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English
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Published:
2022-08-06
Completed:
2024-02-24
Words:
1,267
Chapters:
2/2
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10
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Language of the Heart

Summary:

Greek is Eskander’s language, and Keria does love the way he speaks it, but it is also the Library’s language. There’s nothing intimate or personal about it, not when nearly every book she mirrors is in Greek, every sign, every list, every instruction she’s given. Arabic, though, is Keria’s language, and it is hers in a way Greek could never be.

 

After Eskander is gone, Keria speaks Arabic to her son.

Notes:

me: I’m going to sleep.
my brain: what if Wolfe spoke Arabic? and isn’t it weird how there aren’t more Arabic-speaking characters, considering where the story is set?
me:

anyway. I don’t speak Arabic and was sleep-deprived when I wrote this, so enjoy?

also there are some bonus ramblings and headcanons in the end notes, should that interest you.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Greek is Eskander’s language, and Keria does love the way he speaks it, but it is also the Library’s language. There’s nothing intimate or personal about it, not when nearly every book she mirrors is in Greek, every sign, every list, every instruction she’s given. Arabic, though, is Keria’s language, and it is hers in a way Greek could never be.

She teaches Arabic to Eskander, and he’s a quick learner. He says he wants to speak it as well as she does, and she laughs and tells him that there are some things you can’t be taught, that you have to learn yourself. And often the only way to learn them is to be raised on the language. Still, though, Eskander’s Arabic is better than most non-native speakers in the Tower, and she loves him for being willing to learn.

After Eskander is gone, Keria speaks Arabic to her son. Christopher learns Greek, of course, and more quickly than any of the other children his age. But he practices Arabic letters in his journal, under Keria’s watchful eye. He favors books in Arabic over ones in Greek, and when he mentions that her Arabic sounds like music, she teaches him songs in Arabic. The same songs her father taught her, years ago. The language is a treasure, handed down from her grandparents to her parents, from her parents to herself, and now she hands it down to her son.

Arabic, Wolfe discovers at the age of ten, is everywhere outside the Iron Tower. Street signs are painted with both Greek and Arabic letters, vendors call out their wares in Arabic, and it’s easy to find Blanks translated into Arabic. It’s a world away from the secret language he spoke with his mother- with Keria.

Greek is still more useful in his everyday life, though, especially in Library matters. For a brief time, Wolfe considers giving up Arabic entirely, cutting one of his last ties to Keria. He decides against it; it would be a shame to waste so many years of practice, and it might come in handy on missions.

So Wolfe keeps practicing Arabic, mainly in the form of writing in his journal. Most of what he reads for his job is in Greek, but he does enjoy the occasional Arabic novel or poem. One thing he does forget, though, is the songs Keria used to sing. But they remind him too much of the Iron Tower for him to seek them out.

Niccolo Santi speaks Greek well, but it’s not his native language. He sends reports, writes letters, reads instructions, and gives orders in Greek, but he jokes, curses, sings, and writes journal entries in Italian. And Santi has no shortage of Italian endearments for Wolfe. Caro. Amante. Tesoro. Amore.

Wolfe doesn’t speak Arabic with Santi. It feels too personal, too vulnerable. Like if he so much as calls out a greeting, Santi will know every detail of his childhood and his tangled, complicated relationship with his mother and the language she loved. He knows it’s irrational. He doesn’t care.

It’s late. The glows in the streetlights have been on for hours, and the sky is dark as pitch. Wolfe’s desk has been taken over by metal scraps, so he and Santi are sitting on the floor of Wolfe’s office. Wolfe is reading a paper on how the designs of automatons in Mexico differ from those in other parts of the world, and Santi is looking over his squad members’ reports on their latest mission. Wolfe glances at the clock, and is startled to see that it’s nearly midnight. He shuts his Codex and stretches his arms over his head. “Nic?”

“Hmm?”

“We should leave. It’s past eleven.”

“I’m nearly done,” Santi says. “I just have to reply to Zara.”

“You can do that tomorrow,” Wolfe insists. “Let’s go home,” he hesitates, then adds, “ azizi .”

Santi looks up, and Wolfe can see the question forming on his lips, but he simply closes his Codex and says, “You’re right. Let’s go.”

It’s far too late for any steam carriages to be out, but the walk to their house isn’t far. Once they’re about halfway down the street, Santi asks, “What was it you called me?”

Wolfe slips his hand into Santi’s. “ Azizi .”

“ Azizi ,” Santi repeats. He tilts his head, considering. “What does it mean?”

“It’s Arabic,” Wolfe says softly. “It means darling.”

Santi turns to look at him, surprised. “I didn’t know you spoke Arabic.”

Wolfe doesn’t meet his gaze. “My mother taught me.”

“Oh.” Santi is quiet for a moment. “I tried to learn Arabic once.”

“You did?”

Santi laughs. “It was for a mission, and I was never very good. But I always thought it was a beautiful language.”

“It is,” Wolfe replies. “My mother loved it.”

“What about you?” Santi shakes his head. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer that.”

“No, I want to.” Wolfe pauses, thinking. “I… I do love it. But my mother loved Arabic because it wasn’t Greek. She treated it like a secret language, a little rebellion.” It’s funny, Wolfe realizes. He’s spent so long not speaking Arabic with Santi in order to hide this part of his past, but now he’s telling him voluntarily. “And I think I just love it because it’s beautiful.” He smiles. “I really should practice more.”

“Well,” Santi says after a moment, “I certainly wouldn’t complain if you did.”

The next morning is a rare occasion when Wolfe is awake before Santi. He doesn’t get up, just sits in the dark, quiet room, and watches Santi next to him. Wolfe’s thoughts wander to their conversation the previous night, and to his surprise, he doesn’t regret telling Santi about Keria.

When Santi opens his eyes a few minutes later, Wolfe leans over to kiss him on the cheek, and whispers, “ Sabah el keir, azizi .”

Chapter 2

Notes:

a very short drabble about terms of endearment that’s too short to be its own thing, and it’s related enough that I thought I’d add it here.

content warning for hints of Wolfe-typical suicidal thoughts, though that’s not really the focus here.

Chapter Text

Wolfe writes in Arabic more than he speaks it, but that was always the case, even when he was a child. When she was teaching him to write in Arabic, Keria would show him books of beautiful calligraphy that he would try (often in vain) to read, and then imitate in a notebook until he grew tired of it. These days, the margins of his notebooks fill again with swirling letters, and Arabic curses and endearments alike spring more readily to his lips.

His favorite is hayati, my life. He slips it into a conversation one day, just so Santi can ask what it means and then hide a flustered grin behind his hand when Wolfe explains. No matter how many times Santi hears it afterwards, it still gets a smile out of him.

There is one phrase, though, that Wolfe refuses to translate for his lover. He uses it sparingly, and mostly when he thinks Santi is asleep. Ya’aburnee. May you bury me.

May I die first, rather than have to live without you.

“I’d rather live with you,” he tells Santi, and that stills holds true. But I will die before I live without you, he does not say, because Santi feels the same, and the natural conclusion of that does not bear thinking about.

Santi’s eyes are closed, his face relaxed. His breathing is deep and even, and early morning sunbeams play across his face and hair. Barely awake himself, Wolfe presses a kiss to his forehead. “Ya’aburnee, hayati,” he murmurs, and starts to drift back to sleep again, wrapped in a feeling of being so overwhelming lucky to have Santi asleep beside him, whole and alive and his.

May you bury me, my life.

Notes:

Azizi means darling in Arabic, and sabeh el keir means good morning, from what I’ve found. If anyone here actually speaks Arabic, feel free to correct me.

Headcanons/ramblings:
-Greek is more commonly spoken than Arabic in Alexandria, because that’s where the Library is based, but Arabic is the common language throughout the rest of Egypt.
-However, Arabic is still widely spoken in Alexandria, especially among people who were born there, like Wolfe.
-Hence the details about the street signs in both Greek and Arabic, the street vendors speaking Arabic, and Arabic books being easy to find.