Chapter Text
It’s Ari’s second summer in Mistria. He’s gotten used to waking up to rooster calls and dog kisses. This place has delivered its promise to him: a peaceful end to his brief, desperate adventuring days. He still encounters hard work and danger, but when night falls, there is always a roof below which to lay his head.
This is the stablest he’s ever been in his life. It still feels like a dream.
When he sees rain dripping down the leaves of his crops, he goes to gather the eggs and milk the cows. Maybe he’ll spend the day in the mines.
***
Though he’s made it deep into the fiery bowels of the earth, Ari knows that he still has some work to do in the upper mines. When he was new to Mistria, he used to sell nearly everything he found while mining, not seeing the value that these items would bring to the museum.
So, rather than brave the heat of the lava caves, he decides to stick to the shallower levels today. There’s a certain brown mushroom that he’s hunting for and it’s completely eluding him.
Thankfully, the monsters up here are pieces of cake compared to their cousins down below. He sees an ore clod and runs toward it, itching for action. As expected, it spots him and starts spitting pieces of copper.
Clang . He bats each piece back with the sword he forged himself out of lava cave gold.
The clod bursts into a flurry of copper and coins. It drops a stupid hat. Ari puts it on, allowing himself a grin. He knows by now that questioning this stuff is futile.
No mushroom on this level.
Grumbling to himself, he hefts his pickaxe and gets to work on the rocks, looking for a ladder. Each swing brings copper and stone. He gathers them all up without thinking. It’s routine. His pack gets heavier; he’ll have to make more room soon.
Another vein of ore comes apart under his pick, and something beautiful emerges from the rubble.
Ari picks it up carefully and rolls it around in his hands, taking a few minutes to admire its rich color. Torchlight dances off its soft peaks and gentle divots, illuminating the natural artwork that waited thousands of years in the dark to be seen by human eyes.
He knows what this is: a perfect copper ore. It’s one of the few things from this level that he’s already donated to the museum. Imagine finding another one.
Without meaning to, he recalls March’s words after Errol put the first one on display last year.
“I'm a little torn about the Perfect Copper Ore in the museum. Nice that people can appreciate it, but a chunk of that size would make a handsome set of bracelets.”
March, with his unparalleled skills, would indeed make a handsome set of bracelets out of this. He would hammer the copper firmly but carefully, shape it with the same passion that he dedicates to all of his work. He would polish it until it shines the color of his hair in the afternoon sun.
Then he’d probably sell the bracelets for a good price.
But if, for whatever reason, March kept them, he might put them on and they would clasp his wrists like a pair of steady hands.
Ari stops himself there. He knows that he’s attracted to March, and there’s nothing he can do about that. Everything about the ornery blacksmith— his diligence, his rough beauty, and, irrationally, his personality— draws Ari in and traps him in a net of wonder.
But it’s thoughts like these that lead to bad decisions. Like last summer, when he invited March to watch the shooting stars with him on the summit.
It was to be expected, really. Of course March didn’t believe Ari liked him; of course the night ended awkwardly. It was foolish of Ari to hope for March’s cold demeanor to melt away after one date.
They walked home in embarrassed silence and there were no more dates after that. The distance between them has remained the same ever since.
Still, it’s been a year, and Ari should be long over it by now. The fact is that he and March are just acquaintances who work together sometimes and happen to live in the same town. Another fact is that this perfect copper ore is an incredibly useful smithing material that belongs in the hands of a professional. Anyone who found this would give it to March. It’s the most logical thing to do and it isn’t weird and it absolutely doesn’t mean that Ari is seeking his approval.
Thus justifying his actions, he makes room for the ore by throwing away a brick of peat that’s just taking up space. Then, with the perfect copper ore nestled carefully in his backpack, he keeps mining.
***
It’s 8:00 PM by the time Ari makes it out of the mines with the sought-after mushroom in hand. He’s tired and out of provisions, but he’s returned with more than what he was looking for.
After making some deposits at the museum, he summons Mistmare and rides down to the inn, satisfied with what he accomplished today. The rain is still pouring hard, which means a busy night for the Sleeping Dragon. He could certainly use some food, drink, and good company right now; the thought of hot soup over the fire urges him on through the deluge.
Hemlock greets him as he mixes drinks behind the counter. “Make yourself at home, Ari! Reina’s got a hearty mushroom stew going tonight.”
Fitting, given what he just spent the day doing. Ari grabs a sizable portion of stew and moves to the end of the bar that Valen, Juniper, and Elsie are already inhabiting. This kind of evening calls for a rich Heavy Mist, and Hemlock says as much when Ari orders it.
Looking around, he notes that the weather has indeed produced quite a crowd. Pretty much everyone is inside warming up with some food; it’s reminiscent of a Friday night. Olric’s working his part-time job as a waiter and cheerfully fist bumps Ari every time he serves someone at the bar. The tables are full of pretty much everyone he recognizes— Celine waves shyly when she notices him looking— and, from what he can hear, the kids are upstairs playing.
He doesn’t see March anywhere, though.
…Well, speak of the devil.
Just when Ari is looking at the door, it swings open and March enters, wet from the rain and not too happy about it. Ari snaps his head back to his drink so fast that he almost gives himself whiplash.
It’s not long before the blacksmith walks up to the bar and orders his usual beer. Every seat is occupied, but instead of leaving to find a table, March shoots an annoyed glance at Ari and opts to stand at the end of the counter to his right.
“Must be near impossible to do forgework in this kind of weather, huh?” Ari comments. He’s all too aware of the backpack lying at his feet and what it contains.
March shrugs. “I keep the fire going.” He doesn’t offer anything else, turning his focus to the beer that Hemlock brings him.
Ari stirs his Heavy Mist for a beat, then decides it’s time he got over himself.
He reaches into the pack at his feet and brings out the perfect copper ore, placing it carefully on the table. He slides it towards March, unable to hold back his grin. “Hey, by the way, look what I found you.”
March’s eyes widen in genuine awe as he takes the ore into his hands. He admires it for a moment before he responds with his usual cool air. “I guess I'm the only person in town who'd properly appreciate a perfect ore…”
“Haha, yeah, I guess.” Ari doesn’t realize he’s still stirring his drink until a drop of it lands on the countertop. He quickly wipes it away.
“...Thank you.”
Ari looks back up, pleasantly surprised. “Oh, well, you’re welcome. I know you’ll make something cool with it.” He gets a small kick out of the way March’s ruddy cheeks darken a shade deeper.
“Hm. It has been a while since I’ve been able to make any showpieces.” March takes a sip of his beer. “After I finish this bulk order of hinges, maybe I’ll have time.”
“More hinges? They really don’t respect your talent, huh?” Ari comments, smiling.
March scoffs, then looks at him disapprovingly. “Not that I disagree, but this is what the town needs.”
“‘Course.” Ari fishes for more mushrooms in his stew. “So, when you do get the time… what do you want to make?”
“A set of bracelets. I thought we already had this discussion.” March is now deep into his beer, and though his words are still curt, his tone is lighter.
“What do you think you'll do with them?"
“I said showpieces, dumbass. For showing?” March raises his eyebrows, but his lips form a small smirk. He nods for Hemlock to refill his drink.
“Yeah, yeah.” Ari looks out the window at the front of the building. It’s dark out, and raindrops race each other down the glass.
“Ari, darling!” Elsie, who’s been sitting on his left, turns to him. “Would you give me a second opinion on this passage from my memoirs?”
“Elsie, please, it’s perfect .” Juniper swirls her glass of red wine. Valen sits beside her, a little red in the cheeks but silent.
“You flatter me, Juniper! I only hope the imagery makes sense. I did get a bit possessed!” Elsie hands Ari her notebook, open on the most recent page. “Well, what do you think?”
“Oh, uh…” Scanning the lines, Ari can already feel the heat rising to his face. “It’s…”
He smells beer and senses someone close behind him, looming over his shoulder.
“Thighs… flower… Hmm. Don’t get it,” March says, too close to Ari’s ear.
Ari glances at the blacksmith’s dwindling second glass. Right .
He hands the notebook back to Elsie. “The imagery certainly makes, uh, sense. It’s very descriptive.”
“I think our blacksmith feels otherwise,” Elsie says with a smile. “Thank you, Ari. You’re a dear.”
Ari hopes his flushed face isn’t too apparent in the golden lamplight of the inn. “Ah, yeah, no problem!”
March, thankfully, moves back to his own spot at the counter. “Flower… Y’like flowers, Ari? They give me, um…” He finishes his drink, then lays his head down on his arms, looking thoughtful. “They itch my nose.”
“Do they, now?” Ari responds, half-listening.
“Hahahaha! Oh, you’re so, you’re so caring, Ari. Here, let me give you some advice…” March leans forward, and when Ari looks up, they lock eyes. The blacksmith’s face is red from drink, his brows furrowed like he’s about to say something serious. “Let me, uh. Let me tell you…”
The corners of Ari’s mouth twitch into a smile. This is oddly endearing. “Go on.”
“So the important thing is… to…” March visibly loses track of what he was saying and stares at Ari for a beat, then slowly breaks into a wide grin. “Y’know, you’re real pretty, Ari… Like, shiny. Like this.” He raises his empty glass in the air and turns it around, transfixed by the way it reflects the firelight.
Ari almost chokes on his stew and his soft palate is left stinging after he recovers. “I’m— uh. Khm. I appreciate it. You’re— you’re shiny too, man.” Internally, he pleads with himself not to draw any meaning from this. March is clearly drunk and rambling on about nonsense.
Thankfully, a shout rips him from his thoughts. “HEY, RYIS! CHECK IT OUT!” Peering through his glass with one eye, March is now directing his attention at the carpenter sitting across the room. “I CAN SEE YOU!”
Ryis gives an amicable grin from the table he’s sitting at, and Ari can tell his shoulders are shaking with laughter. “Hey, I can see you too!”
March howls with glee at this revelation and sticks his glass out for more beer, but Hemlock declines with a smile. “I think that’s enough for you tonight, son. How about some stew? Reina can fetch you a bowl.”
“Nawww, pleeease…”
As March negotiates in vain with the weathered barkeep, Ari looks at the dregs of his own stew and stands up, stooping to pick up his pack. It’s time he got going. After paying for his drink at the till, he heads for the door. Sure, the rain could ease up, but it could also get worse, so why wait?
The sounds of people’s voices accompany him out: March’s laughing “come on, don’t go!”, Ryis’ friendly “good night, Ari!”, Elsie’s little “toodles” wave, Hemlock’s invitation to come back anytime. It’s not quite enough to shield him from the cold torrent, but as he rides Mistmare home, his spirit feels lighter.
At least the weather means he doesn’t have to let the animals inside, because they were never out in the first place. Dumping some unneeded items in the shipping bin, he enters his house. It continues to fascinate him how none of the townspeople’s homes are ever locked; that sort of trust in your neighbors is nonexistent back in the capital. Ari’s own farmhouse doesn’t have a lock on it, and although this bothered him at first, he’s surprised by how fast he’s gotten used to it.
Changing out of his wet clothes, he dries himself with a towel and puts on something dry to sleep in. Perhaps he should’ve gone to the bathhouse. Well, he can get that done tomorrow morning. After a day of mining and stormy weather, his bed feels like a honeycomb, as Luc would say.
Unfortunately, sleep has never come that easily for Ari. He lies on the mattress, tired out of his mind, unable to stop thinking but unwilling to get up. Despite himself, his damn brain fixates on the image of March throwing his head back and laughing with his whole heart, carefree for a few short hours.