Major Arcana: Priestess
Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!
Masterpost | First | Previous | Next
CW: conversion therapy (aftermath); successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma
“Here you are!” The woman had bright green eyes. Not the poppy-reddened wonders Rilienus had, but the same deep green. The same dark hair curling at her temples. Auna Maecilia held out her hands to him, gauzy yellow robes flowing behind her as she crossed deep red stones to him. “Come and let me look at you.” She took Dorian’s face in her hands and turned him to each side. “You’ll do. You’re going to overheat. Come and change and I’ll get you something to drink. How do you feel about chilis and lime?”
“I feel very well about them, thank you.” Dorian smiled, wondering whether Rilienus’ carriage had been delayed. The house they crossed towards was modest by the extravagant standards of the Alti, but the Maecilia orchards stretched out as far as the eyes could see. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, my lady. I’ve heard nothing but praise for you from your son.”
“Nothing at all? What dull conversations those must be.” She tucked his arm through her own. “A little bird told me that you were asking my husband permission for something.”
“Chatty little bird,” Dorian mumbled, accepting her arm gratefully. Warm and welcoming, where his own mother had never been anything but cold. Dorian was Aquinea Pavus’ duty, where Rilienus was Auna Maecilia’s joy. “Yes, I had hoped to speak with you both before he arrived. Do you happen to have an update on his schedule?”
“I do indeed. I have tasked him and Marius with a great many little errands. As many as I could think of, really. I wanted you to myself. I imagine they will do their best, although I’m not sure where they will find the yellow peacock feathers. We shall see.” She led him through an open arched door. “You’re about the size of my son, I think. We have a rule about not bringing the Senate into the orchards, so-“ Auna stopped by a door detailed with runes and carvings. “Why don’t you change into something less stifling of his while I make drinks and we’ll take a walk.”
Devious woman, he thought, even as he let himself into the room. Medals from Carastes hung on the walls beside wood and metal carvings and a variety of half-finished projects. A worn stuffed snake missing one eye was coiled beside the pillows on the bed. Books and scrolls arranged neatly on every shelf and cluttering the desk by the window. A harp tucked into a corner. Rilienus’ childhood room.
He touched the outstretched arm of a male figurine in the middle of an acrobatic leap, suspended over a trio of crystals. He found a basket full of fabric scraps and rolls of thread in the bottom of the wardrobe. He knew the sewing baskets well. They tended to appear anywhere Rilienus spent more than a few days. He thumbed the tawny velvet that looked like leather from some angles and learned that this had been where Rilienus had made his robes for their picnic in the sunflower field, though the man had studiously and vigorously complained about the riding portion of the journey and insisted on a coach for the ride back to the city.
Dorian pulled a draped green chiton from the wardrobe and turned just as he heard footsteps returning down the hall. Auna held out a glass to him, damp with cool condensation.
“…the snake?” he asked, taking it.
“He insisted he wanted a cobra the year before he went to Carastes, so I taught him to make one himself.” Auna gazed affectionately at the messy stitching and worn cloth, patches meant to look like scales. “A fair warning to you. It seems as though Plini will be asking for a swan sometime soon. Perhaps he can make his own. Swans are beastly creatures. Now the little rabbit that Isobel is pining for? That, you might wish to consider. Rilly does abhor things out of place, but you’ll need to get used to that with children anyway. They do what they do. Come along.”
Children-
Dorian followed her down the hallway, breathing in the scent of ripe plums.
Rilienus was a father. They both were. Images of the twins’ tiny feet flooded back to him. The orphaned twins Rilienus had rescued in Marothius, grown from wailing, undersized toddlers to healthy, chattering children.
His children. His husband. His family. How had they been so tightly hidden from him?
“We had a flock of peacocks,” Dorian hurried to catch up with her, having stopped in his tracks. “Terrible things. I’d rather he ask for a reptile; I’ve never had any problems with serpents.”
“No? Remind me to tell you about Marius’ miniature crocodile and the way it ate Rilly’s favorite blanket when he was a babe. Poor thing wailed for three days. The crocodile was very gassy.” She tucked his arm through her own again as they stepped out into the baking sun, walking across moss towards the shade of the fruit trees. “I’m glad we are in agreement about the bird. You have my full support in denying my son and yours any sort of feathered menace. He tried to convince your father and I that geese were better guards than mabari. The wretch. When were you thinking of the ceremony?”
Dorian lifted his brows. “How long have you known?”
Auna smiled up at him beatifically. “Oh, darling, I’ve known my son was in love with you for years. Half his letters from Rivain were asking his father to check in on you. Gracious. And if he loved you like that, I really couldn’t imagine you were all that far behind.” She touched his cheek. “It is nice to finally have you both home.”
Home. Home among the flowering trees and winding vineyards. His husband and his children’s favorite place in the world. It was nice to be there, with them, speaking of things he’d always thought impossible to say aloud. “In the fall,” Dorian murmured, ducking his head. “Here. At sunset, when the leaves have changed shade to match.”
Auna cooed quietly, patting his shoulder. “You know my son very well. Of course. Whatever the two of you like. How- Oh, I suppose you’ll want to ask your question. Come on then so we can get on to the fun things. Marius and I are of the same mind anyway.”
“-now?” Dorian balked slightly.
“Mmhmm.” She was serene, her round cheeks lifted in an expectant smile. “We don’t have all day. Maecilia men are very good problem solvers.”
That he knew well enough. Dorian exhaled, collecting himself, trying to recall the words he’d practiced, but finding them insufficient. “I wished to ask for your blessing. I know ours is a highly unconventional union, but I’d like to make my promises to him under the Maker’s light. I believe we’ve both had quite enough lurking in the shadows.”
“And you will take the twins as your own.” Auna tilted her head making the statement a question.
“If they would have me, yes. They would be ours.”
“And more?” she wondered quietly. “Or will that be all?”
“They will be named as my heirs, should I be given my father’s seat and titles.”
“Hm.” Rilienus’ mother studied him, warmth in her eyes. “And you love my son?”
“More than I ever knew to hope for,” Dorian whispered. “For almost as long as I’ve known him.”
“Well.” She sighed with a little bob of her head. “Who knew I’d be having another son, and me a grandmother already!” She winked, pinching Dorian’s cheek gently. “Please marry the boy. He’s obscenely in love with you. Now. Let’s pick some cherries.”
6 notes
·
View notes