Legend of Ransera

Regnum Regis Regum, Ætherium
3rd of Frost, Year 123 of Steel


If it was strange to be wed outside time and space, it was stranger still to prepare for a wedding outside time and space. Finn had known Talon Novalys before he was Arcas reborn, Dæmon in Solunarium. He had known magic from a young age—the witchwork of his grandmother, the magic of Kalzasi, and even the omnipresent magic of the Jewel of Atraxia. He worked with the specific branch of the Vigilia that dealt with matters divine and beyond the ken of most mortals. Still and all, after politics and dragonfire, here he was in an opulent room with Vrædyn Princeps and Raithen Dux, the other favorites of his patron god, as well as servants that were decidedly neither human nor elven. He didn't even know if the room had existed before Deus Aværys thought it ought to exist or not.

Somewhere, perhaps in Varvara's own realm or another corner of her brother's, Arvælyn was similarly ensconced with—well, he presumed with Phocion and with his own spiritual slaves. He didn't know. He hadn't seen his amatus since the day before. Finn had fasted, bathed in medicinal waters, and been beaten by birch wood faggots to purify himself for what none could deny would be a holy sacrament. Food and rest had been sacrificed to Varvara, and he found himself surprisingly alert.

No doubt after the ceremony, the reception, and the consummation, he would fall into a bit of a restorative coma, but even if Solunarium was never truly cold, back home, this was the beginning of the season where animals hibernated, where things died in preparation of spring's rebirth.

Finn wasn't entirely sure what the ceremony would entail, what the hall would look like—he hadn't even seen himself in the mirror yet. He and Arvælyn were some of the Divine Twins' favorite pawns and it seemed they would have it their way. That was fine; once Aværys had offered the locale, any idea of planning had gone out of Finn's mortal mind. They had provided a guest list, though he wondered if their divine hosts wouldn't have made additions or deletions. It wasn't like the affianced couple could gainsay them.

Somewhere, he supposed, the guests were waiting. As far as he knew, he was the only mortal who could open a portal here—though Aværys could shut the door in his face—but he wasn't in charge of transportation. Family, friends, princes, and potentates—this was quite a bit more than the simple handfasting he had always imagined for himself.

"Well, so... how do I look?" he asked, turning for Vrædyn and Raithen. He half expected Aværys to demand the right of first night, but that would be something to worry about—or look forward to—after the festivities.

"Nervous," Finn admitted with a chuckle. "Not of Arvælyn, truly, or being on display. I am half-expecting His Exalted Majesty or our Rex Regum to pull a few surprises out of their... well, they don't wear hats..."

Ciarán came in as Raithen went out. The young human looked as though his eyebrows were attempting to merge with his hairline. As much as this place mimicked their material plane, there were hints everywhere that it was most decidedly not, and he had much less experience in the wider world than Finn did, let alone the wider realm in which their wide world was but an onionskin page in a strange scripture.

"I feel as though this day would be surreal enough," he said, shooting a smile at his baby brother before returning it to his brother-in-majesty, "but then Our Lord offered to hold it here. I wonder how many conservative hardliners are gnashing their teeth in their merely golden palaces today." But he didn't smirk about it or think about it for too long. He was hardly vengeful—much to Khyan's consternation.

Ciarán may or may not have been looking at Varvara, imagining what she might do to him with chains, and then having her look him directly in the eye—and through to his soul. But he managed to gather his words.

"I, ah... uhm, I mean, I think... it's... it's time, Finn." He coughed into his fist, then straightened his own robes, finer than anything he had ever owned and cut in Kalzasern fashion albeit for Ecithian heat. "You, uh..." He managed a shyly proud smile. "You look good, frater."

If he wasn't as florid as the princeps, he was entirely heartfelt. Ciarán couldn't look at the paterfamilias of gens Vlahos-Sol’Aværys for very long either, assuming he too would know what impure thoughts ran through his mind.

Though Arvælyn wasn't here present, he could feel something strange in his symphony; he steeled himself not to delve too deeply into it. Let him have his secrets a little while longer. Certainly, the full extent of this day remained a secret to him even if he had a good idea what the night would bring if they were not exhausted. Finn paused, glanced to Vrædyn and then the door.

"Do we just... go? Or does Our Lord have a divine master of the revels who will direct us?" He laughed again. For all that he and his prince were taking their future into their own hands, it certainly felt as though the day was out of his hands. That was well enough. He would get to make vows with Arvælyn before everyone they loved; that was enough.

Lystreia's voice as the first he could separate from the chorus that greeted him in the main hall of the divine venue and he smiled even though he had been schooled to a more Solunarian stoicism. The day belonged to him, and to Arvælyn; he could smile if he wanted to.

He was radiant in raiment as well as in mien, and radiant were the smiles of his family and his friends. It was all more than he had hoped for, and also just enough to express the boundless feelings he had for Arvælyn somehow trapped within his breast without bursting out from day to day. For all the luminaries and sights to behold, as soon as he saw his dragon prince, everything else rather faded from his attention.

From the audience, a certain red-headed bastard circumvented certain protections, tickling his own Rune of Masquerade in such a way that Arvælyn could feel it as he processed past. While the fox-faced confidence man might have been irked to sit so far from where the action would happen, he was also more used to existing on the periphery. One only wanted attention when it benefited one, after all.

Finally, Arvælyn was there. Finn took his hand, and they turned toward their larger-than-life Gods. They made their obeisance together, as was fitting. An Empyreal Lord bowed to his Rex Regum, who bowed to Eikæn Magnus. A Prince of Dragons bowed to the Mistress of Chains, who bowed to Domina Naori in turn.

Now, his consciousness expanded out to include the dragons and the gods, the elves and the humans, and even the flicker of a spirit of vengeance somewhere around, perhaps a little gift from his God. If only he could serve Khyan his desired meal at the reception to follow.