46th of Searing, Year 120
I love you, the other man told him as they lazily opened their eyes, greeted by the light of the morning.
"I love you too."
. . .
Their day began as it often did; in the midst of Skyhaven, surrounded by the soft fabric of blankets with Taelian's head either suspended by Riven's bicep or some other form of pillow. A few hours later they were dressed, ready to meet with one of Taelian's dear friends for an outing into the city. A city Riven hadn't really gone to before -- they'd shuffled through Loregard, nearly meeting the capital in size, but . . . Alfsos was something different entirely. Taelian decided he would port them in from above, looking down from one of the adjacent hills. It would be a scenic view, and then they'd get to fly down as he always so enjoyed.
The issue was -- Taelian was terribly unsure of what he wished to wear, despite being fully dressed. Since picking up an even rudimentary interest in tailoring, his eyes had been trained to obscure, fine details. Perhaps it was aesthetic cohesion and how it had been drilled into him, but -- Taelian had become overtly critical of the way each fabric interacted with the color of his eyes, or reflected from the light, or how it boosted or deterred somehow the shape of his physique. Getting ready with him took much longer than when the two lovers -- now engaged -- first met, and he was certain that even the patient-and-loving Riven sometimes found himself frustrated.
"I think I want to wear..." he paused. The Siltori bit his lower lip. He'd been tempted towards Gelerian fashion lately, but after learning of the power behind the Hopsfel attacks -- House Reed -- he felt it inappropriate to wear anything of that sort. Those simple industrial fashions tucked away in his closet were likely to remain there for some time. Instead, Taelian decided he would wear a silvery-shaded pea coat, with light brown trousers and black shoes. The shoes were a dressy style common in the Imperium, but at least his garbs had overall shifted towards 'Rien' in their composition.
He stared at himself in the mirror, examining his shape and silhouette. The Siltori briefly flashed a smile, before turning around and maneuvering through the house to find his pouch of farthings and the key to keep the cabin locked while they were away. He began to hum.
"Riven, I think I'm ready!" he exclaimed. Taelian was always chipper when they were to go on a date -- and this time he was especially happy, because it was at an establishment he'd been wanting to go to, with the added benefit of seeing a friend. "We're going to the Silver Lion Inn. After I portal us in, you'll need to fly us down to some sort of city map or directory. Then--"
He immediately burst into laughter. "Oh gods, I sound like I'm briefing us on some sort of war-mission. We'll talk about it when we're there!" he exclaimed once more. Taelian then spread his legs somewhat apart and got into stance; he was being silly, going through unnecessary motions before opening a portal to the hilltop overlooking the city. The wind seemed to catch the edges of the portal as its structure formed, bursting open at the collision of the nodes.
The mage stepped through. It was windy at the summit of the hill, and the form of the whole city was below. They could see all of the massive structures, the towers and the incredible shape of the castle at the city's core. Alfsos was truly incredible, moreso than Loregard. It was old, but impressive, with wonders of the entire world nestled amidst the valley.
"I'm going to be meeting with the Queen, there, in only a few days," he confessed. "Riven -- can you pick me up? Let's go down and find the Inn. Silver Lion, remember that. We'll be meeting with a friend of mine; Patrick Barnell. He's a big part of why my Kokalath isn't half bad."