Passionate Ambivalence

1.

Custom decrees that any two people caught in the rare glow of the roselight crystal who are free to do so ought to kiss, as this will bring good fortune to them and their folk. It is a custom of the capital region, and Viren, newly arrived from the western uplands, has never heard of it. The High Mage smiles when she mentions it, and the lesson meanders off on a tangent about her beloved late wife's odd relationship with luck and games of chance. Apprentice mage Viren files the bit of folklore away as foolish sentimentality that could, like any knowledge, prove useful in the right circumstances.

He isn't expecting to be quizzed about it the next evening by the heir to the throne. His Highness Crown Prince Harrow, whom Viren has only met once, in a crowd, asks if he knows what kind of crystal is set in the lamp over one door to the New Year's Ball. Eager to prove himself, he identifies the crystal, describes its structure and uses, and mentions the custom he's just learned.

"... but I'm not certain what's meant by 'free to do so.'"

Harrow shrugs.

"Probably old enough, not in holy orders, and not married?"

"That would depend on the type of marriage or other bond. Different human nations have different traditional family structures, and in ancient Xadia..."

They both end up late to where they're going. And in the following weeks Viren finds himself spending many evenings in the library, helping the prince study, telling stories, or talking through his latest research ideas while Harrow listens.


2.

Harrow is seventeen when he travels to Neolandia, excited and a bit overwhelmed with the new and wondrous sights and sounds and smells and tastes. Viren is with him, a close and familiar companion whose presence helps center and ground him, despite the young mage's frenetic attempts to learn every bit of information about every place they visit and everyone they meet.

Their clothes aren't right for the weather, so it's a welcome relief to eat lunch with Prince Ahling in a shaded, poolside garden. Afterward they wander through a cave filled with the prince's prized pets, rare lucky dthak lizards that draw energy from the fireheart crystals embedded in the walls. The lizards occasionally make croaking/chirping sounds that are faintly musical. It's Neolandian tradition, Ahling tells them, that if you hear one sing six notes, you will find true love within the year. He has many other lizard facts he's proud to share, and Viren listens avidly, while Harrow returns to the pool, pulling off his boots and swishing his toes in the water.

It's no surprise that Viren crashes into bed immediately after dinner and starts snoring soon after. Harrow feels worn out too, but too keyed up to sleep. A huge yellow moon rises over the garden, and the lizard sounds start up again. Some climb out of the cave while the moon is brightest, and he starts counting the notes. He tries to wake Viren, but his companion slumbers on, face aglow with moonbeams, soft and calm and beautiful.

Harrow thinks if he hears the six notes there's no need to wait a year, or a minute; his true love is here. He laughs at his own romantic nonsense. His mother would dismiss it, since that's not how royals ought to think. Viren might dismiss it, too, depending on his mood, but it doesn't matter. Loving Viren is just a part of him, warm and steady in his heart for years now. He brushes Viren's hair back from his forehead, and gently kisses his cheek, before climbing into bed, sleepy at last.

As he's drifting off he hears a dthak lizard singing, six notes in a row.


3.

At Princess Annika's wedding, Viren dances for hours, polishing familiar steps and learning new ones.

Shortly before sunset, the families offer a song and a prayer, and the brides toss their garlands of flowers into the crowd.

If the garlands are caught by lovers, it's an extra blessing for the marriage. So when Viren catches one, and sees Harrow catch the other, he isn't surprised by the kiss, and he plays along.

"It's gracious of you to make a good show for tradition and luck."

Harrow shakes his head with a nervous smile.

"They aimed for us. Because they know how I feel about you."

"How do you feel about me?"

"Please, let me show you..."

He reaches for Viren, and Viren nods and leans in. This kiss, like the other one, is joyful and sweet, but it's also tender, and passionate, filled with pent-up longing and a hint of future dreams.

Then Harrow asks, "How do you feel about me?"

Viren tells him, "I'd do anything for you!"

Harrow smiles. "I know. But I'm your prince, and that's your duty, so-"

Viren stops him.

"I'll always serve the crown, of course, but you... It's not your crown or your title that makes me want to follow you anywhere..."

Harrow pulls him close.

"...face any challenge, risk any danger..."

He trails off as Harrow claims his lips decisively. Annika flashes a satisfied smirk in their direction as the brides make their way to their private chamber.

There's more dancing, and this time prince and mage move together, close and slow in the torchlight, murmuring truths and promises, in between kisses, long into the night.

Harrow and Viren enjoyed winter in their own different ways.  

Harrow had a long list of activities she looked forward to, from sledding and skating to building snow forts and sculptures, and indulging in the first sugared snow.  Parents and nursemaids had instilled in her the firm habit of always dressing in proper warm layers, so she enjoyed these activities in cozy comfort, even in the most frigid weather.  After wearing herself out with friends, family, or competitors, she reveled in consuming prodigious quantities of hot drinks, soup, and fresh baked goods.

Viren loved the season, too, but in a more chaotic fashion.  The first sign of snow would see her rushing out to catch flakes with her tongue, standing in the wind staring upward at the whirling storm of crystals with a faraway look in her pale grey eyes and no sense of time passing.  Once as a child she had run out to the fresh snow barefoot, even seeming to enjoy feeling it between her toes. 

Many rounds of chastisement over the years had driven it into her head that one must wear shoes and clothing, but she was still prone to forget gloves, to leave her head uncovered, or risk thin ice or uncertain footing to get a look at interesting snow formations.  Harrow spent too much time annoyed at having to cut the fun short to keep Viren from freezing.  Yet her irritation always retreated some in the face of Viren's heedless, exhilerated communion with the spirit of winter.  And over time, Harrow had come to look forward to helping Viren warm up afterward.

They walked into town together to the Sodling Emergence festival, discussing their plans and promising to meet up again at the end.  Harrow took command of her team for the snow sculpting contest.  Viren had helped in the past but recently declined to participate.  She wandered off to do... something... She had mentioned testing different bait for ice fishing and several other possibilities. 

Harrow immersed herself in the challenge of designing and constructing a scale model of the castle out of snow, with a few personalized touches.  Hours passed as they worked toward the deadline.  In the end they won second place and agreed that the very lifelike snow dragon certainly deserved first.

Moving and sculpting snow had kept Harrow warm, but the temperature was dropping and snow began falling softly.  Harrow obtained a steaming mug of cider to sip as she bid her friends goodbye and wandered back toward the castle path to wait for Viren.  When she arrived a few minutes later just looking at her made Harrow shiver.  

Viren's clothes were covered in snow and most of her hair was frozen stiff.  Her ears and lips were going purple.  Her belt pouch was stuffed full, presumably with items she had collected, and she was holding something in her hands, trying to use her sleeves so it wouldn't touch bare skin.

Harrow thought she meant to restrain her annoyance enough to start with a greeting, but...

"What is that?  And where are your gloves?!?"

"It's a sodling egg.  The festival is named for them, but they've been rare for centuries."

"So you... went to hunt one and steal its eggs?!?"

"No, that's not what..." Viren had to pause while her teeth chattered violently.  Harrow wanted to roll her eyes and grind her teeth simultaneously, but she also wanted to keep Viren from freezing (again, like always).  She pulled her mantle off and wrapped it around Viren, then plucked the egg from Viren's grasp and headed off along the path at a brisk walk.

"You can explain about the egg once we're in out of the cold.  And next time wear gloves, damn you!"

"But I hate gloves!  I like to touch and feel things!"

"You won't be able to keep doing that if you lose your fingers to frostbite!"  Frustration and concern were building on each other, eroding Harrow's light mood from the enjoyable day.  If Viren ended up with frostbite, or a fever, as a result of this foolish adventure... why couldn't she learn to behave sensibly?

Back at the castle, Harrow wanted to shove Viren into a warm bath and pour tea into her, but the moment Viren thawed slightly she picked up again talking about the egg.

"I saved it from a scruff-rat that was dragging it off to eat.  But I didn't know where the home burrow was, so I thought I'd bring it back with me and see if I could figure out how to take care of it if it hatches."

"But isn't it dead?  It's ice-cold."

"This one might not be alive, but they actually hatch in the cold.  The father pushes it out of the burrow, the parents take turns guarding the entrance and chasing off predators, and the cold shocks healthy offspring into scratching their way out.  There are other creatures that are similarly strange.  For instance, sky dragons allegedly hatch in lightning storms.  They're not related to sodlings, though.  Convergent development is fascinating."

"I don't understand how the baby doesn't freeze to death."

"Well, I think the parents do take it inside after a short time.  But also they're incredibly furry!  They used to use teams of them to pull sleds."

"Really?  But I thought they just kind of... waddled."

"That's right, but apparently they can do that at a high rate of speed when properly motivated."

Harrow eventually got tea and cakes into Viren and gradually prodded her toward the bath, still talking about the egg.

They stored it in one of the cold cellars, but Harrow thought the outlook seemed grim.
 
"If it's supposed to hatch from the cold and it didn't... Doesn't that mean it's not ready or not healthy and not going to hatch at all?"

Viren reluctantly admitted that was probably true.

"I'm going to read up on it to be sure.  But maybe all I've done is deprive the scruff-rat family of a meal."  The more she thought about it, the more sad and disappointed she became. She climbed dejectedly out of the bath, sorrowfully dried off, and moped her way into a soft robe.

Harrow sighed, stepping close behind Viren and kissing her cheek. 

She said, "You did your best."

Viren trembled and turned to bury her face in Harrow's neck. Harrow wrapped her in a tight hug and continued.

"You found a rare creature and tried to help it as well as anyone could. It's not worth freezing yourself over, and you almost did! If you sleep here tonight I can keep you warm and reassure myself that you're recovering."

"Alright. Thank you." 

Viren was already quite sleepy by the time Harrow tucked her amongst the pillows and cuddled close to her side.

Eyelids drooping, she mumbled, "If the egg won't hatch I can still learn something by dissecting it."

The idea caught Harrow off guard and turned her stomach. 

She stammered, "Well, just if... You should... wait long enough to be sure it's dead!"

"Right. There's valuable knowledge to be gained from failure and death, too... Didn't you want to go drink cider and sing by the fire?"

"Yes, but you'd be cold and you'd miss me."

Viren smiled and took her princess's hand.

"I would, very much. But I'll be asleep soon."

Harrow clasped her other hand around Viren's.

"I suppose you won't miss me if you're sleeping.  I might go then."

Viren nodded agreeably and gradually snuggled off to sleep. And Harrow wanted to go, but couldn't bring herself to leave. As Viren's now-warmed fingers relaxed in sleep, she pulled her hand away to pet the young mage's short, dark hair. Her heart filled with a familiar fond annoyance, and the certainty that Viren would always be brilliant and worrisome and sweet and weird and lovely and hers.