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Eponine paces in front of the door, her tail whipping back and forth and her expression murderous. This whole thing is dumb, she thinks, punctuating the thought with a particularly aggresive swish of her tail. The mess dress uniforms are stupid and constricting. The long tails on the jacket are doubly dumb. She’s certain that if they were actually attacked she’d only be able to perform at ninety percent competency. Which was dumb. Basically, Eponine didn’t like the plan at all. The plan, Eponine thinks viciously, is dumb. Arranged marriages are stupid enough, but to a Seraphim. Unbelievably stupid. Poor Marius. Eponine lets out a huff of anger.
“You are going to wear a hole in the floor.”
Combeferre is standing at attention right outside Marius’s door, just like Eponine is meant to be. If Eponine wasn’t certain that he would kill her for the discourtesy, she probably would have struck him across the face. Eponine does not like snark. Even from a higher ranking officer.
She settled for baring her teeth.
“Where are they?”
“They will be here.” Combeferre says this with his usual surety. It’s like: Blood is red. The flame in the citadel is burning. The two most unreliable and chaotic members of our squadron will show up on time. Eponine, against her better judgment, believes him.
You start believing anything Combeferre says after a while. Combeferre is never wrong.
“They still have a whole minute before they are late.” Chetta volunteers from her position leaning agains the wall. She’s casually twisting the gold ring that’s clipped on to her tail, looking entirely disinterested.
“They will be on time.” Combeferre says. This is mildly more threatening then his previous statement, but no less sure.
Sure enough, Bahorel and Grantaire round the corner not even seconds after. Paced hurried enough to indicate that they are aiming to be on time.
They slide into place with seconds to spare. Eponine frantically tries to pat down Grantaire’s curls into something manageable, and fails. Marius comes barreling out of his room in a whirl and they all snap to attention (baring Combeferre, who was never not at attention)
Marius doesn’t notice the guard flanking him as he barrels down the hall, struggling with his collar. Grantaire is struggling with not laughing at him.
Combeferre shoots him a warning look. Grantaire dutifully schools his face into an appropriately serious expression and sticks his hands in his pocket. They flank Marius all the way down to the entrance of the Acheron Hall, where Eponine finally gets so frustrated that she slaps his hands away and fixes his collar herself.
“Honestly, sir.” She huffs, impossibly fond and perhaps slightly more disrespectful than most other subjects would be allowed.
Marius just smiles.
“I’m sorry. I know, I would be lost without you guys.”
Bahorel mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “Damn right.”
Chetta curls her tail around as though she is going to reach for Marius with it, and then thinks better of it.
“It’s going to be fine.” Combeferre volunteers. “The Seraphim will arrive, you’ll meet your new wife, the two of you will enter a loveless marriage for the sake of your people and I will open a bookshop in middle ground and live the rest of my days in peace.” Combeferre has hopes and dreams outside the violence. Grantaire is sad that he will never get to see them come to pass.
Marius looks dangerously close to tears.
“You really think she won’t be capable of loving me?”
“I am saying that whether or not she loves you, my prince, is immaterial. You are doing a great service for our people and you should be proud.”
Marius straightens under Combeferre’s gaze. Not for the first time, Grantaire thinks that Combeferre would make a good prince. He has a sort of regality, as well as a certain grace. He can also talk circles around foreign diplomats, which is a definite princely bonus. But, Combeferre is not the prince, Marius is.
“Of course, Of course.” Marius adds. “I am happy to do this service for my people. You know that as well as I. I want for our people to be safe. But… is it so wrong to want for love as well?”
Combeferre gracefully concedes this, not because he has nothing to say to it, but mostly because Marius is the prince. (Marius is a bit of a hopeless mess, but the kingdom loves him none the less for it)
“If she has eyes, sir, she will love you.”
Marius smiles gratefully.
“And if not,” Eponine says, allowing her teeth to elongate and her eyes to go black. “We can always kill her and go back to war.”
Bahorel and Chetta laugh. Combeferre looks mildly cross, which probably has more to do with the explicit stated threat that would hold them culpable, and less to do with any disagreement on the plan.
Marius looks relieved. Grantaire reasons that this probably doesn’t bode well for the wedding.
“Besides. It’s not set in stone yet. They’ve come today to negotiate the treaty and the conditions of the union. Maybe we'll get lucky and the inevitable attack will happen before we get to that and we won’t even have stand on ceremony.” Maybe I can even get to the bar by happy hour.
“Grantaire has a point.” Musichette offers.
Grantaire did have a point. Unfortunately, Grantaire’s point was rendered inconsequential relatively quickly. There was no attack. Instead there was a rather drab ambassador making a lengthy speech and giving introductions. His light green wings looked rather out place against the dark black, blue and red walls of the hall and Grantaire, had he been slightly more inclined to good humor, would have laughed at the obvious contrasts.
Still, the ambassador continues his speech with little to no obvious nervousness (which is impressive considering that the look on Combeferre’s face, who is standing to the left of Marius, looks like he has never been less impressed by something in his whole life) and the proceeding continued on.
Grantaire, conversely, is trying desperately not to look like he’s scanning exits and audience members for weapons whilst actively scanning exits and audience members for weapons. Arkeon Hall was chosen both for it’s proximity to the borders and also for it’s ease of defense. The only down side was the open windows of the Dome. An angel could easily fly in from the ceiling, but since the window was so raised there would be plenty of time to evacuate Marius (and his ailing grandfather the king) to safety. From what Grantaire understands (from what Bahorel had hastily filled him in on), The royal family and their guard would be flying in through those very windows. Bahorel himself has been position strategically on the roof, and is prepared to intercept any attack that may come through, before, after or with the Seraphim royal family.
The ambassador finishes his (incredibly overly effusive, if you ask Grantaire) introductions, trumpets begin sounding, and a murmur goes up in the crowd. The Holy Choir is arriving.
Eponine’s tail flickes up, and then curls in on itself. Grantaire tries not to be upset that they’ve gotten the all clear sign. The dome windows arch open, and the holy choir descends into Arkeon for the first time in over three centuries.
It’s chaos and grace simultaneously. A couple of the seraphim descend immediately to the stage, barreling down so quickly that Grantaire draws out his claws on instinct. Some loop through the sky, large seemingly lazy arches that ended with them on either sides of the stage.
An angel who had descended from the sky like a bullet on the trajectory of a drop of rain, stands from where he had landed crouched and extends his pale golden wings till they are fully outstretched. They fill the stage with pale gold. The others land around him, so that he is the tip of a diamond facing the king. Grantaire knows he should be looking for an assailant or assassin but all he can see is the delicate slope of golden wings and piercing blue eyes that stare forward at the king. He thinks of blood and fury and the fact that he’s never seen something more beautiful in his life.
The seraphim has not even noticed Grantaire. He scans the throne line quickly and efficiently, eyes lingering only on Combeferre. He right wing twitches almost imperceptibly and he breaks eye contact turning his head away, giving Grantaire a view of his profile. It’s a delicately chiseled face with beautiful blond hair pulled back into a high ponytail. The hair tumbles down to the edge of his shoulders, brushing delicately over the crease of his wings and Grantaire is so distracted by the light reflecting off his hair that he almost doesn’t notice that the Seraphim’s hand has not yet left his sword.
Almost.
A thousand years of war will burn a survival instinct into you (even if you don’t want it). Grantaire knows nothing better than the way beauty can hide bloodlust.
The angel speaks, and Grantaire scans the environment one more time.
Something is beginning here, he can feel it.
“King Pontmercy, Prince Marius.” The angel begins. “I present to you, Princess Cosette.”
He closes his wings and bows formally, allowing eyelines into the center of the diamond for the first time.
In the middle stands a girl, in a surprisingly plain white dress. Her tiara sits on a bed of loose curls and she smiles demurely at the king. Then, she makes eye contact with Marius and Grantaire can swear he hears wedding bells already.
The rest of the proceeding pass forth with no further incident, not that Marius and Cosette would know. They have not yet spoken a single word, but their eyes haven’t left the others faces.
The amount of tension in their gaze is, frankly, making Grantaire uncomfortable.
The proceeding wraps up. The two kings sign the treaty, Marius and Cosette stare continuously at each other even as they are both shepherded off into opposite directions.
They walk Marius to his room in silence. Bahorel joins them in the hall, smacking tails with Eponine and falling into formation easily. The love struck expression on Marius’s face is vomit inducing, but luckily, Combeferre shows his mercy by allowing Grantaire and Bahorel the watch, when they reach the royal chamber.
Still, as they pass through the doors, they hear Marius say “I did not know life until this moment.” Bahorel actually damages the hinge with how quickly he shuts the door behind them.
Grantaire rolls his eyes, Bahorel mutters “fuck.”
Looks like there is a wedding to plan.
(Through the door there is a distant warbling that may or may not be Marius expressing his love. Grantaire has never envied Combeferre less)