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When Prophet first tells Esme (and yes, he wanted to tell her himself, so much that he made it all the way to Duneville), she bursts into tears (not only happy ones, he assumes, but doesn't ask) and hugs him tightly, congratulates so loudly that the whole tavern turns to them. She ignores them, and so does he.
Tharaêl says that when he told Calia, she looked so confused and unsure as if he told her all starlings finally reached their fatherland, and then she was silent for a really long time, only to say “I’m happy for you, Tharaêl. You deserve to be happy”. Prophet laughs his ass off, it was such a Calia-style answer he wonders why he expected any different.
Jespar also laughs his ass off. And then he looks at them both really seriously, says “Wait, you’re not kidding”, falls silent for a moment and then takes a sip of wine straight from the bottle. And yes, Enias probably should have known Dal’Varek would have some problems with these news.
And then Prophet goes and tells Arantheal. You know, The Grandmaster. The head of the state, most important figure in the country, his employer, for Seven’s sake.
And when Prophet tells him, the Grandmaster is speechless. Enias feels proud – he seems to be the first man to make Arantheal speechless, with his eyes going little wider. And when he finally speaks, he even stutters at first.
“I- I’m sorry, I’m not sure I heard this right. You want to get married?”
Well, practically speaking, he’s already married. Not officially, and that’s the only reason he’s having this conversation in a first place.
“the definite list of sings you are married, by enias the prophet”
I’m teaching you to write, and this is how what you do? And put this “The Prophet” shit out of here, makes you look like a douche
“but i am a prophet”
It doesn’t mean you should use it as a second name. It sounds stupid.
“can I use your name then?”
This list ends up burned, of course. So Prophet writes another one, just to prove a point.
“the definite list of sings you are married, by prophet himself”
- You both share and take care of your home.
When Tharaêl finally appeared on his doorsteps, Enias might have actually teared up – it’s been a month since they left the Room of Paintings, he thought he would never see Narys again – be it because aeterna decided to just go on his own or because he didn’t make it to Ark. And hell, Enias missed him dearly for some bizarre reason.
And then this little brat proceeded to enter his house and mock it. Alright, maybe not like that.
So they finally met, shared a tear or two (Tharaêl insists he didn’t cry, not at the time, because why would he?), Tharaêl came in, they had dinner and a little conversation on where has he been.
And then Narys looked around.
“So,” he began, and that sudden change of tone was not good-promising, “How long do you own this house?”
“Oh,” Enias also looked around, wondering what could have brought such question, “I’m not sure. Somewhere around three months? Why?”
Tharaêl studied the house once again – living room with this kitchen area, little bedroom right behind him, and an upper level with wooden staircase.
“You’re not being here often, are you?” he said then.
Oh. So this is what it was all about.
“I don’t mean it’s bad,” and it’s really funny how Tharaêl actually tried to excuse himself, “You just don’t strike me as a type whose house would be this… Well…”
“Ugly?” Enias deadpanned.
“Empty.”
And – let’s face it – the house was empty. Enias knew a couple of things: how to defend himself, how to cook actually good food, how to look amazing even wearing a sack-
Knowing how to turn house into home was not one of them. Which is not a surprise, considering his biography. And so the only… Details to his house at this point was clothes in his wardrobe, but even that was kept neat and clean, not laying around the bedroom or something like that.
And he kept only two sets of utensil, two plates, two bowls, two cups. One of them clearly never used till now. And Tharaêl have seen a lot of things – terrifying, disgusting, nasty, horrible, not fair. This? This was just sad.
He and Prophet might not have met in the best moment of their life, but they met nevertheless, and they grew to know each other. And Narys thought he knew Enias – this smooth, talkative, attractive type who seemed to turn people to his side too easily, and so when Enias told Tharaêl about his own house, Tharaêl assumed, just assumed, that this place would be full of people, useless pretty stuff, light. Full of life.
This house felt empty, sad and wrong.
“Well, sorry it’s not to your tasting,” Enias said, little annoyed.
“I told you it’s fine. It’s just not what I expected. And it doesn’t matter – it has roof, fire, bed. All what’s needed.”
“Right.”
“Right.”
And if couple of days later a little basket of flowers appeared on their dining table… Well, it’s just a coincidence. And Tharaêl really just thought it would be nice of him to buy those flowers from flower girl in the market, and nothing else.
And, well. So what if it’s their dining table now?
- You fuss over each other. Maybe a little too much
“The addition to The List – “The official list of reasons why mysir Narys and mysir Prophet are disgusting, by Jespar Dal’Varek. Also signed by Yuslan Sha’Rim, Lishari Pegast and several adepts of the Holy Order”
Fuck you. All of you.
- They coo like doves when one of them just as much as cuts his finger. “Oh, he caught cold so I’m just seeing what can help him”, “Look, he broke his arm badly, so he really needs rest, and if any of you tries to bother him-“
I did not say that
Yes you did, mysir. You also almost threatened me with a knife
- They treat each other with their favorite foods. Extra point goes to mysir Narys for being a sweet tooth and creating too much opportunities for awkward “it’s not cute” situations. Also extra points to the same guy for actually learning how to cook. Just to woo someone who’s already in love with you. When you think there are no true men left, you find out there are. They’re just not into you.
Lady Peghast, please, this is my list
I signed it, can’t I add anything?
I despise you. All you people who signed this. You’re terrible. And I didn’t try to “woo” anyone, it’s called being grateful.
- They’re so scarred of being mean to each other it drives you mad. One can only say “Sorry, it’s not what I meant, I didn’t want to upset you” that much. Really, none of you will die if you call each other “Asshole” once in a while. It can’t be you never actually were mad at each other.
So, let’s clear something up.
Tharaêl’s… “moments” might have gotten better with time, even to the point where they ceased to be. And Enias seems to make progress with his own problems. And things really got better between them since the moment they first met.
But it wasn’t always like this.
Because there were sleepless nights with cups of herbal tea and conversations till dawn after heart-ripping nightmare screams. There were also fights over how much wine Prophet decided to drink (which usually ended up with a couple of broken bottles) and half sincere promises to quit drinking. There also was this one time where Enias went really mad and practically yelled at Narys , ranting about how he’s “not even supposed to promise you anything, because fuck you, who the fuck even are you, my father? Because I’d better drink myself to death than deal with you”, and after that was herbal tea for aching head and pretty much sincere apologies and much more sincere promise to try to quit.
There were also Tharaêl’s moments and they scared them both. Because you can handle nightmares, being drunk, you can handle headaches. But how you handle being someone else? How you handle being not here?
So they both waited, every single time, and Enias never left his side, and he seemed scared even more than Tharaêl. When Tharaêl would forget himself, looking straight into the abyss, Prophet would wait for torpor to pass, slowly guiding the man back with lightest touches and whispered words. When faces would drip, he’d turned away to not make things worse. Narys would sometimes remember standing in the kitchen, helping with dinner, and then waking up in a bed, worried Prophet near on the floor, his eyes worried and maybe slightly damp, with a story of another Tharaêl, little one, coming to visit.
Things were never easy – they had too much baggage for each other to deal with and they were too much different people. So when things were finally settled (none of them knows where and when – on one of the nights spent in talks instead of sleep, or after Narys would be brought back to this world to see he was still not alone) – they realized they got this. It will never be perfect. But they can handle this. And if they can handle this, they can allow themselves simple things, like getting annoyed because Enias actually cut his finger while cutting vegetables because, apparently, he really needed to look at Narys while they were talking; or getting worried over a stomach ache, because who knows what could have caused that, they might both be grown, healthy men, but “that doesn’t mean we’re immune to all diseases, mysir Narys”. And then they both would change their tone, and just help. These were simple things, they could deal and almost treasure these little stupid moments. Something worse would always come up anyway.
- You stay with each other, even when you are being a shit
Remember that one time Enias accused Tharaêl of being too controlling (also known as “you want me to quite my destructive habits which means you actually care for me and that’s a little too much”)? Well. It might have been not the only fight they had.
Enias might have been to the Silver Cloud when he felt really shitty, and Tharaêl might have been really pissed off.
“It’s not like I went for silver dust,” Enias tried.
“Oh, right, like it doesn’t make it even worse!”
“Are you jealous now, mysir Narys?” Enias couldn’t help but smirk, and shit, that was a mistake.
“Fuck you. No, seriously, is that what this is all about?” Narys then sat in front of Prophet and looked him right in the eyes, “Okay, I’m going to say this only once, you already have a bunch of people to teach you how to live. You have a fate of a whole world right on your shoulders. And if you, Prophet, die because you couldn’t keep your ass from where it clearly shouldn’t have been and it got you screwed, I will be fucking first to laugh.”
And, yes, it was harsh. But maybe it was something Enias got himself coming. Needless to say he hasn’t been to Silver Cloud since then.
Oh, but then again, how about that one time Tharaêl just had to have that fight in Sun Temple? Like Truchessa didn’t already hate Enias, no, now she can always recall that one time “Prophet’s companion offended one of magisters”, which resolved in a pretty heated argument. And Enias knew Tharaêl little bit better than to think he was actually trying to prove the point. Oh no. Tharaêl wanted the Order to know they’re not almighty and all-knowing, because no matter how hard he tries to put up this wise “I-know-better-than-do-myself-harm” persona, there’s still a little bit of brat within him, and Enias knows this and he hates this because he’s the one to smooth things over later (Truchessa still despises them both, but at least that magister seems to let things go).
He’s also the one to clean blood from their armor when Tharaêl decides to attack first when things go shitty, instead of, you know, actually make sure things are shitty and fight cannot be escaped.
But then again, Tharaêl is the one annoyed at Enias trying to talk their way out of any hole, and it’s not like Prophet is a firm believer of not spiting blood, he just doesn’t want to bother, and yes, Tharaêl does find it stupid, because it’s much faster, and, honestly, some people really need to get their asses kicked.
He also think Enias spends too much time getting ready, when they're about to leave to a mission that clearly would ruin Prophet’s good looks anyway (it doesn’t).
Prophet thinks sometimes Tharaêl clearly shows off with his knowledge and the whole “smart” act. Enias knows the guy is pretty educated (might be the only not shitty thing caused by Rhalata), it’s not like he needs to be reminded of it every single time. (One of occasions actually made them end up in argument. And after that Tharaêl actually asked if Prophet would like him to be his tutor. “Just simple things – to write properly, read. And then something else if you want”. It was also when Enias first realized, clearly and brightly, that he was in love).
Tharaêl doesn’t like it when Enias goes dancing every time there is music played somewhere near them, it’s weird and stupid and they waste time. Enias rolls his eyes all the time because Tharaêl is clearly too much insecure to just join him.
Tharaêl doesn’t like it when Prophet gets a little too flirty. But then again, he never crossed the line. He always knew when to step back. He somehow found this perfect line between being sure of himself and being considerate that Tharaêl couldn’t help but appreciate. Prophet doesn’t like it when Tharaêl gets anxious at someone acting nice with him and just decides to be his bitter-moody self. But to see him slowly open up to people around them, even if it’s just a couple of them, is something he loves much more. Narys thinks it’s annoying how overly sweet Enias is with children. It’s just that he can’t bring himself to be so openly affectionate with them. He can’t help but feel like all violence of his life is just written on his face. And maybe he just likes how casually Enias would bite him into showing his soft side once in a while – not in a pitiful, but rather mocking way. Prophet doesn’t like it when Narys simply goes missing for the whole day – he gets used to it in the end, but when Narys only moved in with him it was really unnerving. Maybe it’s the fact that he comes back every time that makes Enias come to terms with it.
He also doesn’t like it when Tharaêl loses himself in a fight so much he doesn’t even notice how much he bleeds. Tharaêl doesn’t like it when Enias drugs him out of the battle, or kills Narys’ target himself, or (it actually happened a couple of times) paralyzes him with a spell to make sure he won’t go back into fight, “because he almost got himself killed”, that one really gets him mad.
It’s just that maybe he doesn’t really mind when Enias checks if he’s alright and then hugs him. And Enias can deal with Tharaêl being a brat about it, when he lightly pats him on a back.
(Oh but Enias rolls his eyes on Tharaêl never hugging him back – it’s not that big deal)
- People think of you in double
Enias just keeps thinking of that one time he came to the Sun Temple on his own, just to ask something, and on sight of him Arantheal said “Oh, Prophet. Your aeterna friend is not with you?”, and then, on Enias’ way back, “And Prophet, please tell your friend Merrayill wants to see him”.
It’s not how it started, of course. It definitely started right after the first time Narys burst into the Sun Temple, when it was his second month in Ark and Prophet just went to “a simple spying mission, it shouldn’t take that long. I don’t even have to stay there to actually spy, just need to settle a couple of things”, and then of course he was gone long enough for Tharaêl to think something was wrong. He didn’t really want to go there, but he just didn’t know what else to do.
So he might have had a fight with a keeper guarding the gates – big deal. Besides, that’s how he and Calia met, and she’s now one of few people actually enjoying Tharaêl’s company. And then she actually took him to the Grandmaster himself, where Tharaêl, not really calmly, demanded to know “where the fuck their precious Prophet” was. Truchessa was angry at him, Arantheal seemed like he was so done with everyone, Pegast burst laugh in her fist and Calia looked really thoughtful, maybe a little worried.
Enias came back, of course, alive and not that undamaged. And Narys actually was so anxious about the whole situation he didn’t even think about Rhalata’s strings in Temple. But the first impression was done, and it just stuck.
Of course, when Tharaêl would appear in temple alone, at least a couple of people would ask how he was here without Prophet. That was just mean.
People just noticed, it couldn’t be helped. Butcher would ask if “mysir Prophet was cooking that dish for mysir Tharaêl again”, because he pretty much learned at this point Enias would not even come near wildfowl. Marita at the baker’s shop once asked if “mysir Narys like that new pie she gave him couple of days ago”. Apothekary at the temple asked Prophet if “his friend’s migraines got any better”. One day Tharaêl went to that sewing shop because all his shirts got too worn. They once have been there with Enias. The shopkeeper clearly remembered him since then, because he kept saying that Tharaêl’s “companion should visit him as soon as possible, he’ll really like these new earrings”. Moody shopkeeper in market’s center straight up called him “Hey, you, Prophet’s boy” when trying to get his attention, and didn’t end up with a blade to his throat only because Tharaêl was already in city guard’s disfavor.
They were sent on little tasks together. Merrayill would always have an extra cup of tea ready on a table when he and Tharaêl would plan on staying late with their studies, because Enias would eventually join them. Even Jespar wouldn’t offer Prophet some wine these days – “Mysir Narys really insisted”.
It was weird – how now there were two of them. One would always wait for another to get home before turning the lights off. Dinner was always cooked for two. There were now two sets on the table. Their house was clearly a house where two people lived. This was the life the two of them lived.
- You don’t really think of the future without each other
A lot of things happened – bad, horrible, terrifying. There was blood, some tears, a lot of swearing on different occasions. There was a lot of danger and insecurity and too much troubles to deal with. People they knew dying, hurting, country being torn apart, High Ones threatening their whole existence. And the past was still hunting them both, their minds would still scream. A lot of times everything just seemed doomed. They both seemed doomed.
And then – there was also peace. There was a first kiss – weird, awkward, a little bit childish, and Enias couldn’t help but laugh after, because “Please tell me it’s not your first kiss ever” – “Of course it’s not, I’m not a prude”, and then they both laughed and Enias would never have it any other way. Then there were a lot of smiles, so much more than Tharaêl thought he was even capable of. Occasional cuddles on sleepless nights when Enias didn’t want to talk. House slowly turning into a home. That one single time they actually danced together when Narys felt especially okay with many things, Enias humming the melody for them. Tharaêl let himself be loved, and tried to let love in return.
Because maybe love was the most basic feeling they were capable of, and maybe it could be brought down to a simple equation. It didn’t changed the fact that when Narys tried to think of the future – no matter how dark and doomed one vision appeared to be, Prophet was still there.
Maybe there was someone to cry for him if he died, at the end of the day. Tharaêl did not say it out loud, sadistically cherishing the thought.
And the thought settled deep enough one day, when they were just resting, talking, and evening sun would come through the window in the most stupid way, and Enias said:
“That’s just weird how they keep making such a big deal out of this. As if they don’t know us for so long already. That’s just how we are, You and I, right?”
And Tharaêl deadpanned, after a second of hesitation:
“Right. We could just get married at this point.”
And Enias didn’t laugh – just looked straight at him, his light brown eyes slightly golden with the sun.
- You are certain
Because Enias didn’t think he was ever more certain. And when Tharaêl smiled – not with laughter, but with actual warm and sincerity – he knew that for sure.
So he said:
“Yes. Exactly.”
And it was like the question asked and the answer given.
***
So, yes, he really wants to get married.
“You seem surprised, Grandmaster.”
Tealor finally pulls himself together.
“A little bit, yes. It is your aeterna friend, am I right? Tharaêl, his name?”
“Yes. I don’t see why you’d be surprised, though. Truchessa practically calls him my companion, and it’s the same thing in this country, isn’t it?”
“Natara doesn’t exactly say it in… a fond way.”
His expression goes a little bit dark, and Enias can’t help but frown.
“What’s the problem?”
“This marriage cannot be arranged. My apologies.”
“What?” Prophet says louder than he’d like to.
“You might have position in our ranks, but your friend is still pathless, which makes this marriage-“
“Oh, screw it, Arantheal,” he’d laugh on Grandmaster’s expression if he didn’t feel so angry, “You put me among your ranks against any rules and laws but letting me marry the man I love is suddenly crossing the line?”
“If you love him that much,” it clearly costs Tealor a lot to keep his tone still, “Why do you even bother with such formalities?”
“Because if I die tomorrow I want to at least be sure he’ll inherit everything I own. Because we both can be dead any day, so why the hell not. Because we just want to.”
Arantheal is silent for a moment.
“We don’t always get what we want.”
“The only man standing between me and what I want is you, Grandmaster,” Enias can’t help but notice. And when Tealor doesn’t answer, he carries on, “And, let’s face it – ever since I joined you, I didn’t ask you of anything. Never once have I used your status, your money, your people. Ever since joining you, I’ve only gave, and gave and gave-“
“We all make our sacrifices, how are yours any different?”
Enias inhales.
“I am not asking for pity. I’m asking for one single thing that’s in your power to do, and you know it. This country is already in so much chaos… What harm can the two of us do?”
Tealor wants to say – a lot. Tealor wants to say – one little stone at the base can make the whole mountain fall. To say he tries to at least save what’s left.
He just sighs instead. He can practically hear Natara being so unhappy about this.
Enias doesn’t care that much – he goes home and tells Tharaêl the news. Tharaêl nods, satisfied, and falls silent for a moment, reconsidering something. And then just lets it go and grabs the man laughing, in his arms, because why not?
And that’s where they are now – waiting for some arrangements to be settled, couple of details discussed, and they still got some time left.
So Prophet visits Jespar again, alone this time. And with a bottle of wine brought along. He also pays for dinner.
“Alright, mysir Dal’Varek,” Enias decides to approach it straightforwardly, “What’s on your mind?”
“It’s just,” and for the first time, Enias thinks, Jespar actually looks lost – not in terms of his moral state, but lost in situation he’s been dragged to, “But my friend, you’re so young. Both of you. You’re younger than me.”
“Yes, I know.”
“And I believe we’ve discussed this - that you also should not live the certain way just because people want you to.”
“I remember that too, yes. I was just under the impression it implied you too.”
That shuts Jespar up. He sits back, clearly unsure.
“I apologies if that came out rude. I just never thought you to be the man of marriage. Both of you, if I’m being honest.”
“I actually do have a soft, romantic spot in me, you know,” Enias smiles softly, “But yes, I… couldn’t exactly foresee this too.”
This actually makes Jespar laugh and Enias laughs with him, tension finally leaving them.
“So it was mysir Narys who proposed… Adorable, I admit, especially because I never would have thought.”
“He’s not that heartless, give him some credit.”
“I don’t think he’s heartless. “Awkward with his feelings” is more fitting.”
Tavern around them is busy and loud, passing by their little conversation. Jespar looks at the girl dancing in a middle of the room, clearly just to let his thoughts settle a little.
“Are you sure about all this? About him?”
Prophet doesn’t hesitate with an answer.
“I am. There are plenty of other things to have doubts on.”
Dal’Varek just nods and pours himself more wine. Then, he raises the cup.
“It takes a great courage to trust your life in someone else’s arms. To have such trust and such love. I applaud to you, my friend. I hope mysir Narys realizes how lucky he is.”
He promises to attend the ceremony.
Till then, Tharaêl is getting a little… Too restless. Clearly fish out of water, trying to get himself busy with something practical, but there’s just simply nothing for him to do now. With a date settled, all they have to do is appear at temple at the right time, then there’ll be a speech from some magister (Enias doesn’t think Tealor will even show up), some words for both of them to say, and then it’s over, and Enias already knows there will be band playing in Dancing Normand that evening, so they’ll just go there.
Enias tries to get him out to buy something pretty to wear to ceremony, but Tharaêl just refuses so Enias only makes sure there’s a decent clear shirt for him to wear. His cloths are already taken care of. Everything is taken care of at this point. Of course they go restless. Both of them. It’s only natural.
So when the day before the ceremony Prophet goes to the Temple to make sure all arrangements are still settled, he as well as runs into Truchessa, and he almost sighs in relief. He actually finds her in a middle of an argument with Tealor – Enias wonders oh what could they be fighting about-
Then they both notice him. Of course.
“Don’t mind me, I was just passing by”.
“It must feel good,” Natara calls to him, her face expressionless, “To know you can do whatever you want. To not think of consequences. To know someone else has already taken care of everything.”
“Well, yes, thank you lady Dal’Varam, marrying someone you love and not someone to keep your path secure actually feels great. Why won’t you come to our ceremony tomorrow? It’ll be right here, in one of the halls. If you behave, you can even go to the tavern with us later after, there’ll be some good music.”
She doesn’t even bother to answer him, her expression going tired and done. She only turns to Tealor:
“I’ve been putting with a lot of questionable decisions of yours. But this one... Mark my word, you made many keepers question your good judgment.”
It’s not a long conversation they have, but yes, it makes him feel a little better.
They don’t sleep well that night, just lay there on bed, cuddling, whispering useless words.
“We really should purchase a bigger one, we barely fit in here.”
“Bigger one would barely fit in this room.”
“Maybe we should place it somewhere else.”
“Upstairs?”
“Maybe.”
“We’ll think about it.”
And then:
“Yaela said she would come. You don’t mind?”
“Why would I? She adores you, I would be surprised if she didn’t come.”
“She doesn’t adore me.”
“Oh, she so does. She clearly has a soft spot for smart aeterna.”
“Oh, shut it.”
And then:
“I wish Letho would be there.”
And it’s not Tharaêl who says so. He stiffens.
“What?”
Prophet breaks from his embrace and sits on bed, looking unsure.
“I just think that would’ve been nice. I think… I think he would’ve been happy for you.”
And Tharaêl looks at him like he doesn’t recognize him.
“Why… Why are you telling me this?”
“I just know there were people who I would really want to be there tomorrow. Not only Esme, - his fingers fly up to the necklace hidden under his shirt, “And… I like to think they would be happy for me. So…”
“And you thought of Letho.”
It hurts. It still hurts and it’s just so stupid because he knows it always hurt. But he’s not mad. What’s inside him is sore, but it’s not bleeding. It feels like a knee hurt in some childish game. Not a battle wound.
So he smiles a little.
“I don’t think he would have liked you,” he says, and Enias gasps.
“Bullshit. Everyone likes me, except for Natara, and there is no way Letho was like Natara.”
“I said he wouldn’t like you, I didn’t say he would mind you.”
Prophet falls silent.
“I…” Narys’ throat goes sore, “I think he would’ve actually been happy with how things turned out… He was always a soft type.”
And then Enias hugs him again, and his shirt gets dump where Tharaêl hides his face in his shoulder, and so he presses a light kiss to aeterna’s still so short hairline. They finally fall asleep.
The big day arrives, and it’s really weird, because nothing changes. The world around them goes as usual. Their neighbor blacksmith gets ready for work, Golden Sickle office gets open, market is already filled with sounds.
Prophet stands in front of a mirror, fixing his light leather jacket, his shirt fitting perfectly, boots already polished, earrings sparkling, black hair combed in a low bun.
“Shit, you’re… Sorry,” comes the voice from behind him.
“You can just say I look stunning, it’s alright, we’re practically ma-“ words fail him as Enias turns around and sees Narys ready to go, in a casual black shirt and most casual pair of pants, and, this is just wrong, you can’t have two criminally gorgeous beings under the same roof.
One time, after a particularly cheesy compliment, Tharaêl got really unsure and stated he was not that handsome and Prophet was exaggerating. Screw this guy.
“You look really good,” is all Prophet is able to say, and Narys rubs his neck awkwardly.
“Thank you. You look good too. Really. So… Are you ready to go?”
And so – they go.
Funniest thing is how fine ceremony goes. It’s almost anticlimactic – their friends and so to say colleagues come, some keepers they recognize but are still surprised to see, a magister they don’t actually know reads this long Malphas’s Blessing Speech, guides them to be good companions to each other and blah-blah-blah.
They have rings – simple, mostly meaningless iron rounds, because to go for something shiny and expensive in their line of work would be just stupid. They exchange them, say a couple of simple words none of them actually cares about.
And then it’s done. Magister congratulates them both, Jespar whistles, Calia smiles warmly, and others approach them and congratulate them and it’s just so bizarrely simple and off they have to look at each other to make sure this is actually happening.
They all go straight to the tavern to not overthink things to much, and Enias is about to dance his feet off. So he dances, Jespar gets drunk, so does Lishary, Calia and Yuslan won’t admit they’re a little bit tipsy, Enias swears he saw a familiar old face outside the window, (but he really doubts Arantheal would actually come here willingly), Tharaêl and Lexill sit in the corner talking, but at least Narys looks relaxed, so Prophet won’t annoy him with his own opinion on “real” fun. The band is really nice and, figuring there’s a celebration happening in front of them, clearly play their best. The place smells of wine, sweat and cooked meat and is filled with music, laughter and drum of feet hitting the floor. Prophet doesn’t think he can get any happier.
Almost. He’s not sure how things are done in Enderal, and Ostian’s weddings are just the worst. But he’s still got some Kilean blood in him. Kilean wedding is nothing without some newlyweds dancing.
“Please, just this one time,” he practically begs Tharaêl whose eyes are soft and smiling even as he tries to refuse (which is really hard – the whole tavern baits him to dance at this point).
“I just really prefer to watch, you know?” he tries to say over the music. Enias suddenly feels really self-aware. His cheeks might also be blushing terribly.
“Mysir Narys really insists, my friend,” Lexill says with a smile a little too mischief for him, “Surely that won’t hurt?”
And now it’s Tharaêl’s turn to blush as a teenager and be self-aware. This whole marriage deal might be pleasant and he would never change his mind, but it doesn’t mean he’s not still coming to terms with it. Dancing in room full of people won’t exactly help with it.
But just one dance won’t hurt. It’s a special day, after all.
He feels clumsy and not really comfortable, but Prophet smiles reassuringly and leads the dance, and he realizes no one really pays that much attention to them.
“Told you I’d take your name,” Enias smirks, and Tharaêl fights the urge to step on his foot.
“I’m still the one in profit. Don’t forget I’m the one to inherit all your money. So how about you watch both your tongue and your back?”
And Prophet laughs brightly, his cheeks still flushed, hair gone loose and clothes not so neat anymore. It also looks like he lost one of his earrings.
“Right, because you’re clearly the gold-digger type. I should have known better”.
Tharaêl laughs and eyes the tavern, with music still on but their guests clearly done for tonight.
“It might be enough celebration for today, don’t you think?” he whispers.
“Mother used to say they could celebrate for weeks on Blue Islands” Enias answers, but his voice is quitter, little hoarse from constantly talking over loud music.
“Well, this is just Enderal, I’m afraid.”
“ Don’t be. It’s alright. I like it here better, despite… All the bad things”.
And so they make it home long past midnight, sleepy as hell but both smiling nevertheless.
“What are you going to do with your ring?” Enias asks when they’re about to go to sleep.
“Don’t know yet. You?” he asks in return, because this is clearly why the question is brought. Prophet silently takes off his necklace and, before Tharaêl can even make a sound, opens it and slides his ring down the string, till it reaches bigger beads.
“Oh,” is all Tharaêl says, and Enias puts necklace back on with a satisfied smile, “But you do know you can lose it like this too, right?”
“I don’t actually care if a lose it. It’s just a piece of metal, isn’t it?” and Tharaêl smirks knowingly.
In fairytales and novels, wedding is the long-awaited happy ending. Enias would love it to be that way, Tharaêl might have let it slide. But just as it was that day, nothing about the world around them changes the next day, or the day after, or any other day at all. Well, maybe Prophet will just throw occasional “My husband” here and there, instead of saying Tharaêl’s name in a normal human way, and maybe they snuggle more than before, just sometimes, because, again – nothing changes.
The world is still dying, people are going mad, and they are still little miserable bugs in a grand scheme of things, engaging in their little illusion games, useless and build on sand. It’s just that even though such thing as marriage is nothing but a foolish act of pretending whatever humans do matter, Enias and Tharaêl actually feel like everything matters now. Never before they felt more on top of the world – in a middle of the end.