The Iron Fist of Akrivar [Finn]

[Arvælyn]

Qalanar chuckled mildly.

"You need not seek to sell me on the notion of marriage, gentlemen, I have had over a century to meditate upon the matter between my other pursuits..." The which, presumably, led him to becoming the favourite of a greater God of Ransera.

"Of course, Blazing Highness. Please do not take our response as being patronising. I was merely excited at the notion of your estimable personage joining our family and we are both of us newlyweds so we are prone to sing the praises of our marriage whilst it is yet in its springtime."

"I am unoffended." Content to cogitate over the more philosophical matters as Finn addressed them, Qalanar looked to the human. "They doubtless do, but I think all of them who practise Lost Magicks are touched, withal, by Malgar... by Drimera... even by Aværys and Varvara. Suffering, Obscurity... Hunger and Sacrifice all seem part and parcel to their aims, in my reckoning. We all of us dabble in so many Domains every day, though, we could hardly function if we spent our days contemplating Their boons and blights. In my experience, the Gods make themselves undoubtedly known when they wish to. I am grateful for their grace, but that does not send me to my knees before every altar in the pantheon." He paused and glanced down. "Now it is I who is being patronising. Forgive me, but I do relish this sort of discourse. It is rather a sort of exorcism to get these things out of my brain, onto my tongue and into the ears of others."

"Nothing to forgive, Highness. These are matters that affect us all, though... not necessarily in the most overt ways. I do take your point as one who grew up thinking little of the gods except in a broad, sweeping fashion. I don't think the plights of my former life were damnation for my lazy agnosticism, but I've since been surely blessed now that I've been marked by the Founders of Solunarium. The gods made Themselves known and..." He looked to Finn as he thought back to their harrowing at Kaladon, "...made Their terms rather explicit when it struck Their fancy."

"You were both raised in the cool north of Ailizane, I am told. How have you been acclimating to the wills of desert powers outside the pantheon familiar to your upbringing?"

[Finn]

Finn made no effort to hide his sincere interest in Qalanar's insights regarding Gods and so-called Lost Magics. He had made all efforts to build bridges with Vrædyn, the only other chosen of Aværys to his knowledge. Of Varvara's, he worked with one and married the other. He hadn't seen much of an esoteric nature to Talon, nor Lykos; he saw a spark of it in Kala Leukos, but she was but newly risen to divinity.

Qalanar spoke to one of the Gods who weren't supposed to speak to mere mortals any longer, more distant and aloof than the demigods. He was a new font of quite select knowledge and Finn hoped he was never so intoxicated he cornered the prince and asked too many questions.

As always, he glanced to Arvælyn, always deferring to him when in discussion with important people. When he didn't immediately respond, Finn did.

"I did suffer from heat stroke once, but I survived. After that, I made friends among the desert nomads and learned how they navigated both the sandy expanses—cartography became a side interest when I became a traveler—and how they navigated the desert heat. My Sentinel blacks are ensorcelled such that that there is no problem so long as I don't refrain from drinking water."

He still wanted to try his luck in the deep desert with a stillsuit, but he was fairly certain Arvælyn would veto such a plan.

"Of course, the Atraxian Expanse had nothing in the crater of Kaladon, where our Gods bade us make obeisance in person." He glanced at Arvælyn. "And his draconic family have been quite welcoming to a mere mortal like me, but they only invite him into the depths of Sorokyn. It would make a good song, I'm certain, but I don't know that I envy him that adventure."

[Arvælyn]

"I was raised in Antiris, but I am of the desert. I think I was always too hot-blooded for the North. I got into trouble there... Fractured the odd psyche. Ironically, I think I found firmer foundation in the desert sands." Arvælyn looked to Finn, as if for confirmation, "I believe I am more grounded now?"

Qalanar looked to Finn as he spoke of the dragons, tilting his head curiously.

"I have told you, love, if the desert gave you heat stroke you'll find no comfort in the Thalamum Draconum. It is..." The Princeps Draconum turned his eyes to the Herald of the Black Sun. "...an empty city, colossal in scope, but mostly forsaken. The most interesting thing about the place is them who occupy it, and Finn has met that side of my family, of course."

Prince Qalanar smiled slightly at their exchange.

"I have cleared my afternoon and am happy to continue getting to know you both, but I would not fain lose myself to philosophical musings and forget that... I believe there was something The Umbrium wished of me?"

"Ah!" Arvælyn flushed slightly, "Yes, of course, Blazing Highness." He reached under his lapel and withdrew an envelope. Finn would mark that the silver seal of the Vigilia Magna had been pressed to the parchment. The letter left the dragonborn's hand and floated across to a home in Qalanar's grasp. He opened it and took a moment to regard the contents, lips pursed thoughtfully.

"Mm." He nodded, "Very well. You may inform the Vigilia Magna that I will consent to this request. It is merely a matter of scheduling, but I see no reason wherefore I should not attend." With that he crumpled the letter in his hand, and it flared up, suddenly aflame. When he unclosed his fist, only ash tumbled to the tile, scattered by the light breeze that passed through the courtyard.

"Now, then, where were we? Have you any questions for me? Have you want of refreshment?"

[Finn]

Finn was still seeking a happy equilibrium between wanting to be a part of and partner in every aspect of his husband's life and being an absentee husband as he sometimes wondered might be the desire of his God. After all, there was one empyreal lord presiding over the God's church; Finn, a peregrinus ought to be traveling the world, fishing for souls to be brought to the Rex Regum. For the moment, he was abroad and beside Arvælyn so this was a temporary happy medium.

"I may not sing for my supper any longer, amatus, but I retain the soul of a storyteller. Perhaps someday His Exalted Majesty will once again protect me as he takes me to places otherwise forbidden to men." He was unsure whether he ought to divulge his trip to the platinum dragonflight's homeworld in front of an outsider, even one who might soon be family.

"But yes," he added, more quietly, "you prophesied yourself into being. And now you are more completely yourself."

As Sentinel and royal consort, he noticed but did not comment upon the seal of his Vigilia Magna and mother-in-law. If he were meant to know the contents, he would know the contents.

Once again, he glanced at Arvælyn before taking the lead in responding.

"I, for one, have thousands of questions on matters philosophical, religious, and the like, but I will try to ask them at a more staid rate. A conversation rather than an interrogation." He grinned. "Refreshment would not go amiss if we are to make this garden our home for the afternoon." But, of course, he would defer to his prince.

[Arvælyn]

"A storyteller?" Qalanar's violet eyes lit up and his back straightened at this news. "Please do not keep your soul shuttered on my account. I would welcome a tale..." He glanced beyond his guests and nodded to a servant, who bowed and slipped away to see about the refreshments.

"Oh, he is far more than merely a storyteller, Blazing Highness. He has a voice to rival Syren herself. He was my mentor in that once, and has far surpassed anything I could hope to grace. He does not sing, but incants."

"Now I am well and truly intrigued. We have hosted concerts in this garden and the acoustics are rather splendid. I do hope you won't make me beg for a demonstration after your husband has highlighted your talents so effusively? 'Twould be cruel to deny me."

A liveried servant appeared, carrying a tray of small, buttery pastries filled with a tart, creamy cheese complemented by a dark berry jam of some sort. The tray was offered to the guests and Arvælyn plucked one up to take a bite. The amalgamation of flavours created a unique balance, unlike anything he'd tried before and fiery eyes widened slightly to the apparent amusement of the smirking Prince Qalanar, who reached for one of the bite-sized bits himself.

"I know. The cook here is an absolute wizard with an oven, and I do mean that literally." Another servant appeared with another tray, this one arrayed with thinly sliced cured meats laid across a crispy crostini and topped with slices of melon, then drizzled with a spiced honey. Arvælyn eagerly reached for a sample, as Qalanar looked to Finn, hoping to be indulged in a much ballyhooed performance.

[Finn]

► Show Spoiler

"'Twould be the height of ingratitude to deny you, Your Blazing Highness," he said, with perhaps a bit of a bard's flirtation, though nothing untoward. "With your permission?"

His hand rose, aether twining around tendon and bone, vein and artery. He assumed the puissant prince would be able to infer what he asked. Then he reached into the air and pulled Varvara's artefact from his home to his hands. After the briefest excuses of a tuning--the instrument never seemed to fall out of tune, though sometimes he changed the tuning to his purposes.

A few haunting runs and then he asked Arvælyn a slow question that curled around a conspiratorial little smile.

"If I asked you now,
Will you be my prince?"

Each word throbbed with restrained, but honest emotion, pregnant with myriad meanings only hinted at.

"Will you lay down your armour
And be with me forever?"

He had already asked this in front of their Gods and families, and Arvælyn had already answered, a promise more durable than ironclad, something even a follower of Akrivar would respect. All the same, he asked it with all the vulnerability he had the first time. Everyone in the highborn halls he trod these days wore such emotional and mental armor, mundane and arcane. He rather felt his honesty and vulnerability were strengths.

"I feel real." His falsetto skirled through the branches of the trees, seeking out the hidden corners of the garden. Then it soared. The song and the love were too big for the garden, but the walls didn't shiver and shake and fall down. He declared his love in no uncertain terms, repeated it like a mantra, and eventually, though he plied no magic save what his fingers and voice could achieve, the song came to a close.

There was a story in it, of course, but encoded in melody.

For the moment, though, he refrained from refreshment, not wanting to get anything on those carefully callused fingers lest an encore be asked of him.

[Arvælyn]

Qalanar assented with a gesture and watched with violet intensity as Finn conjured his instrument, and mused aloud.

"Always thought it queer that Reaving should be utilised only for war, when there are so many peacetime instruments worthy of a pact. And I say this as Herald to a warlike deity." But he would pipe down, as Finn began to tune, and then to play. Immediately, Finn would feel the attention of the attending servants curried by his ministrations. Arvælyn's attention was certainly rapt, and Qalanar was attentive, albeit harder to read, but soon others began to gather in the garden. Servants and others who dwelt or were, perhaps, guests of House d'Averyx. Siltori, Lysanrin, Humans, Mixed Bloods and Rathari were represented amongst the congregation, and Finn would feel something familiar caressing his brow: Power growing. Hunger sating. Ambition fulfilled.

He drew tears from eyes like nectar from fruit, and oh but it was worthy of relish. Arvælyn, for his part, felt like he was back at their wedding, their vows renewed as if they'd never been uttered before. Though duty and family made him feel colder than he once had, the frost was melted once more by Finn's music. It was a touchstone, for it was music... Finn's voice that first drew them together in what now felt like another lifetime. They'd endured all this time through all these trials and, though each had feared the other might quit them, together they persisted... even before Oaths formalised what hearts had forged.

Even Qalanar let loose a single tear as the final cadence resonated through the open space, and soon the small crowd erupted in applause as words in Silandris, which undoubtedly translated to equivalents of 'Bravo!' and 'Kudos!' filled the air with bombast to replace the tones of that wistful melody.

"Sȳrī gaomagon, Fīnnos." Finn's name sounded sweet as Qalanar's deft tongue extended the vowel, lingering on the final consonant before adding another as per the dictates of his foreign syntax.

"Well done, you..." Arry whispered, and Finn would infer that it was essentially the same sentiment as Qalanar had voiced, though Arry's was punctuated by a kiss.

[Finn]

A part of Finn disappeared into the music, but another part was more present when he made it than at most any other time. Perhaps that's why it sometimes felt as intimate and vulnerable to command an audience as it did to inhale the hot breath Arvælyn exhaled when they made the beast with two backs. The growing audience bolstered him, fed him, and, he thought, his divine master, as well. He didn't think his God would seek to draw worship from and elder God, but one never knew with Gods.

He acknowledged the wider audience with a smile and a wave, pushed against Arvælyn's kiss, and a hand came up as if to take his due from the Blazing Prince's cheek, but he thought better of it—this was an unfamiliar Pyramid.

"Thank you. It is an honor to share." He held up Varvara's artefact for a moment, "To your earlier point, this is too magical to form a pact with it, but I have often considered binding various instruments with my Reaving Rune. Music can be a weapon." He hadn't yet tested the depths of this boon's power. Perhaps Aværys would send him to the sea elves with Raithen and he could subjugate them with a song, at least those who could still breathe air.

They said whales sang, using the medium of the sea much as he did the air, but he didn't let his mind digress too far.

He would play at the will of the princes here present, and otherwise speak, take refreshment, and the like. Would he be able to enthrall the chronomancers to inform him if not aid him in his quest? Again, he did not ken this Pyramid and had no wish to botch diplomatic efforts, but the invisible crown upon his head sang a siren song.

"May you and Valæra Princeps share a similar bond."

[Arvælyn]

“Perhaps…” Qalanar replied, mildly. He didn’t sound altogether convinced of Finn’s suggestion that musical instruments might be summoned through Reaving.

“We Sons of Tyranny tend to observe rather strict interpretations of the letter of the law, be they arcane or otherwise. I hope that your more… creative interpretation serves you well.” He arched a brow at the mention of Valæra, and his eyes darted up to scan the now populated courtyard. Without offering answer to that comment, he sat up a bit straighter and observed:

“You seem to have amassed something of an audience. I will not beg an encore of you, but I will note that more music making would not be unwelcome should it please thee to satisfy the curiosity of my court.”

Arvælyn looked to Finn, curiously. It was clear that he could hold an impromptu concert here and now if he liked and perhaps he would like. The making of music was not his primary task anymore, though he made the time to write and perform as Arvælyn had not. Where performance had once been a destination for both of them, it was now part of a greater whole. For Arry it had been an education from which he’d drawn skills he now executed to other ends. For Finn it was still, in itself, a more direct tool to the carrying out of his own goals and those of Aværys. The Princeps Draconum, for his part, could not miss the surge in his emblem’s counterpart as new chains of gold were forged before his eyes. Oaths, he realised, were a particularly binding form of tether, so it was entirely possible that Qalanar could see the stirrings of his sire’s son, as well. He would not ask it outright here and now, but he did wonder to himself whether his own pallid Patroness was another scion of the Black Sun.

[Finn]

► Show Spoiler

Finn had thought his well-wishing quiet enough that with his back mostly turned to the audience, they wouldn't have heard it, but perhaps he was too used to the safety that Command over the servi gave them in Solunarium. With a slight blanch, he murmured an apology for his misstep. Hopefully nobody would be executed on his behalf. He might have grown accustomed to slavery, but the only person he actively wanted to die was Thalya. He hoped her death wouldn't drive a wedge between him and Vrædyn, let alone the rest of the Luxian royalty, but he too had sworn an oath.

"I do hope diplomatic immunity protects me for drawing a modicum of worship from them," he said with a renewed smile, his fingers plucking out an underscoring for their conversation. "Well, I will play something with more crowd appeal until you send them back about their work. Or His Exalted Highness deigns to sing a duet with me..."

He made a mental note to seek an opportunity to sneak away and play for the servants. Finn too was of humble origins, and it never hurt to have friends among the servants.

The underscoring seemed to shift to something distinct between one heartbeat and the next. Rhythm came from a tapping heel and the occasional percussive beat of his hand against the body of his instrument. While his voice continued to grow, reaching new heights, depths, and abilities, at first he showed off his masterful deftness with the strings. And then, when he did sing, it almost sounded as though other voices were harmonizing with his—magic? Perhaps.

"Listen to the wind blow, watch the sun rise.
Running in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies.
And if you don't love me now
You will never love me again.
I can still hear you saying
You would never break the chain."

Apropos, he thought, of Varvara and Akrivar both, and their chosen were his primary audience so, he sang.

"The chain will keep us together.
Running in the shadow."

fin.