Legend of Ransera

Arvælyn wasn't wrong: their upbringings were distinct, their bloodlines divergent, and that had only become more pronounced with the prince's rebirth as a draconic creature. It hadn't taken long for Finn's misgivings about that to fade. The pretty dancer from the cabaret was still himself, merely more intensely himself.

The bard already knew his lover's draconic tongue, but he did hope to learn to speak to the prince's family in their own language someday. He kept that little jest to himself, however, as he was frequently scolded for having a filthy mind, though Arvælyn didn't seem to mind that all the time.

"I can't help but be bawdy in your presence, my love," he protested. "I am but a man of flesh and blood and you set me on fire!" His skin certainly felt a bit feverish, but well within healthy norms. Somewhere between hungry kisses, he tried to be witty, something about his silver tongue and all the fingering practice his lute required. Aye, and bawdy.

Arx Rubrum Petram
55th of Ash, Year 123 of Steel

"...and so, for these reasons, I think it were best I pursued Negation rather than Kinetics, though it would be an honor to be trained in that Craft by a Grandmaster."

Finn stood before Phocion's desk, reporting.

"And, if you will remember from my report, when Prince Talon - err, Dæmon - brought your brother and me to his extraplanar stronghold, he offered a boon. Deus Aværys prevented him from marking me with the emblem of the Dawnmartyrs, but he does feel as though he owes me. When next he visits Solunarium, I could ask for him to initiate me with the rune, and perhaps he could be observed in this here before the Assessors. There might be some subtlety, some difference, that will enrich our understanding of the rune and its conference."

Be useful, had been the Crownwyrm's advice. He was trying.

"Ah." Phocion smirked and glanced down as he took in a deep breath and sighed it out. "I was briefed on the matter of your intended Runic exchange with His Resplendence, Raithen Dux. I must admit that I was a bit perplexed at first as to why the Vigilia Magna was concerned with this issue, let alone why she took time out of one of our meetings to apprise me of the matter. I've come to comprehend." His chair slid back soundlessly across the stone tile as he gracefully rose to his booted feet.

"I do not envy you, Sentinel Finn, but I suppose you Mesmers are more inclined to manage the emotions of others than I." He observed as he rounded the desk, perching on its edge closer to Finn. He stretched his legs out in front of him and crossed them at the ankle.

"Much is said of the uneasy head that bears the weight of a crown, but what of those who bear the gravity of the crowned? Thankless work, that." He clicked his tongue against his teeth, and suddenly launched off of the desk to finish his revolution and return to the side where he'd started. This time he didn't sit, but focused on the view of the Umbrium without.

"That being said, I think your ultimate decision is a sound one. Perhaps you can infer from our purposes here at the Citadel, that we have greater need of Negators in the Custodes Deorum than of Kineticists. I am a master myself and would have offered to initiate you, if not for this... intriguing proposition of yours." He paused, glancing over his shoulder to regard Finn with an approving nod.

"Very well, Sentinel. If Arcas of the Many Names is willing to oblige your request, encourage him to ply his work here under our supervision. If not, be exceedingly observant and take as many copious notes as you can before the sickness comes." A slight smirk spread across his face, as he turned it back toward the window.

"I trust you've cleared this plan with His Exalted Highness? I'd hate to imagine what another draconic veto might do to your pride."

As Phocion comprehended his mother's intervention, Finn didn't see the need to reply. His superior and someday brother-in-law seemed to appreciate a lack of extraneous chatter, and Finn could appreciate that. Brevity, they said, was the soul of wit.

"Thank you," he said simply for the compassion. From such a reserved person, it meant a lot. Cithæra had also warned him that loving a dragon was difficult, if not a crown prince. It wasn't that he found Arvælyn difficult to love—far from it. But even as harmonized as their symphonies had become, there were fundamental differences between them, between how they saw the world, and how they acted in it. Finn didn't think to be jealous as he knew he was beloved, and if Arvælyn chose not to love him any longer, it would be devastating, but that was his right. The jealousy and rage were foreign to him, but he had to learn to live with them if he was going to be allowed to love his dragon prince with any sort of peace.

"I would certainly appreciate your taking part in my subsequent training, Sentinel, if your schedule allows. And I will ask for an Assessor to be present at my initiation, and afterward. My firsthand accounts will be journaled. I would ask..." He paused. "Well, if you have an avenue of communication with Dæmon, I would ask that you arrange an appointment. I could communicate with him but it would constitute praying and I would rather not irritate my God. And His Exalted Higness suggested Negation rather than Kinetics when we discussed this yesterday. He was also present when Dæmon offered the boon. He shan't be bothered."

Or would You mind terribly if I were to commune directly with Arcas, Rex Meum? he wondered into the aether.

Phocion waved a dismissive, black gloved hand over his shoulder at the expression of gratitude. His visage was obscured, turned away as he was and situated so that he was blocking even its reflection in the window through which he gazed.

"Your training will be in the interest of the realm. I, or my intermediaries, will certainly contribute to your advancement."

He chuckled at the next.

"Yes, I can certainly see whereas that would be a… controversial sort of overture. I will have a memorandum sent to House Novalys via our embassy in Kalzasi." No controversy there, to be sure.

Finn would receive no answer to his silent prayer, nor would he even feel the surge of his Emblem to indicate the attention of the Deus Imperator had been broached. Phocion, seemingly unaware of the unvoiced invocation, continued without pausing.

"Glad to hear you’ve cleared it. I would not wish to run afoul of His Exalted Highness. I would remain as neutral as I can in this brotherly disagreement." He hoped this move on Finn’s part would put an end to the matter. He was fond of the Goldfinch and it hardly seemed a fair fight if things grew truly contentious, for vassal to vie against a dread liege in defiance of oaths and standing athwart the other, colossal, fire-breathing side of the family.

"I wonder… have you made any attempt to reconcile them? You seem uniquely situated to do so in ways that we of House Phædryn cannot."

Though Finn couldn't remember attempting to listen to Phocion's symphony since the pretty, terrifyingly competent elf had come to Kalzasi on a diplomatic mission, his soon-to-be brother-in-law seemed uncharacteristically relaxed. That was odd. He let his at-ease posture ease into something less formal in sooth.

Finn intended to actively request instruction from Phocion when it seemed least likely to irritate and most likely to advance his skill. But he was certainly glad that Phocion was willing to use diplomatic avenues to pull Dæmon back to Solunarium on his behalf. Certainly, the Custodes Deorum would benefit, but even a mutually beneficial outcome seemed like progress.

"I don't..." He sighed with frustration. "He lays bare his symphony to me, at least, with regards to matters that aren't above my pay grade. And yet... I can't wrap my... head around... I can't grok the logic of his jealousy. The Vigilia Magna said it's a draconic trait. Certainly, there are mortal men and elves who are... perniciously jealous of there lovers. I know more of his history than most, but even so, I am not... wise enough in the way of people to fully comprehend how that plays out in who his and what he needs. 'Tis frustrating. I..."

He paused, straightened his posture up.

"I should not be... I am not complaining. 'Tis a challenge, not a problem. But I am trying to smoothe things over between Arvælyn and Raithen. I am trying to build bridges between him and Prince Vrædyn and other Luxian luminaries. Zalkyriax Rex bade me be useful, and that is one factor in my choice to spend more time in your service than in service to my Muse. I came here for Arvælyn. I remain here for Arvælyn. Sometimes I want to let him bind me with Domina Varvara's chains, but now... now an equal desire to put him in thralldom to my Hunger rises to meet it. I do not mean to complain but it... it is a lot for a poorly educated human peregrinus to begin to understand.

"I can't drown here. I need to keep him afloat."

Perhaps the creak of a cupboard off to Finn's left would startle him as it seemed to open of its own volition. Phocion, for his part, seemed to be paying it no mind as a pair glasses and a bottle levitated free of its enclosure to approach his desk. The bottle, which housed some crystal clear fluid, uncorked itself and poured en route so that both glasses were half full (as Phocion imagined the Northern optimist would perceive it) by the time they arrived on the desk. One rested in front of Finn and the other closer to Phocion, though his back and attention remained on the window.

"Kalzasern Shōchū. A gift from my first visit to your homeland, which I've yet to sample." He explained as he slowly turned and lowered himself onto his chair, reaching for the spirit, which dragged itself across the desk to meet his palm.

"You shall have to let me know how this vintage rates to your more practised palate." He said as his long fingers closed around the tumbler.

"'The logic of his jealousy'." Phocion repeated with a chortle, "Is jealously typically a logical impulse?" He shrugged, taking a sip and considered the unusual flavour along with the rest of Finn's sentiments on the matter of draconic envy.

"Dragons and their hoards, right... Although I'm not sure it's a trait altogether particular to their race. And mother was unkind to invoke that argument. Nothing kills open discourse like someone pulling the dragon card." He cracked a smile, "I should know. I, myself, use it liberally." As Finn's words grew more personal, Phocion knitted his brow, pondering at length before giving voice to the summary of his mental meanderings.

"Streleon and Ugrimal warred for centuries and were destroyed in the crucible of their conflicting envies. Only millennia later and in another life merged with other spirits did Ambition and Domination find equilibrium in the Founders we know today. You and your amatus have barely scratched the surface of one, mortal lifetime. It stands to reason that you should brook a bit of strife... and require time, trial and error to reach your own accord." He let out a sigh,

"But, of course, you're quite right. You do not have the privilege of a safe, enclosed proving ground in which to learn. You are both of you at the seat of Solunarian power, where an ill-temper might elicit a massacre or instigate civil war at this precarious moment in our history. Only once have I borne witness to one of my brother's... outbursts, and it was troubling. You'll remember: Back at Tertium when you'd just arrived. I am relieved not to have seen its like again. In my observation, you are a much needed grounding force. I know you feared our mother would excise you like a tumour when you first arrived, but she is the savviest of us all, and saw your worth at the outset. So..." He paused, seeming to sit expectantly for a beat, before clarifying.

"How would you rate the shōchū?"

Finn didn't spend an inordinate amount of time with Phocion, but enough that he was no longer likely to flail in alarm when things started moving, seemingly of their own accord. This was a power that would not, it now seemed, be his. Perhaps if his arm had been well and truly lost, he would have opted for Kinetics, the better to keep playing music. But things were what they were, circumstances, alignments, and all. When he realized Phocion was pouring them drinks, he relaxed, falling out of his Sentinel protocols somewhat, instead feeling out the soon-to-be brother-in-law vibe.

The lesser Sentinel sat without being explicitly invited, picked up his glass, and wafted it under his nose. Shōchū came in many varieties and was served in many ways. He was hardly an expert, though he did enjoy it.

"If it came from someone who wanted to make a good impression on you, then it ought to be of good quality, at least. I don't know if it will be to your tastes. But brave and bold of you to sample it neat." He offered a grin. And when Phocion found his turn of phrase amusing, he just continued to smile. Phocion and most of the royals seemed so reserved, it gave him pleasure when they seemed to have an honest emotion that they felt comfortable sharing. He didn't mind being a clown from time to time. When the prince sipped, so too did he. It certainly tasted expensive, but he didn't comment, not wanting to influence Phocion's reaction. As a Mesmer, even when he wasn't actively engaged in its use, he worried that he would have undue influence upon people. That was where he was alien to Solunarians—or, more alien. His code of ethics where magic was concerned didn't quite jive still.

"As a Mesmer," he said with comically faux sententiousness, "I have found that emotions do have their own sort of logic if you can find the... hm, cipher. But I never met a dragon—at least not to my knowledge—until I met his Exalted father. Whatever knowledge I've accrued of emotional logic avails me naught before the platinum dragonflight."

Finn's face grew shadowed as he remembered how Arvælyn had attacked his mother with the trauma she had let happen. He didn't always agree with his amatus' means, but he had such a profound empathy for his feelings that he was often unable to intervene. But then Phocion, ever the diplomat, changed the subject.

"I am not," he said, then cleared his throat before continuing, "exactly a connoisseur, but I find it wholly drinkable. Then again, I drink some of the smoky spirits derived from desert cacti that Hilana has introduced me to. I have only rarely seen them at parties that you attend, so I might not be the best gauge for your palate. And... thank you for the tacit assumption that Arvælyn and I might have lifetimes together to have even a chance to rise toward the accords of the Divine Twins." He took another sip. "I am due to visit Vrædyn Princeps. I don't always have specific things to say, but there is a strange sort of relief being in his presence, knowing he can empathize with the welcome weight of Deus Aværys' favor. I don't suppose... Domina Varvara's favor has helped you and Arvælyn to... find accord?"

At Finn's observations about his choice to try an undiluted taste of the gifted spirit, Phocion shrugged.

"I will freely confess I did no research on best practises when sampling this spirit. I'd forgotten all about it until, thinking on your plights and the conclusion of our business for the day, it occurred to me you might want for a bit of salving."

Phocion wrinkled his nose and physically recoiled, albeit very subtly, at Finn's observations about emotion.

"You may choose to consider the sort of meandering, chaotic paths the subconscious may take to arrive at an emotional conclusion 'logic', but my definition calls for more in the way of efficiency." He was perfectly content to move on from the matter, as Finn answered his question about the spirit.

"Entirely serviceable, I agree." It was different from what he was used to, but not in any monumental way. He wouldn't discard the bottle, but neither would he covet its contents enough to contact the Kalzasern Embassy about sending a crate of reinforcements.

"Nothing to thank." He pursed his lips nodding at the mention of Finn's concourse with Vrædyn and again at the question about Arvælyn.

"Since that incident at Tertium, I've found Arvælyn quite pleasant, actually. He was an apt pupil when you were both Subvigili, and I like to think we bonded during his training sessions when I was helping him to grasp Kinetics. When the Vigilia Magna suggested I remove my wards for our lessons and permitted him to tune into my Symphony for lessons, his advancement accelerated exponentially. I suspect Mesmer is how he was able to acclimate to our culture so quickly and smoothly that most of the Umbrium forgets he was born abroad." He took a sip of his drink.

"As for our Marks, aye... There is a kinship there, perforce. We were both linked to Lykos when he swore fealty to the dragons. We could feel a new chain being forged and locked into place for Her, and it was... rather euphoric. But, in my experience, Supremacy pairs better with Majesty than with itself. As you and Arvælyn were Marked together, so were Vrædyn and I." He glanced down into his glass,

"I don't believe his sympathies to the Phædryn cause are incidental to that." He observed, as he swirled the clear fluid and smirked at his reflection.

At Phocion's response, he let the matter of emotional logic drop, though he wondered whether Mesmers made the moonborn prince as uncomfortable as the emotions they plied. Perhaps it were best to skirt that topic in future. After all, they were getting on. Finn knew that relationships here would not be akin to those back home. People were people, but customs were not universal. It was a lesson he kept relearning.

After another measured sip of the shōchū, he found himself nodding along to Phocion's insights. Perhaps Finn got on better with Hilana than most of the people in the social circles he swam in because he could listen to her symphony to help him catch her drifts. With senators and dragons, he was obliged not to listen, even if their symphonies weren't hidden and guarded behind magical lock and key.

"When we have discussed magic," he offered, "we were able to intuit quite a bit from each other with regard to Traversion and Kinetics. I understand the Crafts are cousins."

What made Phocion smirk made Finn laugh. While he didn't know if he had the right of it, he had intuition, and tended to follow it. Of course, he wouldn't bring intuition up with the elf who preferred cold, hard facts, and rigid logical structures.

"Yes! I feel as though there is an empathy between the Pontifex and me, and a sympathy between Arvælyn and me - one that wasn't there before the Founders claimed us. And when we withstood the onslaught of the voidborn last season, it felt entirely natural to work in tandem with you. To complement you." The rush of elation that came from making that connection calmed, and he was quick to school himself to a more stoic mien. He thought he did a fair job as a Sentinel, subsuming himself into the role, but now they were sharing a drink and words not shared with many other people, and so he forgot himself from time to time.

"Perhaps after I have that rune and I have another Craft in my arsenal, we might consider training together to wield our divine powers more effectively as one?"

At Finn's observations about his choice to try an undiluted taste of the gifted spirit, Phocion shrugged.

"Kindred Crafts and complementary Emblems." Phocion conceded as his pale eyes regarded Finn directly, scrutinisingly and at length. Phocion didn’t look at him often, and Finn wouldn’t recall a time when he looked at him quite like this.

"Small wonder, then, that we work so well together…" Perhaps it would be news to Finn that Phocion deemed it so, but he articulated it as it was an obvious, objective fact.

"I believe, if you took your work with His Serene Highness Vrædyn Princeps into a public arena, you would find it challenging. Both of you would be driven by the tenets of the Deus Imperator toward oneupmanship. One desiring dominance over the other. His Exalted Highness and I would risk tangling our Chains under similar circumstances, but Majesty and Supremacy? Our Marks were meant to work in tandem." A faint smile painted his lips.


"I can feel your gravity when I listen through Her bequest… and my instinct is to support you…" His smile faded,

"Perhaps it is for this reason that I thought to pour us these drinks. Perhaps part of me sensed that your Radiance might somewhat wane if I did not." He waved the notion off. It mattered not whether the impulse was his own or divinely delivered, the results were the same.

"I concur. And I hope that you and your amatus will work at this also. It can’t all be revels and rutting between you two, you know." Phocion noted through a wry smirk.