing what young Dom was squalling about, Raoul smiled at him, then clapped him hard upside the head. "Get a grip, you're still wet behind the ears far as I'm concerned!"

Dom, who had smacked his nose into the doorframe as well, looked dazedly at his commander and saluted weakly.

"Drills tomorrow. Six am," said Raoul with a grin, "sharp."

After he was gone, Dom straightened himself, wiped the blood from his nose, smoothed his rumpled tunic and walked into the street. Neal and Lerant had to run to catch up. "I got you a great gift," said Neal.

"I didn't," said Lerant.

"Someone cut my purse!" said Dom.

The End