A man can die but once [Charybdis]

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

In truth, this move was inevitable.

He had spent many months cooped up in the chambers in Sacrum, contemplating the meaning of this his exile from Prime ordered by non other than the Prince of Lysandria himself. He had hoped that after all he had done to secure his position of the Prince, that he would eventually relent. But no, instead, one of the first decrees of the First Minister had been to banish him away to the cold Vesta, away from his family, away from his legacy that he was trying to build in Prime.

In those periods of alcoholic haze, while drinking the shame away, he had come to the painful conclusion that it did not matter how much he tried to make amends, or to serve the house. He was Threllius' first lackey, and he did whatever he bid. But he would not give Threllius the satisfaction that he had won. The mess in Vesta was not something he was interested in fixing, or owning, for that matter. And so he had languished, while the Church struggled to exert their control, he had not assembled his chess pieces, as others may have expected him to do, he had not consolidated his maiestas to correct the wrongs, to affirm Imperium, to once again dance that waltz that Roscarnis de Lylles was apt to do.

The only consolation was that Elbereth was safe now, behind the walls of Lysandria. He had no doubt that Alianora, cold as she was, would not abandon one of her own blood. That knowledge alone was enough to get him by. But the guilt, the shame, the fall from his seat of power had left their marks upon him. He was wan, pale, with dark circles under his eyes this day, his hair had grayed far more in these months than the last few eras when he fought to ensure the paterfamilias of Lysandria would finally be seated on the Throne of Eternity.

That too, had been thwarted, which made it all the more ironic that he rode in the direction of the seat of power of the other great pretender -- one Arctic de Ioanness. The princess had been marshalled towards the West to fight the Xet, and had not been heard since Rhysatra became Imperium, but the daughter of Constantine still had supporters, and there were many in Kaldira, the crown colony of the North. Surely, House Praeserta, custodian of Kaldira were not too pleased with seeing the ex-General turn Empress rule, perhaps this is why Julius Praeserta had been open to this meeting.

Surely, he wanted to make sure that there was something to gain from the remaining plays -- that he had not brought Kaldira out of their self-imposed isolation, throwing themselves into the affairs of the Empire for nothing.

It had taken the news from Prime to rouse Roscarnis to action. He was, after all, a creature of opportunity. The Eastern Lylles, were after all, built from the same block, bounded not by blood and kinship, but by this same quality that had ensured that they would be an Imperial house that would endure even through the splintering of the Empire. And now he saw his opening.

Upon drafting a retinue of healers from the Church of Faith, escorted by Paladins to make their way to the Capitolium to render support for the once again troubled city, he had made his own move in their opposite direction. One would assume that this would have been a great opportunity to make his return to Prime, to force Threllius' hands once again to acknowledge that he needed him. But no, the Lord de Lylles had decided that he needed to break the cycle.

And so the Lord de Lylles made his first move since his assignment as interim ad Governor to Vesta.

The size of his escort was modest for someone of his station -- there were only six guards, clad in the colors of the Lysandrian-Lylles. There was no standards flying from the tips of lances, no riders announcing his arrival. He rode towards the guards of the famed city himself and did not even turn toward the guardsmen when he spoke. Instead, his eyes were fixated at the road beyond the walls, as though there was no turning back once he passed the perimeter.

"Tell your master the Lord de Lylles is here."

 

[charybdis]

"Master?" The guard that spoke up first was a burly sort, having gotten his height from some high human in his ancient lineage. Now, though, the old blood had been utterly diluted into rounded angles and a fat sort of nose that distractingly took up the majority of his face with a smattering of freckles and pockmarks that made it hard to ignore. He spat out the rest of his tobacco, loudly, and then finally stood upright from his position leaning against the side of the gate and sniffled loudly into his hand as it swiped across his lips. "Lylles? Let me see if you're on the list." And with that, the red-haired Northumbrian disappeared back into a cubby hole behind him and pulled out a stack of artisanal vellum that would have made the clerks in Aelyria Prime weep for sheer joy.

He grunted as he skimmed over the top page, then flipped over to the next, and then one more, muttering a few more syllables to himself as he did. "Lylles? From where?" he asked, trailing with his finger across the page. "Did you have an appointment? And with whom? The thanal council isn't due to be in session until later this week. Though I do think the city council is having an emergency meeting tomorrow." He shrugged and then set the collection of papers back down in its stone nook. The man wasn't armed nor did he even wear any livery, being dressed instead in the uniform of a simple municipal servant. There was a small wooden club tucked underneath the dark leather of his belt and a gentle glow of something glittering off the other side of his hip, but without the demarcation of the star on his lapel, the man would have appeared to be nothing more than a concerned citizen stopping a particularly elegant caravan to ask if they needed directions.

Beyond him the city of Kaldira flourished. It was as if time itself had frozen its hold over the lands, locking the metropolis into a legend of its own making. Engineered stone made up the outer demarcations of the city's limits while inner rings added more defensive mechanisms should the worst arise. The Lysandrians stood now at one of the informal gates of the city, away from the great wrought-iron bars that were now held up to allow trade merchants to travel through with half a dozen horses side to side with nary a squeeze or awkward movement. This particular gate was smaller but could still comfortably fit two horses and perhaps even a wagon perpendicularly. Beyond the cobbled streets were paved in very exact lines, having efficiency in every inch of its engineering as it created a well-designed grid from one city block to the next.

They were in the inner rings of the region surrounding Kaldira, past the great outer wall and now within easy view of the inhabitants and contents inside. The city was bustling and bursting with life, with the areas closest to this gate dedicated to great warehouses and other storage facilities to off-load whatever contents were being traded across the empire. Beyond it stretched spires and pointed rooftops and towers that seemed to reach up to the very blue of the sky itself, as if beckoning at the heavens to bless their grand endeavors. No civil war, Xet, or other enmity had touched this land here, and Kaldira had continued to flourish.

The guard snorted again, this time rubbing a fist into the side of his nostril to make a very particularly odd sound rumbling through his stuffed passages. He glanced up at the Lysandrian contingent then with complete and utter nonchalance, evidently not even the least bit threatened by the heraldry, the colorings, the formality, or even the banners and equipment that the knights had borne on their elegant mounts. His hazel eyes fell back on the contingent's master once more, and then, digging a hand into the very depths of his pocket, pulled out a bronze container with the top still twisted on and offered it in Roscarnis's direction.

"Kaldira's a free state after all," he continued, sniffling once more, "and you're a welcome guest of the council. But which master was it that you wanted to see?"

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

The usual look of long suffering that would have colored the face of the Lysandrian was marred by a little raised eyebrow as he peered at the man as though he was an annoying speck that survived only on the peripherals of his world. Neither servant nor master from the convoy that had ridden long from Vesta flinched, all too aware of their Lord's predilections and odd moods, and none were quite willing to incur his needless annoyance.

And pity the fool thatcrossed the good Lord de Lylles, who had certainly seen better brightenings. Indeed speculation had run amok as to the future of this once rising force from Lysandria, who had sought to rally the Empire behind his liege lord, only to have an unceremonious fall by having to clean up the messes of a post war Vesta, away from the powermongers and kingmakers of Prime, and so far away from his illustrious friends ad families.

And what was an Eastern Lylles without friends?

But it was the situation at hand that left him in bemusement, a roadblock that he did not foresee barely arriving through the gates of the city gates.

After all, between letters sent to him by a desperate Archprelate demanding that he publicly denounce the rumours of the very public fall of their patron Goddess, a notion he thought incredibly ridiculous, he had yet to be confronted by such a laughable scenario... until now that is. A soft sigh escaped his lips, but barely audible. Gaunt cheeks turned towards the man unhurriedly.

"What is your name, guardsman?" The Lylles questioned, his voice restrained stonily. It may seem an innocuous enough question, but in reality, it drew the attention enough from the others in the Lylles retinue, and the burden was now on them to ensure that this insolence do not go unpunished. Whether it was through an informal complain lodged to the local magistrate, or hired hands to teach a lesson in an alley, Lylles pettiness was never quite so overt, and never quite as obvious.

But it shall come.

And so the Lylles, clearly not in the mood for pleasantries simply slapped his reins against his mount and galloped forward and passed the guard, but not before coldly muttering the next few choice words from his lips. If the Lord Praeserta was playing a game, then all the Lylles had to do was to not play it, after all, old habits die hard, and eve far away from Prime, from Lysandria, his blood was still very Lylles.

And they were all Princes and Princesses, if they so wished it.

"Tell the good Lord Praeserta his guest has arrived, and may freedom not be the right to do as one pleases, but the opportunity to do what is right." The Lylles rode onward, and behind him the others followed, quite content to be rid of the presence of the the sentry that may have sullied the countenance, and ruin their potential sojourn for the darkening.

 

[charybdis]

If the intrepid city guardsman had any fear of ancient names and imperious bloodlines, he most certainly didn't show it. He took another long, loud chew of the brown mess that was still leaking out of the bare corners of his lips and glanced up at Roscarnis and his retinue with an utterly languid, casual look. "Hector Hastra." Was it a purposeful reference? A gambit? Or was it merely odd coincidence that the blood of an old rival during Roscarnis's tenure in Vesta had appeared here in Kaldira? Or maybe they weren't related at all, as it was hard to tell if there were any shared features or other appearances of note that would have validated or denied suspicions at the last.

And yet for now, the red-haired man merely pushed himself back up to the fullness of his posture and eyed the Lysandrian delegation once more. "Lord Praeserta has sent no word about a guest." The tone was simple enough but the authority of his vaunted position of literal gatekeeper was present enough in it too. His brow knitted together as he pressed a hand on his forehead, presumably to shadow what it would of the thick sunlight that streamed from above. "And certainly no word about this many guests."

Again he sniffed, a wet and rolling sound at the last, and then shrugged. "As I said, any guests are welcomed to observe the council meetings so long as they register with the city center. There's a nice enough gallery for viewing. Rumor has it that the emergency session tomorrow has something to do with the state of the Eunesian islands, but who knows? That may just be tavern talk there." He rubbed another fist into the side of his nostril and then spat out another bit of his chewing tobacco into a mess on the ground beside them.

"I don't think the Duke's taking unexpected calls from visitors either," the guardsman continued, "but you can always try, I guess. At this time of the day he's probably in the city center too, about the daily business of the city. Or you could see if he's in his manor. Do you need directions?" This time, the question sounded plainly and a bit surprisingly sincere.

"See," Hector continued, busying himself with fiddling slightly with his metal cannister where that same whiff of roasted leaves emanated, "we in Kaldira do know what's right, and we do it. Always. Even for unannounced and otherwise unfriendly guests." The guard didn't bother to look in the de Lylles direction at that particular reframe of his previous statement, leaving the headiness of the tone explanation enough as to his true meaning.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

Hastra.

He didn't react, of course. Ovan Hastra's relative standing guard by Kaldira? It was incredulous. Surely the historic enmity between Kaldira and the Church of Faith would have ensured such an occurrence would not come to past. No matter, this man did not matter. All manners of his import died alongside Ovan Hastra. The man had been many things to Lylles dynasty, granting aliares to Threllius during the War of Succession, he had presided over the short-lived wedding of Roscarnis and the Kaldres woman, and he had also been a thorn at his side ever since his appointment as Governor ad interim of Vesta.

No, it mattered not that this one was also a Hastra, coincidence, no doubt. He shook the implications of it from the corners of his mind. There were more important matters to attend to, such as trying to figure out just what Julius Praeserta's play was. He was a sly fox, no doubt, having chose to end Kaldira's self isolation at such opportune moments to one Arctic de Ioanness, and the Lylles knew better than to underestimate him.

And now Jaedaxia was the capitol of Northumbria, and he wondered what the Duke thought of his gambit. Perhaps, it did not pay off, after all.

The Lysandrian continued to ride forward, quite content to continue ignoring the guardsman and his prattles. An emergency session on Eunesia was the farthest thing he could concern himself with, though the memory of a particular red-haired Olympian did not improve his mood. Parthas had been a guest for pracenda at the Lylles House, and the Lysandrian had not taken to him as his cousin did.

Larina, he wondered how she was, it had been a long time since he thought about her. Mayhaps Threllius had married her off to some far away lands. Now that's a thought.

"Show us." One of the guards, riding past the guard tilted his head towards the guardsman at his offering to give directions towards the Lord Praeserta's manor.

It would be impolite, a break of decorum, audacious even, to show up at the Duke's residence, but the Lylles was simply returning the Duke's forgetfulness in turn, and using the chance show off his teeth, that this Lylles, too can bite.

 

[charybdis]

At that, the guard's entire countenance brightened. It was as if those very words had unlocked whatever it was that sent off the alarm bells ringing in his head, and the one called Hector Hastra evolved. He sprang upright, seemingly gaining an extra inch or two, and stuffed the cannister deep in his pockets as he jumped into life. The very light was ignited throughout his freckled face as it cracked into the widest smile that could possibly have been etched between his cheeks. A burly hand rolled in the air and gestured them all forward, as if he was welcoming favored guests into his own personal parlor.

"Of course!" he replied loudly, almost shouting the very words and jumping in his apparent eagerness. "Come in. I'll be glad to show you where the castle is." A quick look was sent back in the direction of the nearby sentry station, despite the fact that it was so conspicuously unmanned. Yet Hector Hastra didn't take any time to explain himself and instead sent a nod in the direction of the empty booth before turning his attention back to Kaldira's newest and most distinguished guests. "There's a stable nearby the gates if you'd like them to see to your horses." A long look from that pair of curious blue eyes were sent in the direction of the Lysandrian banners, but then it resulted in yet another shrug. "If you want to, of course. The roads in the center of the city weren't made for mounts, though."

So then with that, the guard turned about and started whistling some odd tune that didn't seem to be in any way familiar to the individuals that hailed so from Prime, and then began to walk a leisurely pace into the gates of Kaldira.

The city itself seemed to be bustling with life, a sure sign that the recent bids for independence and the formation of the Most Serene Trade Republic had served the metropolis well. The merchants were bustling, with shimmering glass storefronts that displayed goods both common and exotic and many a tradesman was peddling wares of carts, stands, and everything in between. Great cargo was being transferred in the warehouse districts and in the artistic regions, creativity was flowing, with portraits, mosaics, ceramics, and all types of exquisite handiwork in the brilliant colors and elegant styles for which these regions of Northumbria were so famed.

And through it all, Hector Hastra's bright mood seemed to only shine more. He pointed out this or that scene, made a wave at a familiar face, and often offered a little commentary about this most recent store or the change in ownership at the nearby tavern as he continued to walk, evidently in no particular hurry. If his fellow Kaldirans thought their little entourage odd, none said. A few turned a curious look in Roscarnis' direction, but most seemed content enough to ignore whatever newest traveling figure this was as visitors were far from an odd occurrence here.

And so they continued, a merry little band at least on Hector's part, and the picture of nonchalance through their impromptu tour of Kaldira. The city was immaculately planned, as if the creators had known just how far it would grow and how great it would become, and thus the directions were rather simplistic after all. It took some time to cross the heart of the city, past the center of the government, tax, and trade, and then through to some of the more private regions where the quiet and privacy began to reign instead. They were comfortable manors here--of decent size and obvious enough elegance, but nothing terribly ostentatious. They were not, after all, Jaedaxia, and instead practicality reigned supreme here.

Thus it was that one Hector Hastra led them to a particularly moderate two-story house crafted of steady stone intermingled with red brick and cedar arches in pleasant enough alternating patterns. The drive to the entrance was long enough to afford a decent measure of privacy behind large, flowering fruit trees and past a glittering fountain. There were a few gardeners and other household staff milling about, but this wasn't a place guarded or defended in the least; in fact, the front gates appeared to be nothing more than decorative and perhaps had never even been latched in the entirety of their existence.

"To the house, right?" Hector finally said aloud again, gesturing toward the covered entrance still a stone's throw of distance away.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

Long ago Roscarnis de Lylles had toured this very city with one Garnier de Reyes, someone that the Lylles could claim as his closest of true friends. They had both just graduated from the College of Princely Affairs, where they had been rivals turned compatriots. There were few in this world that the Lylles would readily admit to be his better, and Garnier de Reyes would be one of them. It was not surprising to the Lysandrian that he finished second to the Kaldiran at the end, and

He wondered briefly, as he followed this overly enthusiastic guardsman on his tour, if Garnier was within these walls of the city. Time had faded away the close friendship that they both once had, as their lives took very different paths, as the Lord de Reyes had once predicted. He was a Lylles after all, and all Lylles men all had parts to play for their clan.

He didn't show it, but the Lord de Lylles was amazed that he could still remember the streets from so long ago. The city had a feel that it was almost manicured, each building seemed to come together to form one great big mosaic. The streets did not mirror the confusing twists and turns of Prime, the dark alleyways that had been given to the dominion of petty crimes. Indeed, the careful demarcation of where each district and ended was rooted in pragmatism, a quality that the Lylles could appreciate and understand.

There was nothing out of place, no randomness that dotted the entire cityscape. The design of the architects, the way each piece had its purpose and place, was fascinating to behold. There was nothing quite like Kaldira within the realms of the men, and he wondered how the meticulous maintenance of it all could be attributed to their lord and steward, the Duke of Praeserta himself.

It was a city built in a way that the aediles of Prime could only be forever envious of, and Roscarnis himself had once sought to emulate this same vision for the Capitolium during his tenure in the Principality, while he bore the burdens of Governorship. His inspiration, he had oft shared with his deputies, one Lady Imaire and Master Fyrrialt, had been Kaldira herself. Those memories that had been withered away by time were now watered with the sights of the former crown colony once more, and even the guard's endless prattle - something that had often rattled the man's nerves, was allowed.

As he entered the estates, and traversed the drive, the Lord de Lylles' attention of the architecture had centered back once more on the man who made all this wonderment possible - the Duke Julius Praeserta.

If anything Roscaris could discern, this man was not showy, nor given to ostentatiousness. This restrain had been further demonstrated when Jaedaxia, not Kaldira, had been given the honor of the capitolship to the new province of Northumbria. A purposeful slight from Threllius for the Duke throwing her support behind the Priory Princess, no doubt, but lesser men would have balked, or even attempted to right this wrong.

Not this Duke Praeserta.

Which made him all the more a dangerous man.

"Yes." Was the only reply that the Lysandrian deigned to give the overly cheerful guard, his mind already preoccupied with what was to come, and the man he had come to parley with.

 

[charybdis]

"Ah," returned the Hastra guard, his grin widening slightly. "I'm sure they'll be glad to expect you." He moved forward again then, through the garden following along the carefully-constructed drive, never once straying past the small, perfect lines of rock or the tumbled gravel underneath their feet. He pulled out the same tin cannister full of tobacco again, and, offering it once toward the Lysandrian lord, proceeded to put another bite in his mouth and chew away rather loudly. The container was slid carefully back into his pocket and his hands wiped rather roughly against one another in a belated effort to clean off the worst of the stains.

When they crossed to the covered portico, he motioned toward the great front door with a roll of his shoulder. "The house." It was as if their previous conversation had never ended. He offered Roscarnis what could have possibly been construed as a reassuring smile, and then stopped his pace entirely. His weight shifted back on his heels as he made it ever so plainly clear that his journey had very much ended on the stoop. "The house," the guardsman repeated again, with all the misplaced confidence required to make that one single word all that was necessary to complete their conversation.

And then he simply sat back and would, in all likelihood, have been utterly patient enough to let it rest there as it would had they not been interrupted by the very subject of their conversation itself.

The door creaked open heavily on its hinges and a sudden, high-pitched, "Oh!" interrupted the odd little standoff. It was a delicate, small figure of blonde and blue that was now framed by the great space of the wood and the iron hinges, delicate and classically beautiful in all her lineaments. She was a young thing, probably no more than two decades old at most, and had been crafted in all the perfections of ancient bloodlines and the high humans from which they descended--pale, without blemish, and veritably glowing in the dim light underneath the shade of her ancient house's doorstep.

The rings of her skirts rolled with her sudden interrupted motion and her perfectly-coiffed curls bounced as she looked up, one hand spread at the rim of her bonnet as if to hide her gaze from the interfering suns in the skies already shaded from their view. Pink lips curled into a singular circle and she said again, "Oh!" as her brilliant blue eyes, matching well with the satin folds of her clothing, danced from one Lysandrian to the next. "Who's this? Are we being attacked?"

From behind her a heavy gasp was heard and a frantic, "My lady! What is it?!" building up with fear. Her maidservant, a middle-aged, greying woman herself, suddenly appeared framed at the corner of the doorway. On her arm was a heavy basket covered with a checkered linen cloth while her other held a large green glass bottle whose liquid inside continued to slosh. "Is it the Jaedaxiennes? Are they here at last? Come back inside!" The panic was palpably rising with each and every new statement as her eyes widened in time. "Lady Araxie!"And now she was desperately urgent indeed.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

He regarded her appearances as a shock swept through his body. This one carried the timelessness of the high humans, the same blood that ran through his own veins, but it was the somewhat effortlessness in which she carried herself that struck him. It reminded him, eras ago of a Diana de Lylles, that had so endeared him with this same quality, of a simpleness that flowed through without being harried.

He thought of the others, the Roslyn Kaldres, Larina de Lylles and Evelyn Orovals of the world, and they stood in contrast to this one. It was the urgency in the voice of the maid servant that pulled him from those thoughts, and even now, those instincts that had been bred and nurtured in him tugged so ever strongly inside him.

Roscarnis pulled his hat and bowed, his guards, taking cue from their lord, did the same. He began slowly, his polished accent giving hint to the eras of privilege schooling with the best of Empire, likely near the seat of the Imperium in Prime.

"Nothing quite as banal I hope, My Lady," Jadaxiennes. But it did speak of the sentiments of these Kaldirans, and that his suspicions had not been too far off.

"Roscarnis of House Lylles." The introduction was short, vague in itself, lacking of all the pomp and airs that the Eastern Lylles loved. There was no need to posture in a place like this, and the Lysandrian was being purposefully with the words he chose, mentioning not Lysandria, his ancestral home, tying him to Threllius, nor his Governorship in Sacrum, linking him to a representative of the fracturing Imperium.

"I do apologize for frightening My Lady unduly. I believe your grandfather, the Duke, is expecting me." Did she know? How he had been the one who had parleyed for her freedom after her arrest at the Imperial Senate in Medonia? That he had, at the height of the succession crisis, negotiated with the Viceroy Nadina of Garenberg in exchange for grain for the Capitolium? Oh, he did not believe that Threllius and his ilk had mistreated this one, carrying such a vaunted name, but at the very least, he had reduced her time as a hostage in Lysandria to be returned to Kaldira.

Meanwhile his guards would turn towards the Hastra, seeking for an avener to house their horses. One of them would turn towards the tobacco-chewing guard with a slight gesture of appreciation. After all, they now have managed to add another story to their repertoire, of how this particular Kaldrian guardsman had dared offer the Lord de Lylles a chew of the same tobacco, especially when he smiled so brightly with those... stains.

"You have our thanks, Master Hastra." Carefully slipping one gold crown into his hands as recompense for his time escorting the Lylles retinue to their destination.

 

[charybdis]

"Oh!" There was another exclamation, this one a bit louder than those previously made. That pair of wide blue eyes, beautiful and perfect in their symmetry and the blatant innocence they showed, look at him unwaveringly despite the patent surprise written in every other lineament of her features. She didn't flinch or look away or cast her gaze downward, no matter the delicate hand that she placed just right in front of those heart-shaped lips and let cover the edge of her pale cheeks just ever so slightly. She watched him, waiting, considering, and observing, and then the well-trained lady flashed back again and her eyes blinked and looked down to the more comfortable domain of the porch still stretching underneath her feet.

Shen then turned backward, curling one hand around her mouth as if to help carry her voice a bit further into the house. "It's a Lylles, Sylvia," the Lady Araxie answered simply, her smile beginning to blossom across her face. Her hand was then moved and turned with an ever so delicate control to wave away the worst of the maid's concern, with the rest wiped clean by the bright sparkle in her eyes. Then those same gems of sapphire turned back to Roscarnis once again and sharpened her next question: "Which Lylles was it again, you said?" with an added smile as if to sweeten each word with its own thick layer of honey.

The mention of her sire, however, drew a slightly crooked look across those same pale features. For a moment, Araxie was very clearly trying to remember something and allowed the consternation to slip through her well-practiced, otherwise smooth mask, and then shook it away with another gentle rotation of her hand. "The Duke would be at his business at this time of the day." She glanced back at the basket still on her maid's arm and then rearranged the lace shawl around her own shoulders that ever so barely covered the angled neckline that cut just underneath her bared clavicle and exposed the curve of pink flesh and the gentle rhythm of her breath moving up and down beneath.

Then Sylvia made the rest of her exit from the manor just behind her young charge and the door clicked into place, its bolt solid. The older woman instinctively resettled a few folds of her lady's satin dress and rearranged the edge of the white woven lace around her shoulders, and then stepped back as if to dissolve once again into the woodwork as was her training. And yet that didn't stop the elder woman from crossing her arms rather fiercely over the roll of her stomach underneath her simple grey dress. Her eyes flashed too, but these were orbs of dark brown that were sharp without the delicate lenses of her young lady. Mistrust was etched into every line of her face as she regarded Roscarnis and the men now scattering behind him, not balking in the slightest.

Now, though, it was the younger woman that made her presence known once more and Araxie extended that same delicate hand in Roscarnis's direction now. "We were just headed to the hospital to see to the sick. Join us, will you?" And with that, she moved the shawl over the curve of her shoulders one more time before her feet began to pace, moving delicately forward off the manor's porch and back down the gravel walk.

Behind them, the horses were stabled and the men given the space that they required to begin their unloading as well. The city militiaman, Hector Hastra, had found a comfortable corner of the wall to lean heavily upon and watched with rather evident satisfaction as the entire play moved about him. One callused hand accepted the Lysandrians' coins with appropriate enough gratitude and slid it, and his tin, back into his pocket before disappearing back into the city.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

"Of Lysandria." He intoned, and that simple avowal had taken him by a surprise by how much it hurt. He too, had received news from the Western marches, of legions finding no signs of survivors from the Lylles Palace of Lauryl. The Western Lylles, as proud and stalwart as they are for producing more Sovereigns of the Empire than other other Imperial House, had been painfully rend by the Black Fog.

He had hoped, if the Gods were willing, that he may yet see Diana de Lylles once more. To gather more words of advice from their matron, Bridgette de Lylles. But those were thoughts, and nothing more. And these fancies, in time would need to be buried.

As for her explanation on her grandfather's absence? Perhaps the good Duke himself had truly forgotten about their appointed meeting. Or was this all a very elaborate ploy? Coincidences? The Lylles did not believe in those. Every step of the way, the journeys he had taken since leaving Lysandria some nine eras ago, had been a very careful, deliberate move. Very seldom, had he allowed whim to dictate his words nor his predilections.

He believed the Duke to be the same. One did not rise to the apex of such influence by virtues alone. If anything, he believed there was a degree of scrupulousness involved. For now, he was deign to play it.

"I see," Turning towards the guardsman who had implied the same earlier. Perhaps Roscarnis had been too harsh on this one, but there was no apology that could be given, and the offered crowns should suffice for the trouble the Lylles retinue may have unduly caused.

And then the invitation, one that drew a slight raise eyebrow. It was certainly not a thing that he had foresaw in this time here, to offer succour to the convalescing. Yet that every comment did bring on the teachings from the College of Princely Affairs, of the understanding that nobility extends beyond mere entitlement and requires people who hold such status to fulfil social responsibilities. How long has it been, since Roscarnis de Lylles used his own hands to help the common people? Of course, in his own way, through his own wrangling with the Council of Prelates, he would have brought the Faith closer to its intended role for the people, rather than a fattened leech or a parasite to the flock they swore to shepard.

But with his own two hands?

Not since Prime.

"I would." Offering to help carry the basket as a noble born of his blood would. Another stab of reminder, of how he so quickly fell into type, playing the consummate nobleman in the same vein once in another vaunted castle far away in the western realms. He didn't smile, but his visage did soften somewhat, indicating that he was not unhappy at this change of plans.

And it seemed the Gods found it amusing to cast one Araxie Praeserta before him. After all, did not Larina remark more than once about how consistently boring his taste in women were - That they were always earnest, heroic and beautiful. It was a quality that Diana had possessed, and he saw signs of it from this young scion of Praeserta before him. It was something the Roslynn Kaldres-es of the world could only stand in starkness when compared to the noblest of bloodlines, and their effortless care in the dispensation of their powers and influence.

To them, they didn't just spoke of the the Charismean term, noblesse oblige, they lived it.

"I am glad to see Kaldira flourishing under the auspices of House Praeserta, and by their Lady's own ministrations." The Lylles began slowly, as he appraised the noble lady next to him.

 

[charybdis]

Slowly did a smile unfurl across Araxie's unblemished perfection, taking on the delicate-moving image of a rosebud progressing through the cycles of spring. In no greater way was the delicate beauty of the heir of Kaldira put on display than in that particular moment: sincerity, generosity, and gentleness all intermingled to bathe her in a golden glow that would have been an attribute to the very angels that inhabited Aetheria above. "Yes, that's right," the lady replied, her tone light and as fresh as the same breeze that gently wafted through their pairing with the midday light. "Have we met before, then?" Those words were formed in the absolute purest dip of her genuine nature, each shimmering with the elegant crafting of their speaker. Nary a hint of manipulation or accusation hung in even a shade of her syllables. In all things, Araxie Praeserta was perfect, and she knew it.

Her bright blue eyes remained on her guest's features even as Roscarnis's attention was drawn back to the guardsman, showing a mix of lingering curiosity and thoughtfulness. If she recognized Hastra as anything more than a feature of Kaldira, she didn't show it. Instead, the young lady took the moment to finish her step outside the doorway, reshuffling her possessions and dress one more time, and then preparing for the trek outside. The perfectly-coiffed golden curls shook and shimmered with her every moment, giving even more credence to the thought that, perhaps, she was no mere mortal, but a descendant of the very gods of eternity themselves in all their luminescent glory.

Patience and good manners allowed her to wait with nary a sign of discomfort until Roscarnis had answered her question in turn. She smiled again, this one a bit more quick to form than the previous, and she nodded happily. The wicker basket was handed over easily and without pretended complaint. It wasn't a particularly heavy thing, filled mostly with sweet treats, a few printed treatises, and some small green glass bottles sloshing with liquid intended to bring some cheer to their recipients. The items weren't terribly expensive and yet showed a proclivity toward pleasure and a life that had forever been cushioned and full of leisure for those lucky enough to be born underneath its stars.

The Lady Araxie took up the stage closest to Roscarnis then, matching his pace with hers. Behind them a few steps followed the dutiful Sylvia, her gaze politely turned away toward their surroundings while her attention was anything but. Yet even this did not seem to discomfort the shimmering heiress, and Araxie took their leisurely trek back down the walk and into the well-designed city roads with gentle ease. She pointed slightly over toward the eastern district, through a few more manor houses for at least half a dozen blocks before the it broke into more commercial-like buildings in the far distance

"I hope you don't mind," the lady finally spoke in those same dulcet tones as before, "but I do enjoy an afternoon in spent in the sunshine and the fresh air." The rush of pink across her curved cheeks seemed to be almost perfectly timed as if to prove her point. "It shouldn't take more than half a candlemark at most if we keep enough of a pace." Again curled that ever-present smile, and she set off at a most efficient rhythm of her petite feet as if to prove her very point.

His mention of the city's welfare did, however, birth a look of curiosity across her face. "Is Kaldira so different than Lysandria then, or Prime? We don't hear much from the east these days with the letters stopped." She glanced back over at their neighbor's homes, elegant and opulent as fit into the hub of Northumbria's trade. "We do well. The people do well, truly. We are honest folk. We work hard. And the gods see fit to bless those efforts."

Her eyes narrowed slightly at a sudden thought. "Are you not appointed to Vesta now, my lord? Is that what brings you here?" she asked.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

A slight raised eyebrow at the comment on whether they have been acquainted before.

"We have, My Lady." He replied simply.

"But it was many eras ago, and a very different time." Far too well-bred to articulate the exact details on their past, and perhaps accepting the question as genuine and without more deeper intent. The young lady had been a force unto herself in the past, giving a stirring speech at the Imperial Senate and had ended up a political prisoner. Roscarnis had been the one to barter for her freedom in exchange for promise of grain from Candaceburg to Prime. Both sides, House Lylles and House Ioannes intimated that even a succession conflict should not see good citizens starve.

He had personally escorted this particular woman back to Candaceburg himself, but it may yet be that the entire experience had been traumatic enough for the young lady to forget entirely. She couldn't have been more than twenty ordinates then, after all, and could not be faulted for misremembering.

And so he would play the gentleman this brightening, as long as Araxie Praserta gave him no cause to be otherwise. It would be unsightly for him to parley with this one in public, after all. The basket was carried, with nary a look in the contents. It would have been ignoble to go through the lady's possessions. Carefully keeping his stride manageable for the younger Kaldiran to keep up as he moved, basket now in his head. Sylvie and his household guards all but ignored while they walked, nodding along to her polite words and attempts at making conversation.

"Quite so, I'm afraid, no other major city in the realm had been so methodically planned from its roots, after all. Most of all the First City." As for Lysandria? The Lylles did not elaborate. After all the young Araxie Praserta's last sojourn to the de facto capitol of Prime was a situation under duress and she was not free to dally during her imprisonment in the chateaux-village of the Eastern Lylles.

"Yes I am." Another raised eyebrow, this time flexed higher than before. It appeared that despite these provincial predilections, this particular noble woman had more bite to her innocent and yes, almost perfect lineaments, but there, finally was the question. Why was a Lysandrian here? What did he indeed, want with the Duke and founding father of this place?

He did not miss her comment on Kaldira and her people, and understood her unsaid words enough. Were they concern he came with intentions to unsettle their very way of life? All of it were reasonable for deeper scrutiny, ultimately. He could not fault her in this regard, quite the contrary, he was impressed.

"Is your ladyship asking at the good Duke's behest, so that one may size up his guests before he deigns to meet them?" It was uttered in a gentle enough tone and can even be construed playful. But inside, the Lysandrian was anything but relaxed. Perhaps he would see the same fire that he had heard of, when she had been confident enough to address the powermongers of the Empire at the most tender of ages. After all, seeing was not the same as hearing, and if anything, only served to reveal what kind of man Julius Praeserta was, and the young heiress that he had shaped and molded himself.

Now, wouldn't that be quite a sight.

 

[charybdis]

"Oh?" There it was again, that ever so perfect circle that her pale pink lips formed across the pleasant warmth of her peach cheeks. The expression was easy, practiced even, and smooth with all of the grace of someone with far more decades of existence to their name than one Araxie Praeserta. Perhaps, though, the magnificence that ran through their blood simply benefitted even this small practice of the young lady's, granting even her tiniest expressions artistry that would have made the ladies at the very Imperial court tremble with envy.

Her bright blue eyes glistened for a moment, lost in thought, and then returned to their usual bright luster. "Ah yes, now I remember," she finally answered, smiling softly while her arms folded one into another with the slip of her shawl tucked into each elbow. "It was Candaceburg, correct? It does seem like ever so long ago. Did I ever properly express my gratitude for your kindness in that particular endeavor, my lord? I fear I can't recall." Her smile flashed once more in his direction, laced as it was with the slightest fingers of sheepishness that did not particularly become the young Kaldiran flower. A quick shake of her head let loose her golden curls once more and the remorse disappeared. "It seems I have far more to appreciate you for than for just accompanying me on my errand of mercy today."

The mention of Aelyria Prime and its comparison to her home city drew an understanding nod from the young woman. She tilted her head slightly to the side as if considering something for another beat of a second. "It's been quite some time since I've visited the capital. How fares it?" Her glance turned to Roscarnis only for a portion of a moment before she looked out past his shoulder and into the organized and methodical city roads once more. "Planned, yes. We are fortunate, one and all." They were platitudes that one might have found in the locale aedile's office or spoken by the thane at the city council meeting, and yet from Araxie, they seemed genuine, sincere--as if nary a lie or exaggeration would ever cross those ever so perfectly spherical lips.

So she looked again at the basket that Roscarnis carried before daring another glance in the Lysandrian's direction. "Vesta is a bit far from here, is it not?" It was another innocent question, another light query. From tone alone it would seem that the two scions of their respective houses were discussing nothing more influential than the weather or the passing price of fish at the market. "The city is called Sacrum now, correct? Some of the scholars were complaining about the need to change the maps yet again. But one must wonder if they do not prefer that such occurs, if only to keep them in business and the coin flowing." A light laughter escaped her lips at that, shimmering in its very resplendence.

There was no heed paid to the prying eyes along the roadways nor the house staff or Lysandrian guard that trailed behind. She walked with a delicate confidence and an easy pace, fully at home in the city of her house and finding each turn and sidewalk as familiar as her own quarters. Araxie Praeserta was a delicate and yet thorough guide, using nothing more than a slight turn of her feet or the occasional gesture from her hand to indicate their directions with nary a word spoken in its description. They were leaving the richer residential areas of Kaldira now as the sides of the roads became filled with the glass windows of shop displays and the press of merchants, shelves all only partially stocked as their customers bustled through belled doors.

Roscarnis' last question did, however, draw Araxie's attention away from her position as guide and back to the matter at present. Wrinkles appeared in her otherwise flawless forehead as her blonde eyebrows arched and knit together in a most singular question. Those same sapphire eyes, deep and bright as a sunlit sea, looked at the elder Lylles lord as if they had been pinched, incredulous and ever so mildly shocked with a hint of indignation. "Size up his guests?" the lady repeated rhetorically, not bothering to filter out the astonishment from her tone. "My lord, I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

A pale hand extended out from the shawl and toward a tall brick building just a few blocks away. "I always visit the children at the hospital on this day of the cycle. You were the one who consented to help me to do what little we can to bring some joy into their lives." The hurt in her voice was nearly palpable. "I am sorry if you took the wrong intention from me. I am not the Duke, after all."

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

"My lady showed great composure in an unenviable position." They had been on the two sides of the War for Succession. He had bore the standards for House Lysandrian-Lylles, who had held a near monopoly on Imperium since the Third Empire, while House Praeserta had rallied the calls for Arctic de Ioannes. In many ways, it had been a cold war, with no true battle ever coming to fruition, but it was without boast that if they did, it was unlikely that the support shored up for House de Ioannes would have been enough to rival the Lylles, where an outright confrontation were to take place.

Araxie Praeserta had been captured, but not treated unkindly, and the circumstances they were meeting under this time would be far more favorable to this young noblewoman. Still, the Lysandrian was at least earnest when he spoke, even trying to belittle the gravity of the past events if only out of consideration for the young noblewoman. In her apparent graciousness, Roscarnis returned such in kind. These behaviors had been bred into his bones, after all, and not so easily forgotten.

"It demonstrated the true nobility of the Old Guard, that even rivals can understand there are certain etiquettes to be abided." He added simply. Indeed, one had often forgotten that the other faction at play during the Succession War was the illegitinate triumvir regency, who House Lylles and House Ioannes sought to supplant. Was this a ploy to blur the old faction lines that existed between the two? To align themselves towards a common thorn which they saw in the rising New Guard? It was almost impossible to tell. If Araxie was perfect in all her lineaments to be guileless, the Lylles was perhaps a paragon of what the eastern courts of the Lylles could produce as future inheritors of political powers.

"My lady would have heard of the ill news from Prime," It was obvious that it was not a topic he wished to dwell on or elaborate further, given that he didn't placate her line of questioning. This was after all, the second time she had inquired about the news of Prime, and the second time he had given a lackluster reply. Still, he appeared quite content to keep step with her, and the conversation that they were having. It wasn't every brightening that the Lylles indulged in such carefree converations.

"Yes, the name change appeared to be a hasty decision made after the events of the Eclipse," The tone in his voice suggesting that he disagreed with such impetuous. To her laugh, however, Roscarnis faintly tugged at his lips as a response. The truth was, the Lysandrian enjoyed a rather humorless life since his appointment to Vesta. Such a simple, lighthearted gesture stroke an unfamiliar yet very profound and deep cord within him, and left him more than a little perplexed as to why he was suddenly feeling a wave of unexplainable emotion in his bones. "I wonder how the local charter of Faith in Kaldira chose to respond to what was witnessed in the heavens that brightening. I do understand the teachings do vary somewhat."

"No more than a cycle's ride." A simple reply to her question that seemed to intimate that she was not aware Vesta was of the same former Solidarity of Carmelyn. Which meant that the Lylles had ridden at a moderate pace. Neither hurrying nor taking his time to come from Sacrum to the crown colony of the Empire. Whatever that meant was up to the Praeserta noblewoman to intuit. A comment that seemed to suggest this one does not venture very much beyond Kaldira.

And then the shock and the hint of indignation on the lady's face.

"Ah, I do apologize if my question was unkind, My lady." A quick concession was offered. The very dignity of his name allowing only the mildest degree of guilt to creep into his voice. He lacked the easy sincerity that seemed to permeate through the pores of the young woman, but at least there was no sting to his words. The unfamiliarity of the position he found himself was not sitting well with him. After all, one comes to the Lylles, and rarely the other way round.

"It is my pleasure to be here in your company while you tend to your people." A pause, as he seemed to consider his own words. "It has been a long time since Prime when I have seen the aristocracy fulfilling their faith with those under their charge." As he moved towards the building she had gestured towards previously. The easy suspicion that came so easily to him, a creature formed by those environs that valued those traits, nay, selected for those characteristics suddenly found himself disarmed so easily by the seemingly ingenuous nature of one Araxie Praeserta.

 

[charybdis]

That drew an ever so delicate and elegant smile across Araxie's face once more, and she tilted her head ever so slightly downward as a gesture of acquiescence. "Passions were high, if I recall correctly, and much was said on both sides across the aisles. Circumstances were, well, complicated to the most intricate degree." Her sapphire gaze turned forward now, dimming just ever so slightly as she lost herself in that slight recollection of senates and political maneuvers and the consequences of all of it summed together. Araxie Praeserta had arisen during that moment of crisis and then fallen just as quickly with just as much fanfare. That a Lysandrian, a Lylles, had been the main instrument of her release had bothered her far less than the separations of their names and interests might have originally drawn both at the time and now.

So it was that she turned a small look yet again in Roscarnis's direction and nodded once more. "Such as your presence here today, my lord, and your gracious agreement to my invitation. It speaks well of your compassion to care so much for the welfare of our quaint city." The smile turned a bit more practiced and maybe just a touch less genuine as she continued to speak. "You said you had an appointment to meet with my grandfather. I must admit, my lord, that I had not seen your name on the schedule book left by the duke's staff and thus I was surprised by your appearance at our home." A small gesture was made back behind them with a roll of her shoulder toward the larger entourage of Lysandrians and the few Kaldiran maidservants who accompanied their young lady by propriety-demanded responsibility. "I do apologize if your name was missed. As Governor of Vesta and lord in your own right, you were due for a much more proper and appropriate welcome."

When he mentioned the events in Prime, as brief and curtailed as his explanations were, Araxie couldn't help but place a small hand ever so gently on his arm that still held the basket. It was a gentle touch, no more than a whisper of physical contact, and paired only ever slightly with a squeeze of her fingertips before it disappeared back into the corners of her shawl. "Our prayers are with all those affected by these terrible acts," she made as her benediction, and then returned her gaze back to the street on which they continued to walk. The turn of their conversation toward the more religious aspects of their respective locales made her gentle smile return again. "The church in Kaldira is a complex one, as I'm sure you know. There's a rather scurrilous rumor that the only true god worshipped here is coin and trade, but that's terrible ungracious and shortsighted, I think."

Her hand waved slightly toward one of the many mercantile shops that dotted the side of the road as if to demonstrate her point. "The events of the Eclipse were confusing to us mortals, as I'm sure many would agree. We saw the heavens open and the gods at war and, well, the aftermath is something most likely better left for the religious scholars at the temples to divine and interpret for the rest of us to even begin to grasp." An ever so soft sigh escaped her lips. "Here, I must admit to you, my lord, that the city thrives in the aftermath. It was akin to a moment of rebirth, if I may be so bold. Our faith remains in the Sacred Three, of course, and the sovereignty of Aetheria on high. The fall of its queen has not shaken that particular certainty," she finished.

By now the entrance to the brickwork hospital had materialized in the form of a pair of double doors, flanked on all sides with evenly scattered windows. A large flat of wood with painted letters declared it a place of healing if the well-tended gardens and the scent of herbs and flowering plants from the courtyards inside were not enough of an indication that both peace and usefulness had equal places here. Sylvia and one of the younger maids rushed forward with all-practiced system, each one taking a single door to push open and allow the Praeserta lady and Lysandrian lord to enter unencumbered and unmolested to the comfortable foyer. The hospital staff itself was now at full attention, having presumably had some warning as to their lady's arrival, and a trio of uniformed members offered their obeisance with careful and practiced bows to greet the betters that deigned to grace their house of mending this day.

"Oh no," Araxie eased back, just as graciously as her gait led her through the doors and toward the awaiting individuals. "No unkindness, my lord, I'm quite sure. Just clarity, perhaps." And with that, she offered Roscarnis a small sideways smile and then stepped forward to offer her hand to each of the other staff in turn. "Ainslee," she said to the first, letting the healer take her hand softly in kind before she turned to the other two to repeat the process. Each dropped a small curtsy or bow and made their greetings as well. "Izevel, Peruna, hello. Thank you for having us this day. I have some small gifts for the children if you think they'd be of use." And with that, she gestured toward Roscarnis, as if pulling him forward with a small wave of her hand.

"And this is the Lord de Lylles, late of Vesta," she explained softly, as if none of that information ought to have drawn a question or curiosity in its voicing. "He has graciously offered to bring what small cheer we can to your patients. Might we go in?" She looked off to the doors down one side and then questioningly back at Roscarnis once more.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

"There would be a simple explanation, I am sure, there had been increasing reports of the unreliability of mail these brightenings." Without the guiding care of the Western Lylles on Lauryl's Co's trade routes, other secondary ecosystems that had sprung to build the synergy alongside the primal trade corporation of the Empire had rot apart. He made a mental note to himself to send riders instead of letters from herein. The Lysandrian supposed he could have also used one of those signalling towers that dot Northumbia for these purposes instead, but he did not know enough about them to feel at ease at utilising those technologies.

Still, he found it hard to believe the meticulous Duke Julius Praeserta, known to be an unassumingly shrewd figure had nothing to do with this. One did not steer out of the Second Empire relatively unscathed by the Empress Alyssa Chrysanniara by being a forgetful, irreligious creature.

"I have learned that it is easier to divide than to unite these brightenings, easier to draw the lines between the us and the them." The intention of those words were profound, if one where to view it as such. It spoke of many potential meanings, from the divide between a fractured Empire and its vassals, or the potential schisms that reveberated across the realm with the weakening Church of Faith. It could also be assumed as a remark to the Lady Araxie's statement on accusations against the esoteric Cult of Ioannes that served its holy mission within Kaldira, and that he empathized with her.

He felt her touch of course, one granted only by a lady's prerogative, and he paid it little heed. She had certainly grown into the fullness of a woman from the last time they had encountered one another, and he could not say she had grown into a paragon of the virtues befitting a highborn women. Only the sound of approval was made as though he was in agreement with her every word. It was then when he truly found his guard slipping, as the rare doubt seeped into the mind of the usually self-assured ad perceptive lord.

Perhaps he had been overly suspicious, after all. The old motor muscles of needing to see dangers at every corner of his eyes appeared to have little basis in this place and their inhabitants. After all, this one had thought the Lylles retinue Jaedaxiennes ready to raid the ducal seat of Northumbria with seven men. And didn't he strode past relatively unharried through those gates as well?

Roscarnis nodded with interest at Araxie's recount of the state of religion with the former Crown Colony of the realm, it bore out his own research and understanding on severe fronts, and the Lysandrian could appreciate the quality of how the lady could intimate upon how the city thrived without being boastful. Hubris was of course, a thing that could appear peverted given the general state of disrepair around the Empire as the instruments of Imperium suffered their greatest loss of influence since the Second Empire, but an over-indulgence in humility, especially when it bordered on falseness, could not be regarded positively as well.

"It does pose significant challenges given Diana's influence on Imperium had been significant, and Her will and authority having been made manifest through the entanglement between religion and historia." How does one reconcile the holy texts in the Triance to account for her fall? And if it were left up to men to recalibrate these scriptures, would the divinity yet remain to divine faith and more importantly deliverance?

Then there was the matter of how impolitic it would be if it were left to the corrupt Prelates of the Church to manage this endeavour entirely on their own. It was a matter, however, for another brightening. For now, the Lysandrian focused instead on manoeuvrings that he was more familiar with, rather than engage in the academic and political discussion of religion with this one before him. They were the highborn after all, and were all adherents of the the Faith in their own way. Some of their ilk would have been far more involved in their own local parishes, ultimately understanding that the Church with all its machination indirectly led to their very own existence through their lies to a Imperium.

A simple nod to the appointed custodians at the hospital, his usually stoic, even stern expression softening a little at the introduction, there was naught else to do with the Lady Araxie Praeserta having already stated their intent here, but to follow through. He gave a faint node towards the noble lady to indicate that she should lead the way and that he would follow.

He motioned for his guards to stay outside the building. It wouldn't bode well for the sight of steel to frighten the children within these walls.

Spoiler

This may be a terrible post sorry, I'm wrecked.

 

[charybdis]

His gracious answer was taken in the same delicate vein in which it was meant as Araxie's golden head tilted slightly to one side and a smile gracing her expression to receive it. "It has indeed been rather troublesome," the young Praeserta concurred, "since the loss of Lauryl. Has it affected the eastern realms as well, then? That is a sad thing to hear." The look on her face ever so precisely matched the spirit of her words. Sincerity, it seemed, had crafted one Araxie Praeserta in all her lineaments despite the political prestige of her name and the particular Kaldiran culture that most certainly had formed her. The same golden sunshine that hued her hair also shone in her very soul, it seemed, and as a result the young woman was made a particular icon amongst her peers.

For now, though, she took her particular duties as the lady of the city to heart, and again nodded her understanding to Roscarnis's sentiment with her own particular feelings on the matter. "I do fear that you are right in this, my lord. Even here in Kaldira it has been difficult to remember that we are, in truth, all the same at heart." There was another small smile to wipe away the ever so small shade of regret in its shadow, and then that same sincerity returned once more. "I do hope this second chapter to our acquaintance might be a more pleasant addition than our first." She cast her eyes rather merrily back at the soldiers that still trailed behind them. "Though it does seem that my lord does still carry the advantage."

That, though, she left to the rest of the ebb and flow of their conversation as their destination now figured into their sight and presence. Araxie and the staff had an easy enough familiarity despite the differences in their stations. She was a gracious lady, it seemed, where elegance had combined with a delicate common touch, and the deference she was shown was tinged well with a warmth that could not possibly have been feigned or forced. "Of course, my lady," the one named Ainslee spoke first. "They'll be happy to see you. It's all Jocelyn has spoken about all cycle." She nodded at both Araxie and Roscarnis and then elected herself as tour guide this particular day.

The nursed moved quickly toward the door, opening it onto a hallway and beginning to lead the pair of nobles down it with efficient steps. The hospital's decorations from paint color to décor had been carefully chosen to be as cheery as possible, using lighter shades of yellows and pinks and scenes from the coastline, majestic animals, or bright flowers to bring more colors across the walls. Windows dotted each and every expanse to allow as much natural light in as they could. The wards themselves were comfortably sized things, being planned carefully for efficiency balanced with quality as so much else in Kaldira had been. Fortunately very few of the beds were occupied--a few elderly, one or two truly infirm who had curtains mostly slung around their spaces to provide privacy, but otherwise it appeared that the house of healing could have accommodated at least another four or five dozen patients comfortably in that single wing.

"How is Jocelyn?" Araxie asked, keeping her voice relatively low. For the time being, their echoing footsteps in the hall would provide enough cover for the privacy of their conversation, she judged.

"Better," Ainslee replied, glancing back at the Lady Praeserta before her gaze fell curiously to the Lysandrian lord once more. "Jocelyn is a young girl who came to us with inexplicable seizures. Her parents weren't sure of the cause and were, unfortunately, unable to care for her. Lady Araxie was the one kind enough to fund her care here. She's become quite attached."

While the nurse had left the object of her comment somewhat ambiguous, the soft expression on Araxie's face was enough to demonstrate her affection for the current subject of their conversation. "She's a very sweet child. She'll have a bright future ahead of her, with the help of the staff here."

Ainslee nodded and then, moving toward an open door, stood to one side of it. "They'll all be glad to see you and your guest, my lady," she repeated, and then made clear that her journey would now go no further.

With the confidence of one that had traveled these particular floors often before, Araxie stepped forward and entered with nary a thought. The room itself was a bit larger and even more brighter than those they had passed before, with one entire wall being made of glass that curved upward to create a solarium of sorts that had been left open to the warmth of the suns' rays above. Inside, the beds were far smaller and chests showed toys, tiny clothes, and fuzzy blankets instead of the typical garb that had been in the other wards.

Araxie walked toward the corner while paying very little heed to whether Roscarnis was or was not following. She moved a side of the curtain back with her hand and then, in a moment, grew tense. "Ainslee?!" she cried, terror beginning to prick that same voice that had, up until now, been the epitome of delicate silk. "Where is she? Where's Jocelyn?"

"I don't--" It seemed that the fear was growing contagious, and the nurse's eyes widened in surprise.

 

[Roscarnis de Lylles]

"It took time, but I believe of the Western Lylles had dealt a terrible blow for the Empire for eras to come." Plans had been set into motion of course with one Adrian de Aquinas to remedy this gap, but the slow crumble of Lauryl Co. could not be abated; and this loss for him was not just a physical one as the Lylles described, but for him, a deeply profound and personal one. It was of course, strange for an Eastern Lylles to harbor such sentiments for their Western cousins, but then few had been granted that honor that Brigette de Lylles, last Matriarch of the Western Lylles once granted him.

"I do not believe it would not be, my lady." The advantage she spoke of, however, remained vague, a word that could be interpreted a myriad of ways, but this was not the time nor place to dwell on these thoughts, nor seek further clarifications. It seemed the Lady Araxie was on a mission this brightening, and all the Lylles was deign to do for now was to observe and watch.

Every lineament, every movement, every word of hers dripped like a forgotten memory being dredged up, and the bottled emotions, with its cap now unscrewed, were flowing through him, a reminder of what he had lost the brightening the Xet swept through the western lands. He had tried, of course, mustering an army in a daring rescue of Lauryl. But it was too late. They were gone, the Western Lylles.

Gods, it did not help that shhe was like Diana de Lylles. It was a different time, and they had been in an orphanage in Lauryl, and he had watched how Diana move with such ease and so herself among the children. It was not a world he had grown up in. The Lylles, East and West bore the same name, but the qualities well cherished by the West found no such purpose and place in the East.

Was this why he had always been drawn to these women? These noble, charitable creatures that was the paragon of virtue and learned countenance? This effortless dispensation of power through softer, silk-like ways when what he had accustomed to was the other type of influence; one that spread through the right of rule, his instruments of utilizing both fear and steeled pragmatism.

"I see, it is fortunate thing that the Lady Araxie had taken a liking to the child." Was all his reply was to Ainslee. It was a polite, reasonable platitude, but it was clear this was not a circumstance which the Lylles found himself comfortable in. Discussing the politics of the realm with powermongers, parleying verbally with different opponents and other kingmakers was a provenance he was suited for, not an environment like this.

Did he particularly enjoy this little sidetrack from his intentions here in Kaldria? It was hard to tell from his face and body language. He didn't smile, nor frown, but the muscles on his face was relaxed, and his gait was casual and lips starting to curl every now and then. He warmed up slow, but Araxie's nature was starting to wear down at his innate introversion and barriers. Slowly and gradually, he seemed more at ease.

And that all smashed into the ground and shattered at Araxie Praserta's outburst.

The Lysandrian was not someone prone to effusiveness, and so when the Lady Araxie Praeserta's alarm was expressed in such a raw, uncontrolled manner, there was only that glassy, blank look on his face. This was not an area of expertise. Indeed, even when it came to the upbringing of his own blood, Roscarnis had been decidedly absent, not by choice, but reality had been so unkind regardless. He was making up on lost time with Elbereth now, but his daughter had was already at the precipice of young adulthood and certainly not in the need of medical care. Roscarnis was out of his depth.

Eyes scanned the rest of the hallway and room, looking for a child that could be Jocelyn. A missing child was generally a frightful, terrible thing, but the lack of familiarity obliged him to merely observe while he let those more intimate in such matters, such as Araxie as well as the nurses take the lead in locating this child.

 

[charybdis]

She was frantic now with worry written into every lineament of Araxie Praeserta's noble face. Her feet pounded with terrible echoes across the ward's laminated floor as she came back from behind the small curtain and rejoined the nurse and the Lysandrian at the doorway. Her blue eyes were clouded now and perhaps even watery--just a slight touch at the very corner, the subtlety of which made it hard to tell whether it was a practiced or a sincere response at all. Still, Araxie raised a finger to the self-same edge of her eyes and wiped away at it, trying to hide the motion behind a screen of feigned nonchalance.

There was a brief moment wherein Araxie collected what she could of the frayed edges of her nerves, wiped her other eye, and then reoriented her gaze back on the nurse, leveling her gaze and steadying what she could of her breathing. "Ainslee," the young lady of Praeserta began once more. It seemed that the small pause in her dialogue had done what it could for her bearing, as the same smoothed, well-educated timbre of the child of Kaldira's greatest came back through each and every sound she now ever so carefully made. It was like picking fruit at a farmer's corner stall, looking over this and that before choosing just the right one. "I don't understand. Where is Jocelyn?"

Confusion was patent enough in the nurse's expression--a state that had only seemed to grow for the duration of the incident. The staff member's eyes narrowed slightly as she did the lady the discourtesy of trying to see around the corner to the vacated bed to prove the reality of the situation for herself. The sheets had been pulled off slightly and the top blanket slightly awry. Both were to a far greater degree than one would have accomplished by simply moving it off, indicating that someone had indeed extricated themselves from the bed some time before. "My lady," the nurse began uncertainly, "she was just here. The doctor just saw her this morning. Then she complained of a headache and went to lie down. That was barely half a candlemark ago."

Araxie's puzzled look grew more severe. She too followed the nurse's glance behind her and had a small indignant flash across her features before she turned back again. "Then where is she now?"

The nurse shook her head, eyebrows nearly stitched together now in the question drawn on her own face. "I don't know, my lady. She shouldn't have gone anywhere. I'll ask if anyone has seen her." There was a slight question in her sentence, but she seemed confident enough to give herself permission to remove from the room and begin hurrying back down the hallway toward the front desk once more.

The sight of Roscarnis in Araxie's periphery vision drew the blonde woman about again. Now her concern mutated into remorse, and the woman frowned again, though this time it was far more for his benefit than over the lost child. "I am sorry, my lord Lylles," she finally said aloud, her hands folding into one another with the palms pointed upward as if in a physical show of her remorse. "This was not the interruption that I had intended to assume to our outing. I may need to interrupt my grandfather's schedule for the day after all."

Spoiler

sorry have to end this post early, kids are being rowdy