A Private Interview - Aubin/Aurelai

[Aubin]

aiIn his over 600 years Aubin had never once attended a session of any political house, much less the Vampyr-controlled Luminares. Politics held absolutely no interest for the artist who found the field itself almost antithetical to his own profession and most of those who practiced it at once both boring and mildly repulsive. How any of the worthy Vampyrs in the House could stand to spend hours at a time listening to their compatriots talk about matters that held no creative spark was beyond the artist. Considering Aubin’s antipathy it was unsurprising that the very first time he ventured into the House to watch one of the debates a week or so after his visit from the Queen’s Guard, Sellica, he had fallen into a deep (but fortunately soundless) sleep within ten minutes.

For four hours Aubin slept, sprawled across the backmost bench of the public viewing area as the politicians debated a bylaw that they at the very least seemed to find of desperate importance. The rustle of the various members of the House leaving when the interminable debates finally ended was what woke the Vampyr and set him to blinking wearily, face pressed to the soft maroon cushion that he had fortunately not drooled on while he dreamt. When he was sure that the buzz of voices and shuffling of papers really did hail the end of the meeting (rather than, Autor forbid, a break to be followed by still more meeting) Aubin slowly stood and brushed the wrinkles out of his clothes. Compared to the politicians, Aubin was decidedly underdressed but the Vampyr had made a rare attempt at trying to dress in something more formal than his usual over-washed slacks and shirt. He wore instead this evening a newly purchased shirt that made him itch and feel stupid all once, trousers that didn’t look like they’d seen more than 100 washings, his nicest jacket, boots that were old but freshly shined and, miracle of miracles, a tie that always felt like it was choking him, an imagined sensation he was completely unable to prevent from expressing by way of squints and fidgets.

It was while fussing this tie that Aubin’s blue eyes settled on the reason for his unexpected visit to the Parliament. Aurelai, the Aurillian Queen, had finally come into view as the crowd of politicians and members of the public (some people, unlike Aubin, actually did like politics, apparently) slowly slipped out of the chamber to enjoy the few hours of night time left. Suddenly shy but still determined, Aubin quickly threaded his way through the oncoming foot traffic to join in among the many lingerers who wanted a few minutes with the Queen for any variety of reasons from begging a political favour to inviting her to various events both posh and expensive. Throughout this Aubin waited quietly, patiently waiting until the last of the Queen’s circle disbanded and he could have his own chance to speak, only in private.

[Aurelai]

Unlike Aubin, Aurelai was infatuated with the workings of law that vested itself in the House of Luminares. She had never wished to be Queen in the true notion of a monarchy, a dictatorship, and the gathering of a government body did much to alleviate the pressure of leading her kingdom by allowing the weight of that office to be carried by all Aurillians. They were self governed, and she merely the appointed tie-breaker and ambassador to the rest of the world on their behalf. She did sometimes have to make decisions that could not be reached by consensus of the Luminares and those moments of absolute power grieved her terribly, so any meeting of the House was one she was happy to attend. The chatter did not bore her as it did Aubin. She paid rapt attention and her harmonious laugh lifted like bells among the others when someone made one of their political jokes to break the tension. She was comfortable here, and fully engrossed in the action.

As such she didn't notice Aubin sleeping through the meeting, which was just as well for him. She would think nothing less of him for his lack of interest but she might have been called by honor to chide him gently for showing up at all if he only meant to catnap the entire time. Still, she would probably have smiled at the end of it, because even though his behavior made her slightly indignant it was so decidedly artistic of him that she couldn't be too angry. She was a great lover of the arts and loved creative people almost as much as she loved the idea of democracy. That Aubin could come into the House of Luminares and fall asleep was a mark that she was doing her job well, even if it was a little irreverent of that job on the whole.

The petitions for her attention after the meeting had come to a close were met with a patience born from hundreds of years worth of experience at this sort of thing, and bolstered by the knowledge that she had as long as she could possibly imagine to get done those things she would like to do 'one day.' Pollao at her side kept note of the many events she agreed to try to make it to and also helped keep track of those personal issuse she promised to look into when she had time. At long last there were only a few people standing nearby waiting for her attention, and most of them only seemed to be hovering to see where the Queen planned to go next. Where she went a party was sure to follow. It was a bit embarrassing, really, but by now she was well used to it.

With room to breathe, Aurelai took a moment to examine the faces still remaining. None of them looked particularly intent on her except, she noticed at last, Aubin. She knew all of the Original vampyr by name, having come through a very rough time with them both during the Plague and the events afterwards, and while she might not be completely up to date on his activities she knew vaguely of his doings and ran into him once and again at art exhibitions and the like. So she offered him a smile now and beckoned him to step forward out of the crowd of nameless faces surrounding him.

"Aubin?" she asked politely. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, acknowledging, "I've never seen you at a meeting of the House before." Her eyebrows quirked with humor. He looked like a duck in a gaggle of geese.

[Aubin]

All vestiges of Aubin’s antipathy faded the moment that the Queen met Aubin’s gaze and greeted him by name. Unbidden, a sudden shy blush bloomed in the artist’s cheeks as it always did no matter how often he stood before Aurelai and he dropped his gaze immediately from hers, a mark of deference he never extended to anyone else. Even the tips of the artist’s ears burned red, making it clear to anyone and everyone the extent of Aurelai’s effect on the painter. Such was Aubin’s reaction every time he found himself before the Queen however and so the extent of the Queen’s ability to gentle Aubin with as little as a word and look should not have been surprising to either of the parties immediately involved.

Why Aurelai had such on effect on Aubin was not, however, known as well nor as wide as the fact that such an effect existed. It was borne in part, of course, by the level of devotion the Vampyr had for his regent and in part because their histories were to some extent shared. Although the laws treated all Aurillian’s the same there was a sense of brotherhood among the Original Vampyrs (a sense felt more strongly in some than others, perhaps) that marked them as not exactly like those who had been made in eras following the plague. Aurelai, like Aubin, had suffered that same first death and had awoken from that strange second birth as unaware and un-understanding as he and through that Aubin felt a kinship for the woman.

But Aubin’s affection for the Queen was borne as much from similarities as it was from difference. She was, he knew, somehow different from all of them; the only one among their entire brood to produce a living child. For some this miracle had been translated to an understanding of Bruis somehow being different, of being special, but Aubin himself saw the birth as a testament, rather, to the woman who inexplicably managed to bear him. That Bruis’ father was of the lesser breed did nothing to slacken Aubin’s faith in his Queen, indeed if anything it only confirmed it. Aurelai’s transgression marked her, at least in Aubin’s eyes, as a woman of passion, one not bound to the laws of logic and thought that so many of his people held in such high regard. It marked her too as a woman who did exactly as she pleased, a rebellious streak that engendered affection in the Vampyr rather than disgust or distrust. Aubin, in short, loved his Queen with the full force of his unbeating heart and was, perhaps, among her most loyal citizens for all he didn’t look it.

“No,” said Aubin, blushing furiously as he stared fixedly at the floor, “I don’t often come to the House Ma’am, indeed I have never before entered it. I have…” he paused, trying to find a way to word his well known hatred for politicians without insulting the Queen who was herself one, “…I have little understanding of the work here, which breeds an impatience for it. But I’ve come for matters that aren’t political, or at least not political as the House would define it under their authority. I,” Aubin paused and looked up at the Queen, his shyness, uncertainty, and extreme discomfort with his surroundings painfully evident in his eyes, “I beg an interview, Queen Aurelai, a private one. Please…”

His request given Aubin trailed off as his blush increased exponentially and his eyes dropped once more to the floor. He was well aware that he was woefully out of synch with the manner of speech and conduct expected of the normal inhabitants of the House and would have been, under other circumstances, proud of his ignorance. Before the Queen, however, the failing was cutting and sharp and for the first time in a long time he felt the ache of shame washing over him. Fervently he wished he had brought Illiam who knew these things better than he and who always seemed to find a way of saving Aubin from himself.

[Aurelai]

Aurelai nodded when he explained his distaste for politics, her cheeks rising in amusement at his diplomacy. It would not have offended her if she stated that he disliked politics though as he rightly suggested she did count herself among that category of politicians. She appreciated that he managed not to offend her, despite being able to guess exactly what he meant by those well-chosen words of his.

His request for a private audience surprised her a little, though the only acknowledgement on her fair features was to tilt her head ever so slightly and examine him curiously, a little anxiously. Was something wrong? She assumed it had to do with some personal matter on Aubin's behalf and because it was a private audience he requested she also assumed that he might be in some kind of danger. Had he made some sort of deal with the Brudjans and now found himself unable to break out of it? Had he perhaps been given an ultimatum to join them? Or perhaps it was nothing to do with that deviant faction, were the humans bothering Aubin? She couldn't fathom what might inspire this look of worry and nervousness in Aubin, which seemed even above and beyond his usual diffidence in her presence, so it seemed to her that it must be something very important. She nodded her head slowly.

"Yes, of course, Aubin," she responded, motioning to Pollao that he was to follow, in that way that leaders have of guiding their aides without turning their attention from the people who are currently their true focus. "Come," she offered to Aubin with a courteous smile, reaching an arm behind his shoulder to guide him with her up the stairs and back towards the Palace, though she never touched him. Instead she lifted the long skirt she wore as she walked beside Aubin towards the entrance of the building. As she lead him indoors and down a hallway, past guards and clumps of political groups still lingering after the meeting, she continued to speak to him in a civilized and even tone, so as not to alarm anyone and hopefully put him at ease.

"I hope you are doing well, Aubin?" she asked, her eyes turning on him as they walked. "I know that you are still as popular among the great art lovers of Valir as ever, and I have seen your work hanging in galleries all over the South End. So business must be well?" She continued to watch him politely for his answers as the distance between themselves and an out of the way sitting room closed, Aurelai hardly needing to watch the hallway ahead of her as many centuries as she had spent coming to know the ins and out of the ancient building they now inhabited. When at last the large and regal doorway to their destination loomed before them she eased the tall wooden gates open and stepped inside, taking a seat upon one comfortable plush armchair and inviting Aubin to do the same across from her. Pollao stayed stationed at the doorway, his back to the room where Aurelai and Aubin now sat.

Though the room was smaller than the large, vaulted ceilings they had just left behind, it was still rather large, and it was as comfortable a room as any in the entire palace. Truth be known it was one of Aurelais favorite rooms so it was even more luxuriously furnished than some of the other rooms, and it was a far cry from the sparse, business like room where the Luminares met. The colors were Bohemian and bright, like something straight from the palaces of old Arabia or India, and the seating sunk when one sat, enveloping the seated like a warm embrace. On one end of the room there was a fountain that fell on one end of the room, ran through a shallow basin to the other end, and seemingly disappeared into another very shallow fall at the other end where the water was recycled. Plantlife grew here, exotic palms and ferns and one large, white flower with red tinge that was scentless. Above this garden and fountain there was a long cage where songbirds chirrupped and played, a sound that would mask their speech for anyone trying to hear from outside or from another room. It was an ingenious set up, the water fall and the birds, meant to appear simply beautiful and lavish but with a much greater agenda. Not unlike the Queen herself.

[Aubin]

As he journeyed through the grand corridors at the Queen’s side Aubin kept his eyes downcast and his responses to her questions, kindly spoken he knew, to a bare minimum. He offered some faltering details of his recent business and identified Illiam, rather than himself, as the reason for his recent success. The claim that his current popularity was due to another was not entirely incorrect, either, for although Aubin was highly skilled in his craft and one of the very, very few who remembered the old techniques and styles it was Illiam’s business savvy that kept him in the most prominent galleries and a topic in the homes of those who were, Aubin knew, decidedly his betters. It was Illiam after all who managed to keep the public bemused by Aubin’s refusal to comply with social niceties rather than annoyed by them and Illiam who drug him out of the depressions, Illiam called them ‘moods,’ that sometimes plagued Aubin and slowed his creative output. An explanation of this was hardly necessary however, certainly not, at least, to a woman of so much insight as Aurelai. That Aubin hadn’t responded well to his Embrace was hardly news to the Queen (who had been there almost at the moment of it) nor was it generally unknown that Aubin’s inability to seamlessly mesh with the society around him seemed to increase with each successive human generation. Illiam’s hand in keeping his friend, client, and lover afloat at time wasn’t so much as suspected as it was a given despite the fact that neither Illiam nor Aubin ever spoke of their relationship, working or otherwise, in any detail with outsiders.

The removal of Aubin and Aurelai into the opulent, private room was greeted with relief on the part of the artist. The passage from one house of power to the next had done little to satisfy or soothe the Vampyr despite having successfully obtained the meeting he had come to gain. The number of politicians the pair had passed had reminded Aubin again and again of how very unlike the majority of his brethren he in some ways was, a realization that at once angered and saddened him. Each step seemed to increase Aubin’s anxiety until he had reached the point that he was sure each and every person he passed was staring at him in the way that was normally reserved to staring at Brudjans. The entry into the private room thus felt more like an escape than a simple transition from a public space to a private one.

But the quiet room shortly provided its own anxieties. Aubin lived a simple life in the privacy of his flat one that was not by any definition mean but one that was, by comparison with what he now saw, comparatively hard scrabbled. For years Illiam had accused Aubin of disliking the wealthy as a coping mechanism when confronted with their power and lack of want which, Illiam claimed, frightened rather than disgusted Aubin. This position Aubin had resolutely opposed but he was now forced to admit that there was indeed something imposing in the many signs of the Queen’s wealth, something that made him feel smaller and less worthy in a way he realized, grudgingly, that was entirely his own doing.

Swallowing back a desire to curse Illiam (he hated it when the younger Vampyr was right about these sorts of things), Aubin sheepishly raised his gaze to meet that of the Queen’s. He smiled faintly, an attempt at bravado that just made him blush harder, and then, looking down again, plunged into the reason for his visit.

“Ma’am,” he began quietly, “Thank you for being willing to speak with me. I’ve come on a…delicate…manner. A few days ago, that is to a about a week ago, the captain of your guard, Sellica, came to see me. She had business with me she said, on your behalf, which I gladly agreed to do of course. I know it’s not my business to know the reasons behind the will of the crown but…that is to say I was wondering…I…oh, oh fuck it.”

The polite tone Aubin had been attempting to maintain collapsed with his expletive and he dropped his face into his hands, exasperated. When he looked up once more he met the Queen’s gaze but didn’t this time look away.

“I’m not a politely mannered man, Ma’am,” he explained evenly, clearly embarrassed by this failing but resigned to the fact that it could not be rectified in the next few seconds, “so I’ll state my business simply and I’m sorry if it offends you. Sellica came to me last week and asked for a bit of translation and decoding of a Brudjan communiqué. Thing is, I don’t think she was actually acting on your behalf, or at least not with your express authority. I asked her about it but she refused to tell me. Now if you feel it’s none of my business either that’s fine Ma’am, you can tell me shut up and do my job and I’ll do it, but I have to ask. Did you ask for me to translate? Are you actually looking to make war on the Brudjans? Are you seriously considering killing, or having him killed on your behalf, Bruis?”

The last question asked Aubin maintained eye contact for a moment more, fear and worry for the Queen evident in both his gaze and expression, then looked down, staring once more at the floor. He had severely overstepped the bounds of decorum he knew and probably offended the Queen more so than she had ever been offended before, at least by someone who claimed to be on her side. He hadn’t wanted to shock or hurt her but he did want his question answered and if it took being kneed in the groin by yet another woman of the Palace, well, that must be the current price of knowledge.

[Aurelai]

Aubin's discomfort at the opulence of the palace was unnecessary. This was a palace. It belonged not to her but to all the Aurillians, and indeed the doors were always open as was suggested by the groups of people who milled around outside. It was not only her own home but home to her advisors, should they choose, her guards, human Aurillian supporters who needed protection, Changelings who had not yet found arrangements, and many other guests, refugees, and visitors. The wealth he saw displayed around him had been in escrow for nearly a thousand years since long before the Change and Autor and the Plague, and Aurelai could no more claim it than could any other one Aurillian. It was his, too, and there was no reason to be frightened of it.

But she had not been attempting to read his mind and as such didn't realize how incredibly uncomfortable Aubin was, and so made no move to comfort him. She wasn't sure she could have anyway. He was agitated and out of place, as he always seemed to her. She received reports of him from other people as being much more companionable than he was in her own presence, though all accounts were marred by his lack of social prowess. Still, she was suprised by his sudden breakdown. She was not so shocked by his expletive - it was amazing how often cursing echoed off the walls of Luminares meetings - but by the realization that he had been trying to censor himself before her in the first place. Why? Had she given him reason to fear her?

And then he asked her bluntly and right out what most people only wondered at the back of their minds. It was not a subject that had not been broached to her quite often recently. The House of Luminares had not yet begun to discuss in earnest - they hoped that she would provide a solid answer without their input - but it rumbled with those beginning murmurs of war. Her advisors asked what she meant to do, suggesting what the future may bring because they had to look ahead. The Prime Minister of the humans asked her what she would do. This was a vampyr problem but the humans were suffering, and he blamed her for not getting the lawless vampyr in order. She was plagued with this question, though normally not in so outright a question as Aubin stated. But he, unlike most others, seemed to still remember that war with Brudja didn't only meant war against her enemies, it meant war with her own son. And that made his questions sting all the more.

She began with the issue at hand. "I did not know Sellica had visited you. But she is my head of security and is authorized to act even as my own hand. I trust her explicitly, and if she says that we must have something decoded, then we must have it. So in answer to your question, yes, I do wish you tell me what is written in that ancient hand. I would be deeply appreciative if you would decipher it for me. It would take me much too long to do it myself." She declined her head in a gracious nod, which didn't yet belie her anger at having so bold a demand of her made directly after his justified questions about the note.

"As for your questions about war, I will attempt to answer them as honestly and as completely as I can at this point in time." Her words were chosen carefully and with that air about them as if she had to hedge herself in, as if she were talking to an assembly of Aurillians or to authorities of the humans or the Brudjans and couldn't afford to tick anyone off nor say anything she would later have to go back on. "I will do everything that is in my power to protect every Aurillian and every human from the Brudjans, but to start a war would, I feel, bring more attention to us than we can currently handle. Unless every Aurillian is willing to give up his comforts, his operas, his literature, his paint brushes, and take up the weapons of war, or at least take up that mantle of fearful possibilities that comes with a war, I will make no move to engage their fates for them. I will approach the question of open war when I am certain that the Brudjans are just as dangerous without such a declaration as they would be when we offer it."

She pressed her lips together, lowered her eyes to her hands, which she only now realized were white-knuckled where they clenched in her lap. She relaxed them purposefully before she raised her gaze to Aubin again. "And no," she continued, voice somewhat unsteady and emotional. "I would never kill my own son. I will never order him killed. And if we go to war with the Brudjans, I will pray every day that passes that he not fall victim to it." Tightening her jaw she asserted his gaze on his. "You see it is my fault he was born with that hellsome spirit of the Brudjans. It's my fault I could not rear it out of him. It's my fault that I was incapable of keeping his father away from him and it is my fault he was given the Gift before he could be truly responsible with its care. Bruis is my own doing and if anyone should be punished for his crimes it is me. But my death will not serve my people and so I continued to lead them the best way that I possibly can, and if that means going to war with my son, I will do it willingly. But I can't kill him for crimes I commited myself."

She let her eyes travel hastily across the room before clearing her throat and continuing. "I suppose you mean to enter some opinion on whether or not we should go to war, Mr. Aubin?" Mr. Aubin, not just Aubin. She raised her eyes to his, hard but nevertheless she still asked his opinion. She was offended by his tone and words but she was still his Queen and her damnable honor required that she enter his opinion into her executive decisions, no matter how inappropriate his actions were.

[Aubin]

Aubin had known at the time of his speech, of his impertinent questions, that he would likely affront the Queen but he hadn’t realized, hadn’t begun to so much as guess, how deeply he would offend and hurt her. Aurelai’s displeasure was, it seemed, immediately evident and she had barely entered into her speech before Aubin had begun to realize with growing shame and horror how completely offensive he had been. At Aurelai’s command that he, Aubin, was to do the work Sellica had demanded (and, Aubin got the distinct impression, to do so without questioning the intentions of Sellica in the least) the Vampyr nodded mutely, consenting immediately to her will and, by extension, Sellica’s.

When Aurelai turned her attention to the state of the brewing war the shame Aubin had been suffering increased. Her reversion to the language of politics was upsetting for the Vampyr and he felt growing between them the gulf that he believed in linguistics of politics inherently formed and enforced between those who had power and those were subject to it. Not, of course, that Aubin suffered from any fantasies of his being somehow close to the Queen, he knew well enough that his circle and hers only rarely interacted, but he knew, too, that the Queen was a genuinely kind person who cared for her subjects both individually and en masse. His words, he realized, had put her on the defensive, had forced her to view him not as an individual but as one of the faceless many who might well want her to fail, who was looking for her to not give her all for her people. Aubin wanted very much to assure the Queen that he was not one of her detractors, that he believed in her goodness and devotion to the people but he found himself unable. The words of the politicians, so unfathomable to the artist, had rendered Aubin mute and he could do nothing more than give in to the grief and guilt that each word heaped upon him.

When Aurelai invoked Bruis however, when she reverted to the language of a parent, of an individual, Aubin found his Queen suddenly accessible once more. As she spoke he reached a hand out to soothe but he faltered, unsure of how to demonstrate his support or his belief that Aurelai was not to be blamed for Bruis and sure, somehow, that his touch would be unwelcome. His suspicion was reinforced moments later when Aurelai reverted to the title ‘Mr.’, a term Aubin himself never used and indeed never heard except from the mouths of humans who could not comprehend his single name nor determine how to speak it differently in moments of formality and moments of informality. The use of the title was the most painful blow yet, far more painful than the simple knee to the groin Sellica had given him, and Aubin was wholly unable to hide the flash of pain and injury the word invoked nor the shame that welled up on the suffering’s heels.

“I…” began Aubin faintly, faltering now because he was truly lost rather than stymied by the unfamiliar rules of the palace and upper social echelons, “…I have no opinion of the war, Ma’am. Whatever you decide is right, I have no doubt. I…I…It’s none of my business Ma’am, I do what you command. I asked only because…well…I don’t know Ma’am, I knew it wasn’t my business when I asked. I just…I wanted to know your intentions, is all…”

Aubin trailed off, uncertain of what else to say. The silence that resulted was unendurable and maddening however and soon Aubin could bear it no more. “Thank you for the interview Ma’am,” he said suddenly, standing and moving away from the seat he had been kindly given, “I’ll bring the translation as soon as I have it completed.”

Aubin offered a half bow then, and then headed for the door. He only got a few steps away, however, before he paused, pivoted, and returned. “Ma’am,” he said suddenly, not daring to look into her eyes although his grief and pleading expression was evident enough all the same, “Bruis isn’t your fault. He was man enough when he made his choice, the onus is on him. And he’s Brudjan as you say, yes, so maybe he was partly fated for it but he’s Aurillian too, and that heritage comes with its own fate. And its the community he was raised in Ma’am, he made the choice. And maybe he’ll have to die for that choice, I don’t know, none of us do, but you didn’t do it to him Ma’am. You didn’t do anything but care for him and raise him as best as any mother I’ve ever seen…”

Aubin trailed off once more, a beat of silence reigning, before he added quietly, “It’s not my business Ma’am…but I’m glad that you don’t want your boy to die. It makes you decent.”

[Aurelai]

In retrospect Aurelai would come to understand her reaction to Aubin's questions with a little more clarity and intuition. She was, she realized, not offended by his first two questions. The second, the one about the war, would have put her on edge, certainly, and she would have had to wondered what his intentions were (was he a spy, working for a Luminares political faction, simply a gossip mongerer), but she could have answered both questions without losing her cool as she very much had done in her response to him. It was that third question that had pierced her resolve so much that she used such strong - she didn't think she had been particularly harsh - language in her response to Aubin. A great deal of his pain and shock was due to his own sensitivity, and for her part she found she could not really regret anything that she had said to him except perhaps for calling him Mister, but at his crestfallen expression she did feel some small pang of almost maternal guilt at having upbraided him for his curiosity when it may have been innocently meant.

His response censured her, though, quite powerfully. He sounded like almost like a child, and as a mother she had some experience with children and recognized the symptoms produced by too strong a punishment for a blameless wrongdoing. She pursed her lips, the expression meant for herself more so than him, and then swallowed deeply as the silence fell upon them. When he stood to leave she nodded quietly, not standing to see him out but rather waiting for him to vacate the room so she could be left to her thoughts, her horror at their short meeting, and the dumbfounding knowledge that when a man such as Aubin came to her with talk of war that front must be very close indeed. She had already entered into this meditation when he returned to her side and she looked up, surprised, to hear his new words.

His second speech had a much more profound repercussion in the Queen than even his first questions. She had heard the argument against her self-flagellation over Bruis before, but the statement that Bruis had inherited only one culture by birth, hers, that he was comprised of inherited Aurillian parts he denied and killed off in order to become what he was today, that struck her. 'And maybe he'll have to die for that choice.' Her face shifted subtly as this line juxtaposed with her own actions in such a way as to reflect new meaning on both: but she couldn't accept that outcome as a possibility! Her temples tightened, her cheeks sank, and her eyes widened softly, an expression of being deeply affected by something almost to the point of tears or sorrow. That was the real reason behind the judgment she cast on herself and proclaimed so loudly to others; to this day, despite all of his terrible actions, she would rather die in her son's place than be alive to see him fall.

Her breath was softly troubled when Aubin finished with his final line, her eyes were cast down at the rug beneath her feet. 'It makes you decent.' Oh, how many people would disagree with him! And yet it was a comfort to hear it from even just one, even someone who meant nothing to her but as such had no reason to save her pride or feelings. She spent so much of her time trying to consolidate the roles of forsworn and grieving mother with unhampered and capable leader, and felt most of the time that she should be more the latter than the former. His admiration, not only acceptance but admiration, of her motherlike qualities was reassuring and relieving. After a time she raised her eyes to his face and offerd him a smile whether he would see it or not, a grateful if somewhat sad acknowledgement of his words. She stood and walked to stand before him, her head lowered and her hands clasped before her in a sign of humility and deference. Though she wore the garb of a stateswoman and her face spoke of nobility just as surely as if she wore a crown, she was showing him, her subject, submission. And why not, when she served all Aurillians? She was not above bowing to those who deserved to be respected; indeed that was one of the many duties of every great person which her son failed to understand.

"Thank you, Aubin," she said, keeping her eyes lowered respectfully for half a moment more before she raised her gaze to his, smiled a little more surely, and when she spoke her voice had regained that pleasant quality that normally marked her converastion. "Please forgive me for my tone earlier. Your questions caught me off guard and I was unprepared for such direct inquiries about the war and about my son. I hope you don't think of me as any less of a friend." She gestured evenly to the door where Pollao still stood, but despite the presence of an advisor who could easily complete her social obligations to the artist she offered, "If you still wish to leave, may I at least show you out?"

[Aubin]

Aurelai’s sudden deference set the artist to blushing again, although this time the relief that her anger had abated made his blushes seem boyish, even cute. Aubin was beyond pleased that the rift that had suddenly yawned open between himself and his Queen had almost just as suddenly closed, healing itself. He wasn’t sure, to be honest, what exactly it was that he had said that had softened the Queen’s disposition towards him but he was grateful for the change none the less and felt momentarily indebted to whatever impulse or god had prompted him to say the right thing, whatever that was, at the right time.

“No apology is needed Ma’am,” he replied quickly, speaking softly but with a discernable note of hope and relief, “the misstep was mine, and I apologize for it.” The Vampyr offered Aurelai a smile, this one more confident seeming than any of his earlier gestures, and glanced at the door. “I would appreciate the escort Ma’am” he added, referencing her offer, “thank you. I still have much work to do on the translation and decoding…”

The walk to the palace doors was completed in silence, each of the vampyrs lost, no doubt, in thoughts of their own. The nature of Aurelai’s contemplations were a mystery to Aubin of course, but his own points of rumination rested fixedly on the graceful lady at his side. Although he had not commented on it at the time he had seen the grief speaking of Bruis had caused Aurelai and Aubin was, as he often was in matters that concerned the Queen, moved on her behalf. The growing problem with the Brujans would not suddenly disappear Aubin knew, but he wished they would for Aurelai’s sake. The half-breed prince was a thorn in the Queen’s side, a persistent and painful presence that Aubin knew she would never willingly relieve by removal. As he made his final bows and stepped away into the warm night Aubin couldn’t help but wonder if the war would prove to be more painful to the Queen than anyone else and wished at the same time that there was something he could do to minimize the good woman’s suffering.