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“Did you know that basilisks are attracted to the scent of rotting eggs?”
The offhanded comment catches you off guard. Such questions really shouldn’t surprise you seeing as how it’s Rasmodius you’re married to, yet it still causes your steps to falter. You give a huff of a laugh through your nose. “I did not! I didn’t even know basilisks were real, to be honest.”
Magnus Rasmodius’ expression is nonchalant—as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. “Indeed. To them, rotting eggs are a sign that the mother is no longer able to care for her young, usually because she has passed away. It’s an easy meal for the humble scavenging basilisk. Carcasses, spoiled eggs… They are not picky about what they eat.”
“Gross.”
“Very much so.” He tips the brim of his hat up. His eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles in your direction. “But fascinating, is it not?”
You choose not to answer the question. The two of you veer from the dirt path leading away from your farm and onto the cobblestone paths of the town square. “Have you ever seen a basilisk, Magnus?”
“Me?” He chuckles. “I’d probably not be standing beside you if I had, my heart. Rather, I'd be a stone statue decorating a damp cave somewhere. No, I've merely read about them. Much safer that way.”
“That's fair. I much prefer you as a non-statue, anyway.” Playfully, you bump your shoulder into his, and he chuckles again.
“You won't be saying that the next time I burn pancakes and fill the house with smoke.”
“Don't remind me.”
Off in the distance, you hear laughter and muffled conversation. At the entrance to the town square sits an archway decorated with colorful pieces of felt cut into egg shapes. Baskets of flowers flank it on either side—Evelyn's doing, no doubt. You pause and give Magnus a side-eye. “You ready?”
He sighs heavily. His fists clench at his sides. “As I’ll ever be.”
You step toward him and entwine your fingers with his. Despite the cooler weather, his hand is damp with sweat. Rasmodius looks at you and gives his best attempt at a smile, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “You’ve got this,” you reassure the wizard.
When you enter the festival grounds, you're immediately met with the sounds of chatter and clinking dishes. Vincent and Jas dash past the two of you, too caught up in their game of tag to even notice you. Colorful pennants hang over the square to herald the arrival of spring. The main event of the Egg Festival in your humble opinion, the buffet table, immediately catches your attention. The sweet, meaty scent of glazed ham wafts through the air. Your stomach growls (you purposely skipped breakfast in order to save as much room as possible); if Rasmodius notices, he doesn't say anything. The muscles of his arm stiffen against yours. Glancing up, you note the bead of sweat that threatens to roll down from his hairline.
“You alright?” You give his clammy hand a squeeze. He returns it.
“Yes. Let's find a table,” he mutters, his voice taut.
You nod at a handful of your neighbors as you scout your surroundings, making a point to not let go of Rasmodius’ hand. You’re more than aware of the general attitude toward the wizard. Your neighbors didn’t speak of the mysterious figure inhabiting the tower in the forest often, but their words were often laced with suspicion or blatant distrust when they did. Their tunes quickly changed out of sheer politeness when you’d announced the two of you were to be wed (the typical congratulations and well-wishes), yet a few of your neighbors let their revulsion be known regardless.
He's your partner, and if anyone has an issue with it, that's on them. You refuse to hide your husband away from the very valley he protects just for their comfort.
You choose a smaller table off to the side that no one has claimed yet. Farther away for Magnus’ sake, but not so far that you can't be a part of the action. You sit across from him.
Letting out a shaky breath, Rasmodius removes his hat to dab at the perspiration along his brow. He's quick to put it back on. “Well this is… certainly festive. The mundane folk seem to be enjoying themselves.”
“It's a good time, I promise. It typically starts off with food and chatting, and then wraps up with the annual egg hunt.”
“Will you be partaking?”
“In the egg hunt? Probably, but I'm not confident I'm going to win. Abigail beats me every year.” Never before have you seen a human move faster than Abigail during the egg hunt…
“Mm. Have you seen Linus yet, perchance?”
You look around for the bearded man. “Not yet, no, but I'll keep an eye out. He typically keeps to the sidelines during the festivals.” Birds of a feather. Once more, your stomach growls. The scent of that ham must be getting to you, you think. “I'm so hungry I’m about to gnaw my own arm off. I'm gonna go grab a plate.” As you go to stand, a hand juts out to grab your forearm. Rasmodius looks at you wide-eyed.
“Stay. Please.”
You give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “I'll be back in a few. Can I get you a plate while I'm up there?”
His Adam’s apple bobs. “No, thank you.”
“You sure? Gus’ deviled eggs are to die for!”
“I don't have much of an appetite.”
“That's understandable. There'll be plenty of leftovers if you change your mind, Magnus. I'll be right back.” You don't miss how he shrinks down just a little bit as if hoping no one will notice he's sitting there. His anxiety is nothing new to you, but it's still odd seeing the wizard, the protector of the valley who’s so charmingly confident when he's amidst his books, minimize himself like this. It breaks your heart. You want him to enjoy himself, to have friends in the village, but at the same time you can see just how hard this is for him. The last thing you want is for him to be stressed, but at the same time you know he has to push through this . Same as with learning magic, you reason. It means the world that he's been trying so hard not just for himself, but for you.
With a reassuring smile, you hop up from the table. On your way to grab a plate, you’re pulled into a debate between Abigail and Sebastian about if frogs have kneecaps. (And as the resident animal expert, you contribute that you lean toward them having kneecaps.) A few minutes in, you excuse yourself from the heated conversation to go fill up your plate with ham, salad, and more eggs than you’ve probably eaten all year while making sure to grab a few extra for Magnus in case he changes his mind.
When you go to return, you notice Vincent and Jas are standing in front of Rasmodius. Jas, rocking on the balls of her feet, is saying something to him, but you can’t make it out over the sound of Pierre trying to hawk his wares. The wizard’s posture is rigid, the fingers of his left hand tapping along the table. He says something back.
Jas and Vincent are good kids. Magnus had talked about wanting children of his own one of these days. Carefully balancing your plate in your hands, you creep closer and lean against a tree, observing—not unlike how the wizard has observed your attempted spellcasting time and time again from a safe distance away, you think fondly.
“My mom says you’re dangerous,” says Vincent, his tone nonchalant.
Rasmodius quirks a purple eyebrow. “Does she?”
“Yeah. She says you can, like, shoot fire out of your hands and that I should stay away from you.”
You don’t miss the way Rasmodius’ typical stoic expression falters. Your heart aches for the man; his public image and the misunderstandings the villagers have for him have always been sensitive spots. To do so much good for the valley and be reduced to the guy that shoots fire from his hands… It’s hard to bear witness to. He clears his throat. “Rest assured that I would never harm you or the people of Stardew Valley, little one.”
“Little?” Having seemingly forgotten about the earlier conversation now, Vincent puffs up his chest. “I’m not little! I just—”
Penny, bless her, steps in to intercede. She places a gentle hand on Vincent’s shoulder while delicately balancing a tray of food in her other. “I hope he’s not bothering you, Mr. Rasmodius.”
The wizard does not respond.
She ruffles Vincent’s hair. “Why don’t you two go play with Dusty until the egg hunt? I’m sure he’d appreciate the company.”
The boy nods, locks of hair bobbing in front of his eyes, before running off, Jas on his heels as always.
Penny sighs and gives a wistful smile. “Those kids... They’re a handful at times, but they’re sweethearts.”
Rasmodius continues staring at a point on the ground. After a moment, he raises his head. You can barely make out his words. “I’m not dangerous.”
His words take Penny aback. “Pardon?”
“I cannot shoot fire from my hands. Wielders of the arcane are strongly discouraged from drawing power from the elemental plane of fire. It’s too unwieldy, too unpredictable. I prefer sourcing my energy from the forest.”
She blinks. “Oh. That’s cool.”
“My magic is, for the most part, not offensive. I use it to enhance my own abilities and protect the people of this valley from beings not of this plane. I am very in control of my spellcasting.”
“How interesting.” Penny smiles, but it looks disingenuous. “I should go check on the kids and make sure they’re not getting into any trouble. It was nice talking to you, Mr. Rasmodius.”
“Likewise, Patty.”
“Penny. Enjoy the festival, sir.”
When Penny turns away, Rasmodius visibly cringes, eyes squeezing shut as if verbally berating himself. “Penny. Not Patty!”
Deeming it a good time to intercede, you approach and retake your seat at the table. The dish clatters against the wood when you set it down. “Hey! I saw you were talking to Penny. You two talk about anything interesting?”
His shoulders sag as if he’d been holding his breath. There’s an unreadable look behind his eyes when they meet yours. His mouth opens and closes, searching for words, but instead he settles on placing a hand on your outstretched arm. His grip on your forearm is almost painful. “Not particularly.”
“I overheard a part of it. You did great!”
“I appreciate your reassurance, but I can recognize that our conversation was,” he pauses, thinking, “painfully awkward, as the younger folk might say.”
“Regardless, you did good.”
“I forgot her name. It’s a simple five-letter name, and I mix it up with Patty. I don’t even know a Patty!”
“It happens.” You place your hand atop his. “For the first three months I was here, I purposefully didn’t talk to Elliott because I could never remember his name.”
Rasmodius exhales loudly before wetting his lips. His hand trembles beneath yours. “...I’m going home.”
You tilt your head. “Magnus? Is everything alright?”
“Feel free to stay and enjoy the festivities.” With that, he releases his death grip on your arm and, with a swish of his cloak, turns to leave.
It doesn’t feel right just letting your husband walk away when he’s distressed. You quickly say your goodbyes to the others before grabbing your coat and following. Rasmodius has always been a fast walker (‘There’s only 24 hours in a day, and I need to make the most of them’), but you find that you practically have to sprint to catch up with him. When you do, your heart already feels like it’s about to pound out of your chest. “Magnus,” you pant, “is everything okay?”
There’s a stretch of silence. “...I know we’ve been working on my openness. No, I don’t believe so.”
“What’s going on? Is it what Penny said?”
“I do not wish to speak about it right now.”
“I can respect that. If it’s any solace though, Magnus, you—” Before you can finish your sentence, Rasmodius traces a quick sigil in the air. There’s a bright flash, a ringing sound, and suddenly, he’s no longer standing before you. You’ve witnessed his spellcasting enough to recognize he’s teleported away. A heavy sigh leaves your parted lips. The man needs his space, you reason. Some time to decompress. You can give that to him. Your head swimming with thoughts, you make your way back to the farmhouse.
Stepping inside, you note that the lights are off save for an orange flickering coming from beneath the door to Rasmodius’ study. At least he made it home safe, you think. You spend the next hour doing busywork around the house: sweeping, washing dishes, doing anything to make yourself available when the time comes.
The sun has neared the horizon when you do hear the door to the wizard’s study creak open. No longer wearing his hat or robes, Rasmodius has dressed down into a black undershirt and slacks. Curls of violet hair stick up at odd angles. To say he looks weary would be an understatement. His footsteps sound deafeningly loud in the otherwise quiet farmhouse. As if he is a deer, you make no sudden movements, simply smiling warmly when he sits down on the sofa across from you. His posture is straight, his hands folded on his lap. He avoids your gaze.
“Hey.” You’re the first to break the silence.
“Hey.” For several moments, he pulls at a loose thread along the cuff of his shirt. His chest rises when he inhales deeply. “I would like to… apologize for my earlier behavior. Teleporting away and whatnot. I hope you know you didn't have to leave the festival on my account.”
“I know. But I was worried about you.” You set your book down on the seat beside you. “How are you doing?”
“Slightly better. I copied scrolls until my fingers started to cramp. The monotony of it has a peculiar way of soothing the mind.” Addressing the elephant in the room, you ask, “Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“Not particularly, but…” Another deep inhale. “The townspeople are afraid of me. They think I am dangerous.”
“People are afraid of what they don't understand. That's part of the reason we're trying to get your face out there more, remember? So that more people than me can see how wonderful you are?”
“I understand that. It’s just…” His violet eyes search skyward. “I dedicated my life from a young age to studying the arcane for a specific reason. To seek knowledge and unlock the mysteries of this world, yes, but also to help my fellow man. I could have sought a high-ranking position in the Ministry—stars know I certainly possess the talents for it. But I wanted to keep my boots on the ground. To see the direct impact of my actions. I chose Stardew Valley as my ward because I fell in love with the simple, down-to-earth lifestyle here that one cannot find in a large city. I have spent countless hours, decades of backbreaking work, protecting that lifestyle. I did not commit to the arcane for the glamor or accolades, and I can tolerate others thinking I am strange, even, but to hear someone suggest that I might hurt them…” His voice cracks. “A child, no less...”
A lump forms in your throat. It feels as if your heart has been torn from your chest and stepped on. This whole time you had figured it was the interaction with Penny that was bothering him; you hadn’t considered it went much deeper than even that. It leaves you feeling like an idiot. A poor partner. You know how important the valley is to Rasmodius; you should have been able to read the signs sooner. But this is not the time for you to wallow in your own regrets and emotions, you remind yourself. “Can I sit next to you?”
“Always.”
You sit beside him on the couch. You loop your arm around his and lean in close to rest your head against his shoulder. He smells of pine. The familiarity of it comforts you. “You’re right. I’m sure that did really hurt to hear. I’m sorry if it felt like I was undermining it.”
He hums and cranes his neck to rest his head atop yours.
“I know what a good man you are. How kind your heart is. Our neighbors will know that in time, too.”
“I can only hope.” He sighs. “For the life of me, I cannot comprehend what you see in me. You,” he gestures widely in your direction, “you are remarkable. A walking ball of sunshine illuminating the lives of all you meet. Every day, I count my blessings that we’ve managed to exist at the same time on this mortal coil. Me, however… I am an awkward, bumbling old man that struggles to hold simple conversations.”
“And you're also kind, wise, and super smart. That, and you can grow a garden like no other.” You give a huff of a laugh. “I”m lucky enough to be married to the most important person in the valley. What could I not see in you?”
“Agree to disagree, I suppose.” Despite his words, the corners of his lips turn up.
“In any case, I’m proud of you for coming to the festival today. I know these aren’t your cup of tea, but I always appreciate your company. It means a lot to me.”
“Anything for you, core of my heart. As… uncomfortable as they may be.”
“They’ll get easier with time, especially once folks get to know you.”
“I can only hope.”
You bump your knee into his. “What can I make you for dinner? Anything you want.”
“I’m content with leftovers. It’d be a shame to let perfectly good food go to waste.”
“Hey, easy enough.” As you’re about to get up to start reheating the pasta from last night, Rasmodius doesn’t let go of your hand. You tilt your head, questioning. His expression is serious.
“You’d mentioned that today’s festivities include an egg hunt, yes?”
“Yeah.”
“What happens to the eggs that aren’t found? Is someone responsible for gathering the missing ones?”
“Yeah, but usually we won’t find a couple until it gets hot and they start stinking. Why?”
His face blanches. “The basilisks.”
“The what?”
“What about the basilisks? They wake from their hibernation around this time of the year, and they’re terribly hungry when they do!” There’s little time to question him before Rasmodius is sprinting toward the bedroom. He comes back out still in the process of throwing on his black robes and hat. “I must go to my tower to cast a divination spell. I’ll be back in an hour. Don’t postpone dinner on my behalf!”
Before you can get a word out, there’s another bright flash of light and a woosh of air. Magnus no longer stands before you. Silence fills the space once more. A muscle in your jaw twitches. There are a lot of perks to being married to a wizard—you get chores done in a fraction of the time it used to take—but many… quirks as well. Most notably that your husband can just up and disappear at a moment’s notice.
Grumbling, you go to take the leftovers out of the fridge.