orestes
—« but you are gold in a world of glass »
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our Regent is here, although it is not me who should be telling you.Ariel crests the spiralling staircase to Orestes’s study, where he spends significantly more time than the throne room. The lion takes up the breadth of it, luminous and golden, and Orestes rises from his work. There is a note of judgement in Ariel’s tone, despite the fact he speaks in that moment only telepathically. The lion turns in the stairwell and dips back down. Orestes follows close behind; Ariel has a way of making profound suggestions in few words, simply by the way he says it.
Disapproving again, I see. Orestes responds through their telepathic link. The lion’s tail flicks just in front of him and, at the mental comment, Ariel pauses to appraise Orestes over one supple shoulder. There is a glowering expression in the smouldering suns that are Ariel’s eyes; and in response, Orestes sighs.
Perhaps the reason he has not yet met extensively with Jahin is due to the fact Orestes, for once, does not know what to say. The man strikes him as one of immense capability and passion; yet after his encounter with Avdotya and general understanding of the desert’s tribal inhabitants, Orestes is at times uncertain of what approach to take. He understands trust is earned, not demanded; and he bides his time patiently because of it.
When Orestes enters the throne room, it is to find Jahin appraising the ornate chair and decorations. At first, the Sovereign says nothing; merely follows suit in assessing the eccentrics of royalty. Ariel prowls across the center of the room, catching the light as brilliantly as the gilded throne; the lion stops at the series of steps leading up to the chair and promptly sprawls out on the marble—imported expensively, no doubt, from Veneror. His eyes—the exact shade of gold as it melts—settle on the Regent.
“I have never been much a fan of it, myself.” Orestes, as he takes note of the way the light falls just so through the windows above, remembers a time when the entire room was aflame.
He had bowed before a flaming lion, not so unlike the one beneath the throne now.
He shakes his head and dismisses the memories, turning at last to Jahin with a smile. “I have done you a disservice, my Regent, in not ensuring we get to know one another. I apologise. Would you like to walk with me?” There is much of the Davke he does not know; and there is much of Jahin he does not know.
He would like to learn. “Perhaps we go outside. This room always haunts me.” He cannot help but think of all that came before him, as he should. The room gathers dust as a reminder; monarchs are not meant to sit only upon gilded thrones and delve our their demands and desires as if a small god.
@Jahin speaks
