Work Text:
Qifrey found it one evening, tucked away in the deep recesses of Olruggio’s desk. A velvet box, no bigger than a palm quire, a delicate golden engraving of two crystal foxes crisscrossed across the front. Inside — a ring. A dainty thing, a thin band with a jewel of swirling light. Not hefty like the thick link rings Olly favored, kept stacked in various trinket dishes around the atelier, ready to serve their wearers.
That was the thing about Olly — no, “Olruggio the Torch,” Qifrey thought wryly, holding the box aloft so the gold gilt caught in the flickering lamplight. Everything he did was for others. A genius. A gentleman. Gallant and gorgeous. Anyone could see he was a catch.
It wasn’t that he’d meant to go snooping in his things; at least, not in the beginning. Given that Olruggio had pressing business keeping him at the Great Hall a week past, it fell on Qifrey to keep the household running in his stead. And when the casting seals that kept their custom made oven in service (a perfect cook every time!) had begun to show signs of decay the night before, it felt prudent to find the special flame-resistant ink blend that was Olruggio’s specialty, lest Tetia’s next sourdough come out burnt.
The scarlet tinged bottle hadn’t been in the cabinet, nor the crowded shelf of glass containers beside it. All that left was Olruggio’s workdesk, surface laden with the ruins of abandoned contraptions and half finished casting seals.
Qifrey stared at the stalwart furniture as one might look upon a dangerous beast. A maze of a desk, itself a product of Olruggio’s tinkering when he’d realized just how many things one accumulates when you abandon your nomad ways and settle down. It was unwise, probably, to grope around in the dark nooks and crannies of the desk, risking life, or at least limb, just for some ink. Any manner of dangerous materials could be locked away inside — or worse yet, any number of traps.
For a brief moment Qifrey considered this, before plunging his hand inside anyways. Perhaps it was foolhardy to believe, but any trap Olruggio would set to deter would-be thieves would be a mere nuisance rather than a true threat. Olly’s kindness always shined through his magic.
Several drawers later, the tips of his fingers brushed across the velvet surface, and just a peek wouldn’t hurt, right? But as realization set in, as he grasped the meaning of the noble crystal foxes staring at him from the cover, the impulse tasted like dirt in his mouth.
The ring sat like a hot coal in his palm, gleaming and glittering and so wretched a thing to find here in this room.
Devotion was not a thing that Qifrey took lightly. It took a special kind of person to say they’d devote their life to you, to your lives together, to share in your suffering as if it had been written from the start.
It was a devotion he did not deserve.
Once upon a time, a silverwood tree fell in love with a witch.
The edge of Olruggio’s bed came up to meet him as he sat back with his heart planted firm in his throat.
Two options laid before him.
The hopeful answer, Qifrey’s heart wished wished wished, was that this was a mere contraption of Olly’s crafting, though he’d never known him to craft such dainty jewelry. Still, he thought, clutching at hope, it wasn’t unheard of for him to take on jobs outside his wheelhouse, or add improvements to existing gems.
Then there was the one that filled him with dread, a force pressing down upon him so fierce it conjured up memories of the crushing waters that surrounded the Great Hall. It wouldn’t be, couldn’t be, a ring for someone else. The thought twisted up his insides, tortured him with thoughts of another’s hands brushing their fingers through his beard, adjusting his robes, brushing against his shoulders in the kitchen. The rituals they shared, the brief moments of respite from his every day agony, a mere whim to someone else.
And then came the terrible thought of Olly’s hands on someone else—
A soft warm glow lit up the hallway as the sound of raccous humming echoed down the hall. Qifrey felt his heart skip a beat, though he wasn’t sure from what — the butterflies in his stomach from Olruggio’s homecoming, or the fact that he’d been rifling through his things and was now in imminent danger of being caught. He had but a moment of hesitation before he opted for the simplest solution: chucking the box under his bed, ring gripped tight in his hand.
“Olly?” he called in a sing-song voice, not wanting to disrupt what sounded like a pleasant mood. “Is that you?”
“Qifrey?” came the reply, voice warm with giddy surprise. “In my room?”
What a stark contrast to the tempest swirling in his heart and mind. Qifrey somehow willed his wobbling legs to stand and greet him from atop the distinguishing platform of Olruggio’s room. The ring burned hot against his palm.
“You’re home early!” A smile of practiced delight settled over his face. “The oven seals need to be recast, so I was hoping to find your homebrew of fire resistant ink. Any ideas where I might find it?”
Black robes swirled into view, lit up in a glittering rosy gold by the hallway extension of the glowstone path. Olruggio had installed several throughout the atelier while Qifrey and the girls were on their travels, an attempt (an unsuccessful one, it would turn out) to stop Coco from wandering into his room.
“Qifrey, Qifrey,” Olruggio sang, stretched out on the door frame and looking up at him in what Qifrey would be beloathed to describe as adoration. “A man’s chambers is no place to be poking around, eh?” The admonishment was accompanied with a fond smile, his eyes rendered glassy and soft.
This man would be the death of him, but a happy Olruggio was a compliant one. Any small transgression could be forgiven with pleasant conversation and a smile under these conditions.
Qifrey tapped his soles together and made his way down to the ground level. Flagstones sank an almost imperceptible amount beneath his feet as his weight touched down, and now he too could feel the beautiful magic that makes the ground shiny and his heart full of despair.
Qifrey offered an innocent smile, the one he’d learned from Olruggio himself all those years ago. “Well that seems a rather harsh accusation.”
“Aye, but one without merit?” Long trailing sleeves snaked around his waist to draw him close. “But maybe you just missed me?”
A shiver ran down Qifrey’s back at Olruggio’s honeyed words, sweetened by the familiar smell of silvernectar wine on his breath. “I didn’t expect you home tonight, or I would have waited, Master Torch,” he said with a half chuckle at the nickname. “The girls will be over the moon in the morning.”
A pause stretched between them. Qifrey could see Olruggio lick his lips with hesitation. Then:
“And what about you?”
“P-pardon…?”
“You, Qifrey,” he said, cutting in before he could finish. The name fell from his lips like a prayer. “Are you over the moon?”
Yes, no, always, never, all the parts of him wanted to scream. Qifrey closed his eye and let the dueling factions inside his heart tug at the seams holding him together.
Before he knew it, Qifrey’s back had found the sturdy cool brick of his wall, the glowing floor a rambling path of unsteady footsteps. His heart pounded unsteady in his chest, and his arms came up to drape around him on instinct.
“I’m afraid what I’m looking for is quite a bit closer to earth than the moon.”
This was the game they would always play.
At any moment Olruggio would throw his hands up and walk away, a frustrated groan growling deep in his throat. Another close call dodged. Qifrey would laugh and apologize and steal away to his (cold, dark, lonely) room with his ill gotten gains and hold onto this gift with equal measures of self-loathing and gratitude.
But that’s not what happened.
Instead, warm arms circled his waist, and lips crashed into his.
And despite himself, Qifrey thought, this again.
How he craved and despised his first kisses with this man. A twisted cycle of desperation and longing and need and promises fulfilled.
This time he’d break it, he would promise again. This time for sure.
“Olly,” he gasped at first opportunity. Calloused craftsman’s hands brushed against his clean shaven skin, drawing a faint groan in response to the trail of goosebumps trailing in its wake. How long had it been?
Too long.
“Olly,” he said again, fingers curled in his cloak. What a terrible thing to have a conscience under such circumstances. “You’re drunk.”
“They call it liquid bravery up north,” Olruggio replied with a pleased hum, a smile plastered on like the owlcat who’d finally caught the quadryphon. The arms around his waist squeezed harder. “Don’t run away.”
A twinge of guilt echoed through his chest. The tone was light hearted, but there was an underlying strain that Qifrey could always hear.
“Never, dear friend.”
It wasn’t his first time ascending these steps backwards, but he certainly pretended like it was. He stumbled over the steps as they kissed and groped each other towards the platform of Olruggio’s bed.
And all along, that beautiful cursed ring burned hot beneath his fingers. As his dear friend and companion’s passions washed over him, a small voice deep down inside him wondered if there was a third option for why Olly would hide this ring: that it was meant for him.
The thought made his void of an eye ache and his heart pound with anxiety all at once. A double whammy that he didn’t know was possible. The seams were ripping.
Blackness swam in his vision, and he frowned. That wasn’t good.
“Qifrey?” Olly’s concerned voice rang in his ears, distorted and wrong. He felt clammy and confused.
Had he fainted?
“Qifrey, what’s…h-hey, you’re coming to?”
The ruffle of paper and the heady scent of casting ink, and a cold compress draped against his sweat slicked forehead.
“Oh dear,” he said, at a loss for words. “What a bother.”
“A bother?” Olruggio replied, incredulous. “You really know how to kill a man’s buzz, you know!” A frustrated groan, the one he’d expected earlier, rumbled in his throat. “Not to mention you dropping this old thing when you flopped down like a dead fish.” Between his thumb and forefinger sat the ring of all his misery.
Well. Shit.
“I didn’t know you made engagement rings,” he said with a forced air of amusement. “I must say the details are exquisite.” And then, because he couldn’t help himself, “I’m sure anyone would be lucky to receive it.”
A soft gasp escaped Olruggio’s lips, and a resentful frown settled over his features. A far away look settled in his eyes, and for one of the first times in his life, it felt like Olruggio was the one keeping secrets from him.
“You just up and disappeared, if you recall,” he said after a long moment.
Qifrey wasn’t sure if he preferred the anxious silence or the reminder of his sins against this man. A lump formed in his throat.
“I recall,” Qifrey replied at last. “For a time I thought that being alone would be easier.”
“Easier? For who?” The resentful frown had turned into a full on scowl. “You think it was easy for me to be hanging around the Great Hall, wondering every day if you were still breathing?”
A punch to the gut. Qifrey smiled despite all this. He hated when they hashed this particular argument out, but this time felt different. This time he’d found something Olruggio had never wanted him to see. “You’ve always known me to be a selfish thing.”
Olruggio snatched at his robes, his jaw squared. “I’ve had enough deflection for one night.” After another long moment and a defeated sigh he released his grip. His posture sagged. Between his fingers he rolled the ring, the jewel shimmering with the glow of light turned liquid. “I began to think maybe you weren’t coming back. That maybe you’d found what you were looking for and had started a new life out there beneath the sky. Somewhere — somewhere I couldn’t find you.” He was avoiding looking at Qifrey now, a sad smile etching lines across his face. “I mean… That’s what I’d hoped, at least. But then that got me thinking.” A hesitant breath. “Where did that leave me?”
Qifrey’s throat constricted, his mouth dry. He felt like throwing himself in front of a herd of liongoats and letting himself be torn apart. Instead, he grasped at Olly’s sleeve, feeling small. “Where indeed?”
Olruggio took another deep breath. Instead of looking at Qifrey, he stared out the large, leaded window above his bed at the clear sky above. A beautiful night, so dark and full of stars. ”There was this girl at the contraption shop I worked at. A sweet girl, a bit— a bit self-deprecating at times, but we got on together. It was— nice. Comfortable.”
A pit swirled in Qifrey’s stomach and he felt as if he might faint again. “I didn’t catch her name,” he said, voice low.
“I won’t have you harassing half the Great Hall looking for her. Just know— well, obviously it didn’t work out, did it?”
It was Qifrey’s turn to set his jaw, but he knew it wouldn’t do to test Olruggio on this. For now.
“One night she gave me this box and I— I should have known what it was, but I was too dumbstruck to be suspicious. It had crystal foxes on it. Did you know they mate for life? And as I’m staring at it she gives me a long speech about how good we were together— hey now, don’t pull the strings so tight!” With a grumble he pulled the gathered fabric of his sleeves loose from Qifrey’s tightening grip, then leaned back on his hands. “I guess you could call it an engagement offer. A soft one. I put on the ring, and…”
And before Qifrey could believe it, Olruggio was laughing.
“This beam of light shoots out, straight down the hall, in the complete opposite direction. And she says, completely deadpan, ‘I knew it.’ I was mortified.”
With this, he laid back on the foot of the bed, eyes closed and a smile still splayed over his face. Qifrey’s pulse quickened.
“It was a heartseeker spell, one of her design. And she’d proved, without a doubt, that my heart just wasn’t into the life she was proposing. And— well, good for her, I guess. Not wanting to be a consolation prize. That’s all she ever would have been, I reckon.”
A thousand questions ran through his mind, and he could scarcely draw a breath. “And where…did the light lead?”
Eyes still closed, Olruggio brought his hands together in front of him, and slipped the dainty ring around his finger. A burst of light erupted from the ring, followed by the unraveling of a gossamer beam of light. It swirled through air until it formed the shape of a crystal fox. It pranced through the air between them before alighting upon Qifrey’s shoulder, an arrow aimed straight for his heart.
A bright red flush spread across Olruggio’s face, starting at the tips of his ears and spreading down to his neck. With a gruff harumph he brought his arms down across his face, cascading sleeves draping down to hide his embarrassment.
“After the most awkward goodbye of my life, I followed the light to the hall of windowways, and found myself stepping through to the sleeping city of Kalhn. From there, my sylph shoes carried me here to the Naakiwan Downs. To— here.” Olruggio’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I didn’t know where you were, but I knew— I knew where we’d made our promise. So that’s where I went.”
When Qifrey couldn’t conjure the words to respond to that, Olruggio took a shaky breath and lowered one of his arms, revealing big blue eyes that bore into his own. “I wanted this. We could be this.” Without a moment’s hesitation he reached for Qifrey’s hand, and like a coward, he offered it without a fight.
For a moment, they sat like that, fingers intertwined. Beneath the pads of his fingers he could feel the scars of Olruggio’s namesake etched across his skin. No words, only the crackle of the pyreball lamp filled the air. Suspended between them, gleaming from the ring, a single, tenuous, strand of light binding them, bonds of destiny made tangible.
Once upon a time, a silverwood tree fell in love with a witch. He gave his blood to make ink, and his wood to make wands.
There was not a creature more selfish than he in all the world, he thought, as he brought Olruggio’s calloused fingers to his lips, the light of the ring awakening that familiar ache of happiness as it shined against the hollow of his missing eye.
I will be your ink and your wand, my dear friend. I will break us of this curse.
Just wait.
Please wait.
“It’s not…the right time,” he breathed at last. “Please, just trust me on this. I know I ask a lot of you. Too much, as always.” With a gracious smile, he pulled the ring from Olruggio’s finger in one fluid swoop.
“Hey…!” Olruggio exclaimed, starting to push himself up in protest. Yet his words died in his throat as he watched Qifrey press the jewel to his lips, his eye boring straight into his.
“When the time is right,” he said, voice soft as a whisper. “I hope you’ll ask me to try it on.” With a smile, he held the ring out for Olruggio to take it. “Until then.”
“A-Aye,” Olruggio choked out, and looked at the ring now resting in his palm. “And when— when do you think that will be?”
With a half sigh of relief, Qifrey sat back against the bed, fingers twiddling in what he hoped read as contriteness. “Soon, I hope. I must once again ask you to forgive me.”
It was a dirty trick, and he knew it. Begging for forgiveness to relieve just a sliver of his own anxiety, like giving drugs to an addict, or salvation to a dying man.
A long pause, a sigh. And then, like always:
“Of course I do.” Olruggio’s shoulders slump, then rebound. “When the time’s right. Not a moment longer.”
“Not a single clockmark more,” Qifrey easily agreed. And then, as if they hadn’t just ripped each other’s worlds apart once again, he stood with an easygoing smile. “You must be exhausted from your time away, so please drink some water and get some rest. And perhaps you could get to the oven before supper?”
“I won’t sleep that long.”
A fond smile lit up Olruggio’s face, and this was Qifrey’s cue to turn away, to keep that fleeting image fresh in his mind for as long as he could.
“Try to keep the girls outside if you can, though. It’s hard to sleep when they’re rifling around in here.” A pause. “I wonder who they get it from.”
“I haven’t a clue,” Qifrey said fondly, making his way down the stairs. “Good evening, Olurggio. Sweet dreams.”
“You too, Qifrey. Try and get some rest.”
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Alone in his barren room, Qifrey pressed his fingers to his lips. The taste of Olruggio’s kisses intermingled with the sensation of the warm smooth stone whispering promises against his skin. And all the while, his heart pounded like a creature hunted.
The parasite shifted with a fresh burst of pain.
Couldn’t he hold on to this? Just this time?
With a shake of his head, he fell back against his own bed. It was nothing like Olruggio’s — inviting, soft, warm. The mattress was firm and the linens were starched stiff to form clean, straight, inhospitable lines. Every day of his life was a measured game of stripping those minor comforts away. He’d given up so much already.
In return he had Olruggio’s greatest gift — hope.
But holding onto hope was a delicate dance, like balancing a flame between your hands. Hold it too tight and it will burn you right up, but let it slip too far away and be lost to the darkness.
Qifrey closed his eye, and clutched the tassel of his hat to his chest. It wouldn’t last, of course. Something would slip. One impulse pushed a little too far. A secret exposed. And then, the cycle would begin again.
A wise witch once told him that promises are written on the heart. And he hoped beyond hope that was true. That even if Olruggio forgot, his heart would remember.
And that when the time was right, they’d have more than tassels to exchange.