in the court of princes

[Talon]

T A L O N

1 Glade 125

Talon ran a hand through his hair, adjusting his left wing so that Aoren could smooth a hand over the feathers. He steadied his nerves to the best of his ability as he made sure his vest was in place.

“You are nervous. Why?” Aoren stepped around him to place his hands on his shoulders. Warmth spread across the Bond. It helped to lessen some of the tension in Talon’s muscles.

“I have not stood among Dragon Houses of the Court of Princes in nearly two-and-a-half thousand years. The last time I did, it was as General of the Light’s Army. We defeated Ilixidor but…” He trailed off. He had gone into battle against Shaeoth, his brother. He had been slain. The world had been struck by Eikaen’s wrath and the Day of Mourning had plunged the world into a grey haze in the wake of the Dragon King’s grief.

“Hey,” Aoren touched the tips of his fingers to his chin, lifting Talon’s head so that their gazes met. “Today is not that day. Shaeoth has been freed of his possession. There is no army of darkness bearing down upon Silfanore. Your Dawnmartyrs have aided Sol’Valen numerous times. But right now? It’s just you and me.”

Aoren cupped his face.

“Well, you, me, and a court of Hytori nobility.” The two of them shared a smile. “All set?”

Talon took in another calming breath, aided by the calm he felt across the Bond. He gave his husband a nod. Looking to his servants, he made sure that the gifts to be presented to the Phoenix King were accounted for. Once that was sorted, Talon stilled the many thoughts in his mind. He quieted the whisper of prayers that danced on the edges of his awareness. He pulled his aura tightly to himself. He knew not how many Semblers would be present in the Royal Court but he surmised there would be a few. He had seen firsthand what happened to them if they caught a glimpse of his aura in its full state.

Silfanore was never what he would have called a bustling city. Even in the far reaches of his memory, while the city was heavily populated, it lacked the din of noise that clung to the cities of younger races. No, Silfanore was a place of quiet beauty. The Hytori were ever-present, the typical functions of any city took place, but the manner in which the Hytori executed those things was possessed of their typical grace and poise. When they arrived at the royal palace, he made himself and his entourage known. When the doors of the palace were opened to him and they were taken to the throne room, he walked in with head held high.

He came to them not as the Highlord of House Novalys but as the Prince of Dragons, Lord of Light, Hope and Justice.

He waited to be announced before stepping forward and made his way into the Court of Princes for the first time in Ages.

[Hekatos]

In the Court of Princes

The Gods are alive, read a stone banner over the double doors that lead into the throne room, magic is afoot.

Whether draegir or dragon saw it, that was certainly the case. In Silfanore, there seemed to be some temple or another on every other corner, and magic was so omnipresent that even the natural flow of the aether seemed attuned to the life force and the will of the elven people. This was even more true in places of power, and the royal palace was one of them.

Fresh spring air entered through open casement windows, just enough of a breeze to keep the air fresh. Enchantment moved similarly through the halls and corridors, some new and some ancient, most so subtle that even a sembling eye would require time and meditation to suss out the details.

Once the guests of the royal palace had announced themselves to the herald, servants moved to open the doors for him. He motioned for them to follow past guards who did not move, impressive in their stillness as well as their statuesque immovability.

"An it please Your Royal Majesty," the herald decried, "Auravacis of the Red Dragonflight and Talon Novalys, the Morninglord Reborn!"

Members of the court turned to observe dragon and draegir as they entered. The herald had taken liberties with their announcement, but such was his wont and such was his way. They entered into a beautiful tableau. The Hytori were a beautiful people; even if some of their early divine gifts had been retracted, they still looked like the favored children of the Gods. Men, women, both, neither, and other, face and form were admirable, strong, and wise.

Of course, not all of them were as they appeared, but they were a god's garden of souls.

Opposite the entrance lay the dais with the throne. Today, he was flanked by his red-haired son, Prince Sorononar, and a form in strange, caeliferian armor, the King's counselor, Estolië. They were likely visible to draconic eyes from afar, but certainly came into focus as the guests approached, making the long walk from door to throne. There was music, and likely much in the way of politicking going on in the knots of nobles scattered throughout. Not everyone was huddled up close to hear the King's decrees.

[Talon]

T A L O N

Entering the throne room he was visited by a memory of a time from long, long ago. They were different times and the chamber had been filled with different people. The sense of magic and wonder however, was still there. Sol'Valen was the birthplace of mortals in Ransera. It would always be unique. Talon walked with one hand resting lightly on Aoren's outstretched forearm. He was garbed in black attire with silver accents that complimented his wings, eyes, and the silver-white of his hair. Around his neck he wore the Gem of Order, heavily warded and shielded from inspection until such time as he dropped those wards. Beside him, Aoren was dressed similarly though his accents were a deep scarlet. When they were mostly through the hall and an acceptable distance from the dais, Aoren gently dropped his arm allowing Talon to step forward.

“Your Royal Majesty.” He gave a respectable bow. “Long has it been since I have stood in these halls. Thank you, for allowing us the privilege of standing in them once more.”

He motioned to the servants that had accompanied him to step forward one at a time.

“Please accept these gifts as our thanks for your hospitality.” The first stepped forward, holding a jewelry box that was opened. He had spent weeks at his forge and in his workshop as he had prepared to present himself before the Court. Each had been a collaboration between himself and others skilled in the arts of crafting.

He retrieved from the jewelry box an amulet. The medallion held at the center a gem of pure aetherite that had been crafted into the shape of a diamond. It was set upon a piece of silver that was in the shape of a seven pointed star. All along the silver were runic carving of pictographs that were wards of protection.

“An amulet of protection imbued with the cleansing touch of dawn's fire. Ever shall it be a light and shield for you and yours if you should have need of one.” He held it a moment more before placing it back into the jewelry box. The servant stepped aside. A second servant stepped forward carrying bolts of cloth. Talon picked up one bolt and held it out. The cloth was opalescent in color, a shimmering white that glittered with a rainbow of colors. The edges were stitched with threads in elegant pictography.

“1,000 yards of Cloth of Comfort reinforced with spellthread forged from fine somnosyte. Each bolt has been doubly outfitted with a touch of lunicite. It stands ready to be shaped by His Majesty's tailor's and enchanters.” He handed the bolt of cloth back to the servant with the others. The servant stepped off to the side and the third servant stepped forward. They carried a clear crystal orb, inside of which was fine soil atop which rest a seed that glowed softly with aethereal blue light. Talon gestured to it.

“Finally, an Aether Seed. Infused with the magic of Masquerade. Plant it and it shall bear fruit that gifts the consumer with a touch of the same magic. For a time. May it bring yet more beauty to the gardens of Silfanore.” He motioned for the third servant to join the others. Talon rest his hands at the small of his back, meeting the Phoenix's King's gaze after presenting his gifts.

[Hekatos]

In the Court of Princes

Ailuin Sol'Eilran, like his father before him, had done well for his people. If this room was not so resplendent as Arcas would remember, the scars left by the Lysanrin were hardly visible unless one knew where to look. Broken magics had been repaired or, if they were unable to match the feats of their forebears, modern workarounds had been discovered and implemented.

It was only the 125th year of the Age of Steel, and to most foreign eyes, the elves remained as eternal and unchanging as ever. They were safe behind their strange wards, it seemed, and the Withering Sickness was a bad memory. If they were diminished, they remained the closest thing to a utopia that Ransera knew.

Dreaming eyes, green as poison, observed dragon and draegir, impassive but not unfriendly. He nodded graciously at the gifts.

It was the youthful version of the ageless king standing with his hand on the back of his father's dragon throne who might be an easier opponent at cards or chess. His lips quirked and eyes sparkled at the custom cloth, no doubt assuming Akantha would hear about it and 'need' it. Perhaps she would claim it was necessary for couture and accoutrements for the royal wedding, but he didn't doubt a good portion of it would end up in her closet, which he was certain was only a portal to a junction in the slipspace.

He wondered whether they would see his father's draconic friend at the wedding, whether Auravacis was known to Adámantos. His head tilted at Talon's strange posture, but then, he was all but leaning against the throne, which was hardly 'correct.'

"We thank you," quoth the King, "for such princely gifts. Long was Arcas a friend of the elves. Long may Talon Novalys be so."

Estolië, of course, was unreadable behind their armor. They were a popular subject of court gossip from time to time. Most assumed their true identity was someone who ought not to be a counselor to the Dream King, a Solunarian heretic or a Lysanrin, perhaps, but as their advice was, apparently, both cogent and wise, and their comportment was impeccable, none could demand to know what was hidden behind that helm.

Servants moved the gifts outward from the center aisle the draegir and the dragon had carved through the crowd, the better for the nearby nobility to peruse what had been given, as well as to beckon their guests closer to the throne.

"We understand you have enjoyed one of our daughter's winter parties. It is good that you are here. To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence, Morninglord?"

[Talon]

T A L O N

Silver eyes met poisonous green before shifting to that of the figure leaning casually against the Phoenix King’s throne. He did not need Semblance to discern the family resemblance. At the king’s acceptance of his gifts, he inclined his head politely. The curious figure adorned in armor received a short glance before he answered the king’s question.

“Her Royal Highness was a gracious hostess. I greatly look forward to the opportunity to see her again.” Talon smiled. Akantha had a sharp mind, a passion for charity, and had been a pleasant presence to be around. There was a part of him that hoped that Akantha would be given the opportunity to use some of the cloth that he had gifted to her father.

Do you fancy her, beloved?

I think she is interesting. I would simply like to know her better.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Aoren’s mouth as he spoke to Talon across the Bond. Talon’s face did not betray the conversation taking place between them as he responded.

“I come seeking knowledge.” He touched a hand to the Gem of Order that he wore. “Some seasons ago, an archdemon sought to harness the power of a Gem of Chaos to inflict untold suffering upon the Northlands of Karnor. By the grace of Mother Naori, I was empowered to put a halt to his machinations, wielding the gem to close a terrible rift above the city-state of Zaichaer.”

Talon still felt a great deal of pity for the hobgoblin turned demon. Franky may have had a hand in his imprisonment in the Imperium but the man had been scarred by pain, loss, and sacrifice.

“When I returned home, this was waiting for me. A gift, from my Divine Father. In all the archives of the Northlands of Karnor, I found no mention of its like. What I have sembled is powerful but leads only to more questions.” Any cursory glance through Semblance would reveal that masterful wards of Negation were heavily in place upon the gemstone.

“I seek the counsel of Sol’Valen’s sages and the knowledge from its libraries.”

[Hekatos]

In the Court of Princes

The Dream King made a respectful, arcane gesture at the mention of the Crystal Lady. Many others did as well, though not all; there were certain taboos and traditions among the elves, but their religion, such as it was, could hardly be called prescriptive. It was common knowledge, too, that Ailuin was an oneiromancer and a priest of Thiovan. Presumably, his personal relationship with a Greater God inured him to awe before a draegir, though he was far from disrespectful.

No doubt Talon felt many a curious thread of Semblance reaching out to the gem at his breast, but none attempted to bypass the wards. That Rune was nigh ubiquitous among the elves, but so was a sense of decorum and personal privacy.

Aoren, too, derived plenty of curious looks. Dragons walked among the elves in elf drag with some frequency; not everyone had met a dragon personally, though.

His Majesty seemed ever so slightly amused by the ebb and flow of his people's attentions. As all magical artefacts were examined at the border, he already knew Talon hadn't brought a ticking trap into his realm and his court and his presence. His own magic was not engaged, though the bounds of his dreamwalking were not thoroughly understood except by a select few. Many worried the King knew their deepest, darkest desires. Ailuin was both loved and feared, though he gave no overt reason to fear him.

"Certainly," Ailuin said with a gracious nod of his head. "We will happily share knowledge. As for the sages, if you would permit an examination of the artefact, we could summon the proper experts."

[Talon]

T A L O N

The feeling of sembling eyes peering at the gemstone around his neck was no cause for alarm. While the Children of the Eternal Sun were crafty in a way that made the machinations of younger races seem quaint by comparison, he sincerely doubted anyone would attempt to go beyond what was wise in that moment. Certainly not in the court of the Phoenix King.

“Of course. I would allow such examinations, though only when I am in attendance.” He hesitated to allow any to examine the gemstone, not because he thought anything nefarious would transpire. He was more concerned that the power of the gem might prove overwhelming. Behind him, he felt Aoren stir in slight annoyance.

Something wrong, love?

I'd forgotten how curious Hytori are.

You are a wonder in and of yourself, Auravacis.

Aoren did not often step into the fullness of his draconic nature. On some level, Talon knew that his partner was still coming to grips with the truth. To have been robbed of who and what he was had only served as a testament to how far he had fallen. It was a lesson and a warning, for such a grand being as a dragon to have been brought low by the efforts of the Imperium was terrible indeed. The Emblem of Defiance that wrapped around Aoren's wrist helped, but even then it only went so far. There were still moments when he had found his husband staring off into the distance, mind lost in memories that were at the same time familiar and foreign.

Talon thought that perhaps Vicis had been kind in bringing them both together. They were both uniquely suited to help one another. The both of them would need to fully reconcile with a few things in the future, but that was in due time.

[Hekatos]

In the Court of Princes

"I will ignore the implication that we might steal or alter it," he said with an amused smile. "But of course you would not be excluded from any examination regarding your inquiries."

At some unobserved indication, the rest of the court began to circulate. Various of the nobles and some few important commoners moved according to the tides of power and intrigue, which were entirely new even with Arcas' memories. The elves were no longer eternal, and so even their culture shifted more rapidly now than in the ages of yore.

After about an hour of this, a hand touched Aoren's elbow. The elves speaking to him bowed to Prince Sorononar, nodding to the dragon, and graciously moved aside. So too did those speaking to Talon at his side.

A glance at the throne would reveal it empty. There were subtle signals for when the king wished to adjourn the audience, and everyone would go through the proper motions to observe his exit. There were other times, as now, when he left the courtiers to their devices, and performed a soft exit.

Everyone had been unfailingly polite. If anything, questions were asked to gauge a more nuanced understanding of what else the foreign couple might seek in their time in the Crown City. An Elrean Val'Merendë might have been angling to invite them to a party. An Alatar Val'Nólemë might have a wise cousin who could help unravel the mysteries of his gem. But they all deferred to the young prince, whose hair was a more violent flame than his father's.

Sorononar seemed well-loved for his open smile; the courtiers could not be mad at him for interrupting.

"My lords, if you will follow me, not knowing the length of your stay, my father is preparing an examination presently."

That said, he led them through a door behind the throne and played an enthusiastic host, pointing out this relic on display in that hall, pointing out a view of the harbors of Limánia from that long, arched window. He asked after their comfort, whether he ought to call a servant to bring them aught to eat or drink. Curiosity sparkled in leaf-green eyes; certainly he had questions just like the peerage in the audience chamber, but he was too polite to ask them.

Yet.

At an open arch edged with ancient sigils, he warned, "Passing through might be disorienting, but it will not harm you."

To prove that point, he preceded them into the room. His ears almost popped, but it was just his mind's way of translating the shift in the aether. The magics retrieved or restored from ancient days were opaque even to the greatest of their Semblers. Whether this room was warded, existed in the slipspace or another plane, even Talon couldn't say, although perhaps given time he might discern the shape of the old enchantments.

Suffice it to say, as soon as they crossed the threshold, they were still in the royal palace, and yet not. The spring breeze in the hall was suddenly muted, the scent of blooming flowers fainter. Then the archway was a wall, and they were sealed away from prying eyes, ears, and arcane senses. There was the faintest impression of the outside, as if to reassure those present that they were probably not in some pocket universe or similar, but regardless, the security was impressive.

The king and his advisor stood in the center of the room with a marble pedestal chased in a strange, silvery metal. Arcas' memories might alight upon the fabled elven mithril, or perhaps not.

Ailuin's smile of welcome was a subtle thing. He indicated the pedestal with an elegant gesture of one hand.

"If you would be so kind as to deactivate the wards and place your artefact here..."

[Talon]

T A L O N

Both Talon and Aoren engaged in polite conversation among the royal court. When it was time to depart the royal court, they followed Sorononar, arm-in-arm.

“I can remember when some of these artifacts were made, though only distantly.” He peered at one of them, the recollection of its proposal coming dimly to his mind. It dawned on him just how much time had been spent wandering the kingdoms of Sol’Valen in ancient times. The War of Light and Shadow had not been a quick thing. Ilixidor’s mad following and the conflict that sprung up as a result had moved at the pace that the ancient elves had mostly been familiar with, a slow series of escalating aggressions over years that eventually boiled over into all-out war. Many wonderful things had been accomplished in that era. Many terrible things, too.

Upon reaching the archway, he listened to what the prince had to say then watched him step through. He and Aoren looked to each other before they stepped through the portal together. He felt a tingle across his skin and the world shifted. Talon was forced to blink a few times before he reoriented himself to the world around him.

Elven ingenuity never ceased to impress him. The magic of Kalzasi was engineered more toward commerce, society structure and political defense. It tended to be rather apparent in most places because the environment of the Northlands forced such displays to be more obvious to the general public. Zaichaer’s magic had a hard edge to it that was specifically designed to be as tight and dictatorial as possible. The aether in Zaichaer, while less restricted in the present day, had felt suppressed and muted when he had first visited it. The Imperium was a testament to magic used as a tool of industry and Solunarium had been, in many ways, overt in its use of magic as a means of obfuscation and manipulation.

Sol’Valen, however, was a place where magic was used to stitch together dreams into a seamless reality. Sol’Valen did not just use magic, it embodied it to a degree that younger societies could scarcely emulate.

Aoren squeezed his arm beside him, a gentle gesture to communicate his appreciation for the arcane marvel before them. Talon touched upon the wards carefully woven around the gem as he removed it from around his neck. He unwove the wards with little difficulty before stepping forward to place the Gem of Order upon the pedestal as indicated.

[Hekatos]

In the Court of Princes

The past-life musing of a draegir certainly piqued the prince's interest, but he didn't ask, assuming Talon was speaking more to himself or possibly Aoren than him. And in the room, his task complete, he moved to stand behind and beside his father, who nodded as Talon acceded to his will.

"This is my counselor, Estolië. They will help us unravel this mystery."

The suit of eldritch armor stepped forward, helm nodding to the Kalzasern guests. The gems in their helm lit up in a strange pattern for a moment before their voice sounded, vaguely hollow, perhaps resonating with the armor, though it almost sounded as though it came from somewhere else.

"And so it begins..."

They gestured, and the gem levitated off of the pedestal, which lit up in previously invisible lines, ancient sigaldry igniting in response to the strange counselor's will. The air hummed. After a moment, lines of light appeared in the ancient walls, and through the air of the room. They were inside an artefact in order to delve into the mysteries of another.

"If it is not a secret," Ailuin interjected smoothly, "would regale us with the artefact's history, or as much of it as you know. Context might help suss out a secret or two."

The pale white light of the room's enchantments shone in Sorononar's green eyes; he too seemed enchanted by the experience. Ailuin, on the other hand, seemed even more relaxed than before, perhaps because the reality in the room had gone almost surreal and he was, or so it was said, a walker of the dream world.

Lines of the light finally pierced the gem, which seemed to trap the light rather than refract it.