Work Text:
Fitzroy Argusell never wanted a fixed home. He had tents and inns and the warm arms of his friends or his songs on a stage. Always wandering, never worrying for if he slept alone tonight he would have Jullanar or Pali or Damian or any of his other friends to hold him tomorrow. There would always be another adventure, another stag to go rushing after, a curse to destroy, a poem to write and a friend to laugh with.
The boy hadn’t needed a home. He never questioned why The Red House or the Tower were filled with rooms he could not access, why the one time he told his tutor he loved him that his tutor could not meet his eyes and changed the subject to a particularly convoluted part of Revoornaran grammar. He did not wonder why his parents never spoke to him, or why he never had a sister to tease, or why his only choices were which book to read and which version of the long ceremonies of schooled magic to perform in the evening.
The Palace of Stars was the Emperor's home, opulent serenity and excess. Filled with courtiers and motion and the most glorious works of art in the nine worlds. But He was not always The Emperor and to call his tiny hiding place, the only study where He could be himself, home would be a disservice to those same hugs where he had first found the meaning of the word. And though later on the Lord of Zunidh’s home was closer to his heart, but no - he knew that could not be truly his.
Fitzroy “Artorin” “Mdang” “Arguersell” Damara, picked up one of the fishing lures scattered on the bird houses’ floor, breathed in the magic of Gorjo City and for the first time in a thousand years, felt like he could be at home.
“There’s a significant amount of magic left to fix.” Kip said, “Leona has been hard at work with the mundane repairs, but - "
“But, Saya Dorn seems to have had quite a distinctive magical style.”
He had felt the mixed up magic when he stepped across the threshold. Layers of decaying schooled magic, the tiny cantrips and craftsmanship that hinted at Saya Dorn’s lifetime being very well lived. This house - this rambling city house that Kip had spoken to him so softly about, describing the architecture and meeting Saya Dorn, and how he had invited Rodin and Conju and Ludvic to stay - this house was even lovelier than he had imagined.
“I thought you might like to use this room for your magic working.”
And that was it wasn’t it, Kip offering him a gift he could never repay - didn’t need to repay.
He was home, this was home. They were home.
And couldn't stop himself from crying before he reached his beloved's arms.
“Tor.”
He nuzzled his nose against Kip's neck. “You only call me that when you’re worried."
"I am worried, I want you to be able to feel at home here."
He drew back and looked into Kip's eyes and laughed. "I still want to travel, but I don’t think my home could ever be anywhere else."