Date: August 3, 2001 (Aether: September 15, 3908)
Place: Garden - Palladium - Haven
Cast: Alexandrus, Aurora, Calliope (also emitting Alexandros), Elanus, Mabel, Mnemosyne, Octavian, Olivia, Selene, Theron, Uriel
Scene: The Princeps' spirit is borne away on the ashes of his pyre, as those who loved him and respected him pay their last respects.

Garden - Palladium - Haven:
      Water droplets spray upward from a marble fountain, glinting like diamonds when the sunlight streams in and patterns the ground. A trellis overhead holds grapevines that shade the paths below, mingled with a wild tangle of rosebushes. In the warm months, they bloom in a riot of color; ranging from a red so deep it's almost black, to the purest white bud delicately laced with veins of pink. Petals are strewn over the walkways, and their scent perfumes the air with a heady aroma that is vaguely seductive.
      Warm sunlight or the cooler glow of the moon reflects off the marble columns supporting the various structures of the Palladium, yet it is easy to forget a world beyond this garden. A few stone benches provide 'places' where visitors may sit and converse, or simply absorb this rich tapestry of sight, smell, and sound.

Funeral Bier:
      Within the garden's centermost area, near the fragrant reminders of life and beauty, a traditional funeral bier has been constructed. Like all of this sort for the Empyreans sent to their lares, the platform-like object is wooden and made to burn easily in a contained manner. Atop the bier lies, covered with a handsome stretch of fabric in deepest blue, edged with golden and white threads, on which the symbols of the Kronian are stitched.
      Underneath that pall lies the remains of the Princeps, Magnus Aurelius Jove, his dignified profile at peace now. All but his neck and head are covered by the cloth, and upon his head has been laid a laurel wreath. Two guards from House Jove are stationed on either end of the bier, and flowers have been placed by mourners against the very base.

Alexandrus quietly steps into the garden, a solemn neutrality set in jaw as the Tritonis noble, garbed for mourning, makes his entrance.

The woman who has been curiously absent during these last few weeks of turmoil, drifts into the garden shadowed by her Schola guards. The Dowager Empress takes up a solitary position on the periphery of the assembled. In respect for the mourning House, a dark colored shawl is pulled over her shoulders, covering her honey-woven hair, shadowing her features. Any thoughts Aurora keeps, remain her own.

Octavian makes his way into the Garden, his expression suitably somber...or is it bored? Maybe a culmination of both. Being unable to leave the House was beginning to wear on even him. Of course, it is such a tragedy, but...Magnus would have wanted their lives to go on...and Octavian wanted his life back. But this is much better, even if it -is- going just to the Garden for the funeral. A hand lightly pushes a curl of his hair back in place and then straightens out the fold of his toga before he glances about at the area.

The gardens have been arranged for ease of attendance of the Empyrean dignitaries and their guards...along with the security already in place. Within a clearing lies the funeral bier, and places for the family of the fallen Princeps are set aside. Those who are guarding seem...tense? Perhaps it is only the mood of the moment.

Already positioned in the garden are two of the lightning-marked Fulminaris. One Praetorian Guard, the other a Schola. They do their best to remain unobtrusive. Far away from the Bier and the crowd. Their purpose is as hard to read as their humorless eyes. They interfere with none. Speak with none. Doing their best to be merely enigmatic statues. Perhaps there to insure no insurgency occurs. Or perhaps a misguided attempt by the Emperor to pay respects.

Selene accompanies her young Jovian cousin, her figures swathed in the grey of mourning. Even her wings are dull with freshly applied ash, but no expression appears on the Dea's face. Her strides are graceful and with purpose and her posture is perfect. She doesn't speak to anyone, not even Octavian, which who she walks, though from time to time she gently pats his arm with her hand. More for herself than for him, if he really is as bored as he appears. The bier cannot be missed, but Selene cannot bring herself to look at the silent figure atop it for too long. It is more comfortable to watch the others who have come to pay their respects.

Just a little mouse exploring a possible new pantry, Mabel is all but covered by a deep grey linen cloak, the hood/point of which flops down to tickle across her nose every now and again. In her arms, as per usual, is a small bundle of assorted scrolls. She is tagging along with a dark garbed and somewhat aged Empyrean woman, who may be recognizable as the owner of a local bookstore. Apparently, a pair of commoners come to pay their respects as well.

Alexandrus looks towards the bier for a moment, hands going to clasp his back as he looks on with utter stone-faced solemnity, little place for jocularity in such a time and for such an occasion. Nonetheless, he catches a glimpse of Mabel, and musters a faint smile as he watches her enter, swiftly making his way to intercept her.

From the innermost courtyard, the place in which the various House chambers are located, the funeral party emerges, accompanied by most of the members of the Jovian guard. In the front appears the heir to Magnus' estate, Uriel, with the younger daughters Mnemosyne and Calliope, all recently arrived from Civitas Dei; Magnus' brother Severin and sister Kalyca come next, expressions grim but composed. And behind them, at the rear of the procession is the Deus of House Jove, Martinian, whose jaw is set and whose demeanor is settled well in the realm of dignity. Magnus' widow is on Martinian's arm, her fingers entwined with his, and a sheaf of translucent grey covers her features. Chin up, Olivia is almost expressionless, and her gaze meets nothing in particular.

Uriel Jove enters with the rest of his family, calm and quiet. Face straight head as he marches slowly forward. No tears streak his face, the planes and lines to stolid for such a public display. But the tell-tale signs are there of recent tears, cried in private and silence. A rock to support his sister's should they need such support from him.

Mnemosyne follows close behind Uriel. There are dark circles beneath her eyes, but she wears them proudly. No tears will be shed here... not now. Her gaze is marked on a single point, that of the funeral bier. Her jaw tightens and she takes in a breath, but little besides breaks her as being a family constant.

Pale, and paler than even the fair features of the most pure blooded of Empyrean nobles would be, Calliope enters in the procession of her family. Her eyes are not for the bier where her father is laid in state, but for those that have gathered before him, an odd edge of challenge burning within. Jewelry eschewed and the enhancing pigments forsaken for the gravity of this day, she is a ghost in mourning grey with wings dusted dull with ash. Youngest daughter of the slain Princeps, she stalks without the mien of sorrow but rather the sharpened stance and gesture of repressed anger.

As for the widow, little of her features can be seen, though a gentle breeze flutters her veil. Her eyes are aimed across the heads of the seated guests, but her posture is straight, her demeanor...not her usual calm, per se, but at least it is forcibly composed. From her back, however, an ash-brushed feather twists away from its few remaining brethren and skitters across the garden, solitary.

Not clearly with the procession, but moving alongside is a figure familiar to most in the family --Alexandros. Oracle of Civitas Dei, it is he who has been called to speak to the traditional aspects of this gathering, the calling of the lares and the ceremony to be performed.

The ashes seem to fall from Octavian's wings at a somewhat alarming rate... perhaps that is because they keep on twitching. Finally, after one too many pats on his arm, he reaches over and places his hand of the Dea Selene's, perhaps to still it. It is then that the procession begins and he turns, the boredom disappearing from his expression. While grief does not show itself, his eyes are oddly neutral.

First of the family, Uriel finds a seat and settles onto it. Ash coating the feathers as they settle behind him. He closes his eyes for a brief respite from the image of his father, laid out on the bier. He fights the urge to glare at the Fulminaris in back of the proceedings. No sense acknowledging their presence, no. Instead, he focuses on the oracle Alexandros. One hand reaching out Mnemosyne should she wish to avail herself of his strength.

Selene looks from Octavian's hand trapping her own up to his eyes, blinking once, then twice as if woken from a trance. Her youthful companion is giving a fleeting smile of thanks before she follows his gaze and turns to watch the Jovian procession. The children are given a nod as their pass, not mattering if they notice it or not. Her chin freezes halfway back up as she notices the demeanor of the youngest daughter, Calliope and at that sight, she frowns. It lasts only a heartbeat or two, for now such expressions should be directed to the widow and her friend.

Alexandros, long-standing friend of the family and Oracle present at the naming of each and every one of his children, moves to stand before the bier which holds the body of the departed Princeps and sketches in the air a gesture half benediction, half motion for attention of those present. "Domini and Dominae, Dei and Deae, Aegians and friends. We gather here today to remember Magnus Aurelius Jove."

The old Oracle leans heavily with his other hand on the gnarled length of a cane and blearily blinks at the crowd. His expression is that of great fatigue, sorrow pulling heavily at the set of his wings and mouth.

Mnemosyne looks to her brother's hand and smiles grimly. She puts her hand in his to lend him strength as well. None of Magnus' children are free from this pain. In turn, she looks to her sister noting the expression and frowning. It is inappropriate for it to show -- although she echoes it in her heart. Catching her sister's hand in hers, she silently begs her to let it go... for now.

Smiling a little in return to Alexandrus, Mabel nods her head to him in quiet greet before her attention is snagged by the procession. Mouth pursing into a sympathetic 'O', her big eyes widen further as she looks over the stony faces.. Catching for a moment on Calliope, and she murmurs a soft 'like ember in the ashes' just to herself, although 'drus might hear it as well. Then, as Alexandros The Oracle speaks, she goes silent again.. Quiet as a mouse.

Olivia trembles at the mention of Magnus' name, another feather punctuating her reaction as it flutters away alone, but otherwise her posture stays immaculate. And she continues to stare in the direction of the mourners without actually looking at any of them, as if a blossom across the garden has her mesmerized.

Alexandrus dips his head in respect for the departed Princeps and the family and friends which mourn him, focusing his gaze on the garden's verdance, the life represented there as opposed to the reminder of the finality of existence lying upon the bier.

"I have had the honor of knowing Magnus Jove for his entire life. His father, Aurel, brought each of his children to me at their birth, that their future might be scryed, and Magnus in turn brought his children before me that the gods might have voice in the path that he might guide them upon throughout their own lives." Alexandros trembles slightly and then raises his quavering voice to continue, "He was a man of strong convictions, not much given to public displays of his emotions. But he was the still water that ran deep -- and his passions often caught up those around him and carried them onwards on the strength of his judgement. And so it is with sorrow that I must witness, too, the end of his days, and invite you to join with me in remembering the man that will watch us now from beyond as one of the most honored of our lares."

Blue-violet eyes take in the family, lingering for just a moment longer on Calliope, before shifting to the Fulminaris. There is a brief flash of...something, and his hands clench briefly before Octavian forces them to relax. Eyes flicker back to Selene and his jaw twitches, making him seem...well, almost masculine as he turns his gaze to the bier.

Selene must find more strength within her to not look to the Fulminaris who stand nearby and it takes to keep the tears from falling. She uses Alexandros as a focal point, listening intently to his words that recall a great man. But she cannot smile, even has her cousin's memory is exulted for the man he was. Selene leans slightly on her cousin for support without looking up to his gaze that studies her for a moment.

Two more feathers depart the ash-dusted wings of Olivia Augustin Jove, the only motion from her direction. Her escort leans close to whisper a question, patting her hand; one terse, tensed nod is his answer. Thus does Martinian redirect his attention back to Alexandros and the coming eulogies, his serious countenance all the graver today.

Alexandros breathes deeply, as if about to launch into even more lengthy speech, but something draws the man up short with cataract-silvered eyes scowling into the distance. He turns slowly to pat the still form of the man shrouded upon the bier and mutters, "Aidoneus guide you, my old friend, to the seat beside the throne of the Kronian, where you deserve to be." He hobbles to one side, then, waving to Uriel to come forward and take his place in the remembrance of the Princeps.

Distanced from the gathering, the Dowager Empress' grey eyes witness the event. Silently, she chronicles the passing of life in this endless procession onwards to death, death that oft times comes too soon. Her gaze passes briefly across those that the Princeps has left behind -- those who must find means to continue onwards without him--fixing finally on the Oracle.

Slowly, slowly. Uriel rises from his seat. A final squeeze to his sister's hand before taking the place Alexandros previously occupied. He tries not to look at those gathered, but unbidden his eyes find theirs. From one to another. "My father." He begins, voice a pleasing tenor. "has joined the company of the gods. Real gods. True gods who look down upon our people and guide them. His last breaths were of love. Love for his nation. And love for his wife."

Nods around the gathered family greet Uriel's statement and, within the mourners, similar approving expressions follow.

Alexandrus listens to the eulogy paid by a son for his departed father, his head nodding in polite agreement, brow furrowed in concern for the family and on meditation of the father, noble, Aegian, and Princeps which the Empyre today mourns.

"We can..." Uriel draws a slow breath, shoulders moving. He has to pause a moment, resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. "We can aspire to no greater heights, then to love such as my father. To lead as my father led. He has joined the lares and watches us all. I pray to him that we will be guided by his example and bring joy to him." With those words he gathers his wings close about his shoulders, resuming his seat.

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

Olivia watches Uriel return to his seat; she herself is closest to the bier, though toward it she rarely glances. Stoic, like those around her, she prefers to concentrate on controlling her emotions.

Mnemosyne rises, taking a moment to compose herself before she moves to take Uriel's place. When she speaks, the words are smooth and practiced, strong and compelling. A voice trained, once, to speak to a crowd such as this. "Magnus, our father, was a noble man. He believed in carrying himself in a just way. He was strong. He was," she pauses, voice nearly breaking, but after a time, she says: "brave. He did what he viewed he had to do -- not to make friends, nor to create enemies, although many may believe he had both. No matter that he was carried away sooner than we would like -- his memory lives long in those of us who loved him. Respected him. Even hated him. And our memories will keep this man, Magnus Aurelius Jove, and his beliefs alive."

Murmurs of approval, even a few tears, follow these eulogies, but nobility is supposed to be dignified -- and so few really KNEW Magnus -- so most simply listen and nod to the speeches while whispering, now and again, amongst themselves.

Mnemosyne bows her head, taking one last good look at the bier, then returns to the seat next to her brother... much quieted.

There's a flurry of movement from the entrance at the living quarters, as Theron emerges from that area. He'd hoped to be here earlier, but it was not to be. He slips around the back of the group of people, taking up a spot where he can observe most of the ceremony without much trouble.

Calliope steps forward as her sister takes her seat once more, chin set at a stubborn angle and jaw tight with the words that are held behind clenched teeth. Her eyes shift unblinking through the crowd. "My father was," she begins with strident tone, thought clearly cut off before it is fully begun as her eyes rake across the glowering forms of the Fulminaris in the back of those gathered, and her speech continues with a moderated delivery, "... a quiet man, one not given to the loud noise of passion but rather the strength of utter conviction in the verity of our ways and traditions and the history of our people. He was the cornerstone of a foundation, the pillar which bears the weight of an arch. He was.. " she falters, eyes narrowing.

Calliope shakes her head sharply and then states in a firmer, accusing voice, "He is dead because those ways were abandoned, and no one said a thing. I hope you are all proud of yourselves." The girl whirls and stalks back to her chair, sitting down decisively and glaring back at anyone that dares meet her eyes.

Not even a ruffle from the Fulminaris. Their stony watch simply fixed forward at some point in the distance. Though no one should doubt that the words spoken will reach the ears of the Emperor. Yes, that should be a certainty in the minds of all those assembled. And all those speaking.

Mnemosyne glances sharply at her sister and merely says, "Iris Calliope!" If there was anything else it is left unspoken. Unbidden.

That accusation wrests Olivia from her daze, and she spasms once; the knuckles of the hand within Martinian's are burnished near-white with the strength of her grip. A handful of feathers again departs her grey-spattered wings, and for a moment the widow seems to wrestle with control. But after a moment, she rights herself, again nods to Martinian, and sits still once more.

Alexandros rises in the midst of the murmur that Calliope's angry words spread -- agreement, disagreement, it matters not for he speaks to all of them as if the girl had not spouted her venom quite so publicly. His voice is warm and welcoming, gentle through the rest of the low voices, "It is the wish of the family that any who also desire to speak of Magnus Jove in fond remembrance, do so." He retreats back into the background once more, near the head of the bier.

Selene releases her hold of Octavian and glides toward the front, her eyes focused where they did not wish to go before -- on the bier and the man resting on top. She draws silent and studies the now silenced image of her cousin before making a sweeping turn to face those assembled and draws in a deep breath. "Dominus Magnus Jove was my cousin, for we bear the same blood in our veins and never have I felt anything for him but pride and wonder. Everything said this day has been correct, he was a gift to the Empyre. Let us hope his guidance continues to lead us. He was an able statesman, but also a gentle man who was not afraid to ask for help."

Slowly, she smiles. "I shall never forget the afternoon we spent trying to catch a kitten he had purchased for a young domina, after it had escaped into the shadows of his chamber." Selene stops and looks directly to Magnus' youngest daughter, appearing a bit flustered by the declaration that came from the young woman. Swallowing, she continues. "But above all, he was a true patriot and held a deep love for the Empyre. I shall always hold his last words, the last I heard, in my heart and try to become a better Empyrean so that his death shall not be in vain. Consultum de republica defendenda." Selene stands silent after the last words, a call given when the Aegis is granted its oven sovereignty. Her eyes drift, nervously to the tattooed guards at the back as she returns to Octavian's side.

Octavian's eyes widen at Calliope's speech and he scowls, looking at her for a moment before turning away once more. Perhaps he should make it a practice of wearing his sword once more... for her words cannot bode well. He watches the eulogies in silence, seeming to debate whether or not he should say anything. As Selene steps forward, he waits until she is finished before doing so himself. Taking a moment as if waiting for all attention to be turned upon him he finally speaks, "I don't know if my cousin, Magnus Jove, ever knew, but I admired him greatly. He was not afraid of speaking his mind to me...about me..." a brief glance is given to Martinian before continuing to scan the gathered, "...nor was he afraid of my reaction. I knew, through this, that he cared. He was a public figure as well, and represented the House as no other can...the House and the Empyre."

A more meaningful glance is given to the Fulminaris in the background. "His sacrifice is great, and the Empyre will never forget it." There is another moment of silence before Octavian speaks publicly what he already told some members of the family, "The image of Magnus Aurelius Jove shall be used as a model for the statue of Zeus in the new Temple." His voice lowers, as if giving an honest afterthought, "It is only fitting." That finished, he steps back to Selene, his wings giving another tremble.

Alexandrus steps forward just outside the lines of mourners, and with a nod towards the bereaved family addresses those gathered here in a strong, clarion voice, "On behalf of House Tritonis, I would like to extend our most heartfelt condolences upon the loss of Magnus Aurelius Jove, a loss which is felt by even those who never knew him. A wife has lost her husband, children their father, a family its focus, an Aegis its Princeps, an Empyre its strongest and most visible voice of conscience. I speak at a disadvantage in this solemn gathering, as someone who never personally knew the Princeps. But I knew far enough of him, from my family members who had the honor of sitting with him in the Aegis, from having spent more than enough time darting through the city to get within earshot of his proclamations and oratories, from the many whom I heard speak his name in the same breath as honor, dignity, temperance, and conviction.

"Everyone who was ever impacted every legislative measure passed through his capable leadership, every citizen of this Empyre which has enjoyed the peace of a government grounded by its Princeps in the values and principles which first made us great ... We are all of us, every one, bereaved today, but in turn we must all recognize and be grateful that the alchemy of ideals which made him truly great live on in those who survive him ... Indeed, within us all." A humble bow and Alexandrus retreats, back to join the others.

The silence grows and its length finally calls Alexandros out of his quiet repose to stand alongside the bier once more. "The House of Jove thanks you all for your kind remembrances. Would there be any more that care to share their memories of this man?" His gaze, although largely dimmed by time's hand, searches the crowd.

As the quiet draws out further, Alexandros turns and motions to Olivia.

With Martinian beside her, Olivia rises carefully to speak, taking a place directly beside the bier. Her fingers, those not encased in the Deus' grip, rise move aside her veil, then rest on Magnus' forehead; when she leans forward to brush a kiss against the smooth dome of his head, a salty droplet trickles off her chin and down that hairless pate. But speak she does, her forehead leaning against the temple of the man she so clearly loved.

"I have been wondering what to tell of my husband," she commences, voice thinned by emotion but carried well enough to whoever cares to hear. "How impossible a task it is, to summarize the essence of the man I so thoroughly loved, in but a few sentences. How could I do him justice? So many things to say, to tell, to share... it is as if I were shown the glory of the heavens themselves and commanded to describe them in a few dozen words."

"So," Olivia is continuing hollowly, "I shall say only this. I love him, and ever will. I admire him, and ever will. The Empyre has known no one like him and never will again. He would join me, I am certain, in expressing gratitude for this show of affection and admiration, though he would do so with unruffled dignity. Your support is so very much appreciated; forgive my inadequacy, I beg you, in expressing such. "For our son, for our daughter not yet born, I will persevere..." Another kiss is pressed to the smooth forehead, another tear trickling forth beside her lips. Then from her chimere she withdraws a single sheaf of parchment, tied with a ribbon, and places it beside the body. "But I lay my heart with you, my darling, my beloved, for it perished with you, and give you these last and private words of love. The Empyre shall never truly know what a treasure was lost in you... but I know. And by the lares, by the Kronian himself, I will let no one forget, ever. So I shall say not farewell, my love, for we two shall never be parted, not by death, nor by the petty temper of one who is not so worthy as to step foot on the ground where once you passed."

Calliope shifts slightly, the fires of her accusation banked as Olivia draws all attention with her simple, but expressive words. She watches her stepmother with the remains of her father and the stony mask melts into something less readable--perhaps it is the pain of the cutting edge of understanding; the realization of just what these two meant to each other going far beyond that of accepting an interloper's love for her own father and verging on the edge of disbelief in immense depths of emotion these two people could have possibly shared.

Even Uriel must look down a moment. His wavy hair obscuring his face as his hand tries to wipe away the grief. He looks back up, eyes on his stepmother and smiles. His father will ever be remembered by that woman, and so he shall live on forever.

A waiting attendant presents a torch to the widow; Olivia moves away from her escort to stand alone, and for a moment the light gilds her features, shimmering with unchecked, unending tears. Then she draws in a deep breath, expression fierce and determined, and ignites the bier. What last words she whispers to the body of her husband are lost in the crackle of a fire quickly spreading, carrying to the heavens the spirit of the fallen Princeps. And through the gathering smoke she speaks once more... and this time the pain-laced words are indeed audible and replete with the strength only she denied she has possessed.

"Consultum de republica defendenda."

Mnemosyne raises her eyes to the sky, face solemn. Friend and stepmother, she could have asked for no one but Olivia. Pain cuts through her, but none of it is shown on her face.

Octavian blinks rapidly at Olivia's words, lifting one hand to press a moment against the bridge of his nose. Something in his eyes, you see. But he cannot look away from the widow...nor can he shut her words out. Never has he seen a love like that. As the bier is lit, he is actually glad of his tan, for the rushing of emotion isn't as visible. Again, his wings shiver and his eyes blink once more.

Calliope flinches the slightest bit from the rush of flame as the bier becomes pyre and the smoke rises skyward. She stands to watch it, as if this were the moment in truth that her father bids all a formal farewell.

Alexandrus trains his eyes on the bier, its contents consumed in fire and ceremony, as befits the spirit which is, in such reverence, given to the heavens. His frown remains pensive, thoughtful, respectful, and perhaps in awe at the mystery of this ancient act, so potent under the present circumstances.

With hands clasped together and held to her heart Selene watches her cousin and friend with fresh tears sparkling in her eyes. She smiles to Olivia, though it is unlikely Olivia would notice it, proud of the woman and filled with a greater admiration that she had previously held for the older woman. She doesn't even bother too around, for she is not transfixed by the pale image of the widow and the fiery bier that burns behind her.

Soon most of the bier is obscured in flame and smoke, blissfully blocking the view of the burning body from those watching. But Olivia moves not, the torch held to one side, grief shifted to anger and unmitigated determination. The depth of her misery and loss has shifted to the realization that Magnus died for a cause. And now it is hers.

FIN  

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