Work Text:
Atwert was about as social as an uneven stone. He found himself everywhere, travelling the land and seeing all types of unknowing and witches alike, and yet he could never seem to form any lasting connections. Those he helped placed their gratitude atop his shoulders, but no friendships ever clung to his robe. He did not dwell on it. He simply floated from place to place, a dandelion in the breeze, and remained hopeful that one day some connections would form.
The first time he saw Galga was not in uniform as a knight, but as a fellow witch. Atwert’s latest task had led him into a rural village south of the Great Hall. He had arrived with his satchel full of drawing supplies prepared, only to be informed by a regretful looking villager that another witch had arrived just a few hours before him. Initially, disgruntled shock overtook him. A combination of annoyance at this unknown witch and disappointment in himself for not being fast enough to arrive first. Atwert did not see the point in getting too upset, though, and so he asked the kind old man who’d greeted him where the other witch was staying and headed in that direction. If he was lucky, this witch might be friendly enough to allow him to assist them in their work.
Atwert arrived at a quaint wooden lodge nestled between sowed farmland and the edge of a verdant forest. Smoked billowed out into plush clouds from a worn stone chimney. He knocked on the door, so light he feared for a moment the resident would not hear him. Then, the door opened, and Atwert was staring into the woven-collared shirt of a man much taller than himself.
A dark skinned man was stationed in the doorway, half a head taller than Atwert, his rich hazelnut eyes staring down at him. Short tufts of white hair reminiscent of pale moss were atop his head, the sides of his head completely shaved. Strong angles formed the planes of his face. His mouth was pressed into a thin line. On most people Atwert would assume that expression was the manifestation of distaste, yet there was a softness to his features that compelled him to think otherwise. The man had not spoken at all, but Atwert’s gut knew that this was a kind man.
That or he was just delusional from how attractive he was.
Atwert shooed his unsavory thoughts away as he cleared his throat. His hands clasped together in front of him, his fingers running over his knuckles in repeated stroking motion; a nervous habit he'd picked up as a child and never grown out of.
“Hello, I am Atwert… The witch.” He punctuated his words with a smile. The man's face did not change, and the nerves in Atwert's stomach flared.
“I, ah- I was told there was another witch staying here by the farmer… I figured I would stop by. That- that wouldn't happen to be you, would it?” Atwert said. A part of him desperately hoped the answer was no, so that he could stomp this little crush into the metaphorical dirt and move on.
The man tilted his head slightly to the side, eyes opening the tiniest bit wider. “That would be me, yes. I am Galga.” The man glanced behind him briefly, into the soft warm glow of the cabin. “My apologies, you've caught me during my break.”
Atwert had been pointedly ignoring the man's lack of hat and robe until now. Something about seeing him without them on their first meeting felt far too intimate, even though it really wasn't.
“Oh! No need to apologize, I did show up rather abruptly, after all.” Atwert waved a hand up by his shoulder, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. It felt like the longer this man stared at him the more his muscles wanted to collapse like a tower made of straw.
“Well, if you don't mind the informalities you're welcome to come in. I assume you're here for the same reason I am?” Galga said, stepping back from the threshold to allow Atwert to step inside. Atwert skittered through the doorway, careful not to trip and make a fool of himself. Galga closed the door gently behind him, cutting off the stream of daylight that had been illuminating the entrance. It was then Atwert noticed all the curtains were closed, encasing them in a moody atmosphere. It made sense for a witch–he needed to hide his drawings from any prying eyes–but the change in mood did not help his rapid heartbeat. His eyes trailed to the main light source in the room, a magical lantern burning brightly atop a rugged table. Beside the lantern were an assortment of witch’s drawing supplies, half-drawn seals covering thick pieces of parchment. A pointed cap and robe were hung off one of the chairs at the table.
Galga walked towards the table, Atwert following in pursuit. “Yes, the scalewolf problem. I didn't realize another witch was heading this way, but, well… I figured since we're both here anyway, we may be able to work more effectively together.” Atwert said. He could hear the lilt of desperation in his voice, and wondered to himself what was causing it. Was it the annoyance of travelling back, or the fear of being sent away by this charming man? Actually, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer anymore. Both were rather unbecoming of him.
Galga nodded, having started to shift papers around so they weren't all across the table. He gestured to the empty chair in front of the space at the table he'd just cleared. Atwert shuffled to it and took the offered seat, muttering a small thanks under his breath. Galga sat across from him, in the chair that housed his hat and robe.
“I spoke to most of the townspeople this morning. From what I've gathered, there have been at least three scalewolf sightings, and five hens have gone missing so far.” Galga said. “I would be glad to have your help, a second mind is always more effective than one. Although, I suspect we may be working for a few days to ensure our work is thorough.”
Atwert stiffened to prevent himself from slumping in relief. “Oh, I don't mind. I've stayed in stranger places for longer.” Atwert turned to the papers that were partially obscured from the haphazard stack they'd been pushed into. “Would you mind catching me up on what you've done so far?”
The corners of Galga’s mouth twitched upwards, the faintest curve of a smile directed right at him. Atwert felt his heart stammer, and all hope that he would not fall head over heels for this man seemed to run off into the dark edges of the room. He could only cross his hands in his lap, fidgeting as subtlely as possible as he listened to the smooth voice of Galga going over his observations.