Aelious wasn’t tired, nor was he bored, but he was certainly exasperated. Shouldering through another set of heavy doors, the bespectacled man stomped his way up two flights of stairs, stacks of strung-up documents leaning against his chest. With a swift kick, he knocked open the final door to the study, before unceremoniously dumping the stacks upon the floor. Dreadful work, manual labour was. A satisfying crick from his hips and back later, and he marvelled at all the lifting he had done. 123 proposals exactly, made by various branches across Croania. He never really understood his brother’s fascination with having things in weird numbers, but then again, that was just stress management, wasn’t it? He ran a gloved hand through his hair, before casting his gaze upon the Lord of House Aureolin himself, the ice-haired inheritor of all that their father and more. Althein Aureolin, the now second youngest Lord in the Croanian Empire, what with the succession of Lord Immolis. Of course, considering how deceptively youthful some other Lords were, it was probably hard to believe, huh?

Said Lord was currently humming a cheerful little ditty about Harrow’s ‘Tower’ as he pored over documents with print so fine that it’d make any [i]normal[/i] person’s eyes bleed, and said Lord was also chewing happily on the blackened dough that his Second Wife, the Lady of the Iron Chapel, claimed were cookies. Pale bastard he may be, but Althein certainly compensated for his agoraphobic nature with his self-flagellating tendencies. Aelious watched him work in silence for a moment, before turning away.

[b]“Hey, Aeli,”[/b] Althein called from behind, turning his eyes towards his older brother. Those irises were cerulean, blue as a winter sky.

Aelious stopped. [b]“Hm?”

“Thanks.”

“For?”

“Bringing them up.”[/b] A pale hand, adorned by a single silver ring, gestured towards the documents. [b]“Heavy, right?”[/b]

Aelious laughed. [b]“Naw, ain’t shit.”

“Then can you bring them to my desk?”

“Huh?”

“Bring them to my desk.”

“Really now.”[/b] The Heir snorted. [b]“Delivering them from the estate wasn’t enough?”

“I mean, now that you’re so close…”

“Payment?”

“How ‘bout this?”[/b] He waved one of the blackened lumps back and forth, a half-grin on his face. [b]“They’re pretty interesting.”[/b]

 Aelious gave him a look, before hefting up the stacks of paper once more, taking the last five steps across a lovely carpet and dumping it atop the oak table. [b]“Maybe once Lady Edelwane leaves this sorta work to her cooks.”

“Find her efforts charming myself.” [/b]Althein popped it into his mouth, crunching away. [b]“Very savoury.”

“Right…that all?”

“So eager to leave? Got a lady friend waiting for you?”[/b]

He shook his head, cutting string bindings with a penknife. [b]“Naw, gotta tend to my boy.”[/b] 

[b]“You do like your wyverns, huh.”[/b] Althein leaned back, rubbing the bridge of his nose, before ending another man’s whole career with a quick signature. [b]“Well, go on then. Trust you’re ready for tomorrow’s conference?”[/b]

[b]“Are [i]you[/i] ready?”[/b] Aelious grinned, snapping his penknife into his inner pockets again. [b]“Not gonna run off partway through to vomit in the toilet?”[/b]

Althein smiled back, his [i]other[/i] tendencies showing. [b]“Not till I see the Immolis-Solaris family reunion, at least.”[/b]

[b]“Don’t get too excited, yeah? I’m sure both of them aren’t inept enough to forget their manners in the middle of a Lords’ meeting.”[/b]

[b]“Eh, I’ve got high hopes for Drakus.” [/b]Althein said, settling his attention wholly upon the books. [b]“Fellow’s making some fun waves, that’s for sure.”[/b]

Aelious strode out, waving behind him. [b]“So long as those waves don’t start a war.”[/b]

[b]“Not interested in glory upon the battlefield?”[/b]

[b]"Naw, I'll just fly over to Nolore.[/b]
[hr]
Being the artery of trade that it was, Harrow’s Keep featured one of the larger outposts that House Aureolin owned, a three-story building on the western side of town, with a stable large enough to fit an excess of fifty wyverns at once. Having arrived at Harrow’s Keep last night, the Aureolin Lord and Heir had naturally lodged themselves on their own property, and their wyverns and escort similarly took advantage of the outpost’s spacious accommodations. It wasn’t particularly luxurious, but House Aureolin wasn’t one for down bedding and silk sheets. They had been nomadic herders before they had ascended to the continent-spanning communications baron they were now, and really, the hustle and bustle of the outpost was much more to Aelious’s tastes than the rigidity of the estate. Couriers of all ranks rushed in and out of the building with their orders, and gray-scaled wyverns bearing loads of letters burst out from the pits to fly across the mountain ranges. On one side of the staircase that Aelious descended, rows of landline operators flicked switches and plugged cords, directing calls all around the Empire, while on the other side, artisans carved out print molds for illustrations, already preparing for tomorrow’s edition. If he had waited another hour or two, he’d probably hear some pretty colorful language between editors and reporters too…but that was Althein’s headache.

Aelious had his boy to take care of.

The wyvern stables had been formed from digging into the ground itself, with a set of elevators made to allow humans to easily ascend and descend. A pungent stench was infused into the air itself, powerful enough to knock out the unprepared, but Aelious had long become accustomed to the smell of the scaled beasts. Generations of attempts at removing the odor of wyvern shit had ended in failure, and after those decades of prideful folly and wasted effort, it was deemed easier for humans to plug their noses than to make shit not smell like shit. At least it was quiet in the pits; unlike chickens, the wyvern’s genetic cousin, wyverns didn’t find any particular reason to be inanely clucking all the time.

Descending from the lift, Aelious nodded at a couple of the stable lads as he circled the stables, his mismatched eyes flickering from one pen to the other. Straw was dry, the caves were spacious, and he could smell the tang of fresh blood too. Good. It wasn’t indicative of long term treatment, but at least the employees at Harrow’s Keep were impeccable while Lord Aureolin was here. His hand traced the side of the cobbled wall, before he stopped at the pen of his own beloved beast. Freecloud, the proud member of the fastest subspecies amongst the Aureolin mixed-breeds. More angular than his natural cousins, his smooth scales shone a ghostly white within the comforting darkness of the stables. Crimson flecks marred the purity of its lower jaw, and Aelious laughed, using the hem of his dark cloak to clean Freecloud off. He’ll give the stable lads a tip later. Nothing better than seeing his boy be fed well.

[b]“Might even be spoiling you, huh?”[/b]

The white wyvern rubbed his head against Aelious’s own, steamy breath tickling his hair. He flexed his wings tentatively, but even the capacity of the Harrow’s Keep pens were insufficient to contend with Freecloud’s wingspan. The Heir grinned at this, before gesturing towards the wyvern.

[b]“How ‘bout we do some sightseeing, partner?”[/b]

Aelious had a full day before he was going to be locked up in the battle arena with fourteen other Lords and Heirs. May as well enjoy the last day of peace they may all have, cause tomorrow…tomorrow may be war.

A steely gaze burned in his mismatched eyes as he stared up at the skies, a silent prayer for peace.

Then he broke off into laughter.

[b]“Definitely gonna stop reading penny fiction.”[/b]