E Pluribus una Vox

[Finn]

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Prædium Solunarii
1st of Frost, 124 Annus Ferro

been the killer, been the king,
been the diamond, and the ring.
I'm the reason that I sing.
I'm the reason that I sing.

On the first day of Frost, a month after arriving as Legatus Ecithialis—or, here, Legatus Solunarii—Finn was doing work that he preferred and was glad that it could be considered a part of what he was doing here. It was strangely both liberating and nerve-wracking to go from attempting to conform to some version of himself that was palatable to Solunarium and glorified both his husband and his God to being sent abroad and told to lean into those things that made him decidedly not Solunarian.

As he looked from Lystreia, who was playing and singing a high harmony, to the motley of Ecithian citizens—several of them children—comprising his chorus, he could not but smile, the unguarded sort of which there had been few since fleeing an impending war to seek Arvælyn's story in the south.

I am the sleeper, I'm the star.
I'll put on the candelabra;
I can't even hold your candle.
I think we are going to be fine.

everything is going to be fine.

It was early days yet, but reports were sent back with clockwork regularity to keep Phocion, Cithæra, Arvælyn, Everyl, and Zalkyriax apprised of his progress such as it was. His song would be sung as a part of a rainbow tour through Drathera and to several major settlements in the commonwealth, the better to show solidarity and cooperation. He would also show them what beauty Ecithian citizens could create under the benevolent, guiding hand of a Solunarian.

Finn was Solunarian now, by marriage, by princely decree, and by choice. Some did ask him about the far north, but it seemed a part of his personal story to them, foundational, but hardly holding him back from being counted among their Atraxian neighbors.

been the wax and been the wings.
you can fall into the sun.
I did fall into the sun,
but I never let it win.

His song was intensely personal, and yet many voices were singing it now. The specificity of his emotional journey made it all the more universal when alchemized through his art.

For all that this was an artistic collaboration, a gesture of good faith, he knew he was being watched. The parents of the children present were seated near the wall where they could observe without interfering. Among his small choir was a dragon; he wasn't supposed to know about them.

Finn was working in earnest, though. Here, he didn't rely upon the Rune of Command, not even to correct mistakes. He was gentle there, a better teacher now than he had been when Arvælyn had come to him for lessons. He did, however, have a voice that had matured into one that impressed even those who had heard great performers the continent over, and he sang with them, was generous with his music.

If the light caught more golden around him, well, he was beloved of Aværys, a solar deity among other things. Whether Finn was meant to be His divine salvator or not was anyone's guess. Certainly, Finn did not wish to overstep again even if the subsequent lesson had been, in a word, delicious.

This was a pyramid he was meant to climb, but its rules were not those of Solunarium.

Here, he could soar nearer the sun than the mythical youth who fell to his death.

I'm the reason that I sing.
on the beach I feel amazing.
I've been looking at the future
and everything's going to be fine.

Lystreia caught his eye, her own questioning; his first Singer when he could bring the Leh'anafel back in truth. More used to his voice and his grace than these others, even she was caught up in the euphony. He nodded and motioned for what all the voices had been waiting for, all voices singing the message of hope, of well-earned laurels and jubilation.

Finn was making magic that required no Rune to work, and even the divine gilding was more an echo of Aværys' approval than a necessary ingredient. Enchanted by his music, his voice, the expressions on his face, and the guiding flight of his hands, the voices fell out into a beat of silence, then soared on a simple syllable shared among them and offered to their small audience.

hard times but good things are coming now.
hard times but good things are coming.

oh...!

Lines were called back by different voices, the voice from the mountaintop echoing back and forth, spreading and spreading its wings. Oksana, the little Orkhan treble, sang with all her heart, cheeks damp. She believed him.

When the song was done, there was another long moment of pregnant silence. Nobody breathed, not wanting to banish it. But Finn did finally, clapping his hands to applaud them. There was general laughter and happiness, a hint of what was offered by their Atraxian neighbors.

Feeling a tug at his wrist, Finn knelt to listen to young Treyul apologizing.

"M'sorry, Finn," he said, having been invited weeks ago to call him by his name, especially here in the room where they were working together. "I was flat on the bridge and... and..."

"Treyul," he said, serious, firm, but kind. "Perfection does not exist outside of, I suppose, maths. No two performances are the same. You did everything I asked of you and, best of all, you were you." The little one nodded as Finn rose and put a hand upon his head for a moment, like a benediction, but also to ruffle his hair. "And next week I can show you a few exercises to help you come in on pitch. The work never ends."

He winked, and the boy nodded, somewhat mollified at least.

The small crowd was already dissipating. Children were ushered away, and adults had other things to do, even if only to find a drink with one of their new friends. Lystreia was putting her instrument in its case, and Finn looked over his shoulder to see if Arkænyn was still there keeping watch. The platinum princeps hadn't been thrilled to have Finn surrounded by so many people without a bodyguard close at hand, and usually skulked near enough to come to his aid should he not hear the discordant jangle of an assassin's melody or be able to turn aside an attack on his own.

It was an instinctive thing since their strange trip through the realities, just wanting to know where he was. It was true of Phædreon, too, when the strange elf was expected anyway. Finn couldn't remember just then what was next on his agenda, one of his people or one of Drathera's.

He just wanted to see Arkænyn's face for a moment, perhaps see the smallest smile to let him know that his song had been appreciated by a heart his own beat for.

[Pharaoh]

► Show Spoiler

If Finn was relishing a return to self and the liberty of living outside the rigid expectations of Solunarium, Arkænyn was standing as its royal exemplar. Where the human found comfort in doffing the armour of Solunarian etiquette, the elf found solace in the stoicism of severity of the realm they'd quit to come here. He tended to wear a faint scowl as he stood by, silently observing the goings on at the Prædium Solunarii in Drathera. Much was alien and many were the distractions, here. His training in Solunarium and Auris before it afforded him the steely mind that could pierce through the diversion of this disorderly place.

At present, Finn was presiding over a particularly distracting scenario and it truly took a conscious focus on his training to keep from getting lost in the music and forgetting why he was part of this mission. He hadn't come to join the chorus, nor to be its audience, he had come to serve and protect the Imperial Legate and to aid in the speedy fulfillment of his duty to the realm and its Founders. In serving Finn directly, his service was but once removed from serving the Rex Regnum outright... a detail which he never forgot, and which helped him return to focus when it began to slip.

He pushed off of the column he'd been leaning against and stalked over to meet his charge, as Finn's litte congregation filtered out.

"I fear I'm going soft, Your Grace." The Platinum Prince quipped, "I'm actually starting to find the little ones almost cute... all eyes and tusks. They are not as I'd expected." His expression suggested he was ambivalent as to how this shift in perception made him feel.

"Anyway..." He offered sans segue, just to signal he was done with that sentiment, presumably, and let the adverb hang in the humid air as his violet eyes turned to regard the room, alighting on the stragglers who seemed content to linger in conversation with their peers as most departed.

[Finn]

When Finn's eyes lit upon Arkænyn and his scowl, they lit up. His smile widened, his good cheer a foil.

"Your secret is safe with me," he assured his knight, pausing to stand with him a while. At the top of this local Solunarian pyramid, he had people to manage his time for him, and someone would come to remind him what was planned next.

Anyway.

Those choral guests who remained gave him a wide berth now that he was beside Arkænyn, whether out of respect for him or fear of the princeps. Finn was glad of that. He enjoyed children, but they were hardly his vocation; he found it easy to give them his full attention and full support knowing that ere long he could give them back to their parents.

For a moment, he wondered whether this would be a timeline wherein the desert of Atraxia bloomed into a jungle as it had in others they had visited. Whether that was a good or a bad thing or just a thing, he didn't know. More oases, at least, would mean a bit of an easier time for the desert folk such as Hilana and her kin, but then, they seemed to be at peace with the harshness of the Expanse, and that it was a part of who they were.

He wondered who Arkænyn was, would be, now that he had taken a step back from the Luxian throne and thrown his lot in with an Empyreal Lord.

"How do you think I'm doing so far?" he asked, honestly curious. They were both aware of Arkænyn's flaws as a leader, but he had experience that few shared, and while technically a thrall, Finn had tried to foster a relationship whereby his bodyguard could be entirely frank with him.

Finn motioned toward an archway with his head, and turned to go. He had an office now, and unlike offices that were technically his in Solunarium, this one was necessary for his work.

[Pharaoh]

Arkænyn’s reply was prologued by a cavalier shrug.

“Your methods may be shocking to one raised in Solunarium, but I was reared in a realm that prides itself on its mutability. While your ways may not be aligned with those who worship Akrivar foremost, there are other Mistlords who favour such a light touch. I am not scandalised, if that is what you're asking…" He tilted his head,

"But if you seek my opinion on the merit of your methods, I will say that there is
power in popularity. I personally work better wielding the cudgel of Fear, but to each their own." His violet gaze watched the last of the locals filter out. Perhaps Arkænyn’s presence and scowling visage had dissuaded their aspirations of face-to-face time with Finn.

“Phocion’s mystery guest hasn’t been back…” Arkænyn had been fascinated by the last of the veiled Sentinels to join their party sans introduction just prior to their stepping through the portal. The figure had been of similar build to himself, and past trauma’s led him to the fear that it might be another extra-dimensional version of himself, like those which had attacked him at the Masque in Thalya’s name. He’d addressed his fears with Phædreon who deemed it unlikely, even if he fell short of confirming for an absolute fact that the stranger was another Arky. Perhaps Sentinel wards were enough to offset even the lost magic practiced by the Phædryn chronomancer. Or perhaps he was in on Phocion’s secret, where they were not.

“The Phædryn reputation for caginess seems well-earned.” He surmised with a slight snarl. It was challenging to feel confident as a protector when he couldn’t even claim to have full knowledge of those in his own party. While he didn’t think it made sense for Finn to be offered up as some sacrificial lamb, unless the goal was to rouse the Prince Draconic to war with Ecith, the lack of confirmation remained vexing.

[Finn]

"I remember your costume from the Mascerata," he said with a grin. "I wouldn't know where to begin if I wanted to scandalize you."

But his grin faded into something more subtly amiable. Finn nodded. He hadn't needed to order Arkænyn to attend him, but he would have wanted him around to stand in for Fear. It allowed Finn to play the more comfortable—for him—role: Love. Thankfully, when he channeled Aværys' grace, he could inspire admiration or terror.

Finn frowned. Phocion's mystery guest remained a mystery to him as well. He rather thought he ought to have all the cards in his hand as he was the one playing, but he knew that on another level, he was merely a card being played. He tried to remain content with his place on the Pyramid, even though that same divine grace demanded ever more Power. He thought he might be able to command an answer out of Phædreon, but it might sour their relationship and upset whoever might have shared that card with the time lord.

"They are even cagey with each other," Finn confirmed. They had seen no servi in the halls; they seemed to have a runic power of their own to know where he was and only show themselves when he required them. Strange, that.

Once they were in his office, he looked on his desk for his day's itinerary.

"I am the card and I am the card player," he murmured to himself. Been the killer, been the king, even as his song had said.

But the snarl in Arkænyn's voice stuck with him and now that they were in private, he looked up, careful not to couch his question as a command. He didn't want mindless thralls, nor to deny them their personhood, their autonomy.

"What troubles you, my knight?"

[Pharaoh]

“I think you will find you remember Victrian’s costume.” Arkænyn corrected, with a broad, prideful smile. “It amused me to have everyone think he was me flaunting my own theme in a mockery of a disguise, which was actually a consummate one.” His smile faded,

“He never saved my life as a food taster, yet as my double he nearly died in my place, but for Duke Raithen’s intervention… I hope Victrian sent him a gift hamper.” His smile returned, though fainter as he held his arms to his sides.

“I was dressed as an anonymous guard. Nothing scandalous at all…” Arkænyn glanced over Finn’s shoulder at the itinerary.

“You’re a card, all right.” The prince quipped, “I see you’re due for luncheon. Shall we eat together or will that rouse the desert dragon’s ire?” Arkænyn had not personally borne witness to Arvælyn’s vaunted envy, but it was infamous enough that he’d heard similar japes. He’d spent precious little time with the Umbrian heir outside of formal functions in the midst of their civil Cold War, so it stood to reason that he knew little of his personality. Arvælyn was better at playing stoical than Arkænyn had been.

“Oh, I am not troubled. Just irritated about the mystery in our midst. It makes it more difficult to watch the doors when I have to worry about my back, as well. I do not have the same relationship with Phocion and his sentinels that most of you do. I’m glad for you if you trust his motives implicitly, but I am not there yet.” He was, after all, still feeling out his place in the Umbrian pyramid, having quit the Luxian.

[Finn]

"Huh." He laughed a little. "Then that was well-played."

Finn assumed that if Victrian the food-taster had offered Raithen thanks, the Avialae would have accepted food and more prurient gifts as well. He was a simple bird, was the Duke.

"Ah, yes." His stomach growled quietly at mention of luncheon. He could already feel the ebb and flow of the local music; servi would be bringing them repast in no time. Thankfully, his office was large enough for his work desk and for entertaining. "I think you are safe for a shared meal. To be quite frank, he trusts me and, if anything, your oath before Deus Aværys means nothing could happen without my consent. A side benefit to your trust in me is that he can trust in you much more than he could when you were rivals for power."

He pulled a face. He didn't like jealousy, and it had felt foreign to him until Aværys claimed him. Now sometimes he felt flares of it with regard to his husband. Someday, he would have to share him with someone who could get him an heir, though perhaps he would wait until Finn had died. He was kin of dragons and would likely remain fertile long after Finn's bones were dust, and Zalkyriax would likely rule even longer than that.

But even if Arvælyn had a dragon's desires and a dragon's jealousies, he hadn't killed Raithen for daring intimacy with Finn. He hadn't taken resentments over Aværys out on Finn, though he shuddered to think of lives sacrificed in a temple to maintain his equanimity.

Finn sat upon a divan, and didn't invite Arkænyn to do the same only because he had said on many occasions that he was welcome to be familiar when the occasion didn't demand otherwise.

"There are instances where I believe Phocion would kill me with his own hands," he admitted carefully. "If Varvara commanded. If Zalkyriax commanded. Perhaps even if Aværys, Arvælyn, or Cithæra commanded. But I have done everything I can to follow the Crownwyrm's advice: 'be useful.' I was not born and raised a political animal like the Phædryns. It is my hope that should they ever decide I can no longer be of use to Arvælyn, they will offer me some other out than death.

"Would you follow me in such an eventuality?" he asked, suddenly curious. "I mean, you would have to, but if I were forced to quit the continent entire, I would release you from your vow. Or, if that not be in my power alone, intercede on your behalf with Aværys."

[Pharaoh]

"It was meant to be a jape, but in the aftermath people thought me strategic or complicit." Arkænyn said of his costume choices for Victrian and himself.

He claimed a seat on a nearby armchair as Finn moved to lounge upon the divan.

"He would. Any of them would kill any of us if their Oaths demanded it. In that regard, they are familiar to me as cousins to the Sons of Ember. Still, I do not feel wholly of Solunarium. I didn't always know who I was or what would be expected of me there. If I'd been aware of my station it would have negated the purpose of my exile and put a target on my back. By the time I was informed, I was such a creature of Auris that it rather did my head in. I was being offered what seemed like so much freedom for one who'd seemed destined to a regimented life. All the sway, all the slaves..." He trailed off.

"But there's one thing people in Solunarium don't tend to broach as they vaunt the symbol of their Power... Pyramids get narrower toward the top." He arched a brow and tilted his head at Finn's hypothetical.

"That is a heady query to pose before the wine is poured, but..." He looked down, clasping his hands together in his lap and taking a deep breath as he contemplated.

"If your maritus forsook you and his oaths and cast you to the wind, I would follow you. Others mes have followed other yous into oblivion and worse, as it turns out. Perhaps it is odd that I should find edification in that, when I know that some died for the effort. Still, know it has been written in those other books makes it seem less ridiculous in mine own. I worship Aværys, but I still worship Akrivar, too. Oaths mean something different to me, I think, and I would not blithely allow you to dismiss me of mine out of some misguided notion that I was owed such a thing."

[Finn]

"Well, when I stumble my way into seeming more politically adroit than I am... I have stopped disabusing people of the notion. Better to be feared than loved, they say, although my purpose here is to be loved as a means to bring love and fear to Aværys and Zalkyrion, Varvara and whoever next sits on the Luxian throne." He was sworn to the Umbrian crown, of course, in more ways than one, but he wanted to see a united Solunarium. A divided house could not stand, and too many people cared about could be hurt if the thrones returned to rivalry.

He laughed at the more apparent jape, this one actually preceding the wine whose absence Arkænyn called out. Finn nodded to the serva. While he didn't make a point of thanking them for each and every service they rendered now that he knew it made them uncomfortable, he did acknowledge them. If he had to own men and women, his yoke would be a light one and not dehumanizing.

Finn raised his glass.

"To my eternal protector." A sip.

"I meant no disrespect to you or to Akrivar, nor would I if I made the offer in such an eventuality. Call it an opportunity to renew our vows, or reframe them if the world takes such a shift. Would Akrivar allow that, do you think? The keeping of the oath, but allowing for adaptability as is the Aurisian way?" He paused. "I liked Auris, what little I saw of it. Do you miss it?"

When his goals here were accomplished and he had caught up on his responsibilities to husband and family, he liked the idea of seeing Aur'arnis from Arkænyn's perspective.

As for those other Finns and other Arkys, "While the endings of those other stories weren't always glad, I got the sense that the world was better when we were partners. In some fashion or another."

If Arvælyn did set him aside, he wasn't sure whether he would pursue Arkænyn. He would want to, but he wasn't sure it would be healthy given Arkænyn had sworn his sword and his life to Finn's service. He would be broken by that eventuality, of course, even if he saw it coming, saw it as inevitable and necessary, and wouldn't want to fall right into Arkænyn's arms and bed and force him to deal with that broken heart more than he already would as his companion and, well, thrall.

The world seemed as though it was meant to be balanced for harmony: Aværys and Varvara; Luxium and Umbrium. He wasn't Arvælyn's equal in all things, but they had a sort of balance. That might not be possible for Empyreal Lord and sacred thrall, though perhaps Aværys would argue he should take what he wanted from his thralls...

Finn took another sip of wine to banish the dark meanderings of his thoughts.

The servi were preparing to serve, and it was nice to just sit and share a meal with his unlikely companion.

[Pharaoh]

Arkænyn smiled as his cue was taken and wine was poured. He was not the indulgent cad he’d been as Prince Regent anymore. Not since the masque. That hadn’t been who he was in Auris, either. He’d been intoxicated by his newfound power and descended into the sort of decadence he’d interpreted to be the Solunarian way without truly grasping the unspoken nuances of that strange realm he’d briefly believed to be his demesne.

Arkænyn lifted his glass, but added no more words to Finn’s toast. He accepted it unamended and took a sip. Finn had never known Arkænyn to express gratitude to a servant and the human’s own acknowledgment was apparently not sufficient to alter that trend.

“Oaths can be altered, if all parties involve consent. Though arguably, at a certain point, it tips from Akrivar’s realm into Myshala’s… but the two are quite complementary, in my estimation.” He nodded slightly,

“Yes. I do miss it. Prince Qalanar is more a sibling to me than either of Thalya’s harpies and, though I felt restrained, I realise now that I was the freest I’ll ever be there. Their philosophies are sound for a world that doesn’t impose order through mind control. Solunarium is so stuck in the past. It’s why I ultimately decided I didn’t want to lead it… I was too hemmed in. I’m sure it’s worse for your maritus. If he has the humility to suffer those limitations, I wish him well with the endeavour.

“I much prefer answering to your famously obliging requests rather than the exacting demands of the Solunarian public or its cunt courtiers.” He arched a brow at Finn’s sentiment about their alternate selves.

“I seem to remember a few worlds where our homelands were reduced to ash and at least one where I was drawn and quartered, but you do tend to see the sunny side of things. It is… refreshing, when it isn’t vexing.”