Youth's Proud Livery [Raithen]

[Pharaoh]

Cithæra's smile, typically soft, subtle and stoic, in this moment bore the sharper edge of religious fervour. She'd been born in the crucible of a Solunarian civil war, and in the intervening years contrived to gather and blend the ingredients to wage holy alchemy. Raithen was one such element, and how well he was catalysed by her catechism.

"Benedictus es, fili mi." She replied, with a beatific smile. "Now rise and hie thee to the Luxium. The Sire awaits." She gestured to the sky, or what passed for it in the Umbrium. Above that high natural ceiling lay the Luxium, where the primary domus of the House of Vlahos-Sol'Aværys lay in the foreground of the Palatium Furiarum, just across the way from their own outwardly identical Phædryn Prædium. In that stately home was housed the deific father of their realm and culture. And soon Cithæra's golden son would fly forth to serve at his pleasure.

The faith that fueled her fervour made that prospect less frightening than it might have been to one of lesser religious resolve. The will of the gods was beyond the ken of mere mortals, and his service might well be his doom. But if that were the case, then she had faith that it was all part of some loftier plan for the good of the realm and indeed the world entire.

If Aværys wills it, Cithæra projected through their shared blood, I hope to see you again very soon. Reach out to me through our consanguinity if you have needs or concerns.

She did not doubt his loyalty, but this would be new territory indeed and Raithen was quite young. His faith might require upkeep that the Deus Imperator might not be inclined to manage with the care she herself could.

[Raithen]

The blessing felt like a physical thing, like a mantle falling onto Raithen's shoulders and his smile was gratefully beatific enough to grace any painting.

He kissed her hands, then leaned down and brushed each of her saddled feet with his lips before pressing his forehead there. When he was done he stood and met her eyes for but a moment before spreading his tawny wings and alighting. The way was clear to him, though he did not think about it, just let himself go where he was being led.

When he came to land on the roof of what could realistically only be called a palace it fit, settled into place in his head. Perhaps he could feel the presence of a Deity within, but more likely it was something his mind was projecting because he knew it.

Gathering himself for a moment until what nerves had gathered in his breast had settled he took to the air again briefly, letting himself be guided to a window by which he entered. He could have gone through the doors below, but that would have involved questions that he did not have answers for that a mortal would accept.

When he found the chamber which contained the one he was bound for he decidedly could feel the power within. There were many peoples of great power in the city, so, had he not know, he might not have thought to wonder if this was the power that he'd spent his life in worship of. Standing straight and tall he turned the corner and walked in, eyes drinking what was presented until he was half the length of the room away. Stopping there he bowed, as lower than he would have for even the highest in the realm, but not falling to his face. If shows of abject obeisance were desired, they could be had, for now he would not waste the time of a God with groveling.

"My Lord," He said, still in his deep bow, "I have come by the will of Your Lady, to offer myself." That he would be of whatever use Aværys desired to put him went without saying, and Raithen was ever straight forward in his language. The more intense and important a situation the briefer and more to the point he was.

[Pharaoh]

The room in which Raithen would find Aværys was an ascetic shrine. Not like the opulent Templum Solis Radians that loomed at the gates to the Palatine District of the Luxium, but rather a simple, grey room in what was known to be a floridly appointed palace. A silver basin sat atop a stony altar, which stood before the most prominent piece of décor in the humble chamber: A statue of Midnight's Mother, the eyes of which seemed to glow with silver light for just a blink before fading into simple stone.

At the feet of the statue knelt the figure whose force Raithen felt even from outside. Though, in this moment, no radiant nimbus crowned Him, the force of what he was felt potent, as He glanced over his bronzed shoulder to regard the guest announcing himself. Rising to his bare feet, Raithen would find that He was wearing naught but a shendyt made of golden chains and ruby gemstones and a matching wesekh that rounded his long neck and covered his chiseled, upper chest. Turning to face the Avialæ, the Deus Imperator was a few inches shorter. He wasn't physically imposing, but what felt forceful about Him was His peculiar, particular beauty. He looked like a normal elf, but somehow didn't feel like one. There was something inexorably perfect about His appearance... an unnatural smoothness to the grace of the steps that drew Him closer to the visitor.

"And thou hast been anticipated." He offered, golden eyes trailing down the length of him and up again from the tips of his toes to the tops of his wings.

"In the midst of Mine indulgences, it seems I have neglected to convene a regular retinue. Her Argent Luminescence hath seen fit to start one for Me, it seems. And what services offer thee unto Us, o wingèd one?"

[Raithen]

Raithen raised his eyes when he was spoken to, then lowered them, but not before taking in the whole of the god before him. If such a one had appeared at any of the houses of pleasure the young Avialæ frequented he would have immediately, rudely forgotten whomever he'd arrived with or picked up thereafter and pursued this golden statue of an elf.

As it was, it was without thought that his mind put away considerations of the flesh and remained wholly present.

"All, Master." This was in answer to His question, for there was nothing Raithen intended to refuse, "What You command I will see done."

Though the words were simple, the conviction was complete; the tone did not change, there was no wild fervor in his voice, just the absolute belief in the truth of what he said.

After a pause he continued,

"I am a soldier. I am trained in the ways of the court to its highest. I know every part of this city personally. I know the common people's mood and desires. I have traveled to most places within this realm, though not out of it. I have use of the rune of Kinetics, though I am not yet a master of it."

There were a hundred other things he could do, read, write, sing, dance, seduce and give pleasure, fly, but pestering the god with every single skill he possessed when some would be implied by the ones he had named, others obvious, seemed like it would be questioning the god's intelligence, which was not something Raithen intended to do.

"I am here for Your use, if there are things You require that I do not know, I will learn, My Lord."

He had not stood, nor wavered in the uncomfortable position, his body was strong and not the only part of him long trained to endure.

[Pharaoh]

"'All' seems a satisfactory start." The Deus Imperator said in a flat tone through a wry smile.

"Thou'rt of the Blood." Aværys said, sensing the shards of His own Divinity and that of His sister bouncing about like distant echoes in the life force of the bent figure before Him.

"Up, up." He gestured flippantly, as He began to circle Raithen, regarding him with scrutiny. "Now I do remember me. Thou didst stand atop Kaladon ere We were released, attendant to thy kinsmen... but thou didst not fain approach th'Altar?" He arched a brow. Now having made a full orbit of Raithen He stood in front of him to look him in the eye.

"That was wise." He decided. "Thou art yet young and beautiful... a tender fruit ripe with potential as yet unexploited. So sweet a wine might be drawn from thee, entrusted to a fitting vintner. Wine..." He mused on His own metaphor, and came to a conclusion seconds later.

"You shall be my cupbearer." His grin broadened with self-satisfaction, "I shall not thirst long, with a speedy, wingèd prægustator serving at my beck. Come." He gestured to a table upon which a simple silver pitcher and matching cups were set near the door.

"Demonstrate thy service." He wrinkled His nose, "And call me not 'lord'. Not hither. You may call Me 'lord' thus in public, for I do not wish to broadcast My return. But in private it is no meet mantle for one who hath been Emperor. I will permit thee to be familiar enough to refer to Me as 'Your Radiance'. You may shirk the 'divine', for the nonce. 'Tis assumed."

Aværys moved to the window through which Raithen passed to enter, and seated Himself upon the sill, letting the blessed sunlight warm His bronzed back. Even without displaying His nimbus, the light loved His flesh more than that of a mortal and the edges where skin and sunlight met were difficult to distinguish. Aværys in the flesh beseemed His own iconography.

[Raithen]

Rising when bid the youth kept his stance open, he was, after all, an offering. That he had been noticed on that fateful day he accompanied his mother, brothers, and friends to make their offerings was not something he had considered. Gods were all-seeing, at least, they could be, so, though he hadn't thought of it, the concept wasn't surprising.

Resisting the urge to bow again he said,

"I am not yet worthy, and I have nothing to beg of you, except that you make use of me now."

When this was called wise it pleased Raithen, and it showed, his emotions were yet unsubtle things, even if he did not often speak of them. When he was given his new task his happiness was as evident as his pleasure. He had served his mother once in a while, with and without guests, and, having attended court for years, he was at least familiar with how to offer more dedicated service. Except then he was being asked to demonstrate his abilities immediately and while he was confident in himself, he was known to be clumsy when his mind wandered.

With a determination creasing his noble-blooded brow he walked over to the table as though he intended to do battle with it, which was, in his case, more gracefully than he would have intending to do most any other thing. There was a sway to him, a fluidity of intention when he moved thus, and he mentally sent a prayer to his Gods to grant bless his endeavor, as he always did before a fight.

Remembering half way through the filling of one of the silver cups that he was in the room with one of his Gods he started to wonder how that worked, if prayers were just flowing constantly or if they waited until the God wanted to hear them? This contemplation almost took his concentration before he pulled it sharply back to the task at hand and set the pitcher carefully back down on the tray. Grasping the cup carefully between both hands he made his way to where Aværys had seated himself, framed in the window, looking like a stained glass version of himself come to life. Going easily to his knees with slow control the mortal took a token sip from the side of the cup closest to himself and then held it up toward the God.

Raithen did not know if a God even could be poisoned, but it was a part of the job of a cup bearer to taste of their masters' cups and, if they had been careless enough to allow anyone near enough to poison them, die for their failure.

"Yes, Your Radiance."

[Pharaoh]

Aværys regarded the golden youth, appraising him appreciatively as he went about a simple task that offered complex insights into he who executed it. There was little guile in this sunlit scion of Phædryn. Even without the Arcane and Divine boons He bore, the Deus Imperator felt He might have read the boy with ease. All of this, paired with his artful beauty, made him a sterling choice for his newly designated role. Beautiful and trustworthy: Such were the hallmarks of a good cupbearer. Ever present at court, and as cherished an ornament as any crown or sceptre, they aided the tasks of those items in exuding awe of the ruler, and fulfilled the more practical task of delivering and tasting the aqua vitæ.

Aværys tipped His head up, though his eyes darted down to the kneeling angel before Him, golden eyes gazing at those lips as they parted to receive the wine like a sacrament. He watched as the cup was drawn away from full lips, still wet with wine. After a lingering moment, He reached forth to accept the cup and taste of it.

"Good." He said, simply, as He reached his free hand forth to cup the cheek of his cupbearer. Leaning forward he kissed him upon his lips, and ran a tongue sweet as mead along them- as if to reclaim some of the wine Raithen had been privileged to savour before He did.

"We shall not tarry hither long." He whispered as He drew back, and glanced over His shoulder to the sprawling city without. "I wish to watch the realm for a trice... to decide when, how or whether I shall assert Myself again. Hitherto the nonce have I enjoyed only scattered glimpses of thy modern kingdom. Ere I do render judgement, I would bear witness." His attention turned back to Raithen.

"We shall find a household, thee and me. Humbler than this, but no hovel, to be sure. I will essay the role of some lesser noble... from Tertium, perhaps, or some lesser city. Thou, who art known hither as Dux, shall be my guide, and I shall honour thee with false obeisances."

[Raithen]

The praise, from one so esteemed as to be literally worshiped caused a faint flush of favor to grave Raithen's cheeks, and the color only darkened when a hand that felt like sunlight touched him. When he realized he was to be granted a kiss his eyes widened slightly, but he had been in similar positions too often to react with anything but appreciation. His wings rose and stretched to either side of the window ledge, almost as if to cover the intimacy from outside eyes, though there were none. Returning the affection came naturally, but the Avialae did so with only light pressure; enough to be felt but neither requesting nor presuming anything more.

The information filtered in and was sorted through the ideas he had learned at his mother's knee. A nod followed, if not immediately.

"I will find for You such a house." All the money he'd earned as a mercenary, and during his time guarding the palace and it's denizens had simply been put away, as he'd never had need for any of it. Taking what they might need from that, rather than dipping into his families' funds would be significantly less traceable and there was plenty for the renting of a modestly fine house for a time.

"I have a friend, who was raised in Tertium and is devoted to You, who might serve you in your subterfuge, if it would please You. She is not noble, and can be trusted to be discreet. She came to give her own offering the day we climbed Your summit so that those more worthy could commune. I know nothing of what passed between Your Radiance and Hilana, but I know she would want to offer any aid You desired.

That Aværys might, even as part of a ploy, offer subservience to Raithen was significantly disturbing. It would take him some time to wrap his mind around it. Until he could manage it he would put himself into the persona of a middling nobleman with a friend from far off. Some in the city would recognize him, but most outside of court society knew him, but not who he was. The plan would work.

"I can go and make arrangements now, if you have no uses for me at this time?"

[Pharaoh]

Aværys' approving smile broadened as the Avialæ volunteered to see to these mundane affairs of his own volition. It hadn't been the expectation of the Founder that His cupbearer would take such initiative, and yet He was very pleased when he did.

"I would not fain distract the Vastiana from her more paramount concerns, but if she hath the time I would not deny her the honour of serving Me in this endeavour." He shrugged one bare shoulder with a cavalier sneer, and lifted his cup of silver to taste of the wine.

"I trust your judgement in her discretion. She did seem a dutiful sort, and pious..." Of those who'd approached Them at Kaladon on that day, Hilana had impressed Them with the greatest ease. She was a true Solunarian, who understood the order of things but did not let her place in the hierarchy impede her lofty ambitions.

"Nothing that cannot be improved with a bit of anticipation..." Aværys noted, with a wry smile as he rose from the window sill. "Welcome to the fold, Raithen Dux." He stepped forward to draw him into an embrace as warm as unmitigated sunlight cast down from an clear sky at noontide.

"Do what thou willst and, when thy work be complete, pray to Me and I shall find thee. I shall not tarry, so seek me not hither." He withdrew from the embrace and downed his wine.

"Until then..." Aværys' radiant light began to increase in intensity as his nimbus revealed itself, "Fare thee well." And Raithen was bathed in blinding white light until, all at once, it was gone. The cup tumbled onto the tile with a clangour, and the remaining light was cast by candles and through windows.

[Raithen]

It had taken a little while, because Raithen had been expecting it, because he had experience being around beings with immense power, and because he'd been utterly determined, but now he was beginning to feel the overwhelming draw of the god's presence.

The golden tones of Aværys' skin began to take on an otherworldly glow to the Avialae's eyes, and his mind began to slowly fog with the urge to prostrate himself and worship with the fullness of his being. The shrug of one shoulder filled him with the urge to kiss it in adoration, as one's mouth grows wet at the scent of a long awaited meal.

The daze deepened as he was pulled flush to the perfect body in an embrace of welcome. This being so, it took a moment to realize he had been congratulated and another to pull his mind through the mire of mindless adoration that was no doubt clearly painted across his face. Clearing his throat as he flushed like an adolescent girl receiving a compliment, Raithen lowered his eyes respectfully from where he'd been staring and said,

"Thank you, Your Radiance."

He never wanted to be away from Aværys; not out of sight of Him, not even out of His arms. But that he might lay at the feet of his God always, worshipping Him in all ways. Blinking slowly, if felt like there was sunshine coating his lashes, attaching to him, filling him with a warmth and brilliance such as he'd never known. All loves, all desires faded, dulled to shades of gray in comparison to the rainbow radiance of the attention of a being so unimaginably greater than Raithan that he felt like he was beginning to drawn and wanted nothing more than to do so.

The pretty youth was nodding at the instructions vapidly with little to no notion of what was actually being said. Thankfully his mind was trained to reccord orders from his infancy, so the information was retained as, in a flash of light that (though he had been sure the God could not be brighter) suddenly became blinding. As he began to come slowly out of his daze he found himself upon the floor, the silver cup with what dregs remained therein the only evidence that Aværys had truly been there.