Legend of Ransera

"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."

“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.”

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.

"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."