agoodyarn | an arranged marriage for ceaselesslabor

an arranged marriage for ceaselesslabor

Carcosa was thought to be lost.

There were all manner of myths, all manner of stories; some said that someone with the gift of earthquakes sunk the land into the oceans. Others said that it was lost far earlier, that the city itself slowly died as the continents shifted and the fabled Lake Hali dried up, the country lost to the dunes of the great deserts and unsuited to such an environment. Still others said it was entirely a story, made up, the kind of thing used by ancient travelers to spice up their tales and historical accounts to cover up for the deeds or misdeeds that politics would not allow them to speak of honestly. That last one was the most accepted of the stories, or it was until the headline came out in the Times.

Carcosa is Real! Envoy Arrives at UN!

It was, it turned out, an island nation located in the center of the Atlantic Ocean, far from any of the standard ocean routes and difficult to navigate to given the strangeness of the weather patterns in the area which meddled with magnetic reckoning. As the use of a magnetic compass had risen throughout the world (instead of relying on those with Directional gifts), the island had been 'missed' more and more until it was forgotten, only encountered by the occasional lost ship that by the same misfortune would never be able to find them again. They had become, by no surprise, incredibly isolationist and it was speculated by scientists that the natural energies that caused the anomaly might in fact be the reason why Carcosa was said to have singularly powerful magical gifts in its people and especially in its royal line. Others thought it might be a matter of natural selection or even careful breeding: cut off from the rest of the world and the advancements brought by crossing cultures, Carcosans had only been able to rely on themselves and their gifts, making those with stronger and more useful gifts much more likely to prosper and procreate given the relatively small population. Nevertheless, it turned out that that part of the 'myths' was true: there were a few more articles, later in the paper, discussing the gifts of the Envoy and his crew, all of which were the sort of thing deemed miraculous and even mythical these days. Technology had just made such things more trouble than they were worth, unstable and unreliable and reliant on a single individual; a machine could work for anyone, and science had no favorites.

It was the sort of thing that made magic feel more magical again, really.

And brought on a rush to exploit the island, it's people, and what resources they had which, as it turned out, were extensive. This led to the King closing the port and strictly limiting the interaction between the foreigners and his people. And, of course, to a second arrival in New York City.

King Hastur II himself, younger than anyone expected, unmarried and childless, walking into the UN himself and politely requesting a chair.

...how Daniel Saltzman, a lumber magnate, true, but no one with a title, not a Rockefeller or a Carnegie, managed to get his attention during that visit is anyone's guess. Some of the gossip rags decided it must have been a connection made over a shared tendency towards religion, while others were much more cynical and claimed it was about the money and nothing but the money, that Saltzman was an old traditionalist willing to invest in Carcosa more than the others who'd put their money into steam and electric and gas. No one can agree what it is, but what is evident is that Saltzman offered a husband for the mysterious young king and that said king had accepted.

How his adopted son, Arthur, took the news, well...

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He follows through, pulling the key out and locking the door behind them. He takes a minute to look around just the once, then pauses, cocking his head... before he nods. That, then, is when he reaches up to pull off his mask and shake out his hair from beneath the hood.

His king, it turns out, is a stunningly beautiful man, with eyes the same gold as the jewelry he wears and long dark wavy hair that flows, it looks, almost down to his middle back. His voice is clearer, though no less deep, now that the mask is out of the way.

"Arthur... welcome to our temporary home."

He'll start pulling off the decorations as well, placing them on a few velvet shapes on the nearest table that, it turns out, are obviously where he took them from earlier. Then he'll pull open the robe, revealing a simple tunic beneath, belted in the middle that shows off muscular arms and simple sandals. Then he breathes out.

Arthur stares. How could he not? He had hoped that his husband would be beautiful, but he didn't know that he would be - ethereal. He's more than a little stunned, his eyes widening a little. He takes in those eyes, that beautiful hair, the shapely chest and belt and -

That's enough, really, and he looks back up to him.

"That isn't fair," he points out with a mutter. "That you know my name and you're just - the King."

"Hastur is my official name," he offers with a deep bow, "and... it was in the papers. And known to.. Mr. Saltzman. Thus I thought you were aware. My apologies, Arthur."

He will walk over then and offer his hand to Arthur.

"But I should like if you called me Jahn." A wry smile. "It was the name I was born with, before I took my dynastic title."

"Jahn."

He waves a hand, walking to the windows and peeking out through the curtains to see the lights of the city out below his feet. There's a celebration in the park, likely based around his wedding, and he can see the magical sparkles from the finale shooting into the air. It's pretty, in its own way. He keeps the curtains tight around his face, though, ensuring no one can see his husband's face, even if they tried to peer around him. "That's what I thought the Hastur part was. The way that Popes take new names." But the excuse falls short and he winces, speaking into the glass. "And, honestly, I haven't been paying attention. I spent three weeks on a bender before this," he admits. "That's why I don't know anything about what's going on. Or you or - any of it."

He comes back to the main room and sits on the couch, stretching his legs out in front of him, collapsing into the cushions.

Jahn will walk past, dropping a pillow on his face as he goes, waiting to see Arthur's reaction with a slightly impish smile. Then he will take a graceful seat nearby.

"I will answer to either. I have been called 'Hastur' by my people for a very long time, after all."

Longer than anyone might guess. It's something he's going to have to introduce slowly. Very slowly.

"Though if there is something you should like to know about what's going on or 'me' or 'any of it', you need only ask."

He sputters a bit, sitting up and holding fast to the pillow against his chest. And then he throws it at Jahn. "What's the significance of the mask?" he wonders first, because he needs to know.

It's his husband's culture, his customs, and so he might as well learn what he can about it.

Those are the sorts of questions that aren't in the papers. Those are the sorts of questions he can't answer on his own.

He leans back on the couch and gives his husband a crooked smile.

"I am considered a god to my people as well as their king," he says with a gesture of his hand, "And to see my face is a most holy honor."

He gestures to Arthur.

"I have chosen you as my husband, Arthur. You're... a bit past 'see his face' in that department."

"I don't have to be," he points out. "We could have just played this as it was. As a - " He hesitates and gestures between them. "Marriage of convenience. Where we just ignore each other and live our lives."

He scrubs at his face. "How do you want the reception to go?" he asks. "Any strange rituals I need to be aware of?"

He blinks and looks over at Arthur curiously. Convenience? What about this is convenient?

"Why would I go through all the trouble of leaving my nation and coming to New York to marry you if I did not want to have you as my husband?" He tilts his head thoughtfully. "There has been nothing 'convenient' about marrying you."

He sits up then and stretches just a little. Oh these cars are so small. He's glad to be out of them for the moment.

"But there are no ceremonies for the reception. That is just a party. There will be some rituals when we return to Carcosa, but nothing you need worry about." He reconsiders his words. "Nothing 'strange'. They will bring you to a ritual bath, anoint you with oil, and crown you as Hali, or 'king consort'."

He still doesn't understand, but he still wants to lay the blame at Daniel's feet, an urge that Daniel himself exploited to save his new husband. Arthur is very quick to anger, especially now, and he doesn't have any reason to trust Jahn. Better to let them talk it out later.

Arthur plunges on.

"And then what? What - what is my life going to look like from here on out? I - I can't even imagine what that's going to look like."

Blink.

"I thought we would discuss this tomorrow morning but...

"What do you want it to look like?"

"Why would we discuss it tomorrow?" he wonders, looking over to the other end of the couch at him. "No one knows anything about Carcosa. Not really in any depth."

He rubs at his hand again. "I guess I missed my chance to ask these things before, so I'm asking them now."

"...because tomorrow is when our married life begins?" This... is very basic. What is going on here. "And we would have time together to decide such things and discuss."

He shrugs.

"We have plenty of time, a long life ahead. I'm not concerned. What would you like to know?"

Arthur groans, his hand over his face. "Never mind," he grumbles, temper flaring in annoyance at himself. At the situation. At the fact that he seems to be fucking it up in his own attempt to fix three weeks of avoidance.

He stands up from the couch, too nervous to sit. "We just - we have how long until we have to be back down there? At least - " He tries to think, to go through the receptions he's been forced to before.

"We should at least practice how we're going to do our first dance."

He watches Arthur groan and his temper flare and how he jumps up to pace. Jahn stands then and walks over to Arthur, placing his hand gently on his shoulder, easy to shove off if he desires to.

"Arthur, whatever vexes you, I would ease. Only give me the shape of it."

He smiles just a little.

"If you would wish to have our first dance here, in private, simply for us... I would not be opposed."

He flinches at the touch but doesn't pull away. It's a reflexive action, not a personal one, and he stays where he's at to look up to him.

"No. I - I can't. Not now." He can't talk to him. He can't open up to him. He can't reveal how ashamed he is that he's fucking this up so badly, but he can at least do this.

He puts a hand on Jahn's and takes it in his own, wrapping long fingers loosely around Jahn's. "You should uh - put your other hand on my shoulder now." And Arthur will gently rest his free hand on the king's waist. "Mind if I lead?"

He's not sure what that means, but he frowns and he's about to ask when Arthur starts in with the dancing. To the question, at least, he can shake his head.

"You know what you're doing and I don't: go right ahead."

"Great. Okay."

He pulls him back gently, stepping into a modified waltz, of sorts. It's the sort of high society dance that Arthur used to hate, but it's - important now. A ritual of their own.

He doesn't look up at John's face, afraid of what he might find there. Kindness. Understanding. Confusion, perhaps. Hateful emotions that Arthur can't accept.

Instead, as they dance, Arthur hums. But it doesn't sound like simple humming. Underneath, a cello plays, and above, a violin. Deep horns add depth to the sound and his voice so becomes the gentlyle playing of a piano. It's a part of his magic, this musical symphony, and it blossoms around them like a living thing.

He'd found Arthur one night as he laid awake, searching the world with his own gift to fill the hours. He's stumbled not on Arthur but on another who'd been listening to his music, and he kept hold of the man's ears the whole performance through, entranced. It had become a ritual, seeking out Arthur and then listening through one in his audience. Every night he could not find a performance or even practice was so empty, desolate... he'd craved it like a physical thing. So he'd started listening on those empty nights, learning about his sister's loss. His father. How their relationship worked, who Arthur was as a person. It hadn't felt intrusive, since it wasn't as if he intended to go and meet the man; it was something to fill the hours.

But then he decided he did want to meet him. In fact, he wanted more than to meet him. There was an absent thought to travel in secret, simple enough given his own gift, to sweep him off his feet and steal him away from everyone, bring him home and make him his. And yet, that was... not how one conducts oneself with such a treasure. He'd pondered it for almost a year before he'd finally sent the envoy, determined to do this the right way.

And the rest was going to be history.

For now, though, John enjoys the music and allows Arthur to lead him in the dance, entranced not by Arthur's gift but by Arthur himself. The only expression on his face? Utter infatuation.

Edited 2025-11-25 13:58 (UTC)

Arthur hadn't touched a piano in so long, and he hadn't been on a stage in even longer still. But the music is always there with him, always had been. His soul sings with it, aches to be let loose.

He doesn't looks up at his husband until the music fades into a quiet echo.

"Alright," he says softly, clearing his throat. "That - that was good."

He looks down at Arthur then.

"I did not insist on it, as my mask would have made it awkward," he says he makes sure he meets his eyes. "But I would like to kiss my new husband. May I, Arthur?"

He blinks up at him, meeting his face out of sheer surprise.

"Oh - uh. Yes."

He looks up, taking his hand from Jahn's waist and bringing it to his husband's cheek.

Jahn will nod, smile, and then lean down so tenderly to kiss Arthur like he is the most precious thing in this or any world.

Arthur has never been kissed like this. He's never been treasured like this, like he's something to be enjoyed.

He closes his eyes, letting himself believe, for a moment, that he is exactly what Jahn sees.

Somehow.

There is a surge of brightness, of joy, as Arthur allows himself to be kissed, as he closes his eyes and savors it. He cups his cheek with one hand, cradles his head with the other, and leans in just a little to allow some of his hunger to filter through.

He doesn't want to stop. And given that this kiss it not in front of the others, has no guests, has no need to be chaste, he doesn't make it be. He will stop kissing Arthur when Arthur no longer wishes to kiss him and not a moment before then.

an arranged marriage for ceaselesslabor

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