Legend of Ransera

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.

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 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?"

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?"

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.