#cedric calls greylock more like a jester than a sorcerer like damn

[captain-amadeus]

Jingle and Cedric having a bonding moment out of their skills being underused

[merlinsmushrooms]

Coffee and Tea

{{Because I need more Cedlock in my life. This is an unedited first draft. The finalized version will be uploaded to A03 at a later date~ Wordcount: 2680 Rating: T  tw: alcohol }} --- These visitations were a pleasantry that Cedric found himself growing rather fond of over the months.

 While he indeed missed the company of the other sorcerer, Greylock couldn't stay huddled up in his tower for much longer than he had. Instead, they had conspired to have him live in Dunwiddie in secrecy under a new name— a plot that seemed to be working quite well for the wizard. While he was infamous amongst the royals and wizarding community, the peasants of the village had no idea who he was; nor would any of the guards that were stationed there.

Friendship was still a rather new concept for him, and when the other had requested that they keep in touch upon his leaving, Cedric knew it was right to say yes. Actually visiting, however, was a bit of a complicated affair. Sneaking Greylock inside his workshop from the outside was something that'd be hard to keep unnoticed - his father seemed keen to keep an eye on him from that blasted painting - and sneaking in and out of the castle to go into town himself was something that'd be deemed suspicious by Roland. The sour feelings from his attempt at tyranny still lingered in the minds of many in the castle, and thus he wasn't allowed to leave without supervision. Luckily for him, Princess Sofia seemed more than willing to be his chauffeur.

The child had fallen asleep what felt like hours ago, and Greylock himself had allowed the child to rest in his bed while the two of them caught up on how life had been since their parting. Tea and coffee weren't typically something shared in the early hours of the morning, but it had become a tradition for them to converse over their favorite drinks. Sleep be damned; this was the only time they had to mingle.

It seemed that things were going well for his friend; the shop he had opened had gotten enough attention for him to live comfortably, nobody had drawn any suspicions towards his sudden appearance, and apparently the village children had grown rather fond of him; most likely because he still couldn't drop the entertainer act despite his apparent resentment towards his prior position as a royal jester. While normally he would find the other's bragging to be obnoxious, he was charmed knowing that he had played a part in Grey's success. Perhaps these warm feelings were precisely the sort of thing that Sofia had lectured him about? The goodness in being kind to others? Whatever it was he was more than happy to indulge.

The conversation would shift towards him as Greylock questioned him about his own progress, but all he could muster was a shrug as he responded with a hushed tone. 

"It's the same as always, I suppose." 

"Still locked up in your tower, eh? Depressing. You really should at least try to get out more often."

"You mean like this?"

It seemed that he was the entertainer for once and his companion would chuckle quietly, dropping a couple more cubes of sugar into his coffee before he'd take another sip. Silence would overtake them for a moment before Greylock would speak up once more.

"I worry about you, you know. We always used to joke that you were a hermit, but being forced to be one? You think Roland will ever loosen the reins, so to speak?"

A depressing sentiment. It was unlikely that Roland - and several of the others - would ever come to trust him again after his attempted treason. Still, looking upon Greylock and reflecting upon the situation as a whole, he knew that he was lucky. He could have been banished for his actions, or be suffering the same fate as his friend— hunted by his home kingdom with a warrant for execution. For that he was grateful, but he still couldn’t help but feel unsettled by the uncertainty of it all. 

“Probably not,” he would state with a deep sigh, “but at least I’m not you.” 

It had taken some time to adjust, but he had grown accustomed to teasing the other wizard back, and he never did seem to take offense to his jabs— no matter how low they were. It was revenge for all the years of mockery and tomfoolery Greylock had subjected him to. The mischievous mage always seemed to crack a smile whenever he was teased, and despite how horrible his words could have come across, the other responded with the same delight in his voice as always.

“Oh, you devil, you. You’ll never let me live this down, will you?” “Of course not.” Their smiles were mutual it seemed. There was a sort of melancholy despite the charm of their conversation. The Princess had pointed out several times that they seemed like such great friends despite what appeared to be a rivalry before, and he couldn’t help but wonder how things might have been if events hadn’t transpired as they had. If Grimtrix hadn’t intervened, would these evenings not be happening? Or would they have played out in a similar fashion if either of them had reached out despite their professions? Would this still be happening if the two of them had succeeded in their former goals? Such troubling thoughts were not anything that needed to be dwelled on, yet they still plagued him. 

Standing suddenly, Greylock would take his cup with him to peer into the fireplace with a solemn expression that seemed as if it were stolen from his own somber demeanor. It was unfitting and a tad unnerving, but he couldn’t question him. Ever since his escape, Greylock had been acting a tad odd. Granted, he had never gotten to know the normally peppy sorcerer closely before needing to nurse him back to health in secrecy, but during that time he had learned that the other had been hiding so much pain from him. The expression weighting him was similar to that of the one he made when he confessed that they were far more alike than either of them had realized back then. Was he still languishing? A mystery considering he had admitted he held no adoration of anybody back in Rudistan as well, nor did he wish to return home. 

Cedric would bide his time for the other to do whatever it was he needed in silence, continuing to sip on his tea as he dwelled upon his own thoughts. The close distance was something he would have wanted himself. If there was something on Greylock’s mind he would give him ample space to deal with it in his own way. This was exactly what the princess has said friends were for, and he was more than happy to be of at least some use to somebody.  

It would take a long moment, but eventually, Greylock would take what appeared to be a final drink from his cup before turning and placing it back on the table. Curiously, he would sit beside Cedric on the chaise rather than back in the armchair across from him, hunched over still in some sort of contemplative thought; his brow furrowing as he clasped his hands together with a deep breath. 

Cedric couldn’t help but cock a brow at the other’s eccentric behavior, but he would still remain quiet yet observant. Eventually, Greylock would finally inquire with a whisper, 

“How many times have I thanked you?” 

Relieved over how silly of a question it was, Cedric couldn’t help but sigh into a soft laughter, “Does it matter?” 

“Not particularly, no…” 

Patience had never been one of Cedric’s virtues and the obvious procrastination Greylock was presenting was slightly grating— especially when he tended to be incredibly blunt after such pauses. Still, he would hold his tongue and any expression he could possibly make. He had to try and be courteous due to the other’s trauma,  but even then he knew he should at least attempt to spur him forwards. If they truly were as similar as they joked it would be what was needed. 

“Perhaps you should use your words to tell me what does matter then?” 

A similar statement to one given to him as a teenager. It seemed the bit of nostalgia tickled the other’s fancy, and despite his uncharacteristic lack of enthusiasm, he would smile once more to break his usual appearance. 

“Cedric, words don’t work very well with you.” he would giggle in a manner that seemed most awkward for one his age. 

What exactly was that supposed to mean? With a cocked brow, Cedric couldn’t help but question his motives. “What are you ramblings about?” 

“The fact that if I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. As I said, words don’t work very well with you. Never have. Never will. You’re stubborn and won’t believe the truth even if it’s blatant and in your face.” 

The hell was he going on about? Had he mixed his coffee with a little sudden extra, or was he being cryptic for the sake of his usual impish antics? Whatever it was he wouldn’t bite his tongue; if they were friends he could put up with a blatant admittance of annoyance. 

“The hell you going on about now?” 

“You.” 

“That much was obvious.”

An exchange of non-malicious glares would indicate to him that they were both feeling some semblance of annoyance. It wasn’t the first time that such a trade was made, and Cedric had learned over the months that when such an occurrence happened it was either one or the other that’d need to coax the why out. It seemed that it was his turn this time. 

“Tell me.” 

“I can’t.” 

“You can’t tell me what?” 

“It.” 

“Oh come on now, you’re acting like me.” 

Another bout of laughter before the tension grew thick once again. 

“I suppose I am. Although, that gives me an idea.” Greylock would begin once more with a slight hum to his voice, “You seem to believe things once they actually happen, right?” “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about, you drunkard.” 

A coy smirk formed upon Grey’s lips as he glanced back at his cup, shrugging just once as the smirk melted back into his usual sheepish grin. It seemed that he had called it; the other sorcerer was at least slightly tipsy on his own accord. Whatever it was he was trying to talk about was something he was struggling with, and it seemed like this was the only way he could get the more troublesome things off his mind. Still, he worried; normally he at least still made some semblance of sense even during these sort of talks. “Out with it.” Cedric would demand with a combination of slight amusement dashed with a touch of annoyance. 

There would be no words— only a touch. Grey’s hands would gently brush against his cheek before lifting his gaze into his own. For some reason, Cedric’s stomach churned and every muscle in his body froze stiff. It was the moment the other leaned forwards that he knew what was about to happen, and even then he was rendered motionless; taking the kiss with a sharp breath, unable to react despite his befuddlement. Despite his surprise, he would melt under it and eventually fall into it. Greylock was right; he wouldn’t believe him if, and he still didn’t, but he’d take this for now. There was no way of understanding what his friend was thinking. 

As Grey pulled away, Cedric felt himself yearning for more. That twisting sensation in his gut, that shiver that enveloped every part of him, and that awkward taste of the cinnamon coffee cake that they had been snacking on prior to putting the princess to bed. What was this feeling? And what was Greylock’s game? He wasn’t drunk enough to be making ridiculously hasty decisions, yet he needed to dilute his senses just enough to do that. Maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t joking for once. But why him? 

He wouldn’t question him; he was still rendered utterly speechless by Grey’s actions. Greylock too would remain silent, squirming awkwardly in place as he averted his gaze seemingly in regret. Whatever had just transpired was something that seemed to leave the both of them a mess, and the quiet that overtook them seemed to grasp them for what felt like an eternity. It wasn’t until Cedric’s own courage finally managed to muster that the conversation would continue.

“...are you...”

He couldn’t even finish his question before Greylock would interject. “Yes.” 

Cocking his head, Cedric would shake off some of his anxiety in order to reach out to his friend; it was obvious he was distressed and couldn’t think coherently. It was like looking into a mirror of the past, and because of that, he felt a sort of confidence he never expected from himself as he wrapped an arm around the trembling man. “It’s okay. I, er…”

“I read the books you kept in your room while I was recovering in your tower. I assumed. I shouldn’t have. I’m so terribly sorry.”

His books? Those old steamy romance novels that he had been hoarding since his teens? Greylock read those?! He couldn’t blame him for snooping through those kinds of belongings - there certainly wasn’t anything else to do while bed-bound for weeks - but he couldn’t help but flush a million shades of red as he froze once more. What an absolutely embarrassing way for somebody to find out about a preference after so many years. Shaking his head in an attempt to regain his composure, Cedric would sigh as he gripped onto the couch with his free hand, struggling to look at the other as he confessed. “You assume correctly, and it’s fine…” he would begin before sighing once more to keep himself steady, “I...rather liked it? Nobody’s ever…” 

“Kissed you before?” “...Yes.” 

In an instant the heavy atmosphere of awkwardness dissipated; the laughter escaping Greylock was heavy and borderline hysterical. 

“I knew it! I called it!  Oh, my heavens.” “Oh, hush it, you! You’ll wake the Princess!” 

Wiping tears of what was hopefully joy from his eyes, Greylock would sink his head into Cedric’s chest as he muffled his cackles into his heart, a hand slipping over his own gloved one as a similar warmth from before lumped up in his throat. This touch was so different; so soft despite the heckling that Greylock normally pestered him with, and as his fingers entwined and laced into his own, Cedric couldn’t help but pull him closer to him in what felt like an instinctual urge despite his confusion; he wanted this. 

“You’re such an idiot, Cedric. I guess that’s why I love you.” 

Love.

There was that word. He had only heard it a few times before throughout his life. Of course, his family had told him that they loved him many years ago. Now it was only his mother that still reminded him that she indeed did love him. And then there was Princess Sofia; a child so pure and innocent she could perhaps love anybody she decided might have a chance of being good. But this? This was something different to either of those instances. If Greylock truly meant what he had just said, it was a different kind of love. Something a bit more than friendship, and something a bit different than what his own family would feel. It was the sort of thing he had dreamed of but knew he would never attain for himself. Who could love somebody like him?

...Greylock, apparently.   

As his mind raced to sort out the array of thoughts that tore through his conscious, he could feel that same raw emotion from before shudder through his body once more as Grey’s lips met his own again. And this time he’d return it despite his inexperience.

Somebody loved him. And while he didn’t quite understand what it was he was feeling in this moment, he’d embrace it— because whatever it was, he was happy in a way he never imagined possible.