Work Text:
_ _ _ _ _ _
It's been a dozen years since Stiles stepped out of the portal into Peter's life and they've not been idle. Between taking down the Argents, re-establishing treaties and helping to build the Hale Pack, they've drawn enough attention and gained enough prestige that now Peter's Ascension to Hale Alpha & Guardian means holding a Jubilee rather than the smaller gathering they would have had in the past. That meant there would be some pomp and circumstance too, and Stiles wanted to make sure everything was perfect.
_ _ _ _
Stiles has been working on this piece for nearly three months, using multiple techniques to create this pauldron Peter would wear at the ceremony during the Jubilee. It was an old tradition, very old, crafting an adornment for a new Alpha, and Stiles wanted this piece to be perfect.
Ajouré cutwork flowed into a lain filigree border, silver on silver, the glint of gems competing for the light. Patterns of flowers delighted across the curves, chase and repousse forming a riot of flowers in the background under blooms and leaves in rose-golds and coppers. There, an occasional hint of gold caught the light, a bee at work half-hidden by petals.
Rhododendron blooms in a reddish-pink rose gold on the front of the cop toward the chest, copper-tinged branches weaving over the top and making up the majority of detail on the back. Nasturtium stands proud across the scapula, red-orange petals spread full. Ferns unfurl among the roots, the occasional leaf picked out in peridot as they brush toward the shoulder. Glimpses of purple amethyst in varying shades draw attention to the lavender and rosemary blooming from the bottom lame, while mother-of-pearl and moonstone stand in for white heather that shares space with the lapis lazuli blooms of wolfsbane.
The leather straps are a dark brown, rich like newly-turned earth. Once put on, the straps would ride on chest and across back almost like a holster, with a join under the left arm and a buckle in the front. Like the base of the pauldron, the buckle was a hammered satin finish, runnels and edges catching the light from every angle creating a bark-like effect.
Vines and branches come together to suggest the Hale triskelion all over the piece, triads swirling together and extending in subtle ways.
Stiles was pleased. The idea of this pauldron had been riding him like a devil since he first read about the tradition of Adornment. He'd played with the idea of vambraces, even considered a goblet of some kind, but no matter where his thoughts went it all came back to the pauldron. Something about it just felt right. He was glad to have made it and remembered when he first told Peter about the pauldron. To think, he’d been reluctant to even sit for a fitting until Stiles had shown him the sketch.
_ _ _
Peter had held still while Stiles took measurements of his neck, shoulder and arm, doing some sort of math Peter couldn't quite figure. After a minute, Stiles turns and picks up a thick, almost circular sheet of silver, causing it to fall in drapes over Peter's shoulder, back and chest. He fusses with it, tugging it and smoothing it like fabric, pushing the wrinkles to the edges and leaving a smooth surface for Stiles to mark on. He scores the silver with a claw, then comes back in with an iron-tipped scribe to cut it the rest of the way once he's sure of the fall.
Peter holds still, feeling the weight of the silver shift and change as Stiles manipulates it into the proper starting shapes. He raises his arm obediently to allow strips of silver to be loosely curled around his bicep. Stiles bends those too, curling them slightly to leave space for the leather straps. It takes a little while, but eventually Stiles is happy with the shapes and removes them from Peter's shoulder and arm, moving to set the main portion onto the wooden 'shoulder' he'd already made for this purpose.
Peter ran his fingers over the half-formed sheet draped on the wooden block shaped like his own shoulder, feeling only smooth where he knows there will be countless indentations from the hammering done to texture it so. He remembered Stiles had called it a "cop", the main piece that would ride on his right shoulder. The pieces underneath it, the "lames" would be attached and the whole thing would cover him from mid bicep, over his shoulder and collarbone, a gentle rise almost to neck. Leather straps would hold it in place across his chest, back, and around his right arm.
"Did you know they use silver on burn victims?" Peter mused, fingers dancing over the metal.
"No. How is it administered?"
"Through the skin, in a cream."
Stiles hmmms and picks up his hammer again.
"You're certain you want it to be that side?"
Peter just smiled. He had made his choice. He wanted the pauldron on his right, his stronger side, the side Talia gave him the Bite. Riding over his scar from the Bite, symbolically protecting that side, the side of the wolf. The side he chose.
_ _ _ _
Stiles selected a thin, pointed punch and pushed through the silver with it, like an awl through leather. He twisted the punch on its way out, slightly enlarging and elongating each hole. Each one of these holes would eventually be used to connect the lames to the cop and the underlying leather seating/straps.
Once all of the holes are done, Stiles moves on to the next part of his task. He'll be using thin liner chisels to work in a bark-like underworking around the flora, hammering hundreds of lines across the piece. Because the majority of the flowers and stem work will be attached, he can make the lines long and unbroken, further giving the impression of bark. The places in the design he'll leave blank have already been marked out with grease pencil and claw, ready for their various parts to be layered on.
The large nasturtium leaves came next, gently rounded out from behind with a bit of coaxing from a large planisher. A brief strike and draw with the back of his claw and the veins of the leaf take shape, the circular edges soft against the meticulously shadowed cross-hatching separating them from the bark behind.
A domed punch and some pressure creates a curled fern frond, looping back to its largest at the lowest point of the scapula. A riot of fern in that corner follows, first raised from behind then shaped and outlined by a smooth chisel in front. A diamond-tipped steel claw cap comes in to deal with the small, detailed cut-outs the stones will be set in from behind.
Now, the flowers.
Picking up a larger ingot of gold, he then selects enough copper to make a lovely dark pink-red base to his metallic blooms. Since rose gold is just gold, copper and a bit of silver in unequal amounts, it is little difficulty to get the shades matching what he imagines. The branches and limbs of the bush and other florals will be worked in variations of copper and brass, to give depth and visual interest to the overall theme. The engraving work will be lengthy, but once complete will bring everything to life.
He begins by pinching off a piece of the ball of rose gold he's made. Each petal is quickly shaped with a measured squeeze, pull, and tap of his fingertips, then set aside to be joined into complete flowers in the next step of the process. Each flower has five petals and each cluster of blooms contains several flowers, so soon enough a small pile of petals sits to his left on the work table. They clink pleasantly as he drops each one into the bowls, sorting them by size. Once he has enough, he sets the remaining lump of rose gold back into the box he's set aside for the raw materials so he can come back to it later if needs be.
Copper-orange nasturtiums are next. Again, the selection of copper to add to silver and gold this time to embolden the natural tones of the copper. He ponders gilding the inside of them, deciding he can do so when adding the other gilt details he already had worked in. The flower was relatively plain, but their veined round leaves would surround them, bold repousse circles in silver. His thumb smoothed out circular petals one at a time, leaving a slight wrinkling across the surface. Each flower has five petals, again, but the bowl of petals holds a much smaller amount when full.
Picking up the brass next, he starts rolling it out like dough so he can cut the flat strips out he'll need to curve over the cop. It parts neatly under the steel tips of his claw cap, the slight curves hinting at the final shape the metal will take. These strips he picks up and again sorts by size, narrow to broad, to match the varying sizes of flora.
The bulk of the work will be done in silver-on-silver, repousse and chase bringing the scene truly to life with rosemary, lavender, heather and wolfsbane running along the lames and over their top joins to grow toward Peter's shoulder. Anyone who knows the language of flowers will recognize the power in those creations, and anyone familiar with Peter and Stiles will know each of these speak to their history. To everyone else, it is simply an ornate piece representing both the burden and the privilege of being the Nemeton's chosen Alpha and Guardian.
Stiles picked up the first lame and began to work.
_ _ _ _ _
Luckily, for most of the ceremony everyone would be in more traditional formal wear. Of course, this meant a visit from the seamstress, a local stitch-witch who offered her services to the Hales from time to time. Peter already had outfits in mind and had been able to sketch out his ideas well enough to convey to Ms. Davenport for her to begin on more detailed ones and bring them back along with a swatch selection.
A rich, dark chocolate brown, almost black, would be for the suit pants and corset-style vests while an ivory-white was selected for the open-collared dress shirt, just a few shades off of the traditional black and white. She assured him she had enough fabrics in several types but refused to show him the sketch Stiles had passed to her with a murmured question too low for Peter to overhear.
"You'll see these designs the day of and not before, Alpha. I'm not spoiling anything! Give an old woman her secrets and leave me be!" Swatting away his hands she collected up her case and left with a wink towards Stiles, who winked back.
Peter scowled.
"Talia didn't have to go through this dog and pony show when she became Pack Alpha."
"You enjoy it, don't say otherwise."
Peter scoffs but doesn't disagree.
"Peter, you know it's a bit different than just becoming the head Alpha of a Pack, you'll be in charge of the Nemeton's territory," Stiles chided. "That's a lot of responsibility and people want to show their respect."
"Stiles, you'll be the Emissary of the Nemeton, not just the Hale Pack. That's much more of an occasion than a ceremonial hand-over of trinkets and truces." Peter shoots back, pointing out they're both in for more than others in their position would expect.
"True, but I am more of a mystery. I am not the brother of Talia Hale, pack-descended for generations and raised to Alpha by glory. I don't think as many people will be asking for my attentions tonight."
"Oh Stiles," Peter sighs, not for the first time, "If you could see yourself how I do you'd know how wrong that statement is."
_ _ _ _ _ _
Stiles finally allows Peter to see the finished piece, slipping out the front door to let Peter take it in by himself before the rest of the Pack sees it. It is draped in fabric that Peter slowly pulls off.
If Stiles had still been an apprentice, this piece would have certainly made him a Master. It truly was a masterpiece in definition of work, showcasing every aspect of metalworking. Peter knew he would never see its like again in his lifetime, and for a moment mourned that so few people would be able to share the experience of seeing the pauldron. For as much of the piece was made with magic, it was made with even more skill. Centuries of it. Outside of the Realms, he doesn't know many people that are long-lived enough to spend hundreds of years perfecting a craft.
Sometimes Peter forgets how old Stiles is, having been stuck with the Sorcerer for generations of time. He seems so young in other ways it's often easy to forget that he isn't just what he appears. He was, as far as they could tell, born into a human family and just as his magic started to appear he was thrown into the castle with a Sorcerer, Bitten and then locked away from the heart of living nature due to the greed of a Sorcerer and machinations of the druid equivalent of his village. He just happened to be born unlucky in the wrong place at the wrong time: a budding magic-user orphaned in a small village during a dark period of human history.
Now though, Stiles is out on another visit to the Nemeton. Peter jokes that he's making up for all the lost time away from nature, but it really is true. If he wasn't learning about werewolves from Talia, he was asking questions of Peter, and if he wasn't doing that, he was more than likely at the Grove. It's like he's dying of hunger and information is food. Things have been relatively quiet lately, so Stiles was taking advantage. Peter can't blame him, considering the amount of travel they'd done over the past few years. Peter's parents and family had worked hard to maintain ties with other regional Packs and supernaturally affiliated parties, and when Talia inherited the role she and Peter kept the same effort going.
Now all those years of letters and quiet meetings were coming to fruition, almost all of the Packs and Others were planning on attending or sending representatives to the Jubilee. They were starting to form a larger, stronger community, a huge mixed Pack that would pose much more of a barrier to any more uprisings in Hunter activity than they all had as more singular, insular groups. They'd come together to help bring down the Argents and discovered that working together meant survival. Now, with almost a dozen years between that bloody event and today, Stiles and Peter will stand forward as the Emissary and Alpha of the Nemeton's territory surrounded by the same people who helped bring about their original victory.
Peter remembers when it first started and how excited Stiles had been. "There will be traveling? More traveling?" Stiles questioned. "It's like they say, love. 'You have to leave home to become well-known, you have to stay home to be known well.' " Peter had quipped back, and Stiles had laughed, delighted at the idea of meeting new people and seeing all the places he was denied, of having a home to return to and family who loved him. Years later and some of the newness had rubbed off the idea, but Stiles was still just as enthusiastic. It paid dividends, true, because now instead of just a simple Ascension it had blown into a full grown Jubilee, with people attending and sending letters from all over. Peter didn't think he'd rise an Alpha, much less be alive to be part of a Jubilee. Stiles had been fascinated, listening to his explanation about gatherings and celebrations, and had gone through old books until he came across an old tradition of making an "adornment" for a new Alpha and promptly thrown himself in that direction head-first.
This piece was the result and Peter couldn't have been more proud or more humbled.
_ _ _ _ _ _
The Jubilee is occurring.
Peter and Stiles work their way through the crowd, looking resplendent in their finery. The past decade and some has been good to them both, and they move confidently around the room. Ivory shirts contrast gently against deep chocolate brown, almost black, corset style vests rich with gold & silver thread stitching. Their silver and gold wedding bands catch the light, still as bright as they were a hundred moons ago.
On their backs, dozens of concentric rings picked out in thread-of-gold flow from the multi-color starburst in the center. A rainbow of color whirls to spin out tree rings, a top-down view of the top of the Nemeton's stump. Along the edges, brown on brown applique spreads down their sides, leaves of all variety falling to the corners. The fronts are striped silver and gold, forming a V in the center where they meet their twined laces. Each grommet is joined to its partner by a single ring, alternating gold and silver to match the stripe of the vest itself. Ms. Davenport had outdone herself with these creations, even though the metal wirework was Stiles' responsibility. She had provided a glorious tapestry for him to work around and they made certain everyone knew who was responsible, and her wrist was adorned with a lovely golden bracelet, a needle drawn large and pulled in round that Stiles had made as a thanks.
The moment has come for everyone to go outside, and there, almost on their doorstep, is the Nemeton. Just like Stiles and Peter, She has grown into Her promise and potential. Her branches extend overhead, blocking out the rest of the canopy from view. She and her chosen are the center of attention as Her glow settles into a dimmer hazy light, flickering down twig and leaf like water. She disappears and reappears further away, dancing through the wood, leading them up and in. Quietly, Stiles takes Peter's hand and starts walking toward Her.
It's beautiful. As they complete their Oaths, she glows so brightly all the attendees squint, overcome by Her light. For just a moment, as they're caught in the wave of Her magic, the pauldron is alive. Bees scuttle across the blossoms and change position; the flowers all sway like they've been caught in a surprise Spring breeze. A few heartbeats more and everything is still again. Peter flexes his arm, feeling the metal resettle against his own shape. Stiles just smiles and runs his fingers over the blooms closest to his chest. "I'm glad I gave them legs," he says, and Peter has no earthly idea what he is talking about, still struck by the swirl of light She'd left behind in Stiles' eyes with Her touch. "The bees, Peter. On your pauldron." Peter is suddenly glad Stiles did too, imagining if he'd only made half-bees as ornaments and almost wincing.
Talia calls out their names and new titles, and announces their Ascension complete. Now is the time for celebration.
They all head into Peter's clearing where tables and chairs have been set up for those who wish to use them, and mantled lanterns hung up for light. For as much as this ceremony called for some solemnity, it was also a celebration of life and the ties that held them all together, now additionally bound by Her. The time for sobriety was done, it was time to revel.
The celebration has been going for a couple of hours, the moon now at her peak, when Peter notices two figures appear at the edge of the clearing and begin to stride toward him. These must be the messengers of the Fae Court, and it seems the Queen sent some familiar faces for Stiles. As they make their way to Peter, Stiles sees them and hurries over to Peter to greet them.
"Gatherer! Gambler!" Stiles calls out, perhaps a little warm from some of Peter's mead. "The Queen sends her best, indeed!" and laughs at his own cleverness.
Both of the Fae smile, clearly fond. "We were happy to be chosen to represent our Queen tonight. We carry her greetings as well as her blessing, may it lay light on your brow." Gambler answers distractedly, seemingly fascinated by Peter's pauldron. Suddenly, Stiles realizes Gambler is wearing small metal buds wrapped around his head, a subtle crown touched by magic Stiles recognizes all too well. "My brow, hmm? And where did you happen across the daisies on yours?" he asks, off-balance and unsure.
"From you, Metalsmith. Or should I say Emissary? Your flowers take to the Realms like they were born for it! I plucked these only this morning, for this occasion. You should see what your magic has made," Gambler explains, "and what it continues to make even now. The Queen herself demands your blossoms!"
Gatherer, ever more serious than his companion, interjects with a quiet, "Perhaps we will rename you Gardener with how you tend to your field", and waits for Gambler to finish before clearing his throat.
"Alpha, Emissary, we bring you the Queen's greetings and congratulations on your success over these years. She sends this offer of peace and friendship to you, an offer with obligation, but ones that will rest on you easily: continue to serve the Nemeton to the best of your ability, and to allow Fae passage or aid if required. She foresees more communication between our worlds and would see her people made safe." Seeing both of those obligations as acceptable, Stiles and Peter accept, with obligation, and Gatherer smiles, producing a scroll. It's tradition, after all. By tongue and by blood sworn.
Gambler slides his hand into his belt pouch and produces, of all things, a hair-comb of some sort of steel-grey material shaped as the comb, while its spine is a cluster of Aster, all silvery-white. "A gift, without obligation, for the hosting Alpha," he smiles, and slips off to find Talia. "That's cheating!" Stiles says indignantly. "He grew them himself, pssst."
Gatherer is left alone with Stiles and Peter, and they walk across the clearing to get more mead. Gatherer accepts a cupful as well, murmuring about mead made in the Realms having too much spice for his taste. Peter makes a mental note to send a carboy from the next batch over to him, if possible.
"Your pauldron is lovely, Alpha." Gatherer compliments, "As fine as any I've ever seen outside the Realm, though it has been some time since I've seen an Adornment. Was it something your Pack has held on to?"
"Thank you. And no, unfortunately, we didn't hold on to this particular tradition, it was let go of some generations back. Stiles read about it in one of our family journals and decided to bring it back to life." Peter replies, crediting his partner and soulmate. Stiles chuckles, "He had been saying it was a silly tradition up until, oh, right after he saw the designs for the first time." Peter darkens a bit at the jab, but Stiles is telling the truth. Peter hadn't thought he would be gifted such a work like Stiles had produced, but then again, no one could have predicted that this would be what he'd consider "an adornment". From the attention it received tonight, he imagined several groups were going to revive their own similar traditions, or start new ones. Stiles continued to inspire.
Gambler returns to them, task performed and more mead acquired. "What would I have to offer for one of your bees, Metalsmith? Perhaps they would be suited to help your flowers grow in our Realm?" he queried, peering again at the pauldron as if expecting one of the bees to fly right off and into his pocket. "Did you craft them a queen, too?"
"No, I did not, and I doubt your Queen would take kindly to being one of many in her own Realm!" Stiles laughed, delighted at the idea. "I can make you bees, Gambler, but it was Her magic that stirred them, not mine." Gambler waved a hand, "Yours, Hers, what is the difference now?" then stopped at tongue-clicking from Gatherer.
"Did you bring them or must I tie you to my belt like a youngling," he almost hisses, but Gambler pacifies him by producing a small silky pouch, almost transparent, with two gems about the size of a thumbnail inside. Stiles and Peter both stare at the ruby-like stones, glimmering with trapped fire under the lantern-light. "These are from the Queen herself, a gift without obligation, to the Chosen of the Nemeton, for use in dire need. She forged these herself, to create a tie between you in a time of need. They will allow you to share your spirit with the other, but will never trap or harm them. She swears it by her hand and her Vows."
Gambler extends the stones out in his palm, offering them to the couple.
Stiles, ever quick, repeats "to the Chosen of the Nemeton, so these are tied to our service?" Gatherer nods, "As long as you are Her Alpha and Emissary, the stones will work. A willing sharing and transfer of power between you if the need ever arises."
Peter is stunned and Stiles is speechless.
"Without obligation? Should I be curious as to the Queen's generosity?" Peter says when he recovers. Gatherer says, "I would be surprised if you were not. I could not tell you for certain, but I believe she feels change on the wind and is glad to foster a continuing relationship with Emissary, as well as keep the door open for future negotiations with you, Alpha. Both of you were hurt due to the dealings of others with our kind, yet you never faulted us for our nature. She respects that and feels for the first time in a long, long time, that the Realms can begin to work together. If you refuse, no offense is taken and these will be destroyed here and now."
They have a silent conversation, and then Stiles reaches out to pluck the bag from Gambler's hand. "We accept, without obligation but with deepest appreciation." It was a show of trust, signaling to the Queen they accepted her word as an ally. Stiles would craft pieces to hold the gems later, with Peter's input. A torc, perhaps? Rings? His mind was already whirling with ideas. He pulled himself free of those thoughts to thank Gatherer and Gambler, "And take back with you to your Queen our thanks and the blessing of the Nemeton, may it lay light upon her brow."
The sun rises, casting shadows across part of the clearing. Only one thing left to do, now.
They move a couple of newly coiled skeps closer to the Nemeton, currently within view of the rhododendron bush. Peter's pauldron shines in the early light. As they place the skeps down the first curious bees start to enter, they announce their presence.
"This is our Alpha, Peter, and he is welcome on our territory. He is mine."
"This is our Emissary, Stiles, and he is welcome on our territory. He is mine."
As wolves howled and humans joined in, the bees sang out their joy to all the realms.
_ _ _ _ _ _
Nasturtium - patriotism/loyalty to land
Lupinus - happiness
Lavender - purity, protection
Rhodendron - danger, beware
Fern - magic
Rosemary - remembrance
White Heather - protection
Daisies - innocence
Star Aster - beauty in retirement