"I have noticed you to be rather light-fingered," Thancred observed, with a small but very pointed smile.
"You're one to talk," Ifan retorted, sticking his tongue out at the archon before laughing quietly. "He caught me one night. Or, rather…" The magician paused and turned his head away, taking the moments to compose the words in greater detail for Thancred's benefit. "…He was cleaning the shelves. Dusting them, with magic. And I'd always loved magic," Ifan explained, tone welling up with fond nostalgia at the edges as he did. "Reading about it, seeing it. No matter how trivial the spell. Even sleight of hand still gets a smile," he added, looking back at Thancred with a sheepish grin.
Thancred's smile had widened by one half, and he stared back at Ifan - utterly enchanted by how in his element he looked telling a story about sorcery. He'd stared at him much the same way the night he had decided to extend an invitation to him, when the magician had not only saved a woman from a gang of miscreants with no expectation of payment… but also escorted her home, to Stonesthrow, and spent the evening telling stories with the aid of magic to a delighted audience of refugees.
Perhaps that was the point at which he started looking at him differently.
Whence Wisdom Springs
~4k words | General | M/M | #wolthancred
Thancred Waters and the Warrior of Light speak of their respective mentors over dessert at Camp Bronze Lake.
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