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Beholden to the palace when it calls as they are, Halbern's appearances are few and far otherwise. Mehen is expecting such a summon for Valer soon. Though—normally preparations wouldn't lead to an outing. The colliding forces of it being nigh time for clothes to be commissioned in advance of the season and Arelyn offhandedly expressing nostalgia for the handful of instances they had truly gone out together in her youth effortlessly upturned the scales.
("There's a charm to picking something personally, even though I know Mom will buy plenty for me regardless of this trip," the girl herself points out. "Halbern is always in the position to start trends anyways, with our looks—it's no concern whether a style is in fashion or not," she nods sagely like it's an irrefutable fact.)
So, here they were in an extensively vetted and fully reserved boutique days later: Valer blissfully sandwiched inbetween Mehen and Arelyn with the exalted role of catalog holder as they looked at designs.
Mehen tilts his head to peek at the underside of a page, trapping it between his index and thumb. The other two skimmed offerings on his right. This shop in El Sionel serviced any gender, and was well on its way to make a name for itself in both design and make. He technically had a hand in its establishment—the business was one of many with roots originating from Halbern, having jumped onto the opportunity offered by the fledgling city. In conjunction with Sperom, considerable funding had been set aside for artisanal grants, allowing for a rich, well-sustained cultural scene. Once he could bear to, special attention was paid to developments in the music sector, even if it paled to Arelyn's playing in his memory.
Letting the page slip out of his hold, Mehen resolves to arrange more outings together. Arel should enjoy her birthday present thoroughly, albeit delayed over a decade, he can't help but note.
Conceding once again to Valer's logic (unopposed to giving their daughter the world, he still remembers balking and running logistics in the same breath when his liege first brought up the idea): it's a good gift. Fittingly, as a monument with Lady Sione's name—a dynamic, bustling city, and a powerful leverage—Arelyn will be well-cared with it backing her for years to come.
"Found anything you like?" Mehen prods, finally joining his lord and lady in parsing…the in-house spring collection.
Some of those designs were displayed on mannequins they saw while coming in. He even marked-for-later a coral dress that would suit Arelyn, if she took a shine to it. The deeper color and halter neck certainly matched her preferences as of late, and he mentioned to her as such.
"Here? Mostly for you, rather than for us," Valer responds for the both of them. Trailing over the array of garments, he elaborates, "The earthen tones fit your taste, and so do the bell sleeves. Our Arelyn already picked out another dress—this one over here." Arel nods along as her Dad gestures to a high-collared periwinkle dress with pink-flecked ornaments.
Contemplatively, she comments "..It'd be nice to get something matching, thinking about it. I was always happy when I coincidentally matched with Mom."
Feeling left out, Valer's expression takes on the beginnings of a pout before Arelyn placates with her continuation—"Let's coordinate this time, with Dad too."
Warm and amused, Mehen goes along with it: "Why not use our eye colors, then? Purple, pink, and green."
They workshop a few ideas. No need to rush—for something as sentimentally important as this, only the best will do.
He nudges Arelyn towards the jewelry displays, "Go browse. Tell us if there's anything that catches your eye." Tapping against the small of Valer's back, he sends his liege the same direction to watch over her, before turning to put in their orders.
She might want to wander the district a little more after this… They had set off early so Arelyn could explore before going to the boutique—a good call. She darted around so much it inadvertently tired him just following. Her energy had quadrupled, as if making up for her adolescent years.
("Having trouble keeping up?"
Mehen grumbles, "The duties you neglect keep me home-bound and stuck at my desk. The most I do is speed walk around whatever residence we occupy, and she has your constitution these days. Of course I am."
Valer playfully croons, "Shall I carry my dear wife? Take the pressure off your feet?"
Taking a faux-serene breath, closing his eyes—Mehen jabs his liege in the side and glares, hissing, "You're too much."
His lord, unflinching, calls over Arelyn and unlatches his cape to shuffle both of them under it anyways. He ushers the two to a bench, having noticed the way Mehen started to shift his weight when idle.)
By the time he gets back, they're looking at rings.
"—marry him. I want Mehen on our family tree," the subject of discussion hears as he makes his way over.
"Arelyn," He chides, feeling a bit like he got hoodwinked with a bomb.
Her lips quirk but she's not at all admonished.
It's a balm to see Arelyn vivacious despite the havoc she's wreaked since coming back. This, however, certainly does nothing to stop the flush from rising to his ears and cheeks. Mehen doesn't suppress his exasperation and loves her all the same anyways, covering the heat with a hand.
Valer, that horrible man, jumps on the chance to wring a reaction out of his typically imperturbable companion. It might as well be his specialty.
Resting a hand around the curve of Mehen's hip and slinking the other down an arm, to the fingertips not obscuring his embarrassment. He kneels. Cranking up his seductions to a sickeningly loving level, Valer happily proposes: "Darling! Let's renew our vows ♡"
His face is actively burning at this point. Small mercies: they aren't in the open public. It's just them and their daughter. That might be worse, actually.
His brain sputters and gives up: anger it is. Striking the fool's head, "We haven't even gotten rings for the first time, asshole!"
"What do you think about wearing a lily-esque suit? Something flashy for a change? You'd look good in a matching veil too," Valer staunchly ignores his dissent in favor of jumping up and whimsically fantasizing marriage affirmation plans for a union that doesn't exist—guiding the held hand closer to him, nuzzling into it.
"..Shut up...enough," Mehen musters out, steam practically billowing, an updraft for his disintegrated composure.
Eyes flicking away—unable to keep fixed on his suitor—he's dying. Valer mock-kisses the inside of his wrist with an obnoxious sound for the finale of his ridiculous act before carefully bunting their heads together in a more heartful display and obliging (Mehen tamps down the impulse to headbutt hard), shepherding him into a plush seat to cool off.
Arelyn swoops for the spot next to Mehen (sapped and melting into the armchair cushions, her Dad having been shooed into the other couch). Leaning her slack onto his back, she calls, stretching out the sound, "Mommm.."
Mehen doesn't even have to see the puppy-eyes to sense they're being used.
He carefully turns around as to not knock her off, and steadies her in his arms, on his chest—all to firmly grasp and squish her face as if she were still a child. Tinted with leftover blush: "Troublemaker," Mehen accuses, scolding, "don't give your Dad any more ammunition." Little conviction or harshness can be found in his tone—truthfully unable to stay upset at her in any meaningful way, here.
Arelyn just hums noncommittally and presses into his touch.
They trail behind each other like ducklings, on their way out. Mehen in the front, having managed to collect himself, with Arelyn following close behind, and Valer taking the rear.
(Before they load into Ether and set off for home, Arelyn mischievously whispers to Valer, "We should get Mehen that outfit and ring. Isn't white a nice backdrop for our colors?")