"...But to Command."

[Pharaoh]

"...But to Command"
20 Final Solstice, 122 Steel
Prædium Vlahos, Palatine District, Luxium

Continued from "We Were Not Born to Sue..."

Vrædyn blinked, squinting a bit at the lustre of their deific patron's appropriately flashy departure. A pause hung in the steamy air for a moment, before the silence was broken by the silken voice of his new 'brother-in-grace'. His gaze shifted to the man, and he let out an ambiguous sigh, before abruptly rising to his feet.

"Luncheon?" Rather than gracefully ascending the steps as Aværys had, Vrædyn took advantage of his long legs to take a big step up onto the bench and vault up from there to the tile floor above the bath in a single fluid motion. Servi who had been waiting without, were summoned via their Symphonies to towel him off instantly. The towels and servants' bodies obscured Vrædyn's form, so Finn was treated to only the briefest of glimpses of the lunar prince's full moon and, before long, he was robed.

Discarded clothes were gathered up towels and another robe were brought out for Finn's modesty, should he so desire. Both robes were silky soft with matching colour schemes, but disparate, albeit elaborate, Solunarian patterns. Black and gold seemed to be the colours of Vlahos, if the robes and surrounding décor were any indication.

When he was ready, Vrædyn would lead Finn through an archway that led to an enclosed garden. Unlike many of the eclectic gardens one found in the Luxium, this one was set with sand, rather than soil. There was local flora, and some plants from foreign realms, but all of them were indigenous to hot, desert climes.

A chair and a place setting were being removed from the round, marble table toward which Vrædyn padded as if, perhaps, he'd been prepared for Aværys to stay for the midday meal. Servi moved to pour sparkling Luxian white from carafes into goblets as the pair drew up and Vrædyn gestured to the seat across from the one he claimed.

"Please." There was an ease and an eerie silence to the way the servi worked. The sands muted their footfalls, and any instructions that may have been posed were delivered into their Symphonies rather than their ears. It was only the breeze, the birds and the bugs whose sounds pervaded this precious little oasis. By and by, Vrædyn Princeps broke the silence.

"You seem an unlikely Mesmer, Farstrider. What inspired you to adopt a Rune of Command?"

[Finn]

"Love to," he replied, and dunked his head underwater so his hair might slick back against his skull rather than dry strangely in his eyes. When he came up, he was favored with a brief glimpse of the prince in his skin. Perhaps he was using the power of Aværys, for he seemed without flaw. But soon enough Finn was standing, being attended by servi and was mostly dry and wearing a comfortable, flattering robe.

Finn attempted some small talk as they walked, but fell silent as he took in the garden. While he was not a desert creature, this place felt more welcoming, perhaps because it seemed in harmony with everything. In any case, he sat as he was encouraged to do.

"Thank you."

At the question, he thought about how far back he ought to go, then delved in.

"Hm. I grew up in a village on Lake Udori. My grandmother was... well, the village witch... When she passed, she left me a letter to take to a man in Kalzasi, a Circle mage, who offered me the Rune as her bequest." His fingers made as if to tuck hair behind his ear, tracing the curve of the Rune that was invisible to the eye, though not to a Sembler or a fellow Mesmer. "That is the short of it. Zef Mirlind deemed Mesmer the appropriate Rune for a minstrel with lofty goals, though I was encouraged to ply it with more circumspection than here. Arvælyn was always the more powerful with it, though I suppose that galvanized me to push myself harder. The Sentinels say I am a master of the craft, though I daresay you wield it with more finesse than I do.

"And you?" he ventured. If Vrædyn asked for more detail in the story, he would provide, but he didn't want to bore him if such was not the case. "I understand that royal families have traditional Runes. Was that the case with yours or was it a choice you made?"

[Pharaoh]

"The village witch..." Vrædyn repeated, chuckling. "That is passing quaint. Some of the nomadic Vastii have similar arrangements, with only one mage to attend to all the arcane needs of the tribe." Most of the established settlements had military or constabulary headquarters, which offered more in the way of magical Craft.

"I see." Vrædyn considered the story, "Then you saw it not as a Rune of Command, but one of... influence? Enhancement?" Solunarium was not at all unfamiliar with the 'Mesmer Minstrel' concept. It was tried and true and, if one of their number played their hand too far in the direction of Command with one of their betters, woe betide them. It was a subtle and a dangerous game to dance between the acceptable and the illicit... At least for those not of the royal family.

"A choice?" Vrædyn smirked wryly, "Why, whatever is that?" He sniggered shaking his head, "Yea, I am a Grandmaster of the Craft. It is not an explicit requirement for the Princeps Pontifex to master the Cardinal Rune of Mesmer, but that being said I do not think there's ever been one who didn't. Grandmastery is not rare amongst our number, either. Mesmer is such a pivotal part of the Ministerium Divinitatis' day-to-day operations. For one to run this institution without an intimate understanding of the Craft would be..." He shook his head and sighed, "An immense handicap." He paused, considering.

"I was rather young when my father died... He was the oldest child of the Solar Sovereign and my pontifical predecessor. The Rune was conferred upon me almost perforce. It is also amongst the most common Crafts that have been practised by our sacred Sovereigns o'er the years. That seemed to be my trajectory for so long... I'faith, I don't miss it a whit. Good riddance." He lifted his drink, as if unconsciously toasting the sentiment.

[Finn]

Finn paused, considering how best to answer.

"I don't know how well versed you are in the magical milieu of Karnor," he began, "so please stop me if I am repeating knowledge you already own. My teacher was part of the Circle of Spells, a guild of magi with some influence throughout Karnor—save Zaichaer and those regions much policed by the Order of Reconciliation. He initiated me without the permission of his Noble Order, did not require that I enroll in their order. The Circle has rules, and the Orders have philosophies. Those who wear red robes believe that magic is to be used either in defense of self and others, or for the pursuit of personal gain if the situation is appropriate. He drilled me in a sense of ethics with regard to the Rune and its use so I would not run afoul of the Circle or gives mages a bad name." He shrugged. "Now I think it wouldn't matter if I were more obvious about my power, though there are some who will never trust a Mesmer, never trust that their will remains their own. Solunarium has helped me accept my own power, I think. And Deus Aværys requires I do more than accept it..."

He smiled faintly.

And he considered.

"I suppose being beloved of Deus Aværys is a rarer thing than sovereignty. With or without a throne, you will rule hearts and minds. If the Aurisian prince inherits, you still know Solunarium and its power structure better than he will, and will be able to influence him. The power behind the throne as poets say."

Perhaps he was overstepping, but here they were in robes over a shared meal, also sharing that rare emblem of divinity. He supposed they could be frank with one another.

[Pharaoh]

"I have heard of this Circle of Spells," Vrædryn conceded, "Though I will freely admit the affairs of the North, having only recently become a concern of the Crown, have not been a particular area of focus for me." He gestured, allowing Finn to explain without fear of boring the cardinal cleric of the realm in which they sat. As Farstrider spoke, servi emerged from the stately domus with green salads and a large bowl of fruit which was placed between them.

"It intrigues me..." Vrædyn began, as a grape seemed to pluck itself from its own bunch and hover toward him, "That the laws of the North sequester magic after that fashion... that this 'Circle' separates magic and mages from the rest of the social hierarchy. It is not thus, hither." He parted his lips and the grape floated between and past them until they closed round it and he chewed and washed the grape down with the fermented blood of its kin-grapes.

"Magic is embraced, of course, but it is the caste system that orders all things, which manages our magicking withal. The Solar Sovereign may exploit her Craft freely upon whomever she likes with no regard for reprisal. She could will my Symphony to throw myself into the Mount, and I might even oblige. I could do the same to my lessers. There would doubtless be consequences, but legal speaking I would be within my rights. It is the who of the Craft not the what that matters. We've long given certain exemptions to the Sentinels, but... That is certain to change due to recent developments."

Vrædyn chuckled at the notion of mistrusting all Mesmers.

"If one is so concerned about the manipulation of Mesmers, they ought to risk Initiation and see to their own defences. One can hardly blame the Mesmer for using what tools are available to lead an advantageous life." His smile turned more coy at Finn's compliments.

"I've no qualms with my lot, Farstrider, you needn't flatter me in consolation. I have studied the histories... The reigns of Aværys the Conqueror, Dræveros the Pious, Kaldryn the Dreaded and Træthys the Ill-Starred. I have never heard of a Solunarian ruler who went by the epitheton necessarium 'The Happy' or 'The Contented'. My grandmother certainly won't be known as such..." He trailed off.

"Do you see yourself making a permanent life here with your... amatus alatus?"

[Finn]

"You have a point," he admitted regarding people seeking out Mesmer for themselves to protect themselves from its practitioners. "Though the magi of Kalzasi, at least, are forthcoming about the dangers of initiation. I don't know whether those are exaggerated or if your people have ways to mitigate the risk or... are the losses of life chalked up to culling the herd?" There was nary a hint of judgment in the last question; his views hadn't changed exactly, but he was becoming used to the different worldview all around him.

"I met a man of Gens Nykara the day the Mists threatened the Luxium. Now I understand he is a servus for all that he is a Master Sembler." So magic itself would not make a person's social status.

As for Arvælyn...

"We came here together to seek answers about his past... I didn't realize how life-altering those discoveries would prove for the both of us. He doesn't look back, nor would I expect him to. And I suppose my life is here now. I think I would feel out of place in Kalzasi now, not that I feel entirely in my place here. When Cithæra first revealed that he was the son of a princess, I thought perhaps at some point she would deem me... to have lost my usefulness, and she would pressure him to set me aside. Sometimes I still wonder if he will grow bored of me, seeking companionship with someone of... closer to his station. But I suppose Deus Aværys has offered me a way to keep him. I may be a human peregrinus, but now, even if I haven't revealed it to many, I am an Empyreal Lord. I think that makes me a fitting companion."

After a pause, he continued, "Though I will venture home to visit family and friends once certain matters are attended to for the Twins, I will be back. For him, and for the life I am building here."

Certainly, he would offer to carry diplomatic messages to the Palace of the First Wind while he was far-striding to Ailizane. Whoever was elected Shokaze might send some back with him for all he knew—bard, lover, and diplomatic courier.

"Though I certainly won't outlive you, I hope some might call you 'the Happy' when looking back on your life."

[Pharaoh]

"The truth of it falls somewhere betwixt the twain." Vrædyn said with a faint smile, "There are those who perish in their attempts at runic initiation, but they tend to be those who seek it outside the designated system. Since time immemorial, Solunarium has assessed magical potential in its citizenry. We know whom is predisposed to survive an initiation and excel in a particular Craft, because we have a department dedicated to that end. Mage-to-mage pairings are perforce passing popular, and so it is altogether plausible that we have a greater per capita population of magic-wielders than any other nation in known Ransera... or at least potential magic-wielders." He amended, with a slight shrug.

"But, yes... If one of our people dies in the attempt to claim a Craft, you might consider it 'culling' of a sort. But know that we consider the Craftfallen to be beloved of the Founders, for they make the ultimate Sacrifice in the pursuit of Ambition." He nodded at the anecdote about the Nykara.

"Magic can blur the lines of status, but it cannot alter the hallowed hierarchy. In the geometry of Solunarium, we do not concern ourselves with any Circle of Spells. Rather, the pyramid is paramount and it represents a social structure in which all can thrive and be contented... with the possible exception of they who sit upon its pointed peak.

"A plebeian, or even as you say a servus, might wield masterful magic, but if they use it to overstep their social betters, they are inviting grave consequences. The redeemable might be sent to the College of Compliance, and the irredeemable..." He glanced to the smoke plumes rising from the summit of the volcano that loomed high above them- quite visible from this courtyard.

Vrædyn's grin broadened against the cup at his lips as Finn spoke of his worries about Cithæra's potential to meddle in his relationship.

"I understand that inaugural assumption, but consider what you know now. For Her Serene Highness Cithæra to criticise your romance would be to invite the same scrutiny to be cast upon her own. In the whole of Solunarian history, there has never before been a draconic-elven coupling. Elves and humans are frequent lovers and always have been. Though His Exalted Highness may be part dragon, I would argue that there is a greater precedent for your pairing. Hers is... iconoclastic." He lifted a pair of golden tongs which he used to fuss with his salad before eventually plucking up a worthy first bite. At Finn's musing, he chuckled.

"Alas, it is unlikely. My people are too fond of alliteration. I'm more like to be dubbed Vrædyn the Venerable, or some such moniker."

[Finn]

"I suppose I should consider applying for citizenship..." he mused aloud, though that didn't sit right with him. That would put him more firmly under the power structure of Solunarium. As a peregrinus beloved of His Exalted Highness and Deus Aværys, he was permitted in the ranks of the Silver Sentinels and at the parties of the wealthy and powerful. Yet he still had an out... not that he could see taking it so long as Arvælyn was here.

In any case, the treatment of the Craftfallen was a wrinkle he hadn't anticipated, and while it wouldn't bring those souls back to life, he supposed it was a comfort still.

Finn smiled in the end, a conspiratorial thing.

"Choose your legacy. I will write the songs now and then you can have them released when you want your agnomen popularized." Whether that was posthumously or otherwise would be up to the moonborn elf. "And as for divine magic... my research tells me that we can strike fear into the hearts of those around us or awe them. We can speak to people in ways they will understand, sometimes despite language barriers, and we can own the fealty of people and borrow their powers and skills by taking their souls into us." He worked it out slowly. He had worked that out slowly over his research, finding clues hither and thither. Thankfully he had access to information, but even so, it seemed that the Radiant and the Tethered were meant to be feared and possibly loved, but not understood.

Finn needed to understand, though. And only Vrædyn truly did.

[Pharaoh]

"Your amatus is well-positioned to upjump you quite high in our social order straight away, if it be his will. In point of fact, I know not how the Umbrian order will be structured. The Zalkyrians are not bound to maintain the system that has long been promoted by House Sol'Aværys. It is likely wise to wait until the transition has taken place and assess from there whether Umbrian citizenship serves you better than your current role as... esteemed outsider."

Vrædyn chuckled at Finn's offer, and there seemed to be greater ease about him, now, in the presence of the bard. Of the Solunarian royals he'd met, Elven or Draconic, there was a greater warmth to Vrædyn than most, even at his most stoic. He was not friendly by Northern standards, but he seemed more attuned to his emotions and, when he was cold it was a mask of necessity worn and doffed in due course.

"I shall think upon the matter. I suspect we'll both have plenty of time to earn our legends ere we give up the ghost."

As Finn elaborated upon his findings, Vrædyn availed himself of the salad. He ate slowly, gracefully and finished most, but not all of the dish, before washing it down with a splash of wine.

"While I am certain the Vigilia has no dearth of pertinent documents, I will grant you free reign of the archives of the Ministerium Divinitatis as well. Naturally 'Divine magic' falls neatly under our purview, so we have quite a few documents and firsthand accounts that may be missing from the Sentinel archives. After all, I am hardly the first priest to bear this Mark and some have been most... prolix in their memoirs." He said, with an amused smirk, as the servi came to check on the course and remove plates as necessary.

[Finn]

"Thank you," he said with all sincerity. Being allowed to read first-hand accounts by the Empyreal Lords that had come before them would help him understand what it meant to wear the emblem of Aværys. The God Himself would have His side of the story, but empathy didn't seem to be one of His many virtues. The mortal experience of that power would surely be another thing entirely.

For a moment, he thought to ask whether he ought to have some sort of cover story for being in the archives of the Ministerium Divinitatis, but he thought better of it. Vrædyn would be like any other personage of power and authority here; he would tell him if such was the case. Perhaps with his abilities with the Rune of Command, he had little to fear in that regard.

Finn was thoughtful as they took their light meal, and tried not to let anything Vrædyn said fall like pearls before swine. He wondered if Arvælyn would upjump his official standing in Solunarium. It seemed like something he would do, though Finn had no desire for titles or lands. He didn't even want for property; he wanted to be where Arvælyn was, though perhaps that would become difficult when the Crownwyrm's heir married. Then again, perhaps an heir wouldn't be terribly important given Zalkyriax was unlikely to die in Finn's lifetime, or even that of the longer-lived elves now living.

"How did you achieve grandmastery?" he asked. The thought had occurred to him that perhaps the man who founded the Leh'anafel anew might need to be the same. But he didn't understand the path. He was stronger and more skilled now than the man who had initiated him. While one might assume the title was mere frippery, Finn could sense the depth of Vrædyn's power. His own Rune seemed to tremble a bit as if resonating with the greater power.