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And even though by any other name
Her scent would linger sweetly, all the same
Call her briar long enough
And you'll tangle up the true and the fable
Tetia has been cultivating a little rose bush in the back of the atelier since last spring. Why she'd chosen to do that has been a mystery to everyone, but Qifrey thinks it's good for her to have a project to work on separate from her studies.
As the days begin to lengthen and grow warmer, the rose bush springs to life and begins reaching for the walls of the atelier, prompting Tetia to fashion together a trellis that leans up against the wall so it can grow properly.
"Your roses are looking good, Tetia," Qifrey comments one day, late in the summer as he surveys the garden for what needs to be done to prepare it for the autumn, Tetia working on the small garden bed around the rose bush.
And indeed, the bush has climbed further up the trellis than of them had anticipated, much to Tetia's delight. Small yellow blossoms dot the dark green vines like little spots of sunshine and, in Qifrey's humble opinion, they brighten up the exterior of the atelier quite nicely.
Tetia turns her head, a bright smile on her face from the praise, swiping a strand of hair out of her face and leaving a streak of dirt across her forehead. "Thank you! I think I might press some of them later. Coco told me she's seen them preserved in glass, too, so I might also give that a try."
Qifrey half-listens to the rest of what Tetia says, the girl spiraling off into descriptions of what she could to save some of the blossoms, humming and acknowledging at all the right spots of the conversation.
Personally, Qifrey is dreading the onset of autumn. His pain, near constant from the silverwood, always increases with the cold and proximity to people that comes with the winter months. Never mind how rainy harvest season can be some years, which usually means a snowier winter…
"Master Qifrey?"
"Yes, Tetia?"
Qifrey pulls himself out of his thoughts and at the task on hand, the apprentice in front of him.
"What's your favourite flower?"
"Snowdrops," Qifrey says without hesitation.
Tetia tilts her head to the side, confusion clear. "Snowdrops?"
"Mhm. Here, let me show you."
Crouching down, Qifrey quickly draws his usual water rose spell on his quire, modifying it slightly so that the flower that will bloom is snowdrops instead, and closes the circle with a small flourish.
Tetia lets out a small gasp at the delicate blossoms that spring up from the paper, the water shimmering and glistening in the sunlight.
"Their blooms are white, like the snow when they bloom," Qifrey explains, pointing at the watery petals. "They're one of the first flowers to bloom in the spring."
"Ooo, like the daffodils?"
"Mhm."
Tetia makes a thinking noise, something that sounds suspiciously like Olruggio's when there is mischief about. "Do they sell snowdrop seeds?"
Qifrey's mind stutters for a moment, already leaping to a conclusion he hasn't even confirmed yet. "I don't know, I've only ever seen them out in the wild before. Why do you ask?"
"Well, I was thinking about planting a flower for everyone in the atelier to go along with the rose bush so it didn't feel so alone!" Tetia declares, spreading her arms wide in excitement, but quickly dropping them again as another frown pinches her brow. "But Coco was telling me that some plants don't get along with others and now I'm not sure which flower to do for everyone if they don't all get along."
His conclusion jumping had been accurate after all.
And does it make Qifrey's heart sing.
"That's very nice of you, Tetia," Qifrey says with a smile. "I'm sure we could figure something out. Have you asked everyone else what their favourite flower is?"
"Coco said hers was daisies. I haven't asked Richeh or Agott yet and Master Olly has been out on a commission this week, so I haven't asked him either."
"Olruggio likes creeping thyme," Qifrey says, tapping his index finger on his chin in thought. "It's a ground cover, though, so I don't think it would be too happy in a flower bed."
Tetia wilts a little bit. "Oh…so my idea won't work then?"
The singing in Qifrey's heart cuts short for two reasons very abruptly.
Firstly, because Tetia is already giving up on her idea so quickly and that is not at all what Qifrey wants.
Secondly, because the silverwood has started shifting, and he can't tell if its because of this conversation, or an early symptom of the pain to come at the beginning of autumn.
But, Qifrey is nothing but stubborn, and as wishful as he is that he could simply burn the silverwood from his body, he has not lived this long because of wishing alone.
"No, I think your idea will work, but it may not be able to be confined to just this one little flowerbed," Qifrey explains with a gentle smile. "I'm sure we could find space in different places all around the atelier where everything could thrive, if you wanted to do that?"
Tetia's eyes widen in surprise, hope glimmering. "You really meant that Master Qifrey?"
"I do!" Qifrey grins. "But you may not see the fruits of your labour until spring, Tetia, so patience is neccessary for this."
Tetia clenches her fist and nods eagerly. "A few months is nothing," she declares.
He can't help but laugh at her enthusiasim. "Okay, let's get the gardening book out then and plan."
That winter is indeed miserable and cold, the damp seeping into every corner and keeping them all busy with trying to seal up any cracks or crevices in the atelier walls until they finally finally seem to find where all the windy drafts and melting snow kept coming in.
It also, unfortunately, seems to be the winter where sicknesses are stronger than normal, taking everyone down on a rotating basis for months, long past Yule and midwinter.
Qifrey supposes he is lucky in that regard. It makes lying about the pain wracking his body easier, because he isn't able to escape the cold and flu that cycles through the atelier like clockwork until Olruggio manages to find and bring something home that knocks it out of all of their systems.
The silverwood fights him badly this year. He has to wipe Olruggio's memory way too many times, because it gets far too close, things far too painful, memories of the coffin and the gravewater resurfacing with the fevers and taking Qifrey places he never ever wants to return to again. It's bad enough that the silverwood starts to try and climb out of his empty eye socket, leaves coughed up at almost every opportunity, his back stiff and creaking and every joint aching constantly.
According to the calendar, spring was supposed to start a couple weeks ago, but instead another snowstorm had blown through the valley where the atelier was, burying them in snow again, and then leaving behind an overcast sky for another week after.
They are all, in short, sick and tired of the miserable weather.
Until…
"Is that a daffodil?" Agott suddenly asks one morning.
The girls had all crowded up to the biggest window in the atelier that resided towards the back of the structure and overlooked the garden when the sun had shown her face that morning. Olruggio had forbidden them from stepping outside until they were fully well again, all four of the girls still in varying stages of sniffles and lingering coughs, Olruggio himself still dealing with a deep-seated cough. But that hadn't stopped them from piling together in a pile of blankets and pillows, snugstones carefully placed throughout the entire affair to keep them warm, the apprentices starving for sunlight like the very flowers trying to bloom from the half-frozen ground.
Tetia immediately squishes herself next to Agott, the girl protesting until a hand is slapped over her mouth, and pushes her face against the window.
Indeed, a small daffodil is sprouting up from the garden next to the little path that cuts through the middle of it.
Tetia lets out an excited gasp and abandons the blanket pile, taking off running. "Master Qifrey, Master Qifrey!"
Two days later, Olruggio, after making sure they're probably bundled up and that the weather is warm enough, lets the girls go outside.
Qifrey trails behind them a little later, his thicker winter cloak wrapped tightly around his body. Olruggio is right at his elbow, watching him like a hawk for any sign of sudden collapse, given how weak he is from being ill.
The cold air hurts his sore lungs, but that first big inhale of fresh air, the sun on his face, and Qifrey feels the tension of the winter start to melt off of his shoulders.
And for once, the silverwood is quiet.