She fought the smirk that grew in the corners of her mouth alongside the fae's answer. How predictable. And how satisfying. She kept her features as unreadable as she could, maintaining eye contact with the fae despite the urge to read Arathea's reaction. As the king swept his gaze over the others, she stole a glance, hoping to see anger or mistrust growing in the bladesinger's features as the fae confirmed that it was, indeed, forcing them to make a choice. To act against their people. To contradict their own Speaker's decision. Disobeying the order that would have come, had Arathea the chance to ask. Seleniniel strained for insight from those blue eyes. Do you really believe him... that your Speaker is so evil to trade the existence of these people and the boons of their trees to linger a few more years on this plane... Even if you do, does it matter to a bladesinger? Would you do the same for the Khords? surely the bladesingers' memory of is not that short...

The king's answer confirmed her own suspicions too. This conflict--for clearly that was what it was--was much older and deeper than a few trivial centuries tacked onto the current Speaker's life. As he finished, Seleniniel took a deep breath and met his gaze, straining to keep any gloating from it. She held it a moment past what felt like glaring, then lowered her eyes and, just barely, her head. The aroma of acceptance, without the taste. Then raised her chin again and spoke.

"I apologize for my directness. My court manners are... out of practice." She crooked an eyebrow at Ysmiril, who seemed poised on the verge of panic the more Seleniniel spoke. "You have given us much to consider, but ultimately that will only change how we feel about this request, and not our compulsion to fulfill it. I owe you a boon, and a boon you shall have."

As she finished, she bowed in earnest, calling on long-unused muscle memory. As her face turned toward the floor, she stopped fighting, and let the smile come. 

It was a land unlike anything Arathea had ever seen before or known before, a foreign land that was mystical and enchanting. She had convinced herself that being surprised by this point was a feat close to impossible, and yet here she was in a place out of the bedtime stories she'd read to her little brother when she visited home. It was like the opposite of the Shadow Path, a realm of magic that was full of wonder instead of terror, it felt uplifting rather than dreadful. But she knew to keep her wits about her, this was a totally unknown foreign territory and she had to stay focused. There was no choice in the matter, straying could lead her with any sort of strange creature and she had no taste for that.

There were distractions, the "playful" fae attempting to ask questions, Arathea knew not to even begin to answer them. These things had risk, this whole place was full of risk, it became more and more clear to her that Ysmirel was an exception when it came to friendliness towards mortals. One thing she was not unique in however was her choice of clothing, all the people here seemed to have no regard at all for dignity or modesty in their cloth. Arathea decided it was just best to try to ignore it, staring would be rude and a horrible look of course. But soon they would meet a friend of Ysmirel, and soon it would be Isilmewen dressed in a way that the world was free to see her. It was beyond awkward, and Arathea felt the urge to palm her face and groan in disapproval but she held herself back. This is a fellowship of perhaps the most awkward people known to Slvaria, she thought to herself in silence.

The assistant would request the groups weapons be reliunquished, Arathea would comply, though it made her uncomfortable to be unarmed. It was common court manners she reminded herself, what mattered was being presentable and being polite. She told herself to treat this like she was meeting any other lord or great leader, though she understood how different this was. And soon those differences showed, once they reached the court it was clear just how different the fae kingdom seemed to operate. The king and queen stood as equals, and from what Arathea could tell they seemed to have reigned for far longer than any sylvari ruler, even the Speaker. It would make sense, they were immortal after all. It was incredible how young their forms seemed, and how it clashed with the look of age old wisdom held in their bright eyes. Arathea bowed, breathing in deep as she prepared to face the ancient rulers before her. 

It had been centuries the man who seemed to be king confirmed, centuries since a mortal was before this great court. Arathea was prepared for many surprises, but the first thing to catch her off guard hit. The king he... knew of the Bladesong, he mentioned it, more than that he mentioned the ability to cause the blade to glow. This was a secret, a ancient well kept secret only a select few would ever know and yet this man spoke about it so casually, immediately Arathea began questioning how much he knew and how he learned it. She had thought of how similar the Bladesong was to the fae way of magic, but this added fuel to the flames of her curiosity and suspicions. But she had to remain courtly, remain calm, she responded in a polite welcoming tone. "I practice my people's traditions, I have dedicated my life to preserving them. It is true that my song can enchant my blade, though..." she paused, feeling a pain at her heart, the memory of her loss striking at her yet again. "The blade I was connected to has fallen, and I have yet to build a new bond with a weapon so special."

The king spoke again, talking of the mission the group had been on, the task to retrieve the lost amulet from the human lands at the service of Tansathil Isil'nari. The fae knew all of this, of course they did, of course they had been watching. It made sense but it still carried some surprise, and more questions. Just what all could they know? It was far from comfortable to ponder. But discomfort would not end there as the topic turned to wytchwood, Arathea had learned of it first from her masters, then learned more from Ysmirel. Now it had come up again, but in an even more critical way, yet another life changing event would strike Arathea.

The fae spoke of how their world was dying, how the worlds were connected, and how the only path to save them had been lost. The wytchwood seeds, without them the fae would all die and be condemmed to nothingness, it was a terrifying thought. No heaven, no peace, just darkness, their memory left in the dust. This would have consumed Arathea if not for a far greater realization, the woman who Arathea had pledged a sacred oath that ran deeper than any other promise save perhaps for herotu to the slyvari people was... supposedly the reason why the fae have no seeds left. Immediately Arathea felt her heart tug at the accusation, it wasn't true, it couldn't be true. The Speaker was the mother of all life, she would never destroy she was a guardian. She felt her fist clench, but she stopped herself from losing control, instead she pondered it for a moment. Yes the Speaker had lived much longer than any slvari should but, she had always been taught that the God's simply believed that she must stay alive to continue her rule, that they had gifted the reat ruler such a long life.

Arathea was tryint to find any words but Seleniniel sent a clear signal, as their eyes met it was clear she was telling Arathea to wait, and wait she did. It gave her time to see what the fae monarchs would say, and to straighten her own thoughts. With hostility the mage questioned, a hostility part of Arathea related deeply to. Perhaps for the first time since meeting Arathea felt true solidarity with the mage, beyond being fragile partners it felt like they were actually on the same page. But the fae response would complicate these feelings even more, tearing her mind apart even further.

Like Ysmirel the king spoke of an alleged old friendship between the fae and the slyvari, an alliance she had never heard much anything about despite having studied the history of her people so deeply. Were the fae lying? Arathea wanted to believe so but for whatever reason she felt a clawing at the back of her mind, what if the things she was taught were the lies? It seemed insane, she wanted to purge the thought but the more she pondered the more things clicked. The Speaker had been becoming more and more absent, she seemed less and less involved as the decades turned into centuries. And the king did not just speak of some unkown fae friendship, he spoke of bonds with the khords, bonds with the humans who were more connected with nature. Arathea had long advocated for the rekindling of these friendships had she not? She agreed with the fae on that issue did she not?

She found herself waging a war in her mind, if the fae spoke true would that mean the Speaker was also a danger to the sylvari people? If she was would that mean her two greatest oaths would be in conflict with the other? She could not stop questioning herself. 

"I-" she began, but she did not understand what she wanted to say. She took a moment to think, then continued. "My pledge is to the Speaker, you speak of old ways I am sure understand this. My duty to her is ancient, my masters share it and their masters shared it, and the masters before them as well. I fear I may be betraying my oath should I do what you ask. Your Majesty, how can I even be certain you are speaking the full truth to me? With all respect I have spent almost my whole life studying history, yet I have never heard talk of this old alliance between our people's, nor the Speaker's relationship with these seeds." She managed a polite tone, a respectful tone even as she screamed at herself inside. Did this count as questioning the Speaker's authority, she wondered if the very words she had just spoken was an act of treason in and of itself.

Entering the lands of the Fae was quite an experience. Some spells and remedies used for healing could induce dilusions or hallucinations, and with all honesty, the Monk wasn't sure she hadn't perhaps contaminated her morning tea with one such remedy. The lands were simply not natural, not according to another Mae'rel had ever known. Trees that glew all kinds of colors and seemed to sparkle, water that was the most beautiful colors she'd ever seen. Though, after the initial wonder slipped away, she noticed that in the deep distance, that same blur of the shadow land remained. Like the land itself was dying, or being forgotten. It did not resonate with the Monk.

As they entered the Castle, Mae'rel found herself humbled once more, as she had been when first accepting the mission, except this time, this building was somehow even more grand than that of the Lord who had called upon them, though for good reason. She hardly paid mind to the Fae who taunted the group that Ysmiril dismissed, as she did not do anything without Ysmiril's instructions. Once the Fae had introduced them to her 'soul friend', Mae'rel simply complied with anything she said, mainly still in awe from the Castle and the lands themselves. 

The outfit that Isilmewen bore was stunning, just like that of Ysmiril. But of course, Mae'rel adverted her eyes when the initial staring was completed, as Isilmewen essentially presented herself as a follower of Oriana. She could not help but feel a slight rush to her cheeks as a result of the Ranger's new attire, but quickly, her attention focused instead onto the two Fae that entered, and she quickly bowed.

As the King and Queen told their story, Mae'rel couldn't help herself. She believed everything, at least, regarding their mission. It was so fantastical, the world they were in, the details they shared, and yet, Mae'rel didn't think it fantasy at all, and that was because of one core, deeply believable aspect. Greed. The greed that the Sylvari, the speakers, had to extend their life. The greed that Humans and Khords and Sylvari all held for the resources and space of the world. The greed that kept on taking, that did not care for those it left dead, that did not care for those it took from. The greed that only cared for itself. The greed which all mortals had, to some degree or another.

The details they provided, and the questions they answered, all made sense. Arathea may not have believed such, but of course the Sylvari would keep such from their history. Life was a gift meant to be cherished, preserved, but eventually, all would be called to their afterlifes. Lysora and Solanis's gift were not meant to be hoarded, taken from others, stolen. And yet, the Speaker seemed to have done just that. They were to kill an entire being of people to what? Simply extend their own lives a few centuries? They must be worshippers of Tyrannis herself. With each word and thought Mae'rel had, the Monk's heart grew sicker, and she prayed to Lysora, asking for her blessing to assist these people. She knew the Blue Lady would sympathize. She knew what she had to do.

"Your Majesties. I have been raised among children of the sun, but I am myself a child of the stars. Though I hold no position to do so, I offer my sincerest apologies for all the wrong both have done to you and your kin. Had you only found me sooner, I would have helped in any way I can, regardless of a debt. I owe no allegiance to the houses of my native land, so I will return these seeds to you, or I shall meet my Goddess."

Mae'rel stood up straight, and offered a bow as she held her pendant in her hand, pledging her allegiance and her life to such a cause. 

Ruadhrí shifted his hulking weight into his hip, the only sound he had made ever since entering the crystalline structure being the creak of leather on his straps and armor stretching and rubbing. From Isil'nari manor to here Ruadhrí had known he was not one for the sophisticated way of life, so he knew it'd be better if he would just keep his head down, jaw clenched and ears up for what needed to be done.

The pair of poly-colored royals sung a song of sorrows in voices absolute on their sides of the spectrum, one rich and powerful and the other warm and soothing. The tale spun in silk of magisong made Ruaghrí feel empathy-almost grief for the losses of the fae's kin, unnatural and unneeded, something his own kin had become all too well acquainted with from generation to generation. Their song also ,made him grow a distaste for the sylvari-their greed and hypocricy leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. So much for the people of the forest.

Ruadhrí's seasoned brown eyes and sharpened antique ears consumed the objective the original royals wanted from us and it surprisingly was the exact same as the one mr. Isil'nari gave - save a pit-stop before delivering it to the good sylvari representative back at his manner where this had all started - so Ruadhrí was 100% on board with this plan to help these creatures he felt surprising relation to.

"Hypocrites and egoists have no place to steal from you, good lady and lord. It'd be my honor and obligation to help those who have helped me, especially considering your history and what's at stake. You have my word mr. uh... Rhagin, I'll get those seeds to you, farmers honor."

Isilmewen stood still, as frozen as the court's chilling air. It was a practised posture. Learned long ago, in halls both different and the same as this one. But for the years of practise she had, it didn't steady the quickness of her heart, or slow her breath.

She heard little past the pounding in her ears, but what reached her brought a muted relief. The group, it seemed, was mostly aligned. In the result if nothing else. There was life in seeds. Life she would have loved to see flourish, if it were in her ability to aid.

But she didn't speak. Somehow, she didn't think such a line was safe. Isilmewen didn't think anything was, right now. 

They had been welcomed. They were guests. Now, they were what Seleniniel had feared. What she had, perhaps unwittingly, demanded they become. Mere prey to the whim and will of the court.

And so, when the Queen asked her question, Isilmewen heard it. Not in its words, but in its weight. It was not a question to be answered with speech. 

Her hands moved before her thoughts could catch them. Another well practised gesture, drawn from memory. A curtsy, low and sincere. 

A signal of her understanding, and acceptance.

Her promise.

Perhaps these monarchs were just as crooked as many monarchs were. Perhaps they were lying or excluding critical details. But at it's core, the debt said they only need to pay it. They did not need to know all these details. The idea the Fae would lie about the details they further provided was foolish. Unless the Fae were these truly awful creatures, which Mae'rel struggled to believe. She was much more inclined to believe that was the seemingly immortal Speaker. 

Her view did not change. Her passion did not change. Yes, they still had a duty to fulfill their vow, regardless of the information provided. The Fae were simply stating that. The group had willingly bound themselves to these terms by saving Ruadhiri. As such, Mae'rel was unbothered by their statements, but she felt that perhaps they weren't meant to bother her, and moreso the Mage, who had repeatedly expressed her distate.

"Of course, your Majesty. I must ask one last question, if you would allow me to."

(OOC: Assuming they ask)

"Will you maintain any contact before we reach the Tomb? And further on that, how will we return to you once we have the pendant? After all, capable as we may be, we are not able to reach this place on our own."

So, amongst the members of the party, an accord had been reached to accept the task set before them by the fae court. Of course, with acceptance or death being the only options available, the choice was a simple one. He would happily, and without question, deny the Speaker additional decades to her already overlong life for the chance to enjoy a few more of his own. It was a matter of self-preservation as far as Dak was concerned, the propaganda and politics of it all be damned.

Others in the troupe had concurred just as readily as he had, though Isilmewen and Rosariel cited preserving the balance of nature, Mae’rel invoked her goddess’ teachings, and Ruadhri stood on his code of honor. Though, Seleniniel and Arathea chose different tacts in weighing their decisions than the rest. As was her way, the mage tested the court’s patience and courtesy by bluntly demanding ancient details and facts to support the fae’s assertions… there were a few moments during that exchange in which the cid was all but certain that they would all die here in this chamber… but, in the end, the dour wizard conceded if only to honor the promise she had sworn in exchange for the bofear’s life. The bladesinger, too, challenged the royal fae with queries (albeit with more polite diplomacy than Seleniniel had mustered), weighing her duty to the Speaker and the Sylvari Kingdoms against the task set before them; even going as far to question the veracity of the tales that Rhäärghan and Cwynthien had spun…

Just say yes, arwenamin, Dak willed silently, absently chewing on the stem of his pipe as the tension mounted and Arathea continued wrestling with her decision, No one in the Empire need know of any of this, after all, and what they don’t know can’t be used to challenge your loyalty. So, we bring back the pendant and it’s empty; who, other than us, can say it wasn’t that way when we found it?

Despite herself, she found herself liking the queen the more she talked… certainly more than her male counterpart. He had that same tiresome paternalism, a longsuffering parent chiding his petulant children… revealing an arrogance so deep seated it was surely undetectable to them. The casual expectation of acceptance, obedience from the mortals, merely because they were. To chide them.. the ones the fae had watched, calculated, waited, sprung their plan, forced their debt to ensure they'd betray their bond to her House.. or more… she eyed the still contemplative bladesinger... To take such steps, why not manufacture the peril too? Ysmiril had admitted she’d let Ruadhri suffer. To build leverage… To find them in the first place, to know of their task, more than they did… If all that, why not the peril too? She contemplated the wytch with his twisted magic and his distorted sigil.. a shadowy version of something familiar.. with his… unnatural.. age.

It didn't matter, really. The fae acted to preserve their interests and she’d do the same of hers. The tools at their disposal were unequal, but she’d gladly add the fae’s arrogance to her quiver. That arrogance that took offense at their questions, that they didn't  swallow the fae’s accusations and thank them as they marched off to do such noble bidding with a curtsy and a smile. Considering the whole showy ordeal.. and the truth of the queen's words that none of it was necessary… it occurred to her that perhaps the decision to construct their debt in such a way had not been without debate among the fae… perhaps the king wished to ease whatever conscious a creature such as he had in the hopes his debtors would unburden him of any guilt he carried at the means to their ends… Perhaps. She'd gladly deny him that. And remember the arrogance that produced such offense at those who would soon hold the fragile salvation of their people in their hands. Their hand. 

She smiled inwardly as the queen finished. An honest answer, finally.

She mostly ignored Mae’rel’s question and the fae’s answer to that too. Logistics, and the least of Seleniniel’s concern for the moment, as she studied Arathea’s eyes. She was the key. But for now, Seleniniel hoped, ironically, that the bladesinger could swallow her principles long enough to exit the throne room… not that Seleniniel was particularly worried that the fae would act against their captive saviors.

She finally returned to the queen’s question.

“I do” she paused, trying to recall the proper honorific with the sliver of her brain still tracking the conversation, but giving up after little effort and settling for a bow that stopped well short of the one she'd owe to her own monarch… the one supposedly stealing the boons of the legendary tree from fae and syl alike.

Yes. She understood. One day, so would the queen...

Arathea was glad to see the possibility of full conflict between Seleniniel and the fae monarchs was avoided, but that was not the main thing to grab her attention. The king had not only recognized the bladesong and the abilites it provided, he had made comments that were difficult to interpret. He clearly understood the bladesong, yet he questioned how one could disgrace a blade, which she felt was obvious. He called it a tradition the sylvari tradition added to a gift bestowed upon them by the fae, a story Arathea had never heard before. As far as she knew the bladesong was a purely sylvari tradition, to say otherwise felt almost disgraceful... yet the king spoke with such confidence.

The king and queen would answer her questions, but not in a way that was satisfying in the slightest. Her whole world was being shattered, broken, destroyed by these words. If they were true than everything she knew was a lie and her oaths were in direct conflict with each other, yet the only evidence the fae could offer was just to say "Trust me, I know what I'm taling about" without any clarification. Arathea wanted to be furious, she wanted to feel anger, yet by this point she just felt empty.

So much had happened, it was weighing on her. She had lost her blade, disgraced it, she had seen a horror beyond this world and almost faced a fate worse than death, and now everything she knew was being called into question. She wanted to cry out and scream, she wanted to flip all the tables in the room and ram her head into the wall, but instead she just sighed. She didn't know what to say, what to do, how to react; she was lost yet again.

She wanted to believe the fae were just lying, yet the way they spoke said that they earnestly believed their words. She weighed her options, she really couldn't say no or else she would die. Yet if she said yes would it be treason? Or would it only be treason if she followed through with the mission, but would treason be an acceptable price if it saved these lives? If the Speaker had already fallen? Arathea didn't know, and the not knowing dug into her soul.

In a voice that sounded defeated and tired more than anything else she spoke, brething in deep before she raised her voice. "I understand, and I will follow this mission..."

Ruadhrí was less than pleased with Seleniniel's episode of disrespect for their host for as far as Ruadhrí saw it, we were in their home, used their power to braing him back from the brink of death-something he had never even dreamed of happening-and now they were kind enough to give us an idea of why they want us to do this task when they have no obligation to tell us that.

Ruadhrí's eyes narrowed slightly at the queen's inetjection, irritated and provocative though understandable as for our wizards disregard for the courteous manner. You can't just go down to their level, that doesn't change anything Ruadhrí thought to himself, shaking his head.

The fae's quest required faith-something the wizard had a remarkable lack of-which Ruadhrí had been clinging to since that first step away from Faelixham, carrying him through every storm, every raging inferno and every skirmish of men and monster. Placing faith in these beings, as old as the grains of dirt the first pathfinders trowled would be an honor.

After the king spoke, but one word returned from the old ox-man. "As clear as the sky is blue"