Chapter Text
Qifrey knows by now not to expect anything less than an ambush when he’s summoned to an audience with Beldaruit, but there’s a tiny, ridiculous part of him that holds out hope each time. For what, he’s not entirely sure. That his old master simply wants to see him, with no ulterior motive? Would that be too much to ask?
At least today, Beldaruit wastes no time with niceties. “You need a break,” he announces the moment Qifrey crosses the threshold of the Argentgard.
“Do I?” he replies, then adds, “Hello to you as well.”
“Yes, yes, hello my dear boy.” Beldaruit waves a hand as if he can flutter clean through the niceties. “When was the last time you had a proper vacation?”
Qifrey snorts. “Last Golden—”
“Last Golden Equinox does not count. You were supervising your apprentices the entire time, and I have it on good authority you were also helping your Watchful Eye with some of his business dealings. When was the last time you took more than a day away from your responsibilities?”
Qifrey opens his mouth.
“Grievous injury also does not count.”
Qifrey closes his mouth.
“You have four children under your care now. Your duty to them includes the obligation to be rested and ready for whatever surprises they might throw your way. And those four are full of surprises, aren’t they?”
Perhaps the understatement of the century, but Qifrey only smiles thinly. “One might say that my obligation is to be present for them. Given all the surprises.”
“And my obligation, as the Wise of Teachings, is to remind you that you have resources at your disposal to ensure that you do not take it upon yourself entirely to be the one who has to meet those moments. For example, the Great Hall issues a stipend to every witch who takes apprentices, meant to be used for sabbaticals.”
Qifrey’s brow furrows. “Since when?”
“Since its foundations, my boy. I took advantage of it numerous times when I had you under my wing—not that you ever noticed, it seems. Too busy running off with dear Olruggio, hm?”
Beldaruit knows by now that Qifrey won’t take the bait—not like he did when he was a child and even the lightest touch of a reference to any sort of romantic inclination between him and his dearest friend would send him clapping his hands over his ears to hide the furious blush he could never quite tame. Decades later, he’s numb to it, especially from the likes of his former master. “Perhaps the Great Hall should be more communicative about its policies,” he says instead with a mild smile.
“There’s a quarterly mailing of balances,” Beldaruit replies, leaning on the arm of his sealchair. “If you could be bothered to check your post.”
Qifrey’s smile tightens.
“After so many years teaching, I’d imagine your balance is quite high. It compounds with each apprentice, of course. You could probably go somewhere very nice for a month and never hit the bottom of your fund.”
He fights not to blanch at the prospect. A month away from his atelier, his apprentices, his… “I can’t possibly leave my responsibilities for a month. Even a week would be…”
Beldaruit scoffs. “A week is what I would suggest as a minimum, given that you’ve essentially confessed that you’ve never once taken a break since you took on the Arklaum girl.” Some amount of the panic Qifrey’s fighting to suppress must show on his face, because Beldaruit rocks back in his chair, looking a smidge more thoughtful. “Then again, perhaps that’s throwing you off the deep end. Better to ease into it. The funds you’ve accrued aren’t going anywhere.”
“No,” Qifrey declares. “No, it simply won’t be necessary. The funds can be donated, can't they?”
Beldaruit is far too old to pout the way that he does. “I’m afraid not.”
“Of course they can be donated if the word comes from the Wise of Teachings. Put them to better use.” A desperate, almost pleading edge has slipped into his tone. It’s ridiculous. He didn’t even know the money existed until a few minutes ago. He’s so much better off without it. He can’t—
“As the Wise of Teachings, I can also use my power to make it mandatory,” Beldaruit says. If he’s noticed Qifrey’s rising panic, he’s chosen to meet it with his usual inscrutable cheer, even as he makes proclamations that nudge that panic closer and closer to outright terror.
“I truly wish you wouldn’t.”
“The very fact that you’re being told you get to take an all-expenses paid holiday and you’re treating it like a death sentence tells me that I should have pressed the issue far sooner. And poor Olruggio.”
“What about Olruggio?” Qifrey asks, because sometimes it’s better to spring traps rather than tiptoe around them.
“When he finds out you turned down an all-expenses paid holiday that the two of you should have enjoyed together—”
“You will not—” Qifrey interjects forcefully, but Beldaruit merely dodges the accusing finger he jabs at him and circles wide around him, forcing Qifrey to turn to keep up with the smarmy look on his former master’s face.
“This is an incredibly generous opportunity,” Beldaruit says, propping his chin up on his knuckles. “Not only to get yourself some much-needed rest and relaxation, but to score points with your better half.”
“Please don’t call him that,” Qifrey mutters.
“If you can’t convince yourself you need the break, I’m sure I don’t have to argue that he deserves it.”
Beldaruit doesn’t, is the thing. For everything he endures with the patience of a stone, Olruggio deserves far more than Qifrey can give him. A home-cooked meal, a warm atelier to come home to—these are basic necessities. Gifts roll right off the man, and compliments are easily deflected with a gruff that’s just the kinda guy I am. There are very few ways Qifrey can properly express how much he appreciates everything Olruggio does for him outside of spoiling him rotten.
Beldaruit nods like he knows already that the damage has been done.
“Three days,” Qifrey says at last.
“Three days,” Beldaruit echoes. “You can leave the girls under my supervision. Some time in the Great Hall will be good for them.”
Qifrey swallows back a thousand reheated arguments and manages a neutral “Perhaps.” It isn’t the moment to relitigate for the millionth time that he never intends to return to the Great Hall and that his choice to live apart from the rest of witch society, free under the stars instead of buried beneath the sea, is not detrimental to his apprentices’ education. He never explains himself to Beldaruit’s satisfaction, and even attempting it walks dangerously close to the crafty old man figuring out too much. “I’ll admit, I don’t have the first idea of how to plan such an excursion—”
As expected, Beldaruit is lunging for the bait before the words leave Qifrey’s mouth. “Leave it to your beloved master. I know all the finest places on the continent.” He waves a hand like he’s casting a spell before an outsider. “I’ll make all the arrangements, the itinerary, everything.”
Qifrey knows he’s bitten off more than he can chew. Already, his thoughts have leaped to a dozen worst case scenarios, and even though most of them involve the silverwood, the sudden, persistent worry that has clamped down hard on his mind is paradoxically the most reassured he’s felt in years.
“Truly, you should have done this ages ago,” Beldaruit says, and Qifrey can’t help but agree.