Legend of Ransera

Arvælyn sighed, assessed the veracity of Finn's voiced intentions, and then nodded.

"Of course." The wingéd elf nodded once and watched as Finn rose and stepped away. As the bard conferred with the servus, he glanced to the impassive face of his father, who didn't look any older than he in his current form, but was very much so. His expression was ancient, even if his flesh was taut and his visage boyish. He supposed it was often thus for elves, though not to such extremes.

"You understand what I ask of you." Zalkyriax said, clearly continuing a conversation that started prior to Finn's arrival and intermissed for his presence.

"I... fear that Solunarian traditions- at least many of them are ill-suited to the times, now that the contemporary world has been allowed back into the desert."

"My concern is Order. That is the sole tradition I would fain see upheld. The rest I leave to you. I will be your Fire and your Wings for as long as you maintain a solid social structure. I care not whether you uphold that which is traditional, provided that you do not set society into disarray by demanding too much of an unwilling populace."

"The old ways are so deeply set in these sands."

"Tradition, my son, is not the worship of ashes... but the preservation of fire."

Both glanced up as Finn returned, lyre in hand.

"Please." The Crownwyrm gestured, as Arvælyn settled back into his seat, watching as Finn began to manipulate the strings of his chosen instrument. His eager smile faded slightly, as the opening strains seemed to weep. Knowing the song was about him, and knowing that a father he barely knew and wanted to see impressed by both himself and his amatus, he worried about having insecurities aired. Dragons were implacable things, and humans... particularly this one... so tender.

He blinked back tears as soon as the first words were uttered, trying to gauge the reaction of the dragon in his periphery, but finding the typical, stony countenance remaining thus.

By the end of the song, Arvælyn's face was baptised in tears, though he fought off all sobs and sounds aside from the odd sniffle that threatened to break his mask of stoicism, which sat not so easily as the Crownwyrm's... least of all under all these tears.

Zalkyriax glanced to the sobbing servant, and canted a brow as he darted out. After a beat, he lifted his hands to applaud. Arry joined a moment later, a bit relieved at the response. Their applause tapered as Finn reclaimed his seat.

"Well struck." The dragon intoned, "It is rare that I recall what it felt like to be young and naïve to the greater Mysteries. There is a great deal of life in you, Finn. May it burn longer than most fires that blaze so bright."

"Then use your fires to forge the armour that preserves you." The Crownwyrm suggested, after hearing Finn's wishes.

"And in Solunarium I believe the greatest armour is usefulness..." He trailed off, and considered Finn's further sentiments... the grievances, the gripes and the goals.

"The Deus Imperator has drawn you into a greater fold than my amata could hope to. Yours is not to be a lightless path, and I would warrant you've a right to demand some degree of candour, given your Radiant bequeathment. I will tell you this: I was urged into action. We have felt the shifting of the winds, but it was Cithæra who evangelised me toward claiming my ancient right. I believe that Solunarium has slept as its dragons have, but that it is time for both to stir."

Arvælyn softened, as he was urged to. The tears ceased to shed and he dabbed them away with a sleeve.

"I don't know, either..." The draconic elf admitted, grimacing. "The possibilities seem myriad, and yet more nebulous for their abundance. I don't know the right path to take, and I..." He looked to his father, "I just wish someone wiser like you would tell me."

The Crownwyrm took in a breath, grunted and sighed. It was to Finn he directed his reply.

"If you would be Lord of Lutes and Master of Minstrels, you might take a unilateral path... Gather your bardic banners in a vacuum in some distant realm, or perhaps spread them across many lands plying your influence independently. Or, you might bind your goals to those of our realm. Armoured in such useful vestments, you would serve Arvælyn as He of the Sceptre serves She of the Scourge." The father looked now to the son,

"And you, child, might serve him withal. The moons rise so that the sun might rest. He has potential, we have resources. My court would be most grateful to see those resources invested, but we would suffer to see them donated if it be the will of my Princeps Coronam."

"Oh, right..." Arvælyn knitted his brow and shook his head, "I keep forgetting about the shadow creatures and the second sun seems second nature to me now."

"'Tis Arcas' fault, if not his doing." Zalkyriax muttered through a snarl. "A foreign problem, and a gaming board from which we promptly seceded our realms." He looked to Finn. If the boy would know of him, he would let the matter of the Eclipse guide his thoughts.

"This global event is exactly the sort of chaos we seek to thwart. Where the petty or the cavalier cause vast swaths of misery to millions who've no stake in the catalyst. A god is born, and a holocaust ensues. It needn't. Deification could be deliberate. It isn't. And those who rise, tend to ascend too quickly- ignorant of the mortal mysteries, let alone the Divine, and so their falter and flounder to the detriment of entire civilisations. None of it need be thus. Some Powers care not, and many more understand not. We care and we endeavour for better. That is our culture and our faith." He said firmly.

Considering Finn's concerns, Zalkyriax paused, tilting his head and gazing at the pale-faced human at length.

"If you would see your parents and cannot visit them, we shall have them brought here. There is more than enough space at the palace to house them for as long as they would stay." He looked to Arvælyn, a wry smile crooking his lips at a diagonal,

"..and I would fain meet them."

Arvælyn blink at that offer, and looked to Finn curiously. He knew the bard and expressed reservations about such notions in the past, but it was difficult to decline draconic deference. As he proved at Kaladon, however, Finn was better at saying 'No' to lofty figures than Arvælyn was. Still, the half-elf rather hoped he wouldn't. He was still eager to impress Finn's family, having felt a failure in prior endeavours. Perhaps a desert dragon king for a father would be enough. At the least, if the Crownwyrm failed to awe them, Arvælyn could hardly take it personally that he didn't impress them himself.

The Rex Draconum tilted his head, a curious smirk upon his lips as he considered the emphasis upon Finn's statement of support. If the insinuation wasn't clear from the delivery, he had heard enough from Arvælyn to fill in the blanks. Arvælyn had never explicitly stated that Finn had reservations about the local culture... perhaps out of a desire to protect the bard, but whatever the case Zalkyriax deduced as much.

"And this is the culture I have risen to foster." He replied with a sincerity that verged on sternness, it softened as he looked to his son.

"Though I shall rely on the younger generation to translate my old ways to this modern world."

Arvælyn smiled bashfully in answer to this, casting a sidelong glance to Finn as he spoke of his mission. At its mention, Zalkyriax could not help but think of his prior biding... 'In Solunarium I believe the greatest armour is usefulness', he'd said, and aiding in a divine mission seemed passing useful. He knew of which Finn spoke, for he had been the one to lay out the terms to its warden, but he did not elaborate on this.

"Of course." Zalkyriax nodded, "In your own time." As he'd said, he had patience in profusion. "But let us know if you've concerns for their safety during the eclipse. My consort might send one of her Sentinels to hold vigil and keep an eye on things... Even if you'd prefer it to be done clandestinely."

"That is rather their speciality, father."

Zalkyriax snorted, shaking his head in response to that.

"It isn't always a simple thing to fight the shadows from within them." He bade, "That is why ours is a dual realm."

"You do not strike me as one who wants for eloquence, bard." The 'Poet King' retorted, sounding almost amused.

"I understand your caution. We are wont to overwhelm in Solunarium, and if your family has never parleyed with dragons, well... There is danger in too much awe." Which was to say he'd known mortals to go into cardiac arrest at the sight of him in his full glory. He did not presume that such would be the case with Finn's family, but it was not unwise to prepare for such eventualities.

A pregnant pause filled the gap between them, after which the dragon nodded once firmly.

"You may rest in the assurance that you have made a fair impression, Farstrider."

Arvælyn blinked at the directness and, sensing the queerness of the reaction, Zalkyriax looked at him quizzically.

"Have I spoken amiss?"

"No, it's just... Well, that was very direct. It felt sort of... I don't know, clinical? Transactional? Something... al."

The Crownwyrm grunted.

"Was not the purpose of this engagement for Finn to impress upon me his worthiness to share your bed?"

"Pater!"

"I... will stay my tongue, lest I further vex you."

"I'm not vexed, I just..." Arry forced a smile and shook his head, "Sorry, Finn. Dragons, am I right?" Zalkyriax, looking altogether confused, just shrugged and rose from his seat. Arvælyn rose as well,

"Until next time, Finn. Phædryn? I shall expect you tomorrow morning in the Thalamum for your lesson. This time don't wear anything... ridiculous." He inclined his platinum blonde head to them both, before stepping around the table and making his way to the exit. Once the door shut behind him, Arry grinned.

"That went really well, I thought! That's about the warmest I've seen him get. And he breathes fire, so that's really warm!"