Private Tales The Calm

[Arctus Valerian]

With heavy, sure steps did Arctus stride toward the Ōmeyōcān. Nor was he the only one this day to do so. For today was a special occasion among the nobility of Thanasis. An elderly Ascended of House Saella was holding a ceremony to pass the bond of his dragon, Guanadowyr, to his eldest son. As such many other Ascended, and many more members of the nobility besides, were invited to attend the ceremony upon one of the weathered, venerated training grounds that numerous generations of Ascended past, and many more to come, had and would train upon for the safety of their people.

Arctus himself was no Ascended, no rider, and as such his glimpses into the Ōmeyōcān had been brief, formal things. Much like today. But the returned head of House Valerian, pariah and exemplar both, never failed to be impressed by the ancient structure. The sheer, momentous history that seemed to pour from every crack in the ancient stone, every whisper of triumph that flowed along every trickle of water that escaped entrapment in the stone, all of it felt almost like home to him. Though he had never, and by some whispers would never, trained there. Those whispers he paid no mind beyond recognizing their existence, weighing and measuring the lips that spoke them, before moving along with the flowing flock of nobility.

The training ground chosen was, apparently, a half-circle whose missing half ended in an open, natural arch out into the very skies themselves. Allowing one to take flight before, during or after training at their heart's content. This fact allowed a fresh breeze to spill upon the gathering crowds, sending his ashen hair whipping in a controlled braid. The half-uniform half-ceremonial armor he wore tinkling gently as loose bits of ancient stone sounded against the bits of metal fastened to his frame. That same wind carrying rumors that Gaunadowyr and their rider had plans to make an elegant entrance through the natural arch into the Ōmeyōcān. Elegance, control and fanfare all displayed in one motion before the bond was passed. To show the value of the dragon, so heavily precious to their House, and impress upon the son just what it was they were inheriting.

Arctus, eyes upon that arch, mind wandering to the feel of air whipping through his hair, what it would be like to take the saddle upon dragonback, only paused when something impacted the firm frame of his chest. He froze, body tense, an apology on his lips before he flicked golden eyes over.... no.... down.... to a small, red-headed woman who may as well have run into the stone of the mountain for all she did to move him. However, unlike the stone, Arctus would apologize.

"Forgive me, My Lady."

He offered nothing by way of explanation as to why he had ran into her. He did not have any that he thought would be satisfactory for her. Nor did he recognize the crest of her House and so he did not have any idea as to the temperament of the beautiful storm of ice-blue eyes and fire-red hair of a woman he had just ran into. Once again unlike the mountain Arctus would step aside, bowing respectfully, before he ventured to offer her an arm.

"Should it make amends for my ill manners I would escort you to wherever it is you are going, of course."

Finally, like the mountain, his voice though low, polite and little more than a murmur.... was a deep, throaty rumble like the grinding of stone tinged with just enough air and masculinity to confirm he was, in fact, human.

Vivien Damaris​

 

[Vivien Damaris]

A visit with her sister had left Vivien perilously late. It was the sort of lateness that made her chest tighten, cheeks flushed with fluster and restrained urgency as she moved briskly across the training grounds, intent on reclaiming her place at her betrothed’s side before Carsan Sahar noticed her absence and chose to comment on it publicly. She did not yet bear his name, and so some allowances were made - but only just. Once vows were spoken, once she was his wife in truth, there would be no room for such errors. He would ensure she was a very well polished possession.

She wore emerald velvet, the gown heavy with fine gold embroidery worked into starburst patterns that caught the light when she moved. Her shoulders were bare, pale skin freckled softly, her hair swept back and pinned with deliberate care. She was elegance, even in haste, but she was not looking where she was going as her eyes frantically scanned for the Sahar household.

The impact was sudden and absolute. She collided with something solid, unyielding, the sound of it punctuated by the soft clatter of metal and a quiet, undignified oof forced from her lungs.

Vivien looked up sharply, breath catching in her throat.
“Shit,” she swore before she could stop herself.

Mortification followed instantly, She closed her mouth, smoothed her skirts, and drew herself upright, schooling her expression into something cool and composed as her gaze travelled upward, over a broad chest, powerful shoulders, and finally a strong, severe jawline. The man before her looked less like a person and more like a fixture of the mountain temple itself, as though the world might break around him before he ever gave ground.

His apologies were offered. She almost returned them. Almost admitted fault, brushed it away as nothing. But her instincts swiftly reasserted themselves. Vivien lifted her chin instead, spine straightening as ice cold composure settled over her.

“You should be more careful,” she replied coolly, glancing him up and down. “Lest you crush someone.”

Her gaze flicked to the arm he offered, assessing it with a measured, impersonal glance. Courtesy, perhaps. Or something else. She had learned long ago not to mistake politeness for purity of motive.

A faint huff of breath escaped her as she stepped back, increasing the space between them. The last thing she needed was to arrive late and on the arm of another man, especially one who looked like this.

“I am quite capable of walking on my own, thank you, Ser,” she said, the title emphasised just enough to suggest it was granted out of obligation rather than respect.

She spared him one final, unreadable look before turning away to leave him there, coppery strands of her hair whipping in the frigid breeze.

 

[Arctus Valerian]

Like the crashing of waves upon the shore her words washed over him without a mark, without so much as a twitch of the brow or much indication that he had even heard her save for the smallest, most controlled nod of the head he could give. The fault was his, after all, and he replied almost instantly as her cool, controlled strike snapped at him. Like the claw of a jungle cat swatting an irritant away, or the lunging strike of a viper with it's venom, she was precise, efficient and lethal with her words. His response would come nearly in an instant but was unhurried. As if he were a piece of the mountainside she had merely shook the loosest of stones from to clatter in response to her strike.

"Of course My Lady, I will be mindful of those more delicate in the future."

He did not shy from her gaze, her venom, the ice and judgement she levied, delivered through two teal portals to the soul that may as well have lead to the coldest depths of the sea for all the warmth they offered. As she denied his offer he would withdraw his arm, folding them over his chest merely to busy them, and watched her go for only a moment. Exactly why he did so would remain a mystery, perhaps even from himself, but only when two golden eyes met unreadable teal would he turn and begin walking again. His gait as unhurried, steady, firm as it had been before. Only now he brought his eyes forward, mastering himself so as to avoid even the chance of a repeat mistake, and found his place among those associated with House Volantaeris.

No more than a handful of minutes would pass before the young Saela heir was standing amid the training grounds, fists lightly curled at his sides, his breathing just a bit too deep, just a bit too fast, to be calm. He was nervous, that much was clear, and if any present thought lesser of him for it none dared let those emotions show upon their features for such an event. A fact that would only be further highlighted as the rumors of Gaunadowyr's arrival through the natural arch, wings casting a shadow, scaled form moving with lethal grace and a surety of motion bought with years of practice and battle. The Ascendant upon the dragon's back was a man withered by age, likely taking an effort to hold himself as proudly, as straight, in the saddle as he did. One last expression of pride and propriety, one last display for House Saella, but perhaps the most important he would ever make.

Arctus had more than a little respect for the man as he still, on his own, brought himself from the saddle in a motion that was so practiced, so ingrained, so second nature to him that even the rigors of age yielded one last time to well-earned endurance. For one single moment as the elder Ascendant landed upon the floor of the Ōmeyōcān, as his now too-large armor hung loosely around his wizened frame only to clatter more than it should, for one single moment could it be believed there was still enough of his prime left to continue his vigil. This sentiment would die, however, as he placed his hands firmly on the shoulders of his heir and gave a kind, even loving paternal smile. Words unheard by the rest of those in attendance were traded, the dragon Guanadowyr would curl with casual confidence, half-encircling the pair while also levying wizened eyes at the younger man.

The dragon saw, the dragon knew, things even their bonded Ascendant did not. The peaceful nature of the Ransa breed gleaming in harmony within the eyes of the majestic creature to it's wisdom. A low rumble, enough to sweep away idle chatter from the crowd, a proclamation of something only one bonded to the dragon could hope to decipher, left Guanadowyr after matching the gaze of the young Saela for a long, breathless moment.

Finally with a slow, almost painful finality the dragon would begin to move. Long, slow strides carrying Guanadowyr around from behind the older Saela to curl in a half-circle behind their newly bonded rider. The eyes of the older man would well, wet with unshed tears, his hands shaking gently, his posture slumping, and he began to have to genuinely lean on his son in that moment. The men, young and old, one supporting and the other bequeathing would slowly turn to bow respectfully to the dragon. Who would settle upon the stone floor with a sense of finality and, flexing their mighty wings, would simply.... wait.

The older Saela, his legs quaking as other members of the family rushed to his support, would usher his son forward. Who would, in turn, climb into the saddle for the first time with slow, anxious movements. Even stumbling for a moment as his foot slipped from the stirrup but upon the second attempt, with face and ears pink with embarrassment from his mishap, he would raise a hand proudly skyward as the crowd began to applaud.

And then..... the socializing began. What had once been a dim clutter of hushed whispers, side conversations and respectful silence now boiled over into speculation, more rumors and even outright marriage offers to House Saela toward their newly bonded rider. Arctus, for his part, finished his applause and simply stood to leave. Or at the very least see what he could of the Ōmeyōcān even as his own House members joined in the social meandering.

Instead his firm, unyielding stride would lead Arctus toward more secluded sections of the room, parting the crowds like the prow of some proud, great oaken warship. The last thing he expected was to see a familiar head of fiery, beautiful hair out of the corner of his eye......

Vivien Damaris​

 

[Vivien Damaris]

Delicate.

The word scraped at her spine, causing it to stiffen. Vivien’s gaze cut back to him, sharp enough that the offense was unmistakable. Delicate, as though a woman might be reduced to fragility by the absence of height, muscle, a sword at her hip or a cock in her pants. As though strength were measured only in what could be seen.

She was strong. She had learned to be. Not in ways that earned songs or scars, but in ways that kept her standing when softer souls would have bent or broken. She did not correct him, but the look she gave him ensured that he was well aware of how it irked her.

“There you are.”

Carsan Sahar’s voice cut through the moment, cool and edged with irritation so faint it might have been missed by anyone less attuned to him than Vivien was. She stopped immediately and dipped into an apologetic curtsy..

“My apologies, my lord, I-”

“It’s fine.”

The interruption was firm and final. It was very clearly not fine, but appearances mattered more than truth. Especially today. Especially for House Sahar.

Carsan would not have it whispered that he could not command his future wife, not when his own father had failed to command his dragon, losing that bond to a woman with a soft heart. The Sahars’ reputation had been thoroughly dented, their strength in society called into question. It would be repaired. Vivien was part of that repair.

She inclined her head in gracious acceptance, her gaze lifting just long enough to meet her parents’ eyes. Her mother’s look was hard and reproachful. Her father’s, sharp with warning. Lord Celreos watched as well, along with other lords and ladies who traded glances that spoke of judgment carefully disguised as curiosity.

Vivien reached for her betrothed’s hand. He did not take hers. Instead, Carsan closed his fingers around her arm and drew her firmly to his side, grip near tight enough to bruise. The message was clear without words: Stand here. Be still. Say nothing. You have embarrassed me.

So she did. Around them, the mood had turned celebratory. Smiles bloomed. Voices lifted. A dragon should have a rider worthy of pride, not a withered old man bowing to age at last. This was progress. This was triumph.

Vivien saw only loss.

Her eyes followed the exchange between father, son, and dragon, her brow knitting faintly as she watched the elder Lord Saella lean into his heir. The bond they shared between them was profound enough that it could be severed and given as a final gift. Jealousy cut quick and sharp. Not of the dragon alone, but of the choice. Of the love implicit in the sacrifice.

She would never know such bonds. Not with her parents. Not with a dragon. Not with the man holding her arm.

Her throat tightened, but her expression did not change. She watched the elder man struggle, saw the grief the son tried and failed to hide, understood too well the shape of what was coming next. This was inheritance and mourning entwined. A celebration built atop an ending.

Carsan turned away from her then, already engaged in conversation, his interest drifting as easily as it always did. Those on her other side were no better, faces alight with excitement, voices murmuring wonderful, how proud they must be.

Vivien stood silently among them all, still watching the father, and son, and dragon, surrounded by festivity. And she had never felt more alone.

 

[Arctus Valerian]

There she stood.

Amidst the crowd. Among her family. Yet the expression on Vivien Damaris 's face told him all it needed to. She was alone in the crowd.

Arctus understood that emotion as well as any, even more than most, to be a knight and noble with no dragon to call his own oft lead him to feel the same. To stand shoulder to shoulder with those who were meant to accept you, to bring you into the fold, embrace you, and yet to only be met with polite separation. Boundaries enforced by circumstance beyond your direct control. It could chafe the control and self-worth of many people, that feeling of helplessness.

But as the snacks and drink continued to flow as much as the rumors and voices Arctus's gaze would shift away from Vivien as a small ripple of gasps and disappointed "awws" washed through the crowd. A young boy had dropped his food onto the stone floor, face a mask of such sincere sadness over so small a thing, that the boy's mother doted, his sisters patted and reassured him, but with slow surety he decided to act.

He did not make a fanfare of his reaction, merely accepting what drifted by on carried trays, his stride measured and even as he approached the child. Reminding himself with his own actions as he knelt down, golden eyes being met with dinner-plate-wide stares from the young boy, Arctus would give a soft smile and offer him a replacement. A small act of kindness that seemed to stun the child and delight his mother, who beamed and gave his shoulders a gentle shake, encouraging him to thank the 'nice man'.

In response to the child's thanks Arctus would nod, pressing the treat into his hand gingerly, and reply.

"On an occasion like this you should be able to enjoy yourself. Not remember it for things going wrong."

He then stood, turned his gaze at being addressed by the boy's mother, and as she bowed in thanks he nodded his head in turn. Turning to leave them as he had reminded himself that though one could not control the circumstances they were born into, what may set them apart, one could always control what they did with their circumstances.

His path took him close to the redheaded woman he had run into earlier, though he did not bother her with a glance, and instead was only stopped at the feeling of a hand catching his sleeve. Such a gentle force to stop a mountain of a man, but stop him it did, and he would turn to see the same boy still clutching his new treat, only for him open the same hand that caught Arctus's sleeve, and reveal a tiny, carved wooden dragon. A gift, it seemed, and Arctus would chuckle softly. Giving a low, contemplative hum he would give the boy an appraising look, a faint hint of amusement mixed with seriousness etching into his features as he asked the boy.

"A fine specimen. Do they have a name?"

The boy nodded and replied.

"Ra-Radiquel."

Arctus would nod, gently taking the wooden dragon into his fingers, and told the boy.

"I see. Then you want me to take care of Radiquel for you?"

The boy nodded and Arctus did the same.

"Very well. I will keep Radiquel safe for you for now."

Arctus's expression became something closer to a kind smile.

"But be warned they might come back to you with more stories than when they left."

The boy would snort a laugh and nod, only to jump as his mother called him back, giving Arctus a wave, before he rushed back to his mother, snack in hand. Leaving Arctus holding Radiquel the wooden dragon in his fingers.​

 

[Vivien Damaris]

Vivien had been watching the line form.

Well wishers gathered around the newly bonded heir, voices bright with congratulations, hands clasping shoulders in practiced celebration. No one seemed to notice the handmaidens guiding the elder Lord Saela carefully to a seat, nor the way his hands trembled, nor the tears he made no effort to hide. Triumph was easier to admire than sacrifice. And just like that, the Patriarch was cast aside. They had what they needed from him.

She had not been pulled from her thoughts until the hush of gasps moved through the crowd.

Her gaze shifted instinctively, breath catching for just a moment at the sight of the small boy, crestfallen as he stared down at his ruined treat. The look struck too close to home. Adeline’s face flashed unbidden in her mind, and for a heartbeat Vivien nearly moved toward him.

Then she saw his mother. And then, inexplicably, him.

Her brow furrowed as the knight she had collided with earlier knelt, his great frame folding down to the boy's height, movements gentle where she had expected none. It was… incongruous. A man built like a battlement lowering himself to a child’s level, offering comfort without spectacle, kindness without audience.

She did not look away as the boy’s disappointment softened, then vanished entirely, delight blooming in its place. Vivien felt the warmth of it settle somewhere unwelcome in her chest.

Now who is delicate, she mused dryly.

Her expression did not change. It rarely did. But when the boy chased the man to press his wooden dragon into his hand, something tightened painfully in her throat. The exchange was small, insignificant to anyone else, and yet unbearably poetic. A bond relinquished for love. A treasure given freely to kindness.

If a father could give up his dragon for his son, then perhaps a child could give up his dragon for a stranger who had seen him.

Vivien exhaled quietly and accepted a cup of wine from a passing servant, lifting it to her lips before the ache could show.. Delicate, she thought to herself with a quiet huff.

“Valerian, isn’t it?”

Carsan’s voice cut cleanly through the din. Vivien stiffened almost imperceptibly as her betrothed beckoned the man closer, collecting two cups from the tray and offering one out with the ease of a man accustomed to command.

“Come. Share a drink with us.”

Introductions followed, names and titles spoken like items on a ledger. Lord Carsan Sahar - son of Mikel Sahar, he'd once have boasted, though his father's name remained absent now. Lady Natalina Sahar, his sister, a raven haired beauty indeed. Lord Ivan Celreos, his close friend, and the Lord and Lady Damaris and their daughter, Vivien, his betrothed. Vivien inclined her head politely when her name was spoken, the others did so with stiff curiosity, rather than the ease of respect. Blue-green eyes lifted at last to Arctus Valerian, cool and unreadable, studying him as though this were their first meeting rather than their second collision.

Carsan’s jest followed soon after, careless and sharp as he gestured to the child's toy. “Ah… wonderful to see you have your dragon at last.”

The comment earned a flicker of something behind Vivien’s eyes. Others were clearly trying their best to hide their amusement. She took a slow sip of her wine, her gaze drifting briefly to the small wooden dragon in his hand before returning to her cup, her expression distant once more.

"A jest, of course." Carsan assured. "I hope you are enjoying the festivities?"

 

[Arctus Valerian]

Arctus would glance out of the corner of his eye as his House's name was addressed. A man he did not recognize beckoning him over for a drink. An offer he almost politely declined. Were it not for Vivien Damaris being present. Still feeling obligated to her for his earlier foolishness he would nod at Lord Sahar's offer. Taking the cup in hand with slow purpose, as he did not intend to let himself revel too deeply today, he took only one sip as Lord Carsan listed off his life as if it were a spreadsheet, a collection gathered around a shell of a man, than something he was actually living.

The jest that followed, as surely it was just that, would be met with stowing the wooden dragon in his belongings and Arctus would take another small sip of wine before replying with casual, undisturbed ease.

"Naturally. If the day comes that the genuine article comes from an act of equal care for the meek then I would be truly blessed. As for the festivities...."

Arctus would let an easy smile grace his features, his gaze roaming the cavern for a moment before returning to Carsan.

".... yes I would say so. Talk of your..... diligence does not do you justice, it would seem, to tend to the guests of another House's gathering so ably. One can only imagine your care at home."

Arctus's gaze did not leave Carsan, much as they have wanted to flicker to Vivien to emphasize how just a moment ago his betrothed had look like the most miserable woman in Thanasis, but he didn't. The reply, the control, the compliments coming as genuine, were for her benefit. Not to slap back at Carsan in some petty exchange of words. If it would assuage the man known for losing his dragon due to his lack of quality, even for a night, to bring Vivien perhaps an evening of peace then he could stomach the wound to his honor that Carsan's words caused.​

 

[Vivien Damaris]

Carsan’s smug expression faltered, only for a breath, as Arctus spoke. The huff of laughter that escaped him was weak and utterly mirthless, as though the very notion offended whatever hypothetical dragon he conjured in his mind. That such a creature would ever choose him for something as base as care for the meek was, evidently, a joke too tasteless to dignify aloud. And, given their own family drama, likely a foolish opinion to voice. Vivien caught it all, the flicker of disdain, the reflexive recoil from gentleness, so achingly familiar it set her teeth on edge.

Her parents scoffed in practiced harmony, eager as ever to echo the sentiments of the House they so desperately wished to please. Gods, it took real effort not to roll her eyes.

“Indeed,” Carsan replied at last, smile strained thin. “Perhaps, should the day come, we might even see you take to the Rising alongside the commoners.”

Vivien saw the way he bristled, how Arctus’ words had slipped past the armour and found something tender to prod at. If she took any satisfaction in that knowledge, she gave no sign. She merely lifted her cup, watching the exchange over its rim as she drew a slow, measured sip of the claret.

Then the Valerian man spoke again, and Vivien choked on her wine.

Natalina’s glare burned hot and immediate into her. Her parents followed suit, reprimanding scowls she knew well. Lord Celreos fixed his attention firmly on the floor. Carsan, however, did not look at her at all, his gaze remained locked on the ashen-haired man opposite him, a muscle feathering in his jaw as he dipped his chin and arched a brow.

“Of course. Of course,” he said coolly, straightening. “Home. Family. Dragons. And, shortly, the joining of two great Houses. I am indeed a man blessed.” At last, his eyes slid to Vivien. “As shall my sons be, after me.”

Her smile was flawless. Polished. Empty.

“And your House, Valerian,” he continued smoothly. “Thriving, since your return to civilised society, is it?”

Natalina cleared her throat and stepped neatly away from her brother’s side. “Well,” she said lightly, already reaching for the Knight’s arm, taloned fingers quite eager to test the firmness beneath his sleeve, “this is getting dreadfully boring.”

Her smile bloomed radiantly, lashes long and dark as they fluttered up at him.

“Valerian, was it?” she asked sweetly. “Shall we wander?”

 

[Arctus Valerian]

Arctus would tip his head as if giving Carsan's mocking suggestion serious consideration. Brushing aside the backhanded suggestion with it's antithesis, earnest thought. His reply coming casual, blunt like the slamming shut of a door in the face of a burglar who thought they were simply going to walk into the home they wished to pilfer.

"Mmm, perhaps, it is our duty to safeguard all within Thanasis. After all. Noble and low-born alike."

As Vivien Damaris choked and Carsan tensed Arctus would only raise a brow ever so subtly. Evidently he had taken the genuine words as some slight. Not unexpected but definitely bothersome. In reality he had no desire, or patience, for whatever reason Carsan had invited him over to needle him. Perhaps Carsan saw he and Vivien's encounter earlier and thought he was disrespecting her? Nevertheless as Carsan lauded his own blessings and asked after his own house Arctus would meet Carsan's eyes firmly. His words tinged with just a bit of deep, firm reproach.

"That depends entirely, Lord Sahar, what you think of my time in the wilds showing me that the Jarlax begin to swarm in numbers we have seen only twice in our history."

As Nataline stepped forward he would polite oblige her an arm, still focused more on Carsan as her hand alighted on the arm that may as well have been a bundle of iron rods beneath his clothing, before he finished.

"While you trade barbs with the same countrymen you may one day need fight beside. Now if you will excuse me....."

Only then did he turn his gaze to Natalina. Nodding his ascent to her request and only turning from Carsan due to her explicit request to avoid outright disrespecting the man.

"Wander? No My Lady I am afraid you are too captivating for my eyes to do much wandering with you in my company."

Came the low, honest reply as he began to walk away with Natalina. A large, rough hand overlaying her own upon his arm as took a slow, fortifying breathe to see what tricks exactly she may employ. If going out of the frying pan and into the proverbial fire was what he was doing, at least it would grace him some distance from Carsan for now.​

 

[Vivien Damaris]

Carsan did not like that. He did not like him.

For all his practiced composure, the tension bled through in small, tell tale ways; the faint wrinkle of his nose at the mention of safeguarding the lowborn, the tightening at the corners of his mouth as though he had bitten down on something sour.

“Aye, Ser,” he replied too lightly. “And they should be grateful for it.”.. And remember their place, his glare said.

He waved off the talk of the Jarlax with an airy laugh, dismissive and loud, as though volume alone might make the threat smaller. They had beaten the beasts attack on Thanasis only months ago, slaughtered them by the thousands.

But before he could press the point, Natalina stepped away from his side. From Ivan Celreos’ side.

Both men straightened at once, affront rippling through them like a snapped tether. Vivien’s brow lifted despite herself, her gaze flicking from face to face before snagging, traitorously, on Arctus.

She tore her eyes away and rolled them, jaw tightening as Natalina’s hand slid possessively onto his arm.

Her stomach churned. Jealousy, she realised grimly. Not of the man himself, (though good gods, he was something to behold) but of what it seemed he represented. A living contrast to Carsan, to her own family’s polished cruelty. Natalina did not deserve anyone kind. She was a scandal wrapped in silk and lace, a willful hellion who drank too much, laughed too loudly, and kept company with men who made her family’s teeth grind. Years of being handled, bartered, and dismissed had left her determined to drag the Sahar name through the mud if it meant proving she could not be owned.

Carsan had been pushing her toward Ivan for months. That push had snapped.

Natalina turned back to them now, dark eyes cool, her smile all ice. Ivan’s hand came down on Carsan’s shoulder as he spoke her name in a low warning and took a step forward as though to retrieve her.

“Let’s not cause a scene, my friend,” Ivan murmured instead, tightening his grip. “Come. Have a drink.”

He steered Carsan away, leaving the space suddenly hollow.

Vivien remained. Her parents exchanged a look before her mother stepped in at once, fussing with her hair, smoothing her dress as though Vivien were a display piece knocked askew.

“Do try to look like you’re enjoying yourself,” she murmured, lifting Vivien’s chin with two fingers.

Vivien said nothing as they left her there - Carsan and Ivan retreating one way, Natalina and Arctus another, her parents peeling off in the opposite direction until she stood alone, clutching her wine.

People passed her. They glanced, and then looked away. She drained the cup in one go and turned toward the short procession still forming to congratulate the Saela son. When she reached him, she dipped into a perfect curtsy. He smiled, thin and expectant.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said quietly, noting the apparent shock on his face before she turned away, disappearing back into the crowd.

The chamber gave way to the great hall, vast and cavernous, huge stone dragons lined the path in silent judgment. A chasm split the ceiling above, stars glittering coldly through the dark. Vivien walked alone beneath them, her footsteps echoing as she lifted her gaze to the ancient faces as they watched her pass.

---

“Don’t mind my brother,” Natalina said with a sigh, patting Arctus’ arm as though he were the aggrieved party. “He once had a habit of pulling the wings off flies. If he could be the only brute in the skies, he would be.”

She chuckled softly. “Not many would consider it wise to put him in his place, however.”

Her fingers lingered where she touched him, testing. Curious.

“And yet,” she added, glancing up at him with a light smirk on her ruby lips, “here you are.”

 

[Arctus Valerian]

The initial conciliatory reaction Natalina gave was met with a thin smile from the man. While he did appreciate her ending that awkward farce the story about Carsan pulling wings off flies was at once all too easy to believe while also being just outlandish enough to give him the impression Natalina was overstating his cruelty..... perhaps only just. But still.

It wasn't until Natalina mentioned putting her brother 'in his place' that Arctus opinion of her would lower right back to where it had been before her intervention. Perhaps even a bit lower as she peered up at him through styled lashes, lips glistening like rubies showing a playful smirk, and at her lingering touch he would raise a brow down at her silently. Repeating her words with a bit of confusion.

"Here I am...."

Before he shook his head.

"I'm afraid...."

He began before gently peeling her hands from his arm, cradling them softly in his grip, before bowing his head.

".... that you seem to have mistaken my intentions. I did not say what I said to make any offense at your brother, though offense he may have indeed taken."

Her hands were dropped, his posture straightened, before he met her attempt at an alluring gaze with one that was hard, unyielding, but also restrained as he stated.

"I said them because they were, they ARE, true. What Umbridge your brother takes with the truth is between himself and reality."

His initial nicety was now all but a long-forgotten vestige of the past. Despite taking place mere moments ago. Natalina had revealed her exterior beauty to simply be polish upon the heap that was her desire for drama and rebellion against her family. Thoughtless. Immature. Arctus remained mostly stoic in his countenance, inhaling slowly in a way that made his chest heave, before he finished in a surprisingly soft tone.

"Good day, My Lady, I do hope we meet again under more... hospitable circumstances."

This time he did not wait for any approval or leave to step away. He merely walked, step by step, past the young Saella and the procession of well-wishers, Vivien Damaris included, past the entry to the great training hall, and instead decided to linger a moment in the courtyard once among his own House. Seeing to the business of making sure supplies were stocked for the return home, that all heads were accounted for, and any new belongings or courtiers who wished to join them were situated and secure.​

 

[Vivien Damaris]

Natalina had expected many things from a man. Rejection was not one of them.

The shock bled through her features before she could stop it, just a flicker, but enough. Her lashes narrowed, mouth tightening as she wrenched her hands back as though the withdrawal had been entirely her choice. Embarrassment flared hot and fast, feeding a familiar, volatile rage.

He would regret this. Of that she was certain.

But she would not grant him, or worse, her family, the satisfaction of a scene. That indulgence had already cost her enough. Acting the wanton only sharpened the knives they kept for her, and she would not hand them another.

So her chin lifted. Her expression smoothed into bored indifference as she turned away, hips swaying deliberately as she crossed the floor. She claimed a fresh cup of wine from a passing tray, already smiling again.

“Lorena, darling! Milicent!” she called brightly.

Her friends gathered at once, clucking and cooing, eager for whatever spectacle she chose to give them next.

---

Vivien had so rarely been alone.

There was sleep, of course. And her gardens, walled, gated, curated into a small and perfect sanctuary. Beautiful, yes, but controlled. Otherwise, true solitude for a woman was considered improper at best, dangerous at worst.

She savoured it anyway.

Carsan would be livid. Her mother, incandescent. She could already imagine the maids and guards fanning out in search of her, voices hushed and frantic, but she was long gone and all she could conjure despite the impending verbal lashing, was a small smile.

The wine had warmed her for a time, but now the cold crept in, biting at her skin. Vivien wrapped her arms around herself as she walked, breath blooming pale in the air. The plaza lay quiet, stone echoing softly beneath her slippers. She slowed, then stopped, noticing movement.

Movement of one Arctus Valerian.

She hesitated, instinct urging her to turn away, to retreat into the dark and spare herself another awkwardness, but curiosity got the better of her.

“I didn’t think any man capable of escaping the claws of Natalina Sahar,” she called, a slender brow arching, her voice carrying easily across the open space.