#i am falling in love with both zultanekh and djoseras the more i write. i haven't had characters speak so clearly in my head in a while

[magistralucis]

The Lantern Fair [Zultanekh/Djoseras snippet]

(More of the same fic I was writing in this post. After Szarekh imposes peace on their dynasties, the two princes roam a festival together and talk kindly side-by-side. The inspiration for this scene borrows from a flashback Trazyn has in The Infinite and the Divine, a wish-lantern ceremony to hail good health for the new year. Lantern fairs are a very familiar aesthetic to me (I'm Asian), and I wanted to draw something from that mood, that bright and breathless nowhere. More below cut.)

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It was like how he'd claimed, over the peace treaty they signed, that the next time they spoke it would be to greet Djoseras as dynast. In truth, that never came about, because they did meet again shortly afterwards. Szarekh's peace had far-reaching consequences. All the way over in Gheden, at a New Year's festival, did the two princes meet once more - where among the lords of a hundred dynasties, he recognized Djoseras right away.

"Hail to you, fair kynazh! Come alone, then, or with Oltyx in his splendid magnificence?"

It's a miracle what being in neutral territory can do, as haughty as the Nihilakh are and were. Helps to keep things objective.

Here is a catalogue of their last mortal meeting. Zultanekh is portly and handsome, Djoseras slim and graceful. Zultanekh wears rich warm fabrics, Djoseras cool and plain. Zultanekh is fond of the finer things in life, and would never say no to a sparkling goblet of sulphur-wine, while Djoseras is perfectly at home with a glass of tea. ("That's different," he'll protest when Zultanekh inquires if he does not drink with his brother, "Oltyx is my warrior's life.") In the company of others Zultanekh is a mirthful giant, a bold and booming and vivacious fire of a man; Djoseras, on the other hand, is a soft-spoken august creature, dark-haired and dark-eyed like a well kept secret.

Those eyes fix into his now. "Come together, and he is splendid indeed." Djoseras's voice is as stoic as ever, before it sharpens a little and his eyes flash with warning. "But I must tell you now: there's no room for two on the throne of Ithakas, no matter your fox-cunning."

That's his red hair again. The Crown Prince laughs. "Zultanekh gave you his word, did he not? He will not reckon with your brother. It is not Zultanekh you ought to worry about, but the admirers from your coreworlds, which he appears to be accumulating at a rapid pace."

He nods towards the square. He hardly needs to single out Oltyx among the crowd; ever since the younger scion came of age, he has been much wooed and courted, evidenced by the many lords surrounding his person. Standing closest to him is an exceptionally beautiful youth, turning heads by virtue of his existence, yet with eyes for Oltyx alone. ("The heir to the House of Aetis," Djoseras will explain later, betraying the slightest distaste in his tone, "on Sedh. His radiance is well known, though 'tis a pity to shine in a fringeworld.") The prince's sidelock has been cut and he is sturdier than ever, standing proud as a war hero ought to stand.

A fine sight, but a time come and gone for the older ones. "Already it does men our age no good, all this posturing and flattering. Be reassured that Zultanekh prefers a calmer soul. After all, is it not peacetime?"

It ought not to work, this level exchange of words. Peace does not become the necrontyr. Even so, Zultanekh is rewarded when the kynazh's expression softens in response. "Then it is not just you, since a dose of calm will do us all good," he muses, before - finally - a little smile breaks through. "I wish you luck in finding it, Crown Prince."

Not the thin blade-edged smiles of war. A genuine one, soft and slightly modest.

"Oh, I shan't struggle. Ithakas is a rose-garden even in winter."

He wants to see how far he can take this. If Djoseras was being his fastidious self he'd have pointed out that's the Nihilakh, with all the bright lights and vast nocturnal gardens surrounding them at present, but he has not. Zultanekh's eyes hood over with daring, and not a small amount of pleasure, as he steps forwards and offers his hand. "Since this is no place for our aged souls, Kynazh Djoseras, and the youth are content where they are - what say you to a walk?"

Djoseras glances down at it. Looks away, silver robes shimmering as he walks straight past him.

Stops, some eight steps ahead, before turning around.

"For once the Crown Prince would best lead." He says, and grins, sending love's long-lost shock though Zultanekh like a catastrophe.

For a moment he stares, heart stirred to breaking point, before collecting himself. Outwardly it's as if nothing happened. But for once, he feels he can do naught but follow.

Let it be known that Gheden that night was a phantasmagoria of wonders. Along every quarter incense burns sweet upon altars, and the whole place is lit up like the sun, though the winter be cold and dark. As the princes walk through the Lantern Fair they are shined upon like dialectics, turquoise like polar night against Zultanekh's red, the gold mellowed by Djoseras's silver. They spend long stretches of time in silence to take it all in, but spend just as long in deep conversations. Lost between a hundred dynasties, for this one night they might talk man to man - and there's a surprising amount of the world they see alike.

They see other things too. Other people. High up on a ziggurat they glimpse their host, the lead archivist of the Nihilakh, playing senet with the famed diviner of the Sautekh. Now that's a pair seething to strike like vipers one moment, yet are as thick as thieves the next, couched in some arcane understanding afforded by mutual experience. The young could stand to learn from them. They trade silent bows with the Overlord of Pyrrhia, who is alone and melancholy as always. Perhaps he will be so until the end of the world. Zultanekh points out on a balcony the nemesor from the East, the one who oversaw their peace treaty, fanning himself slowly as if he's seen it all. Djoseras expresses some misgivings about his commoner vargard, not in that he's present but that he is idle, nestled faithfully by his master's side. "That may well be the nemesor's wish," Zultanekh suggests gently after they've passed by, for it did not escape his notice how content the pair looked. The Crown Prince has a generous heart for enjoyment. "Does heka preclude rest, Djoseras? No, it does not. He has every right to command it as much as he would action, and to do so tonight makes sense."

Djoseras sighs, exasperated. "They are too leisurely out here in the East, it is unorthodox; it shall be their detriment." What follows, however, is no moral judgement on the nemesor nor the vargard, but a surprisingly vulnerable confession. "I have thought... much about this peace of Szarekh's, in the time we have been apart. Doubtless he wishes for us to be at ease. The necrontyr have ever wished for a purpose, and it would not do to carry our many grudges into it. Yet I do worry about where that leaves us, whether in his pursuit of his great purpose he will erase all of ours. Will we remain how we were after this war? Or will we be subsumed - dissolved - vanished into this calling of the Silent King?"

"Might we not change but remain ourselves?" Zultanekh does not give much thought to those things. He's had the privilege of not needing to, it's true - it's not the Ogdobekh who are concerned about their independence, nor how to define themselves - but for most part, it is simply due to his easygoing nature, confident in every course Anathrosis set them upon. "If not for Szarekh's treaties, would Zultanekh have believed that he would one day walk the same road as the prince of Ithakas? To agree on peace was itself a shift in our ways of thought. Who's to say we cannot permit more?"

"But I do not wish to be changed. I should like to remain myself, thank you very much."

It is clear his answer displeases the kynazh, although he does not have the will to pursue it strongly. After all, it will be millions of years before Zultanekh will understand Djoseras envied him this night, and lamented he could not be the same. Djoseras pauses, his cheeks flushed with rare emotion (Zultanekh admires the height and curve of them quietly), before he glances up at Zultanekh and all is calm again. "I apologize, Prince Zultanekh. It's just that we have been shaped by war, my brother and I. Knowing that we go from there to another war, I..."

A lock of hair has fallen across his forehead, disturbing the surface. Zultanekh longs to brush it back for him. "I do not know whether to call that change, meaningfully speaking."

"If it would reassure you, I can say this much: between the old gods and fair Djoseras, Zultanekh knows whom he would rather have as his enemy. Is it not meaningful that the nature of the combatants is different?" Zultanekh smiles then, and bids the kynazh stand closer; there's a group of Nihilakh lords passing by. It's not quite hand-holding, but Djoseras does not refuse him when Zultanekh touches over his shoulder, which feels like victory enough. "Like you, I was forged by war. I am curious to see what follows it. Say that Szarekh has his way, that the Old Ones are defeated - will we choose peace again, or disorder? I do not know, but I am eager to find out."

"Eager?"

"Yes. Perhaps some day, you will see the excitement in it too."