Date: January 11, 2000 (Aether: November 9, 3905)
Place: Garden - Palladium - Haven
Cast: Altair, Arianna (II), Atalanta, Cassius, Celia, Cepheus, Cynara, Ianthe, Jana, Kalypso, Octavian, Oriane, Selene, Thalia (II), Theron
Emits: Altair (Jana), Dmitri and servants (Cassius), Guards (Theron)
Scene: Missing for about four months, Elidi Tritonides Augustin is finally declared dead after a visit to the Sibyl of Delphi confirmed as much, and her sword -- which she was rarely without -- was recovered in the woods. A funeral service is held for her in the Palladium's garden.

Pyre:
      A funeral pyre has been erected in the midst of the Palladium's garden. A bier of kindling and firewood supports an armored form, but upon closer glance, one would discover that the 'body' is not flesh and bone at all. Helm, breastplate, pteryges, greaves, bracers -- the garb of a Praetor are all there, but the Praetor is missing. Instead, rolls of clothing and other objects have been fashioned together to mirror the effect of a body lying at rest. Fine fabric, jewelry, and other possessions fill out the armor, and a white mask -- the type an actor might wear in a play -- substitutes for a face. The blank holes where its eyes should be gaze sightlessly upward, and the effect of that pale, serene visage is somehow both somber and chilling.
      The crowning glory of the pyre is a long, finely-detailed broadsword, whose handle has been fashioned to look like a coiled serpent. It is poised upright, its points lodged in the pyre just above the figure's crested helm. The workmanship of the blade is exquisite, and seems Varati in design, for few Empyreans would carry so cumbersome a weapon. It looks well-worn, hinting that it is both old and favored much by its owner. But that owner is gone, and the sword -- like all those worldly possessions -- may soon be little more than melted slag and cinders.

Grey. Grey is the color of mourning, and the autumnal severity of the garden is heightened by somber decor. Lengths of cloth, dyed grey, flutter from the trees like banners, and wreaths of dried flowers parody their slumbering counterparts beneath the ground. For the occasion, the fountain is silent and does not spray its jets of water into the air, and near it, erected at a focal point in the garden, is the funeral pyre. Rather than a body, it holds the Praefect's armor and possessions, and its crowning glory is the Varati blade she so prized.

Mongrel servants are just placing the final pieces of kindling and tinder around the pyre's base, and others stand ready with great fans made from feathers or cloth, with which to waft the smoke upward. Buckets of water have been grouped near the fountain in order to douse the fire later, or combat it should it spread.

The servants are all dressed in grey like their winged superiors, and some openly show their grief -- those who had served with the Dea in Tritonis or whose favor and loyalty she had won during her time in House Augustus.

Theron steps into the garden, followed by a cohors. The unit marches smartly and arranges themselves to the back. Whether they are there to Guard in addition the recently buffed up Palladium guard or whether they are here to honor their Praefect.

It takes a few moments for Ianthe to make her way into the Palladium to attend the funeral, since the guards are especially wary of folks who look strange. Which she does. At any rate, as her feet settle onto the grass of the garden, she looks solemnly at the unlit pyre before moving back to take up a position towards the rear of the semi-circle, waiting and watching. She owes that much to Elidi.

Selene enters the garden from the living quarters situated off to the right.

Coming down the path from the inner courtyard that leads to the noble residences, Oriane trails slightly behind her Dea and cousin Kalypso. The girl's wings flutter nervously, drawing attention to the multi patterning of black amongst the now mostly white feathers. An errant breeze ruffles her hair despite the sad expression that resides on her face.

Celia stands out of the way in the back near to a woman cloaked entirely in black. Oddly enough, the lady's face is veiled, but her eyes are brown. She holds to the hand of the little girl, keeping her back.

Atalanta soars in from the skies above.

Standing near the head of the funeral pyre is the patriarch of Augustus, and the husband of the woman for whom this service is held. Cassius, too, is garbed in grey -- the formal 'toga pulla' of mourning, and even his wings hold a dimmer cast -- having been coated with a fine sprinkling of charcoal dust. He watches the servants make the final preparations, but pays little heed to the guests who arrive. Lost in some private reflection, he allows the Augustin household staff to direct visitors to stand a safe distance from the pyre, where stray sparks may not alight in wings or hair.

Escorted by a Ceterion come three unlikely -- and perhaps unwelcome -- visitors to this sad occasion. Two bear markings of Delphi upon their person, and the third is the Reeve of the Hounds. Jana walks at a sedate pace behind the Ceterion, and at her side is Altair, who himself bears a stony face devoid of all emotion. At their heels walks yet another Empyrean, likewise clad in grey, who is most likely Jana's own personal escort. The Ceterion leads them towards the gathering of Praetorians, Theron in particular, and the small group comes to a halt before the Imperator.

Theron inclines his head to the Hound, murmuring, "Ave, Reeve. I am sorry that I was unable to accompany you as I said, but I had last minute details to attend to." He salutes in reply to the Ceterion who has presented the trio, who goes back to the gate having performed his duty.

Shortly after the Tritonides contingent, a sole figure from the Acesian household enters, her arm draped not on that of her Deus husband but of a guard bearing the golden disc of the house on his breastplate. Selene pauses just inside the garden, each step slow, steadied by her companion, her due date must be soon. Her sapphire gaze wanders through the garden, noting each arrival, but the only words she speaks are to her guard, and only then in a whisper.

Kalypso draws the peplos that covers her arms a bit closer to her, a sudden shiver running through her, even if it is not that cool outside. Her face bears a somber expression, as she moves towards the pyre with Oriane trailing just a step, or so, behind. The pair stop where they are indicated to, by the Augustin staff, a brief tilt of Kalypso's head offering quiet thanks to the servant who offers the kind direction.

Thalia emerges from between two columns of the Atrium and joins those in the garden.

Atalanta slips in just inside, around the edges to take up statue duty. She never knew her cousin well, but she should be there to support the family. She's not completely devoid of family feeling, just mostly.

Cynara soars in from the skies above.

"Of course, Imperator. I understand completely," answers Altair in a tone of voice that is almost inaudible. Those few words uttered, he turns his attention to the as of yet unlit pyre. At his side, Jana gently refolds her wings, crossing her arms over her chest. Her Delphic escort, the older and unknown Empyrean man, briefly bends to mutter something in his charge's ear. These three may very well have been carved of alabaster, for all of the expression that is held in their faces. There is neither grief nor animosity. Simply nothing.

A slight shadow bearing the similarly stormcloud-tinted colors of many of the other mourners, Arianna slips out of obscurity a short distance away from the head of the pyre. Held securely in her arms is Cassius and Elidi's young son, Niko, red-gold hair slightly tousled from the appearances of a recent rousings of a nap. He stirs restlessly against the restraint, small hands lifting to rub vigorously at his eyes and then slide away to permit him to blink owlishly up at the flames. The young noblewoman leans in to murmur a few words against his ear, eyes lifting over the small curve of his shoulder to land squarely upon Cassius in a fleeting touch of gaze.

Standing beside Kalypso, Oriane settles her ink-stained hands together before her, nearly losing them in the folds of her palla that drapes her shoulders. Once again, wings that were once black rustle with their now nearly fully white feathers. Brow furrowed, the dark haired girl looks towards the pyre with quiet contemplation.

Atalanta sweeps her gaze over the crowd, picking out familiar people. She espies Kaly, but not Ori and those familiar dark wings. She swings around, left and right. Surely she wouldn't miss this. A shrug, ah well, not her problem.

Cassius had been standing silent throughout the guests' arrival, near the head of his wife's funeral pyre. Once the mourners are assembled and the finishing touches on the pyre are complete, a middle-aged mongrel man -- known to many as Dmitri, the head servant in the Augustin household -- approaches Cassius with a torch. Sometimes an augur -- the closest thing Empyreans have to priests -- will conduct funeral ceremonies, but in this case, the patriarch has chosen to do so himself. He accepts the torch with a solemn nod, and steps closer to the pyre bearing his wife's possessions. Bending, he touches the flame to the kindling, and invokes the name of the grey-winged harbinger of death, Aidoneus.

"You have welcomed a new lare into your kingdom, Aidoneus. A woman whose spirit shone as brightly as this flame. Greet her with open arms, so that she may join all our brethren who have gone before. So that she, like you, may now watch over us and keep us safe, as we in turn shall honor her."

Kalypso's head bows briefly, a soft word murmured to her... formerly darkling cousin. And then she turns, her eyes searching for someone. Atalanta is noted, briefly, before Kalypso's attention returns to the proceeding at hand. She remains quiet, while Cassius speaks.

The solemn nature of the event is broken by the arrival of Thalia, though with far less than her usual allotment of guards. Instead of the miniature army that has been seen surrounding Thalia at all other public appearances, the Varati Queen is accompanied by only five Agni-Haidar and two Atarvani. In accordance with the solemnity of the occasion, Thalia enters quietly, carrying with her an air of unobtrusiveness. She pauses at the juncture, between people and emptiness, looking over the crowd with soft, gentle eyes which unfailingly land on Oriane, then rest for a long while. Any startlement at the change in her daughter's wing-feathers is masked, her posture betraying none of her thoughts. Finally, Thalia advances forward to take the first empty spot in the circle about the pyre.

Kindling catches, and flames sputter into life, crackling as they creep among the tangled tinder at the base of the pyre.

At a gesture, the cohors that had previously accompanied the Imperator, takes up positions around the Agni-Haidar and the Atarvani, in effect sealing them off from anyone else save Thalia's daughter. One, however, flies up, and towards the Eyrie, carrying a message, perhaps. The Imperator, for all this action, remains where he is and solemn as the ceremony begins.

A few more careful steps bring the Acesian Dea into the half circle, though she still remains on the edge nearest the living quarters. Like the others, her gaze linkers longer on the darkling girl with, *blink* white wings? Even the flickering flames cannot draw her attention right away, the site of Oriane is something of a shock.

Dmitri and other servants from the Augustin household keep an eye on the guests, seeing that they are directed toward appropriate spots around the pyre. The arrival of the Agni-Haidar surely causes some skittishness among them, but as there is yet to be any outbreak of battle between the 'Lions of Fire' and Haven's 'Hawks,' the servants take it all in stride. For the most part.

Tilting her dark-haired head to listen to Kalypso, Oriane begins to shake her head but is distracted by the arrival of the contingent of Varati guards. Deep brown eyes widen and look among the Agni-Haidar and their armor for the much slighter form she knows must be there. Finding her mother among them, the girl's expression warms even if she doesn't permit herself a smile at such a somber occasion.

In the flickering of the firelight, Oriane's two-toned wings certainly are intriguing. Ianthe tilts her head and regards the other woman curiously for a moment, before turning her attention back towards the flames as they begin to consume the dead woman's belongings. There is a pensiveness to her features, almost brooding; her wings flex slowly, almost as if she was torn between leaving or staying.

Oblivious to any disturbance among the assembly, Cassius moves a few steps down along the pyre, and touches the torch to another spot. His charcoal-dusted wings are tightly folded at his back lest they get in the way. And he repeats the process, naming other gods. "Great Kronian, the lightning-bearer, welcome this woman into your heavenly court so that she will always have a place among our people. Phoebus Apollo, allow her to bask in your light, where she belongs. Quirinus, she had the heart of a warrior -- see that she may impart some of her strength and courage unto others who wish to follow your path."

Eyes as stormy grey as the toga pulla she wears flicker towards the Agni-Haidar and the Atarvani, yet Jana seems unmoved and strangely undisturbed by their presence. As the pyre catches fire, she looks back, lips tightening into a thin, bloodless line. Her cousin Altair steps closer to her back in a protective manner, his own eyes of blue remaining steely and locked only upon the pyre and the Augustin patriarch.

The fire spreads, devouring more kindling and starting to lick up the branches to where the armor and possessions lie.

From the skies above, Cynara descends into the Palladium garden and alights with soundless feet, not completely in the back of the crowd -- well enough to be in view, while not disturbing. She remains where she is then, holding her head high and keeping her wings tight against her back. Her hair covers the brand that marks her an oathbreaker. She simply waits for the inevitable approach of the guards. For any who care to look in her direction, her eyes appear red-rimmed and puffy, but there is no sign of tears.

Atalanta sneers at the arrival of the Agni-Haidar and the Atarvani. No one else may, but she will. She doesn't care if the Maharani is a family member, it's just wrong to have Varati in the Palladium. Still, she keeps to the back and listens politely.

Celia's wet eyes stare toward the Agni-Haidar and she blinks at the tears in her gaze as she looks at them. Tugging on the hand of the black-veiled woman at her side, the little girl's voice can be head to quietly ask, "Mama, what's 'Rati doing here? The Dea didn't like them."

Kalypso's gaze is drawn by the arrival of the Varati, as well -- for one would be hard pressed not to notice, indeed. A brief furrowing of her brow at the sight of the guards surrounding Thalia, but it is only very brief, before her eyes return once more the funeral pyre, and the flames that lick upwards.

At the foot of the pyre, Cassius proffers the torch yet again, and by now the whole front end of the pyre is aflame. Its glow dances on his solemn countenance as he names a few more deities in the vast Emyreal pantheon. "Divanus, god of gateways, assist her journey from this world into the next. Augea, goddess of my own House and patroness of childbirth, help her to watch over her only son so that he will never lack the attention of a mother's love. And Tyche, grace her with your favor as well as those she leaves behind, so that we may not suffer further with her loss."

Arianna's gaze angles downward away from the pyre with a quick shifting of her gaze, elongating the wearied shadows that extend over her wan visage. Her forehead touches to Niko's cheek, who reaches a hand forward to grab a handful of hair and tug on it lightly. The child's eyes are perpetually wide as they slide over the assemblage and then stare up towards the growing fire, far too young to comprehend the nature of the gathering but somehow nonetheless subdued by the intangible mood that tinges the air. His sister's hand strokes absently over his hair, her eyes slant upward in fractional measures to passively the flames licking at the Dea's belongings, seeming for the moment otherwise oblivious to the garden at large.

As swift as the one Ceterion flew off, he comes back bearing a pente. Such timing, taking their command from Theron, they move to surround Cynara and insist, by just looming, that perhaps she needs to step towards the Imperator so that he might have a word.

And from the minute Cynara sets foot upon the ground, Ianthe is watching her. No animosity colors her gaze, but from the subtle way she shifts her stance, perhaps that lack is derived from the woman's restraint, and not from a lack of feeling.

While watching her mother and contingent of Agni-Haidar, Oriane's eyes are drawn by the arrival of Cynara, and even though the woman takes measures to hide her branding, the once complete darkling recognizes her. White wings with lesser spacings of black rustle with a nervous breeze that also licks at the flames on the pyre. Taking a deep breath, the young Tritonides scholar turns her attention back to the pyre and to watch and listen to Cassius.

Thalia folds her hands across her middle, interlacing the fingers. Her face is expressionless, but her eyes dart to the side, to look once again at Oriane, then sliding further to gaze at Kalypso before her attention returns to the pyre. No tears grace the woman's eyes or face. She is like an alabaster statue, except for the grey sari which proclaims her hideous difference from the rest of the family -- when the tall Agni-Haidar about her can be forgotten. Her wings are undusted by ash, blowing white and pure, as her eyes -- those windows to the soul -- proclaim her to be. She watches Cassius' path, the orange-yellow reflected in her irises, and it would seem for a moment that she is in pain, no matter how serenely statuesque her stance, and that she aches for those who loved Elidi, cared for Elidi, and were affected by this shaper of the world.

"And Tritonia..." Cassius says gravely as he lights the last untouched section of the pyre and finally steps back, watching it burn. "She favored you most of all. Your wisdom, your strength, your determination. She wished to follow in your footsteps, and had she lived a little longer..." His voice wavers for the first time during his speech, "I feel certain she would have. Allow her to watch over us at your side, Tritonia, where she belongs." Again, his voice falters, growing fainter as he adds, "If not with me, then with you."

He draws in a breath and closes his eyes, and while Dmitri moves forward to collect the torch from his master, Cassius musters his composure to launch into the final part of his wife's eulogy.

Cynara's chin raises as they swarm, her eyes centered upon the pyre that burns the items belonging to Elidi. She has not even glanced in another direction, only at the fire. Not at Cassius or his daughter, only a dull stare directed at the flames. Waiting for the surrounding to complete itself, she keeps her back straight, with all the dignity of an Empyrean Lady, and silently pulls her eyes from the fire and toward the guard closest to her, following their lead without argument or even a look of irritation.

Selene finally draws her gaze from the darkling only to catch a glimpse of the dark visions that appear with the Varati queen, but surprisingly, that draws little emotion either way from the Dea, though her guard stares longer. Instead, she directs her attention where it should properly be held, to the pyre and the Deus.

It is not the arrival of the branded one that draws Jana's attention, but rather her approach of the Imperator. She had been standing so close to him, due to her cousin's... need... for the escort, and with the faintest turning of her head does she catch sight of the witch. Now there is a crack in her stony visage. Cheeks pale slightly and the eyes widen before she quickly looks back to the pyre. The girl is afraid. Taking a step back, she attempts to fully conceal herself from that woman's sight by wedging herself firmly between her cousin and her Delphic escort.

Atalanta flickers to the healer, the Agni-Haidar, and then to that strangely mottled winged figure -- Hey, wait a minute. That's Ori. Her jaw drops to the ground. Sure, there may be a funeral going on but her cousin! her darkling cousin now has white feathers! Oh that's not fair! So, she harbors some good feeling for the girl, this is just wrong, wrong, wrong. And not fair. Not that she can think of anything the lares might favor her with other than a conservative family, this is just not fair. So, she pays nominal attention to the ceremony, and just stares at Ori.

Perhaps Kalypso has noticed the arrival of the branded outcast, and perhaps she has not. At any rate, she's not even turned to acknowledge the woman's presence. Her gaze does lower, though, to focus on the ground as Cassius speaks. Perhaps silent prayer, perhaps just trying to hear what the Imperator's got to say. Her gaze lifts for a moment, making sure Oriane is still all right. Then her gaze returns to Cassius.

"You were a daughter, a warrior, a wife, and a mother," Cassius says. Unlike his invocation of the gods, these words are quieter, and one might have the impression that he is unaware of the other guests; that his audience consists of one -- one who is no longer present to hear. This is no speech meant to persuade or petition, and for once the proud Aegian lays his heart open for all to witness. "But you were more than that," he murmurs. "You were the only woman who could ever send me from the heights to the depths in a heartbeat. I could fly or fall with you -- you brought laughter, anger, tenderness, fury, passion, and poignancy back into my life. I cannot say what you meant to everyone else gathered here, Elidi -- only what you meant to me."

Cassius' throat works, and pale blue eyes hold a reflective shimmer in the firelight. "I loved you, Elidi. It was not perfect and pure and unselfish, but neither am I. I hope that... when my own spirit is loosed from this world and I see you again, you can forgive me. Until then, Elidi Eleinos Tritonides Augustin, vale."

And with that final farewell, the patriarch of Augustus stands silent and watches the flames turn his wife's memories into ashes.

Theron indicates the archway to the propylaea, with a hand, and in their turn, the Ceterions around Cynara turn to take her outside. They do not ask when he will attend them, but simply follow orders. For himself, the Imperator murmurs his own quiet blessing, salutes the flames with sublime formality. One warrior to another. Then falling into line after his soldiers, he follows them out.

Taking a deep breath, Oriane watches the pyre as silence falls over the gathering. The scholar would speak of her lost cousin, but at the same time does not wish to be first. A breeze descends through the trees of the garden and dances across the flames that symbolically end Elidi Tritonides' life.

Thalia turns her head so that as the breeze blows through the garden, it also tosses her hair over her forehead and eyes, effectively hiding her countenance from view.

Cynara pauses before the Imperator and meets his eyes firmly. The men around her turn, but she makes no move to accompany them just yet. "I would like to stay until the service is complete, dominus," she speaks quietly. Her voice is a mixture of due respect and firmness in her request. "I do not wish a scene, but only to mourn my... friend." Her throat constricts after the last word, but reddened eyes look up at the man with grave resolution.

Altair turns his stony gaze towards Jana as she nestles in between the taller men, his eyes warm as he does soften a bit. He's noticed Cynara, and he can only imagine what a shy Delphic girl's reaction might be to one thrown from the Caducean order. His arm reaches out and gently slides around Jana's shoulders, her protector.

Theron regards the healer blandly, speaking in quiet tones that do not escape beyond the confines of himself, Cynara and his guards, "You do not seem to understand, domina. You do not have a choice. You will accompany me now, or you will be arrested, here and now. The Deus has asked that you not be here. Even should she be your friend, she was his wife and I will respect his wishes in this matter. You will be responsible for a scene if you do anything other than to turn around and leave. Now." His tone maybe bland and quiet, but it brooks absolutely no opposition.

Augustin servants move forward with their fans to blow the smoke upward and prevent it from stinging the eyes of the assembled guests. The pyre is completely aflame, and the snap and crackle of the firewood fills the solemn silence. Sparks drift into the night sky like tiny fire-flies, finally winking out once they float too high.

Ianthe crosses her arms and leans back, watching Cynara's removal with a smile that's infinitely full of satisfaction. That's it. Spank that uppity healer down.

Looking down briefly at his Delphic charge, the unnamed older Empyrean man furrows his brow at what he considers to be Jana's odd behavior. A glance goes to Cynara, but the man doesn't recognize her, nor does he apparently see her brand. And rather than rudely watch the interaction between the Imperator and the woman, he returns to watching the pyre. That is supposed to be the focus of everyone's attention, is it not? Jana, on the other hand, watches the scene out of the corner of her eye. Yes, get that witch out of here. Her fingers twitch as they dangle at her sides, securely gripping folds of her toga. As Altair's arm slides about her shoulders, she takes yet another step closer to him.

Cassius remains near the head of the funeral pyre and watches it burn. Elidi's sword glimmers within the flames, poised upright like some bizarre tombstone, even if this 'tomb' will soon be no more than ashes and dust. The red-orange glow illuminates suspicious tracks of wetness on his cheeks, but they could be caused by no more than smoke. He is oblivious to the others; he has eyes only for the pyre, and ears only for the hiss of the blaze.

Another breath is taken and Oriane steps forward slightly, the relative silence adding to her limited courage. Mostly white wings flutter and reflect the crimson flames back at the crowd. She does not face the crowd, but instead looks to the pyre. Speaking in her soft voice as loud as she may, the winds seem to favor her and carry it beyond her limited range, "Elidi was blood. That is a bonding of great importance, but it is not what made me care for her." Dark eyes dart to Cassius before Oriane continues, "She was my advocate, my friend. Through her, I learned what passion and courage provide a person, and though I shall never reach the levels she witnessed to me, I shall always strive in her footsteps and in Tritonia's." Cheeks turn flushed from the fire and from embarrassment and she steps back.

There was some faint hope that in fact, Atalanta was wrong. (I know, no heart attacks, please). But alas, she is not. At hearing that voice, the would be Velite, would be anything but a proper lady of Tritonis, slumps somewhat. Where is her raison d'etre, now? If nothing else, she could always compare herself to the darkling who isn't even one of those anymore or she could fall back to insulting her if life got too rough. The fact that she was born darkling just isn't enough in the face of white wings. How depressing.

Octavian enters the garden from the living quarters situated off to the right.

Both hands occupied in supporting the slightly restless child, when moisture springs to Arianna's eyes, reflected by the spirited shiftings of rising flames, a blink eases the blur away from her eyes and sends the damp hindrances sliding down her cheeks. She would have seen to hastily wiping them away, but her brother seems quick to assist, roughly stuffing to the edges of her hair at her cheeks to mop up the tears. It encourages the brief flickerings of a smile, a few small steps taken towards the front before she hedges and teeters back a pace. As her regard finally sweeps over the garden, it lingers longer on Cynara and Theron, slim brow notching out of place. "Dada!" the eruption of sound from the infant reins her attention reluctantly back in, to murmur a few shushing words to the small ear, gently guiding down the hands that outstretch towards the Deus of Augustus and struggling to listen to Oriane at the same time.

A brief smile forms on Kalypso's features as Oriane speaks, a nod of her head as her younger cousin returns. Then Kalypso steps forward, her gaze drifting to Cassius, before returning to the pyre. She lifts her voice so that it carries over the fire, yet still isn't a shout. "Elidi's gift to us all was to see that we could do, or be, anything -- without fear of what was seemly. She was warrior and mother, enemy and friend -- and although we might not have seen eye to eye on many things, I still urge others to live their lives in the same fashion that she did -- with great courage, and without fear in their hearts." Her head tilts once more to the pyre, a sign of final respect for her cousin, before Kalypso steps back to Oriane's side.

Thalia lifts her head, righting it so that once again her countenance is revealed, but her neck remains turned, gazing back toward Cynara and Theron. Blue eyes, bright like the firefly glow of the sparks, gaze at Cynara, but Thalia does not come to Cynara's defense. It is as if the Varati Queen knows that she too is here on sufferance, as unwelcome as the branded Healer, but allowed to stay because of politics. Yet, her eyes show her sympathy for Cynara who is being denied the chance to mourn her friend and close a chapter in her heart.

Thalia's attention does not remain on Cynara, but shifts back to Oriane, listening to the heartfelt words of her daughter. She shifts in her stance, as if to lean closer to Oriane, but even if her location has not moved, her presence has changed slightly. The calmness which surrounded Thalia as a gentle blanket appears to expand. Her serenity is a balm against the pain and it would appear that Thalia wishes to share the little comfort she can provide with Oriane.

Altair looks back to the fire, his expression still rather stony. A facade to hide any feeling. His wing extends a little bit, sliding behind Jana and curling a little around her like a shawl or blanket of safety.

This is one occasion where Octavian will not make a singularly grand entrance. Yes, domini, he can be polite and sedate when he chooses. He slips into the garden, catching sight of his cousin Selene and moving to join her.

Like the others at the memorial, Selene's gaze has been on the pyre and on Oriane as her words are raised above the crackle of the funeral pyre. Her younger cousin's arrival at her side startles her, enough that her wings twitch in agitation at her back and for her guard to shoot a warning gaze to the Jovian. Octavian gains a brief smile once the Dea's nerves are settles and she leans to him to whisper, most likely the events that have take place to this point.

The squeal from his son catches Cassius' attention. He is drawn from his melancholy and blinks a couple of times as he gazes toward his daughter and the chubby infant she holds in her arms. There is no smile from the stern Deus, but at least he seems more grounded in the here-and-now. Finally, he pays attention to something other than the pyre, and his pale gaze goes first to Oriane, who spoke, and next to Kalypso. In the smoke and flickering firelight, Oriane's mottled white-and-black wings must go unnoticed, for it brings no change to his demeanor. He merely nods at each of them, conveying silent gratitude for their kind words.

And then, from the back of the circle around the pyre, Ianthe steps forward. A few of the more paranoid guards watch her do so. She pauses a moment before lifting her voice to speak, voice slightly rough. "I did not know her as well as I would have liked, but I know this for fact; she would give her life to preserve her Empyre, free and proud, and fought like Quirinus himself. Her men followed her into the pit of Tartarus and she led them out of it, scarred though she was. May she always be honored for who she was -- a hero."

Laying a hand on Kalypso's arm, Oriane murmurs in soft words that carry only between the two of them, "I would speak with my mother." Folding her wings tight against her back and stilling the errant breeze that seems to have found its way around her ankles, the diminutive young woman approaches the intimidating circle of Agni-Haidar and her mother within their protection.

Cynara's eyes cool considerably, her jaw twitching tightly. "I have every right to be here, regardless of Deus Augustin's request," she tells him in a level tone, still keeping her voice down low enough to not disturb the proceedings. "I have saved that man's life, the lives of both his children, and the life of his wife. I have done nothing but good for his family." Her voice raises just a little, to be heard by those around. At this time she finally takes a glance about and notes some of the others there. Thalia receives a touch longer of a look than any others, before her gaze swings to Arianna and Niko and then back to Theron. "I have every right to be here." She glances at the fire, moisture unexpectedly jumping to her eyes. Firming her jaw, she again turns back to Theron with little hope, yet a strong determination. She will leave if he still insists, but this is far from over. It is Ianthe's voice that catches her attention then, and she swivels her head to look in the defector's direction, eyes narrowing and then turning back to Theron with renewed irritation.

Theron leans forwards and whispers something under his breath that only the pair of them will hear. His jaw firming, eyes hardening.

Ianthe's voice from the back commands Cassius' attention as well, and his wings rain down a fine coating of ash as they rustle while he strives to catch sight of the speaker. Meanwhile, the pyre is more smoke than flame, now, and the servants are still diligently fanning the billowing clouds upward. Its acrid odor permeates the air, and some other servants hurriedly light sticks of incense, in the hopes that their fragrance will overpower the less pleasant one.

It is then that Cassius overhears another voice -- a familiar one. And a hated one. Ianthe is forgotten as his pale blue gaze snaps toward the contingent of guards surrounding Cynara. He does not see her just yet, but enough of her speech carried above the crackle of the flames to reach him. Looking more dour than before, he watches the guards, waiting to see if they will escort their 'guest' out of the Palladium.

Holding her silence and remaining still, Jana nevertheless continues to watch Cynara like a hawk through half-hooded eyes. At least she has now stopped cringing against her cousin, though she does not elect to step away from his immediate protection. Brief glances are thrown towards the smouldering pyre and those who choose to speak in honor of Elidi, though her attention to their words is fleeting at best.

Thalia reaches a hand out to Oriane, then like the mother she is, she brushes aside a stray wisp of hair from her daughter's face. "I am sorry," is all that Thalia says, not indicating whether she is sorry about Elidi or Riana or a hundred other things which have occurred since Thalia and Oriane last met.

Altair isn't moving. He's just standing there, watching the pyre, listening to the words. Holding Jana close to him as he does his best to calm her.

Cepheus enters the garden from the living quarters situated off to the right.

Wings now more like the golden twin's, Oriane shifts her wings slightly, so white feathers rustle against black. Taking her mother's hand, she smiles with a subdued adoration and all is forgiven in the instant they exist. Voice soft and hushed to remain in the encircling wall of Varati, she says, "I am glad you're home, Mama."

Octavian leans over slightly to hear his cousin's words, nodding as the events are explained. His eyes go from the pyre to the Deus... to the Domina Augustin he met the other night... to the bit of commotion. Blue-violet eyes watch a moment before leaning into Selene to whisper a question or two.

Atalanta needs some ambrosia or something. When are they going to break that out? Why is it that no thing can happen in the Empyre any more without it being an event? Of course, this does provide good gossip, but still, it's something to consider.

The kindling at the base of the pyre is blackened and charred, and the objects upon it are unrecognizable now -- all but the sword, still standing upright in the flames. The bronze helm holds a heavy coating of charcoal dust, and the breastplate is so much blackened, curled leather. Everything else has been burned completely, and ashes swirl in the breeze, sifting out over the audience.

Sapphire eyes look in the direction that draws Octavian's whispers and with a faint frown on her lips, Selene gives a brief shake of her head before she returns an answer to Octavian, gaze remaining on Cynara and the guards around her.

Child's hands may be drawn downward, but it does not quell the weary irritation. The insistent desire to be in his father's arms. Arianna's own arms slightly tighten against the wriggling child with careful grasping, voice faltering as it lifts up to audible ranges, "She was a dear friend and she was a... beloved mother to... both of us. Her spirit a bright light that lit up the House, and will continue to light my memories. There could not be a more devoted spirit to oversee those who continue on, and I will always..." Niko squalls again as he restlessly struggles in her arms, and her halting speech is left abruptly on that awkward note. Glance skimming over the garden with a flickering regard, cheeks flush with a life-giving color and she slips out of the circle gathered around the pyre.

Thalia appears somewhat sad as she looks over the white feathers in Oriane's formerly dark plumage. She says nothing, not wishing to taint the offerings to Elidi and Cassius' grief. Instead, she holds Oriane's hand in hers, giving her daughter only the love and serenity which have been her trademarks in the past.

His daughter's voice captures Cassius' attention and forces him to look away from the knot of guards surrounding Cynara. In doing so, his glance flickers across Thalia and her own contingent of guards -- these ones quite unlike the fair-haired, white-winged Praetorians who normally patrol the Palladium. Yet he does not seem surprised to see the Maharani, suggesting that he knew of her inclination to attend beforehand. Without comment, he allows Thalia and her daughter their moment of privacy by glancing after his own daughter as she hurries away from the circle of mourners with young Niko in her arms.

Yet another form slips into the Palladium's Garden, Legate Tritonides making himself appear unobtrusive. His entry makes him in the direct line of the exit Theron et. al. might take, the Empyrean's eyes falling on the cluster immediately. A frown forms on Cepheus' face, the Legate starting toward the knot of people.

The flames are starting to die out, and grey-clad mongrel servants move closer to the pyre, lifting the buckets of water that had been standing ready near the fountain. There's a hiss and a billow of steam as the first bucket is poured onto still-glowing embers, repeated as more buckets are used to douse the fire.

Jana briefly lifts her hand, rubbing her fingers across her nose as her sinuses begin to irritate her from the dust and ash. Smoky grey eyes are drawn away by the squalling of the young Niko, though no amusement can be found in her face at Arianna's plight. It is shortly after that she also catches sight of Cepheus moving through the crowd, and were she not already securely within Altair's protection, she might have darted away. The Reeve continues to stand facing forward, listening to the words of grief and honor that the others have to give, yet his own face has been resolutely cast in stone. If he is feeling anything, he does not allow it to show.

Arianna meanders along a garden path until she steps into the living quarters of the Palladium.

Cynara stares back at Theron as he whispers harshly to her. Her eyes are stone cold and her mouth is drawn into a straight line. Lowering her voice to match his, she whispers in the same tone. After saying whatever it is she wanted to say, she lifts her head high and appears to be turning toward the gates when she spots Cepheus striding closer.

Thalia's eyes move away from Oriane at the first hiss of water striking the coals and she gazes at the pillars of steam, her vision drawn to the Varati broadsword and the helm. She leans toward Oriane even as she watches the dousing of the pyre, her posture one of protection.

Another shiver shakes Kalypso's form at the dousing of the fire, before she turns, moving back towards the noble's housing of the Palladium. A tilt of her head is given to her brother, who's sure not to notice her as she passes by. With luck, and nobody stopping her, she'll be out of the garden in just a few of her long, gliding steps.

Keeping her back to the spectacle with Cynara, Oriane's eyes shift towards the flames and then towards her mother. Subsequently, it might be noted that any smoke from the flames conveniently rises up and out of the garden rather than lingering to disturb any of the attendants. Keeping hold of her mother's hand, the partial darkling takes another step closer to her mother and sighs softly.

Ianthe drifts back to her position near the edge of the crowd as the other Empyreans of rank scoot away from her presence. With the possible exception of the occasional gentlemen who seem to appreciate tight pants when they're given the chance. At any rate, she turns to watch the proceedings with a mostly impassive air, ignoring the soot that floats down from the sky.

The smoke drifts even to the outskirts, causing Selene to lurch forward, coughing from the ashy intruder. Through her coughs she tugs on the guard's arm, she cannot stay much longer, her feet at aching and the smoke only disturbs her further. Selene whispers to Octavian before she and her guard slip back toward their house.

Atalanta lingers, odd for her. Maybe she just wants to get the lowdown from Ori about the wings. That's what's important after all. Her eyes look to Kaly for a moment, then back to the brindled woman. This is just too strange. What were the lares thinking? Though, better Ori than other darklings she knows.

Octavian offers an arm to help his cousin gain her balance, nodding to her whispered words. He watches as she departs, concern actually in his eyes. Oh, nothing can happen to Selene, she's his favorite cousin! Once he's sure she's in safe hands, he looks back to the gathering, drawing out a fine handkerchief to cover his mouth and nose... to try and filter out some of that smoke.

Selene and Kalypso meander along a garden path until they step into the living quarters of the Palladium.

With his daughter gone, and other members of his family conspicuously absent, Cassius stands alone and watches as the servants go about their task. Before long, there is more steam than smoke, and the pyre is only a blackened pile of ash and charcoal with a few unrecognizable lumps that used to be his wife's cherished possessions. The sword, alone, is largely unmarked, for the flames would have to burn fiercely indeed to warp sturdy Varati steel. It is smudged with black and would take much cleaning before it could be useable, but it is still intact.

He is staring at it, and his expression is immobile. He makes a lonely figure, gazing dispassionately at the pathetic reminders of his wife's presence in his life. Wings dusted with grey fan open and resettle at his back, but Cassius watches until it's all over. It is all he can do.

FIN  

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