Victima Reginæ

[Finn]

Palatium Furiarum
61st of Ash, Year 123 of Steel

(...continued from here.)

"Come back, Farstrider," she Commanded softly. "Follow my voice."

The painted bard came back to himself as Lystreia was holding him up and explaining things to Phocion. Peering owlishly thorough a blinding migraine, he spoke with more authority than generally was his wont with his superior in the Vigilia—as well as all things social and political in Solunarium. But he had come to the Jewel of Atraxia with one priority and that priority remained: Arvælyn.

"Where is he?"

His voice was gravelly and, in any other circumstances, that would have terrified him. But after what had just happened, not hearing Arvælyn's symphony nearby. Of course, he wouldn't. Either Arvælyn would have been evacuated or the interdict upon magic would still be in effect, though he thought he could sense Lystreia's next to him, and Hilana's somewhere, even Lykos'. Then again, he wasn't quite himself, and those might just have been echoes from memory.

That Phocion had come to retrieve him might warm the cockles of his heart later, but for now, he needed assurances more than he needed a Mesmer skilled at undoing damage done to the mind, though Lystreia would argue that point, even as she considered overpowering his mind with her own, lulling him to sleep so he could be transported directly to a Sentinel physician.

For all that he hadn't succeeded in apprehending the rogue queen, his music and his power had finally overawed her, and she only wanted him to be whole so she could kneel before him and, through him, serve Divine Aværys.


Finn didn't look terribly imposing, barely conscious on his knees, covered in smeared paint and not much else, but he was dogged in pursuit of what was his, or so his haggard face seemed to imply.

[Pharaoh]

Phocion glanced over to where his half-brother had stood moments earlier, but it appeared their mother had already seen about his retreat.

"He'll be back in the Umbrium by now. As should you be. Can you stand?" Inquired the prince, for such he appeared to be, while mostly still in costume albeit maskless. He crouched and offered his arms to help him up even as his eyes darted to a nearby Traverser of the Golden Guard, who was ferrying some of the better born guests out of the ballroom. He made a high sign to the soldier, who nodded and jogged over after transporting a pair of dukes to the gates of their estate.

"We require immediate transport to the Northwestern quadrant of the Subpalatine District. As close as you can manage to our prætorium."

"Right away, Your Serene Highness." The gold-adorned Vastian bowed, and plied his Craft to split the air before them, revealing a vision of their destination's exterior. He beckoned a Sentinel over to help Finn and join them as they crossed into the Umbrium, then within moments another portal opened leading directly into the Prætorium's infirmary where medici were ready and waiting to receive them.

"Sentinel Finn has suffered a psionic incursion from a Mesmer of the very highest echelon. I need a comparably capable assessor to suss out the extent of the damage and ascertain how best to mitigate any lingering effects." Phocion ordered, glancing to Lystreia.

"Tell us what you've been able to glean thus far and, Finn, fill the medici in on anything you can remember from the incident."

[Finn]

Not wanting to show weakness, Finn struggled to his feet with Lystreia and Phocion's help. Once there, he seemed only a bit shaky on his feet. Lystreia wasn't likely to leave his side anytime soon, but she was happy for the princeps' authority to get them out of there quickly and expeditiously. For his part, Finn was mollified by his future brother-in-law's explanation; it was a testament, perhaps, to the trust he had for his superior.

They let Phocion make things happen, and then a veiled Sentinel replaced the princeps at his side.

"M'fine," he protested, but his fellow Sentinel helped him through the portal anyway—first one to the Subpalatine, then another to an infirmary. He felt he had spent too much time in places like this, but Solunarium was dangerous, and protecting Arvælyn had become as important to him as his music ever had been.

Finn sighed as medici helped him onto an examination table. Nobody batted an eyelash at his wearing little more than platinum paint and the barest hint of modesty covering. Lystreia, without his bulk to manage, began to chafe at her own slender arms.

"I daren't delve too deeply into the mind of the crown prince's amatus, Dominus, but it seemed an old wound reopened and aimed at the crown prince—"

"Thalya," he intoned slowly, blue eyes bloodshot and gathering angry tears. Perhaps he was reaching out to his Spirit of Vengeance. This was a new feeling, but while he responded to violence against himself by long hours of training to make himself more resilient, he responded to threats against his beloved with something altogether different. Her name was stripped of any reverence. He didn't know what the law might say about a reigning queen attempting to assassinate her heir apparent as well as the heir apparent of the Umbrian crown. He didn't care. He was going to kill her.

And if he succeeded, who could gainsay him? In Solunarium, might made right. If he managed to bleed her dry, then it was the will of Aværys that his granddaughter die at the hands of his chosen.

"She threatened Arvælyn," he said, staring at Phocion. His crown began to shine again. Perhaps he was asking Phocion for support once more. "I will kill her."

A medicus tripped at the hearing of that.

[Pharaoh]

The attending medici were seeing about Finn’s physical comfort to the best of their ability, whilst awaiting the arrival of the specialists. No chemical soothing was offered, but he was offered a blanket for warmth or modesty if either one appealed to the peregrinus magnatus.

“Well, if that’s your aim let’s get you patched up in haste. I expect there will be quite a queue forming to undo Her Divine Radiance after this evening’s exploits. I will give her one thing: This is the first moment in her reign she has embodied the supposed Sol’Aværys ideal of Aværyan ambition…” At that, two veiled Sentinel Assessors entered the examination room. They turned to bow to Phocion, who blinked at the gesture before remembering he was still in princely vestments rather than the usual blacks he donned in the halls of this Prætorium.

“At ease.” He muttered, then turning to Finn said: “The medici will remove your warded accessories, now. Anything privileged that may be gleaned will be held in their confidence by the virtue of holy vows taken as both sentinels and as healers.”

A few of the medics assuming the role of nurses, moved to Finn’s side poised to remove the warded items as soon as explicit permission was granted by the patient.

One of the robed, veiled figures stepped forth and spoke in a breathy, androgynous voice.

“I am Vigil Assessor Tamryn and this is Vigil Assessor Orvix. We will be spending some time this evening exploring your Symphony and Aura for signs of damage. If you would like any form of psionic soothing, that may be provided to ease what may feel like an intrusion to a Mesmer of your skill.”

[Finn]

With Finn settled and the princeps no longer questioning her, Lystreia stood back. She would remain lest they require her, or depart as they bade her do. But she was quietly watching the human musician, wondering whether the Twins would despise her for considering thralldom to such as he—it was in pursuit of her own ambitions, but she was no mystic; she didn't know that she understood the sophisticated complexity of Deus Aværys' domain so well as these here present. She had much to consider.

Finn nodded greeting to the Sentinels, his brethren at arms, though they were opaque to him. Solunarium had made him less shy about his body, certainly. His brain still burned, in any case, thinking of Thalya. He half expected Khyan to manifest, cooing, "Yes, and..." to find some way to destroy Aeros as collateral damage.

It wasn't until the medici pulled the blanket up over him that he began to shiver, a shock response, no doubt. He nodded to Phocion, aware by now that those who cared for him would be trustworthy. It was more a requisite protection in public that was required.

As his costume for the starlight regent's party had been more paint and illusion than actual clothes, the removal of his wards involved more groping than it might. But they were professionals, most likely conditioned not to lust after their patients.

I am a silver blade in the darkness, he said to himself, thinking about what it meant to be a Vigil. The medici and the Assessors were merely the silversmiths ensuring he would be fit to cut. He nodded to them.

"No need," he replied. "I want to be aware of what is done." Finn wasn't a masochist, but as a peregrinus he was less comfortable with the idea of his mind being changed as a matter of course. There was also the growing knowledge of his status here, and that he shouldn't let the mind of the prince's amatus, the chosen of a God, be changed at the will of a mere mortal.

Then he realized that Phocion was lingering and he wasn't sure how to take that. Of course, he would want to report on Finn's status to Cithæra, but one of the attendants would inform him with all speed if he left. Perhaps the cool prince did spare some affection for his soon to be brother-in-law. Finn wasn't certain how to take that if it was even a correct read of the situation.

"I don't want to keep you, dominus," he said. "I am in good hands now, and certainly the realm needs you." He felt a pang, remembering how well they worked together, scepter and scourge, but all he could do was focus on recovering, the better to support as he was supported.

[Pharaoh]

Phocion tilted his head sharply and perhaps Finn would sense a pang of nerves as his posture suddenly straightened. He nodded, as if in response to some unheard catalyst and shifted his gaze back to Finn.

“Quite right. It appears I am needed in the chambers of the Consilium Draconum.” His eyes danced from Finn to another veiled sentinel, who took that cue to form a portal. With no pleasantries offered, he stepped through and left the medics to their work.

The two Assessors interwove their grandmastercrafts, as they stood forth to regard their patient.

“Do your best to clear your mind and focus upon your breath.” Vigil Tamryn would not lead a trained sentinel in breathing exercises they should be perfectly capable of doing on their own. Their focus was placed, rather, upon scrutinising what was revealed in between the breaths.

When enough had been gleaned for a baseline, Tamryn spoke again:

“I know this will be unpleasant, but I would like you to focus on your memories of the incident that brought you here. They will be sharp daggers, but much may be revealed of the damage done… its nature and extent.” With that, the Assessors would wait for Finn to oblige. There was valuable intelligence to be gleaned even from the most repressive mind, but openness was welcome lest further damage be dealt in advance of the remedy.

The pair of medics seemed to work in seamless concert, though both were still and silent. If they were intercommunicating at all, it was not with words or gestures.

By and by, Tamryn spoke again.

“Her Divine Radiance seems to have tied a knot between your past trauma and your starkest fear… At least the starkest fear that was emergent at the time of the incident. Do you wish to retain these traumas? These fears?”

[Finn]

A small, young part of him wanted to ask Phocion to stay, but he kept that part silent, the larger part of him aware of Phocion's responsibilities and not wanting to admit that he needed his hand held. He watched the raven take flight with only a faint look of regret, but then he was taken into the care of the Assessors. He thought he felt their mental touch upon him, though he touched thoughts and feelings via a different Rune.

Under their guidance, he went through breathing exercises he had learned for the maintenance of his voice, and confronted his magically enhanced fears. He caught Lystreia's keen eyes upon him and felt a flicker of shame, but she only replied with a supportive smile. Odd, she seemed to have gained some sort of respect for him between their earlier conversation and this place.

He didn't cry, but his eyes shone. His muscles were tensed even as he continued his breathing and relaxation techniques.

"I would keep them," he said, quietly but firmly. That Thalya had been able to manipulate him via half-healed traumas was unfortunate, but he had to let his fears pass over and through him if he were to see how they changed him and how he might confront them, embrace them, and master them—master himself. Lessons learned and forgotten might need to be learned again.

Lystreia offered a small nod of encouragement. Perhaps she understood, or perhaps she merely respected strength of will. As he hadn't bid her leave, she remained, and had decided to offer him her service despite his humanity and, through him, to Aværys Imperator. But that could wait until her soon-to-be master was on the mend.

[Pharaoh]

There was a flash of worsening anguish that struck Finn as the Assessors made their first ingress. They were not accustomed to working on people whose emotions were as naked as those of this foreign artist. Thus it took a moment for them to scale back and caress his Symphony rather than invading it.

“As you wish.” Tamryn nodded, as assessment gave way to manipulation. Thalya had worked quickly and harshly. Her Mesmer had been plied like a serrated blade rather than a surgeon’s scalpel. It had left rough edges, which these medics worked to smooth over. They dipped into the source of the trauma that Thalya had exacerbated, but they only closed the conduits that blurred the past and the present and those that turned his own memories into visions of another’s pain rather than his own. Per Finn’s request, the base feelings were left intact as was the memory of what Thalya had done. It was softer, though… feeling like a distant memory or perhaps like eavesdropping on someone else’s recollection.

By and by, their work was done.

“You are like to be tender for a while. Sensitive and quick to recall things that sting. I will schedule counseling sessions for you at the Prædium. Two per week until we are satisfied that there are no lingering effects that may compromise your work as a Sentinel pose too deleterious an impact your relationship with His Exalted Highness.” Tamryn explained.

“You are free to go. If you require a portal, that can be arranged with reception.” The two Assessors bowed in unison and pivoted thus to quit the examination room.

Orderlies produced Finn’s garments and offered to help him into them, as his own attendants at the palace might.

[Finn]

Singing helped him control his breathing, which helped him control his emotions as the Assessors massaged them. The breathy pianissimo was a far cry from his earlier songs, a length of silk drawn over the rough crags of his frayed feelings. He was careful not to project, however. His Rune remained inert. It wouldn't do to lash out at Assessors, medici, or Lystreia.

When they were done, he ached. Finn wasn't sure whether it was a physical ache, an emotional one, or both.

"Gratias vobis ago," he said, "et salvete."

The platinum-painted bard would have risen, but he had been warned to move slowly. They were gone when he did slide off the examination table, Lystreia moving gracefully forward to offer herself as a crutch. He allowed it, and he allowed the attendants to dress him in loose Sentinel blacks that further smudged his costume. It was second nature now to allow people to wait upon him, though he murmured thanks to them as well.

He eased a thread of aether through the rune on his shoulder, gauged himself capable of opening portals of his own. Gathering those things of his that had followed him from the disastrous party, he looked to Lystreia.

"I should return to the Palatium Umbrarum," he said wearily. "Check on His Exalted Highness. Then... hm... sleep. But I can send you wither you would go first." With a gesture of his hand that was more to warn her and the remaining medici that magic was being done, he made a line of light appear, then turn, becoming eventually an ovular pane of light that could quickly become a portal when he knew which threads to weave through it with his mind.

The beautiful elf frowned, even beautiful in that expression. As if it were a difficult but necessary thing, she knelt before him, eyes upon his feet.

"Sublimis Dominus Aværi," she intoned, voice lovely, sonorous, and respectful. "I have seen enough. If you would still have me, then I will swear myself to you."

As the crown of Aværys began to shine as if of its own accord—or perhaps Aværys' accord—he felt an easement to his raw nerves. Temporary, perhaps, but his God did seem to support his ambitions.

Though her eyes were on his boots, she saw his halo's effects in the faint shadow of her head on the ground. To her mind, the Rex Regnum had made a wise choice in this human peregrinus and she would not consider it shameful to serve him and, through him, her God. Together, they would make divine music.

She couldn't see it, but the friendly, open face of the bard above her was gone, replaced by a stoic, stern mien. Crowned in divine light, perhaps he was powerful enough, implacable enough, to subdue their errant queen.

Ego te accipio, quoth he.

[Pharaoh]

“O, what a day it hath been for thee…” Came the honey sweet voice of the Rex Regnum as he seemed to materialise breath first behind Finn— the warmth of his words conjuring goose pimples at the chosen human’s neck.

Before Finn, Lystreia and all others present seemed frozen in time or perhaps he had just been pulled outside of it. Sauntering round to the front of him, Aværys regarded the new subject knelt before His client king.


The form He’d taken was not colossal in size. He was shorter than Finn, as He had been in life. His lustre was faint, and his skin was impossibly smooth… pristine, truly. His garment was a fine robe styled such that it might have been suited to a formal ball or a dressing room— its high collar framing his chiseled facial features.

“Standing athwart such brazen Ambitions as those displayed by Thalya doth require Ambition all its own and to inspire Platinum Fealty in the doing? That doth please Us.” He purred, as His eyes turned back to Finn’s fair face.

“If music be the food of love, I wonder Me whether thou shalt lead with the bleeding heart rather than the iron fist. Will it be love or the lash for them that yield unto thy Crown?” He mused.

“Tell Me, Viator, how thine Hungers have evolved since last I did stand before thee. As thou dost muster more vassals, it is only meet that I should assess thy progress.”

He moved to perch Himself on the examination bed upon which Finn had recently been reclining, and observed his Chosen with bright, curious and faintly amused amber eyes.