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・~・~・ the hexagrams ・~・~・
You've pulled the Hexagram number 4, Meng: youthful inexperience. A powerful observer with their mind inside the walls will be pulled outside, exposed to the daylight; and while they thought they are undestroyable in the Dark, they will have to learn how to contrive in the Sun before It burns them.
Hexagram number 44: a meeting. Stars in the sky, lost in the crowd of burnt out flames, need to be very lucky to meet each other, and they should appreciate such a meeting.
Hexagram Pi, number 8: a union. A deer with a bird, a soul to an empty corpse, air added to fire, meant to become one and inseparable by the bond only possible to be broken by themselves. Though one should beware of the pain that the separation will bring.
・~・~・half a year before ・~・~・
“…and that is why I need you to marry him,” Hanelai said, making a conclusion to her rather long and detailed reasoning. She stood up from her throne a while ago and now she was facing Altan, looking straight into his eyes and most likely expecting some reaction to the information that had been just presented to him.
Except Altan didn’t know what he should say right now; he also wasn’t suspecting that his answer, whatever it would be, would make any difference or matter in any way. Because why would it? His opinion, let alone his feelings, about this whole arrangement wouldn’t change Speer’s political situation, nor would they miraculously guarantee safety to the island. So unless he’d come up with some better, purely genius plan, everything he said meant absolutely nothing .
Plus, why would he ever think about standing up to the queen?
Even if the queen wasn’t also his beloved auntie; ā-gū; his mentor and teacher basically since the day he had been born; the one who took care of him and the one who he looked up to; The same person was also the sovereign of their nation in the first place, taking responsibility for all of her people, Altan wouldn’t dare to disrespect her.
So instead, he found himself just standing in front of Hanelai in silence. There was not much he could say.
And yet, something was expected from him. As always
“Altan,” Hanelai said, getting his attention, her voice imperious and unobjectionable. That’s how she has always been, and that’s probably what got her on top, eventually. “Do you understand what I’ve just said? And what does it all mean?”
“Yes, of course. I'm getting married, for political reasons, and I understand very well why I must do it,” Altan replied, and the truth was, he actually understood. There was a duty that he had to fulfill; no emotions, no complaints, just a role for him to play. It was as simple as that.
Hanelai looked at him concerned. Perhaps, Altan thought, while the queen in her was happy for the boy’s feeling of responsibility, the protective auntie she was had some worries about how difficult this whole situation was for her nephew, and how much was demanded from him. He wasn’t wrong in his speculations:
“Listen, Altan. Do not think I am happy about this arrangement. I- Maybe it was a little bit irrational of me, but I always hoped that both you and Mai’rinnen would be able to marry only out of love, only because you actually want it. That you will be given a choice, like I was.” She shook her head. “I just hoped that… by the time you two grow up, so many things would change, for the better. And now-”
“I know, ā -gū .”
“Our hands are tied, both yours and mine. We cannot take such a big risk as denying the offer of the alliance, not when the lives of our people are on the line. There’s no other way, at least for now.”
Wind was playing with the leaves on the trees outside, making a soothing sound; hot air filling the throne hall was making the atmosphere inside it even more tense, and Altan’s organs seemed to be boiling in his body. He just nodded.
“I know all of this, auntie, I understand. I wouldn’t fail you.”
A bird sang outside; someone shouted joyfully; a child laughed.
Queen Hanelai raised her hand and carefully put it on Altan’s shoulder. She was rarely so affectionate, at least outside of the family house, strictly dividing the two roles she was playing in the lives of the people she loved.
“I know you wouldn’t fail. Neither of you two would.”
She was on her way to leave the chamber, when Altan stopped her, asking a question:
“Wait, didn’t Sorqan Sira have a niece as well?”
“Oh yes, she has,” Hanelai responded, “but I don’t suppose you would like to marry her instead. Am I right?”
“Yes. Yes, you are.”
・~・~・
After Hanelai left the room, Altan finally had time to process everything he had just been told, which wasn’t exactly such a great perspective. He was afraid that the more he started thinking about the obligation that had been imposed on him, his suppressed emotions would finally find their way out and inundate him completely. And he hated the idea of the feelings affecting the responsibility he had to deal with.
Instead, he tried to remain as emotionally distant as possible. Preferably even not to feel at all.
Feelings were reserved for his family, for parents, siblings, for ā -gū Hanelai and for his cousin Rin, for his childhood friends and friends from Sinegard, for the love he hasn’t been able to experience yet. Not for his duties.
And yet, there was still that terrifying heaviness located somewhere near his heart, the fear shivering down his spine, making it difficult to breathe.
But he couldn’t back out. He couldn’t fail.
It was too important.
After the Trifecta’s victory during the Second Poppy War, one would think that Speer’s safety, as Nikan’s fief and later an ally, was guaranteed. But that was just a lie, a beautiful one, wrapped around rotting truth. And the truth was, Yin Riga was out of his mind; making more and more unhinged decisions, taking far too violent steps than necessary. Even if fifteen years ago the Trifecta finally approved Speer’s autonomy (all thanks to Hanelai), Riga, known widely for his loathing to the islanders, could change his mind any given day. He hated to see Altan’s ā -gū on the throne, he hated the fact she would now be considered equal to him. Even with Jiang Ziya on Hanelai’s side, and Su Daji trying to do everything possible for Riga to not get out of control, the future of Speer wasn’t bright.
Altan knew, as well as Hanelai and only few other people, that there was some imbalance among the shamans of the Trifecta; that one of them held more power than the two remaining, that one of them had more authority than he should have had. But that wasn’t something anyone would dare to speak out loud of, or even think about it too often.
Because it was a truly terrifying perspective.
That was the reason for the appropriate steps to be taken. For the marriage, sealing an alliance between Speer and the Hundred Clans, to be contracted. Marriage between Altan Trengsin, a nephew of the queen of Speer, Hanelai Trengsin, and Chaghan Suren, a nephew of the leader of the Hundred Clans, Sorqan Sira.
Although the Hundred Clans for ages were out of reach for Nikan, now the situation has changed and it wasn’t any better than the Speer’s one. After a son of Sorqan Sira, Bekter, died during the Second Poppy War (killed by a Speerly; an ironic coincidence), she was the one who finally managed to unite the Hundred Clans. Even if it took them more than a hundred years, filled with bloody coups and splits, which haven’t yet completely hushed. Sorqan Sira’s reign was recent and needed to be strengthened, quickly, before the Trifecta would strike on them again. That’s why the Seeress was looking, quite reluctantly, for the new allies.
Altan didn’t know much about Chaghan Suren himself, except for some purely superficial and politically valuable information that has reached his ears. The twenty-one year old boy was the son of Sorqan Sira’s sister, Kalagan - the very same one, who had trained the Trifecta and in the effect unwillingly contributed to their betrayal and the death of her niece, Tseveri. Considering the terrible blame that had been put on his mother, Chaghan’s life probably would look much different: called a traitor, he’d be banished to the Steppes, forbidden to ever come back to the Clans again. However, Bekter’s death made Sorqan Sira quite lonely in her power aspirations, and so she decided that Chaghan would be much more useful by her side, used for political games. As Altan’s husband, for example.
Both of the sides of the alliance were rather resistant in looking for support, especially in turning to each other. It wasn’t a secret, after all, that the Speerlies and the Hundred Clans had different views about shamanism and calling the gods, not to mention the sides they had chosen during the Second Poppy War. And yet, what they both had in common, was being somehow betrayed by the Trifecta, equally endangered and much weaker than the Nikara Empire. Now for both these nations, this alliance was the only one relatively safe option on how to increase chances of victory during a potential war with the empire.
It was easy to understand for Altan. The idea and the whole plan in general wasn’t complicated at all, especially when you've been surrounded by politics since you were a little kid. Understanding wasn’t a problem here.
It was the image of marriage Altan had created in his mind, and the image that almost everyone on Speer has been affirming. Pure, beautiful ideals of strong feelings and love that set your heart on fire, pure desire to connect your heart and soul with the beloved person, no other reason needed. That was the marriage he had been taught about, the kind of one he could see between his parents, grandparents, between ā -gū and Ziya.
But not the one he was destined to have.
And even if he has never spared one thought to the idea of falling in love with someone, something just didn’t feel right.
・~・~・three months before・~・~・
“I’m sure he's disgusting. And disrespectful. Maybe he’s illiterate.”
“He can’t be illiterate, he graduated from Sinegard Academy.”
“See? You have one less thing to worry about.”
“What if he snores in his sleep?”
“Ooh, I bet it’s the kind of noise heavily armed cavalry would make. Looking forward to sharing your bed with him?”
“Gods, I’m thrilled. Going to tell you all the details later.”
Qara shivered with fake (or maybe authentic?) disgust.
“No, please, in sake of your privacy and my sanity,” she said, finally finishing the braid on her twin brother’s head. She tied it with a dark ribbon. “Done.”
Now there was a small plait in Chaghan’s hair, matching the two thick ones that his sister always wore, decorated with pieces of bones and shells. He was convinced there was no one across the whole Hinterlands whose braids would match those done by Qara, nor was there anyone else who Chaghan would let get his hair done. It wasn’t that his hair was significantly important to him, that he was afraid of it getting damaged. It was rather that the act of braiding their hair together has always been something special for the twins, something they have only been doing on their own, sharing between each other - like everything else - and he Chaghan wouldn’t want to change that.
Especially considering how much he loved when Qara was braiding his hair. It was so unbelievably comforting to have her by his side, reassuring him and supporting, always, every time, on every stage of their journey.
Chaghan didn’t exist on his own, the same way as Qara didn’t exist by herself. Like the Moon to the Sun, unable to live without each other. They were complementary in a way no one else would ever be able. The lost halves of their own.
The twins have been like this their whole lives, two parts of one rather than two separate beings. Neither of them remembered how their existence looked before they had been anchored, but even if they would, it didn’t matter; they both hated the idea of their sibling not being next to them. And Chaghan knew it, because he knew Qara’s soul as well as he knew his own.
It was never supposed to change. And yet, it had, the moment Sorqan Sira announced Chaghan's marriage and his departure to Speer.
The Sun wouldn’t shine as brightly without the Moon.
Some irrational part of Chaghan’s mind was concerned that his soon-to-be-husband and his family would treat him like some kind of valuable prisoner or a hostage, locked in the palace and forbidden to visit his home in the Hinterlands or for his sister to visit Speer. And although this vision was highly exaggerated and ridiculous (nor was Chaghan’s imprisonment mentioned anywhere in the wedding vows), the thought of parting with his family, especially with Qara, struck an unbelievably painful fear into his heart, leaving him paralysed and sleepless.
He wouldn’t let anyone know how terrified he actually was; he wished he could save Qara this burden, too, but it wasn’t possible. She was very aware of how Chaghan was actually feeling, she was sharing the shivers down the spine, sleepless nights and pounding heart, like she had been since they were ten days old.
It wasn’t that Chaghan was suspecting Trengsin to be a ruthless monster (and powerful enough to defeat the Seer in a fight), but the fact that so far he was a complete stranger wasn’t exactly calming down Suren’s fears. He had very little to no idea how he was going to be treated on Speer, how his life there would look like, or even what his husband looked like. All the information that Chaghan was provided with didn’t answer his most bothersome questions; they were portraying Trengsin not like an actual person with blood, flesh and feelings, but rather like an extremely boring and useless historical figure.
“Altan Trengsin. Twenty-four years old, a nephew of the Queen of Speer. Graduated from the Sinegard Academy, pledged lore, the best student in the hundreds of years. A great strategist and an extraordinary warrior at such a young age, and one of the most powerful Speerly shamans ever.”
And not a single word about if he snored in his sleep. If he was disgusting or disrespectful. If he liked horse riding like Chaghan did, and disliked small closed spaces like Chaghan did, if he loved being in the center of attention like Chaghan did. If he'd handle his husband's constant talking and would respect the boundaries Chaghan would set for him. If he'd actually manage to like his husband.
Nothing.
Chaghan wasn’t a helpless boy, obviously; he was confidently the most powerful shaman and the greatest Seer to ever exist, among the Hundred Clans and in the whole world. He wasn’t easily threadent, scared or broken, he was rather the one to threaten, scare or break others. He was aware and proud of that. It basically made him untouchable, and his husband should know that.
And yet, knowing the weight of responsibility on his shoulders and how this whole task that was given to him was basically one huge void of abeyance, it made Chaghan’s heartbeat a little bit faster. He couldn't fail.
He was the perfect son, the pride of his nation.
But didn't they say that about Altan Trengsin, too?
Qara must have felt Chaghan’s agitation, because she suddenly gently wrapped her brother’s frail body and her forehead on his shoulder. It was always so comforting; her, wanting to reassure him about her presence and support, even though it was such an obvious thing. Chaghan enjoyed the weight of her head on the shoulder.
She didn't have to say anything, because whatever it would be, Chaghan knew it already. And yet, she did:
“ Ax , Chaghan, you'll handle it. Wherever you go, I’m there too, my soul is there. I won’t leave you.”
He knew, and she knew too, so instead of responding Chaghan just hugged her tightly. Two souls turned into one: a sister and her brother, the Moon and its Sun.
They stayed like that for a while, in a comforting embrace, more meaningful than thousands of words, until the flaps of the yurt were suddenly opened and their mother, Kalagan, stepped inside.
“There you two are,” she said, looking at her children. her voice rather drab. “Qara, excuse you, but I need to talk to your brother.”
One could have sworn the temperature in the yurt suddenly dropped drastically, leaving an unpleasant cold.
“Why can't she stay?” Chaghan furrowed his brows in confusion, feeling sudden panic in his chest, though he wouldn’t let his mother see that. There was never a matter that would only be related to one of the twins; not until now, apparently. “You never separated us before. Why now?”
“There are some things now that trouble you and only you, Chaghan. And I think Qara understands that,” Kalagan looked at her daughter with anticipation. Qara nodded gently, squeezing Chaghan’s shoulder in a solace manner, and kissed his forehead. She got up and left the yurt, flops closing behind her, leaving the two alone inside.
Chaghan patiently waited for his mother to sit down opposite of him. Kalagan did so, looking directly into his eyes, but she should have known her son well enough to predict that he wouldn’t break under her gaze. She and Chaghan looked almost like two copies of one person, the resemblance even bigger than between him and Qara. Chaghan shared Kalagan’s white long hair and sharp cheekbones, both of them ethereally beautiful. Meanwhile his twin sister, although gorgeous, too, resembled a strong connection to the material realm, with her thick brown hair and golden eyes.
They were sitting there in silence, for a while, a mother and a son, two shamans of the Hundred Clans, bonded with birth and with betrayal: one of them had betrayed, and the other one was supposed to wash away the shame.
“Chaghan,” Kalagan finally spoke, demanding undivided attention from her son. Her voice cold, composed, just like Chaghan’s grew up to be. “A great responsibility, greater than it even may seem, lies on your shoulders. And however slender they are, however you feel like you may die under the pressure, like it can crush you, it’s better for it to kill you than for you to fail.”
These words, however cruel they might have appeared, were nothing more than what Chaghan already knew.
“But there is more that you need to know,” Was there, really? However Chaghan didn’t dare to interrupt his mother: “You may be The Seer, looking into the future, reading the hexagrams and walking in the future as confidently as on the cobblestone pavement, but there are many more things one can read from the things that have happened than from ones that are meant to.”
That was the way Kalagan always spoke to Chaghan, and how he later learned to talk, too; exchanging prophecies, announcing the myths and legends as real events, the dialect of great people.
“I once made a mistake which I only regret because of the outcome that it had brought; innocent lives that were taken away because of what I had undertaken. And however I know that back then, I was right, and that I still am, it doesn’t invalidate the death that it brought. It must be redeemed, Chaghan. One wedding for one funeral.”
Chaghan was well aware that this whole arrangement, except for ensuring the Hundred Clan’s ally, was also some sort of his mother’s redemption for the terrible mistake she had made, and for the people she killed with the hands of the Trifecta. She could make her son useful, completely on Sorqan Sira’s mercy. However there was one more thing, even more important in this whole plan, the key to what his aunt has actually thought over, that has managed to slip Chaghan’s attention, and that has now struck him with realisation.
“Sorqan Sira sacrifices me like you once sacrificed her daughter, Tseveri,” he spoke. “The peace and balance must be restored. My hand in marriage for her death.”
“Chaghan, don’t you ever dare to think about yourself as a sacrificial cattle.”
“Am I not that?”
“That’s what your aunt may want you to be, that’s what you are to her . But why wouldn’t you make yourself actually useful, for me as well as for Sorqan Sira? You’re a Seer, so why would you stay blind to things you see there on Speer? To their shamanism and to their god?”
People around Chaghan definitely took too much pleasure in using him as a tool.
“You want me to watch them for you, mother? To gather information? That’s your plan against Sorqan Sira?”
“It is not a plan against her, Chaghan,” Kalagan said with a hard voice. “We are not about to lead another bloody rebellion,” Not now. “Beside redeeming myself, I want to show that I was right, that I still am, about shamanism and how useful it can be. And you will prove it.”
Chaghan suddenly felt like the yurt was too small, like its walls were crushing him and swallowing, making it hard to breathe. How was it possible that despite his extraordinary abilities and powers he was still just an instrument in the hands of others, blindly following orders and never having much to say? He doubted anything would change for the better in this matter with him leaving to Speer.
The shamanism outside of Hinterlands was way different than the ones Chaghan was brought up around. The Speerlies were calling the Phoenix, inviting It to their minds, souls and bodies, letting It stay there and wreak havoc, in exchange for the power of fire. The same kind of sacrifice had been made by the Trifecta years ago, who eventually became one with the gods. Except, however the Nikara and Speerly shamans received a great power, strength and abilities, all thanks to forming a conscious bond with a deity, they were all eventually doomed to madness, unable to control the divine bloodlust.
It was one of the main arguments why Sorqan Sira wouldn’t let any of the gods be called to this realm, and why she was so opposed to the Nikan receiving the access to the Pantheon.
Chaghan swallowed heavily, feeling how dry his throat was. He felt his ego being tickled in the wrong way; he felt humiliated both by the vision of him as a tool in his aunt’s and mother’s hands, and by the possibility of him failing.
There was a promise that he had to make, even if he was much bigger than words; bigger than this whole realm.
“I will not fail.”
But whatever did “failing” actually mean?
・~・~・two hours before・~・~・
The Trengsin-Suren wedding was definitely an event of the year, considering not only its political meaning, but also the number of guests invited and how lavish the whole ceremony was turning out to be. It was decided for it to take place on the neutral Hinterlands territory, the one that wasn’t under the rule of the Hundred Clans nor the Nikara Empire. It was all a part of the contract, according to which both of the sides were trying to prevent the war, not to start it with a marriage contracted on the wrong territory.
Sitting in his tent alone, preparing for the ceremony, Altan started wondering if Rin’s father, Ziya, would be present at the wedding. There was no news about it yet, but it didn’t mean anything, considering how spontaneous (another word for unpredictable and crazy) the Gatekeeper usually was, arriving everywhere at the last minute. It wasn’t the lack of information that made his presence debatable, but the fact that Riga wouldn't be happy for his anchor brother to arrive at the political wedding that wasn’t exactly beneficial for Nikan. Especially since it wouldn’t be the first time the Yin accused him of being a traitor. But only few people knew about that.
And yet, on the other hand, Altan always remembered Ziya’s visits on the Island; how these months were the brightest in Hanelai’s and Rin’s lives, although neither of them would like to admit that. Maybe Ziya would make it to the wedding because of the chance of meeting his daughter, Altan thought.
For the tenth time, he looked into a mirror standing in the corner of the tent, and for the tenth time he felt like he didn’t recognize himself. It may be because of the wedding clothing; he never got a chance to wear it before, of course. But perhaps it was also because however trained he was to represent Speer, to fight for it and always do what’s necessary to protect its people, Altan never thought he would have to do it as a groom.
He brushed the sleeve of his silk jacket - a part of Speerly traditional wedding attire. It was black with red embroidered accents on the pockets and sleeves, and with the Phoenix in red on the back. With it came red silk trousers and a black cap worn on the head, which was the reason why Altan took an extraordinary care of his long hair today. On top of all that, Altan had put on a crescent pendant, a traditional amulet each Speerly kid was given, and the one which he always wore under his shirt. And today, he decided, it must be visible for everyone.
Altan Trengsin was looking good; of course he was, and he knew that very well. His ā -gū would call him a worthy Speer’s representation and his mother would be proud, and Rin would clench her fists counting on her older cousin not to disappoint. But that didn’t dispel any of his doubts if his soon-to-be husband would share such an opinion. If he would even find Altan handsome.
Even though he was not the kind of person to fantasise about their marriage and wedding, making plans and having a strict vision of it, Altan thought he should feel some sort of disappointment due to not being able to control his whole life truly, to not be able to decide who and how to marry - if marrying at all. There only had been this one guy before; back then, in Sinegard, when on top of struggles connected with academic pressure, his family’s expectations and classmates’ prejudices towards him, feelings and insights about his new environment, Altan found himself dealing with new kind of emotions. He remembered the dizziness, the inability to think clear, acting despite any logical reasoning. How this crush , love made him crazier than the Phoenix in his head. But he was just sixteen then, and he doubted the whole experience was real.
He wondered if those were the kind of feelings people had when marrying someone they loved. Because he certainly didn’t have them now.
・~・~・the beginning ・~・~・
Standing on the wedding altar, the officiant beside him, Altan managed to finally take a look at the guests gathered for the ceremony. There were hundreds, if not nearly a thousand of them; important political figures of both the nations, aristocrats, friends and family, alongside soldiers and celebrants ready to perform their duties.
The audience was split in two, divided in the middle by the alley leading to the altar. There were guests from Speer sitting on the left side, familiar faces in the sea of those unknown ones: Queen Hanelai, of course, in the front row, with Princess Mai’rinnen next to her. Altan's parents and siblings - beloved four of them - sat in the row behind, as well as Ziya. Apparently, he managed to make up an excuse and show up at the wedding without infuriating Riga. Or at least Altan hoped so.
On the right side the guests of the Hundred Clans were seated. Considering the importance of the event, each of the Clan had sent its own representatives, who were now taking seats in the further rows. Altan recognised the woman sitting in the very front, a rather petite one, and yet that didn’t make her any less dangerous or powerful, her completely black eyes impenetrable like the bottom of a well. Sorqan Sira, the leader of the Hundred Clans, the one who managed to unite them all, was occupying a place next to Kalagan, the other groom’s mother. One could easily see the resemblance before the two sisters, not only in the imperious manner and an aura of uneasiness they were spreading around each other, but also in their silver hair braided in complicated ways, decorated with bones, seashells and glass.
There was a nice surprise waiting for Altan in the last rows, where people gathered for the wedding, considered less important or simply unnecessary, had to stand through the entire time of the ceremony. He almost omitted them, since they were nearly invisible in the crowd, and there were far more urgent topics that drew his attention. And yet, he managed to see them, and that view had warmed his heart. Baji and Suni, his older friends from the times of Sinegard Academy, managed to show up at Altan’s wedding, taking that little scrawny boy - Ramsa - with them.
Back in the Academy, Altan, Baji and Suni were pledging lore together under Jiang Ziya, until the two friends dropped out after third year. They didn’t manage to call the gods by then, but became much more aware of the risk that they were taking and decided that they prefer to protect “the shit out of their sanity.” Altan couldn’t blame them; for him, the classes with Ziya were rather a form of learning the control over the god and the madness that were already settled in his brain. In contrast to him, Baji and Suni still had a choice, and they made a decision. They still exchanged letters after Altan graduated, from which he found out that his friends settled in Sinegard and decided to open a tea shop (Suni’s cinnamon buns were famous all around the city).
Meanwhile Ramsa, at the time he was found by Suni in the alley, had been an orphan whose parents died in an explosion during an attempt on killing Su Daji, which, in fact, had been their idea. Without an eye and parents but with extraordinary flair and pyromaniac talents he managed to survive on the streets for a while, before he was adopted by Baji and Suni, creating a rather weird but surprisingly happy family.
The officiant’s voice has woken Altan up from his thinking, bringing him back to no less exciting reality. Quiet but thrilled murmur of the crowd has silenced and its attention was now indivisibly focused on the master of the ceremony. It didn’t take Altan long to understand: his groom was about to arrive.
A procession on the horses has ridden towards the aisle in a dignified pace, giving the observers enough time to appreciate the magnificent view. And it was magnificent, indeed; a long array of beautiful animals, born to survive the brutal conditions of the steppes, with the riders on their backs: soldiers and warriors from the Naimad Clan, wearing decorative ceremonial bows and furry hats. Their faces serious, commanding respect and admiration.
At the head of the procession was a couple riding: one of them on a dark, black mount, the other one on a white one. They wore the most decorative gowns from the whole procession, clearly symbolising their importance and position; their horses were the most beautiful animals, too. On the black one, on the left side, was riding a petite, quite short woman, with her hair braided in fancy tangles, decorated traditionally with bones and shells - similar hairstyle to the ones that Sorqan Sira and Kalagan had. She also carried a ceremonial bow by her back, and a falcon sitting on her shoulder. Together, the bird and its owner shared some resemblance that was mirrored in their penetrating, focused eyes and majestic profiles. Qara Suren, because she was the one in the head of the cortege, was presenting truly magnificently.
But she was not the one Altan paid most attention to.
Chaghan Suren, riding on a white mount by his sister’s side, was like the sun who had carelessly fallen onto the Earth and had to now walk among mortals. He was reflecting the light and making it his own; maybe due to his light white gown, white hair, or maybe the powerful aura he was spreading around himself. It’s like the air was shaking, vibrating with the power this man was holding. He was clearly bigger than his body.
The twins got off the horses and stood arm to arm at the beginning of the aisle, all eyes, Altan’s included, focused on them. Two short, bird-like people, and yet so dignified and striking, so similar and polar opposites at the same time.
The Naimad celebrants rolled out a white felt, leading to the altar, and began to scatter grains on each side of it: those on the right symbolised the sun, and rice on the left for the moon. Chaghan, with Qara by his side, started walking towards the altar, slowly, carefully, like the horses in the procession, and exactly like the horses in the procession being admired by everyone gathered with every step he took. The groom wore a long, white-gold jacket with black decorative elements and the same skirt, which flickered in the light. He had beautiful, long, gray hair, which was now kept loose, running down on his delicate back, with only two small braids framing his face, and wore a furry hat on his head.
The celebrants started quietly chanting the song, which Altan has never before heard in his life, but which would now stay with him forever:
We have a deer hunter,
You have a dove - tailor of bows;
A horse is treasured to bring far near,
a boy is treasured to be a seer.
They finally managed to make it to the altar. Qara took both of Chaghan’s hands in her own, and looking straight into his eyes she said something in a language Altan couldn’t understand. She kissed her brother’s forehead and let him go, heading to sit next to their mother and aunt. Meanwhile Chaghan stepped onto the altar and finally looked at his husband.
Altan could have sworn he stopped breathing, in awe and terror and appreciation at the same time. His husband was beautiful. Not handsome, no; beautiful. Every part of his face seemed perfect, like nothing in him should be changed because it would ruin the whole effect. His skin was pale, almost as white as his hair, beside some pinkish scars on his neck - but even they seemed pretty on him. His cheekbones were as sharp as his nose; his lashes long, decorating big eyes. Eyes without irises, without pupils. Just ideally white eyes, looking like a tile of milk.
Chaghan seemed to be ethereal, not belonging to this world, but to something more great, elusive. It was like his body, physicality, the boundaries of material reality were nothing to him, didn’t stop him. Much smaller than Altan, and yet he wasn’t intimidated - either he was stupid, brave or simply well aware of his powers and the fact that it was Altan who should be afraid.
But Altan wasn’t afraid, either.
It was like another challenge for him, and for Chaghan perhaps, too.
The officiant spoke and the wedding ceremony began.
It was a combination of both Speerly and Naimadian rituals, chosen specifically to feel both of the sides represented and enhance the union of the two nations. During the ceremony Altan had to use all of his strong will to not stare at Chaghan all the time, but there were moments when he couldn’t help it and had to look at his husband. A few times, he noticed Chaghan looking at him, too.
They bowed to a ceremonial trivet, kneeling next to each other, and Chaghan’s long hair fell from behind his shoulders on his face. If the circumstances had been different, if Altan loved Chaghan, he would perhaps fix the hair.
They lit a candle together, a single one, as a symbol of a unity between them and their souls, who are now going to burn in the same flame. It was a Speerly wedding ritual; Altan had seen it a lot during different weddings on the island, and he remembered how moving and emotional this moment always was. But today, no one shed a tear.
They held each other’s hands as they exchanged wedding vows, which, in different circumstances, would probably be beautiful. Altan suddenly felt the urge to run away from his husband.
He didn’t.
The officiant shouted:
“I now pronounce you married!”
If the circumstances had been different, they would have kissed.
・~・~・the red envelopes・~・~・
Altan, Dearest Nephew, my Greatest Child. Make us proud like you always do. There is an exceptional responsibility on your shoulders and I hope you know, as well as I know and can confidently confirm, that there is no one who I would trust more with this than I do with you. Serve your nation, Altan, and serve your people.
Auntie Hanelai
Altan, good luck, you will fucking need it. I do hope that you will not forget about me, busy with your new responsibilities. You are like a brother to me, and I would hate to lose you like this. I wanted you to promise that I will always be your little sister, but I know mother says there are some things one can not ask for.
Mai’rinnen, Rin
Dear boy, be careful, as you always should be. Never forget the things I taught you. I, too, have great hope in you.
J.Z.
Hey, Altan! We should probably be mad that you didn’t send us a special invitation for your absolutely best friends, but we missed you too much to spoil the mood now. We hope that once all the wedding formalities are over, you will manage to visit us in Sinegard. Suni will bake his cinnamon buns on the occasion so they will be fresh and warm and delicious. And you can take your husband too, if you like him, and if not, we can help you murder him.
Baji, Suni, R aM S a
(Ramsa insisted on signing the wishes himself, we knew it was a bad idea but try stopping him.)
Altan Trengsin, the news about your wedding did not leave me unaffected and, although it is quite embarrassing for me to admit, they made me look back in time at the young boy you used to be when first arriving in Sinegard. I wish you all the best while also knowing that with your brilliance there is nothing that you would not be able to handle.
Master Irjah
My brother, I wish you all the best at the beginning of this new chapter of your life. Although physically far away, my soul, heart and mind are always there with you. I can feel your presence, and I am there, too.
Qara
Son, You are the greatest good that has happened to me, to the Hundred Clans, to the people and to the gods. Make sure they all get to know that.
Your Mother, Kalagan
A not yet born eagle can not kill a sacred mouse if its mother dies first. Do not fail and, in spite of me, make us proud. Do not be a dead eagle your sister had to bury.
Sorqan Sira
Chaghan Suren, all the best wishes for you on the occasion of your marriage! I sincerely hope it will make our alliance even more thriving than before.
The Dog Warlord, Quan Cholang
Heard you were getting married and I couldn’t believe it at first! Poor boy. Wish that was me.
Raban
・~・~・the crescent night ・~・~・
Chaghan immediately turned around, the second he heard the steps of someone entering the tent. It was a ceremonial one, big and spacious enough to fit two - of course - people, richly decorated and much more comfortable and convenient than a standard yurt. At least one plus of being married huh.
It was the tent that was intended for him and his husband to stay in for the following two weeks, before they leave the steppes and begin their travel to Speer, where, on the other hand, they were supposed to stay for gods-know-how-long. Not forever, hopefully, but long enough for everyone to make sure that Chaghan is a perfect husband for Trengsin’s golden boy and for the Seer to gather some information for his mother. Ironically, Chaghan hated the island with burning passion already. It was way too far from his real home, from his beloved sister, and the move was a painful consequence of a marriage that Chaghan didn’t even choose.
And the very much not chosen suitor was now standing right in front of him, since he was the one who just entered the tent as if it belonged to him.
Well, it actually belonged to him. They shared it. Damn.
Altan Trengsin, Chaghan's husband.
Now was the very first time that they were actually left alone, just the two of them, and had a real opportunity to finally talk to each other, because for now the newly wedded husbands were pretty much strangers to each other. Chaghan couldn't really tell which part of this whole arrangement was the most unsettling for him and which he hated the most - the wedding ceremony itself or the moment he was left alone with a stranger who he offered his soul to.
Altan was now simply standing in the middle of the tent, keeping a safe distance from Chaghan and from any sharp objects the Seer could use to stab him, cut him, etc. He was clearly waiting for Chaghan to make the first move, or at least didn't want to be too brazen and not antagonize his husband from the very beginning of their relationship. He was just looking at him with a mixture of curiosity, anticipation and abashment on his face, and Chaghan could only guess that his own face, if it wasn’t a perfectly controlled emotionless mask, would show quite similar feelings.
To be fair, Altan Trengsin was handsome - that he couldn’t deny. Handsome, beautiful, good looking, hot , whatever one wanted to call it, but at least that was the one thing that didn't disappoint Chaghan and crossed one worry out of his long mental list. Altan was still wearing his elegant wedding clothing, except now the snaps under his chin and neck were unbuttoned and he took off the hat. Few strands of his dark curls managed to escape from the bun he was wearing and were now falling on his pleasantly angular face. The red eyes, bright, warm like a fire and beautifully shaped, continued to look at Chaghan. He was tall and muscular, a perfect body of a warrior he was, born to fight and dance, with truly hypnotising movements. And it was one of the things that made him dangerous.
But Chaghan never expected an easy challenge.
He didn't walk up towards Altan, either, and continued to sit still by a small table, where earlier he had been trying to unravel the braids before taking a long awaited bath, but now, obviously, his plans were destroyed by the intruder in both Chaghan’s tent and life.
If the circumstances had been different, he would just choose to make out with this guy randomly, leave him in a morning and never see him again, but now that he was convicted of spending whole life with him, he obviously couldn’t do that. He had to keep the rest of his dignity.
“We finally have a chance to talk properly,” Altan turned out to be the first one to break the silence, stating a rather obvious fact. Chaghan couldn’t blame him for this, but he also didn't know how to reply, so instead of saying anything, he just nodded.
It must have been so awkward for Altan, considering the look on his face and Chaghan's dry response. But that wasn't Chaghan's fault, was this? It was, again, Yin Riga and his blood hunger that put them in this situation. Fucking Yins, as always.
After another tense moment of silence had passed, Altan spoke again. What a brave boy. Very consistent, at least.
“I know- Well, I assume that this marriage, alliance, whatever you want to call it, doesn't exactly make you happy, either-”
“Ah, no, I have always dreamed about marrying a walking sunshine, hot golden boy who pretends he doesn't know how hundreds of people would die for him if he only looked at them for more than one second!” Chaghan probably shouldn't have said; objectively (and subjectively, too) it wasn't the best first thing one could say to their husband. But some part of him couldn't miss the opportunity to tease Altan, to show his preeminence, which Chaghan was so bad at hiding.
As expected, those words left Altan stunned. He stuttered, his brows furrowed, confusion and mixing on his face.
“That's how you see me?”
Strategic question, a good one.
“Well, I don't know you yet. I've only seen you at that wedding, always followed by the yearning gazes.”
“Felt jealous?” And before Chaghan could even answer, he added: “I assure you, I am much more than just this,” Altan said, a challenging tone being hearable in his voice.
Oh, now, that was something Chaghan could get used to liking.
“Show me, and I'll decide,” he replied, and he could have sworn he saw a corner of Altan's lips twitching upwards, in some sort of smirk he tried to hold back. Chaghan almost wanted to smile at that, too.
“Listen, Chaghan,” Altan continued, and the Seer noticed that it was the first time he was called by Altan with his name, “I know you must not be happy with this arrangement, with the marriage, and with me.” Well, at least he wasn't delusional. Chaghan waited patiently for him to say more, eager to see what this conversation was leading to. “All I can now promise to you is that I will try my best for us to get along, that I will respect you and hope for us to maybe like each other, or at least won’t kill each other.”
Another pause, another moment of silence.
“Do you think you would be able to kill me?”
”That's the question you're asking me on our wedding night?“
”You will, theoretically, have so many opportunities to kill me. In my sleep, poisoning the food, etcetera, etcetera. I just want to know if you think you are able to do this.“
”And why, on earth, would I kill you?“
“I haven’t given you any reason?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, I might. Can you?”
”Yes.“
Chaghan had to hold back a satisfied grin his lips were about to form, as if he had just won a fight about what they were having for dinner and not pressuring his husband into admitting that he would be able to murder him.
”I could kill you.“
”Of course you could. But I wouldn't let you. Not yet, at least.“
”Is that a promise? Or a threat?“
”We have a whole eternity to find that out. How was this? Until death do us part?”
Now Altan was actually smiling, perhaps as intrigued about his husband as never before. Chaghan could feel the pride filling him.
”Yeah, about that,“ Altan said, taking a few steps forwards to Chaghan, but still keeping a safe distance. He stopped in front of the Seer, who was still sitting by the table, and who suddenly felt overwhelmed by how tall Altan actually was. The Speerly reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out of it a small suede indigo box, one of those usually used to store jewelry. He opened it and tilted towards Chaghan, so the Seer could see its content.
”I wanted to give this to you as a wedding present, but let’s say I’ve waited for a perfect moment,“ Altan said, handing the box to Chaghan, ”It was made on Speer, of course and aside from being a nice decor, it holds an important meaning.”
Lying on a tiny white silk pillow inside the box was a silver necklace with a crescent pedant, decorated with blue crystals.
”The moment I saw you I was certain that the necklace would look beautiful on you and that I had made a good choice.“
Chaghan looked away from the beautiful gift lying in his hand and looked at Altan rapidly.
”Such bold words to hear from you.”
”Should I take them back?“
”No, you should not.“
・~・~・five full moons later・~・~・
As the time of his stay on the island has been passing, weeks chasing weeks, months chasing months, Chaghan noticed that the stars, seen in the Speer’s clear sky, looked particularly beautiful. And for some reason, this observation felt weirdly important to him.
Maybe it had something to do with Altan’s adoration of the flickering lights up in the night, maybe with the way his red eyes seemed to be much brighter and happier when he was looking at them.
Or maybe Chaghan was just becoming sentimental.
But even at the very beginning of their marriage, back in time when he despised his husband and everything merely related to him with burning passion, Chaghan couldn’t deny the stars their mesmerising beauty.
Infinite swarms of tiny lights, connected in making complicated yet fascinating constellations (sixty four - Altan taught him). And each of the constellations had a different meaning, each of them was a messenger serving a different god, and each of them was as divine as the god themselves. The stars were lighting the dark, decorating almost pitch black sky, and their reflection, seen on the tile of the ocean, made the impression that Speer was floating, hung in the void of the universe.
But since the day Chaghan had become more and more fond of his husband, from the day he had started trusting him, too, the stars, rather than being just a nameless ornament, started reminding him of Altan. Altan, his husband, who devoured the night sky, who knew a name, placement and lore behind every constellation; who would stand in the open window of their bedroom every evening, his mind wandering somewhere between the stars.
And although Chaghan would never admit it openly, he loved watching his husband - husband - in that state, and maybe because of this, now every time he looked at the night sky himself, the stars forced thoughts about Altan right into his brain.
・~・~・
It was Altan’s idea, of course, to take a late night walk along the seashore together, getting a chance to admire the beauty of the island in a more peaceful time. For Chaghan, Speer was still some sort of a mystery, and Altan claimed that it could never get bored, even if one’s born on it. Speer was wonderful, indeed, but in a different way than Nikan was: not organised, tamed and controlled, but instead raw, always close to nature, drawing the energy out of it.
Beauty and terror. Beauty in terror.
Although Chaghan didn’t exactly fancy the idea of leaving a warm space inside and going out so late at night (without Qara, who could keep him company, and without his favourite horse to ride on into the steppes), and exposing himself to cold and the wind of the shores, he somehow hated the thought of leaving Altan and not following him even more.
And that’s why they were now walking hand to hand, two figures on a lonely beach of Speer, white sand under their feet, bright stars above their heads.
“Are you cold?” Altan asked, breaking the peaceful silence between them, but Chaghan didn’t mind it. He appreciated how much his husband cared about his comfort.
“A little bit, but it won’t kill me. I’m better than that,” he responded with a cockiness usual to him. He wasn’t weak and vulnerable after all, and he didn’t need anyone to look after him.
Apparently it took more than “it won’t kill me” to satisfy Altan, because he immediately looked at Chaghan with worry on his face. How pathetic of him, Chaghan thought. And also slightly cute.
But only slightly . And it didn’t change the fact that Chaghan didn’t need a babysit-
“Hey- What are you doing?!” he shouted, surprised, when he suddenly felt Altan wrapping his mantle (that he must have taken off a moment before - Chaghan didn’t notice) around the Seer’s slender shoulders.
“Well, you said you were cold,” Altan answered with an oblivious tone.
“I said just a little bit ! You really don’t have to jump around me like that.”
“Maybe I have to. I want to take care of you and I simply do not want you to get sick again,” Altan said, referring to the first weeks of Chaghan’s stay on Speer, when he had gotten cold one windy evening and woke up with a flu and fever the following day. But that was months ago; now Chaghan was used to the weather on the island and wasn’t as reckless and hate-driven as before.
It wouldn’t be in character for him, however, to admit how thankful he is for Altan taking care of him, so instead he just laughed and said:
“Really, bold of you to assume I’ll wear this piece happily without washing it first.”
Altan rolled his eyes. “If you hate it so much why don’t you just give it back?”
“Now you would hate that.”
This sort of communication somehow became typical for them: mean jokes, friendly bantering, under which they hid the seriousness of the feelings they had for each other. It was easier this way, especially since they both felt comfortable in it.
Chaghan, indeed, didn’t mind keeping the mantle, and Altan knew that very well. Although it was quite heavy and definitely too long for him, it was also very warm and protected the wearer from the shivering wind. A thought appeared in Chaghan’s mind that seemed strange to him: he noticed, not without a shock, that the coat smelled like Altan: a salty sea, smoke and flowers that only grew on Speer.
The kind of scent that started making Chaghan feel safe. Feel like he was home.
He moved a little bit closer to Altan, who - luckily, otherwise it would be way too embarrassing - quickly understood the suggestion and embraced his husband with his arm. The Seer enjoyed this moment as much as he could, trying to burn out the memory deep in his heart: the heaviness of Altan’s arm on the shoulder, his scent and warmth and comfort he was giving; the noise of the ocean and whispers of the trees, white sand under their feet and prophetic constellations above their heads. He could only hope Altan felt the same way and was as happy as Chaghan was.
He raised his head to look at Altan, whose face, lit by the moon, was quite well visible in the night. And it was so beautiful; handsome, majestic, perfect to be traced with a finger, with lips, to be painted. The wind was playing with Alan’s dark curly hair and Chaghan suddenly felt the urge to touch it, play with it by himself, maybe plait some braids in it.
But in the second that the strange thought occurred in Chaghan’s mind, Altan suddenly removed his hand from the Seer’s shoulder. He took a few steps forward, but still standing quite close; so close Chaghan could feel his warmth. He wasn’t saying anything, just staring at his husband, clearly fighting some feelings inside him. Why was that? Did something bad happen? Did he want to tell Chaghan something, to kiss him?
“Altan, what happened?” He tried to mask his nervousness with an unfortunate joke: "Are you going to propose to me or something?"
He regretted the words the very second they left his mouth, but it was too late to take them back. Altan also didn’t seem to feel amused by the banter: he just continued to stare at him in silence and after a moment, he laughed nervously.
“Again? Are you expecting another necklace?”
“Oh, I deserve the best, you know that!” And that’s why the universe married me to you.
Instead of responding, Speerly put one hand behind his back, reached out to Chaghan with his second one, and bowed gently in front of him.
“I didn’t get a chance to do this properly during our wedding, you know, and I’m now trying to make it up to you,” Altan said, his eyes fixed on Chaghan’s shocked face. “Chaghan Suren, will you make me the happiest man in the whole world and offer me this dance?”
Altan was smiling, a corner of his lips turned upwards, and yet Chaghan could tell he was nervous about it - probably because he felt the same way. No matter how much time they were spending together or how close to each other they became, such affectionate gestures and actions (one could even consider them romantic) were not in character for either of them. It was the way they both had been raised and the roles they played their whole lives. And yet, they both were trying. They were learning love and affection the same way they had been learning each other.
Because of that, and because of a few different reasons that troubled Chaghan’s fluttering heart, he curtseyed gently and replied.
“Yes, Altan, I will offer you this dance,” after which he let Altan take his cold pale hand into his warm loving one.
Without breaking eye contact, red irises to a white tile, Altan placed a gentle kiss on the back of Chaghan’s hand. The Seer hoped for his life that the moonlight didn't illuminate the beach enough to show the blush that had spread across his face. His heart was beating faster again, and he felt a tickle in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a moth.
Altan stepped closer and placed his other hand on Chaghan's slender waist, and Chaghan rested his hand on Altan’s shoulder. As they danced, slowly and peacefully, to the music they had only heard in their minds, they kept looking at each other, as if the thought of turning their gaze away was so painfully awful to them. And maybe it was. It still was a new thing for them, to be so close to each other, so intimate, but Chaghan could already tell he liked it. He was wondering if from such a nonexistent distance Altan could hear - or feel - the fast beating of his heart, but even if Speerly indeed noticed something, he didn’t let it show.
“ You know, Altan, you dance very well.”
“Do you really think so? Thank you!" Altan couldn't hide how pleased he was at the compliment he was given. Cute. Slightly cute. “You're a great dancer, too!”
“That's right, I'm perfect-”
“I love dancing with you.”
This answer knocked Chaghan off his rhythm, but only for a moment. “We should do it more often, then. Dance.”
"It would be my pleasure," Altan replied, and somehow Chaghan knew he was being sincere. He only didn't know what he had done to deserve that honesty.
After some more time (seconds, minutes, hours, the infinity hidden in their hearts), they finally pulled apart. Chaghan couldn't remember who did it first, but it didn’t seem to matter. Altan took his hand again and kissed it, like he had done before, and Chaghan, again, felt butterflies flying around his stomach. He didn’t let go of his husband's hand, though, and Altan also didn’t take it away. They were looking at each other again, but this time not in a relaxed, peaceful silence. This time, it was full of tension, unasked questions and doubts.
Finally, Chaghan looked down at their joined hands. He raised them and, with the same respect and tenderness he had received before, kissed Altan's fingers.
“I think we should go home,” he said, and realised that now, home meant Speer
・~・~・the divinity・~・~・
Being the Seer allowed Chaghan to see a lot and understand even more - much more than simple people attached to this reality did. He saw the meaning behind what could be considered trivial, he perceived the world together with the universe as a puzzle, that although too complicated for temporary, closed minds, made perfect sense, and were extremely beautiful because of how logical they seemed to the infinity.
Chaghan Suren was terrifying, brilliant, sharp. And he gave up humanity quite a while ago.
He had never, not even for a second, not even accidentally, wished he only saw what normal people did. Perhaps it had to do something with the fact that he was prepared to be the Seer from the very beginning of his life; he was convinced and he was taught that such a role is an honour, it makes your mind open and enlightened, and no one dares to mention if there are any sacrifices you have to make to reach such an enlightenment.
Maybe if every breath you took, every beat your heart made, was just an extension of a life which was already planned for you and not by you, no matter if you were happy with it or not, you stop noticing the things you are missing on. And that was, perhaps, what Chaghan and Altan had in common.
But Chaghan wasn’t yet ready to ask Altan if he would choose a different life, a life without duties, responsibilities, and now without Chaghan, if he was given a chance. Because that question was so awfully human, and it didn’t solve the great matters of the universe.
Love was never great, not in the eyes of gods. Love was only great to people, and it was the only thing, together with pure rage, that made them closer to being gods. But it wasn’t divine.
Perhaps, Chaghan thought, being a human was convenient. Dreaming a simple dream, an illusion they called “reality”, convinced that it was what’s real, it was the only thing one can be certain about. No secret meanings, no hexagrams, no prophecies that one would actually take for granted and find them useful. Simplicity and comfort of temporary life coming to a death. Not knowing what the real fear was, and being happy.
Chaghan wondered if he made a conscious decision of giving all of that up. It was not that he wasn’t happy, because, again, happiness was such a human concept. No god would ever consider them happy, no god would also consider themselves unhappy. They were eternal and divine and that made it up for them. And for Chaghan, it was difficult, nearly impossible to not give up human ignorance if he understood the universe better than he understood, for example, feelings he had for Altan Trengsin.
For fuck’s sake .
Solving the mysteries of a future was much fucking easier.
It was different with Qara, who was his twin sister, who shared blood and soul with Chaghan, who knew and understood him as well as she did with herself. He didn’t remember life without her, so there was nothing strange in the feelings he had for her, either. Qara was comfort, Qara was life and death. Chaghan was convinced he didn’t need anyone else except for his sister during his whole existence, and he would be perfectly content, and he knew she thought exactly the same.
But it was before some feelings started appearing, feelings that he hadn’t experienced and didn’t wish to do so. Perhaps it must have all been a part of this plan he was given to interpret but didn’t do it thoroughly enough, because, embarrassingly, he was too afraid. The hexagrams about his very future, which he read before his wedding. And the hexagrams, as well as the prophecies, were often misleading, because one could never expect to learn about the future which wasn’t even fully shaped yet.
Chaghan always expected that despite his bond with Qara it would always be the god which would be the cause of his death. That despite understanding that it is about the ability to share with the god, not to give up to them, he would eventually have to let go and get lost in the void.
And somehow, despite him being the Seer, he never suspected it would be such a human feeling as love that would make him feel like he was going crazy.
This marriage was really going to doom them all.