Legend of Ransera

It had been centuries since a Moonborn Sol'Aværys sat the Argent Throne in the undercity, so even amongst the nobility, few alive had seen the inside of the Palatium Umbrarum. Under Phædryn stewardship during the Solar Courts, it had largely become an auxilliary facility for the Silver Sentinels to complement their prædium to its West. But things were different now and today the Palatium played host to representatives from the Solunarian senatorial houses who had seen fit to swear fealty to the Umbrian Crown in the early days, whilst most weighed their options with greater ambivalence. Indeed, the vast majority of the senate remained undeclared and, unofficially, the last day of Frost (and the 122nd year of the Age of Steel) was being regarded as 'Decision Day', when the royal ultimatum would have to be answered or consequences would be dealt out.

Such as things were, this would be an intimate banquet rather than a bustling ball. It hadn't been made clear to those invited exactly what the purpose of this gathering would be, but those who recognised the Phædryn hand in the matter would not be surprised by this ambiguity. They only knew that each senatorial house who'd sworn fealty to House Sol'Zalkyrion in advance of the invitation date was offered the opportunity to send their official representatives to attend a late supper at the Palatium Umbrarum. News of these invites, of course, spurred others to pledge their fealty after the fact in hopes of garnering their own invitations, but it was to no avail. It seemed this event was truly for the early adopters of the new Umbrian regime.

Upon arrival, the vast majority of the guests would be treated to their first glimpses of the palace interior. Though structurally identical to its counterpart above, it was Atraxian onyx and silver rather than marble and gold. The ornamentation was also wholly different. Where the Blazing Palace boasted artwork and relics of Aværys' conquests, the Shadow Palace was known to house more Varvaran artifacts and, thus, less ostentation. However, there seemed to be new pieces representing the draconic dynasty, which were noted by the few members of the party who'd seen the palace interior before, having served as Sentinels in their younger days.

Servi led them on a path that would feel strangely familiar for those with knowledge of the upper palace. It would feel like walking through a dream, where the steps were familiar but the environs altered in some bold and some subtle ways. Ultimately, they would find themselves in a modestly-sized, but gorgeously appointed banquet chamber lit by torches, chandeliers and candelabras all of which burned with blue light due to attendant enchanters. It served as a much better complement to the surroundings, after all, than regular fire.

A herald announced each guest as they arrived, and they were greeted with trays of Umbrian red wine as they were admitted. The table was set but unseated and, judging from the trays of hors d'oeuvres being brought out by beautiful servants in sleek livery, the seating would take place later. Toward the rear of the hall, two familiar figures were huddled in quiet conference. One was Princess Cithæra, whose wily eyes were scanning the door as guests stepped through. The other, though his back was to them, would be familiar due to the unusual protrusions that graced it: A pair of folded, draconic wings that arced above a blonde head circled with a platinum diadem.

"Come, Your Exalted Majesty..." Arvælyn's mother encouraged, "It is time to greet our guests."

Arvælyn nodded, and paused to take a breath and shift his faint scowl into a wan smile before turning to open himself to the room and regard the incoming guests. A stream of unfamiliar faces and strange Symphonies, but he was glad the gathering had been kept intimate. In the midst of the unknown elements, he noted a familiar cadence cresting toward the rear of the room and the herald spoke the name even as the prince registered the acquaintance.

Æros was different than he recalled, after a fashion, but the same could certainly be said of Arvælyn. Some of the shifts were, of course, apparent to the naked eye... A pair of small horns sprouting from his brow and obviously the draconic wings that arced in such a way as to frame his crowned head. But there were other changes. His Symphony and Aura were shrouded. His Symphony was as faint as distant, indecipherable music and his Aura was blurred by a preternatural penumbra. But to make note of this shift was an ephemeral thing, for the same obscuring energies also dissuaded the observer from focusing upon the phenomenon. Æros might have fought the dissuasive urge with his Semblance, but he would have to make that choice consciously and exert effort that would surely not go unnoticed by its subject. Even without making any such incursion, he would find the fiery eyes of the draco-elven prince had found him in the crowd. There was recognition paired with relief in the churning gaze, though Arry's attentions were soon dragged to the receiving line forming before himself and his mother. A nomenclator whispered the names of these strange senators into his pointed ears as they greeted him with obsequies and pleasantries.

Over the course of the next twenty minutes or so, word would be disseminated that this casual cocktail hour would precede a more formal dinner service during which the purpose of this gathering would be exposited. In the meanwhile, senators talked small in louder voices and whispered of the larger themes at play in corners. Eventually, Arvælyn saw and seized upon the opportunity to approach one of the few people present with whom he had any familiarity, let alone affinity.

"Æros. I took note of you when I visited the Luxian curia a few weeks back. It would seem both of our lots of shifted since we met at the arena..." He smiled cordially, "All a bit overwhelming." Apart from all the other major changes, one could also say his Vastian grammar had improved by leaps and bounds, though his diction had always been impeccable even when the words he was masterfully pronouncing didn't make sense in the order he arrayed them.

The softer Symphonies were those that most perked the attention of the newly-minted Princeps Draconum, and Æros' simmered softly indeed. It wasn't the deathly silence that answered his ætheric ear in the presence of the Solar Sovereign or her pious nephew Vrædyn, nor was it the nebulous murk of Phocion's mark, but it was notable. It hadn't been thus when they'd first met, nor even at their latter meeting in the Umbrium, by which time the Fæ-kin had achieved greater mastery. There were novel nuances. It wasn't something he was inclined to explore ætherically, in the moment with Cardinal Rune nor Divine Emblem, but his curiosity did seep into his verbal reply to the man demure response to his opening remarks.

"I endure more than enough feigned modesty now that I am..." He smirked slightly at the first word that came to mind to suit his sentiment: "...exalted amongst men and elves. You need not demur with me in this matter. As for my linguistic pursuits..." His smirk became a smile,

"Our common Cardinal Rune bears many exploitable advantages when it comes to higher learning. The subtleties of Solunarian grammar come much easily when one is able to peruse sundry a Solunarian mind."

He chuckled,

"Indeed! For all we know, I am currently enjoying an audience with some long lost prince of the Winter Court of the Everwild. That being said, Your Potential Highness, this evening was devised by my parents in the interest of discerning the concerns of the early-adopters to Zalkyrian fealty. His Exalted Majesty wishes for the most loyal of his subjects to have a hand in building the foundations of the Senatus Umbrarum. We are testing the waters, as it were. Those gathered have already proven themselves to be none-too-attached to the status quo, in having forgone their traditional allegiance to House Sol'Aværys in favour of the Draconic Dynasty. We would know how far your want for evolution extends. More wine." Though his fiery eyes lingered for a moment on the man he was addressing, after a beat they would turn to a nearby servant who froze and slowly extended a quivering arm to refill his platinum goblet.

"Peace." Arvælyn soothed with preternatural urging that relaxed the servus enough to pour with a steady hand, as the prince's attention returned to the half-Fæ. "Were you given instructions by your uncle, or are you his implicitly trusted plenipotentiary at this point?" It seemed he had been, at the very least, briefed upon his current conversation companion's position in the Senate.

"Less tangible to some, perhaps." Arvælyn said, with a smirk, a wink and a sip of Umbrian red. He didn't linger further on the matter of their respective evolutions, content to move onto the matter of Mesmeric language learning.

"It's likely you're already doing it to some extent unconsciously. The real trick of it is focus. My pædagogus taught me that language influences thought more than we realise. The way a sentence is constructed can influence the way poetry and lyrics can be written... Can limit or open possibilities for rhyme, alliteration, assonance. Imagine what a language with more words for love might do to the culture that speaks it, imagine one with more words for loathing..." He trailed off, realising he was waxing didactic, or at the very least philosophical. Hardly appropriate cocktail hour banter.

"Apologies. I find linguistics fascinating, and can get carried away with my musings." Another sip of wine.

"I will confess I know little of the Fæfolk. I don't believe I've ever met a full-blooded representative, and my crash course in Solunarian studies has rather occupied me of late. I suppose I will need to become more worldly as I assume new roles at court, but for the nonce I am playing catch up and the Fæ, with my apologies, have not been a priority.

"If you do wish to pursue your paternal past, I can see whether I might get you access to some documents from the Prætorium Argentum's archives. Things are a bit hectic at the moment, with all the transitions, but in time I expect we could find you a spot of help." He shrugged, "If that appeals to you."

The goblet in his hand rested at the level of his sternum, and his other hand lazily trailed circles round the rim of the glass with his index finger. Pursing his lips he nodded,

"A long lifespan is relative, and most of your political contemporaries are of like longevity." Perhaps even greater, though he demurred from saying so outright. Elves were typically longer-lived than Fæ and, though Æros was half-elven, there was no telling how his particular blend would affect his lifespan. Gods knew what Arvælyn's would be, if he survived Solunarian politics long enough for that to be of consequence.

"That is to say, don't rely too much upon time. Time smooths stone, it doesn't sharpen it. These are sharp times... A brief burst of a chaos in a realm that loves order. This is the moment to establish to new order that will become the routine. Think well on whether you wish to be party to those decisions."

"I don't blame you for neglecting Common. It hasn't been aptly named in this particular realm for many years. It's only now that you're..." Arvælyn blinked, remembering himself, "That we're participating more on the world stage, that Common is waxing pragmatic." He chuckled as the Fæ, like himself, gushed for a moment on the matter of linguistics, before demurring due to the setting of their conversation.

"I knew you before I met most of this lot. You're sort of... Well, grandfathered in. If you've no pressing engagements after we conclude the formal dinner, perhaps you might join me for a nightcap and more casual conversation." Arvælyn had to stifle his chuckle at the talk of documentation, lest it smack of overfamiliarity.

"Assuming you were sired here in Solunarium, I've little doubt that the Vigilia Argenti has some sort of record of a rare and mystical peregrinus who coupled with an elven noble to produce a child. That's a fair recipe to curry their attention if ever I've seen one. I'll see what I can do..." He caught the glance of his mother, who wasn't close enough to hear his hushed tones, but still she gathered the gist.

"Spoken like a true politician..." Arvælyn noted with an expression that suggested subtle chiding infused within the statement, "Do let me know when you've collected your thoughts as to what sort of change you would like to see. And be quick about it. These matters will be settled sooner than later." He downed the rest of his wine just as a gong sounded to herald the end of the cocktail hour and the start of supper proper.

"On to business, but do tarry after supper if you've the time. I'm sure I'll want for something harder than wine after an eventide practising politics."