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The newly-crowned King Tra'vaensi stands in the echoing and ancient halls of his people.
These halls were built right into what humans call Skycliff Mountain and what he calls home. The lands which he called home used to stretch as far in every direction as the elven castle stretches into the sky, but that was… before. Now, "Skycliff Mountain" is no longer the center of his kingdom, but the border of all that remains for him and his people, which are lower in number than have ever been.
All because of his father.
Well, it was perhaps not Kaen'enth's fault entirely. The daemon that wore his skin did this, technically , but King Kaen'enth was the one who started the war with humankind and humankind which brought their murder to elvenkind instead of their true enemy.
And, to think, it was never about humanity at all. King Kaen'enth made the deal with the red-eyed spectre only in hopes of gaining immortality. He did it for vanity. He did it in arrogance.
Disgusting retch. If he wanted so badly to live forever, he should not have thrown his away his life.
At least, Tra'vaensi supposes, he is dead now. It provides him little comfort, but it is comfort still.
He was not a kind man in life. He is no kinder in death.
The halls are emptier now than they once were, but they are better off without the shouts of King Kaen'enth to fill them. Tra'vaensi knows this for certain. He knows it better than anything.
And soon - very soon - the halls will be fuller. More of his people are already on their way from the forests beyond the mountain, and the people of the city closest will follow him as he makes his way to his new life. They'll arrive just in time for his wedding.
As will, he hopes, his husband-to-be.
If one had told him a year ago that he would be marrying a human, he would have laughed. Or, perhaps, spat in one's eye.
Here he is, however. Standing around restlessly while he waits for a stranger to arrive so they can prepare for the making of their two lives into one.
It had been Tra'vaensi's decision, ultimately. The idea, however, began with the queen of Nockfell.
During the final peace talks, Nockfell's queen had approached him and offered the hand of any of her children. She wanted to unite the kingdoms - to let her people and his know that the war was over. The true enemy, the red-eyed demon, had been defeated.
Tra'vaensi had asked not for a union between himself and human royalty, but for a union between himself and the greatest inventor in Nockfell.
He had no desire for a royal wedding in 'human' lands that had been stolen from his people. Human royalty can do nothing for him - and he doesn't want the kingdoms united. His people are his and they will lick their wounds in private as the world ticks on around them. Anyways, other than an infant son, their queen has only girl children of which Tra'vaensi has little interest outside of business and friendship. He can swallow marrying a human, but he will not turn that marriage into a business venture.
At least, he'll try to keep it from being one.
For that, he needs a man; a good man . Someone who can help him rebuild his ravaged kingdom - and who better than someone with as cunning a mind as an inventor? Inventors solve problems, Tra'vaensi has always thought, and his people need a problem solver now more than they ever have.
The inventor, a man named Henry, had arrived within a week to speak to Tra'vaensi. As soon as his carriage stopped outside the mountain, the elf king knew he was to be disappointed. This inventor was not the eccentric, intelligent man of excellent manners which he had built up in his head.
No, he was simply that: a man. And little else good to be said of him, as far as the elf is concerned!
Henry was an awkward sort of man with a quick-rising temper (not at all a partner Tra'vaensi would be interested in!), but he was open to discussion, at least, even with a member of a people he viewed as his enemy.
Despite his misgivings, Tra'vaensi made his visit comfortable, allowing him to sleep in the too-large chamber that had once belonged to the former king, but there was still an uncomfortable tension during their dealings that left the air feeling cool and deadly. Henry was a chilly man - and he left Tra'vaensi frozen in fright.
Tra'vaensi is terrified of humans. His father had tried to sow a hatred of men into him, but he has always been made of softer stuff. He can't help but tremble in the presence of humans (though admittedly, he's met few), unable to keep himself from attempting to flatten his pointed ears against his head so they go unseen.
Not that it works. Humans always know he's elven, if not by his ears then by the slope of his nose or the earthy tone of his skin. Henry, too, of course, could hardly be tricked, not when he came to the elven temple for the entire purpose of meeting with the elven king.
So, Tra'vaensi saw Henry's pinched brow and bearded scowl and was terrified. So new is he to being king, he could hardly even hide it. His hands wobbled and his voice shook. He's sure his eyes were wild when they met those of his guest.
Luckily, the man wanted to marry Tra'vaensi even less than he wanted Henry. They came to a compromise quickly enough to keep the human man free from his obligations, though it seemed to pain Henry to state his half of the bargain.
"I will not wed you," the inventor had said again, as if putting his foot down with an unruly child. Tra'vaensi had tensed, indignant, but remained quiet. "You are younger than me by an uncomfortable margin, especially putting in consideration the lifespan of an elf, but I have a son. He is- likely your age. I'm guessing."
"Is your son your apprentice?" It struck Travis oddly that he would suggest a union otherwise, but he liked to be sure. Humans are tricky - and so often willing to lie or cheat their way out of a problem. "Your queen promised me someone who could assist in-"
"I'm well aware of my responsibilities here. Sal is capable. What he lacks in imagination can be easily remedied through the help of his friends. He makes many and he makes them everywhere."
Friends. "Meaning I may gain many allies from a union with your son as opposed to the one?"
"Exactly."
Tra'vaensi thought for a moment. It did sound beneficial. But what sort of person is this inventor's son that his father would gift him to an enemy so quickly?
"He's a good man," Henry assures him shortly, as if able to read his mind (and finding himself irritated by the noise). "And of good manners, perhaps even to a fault. There is more love in that boy than can be found anywhere else."
Perhaps, Tra'vaensi had thought, I should not look a gift husband in the mouth.
At the very least, joining his life with that of the inventor's son would mean Henry leaving much quicker than otherwise. That, if nothing else, was a boon.
"It's a deal," he had said.
They had not shaken on it, despite it being the human custom to do so, but Tra'vaensi knew the inventor would comply.
And so he has.
Tra'vaensi's royal advisor, a kindly elf with foliage-green hair and a plush middle, steps easily into the empty, echoing room that his king occupies. He's dressed casually and is munching contentedly on a handful of candied nuts.
"Hello, Trunk."
"Trav," he greets his king. "The inventor's son has arrived. And… Well, his face…"
Tra'vaensi raises an eyebrow at the way Trunk's head shakes. "Is there something wrong with him?"
"...It's better to show you than tell you. I'll warn you, Tra'vaensi, he's a queer one."
"As am I," he shoots back easily, eyebrow still raised. He ignores the way his stomach flips, anxieties setting in now that his betrothed is suddenly here. "Bring him in. I would greet my life to be."
Trunk gives a shallow bow, still chewing. Then he stands and turns to the door, shouting, "Come in! He's ready for you now!"
Tra'vaensi feels his eye twitch. "I meant escort him in," he says patiently.
"Oh."
Trunk moves to open the door, but the damage is already done. Sal, son of Henry, is already gently pushing it open.
Immediately, Tra'vaensi is stunned by the boy's appearance. And- And angered! He swallows, but does not jump to conclusions. There is much about humans he does not know.
And, he rationalizes, if this were indeed a possessed doll and not a human, then Trunk would be a lot less relaxed at the moment. Truck becomes little more than a frightened child where shadows and spectres are concerned.
"You are Sal," says the king, voice steady. The human man before him stands up tall upon recognizing him, fiddling suddenly with his hands in front of him. "I am honored to meet you."
"Same to you!" The voice is most definitely human, though muffled, and as he steps closer to Tra'vaensi, it's clear that the eyes are human too. The face, however…
The face is that of a doll. Manufactured.
It's porcelain, he thinks, with a prettily shaped nose and prettier lips, plus round holes for which to see through. It's pale white, except for the right eye, which is painted in pink roses in delicate brushwork.
His neck and left arm appear flesh, a tawny brown that, though faintly gray in the firelight, is obviously full of life. His right, however, is a mix of what appears to be silver and finely crafted wood.
Sal is waiting for him to speak.
"Are you- a creation?"
The doll's eyes grow wide. "I- Pardon me, my King?"
"Are you an invention made by Henry? You are flesh and not flesh."
"Oh!" The man laughs, then, tugging at his left braid. There are two, both plaited with care, that hang over his finely robed shoulders. "No, my King, I am not one of my father's creations. Well, technically I am, but through only the much more complicated tasks of my mother."
Tra'vaensi allows a smile, much less thin than he imagines it to be. "Then your mechanical arm? The doll's face?"
The wood-and-silver fingers of his right hand touch at the white porcelain of his unmoving lips. "It's a prosthetic," he explains. The explanation does not end there, but Sal's words do.
"I see." He does not. "I apologize for my rudeness. It is a beautiful face."
"Thank you…" He turns his head away from Tra'vaensi, but the elf can see his eyes are bright. "Your kingdom is beautiful as well. The architecture inside this place is incredible. I've never seen anything like it."
"It is the oldest of elven structures. At least, in this region. There is more beyond the forest, on the other side of the mountain." He scratches his neck, realization striking him. "The land is forbidden to humans, but as my life, you will be given access to as much as you wish."
"...I'm sorry, my King, did you mean to say 'as my wife'?"
Tra'vaensi raises an eyebrow, incredulous. "Certainly not. Though we will be husbands in the human way, we will share a life in the elven way."
Sal blinks. "Oh. I'm sorry, my King-"
"You need not call me that," he finally interrupts. His skin is beginning to crawl to hear those words. "Even Trunk does not call me that."
"I never do," Trunk affirms.
Silence passes as Sal blinks again, shocked. "I see. I apologize. What shall I call you then?"
"Tra'vaensi is my name. Since we will share a life, you are welcome to call me by- whatever endearments you feel suit as well. Should we come that far."
"In that case, you are welcome to call me Sally. Or Sally Face." The man shrugs, his hair sliding over his dark robes. "Although it was not a name given in endearment, it is one I have taken as a gift."
The elf's ears flutter, his face growing warm. "You are strong to do so. Wise."
Wrinkles appear beside Sal's eyes, giving the distinct impression of a smile. "I'm glad to hear you believe so, my life."
Tra'vaensi's face bursts hot as if in flame. "I- I see. Shall I give you a tour of the ancient temple? Or would you prefer to retire?"
"The hour is small," Sal sighs, then yawns. "I think I would prefer to take rest."
"Of course. Let me lead you to our home instead. You'll be seeing the temple much in the days before the life-joining ceremony."
He turns and leads Trunk and Sal both through the familiar halls, winding his way through the labyrinthine temple to make his way to the bustling city outside. They aren't quite yet out of the temple before Sal speaks up again.
"The ceremony will be here in the temple?" he asks.
"Yes," Tra'vaensi says, nodding. He keeps his voice light. "All the blood of Dogma have lived in the temple, so it is natural I will be wed there. It is only natural to live your life in your home, correct?"
Tra'vaensi is uncertain about continuing to live in a place with so much unseen blood staining the walls, so many shadows creeping from the corners, but he has little choice. He is the king. He is to live and be loved in the temple.
Hopefully Sal won't mind the thought of opening the temple to other guests. There are many rooms - they should be used. It would do something, at least, for the lonely echo which beats the walls so commonly.
"My apologies," Sal breathes. "I'm afraid there may be another cultural difference here."
"Trav here is a son of Dogma, meaning he's the last line of one of the elven gods and is thus the only one worthy of leading our people. In elven culture, we have our 'weddings' in our homes."
"Oh!" Sal nods in understanding. "That makes sense. Except for the elven god part, sorry."
"There are no gods," Tra'vaensi huffs snappishly, despite it not being Sal's fault in the least that Trunk is so superstitious. "It's just something my ancestors clung to in hopes of gaining and maintaining power over the people. There is no birthright, just blood that's passed down and blood that's spilled."
"Well put," breathes Sal, sounding shocked. Pleasantly so, the elf hopes. "I think our marriage will be a good one."
Tra'vaensi turns to find those eyes on him again and cannot help but smile. "Yes," he admits. "I feel the same."
The walk is a relatively short one once they make it down the temple lift. It lowers them quickly down the mountain and to the ground, where a stone path leads them into the surrounding city.
"Wow!"
Sal looks at the houses, at the shops, at the art and the flowers and the lights, all with a child-like awe that has Tra'vaensi seeing his familiar home through brand new eyes.
"It's lovely," the elf says quietly. "And even more so in daylight."
It's true, though hard to believe.
The moon shines bright on the pressed glass roofs, which are made by sandwiching fabric or flowers between two thin panes of glass and fusing them, strengthening them through careful runecraft. There is wood or stone beneath, in case the glass ever does break, but the roofs are much more attractive than the ceilings, and Sal's wide-eyed wonder proves it.
The light touches too the painted stone walls and the foliage which grows down from the roofs to protect those paintings. Some are of faces, some depictions of stories. Many have little hand-prints on them, pressed against home's by playing children and kept there by enchantment even through harsh storms and other cruel weather.
The firelight that plays in the tall street lanterns is green, illuminating the path before them. Lightning bugs drift in and out of sight, both within the lanterns' light and without.
They've barely taken a step into the city, and already, it is beautiful. It is home.
As they continue, Sal stops to be amazed by sculpted fountains and water wells, appreciating a fence's craftsmanship or cooing over the thoughtful design of a marketshop sign. Every rock and hill and tree seems to leave him astounded and impressed. After a while, Tra'vaensi simply laughs, feeling light and dizzy as if his affection is some apothecary's recipe and not a natural feeling, and takes his hand, pulling him away from his distractions.
His first time touching a human's hand. His life's hand. It's calloused at the tips, but soft at the palms.
Tra'vaensi's face feels hot.
"We're nearly home, Sally," he says to his husband-to-be. He shakes off his wooziness and smiles instead, teasing "Were you not tired only a moment ago?"
"I'm still tired…" He yawns to prove it, eyes closing behind the prosthetic. "But I am also amazed by your incredible city!"
"Our city," Tra'vaensi reminds him. "A home we share."
Sal's hand tights around his, their fingers slotting together as if designed with the other in mind. "Yes, that's right. Our home."
They reach the place Tra'vaensi has been living in quickly after that. It's a relatively small house, having been temporary accommodations, but he finds himself sad to think he might leave it. It's a cozy little thing with a fireplace, a cooking pot, and a bed in one room and a toilet and bath in another. The toilet is attached to the under-ground water system, but they'd have to get water from the pump for the bath. Tra'vaensi hasn't had time to-
Oh, gods. There's only one bed.
His hand grows sweaty where the human holds it.
He'll be sharing a bed with a human.
"Tra'vaensi, are you alright?"
He turns to Sal, focusing on the curls of pink rose as opposed to bright, concerned eyes. "Yes," he says. "I simply realized- I apologize. There is only one bed."
"I'm happy to share," his human replies easily. He sounds smiling. "In Nockfell, it's expected a married couple share a bed! Um- So long as you don't mind seeing my prosthetics removed…"
"I will have you as you are, my King."
At that, Sal smiles for sure, the pale brown skin around his eyes wrinkling like premature laughter lines. "Then lead the way."
Trunk bids them goodnight, leaving in the direction of his own home as Tra'vaensi and Sal wave after him. Then they turn to each other, hands still linked between them, and enter the house. Despite being decorated in the simplest way imaginable, it seems to wow Sal just as spectacularly as everything outside.
He gushes for a moment before Tra'vaensi laughs and puts him back to task.
"Bed time," he says.
"Yes! Of course. Just- Wow!"
Though he is tired and wishes to sleep as well… Tra'vaensi can't help but grin. To see Sal's happiness is to know it for himself.
Somehow, all of Sal's things fit in the napsack he has with him, meaning he has had his clothes on his person all along (thankfully, given Tra'vaensi's lack of tact or foresight regarding his husband's wardrobe). With Tra'vaensi's permission, he takes his blue-and-brown napsack into the bathing room to change in privacy.
While he's changing into his sleeping clothes, Tra'vaensi does the same, taking the knee-length sleep dress he likes best from his chest of clothing and putting it on the bed. He undoes the clasps and buttons of his day clothes, sliding them off comfortably to the floor. Revealing his skin to the cool air of the room feels fantastic. When he's finished, he kicks his clothes under the bed to be the king of tomorrow's problem, and slips the night dress over his head. It's soft, comfortable, and gentle against his skin in much the same way the air is.
The door clicks, reopening slowly. When Sal exists the bathing room, his face is-
"So it is flesh!" Tra'vaensi sighs with relief, before his breath suddenly catches. "Is it painful?"
"Not anymore. Mostly." No longer muffled, but just as musical, Sal's voice carries through the small room easily. "Be careful of this side, however." He points to the right side, where a hole shows his teeth through his cheek.
"Of course." He would never hope to harm the man before him.
He stares openly at Sal's scars, soaking them in and cataloguing them to the best of his ability. There are many - it is obvious now why Sal needs a prosthetic face. His nose is nearly entirely missing, his chin uneven and jawline jagged. There's so much scar along his mouth that there is hardly any lip to speak of on the right side, though some plump mouth remains to the left. The skin around his eyes is mostly well, though a thin scar jags up to his right eye.
"You know," he breathes. "To us elves, such scars are seen as a mark of strength. A sign of survival and thus a sign of great empathy."
Sal exhales an uncertain laugh. "To us humans, such scars are seen as ugly."
Tra'vaensi's ears twitch downward in confusion. "That's shocking. I find them attractive."
"...How?"
"You're alive."
The laugh that leaves Sal is just as uncertain as the last but twice as sardonic. "I most definitely am. My pulse could tell you just as well as a deformed face."
"You're beautiful," he insists. "A scar is the mark of a compassionate soul."
He sits on the bed, back facing Tra'vaenis. "I'm not sure that's always true, but I thank you. Elves see the world through kinder eyes than humans, I think."
"We certainly try to. Though not all of us." His father's face floats through his mind, teeth bared and spittle flying. He repeats, "Not all of us."
Sal turns, his compassion as clear in his eyes as it is on his face. "I suppose people are people wherever you go."
"Beautiful, compassionate, and wise. I think I like you, Sally Face."
As if by accident, Sal grins, then looks away in surprise. "I think I like you too, Tra'vaensi. Shall we to bed?"
"We shall."
It's not as awkward as he feared, lying next to his soon-to-be husband. Mostly, it's warm. He wants to stay up talking, getting to know better the new half of himself, but the small hour takes its toll quickly, and he finds his eyes fluttering closed as if weighed down by gravity.
The last thing he hears before his eyes close is the gentle rumble of Sal's snore.
The last thing he feels before he falls into sleep is his mouth curling into a smile.
For all the fear he has known, for all the violence forced upon him by the whims of his father, today has come a better tomorrow. And all the tomorrows are here with it, lined up in a row, waiting for him to arrive.