abraxaslogs | [open] wasn't it easier in your firefly-catching days

In the castle gardens, Wilhelm plays with fire. Plays more in the sense of an instrument than a toy — he takes it seriously. He's chosen this slice of the garden because of the pond around which the manicured shrubs and one dainty tree gather. That way if something goes wrong as he's juggling a ball of flame around, he has water ready to go.

It used to terrify him, the fire at his fingertips. It was another thing he never asked for, another thing out of his control. Now, it feels like it's his in a way that so few things are.

Less familiar is the weirdly opaque darkness that began to creep out of him unbidden a couple months ago, but Wilhelm is getting acquainted with that too. He's learned how to call it out on purpose, at least. Experimentally, he encloses the flowers in shadows, watches them curl up as if night has fallen. Only he can see through it. To anyone else enjoying the garden, the flower bed simply vanishes in a blob of darkness that can't be explained even by the overcast day.

Around town, he can be found picking up odd jobs for pocket change. Sometimes shopkeepers need an extra hand to unload goods from the carts that pull up in the alley, or they have no time to haul out the overflowing trash. It's not glamorous, heroic work, but it keeps him busy for a little while, and more importantly it puts some coins in his purse.

Mat also tends to practice magic in the gardens. It's less closed in, and less chance of bothering someone. He's there with the same intent when he sees Wilhelm.

How fortuitous!

"Hallo, Wilhelm! Nice bit of shadow." He assumes that's what it is. Shadows and darkness are his second specialty. Sort of. The Singularity has gifted him with a whole bushel of it.

Nice to see he isn't the only one. Though his is far less controlled, from what he can see. Maybe the other fellow could teach him something.

To spark his fire, he reaches for the things that make him angry, and there's no shortage of fuel sloshing around in his heart. This darkness, though, is a little harder to grasp. The best pathway he's found is loneliness, tracing the bruised and empty parts of himself, inhabiting them. There's no shortage of those either, but while rage tempts you to savor its heat, to feel righteous in your fury, these darker, colder emotions are a lot less inviting to sink into.

At least channeling them into magic is more productive than cocooning himself in bed.

Wilhelm's concentration is such that he startles when Mat greets him. The edges of the shadows flicker. He looks up from where he crouches at the edge of the flower bed and takes a moment to remember how to put together a grin. All that lingering doom and gloom, you know.

"The flowers don't seem to think so," he jokes.

"I'm sure they'll get over it!"

Mat trots over, grinning, and decides he may as well show off, too.

"You can do all sorts of things with shadow, you know." As he approaches, he releases his own shadowy mist. It seeps out from him, staining the air with darkness and swirling gently around him. Mat can hardly be seen through it. It moves with him and curls around around and over him like smoke, bits of it drifting away from him like small black clouds to float as the breeze pushes them.

He's gotten better with this particular ability. He can hold it longer, direct it a bit better. Of course one slip of concentration and it'll all go spreading out wherever it damn pleases, but for a brief demonstration...

He thinks it's damned impressive.

Wilhelm rises to his feet, following the swirling shadows with his eyes. It looks much like his own little cloud of darkness he's got domed over the flowers, except he can't see through it at all.

"Nice."

He claps in approval. To his understanding, Mat is a beginner in magic too. He recalls the ice slicking the floor of the bath and Mat's accompanying cold mood, the apparent catalyst. God knows Wilhelm has held onto every scrap of encouragement he gets as he hones his control of magic.

"When did you learn how to do that?"

"The mist itself I've been able to do for ages, but used to be it'd just do whatever the hell it wanted. I'm getting better control of it, though!"

Somewhat. He can't hold a conversation and keep it contained, and it begins to spread. It stretches out around him, curling and twisting and blowing about. Still. He can hold it better than he could.

It's almost a joke. He controls the shadow, it doesn't control him.

"It'd be nice if I was inclined to something more than ice and shadow, that seems very grim, but..." He shrugs.

He nods in understanding — he could write a whole book on magic slipping your control to do whatever the hell it wants. Or at least a pamphlet.

"Yeah, it gets a lot easier with practice."

Even as he crosses his arms over his chest, his knot of shadows stays put. He can feel it, a clean cool pulse at his fingertips, a tugging at some corner of his mind. He was relieved to learn that the principles of controlling it weren't all that different from what he learned through his fire. You just need to hold onto the edges of that awareness of your magic.

"I do kind of feel like a villain doing this," he admits with a chuckle. Waving a hand theatrically, he concentrates on the darkness and makes it swell a little bigger.

"Hard not to. Where I come from, all things under the umbrella of dark forces are just called 'the shadow'." Mat shakes his head.

"But I look at it this way: if I'm controlling the darkness, then the darkness certainly isn't controlling me."

And he does know what that feels like. All too well. That won't happen again, though. He'd been strong then and he's even stronger now, with a better grasp on power. He understands the nature of it better now, having learned properly.

"So I suppose we're alright."

He nods and hums in assent. It's a good way to think about it.

"Kind of like fire. It can be destructive—" His eyes fall to the flowers closed up in his shadows, as his thoughts bend back to the burned edges of a tarot card, to Libertas and Nott devoured by flames. They are scorched places inside of him still, heavy with guilt and the silence of the dead. "—but it can be used for good things too."

The flame burning in his palm, carried from camp to camp, kept him alive on the frozen mountainside after they broke out of the pit. He'd already agreed with Istredd to confront his magic again, but that was the first time he really accepted it as an inextricable part of himself. Like another heartbeat.

"Yeah, it's like that. Fire itself isn't good or bad, it's all in how it's used. Darkness is the same way. It's not really good or bad, it just is. And without the dark, we wouldn't know what light was."

All things in balance. Even 'evil' things have their place, in a way. Good couldn't exist without evil, though Mat can admit when eh starts thinking very hard about it he gets a bit of a headache. They're great and existential concepts and he is a simple fellow.

"How've you been coming along, with magic?"

They're both students of the craft, and he's curious. His own magic seems a bit halted. At least as far as mastering anything new or anything stronger.

Wilhelm is twisting those words around in his head too. It works in reverse: without light, you wouldn't know what darkness was either, not really. It's because he loves his brother so fiercely that his absence weighs so heavily. It's because he learned, through Simon on stolen afternoons that feel far away now, what love feels like that being alone is unbearable.

Before he can bend his brain into too many uncomfortable angles, Mat gives him an easier question. Well, it had been a hard question during the months when Wilhelm hid from his magic, terrified of the way it could leap out of his control. How many times had he fudged an answer and changed the subject?

"Good, I think." It's not a lie anymore. Pride edges his voice. "I've gotten a lot better at controlling it, and it doesn't take as much effort anymore. Look."

To back up his claim, he flexes his fingers and the darkness stretches to claim more of the flowerbed. In the next slow exhale, he curls his fist shut and the shadows shrink to nothing. His lips twitch into a grin.

"You have gotten better! Look at you."

Mat grins encouragingly. Control can be so damned hard. He knows that well. The horrible feeling of trying to grab at water, or burning brands. Trying to hold something that defies being held. It is no easy feat.

Wilhelm's doing very well, he thinks. It's clear how his magic responds to him, that he's the one telling it what to do.

"Come a long way since the start, yeah?"

Wilhelm just nods. Pride pokes through his expression too, so much brighter than the pale anxiety that used to gather there when he tried to work his magic. At least he has one thing he can feel good about. Though, even this one thing isn't completely safe from the worries that murmur that it won't be enough.

"I was scared of messing up for so long." As he reflects, his eyes idly trace the lines of the garden neatly arrayed around them. A balm for his disorderly mind. "But I think that just held me back. It made it harder to call on the magic, and way harder to control it."

He returns his gaze to Mat.

"What about you?" He gives his shoulder a friendly nudge with his knuckles. "You didn't look too bad yourself."

"Normal to be scared of it. Magic's powerful, and it's scary to think about channeling that power through yourself." Mat understands well. Even though he's more comfortable, he still approaches channeling with a healthy dose of caution.

Too easy to fuck up by being careless.

"But I'm doing alright with it. I am very decent at the things I know how to do. Have better control."

Which is the most important thing. Wilhelm is well familiar with Mat's magic when he isn't doing well with control.

"Istredd said something like...it's good to be a little afraid of it, because it means you understand how powerful magic is and you'll take it seriously."

Or something like that. He swipes a hand through his hair, cracks a smile.

"Well, he said it smarter."

[open] wasn't it easier in your firefly-catching days

thorne - ota

Gardens

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