A series of several rooms, all fairly posh. The queen is, as always, fond of luxury. It's obvious this time, though, that nothing has been replaced for quite some time. The front room is a parlor, consisting of several formal but comfortable chairs, a desk, and a large, curtained window.

---

Ionnya

---

Faresylia takes a seat, yawning a little as she does. It's not late, but it's been a very busy couple of days. "Ehm...excuse the clutter. With all the excitement, I suppose that no one's gotten to cleaning it today." She's not as livid as she once would have been.

"Don't worry, Faresylia. This," Meir'cillus grins as he locates a chair to sit in, "is the lap of luxury compared to the tents I've been in the last several years. He just sits for a few seconds, looking around, breathing in the air of his homeland, of his home. "It sounds strange, I'm sure," he says, quite suddenly, not really knowing why, "but... I've missed you, lady Persin."

Faresylia smiles. "I've missed you, too. For the obvious political reasons, and, well...because you're you. I was a silly git when I got this job. Blood's a lousy way to pick leaders, but...here I am. And you were never shy about keeping me straight. Even if I could complain quite loudly about it." She grins a little.

"You've grown up in my absence." Meir'cillus's smile warms somewhat, though he's not entirely sure why. "You know, I used to dream of returning here. Not consciously, only at night, in my weaker moments, I dreamt of returning to this land. Maybe offering myself to the service of the Temple. I certainly never foresaw all of this."

"No one could have." Faresylia's eyes glaze over just a little, introspective. "I mean...we knew that Vayen would do something eventually, but...I don't know. I guess I kind of thought that he wouldn't 'interpret' our treaties quite so much."

Meir'cillus has a sudden thought, a memory. "Vayen summoned me," he tells the Queen, "after Xayu's death. After things settle here, I'm going to confront him myself."

Faresylia's eyes widen a little, looking back to Meir'cillus. "You can't seriously be thinking of going right into his fortress, are you? I mean, considering the circumstances...he'll kill you!"

A silent moment passes, a moment that sees Meir'cillus expression run a gamut of emotions more expressive than those he ever wore in his days as Dual. When he speaks it is slowly, but clearly and without regret.

"He already has."

Faresylia takes a moment to figure out what he means, then closes her eyes, face legitimately pained. "I'm...so sorry. About what happened to Rey'deyono. I don't know if anything we did could have helped, but...there are some things that might hve. That we didn't do." Like marching the Ionnyan army against T'serkon's. Suicide.

"You survived. That's more than anyone could have expected of this city." Meir'cillus looks away for a moment. "We have a plan. I'm not going up against him blindly... even I'm not so stupid as that. But I tell you so that, in case it does go badly, you'll be prepared."

Faresylia's quiet a moment at that. "So...you really are going to just go and get yourself killed? You didn't come back to be Lord Yerosyn again?" She looks about like she feels, a great hope being just dashed against the rocks.

"I don't..." he had been about to say I don't plan on getting killed. But it's a lie, and he knows it.

"Faresylia, I don't... deserve my seat back. I abandoned my country, when it needed me. I abandoned her. I abandoned you." he shakes his head, eyes closed. "There can be no forgiveness for that."

"But you can make things better again," she urges quietly. "You were always good at that sort of thing."

The warlord is silent for a little while. Too long, really.

"Let me think about it. Vayen... there are others who could challenge him," he admits, "but not many."

Faresylia nods a little, still unhappy. "Well...whatever you decide, remember that I'd be happy to have you sitting alongside me again."

Meir'cillus looks up, gazes at her, somewhat confused. "I don't..." he looks away. God dammit. Why is she making this so hard? Why is it so hard at all? "I don't know what to say, Faresylia."

"Just...think about it. Okay?" She smiles a little. "Gods...I need to get some alcohol stocked in this room."

He nods. Slowly, resignedly. "If it weren't so dangerous to go out alone, I'd ask you to a pub."

"Well, the thought's appreciated, anyway." Faresylia rubs a scar on her hand thoughtfully...an attempted assassination not by Vayen, but by her own conflicted people. "Anyway, T'serkon was delayed, blizzard. He won't be here for at least an extra three or four days."

Meir'cillus closes his eyes. Thinks. That's why it was so hard. Fate is intervening in his life yet again.

"Then I have a few days to try and make... make my indiscretions up to you." He gazes at her, eyes soft, but meaningful. Let her draw her own conclusions.

Faresylia still isn't one to make too many connections on her own, and blinks. "Ehm...I'm not sure what you mean."

Meir'cillus grins, sidelong. "To make up for treating you like a pest years ago. And to... express my appreciation for your helping me when Xenald could have destroyed me." The drow stands, again offering his arm. "My Queen. Let's go find something to do."

Faresylia smiles and takes the offered arm. "Well. I was a pest. And let's." She smiles a little.

Meir'cillus walks, but he has no idea where he's going. He doesn't know what he's doing, or why... just that it feels nice. His heart isn't so empty... perhaps he had taken Faresylia's friendship for granted all those years ago. "Tell me, Faresylia, does my old parlor still stand?"

"It's there, though I'd be lying if I'd say it had remained untouched as a monument to your return or anything like that. Actually, that's the room that Xenald declared his." She blinks. "Feel free to gut it for practical reasons or pure, happy desecration."

Meir'cillus nods slowly. "It sounds like the place to go." He heads off that way, letting himself go, letting his mind wander. The memories of this place, the smell of the castle... he feels like he is home. 

"Hrm...I don't have they key for it," Faresylia ponders ahead of time. "Come to think of it, I don't know where it went..."

Meir'cillus grins. "Oh?" He stops walking, though he doesn't let loose her arm. "Then, we'll go somewhere else. Any ideas?"

"Mm...we can still give it a try. I'm sure Damien knows how to get in."

Meir'cillus blinks. "He's alive?" He's not sure whether he's pleased to hear this or not. "Shall we go find him? I think he'll be... eh... thrilled to see me." He squeezes Faresylia's arm, unconsciously. 

"Oh, I can't imagine he's too far." Faresylia grins. "He's as protective as ever, you understand."

"You have no idea how glad I am to, ah, hear that, Faresylia." Meir'cillus tries to keep from rolling his eyes. "Let's track him down then?"

"You don't have to," Damien responds gruffly from behind them, arms folded, as ever. "I have the key with me." He doesn't greet Meir'cillus as anyway. Wonderful. Just when he'd finally gotten rid of that ever-present threat to Faresylia, now he comes back with that freaky-ass demi-human.

"Ah, the help." Meir'cillus lets loose of Faresylia's arm, lest Damien get any ideas, and tilts his head. "Good to see you alive," he adds, not really meaning it as much as he could.

"And you too, Meir'cillus." No 'Lord Yerosyn' until he can't get away with not. He starts off down the hall without another word. Faresylia sighs inwardly.

The drow doesn't speak to Damien. He does glance at Faresylia though.

"He never liked me," he says, "don't worry about it too much."

"I care only for Lady Persin's safety," the bodyguard states crisply, not saying anything after that. He'll have to be more civil towards the former Lord Yerosyn, though,

"Yes, but I'd forgotten how interesting it can get at times." She stops when Damien does, outside of Meir'cillus's old parlor, and smiles a little. "Well. Deja vu?"

"Sort of," Meir'cillus smiles a bright, mischevious smile. "Normally Damien would be bent over at this point."

The bodyguard flushes as much as he can for his skin tone, but grits his teeth and, though coming just as close to crushing a key as it's humanly possible to do, just opens the door for them. "Milady Dual...and guest." He bows lightly, strictly to Faresylia. 

Meir'cillus grins. "He's unhappy because I never wrote." Reaches back. Swats Damien firmly on the ass. 

The human snarls, straightening up, startled. "Do not press your luck, Master Meir'cillus. I'll overlook that this once, but you are not currently the Dual and were you not a guest of my Queen's, you'd already be in the dungeon!"

Faresylia is trying desperately not to giggle, and only half succeeding.

"Damien," Meir'cillus blinks, sounding as serious as he ever head. "I think she already knows you're into the kinky stuff. We can still go to the dungeon."

This makes everything so much better for the drow. It's nice to let off steam once in a while.

Damien growls. Were Faresylia not here...well, in her presence, he wishes that he hadn't said even so much. He just assures the queen that he'll be nearby and then stalks off, trying to look less furious than he really is.

Meir'cillus grins, though he knows he oughtn't to be making enemies any more than he can help. "So, Lady Persin," he looks at her, "you can laugh out loud now."

She doesn't want to. And she doesn't mean to. But when he says that...she simply cracks up. "Meir'cillus, that was awful! No wonder he doesn't like you!" This she barely manages to choke between waves of laughter.

"I should hope not, else I might be in for a very uncomfortable late night visit at some point." Meir'cillus smiles, his heart brightening a bit at the laughter and carousal... he could swear that his drow-ness is abandoning him. 

Faresylia smiles. "Well?" She points to the open door. "Want to officially evict him?" Actually, considering that the man she's joking about so casually was murdered just two days before, her though is that she's gotten a disturbing hint of drow in her.

Meir'cillus smiles. He takes a step into the room, suddenly very concerned that it might be booby-trapped. Xenald was the kind of low-life prick that might just do that. He looks around, smelling the air, wondering about a million things.

There are traps...but they've been cut. Faresylia bites her lip a little, nudging a thin, lax wire with her foot. "He was killed in here," she explains.

"Ah," Meir'cillus nods, then shakes his head, stepping back. "Let's not go in here, then. Let's go... anywhere else." He looks at her, eyes both soulful and pleading, as if he's forgotten something of terrible importance.

Faresylia's a little taken aback by his expression. "Well, the courtyard gardens are still intact. Ehm...Meir'cillus, are you all right? You seem...off."

He blinks. His eyes clear, throat opens up. "I'm fine," he assures her, "just fine. You... ah... yes. The courtyards will be fine." He looks back into the room, and shakes his head as he pulls the door shut. 

---

Faresylia picks at her food quietly, though with the same courtly manners she's always so thrived on. She finally looks up. "Are you sure you have to go?"

"Yes..." for Meir'cillus, the decision hadn't come easily. He'd been to Rey'deyono's grave a dozen times, made fun of Damien a dozen more, and found more comfort in Faresylia's company than he had anyone's in the last three years. But... Vayen looms over everyone's head. If nothing else... "... I have to protect Ionnya, as the warlord that I've become."

Faresylia nods a little, then forces a smile. "Well. Just so long as you promise to take care of yourself. You've already gotten more done for Ionnya in the last week than has happened in the last year. So...I think I speak for the nation when I say, we'll all be praying that you get back all right."

The utensils that he had been holding drop to the table. He knows that he probably won't come back at all, at least out of a box. His eyelids seal shut, but still, tiny droplets seep through, to roll down his cheeks. There's nothing that he can say or do, even though he knows that he'll be leaving soon. He just... thinks that he should have simply gone to Vayen, and saved himself this horrible guilt.

Faresylia's eyes widen just a little. She's never seen him cry...even through all the terrible things that have happened through his reign as Dual and now...she'd never even been able to even imagine him crying. She closes her eyes, and, not really thinking, takes her napkin daintily from the her lap, sets it neatly on the table, and responds with something she'd never done either. She stands up, walks over to him, and simply hugs her normally stern compatriot. She doesnt' try for any words.

Meir'cillus is quiet, despite the maelstrom in his mind. He lets his head lean upon her, taking some measure of comfort in an act that, a year ago, he would've growled over. He wants to say something profound. But what? What wouldn't sound... questionable, now?

Faresylia just swallows hard. "Well. Good luck tomorrow." That said, she simply releases him, and takes her leave, not wanting to lose control, herself.

And she's gone, just like that. Meir'cillus gathers himself, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. 

Idiot.

Once he's got himself together, he decides that it's time to face his fate, and heads outside in search of the elven general and the 'plan'.

T'narian has stuck quite to his own little corners of the planet since they'd come to Ionnya, quick to bow out of the political matters of the nation. He's actually doing nothing more than writing in a journal or log, whichever is the nicer way to think of it, when Meir'cillus happens upon him. The elf starts to smile, but then doesn't at Meir'cillus's current state of being. "We did finish modifying the orb. It should serve you well. Here, I'll show you to it." That said, he sprinkles some pounce over the ink, stands up, and heads for the door, bound for his unit's two wizards.

Meir'cillus follows, fighting with himself as to whether he cares about all this or not. He walks quietly, eyes dead and empty, breathing only for the sake of having something to occupy his mind.

T'narian smiles at one of the other elves and, after saying something in their own language, is shown to a box. He removes the reconfigured orb rather gingerly, and raises it for Meir'cillus to see. "The energies have been altered and rerouted...it was configured to affection everyone but Vayen. Now, it will affect only him. You have only to concentrate a small bit of will on the center of the orb...tell it to function, and it will. Within its field, Vayen's magic will be paralyzed by any of our predictions."

"So," Meir'cillus grumbes, "all that I have to do is get this thing close to him, and burn him into dust. Would I be correct in that assumption?"

"Something like that. Note that it probably won't harm him physically, unless his life is closely tied to his sorcery, and any blows will have to be dealt by hand. I have no conclusive evidence as to how skilled Vayen is or isn't in the martial arts."

The warlord shrugs. "Will this orb affect my magic? If not, then his ability is a non-issue."

"It shouldn't, but that's only if it functions perfectly. There is a chance that it will affect your magic as well if there were any mistakes made."

"Fantastic." Meir'cillus nods, as if he cares. "Let's get this over with."

T'narian nods. "So tell me, is your telekinetic going with you, or not? She seems unclear on the matter."

Meir'cillus shrugs. "It's entirely up to her. She has no need to throw her life away along with mine."

"Yes...why are you doing that, exactly?" Felara ponders aloud from the door, leaning against the frame.

The drow warlord bites his lip. "I don't know." It's true enough. He has a dozen reasons that he really isn't sure that he can completely believe, but still... the desire to go is undeniable.

"You were always a logical one," Felara points out. "You're just pent up over your cleric's death. Wait awhile, let yourself cool down.

"How..." Meir'cillus glares, but not at anyone in particular. "How long should I wait, Felara? Wait for the fact that she is gone, wait for that to eat what's left of my sanity? What for Vayen to come here and kill us all?"

"Until your thinking isn't clouded by romantic notions of suicide? Until your head starts to straighten out again?" she fires right back. Callous, yes, but she doesn't want him to die.

"I have no intention of getting myself killed, Felara. If I wanted to die I would have done it myself already." The drow glances at her, his head ever tilted to one side as it has been since he lost part of his ear. "I'm doing the only thing that I can do."

"It's suicide and you know it." Felara shrugs, raises her arms in mock-defense. "Nevermind. I'll be nearby for help if you really need it, but know I won't be able to get to you really fast." An unusual risk level for her, considering a glaring lack of gain potential.

Meir'cillus takes a step towards her, but there's nothing threatening about it. 

"What," he asks, almost desperately, "do you suggest I do, then?"

Felara's quiet a few moments, before she finally sighs. "I don't know. I guess we're in this now."

"You don't have to come." The warlord composes himself, not wanting to lose any more face in front of the elves. "Someone must guard Ionnya. If you don't want to risk your life against Vayen, leave him to me. I can handle him."

"Oh, I'll leave the risks to you, dont' worry. Just...hollar if you need me."

Meir'cillus nods. Bitch. He looks at T'narien. "However I'm supposed to get to the fortress, put it together, and let's go. I want to be home in time for a nap."

The elf nods, and before long, they're en route to Lord Vayen's Fortress.