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“There is the usual stack, my Lord.”
Hien resists the deep, deep urge to sigh. “Thank you, Hakuro. Your diligence is most appreciated. How many are there?”
Now that the world has finally allowed itself to even think of peace and mean it, Hien has found himself further entrenched into the role of the Lord of Doma. Not just by considering the past - ensuring that those who passed were able to be mourned - and the present - by rebuilding what had been broken over the course of the attempted Final Days - …but also the future. He has begun what seems to be a monumental task of reform, stripping away what was put in place by the Garlean Empire and balancing traditions with the new efforts of globalization, and he is systematically trying to improve the infrastructure across Doma. Relationships with the Namazu and Lupin are ever stronger, and the alliance with the Azim Steppe has even flourished in the peace time. He is due at some point to go join in the Nadaam for ceremonial purposes and to Eorzea to take part in a memorial for those lost in the efforts against the Final Days. There is more to do than he ever thought possible, even as he breathes a sigh of relief that the world is not ending.
However, there is one part of future planning that he has been quietly dreading.
“Some ten or so marriage proposals, my Lord,” Hakuro says, and even with Hien’s back turned, he can hear Hakuro smiling. Amused, perhaps, at Hien’s thinly veiled exasperation. Of course he is.
“Not as many today, my Lord,” Yugiri chimes in from her position across from him, her knives deceptively loose in her hands, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Perhaps word has spread of your many dismissals.”
“I fear that it has instead bred the most stubborn of suitors,” Hien replies, trying to sound cheery and failing, raising his sword. “Do you mind reading them out, Hakuro?”
“Of course, my lord.”
The bloodline of Doma must continue. This had been impressed upon Hien since he was a boy at his father’s knee, listening to the dynasty that lay before him. When Hien took the throne, he was to marry and ensure that he had children to continue the line of succession. For a long time, he had not worried about such a thing. But now, there was peace time…and no excuse not to. He has heard so many now. So many people who want to marry him, for either his looks, the promise of his seat, or the wealth that ruling a nation may offer, that he can usually tell their motives within the first few lines.
(So far…none have been truly for him. None at all. Perhaps that would be alright - arranged marriages are not uncommon - but for all of his pragmatism, there is a part of Hien that hopes for it. That someone would look beyond the throne and see the man sitting upon it. There is one person that he loves, truly, deeply, but he knows that to reach for her would be to reach for the sun, and he would only be burned.)
“The first,” Hakuro clears his throat. “ Fair greetings to thee, Lord Hien Rijin, long may be your reign. We, of the East Aldenard Trading Company, would like to propose a beneficial arrangement-”
“No.” Hien barely even has to think before he charges forward, meeting Yugiri’s knives with his swordblade.
“You did not hear the name of who you would be marrying, my Lord?” Hakuro asks with surprise.
“Not…from the Company,” Hien calls back, pushing forward and ducking under Yugiri’s sweep of her knives. “Make a note to follow up with them about trading routes, though.”
“Yes, my Lord.” The scrolls rustle as Hakuro undoubtedly sets it into one of the baskets set in the training room for this very purpose. “The second. Hail to thee, Lord Hien Rijin, from below the sweeping Ruby Sea-”
The words give Yugiri pause, darting away from Hien’s blows. “From Sui-no-Sato?”
“I see they are moving farther beyond their original trading expeditions and crafting efforts,” Hien raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps they are finally following your example?”
“Of this I have some doubt, but I am pleased to hear it. Who is sending it?” Yugiri tosses the question at Hakuro before rushing forward at Hien again.
Hakuro looks to the end of the parchment. “A…Kurenai, Lady Yugiri.”
“The Ruby Princess herself?” Yugiri’s distraction gives Hien the opportunity to try and pin her, which she wriggles out of just in time. “I fear that would present some great difficulty, my lord.”
“Indeed. I am not the greatest of swimmers,” Hien cannot help a smile at that. “Continue, Hakuro.”
“I, Princess Kurenai of the Ruby Sea, bid you fair greetings. I recognize this letter as strange, given Sui-no-Sato’s position of isolation, but in such raging tides, it does well for one to search for others to bear in the current. I would discuss with you the possibility of a further alliance, whether through trade or through a more lasting connection.”
“Bold,” Yugiri grins before knocking Hien off of his feet, trying to pin him.
“Set that one aside,” Hien manages to say as he works to free himself. “I would be a fool to pass up such an opportunity to discuss trade.”
“As you say, my lord,” Hakuro puts that scroll down in a different basket, picking up the next. “The third…oh my.”
“What is it?” Hien finally manages to drive the butt of his sword into Yugiri’s stomach to make her let go and scramble to his feet.
“This is the worst penmanship I have ever seen.” When he can spare a glance, Hien sees Hakuro peering at the text as best as he can. “I believe a child wrote this, and yet, it bears an official seal.”
“I would hear from all potential proposals, Hakuro. Read away.”
Hakuro clears his throat. “ To the…Lord of Doma, who languishes in the…benevolent suns glow. You are not my Nhamma but you are worthy of the sun.”
The duel pauses as both Yuguri and Hien, in unison, stare at Hakuro. “Does the sigil, by any chance, look like a rising sun?” She asks.
“Yes, it does.”
Hien cannot help his laughter at that. “I somehow did not expect to receive such a proposal from who I presume to be Magnai of the Oronir?”
Hakuro checks the scroll. “It…is, my lord. That is all it says. That and his name.” He turns the scroll to show the two of them, and quite certainly, it is the worst penmanship Hien has ever seen from an adult.
“From our brief interactions, I confess to be surprised that Magnai is even capable of writing,” Yugiri chuckled.
“As am I. That would be a no, Hakuro.”
“I applaud your judgement, my lord,” Hakuro just about throws the scroll into the basket before picking up the next. “Shall I continue?”
“Of course, Hakuro,” Hien and Yugiri return to the center of the training mat, bow, and raise their weapons. “Thank you.”
Hakuro clears his throat. “ Hail to thee of might and valour, Lord Hien, and many blessings upon your reign from your neighbour, Bozja. We have ever been grateful for your partnership, and I, Misija Votyasch of Gunnhildr’s Blades, offer to you further partnership. Your kindness, dedication, and pride are virtues to behold, and while anyone would be lucky to behold them in person, I ache for the opportunity to do so.”
That brings the faintest blush to Hien’s cheeks before he shakes his head, parrying Yugiri’s oncoming blows. “A touch forward for such a proposal, but it is to the point,” he admits, stepping onto his back foot to gather momentum for a strike. “I will consider it.”
(It may be the closest he will get to the kind of marriage he hopes for. From the expression on Yugiri’s face, even over his daggers, he suspects that the longing is not as secret as he would like it.)
“Very well, my lord. The fif-” Hakuro stops mid sentence before bursting out laughing. “I…I do not think I can read this out loud, my lord.”
“Why is that?” Hien asks as he swings. “Perhaps more terrible penmanship?”
“Nay. It is…more forward than the previous one.”
Yugiri raises her eyebrows. “Now, we simply must hear it, if it is agreeable to you, my lord?”
“Of course,” Hien shrugs. “Amidst such formalities, it is good to have an opportunity to laugh. Read away, Hakuro.”
It takes the Lupin a moment to gather his composure together again, time enough for Hien to begin a combination of attacks, but Hakuro begins carefully. “ My dearest Lord Sugartits-”
Mid- Jinpu , Hien’s mind shuts off. His momentum continues forward, the planned move falling apart, and Yugiri easily knocks him off balance. The impact with the tatami mat does not bother him, and he only sits up mindlessly, staring at Hakuro with wide eyes. “Please repeat that?”
Hakuro and Yugiri stare at him with concern, and Hakuro repeats, “My dearest Lord Sugartits of Doma, long may you reign.”
“‘Tis a joke, perhaps?” Yugiri asks. “Pray share your thoughts, my Lord. What is it?”
He doesn’t quite know how to put the words together. There are words, of course, with more than a few exclamations of wonder, but every time he tries to put them into coherent sentences, he stumbles over the impending revelation. It takes him a moment before he can. “There is only one person who calls me that.” He outstretches his hand for the scroll. “Please. It…it cannot be her.”
( “Come now, my lord Sugartits, lighten up!”
“I beg of you not to call me that, Warrior of Light.”
A bare shoulder, even in the biting wind of the Steppe, nudges against his, golden eyes sparkling with delight. Breath smelling faintly of rice wine, cheeks ruddy even in the darkness, voice fond. “Then call by my name. You don’t have to be so formal, Hien. Not with me, not when it is simply you and I.”
“Very well…Gereon.”)
Hakuro walks onto the training mat, kneels down before Lord Hien, and hands him the scroll. It is of decent quality paper, not as well-made as that sent by the East Aldenard company, or as flimsy as that made in the Azim Steppe. Nor is the writing well-done calligraphy in the best of ink. What he does notice is the seal. It is a rich plum purple, the same as the Ala Mhigan flag, and the emblem stamped inside is that of a branch rich with leaves. His heart skips a beat and he opens the scroll wide.
“My dearest Lord Sugartits, long may you reign.
I have heard that you are under deluge of marriage proposals as of late, with all of Eorzea, Othard, and perhaps even Ilsabard clamouring for your hand. I hope, fool as I am, that you have not said yes to any of them by the time you receive this letter.
Hien, I have been patient. I have been subtle and not pushed, as we have been through such tumultuous times. I have offered look and touch, gentle and teasing words, and yet, you have not responded. At first, I confess to have thought you were too polite to turn me down. However…when we parted ways in Doma, after the funeral in the Swallow’s Compass, I saw how your eyes cast towards me, and now, for all your observant nature, I fear you are simply blind.
And so, I put forward to you this letter, in such a way that my intentions cannot be misconstrued. I, Gereon Wind-in-Sails, daughter of Yasmin, Warrior of Light, offer my hand in marriage to you, Hien Rijin, son of Kaien, Lord of Doma. Please accept my humble proposal, for while I have no lands or title to offer to you, I have a heart with much open space for you to settle.
I eagerly await your response. If perhaps, I am wrong, please disregard this message.
Gereon Wind-in-Sails.”
Hien rereads the letter over and over again, trying to embed the words into his memory in the hopes that the meaning will become ever clearer. It is Gereon’s writing. He has seen it often enough on reports regarding what has occurred in Doma and other regions of the world. It is also her seal, the wax the same colour as her favourite dress. It sounds like her, her voice coming through even in the written word, and Hien can imagine her smile as she speaks. Perhaps, if she was being dramatic, her kneeling in front of him and extending a hand to him. And yet…the words ring in his mind. I have been patient. I have offered look and touch. I saw how your eyes cast towards me. I fear you are blind.
I offer my hand in marriage to you.
He knows what look she is referring to. For dispatching the blasphemy Izanami, Gereon traded her healing arts for that of war, her cane for chakrams. Her attire was a luminous white, covered in jewelry that rang with each swing of her blades, and she was as beautiful as she had ever been. But it was not that which had drawn his eye. No, it was, as those who had lost loved ones gathered for a funeral, Gereon had clasped her hands and prayed. Her head bowed, eyes closed, and she whispered prayers for the lives of all mentioned. And when her eyes had opened…a tear fell from her eyes, and the compassion in her heart had nearly stopped Hien’s.
She is, quite simply, one of the best people Hien has ever known.
And she has asked to marry him.
To marry him.
From behind him, Hakuro makes a noise of surprise, presumably reading over his shoulder. “I was not aware that you were courting the Warrior of Light, my lord.”
“Because they are not ,” Yugiri says fiercely. “I would have known if that were the case.”
The scroll hangs for a moment on loose fingers, nearly dropping to the ground. “No. No, we most certainly were not,” Hien says softly, before turning to look at two of his closest companions. “I fear she may be right. Was I blind and missed cues?”
Yugiri’s expression of quiet sadness says all that Hien needs to know. “I know not what you thought it to be, my lord, but she has extended several overtures to you.”
Hakuro’s confirming nod is damnation enough that Hien’s world threatens to tip on his axis. “And it appears that she has, in fact, run out of patience.”
Perhaps it is a joke. A cruel one, one that would most likely end any friendship between the two of them, and yet, it would be somehow what Hien deserves for his inaction. But perhaps…
Perhaps.
“I apologize for interrupting our training, Yugiri, but I fear I must address this rather urgently.”
“Of course, my lord,” Yugiri’s voice sounds a little faint through the ringing in Hien’s ears, but he is certain that she is smiling. “We can train another time.”
He manages to restrain his enthusiasm just enough to not run out of the dojo, but the smile on his face is not fooling anyone. Especially as he first scrambles to write out a clear reply, the official form, before he remembers that he can contact Gereon through his linkpearl. Which…somehow is more daunting than a letter because then he has to speak to her. How on earth is he going to address this? Hello Gereon, I hope that you are well, I would like to discuss the marriage proposal you sent me without any courtship that I registered, do you have any time to discuss whether this will impact our friendship or end up with us in a compromising situation?
(He cannot think about compromising situations right before he has to speak with her. There is no way in all of the seven hells he will be able to do so if he thinks about what it will be like to kiss her. )
Finally, he has the strength to pull out the linkpearl, fit it to his ear, and call. “Gereon? I pray I am not interrupting you at an inopportune time.” His voice manages to stay steady.
It takes only a few moments for a response to come through, with Gereon’s voice heavy with sleep. “Yes, Hien? What is it?”
Right. It’s likely deep into the night for her, wherever she is. “I apologize for waking you. I…” You can do this, Hien. “I received some correspondence recently that may be of interest to you. Given that you…sent it.”
A longer pause. “I see. And I take it you don’t want to discuss it over linkpearl?”
“I believe this would be more fitting as a…personal conversation, don’t you think?” He hopes that his voice is steady, but he can hear the enthusiasm creeping into it. And confusion. And kami help him, hope.
On the other end, he can hear Gereon smile. “I agree. I can come in a few hours, if it please you, or is that too soon?”
That is much too soon, and yet, he knows he will struggle to focus on his tasks for the remainder of the day. “When evening creeps onto Doma, perhaps. I have several obligations I must meet.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t want to intrude on your packed timetable,” she replies easily, and he can hear the sound of fabric rustling, likely as she settles into bed. “I’ll check with Hakuro when I arrive to make sure I’m not interrupting.”
“Thank you. I shall speak with you later then, Gereon.”
“Until then, my lord sugartits.”
Hearing her voice repeat the opening to the wedding proposal nearly kills him, and he holds on enough to bid her farewell before he hangs up. His head falls forward, resting in his hands, and he gathers himself enough to even think. More information is needed, of course, but if push came to shove…would he marry her?
(Gereon holding her hand out to haul him up a ledge, her strength ever a comfort.
Gereon after too much wine with her legs astride his hips from behind, braiding his long hair, calling him ‘dear lord’ and her fingers brushing against his neck.
Her soft voice as she kneels beside him where his last family treasure is buried, resting her hand on his shoulder as she speaks of lost loved ones.
Her ever present courage and kindness, her heart wide and wild as a raging fire, and yet her healing hands as steady as the tallest tree.)
Yes. Yes, he would.
How he will focus on anything else for the rest of the day is beyond him.
(In a bedroom in Megahuta, Gereon slowly, almost in a daze, takes out the link pearl and rests it on the table. Beside her, two figures stir in their sleep.
“What is it, darling?” G’raha Tia asks, voice blurred with sleep, his ears flattened against the pillow.
“Lord Hien got my marriage proposal,” she says with a chuckle. “And I think he’s considering it.”
Urianger looks up through G’raha’s red hair. “I believe that thou mayest have a chance, but in ever the spirit of caution, thou must take care, for in ever the spirit of caution, there will be disbelief.”
“Of course. I will be gentle.”
“That is to say, you won’t pick him up as soon as you get a sign of interest?” G’raha teases.
“Oh, you liked it.”
“I did. But you don’t know what Hien will want. Especially since you skipped courting him.”
“Ever the dramatic one, beloved. There shall be epics told of thy efforts.”
Gereon flushes. “Well, then we should get some sleep. I have a proposal to explain in the morning.”)
“My lord?”
“Yes, Hakuro?” Hien frowns at the paperwork in his hands, trying to find the budget inconsistencies. How he managed to keep focused through meetings with the leadership of Namai and surrounding villages is, quite honestly, a miracle. With the turbulence of his thoughts, he felt as though he was standing in a swarm of dragonflies, trying to capture the ones he needed with a net. He never lost a train of thought, thank goodness, but it was clear to those who knew him well - especially Yugiri, she never slipped - that he was thinking of other things. He had been staring at this form for at least ten minutes, trying to put figures to what had been discussed not an hour ago regarding the areas that needed financial development.
“She’s here.”
And just like that, all thought of the previous task was gone. Hien forces himself to set the scroll down carefully and sits up on his cushion, adjusting his kimono. “Of course. Send her in, and please ensure that we are not disturbed.”
“Of course, my lord.” Hien does not miss how Hakuro smiles, teeth sharp even in joy, and turns back to see their visitor. For a moment, he can imagine the conversation with the guards as Hakuro threatens them with whatever clever thing the Lupin can come up with to keep everyone away, and he knows for a fact that Yugiri would join in the ranks. However, as the doors open and a familiar shape steps through, Hien knows they are alone. There is no one else but them in this vast room, where every sound echoes against the bamboo walls.
Gereon is, as always, beautiful. She pauses at the entrance to take off her heavy golden greaves and boots, setting them to the side, and replaces them with a pair of tabi from her bag. Off as well come a matching set of golden gauntlets, beautiful things, the make of which he has never seen before. She sets them aside carefully, lovingly, and rises to make her way across the room to him. The gown is a different make as well, but the plum purple is, as always, a familiar sight that suits her. But, more importantly, as she walks into the room, her eyes are fixed only on him.
Did he truly not notice the warmth in her eyes before? How she looks at him like the world has narrowed down to only his presence, and when she bows to him, she does not take her eyes away. “Hello, Hien.”
He rises to meet her. “Gereon, please, you do not need to bow. It is a pleasure to see you as always.”
As he bids, she stands straight again, his head barely coming up to her chest. “Old habit, sorry,” she smiles. “You’d think after knowing almost every nation leader in our world to at least the point of friendship, I’d learn to not be as formal.”
“I appreciate that you have such great respect for us,” Hien says with a smile, “despite your own elevated standing in all of our societies.”
She flushes a little bit at the compliment but nods. “Of course. I don’t like to hold myself above others. Not like that.”
For the sake of his own composure, Hien does not ask what way she means. “Another hallmark of your character. Shall we sit?”
There is a cooling pot of green tea beside him, and as he sits, he offers her a cup. Gereon gladly takes it, cradling the cup in her hands - it looks so small in her grip - and gestures towards him with it. “And so, you wished to speak to me.”
“I did.” Hien takes a slow breath to gather himself. There is no easy way to ask this. He will be as tactful as he can, but now that he looks at her, her golden eyes as steady as the sun upon him, he hopes that none of his words come with barbs. For either of them. “I received your letter this morning amidst several other proposals.”
Gereon nods, sipping at her tea. She appears as steady as ever, but now that Hien has trained his attention on her, he thinks he sees her swallow. “I hope they were good ones, at least.”
“There were several immediately rejected, Magnai of the Oronir being one such letter,” he drops the name only to make Gereon laugh, the sound immediately soothing his nerves, “But I daresay yours was the most forward in its intentions.”
For a moment, she looks away from him, staring at the liquid in her teacup. “I did not want my words to be taken the wrong way,” she says in explanation. “I tried to be as blunt as I could without overstepping my bounds. Any more than asking would.”
“You did not overstep, no,” he says. “But…I do not understand.”
“What do you not understand?”
How many questions are buzzing in his mind? Hien now can’t bring himself to look at Gereon, staring at his tea like it holds the answers of the eons. “I understand my own appeal, I am not blind to that, but you wrote as though the thought of my rank meant nothing. Most proposals I have received are addressed to the Lord of Doma and made with that in mind.”
She sets the tea cup down at that, resting her hands on her knee as she looks at him. “You mean I wasn’t talking about the throne more than the man upon it."
Each word is a knife in the chest, aimed at all of the vulnerable parts of his heart. How did she pluck those words from his mind? “To put it more bluntly, yes.”
There is a moment of quiet as Gereon looks at him before she says simply, “You recall that when we met, Hien, you were very focused on portraying yourself as a polite, disciplined prince, even before you took the throne.”
He nodded. “Gosetsu said that there was time to put on airs after, and that now was time to show our true character.”
“And show it you did,” she smiled. “I knew that I was there to save a prince and bring him to sit upon his throne with an army at his back. But we slept beside each other, ate at the same meals, fought at each other's side, bathed while trying to keep each other’s privacy. It’s hard to see you as just a prince after that, and since then, I have seen you as Hien. You are a good man who happens to sit on a throne.”
Simplistic, but she seems to believe it. “I concede that point. But-”
She raised her hand to interrupt him, and he quieted, almost in surprise. “I know that by asking to marry you, that means I will stand beside your throne. It means I will no longer be a neutral party dedicated to peace, and it means that your time and responsibilities are devoted first to Doma, and anyone else after that. But those are not barriers, rather things that can be passed with a little teamwork. As for riches and wealth…” Gereon’s smile seems to grow a little tender. “I have all I need. The greatest treasure in all of Doma sits across from me now, and however I may behold him would make me beyond happy. Anything else is beyond my concern.”
Hien can feel how his cheeks are growing red and he coughs, trying to gather his composure and failing. “The things you say.”
“I mean them.” She nods, her ever powerful gesture that always seems to convey multitudes. “What else?”
The questions he had before seemed to vanish under the understanding she had given him. I see the throne as part of you, not something to strive for. It is you I want. He downs the rest of his tea and pours himself another cup for a distraction. It buys just another time for him to put his words together. “I suppose I must bring up my blindness.”
Gereon finishes off her own tea and holds out her cup for him to fill. “Perhaps. You truly did not see?”
“I feared that any warmth beyond your usual actions was what was done with close friends,” he explains, cheeks fading in colour but still a little red with embarrassment. “I do not know how Ala Mhigans are with close affection.”
She tips her head slightly. “I will give you that. But truly? I have woken up holding you , Hien.”
“What we do in our sleep is not always what we mean in the morning,” he says fervently. “And, most importantly, Gereon, it was to my understanding that you were interested in someone else.”
She blinks. “Is polyamory not common in Doma?”
“There were lords who would have multiple wives as a sign of their status. Or rather, a wife and concubines,” he explains. “But not so the other way around.”
Gereon frowns. “Well, that seems foolish, but…I believe I can understand the origin. Family lines get muddled if there are multiple possible fathers.”
He nods, quietly relieved that she understood. “And so, the thought that you, in addition to the love of your life that Urianger is, would also look towards me seemed inconceivable.”
She sighed. “Well, know that I look at you now.”
“And Urianger?”
In response, Gereon raises her hand to show a shining ring on her finger. His heart sinks and she explains, “The ceremony will be soon. And we are also involved with another - G’raha Tia, of the Students of Baldesion.”
The red-headed Miqo’te. Yes, Hien remembers him from the various meetings with the Scions after her long absence. Clever, kind, willing to take the lead but eager to follow, clearly in love with Gereon as well. “My congratulations to you then,” he says softly. “And…I fear I understand even less.”
Why propose to me if you are to be married to someone else? Why propose to me at all when you thought I didn’t understand?
Gereon puts down her tea cup and heads over on her hands and knees to sit across from him. Her hands are larger than his, slightly warmed by the tea cup, and she cups his in her own, squeezing them gently. “Breathe, Hien.”
When had he started holding his breath? He had faced uncertainty before, dove headfirst into it with logic and sword, ready to face whatever came his way. This? This threw him more than he would like, and as he stares at Gereon’s hands, how their fingers together looked like a seed wrapped in soil…he wonders if he can even keep up. He takes in a slow breath, gathering himself, and he looks at her with worry. “But a day ago, I thought that I would marry, possibly for love, likely for an alliance, and that I would spend my days regarding you from a distance, finding delight in your happiness. Now, you sit before me and tell me that you would have me be a part of your happiness, with those you love so dearly, and that you would be married twice over?”
She nods. “A lot to take in?”
“A little,” he laughs. “And I still do not understand why you did not court me first. ”
Her thumbs brush over his knuckles, a steady soothing touch that drags his nerves back to calm. “I would like to. I feared that my attempts would either fly over your head or humiliate myself, and so when I heard you were accepting marriage proposals, I thought that it would at least get your attention.”
“There are other ways of a similar magnitude, blossom,” he laughs a little wildly. “Ringing a gong beside me, for instance.”
“Would you have taken my meaning or simply thought your ears ringing?” She raises her eyebrow at him. “Blossom?”
He flushes. “It…seems fitting, somehow. Your magic looks like flowers.”
“I am not complaining, petal.” The name drops from her lips so easily and a noise drags itself out of Hien’s throat, a sigh of relief at the sound. “Now, to confirm. May I court you, Hien, with the intention in future of marrying you? Though I cannot bear children without magical intervention, so that may be an obstacle with marrying me.”
He nods before she has even finished explaining. “Yes, yes, you may. Please.” I have waited for this opportunity for so long and I shall not let it go to waste.
She chuckles easily. “Excellent. And this does not require the presence of Urianger and G’raha.”
“I confess to not, at this moment, be interested in either of them.”
As Gereon nods, she lets go of one of his hands and cups his face, cradling his cheek in her palm. The warmth of her hand, even there, feels like a blanket wrapping around his shoulders. Slowly setting the teacup down, he basks for a moment in the touch. His eyes close to savour it. In the darkness, he hears her voice rumble a tender, “Then, Hien, petal, sugartits, what are the courting requirements before I kiss you?”
Oh. Oh. Slowly, he opens his eyes and gasps when he realizes how close Gereon has gotten. Her nose is nearly touching his, her eyes so close nearly all of his vision is filled with the gold of her eyes. Suddenly, he wants to throw every bit of decorum and tradition he has ever learned to the wind, just so he can climb into her lap and kiss her, and maybe be surrounded by the warmth that he has been aching to soak in for ages. But even under her touch, Hien can feel his hands shaking. He feels calm and anxious at the same time, ready to curl up and ready to run a malm. He tips his head into her palm, trying to gather his words together, and murmurs, “A…walk would not hurt.”
“Then a walk of the gardens it is,” she nods. “Whatever pace you want, Hien.”
“Perhaps I may require an easier pace than you are used to,” he concedes, although he does not move from her grasp. “I am not quite ready for battle.”
“Then training you shall have, petal,” she lets go of his face and gets to her feet, offering him a hand. “Shall we?”
It has never been an easier decision for him to take her hand. “Yes.”
Not quite ready to put her armour on, Hien lends Gereon a pair of zori to wear as they walk, and as the night’s chill begins to set in, she hunts through her bag for a jacket to put over her dress. “You would think that with all the armour I have, I would keep something casual,” she mutters.
“There was something of black leather that I have seen you wear?” Hien suggests. “When you have wielded that handheld cannon.”
“Ah!” She pulls out said jacket and pulls it on. “Not quite the look I had in mind when I bought it, but it serves its purpose.”
“It still suits you well,” he reaches up to smooth the lapels over, not meeting her eyes. “You appear to be a strange hunter in this.”
When he finally looks, Gereon’s eyes nearly burn as they settle on him. “That is the intention.”
He says nothing to it, not quite sure he could string words together, and simply holds the door open. When they depart the Kienkan, Hien can almost feel the gaze of the entire Doman Enclave settle upon them. He certainly feels Hakuro look as the Lupin jogs over to them. “My lord, should I prepare quarters for Lady Gereon this evening?”
That is right, it is getting late. He turns to look at her, offering an easy smile. “Regardless of our conversation, you know that my home is yours for whatever rest you may require. Unless you should have business elsewhere?”
“Everyone is wrapped up in research at the moment,” she shrugs. “My calendar is open, though I’m not yet ready to sleep.”
Hien takes that answer and turns to Hakuro, speaking in a lower voice. “Ready an extra room then, and…perhaps bring an extra bedroll to my room.”
Hakuro’s eyebrows nearly fly off his head with the speed of their rising, but he does not say anything about it as he simply nods. “As you say, my lord.”
As Hakuro darts off, Gereon chuckles. “Have I created gossip for you, my lord?”
The way she says his title should be made illegal. He swallows to wet his drying mouth and smiles, shaking his head. “Perhaps you have, but you are a well-known guest. It is no trouble and nothing I cannot handle.”
“I’m glad. I don’t want to cause you any trouble,” she matches his pace as they walk, clearly trying very hard not to overtake him. “I do that enough.”
He smiles softly. “The trouble you bring is usually trouble not caused by you, however.”
“I’m trying not to do that.”
“I can see,” it takes more effort than Hien thinks it would to keep his hands by his side as they walk, turning the path to come up to where the ponds flourish and the flowers grow. Under lamplight and moonlight, it is rather beautiful, and he is more than happy to spend the walk beside her. “So, tell me, what kind of research are your two partners up to?”
“They are looking into the Void,” she explains.
“The Void?” Hien’s eyes widen.
She nods. “I confess to not understanding it all, and frankly, I’d rather not talk about the next trouble I’m going to get into or I will make you worry,” her smile is a little sheepish, “but yes. They are hard at work.”
“So I see.”
“Oh, and Urianger is working on treasure vaults for the moon rabbits.”
Hien blinks. “...I assume you do not mean the rabbit engraved on the moon.”
“I do not, but I would love to hear that story,” she chuckles. “I mean actual rabbits. Well, Loporrits. They are very insistent on that.”
Hearing snippets of Gereon’s adventures somehow makes them even more unbelievable. He decides to focus on that which he does understand. “The story goes that a monkey, an otter, a jackal, and a rabbit resolved to practice charity on the day of the full moon, believing a demonstration of great virtue would earn a great reward. When an old man begged for food from them, they set to work,” he tries to remember how his mother told the story. “The monkey gathered fruits from the trees and the otter collected fish, while the jackal found a lizard and a pot of milk-curd. Knowing only how to gather grass, the rabbit instead offered its own body by throwing itself into a fire the man had prepared.”
Gereon frowns. “The poor thing!”
“Well, the rabbit was not burnt, and the man revealed himself to be a kami. Touched by the rabbit's virtue, he drew the likeness of the rabbit on the Moon for all to see.”
Gereon stops to look up at the rising moon, and Hien takes the opportunity to climb on a nearby rock to match her height as best he can. He points up into the sky, tracing the shape into the moon, and Gereon chuckles. “So it is.”
“What do your people say is on the moon?” He asks, not hopping down quite yet.
She points up as well to trace out a shape that he slowly recognizes to be eyes, a nose, and a mouth. “Some think it to be Menphina, watching over us.”
“And what do you think?”
“What I thought before I went to the moon or after?” She offers a hand for Hien to take to hop down, which he gladly does. For a moment, their touch lingers, Hien’s fingertips against Gereon’s palm, until slowly they draw apart. They have held hands before, with Gereon pulling him to his feet or him doing the same for her, but…there is something else about this touch. Her eyes linger on his, warm and tender, and for every word that Gereon says, there are at least ten that she does not. He can almost hear them as she guides him to the ground. I have you. I will always have you, when you need help.
“Before,” Hien’s hand returns at his side, still tingling under the memory of her touch. His hand flexes, almost overwhelmed with it.
She hums softly. “I…I didn’t think it was a face. I saw a face, yes, but I didn’t think it was anyone looking down on us, watching over us. We weren’t that lucky to have a guardian like that. I saw Rhalgr in other things, but not in the moon. Rocks, the shine of the sun, meteor showers.”
They continue to walk down the path, the wind occasionally tousling their hair. “And now?”
“Now, I’m betting the moon rabbit was intentional,” she chuckles. “Venat had that sense of humour.”
“Venat?” He raises an eyebrow.
“That is a longer story than I think we have time for, and I confess not the happiest.”
Now is as good a time as any. He reaches his hand over and takes hers, giving it a squeeze. “Please. The stories of your travels are important for me to hear, as they have shaped you into the woman you are, and if they are sad, then let me stand with you in that sadness. You have done so for me. It is the least I can do.”
Almost immediately, on a reflex, Gereon’s grip tightens on his, and she looks at him with more fondness than he has had directed at him for some time. “Alright. Let me tell you about Venat and the moon.”
The more Gereon speaks, the more wonder and horror that Hien feels in twain. First, wonder simply at this world that Geron had described as having existed before, the people that she met, the lives that they had lived. The wonder of their creation magic, of the love they had for making the world a better place, of the woman who became a goddess. But the pain that Gereon described. The horror of the Final Days, of meeting possibly the most important person that Gereon would ever meet in her life and only understanding the level of her sacrifice when it was too late. The desperation that Venat had felt to have the moon built - built, the moon was built by RABBITS - to be an escape vessel from the final days. Even as they walk, Gereon’s hand flexes with her emotion, and Hien squeezes back.
“She sounds like a wonderful person,” he says quietly. “I am sorry for your loss.”
She nods slowly. “I hope I can have even a scrap of the faith that she did,” she looks up towards the moon. “What was it she said as she sundered the world? ‘ I choose to believe in mankind's potential, in his ability to find a way forward. So let there be no way back. From that temptation, I sunder us. No more shall man have wings to bear him to paradise. Henceforth, he shall walk.’”
The words nearly flay Hien to his core. “And walk we shall.”
“So we shall,” she blinks and in the moonlight, her eyes shine. “I apologize. This is…not quite the conversation I imagine you wanted.”
“No, please,” he says urgently. “We have not spoken like this in so long. I confess that I miss it. And if we are to walk a road together, then we must not keep our suffering apart from each other?”
Her expression is soft. “Thank you,” she smiles fondly. “But yes, that does mean that there are rabbits on the moon.”
“Looking into treasure vaults?”
“Apparently, they want to bring adventurers to the moon. For fun and exploration.”
Hien chuckles. “I can imagine. Would you journey to the depths of the moon for a treasure hunt?”
“Oh, absolutely,” she grins. “I have plans to do so at some point. Livingway wants me to be a tester.”
He assumes that to be one of the moon rabbits. “Perhaps if there is a moment to spare, I may join you?” He chuckles. “With the four of us, we may yet overcome the vault.”
“We may,” her eagerness is palpable as she gestures with their joint hands. “G’raha can bring a sword and shield, Urianger can help heal, and between you and I, the damage we can do…”
It is easy to forget, under all of her titles and heroic deeds, that Gereon proceeded down this path as an adventurer. She is still an adventurer, all passion and excitement, ready to charge down unfamiliar paths towards an exciting goal. Hien cannot help but look at her, and oh, if he had not fallen for her before, he certainly would have now. “I would be honoured to fight by your side, blossom.”
She lowers their hands to look at him and, after a long moment, she raises their hands together so she can press a kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you.” He very nearly swoons, and when it inevitably shows on his face, she chuckles softly. “Right. I will be gentle with you.”
“It has been some time,” he tries to come up with an excuse. “I worry that I may not be able to keep up with you.”
“I will go whatever pace you want me to, whatever you are comfortable with. Fret not. Then tell me what you have been doing?” She lowers their hands back down between them and continues walking, the path beginning to wind back through the Enclave. “No matter how boring you think it is. You are rebuilding a nation and to me, that’s incredible. ”
Talking about reconstruction efforts is nowhere near as exciting as the history of a fallen civilization, but the more Hien speaks, the more excited that he becomes. How could he not be? This is what he has been working for and planning since the Garleans took Doma. As their path meanders from the gardens back into the Enclave’s buildings, Hien talks about how he has taken the alliances put together during the uprising and the Final Days and begun to leverage them into true connections for the betterment of all. He talks about reviving the exports that had made Doma famous, how Sui-no-Sato’s craftsmen and the Steppe’s traders had helped even more so on that front, and how the East Aldenard Trading Company had even given them an export discount as they got back on their feet. The roads being rebuilt, cities being rebuilt, memorials and ceremonial sites being given the utmost attention, sewers and other infrastructure coming back to life. The people smile more and more every day, even with their struggles and grief."
“I have hope that while Doma will need time to heal its scars, we shall rise a greater nation than before,” he says, feeling his voice get louder with each word and not being able to control it. “We are now more in tune to what makes us who we are, and through strife and connection, we have grown stronger. The pride I have in my people is monumental!”
“Every time I return to Doma, it seems more alive,” Gereon says with a smile. “Any projects you’re taking a more personal interest in?”
Hien can answer this question immediately. “I have a personal project in the background, nothing quite as grand as that as building roads, but it’s a joint project with the scholars of Sharlayan regarding the repatriation of artifacts.”
“That’s not a word I’ve heard before.”
“It means to return something or someone to their home country,” he explains. “There were many artifacts kept in Doma that were not destroyed, but rather taken to be a part of someone’s private collection. While many of the artifacts may have been destroyed in the destruction of Garlemald, there are others that we have managed to locate in the home of Ul’Dahn merchants. We will not be able to reclaim all that we lost, but it will be enough for us to restart.”
“I think there’s a similar project going on in Ala Mhigo. Lyse may have some insight.”
“I will speak with Miss Hext when I am able to do so,” Hien prepares to begin another sentence when his words are broken apart with a yawn. “I…I apologize.”
“It’s more than alright. My sleep schedule has fallen to the wayside as I move between time zones,” she squeezes his hand. “Perhaps we can go see some of your work. My yol is probably itching for a good flight.”
“As is mine. I would enjoy that very much,” he smiles. “Come, let me show you where you can stay.”
Hakuro, by either a great blessing or a curse, had given Gereon the room directly next to his, and had even carried her bags and armour to it. He watches from the door as she digs out an extra quilt to fill out her mattress, not quite used to the ones rolled out on tatami, and sets up a small candle by her bedside to pray. “I may have to make a linkpearl call to give an update,” she says fondly. “They await with bated breath.”
“Of course. And I will have to update my advisors regarding my plans for tomorrow.” Or rather, that he would be cancelling many of them. Still, despite the inevitable headache of rescheduling, his smiles. “I confess that today feels…unreal.”
“I agree,” Gereon rises to her feet and steps towards him in her socked feet. He leans his head back to look her in the eye, his hair tossing a little with the movement, and she leans down to touch her forehead to his. He inhales slowly and closes his eyes to savour it. It is not a kiss, not at all, but perhaps…it is better. He hears her breathe the same, her hand taking his and drawing him a little closer. Her voice is tender as she murmurs, “Sleep well, Hien.”
Even from here, he can feel her body heat. It takes him a long moment to respond. “Sleep well, Gereon.” As they draw away, he feels the desperate need to draw her back into an embrace, or take her into his bed and hold him. It has been far too long since he had that sort of intimacy - some with the Mol, but not with Gosetsu, not with Yugiri, and not since he took the throne. The last time was with Gereon herself as they slept after the fall of Doma Castle, with her throwing together every scrap of fabric they could into a pile and sleeping together in the House of the Fierce. It had been a scrap of peace that he desperately needed, and the thought of having that even for a moment nearly compels him to chase after the Warrior of Light.
But as the door to her quarters closes behind him, he shakes his head and steels himself. No. This is already enough. No matter how much he wants it, he cannot go this fast. Instead, he turns to go find Yugiri and Hakro to inform them of what will be happening with Gereon in the morning.
(Yugiri and Hakuro have already cleared his calendar, preparing to fend off the businessmen who will claim that they expended considerable effort to meet Lord Hien and how dare he not be available. Hakuro relishes his opportunity to bare his teeth at someone again.)
Even the little time together has put a little spring in Hien’s step. He keeps his expression fairly neutral as he speaks to staff about their new guest, confirms his cleared plans for the morrow, and runs through his evening prayers. But even as he hangs his kimono, redresses in his sleeping clothes, takes down his hair, and moves under his covers, he is pointedly aware that he is not alone. No, not when he can see the faint light of Gereon’s lamp beside her bed and hear whispers of her voice through the rice paper screens.
(“We only have one wedding to plan.”
“WHAT?”
“But I need date ideas.”
“Perchance that is a better start after so long of silence on both thy parts.”
“I agree, as someone who was completely touch starved before meeting you. That can be overwhelming.”
“Patience shall ever be thy watchword, and at his pace thou will match. Although, if I may offer such advice, beloved - do not spurn him entirely. Seek him at that which he feels comfortable.”
“Thank you, Uri. I’ll do my best. I love you both.”
“We love you too, darling.”)
No, he is not alone, and despite his exhaustion, the distance is too much and not enough. He holds his hand close to his chest, rubbing the palm as though he can summon back the warmth of her touch against his. There is a smile still etched into his face, and his heart is racing, his body both relaxed and energized at once. The day still feels like a dream. Any moment now, he will wake up alone, resigning himself back to his endless pining over the Warrior of Light, and as he lies on his mattress, staring up the ceiling, he knows the anguish that will come upon waking. Or maybe he is awake now, and truly, the woman that he has grown to love is so close that he could reach her with ease. Not so late, of course, but-
But there is movement. Gereon’s covers rustle, her feet padding across the floor, and her door opens. At first, he ponders if she is trying to locate the lavatory, but there is a light knock on the wood of his door. He sits up, covers pooling around his waist, and he rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yes?” He calls softly.
The door slowly opens and he watches as she peeks her head over the threshold. “I cannot sleep,” she says, her whispered voice reaching his ears.
“I confess nor can I.” He reaches over for his lamp, preparing to turn it on when Gereon makes a little hiss, stopping him. “Pray, what is it?”
“Not an emergency, fret not,” She steps into his room and closes the door behind her. In the dim light, he thinks he can make out her sleep clothes - loose pants, a shirt, a woven robe with some kind of pattern, a blanket draped over her arm - and she kneels beside him a few feet away. “I was just thinking.”
“What about? If something troubles your mind, I am happy to listen.”
She chuckles softly, looking over towards her room for a moment. “Do you remember the night after the Nadaam, when we could barely make our way back to Mol Iloh?”
“Aye, I do,” he says softly, feeling the memory tug at his mind. “I recall the festivities rang out loud and true across the entire Steppe, and yet it was all we could do to stay awake. And I do recall that was the case for you, after having stood toe to toe with Magnai and Sadu.”
“My arms were shaking from holding back his axe with my staff,” her voice is beyond amused. “And then, when we were finally permitted to rest, none could find strength to build our separate beds from the pile of mattresses.”
…is she saying what he thinks, what he hopes she is saying? “And so, like the yol in the mountains, we made a nest of our bedding and slept together,” the words come out even softer than that which he said before. “Peaceful unlike any sleep I had had in years.”
She hums softly and pulls her blanket over her lap. “Would you like to do so again? T’will not quite be the same as without the Mol or Scions with us, but I worry.”
Again, his eagerness presses him to nod before she has finished her sentence. “I would love to, Gereon.” Even in the darkness, he can see how her face lights up with a smile, and he shifts over on his mattress, hoping there is enough room for her long legs. “Come here then.”
Her eagerness speaks volumes as she nearly dives under the covers with him, dragging her blankets over them. It has to be tucked under her feet to make up for the length of her body, but when she lays on her side to look at him, the slight discomfort is worth it. Up close, he can barely make out any of her features, not in this dark. Still, when she moves closer and touches her nose to his, he gasps with wonder, eyes closing.
Real. This has to be real. There was no possible way that he could dream this with such detail.
“Are you comfortable?” He manages to ask.
“I am, yes,” Gereon’s breath puffs against his mouth as she draws back to look at him, resting her head on his small pillow. Slowly, her hand reaches up and he feels a little pressure as she runs her fingers through his hair. “I do not think I have ever seen your hair loose.”
“I normally braid it at night,” he explains almost needlessly, “as you have seen.”
“Yes. In whatever style you choose, your hair is beautiful,” Hien can hear the smile in her voice. “As you ever are.”
“You are determined to drown me in compliments,” he only just manages to get out as he resists the desire to bury his face in the pillow.
“You deserve them, and I mean every word.”
Such honesty may be the death of him if her words are so flowery. “Urianger’s vocabulary has worn off on you.”
“Maybe so, but I think it’s well worth it,” Gereon shifts down the mattress a bit so she can rest her head on his chest, ear resting over his heart. “Is this okay?”
Oh, he hopes his racing heart does not give him away too much. “Of course,” he raises his hand up to run his fingers loosely through her hair, which makes her settle a little more into his chest. “Forgive me if I fall asleep.”
“Of course,” she hums, arms settling around his body. “Thank you, Hien.”
The fullness of his heart cannot be overstated. “My pleasure, blossom.”
There is nothing else to say, nor anything else that needs to be said. Hien closes his eyes, resting peacefully with the warmth of companionship and comfort wrapped around him. In the morning, he will wake to find Gereon in the same place that she was the night before, having fallen asleep at one point, her hair messy and the wrinkles of his shirt pressed into her face. But he will smooth her hair back and she will slowly stir to look at him, blinking in confusion before the moment sinks in and she smiles at him, all warmth and sunlight. He will kiss her forehead in greeting, the only times when he can even reach her forehead, and the lazy sound of delight she makes will make his heart leap. They will eat breakfast together in the same room, still wrapped in blankets, their knees touching, and when Gereon bids him race to the yols, he lets her win if only to watch her run.
Like flowers blooming on a tree, a pop of colour amidst the green, an ephemeral moment that seems to drag on. If this peace shall last, oh, the time they shall have together.