Seven

[Kaizen]

"May I have the honor of escorting you into the hall, milady?" He asks.

　
"No."
　

"A pity." He replies equally blandly, one hand on the stairs, the other barely brushing the small of her back, fingers ghosting over the flimsy fabric.

　
She tries to pull away, but finds herself trapped. "Let go."
　

"I try." He leans against her slightly as they turn the corner. "I do try."
　

"You shouldn't."

　
"I know." He pulls away until he is just beside her, still closer than is deemed appropriate.

　
"Such fine words for a Paladin of Mystra."
　

"I agree." He mutters, leading her into the ballroom as the crowds swallow them up. "There should be no words at all."
　

She glares at him, the innuendo evident, and he looks calmly back, impassive, stoic. "You forget your place, Sir Knight."
　

"Then remind me of it." He whispers intently, lips only inches from her own. "Alexandra."
　

She looks at him, notices the scars on his face, the hard set of his jaw and the darkness in his eyes, and wonders when he changed, and why she didn't notice. "I -"
　

"Ah, Arcanist Averi!" Archmagus Andres approaches, holding two elaborately carved wine glasses, inlaid with gems, seven diamonds encircling the stems in the symbol of Mystra. "And Orion Cassiopeia! This is indeed unexpected."
　

"Sir Cassiopeia was able to join us at short notice." Alexandra explains as Orion subtely places proffesional space between the two.
　

"The siege on Shar’s Abaddon went more smoothly than anticipated." Orion replies easily, ignoring both the offer and the insult. "And given a chance to mingle with the finest of Mystran society, who could refuse?"
　

Andres laughs politely. "The war effort is going well, then?"

　
"Well enough." Orion concurs, but his eyes are guarded, his smile fixed.
　

Alexandra swallows, remembers the war and his screams and the ever-lengthening reports of defeats. "It is a remarkable turnout for this time of year." She says.

　
Orion seizes on the topic like a starving man, desperate for a change of subject. "Is that so, Arcanist? I am afraid my knowledge of such … sophisticated events is far more limited than it should be."
　

"As befits a Paladin."

　
"Ah, but people will enjoy themselves, war or no war." Orion continues, studying the bejeweled dresses of the ladies, the gold rings of the men. "Death or no death."
　

"But surely, taking a reprieve from such things is permitted - or does your Paladin code prohibit that as well?" Andres interjects.
　

Orion twists the rough material of his cloak between his fingers, stinging from the insult. "I wasn't aware that the Mages actively participated in the war."

　
Andres concedes the point, but his expression remains neutral. "We keep ourselves occupied."
　

"Occupied with other, more pressing matters, no doubt."
　

"The Servants of Mystery are well aware of the amount of losses the Knights of the Mystic Fire have suffered as of late."
　

"And yet they fail to act."
　

"We do realize the full extent of the damage -"
　

"Is that so?" A note of steel creeps onto his voice, jarring, harsh. "Why, I was asked just now whether it was true that the war would be over by God's Day."　


"God's Day?" Alexandra exclaims, her drink forgotten. "That's two months away!"
　

"Indeed."

　
"The front lines will hold?" Andres asks.

　
Orion Cassiopeia studies Archmagus Andres for the first and last time, looks at his rich clothes and signet rings and well-groomed hair and hates him instantly. "I will make them hold, Archmagus. As ever."

　
"There is a chance of success?"
　

"I hope so." He says tonelessly, and Alexandra watches him clench his fingers into a fist, the hard leather of his gloves cracking. "Sometimes."
　

"Of course," Andres says innocently, "what with Draco Capella dead, you must be bereft."
　

The comment slips out almost before it can be withdrawn. There is a dead silence amongst the group, broken only by the far-away sound of glasses clinking and chamber music. Alexandra looks as though she has been slapped in the face, and even Andres looks slightly nervous, lips pursing as though he could physically reclaim the words. A small muscle twitches in Orion’s jaw, his eyes darkening.
　

"I cope, Archmagus." He decides on at last, livid with anger. "As should we all. Milady."
　

He nods curtly at Alexandra and stalks off, a lone figure in the crowd.
　

There is an uneasy silence. Alexandra turns to the Archmagus of the Church of Mystra, still shaking.
　

"You shouldn't have."
　

"I know."
　

"Draco died last week, Andres!" She cries. "The funeral was today!"
　

"I know. He was a good man." He swirls the last of the wine pensively around his glass. "A very good man."
　

"Yes." She says quietly.

　
"Cassiopeia attended the funeral?"
　

She nods. "He wasn't fit to be discharged - should have stayed in the Temple to heal, but he walked out. And now, he's here." She doesn't know if it's a consequence of her worry or not, but he looks too shaky, too pale under the soft lights. "Again."
　

"You should end it, Alexandra."
　

"There's nothing to end!" She snaps reflexively.
　

"Arcanist -"
　

"There isn't." Alexandra Averi swallows a gulp of wine, the taste bitter.


“...There isn’t.”

[Kaizen]

"Ingratiating yourself with the new Archmage, Arcanist?"

She whirls around, berating herself for not having noticed him, tall and imposing in his dark robes. "That was uncalled for, Orion." She hisses, heels doing little to reduce the height difference between them.

As seasoned as an expert courtier, Orion steps closer to her, face as blank as the statues lining the hall. "To think he calls himself Archmage." He snaps. "Does he call himself Mystra's Chosen yet, Arcanist?"

She shakes her head. "He's not as corrupt as you believe him to be."

"Fine talk for a wizard." He spits. "That's what you are, isn't it? Lying and corrupt, both of you."

"No, and I never shall be." She swallows, realizes his close proximity to her, realizes what he's insinuating. "There's nothing between us, and you know it."

He is silent for a moment, gazing at the podium where Andres will soon give his inaugural speech as Supreme Archmage of the Mystra Church.

"Why?" He asks suddenly.

"Why what?" She says, the abrupt question startling her.

"Why didn't you marry me?" He grasps her arm, bringing her to face him "You didn't love me?"

"No. Never."

"What is it then?" He grips her more tightly, and she tries not to wince. "Why -"

"The law -"

"I don't give a damn about the law, Alexandra!" He hisses, all semblance of calm gone from his tone. "If you truly cared about me, you would have abandoned this whole charade - we could have married each other, we -"

"And what about you?" She snaps. "Would you have made any sacrifices?"

"I would have given it all up for you!" He snarls. "I would have given up the all of Faerun for you!"

"Faerun needs you, Orion -"

"And what about what I need? When has anyone ever given a damn about that? I'll tell you when: nobody has." He releases her, unconsciously rubs a spot on his arm, high above his elbow. "Nobody."

"Draco -"

"Don't talk about him!" He snaps. "Don't mention his name!"

For a second, both are shocked into silence, the buzz of the hall seeming subdued, far away.

"Orion ..." She gently places a small hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry."

He looks away. "Save your sorrow for him." He says bitterly. "He's the one who needs it."

"I'm sorry I couldn't come to the funeral."

"Nobody did." He pauses. "They were all dead. All of them."

"Everyone?"

He doesn't quite meet her eyes. "Nobody's immortal, Alexandra."

"You wouldn't have said that once."

He drops his gaze. "I know."

They both look at each other in slow-motion, finally realizing just how close they are to one another, her hand on his shoulder, his grasping her sleeve. Then, with uncharacteristic hesitation, he bends his head downwards, and she stands on her toes, and their lips are so close, almost touching, almost -

"Pray silence for his Excellency, the Supreme Archmage of Mystra!"

The Temple Crier's shout startles them into reality, and they hurriedly break apart, cheeks flushed, forgotten as the hall assumes some semblance of order. "Orion, what -"

He silences her with a gesture. The message is clear: not now.

The room explodes as Andres ascends the podium in all his finery, gold signet ring twinkling in the flashing lights. "Honorable Mages of Mystra," he begins, voice magnified a thousand times over, his face beaming around the crowded room, "it is with great pleasure that I convene you here today to announce the beginning of a new beginning to our glorious Temple - and with it, a new era of magic!"

The applause grows deafening, and the Temple Crier gives a redundant shout for order. "And so I begin by addressing our sacred laws, which can and will be amended forthwith …"

Throughout the speech, Averi watches Orion, noticing the way he seems to recede into himself as the words continue, despairing, hopeless. Then, finally, he speaks, tone as bland as that of a Paladin, not an almost-lover.

"It is settled, then."

"Orion, what -"

"He calls his Arch Adept now." He says. "And unless I am much mistaken, that post is not yet filled."

She frowns. "It'll be Webb, everyone knows that. After all -"

"I wouldn't be so sure, Arcanist."

She is about to question him further, when Andres speaks again. "And now, I elect my Arch Adept, someone who has served me well throughout the years. Someone whose passion for magic is only excelled by her natural born skill with the Weave, while excellent oratory and fine leadership skills make them a perfect candidate for the post. A visionary. Someone who shares my approach in all of my policies that benefit the Church of Mystra."

The last statement is stated more loudly, more firmly than any other and Averi notices Orion flinch, as though the words have physically stabbed him. "And so, without any further ado - Mages, I present to you the Arch Adept of the Church of Mystra: Alexandra Averi!"

She freezes, horror running through every vein of her body as the applause grows again and they begin chanting her name.

"Get up, your Excellency." Orion whispers quietly, and she looks incredulously at his shadowed face, eyes filled with an emotion that she can't quite identify.

"You knew." She whispers in shock.

"I leave for Sundren Valley"

"Orion, I -" Another startled pause. “What?”

“With Arawn Annuvin.” He says with no emotion.

“The Kelemvorite? Why, when did-”

"They wait for you, Arch Adept.” Orion says curtly, deciding to end it.

“Orion-”

“Go.”

"What did you -"

"Go!" He snarls, and she unwillingly complies.

The walk to the podium is endless, claustrophobic, full of cheering Mages and flashing cantrips and shining lights, and it is all she can do not to faint. She ascends the dais on shaking legs, taking a moment to steel herself for what she is about to say - for what she is about to do - before stepping up to the threshold. The crowd instantly quiets.

"Honorable Mages of the Servants of Mystery, it is with great pleasure that I accept the post of Arch Adept of the Church of Mystra …"

The cheering grows wild and animal-like, whipping the mages into a jubilant frenzy. Amidst it all, Alexandra Averi stands silently amidst the chaos, and watches a hooded figure stalk angrily from the hall, wondering if she would ever see him again.