Chapter Text
If you were to scour the tomes of Olruggio's bookshelf, you'd find a notebook with a binding the colour of the sea at twilight, worn black at the edges by age. If you pulled it free, you'd notice a delicate golden sun pressed into its cover, surrounded by perfectly-etched light sigils emitting a soft glow.
He'd found it one lonely night soon after Qifrey was freed of his parasite. A rather nasty affair it was, performed by several witches one rainy evening in the medical spire. But it was done. His friend’s damp white hair splayed across the pillow of Olruggio's bed, breathing heavy and bandages climbing their way over his torso and head. Sinocia had sent him home on strict bed rest, returning every day to change his bandages, bathe and medicate him, and apply treatment balm. Other than that, she knew Olruggio’s watch was more than enough.
In the Silverwood's absence, Qifrey had been drained of energy and a fever had taken hold. He’d tossed and turned in his bed for weeks, hot as a branding iron. The only time he raised his head was to take meager sips of broth or make some attempt to talk, which usually ended up as garbled gibberish. He’d started to come around, but he still needed all the rest he could get.
Olruggio stepped lightly, avoiding the creaky floorboards as he moved from the bedside. Sleep was a rare visitor of his, and tonight it had not come at all, only exacerbated by his worry for Qifrey. If he must be awake, he supposed he might as well do something with the time.
His bookshelf was his first resort. It always had been ever since he was a young boy drawing his first spells. Olruggio couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t have a book on the go. No matter what the world threw at him, and it had thrown some absolute cartloads, he could retreat into his books. His master had scolded him on occasion, claiming the fantasies of fiction distracted him from his studies. Olruggio didn't much care, and soon enough neither did his teacher. Especially after his attempt to ban it altogether which ended in the smouldering remains of a cloak… and not Olruggio’s.
The Legends of the Witches of Ezrest was the first book to stand out to him. One of his first favourites and one every witch worth their salt had read by age 5, a compilation of fantastical witches performing great feats beyond anything that was possible. Adena the Graceful was his personal favourite - a light witch like him who was said to dance upon the stars like stepping stones and pull her very spells from them. As fond a place as they held in his memory, it also meant he knew them all off by heart. There wasn’t much point in reading the except for the pictures, and while Olruggio held a deep love of fiction, his interest fizzled out at art.
Qifrey, however, could spend hours in a gallery, marveling over the different palettes and compositions. He'd dragged Olruggio with him a few times, after which the latter had given up, and assumed he must be blind to whatever it was everyone else was so interested in. The only thing that gave him any food for thought was appreciation for the time it must have taken to learn and master such a craft. Qifrey had scolded him for his lack of depth (earning him an elbow to the rib), but the actual painting was just that. A painting. Most of these subjects you could see in real life, if you went outside. At least his creations were practical.
Maybe if the idiot was better they could have read through that old story book and reminisced together. But no. What had he been thinking? Hiding it all these years?
Another snore from his new bunkmate across the room provided no answers. Olruggio sighed, trying and failing to return his wandering attention to the shelf. If it would make him get better, he'd visit a thousand of those dreary displays. He'd do just about anything right now.
Yet that wasn’t for fear of Qifrey’s actual life, no. This wasn't the first time this particular witch had suffered a bad knock, and with his reputation, Olruggio knew it wouldn't be the last. The reason for his worry was a different matter-
A bright flash of blue nestled between two wind-based spellbooks, right at the end of the shelf. Huh? He’d never remembered reading such a book before.
Curious, he gave the little book a tug. The cover was velvety, soft and supple, and it slid right into his hands. Front face down, its glow pressed soft red rings into his palms, lighting up each line and crevice.
What is it? He wondered, one thumb moving over its surface thoughtfully as he flipped it. Some kind of spellbook or history book?
Without warning, Olruggio’s heart gave a painful lurch inside his chest.
It was not unfamiliar to him, this feeling. An aching sort of thing, as if some part of him was reaching out of himself to the object. Knowing it, even though his mind did not. Something nestled in the voids of his brain was shouting. If he didn’t know better, he’d think this sun was burning him.
Shaking his head, he forced himself roughly back onto his previous train of thought. Déjà vu, it must be. It always was. Besides, this book was empty.
He steadily leafed through, trying to quell his oddly shaking hands. A notebook then, and a fine one too. Where he could have come across such a thing? Splashing out on such apparently trivial items was not Olruggio's style, unless it was wine- oh.
There, at the back, dancing its way across the hardened inside cover, was Qifrey’s handwriting.
Dear Olly, Happy Birthday my friend! I certainly owe you one for all the scrapes you’ve pulled me out of. So here! I got old Beldaruit to put in a custom order from Kalhn for all of your notes. Hope you like it!
To many more years of our friendship,
- Qifrey
Olruggio looked woefully up at his sleeping form. How? How could his past self have forgotten? Why did Qifrey never mention it?
But the still sleeping body in his bed was as useless as before, still wheezing from the receding throes of sickness still clinging to his throat.
Bless him, Olruggio thought. How much has he missed out on from that damned Silverwood? And now-
Ideas were a frequent visitor of Olruggio's, however, and this one was already sinking its roots in before he had even fetched his pen. Before long, it had become a blossoming tree of possibilities budding in Olruggio’s head as fast as he could write them down.
Qifrey would struggle no longer.
There was not a minute Olruggio was away from Qifrey’s side as he recovered. Usually, he slept. When he wasn't sleeping, he'd prop himself stiffly up and read, at which point Olruggio would hide the book under the bed and explain away his ink-stained hands as practise.
As time went on, the fever broke, much to Olruggio's relief. Instead of reading, he started to talk. Not about what had happened (mostly). Not about the future. Just talk. And Olruggio let him. They discussed herbology, astronomy, carpentry, philosophy, anything they could think of. Their conversations weaved a blanket of inconsequentiality, supported by books. How were the apprentices were getting on? What festivals were coming up? What was Olruggio's favourite band? (The Arrowheads, of course. Qifrey had wrinkled his nose at that, his first display of his old sense of humour since the removal. Olruggio happily took the blow).
All of the fruits of knowledge the world had to bear became theirs for the picking. Waiting in that room for time to heal, they had a rare moment to breathe. While both of them knew the hard conversations would have to come soon, it was nice to focus on things that were normal, mundane, and some probably did not even matter in the grand scheme of things. For once, there was nothing more important to think about than their atelier. Olruggio hoped his plans would have the same effect.
In that time, Qifrey only ever mentioned the Silverwood once.
It had all come out in a rush soon after he’d begun to properly talk again - the only time he'd ever mentioned anything to do with it - and Olruggio ached for the rest. Some foul mood overcame him one night, leaving him cracking open on the bed in front of him. He seemed so much smaller than his usual self, curled up like a scared little animal. Olruggio’s heart broke at the sight, and then a second time at what he was told.
To think that the Brimmed Caps would purposely experiment on a human. A child, no less! Qifrey hadn't gone into detail, but he'd told him enough to make his blood boil. He was going to lose his vision! If this was just what it had done to him physically, what hooks did it have buried into his mind, too? How deep did this all run?
This was his true fear, shared by Sinocia and no doubt Qifrey himself. Would he ever truly recover? His remaining eye had taken significant damage, more than the rest of him did. Going blind would practically be a death sentence for Qifrey - no, for any witch. Olruggio would have to be at his side, his beck and call, for the rest of his life. And then there was the matter of the Brimmed Caps. He could never be truly alone again.
Qifrey would live, but would he really? Was there any way to reverse it?
Lay your burdens on me, friend. He'd willed, as if he could project his very bond with Qifrey into the latter's mind. As if he was holding it in his hands. Look at this. He'd hold it up as proof, a brilliant stream of light warm against his palm. Look at me. I have stood by your side always and nothing will waver me. I know you have hidden things from me. I know what it is to face your demons alone. Let me lend you my pen and my sword.
But Qifrey hadn't offered anything more, and Olruggio wasn't going to push him. Not after the time it had taken him to get back on his feet. He knew that the Brimmed Caps had something to do with the Silverwood, and that Qifrey had been dealing with it for years. His friend was likely still withholding a lot more than that.
He didn't even want to think about what might be behind the sheaf of hair that covered his other eye.
”Qif,” He'd managed after a long pause, voice deep as the crunch of leaves in autumn. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, my friend.” He'd simply said, wiping a tear from his cheek and pulling Olruggio into a hug. A muffled sound was all Olruggio heard of his next attempt to speak, making him gently pull Qifrey’s shaking body further into his arms.
They’d only hugged a handful of times before. Olruggio couldn’t remember the last time they had. He kept his hands featherlight around his friend’s back, not unlike how you would hold a precious porcelain jug. Under different circumstances, he might have reacted differently. But now was definitely not the time. Against him, Qifrey gave another wobbly sigh, and Sinocia’s warning replayed in Olruggio’s mind once more.
“He may never properly regain his sight or his strength. It may be too little too late.”
But when they'd parted, for a moment, Olruggio could see every wave in that watery sea-blue gaze, and he knew it was not.
Later that night, twenty more pages were filled.
It was one warm evening in the middle of July when Olruggio decided to ask him, the remnants of Aggot's birthday party still littering the house. One she, of course, insisted she didn't want. And one that the other three organised anyway. Colourful confetti still appeared under chairs and behind bookshelves, reams of ribbon hung from the roof, and birthday cards adorned the mantelpiece.
Coco's one had a large, beautifully hand-drawn brushbuddy on the cover that Agott had memorably described as looking like a "wonky white willowgrape" as she set it down. Now it sat alongside Tetia’s looping balloons and Richeh’s bunch of flowers on the mantelpiece on proud display. She was all talk, that Agott.
The brushbuddy’s big round eyes tracked him as he descended the stairs, one arm in front of his head to block the strong beams of sunrise that filtered through the windows. Thirteen! Gods, they were growing fast.
The girls had been as diligent as ever, bringing Qifrey bandages and water and a giggling gaggle of stories and spells that kept Qifrey smiling. Meals and birthday cake moved to Olruggio's room, all of them huddled around the bed on dining chairs hauled upstairs. Life, although jankily, carried on. A week, then a month passed, and Qifrey eased his way out of bed and back into the world outside, much to both Olruggio and his back's relief. He finally had his bed back instead of those rock-hard chairs that felt like sleeping on a bare cliff face. He'd had nightmares about falling more times than he could count.
"Olly, dear!" The lilting greeting of the man himself roused him from his thoughts, alongside tantalizing notes of sweetberry pancakes. "I've got breakfast cooking if you'd like some?"
Qifrey stood at the spell-lit counter, slowly rocking an almost-cooked pancake back and forth on a frying pan above a pyreball. Its flames licked their way up the side of the pan to light up his gaze, one that had already found Olruggio. Bright, inviting, and more… present than he remembered. Good. It seemed simply leaving that godforsaken room had put a pep back in his step.
A hand was already extended, holding a soft pink mug of hot tea. He really shouldn’t have been doing so much already, but Olruggio knew better than to tell him. It wouldn’t do anything, and it certainly wouldn’t set up his question well at all.
He huffed, taking the drink from him. “Go on then."
Briefly, their fingers brushed upon the warm surface, and it made his heart flutter in a way he rather liked.
Steam condensed on his beard as he inhaled deeply before drinking. Thornbark tea, almost perfectly made. Bitter, slightly nutty, but most importantly strong, made for keeping witches awake throughout the day. Qifrey had added a little bit of honey too. Something he always did no matter how much Olruggio protested. Yeah, they all knew honey in moderation was good for you, but that didn't mean he wanted it snuck into every beverage he drunk. Sweet beverages always had funny ways of messing with his stomach.
Just recently, though, he found he didn't have the heart to refuse.
"Ma-er O-uggio!" Another muffled, higher voice greeted him from the kitchen table. Tetia, her face stuffed with pancakes which promptly went down the wrong way. Beside her, Coco thumped her on the back until her fit of coughing had stopped. "Good morning!"
Olruggio huffed. "Mornin' girls." All of them were already digging in to breakfast. "I know Master Qifrey's pancakes are good, but they are to be chewed, not inhaled." He chuckled.
"Yours are much better." Richeh muttered, just loud enough to be heard. Qifrey gave a mock-horror gasp.
"Betrayed by my own apprentice! Agott, Coco, Tetia? You don't think so lowly of my cooking, do you?"
"No, no!" Protested Coco. "Not your cooking! That's wonderful!"
"Just your pancakes." Agott added, fork halfway to her mouth. Olruggio tried his best not to snort into his tea as Qifrey tipped his head around, steaming pan in one hand.
"I am truly heartbroken." He said through a knowing smile. "I suppose I'll make no more of these then-"
"WAIT!!!"
All four of them, even Agott and Richeh, had cried out in unison. Olruggio didn't think he'd ever seen them look that desperate. Their master tipped his head back a little, letting the soft strands of his hair fall over his face as he laughed. Ever so soft. Olruggio had only touched it a few times in his life, and those times usually had much more urgent concerns than the texture of his best friend's hair. Even if he had been concentrating, it was usually stained with blood.
Olruggio's hand twitched against the porcelain mug.
He hoped he’d never have to see such a horror again.
"All righ’ then. Settle yourselves, my apprentices. There shall be more on the way."
"Thank heavens!" Tetia exclaimed, falling back onto her chair in relief. "I'm not even halfway full!"
Olruggio felt something akin to warmth bubble up in his chest. He could just imagine them all in Ghodrey together. Tyrading around the shops and running through the fields and jumping in the rivers and him and Qifrey-
"Olly?" Qifrey waved a plate of pancakes under his nose, a warm orange interspersed with dark red berries, and already dusted with a little sugar. Just the way Olruggio liked it. "You seem a little away with the fairies today, no? What's on your mind?"
"Just er-." He quickly swallowed the large forkful of food he'd shovelled into his mouth and exhaled in contentment. The girls were right, they were damn good. "Just somethin' I've been meaning to mention."
"Oh?" Qifrey flipped the last pancake onto the pile and doused the fire spell, turning his full attention to his friend. Olruggio's heart skipped a beat.
"So, y'know you've had that whole… y’know,” He wiggled his shoulders. “Thing goin’ on, as well as teaching these little sprouts."
Qifrey's brow furrowed. "Yes...? Where is this going Olruggio?"
"I thought we might all use a break."
"A break?"
"Yeah. Like a holiday somewhere."
Qifrey paused, one pensive finger crooked around his mouth and brows creased ever so slightly. He hummed once. A good sign?
”Perhaps it would be good for the girls to have a break from training for their tests for a while.” A good sign! But he’d missed the point.
”And ‘fer you to recover, Qif.” The other rolled his eyes at that.
“Olly, I do not need to-“
“I mean it.” Olruggio set his mug down, continuing before Qifrey could respond. “You’re already doing far too much than is necessary. You always tell me to take breaks.”
“Yes, even though you never listen.”
Olruggio shrugged. “Care to lead by example, then?”
”My example…” Qifrey chided. But they could both call bullshit on that, even if one of them wouldn’t.
His example was one Olruggio wished he’d been given as a child. You only had to see the way he acted around his apprentices once to know that he was as much to them as their own family. The way he responded to their every need, tutored them without a hint of anger or superiority. Qifrey was at his gentlest and kindest when he was with his apprentices. They brought out the best in him, even if he couldn’t see it himself.
Olruggio would make him see it.
”But.. what about your commissions?” He argued, though it was a poor attempt even by Qifrey's standards. As if he wouldn't have thought of that.
“Heh, nice try. Completed all of them and put new ones on hold for the coming fortnight.” He emphatically crossed his arms.
”Really" A scoff. "Olly, I-“
His protest petered off into the now eerily silent room, and Qifrey didn't need to turn to know that his apprentices were now hanging on to their every word. You could practically see him physically concede, but the smile that lit up his face said all there really was to say.
“Olly, it really does sound wonderful. It would be remiss of me to refuse.” Finally, stubborn idiot. “Where might we be going?”
Olruggio almost grinned. “We’re off to Ghodrey.”
Squeals exploded from the table where Tetia and Coco were practically buzzing in their seats, ignoring the side eye it earned them from Agott. Richeh tiptoed under the cover of the hubbub to go back for seconds, but even she looked happy.
The blue book with the sun on its cover was now neatly stacked on Olruggio’s bed alongside his components, ink-stained and ready to be packed.
Qifrey’s atelier was going on holiday.