~1. Best Laid Plans~
Rismyn, Age 26
Rismyn’s single candle had long since burned out, nothing more than a worthless nub of wax. He didn’t notice, though, as he stood over the writing desk scrutinizing the parchment laid out on its surface. Blue light filtered through the window, clearly illuminating his scrawled notes and diagrams, but he hardly noticed that, either. He was too busy trying to commit the scheme to memory, too absorbed in the minor details.
The plan was perfect. The problem was, he was not.
Frustrated, Rismyn turned aside and flopped on the narrow bed, which was once Ti’yana’s, then Mazira’s, and now his. If only he could get the buzzing out of his head. He stared up at the ceiling, blinking slowly.
The light was blue.
Very blue.
Groaning, he rolled over. No wonder his head was buzzing. He’d forgotten to sleep. But that would only be a minor inconvenience. He had plenty of practice functioning without sleep. Granted, it wasn’t recent practice, but still. He was trained and disciplined in the art of surviving harsh conditions. A little bit of exhaustion wouldn’t ruin his cycle.
Well, it probably wouldn’t ruin his cycle. Perhaps he’d sneak in a few minutes of trancing. Just in case.
But not now. If he started now, he might not wake in time to enact phase one of his plan, and there was no room in his schemes for oversleeping. Today was the most important day in his twenty-six years of living.
Today, he was going to be commissioned into the Sanctuary’s Militia. But before that, he was going to tell Mazira that he loved her.
It was hard to say which thrilled him more. The Militia represented everything he’d wanted as a child–the chance to be a warrior, to protect his home with his life and sword–but better. He’d wanted to fight for House Tear so that he might earn his mother’s affection and the respect of his siblings. Now, his own affection for the Sanctuary left him burning to take up the blade of defense once more, for these people were worth dying for.
Hopefully, though, it wouldn’t come to that. As willing as he was to lay down his life for the community which he had come to adore, he still wanted to live in it, too. He’d never known life could be so thoroughly enjoyed before. And now that he tasted it, he only wanted more.
Which was why he was going to take the risk. His perfect life in Launa would only be fully realized once he and Mazira were together.
Not together in the sense they were now, living under the same roof, spending the light-cycle hours in one another’s company. But together in the truest sense, the sense he observed in couples like Torafein and Tsaria, or their halfling neighbors, the Amberfanes. Together in a way where souls were mingled, where every mundane moment of life was tinged with something magical. Together in a way that held nothing back.
Rismyn wanted that with Mazira more than he wanted water to drink. He wanted it so much it became a physical ache in his chest. A year ago, he would have sworn himself off from ever daring to hope such a reality could come to pass. But a year ago, they were still mere survivors. A year ago, they had no concept of things going right in the world.
A year ago, Mazira still looked at him with dregs of fear. Not so, anymore.
Something had changed in her, something that had been born that first night in the weaver’s house, when Rismyn snuck into her room. No, that wasn’t right. Something hadn’t been born so much as it had been crushed. Killed. Desomated. But Rismyn didn’t like associating those words with Mazira. Enough had been crushed, killed, and desomated in her world.
So instead he imagined burgeoning life. A tangle of ivy, now that he knew what ivy was, growing up around every stone that made up the wall that had once existed between them, crumbling the rock to dust. Bringing them closer together then they had ever been cowering in broom closets and skulking in shadows.
Launa was good for Mazira. She was a rose fully blooming, finally unfurling her petals to the world. If Rismyn had loved her before, he was wild for her now, and he was starting to believe she might genuinely feel something towards him, too.
Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out.
Hence, the scheme.
This mission required the utmost care. His last attempt at confessing his feelings had ended disastrously, and Rismyn was not about to make the same mistakes again. If Mazira was like a rose in her beauty and presence, she was also just as fragile. If he did this wrong, he would crush her and lose everything.
So he planned it all out, right down to the exact words he would say. He’d been preparing for tendays, and even crafted something special for her. His eyes shut as a silly grin spread across his lips, imagining the look on her face when he presented her with it. Even if she disliked his words, she wouldn’t dislike his gift.
He couldn’t wait. Rolling over, Rismyn hopped to his feet. It was early, but not too early to get started on the cycle. He made it almost to the door when he froze, hand outstretched to the knob.
He’d almost forgotten to change his clothes. He couldn’t declare his love to Mazira in yesterday’s tunic.
Stupid!
Rismyn whirled about and went to the wardrobe, selecting the clothing he’d already laid aside for this most auspicious day. But then it wasn’t just changing clothes. There was a whole slew of minor tasks required to make one presentable. They’d never seemed so arduous before.
At last he was ready, as he checked and re-checked that he had his intended words tucked into the inner pocket of his double-breasted overcoat. Ti’yana had picked it for him, saying that the satiny-silver finish with the shiny buttons and black accents would “brighten his complexion.”
Whatever that meant.
But Ti’yana was an expert on clothing and Mazira had once complimented him on the coat. Therefore, it was what he would wear today.
Rismyn stepped softly into the hall and glanced at the other doors. They were both shut tight, hiding the occupants from view. He hesitated, then decided to leave his door cracked so the others would know he was up and gone. As he turned toward the kitchen, he stopped again, his eyes trailing back to the door of the master suite, which now belonged to Ti’yana and Mazira.
Mazira had been screaming in her sleep again. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, but it had been a few tendays since her last episode of what the priest called ‘dream terrors.’ Launa was good for Mazira; but Menzoberranzan was holding on tight.
The terrors had begun three months into their new life, and though Solaurin insisted it was common among those who had been deeply wounded and would fade over time, Rismyn wasn’t so sure. Even now, nine months later, it still took every ounce of his willpower not to go charging into her room to make sure she was okay.
But that would get him in trouble. And though he had come to greatly like and respect the master of ‘House Zovarr’, he didn’t want to test that affection more than he already had. Solaurin could be as staunch as a matron mother in his expectation to be obeyed.
Which was how the current room arrangements had come to be. After the first episode of dream terrors, Solaurin decreed that Mazira and Ti’yana would share a room. The girls had grown close, and he felt his daughter more than equipped to be there for Mazira in the moments of delirium as she startled awake.
Rismyn respectfully disagreed.
Ti’yana might be kind and caring, but she didn’t know what Mazira had been through. She didn’t understand the horrors his brother had afflicted upon her. She hadn’t had a front row seat to all Mazira’s suffering.
It ought to be him who was there for her, but Solaurin seemed hellbent on keeping them as un-together as two people living in one small house could be kept.
The discussion that ensued had been, to his shame, raucous. He’d expressed his opinion at the top of his voice, and the well-sung cleric matched him tone for tone and more. It was the one and only time he shouted at their more-than-gracious host, and Rismyn’s face still burned hot when he thought of it.
Even if he was right.
Mazira and Ti’yana watched the whole affair in silence, until Rismyn stormed from the house. He remained away for the whole day, until his anger gave way to shame and remorse.
And fear.
What if Solaurin wouldn’t welcome him back? Would another family take him in? Or would he be as houseless in Launa as he was in Menzoberranzan?
But of course, it never came to that. By the time Rismyn worked up the courage to slink back home, the rooms had been rearranged and new furniture had been commissioned for Mazira. After stumbling through an awkward apology, the priest forgave him and proceeded to act as though the event never occurred.
Which meant Rismyn fell right back into place, restrained against togethering with Mazira in her times of need. Hopefully after today, it would all change. People in love didn’t corral their hearts. Solaurin would have to relent on his rules.
Resolved, Rismyn moved from the hall to the kitchen, ignoring the prickle of guilt that hissed at him as he passed the oven. Yet another of the many rules in House Zovarr that he was neglecting: the first person awake ought to prepare breakfast for the “family”.
But Rismyn had neither the time nor the inclination for it. He glanced again at the blue light and deemed it might qualify him for an exception. No one would be awake to eat it for a while yet, so really, he was doing them all a favor.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
With his conscience assuaged, Rismyn padded down the stairs and headed straight for the door.
“My, you’re up early.”
At the sound of Solaurin’s voice, Rismyn nearly jumped out of his skin. He stumbled to a halt, turning sheepishly to the master of the house. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I know I should have started breakfast, but it was so early I thought it would be a waste and–”
Solaurin sat at the largest of his spinning wheels, twisting a thin thread from heaps of imported cotton roving. He regarded Rismyn with a raised brow, and Rismyn fell silent, trying not to squirm under the penetrating stare.
“I merely remarked that you were up early,” the priest said. “And as you can see, so am I. And here we both are, neglecting the kitchen work.”
Rismyn flushed and rubbed a hand through his shaggy hair. It was about time for Ti’yana to cut it again. “Right…sorry…”
Solaurin’s brow quirked higher. “Guilty conscience? If you were trying to sneak out of the house, I daresay there are a dozen better ways to go about it. I can give you some pointers.”
“What? No!” Rismyn cried, with the air of someone who was absolutely trying to sneak out. He tried to appear calm and collected. He wasn’t sneaking around and he wasn’t up to no good. So why did he feel like a child caught with his fist in the truffle jar? “You just startled me, that’s all.”
“Really?” The priest’s eyes shifted to the lit lanterns, which should have been a dead giveaway. “Are you feeling alright? Should I be concerned?”
There was a hint of mockery in his tone.
Rismyn blushed deeper. “No. I’m tired, that’s all. I didn’t sleep well, so I thought I’d use the time to go check on a project I left to cure before going to the Cove.”
It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth, either. The concern Rismyn had been trying to avoid overshadowed Solaurin’s condescending amusement and he let his wheel slow to a stop. So much for not drawing attention to himself.
“I, too, had trouble sleeping,” Solaurin said, and something about the way he didn’t quite meet Rismyn’s eyes told him that trouble started around the time Mazira had been screaming.
It was details like this that endeared Solaurin to him, when Rismyn wanted to be frustrated with his rules. Though Rismyn didn’t understand the priest’s methods, he had no doubt that Solaurin wanted what was best for them both. He cared in ways Rismyn wasn’t used to being cared for.
A heavy silence fell. The unspoken understanding in the house was that no one spoke of Mazira’s dream terrors. Rismyn rocked back on his heels, scrambling to find words to chase the awkward feeling away.
Solaurin’s wheel resumed its course, and Rismyn suddenly realized what was wrong with this picture.
“You’re spinning,” he blurted out.
Solaurin blinked and glanced at him. “An astute observation.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you spin,” Rismyn pressed. “I thought it was apprentice work.”
At least, that’s what Ti’yana had told him when she’d attempted to teach him to spin. It was shortly after they’d come to stay at the Zovarr house. She’d given him a drop spindle, and it became quickly apparent to him that textile work would not become his new passion. Mazira had taken to it, though, and was even learning a bit of weaving now.
“Mm.” Solaurin’s attention returned to the thread. “I do tend to leave it for them, but like you I decided to use my sleepless hours productively. One should never try to weave masterpieces while they are sleep deprived. Hence, the spinning.”
“Oh,” Rismyn said, and then realized this conversation was going nowhere. “Well, I’ll leave you to it.”
“One moment, Rismyn.” The wheel stopped again and wood creaked as the weaver stood. “I want to talk to you about today.”
Rismyn’s heart tripped, missing several beats.
Solaurin couldn’t know, could he? There was no way. Rismyn hadn’t told anyone about his plan for fear of exactly this happening–interference. He braced himself for a lecture he hadn’t had enough sleep to tolerate.
Solaurin closed the distance between them, but instead of diving into one of his infamous monologues, he continued forward and pulled Rismyn into a tight embrace. “Can you believe it?” His resonant voice rumbled through Rismyn’s surprise. “A full year to the cycle since you’ve come to the Sanctuary. Eilistraee be praised! You’ve come a long way from the frightened young elf we discovered hiding under a crystal.”
Rismyn stiffened, unsure whether to be pleased or put off by his words. He hadn’t been that pathetic. But when Solaurin pulled back, beaming at him with hands clasped on his shoulders, Rismyn settled on pleased. The smile was infectious.
He hadn’t forgotten the significance of the date. It was why he chose this very day to confess his love to Mazira. The commissioning ceremony coinciding was just a delightful coincidence.
“Jasper tells me you’re progressing well with your craft,” Solaurin continued. “I admit, when you told me you wanted to take up gem cutting and jewel crafting, I was a bit skeptical. But I think the work suits you.”
Rismyn tried not to preen under the praise. He himself hadn’t expected to actually like working with the jeweler. He’d only taken up the craft because he noticed Mazira was drawn to Jasper’s sparkling works in the market. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the rubies and sapphires everytime they passed by, but though Solaurin paid her a fair wage for the work she put into his weaving business, she never spent a drop of it on herself.
But she always lingered a little longer at the jeweler’s stall, always politely deterring the soft-spoken Jasper when he offered to allow her to try something on, and that was how Rismyn found his calling. Mazira wanted jewelry, whether she admitted it or not, so he would exist to provide her with as many gems as she desired. She deserved all of them and more.
Unfortunately, he lacked the income to support such a calling, so he did the next best thing and apprenticed himself to the jeweler.
Now he had more than an income. He had a skillset that didn’t involve violence and work that satisfied him. By the end of today, he would have the honor of a commission and–hopefully–the love of a woman worth more to him than all the jewels in Jasper’s cottage.
What a difference a year had made.
“I know the Militia is having a celebration for the new guards after the commissioning ceremony,” Solaurin said, interrupting his reverie. “But I’d like it very much if we could have our own celebration, as a family. To commemorate all that has been accomplished this year. I could not be more proud of you.”
Rismyn’s throat tightened around a lump of emotion he hadn’t been expecting. He took a deep breath, trying to rest in the swelling joy of knowing he’d become a part of something wholesome and good. That for once, he was truly cared about and Mazira was safe and content.
But the nagging sense of the secret plans he carried in his breast pocket dug into his joy like burrs. Solaurin asked for very little in exchange for his care of Rismyn and Mazira, just respect and honesty. And Rismyn wasn’t being honest with him.
He knew exactly what Solaurin would say if he told him his plans to confess to Mazira. They were too young, or Mazira wasn’t healed enough. Every doubt Rismyn had about his intentions rang through his head in the priest’s voice. He knew Solaurin wouldn’t approve, so he withheld the information, even from Ti’yana.
Would he even have time for a second celebration? The cycle was busy enough. First to Jasper’s to collect the ring he’d crafted, then to the Cove, for his last cycle of training as a recruit before he was commissioned into Belnir’s patrol at the Evensong.
From there he would go to the temple to walk Mazira home from her Blue Light lessons. It was his usual ritual, as Ti’yana stayed longer for her more advanced training. But instead of going straight home, he’d suggest they take a stroll through the Garden Caverns, to see the blooming ‘summer wildflowers’. While Rismyn had scarcely any concept of the different surface seasons, it would be a sight Mazira would want to see.
And there, amongst the greenery and surface life, he’d tell her his feelings. He’d give her the amethyst ring he’d dedicated the last six months to learn how to craft. If she received his words poorly, then at least he had the commissioning to look forward to, and the celebration at the Sunglow Tavern afterwards to distract his broken heart.
But if she received his words well…if she reciprocated…
He was starting to daydream, and Solaurin was still waiting on his answer.
“I’d like that,” he finally said, his voice taut. “And I think Mazira would like that, too.”
Solaurin squeezed his shoulders and let him go. “Excellent. Goodie Amberfane has offered to conjure us one of her famous five-course feasts, but I think I’ll rein her in to just some sweetbread. Enjoy the Militia’s celebration, and we’ll celebrate after that.”
“Will you be at the commissioning ceremony?” He couldn’t stop himself from asking, even though he’d already had this conversation with Solaurin more than once.
The priest looked offended. “Of course.” He swept back to his spinning wheel. “We’re all going to be there. I’ve told you that.”
Rismyn smiled, though guilt pricked at his conscience. He turned back to the door, a great swath of blue light falling on him as he opened it. “Right. Sorry, thank you.”
“Mm. Make sure you eat something, child. You don’t want to pass out before they commission you. That would be quite embarrassing.”
Rismyn waved his acknowledgement as the door shut behind him.
The streets of Launa were silent as he made his way into the heart of the city. Not the eerie, uncomfortable silence of the Wilds, but the cozy kind. The quiet of the moments just after waking, before life took precedence and one was forced to leave their covers behind. The ever-stagnant Underdark air was primed with fresh energy, a feeling of new potential waiting to be unleashed as white light slowly leaked into the blue.
Rismyn wound his way into the heart of the city, toward the Market District where the jewel-master lived. He’d walked this path a hundred times or more, but it was never quite the same. The people of Launa had a strange interest in setting decorations outside of their homes, such as rings of flowers hung on the door that Mazira called wreaths. Every few tendays, someone would change something. Perhaps a different colored lantern or tapestry, or a new statue of a creature Rismyn didn’t recognize.
It was a strange tradition, but one he had come to enjoy. It gave the cavern a feeling of being warm and lived in. He hardly knew any of the people who dwelled on these streets personally, but the eclectic bits of their personalities which spilled onto their doorsteps gave him tiny glimpses into their lives that made him feel connected.
By the time he reached the Market District, the first thrums of music were beginning to emanate throughout the city, and candlelight was already leaking from Jasper’s latticed windows.
Rismyn stepped around the odd little tree with the fan-like leaves that his master kept beside his door, an exotic plant native to the country of his birth. Supposedly this land was on the entire otherside of the world from the surface they dwelled under. Rismyn had no reason to distrust his claim, though the concept of continents and oceans was still hard for him to visualize.
Rismyn rapped on the door once to give Jasper a warning that he had arrived, before slipping a key into the lock and letting himself into the workshop attached to the one-level house. The jeweler was easily startled, a trait he claimed persisted well before the drow enslaved him.
If the plant on the doorstep was exotic, it was nothing compared to the creature who owned it. Jasper hunched over his desk, half of his furry face obscured by a set of magnifying oculars. His two pointed ears perked forward, one of them twitching slightly as Rismyn shut the door behind him.
“Ah, Rismyn. Jasper thought you might come to call early this morning.” The jeweler removed his eyepiece with distinctly humanoid hands that clashed with his feline features, revealing large, round eyes and the tabby coloring of his fur. He had an odd, jolting accent and a habit of referring to himself by name.
As it turned out, Rismyn hadn’t been hallucinating on his first day in Launa. He really had seen a cat-man. Tabaxi was the proper term. Not even Mazira had heard of them, which further corroborated Jasper’s tale of coming to the Sword Coast from a land far across the ocean.
“A jubilant Blue Light to you, master,” Rismyn greeted, already moving to the stone basin where he had left his ring to cure. The strangeness of Jasper’s appearance had long since lost its effect on him. “Just wanted to stop in and check on…” he trailed off as he reached the glimmer potion and realized his ring had disappeared.
It was as though his levitation magic cut out suddenly, dropping him into the abyss. Rismyn’s eyes snapped around in a panic. He needed this ring! It was part of the climax of his speech. He would have to rewrite the whole thing if it had gone missing. Tendays and tendays of labor had just vanished. “Master! What happened to–”
“Relax, dear boy,” the tabaxi said with a knowing smile, offering Rismyn a small funguswood box. “You are looking for this, yes?”
It took all of Rismyn’s self control not to snatch the box out of Jasper’s clawed hands, but he didn’t want to be rude. So he took it as calmly as he could manage. As soon as he had it, however, he flipped the lid up, needing to see with his own eyes that the fruit of his affection hadn’t all been a dream.
“Jasper thought you would be wanting it,” the jeweler said. “So Jasper took the liberty of finishing the polish.”
Rismyn sighed in relief, a hand going to his chest as if he could still his thundering heart. The ring was there, glimmering supernaturally in the dim light thanks to the solution he had soaked it in. A silver band and a round cut amethyst. Simple, compared to the works of art the tabaxi created, but his. All his.
“You scared me half to death,” Rismyn said, looking up at his teacher. “I thought I’d have to start all over.”
“Ah, sorry, sorry.” Jasper bowed low. The subservient gesture was certainly a trait he picked up from his enslavement, and it always made Rismyn uncomfortable. “Jasper knows this is a special gift for the special lady. Jasper wanted to make sure it was ready for you.”
Rismyn smiled, looking back down at the ring, and then his smile froze.
He’d not told anyone his plans.
“W-what do you mean?” He laughed nervously, trying to play it off. “I haven’t decided what to do with it yet.”
The tabaxi gave him a toothy grin and tapped his velvety nose. “Ah, ah. You cannot fool Jasper. An amethyst stone for the girl with the amethyst eyes.” He came around the table and clasped Rismyn’s shoulder. “The girl who loves to look but is afraid to try on. Jasper is no fool, no. He knows why you wanted to learn the art so badly.”
Rismyn’s face was burning. “I like the art. It interests me.”
“Ah, but you like the girl first.” Jasper’s soft hands pinched the ring out of the box and he held it out to Rismyn. “Tell Jasper, apprentice, what do you think of the finish. Assess your final work.”
Rismyn was glad for the question, allowing it to distract him from the jeweler’s all-too-knowing comments. He took the ring and examined it, ready to recite all the flaws he knew he hadn’t been skilled enough to resolve.
But as he studied the ring, he realized something was different. His silver band hadn’t been even, and the edges hadn’t been so finely beveled. The gem was still imperfectly cut, but the uneven lines weren’t quite as obvious. He blinked in confusion, wondering if this was even the ring he’d created, looking questioningly at the master artist.
But Jasper rarely answered questions. He liked to let Rismyn flounder and figure it out for himself–a trait he shared in common with Solaurin.
Rismyn looked back at the ring, and then understood. “You fixed my flaws.”
The tabaxi nodded enthusiastically. “Good eye. Your attention to detail is excellent.”
Rismyn turned the ring round and round, seeing where stray scratches had been buffed out, unsure of how to feel. He’d put all his effort into creating this for Mazira, and had only come up with a subpar piece of jewelry. But that had been okay, because he accepted he was new at this. What he held in his hand now was almost worth putting in Jasper’s market booth for sale. It was still his, but it was altered now. Better, but not wholly his own.
His teacher seemed to sense his disarray. “Jasper won’t always help so much,” he said. “Special gift for special girl on special day, yes? My gift to you.”
Rismyn beheld the ring, and then caught the strange luminous eyes of the tabaxi, and his understanding shifted. Jasper hadn’t helped because his ring wasn’t good enough. Just like Solaurin requesting a special celebration, Jasper had evened his silver and filed his amethyst out of the depth of his kindness. Because he’d understood all along that Rismyn’s goal was to spoil his special girl.
He was cared for in ways he wasn’t used to being cared for.
“Thank you,” Rismyn said, returning the ring to the box. “Really. I cannot thank you enough.”
“Just promise not to leave Jasper when the girl says yes,” the tabaxi grinned, returning to his work table. “Turns out Jasper likes having a student, after all. Who knew?”
Rismyn grinned. “Of course I won’t leave you. I told you, I like the art.” He took the box and tucked it into the deep inner pocket of his coat. It bulged uncomfortably, but he’d be changing into his training leathers soon. He’d find a better solution afterwards. He was about to offer his farewells to move onto phase two of his plan when Jasper’s wording pricked his curiosity. “Wait…says yes?”
“To your proposal,” the jeweler said, slipping on his oculars again.
Rismyn’s brow furrowed. Undercommon was Jasper’s sixth language, so they had run into translation errors before. “Proposal…?”
“Yes, you know.” His hands fluttered as he searched for another way to say his meaning. “Yes, that is the right word. When you give the ring to propose marriage.”
Rismyn stood very still. Give the ring to what? He understood the words that Jasper was saying, but he did not comprehend the meaning. “Me?” he stammered. “Propose marriage?”
It was unthinkable. He wasn’t even completely sure he understood what set marriage (the surface word) apart from consorting (the drow word). From what he had gleaned, marriage was a more permanent arrangement. One that was expected to last forever instead of ending abruptly when the wife got bored of her husband. He was fairly certain marriage involved some sort of ceremony, as he’d heard a few references in passing. Maybe a blessing from a cleric. All he knew for certain was that in the Sanctuary, marriage was more favorably looked upon than consorting.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to spend every day of the rest of his life with Mazira, it was just simply not his place to propose it. As the female, it was up to Mazira to define how they would relate to one another once he declared his feelings. Anything north of complete and total rejection was considered a success in his book.
Once more, Jasper peered at him, and understanding seemed to register on his face. He started to laugh. “Ohh. You do not know.”
“Know what?” Rismyn asked, on the verge of panic again.
“In many cultures on the surface, a ring is given as a symbol of commitment to marriage. When a man desires to marry a woman, he asks her to marry him with a ring of engagement. Is that not why you insisted on crafting a ring first?”
Rismyn just stared. He’d wanted to craft a ring because he assumed the smaller piece of jewelry would be easier to create and because the materials were less taxing on his meager apprentice wages. The hardest part had been surreptitiously obtaining Mazira’s ring size. “I…had no idea…” he said, then shook himself out of his daze. “Wait, you said the man gives it?”
“Yes, usually. Some cultures it goes both ways. Some cultures give nothing, or land, or gold. But rings are common. In Jasper’s clan, we give feasts.”
“So, it’s not an inappropriate gift for me to give her?” He was only planning to declare his undying love to her. He didn’t want her to think him too forward.
“Rismyn, dear boy,” Jasper chortled. “You’re in the Sanctuary! A melting pot of culture and traditions. If you make a social blunder, just pretend you’re practicing a different culture. That’s what Jasper does.”
Despite himself, Rismyn laughed, which loosened the knot in his stomach. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Just make sure special girl understands why you give the ring,” his teacher advised. “So if you’re not proposing marriage she does not get delighted only to be disappointed.”
“Right, of course,” Rismyn said, nodding sagely as if he’d planned this all along. Personally, he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of him defining the state of their relationship. It still felt like the woman’s role to him. Just taking the risk to express himself was untoward enough.
But he couldn’t keep silent anymore. He adored Mazira. He wanted her to know it. He wanted togetherness.
If she interpreted his gift as a proposal for marriage, he was okay with that. But if it made her uncomfortable, he’d be sure to take Jasper’s culture advice.
“Thank you again,” Rismyn said, preparing to take his leave. “Remember, I won’t be back after Bright White today, I’m going–”
“Going to be commissioned,” Jasper finished. “Jasper remembers. Jasper will be there.”
Rismyn warmed from the inside out as he bade his master farewell and returned to the streets of Launa. He had enough time to purchase a bite to eat on his way and perhaps catch a few crucial minutes of trancing before the Sanctuary’s warriors gathered to train at the Cove. Everything was going exactly as planned. What a difference a year made.
Disclaimer: Forsaken by Shadows is unofficial Fan Content permitted under the Fan Content Policy. Not approved/endorsed by Wizards. Portions of the materials used are property of Wizards of the Coast. ©Wizards of the Coast LLC.
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