“I swear to god Dimas I told you to escort her not to.” He stopped his sentence and made an frustrated hand gesture. “It's the easiest job possible in this godsdamned house and you fucked it absolute pieces.” His hand not engaged in berating rested on the hilt of his blade. He paused for dramatic effect, gripping the hilt of the blade and drawing it a half inch out of it's scabbard, “As long as I am Executus of this house we will not fraternize on the job Ser. If I catch you galivanting around.” He didn't get to finish the threat as the double door into the barracks swung open with attention demanding force. He winced slightly as silver hit stone with a expensive sounding ring, and Tiberius strode in like it hadn't been years.
The door had broken the seal on his command and all authority was leaking out into the street. He quickly dismissed the troops around him and fired off a salute and a confused “Milord” he stood there in a ready position mentally running through all that could go wrong in that exact second. He had been thrust into this Majordomo position with the sudden and bizarre passing of Lukios and now suddenly he was to receive his grade on his work for the past few years. In a position where doing too well is a coup and too poor is perhaps even worse. Tiberius was indifferent at best at the politics of the house before his indefinite sojourn, but six years was a long time and change was inevitable.
A second later it hit Tacitus, he doesn't know. How to break it to him that he was now lead of the house. Any second later than now felt like a lie, so best to do so on the spot. “I can have a report of the long term goals and assets of the house prepared for you by the morrow, so as head of the house you can direct us as you see fit Milord.” He bowed neatly and returned to the ready state. “With your leave I can announce your return to Calpernia and we can get started on your formal return.”
Tiberius stood before the front door of his childhood home, holding his breath. His hand hovered over the silver embossed walnut, sensing the ancient wards prickling against his bare skin. The cold, numb tingle of the magic as it tasted his blood. The soft clicks of many dense mechanisms turning, the door sighing smoothly open on its hinges. The atrium beyond was busy with activity, not so different from the last time he’d stood here.
Many people in House Umbra livery, from their soldiers to a soot-stained fire tender. They did not stop for him, at least not right away. Tiberius drifted in, and asked the closest person to lead him to whoever was in charge.
He’d not expected to be led to the barracks. Personally, he’d never taken much interest in this wing of the estate. It was far from the family living chambers and the library and the gardens. Plus it stank like too much male habitation, sweat and dirty socks. He applied a little too much force to open the heavy doors, frowning when they bounced off the wall. Some minor enchantment at work? He knew his own strength and that wasn’t it.
Beyond the doorway there was a tight cluster of men and women – and a robed man commanding them. Not a sibling or cousin or even a mage, at that. Pale lyrium tattoos on his throat and hands were the only thing to give him away, to spark Tiberius’ memory. Tacitus Ursus. He’d cost a fortune to retain, exiting the Legions with honors in command and strategy. It was gratifying to find that the investment had not been wasted.
“Err– right.” He supposed that after so long, it wouldn’t matter if he took in the events of the last half-decade tonight or in the morning. He watched the other people depart, bearing their curious stares with poorly feigned indifference. The news would be everywhere by sundown. His gaze flicked back to Tacitus, confused as he went back over what he’d said.
Milord. Head of the House. That wasn’t– couldn’t be right. If Grandfather was dead then he had done all of this for nothing. Been trapped in a country he despised for six long years for nothing. Agreed to marry a woman he didn’t yet love for nothing. Tiberius shook his head, lips twitching.
“Show me.” He turned on his heel and walked from the room, making a direct path toward Grandfather’s living quarters. A tower in the garden, slightly apart from everything else.
Nothing left to do but follow suit. Tiberius took off like a peevish missile and Tacitus followed suit. They walked through the courtyard in quiet tension till they reached Lukios's personal demesne. Dull skies and heavy winds made the garden bend heavily to the east as they walked. The wind over top the walls roared dully. The wards of the tower hummed in acceptance but the door angrily clattered. Tacitus produced a long dull grey key and socketed with a dull click and stepped through into the the library.
Tacitus both hated and loved this room, lately hating it more and more. The days lost in the countless books within helped raise him just as well as any other person in his childhood but the circular walls and hidden nooks and stairways left him disoriented after long periods within. After Lukios's passing he had disposed of the keys other than two, and kept one on his person at all times. He skirted to the side and ducked into an alcove and produced a heavy library ladder and dragged it behind him. There were quite a few unique design features to this tower, and this one was one of the stranger one. He walked over to a bookshelf and clipped a lever near the bottom and the massive wooden shelf allowed itself to be pushed along a brass groove in the floor. After moving a second bookshelf until it rested flat against another, Tacitus pushed the ladder flush to the end of the two bookcases and climbed it quickly. “After me Milord.” He called behind and stepped off onto the top of shelf ducking low in the space between the shelf and the celling. He stopped where the shelf met the wall and took a knee. He reached his hand up and sunk his fingers through soft plastered coloured wax and spun his wrist until a heavy click separated a plate from the ceiling and a low wooden stairwell descended. Tacitus uncomfortably walked up the stairs until he could straighten his back.
The hidden room lived in the space under two stairwells that eventually conjoined over head. The walls were thick stone seemingly mortised together without binding mortar and covered in thick patterned cloth and oil lanterns. The air was stuffy and foul, and it was pitch black even a few inches from the stairs. Tacitus struck a match and lit a lantern on the wall, casting a dim gold over the full room. Halfway through the already smothering rectangle they found themselves were heavy iron bars. The stair well secton was undecorated, but past the bars there was a somewhat mangled armchair, several book shelves and reams of paper and inkwell, all in various states of disorder. Books torn and chewed, the chair on its side, missing two legs. A small wooden side table smashed to splinters against the bars. Black ink smeared into the tapestry. Within the epicenter of the mess stood the late Master Lukios, his eyes white and unknowing. His mangled hands reaching through the bars mindlessly toward the heat and light. “After his passing it was deemed appropriate by the house that his corpse be interred in his warded sanctum, and that no word of his passing be told until his heir could be located from beyond the wall.” He stared across at Lukios, his mangled hands less than a foot from his face. “Now that you've returned, we can perhaps move forward.”
Tiberius waited for the other man to unlock the tower, nearly vibrating with impatience. Struggled to put it away. This was the nature of family and wealth in Tevinter. In addition to not opening his own doors, some poor valet would be reassigned to shave and dress him too, soon enough. Complaining about it would only draw attention. He marched into the tower, looking toward the massive desk that dominated the center of the room.
And half expected to see the old man seated there, something venomous on his lips about how six years was a ridiculous amount of time spent in the snaring of a wife. Yet there was an empty chair, only. That desk you’d need an ox to move – now his. Another damn milord broke through the dark tread of his thoughts and Tiberius climbed after Tacitus in silence.
He’d never known about this room. A cell – or, perhaps vault was the better word. The way the air was close and very still, he wasn’t sure about its suitability for prisoners. Grandfather was there, painfully thin, dressed only in a filthy and ragged dressing gown. It was open, revealing a great deal of sagging skin and fine white hair. To Despair’s sight, an unfocused violet light nestled under the old man’s unbeating heart.
Such a weak elemental thing it was, hardly worth calling demon. When the Veil crumbled, had this parasite burden been too much for the frail old man? He could expel that creature with a drop of blood and a harshly worded sentence.
“Is appropriate really the word, Ursus? Needed, that I’ll grant you.” This seemed closer to blasphemy, to defilement. It was no less than the awful old bastard deserved. Tiberius sighed and turned away from his forebear’s wasted corpse. “Worry not. I wont begrudge you any actions taken to ensure the House’s survival.”
Tiberius began the climb back down, leaving the shade as he’d found it. It kept the body from rotting, if nothing else. He returned to the desk and ran his hands over the wood. This tower was mostly a library as it was – let it return to that. He and his wife would sleep elsewhere.
“You know, there was a time when I thought he’d kill me too.”
Tacitus nodded thankfully. There would be no inquest into his actions from before. Having to justify yourself to someone who is not required to listen to you is perhaps a version of hell he was unwilling to imagine. At best he'd have undergone one of the most grueling audits imaginable at most execution for him and all involved. He was surprisingly unprepared for the eventual end of his reign, and the horrors that could bring. He was lucky enough to hand it off unscathed. He had personally steered the house from the constant squabbles it had lived in into a kind of respected political neutrality that would have pissed off the Master of the house tremendously.
Speaking of the late Umbra, “He wanted to, toward the end.” he looked down for a moment. “I think he knew his time was nearing the end, or perhaps he needed someone more nearby because he tried to convince us that we should legitimize someone else.” It was inane to even consider and clear sign of mental decline, but it came up for a more frequently toward the end. “We managed to convince him that with you outside of the wall and no suitable heirs likely to survive the siege it was an” He paused and emphasized his next word “untenable solution. He finally was convinced to just wait you out, and then when he couldn't wait anymore we waited for him.” He gestured to the corpse scrabbling against the bars.
The stagnant air within the chamber quietly eddied in semi transparent swirls of dust. Surely the wouldn't stay here too long. “So what comes next Milord.” Both of them stood in this room no bigger than a closet, trying to figure out what happens next in their life, but only one of them got to pick where they go next. “You will probably need some time to be briefed and develop a long term strategy, but the second you walked through the door a clock started ticking. We will have to announce your return shortly and your ascension shortly thereafter. You will have to be prepared.” Probably not what expected on his return, but the truth none the less
“Mm. I’m sure.” He made a noncommittal hum and rounded the corners of the desk, dropping into Grandfather’s tufted chair. Tiberius had no shortage of cousins and even a few siblings still living – but none of them could quite match his talent for magic. The closest, his youngest half-sister, had married into House Serpentis. At least, that had been the state of things six years ago, and that wouldn’t do. The House couldn’t afford to be helmed by a weak mage – or, even worse, by one whose conflicting loyalties might threaten their entire existence.
A Serpentis and Umbra merger would be too dangerous to consider, something to threaten the careful balance of the High Houses. The High Houses came down on threats all together and harshly at that.
Anyway, now? With demons and spirits taking up residence in most any magic-gifted soul, who could say who might be strongest. Despair was only a middling sort of demon – as people kept taking pains to remind him.
“Well, thank you for that. I’m glad I won’t have to become a siblicide immediately. Or a patricide, at that.” Indeed, he was glad not to have to think of it further, to not have to wonder if he’d be capable of it. Probably, if pressed. He had to consider people other than his own sorry self for the first time in quite a while. Speaking of …
“You said earlier that my Mother is well? That’s good; you may announce away.” He pulled experimentally at the desk drawers. Top two, locked. The bottom file, open. He pulled out a dusty handle of brandy and held it up speculatively to the light. Tacitus Ursus was being rather presumptive, as if stars of Tiberius’s birth didn’t automatically mean that he could piss this all away if he wished.
“Probably best to keep Grandfather propped up until I’m prepared, then. But I’ll need the master bedroom made ready by tonight. He never used it anyway.” He bit the cork and pulled it out of the bottle. The stuff inside did not smell promising at all.
“First though, I’ll need your oath. Especially if you’re going to continue doing … Well, all the stuff you’ve been up to. Acting in the House’s name.” Tiberius set the questionable bottle aside and motioned Tacitus over. He held out his hands, to take the other man’s between them.
“Preparations will begin immediately then.” he was already moving the shelves back to where they started. He was minutes away from ending this deeply abrupt interruption and getting retiring for the day. An order to prep the bodroom almost bounced off of him, It had been prepped a few months ago, at best it would need to be dusted, which would take the lesser part of an hour and didn't have to be him to do it. He added it to ledger with a simple “Yes sir.” the release of stress was already starting, a few moments yet and he could unclench.
And just like that it was back. A few moments in his new reign and a formal request for a new oath. One before his official ascension, so one to the person, not the house. A demand powered by his right of future succession. He choked a moment, and stood still in the spot, a clear conundrum. He could take the oath, perhaps prove his oaths mean little, or refuse the oath and betray the house by refusing to betray his oath on a technicality. A moment of small import to Tiberius, but perhaps the biggest Tacitus would have to make. He choked a moment frozen in place
Finally he smiled. “All true fealty does.” he said back simply. The truth was that his last oath was broken for months, and he was working largely for personal affection and momentum. He stared up at Tiberius and tried to gauge the man, He seemed different from before his long sojourn. Hopefully more than he once was. So be it. He took a deep breath and knelt in place. “So long as I live, I, and my family, will uphold House Umbra and her interests, as well as the interests of it's Master; Tiberius Umbra. Long may both prosper.” It was a simple pledge, deeply unrehearsed but it covered the important parts. He'd have an opportunity to clean it up for the official ceremony, whenever that was, but it would hold for now.
It was very hard to keep a straight face, to keep his thoughts from wandering into doubt or self-ridicule. Tiberius knew no one in Minrathous had ever thought of him as a serious person. All the magic in the world would never be good enough, would never change anything.
But he took hold of Tacitus’ rough hands and listened gravely to his seneschal's improvised oath. (He’d never thought of the House as gendered before, like a ship.) Oaths needed to be reciprocal to have meaning, to be more than just a slave’s shackle. Silly as it was, he wanted to be a better lord than his Grandfather had been. Tiberius extemporized.
“I hear you, Tacitus Ursus. For your skill and your wisdom, I give you a place in my House and at my hearth. I grant you the protection of my name and my ear to your grievances. And if you should fall in my service, I will grant the same to your family.” A dreadful thing to consider, an unknown number of lives between his fingers right now and forever more. Tiberius smiled and let go of his hands. He pushed the chair back to get up.
“And I have one other gift, I suppose.” He strode toward the back of the tower, conjuring a silvery orb of light to see by. A warded display case lurked between the stacks, covered in dust. A sword of blackened silverite lay inside, gleaming sullenly. Tiberius shredded the protective spells with a dismissive motion of his other hand.
“Our glories do us no good locked away in the dark, wouldn’t you agree?” He lifted the blade out and reversed his grip, offering it to Tacitus hilt first with an elegant bow. “Do me the honor of carrying Light’s Sorrow for us again.” He’d need to get a sheathe made. The sword’s uncanny ability to slice through barrier spells made Tiberius a little uncomfortable, even though it was his to give or take away.
“I think it’s killed more mages than Grandfather saw years.”
