#for the record! no spoilers! i wrote this 10/25/23 according to google docs

[rainbowcaleb]

FICLET FRIDAY: Welcome Home

Prompt: hearth | Pairing: shadowgast | Rating: G | Word count : 510 | Warnings: none

Caleb loves his students, he does. He squeezes his eyes shut for a brief moment. No, he really does. He tosses a friendly wave behind him as he exits the lecture hall and tries to keep his deep exhale as quiet as can be. He loves this job, he does. Their bright minds, the questions that show they’re really listening, the big smiles when they work it out themselves and the magic alights their fingers. But sometimes, the exhaustion catches up to him. The busywork, the constant grading, the students skipping class with a flimsy excuse, the endless faculty meetings that really could have been a letter left in his office to read on his own time. The petty disputes between lecturers that simply summed up to everyone having their own way of doing magic but were utterly sure that their way is the only possible way that exists. He’s defeated minor gods and yet the bone weariness sunk in after the first few months teaching faster than any adventuring scars did.

He steps outside the heavy hall doors into the brisk air, thankful for its bracing wind against his skin, cooling his thoughts. The air is tinged with that ever-present woodsmoke of autumn. He can imagine the hearthsides, the kettles being boiled, the bread being warmed. Caleb tucks his nose down into his gifted knitted scarf and kicks his pace up from stroll to power-walking, imagining his own fireplace waiting at home. He needs quiet, and perhaps a blanket and a cup of tea, before facing classes again tomorrow.

Caleb reaches his cottage after a short while, having set up his home on the outskirts of the city but not too far to travel into work with non magical means. He brushes his boots off on the doormat, toeing at the corner with practiced nonchalance. It is hard to see under the dried leaves and dusty mud, but tucked under the mat is a freshly picked violet, its bright purple a sun amongst the clouds. He smiles but tucks it inside his scarf, ever paranoid still of distant neighbors watching, but he is glad to have picked up extra sundries earlier that week. He has a companion for dinner that night.

He unlocks his door, the key in his hand not nearly as important as the whispered verbal and hidden somatic, and walks into his home. He hasn’t invested much in furniture, other than a secondhand overstuffed couch he loves more than he’d admit, and more bookshelves than are worth the trouble if he ever moves. And in the center of that couch, with a velvety green blanket draped over, and two cats snuggled in fluffy mounds on top, is the gently napping form of a familiar elf. Quietly as he can, he drops his work bag at the door, re-locks all his enchantments, and crosses to the hearth to stroke the fire. Tonight, he is brewing tea for two.