Work Text:
If Qifrey had known how the day would end, he would have done many things differently, perhaps. Clung harder to the languid morning moments when Olruggio’s heavy breathing tickled his cheek, nearly as warm as the spelled blanket thrown haphazardly over the two of them, warding off the morning’s chill. He allowed himself a moment to indulge, to trace his fingertips over a whiskery cheek and through the silky soft hair that scattered across the pillow. Warmth curled in his chest, followed swiftly by a spike of pain, driving splinters through his mind. He winced and pulled the hand back as Olly’s eyes fluttered open.
“Mmph. That feels nice. Don’t stop now…”
Perhaps he should have given in. Let it all go now, instead of clinging on for dear life, balancing against the edge of the abyss. Instead, Qifrey sat up and cheerfully wrenched the toasty blanket off the two of them, wrapping it around himself as he scrambled out of bed. “We had our fun last night,” and me enough guilt about it to chew on for a few more days, “and today’s the day we finally fix that thrice-dammed roof! No time to lay about!”
He darted out of the room, ignoring Olruggio’s roar of protest at the theft. Qifrey ditched the blanket outside the washroom and stepped inside, shivering at the cold flagstones underfoot. The mirror above the washbasin offered him a blurry reflection in the weak morning light. He scrubbed his hands through his hair with a sigh before reluctantly probing the mass of scars around his right eye. The pain this morning had been a bad sign. He was slipping (being dragged down, more like it), falling into the sweet embrace of peace and domesticity that had begun to fill this almost-atelier.
He jumped and slapped his hair down over the scars as the door slammed open behind him. “Qiiiiifreeeey… If you’re just going to throw my hard work all over the ground, at least have the decency to avoid stealing it in the first place. You can make your own breakfast, I’m going back to bed.” Olruggio gave him an impressively sleepy glare and stomped back down the hallway, half-ensconced by the blanket.
Sorry, he mouthed at the retreating figure. Apologies were dangerous. If he said the words aloud, and meant them… well, he could end up meaning far too much. “I’m making pancakes! Your favorite!” He yelled instead, and was rewarded with a ‘mmph’ and the slam of the bedroom door.
Half a clock-mark later, Qifrey surveyed the kitchen, such that it was. A few staples were carefully packed in crates, surrounded by pest-warding spells. The oven chimney (former feathery inhabitants safely relocated) was unblocked and rebuilt at last, safe enough to chance a fire. He dug around for the skillet, cursing his blurry vision. Olruggio must have gone on another reorganization spree while he was out yesterday because it certainly wasn’t where he remembered seeing it last. He straightened with a huff of irritation, only for his head to smack straight into something very heavy and metallic.
His yell of pain brought Olruggio sprinting down the stairs, only to pause, staring at Qifrey half-kneeling in the kitchen clutching his head.
“You hung up the pans!? Why didn’t you tell me! I was looking everywhere for them!”
Olruggio muffled something that sounded suspiciously like a snort and stepped forward, dangling something in midair in front of Qifrey. He snatched the glasses up with a mutter of thanks. Before he could stand, a pair of warm hands raked through his hair, probing along his scalp. “Hmm, no damage from what I can see. I guess the skillet gets to live another day.” Olruggio tilted his face up, peering closer as if searching for something. “Qifrey… If the vision in your other eye–”
Too much. Qifrey brushed off the familiar hands and stood, stepping back with as much grace as he could muster. “Don’t be silly. It’s always the things most glaringly obvious that are the easiest to miss. Though maybe hanging them a little higher wouldn’t be a bad idea.” He lifted the heavy skillet from its hanging hook and turned away to busy himself with lighting the oven. “How does dewberry pancakes sound? Or maybe sliced mountain apple? The villagers gave me a lot yesterday.”
“...It all sounds good. Make whatever you want. Are we picking up the roof tiles today?”
“Yep! The potter assured me the first batch is all done.”
“And you’re sure you know how to install them. That guy made it sound like it was pretty complicated. All those layers of sub-roofing, the angles–”
“Who are you and what have you done with the Olruggio who insisted this place was perfect with ‘just a tarp or two?’ You wanted to move in immediately when I confessed how much I hated the great hall!” Too late, Qifrey remembered the rest of that trip, the first time he–
“Really? I don’t remember saying that. Although we did go camping under just a tarp quite a bit in the early years… Funny how that landed us here. I think we were drier under the tarp some nights!” Olruggio chuckled.
In the ensuing silence, Qifrey stirred the pancake batter with a bit more force than necessary and grimaced as some splattered against his shirt. Every day there were more and more unsaid things that crept into the silences between their conversations. He hated it, hated the yawning gaps, hated the cowardice that sealed his lips, and hated himself most of all.
“Pancakes!” With forced cheer, he set the first stack in front of Olruggio on their rickety dining table, rescued from a nearby farm’s recent sale. A few minutes later, he settled down with his own stack and a small jar of syrup that Olruggio zeroed in on immediately.
“Prickletree syrup! Where did you get this?” He pried the cork out and sniffed the bottle, swallowing. “It smells just like I remember from Ghodrey…”
“One has to keep a few secrets, you know. I can’t always be an open quire.” Qifrey handed over a tiny spoon for the syrup and ignored the probing gaze directed at him, staring into his mug of tea until his glasses fogged. “We should fly over to the potter’s after breakfast and start bringing the tiles back in batches– there will be a lot. Assuming you trust me enough to build a roof over our heads?”
“Hmm… I suppose I could trust someone who makes mountain apple pancakes this good to build a proper roof.” Olruggio savored a bite with a contemplative expression. “Surely those are transferable skills.”
“Oh definitely.”
After the breakfast dishes were washed, they took to the sky, flying towards a small settlement not too far away. A few farms clustered together, and several more houses abutted a lazy river, banks gleaming with rust-colored clay.
“Ah! Right on time then, Sir Witch!” A weathered-looking man gave Qifrey a wave as he touched down. “Got all your tiles here, right and square!”
“Thank you. Err, I know it was a bit of a rush order–”
“Not to worry! You two tilled all the fields in a single afternoon! It saved us weeks of work, to be sure. Can’t thank you enough.” He set two heavy-looking bags in front of them. “Here’s the first lot, fresh off the kiln.”
Qifrey hefted a bag with a muffled groan. Flying back with these, even if he could manage to slap an unobtrusive levitation spell on them, was going to be unpleasant. “Alright, Olly, let’s–” Qifrey turned around and blinked. Olruggio had vanished. “If you think I’m carrying both of these–”
“This is extremely fine work, ma’am. Might I inquire who made these?” Olruggio had abandoned him to chat up a matronly-looking woman on the other side of the square who was beating out a rather luxurious rug.
“Oh my, you have an eye for quality then! My niece makes them. She’d be right pleased to sell a few to some witches, I’m sure. Lilli! You’ve got a customer!” She turned back to holler into the open doorway behind her.
“Olly, we don’t need any rugs,” Qifrey muttered under his breath as he sidled up, setting down the bags of tiles with an oof.
“We really do. Not all of us enjoy walking around barefoot on slabs of ice in the morning.”
“I never said I enjoy it. It wakes me up, that’s all.”
“Hmm, what if I stitch a warming blanket under a rug? Then it’s all toasty warm when you step on it in the morning. And we could put another one in front of the hearth, much more pleasant than the cold stone floor whenever you decide that–”
“Olly! Fine! Yes, I get it! Rugs sound lovely.” With an effort of will, Qifrey wiped the mortification from his face and offered the young women carrying a large stack out of the house a charming smile instead. She blushed and fumbled a bit with the pile.
“Err, a pleasure to meet you both. I don’t expect my work to suit, but if any catch your eye…” She spread the pile out in front of them. Qifrey had to admit that the rugs were quite nice, as fine as any Beldaruit had favored in his quarters.
“Let’s see… this one for the bedroom, and that big one for the hearth. And we’ll need one for the hallway, one for the entryway–”
Qifrey watched Olruggio’s pile grow to considerable heights with a sigh. Rugs… would be nice. Too nice, maybe. But they could hardly be his undoing, not when the most precious part of the atelier cast a warmth no bit of wool could ever match.
Olruggio fingered the edge of one of the rugs with a small smile. What is he thinking of? Perhaps someday… Qifrey buried the thought deep down as they gathered up the purchases and took to the air.
Olruggio dropped the bag of rugs on the messy floor of the atelier and flopped down with a groan. Qifrey joined him a moment later, panting. Even levitation spells had barely improved the trip. His arms were sore, his back was sore, his hands were cramped…
“Next time we're bringing a floating skiff to transport those damn tiles.”
“Agreed,” Qifrey managed, staring up at the pieces of sky visible through the gaps in their temporary roof. It was a beautiful day, nary a cloud to be seen. The sun streamed in from the large front windows and warmed the floor beneath them. He felt like a sleepy owlcat, tempted to curl up next to Olly and nap the rest of the day away. We should put a couch here someday. Afternoon naps in the sun sound wonderful…
Instead he sat up, prodding Olruggio with a finger. “I'm going to start nailing the tiles on. Don't fall asleep or I might drop one on you.”
“Mmph. I'm coming… eventually…”
Qifrey lugged the first batch up and began to lay them out. It was very satisfying to see the roof take shape under his hands, each tile slotting into place. The fresh tiles gleamed beside the old ones rescued from the shepherd's hut this place had once been. New growth from an old and broken foundation.
Olly came out eventually, settling down to hammer the tiles into place on another section. After a few minutes, he spoke up. “Say, after we finish this, how about–”
Qifrey never got to hear the end of that question, posed in such a teasing lilt. Instead, there was a deafening crack! and the section of roof Olruggio was sitting on gave way with an implosion of splinters.
”OLLY!” He was moving before his body really registered it, half slipping across the roof to throw himself into the hole with a quick burst from his sylph shoes. It wasn't too long of a fall, but at the wrong angle, or with splintered timbers in the mix–
“I'm alive– oof!”
Qifrey stumbled as he landed, falling half on top of Olruggio, who was splayed out on his back among a few broken tiles and half-rotten boards.
“Ouch, yes finish the job why don't you.”
“Olly, you're–”
“I'm fine. See, aren't you glad I bought the rugs now? They made for a very nice landing spot.” Olruggio patted the bag underneath himself with a grin.
“You…” Qifrey sat back on his knees, hands shaking as he examined the scene. Somehow Olruggio had landed dead center on the mountain of rugs, looking very amused with nary a scratch. They stared at each other for a long moment before they both burst into laughter. Qifrey flopped down against Olruggio, breathless.
It's… fine. He's fine. His panic ebbed into warm, bone-deep relief. Olruggio’s fingers closed over his with a squeeze, the last of his laughter spilling into the air. Through the jagged hole in the roof above them, the blue sky shimmered for a single, perfect instant.
The pain came first, a lance of agony splintering his thoughts and reaching down, grasping at his shoulder and sinking tendrils into his chest. He rolled over, retching, trying to force the silverwood back against all hope. Threads of dark roots crept across his eye and fractured his sight. Olruggio reached out, confusion furrowing his brow.
Qifrey slapped the hand away and stumbled back. “Get away–”
“Qifrey! What's wrong? Why are you–”
“Don't touch me!” His scream was choked off by the roots that twisted through his chest, squirming up his neck to unfurl into the air. As always, the growth slowed as bitterness from lies laid bare sent cracks through his fragile sense of peace.
On the floor in front of him, Olruggio let out a muffled groan and clutched his head. “I… remember…”
That's new… The thought drifted along the edge of his consciousness. Usually Olruggio merely pieced it together, that clever mind tracing the shape of the gaps in his memory and picking up the pen to draw the same solution, time and time again.
“I'm… sorry…” His whisper was barely audible, but Olruggio looked up anyway, wiping a trickle of blood from his nose.
Don't forgive me. Give up this time, please. I can't go through this again and again–
“Everything will be alright.” Olruggio pushed himself upright, and Qifrey shivered as his warm fingers pressed against one of the roots that sprawled across the atelier’s floor.
No, don't smile like that, don't come any closer–
Olruggio stepped in between the branches and reached out, cupping Qifrey's face in his hands. “So. This is you under all those secrets.” He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Qifrey’s. “Promise me you’ll keep searching for the cure, hmm? Don’t you dare give up. Not after everything. I want to grow old together in this atelier,” he whispered, thumb tracing the tiny shoots threatening to wrap around his fingers. “Together under the wide open sky.”
He snagged Qifrey’s hat from where it lay abandoned on the ground and stepped back, out of reach of the still-growing branches. “Go easy on yourself, okay? And next time I see you… well, I have something to tell you. But you’ll have to wait for it.”
Don’t–
Olruggio folded down the flap concealing the spell and completed the circle with a flick of his pen. He stumbled, eyes fluttering shut as he collapsed.
“Olly…” The branches loosened, dissolving back into flesh as Qifrey sagged to the floor. The pain of failure, of new secrets and new lies wove a cage around the silverwood parasite, suppressing it once more.
Olruggio fell ill almost immediately, suffering from the shock of returned memories ripped away once more. Qifrey carried him up to the bedroom and curled up beside him, cold despite the feverish heat. Leads on the brimmed-hats were nigh impossible to find. It was only the grim thought of facing Olruggio’s disappointment the next time (and the next time, and the next–) that kept him searching.
What does he want to tell me? What if the memory spells become too much? This time was worse than the others, what if– Qifrey shuddered, digging his nails into his palms until he drew blood. If nothing changes, it will happen again. Olruggio, this atelier– soon enough all the warm temptations will push me over the edge again.
Olruggio muttered something in his feverish doze, tossing with discomfort. Qifrey quickly retucked the heated blanket around him, guilt souring in his stomach.
“I can’t… do this again.” He tried the words out in the thick evening air. Leaving wouldn’t help - distance only let the silverwood grow until Olly tracked him down and told him off for giving up. Maybe I’ll burn the rugs, he thought hysterically. Or give them to Beldaruit, along with all the other nice things we’ve been collecting. The less comforts around, the better. It was amusing to imagine Beldaruit frowning in befuddlement at his former apprentice’s sudden and unexpected generosity.
The idea, when it occurred to him, added another layer of guilt to his thoughts. If stripping away the comforts of the atelier wouldn’t work, why not add new problems instead? His apprenticeship had brought Beldaruit no end of grief, he was sure. Enough to smother the silverwood and then some.
It would be selfish to the extreme to take on an apprentice for such a reason. And Olruggio would probably hate the intrusion. But if it bought them a few more years together…
Qifrey leaned his head against Olruggio’s shoulder with a sigh. “You should wake up soon. We have an awful lot of new rooms to build.”