Demetrius paced along the length of the terrace, his gaze flickering between the gleaming place settings and the rich gardens unfurling below. He’d insisted on every lavish touch, every dish prepared precisely to his specifications, wanting to create an atmosphere that was both inviting and… disarming. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled patterns over the table, illuminating delicate crystal glasses and gleaming silverware.
The invitation had gone out, the meeting well planned. Ever since Novella had come to him during open office hours to discuss the situation and conditions of the reeducation program, he’d planned to have this meeting, at his earliest convenience, to hear about the conditions first hand from Kaczor herself.
The meal was set to be impeccable—a precise blend of delicacies that would appeal to any palate, all laid out with almost ceremonial care. Yet, for all its extravagance, there was an undeniable eccentricity in the setup. A few brightly colored napkins twisted into peculiar shapes, an array of mismatched floral arrangements, and an assortment of small figurines—odd trinkets Demetrius had added at the last minute, much to the dismay of the servants, but he knew what he was doing. Today, he would strike just the right balance.
Several of his cats, varying in color and demeanor, wove themselves between the chair legs, brushing along the tablecloth, and occasionally batting at a hanging napkin. He took a seat briefly, only to jump back up and readjust his chair, then examined the exact angle of a wine bottle before turning to straighten the forks and knives once again. It would all have to be perfect—or it would have to be mad. He hadn’t yet decided which, but the possibilities seemed to satisfy him equally.
As he glanced toward the doors leading out to the terrace, his eyes gleamed with anticipation, his mouth curling into a smile that hinted at amusement or malice—or perhaps both. He folded his hands behind his back, rocking ever so slightly on his heels, waiting with palpable energy for Kaczor Tilani to be announced.
She didn't want to leave the house, not after everything that had happened, but she needed to do something to fill the time in waiting for Ella to come home, and perhaps trying to accomplish something that wasn't subversive in some fashion would help her ... help. After all it wasn't every day that an invite into a floating palace would come, and as she stepped out of the rain into the ferry that would take her to the palace she thought about what all had happened.
Thinking about crawling home to her already, hmm? Where's your sense of self man, she tried to kill herself to get away from you, I'm fairly certain that's a great indication that she's no where good enough for you.
Be quiet, I don't need your input today, thank you very much, she said, quietly, under her breath to herself as she gates opened and she was ushered through the palace -- she hadn't been to the place since she had finished her schooling -- magical law. Her aunt had insisted, so that one day when she found herself in the position of being of an age then maybe she would have taken their seat, but not now, no, Kaczor's future was clouded, and depending on this meeting, she might find herself back in jail before it was all over.
The Lord Kaczor Tilani, Esquire stands with out! Kaczor rolled her eyes at titles, she hated them, and wished more than anything that she could change it to Lady, but there was a power left in a title of Lord, and she was hoping that power would help make some headway in what she had come to do today. She had been summoned, to speak to the Archon, regarding her time in prison, and the unique situation she had found herself in. While it was true there weren't many like her, she and her aunt both were one of the older names. Thankfully Auntie had never had to face a prison sentence, but, Kaczor knew her time in had been less than if someone of a lesser name and house had been caught in the same seditious manner.
She took a deep breath, squaring up her shoulders as she caught sight of her brother in law on the edge of her vision, taking some small comfort that if she was going to be killed today, the Executioner would make it quick. When the door opened, all nervousness, fear, grief -- it all melted away and was replaced with the vibrant personality that was Kaczor Tilani -- the Archon deserved nothing less.
The moment Demetrius caught sight of Kaczor entering, he stilled, freezing mid-gesture as he adjusted a cat-shaped napkin holder. For an instant, his expression was unreadable—a mixture of keen appraisal and a flicker of delight that was far too sharp to be entirely friendly. Then, with a dramatic sweep of his arm, he turned to greet her, his movements fluid and theatrical as if he were the conductor of some great performance.
Ah, Lord Kaczor Tilani! he exclaimed, his voice resonating with an odd combination of warmth and mockery. The very person I’ve been eagerly anticipating. Do come in, do come in! Mind the cats; they’re more territorial than I am.
He stepped forward with purpose, his sharp eyes scanning her face, her posture, as though he could divine every thought and motive hidden behind her confident facade. His smile widened, revealing perfect teeth, though the expression carried an edge of unpredictability, like a dagger wrapped in velvet.
It’s a delight to have you here, my dear. Please, make yourself comfortable. He gestured toward the elaborately set table, one hand twirling slightly as though to emphasize the peculiar charm of the mismatched decor. Forgive the… eccentricities of the arrangements. I thought a touch of whimsy might set the mood. After all, we’re here to discuss rather serious matters, are we not? And what better way to discuss them than in the midst of delightful chaos?
Demetrius moved to his seat, gesturing for her to sit across from him. A sleek black cat leapt onto the table, lazily curling up next to a fruit bowl, entirely unfazed by the proceedings. The Archon reached out absently, running a hand over its fur as he continued.
Now, Kaczor—may I call you Kaczor? Oh, I *will*—I’ve heard intriguing things about your tenure in our illustrious reeducation system. Things that have stirred the air in ways most invigorating, if you’ll pardon the metaphor. His tone shifted, becoming quieter, though no less intense. Tell me, in your own words, how you found it. Were the accommodations to your liking? The company? The lessons?
He leaned forward, steepling his fingers, his expression expectant and amused. Do paint me a picture, my dear. I’m most curious to see it through your eyes.
So this was the man that lived in the floating palace, high above, the magic needed to keep the place in flight had to be.. powered by so many blood magics, or a dozen or so magisters working day and night, either way, he fit Kaczor's thoughts on the type of eccentricity that would go along with a magically floating houses. For a moment, she felt like the entire thing was a mask, a charade meant to disarm -- all the more that his dramatis persona carried through into gesture and speech even, and then there came the glimpse of a schemer under it all. Aha.
There he was.
Kaczor lowered into a curtsy, head bowed as her hair fell down around her face, before she rose and went to tuck the tendrils back behind her ears. I'm honored for the invite, Archon, I never imagined I'd receive one after my previous.. indiscretions. She moved to the table that had been sat, stopping for a moment to let one of the more curious of the cats sniff at her hand, unrushed to join at the table until the cat had it's fill of scenting her, and moved along. Kaczor continued her way to the table and sat down in the indicated chair, I was glad that the attempt to cat-nap several of your companions didn't go further than it did. She didn't see the cat with his little helmet though, which made her wonder if the cat had been lost that night or not, the little seal point that had sniffed at her jumping up and making herself at home on her lap. Little did she know, Zizi, Malik's favorite of the Archon's cats, had made herself at home.
The black that joined them on the table looked far too intelligent for her liking, but the tom with his wide set face settled down and the rumbling purr of the one that had taken up space on her lap made her a little more at ease. Kaczor felt, if the Archon was going to kill her today, that the cats would be put up elsewhere for it. This made her feel a bit more at ease. Please, Kaczor is fine by me, Archon. She sat back as she let a hand rest on the small cat that had joined her, glad for the animal to relive her experience.
A picture, as you ask, and I am going to assume that, you are asking because you want truth, not a neatly tied bow around something you've entrusted to someone to run on your behalf. As... a prisoner, I did not expect silk sheets, or lavish meals or even privacy. A prisoner, in prison, is there for reformation, but I could not focus on the reformation being offered, the penance being offered, due to some of the more difficult nature in being seen as a threat to the state, and being focused on keeping myself safe from the other prisoners. She paused, keeping her expression neutral, she gave the report as it was, a report. I know my situation is difficult to navigate as to my gender identity and presentation, but my head was shaved, to prevent lice and bugs, and then I was thrown in with the male population. I spent the vast majority of the time trying to slap away hands that wanted to check and see if "the bottom half matches the top half". I was glad to be in a single cell for some of the duration of my incarceration, I was able to sleep during those nights, but I was put in with another prisoner at some point who made it a game to try and use my chest as an alternative to his hand so he could "pretend" I was an "actual woman taking a load to her face".
She paused, taking a deep breath as she stopped petting the cat in her lap, her brow drawn together, I don't believe any of what happened to me was a failing of the intention of the reeducation system, more that I fought more dysphoria of being robbed of my identity, and trying to fight off perverts, than I was able to focus on the true meaning of the lessons trying to be taught. I am under no illusion that were I not a Tilani I would have already been executed, I am quite certain of that. As first born and heir, it is what anyone should have done to quiet a brewing act of sedition. An example. Instead, I left my time in the program more determined than ever to rip it apart brick by brick if offered the opportunity to do so. Had she not just watched her wife swinging in a tree by a noose, she might have been more eloquent, more measured in her words, but as it was, she had just watched her wife try to kill herself, and wasn't in the exact emotional state to mind her tongue.
The lesson I learned was to keep my head down, keep quiet, keep still, and try not to be noticed so that I could get home to my child and wife. Anything else that was trying to be taught .. it never stuck, apparently. But the fear of not having my girls is enough to keep me in line. You have no further fear of any misbehavior on my part, Archon.
Demetrius’s stillness shattered as he leaned back in his chair with a laugh that rang out like a bell—bright, clear, and just a little off-kilter. His sharp features lit up with an exaggerated delight, and he clapped his hands together twice, as though Kaczor had just told a particularly excellent joke.
Well! he declared, gesturing grandly toward her with both hands, What a picture you’ve painted! Stark, vivid, and dripping with truth. I must say, my dear Kaczor, honesty suits you quite marvelously. Like a finely tailored coat... albeit one a touch too heavy for the season.
He tilted his head, watching her with a gaze that danced between amusement and genuine interest, the light catching in his eyes like sparks on kindling.
Ah, but where are my manners? Please, do continue stroking Zizi. She’s chosen you, and when a cat chooses you, well, it’s best to lean into it. Resistance is futile, as they say.
Zizi let out a contented purr, stretching luxuriously in Kaczor’s lap as Demetrius leaned forward, elbows on the table, his chin resting on his interlocked fingers.
Now, where was I? Oh yes, your vivid tapestry of life in our esteemed reeducation system. A grim little masterpiece, really. You’ve done what so few dare to do: told me what I *need* to hear, rather than what I *want* to hear. And for that, you have my gratitude. Truly. I’m not being facetious, I swear!
He placed a hand on his chest in mock solemnity before breaking into a grin, the gesture teetering between sincerity and theater.
The truth of it, you see, is that every system has its cracks. And sometimes, those cracks let the light in. But sometimes, they let the rot in too. And that, my dear, is where the real work begins!
He gestured dramatically, as if presenting a solution to an invisible audience.
Your story—of indignity, of survival, of fire—it’s a reminder that I cannot, must not, rest on laurels woven from good intentions. Intentions, you see, are like flowers in a storm. Pretty to look at, utterly useless if they can’t stand the wind. And, oh, how the wind howls!
Demetrius reached for his wine, swirling it absently, his tone softening to something less performative, though the gleam of eccentricity remained.
I know what you’re thinking. ‘Why all the pomp, the whimsy, the cats?’ But this isn’t a charade, Kaczor. This is me. A ruler who believes that a touch of madness—tempered with brilliance, of course—is what keeps the wheels turning. Keeps me honest. And speaking of honesty...
He leaned back again, gesturing broadly to the mismatched table setting, the wine, the cats.
You are here, my dear, because you’ve seen the cracks firsthand. You’ve slipped through them, survived them, and walked out the other side with that fire in your eyes. I’m not suspicious of that fire, Kaczor. No, no. I admire it. I find it... invigorating!
His grin widened, though the edge to his words had softened into something closer to encouragement.
Now, what I truly want to know is this: you’ve lived through the cracks. You’ve seen the ugliness they can hide. So, tell me—what would you do if you had a hand in mending them? Would you patch them up, nice and tidy? Or would you break them open further, rip out the rot, and start anew?
He leaned forward, his eyes bright with an almost childlike excitement.
Because you, my dear, are a builder. I can see it, clear as the sun above us. And if you’ve been given a second chance, well— he gestured to the table again, —you’re already sitting at the right one to make something of it.
He raised his goblet in a toast, his smile genuine this time, though it still held the glint of mischief.
To cracks and fire, to lessons learned, and to the curious paths we might walk together. Tell me, Kaczor. What would *you* build?
After a moment of taking in that she still had her head, and the Archon was...laughing, Kaczor felt the tension in her shoulders ease, she hadn't particularly wanted to do suicide by telling the Archon the truth, but that's what the last few moments had felt like, only to have him laugh as if it were.. she wasn't sure if she was more relieved, or if the flush she could feel along her cheeks and ears were an indication that she might feel a bit embarrassed that she was so candid with him. But Zizi purring in her lap, had her fingers return to the companion animals fur, eyes closing halfway as she let the rhythmic rumble lull her back down from the fear that had just been overriding her brain. I sometimes have to run into the maudlin in the courts. Magisters are not easily convinced of innocence at times and thus, my profession is weaving the truth into a tale that will stir the emotions as well.
She briefly considered if he was genuine in his remarks, when he said he wasn't being facetious, and then smirked... the man, certainly kept one on their toes. She was quite certain that the man would run circles around her, mentally, in an argument in court, since the profession required a bit of the theatric for closing statements all the time, Uh huh, rot. Her eyebrow arched slightly as he finally got to the point of the monologue he had taken, the offer of a place at the table.
An offer to be at the table that helps rebuild a broken system.
And then he was offering a toast, as she raised her glass in return, Kaczor silently adding in how lucky she was that she hadn't just lost her head, fully convinced that if she looked Malik would be transforming behind her and pulling a sword to complete the execution right now. She had been incredibly candid to begin with, but did she need to immediately tell him everything that she had in mind? He had responded so well to honesty the first time around that she felt if she hesitated the moment would slip through her fingers and she'd never get the opportunity again.
As the glasses tink'ed together, she looked across the table to the older man, the great grand-father of her daughter, and took a deep breath. I'd tear this world down and dance in the ashes if it meant my child never had to grow up in fear of having magic or not. I'd take a sword to any bit of slavery left in this country and put it in the past where it belongs. I'd make a place where my wife could comfortably live in peace and not feel like..
Her voice caught then, as she felt the sting in the corners of her eyes, the building pressure in the center of her face that threatened a torrent of tears coming, no, she chided herself, don't think about Ella right now. Don't think about your wife, don't cry in front of her grand-father. She was trapped with no way out. Where reeducation wasn't a matter of just surviving a dismal dank dungeon, being thrown away to be grateful you're still alive, but not quite truly alive anymore to appreciate that you did in fact live. Better education for those without magic, and the mandatory military service being both mage and non-mage citizens by the time one is thirty. Two years of everyone. Man and woman. A justice system fair to both mage and non-mage alike. The disparity between classes of citizens is.. there are parts of Dock Town where you can't walk three feet without being mugged, offered some off smelling meats for "a mark down", or being strong armed into touching something that you then have to by because it can't be sold to anyone else now. Kaczor lowered the glass some, her fingers still running through Zizi's incredibly soft coat.
I feel like what we have is good, but as you say, there are cracks, there's still a massive gap between the echelons, not having magic immediately puts one at the level of a slave, basically, only they're not owned, but yet we say these citizens are true citizens of the realm, and treat them as bad as, and sometimes worse than what we consider property. And thinking a person property is so archaic it makes my head ache with the mental acrobatics I have to perform to somehow make it okay, but if I release the family that has been with mine for generations they'll lose the protections mine keeping them afford them. And who's to say another family doesn't step in and immediate take them into their own house because they're "escaped" instead of "freed". She eased back into the chair, sighing softly.
Forgive me Archon, I had a lot of time to think in prison.
Demetrius’s grin grew wider as Kaczor finished, the glass in his hand swirling lazily as if in tempo with the torrent of her words. When she finally stopped, he let the silence hang, as though savoring it, letting it settle over the mismatched table like a shroud. Then, he leaned forward again, elbows on the table, his chin resting on his interlaced fingers.
Forgive you? he echoed, his tone a rich blend of amusement and incredulity. Oh, my dear Kaczor, I wouldn’t dream of it. Forgive you for what? For passion? For vision? For daring to imagine a world less... deplorably fractured? No, no, no. If anything, I should thank you. Few possess the audacity to think, let alone speak, as you just did.
His voice softened, his expression shifting into something almost contemplative, though the glint of mischief never fully left his eyes.
Ah, what a conundrum you present. A Tilani with fire enough to burn down the house, but with just enough wit to rebuild it into something splendid. A revolutionary’s heart, wrapped in a noble’s poise. Delightful. Utterly delightful.
He gestured vaguely at the table, the wine, the cats, and the peculiar setting that seemed both absurd and strangely fitting.
And yet, as grand as your vision is, it’s a dangerous thing to carry such fire. You must know that, of course. Fire warms, yes, but it also burns. Sometimes it consumes. And sometimes... it inspires.
Demetrius stood, his movements fluid and almost theatrical, as he began to pace slowly around the table, his gaze never leaving her.
Do you know what I see in you, Kaczor? Potential. Raw, untempered, thrilling potential. A mind that could bend steel and a heart that could rally armies. But— he paused dramatically, spinning on his heel to face her, —potential is nothing without a direction. Without purpose. Without someone to ensure that it doesn’t spill out and flood the very lands you wish to save.
He stopped pacing and leaned against the back of his chair, crossing his arms, his gaze piercing.
I’m offering you a hand, Kaczor. Not a leash, not a chain—no, those are for people who lack vision. I’m offering you a partnership. A chance to take that fire of yours and forge it into something extraordinary. You’ve seen the cracks; now help me fill them. Rip out the rot, if you must. Dance in the ashes, if it comes to that. But build something. Build something that will last.
He raised his goblet again, his smile genuine this time, though no less dangerous in its intensity.
So tell me, Kaczor Tilani. Will you take my hand? Will you stand with me, not as a supplicant, but as a builder of this mad, beautiful, broken world? Or will you let that fire of yours consume you, burn out, and leave nothing behind but smoke and regrets?
He tilted his head, watching her with an expression that was both expectant and patient, as though he already knew her answer but was determined to let her speak it aloud.
Kaczor was once again shocked that the Archon wasn't calling for her head to roll across the floor, split from her shoulders. Wonders never seemed to cease then, it seemed. She let her fingers absently return to stroking Zizi, the small cat seemly endlessly purring at the attention. And animals were good judges of character, if she were in trouble, wouldn't the small cat have already have bolted and run away? If her master was angry, or contemplating murder, wouldn't the animal have already gone to hide, lest face the wrath of the colony leader? No, as long as the animal was calm, then Kaczor was safe.
She wasn't sure if she was disappointed by this realization, or relieved. Her wife had wanted to die to get away from her, everything was raw and painful, and this meeting had come only days after her father and brother in laws had banned her from the property, from seeing her wife. And now, to be in front of the Archon, barely keeping her own mental state together properly, well.
Potential is a tool that can be used by someone clever enough to let it work properly, yet keep the guard rails in place so, as you say, the house doesn't burn. You're offering to be the guard rails then. And the financier of such an endeavor. It had been a game from the start, his words were too precise, too.. You knew my answer before I even entered the door, didn't you? Before I even arrived to it myself. You don't strike me as someone who would bring someone like me into your home, without knowing that you're going to get exactly what you wanted. Why give the illusion of a choice, if you already knew, if I may ask, since you know my answer already? Why dangle it in such a way that it makes it seem like I had a choice in the matter at all? It wasn't impertinent, the way she asked, the way she spoke, more a true query into the man's mind. Kaczor could be called a lot of things, stupid was not one of those though. Dumb, sometimes, a lot of the time honestly, she was dumb about many things, but stupid? No. Kaczor was intelligent, truly intelligent, able to see both sides of an argument and hold both true at the same time, able to solve complex problems with very little effort, if anything, the woman was lazy. She liked her vices too much.
So when she asked, it was in true curiosity of what the answer would be, because one way would give her all the needed to know about the Archon. If he really was as mad as he played at being, if he was cruel in his intentions, then this answer would let her know. Offering her the illusion of a choice was a courtesy, he very well could have ordered her to do it, but offering her the choice, even when there was none to make, gave her the illusion of control of her own life. Which was an incredible courtesy, seeing as she had just a few months back had absolutely no control over her own life. It was a manipulation, of course, but in this case it was one that would ultimately benefit all of Tevinter. It was calculated, and the more Kaczor thought about it, showed that the Archon had understood what she had expressed earlier, in feeling out of control in her incarceration to the point that it had been completely meaningless, her time spent there. It is, of course, a yes, I don;t think you'll take no for an answer, and I'm not willing to see this Empire die a slow death, left to entropy with ineffectual and elitist ideals that belong about a century buried in the past.
Demetrius let the silence settle between them like the final note of a grand performance, his expression unreadable—save for the flicker of triumph in his eyes, a glint like the sun catching the edge of a dagger. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he leaned back in his chair, exhaling a sigh that was equal parts amusement and satisfaction.
Ah, Kaczor, you wound me! He pressed a hand to his chest in mock distress. To suggest I manipulate, to weave illusions of choice! Me? An honest, upstanding statesman of our fair Empire? Perish the thought!
Then, he grinned—wolfish, unrepentant.
But yes, of course, I knew. I knew because you, my dear, are far too clever to waste away on the sidelines. And because a cornered beast—oh, it does one of two things. It either lashes out blindly... or it sees the opening. The door left ajar. And it *walks through*. You walked through.
He turned his goblet idly in his hands, watching the wine swirl, then took a slow sip.
As for the illusion? It was not for *me*, dear girl. It was for *you*.
Demetrius set the goblet down and leaned forward once more, eyes gleaming with something between delight and danger.
You needed to *say* it. To name your fire, to wield it. Not just to *think* it, or whisper it in the dark where no ears might hear. No, you had to *claim* it. Because there’s a difference between anger and ambition, Kaczor. And now? Now, you’ve declared yours before the gods and all my lovely little cats.
As if summoned, the black tom on the table stretched luxuriously before fixing Kaczor with a piercing stare, tail flicking. Zizi, in her lap, purred louder, content with the way things were unfolding.
And you’re quite right—I don’t take no for an answer. His voice dropped lower, the amusement still there, but now sharpened into something more measured, more dangerous. I take *results*.
He flicked his fingers in an airy motion, as if dismissing the weight of their conversation thus far.
But come now, let’s not linger in the heavy. A deal is struck, the future unfolds before us, and the wine has yet to run dry. Tell me, dear Kaczor—how shall we begin?
