Beginning Again After The End

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: Glade 68, 123
NOTES: -

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When Æros had previously considered the potential branches of his future path, his mind would drift down myriad winding roads, but none of them included the fate he now walked; in the past, he’d always thought he’d either be alive or dead, not…this. A future at all was difficult to imagine now– it wasn’t as if there were many notable ghosts upon which he could reference, either. But time waits for no man (or spirit) to adjust, and painful as it was, he did have to look toward the future's horizon, painful as the glare was. And to that, the first step he’d taken was to contact somebody of higher station about his career trajectory; for his own comfort, he’d picked somebody with whom he possessed at least some familiarity– Arvælyn Princeps.

For this, Æros wanted to meet with Arvælyn in the flesh, literally, and since there was nobody else for him to possess at the moment, his vessel was to whom he had been tethered– Hilana. She’d allowed him to do so willingly which eased the strain on his miasma considerably, but that didn’t mean it was a comfortable thing…in fact, he detested it. Commanding a body that was not his own felt entirely alien and unpleasant in a way he couldn’t quite describe. To look in the mirror and see another’s face, to speak and hear another’s voice, for all of one’s senses to perceive in ways most unfamiliar– it was loathsome. Perhaps he would hate it less if he had his own body to return to, but in knowing that he did not, nearly every input to his senses irritated him. To his great relief, however, he could at least wield his magics once more.

When he’d arrived at the palace, the servus who’d greeted him was initially confused; understandable, given the circumstances, but he’d nevertheless been escorted to the meeting room with little issue. He would have been plenty anxious had he not regained command over his own Symphony, opting to quiet it for the most part as he awaited the arrival of the princeps. Æros was not quite sure how he’d explain this, or what, if anything, Arvælyn had been told by the sentinels. In some ways, it was simply nice to see the other again, much as he wished the circumstances were different.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

Arvælyn Princeps was being pulled in a lot more directions than Arvælyn Scænicus ever had. He relied heavily on advisors and attendants to fill in the gaps he simply hadn’t time to fill on his own. He’d been informed of a request for a meeting from Æros and accepted out-of-hand, informing the secretaries in charge of his schedule that it should be placed later in the day. He assumed it would be a social call and wanted to time it when wine wouldn’t have seemed an undue indulgence. When Phocion arrived in advance of the meeting to fill him in on some details that hadn’t yet graced his pointed ears, wine felt more like a necessity than an indulgence.

A smirking Phocion emerged from the sitting room and inclined his head to the waiting Æros in the antechamber.

“Are you wearing your hair differently, Æros?” He japed, unable to help himself. “His Exalted Highness will see you now.” And with that, the Sentinel stalked by and out into the corridor.

Æros would step through double doors flanked by Sentinels into a sitting room attended by guards and servi and decorated with Draconic antiques, the most notable of which was the seat Arvælyn occupied. Had it been situated on a daïs it might have been called a throne- It was high-backed and forged of platinum, with a depiction of a dragon’s head staring across the room and platinum wings spread slightly wider than Arvælyn’s folded golden wings.

Fiery eyes glanced up from under arched eyebrows to regard the guest with marked bemusement. He rapped his index finger against the platinum, ruby-encrusted goblet that dangled lazily in his grasp where his wrist bent at the armrest of the chair.

“What fresh hell is this? And what do I even call you? Hilanæros?”

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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The needless grandiosity of the Palatium Umbrarum was, in some ways, comforting if only because of his fondness of Solunarium’s general predilection towards majesty– that is to say, each hall or room he passed through was visually grand enough to notably distract him from his current predicament. This and his magic kept him relatively at ease as he waited.

It being Phocion to announce he could enter wasn't exactly expected, but given the location and circumstances, wasn't entirely surprising, either. The man’s remark did pull a laugh from him, though, and lifting a feminine hand to push a stray hair behind his ear in an almost theatrical fashion, he replied: “Ah- yes, how sweet of you to notice! I’m trying something new with my whole look,” and he’d punctuate the sentiment with a playful wink. The Fæ-spirit’s response was markedly saccharine, though in jest– much as he hated to be in a body not his own, he genuinely did not wish to wallow in misery. Where he could grasp levity, he would.

Æros followed the sentinels through the double doors, eyes flitting ‘round the room and its various decorations before his gaze set upon the man he had come to visit. Arvælyn’s words initially drew a grimace to his lips, though it was fleeting, him being almost compelled to laugh because the circumstances were, certainly, bizarre.

“Rest assured that Hilana and I are as yet separate entities,” he began, tone light. “At present, you are speaking to only one– Æros– as when somebody is willingly possessed, they are thus rendered dormant.” His brow furrowed, not quite sure where to begin. There was a lot he could say.

“I wanted to meet with you with flesh and blood as opposed to miasma, and circumstances being as they are, Hilana was the most convenient option for a vessel– though in the future, I plan to procure…something else,” exactly what that would be he hadn’t decided; there were a few options.

As he spoke, those familiar with the Vastiana he possessed might find this all the more uncanny; the way Æros gesticulated and his overall mannerisms were distinctly his own, making no attempt at mimicry of his host.

“I reached out to you for a specific purpose, that being, well…my future upon this plane, in this realm. I am dead, yet by the Twins’ mercy do I still linger, my mind as yet intact. I want to still give myself fully unto Solunarium, and if you would permit it, continue to serve as I did before.” The smoothness of his voice was only permitted by ministrations Mesmeric; it was a continuous effort to quash the sorrow that simply refused to stop bleeding from within.

After a short pause, he would add: “I imagine you’ve questions? I don’t know how much you were told, but I’ll do my best to answer any curiosity you may have about…my circumstances.”

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

"I'm glad Phocion briefed me on your situation, though I'd have known it wasn't truly Hilana as soon as I saw you enter without an armful of pastries or some such prodigal gift." The Princeps noted with a wry smirk that wasn't long-lived. It soon faded as Arvælyn narrowed his glowing eyes to focus his attention upon the entity before him with more than his mundane senses.

"It's so strange to sense your Symphony on top of hers. I can still feel Hilana, but it's as if she's playing pianississimo under your mezzo forte. And she's just vamping..." He trailed off, shaking his head.

"At any rate, please have a seat and-..." He paused, pondering, "I was about to offer you wine, but you're fonder of intoxicants, I think, than she. I'm not sure of the etiquette, but, um... Well, that's between you and your host. Just let the servi know if you want aught of refreshment, but I certainly need a drink to process this." He took a sip and sat back, as Æros said his piece.

"Ah. Well, you've indicated you wished to meet the Founders and it sounds like you achieved that much, at least... Though perhaps not under the most ideal of circumstances. As for your request- You wish to return to your position in the Senatus?" He pursed his lips, "Well... That sounds reasonable enough to me, but I don't want to speak rashly on a matter of such delicate complexity. I'm not sure I understand all of the nuances." He shifted his gaze from Hilana's face to one of the attending slaves, wordlessly projecting a command into the servus' Symphony. The attendant nodded, bowed, and stepped out of the room.

"Whilst we await the arrival of a legisperitus with expertise in senatorial law, why don't you tell me how you've been spending your time since you returned to Solunarium. Phocion tells me it's been just a little over a week that you've been, um... in this state?"

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Æros laughed dryly at Arvælyn's mention of Hilana’s typical style of gift-giving. “Ah– true. I am a poor impersonator, aren’t I? Plus…all of her pastries are gone near immediately upon their completion; her new lupine friend is a ravenous one.”

For this, the Fae-spirit had no intention of fooling anyone, rather, he very much wanted to be perceived as himself– but the notion did make his mind wander off for a moment. Possession could have uses in subterfuge and the like, if he could learn to act, but…the thought was fleeting.

To Arvælyn’s comments about the layering of his and Hilana’s Symphonies, Æros nodded, raising a hand to his chin in consideration. “Interesting to hear that; it’s a bit different from my perspective, what with my being the one to have overtaken her. I wonder what Mesmers not privy to the details would make of this,” he almost laughed, though his face twisted to a brief grimace, then it faded.

At the notion of wine, he tilted his head in consideration, a look of longing on his features. “Yes…she certainly doesn’t share my predilection for drink nor my tolerance, I…didn’t actually think about that, yet.”

He’d pause, his gaze unfocusing for a moment; the way his Symphony shifted along with Hilana’s might indicate that he was, briefly, communicating with his host. Æros blinked, as if coming back to the present. “I can have…a taste, but she is so…exhaustingly busy that she has so little time for true indulgence. A shame, that.”

And with that, he would sit down on an open chair across from the princeps, gesturing to the nearest servus whilst at the same calling him over with a flex of æther. To use his magic again was almost so sweet a pleasure that, perhaps, it overrode the discomfort of existing in somebody else’s skin…almost. The servus approached with the wine and he collected a glass, but then when he brought it to his lips, brown eyes widened briefly in surprise. He’d tasted wine like this before, and while it was undeniably similar, to taste through another’s tongue was just not the same as before. The Vastiana blinked, processing this. It wasn’t unpleasant, for at least Hilana’s palette wasn’t poor, but it made his heart ache for what once was. Everything felt anew, almost, when perceived this way. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t verbalize this strangeness, merely shaking his head briefly to regain his focus.

His expression shifted to a softer, contemplative sort at the mention of the Founders, and then there was palpable relief when Arvælyn stated that he, at least, found the notion of his continued senatorial service to be reasonable. Tension, though slight, would visibly ease from the shoulders of the smaller frame he inhabited.

“That, I cannot deny; my wish was granted, in a sense.” And while his voice did ring grateful, the girl he controlled was devoid of that seemingly impossible to break sunny disposition– truly, Hilana was suppressed.

“In my final moments, part of me could sense that something was amiss, but I was so incredibly…desperate. Yet while I had been tricked, still did They hear my prayer, and still did They answer…” he trailed off, voice woven with a wistful sort of reverence. “Honestly, I’m still surprised that They opted to do anything at all; to retrieve my soul, they had to treat with Shæoth. I’m a bit awed that I was considered at all worth it, but it is a second chance I refuse to shirk, and I will be endlessly grateful for it.” A subtle smile surfaced on the girl’s lips.

His gaze would briefly divert to the servus the princeps had commanded, then back. “I’m glad to hear that you’d, at least, be willing to allow my continued service."

For the other question, his head tilted in consideration of his answer. “Shæoth did deign to make Hilana my tether to the material plane, and thus she and I are bound. Possession is the only way we can safely part, I think. That aspect worried me at first, given how weak I was when I’d been initially restored, but blessedly, I am gaining strength and stability as days pass.

“Nevertheless, I’ve been playing the part of an observer to her affairs, though not a tacit one, with some detours to take care of my own. She busies herself so much that even I, by proxy, find it exhausting. She’s balancing her work, studies, and animal care, the burden of the latter task now significantly increased given the rather large puppy we found– and she collected– from the northern tree,” he almost laughed, but he subdued it. “A demi-god with no memories is…fascinating.”

Lykos really was akin to a beast given how clueless the extraction of his memories had made him, but in time, the demi-god would undoubtedly regain his wits.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

"Ah, yes..." Arvælyn wrinkled his nose, unconsciously at the mention of the troublesome peregrinus. On that subject he'd been briefed earlier and in greater detail, though Æros' role in all that had been glossed over if it had been broached at all. Busy as he was, he'd actually requested such briefings be limited to the most pertinent information to the issue at hand. He was too mentally exhausted to brook much more than that.

"It's terribly odd that I never heard tell of him when I dwelt the North. But no matter, he's Sentinel Phocion's problem for the nonce." His smile returned as he lifted his goblet to break it.

As Æros sought out his own refreshment, he would find his gesture answered but his magic interrupted as the platinum collar about the servant's neck glowed in response to the attempted incursion. Arvælyn cocked an eyebrow, before his expression softened somewhat and he explained.

"I'm not sure whether you've spent much time in close quarters with royalty in your life, but our staff are better warded than most Sentinels. These servi are party to surpassingly privileged conversations, not to mentioned their direct access to our persons. For them to be susceptible to corruption via the Craft of a guest would be treacherous indeed. I expect you're keen to flex your runic muscle whilst you inhabit a body, but perhaps Hilana will let you play at that in humbler environs." His tone sounded compassionate, even if the content of his statement fell short of actually apologising for the potential disappointment.

"Aye, Shæoth's recent visits to our realm have not gone unremarked upon..." Though the prince did not elaborate further upon that. Perhaps by choice or perhaps due to the arrival of the legal advisor he'd requested, which came just as his prior words were trailing off. The scholar who arrived looked quite young and this was only partially deceiving.

He appeared to be human, for his ears were rounded, but his complexion and delicate features would betray elven heritage to a keen-eyed observer. He hadn't the dusky bronze tan of a full-blooded Vastian, but the golden complexion of his Sunborn ancestry. He took only a few steps through the door, before lowering himself to one knee and tipping his head down, silently waiting for a direct address. Arvælyn nodded to the servant who brought him, who announced:

"Paulus Circædius Zilka to see Your Exalted Highness."

Æros, if he elected to seek the Symphony of the arriving legisperitus, would find it warded to a lesser extent than the attending servants. He would be able to glean the man's nervousness and sense that he was not accustomed to being summoned to royal audiences and that he deemed himself unlucky to have been the one on call when this command came through.

"You may rise, Zilka." Arvælyn inclined his head, as the young legisperitus got to his feet. "You've been summoned because of a bit of an esoteric conundrum that has arisen for my friend here. This is... or rather was Senator Len’Sælyan." Zilka's brow instantly shot up at this,

"I know. He is presenting as a Vastiana because he's found himself bereft of a body. He is a ghost, you see and is possessing a friend for the purposes of this audience. He just inquired after the possibility of returning to his position in the senate. Are there any legal obstacles barring this eventuality?"

Zilka's eyes and indeed his Symphony seemed to light up at the prince's question.

"Your Exalted Highness. Well... First, may I say, Ex-Senator Len’Sælyan, I am very sorry for your loss. I have never offered condolences to the actual subject of a death, but that feels wrong somehow as the dead person is the most aggrieved under the circumstances, albeit typically the least poised to hear the offered sympathies. At any rate, um... I cannot think of a single precedent for such an exploit. I could doublecheck the archives, but it would be for naught because this sort of instance is exactly the sort of thing legal scholars love to sink our teeth into. If this had happened before, I would have learnt it my first year at the Lex Academia. That is to say this is a completely singular instance." Zilka seemed to realise, all at once, that he'd just been feverishly pacing the floor and he halted his steps abruptly.

"Would you like to sit, Zilka?" Arvælyn offered, which seemed to reignite the man's anxiety.

"If it please Your Exalted Highness." He took timid steps closer to the pair, and perched himself on the edge of the farther possible chair.

"So, what is your verdict?"

"Well, to be very clear, my verdict is immaterial. This falls under the purview of the senate itself and, if His Lordship wishes to reclaim his seat, it will likely need to be voted upon by his former peers. Is um..." Zilka cleared his throat, and eyed Hilana's body up and down, wearing a slight wince all the while.

"...is that what you'd be planning to wear into the curia?"

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Æros eyed Arvælyn curiously at his comment regarding the wayward demi-god. “That is…odd. Lends credence to one of Hilana’s theories about his circumstances, perhaps…” he trailed off without elucidating further, the statement more him talking to himself, anyhow.

Prior to Arvælyn’s arrival in Solunarium, Æros had not spent much time with royalty beyond sharing the same general vicinity during holidays, galas, parties, or similar celebrations. Though many were admirable figures in their own right, he’d never really felt the compulsion to worm his way into their affairs either in his youth or during his more recent period of listlessness– as such, his experience with their servii was limited only to what he’d had in recent memory.

“Mmh, can’t say I’m surprised, given the value a servus can have,” he responded, making himself wince as he said this, though the expression lasted only briefly, him quickly quashing what emotions he’d stirred at that notion with Mesmer.

When Arvælyn mentioned Shæoth, Æros had half a mind to inquire further, curious as he was about the Lord of the Void, but it was in that moment that the requested legisperitus had arrived. This one was warded, though not to such a degree that the Fæ-spirit could hear naught. His nervousness elicited some sympathy, and Æros would opt to ease that somewhat, composing a melody of calm; given the spirit’s quirks, his meddling would be imperceptible unless the man possessed a mastery over Mesmer himself. He did this because those who were calm were far easier to speak to.

He would watch in patient silence as Arvælyn addressed Zilka, his expression remaining unreadable while the sun-touched human spoke. At the notion that whether or not he kept his role would come to a vote, he would nod, but little else– that is, until the comment about his vessel was made.

Æros parted his lips to speak, but no words came- the soul within the body he hosted was vexed, and she’d made it known within. Underneath Æros’ Symphony, there was umbrage at that statement. Another host might have booted the spirit out to address it themselves, but instead Hilana calmed herself and reminded herself that it was water off of a water buffalo’s horn. Rude. The Fae-spirit felt he was lucky that she did opt for the path of self control. His skill with possession was presently so poor that he required a willing host, for one thing, and for another, the strength of Hilana’s wild will would’ve made her markedly difficult to possess regardless.

He would proceed to ignore this pause, moving on as if nothing had happened. “I thank you for your sympathies,” he began, his expression briefly shifting more somber.

He didn’t know how he felt at the notion that this truly was unprecedented. Part of him had wanted there to have been something for the legisperitus to have referenced, perhaps another notable ghost upon which he could make a solid decision. And yet at the same time, there was something thrilling about the fact that his fate was so anomalous; part of him very much reveled in the uniqueness.

“Should a vote be the path we must go, I’ve no intention of attending like this, no. My current appearance is merely for convenience as my death was…quite recent and, ah…other accommodations have yet to made. Worst case scenario, I’ll at the very least glamour myself.” With that, he’d raise the hand not holding onto his wine, and with a snap of his fingers, coruscant aether would roll over the girl’s figure, and before long, it’d settle into a projection of what Æros once was. He’d spent quite a bit of time perfecting this visage earlier, wanting to get the details up to his standard, but it was a draining endeavor for the moment, and thus he’d opted not to force himself to maintain it for this initial meeting. “I can maintain this for limited periods for now. Unfortunately, dying did weaken me- but at least everything is getting easier, day by day. Regardless, I do hope to acquire a male vessel at the very least prior to attending additional important affairs.”

Were Æros not so incredibly uncomfortable existing in the body of a woman, he might’ve opted to still use her form, dressing her up extravagantly, adding only enough Masquerade to give her a more august air and elven features. Alas, that was simply not the case, and presentation aside, he wanted the blood of an elf to be his again, as a full-fledged elf was still far closer to what he once was than a human.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

Arvælyn opened his mouth, poised to elaborate upon the import of servi but, sensing it was a loaded topic for his guest, he brought the goblet to his parted lips instead and tipped it back. The prince, for his part, did nothing to quiet the Symphony of the seemingly neurotic scholar. Though he didn't know this man in particular, he knew people like him- Driven, obsessive sorts who often fell into roles like these where their fixations could prove gainful.

At the stirring of Hilana's Symphony to mezzo piano, he tiled his head back and laughed. This seemed to startle Zilka, who stared wide-eyed at the winged royal- his nerves getting the better of the faint calming influence Æros extended. The influence was diluted by his wards and the presence of a prince seemed particularly frightening to him. Perhaps it was the way he'd been conditioned when he was at his most malleable, or perhaps it was merely his instinct toward self-preservation coupled with his anecdotal experiences in Solunarian culture. The scholar settled when the laughter tapered, and looked to the Vastiana as she turned into a half-Fæ.

"Ohh, of course." He muttered to himself. He'd been nervous enough earlier to have failed to make the connection. "You're already an exception, which won't be to your benefit in a vote. Many of the more, shall we say, 'Old school' senators may feel they've already afforded you leniency for being of mixed blood and assuming a place in the Senatus Major. They might be stingier with further such favours..." Zilka pursed his lips and nodded, as the ex-Senator explained that he would attend the senate under a different guise.

"I'm glad to hear it, but the gender of your host isn't the issue that concerns me. There is much to be debated in the curia over your eligibility to stand in the senate as a deceased party, but there is an initial legal hurdle you must pass before even the possibility of this being voted upon. Slots in the senate are held for members of particular Gente. Gens Sælyan cannot put forth a senator who does not share their blood. A ghost has no blood, so you'd need to inhabit the body of someone who has the appropriate pedigree: Ideally, a full-blooded Re'hyæan who is a close blood-relation to your predecessor." He offered a sympathetic grimace,

"I recognise it is highly unlikely that an esteemed member of the aristocracy is going to be inclined to volunteer their corpus up to be used as your host, but without this you'll be legally ineligible to reclaim Gens Sælyan's senate seat."

"This is fascinating. I feel I should be taking notes." Arvælyn observed, taking a sip of wine instead.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Arvælyn's laughter at Hilana’s intrusion brought levity back to the features of the possessed. He wouldn't comment on the princep's outburst, merely giving Zilka a reassuring look and shake to his head, as if to communicate that the other's laughter had nothing to do with the confused legisperitus. To explain would currently be too broad a diversion to be worth the time.

As Zilka continued to explain, he would nod along, processing the other's words. He needn't think on it long, though, as a few comments immediately rose to prominence in his mind.

When the legisperitus finished, he would begin. "Firstly, I will add that the gender of my host is more for my own comfort than not. From what you've said, I don't imagine you've much familiarity with possession, but it is incredibly disorienting to pilot a foreign body, even more so with each difference my host has compared to what I once was. Therefore, I'd simply function better, I think, in a body more similar to what I was in life.

"Furthermore, the chagrin of my previous peers per my being a half-breed need no longer apply should I convince one of my kin to serve as host, no? Because as you said, a spirit carries with it no blood, and thus, I would be full-blooded Re'hyæan. The true hurdle, then, to that aspect of my predicament lies in convincing a relative to offer themselves unto me." He wanted to sigh, but he kept his composure.

It wasn't an impossible task. No, in recent times, he'd been spending a lot of time at home, and in doing so, slowly rebuilding relations with his kin. But of those that might be willing, the most promising prospect was one of his sisters– and she was, unfortunately, not what he was looking for…but if nobody else, then…

"...I wouldn't need to steal their body permanently, either. As a spirit, I should be able to, in time, move from body to body with ease enough that I needn't steal away the life of one of my brethren entirely, ah…" he paused for a moment, as if thinking, then his eyes fluttered in realization. "...in time, a clone of a relative could be commissioned for me to use, and that way there would be no soul to suppress, no? But unless somebody's already gone ahead and started that process, that is…a bit of a wait," at this point he almost sounded like he was talking to himself, but this was merely an audible attempt at problem solving.

The clone suggestion would work wonderfully, the problem was that the creation of such wasn't quick, and he hadn't the foggiest idea of anything of the sort could be expedited at all.

- - -

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

“Quite right, I’ll concede you that spectral affairs haven’t been a particular focus in my work. I gladly defer to your expertise on matters pertaining to possession…” There was a new brand of discomfort stirring in Zilka’s Symphony as matters broaching near to undeath rose in the presence of their demi-Draconic prince.

“As for ‘The chagrin of your previous peers’, that is more of a personal matter than a legal one. Some may consider you to be the same person asking for a new favour, and others might consider you a tabula rasa. Maybe a few will even think a pure elven form will be an improvement.” The scholar shrugged. He could make a legal case for one side of the argument or another, but at the end of the day a lot of this would come down to the personal interests and biases of the individual senators.

“You are at the very least fortunate to be a member of the Umbrian Senate, where fewer of the old Sanguinist families hold seats. Their interpretation of your eligibility would surely be stricter.” Both Arvælyn and Zilka listened thoughtfully as Æros thought aloud in Hilana’s voice.

“If you were able to legally create or obtain an appropriate simulacrum of a senatorial relation, that might serve… Yes, I believe a clone or the body of a relation, borrowed or stolen, would satisfy the letter of the law. That would get you through the Curia doors, at least. I think the rest, due to the unprecedented nature of this exploit, would be a matter of interpretation.” The notion seemed to excite the scholar. It would be one for the history books, he reckoned, and being party to this initial conversation granted him a boon. He had a head-start to the chronicling of this legal peculiarity.

“Part of me wishes I could argue the case on your behalf, but you’ll be better served advocating for yourself. If you can make the case with your own ton-… Heh, or rather with your own words on a borrowed tongue, that would serve the dual purpose of proving your right to stand as well as your worth as a legislator. Yes, I think it is essential that you represent your own interests… Have you any questions for me? I’m happy to play Arcas’ Advocatus, if you’d like to bounce any possible arguments against a mock opponent.” Zilka was now bouncing in his seat, his anxious energy replaced with the excited sort. What had been an imposition was turning into a potential career highlight. He ought to have known that important people tended to attract interesting cases, but he avoided their company so avidly that he hadn’t much in the way of firsthand experience.