"It's About Time"

[Pharaoh]

"It's About Time"
The Palatium Umbrarum
55 Searing 124

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The next phase of Finn's endeavour wouldn't take him too far from his own bedchamber. In a largely forgotten corner of the admittedly colossal palace he called home, there was a set of apartments that had never been used for guests or family members for at least as long as Finn had inhabited the Palatium. It was in the corridor leading to these apartments that Finn would be met by the familiar visage of the Princeps Sibylla, her plaited hair resting against the silvery gown hat lay over her slender shoulders.

Without pausing for pleasantries, Cithæra looked the bard over and noted:

"I was a bit surprised His Resplendence took your up on your offer..." She was instructing, without being didactic, slipping the appropriate form-of-address into her musings. The rank of Archidux was a vestigial limb from an age when there were more titles than at present- A short-lived honorific designed to address the grandchildren of the first generation of Solunarian princes.

"But pleasantly so." She added, "And I will note that his interest was stirred primarily upon discovering you bear His sacred Emblem. The Archduke Phædreon is not like other Re'hyæans you have met. He is... altered by his area of study. There is so much going through his mind at any given time that it can be difficult to follow his train of thought. He may speak to you one way for an hour and, at the drop of a ducat, adopt a new accent and set of mannerisms. Do not mistake his peculiarities for madness, there is gold to mined from what scraps we may gather of his thoughts.

"He has only spoken with me since his arrival and I will say it is very atypical for him to treat with anyone before he is satisfied that he has done his due diligence preparing for the age in which he finds himself. It should be remarked upon that, no time passed for him between his leaving a century ago and this present visitation. He walked directly out of that era and into this one, while the rest of us led our linear lives.

"Have you questions, or shall we embark?"

[Finn]

"I was pleasantly surprised as well," he admitted.

Not a sentinel today, he was dressed in silver and white, with golden embellishments. Still and all, sentinel blacks or fancy party dress, he responded to his mother-in-law as if she were inhabiting her office within the Vigilia Argenti or her rank as materfamilias of one of the houses he had married into. Much as with Phocion, he left the moments of familiarity to their instigation.

"I have memorized as many historical songs from the past century as I could since this became a possibility, so I hope to have musical answers to his questions."

He didn't mention that her description reminded him a bit of his grandmother as she had aged. She had been the village witch, but died before ever he received any magic of his own. In hindsight, he could guess which runes she might have born, which magical disciplines she might have known. In her last days, she had seemed to become unmoored from the present. One minute, she had asked after his music; the next, she was telling some other man from the past something without any context.

It had been difficult, but he had found that playing whatever role she needed from him from moment to moment had kept her calm rather than confused, conversational rather than combative. He thought this might be somewhat the same. Time would be different for a man with power over it, and so all he could do was try to follow contextual clues to keep up.

"I am ready."

As ready as he could be unless this meeting was postponed, but he didn't want that. He had come up short in his search for Thalya because he didn't have her power over time. Perhaps the Archidux could find her in time and leash her for him, or knew of some artefact hidden away in one of the palaces or armories that would put him on more equal footing with the slippery bitch.

This man was his best lead.

[Pharaoh]

"Very well." Cithæra inclined her head and pivoted away, heading to the set of double doors that was flanked by two members of the Zalkyrian Draconic Guard in their telltale crimson armour. It was the newest knightly order in the realm, having been formed upon the order of Zalkyriax in the Frost of his accession, to protect the Crown and its interests.

Stepping between the red paladins, she rapped a knuckle against the door and there was a silent pause before the doors parted to reveal an apartment that looked more like an archive. Cithæra stepped aside, and gestured for Finn to proceed into the chamber, as she took a few steps back.

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Within Finn would find a labyrinthine set of bookshelves, with tomes and scrolls of many shapes, styles and sizes. He would hear a voice quietly resonating, before he saw another living creature.

Perhaps Finn would glance back to see Cithæra silently observing from the corridor as the doors slowly shut behind him. Softly, the singing would beckon Finn forth into the maze of books. As the voice grew louder, or Finn drew closer, little motes of light began to appear in the air before him. Closer still, and the motes seemed to take sharper form... dancing with a life all their own.

Deeper into the maze, he could see ribbons of polychrome light emanating from a space in the centre of the room toward the ceiling in all directions. He knew that the source of that light was his destination and soon he was upon it.

A desk splayed with books, before which a beautiful figure stood, awash in light and surrounded by a chorus of spirits who harmonised as he sang in his natural ancient dialect of Vallenor. It was no simple song, but an incantation and the beautiful ancestor turned to regard the bard with warmth and welcome emanating from his being and from that of the spirits that complemented him.

[Finn]

As Cithæra stepped forward to knock, he nodded to the red knights whether they would acknowledge him or not, then stepped through the open doors as she bade him. He did glance back, nodding to the head of his order, though he was continuing on before the doors shut completely.

His ears and more than his ears attuned to the music as he followed the voice on a serpentine path through the records until he stood before many times great-uncle-in-law. Rather than speak a greeting and ruin the euphony, he merely bowed, and would wait to speak until spoken to, enjoying the poetry of the language as well as the mellifluous melodies. He could feel how the body and strings of his instrument vibrated slightly, resonating with the ambient sound, and imagined he could feel it along his skin even if the volume was not so loud as to resound in his chest or his bones.

Whether because Cithæra had mentioned it or because Aværys willed it, his brow added a soft golden glow to the visual splendor as well. He couldn't help it; his soul responded to music.

Though he knew that today he was meant to sing the histories rather than ask questions leading to Thalya, he almost wished rather to hear what the chronomancer had to say about time itself. Time was rhythms and cadences to him, memories and prophecies that existed on a continuum, but not so exactly as he had once imagined.

When he thought he had internalized the song, he began to tentatively pluck strings when the notes would support the music. He didn't want to alter it so much as expand it. He daren't add his voice yet, and was prepared to still his strings at the slightest frown from the man.

Mists, but everyone in Arvælyn's bloodline was beautiful and impressive in strange and different ways...

[Pharaoh]

When Finn began to accompany him, Phædreon Extempestus smiled broadly through the elongated vowels of his song. The contribution seemed more than welcome, it seemed expected. As if it were one thread of many possible eventualities that he'd followed to its natural conclusion... at least for this version of reality. When the song concluded, he held up a hand, wishing to allow the final notes resonate throughout the chamber unto silence. When he and the surrounding spirits were satisfied that the song was well and truly over, he lowered his hand and used it to beckon Finn closer.

The translucent spirits that had been hovering around him during his song retreated from his person enough for Finn to get a clearer glimpse of the elf. He was moonborn, like the patron of his house, but where Phocion was raven-haired with only glimpses of silver displayed under certain light, Phædreon had a tuft of shock white hair over his left, crystal blue eye.

"I have been told that you are a teller of tales... a singer of songs. I do so love stories. Enough to unmoor myself from a life of my own, to seek the untold tales of several ages. It seems, however, that the tale I long have sought begins at last... sequel to the greatest story ever told." As he spoke mildness akin to that of Cithæra or Phocion gave way to an ecstatic grin, which tensed the veins at his pale neck until they were suddenly released as he launched forth to approach Finn. He seemed as though he might bowl right into him, but he stopped abruptly- just short of contact and placed an arm around Finn's shoulders. They were about the same height and, though Finn was broader, Phædreon had long arms.

"Sit. Sit you down, Finn, was it? Make yourself comfortable and... Surely you have prepared something. Let's get that out of the way so you will be less nervous. Here. I will help by assuming an unimposing position. You sit on the chair there." He gestured, and waited for Finn to oblige, before sweeping his robes behind him and seating himself on the floor at the human's feet.

"At your leisure."

[Finn]

Whatever he had expected, it wasn't this. Startled, he rolled with it, more from his training as a minstrel than that as a sentinel. The Archidux was warm and welcoming and he had to wonder what had happened to weed those traits from the bloodline, or if he had always been an outlier, or if his chronomancy had unmoored him from more than just the moment. Regardless, he found himself smiling, seated, with a noble elf sitting at his feet. He had expected to be more servile, a mere human, or perhaps begrudgingly accepted as he bore Aværys' own crown.

Perhaps it was his mask.

Finn found himself responding with more music rather than words alone, riffing off of Phædreon's own words.

"We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea-breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;—
World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world for ever, it seems."

He found himself making vowel-shifts in his Vallenor to try to match Phædreon's dialect. His own instructor had been a Hytori at Kalzasi's Academy, but that was not something he mentioned in Solunarium.

After ode as prelude, he began to sing his own account of the Mascarata Regia. He intuited that a chronomancer wouldn't be so focused on the linearity of time, so he needn't start from the year Phædreon last left the timestream, and anyway, if it was at Finn's leisure, he would start with the history of which he had been a part. The song was complex, but he had worked to tell the story with all its immediacy, high emotion, and high drama, while including elements that gave context to the intricacies of the politicking.

It was, at the very least, more engaging than dry Sentinel incident reports.

[Pharaoh]

Phædreon clapped at the conclusion of the song, but not so enthusiastically as he'd seemed at the beginning. Throughout the song, many of the spirits that had been hovering when the archduke sang were now imitating him, seated and splayed in their various forms before Finn like an audience of children, and child-like, Phædreon spoke... his dialect more contemporary. As if he'd learnt Vallenor from Cithæra or Phocion.

"What a queer accent, what a queer choice..." Phædreon noted, "Queer, queer... Does he seek to pander, do we think?" He was speaking to a spirit at his side, who replied with a series of whistles and clicks. "Ah, you are right, of course, Ekko, it is personal. He was there, the stakes were..." He trailed off and glanced up to Finn, tilting his head.

"You do not know enough about me to pander, Finn, was it? You never answered. I kept talking. But you should pander, no? You want something, I think, more than an audience of one elf and his sundry souvenirs..." He gestured to the whispy spirits, most of which had grown restless in the absence of music and were rising from their reclining to hover and explore once more.

"Surely you were told why I do what I do. Obsession makes us masters. You must be obsessed with music, with singing, as I am obsessed with..." He paused, his voice a high falsetto as he asked, "...what?" Another beat, he got up onto his knees and straightened himself, placing his elbows on Finn's lap and resting his chin there, as he looked up with too bright blue eyes.

"I could tell you. I could speak the words, but I think you are savvy and I think you have been told and so, theatre, theatre is stoking anticipation, but I came not for theatre. I could have stayed in my time and watched depictions, but I left my time and slipped between versions, then returned to hop the rocks to cross the brook, hoping not to get my feet wet, for wet feet slip and slipping streams one might get dragged somewhere one oughtn't to be. But you know streams and slips and... and... and... what was I talking about? Oh, yes. I was quizzing you: With what am I obsessed?" He withdrew from Finn and sat back on his heels, now, looking up with eyes wide, childlike, expectant.

[Finn]

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The mimicry was merely how Finn learned—by ear. But he didn't correct, awaiting a clear interrogative before answering. His voice remained only in the faintest resonance in the air, but he plucked a song out of strings and air still, a swaggering sort of thing, some of the fingerwork too intricate to be performed as deftly as he did, as if the timelord had the entirety of his rapt attention. He did, though; Phædreon had all of his attention.

Music just flowed out of him. Sometimes he was just the channel.

His eyes never left the elf, even when the elf turned to confabulate with his spiritual companions. For a moment he was colluding with them, and then he was a child. Certainly, Finn was obsessed with music. He was also obsessed with Arvælyn, and, more recently, with Ambition, Power, and Hunger, and the One who embodied all three. He hungered for Thalya's blood. Sometimes he wondered what it would taste like, and then wondered whether that was Khyan in the back of his head, or some primal aspect of himself being unearthed over time.

Finn didn't think Phædreon's obsession as he understood it was an immoral or distasteful desire so he didn't think he could be pandering to him, attempting, succeeding, or failing. He did hope that Phædreon was the key to unlock the door standing between him and his vengeance, but he had come for a myriad of reasons, learning about history from a chronomancer. It was unlikely he would have another opportunity to do so.

He was patient, though, and hoping to ask for a boon much later. A part of him was no doubt seeking to curry some favor, to make the best first impression that might lead to fulfilling his ambition.

"You are, I think, obsessed with witnessing the fulfillment of the narrative, that of the ascendance of the Divine Twins."

[Pharaoh]

"You see?!!!" Phædreon squealed with delight, to the spirit he'd called Ekko and even they seemed startled. "I said he was savvy, did I not?!" He clapped his hands emphatically and hopped to his feet and began pacing feverish figure eights, silent upon the stockinged feet that only peeked out from beneath his robes as he strode this way and that.

"Good, good, good, yeeesss. Great Grandmama and Grandpapa! They dandled me on their knees on their thrones, and oh I felt as if I'd never been so high off the ground! They could be very tall when it served them, and throne rooms are places for imposition... No, that isn't what I mean- For being imposing. That's it. Places of Supremacy and Majesty, and... Oh, you are Marked, it was said? That is why I suffer your presence. Well, I thought I would suffer, but thus far I entertain... I am... entertained." He halted his gait and pivoted to face Finn, eyes wide again, but this time more manic than childlike, his voice deepened, taking on a gravel and rasp that didn't seem to suit his pretty face. The voice sounded far more weathered than the body appeared, and he spoke in a low Vastian dialect one still heard in certain quarters of the Subforum.

"Now there is a song I should like to hear... How the moon-skinned human won the favour of the Halcyon Imperator. Another salient vignette from your linear life... Have you set it to music? You can speak it in prose, but do underscore it at least. Everything is much more impactful when set to a complementary melody. I think I shall stand for this one." He shifted his weight to one foot, and crossed his arms, his posture more closed off and his expression more sceptical than it had been during the last performance. Some of the spirits emulated him, whilst others ignored them both and went about their little explorations.

[Finn]

The Halcyon Imperator, he mused to himself. Arvælyn would enjoy that one. He couldn't help but smile a bit at the compliments; it was entirely possible that Phædreon was the one pandering now, but validation rarely came to him in Solunarium in any form other than remaining in the game, earning more responsibilities as if they were accolades. Of course, people were nice to him, but that was just politics.

His attire did share a fair amount of moon-fair skin, though he was hardly so bold as Raithen. His golden halo gained a bit of intensity as it was acknowledged. Aye, Aværys had granted him grace and power. The empyreal lord was resplendent in his own way.

Finn had put some of his love affair to music, though nothing was complete, nothing polished. But he played and he sang, improvising chains of song to connect the more complex, thought out parts like gems every few links or so. Improvisation came easily to him anymore, and he did what he could to provide a fuller version of the story as he had been an audience to Arvælyn's symphony for years as well. He didn't share intimate details, nor political secrets, nothing that would upset his prince.

He was freer with his own truths, and while he did tell the story, it was largely from his perspective. It carried political moments, and it took the timelord to the far star where the platinum dragonflight dwelt in its fullness. There were details he had forgotten that he remembered in the moment and wove into the narrative.

From time to time, he glanced at Ekko and the other spirits, but when he sang of the wedding, he looked curiously at Phædreon. Finn wondered if the elf had ever been to the Twins' realms, if Finn had been given things that more worthy elves had not.