THE WIZARD

"Marlon, you can't possibly do this."

The older man barely glanced up from his mug. "It's no trouble, Rasmodius."

"Marlon, please," Rasmodius sighed, gesturing vaguely to the object of their discussion. The offending item – the sheathed golden dagger Hazel had plucked from the bedside table – twinkled nobly in the grey sunlight that shone through the windows. "You need not – truly, you should not – be giving something so valuable to someone so unfamiliar with the complexities of magic. Honestly, I am surprised you would even put so much trust in one who is still a stranger to us."

Marlon took a long drink of his coffee before he spoke. "She seems like a fine young woman to me, if a bit green. Besides, Connor seemed to have trusted her."

Rasmodius rolled his eyes. "Connor would have entrusted a known thief with his entire life's savings."

Gil, who had until then been busying himself with systematically dumping tablespoons of sugar into his own mug of coffee, let loose a gravelly chuckle. Marlon's eyes shot to his husband with a look of playful betrayal. Gil smiled innocently and shrugged before mumbling "He's not wrong, casot."

Marlon continued pressing his point regardless. "What did the fortune teller say, Rasmodius? Something like… 'She needs a weapon…'?"

Rasmodius hovered near the bedroom door, thumbing a chipped porcelain container filled with salt. "Dodona said Hazel would need a sword, Marlon, not an ancient fae artifact."

"Close enough," Marlon swatted at the air. A humorous statement in any other circumstance, given Marlon's mastery of the sword and his knowledge of the fact that a mundane sword and a once-magical dagger were not, in fact, 'close enough'.

"I am worried about the fae aspect of the thing the most, Marlon."

"That weapon is no more dangerous than any other dagger in its current state," Gil chimed in. A soft scaping noise came from where he sat as the red-hatted man went about stirring the small mountain sugar that had begun to solidify at the bottom of his cup.

Rasmodius grumbled. Gil was the most knowledgeable of any of them on matters of the fae, but the gift still didn't sit right with Rasmodius. "She is an untrained wild magic mage," he implored. "There are no certainties with wild magic. Regardless, I am quite certain Dodona wrote 'a sword'."

Marlon took another deep drink of coffee before he continued. "Is Dodona trained in any sort of weaponry? In any combat styles? Is she an expert in identifying armament?"

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"Then take some advice someone who is," Marlon insisted, pushing the dagger to the edge of the table closest to Rasmodius. "This will do."

Rasmodius hesitated. He glanced to the yet closed door to the bedroom, then back to the dagger. He took a few steps towards the table. "Why are you so insistent on this particular dagger?"

Marlon shrugged, before looking towards his husband. Gil did not look up from his cup. Rasmodius sighed. Gil must have insisted. That was so like one of the fair folk – always so mysterious; always some hidden machination.

Though, this was Gil. He was mild for a fae. Perhaps, just this once…

Rasmodius gently picked up the sheathed dagger with is free hand. The item felt empty to him – aesthetically beautiful, but devoid of magic. "What power did the artifact once hold? An enchantment? A curse? I cannot tell, and if I am allowing this I would rather be prepared for any possible complications."

"Oh, I have no idea," Marlon said simply.

Rasmodius blinked. "You… what?"

"No clue. It was drained when we got it."

Rasmodius looked at Gil, who shrugged. "I'm sure everything will be fine," Gil added.

The wizard sighed deeply for what felt like the hundredth time that day, then slipped the dagger into his pocket. "Stars above, what am I getting myself into..?" He mumbled, the question more rhetorical than not.

"Just think of it like any other job, Rasmodius," Marlon suggested.

"This is hardly just another job," the wizard rebuffed. "Not only is that woman untrained, she knows nothing about the situation she has gotten herself into. Connor had, apparently, told her absolutely nothing." His words became increasingly strained as he spoke until they were almost a hiss. "She does not even know the name of her new role, Marlon, let alone the fact that she has signed up for the position in the first place."

Marlon finally put his cup down and onto its saucer. "That… is a little concerning." A pause. "What are you going to do, Rasmodius?"

He took a moment to think. Did he have any other options? Nothing came to mind. His situation was so rare, so magically specialized, that he had no idea who he could request help from. "I… I suppose I have no choice but to take your advice, Marlon, regardless of my personal frustrations on the matter." He took in a sharp breath, deep and resolute. "I am Hazel's Keeper, and she is my Vessel, even if she does not know it. I still have a duty to fulfill."

Not long after Rasmodius spoke, a soft click came from the bedroom door as the knob turned. Hazel stepped out. "Thank you again for washing and mending my clothing," she spoke to Marlon and Gil as she entered the room. "Though I wasn't sure what I should do with the old shirt, so I left it on the dresser."

Before Marlon or Gil could respond, Rasmodius directed a question to Hazel. "Do you feel well enough to walk?"

"Oh, uh, yes. I can walk. I'm still a little unsteady, though."

"That will do." Rasmodius sat the salt container on the table, mouthing a quick 'thank you' to Marlon and Gil before turning his attention back to Hazel. He walked to her, then held out his arm. "Come, you can lean on me. There is somewhere we must go."

Suspicion flashed across her face. "Where?" Her voice was threaded with uncertainty.

"To the one place where I may be able to explain your new world to you," Rasmodius said. "To my personal study."