A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Orazio before departing.

In honor of spring, and of Limerance, the Cathedral is transformed by flowers. Fresh spring blooms are twined in intricate designs on every wall - the stylized heart of Limerance is the most prominent, but there are symbols for all the gods as well as the Faith’s three interlocking rings. The pews and benches have been cleared away from the main floor. Instead, there are a number of banquet tables set for dozens of people, and one smaller raised table at the head of the hall, clearly meant for the most distinguished guests. Each table is covered in fine white linen with gold embroidering in Pantheon symbols, and the dishes and silverware are expensive and fine. There are a lot of dishes and utensils at each setting place, too. Three forks, three knives, two spoons, rose-petal infused bows of water, tiny, empty bows, a large plate, and each linen napkin is foldied into the shape of a blooming rose. Gilt-edged name cards name every guest, and heralds announce those who enter.

Most of the guests here are merchants and the minor nobility, with their proteges and chosen servants. From the smiles and laughter, these men and women of Arx seem to view this as much about being seen and enjoying the Faith’s largesse as it is about a holy celebration. Some name cards are being discreetly swapped around so that people can sit near friends, or those who they would like to become friends with. The only table that truly seems to be ‘off limits’ for impromptu switches is the head table. There, the seats are clearly for the great of the realm, with elaborately carved (and gilded) chairs. In the corner, there is a quartet of musicians, playing a hymn to Limerance. The vaulting ceilings of the Cathedral allow the sound to reach to every part of the room, despite its low volume.

Orazio is standing near the head table, resplendent in white and gold, talking to a group of merchants. Handshakes are exchanged, as well as the kind of polite smiles that people polish up for just these sorts of social occasions. There are disciples of Limerance on hand to give every person who enters a small posy to be clipped to one’s clothing, and to conduct each “liege” to their assigned seat. It seems that the “servants” are expected to sit slightly beside and behind them, on cushioned, backless chairs.

Into this abundance of devotion and florals comes the Regent of the Compact. The King's Own are gracious enough to leave Dawn and her escort at the Cathedral's entrance. They spread through the available space, keeping to the walls, doing their best to be unobtrusive-- no small challenge given the full plate and chain armor, the weapons, their size and training. They do their best, and Dawn politely ignores their presence. She is swathed in verdant green velvet and glints of silver, a touch of cosmetics on lips and cheeks to compensate for the signs of sleepness nights and meals missed through the burdens of these last weeks. She has a hand extended out, trusting that the courtier who accompanies her will have his supporting beneath it. The posy that's offered is taken but held in her hand, raised to her nose, as she proceeds towards the seat designated as her own.

The march of the King's Own is enough to mask the sound of Rook's own soft leather boots until they disperse, his arrival in the retinue of the Lady Regent's only made more notable by the fact that he takes up the place at her side. The noble courtier's green eyes are enhanced by the Grayson and Grayward greens, the pair's outfits of similar light, dark and verdant hues.
There's a mild tilt of Rook's head as he watches the exchange of posies and his own is carefully affixed to the place beneath his sharp collar. There's a gentle reminder, subtle and barely issued aloud, to Dawn: "Let's greet the host before we sit," as he guides her, his arm the support she expects, toward the recently risen man of faith. Dipping into a bow, he rises once more only after to murmur a light greeting. "Legate Orazio," he urges, "thank you for putting on this feast and for all the effort made to recognise the bonds of a liege and their vassal." There's a knit of his brow, brief in its dip, "May I extend mine and my family's support in your time of hardship, as well..." It needn't be dwelled on, so he doesn't indicate precisely what in verbal reminder.

The posies are small, fragrant things, the blossoms speaking of both love and devotion. The crowd hushes and turns as the Regent of the Compact is announced, and a wave of bows and curtseys follow her to her place. Which is, of course, at the high table. And the center of the table at that, since the Dominus is not in attendance, in the very /fanciest/ of chairs. On their way, of course, is Orazio, who offers a deep bow to Dawn. "Lady Regent. You honor this gathering with your presence, and the gods honor you with their blessing." Another bow to to Rook. "Lord Grayward. Thank you for your support, and your presence at our little meal." His smile is warm, and his expression entirely composed. "May Limerance bless and keep you throughout your days." Clearly, personal matters are being downplayed for Orazio's formal role as ranking cleric.

Niccolo enters not long after Dawn and Rook. He steps into the cathedral, without his guards. Those must have either been left at home, or perhaps they are waiting outside. Dressed in silks, the duke walks with his hands clasped behind his back. And then comes to a stop, to look to his side and somewhat behind him. He allows a faint smile to Sylvie, and seeks to gallantly offer her his arm. Once that is taken care of, he makes his way following a similar path to Rook's. He waits for the men to speak, before taking his turn. "Thank you for your invitation, Legate. I'm glad Lady Sylvie and I were able to make it here to support your efforts. And of course, you do have my condolences. He was a friend to me," he points out, somber. His eyes then fall on Dawn, and he bows respectfully. "Lady Regent." He offers Rook a nod. "My lord."

Sylvie Zaffria certainly could look less like a servant, dressed in black velvet that falls heavily over her curves and wraps in a high neck around the graceful column of her throat, setting against silver earrings that drip from her ears and the silver pendant, both holding Gemecittan quartz. Her red-tinted dark curls have been pinned up with steel and moonstones, the line of her spine revealed to the base of it. Yet still, as she presses her fingers lightly to Niccolo's arm, she is clearly the vassal. Her smoky gaze sweeps in a study of the transformed Cathedral even as she accepts the posy, a hint of a smile caught in the corner of her lips. As they move to greet the host and the Regent as well, she offers a curtsey to both. "My dear Legate," is warm as she addresses Orazio though. "I feel as if I am forever thanking you, and it is never enough." She tips her chin to Rook, even as she adds, "Lady Regent and her vassal. From what I have heard, you could not have chosen a better representation." She doesn't touch on the other issue, taking her cue from Orazio.

Dawn has smiles for those who bow and curtsey, and a smile for Rook as well as he ensures their host is not overlooked. Faced with the newly minted Legate, she does him the honour and respect of a deeply bowed head-- deeper than most she would ever offer another in a public and social setting. "And you honour us, and Limerance as well, Legate. Let me add my thanks to the many you've earned," she says, focus tilting to include Niccolo and Sylvie in the warm cast of her smile. "My lord. My lady. I could very much say the same of Duke Velenosa. It's good to see you," is added for their benefit, with a shallowed dip of her head in greeting. And then, a simple sidestep, to carry her towards that ornate chair intended for her own use. As she moves, her hand lifts from Rook's, the posey transferred from left to right.

Another graceful bow to Niccolo and Sylvie. "Duke Niccolo, Lady Sylvie, you grace this gathering with your presence. Your kind words are appreciated." His practiced expression softens just a little. "I think Baron Eos would be inexpressibly honored by the outpouring of support and loss." It warms a bit further for Sylvie, herself. "No thanks are needed. How could they be, when each moment spent in your presence is so pleasant?" He makes a sweeping gesture. "Here, let me show you to the high table, if I may?" Orazio's seat, as the representative of the host, is at the Regent's right hand, but Niccolo's is the second most coveted position, to Dawn's left. There are small bowls of sugared almonds for pre-meal snacking. And, eyes watching the servants, /particularly/ those at the high table.

Rook checked intellect + etiquette against difficulty 15, resulting in 24, 9 higher than the difficulty.

Sylvie checked intellect + etiquette against difficulty 15, resulting in 33, 18 higher than the difficulty.

Rook has barely risen before the approach of Niccolo and Sylvie, the transition into the stoop as ever one of regal bearing from the sophisticated courtier. "Duke Niccolo Velenosa, Lady Sylvie Zaffria, how do you do," is articulated at formal length, the simple duty of voicing the identities for his esteemed companion. "I do not believe we've met personally, your grace, but it's my busiess to know my betters; I am Rook of House Grayward from Bastion," he greets, a bare hand extended. Even as he awaits that introduction his lips turn up at the corners, a smile for Sylvie. "You're too kind, my lady."
As Orazio bids them to sit he wordlessly joins Dawn in the walk toward the high table, lingering behind her as his hands unlink and fall to rest over the back of her chair. "Lady Regent," he intones simply, an expectant encouragement to sit. After she's duly set in her place, he leans as is only polite to one side and collects the linen to unfold and pass it across her lap, a murmured few words to help her to decide whether Dawn would move her arms to accept the fabric. Soon after, he then sits, straight backed upon the stool.

"They always are for me as well," murmurs Sylvie in answer to the Legate, her smile warming for him alone. But then she has duties to see to as a vassal, and as they draw to their seats, she slides her hand from Niccolo's and moves to draw out his chair for him to sit. Once he does, she leans forward to take his napkin and lay it over his lap. She murmurs into the man's ear as well before stepping away, taking a seat on her stool and sliding a look towards Rook. Her smile is light, amusement sparking in silvered eyes when they meet green.

The Voice of Velenosa turns his attention to Rook when the man addresses him. "No, we haven't met. But I've heard much about you. All good," he says with a look to Dawn, "It is a pleasure to formally meet you, Lord Rook." Niccolo says to the man, with a touch of a smile on his lips.
    The Velenosa noble then dips his head in gratitude to Orazio and sets to follow him and Dawn, unlinking himself from Sylvie's arm. He settles next to Dawn. "It is good to see you again, my lady. You look as radiant as ever," he offers to the woman next to him, his usually schooled features softening some. He makes sure not to get in the way of Sylvie's work, his hands to his side, as she places the napkin over his lap. He offers a brief glance her way, inclining his head to his vassal with just a tinge of amusement in his features.

Orazio follows the distinguished guests. His 'servant' is a godsworn priestess of Limerance, who executes her duties with that special care reserved for someone who is actually mildly terrified. Luckily, the eyes of the merchants and minor nobles below are on the ranking members, not some nameless godsworn. Well, that and their political allies. Already, there are a few among the lower tables who mess up the initial service, and some snickers and hissed orders. For the most part, though, people seem to be enjoying themselves. Servants - real ones - bring by silver ewers of a tart, citrus-flavored liquour, to be poured into the smallest of the three glasses at each setting. It's barely a mouthful, but it wakes the mouth up with /authoritah/, and then seems to disappear, leaving little aftertaste. Orazio says, "This is a special distillate brewed by a small monastery. They call it 'First Kiss'."

The rich formality of structured meals such as this one are no stranger to Dawn. She knows the dance, at least through repetition, though it is Rook whose grace gives the performance that little extra something. She is seated and napkined, her hands lifted and then settled over that drape of linen. The smile given the courtier is his alone before she looks forward-- there are ever more nods to be given to those in the crowds, respect returned for respect. "Radiance I leave to those truly capable, such as your Lady Sylvie, Duke Niccolo. She makes it seem so easy, hardly any work at all," is murmured with a glance for the woman in question, a quirked smile, before she attends to Orazio's description. And such a description! Her eyes shape crescents of delight-- or amusement-- but she holds her reach for the glass until (after a stolen peek at Rook) she's certain it's ready for presentation.

Rook dares bandy a wink towards Sylvie when he catches her looking in that moment of repose, his hands for his lap alone. The pianist's fingers cradle themselves together in a gentle clasp while his chin lifts, as proud as ever, directing his sight forward. While he might not perfect the unseeing look of most common servants he certainly at least -pretends- very well. The introduction of the drink is given a moment of thought, consideration and then he admits aloud: "A quaint name, isn't it. I wonder if the taste will mirror the memory its concept praises."

A laugh catches quietly in the back of Sylvie's throat for the wink, and she blows a kiss back in turn. She is obviously the best servant that anyone could have; she doesn't even make an attempt at being unobtrusive or dignified, or dare one say it, common. She even rises in one graceful movement to stop a servant as they bring Niccolo a drink, taking a sip from his glass before allowing it to be delivered to him. She takes her seat again, answering Rook with a murmur only to him, not interrupting their lieges' conversation, "It certainly does. We'll have to try some more ourselves, later."

Niccolo lifts his head when he sees Sylvie intercepting that drink coming his way. There is approval in his features, and once the Lycene lady has tasted and brought the glass to him, that's when the duke accepts it. "Thank you, my dear," he says in response, and turns his attention to Dawn. "There are different ways to be radiant, Lady Regent," the duke says to Dawn, drinking from his glass. "Lady Sylvie is certainly radiant and she makes it quite easy." He looks into Dawn's eyes then, serious. "But your radiance has lifted this city up. Possibly the whole Compact up. Your leadership shows already in giving us a direction that was much needed. That is certainly its own way to shine," his voice is earnest, deep and gravelly as it is. "And Lord Rook seems quite skilled himself," he notes. "Perhaps as skilled as the Lady Zaffria."

The first course - barely a course at all - is served on a tiny ceramic plate - the ceramic so thin that it's nearly transparent. Edged with gold, of course. It's handed to the 'servants' to serve - there is only one thing on the plate. A small, pink egg. It glitters, slightly. In fact, on closer inspection, the egg itself is a shell of sugar, and no doubt there is something else inside - should it be popped into the mouth, the taste will explode on the tongue: candied oranges, with notes of ginger and cinnamon. Orazio watches the interplay between the nobles with a smile. "The Duke is right," he says, quietly. "These are difficult times for the Compact, and there are many hands in which the path could have been entrusted. I believe that the Assembly chose wisely in giving it into yours. Even though the burden is great."

Dawn's concern is less for poison and more for whether the drink will sit well on her tongue. But the taste, while certainly insisting on attention, proves to be enjoyable too. The sip allowed is taken, the glass returned to the table, her hands returned to her lap. She still has the posey, toying with it-- even etiquette must sometimes cede to the will of the Regent. "In that, we have had the example of the Lyceum to follow. So many challenges, but you have been the bridging link between what was and what is now, Duke Niccolo, with strong leadership and wise counsel. But it is good of you to say, and I thank you for it." Her smile tucks deeper to one side than the other. "Lord Grayward has helped guide me too, and steered me from more missteps than I can count. I'm fortunate to have him," she says, tilting her head to catch a glimpse of what's on the plate the courtier has received. "That the Assembly did choose me is humbling. But, with Limerance's blessings, I'll live up to the responsibility that's been given."

Rook very neatly adjusts the fall of his tailcoat, the panels that fall carefully arranged to ensure they do not snag beneath the weight of the Bastion-born gentleman. "I wouldn't dare go as far as to claim that, your grace, but thank you," trails the soft bass of Rook's voice. "I only remember my manners through god's grace," is the humble remark.
As he listens to the remarks made by Dawn his interest for her words is shown as much in his eyes as his face, lips curving into a smile. Rising to see to her needs in regard to a drink, something far outside the small measure of 'First Kiss', he adjusts his angle to ensure he doesn't incidentally knock anything over or brush by her neighbour. "There's a higher calling and a mandate from the gods for us each to be better than we are, to aspire. Mine is to attend my betters as yours is to oversee the needs of the people. We each in turn are all just doing our part, you realise."

Sylvie's graceful even with the thinnest of plates, taking only a nibble from the edge of the egg before she presents it to Niccolo. She's still licking the taste of candied oranges from her lips as she does, only laying it down before drawing back to her stool.

Having set his glass on the table, Niccolo glances at Orazio and inclines his head to the Legate. "It is a great burden. But one she's been wise not to let herself carry alone," he points out, his attention returning to Dawn. He considers her words. "Much of that credit goes to my departed wife," he says. "Carlotta was that anchor for the Lyceum, that you now provide for the Compact. Her Grace is my wife's daughter, and I'm sure she will remain the anchor needed." He seeks the eyes of the regent when he speaks next. "I'm but a man, my lady. A flawed one at that. I make mistakes like many do, possibly more than others do. And sometimes I am too passionate about my beliefs, and my worry for the safety of those I care about," he notes. "I care deeply about the people of the Lyceum, and I'm nothing but grateful to the stability you have helped bring. I can only hope that the good I manage to do, makes up for those mistakes, I've have most assuredly made."
    He listens then to Rook and dips his head. "We are all just doing our part," he offers in agreement. Once again, his attention turns to Sylvie, he observes as she tastes it and inclines his head in thanks when it is presented to him. He begins enjoying the treat.

Poor Rook is met by frowns as he turns around - the second course and the first 'real' course is being brought out, and it includes bottles of fine wine from the South. And, judging by the tureens, this is a soup course. A creamy fowl soup, with rosemary and lemon elements to the fragrant liquid. As the kitchen staff move it over to the 'servants' to be dispensed by them into bowls, Orazio says, "To honor our guests from the Lyceum, I thought that we could serve this Velenosan formal style," he suggests.

Sylvie checked intellect + etiquette against difficulty 15, resulting in 70, 55 higher than the difficulty.

Rook checked intellect + etiquette against difficulty 25, resulting in 41, 16 higher than the difficulty.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Orazio before departing.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Orazio before departing.

"My part humbles me. But that does just inspire me to improve," says Dawn to Rook, tilting her head to favour the courtier with a fresh smile, one bright with sugar until she dabs the napkin over her lips. It's returned to her lap after and she inclines her head to Niccolo in the interim, while the soup is brought out. "History has a way of erasing the humanity we all possess. If we succeed, our flaws vanish. I'm not certain if that's a prize that sits well with me," she remarks, tone one of idle thought. Her eyes track the tureen on its progress by and her eyebrows quirk higher for what Orazio says-- what /is/ the Velenosan formal style? She will simply have to pray that Rook knows.

Rook isn't one to be left frowned at, he gives a certain degree of prideful scorn to the servants who -only now- arrive to hydrate and inebriate his liege. Still, careful not to show up his companion, he retakes his seat with the barest of huffs just -bubbling- beneath the surface, ready to strike. If only he could condemn those pesky Lycene-wine wielding servants!
Only once they're out of the way does he actually see to the specifics of Lycene dinner etiquette, his motions careful and unhurried, far less practiced than Sylvie's own knowledge of her native practice. It is, however, testament to the worldly manners trained to courtiers and courtesans who intend to travel the world. In a few moments the larger bowl of soup is poured, followed by a smaller. The temperature is checked, less so than its contents of potential poison, then he holds the spoon upward. An arm extends to take a napkin from the attendants and then he polishes it clean, brandishing it to the light before placing it back down. "Do enjoy your meal, Lady Regent, it is quite a splendid blend of ingredients tonight," he bids with finality.

Sylvie steps forward to serve again, taking the soup and pouring it into Niccolo's bowl with the perfect line of her arm to a measured amount. The tureen is given back to a real servant before she turns back to take Niccolo's spoon, her lips twisting into a humored smile as she lifts it from his place, and then ladles two spoonfuls into a smaller bowl. It is tasted, of course, for poison; nah, you're good here. The Faith isn't trying to poison the Voice of Velenosa. She passes the smaller bowl back to a real servant, taking a napkin and polishing the spoon clean, slowly. She sets it back precisely in place, leaning to murmur something to the duke before she draws back to her stool.

"History will do as history always does. The more time that passes, the more we forget. It is something I feel our enemies might be counting on," Niccolo observes in response to Dawn. "But in the present and now, our flaws remain what they are. In the light of those, sometimes, all we can do, is say I'm sorry," he offers with wry expression.
    He watches as Rook works on preparing the soup to be served, then turns his attention to Sylvie as she does the same. He accepts the soup from the Lycene noblewoman, with a dip of his head, letting his eyes linger on her.

Orazio smiles at Dawn. "It is one of the things that the Scholars seek to combat. When descendants can go back through their heroes' journals, and see them working through the same issues that we all do, it humanizes them. It makes, in some ways, heroism feel more attainable after you have read an account of your hero complaining about a fight they had with their spouse." A pause. "Or perhaps it is only I who feels more comfortable with heroes with flaws." His priestly servant hesitates in the serving, and he quietly speaks to them, walking them through the proper procedure. The soup tureens move on, although the wine bottles stay, so that the servants can refill them.

And then, the music flourishes. It rises like a fresh, spring wind, carrying a hint of romance and playfulness to it...and as it does, side doors open and a group of tumblers tumble into the room. Dressed in harlequin silks, the performers split up among the tables, with two coming up to the high table. Male and female, they don't speak, but instead immediately launch into a series of acrobatic maneuvers that suggest they only have about half the bones of normal human beings.

Rook checked intellect + etiquette against difficulty 20, resulting in 42, 22 higher than the difficulty.

Sylvie checked intellect + etiquette against difficulty 20, resulting in 43, 23 higher than the difficulty.

"Thank you, Lord Rook," Dawn murmurs when the presentation of the soup is completed. It is educational, certainly, but also a pleasure given the way she observes the courtier move through the required steps. For this, however, she does not sober-- the meaning of this ritual is all too impactful for one who would rule so varied a collection of personalities as the Compact. When he's finished, she takes her spoon in hand and says, "It already smells exquisite," before taking that first cautious sip-- and then another, which for anyone who knows the Regent and her bird's appetite, is a compliment in itself. "Fair points from both," she says after to Niccolo and Orazio both. Niccolo receives a slight inclination of her head, in acknowledgement, and the Legate a small smile. "That would be two of us, then... ah!" A last, pleased exclamation, and she observes the tumblers with unrestrained pleasure.
    Midway through the performance, the hand still draped in her lap moves, first to the pouch of velvet at her waist and then towards Rook.

Sylvie can't help the sound of laughter that catches in her throat. It seems that their 'servants' are having a private conversation behind them, though all with looks and lips.

As the performance starts, Sylvie drags her attention away from Rook to watch Niccolo instead, intently observing his reaction. As it ends, she stands and sweeps forward, a whisper of black velvet, until she's at his shoulder and can lean forward to murmur something in his ear.

Rook has a mild murmur for Dawn, the words and pouch taken with just a short laugh, his gaze turning to Sylvie as he passes her. There's a secondary remark for the southern woman as he steps down towards peroformance floor and, edging along the banquet table, finds a place to emerge from the back and toward the entertainers as they start to disperse. There's an interruption, subtle at least, then a few foreign words articulated in Eurusi. The exotic dancer-- imported boneless demihuman obviously-- is no doubt unlikely to let the Arvani's grasp of his native language pass by, especially when it translates to the invitation to collect the tip he's apparated in his palm to trade in a handshake.

Niccolo lets his attention go from the soup to the conversation. "That would make three of us," he observes on the subject of heroes, and then the performance begins. He watches, allowing a faint smile to touch his lips. There's a small glance at Dawn, and the pouch. The duke reaches for his belt, finding a similar pouch, perhaps not as large as Dawn's. He passes it to Sylvie.
    "They're very good aren't they," Niccolo muses in Dawn's direction, unable to hide the genuine rare smile as he sees the Regent enjoying herself. He offers a side glance to Orazio, showing his approval at the gesture. He turns back to the performance, enjoying it.

Sylvie checked intellect + linguistics against difficulty 15, resulting in 32, 17 higher than the difficulty.

Rook checked intellect + linguistics against difficulty 15, resulting in 47, 32 higher than the difficulty.

"They really." Though, as Dawn's gaze is drawn to the Lord and Voice who are engaging the tumblers, she may well be speaking of the "servants" rather than the performers. That suspicion is confirmed a moment later when, with a glance at Orazio, she tells the Legate, "I cannot help but think that Limerance will be pleased with this offering you've made, bringing this all together. The combination is unique in my experience, novel and devout all in one."

Sylvie follows Rook to the dancers, murmuring her own words to the man as she brushes fingers against his jacket at some invisible lint. She is there when he greets the dancers, adding her own murmur of 'Thank you' in Eurusi. That is all she can manage, but she does manage it. Niccolo's pouch is passed over, a smile slid sideways to Rook, before she withdraws back to the dais and her stool again.

Rook replies something in the same twisting tongue before he laughs, quite loudly, then returns to his own stool. Ahem.

Of course, this is a feast of Limerance. Which may explain why, once they receive the tips, (as others in pairs are receiving similar tips across the room), and exchange brief but heartfelt words with both 'servants' in their native tongue, the entertainers turn to one another and clasp hands, drawing each other into an acrobatic and...quite frankly, openly erotic dance. The eroticism is graceful and elegant, but there's no mistaking the stylized motions of copulation as the two part, come together, and part again. Each motion takes them further to join with the other entertainers in a space cleared in the center of the hall. Here, there is not an orgy, stylized or otherwise. Instead, in clear, high voices, each couple sings vows of eternal devotion to each other, and then devotion to the lords and ladies that protect them, and then to the gods. Afterwards, they join hands and bow, to applause from the floor.

Orazio smiles at both Regent and Voice, inclining his head in gratitude. "It is the pleasure of the Faith to celebrate the gods. I am only happy that you - all of you," a look to the vassals as well, "made time in what I know are very busy schedules to join us." Around this time, the next course arrives. It is...a swan. For a moment, one might almost be forgiven for thinking it a LIVE swan that has somehow been coaxed to sit perfectly still on its silver platter. But no, as it gets closer, it's clear that the swan has been skinned whole, roasted, then redressed in its own feathers. After it is seated, trained servers allow it to be admired for a moment, then hand the carving knives to Rook and Sylvie. Yum!

Sylvie's brow curves upwards at Rook in question, a laugh once again slipping from the 'servant' as she settles on her stool.

Rook checked intellect + etiquette against difficulty 15, resulting in 40, 25 higher than the difficulty.

Sylvie checked intellect + etiquette against difficulty 25, resulting in 41, 16 higher than the difficulty.

Dawn checked composure against difficulty 15, resulting in 49, 34 higher than the difficulty.

That is some very dancey dancing occurring before the high table, and Dawn observes with her small smile in place, her cheeks marked only with the hint of rouge applied before attending the event. Such composure-- and nevermind that her gaze shifts rather quickly to the side when the time for applause comes. Look, a swan! "Ah," she breathes, pleased again, "my father had this served at my tenth birthday, and the great hall at the palace hung with cloth of gold. It was beautiful." And this, it would seem, passes muster in comparison to memory, given the fond smile of anticipation worn as she watches Rook and Sylvie dive in. So to speak.

Sylvie has a knife. Fear her. She accepts it with a nod of her head, drawing to her feet and keeping it close to her body and pointed downwards so that it mostly hides harmlessly in black velvet. She moves around the table rather than trying to lean over it, standing in front of Dawn and Niccolo both on one side of the bird. Then, precisely and gracefully, she begins cutting through those stitches, her gaze lifted only briefly to sweep over the occupants of the table under the fan of dark lashes. She returns her attention back to the swan as she peels back feathers at its breast, carving one slice and laying it on Niccolo's plate with the thin edge of her knife. She cuts another after, timing it so that she slides this second slice onto the special plate at the center at the same time as Rook. She matches her voice to his, once he's ready, to say in melodic tones, "In memory of Alarice, and for the Compact."

"It is certainly different and well thought," Niccolo notes to Orazio in agreement with Dawn. For a moment, he studies the regent, then draws his gaze to the dance. He watches with curiosity and interest. When it ends, the duke joins in the applause after the vows are offered, slowly nodding his head. His attention turns back to Orazio when he speaks. "It is our pleasure to be here as well, Legate," he assures, spotting the next course as if it brought out. He studies the swan with curiosity, and that same curiosity guides his gaze to Sylvie and Rook as they work on serving the meal.

Rook stares at the swan with only the barest sign of resignation, for he no doubt fully expected this ceremony would come up. One can imagine he's probably had the process drilled into his head since early in his training, if not his very family's first few expensive lessons to tutor Rook how to attend his betters. Soon enough he's stepping to take the carving knife and wandering up towards the platter, his eyes for Sylvie is only to mark her progress with the slightly 'different' process. It's far more intricate than the one he had to remember, after all, so there's an uninhibited interest in her ability. When her voice chimes in which his, he smiles faintly and then steps away to return to his liege, pausing only to briefly remark to Niccolo: "You're well represented, your grace. I trust your gift is nothing but truly representative of Lady Sylvie's ability as a diplomat."

Orazio's attendant steps up just after the nobles, following the same procedure, although her voice is slightly less steady. She retreats back to her place, and Orazio slices into the juicy meat. The professional servers come in to swiftly remove the rest of the bird's feather coat, and carve it up the rest of the way so that further pieces can be served quickly and without formality. Here, too, the vassals are offered plates of their choice of meat, and stuffing. "Thank you, Duke Niccolo," Orazio says, with a smile. "I will convey the appreciation of our guests to the cooks. They are all sworn to Jayus, and will be very pleased to hear it." He chuckles, then turns to Rook and Sylvie with a flash of mirth. "I remember when I served at a Feast of Obligation with my Lector. You're both actually doing much better than I. I dropped the spoon in the tureen during the soup course. In my defense...it was slippery."

Rook does say, "My younger brother once decided it would be interesting to capture one of the swans by the castle in Bastion, tie it up and put it on a platter and bring that instead. My mother was furious," with a certain degree of civility to his tone he's probably not feeling undearneath. "I've never been so surprised in my life. I'm honestly surprised I managed it without having flashbacks."

"The dinner isn't over yet, and I am Lycene," answers Sylvie to both Rook and Orazio alike, humor dancing in smoky eyes as her lips curve crookedly. "I still have a chance to do something completely scandalous." But for now, she simply moves back to her stool and takes an elegant seat, velvet draping heavily against her legs as she curves them under her.

Dawn's smile shifts briefly into a grin when the plate is set before her. Admiration for Sylvie's grace through a foreign process becomes deep approval for her own courtier. "Better than I remembered," she tells Rook, rich with a deep sense of praise. She tends to parceling the morsels into even smaller bites then, head tilted to listen to the Legate's remarks. "Not the -spoon-," she affects a murmur of shock-- and then slips into a moment of abbreviated laughter, for poor young Rook faced with a live swan, bound. "They're not to be meddled with, when living. There wasn't a summer that passed at Bastion but some unfortunate fisherman took a beating from a mated pair with cygnets."

"I can only hope it is," Niccolo replies to Rook with a dip of his head, nibbling on the course as the meal continues. He listens to the conversations, looking from Orazio's story, to Rook's, to Sylvie's warning about her Lycene heritage and finally, his gaze settles on Dawn when she shares her story. He offers no commentary of his own, although he allows a touch of a smile to remain on his lips as he eats.

Orazio's eyes widen a bit at Rook's remembrance. "I can only imagine the chaos that ensued," he says, with a chuckle and a nod of agreement with Dawn. "They are fearsome beasts. Had my family crest not already been graced with the Saik cat, I always thought it would be nice to have a swan. Elegant, beautiful, and completely ready to render enemies into pulp at the least provocation." Sylvie's remark draws a wider smile. "My dear lady, I have no doubt you can do whatever you put your mind to. As for the spoon...yes, it was not my finest hour. But my Lector was kind, and only assigned me to penitence duty for...ah...three weeks? Perhaps four."

Once they have eaten their fill of the rich bird and moist dressing, along with some small tureens of gravy and piping hot bread brought along with the main dish, servers march in with plates of tiny fruit pies, steaming hot from the ovens. From the scents, there are apple pies, date pies, fig pies, berry pies - the winter stores must have been completely cleaned out of their preserved fruits from the whole year long in order to make these, with each one only being a couple of bites. Platters are placed at each end of the table, and in the center, before other servants move to bring dessert to the lower tables as well.

Sylvie doesn't move to taste all of the pies on the platters, but she does drag her attention away from Rook and turns instead to watch Niccolo and his plate with a certain alertness. Her fingers rise to fiddle with the silver pendant that she wears, zipping it along its chain as she waits.

Valencia silently slips into the Great Cathedral to watch the proceedings. Terribly late, she quietly takes stands to the back with a soft rustle of red silks. Dark, expressive almond-shaped eyes take in everything like a curious cat.

Something said by Rook, discreetly, leads Dawn back into laughter. Quiet, brief, but genuinely amused. A remark is returned to the lordly courtier as she settles back into her chair and returns her hands to her lap while awaiting the presentation of the dessert. "I've considered that as well," she tells the Legate, "but taking a personal sigil carries such... implications." That, with a faint, skewed smile before she's reduced to chuckling over the mental image of Orazio, stern churchly patriarch, ordered into penitence as an acolyte. "I've no idea how I'm going to manage dessert too," she claims, before the first tart is cut in half and one of these places in her mouth. "I have to say, Duke Niccolo, Lord Grayward is correct. You chose well, inviting the Lady Sylvie with you today. She could give the Whispers lessons."

Rook seems to spare soft remarks for Dawn upon occasion, as polite as they can be. From time to time his attention strays for Sylvie, then the table as a whole but he too seems to adopt a rather quieter attitude in his serving capacity. The remark from Dawn on the Whispers causes him to laugh faintly, a bow of his head and a mild, "I could certainly spare a kind word to the Radiant next time I join her for tea. It's not quite so bad being a guest at their establishment if you wish to join me in running wild amongst them. The Solarium's view is to die for, Lady Sylvie."

Niccolo observes the plates of sweets brought out, looking through each with a pensive expression. Soon he begins to partake, but not a whole of it. He seems a little distracted, when Dawn addresses him, glancing in her direction and listening to her observation about Sylvie. "Lady Sylvie is a good friend, and a leader in her own right. I'm honored to have her here with me today," he offers with a faint smile, falling silent once more.

"I have often considered the respected work of a Whisper, my Lord Rook. I could not accept silver, of course, but there have been nobles in the past who have dabbled so," Sylvie answers quietly, her chin tipping in a gesture towards Rook even as her silvered gaze lingers on him. "Perhaps, if it is no trouble, you would spare a word only to ask the Radiant to meet with me. I know she must be quite the busy woman." Her gaze sweeps towards Niccolo for a moment at his answer, offering him a soft smile for it.

"I think both Lord Rook and Lady Sylvie have conducted themselves with exquisite grace and composure throughout the ceremony. You have both chosen your favored vassals quite well, which also speaks well of you. Limerance's bonds reach in both ways - liege is dependent on vassal as vassal is on liege. When one is exemplary, both are exalted. When one is deficient, both are weakened." His 'vassal' seems to know his tastes, choosing a small berry pie for him to try. He savors it.

When all have eaten their fill of the dessert (with some in the lower tables eating until they are literally groaning), Orazio rises.

In a clear voice he speaks to reach all the tables in the busy banquet hall the Cathedral has become. "Ladies and Lords, Masters and Mistresses, Goodmen and Goodwomen. Thank you for the devotion you have showed to Limerance these days. The gods see us, in all we do. This is one night, albeit a night where the bonds between liege and vassal are highlighted for all to see. But know this: vassals, the gods watch you. They measure how you respect your master's name as your own, and serve your master's interests as your own. They reward fidelity, honesty, and devotion. Likewise, lieges and patrons - know that the gods watch /you/ as well. It is not meet for a master to treat a servant as a slave, nor a liege to treat a vassal as an animal or a tool. You are called to protect, to serve, and to cherish those who have given you the gift of your service. Fidelity to your obligations pleases the gods. To break these sacred bonds calls down the wrath of the divine."

He steps back. "Throughout this evening, we have seen the service of the vassal to the liege. Now, it is time to call the other half of the bond. Lieges, you are called to give unto your vassals the proof of your bond, and the reward for their devoted service. Do this in Limerance's name."

Rook checked intellect + etiquette against difficulty 25, resulting in 23, 2 lower than the difficulty.

Sylvie checked intellect + etiquette against difficulty 25, resulting in 33, 8 higher than the difficulty.

Sylvie does glance towards Rook, sliding a look over the man with a smile, but then she is moving before Niccolo does. She reaches out to cup his elbow with her right hand, helping to draw him to his feet even as she stands gracefully. But then, slowly, she kneels before him at his feet in a pool of black velvet, bending her head to expose the nape of her neck where moonstones have pinned dark curls up and away, only a single curl escaping it. She murmurs, "In Limerance's name, I serve," in punctuation for Orazio's speech.

For this, Dawn bows her head under the weight of responsibility that comes with Orazio's words, sitting quietly through them as if they were prayer instead of explanation. In a manner, they very much are. She stirs only when the Lieges are call to play their part and for this, she rises. A small badge that flashes with gold and emerald appears in her hand, the snarling griffin surrounded by a precious border, and engraved with words too small to see. She lifts this, an offering made to Limerance first, here before the eyes of the Cathedral. "Grayson has ever been fortunate in its vassals. Our strength is in their devotion and loyalty, our success measured by theirs. We award this token to Lord Rook Grayward, courtier, Minister of the Crown, loyal vassal and dear friend," she intones before turning to the man in question. Her smile matches the expensive gleam of the token in her hand, extended now to living man instead of invisible god.

Orazio is overheard praising Rook for: A vassal worthy of the Lady Regent, adept in word and deed.

Orazio is overheard praising Sylvie for: Perfect manners, and a paragon of a Lycene lady.

Niccolo rises, and in his hand he holds a small box. "Lady Sylvie, rise and accept your gift. Since we've met you've been a true servant and leader of your people. The Lyceum is strong, because of people like you. I've seen you at your calmest, and I've seen you energized when it comes to speaking your mind," he offers. "Today I thank the gods, for having a vassal such as you. In Limerance's name I accept the blessing that is your service to your House and mine," he offers the small box, "So please, accept this token of my appreciation, for everything you do, and everything you are to my House, and to me." He opens the offered box, revealing a pair of earrings decorated with sapphires. The earrings have been fashioned in silver, made to mimic the scene of a river through the use of the small sapphires.

Even as Rook begins to rise and adjust his coat he smiles to Sylvie, lips presenting the ever charming smile as he promises, "It would be a pleasure to pass on your request for an audience, of course. I trust you never doubt it would be, not even for a second."
It's a shame, then, that as devestasingly handsome and well trained as this courtier is he's forgotton one of the core requirements for the feast of obligation's end. Yes, he helps Dawn up, but it's with one hand to take hers and draw her carefully upright. Yes, he kneels, but it's with the wrong leg and too close to the foot of his liege, too personal. There's even the gentle kiss to the knuckles, perfectly acceptable if one was truly grateful but not in this formal moment. When his lips lift and he looks upright, he catches sight of the bewildered expression of one of the more knowledgable 'real servants', he clears his throat recovers by dropping his hand and looking sidelong to Sylvie with a glare that says can only say, "Shit this is the wrong posture, isn't it?"

The ceremony done, the Northern Fox, please at the fine showing, begins to steal away like a little dark shadow.

Sylvie rises as she is called to, graceful even in this, though her gaze catches on Rook and ruins the solemnity of the moment briefly as it curves into a smile, a laugh exhaled softly, barely a breath. But then her smoky eyes slide to Niccolo, lifting to him under the fan of dark lashes, listening. She accepts the earrings in a cup of her fingers, studying them only to have a suspicious brightness prick at her eyes. She tips her chin in a nod, murmuring quietly, "I serve the Lyceum, the Compact, and the Faith ever failingly, with no wish of recognition for it. But I will not turn aside that which is given. Thank you, your grace."

Glaring in the midst of a holy rite? Oh dear. Perhaps that's why Dawn uses the hand which had received the inappropriate kisses to lightly touch Rook's cheek. It is a gesture that might well chide him for being frowny, though from a distance it will seem cast in the same mould as his too-near kneeling, as the kisses laid on her knuckles. Something is said, a quiet murmur meant for his ears alone, before she offers her hand to urge him to his feet again. Is he in trouble? It's so hard to tell, that fabled composure of hers maintaining the most pristine of smiles.

Rook exhales slightly as he swaps knee and adjusts his stance to the appropriate effort, looking cowed only for a second, before he takes the gift. Pinning in with immediacy to his chest the courtier then rises, finding his feet with the assistance of Dawn's hand almost symbolic as he uses much of his own strength to find his upright posture. There's a look to Orazio, briefly apologetic, before he clears his throat and adjusts his tailcoat. "You do me a great honour, Lady Regent. In Lmerance's name, I serve," he concludes with a short laugh, as if it took some effort to find the right words.

As the highest nobles in the realm do, so do those beneath them - lieges and patrons give their gifts, and draw their vassals to their feet. There are even some embraces, and the general air turns to one more festive. "Lords and ladies, masters and mistresses, goodmen and good women...in the name of the gods, we thank you for your devotion, and in return, we bid you enjoy yourselves for the rest of the night." And hey, if there wasn't ENOUGH food - there's more being wheeled in, along with bottles of brandy and sherry. Aside from personal deliveries to the high table, most of these are simply placed around the space for people to get up and serve themselves as they wish. There seems to be no more requirement to be formal, or seated...or sober, judging by the way some of the priests and merchants start hitting the booze.

Niccolo smiles at Sylvie, inclining his head to her. Once he's presented his gift, his hands come to clasp behind his back and he watches the exchange between Dawn and Rook, with just a touch of curiosity in his features. Then those eyes focus on the rest of the nobles, patrons and lieges present only to finally return to Orazio. While he watches others hit the booze, the duke tilts his head, and approaches Sylvie. He says something to her quietly, as he kisses her cheek. Then he turns to Dawn, Rook and Orazio, with then being immediately around him.
    "Thank you again, Legate, for hosting this. It was a beautiful thing," to Dawn and Rook he adds, "Thank you both for being part of it. My lady, my lord." To the group as a whole he adds, "If you'll excuse me, I'll take my leave now. Gods be with you all."

Orazio bows to Niccolo. "I, and the Faith, thank you for attending. And surely the gods smile upon you as well for your piety and faith."

Sylvie nods simply to her liege's quiet words, before she brushes kisses against each of his cheeks in turn in a Lycene farewell. She doesn't move to follow Niccolo as he excuses himself. Instead, she captures a glass of sherry, drawing towards Orazio and quietly leaning in to murmur something to him in turn with a light smile.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Sylvie before departing.

Dawn adjusts her stance to include the others and inclines her head to Niccolo as he takes his leave. "My lord, my lady. It was a true joy to see you serve Limerance, Lady Sylvie, and a pleasure to see you again, Duke Niccolo. And thank -you-, Legate, for bringing us all together." She pauses, a glance cast at Rook and her smile shading with an apologetic regret. "I should also return to the palace. There are... matters to be seen to, and never enough time, it seems. But this... this was a wonderful reprieve. Thank you."