Episode 11 Eat, Drink, and Run
Eat, Drink, and Run
Every person Rominy has ever met in his entire life seems to feel the need to remark on the unexpected situation that led to his hasty nuptials.
Elowyn smiles faintly through all of it as Rominy tries to steer the conversation to other topics.
He’s barely had a chance to speak to Arisanna about their experiences with the heartbinding, though neither of them would be able to talk much about the heartlanding.
He was about to say something to her in the corridor, but Mother was busy being horrified about Arisanna’s skirts, and Rominy couldn’t get a word in to save his life.
At least Arisanna and Cerian seem to be tolerating each other. Though Cerian looks less than pleased to be at the feast.
Elowyn keeps up a stream of questions at Rominy’s side, and he does his best to answer them all. She really is a curious elf.
“How long does this feast last?” she asks as yet another course is cleared away.
“That was the last of the food,” he says. “Until the cake later.”
“Cake?”
“Yes. A sweet bread with sugary icing.”
“That sounds delightful. I shouldn’t have eaten so much other food. I think I ate enough for both of us.”
A nervous chuckle escapes Rominy’s lips. He’s been too anxious to focus on food.
All too soon, the floor clears, and the music of stringed instruments carries through the banquet hall.
“Are we going to dance?” Elowyn’s smile reaches all the way to her sparkling eyes as she looks at Rominy.
“I think that’s the idea. Do you know how?”
“Not the human steps. But I’m a quick learner—I’ll just follow you.”
This sounds potentially disastrous.
“I’m not sure—”
Before he can finish, Mother gestures him and Elowyn toward the floor.
Of course they get to open the dance. Arisanna is lucky his own wedding upstaged hers. This should have been her dance.
“Come on.” Elowyn takes his hand and tugs him toward the middle of the room. “Now what?”
He glances around at all the people watching them.
This is unlikely to go well.
“Do we touch, or is it a side-by-side sort of thing?” Elowyn asks.
There’s nothing for it.
“I...hold you like this.” He takes her right hand and places his other hand on her upper back.
“Oh...this is quite close. How thrilling.”
Thrilling? Anxiety-inducing might better describe it. But she does feel nice in his arms. Even he can’t deny that.
The thought makes his heart thunder.
“Remember your breathing,” she says softly, and he takes a few slow, deep breaths.
“Thank you,” he says, and she nods.
“Which foot will you step with first?”
“My right one. Just...follow my lead, I guess.”
An excited but determined expression latches on to her face, and he tentatively takes a step forward. She easily matches his movement.
So far, so good.
To his utter shock, she catches on quickly with only a handful of missteps, each soliciting a lilting laugh at her mistakes.
Soon, she makes no mistakes at all.
It took him a lot longer than that to learn how to dance from his dancing instructor many years ago.
As the music hits a crescendo, he tugs her closer on a whim and spins as she leans her head back and laughs.
When the song ends, she smiles up at him. “That was utter perfection. Do we get to do it again?”
“If you want to, but I think the next dance is for Arisanna and Cerian.”
Elowyn’s joy shutters as she searches out her brother in the crowded room.
“What’s wrong?” Rominy asks.
“Cerian will struggle with this. He doesn’t like to be observed when he’s learning new things.”
“I don’t even see them.”
Mother looks panicked as she searches the banquet hall for some sign of Arisanna, but they’re just...gone.
“Cerian,” Arisanna hisses as she chases after him. “We can’t just leave!”
She groans and scoops up her skirt so she won’t trip over it as she jogs behind her elf husband.
She almost didn’t notice when he ducked out of the banquet hall, but a sudden, inexplicable acceleration of her heart rate made her search him out as Rominy and Elowyn took to the dance floor.
She spotted the back of his frock coat—or whatever elves call it—slipping through the nearest door.
“Cerian, wait!”
He ducks inside one of their lavish guest chambers, and she’s about to follow when the heavy oak door slams in her face.
That was rude.
Should she follow him anyway? She is his wife now. His heartbinding.
Whether he likes it or not.
They seemed to be getting along well enough as the courses were served, though they didn’t talk much.
He muttered something about the extravagance of so much food.
She almost told him the leftovers from the banquet would be given to a nearby almshouse, but one of their guests chose that moment to offer her congratulations instead.
Arisanna exhales through pursed lips as she considers her next course of action. She has no desire to return to the feast alone. That would be mortifying.
But Cerian clearly doesn’t want her in what she can only assume is his chamber.
She’s his wife, for goodness’ sake.
But he’s also struggling with something. Perhaps a gentle approach would be best.
Lifting her hand, she knocks on the door. “Cerian? It’s Arisanna. May I come in?”
There’s no response. She’s about to knock again when the door opens, though Cerian doesn’t even acknowledge her presence before moving toward the hearth and dropping to the rug.
She hefts her gown through the doorway and closes the door behind her. When she looks at Cerian again, she stops short.
What is he doing?
One after another, he forms balls of fire in his palms and hurls them into the empty grate.
“You’re a fire wielder,” she breathes.
He glances her way before turning back to the hearth and lobbing another fireball at the stone enclosure.
“Yes,” he murmurs.
Of course, she knew he could almost certainly wield magic. The thought hadn’t reached the forefront of her mind yet, though. They’ve been so busy getting married. There’s been little time to think about anything else.
“May I join you?” she asks softly. “You won’t catch my hair on fire or anything?”
The corner of his mouth ticks up, but he shakes his head. “I’m no elfling.”
He’s speaking Elvish now. It’s probably easier for him.
She answers in kind. “Of course not. Forgive me.”
With an unladylike grunt, she plops to the floor. At least she’s not wearing hoops anymore, though the stays pinch her hips.
Mother had a few choice words for Arisanna when she emerged from that meeting room without her hoop skirt. Cerian scowled by her side as Mother made her feelings on the matter clear, but he said nothing, and Arisanna took it in stride as Mother lamented her “total lack of propriety.”
She’s the wife of an elf now. There’s no reason to pretend otherwise. And elves don’t wear giant cupcake dresses.
She’s going to dress like an elf. That’s her plan.
Once Cerian buys her new clothes, that is. Hopefully, her new wardrobe will be free from a real-life counterpart to her gown from the heartlanding.
If you can even call that a gown.
“I don’t know your human dances.” Cerian says it so quietly it’s possible Arisanna imagined it.
“So you left?”
“I should not have done that. I’m...sorry.” He glances at her, and her face softens.
“It’s all right.”
“It’s not. My father will be displeased.”
Unsure what to say, Arisanna waits for him to speak again, but he doesn’t, and an awkward silence hangs heavy between them. It’s interrupted a few minutes later by a knock on the door.
“Cerian.” The voice of King Lorial carries from the corridor.
Without a word, Cerian glides toward the door and opens it as Arisanna watches from the floor.
The two elves speak rapid Elvish in hushed tones, and Arisanna only catches parts of their conversation. Words like shame and impolite and guests and binding partners. Followed by softer tones as King Lorial asks if Cerian feels up to returning. There are words of affection as well.
She doesn’t hear Cerian’s response.
To be honest, she’s not in a hurry to return, either.
“We haven’t even cut the cake!” Mother’s voice carries throughout the corridor, and Arisanna sighs as she awkwardly pushes herself off the floor.
“There you are, Arisanna. When I told you to follow his lead, I meant after the wedding feast. Not in the middle of it! People are already whispering!”
Arisanna’s cheeks flush as Cerian turns horror-filled eyes toward her. Even King Lorial appears unusually flustered.
“Well, come on, then,” Mother continues. “The dancing moved on without you, unfortunately.”
More small mercies.
“Are you ready to go back?” Arisanna asks Cerian softly in Elvish so Mother won’t understand.
“Yes. Again, I beg your forgiveness. I should not have left.”
She shrugs. “I can’t really blame you. I didn’t mind the break.”
A smile teases Cerian’s face, and King Lorial’s calm demeanor returns.
“Thank you,” Cerian says in soft Nunian. Then he slowly exhales before offering his arm, much to her shock. She takes it as Mother ushers them forward.
Just a little more of this grand affair to endure.
Then they’ll be alone again. For better or for worse.