Quidione, like all princes, was drawn to his king long before he came calling for them. As a god of dreams, he met this need in the realm of the unconscious. When Olir was far and at play himself, the drow deity trailed through the dreamscape with one particular god in mind.
Leernus was a god far older than he, and far brighter, yet the light seemed to reflect from somewhere deep inside Qui, in a way that he found rather pretty. Sneaking into the flurry of strings that the elf's own subconscious had created, he would always find him in some sweet scenario with his opposite, the darkness entangled easily with his light, in a way that would never be possible in reality.
Qui fount it cute, honestly, and quickly became endeared to the god as he continued to peep, tugging a thread here and there to nudge the dream into a certain direction this way and that. Eventually, he became inspired to weave his own dream, for the man, and set to work on doing so.
With youth, he had rarely tried to craft a sequence longer than a keyframe; some vivid image to shove the mind into the direction he wanted it to go. This time, however, he forgot himself in the craft, and only realised it with the tangles of thought laying heavy in his hands, neatly pulled into a nice quilt.
Not many could ever see Quidione having shame, or humility, yet it was a thick hesitance that coated his approach to the god of light this time, as he decided to give him the dream he had made. It was a simple thing, really; Claudires proposing to the man and gaining his hand, before shifting to a grand wedding in the centre of a flower field, the ground lush with life and growth. It spent a long time with the two of them in gentle domestic bliss, settling down into the world as one unit, and lazing away the days, other than the more flirtatious parts.
He watched the man fall asleep, and sink into the dream, a pleased scent taking ahold of the whole-
