A Coronal of Blue and Black

'' Change is the constant; the signal for rebirth; the egg of the phoenix. ''

War Room 


 * One of the largest rooms within Dawnstar Keep, the War Room is also one of the most brightly lit, thanks mostly to the ceiling featuring a stained-glass dome depicting nothing more than an interlace of colors and light.


 * The central feature of the War Room is the large, round redwood table that dominates much of the floor space from within its position in the middle of the room. Polished to a deep shine, it has space for twelve people to sit around it at equidistant positions, and thus comes equipped with a number of high back redwood chairs for that very purpose.


 * Set atop the standard red-with-gold-trim carpeting against the usual backdrop of dark bluish-gray stone, the redwood table shares the War Room with a number of other items of furniture, such as the trio of sturdy desks tucked into an open alcove on the northern side of the room, and the various bookshelves that line the walls, complete with documents and maps of trade routes and Imperial Fort locations that would be out of place within the main library.


 * Serving as a place of study, business, politics, or simple retreat, the War Room is a location that is tasked with a number of roles when the need arises, but remains mostly empty and quiet all the same. Of curious note, one can also find a steel crossbow quarrel firmly lodged in the southern wall.

---

On this Riverstretch, 35th day of Bleakdreary in the year 628, the paths of the regal wildcat and agile mongoose have collided as result of a long-overdue arrangement. Through noble grace and secretive intentions the word had spread to the desired ears and so representatives from both esteemed houses are now gathered together. Here, in the war room of Dawnstar Keep. Unlike most noble gatherings of amiable nature, there is no festive pomp to liven the air of this studious chamber, but it is not entirely without amenities. Silver serving trays placed evenly along the redwood table offer up an assortment of wines and fruits as well as a hearty loaf of bread that's been torn asunder into a multitude of pieces and arranged amongst the fruit.

And, overhead, the stained glass dome sheds ethereal light on the situation below - the moons and stars creating a myriad of color with the glass before beaming the gentle hues throughout the room. To supplement nature's lights, several sconces have been lit along the walls as well as candles stood in the table's center, encircling a brilliant bouquet of Mikin orchids. Several pieces of parchment, some with writing on it, have been stacked neatly to the right of the candles on the table, held in place by the weight of an inkwell… and there's the plume. With a decisive 'plop', the quill is returned to its home as the Mikin matriarch finishes her preparations for the night's long hours ahead. A long, shaky sigh is heaved with mild frustration as she looks with expectation to the night sky above. Self-conscious hands pat down the crisp, new wardrobe and flex nervously within tight-fitted leather gloves. The pair of dragon-head bracers snooze peacefully on her forearms, offering no consolation to her doubts about her appearance. Rowena casts a long, hesitant look at her mail-clad torso. Could they see the bare skin beneath? What was Serath thinking!? And WHERE was he?

Not wanting to waste more time, the duchess squares her spaulder-clad shoulders and marches forward to open the massive doors and summon their guests forth.

One of the guests allowed to enter the room is a figure in forest-green armor and the Mikin tabard, although notably weaponless. The gray-haired Alin Mikin walks in with a measured, unhurried pace and bows deeply to his Duchess. "Your Grace." He rumbles in his gravelly baritone.

Ailith makes her way into the room at a somber march, the hiss of Knightly silk somewhat muffling the sound of Ordinator's armor, that the woman seems to never forego. As at the gates, she greets the Duchess with a bow from the waist, a mailed fist over the heart, and a solemn, "Your Grace." Stepping away from the door to make way for other guests, she approaches a chair with a vague air of having no idea what else might be required.

It's not that the Prince of the Blood is late to the (gathered) party as much as it seems that the nature of the gathering itself is what has stalled him. He arrives somewhat announced - as is to be expected from a Prince who harbors a dislike of pomp and heraldry - upon near-silent footsteps with a small stack of rolled parchments under his right arm that each look large enough to be maps of Fastheld in and of themselves. His attire as he strides is one of a raiment of fur-lined midnight-blue leathers and weathered iron plating, forming the distinctive and somewhat unique armor that he has adopted as of late, comprised mostly of a single heavy-leather longcoat and the articulated iron-spaulders that run atop the leather coat down the length of his right arm from shoulder to elbow. It is attire that is as quiet as Serath's steps, yet just as striking as the man himself. He abruptly stalls, and then side-steps just as swiftly, as that purposefully silent stride almost puts him first in Alin's bowed back, and then second into Rowena's arms by pure chance as she stands by the ingress, hopping around her to make any such chance of collision pure fantasy, and offering a smile as apology for the near-miss - a smile that takes on a hint of fondness as he registers her attire. "You wore it!" he quietly purrs, evidently pleased by both the sight and the gesture, even though the comment itself may seem cryptic to those out of the personal relationship loop. That seems to suffice as his apology for not arriving on time. For a Serath is never late, nor is he early...

One of the last to follow up the august guests is that of woman dressed in the unique armor that never clashes with her hair. Celeste gives a warm smile to Rowena, waiting to offer her own well wishes. There's a tightness about the woman's eyes and studiously leveled on the Mongoose rather than the others.

Rowena's shoulders dip with a bow to greet the others as they enter, eyes locking neatly with each in turn as they cross the threshold. Serath's murmuring is returned by a partially smile, or grimace, of uncertainty and quirking of the brows. Just for good measure, she hooks her thumbs in the inner edge of the long coat and tugs it a bit more shrouding around her waist.

"Cousin," Rowena offers to Celeste, relaxing her expression in order to invite the woman in. Peering around the blonde's shoulder, she looks to ensure that no others are waiting in the hall. "To the few of you who have made the abrupt date this evening, we thank you deeply." She announces, satisfied that it's safe to close the door, and touches Celeste's arm gently with one hand, pointing to the table with her other. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. I hope our food and wine selection for the evening is to your liking."

Righting himself, the gray-haired Alin Mikin's features crease into a warm smile, one which is extended to Serath as he notices the prince. "Highness." He rumbles amiably, and then prudently - if not belatedly - gets out of the way of anyone else entering, seeking a wall to lean against.

Ailith offers her Prince and Warpriest a second, somewhat deeper bow, in the same manner offered to Rowena. And then selects a chair to sit in, regarding the pair of high nobles with silent but quite direct attention.

Being at a disadvantage (for once) in regards to the knowing of names, Serath offers a respectful incline of his head towards Alin, both acknowledging and returning the greeting in equal measure, doing to the same for Ailith as Rowena greets Celeste, and then looking around the quieter War Room than was evidently expected. "Is this all we can expect, then?" he asides to the Duchess Mikin.

"It appears to be so," Rowena mutters in reply, glancing briefly to Serath before moving to take her own seat. She touches his elbow in passing, brushing by with her own version of a 'near miss'. Selecting a seat within arm's reach of the stacked parchments, Rowena places both hands on the tall backing of the chair, claiming it as her own.

"In the event that no other bodies from either house arrive to participate in this evening's affair then it is expected for the parties engaged here to share details in full with each member of their bloodline. The Prince and I will be placing a formal announcement in addition, of course."

Finding his wall of preference, Alin leans against it with a slow exhaling of breath, folding his arms across his armored chest as he listens attentively.

Ailith simply nods, acknowledgment of an order it would seem, but the intensity of the Ordinator's interest appears to sharpen.

"I've had a few letters from those who couldn't make it, for whatever various reasons they imagined would sound convincing at the time of writing," Serath notes, moving in Rowena's wake to select a seat to the left of the Duchess, before standing behind it. "A few sound genuine, while the rest are the usual yarn you can expect from Nobles who think they have better things to do than politics. Tiris Kahar is suffering from ill-health at the moment, and as that leaves me to play acting-Duke in his place, his absence is legitimate. The rest have either been informed that this meeting will herald something of importance and have accepted the outcome regardless of what that might be, or aren't interested enough to care either way; so no loss there." "I'm confident that at least a few able Mikins and Kahar managed to arrive as witnesses," he continues, "Which will suffice. In truth, Rowena and I could have done this without any others present, but we thought it was important to have *some* representation."

Celeste Mikin 's brow quirks at the prince's statement. She looks back to Rowena, looking for some understanding.

"This monumental change runs far more smoothly with your consent than without," Rowena adds quietly and pulls her chair away from the table to sit. The coat remains on rather than being lain over her chair back. "The purpose for this evening is not to divide, after all, but to do the opposite." Rowena punctuates her sentence with a nod in Celeste's direction.

Alin's bushy brows arch and his eyes go towards his Duchess for a moment, puzzlement clear in his expression.

Ailith settles back slightly in her chair, studying the couple. Still quite interested, no question there, but the expression might better suit a tactician.

The Prince proceeds to step around the chair he was stood behind to reach the edge of the large round table that dominates the War Room of Dawnstar Keep. Once there, he collects the various rolled-up parchments that rest under his right arm to place them upon the table's surface. From the neat stack that has now been formed, he selects one of the larger items and then rolls it out across the table, revealing the nature of the document: a large and exceptionally detailed territorial map of Fastheld, revealing the location of each city, keep, castle, fort, village, town, and every item of interest and inn and waystation along every road and highway that is worth of such cartography. After smoothing the map out and pinning two of the corners down with weighted objects (an inkpot and a candle, respectively), Serath leans forward on the table's surface, palms down, looking between Ailith and Celeste given that Alin is generally not in direct visual range. "It should come as no surprise to you that House Mikin is - to be blunt - a crippled House."

Celeste Mikin shakes her head once, and keeps her gaze to the map. She gives a rough pluck of on errant lock behind her ear.

Brilliant eyes flinch with downturned expression as Rowena lowers her gaze to the map stiffly at Serath's words. Pride is a difficult thing to bend, afterall, regardless of how pitiful the numbers look. Her lips remain silent for now, hands folded complacently in her lap.

Ailith simply nods. Once, briefly. Acknowledgment only, devoid of commentary - spoken or not.

"Between Alieron Mikin's failed gambit to claim the Wildcat Throne," Serath explains, "the destruction of the old Light's Reach by the awoken Ravager, the influence and collapse of the Church of True Light and House Mikin's connections to it, the razing of the Crafting School establishment, various deaths, cutting rumors, and various political confrontations-" that he's looking at Celeste when he offers that last point should not be missed, even if his tone is neutral, "-when such confrontations should have been avoided, the Mongoose House has survived for this long due to the alliance with, and the protection of, House Kahar - something that I have no regrets about." "Be that as it may," the Prince continues, "after the loss of Light's Reach, House Mikin suffered a displacement of citizenship. Wedgecrest has become the only true territory that House Mikin owns, with Southwatch too small to be of any real economic aid to a House that was once depended on a city that was only slightly smaller than the one we sit in today." "In short," he concludes, "House Mikin has just enough resources to cling on to what it has, without giving or gaining ground. It has been rated on par with House Seamel, which should speak enough."

Celeste Mikin meets the prince's gaze without wavering. She reaches up to finger a simple pendant that houses a mongoose on a field of silver.

Alin Mikin closes his eyes for a moment, lips thinning into a pained grimace. After a moment, he pushes away from the wall he moves towards the table, staring down at the map in silence. He claims one of the empty chairs, sitting down with the creak of armor.

Rowena's jaw juts, tensely clenched more and more so with Serath's elaboration until her teeth rake, squeaking sharply against each other; her hands come alive, mounting the table in flat formation. Avoiding his eyes but looking to all others present, she utters a low, evenly spoken response that can almost pass for rebuttal.

"The glory of the Mikin House, best served in its history past, has come to dimmer light, yes. One brother - our former Chancellor - is dead and the other heir to my father's esteem has sustained injury that will likely commit him to a lifetime of bed. My niece, Alieron's daughter, and her husband, my cousin, have withdrawn much of their energy from our political pool in favor of living what they can of their remaining lives in peaceful delusion. The resulting financial situation and unfortunate fall parallel to the Church's reputation does not bode well for our ability to otherwise compete with fellow Houses in terms of spreading influence. However..." One by one, her fingers weave themselves together once more as her gaze turns keenly upwards and aside to her betrothed. "Let it not be said that we are a *crippled* house. Our heart remains strong - the heart of those willing to give it; a mongoose is small without question, but let us not forget the swiftness, the effectiveness of its bite." A thin rush of air from her nostrils dissipates the remaining tension in her jaw until she can relax back against the chair. "It'd simply be wise for us to secure a more permanent source of aid."

Ailith regards the Duchess' anger almost dispassionately. Almost; there is sorrow in there somewhere, when the fall of the Church is mentioned. Her gaze when it returns to the Warpriest holds a hint of silent resignation.

Celeste Mikin stiffens, a subtle change in the armor that gives little note. Her gaze darts across to Alin, almost beseeching. And at Rowena's words, there's pride that brims in the Mikin's eyes.

Serath's ethereal gaze of cold azure sweeps back away from the table to glance side-long at Rowena, the Prince removing one hand from the table to offer to her, palm upturned, as he nods an affirmation of her words. "Be that as it may," he softly states, "a strong heart does little to repair broken legs, and though a broken sword can be reforged, it may never be quite as sharp." He looks back across the table, between the others in turn, and continues. "That House Seamel has both Jade Gardens and Silkfield - townships as large as, and larger than, Wedgecrest in turn, though lacking river connections - and now Northreach has only served to highlight House Mikin's wounds to those who would seek to stab at them." "Yet House Mikin holds something that no other House can claim to own - a conviction to the Light that even House Kahar cannot match. Let it not be said that the Church of True Light was not born of pure intentions, much like the Imperial Cult, and that the failings of that same Church were not the fault of House Mikin, even if the two were related by blood and faith." "May it also be said that not all of House Mikin succumbed to the desire of claiming Fastheld for their own, no matter how much it seems that the ghosts of those who have fallen scream for it to be so in the opinions and thoughts of the living," he continues, his tone still soft though lacking little in the way of regal command.

"The Duchess that sits to my right - as beautiful as the Light itself - is proof that there is always starlight deep within the darkness. The Mongoose is wounded, the Wildcat shields her, but she may never walk again, even if her spirit is strong, and even though the Wildcat longs to run through the fields with her once more. That time has passed."

Alin folds his hands in his lap, nostrils flaring as he inhales sharply. He offers Celeste a faint, unhappy smile before returning his dour but respectful regard to the two who speak.

The raised hackles of the matriarch almost visibly smooth beneath the preening stroke of the Prince's words. Quieted and recomposed, Rowena gingerly lays her left hand in the offered right and stares blankly at the union of the two.

"Instead, the time has come for the wildcat's legs to become one with the mongoose's. The strength and courage to union with speed and wisdom. And, from that union, a body made more whole and capable than either was before."

Ailith raises an eyebrow at that. A brief sidelong look at her tablemates is followed by watching the Warpriest in strict neutrality.

"The sun has set on House Mikin," the Prince of the Blood offers, his voice soft and his tone reverent, "the history remains, but the life has sailed beyond the horizon." He pauses now, looking at each of those gathered in turn, with Rowena last - and holding his gaze the longest - as he seeks the words that are to follow. "In honor of the bond that our Houses share - a bond that will exist for as long as both Rowena and I draw breath - House Kahar is to sail beyond that horizon with House Mikin. There is a document that we have here, crafted and authenticated by the Imperial Tribunal, that will lay each to rest, and from that passing shall a new House arise, born of both Mikin and Kahar." At that, he looks at Rowena to continue.

Celeste Mikin sighs, hushed and barely an exhalation. She shakes her head, looking away from Alin and awaiting the verdict of her matriarch.

"We can do better than that," the Prince assures his Duchess. "I had planned to disband the Order of the Broken Shield, and reassign the House Knights to the Order of the Sheltered Flame. I doubt any honor would be lost from such an action, and it would secure the Order's place in coming times, acting as custodian of our history in turn."

Celeste Mikin blanches, looking away. She gives a tug to her gauntlets, though they're firmly in place.

Alin, looking entirely bewildered once again, speaks up in a tentative rumble, his expression one of worry. "What... will we be called? It's, ah, well, it's not easy to consider losing one's name."

"Terms accepted," Rowena whispers, looking to Celeste with moistened eyes, then says more firmly "It is not an easy decision to be made, no. The act of admitting to our need to unite still causes a very bitter taste to reside in my mouth. Please do not lose heart with me," she commands, targeting first Celeste's pallid face, then Alin's disoriented one. "For the name to stand in our stead resonates the attributes we hold dear - courage and beauty of the Light. It is a fine testament to the history of both Houses."

Ailith looks rather thoughtful at the mention of knightly orders. Though her hands wear gauntlets, there is a faint clack as fingers brush over fingers - where a signet ring resides underneath.

"Rowena and I have decided on House Valoria as that which shall arise from the union of the Wildcat and the Mongoose." The dip in Serath's tone would seem to suggest that putting House Kahar to rest - the Imperial House that forged an Empire - is no easy thing for him, either; and yet there's something else within that voice that equally hints that it is a decision he does not regret - perhaps because of the Duchess that holds his hand in hers. "The Valorian territory will cover both the north eastern and south eastern reaches of the Empire: everything south of Zahir Road and west of the Imperial Throughfare in the south, and everything north of the Shadow District and the Fastheld River, and west of Northreach Road in the north. Suffice to say, between Light's Reach, Lionsgate, Aegisport, Wedgecrest, and Southwatch, House Valoria will be a political and economic power of the kind that has never been seen before." "Our standard," he continues, "is being considered as a white dragon upon a field of black, trimmed in royal blue - an adaptation of that of the Imperial Cult. As the world beyond the Aegis is one of Drakes, then House Valoria shall become Fastheld's very own Dragon. However, this is still open for debate, and nothing is as yet set in stone."

Celeste Mikin fingers at the simple necklace and allowing the words to flow over her. The color doesn't return to her face, and tears threaten at the corner of her eyes.

Alin reaches up with a hand to rub at his whiskers-- Some of the bewilderment has gone, perhaps, but he doesn't look any less troubled.

Rowena pales a bit in belated imitation of Celeste's blanching, her eyes closing to the sound of drakes and dragons. Creatures that have, in strange twists of fate, been both the bane of her existence and yet responsible for the miracle of love's survival. Living mysteries, pasts forgotten, futures unwritten. "But let us be a bit less disastrous then said drakes. No offense..." Rowena mumbles aside to Serath, though the way she looks at him, it seems as though she's speaking *through* him rather than at. "But I know my kin, as do the kin of perhaps all Houses within the realm, indeed have more than one reason to despise the species." With a twitch, she adds. "That being said, the symbol of a dragon *does* represent desirable attributes. Unmatched strength and wisdom. Timelessness. The placing of white 'gainst black further symbolizes the existence of Shadow and Light - entities that balance one another, but by casting /our/ figure in white, signifies that we shall forever defend and live within the good ideals of that entity."

Biting her lip in punctuation, Rowena looks as though she might not yet be entirely convinced herself despite her defense of the idea. She continues to stare at her younger cousin.

Ailith remains quite thoughtful in attitude, raising a gauntleted finger across her lips. She watches Serath as a swordsman watches an opponent, almost; there is that air of waiting for the next move.

"To reject change would be to become the architect of decay," the Sovereign Prince of the Blood notes, unfurling the second of the documents that were brought to the table, only flattening this one in a manner that presents it to Rowena herself, even as she sits. "If you believe in this alliance as much as I do, then you know that it cannot continue as it is forever. House Kahar cannot continue to be House Mikin's lifeline, and no matter how much we may wish to turn a blind eye, there is a reason that the Imperial Watch provides the law in Light's Reach." He doesn't elaborate on that last point, letting it stand as final punctuation upon the naked truth of House Mikin's current fragility, and upon his own desire to see that very same thing strengthened instead of broken. There are two spaces on the Tribunal's document for the both he and Rowena to sign their names. Without further hesitation, Serath Kahar scribes his name on the left. "Though who would rather not be a part of this union will be free to leave House Valoria if they wish it; perhaps to be adopted by another House; perhaps to become a Freelander. The choice is open, but I can see no loss in such defections if they are to become indicators of a desire to see a House collapse for the sake of a word, rather than blossom for the sake of change."

Celeste Mikin bites to her lower lip. Her gaze flickers to those assembled and finally rest lastly to Rowena, continuing to pluck at that simple pendant.

Centuries of ancestral history dwelled on the tip of that quill. Or so must be the case, judging by the mournful way in which Rowena studies it as it rests in Serath's hand. Would she sign away future centuries of the Mikin name? Alieron's memory grew red in the face, his muffled shouts of pride resonating between her 'meddling' ears. Old Aunt Athara, though not yet dead, glared angrily into her thoughts, if for no reason than simply to continue her habit of loathing Rowena's self. Ghosts did make their opinions known, this much was true. But ghosts could not grasp a quill. She could. Could, but would? This /is/ what she came here to accomplish...

"It is in best interest of my people - those noble and not. Those with wealth to pave their own fortune and those who rely on our wealth to pave their survival." Pursing her lips, Rowena reaches with an unsteady hand to take the quill from Serath, the tremor having made its way from her breast to her fingertips. "Though I will miss the simple ring of the word "Mikin"." Her thumb and littlest finger of her right hand have meanwhile conspired together and twisted the signet ring free so that she may stare at the green jewel beset in its center. "What say you, my fellow mongoose? I wish to hear more than shuddered breath from your lungs before I verify this document. Will you not speak in the face of your history's making? Your future's fate hangs here."

Ailith - not being a Mikin - holds her peace as she has done throughout the meeting, but her attention turns to the stricken Mikins, to learn their reaction.

The Prince of the Blood merely watches, and waits.

"We continue to sacrifice for others," Celeste offers up in a hoarse voice. "Who we are; what we are. Wounded, but not broken." She shakes her head. "Sign, Your Grace; what are all these words but that? Simple words." Another pluck to the pendant. "But even in name, we will always be Mikin at heart."

"I'll honor those words with a toast," Rowena snatches a goblet off the nearest tray and lifts it high in silence before downing a bit more than the customary sip. Her left hand seizes the quill from Serath and plunges its tip cautiously into the inkwell. One tap, two taps to remove the excess. She passes it to her right and fumbles thoughtfully for a decent grip.

"And so it was in the year 628 that the one known as Rowena Mikin became no more and in her place stood Rowena Valoria. And so followed the names of all living Mikin and their sons to come." The first of the words "Rowena" is scribed with tentative, measured strokes that flow gracefully into the name "Aleire" that follows. It pauses there as she summons the nerve to write her surname for the final time. Horribly stifled emotion wells up in her eyes to the verge of spilling over, perhaps nudged by the potency of that wine.

"Forgive me," she murmurs to souls not present as the letters "M-I-K-I-N" follow suit at last with sweeping, bold curves and lavish loops. A crystaline drop patters down over the "M", smudging the ink before it has time to set, casting a blur across the elaborate caligraphy of her letter. A stamp in its own rite.

Ailith nods to herself, and then looks toward Serath somewhat expectantly. There are, after all, two Houses ending.

"It is done," the Prince of the Blood states, giving the document a final glance before looking back up. It's one of those rare occasions in which one might find Serath to be somewhat uncertain that what he's doing is correct; but there's also an air about him that suggests he deeply believes in the path that the two Houses have now been set as one. "It pains me to see both names go, but House Kahar died with my brother, and the name should rest with him. It seems right. I now name Rowena as Duchess Valoria," he states, the name flowing as if it had always been like that, "until such time as she becomes Princess of the Empire of Fastheld. Let none question the faith of the Valorian, nor the honor and duty that it shall uphold. We have combined the best blood and spirit of this Empire together, and may the Light have mercy upon those that would seek to assail it." He pauses, and then smiles a genuine smile. "The alliance is set and stone, and we have accomplished true unity. I think those that have gone before us would be proud of what we've accomplished." "Forth," he concludes, speaking a motto that shines true for both former Mikin and Kahar - now Valorian both, "And fear no darkness."

''Return to Season 7 (2008)