50 Zi'da 717
Oliver's symmetrical grin spread across his face, a look of mischief that Caius wasn't accustomed to seeing on him. He chuckled as he took another drag of the cigarette, well aware that Darcyanna had a way of getting people to care about her, and that he himself could say nothing to Caius about saying no to her. He'd always felt like he had to make her happy, and he understood exactly what Caius meant when he said that he didn't care what anyone thought, but he'd still do whatever it took for Darcy.
The older noble offered an admiring glance his way, nodding in approval at the way the northern noble spoke of his sister. If there was anyone in the kingdom who he thought deserved Darcyanna, it was Caius. The sarcastic man lost all bite when talking about Darcy, even when revealing her pain and suffering at the hands of Pythera. His acidity was neutralized by her, and in Oliver's eyes, that meant something.
"Saun is hot, qes, but the breeze coming off Cyrene's Bay makes it slightly more tolerable. I bet, even, you could get her to agree to hold the wedding here in Venora, and the summer air will be filled with flowers and honeysuckle rather than melting ice and muddy paths," Oliver teased, elbowing Caius gently to indicate his intent. He laughed out loud, then took another pull off the cigarette, allowing the smoke to swirl out of his mouth leisurely as they walked. Oliver fell silent for a moment, enjoying Caius' company as they walked.
It amused Oliver how nervous Caius seemed at the dinner with his parents, but that was quickly forgotten in Caius' remark about his age. A quick exhale of smoke was the only sound Caius heard as Oliver spun, coming to bear in front of the northern noble with a glare. He leaned in, the smell of pine needles prevalent around him, and growled.
"Remember this, Gawyne... I'll never be too old to kick your sarding ass," Oliver stated, shark-black eyes not changing colour. He stared him down for a moment before breaking into a wide grin, wrapping a strong arm around Caius neck to pull him in. "Here's to hoping I never have to," he added, just for good measure.
Around the next bend, the splendor of Cyrene's Temple greeted them. Oliver's breath always caught when he beheld it, and this time was no different. The most lavish and exquisite of the Temples, Cyrene's stood mighty against the beautiful Venora landscape, atop a hill looking out over the forest on one side, and farmlands on the other. Carved from marble, it was white, even against the snow, and adorned with a massive statue of the Patron Saint of Honour out front, the Temple was quite the site.
"I told you, but it was worth it, no?" Oliver asked, awe evident in his voice. He kept moving, finishing his cigarette before approaching the sacred place. Climbing the steps, he took the pace slowly and kept Caius next to him, his arms outstretched with palms facing upward.
"The Temple of Cyrene, Patron Saint of Honour. Built as a place of worship for the first knighted woman ever in Rynmere, this temple stands as a bastion against those who would be dishonest and evil in their dealings." He could have been a tour guide. "I used to come here often as a younger man. It's quiet. You'll like it," he said as they passed into the building, a Rynlist monk passing them with a polite if not terse smile.
Inside the temple was a massive chamber, full of candles arranged around individual alters. There were three on either side of the room, each dedicated to another patron: Verne Andaris, Saint of Travel was the first on the left. Directly across, Rakiho Burhan, the Saint of Knowledge, and next to him, Henry Warrick, Saint of War. Across from the Warrick was Gerrard Krome, Saint of Death. The third on the left was Warren Gawyne, the Saint of Life, and directly across from him, Oron Endor, the saint of Justice. But all of them paled in comparison to the dais in the center, the statue of Lady Cyrene here barely any smaller than the one outside the temple. One-hundred and one candles were alight on her dais, and Oliver strode confidently to it, kneeling before it.
"You did not betray, Lady Cyrene, and so too will I not," he recited, the words meaningful even in their four millionth iteration. He did not expect Caius to do the same as he did, but when he stood, he looked expectantly at the northern noble.
"Well? Venoran, am I right?" He grinned, knowingly his family's predilection for opulence.
The older noble offered an admiring glance his way, nodding in approval at the way the northern noble spoke of his sister. If there was anyone in the kingdom who he thought deserved Darcyanna, it was Caius. The sarcastic man lost all bite when talking about Darcy, even when revealing her pain and suffering at the hands of Pythera. His acidity was neutralized by her, and in Oliver's eyes, that meant something.
"Saun is hot, qes, but the breeze coming off Cyrene's Bay makes it slightly more tolerable. I bet, even, you could get her to agree to hold the wedding here in Venora, and the summer air will be filled with flowers and honeysuckle rather than melting ice and muddy paths," Oliver teased, elbowing Caius gently to indicate his intent. He laughed out loud, then took another pull off the cigarette, allowing the smoke to swirl out of his mouth leisurely as they walked. Oliver fell silent for a moment, enjoying Caius' company as they walked.
It amused Oliver how nervous Caius seemed at the dinner with his parents, but that was quickly forgotten in Caius' remark about his age. A quick exhale of smoke was the only sound Caius heard as Oliver spun, coming to bear in front of the northern noble with a glare. He leaned in, the smell of pine needles prevalent around him, and growled.
"Remember this, Gawyne... I'll never be too old to kick your sarding ass," Oliver stated, shark-black eyes not changing colour. He stared him down for a moment before breaking into a wide grin, wrapping a strong arm around Caius neck to pull him in. "Here's to hoping I never have to," he added, just for good measure.
Around the next bend, the splendor of Cyrene's Temple greeted them. Oliver's breath always caught when he beheld it, and this time was no different. The most lavish and exquisite of the Temples, Cyrene's stood mighty against the beautiful Venora landscape, atop a hill looking out over the forest on one side, and farmlands on the other. Carved from marble, it was white, even against the snow, and adorned with a massive statue of the Patron Saint of Honour out front, the Temple was quite the site.
"I told you, but it was worth it, no?" Oliver asked, awe evident in his voice. He kept moving, finishing his cigarette before approaching the sacred place. Climbing the steps, he took the pace slowly and kept Caius next to him, his arms outstretched with palms facing upward.
"The Temple of Cyrene, Patron Saint of Honour. Built as a place of worship for the first knighted woman ever in Rynmere, this temple stands as a bastion against those who would be dishonest and evil in their dealings." He could have been a tour guide. "I used to come here often as a younger man. It's quiet. You'll like it," he said as they passed into the building, a Rynlist monk passing them with a polite if not terse smile.
Inside the temple was a massive chamber, full of candles arranged around individual alters. There were three on either side of the room, each dedicated to another patron: Verne Andaris, Saint of Travel was the first on the left. Directly across, Rakiho Burhan, the Saint of Knowledge, and next to him, Henry Warrick, Saint of War. Across from the Warrick was Gerrard Krome, Saint of Death. The third on the left was Warren Gawyne, the Saint of Life, and directly across from him, Oron Endor, the saint of Justice. But all of them paled in comparison to the dais in the center, the statue of Lady Cyrene here barely any smaller than the one outside the temple. One-hundred and one candles were alight on her dais, and Oliver strode confidently to it, kneeling before it.
"You did not betray, Lady Cyrene, and so too will I not," he recited, the words meaningful even in their four millionth iteration. He did not expect Caius to do the same as he did, but when he stood, he looked expectantly at the northern noble.
"Well? Venoran, am I right?" He grinned, knowingly his family's predilection for opulence.