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It starts in Cobblestone.
Your mother means well, as does the rest of the village- they see you and Gemma get along quite nicely, the only ones your age in the area, and it's hardly a surprise that they would think about how nice it would be for you two to become childhood sweethearts, to have a nice, traditional wedding and settle in a nice, traditional cottage with Sandy and a nice, traditional gaggle of one to seven children.
And, listen, you like Gemma.
A lot.
But.
Perhaps you're just young, far too young to see the appeal in that mental image, you know?
Perhaps that's why all those whispers and hints and teasing do is make you feel like your skin is three sizes too small, make your smile wobble and your cheeks burn uncomfortably whenever the chief, or old Elowen, or Mr. Pasco, or even mum tell you to keep Gemma by your side and make her... happy.
(The eyebrow waggling sure does a lot of heavy lifting with that "happy", huh.)
(You are young, but not so young that you don't grasp the implications therein.)
So, when Ms. Gwendolen corners you with all the intention of giving you "tips" on how to have a "fruitful" marriage, you laugh, strained and awkward, and mumble out some excuse that sounds suspiciously like "I need to go saddle the chickens" as you all but bolt down the street.
"Must be nice."
"Hm?"
To be honest, you miss the hot baths already.
The sauna had felt incredible on your tired limbs, hot steam loosening every knot in your back and making your knees and other joints feel like they'd turnt to butter, but the best part had been their effect on Erik.
You like Erik, and in a way that has... only partially to do with the half-aborted thoughts that tend to pop up whenever his tunic shows a little too much of his chest, or how he has apparently decided that "Her favourite little leaf" and "partner" are perfectly fine ways to address you.
He's nice, or at least nicer than most people have been to you ever since you left the village; not a high bar to be honest, and you know for a fact he has some ulterior motive in travelling with you, but regardless of the hows and whys he has been there to drag you back from the pit of your own brain after witnessing what had happened to Cobblestone, to teach you how to forage while on the run, how to better deal with the cold and how to wrap a wound properly so that it doesn't get infected if you don't have herbs available.
He even offers hugs whenever you're down, regardless of his obvious misgivings on physical touch, so yes.
He's nice.
That doesn't mean he isn't aloof, however.
Whether it's part of his bad boy persona, simple reclutance to get too close to others, or an innate part of his personality, seeing him genuinely relaxed and open is a rarity; hence, your appreciation for the way the sauna had seemingly melted away at least some of his walls, making him sink bonelessly against the seating and look at you with half-lidded eyes that would have definitely given you the wrong idea had they come from a girl.
It's a shame you couldn't linger more, but you guess that gaining two new party members is in theory well worth your friend going back to his old snarky ways sooner.
Yes.
In theory.
He raises an eyebrow. "Arborian twin sisters falling to their knees to recite an oath of devotion to you? That's a dream come true for many a man, you know," he grins, bursting into laughter as you can feel your face go red hot at the sudden, mortifying thoughts that flood your brain.
Sure, Serena's really pretty, and nice, and sweet, and you would be a liar if you said that her kneeling in front of you like that wasn't enough to fluster you to previously unseen levels because Luminary powers do not include the ability to be casual around very attractive people you didn't literally grow up with.
But still, you hadn't thought about it like that (really!) until Erik alluded to it, and now you can't stop thinking about it, and...
... And then your thoughts move to Veronica.
The grimace that you can feel twisting your face, sudden like lightning, must be horrendous, because Erik just laughs even harder.
You're not entirely sure you like the way Prince Faris is looking at you.
You feel... judged?
Maybe.
It's not the first time- farmboy that you are, meeting aristocracy always makes you feel like a big, bumbling, underdressed oaf even when they aren't locking you into the dungeons and sending their knights to burn your hometown down for the crime of raising you- but this feels...
... different.
Less like a haughty royal deeming your clothes too hilariously rustic to fit within his palace, and more like you're a piece of pork on the butcher's counter and he's considering whether you would make for good roast for the solstice feast or not.
As he saunters away to his rooms, uncaring or perhaps just none the wiser regarding the glare Erik is sending his way and his invite hovering in the air between you, you take a deep breath to calm yourself down.
"Maybe if we dress Robin up in that belly dancer outfit we found before sending him in there, he'll give us the rainbough for free."
Saliva goes down the wrong tube and suddently your priority is not choking to death, while Erik bites out an ice-cold "excuse me?" that does nothing to help your poor heart go back to its normal working order.
Veronica doesn't seem threatened, instead looking you up and down in an uncomfortable imitation of what Faris just did. "Well, he doesn't cut the worst figure out there when he's freshly bathed and not caked up in mud and blood, and judging by the way the Prince was eating him up with his eyes he clearly agrees with that notion." She shrugs. "All I'm saying is, if it gets us the branch earlier-"
"We- we are not selling the bloody Luminary off for a branch, no matter how magical it is!"
She puts her hands on her hips, belligerant the way only an adult in the body of a ten year old can be. "Well, why not? Gallopolis is pretty laid back on male concubines, so it's not like people are going to give him grief over it. All he needs to do is walk in, shake his butt a little bit, and..."
"Veronica," interrupts Serena, placid like a mountain lake even as she pats your back. Bless her. "I don't think the dancer garb would look good on cyanotic skin."
It takes you a good ten minutes to recover, even as they all dote on you.
(Finding out, after all that, that all Faris wants is a body double for the race is simultaneously mortifying and relieving.)
(Veronica will later assure you that she had been just joking. But you think, just out of precaution, that you're going to burn that fucking outfit the moment you have access to a campfire.)
"So."
You look up at Sylvando, enthralled once more by how strong he looks, despite his relatively willowy frame. Nobody looked quite like that in Cobblestone, and you can't help but feel as if he's one of the most interesting guys you've ever met, in a good way. "Yes?"
He leans back against the mast, lips curling into a smile. "So," he repeats, "tell me about Erik."
Ah.
Well.
Hm.
Now, there's many reasons he could be asking.
Such as wanting to know more about a teammate after he went as far as to take that spell in your stead (and won't that star in your nightmares for a hot while), being curious about the one person who wasn't quite as enthused as everyone else when he joined the party, or simply thinking Erik is cute.
Which he is, to be fair.
But, somehow, you get the feeling that might not be the case.
"What do you want to know?" you ask, probably warier than the poor man deserves.
"How did you two meet?"
... Oh, that's an easy question to answer.
You're no storyteller, shy dolt that you are, but you do like reminiscing about that time, so you eagerly launch yourself into a retelling of your first adventures together, noting with some timid smidgen of joy that Sylvando seems actually interested. The encouraging smiles and hums actually get you through the whole story, from the dungeons to the waterfall, and by the time you're done you find yourself actually feeling... a little bit better.
Still worried over him, but just a little bit lighter.
Sylvando tilts his head, studying you for a couple seconds with a soft smile and an interested glint in his eyes. "It's a rare thing, you know, finding someone you click so well with," he says, eventually. "Me and Davey- ah, we're old friends, and I wouldn't change what we have for anything in the world, but I do envy you darlings' bond. Just a little bit."
You can feel yourself blush, but Sylvando shakes his head and pats your shoulder. "Cherish each other, honey. Trust me on this."
At that, all you can do is nod sheepishly.
It is late, far too late in the evening when Rab decides to drop the bombshell of a lifetime on you.
In the brief time you've been travelling together it has become apparent that the man has the soul of a troubadour: nearly every time you settle down for the night at a camp he's there, sitting next to the fire to grace your ears with tales and legends straight from Dundrasil.
... You don't consider yourself drasilian and probably never will, the word "home" bringing to mind a completely different set of ruins, and- though you wouldn't admit to it out loud even under torture because you have the sneaking suspicion it would hurt him quite a bit- you also struggle to think of the drasilian royal family as, well.
Your family.
(Blood can only carry you so far, you guess.)
Still, that doesn't mean you're not interested in learning more about your biological parents and the place they came from, and so you spend any evening you're not busy at the forge listening to Rab in rapt attention, as he details the festivals and dishes of his land and recounts funny anecdotes about his daughter and son in law.
This evening it's the turn of traditional drasilian weddings. Which turns out to be a rather fun affair- or at least until Rab follows up the description of the elaborate wedding gowns worn by the high court' ladies by turning to Jade and addressing her.
"... An', well. Let me tell ya Princess, the royal tailors were dyin' to make ya one. Showed me the designs as well: a proper beauty, it would've been. A sad affair that they never managed ta finish it," he finishes, voice turning wistful.
She blinks, seemingly at a loss. "They... wanted to make me a gown?"
You're quite confused as well. Jade might have been all but raised by Queen Eleanor, but she was still Heliodoran; you won't claim to understand royal politics or etiquette (or, uh, etiquette in general, to be fair), but wouldn't that have been overstepping?
Rab doesn't seem to notice your hesitation. "But a' course! It was planned ta be one of your weddin' gifts after all. What kind of in laws would we be, if we refused ta splurge on your and Robin's wedding?"
... It is somewhat heartening, to see the look of complete and utter horror on your face being mirrored on Jade's.
(It probably should be a wee bit offensive but, who are you kidding. You get it.)
"We were betrothed?" she asks, with the tone of someone who just found out they accidentally had their first kiss with a cousin.
Which... might not be all that inaccurate of a description, thinking about it. After all you might barely know each other from your point of view, having only travelled together for a couple weeks, but she's made it abundantly clear that she sees you as pretty much her long lost little brother: the idea that they had apparently decided to marry you two off to each other before you were even born must sound even more offputting to her than it does to you.
Being betrothed since birth...
Maybe Robin mac Darios, Crown Prince of Dundrasil, First of His Name, wouldn't have seen anything wrong with that.
You shudder and for a brief, wildly inappropriate second, before the reality of the situation catches up to you and reminds you that your chastity would not be an equal exchange to an entire kingdom's worth of lives, you thank any god that will listen that you're not him.
That's it. You officially hate beguilement.
Now, to be fair that seems to be the general consensus of any monster hunter, explorer or survivalist who has ever had to interact with monsters on a regular basis, but still-
You hate beguilement so much.
Especially when the caster themselves has decided to fixate on you and is now determined to add you to her "masterpiece" as eye-candy, entirely uncaring of your personal opinions on the matter.
(Listen, you like your hair. You wouldn't spend so much time taking care of it if you didn't. But why are so many people- and, er, entities apparently- apparently obsessed with it? Hello? Your eyes are down here!)
Coming back to being held down by a teammate, Dora's body crumbling to pieces in background, and realizing that you have spent the past ten minutes trying to murder your friends is embarrassing enough.
But having that teammate be a red-faced, panting Erik, his weight a burning brand on your lap and around your wrists, and Sylvando and Jade both looking at you like they're trying really hard not to laugh at your misery? Now, that's enough to make you consider jumping off the platform and into the void, Mordegon be damned.
Sylvando sighs, eyeing your lap with an amused quirk of his eyebrow. "Ah, the virility of youth."
You let your head fall back down on the stone floor with a groan.
Damn it all.
You're being stared at.
By- you surreptitiously check again- Sylvando, Erik and Jade.
... Do you have bird shit on your hair?
You check, coming to the relieving conclusion that, no, that's not why they're boring a hole in the back of your head.
It doesn't solve the mystery, though. Mystery which deepens the moment you knock on Purscilla's room door and Sylvando grabs Erik by the hood and all but yoinks him back, before grinning at you in a way that is just a bit too innocent for it to not be suspicious.
"Do go on, darling. We'll be right here for emotional support."
You narrow your eyes at him, before walking in to give the girl her news.
She listens with rapt attention as you read off the article from your notes, nodding thoughtfully all the while.
"Sharing a secret..." she mumbles to herself as you finish, and you shrug.
"I guess it would be a show of trust. And then you can spend some time together and bond a little bit. Doing stuff together is a pretty good way to build up positive feelings."
(You would know.)
Purscilla looks up at you, long eyelashes fluttering as she... maybe-smiles. Hard to say. "You mean, like what we've been doing?"
"I guess?" Sending someone to do an errand for you hardly sounds all that romantic to you, but perhaps you're just not a very romantic person. The knight in shining armour marrying the princess he's met all but once is a very popular cliché in fairytales, after all.
A snort comes from behind you, but you don't even have the time to turn around that Purscilla clears her throat. "You... do understand what I was trying to say, yes? About what we have been doing? Together?"
... For a long second you just still, blinking at her as your brain registers an important factoid it had previously neglected to take into consideration:
You are the only male student enrolled at the Academie.
Oh.
Oooh.
You... probably should have guessed far earlier where this was going, shouldn't you? No surprise that half of your teammates were looking at you like that, they were probably waiting for you to either realize on your own or harmlessly embarrass yourself in front of, uh.
A fan.
(It occurs to you that you might be a bit stupid, as you recall her saying something about perfect hair.)
You turn to your friends, taking note of Serena's delighted smile and everyone else's badly contained laughter as they look at you from outside the room and narrowing your eyes at them.
Assholes.
"Right. Excuse me for a second while I get rid of our annoying audience-" you stomp up to the door, closing it among the disappointed complaints of your party, before turning back to truly look at her.
You're aware you should probably be feeling uncomfortable. Perhaps even disgusted. Lips(es? What's the proper plural there?) are hardly known as attractive creatures for human standards, and Purscilla isn't an exception to that.
But somehow, the disgust just doesn't come. It's almost sweet, actually: it's nothing like Dora's possessive attempted brainwashing or even Gemma's laissez-faire attitude, content with letting the rest of the village try and set you up no matter how invasive they got.
It's just a confession, eager and genuine, and you don't want to disrespect the courage that it took, if only because she's being braver than you.
You bow your head, a little awkwardly. "I'm flattered, but... I'm afraid I can't accept."
She wilts, just a bit. You might not be very good at reading her expression, but you don't need to be to tell she's disappointed. "Oh. May I ask why?"
You consider several of the kinder possible answers, which also would just so happen to be entirely honest: that you hardly know her, surely not enough to date, that you're always on the move and would be unable to have an involved relationship, that you're not sure you're ready for a relationship in general- but eventually settle on one.
"There's already someone I have feelings for," you admit, a hand moving to sheepishly scratch your nape. "So I think that saying yes wouldn't be fair to either of us."
For a long second she's silent as she scrutinizes you. Then, right as you're about to break into a cold sweat, she sighs.
"Ah, I knew I had good taste. Ever the gentleman, even when rejecting me." She clicks her tongue, miffed. "Well, that's matters of the heart for you. You can't control who you fall for, I know that all too well," she nods sagely, and you smile at her, relieved beyond measure that she took it well.
"For what it's worth, I'll be there to support you if you ever find someone else."
"Hm. Well, you better confess to this girl you like. I won't forgive you if you don't!"
You chat for a couple more minutes before you say goodbye. As you exit her room, you answer Erik's startled gaze with a bright grin.
You know, at this point you're kind of used to the whole... attempted matchmaking thing.
After all, you're the Luminary, the prince of the lost kingdom of Dundrasil, and the contents of Gyldygga's castle have long since resolved any issue with money you might have ever had: you might feel unworthy of the first title, pretty indifferent towards the second one, and haunted at night by the ghosts of the monsters you stripped of their golden flesh, but you can kind of understand where the appeal behind being related to a rich royal with a direct mental link to the goddess of life itself might be.
It's the first time, however, that the subject of said matchmaking is dead.
Not even an undead, no, you've been there already- they agreed to wait until after you yourself have passed to offer again, which by the way was pretty nice of them-
Literally just... dead.
Cold, buried, and long since reincarnated.
You commend the effort it must have taken Father Benedictus to hold off on mentioning the nature of Erdwin's relationship with Serenica, because now that the floodgates are open he just.
Won't stop.
Mentioning it.
It's Serenica this, Serenica that, any more ancient gossip and you might have to pour hot wax in your ears before they can give you the sordid details of their wedding night.
You wouldn't put it past them, by this point.
It's with an inner grimace that you awkwardly extract yourself from a conversation with Benedictus to join Serena on the marble balustrade, horribly aware of how the old man's gaze brightens at what he doubtlessly believes to be a budding (returning?) romance between the Hero and the Sage, but hey.
You can't stop hanging out with a dear friend just because some people can't seem to be normal about it.
She says nothing as you drop down next to her with a weary sigh, but the slight nod she aims your way doesn't escape your notice.
You simply sit in silence for a few, comfortable minutes, before she finally speaks up. "Have they been giving you grief over Erdwin and Serenica again? I'm so sorry."
You shake your head. "No harm done, they mean well. Besides, you'd think me used to that by now." You smile, but you can tell it doesn't reach your eyes. "It feels like I get a marriage proposal every other day, sometimes."
Serena doesn't smile back, and you feel it slipping off your face.
"... Are they pestering you over it as well?" you eventually ask, all but whispering. How long has this been going on, you want to add, but you have a horrible feeling you might already know the answer to be something along the lines of "oh, about sixteen to eighteen years".
"... You know, I never quite realized how much they all saw me as just one half of Serenica until Veronica died," she says, voice almost painfully even, and you can feel your heart give a harsh little squeeze in your chest. "Nor, how much I defined myself off other people. My sister first, then my ancestor, my people, the Luminary..." she trails off, and suddently you're not just uncomfortable anymore.
You're not an angry person, never have been, but right now? You really feel like having a few choice words with the Arborian clerics, because how dare they.
You clear your throat, biting down a couple rude words and scooting closer to your friend instead. "Should I tell them their precious Erdwin is a sodomite? That might get them off our backs."
It's supposed to be a joke, but you surprise yourself with the realization that it's... not entirely one. You really would do that for her, if it helped.
Even more surprising is when Serena looks up at you, a frown on her face. "You're not Erdwin, though. You're yourself."
You just blink at her, before your lips curl into a tentative smile. "And you're not Serenica. Right?"
She smiles back. "Right."
Now that you're not still reeling from almost dying and losing everything dear to you, again, you find that being a fish isn't so bad.
Actually, it's almost... relaxing, feeling the water hold your little body up and swimming around to your heart's content as the mermaids and fishmen compliment the sheen of your scales and the elegant shape of your fins.
And oh my, but you are popular like this. And not in a weird way, for once! The merfolk simply seem to like you a lot and find it flattering that you'd ask Queen Marina to turn you back into a fish, and thus are rather happy to shower your new form with praises like old grannies.
It's rather endearing, everything considered.
Which is why, when you catch Chancellor Selacius aiming an adoring gaze at you and said Queen, no alarm bells ring in your brain.
... At least until he opens his mouth to helpfully inform you that, by the way, the court would be delighted to have you as her official... companion.
As a fish, of course.
And that notion raises so many questions (that... you're not entirely sure you want answered, to be honest), that all you can do is freeze on the spot as Marina starts unelegantly sputtering that first, she could be your great-grandmother second, she doesn't need the court to arrange an union for her and third, you can't just drop something like that on some human boy with no warning, what is wrong with you.
(Huh, you realize as you hear her fumble a rhyme in her stress. So they do talk like that because they like to, and not because they need to.)
"... Did that Magic Marionette just flirt with Robin?"
The monster in question just floats away, none the wiser even as you all just stare at its retreating form.
After a few seconds of stunned silence, Erik sighs. "Well, at least we now know it has good taste in men."
(Even Veronica's fake-retching in background isn't enough to dim your grin as he gives your hand an affectionate squeeze.)
(You wonder if Drustan would be alright with you using a wish to build an extra house in Cobblestone.)
You'd think they would have given up on trying to set you up with her, at this point.
It's...
...
... The worst part, you think, is probably the fact that in any other situation you actually might have ended up marrying Gemma. You aren't so naive as to be unaware of the first inkling of feelings you had for her at fifteen, and if you'd ended up staying in Cobblestone they actually might have grown into something more than just "pretty childhood friend I care about a whole lot".
(You think about it, sometimes. Less with longing and more with idle curiosity, but you do wonder how life would have turnt out for you in that case. Perhaps you would have liked being the father of one to seven kids in a nice, traditional cottage, who knows.)
(Then you think about your life now, and how happy you are, and decide that you don't really care to find out.)
Still, this... pushing, and prodding, all of it was stifling and uncomfortable back then when it was all you knew and it's doubly stifling and uncomfortable now, when you feel as if everything that has happened while you were travelling around Erdrea has shaped you into someone completely different from ye olde Robin of Cobblestone who just got off the Tor.
Life goes on, people change, and all that. Nowadays even Gemma hardly looks all that stoked at the unsubtle, sometimes bordering on inappropriate comments that keep coming from any of your gossiping neighbours whenever they spot you so much as talking to each other.
(She's figured it out, you think, some time between Erik and Mia moving in and that time she walked in on you two arguing over the curtains like you've been married ten years. It's just an assumption, but you now own a set of bedsheets embroidered with both of your initials somewhere in your closet, so you think you're onto something.)
Still, you'd hoped they would hold off on the gossiping, at least on the first anniversary of Calasmos' defeat.
You find yourself picking at your meal, mouth tight as Mr. And Mrs. Hammett have an animated discussion on the hows and whens you should officially ask Gemma to be your wife now that the world is at peace, what said wedding should look like, and even what you should name the children that would undoubtedly result from your passionate wedding night.
(Because that's just what everyone wants to hear at dinner, innit.)
(Everyone looks uncomfortable except them. Everyone.)
You're kind of annoyed, you realize with a start.
You moved in with a man and started raising some chickens and a whole teen girl with him. You sleep in the same bed, bathe together, and you're sure half of the village was there to eavesdrop on you promising your futures to each other on the Tor. Just how much more explicit can you be, short of writing "confirmed bachelor" on both of your foreheads?
What more can you do, to have these people stop pushing their expectations on you, no matter how well meaning?
"... And well, everyone knows it's all a matter of skill," is saying old Pasco, among the wise nodding of everyone around the table. "Canny expect ta make a bird happy jus' by virtue of size, but cheldern these days will have you think that's all tha' matters."
Something in you snaps.
"Well, Erik's never had anything bad to say about my skills in that specific regard, so I guess I'm doing quite fine for myself," you finally bite out, before your brain catches up with the absolute insanity that has just made its way out of you without any input on your part.
The click of your teeth meeting as you shut your mouth echoes like a cannon shot as silence falls around you.
You stand up mechanically, carefully avoiding everyone's wide-eyed gazes, and speed-walk back home and into your room without looking back once.
You sit on the bed, blankly staring at the wall.
Well.
Time to find a way to occupy yourself before Erik comes to murder you.