he spent hours each day making sure his swords sang when swung through the air, and that his armor shone clean and bright whenever worn.
“Look good?” he asked. He flexed his muscles and posed.
“It’ll do,” she said, pinching her lower lip with her fingers. “Maybe some red underneath, your shirt for instance, and then get you some nice pants. Something is missing, though.”
“What?” he asked. Far as he could tell, he had every piece of armor strapped on. Delysia continued staring, deep in thought.
“Of course! Take off your pauldrons.”
Harruq shrugged, unlaced his armor and handed them to her.
“Here,” he said. “Ruin them and I’ll kill you.”
“So melodramatic,” Delysia said, tucking them underneath her arm. “I’m heading to Veldaren to buy you some clothes.” She pulled out a long strand of rope with markings all along the side. “Stand up straight so I can measure you.”
The half-orc endured the seemingly hundreds of measurements with calm, quiet grumbling. Finished, Delysia mentally rehearsed numbers, eyeing him with a growing smile.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re so cute. You’re being domesticated.”
She fled down the stairs, a barrage of pillows, bed sheets, and other non-lethal objects hurling after her.
T wo days later, Delysia barged into Harruq’s room with an armful of clothes.
“I need a door,” he said.
“Don’t worry, I won’t peek,” she said, tossing him pants and a shirt. She put a bundle of black cloth on his bed, not yet unfurling it. “Now put those on.”
He did as commanded after the priestess turned around. She knew when to look by the half-orc’s complaints.
“You must be pulling jokes, missy.”
She beamed when she saw him. The black pants were a bit too loose, but she could fix that, and she was still proud of the exquisite stitching along their sides, so small and tight as to be invisible. The shirt was a bright red, with the sleeves and chest lined with tiny silver buttons.
“I look like an idiot,” he said.
“You haven’t finished yet,” she said, rushing over to him. She buttoned his wrists and then his chest, all the while telling him how dashing he looked.
“You’ve lost your mind,” was his response. “This is not me. What are these pants made of? They itch like a whore’s…”
He wisely didn’t finish the rest.
“Sorry,” he said instead.
“Just put your armor on,” she said, a bit of her good mood dampened. Harruq felt bad, so he buckled his armor without complaint. It gleamed brighter than usual, the result of extra attention by a half-orc determined to show Delysia he was trying.
“Where’s my shoulders?” Harruq asked when he was almost done.
“Right here,” she said, grabbing the wad of black cloth and unfurling it. The half-orc coughed at the sight. Attached by silver clasps to his shoulder guards was a long, flowing black cloak. She turned it back and forth for him to see. Across the back of the cape was a giant red scorpion, identical to the one across the chest of his armor.
“I’m wearing a cape?” he asked, staring as if it were dangerous. “Surely you’re joking.”
“I’m hurt,” she said, her lower lip pouting. “I attached it myself, and stitched on the scorpion. Trust me, you’ll love it. Now put these on.”
She handed them to him, which he took without a word. He slid the shoulders on. The cloak billowed down his back and teased his elbows. He slid his arms across the fabric, pondering. Suddenly, he had a desperate urge to see himself.
“One sec, going to go look at myself in a stream,” he said, marching to the door, a childlike thrill in his heart at the feel of his cloak trailing behind him.
“No need, I have a mirror right here.” She pulled a small square object from her pocket and gave it to him. Harruq took it and held it as far back as he could.
“Can’t really see too much,” he said.
“Grow and show,” Delysia said to the object. It squirmed in his hand. Startled, he let go. Instead of falling, it floated, grew many times its original size, and then hung suspended in air. Harruq grinned at the sight of himself in the floating mirror. His well-oiled armor perfectly matched the red and black clothes peeking out underneath, and as much as he hated to admit it, the cloak made him look a tiny bit dashing, like some noble rogue from fireside stories. Coupled with his long, well-cut hair, he had to admit. He looked good.
“You look like a prince,” Delysia said, smiling.
“Prince of orcs, maybe,” he said, twisting side to side. “Not sure who around here would follow a half-blood like me.”
“Oh please. You look spectacular. I’ll tell Aurelia to come up and see you.”
“No!” he said. “Let her wait until the wedding.”
The priestess laughed.
“Very well, then. That’s not too far away. I can wait to see her reaction until then.” She hugged him and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re too fun, Har. Too bad the elf got you first.”
A snap of her fingers returned the mirror to its original size. She caught it on its fall, slipped it into her pocket, and hugged him once more.
“Don’t worry about the clothes,” she said. “I’ll have Tarlak pay for them from your wages.”
“Out of my, hey, I thought these were gifts?”
Delysia stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced back. “That was silly. We’re not that nice around here.”
“Should have known,” he grumbled. His grumpiness could not last, though, not when he could glance down at his enchanted armor, ancient swords, and swirling cloak, and know he was a truly awesome sight.
E ven though winter neared, the weather was warm enough that a few blankets and each other’s warmth kept the outside bearable. Together, the soon-to-be wed couple nuzzled and held each other close.
“I’ve solved our dilemma,” Aurelia told him underneath the blanket of stars.
“What’s that?”
“Your brother. Instead of scrying for him, I’ll send him a message.”
“How’s that?”
She wiggled her fingers in loopy and exaggerated movements.
“There’s power in these here fingers. Tarlak taught me a spell that sends my voice to anyone in Dezrel. Whatever I say, he will hear, given a few seconds or so.”
Harruq grinned.
“Some neat stuff you mages know. All I do is swing a sword.”
Aurelia nestled her head against his chest and purred.
“Yes, but you do it well.”
“I guess that’s all that matters, eh?”
“You bet. Now hug me.”
He did as he was told.
I t was during lunch that Harruq thought to ask Aurelia who she invited to their wedding.
“Just Dieredon and Felewen.”
He hacked, and he did his best not to choke on his food.
“You want Dieredon to come? Are you insane?”
The elf tossed her hair over one shoulder.
“Possibly. I am marrying you, after all. Why, do you not want him here?”
“I don’t know, wouldn’t him wanting to kill me make things a little tense?”
She took her fork into her hand and pretended it was a bow. Imaginary arrows flew one after another across
