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The rain was not so much falling as hurling itself at the wizards by the time they pulled into the Ismay harbour, long enough after dusk that the Lookfar’s eyes could not help but bash against the sea wall, throwing both the wizards into the belly of the boat in a tangled heap. But Ged was in a potent and infectious good mood, and he grinned so widely Vetch feared his face might split open.
“We have pushed her too far, I fear,” he said heartily, “and yet she has done us proud! A voyage for the ages!”
“We ought to find an inn.” Vetch was worried that the constant rain was giving Ged a fever - he had refused even the smallest ward or weather work, citing high spirits as an adequate health keeper. “It is far too dark to follow the path up the hill to my house, Ged.” No harbourmaster had come to meet them, and thus Vetch was sure they were unlikely to be overheard, given that everyone within a hundred miles was presumably unconscious. The shadows of empty ships melded against the night sky.
“Come now, Estarriol!” Ged tied the Lookfar to the dock with amiable vigour. “Wake the innkeep at this hour, when you live but four miles away? I thought you the kinder of the two of us,” he finished teasingly. Vetch felt his face grow warm.
“I only meant,” he spluttered, before interrupting himself, “that is to say, I intended to - don’t mock my good nature!” He hopped out of the boat as Ged laughed harder than he had in five years. His heart felt so light with the loss of the shadow, he was struggling not to grin in every waking moment. “I was worried we might trip on a tree root,” finished Vetch lamely.
“What are wizards for if not to-” Ged cast a light at the end of his yew staff with a flourish “-shed some light on the situation!”
Vetch raised a disapproving eyebrow.
“Not a good jest?”
Vetch lit his staff and set off up the hill.
“Vetch- wait, Estarriol! Was it not amusing?”
~~~
Ged seemed to have discovered a latent desire to be a jester instead of a wizard, or so it seemed to Vetch. He voiced this thought to Ged, after a good three dozen terrible puns, but Ged merely laughed.
“I could never bring amusement to so many,” he said, “for yours is the only laughter I wish to hear.”
At that, Vetch found himself tripping on his famous tree roots, and lost track of the next gross of jests.
No other four miles of pastoral pathway has ever seemed so troublesome as theirs did that night. Each raindrop seemed intent on reaching the burning at the bottom of the Earthsea, and ploughed itself as far into the ground as it would go, turning the entire landscape into an ornate mud sculpture that looked solid enough but was enveloping the wizards’ boots with every step.
At length, the shadow of Vetch’s homestead loomed benevolently over them. Ged reached for the mottled brass knocker, but Vetch quickly and quietly pointed out that it was so late it was early, and that an angry Yarrow raised at this hour would not be a fun experience for anyone concerned. Instead, they opened the door so slowly it seemed to take minutes so it wouldn’t creak.
“I’ll light a fire,” said Ged, in almost a whisper. “You hang our cloaks.” He placed his bundled one, off within instants of being indoors, into Vetch’s hands, and practically danced off towards the hearth.
There was something comfortingly solid about Ged, thought Vetch as he straightened out the cloaks so they wouldn’t get mildew. He could be thrown into any town from the Ninety Isles to Kargad and still be exactly the same, mysterious but at once utterly obvious person. Even now, he was lighting the fire with a tinderbox rather than any spell. Vetch watch him for a moment, and felt a familiar feeling within him, though it had been some time since he had felt it – since Vetch and Sparrowhawk had become Estarriol and Ged to one another. It was almost like falling, but it was more of a sense of towardness, and it was always pointed at Ged, smiling Ged. Ged could never do anything other than smile, at least with his eyes.
The fire roared into existence.
“Come on, Estarriol,” said Ged, pulling Vetch into the warmth. “It’s close enough to dawn now that we might as well see the night through down here.” They collapsed into a creaky sofa that Ged had (silently, it seemed) pulled in front of the fireplace. It suddenly seemed very small, and Ged seemed very close. The warmth turned inwards and reflected back out a hundred times stronger. Vetch felt his face burn.
He was not a fool. Wizards avoid such matters, but they are not ignorant of them. He knew what this meant.
Love.
With Ged? Vetch turned the thought over in his mind. Ged leant against him, sagged almost, watching the dancing flames with falling eyelids. Love? With Ged, who smiled with eyes even when he wasn’t with his mouth? With Ged, who had just walked back into his life after years apart and yet fit in it like he had been tailor-made? Who had been through so much and deserved so much?
Yes, breathed the wind and the world. Yes of course, you colossal idiot.
Ged made a little humming noise and sank down to a point where it could not even be pretended that he was not falling asleep.
“Sparrowhawk?” said Vetch softly. A pause, a hesitation even. “Ged?” Even more softly.
“Mmhm?” said Ged, struggling to get his eyes open.
“Nevermind,” said Vetch, trying and failing not to look at Ged’s lips, slightly parted. “It can wait until morning.”
“Goodnight, Estarriol.” It was fairly coherent. Ged sagged one final time, into the crook between Vetch’s neck and his chest. Vetch’s breath caught.
“Goodnight, Ged.”
It could wait until morning.