verumdicit | for pointedlook

[ Meliorn loops and Arthur continues to follow, doing his best not to point out the fallacies in logic. Because here? None of that seems to apply. He's heard the seelie mention it before, how closely related this place is to that in dreams. Penrose staircases and paradox aren't out of the question in this world. ]

You're about halfway to the mark.

[ Funny how he's missing the big point. ]

I told you, I'm not going to be forced out of dreamshare. [ His real reasons to do most anything.

Of course now it's the difficult question. Arthur's silent as they walk, humming noncommittally in the meantime, indicating he intends to speak up. ]

Well, we already knew each other. [ There's the easy part out of the way. ] And I don't know about the rest of your people, but you at least seem pretty open minded to a human barging in on the dream world.

[ Though he does have sort of an idea how the rest of the seelie would receive such a declaration. With hostility. ]

Bonus, and call me shallow all you want, but you are physically attractive, even if your avoidance of straight answers makes me want to commit murder.

[ It makes sense. Arthur's devotion to his passion is like Meliorn's devotion to dreamshare, although Meliorn's devotion been swayed by morals, once and only once. That had never happened again. ]

I still don't like it.

[ It's a gentle reminder: Arthur's dreamsharing is unnatural and an abomination, but still fascinating. Enough that he let Arthur live, and--yes, alright, maybe Meliorn is a sucker for attractive people. At the murder comment, Meliorn actually laughs, clasping the other's shoulder and steering him off the path. ]

I just wanted to hear you say it.

[ And once he finishes his sentence, when they step into a clearing, it's the entrance to the beautiful vine and flower covered ruins. Seelie Knights stand guard, each with spears and armor, each with pointed ears, the same golden vine marks, and a few streaks of unnatural hair. Their faces are impassive as Meliorn brings Arthur in, never taking his hand off of the other's shoulder.

Others start to poke their head out -- some children, looking only 8, barefoot in gossamer. Some older, all ethereally beautiful, wearing dresses or pants and vests of earthy or floral tones. Meliorn, it seems, isn't exactly a trend setter. ]

Stay close. Don't answer anything unless it's the Queen.

I said "pretty open minded". I'm not asking for a permanent pardon here.

[ Well ok, that's not strictly true. Part of this arrangement would undoubtedly mean he has fairly free reign to do whatever he wants in dreamshare; he'd always have a seelie eye on his actions. The rest of them should leave him well enough alone since clearly Meliorn would have it in hand.

Theoretically. ]

Vain.

[ His jab has no bite to it, more of a baffled amusement. Mel got particular about very strange things. Arthur isn't even going to attempt to parse why he wanted to hear it out loud.

But even if he had a follow up retort, it falls right out his mind when they get to the gates. For a second, he's pretty sure he gapes like some kid, the ethereal mixing with the weird in a way that's a bit wild to take in. He lets himself be led, Mel's hand and presence a familiar comfort (when did he start thinking of him that way?)

After his total loss of composure, he pulls himself together, expression going passive. As they walk though, he studies the surroundings, notes the fashions and the poise of the older seelie. And the curiosity of the younger ones, who are looking at him just as intently. ]

Am I gonna get some kind of announcement? Do I bow? [ Fuck. ] Jesus, Mel, maybe I should've looked at a handbook before we jumped the gun.

Of course you bow. [ Meliorn seems downright baffled as he murmurs right back. The moment they step into one of the massive chambers, music can be heard - something old but somehow still modern, male and female voices beautiful. There are more than enough men and women eyeing Arthur hungrily.

Meliorn tries his best to ignore that, and his chin lifts upwards as a silent boast. ] We hardly allow anyone in our kingdom, what makes you think we'd publish a novel?

[ Another guard, female, gorgeous with a streak of green in her hair, steps forward. Meliorn lets go of Arthur long enough to remove a small pair of daggers from his coat, and motions for the other to do the same. ]

After our Queen assesses you during your audience with her, she will ask you a series of questions pertaining the marriage. You'll be separated from me for an entire day, where you'll fast and others will prepare you. At nightfall, she'll ask the same questions. Then we can begin the wedding. Do you need to write that down?

[ Of course you bow, like he does that every day. As a hobby. Arthur wants to strangle Mel a little bit. ]

I'm American, you asshole, we threw our monarch out like two hundred years ago and said fuck all to bowing.

[ The words are said in a rush, slightly under his breath as they get closer to wherever this throne room is. Here, there are more ears and eyes, all attention pointedly on the two of them. Half the stares he notices, amidst the growing anxiety, are somewhere in the realm of hungry. And the other half looks like he'd make great target practice. Used to the threat of violence, he puts his best steely gaze on, not daring them to try anything but clearly saying it wouldn't be a good idea. ]

We could've talked about this. Like adults.

[ Which almost never happens between them, but occasionally miracles occur.

A lone guard interrupts their back and forth, clearly waiting for something. Mel pulls his daggers out and he resists the urge to sigh in frustration. Alright then. His gun gets set on the nearby tray first, then the pocket knife. And then the other knife he tucked in a designer boot, the one he keeps for emergencies. Maybe he would've been able to keep it, but he doesn't exactly want to risk pissing off magic royalty. ]

Ok, yeah, I got it. Is she looking for the same answers or something? Like that shit they pull in customs?

[ Meliorn is very proud of himself for pointing out that he is definitely the adult in this situation via age alone, so he settles with a half-amused smirk as the other takes out his weapons. Gun, pocket knife (in a very fancy boot), and... hmmm. Arthur's taking this way too well. Meliorn clears his throat. ]

All of your weapons.

[ He'll answer the other afterwards. The guard's face grows stoney, her braided hair adorned with petals. ]

[ For a moment, Arthur just stares at Meliorn, vague irritation settling over him. That'd been everything– oh.

Wait.

The guard nearby gives him a stony look, brooking no argument. He's not interested in getting into a fight. So he reaches into the inner pocket of his suit coat, producing a nice metal lighter before he sets it on the tray with the other assortment. ]

I swear that's it.

[ Meliorn doesn't bother concealing the sigh or the eye roll, nor does he hide the almost proud look in his eye. If Arthur was born in the right circumstances, he'd make a fantastic envoy.But he isn't, and here they are, and as they venture further into the Court, vines and flowers and giant trees surrounding them as well as curious yet wary eyes.

The throne is beautiful, carved in oak and covered with vines--not as flashy as it could be but incredibly regal. The girl that sits on it, though, is just that: a girl. No more than 10, with long red hair and the same vine patterns, dressed in the same type of flowing material the rest have. Her crown is hard to discern from anyone else's, asides from a few feathers, but from the way she straightens and her gaze is directly on Arthur's, there's no doubt who she is.

That, and Meliorn gets to one knee almost immediately, his bow low and gracious. He doesn't spare a glance at Arthur -- not because he trusts the other, but because he'd rather not get accused by the Court of not showing proper respect.

Meliorn isn't the only petty Seelie. ]

[ Somehow, he manages to miss the eyeroll and the sigh. However, he does catch the odd gleam in Mel's eye—is that pride? A bit of his nerves subside at that. Sure Mel is only one seelie but if he's passing at least one portion of muster, he's not doing terribly.

Their walk to the throne room is measured, tense. Arthur makes sure his strides don't outpace Meliorn's, wanting to present some kind of unified front despite their differences. After all, they are here for a wedding.

It doesn't take him too long to follow suit with the bow. Though his motions are stiff, unpracticed. He stops himself from staring directly at the Queen, head tilted low to defect to her authority. A hundred questions are burning in his head, first and foremost wondering why she looks like a child. The more he learns about seelie culture the less he understands.

Still, he holds himself with what he hopes is enough graceful humility. Maybe she'll give him a break for being human. Doubtful, but there's a chance. ]

[ She seems satisfied, and while Meliorn doesn't move from his position, he at least looks up and at her, even if his face is still semi bowed.

Congratulations, she says directly to Arthur, and when she stands up it's obvious her feet had barely touched the ground on the throne. You're the only dreamwalker to ever grace us without being killed on sight. Her accent is crisp, almost-British but with the same strange lilt as Meliorn has at times.

When she steps to face Arthur, a small hand reaches up to touch his face, blue eyes flicking over his features.

Why are you choosing to marry? ]

[ Her accent is odd, unexpected. He's had plenty of exposure to Brits (Eames), but hers is edged with authority and the odd whimsy of the seelie.

The words she directs at him are a compliment as much as they are a threat and Arthur has to remind himself that talking back to the Queen within the first minute is not a good idea. Carefully, he keeps his head low until the edge of her small feet comes into his eyeline. Respectfully, he turns his gaze up when she touches his face, expression as neutral as can be.

Even though he's silently freaking out, since he really would've liked another week to think about this answer.

Instead, maybe honesty is the best policy around here, where they skirt the truth with evasion because they can't lie. ]

I've grown fond of him, despite our differences. Dreamwalking for humans can be a lonely business; I've realized it doesn't have to be that way, Your Highness.

[ Because one can hardly be alone when there's a seelie that can magically appear on your doorstep to fussily remark on how many dream rules he's broken in the last 24 hours. ]

[ Well done. It's impossible to tell if it's said to Meliorn or Arthur, but she gives a small tap on the underside of Arthur's chin before withdrawing completely. While you're a Mundane, you're one who Dreamwalks. You will be treated as a guest of the Court until I deem otherwise or until the marriage is complete. Meliorn-- He looks up expectantly. Do you believe he is telling the truth?

It's strange, the foreign feeling of outright hesitation. Not because of the words, but because of who he's talking to, but when Meliorn speaks, he looks at Arthur, unflinching. ]

I do. And if I may -- he will also prove valuable outside of the marriage. He is able to lie on our behalf.

[ Take him to prepare for tonight. The Queen's voice and face is impassive, but Meliorn's smiling, like he's just figured out some secret. When he rises, he offers Arthur a hand in a half-bow -- old, but tradition, to help the other person up. He's hoping it'll make an impression. ]

[ Relief washes over him in a palpable sense when she says well done, the tap on his chin feeling like approval. It should be insulting, coming from someone who looks so young, too young, but as he's learned, nothing in seelie makes normal sense. So his nerves are frayed from the royal scrutiny, something he isn't used to. Or rather, he usually has ways to cover for his anxious states and here there's no hiding under bluster or his typical violence.

Silently, he lets out a breath, can feel the trickle of sweat running down the back of his neck.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can tell Meliorn is looking at him, probably waffling over what to say. Arthur can't bring himself to look back, worried about showing more on his face than he's ready to. Thankfully, he has another minute to compose his expression, which comes out as a small, tight smile when Mel offers him a hand up.

Oddly charmed, he takes it, feels the beginning of a blush creeping up his face. ]

[ There's no need, not logically, to squeeze Arthur's hand, but he does anyway. If pressed he'll deny it in any way he can given his nature -- especially because that squeeze was less for Arthur and more for him.

He loves his Queen -- he's devoted to her, his lessons learned, and while that's something Arthur doesn't need to know about, Arthur should probably know that Meliorn gets just as nervous at times.

That's what that was, wasn't it? That's what the blush is for. Nervousness. Worry. It has to be, and with one more sweeping bow Meliorn begins to help Arthur through the winding hallways of the labyrinthine palace.

In Meliorn's defense, he waits until there's no one around them to push Arthur up against the wall, both hands on his shoulders to keep him there, lips pressing against the mundane's with a surprising amount of abandon. ]

[ There's a slight pressure when Mel takes his hand. He's still reeling from the conversation that just took place so it's a second before he recognizes it for the reassuring squeeze that it is. Though he's not sure if it's for him or self-directed, since looking at the seelie, there's some tension around his eyes that betray the nerves.

Overcome with the fondness he'd just admitted out loud, Arthur returns the gesture, just a press of his fingers into their shared grasp. The blush rises a little higher before he quells it; he knows he looks like a kid right out of college with the coloration and naïveté is not the look he wants to portray.

They're quiet as they make their exit from the throne room. The hallways bustle with activity at first, seelie servants and guards and visitors going about their business and only staring for a split second. As Mel takes him down more corridors, a hush falls over the air—they're away from prying eyes and listening ears. This hall, decorated in harmonious blue, is particularly empty.

He's about to breathe a sigh of relief when strong hands maneuver him up against the wall. And then he's being kissed with a fervor. It takes him a second to catch up but soon he presses into it, hands settling on Meliorn's waist and one trim thigh sliding between his legs. When he pulls away for a breath, he lets out a startled laugh, half from relief and half from what the fuck are they doing? ]

Jesus Christ, what.

[ There's no bite to it, the exclamation a little breathless around the edges. Residual nerves have gotten to him, adrenaline high making him want to just. Throw caution to the wind and drop to his knees in front of Mel, blow him right here in the hall where someone could turn the corner and find them. ]

[ He's caught Arthur off guard, and Meliorn has always counted that as a silent win, adding that to his tally. The tally isn't as long as he'd like but long enough for him to find a strange sort of smug solace to it.

That's the reason he's smirking. That, and the fact that he was right. ]

I make things less lonely for you.

[ He has no intention of moving, not while they're like this. Even if he has to give Arthur up shortly. ]

[ Mel smirking is not an unusual sight. In fact, it happens fairly often, especially when he's being a smug asshole about something regarding dreaming.

Or literally anything.

This flavor of smirk though, it has a different edge, inching towards glee. He has a feeling he won't like whatever comes out of his mouth. Though when it does happen, he supposes it could be worse.

Sighing, he slouches back against the wall. ]

Let me guess, you're going to hold that over me for eternity?

I do live for a very, very long time. [ It's neither a yes or a no, and Meliorn studies Arthur carefully, eyes raking down his entire face as if memorizing him, before leaning in to give him another brief kiss, somewhat chaste but certainly full of emotion. ]

We shouldn't dally. You have an entire day's worth of fasting and getting ready ahead of you.

And just like that, Meliorn untangles himself with Arthur and properly leads him down said hallways.

Joy of joys.

[ He only sounds a little put out though, because it's hard to be irritated when Mel's looking like at him like that. Like he wants to memorize everything and then maybe eat him. It makes something in his chest tighten, compounded by the small kiss. More than the hungry one, that leaves an impression. ]

Should I be thankful for my poor eating habits now?

[ For example, his ability to survive off of coffee for nearly a day and a half and not much else. He doesn't do it often, but sometimes the job just calls for it. ]

Think of it as a mission. [ As if Arthur isn't already doing that. This is a mission, for both of them. Plain and simple.

Except it's not plain and simple, Meliorn realizes, once he slips away from Arthur after leading him to another chamber, this one private and obviously meant as part of the ruin's living quarters. It's different. How different, or why it's different, Meliorn can't quite put a finger on.

While Meliorn leaves Arthur, he's hardly able to think. There are three servants, one male and two female -- Narissa, Ethna and Kieran -- and with all three of them it's very, very evident very very soon that want to sleep with the dreamwalker. 'I hear you're more impressive stamina wise than normal mundanes,' one says. 'I hear the Queen is in love with you and that's why Meliorn is doing this personally,' another murmurs. 'If I kiss you in front of other people, my father will be mad, so I'd like to if you have time.'

Everyone, it seems, wants a piece of Arthur.

He's bathed by Kieran and Ethna as Narissa fetches his clothes, and the entire day is spent essentially at a spa -- the bath is filled with petals, warm and rich and perfumed and in a room that's similar to a greek bath house, with the entire place to himself and his new servants. He's meticulously groomed, although they allow him not to wear polish if he wishes, and and food or drink is offered to him multiple times throughout the day. He's even left alone for a few hours, though not permitted to leave the bedroom.

Eventually, though, clothes are laid out for him -- more mideval in look than anything the other Seelie wear, Arthur's clothing is primarily dark blue with gold undertones. A dark green strip of cloth is tied to his upper arm, and Ethna takes great care in placing a crown full of brightly coloured flowers on his head after Kieran braids babys' breath into Arthur's hair as best as he can given it's length. He's finally shown back to the throne room, where the Queen waits.

After the customary bow, she flicks her fingers and Arthur is wrapped in thorny vines while she asks the same questions. The truth is told, and, satisfied, the vines release him. Vines Veritas, she says, and as she smiles there's a strange glint on her teeth. Narissa whisks him away through more maze like halls once he's dismissed, chattering excitedly about how the vines can tell when mundanes lie, and pushes open a door to small, open-air chamber.

Meliorn rises from the pillows on the ground he'd been sitting on, wearing Arthur's same outfit, crown and all, only dark green and copper. Where Arthur had the strip of green cloth tied to his arm, Meliorn has the same, but his colour is blue.

For once in his life, Meliorn has nothing to say, and almost stutters over the simplest of phrases: ]

I'm at a loss for words, you look.. stunning.

[ Meliorn's parting words are more of a reminder than anything he needed to hear.

Sure, he'd told the truth to the Queen, because lying seemed like a bad idea, despite the general discomfort admitting to any emotions gave him. But there's an end goal here, for the both of them. Arthur isn't entirely sure what Mel is getting out of this besides him and maybe a weird boost in status for able to snare a dreamwalking mundane.

However, he knows exactly what he's getting out of it and if there's anything he'd be pressed to say is his true love, he'd say it was the PASIV. The dreamsharing, dreamwalking, whatever people wanted to call it. In the military, he'd fallen for that stupid black box. And then the little silver briefcase it'd been adapted into, for easier transportation. All his life, he'd been restless and practically itching to get out of his own skin. School hadn't been the challenge he'd been told it could be; relying too much on standardized tests, on teaching out of a text book. He'd been a huge pain in the ass to literally everyone, taking out his frustrations and starting fights because he could.

Basic training had shaved some of that away, taught him to bottle it and contain it, because exploding at your superior officer was a ticket to getting your ass kicked. But then they'd told him they wanted his problem solving for an experiment, closed loop, and did he have any chemical allergies?

It's been six years since that first drop into a half formed dream where everything collapsed if one so much as breathed wrong. He still feels like he's soaring with every job.

There's plenty of people who would categorize it, correctly, as an addiction. Because here he is, in a world that runs parallel to his own, about to get married to someone inhuman since he's a stubborn piece of shit who can't give up the silver briefcase. Here he is, listening to Kieran, Ethna, and Narissa, who gossip and pamper him as much as they try to ply him with food or drink. Here he is, sitting through the most thorough grooming of his life, suffering having his short cropped hair braided in with flowers.

He's been scrubbed clean, perfumed, trimmed, and buttoned into a suit that probably costs an entire year's salary. All at once, he feels like himself and someone else entirely. It feels like a dream and his fingers itch to roll the die that's in the pocket of his trousers, the ones Narissa stole away somewhere. But he remembers how he got here with perfect clarity and while he's imaginative, this place doesn't reflect his aesthetic. There's elegance but it's too organic, not enough clean lines or manicured decadence.

And there's also the Queen, who he could never have created as a projection. She comes back to him, coils him tight in vines that he struggles not to fight against in a panic, and asks him the same questions she did in the throne room.

He doesn't lie, again.

(Though it turns out if he tried, it wouldn't have mattered, because Narissa explodes into excited chatter about how they're magic and force the truth. Like Diana's golden lasso, like something so far out of reality it can't be anything but).

That's all she's talking about, at least, when she finally pulls him away from the preparation, from the baths and the chamber he's been shuttered in for the last 24 hours. Finally, they end up in a wide chamber, something more like a patio or a deck. It's open air and Arthur feels all the itching under his skin quiet a bit at that. Immediately, his gaze goes to Meliorn, who is looking back at him with an expression that speaks volumes. His ribs go tight and he has to swallow around the sudden lack of words. ]

Stole my line, charmer.

[ His response is somewhat hesitant, like he's just remembered how to breathe (he has). ]

[ Arthur calls him a charmer, and Meliorn can't help but think the tables are reversed on this one. Which is strange and foreign to him, as he's usually doing the wooing, but it's different, now. It's different with Arthur.

Not that it matters--Meliorn won't admit it, not even to himself. It's not denying if you don't say one way or the other, anyway. It's not lying if you omit the truth.

He takes a breath, and, despite himself, reaches out to touch the piece of fabric tied around his arm. They're both wearing each other's colours, and when Meliorn breathes out, he's trying not to contain a smile. ]

It could be worse, then, than marrying a Seelie? Because I suppose there are worse things than a Mundane with the sight being my partner.

I once got kidnapped by an old guy who ran a drug cartel because he wanted me to be his bitch.

[ It's not. The most emotional response, but the sentiment is there. Buried under the sharp words and sarcasm. If Meliorn doesn't know how to read between the lines at this point, it's going to be a rocky partnership, especially at the start.

When the Seelie reaches out for the strip of color tied around his arm, Arthur lets him. He relaxes, allows the seemingly frivolous contact because he's been trapped with strangers for the last 24 hours. And honestly, it's nice to be around someone he knows and knows fairly well.

If the look on Meliorn's face is any indication, he thinks he feels the same. Bringing his hand up, he curls a lock of Mel's hair around his finger, only releasing it a moment later, watching the spiral unfurl. ]

What's this then?

[ This meeting, their next step in the staircase of ceremony. ]

[ He laughs, all at once silver and musical, because it's difficult not to imagine the mess the drug cartel got into by that sentence alone. At the very least, this marriage will benefit the Seelies. Having someone like Arthur in their pockets is a good thing. ]

You're the first non-Seelie to marry within our ranks since the Warlock Cassandra, and that was during the Salem trials.

[ Which is to say he'll answer, in his own time, because his heart's beating awful fast as Arthur reaches to touch his hair. In turn, Meliorn touches Arthur's cheek with the back of his index finger, soft but assuring. ]

First, before anything else, you can eat. [ A beat. ] It's safe.

First— that long ago?

[ Because wow. That's. A while back. Arthur feels oddly flattered. ]

Second, you realize you're going to have to tell me about the Salem trials now, right?

[ Occasionally, Arthur forgets that Meliorn is as old as dirt. Ok maybe not that old, but certainly up there in genturies, which he was in vehement denial about when they first met. Now, it's silly to think of him as any other way. Of course he's like a million years old. He's seelie. They break the rules of normal human standards constantly.

And Meliorn, it seems, is taking it even a step further and inviting him into this world. He doesn't miss the softer look, the edges rounded out near his eyes. The light touch speaks volumes between them. Arthur catches his hand briefly, squeezing the palm before letting go to make his way to where there's food laid out like a picnic. Quaint.

It really shouldn't make him want to blush, but he does. He can feel it climbing up the back of his neck like a sunburn. ]

I guess you're ensnaring me for life anyway.

[ Carefully, he settles down, curiously inspecting what's there. ]

for pointedlook

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