Legend of Ransera

The invitation had gone out eventually. First, a date had to be decided given Sivan's erratic translation back and forth between the Jewel of Karnor and the Crown City of Sol'Valen. Laurevere often traveled back and forth with Sivan, which was nice. While he had trained himself to be self-sufficient mostly so he didn't have to deal with other people, Laurevere had been his neighbor for years now, as well as a friend and even a teacher when it came to defending himself with steel. The other elf understood the specific traumas of being biracial in Silfanore, and had even taken some of Sivan's friends under his protection.

This was not Sivan's first time at Istraoikos, and he had enjoyed walking through the neighborhood, past the the Fist of Toralyon and the Agora. While he had politely declined the taxi, one had been sent to bring the Neptori envoy.

Despite walking, Sivan had arrived early and the servants knew him so he was let in to wait in a sitting room beside the dining room where their dinner would be laid. Laurevere, once apprised of his arrival, was quick to join him for an aperitif.

They caught up on many things, including the location of Destynrael.

"...skulking about Torin's valley, I believe..."

And Sivan accepted that. He wasn't sure the extent of the relationship developing between them; he only hoped Destyn's pure heart wasn't broken. Laurevere was Val'Hytori, and that came with certain responsibilities. Sivan hadn't expected the Fae to cleave so to one person for so long, but then there were a great many things he missed despite mastering the Art of Semblance.

They were just considering another drink when the arrival of Tyrann was announced.

Sivan colored a bit at the candor of Tyrann's smile; Laurevere had a more inscrutable, aristocratic veneer. It took but a moment for the tides to change and for the Neptori envoy's attention to affix itself to Laurevere, even when he made a show of looking around. Well, that was to be expected. Laurevere was quite handsome.

"Look what the tide washed ashore," he said, jaunty for Sivan. "Hello, coz." And all he could do was shrug. And imagine Destyn wrestling Tyrann to the floor to impress Laurevere. Well, Sivan would watch that with only the quietest of protests against violence.

Then, as he was supposed to be introducing them, he continued. "Laurevere, may I present the Lord Ambassador of the Tidal Nation and Knight Aquatic of Caerulia, Sir Tyrann Xekourássi. Cousin, may I present Lord Laurevere Val'Istra."

"A courtesy title for the youngest child of the actual Lord Val'Istra," Laurevere assured his guest with an elegant bow. "Welcome to our home. I am delighted to make your acquaintance."

Delight might not be the first word that came to mind, but while taciturn, he wasn't unfriendly.

"Ah, you are too kind. Thank you."

Sivan felt a glimmer of worry. He supposed that at the sort of party he would never be invited to, offering an Aurisian vintage to one whose blood was half-Siltori might be seen as a slight. Deep in cups of a less pointed heritage, he and Laurevere had discussed the difficulties of not being Hytori enough for the Hytori. But, of course, Laurevere was used to swimming these waters, and seemed unbothered if he even suspected some double entendre.

The highborn elf turned the bottle over, examining the label. A little nod, and a little smile. A servant appeared, as if by magic, and took it respectfully with two hands.

Without looking to her as she retreated with it, Laurevere said, "Our guest will tell us which course it best complements, or if it were better aperitif or digestif." A beat, then, "Cousins? Siv, have you taken an aquatic familiar into your Rune?"

Sivan shook his head no, but looked to Tyrann; it was the Neptori's blood gem that had revealed the connection that founded the jest, after all.

Laurevere's face fair froze for a moment before he softened into a benevolent smile.

"How queer. Haera and her little jokes." Then, "Well, we shall have to experiment with the aether wine, then."

"I wasn't entirely certain the Aimatiká existed," Sivan said. "Or still existed."

"That would explain your ghastly messenger," Laurevere mused.

"I apologize if she was disturbing; she was just present at the time. Anyway, do you think your sister might see a friend of mine? He has a, hm, family curse that seems to ignore what grace Raella left us. A degenerative disorder, and I can't suss it properly, even with all my sembling. But the Aimatiká were... are... healers, no? This sort of thing shouldn't happen to Hytori."

Sivan was not the best at asking for favors, but when it was for someone other than himself, a fire could be lit under him.

"They are healers, yes. I will ask Haera on your behalf, though I would advise caution in making those jokes in front of the wrong company. Some lords of the realm would not be amused." He pulled a face to indicate he wasn't one of those. "Ah—" A servant appeared with a silver platter; the aether wine was decanted and glasses poured. He handed them out. "Well, I suppose good wine needs no accompaniment but good company. To what shall we toast?"

"Not cousins?" Sivan asked, though he cast a surreptitious smirk at Tyrann as he answered Laurevere.

"Certainly not to sisters," Laurevere muttered. But then he smiled anew, this one for Tyrann. "Guest's choice."

Laurevere relaxed a bit. There were connections that seemed obvious to him, but then, they would. Thankfully, Sivan's mind didn't seem to tend in the same directions as his did, and his foreign friend found it all diverting; at least, he seemed to.

"If it be like wine, then it will be savored by and by," the highborn elf replied. "And you are welcome to defer in future; I didn't mean to put you on the spot. To beauty."

"To beauty," Sivan declared, his gold gone somewhat rose , though he knew that Tyrann admired him.

After a few moments, Laurevere hummed his appreciation. Not quite the trained oenophile, Sivan kept quiet.

"Elder sister," Laurevere agreed. He wasn't compelled to elaborate upon the connection, that his sister was a half-sister. Bastardy didn't carry the same stigma among the Hytori as it did elsewhere, though he was happy not to mention his Siltori heritage. Sivan was well aware, but then Sivan had spent some of his youth here and was, perhaps more keen to notice given his own mixed heritage.

Sivan wasn't sure if Tyrann truly didn't notice. Perhaps all land-born elves looked too similar to sea-born eyes to delineate properly without more effort or familiarity.

"We are an old family," Laurevere said. His smile went slightly crooked for a moment. "My father says we were more prominent before the Lysanrin occupation, but many families say that now. In any case, we are well established, I think. We even served your ancestors ere they took to the seas. We followed one of Arsoren's children who remained Hytori."

Sivan looked on curiously; he hadn't known that of his friend and his friend's family.

"Well," Laurevere said, his humors odd as they were all filtered through his deadpan tones, "I am certainly interested in Neptori intoxicants. You seem to be one given... hm..." He glanced at Sivan, who was still a touch flushed.

As for the family history, "What would you like to know?"

Indicating over Tyrann's shoulder with his glass, "There's a portrait of Aicanar Val'Istra behind you. Tragically, he fell in love with one of the elves who sacrificed their immortality in Arsoren's deal with the Lord of Suffering. According to family lore, he didn't know how to cope with the change... many reviled the humans despite their deal being what saved us. But he died before they could be reconciled."

A grim little smile was marred by another sip of the aether wine. The family's history was long, albeit ragged. So much had been lost over the millennia.

Sivan considered the portrait. It made him want to speak to his own parents, whose love hadn't straddled the racial divide for very long. His father was lost to the Grimlord, but his mother did yet abide in Dalquor. He wondered how he would feel among the Dratori now.

"So many of the stories are sad ones," he murmured to himself.