• Mature • Safe Space

[Llyr Llywelyn]

8th of Ashan, Arc 719, Night

In what felt like no time at all, the sun had set, and darkness lingered outside the windows of Woodstock Hall. Zarik followed Alistair from the tower room, where the nobleman had helped him recover from his ill stress, and they walked down a stairwell to a windowless bathhouse.

The Bathhouse caused Zarik to make a small impressed gasp. While the entire hall had been expertly crafted with décor and rich stonework, the bathing area was ornate with luxurious, polished stone architecture. He looked at the many columns, and then the blue tiled walls that reflected the warm glow of lantern lights hanging from the ceiling by chains. There were plants, flowers, and warm water that gathered in pools of stone-crafted fountains. He’d never seen such beautiful, living flowers in what felt like a very long time.

During their gradual journey to the Bathhouse, Zarik had clung to the larger man’s arm for both balance and closeness. He recalled the suggestion of being cleaned up, though, and he drifted away from Alistair in realization as well as curiosity. Zarik went to the main fountain, in the center of the room, and sat down at the smooth stone edge. He ran his fingers over the water’s surface and smiled.

His eyes were lined with silver-blue veins with a glisten of the recent tears he’d shed lingering in them. The iridescent irises turned aqua blue, flecked with amber, as if mimicking the Bathhouse’s tiles and lanterns. He gathered handfuls of water, washing his face clean of sweat and saliva. He tapped his sore tongue against his finger, then continued. Zarik moved to rinse his ice-blond hair with a few splashes and then he looked over to Alistair.

Zarik wasn’t sure what to say. The last thing he'd vocalized was before Alistair had suggested to clean up and it had been simply: "Wow."

Everything was such a blur now that he tried to think over it; but he recalled how he’d acted, how ridiculous he must have sounded and looked. He wondered what Alistair must think of him... other than the kind words that'd been spoken, but as he thought about it, he felt insecure again. His shyness gradually returned as he came down from the rapturous high that Alistair had given him. Now, his body felt different sensations, such as the stinging pain on his lower back where his welted scars had rubbed silver and raw. He hadn't noticed it until now. Zarik focused on cleaning himself, moving to place his feet in the water and attend to his svelte legs. He attempted to say something, “This place… is, uhm, I like it. Wh-where did you get these flowers from?”

∆ I Speak ✣ I Am ✣ I Think ∆

[Alistair]

It was not even the morning, and Zarik's diffidence had returned. Rather than opening up and sharing in the greatness of the moment, he slunk back into the fragility of either... insecurity, or the overwhelming restraint that came with trying to speak to someone particularly favored, especially when one might have believed they were out of their league. And Zarik probably felt this way; in fact, probably all of these assumptions were correct. Alistair was a noble, and Zarik was a commoner. One was a mage, and the other, taintless. One was powerful and wealthy, and the other a fledgling in the affairs of their world. The gap between them was evident - in power, in prestige, in confidence. Insecurity and doubt were both to be expected, and the mage was forced to realize what influence he had on the other, intentionally or not. He could, in many ways, shape Zarik like clay... crafting him as he pleased. He'd already morphed the biqaj's sexuality around his own, and had absconded him from the company of his father.

Yet equally, he knew he'd brought him happiness. Enough to make him cry, to make him smile, and yell, and scream. But it was not all carnal. Even now, despite how his confidence seemed to quickly recede, Alistair felt a glimmer still flicker from before. It could become brighter, and stronger; unfading. Much of what he said and did now would be pivotal, and so he lingered on his thoughts and his words long before stating anything clearly. Before anything else, the mage stepped into one of the hot baths, relaxing against the sturdy corners and rolling his neck back to lean into the stone. He beckoned for Zarik to join him. In fact, his beckoning appeared more to be a request for the other man to lay directly atop him, their chests meeting. He knew it was possible the other wouldn't oblige him, but it was worth the attempt. He wanted to be close to him - it always seemed to make the other more comfortable. Knowing he had that effect on him invoked... some level of pride, too.

Regardless, he listened to Zarik's words, as the smaller male referred to the bathhouse and its appearance. The mage smiled warmly at the other, whispering a silent 'I'm glad' as he stated liking it. Alistair clearly did too, and was happy that the other enjoyed it. He'd have to ensure that they visited the bathhouse often.

"It wasn't particularly cheap, being that Quacian flowers are typically sentient and violent," he replied, which would have just about summarized it. It was a story yet to be shared, though, so as he shut his eyes to relax within the heat from under the fountain, he regaled the rest. "Though, in the Gleam, what few wealthy foreigners there are among us - like myself - tend to be particularly drawn to the comforts of home, and seek them out avidly. That being said, I needed look no further than my heraldry. Venora are renowned for their love of gardening and flowers, and so - even within Quacia - many of them trade as professional botanists and vintners. I was lucky enough to purchase these in full bloom... though they'll need to be replaced, soon," he noted. Either way, they carried a strong aroma, incited by the bathhouse steam. Roses, lilacs, tulips and other flowers - all of them had something of a scent, and as they danced together it was almost like a cologne. Alistair... loved it. It reminded him intimately of his home.

But this was just small talk, wasn't it? Alistair knew they had much more to discuss than that, and so the conversation pivoted almost immediately. His eyes opened, and then quickly pivoted to the other, meeting his gaze.

"That was nice, Zarik," he said, referring to their... copulation. "But it was more than nice; it was meaningful. To both of us." His eyes shut again, and his face once again looked forward, though he saw nothing. It was just... relaxation. For him, this topic of conversation was somewhat casual, though he knew it would have been difficult for the other. It was best to be the foundation for Zarik to grow from; to be the calm one. Composed. There would be no easy way to raise what either of them might have felt, and he was sure they did not feel exactly the same. Between the lines was their answer, but then, where would that lead?

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Beckoned,

Zarik hesitated from joining Alistair in the larger stone bath. He wanted to… but he wanted to rinse himself off before sharing the hot bathwater with the other man. So, he washed his face, hair, chest, and legs with the slightly cooler fountain water. He tried to converse, not wanting it to be silent even though they were physically distanced from each other for the temporary moment.

Alistair answered him easily, starting into a story about how he’d acquired the varied blooming flowers. Finished with his legs, Zarik left the fountain. He walked in the direction toward the bath. The nobleman relaxed, with his eyes shut, in complete trust of Zarik’s company. Zarik sweetly smiled at the sight, then paused at one of the vases. He traced his fingertips over a bundle of roses among green ferns. The velvet softness of the petals and the fragrant aroma eased him. He plucked a long-stemmed red rose.

Zarik held the rose close so he could breathe in its scent as he approached the bath. He slid over the edge, nearly silent as he entered the hot water. His lower back stung terribly, but as he remained in the water, it eased into a low thrum of pain. The biqaj waded closer to Alistair, listening about Venora’s presence in Quacia as botanists and vintners. He settled sideways on the nobleman’s lap, instead of the neighboring stone seat.

He thinly smiled in a bashful expression when Alistair looked at him. Zarik twirled the rose near his pale pink lips, the red petals caressing over his lower lip. While he felt shy, embarrassed for what was likely a million mistakes he’d made in the course of their love-making, he preferred the closeness of feeling the other man's body in contrast to when he’d been so far away at the fountain. It’d felt terrible, being separated like that, even if it was just a few paces in the same room.

Alistair spoke to him about their sensual embrace, but Zarik didn’t understand what the other man meant. Nice? Nice?! What did nice mean??? Was nice good – or bad? A sense of clarification came in the word meaningful, though it still confused Zarik somewhat. His confusion showed as his brow knitted together in a furrow. His lips slanted slightly as he tried to figure out what the other man meant by it.

Zarik ran a hand over Alistair’s shoulder, then hooked his arm behind the man’s head and leaned forward. He kissed him, lightly and quickly on the lips. Zarik wanted to say something, but he didn’t know how to word it… the other man had relaxed once more. Zarik leaned in a straightened posture and examined Alistair's features closely. He quietly hummed, though the sound was audible, and then he tapped the rose against the nobleman's lips.

“I love you,” said Zarik without warning or hesitation in his clear voice. He smiled, innocently, unaware of the weight of what he’d said. He had no conception of the way romance was supposed to play out, the scripts people were meant to follow, or the procedural steps required for such confessions. The words seemed right to say, they expressed what he felt the best and that was what Alistair had meant by meaningful, wasn’t it? He’d never felt so connected to anyone else in his entire life, not his father, not his mother, not even his sisters… and he loved all of them, so it only seemed true that he must love Alistair to feel such a bond. He moved the flower, so the stem was between his fingers and he placed the palm of his hand over the human’s beard. Zarik added in a heady voice, “Alistair. Thank you. You're so strong and powerful. I never knew... th-that I could ever feel...like that. How did you do it? Was it magic?”

∆ I Speak ✣ I Am ✣ I Think ∆

[Alistair]

As Zarik settled into his lap, Alistair sighed in satisfaction, wiggling his legs in small shifting movements so as to make their positions more comfortable. His legs clung to Zarik's outer contours, almost wrapping him within the lap rather than simply acting as a seat for him. He liked not only to be close to the other, but to cradle him. Zarik felt small in his form, and his skin was soft, and smooth. Holding him was comfortable as much as it was psychologically satisfying. The mage eyed the rose, and then the other, who seemed to escape his gaze in his shyness. The beginnings of a grin formed upon his lips, amused by his lover's seeming cognitive dissonance between being able to sleep with him on the one hand, and being unable to look at him on the other. Like all things with Zarik, however, it was endearing - and continued to be no matter how long his meek behavior continued.

He could only imagine what he was thinking, as his brow furrowed, and he stared seemingly perplexed at the words Alistair offered him. He was insecure, of course, and 'nice' was perhaps too vague a word. Alistair placed a fingertip upon his lips as if to hush his thoughts, before quickly clarifying what he meant. "You heard me earlier," he told him. "It's the best time I've ever had... with anyone." Saying that almost felt like a betrayal - of Fridgar. A man who was still alive, who would arrive in Quacia soon. That was going to be... a mess, introducing the two to one another. Like Fridgar, though, Zarik had grown on him quickly from the very start. It was very Rynlist of him to believe, but Alistair could only feel that the Fates guided them together. Perhaps pointlessly; perhaps for nothing more than mutual satisfaction between them. There did not need to be a higher destiny than companionship. And with all they'd stripped away from him... it was time for the Ancestor Gods to give back.

Zarik clung closer to him, laying now on his chest and atop his thighs, as the two kissed softly. And then the kiss faded, but Zarik remained near to him. Only... somewhat more distant. He was pondering something.

I love you, he told the mage. Immediately, Alistair's heart thrummed in his chest. Had he really grown to feel so strongly for him, and so quickly? Their relationship - as warming as it may have been - had only begun tonight. It wasn't even a confirmed thing, only... a feeling. But the feeling was strong. He could only remember the sensation of watching the sun rise for the first time in so many trials, watching Zarik's pale blond hair swing with the breeze. What affection he felt then, for so lovely a man. Coming together, now, and being with him - the two of them alone - he understood why he'd fixated from the beginning. Zarik was more than a breath of fresh air, he was the wind itself. He breathed life into Alistair, for the first time in a long time. He made him feel, and made him want to feel.

As Zarik smiled, so too did he. The thrumming stilled, as his epiphany had been made. But then, he paused, not saying anything. Zarik was perhaps content in his words going unrequited... but that wasn't it. He waited for the moment, and the words. He waited because he, too, was in thought, about what maddening claims he'd make in return. His lover's fingers intertwined with his beard, and he spoke again. A light, jovial laugh escaped the mage's lips as he did, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't magic," he replied. "There are magics that can exemplify these... feelings, that we have for one another -- with one another. But I do not possess them. It's just... our bodies, yours and mine. They're right for one another."

It was simple enough. But that wasn't the end of what he wanted to say. Wrapping his arms around Zarik's back, and pulling him firmly against his chest with Alistair's legs rising to eclipse him, the mage kissed the smaller man softly upon the lips, and wherever else he could. With affection. With everything that he seemed to always feel, the other locked in his arms. "I love you too," he said. And then--

"I'm going home soon, to my Kingdom. But I can't imagine leaving you... I won't leave you. I..." he paused. The implications of what would follow were a heavy weight, one he chose to bear. "When I return to Rynmere to acquire the reins of power that I lost, I need someone at my side. Someone who loves me, who I love. Someone with the cunning I see in your eyes, and all the drive you bear. Someone to rule with me," Alistair said. If his implications were not clear enough already, they would become clear in a moment. This process, this whole thing -- had been something of a search. And he'd found what he wanted.

"Marry me," he requested, as if to one-up the other in misplaced amorousness. But this was not entirely for love, and where he hailed from, it was not entirely uncommon. He had chosen who he wanted on the throne beside him... and it was Zarik.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Alistair’s smile,

in response to Zarik's tender words, filled the biqaj with shared joy. He didn't wait to hear a returned exchange of the phrase. He did not expect such a thing because he merely did not think of it. The phrase had only been intended to convey his own feelings, express his own heart, and requited or not – they were true for the naive, youthful man.

Zarik continued, asking whether the man had used magic to make him feel so good, intertwining his fingers in the beard. Alistair’s laugh elevated his joy. He wanted to continue to make the other man smile and laugh. Zarik nodded in acceptance that it hadn’t been magic, just them, just their bodies being right for each other. A faint silver-blue blush spread across his nose and cheeks in recollection of how his body had been utilized by the nobleman.

He tilted back slightly and placed the rose against his lips again to take another breath of the flower. Zarik was enamored by the plant, so simple and yet there in his hand to be enjoyed. His lover drew him into a hug and he easily glided on Alistair’s lap to press against the other man’s strong torso. He set the red rose down. It bobbed in the water, floating along the ripples created by the motions of their bodies.

Zarik kissed Alistair in return, his arms wrapping around the man’s neck in an affectionate hold. I love you too, the human told him. A quiet exhale left Zarik’s lips. His eyes brightened in an immediate burst of iridescent colors, the full spectrum of light filling his irises to the brim. He shifted against the other man’s lap, and though he hadn’t expected or thought of hearing the words from Alistair, when he actually heard them – a thrilling excitement rushed through his body. He grinned…

…and he listened. He listened to the man’s continuation, and the next words made him falter. I’m going home soon, Did he mean his home in Quacia? That possibility soon disappeared as the kingdom was mentioned and Zarik's grin disappeared as quickly as it had shown. His eyes widened slightly. Zarik’s expression changed from elated glee to confusion and hesitancy while he listened to the rest. His face filled with a blush when Alistair expressed that he wouldn’t leave him though.

Zarik tried to listen carefully but found it difficult. A feeling of apprehension burrowed in his chest. Alistair was going to return to the place where he’d been exiled? Soon? He thought Zarik had cunning? What was he saying? What was he suggesting? Zarik didn’t want to understand, he wanted to feign ignorance about it, but Alistair made it clearer and more obvious than anything else, culminating in a singular request: Marry me.

It wasn’t a question. It almost sounded like a demand. Zarik’s confidence, which had grown during their kisses and touches, swiftly got swept out from under him. His gaze gave the subconscious progression of his thoughts away for observation; he turned his head and looked around the bathhouse, glancing at the door, and then around the area as if to get a better read on the layout, before looking back at Alistair. He opened his mouth slightly, in an attempt to respond, but found himself temporarily speechless. Zarik looked downward. He squirmed on the other’s lap, starting to move away.

“I-I can’t,” he stammered finally; for he had taken Alistair to be sincere, as he had assumed the man to be for the entirety of their brief interactions with each other. The concept that the older man might be taunting him in a romantic game didn't cross his mind. He brought his hands down to fold them together and scratch at his thumbnail in a nervous fidget. He answered seriously. “I’m sorry. I… This doesn’t make any sense to me, Alistair.”

And then, Zarik looked directly at him again. He placed his hands on Alistair’s chest, dully grasping at the man. His expression became defined by concern. A flurry of words tumbled from his lips with quick breaths barely taken between his phrases, “Must you go? Are you not exiled? Isn’t it dangerous? W-what if… Shouldn’t you have someone with more power? Why don’t you find someone who can help – who knows the kingdom? I don’t know anything, Alistair, I couldn’t do it. I can’t. I’m nobody. I have nothing to offer you. I have to stay here and take care of my father. I have to. He needs me. Pl-please don’t be mad at me.”

Tears welled in his eyes, the freshly ravished man easily and quickly caught up in his emotions, and from the many ideas that ran through his mind and out his mouth. He didn’t want to insult Alistair. He didn’t want to imagine him being hurt, or fighting for a kingdom, or visions that were so far away from Zarik’s daily life that it sent him in a violent spin of awe and worry. In the whirlwind, he felt so confused about what he wanted that he couldn’t identify his desires anymore.

Zarik fiddled with the chain earring on his right ear. His lower back stung, as if focusing him, reminding him. His voice passionately raised, echoing in the bathhouse, and he shouted - talking fast and without pause, “I can’t leave my father by himself. W-why do you even want me?! I act nothing but a fool when I’m around you!” A couple tears broke, rolling down his blushing cheeks. He slapped at Alistair’s chest in a smack of annoyance that the man had caused him to cry and shout like he was. He closed his eyes to escape from the moment and added in a glimmer of realization, “Why do you enjoy overwhelming me so? Is it a game to you?”

∆ I Speak ✣ I Am ✣ I Think ∆

[Alistair]

Zarik did not take his request easily. Alistair expected that he wouldn't, given that he was a commoner, and likely one from a place where nobles did not reflect on society; perhaps they didn't even exist. The nature of Alistair's request, which might have been implicitly understood by a Ryn, was lost on the young man and instead he appeared infinitely perplexed. When he voiced his rejection, Alistair was not surprised. Their eyes met, and then Zarik's gaze faltered - only to return to him. He was confused; he couldn't understand the nature of such a premature request. It was certainly more... forward than simply stating to another that you loved them. It was possible to love another within a trial of coming together, but for many commoners the idea of a marriage of confidence did not make sense. Perhaps his request was misplaced. He had hoped that the other would be drawn to the idea... but he wasn't. At least, he didn't think so. Maybe it was all more complicated than just that.

He felt the biqaj's hands upon his chest. At least they didn't separate, physically. He was loathe to see the other leave him.

Must you go? Are you not exiled? Isn't it dangerous? All valid questions. He continued to ask them, and then he cried - this time not out of joy, but perhaps not out of sorrow, either. Confusion. He... didn't want to separate from Alistair, but he was also perhaps not ready for the world he was offering. Zarik felt that he never would be; he was a simple man, unaware of the intrigue of court. Of the dangers, but also the pleasures. All things that he could indulge in through time.

Alistair held his tongue, not knowing what to say, immediately. Zarik then began to yell, questioning why Alistair always sought to overwhelm him. In some ways, from the beginning, it was a game. He liked to tease the meek man... but never to be vindictive, or malignant. He liked him, liked to see him blush and evade his gaze, liked to witness his soft expression of awe from his peripheral. And now he loved him. And Alistair had learned most certainly, out of all the lessons in his life, that if you knew you loved someone you needed to not let them go. Doran died when he let go, Fridgar vanished into empty space. Zvezdana lost her life, Theodore took his own. All because Alistair left them behind - because he was too great a fool to stand beside them. He would never allow that to happen again, and not to Zarik. In the pale beauty of the biqaj he felt a kindling within his heart, one he had not known, at least not in the same way as before. Zarik made him want to be strong. He made him want to protect him, and provide for him, and--

The mage sighed. He tolerated and ignored the slaps against his chest, either because he didn't really feel them or because he understood. He would be patient with the other, as Zarik had truthfully been very patient with him.

"I'm not toying with you," he finally replied. "This is no game. This is the reality of life. There are moments of destiny in our world, where you meet someone that you're enthralled with, from the very beginning. You've become my obsession, and I long for you every bit of every break. I want to be with you. You are my rising sun, my fresh breath of spring; a source of joy within my hollow. I love you," he said, a solemn look upon his expression. The mage simply laid, without really moving or adjusting, or attempting to touch Zarik or bring him closer. He could not always just... soothe the other with kisses and the pressing of their skins. In this case, it wouldn't have been right to do so.

"And I belong with you. The Fates have made that clearer to me than you could possibly understand. Everything else... we can work it all out. Your father will be wealthy, and well taken care of. He'll have every amenity provided to him, and my direct oversight of his health. He'll live longer, and better. And he'll still have you right there, at his side. Do you really want him to age and die in this place? Quacia? It's a city in the mud. A realm of filth. No one deserves what is done to the dead here; they're gutted, promised to the Wounded God, and sold off to Necromancers. Rynmere can offer him peace. It can offer you peace."

Alistair sighed. Zarik's emotions were... kindled, to say the least, whereas the mage was left almost frayed. He did not feel all too romantic anymore, his marriage proposal being rejected so emotively. Now... it was a challenge of explanation. Of making the other understand. Even though he would've preferred it left simple, and the proposal accepted, so that he did not need to mull over the mechanical reasons as to why their marriage would have been suitable. These things were much better unspoken.

"As for the rest... please. Calm yourself, Zarik. I can explain in a way that will alleviate your concerns - but please," he requested, an almost distressed look in his eyes. If there was one thing more unfortunate than a marriage proposal's rejection, it was the one proposed to screaming, yelling and crying, and questioning one's motives. "Rynmeren nobles take on spouses from other lands all the time; people who have no notion of our politics, who are not born of noble blood. You would be no further separated from any of these marriages. And I don't care that you don't have power; I have no need of a noble marriage with another house. With such marriages come pacts and bonds, ones that I do not intend to take upon myself or keep faithfully. For me, a marriage with a commoner would be ultimately preferable. One I actually love? There is no question of it. You are the right choice, and if you would only possess some meager approximation of faith in yourself, this you would know. But... it's fine Zarik. If you have no desire to marry me, or to become a Noble, then I will accept your rejection. I feel - know - that it could be more, but... you are one I care for dearly. It is not my intention to hurt you, or overwhelm you. I am sorry that I continue to do so."

The mage spread his arms out over the stony edges of the bath, leaning back as the fountain continued to pour warm water into the basin, that would only be heated. The sound would've drowned out the meager sigh that he allowed to come forth. It was disappointing. There was so much that they could do, he could only imagine. Such a life they could have shared.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Ever gracious,

Alistair allowed him to have his outburst. Zarik didn’t have the wherewithal to hoard his concerns to himself, sharing them all in a flurried ramble. He felt overwhelmed again, felt like it was too much, that Alistair was too much… it brought out reactions in him that he didn’t know existed before. Already he’d experienced so much of himself in the single day, more than he had in the past couple of years combined. Alistair had changed his life with a proverbial snap of the fingers, such was the power of a noble, and now he wanted to offer him a potential grasp of that world? All because of… because they kissed and loved each other for an evening?

Marriage to Zarik was a strange concept, it was even stranger to consider it between a noble and a commoner. His parents had never been married. His father despised the idea itself, often bitterly mumbling about the idiots who shackled themselves with the confines of each other, no regard to the future in which they would grow resentful of their partner. Zarik didn’t understand the noble conception of union, and especially not the Rynlist approach to it. It didn’t occur to him that it could be any different from the notion that nobles married to amass power like the bards sung or the stories of great houses coming together in the name of wealth... or even true love, but those were such romantic tales filled with daring adventures and beautiful princesses with charming princes.

Zarik had no wealth. He had no power. He held no title except as son, owned by his father's will. He had nothing to give Alistair, nothing except his body, and what worth was a body? It was little more than being a pet; a bird or horse… though even a horse seemed more practical than his own body when it came to the idea of kingdom matters. Perhaps if he didn’t listen to bards or drunkard rambles, he would have managed enough ignorance to simply accept Alistair’s offer without the conflicted emotion he felt now. Instead, he had something worse than ignorance: misinformation.

And then he cried and slapped at Alistair’s chest like some temperamental waif. He felt so stupid and closed his eyes to avoid acknowledging that he was actually sitting on the noble’s lap, crying away because the man had been good to him, because Alistair kept telling Zarik that he wanted him, that he enjoyed him. More than that, that he enjoyed him more than anyone else – all the phrases that’d been spoken before, during their love-making and now in the bath, started to reoccur to Zarik. Alistair had been trying to tell him, though he’d considered it to be gracious compliments to embolden his timidity, but perhaps they’d been more than that. Alistair loved him, so, Alistair wanted to marry him. Was it that simple?

Maybe this was what being a noble meant. You saw what you wanted, you got it, and you kept it. Zarik went quiet, leaving his palms pressed against the other man’s strong chest. He bowed his head, a couple more tears drifting into the hot water between them.

Alistair replied, again so patiently, so gracious to Zarik despite being slapped and shouted at. While listening, Zarik kept his eyes shut and didn’t move… until he heard a particularly resonant statement: You are my rising sun, my fresh breath of spring; a source of joy within my hollow. The poetry of the words coaxed his eyes open. He looked at the other from behind a curtain of dewy lashes. His irises remained iridescent. His hands moved gently, caressing over the man’s bust. His fingers lingered over where the other man’s heart would beat beneath.

He calmed as Alistair continued to explain and he continued to listen. The subject turned to his father. Zarik fiddled with his earring again. He desperately wanted to be convinced by the nobleman’s promise. He wanted to believe that it’d be that simple, that easy, that straight-forward. The wealth could serve as a convincing argument, but it wasn’t always about gold for his father. Zarik said quietly, “But I know near-to-nothing of Rynmere… Quacia has become our home, I… I promised it would be.”

Zarik glanced to the side, feeling guilty when he heard the other man sigh. The mood between them had changed so much and so quickly, he didn’t know how to recover from it. He slipped on Alistair’s lap some, lowering so his shoulders were submerged in the water. When the human started to talk again, he moved back to concentrate on the shared words.

Told to calm down, Zarik felt a twist in his heart. He didn’t want to act like he was, it wasn’t like he chose to cry and shout from practical reasoning. But he was also embarrassed by how he was acting, so emotively and freely. He forced himself to ease some, focusing on the explanation of Alistair’s perspective about the offer. He wanted a commoner? Someone like Zarik? Had Alistair considered this before now or was it a result of Zarik’s willingness to lay with him? He didn’t know and he wasn’t going to ask that, not now.

For Zarik had noticed the change in the other man’s demeanor. He’d been so happy before, laughing and smiling, and now he seemed almost distressed. And he supposed that made sense, Zarik had callously refused his generosity – yet again – and despite this, Alistair apologized to him.

Zarik watched the other man for a few trills, as Alistair leaned back. He pushed away, against the man’s chest, slipping off Alistair’s lap. He fluidly dived backwards under the water’s surface. His lean body stretched across the center of the bath, his spine appreciated the extension. Underwater, he felt the warmth over his face and shook his hair out some. He placed his hands against the stone bottom, gracefully drawing his body through the water in a circular turn, to then settle with his knees against it. Zarik poked the top of his head out from the water, kneeling a short distance away from Alistair. He gazed at the other man, his eyes unchanging in their prismatic light, though they spoke of calmness and his brows were neutral. In his momentary calmness, surrounded by the water, the biqaj contemplated the human and all that had been said.

His reflection was distracted by a feeling of magnetism toward the other man. Even with the short distance, he wanted to be back on his lap. And he wanted to feel him again, in the rapture that they’d shared. Zarik pressed himself up. He stood in the bath, at his full height, and he looked down at Alistair with a calm expression.

“I love you,” he repeated as if to remind himself of that fact. “I do not understand how or why, I have never romanced before, but perhaps you are correct in that it isn’t my place to understand. Perhaps the Fates wish to steer us together. The first sun oversaw the moment when you… when we met… and it would be scornful of me to deny such a blatant symbol of such unseen forces. But how I feel is... is... is myself. I am of sound mind and independent free spirit. I am not led by anything but myself. My choices are mine to make, even if I am nothing in comparison to your power.”

Zarik stepped through the bath, approached Alistair with a direct gaze, and then shyly placed his hands in front of himself to slightly cover up his body. He hesitantly smiled and said, “I can’t say I understand what I am agreeing to if I were to become your’s in marriage. But if you do not mind having someone who acts so foolish, who cries at you, and shouts, and doesn’t know how to act sophisticated like nobles do; someone who has no money, no connections, nothing but a possessive father who I won’t abandon… how could I deny you?”

He reached out, in offer for Alistair to hold his hand. “As long as it is true, and you are not offering in order to sweep me from a miserable life. I will accept your love and affection, Alistair, but I do not desire pity or charity. I will not accept such things from anyone, but especially not from you.”

∆ I Speak ✣ I Am ✣ I Think ∆

[Alistair]

Even now, with what tensity might have lied between them, it still felt so nice to wield the smaller man within his arms. Scarcely did everything come together as easily, like this love did; like whatever magnetic pull they had between them. Even as the other hesitated and worried and doubted, and as Alistair felt the hollowing sting of disappointment, he felt at home. So... he allowed him to think on everything. To truly absorb his words, as he always seemed to. Even when that was followed by their physical separation, which compelled his body to move, and to wrap the other back in his embrace. It was strange how binding their pull was to one another. It really was like love.

He watched Zarik, his beloved, submerge... sinking to the floor of the bath so as to think. Alistair would have joined him, but the biqaj needed his silence, and calm of mind. Instead, he sat completely straight against the edge of the bath, his glutes pressing against the stony wall as his upper back and shoulder blades became unveiled, though still glistening with droplets of hot water upon his skin. Zarik rose from the water, and their eyes met. Even wet, his hair still looked soft and light, and the urge came over the mage to ruffle through it as he'd done before.

Instead, he brought one knee closer to his chest, while the other leg remained extended. Clutching it between his bicep and forearm, he exhaled, taking notice of the many beads of sweat that glistened on his skin. Zarik rose, looking down at him. His expression had grown more calm, though of course instinctively, the first thing Alistair seemed to stare at was his bare bits. The typical behavior of an unequivocally lecherous man, though as he'd noticed his cast-off gaze, his eyes shot up to meet the biqaj's. For once, the blush overcame his cheeks instead, though like Zarik's it was not a rosy pink but instead a warm amber.

I love you, the biqaj told him. Alistair quietly whispered back, I love you too, unwilling to let his words go off into unrequited silence. As he listened, he realized that both of them struggled to understand the source or purpose of their emotions, and why their pull was so magnetically powerful. At least they both accepted that the pull was there, and provided to them by something. The Immortals, the Fates, he did not know. It did not matter; they accepted what was given to them, and he believed it was in stride.

What Zarik said next made a smile curve onto the shape of his lips. It reminded him of one of the reasons he did know why he loved Zarik; though often what he felt was kept private within the complicated weave that was his mind, always he acted of his own accord. He did not allow Alistair to freely take anything from him, despite the gap that was their power, wealth and prestige. He always needed... to agree, to understand, to accept. And that was why Alistair knew he would be a wonderful ruler at his side, though he saved such thoughts for the moments after Zarik's words came to an end.

For now, they continued, as Zarik drew nearer to him. The mage, gathering himself on the soles of his feet, rose too, though he didn't conceal himself. He stood tall and strong before the other, unwavering in his gaze as the biqaj continued his words. Alistair's smile widened, as a fluttering feeling came over his heart. Excitement; joy, satisfaction, the splendor of a promise made. It appeared they'd made their accord, and the only conditions were that he dealt with - allegedly - a crying, foolish, shouting, unsophisticated, weak and impoverished nobody. Alistair laughed lightly into Zarik's self-deprecation, though he did not try to correct him, so much as he affirmed that even if all of those things were true, he would bind to him all the same.

He took his hand, and nodded. No pity, no charity. Between them would be a symbiosis. A converging of meaning.

"I do not mind," he replied to him, if late, "so long as you do not mind having a husband who is both lecherous and impatient, who often forgets your boundaries when pressing his own, who makes you cry and feel a fool... who finds your stammering and embarrassment all the more attractive; who wields far too many connections, many of them ill, and many a danger. And my father... well. We won't get started on that one," the mage laughed again, weaving his thumb between Zarik's soft fingers, massaging the skin of his palm. The mage stepped forward, then, and kissed him. An elongated peck, chaste, but one that displayed that he was content. "I love you, Zarik," he told him again. "And I accept all of your conditions. And I'm... so glad, that I will be your husband," he expressed this with an almost shrill, gleeful voice as if he were about to distend into joyful tears. He laughed lightly, before laying a flurry of kisses across the other man's complexion.

"My Zarik... my Zarik..." he whispered. "Always be ruled only by your own judgment," he told him. "Your independence - your clarity of mind - is part of why I know you must rule alongside me. You will question me, and torment me with your wisdom, and reveal to me when I am wrong as much as when I am right. You will be my Durien," he told him. The male spouse of a male Duke. "And my confidant. And contrary to what you may believe, for me your common birth is only a boon. Your loyalty will be to me, not some other House; to us, to the family we build, and the children we bring into this world. A proud husband I will be."

With a soft kiss, he wrapped his arm around the other's waist, before he dexterously slid his arms around to the underside of Zarik's legs and lifted them, wrapping them around his waist. The noble showered him with kisses, and his warm breath. "Shall we go to bed?" he asked, moving forward before carefully stepping over the edge of the bath, still carrying Zarik in his strong embrace. "This will be the first of many nights we lay together," he whispered, the mage's pupils raising within his eyes, as if to imagine it. How right it felt.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

The handsome nobleman

blushed in amber and smiled when he heard Zarik’s words. He stood, meeting the biqaj in their respective full heights, and his attractive smile widened. Zarik felt fond of the other man’s expression, glad that what he said had brought back joy in his new – his only – lover. They held hands and Alistair nodded in agreement without a moment’s hesitation.

Zarik listened and it was his turn to smile. He learned of the other man through the statements, much of Alistair still a mystery to him, but he made note of it – of lechery, impatience, rapaciousness, of being so connected to networks that the human saw it as a fault, and a hint of a father that Zarik vaguely understood in their unspoken rapport. He glanced at their hands, tenderly smiled, and exhaled in a relieved manner.

They kissed, a simple but romantic touch, and Zarik felt himself swoon just as he had during their first kiss. The feeling only rose into bliss when he heard the other man’s loving confession again. He supposed he wouldn’t ever get tired of hearing it. Alistair accepted what he’d said, and in turn, Zarik had accepted his request for marriage. He resonated the light laugh with his own nervous giggle, which became louder when Alistair covered him in a flurry of kisses.

Zarik wrapped his arms around the other man’s waist, pressing his body close, and listening to the warm-hearted whispers. He nestled against the human, his hands caressing over Alistair’s back. He blushed at how the nobleman spoke about him, how highly he regarded him. No one had ever viewed Zarik that way before and Zarik felt a sort of uplifting sensation in his core, as if he wanted to fulfill Alistair's vision and prove those generous beliefs true.

“Durien,” he whispered the word in between Alistair’s words. Some of it he didn’t understand still, but he discarded what questions he had for the bliss of the moment and the happiness he saw in his lover. He didn’t want to steal that joy away again. He would find answers in time and deal with them then. Everything would work out. It had to. They were meant to be together.

Zarik easily lifted his legs under Alistair’s guidance, wrapping himself around the larger man. He kissed back, his breath turning hot in want and desire. He nodded in response to going to bed. The biqaj chuckled quietly as Alistair carried him out of the bath. He held on tightly, trailing kisses over the other man’s cheeks, beard, and neck. Zarik paused, returning to look into the other man’s eyes, and he said in response to the night being their first of many, “Yes, dear Alistair, my love. My only love.”

∆ I Speak ✣ I Am ✣ I Think ∆

[Korva]

Rewards!

Name: Zarik

Knowledge:
Skill:
Etiquette: Responding to an intimate proposal
Negotiation: Setting terms for acceptance of a proposal
Politics: Rynmere nobles can marry commoners
Seduction: The fragrance of roses is soothing.
Swimming: Graceful motion in a bath.
Stealth: Silently entering water.
Tactics: Identifying paths to a door.

Non:
Alistair: I'm going to be his Durien.
Alistair: Wants to take me with him.
Alistair: What is love? How I feel toward him.


Loot: NA
Injuries: NA
Renown: NA
Magic XP: NA

Points: 15

- - -

Name:

Knowledge:
Skill
Etiquette: Proposing a political marriage
Negotiation: Explaining the role of your partner in a proposed marriage agreement

Non
Zarik: I'm to be his husband
Zarik: Will rule alongside me in Rynmere
Zarik: I love him, dearly

Loot: NA
Injuries: NA
Renown: NA
Magic XP: NA

Points: 15

- - -

Comments: Aww, that was so cute! It feels like such a jump since I was just reading them flirting a few threads ago and now they are gonna tie the knot?! Damn, they move quick but it didn't seemed rushed, though I am curious to see how it will all play out in the end, Zarik may be shy but he certainly knows his own mind. And Ali just falls so quick, its adorable! Good job guys

If you feel I've missed anything or if you have questions about your review, please don't hesitate to send me a quick PM or ping me in Discord. Thanks!

**Made by the magnificent Kes