Once Upon a Midnight Dreary (Pharoah)

[Raithen]

The world had shifted, like the sun moving across the sky while you nap under it's rays. When you wake, there is confusion, everything is brighter, or colder; not as it was when you drifted in comfort. Raithen's life, while it was complicated by the standards of some had been, for him, quite a simple thing. Then, all at once, almost everything he'd know had changed.

The slumbering Gods had awoken, the fate of the throne and its heir were no longer certain, his own family now contained people he didn't know, and people he'd only thought he had. His own life had been altered so significantly it was as though a giant hand had reached down and moved the path of a river, altering the entire landscape.

His mother still loved him, but their simple, easy relationship was not as it had always been. He was still devoted to The Twins but each of Them had, in Their own significant way, looked down upon him and take his fate into Their will. His time was no longer his own, his job, even who he was allowed to associate with and how were not things that he really understood the rules to anymore.

That was the rub, Raithen didn't understand the rules to his reality any longer. It was not a comfortable place to be.

He had spoken to his mother some, though not specifically stating his problem, because he didn't entirely understand his problem, but she was much busier than she had been in his childhood and young adulthood, and what she was dealing with was significantly more important. It was the culmination of her plans and that was important, so Raithen tried to stay out of her way.

The only other person he'd ever gone to in moments of discomfort had been his older brother, a proposition that was, admittedly hit or miss. It was late, and he had been given a day in which he had nothing to do, which was far worse than a busy one for his troubled mind. As the evening drew on into the night the Avialae found his feet taking him down the familiar halls that led to Phocion's study. It was a place he had been told he was not allowed into when he'd been younger and that prohibition had never, technically, been lifted, so it always felt a bit like invading a sacred place when he did venture within.

This time he pressed the door open only enough to allow him to see within, and then, after a moment's hesitation, to press his slim body beyond. Standing by the door he watched his brother for a long moment. The other man knew he was there, but, as was not unusual, was concentrating on something of likely monumental importance. Taking a step closer, then, slower, a second, he said, quietly,

"Raven?"

[Pharaoh]

Raithen would find Phocion standing before his large floor-to-ceiling window, gazing out at the Umbrium. It was a position in which he was often found, not because he had new details to mine from that familiar vista, but because his mind was wont to wander. Perhaps it was the comfort of that familiarity that drew his gaze repeatedly to its idle perusal. He heard Raithen enter, but did not turn from his vantage. He waited an uncomfortably long moment, though perhaps his younger sibling was familiar enough with his peculiarities to be immune to such. Whatever the case, he did, by and by, speak in a voice almost too soft to traverse the distance between the window and the door.

"Queer... That my nickname should sound so much more like your given name. Raven. Raithen." That passing notion was short-lived, though it was the first time he'd ever remarked upon a notion that had occurred to him a decade prior.

"I have not seen much of you, lately. 'Distance lends enchantment to the view,' it is said, and you have been distant indeed." He was still ostensibly gazing out over the view of the cityscape below this high vista, and perhaps that informed his train of thought.

"Perhaps that is why I find myself particularly amenable to this... unscheduled audience." He turned at a diagonal and his cool, pale gaze fell upon Raithen. "With so much novelty abounding in Solunarium, even the spontaneity of a recognisable figure is a comfort." His gaze trailed from Raithen to a tray off to one corner of the room. No servi were present to pour, but the Moon Prince would pour each of them a drink with his Craft. Beautifully symmetrical as if in synchronised choreography, two flagons rose to pour two cups of wine. Perhaps one might have filled in the blank space with phantom servants with uncanny steady hands that delivered the drinks to the brothers as the elder closed the distance between them.

"Sit, and tell me why you've come to seek my admittedly cold counsel." Phocion would perch on a longue and lift his cup to his lips as he looked up at Raithen.

[Raithen]

The long silence was not unexpected, or, even, unwelcome, even if it made the blond shift and fidget like a child. No reaction meant he wasn't immediately being told to leave, as he would have been as a child, or even, often, as an adult. He didn't much feel like an adult at the moment, and, in truth, he was still young for his mother's race. Truthfully, even Phocion was young by the standards of the race, but it had never felt like it, not to Raithen. It felt like the darker of the brothers had been born a hundred years old, or at least been so by the time his younger sibling arrived.

By the time he was acknowledged the Avialae was pulling on his lower lip with one hand, the other tucked behind his back as he contemplated the floor, only glancing up with the familiar voice broke the prolonged silence between them. So far as he knew, no one but Raithen called Phocion by the avian moniker. It had come about in a rare fit of pique when an adolescent Raithen, tired of being brushed off by his brother with the use of his own avian sobriquet, had snapped off what he thought was a terribly clever rejoinder. That both nicknames had come to mean, if not affection, an emotion closer to it, was a product of the slow evolution of their relationship from one of Raithen's neediness and Phocion's annoyance into one of mutual acceptance. They might not seek each other out for the pleasure of the other's company but each knew the other could be depended upon and was not likely to sling scorn.

'Not likely' did not mean 'never', particularly on Phocion's part. The man's tongue could be as sharp as his angular face and it had flayed his half-sibling so often that, at times, it was almost comforting to the younger.

Unexpectedly, when his brother did speak now, it was almost kind.

"I guess mother decided I needed to do something worthy of our House at last." It was said in self-deprecation, not frustration, and even that was gentle. That he had been allowed to live a life of simplicity, self-determination and pleasure while his elder siblings had been worked mercilessly was not a comfortable thing between them. Raithen was more than willing to admit that the disparity had caused his life to be comfortable, even happy, while Phocion suffered.

It was a great relief when, far from tossing him out, the Raven admitted that Raithen's presence was not unwelcome, and even poured him a drink. He took the offering when it was passed to him via Kinetics, fully comfortable with the use of aether. He did as he was told, as was his wont, although, for a moment, his body seemed inclined to sit on the floor at his brother's feet rather than in the offered chair. Dignity was always something that Raithen had struggled with but, in this case, he knew better than to presume more when he was already being given much.

Taking a sip to cover the fact that he had no idea how to explain what he was feeling he swallowed, noting the vintage as a way of distracting himself before trying,

"I don't... I don't understand anymore." It wasn't a lot to go on. His mother would have opened him up with her magic and understood immediately, but, perhaps one of the reasons the brothers had always had a troubled connection was that neither of them could read what the other was feeling or thinking. "Everything changed. So fast. Varvara and you, Avaerys and me, Arvælyn, I just... I don't know how to think about anything anymore."

[Pharaoh]

"We were born to contrast, thee and me." Phocion noted, "You were born for lustre and bluster, I for darkness and starkness." He quipped, "Even now we play contrasting roles. You serve one of our Gods, as I work to hamper others." This seemed to amuse him, or so his smirk suggested.

The elder brother was rarely seen in this comparably comfortable context. Whether as a Sentinel or a Prince of the Realm, he tended to be covered at least to the neck and sometimes from head to toe. Rarely did someone see his bare hands, moon pale as the gripped the stem of his glass. Rarely did one see his bare feet, alabaster against the grey stone of the floor over which they were crossed at the ankle. Even a bit of his bare chest peeked through the part in a robe so black it made his skin look like it glowed even though no Craft was being exploited to make it do so in sooth, as might have been the case at a formal, princely function. Skin was vulnerable, and Phocion was comfortable in armour. Even now his instinct was for one hand to cover the other once he placed his glass down. He drew his legs back to tuck his feet under the shadow of the longue upon which he sat.

"I was vexed at my unpreparedness, but I must acknowledge that you were at a far greater disadvantage when the paradigms shifted." Phocion acknowledged with a nod. He pursed his lips, paused for a moment and then sighed.

"I suppose you've come to sort through your shit, hm? Very well. Lay it on me. Perhaps it will lend more perspective to mine. What don't you understand? Perhaps I shall enjoy the challenge of puzzling through it for you."

[Raithen]

The response was undeniably true, so much so it made Raithen wonder if The Twins had intended it to be so, and, if they had, if asking them about it directly would be impertinent.

Who Phocion was thwarting, and that he did not consider himself to be serving Avaerys' or Varvara, were facts that Raithen was not going to dispute or even broach. What his brother did had always been a mystery to Raithen and, he well knew, it was intended to be so. His ignorance was part of the Grand Plan, however much of an easy target for scorn that allowed him to become. It was The Price, part of it. Each of them paid The Price, even their mother, who understood better than any of them what was being purchased with their sacrifice.

Phocion was beautiful, even in his cool, smirking amusement that Raithen could never tell if he was the subject of. At least, in that moment, it did not feel like an attack, because it assuredly could. Seeing his brother in his current state of casualness pushed Raithen further into the mind state that he'd held as a child, playing with his toys under and around the same bare feet. They were like a background to the idea that he was safe and free to do what he wished.

No care had been taken in the choice of his own clothing, he wore a simple garment, clasped at one shoulder with a pin and belted at the waist, it could have been worn by a trusted slave and not commented on.

The golden face, much more used to smiling than the furrowed contemplation that had graced it since his entry, finally allowed for a lightly amused expression to mix in. Shrugging the bare shoulder, partly in embarrassment and partly in apology he nodded,

"I suppose I did. Would you prefer I didn't?" He was given permission before he'd even finished asking for it, and he sighed when he heard it. His body, usually held in perfect posture, slumped a bit and he took a longer and less polite pull from his glass before also setting it aside. He hummed as he considered his questions, his revelations, not knowing how long he would be allowed to ramble before his time would be extinguished.

"Do you think that Mother knew when Their Divine Radiances would awaken?" His casual use of the names of his Gods was something reserved for family only, and not even always then.

[Pharaoh]

"No." Phocion replied promptly, almost easily. "I don't believe she did. At least not precisely." He paused, pondering the implications of this. 'Foresight' was a forbidden Craft in Solunarium and though Semblance at the level their mother practised it could seem akin to omniscience, it could only predict quite loosely. It could contextualise by accounting for many things that the normal mind might overlook, but it could not pierce the veil of time itself.

"I know that Arv-... that His Exalted Highness arrived earlier than she'd planned and I think that set about a series of cascading events that hurdled us into our current state. I do not know whether his coming precipitated Their release, per se, but it does seem to beggar belief that he and Finn should be Marked days before Their true reemergence... that our brother should have come from the realm of Arcas who, after millennia, chose this moment to undo his quondam wrongs..." Phocion paused, rapping his finger against his slender leg as his wine glass seemed to rise from the side table of its own volition and tip itself against his parted lips.

He pursed his lips as the wine drew itself away and alighted back on the table from whence it came.

"Why? Is it easier for your to brook your fate if you believe it came about at an unanticipated moment? Or it it the other way round... Would you prefer it if mother was all-knowing and you could believe you are just where the gods intended you to be in the current moment?" Phocion seemed genuinely interested in this question, though it would likely have never occurred to him outside this line of questioning in the context of this uninvited audience.

[Raithen]

Raithen was starting to relax, partly because the offered wine hadn't been his first drink of the night, and partly because it felt safe to be with Phocion. However bad the elder brother's barbs might have been, and still were, to Raithen, for some reason, he never stopped feeling, on some deeper level than the hurt, that he would be alright if the Raven was close by.

Shaking his head he answered with honestly that was only a little painful,

"No, the opposite, as you say. I've always wondered why she so carefully cultivated you, Valæra, even our new brother, from afar. I was far from neglected but I was..." He smiled a little bit, hoping his admitting what he knew Phocion had probably believed all their lives would amuse him, "Useless? Not worthless, but not given any purpose. She let me do as I pleased, even when I would much preferred to be told what to do. I had begun to think I was just something that happened, not bad, but not intended either."

When this settled he looked back up, meeting their eyes, all openness and vulnerability.

"Do you think she knew? That I was going to be," He tilted his head a little, eyes falling to the ground, not sure if the use of the word 'sacrifice' would set anything off in either of them so he shifted it to, "Chosen, for Avaerys?"

Equally he wanted to know if their matron had known that Phocion would be chosen for sometimes-vessel to Varvara, but that felt personal, and it wasn't nearly late enough, nor the pair wine-soaked enough to make him so brave.

He had thought, at the time, in the heady first moments of his Choosing, that, of course, Cithaera had known, had intended him for the role all along. But later, laying out on the sands, under the stars, trying to sleep, his carefully quiet mind had wondered. Varvara had been the one to choose him, had come to his mother in the body of his brother to inform her of it. The expressions Cithaera had worn were carefully reassuring when she had informed him, but there had been other things there, things his heart knew even if his head could not parse them into words.

"I thought, when it happened, when you said... I mean, when Divine Varvara, told her, that it must be part of mother's plan. Everything has always been a part of her plan. Its always felt so sure, and I can see that it is still going as she wills it, but I just..."

He didn't know anymore, as he had with the perfect surety of childhood, that his mother was as all knowing, all seeing, and in control as he'd grown up to believe.

[Pharaoh]

"I don't know." Phocion somehow sounded as confident in his ignorance as he had in his knowledge prior. "Do you feel as though you were prepared for that role? As if the path she set for your life led to this as a natural destination?" As Raithen elaborated on his concerns... his feelings, Phocion pursed his lips again, and looked askance. It was as if he was doing his brother a courtesy by shifting his gaze away from vulnerability, as he'd have preferred done if he displayed as much.

"I cannot speak for Mother, Goldfinch, but what I can do is speak to my own experience, which intersects with her path in multiple significant ways. And one thing I can tell you is that in the worlds of diplomacy and espionage, the trick is more in adroit improvisation than in laying the perfect plan. One of the reasons Foresight is frowned upon in our realm is that it is so very misleading. There are so many paths... so many possibilities. To narrow the infinitesimal into the still-incomprehensibly multitudinous is not to know the future... But it might lead one to believe one has a better grasp on it than one truly does. That brand of confidence is not useful to the realm.

"As Sentinels we are trained to be agile in the face of ever-shifting circumstances. If Mother practises what she preached, then her plans were more outlines than blueprints. Destinations with countless paths. I do not doubt that some were more fully formed than others... that there were sleeper cells poised to activate or booby traps due to detonate. But we have all taken the paths we have all taken, and those other pieces have been removed from the board. We either dwell within the lines of her original sketch or she has redrawn the borders to suit our current circumstances." He knitted his brow. These were things he had pondered but not in these terms. Raithen's questions took him down different ideological paths, appropriately enough. Spelling it out for the Goldfinch informed the Raven.

"In the end, Frater, we must all frame the world to suit our purview. Cogitate: What perspective serves you best to perform your present function? That is the one into which you should put the most stock. If it fails you, improvise."

[Raithen]

Raithen grimaced, an odd expression on him, unsure.

"Sometimes? I did, in the moment, but I don't think I was altogether myself when mother told me, and assuredly not thereafter, for days. Maybe I was prepared but it wasn't mother that did it, or maybe she did, but in a way that would leave me capable of other things should it not come to pass. Which would be like her."

The plan was not always a straight and narrow line, there were many paths to the same goal.

He nodded to the information being given, though he already knew it. Raithen had a natural capacity for the skills required in gathering information without seeming to, the behaviors came so easily to him that the difficult part had been training him to pay attention enough to keep the information he was given. It was surprising to realize that while they had both been trained in the arts of espionage they had never been utilized together, or, as with much else, if they had been, Raithen had never been aware.

As he listened, and grasped what was being said, he supposed it wouldn't be so bad if his mother had imagined this might be his purpose in their family, rather than having known. The idea that he had been cultivated just as carefully as his three siblings had filled him, however briefly, with such a surety of self. It had sloughed off the nagging belief that he might just be a comforting extravagance for the woman who made up his world. Being a comforting extravagance that had been prepared, in some way, to be more, should the circumstances call for it, was a halfway point between the two ideas that he would accept, if he had to. For reasons that frustratingly eluded him, the middle ground was somehow more painful to swallow than knowing he was an extra.

The golden head nodded to show that he was listening, even understanding, but his grimace had turned to a frown. Thoughts of what was, what could have been, what would be, and what should be were filling him. Because of this he did not properly consider before asking,

"Is this what you want? The plan, the path you were put on?"

His brother always sounded just as sure as his mother, no hesitation, seemingly no worry, and the question was intended to garner reassurance for himself without any thought to the notion that it might not be what Phocion wanted.

[Pharaoh]

"Oh..." The inquisitive glimmer in Phocion's eyes dimmed a bit at Raithen's response to what he'd felt was rather profound. He didn't look crestfallen, exactly, but he wasn't prone to. Or perhaps it was that he looked perpetually disappointed as a default, so it didn't read differently when he actually was.

"Whatever the case, you are more His creature than any in our Gens... Even before He graced you with His light, you were born to stand out in that particular, golden way. His Exalted Highness may share your sheen and the similar distinction of being a winged demi-elf, but you exceed even him in the Aværyan ideal." Phocion offered a soft, almost encouraging smile. It would fade at the question posed about his own path.

"I..." He started to speak, it seemed, before the complex thoughts now swirling in his head had a chance to congeal into anything coherent to himself let alone anyone else. In lieu of speaking, he tipped his cup against his parted lips and ran his tongue over them after swallowing down a sip.

"It is difficult to fathom aught else... and fruitless." He said, finally. "I feel very fortunate to have access to the many boons my position accords me. I would be poorly suited to your path, I would positively loathe our brother's sunlit lot... I have a great deal of privacy and a great many fascinating subjects at my disposal to study... particularly in my new position at the head of the Custodes Deorum." He pursed his lips and glanced down.

"What I would hate to be is bored and that I am not. I think I was growing disaffected before my trip to Kalzasi. My world felt small. It has grown and I am pleased. My interests are imperial, like our realm. Why this interest in my situation?"