Imperium Renascentis

[Pharaoh]

IMPERIVM RENASCENTIS
65 Ash 124 Steel
Palatium Umbrarum, Umbrium

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The Draconic Council Chambers in the Palatium Umbrarum counted amongst the most imposing halls in the capital, and not only due to the ancient powers who congregated there. This room had not been built for dragons, least of all at their full stature. For generations this mirror image of its Luxian counterpart had served to house the Regium Consilium of Moonborn monarchs. Always exclusively elven or half-elven councillors and predominantly members of the Unbroken Line had sat these halls.

With the rise of the Draconic dynasty to the Umbrian throne, this chamber had been renovated to lionise the ancient house making novel demands. Artefacts of power and depictions of glorious monumental moments populated the walls and mantles. Today, a scale model of the Ecithian continent occupied the council table, its practical detail augmented by Masquerade magic that made the rivers flow and the primals lumber through their habitats.

The dragons, elves and he who lay between the twain were already seated when Finn was ushered through the door. Though this chamber was in his own home, it was one of many he rarely passed through. Even the dragons themselves primarily held their quotidian sessions in the Thalamum Draconum, where they could hold their true, colossal forms. Today they were joined by Cithæra and all of her brood who counted themselves members of the Vigilia Argenti.

“Be seated.” As Zalkyriax spoke, a chair slid back from the table lest Finn wonder at where in this pecking order he belonged.

“Phocion. This is a machination of your invention. Speak on it.” The dragon in elven seeming gestured, and Phocion smiled a smile Finn would recognise as exhibiting pride.

“Long though they dallied in the doing, it appears the Ecithian Senate has begun to seriously deliberate over the proposal I posed to the Dracones Viridi.

“It should come as no surprise that the proposal is a controversial one, but the dire situation afflicting much of the region as well as the general sense of stagnancy and decay that have been impacting their leadership, has lent more weight to our suit than I honestly anticipated.

“Whilst we of the Vigilia must occupy ourselves with preparing for the possibility of annexation, which will call for all our present resources and much more, we have been asked to send a representative to speak on behalf of the Crown.

“We have debated over whom to send. His Exalted Highness nominated me, I nominated the Vigilia Magna, but she wisely marked that sending royals may insinuate a message counter to my prior claim of a sympathetic overseer who would allow them some degree of autonomy.” His smile grew a bit sharper,

“Solunarium was not built in a day, and nor shall the Commonwealth be easily converted to our ways. We need a softer touch…” His eyes darted up to meet Finn’s.

“I remarked upon the prospect of sending Finn, the twice-marked… an outsider magnatus with a reputation for bucking the harsher sensibilities of our sun-scorched realm. A peoples’ prince… consort, who might serve his family and spread the Word of his Patron in a fashion likely to be more appealing than some elven Viceroy.” He paused,

“To be clear, your mission would be two-fold and long-term: First to assuage the fears of the senate and do what must be done to secure a vote in favour of Solunarian annexation. Second to serve as our Imperial overseer… a Præfectus Ecithialis to shepherd their transition as the continent unites under the banners of a Sacred Solunarian Empire reborn. What say you?”

All eyes turned to the human, and among the sea of stoics Arvælyn’s were the only pair that looked more amused than Phocion’s at the prospect.

[Finn]

No matter how high Finn ascended, there were others who far outstripped him, and so, when he was summoned by his father-in-law, he came.

This was his home as this was where his heart was. His gaze erred first and foremost to Arvælyn. A marginal softening of his serious mien greeted his husband, and then he marked all here present per his training with the Vigilia Argenti. He bowed to the Crownwyrm and those whose presence demanded it of him, and quietly took his seat.

If words were required of him, they would be asked.

Finn returned Phocion's smile in kind. With the Ecithian map moving before them, he had some idea what the issue of the day would be. Phocion sometimes shared with him, whether because he wanted input or merely a witness and Finn was happy to do so. Zalkyriax's advice to make himself useful to Arvælyn had trickled down to several others of his family. Proving himself someone Phocion could rely upon seemed to be foundational to their friendship.

The news from Ecith was known to him. This twist was not entirely a surprise; he had begun to count himself into his calculations. No longer was he the troubadour playing for noble favor, but instead a power unto himself although the shape of that power remained somewhat undefined.

Dark eyebrows rose slightly anyway.

"I am honored you think me a worthy candidate, lævir," he replied, voice carrying through the room.

"If His Exalted Majesty deems me best suited for the work, then I shall go and do it. I shall spread the banner of the platinum dragonflight and the glory of Deus Aværys." Though his heart would ache for the emptiness in his bed. But duty was rarely a light yoke.

[Pharaoh]

"I deem you suited." Zalkyriax answered, flatly.

"Lest you fear this to be a soft exile..." Arvælyn began, without needing to dip into Finn's Symphony to anticipate his concerns, "I have already demanded that dedicated portals be established to ease your commute between residences. Not to diminish your acumen as a Viator, but why expend unnecessary æther when it can be avoided?"

"Might we save the logistical minutiæ for a less august audience, Your Exalted Highness?" Cithæra inquired, somehow managing to sound more helpful than chiding, though eliciting a scowl from the Zalkyrian heir, all the same. He nodded, nevertheless, and Zalkyriax spoke:

"The resources of the Umbrium will be at your disposal, Vigil Finn. This is union of realms is the explicit desire of the Founders and the Crown established to serve Them. Their faith in you is no less apparent, given the advancement to your Emblem. Whilst I grant you full freedom in how you choose to accomplish this first leg of your mission, I would not dissuade you from using all of the tools at your disposal. Perhaps even those that might be considered morally objectionable by them that raised you. Consider your goal: To take a realm steeped in misery and decay and to make it happy and salient under the grace of the Founders' light."

"Beautifully put, Exalted Majesty. Cogitate upon those ends as you deliberate over what means you would like to execute. You and I will devise a plan of action after the council is adjourned and-..."

"Ignosce, Sentinel Phocion, but I should like to sit in on those briefings."

"Of course, Exalted Highness. If your schedule allows, we are, as ever, at your exalted disposal." Phocion replied with a tight-lipped bow of his head. "Now, before we dismiss you and turn to The Vigilia Magna's report on the matter of the prolonged Luxian conclave, Sentinel Finn, have you any questions or concerns you'd like to voice to this estimable assembly?"

[Finn]

"Thank you, Sire," he said simply, bowing his head across the table to the Dragon King.

"Thank you, Amatus," he said to his husband with a softening smile rather than a nod. Such arrangements would make a balance between his work and his leisure, spare thought it might become, easier to manage. No doubt he would have to spend some nights in Drathera just as some nights Arvælyn's duty kept him from his own bed even in the same building.

Cithæra's shepherding made sense. One didn't want to make a dragon wroth.

For his part, he listened attentively, nodding when appropriate. The Crownwyrm's words were nigh as commanding as Aværys' to him. He would take them as divine mandate. Zalkyriax would brook no less, he'd be bound.

At Phocion's final words, however, he rose and stood behind his chair.

"I'll not waste this estimable assemblies time. I have expressed my gratitude and accepted my orders. I will await without for further conference with you and my husband, lævir."

Whether it continued here or elsewhere, Finn would remain close at hand. He awaited the promised dismissal, cogitating upon the subtler ebb and flow of authority and inclusion. He would become Præfectus Ecithialis, but would not be present for discussion of the Luxian conclave. He wondered whether that were because he had endeavored to build bridges between himself and several of their luminaries, or whether taking its former regent into his empyreal service had made him seem a chink in their dragonscale armor.

Upon Phocion's dismissal, he would bow once more and depart to abide where servi could quickly retrieve him should he be required to report on any other matter.

[Arvælyn]

Finn was summoned some time later to Phocion’s office at the Prætorium, where he would find his host and his husband seated in the lounging area off to his left as he entered. He was more accustomed to seeing Phocion seated or standing behind his desk, but this was where he enjoyed an occasional drink with the exacting Moonborn.

“Sentinel.” Phocion inclined his head, “Or ought I say ‘ambassador’?”

“You did well.” Arvælyn observed with a proud smirk. “I’m pleased you accepted.”

“You did do well, though if I might make one needling note: I sit the Draconic Council as a brother sentinel, not as a brother-in-law. These roles are separate in the eyes of our ancient laws. In formal proceedings, I should be addressed as Sentinel, Sentinel Phocion or merely Phocion. Here you may call me what you will, but in front of the dragons… present company excluded, a certain degree of decorum is expected.”

“Founders, Pho, give a bloke a break! He wasn’t raised at court. How is he supposed to know the minutiæ of our esoteric traditions?” Arvælyn protested,

“By marking me when I make gentle corrections, as I just did…” Phocion retorted through clenched teeth. There was a beat before he added: “Your Exalted Highess.

“At any rate, such ‘minutiæ’ will be less important in Ecith, as they are famously disinclined toward the sort of structure and formality expected here.” Phocion segued,

“That being said, you would do well to do some reading up on the protocols of the Ecithian senate. Your recent jaunt through time may prove useful, as they exploit time magic within their curia. Presumably for the sake of giving due time and diligence to arguments without the bureaucratic stalemates common in legislative bodies that abide by the natural flow of time. You might consider consulting, or even adding Archduke Phædreon to your envoy.”

“I wish I could go.” Arvælyn grimaced, “That would be the performance of a lifetime… a return to the stage.”

“Which would put Your Exalted Highness at mortal risk in the worst case scenario, and in the best it would look like the Zalkyrians expected immediate fealty oaths and were sending their notoriously powerful Mesmer prince to curry it.”

“Did not my father say ‘All the tools at our disposal’?”

“Not your disposal, Highness. His.” Phocion gestured to Finn. “Shall I call for wine?”

“I already did.” Arvælyn snarled, as a knock sounded at the door in a prelude to said wine delivery.

[Finn]

Finn repaired to Phocion's office with all due alacrity. He did bow to brother-sentinel and husband-prince, but then relaxed and took a seat with them.

"Thank you," he finally said, smiled. "For the gentle correction as well." It was entirely possible he was given leeway by those potentates for his humanity and his foreign bearing and raising, but if his life was now Solunarium, he did want to adapt to that reality.

Finn frowned slightly at the mention of chronomancy. The quest for justice with their elder kinsman had marked the soon-to-be ambassador. But his brow smoothed soon enough. He was no longer the young minstrel Arvine Venasyr had met whose face expressed as openly as did his voice. The signs remained, but they were subtler, smaller.

"I would fain bring Phædreon with me if he would deign to travel to Drathera." And Arkænyn as well, especially if time magic would be afoot, but also because the platinum prince could use some time away from Solunarium, from whence came so much of his woe.

"Are you saying you're at my disposal?" he asked his exalted husband with a coy little smile. While he didn't embarrass Phocion with great public displays of affection, he wanted in on the banter, as well. "Ah..." The wine was here. Arvælyn could be counted upon to secure that, Twins be blessed. He comported himself more carefully, not wanting to embarrass anyone in front of the servi, even though their minds were easily wiped of personal details gleaned in the course of their service.

"I had prepared for communication with the Commonwealth before my aborted attempt to parlay across the border on the first of this year, but I intend to go deeper still as this will be a more profound mission. As I cogitated while awaiting the end of your conference, I considered whether I might not lead with cultural bridge-building. Music, of course, being that flavor of culture with which I have the most experience.

"I might still need to smooth over my sacrifice of what turned out to be Syren's instrument to Domina Varvara. Ecithian musicians came to surveil me and left things inconclusive. At least my divine emblem might be less offensive than Vrædyn's, though, as I am not a formal member of the Twins' priesthoods."

He was curious about the Ecithian Orkhan culture as compared to the Kalzasern, the treatment of dragons from Commonwealth to Solunarium, and the activity of the Orkhan Gods compared to those of the Re'hyæan elves and their subjects.

[Arvælyn]

“Tis my duty.” Phocion demurred, “If you would populate your party with several royal elves, just be aware of how they are presented. I would not have you nullify the benefits of your distinction from our culture by seeming to be a figurehead under the influence of Sol’Aværys royals. We might even deputise them into the Sentinels for the mission, that they might don our obscuring vestments and veils lest your servants be mistook for your masters.”

The servi attended to Arvælyn first, then started toward Phocion who, at a gesture, redirected their attentions to Finn first. The ranking sentinel was served last.

“I am at your disposal and the realm’s withal…” Arvælyn smiled, “When those two are aligned, as in this instance, my commitment to both is unburdened.”

“I will be most interested in your assessment of the state of the Orkhan trinity.” Phocion noted pointedly, as Arvælyn swirled the wine in his cup.

“Oh, Vrædyn is not forgotten in all of this. Should the first phase of your mission be successful, he will be an active part of the second. Stirring though his sermons be, he is wasted in the capital preaching to the devout, when he has the Power to sway the hearts of the Ecithians in their own brutish tongue.” Phocion observed.

“Our Marks would certainly be of use as well in this, brother. The subtle, silver touch is ever a complement to glistering gold.” The exalted prince mused.

“Indeed. I expect both of us will be required in phase two, as well, though your duties in the Umbrium must take precedence as the most recognisable face of its illustrious Crown.” The sentinel replied.

“And Finn, I should note lest it be mistook, the Founders are very personally invested in this mission. I have conferred with the Lady of Chains Herself, and can say unequivocally that Their eyes are upon us as we pursue this move.”

[Finn]

Finn nodded thoughtfully, his mind working even as they played at relaxing. He flashed another smile at Arvælyn when the demure flirting was reciprocated; Gods be praised matrimony and duty hadn't dimmed passion, nor the simple entertainment they found in each other's presence. The newly minted diplomat thanked the servus, a habit he hadn't completely broken himself of; perhaps in Ecith it would prove a benefit. He gave a slight nod, acknowledging the small honor being given precedence in serving order. Solunarium was a subtle place.

"Of course," he said of Phocion's note. "A diplomat, but still Custodes Deorum. I had assumed my work with you was another reason to send me into their realm." He would be the vanguard, then; though this was never a path he had expected for himself, he found he was excited. Finn decided to learn the Orkhan tongue; Aværys would see that he was heard and understood, but learning their language would help him learn more subtly how they thought. Well, he would endeavor to do so. There was no telling whether there would be time. This assignment would require all his attention.

Phædreon, at least, could pass as merely noble in an Ecithian capital. Arkænyn might be too prominent a figure, but would array himself in Sentinel black at Finn's suggestion. It would be good to have a trusted blade at his back.

"As much as I would prefer for personal reasons to have Arvælyn with me, it might behoove you to be the first Tethered to join me there. Veiled, but to see for yourself what progress I have made." There might be things Phocion could do to further that progress more efficiently than could Finn himself. They had always worked well together, their emblems complementary and, he thought, themselves.

As for the Gods, he nodded.

"While I do not have His undivided attention, I do feel the eye of Deus Aværys ever upon me." He paused. "How soon should I be prepared to go?"

[Arvælyn]

"Savvy and sound." Phocion smiled faintly at Finn's observation that his role as a Godwatcher played into the politics of his latest assignment. He held his silver goblet aloft, but had yet to sip of the wine swirling in the vessel. Arvælyn was halfway through his own, but smiled at Finn's acknowledgement. Perhaps the savvy bard was appeasing the jealous dragonborn in so saying and Arvælyn recognised that, but it worked nevertheless. His inner dragon remained tame and his spirits high.

"Agreed." The Sentinel conceded, "I was the one who started us down this path, and I will be very attentive to its progress now that the torch is passed into your capable hands. When it makes sense for me to do so, I will attend you there." At Finn's final question, his smirk tugged tighter.

"Well, that is the odd thing about their chronomantic senatorial practises. It really doesn't matter to them when you leave, as you'll be brought in exactly when scheduled- whether that be before or after you leave. Practically speaking, you may have already spoken before them and your impact has already been lodged formally outside of the session. We may have already lost or won the vote and the powers of the Commonwealth may already be aware of that outcome, whilst we remain in the dark.

"It is rather a frivolous use of a pernicious Craft, in my opinion, but as a curiosity, I find it endlessly intriguing. We shall want to impose greater regulations on such treacherous magic if, Founders willing, we are able to exert our due control over the rest of the continent." Phocion took his first sip of wine as a servus moved to refill Arvælyn's.

"When would you like to go, amatus? Is there aught we can provide to help you prepare?"

[Finn]

Finn nodded; the level of his drink was at a happy medium between Phocion's untouched and Arvælyn's half-finished libation.

At the mention of chronomancy, his generous lips twisted with disapproval.

"Having experienced its power and its peril, I would fain remove it from the Commonwealth's repertoire. Your kinsman holds the power with the approval of the Divine Twins, but holds it, I think, in trust. This is a magic that should remain lost, lest others like Thalya Derelicta tempt the retribution of Dragon Gods to Whom even our great Gods bend the knee." His brow smoothed quickly, though. He would have to play the game a while before he could change the rules of the game.

"Give me three days to set my affairs in order, and I shall once more subject myself to the vagaries of Time. But I would have Phædreon with me, veiled in black, lest our work be stymied by their dabbling with power they oughtn't to have."

In three days, he would absorb as many reports on the Commonwealth as he could, and ensure that the other Viatores—he wondered if he ought to found a patrician family in order to ensure that his family's fortune outlived him—as well as Syrena thrived in his absence. With portals, he could visit, but it would not be the same. Perhaps Raithen would keep an eye on Ciarán for him, or that might be adding fuel to the fire.

Arkænyn and Lystreia would prepare themselves. Servi would handle the heavy lifting, thankfully; Finn had more to prepare himself.

He did hope his prince's duties would be on the lighter side so some quality time might be shared.

"And perhaps it will fall within the purview of the Archidux's power to create time enough for me to prepare every move I make upon that Ecithian chessboard..."