In With the New

[Hekatos]

In With the New

92nd of Glade, 125th Year of the Age of Steel

While Ailuin had whispered warning to his fiancé that he ought to wear comfortable shoes, they rode in procession from the Temple of Suion Melaenis where the marriage rites were held to the Suionaeon, or Hill of Muses, in the deme Unque. As their carriage floated over the streets strewn with flowers, another procession led by a priestess of Keela quit the Vounópolis and the city entire to visit one of Her important shrines on the coast of Tronóridan. She traveled under a ceremonial canopy to protect her from the sun, a remnant from when their ancient ancestors had marked the near year by the first sighting of the new moon after the summer solstice.

The newly wed King and King-Consort would mark midnight when Glade became Searing, and their wedding festivities would be joined with this other rite in the minds of the people if not on the road to the sea. They brought in the new even as the priestess of Keela dissolved the old. When a third of the calendar had festivals—though not all were celebrated in the same way or at the same time across the entirety of Sol'Valen—it was difficult to find a day to make special that wasn't also a day to honor the Gods.

But this juxtaposition seemed appropriate to the people if their public joy was to be believed.

It was mid-afternoon when they arrived. Ailuin squeezed Rhydian's hand.

"Steel yourself, husband," he murmured. "All eyes will ever be upon you while you exist upon my pedestal."

Soon enough, they were waving and waving and then passing through the thick, bespelled walls of the royal pavilion. Ailuin, clearly, was superelven. He didn't even look weary. The only people in the pavilion were royal or royal servants. Guards would prevent those not given express invitation to enter; this was new, but it wasn't until the previous Season of Ash that some yokel had had the temerity to enter the royal pavilion as such.

They did walk among the people, but when they retreated, that mortal need for privacy was respected—until it wasn't. Some people felt the need to ruin things for everyone else, even among the Hytori, sadly.

Ailuin and Rhydian were spared a brief few moments to touch foreheads and seek some balance before princes and princesses began to filter in from the procession. Servants were quick to offer refreshment, or to help them remove layers of ceremonial attire for greater comfort in the more relaxed time to follow.

[Rhydian SolKor]

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Prince Rhydian Val'Kor was renowned for his aversion to public appearances. Some interpreted it to be bashfulness, others anti-social behaviour, and others as aloofness. Whatever its cause, the many eyes that fell upon him on the day of his wedding were curious as to how he would brook the weight of so much attention. Despite his personal peccadilloes, Rhydian was forearmed in this instance with the knowledge of what would be expected of him. Moreover, he was armoured in the ritual and formality of the occasion which, for much of the day, left little room for the vexing variables that tended to intrude upon his peace of mind.

Gooseflesh rose beneath the silken fabric of his regalia as Ailuin called him 'husband'.

"My entire time at court has been a preamble to that pedestal. I am well prepared to brook the gaze of the throngs, whilst you are at my side... husband." It felt surreal to say, and he couldn't hold the singular gaze of his beloved long after it crossed his lips.

His smile was earnest when he waved to the public as they passed. By and by he knew that soon the trappings of ritual would be doffed along with some of the ceremonial regalia that bespoke its strictures. As the servants withdrew the mantle from his shoulders, it felt like getting out of armour. He would be more vulnerable here and now, but even for this he'd had time to prepare. He had scripted and rehearsed a litany of replies to the impending onslaught of congratulatory sentiments. Karrhei, his dear friend, had been instrumental in that endeavour, but now he would have to translate those efforts into practical use.

He stole a kiss from the king for his own edification, and took a deep breath as the guests began to process in.

[Talon]

T A L O N

The invitation that had been extended to him had been unexpected but most welcome. Together, with his own partner, Talon had attended the wedding. He had only felt the smallest bit of apprehension while in attendance but it was a memory of the woes that had visited his own. He did not let it distract him and the two of them had quietly supported one another to brush off the specter of that bittersweet memory. When the ceremony ended and they were invited to the royal pavilion, both he and Aoren had adjourned to the relative quiet of the enclosure.

Talon was dressed in formal attire comprised of rich rose-gold colors and deep crimson. A long coat with a high collar and decorative embroidery representing symbols of the sun and light. A golden shoulder-cape with a crimson silk underside covered his right side. Around his neck hung the Gem of Order, a constant companion as of late. His hair was allowed to fall freely about his shoulders. Aoren was dressed in a mix of black and crimson with silver embroidery, similar in style to Talon’s own attire.

When all the formalities had been appropriately addressed and doled out, Talon and Aoren had found a peaceful corner to seat themselves, enjoying glasses of Valen aetherwine. Talon watched from a respectful distance as the newlyweds mingled amongst others. Perhaps because he was of similar mindset, where large social gatherings exhausted him, Talon saw small signs in Rhydian’s body-language that he recognized. As much as he found more joy in his laboratory, exploring the Warrens, or simply conversing with friends, Talon had been raised to inherit a throne. While he had ceded that throne to Karam, he still occupied the role of both Shinsei and was now Daizoku of his House. There were expectations that came with such roles.

He'd gotten very good at masking over the years because of it.

Shall we greet them?

Let us give them a moment to rightly adjust. Then we will pay our respects.

[Akantha SolEilran]

Well, that had gone well, and the young Princess was rather happy and pleased with the outcome of the day so far. So far, so good. She couldn't say it was complete until the last part of the ceremony at midnight, and then she could relax. After the wedding, she had been portaled back to her rooms to get changed once again for what was possibly her last outfit of the night. Possibly, because one never knew just how the evening would pan out. She might put in an appearance somewhere else yet for Keela. It would be rude not to.

Like the rest of her attire throughout the festivities, the mint-green chiffon gown with a great many of artfully arranged pale pink flowers that cascaded and accentuated the cut and figure, from the pointed shoulders, some exposed cleavage, her torso, and ruffled sleeves. Her honey-blonde hair had been relaxed from the ornate style she had worn earlier, and settled into three fishtail braids that were woven into roses, allowing the rest of her hair to flow down her back. Green leaves were carefully placed amongst the hair-roses framing them as if one might see them in the garden. The slender tiara of green and gold leaves with pearlescent flowers were close enough to the real thing that it only looked like a tiara at her brow. The rounded, smooth fingernails had been redone in a green and soft pink to match the dress, little pink flowers and vines with gold and pearl accents adorning them.

At the risk of overdoing the floral theme, Akantha had selected a gold band necklace that was rather open-fronted, allowing for delicate chains to connect multiple pearls that plunged where skin was exposed. She wore a similar style of pearl drop earrings.

Florals, in Glade, were usually so overdone, but the Princess knew she could make herself stand out and stun onlookers any day. It was, however, important to her not to stand out too much at her Father's wedding. Be beautiful, be present, but she was not the centre of attention on this day, and she would not seek to be.

Inasmuch as her Aunt Ékhidna had teased her about who she was bringing, Akantha had never gotten around to sorting that out. Some part of her had hoped that Adamantos would make it, though they didn't particularly count as her plus-one, but she was largely unconcerned. It made no difference to her whether she was accompanied by someone or not; she was surrounded by family and friends. There was no need for her to glomp onto her Sire and Rhydian, but she did see Talon and Aoren. Perhaps she would introduce them to her Mother. She wouldn't mind seeing what Princess Vomira thought of them...

"There is no rose without a thorn."

[Filaurel]

The celebrations attendant upon the Phoenix King's wedding were hotly anticipated by all of the tradesman of Silfanore, for they meant months of work (and remuneration) ahead of time. Filaurel himself had sold a bumper crop of chiffon and silks arranged into a dizzying array of traditional Glade patterns, and the toll of that labor was almost enough to keep him to his Hapertas.

Almost, but not quite.

No, with the celebrations here, the work waned- and as his mother had always said, one must cure grass while the sun shines. To that end, he had clothed himself in modest--but appropriate--formal attire and gone to meet his friend Sivan, for whom he had prepared an outfit.

"A golden cream fabric for the base," he told Sivan as he presented the clothing, "But do you see the white silk? Look at it from an angle- you will see that the light upon it creates floral impressions. The garden looks different to every eye, just as your own garden appeared different when we looked upon it from on high."

It was a simple trick of reflection, but one which was easy to get wrong. When first his master the Maker had introduced Filaurel to the technique, his attempts had resulted in gauche, flashy patterns which hurt the eye as they moved. Now, after many, many failures, Filaurel appreciated the vital role of subtlety in such works. Art was meant to shade, to comment, to accent, not to distract and annoy.

Upon arrival at the Suionaeon, the tailor allowed himself the pleasure of serving as guide, pointing at the various landmarks and wonders which dotted the Hill of Muses, as well as the various notables in the royal procession as it passed. It was... most enjoyable work, to share a bit of his world with a friend. He lost himself somewhat in the moment, his focus entirely consumed by the tour, split only by the necessary effort of focus upon his Kinetics.

"...and look you there." he told Sivan as they came in view of the royal pavilion, "The guards now stand at the drawing-curtain, ready to bar entry, where in the past they always remained concealed. I expect you can assume the purpose therefor."

[Sivan]

Sivan was only here at the request of two friends. First, Filaurel had urged him to promise to attend at least one festival per season in Silfanore, the city of his birth, if only to help show off the tailor's clothes. Second, Torin's man, Aurin, had asked him to repatriate an elf for him.

Dhruv seemed a friendly enough man, if odd. Of course, Sivan could hardly call someone odd; he could only speak to being odd. But the man had arrived at his tower in the Plaza of Jeweled Arches, ready to go. He hadn't given Sivan his surname, and so Sivan, polite as a proper Hytori, hadn't pressed. It was his way to treat everyone with a certain amount of respect. If Dhruv was Val'Hytori, well, he hadn't demanded his rights. It was an old name, though, Dhruv.

He didn't ask too many questions, at least not the hard-hitting ones. He had learned that it was usually better not to ask when it came to Aurin Kavafis.

Dhruv had experienced the travel hack Sivan and Torin had worked out for going back and forth between Silfanore and Kalzasi to study at Tavárinoikos while keeping up the business at their own workshop. Sivan let him in the front door, then held a separate doorknob against it, which caused the door to open up somewhere entirely different from his street. He guided Dhruv into that border town in Auris and then led him through the wards and the border checkpoint into the princedom of Aktí. From the seat of Val'Melua in Vallanar, they took a gate directly to Silfanore, and he showed the man to the home he rented in the Enclave.

As they weren't sharing details, he didn't say why he was living in the district set aside for those who weren't Hytori within the Hytori capital. Torin was human and Sivan himself had as much Dratori blood as Hytori, so it had been more comfortable. While Torin's apprenticeship was complete, Sivan was working on his second—which was actually his first again, but that was another story—and so there was plenty of room for Aurin's friend.

The strange elf had claimed he would ready himself and find the Suionaeon himself. The hill was easy to find and people would be only too happy to point the way or, likely, lead him there as the crown was providing food and drink for a full twenty-four hours of revelry.

Once he and Filaurel arrived, however, he was glad he had come. If he felt overdressed, well, he hadn't been a prosperous Maker ever before. Now he was dressed like one. He thought the Princess of Thorns would be ever so slightly proud of him if he happened to see her again.

"Pardon...?" His blue gaze followed Filaurel's attention. "Oh, yes. That was a strange day. Mostly good, but then the euphoric mushrooms didn't sit well with Torin and the soldier who placed well in the footrace... do you suppose he had also partaken too much of the mushrooms?" It was as good an explanation as any. Apparently, the powers that oversaw the royal pavilion weren't going to let Ailuin's fabled friendliness bite him in the back on his wedding day.

"This is really fine work, Filaurel," he added, noting how the patina—could fabric have a patina?—of the silk held hidden decoration. "Should we find somewhere to sit? A vantage from which to watch people and, I suppose, let people watch us?" The clothes were, after all, part of why they were there. Mostly, though, he wanted his friend to be comfortable, and while the elves were quietly good about accessibility—they venerated their elders and were compassionate with their brethren of mitigated means—he thought Filaurel might want to conserve his energy. After all, many would be reveling all night and toward the morrow's setting sun.

[Kala Leukos]

.

Kala had, in fact, made use of the plus-one on her invitation.

She was still unsure about everything, but her conversation with Akantha earlier that season and the note scribed from her father's own pen had only made her all the more unsure. It wasn't a bad thing; she was a Daughter of Chaos, after all. But feeling that in her bones was not the same as understanding it intellectually.

They hadn't been invited to the intimate family gatherings, nor the private religious rites. All the same, they had an invitation to visit the royal pavilion.

If they were being watched, well, that was to be expected. Her wings were hidden by means other than most here could ken, but it was nice to bear her shoulders and her back in the Tronóridan warmth as Glade gave way to Searing. The sun was still out, thank all the Gods, and the moons would rise in due course. She could hear her children singing, invisible in the cerulean sky. They were surrounded by joy. If some of it was due to the king's generosity with spirits and victuals, well, that was what the powerful were meant to do.

Sol'Valen sold itself as a utopia. Solunarium did as well, albeit a utopia of a different color. She was too polite to point out their stark similarities. The revelation that a Re'hyæan prince was courting her had put her diplomatic credentials in jeopardy, but thankfully that had passed.

"The Sol'Eilrans make a point of walking among their people," she was explaining to the man candy that she had brought. "The situation is more controlled that it would appear, though. It isn't entirely for show, but they aren't naive enough to put themselves at undue risk. It keeps the masses happy, however. Ailuin might be even more popular than our previous Shokaze... In any case, I suppose we ought to make our way through the madding crowd toward the royal pavilion to pay our respects?"

.

[Hekatos]

In With the New

Ailuin was more attentive to Rhydian now than he ever had been before, at least in more public situations. That was a heady draught and no doubt. Having the full attention of the Dream King was no small thing.

"Your smile is everything, Strýchnos," he said quietly. They kissed, but then they had to mingle.

After a brief respite with the family, they prepared to step out of the pavilion. But then Ailuin saw the Daizoku from Kalzasi and his draconic husband had slipped in quietly—quite the feat for such strapping gentlemen. He noted Eikaen's gem on Talon's breast, and recalled well the True Prophecy the dragon had uttered in his presence. But this was not a day for heavy questions of the future, merely for hope. Perhaps it was appropriate, then, that the draegir who claimed Hope was in attendance.

His hand at the small of Rhydian's back led him toward the foreign couple.

"Already seeking the solace of the pavilion, I see," he said, not unkindly. "We make an effort to show our face to our people, but it can be taxing." Of course, Ailuin didn't look tired at all, but perhaps that was Raella's grace clinging to him even if his immortality had been ceded long before he had been born. "Lord Auravacis, Shinsei. Thank you for coming. I know weddings must be fraught for you. I can assure you that we all felt the tragedy of your own, and while everything looks relaxed, security has everything well in hand. Perhaps at our peaceful nuptial celebration, you might borrow a bit of our joy to help you banish painful memories." He paused, as if unsure how much sincerity he could afford. They weren't bosom friends, after all.

"May I present my husband and consort, King Rhydian Sol'Kor. Strýchnos, these are Arcas Reborn, currently Talon Novalys, and his husband, the Prophet Auravacis. Or..." He looked to Aoren. "Lord Aoren, if you prefer."

Various other princes and princesses were there present. Vomira was walking the social tightrope of being present for her children and for Ailuin, who remained her dear friend, and not wishing to eclipse Rhydian's day. Ékhidna was there with Vhexur, heads together and no doubt planning mischief, but Achiroë found them to converse. Rhydian's princely uncle had been present for all of the pomp and circumstance in Aerion, but had remained there while Rhydian's mother came to Silfanore for the rest of it. They didn't like to leave their principality without one diarch present.

Someone pinched Akantha, right near her elbow where it could really hurt, but since they had grown, he didn't pinch hard enough to hurt, just enough to possibly embarrass her with his childishness. But her brother came bearing drinks, and so he assumed all would be forgiven.

"Fortifying spirit of the grape, Thornsome." He offered her one, and then held up his glass in a silent toast to the children grown who had known this day was coming and would likely come again, but still weren't sure exactly how to navigate it. "Are you planning to go out and be seen or stay here and wait for people to come to you?"

[Dhruv]

we keep on churning and the lights inside the house come on
and in our native language we are chanting ancient songs
and when we quiet down, the house chants on without us.
-- freelance whales.

The last time the only surviving son of the final holy esdraelon-mémère had come home to Silfanore, he had been gryphon-back and fresh from battle with the Wraethwyrms. Or maybe it had been parading in King Taegen's death-shadow? He was certain he had set his feet to the rising, holding hope in fists of sand, while the centuries continued to circle him in an ever-widening gyre; but memories remained elusive for the wayfarer. They were darting fish, bright flashes just beyond reach as he swam through the sands of time. On dark of moons he still startled awake, uncertain if the footsteps still echoing in his skull were true memory or made-up nightmare. 

And he waited. Waited for the dust to settle, for his time-sickness to ease. Waited until his boots became rocks and Nora's Forgot-Inn swallowed him into itself, hours and seconds and entire eras sinking through his flesh like a sieve. And when the moment arrived, it was with a secret slipped from the lips of his friend. 

If Dhruv paid any heed to what others thought of Aurin Kavafis, nobody could tell. And if he was suspect of the time and manner in which Aurin had revealed to him that the lost archmagic of Aeternus had been witnessed under Kalzasi, it was as unremarkable as the suit of clothes he wore to attend a royal wedding feast. They were dark, finely tailored, and made of good material. They would have been acceptable at most high-end establishments in Kalsazi, but on a golden-eyed Hytori in Sol'Valen, in attendance of a royal wedding? They left Dhruv as overlooked and unremarkable as a man could be. That, at least, seemed to suit him.

 Poor Sivan and Filaurel, honestly. He offered them an apologetic grimace upon reappearing, absently tilting the opened bag of tiny, spiced cookies he held toward them in offer.

"These are incredible," he told them, his strange, sloping accent somehow even stranger in the city of his birth. The archaic slopes and musical cuts that littered his language at once fit in with the symphony surrounding them and stood out, like a well-weathered artifact. "Can't seem to nail the recipe anywhere else, but I missed them."

Or he would have, had he recalled the treats existed before being confronted by them. 

A squint was offered for the royal pavilion, following the direction of his traveling companions' regard, and he swallowed a mouthful of cookies reflexively. 

"I've to go in,"  he confided. Quite as if he hadn't hitched a ride with them, sight unseen, and they were the three of them old friends. "But perhaps a drink first." To procrastinate, maybe. Or to fortify.

[Sivan]

If Aurin and Dhruv had given him a bit more time, he could have taken Dhruv's measurements and sent them ahead so Filaurel could have something for him to wear to the festival. He looked fine—the men and women Aurin collected always were—but he did have a touch of the foreign for all that he was Hytori. Sivan didn't know him well, but perhaps someday they would have a drink and compare notes on how it felt to be both at home in Silfanore and yet an outsider.

Though his arcane eye was open to his surroundings, Dhruv managed to sneak up on him. That wasn't terrible. Sivan wasn't anyone important and so he wasn't expecting assassins or anything. In fact, if he ran into Laurevere, he would probably get berated for not carrying a weapon, but Laurevere was a stick in the mud.

There hadn't been time to introduce him properly to Filaurel either, as Sivan had left him to prepare for the all-night festivities while he went on ahead with the tailor.

"Oh, Dhruv. Thank you." He did take one from the bag. Normally, he didn't buy them for himself, but when they were offered, well...

"This is my friend, Filaurel Len'Alen. He made the clothes I'm wearing. Filaurel, this is Dhruv. Another mysterious Hytori wanderer come home." There was a quirk to his brow, though.

"I, ah... I don't know who you know in the royal pavilion but I would suggest... perhaps not? At another festival last autumn, a soldier walked right in to speak to the new King-Consort without any sort of invitation. Normally everyone is well behaved and allows the royals their privacy when they need it. Now there are more visible guards."

He didn't want to have to explain to Aurin that Dhruv had run himself into a guard's spear seeking to force a royal audience.