[center][img][/img][h1]♚ [color=crimson]E Z R A N[/color] ♚ [/h1][img]http://66.media.tumblr.com/51fc61ac770a524e9468f174afa94d7f/tumblr_inline_n1xc79Kcic1rb3m8r.png[/img][/center]
[center][b]Accompanied by [color=gray]Yvoddan Taake[/color] and [color=silver]Ser Mara[/color][/b][/center]
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Prince Ezran Selran Taake had never met half or even half-of-half as many peers as were sharing the room. Though the overwhelming majority of faces were unfamiliar, it did not take introductions to tell that they were largely taller, stronger, and better composed than he –perhaps not a great feat, but one he marked as important all the same. 

He was unnerved, which came to him as no surprise, but still managed to maintain an outward calm. To his left, Ser Mara stood bearing the same expression she held during his father’s speeches, one of dutiful boredom. As well expected, but it was a rare welcomed familiarity that eased his anxiety, and he felt himself relax vicariously. She leaned against the wall, unceremonious even at an age where one might expect grace, helmet gone, perhaps not even packed at all. However, he couldn’t help but notice the details of her rest, one hand propped at her hip, just at the blade sheathed there. Her thumb hung absently over the U-shaped guard, like a hook poised to yank the sword free and ready at only a moment’s alert. Her other hand held lazily onto the cusp of her gorget, but he knew well how quickly it could fly to the dagger sheathed at the small of her back. Another welcomed, albeit grim, familiarity. 

To his right was a figure much more imposing, and one he was glad to have a bar between himself and the rest of the crowd. His uncle Yvoddan –though it had been many years before Ezran’s birth that anyone but his father had called him that– was like a cemetery statue, unmoving, even his breaths masked by the layers of furs his coat bore, with eyes transfixed upon the Grand Keeper. Perhaps it was the way his attire, from regal fur hat to well-tailored boots, expressed macabre royalty, or perhaps it was the way he seemed to be far more interested in Eadbeoth’s speech, but Ezran felt more like the convoy standing beside him. 

[color=gray]”Look alive,”[/color] Vodd’s low, scratchy command sent an attentive shiver down Ezran’s spine. The moment they were invited to leave the Auditorium, his uncle began for the exit. 

On impulse Ezran started to follow, but found his feet anchored for a moment. He looked around the room, only a few passes, but his curiosity had gotten the better of him. Indeed he recognized few of the princes and princesses present. His cousin was among the crowd, Edgar, he believed the boy’s name was, though by who specifically their relation was tied, Ezran was uncertain. He looked young, younger than most attending, and he wondered if the boy had come voluntarily. In fact, how many of the young men and women slowly making their way out of the auditorium were here of their own accord? Plenty, for sure. 

Then there was Princess Anareliea, a face teetering on the edge of “acquaintance” and “stranger”. There was a seed of guilt sown in their one encounter, and standing in the vicinity with her again he remembered with a degree of embarrassment how he’d done little to make an impression of any sort. Perhaps the circumstances would allow him a chance to at least apologize, but he would much rather maintain their more or less harmless status than unintentionally create an enemy. Especially an enemy like her. 

One of the last faces he recognized was Princess Rhelissa’s, and he was glad to see she was attending. He wasn’t hesitant to call her friend, and surrounded by strangers, a presence like hers was appreciated. For a moment he considered branching off, at least briefly, to extend a greeting or wave hello, but she was approached first by another girl whom Ezran did not recognize. Looking back, he saw Vodd had not slowed, and Mara cocked a brow at him, expectant. He promised to attempt speaking with her later, even if he didn’t quite believe it, and followed after his uncle. 

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[b][center]— Yvoddan Taake’s Quarters/Halls, The Conclave —[/center][/b]

They came to a sudden stop outside of the door, and Ezran bumped into Mara’s arm.

[color=silver]”Hold up,”[/color] she said, and, hand at her hip entered the room. 

Vodd was silent, only briefly pulling his eyes from the doorway when Ezran glanced up at him, like he could sense it. The boy went rigid, attention to the floor, the strange temptation to apologize for an imagined slight thankfully caught in his throat. 

Back home, the crypt of a man had been a beacon of safety, one of within a hand count in the whole of Darkthrone that would regularly tolerate him, and moreover, protect him from the ire of those who would not. Ezran was still certain the residents of the Conclave would come to dislike him in time as well, but for the time being, in the lulls between necessity, he remembered who his uncle was, what he’d done, and why being so close so often without consequence was more towards a miracle than a blessing. 

At length Mara reemerged, no worse for ware and carrying what Ezran recognized as easily as he would his own arm, his sword. 

[color=silver]”S’all clear, Vodd,”[/color] she said, stepping aside as the elder man started in. [color=silver]”I’m gonna bring Ezran back, get the lay of the land.”[/color]

Vodd didn’t bother replying, offering only a dismissive wave before shutting the door behind him, and leaving the both of them to the quiet, empty hall.

Mara whistled sharp but low, and Ezran only just turned in time to catch the sword tossed to him. Immediately his sense of urgency began to wane, his lost weight returned, and he fit the blade to his hip with ease. He rested his hand upon the pommel much like Mara did, a gesture he’d only on occasion taken notice of, and recognized as a learnt habit. His thumb hooked much more easily around the crossguard, and the leather-wrapped hilt on his palm felt as velvet. 

In tandem steps they walked back down the hall. 

[color=silver]”Well that was boring as all hell. Hope the crusty bastard’s not gonna be teaching anything.”[/color]

The edges of Ezran’s lips twitched upwards, and he knew from the corner of his eye that she saw it. Mara cleared her throat, never one to shy from pushing reactions out of him, and set her sights back to the auditorium. 

[color=silver]”Try to stay relaxed, ah? No one’s out for blood today. Might be tomorrow, every day after that, but for right now just take it easy. Might actually make some friends.”[/color]

He gave her a mocking scowl, but she only smirked and shrugged. It didn’t take long from then to return, where they found the great hall very much alive. That said, Ezran wasn’t about to throw himself into socializing with strangers, it was more than enough for him to sit back and observe. He could remember faces well, voices too though there was poor chance of catching any through the waves of noise. 

Mara in tow, he found a nice spot along the wall, far enough from the window so that the heat didn’t boil him in his furs. She reared up a ways beside him, leaned back, and he could tell her eyes swept the crowd far more critically than his, even if they were half-open. It was comforting enough for him to let his guard down, slide his hand from the pommel and simply rest his elbow on the hilt. 

Ezran watched the grand exchange with intrigue, quiet and content. As Mara had said, tomorrow could be wretched, but for now, there were smiles and greetings, and no one to glare. This would do.