“Born Free” (Finn)

[Arvælyn]

“Ha! That is a generous interpretation of how things went with Phocion. And there should always be much of oneself in a well-inhabited role.” Arvælyn replied,

“You’d have made an excellent actor, if such had been your wont.” Though there was much of acting in the performing he prioritised… and, apparently, in the work he did for the Sentinel Order and Arvælyn’s own household.

“Yes.” He had no trouble understanding Finn’s explanation. It all made sense and covered the ground he sought to smooth over, so he was content to shift gears.

“I wonder… We have both experienced the euphoric sensation of a Sacrifice accepted. Will your acquisition of Ecith overwhelm us with similar pleasure writ large?” He sounded downright covetous of a more potent version of that all-consuming high. If all went well in Ecith and Aværys received the fealty of the Commonwealth’s luminaries, it did not seem irrational to imagine this might betide. The notion seemed to rouse Arvælyn in other ways, given the nature of those Divine pleasures.

His collar-like Emblem stirred, as did his Rune of Mesmer, as he began to entangle his Symphony and spirit with Finn’s as a prelude to their bodies following suit. Having doffed their warded garments, there was no obstacle to this interweaving as Finn began to feel Arvælyn’s desires, fears and Hungers and vice versa.

It made Arvælyn want for skin to skin contact, which he was quick to eagerly claim as he pressed his body flush to Finn’s and kissed him deeply and wantonly.

“The food will keep…” He observed through a hot whisper as he pulled slightly back from Finn, and cupped his form under the crook of one wing as he began to guide them toward the bed.

[Finn]

"Gods willing," he prayed, voice husky in response to Arvælyn's words, his Symphony, and all. Sometimes he wondered if he couldn't feel Varvara's chain around his own neck when the eldritch silver of Her mark tightened around his husband's. While Finn had never been as sexually adventurous as some of the shows he had seen at the Velvet Cabaret, he was quite well aware how easily He of the Scepter and She of the Scourge fit into certain roles.

When they let each other up for air after an intense kiss—was it one long one or countless kisses crashing one over the other as waves upon the shore?—he chuckled throatily at the crown prince's decision. Finn was up and half-naked padding alongside his husband, sheltered in the expanse of a dragon wing.

Their roles as lovers had been rather fixed at first; he had been happy thus, and happy later when things began to find a new balance. Now, though, it was as often a friendly competition as anything else, one hungering for power even here in their bedroom, the other a hoarding dragon with his hands upon the chains that held the world together.

There was a thrill now at not knowing what was to come other than, likely, both of them.

At the last minute, he pivoted, picked up his husband, and tumbled them onto the expansive bed. He had learned how not to hurt those wings, and also learned how strong they were. Whether he was throwing down a gauntlet or just eager to play, he was on top of Arvælyn for the moment, and ready to make up for lost time.

[Arvælyn]

With Emblems and Runes fully engaged, the line between their souls was far more ambiguous than that which separated their physical forms. The politics of their sex were immaterial, when each could feel as the other and consummate pleasure absorbed them both into its torrents. What did it matter who did what to whom, when they could feel as if through the other’s skin and both were overwhelmed by the gravity of that. Their climax was more than mutual, and Arvælyn let the tendrils of his divine and arcane power untangle from Finn before his limbs did.

Shifting his wings, he rolled onto his back and sighed, shutting his eyes.

“Glad to know you haven’t bored of me yet.” He said, after a moment of silence and his head rolled to the side so his face was toward Finn as his fiery eyes fluttered back open to regard him.

“You’re still glowing,” He added, with a glance to Finn’s brow, ringed as it was in His Radiance.

“I had a bath drawn in hopes of finding need of it. Shall we?” He swung his legs around and scooted to the edge of the bed to slip off and onto the floor. He stretched arms, legs and wings as he yawned and padded his way over to an adjoining room where a sunken bath brimming with steamy water occupied the centre of the space.

He checked over his shoulder to make sure Finn was behind him, before descending into the cloudy, aromatic water with rose petals floating atop it.

“You can leave your work to the reports, but how have you been occupying your downtime in the Commonwealth?” He wondered aloud, as he settled down into a seat along the edge of the bath.

[Finn]

To Finn's mind, there could be no true comparison to Arvælyn. Even when Aværys had availed Himself to Finn's body, it had been a mind-altering experience, but hadn't compared to this dragon prince. They truly did become the proverbial beast with two backs. One mind, the two overlapping. Symphonies in harmony, divine graces complementary, it seemed as though the Gods had fashioned one for the other, and then granted more and more ways to keep them inextricably bound.

They had these orgasmic moments of oneness, where he couldn't even be irritated by the smallest thing because he knew in those moments, the entirety of the thing from both their perspectives. Those moments didn't stretch onward indefinitely, but it made it easier for them to find concord even in an argument.

He didn't reply to the jape; Arvælyn knew from the clarion song of Finn's own soul that he had not tired of him. If anything, absence made the heart grow fonder and... other things.

"I'd be glowing even without the crown," he replied languidly, then rolled over to follow. He could have caught up and walked beside him, but his symphony hummed at the sight of the princely backside as it walked, obscured and then not by the movement of his wings.

Finn descended too into the water and moved close to his mate. Sometimes he thought of him with that word—if he was thinking in words at all—after one of those moments of oneness. He could still feel vestigial wings and dragonfire within his heart, though they were only borrowed by proxy and this hot bath was hardly the lava pools of Sorokyn.

Cupping hot, fragrant water in his hands, he swiped it over golden skin. It didn't feel like he was a servus when he groomed Arvælyn, but more as if they were extensions of each other.

"Much the same as I do here except I don't have my family with me." His family was included in that, but as he rubbed his thumb over Arvælyn's lower lip when he said it, his symphony insisted that Arvælyn was family. "I am quite socially active, meeting people, learning, and making positive impressions for the sake of Solunarium. I make music, but often with Ecithian musicians. I train with the blade, but spar with local warriors. But I think I might be able to visit home more... if only to sleep beside you more nights than not..."

[Arvælyn]

I'd be glowing even without the crown...

"Mmm..." Arvælyn hummed happily at that line. He took in a deep breath of air that felt cool when compared to the warmth of the water and, expiring it, he felt as though he was loosing all his cares with his breath. His eyes hung half-lidded, even as they regarded Finn, enjoying the view as he pursued him into the murky depths.

"Well, given our latest pastime, Finn, I'm glad that 'much the same' is not 'wholly the same'." He offered with a broad grin that seemed to say he couldn't help himself but the grasp at that low hanging fruit and hoped it would be taken in jest.

"How do you find the culture there? I've never been. I mean, I suppose I've been over it, but you know... One doesn't pick up on the greater cultural nuances from the clouds." Much of what he knew of Ecith was from stories he'd heard in Karnor, which had been few, and horror stories he'd heard in Solunarium, which had been many. He knew he could take none of these at face value and certainly deemed Finn to be amongst the most impartial of judges in regard to such things. His prejudices were typically better informed and more nuanced than the sort of thing he was like to hear from the odd Vastian holding onto an ancient gripe that may well have been infused into their blood along with their reverence for the Founders.

"Do you enjoy the music? Does it complement yours, and... the people. Do they live up to Hilana's impossibly low standards or is there actual merit to these Orkhan that you feel has been missed? I can't imagine Arkænyn cozying up to their lot." He noted, chuckling at the visual he'd accidentally conjured.

[Finn]

Arvælyn's appreciative hum was music to the bard's ears. Then he laughed lightly.

"No, not wholly the same, although I occasionally make offerings of seed on the altar of your memory..."

At the more serious question, he considered; serious, but it felt as though Arvælyn was asking Finn rather than His Exalted Highness was asking his Legatus Ecithialis.

"Surprisingly similar in many ways," he began, "which I know would I couldn't tell someone like Hilana or most of the Vastians so plainly. But Ecith is a difficult place to live, just as the Atraxian Waste is a difficult place to live. Harsh climes make strong people, proud people. They too have a nominal assembly, but are ultimately led by their great powers—Senate and Triumvirate as opposed to Senate and Divine Twins. They claim to have stepped back, but they were there that first evening to take my measure. Alikhandrian advises me when it comes to their dragons; I may know dragons better than most mortal men, but that doesn't mean I'm an expert by any means. So, on some level, the success of annexation and integration will depend on how well the domains of our Founders and the will of the Platinum Dragonflight can be seen as extensions or perfections of the mores of their deep-rooted cultural and religious predilections..."

He found he was speaking more formally than, perhaps, the occasion demanded.

"They are strange to me, but I have found avenues to build bridges. I do enjoy the music, but I haven't found a music I couldn't at least appreciate." He laughed. "No, I assume Arkænyn has found the bed of another Sentinel or two. Aurisians are adaptable, but he's not that adaptable."

Finn was mostly concerned that his knight was getting everything he needed to thrive. Thrall he might be, and obedient to Finn's command, but he was also Finn's responsibility.

"Hilana would hate it. I don't know a way to change that. Perhaps, when they are annexed, some partition ought to be continued to allow a generation or so to grow accustomed to being one nation. But... my goal is to make real the annexation, so I must needs focus on that for now."

He paused, touched Arvælyn just so.

"There is a particularly beautiful waterfall tumbling into a pond that would make an excellent backdrop for your beauty..."

[Arvælyn]

“Hmm… then I must assume my occasional erotic dreams about you are the spoils of that seminal Sacrifice!” Arvælyn quipped jovially.

He settled back against the edge of the bath and listened raptly to Finn’s answers. The human was correct in his interpretation of the tenor of the query— indeed he was asking from a personal, rather than a professional, place. He arched a brow at the initial comment focusing on the common links between the two cultures. It seemed even he had not escaped a reflexive distaste for such a notion, but his brow relaxed ere long and he listened on as Finn extrapolated.

On the matter of Hilana’s deep-seated aversion to anything Orkish, Arry grinned and shrugged.

“Oh, I can think of quicker ways to address the problem, but you might find them morally objectionable. Still, if the Gods did not wish for us to have our eldritch short-cuts, They’d surely have long since done away with Cardinal Runes and answered Zaichaer’s prayers by now.” As far as he saw things, it was about risks and consequences. If one had the power to wield, the best reason not to exploit it was for fear of offending an entity of greater power who might exact the aforementioned consequences. The pair of them, with the favour of the Founders and the support of the Umbrian infrastructure, had fewer obstacles than most. Besides, the more he thought on how Solunarium utilised the Craft of Mesmer, the more he was convinced it was more mercy than manipulation— employed to improve the quality of life and reduce the suffering of those who fell under its sway.

Drawn out of his musings by Finn’s softer sentiments, he smiled just as softly.

“Then you shall have to bring me there and insert me, that life might imitate the artful meanderings of your mind.”

[Finn]

Finn smirked. It was no small thing to be so desired by someone, and the clever cabaret singer had become a creature out of legend, which made it all the more wonderful. Finn hadn't known he would live in one of the stories people sang.

As for the use of Mesmer and such, he smiled, shrugged.

"Our powers are tools, sure enough. I think they can be more elegantly used, and to greater effect." Ixiondor came to mind unbidden, whether from his own memory or his husband's, he didn't know. It was much the same when they were curled up in each other's arms and the music of each other's soul.

The Fugue he was under was a powerful enchantment, but rather more like blunt-force trauma. As soon as they got him away from Perseus, it broke, and his mind began the slow process of reintegrating the memories that had been suppressed. Even Zef had warned him years and years ago that subtle, repeated use of Mesmer could have a more lasting effect than using more power, quick and dirty. One might argue that while Zef Mirlind was a talented mage, he was not powerful, and so he had learned to be economical and creative. But then those were virtues, as well.

The Neptori swam back into his memory. Perhaps there would be time to ask Phocion how the survivors fared, but he didn't want to relive that mission tonight when his body was warm and his mind still lingering in the afterglow.

"Once I have made it safe for you," he said, amused, and coming in for a few kisses left over collar bone and other choice places, "waterfall."

He remembered something while kissing on his languid lover.

"Oh." Kiss. "I need to find some brilliant Vastian statesman." Kiss-kiss. "I want Ciarán to warm the seat of gens Viator in the Senatus Minor. To be seen and not heard, but with someone training him to understand the intricacies of law and power. Otherwise, I'm afraid he will drink all the wine in Solunarium and I will never pay off his tab at that nightclub Raithen always talks about."

[Arvælyn]

“And you are entitled to that opinion, if it works for you.” Arvælyn answered with a blithe shrug. Finn had been sent to the Commonwealth with the full faith of the Concilium Draconum to execute his duties as he saw fit. If that meant a gentler touch or an outright aversion to Mesmer, that was his to decide. Even if they’d been in a more official scenario at the moment, Finn’s mission was not under the Prince Regent’s purview for myriad reasons and he had neither the impulse nor the interest in critiquing or arguing about methodology. Particularly when things seemed to be going well enough for the moment.

Open as their Symphonies were in the comfort of current company, Arvælyn felt the flow of Finn’s thoughts shift toward Ixiondus and the mission that connected them to the Tertian Neptori. Having seen him since, he was like a different creature altogether. The abject fear that loomed in the Zonam Mysteriam long since assuaged, he was as bold and surefooted as he’d ever seen a subject with such peregrine features. Whether he’d retained the breadth of the memories restored from those trying times, or whether the Sentinels saw fit to favour comfort over completeness, he knew not. There were classified secrets that had been uncovered, after all, and matters that the Crown was not prepared to reveal to the greater public.

He titled his hear, ears perking at the mention of Ciarán.

“I could help with that.” There were plenty of Umbrian senatorial families who would do a favour for the Crown and Finn himself was no stranger to sycophancy, given his status in the realm and proximity to the Crown. It was widely understood that the so-called ‘Gens of the Traveller’ was travelling on a salient path.

“Ictheos Avenarius Kenofer springs to mind. He served in the Golden Guard and was hand-selected by Phocion to serve as the Solunarian envoy to Zaichær when Phocion himself travelled to Kaz-… Kalzasi. He assumed the role of Paterfamilias of Gens Avenarius some months after returning from his ailing father, and declared for Sol’Zalkyrion when allegiances were demanded. His is one of the younger senatorial houses, so he may have greater insight than some of the more entrenched houses.”

[Finn]

It felt empowering to know that even if Arvælyn would do things differently, he respected Finn's choices and capabilities. Neither of them had been raised for this, and Finn hadn't even been born to it. But even as he had done with his Sentinel service, he would fake it until he made it. After all, Arvælyn had played Aværys before coming into his regency over half the God's realm.

Arvælyn's doting husband brightened before his words were spoken, reacting to the change in the music before he acted upon that change. There was a moment to process the poetry of Solunarian names, though. 'Kenofer' was the cognomen of a boy whose body he had carried out of the Zonam Mysterium, but it was attached to a different nomen, and so that ghost was allowed its freedom.

The somber note passed quickly, and he considered.

"That would be quite helpful," he said, and rewarded his prince with a lingering kiss.

"I will prepare Ciarán. I suppose I ought to prepare him for initiation into Semblance and Command, as well, as he will need tools arcane as well as skills political. And magic will earn him a modicum of respect that his name might not. And perhaps he will learn responsibility, as his ability to survive repeated drowning in wine will not."

His parents' ambitions were simple and modest, the same with Moraine's. Ciarán was still young enough, still unfocused enough to develop a holy hunger for more that could make him a suitable paterfamilias when Finn himself was gone. But that day was yet beyond the horizon.

For now, Finn could plan and enjoy the place on the Pyramid he and Arvælyn had made for themselves.

fin.

Review

Experience: 10 xp for use at your discretion

Injuries: n/a

Loot: n/a

Notes: Alas, still no procreation.