Legend of Ransera

"This part of the Enclave was, if history is to be believed," said the realtor, a half-elf with a winsome smile, "was at one point a caravanserai, and these old houses are protected landmarks now. You plan to be here a season, so you probably won't have to deal with any magistrates and inspections or anything, but I will let you know as far in advance as possible if the plan something. It's just easier to go along with it than try to change dates. Bureaucracy." She rolled her eyes and paused, indicating the building they would enter. The ground floor was a confectioner's shop, and a wizened old human woman with dark, leathery skin came out to speak to the realtor in heavily-accented Mythrasi that Sivan could barely make out, let alone Torin.

The two floors above would be theirs. Built on a low hill, it was free-standing, which was quite different from some of the more crowded neighborhoods they had been through to get here. The timber-laced mansion was one of several of this style—and style was quite eclectic in the Enclave—with gleaming white stone facades, red gabled roofs, and dark casement windows. To Torin, it surely looked like something out of a fairy tale—or an elven tale—but Sivan was just glad that he had scored a deal given Torin had demanded to pay for everything. Sivan had erred on the side of more room so they could entertain if they made friends, or at least not feel constrained by close walls should they decide to stay home.

The realtor thanked the woman and bowed. The woman spoke in her accent and made welcoming noises to the fair friends, nodding to them. Sivan bowed and thanked her courteously, especially when he saw she had given their realtor several confections on a piece of wax paper before heading back toward her bustling business.

"Speaking of caravans... Belem is a dear. She's Vastian. Oh, don't worry... she forsook those desert demons when she sought refuge here, poor dear, well before I was born. Her Mythrasi really has improved. Anyway, these are called... lokum..." She pronounced it with exaggerated slowness. "Not terribly sweet, actually. Chopped up nuts, honey, spices, and such. There's a bit of powdered sugar to keep them from sticking to each other, but again, they aren't terribly sweet. I think the green is pistachio... Oh, this one's date... and... hm, plum? Please, you choose first. She is always feeding me. Says I won't find a husband without childbearing hips. She's so crazy."

Sivan let Torin choose first, then selected his and found he enjoyed them, and would make a point of learning how to make them. Perhaps he would even give her some of his honey that he had brought from home in case he needed to give a gift to anyone. It was good to have an ancient grandmother on one's side, no matter where one found oneself. She let them into the stairwell that took them up to the second floor. It was now keyed to their auras; no physical keys necessary.

It was past noon and the day was getting hot, but inside, it felt as though there might be some magic at work. The realtor explained there was no such thing, just brilliant architectural features from the past. The plain stone walls were cool to the touch, and if unadorned, they were a nice relief for the eyes when the outdoors were such a riot.

"Summers are balmy and clear," she went on, "whereas winters are cold and snowy. You should be quite comfortable, and if you were to return in the winter, it would be lovely and warm inside."

The place was surprisingly well-ventilated, and their luggage had been sent on ahead. It wasn't unpacked, but Sivan figured unpacking would feel like part of making it their own. She went on and on about the local stone and wood; Sivan admired the liberal use of windows that let in light from all sides, and allowed the air to flow freely through the place. Their kitchen was over Mistress Belem's kitchen and would likely always be the warmest room in the house, though with but a touch, their oven would work without allowing heat to escape into the air they lived in. That was a nice touch. There were little bits of quotidien magic all around them, which he was sure would fascinate Torin for days. At least they were inside now and he wasn't blinding himself by squinting at the far away wards that protected Sol'Valen from the rest of the world.

Finally, the realtor was gone and Sivan collapsed on one of the sofas in the central room. Shucking off his boots and stockings, he rested his heels on the stone and glass table central to the sitting area. An illusory, crystalline tree grew toward the upper story ceiling. It could be adjusted to a bonfire that gave off no heat or it could tune into signals from various news agencies in the city and they could listen to or watch reports on the goings on of their neighborhood, Silfanore in general, the principality, or the realm entire. He just didn't want to overwhelm Torin all at once.

They had taken an airship from Kalzasi to Aur'arnis, then a portal to the border, crossed over into the principality of Aktí. Officials of Prince Artaher Val’Melua looked over their documents, and allowed them entry. It was much easier to get from the border to Vallanar on the coast, the Val'Melua capital and City of Stained Glass. Sivan had promised they could stop there to play tourists on the way home, but had pushed for the portal to Silfanore so they could get settled where most of his contacts remained. From the western border of Sol'Valen to the far eastern part of the kingdom in one morning, it was no wonder Sivan was exhausted and that he had paid to have their luggage sent ahead.

He saw Torin on the upper floor, darting from one bedroom to another. He smiled quietly, sure Torin would report back that the ceilings up there were quite low and, if he didn't figure out why for himself, Sivan would tell him that they were easier to keep warm in the winter and that he, at least, would be spending most of his time on the ground floor of their place. The balconies up top, however, would have splendid views, he was certain.

"Torin!" he called. "I'm not moving for a few hours. But we are invited to supper with Laurevere and his family tonight!"

Sivan didn't respond again at first. Torin was in a mood, excited and overstimulated like a child, and so it was understandable. Once his golden head was in Sivan's lap, though, his fingers began to toy with his hair, massage his scalp; this sort of thing was as soothing for him as it likely was for the man.

"He invited us, but if you don't wish to go, I will make appropriate excuses. I have never been to Istraoikos, but they are nobility. I am certain we won't sweat there in our best Kalzasern clothes. And I will look for a tailor when there's time, but we are supposed to report to Tavárinoikos on the morrow..." He couldn't remember if he had explained some of this specific Mythrasi business. "I apologize if I already told you thinks, but it's Istraoikos for Laurevere's family home, but Tavárinoikos after his personal name because it's a... hm... house in the sense that he created a family of artisans and it carries on his name, whereas Laurevere's family home carries the family name. So your forge would be Torinoikos, and the house behind it would be Kilvinoikos. I know you would want it to have my name in it too, but really, you founded it."

He paused. "For Hytori elves, there's always a correct way to do things, even though there are generally several correct ways to do things, some carried through the Lysanrin holocaust, and some recalled through ancient records, but so much was lost... well, I know this is overwhelming. There's magic everywhere, even to give us running water, keep the floors swept, and all... So, if you need to stay home tonight, that will be all right."

Sivan was definitely petting Torin's head like he was an agitated pet just released from a carrier after a jostling voyage.

"Oh, um, I don't believe he is married, no. Most elves don't feel a rush toward that given we have longer periods where we can have children. And there are several spares ahead of him when it comes to inheritance so the stability of the family line isn't in danger. At least, from what I understand of Val'Hytori. They are the ones who more often get fixated on whatever details they can discern from the past, whether or not they have the context for understanding them."

That was his polite way of criticizing.

"Speaking Mythrasi in a native dialect," he corrected gently; then, however gentle the correction, he blanched softly. "Sorry."

Having survived the civilized bustle of Silfanore, he rather wished he could stay there on the sofa, hands in Torin's wheat-blond hair as the man nuzzled at his clothes like a hog seeking truffles. He laughed when his friend and lover ruined the mental picture by pulling his tunic up by hand to get at his skin.

"Aye, and Destyn went ahead to see Istraoikos first or... well, he will take any excuse to spend time with Laurevere. I suppose we ought to strip down so we can start over for supper...?" The place was large, airy, and wandering it naked seemed preferable to wearing clothes, though the heat was not uncomfortable. It was just that the heat made nakedness even more comfortable, and he was curious in which room Torin would want to make love first.

While he was no leader, he had been well educated, so he would lead as Aruksinedres had: from the front lines, not asking anything of his soldiers he wasn't prepared to do himself. Though Torin knew his body inside and out, and his heart and mind and spirit as well, there was something shy and vulnerable about the way he pulled open the layers of linen like a bud opening to the sun.

It wasn't submissive, even, as more often than not, he ended up taking the lead in things like this. This sofa wasn't his childhood bed, but this was his boyhood city, and it felt like Torin would know him better for having experienced it. Perhaps that was what was happening.

"Let me steal your breath," he said in poetic Mythrasi, referring to kisses, "untie the knot in your center, and chase you into Nod."

"No," he lied with mock seriousness. "We are not allowed to..."

But they did anyway. Sivan delighted in telling Torin to hold still and not shame him in his homeland and then do "shameful" things to him. There was nothing to be ashamed of, though.

Dinner was fine. He didn't quite understand why even the Lord and Lady Val'Istra treated a mere Len'Hytori so well. In Kalzasi, he could sort of understand why Laurevere seemed so attached to him: he was another competent halfbreed living abroad. The difference in their stations mattered less. Here, though, mixed blood was one thing; Laurevere's Hytori bloodline was more august by far than his own.

They treated Destyn like a pretty creature in a zoo, really; they were kind enough, but subtly condescending at every turn. He hoped he was the only one to notice it. They were polite enough to Torin, who was of common blood as well and human to boot. There were just strange insinuations that somehow Sivan must be responsible for his success, which frustrated him, but he didn't know how to correct them without causing a scene and he didn't want to do that to Laurevere, who was prickly, but had always been so kind.

It seemed that even in his father's home, Laurevere saw him as his emotional support halfbreed, though. But when Sivan thought he seemed jealous of Torin and Destyn, it just didn't make sense.

In any case, he made promises to return to Istraoikos. They were quite interested in what he might accomplish with his old master's apprentices. They made Torin promise to work hard because he couldn't know what an honor he would receive in that august workshop.

Destyn, who didn't have work on the morrow, went to seek out "buggies" even though Sivan suspected he was going to flutter around Istraoikos and try to find Laurevere's bedroom window...

He watched a shameless, naked Torin fall upon the large bed even as he disrobed at a more sedate pace. It was going to be new having Torin in the same bed for an entire season. Of course, Torin might attract other lovers, and sometimes Destyn might decide to burrow in the blankets with them even if it would get quite warm.

The four elementals he knew best were tasked with keeping his tower and Torin's home in equilibrium, so he had Perxy dancing around the house to ensure that the air never went stagnant. He liked the heat of his homeland, but he needed the air to wick away perspiration, to keep things comfortable. He climbed into bed--their bed. They would live like masters and work like apprentices.

Strange times.

Sivan knew how the masters would treat Torin, and he knew that Torin wouldn't even bat an eyelash, just so happy to be an apprentice again and learn from several masters of his own rare craft while surrounded with other master enchanters who could answer other questions. Everyone was likely to be at least competent with their sembling, as well, and better able to understand his arcane questions and give cogent answers, either in swift Common or, more likely, painstakingly slow Mythrasi.

The elf just wanted to protect his friend, even though his friend would be nigh immune to barbs intentional and otherwise.

"Are you happy, beloved?" he asked when their skin was flush. He knew the answer, but it made him happy to hear it.

"You make me feel normal and extraordinary at the same time," he admitted, almost glowing in the dark with his embarrassment, but what was said in shadows was safe. Torin was safe. His arms were strong and his loyalty stronger. They had a similar way of looking at magic, but other than that, he was still baffled that the beautiful man had wanted to be his friend, let alone his lover.

"In the best ways. In the ways I didn't realize I needed to feel them."

His fingertips traced down the pebbled expanse of Torin's abdomen, knowing just where and how to touch him so it would feel good, and intense, and then finally, he would twitch and his stomach would almost cramp in response. Then his hand fell firm and strong upon those muscled flanks. Sivan was strong, but his elven blood made it all more compact, leaner and longer. Torin bulked up in a way that was beautiful and different and he liked it.

"I came here for you," he admitted. "But I think I needed to come, so it was good that you wanted to and I stopped putting it off. Bringing my master's ashes, finishing my apprenticeship... These are important things I have put off, and I think you will be happy here, at least for a time, and you are someone who deserves to have his dreams come true. I'm sure we will find things we want to take home while we are here, though."

There was more he wanted to say, questions he wanted to ask, but he didn't know how to shake them out, put them in order such that he could articulate them to Torin. He burrowed his face into Torin's cheek, either clinging to him or claiming him with all his lanky limbs.

"I want to wake up with you in my arms," he admitted. It was a start.