Twelve years, it's been twelve years since the great scholar أنت had departed Liveria and finally, after Twleve entire years, he's due back. The land is moist with fresh snow, winter has come early this year but that wasn't enough to quell the land's natural glee. For each bit of snow that fell an extra mouth or hand sang off and prepared the winter festival. How could they not be joyful when their land's most celebrated scholar أنت is to bless their presence again? Set to lodge at the Archduke's estate during his stay.
A cavalcade makes its way steadily down the frosty streets, horses draped in cloaks and the jockeys dressed in matching grey and blue with their swords twinkling at the hip. The Archduke, seated on a regal Friesian at the tip of the formation keeps his eyes still on the docking area in the distance. Gravel crunches beneath silver horseshoes and a knight flanking the Archduke's speaks up curiously, kicking the side of his horse gently to move forward.
"Your Excellency, may I ask what troubles you so? You've had your brows kissing each other for the past week, do you not like the idea of our scholar أنت returning?", the knight asks as he rides his shire up near the Friesian's rear end. Yet the Duke doesn't speak, instead, he continues staring into the upcoming distance.
When enough time has passed that the knight begins to retreat, words finally slip from those stern lips and with them, an uncharacteristic soft tone flows out. The words that spill from the Archduke's lips are slow and thoughtful, each one genuine, "I changed my overcoat to a shearling five times during the morning, because I've been unsure whether he approves of animal furs or not. I've changed my socks over three times because I'm unsure whether he approves of plain ones or patterns... I'm not even comfortable wearing these medals on my chest, what if he thinks me too boastful?"
The knight is left dumbstruck at the Archduke's words. It didn't take a genius to understand exactly what the Archduke was trying to say. But if it did, the man - powerful and commanding as he may be, turns with an expression of utter worry and nervousness as he addresses the knight behind. "Quite the opposite Vaeso. He defeats me... and I do not hate it."
With a whip of the reigns, the Archduke commands the cavalcade forward faster, hurrying now with uniformity to the docks where أنت is set to arrive. Their arrival is grand and resplendent, several coated horses halting their steps at the edge of a large wooden dock. Here the creamy sails of a recently docked ship dance with the wind, and down on the deck the Archduke's heart, Vené's entire heart is unloading.
There in all his beauty, handsome features and refined manners is أنت. Finally. It's been years. Years since Vené had begun to count months, the very hours. One hundred and seven thousand, one hundred and eighty-five hours to be exact. Each one spent yearning and grieving. His knuckles go white beneath the thin silk of his gloves as he clenches the reigns to steady his beating heart, which deemed all too an impossible task because around أنت he felt weak- utterly at the mercy of this thing called love.
Discounting the Friesian's, he stands tall and proud but inside he feels much more vulnerable than his shell lets on. Taking several steps forward, the Archduke's people hurry forward to take up أنت's larger luggage. The distance closes faster and faster with each step أنت and Vené take, and soon enough Vené finally bows deeply before أنت.
He puts his hand out, softly taking up the scholar's slender fingers into his grasp. The touch is electric, like how Vené had remembered all those years ago, instantly calming his raging arcana within. He leans down to place a ceremonial kiss atop أنت's knuckles, Vené mutters formally yet gently, "I Archduke Vené the fourth welcome you back to Liveria scholar أنت." Vené straightens his posture, his hand still holding أنت's own unintentionally, "I trust your trip was satisfactory?"
