Hyperion Evergrowing

The ascent leading up to the palace in Varan city was Flavia’s favourite place in the entire lakeside settlement. It was lined with beautiful arrays of multicoloured flowers, artfully sculpted statues painted in lavish golds and silvers, and the multitude of endlessly flowing fountains added a bubbling ambiance to the walk that threatened to transport her to another world. It reminded her of the gardens and courtyards back home, though a hundred times more regal.

The shimmering domes of the palace fought for the attention of any making their way upwards, and the reflecting of the early morning sun off their metallic and gemstone construction did wonders to constantly remind her of just what kind of den she was marching into. The rhythmic clank of the two guards walking in solemn lockstep at her heels was another reminder, this time of her duty. She didn’t need protectors, not here, not unless the painters working to restore the artistic integrity of some of the more timeworn statues were assassins in disguise.

When she finally reached the base of the grand stairs leading up to the palace proper she beheld the sight of two dozen guards standing in two straight backed lines, each flanking one side of the approach. It didn’t escape her notice that half of the palace's protectors wore the same red and gold as her own two guards. The others had the regal purple of the royal family, and similar colours were displayed from hanging banners, but these too were often paired with red and gold copycats.

The flanking guards all saluted in unison, and none so much as hinted that she wasn’t welcome or expected. The last time she had visited, there had been no sign of house Vin’s influence, but now it was hard to escape the reality of her family’s rising fortune and status. While Flavia had been managing her house’s response to the undead crisis in the west, deploying the adventuring companies under her family’s employ and coordinating the defensive effort, her father had been here, along with many of her house’s more senior members. Playing politics wasn’t a term she enjoyed using, but if it was a game, they were winning.

Now that turbulence had come and gone, and she had received word that the planned expedition into the lands that had formerly belonged to the kingdom of Pherin was no longer needed, her grandfather had insisted, as the daughter of house Vin’s heir, that she should integrate herself into the royal court. This was a game that ordinarily, if the trajectory of her life hadn’t been altered suddenly with the death of her brother, that she likely would have had to take part in far more often.

The younger her would have been delighted at the splendour and spectacle, enchanted by the music and outfits, and overwhelmed by the sheer grandeur of it all. As she ascended the final steps and double checked that she was just as presentable as her maids had wanted her to be, she forcibly reminded herself of the difference twelve years could make, and just how quickly everything could change. Her mother had likely walked the same journey she had just completed a thousand times, but that did little to ease her worries.

She took a deep breath, then stepped inside.

===

Flavia forced a smile and dipped her head slightly in a loose approximation of respect. Not for the first time she wondered what would break first, her fist, or the nose of the Patriarch of house Yerl. Their houses were allies, almost everyone in the great hall of the Varan city palace was either a friend or in a position of subordination to either house Vin or one of the other main players, and the tense political climate within their country made any alliances valuable. But that didn’t stop her from wanting to deck the older man in his smug, stupid face. Her brother, if he were still here, surely would have already done so. But Flavia couldn’t, it would be both politically idiotic, and she also lacked the physical strength, so she would have to satisfy herself by imagining the sight of blood flying and the sound of cartilage crunching as she wiped the condescending half sneer off his face.

“My dear.” Bartol Yerl drawled, all but leering over the goblet of wine he had raised to his lips. “I dare say it would be a perfect union. Our houses would become closer than ever, and I can attest to my son’s… affections towards you.”

Flavia had to fight down the sudden need to gag. Erik Yerl was like his father, a disgusting weasel of a man, and his idea of ‘good natured fun’ was exposing himself to serving girls or challenging farmers a quarter of his level to ‘friendly spars’. A few years prior she had entertained a similar proposal from Bartol, at the behest of her father, and the resulting meeting with the man’s son had been nothing short of excruciating. His ‘the death of your brother made you more beautiful’ poem had not been the romantic gesture of endearment he had expected, and the fact he had mistaken her appalled expression for an encore request had not helped his attempt to court her in the least. No. It had been that incident, along with several others, that had convinced Flavia to seek companionship outside of the noble circles.

“Our houses already walk side by side.” She demurred, and the resulting scowl from the older man made it clear that her backhanded insult had landed. Their houses were certainly allies, but they were not equal. No, there wasn’t a noble family in the palace that had a higher standing than house Vin, even the royals, fallen and politically weak as they were, could only claim equivalence. Everyone would agree, but privately the writing was on the wall.

“Perhaps I will speak of this with your father.” Bartol said, his own smile as forced as hers.

“When he isn’t attending the lord regent, I’m sure the Vin patriarch would love to have your company.” Flavia said, blindly plucking a fried roll off a nearby tray. She chewed slowly, then dismissed the man with a “Thank you for your time, lord Yerl.”

He stalked off, and was immediately replaced by the next person who wanted her attention. Nobody was so blatant to que up to see her, or at least, not in an obvious line. Instead the lords and ladies of Varan loitered throughout the hall, mingling in conversation while keeping an ear and eye focused on her at all times. The order in which they would approach her was based on their perceived station, and remembering who was in and out of favour was as exhausting as it was impossible.

The lady of house Syre was a sharp and dignified woman, and her position was a rarity among the court. Matriarchs were uncommon within Varan noble society, and it was generally accepted that whenever they did take power they would allow themselves to be succeeded quickly and quietly. Flora Syre had defied those norms, and had risen to become quite a figure of prominence. Flavia liked the older woman, and considered her somewhat of a friend, though with how politically focused the Matriarch of house Syre was, a true friendship would likely never be possible.

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Not when there’s power to be gained. Or taken. She thought ruefully as Flora excused herself. The sharp clacking of polished boots on marble sounded from behind her, and Flavia let out a mental sigh. There were well over a dozen people in this room she would rather give herself a lobotomy via spoon than speak with. Bracing herself she turned, fake smile already plastered on her face, hoping it wasn’t one of them.

To her surprise it wasn’t. Instead a man in sharp military dress, a decorative pauldron over one shoulder and a pair of short blades at his hip marched up to her, then stood to attention. He was one of the king's soldiers, indicated by the purple highlights of his uniform, and the fact he had gone to her over all others was not lost on anyone in the room.

“My lady.” He said, voice carrying. “Forgive my rudeness in interrupting your business. I bring an urgent message for the lord regent.”

Flavia blinked, then years of training overrode her shock. “Yes, of course.” She said, her eyes quickly darting to the pins representing his rank. “This way, captain. The regent has ordered none interrupt him this morning, but he will make an exception.”

She was grateful for the excuse to leave, but also worried, from her experience ‘urgent message’ almost always indicated bad news. The man gestured behind him, and what looked like a pair of communications [Operator]s scurried into the meeting hall, practically running past all the important men and women not so discreetly shuffling towards the large double doors where the regent and the king’s personal council were being held. The quartet of guards glanced at her and the newcomers, then one silently slipped through the doors. A minute later she, the captain, and the two nervous looking [Operator]s were admitted entry.

“What is the meaning of this?” The king said as they entered, only to be interrupted by a fit of coughs. “We’re discussing important matters of state. Isn’t that right, regent?”

“Correct as always, your majesty.” The regent, Flavia’s grandfather, said, stroking his wispy beard. Despite his advanced age, the man looked to be in better health than the skinny and pale king. To his side, the regent’s son, her father, stepped forward, his eyes briefly flicking to her.

“Speak, soldier. What is this urgent message?” Galeus Vin said. He was a tall, tanned man. His features were hardened, almost chiselled, but Flavia had always remembered how soft and kindly he was. Or had been. The death of his wife, and then son, had changed her father, now he stood in a manner similar to the regent, a man he had once hoped to never emulate. But the duty of leading house Vin had altered his priorities, shifted his attitude towards those around him.

The officer saluted. “We received word an hour ago from the southernmost communications outpost. The empire is under attack from the west, the invasion started last night, around dusk, and is still ongoing with several key cities having become under assault.”

Everyone fell silent, and the atmosphere within the well lit chamber darkened significantly. The aura’s of several high level individuals suddenly sharpening made it hard to breathe, and Flavia knew she was suffering more than most. Noble authority hung heavy, pressing down on the lower levelled people in the room. Her own training and decently high [Charisma] helped her stay on her feet, but behind her, both [Operator]s almost collapsed, and several loitering servants fell over. Even the officer looked shaken, though he regained his bearings almost as quickly as she did.

But nobody was worse off than the king. He was a young man, a few years into his teens, but his ragged and sickly appearance made him look twice his age, and his inconsistent constitution often made him unsuitable to leave his room, let alone lead a country. He fell forward, all but sprawling onto the large rounded desk, his scrambling hands disrupting paperwork and sending carved miniatures representing different assets tumbling. The king let out a choked gasp, and Flavia saw several of his advisers wrinkle their noses in disapproval, despite being the source of his discomfort. Theodore Skarn was a weak man, and a weaker ruler. His family had been on the decline for decades, but the enslaver war had all but crippled their authority.

Everyone lost family.

She mused darkly, watching as the king collected himself.

“W-what do you mean, invasion? By who? Are we also under attack?” He spluttered, glancing nervously at the regent as if for answers.

“The message we received was from the Cerres imperial garrison just south of the Varan mountains.” The braver of the two communications officers said with a shaky bow, recovering now that the aura’s of those in the room were once again restrained and controlled. “Apparently it was a simultaneous assault across all the western provinces, but details were sparse. The report says that even the Academy suffered an attack.”

“Has the Empire requested our aid?” The regent asked, placing a comforting hand on the king’s shoulder.

“No. Not yet, Lord Vin.” The captain said, withdrawing a scroll from a pocket inside his uniform. “The message’s transcription is written in full here.”

“Thank you, soldier. Dismissed.”

The captain saluted again, then he and the two [Operator]s swiftly made their escape. Flavia turned to leave, but her grandfather held out a hand. “Stay, Flavia. This is an important learning opportunity for you, and I will not have you miss it.”

“Yes. Of course.” She said, trying not to show how uncomfortable she was.

“What do we do, Leif? An attack of this scale… It’s bad, right? Worse than you predicted?”

“Indeed, your highness. I am uncertain how the Republic has made such a broad attack against our esteemed allies. As for what we do… Hmmm, we find ourselves in a delicate situation. With Epidor having grown closer to the northern tribes, it would be unwise to turn our backs on them.” The regent said, both palms splayed out onto the table. Flavia knew her grandfather, and she knew when he was scheming. Well, he was always scheming, but his face only adopted a faint hint of a smile when he had something cruel in mind.

“Will they take advantage and attack us?” The king asked, sounding horrified. “First the ants, then the undead, now this? It’s like the end of the world!”

“The world is not ending, and Epidor will not dare attack us if we reinforce our eastern border. As for sending aid to the Empire, we will do no such thing. Not until they request such of us, and even then we must be canny in our response. After the Empire’s failings to provide… adequate assistance in our times of need, we are under no obligation to go above and beyond the nature of our relationship.”

The king nodded along, as if he had been thinking the exact same thing. Flavia pitied him, how could she not. He was a lame sheep among hungry wolves, it was as if the room was full of buzzards circling overhead, all but waiting for him to keel over.

An advisor leaned forward. “Epidor received the Empire’s aid first, and most prominently during the enslaver attack on our lands. Mekrys will be expecting their aid now, in return for the favour.”

“Indeed.” The lord regent said. “Tell me, granddaughter, what do you make of this?

Flavia schooled her features, meeting the man’s gaze. She knew what she wanted to say, but she also knew what he, and to a lesser extent her father expected her to say. The attention of every important person in the meeting, the king excluded, was on her.

“Since we are not the targets of this conflict, it is likely our rivals will bear the brunt of the cost of war. One could consider this an opportunity, if approached with cautious deliberation.” She said, earning low murmurs of approval, likely for her grandfather's sake than her’s.

“How many troops do we expect Epidor to send south to Aid the empire?” Another advisor questioned, and before long the scattered carvings had been returned to their positions on the table.

It made her sick to know that this was almost exactly how those in power had acted during the last war. The jockeying for position and power, seeking opportunity in the misfortune of others. Flavia’s eyes met those of her father, and Galeus nodded almost imperceptibly, though his expression looked grim. She tuned most of the conversation out, only paying attention to the key decisions being made.

Another war. What will I lose this time?