#i had to patch one of the deliberate holes because it was spreading and distorting the fabric and

[kesbeacon]

One day I'll make a post (or even a video 👀) about unglamorous sewing and the 12 patches in my oldest and favouritest (?) shorts.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

but the heart of a man is a simple one (last part)

It’s been a trip, y’all. Please leave some comments, this has been a really fun fic to write and I’d really appreciate your feedback. Thanks so much to @minky-for-short and @soft-bram for being incredible beta readers. 

On the twenty third day after the departure of Archmage Widogast and his retinue, the carriage they’d departed in came rumbling through the palace gates. The guards stirred, sighed and listlessly started forward, summoning the porter. How like one of the arrogant, puffed up wizards they served to give no announcement of their return and just expect to be taken care of. Not looking forward to carrying some stuck up mage’s heavy mahogany luggage when she had far more important things to be doing, the captain on duty approached the carriage, waiting for the door to swing open and a flurry of commands to come pouring out.

And she continued to wait. Frowning, she gingerly reached for the latch on the door and allowed it to swing open, wondering if the mage inside were drunk or had nodded off into an ill-timed nap. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But all that happened as the oak and gilt door swung wide as a noiseless sagging of the carriage and a puff of energised air, almost as if a spell that had been holding it, say, to make it travel all the way from the Menagerie Coast back to Zadash, had been released. Inside there was no archmage. No retinue. No guards or luggage or items of any kind, just a dusty interior.

That and a letter.

The letter was summarily presented to the Grand Mage as soon as the council could gather. The whole hall was hushed and still, wrapped in curiosity and confusion, every eye trained on the Grand Mage as his yellowed eyes ran across each line, his face growing tighter and more purple with rage at every word.

Though the letter itself was quickly shredded between the white knuckled fingers of the Grand Mage, its contents had spread throughout the castle before the hour was up. Though the many voices that whispered it and the many ears that heard it may have distorted the message, the general gist of it was more or less preserved.

Archmage Widogast would not be returning.

“Are you nervous?”

Caleb lifted an eyebrow, Nott’s voice pulling him out of a deep well of thought, like a lifeline dangled down to the bottom for him to grab. He thought about his answer carefully, stroking Frumpkin behind the ears as the cat shifted and settled more comfortably in his lap.

Even with his eyes closed he knew the doors at the back of his bedroom were open out onto the beach beyond. Already there was the gentle bubble of conversation, the only indication of the crowd gathering just over the ridge of dunes, but the most prominent sound was the waves. Caleb had grown so used to that sound in such a short space of time, he’d come to depend on it the way he depended on the rush of blood in his own body. Just that small nod that the world was still out there, the world he still thought was just a little bit too perfect to exist.

But it was real., he could here it all Out there was a vast, never ending ocean, comforting in its eternity. A beach of golden sand and smooth pebbles that fit perfectly in the palms of his hands, with veins of glittering sea glass. Out there were his friends, his friends who’d followed him halfway across the continent and stayed beside him.

Out there was the man he loved.

“How could I be nervous?” Caleb finally murmured.

Nott giggled and patted his shoulder with one small hand, giving him the signal to open his eyes while the other finished winding the flowers into Caleb’s drawn back hair. He could see now, he had a veritable bouquet set into his copper curls. Not the almost fantastical, alien looking flowers of the Menagerie Coast with their bulbs and fronds in the shape of masks, people and pretty much anything that wasn’t a flower, but the more rounded, humbler blossoms of home.

Not Zadash. Blumenthal.

Looking at himself in the polished glass for the first time in nearly an hour, it was all Caleb could do not to cry.

“Where did you get these?” he finally managed to croak, looking at Nott through their reflection. The tiny farming village where he’d grown up was leagues and leagues away from where they sat, the cost of having them shipped must have been insane…

“I had to ask Caduceus to help a little,” she confessed, shrugging humbly, “I wasn’t sure of their names. But I just wanted you to have something special for today. Something from your old home to bring in to your new one.”

Caleb swallowed something that felt the size of an apple and turned to hug Nott tightly, awkwardly squishing Frumpkin between them, much to his dismay. He had always been better with actions than with words.

A new sound arrived on the beach outside; a lilting, soft music, played expertly on the lyre. It came naturally, flowing in with the murmur of waves on the shoreline, though there was an element of beckoning to it. A call.

“They must be ready for us,” Nott let go of Caleb reluctantly, she’d like nothing more than to keep holding him, “We should head out there…if you’re ready?”

Caleb smiled crookedly, appreciating that delicately lingering question, the fact that Nott was ready to whisk him away from this if he asked for it. He knew how odd this day must seem to his friends, after everything he’d been through in the last year and change. But he stood, smoothing down the front of his dress shirt, making sure the tails of his brown leather coat and the red velvet cravat on his chest lay just right.

“I’m ready.”

He took a moment to glance at himself in the glass one more time. There was a smile there, a smile he hadn’t really been aware of, one that just crept its way onto his face because he simply felt like smiling. His eyes were bright, a little shadowed after a night of being too excited to sleep. His fingers seemed restless, eager, unwilling to sit still as they moved to touch the flowers in his hair, flatten his lapels a little more, run across his jaw and wonder if he should have shaved.

All in all, he looked like a groom on his wedding day.

Grinning, he offered his arm to Nott who gratefully clambered up and onto his back. Not wanting to be left behind, Frumpkin gave a squeak and jumped onto his left shoulder. He had to smile at that. The last time he’d felt so alone, cut off and dragged away from anything even close to comforting, left alone and vulnerable under eyes that regarded him like searchlights. Now he was so inundated with friends, he staggered when he tried to walk out to the beach and let the ceremonies begin.

Caleb really preferred how they did things in the Menagerie Coast.

There was no procession, no presentation or long agonising walk under the sharp gaze of everyone. The two of them met as equals under a canopy of white silk, standing across from each other, smiling coyly as the assembled crowd quietened, realising both of the intended were present.

Caleb’s heart gave a flutter at the sight of Mollymauk, standing in the gauzy shade, digging a hole in the sand with the toe of his boot self-consciously, unaware the man who was currently his husband but soon would be even more his husband had arrived. In a fit of tradition, they’d decided to spend the night before their real wedding apart, to give the next night some air of importance. Almost immediately, Caleb had regretted it, lying awake in the manse’s guest bed, too full of nerves to even contemplate sleep and missing Mollymauk so feverishly it was like an aching hole in his chest.

He would have been delighted to see him for that reason alone, even if he hadn’t looked as gorgeous as he did.

There hadn’t been all that much notice of today, it had been rather impromptu. Molly had been teasing him over the past week, complaining how he hadn’t given him nearly enough time to source an appropriate outfit. Though Caleb had grinned and teased him right back, replying that anything the tiefling wore, he would look stunning and people would whisper and wonder how on earth he’d ended up with that patched up, scruffy haired redhead. That had earned him a thwack with a long, purple tail. Mollymauk didn’t care for his self-deprecating jokes.

But even after the whining and warning that he’d probably have to get married naked (something Caleb didn’t object to in the slightest), Mollymauk looked beyond beautiful. He had flowers in his hair too and arching up his horns like twisting vines. The garlands were tradition for weddings in the Coast and, as Caleb’s reflected everything that had brought him to this day, this shaded spot on a beach hundreds of miles away from where he’d been born and everything he’d thought his life would hold, so did Molly’s. His flowers were clusters of what Caleb knew as sundrops but they may well have a different name to his husband. Either way, they were famed for their ability to grow even in the harshest conditions, to sprout up between cobblestones, along walls, in rain washed drains, everywhere they weren’t wanted. And despite all that, they remained delightful, a proud blush of the brightest yellow gold, symbolising strength and resilience, beauty in the face of adversity.

Whereas the first time around, back in Zadash, he’d been dressed as if for battle, as much metal as he was flesh between the scimitars and the jewels. It had been a deliberate, constructed display of wealth and ferocity, to show off the level of blood, history and breeding the relatively new Dwendalian empire had yet to achieve and, in the eyes of the rest of the world’s nobility, never would. It had been more of a spit in the face. You couldn’t conquer us, you had to scrape and bow and invite us in.

And not a single part of it had been Mollymauk’s idea.

It was only in their conversations after that Caleb realised how similar his and Molly’s positions had been, how every small part of that day had been meticulously planned, discussed and executed without any input from them, like they were actors who’d just been handed lines and directions and told to get on with it and not miss a single step.

Which was the exact reason why today had to happen.

Now it was clear, no one had chosen anything for Mollymauk today, it was all of his own free will. And he’d chosen so well. The dress was white, like the sands he stood on, with a panel of lace across his shoulders and plunging down his chest, like he’d been stood in a snowstorm and the flakes were slowly coalescing against his skin. Compared to how he’d looked in the temple all those months ago, he was wearing hardly any jewellery, just his favourite rings and clasps of niello engraved silver around his horns. And of course his moon necklace, tucked safely in the hollow of his throat, proudly on display for everyone who cared to look. The sign of the Moonweaver’s favour.

It was her rites that were joining them today so Caleb didn’t think she’d mind too much that the very first thing he did upon taking his place was sweep Mollymauk into his arms and kiss him boldly. The tiefling only giggled lightly against his lips before returning the embrace with as much enthusiasm. It took a none too delicate clearing of Caduceus’ throat to bring them apart.

Caleb mouthed an apology to the bemused cleric before beaming at Mollymauk, who’d demurely took a step back and settled for clasping his beloved’s hands in his own. The two of them couldn’t stop smiling at each other, as if both stunned and overjoyed to be here, together. And no one could deny them either of those emotions, not after everything they’d been through.

Seeing no reason to delay it any longer, with both grooms present and correct and behaving themselves, Caduceus raised his hands for the assembled to quiet and began the rites. He’d graciously agreed to act as their cleric, taking a very temporary leave of absence from his Wildmother to join them in the name of another goddess. They would have asked Jester but promptly realised that the gods only knew what kind of inappropriate anecdotes would make it into her address if she’d been allowed to give it.

Though he’d feel guilty about it later, Caleb took little to no notice of the ceremony. He gave the right responses at the right times, he’d thrown his handful of power into the firepit alongside Mollymauk’s, sending the flames arching up in a burst of jade green. He had a moment of confusion, alongside the rest of the guests, when he realised Caduceus had ambled off in his speech into a lecture on the hierarchical family structure of bees. But while his brain sent him through the right motions, his heart was straining towards Mollymauk, thinking only of the tender pressure of his hand in Caleb’s own, the way he could feel his rapid, excited pulse through his wrist, how he too couldn’t hold back his excited grin, a twin to Caleb’s.

He damn near missed the moment they actually became husbands, in heart rather than just in name. But the managed to catch it, cling to it, get pulled along into a wildly passionate kiss from Mollymauk that nearly lifted him right off his feet and overbalanced them into the sand.

And it was done. Something inside Caleb suddenly felt whole when he’d never even realised there had been an absence there.

Just as it had last time, the future was firmly on his mind during the wedding. But whereas last time, it had been something sharp and unwieldy, something he’d been forced to hold even as everything inside him wanted to reel away. It had been the hypothetical spectre at the actual feast. This time, as he sat on a large piece of driftwood and watched the day turn to dusk, wriggling his bare toes in the sand and loosening his shirt, the future was like the fading sunlight on his skin. It was as present and woven into the day as the sprightly music that drifted along the beach, softer and quieter now he’d distanced himself from the revels for a breath of fresh, quiet air. Caleb could sit and marvel at the fact that he and Mollymauk were going to be together forever. They were going to be happy. Everything was going to be okay.

“I wondered where you’d got to.”

Caleb turned, not even starting, not even a little. He’d been expecting Molly to follow him after a little while.

If anything, the tiefling only looked more gorgeous, now his hair had come loose after so much dancing and his boots had been abandoned a while ago and his skirts had been hiked up and knotted just above his tail to free his legs for some of the wilder wedding dances that folk from these parts loved and had rendered Caleb a wheezing, red faced, giggle wracked mess.

“I’m having a good time,” Caleb smiled, before his husband could worry, “I just needed a moment.”

Mollymauk nodded, coming and sitting on the white, smooth log beside him. With a soft sigh, he leaned against Caleb’s shoulder and watched the waves with him. Far behind them, the party continued under the colourful paper lanterns and swinging flower garlands, his friends alongside people Molly knew from his youth in the city, all talking and drinking, dancing and singing, delighted at the opportunity to welcome their young lord home. Not a single title or tract of land between them and it was the best party Caleb had been to in his life.

“We can head home soon if you like,” Molly hummed softly, taking Caleb’s hand, “You can read to me.”

“That would be nice…” Caleb started, “Though…I would like to have sex at some point? A lot of it.”

Molly laughed, kissing his cheek, “Look how I’ve corrupted you. Both of those things can be very easily arranged, my lord Archmage.”

He chuckled good naturedly, kissing his twice-over husband in return, “I suppose I’m just Caleb now. No more titles. No more ‘lord’. Just Caleb…”

The tiefling’s eyes were warm in the gathering dark, like the lanterns far behind them.

“You are never just anything, Caleb.”

This time, when their lips came together, it wasn’t teasing or playful or light. It was a promise.

Though the day disappeared and night drew in, the future was bright.

Five years later.

The plaza was warm, heat shimmering off the cobblestones, the orange glow of the gathering evening making the city feel like a half-baked loaf in an oven. But soon the evening would come and the heat would disappear. The folk milling around the open space, splashing water from the fountain on their faces to cool themselves, packing down their market stalls or else conducting a few last minute transactions, wandering from work to home, they all took solace in that fact.

Though it wasn’t much comfort to the over warm, impatient baby squirming in Caleb’s arms.

“When is daddy’s show?” the little boy whined, pressing his face to the front of his father’s shirt.

“Soon, little man,” Caleb soothed, brushing the violet curls back from his forehead, tucking them behind his budding horns to help cool his glowing lavender cheeks, “We just have to wait a little more.”

The toddler, Trinket, gave a long suffering sigh as only a four year old asked to wait for five whole minutes could. Ever since the little family had arrived in Zadash, he’d been enraptured with the city, so different from the one he’d grown up in. He’d kept his fathers running ragged as he’d pulled them along on his quest to see it all. But now he was tired and grouchy.

Fortunately, he was unbelievably cute when he was grumpy.

Little Trinket was cute whenever he did anything, Caleb had been delighted to find ever since he’d first held his son in his arms, shaking with excitement and nerves.

The nerves had never really faded, the sensation that he didn’t really know what he was doing. But the joy, the excitement, the love he held for his son, had grown far quicker.

Caleb cast his eyes around the plaza. His usual seat- he still thought of it as that, even though it had been years since he’d sat in it- gave him a good vantage point of the whole area, all the folk of Zadash going through the motions of their lives.

Some things would never change.

But he also saw his husband, in his full regalia, coat and bird mask catching the setting sun in their sequins, setting up his makeshift stage.

“Look, Trinket,” he murmured, smiling, pointing as the crowd of children began to gather, flocking like sparrows, “The show’s starting.”

Sure enough, the call came ringing out across the plaza,  “Diminutive ladies and gentlemen of Zadash!Please, just a few moments of your time, if you would be so good. I promise, just a scant amount of your attention in exchange for one of the most thrilling sights you’ve ever seen in your young lives…”

Trinket gave a gasp and opened his eyes wide, standing up on short, unsteady legs in his papa’s lap so he could see better.

The show was unchanged, it went through the same beats. The swords dancing through the air, coming a bare inch from slicing into Mollymauk, if he wasn’t as fast as lightning itself. The gasps of amazement from the crowd of assembled children at each new trick, joy when a shiny gold piece was pressed into their outstretched palms.

Watching it was even more entertaining with their son in his arms, listening to him hoot and gasp and yell in elation along with the rest of the audience. Caleb smiled and chuckled fondly, holding him safe so he didn’t go tipping onto the cobblestones in his excitement.

In the middle of his performance, Mollymauk looked across the plaza and caught Caleb’s eye.

Suddenly, he felt himself split into two distinct versions of himself. The shy, awkward, exhausted man he’d been all those years ago, eyes wide and jaw slack as he saw this new side to the person he’d been tasked to marry. Thin, waifish and so, so scared.

And who he was now. Taller, beard thick along his jawline, eyes bright and creased in the corners with five years’ worth of laughter. A man with love in his life.

In short, a very, very lucky man.

He winked at Mollymauk.

Some things never changed. But some things changed an awful lot.