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In all honesty, it was Pantalone's idea alone.
If Dottore were to be his spouse, he could file their expenses under Snezhnaya's Marital Expense Report, when the Fatui's budget felt unreliable. It was an old concept, decreed when Snezhnaya truly embodied the nation of love, celebrating marriage and unions. Now there was no such excitement; the loophole was just convenient.
Despite the Fatui's generous wealth, Dottore's requests for funding often toed the line between calculated expenses and overspending. Clearly he was under the impression Pantalone had the miraculous ability to switch around a few numbers and make everything work out without fail. His confidence in his abilities was appreciated... but also a little misplaced.
And it wasn't as if Pantalone would have a grand wedding and make a great fuss about it. It would be private, clandestine. A couple signatures and a witness- presumably Her Majesty, if her blessing is given. And they would continue to live their separate lives.
Dottore had been bemused at the idea of being husbands, head thrown back in hysterical laughter. But after some more deliberation (and a glass of water after he had laughed himself into a fit), he saw no reason to disagree. If it kept Pantalone's wallet open for his experiments and saved The Fatui mora, it was an efficient variable to optimize. Pantalone fought a chuckle of his own.
"Let's say we do get married," He had said, "will you finally approve my proposal?" It was something about Khaen'rhian technology, some terribly expensive extracting endeavor.
"We shall see." Pantalone responded vaguely. "So will you marry me, Dottore?"
"Do what you must," Dottore had said with a wave of his hand. "but leave me out of the frivolous details."
Dottore had been chagrined indeed to find Her Majesty wanted an audience with both of them.
"Don't say anything strange." Pantalone insisted. He kept his voice low, in case their voices carried through into the throne room despite the heavy doors. "In fact, feel free to be as generic as possible. I'll persuade her."
"I'm insulted. Do you find my improvisation skills to be so lacking?" Dottore smirked.
"You might be able to think on your feet, but the things you say are often... uncalled for. It's best you leave it to me."
Her Majesty the queen buried her feelings under layers of rigid stoicism. She had perfected her mask so well even Pantalone found it hard to gauge her mood at times. It was hard to believe she was the Archon of Love, of all dominions.
Yet it was for that reason precisely she summoned them to her throne room.
Dottore stood motionless beside Pantalone, a respectful distance away. Pantalone fidgeted with his rings. They were both dressed in their Harbinger cloaks, which made the whole ordeal feel more formal than it had to be. Her Majesty sat on her throne, one leg crossed elegantly over the other, the train of her gown draped with deliberate poise.
"I received your letter, child." She began. Again, Pantalone could not decipher her tone. It agitated him— it was why he didn't like being alone with her.
Well, not alone. He glanced at Dottore, who was of no help.
"I'm glad." Pantalone replied. He mustered a polite smile. "Is there an issue? If you want clarification, I'm happy to provide."
"Your penmanship is not so far-gone." She said dismissively. That, he could pick out just fine. She brandished his letter and unfolded it. "Your request seemed too important to be handled over mere correspondence. Did you believe I would give you my blessing on paper?"
"I imagine you will have to sign a few documents." Pantalone said, and hurried to elaborate. "If you give your blessing, of course."
"Hmm." Her silver eyes narrowed. Her gaze then flicked over the letter again, and Pantalone wondered what line she was reading. The one where he graciously asked for Dottore's hand in marriage? Or the obligatory update on the Fatui budget, how well things were going, just to smooth things over if she felt displeased by his demands?
The arrangement was a little strange, he will admit. Her Majesty was certainly not Dottore's mother, so he technically didn't need her approval. But all Harbingers had to check with her before making life-altering decisions— her way of keeping tabs on her morally bankrupt executives. Marriage seemed to fit the bill. And she deemed it life-altering indeed if she decided to summon them in person just to interrogate.
"Do you love him, Feofan?" She motioned to Dottore. "And you, him?"
Dottore was already standing eerily still, but somehow managed to freeze further. Pantalone shot him a dirty glance. He promised to play along, and now he was balking? The nerve.
"Yes." He said easily. "Of course I do," He then playfully laid a hand on Dottore's shoulder, a bit awkwardly considering he was standing a little too far away. "and I know the feeling is mutual."
Dottore finally spoke up, having been impassive the entire meeting. He gently brushed off Pantalone's hand.
"That's right, Your Majesty." he drawled. Dottore had always struggled to play nice, even in the face of his queen. Was speaking in a sincere tone really such a insurmountable task? "We're madly in love and wish to tie the knot at once."
Pantalone's eye twitched. How on the nose! He wasn't convincing at all.
"Oh?" The Tsaritsa smiled. "Now that's a heartwarming thought. Two of my Harbingers, playing starstruck lovers."
"I assure you it is no play." Pantalone quickly reminded. "Our feelings are entirely sincere."
"What he said."
Her Majesty got up from her throne and began circling them, walking in wide arcs. Despite her stony expression, there was an imperceptible glint of amusement in her gaze. Yes, holing up in her palace day in and day out must be terribly boring. This was probably the most interesting thing in the world to her right now. Pantalone resisted the urge to swivel his head and track her movements.
"I must admit, I am intrigued..." She mused, a smile playing on her lips. "I suppose I never considered that my children would one day settle down. And least of all, you two, my most ambitious Harbingers."
"Is marriage not an ambition? Certainly less impressive than the work you've had me do, but it is a tangible goal, at the very least." Dottore pointed out. She ignored him.
The Tsaritsa stopped them circling like a hawk and stopped in front of Pantalone. She had such a regal, delicate beauty to her, that it almost made Pantalone forget how towering she was. He had to crane his neck up to meet her.
"Tell me, Feofan." She smiled, disarmingly warm. "When did you know?"
"Know what, Your Majesty?"
"Know that you wanted to marry him." It was like a switch had been flicked. The Tsaritsa seemed almost... excited. He had never seen her so happy before. Not the foolish, gullible kind. There was still a cunning edge to her, and Pantalone would never dream of underestimating his monarch. "Tell me everything."
She glanced at Dottore. "I'll be getting accounts from you, too. Not to worry." Dottore nodded. Did she think he was feeling left out? Pantalone wanted to laugh. On the contrary, he probably wanted to be anywhere but here.
She turned back. "Well?"
Pantalone wracked his mind for ideas. He was never the most imaginative person. "Ah... it was a gradual realization, I suppose. Sudden epiphanies are more suited for novella."
She nodded sagely. He breathed the tiniest sigh of relief, and continued.
"And, well..." Pantalone put on a contemplative face to make it seem like he was ruminating deeply, not grasping at straws. Buying himself time. "It could've been when he performed a surgery on me to repair my immune system. Parts of skin had developed an allergy to eucalon wool, and the surgery fixed that. It wasn't a necessary procedure, it would have cost nothing to make small adjustments to my wardrobe, but he insisted upon it anyway. I found it... touching?"
Dottore was staring at him, no longer gazing dazedly at the wall.
Her Majesty narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing. Ah, was it too farfetched? Pantalone had referenced a real memory. Maybe he should simply start lying. He was good at that.
"But that paled in comparison to when we went to watch a rendition of Romeo and Juliet at the theater," That part was true. Sandrone had berated them later for critiquing the production so loudly. "and he confessed he saw us in the main couple."
Ugh, not his finest lie. But he managed to deliver it with a straight face, and just the right amount of bashfulness, as if the memory flustered him.
Dottore's unreadable stare had become incredulous. It was a good thing he was wearing his mask. Only he could tell what kind of face he was making with it on.
"Pantalone certainly plays with death, with the amount of times I had to intervene in the operating room." Dottore elaborated stiffly. "He would fit right in."
The Tsaritsa seemed moved, and she placed a hand over her heart. "Yes, the theater... the Korolevskiy Troupe, was it? I do so admire their work. Regrettably, I seem to never have the time to indulge in their performances..." She shook her head. "Enough about me."
She walked back to the throne, having recovered her composure. She pointed at Dottore. "And you? What made you realize?"
Dottore spoke readily. He probably brainstormed what to say while Pantalone was floundering. "On my dissection table, of course. He is my only patient who tolerates post-surgery... examinations." At her unsure expression he clarified, "Er, internal examinations."
It was Pantalone's turn to stare at him disbelievingly. He shouldn't be surprised, but still.
Dottore rambled on. " I always made sure he couldn't feel a thing. I only wanted to take a peek and make observations, here and there. My other patients try to escape, or plead for their lives- as if that ever worked. And in the worst case scenarios they never made it past surgery in the first place."
Her Majesty didn't seem disturbed. Instead, she smiled. "And did you find his heart beat only for you?"
"Uh... yes, naturally." Dottore grinned, and it was all sharp teeth. Not exactly welcoming. "Without my interventions, I dare say it wouldn't be beating at all."
Pantalone should have known. The Tsaritsa was a hopeless romantic, beneath her icy exterior. And with their supposed declaration of love, her passion had all but burst forth.
"Your verdict?" Pantalone asked. "We don't want to keep you, Your Majesty."
"Ah, right. My blessing."
She clapped her hands together. "Far be it from me to keep you two lovebirds apart!" Her cheerful tone was incredibly jarring to hear, considering her smile was not equally warm. "You have my blessing, Feofan. I'm flattered you came to me with this request- as if Zandik was my son, of all things."
Dottore smirked. "Am I not your favorite child?"
Yes, he did seem to get away with a lot more, compared to the rest of the Harbingers.
"I don't play favorites." The Tsaritsa reclined back in her seat. "You two are dismissed. Keep an eye on your inbox, the both of you."
"We will. Thank you, Your Majesty." Pantalone bowed politely, and Dottore stiffly followed suit.
Before they could reach the gates, she spoke up again.
"Ah-but-but!" She held out a hand. Pantalone glanced back questioningly.
"Yes, Your Majesty?"
"You don't seem very pleased by my verdict. Not even a hint of celebratory excitement." She sighed ruefully. "Has passion truly become a thing of the past? I suppose even a concept such as love has become bureaucratic."
Oh, if only she knew.
"It would be unbecoming to celebrate in front of you." Dottore said mildly. "But rest assured, we are overjoyed."
"Prove it." Her hopeful gaze had hardened again. Pantalone was almost relieved. Happiness didn't suit her. "Forgive me, children, I know you two are especially stoic. But I withhold my blessing until I see sufficient proof."
"Is the desire to wed not enough? Why does the reason itself matter?" Dottore grumbled under his breath. Pantalone shushed him; Her Majesty's elf ears weren't just for show.
Pantalone flashed a smile at her. "I understand completely. Deception has become so prevalent these past few years, no?"
Without waiting for a response, he grabbed Dottore's chin and brought him in for a kiss. His glasses clacked against his mask, but the softness of his lips offset the discomfort. Dottore's hands flew to his shoulders in surprise. Then he pulled away and put on wide smile.
"It's all I ever wanted." Pantalone said, speaking on autopilot. There was a chance he was reciting a stage production word-for-word.
Dottore's grip was painfully tight; he was appalled. "Likewise. And speaking from experience, Pantalone was holding back for your sake, Your Majesty. If there wasn't an audience, I suspect he would've jumped at the opportunity to strip me."
What an accusation! Pantalone glanced at the queen in a panic, though he made sure it didn't show.
She didn't seem scandalized, or offended. In fact she was grinning.
Now that was an unsettling sight.
"Would he now?" She said dreamily, almost wistfully. "Such unadulterated desire. Longing, devotion... I understand it well. Yes, I shan't keep you here any longer. Enjoy your honeymoon, my dears."
They all but scurried out of the throne room.
"You approved my project!" Dottore burst into Pantalone's office, grinning ear to ear. A parcel was clutched in his hand, wrapped in innocuous brown paper. "I thought I'd have to move on from Khaen'rhia for the time being. Seems all the so-called complicated finances got sorted out, hm?" He shamelessly took a seat on the edge of Pantalone's desk, knocking over a pot of ink.
"That I did." Pantalone smiled. "The Marital Expense Report is a nifty little document. Dare I suggest you could even research Celestia, if you really wanted to."
"Truly? In that case- no, I shouldn't get ahead of myself, ha..." Dottore cackled. He presented the parcel to Pantalone, setting it on the desk.
At his eager, expectant gaze, Pantalone unwrapped it. The package seemed to get smaller and smaller with every layer of wrapping removed, until all that remained was a small, velvet box. He opened it.
It was a ring. Not just any ring, a rolling ring- a traditional Snezhnayan design, popular among newlyweds. It symbolized harmony, love, soulmates...
The individual bands were bright silver. Of course Dottore picked up on the fact Pantalone never wore gold; silver suited his style far better.
It was exactly the sort of gag gift Dottore would come up with.
Pantalone slipped it on his right hand. It was a perfect fit, almost suspiciously so. He raised an eyebrow at Dottore.
"What? I had all the measurements I needed. You think I don't collect data during the window you're unconscious post-op?"
He didn't need that reminder.
"It's beautiful." He admitted, raising his hand to watch the light reflect. "You didn't have to, Dottore. Our marriage is one of convenience."
Dottore scoffed. He almost seemed defensive. "Yes, well, convenience doesn't have to mean boring. Forgive me for adding a little levity to our marriage, husband."
"Please, I never said I hated it."
Dottore then slipped off his glove and raised his own hand triumphantly. An identical ring, though gold (the same muted, brass-shade found all over his accessories) rolling ring sat on his finger.
"A matching pair." Pantalone took his hand and inspected the rings side-by-side. He soon became more preoccupied with the atrocious state of Dottore's cuticles.
"Yes, yes. Consider it a token of my appreciation for the project funding." Dottore slid off his desk and put his glove back on. "Speaking of, I better return to the lab. I don't trust any of my idiot segments to handle the Ruin Guard without falling off in a fit of nausea."
Pantalone waved, with his right hand. "I wish you good luck, then."
"Mm. See you, darling."