"Allura can be wonderfully forgiving if one knows how to ask her," he says with a wry smile. "But I look forward to having the chance to introduce you. I imagine she will be a far more interesting conversant."
Percy is curious about Essek's work and fascinated by the mechanics of how wizards perform their magic, but, at some point, there is only so much theory he can grasp without having years of arcane study to help him follow. He'll continue to be interested, always, but he suspects a conversation with Allura will be far more engaging for Essek.
"Yes, the very same." A warmer smile lights his face. "We had to be endearing, Vex'ahlia haggled for everything."
He manages to finish his curry between bits of conversation and eventually sits back with a peeled orange.
"Once, Vax spent an afternoon enjoying Emon on Shaun's arm and it got us a decent discount."
Essek chuckles knowingly, shaking his head. "Flirting for favors? A true classic." And a tactic well known to him, on both sides of the equation. It's impossible not to think of earlier days; of Caleb smiling at him, holding eye contact for too long, squeezing his arm, touching his shoulder. "I think I should like to meet Shaun Gilmore," he decides.
He finishes his own meal as well, and makes good progress on his wine.
"I suppose it would be most practical while we are sharing a room if I rest when you do," Essek muses aloud. "I won't require the bed to trance, so you are welcome to it."
"It's large enough for two," he says as he looks at the bed. "If you'd rather sit while you do."
Though there is an entire, cozy sitting area that Essek can also make full use of. Still, Percy feels wrong not to offer. There's enough space that they wouldn't touch each other without making some effort.
Percy realizes that he is tired from traveling, more than he'd thought upon arrival. Whatever adrenaline there had been is long gone now. He relaxes more, content to trade lighter conversation as they both wind down. And when he is ready, Percival gets up to retreat to the bed, putting out a few more candles as he goes. It occurs to him that Essek can see in the dark, but he leaves a few burning on the far side of the room all the same. His husband can put them out if he'd like.
The bed is comfortable, more so than some of the ones they've braved on the road here. It puts him in mind of nights spent here before, when the room he occupied was considerably smaller, when his workshop existed somewhere considerably closer.
"Good night, Essek."
Blessedly, sleep comes easier than he's anticipating. But it doesn't stay easy. It's some hours into the night when Percy stirs. It's just little changes at first: his heart beats faster and his breathing quietly picks up. Sweat beads on his skin despite the otherwise comfortable temperature of the room.
And, at some point, Percy sits bolt upright with a sharp, gasping breath and a soft, desperate, "No."
The room is not full dark, but it takes precious seconds for his vision to focus at all. The few candles left alight have burned low and the flames sputter as they encounter liquid wax. It makes the deep shadows flicker and shiver and Percy grips the blanket and sheets tighter as he tries to bring himself fully around.
Essek declines the offer of the bed. He doesn't need it for trancing; the chair does just as well, comfortable and high-backed, and honestly, he doesn't even need that. When he trances, he floats. He closes his eyes and crosses his legs and lays his palms on his knees, and hovers several inches above the seat of the chair as he settles into restorative meditation. After more than a century of practice, it doesn't take long to settle into the correct mindset, to focus internally and let his thoughts become amorphous and fluid.
But like all elves, he remains peripherally aware of his surroundings when he trances, and somewhere around the three hour mark, nearing the end of his required rest, he is alerted back to full awareness by a gasp from the nearby bed and Percival's voice distinctly uttering the word no.
Essek's eyes blink open, able to see perfectly in the dim light of the room. His husband is sitting up in bed, the sheets pooled around his waist. He's breathing heavily, clutching at the blankets. Essek drops down to his feet, crossing to the bed with light steps and sliding onto it. His eyes glow faintly in the low light, a reflection from the candles.
"You were dreaming, I think."
Spoken softly into the quiet as he reaches out tentatively to lay a slender hand on Percy's shoulder. The way he says it has the ring of curiosity, almost. Essek has not dreamed in more than a century, not since he was a child, before he learned to trance. He hardly remembers what it was like.
Seeing movement in the dark from the corner of his vision nearly gives Percival a heart attack. His chest goes tight and he doesn't breathe again until he actually hears Essek's voice. He manages to focus on his husband, but it is more difficult to calm himself. He stares at Essek, willing himself to see the man he has been living with. And nothing else.
He lets go of a heavier breath and he pushes his fingers through his hair as he hunches forward. His pulse is still pounding, but he tries to slow his breathing. Percy slides his hands to the back of his neck and he just stays like that for a little while, unable to summon his voice to answer just yet.
"I'm fine," he says at last, quite aware that it is possibly the most unconvincing thing he's said since they met. He sits up slowly, unfolding himself. Then his eyebrows draw together and he closes his eyes again. He manages to keep his voice even the next time he speaks. "I don't suppose you could give us a bit more light?"
It's a ridiculous request. It puts him in mind of a child being afraid of the dark. But he cannot stand the deep shadows, and the lights that Essek creates tend to glow steadily rather than flickering.
The length of time between his posed question and the answer does nothing to assure Essek of its authenticity. His hand moves gradually from Percy's shoulder to his back as his touch becomes firmer, hoping to provide some reassurance. With a soflty-spoken word he honors the request for light, and the room is lit in a steady pale blue glow.
"I gathered as much, k'allis," he says, keeping his voice low and soothing. The Undercommon word for dear one is nothing he hasn't spoken before in Common, though somehow it feels weightier in his own language. "It has been a long time since I have dreamed, but I recall how it felt to wake from a nightmare."
Is trying to relate an awkward thing to do? Perhaps Percival would simply prefer to drop the subject entirely. But it's equally possible that he'll find talking to be soothing. Essek quickly discovers that more than fearing crossing a line or coming on too strong, he wants to help his clearly shaken husband. How could he not, when he's come to care about Percival as much as he has?
"Humans cannot trance, of course, but I could guide you in a meditative breathing exercise that might prove calming enough to ensure a more restful sleep," he offers. "This was done for me in my youth."
Listening to Essek's voice itself is soothing. Knowing he is not here alone in the dark with only his own thoughts and the sound of his shivering breath. He focuses on the way Essek's hand feels on his back, too caught up to fully appreciate the tenderness of the gesture. The foreign word catches in his mind, but he can't focus on it enough beyond the tone to glean its meaning.
The offer is kind. That Essek wants to help him at all is--no, to say it's unexpected is a slight. His husband has been attentive before, and Percy is grateful for it now. He makes himself take a deeper breath, if only to prove that he can. And while he wants to grasp this offered help, there is some cynical part of him that believes it cannot possibly help. Perhaps meditative breathing will help calm him down, he'll trust that. But he doesn't know if anything will get him back to a restful sleep.
A weak smile appears and Percy finally looks at Essek, able to make him out better in the pale light.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time before you learned your husband's restless sleep habits."
Maybe it could have gone on much longer, given that they do not share a room in Whitestone. Percival rubs his brow, just trying to ease some of the tension away. As the adrenaline fades, he feels exhausted.
"Let's try the breathing," he says quietly. He wants to accept Essek's help. He should let his spouse in that much. And, if nothing else, it saves him from explaining himself, at least for a little while.
Essek's expression is one of sympathy, but also resolve. As soon as Percy agrees to his suggestion, he gives a curt nod. "Good. Listen to me, then." He has no issue taking the lead here, authoritative, but gently so. It seems to him that in this state, Percival could use someone telling him what he should do.
He very deliberately has not inquired as to the subject of the bad dream; best to let that fade away, and instead concentrate on what might be done to mitigate the symptoms of his husband's apparently regular restless sleep. Perhaps this will be a lesson he can take forward with him. Essek's hand rubs down and up Percy's back once before he pulls away, scooting toward the head of the bed. With his back to the headboard, he sits cross-legged and pulls a pillow into his lap.
"You will lay on your back with your head here." A hand gives the pillow a single sharp pat. It's clearly an instruction rather than a suggestion, which Essek hopes cuts through the possibly awkward novelty of this new level of intimacy. "Hands folded on your chest, eyes closed. You should attempt to concentrate on my voice and your breathing. Nothing else."
The shift in Essek's demeanor feels sudden, but welcome. It feels like imposing some order over frightening entropy. It cuts through the lingering guilt and fear and the strange, oily feeling that comes with it all.
The sharp tap on the pillow gets his attention and prompts him to move. Percival eases further down the bed so that he can rest his head on the pillow in Essek's lap. It's an unexpected intimacy and, even if it is purely instructional, he takes some comfort in the closeness.
He rests his hands on his chest and looks up at his husband for a moment more before finally closing his eyes. It takes a moment to get his breathing even, but at least he manages.
The proximity is no accident, and the intimacy that comes with it is meant to be comforting. As soon as Percy is settled, Essek's hands come to rest on his shoulders, pressing down lightly.
It occurs to him as he looks down at the man settled in his lap that this is the first time he's seen Percival so closely without his glasses, let alone disheveled in bed after a less than pleasant dream. It's an incredibly vulnerable state to be in around anyone, Essek recognizes, which makes the trust Percy is putting in him all the more poignant.
"If you find your thoughts wandering, say so. I will assist you," he says simply. "Now, follow my instructions."
Essek retains that same soft, authoritative tone as he begins to lead Percy in a breathing exercise, instructing him on when and how much to breathe in, how long to hold, and when to release. He counts out loud, occasionally touching the center of Percy's chest to feel his chest expanding. It's a lot of deep breaths and slow exhaling, as might be expected, but the pattern isn't just one continuous cycle.
"Hold until it feels natural to release. Good. Now inhale--five, four, three, two, one."
Percy tries to relax as Essek pushes down on his shoulders. He nods to acknowledge the instruction, but keeps quiet otherwise.
As the exercise begins, Percival tries to focus on his own breathing at first. But, before long, it's Essek's voice that has his full attention. He does as he's told, inhaling and holding and exhaling however he's told to. But it's the quiet cadence of Essek's voice that keeps him where he is. And if he focuses on that, then he isn't drifting off into his own mind.
Maybe that's not how he's supposed to do this, but... it helps. And Essek won't know the difference, will he?
The way the pattern of breathing changes isn't something he expects, but he manages to follow along. Feeling the gentle pressure of Essek's hand on his chest makes him aware of the physical movement involved in what he's doing. Once, Percy's fingers move just enough to brush against his husband's. With his eyes closed, with nothing but Essek's voice in his head, it just--it seemed like the thing to do.
He realizes he wants to seek more contact, but that hasn't been offered and he absolutely should not press. With that swirl of conflict, he misses something Essek says.
"Sorry," he murmurs, resisting the urge to open his eyes. His thoughts had wandered... just not in the direction he'd anticipated.
Notably, Essek has not withdrawn his hand from its place against Percy's sternum since his husband's fingers brushed it. It remains there, steadying, as the other rests on his shoulder. It makes Percy's momentary distraction all the more obvious, when his chest doesn't rise beneath his touch with a five-count inhale as he'd expected it to. The muttered apology comes a moment later.
"It's fine," Essek assures quietly, taking stock of the man laid out in front of him. His weight rests heavily between the bed and Essek's lap, no obvious tension in his limbs. With care, Essek lifts the hand from his shoulder to brush his fingertips lightly across his forehead, smoothing back strands of hair still stuck to his skin with cold sweat. "How are you feeling? You seem more relaxed." Or at least not obviously agitated, as he had been before. It's an improvement.
"Better," he answers. Not fully improved, but not in cold terror, either. As gentle fingers stroke across his brow, Percival aches to touch Essek further, to take full comfort in his presence, but he thinks that would be taking advantage of his husband's care and kindness.
"Thank you," he adds after a moment. He shouldn't stay like this any longer than he needs to, despite the temptation. Percy sits up slowly, shifting so that he can face Essek. Some of the tension is gone, at least, and left behind is a weary-looking artificer. "I'll try to get back to sleep."
He thinks he can manage it now. Usually it only happens once like that, and once he gets it out of his system, he can manage a few more hours. Besides, he wants to be as fresh as he can for tomorrow, between escorting Essek around Emon and preparing for their evening in the palace.
Though Essek permits Percy sit up, of course, hands sliding away as he moves, he isn't entirely convinced that his husband's condition has improved to his satisfaction. While he isn't actively panicking any longer, he looks...exhausted. And not in a way that seems conducive to sleep. Perhaps part of it is merely the pale blue light further washing out a already pale man. But Essek knows how to read people, and Percy seems...resigned. To more poor rest, perhaps, but not wanting to burden his spouse further. Essek can't allow that.
"Percival," he murmurs, concern evident in his tone. His brow has furrowed, and he reaches for Percy's nearest hand to hold it between his own. "Is there something else you need? You have only to ask."
There is a tightness in his chest, a twist of worry and affection, that makes him bold. "I want to help you."
"Thank you," he says, and he tries to imbue it with the gratitude he truly feels. He hesitates a moment, then takes one of Essek's hands to lightly kiss his knuckles. He lingers just a moment longer than is probably proper. He sits up again and lets his thumb stroke across Essek's fingers before he lets go.
But rather than going back to his pillows, Percival seems to consider a moment.
"Would you--" The request sounds silly in his head, but he pushes himself to make it anyway. Essek is worried and Percy doesn't want to brush him off. "Stay here? At least until I'm asleep again."
He won't ask his husband to lay down with him, but if he would just stay in bed for a little while and allow Percy that feeling of company, he thinks it might help.
It is too dark in the room still for Percival to see his blush, Essek concludes as his hand is released. He can feel the heat in his own face, can feel the lingering brush of Percival's lips still against his knuckles. He flexes his fingers and folds them together with his other hand, idly allowing his own thumb to brush over the same spot.
Oh, he's in trouble, isn't he?
"Of course," he confirms quickly, relieved that Percy hasn't dismissed him. "That is no imposition." He dares to inch a little closer toward the center of the bed, moving away from the pillows and the headboard. "Make yourself comfortable. I will...arrange myself accordingly."
"Thank you," he says again, soft as he settles back down. He lays close to Essek but doesn't try to touch him, just takes comfort in the sense of his presence. Blissfully, Percy manages to fall asleep again, and he stays asleep.
He wakes later than he usually does, which might also be a blessing. He looks better in the morning and he seems content to move on without discussing what happened. And Percival seems very eager to squire Essek around Emon.
They spend the morning along the waterfront, and by afternoon he has Essek in a canopied marketplace. He introduces him to Shaun Gilmore, but doesn't subject his husband to his dear friend for very long: they will have plenty of opportunities to visit again.
In the late afternoon, it's back to the keep to prepare for the evening. Part of that involves time for napping and bathing, a light meal. And, of course, time to dress. Percival is in dark blue and silver and he exchanges his usual glasses for a pair without the magnifying lenses. When Essek is nearly finished dressing, Percival appears with something dark draped over his arm.
"I ah... I wanted to give you this for tonight, if you like it."
He hesitates, then drapes the mantle on the end of the bed. Unfurled, it reveals the Whitestone crest embroidered in silver. Normally it's done in gold, but he's taken note of his husband's aesthetic. Percy brushes his fingers over it before he steps back, allowing Essek a proper look at it.
The morning is enjoyable, despite the fact that he has to hide beneath his parasol for most of it. Learning about Emon firsthand is important, and doing so with Percival as his guide is...nice. Though Essek would never say so, it feels almost like a date, or what he imagines a date must be like, at least. He's never really been on one before, so his assessment could very well be off the mark. But it feels that way even despite Percival's friend, the charming enchanter Shaun Gilmore, flirting ridiculously with him practically the entire time they're in his shop. Walking along the waterfront, through the marketplace, and seeing the city's prominent sights together has a certain romance about it, which puts Essek in a fine mood. It's unfortunate that their day has to be interrupted for the sake of this party, and he expresses as much with genuine reluctance.
There is something calming about the ritual of getting ready, however, even as he shares space with Percival. Essek dresses in his usual dark colors, this time veering toward a blue-black in an intentional effort to match his husband's color scheme. The cut of his clothing, even the layers that won't be most apparent, is precise and sharp, his boots are shined, and he styles his hair into a neat coif with a casting of Prestidigitation. The jewelry he chooses is understated, but elegant in its simplicity; silver, of course, pointed caps for the tips of his ears, delicate chains lacing down to connect with a duo of smooth white pearls dangling from each lobe. Practical as well as stylish; he could use them to cast Fortune's Favor in a pinch.
Standing in front of a mirror, he sees Percy approach over his shoulder and turns to meet him, gaze darting curiously to the fabric draped over his arm. With light steps, Essek follows him to the end of the bed to see it laid out. Once he realizes what it is, the question he'd been about to ask dies on his tongue.
Reverently, Essek brushes his fingers over the embroidered crest, feeling the quality of the craftsmanship and the fabric itself. The alteration from the usual gold to his preferred silver shows real consideration. The thought of this cloak draped over his shoulders, clearly displaying his connection to Whitestone and the de Rolo family, is genuinely touching in a way Essek could not have anticipated. The sense of belonging and acceptance that it conjures fills his heart. This is no paltry gift.
"Percival...this is incredible." His words are hushed. "You had it made for me?"
"Yes," he says with a small, bright smile. "You are my husband and a lord of Whitestone, Essek Thelyss, and shall be afforded all the rights that come with that title. And everyone should know."
He knows that Essek will be the only drow in the room, even if he is not the only person that has come from Wildemount. And he knows, by virtue of the nature of their marriage, that people will have a spectrum of opinions and will have heard a dozen rumors prior to their arrival. Percival wants to offer this as a shield, if he can: a clear mark of acceptance and belonging even if he cannot be by Essek's side all night.
Percy steps closer and he clasps his hands behind his back to resist the very sudden urge to take one of Essek's hands.
"You are not just a figurehead or symbol," he says quietly. "You have stepped into a role and I have watched you fill it admirably. You are here as my partner, and I will not leave you to enter this sphere alone."
Then, he does give in, but does so in the most elegant way possible. Percy holds Essek's gaze as he takes one of the wizard's hands. He bows over Essek's hand, then presses a light, chaste kiss to the ring that matches his own. His touch lingers as he stands again, but eventually he does let go, returning his hand behind his back.
Percival's words of support and acceptance strike a tender place that Essek has been carefully guarding for most of his life; his desire to belong, to be welcomed, to feel like he is doing something meaningful. In the Dynasty, among his own people, the son of one of the three most powerful women in Xhorhas, Essek had always felt alone, even as he was lauded for his talent for dunamancy and rose through the ranks to become Shadowhand at an unprecedented young age. His brother was his only solace, and eventually Essek pushed even him away,as his ideas and research become more dangerous and heretical.
His isolation, caused by the oppressive expectation of his position in Kryn society and further self-imposed as he felt out of place among his peers, has made him the man he is today: cold, distant, driven, and calculating, with a desire for knowledge stronger than any moral compass he may ever have possessed. Or at least, that was the man he had been before the Mighty Nein. The love and acceptance and forgiveness shown to him by his first ever true friends have changed him irrevocably. He can acknowledge, even in this moment, that he would not be here feeling this rush of powerful emotion for Percival if it weren't for the way they had successfully thawed his heart first.
When his husband takes his hand and raises it to his lips Essek is immediately reminded of the night before. They haven't talked about it, as is Percival's right, but the echo of it and the vulnerability Percy had trusted him with is not lost on him. That the kiss is pressed deliberately over his ring is another plain layer of meaning, and Essek feels a rare sense of certainty. First, the he is exactly where he should be, and second, that he has unexpectedly fallen in love with the man he married.
"I would like nothing more." His voice remains steady only due to a literal century of practice. He holds Percy's gaze, steeling himself. "But in a moment, please."
Percival has withdrawn his hand behind his back, but Essek steps closer to negate the space between them again. Slowly and carefully, wary with every movement of overstepping, he slips his arms around Percy's torso and tucks his face between his collar and his shoulder, initiating a gentle, cautious embrace. "Thank you, k'allis," he murmurs. "This means more to me than you can possibly know."
Even as Essek closes the distance between them, Percival doesn't entirely know what to expect. And so, for an embarrassing moment, he's a bit stiff as his husband embraces him. But after the brief surprise, it feels terribly natural to slide his arms around Essek, to hold the other man against him in a moment of comfort and solidarity. And he allows himself to rest his head against his husband's. He has no idea what Essek has called him, but he suspects it might be a term of endearment if the tone is anything to go by. And he finds himself hoping he might earn hearing it again.
"Neither of us expected to be where we are," he says, voice soft.
He rarely speaks of his family, but moments like this offer tiny hints and glimpses. The third of seven children and the second son, Percival never anticipated needing to step into a leadership role. He'd received the same education as his siblings, but all of that had been very abruptly cut off and never really finished. He has done his best to learn as he goes, all while trying very hard to be seen as a man with purpose and direction. To seem like he knows what he's doing.
And, though Cassandra has been there through it all, he'd felt rather alone in the endeavor. Until recently.
Percival slides his hand up along Essek's back, stopping at his shoulders to keep himself from mussing up his husband's hair. Slowly, somewhat reluctantly, he lets Essek go. He gives the wizard a fond look before retrieving the mantle.
"Now then, shall we go make a devastating impression on the Council and every noble from here to T'zarrm?"
Essek's chest still feels full enough to strain his breathing slightly when they part again, but it's an overwhelmingly good feeling. He thinks he has only been held that way once or twice before in his life, and he already longs to feel those arms secure and comforting around him again.
"I think we have no other choice," Essek declares with a coy smirk. "Especially as my husband looks so dashing tonight."
With that, he turns his back to Percival to allow him to drape the dark blue mantle over his shoulders. The mantle of the Shadowhand always felt so heavy, even after he got used to it. The weight was, eventually, comforting, as was the way his cloak concealed him completely, neck to toe. But this cloak is open enough in the front to show the layers beneath, and the weight of it is not nearly so oppressive. As Percival secures it for him, Essek raises his hands to the clasp around his collar, allowing his fingers to brush over Percy's. He can still see the two of them in the mirror; together, they look perfectly matched.
They do make a striking couple. Percival lingers where he is as Essek's fingers brush over his. It would take nothing to turn his head, to kiss his husband's earlobe... He wets his lips and gives Essek a smile through the mirror before he pulls back to gallantly offer Essek his arm.
The journey to the palace through Emon reveals a different side of the city, but Percival can't quite take his eyes off of his husband. He slips out of the carriage first and offers Essek his hand. The way is well-lit by fires both magic and mundane; the evening air is brisk, but soon enough they're indoors and any outer cloaks and coats are taken to be stored for them. Percival keeps Essek on his arm as they pass through impressive, cathedral-like halls, led by a page. Sometime between the keep and this moment, Essek's husband has shifted from just Percy to the man who is announced when they arrive at the top of the stairs that descend into the ballroom: Lord Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III of Whitestone, accompanied by his husband, Lord Essek Thelyss de Rolo.
Still, a faint smirk ticks his mouth when he hears the whole thing rolled out. He's quite certain even Essek hasn't heard his entire name since the day they were married.
Before them, the grand room is filled with people from across Tal'Dorei, as well as some emissaries from Wildemount and Marquet. Curious eyes - and some judgmental ones - look their way. As they descend the stairs, Percy turns his head to speak in Essek's ear.
"They will separate us at some point," he murmurs. "It's inevitable. But I am just a call away."
Percy briefly touches the single earring he must have put on some time between the keep and the palace, and in an impressive bit of sleight of hand, he delivers a matching one to his husband. He probably should have given it to him sooner, but they had honestly slipped his mind after the embrace in their bedroom. The earrings are enchanted with the message spell: Essek only needs to touch it while he speaks and Percy will hear him so long as they are within a thousand feet of each other. He has every intention of at least staying in Essek's line of sight, but it never hurts to have a back up plan.
Essek floats, of course. Hovering at his usual height makes him nearly as tall as his husband. He isn't about to change his habits for these people, and part of him takes a vicious sort of pleasure in it, knowing that even the arcane minds among them will more than likely have no idea how he's doing it--if they notice at all, beneath the long, rich mantle.
As they're announced his grip tightens every so slightly where his hand rests on Percival's arm. Essek Thelyss de Rolo. The full effect is quite different now than when he'd heard it for the first (and last) time at their wedding. It feels more suited to him. He glances over just in time to catch the ghost of a smirk on Percival's mouth before he turns his attention back to the room at the large. There's a faint shiver at the near brush of lips against his ear and the low pitch of his husband's voice, but nothing obvious. Essek has ever mask and veneer firmly in place, carrying himself effortlessly with the Shadowhand's haughty poise.
There is only a moment to wonder about the earring before he's slipped on himself. Clutching it, his hand moves at his side, tracing subtle glyphs as he murmurs the arcane words for Identify. As the spell takes hold, Essek's expression shifts from curious to impressed.
"Clever."
He spares a smirk for Percy as he secures the earring among his own, hardly out of place. Essek can feel the weight of others' scrutiny on them as they pass among the other party-goers, but that is hardly a new sensation. He makes no move to disengage his arm from Percival's, in no rush to separate any sooner than they have to.
"I presume we must greet the hosts first," he murmurs. It certainly seems like Percy knows where he's going. The confidence he radiates in this setting is striking, and if Essek is being honest with himself, attractive.
Percival cannot help but admire his husband's utterly impassive mask and the staunch confidence of his bearing. Though he has only been deeply engaged in politics for a relatively short amount of time, he's known the value of that skill considerably longer.
"Something like that," he agrees. "The Council is somewhat scattered a the moment, and so..."
He guides Essek through the crowd to introduce him to Allura Vysoren, Master of Arcana and council member, and her wife, Lady Kima of Vord. While Allura has been a friend and ally for years, Percy is vaguely aware of her role in bringing Tal'Dorei into the conflict between the Dynasty and the Empire, even if only to a small extent as a neutral third party. None the less, it's that intervention, and everything that came after it, that led to Essek's current position. He cannot fault her, though, and he cannot say he is disappointed in what has come of her effort.
Of everyone in the room, though, she is the person that Percival trusts the most, and her experience with the arcane and her position on the Council make him believe she and Essek might have plenty to talk about if the ice is broken gently. He hopes so, anyway. He finds himself wanting her support for this union and all that it has become.
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Percy is curious about Essek's work and fascinated by the mechanics of how wizards perform their magic, but, at some point, there is only so much theory he can grasp without having years of arcane study to help him follow. He'll continue to be interested, always, but he suspects a conversation with Allura will be far more engaging for Essek.
"Yes, the very same." A warmer smile lights his face. "We had to be endearing, Vex'ahlia haggled for everything."
He manages to finish his curry between bits of conversation and eventually sits back with a peeled orange.
"Once, Vax spent an afternoon enjoying Emon on Shaun's arm and it got us a decent discount."
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He finishes his own meal as well, and makes good progress on his wine.
"I suppose it would be most practical while we are sharing a room if I rest when you do," Essek muses aloud. "I won't require the bed to trance, so you are welcome to it."
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Though there is an entire, cozy sitting area that Essek can also make full use of. Still, Percy feels wrong not to offer. There's enough space that they wouldn't touch each other without making some effort.
Percy realizes that he is tired from traveling, more than he'd thought upon arrival. Whatever adrenaline there had been is long gone now. He relaxes more, content to trade lighter conversation as they both wind down. And when he is ready, Percival gets up to retreat to the bed, putting out a few more candles as he goes. It occurs to him that Essek can see in the dark, but he leaves a few burning on the far side of the room all the same. His husband can put them out if he'd like.
The bed is comfortable, more so than some of the ones they've braved on the road here. It puts him in mind of nights spent here before, when the room he occupied was considerably smaller, when his workshop existed somewhere considerably closer.
"Good night, Essek."
Blessedly, sleep comes easier than he's anticipating. But it doesn't stay easy. It's some hours into the night when Percy stirs. It's just little changes at first: his heart beats faster and his breathing quietly picks up. Sweat beads on his skin despite the otherwise comfortable temperature of the room.
And, at some point, Percy sits bolt upright with a sharp, gasping breath and a soft, desperate, "No."
The room is not full dark, but it takes precious seconds for his vision to focus at all. The few candles left alight have burned low and the flames sputter as they encounter liquid wax. It makes the deep shadows flicker and shiver and Percy grips the blanket and sheets tighter as he tries to bring himself fully around.
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Essek declines the offer of the bed. He doesn't need it for trancing; the chair does just as well, comfortable and high-backed, and honestly, he doesn't even need that. When he trances, he floats. He closes his eyes and crosses his legs and lays his palms on his knees, and hovers several inches above the seat of the chair as he settles into restorative meditation. After more than a century of practice, it doesn't take long to settle into the correct mindset, to focus internally and let his thoughts become amorphous and fluid.
But like all elves, he remains peripherally aware of his surroundings when he trances, and somewhere around the three hour mark, nearing the end of his required rest, he is alerted back to full awareness by a gasp from the nearby bed and Percival's voice distinctly uttering the word no.
Essek's eyes blink open, able to see perfectly in the dim light of the room. His husband is sitting up in bed, the sheets pooled around his waist. He's breathing heavily, clutching at the blankets. Essek drops down to his feet, crossing to the bed with light steps and sliding onto it. His eyes glow faintly in the low light, a reflection from the candles.
"You were dreaming, I think."
Spoken softly into the quiet as he reaches out tentatively to lay a slender hand on Percy's shoulder. The way he says it has the ring of curiosity, almost. Essek has not dreamed in more than a century, not since he was a child, before he learned to trance. He hardly remembers what it was like.
"Are you all right, Percival?"
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He lets go of a heavier breath and he pushes his fingers through his hair as he hunches forward. His pulse is still pounding, but he tries to slow his breathing. Percy slides his hands to the back of his neck and he just stays like that for a little while, unable to summon his voice to answer just yet.
"I'm fine," he says at last, quite aware that it is possibly the most unconvincing thing he's said since they met. He sits up slowly, unfolding himself. Then his eyebrows draw together and he closes his eyes again. He manages to keep his voice even the next time he speaks. "I don't suppose you could give us a bit more light?"
It's a ridiculous request. It puts him in mind of a child being afraid of the dark. But he cannot stand the deep shadows, and the lights that Essek creates tend to glow steadily rather than flickering.
"It was a bad dream, that's all."
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"I gathered as much, k'allis," he says, keeping his voice low and soothing. The Undercommon word for dear one is nothing he hasn't spoken before in Common, though somehow it feels weightier in his own language. "It has been a long time since I have dreamed, but I recall how it felt to wake from a nightmare."
Is trying to relate an awkward thing to do? Perhaps Percival would simply prefer to drop the subject entirely. But it's equally possible that he'll find talking to be soothing. Essek quickly discovers that more than fearing crossing a line or coming on too strong, he wants to help his clearly shaken husband. How could he not, when he's come to care about Percival as much as he has?
"Humans cannot trance, of course, but I could guide you in a meditative breathing exercise that might prove calming enough to ensure a more restful sleep," he offers. "This was done for me in my youth."
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The offer is kind. That Essek wants to help him at all is--no, to say it's unexpected is a slight. His husband has been attentive before, and Percy is grateful for it now. He makes himself take a deeper breath, if only to prove that he can. And while he wants to grasp this offered help, there is some cynical part of him that believes it cannot possibly help. Perhaps meditative breathing will help calm him down, he'll trust that. But he doesn't know if anything will get him back to a restful sleep.
A weak smile appears and Percy finally looks at Essek, able to make him out better in the pale light.
"I suppose it was only a matter of time before you learned your husband's restless sleep habits."
Maybe it could have gone on much longer, given that they do not share a room in Whitestone. Percival rubs his brow, just trying to ease some of the tension away. As the adrenaline fades, he feels exhausted.
"Let's try the breathing," he says quietly. He wants to accept Essek's help. He should let his spouse in that much. And, if nothing else, it saves him from explaining himself, at least for a little while.
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He very deliberately has not inquired as to the subject of the bad dream; best to let that fade away, and instead concentrate on what might be done to mitigate the symptoms of his husband's apparently regular restless sleep. Perhaps this will be a lesson he can take forward with him. Essek's hand rubs down and up Percy's back once before he pulls away, scooting toward the head of the bed. With his back to the headboard, he sits cross-legged and pulls a pillow into his lap.
"You will lay on your back with your head here." A hand gives the pillow a single sharp pat. It's clearly an instruction rather than a suggestion, which Essek hopes cuts through the possibly awkward novelty of this new level of intimacy. "Hands folded on your chest, eyes closed. You should attempt to concentrate on my voice and your breathing. Nothing else."
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The sharp tap on the pillow gets his attention and prompts him to move. Percival eases further down the bed so that he can rest his head on the pillow in Essek's lap. It's an unexpected intimacy and, even if it is purely instructional, he takes some comfort in the closeness.
He rests his hands on his chest and looks up at his husband for a moment more before finally closing his eyes. It takes a moment to get his breathing even, but at least he manages.
"What if I can't? Concentrate."
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It occurs to him as he looks down at the man settled in his lap that this is the first time he's seen Percival so closely without his glasses, let alone disheveled in bed after a less than pleasant dream. It's an incredibly vulnerable state to be in around anyone, Essek recognizes, which makes the trust Percy is putting in him all the more poignant.
"If you find your thoughts wandering, say so. I will assist you," he says simply. "Now, follow my instructions."
Essek retains that same soft, authoritative tone as he begins to lead Percy in a breathing exercise, instructing him on when and how much to breathe in, how long to hold, and when to release. He counts out loud, occasionally touching the center of Percy's chest to feel his chest expanding. It's a lot of deep breaths and slow exhaling, as might be expected, but the pattern isn't just one continuous cycle.
"Hold until it feels natural to release. Good. Now inhale--five, four, three, two, one."
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As the exercise begins, Percival tries to focus on his own breathing at first. But, before long, it's Essek's voice that has his full attention. He does as he's told, inhaling and holding and exhaling however he's told to. But it's the quiet cadence of Essek's voice that keeps him where he is. And if he focuses on that, then he isn't drifting off into his own mind.
Maybe that's not how he's supposed to do this, but... it helps. And Essek won't know the difference, will he?
The way the pattern of breathing changes isn't something he expects, but he manages to follow along. Feeling the gentle pressure of Essek's hand on his chest makes him aware of the physical movement involved in what he's doing. Once, Percy's fingers move just enough to brush against his husband's. With his eyes closed, with nothing but Essek's voice in his head, it just--it seemed like the thing to do.
He realizes he wants to seek more contact, but that hasn't been offered and he absolutely should not press. With that swirl of conflict, he misses something Essek says.
"Sorry," he murmurs, resisting the urge to open his eyes. His thoughts had wandered... just not in the direction he'd anticipated.
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"It's fine," Essek assures quietly, taking stock of the man laid out in front of him. His weight rests heavily between the bed and Essek's lap, no obvious tension in his limbs. With care, Essek lifts the hand from his shoulder to brush his fingertips lightly across his forehead, smoothing back strands of hair still stuck to his skin with cold sweat. "How are you feeling? You seem more relaxed." Or at least not obviously agitated, as he had been before. It's an improvement.
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"Thank you," he adds after a moment. He shouldn't stay like this any longer than he needs to, despite the temptation. Percy sits up slowly, shifting so that he can face Essek. Some of the tension is gone, at least, and left behind is a weary-looking artificer. "I'll try to get back to sleep."
He thinks he can manage it now. Usually it only happens once like that, and once he gets it out of his system, he can manage a few more hours. Besides, he wants to be as fresh as he can for tomorrow, between escorting Essek around Emon and preparing for their evening in the palace.
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"Percival," he murmurs, concern evident in his tone. His brow has furrowed, and he reaches for Percy's nearest hand to hold it between his own. "Is there something else you need? You have only to ask."
There is a tightness in his chest, a twist of worry and affection, that makes him bold. "I want to help you."
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"Thank you," he says, and he tries to imbue it with the gratitude he truly feels. He hesitates a moment, then takes one of Essek's hands to lightly kiss his knuckles. He lingers just a moment longer than is probably proper. He sits up again and lets his thumb stroke across Essek's fingers before he lets go.
But rather than going back to his pillows, Percival seems to consider a moment.
"Would you--" The request sounds silly in his head, but he pushes himself to make it anyway. Essek is worried and Percy doesn't want to brush him off. "Stay here? At least until I'm asleep again."
He won't ask his husband to lay down with him, but if he would just stay in bed for a little while and allow Percy that feeling of company, he thinks it might help.
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Oh, he's in trouble, isn't he?
"Of course," he confirms quickly, relieved that Percy hasn't dismissed him. "That is no imposition." He dares to inch a little closer toward the center of the bed, moving away from the pillows and the headboard. "Make yourself comfortable. I will...arrange myself accordingly."
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He wakes later than he usually does, which might also be a blessing. He looks better in the morning and he seems content to move on without discussing what happened. And Percival seems very eager to squire Essek around Emon.
They spend the morning along the waterfront, and by afternoon he has Essek in a canopied marketplace. He introduces him to Shaun Gilmore, but doesn't subject his husband to his dear friend for very long: they will have plenty of opportunities to visit again.
In the late afternoon, it's back to the keep to prepare for the evening. Part of that involves time for napping and bathing, a light meal. And, of course, time to dress. Percival is in dark blue and silver and he exchanges his usual glasses for a pair without the magnifying lenses. When Essek is nearly finished dressing, Percival appears with something dark draped over his arm.
"I ah... I wanted to give you this for tonight, if you like it."
He hesitates, then drapes the mantle on the end of the bed. Unfurled, it reveals the Whitestone crest embroidered in silver. Normally it's done in gold, but he's taken note of his husband's aesthetic. Percy brushes his fingers over it before he steps back, allowing Essek a proper look at it.
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There is something calming about the ritual of getting ready, however, even as he shares space with Percival. Essek dresses in his usual dark colors, this time veering toward a blue-black in an intentional effort to match his husband's color scheme. The cut of his clothing, even the layers that won't be most apparent, is precise and sharp, his boots are shined, and he styles his hair into a neat coif with a casting of Prestidigitation. The jewelry he chooses is understated, but elegant in its simplicity; silver, of course, pointed caps for the tips of his ears, delicate chains lacing down to connect with a duo of smooth white pearls dangling from each lobe. Practical as well as stylish; he could use them to cast Fortune's Favor in a pinch.
Standing in front of a mirror, he sees Percy approach over his shoulder and turns to meet him, gaze darting curiously to the fabric draped over his arm. With light steps, Essek follows him to the end of the bed to see it laid out. Once he realizes what it is, the question he'd been about to ask dies on his tongue.
Reverently, Essek brushes his fingers over the embroidered crest, feeling the quality of the craftsmanship and the fabric itself. The alteration from the usual gold to his preferred silver shows real consideration. The thought of this cloak draped over his shoulders, clearly displaying his connection to Whitestone and the de Rolo family, is genuinely touching in a way Essek could not have anticipated. The sense of belonging and acceptance that it conjures fills his heart. This is no paltry gift.
"Percival...this is incredible." His words are hushed. "You had it made for me?"
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He knows that Essek will be the only drow in the room, even if he is not the only person that has come from Wildemount. And he knows, by virtue of the nature of their marriage, that people will have a spectrum of opinions and will have heard a dozen rumors prior to their arrival. Percival wants to offer this as a shield, if he can: a clear mark of acceptance and belonging even if he cannot be by Essek's side all night.
Percy steps closer and he clasps his hands behind his back to resist the very sudden urge to take one of Essek's hands.
"You are not just a figurehead or symbol," he says quietly. "You have stepped into a role and I have watched you fill it admirably. You are here as my partner, and I will not leave you to enter this sphere alone."
Then, he does give in, but does so in the most elegant way possible. Percy holds Essek's gaze as he takes one of the wizard's hands. He bows over Essek's hand, then presses a light, chaste kiss to the ring that matches his own. His touch lingers as he stands again, but eventually he does let go, returning his hand behind his back.
"Shall I help you into it?"
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His isolation, caused by the oppressive expectation of his position in Kryn society and further self-imposed as he felt out of place among his peers, has made him the man he is today: cold, distant, driven, and calculating, with a desire for knowledge stronger than any moral compass he may ever have possessed. Or at least, that was the man he had been before the Mighty Nein. The love and acceptance and forgiveness shown to him by his first ever true friends have changed him irrevocably. He can acknowledge, even in this moment, that he would not be here feeling this rush of powerful emotion for Percival if it weren't for the way they had successfully thawed his heart first.
When his husband takes his hand and raises it to his lips Essek is immediately reminded of the night before. They haven't talked about it, as is Percival's right, but the echo of it and the vulnerability Percy had trusted him with is not lost on him. That the kiss is pressed deliberately over his ring is another plain layer of meaning, and Essek feels a rare sense of certainty. First, the he is exactly where he should be, and second, that he has unexpectedly fallen in love with the man he married.
"I would like nothing more." His voice remains steady only due to a literal century of practice. He holds Percy's gaze, steeling himself. "But in a moment, please."
Percival has withdrawn his hand behind his back, but Essek steps closer to negate the space between them again. Slowly and carefully, wary with every movement of overstepping, he slips his arms around Percy's torso and tucks his face between his collar and his shoulder, initiating a gentle, cautious embrace. "Thank you, k'allis," he murmurs. "This means more to me than you can possibly know."
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"Neither of us expected to be where we are," he says, voice soft.
He rarely speaks of his family, but moments like this offer tiny hints and glimpses. The third of seven children and the second son, Percival never anticipated needing to step into a leadership role. He'd received the same education as his siblings, but all of that had been very abruptly cut off and never really finished. He has done his best to learn as he goes, all while trying very hard to be seen as a man with purpose and direction. To seem like he knows what he's doing.
And, though Cassandra has been there through it all, he'd felt rather alone in the endeavor. Until recently.
Percival slides his hand up along Essek's back, stopping at his shoulders to keep himself from mussing up his husband's hair. Slowly, somewhat reluctantly, he lets Essek go. He gives the wizard a fond look before retrieving the mantle.
"Now then, shall we go make a devastating impression on the Council and every noble from here to T'zarrm?"
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"I think we have no other choice," Essek declares with a coy smirk. "Especially as my husband looks so dashing tonight."
With that, he turns his back to Percival to allow him to drape the dark blue mantle over his shoulders. The mantle of the Shadowhand always felt so heavy, even after he got used to it. The weight was, eventually, comforting, as was the way his cloak concealed him completely, neck to toe. But this cloak is open enough in the front to show the layers beneath, and the weight of it is not nearly so oppressive. As Percival secures it for him, Essek raises his hands to the clasp around his collar, allowing his fingers to brush over Percy's. He can still see the two of them in the mirror; together, they look perfectly matched.
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The journey to the palace through Emon reveals a different side of the city, but Percival can't quite take his eyes off of his husband. He slips out of the carriage first and offers Essek his hand. The way is well-lit by fires both magic and mundane; the evening air is brisk, but soon enough they're indoors and any outer cloaks and coats are taken to be stored for them. Percival keeps Essek on his arm as they pass through impressive, cathedral-like halls, led by a page. Sometime between the keep and this moment, Essek's husband has shifted from just Percy to the man who is announced when they arrive at the top of the stairs that descend into the ballroom: Lord Percival Fredrickstein von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III of Whitestone, accompanied by his husband, Lord Essek Thelyss de Rolo.
Still, a faint smirk ticks his mouth when he hears the whole thing rolled out. He's quite certain even Essek hasn't heard his entire name since the day they were married.
Before them, the grand room is filled with people from across Tal'Dorei, as well as some emissaries from Wildemount and Marquet. Curious eyes - and some judgmental ones - look their way. As they descend the stairs, Percy turns his head to speak in Essek's ear.
"They will separate us at some point," he murmurs. "It's inevitable. But I am just a call away."
Percy briefly touches the single earring he must have put on some time between the keep and the palace, and in an impressive bit of sleight of hand, he delivers a matching one to his husband. He probably should have given it to him sooner, but they had honestly slipped his mind after the embrace in their bedroom. The earrings are enchanted with the message spell: Essek only needs to touch it while he speaks and Percy will hear him so long as they are within a thousand feet of each other. He has every intention of at least staying in Essek's line of sight, but it never hurts to have a back up plan.
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As they're announced his grip tightens every so slightly where his hand rests on Percival's arm. Essek Thelyss de Rolo. The full effect is quite different now than when he'd heard it for the first (and last) time at their wedding. It feels more suited to him. He glances over just in time to catch the ghost of a smirk on Percival's mouth before he turns his attention back to the room at the large. There's a faint shiver at the near brush of lips against his ear and the low pitch of his husband's voice, but nothing obvious. Essek has ever mask and veneer firmly in place, carrying himself effortlessly with the Shadowhand's haughty poise.
There is only a moment to wonder about the earring before he's slipped on himself. Clutching it, his hand moves at his side, tracing subtle glyphs as he murmurs the arcane words for Identify. As the spell takes hold, Essek's expression shifts from curious to impressed.
"Clever."
He spares a smirk for Percy as he secures the earring among his own, hardly out of place. Essek can feel the weight of others' scrutiny on them as they pass among the other party-goers, but that is hardly a new sensation. He makes no move to disengage his arm from Percival's, in no rush to separate any sooner than they have to.
"I presume we must greet the hosts first," he murmurs. It certainly seems like Percy knows where he's going. The confidence he radiates in this setting is striking, and if Essek is being honest with himself, attractive.
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"Something like that," he agrees. "The Council is somewhat scattered a the moment, and so..."
He guides Essek through the crowd to introduce him to Allura Vysoren, Master of Arcana and council member, and her wife, Lady Kima of Vord. While Allura has been a friend and ally for years, Percy is vaguely aware of her role in bringing Tal'Dorei into the conflict between the Dynasty and the Empire, even if only to a small extent as a neutral third party. None the less, it's that intervention, and everything that came after it, that led to Essek's current position. He cannot fault her, though, and he cannot say he is disappointed in what has come of her effort.
Of everyone in the room, though, she is the person that Percival trusts the most, and her experience with the arcane and her position on the Council make him believe she and Essek might have plenty to talk about if the ice is broken gently. He hopes so, anyway. He finds himself wanting her support for this union and all that it has become.
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