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The grass is sun-warmed under his palm. Olruggio, his most beloved friend, rests his head on his shoulder as he directs his gaze fondly towards the children. Their four girls, lovely and still achingly small and vulnerable, frolic in the valley created between the hill they sit atop and the hill which holds Qifrey’s atelier. Birds flutter past at breakneck speeds, whooshing through the fluffy clouds which shield them from the sun’s rays bearing down.
“Master Qifrey!” Coco calls, gesturing one of them to come down. “What plant is this?” She holds up a plant with vaguely colourful petals which Qifrey can’t make out, even through his glasses. As he stands to move closer, a hand lands on his shoulder.
With a grunt, Olruggio rises, pushing Qifrey back into his previous sitting position. “Coco, give your master a bit of rest, won’t you?” he says to her.
“Olruggio–” Qifrey starts, beginning to get up again, but Olruggio turns to him and grins.
“It’s one of my days off, and y’already work so hard taking care of the girls while I stay cooped up all day.” He points a thumb at himself. “I already feel guilty burdenin’ you with all the housework. Child-rearin’s the least I could do.” Descending the hill, he quickly engages Coco in happy conversation, which Agott joins, then Tetia, then Richeh.
Qifrey smiles fondly at the sight, then sighs. “Taking care of the girls is never a burden.”
Taking care of the girls is the only relief of his many, many burdens.
The Great Hall would have never done them this well. The streets are stifling, bustling, always busy with never enough free space for Qifrey to plant his roots down. It is not a good environment to raise children. It is not the environment he would have ever wanted for his children, considering the noise, let alone the whispers that would follow his every movement. Their foundations cannot grow strong when their steps are sharp with eggshells.
But here, in an open, empty grassland with a building he and Olruggio built themselves, he has everything he needs. He can watch over his children, and someone he wishes was his lover, and the only person he would ever need to hide from is himself. The air is not suffocating or dense with thick mist, and he can nurture his family in a place where all five of his loved ones can breathe freely.
That’s the least he can give them, after using them for such a selfish reason. It’s the least they deserve, and the most he can give. To be a good teacher is everything he needs to be. There’s a careful outline of do’s and don’ts, and Qifrey follows it as keenly as the Knights to the Pact. All for his girls.
His girls, when they should be Olruggio’s. Qifrey knows the other man would be infinitely better. There’s a sort of kindness in Olruggio's actions. the sort of kindness forged from love, love that had taken time to develop in his actions towards Qifrey. With the girls, it seemed instantaneous. The moment they appeared, Olruggio loved them immediately. Like they were children of his own.
if life had allowed it, they could have been Qifrey’s, too.
In any other universe, they could have been theirs, instead of just Qifrey’s, instead of Qifrey’s hopeful desperation that they are Olruggio’s instead, and that lingering selfishness is why he placed his original ornament on their caps instead of his current one. They do not hold the reminder of a promise made when he and Olruggio were just boys. Instead, they hold the uniform Qifrey should have originally given, stolen from another universe where their promise never needed to be made, and he could flaunt his affections freely. But now, they keep Olruggio’s tassel, and just like everything else that was Qifrey’s, they are Olruggio’s.
And they are brilliant, just like Olruggio. And they will be loved, far and wide, just like Olruggio. Their smiles shine like every star in the sky. The world will try to restrict them, but like trying to grab wind, the knowledge, wisdom, and creativity of his girls would never fail them, not like he has, time and time again. All he can give them is his love and instruction.
Qifrey owes everything to Olruggio. If the other man had never introduced him to that first pain known as love, he wouldn’t have his girls, nor his atelier, nor the privilege of having Olruggio right by his side, every step of the way. He would never have learned to adore them the way he does now. All of it, all he is, everything he has, can be attributed to Olruggio. And because Olruggio has taken the role of his Watchful Eye, while Qifrey, in all his inadequacy, is the girls’ mentor, Qifrey will do everything he can to be good, so that one day, he can feel deserving of the love he gives and gets.
He knows he loves them, is intimately familiar with the concept, because of the aching pain he feels every single time he’s around them, and every single time his roots twist and tighten his throat with pride. When his lungs constrict, and flowers blossom in his heart, he knows his love continues to thrive just under his skin, a place which he cannot show, but he can tell them through his actions, and his dedication, and how all of him is a willing sacrifice to the future.
One day, he will sprout into something beautiful, and towering, and monstrous, and he can only pray that his girls will continue to find respite under his canopy. Hopefully he won’t be just another useless decoration, and he will be able to give the people who loved him as much as they deserve. More than he can give now. To be used after he’s gone will be his redemption, proof that his shortcomings while alive can be fixed. Qifrey’s silverwood tree will last long past the end of his loved ones. He wishes he could give more. He wishes he was more.
He places a hand on the warm indent left in the grass from Olly’s laying down, and aches to have more as well. And then the girls smile at him, and Olly, too, harbours the same gentle, parental smile, and he feels full to the point of bursting, with the roots he calls love digging into his skin. His whole life shaped by the warmth of Olruggio’s hands, now guided by the lines of amateurish strokes of developing magic.
Oh, my loves,
He smiles bitterly,
What I would give to hold you without consequence.