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Being the court magician comes with its own set of challenges.
The world around him is changing; it’s not like Meltyre’s ever said no to something just because it were difficult, but some things are harder than others. There’s a lot less magic and a lot more sitting in on meetings with important-looking people using big words to make themselves feel bigger and more important, but Meltyre doesn’t mind. They scrunch up their faces at him, and he forces his face into a smile, hoping his shaking hands are hidden beneath the overly-large sleeves of his expensive oceanic robes. He can practically hear the sneer of ‘kid’ and ‘child’ in their minds; what once felt endearing and warm from his friends know feels like a condemnation. He doesn’t try to show off; even though he knows he’s perfectly capable of doing so. He just tries to make it through each day alive at the end. Which is all he’s ever wanted, really.
He’s learning. He likes learning. It’s worth it.
His sisters are safe, and more importantly - happy. They have friends, clothes, games, food. They’re getting an education and their smiles are always wide; their cheeks flushed.
He supposes he’s content too. He eats well every day, which is a far cry from most of his life, where he’d be lucky some days to even eat at all. He has access to all kinds of books and papers and materials. He has a large variety of gadgets and knick-knacks to use to channel his magic. He gets to practice at his own pace, and he gets to breathe.
Magic felt easy when the lives of people he loved were in danger, but now it feels easiest of all.
(Except for when his hands shake.)
His blood is safe, but that isn’t all the family he has. Velune, Fina and Betty write occasionally. He tears open the scrolls with vigor, drinking in the words with rapt enthusiasm before tearing off to find Sterling and share their love with him. They’re fighting monsters, scaling buildings, eating quiche. Once a letter came with a small portrait attached. ‘In case you forget what we look like’ were printed in Betty’s tidy letters, and Meltyre could practically hear Fina’s voice dictating each word.
Those kinds of things were expensive, but to Meltrye they were priceless.
He visits Sterling for other reasons too; they eat together most days, and take walks and sit quietly together in their limited off-time. Meltyre with a collection of heavy books, Sterling focusing on his latest art project. The paladin teases him relentlessly but he doesn’t mind. There’s something childish and sweet in those moments that feels reserved only for him. If he knew a spell to bottle up that feeling, he thinks he’d never stop casting it.
Which is probably why nobody had bothered inventing it.
Sometimes they fall asleep slumped across their various projects, only to find themselves awake hours later tangled up in each other’s arms. Meltyre flushes and stammers through his escape, his thoughts on his sisters and their friends and - and Sterling only flashes him a toothy grin (blonde hair stuck in all kinds of haphazard angles) and laughs through his friend’s embarrassment.
They don’t talk about adventuring often. They talk about their friends and The Goblin’s Head, but hardly ever the time away. There’s a tinge of regret that lingers still; part of him had assumed retiring from adventuring would quell his fears. Would make him feel safe, secure. Would stop the constant ache in his chest, the pounding of his heart in his head. His hands shaking.
He thinks he’s okay living the rest of his life like this. His hands shake, but his sister’s don’t. His friends don’t. The kingdom is safer because of him - he knows that too. He’s where he needs to be, even if his hands shake.
He can do good here. He can change lives.
Part of him is a little pleased he can show everyone how much he’s grown and changed. How much he’s capable of. Because of their bitterness, because of his friend’s love.
He tries not to dwell on thoughts like those, knows how deeply they can twist a soul.
He wakes up every day with shaking hands and has no relief until he slips back into slumber - but he’s okay.
He knows this with absolute clarity.
Some day, his family will return. He’ll feel whole again, and his hands will still shake.
Some day, Sterling will slip his own hand into Meltyre’s and neither of them will say a thing.
Meltyre’s hands will shake, and Sterling will still hold them.
If that’s not happiness, nothing is.