“Well, go on then
and tell me, Alistair,” said Zarik. He pivoted in a full turn. “How do I look?”
In the privacy of their bedroom at Ashvane Estate – a stately house on the Riovara in the Gleam of Quacia – the youthful biqaj presented himself to his husband. Zarik stood on top of a small box, dressed from head to toe in the first set of armor he’d ever owned.
Zarik awaited Alistair’s scrutiny. He did his best not to fidget. While it wasn’t his first time wearing the armor set, the only other time had been when he’d had it fitted during purchase. He outstretched his arms. The lining of his dark leathers brushed against the chainmail mesh underneath.
The svelte ice-blond shuffled his boots, in another full turn, so Alistair could get a complete view. Though it was the middle of the trial, their shared morning had been weighty and the couple had only returned from Ne’haer the evening before. Yet it was not all stress and conflict since their return, for close to dawn, Zarik had accomplished a climb at one of the highest vantage points in the Gleam. Though even on top of the Fortress battlements, far above the shopping district, Alistair had found him and ruptured them away with ease.
He tried to not dwell on what had happened, though neither did he want to forget: the argument between him and Alistair, the overwhelm of emotions when his frigid defense had melted away, and his noble husband's unexpected apology in return; and then the rune that Alistair had drawn on his cheek, immediately followed by a disastrous meeting with that savage Lothar - the one Alistair persisted to include in their household despite the intimate whispers shared between the newlyweds when they were alone. How could anyone be included in such intense closeness, though? How could they understand the things that Zarik confessed to Alistair? They couldn't.
Zarik felt bewildered about it, but the time he’d spent alone with his husband in the aftermath of the stressful introduction had soothed him. Though he needed to contemplate what had happened, he refused to leave Alistair’s side. He didn’t want the nobleman to disappear. He didn't want to have to wait around until Alistair returned with the musky barbarian scent of that Lothar on him again. Zarik had barely managed to clean the stench off Alistair with the pool water in the courtyard and the addition of a few surprise spritzes of cologne when he’d been getting dressed in his armor.
Alistair felt along the new armor and examined it with touch, sharing his approval of the outfit. Zarik accepted the compliments without shyness or dismissal. He smiled, happy that the other man – who wore a much grander set of armor than his own – found his choices suitable. Zarik assumed they might spend the afternoon on sparring, though he didn’t know how he could possibly make a dent on the battlemage. Though he supposed Alistair could teach him to properly spar with the thralls, like had been promised the last time they’d talked about such things.
It was, after all, increasingly important for him to learn how to defend not only himself, but his newly realized son, Asher, as well. It'd only been a few trials since his lineage had been confirmed; offspring from both Zarik's and Alistair's bloodlines. After what Alistair had told him on the battlements – about their son being at risk from all the people who wanted to assassinate or ruin his husband, who wanted to hurt Alistair and everyone loved in the nobleman’s life – Zarik felt an even stronger sense of ambition to become more powerful.
Alistair whispered to him, then, and Zarik stopped moving about in presentation of his new attire. "I’m glad you’re not mad at me," said the magister, "You’ve always been like that, though. Forgiving of my flaws."
“My love, your flaws make you wh-” Zarik had placed a hand on the nobleman’s cheek. He had leaned in. Yet he stopped mid-sentence when he felt a pulse resonate through his body. It felt… warm, almost, in a comforting way. He lowered his hand and relaxed his stance. The irises of his eyes transitioned from their ocean blues to the familiar mixed colors toward his husband: rose-pink and daffodil-yellow.
He stepped down from the box, and though he felt what could only be described as a call to somewhere else, his attention focused solely on Alistair instead. In the privacy of their home, behind locked doors, he kissed the man. A chaste, tender kiss but as the pulsing sensation faded, he felt invigorated. His enthusiasm channeled into their kisses.
Time passed. Their passion didn’t. Instead, Zarik remained close to Alistair. The young Transmuter mage caressed the magister’s fine armor in admiration of the Malorite material. Another pulse occurred, but upon the second sensation of alluring energy, he assumed it had to do with his lover - even as it invited him elsewhere.
Several bits later, a third pulse occurred and spread warmth, vitality even, through him. Zarik brightly smiled. He quietly laughed against Alistair’s whispers as the magister queried whether the biqaj could also feel the pulses. He nodded, happy to acknowledge such a shared thing.
“Is it not…” he met Alistair’s vortex gaze. “You do not know what it is?”
Something Alistair didn’t know, yet they both could feel. It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t frightening. It was enjoyable. But that Alistair didn’t know what it was, and that it came through so clear for the both of them, and in a few more bits - another one occurred… Zarik’s smile faded. He thought of Emea briefly, of his initiation into their shared domain, and how the dreamscape had felt so pleasant while it tried to keep him from existing anymore. He entwined his fingers with his mentor’s fingers, snugly holding hands.
A few different thoughts bothered him, as to what it could be, though the likelihood he would figure it out was slim. He thought of Asher, then Damien, and said, “Mm, maybe we should go? Let's inform the others though, in case we are gone for more than a trial, for Asher, and… your thralls?”
Zarik let go of the other man’s hand. He checked his armor, assured his outfit was secure along with his daggers. Another pulse reverberated through his body. It felt stronger than the others, or perhaps since it was so soon after the last. He gathered his hand into a fist, if only because he felt so enthusiastic, ready to follow the call, and thrilled to do so and- he looked at Alistair for guidance.
Alistair didn’t know what it was, and yet, he felt the same draw - the same compulsion to follow the call to wherever it wanted them to go. The magister assured him that it had to be their respective sparks and as such, they were to listen to it - to respect it - and Zarik nodded with easy acceptance of the concept. He trusted the other man's decision, but it was also his own. Zarik wanted to kiss again, but he let Alistair focus on the command of the household to assure the thralls wouldn't cause problems while they were away.
Another pulse came within trills. Zarik watched, momentarily, as Alistair vanished. He closed his eyes, eager to follow. The biqaj willingly offered his own ether to wherever the call resonated from, and with a rush of excitement, also disappeared from the bedroom in Ashvane Estate.
In the privacy of their bedroom at Ashvane Estate – a stately house on the Riovara in the Gleam of Quacia – the youthful biqaj presented himself to his husband. Zarik stood on top of a small box, dressed from head to toe in the first set of armor he’d ever owned.
Zarik awaited Alistair’s scrutiny. He did his best not to fidget. While it wasn’t his first time wearing the armor set, the only other time had been when he’d had it fitted during purchase. He outstretched his arms. The lining of his dark leathers brushed against the chainmail mesh underneath.
The svelte ice-blond shuffled his boots, in another full turn, so Alistair could get a complete view. Though it was the middle of the trial, their shared morning had been weighty and the couple had only returned from Ne’haer the evening before. Yet it was not all stress and conflict since their return, for close to dawn, Zarik had accomplished a climb at one of the highest vantage points in the Gleam. Though even on top of the Fortress battlements, far above the shopping district, Alistair had found him and ruptured them away with ease.
He tried to not dwell on what had happened, though neither did he want to forget: the argument between him and Alistair, the overwhelm of emotions when his frigid defense had melted away, and his noble husband's unexpected apology in return; and then the rune that Alistair had drawn on his cheek, immediately followed by a disastrous meeting with that savage Lothar - the one Alistair persisted to include in their household despite the intimate whispers shared between the newlyweds when they were alone. How could anyone be included in such intense closeness, though? How could they understand the things that Zarik confessed to Alistair? They couldn't.
Zarik felt bewildered about it, but the time he’d spent alone with his husband in the aftermath of the stressful introduction had soothed him. Though he needed to contemplate what had happened, he refused to leave Alistair’s side. He didn’t want the nobleman to disappear. He didn't want to have to wait around until Alistair returned with the musky barbarian scent of that Lothar on him again. Zarik had barely managed to clean the stench off Alistair with the pool water in the courtyard and the addition of a few surprise spritzes of cologne when he’d been getting dressed in his armor.
Alistair felt along the new armor and examined it with touch, sharing his approval of the outfit. Zarik accepted the compliments without shyness or dismissal. He smiled, happy that the other man – who wore a much grander set of armor than his own – found his choices suitable. Zarik assumed they might spend the afternoon on sparring, though he didn’t know how he could possibly make a dent on the battlemage. Though he supposed Alistair could teach him to properly spar with the thralls, like had been promised the last time they’d talked about such things.
It was, after all, increasingly important for him to learn how to defend not only himself, but his newly realized son, Asher, as well. It'd only been a few trials since his lineage had been confirmed; offspring from both Zarik's and Alistair's bloodlines. After what Alistair had told him on the battlements – about their son being at risk from all the people who wanted to assassinate or ruin his husband, who wanted to hurt Alistair and everyone loved in the nobleman’s life – Zarik felt an even stronger sense of ambition to become more powerful.
Alistair whispered to him, then, and Zarik stopped moving about in presentation of his new attire. "I’m glad you’re not mad at me," said the magister, "You’ve always been like that, though. Forgiving of my flaws."
“My love, your flaws make you wh-” Zarik had placed a hand on the nobleman’s cheek. He had leaned in. Yet he stopped mid-sentence when he felt a pulse resonate through his body. It felt… warm, almost, in a comforting way. He lowered his hand and relaxed his stance. The irises of his eyes transitioned from their ocean blues to the familiar mixed colors toward his husband: rose-pink and daffodil-yellow.
He stepped down from the box, and though he felt what could only be described as a call to somewhere else, his attention focused solely on Alistair instead. In the privacy of their home, behind locked doors, he kissed the man. A chaste, tender kiss but as the pulsing sensation faded, he felt invigorated. His enthusiasm channeled into their kisses.
Time passed. Their passion didn’t. Instead, Zarik remained close to Alistair. The young Transmuter mage caressed the magister’s fine armor in admiration of the Malorite material. Another pulse occurred, but upon the second sensation of alluring energy, he assumed it had to do with his lover - even as it invited him elsewhere.
Several bits later, a third pulse occurred and spread warmth, vitality even, through him. Zarik brightly smiled. He quietly laughed against Alistair’s whispers as the magister queried whether the biqaj could also feel the pulses. He nodded, happy to acknowledge such a shared thing.
“Is it not…” he met Alistair’s vortex gaze. “You do not know what it is?”
Something Alistair didn’t know, yet they both could feel. It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t frightening. It was enjoyable. But that Alistair didn’t know what it was, and that it came through so clear for the both of them, and in a few more bits - another one occurred… Zarik’s smile faded. He thought of Emea briefly, of his initiation into their shared domain, and how the dreamscape had felt so pleasant while it tried to keep him from existing anymore. He entwined his fingers with his mentor’s fingers, snugly holding hands.
A few different thoughts bothered him, as to what it could be, though the likelihood he would figure it out was slim. He thought of Asher, then Damien, and said, “Mm, maybe we should go? Let's inform the others though, in case we are gone for more than a trial, for Asher, and… your thralls?”
Zarik let go of the other man’s hand. He checked his armor, assured his outfit was secure along with his daggers. Another pulse reverberated through his body. It felt stronger than the others, or perhaps since it was so soon after the last. He gathered his hand into a fist, if only because he felt so enthusiastic, ready to follow the call, and thrilled to do so and- he looked at Alistair for guidance.
Alistair didn’t know what it was, and yet, he felt the same draw - the same compulsion to follow the call to wherever it wanted them to go. The magister assured him that it had to be their respective sparks and as such, they were to listen to it - to respect it - and Zarik nodded with easy acceptance of the concept. He trusted the other man's decision, but it was also his own. Zarik wanted to kiss again, but he let Alistair focus on the command of the household to assure the thralls wouldn't cause problems while they were away.
Another pulse came within trills. Zarik watched, momentarily, as Alistair vanished. He closed his eyes, eager to follow. The biqaj willingly offered his own ether to wherever the call resonated from, and with a rush of excitement, also disappeared from the bedroom in Ashvane Estate.
Speak ❈ Think