(Timelord/Flame)
As the larger summit is concluded, Finn and his entourage silently stand---or in the case of Cirelle and Paldis, float back up---and file out of the chamber. Nothing is said until they reach the large parlor, where they were before. It's obvious that they are of one mind, but only one opinion of the group counts for anything, and as they wander back to their former waiting spot, he speaks.
"That was both easier and more difficult than I anticipated," Prince Finn says, his speech flat.
"What are your thoughts thus far, my Prince?" Cirelle says, floating behind him, her hands folded.
Finn sighs. "We cannot go to war, that much is certain. It would be a worthless waste. Planting season begins in but a fortnight for the low country, and the high dells will not be far behind. The Sønnermärchen have too much to burden them already for an adventure in some strange land where they would have nothing to gain and everything to lose."
"'A man is happiest when his troubles begin and end in his field,'" Arlmar says, quoting a proverb from their homeland. The others nod in agreement.
"Do you think this 'Matriarchy' poses us any threat?" Finn turns to Hyngwar.
"VVëll..." Hyngwar idly uses her thumb to push her bangs away from her eyes. "I'm nöt exachtly der vun tü ask, as I've bëën aslëëp für søme tïme. Büt, I vvoüld say, vüry ünlïkely. VVit der müntaïns tø der nørt ünd ëast uf üs, dey vüld haf tü gø tröugh VVhïtemärch tü get at üs."
"Unless they go over the mountains," Arlmar says. "I heard something about ships of the air."
"In which case, Her Majesty would obliterate them with an ice storm that would pummel them into oblivion." Cirelle's voice is somewhat defensive, as the mention of her patron lady's ancient lands being invaded raises her ire.
"And then, if they got through, they would have to deal with us," Arlmar concedes.
"And Saint Frode," Finn mumbles.
The mention of the name seems to put a deathly pall over the group. Even Hyngwar visibly tenses. Moki very clearly becomes nervous, even though she tries to hide it.
The subject already breached, Finn looks to Hyngwar. His voice is quiet.
"My Bann, do you...do you think we should consult Her Holiness? I...I mean, just in case..."
Her response is cold. "If vvë do...dät ïs yøur fathér's décïsïøn. Nøt mïne."
Silence permeates the group as thoughts of the last bit of conversation run through everybody's mind. Then, sensing a shift in the room's energy, Cirelle looks up and sees Vellantha and Nicholas walking in their direction. Gently, she puts a hand on Finn's shoulder and leans in to him, speaking calmly.
"My prince, it looks as if we have a conversation to tend to. I do not know them, but I can tell you, the woman is a Lilim."
Forgetting his manners, Finn is snapped out of his stupor and looks over to the pair as they approach. His eyes widen. "A...a Lilim??"
"Yes. I can sense it. You are doing well, my prince, but know that she is a member of the Red Court and a daughter of the Maou. But also remember this---you too are royalty. There is room for diplomacy and manners without acting below your station. Do not look to me or the others."
For the first time all evening, a thread of nervousness winds its way up Finn's spine. He controls it by focusing on what he can see in the pair---he recognizes Nicholas right away, and so his trepidation eases somewhat. Surely anyone who traveled with that fellow would be just as amiable company?
The smile that crosses Finn's face is thus genuine, and he addresses Nicholas as he and the Lilim come within reasonable earshot.
"You had the look of a man who would have rather been anywhere else," he says with just a touch of ribbing. "Be glad that they allow you to drink! If I ask, all they give me is grape juice."