Aquila Pallas

The unsaid implications of this entry obliterate Raum’s thoughts to nothing, even as his eyes tell him flatly everything he needs to know.

“It is sublime," Aquila laughs, “that your father believed his exile a judgement by Faron."

Stuck in his mind, Raum cannot respond. Aquila patiently waits for him to think.

These logs date before the Tyrant’s Reign, and the handwriting of this entry (as most others) is Mason’s. The signage of a completed delivery into Ordanz is absent here, though the fact it is written at all suggests it was attempted. Mason was no doubt exiled over this, and apparently believed his family had thrown him under the bus to clean it all up in the aftermath.

Whatever honey he’s feeding you now…

Pissed off the royals so much, that Aquila didn’t weasel him out of it…

Even if Mason didn’t like Phoenix, what the hell was he thinking!! Why didn’t he think Aquila would loathe him after abducting his kid brother, who, at least back then, he adored!

Fuck! He deserved to get exiled!

Though knowledge of how badly Mason suffered afterwards tempers Raum’s indignation with guilt, he can assert that much as fact. Mason deserved to be exiled.

…And if Aquila’s still so furious about it twenty years later, that he doesn’t just enjoy the thought of Mason suffering alone in some pit of Ordanz, but designed this whole plan in major part to personally torment him further, that means—

“—You still love Phoenix."

Or, maybe, something like that.

Aquila, again, fingers his breast, then heaves himself to sit upon air as if nestling on an invisible platform. He laments, “whether by idealism or by romance — that you speak your charities so frankly is what truly unravels me. Truly.

“This feeling that consumes me," Aquila begins, “cannot, conscionably, be called love. That your father’s pain excites me is not love. That his anguish exhilarates me, too, is not love. If I may tell you the things I’ve envisioned, these fantasies I have courted daily for the past twenty years… I would hope you would be revolted. By that revulsion, perhaps you will feel a tickle of the smog roiling in me, and understand how noxious is this malice inside me.

“The thought of your father broken in misery fills me with nought but euphoria. I could not once feel reluctance or sorrow, when I designed these plans, that I might extinguish my loyalists, or even that my closest friends would lie murdered, for the way these killings entrapped your father afforded my heart only glee. Equally, it was with giddy ecstasy that I ordered him after yourself and your sister, my head rife with images of his face once he truly saw what he committed upon his own children… that would be a sin I could use to torment him forever. When he would learn that I exiled him, I isolated him, and I facilitated every one of his greatest miseries… it is for these singular moments of revelation that I have waited for twenty years like a child over a platter of candies.

“Because it is these dark feelings alone that have kept me tied to this world with any passion. Consider the gifts left to me by my mindless brother: A shattered nation I was to tend, a body that forbids me from material pleasures, and these unyielding flares of enmity when I so much as think his worthless name. My soul will not accept them, but he is unfortunately a master of the craft. I am left with this wandering feeling, that demands to be placed somewhere, somewhere, and no channel for it but the things I already resent at an equal par… the things upon which I may instead blame this hatred, for they truthfully were in part responsible for the madness that consumed my brother. By the fact I shall die should I even approach him, there is no solace or succour I can give to countermand these furious obsessions. The only thing I may exact for him now is vengeance. Else I see no purpose in this crown, or in the continuation of this country.

“Previously you stated I wished to backstab Mason. The understatement in these words is egregious.

“For as long as Phoenix is tortured, I wish for Mason to be tortured. That is the only negotiation I have found in my powerlessness, and the sole desire that has sustained myself as something I broadly recognise. It is a calcified, crystallised lump that has encysted itself over the ghost of my values.

“As of last night, however," Aquila flicks out his hand. “Even this lost its purpose. So what have I now? Truly?"

Though these words carry immense gravity, they also carry such an unconcerned frankness — as though he were remarking on the weather — that Raum cannot help but fall speechless.

‘I have lost all purpose to living because I can’t vent my hate on your dad like I wanted anymore’… surely, that cannot be true. In fact it plainly isn’t. Reading between the lines, he’s saying he only reclaimed the nation because it was something he could do for Phoenix. But what is the right angle to negotiate this?

…Is he saying he’s going to quit?

“More generously I would hear ‘retire’." The feathers in his body spiral like snowflakes in a storm, destroying the illusion of bone and muscle completely, until his shape reforms and settles with his legs crossed as he shrugs. “Perhaps from my pretence of humanity in general. For I am shucked of my mortal limits, lingering obscenely past death to govern the living, and rooted by birth outside man’s essence regardless… I may fancy a pilgrimage to my family’s homelands, that is, the hollows of Nix."

Raum can’t say he knows much about Nix, but things that go in there rarely come out again. Aquila’s not serious. Is he? What about Phoenix? What about the country? Raum senses these are the wrong tracks to push.

“What about finding Reyl?" he lets take precedence instead.

“I question if that might not be easier without the trammels of kinghood," despite his light tone, Aquila winces.

“Fucking warzone that’s gonna be," Raum replies. “Think I’d move in with the kid. Keep the blood flowing. He’d be down, eh?"

“Dare not joke," Aquila snaps.

“Well be real. Why not? Straight up, that is what I’d do… if you’re gonna throw away the crown and land me as the heir anyway."

“I confirmed nothing of that," Aquila mutters sourly into his fist, his eyes twitching in thought. His shoulders soon slump. “Why do I foul my tongue with this worthlessness? My prospects of success are already so little…"

“Just take it easy," Raum urges.

Aquila’s eyes continue to flicker, his mouth unconsciously flashing a vile smirk to Raum, until the channel in his head seems to switch. He straightens his back and runs his fingers through his hair.

His chest feathers fluff, then deflate, in some approximation of a sigh. “These plans I have described — by the fact I have divulged them, are shelved. Still, I have struggled to commit myself to the alternate course with which I have been flirting for the past months. My inability to choose, even at this hour, discomforts me immensely… but, as you should recognise, this course hinges upon you."

How?

“I am envisioning," Aquila says, staring across the room, “that you might take a role in the Cardinal House. That is the position in which I wished to place you, not as an influential mark for the court… I have arranged a pretext to facilitate your transferal there."

Hold on, step-by-step, what role. Like, a liaison?

“I envision the more precise word as ‘attendant’." Aquila traces his finger down his arm, absently.

No.

Aquila, no.

Raum gently presses, “a butler?"

Aquila’s eyes squeeze shut. He wipes his wrist across his cheek, tracing some memory of tears.

“A caretaker," he breathily admits.

Well done.

Though Aquila regains his outward composure promptly, something in his air has changed. His mind remains facing a deep well of sadness. Probably, said well has not been tapped like this once in the past twenty years Aquila has spent hating Mason.

“Scream if you need to," eases Raum.

Aquila considers these words quietly, his gaze still locked on some unseen dimension. He nods minutely. “It is with due thoroughness, that I ought explain why I regard such a post necessary. My brother… Phoenix," for once the word carries no spite, “is not accustomed to being treated with kindness. There is a degree of comfort he finds in isolation and rejection. Of course, to indulge in such comfort does not reflect a temperate mind, nor does it reflect his desires… but the worth of distrust has been so affirmed to him that I now suspect it as much ingrained to his character as his dutifulness or generosity. My hope had been, that proper nourishment of even one positive bond would, regardless, reinforce his maturation into his eccentricities gracefully. That… it did not occur."

Aquila clutches his breast. Hatred and anger flicker over his features, again, and again, interspersed stubbornly with that distant sadness.

“My efforts were insufficient. …However I fancied that my devotion would bring him always to shelter, what I did was house him with threats, for I called those very threats friend. My failure to mediate the collisions between the hearts I treasured was fundamentally, what undid each. A child could see the incompatibility of my intimates. Yet I would not resolve to favour even one, lest I spurn and forfeit another. I am here still, and with none else beside me. Just as much as did my father’s grief or my playmate‘s jealousy, my indifferent pretence of easing these pains kindled the fire that burned down my home, with all my treasures, and left them as ruins. It was my position… more than any other, that ought to have stopped this.

“But I cannot tell why, why I did not…" he mutters, trailing off as he looks down, fingers to his temple. His pupils jitter, thick with fury, sorrow, and deep, deep confusion.

Seeing him struggle, Raum carefully reminds, “what do you want me do to?"

“…Yes." Aquila nods as he looks to Raum, lowering his hand. “You — I envision you… simply, looking after him. There are practical concerns… I suspect he hasn’t been eating, and the house itself is poorly kept. But, principally, it is…" Aquila circles his hand in thought. “…bluntly, even if I did not hold an… optimistic, hope, that your demeanour may be a positive influence upon him, and that your unfortunate upbringing may have predisposed you to handling his type, you are one of the only known two in the world who can even approach him. Hence, for the simple demand of companionship, there is none other to ask but your absentee sister."

Moved automatically by an implication against Reyl’s honour, Raum sets his hand on his hip and juts out his shoulders. “Rey’s better with kids than what the knives got you thinking. Noting, she looked after me."

Aquila folds his hands. “I see. I would still be reluctant."

Yeah. Phoenix is scary as shit.

And this is one hell of a babysitting job.

“Understand, I present this as an order," Aquila hops down from his invisible platform. “That you will attempt it is not in question."

‘Attempt’. Raum nods absently and descends for a moment into thought.

For how Aquila claims that choosing his course was a struggle, it’s obvious now there was never a question. From the moment he offered his proposal to Raum back in Joliet, and Raum accepted, Aquila locked himself into discarding Mason. Mason could not now be the heir. It means the easing of Phoenix’s suffering is the one thing he desires more than revenge, such that even one vague flicker of hope in that direction made him junk twenty years of plotting in an instant. It affirms, despite his doubts, that he does love Phoenix.

But that makes the fact he did wait so long to reveal his intentions frightening. Doubly so given it doesn’t feel Aquila ever consciously tested for Raum’s capabilities as a caretaker or compatibility with Phoenix. In what way, this past month, has he been straightforwardly pursuing his own ends? None. He’s been fumbling over pretences and self-deceiving conspiracies to somehow, as a backup, include Mason.

That is, he did not drop Mason the second Raum came in the picture. He still wanted that safety net, in case Raum failed.

Or maybe he just could not dare to think that something so fickle might actually work.

There can be great catharsis in failure. If the vengeful core of Aquila’s sadistic underbelly is as intense as described, then indulging it might be better than orgasm. His fantasies of raping the regents, leaving for Nix, and otherwise destroying the country are just that, his version of a comforting fantasy. They are his release from the reality of the almost impossible mission he faces to release a loved one from an eternity of torture. This is the sentiment he pursues when he thinks, ‘this is too much for me. I’m overwhelmed. It’s in god’s hands. Can I give up?’.

Thing is though he does have both the drive and the position to realise these fantasies without care. But with Phoenix existing to ground him, he doesn’t. He can’t. He invests everything into achieving the opposite of what these comfortable desires demand, by bolstering and restoring the country dutifully, without suffering any apparent personal unwillingness or incoherency for the fact that he indeed is.

How the hell has he achieved that?

By living in that mindset of comforting, vengeful, sadistic fantasy for twenty years. By working to Phoenix’s ends, again and again, while telling himself this was a stepping stone to torturing Mason. By letting himself salivate at the eternal reward of torturing Mason. That was his blanket. That was what sustained him.

Choosing Raum does not just mean juggling in pieces of a new plan. It means an entire shift of mindset where he lets his open love of Phoenix predominate despite overwhelming challenge, risk of failure, and demands of faith. After all, there is assuredly no forcing anyone into becoming a genuinely good friend for anyone else, much less someone as touchy as Phoenix, or for that matter, someone as devious as Aquila.

And, holding on to both Raum and Mason does not just mean balancing logistics of how to shift from plan A to plan B under condition X. It means teetering as a mess of denial and dissonance while trying to negotiate the simultaneous holding of two contradictory worldviews.

Love against hate. It’s not just a hope that Phoenix will get something. It’s a hope that Aquila himself will be allowed a merciful comfort in something other than domination and vengeance, too.

Having himself faced the challenge of committing to such an overwhelming shift in — everything — recently, Raum understands the hesitation.

He’s probably scared, Raum thinks, then is stricken with the bizarre question of whether Aquila even gets scared, in the same way that Raum understands the emotion. Deeming that an unproductive topic for the moment, Raum forces aside the question and refocuses on the central matter of babysitting Phoenix.

At the thought of Phoenix without his neuroses, Raum’s heart leaps to say ‘yes’ as a bride says ‘I do’. The very next second, when he actually thinks about the logistics of living in Sebilles, around a mentally unstable child whose existence is itself a bomb, that sentiment sinks into an unease that sticks like miasma.

It’s not fair, he lets himself inwardly moan. By moving into Ferendaux, connecting to his famous heritage, and winning the favour of a nice country’s King, he had acquired all the comforts and luxuries his younger self ever dreamed of. That Aquila is now telling him he cannot have these, at least not without compensation, makes that inner child want to scream.

But those are the anguishes of a child, and Raum is older now. As he blinks away a thin sheen of tears, he breathes out long, and so breathes his mind clear. In the place of that anguish burbles a serene sense of confidence, that he has been trusted and chosen as capable for this responsibility, frightening as it may be, and an eagerness to indeed make it work.

Can Raum do this?

Any uncertainties about how much he can actually offer, and how much Phoenix will accept, will have to be negotiated once he’s on the ground. Else he can do chores, games, and silly faces. For most kids, that does make them happy.

But staying in Sebilles all his life (or longer) sounds miserable. It does not fit remotely with Raum’s own life plan either. If only for his sanity, some labour limits ought be in place here.

Raum jogs his hand upon his flat palm. “Two seasons on, two seasons off." That much, then, he can probably manage.

Aquila sets his hand on his hip. “…Truthfully, I would wish to hear three seasons at the minimum. If that is the limit you judge, however, then with that you ought begin."

And another thing — a decade, maybe two, that’s all fair on the table, but even in a million years he’s not doing a century. One of the first things to get ironed out is a plan for Raum to be replaced and retired.

Aquila nods slowly, then jolts with some vital realisation. He strides forward a step and offers his palm.

Not quite the right tenor, that, Raum thinks, and instead gives a bow, which he holds as he smiles up at Aquila.

Aquila pauses to digest this sight, then smiles as if tickled, curls in his fingers, and lets his hand relax at his side. Raum closes the gap to join him as he settles himself on the rim of the basin.

“For how little it pleasures me to invest in uncertainties," he says, gazing warmly from his lap up to Raum. “I will say, this once, I am happy."