the small white flower, the one word that will protect you
The Day After Samhain, 1018 II Age / 1 III Age: The first Viktor letter
Yuuri,
I caught myself wondering earlier about where it is that you go when you’re gone.
(“Vitya, I’ve told you that I don’t know,” you’re going to say, but that’s not quite what I said, is it?)
It occurred to me in a wild and fragile sort of way that perhaps even there you might miss me too, that perhaps whatever world you’re in feels like this one does in the winter: incomplete, waiting with baited breath for what happens next. I don’t think I have your way with words, now that I’m looking at these pages, or maybe it’s that your loss is still a little too near and I don’t want to burden you with trying to really write what it is that it feels like when you’re gone. Perhaps the words don’t exist. If they don’t, I don’t want to create them.
Next year we’ll put these in a book, and in some future time, some future place, someone will stumble across this exchange and wonder how two people separated by this dying were still able to speak to each other across the impenetrable void.
They will remember us.
I love you. Do I say it enough? Does your soul still know it, when you’re not here?
It feels like it should. But there’s no certainty when you’re gone and I hardly know myself. In any case, I remain here and I am still
Yours,
Vitya
- - -
Imbolc, 2 III Age
Glory had a measurable weight, and it was heavy.
It was in the use of the cardinal elements; the smoke, the press of Viktor’s bare feet into the earth, the conjured wind, the water sprinkled lightly over his head as he led the processional. It was in the oaths administered by Lilia, extracted from the eldest peers of each of the four Kingdoms:
Here stands before you Viktor, who today becomes your King. You have traveled wide and far, from all corners of the earth, in homage and service, but will you promise him the same?
Who turned to look at him, her gaze impassive as ever:
As you seek to rule you must bear in mind the virtues of all of our elements, the cardinal blessings of the old gods. Will you recall the purity of the East, and look upon each day of your reign as a new opportunity, a new risen sun?
I will.
Will you possess the ingenuity and passion of the South, and so always seek to generate light in dark places?
I will.
Will you remember the gifts of the West, and keep an open heart, in strength and in weakness?
I will.
And will you be for your people safety and security, like the strength of the North, and provide for them a stable home in which to flourish?
I will.
Do you today promise to lead and govern your people according to the laws and customs of our kind?
I do.
Will you, to your power, pursue law, justice, and mercy each in equal measure?
I shall. The things which I have promised I will perform, and I will keep.
May these oaths we have sworn today keep you on your path, Viktor; be strong and of good courage; be also gentle, be just.
It was heavier when Yakov set the crown upon his head, passing it from his own onwards to his heir. The elven circlets were thin and light and this was no different: delicate, even, as it sat in Viktor’s silver hair. Lilia took the crown of the High Prince and passed it to Yuri. Still. These were promises he’d made, not altogether different from holding Yuuri’s hands as they handfasted, swearing with his whole being to do the right things.
Even the cloak on his shoulders felt soaked through.
Glory had a measurable weight, and it could be offset by the promises of his friends, taking a knee: of his brother, who gave homage with clear eyes and a straight face, his token scowl erased by the seriousness of the moment, by his fervor to be a help, a resource. Minako knelt with grace and dignity and made the same promise for her clan; Guang Hong’s parents came forward in concert. Jean-Jacques, who’d intimated as much before made his vows public now, and so smoothly that Viktor caught Christophe’s quick, momentary grin.
Glory was weightless when Yuuri stepped forward, still glowing with all of the excess that accompanied him in Spring. Yuuri whose cheeks were nearly as red as his cloak, whose eyes kept drifting downwards until Viktor tucked two fingers under his chin.
Yuuri who was life itself in all of its strange beauty, both humble and high.
Viktor felt a strange sense of pride as he turned from his father and reached for the circlet of the consort, newly forged, a brilliant rose gold:
“Here stands before you Yuuri …”
- - -
It took much longer, this Imbolc, to escape the revelry; what with a high holy day to celebrate, and a coronation, and the adoration of a glowing public.
It was nearly dawn by the time Yuuri pushed him back into their bed and climbed over Viktor’s hips.
“I hope you realize I’m never going to call you King Viktor,” he mumbled against Viktor’s throat, tipsy on spring wine and heady with feeling.
“Thank the gods for that,” Viktor hummed back, plucking the crown off of Yuuri’s head to set on the sidetable, along with his own. “What will you call me?”
“You’re Viktor.”
Just Viktor?
“Mhmm,” Yuuri murmured, and gods, Viktor loved it when he was drunk like this, possessive and delightfully handsy: “My Vitya.”
“Always,” he promised back, and decided that they’d waited for more than long enough.
- - -
The first full moon after Imbolc, 2 III Age
A PROCLAMATION FROM THE HIGH KING
On this eve, and with the full assent of the Princes of the four Kingdoms, we set forth the boundaries of a new domain, a fifth kingdom, extending from A’ve Palmera in the North to Southmost edge of the Southern desert, and from the Western edge of the great canyon of the East to the edge of the Steppes in the West.
This center kingdom is to be administered by the ban side, who have elected after conference to govern via rule of council instead of through the selection of a Prince. This council is formed of six of the ban side Rangers, three of each of the tribes, and an additional figure known to the ban side as the Reaper, who will enact local law and custom in the revised territory. In the first meet of this council, two representatives have been chosen to join the Council of Princes as advisors to the crown.
A’ve Palmera is henceforth recognized as the capital, and its wayseeing stone is ceded to the council of ban side. Furthermore, the crown has accepted the nominations of Otabek of the Northern Rangers and Rafael of the Southern for admission to the council.
No changes will be made to the ancient tradition of traversing the calendar wheel; however, evenings of the full moon are to be marked accordingly in all five kingdoms and celebrated with the same honor and ceremony with which we regard the passing of the sun.
- V.I, 2 III.A
- - -
(Yakov, who sighed heavily: “You did what?”
“I figured Otabek might someday need a dowry,” Viktor quipped, as though that alone could possibly be the reason for writing such an old wrong.)
- - -
Three weeks before Beltane, 2 III Age
A PROCLAMATION FROM THE HIGH KING
Concerning the matter of events at the Cauldron at the end of the second age:
The crown recognizes the responsibility of the rulers of the aes sidhe to amend, in so much as they may, scars that remain in this world from the war of the first age. In order to accomplish this aim, we henceforth establish the tradition of BENEDICTION; whereupon a fellowship of mages will be sent into the ranges of the Center Kingdom to seek to bring relief to the cursed revenants of the first age.
Fellowships will travel every ten years to accomplish this purpose until every revenant is freed; they will consist of mixed parties of volunteers, always including but not limited to the King himself, the King-consort, the Steward of A’ve Palmera, and the Reaper of the ban side, or any others who find themselves in possession of the magics of fortune, life, emotion, or death and who therefore can learn to administer the benediction. Benediction is never to be performed without the full knowledge and consent of the council of the center kingdom; nor without the parties listed above: it is only in cooperation that these magics are effective for this purpose, never alone.
In addition, the crown recognizes a fresh tradition to occur the year following BENEDICTION; deemed JUBILEE. Jubilee will be celebrated in conjunction with Imbolc in Hasetsuil. The Princes of each Kingdom may select and nominate two of their people to seek healing and blessings at Jubilee from the King-consort so long as he is willing or able.
Nominations must be approved by the council of the ban side, particularly the Reaper, in so much as they should affirm the natural order of things. Once nominated, anyone who has subsequently been approved and who has received jubilee is ineligible to have life magic conferred upon him a second time.
Henceforth the road between Ast Petyriel and Hasetsuil is hereby named the Jubilee Road.
Any further conferences of life magic are at the sole discretion of the mage who carries the phoenix familiar and the ban side Reaper; when this occurs understand that it must always be as a gift, given freely, as most real blessings are: unasked for and wholly unexpected.
- V.I, 2 III.A
- - -
(“They will still come to him,” Seung-gil noted dispassionately at the Council of Princes, and Viktor glanced sidelong at Yuuri, whose head was bowed, his eyes closed.
It was not a secret they could have kept forever.
“I know,” he said, “… but that’s what he has us for.”)
- - -
The day after Lughnasadh, Year of I Jubilee,12 III Age
A PROCLAMATION FROM THE HIGH KING
The King-father and King-mother departed the lands of the aes sidhe following the festival of Lughnasadh to seek the havens of hope in the far west.
In recognition of their centuries of service to this realm and its people the colors of Lilia of Ast Petyriel and Yakov of Mosciren are to be flown in all capitals for a period of thirty days, and beginning next year the mage college in Ast Petyriel will accept students of magic of all races and creeds with an interest in studying the most noble traditions and the highest arts of the aes sidhe and the ban side; teachers will be selected from amongst the best mages in all of the Kingdoms to establish the finest library since the world’s first age.
Residence in Mosciren is now declared open to any citizen of the five kingdoms who wishes to reside under the protection of the Alcazar.
- V.I, 12 III.A
- - -
(“You’re lucky Father’s gone,” Yura speculated, the day after. “I think he’d un-coronate you if he knew you just opened the gates of Mosciren.”
“That’s what Mother’s for,” Viktor quipped, but it was Yuuri who looked thoughtful. What is it?
“I think he’s probably smiling,” Yuuri noted. “Yakov knows who you are, Vitya. He and Lilia know who they’ve left the world to. And what it means.”)
- - -
The Harvest Moon, Year of IV Jubilee, 52 III Age
There were very few things that were funnier to Viktor than watching his younger brother suddenly reverted to a nervy, scowling youth at the prospect of finally tying the knot with the ban side who’d been in his orbit for decades. “What are you nervous for, anyway, Yura? Haven’t you already been handfasted for decades?”
“We have not.” Viktor knew that perfectly well. Otabek was a man of few words, generally speaking, but his presence in the family bond would never have been that silent. In some ways, Viktor was looking forward to it: today, finally, after years, he was going to get another brother. He’d been more ready for it than Yuri ever had, something that reached back for the days when Otabek had flown Yuuri up to Mosciren, and so carried all of the things that were precious to Viktor.
He’d made his decision then.
Yuri had waited to be sure. To be completely certain. VIktor didn’t understand it but here they were nonetheless, with Yuuri patiently threading flowers that bloomed at night through the wheat colored gold of of Yuri’s hair. His husband had rested for most of the morning, conserving his energy for the evening’s festivities. Yuuri was never well, in autumn, not fully, but today he kept smiling, endured the antics of his lover and the nerves of his brother with the patience of a saint.
Yuri, on the other hand, was never going to qualify: “Shut up, Vitya.”
“So rude to your King,” Viktor huffed. “Anyway: I could, but then who’s going to give the bride away?”
“If you’re wondering why I asked your husband to officiate, instead of you, Viktor, this … this right here is why.”
“As you should have,” Viktor murmured, and he leaned over, intending to press a kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head, except that Yuuri tilted his own chin up swiftly, and captured his mouth instead.
The press of his lips was short and soft; harvest season was always like this, gentle and receding. “… I think he knows more about love than anyone,” Viktor said fondly, and marveled that even now, he could still make Yuuri blush.
- - -
Three weeks and four days after Imbolc, 89 III Age
“We’ve received interesting reports,” Rafael noted amidst the convening of the Prince’s council, something Viktor had put into regular practice instead of executed only in emergencies and with urgency. “For years now there’s been murmurings that the magicks of the ban side might return, as the revenants are released back into the cycle, but …”
“Yes?”
“There’s a girl in Shen-Osheth, a human with ordinary parents, her father’s a sailor, completely overwhelmed …”
“It would appear she has entropy magic,” Otabek added, with a subtle smile.
“Chaos?”
“Chaos.”
“Great,” quipped Viktor, and he looked through the stone for Rafael and Christophe. “So when are you two adopting?” He inquired idly, and gestured over to Otabek. “I’m given to understand you’ve already raised the one hellion, so …”
Hellion? Yura challenged wryly.
He’d have to be, Viktor joked with an unrepentant grin, mirrored a little bit in Otabek’s idle smirk. After all, he married you.
Rafael’s broad smile and Christophe’s sputter were so worth it.
- - -
A week and four days after Imbolc, Year of XCIV Jubilee, 102 IV Age
“… and so they adopted me,” noted the fire mage in the college of Ast Petyriel, a pretty young woman who didn’t have Viktor’s silver hair or Yuuri’s brown eyes but who recalled them in her mannerisms, in the gentle playfulness of her humor or in the way she treated old books stored in this very specific part of the library with such gentleness and care.
In the nobility with which she carried herself; the fourth age’s High Queen, a halfling, the phoenix.
They were not magic books, these; they were the love letters of her fathers, recorded Samhain after Samhain; a record of every winter season and a retelling of the end of the second age, the start of the third, and everything thereafter. “… They’d been waiting, they said, for someone with the right sort of fire magic, someone who might be able to do what my father did.”
“We always read about the golden reign,” one student said, in awe, “About what Viktor did to restore the central Kingdom, and Jubilee …”
“My father didn’t do that on his own,” she corrected with a soft smile. “He was very clear that he did not want the credit.”
“What were they like?” Asked another student, a ban side child who looked up at her with bright, inquisitive eyes even as darkness sparkled on his fingertips. It was beautiful, elusive magic, and sometimes it made her think of her Uncle and his mighty shadow wyvern, the years she’d gotten to fly carried on those big dark wings before he and Yura had left for the havens. The first ban side to serve on the Council of Princes, and the first to seek out the havens of hope.
“… They were just like the stories,” she said, with a heart full of hope and brimming, this time of year, with so much life, the joy of the phoenix. “But even better.”
“Better?”
“Because they were real,” said her husband, who let cool fingers drift over her shoulder. She turned to look up at him, the ban side who’d inherited the opposite mantle after Viktor and Yuuri sailed into an Imbolc sunrise, after Seung-gil’s magic one day subsided. The King-consort, whose steps were still dogged by the darting shadow of a three-headed dog, nipping at his heels like death was also a puppy.
She held up the book in her lap with great care; it was terribly old, now, carefully preserved.
Love letters from the third year of the third age. “They loved each other even more than the letters suggest,” she murmured, and rested a hand between the reaper’s shoulderblades, leaned into the promise they made together: death and life, life and death.
The peace between these forces was now theirs to preserve.
“That was what made history.”