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The pastel, dim light of the early morning gently greets two lovers—arms wrapped around each other, warm bodies pressed together, a light duvet falls over their form, keeping them cosy and their sleep peaceful; only the soft noises of breathing disturb the tranquillity of the room.
In the heart of the Court of Fontaine, the gold-embossed clock hasn’t even hit six yet with the new day’s promise and with the sign of a beginning—one that is a milestone as big as his past act and trial had been—when Wriothesley stirs awake.
The Duke of Meropide needs a tenth of a second to realise that the overworld’s bright light is the reason for his sudden wake; after all this time, he doesn’t even need a moment to recognise the familiar room in the upper levels of the Palais. Trying not to move, not even in the slightest, in the hope of not waking Neuvillette, a few blinks later, Wriothesley’s eyes are on the stained glass window—blue and golden light passing through in the form of art, casting a magical mix of colours over the room.
The sight is beautiful, but…
The sight is nothing more than light filtering through a blue and gold-tinted window—but for a man who has sentenced himself to serve below, seeing any parts of a sunrise is a wonder of the world he has almost forgotten.
Wriothesley drops his gaze from the dimly glowing prettiness of the glass.
Slowly, taking in and cherishing all the details, the Duke’s eyes find the sight that his heart craves more than anything in this world: Neuvillette. His Neuvillette. His most beloved, cherished, dearest person of all. The one and only.
Love is warm—once he told another with deep, well-hidden, futile hopes that he will have a part in this… And now, Neuvillette exists in his arms as if it’d be the order of this world: sleeping, at peace, curled up close to Wriothesley’s chest.
For him, this sight is everything.
He could watch his Dearest sleeping all day and night—the well-deserved rest and the meaning that he is the one allowed to hold his Love and witness him in his vulnerability as he rests.
But Wriothesley cuts his musings short—as if his thoughts alone, and the imaginary clenched fist around his heart that is threatening to suffocate him (in the best possible love-filled ways) could make some undetectable noise or sign—Neuvillette, who is next to him, wakes. Wriothesley is privy to the sight of long lashes fluttering and brushing against the soft skin under his Dearest's eyes; it is the same place he has touched many times before with uttermost delicacy—drying up tears, leaving kisses there, exploring and introducing to how gentleness feels after centuries of lonesome existence.
Neuvillette, unaware of Wriothesley's thoughts, blinks sleepily as he moves slightly closer to Wriothesley's warm body; soon, a pair of lilac eyes study the Duke's face.
Maybe it’s an unconscious thought now—or maybe, after all these years, Neuvillette is just comfortable with anything and everything between them—but without warning, a hand slides up to Wriothesley’s face, cupping his cheek with a motion that alone speaks of care, warmth, and love.
“You’re handsome,” Neuvillette states as if this would be one of the simplest truths on earth—but one, that he must say. His voice is heavy with sleep, and his irises shine just a little brighter as he notes his observation; a ghost of a smile hiding at the corner of his lips and the edges of his eyes, his thumb gently brushing over the old scar on Wriothesley’s cheek.
Wriothesley thinks that if there is a way that the afterlife exists, then the beginning of it must be similar to being greeted with this line by the most beautiful person in this entire world.
“Good morning, Dearest,” Wriothesley answers this way, because he wouldn’t dare to trust his otherwise sharp mind to say something coherent: he does too because Neuvillette is the most ethereal sight to witness in the dim, early morning light—and it’s something only he is privy to.
Silky hair flows across milky skin and spreads out onto the soft pillow and sheets, the sun making a few strands shimmer. After the greeting, realising his own words, the faintest of pinks dusts the top of Neuvillette’s ears—one of the most endearing displays of the shier, more adorable parts of this land’s’ oh-so-respected and high-standing Iudex.
For now, they may lack words at this early hour in the intimate proximity of warm bodies—but they could never lack feelings and unfiltered love. Their intertwined legs brush along as they press closer; if there is even an inch distance between them, then it already feels too much.
With a content hum, Neuvillette allows himself to melt in Wriothesley’s warm embrace; long minutes pass by in wordlessly agreed tranquil silence, and hands explore and caress soft skin while the smallest of sighs are leaving mouths that press a few gentle kisses over sensitive spots on a neck and a collarbone. If time could stop, Wriothesley thinks, he would happily spend an eternity with Neuvillette in this moment.
With a longer exhale that reflects his reluctance to lose contact, Neuvillette eventually pulls away, his bright lilac gaze studying Wriothesley’s expression for a moment before he speaks. There is something unbeknownst to the Duke that makes his Dearest smile to himself. Then, Neuvillette asks, “Wriothesley, would you drink a cup of tea with me?”
Overtime work and too little sleep being his daily ‘habits’, Neuvillette does drink coffee when he needs it, Wriothesley knows this, however, the idea of a morning cup of tea is something new and intriguing to understand. Now, much more awake and alert from the sheer surprise of the question—which paired with kind eyes and a light smile are incredibly endearing—Wriothesley pushes himself up in bed a little more. With a slight tilt of his head and a hand reaching for Neuvillette’s own, gently brushing over his knuckles, he inquires back:
“Are you sure, Mon Chéri?” The words fall softly from slightly chapped lips. “Would you truly want a cup of tea?”
Neuvillette hums and nods—Wriothesley is sure his Love does understand his surprise, yet… He must ask. He has to, because understanding the smallest things of this man he adores, as long as Neuvillette is willing to tell, has always been something that Wriothesley has had to at least try to do.
“Why today?” He adds, the significance of this very day deeply sewn into his tone. “You must know I’ll always indulge you with a cup of tea—or that rather, it’s you who allows me to live up to the extremes of my habits as per my liking, even here—but wouldn’t you want a nice glass of water? Or a cup of refreshing coffee?”
Many years together and many occasions to talk about feelings have helped Neuvillette so it’s not only the skies cry or shine brightly in his place; yet, sometimes, the right words are still hard to find. His brows knitting and a low hum leaving his throat, Wriothesley can tell his Love is trying oh-so-hard to explain—but there’s no need to rush. No pressure is placed upon him, not from Wriothesley; there has never been a need to hurry in between the two of them.
Small steps, together—a little progress that over time leads to a bright future.
Before Wriothesley can offer his Love a way out, Neuvillette gathers his thoughts and says, “I only wish to have a cup of tea with you, this morning—and I’d love to know about the reasons for your choice and everything else you may share with me.” His speech slowing, he comes to a stop.
Licking his lower lip in a moment of hesitation, Neuvillette continues after a few moments—with his Beloved’s hand gently holding his and a thumb drawing soothing circles into his palm; Wriothesley’s support is unmistakable. It’s warm and he’s patient; all these years, he has always been.
“And if you talk about your choice, then… will you also indulge me in all details that may be bigger than its flavour and refreshing qualities? I wish you to choose something that you truly enjoy.”
His heart not being able to take this any longer, Wriothesley’s arms tightly wrap around Neuvillette’s waist, pulling him into a closer embrace. It’s the meaning of the unsaid: that whatever Neuvillette chooses today—on the morning of their wedding—it will leave a memory for a lifetime. The weight of trust is almost too heavy; Neuvillette is willingly giving a choice into Wriothesley’s hands—maybe with more sentiments and thoughts than either of them can understand.
Contemplated—now both of his arms holding Neuvillette like treasure as he relaxes into the touch and lays his head on top of Wriothesley’s bare chest—the Duke murmurs, reassuring, with love and so many feelings that a human heart can barely hold because of all the unsaid, “Of course, Neuvillette.”
It’s been long years since the days when Wriothesley would call the most wonderful person in his arms only by his title instead of his name—while Neuvillette melts into the hug, his weight welcomed and cherished, words from a long time ago echo in the Duke’s mind:
‘You have found something you wish to do at last, I see.’
The way Neuvillette phrased his earlier request is now unmistakable—and having known the kindest of all souls who would always, always regard his own needs at the very last place…
Some days, Wriothesley only hopes that he is truly worthy of Neuvillette’s love—to just think that his Dearest may occasionally have similar thoughts, knowing just from where these may come… His heart tightens with a good kind of ache. If there is a life-long mission that Wriothesley would never, ever, want to stop doing, then it is to have Neuvillette see a fraction of his own gentle soul, to reflect back from the sunlight that has been warming the Duke’s heart for decades now.
On the rather rare occasion, they indulge in the warmth of a cuddle for a little longer. Once outside the brighter, yellow-toned lights replace the greyish pastels of the earliest parts of the sunrise, with reluctance yet dutiful readiness—because work may stop for a while but the tasks to do could never for these two—Wriothesley and Neuvillette rise from bed. Last night’s official business grew into the depth of the night so then they can enjoy for once not thinking about work today; their clothes are only in mostly neatly folded piles by the bedside.
The rooms that belong to the Iudex’s quarters on an upper level of the Palais Mermonia are never too bright, yet they let in enough of the sun; Wriothesley and Neuvillette aren’t as cold to shiver outside of the duvet’s perfect domain, but neither is the area so warm that a person who prefers this in moderation would feel that the temperature is too high. For one who trains a lot, Wriothesley rarely, if ever, does feel cold that comes from anywhere but his heart—though, this cannot exist while Neuvillette is around. It cannot because of the warmth that…
His thoughts trailing off, Wriothesley focuses his attention back on the present: Neuvillette’s slim body emerges from his bed—long, unruly strands of silvery, shining hair fall over his shoulders, covering just enough of him that the sight is nothing but a work of art.
As Neuvillette moves and his hair trails along his back, a shiver runs through him and goosebumps arise on his forearms. It’s a subconscious thought for Wriothesley to wrap an arm around his Love while simultaneously being rendered speechless as Neuvillette chooses a piece of clothing to take on that now he holds in his hand—and it’s none other than the black shirt that Wriothesley wore the night prior.
A quick hug and a few words are exchanged, and Wriothesley then leaves the bedroom to prepare tea in the Palais-style furnished living room. While the kettle is on, Wriothesley chooses the tea from the cupboard that Neuvillette specifically got for his stack of boxes so he can enjoy his favourites here. The Duke strolls towards the bathroom to freshen up quickly—his way crosses with Neuvillette.
It is impossible to walk past his Love without stopping for a fleeting embrace and leaving a featherlight kiss on the soft skin of his exposed neck—seeing the reds shade Neuvillette’s pointy ears is testing Wriothesley not to start something that they don’t have time to finish before they must go to get ready for the wedding ceremony.
Wriothesley returns to the living room and finds Neuvillette sitting on the blue velvet couch next to one of the cake samples they ultimately didn’t select, however, they liked it enough that Wriothesley had the impromptu idea to bring a piece yesterday. Although it’s unlike them to let things turn messy, the room is scattered with wedding suits and accessories—only some pieces hidden away from the other’s eyes for now. Still, this arrangement could offer them a shared night before they would go for the last preparations to meet by the altar later.
Reassuring Neuvillette to stay seated, Wriothesley pours hot water into the teapot and prepares the cubes of sugar—Neuvillette mentions that the cake they were too tired to touch last night is not a nutritious breakfast but an indulgent one, yet, it is certainly a way to replenish energy without overloading their stomachs so then they can truly fill up once the rather exciting part of the day will be over.
Nodding and humming along quietly, Wriothesley lightly smiles at the tray with the hot teapot and cups he carries; although this expression would only belong to Neuvillette’s eyes to witness, out of cautionary reasons, the Duke gives the liquid his attention before finally arriving at the couch.
By the time the cups are readied and ready to cool a little, even though it’s been nothing but minutes, Wriothesley’s heart swells once he is able to scoot closer to his dearest, patiently waiting Neuvillette. The Duke could feel the way the lilac eyes followed every one of his motions before; now, Neuvillette runs his gaze through his uncovered chest, letting it stop once their eyes meet.
So close to being united in a last, formal way, somehow they touch and slide into each other’s embrace first—and talk only later.
As if their minds would work in tandem, eager hands reach to grab, to pull, to hold; Wriothesley takes Neuvillette’s legs over his lap, steady fingers grabbing lightly into the flesh of a milky thigh. At the same time, Neuvillette’s fingertips trace the exposed lines of Wriothesley’s ribcage until his hand is laid flat over the plush muscles of the iron paradise and boxing ring-made chest.
The first kiss—knowing it is one of the lasts before they become husbands—tastes like longing and the fire of that passion and need that pulls them together, gravity-like, two inseparable pieces of the same soul, waiting to be united and completed.
Feelings high and touches uncensored, they only part to take a breath that a drowning man would while surfacing from under the sea—except the ocean of their love could never suffocate and harm. It only nurtures, tending and tethering wounds in hearts where the right kind of love and time can eventually fully heal, leaving only the faintest of scars.
Once he's able to breathe, Wriothesley takes in the beauty of flushed cheeks and the utter meaning of Neuvillette wearing the black shirt, and then he speaks of the tea he made. He mentions an old day, a title, and the blend he drank that evening—he talks of the exact type of water that matches the flavour and how this combination could only be found with Neuvillette’s help.
Meanings and a recital of love, hidden and sewn into a story of tea and water—blended, connected, enhancing each other.
Wriothesley’s scarred fingers sink deeply into Neuvillette’s hair, gently caressing his scalp. He feels the weight of his Love’s head resting on his chest, the quiet warmth spreading as he speaks words of love that vibrate softly through both of them—the content smile the Duke sees on Neuvillette fills up his heart with even more warmth. After a moment of silence, with their arms wrapped just a little tighter around each other, Wriothesley adds, his voice low but full of sincerity, devotion, and unshakeable faith:
“I am Yours, My Love. My dearest Neuvillette.” A stop to gather the strength to say the word. “My soon-to-be husband,” the title falls softly from Wriothesley’s lips. “I am yours as long as you wish to have me.”
Words from the depth of one’s soul are met with one from the depth of another’s; in the simplicity of a statement, declared with all the authority that Neuvillette has, the unsaid is sealed between them, “I love you, Wriothesley.” Spoken as freely as his being feels now, light after the weight of centuries, Neuvillette pulls away from the embrace to meet his Beloved’s lips one more time—the cups of tea now rather cold, forgotten.
Feelings engraved into their hearts, the tranquil peace of the room and the gentle light that shines upon them through the stained glass window are soon disturbed by a group of Melusines with Sigewinne leading the way—the next hours go by in the blink of an eye. Before Wriothesley knows it, his heart flutters with awe as Neuvillette walks up to the altar under the gentle warmth of the midday sun, by the seashore; he is standing in front of the person he adores, and the Court-appointed ceremony master asks him to recite his pre-written speech and vow.
If there is a way for Neuvillette to appear more beautiful than he is—Wriothesley does believe it is possible—then today is certainly a way to show off his Love’s ethereal prettiness. In a white suit that, aside from the colours of their dress shirts—black and white—matches and complements the clothes that Wriothesley wears now, Neuvillette stands tall in front of him and encourages with the kindest of smiles, so Wriothesley just starts. As if he could ever be truly ready to summarise all he feels for Neuvillette.
“You put your faith in me when no one else had, and you believed in me and I only hoped I would never see a day when I disappoint you,” Wriothesley begins. The crowd, however small they may be with their closest and most trusted being present only, stills and listens as intensely. “You served our nation for centuries, relentlessly, with your full heart, showing the people how a gentle heart and kindness can preserve and lead to progression and how it can bring equity to all of us. Your goodness has no limits; it has been the flagship for us humans to follow.”
Humans… For now, Wriothesley is one. But as for later… that is for another day. A lifetime together—measured by eternity. One day. His words could be empty things to tell Neuvillette—but the way Wriothesley cannot hide, nor does he want to, the devotion and feelings from his voice, Neuvillette’s slightly trembling lips answer in return to just how much his sentences hit a soft spot. And oh, he is not done yet.
“You could go to the end of the world, Dearest, and you could tell me to follow—I would,” Wriothesley smiles. “I would, without a question. Your judgement is mine too; if you choose to trust me, then it’s my happiness to follow. To serve as our land needs me below—and to serve every other way too, as you need me.”
What has been the bluest of skies, now darken just for a moment, threatening to overflow in a mirror of Neuvillette’s emotions, his expression slightly out of control, reflecting the change—even if only in the best ways. Reaching for Neuvillette’s hand to hold before Wriothesley continues serves as wordless reassurance; the sudden grey shadows clear up in a similar manner.
Wriothesley continues, “You as a person: I am here to be with you in the sunshine and the darkest of storms. Sometimes, the rain just has to fall…” Trailing off, Wriothesley holds Neuvillette’s hand just a little tighter. “But you must know that if you would like, there’s always an umbrella out there, waiting to be held over your head—or, I’m there to just get soaked with your hand being held in mine, standing by your side,” he declares, sincere.
“Your rain… Your heart, your entire being: I wish to love, cherish, and protect these—as a man like me can—every single day.”
With a swallow, a deep inhale, and fighting the hotness at the back of his eyes, Wriothesley gathers whatever composure he has left so he can say the words that may get burned into his Dearest’s pristine memory:
“Neuvillette… I, Wriothesley, vow to be the best husband I can be for you. To be your confidant, your lover, your friend, your devoted partner who will follow you, step by step, will walk by your side and offer an arm to hold onto whenever you need, or the one who will march ahead if you allow yourself a moment of break and you dare to shed some of the weight you shoulder—to give it to someone whom you can trust. You are my sun and I wish to be yours on the rainy days; ‘I do love nothing in the world so well as you’. You’re my treasure and as long as you wish, I’ll never let you go.”
Gazes and hands held, Wriothesley and Neuvillette share an unspoken promise of never letting go. The crowd’s noises fade into the background murmur of the sea and the chirps of birds, while the monotonous voice of the ceremony master asks Neuvillette to continue.
“Beloved…” Barely starting but his voice shaking enough that it’s obvious to all, Neuvillette halts. A light squeeze of a hand comes from Wriothesley, his encouragement put into a motion—it steadies the slightest trembling of a person who has been a public figure for a half millennia. After a slow blink that reveals the brightest version of the familiar lilac eyes, Neuvillette gathers himself to continue.
Under the warmth of an encouraging little smile from his Beloved, one akin to his own, former one, Neuvillette starts one more time, “I believe that no matter how long I’ve walked on this earth or how long the rest of my time will be, I’ll never have the proper words to tell you just how much you mean to me. I’ve told you before that while I am in your company, I tend to forget my age—many centuries may have passed but until you, no one has ever seen me as a person.”
Talking might have been hard, but now Wriothesley learns that listening to all this may be something he will also barely bear to do. And Neuvillette goes on:
“No one had—not the way you do—you helped me learn that despite the duties we signed up for and why we work tirelessly, our well-being matters a lot. You taught me how a blind eye could be turned on the truth, and therefore cause restless heartache for a long time…” The past repeats: one hand lets Wriothesley’s go but only to be placed upon Neuvillette’s heart, his sincerity as clear as the sky, “You have helped me with everything I’ve ever asked you to do—and I didn’t even have to request it because you signed up for it all on your own.”
Bright as the sun Wriothesley described, Neuvillette still has more to say: “Whatever you touch and set your mind to will turn into gold—even the small cracks on an old man’s heart. You could, but you would never fault me or anyone for the past and outdated systems; you took innocents’ fate into your own hands and you faced the consequences with your head held high.” Now, Neuvillette’s delivery of his speech has the force that is moving every heart in the crowd; however, as Wriothesley finds himself as the subject of such words—ones he would never feel he deserves—his own heart feels almost too small to take in and hold all of this inside.
“You are strength in the form of a person: your soul is unbreakable, your heart is ever-so-golden and gentle, and only a few selected ones may know the real extent of your kindness—but everyone who has ever set foot in the Fortress under your jurisdiction could use the opportunity that you provided with the fairest second chance,” Neuvillette states. “You overcame things where others would have fallen and you turned every hardship you encountered into ways to get stronger and to give back to others who were less unfortunate or less strong on their own.”
The wedding ceremony feels like it is taking place in a special world—one that Neuvillette masterfully crafts with his words that captivate all who listen. Light sobs echo from the crowd, and Wriothesley catches sight of a Melusine wiping her tears from the corner of her eyes.
“I’ve been watching this land for a while and encountered many living beings—I would choose you in this life and in the next and every single one.” His hand still over his heart, Neuvillette pauses to give Wriothesley one of his widest smiles. “My heart is safe with you; my chest swells just to think how far you’ve come. You’re fair and rational, your head as cool as the Vision you earned for yourself—but no matter the foreign power you can wield, you are just so much more than that. The Fortress has its strict rules for a reason—and that is to help others find their new chance—amongst all, you are as fair and as kind as you can be. You would never care who sees you as a ‘villain’ to defeat as long as they will find the way to their new life.”
“You’re selfless as you would never want the recognition your hard work and leadership would deserve. I trust you with everything, I would trust everything I have in you without a second thought—I would, because I believe I also couldn’t make a fairer decision. I do represent the laws of this land—but not all are correct; now I can make my own justice, and I believe, I wholeheartedly do, that this would never fall to a different place than yours.”
“Wriothesley, having your trust, faith, support, and understanding made my duty easier, and my life better and more full. Once you told me that love should feel warm… I, Neuvillette, vow that I will do everything in my power so that you will never feel anything but warmth. My whole heart, my trust, my devotion, and my soul are all yours; you are the home I could never find here—I couldn’t, because it was never a place but a person. I love you with my whole heart; please, let me spend my life by your side.”
Gazes interlocked and fingers intertwined, Wriothesley and Neuvillette exist in a bubble that’s a different world from the little crowd that gathered around them: it’s made of love on the deepest levels—and love returned. Two hearts beat to the same rhythm, two souls connected, sealed, and inseparable for the rest of eternity.
The voice of the ceremony master pops the bubble they are immersed in; under gentle sunlight with no clouds in sight, on this wonderfully peaceful day, she progresses with the official speech and then finally, she asks the questions.
The ones that Wriothesley and Neuvillette could answer for many, many years now:
“Wriothesley, Neuvillette. Do you wish to take the other as your husband, in health and sickness, in happiness and sadness?”
“I do,” they answer in unity. Together.
“Will you love and honour each other for the rest of your lives?”
…And answer they do with the most honest hearts, knowing that this would be true for this life and the next one and the one after, too, “I will.”
Neuvillette’s lilac eyes shine bright, his smile the gentlest—a Melusine in the back whispers, unheard for most, that this is the happiest she has ever seen their beloved Monsieur. Wriothesley returns the smile: his happiness on display, the tiniest dimples of his cheeks showing that has never been a sight to witness for anyone but Neuvillette, behind many closed doors.
It’s as if time stops; the invited guests’ excitement is palpable in the air—all eyes except the soon-to-be-weds’ are on the ceremony master to continue. The sight of the harmonic unity, in the form of two people deeply in love with each other, shines brighter than the late spring sun above.
Icy blue and lilac gazes not letting the other go; while awaiting their sentence—one, that for himself, not even the Hydro Sovereign can call—Neuvillette’s eyes soften with a myriad of feelings that may be overwhelming, yet, keep all rains out of sight today.
Having felt the sheer power of the emotions that could threaten to consume a person whole, Wriothesley squeezes his Dearest’s hand with the smallest of motions—after countless times doing this while standing in the pouring rain, or wrapping arms around his most treasured in a dry room while the skies’ war had been on full out display—this is a promise without words. A repetition of his vow, the smallest of reassurances—that Neuvillette may not need, not anymore, but one he gets anyway because sometimes love is just a steady, supportive presence—which says, ‘I am here, and I will never go away.’
Lost and found, the veils of their own world fall over them like a lazy morning fog that glimmers in the first rays of sunshine; the ceremony master speaks, but love almost makes the two of them deaf and blind. The sharpest of minds lagging and frozen—because how can this be real? How can this be their new reality? Lost and found, connected and bound, their lives are now forever intertwined—the announcement of utter importance and the cheer of the crowd sink in and wash over both of them:
“By the power that has been bestowed upon me, under the jurisdiction of the Court of Fontaine, now I hereby declare Wriothesley and Neuvillette as husbands. Please, seal your vows and promises by placing a ring onto the hand of the other, then you may kiss.”
Even though the ceremony and the small crowd are there for them—and both Wriothesley and Neuvillette feel responsibility for their guests—they cannot bear to tear their gazes away from each other. Sigewinne walks up to them with a dark red and blue patterned velvet pillow, and upon lay two of the simplest-looking rings. A thin band from silver and another from gold with well-hidden engravings of a cherished name on the inside, the designs do fit their daily former wears—the rings will be a part of both of their lives, just like the other.
Love goes a long way, but if there is one who’s part of their small family, then it is Sigewinne. Two pairs of eyes, interlocked in agreement, turn towards the Melusine.
Sigewinne beams at them, her red-hued eyes shining while her tears threaten to spill as she offers the rings on the pillow. Wriothesley gives her the widest, truest smile she has ever seen while he lets one of Neuvillette’s hands go to take the golden band into his own. With a thankful nod, the Duke raises his gaze back up.
If a single glance can ever tell a lot, then now it does; Wriothesley’s expression is full focus as if pulling a ring onto an elegant finger is the task of his life. His gaze falls onto the gloved hand he raises—the urge to leave a kiss on the bare wrist that shows a tiny piece of skin is almost maddening. With precise and measured motions, the gold band with Wriothesley’s name engraved on the inside soon sits over Neuvillette’s delicate ring finger. The knowledge of the hidden name—that only they are privy to—almost shakes Wriothesley at his core; once the ring is placed, as if it’d be a cue, they look up to share a shy, but almost possessive and infatuated moment. If only they were alone now… but these feelings and actions all are for later, they know.
Light pink dusts the tip of pointy ears and both men’s cheeks—though, the colour is a lot fainter on Wriothesley. After their slightly too-long personal moment that the crowd could witness, now Neuvillette, almost apologetically, breaks his gaze away to reach for the second ring. He cannot help himself but gently pat the top of Sigewinne’s hair with a gentle smile as a gesture of gratitude, only then he reaches for a silver band to seal the promise and vows of the two of them.
Neuvillette thinks that however much power he may possess, no matter how he could command and lock away even an ancient force like the Primordial Water, no seal via the power of Hydro—even if he has the uttermost authority over the element—could ever feel close to just how much a tiny silver band represents with his name engraved on inside, placed on another’s finger.
First gold, and now silver is placed, too; the gathered celebratory crowd cheers and chants, “Now kiss, now kiss!” And so, Wriothesley and Neuvillette oblige.
Wriothesley’s featherlight fingers with a newly acquired silver ring reach up, cupping his Love’s cheek and slightly tilting his head; all the while as one of the Neuvillette’s hands slides up and rests on his Beloved’s muscular chest. A long strand of white hair falls ahead, offering them the slightest cover. Eager lips meet each other—the kiss tastes like the tea they drank earlier today. It is the nth in their lives, yet, the first they share as husbands, tongues barely touching, they smile into their kiss, wordlessly promising, ‘Soon. Later today, we can. We have so much time left.’
Their love is on display—yet, with the kind coverage of Neuvillette’s bangs falling ahead of their faces like a veil, in some privacy—they share a long kiss; they don’t let go until the sheer length of their connection feels almost too much in front of the gathered crowd. Happy and bright faces everywhere, some smearing tears away from the corner of their eyes, all pairs of eyes follow the husbands’ every motion as they pull away from the kiss—only to hold hands, to step so close that the fabrics at their hips slightly brush together.
Facing the gathered with a new title that is the most private and heartwarming of all, with the bluest of skies above and the mirror-like, even surface of the inner seas of Fontaine behind their backs, Wriothesley holds Neuvillette’s hand just a tiny little stronger—and his husband returns the motion.
Maybe, today facing all the people who are here to cheer for them is a hard task for two who have lived their lives in solitude, their feelings hidden behind doors, put into fists or the flow of the rains—the shared celebrations and openly displaying all they feel is their first shared hardship, the kindest and most wholesome type, one they tackle and overcome as an united pair. Now even in all official records because their hearts were irrevocably taken a long time ago.
Wriothesley catches Neuvillette’s gaze from the corner of his eyes—and a slow, kind blink tells him, ‘Together, as husbands. You can—we can.’
The ceremony master announces all official matters as any wedding in Fontaine would go once the records have been set, the newlyweds stroll down the podium and through the aisle, while enthusiastic Melusines throw petals of rainbow roses and lumidouce bells over their heads like pouring rain of fragrant, delicate beauty. Clapping and encouraging cheers accompany their ways as the couple leads their guests to the nearby modest venue set-up with all types of food and beverages for all who wish to stay to celebrate.
An old saying goes, ‘Time flies in good company.’ While the gentle sun takes its route over the sky, shining down with warmth, the little crowd below enjoys themselves to the fullest: presents, hugs, good wishes, and wonderful memories are shared. The day goes by—once the orange lights dominate over the land, people slowly scatter. With the offered help of the dutiful Melusines and some others, packing presents and handling the left-over tasks don’t belong to Wriothesley and Neuvillette—they can now finally enjoy a true, private moment on their own.
After the last questions and inquiries—because it wouldn’t be Neuvillette if he wouldn’t ask—if it is truly alright if they leave, and the kindest and most forceful little paws gently pushing him away with a smile, Wriothesley leads his Dearest away, walking by the shore, bathing in the low, pastel-like, warm sunlight.
With duty and a day off scheduled, they are to head towards a little cottage house in the Forest of Erinnyes to share a private night in each other’s arms—but before leaving towards the bluish glow of nature, with a fleeting idea mentioned and agreed on, they decide to enjoy the last rays of the sun. With their shoes off and the hems of their pants folded upwards, Neuvillette lets the lazy waves ride above his ankles while Wriothesley stays on the wet sand.
Hand in hand, Wriothesley’s hold is like a steady, secured anchor—the Hydro Sovereign may control all waters, but in a wedding suit that is almost as inconvenient for movement as his usual robes, walking on the slippery sand in a human form can be a challenge. A hand to hold, a point to return to, a reached-out gesture with an umbrella—a home to return to, a lighthouse that shines in a dark storm, a pair of arms offering a warm hug when the world threatens to shake the ground. Then: a moment of peace, a warm bowl of soup made with love, and the shelter that is the cosiness of a thick duvet and intertwined limbs before a new day to tackle would come.
So much to say, so much to feel—with the sky’s hues slowly washing out as the night starts to settle, their pace lessens, and they come to a stop.
“My husband,” Neuvillette says, tasting the word with a possessive lilt in his voice as if it is the finest springwater.
The syllables that roll off his Dearest’s tongue are filled with so much warmth upon hearing his new title from the person he’d go to the end of the world and back, Wriothesley's heart swells. The thought of just how lucky he is crosses his mind for the millionth time today.
Stepping closer and reaching for Neuvillette’s other hand, Wriothesley watches how the flickering glimmer of orange and yellow that reflect the sun, are now dancing on his Dearest’s gaze—the white, rhomboid pupils widen and narrow in the slightest as a bigger wave breaks the sunlight’s mirror on the surface, shining over the side of Neuvillette’s face.
Akin to how their own world was formed and how their feelings enveloped them into a bubble during the ceremony, the imaginary veil of the two of them falls upon: it’s just two men, standing in the shallow water, lazy waves licking their ankles and the natural habitat of Fontaine making their tiny noises around. Two souls stand by the sea; Wriothesley wonders if Neuvillette can sense the emotions hidden in the deepest depth of his heart through the water surrounding them.
“You are ethereal, dear Husband,” Wriothesley says, saying the word aloud for the first time. It’s almost second nature to them to just brush over a thumb at the back of the other’s hand, to slide fingers a little deeper, and to make the smallest motion as a squeeze of a hand. Icy blue and lilac gazes hold each other gently, like nurturing waves cradling the new seeds of life. Words have power.
‘The word unspoken is the flower,’ Neuvillette tends to repeat the Inazuman proverb to avoid answers where he is not yet ready or wants to confess about his private matters. But sometimes words have to be said, and a single one—Husband—repeated twice, is all it takes to bring the two leaders of the over- and underworld closer together, their eyes shimmering with unshed tears. With a shared smile that conveys more than words ever could, they both blink away the moisture.
Finally, for the first time in their new relationship, Wriothesley pulls Neuvillette close. He slides a hand to the small of Neuvillette’s back, his forearm pressing against the thin waist, guiding him closer until their hips touch—even then, it feels almost too far away. His hand adorned with the silver ring, Wriothesley cups his Husband’s cheek; Neuvillette then immediately leans into the touch, pressing his face gently into the offered palm. Almost cat-like, Neuvillette blinks slowly before glancing back up at him, his eyes reflecting the warm-hued light of the sun.
Stepping closer until their ankles touch under the water, a thigh pressing to another almost dangerously at this place, Neuvillette’s arms cross behind Wriothesley’s back under the cape of his formal fit hungrily, as if he hasn’t traced the knotted muscles and the steep V-line of his sides infinite times. He allows himself to explore. To reach, to touch, to find, to cherish. To own.
For a short moment, Neuvillette holds Wriothesley tight—the fabrics of their dress shirts and vests are too much between them. It’s a moment of an embrace with the promise of many others; once releasing the hug, a hand sneaks forward and stops on Wriothesley’s chest, laid flat over his heart—both of their beating the same rhythm—and another raises up, reaching the Duke’s nape, fingers gently pushing into soft hair, touching a sensitive scalp.
As if today it would be impossible—even more than usual—to not search and find the other’s gaze locked in, icy blue and lilac meet again. No matter how many times this happens, it always feels like coming home.
Their lips meet—now, without an audience, sharing the moment as long as they wish under the pastel orange of the last sun rays while gentle waves hover and drift at their feet. Connected in many ways, in unity, their kiss speaks for the words unspoken:
‘To the future together, with You, Husband. In the warmth of your embrace, by your side, with your hand in mine. Intertwined in soul, connected in heart, and mind. In love with you, forever and ever, until the end of all times.’