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A band decorates Mehen's ring finger: rose gold, the patina toned to mimic the shade of his hair—embedded with gems to depict white lilies in a narrow, glamorous mosaic.
("What." His tone is frazzled, itching to punch the other.
"Got you a ring, dear," Valer repeats with a beam. The shithead tanks a hit and catches his fist on the next, relaxedly cushioning the force, sliding the grasp around to brush over knuckles and slot his fingers right where Mehen's curl into his palm. He doesn't pry at them.
This guy.. "Won't you accept it? I worked hard," he wheedles.
Mehen slackens minutely in bewilderment. (Worked hard? What does that mean coming from someone like him..) The other takes the chance to gently unfurl his hand and slip the gift onto his ring finger.
Curtly, eyes judging: "Why?"
"For our vows, of course." Mehen shoots him a look saying that's not the full truth I'm asking after and I know it.
He… needs to sleep this off. Valer lets him manhandle and push him towards the door. Strong enough to not budge at all, it somehow irks Mehen more he's so compliant.
Valer steals a look at the hand on his left shoulder. Mehen can see the satisfied edge of his smile, and the way it turns a touch enigmatic right at the door: "It's practical too, promise.")
Mehen kept the ring on his finger, too tired to search for a chain to fashion it into a necklace but not keen on haphazardly placing it on his nightstand either. He almost forgets about it in the morning, the metal skin-warmed. It doesn't catch on things day to day despite its extravagance either, he notices.
The sheer prideful bliss in the bit of Valer's expression he caught—probably because it dresses him up a touch and exerts a claim in one—ultimately solidifies the ring's place regardless of how it makes him want to use up his vacation days to avoid facing the connotation.
..And he can't brush off the "practical" comment. Wouldn't put it past Valer to have weaved in something insane, whether with his ability or somehow with magic. There are few better than his lord at obscuration on top of that.
Mehen is well-versed in plenty of languages—the basis of magic—but he lacks sensitivity and the inherent affinity itself. He finds himself reluctant to part with the gift, despite half of its purpose likely being to tease him. He could ask Arelyn to examine it? He gets the sense there's too much effort and sincerity in it to thoughtlessly discard, and Mehen has no interest in being disproportionally mean to Valer.
Sipping at his coffee, newspaper read and set aside, he lets the sunrise gleam across the ring. Hearing the sunroom's doorknob turn a moment later, figuring it's either the archduke or their daughter—he simply watches as someone lets themselves into the lounge.
…Pale pink eyes appear: his little girl. "Good morning, Mom," she greets sleepily.
"Good morning, Arel," he returns. Putting down his cup, he prompts, "Come here? You don't normally wake this early..."
Already on her way over before he beckoned, she drapes herself over Mehen and the chair, managing to end up partially upright. He brushes her hair to the side and reaches for the cup again, taking another glug before Arelyn paws at it to steal a sip.
Mehen lets her take the whole mug.
Resting his head against a hand and patting her midsection as she goes through the drink, he takes the sight of her in, alive and healthy. "Ah, wait"—snapping out of his momentary reverie, eyes widening—"I shouldn't be letting you drink that on an empty stomach," he taps Arelyn's cheek, chiding.
".....Weren't you just drinking this on an empty stomach? Take care of yourself," she calls out his hypocrispy with a sluggish eyebrow raise.
"Bad habits," Mehen freely concedes, thinking about the acid reflux he's had since his academia days.
..She'll be going sometime in the afternoon to see her Crown Prince, and it's quite likely they'll keep her for dinner. It'd be nice to eat at least one meal together today.
"Let me cherish you. Shall we have breakfast here and now?"
He calls the kitchen and gets them to put together the macarons Arelyn likes, and a sandwich to split. Sparing a thought for Valer, he keeps the meal light, so they don't spoil their appetite when they eat with him in a couple hours.
Speaking of—"Arelyn? Could you take a look at this ring? I have a suspicion it's more than it appears, since I received it from Valer."
Quick on the uptake, she grasps his presented hand and starts examining.
"Can I take it off?"
"..I actually haven't done that myself, go ahead."
It's easily removed. There's a whisper of surprise in Arelyn's blinks. "It's kind of a marvel how densely layered all these protective spells are. I expected he'd put an anti-theft or slip function somewhere in there."
"Valer likely attuned the triggers to permit you as well, if they are. You'd notice better than me, though," he points out while starting on his half of the sandwich, a napkin wrapped around it to keep tidy.
After shifting the angle minutely in even intervals for a little while: "Oh, found it!"
Excitedly, Arelyn explains in layman's terms, "The security runs together with the resizing magic, cleanly hidden right atop it. A little easier to spot if you look at about eye level," guiding his sight to the sides of gems and metalic arcs as she channels some mana to make it visible for him.
Pushing back her hair, she continues: "...Abbreviated and encoded to hell and back... There's more layered inside of the main band and under the mosaic. Hard to see with the naked eye." Her filial piety flares up. She mutters, "It's better than the artifacts you carried before—now I want to make something similar. A watch? Though I've never worked with clockwork.. Dad had the right idea, especially since you're the least combat inclined out of the the three of us." Folding up the empty serviette, his lips upturn helplessly at her newfound determination.
The ring changes hands, from her to him once more. He slides it back into place.
"Are you sure he's not courting you? Is 'friendship' still right to encompass whatever you two have going on?" She pokes fun at his situation, finally getting to her treat with the cursory inspection done.
A sigh leaves him deeply, his fingers—gah, the ring—casting a fringe of shadow over his face.
Snappily turning his hand into a rest for his chin, Mehen jokes in a sweet, sly lilt as if gossiping, "He's been taking responsibility for decades."
The appearance slumps immediately, "..It's complicated and it's not." Mehen clarifies the contradiction, "Your father is my savior. Besides you—my only experience in anything resembling love. Just as he is a figure of enmity." Shaking his head disapprovingly, "Your often-absentee father; my wandering lord."
Quieter, he says "…Ironically, my issues with him run so deep largely because of that closeness. Otherwise: our bond wouldn't have the chance to rot—snapping quick and clean from the start."
Arelyn offers him one of her macarons. He accepts gratefully, letting the sweet compliment the remainder of his coffee.
"The savior part is awfully similar to how I think about Pession," she's poking fun at him again. Then, near-rhetorically, "The power dynamic isn't an problem, right?"
"He of all people, won't pull rank on me—I'ld just throw his work back at him."
Arelyn's eyes sparkle in amusement, "Hasn't your relationship gotten better?"
"Somewhat. It helps he's actually present."
He nudges the other half of the sandwich to her, "..I couldn't fathom how he was so distant towards you back then."
Grumbling with a stormy gaze behind a mild expression, Mehen continues: "That point of contention was uniquely worsened by my circumstances before your Dad picked me up. I hadn't known affection prior him. If he could give that to me, originally some orphan from the streets—it was strange and bitter he was so avoidant with you, his own blood."
He looks back. "It ticked me off endlessly. I wish we had spared you that loneliness entirely, though the fault also falls on me."
They end up stretched out on the couch again after Arelyn finishes the last of their meal. She wedges between the cushions and Mehen himself, half splayed across him and sequestering his right arm.
He isn't in a rush to start his day. He's had a record amount of free time with Valer stepping in as of late (..he's not encouraging it, but some problems are most easily resolved with status and force).
Mehen resumes the topic while patting Arelyn on the back. "For all that I rag on him, he's responsible about the duties he does take care of. It's been an… unfortunately common pattern to only see his efforts in retrospect." The saccharine taste in his mouth has turned a bit sour.
"..In our companionship, Valer placed me in the position of judge, and, as you may remember from when you were younger: he'd gladly have me as his executioner as well." The latter half is said lightheartedly. He opts to continue keeping her in the dark about that freak assigning Mehen the task of killing him if he ever went mad.
Oh shit. Is the ring purposed for that? Fuck. Arelyn can't see his expression—thank god he delivered his words the way he did before he realized the possibility.
Closing his eyes in a mix of feelings, he half-heartedly complains—playing relief off for exasperation, "..I've seen more than enough of him, but I worry too much if he's gone. Even if I leave, my thoughts will inevitably visit him." It's too easy for the two of them to keep him, having already handed his heart over unwittingly.
"…Lady Sione was terrifyingly deliberate. There was no one who exemplified 'noble' more than her, in that regard. She treated me well, but our tie was really through Valer and later, my utility next to him."
The impact she left can't be overstated. Valer loves the way she did, Mehen learnt to love by mimicking Valer (within reason), and perhaps this is another way Lady Sione reaches her daughter.
Arelyn's nodding off a little, her head drooping inwards into the seat. He has no idea if he can carry her anymore. She's grown so big.
Mehen kisses her crown and concludes, "Simply: it's important we're together, regardless of physical distance or precise label."