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The seven Duchies of Central Rynmere and their respective baronies, cities, towns, villages, and landmarks each overseen by a Duke of one of the seven noble families and ultimately controlled by the King of Rynmere.
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Thanking the Fates (Caius)

50 Zi'da 717
The dawn wasn't even broken yet, but Oliver lied awake beneath the warm, pulsing form of Charlotte. He smelled her hair, still awash with the aromas of the party, and ran a smooth hand over the skin of her shoulder. There, lying beneath her after the success of his handiwork, made Oliver feel more like a man than he ever had. There was something about the triumph of political machinations that made Oliver feel like the accomplished politician he was growing to be. Still, though, there was something left unsaid for the night, and he could not close his eyes and rest until he completed it.

Shifting from beneath Charlotte was difficult, both because he did not want to wake her and because he loathed the thought of leaving her. Still, though, he knew he must, so he extricated himself from her comforting grasp. Scrawling a note in pristine script, he left a note beside her stating, "To the Temple. I will return for you.

P.S. I wrote this for you.

Her lips are distant shores/
past and present/
would that I could sail there and stay
".

Nodding, he dressed quickly and left the room, closing the door so silently he might have floated through it. The stairs were solid, and did not make a noise under his bare feet. Even Jirelle and her staff had not yet woken to start the morning's breakfast, and the kitchen was silent and gloomy in the early dawn. Smiling, Oliver set about making his own coffee, not yet having even buttoned his shirt. The water he dipped was cold, colder because of the time of trial, and he set it in the kettle to heat over a fire that started quickly.

It was only a bit or two before the grounds and water entered the press, and another bit or two until the hot, brown liquid was in a ceramic mug adorned by a rose. Steam rose from the top of the cup, and Oliver watched its graceful ascent into absence, swirling and twirling like a ballerina until its disintegration into the cold air. The first sip sent a sensation of bitterness and nuttiness over his tongue, burning it and warming his entire mouth. He recoiled at how hot it truly was, but held his tongue. There was nobody around, but still he felt the hundreds of eyes of the gala-goers on him, as if he were on display for the entire Kingdom. A frown creased his face, and he stared at the brown liquid intensely.

I'm going, he told the empty quietness around him. He knew he had to... Fates, he wanted to. It was the only thing left to accomplish. He had to pay homage to the Seven, to thank them for the success of the previous night. Still, though, the cold and the grogginess made the prospect of traveling unsavory. Sitting there with his coffee in the cold, he had a hard decision to make.

Though it was not so hard that he made the wrong decision.

Both hands grasped the ceramic mug, warming them and warding them against the coolness of the dawn air. Dark black eyes flashed up, adjusting quickly to the deepening darkness to make out a form moving in it. Fear jolted through him, just a flash of it, but he remained where he was seated. It was likely Jirelle or Gustauv, presumably coming to light the fires for the morning breakfast. Sipping his coffee again, when he lowered the mug, his eyes were more adjusted, and they outlined a much smaller frame than Gustuav, and one too wiry for Jirelle. Immediately, Caius sprung to his mind, and Oliver called out softly into the night.

"Qa'akor?" His voice was strong and confident. The only ghosts that scared him were still alive, and sleeping upstairs.
Last edited by Oliver Venora on Fri Jan 05, 2018 8:24 am, edited 1 time in total. word count: 648
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And he was awake.

Half-buried beneath the weight of far too many blankets, half desperate for the chill of Zi'da to crawl under his bare too-warm skin, Caius still managed to commit to being a whole-hearted and selfishly indulgent cuddler, all arms and legs eagerly tangled with lovely, pale flesh. Only quietly. Or perhaps clandestinely. Or at least scandalously. All of them, maybe. The precise semantic choice escaped him in the darkness of whatever early break it must have been, watching Darcy sleep with only a hint of envy, for while he'd slept eventually after the Gala, so overwhelmed by so much social expectation, so needful of more focused attention just to unwind from it all, long stretches of real rest continued to escape him, especially in someone else's home, especially so pleasantly, defiantly compromised as he'd allowed the pair of them to become.

He'd come to the conclusion that his thoughts lost their otherwise superior form of coherence in her presence, the delicate pianist comfortable in his arms inexplicably capable of undoing his well-practiced intelligence with but a smile. Words wandered the halls of his mind none the less—snippets of conversation, names, faces, actions and anecdotes—and the young Gawyne knew he had to record them, had the obligation to write it all down. He sighed, aware he wasn't going back to sleep anyway. Pressing lips to the blonde Venora's forehead, resisting the urge to wake her, he slipped away and curled toes against the cold floor. Finally. Drawing back up the covers to tuck Darcy in, he moved toward the small hearth in the large room before bothering to sort through the darkness for his clothes, the afterthought of a fireplace decorative but necessary for warmth in this season, at least for southerners he supposed. He took his time waking up the embers and adding a log or two to the fire he brought back to life, making sure that by the time there was actual sunlight, the room would be toasty and comfortable.

The ruddy glow of the flames was enough for him to find his clothes by. Most of them. The minimum necessary, anyway: disheveled shirt he was too lazy to button, vest, and pants. Oh, those. Everything else was fine wherever it was for now, surely. Tugging what he'd managed on, he paused to pick up Darcy's dress from the floor and set it in a more proper fashion on the settee in the room, grinning stupidly in a moment of unfiltered admiration because he was alone in the quiet dark, because no one could hear the rush of his pulse in his ears but himself.

He sighed.

Barefoot, cold stone a welcome relief, he made his way out of the blonde Venora's room and into the hallway in order to navigate his way in a stranger's home toward the guest room he'd been given but irreverently ignored, quiet but suddenly eager for his journal and candlelight before the dawn, even if it meant crossing through far more of the estate than he remembered. Lost in thought as his mind replayed the evening before, cataloguing conversation and names with exhausting accuracy, he meandered farther and farther off course in the dark, half exploring, half reliving the details of the Gala so he could write them clearly onto the pages of his journal. Either the enticing scent of coffee—lifeblood of printmakers and their apprentices everywhere across Idalos—lead him or he really didn't have that great of a sense of direction when distracted, but the voice that pulled him from his walk just about yanked a shout from him, too.

Eyes wide, slivers of silver in the shadows, Caius' expression was one of a child caught with his hand in the still-warm baked goods, of a rabbit in the garden. He blinked heavily, the chilled darkness enough to hide the blush that warmed his features given his unpresentable, disheveled, obvious state of pre-dawn existence,

"Qes, Oliver." The young Gawyne's morning voice was much more like a never-slept sort of affair, gravely and deeper, and he cleared his throat, ink-stained fingers undecided whether to tame his hair or button his shirt, blurting shyly even as he wandered closer, "I don't sleep. Well. I don't sleep well."

His grin was wary for he sought no forgiveness, eyes shifting from the older man's face to his mug to his barely more excusable state of undress to the empty kitchens, the hearths still smoldering before the trial's normal bustle began,

"Are you the morning type, then?"
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Thanking the Fates (Caius)

"In the early hours, we found our humanity."
"Hardly," came the curt response. Sipping the coffee again, Oliver blinked at looked up at Caius, his adventures the previous night evident from the elegantly disheveled appearance. Setting the coffee cup down, Oliver's mind raced through more emotions than he knew he had. Anger at the boy's blatant, and unintentional, display seared indigo into the man's eyes. Followed quickly by the realization that he could not stop Darcyanna, and the crushing realization that she truly wasn't a girl anymore. Every time he thought he accepted the fact, it struck him again like a tsunami on the shores, washing away his resolve like huts. Sighing, his breath heated by the liquid in his cup and showing in the cold morning air, Oliver waved a hand to invite Caius to sit.

Rising from his chair, his own shirt and pants still unbuttoned, he set out to find another ceramic mug, this one not emblazoned by the Venoran Rose. Setting the plain brown mug down in front of Caius, Oliver unceremoniously filled the cup with the bitter brown liquid, sitting back down across the table from Caius. The entire exchange was silent, Oliver moving deftly in the dark around objects he'd committed to memory arcs ago in order to make his way silently through the kitchens and out the back door to freedom. Not much had changed in the estate in the arcs since he'd been a man.

Placing both elbows on the table, Oliver lifted the cup and held it in his hands, the warmth welcome though he was not truly cold. His mind wandered back up the stairs to the sleeping Warrick in his bed, and a smile formed on his lips. Shark-black eyes settling back on Caius, Oliver nodded.

"Though I will say, there is something serene about the stillness of morning. You seem more than familiar with it, and I am but learning of it here in the past season or so," Oliver murmured, his voice carrying across the quiet of the kitchen like a mouse scurrying as the lantern is lit. A smile managed to crease his face, and he took another sip of his coffee. "Yestertrial's gala was a success, by my calculation. I believe I have covered everything, except one final thing. I have to thank the Fates for their bounties. So, I thought I'd wake up early and walk to The Temple."

He smirked at Caius, his face half-shadowed by the darkness of the kitchen. His eyes seared to an ember-orange, and he chuckled at the coming joke.

"I know you're a filthy Immortal-spawn, but you're welcome to accompany me to Cyrene's Shrine. I'm going to offer my thanks, and perhaps stop by the bakery to grab some fresh muffins for the girls for breakfast. Of course, you're welcome to return to bed as well. It seems you were more than comfortable in it."

The wolfish grin that followed that was a dig at Caius, a challenge to defy Oliver's observation. Oliver found that he cared less than he thought he would that Caius had spent the night in Darcy's bed, but it still was his job to break the Gawyne's balls. Especially when he was so obviously skittish about Oliver seeing him in such a state.

"Choice is yours." Oliver grinned and took another drink of his coffee.
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Their shared Biqaj heritage gave the older Venora's emotions away, though Caius was at a loss on how to read them. He was only aware that their various changes held meanings that he'd yet to reach a level of familiarity enough to fully understand. His own irises warmed back to life in color from the pale, demur silver they'd been to more of an amused mix of mostly bright greens and blues. As much as he could see from Oliver's expression that he was processing the implications of Caius' unashamed state of purposeful lack of sleep and the current break, he couldn't help keep himself from being amused about it all. He was no longer a child, after all, but he was a guest.

Ink-stained fingers of one hand curled into his unkempt hair and lingered there for an extra trill or two, as if it took him a moment to realize that Oliver had invited him to sit.

The young Gawyne sat as the older Venora stood as if on queue, and he watched the other man wordlessly go through the physical process of making him a cup of coffee. He understood the need to physically move through things in order to move through less tangible situations, for his art and his printmaking were purposefully physical forms of expression that he required to stay sane as both a student and a person, let alone as a noble. Perhaps the older Venora didn't quite have the same needs as Caius did, but he still studied the other man's actions with the same quiet understanding,

"I'm not familiar with it by choice, honestly." He sighed, bare feet folding together against the cold floor of the kitchen,"I haven't slept well in nine arcs or so—for reasons you now know more of. Add to that the life of a student and my unique need to fund my own studies, and everything together has only fueled my propensity to stay awake—that and it's fekking hard to turn my mind off ever in general. So, these sarding ridiculous breaks before dawn and I are more casual friends who most likely gossip about each other behind each other's backs, not brothers who hold each other together when it matters." The young Gawyne was decidedly poignant with his word choices, fingers curling around the plain brown mug full of pleasing hot liquid with a wistful sort of smile, meeting Oliver's comfortable, dark gaze with an almost expectant expression. He paused to drink some of the coffee, necessary as it had become to his tenuous conscious existence,

"A success is probably a sarding understatement—"

The older Venora had more to say, and so Caius paused to let him, though the smirk and shift in irises gave him away before he'd even spoken his words. The northern noble's gaze warmed further to some shade of Ashan blossom’s honey, the grin that crept into his own features as bold and wild as the color that flushed his cheeks, "—I'm more than capable of both spiritually and intellectually reconciling the Seven with the Immortal pantheon. For the record, Warren Gawyne was also known as the Half God for an obvious reason, and yet here we are giving the Seven the adoration and respect I agree whole heartedly they're due—not the Six. I'm not without my own gratitudes, but I'd be quite willing to also share in yours."

If those quiet words spoken from near the rim of his mug, steam and his breath curling from its surface, were more passionate than he'd expected, his next words were moreso, "Comfortable? Yes, but if you're going to call me out properly with your far from incorrect assumptions, qy'akor, please also keep in mind just how many trials Darcy has stayed clean and understand that I am, in an admittedly crass sort of way, a far better, far gentler distraction than the alternatives she could fall back into. Plus, sard it all, it’s not like I don’t care about her. Please, for Fate’s sake, I do. You don't have to sarding like it, of course, and I know that. This is your brotherly duty, after all, and I accept its painful necessity. I expect nothing less, Oliver."

He laughed then, quiet and taunting, so brazenly unapologetic to offer himself as a self-prescribed distraction when the truth was he had weathered the forceful, stinging, exhausting brunt of Darcy's withdrawal almost entirely alone for the past twenty nine trials without complaint. He wasn't the only distraction, it was true, for classes and life went on around them and they were forced to participate, but he'd been shoved into a caregiving task he had no prior experience in and had no choice but to suffer through the consequences. Because he wanted nothing else. Because he knew it was important. Because he sarding cared. Far more than he imagined he could have already. Thus, in his mind, that he also enjoyed for himself the comforts of both her sobriety and her body were his personal spoils for a hopeful victory and the inevitable joys of a more than simply shallow infatuation.

Because, the truth was, he was well aware that he felt deeper things than that, emotions that had a name that he was not at all ready to speak life into quite yet.

"I'm not sure I heard a choice there." Caius replied softly, irises paler, less vibrant, subdued, the heat of his mug against his palms a strange comfort,"But, I should come with you, yes.”
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Thanking the Fates (Caius)

"Confessions"
Oliver's face broke into a wide smile, growing ever wider as Caius' continued his short tirade. Of course Caius was a far more preferable alternative to the drugs Darcy had been using, and Oliver was neither upset that they had spent the night together, nor upset that Caius was not hiding it. He had anticipated their coupling, or the knowledge of it, bothering him far more than it did. Still, though, he could not help but feel that Caius truly was good for Darcyanna, and he would much rather the young foul-mouthed noble to identifying Darcy's corpse. He always knew she was going to grow up one day, so he should not have been surprised that she had done so while out of the house.

Still, though, to hear Caius begrudgingly admit it at such an early break brought a genuine smile to the older noble's face. Oliver's eyes flashed a quick lime green, so eerily like Darcy's eyes when she was happy, that in the dark, Caius might have assumed they were Darcy's eyes. Instead, though, Oliver's retreated back to a sky blue, an amused contentedness settling on his countenance. He took another drink of his coffee, using his free left hand to button his shirt up the middle. He did not intend to dress in full attire, only that which he needed to cover himself for decency's sake. His right hand gripped the coffee cup, taking another sip, followed by an exhalation visible by the contrast of hot and cold.

"Caius, I know. I know." Oliver assured him, face suddenly sober. He looked over the miasma of coffee steam, the two cups rising between them like the Veil to the Unknown. Eyes piercing through it, Caius could feel the earnestness in Oliver's words, even though the smile stayed planted firmly. "You don't need to convince me, Caius. Once, I thought that I was good for Darcy, and now, I've found that I have been largely unsuccessful, and you have been there in my stead. And I am truly grateful. Truly happy, even, that you were there to catch her when I could not."

He leaned forward on his elbows, sighing. Oliver had no children, so he could not know the feeling of a father relinquishing the thought of his daughter being the little girl, but he knew now the feeling of allowing his sister into another's protection, and though he would not give up his own feelings of protectiveness, he trusted Caius to keep her safe. Which surprised him, though he would not tell that to the Gawyne noble. He always thought that he would oppose any marriage prospects for Darcy, solely on the grounds that the suitor would not be suitable. But Caius, he thought, was, in more ways than one. Finishing the hot coffee in his mug, Oliver set it back down. Seemingly looking through Caius, Oliver smiled.

"Good morning, Jirelle." The chef emerged from the shadow, eyes red and tired as she approached to start the morning's breakfast. Her surprise was tempered with annoyance at the two of them already being in her workspace.

"My lord," came the dry response, clear and concise despite her obvious lack of sleep from cleaning the trial before.

"Jirelle, I wanted to thank you for your excellent work last trial. Your delicacies were so well received that I garnered multiple compliments, and I assured them that Jirelle Montrosse was the greatest chef in the Kingdom. So for that, you have my eternal gratitude." Oliver's eyes were shark black again, and Jirelle's sleepy eyes matched his as she offered a polite smile.

"Happy to do my duty, my lord," she breathed. Sighing, she set to rekindling the fire Oliver had set, and the lord cleared his throat.

"Actually, Jirelle, I'd like to give you the trial off. You and the rest of the kitchen staff. All your work yesterday has left more than enough food to feed the house today, and Lord Gawyne and I are going to be at Cyrene's Temple most of the morning anyhow. Please, return to sleep, or do whatever it is you wish to do this trial." Oliver's smile was sincere, and the blackness of his eyes shone with admiration. The older woman smiled brightly at that, excited by the prospect of a few more breaks of sleep before going on a crisp walk through the Zi'da air. With a thank you, she bowed and exited the kitchens.

"As for us, qy'akor, we should get going. I'm going to finish dressing, I say we meet back here in ten bits? Is that enough to kiss Darcy and be away?" He winked, once again teasing the man. Rising from his chair, he moved his mug to the wash basin and tucked in his shirt, already heading to the stairs to kiss Charlie goodbye for the majority of the trial.
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Oliver smiled at him from across the table, both men with their hands greedily curled around warm mugs of coffee at some sarding stupid break just before dawn, though the older man in Caius' eyes clearly resembled someone much more put together and better rested than himself. Perhaps it was just admiration, really. The young Gawyne remembered in the other man's expression what it felt like to be close to his siblings, to his eldest brother specifically, and he was forced to divert his gaze from the older Venora's face into the steaming, half-empty contents of his mug.

Bogs. He missed his family.

He longed to restore the broken relationships with his brother, with his family, more than he knew how to articulate, for there had been a time in his childhood that they had all been so close, that they would have been able to both confide in each other as well as give each other the kind of hard time Oliver was clearly enjoying in this moment. How selfishly Caius enjoyed it, too, broadly grinning at the older man's compliments despite the heavy ache in his chest, a hint of warm color rising to his cheeks. Would Hunter care at all? Would Ivy be enthused? The not knowing gnawed at him, such a comfortable, familiar friendship offered to him from across the table already. He blinked,

"Of course you're good for Darcy. She's clearly wanted to see you, missed you. If I've done nothing else worthwhile, bringing her back home was it." The young Gawyne offered quietly, not bothering to conceal his embarrassment at such honesty, hiding the last of his words behind the rim of his mug.

Jirelle startled him, weighed down by his own thoughts, but he managed to not fumble with his coffee, thankfully. His smile softened at Oliver's sending his cook back to bed, and meeting the older Venora's gaze expectantly,

"Oh, there's much that can be accomplished in ten bits if you're creative enough, but I'll spare you the sarding details, shall I?" Caius really couldn't help himself, laughing coyly as he stood and stretched. Rolling his eyes at his own taunting humor, following Oliver's example with his empty mug and watching the other man with a mix of genuine amusement and mock caution, "I mean, yes, that's sufficient, qy'akor."

The northern noble may as well have laughed his way out of the kitchen, waving a hand as if to indicate he'd return shortly, and wandering his way back first to Darcy's room to collect the rest of his clothing.

Once there, he couldn't help but find precarious purchase on the side of the bed where the delicate pianist was curled comfortably in sleep as he'd left her in his restless insomnia, ink-stained fingers still busy with the buttons of his shirt. Brushing stray platinum strands from her face, Caius leaned in for a light, purposeful brush of lips against pale skin, not intending to wake her entirely,

"I'm off to the temple with Oliver, but I'll be back with treats." He muttered quietly if she stirred, stealing what lingering kisses he could, "Sleep for me, though."

Someone should.

Chuckling, he'd finish dressing, not bothering with his coat once he'd put on his vest. Tugging on his boots, he slipped away again from the Pink Room and paused for only a moment in his guest room to leave his coat behind. Back downstairs and hovering near the staircase in less than ten bits, Caius ran a hand through his ever-unkempt hair and felt accomplished of himself, having avoided falling into the warm distraction Darcyanna proved herself to be.
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50 Zi'da 717
His steps were nearly silent as he advanced up the staircase, silent in his approach back to his room to dress. As he entered, he paused, surveying Charlotte's nude form as a sliver of sunslight fell across her. He smiled quietly to himself, slipping around her to finish grabbing the rest of the outfit for the trial. It was cool outside, but not so much so as to warrant the wool, so he merely tucked his shirt into his trousers, found his shoes, and grabbed his jacket. He was sure Caius would likely be dressed about the same, and the Lord Venora wanted to show the younger man that he was not some suns-kissed Southerner.

Standing over Charlotte, he gazed down at the beautiful woman, warmth spreading across his chest. He leaned in and kissed her forehead gently, soft lips barely lighting on the skin before he stood and slipped from the room. He did not want to wake her, especially after the excitement of the previous trial. As the door closed deftly behind him, he pulled the jacket on and made his way down the stairs, beating Caius by a few bits. He spent his time by standing in the ballroom, once again empty as Gustauv and Lennard had cleared the table. In the room without the bodies and furniture, it felt massive, overwhelmingly so. He hesitated before he left, turning back to leave a silent, "thank you," to the empty space. Or perhaps it was the feeling of the Seven Saints lingering in the success of the prior evening. Either way, Oliver offered his silent gratitude and turned from the room, meeting with Caius by the front door. Donning a smile, Oliver put a hand on the doorknob.

"Ready, brother?" The question came with the opening of the door, the frigid air blasting onto them and searing the inside of Oliver's nostrils. Holding the door for Caius, he grinned. "Let's be underway."

With that, he pushed from the doorway, closing and locking it behind him. He and Caius had a moderate trek in front of them, and Oliver wanted to make it to the Temple by the suns' zenith. Putting a hand on Caius' shoulder, he led the way.

"Darcy looked radiant last evening. She and Charlie stole the scene. It'd be my luck, the talk about the gala will center on their dresses and Darcy's piano duet," he laughed, running a hand through his hair before stuffing it back into the pocket of his jacket. He walked beside Caius, an equal, as he steered them towards the Temple.

"Did you have fun, qa'akor?" He asked, slyly smiling but not looking at Caius. He knew that Caius wasn't a fan of crowds, especially with the fluidity with which the gala crowd ebbed and flowed.
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Oliver was waiting for him, and the young Gawyne smiled, following him out the door into the crisp Zi'da morning. It was just enough to steal his breath for a moment, the shift from the warm, comfortable interior and into the frigid air that threatened more snow later in the trial judging by how it felt against Caius' skin, but once the northern noble adjusted to the temperature, he didn't regret leaving his coat behind. It would be quite a walk from here to the Temple, he guessed, and at least now he'd be comfortable making it.

Caius' smile softened at the hand on his shoulder, unable to resist the warmth that filled him from such a simple act of affection. He'd felt it before, that longing for a renewed closeness to his siblings, but it felt so sarding difficult, the divide between them all no longer necessarily one that suffered greatly from geographical distance so much as from emotional negligence. Was some of that his own fault? Had he purposefully found ways to withdraw from his relationship with Ivy or with Hunter? With his younger siblings, too? Yes, he could admit that had anyone asked him, but the young Gawyne was also aware, painfully so, that not every burden of blame fell onto his narrow frame, no. Everyone had made their own choices, and now they each had to take conscious action to change them. If they wanted to, of course.

For the moment, he felt as though he was alone in his longing, and that stung.

So, Caius did his best not to lean too much into the older Venora's hand as they walked, did his best not to let the lopsided smile give him away,

"Darcy always looks radiant, but I'm sarding biased. Last night in particular, however, and, yes, the Lady Warrick as well. Having Master Madero come to play was quite the surprise, Oliver. You have no one to blame but yourself if that's all everyone talks about, so don't look at me for pity. I'd say that it was quite the evening for everyone." He grinned, taunting the other man as they walked. Surely, he wasn't entirely complaining so much as making conversation. All of Rynmere would definitely be talking about the smashing success of the Charity Soirée for thee rest of the arc, if not well into the next. The older man's plans had come together beautifully, and Caius assumed Oliver could see it, even just a little.

He laughed at the next question, a reserved noise instead of his usual calloused one. Looking away to let his emerald gaze wander the cold, snow-covered landscape as they walked through unfamiliar countryside, the young Gawyne acknowledged his enjoyment with only a hint of begrudging honesty, "I did, thank you. It was, on occasion, far more than I'm used to, but overall, I can admit that I enjoyed myself. Perhaps, however, I only have to thank the company I've recently chosen to keep."

Caius looked back to Oliver then with a lopsided, genuine smile, including the older Venora in that compliment in addition to his lovely sister,

"And yourself? Despite the madness it must have been to organize the whole thing, I trust it was somewhat rewarding for you, maybe even a little enjoyable?"

He was quite confident that he was incapable of putting together such an event, probably ever. For a moment, while he listened, his mind wandered to his implied words on the dance floor with Darcyanna and he realized that eventually, sooner rather than later, he'd be responsible for at least one grand event in his lifetime. His expression faltered for a moment, the northern noble chewing the inside of his cheek as he worked to reign in his thoughts, irises shifting with a mix of emotions,

"Oliver," Caius hesitated, aware that he was shifting the conversation, but unable to ignore the thoughts that had woven their way into his mind, tightening his chest and setting his ears ringing with his pulse, "you're free to take this as a forward request, but could I ask you to arrange a conversation with your parents and myself? A formal introduction, of sorts. You—"

His expression was neither coy nor shy, but the young Gawyne's voice was quieter in his asking. He hadn't even written home to his own parents yet—they had no sarding clue of the plans he'd already begun to hope for in his mind,

"—you can say no, of course." There it was, that edge of sarcasm that came with the hint of a knowing grin, Caius revealing with a flush of color to his cheeks what his question skirted around and the depth of his unspoken commitment, "But I don't want to sarding fight you, qa'akor."
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Oliver Venora
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Thanking the Fates (Caius)

50 Zi'da 717
Oliver's own grin spread across his face, Caius' words scathing even in jest. The man had a way of fortifying his intentions with sarcasm or wit, a mechanism for defense most likely picked up in regards to his own siblings. Oliver understood, of course, the way he used words and tone to distance himself from others, but it was always jarring when he used it on Oliver. The Venoran lord had considered them to have grown close, and though Caius meant nothing by it, Oliver could not help but feel shunned.

"Never any pity from the Northern Lord, no ser. I wasn't looking for pity, zeq'mat. All the talk should go to them. This whole thing wasn't about me. It was about being visual to everyone, to the common citizens too. Darcyanna always told me that music transcended social status, that the beauty of the notes was universal. Her duet was supposed to be the bridge between nobility and commonry." Oliver said, face sober. However, when Caius looked at him, a wide grin tore across his face.

"Or I'm full of shit, and I had to do all but beg Malero to come. Old bastard is miserly, let me tell you. But don't tell DA, she admires him a lot," Oliver added, the secret smile of his playing on his lips. He knew that he'd made her evening, and despite Malero's poor attitude and arrogance, it had been worth the favours Oliver had to call in to get the man there. If he never had to see Malero again, it would be too soon, but the man had agreed to take Darcyanna under his tutelage because of her performance the previous trial. It was a far better outcome than Oliver could have foreseen, and he'd hoped for a pretty great duet.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it, qa'akor. Honestly, I had considered it might be a bit much for you, you being a Gawyne recluse and all," teased the older man, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket to remove a silver case, the same one Caius recognized from the prior evening. "Indulge again?" Oliver asked, holding out one of the apple-flavoured cigarettes as he stuck one between his own lips. With it still there, he kept talking.

"I enjoyed it, yes, but some parts more than others. We raised a considerable amount of nel for the orphanages in Rynmere, so there's something to be said there. Dancing with Charlie was wonderful. The little break you and I took to get some air, my talk with Xander... The night had its highlights, sure. Though, I'm going to need a season to recover before the next one," Oliver added in amusement. "I feel like I've not slept since Saun. And in truth, I probably haven't had a decent night's sleep since then, actually."

Oliver lit his cigarette, then Caius' before Caius spoke. With the lit tobacco between his fingers, Oliver stopped, turning to look squarely at Caius. A smile played at the edges of his lips, but he just repressed it. He stood there, staring, slowly lifting the cigarette to his lips. The apple-flavoured smoke entered and exited, and he nodded.

"You know, I was beginning to think you'd not even ask me. I thought maybe you'd just bypass myself and my parents, and just run off together. Get some smallfolk wedding," he said, winking. "Not that I'd object. I've seen the way you look at her. For all your swears and bravado, I can see it pretty clearly on your face. And the poor kid sees something in you. What, I don't know," Oliver teased, playing clapping Caius on the shoulder.

Oliver didn't have a brother. Having two sisters was always strange, and he'd never gotten to share the feeling of comradery like he had with Caius. He was glad the Gawyne noble had asked him, because he was going to set it up anyway and just have Darcy force Caius along. This made it simpler. With a smile and a nod, Oliver took another drag.

"Qes, qa'akor, I'll set it up. Knowing Manu and Kalani, it'll be a family dinner. Father likes to eat, and Mother likes to have everyone present so they can all see how gracious she can be. Arrogance is a Venora trait, but hers is legend among legends," Oliver concluded with some wistfulness in his voice. Smiling quickly, though, he continued on towards the Temple, nearly there.

"Not that you'd win that fight. Remember last time?" The question was made in jest, but there was an edge of hardness behind it.
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Caius Gawyne
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Thanking the Fates (Caius)

"Malero's the zeq'mat then, not me. I'm just giving you a hard time because I can, not because I'm too full of my own talent to see clearly." Caius scoffed a little, smirking none the less. It annoyed him that so many with knowledge or talent refused to share it openly, that some took the power they had and hoarded it above everyone else all after a fist full of nel or some other personal sense of satisfaction. Perhaps that was part of his own disillusionment, his own self-loathing as nobility. It shaped his impatience with his own kind, and yet, he was aware of his own comfort in his birthright of privilege.

As a Gawyne, he valued the knowing, but as a habitual student, he valued the sharing of that knowledge. He'd run into too sarding many scholars in Viden who hid what they knew, who made access to betterment a struggle instead of a gift. He hated it. That Master Malero had offered to teach Darcyanna was hopefully not a kindness that would stroke only the man's ego but would actually challenge the delicate pianist to move forward in her own creativity. The northern noble made note to pay attention to the relationship, frowning for a moment at the thought, but then he laughed it off, shaking his head as if to clear the sudden resentment that he felt when it came to the powerful abusing their power,

"You clearly don't have enough brothers, Oliver, considering you have none. Well, now, you do." He grinned then as if to let him know that his sarcasm was teasing and his teasing was affectionate. The not-so-gentle shove from a too-warm hand was hopefully helpful, Caius' expression lopsided, "Ot djal—I'm a sarding recluse because people can get annoying. Not everyone, mind you, just most of them. It was a bit much, but oh well. I lived, I think. Again, I have the company I've chosen to keep as of late to thank, qa'akor."

He made a show of patting himself down as if looking for injury while the older Venora dug back out from his coat the silver cigarette case, rolling his warm green eyes before accepting what Oliver offered him without objection, "A whole season, eh? Too bad. My birth trial's at the end of Cylus." Caius enjoyed the mingling of smoke with the cloud of his breath in the frigid air, but he coughed in surprise at the older man's response to his questions of arranging a meeting,

"Smallfolk wedding—you're sarding joking, right?" His eyes widened for a moment in surprise and the expression would not be not unfamiliar as it resembled something like the pair's unexpected meeting earlier that morning. Quiet, the young Gawyne weighed his response carefully, perhaps afraid that his complete honesty would be misconstrued as scandalous, despite Oliver's playful permissions. There was a moment, a heavy and very tangible moment, that Caius let hang in the air between them, his grin fading. The flicker of fear, of knowledge he carried in closely-guarded secret, of a sorrow heavier than any lie he'd kept from Darcyanna, was visible across his features, and then—just like that!—the northern noble looked away, to the road, to the snowy countryside, requiring a long, wordless drag of his gifted cigarette before speaking again,

"As tempting as that is—and it is sorely tempting—I can't deny her the most gorgeous wedding in all of Rynmere that she deserves—that'd be cruel."

So sarding cruel, indeed.

And yet, here he was. He knew. He fucking knew every last trill of it. But he could pretend he didn't. So he did.

He was slow to look back at the older Venora, but when he did, his smile cautiously returned, a little more distant than before, left hand curled into a fist in his pocket and ink-stained nails digging into his too-warm palm, "I can't sarding deny her anything, to be honest. I may not do everything the right way and I may not entirely care what anyone thinks even when I do, but I would never ignore family obligations on a matter as serious as we nobles like to take marriage."

Well, mostly.

Smallfolk wedding? Bogs, yes. Please. If only it was recognized by the Church to just do such a thing. The thought of the kind of ceremony the delicate pianist deserved made the young Gawyne's neck burn just thinking about the sea of faces and the social skills required that he had no desire whatsoever to really bring himself to fully possess.

"Just about the only thing I'd rather be a Commoner for, though, would be a simple, quiet wedding any other season but Saun. Fates-be-damned hottest season and in Andaris. Whoever planned that wasn't a Gawyne, that's for sure. If that were possible, then, yes, I'd probably just sneak it all under your noses, by the Seven. But, alas, there's no eloping for a noble in the Kingdom of Rynmere. Bogs." Caius' grin was wicked but so very telling. He laughed as if to dismiss it, but he couldn't hide from Oliver everything he truly felt, walking in the morning sunrise that lent to the Zi'da air no warmth,

"Dinner it is, then. Just tell me when—" The older Venora's taunt drew another chuckle out of the young Gawyne who rolled his eyes and hissed through his teeth a mix of words, smoke, and breath, "Havakda—I was, uh, unprepared last time. This time? I could take you, old man."

If Caius tensed a little as if to goad the other man, it was mostly in jest, kicking a few rocks in Oliver's direction from the road as his irises warmed to a verdant green. He was used to taunting his brothers, far more used to joking around in their company than the company of a crowd. Even when he didn't see eye to eye with his siblings, humor diffused tensions. His was just usually sarcastic, but his willingness to play with words in such a way with Oliver was just a hint of affection,

"You weren't kidding about the walk, though, were you?"
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