Islana's Story
The weeks dragged by, and it seemed like the arguments were unceasing. But unlike the first week of negotiations, the arguments were productive; and as Dysis was near the end of a month spent on Kalatsu, the Agreement was nearly finished.
'Agreement,' seemed to be the most diplomatic term available. It didn't imply surrender, which Dysis was desperate to avoid, but it also didn't necessarily mean an equitable peace, or that there was no clear victor. It was never laid out in plain language in the Agreement itself, but anyone who read the document would walk away certain that Kalatsu was the victor.
"It's time to begin planning your return," Erra finally noted, reading over the day's work. "How long do you expect it to take to gather everyone at your capitol?"
"If we send out notice now, no more than a week," Dysis said after a brief mental tally of who would need to move and how far. "We've received word acknowledging the negotiations from everyone; I'm certain they'll be eager to hear what we've come up with."
He paused and glanced at the oversized map they kept spread out on the table top, detailing both Kalatsu and Arpiar. "Except I'm not sure that's the place to do it," he finally added, furrowing his brow slightly. "One of the High Lords is significantly too elderly to travel; his nephew speaks for him on the Council, but couldn't sign this in his place."
"Can we use a tunnel?" Kalin suggested. "Which High Lord—where is he? He might be close enough, and unless he's actually ill..."
Dysis tapped a finger against the southwestern region of Arpiar; the quarter of the Island labeled Sanasset in flowery italics. "High Lord Taylin Sanasset. I don't believe he's ill, but he's spent the past few years at a monastery out here—" he tapped his finger against a large forest near the cliffs on the coast, "and I don't think he plans to leave it anytime soon. He hasn't that I can recall, not in four or five years at least."
Kalin frowned ever so slightly. "Why not?" he asked finally, his voice... Slightly wavering, as though he couldn't decide what sort of emotion he ought to be feeling.
Dysis shrugged. "He's had a rather... Odd life, as both a Warrior and a Lord; he says he only feels peace when he's isolated. But traditionally, power itself can be passed on but the title can't so long as the current Lord lives, and it's his title we need..."
"It would be impossible to ask him to leave this one time?" Jall asked.
Dysis nodded. "From what I've gathered from his nephew's letters, his health is rapidly fading and he's not up to travel. He's barely up to leaving his bedside. And he's earned the rest and our respect."
"Our respect?" Erra scoffed.
"Yes," Kalin answered, cutting off the brewing argument. "He has; you know that Erra." He traced the cliff face on the shore with his finger. "Those cliffs are..." He trailed off. "We have a tunnel exit here—" he jabbed at where a red dot marked the spot with a finger on his good hand, "and we can figure out closer accommodations."
Dysis glanced at the map for a minute, then nodded. "Of course, there's always the Sanasset Keep, but it's nearly a day from the monastery; the travel time would be a hindrance."
Jall indicated a closer spot on the map. "What about this manor?"
Dysis hesitated, then nodded. "I had hoped to avoid the Aleann Manor, given the Massacre there several years ago and my own personal preferences..." He trailed off for a moment, then gathered his thoughts. "But it does seem the most practical; it's close enough and large enough."
Jall and Erra exchanged looks, and nodded. "Then we're agreed," Erra declared, then turned to Kalin. "...Kalin, aren't we?"
Kalin stared at the map, lost in thought, then nodded. "Aleann Manor," he repeated quietly.
[OPENING CREDITS]
Episode 23: Agreeing to Agree
Cleran ran a hand through his hair and read the latest responses he'd gotten. Most of them were politely worded incredulity, of course; that was how everyone reacted. The High Priest's bastard brother was the Prophet? And with the surrender on top of it, no one particularly wanted to believe the news.
Well, at least he'd heard back from all four High Lords now.
Talathis Sanasset, Tiernan's father, had sent back a letter agreeing to give Cleran support but pointing out that his uncle couldn't travel; his health had gone too far downhill. Which was better than Rickard Dalasans, who'd agreed "to discuss the matter at the next Council meeting, with his Holiness," which was still better than Kaveran Kaliss, who had been outright hostile. But Cleran wasn't terribly worried, because Terassas was easily the least influential of the High Lords, and the most important Lord—well, Lady—was Serissa Alayrin.
Her message had been brief and to the point.
Send me more information as quickly as possible. -S.A.Well, there had been a long political letter as well, but that was her personal note. And he was fairly touched that she'd sent a personal note at all. He was sure she had some sort of ulterior motive for it, since Serissa Aleann had an ulterior motive for everything she did, but if she was going to support the surrender, he didn't care.
He glanced at the stack of letters for the day, mostly from relatively minor lords, with one notable exception. Ryel Serathi had finally sent a reply. He opened it nervously, certain that his father was relieved to know that Dysis was safe, but he had no idea how the rest of the news would go over.
Cleran,Be very careful; there are those who do not wish to see you rise above your rank and place. You do not have many friends or political allies. Seek your brother's council before sending any more messages.
For my part, I shall wait to see the results of these negotiations before lending my support.
Should he have time, direct word from His Holiness would be appreciated.
By my hand,
Ranked Lord Ryel Serathi
He read the letter again, then folded it and put it back in the pile. He wasted no time on it; masked threats and lack of offered support were becoming the standards, with hostility more common than an offer of friendship. The fact that this one was from his blood father... Well, he already knew the tension between him and his father would run high.
And there was a certain grim satisfaction in knowing that, for the first time in his life, he had the upper hand; even if no one had seen that yet. He was exactly who he claimed to be, and not only did he have the full support of the High Priest, he had a God standing beside him.
Neither Ocando nor Ryel Serathi had been the sort of father he'd wanted growing up, but they both had their uses. And it wasn't as though he'd expected Ryel's view of him to change; he and his blood father weren't close, but Cleran had grown up watching him, and knew him well enough to know that nothing would give them the relationship that Ryel had with his oldest son.
But for the first time in his life, Cleran didn't want that relationship. He'd earned the approval of a force much greater than that of a Ranked Lord, he'd helped bring the war to an end and was working to make right the greatest injustice he could think of. Frankly, he had too much else to do and to think about than his blood father's approval.
And that was fairly satisfying, too.
"It's not my job to make things easy for you," Jereh answered flatly, and reached out to hand Cleran the parcel from Dysis, as usual.
"But you also shouldn't be going out of your way to mess things up—you don't want that. And kidnapping a future High Lord—"
"I did no such thing."
"That's not what the witnesses reported," Cleran retorted.
"But it's true," Tiernan cut in. "I went by choice; she tried to keep me from following repeatedly. But it was my idea, not hers."
"Try convincing your father that." Cleran sighed. "But you're unharmed. And..." He gave them a strange look. "Different."
He got no response, but he hadn't really expected much of one. So he just turned to the parcel and commented, "I'll send word if I need you; try not to destroy everything we've been working for, hmm?"
Jereh didn't favor him with a response, just turned and swept out of the room, Tiernan following briskly. Cleran turned to the messages from Dysis and read them slowly, and nodded, satisfied. They had a time and a place. Now he just needed to gather the people.
Tiernan waved to Lisandra as they made their way through the library, out of the complex, and back in to her quarters without speaking. Jereh had barely spoken to him at all since their conversation about the Massacre, and Tiernan found himself running through reason after reason why that could be, the more time they spent together.
He assumed Jereh wanted nothing to do with him; she probably considered him a part of the Massacre, something she clearly didn't like to think about. But at the same time, she seemed to have accepted her absolute guilt in that the matter and hadn't tried to deny it in any way when he'd confronted her. So he had to wonder if he was wrong; if maybe she'd accepted it and didn't care, and just... Didn't want to talk to him, because he was a Warrior and her enemy.
Until he knew about the Massacre, though, he'd gone out of his way to make sure she didn't think of him as an enemy. Or at least, he'd tried to... He hated how complicated this was, and he hated how conflicted he felt about it almost as much.
She was responsible for his grandfather's death, for so many deaths... But if what the priest had said was true, it wasn't truly her fault, and she wasn't truly responsible. But if he couldn't hold her responsible, then where did responsibility lie—or was it truly just a random act of madness, a mistake for no reason which cost lives and caused tragedy.
And if she wasn't guilty but held herself so... No one deserved that.
And so he broke the silence. "Jereh?"
She looked over at him in irritation, but said nothing.
He faltered, then reached for the red pin he was still wearing, took it off, and held it out. An offering. She looked at it and at him blankly.
"Take it," he urged.
"Why?"
"Please. It would... Mean a lot to me."
"Why?" she repeated.
He shrugged a little. "It's a symbol of loss. I lost family in the Massacre, and... I suspect you have losses of your own."
"Only friends. Nothing—"
"Not that kind of loss." He let his arm drop, closed his hand around the pin, and leant against the wall. "I can't believe you were... The same person before the Massacre as you are now. That you weren't changed by it."
"Change is different from loss."
"Not always." He swallowed a little. "Please, Jereh. Take it... Knowing you felt the loss too would help... Help me."
She hesitated, and finally nodded and reached out for it. He set the pin in the palm of her hand and looked her in they eye, tried to smile. Neither one of them truly felt like smiling, but he felt something akin to satisfaction when she carefully clipped the pin over her heart.
[EYECATCH]
The Lords were arriving and Cleran couldn't say he was exactly thrilled with it. He was greeted with disdain and skepticism, and chose not to flaunt his powers—yet. There would be a time when he'd prove himself, but it wasn't yet worth it. Instead, he acted the part of Dysis's mouthpiece and attempted to play the host, though he wasn't very good at it.
But things made it easier. Eliz took the role of hostess upon herself and made sure that everyone had accommodations, and there was entertainment for the Ladies and children. Tiernan was a good political ally; he, at least, was considered trustworthy, and when he assured the skeptics that he'd seen and spoken with Dysis, he was believed. Even Ocan proved helpful, his quiet, almost backstabbing assurances to the Lords that he was maintaining control of the Warriors and did not plan to give that control up easily kept people calm.
Slowly, Cleran felt his cause—if not his role in it—begin to gain acceptance, and he began to prepare himself. Before taking the High Lords to Aleann manor, he would have to convince them of his worth, and his position. He knew it wouldn't be easy, and assumed it would only get harder when Lord Serathi arrived. But that, he decided, was when he'd make his move.
The caravan carrying Serathi, his wife, and a few retainers arrived in the early afternoon; Cleran greeted them with Eliz hanging on his arm; Tiernan, Jereh and Ocan behind him. Serathi stepped from his carriage and waited expectantly.
Cleran just watched him, silently, as Eliz dipped into a curtsey. "Lady Tanners," he acknowledged with a nod of his head. And he turned to his son. "I suppose I shouldn't expect simple politeness from you, then."
"Politeness I can afford, Lord Serathi; but given our relative status, I would also expect the same in return."
"Relative status?" Serathi inquired, his voice steady, but frowned and furrowed his brow.
Cleran's lip twitched into a slight smirk. "I am not your bastard son anymore, Lord Serathi. I may wear black, but you are hardly my father." He nodded towards the Church complex. "Perhaps you'd care to discuss this further inside?"
"After you, then."
Cleran nodded and turned on his heel, strode inside without looking back. Eliz hurried off to catch Lady Serathi, and the others followed Cleran slowly. He lead the way to the office he'd adopted and gestured that Serathi should have a seat.
"I prefer to stand, thank you."
"Suit yourself." Cleran shrugged and held up a hand, made a fist, and then opened it slowly. A tiny flame danced on his palm. "My letter was not an exaggeration; I am who I say I am. You can either choose to follow me by choice or..." He shrugged, and waved his hand. The flame was extinguished.
Serathi looked slightly shaken, but recovered quickly. "So I'm to face political consequences for having been a bad father. Is that it?"
"No." Cleran shook his head. "I'm not that petty; and anyway, you aren't my father. You were... Merely a convenient way for me to be born."
"Is that all?"
"You expected more?" Cleran shrugged. "My life before is fairly irrelevant now. I am the Sun's True Son, and I will do Ocando's will. So, as I said, you can follow me by choice, or be left behind when the time comes. But the times are changing. Whether you will or no."
"And you truly believe that... Those who oppose you will silently accept your presence?"
"Hardly. I truly believe that they will oppose me at every turn, and that their opposition will amount to nothing."
"And if it amounts to more than you expect?"
Cleran shrugged. "I will control the Warriors; I have an ally in Dysis and thus the support of the Church. The combined forces of the Knights and the Kelanister Army also have a vested interest in my success. Those who oppose me are welcome to press the matter, so long as they understand they will lose in the end."
"You'd impose your will, then."
"If need be. I don't want to. But as I said—whether you give your support is up to you."
"I'll think about it."
"Think hard, and think quickly. Dysis will be returning within the week. I'm sure you'll want Lord Dalasans to know where you stand before he decides where he stands. It will be his name on the Agreement, not yours. And you do owe him allegiance."
"And if I pressure him to sign, what do I get? This is politics, not charity."
"I'm aware of that. Pressure him to sign, and keep your title and your rank. Oppose it—oppose me—and you will be removed from power. And please, spread the word. I will be taken seriously."
"You can not remove—"
"If you believe that, then stand against me. Wait and see." He gestured to the door. "Think carefully before you decide anything, Lord Serathi." He paused significantly. "I'd hate to see your wife living on the street. I don't think she'd take to it well."
"I'll keep that in mind." He reached for the doorknob, opened it, and paused. "But Cleran, do keep in mind, Dysis is my son. I somehow doubt he'd see his mother living on the streets."
He let himself out of the room. Cleran sighed a little. That hadn't gone badly, but it hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped.
This was, perhaps the most important of the meetings Cleran would have. He waited on the front steps of the Great Church, flanked by Ocan, Jereh, Tiernan and Eliz, and bit back nervousness. It was hard not to be nervous, though. Lady Alayrin had that effect on people.
The carriage—though it was more of a procession, really—finally halted, a steward opened the door, and Serissa Alayrin stepped onto the cobbled path. Cleran walked down to meet her and bowed elegantly; unlike Lord Serathi, not only did he have to show her respect, he wanted to impress her. She was, potentially, a very powerful ally.
She stooped into a slight, momentary curtsey, and then they silently sized each other up. Lady Alayrin, he noted, looked younger than she was; but her features were sharp and the slight wrinkles at creased her forehead made her look venerable, not old. Her dress was extravagant, likely more to impress the other Lords who she'd be speaking with than out of personal preference. Her outfit was a deep red, for the most part; the color of mourning; she was still grieving for her husband. She also wore a version of the same badge of loss that Tiernan had—except hers was jewel encrusted and glittered in the sunlight. Cleran hoped that the word of Jereh's involvement in the Massacre hadn't spread, remembering her father had been murdered—it had been his manor, after all, and her childhood home—but knew it was unlikely.
Lady Alayrin had ears everywhere, and no one bothered to pretend otherwise.
"Lady Alayrin, welcome," he said, forcing his voice to be as smooth as he could. "Please, come inside and relax; I'm sure your trip must have been trying." "Thank you for your hospitality, Holy Son," she replied clearly, allowing everyone who heard to know that she acknowledged his position. That was a promising start.
She glanced back at the carriage and waved the steward on; and a moment later, it was headed off to be housed, and the next part of her precession—riders—made their way up. Cleran nodded to them, and the two men dismounted. Cleran hadn't expected them both to accompany their mother, but he had space enough to house them.
"My Lords," he said, again bowing to acknowledge them. Serissa was the main power in her land, but Cleran also knew that Shoris and Kerev, her two sons, were forces to be reckoned with in their own rights. He got formal greetings in response, and watched as Shoris took his mother's arm to help her into the Church complex.
As though Lady Alayrin needed help. Cleran wondered if that was just a gesture of politeness to his mother, or if she had some sort of angle. Probably, he decided, both.
Again, he lead the way to his adopted office. "I apologize for the poor condition of my surroundings, Lady," he said humbly, offering her the chair he usually took, the one which actually still appeared to be in tact.
"Think nothing of it," she answered, then in a very measured voice, "My late husband preferred a small, sparse office; he said it reminded him that what was important was the work, not the surrounding."
"I'm honored to be compared to your husband. Lord Kieris was a very good man."
"Yes," Serissa said somewhat softly. "He was."
Cleran let that sink in for a minute, not sure how to answer. Shoris and Kerev seated themselves and waited, probably for a sign from their mother, who took a moment pat down her hair, smooth her skirt, and then looked up at Cleran with a raised eyebrow.
"Shall we speak frankly, then, Cleran?" she asked unceremoniously.
"Please." He nodded.
"You will need my support for this; I hope you know that. Monetarily and influentially, I control this Island. Ask Dysis—if he's alive—if you don't believe me."
"My Lady, Dysis is very much alive, and I'd never question the power that you hold."
She arched an eyebrow. "And yet I hear rumors that you threaten to... push aside Lords who refuse to do as you please."
"You, my Lady, are a unique case." He didn't bother asking how she'd come across the rumor so quickly. "No one in his right mind would try to push you aside."
"I'm glad you understand that."
"And with that in mind, I hope I'll be able to count on your for support."
"What makes you think I'll give you my support?"
"Your record." Cleran shrugged. "Lady Alayrin, you have done all but liberate the slaves on your land. You refused to harbor the fleet; you refused to contribute to paying for the fleet. You've always rejected measures to strengthen the war and have funded anything that even appeared to be a peace movement. I want peace between Kalatasu and Arpiar and the eventual liberation of all of the slaves. And you've always done everything in your considerable power to help this movement."
"True enough. But what do I get out of it?"
"Name it."
She laughed. "You'd give me free reign? Whatever I ask?"
"I can't do this without your help—and I can't force you aside. I have no choice in the matter."
"There isn't much you can do for me, Cleran. I'll be honest. I have power. I have wealth."
"I didn't expect you to ask for power or money."
"Smart of you. What I want is... complicated. When this ends, I want an unbreakable bond between the two Islands. My price is a clause in the Agreement—I want a political marriage between... Princess Islana, I believe... and Dysis. Or yourself."
He stared at her.
She shrugged. "That's my term. Take it or leave it."
"...I have very little choice, then." He shook his head slightly to clear it. There was no way Dysis would consent to marry Islana; he still wanted her hanged. Cleran knew full well Dysis was attempting to use the Agreement to lessen the power she'd have as much as possible; he desperately wanted Erra to name someone else as Heir. The official reason was that allowing her to become Queen would disrupt the peace, as she caused so much strife on Arpiar that they'd never peaceably deal with her, but Cleran knew full well (and suspected that Kalin, Jall and Erra also knew) that it was little more than Dysis's own personal hatred of her behind it.
And Cleran...
He couldn't marry Islana. Not given everything that had happened between them... It was impossible, plain and simple.
But so was securing peace and getting the Agreement signed without the help of Lady Alayrin.
"Deal," he said, nodding. And if Serissa had any idea that Cleran had no intention to uphold his end of the bargain, she didn't let on.
[CLOSING CREDITS]