🌲 winter catchall 🌲

[pactmarshal]

❄️ WHO: Trahearne & u baby!
❄️ WHAT: closed starters for winter
❄️ WHEN: all throughout winter
❄️ WHERE: all over the island
❄️ WARNINGS: to be added in thread headers (definitely nsfw)

Comments

[chronosynthesis]

Oh, thank you, he'll appreciate that. [Syrlya takes the first plate, holding it under his chin to catch crumbs as he carefully lifts the pie slice from the back to take a bite. Maybe he should have brought forks. Oh well.]

Mm--this is very good.

[pactmarshal]

[ It's fine! They never needed forks.

Trahearne follows suit, lifting the plate to gingerly take bites of the pie... It's going to crumble everywhere, but. It's fine. ]

Thank you.

[ He tried hard! And that Syrlya thinks it's good, all is fine in his book.

After a moment, after debating as to whether or not he should take another bite, he places the plate down and looks at Syrlya. ]

I have something else for you, too.

[chronosynthesis]

Mmph? [Syrlya is in the middle of taking another large bite, but he looks at Trahearne with interest as he continues to eat. Well, go on.]

[pactmarshal]

[ Trahearne returns the gaze, unable to help the little smile of amusement that crosses his face. That look, his cheeks stuffed with pie... He's adorable. It's hard to keep his hands to himself--

But no. Staying on task. He leans over to pick up the bag by his feet and place it on his lap. ]

I meant to give this to you in exchange for the ring, but...it was not finished in time. Though it's no longer a part of the task board, I thought I should still give it to you nonetheless.

[ He pulls the sides of the bag down to reveal a medium-sized wooden box, one that fits nicely on Trahearne's lap. The wood is clearly newly finished, and beneath the handsome silver latch--a key sits in the hole--inlaid with a slightly darker wood, is a familiar symbol. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[Syrlya sets the plate with the rest of his pie aside as Trahearne fills his lap with the bag, and then pulls it open before Syrlya can even start to.]

Oh. [His expression lights up a little. That sure is the Pact symbol.] A keepsake box? It's very nice.

[Of course, he immediately starts to open the box and inspect it's interior.]

[pactmarshal]

It is.

[ Trahearne lets Syrlya take the box, and there's a little flutter of nerves as he hears the latch come undone.

The inside of the lid is fitted with a mirror, constructed so that there is no risk of it ever falling off of its attachments. Right below it is a tray, of velvet. It is much too shallow to constitute the whole of the inside, and it is clearly removeable to reveal the rest of the box, but that isn't important right now.

What is, is that there is an envelope resting on the center partition of the tray, Syrlya written on the front in familiar handwriting.

Inside the envelope is a neatly-written note:

Long have I spent
watching blossoms fall,
the leaves and trees wither,
people come and go;
an endless haze of time
without you.
Far have I journeyed
into the depths of rot
across dazzling seas
through bramble and meadows
over forsaken ground
alone.
But through it all
I have always felt your light
seen your beacon
heard your call;
a constant in everything
that is everchanging;
and though seasons may pass
the sights may change,
I will always chase it back to you.

I love you.

Trahearne is a little embarrassed, so his eyes drift elsewhere, gold coloring his cheeks. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[Of course Syrlya notices the note with his name immediately, and of course the first thing he does is pick it up and unfold it. Initially he assumes Trahearne had initially meant to have it delivered for the task, as Syrlya did with most of his.

That assumption is quickly dashed as he gets through the second line. And he keeps reading, focused solely on the poem so much that even Trahearne next to him melts away. A blush gradually grows on his cheeks along the same swell of affection inside him.

He covers his mouth with one hand.] Oh, Trahearne, this is--it's lovely. You wrote this?

[Maybe he shouldn't be surprised the guy with a favorite poem also writes poetry. What more romantic pursuit is there for a scholar?]

[pactmarshal]

[ It was meant to be a part of the task, but he wanted to save it, since he wanted it to come with the present. That doesn't really matter now, though, since that is, arguably, now the least important part of the present.

Trahearne's eyes find Syrlya again, the swell of affection only strengthening the gold on his own cheeks. A smile widens across his face; his shoulders raise, as though trying to keep the light fluttering in his chest in control. ]

I did. For you. [ ...That's silly. Of course it's for him. ]

I'm--I'm glad you like it.

[chronosynthesis]

I love it. [Syrlya lowers his hand so he can lean over to kiss Trahearne's cheek.] Thank you.

[pactmarshal]

[ Trahearne leans in, a chuckle escaping his lips as Syrlya's lips meet his cheek. ]

There's more. [ He sits back up straight, eyeing the tray. The lip of the container rests on the edges of the box. ] You can remove the top compartment.

[ A ball of nerves sit heavy in the pit of his stomach. He's more nervous about this than he originally thought he would be.

If, and when Syrlya decides to remove the tray, he'll find the rest of the compartments of the box have been taken out--the ridges along the inner walls showing that the rest of the trays and boxes that go inside can be arranged however he likes, for whatever he decides to put in there.

Those are absent, however. The box is empty. Save for one thing that rests on the deep purple velvet of the bottom of the box--a white feather.

The one for engagements. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[More? Syrlya shifts back, holding the poem aside as he looks back at the box. He lifts the top compartment, and doesn't even notice what's missing in the bottom in the face of what it is filled with.

He stares, slowly comprehending what the feather is, exactly. And then he snaps his attention up.] ... Trahearne?

[pactmarshal]

[ Trahearne's gaze is there to meet Syrlya's when he looks up. He's not smiling, like he usually is. The nerves are too much. He purses his lips together, corners of his mouth downturned, and he remains silent for a moment.

When he finally finds his voice, his tone is shaky. ]

It has taken me...a while to truly understand that while you changed my life, I was but a passing chapter in yours.

[ It feels weird to say it out loud like that. The odd uncertainty he'd been sitting with for such a long time finally has an explanation, and he wrests with it. Syrlya has spent much of his life without him, moved on, made new friends. Found new love--like Adelis. And that's natural (and that is an apology for another day). But here he is, clinging to the fear that Syrlya has long gone and forgotten him. That clearly isn't the case, though. Would they be here if he did?

Of course not. And it would serve them both well if he remembered that. ]

But selfishly, I want to be there for you--with you for all of your future chapters. I can't say I'm exactly ready for...this yet, but I do know that I want to spend this new life with you. And what is marriage, if not a vow to be with one another through all of life's joys and sorrows, come what may?

[ His expression eases at last, the slight frown on his lips morphing into a smile. ]

You're brilliant, Syrlya. And I love you.

[ He shifts on the couch to face him more fully, because the question deserves that much. ]

Will you marry me?

[chronosynthesis]

[Stunned as Syrlya is, he at least has the sense to not blurt it it himself. Trahearne... probably has something specific he wants to say if he's going to propose (and Syrlya would be too embarrassed if it turned out he wasn't proposing--).

Gingerly he takes the feather between his fingers before returning his attention to Trahearne, in time to listen. And withholds, with all if his ability, any comments in the middle.

It's kind of a relief to hear Trahearne admit he isn't ready, because Syrlya sure isn't. He's let the acceptance settle in his gut these last few weeks, but marrying and just for the sake of love... feels like such a tall order. But he has duties, promises that require him to return to Tyria. So he already knows his answer.

His hands reach out, to take one of Trahearne's in both of them, the feather pressed between their palms. The initial surprise has long since melted off his face, and now he wears a calm, peaceful smile. An easiness that belies his own nerves, but if both of them are fretting he thinks Trahearne might explode from the feedback.

Anyway--] Of course, Trahearne. I will marry you.

1/2

[pactmarshal]

[ It's funny, because somewhere in the back of Trahearne's mind, he's aware this is...out of character for both of them. They're both content to put duty first, as they did for so long, and though his own love is deep and all-encompassing, a part of him finds it difficult to use that as the sole excuse to keep the other to himself.

But if they're going back to Tyria together, and they're going to be spending their time together--romantically, then what harm can it do?

When Trahearne hears Syrlya's yes, a smile blossoms across his face. All his nerves melt away, and Syrlya's serenity fills him with confidence. Slowly, he leans in to kiss him--

[pactmarshal]

When he feels a sudden shift on his palm. What was the soft texture of the feather now digs into his palm cold, and hard. He pauses, pulls back, and slowly pries his hand from Syrlya's to see...silver rings.

With a curious look, Trahearne lifts his gaze from the sudden appearance of the rings--and sudden disappearance from the feather--to Syrlya's eyes. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[... Syrlya opens his hands to peer at the rings now cradled in their palms.]

... I suppose it figures it would be a magic feather if she was so adamant about it. [He scoops them up carefully, holding one up in view.] Do we save these for the wedding?

[pactmarshal]

[ Trahearne observes Syrlya's ring, then gingerly plucks the other one in his palm. They're plain, almost unremarkable, if he didn't know where they came from. ]

I can't say. [ He does not have the answer to that. ] I believe rings are a part of the human engagement process as well. [ Since that's what this feels like. ] Is that what they could be?

[chronosynthesis]

Then do we just take them off and put them back on for the wedding? [Marjory and Kasmeer didn't exchange rings at their engagement announcement that he can remember--but then again he's never looked to see if they started wearing rings since then. Maybe he should have paid closer attention.]

[pactmarshal]

I don't know. But if these are our only rings, then I suppose so.

[ He observes the ring quietly for a few more seconds before looking up at Syrlya. There might also be some kind of magic at play, too. But. Who knows. He feels like he should go back and ask the goddess.

Anyway. He smiles. ]

Let me put this on you, then.

[chronosynthesis]

[Syrlya pulls the glove off his right hand, holding his hand with his fingers spread out for Trahearne. He has no idea if there's a particular hand it's meant to go on.]

[pactmarshal]

[ Not like Trahearne knows, either!

With his free hand, Trahearne gently holds Syrlya's in place and reverently slides the ring onto his ring finger. It fits perfectly--he lights up a little bit. It's like magic, or something.

He looks up at Syrlya with a pleased chuckle before peeling off his own glove on his right hand. The left one has the other ring on it, so. ]

[chronosynthesis]

[And Syrlya returns the favor, slipping the silver band on Trahearne's right ring finger.

... If he's honest, he thinks the ring he had made is much nicer than these.] There. One for each hand.

[pactmarshal]

[ One for each hand!

Trahearne lifts his other hand, and looks between the rings. And when he looks up at Syrlya, there's a sly little smile on his face.

He definitely likes Syrlya's much better.

His thumb absently brushes the ring Syrlya gave him--a little habit he's developed in the days since--as both hands reach to entwine with both of Syrlya's. ]

And one for each of us. [ The fondness reaches his eyes. ] In whatever time we have together, I am yours.

[chronosynthesis]

[Syrlya grips Trahearne's hands tightly in return with a smile.] And I am yours. Always.

[pactmarshal]

[ Trahearne lifts Syrlya's hand, the one with the ring, and gently places a kiss to his ringed finger. His eyes raise, settle on Syrlya, and-- ]

--Oh, that's right. One last thing.

[ He lets his hands slip from Syrlya's as he turns to collect the rest of the contents of the bag. He produces from it a small, see-through package--in it is a small stack of deep purple velvet trays in various sizes--and hands it to Syrlya. ]

These go with the box. You're free to arrange them how you like.