Date: October 26, 2000 (Aether: April 20, 3907)
Place: Garden - Palladium - Haven
Cast: Agrippina (Thalia), Alexandria, Aurora (II), Celosia, Cersei, Claudius, Cleon, Cressida, Gabriel, Jana, Lilith, Lyranthe, Maximus, Niherlas, Olivia, Pantoleon, Thaddeus, Theron, Versus, Xanthiel, Zephyr
Emitted: Altair, Apollonius, Drusus, Helena
Scene: Empyreans pay their last respects to one of their own -- an Aegian, Deus, ambassador, leader, friend, enemy, and kinsman... Cassius Silvarius Augustin.

Garden - Funeral Scene:
      The gardens of the Palladium are etched in beauty in springtime. Flowers have proliferated, swallowing the gloom of late winter and proffering to those who would enter an array of colors in flora and fauna the likes of which are rarely matched. Perhaps the Arctic winter that blanketed Haven is to be thanked for this year's bounty or, at the very least, the perception thereof. The cheery result of this rainbow spread across the greenery that drizzles from trellis and tree.
      What a contradiction, thus, is the somber scene set forward for this evening, as Apollo guides the sun to its resting spot below the horizon. A pyre has been constructed before the white edifice of the garden fountain, and upon this pyre rest the personal effects of the leader of House Augustus: a tunic and toga of snowy perfection, formal, the sort a man would wear in the Aegis; a handsome box that would hold parchment; miscellaneous other items, including a quill that looks to be from an Empyrean's wing. No body is evidenced, but who among the mourners has not heard about the fate of Cassius Augustin? Chairs have been gathered reasonably close to the pyre for the purpose of observation, for the purpose of togetherness.

Urn:
      A ceremonial Empyrean urn used to carry the ashes of the dead. These urns have been used for centuries, and while their design and style develops from time to time, they remain largely the same. This one bears decorative touches from the area of Civitas Dei and is adorned with the symbol of House Augustus on both sides.
      An engraving at the base says: 'Cassius Silvarius Augustin. Aegian. Sanguis Nobilis.'

Cressida settles in the seats, wings back, chin up, dignified and quiet for once. Her eyes, however, blaze with a temperament that is rarely soft.

The arrival of the Emperor is relatively understated, having left two Schola outside to guard the approaches. The two who are with him -- Varro and Marcus -- are not dressed in their usual splendid garb. Instead, they wear plain grey clothing under their armor, and their helms are likewise plumed in grey. Drusus is likewise clothed in fine but plain clothing: whites and greys dominate, with edgings done in simple black embroidery. He is wearing the old, weather-beaten woolen chlamys brought with him from the frontier.

Taking the appropriate place amongst the ranks of the bereaved, Drusus remains a quiet, inscrutable presence, watching all that happens with careful attention but giving little indication of his personal thoughts.

Theron enters the garden of the Palladium, with a cohors of soldier who begin to line the garden, half with pilum, the others with crossbows. He hadn't particularly wanted to be here, but he does realize the need for a political appearance, not to mention the man is really dead.

No augur appears to conduct the funeral, either from deference to Cassius' wishes or a family decision to eschew the closest thing in the Empyre to priests. Rather, from behind the collection of blossoming rosebushes, comes a procession comprising much of House Augustus, each with wings smirched by ash... a traditional sign of mourning for the Empyre.

This small collection includes the young domina Cersei, she who does so much to aid the Emperor and Augustus in general; newly-arrived Gabriel, with his military bearing; Xanthiel, brother to the late Deus and Praetor.

Toward the rear of the procession comes a slender figure in grey: Olivia Augustin Jove, surrogate mother to Cassius' son Nikolos. At her side is the silent, stalwart figure of Versus, the Schola and acting head of the Augustus family. He bears in his strong hands an urn, and the inference is facile that this contains what was recovered of Cassius from the Atesh-Gah, from the Varati. Olivia herself carries a torch and a demeanor of subdued serenity.

Moving in silence, swathed in funeral garb, Jana steps into the garden quite alone. Drab, dark wings twitch restlessly at her spine, stiffening with unease in the presence of so many who go unrecognized. Pale fingers lift to rub at the side of her nose, and as stealthily as possible, she slinks along a path towards a seat in the back rows.

Arriving a short while after his cousin and flanked by two Praetorians, Altair Chryseis, Commander of the Hounds of Haven, makes his own entrance. Garbed in white armor rather than black and indigo, he is guided along towards an unobtrusive position where he might watch the solemn occasion.

Ash-dusted wings lie folded against the Augustin Adjutor's back as he enters the garden along with the rest of the family. Gabriel's is a new face to many here, for he only arrived in Haven recently upon hearing of the recent deaths in his House. His expression is solemn, his eyes focused straight ahead, and he accompanies the knot of mourners onward toward the pyre, which holds a smattering of Cassius Augustin's personal effects.

Early rather than late, Agrippina Valeria Juventas' perpetual gray garb blends her perfectly into the scene. Thus, given her preternatural silence on this occasion, it takes a few moments to realize that Cassius' ex-mother-in-law is actually present and has placed herself in the middle of the seats provided.

Cressida's eyes track the progress of the procession, and her lips press together in a thin line of irritation. Not at the ceremony, likely; her annoyance is borne of a need to vent her spleen at those responsible. One may deduce as much, that is, because she wears the same look of repressed indignation as much of the Empyre.

"Domini and Dominae, friends and family," Olivia commences from beside the pyre, pitching her voice that it might carry across those assembled, "we gather today to remember the life of Cassius Silvarius Augustin, Deus and Aegian, friend and kinsman. Our sorrow has known no bounds, and we grieve separately and, today, together."

Here she pauses, drawing in a breath before continuing in a well-enunciated, silvery accent. "This day, however, is one of celebration and of joy, for united we should rejoice in having known Cassius, in sharing the uniqueness that was his gift to us. As a people, we mourn the man that we knew, but he is at peace at last, and to that end we have cause to be thankful."

Having arrived a short time ago, Lyranthe moves in from an adjacent garden as the ceremony begins. The young Reeve remains toward the rear of the gathering, watching the proceedings with solemn eyes.

The new patriarch of the most traditional of Empyrean houses -- Versus Xanthio Augustin -- is perhaps one of the very few people present who are not wearing a mourning toga. Instead, he is clad in the uniform of the Praetorian Schola... his red Imperial chlamys waving behind him in the wind, and his gladius ceremonially topped with a head of the eagle.

His helm, adorned with a red fan on top, bears the image of the war god Quirinus, engraved over his brow. On his chest is a golden eagle-chain, the symbol of the Empyre, the Emperor and the aquila of his legion. This is a stern, self-confident man, moving with a quality of a predator coiled for an attack. His expression is solemn and his gestures curt, but his eyes remain alert, even if a bit melancholic.

The heated excitement of Empyrean bodies and springtime's kiss proves to have little effect on the poised and composed manner of Cersei, Cassius' young cousin. With measured, easy steps, the woman proceeds to the pyre, head held as high as respect for the deceased will allow her. Perhaps not unlike Gabriel, she too is a rather unfamiliar face to some, though this is due to her ceaseless duty rather than absence. Finally reaching her place, she sits with a stiff grace.

A little late, after a confrontation he was not expecting in the Rialto, Thaddeus slips into the back as quietly and as inconspicuously as he can. Folding his wings behind his back, he sits down right next to one of his new relatives, if only by blood, Helena Ariane Jove. As he sits and glances at the woman beside him; her demeanor suggests that she really wants to be alone and would rather not have him sit beside her, just so she can mourn, but the boy has no where else to go.

Yes, thankful that he's dead. To that end, Theron stands as far in back as humanly or Empyreanly as possible, hands tucked behind him.

Cleon fits in quite well with the other mourners, quiet and very respectful from his place toward the back of the assembled well-wishers, where those not directly related to the recently departed gather.

The crowds gathered for this solemn ceremony that has much of the Empyre in uproar are plentiful. True, only few can make it here to Haven, but many Houses -- large and small -- sent at least representatives to show their stance on this issue. Head to head, body to body, toga to toga, the Empyreans today gather for a ceremony that was never meant to occur so soon. The spring sky, so pristine and cheerful these last few days, slowly darkens as the funeral commences. Even the heavens will mourn the passing of the son of the Empyre.

Behind Versus, a figure that may be familiar to some strides -- similar bearing, manner, facial features. Wings dusted a light grey with ash and face unrevealing of either grief or happiness, Xanthiel Augustin merely looks.... tired.

Gabriel doesn't take a seat as so many of the others do. Like Versus, he is inclined to stand; to remain alert and wary. He does not wear the garb of a Praetor, but he has the demeanor of one. He moves to a spot not far from the pyre and remains there, hands folded in front of him, wings folded behind. Blue-green eyes, unshadowed by the raw vestiges of grief, skim from time to time over the participants in this event.

Pale grey eyes track the procession towards the pyre, even as her fingers drop from the side of her nose to toy restlessly with the crystal dangling from her necklace. Jana's brow crumples pensively when Olivia begins speaking, her gaze is averted to the ground for a brief time. But when once her eyes lift back up, they commence to scan over the crowds with an almost distracted air. She could perhaps be counted as one of the few who do not seem overly grieved to know that Cassius Augustin is no more.

Like the garment she wears, Olivia is a trifle greyish in coloration, but she stands unruffled, cool and dignified, eyes of brilliant aquamarine skipping from visage to visage among the crowd, most notably at the younger mourners. "I was privileged to have known Cassius... I was nurse to his son, Nikolos, and I was his friend. I do not believe he understood such, but I admired him greatly. His skills as orator in the Aegis were unparalleled, and his selfless dedication to relations with the Varati, despite his captivity after the war, were an inspiration. Intellect and acumen were of an astonishing degree. But what drew my admiration was what many did not see... for I knew a kinder side to him, one that, as with many men, he believed showed a certain weakness. It was the part of him that was compassionate, and it was astonishing and deep."

Olivia pauses to moisten her lips, to collect her thoughts and self-possession, and in this interim the torch gutters, a flare of fresh, golden red light splashing across her cheek. The effect outlines further the pallor of the unaccented parts of her complexion.

Standing at the periphery of the gathering is a short, round little man, silently waiting at the outskirts of the mourners, watching all that occurs with reddened eyes and a bloodless pallor which makes normally fair skin appear as white as new snow. He does not speak, does not interact with any of the mourners, and perhaps there are those who might glance in his direction with puzzlement in their eyes, wondering who this man is, and how he knew the Deus. But with his understated grief, his stricken countenance, and his motionless stance, he is quite unapproachable.

Agrippina takes out a bit of cloth from within the folds of her toga. She clutches it tightly in her hands while listening to Olivia.

Cressida clears her throat at the pause in the eulogy. Perhaps it is from the smoke of the torch, perhaps from something caught in her throat, but the sound is made sharply before being swallowed. Now, mayhaps, is the time for silence and attentiveness rather than any sounds that could be misconstrued. Or, worse, properly interpreted.

Celosia soars in from the skies above.

Many among the assembly are full of worry... others of sorrow, at Olivia's gentle words, no doubt many lower their eyes in deference. One who has been present in his seat a while remains calm. Pantoleon, grey sash about his waist, remains seated, to all appearances quite intent on hearing Olivia's next words. These last were quite amusing. Peace was not something many folk would list as a desire of the dearly departed...

Versus stands near Xanthiel -- his father -- proudly showing his heritage to all present. His hands crossed on his chest, as is often the case for Praetorian officers, he listens solemnly to Olivia's eulogy, not moving an inch... like an Illium statue. His face is blank, seemingly melancholic and somewhere in the sky where the words of his aunt bear their true meaning. But he is present here, oh yes, and in his straight and rigid pose, in his solemn attitude and Imperial uniform, in his icy gaze and passionate heart, he grieves. The wind tugs at his cape gently. His uncle, his strength, is being laid to rest...

At this moment, Altair has his eyes riveted to the pyre and Olivia. Features are impassive and stony, but the set of his jaw betrays teeth that are clenched with silent emotion.

"Controversy and violence surrounded his end," Olivia gravely intones as her eulogy follows, "and the horror and anger we feel from his loss is without cessation. To this day, to this minute, I cannot bring myself to believe he is gone." A tic in her cheek starts, is quickly stilled by will. "But his lare watches over Augustus as we speak, and those who come after us shall be blessed by his wisdom and guidance. Our loss is devastating but, by the grace of the gods, softened by this knowledge."

Inhaling, holding that breath, then letting it go, she concludes, "So, Cassius, to you, I wish you what I have always desired for you: eternal peace, eternal hope and light, eternal love. I only wish that you did not have to perish e'er you could accept them." Olivia then inclines her chin to Agrippina and motions with the unoccupied hand for Cassius' mother-in-law to approach.

Feeling increasingly uncomfortable in this gathering of Praetorians and nobles, it is little wonder that Lyranthe begins to fidget. Spying Altair and his escort, a terse smile comes to her lips. Wonder that they let him in. A decent enough gesture. Following the line of Praetorians that surround the garden pyre, the firebrand Hound spies Theron standing not far off. Worrying at her lower lip for a moment, she moves quietly to stand behind him. Lifting a gloved hand, she places it on Imperator Marcellus' shoulder, and should he turn, offers a considerably warmer smile than the one previous.

Agrippina rises from her seat. She walks slowly and solemnly over to Olivia, though her pace may be due to her advanced age rather than the seriousness of the occasion. She inclines her head to Olivia and murmurs in a miraculously polite voice, "Thank you."

Theron shakes his head at the oratory. Absolutely amazing how a man can become a saint after he's dead. Oh, and now he's going to be advising future generations to be the sort of back stabbing traitors to the Empyre he was. Hmmm. The Imperator hopes someone shoots him before that can happen. At that touch on his shoulder, for a moment, there's the belief that perhaps it might happen. The sight of the Hound, however, bring a flash of smile, then a nod of acknowledgement.

As Agrippina approaches, Olivia and the torch she bears move toward the background, leaving the elder stateswoman of Juventas silhouetted by the flame's commingled shadows and reddish golden glow. With her eulogy done, Olivia may be silent, and such seems to appeal to her greatly.

To the surprise of some and gratitude of others, Cersei Augustin, like so many men, is able to remain quietly strong here in this place. Her posture continues to be perfectly rigid and her ashy wings do not twitch with emotion as they usually might. Her attentions are given only to those of her House at this time, the cool, supportive sea of her green gaze, watching each of her family closely, silently offering comfort to any that might catch her stare.

Blue-green eyes that already hold a mild slant now narrow considerably as Gabriel awaits Agrippina's speech. A faint smattering of ash sifts down from his wings as they flex and resettle against his back, implying some vague uneasiness at her impending words.

Agrippina turns to the assembled once she has reached the front and her aged body is able to rotate itself. "Gathered friends and family, Cassius Augustin was a true Empyrean, an honor to both country, House and family. His death is nothing short of a travesty -- a stain upon the collective pride of the Empyre. Not only has the perjurious, petty, petulant pyromaniac seen fit to end the life of a man who was a symbol of leadership, but the horrendous, whoremongering halfbreed claims that his actions are justified. We cannot allow Cassius' death to go unavenged. The despicable, despotic destroyer of decency and honor cannot be allowed to spit upon all that we love and cherish. I will never," she raises a bony aged fist clutching a gray handkerchief into the air. "Never--" She pauses, choking on her own emotion and dabs at the corner of her eyes with the gray handkerchief.

The air of distraction does not lighten around Oracle Tritonides as the funeral plods ever onward. A few tugs are given to the necklace she wears, before Jana's gaze skips and darts to follow Lyranthe's journey towards Theron. Other people begin to be noticed. Oh, there's Altair... but he's too occupied with his thoughts to notice her. Eyes swivel back to face the front, eventually alighting upon the figure of her aunt, Cressida. One pale eyebrow notches up and out of place with interest. But yet again, distractions claim her as Agrippina begins speaking. She focuses intently upon the elderly woman, finding this speech more interesting than the previous.

And his father stands beside him instead. Any regrets, Versus? If Xanthiel has any, he does not let them show on his face, wings not even flickering by so much as an eyelash-breadth. A lot of water under the bridge between his brother and himself -- from the loss of a daughter whose life he will probably never be a part of again, to the loss of the man whom Xanthiel clearly remembers teaching him to fly. Unlike the rest of the crowd, he does not stir, even slightly, at Agrippina's words -- perhaps he's not quite listening to them?

From the Aegian of Januarius comes a raised eyebrow. Cressida just looks at Agrippina with something approaching astonishment... which is quickly quelled by a smirk that implies she thinks little else could be expected from the vitriolic Agrippina. But she listens. Oh, how closely she listens.

Pantoleon raises a fist to his lips, keeping silent a light cough... as well as masking a smile at Agrippina's oratory. None despise Khalid more than he, but like too many Empyreans, the loss of death has been frequent in the Acesian Deus' life... thus he is fully able to find a good deal of very good humor in them... but for the sake of the dead, it shall not be seen. One must remain respectful, after all. The hand is lowered and his expression remains serene.

Olivia skirts a hasty look in Agrippina's direction and makes a forward step, should she be needed. Her alarm, however, is not entirely owed to concern for the older woman's well-being, as it originated in the vehemence that was carried along in Agrippina's speech.

Ah, now these words were more of what was expected. Cleon's wings ruffle as he schools his features, keeping his expression solemn. Like many of the others, he looks at the crowd for their reaction to the elder woman's words.

Pale grey eyes focus on the elderly relation of the Aegian as Lyranthe removes her hand from Theron's shoulder. Remaining where she is -- for ironically enough, she takes a certain degree of comfort with this Praetor present if not the group he brought with him. Though she knew Cassius in only name, perhaps the occasional sight of him at an even or even in just unrealized passing, the young Hound cannot help but feel pity at least for those that remain of his family. Swallowing convulsively, she fights back tears that threaten to compromise her otherwise calm demeanor.

"Never forget my beloved and cherished son-in-law. I urge you all to remember the ignominious, ignoble and irreconcilable manner of his death by Khalid Atar. We cannot rest until the parasitic Varati ruler has paid restitution for his dastardly deed." Agrippina sniffs and dabs her at her eyes again with her handkerchief before glancing with overt sorrow at the urn. "We will avenge you, Cassius. You will not have died in vain."

Only those standing close by Gabriel might hear the faint, muffled sound that issues from his throat. Halfway between a cough and... something else. His gaze remains riveted upon the formidable matriarch from Juventas, and it takes a Herculean effort to keep his expression limited to stern solemnity.

Celosia moves quietly around the outside of the seating area, falling into place behind other members of House Chryseis. She stands silent there, her attention apparently directed at her toes. It's anyone's guess why the girl decided to attend.

Speech. Oratory. Eulogies. Words are powerful in the mouths of orators, and in Empyre no art is greater than that of addressing the crowds. As Olivia finishes her timeless words, the crowd stirs and murmurs... taken by the heart. As Agrippina brings her passion forth, the same crowd raises in passion itself. Woe to those who ignore crowds, for crowds alone write history of nations. Under the darkening sky, a mass of Empyreans are assembled with mourning torches in hand, illuminating the gardens like stars shining on heaven. Their anger at the loss of Cassius is rising...

Olivia touches Agrippina's arm, either reassuringly or to offer gentle support, should it be requisite, for the return to her seat. She is, in a word, aghast at what was stated after the message of tranquility she carried in her own eulogy.

Brows go up in mild surprise at the speech of the elderly woman. If he's not mistaken, he'd thought she held another view of her son-in-law. Frankly, the Imperator is amazed how it is that this crowd can complain about Khalid killing Cassius. After all, did the Aegian not enter into Atesh-Gah, unaccompanied by the Schola? There is no one responsible other than he who decided to place himself in danger. He pauses, then again, it might be some last elaborate ploy -- though, the desired result of sacrificing him in question. He thought the former Augustin to be much too fond of his life to be that selfless.

With these words, Agrippina begins to move away from the urn and the fore of the crowd. At Olivia's touch, she gives the woman a polite nod, not seeming to notice the emanating horror. A faint murmuring rises from one of the mourners. Muffled, the only phrase which can be clearly discerned as the Dea of Juventas returns to her seat is, "hypocritical old witch." Or, perhaps the phrase is something even less complimentary. Agrippina finds her seat again with ease, despite the trailing murmurs.

An icy pair of eyes studies Agrippina closely as she makes her speech. Yes, there is something in the eyes of Versus, something that ensures that he has remembered her words, her stance, and her vows. As the Aegian moves away from the funeral pyre, the Schola suddenly stirs, and advances from his rather secluded post by his father towards the mortuary shrine of Cassius.

Having reached it, the armed Praetorian turns towards the crowds and pauses. In the uneasy silence that follows, the blue gaze of the Augustin scans the gardens carefully. Then, Versus reaches towards the urn and takes it in his hands, staring at it for a moment... at the sigil of his House upon it. As his head raises, he finally speaks... his voice confident and strong, although filled with a music of high Empyrean accent. The urn rests in his hands, as he begins:

"Heroes do not come to us on the wings of gods," speaks Versus, and his voice echoes under the dark sky. "They are born, mortal men and women, and live their lives among us. Being mortal, they have virtues and vices, strengths and flaws, prides and fears. They make mistakes, like each one of us, but overall, their work and their deeds shine like jewels in the sky of Aether. What makes them heroes? Their dedication, their ability to come back from any defeat, their achievements, and their legacy. They are made heroes, for they made something that lasts. Something that would not be the same without them."

From her place to one side, Cressida studies Versus with detached interest and noted familiarity, then, during the interim before the Praetor's utterance, she dots glances about the funeral's attendees. Those who have come to pay their respects, to see who attends or to be seen, are noted with luxurious detachment before she lets Versus and his speech demand her focus upon the pyre once again.

Versus continues, raising his head to engulf everyone in his sights, his voice lifting a tinge in strength. "Cassius Silvarius Augustin was a hero. Like every hero, he had his own virtues and vices. Like every mortal, he had friends and enemies, sympathizers and antagonists, supporters and reactionaries. And while his life was woven with hardships that no one here can begin to know, there are some who, after having encountered and known Cassius, did not wish him well, and now hold a low opinion of his soul. There are those among us who see the passing of this man as a blessing, for they had personal grievances with him... large or small."

Interesting what length these folk have undergone to ensure that he is made a martyr. Very interesting, Pantoleon muses silently... His chin is lifted, and blue eyes narrow slightly in study of the proceedings, as well as a brief glimpse to either side in order to gauge the mood about him. Tucking back a lock of his long hair, the Deus draws a breath and follows the motion of this torch.

If the words of the elderly Juventas Dea and the new Augustin Deus had any effect upon Altair, he does not allow it to show. Perhaps he, too, has ceased to listen, but those who know him would highly doubt that. All that seems to shift about the man is the subtle movements of his jaw as he begins grinding his teeth. One of the Praetorians serving as his escort glances at him, but nothing more happens.

How... interesting. Jana watches Agrippina's descent back to her seat, then follows Versus' movements to take her place. Pale lips tighten and grow thin with some unreadable emotion, one that is not entirely pleasing to the eye, but not too rude, either.

Behind Versus, Olivia closes her eyes as the words tumble forth from the new Deus. The discomfort could be physical, emotional, or both, but her irises remain lidded as Versus continues to address those gathered to mourn.

Dust speckled wings twitch with a sudden emotion behind the seated Cersei, the milky feathers unfortunately rustling rather audibly. Torchlight and heat produce a sparkling appearance to her copper-flecked eyes, and the woman takes a moment to offer her gaze to those in the crowd, face a portrait of hushed calenture. With an understated efficiency, the woman takes note of those present, though this task is soon interrupted by the words of the Schola. Immediately, her focus shifts to the Praetor and her entire being seems to perk up with great attention.

"Yes, Cassius was a hero, but he was a mortal as well. We, mortals, squabble and fight, offend and revenge, push and pull. We, mortals, clash our personalities on a path to self-gratification. We tend to be blind and we forget. But let us not forget now that life is but a wind in the air of the sky, and our legacies are our achievements. Legacies that are removed from mortality."

The eyes of Versus now scan certain people in the crowd, anchoring for a while longer on Agrippina and Theron. "To those who still today wish Cassius Silvarius ill, I say -- let go... and let his life be past. Let his mortal body rest. Instead, gaze upon his legacy in the Empyre, in Aether, and marvel! Gaze and bring courage forth to see the monument that he -- the son of the Empyre -- built on his sweat and blood."

Theron surveys the crowd, vaguely appalled by the feeling of the gospel meeting going on -- not that he'd know what one was, but really. Of course, what makes it worse -- unless the Imperator is completely awful at judging character (which, of course, he feels he isn't) -- his feelings about the proceeding are being shared by the Deus of House Acesius, and somehow that's just wrong.

Agrippina blows her nose loudly into her handkerchief as Versus continues to speak. She makes a few sniffling sounds, as if greatly moved.

Gabriel, Cassius Augustin's "replacement" in the Aegis, listens and watches in silence. Whatever his own thoughts are, they remain unvoiced. His stance is as rigidly poised as before.

The voice of Versus suddenly raises powerfully, and his hands present the urn to those gathered. "Khalid Atar, the barbarian warlord, has slain Cassius Silvarius Augustin. I hold his remains here, Empyre! Oh sky, oh nation of gods, look upon these hands! Look upon these hands and weep! Look upon this urn and tremble with might! Here, I hold the hero of the Empyre, taken from us by a hand stained with our blood. Look upon this urn and remember! Look upon it and shout with all your heart that the legacy of this great man will raise cities into the sky again! And let those cowards who still hold contempt in their hearts step forward and face the nation on their knees, to let me strike them down one by one! To let you shout onto them that His dreams, our dreams, your dreams, have only begun and will raise into the air like white wings of an Empyrean heart!"

He pauses. A silence finally interrupted by his quiet words, "My uncle. My Deus. My Aegian. My friend. My hero. In Memoriam... Cassius Silvarius Augustin. Requiem Aeterna." With that, the new Deus of House Augustus opens the urn, and scatters the ashes into the wind.

Hero of the Empyre. Hardly. While words full of tears and heart are bandied about him, Pantoleon recalls the edge of ruin the Empyre gazed over at the deeds in part set forth by this 'Hero.' Hoping very fervently that the wind in the garden is kept under control as the urn is emptied... a brief glance to Drusus, as the Deus hopes his Emperor does not develop a sudden sense of humor. This new Augustin seems to lack even the minimal tact of Cassius if these hot-headed words are any indication. Threats at a funeral are rarely in good taste.

A burst of sobbing seems to explode from a woman behind her, the weeping soon muffled by a thick handkerchief. A ripple of startlement courses through Jana's wings and shoulders, and she tears her gaze away from the new Augustin Deus to cast a glance behind. The Oracle seems relatively unmoved throughout this proceeding, save for a quiet sigh as she ceases playing with her necklace to fold her restless hands behind her back and out of sight.

Cleon nods slightly, not necessarily in approval of the words, but he does recognize and approve of the skills of a good orator, and this new Augustin certainly has that. Certainly the seemingly heartfelt words bode ... interesting times for the Empyre.

Agrippina accents Versus' last words with another loud honk into her handkerchief. Picking at a clean corner, she dabs her eyes again.

Such rousing words. Gabriel glances over at Versus and studies the younger man after the last echoing phrases of his speech have faded into silence. There is still no discernible change in his expression. At the very least, he seems to have Cassius' penchant for impassivity down pat.

As the remains of Cassius Silvarius Augustin join the spring breeze that kisses the cheeks of each of the funeral's attendants, Olivia opens her eyes at last, casts a glance at Versus and proffers a very small, tentative smile. Of gratitude, of support, of affection... no matter. She stares at the pyre, raises the torch, and touches it to the kindling below.

Flames leap up to consume the pyre and those possessions upon it... in many ways, more essentially personal to Cassius than corporeal remains may have been. The lighting of the funeral pyre is ever the summit of such a gathering, and it signifies a time of reflection... then, amongst those watching, a time of remembrance amongst themselves.

Olivia sees nothing beyond the flames and the whiffs of smoke that ascend heavenward, and she mouths something, three syllables only, to the pyre before her torch itself is tossed atop the blaze.

Versus pays no attention to Pantoleon... dissidents are bound to pop up from time to time, although it is a shame that it must be the head of such a family, with such promise. Instead, the Schola steps away to the side of the pyre, and waits for its lighting. He spoke as he believed. Courage has never failed him. As the pyre lights ablaze, he gazes upon it melancholically, holding his stance stoic and stern.

As the smoke and flames warm the cooling night air, Cressida murmurs, to herself or to any nearby, "Well, I see there is consensus among many that collective Varati arses need thumping."

Theron shakes his head at these words and begins to turn away, as he murmurs a command to the Optio in charge.

There's a startled little cough from Gabriel's direction. He darts a gaze toward Cressida, and that stern composure of his is marred by the subtle arching of his brows. He makes no comment of his own, and that in itself might be construed as a rarity. Here's one politician -- or politician-to-be -- who doesn't leap at the chance to make some public speech.

Celosia watches the proceedings with a vague air of unease, taking a few steps back from the group as the eulogies appear to be at an end.

Cressida looks quiet and dignified. Did she say anything? Must have been something odd in the air.

From where he stands, surrounded by Praetorian guards, Altair continues to watch with the same stoic expression. He will certainly not be making a public speech. Whatever he thinks and feels he will keep to himself this day.

The little Oracle of Delphi likewise has nothing to say for herself. Jana's eyes drift up towards the skies to watch the high flickering of fire, some vague shadow of unease crossing her face.

Thaddeus slowly stands as the proceedings seem to close. Turning to Helena at his side, he offers the woman an arm up, to which she politely refuses. Dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, Helena Jove quietly slips off to mourn further in solitude.

After watching her go, Thaddeus turns to look toward the front, eyes searching for Olivia, giving her a tight-lipped smile, though it is far from joyous.

As the pyre burns, and will most likely do so for some time, Versus stands melancholically near it, observing. How ironic... just like the last moments of Cassius' life, this, too, ends in a fiery blaze. But such are the funeral practices and such will obeyed. The Praetor seems rather unapproachable at this moment, and even the flicker that reflects off his helmet is more blinding than inviting. The crowd murmurs loudly now, some watching the fiery inferno, others exchanging ideas about revenge, others yet keeping their own private thoughts entertained. From the sky, in any place over Haven, the gathering with its flaming monument can be seen for miles.

Standing in one of the far corners is a figure covered by a long palla, even her wings are tucked up under the cloth and the hood drawn up to shadow her face. It may be warmer out, but the figure braves the heat to remain incognito. Tearing her eyes from the flames, Lilith then turns to those gathered to see if she recognizes any faces.

The eulogies do seem to have come to an end, and those of the House whose Deus was lost are free to greet mourners and be greeted in return. The mood remains sober, and the pyre on which the belongings burn scatters more ash and tendrils of flame and smoke to the air. Beside the pyre, ignoring the heat, Olivia stares into the ascending radiance and remains utterly still, using the gathering gloom and the pyre's puffs of smoke to remain relatively hidden, alone.

Gabriel watches the smoke from the pyre curl into the sky, and gazes dispassionately as tiny embers spiral upward and finally blink out like fireflies who've extinguished their glow. Few people seem to be offering up comments during the final part of the ceremony, and the Adjutor is no exception. But he remains near the foot of the pyre, attitude both solemn and respectful, until he has gauged that it might be an opportune time to mingle among the rest of the attendants. Then, moving quietly, he makes his way in a roundabout fashion toward one of the few Aegians who put in an appearance -- Cressida Alexa Januarius.

It is only the painfully practiced self-preservation of Cersei that allows her to keep the wave of emotion which swells within her. The manner in which she rises, quick and with purpose, remains the only thing to hint at such inner passion. Like the fire that rages before them, the domina stands, empowered, glowing and distinctly noticeable. Playing some complex game of politics, the woman studies the sea of faces found within these blossoming walls. Then, having made no previous implication that she was to speak, moves carefully to a strategic spot before the crowd. "Domini and Dominae." Her soft voice stretches mid-syllable, attempting to compete with the cacophony of the crowd.

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

Finally snapping back to the proceedings at hand, Versus ends his melancholic travel with the smoke of the funeral pyre. The flames are not out yet, but his duty cannot wait. Clasping his hands behind his back, he gives the flaming monument one more look... the flicker of fire reflecting in his eyes. Twitching his wings with the warm air, he turns and re-enters the crowd, heading back for the area where Augustins are gathered. His walk is brisk and military, as is his composure when he finally reaches his destination. He stands, pausing to receive anybody making condolences or exchange a few words... but first, a look over his family members trails to ensure that everyone is doing relatively well.

Pantoleon rises to his feet as the ancient ceremony comes to an end. He fully intends to obey decorum and offer his condolences, but first... there are a few folk he wishes words with who may not wish to -- brave this assembly much longer. A pale auric brow is raised as the Imperator of Haven turns to depart. Well, this one must be caught before any others. With a small smile, held only to himself, the Deus starts after the solider. "Imperator?" he intones to the departing man, vague smile still firmly set upon his face.

Theron turns back to the sound of the voice. He knows it too well. Damn, caught. But wait! Someone seems to be ready to address the crowd.

Gabriel's approach could not be missed, and the fact that Cressida knows him shows in her welcoming smile. She rises, too, to answer Gabriel's salutation when the words from Cersei arrest her focus, and toward the young woman she looks.

Agrippina is about to rise when Cersei takes a position which draws the eye. She settles back into her chair, making her old bones comfortable.

Stone silent and still as a statue, the Commander of the Hounds -- Altair Chryseis -- does not move from his position as he watches the ashes rising high into the sky, borne aloft on heated air. Crystalline blue eyes soon settle upon Cersei to watch while she speaks.

Shifting her weight from foot to foot, Jana draws a quick and almost impatient breath. Standing still for so long is beginning to get tiring, but she refuses to seek a seat closer to the pyre. Her gaze drifts away from the fire now, instead seeking out once more familiar faces... until Cersei's soft calling draws her out of distraction.

Pantoleon's mouth was opened, his next words on the tip of his tongue when this new orator rises her voice. A hand is held up to Theron, one finger held upwards. "Just a minute," he amends hurriedly. Damn, and here he had thought the real work of this day could begin. A quick look over one shoulder at this new speaker, and a light sigh. Hmm, well let us hope that she speaks well, hmm?

Gabriel slows his steps once he's drawn alongside Cressida, and not too far from Agrippina, as well. But any words he'd meant to offer as welcome are halted on his tongue, and his blue-green gaze travels over toward Cersei just like most everyone else's.

Lilith turns to watch Versus wend his way through the crown and turns deathly pale under the hood of her palla. Luckily, there is an arch of the trellis nearby which will support her weight or she might faint amid the crowd. Dear gods, no... not the one she met on the beach... the one who was... oh, gods. Looking rather ill, she manages to turn to the speaker, her trembling hands still clinging to the latticework.

Versus also turns his head to face the person by the pyre... his own expression solemn but curious. It seems rather unexpected to him that Cersei made this move, although from the twinkle in his eyes it appears that he is very interested in what she has to say. He gazes upon her with gentle melancholy.

Theron murmurs under his breath about not being able to tiptoe away. Talk on Cersei, talk on. An emergency might crop up or something.

Cassius was not his kinsman, and certes Delphi has had little but conflict with the Empyre since Niherlas came to Haven. Still, the Estrel remains in his position near the back of those who have gathering to pay their respects. The press of white wings and pale flesh give the formal white robes of the Healer an unlikely opportunity to blend, and the man makes no effort to remove himself from the unexpected cover of anonymity.

As the murmurings still, waiting for Cersei's words, Olivia continues her vigil at the pyre. She is impassive, near-hypnotised, and pale, as if a fleshy statue placed at the site to mourn for all eternity.

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

"We have spoken here of love, retribution and heroes." Cersei gives a confident pause, "All spoken with most admirable skill and passion. I will not attempt to overshadow such words or detain you for much longer." Wind pulls with a certain cruelty at the woman's immaculate tresses and dress, yet she somehow manages to remain perfectly statuesque. "I feel it necessary now to simply give my gratitude for those who are here tonight and those who have offered so much support and comfort to our House. We may not all have regarded the life of Cassius with admiration or awe, yet we are all here because his life had touched ours so."

Sharp features gently round into a soft, but appropriate smile. "Augustus has lost much, but we will serve our Empyre as strongly as before, and if I may, I wish to make known to you all the amount of strength and will it has taken for us to be able to go on after having lost our beloved Deus. Please respect that we are all giving every part of ourselves to keep this great and noble House in proper order. Our new Deus, Versus, devotes his life to our Emperor and Empyre, Olivia gives her soul for those around her, and Cassius is, I believe very proud.

"Remember these things when you look on us now, friends, and know that our House wishes nothing but to restore everything back to its rightful place." Perhaps not as masterful as other speakers, yet the genuine and human way in which Cersei's words are formed provides a sense of the greatest kindness, as if the woman is giving herself over so that all may leave this place with some thought and peace in their heart.

Yes, yes... 'We shall endure.' It is a message the whole of the Empyre has been telling itself for years. Pantoleon does admit to himself that the woman's words were rather more polished than he expected... and even rather appropriate. Well spoken, but the Acesian's mind is set on taking a few steps towards that endurance Cersei spoke rather well of. Turning back to Theron, he gestures with a smile towards the Atrium. "I do not wish to hold you overlong, Imperator... shall we speak while you walk?" he wonders.

Tears had been denied her all night, perhaps because they had been in such plentitude before, but as the words glide toward her, piercing her protective shell of decorum, Olivia finds her eyes misty and her lips atremble. She whispers something to the pyre, as if she believed the Deus' lare nearby, then approaches Cersei with pride and brimming emotion. If the young woman will allow, an embrace is in order.

Looking at the pyre, Thaddeus smiles broadly at the words said about his cousin and nods approvingly. Turning away from the scene, he slips away as quietly as he came, the boy slips off into the night. He'll return later to speak with Olivia. Tonight just wouldn't be the time.

Versus listens to the words carefully, perhaps quite surprised by what he hears. A calculative eyebrow raises over his brow... He knows his speech was harsh and flowery. He made it so on purpose. But Cersei... she summed it all up so well. Perhaps if he took her with him on every occasion, he would make fewer enemies.

Still standing open to the public -- although his Schola uniform detracts some, no doubt -- the new patriarch of Augustus makes it evident that he can be approached with any word. His blue eyes, in which the fires of the funeral pyre reflect playfully, are still trained on Cersei, as he is lit from behind with the flames which outline her wings in crimson hues. The fire warms the air on this night that is starting to chill faintly, and the stars cover the sky of Aether reminding all that greater forces than a life of a man are at work in the universe. Taking a deep breath, Versus narrows his eyes a bit... melancholy touching his heart again. But his vigilant nature and the trained alertness are present.

Alexandria follows after Thaddeus, her head bowed low in respect.

Lilith closes her eyes and leans against the trellis, trying to calm down. In a way, it's almost funny... and in a few days she might be able to see the humor of it all. But right now she can't help but tremble. The Domina's words did not help either as she described a close-knit family that she was never a part of. She feels such a stranger here.

Alexandria and Thaddeus stroll along the path that leads back to the Atrium, the main building of the Palladium.

A dusky figure appears at the Garden gates: an elderly Praetor, his face hard and lean. Claudius Areides steps into the Palladium, flanked by two Praetorians. All three men walk in a tight military formation as they enter, but the two guards remain by the Atrium as Claudius approaches the pyre.

The elderly Legate and Aegian steps close enough for the heat to singe his pinions, then arches his right wing forward. Reaching up, he plucks a steel-grey feather from his wing, and casts it into the pyre. With bowed head, the elderly Areides pays his respects to the late Deus Cassius Augustin.

Cressida touches Gabriel's arm and leans close to speak into his ear, her words for him alone. After saying whatever it is needs to be imparted to the young Augustin, she shall quit this arena and find another place. To work, to play, whatever.

Agrippina doesn't appear deeply moved by Cersei's speech, if her return of the handkerchief into the folds of her toga is any indication. Yet, she remains seated where she is.

Although she does not allow that dreaded salty water to stain her cheek, Cersei is ever so loving and receptive toward Olivia's approaching embrace. "Cousin," she whispers with great affection, thin arms wrapping about the woman tightly, wings lifting as if to surround the two women in the most intimate of hugs.

"Thank you for coming, domina." These words are offered to Cressida, along with a bow of his head, sandy-gold hair gleaming bronze in the firelight. Gabriel stands beside the diminutive woman from Januarius, but his gaze is caught by the trio of Praetorians who approach the pyre. Claudius is studied keenly, and the Adjutor files away the act of respect and the older man's features in some mental recess before attending to his companion's whispered comment.

Maternal by nature, Olivia collects Cersei in the embrace of a mother, bringing her near for a shared warmth, a shared sorrow, and even a shared joy. Finger caress Cersei's hair, lightly and lovingly, and words of reassurance and praise may be overheard as Olivia whispers them to her young kinswoman.

Celosia begins to back away from the gathering, attempting to do so without walking into anyone -- no mean feat. She particularly puts space between Altair's escort and herself as she scans the sea of faces, perhaps preparatory to departure.

With Cersei's words, the gathering of Empyreans begins to shift and swirl like the ashes that have been committed to the pyre. Where some find themselves moving away from the blaze, others draw closer. Niherlas is one, the white-robed Empyrean gently moving through the gathering to approach the Pyre. He approaches the Areides Legate in his proximity to the flames, then moves a pace yet closer.

Hair of dark grey moves in the air stirred by the blaze, and for a moment Niherlas is still. Then, briefly, one hand reaches forward. For a heartbeat, he stands there, then withdraws his hand and steps away from the roaring flames. "Dominus Areides," he offers to Claudius as he pulls even with the Legate. The man's hand, which by all means should be reddened and blistered, is pink and hale.

Hardly a twitch of emotion has played over Altair's face, save for the silent, nearly incessant clenching of his jaw and the grinding of teeth. Such a senseless death... The Commander of the Hounds lingers a few moments more, silently offering whatever prayers and respects he might have. And then he nods to the Praetorians who serve as his escort. He is ready to depart. Without fanfare and with little notice, the man takes his leave of the Palladium. He does not look back.

The Oracle from Delphi stands in silent contemplation of the scene, mulling over Cersei's words for some time. They do not seem to strike any particular chord within Jana, but then again, little this night seems to have left any impression on her. A few minor adjustments are given to her dark chiton, but the girl takes one last look around for the familiar faces of her cousin Altair -- who is now gone -- and for her aunt Cressida -- who is also gone. Eventually, Niherlas is noticed in the crowd, and hesitant steps begin to draw her closer.

Theron shakes his head to the Acesian Deus, after watching Claudius donate a feather to the pyre. Murmuring after a moment, "No, not at all, Deus."

Gabriel had watched Cressida depart, and then found himself alone, but that did not seem to disturb him. He'd turned back to the pyre, and seen the Estrel approach; Niherlas was studied with the same keen regard that the Adjutor gave Claudius. And his eyebrows had lifted, upon witnessing the little 'trick' with the flames. This man, too, is one with whom Gabriel would like to speak. But as Niherlas is already occupied, the Adjutor turns and makes his way toward the elderly Juventas matriarch, Agrippina. "Rousing speech, domina," he tells her, in lieu of a greeting.

Lilith doesn't mingle. Nor does she move to the pyre to offer any respects, or to the new Deus to offer condolences. Instead, she remains in the background, covered head to foot, her blue eyes watching the interactions... and often looking back over to Versus.

Claudius nods to Niherlas. "Dominus Tritonides," he says. Not Estrel, pointedly. Tonight, he'll overlook the man's other affiliations. He steps away from the flames, before he finds himself in need of the same healing that Niherlas just performed on himself. Claudius' sharp eyes notice Theron as well, and he offers the Imperator a respectful nod. He offers little else, seeing how Theron is busy.

Cersei allows the surge of love to last for as long as she perceives Olivia might wish before carefully pulling back, features a glorious painting of respect and reassurance. "All is well, Olivia," she promises, giving a delicate kiss to the older woman's cheek. A brief squeeze is given then, before the newly-accepted Augustin ends the embrace once and for all. Tentatively, the lady approaches her new Deus, ash falling from her wings with every graceful step.

Versus misses little. Niherlas' fire trick is noted, as is the momentary seclusion of Jana... the Schola anchoring his blue gaze on the Oracle for a moment, perhaps wishing to speak to her some time soon. A few mourners come up to the Augustin, offering their condolences and gritting their teeth at the terrible injustice that they obviously believe in. But even when those opposed to Cassius still come to say their words of wisdom, the Praetor listens carefully and honorably thanks them for their input.

Dressed in armor, although visibly not on active duty, as the Emperor has other Schola around him now, the new patriarch does throw an occasional glance towards the Maximus and his safety... his instincts strong. And equally strong is his vision, for the half-hidden and covered form of Lilith is also noted. Seeing her hiding like that in the dark, Versus murmurs something to the Praetorian Guards that are overseeing the safety of this occasion, and they nod back... but at least for now, keep a close vigil from afar.

Augustus was her House for so very long, but now... Olivia watches Cersei go, hands folded across her abdomen as if she were trying to restrain the surfeit of emotion swelling within, then her lips crease with a solitary, melancholy smile. No, Augustus was her house, but no more. She gives the pyre a last look, and for the space of a single heartbeat her expression is that of immeasurable grief and loss. Then, with focus swirling about those who are part of Augustus now, the new Augustus, she withdraws, silent and pale as a ghost.

Agrippina gives Gabriel a faint smile. "Thank you," she says succinctly. "I hope you were taking notes. It will take you years before you are able to fill Cassius' shoes properly."

Pantoleon and Theron stroll along the path that leads back to the Atrium, the main building of the Palladium.

"Oh, I don't doubt it," is Gabriel's decidedly dry response. "And many years before you're boxing my ears, I'm sure. Your performance was very touching, as well, domina. I didn't know you were so talented."

But as Olivia withdraws, the eyes of Versus trace her in her departure... his face and his demeanor calm, but so expressive. There is something in those eyes, something that perhaps only she can understand, and for a moment, a brief moment, nothing else exists in the garden but her. It is not a look of infatuation, as some gossipers are eager to call it such, but one of longing, of inquisition, of opportunity. He makes sure she sees it. Then, as Cersei nears him, he turns his attention to her, lifting the right corner of his lips in a weak but warm smile.

As Claudius steps away, Niherlas also moves away from the pyre. It is the pale Jovian, Olivia, that he moves towards. His right hand, the one that was held towards the flames, is held close to his side, the fingers balled into a fist. "Domina Jove," the Estrel says in greeting to the woman, "Given the circumstances... are you well?" Curious choice of words, that.

Celosia slips out quietly, apparently having not found what she sought here among the mourners. Best to leave them in peace, for she has no place here among the family and friends. She strolls along the path that leads back to the Atrium, the main building of the Palladium.

Agrippina gives Gabriel a patently coy look that does not sit well on her equine-like face. "You are too kind. It is nice to know that your eyes are working."

Claudius offers a nod to all present. Then, having done what he came to do, Claudius Areides heads back the way he came, towards the Atrium. It's a long way back to the front, and Claudius has no time to waste during a campaign.

Versus' look was just in her periphery, caught out of the corner of her eye, but Olivia did see... yet did not pause. The greeting from Niherlas, however, does halt her retreat, and she pins him with a hasty glance that is followed by a shadow of her serenity, in the form of a smile. "I shall survive, thank you, Estrel," is her answer, as if his query were not at all curious to her.

Gabriel fans out his ash-coated wings, for they've been folded and cramped for some time. He does not sit, for he prefers to stand and remain at attention; a holdover from his years in the Guard. His gaze is caught by the elder Aegian and Legate, again, Claudius Areides, and he watches the man depart before returning his attention to the woman seated at his left. "And nice to see you as spry and indomitable as ever, domina," he tells her. It almost sounds like a compliment, even.

"Deus?" Cersei questions in tones restrained to whispers, gait remaining steady as she approaches him. Her demeanor, while always having remained so usual in its poise, now takes on a certain self-assurance, a deliciously assertive, subtle glow. If she was virtually unknown to most here tonight, she is no longer to be found with such anonymity. Almost as if by instinct, the woman returns the half-formed smile to her cousin. "When you have the time, perhaps we may speak. I have matters that I fear demand your attention only." She gives the crowd a few curt glances, chin rising slightly.

Lilith gives herself some more time here, on the fringes of those gathered, a hand raising to reach under her hood, perhaps to wipe away a tear or two. While she doesn't yet notice the guards watching her she straightens and pulls the palla about her before turning to leave. She stumbles once and catches herself on a bench. It is difficult to walk calmly when one is blinded by tears that just won't stop.

Niherlas offers a subdued smile, "I am glad." He reaches out briefly to touch Olivia's shoulder, "I won't keep you -- go take your rest. You've done your duty by him, and I'm certain he is more than understanding."

Claudius strolls along the path that leads back to the Atrium, the main building of the Palladium.

Agrippina makes a snorting sound at Gabriel's words, showing that she is not fooled. "When you are close to death, you will stop mincing words as well, young Aegian." Apparently, she's forgotten Gabriel's name. "No time for shilly-shallying about. You aren't in Cassius' shadow anymore, boy. Time you stood up and proved yourself a man."

The expression on Olivia's face smooths, and she closes her hand atop Niherlas' while gratitude more profound than that which could be spoken is presented to the healer in the form of a smile. Still, she murmurs, "Thank you for your assistance, Estrel... without it, I should never have lasted. I will look forward to seeing you again soon." A last glance, a final smile, and off she goes again, buoyed and rosier than before.

People do not part for a darkling, and most do not even seem to take note of Jana save to cast her a curious or disapproving look. The Oracle seems to take no note, though her drab and dingily dark wings are pressed in close to her body. She continues to approach Niherlas, but upon reaching the pyre first, she pauses to turn and study it intently.

Deus. Deus!? The eyes of Versus freeze for a moment, and his smile vanishes, as if taken away by a hand unexpected surprise. Deus! That's what he is now. Yet this is the first time that someone has called him that since the announcement, and of all people in the Empyre, it had to be Cersei. Something stirs in Versus, waking up the yet unaccustomed feelings to such name to action, and a somber realization that he wishes that Cassius was still alive washes over his face. But, things are as they are. A Praetor knows that, and courage is a virtue. "Yes..." he replies to the Augustin domina, seemingly searching words to make more sense, "...we will. Tonight, if you wish."

"And you're the expert, aren't you?" is Gabriel's reply as he glances down toward Agrippina. Some inner light of mirth tinges his otherwise sober gaze. "You've certainly never shrunk from expressing your own opinions. No matter the forum."

Delicate brows arch upward with some concern as Cersei detects the sudden shift in her Deus' mood. With a gentle inclination of her head, the woman studies the Schola's face, eyes faintly imploring something that is not yet known. However, she being the wonderfully perceptive and cautious creature that she is, she does not choose to question his thoughts.

"Thank you," Cersei states barely above the whisper of the leaves, though that word seems to hold more than just gratitude for his agreement to have a meeting with her. Then, she proceeds to continue with her rather surprising behavior tonight, leaning in to give him the most vague of kisses, lips barely touching his cheek. Perhaps her grief has really gotten to her... that's the most logical explanation for this course of action, anyway. She then walks away briskly, moving to speak to some ancient acquaintance or other.

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

Agrippina inclines her head to Gabriel. "Thank you," she says again. Standing with almost audible creaking of bones, she states, "One can never throw away an opportunity. One can never tell if that opportunity is the last one. I'm sure poor, dear Cassius knows that now."

A form of black steps away from the guards he has been standing with all night and watches the gathering. Assured that most of the attention has been drawn back to the land of the living, Zephyr steps forward to the pyre. Moving through the Praetorians gathered about the pyre with a nod, he steps to the edge of the pyre and slides a thin slice of parchment from his bracers. He mumbles to himself and touches the parchment to his forehead for the briefest of seconds before letting it fall into the all-consuming flames.

Solicitously, Gabriel extends a hand to help Agrippina to rise, should she require it. His manners are sometimes lacking, but he's making an effort to remember the smoother, more polished etiquette of a nobleman, in this instance. "No doubt," is his dry response. "Let us hope that there is as large a turn-out at your own send-off, domina. And that the sentiments are as genuine as your own for the late Deus."

A kiss from Cersei... that's something definitely worth pausing even a funeral for, and the reaction of Versus is as unexpected as it is surprising. Shivering faintly, although not from cold, he looks at the woman with large eyes, but is unable to speak. As she departs, he swallows, but then his eyes assume a more icy quality... a sadder one. He can't dismiss what he saw yesterday.

But the fire and the gathering, albeit waning, draws his attention back down to Aether. The stumbling form of Lilith attracts his attention again, and Versus looks at the guards carefully to see if she is being kept track of. With the Maximus so near, anyone who remotely looks suspicious must be controlled. But a closer inspection of that dark-clad form reveals that she may be crying under that hood... thus being the cause for her near-fall. That's better. Perhaps the guards will not need to do their dispassionate duty.

Agrippina smiles fishily at Gabriel as she uses his arm rather than the proffered hand. "He was an excellent statesman, but of course I could never let him know that. If a man can please his mother-in-law, then he simply stops trying. Just doing my bit to make the dear boy the best that he could be."

The brief flaring of renewed fire from the offering of parchment seems to draw Jana from her reverie with a start. A long and curious look is given to Zephyr, but no greeting is offered, nor a word of comfort or condolences. She simply steps away and takes a deep breath, savoring the acrid flavor of the smoke in her mouth. Now what was she doing again? Now she remembers. Dark wings twitch with aching to flare and take flight, but she resumes her approach of Niherlas. A hand reaches out, fingers stretching to alight upon the man's arm, brushing as gently as a dry leaf. "Uncle?" she murmurs quietly.

After Olivia's departure, Niherlas turns back towards the remaining crowd. His robes, a pristine white when he had approached the pyre, are now spotted with bits of grey ash -- as would be the garb of any who had come close to the flames. Now comfortably distant from the pyre's heat, he pauses. The Deus. The Adjutor. The business of Delphi wins out, and Niherlas begins to make his way to where Gabriel and Agrippina hold their conversation. But it's Jana's gentle touch that stops him only a pace after he'd begin. "Niece?"

Duty done, Zephyr turns and glances over the crowd. Ice cold gaze sweeps over the gathering, seeking out anything that might be a threat to have arisen in the few moments of his prayer. Finding none, he swallows his grief for another time and place and returns to his position among the guard, fading silently into the background of the procession again.

The funeral has ended, but perhaps this most recent arrival is late on purpose. Her slim form is shrouded in pearl-grey silk, and a veil of stormcloud-grey gauze is draped about her shoulders and over her pale hair -- but her identity is really no secret, as she's flanked by two Schola. Aurora's face has lost some of its sun-kissed warmth, resembling more a pale, waning moon as she approaches the pyre. She looks neither right or left, trusting the Schola to do that for her. Back straight but head bowed slightly, she stands before the flames now, lips drawn tautly together as she thinks her own thoughts.

"Ahh yes, of course," Gabriel murmurs. "I should have known you had nothing but his best interests in mind. He must have counted himself fortunate, to have you for his mother-in-law." And if Cassius had a grave, he'd certainly be rolling over in it right now, at those words. The Adjutor tests out a faint smile on the elderly woman, though the occasion and his own dry humor prevent it from growing beyond a mild curl of his lips. "Will you be returning to Civitas Dei, then?" he inquires.

Her hand is immediately withdrawn from the Delphic Estrel, and Jana musters up a polite, lady-like smile. "Might I accompany you, sir?" she asks, her tone of voice remaining quiet and reserved. The smile broadens, and seems to promise that she'll behave herself. Of course, she knows the man must be busy... She prepares herself to be told to go home.

Lilith leans against the bench, her shoulders shaking for a moment beneath the palla before she manages to control herself enough to stands once more. A look is cast back to the pyre and those gathered about it before making her way out of the Gardens. But she will be back... one way or another. Perhaps that is what gave her the resolve to continue.

History is written by the winners and it might be construed that in the battle between Agrippina and Cassius, the elder woman has won. She replies to Gabriel, "I shall. The Aegis convenes there. Thus, until I breathe my last, my work and my life are there. Much has been spoken this evening, of leaving legacies and retribution. The Aegis is the place for such deeds."

One eyebrow raises. Who is this reserved creature that has been set here in place of his niece? "Certes." He lifts a hand, his left to motion towards Gabriel, "I was going to speak with the Adjutor. Come with me if you like, but it'll likely be dry." Niherlas gives a brief wry grin with that last statement, then offers his arm to Jana. Should she take his arm, he again moves -- this time with the Oracle at his side -- towards Gabriel and Agrippina.

For the first time tonight, Cersei, Augustus' most newly-found treasure, looks sorrowful and tired. The politics and pleasantries about her prove to be incapable of holding attentions for much longer and so she quietly drifts over to a remote corner of the garden. Somehow comforted by her solitude, the lady looks on, green gaze fading into absolute introspection.

Gabriel's attention is briefly caught by the arrival of the Empress. He neglects Agrippina for a moment to study the woman by the pyre -- the one who had supposedly been raised as a Varati within the God-King's own Clan. The same God-King who is responsible for his Deus' death. Blue-green eyes narrow, and the Adjutor's smile fades. Distractedly, he answers his companion. "Yes, I know. And I hope that I will one day have the same opportunities, as a voice within the Aegis." He wills his gaze away from the Empress, but he can't manage a smile this time. "You would have much to teach me," he suggests.

Not always is Jana the hysterical, disturbed child that rumor holds her to be. "I thought as much," she replies, voice rising barely enough to be heard. With a renewed uplifting of her chin, the young Oracle lays her hand once more upon her uncle's arm and says nothing more as she walks at his side towards the aforementioned pair.

The last mourner having finished her lengthy condolences to Versus, the Schola is now alone... standing near Gabriel, but relatively away to be indulged in that conversation. The gathered Empyreans make their way to the funeral pyre in solitude or groups, leaving their offerings in the fire and then trickling away to their homes. Yes, as the Aegian has stated, there is much to be done.

A slight breeze picks up on the garden, enlivening the flames into a show of lights. Versus makes his way to Cersei, his steps refined and measured, and his stance forlorn by nature. He still keeps a distant eye on Lilith -- after all, the Empress is here too -- but little love is shown to the darkly-clad woman. If he only knew! The business of the Empress does attract careful attention, though. Curious what she may be thinking, he does, nonetheless, make it to where Cersei is standing, "You wanted to talk?"

Gabriel has not yet noticed the approach of Niherlas and Jana, distracted as he is in conversation.

Agrippina looks over at Versus when Gabriel speaks of gaining a voice. However, she allows herself to be flattered by the young Augustin. "I would be happy to teach you. Your quick entry into the Aegis could only be a benefit to your House," she says to Gabriel.

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

Lilith strolls along the path that leads back to the Atrium, the main building of the Palladium.

The ice-blue gaze of the Captain of the Guard concentrates on the Empress. A brief look of indecision occupies his gaze, as he is torn between his duty as a Praetor and his hatred of the woman who rumored to have been raised by the damnable halfbreed.

From within the voluminous folds of her mourning chiton, the Empress withdraws a wreath of flowers: flowers that aren't seen in the Palladium garden; flowers of a quality not to be found in any stall in Haven. They're exotic, the colors of Varati silks, exquisitely grown and groomed like those which grace the gardens of Atesh-Gah. The faintest of smiles flickers across her pale lips -- not a cruel smile, nor contemptuous -- but rather the rueful smile of one absorbed in memory. "To you, Cassius Augustin, and to a conversation. Would that we could have reached understanding," she murmurs, and drops the flowers atop the pyre. The flames quickly lick them away, allowing only a moment for the exotic oils within the petals to waft into the warm air.

"Dominus, Domina." Niherlas' voice, pitched low, places itself into a break between the banter of Gabriel and Agrippina. "My condolences, and the condolences of Delphi, upon the loss of House Augustus," the Estrel offers, "My interaction with the Deus was brief, but I'd had much hope for the matters we'd discussed." Niherlas' right arm is entwined with Jana's, and his left hand -- the skin strangely smooth -- rests upon the hand of the Oracle. "I do hope that his efforts shall not go for naught."

Cersei blinks awake from her spiritual headache, her dizziness of the metaphysic, bronze-flecked eyes straining to focus on the man who has so unexpectedly approached her. "I... did not mean here and now, Deus. I should not want to disturb this..." she casts her gaze to the mass of fire and winged beings, "scene." Her voice is quiet and countenance subdued, though her eyes do present a pleasant warmth for her cousin, though such a warmth is edged with distant dejection. "Our talk is at your leisure, Deus." She keeps her words respectful, perhaps thinking that he might appreciate such a thing.

Varati flowers at Cassius' pyre? The irony could not be more violent! But as Versus watches the Empyrean First Domina, he is calm and curious. It may be his Schola training that is the reason why he finds little wrong with this behavior, or it may be something else, but the new patriarch does narrow his eyes and perhaps, just perhaps, lifts a slight corner of his mouth in a melancholic smile... darkness hiding his face. There are those who wish Aurora ill for her past, but right now she is the Empress, solidifying by her solitary gesture something unspoken.

The words of Cersei bring his attention back to this world again. There it is again: Deus. Why her? But Versus only nods in response and smiles, "Very well. Are you feeling all right?"

Gabriel's gaze had darted over toward the Empress again, and his frown was once more visible. The expression he wears is not outright hatred or hostility, but he does seem disturbed and disapproving about the 'Khalida' woman's presence here. And yet, she is also the Dea Maxima of the Empyre, and is therefore accorded a certain amount of respect. The Adjutor does nothing more than watch her toss those flowers onto the pyre before turning back toward his companion, and to the two who just joined them.

Any reply to Agrippina is aborted as he inclines his head politely to Niherlas and Jana. "Thank you," Gabriel says simply. A line bisects his brow. "If I may ask, what efforts were those? I have not yet had time to catch up on all of the Deus' projects and plans."

Jana's smile is small, and that's about all that can be said for it. Eyes of a pale grey hue dart over the forms of both Gabriel and Agrippina, and as if to echo her uncle's greeting, her head inclines forward in a nod. But the Oracle seemingly has nothing to say for herself. It somehow would seem inappropriate to speak, at any rate. She knows very few here, and the man whose arm she holds to is of considerable higher ranking than she, even if he is family.

The young Ceterion Areides enters the manicured lawns of the Palladium quietly, helmet removed and tucked under an arm, large ivory wings wrapped about his armored form. Having no knowledge of funeral rights among the nobility, particularly those of the Aegis, Maximus bears no gift to place upon the pyre, only a small pouch of the traditional incense used during his prayers to the War god.

Stepping forward, the Ceterion first spots a member of his own, Zephyr, and several others he recognizes -- the young Oracle, the Schola... and Cersei. It is evident that the woman and the Schola are conversing, so Maximus finds it best to maintain a rather unobtrusive position removed from the rest of the party, casting only a polite nod to the guards who pay him any mind.

Agrippina's silvered wings have not been drenched in ash. Thus, she takes a brief moment to fan them open and shut, brushing away some of the heat that pours from the pyre. She glances over at Gabriel as Niherlas addresses his business to the Adjutor. "If others believe that you know Cassius' business, then you are already halfway to gaining your voice," she says in a low, almost malicious voice, to Gabriel. "As long as there aren't any obstacles in your way." However, her malice does not appear directed at the young Augustin.

The ice-blue eyes widen at the gesture of the Dea Maxima, and he takes a half step from the ranks of the guards. Stopping himself, the eyes harden over as the black-clad figure steps back into the ranks. Looking over the faces of the Schola who stand guard over the Dea Maxima, Zephyr inclines his head ever so slightly to both before forcibly turning his attention to other affairs within the Garden, lest something unbecoming happen.

The question catches her so off-guard, so ill-prepared. In truth, such a question has only been asked of Cersei a mere one or two times in her lifetime. Most are unconcerned with her well-being, the woman's ability to mask all discomfort being the sole reason for such. The vast green shimmer of her rather surprised gaze remains still for quite some time, lost in consideration. Slowly, the woman licks her lips before speaking, voice dropping into the faintly unsure. "No." She speaks truthfully, though does not offer anything to support such a statement, her bearing remaining tall and collected. She does not take notice of the Empress, Maximus or the talkative crowd.

Niherlas' head inclines briefly. In his demeanor, he is either ignorant or willfully heedless of Agrippina's words. "Pardon me, then, Dominus. I have an advantage upon you, it seems. I am Estrel Niherlas Tritonides," he offers, "and I would introduce to you Oracle Jana Tritonides." That oddly smooth left hand gently pats the arm of the young woman at his side. "You are Adjutor Gabriel Augustin, yes? The Deus and I had spoken, at some length, regarding the current impasse of the Hounds and Praetorian Guard."

Zephyr's gaze sweeps to the other grouping that seems to be the center of attention: Gabriel, Agrippina, Niherlas, and Jana. Watching the Delphic representative for a moment, his gaze slips to the darkling standing by his side. Brow furrowing, the Captain slips back into the ranks of the guards, moving through the Garden outside the perimeters of the funeral, only to re-enter the procession again near the group.

Sighing deeply and looking down at the ground for a moment, Maximus summons the courage to approach the Domina and her new Deus. As he passes through the crowd, polite nods and murmurs of "Ave," are exchanged before he comes to a halt near the couple. Opening his wings and relaxing them behind his back, he bows before the Schola, a gentle smile on his face. "Ave, Deus, Domina," he says quietly, trying not to look at either of them in his nervousness. "I thought it proper to come and pay my respects, Deus." And that is all that is said -- Maximus didn't know Cassius well enough to consider him anything more than a passing acquaintance, but, it was true that he wanted to at least come and offer his respects to the fallen leader of this great House.

Agrippina's comment earns her a wry glance from Gabriel. He may be relatively young and inexperienced in the political venue, but he's no fool. "Never underestimate the merits of a good performance, hm? I'm sure I could learn from you in that, as well."

Then, once Niherlas addresses him, the Adjutor turns toward the other man and regains a mien of smooth cordiality, though there's a gruffness in his voice at odds with the nobleman's demeanor. "I am his Adjutor, yes." Gabriel takes a moment to nod to Jana, as well -- an afterthought. "The Hounds and the Praetorian Guard?" he questions, eyes narrowing. "This is in reference to the murder charges levelled upon a Praetor, and the Imperator's decision to shelter that Praetor from the Hound's justice?" At least he does his homework.

After long last moments of thought, Aurora straightens the silvery folds of her garments and turns from the funereal fire. Raising her head, she turns, and murmurs to the Schola to either side of her. She approaches the new patriarch of Augustus in relative solitude, the Schola alert but a few paces behind her. She offers no comforting hand to Versus; only a quiet voice when there's a moment between him and the impeccable Domina Cersei. "My condolences, Deus, on your loss. But I know that your House is again in strong, capable hands."

At her introduction, Jana does not bother to nod again. She only watches in silence, eyes darting back and forth between the Adjutor and the Aegian with marked interest. One might associate her demeanor with that of an attentive pupil. She's even managing to suppress the reveries and distractions that constantly seem to plague her. At least for now, anyway.

Agrippina's audible sniff shows her opinion of the Hounds. She, however, does not comment further, but instead listens and observes Gabriel -- at work.

There is something in Versus' gestures and demeanor around Cersei that is no longer as warm as before. Perhaps his new position hit straight to his head and now he will be distant and dispassionate to all, but it is likely something else. "I know, Cersei," he calls her by name, and as Maximus approaches the pair, he cuts that conversation short, "But we will speak later."

Listening to the words of the soldier, and visibly glad that the man is a Praetor, Versus nods and smiles in reply, "Ave, Ceterion. Thank you for your words. They are well received." Examining the Praetor closely, and deriving visible conclusions from this first impression, he adds, "May I have your name, Ceterion?" His hands clasp behind his back as he stays with his military ranks despite the civil ceremony. It is a symbol of his beliefs, no doubt.

Niherlas nods. "And the subsequent removal of the Guard from the streets of Haven, yes." He takes a moment for a breath -- these are initial impressions and, certes, of great import. "The late Deus had told me he planned to make his opinions known to the Aegis," and here both Agrippina and Gabriel are included in Niherlas' demeanor, "So as to return the Praetorians to the streets of Haven as soon as possible. If that was left... undone... then I wish to work with whomever took up his considerable responsibilities within the government of the Empyre."

"I have," is Gabriel's forthright response to Niherlas. "It is my intention to take up his responsibilities, and maintain Augustus' standing within the Aegis." He glances aside at Agrippina and sports another fleeting smile. "And with the right kind of assistance, I feel certain of my chances."

Gabriel turns back to Niherlas. "This may not be the best moment, dominus, but certainly, I will meet with you in Delphi, or extend an invitation for you to visit me here in the Palladium. I am sure we are all eager to see this situation resolved as speedily as possible."

It is not the Ceterion that first distracts her attention from Versus, but the great Empress, a woman whom she has always, despite past and rumor, looked up to. With her practiced style and regal elegance, Cersei smiles to Aurora. "Indeed it is, Maxima. I am so glad you share my sentiments." However, despite what she might wish, she cannot keep herself thus distracted forever, as so the lady must turn to acknowledge the young Praetor. "Ave, Dominus Areides." She greets with only politeness. "Thank you for your words. They mean much to us all, I'm sure."

Agrippina frowns as Niherlas' purpose is made clear to her. "Why should the Praetorians be guarding the streets of Haven? Are the Velites stationed in this city incompetent? Don't the Praetorians have better things to do, such as killing Varati rebels in Arelate?"

Zephyr makes himself unobtrusive but still enters the circle of discussion where the Aegians and Delphic representatives stand. How unobtrusive a figure in black, sprawling with weapons, with a clear mark of Delphi's disapproval worn almost proudly upon his brow, can be...

The words of the elder woman almost .. almost .. bring a smile to Jana's face, but with will she clings to an expression that is meant to be meek and mild. A good little girl standing next to her patron, playing out a part that could just as easily be portrayed by some adornment or another. Any thoughts on this matter she wisely keeps to herself.

Aurora murmurs quietly to Cersei, "The sentiments of most, I'm sure, Domina."

Crossing his arm in front of his chest, parallel with the ground, the Ceterion bows forward once more, expression going from warm and gentle to stoic and... Praetorian. "Ceterion Maximus Lucius Areides, son of Praefect Marcus Lucius Areides," he says, rising and continuing to look away from the man's eyes. To stare into the eyes of a superior was bad enough -- to do so when that superior was a Schola was... unheard of, to say the least.

Spreading his hands, Maximus emits another sigh, this one quieter and more subdued. "I am sorry that I was unable to bring a gift with me to commemorate the Dominus," he says softly. His gaze turns to attempt to meet that of Cersei, still the perfect picture of steadfast strength with her world crumbling around her. He would reach an arm out to enfold her in a hug, but such would be highly improper, so another polite nod is offered. "Domina, I thank you for the opportunity to come and express my sorrow."

"It wasn't my intent," Niherlas offers to Gabriel, "to find a conclusion here. I only saw the opportunity for introduction, Dominus." Agrippina, on the other hand, garners a bemused gaze from the Estrel, "Domina, the ability of any member of the Praetorian Guard -- Velite, Centurion, or Legate -- to enforce the laws of Haven, was revoked several weeks past by the Council. I'd worked with the late Deus in hopes of seeing that restored. The presence of the Guard upon the streets of Haven seems to bring much ease to our people."

"Certainly," Gabriel murmurs at the tail end of Niherlas' words, "more ease than the presence of Varati clansmen."

Agrippina makes another disdainful sniff, at the thought of such rampant guard equality. She obviously doesn't consider Velites to be a rank of Praetorians or that Varati clansmen are anything but savages. "I hope that before the privilege of guarding the streets of Haven was revoked, the Praetorian guard was adequately compensated." She makes the job sound akin to sweeping up dung.

If the world was coming to an end, a Schola would still know his duties, and now as Aurora approaches the trio, Versus must -- reluctantly -- pause his recourse with Maximus. Khalida or not, she is the Empress, and the Optio straightens his countenance near to that of a military stand at attention.

Saluting swiftly, he nods, indicating that he is aware of the civil circumstances, "Ave, Maxima. I welcome your sentiments. It pleases me greatly to see your presence here. Yes, the House is in capable hands and with your continuous favor, it will carry on its duty to the Empyre." Stern or not, Schola or not, Versus knows that the situation is that of mourning and all must be tended to. "Ah, an Areides", he offers to Maximum, "I am familiar with your dedicated family. Venus Areides is my friend. We trained together in the Nest."

Cersei sighs softly as she notes the decidedly political nature of nearby conversations. Do these people ever stop? Apparently not. Although not particularly chilly, Cersei gives a less than warming glance to her least favored cousin... Gabriel. For now, the woman shall let her new Deus handle the scene at hand, moving in delicate motions to nod to each around her. "Forgive me, Maxima, Deus, Ceterion... I... have something I must attend to." An apologetic smile and then she walks on, wings twitching as some hint to her troubled state.

"That is why I saw that the clansmen were removed," Niherlas says quietly to Gabriel -- in a voice pitched not to carry beyond the immediate group. "If the Empyre believes that having its own Praetorians act as the law of Haven in the Empyrean quarter is a burden," he offers to Agrippina in a more conversational tone, "then certes Delphi will continue to man the streets and keep the peace. Haven, after all, must be maintained as such. A place of peace, a haven, should all else fall to hostility."

"Venus Areides is an excellent young woman, a jewel of skill, grace, and loyalty, and I am glad to call her friend as well," states the Empress quietly, as Versus turns back to his fellow guardsman. "I hope that her qualities are not unique." With that, she turns, grey silk sliding lightly about her ankles, and faces the cluster near Gabriel and Agrippina.

Maximus' head turns about quickly at the approach of the Empress. He knew that many did not regard her in the high esteem that such a woman should be held in, but such concerns were not his own -- Maximus is a servant of the Empyre, and an unquestioning one at that.

"Dea Maxima," he breathes, bowing to her deeply, lifting wings slightly in a bit of a salute. Straightening and regarding Versus once more, he nods and says quietly, "I apologize that I must take my leave so quickly, Deus. Again, my regards to you and your House." With yet another nod, Maximus turns and walks with a determined step in the direction of Cersei, keeping a fair pace between them, then finally catching up to her. Maximus stops suddenly and crosses his wings before himself once more. "Domina," he says quietly, "forgive me if my presence here was unwanted."

Agrippina says silkily to Niherlas, "And Delphi does such an excellent job at keeping people safe. I know that Cassius is finally at peace."

Gabriel clears his throat quietly and offers Agrippina another mild smile, apparently meant to placate. "I am certain that Delphi does not wish to increase the tension within this city, and understands the significance of allowing the Praetorian Guard to patrol our section of Haven. Surely, this will all be rectified soon." He glances over at Niherlas, brows lifting, and adds, "Gods willing, and good sense prevailing."

Something, however, catches Gabriel's attention for a split-second. A name. One with which he is familiar. His blue-green gaze leaves the Estrel to dart over toward the Empress and the new Deus of House Augustus, a mild frown beetling his brow.

Dark, drab wings are carefully held still, the twitch that would normally mar their calm suppressed in the rising tension. Jana's expression goes from the milk-mild of earlier to something suitably concerned. Now more than ever she remains silent. At this point, she'd rather cut off her arm than speak out of line and ruin things for the Estrel.

Zephyr simply smiles. It seems in this case, Cassius' mother-in-law states his statements far more eloquently than the simple Praetor can.

The look that now arrests Cersei's features is a rather rarely seen one. She looks a hybrid of angry and overwhelmed. Turning on her heel, she gives a rather heavy gaze to the young Praetor. "You have little to do with my condition, Dominus," she admits with little emotion, lips thinning into an disapproving line. "Please, for the last time, you are welcome here and my House is grateful for all your respect and service. Mind that you do your job though, Ceterion. There is still much to be learned on those matters we spoke of." With that, she goes on her merry way. Well, not 'merry' exactly, but on her way nonetheless.

Suddenly left alone, Versus glances about the waning gathering watchfully. The scene appears strategically correct... the Schola keeping a vigil of Aurora and no visible dissidents or anyone remotely suspicious in sight. Narrowing his gaze, the Augustin looks at the ground for a moment, to let his night vision adjust, and then checks the darker confines of the garden.

Satisfied, he takes a deep breath and pensively stares at the pyre that is now beginning to die down. Solitary, and perhaps tragically so -- given his reliance on Cassius during the former patriarch's life -- the new Deus stands alone, allowing Maximus his time with Cersei. He was in poor shape, rumor claims, but if such was the case, it is not visible at all. His face bears a rested quality, and his nerves are those of steel.

"I cannot affect what occurs within the walls of Atesh-Gah, no more than I can pluck an accused murderer from within the chambers of the Palladium, Domina." If Gabriel's mild smile is meant to placate, then Niherlas' lowered brow is clear indication that, perhaps, the Estrel may soon be the one in need of a 'mild smile.'

As the Empress joins the circle, the dark figure retreats again. Zephyr turns his gaze to the lone Deus of the House and moves away, his jaw clenched slightly as he moves as quickly as politeness will allow from the Empress. Addressing Versus, he quietly states, "Ave, Deus. Congratulations." He mentions not the dying pyre, nor the funeral, nor anything really.

That was most... unexpected, to say the least. Standing there, frozen to the spot where Cersei had pinned him with her heavy gaze, the Ceterion's wings flap briefly. Maximus takes a step backward as though recoiling from a blow to the chest, but shakes it off as he watches the lady leave. There was nothing more to do now. Such things would have to wait until further evidence was procured and things were right again -- if ever that happened. Given his current role in the investigation, the Gods only knew when it would.

Another brief twitch of avian appendages and the Praetor moves to join the Deus. Head cast down to the ground, Maximus says quietly, "My apologies, Deus. It was not my wish to cause the Domina further strife. Please," he says, emitting a heavy sigh, "let her know that for me, if it is not too much trouble, Deus?" Blinking once, twice, he adds, "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Deus, though I wish I could have done so under different circumstances."

Schola guardsmen accompanying her at their discreet but measured distance, Aurora makes her wraithlike way to Gabriel, Agrippina, and their companions. Their conversation seems a bit more intense; she pauses nearby, waiting to catch the beetled glance of Gabriel again before saying the sorts of things that must be said.

Those blue-green eyes with their faint, cat-like slant immediately narrow as Gabriel shoots a sharp glance at the Estrel. There is no mild smile on his lips, and certainly no expression meant to placate. "Perhaps it would be best to pursue this discussion another time," he suggests, with a slight edge to his gruff voice.

Amazingly, Agrippina does not continue to throw additional barbs at Niherlas or his dark-winged companion. Instead, she says, "When this issue is debated among the Aegis, I will be sure to voice my opinion." She gives Gabriel, Niherlas and Jana a polite nod. "As I have one foot in the grave, it is time for me to find my bed. I'm sure you are all waiting with bated breath that I will make it back to Civitas Dei in one piece." With that, the old harridan takes her leave.

The approach of Zephyr distracts Versus from his silent contemplation. Turning his body and his attention to the dark-clad soldier, he nods, lifting the right side of his mouth in a melancholic smile. "Thank you, Ceterion." His tendency to address the Commander of Augustin Guard is now legendary. "Although I don't have to mention, I am sure, that my new appointment did not come at such a price." His hands clasp behind his back curtly. "The presence of Gabriel here will ease things greatly." The new Deus shows the unity of the house to those who can hear, "...as is your presence, of course. I hope you had some time for personal reflection tonight, even if a moment."

In place of a mild smile, Jana briefly tightens her grip upon her uncle's arm, kneading the skin in a gesture that is meant to both reassure him and remind him just where he is. Another glance is given Niherlas, her expression unchanged, before she looks back to Gabriel and Agrippina. To them both she offers a simple nod of acceptance.

Finding no more strength to keep her mask upright, the complex domina Cersei decides it best to leave the garden proper. One last look is given to that fading funeral pyre, eyes glinting as though filled with moisture. Sure not, though. Big girls don't cry after all, at least not this one.

Zephyr shrugs and smiles slightly. "We are both men of action, Deus, not contemplation. I will save my grief for a more appropriate and personal time." Glancing around, "It is almost too quiet here tonight, Deus." Looking back, "In any case, at your convenience, there is much to discuss. I am sure you wish to be brought up to date on the issues which I formerly discussed with Cassius." For the first time, Zephyr speaks the name of the departed. As that name exit his lips, he pauses for a moment, "Among other things."

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

"Certainly," the Estrel replies to Gabriel, and Niherlas inclines his head -- quite shallowly -- to Agrippina as the aged Aegian takes her leave. "It was not my wish to make this into anything other than a show of respect for the Deus past." And perhaps, the contention among Empyreans shown, this is the only true way that respect can be shown for Cassius.

"Circumstances are hardly products of our own wishes," replies Versus to Maximus, as the Ceterion retreats from his temporary defeat, "And to meet is always a blessing. Vale, Ceterion Areides. And I will pass your words to the domina." Glancing at where Cersei left, he narrows his brows... if it was not for the funeral, he would certainly be much more worried. She must be missing Cassius, as he is.

"Very well, Ceterion," Versus now turns to Zephyr, "I look forward to your report. I will head towards the house now, as Cersei wished to speak to me. I will see you there. A duty well done."

Fortunately, Gabriel is not hot-tempered -- not usually, anyway, and he inclines his head to Niherlas with no ruffled feathers -- either figuratively or literally. "Thank you," he says evenly. "I will speak with you as soon as I am able, about this situation between Delphi and the Praetorian Guard. I must warn you that I have no official position in the Aegis yet, but I will do what I may to see that the matter is resolved." Then, at last, the Adjutor notices that the Empress herself has approached, and he turns to her, covering his surprise with a short bow. "Dea Maxima, Ave," he greets, outwardly courteous.

A slight, subtle change passes over Jana. Her hand goes still again on Niherlas' arm, and a rather distant look passes into her eyes as she averts them towards the ground. She goes a little paler in the cheek, though in the dim light, such a slight shift in pallor would likely go unnoticed. As both Gabriel and Agrippina seem to be departing, she sees no reason to break the silence that has been her shield and mantle during this discussion.

Hearing a brief mention of a report and 'duty well done,' Maximus quirks a brow. Perhaps Zephyr has already disclosed his newly-found information to the Deus? It seems that his use in this assignment is diminishing all the time. Looking over toward Zephyr, Maximus approaches and says quietly, "You and I need to speak soon, I take it?" His tone is gentle courteous, as he is urgent in helping to further this investigation.

Zephyr glances at Maximus and nods. "On another matter, Ceterion." He turns to Versus. "Vale, Deus. We shall speak soon." Turning back, he looks over the ranks of the House Guard, making sure all is in order before turning back to Maximus, "We shall talk soon, as well, Ceterion."

The younger man nods to the Captain of the House Guard and a brief smile crosses his face. Finally, he'll be able to make some use of himself, fulfill the duty he has given himself to the House Augustus. "Excellent, Ceterion," he replies, wings unfolding a bit. "I look forward to being able to speak with you. As for now," a fleeting glance is cast toward the entrance to the Palladium and the statuesque woman now inside its confines, "I must take my leave and return to the Eyrie. Vale, Deus, Ceterion." With that, Maximus, his duties and respects fulfilled and paid, moves away quickly from this somber scene in hopes that he may find some comfort in that bunk waiting for him in Eyrie.

"Contact me at your convenience," Niherlas offers to Gabriel. To the approaching Empress, he offers perhaps his only expression of truly deep respect this eve -- if one discounts the Estrel's hand thrust towards Cassius' funeral pyre. "Dea Maxima." His bow is low, perhaps made more formal by the white robes wears. After a moment, the Estrel rises and, with a questioning glance to Jana, he looks to move away from the Garden.

Maximus strolls along the path that leads back to the Atrium, the main building of the Palladium.

Nodding, Versus moves away from the gathering, but before he flies over towards the Augustin mansion, he approaches the funeral pyre... its last vestiges of fire now simmering in crimson droplets of burnt wood. The fire is gone, much like Cassius, and he is here alone now, with the new, unfamiliar title, at the helm of a family that stretches provinces and continents, in the middle of things that need fighting for.

A sigh escapes from his lungs, a momentary one. Where are you, Cassius? Where have you gone? As the darkness of the night carries on into the late hours, the Schola makes one ceremonial salute towards the pyre, and turns on his heel to leave for the mansion. We will speak soon, uncle. In the meantime, there are things to do. Batting his wings, Versus flies towards the darkness above and vanishes in the direction of his House.

A few calming, deep breaths later, and Jana ventures to raise her eyes from the ground. The Empress? Dear lares. Following her uncle's example, the girl bends her knees into a reverent curtsy, and upon rising, looks back up to him and offers a simple nod. She's more than ready to get out of here.

The Empress's grey gaze follows Agrippina's retreating back; either her own timing was off, or it was perfect -- she won't have to face the woman's scorn at what she is about to say. Perhaps expecting Gabriel's surprise but not seeming to notice it at all, Aurora arcs her head downward a few degrees at his greeting. "Adjutor," she addresses him softly. "I offer my condolences to you and to your family. But just as your House is once again in strong hands with its new Deus, I know that your House will continue with... strong voices in the government and excellence of the Empyre." She smiles faintly now. "To paraphrase something Damaris once said: I wish you success, honor, and glory in your battles... for justice and truth."

Niherlas and Jana stroll along the path that leads back to the Atrium, the main building of the Palladium.

Left with a dying pyre and the Dea Maxima, Zephyr gestures for a few of the House Guards. Muttering quietly under his breath, he gestures around the Garden, before walking towards the pyre. Staring deep into the depths, he murmurs his final farewell to the only person who knew his nightmares and his fears. A lone feather drifts down from his plumage, mingling into the fire, as a single tear rolls down his cheek.

The House Guards start to move about the Garden, directing servants to start the clean-up process.

Gabriel seems vaguely discomfited by the Empress's kindly offered words. At least, if the mild ruffling and resettling of his wings can be construed as inner agitation; his expression remains neutral. Yet her last words have a subtle effect -- those narrowed eyes grow a trifle less wary, and the rigidity in his spine relaxes marginally. "Thank you," he replies in a low murmur. "I have honored each all my life, and I will continue to do so."

He glances past her, to the pyre where the last embers still burn, then refocuses his gaze upon the woman who once hailed from the God-King's Clan. After reaching some inner decision, Gabriel tells her, "It... means something, that you were here. That you paid your respects to this House. I wish it did not have to be so. I wish he were still alive. But he is not. And still you came."

He takes a breath and lets it out slowly before inclining his head in a manner that conveys more respect than he initially displayed. "That means something," the Adjutor says again, finishing his brief speech in the same quiet manner he began it.

Her smile expands a bit, flickering outward like a candle-flame in a momentary draft, then fades back into regret. "I respect your House, and I respected him, even when he did not realize it. I have seen facets of him -- facets you may not have seen -- nor any Augustin, and they instilled in me a sense of his innate dignity, pride, and will -- a will tempered by thought, whether we agreed or not. I am sorry that I will not get to know his thoughts better." Aurora raises her veil further around her head, the charcoal-colored gauze casting a shadow across her brow as she prepares her departure from the family's last moments with the pyre.

"Aye," Gabriel murmurs. "So am I." Then, offering another bow, deeper than the last, he makes his farewell. "Ave, Dea Maxima. Winds favor you." Then, rather than take his leave, he draws closer to the pyre, to pay his final respects to the man in whose footsteps he will soon follow.

FIN  

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