A Nascent Threat

[Regulus Varo]

Rather than speaking what could be said with action, Varo walked past Ariadne, into the room with the Ankaaran ambassador and his family. He pointed directly at him.

"Arrest this man."

The family wailed, and Mohaan bellowed.

"This is outrageous! On what grounds is this insult placed?"

Varo didn't move an inch.

"Espionage, theft, piracy, blasphemy, and crimes against the sovereignity of the Necian League."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Standing to the side, Fyrian remained stoic despite the cries of Mohaan's family. She shifted her stance, her boots scraping along the stone floor as she moved to clasp her hands at the small of her back.

The guards wasted little time in separating the Ankaaran from his wife and children.

Mohaan looked to her then, his furious eyes going over every inch of her even as the Necian guardsmen bound his hands.

"You..." he offered a small amount of resistance, shrugging the soldiers away in an attempt to approach the two. It did little good, as quick hands and strong arms held him at bay. "Yes, I know your face; you're Kariun's whelp, aren't you. This treachery is yours!"

Fyrian twisted her lips in a noiseless snarl, but refrained from any formal reply.

[Regulus Varo]

Varo said nothing as the soldiers did their work. He looked to Ariadne as she watched him being led away.

"Bring him with us to the Oratorium. Time is of the essence."

Hand on the incriminating parchment, the Satrap followed the soldiers, not bothering to mention the obvious, that Ariadne should follow.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She was quick on his heels, and in no time at all the Glaucan strode alongside the Satrap. From her peripheral vision, she kept the scroll he held in sight, wary of any possible intentions he might have.

As the followed in the wake of the soldiers and their new prisoner, Fyrian held her hand out, gesturing for the parchment.

"Let me have it."

[Regulus Varo]

"Why?"

Varo looked sidelong at the Pirate.

"I intend on submitting this before the Oratorium, as well as Mohaan himself."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian continued to match his pace, and her hand fell to the wayside.

"I know what you intend."

Beyond those words, the Glaucan fell silent. She had expected him to refuse, but truth be told she'd not readily prepared herself for any rebuttal. She was put off, and her silence as they returned to the Oratorium remained until they began up the marbled steps.

Mohaan's protest had died to a sullen muttering, though his curses could still be heard - and every single one of them remained directed at Ariadne.

[Regulus Varo]

"He quite hates you, doesn't he?"

Varo broke the silence as they entered the Oratorium, now amongst the throng of Satraps returning to their places.

"You seem to suffer no ill effect from recrimination. Does that indicate a comfort with the act of betrayal?"

He paused, turning to face her fully.

"Don't mistake my advice for affection. I fully expect you to reject it outright. Do what you please with Draxus, both of our minds are made up on it. But whatever you please, keep your eyes open."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

For whatever reason, she stared serenely at Varo, her eyes searching his face in an attempt to divine the meaning behind his words. He seemed sincere enough, but her suspicions remained firmly in place. Yet, she was not above affording him a courteous nod and understanding voice.

Far from her cold treatment of him in the recent past, Ariadne spoke with a truth that she had realized in the last week - during the relentless ride to Necia, and the few short days immediately following her return.

"I have spent my life in taverns, aboard sea-going vessels, and within a general state of lawlessness. Even with my upbringing, I know enough to realize that there are times for honesty and times for betrayal, each dictated by a person's personal convictions. I'm not unwilling to accept more civilized living; whatever Draxus' ambitions may be, he has given me not only a gentle hand, but a chance to explore a more satisfying way of life.

"I will never forget where I came from, but I would do myself an inservice if I did not make the attempt to expand my horizons and better myself."

[Regulus Varo]

Varo nodded.

"I think you will enjoy Demos then, while your good fortune lasts. Ambition is a cheap and powerful intoxicant here."

He glanced upward, and already Draxus was seated, watching them enter.

"As for myself, I will scrounge for the bottom of the barrel of virtues, for I fear its stock will be fast depleted. Perhaps we will both arrive equally drunk and lacking in sense."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She gave the Satrap a slight bow, and turning, started in Draxus' direction. She paused however, half-turning to look over her shoulder at Varo, a crooked smile on her lips.

"It's ok to admit it you know - you rather enjoyed the tone I took with you the other day."

Her eyes glinting with mirth, the Glaucan turned away from him without allowing him the chance to reply, and began up the narrow stairway that would take her to Draxus' seat.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus watched Ariadne and Varo enter, with a prisoner in shackles held in tow. He gave her a thin smile as she approached, knowing full well that their strategy was bearing fruit.

"If I didn't know any better, I'd almost say you charmed that old goat."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

With a flippant wave of her hand to dismiss his observation, Ariadne grinned lightly as she took her seat beside the Phressian Satrap. Relieved that she was no longer the focus of attention, she was content to watch from afar.

"Hush your words," she murmured while thumbing the red cloak she wore over her leathers.

"I have done no such thing."

[Csephion Draxus]

He arched an eyebrow as everything settled once more.

"Perhaps not. I think Varo to be immune to such things."

Still, he had fallen for her deception, hadn't he? Added to that Mohaan seemed particularly livid, and his emotion helped to seal the authenticity of the act.

"How did he react?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"The man is skeptical by nature, but the evidence is plain to see for even one such as him."

A gentle pat to the Satrap's hand.

"There's no real way to discern his reaction until this day is over."

Looking out toward the center of the Oratorium's main chamber, Fyrian watched as Mohaan stood brooding upon the dais, flanked by two guards.

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satraps were called to order, and below them, Varo led the charge. He unveiled the incriminating letter, linking Mohaan to Kairun. The Ankaaran, livid as he was, could not muster a defense to the circumstances other than to profess his ignorance to it. Founded in truth as it was, the case stacked around the Emissary was quickly looking to be self evident.

Draxus watched with stoic curiosity.

"Masterful. Even Regulus Varo cannot help but to stand behind the weight of the accusation. It is beyond reproach."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She as well gazed at the scene unfolding before them.

"It would seem that despite your grievances with the man, he has a healthy amount of national pride and passion burning within."

Mohaan remained steadfast in his declarations of innocence, even as the congregation continued to weigh him down with accusations. An hour passed, and Fyrian watched it all with a sort of contentment born of the satisfaction she hoped Draxus took from this spectacle.

Finally, she leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"Is this what you hoped for, noble Satrap... ?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"As well as I could expect, and possibly exceeding expectation."

Mohaan had been quickly condemned and was led away. Whether he would simply be ejected to return to Ankaa or executed outright was a matter further discussion would illuminate.

One thing was certain however.

"We should make plans for restful sleep tonight. Tomorrow we will be at war, and it will be a busy day."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

War. A strange concept to her, but one that she was willing to embrace for the sake of the man beside her.

She rose with the rest of those assembled as the day's meeting concluded, and without ceremony she followed Draxus dutifully. As they passed by the great stone columns, the Glaucan shielded her eyes against the sun.

Stopping at the top of the wide stairway leading down to the stone street below, she stood amidst a sea of departing Necians, watching as each one descended.

She felt... new. Breathing in deeply, Ariadne stood tall, her eyes closed as she brought in the scents around her.

Angling her head slightly to the side, she regarded Draxus.

"Show me what it is like to be a Necian citizen."

[Csephion Draxus]

"There was a story once."

Draxus watched the throng pass below them.

"Perhaps it is true, perhaps it is fiction. Back when Demos was herself a fledgling city state, a man toiled in the field to produce his season's crops. Invaders from the north marched on Demos, threatening to throw the city to ruin. He was drawn by lot to the ancient office of Dictator, and given extraordinary power to face the emergency. Plowshares were beaten into swords. Men were drawn into ranks. Once this enormous army was drawn to repel the invaders, this Demosian abdicated his office, and took up his own sword to fight the enemy.

They won the day. With the enemy in flight, the Demosian returned his sword to the smith, beat it into a plowshare, and returned to his field."

Draxus looked at Ariadne.

"There's more moral to the story than historical account. Citizens are many things separate, but when the demands of the State are high, they rise to that occasion."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She thought on that, her hands clasping before her.

They stood together, at the entrance of the Oratorium, until the last of those within had long since been vacated. She watched the goings on below, the politicians and common born mingling together.

His story caused her to wonder though. This supposed citizen that had been chosen to lead...

Fyrian lowered her gaze slightly, moving to stand close to the Satrap. She lifted an arm, reaching over to turn his head so that she could stare into his eyes.

When she spoke, her voice was low so that only he could hear. Despite the two being the only ones left, she felt it proper.

"Dictator?"

Her tone implied more than a simple question, as if she knew that he aspired to be more than the Satrap of Phressia.