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Lord Darigan was not nervous.
He would keep telling himself that until it rang true, even as he skipped breakfast with his council to pace around his chambers. He was not nervous. He had seen Skarl plenty of times.
True, but you’ve never been on an actual date.
They were to meet for lunch, and while he might be feeling ill-prepared and facing an extremely serious problem, he was not nervous.
The dilemma he faced of course was exactly what to wear to such a meeting. All his usual robes were entirely too plain, and the fancier ones were entirely too attention getting. He pulled a black robe from his wardrobe and scrunched his face in distaste at the heavy beading – the darigan gallion embroidered into it would most certainly impress Skarl, but would be unsuitable for the simple picnic date the skeith had proposed. The older robes were also a ‘no,’ as he worried the Citadel’s old colors would remind the skeith of his insufferable brother.
There was another option of course, but it was equally risky. Someone, he could not remember who, had once gifted him a suit from Neovia. The “Prigpants and Swolthy, Tailors” tag was still attached, as he had taken one look at the swirls of silver threading on the waistcoat and cape and had shoved it to the very back of his wardrobe in embarrassment.
Now he was dragging out the dust covered box, hoping that the excessive length of time it had remained folded hadn’t caused wrinkles to set into the fabric. He tried it on, checking himself in the mirror to make certain not a single button was done incorrectly.
He looked good in it, and he cursed himself for it. Skarl would love seeing him dressed in this flashy thing. The ensemble wasn’t complete without the pair of black dress shoes still in the box. He hated wearing anything on his feet, but it was worth it for this occasion.
No one will see us, he reassured himself. He had a reputation for going without those finer things his people could not afford, especially in light of his temporary replacement’s love of finery. If he was caught wearing this, he might take a hit to that good will he had been carefully rebuilding with his people. Skarl makes this look easy. His people love him despite his mistakes.
Normally he would simply fly to his destination, but the thought of flying anywhere in this mynci suit had the tips of his ears already heating. Time to have the knights prepare his rarely used coach. It was something he had had in his possession for as long as he could remember. Originally white and gold, the adornments had been pried off and melted down to craft his personal armor. The coach had been repainted twice since then, and repurposed once for use as a parade carriage during the second war. The propaganda found plastered to it had turned his stomach, and Lord Darigan had made restoring it a priority despite its rare usage. Now it was a regal, yet simple, byzantium.
He drew the cape tight around himself, attempting to hide his clothes despite knowing none of the four coachmen would dare even snicker. The four knights – an ixi, a kougra, a tonu, and their chomby captain - all bowed respectfully to him. “Your destination, my lord?”
Right, what was it again? Darigan fished Skarl’s letter from his pocket as he boarded. “Old Vullard Orchard and Vineyard.” He made a face. Leave it to a Meridellian farmer to come up with such a silly name.
Meridell was just a tiny window outside his coach as they flew to their destination. This perspective made the land look so small, nothing like the vast ocean of green that he normally viewed it as from his high tower. From this vantage point he could see new fields being cleared for farmland, ancient trees felled to make room for new life. Necessary; he wouldn’t judge, but seeing forests which could never be returned to their former glory torn down made his heart ache wistfully.
The coach came to a halt on a dirt road, the wheels creaking in protest at the sudden stop. As did Darigan’s stomach, which was suddenly tightening with what he was trying to convince himself was nothing more than motion sickness. I am not nervous. He repeated it like a mantra as he waited by the front gate.
Skarl was late, because of course he was. He was starting to suspect that the skeith had little respect for clocks and was the type to think a regent was never tardy, everyone else was simply early. His tail flicked grumpily as the minutes ticked by, until he heard his name called.
All that irritation left him the moment he saw him.
Skarl was dressed in arguably the most garish outfit he had seen in his life. A floor-length yellow robe with matching fur-lined cloak, the collar and sleeves embroidered with golden thread and bejeweled with colorful stones. Instead of his usual coronet, he wore what was possibly the only understated piece to his ensemble – a simple golden circlet.
And here he had thought he might be overdressed for the occasion. Darigan resisted the urge to turn away, but this had the unfortunate side effect of Skarl immediately noticing the puff of his cheeks.
“Why are you laughing?!” The king asked, clearly offended.
“I’m not,” he lied, a coughed laugh escaping despite his best efforts. “You look nice.”
“You look good too.” Skarl replied with a grumpy pout, one which Darigan had the insane thought looked cute on him. “Nice to see you wearing something other than that dingy robe of yours.”
He knew that jab was well-deserved, so he bit back a retort. Wouldn’t do to have their day together start yet again with the trading of insults. Instead he offered up his hand. “Shall we?”
Skarl’s eyes grew glossy and pleading, and he took Darigan’s hand in his own with watery smile. “I had my scribe make all the necessary arrangements. We won’t be disturbed.”
Skarl had multiple scribes in his employ, but the one that came to mind first caused Darigan to let out an involuntary snort. “The short one?” Darigan knew that one well. Last time Darigan had seen him was at a meeting of world leaders in Faerieland. The tiny, easily-frightened uni had spent the party hiding behind a potted plant.
“The very one!” Skarl chuckled. “He’s much braver when corresponding by letter.”
Rows of stone fruit trees stretched out alongside them as they walked. Skarl leaned closer and closer to him as they chatted, about anything and nothing at all, a bright smile on his face the entire time. From this close Darigan could see that his hair had been neatly brushed, and could smell cinnamon, black pepper, and just the faintest hint of Krawk Island tobacco.
“You smell like dariberries, you know.” Skarl said with a cough, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “Dariberries, roses, and coffee. It’s making me kind of hungry.”
“Everything makes you hungry.” Darigan scoffed, reaching for one of the fruits above their heads. He plucked a juicy looking apricot and handed to the skeith. “Is that why you chose this place?”
“I thought you might like it,” was Skarl’s response, surprising him. “You’re always piling your plate with fruit.” The tips of Darigan’s ears turned pink, more from flattery than embarrassment.
“I’m surprised you noticed that.” That was another proven-wrong assumption he had made about the other – Skarl was a lot more perceptive than he let on, almost as if the “fat oafish king” was simply an act he enjoyed playing.
Skarl’s face didn’t crack into outrage like he expected, instead the skeith boldly clung to his bicep. The flush overtook his the entirety of his ears then, the look on Skarl’s face absolutely devious. “I’ve always paid better attention when I’m actually interested in the subject.”
The summer heat was getting to him…
Skarl had finished his apricot and tossed the stone off the path, then blinked at Darigan with puppyblew eyes. “Dariberry, can you get me another fruit?”
Darigan spluttered. “Absolutely not!”
Skarl grinned, chortling at the korbat’s reaction. “But you smell like them! And they’re grey and the thorns look just like yours.”
The blushed traveled down to his cheeks and crossed the bridge of his nose. “Stop!” It came out as a whine, and he cursed himself for it.
“Oh? But I wanna see if I can paint you entirely pink!”
Oh, that does it! Two could play at this game! Darigan swooped down, capturing Skarl’s lips. The skeith let out a squeak, then raised onto his toes to deepen the kiss. They parted – Skarl breathless, Darigan with a triumphant smirk. The top of Skarl’s face had deepened to a bright red. He almost looked like… “A little payback, Meriberry.”
Darigan’s goal had been to annoy him, but he was suddenly incredibly thankful it hadn’t worked. Skarl’s smile at being called that was positively radiant.
He picked another two dark faerie plums from a nearby branch, one for himself this time. The sweetness surprised him a bit, he expected something more bitter to grow from darkness. He didn’t usually like things to be too sweet, and fruit normally struck just the right balance. He ended up handing the rest of the plum to Skarl to finish.
“Too sweet for you?”
“Just a bit.”
“Ah, I figured as much. I made sure the kitchen staff here curated our lunch to something I hope you’ll like. I’m not a picky eater, so I don’t mind.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you.” By Neopia he was blushing again. If this kept on he really would turn pink. They turned down the path towards a steep hill, past golden chardonnay grapes held up by posts and wires. “Care for another snack?”
To his surprise, Skarl shook his head. “They’re tasteless until they’ve aged. Besides, we’re almost to the kitchens.” The skeith’s mouth watered a little. “The food here is so good.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“Yes,” Skarl’s smile faltered. “My family used to come here every summer when I was little.”
A mental image of a cute baby Skarl toddling around the vineyard and standing on his tippy-toes to steal grapes flashed in his mind, and he hid his growing smile behind his hand. There had to be a portrait of Skarl as a baby somewhere in existence and now he really wanted to see it.
What would our children look like?
They arrived at a large building with a vegetable garden attached. Servants flitted about tending to the yield, paying absolutely no mind at all to the pair of royals in their midst. Darigan eyed the tomato cages hungrily, his stomach suddenly letting out a growl. Skarl smirked at him, and he rolled his eyes. Two picnic baskets were handed over to each of them out of a serving window, the acara waitress wide-eyed. Lord Darigan narrowed his gaze at her sharply and she turned away with an ashamed blush.
Skarl took his hand, tugging him suddenly away from the picnic tables and back towards the orchard. “This way! I know a better spot.”
He broke into a light jog, eager to show Darigan whatever he had planned (or maybe he was just eager to start eating). They rushed past rows of late blooming trees, the path canopied by flowers of white and pink, until they came to the center of the orchard. There stood a single large tree covered in blooms and fruit of all kinds – peaches, apricots, plums, cherries. A sunset cast across the heavy branches.
He couldn’t help but be a little bit in awe of it. He glanced at Skarl, who was watching his reaction. “It’s… been grafted together?”
“Is it not amazing!” Skarl beamed, taking his basket from him. “It was smaller when I was a lad of course, but I’ve always loved this tree. The neopet who created this grafting technique took his methods to the grave with him, so there’s only one like it in all of Neopia.”
“It’s beautiful.” A Meridellian farmer grew this? Maybe he was misjudging Skarl’s people a bit. Simple farmers or not, they certainly excelled at agricultural practices.
Skarl had spread out a red and white checkered blanket for them to sit on and had started setting out the platters of food for them to share. At the center he set a wheaty snowbunny loaf paired with a plate of sliced heirloom tomatoes and a jar of tangella jam, then surrounded it with sides – fresh mixed grapes, grilled drupes, freshly made negg salad, roasted wings tossed in a garlic honey sauce, a plate of cute little tarts, a pitcher of peach tea, and an entire bottle of sparkling wine.
“Are you sure this is enough?”
Skarl scoffed but there was no venom to it. “Plenty of food above us as well. I’ve planned for everything.”
“Oh?” Darigan took a seat on the soft grass. “Shall we then?” He took the bottle and a pair of stem glasses from the basket, popping the cork which shot like a boom stick across the acre. Skarl let out a snort.
“You’re supposed to leave the cage on.”
“My mistake, I usually have a servant for this.” He poured the bubbling drink and handed a glass to Skarl, then raised his own. “To us?”
“To us!” Skarl cried happily, clinking his glass against Darigan’s. He wasted no time in slicing two portions off the snowbunny loaf, then slathering his with tangella jam. Darigan layered his own with tomato slices, savoring the acidity as he chewed. He grabbed a wing to try, giving it an experimental sniff.
“Crokabek?”
“They’re delicious! They were just considered nuisances before the famine, but most Meridellians grew a taste for them.” He grabbed a wing for himself. “Of course, they’re still a nuisance. They love to roost on the castle parapets while I’m trying to nap.”
Darigan took a bite. “Hmm, tastes just like drackonack.”
“What?” Skarl looked up in shock. “You’ve eaten one of those adorable little beasts?”
“They don’t stay little.” Darigan laughed. “They were bred to never stop growing, so they give a higher yield of meat. Some people might keep them in home, but they’re livestock.” He eyed the bread loaf, and a wicked grin suddenly cracked across his face. “People eat snowbunnies too, after all.”
Skarl made a horrified face, and Darigan chuckled a bit at his expense. “Stop!” The skeith cried with a pout. “That’s horrible! I love snowbunnies!”
“You don’t eat them as well?” Darigan poked a little. “I heard they’re served with a special dressing.”
“Ugh, where did you hear this mean rumor? It was in the Times, wasn’t it?” Skarl gasped in offense. “I dress them up. I have them painted blue, and then have the castle seamstresses craft little robes, wigs, and crowns for them.” He poured himself a glass of tea. “I do the same with my erisims. Love those little mitings. Did you know Hagan is afraid of them?”
Darigan almost spat out a mouthful of wine. “He is?”
“Yes! That may be my fault actually.” Skarl’s smile was devious. “He made me angry once during a lesson when we were small, and I put one under his bed. The cackling scared him awake. Father tanned my hide for that one.”
Darigan winced a little. “A bit of an overreaction on his part.”
“His temper was far worse than mine. He would have servants beheaded if they angered him.” He grabbed a handful of red grapes, popping them into his mouth stem and all. “At least my threats are empty.” He swallowed thickly. “What about you, Darigan? What was your family like? I know so little about your past.”
“I know very little about my own past, so we share that in common.”
Skarl gave him a sympathetic look.
“The earliest I can remember, I awoke in a field with no memory. The others around me were like that as well. I led our group away from our place of awakening and towards where the Citadel used to be located. Me, my trusted generals, and our new people built our home, and I and my wizards created the Orb to protect us from whatever had erased our memories to begin with. A shield against dark magic of any kind – against war, famine, and disease.”
“And then my knights came and ruined everything...” Skarl grumbled.
Darigan chewed on a grilled peach, thinking over his next words. “I’m not telling you this to shame you. In a very strange way, I’m… satisfied with how events have played out. Otherwise we wouldn’t be sharing this moment.”
Skarl blinked away unshed tears. Attempting to distract himself, he took one of the tarts and bit down, purple dariberry mash spilling down his chin. Darigan laughed lightly at him, grabbing a tart for himself. This one had meriberry filling – bitterly sour at first and then sweet, full of depth and complexity much like the skeith that sat before him.
“And we’ll share many more, right Meriberry?” He lifted Skarl’s head towards him, licking the juice from his chin then capturing his lips in a gentle kiss.
Skarl gaped speechless at him for a moment, but quickly recovered. He brought his own hand up to cup Darigan’s face, his thumb tracing over his gaunt cheekbone. His mind eased, the skeith made to spoon a hefty portion of negg salad onto a snowbunny slice – which then dripped from the bread onto his sweeping cloak.
“No! Ugh, mustard stains are so hard to get out.”
Darigan chuckled. “You’re a messy eater today.”
“Oh, quiet you. I just had this outfit commissioned.” Skarl unclasped the cloak, his face burning. He shivered a bit, chilled by the gentle breeze of early autumn. The lord unclasped his own cape, pulling it around Skarl’s shoulders. The skeith blushed, his eyes soft and kind as he pulled the cape closer to himself. “Thank you.”
Darigan took a spoonful of negg salad to try (he had admittedly been avoiding it up to this point, as the concoction didn’t look incredibly appetizing). Flavor exploded across his tongue, an—in an incredibly Skarl-like moment—he grabbed the bowl to scarf the rest down. Skarl let out a rumbling laugh.
“Glad you like it. Sometimes your lack of appetite worries me.”
“I’m a bit of a picky eater and it’s difficult to have an appetite if I’m in a bad mood,” Darigan explained, taking a sip of the dry sparkling wine. “I do like my fruit though, so this was an excellent choice of venue.”
They quickly finished off the rest of their meal, faces heating as the bottle emptied. Darigan even flew to the branches above for more, plucking a nice handful of yellow cherries along with a sprig of flowers. Skarl eyed the twig wearily as he landed. “What’s that for?”
Darigan chuckled, threading the white blooms into Skarl’s circlet. The skeith gazed up at him, head framed by blossoms. He opened his mouth to speak, then immediately snapped it back shut, an unsure look on his face. “Dariberry...”
“Only you may call me that.” Darigan stated with a chuckle. “You’re getting your way again, I suppose.”
Skarl attempted to pout, then his lip quivered and he broke into a grin. “Ha! I am, aren’t I?” He smiled mischievously. “Then can I ask for something more?”
“Oh,” Darigan huffed. “What do you want?”
“Mostly for this day to not end, but since it has to – walk me to my carriage?”
“Not worried your knights will see?”
“No.” Skarl didn’t even hesitate. “At least not right now. I don’t care who sees right now.”
Blanket folded, dishes put away, and the baskets safely returned to the kitchens, Darigan walked Skarl to his carriage, even being so bold as to hold his hand. He released it once they got near enough to the winged carriage, watching Skarl go. There was a lightness to his steps as he walked back to his own coach. Only once he was safely inside and trying to draw his cape back around his shoulders did he realize it was missing.
Right, I lent it to Skarl. It seemed like he would be seeing the skeith again very soon.
He was very much looking forward to it.