Chapter Text
The snow on the slopes north of Ghodrey was the mean kind.
Not the fluffy, friendly clumps that blanketed the atelier in winter and made for good snowmen, and slipped off the roof during the night with muted, gentle whumps.
This mountain stuff was sharp and powdery, so blindingly white against the sun that it made travel hard during midday. It blew where it pleased, wiping out tracks and pricked at the skin. It built up around the pines and created hidden tree wells, where wayward travellers would stumble and fall, never to be heard from again.
There was no mistake about it, either, the meanness was the appeal. Olruggio had felt the need to put himself somewhere cruel for a time.
And so he’d fallen back - not to Ghodrey proper, where people would ask questions and start gossip - but to the mountains behind it, where the tiny settlements scraped out tenuous livings in the passes, and where only a few witches would deign to visit.
It was an unpopular, uncomfortable place to travel, and that was the point.
Alone in the mountains he could do his work in peace, completing as many acts of service as he pleased, no longer limited to just the three per season. No need to report back as a Watchful Eye or complete commissions for fussy clients. No Brimcaps to chase. No formal obligations except those of the people in the area.
It meant no girls, either, which was something he wouldn’t dwell on for long. The more he thought about their pack of mismatched apprentices, the more he doubted himself, and to protect his heart from further hairline cracks, he threw himself into work and soothed himself with the fact that they were warm and attended to, and he wasn’t really their master anyway.
Their master was Qifrey, and Qifrey he couldn’t think about at all.
In a week it would be a year now, which would’ve been an impossible thing to consider before he found out.
But he had found out about Qifrey’s betrayal, purely by accident, and by the sound of it not for the first time, and in the immediate wash of grief and rage he’d stormed back to his side of the atelier, gathered a few items (too few, in hindsight) and flew off as fast as his shoes would let him. And when that wasn’t fast enough, he’d set himself down on the nearest hillside, scrubbed out the marks, and redrew them to be even faster. Eye-wateringly fast.
Away, with all possible haste.
Now, after a full winter of that very same away, he looked the part of a man who’d rejected all the comforts of the Great Hall, the cozy atelier, and indeed, polite witch society. His beard had grown in thick and dark, and with no reliable way to cut it, his hair had become long enough that he had to sweep it back and tie it away from his face. The picture of a rugged northerner if ever there was one, and exactly the look he’d tried to avoid all his life.
His cloak, too, was starting to become more frayed than he’d like, the golds dull and brassy now, and the sun had bleached his travelling pack a faded, ill-looking green.
Of course he knew about witches who devoted their lives to helping those without magic, who travelled non-stop, working as they went; he just hadn’t figured he’d ever become one.
He’d never been one to look after himself more than he needed to, and maybe this was just a more extreme version of that trait. Neglect for the greater good, perhaps. These things had to be done, though, and he had to be the one to do them.
Olruggio was back on the main mountain pass today, fixing the light on a stone marker that had been knocked over in the latest spring storm. Blizzards had been more frequent than he’d like over the winter, and for the last six months he’d been improving the main trail that wound its way from village to village. There were a handful of small shelters along the pass now, their interiors lit with glowing rocks once night fell. There were snugstones tucked away in the shelters too, to pop inside thick mittens and keep inside sleeping furs.
From time to time villagers would come by, to offer him food or blankets as a gesture of thanks, and to these people he was only ever as kind as he could be, but he did his best to keep his distance, emotionally.
When he heard the muffled sound of steps behind him, he assumed this was again the case.
“Be just a second,” he said as he settled the post back in place and gave it a final hearty thump.
“Master Olly?”
The familiar voice was enough to make him look up sharply, and as he did he nearly wrenched his neck.
Agott.
On his mountains. Guidance orb in hand. Standing in a thick grey cloak, wearing the familiar sea foam green hat, golden tassel ruffling in the cold breeze.
“Oh,” he said, and the word clouded into ice vapour even as it left his mouth.
He tried again, with even less success. “Wh…”
A year had passed, and she was a little taller than he remembered, her hair a little longer. It had curled around her ears before, unruly and undisciplined, the complete opposite of her approach to life, but now it brushed against her neck and touched the tops of her shoulders.
The fiercely determined look on her face, however, was exactly the same as it’d always been.
He could only cross the path between them and sweep her into a tight, protective hug.
And to his surprise, she matched his intensity, wrapping both arms around his shoulders and gripping his cloak firmly.
“It’s so dangerous here. Are the other girls with you?”
“No,” she said, pulling back just enough to speak.
He allowed himself a moment more, enjoying the brief window where he didn’t have to answer for anything, and could only hold her slim frame.
Finally though, he pulled back. “Is he with you?”
She was a smart girl, she understood immediately. “He isn’t.”
His shoulders slumped in relief, and he released her fully.
“...but he has been looking for you. At night, when he thinks we’re sleeping.”
Damn it, Qifrey. Forever searching, never settled. It was no way to live a life.
He watched as her eyes darted across the planes of his face, a little alarmed.
Ah, that was right, he must look very different. Not only was the fuller beard a change, but he was certain he still had the last of a long, shallow cut along his temple, where he’d been unceremoniously backhanded by a branch from a fir tree the week before. It had not been his most dignified moment, and he hadn’t thought it truly possible, but he’d seen stars as he sat there in the snow, tiny sparks firing at the corners of his vision.
In an effort to not upset her, he gave her more space, stepping away and hesitantly taking a seat on the boulder behind him, as if to signal he wasn’t going anywhere, and that they were free to talk.
And talk she did, losing no time by jumping straight in.
“He said he’d hurt you. And because of that, you’d left. That it was his fault and nothing you did.”
He nodded, reluctant. “That’s true.”
And if that meant Qifrey had spent the last year wrestling with the ire of four teenagers who believed him at fault, then it would be soundly deserved. Funny, too, if not for the fact that he didn’t wish for the girls to be in a perpetual state of resentment.
“But that doesn’t explain why you don’t write!”
Agott was mad now, and there it was in person, that very same teenage anger. Her eyes were narrowed and she balled her fists in her mitts, all righteous, youthful fury.
(The best, purest kind.)
“So what! So he hurt you? I didn’t! Coco didn’t! Why didn’t you say goodbye to any of us before you left! Why didn’t you send us a letter when you felt better? Why didn't you come back?”
Because I never felt better.
Olly crossed his legs on the flat of the boulder and set his chin in his hand, thinking about this, giving the question the weight it deserved. It was a short while before he answered.
“I’m sincerely sorry. All four of you deserved better.”
He took a breath and continued.
“When I left, I was only thinking about him, I’m sorry to say. Sinocia once told me that sometimes to stop a wound from bleeding they’ll burn it shut, and I don’t want to be dramatic or anything but I thought if maybe I didn’t think about any of you and just got to work, I could cauterize the whole thing. Burn it all closed.”
Agott looked crushed. “You didn’t want to think about us?”
Brutal.
“It’s more like, uh, I couldn’t. That if I did nothing good would come from it. That I’d want to come home immediately and it was too soon for that.”
She seemed to accept this after a moment and climbed onto the boulder beside him.
“It’s hard to see you fight.” She said to the folds on her lap, the anger ebbing away. “It feels wrong to see you like this.”
Olly laughed, a little rueful at the edges, but there was a genuine sound to it, too. “I agree.”
“What did he do to hurt you?”
How to answer this one. Did he smooth it over or redirect her away from the truth of the thing? Or just tell her straight out and let her make up her own mind about it?
The answer seemed obvious. She was old enough for the truth. Avoiding it is what put them into this situation in the first place.
“Qifrey erased part of my memory. I confronted him about something important, and he made me forget the events leading up to it. Says it was his way of protecting me. I wish I could answer you with more detail, but obviously that part of me’s gone forever. It was important enough to him that he broke our friendship over it, so... Do with that what you will, I suppose.”
“No.” Agott stared. “He wouldn’t.”
Then her anger was back, as bright as before. She seemed ready to launch into a volley of fresh indignation directed at her professor, but he set his hand on her arm to stop her in her tracks. He couldn’t have people being furious on his behalf, especially not the girls. That wasn’t how this was going to work.
“Don’t hate him, okay? Monstrous people have done monstrous things to him. You can be mad at him, because mad we can work with.”
She paused. “You don’t hate him?”
“Course not. Love him,” he said aloud, jarring even himself.
“Why? ”
This conversation was getting too heavy, but Agott was nothing if not tenacious. He sighed.
“Have you ever done anything that truly hurt someone?”
She seemed to think on this for a time, then glanced at the nearby pines. “Yes.”
“Do they hate you for it?”
“...no,” she answered.
He resettled his cloak around him, as if that closed the matter.
“Have…” Agott’s voice was pitched low, as if someone might overhear, though there was no danger of that. “Have you ever hurt someone?”
“Absolutely,” he said, without missing a beat.
“Do they hate you?”
He scratched at the underside of his chin, fingers scraping through the bristles. “They died, so I never found out. Maybe yes.”
“What happened?” Agott was really pushing her luck now, and there was only so far his vulnerability extended. “What did you do?”
“Look, I’ll tell you later. Besides, I hurt all four of you girls when I didn’t write. That’s an example that’s nice and fresh.”
He could tell she wanted to pick at the thread and find out what he meant by his earlier comment, but he was grateful when she took the hint and changed tactics.
“Will you come home?”
“Well.” He knew this had been coming from the moment her boots hit the snow behind him. “Have to at least take you back there, don’t I? Light’s getting low, and if you think I’m sending you home on your own like this you got another think comin'.”
Her eyes went wide, and she leaned towards him. “Right now?”
He sighed, deep and long and mostly for show, though the idea of seeing Qifrey again sent a spike of cold anxiety through him.
“Fine, sure, if you want. This was a stupid move though, you know that right? You have to promise you won’t just walk into the wilderness again any time soon. You and Coco are cut from the same cloth when it comes to this kind of thing.”
There wasn’t a lick of remorse on her face. “I feel like the results were worth it.”
“Agott, just say the words, please? Stick to the script?”
She tucked a stray curl behind her ear, but behind her hand he could see the pleased look on her face. “I promise I won’t go alone into the mountains to bring you home again.”
“Good.” He slapped his hands to his knees and stood. “Like pulling teeth with this crowd.”
She too scrambled to her feet, and shook out her cloak, readying herself for travel.
“Then let’s go!” And it was a command, not a request.
***
Even with the help of window ways to get home the journey still took hours. The darkened mountain pass was some distance from Ghodrey, where he had Agott send a letter to the atelier.
Safe, it read. Found him, coming home now! Don’t wait up.
From there they portaled to the Great Hall, where he earned himself a fair few looks on his weathered appearance. He considered taking a bath and grabbing something to eat, but it was late enough that options were limited, and he’d really rather get her home in one piece.
From the main portal hall they changed to Kahln, and from there it was only a short flight across the low hills to the familiar shapes of their atelier, light glowing in at least a few of the windows.
Apparently the ‘don’t wait up’ bit of the letter had been ignored.
They lit on the ground a short distance away, and Agott ran forward a few steps in the cold grass.
When she realized her feet were the only ones moving, she turned and fixed him with a concerned look. “Aren’t you coming in?”
“I will. Just give me a minute, okay?”
She nodded, looking reluctant to go farther.
“I won’t leave, I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
And that seemed to do the trick. She closed the distance to the front door and ducked inside, no doubt to alert the others.
Immediately he began to pace.
In truth he wasn’t ready for this. If you’d told him that morning he’d be back on this hill at nightfall, he’d have laughed in disbelief.
He could do nothing to dispel the nervous energy though, and his bag was still heavy, despite the shrinking spells on the items inside, so instead he sank to the ground and crossed his arms across his knees.
Olruggio stayed that way for longer than he would’ve liked, but every time he moved to stand a quiet voice asked for just another minute.
Ultimately the decision was made for him.
The swish of fabric on grass and quiet footfalls caught his attention, and when he turned, Qifrey was walking towards him.
Here we go, I guess.
The feet stopped a short distance away.
“Thank you for bringing her home,” Qifrey opened with, and Olruggio appreciated the unvarnished practicality of the words. There was a neutrality there that he could work with; a shared understanding that the girls always came first. “How far did she have to go?”
Olly scratched absently at the side of his beard, hesitating.
“Mountains northwest of Ghodrey,” he finally admitted. “Past the lake villages.”
It was far too remote a place for a 13, almost 14 year old girl to be travelling alone. It was far too remote a place for even him, and confessing it’d been where he’d retreated to was a little more telling than he’d like.
You hurt me so badly that I went as far away as the world would permit. A place where licking your wounds meant you’d freeze to death.
Olly chanced a look over his shoulder, and Qifrey, whose carefully schooled features had remained neutral, expressed a look of genuine shock that was visible even in the low light.
“Agott,” he muttered under his breath, the name both a curse and an admission of awe.
“We talked about it,” said Olruggio. “She’s not doing that again. I made her promise.” He lifted a hand, as if waving off the idea on her behalf.
Qifrey nodded, seemingly not touching the implications of ‘again’, and before any lull could fall between them Olruggio heard him segue into a gentle invitation.
“Please at least have some tea.”
This is how it would go, wouldn’t it? First he would have some tea. Perhaps a snack after, no strings attached. And then it would be so late that travelling would be ill-advised, so why didn’t he sleep over for the night? Maybe in the morning the girls would be awake, and then how could he leave again, once they’d all welcomed him back and coaxed him into staying for breakfast?
If he stepped into those rooms he was doomed to never step out of them again, and maybe both of them knew it. Or one of them knew it, and the other hoped it to be true.
“What kind of tea?” He was hedging now, brows pushed together, as if trying to keep an escape route open. This cozy welcome was a dangerous snare, the strangling kind the trappers in the mountains used, and he was a hair’s breadth from gladly sticking his head right into it.
“The kind with whisky, if you like, but otherwise all of the usual kinds.”
Which sounded positively healing after so long with scarcely a drop of wine.
“...fine, fine.”
He shouldered his bag, rose from the ground and started in the direction of the kitchen door. Qifrey fell into step just behind him, careful in his silence.
“Who’d they send to replace me?” Olly turned around, but kept walking, his backwards steps bringing him closer to the building.
“Luluci,” Qifrey answered. “We made a room for her at the back, by the kitchen, but she’s been away for a few days on leave. I think that’s why Agott saw her opportunity. She knew I couldn’t leave with only one of us here.”
Smart kid.
“Luluci. Of the Knights?” Olruggio squinted sharply.
“The same, though it’s formerly of the Knights, now.”
Interesting. Olly had certainly been lax in his approach to his Watchful Eye duties, often by his own design, trusting Qifrey to carry on as he pleased and only interjecting when something egregious reared its head. For good or ill, Luluci would hold him to a different standard, and for that Olruggio could only be curious and maybe a little grateful, even if she had been part of a deeply destructive organization. He supposed there had been quite a lot of mayhem in their ranks recently.
“Girls like her alright?”
“They prefer you.”
Not-so-subtle flattery. Olruggio nearly called him out on it, but regardless, it was likely true.
Still, having a young woman’s presence around for the girls seemed alright. There were some questions that teen girls had that neither he nor Qifrey had ready answers to.
Olly made a thoughtful sound and took the last few steps to the door before standing aside and letting Qifrey do the honours.
The simple gesture of waiting - that of a guest and not a resident - didn’t seem to go unnoticed. Qifrey looked him up and down, and he couldn’t help but do the same in return.
Qifrey hadn’t said anything about his appearance, but certainly he must be thinking it. If Agott had been visibly thrown for a loop, Qifrey must have thoughts indeed on the matter, having seen so many versions of Olruggio over the years, but whatever they were he was keeping them firmly unsaid.
Qifrey, however, looked the same as he had on the day Olruggio had left. Still regal in his own way, still holding himself with a deliberate sense of calm. Still just as pretty as ever.
Easy with that, he warned himself.
Qifrey opened the door.