"Kingdom Come"

[Arvælyn]

“A master mage minstrel with a mind for politics…” Cithæra mused with a wryly amused smile. “Should you remain in Solunarium, Phocion and I might find a place for you amongst our Silver Sentinels.” She took the human’s feint as an earnest one. She hadn’t been baiting him per se, and yet she didn’t balk at an opportunity to learn of the one who’d captivated her youngest son. He seemed an anchor for Arvælyn, or perhaps a security blanket. There would come a time when he would need to be weaned from such crutches, but hopefully that day was quite a distance from the present.

Arry was lost in his thoughts, smirking to himself at his new prospects as he swirled his goblet of wine and stared off into the distance. He knew Finn’s exposition well enough, so he didn’t focus on it particularly as it was shared with the others at the table. His mind danced, instead, in grandiose fantasies that he wasn’t yet keen to clarify with facts that might rein them in. He would bask a moment longer in being a god prince as Finn sat in the blazing sunlight of his mother’s gaze.

“Well.” Cithæra sipped her own wine and glanced to her scowling eldest son sidelong, “Phocion spoke highly of your performance. His invitation came honestly and without prerequisite knowledge of his relation to one of the performers, else I’d not have allowed him to proffer it… But such a coincidence feels portentous, and…” Her eyes returned to Finn,

“Perhaps it is meet that we help you to expand your portfolio with work that will be more palatable to our realm.” She considered for a moment,

“Next season marks the centennial jubilee of Her Divine Radiance. On the evening of the opening ceremonies, each royal Gens will contribute to the entertainment. We might explore the possibility of your collaborating with local artists to create a suitable piece for such a lofty occasion. Solunarium adores a bit of exotic influence in our diversions…”

Cithæra knitted her brow at Finn’s immediate concerns, and Arry adopted the same expression as his focus fell away from fantasy.

“I won’t…” Then he looked sternly to his mother, “I will not renounce him. Not for kin, country or the very Crown.”

Phocion scoffed and Cithæra shot him a warning glance, before softening her expression toward their guests.

“For both of your well-being, I do not believe it would be wise for Phæd- for Arvælyn to publicise his identity. Our Gens is under great scrutiny at the moment and, though we are not without our support…” a furtive glance was cast to Kyrin, who didn’t register it if he noticed it at all- focused as he was upon his meal.

“I would beg your patience and ask that you play your foreign roles a bit longer.” Cithæra urged, before lifting her silverware to begin the course in front of them.

[Finn]

Finn was no master politician, but he had learned to read people even without the aid of his Rune and he had learned to survive the Kalzasern court. The Solunarians here present were all masters of the art, and so even little expressions were supsect; they could be part of a mummer's farce for all he knew. He kept suspicion out of his symphony, endeavoring to pay attention and draw conclusions later. His curiosity, confusion, and misgivings were obvious enough and he didn't try to hide them.

The minstrel smiled reassuringly to Arry, squeezing his hand. He didn't intend to abandon him, but he had heard plenty of stories over the years. Bards sang of many a royal whose love life was ruined by position. Finn could only remain hopeful. As for the rest, he smiled ruefully. "I shan't need to study to play the role of peregrinus."

He sampled a bit of the food, modeling his table manners after the elves here present.

"My talents are at your disposal. I had assumed—" Here he only paused rather than misspeak. "—Phocion might put me to work at some party or another, and certainly absorbing the art and culture of Solunarium is my secondary goal after supporting Arvalyn." Somehow it didn't seem right to call him Arry in these circumstances. Perhaps he would remain Arry behind closed doors, though before the idea of their parting had interrupted him, Arry's symphony had seemed a bit beguiled by the idea of royalty.

And he imagined working for the Silver Sentinels, but could only see that coming to pass if it was to keep Arry safe. Perhaps they hadn't spent enough time preparing for the idea that filial connections might be more of a spider web than wings.

[Arvælyn]

"Oh bloody hell." Arry grumbled through snarling lips, "For the first time in my life I'm informed that I'm more than a bloody guttersnipe putting on airs, and I can't even cop to it in public?" He'd spent so much time cultivating a persona that he'd thought to be a façade, only to find that his true background was even more impressive than the lie. And he had to pretend otherwise? The suggestion was maddening.

"It would be very unwise at the moment to-..." Cithæra began, but it was Kyrin whose baritone interrupted the alto of his social superior.

"I might pose a solution." He began, "Or at least a stopgap." As the eyes of the table turned to him, he placed down his silverware and took up his wine goblet. "Why not say the lad is my bastard? Gens Val'Sorokys is little known and unremarkable as far as Re'hyæan families go, but it would offer legitimacy enough that the boy could enjoy at least some of the benefits of being in a higher caste. We could simply say I sired him abroad where he was raised by his human mum to explain away his accent and so forth." Kyrin tilted his head to regard Arvælyn appraisingly, as Cithæra pondered his proposal.

"I admit..." Her eyes turned from Kyrin to Arry, "You would fare better socially as a Re'hyæan bastard than you would with that Hytori history you devised to impress Kalzasi. A connection to Sol'Valen is almost as unseemly as writing a symphony in tribute to Arcas..." Cithæra cast a playful glance from Arry to Finn, and a reassuring wink to the latter to show she was only in jest.

Arry huffed.

"I simply don't understand the need for so much bloody smoke and mirrors." He protested, gulping down more wine. "But fine. What shall I be called?"

"Kyros Len'Sorokys Arvælyn." Kyrin replied in a slow, measured manner that suggested he was working through it in his head as it was crossing his tongue.

"No 'Val' prefix?" Arry pouted,

"Not for a bastard, I'm afraid." It was Cithæra who burst that bubble.

"Must I play the part of a bastard?"

"You are a bastard." Phocion observed sharply and instantly regretted it, as equally sharp glares darted toward him and a pall of silence hung over the table for a pregnant beat.

"Very well." Arry said, eventually. "Kyros Len'Sorokys Arvælyn, at your service... Bastard extraordinaire." He held up his empty goblet for the slaves to refill, as he sneered toward his newfound older brother who'd already taken to the role, it seemed, by ribbing him.

Phocion returned to his regular state of silence for the next few moments, rarely glancing up from his plate as he delicately picked at the edges of the course. Hearing his name on Finn's lips, he lifted his gaze to find the human.

"And so I shall." He inhaled slowly before continuing, "If the Princeps Sybilla would present you in so lofty a setting, it would be best for us to see that you make a name for yourself here in advance of the event. I will help with that, and introduce you to prospective collaborators when the time is right." He glanced to his mother, "And what of my brother? Is he to perform with Finn?"

Cithæra grimaced, having hoped to avoid another point of contention.

"It were best he didn't..." She posited, but quickly pressed on in hopes of waylaying the expected protestation. "Finn." Her eyes danced to meet his, "I cannot decide whether we ought to devise a more grandiloquent name for you, or whether your present monosyllabism might add to your foreign mystique."

[Finn]

Cithæra's wink was enough to forestall him from correcting Arcas to Talon. He hadn't known the man was divine when they met, when he had encouraged his education. The minstrel wasn't even sure he knew Arcas, or could point out how the divine awakening had changed Talon beyond the dawnfire pyrotechnics and the like.

He ate at a measured pace while his social betters decided what Arry ought best to do. The choices were the half-elf's to make, but he wanted to be able to offer his opinion should it be asked and that required paying close attention, especially as Arry was likely to be distracted. When attention came back to him, he nodded to Phocion.

"My voice and my lute are at your disposal," he said amiably, hoping not to further sour his mood. At Cithæra's grimace, he frowned. "I had hoped to earn a name for myself someday, figuratively and literally. I hadn't anticipated the need to construct a new version of myself for Solunarium, but I will defer to the assembled wisdom on that account. I will play the phoenix in whatever manner keeps Arvælyn safe."

He paused, voicing a niggling concern. "Pardon me if my question is indelicate, but I would like to anticipate pitfalls as well... Who was his father by blood? Ruslan raised him. He was an... artificer in Solunarium? Will his father's bloodline or name be something with which he must contend?"

Finn glanced at Arvælyn, offering him a smile. He had loved him when he was a courtesan, when he was an actor, and now that he was a secret prince. Those things mattered less than something else he considered essential about the man. But then he turned his gaze back to the mother who hadn't raised her son, hoping she would share the information, certain Arvælyn would want to know that as well, in time if not presently.

[Arvælyn]

“We have time.” Phocion offered flatly. “The season is yet young. You should both take time to acclimate to the culture. Spend some time in Tertium before embarking on the capital. Foreign influence is more marked here, yet you’ll still be immersed. When you’re ready for the capital, perhaps you might enjoy a cruise along the Vasta. If you’re feeling impatient, we can always arrange for more expeditious transport…” He gestured to the archway through which they’d arrived, though now it looked merely ornamental with no portal glowing in the marble frame.

“They may lodge themselves at my domus in the Aurecine,” Kyrin intoned, “My work within the Sentinels keeps me mostly in the Umbrium, but I’ll see the Luxian house adequately staffed to serve you both.”

“If you’ve interest, we might see about a tutor to accelerate your Vastian education.” Cithæra offered, “My Sentinels boast the finest linguists in the realm.” They were, after all, the diplomatic wing.

“I should like that, I think…” Arry replied, thoughtfully. Glancing to Finn and wrinkling his nose at the thought of calling him something different. He’d been just Finn, or Finn the Future Fantastic (more recently omitting the ‘future’ bit) for as long as he’d known him. When he’d been a busker and Arry a dissembler.

“It isn’t imperative.” Cithæra clarified, “But Arvælyn has now reinvented himself several times. I wish to be clear that, should you desire to do so, you would have ample support in the endeavour- Government documents, sworn witnesses…” She shrugged, “Yours upon request.”

Her neck tensed ever so slightly at his next query. It was indelicate indeed, but inevitable. She was surprised it had been her son’s lover, rather than the boy himself, who’d made the inquiry. Perhaps, rather than being irritated by his impertinence, she might consider his diligence more of a boon to her cause. He was clearly looking out for Arvælyn… arguably more attentively than the lad himself.

“Well…” She stalled with a languid sip of wine, as Arry’s ears perked. “That is among the subjects that could, for myriad reasons, invite greater peril than the ignorance thereof…”

Phocion huffed. He too was in the dark about why his youngest brother should rate such honour and secrecy, when she had not only raised but fair doted on her prior bastard. The only thing they seemed to have in common was that they shared the golden features of their mother, whilst Phocion and their sister were Moonborn.

“I’m full-blooded, aren’t I?” Arry grinned devilishly, “Everyone always said I looked like a purebred elf.”

Cithæra pursed her lips and paused before replying:

“If you wish to continue to play that role, have at. Speaking as the highest Sembler in the realm, I can attest that none of mortal blood shall find fault in the claim.”

[Finn]

Finn could only nod politely as the power players laid out the options for them. Phocion seemed irritated, though Finn didn't feel as though it were directed at them, exactly. Kyrin was practical and generous, but could afford to be. Even his temerity didn't cause undue discordance in Cithæra's symphony; someone had to ask the question, and he had been watching Arvælyn's back as well. But she remained coy about it and Finn wasn't going to push her goodwill to the limit by insisting; he rather thought Arvælyn had a better chance with that particular tactic than he did.

The food was so good that if the conversation hadn't been so captivating, he might have been distracted. But as he settled in to listen, he was able to continue to enjoy it, going lighter on the wine than his lover so he would be less likely to forget or misstep.

Their housing would be taken care of, and Finn would certainly make use of their linguists to master both Vastian and Vallenor now that he knew he could be among those who spoke it fluently. And if he could make a bit of a name for himself as a musician in Solunarium, he could accrue some income in case he and Arvælyn needed funds of their own for whatever reason. It wasn't that he didn't trust the Solunarian elite—exactly. It just seemed wise to be prepared. The rich and powerful could crush or raise up people like him on a whim; he had witnessed it. Arvælyn might be one of them by blood, but that didn't mean they wouldn't use him for their own purposes. Political expedience did funny things to morals and ethics.

"The portal..." he found himself asking. "Was it made only with Traversion or did it require a runesmith?"

Finn had some idea of what he might accomplish if he proved gifted with his Rune. But they said the witches of Zaichaer could do things with their Runes that others couldn't; perhaps the same was true of the Solunarian magi.

[Arvælyn]

Arry was assuaged, for the nonce. The wine was good and quite strong and, though the questions that remained loomed large, the answers he'd been accorded were favourable enough that he was willing to let them lie at least for the length of a meal. He'd spent many years under misapprehensions. He could brook a few more months with those that remained after todays revelations, or perhaps he would press those matters when he wasn't so distracted by the novelty of his new situation.

"They may also wish to avail themselves of more formalised training in their ætheric disciplines." Phocion suggested, collecting himself to the point where he could participate again in the interest of what he hoped were their common goals. "My observations of Kalzasi do not make me optimistic about their education system, and I doubt Arvælyn's upbringing in..." He glanced to his newfound bastard brother with an arched brow,

"Antiris." Arry replied, coolly.

"...Antiris afforded much of an opportunity for a classical arcane education."

"Of course, if they like." Cithæra glanced to the guests across from her, "Within reason, all of our resources are at your disposal. I believe that genuine interest is the greatest ally to education." It was harder to learn things that elicited no interest, after all. Intrigue bred passion.

Slaves moved to replace their plates with the next course- Upon a fig-garnished saucer, sat a bowl with a light, puffy pastry in which a creamy stew of fresh lamprey had been deftly baked.

"Only Traversion." It was Phocion who replied, a faint smile painting his pale face. It seemed as though Finn might have just touched upon a particular interest of the Sentinel's. He shifted his body halfway toward the marble arch, which was directly behind Cithæra- framing her where she sat. "That arch and all the others around us," for there were several, symmetrically arrayed around this part of the property. "Are unaugmented marble. There are dedicated Traversers on staff at all of the royal residences. Part of their training, when they begin mapping the spaces necessary for their work, is to acquaint themselves with designated points of transit. These?" He gestured with a slender index finger toward the stone arch, "Were selected, gods, in ancient antiquity. And the most fascinating thing?" Phocion leaned a bit over toward Finn, who was seated at his side. "As far as anyone can tell, there is no other reason for this tradition than aesthetics. There is literally no sound reason our archivists can find for them to send us through a marble arch as opposed to plopping us down in the middle of the rose garden, except that someone very, very powerful a very, very long time ago, thought it was prettier this way." He grinned downright impishly- This was the most animated Arry or Finn had ever seen him, "And no one since has bothered to change the trend." He chuckled to himself and turned his attention away from Finn, back to his front. He used a fork to break the crust of his lamprey pie, and take a delicate bite.

[Finn]

Phocion had the entirety of Finn's attention once he warmed up to the subject of the arches. Finn was a fine performer, but he was also an excellent listener, actively listening and clearly appreciative of what was shared.

"That is fascinating," he agreed, eyes lingering on the beautiful but mundane passageway. "I suppose once we are settled in Solunarium, I shall have to see if I can align the pathways through that arch..." He wondered if it would be easier somehow, generations of farstriders opening portals through the marble. It would certainly calm him somewhat to know that if something bad happened, he could open a portal to this place in Tertium and pushe Arvælyn through it to safety where the slaves knew he was a scion of a royal line.

Finally, his eyes lowered to the new course and he tried to sample it much as Phocion did.

Cithæra's qualified offer finally settled into his mind and he looked to her.

"I don't know that I can grow more powerful with Mesmer, though I could certainly become more skilled. And I would appreciate higher level instruction with Traversion; the man who initiated me was competent, but no master. If we are to abide in Solunarium, I would like to be able to visit my parents without having to be apart from Arvælyn for months of travel." His hand rested on Arvælyn's for a moment that he hoped was comforting; he wouldn't quit the desert anytime soon, but Finn might be torn between the two cities more than he was.

"And, I suppose..." He considered for a moment. "If there are other skills, magical or mundane, that I ought to develop to be a better helpmeet to him..." He glanced fondly at his lover and then back to his lover's mother. "I would be interested to know. To learn."

[Arvælyn]

"I do not know what, if any, training you've had in Traversion, Finn..." Phocion began, dabbing at his lips with a cloth napkin, "And it is not a discipline in which I am initiated, but I do know that the course at the Academia-..." Phocion paused, realising he might need to use the full name of the institution, which would have usually been clear from context with locals,

"The Academia Arcanum," He clarified, "Teaches their novices from the very beginning that it is helpful to find a practical landmark in the mundane world when practising spatial mapping. Using something that resembles a doorway to form an actual, arcane doorway is rather a classic technique in Solunarium. This is, of course, a crutch for beginners that may be dismissed over time, but in our system we consider it imperative to learn strict rules that rein us in until we are advanced enough to consider breaking them. It is for our own safety and that of our community." Phocion's eyes darted away from Finn's to find that his mother was looking at him. Her expression looked mild enough to Arry, but Phocion seemed to wither slightly under her gaze. Seeming a bit bashful, after his little lecture, he returned his attention to his plate.

"What made you take on your Traversion Rune, Finn?" Cithæra inquired with a wan smile. "It is such a useful one in so many ways. I applaud the selection." Arry pursed his lips, recalling how critical she'd been of his choice of Masquerade, but rather than commenting he occupied his mouth with lamprey pie and wine.

"It speaks well of you, Finn, that you are so close with your family." Cithæra said, ponderously. "Family is, indeed, paramount. You must invite yours to visit us here, when things have settled down. I should like to meet they who raised so charming and thoughtful a youth..."

"Mum." Arry glanced up from his chalice. "He's mine, innit."

She held her hands up, chuckling. "I wouldn't dream of taking any more from you than a proper childhood, my Phædryn."

[Finn]

Finn was entirely engaged with Phocion's explication, but noticed how he reacted under a maternal stare. There were depths to these mingled symphonies that he didn't understand just yet, but he supposed he could speak to Phocion privately at a later date. Nothing he had said seemed suspicious in any way, but then there were a great deal of moving parts going on in this conversation.

"Ahh, well..." He didn't bother hiding the wince that memory caused. "I was accosted one night. I had played at a party hosted by the Order of Reconciliation, who would not allow me to be armed. Thus, my attackers rather got the better of me. I admit I wasn't quick enough to defuse the situation with Mesmer, and then I was unable to mount a proper defense while protecting my instrument." He sighed, shrugged. "Lesson learned. Now I am more watchful, even when walking streets that are normally safe. Arvælyn and I have helped each other hone our Mesmer, and then my instructor... a Circle mage, offered me another Rune. He said if I wasn't going to be armed, I ought to be able to flee more effectively. I can fight, but I would prefer to use diplomacy... and Mesmer... to avoid it. Failing that, I can either move to a more easily defensible position or... flee.

"But it may also prove useful if Arvælyn is here and my parents remain near Kalzasi. Perhaps I might ferry them south for the Season of Frost. The cold climate can be unkind."

As for Arvælyn, he glanced at him, trying on yet another name for size: "Phædryn."

Finn smiled. A rose by any other name would smell as sweet to his nose.