Chapter Text
On the eve of the Wormwood Moon, Chan first meets his betrothed on the grand dais in the middle of the heartwood. The night birds click and sing around them, and a gentle wind pushes the omega's hair forward from his shoulder, slipping across his cheek like a strip of pale blond silk. Thousands of promised pairs before them have met in this very place, bathed in the only light in the dark, sipping it down like soul wine as they made their far-reaching promises and sought blessings just out of sight.
The platform was carefully carved from the stump of a gargantuan tree. A tree of old. The packs all called them the wedding trees for the glittering rings running round their insides. Chan's grandmother, with her knobby fingers and her whitened eyes, told him that long, long ago, before the packs knew reading or writing or healing or farming or hunting, before they wrote their stories and songs, before the wolves were even a thought in the universe... the world was different. Larger, larger than life. The whole of the earth was a woman, a pretty lady, and she laughed in the stars and danced in the sunlight. One day, she grew lonely so she gave birth to everything, but she cried as she cast them out, knowing that such a singular act of creation would certainly mean the death of her. It was tragic, he thought as a pup, clutching his bedclothes to his chin, eyes watering, so sad. But after the lady passed, his grandmother told him, her light carried on in the most lovely things: flowers and fruits and forests and fields.
And the world was new. And it was good. And the lady lived on in a quiet, still place, watching everything bloom from her throne in the moon. From her place within the wedding trees.
But the trees did not live forever. Nothing ever does. The world tumbled on, time fled, and before long, the earth was home only to monsters. Creatures of fire and blood and poison, ice wraiths and swamp-lunged mudkits. Things that stole and lied and betrayed and killed. And the monsters bred twisted, horrific creatures, and they ruled the earth for thousands of years, raping it and destroying all the good the lady moon had born. Yes, that poor lovely world, stomped down by cruel giants. They felled the wedding trees with their terrible power, greedy and useless, leaving only the stumps behind. A reminder of a world long past. Ash in the air. Something you can't close your hand around.
They were all taught when they were young that it was their task to make the world whole again. To make the lady moon smile once more. To restore her memory.
The heartwoods are sacred forests. Each pack claimed one when the nine were born, and they built their settlements in great concentric circles, spinning wildly about the wedding trees.
This place is Chan's home. Has been since his family line began.
And his omega, the fair one who stands before him in a shift of white linen, would come to know this pack as his home too.
The omega cries pretty tears as the moonlight begins to spill pale blue over them, and Chan cannot blame him. All his life, he hoped that he would not have to leave his home to wed. When he received word that indeed, he would stay, serving the fortunate bit of a lopsided treaty, he was all smiles. Now, he sees that such joy was not without its price.
"I'm sorry," Chan whispers, and he reaches forward, easily taking the omega's hand.
"Whatever for?" the poor thing asks, voice even, belying his overwhelming sadness.
"I know you did not wish to leave your pack."
"I am honored to be your mate," the omega says, notably not refuting him, never choosing to lie.
He knows of this omega. He had asked about him prior to this day. They all said the same thing: he was honest and smart and gentle. He was good with children and even better with a bow. He was something of a prized possession for the leaders in his pack, and his betrothal was a bargaining chip. The omega's pack, smallest among the eight, needed protection against marauders. Chan's pack was strong. It made sense.
Still, it seems a bit filthy to be standing before him like this, knowing that were it not for the pack's distinct lack, Chan would almost certainly not be the one to mate with him. It leaves a guilty feeling sitting on his skin like dirty oil, and he absently wipes his hand against his forearm like he can maybe just brush it away.
"I will give you a good life," he says solemnly. "I swear it."
"Thank you, alpha," the omega bows.
He is about to tell him to rise, that such acts of reverence are not necessary, but then, the omega drops to the ground, kneeling before him, forehead pressed to the wood of the wedding tree beneath their bared feet.
"No, no," Chan says, hurriedly kneeling in front of him, "no, such a humbling pose on a day of blessing—you shouldn't, omega."
He takes the omega's hands in his, and the omega raises his head as Chan gently guides him to sit back on his heels. And for a moment more, they kneel there, staring into each other's eyes. The omega's irises are gold. Strange and divine and beautiful. There is magic in him. Old magic, Chan can sense it. Chan bites inside his cheek as he looks upon him. The tear stains traipse across his glowing skin, his flushing cheeks, his red lips. Chan lowers his forehead to the omega's hands, hoping to show his humility. We will be one, he thinks, and I will not put myself above you. Alpha and omega are as one.
"As you say, alpha."
He looks up.
"I... I only mean—"
"I understand," he says softly, and his voice is like the ocean, deep and beautiful and mysterious and strange. "I'm sorry."
Perhaps it is his turn to relieve the omega of his tension.
"Whatever for?" he smiles, and he holds the omega's hands loosely as if to say, If you wish, you can pull away, even now.
And the omega stares deeply into his eyes, lips parting as if he wants to say something. In the end, he says nothing at all, mouth clicking closed, a corner tilting up before it drops. He stands before Chan then, and Chan's jaw tilts up to behold him once more. He is like an angel of the stars, the white of his hair and the tan of his skin and the gold of his eyes and the pale shift he wears, and it is Chan's turn to open his mouth for want of something to say.
You are fairer than they told me, he thinks. I hope that we might have a happy life together. If it were up to me and me alone, then I would have chosen to court you before I wed you. I would have liked to get to know you. I would have liked to win you with charm and love. I would like for us to mate not just with our bodies, but with our souls.
"Rise," the omega says softly, and Chan follows his order, standing in front of him, their hands still wrapped in one another's. "It is nearly time."
Chan looks up towards the open sky, cloudless and sparkling. The lady moon was still rising, but the hour was coming, steadily, certainly.
"Yes," he remarks. "It is."
The omega tightens his hands around Chan's, and it draws his eye. He looks far more relieved than just moments ago, and his stoic face has softened incrementally.
"What have you heard of me, prince?" the omega asks.
"I am no prince," Chan assures him.
"You are the son of your pack's leader, are you not?"
Such a claim normally gives him a sense of pride. Here and now, standing before this proud, beautiful omega, it only fills him with shame. "I am," he admits.
"Power passes to the child, does it not?"
"N-Not always," he hesitates. "If a child does not seek the life of a leader, does not submit themself to the will of the pack, does not display the qualities of a leader, besmirches the things we hold dear—things of that nature."
The omega looks him up and down, a wry smile building upon his face, rocky and strong.
"You seem fine to me," he assesses. "You do not wish to be a leader?"
"Well, my father yet lives."
"May the sun long stay at his side," the omega says.
"Thank you," Chan smiles.
"Still," he continues, "I think prince a fitting title for you."
"My pack recognizes no such title."
The omega's eyelashes are long and full and dark as he blinks. "You do not need to know the name of grass to know it green and lush beneath your feet."
He's never met an omega like this. Smart, they told him. A riddle master, more like.
"I-I suppose not," Chan says.
"Little prince," the omega says, "it would be my pleasure to wed you."
Like he has cast a spell, compelling the moment forward with a coy, curled finger, the sky opens with a beam of pale blue light, shimmering down from heaven. It envelops them, an immense column of magnificent and endless enchantment. The lady looks upon them with a smile, and they know her heart. Chan closes his eyes, and he lets the judgement commence.
He stands in silence for what feels like an eternity, and he does his best not to shift his weight. His father always said that fidgeting made the lady doubt the truth of your oath, like your body could not bear to contain the lie. But Chan never lies if he can help it. Sometimes a small untruth to keep kindness, nothing large enough to injure. He wonders what the omega might say of that. Would he chastise him? Any lie is a lie, he imagines the whip-smart, sharp omega would say. And what would he reply? Truth depends? That would not impress him. He doubts it very much. Still, he wishes he had managed to say something smart before it began. Something to impress him.
And then—the voice.
You do not have to be smart, the lady tells him. You must only be wise.
Are they not one and the same, he asks her.
No, she answers. But in your coming summers, you will learn the difference.
Thank you, lady moon.
Open your eyes now, pup, she tells him, and he is filled with wonder at the sight of his omega, wrapped in a blanket of the lady's magic. The swirling moonlight begins to weave around itself like the long warp strings of a tapestry, shifting in prismatic color, from pink to violet to green to red to gold. Chan's hair moves in the wind, her power whipping the leaves on the trees into the sound of a vast, roiling ocean. Do you see him, this mate you have chosen to bind yourself to?
Yes, my lady, he answers.
There is much goodness within him, she says, but for all the goodness, there is resentment and regret to match it. Will you forsake him for this crime?
No, my lady, Chan says. Never.
He feels her smile, and the wind curls around the omega's shoulder, brushing his hair back from his face.
He is beautiful, but beauty must always return whence it came, she remarks. When he grows old, will you seek someone younger and more beautiful to replace what he has lost?
The omega will retain his beauty to the very last, Chan thinks. He will never be anything other than what he is now, standing on the wobbling rings of the wedding tree, dried tears on his face and a careful way about him. Beauty is not solely pink lips and sun-kissed skin and a lithe frame. It is something buried inside. It is something learned. Yes, and it is something practiced, too.
Never, he answers, for love can never be replaced.
Oh, I see. She seems amused by him. And is love so easily built, in your estimation?
No, my lady, for love is not something built, Chan thinks, but a choice to be made.
Wise, she reminds him with a little laugh, but rarely smart. That is your plight, little prince. Chan startles at the name. It is only the second time he's ever been called such a thing, but it is the second time that eve. She is always listening. Wise but rarely smart. Tests of courage and patience and honor await you if you marry this omega. Knowing this, knowing what pain your summers together might bring, you still seek my blessing?
Yes, he answers, and the colors surrounding the omega cease their dance, shifting to the single most beautiful color Chan has ever seen. Not blue, no, not something as simple as blue. But along the lines of it. Brushing against the thought of it. A color so ethereal and lovely it makes him choke with emotion. Yes, my lady. I do.
It may be foolhardy, but your devotion touches something forgotten within me, Chan, she says, kind and beautiful, just as he always imagined her to be. His heart aches with love for her. I shall grant blessings upon you both and upon your union. I shall watch over you, and I shall offer you guidance whenever I can. I shall keep your promises here today, and when the moon comes that you must greet me once and for all, I shall welcome you to the apex with open arms.
He is astounded by the profoundness of the blessings bestowed. He had never hoped for such illustrious words. He is brought to tears, and he hurriedly brushes them away from the corners of his eyes.
"Thank you," he says aloud, "thank you, my lady. Thank you."
Do not thank me yet, she laughs, and it sounds like the happy sound of morning birds. As I told you, troubles do await. She makes a soft sound of thought. Stronger together. Yes, much stronger than separate. That's the song you must sing. Harmonies gently entwining, pup. Gently. Ever so.
"I will do right by him," Chan promises. "I will do right by his people!"
I do not doubt it, she laughs again. Be well, little prince. And when you hear the water, know that I am there with you.
The moonlight breaks, shatters like glass, and the shards of it, crystalline and sparkling, drift up to the sky in the thousands. The color surrounding the omega, the wisp flutters and falls to the surface of the dais, like rope draped around his ankles. He opens his eyes, blinking away sleep, and they stand there before each other, utterly blessed.
"W-Well, that's a relief," Chan laughs.
He sticks out his hands. The omega pauses before he places his hands into Chan's. He is cold. Then again, the winter fast approaches.
"Yes." A beat. "She was impressed by you, it seems."
His face flushes. "Maybe it was you she was impressed by."
"I doubt it," the omega says. "I will tell you honestly what we discussed, if you desire to hear it."
The morning claws forward, and they must finish their ceremony before then, but... it is a temptation not easily beaten.
"Please," Chan nods.
"I told her that I am here today only to secure the future of my pack," he says softly, looking down between them, Chan's hands holding his own. "That I fear that, without such a marriage, everyone will fall to ash at my feet. That I will carry the weight of the death upon my shoulders, for I could have stopped it." He breathes in, breathes out. "I marry not for love, but for survival." He glances up into Chan's eyes, equal parts fear and reproach. "It only seems fair for you to know."
He cannot pretend that it does not injure some tucked away part of him, the soft animal heart. But he realizes something then, standing there in the glimmering dawn: he did not get a proper courting with which to win his omega's hand, but if he needs to spend the rest of his life winning him over, so be it. Love is not built, he reminds himself, his own thoughts ringing in his head, but chosen.
I chose whatever suffering might greet me. I chose whatever fate might bite at our heels. There is some magic within you, I see it plainly, and I have no fear for I know our union will do much good. Kindness is the first step of a long journey, and love will follow you, no matter what it takes.
"I understand," he says.
"Still you choose this?" the omega asks, brows arching in confusion. "You are the prince of your pack, and you could have had your pick."
"She asked her questions," Chan says simply. "I only answered them."
The omega's throat rolls, and he looks down to their joined hands once more.
"And what color did you see?"
"What?"
"What color," the omega asks again, "did you see surrounding me?"
It is such an intimate thing to discuss on their first meeting, their wedding night. Even long-married pairs might not know the colors. His omega is forward. Headstrong, it seems.
"Blue," he says. "Like... Like the shifting colors of the sea."
The omega seems pleased by the response, hiding a small smile. If it brings him joy, then Chan is glad to have shared it. A little win is a win all the same. Maybe it would make their life easier. Lessen some of the burdens. Still, his curiosity cannot be sated.
"T-Then what color did you see?"
The omega glances over, and Chan follows his gaze. A butterfly, wings painted with owl's eyes. It stares at them from its spot on the tree, the flutter of its wings blinking, blinking. Distantly, the howl of a pack in celebration.
"Do you really want to know?" the omega asks. "You might not be pleased with the answer."
"There may be many uncomfortable truths in our life together. I would like to share in them."
The omega looks into his eyes again, and again Chan is transfixed by him.
"Black," the omega says. "All I saw was black."
Power, he thinks miserably, and death.
"Do you fear me now?" Chan asks.
"The night sky is black, little prince," the omega says. "Do you fear the night?"
"It is only black for the absence of light," he retorts.
"Yet the light has managed to touch us still," the omega smiles. "Do you deny the lady moon her throne?"
It is a nice way of looking at it. He smiles. "No. I do not."
"Then pay it no more thought," the omega says. "Black and blue. We are not unlike a bruise." He smiles with a closed mouth, like he isn't too sure about when he can bear his teeth.
"She told me that it might be difficult," Chan admits, "our union. Trials of... Trials of courage and patience and honor, she said."
The omega gives his hands a squeeze, and he gives Chan a tug. Chan makes a sound of surprise as it pulls him off balance, and he takes a step forward to right himself, stopping just shy of collision of their bodies.
"The lady does not make misery, yet misery is an undeniable part of our world," the omega says. "But hear me now, alpha, I do not frighten at a hungry tide. Harsh winds do not bother me. Fire and flood and famine, I have seen all manner of suffering." He tilts his head to the side, considering. "If you are as strong as your color says, if you convinced the lady to bless us, if you chose me, then... then, there is no question in my heart." He breathes out with a soft smile, giving Chan's hands a comforting squeeze. "I will honor our agreement."
"You will?"
The sun breaks through the trees as the omega takes a step forward to meet Chan in the middle of the world, everything drawn into sharp focus as they touch in a long line.
"She did call you foolish," the omega says, laughter on his tongue, leaning in, "though I had no idea it would come to this."
They pair with a kiss as sunbeams douse them in golden light, warmth pouring in from all sides. Chan's hands nervously slip from the omega's, tenderly, tenuously holding him by his waist. It is a chaste kiss, but he is young and it is his first embrace with an omega. It is only natural for him to think of the things pairs might do together.
The omega breaks the kiss a moment later, and he breathes out with a satisfied huff, looking down between them. Their hands. Rings of gold have spun around their fourth finger, a gift from the lady and her trees.
They will know them as a pair. Wolves will look at the two of them and know that they belong together. They have lost the pink of youth. They now wear the relics of their forebears.
"T-Thank you, omega," Chan says, and he takes a step back to bow to him. "Thank you."
"Please," he says, and Chan raises his head just in time to see the omega's mouth twisting with mischief. "Now that we are wedded, you must call me Felix."