Command Performance

[Arvælyn]

Dear Viator Ciarán,

I wondered whether you might dine with me this evening. With Finn abroad, I thought we might better acquaint ourselves in his absence. Enclosed is the menu detailing what the chef plans to prepare tonight, so please write back with any allergies or aversions if you're able and willing to indulge me. Anytime after 19:00 should be fine to arrive.

-Arvælyn

13 Searing 125
The Royal Residence
Palatium Umbrarum, Umbrium

The Princeps Draconum spent the day dealing with matters at the Umbrian Curia, attending a joint session of the minor and major senates of his father's realm. He broke a few ties, asserted a few edicts, and suffered the sycophancy of some and the vitriol of others. It was not a terribly active day, with most of it spent seated, but it was exhausting all the same. He knew that he would want for diversion when all was said and done and, with Finn diligently engaged in his duties with the Ecithian Senate as he dealt with his own legislative body, he elected to impose upon the younger Viator's evening. He knew that Ciarán was unlikely to deny his invitation even if he was averse. This notion might have bothered others, but to one who imposed his will into the Symphonies of others rather regularly, it was done without compunction.

Although he'd written the invitation by hand, it was his staff who received the reply and adjusted to the time frame and any dietary constraints that may have been noted in Ciarán's response. All was prepared by the time he arrived and the young human was led into one of the more intimate dining halls in the royal residence, where he would find Arvælyn standing beneath a portrait of some elven ancestor, seeming to admire it as he sipped at a goblet of something rich and red.

"Ah, brother! Come in, come in." He turned from the fresco with a smile and a servus brought a cup of wine to his guest instantly. "How do you fare?"

[Finn]

Of course, Ciarán replied immediately. Pretending to be the lord of the Prædium Sorokys came with strings attached, and he couldn't even fault Finn for that. He knew himself and he knew he would become entirely a wastrel if left to his own devices, pursuing his leisure with a purse that would never empty.

It began with a very careful Phædryn Sol'Zalkyrion Arvælyn Princeps but was otherwise a rather clever doodle of someone he might recognize as Ciarán himself giving a thumbs up.

He arrived a bit earlier than the appointed time so as not to be late, but a serva kept him occupied with some small matter to do with his brother who sometimes sent word to the rest of his gens when he couldn't come home himself. Ciarán assumed Finn made his magic trips back to the capital far more frequently than he made it back to the village where their parents and sibling's family were making their home, and if he had limited time, why would he visit the Prædium when it was likely his little brother would be out on the town and he had a smoking hot—literally sometimes—husband waiting for him.

Ciarán was a touch flushed. The serva was also smoking hot and he was still not used to the idea that he could almost certainly bed her, though it would be impossible to say whether she would have wanted to without whatever mesmeric influences were upon her and that sort of ruined the fun for him.

The flush wasn't so bold as the red of his toga, which with its thread-of-gold embroidery around the hems was probably worth than his mother's old forge.

"Thank you," he said unnecessarily as she finished her report. And again, when she saw him to where the crown prince was finally ready for him.

"Thank you," he said to the servus who handed him his wine. Ciarán was smiling, even grinning, at Arvælyn, albeit with an obvious tinge of relief.

As strange as the current Arvælyn was compared to the Arry he had met in the little hamlet that he had lived in, the prince was more familiar to him still than most of Solunarium.

"Arry," he said, reverting immediately to whatever camaraderie they had developed back in that hamlet. He knew he had to mind his manners in public, but until and unless the prince himself corrected Ciarán, he was going to assume that being family meant he was allowed to be Ciarán in private with him.

They had gotten along famously, he thought, back in Karnor. Arry had been willing to drink a little too much with him, and Ciarán was too gregarious for that little town. He had been primed to like Arry because Finn was so obviously smitten, and while he could fight with Finn, he ultimately wanted him to be happy. If Arry had overseen and/or overheard Ciarán giving Finn a high five and a congratulatory slap on the ass for bringing such a pretty golden thing home, well, ... Ciarán.

"I'm well, thanks. I don't think I've sullied the family name yet. Wait, unless—what have you heard?"

The youngest of the Viator siblings did not speak at the meetings of the Senatus Minor, but he was there as regularly as his brother attended the Ecithian senate. Thankfully, he had an instructor that Arry had helped Finn select. And he had learned to slow his roll enough not to embarrass himself at parties or clubs—that he could remember.

"Anyway, I'm sure I have it easier than you. How are you?"

And as he sipped the wine finally, familiar blue eyes opened up to Arry, utterly sincere in the question and concern.

[Arvælyn]

"I've only heard the worst." Arry smirked, placing his free hand on Ciarán's shoulder to lead him over to to the table. The chairs withdrew from the table as if of their own volition as the elven prince guided the young human to his seat, before claiming his own. Slaves moved with precision as smooth and symmetrical as the little display of Kinetics their master had just executed. A basket of warm flatbread was presented to each of them, as a tray of dipping sauces was placed in the centre of the table.

"Lonely." He replied matter-of-factly, but didn't linger in that maudlin moment long before ploughing ahead. "Which is why I thought it might be nice to spend some quality time with my brother-in-law. I have not been diligent... nor even adequate in the effort of getting to know you and your kin, but I am most at my ease with you." He acknowledged, as he plucked up a triangle-shaped bit of bread and broke a corner free of the greater, grainy whole.

"It would have felt strange asking your parents or your sister here and... Well, perhaps it is still strange that I invited you, but if my brother goes flitting off to spend his days with my husband in Ecith, it is only equitable that I should steal his for a dinner from time to time in the Umbrium." He seemed amused at his own line of thought, his smirk lingering until a sip of wine forced the expression to shift.

"I hope I didn't waylay any plans of yours for tonight? If my image of you is accurate, this should be early enough not to upset your evening overmuch." He placed his goblet down and picked up that corner of bread he'd broken off to dip into a bowl of olive oil laden with sundry spices that darkened its hue to more of a burnt orange than the gold it might have portrayed absent the herbs. He took a bite and sat back, eyes focusing upon Ciarán's face, examining his features and quietly comparing and contrasting them to those of the elder Viator presently in Ecith.

[Finn]

"Oh, good," he said, but he laughed at it. His laughter was as easy as Finn's had been back when Arry had first met the minstrel. Ciarán pulled a face, sympathetic but not making more of the admission than Arry wanted him to.

Once seated, he was careful to set his goblet down carefully. Even though everything was probably aether-wrought to be nigh indestructible, he didn't want to be the one who made a mess of something valuable.

"Oh, you're fine. Morgaine's up to their knees in babies, and all they do is leak foul things from all ends." He paused. "I mean, I love the little buggers, but I'll be a better uncle when it's time to teach them to cuss and such. The parents spend a lot of time with them... just enough to be helpful without being overbearing, they say. And they take as much care of Syrena as Prince Phocion will allow."

If he could relax around Arvælyn, such was not the case with Phocion. The elder prince had never been anything but polite, but he wasn't warm and there hadn't been enough time spent for Ciarán to know whether the lack of warmth was just status quo or Ciarán smelled of manure. All of the Viator were trying to find places they fit in this new land, not wanting to ruin anything for Finn or for Arvælyn himself. It wasn't that they thought they could cock something up and get his diadem snatched, but they didn't want to be terrible in-laws.

"If you venture to the Citadel, you could drop in unannounced and they wouldn't take it amiss. But nobody's feeling neglected. Except the party people of the Umbrium, but they only feel neglected by your winged brother. He hied off to Drathera, too? I might have tried, but Finn's depending on me, I suppose." He frowned. "You really have only heard the worst, haven't you? I was bad for a bit, I'll admit. But I'd wager no worse than you when you were flush in Kalzasi. Anyway, Finn gave me responsibilities and so I can't stay out too late and while I love a good time, I don't know...

"You start to wonder how much it's worth when everyone's a stranger pretending to be your friend because your brother somehow managed to woo a prince." He paused, grinned. "Or did you woo him?"

When he realized he was talking too much, he reached out for an amuse-bouche, his manners correct if a bit stiff as he was still trying to internalize them.

[Arvælyn]

"I haven't spent much time around children since I was one. I'm never certain how to behave around them, least of all Syrena who feels less like a child and more like... Well, I don't know, and that's really the rub, isn't it?" Arry wrinkled his nose, more in bemusement at than distaste for the child Finn took it upon himself to steward. Either way, he wasn't like to take Ciarán up on the unannounced visit he proposed for fear of awkwardness.

"Oh, I don't think there's anything wrong about conscienscious hedonism. It's a perfectly respectable calling for those fortunate enough to be born with high station and few responsibilities. Had I fewer cares to manage, I would haunt the nightlife myself..." He sipped his wine, "I often fantasise about taking on a disguise and disappearing into the Eternal Night, but those dreams never come to fruition." He pursed his lips,

"I wooed him, I think. He might tell you otherwise. In any event, what does it matter why they give you their time and attention? Everyone has a motive. Sex, money, power... what is the difference, in the end? If you can give them something they want and they like you for that, then they like you. I only balk at being used when they are cynical about it. The sort who feign fondness whilst feeling abhorrence beneath the facade. Most of the sycophants I know genuinely like me, though. It's easier for both sides that way." He sighed, breaking off another piece of bread to dip and enjoy.

"I'm rambling. Anyway, I have little to gain materially from liking you or courting your company, but here we are." He paused, "Have you made friends, here? I hope you aren't lonely."

[Finn]

"She's a little weirdo," he said bluntly. "I mean, she's also cute, but she's not a little girl. Not really. Or she is, but not a little elf girl. I dunno. I remember Finn talking about Mistress Lyra giving him odd jobs to help him get by when he was at the Academy. Fixed his hand and all, but she sounds creepy to me and... well... I'm sorry, I don't mean to be unkind. I know if my parents couldn't say that there was something wrong with her, Finn and the Sentinels out at the Citadel wouldn't let her near us. Just..."

He shrugged. "You know?"

Ciarán nodded thoughtfully, albeit a bit dubiously. It might have been a version of Finn trying to work his way through something that seemed wrong.

"I don't know, really. If I've made friends. That's sort of what I'm saying: I can't tell if someone wants to talk to me for the pleasure of it or because I can buy them a drink. Or, worse, they think I'm some slippery slope into my brother's good graces or... yours. I'm sort of an idiot in the city, really." He sighed, then sort of chuckled at his own expense. "In the village, we knew everybody. We spent time with, well, whoever we had a good time spending time with. Limited options, though. I sort of hoped to follow in Finn's footsteps one day... go to Kalzasi, do something other than being a blacksmith. Nothing wrong with smithing, of course, and I'm glad I have a trade I could ply if... well, if everything went to shit. Not sure what I would've done there. Never did go. Said someone had to stay with the folks, but now... They don't need for anything. I don't need for anything. I don't know if I'll be any good sitting in my brother's seat for him."

He shrugged. "Ahh. I'll figure it out." There was a speculative look in his eyes. "Can't you just... Have someone fix your face and we can go dance until dawn? Not that we would know when dawn came. Not that there's anything wrong with your face. Quite the opposite. Even if you have strange taste in men." He grinned.

In Arry's limited experience with the other man, he was either talking his brother up or taking the piss to ensure he didn't get too big for his britches. A Mesmer, though, might intuit that he was scared of losing his idol; not to marriage, not to another country, not even to a God—but that it all might change Finn and change Finn's heart. Aye, Arry might intuit that without even reaching out for that symphony.

But Ciarán wasn't dwelling upon it. He was actively wondering if he was clever enough to get the prince to be spontaneous, as if the dinner wasn't spontaneous enough. Of course, he wouldn't be terribly upset if Arry couldn't. He did still spend a fair amount of time in those dens of leisure. There was an earnestness to his pleasure at spending time with his brother-in-law that no sycophant could ape.

It had always been in his head that whomever Finn married would just sort of... merge... with the family. But nobody had expected Finn to marry quite so up.

[Arvælyn]

Arry visibly relaxed as Ciarán waxed candid about his feelings on Lyra and her perplexing progeny. He tried not to harp on the matter around Finn, who took his role as her guardian quite seriously, but he'd have preferred Phocion be charged with her care. His wily brother had an abundance of caution when it came to such entities and surely would have dealt with her more quietly, albeit with less of Finn's hallmark humanity.

"Oh. I know." He affirmed with an arched eyebrow.

"Mm, you'd be better equipt to your role with one of the Runes of assessment. I could create you a Mesmer, if you like... then you'd be more savvy to the motives of your would-be comrades. Or if you fear the corrupting influence of Mesmer, there is always Semblance. More practical, less... controversial to your Northern mores." He smirked mildly in so saying.

"Well, the question you raise in my mind is- Do you want to sit your brother's seat? If you are but keeping it warm, then you will do your job with simple maintenance. Keep things afloat, don't rock the boat." He rhymed, whimsically.

"I'm not averse to the notion... perhaps after dinner I'll let you be the catalyst to fulfilling that little fantasy of mine. On that note, we should begin in earnest." He willed the servants to bring out the soup course, sitting back to allow them to remove some dishes and deliver others.

"Do you ever recreate with Raithen? I know my family is not the warmest, but he is likely the least jarring. I imagine it is easier for a scion of Kalzasi's demesne to contextualise a libertine Avialæ than an austere elf or an aloof, ancient dragon."

[Finn]

Ciarán nodded, indicating with one hand how vociferously he agreed on the topic of Syrena, but his mouth was full and talking with his mouth full was something his parents broke him of at least twenty years previous. Perhaps they would humanize her—or whatever the equivalent with an elf. He just didn't want to be alone in a room with her lest she try to bargain with him for his soul or something.

He swallowed thoughtfully, dubiously.

"I never really thought about magic for myself," he admitted. "There were a handful of people who had left the village in living memory to become soldiers but our Nan was the town witch, and Finn was her favorite. I suppose if anyone was going to learn magic, it would be him. Is it... safe? They always said it was dangerous to even attempt a Rune. But if Finn has... what... three now? Does the... ah... constitution and... talent? Do they run in families?"

He remembered overhearing Finn confess to his parents years ago that he was worried that he had somehow unwittingly tricked Arry into loving him. It would have to have been unwitting if it was Finn. Finn was the eternal do-gooder, after all.

"I mean, I suppose if you think it would take to me... Oh." Arry had moved on. "I have met Raithen Dux. He came out to hear Finn sing a couple of times and we all drank afterward. And I saw him several times from afar while I was being libertine, but... I didn't interrupt him. Perhaps whenever he returns from Ecith I might see if he wants to.

"As for the senate... it's not something I ever imagined myself doing, so I suppose I am still sort of getting a feel for it. I actually have homework most nights, and I am learning more than I ever knew, to be sure. I'd surely be more comfortable right now if Finn were here and I was just helping him out, learning the ropes. Ah, I'm sure you would rather he were here too. I hope he wins Ecith to your banners, though. If the whole continent were ruled by your royal father and the Regent, well, there wouldn't be such problems as there are in Karnor."

[Arvælyn]

"Aye, and Solunarians breed toward greater potential. On paper, the Sovereign is meant to be the one with the most magical prowess, though politics and parsing muddy the truth of that. It would be a simple thing to have you assessed for potential. Shall I call for a Sentinel to appraise you over dinner? You won't feel a thing and, when they're through, we'll know what Runes would best suit you and which are least likely to do you great harm in the conferring." Arry offered with a tilt of his head.

"Perhaps..." He lifted his soup spoon and pondered the notion of Raithen and Ciarán cavorting together. They seemed an obvious pairing, in a way. They might have been fast friends or, less likely, enemies for their similarities. Arry didn't know his own Symphony enough to understand why, but something in him was averse to the idea. Perhaps it was envy at their freedom, or perhaps something possessive or protective of Ciarán. He was vulnerable here in ways Raithen was not, and he wasn't sure his brother would recognise his own advantages as he was taking them.

Arvælyn chuckled at the conclusion at which his guest arrived.

"Perhaps you are better at this than you let on, if you realise that." His smile was warm, "Karnor is divided starkly. Not with the soft, blurry lines that slightly sunder Upper from Lower Solunarium, but with disparate cultures and ancient enmities. Your brother might heal the wounds of this continent and strengthen it. If he succeeds, your work in the senate is like to linger long hence." He tasted of the soup, nodding in approval at the chowder of shellfish the chef had prepared.

"Tell me, Ciarán... Have you adopted our religion? Please... be candid. I am not asking for evangelism's sake, but out of simple curiosity. You seem to be taking well to some elements of the culture and I wonder whether the faith is part of that."

[Finn]

"Oh... certainly."

Sometimes, he did try to improve his vocabulary. There could be a sort of poetry to his unschooled speech, perhaps a hint of Finn's talent unplumbed. The Viatores were lettered, but not well-read. That was slowly changing for Ciarán, at least, and they were all picking up Vastian rather quickly all things considered.

"I suppose if we're named after Travelers, it would behoove us to be Travelers. But Finn says that all the magics he knows... well, we see the tricks, the utilities, but when it's inscribed on your soul, you start to see the world differently and that can be... more profound than you anticipate. So, I suppose that makes me nervous on top of... you know, whether I have the... mettle to survive it."

As for his political acumen, he shrugged it off as he tried the soup and listened attentively.

"I suppose I'm still a filthy Karnorian peasant, but I can see the value of differences. I just think that there's something to be said for... an overarching... no, um... well, an oversight. Something that binds people together, too. I'm only a mean student of history, but it seems like people unite best against a common enemy. A... threat from without? It seems like that might be what Finn is telling them in Drathera. If we are all concerned with the Imperium, it would be better to build up our bridges with each other rather than our walls against each other. But... Well, I don't have the wisdom to know what happens after that. History seems like a pendulum swinging back and forth between too tight an order and too loose a chaos..."

Ciarán hadn't fully articulated his ideas, even for himself, but it was perhaps a show of trust that he was willing to work it out, a work in progress, laid bare for his brother-in-law. Or perhaps his brother-in-law was coaxing it out of him with wine, warmth, and a wee bit of Mesmer. He wouldn't know.

"Oh, well, we enjoy the public rites. We thank the Founders for what they created here, for seeing the value in Finn, and for making a place for us, for a new home. But... you've seen our village. We didn't even have a temple. We honored the Gods, propitiated those who required it for peace, and tried not to draw the notice of the Mistlords." He was careful in his enunciation of propitiated, which was a new vocabulary word for him. "Sometimes on a perfect summer day, I'd climb dripping out of the lake, lay on the grass under the sun and think I ought to thank Aedrin for the water and the light and the grass... and I would, but I didn't think He heard me. Or if He heard me, He wasn't truly listening. I'm not important enough for the Gods' notice. I'm not Finn..."