Work Text:
After years of living in the mountains, The Great Hall became suffocating. The noise of the dry winds hitting the house’s windows was replaced by the ocean’s tides brushing against the city’s borders, and the quietness of the ocean dominated every corner, no matter how busy the crowds were. But even so, Olruggio always went back, walking the same hallways he used to walk back when he was a child. Taking their harder but better-paid commissions in between other jobs and his more bureaucratic affairs. This time, he was asked to maintain the public bath’s systems, and Olruggio agreed, as he was already staying the night.
He took one of the external pieces of the mechanism between his hands; the signs of the spell blending with the rock’s rough texture, it would likely stop working very soon.
“If these ones are this degraded, I can’t even begin to imagine how bad the ones that are in contact with water will look. I’m not coming back when you call me to fix this thing a week from now”.
“If it works, don't touch it.” said the manager of the baths.
“My job is to check and fix the entire system, I can’t just leave it as it is”.
“That’s not my problem. The Three Wise should stick their noses into their own business, the bath works just the way it is right now, and I’m not dealing with the mess if something goes wrong”.
“Alright then”.
They’d been arguing for about an hour. Olruggio carried weeks of travel and commissions on his back, feet itching to get home. He would finish the job that very same day, and go back to the atelier the next. Although he knew he’d receive complaints as soon as the system failed, on this occasion, it was better to let the client find out the consequences of his demands on his own rather than deal with the endless discussion he was being subjected to.
He managed to carve the seals in half an hour and set off to The Hall’s dinner, making a stop at the shopping gallery on his way. Most witches gathered there in the evenings, talking between herbs, contraptions, and food after a busy day at work. Olruggio had a knack for finding the latest imported goods available for sale. It was a habit he’d acquired during his first few years living under the sea. It reminded him of his days in Ghodrey, when his mother would take them to do the groceries with her, spending hours upon hours wandering from one stall to another, stopping every now and then to chat with its vendors. In The Great Hall, it was Qifrey who usually accompanied him, with one hand gripping his cloak so as not to lose him in the crowd, asking impatiently, “What are we looking for?” Olruggio always ignored the question.
Walking among the stalls, he found some familiar items: boots like the ones his mother used to wear, the sweets he and his sister used to fight over, and the flowers his father made them hunt every winter solstice. And yet, even during the best days of his adult life, with a place and family to call his own, he was breathless, the mist of The Hall suddenly gathering inside his lungs.
“Give me one of those, please.”
After his visit to the shopping gallery, hunger settled in his stomach like it only does at the end of an arduous day. The voices of the crowd gathered at the dinner resonated throughout the place over the tranquility of the sea, making his head buzz with pain. At his table, four men were arguing over the best ways to discipline their apprentices, and when they tried to get him to talk by asking for his opinion on the matter, Olruggio contemplated shoving his head underwater to scream.
“I don’t have any apprentices, I’m not really good with kids.” he said, doing his best to smile at them.
As soon as he finished eating, he threw away the leftovers and walked to the room he had rented for the night. Witches and children wandered the streets of The Hall returning to their homes. Exhaustion tugged at his skin and pricked his eyes, his back aching from carrying his backpack all day. When he finally took his shoes off, he lay down without even bothering to change his clothes. But even as tired as he was, the nights he was forced to spend at The Hall felt endless, and he could always find Qifrey intertwined among memories, his childhood, his home.
He wasn’t prone to letting it affect him too often. Their feelings had long since been stained by the habitual nature of their daily lives, and his childhood was growing ever more distant, becoming blurred. On nights like this, he remembered how, during his teenage years, they could spend days stuck in Qifrey’s room, hidden under the thick covers, whispering until the deepest hours of the night, in between laughter and knowing glances. The warmth of the lantern’s flame lighting up their faces.
Olruggio had returned from one of his trips to Ghodrey that day, his words tightly locked away. Sitting on the bed as they usually did, Qifrey’s attempts at banter were met with short sentences that left him with fidgeting hands. He eventually turned off the light. Both of them lay on the bed in silence, time stretching between them. Qifrey looked at him, trying to get a glimpse at his thoughts through the shadows that covered his face. Olruggio kept staring at the ceiling until he opened his mouth, finally setting his worries free.
“Sometimes I wish I hadn’t been born.” he said, his voice so soft it sounded like a whisper.
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true tho.”
“No it’s not.” Qifrey brought his hand closer, his cold fingers pressing softly against the skin of his chin, forcing Olruggio to look at him. “Things would not be better without you. And, even if they were, it doesn’t really matter because there will always be someone who’s happy that you’re here.”
The dim light of the ocean’s depths passed through the room’s windows, smudging everything in blue. The silence was consuming him inside and out; the bed was cold and foreign; after dancing around his memories, he finally fell asleep.
After hours of practicing spells, the four apprentices decided to play cards by the hearth. Qifrey was washing the dishes they had used for dinner; the cold water numbed his hands while he distracted himself with the girl’s banter. After six whole games, Coco, who had just learned how to play, kept asking the same questions she had before starting the first round, and Agott still replied to every question with the same kindness she had answered the first one. Richeh had four wins, while the other two belonged to Agott and Tetia, respectively.
Richeh slammed her fist against the table, her last remaining card now lying face up in the center.
“I win! I’m Richest in victories!”
“I’m starting to believe you’re hiding cards under the table when we don’t notice.” Said Agott, looking at her one card with a sigh. “Coco, do you need me to explain the rules again?”
“No, thanks. I think I’ll stop playing for today.”
“At least you’re better than master Qifrey,” Tetia said, glancing at him. “The last time we invited him to play, he fell asleep like four times. Master Olly kept elbowing him all afternoon, but he was hopeless.”
Qifrey chuckled while drying his hands and approached them before they decided to start another game. “I think it’s about time you go to bed, isn’t it?”
The girls replied in disappointment, but began packing up their mess while chatting away with each other, and after saying goodnight, their commotion began to subside as each one of them retired to their respective rooms. Soon, only the crackling of the fireplace, the wind blowing outside, and the clock striking midnight remained in the living room, each tick feeling slower than usual. On the counter, a pot still held the last portion of soup. Qifrey exhaled all the air from his lungs, releasing the tension he’d been accumulating throughout the day, and sat down on the sofa to read by the fire. He kept rereading the same paragraph, glancing at the clock, and exhaling, over and over. Until, finally, the click of the door’s lock was heard, followed by Olruggio’s presence, covered by the shadows of the night.
“You’re awake.” he said as he closed the door and started adding more wood to the fire. His backpack lay abandoned on the rug.
“It’s late.”
“I was asked to help on the way.”
Hunched over in front of the hearth, his face looked stretched with exhaustion, and his hair was swept in all directions. He kept his gaze on the rekindled flames and scratched his beard while tapping his foot, doubling the clock’s rhythm.
“Could you please stop looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
Olruggio finally turned around, throwing him a disapproving look. Qifrey smiled in response.
“I brought you something.” He bent down to take the flower from his backpack and sat down next to Qifrey on the sofa. Qifrey set his book aside before taking it from Olruggio's hands. It was wrapped in embroidered linen, its translucent petals shimmering in the warmth of the hearth’s fire. It was cold to the touch, yet soft, and it had a sweet and tart aroma like that of the berries from the coldest mountains.
“It’s a species native to the north, they grow when the snow is deep enough to hide its stems,” his eyes were fixed on the flower as he spoke. “People harvest them on the winter solstice and give them to a loved one. They are said to bring prosperity… or something like that.”
“Did you travel up north?”
“They were being sold at The Great Hall. I think they keep them alive with a hidden spell under the embroidery; it might die after you take the fabric off. I forgot to ask if they were supposed to be put in water or not. Maybe keep it away from the warmer places, just in case. Or, whatever, it’s your flower, you decide what to do with it. It’s not a big deal. Also…”
Qifrey’s soft laughter interrupted him. When Olruggio looked up from the flower meeting his gaze, he saw how he smiled, amusement dancing in his eyes. Olruggio’s face felt so hot that he wondered if he’d added too much wood to the fire. Qifrey rested his head against his shoulder, one of his hands squeezing Olruggio’s arm affectionately.
“Olly. It’s wonderful. Thank you.” his lips pressed against the black fabric of his cloak for a second before he stood up from the sofa, straightening his clothes. “Have you had dinner yet?”
Olruggio was lost in a trance. He took Qifrey’s hand with a tentative touch, their fingers soon intertwined, and brought it to his lips. Neither dared to take their eyes off each other. A kiss was placed between their fingers, a squeeze, and he let go.
“I’m starving.”
They rarely shared a bed. Qifrey loved his privacy, Olruggio had a tendency to lose himself in his craft until late into the night, and if they did and the girls decided to ask about it, they wouldn’t be able to explain something that they didn’t even understand themselves. But their reunions were a different matter, and over time, Qifrey had slowly learned to look forward to them. After long journeys, they would climb up the stairs, hand in hand, with the clumsiness of a child sneaking out after midnight. And with murmuring voices, they’d lock themselves in Qifrey’s room.
Olruggio would then take a hot bath, barely managing to put on his underwear before falling face down onto the bed. Qifrey, already waiting, would massage the knots in his back with one hand, his cold touch sending goosebumps down his spine. In return, Olruggio would slip one hand under his nightshirt and leave it there, anchoring him; and they would talk for hours until they inevitably fell asleep.
And when he woke up alone in bed the next day, wrapped in warm sheets. Olruggio would get dressed, greet the girls, and get started on his next commission.