Tassian

Perhaps he should have stayed home, Ram always told him how much of a liability he was with his drinking and that sharp tongue of his that didn't seem to know how to filter out what to say to others, but then he wanted to see some bloodshed and what Argonians had in store. Perhaps he could see what they were like on the battlefield and prepare for a potential war.

Rohan made a sneer expression, insulting by the implication that he'd need assistance getting up a set of stairs. "No, I'm not an elderly man." he gripped onto the railing of the staircase to head upward.

“ tassian , ” he had barely turned from the window when tassian strode into his chambers . his scent of wind and air , as if he had brought the great skies with him . his presence a gentle breeze — unexpected , yet undeniably welcome . yet ,  surprise  flickered  across  the prince ' s  features  at his entrance , before  giving way to something  softer .  it  had  been  days  since  they  last  spoke .  perhaps  he  should  have  sought  him  out  sooner . 

" a  whole  week ? "  a  small  smile  touched  his  lips .  the  mention  of  nuvem ,  of  their  shared  concern ,  stirred  something  quiet  in  his  chest .  mayhaps  tassian  would  not  say  it  outright ,  but  he  had  come  because  he  worried .  " i  did  not  realize  i  had  kept  you  waiting  so  long . "

“ the  market . . . ”  lian  glanced  past  him ,  toward  the  lights  beyond  the  palace  walls .  he  could  picture  it  already — the  world  unfolding  beneath  them ,  the  wind  threading  through  his  hair ,  the  streets  glowing  like  a  river  of  firelight .  it  was  indulgent .  reckless ,  even .  but  oh ,  how  he  wanted  to  go .  his  gaze  lifted  to  tassian ’ s .  “ if  you  do  not  mind  waiting  a  moment  longer ,  i  would  very  much  like  to  see  it  with  you . ”

"Wait for what?" he asked not bothering to get sit up as he spoke. "you already look beautiful and Nuvem is resting at the window for us." He spoke as he laid there but sighed knowing he was going to give in to the man's demands either way, "but if you want to get dressed or something then go ahead i have no orders to follow for the night."

"fight?"

despite his height and desirable stature, the look baltasar gave the stranger was incredulous. "why, I've never fought a day in my life, and I never intend to. if I look like a poor combatant, then all the better for it."

with tassian introduced, and his title explained, baltasar glanced to the side -- and gave a signal to his guards. still dressed casually, feigning drinking and conversing as they maintained a perimeter around him. "prince-consort baltasar sollia. husband of king lucerys sollia."

Back home, they didn't host tourneys quite at this level... perhaps this was something that should be fixed. Or at least on a smaller scale, since Rohan wasn't fond of the idea of having the entire Metian aristocracy up his ass. Making his way down to the pit where the fighters were preparing themselves, there were a few others giving pins to men who were fighting for them. Rohan had a short moment with the Castherian who was fighting for him, giving him the swan pin. "Um.. you've got this," Rohan said in a low voice as he looked over to the others who were nearby, wishing there was more room. He'd always been good at giving passionate speeches to his men to lift their spirits and ready them for battle, but he wasn't leading this man today.

Afterwards, the prince excused himself before the crowds started to form and head up the old steps to his booth. Gripping his cane, the crippled prince nearly fell when someone bumped into him. "Watch where you're going," he spewed out to whoever it was that didn't seem to notice him.

finally seen in a light that felt like himself, and not like he was formed into a reflection of some previous ruler's husband, baltasar was out in force at the next event to occur. logically, he should be concerned; no news came from the investigation of the attempted murder. but he felt too free to not make a showing.

with the title of queen, went the long robes and hanging sleeves. working (and paying) his tailors overtime, baltasar stood regally in some slightly more rakish attire, inspired by his golden days as a man leaving his mark upon numerous noble necks and backsides. a vest that swung low down his chest, enough chains and necklaces to create a chorus as he moved to fill that gap, and fitted pants tucked into strong boots. let none look at baltasar sollia and see the queen -- only the prince-consort.

even the way he moved seemed with renewed confidence; lifting something to inspect it, returning it to its (assumed) place.

"--you've been staring." whether or not the person he addressed was, baltasar found it more fun to assume, and put said person on the back-foot. "were you waiting for a question, or simply basking in my presence?"