NationStates Jolt Archive

"The Commonality formally requests permission for His Royal Highness the High King (the High Lord Commodore) Semir-randil I to make a formal state visit to Resurgent Dream, preferably within the next two weeks. The Commonality is willing to provide security for the entire trip if necessary, but considers the matters at the heart of the visit to be of the utmost importance, and thus is much interested in hurrying the matter suitably."

~ 1st Ambassador Nejure, ICEL Diplomatic Corps, tramsitted (unencrypted) via standard ICEL-Resurgent Dreams diplomatic lines

His Imperial Majesty is welcome to make such a visit. We can provide security ourselves but will allow you to do so should you deem fit. We can have appropriate accomodations prepared in Tarana in three days time or at any time after that.
-Thomas Jansen, Foreign Minister

"His Highness extends his gratitude and humble pleasure at his visit being placed at so near a date. He is much looking forwards to seeing the lands he has heard so very much about. He will travel alone; unfortunately the Empress has pressing matters of state and economy at hand, and is not able to accompany him. She sends reassurance that she is eager to visit a land she has heard spoken of as a place of exceptional natural beauty.

"Security need not be more than ceremonial, in all likelihood. Of course, as Law requires, one Imperial Palace Guard and one Royal Nenya Guard will accompany His Highness at all times, but they will strive to remain out of sight and mind as much as possible. His Higness will be amply protected by his personal Barrier device, as usual, and would be pleased by less security rather than more; His Highness would also very much like the oppurtunity to discretely 'mingle' amongst the population at some point, so it would be better if his exit rather than his entrance were emphasized, if such is preferable to the Resurgent Dream.

"We are also curious as to the method of conveyance preferred; if the government of the Resurgent Dream is interested in showing that the Commonality and herself are engaging in polite diplomatic 'courting' (if you will), then we can send a diplomatic courier vessel for that purpose. If not, the High King would prefer to fly his own vehicle into the country. Landing facilities are not really required.

"We look forwards to your response."

~ 1st Ambassador Nejure

All of this is quite satisfactory to us. We shall emphasize His Imperial Majesty's exit moreso than his entrance. We shall keep security to a minimum. We would prefer a diplomatic courier vessel and will also arrange for His Imperial Majesty to mingle among the general population. Landing facilities might be easily supplied. We believe you will find modernization has worked many small miracles since our last diplomatic contact.
-Minister Thomas Jansen

"Most excellent."

~ 1st Ambassador Nejure

* * *

Three Days Later

The ship dispatched was exactly as intimated in the missive; she was a sleek image of the Commonality, certainly at best a very good impression - at worst, an incorrect impression. For try as the designers might, they had not managed to impart the full characteristics of what they tried to envision with the ship; a departure from normal Iluvauromeni design, the ship actually has wide, sweeping wings. It is wider than it is long, reminiscent of an eagle soaring, but without that predatory forward-facing look, somehow. Small, apparent 'scuff marks' criss-crossing the hull denote the defensive weapons system - circular indents suggesting guntubes to those who know where to look, reminding the careful viewer that this is a warship, no matter how pretty it may be.

But it looks affluent; it not only looks affluent, it flaunts it, which is no doubt not what was intended by the designers.

It is very pretty, though. Very sleek, curved metal, no sharp angles - pretty.

The indents are smooth, indicating that the gunports are not merely closed, but sealed - that is, not in the full-readiness position. They are not preparing to open.

The ship drifts into Resurgent Dream airspace rather than flying; at least, it seems to, it is flying so serenely and so slowly - amazingly maintaining altitude at less than ten knots. It must have boosted in from orbit - there's no way it could have travelled the distance between ICEL and the Resurgent Dream in less than a week, at that speed. Naturally, she communicates with the ground the entire time - and her fighter escorts, almost invisible against her silhouette, suddenly peel away at the border and boost upwards, gaining altitude rapidly and heading back home.

Just outside Tarana, an airfield has been prepared. A fleet of limousines, glistening white in the sunlight, waits at one end. A regiment of the Royal Guard stood at attention, waiting to receive the Emperor. The guard was diverse, Humans of all sorts standing next to towering Trolls, mixed with the odd grey-skinned, jagged toothed Redcap monstrosity. Here and there one might spot the diminutive figure and waggling eyebrows of a Boggan or the hardened stone skin of a Glome. The Royal Guard conveyed much that the Danaan High Kingdom stood for, not merely order and right but diversity, a diversity nearly unmatched in the world and valued as a national treasure.

As opposed to the swords the Emperor might have expected after his last trip, each guard carried an H-1 or T-1 assault rifle slung over his or her shoulder. The weapons were each fairly basic assault rifles on two different size-scales. Sidhe, Humans, Redcaps, Glomes, in fact the vast majority of races, used the smaller H-1. The larger Trolls and the odd Ogre, a very rare race in the Royal Guard, carried the much larger T-1.

The dress uniforms of the guard stood out sharply in the day. The green cloth with gold lining, done in a standard military cut, conveyed a bright and proud image, as did the polished boots and shining black buttons. At regular intervals officers stood at attention before their men and women. Officers too came in all races and most races wore a uniform not that different from the troops. However, Sidhe of sufficient rank were allowed to wear the armor distinctive of their race, though rare even there, Sidhe Plate. The suits of armor being worn by some Sidhe officers seemed to be full plate, covering them from the neck all the way to the toes with shining, perfectly cut metal. What seemed even odder is that every suit seemed to be made from a precious metal and to be embedded with a gemstone. These offers stood at attention as easily as the rest, seemingly unencumbered by their armor.

At the very end, near the fleet of limos, stood High Queen Agwene in her flowing gown of green gossamer that seemed lighter than air, fluttering about her as the endless and intricate layering perfectly preserved her modesty, not showing an inch of skin beyond the head and hands. Around her crowded a large retinue of nobles and dignitaries of various races, dressed in similar gossamer court finery or the more mundane suits and dresses of the modern world.

Naturally, at over two hundred metres in length, the vessel doesn't land. That would damage the ground, and kill countless creatures - even if they are all mostly tiny.

Instead, a small craft simply falls to the ground from a small exitway which opens and closes rapidly, almost in the manner of a mouth spitting. It actually doesn't look entirely pleasant, as the craft is somewhat teardrop-shaped; it undoubtedly conjures some interesting images in the minds of those watching.

The craft lands smoothly (and vertically), despite its apparently uncontrolled descent. Obviously, the descent just looked uncontrolled. The craft has a hatch, which smoothly lowers and forms a gangway - naturally, it is carpeted red.

Semir-randil disapproved of the red carpet immensley. It always implied to him the spilling of blood; an unpleasant thought, to be sure. But it was traditional in so many nations, that the Commonality had adopted it to fit in; that was the way of things.

His two guards remain unseen to those who do not look directly at them or who do not use magical or psionic means to detect them, although that is not accomplished through technology, but through the power of the mind. They merely suggest empathically and, to a degree, telepathically, that they are not there. Thus the eye does not see - even with infrared scanners.

Semir-randil wears a closely-fitting all-white dress uniform, with various campaign ribbons and awarded medals cluttering the righthand side; his shoulders are unpadded, but bear the Royal Three Star Sigil - twin lightning strikes crossing and meeting between three white stars on a blue background, inside a white-edged triangle, which is in turn placed inside a white-edge circle.

The uniform does not appear to be sealed in any way; that is, there are no buttons or visible zips or velcro. There are a pair of wings upon his left breast - eagle's wings. Below that is the symbol of a sword surrounded by stars, and then another sword - longer and curved - fronted on the background of a compass. The three insignia are very close together, and could be mistaken for just one.

The material - as mentioned already, a crisp white - looks fluffy but matte; it looks very soft indeed, very comfortable, and very elegantly made. It is very much obvious that it is exactly fitted to his body - muscle groups are faint but evident, in the usual slender manner of his species.

He is tall, perhaps six feet and seven or eight inches, but lithe. Not lanky, however - elegant in posture and in shape, his height and his body mass appear perfectly in proportion...

Just not Human proportion. Here, that likely looks not very odd at all, where there is a flourishing multi-species society already. Semir-randil almost smiled at the conveniance of it; they would be expecting eccentricity, and so he would surely not find it easy to make glaring errors, as was so often the case when two cultures varied so wildly as that of Iluvauromen often did with others.

He marched properly (toes facing downwards, height of lift limited), perfectly in unison with his guards (although he doubted there were many to notice the blue-armoured, lightly armed soldiers in step behind him), aware that he was in fact as safe here as anywhere in the Commonality. Kinetic attack was probably the most likely method of assasination, or magic; either could be dealt with, after a fashion. He almost believed there would be no such attempt, but he was always wary. There hadn't been an assassination of a top-ranking official in some years - discounting the televised 'executions' of the old leaders of the once-singular nations of Ma-tek and Ax-turath a couple of years ago - so he vaguely felt that it was a bit overdue.

Also, he had been a military man for much of his life, one way or another. Old habits - especially those many thousands of years old - die hard.

He found himself impressed at the armour; it was very much what he had liked, many years ago - very elegant, very form-fitting, clearly quite functional with it. A bit easy to spot, he conceded, but this was ceremonial gear, no doubt. The 'real' stuff would be much more professional in type, probably. So he suspected, anyway. He had almost considered wearing his armour today, made by the Imperial Armoury, but had decided against. This more modern clothing was less dictator-like, although his military station probably still sent the wrong signals.

He notes the rifles and was quietly pleased; swords were okay, and pleasant to play with, but they were dreadfully messy and almost always killed. Rifles, at least, could be used non-lethally - like the concealed ultrasonic wand he wore strapped to the inside of his left thigh, which was in fact inert, for now.
Hopefully it wouldn't be noticed, and, if it was, he could always point out that it was an absolutely harmless weapon. Nobody could be killed with the model he carried; only knocked temporarily unconscious. There was the danger of ear damage at close range, but that was remote with these new models anyway.

Besides, the IPG had insisted. Just in case.

Their paranoia, he mused as marching and smiling benevolently (as was expected of him), was most aggravating. But possibly necessary. He wasn't sure there was any danger to the Royal Family, these days. The People were mostly above violent outbursts, or seemed to be; perhaps a relaxation of the law was in order. He had considered various ways to attempt to push through legislation, but he had no idea if it would be possible to build a voting coalition in the leglislature; it would be tedious at best, and arduous at worst.

Finally, he arrived before the Queen - High Queen, he mentally corrected - of this land; she was, as the Sociologists Guild had predicted, surrounded by the Royal Court. Apparently the data from his earlier, far less known visit had borne fruit, although he was more than a little mystified as to how they had built such a detailed image from what little they had really had to go on.

His mind still whirring with thoughts, he bowed elegantly from the hip, spiralling his hand in that style in which the Europeans had once bowed, but the Nenyar still maintained; floral (or was that 'florid'?) in the extreme, very elegant, very pointless. Still, he enjoyed the maneuver, enjoyed displaying his flexibility, for his fingers still (after all these years) did not touch the ground but in that noble style that was expected grazed the air seemingly bare microns above the the ground.

He straightened with equal grace, and then waited, still smiling. The guest always bowed first, but the host always spoke first.

Agwene curtsied in return to the bow. "Welcome to the Danaan High Kingdom, Your Imperial Majesty. I must say that you have me rather curious."

The courtiers all bowed and curtsied in a wave as the door to the lead limousine was opened.

Semir-randil's smile remains fixed in place, but despite its somewhat static nature, it remains eminently friendly. "My humble thanks for this most enjoyable welcome, Your Royal Majesty," he returns smoothly, remaining utterly formal while still in sight of the Court, at least, "and I am most intrigued at your curiousity."

Semir noted to himself that the Royal We was not in evidence; he was quietly pleased. Although Royalist terminology had its uses, it tended to become redundant in the modern world; abrasive, even, as the Commonality had discovered time after time in its former guise as the Empire of the Eternal Dawn.

An internal smirk at that; the name had never really changed - just become more pleasing in English. Iluvauromen still had the same meaning; the Land of the Eternal Dawn, or Empire, if one were more fanciful about the root word involved. Yet it had seemed to please the outsiders, for the most part. They were more welcoming.

But he could not help but feel that the old ways would be more useful here; this was clearly a place with a strong and long-standing tradition - the reports had said as much, but he could now see it clearly in many ways. The armour, the instant use of the full form of address to a monarch, the very existance of a Court - he could see many similarities in the way these people clung to their traditions, as the Iluvauromeni still clung to their own.

He wondered if the reasons were the same; and, as he turned his eye momentarily to the limo, ardently hoped it was not the variety which burned fossil fuels. For a moment, he falters; ought he to enter the limo first? Was the guest thus favoured in this culture? Or would the person of highest rank here enter first?

He didn't know. It wasn't in his information. But then, such 'small' details never were; yet they often proved most important of all. His faltering was only for half of a half of an instant, yet to him it was as lengthy as all his long years upon the Earth he loved so.

Semir-randil slipped into the limo, prepared to offer as cool and calm an apology as he could if it were incorrect of him to do so.

But his smile did quirk a little; the guards would not travel in this limo - he quickly informed them of that, with a single sharp thought. Their discontent spiked, but then settled. Semir enjoyed the satisfaction of being his own master for a little while, and even wriggled just a little against the seat.

Comfortable.

Agwene slipped in after him and the door was shut behind them. The guards and courtiers were offered seats in the other limos in the fleet, limousines that, unfortunately, did burn fossil fuels. She looked to the Emperor quietly, wondering if he was going to assuage her rather burning curiosity anytime soon. "I am most curious as I still do not have any notion as to the purpose of your visit, Your Imperial Majesty."

The limousines left the landing area and passed through the seemingly endless amber fields of grain that comprised the Shieldcrest countryside. The passed through the outskirts of Tarana itself. The most humble homes were on the outskirts and the city grew progressively more prosperous as one approached the old city itself. Still, even in the poor areas, things seemed relatively orderly and life seemed a decent sort. No one was visibly living on the street or in hunger, a fact that might be explained when the limousines passed at least one Church of Dana shelter and soup kitchen.

The downtown area had shops of all sorts that catered to all kinds of specialy audiences. There were restaurants galore and one could easily imagine that one could get food from almost any corner of the world if one looked hard enough in Tarana. There was Mexican and Chinese, Quendi and Akatoni, Redcap and Sluagh, Indian and Native American, French and Italian, and that's just what could be seen from the limousine.

Finally, they arrived at the Old City in the center of town. The Old City was a great marble outcropping jutting many stories above the ground. The first gate, currently open, was carved at ground level, leading to a flight of wide, decorous marble stairs. The door was opened and Agwene again gestured for the guest to proceed her.

As the car moved, Semir-randil decided to stall. A closed space was not the type of place he had in mind for a discussion such as this. So he gave the obvious answer: "Why, my government and your government have enjoyed some degree of communication in the past months, Your Majesty. It seemed only prudent that one of the Executive Council paid an official visit, in recognition of what I trust to be our growing friendship."

Semir-randil much enjoyed the view, to be sure - or, at least, the view of the crops passing, out in the countryside. He did not enjoy the city so much; the clear disparity of wealth almost forced his lip to curl, but it was easy to forget just how difficult it had been to bring the Commonality to its current, near-equalitarian state. Even for he, who had lived through the entire change. The restaurants were interesting; he made a mental note to be sure to include that in his report, which would be passed onto the Guild. The Guild were going to love that - they could glean information from any small details. Which was why he was being so observant.

When indicated to exit the vehicle, he does so - of course elegantly - and waits outside. The guards are back in position as soon as they possibly can be, of course.

Agwene glided up the marble stairs with no visible guards. Her court seemed to hold back, climbing the stairs some distance behind. Agwene led Semir-randil onto the marble streets of Old Tarana, walking between the towering neo-classical buildings. The streets were crowded with Humans and Fae of all kinds. Perhaps here and there one might spy the odd Quendi or Akatoni High Elf or Goblin.

Clothing was as diverse as the people. Casual, modern clothes mingles with court garb, uniforms, armor, rags, and all manner of other outlandish costumes. "Don't take clothing as an indication of wealth. In some races, it's the custom to dress in finery even if it bankrupts them. In others, it's the custom to wear rags and filthy garrments even in the best financial times. At least two of the people dressed like beggars are members of Parliament."

Agwene passed up the steps to the palace, pausing in the large entrance hall with comfortable furniture and milling groups of conversing courtiers and politicians and tourists. The palace did not seem to be secured from the outside in any visible way.

Of course, Semir-randil had felt the throngs of people long before they had been visible. He had expected them to be diverse, as well, for the thought patterns were diverse and rich in flavour and texture, and he barely noticed the scenery, he was so immersed in the richness of it all-

It was almost as if a blind man had been thrust into a room full of colour, and could suddenly see clearly. The feeling was intense, exquisite, pleasurable to the point of pain - or was that painful to the point of pleasure? It was difficult to tell, but it was not a negative experience. It had been, he remembered faintly, when he had been in his youth, and had first faced a crowded room. Even thirty people seemed a crowd then - but there must be hundreds of thousands here. Millions, perhaps, all in one space.

There was always a background hum in a city, but the attention of each individual was focused on a different thing - or, if there was a unity there, it was limited. But with all these people, all watching their High Queen and a foreigner that was making something of a surprise visit, all focused on the spectacle in front of them...

It reminded him of his Coronation and Wedding. Rialla had been so gorgeous that day; so amazingly radiant. Her smile had seemed to send waves of ecstacy through the throngs of people; she was well-loved indeed, he knew, and it was not all to do with the ancient tradition of that day. Nor was it due to the giant Call sent out by every Nenya in tribute to her - a Call which swept every Sentient or near-Sentient in the land up in a tide of momentary ecstacy. He understood that even the foreign observers had experienced it to some degree, except those from Whispering Voices - who had apparently been wearing some sort of anti-psionic devices.

He almost did not hear the High Queen speak; her voice was very faint. Sound was so quiet in comparison to the realm of the mind; so fearfully weak. Not for the first time he felt ardently sorry for any being not capable of experiencing this; but as ever, the thought was tempered by his awareness that they would never know what they missed. It didn't seem so bad, at that.

"...indication of wealth. In some races, it's the custom to dress in finery even if it bankrupts them. In others, it's the custom to wear rags and filthy garrments even in the best financial times. At least two of the people dressed like beggars are members of Parliament."

He realised he had missed something; a few words were missing, and he was not so rude as to directly probe a mind without prior permission. He did not have to do a thing in this crowd; his mind could not be leashed against such stimuli, no matter how he tried; but individual thoughts were blurred, and so there was no real invasion of privacy. There was only the blur of the masses...

He realised dimly that she had been speaking of the clothing - clothing he had not even noticed. Now he focused on his weaker visual sense, he realised she was right (although that had been inevitable); the clothing was diverse, and the flavours between the minds of similar clothing was sufficiently similar to suggest similar culture...

Culture; the bond of minds between minds in the non-psionic society, and just as critical in a psionic society. The great mystery. The great science of sociology still strove to understand the workings of that great machine, that great creator of societies; and when they spoke of culture, they did not mean art, or music, or any of those things. It was the unspoken, to the Iluvauromeni scholars; it was like jazz - the truth was in the notes that were not played.

"We have a similar fashion amongst some of our People, and it is growing in strength," he found himself to be saying, "but we are somewhat less...individualist, at the current time." He paused. "But this is magnificent! Your People are so..."

He struggled for the words.

"...vibrant. So full of colour."

He was not speaking of their clothes, but he was not being particuarly specific, 'distracted' as he was. Oh, his senses were still fully engaged - but his mind was elsewhere, his focus elsewhere. His guards were not anywhere near as enthralled - he could feel their cool calm focus nearby - but then, they were trained specifically not to be. At a moments notice, he felt he could attain the same; at least, he had been able to a hundred years ago. Whether or not his lack of practice amongst such vast crowds had diminished the ability-

He found he did not care.

The colours and tastes and flavours and textures and...!

Agwene smiled brightly. "Thank you. We like to think so."

The Fae mind is such an alien thing to one used to dealing with the minds of Men or even Elves. It's a fickle thing, a capricious thing, that sees the possibilities and passions of the world more than the realities. Colors are brighter through Fae eyes and smells are stronger by just as much. Boggans are bursting with an overwhelming compassion while Redcaps feel constant hunger like a Man would feel only on the point of starvation. The rigid strength of the unbreakable minds of Trolls and the fluid, casual flightiness that makes up the complex webs of the Pooka mind dance with the fierce lusts and passions of the Satyrs. And the Sidhe! The Sidhe mind has its passions too, fierce passions like few others can know. Likewise, it is capricious, moody, proud, honorable, confident, demanding. Yet, none of this is as strange and alien as the undeniable and almost inconceivable way the Sidhe mind seems to stand outside the natural progression of time. A moment ago might incite the deepest nostalgia or a century ago be remembered as though it just happened. The strange temporal flux of the Sidhe mind is overwhelming to the outsider, rendering even the most basic thought in hard to decipher patterns. But Agwene's mind was something else as well. Something hidden and shielded, even from herself. But something which nonetheless roared as loud as the other minds combined. Something she did not know she had in her.

Semir-randil's mind slowly divined more detail from the crowd - still it would not be individual details, but always leaning towards the crowd itself; his mind had only finite capacity to 'listen', and that capacity did not allow for the simultaneous understanding of millions of minds. Given time, he could focus in on an individual here or there, but that thought simply never occurred to him. It would be worse than rude - it would be an entirely disgusting and abhorrent act. To focus in that manner would require more than listening to surface thoughts, which was uncontrolled at worst and barely controlled at best, and would involve observing more deep, more personal emotions and 'thoughts'.

Of course, thoughts themselves - the voice that people heard, their inner voice - was not what Semir-randil would have heard, anyway. It was not entirely explainable, except to say that his mind felt outwards, and translated sensation into vague notions, which, with knowledge and training, could be honed to (most of the time) impressions, and (sometimes) bare facts.

He got no such impressions without the effort, or without tactile contact - although the tactile touch triggered a deeper 'scan', that scan was not deeper than very sparse impressions; impressions of texture, colour, smell, taste - the exact nature of the impressions varied from individual to individual and Nenya to Nenya.

But proximity to another potent mind was inevitably drawing, inevitably attractive to that which in Semir-randil's mind was pure instinct. His mind, therefore, without his control and entirely subconsciously - instinctively - reached outwards towards that mind...

And drew back under sharp control. Still, there was an impression-

...the rock beneath the veil...

-yet it was brief, a mere glimpse.

Semir-randil's distraction decreased accordingly with his effort; he would need to consume quite a bit of fruit juice, he decided. His energy level would already be falling as a result of his activities; he could quite literally feel his blood sugar level lowering, in fact. It was not entirely pleasant.

The impressions of the minds around him defined sharply, as if suddenly. In fact, his brain had been decyphering them the whole time, but, by some quirk of design, the Nenya brain held back the vast majority of the information received by their psionic senses until the whole was completed. Thus it seemed to rush over him; if he had never experienced anything like this before, he might have stumbled.

As it were, he drew in a sharp breath.

"Much is hidden in this land than ought not be," Semir-randil murmoured softly, not forgetting that the report had indicated that the Sidhe might well have the potent hearing of the Quendi to whom they had initially seemed related. His mind briefly dwelt on the Noldor who had decided to visit - that had been the first contact between an Iluvauromeni and...

The Danaan, he presumed. There wasn't actually concrete data on what they called themselves collectively, though, and this was a word that the philologists had not revealed. They had basic language data - enough to translate into and from the Sidhe tongue, for example, thanks to the Noldor affinity with language which the Nenyar had inherited - but some words were different, and had deeper significances that could not be delved without concrete evidence.

It's intriguing, the difference between Sidhe and Nenyar, Semir considered thoughtfully, we, like our Noldor ancestors, are focused on every moment that was and is. We do not forget or wonder at the past, for it is here with us now, as it was then. - Yet the Sidhe...they feel so different, so alien, despite the apparent physical similarities. I could spend a lifetime here...watching them, listening to them, understanding them. At last, Semir found that he truly understood the passion of the sociologist - beyond the obvious gains the field offered for proper and careful government planning, that is. It was the differences, as he had maintained in his youth, that made the friendships and ties worthwhile - and the study of what made those ties even more worthwhile.

His mind drifted, aware as he was that he could return to the thought at any time he so wished, and wondered if he would encounter the lady he had met here, not too long ago (it seemed); he rather hoped so. He also rather hoped that the endeavour he had carried out - freeing her - had been of worth and service beyond the obvious.

Altruism was ideal, of course, but in order to continue to be altruistic, one often had to hope for a return. That was the double bind of it all.

Quietly, smiling all the while of course, he asks Agwene in a much clearer tone, "I sincerely mean my words, and as such, thanks are not necessary. The truth asks for no praise," this is spoken with the weight of years behind it, suggesting a long-standing (perhaps culturally universal) retort, "-To where are we headed?"

Agwene smiled a little. "To my dining chambers, unless there was somewhere else you wished to go. You have left me rather in the dark about the purpose of this visit."

The Sidhe lady shrugged her shoulders a little. "Is there somewhere in particular you would prefer to go?"

Lady Anghard watched from the wall with her eyes lowered deferentially. She kept her gaze towards Semir with gratitude and admiration though she said nothing and did not approach of her own accord.

"I am not desperately hungry, and yet I do not wish to interrupt normal schedules too much. If it would usually be time to eat, then I am more than happy to look forward to sampling local cuisine," Semir replied easily, the smile still in evidence. Everywhere there are politicians and eyes, there are smiles.

"But if the usual eating time remains some ways off, I would be glad to simply move somewhere quiet - with a view, would be very nice indeed - and discuss matters. I am glad to be here, but business is business. - And the purpose of the visit shall thus be revealed more swiftly."

Familiarity struck him; there was someone here that he knew, and that could only be a very limited number of someones - he doubted it was any of the men to whom he had spoken to find his way to his previous destination, for the mind was distinctly feminine.

Not that that was always obvious, of course.

But his eyes are drawn to the source, which is easily divined as the eyes of the source are squarely focused on him, although her head is lowered. His smile quirked a little more; he remembered that day with gladness, although he was still saddened that he had been forced to have an ulterior motive for the action which now no doubt drew her eyes.

"And I would be fain indeed to have the Lady Anghard join us," he added, with something of an air of the dramatic. It's all, of course, in the suddenness of the statement, not particuarly connected to anything else he had said previously. Even to the Lady in question.

Agwene inclined her head. "It should be no great difficulty to find somewhere private to talk." She turned to her court. "If you would allow us privacy..."

She blinked at his next statement. "I am not exactly sure who Lady Angharad is...but if you wish to include her, I do not object."

Semir-randil tried to indicate her with his eyes, tilting his head towards the Lady in question, noting, "She is there."

He considered calling out her name, for a moment, but did not want to seem to be attempting to exert any sort of authority. Calling out a name might easily seem to be calling out an order; and he understood this was a member of the nobility. If the class system were strong here, such action would not be taken kindly by the 'commoners'; generally speaking, the lowest or near-lowest ranked persons in a society did not like the higher ranked people - but they would dislike a foreigner even further if that foreigner were to try to influence their 'higher-ups'. At this stage, with a lack of information, it certainly was not worth the risk to make such a potentially horrendous error.

He did not point because it was considered the height of bad manners to point in the company of a ruling monarch - at least in Iluvauromeni tradition. Indeed, there had been a time when to point near the Emperor or Empress had resulted in immediate and swift execution - unless the pointer was valuable somehow. There were always exceptions.

Of course, no such action was taken in modern times - but the tradition was strong enough even for Semir to adhere to it, automatically. Also, pointing was just plain rude.

Agwene followed his gaze, looking the woman over. "Lady Angharad?" she asked loudly enough to be heard.

Angharad bowed deeply. "Your Majesty?"

Agwene smiled ever so lightly. "Would you care to join us at the Emperor's request?"

"I'd be delighted too." Angharad answered without hesitation, gliding over.

As soon as Angharad arrived, Agwene moved gracefully through the halls, escorting the three to a balcony overlooking the marble of the old city and the vast new city beyond it. Agwene shut the door behind them and looked curiously to Semir-randil.

Now apparently in private, Semir-randil's demeanour alters significantly.

For starters, the smile vanishes. He scowls deeply, gazes out over the city for a few long moments before returning his eyes to the High Queen. "I am very glad to be here, Your Majesty, but I must confess: this is not my first visit." He glances at Lady Angharad.

"This is my second visit. The first, I am sad to say, was not under happy circumstances. My...our," he corrects, "intelligence suggested that a Sidhe was available for sale, here. In the Resurgent Dream. - Do you know much of such activities, Your Majesty? Do you know how I came upon this very Lady, caged? Are you aware?"

He sounds rather annoyed, to say the least, and not the least bit interested in hiding it.

But he was. He was far more angry than he could ever show; his own memories of slavery in his own nation boil to the fore - he had fought against that, too - and, despite the neutral standpoint that the Commonality had taken in the Amerigo Slaver War (against Semir-randil's better judgement, ethically, if not geopolitically), he was very much against slavery of all forms. He was, internally, on the brink of 'spitting blood'. He refrained from allowing such dark anger out, however, and instead merely looked angry. Just the slight curling of the lips into the scowl, the faintly narrowed eyes, the sharp, stiff posture.

Agwene regarded him levelly. "Had you bothered reporting such to my government in a timely fashion as opposed to going on a personal crusade, the person guilty of this would have been arrested, tried in a court of law, and, if your allegations are true, convicted and punished. As it is, I it is you who had information that could have led to the capture of this criminal which you chose to withhold. That being said, I am not sure what you are here to find fault with unless it be that our law enforcement consists of fallible individuals who do not always solve every case."

Angharad just stared blankly at Semir. "Your Imperial Majesty...I really don't...I've been working to...She wasn't even High Queen when it happened, for Dana's sake! The government's been very responsive to requests for measures to make the jungles and other isolated spots safe and secure."

Semir-randil's scowl breaks into a smile; he nods briskly, almost as if in approval. "Excellent. - A confusing method, I know, but an easy way of ensuring we are of one mind on the matter. I could not report the matter as I was inside the nation illegally. As it happens, the details available to us on the matter have been improved upon. Electronic tagging is easy these days, you understand. My movements were being tracked from cislunar space, and," he dips into an unseen pocket, pulling out a sheet of plastic with writing on it, "I'm sure your law enforcement will find this data on the movements of the person in question most valuable - at least considering who the individual may have met, and such other data."

He pauses a moment. "And with no way of explaining the matter... I would have been here sooner, but matters of state are pressing and urgent at the moment. As they always are. The war with Dregruk has taken up too much time; I am sorry if lives have been damaged by this sluggishness, but my position is multifaceted. To be blunt, there were more lives at stake there than here.

"But it is a pleasure to know that the situation appears to be improving here. That would have been a major obstacle to relations, you see. My people are not forgiving of what they consider to be 'barbarisms'; there are so many in the world now that it is hard to distinguish between those permitted and those difficult to prevent. This is the danger of democracy. Everyone gets their say alright - but not everyone ought to get as loud a voice as they do."

It was an underhanded trick, he decided - a sneaky thrust into a sensitive spot often revealed facts that might otherwise take much questioning. He did not know. And - he sighed at this - he had a dozen other places to be, all at once.

He wished they would develop that neuro-interlink technology the techs were always prattling on about; then he might well be able to be in several places at once.

But for now...

Agwene took the information, putting it aside for the moment. "I will be sure to deliver this to my Ministry of Justice."

She smiled lightly, turning to Lady Angharad. "You might have reported it just as easily, lady."

Angharad blushed and said nothing. The High Queen gave her a light, reassuring smile before looking back to Semir. "I assume there was more you wished to discuss."

Nodding slowly, the Nenya looks a little more thoughtful for a moment. "Indeed. There is in fact much to discuss, but there is always much time in hand, so that we are naturally ahead so long as we are patient. The Commonality feels that the Resurgent Dream represents a valuable friend; we are similar in some ways - we are both diverse in culture and kind, for instance - and we are also dramatically different in others. Both aspects appear to be good, in general.

"That in itself is rare. Thus the Resurgent Dream is more interesting to us than most other states might be; we are different and similar in such a way as to ignite great curiousity amongst the People. In fact, I am here under the request of the Unified Government - not merely the Executive Council. The entirety of our Government - both elected and general citizens - wishes for us to make contact in a fullsome and proper way.

"So I shall lean towards one group of matters first, and we may leave the later matters til' later.

"Firstly, we would much desire a cultural exchange. Books, music, historical information - things like that. Second, we are willing to provide technological assistance to aid Resurgent Dream in ensuring the security of its citizens, insofar as Commonality Law allows. But more than that..."

He pauses. "We would like to offer the Resurgent Dream a Writ of Affiliation, with all merits and expectations thereof, as a prelude to a full and official Alliance, following proper consultation of our existing allies. - Of course, this need not be now. But I am being frank, and to the point."

Agwene inclined her head, responding to one matter at a time. " A cultural exchange would be quite beneficial on both sides. I can agree readily to this proposal."

She looked off thoughtfully for a moment. "I do not know what sort of technological assistance you would offer. We have already received a great deal of such assistance in an official capacity from the Akatoni and the Menelmacari among others. The list of partners for more private sector modernization is much longer."

She sunk deeply into thought at the last request. "We would need to consult with our current allies as well. Perhaps it would be better to begin with a simple exchange of embassies."

Semir-randil smiles a little more; he nods again, slightly. "Indeed. Yet we do not build embassies in foreign lands; embassies are vulnerable to attack by upset people, and we feel it is a temptation to put them within reach. Of course, a consulate is another matter. Those are absolutely required. - But we did provide you with a high-level access trimensional communication device, I recall. Those are for a direct line to the Diplomatic Corps Compound in Nenya; if you so wish, however, we can easily make a plot or building available in the Foreign Quarter of the capital. That's Nenya, of course.

"Viewing does not accomplish all that seeing does, naturally. But the Resurgent Dream is only hours away at worst, for travel.

"As for technology - the technology we would be offering would be non-lethal security technology. Protection assets only. Higher tech status brings higher profile targets, and such targets cannot be left 'soft'. The Menelmacari may be ahead of us in gravitics, but they lack the willingness to develop non-lethal armaments. Those we can provide.

"We can also provide technology related to environmental protection; advice on how to integrate growing city populations without over-damage to existing habitats, if required. We have experience you may find valuable, in other words, and we are hopeful to share it for the mutual benefit of all."

[OOC: For a moment, I was offering protection pony assets. Hm.]

Agwene frowned slightly. "Very well. We shall limit ourselves to a consulate as well then. I believe we have a Trollish diplomat by the name of Quiora Soulaxe who I could assign to head up such a mission."

"These technologies do interest us." Agwene conceded. "However, I would be interested in knowing what you would wish in return. I would also be interested in seeing the text of a Writ of Affiliation so that I might consider the matter more thoroughly for future discussion."

Turning his gaze outwards to the city, Semir-randil allowed his posture and features to soften towards something more like his current mood; he was feeling eager, a little high on the excitement of being in a position to negotiate over something which, in the long term, might benefit his people greatly indeed - and those of this grand city.

The view was, to his eyes, very impressive. He was easily impressed, granted - he loved art in all its forms - but the lines of the city were especially pleasing to his eyes, somehow. They reminded him of something half-forgotten, which was a rarity indeed. Perhaps it was a memory from a previous existance; for a moment, he wondered who had been, before he had been born into this body upon his departure from the Halls of Mandos.

It hardly mattered, and his mind swiftly moved on. The city was a buzz again, a background noise, and it was a pleasant buzz, alien and exotic though much of it was. He liked 'spice' - in the mental sense. Some preferred the bland, but he preferred the exotic, the new. Yet not always.

He returned his gaze - softer, more open - to the High Queen, his eyes pausing on the Lady for a moment first.

"It would not be a major commitment. Merely a statement, essentially, by both nations, agreeing to co-operate peacefully whenever possible, and aid each other in times of strife, when pre-standing, ethical, or moral concerns do not prevent such aid. In other words, we would not expect you to aid us in a war which had nothing to do with you, and which we had started ourselves. Equally, you would not expect us to do the same - although were the cause correct and the reasoning sound, we might very well offer aid in such a situation regardless.

"It would also guarantee the Resurgent Dream a reduction in import tariffs, and a strengthening of quotas - although not by the text of the Writ. That would be a matter of tradition. Further, it would exempt the Resurgent Dream from our eye, to a certain extent. We are more inclined to accept the eccentricities of allies than enemies, naturally, and so we would find it easier to prevent the Unified Government calling for some sort of response to something which did not sit well with us.

"Most of the benefits are minor, but some are rather major. For example - we would commit resources to watching for threats to your security as well as ours. We would always be prepared to defend your population from threat. We would be willing to invest to enhance your economy in times of trouble, or withdraw investment - even at personal loss - should it be so requested, for the benefit of the People. We would allow free movement to the Commonality from the Resurgent Dream, without need of visa. And so on.

"An Alliance, of course, has more pressing demands, which is why it would be a far longer-term consideration. We have no intention of forcing you or ourselves to rush beyond need or desire - but at the same time, we wish to make plain our willingess."

He closes his eyes for just a moment, a bare instant.

"And...if you so wish to build an embassy, there is no need to let our traditions interfere. We would welcome an embassy in Nenya, and I am very certain that any staff dispatched there will most enjoy the city."

Agwene inclined her head. "That all sounds quite desireable. I will certainly take it all under consideration. Much of it sounds like our general policy towards all free nations in any event. We always strive to settle differences without resorting to armed force and we have a general policy of free trade across borders."

"Intelligence is another matter, I'm afraid. We are a member of the Vinyatirion Intelligence Pact, which means that a good deal of our intelligence is either directly provided by our treaty partners or the results of coordinated efforts. Correspondingly, we could not, in good faith, enter a bilateral intelligence treaty unless the wording were considered very carefully so as to respect the letter and the spirit of our current obligations. We would be prepared to enter into any such relationship in the near future."

"Free movement is a possibility easy enough considered and I will instruct Quiora Soulaxe to prepare an embassy staff. May I speak bluntly, Your Imperial Majesty?"

Semir-randil emits a short laugh. "We used to be involved in a bilateral arrangement with the Menelmacari; they enjoy rules and regulations, I suspect. - But yes, of course. You need not even both with the title in private, either, as it is strictly functional. We do not entirely believe in the use of such things, these days, beyond their inspirational aspect for the People. - And were I not to enjoy something you might say, why, that would hardly matter either. I am not the Commonality. I can merely be a tool of the People - cliche and ironic as that may be."

Agwene nodded. "Very well then. Bluntly, I am not interested in weighing the advantages and disadvantages of a package with a list of benefits and obligations which I might accept or reject as a whole. Such predesigned modules are a necessity when joining a multilateral pact after its formation but I do not see their necessity in a bilateral. If, after further contact, the exchange of embassies, and closer relations, we do decide to accept a bilateral treaty of affiliation or alliance, we would wish to sit down and work out an original arrangement specific to our situation in which both parties have equal input."

Semir-randil smiled, bowed his head slightly, and stated very agreeably indeed, "Absolutely perfect, Your Majesty." He doesn't drop formality. It's too ingrained. "My love for my country is merely such that I am far too willing to extoll the benefits of a closer relationship with us; and I must admit to eagerness. An oppurtunity such as this does not present itself to me very often; rarely do I have time to take in order to gallavant around the world, striving to make friends.

"Yet let us dispense with officialdom, then. Surely time draws on, and, unless it is against tradition here, I would enjoy engaging conversation over a warm meal; we have a saying at home: politics makes weary the active mind."

Semir-randil wondered if Lady Angharad wondered why she had been brought here; he hoped merely to help her find favour, in fact. A simple reason behind that one: he owed her. He had taken a selfish act in protecting her - and that outweighed whatever good that act had caused. Thus, this was, to him, his repayment. He hoped it was good enough, and further hoped that he did not do something stupid - however unlikely he felt that to be - and cause problems for her or her family. He did not suspect that this nation was that extreme, however - despite the Great House Aquinall report on the conference which their leader had observed and attended.

He hadn't been impressed at that report; the Noldo had been too hasty.

Agwene nodded. "Of course. Lady Angharad, would you care to join us?"

Angharad nodded. "I'd be honored, Your High Majesty."

Agwene smiled. "Very well then." She looked to Semir'randil's arm expectantly.

Semir-randil smiled pleasantly as he offered his arm to Agwene - strange that these names should all sound so familiar in such a different place! familiar and different, all at once - without any particular hesitation. Back home, there was no taboo against physical contact in public - of any variety but the obviously sexual - which was naturally an extension of a lack of nudity taboo. If one was happy to go around wearing nothing, why should one be bothered by touch?

He was, of course, not nude, and rarely was. He preferred clothes, personally. Not out of any prudishness - but out of simple deduction. If he was nude, foreigners would find him strange - if they had nudity taboos. Not everyone was the same, but clothes were worn anywhere - the weather sometimes didn't give one a choice.

As he has no idea what direction to go in, he waits to be lead.

Agwene slid her arm into his, gliding towards a dining room with a moderately sized wooden table. It's not a great hall by any means. Agwene sat at the head of the table and gestured Semir to sit across from her. Angharad sat between them. A Boggan man entered the room, looking to Semir. "Does Your Imperial Majesty have any preference of menu?"

"Cheese."

It's a strange response, so Semir-randil elaborates: "Something with cheese would be delicious. We Nenyar have a...soft spot...for cheese, and dairy products in general. - And I could be doing with a fruit juice of some variety in the meantime, if you please." He smiles.

"I suspect that the cheese here won't be quite the same as at home; soil content in the Commonality is such that we tend to have grass of a specific variety; by some quirk of the way in which the cow digests the grass and produces the milk, a very minute quantity of morphea is produced. That, I suspect, is the cause of our liking for cheese. A minor addiction, considering the quantities involved."

"How does Penne with Tuna and Mozzarella sound, Your Imperial Majesty?" The Boggan asked. "Perhaps with cranberry and apple juice? I must say it is a meal I quite enjoy myself."

Agwene smiled warmly at the Boggan, inclining her head slightly. Angharad just watched quietly, smiling politely.

Semir-randil cocked his head to one side in a curious manner, looking rather more like a mathematician making calculations than a person simply deciding on a meal. Actually, he was - he was calculating nutrients and vitamins, just like a good Nenya ought.

"That sounds delightful," he agrees, after a short pause. Perhaps somewhat astonishingly, he bows his head - to a degree which to him, and his culture, in this specific situation, is known as the Third Level of Acceptance. It probably looks a little different. It isn't an extreme movement - just a slight lowering of the chin. Very precise, though. And clearly ritualized, therefore.

The Boggan bowed. "Of course, Your Imperial Majesty. It will be prepared soon." He scurried out of the room at that.

A few minutes later, he returned and filled all three glasses with juice. "The food should be ready in about fifteen minutes." He declared before bowing and once more departing.

Semir-randil settled back a little, relaxing. "I'm curious," he stated in a I'm-beginning fashion, with a little pause, "as to what each of you consider to be your favourite foods?"

It's probably not the most expected question in the world, but, at the same time, it's incredibly inevitable.

If you're Semir-randil, at least, that is.

He need to know. Such questions had been given to him by the Guild; they wanted to know so that they could formulate all sorts of theories on how to react to the Resurgent Dream, etc etc. In fact, that was pretty much the real purpose of the visit.

Nobody who was worth signing a treaty of any importance with just signed the dotted line without a lot of interaction. That much was obvious. But it was also difficult to know how to react when you did not understand the culture being dealt with; the Commonality had had such problems in the past, and, slowly, was coming to terms with the fact that it had to yield in its viewpoint in order to be appealing to other states.

Semir-randil sighed internally; they had become too used to isolation, in the long years apart from the rest of the world. Far too used to isolation. They projected their own 'world' onto the real one - and they did not match.

Hence a big part of the reason for the departure from the Triumvirate of Yut, and the saddening disagreements and misunderstandings which swiftly followed - all of which seemed like decades ago, now.

Agwene paused, looking off suddenly with a light blush. Pretending that she had not done so, she looked back to Semir-randil with a light smile. "Duck, it would have to be duck, when served in the proper sauce and cooked correctly. I find it succulent, filling, and refined."

Angharad answered simply and with little thought. "Steak. I like steak cooked over an open flame and served medium rare."

The High Queen laughed a little. "Our diets are hardly among the more unique which you'll find in the Resurgent Dream, however. Once you've eaten with a Redcap or a Sluagh...which I would strongly advise you against doing...then you will understand how special some people's palates can be."

Angharad nodded. "Of course, the other point is that it is not exactly from food that Fae get their nourishment. We are fundamentally composed of energies of a different sort and draw our ultimate sustenance."

Conversationally, Semir-randil notes, "I do not require food, personally. I do not know the mode by which my body finds nourishment when I do not eat, but I have had it proposed to me by the noted mathematician and phsycist Bao Ling that it is entirely possible that my telekinetic talent derives energy from the universe itself." He shrugs.

"I have no idea, personally. - But it is unpleasant not to eat, still - at least at first. Once my body shifts nourishment...style...I do not notice. But the pleasure of eating is not to be missed."

Agwene inclined her head with interest. "Telekinetic talent? You will forgive my interest but telekinesis, telepathy, and other psionic talents are unknown in the Danaan High Kingdom, for all our diversity on other matters. To my knowledge their has never been a natural psionic born in our borders."

Angharad smiled slightly. "It is amazing. We do have some contact with such people in the form of the Deryn from near Dragonsreach."

Agwene frowned faintly. "Ah, yes, the Deryn. I have seen evidence of their talents before. My sister speaks rather highly of them."

Angharad looked down with a slight blush as the food arrived. It was finely made and served with numerous sides, presented in an orderly and artistic fashion. It is, after all, entirely about presentation. The Boggan set the dishes on the table swiftly, wearing a bright smile and carrying himself with a genuine and deep-seated pride in his work.

"Ahhh, this looks and smells utterly delicious," Semir-randil almost gushed, well aware of the pride that each professional takes in their work. And the presentation - not to mention the taste, which was already evident thanks to his rather heightened (in comparison to the Human versions of) Nenyar senses - displayed the pride. It was only natural to respond to that - obviously.

He does not taste the food, however. He felt safe sticking with his own customs, for now, for he did not know appropriate behaviour here. There was always prompting if he got something wrong - there was no shame in that, especially if he accepted it gracefully, he felt.

Back home, the person who had created the meal would try it first, even if they were not to eat at that time or place. Then, each other person, at the same time if possible, would taste. Truthful and honest statements were expected. Not lies. Ever. At least, not in Nenyar society. The Humans tended to...colour statements. The Elves were honest, but in such a pretty manner that you didn't mind if they told you your food tasted like thalin excrement.

Here, to be sure, he would not need to lie, or 'colour'. Instead, he could be utterly honest. He knew the food would be delicious - his taste buds were tingling at the scent, almost. Well, not literally.

He almost reached out with his mind in thanks - a tradition at a Nenyar gathering for food - but halted the gesture sharply. He had almost forgotten the fruit juice - which was good. It would go well with the food, he suspected.

The Boggan left without tasting the food and Agwene and Angharad began to eat without any further ceremony. They both ate daintily with perfect manners and graceful movements, their chewing subtle and silent. Eyes remained focused on Semir-randil as they waited for him to respond to their earlier statements.

Semir-randil began to eat once the others did, improvising politeness as best as he could. He felt a little uncomfortable under their gaze, but, being the guest, did not let it show. He goes at his food hungrily - but no less daintily or gracefully for it. He, too, eats almost silently, his teeth and mouth seemingly exactly formed.

Swallowing a tasty bite, he smiles, and pauses for a moment; "Nenyar - all of us - are psionically talented. All of us without exception are empathic. It is the first higher brain function to be fully developed, in fact. We learn in the womb, actually. You know. Basic language, numeracy. So we are born talking. Some say we never shut up again, as a result." He laughs softly.

"Then, again, a smaller percentage - around seventy percent - are telepathic. At the least, in a limited manner. An even smaller percent are particuarly adept at either sending or recieving telepathically; strength of signal does not vary - but modulation does. I'm not sure that makes sense to a non-mentalic, but the terms are hard to find in spoken language.

"The probability decreases with magnitude, generally. So there are far less potent send-receive telepaths than strong-send weak-receive telepaths. The skill varies, too, rather than being merely the same across level platforms, as it were. Each person is adept in different ways inside their bracket of strength and type.

"Then, rarest of all, are the telekinetics. There are perhaps three thousand telekinetic Nenyar. They vary in strength, too. Only seven alive today are known to be capable of lifting more than one-point-seven times their own body-weight. I am in that top percentile, but when I was born four thousand decades ago, I was merely a weak telekinetic. So strength tends to improve with age, rather than decline. - But I am of the First Generation of my kind; we did not alter in form so much as the later generations. Thus we are as the Quendi, and do not die biologically unless killed."

He goes back to his food, not quite watching the two ladies, but at the same time trying to see their reactions to his words.

He fails, to an extent. It is hard to watch someone else eat.

Agwene nodded with interest. "That is a most interesting trait. I am sure it comes in rather useful in many circumstances." Though she was trying not to show it, Agwene was somewhat worried that Semir-randil might be in her mind, reading her thoughts. While Agwene was merely cautious, Angharad was distinctly nervous.

The two Sidhe moved rather swiftly through the meal. Angharad settled back slightly after she'd cleaned her plate. Both women seemed to be pondering a new topic of conversation.

Semir-randil can and did sense discomfort, even with the effort not to allow instinct to dictate his mental senses. "We have strict laws and ethical codes prohibiting any action which directly or indirectly impinges on the privacy of the individual, of course," he notes conversationally between bites of his slowly vanishing meal, "but unfortunately not restrictive enough to prevent instinctive 'tasting' of nearby minds. In fact, it's almost impossible to restrict the mind so much. It is...like being blindfolded. So our laws take note of that, but strengthen the privacy accordingly in other ways. - You need not worry. I would rather run myself through than attempt to 'read your minds'; that, without permission, would be an act synonymous with rape."

He continues to eat quite calmly; the entire delivery was calm, in fact - matter-of-fact. This is this and that is that.

The emotional aspect of this species, the Nenyar, might well be hard to grasp; oh, they smile and laugh and speak in flowing, almost floral voices - yet Semir-randil is undeniably masculine with it - but his face, on lengthier examination, is rather less mobile than one might imagine. The eyes appear to be even more a focal point of emotion - but not in mere shifts in the positions of muscles. The actual eyes seem to change, to lighten or darken or sparkle or become dull; in a culture of empaths, body language is more absent, not less, apparently.

Agwene nodded, her face continuing to shine with her normal radiant golden aura. "A quite moral way of seeing such things, Your Majesty. Might I ask...how did my mind taste?"

Angharad blushed slightly. "And mine?" She asked in a shy, affectionate voice.

Semir-randil's lips seem to want to grin, but he restrains them to a smile. He cannot restrain those intense amber eyes, though, and they glitter with amusement at the rapid shift from concern to...

Do I look good?

Some things are universal after all.

He considered a moment the wording before answering: "Taste is not the best word; it is analogy, and almost all analogies are false. No two minds taste alike, but all minds have similar qualities. The arrangements of intelligence are perhaps invariably similar. - But I do not have experience with Sidhe minds. I could not offer an exacting response - but I will say that my mind response pleasurably to the company of yours. - Were you Nenyar, you would feel this, for my mind still strives to communicate in the way that my kind do. That I cannot stop, but that is 'sending', and not 'receiving', so that if any privacy is breached, it is in fact my own. - I doubt that our brains are similar enough in composition for there to be any effect, though."

The last is said almost sadly; not with pity, but with sadness. Indeed - he wished ardently that all the species were equally empathic. It would make misunderstandings far less, he suspected. - Fleetingly, he also wished that these people could be told more than the mere reality of Nenyar biology, rather than the acuality. But such information was still considered dangerous to share; the Outsiders, the conservatives would say, would use the information against us. They would create biological weapons, they would say.

Semir failed to see the point in this attitude (which had cost several lives abroad when doctors could not treat their patient's injury, and tended to dissuade the average Nenya from travelling therefore), but there it was. The Law was the Law.

"This is really good," he adds, smiling at the scant remains of his plate before looking up again.

Angharad blushed radiantly. Agwene smiled slightly as well. The High Queen listened to his explanation of empathy for a long moment, her eyes seeming to glow ever so briefly. Finally, she nodded. "The Nenya are truly rather fascinating. I do hope we grow to know them better."

Angharad perked a little. "As do I."

Semir-randil smiled in a more wide and pleased fashion, even bowing his head slightly. He finishes off the very last dregs of the plate, after checking to be sure that the others have done the same with a quick glance, and lays down the eating utensils softly.

"I'm honoured that you think so, and we are certainly most interested in learning more about the Peoples of this land, too. I must admit, that is a large part of the reason for my visit. Curiousity is a powerful sensation, is it not?"

Agwene nodded. "I have always found it very possible. Was there anything specific you wished to know?"

Semir-randil hesitated for a moment; asking directly was far more difficult than might seem. Where to begin? There were things that were obvious only inside a culture. What, then, was not obvious from outside?

"I think," he replies slowly, smiling, "that that is a question too complex for a single answer. - Yet...everything! We love knowledge, we Nenyar. Perhaps a little too much. They say that knowledge is power, the Humans, but I suspect they misunderstand. Knowledge is not power, I think, not in the sense they believe, not really. Knowledge is power in that it provides new questions - not that it answers the old ones. - Do you think that might be so?"

Agwene frowned slightly, thinking. "I do not see why it cannot do both. Nonetheless, I am not sure where to begin answering your question. Surely you do not expect me to tell you everything there is to tell about dozens of races during our after dinner conversation?"

Semir-randil could not help but chuckle, softly. "No, no, naturally that would not be possible. It would even be dull - to shorten the enjoyment thus would only lessen the enjoyment of learning. I merely say that the questions are too numerous to simply discuss.

"What would, of course, be proper and possible, is a cultural exchange of some sort. Numerous visits back and forth, both by members of the general population and of government officials. Learning to know, then learning to understand what becomes known. Progression in that way is that which we seek. Which I seek, as well, for I would be fain indeed to make further visits to this land. - Actually, I would rather love for some of them to be...less noisy. Perhaps under a different identity... but I digress. - Your question relates to now. Do I have questions now? Yes, of course. But I could not possibly go through them all. - I may pluck one from thin air, though."

He pauses a moment, thoughtfully. "Privacy is a major issue in our society. We take pride in our ability to maintain privacy amidst empathy. Thus much of our behaviour reflects that; I, for example, can not bring myself to watch the physical act of another eating. That would be an invasion of privacy. Yet while they eat, my mind quite naturally and instinctively 'tastes' the minds of those present who do not block the interaction, and of those who cannot. I do not find the latter unpleasant or abnormal; but the former is. - So I suppose my question is - is privacy a matter of balance, or totality, in your fair land?"

Agwene paused a moment. "Privacy is not that important in most things. We are a rather open society and are normally only especially private when changing clothes and things of that nature."

A flicker of a grin passes over Semir-randil's features; he straightens his face a little, but not his voice, as he notes: "In Iluvauromen, people do not always bother with clothes."

He takes a small sip of his fruit juice before adding:

"So in some ways privacy is an issue, and in others, not."

Angharad blushed fiercely. "You mean...you mean they simply walk about nude for anyone and everyone to see?"

Agwene simply smirked and inclined her head slightly. "That is rather unusual by our standards, I will admit. However, nudity is not exactly illegal here and there are some places and peoples where it is quite common. The Merfolk, for example, absolutely never wear clothing of any kind. They are somewhat unique among the peoples of the Resurgent Dream in that regard."

"It's very popular to walk without clothes in the capital. I suspect this is why so many tourists visit, in fact," he smiles, "yet in the storm season, clothes are required, if one lives in a coastal region. Much of the inhabited land is on the coast, so nudity is somewhat seasonal. - But yes. It is very common, in some areas more so than others. But people never walk without their clothes underground - an old superstition too complex and ridiculous to speak of without laughing, I assure you."

He had to strive not to laugh at that blushing, though. To think - to be embarrassed by nudity! How odd the world was, in its variety of cultures and peoples - even in one place, such as this one, or back home. Both seemed to be a clash and a mingling of many cultures at once. Diverse. And he enjoyed diversity. One had to, at his age, or boredom swiftly took over.

Agwene laughed slightly. "I believe I can say, all false modesty aside, that tourism would substantially increase if there were naked Sidhe to be seen. Still, it is certainly interesting. We have found that diversity, for all its problems, is ultimately a source of great strength."

"Diversity was our weakness for many years. The people of Iluvauromen warred for two thousand years - and the result was that they were all equally oppressed, essentially by themselves. That oppression lead to the current age. Today, we are learning," he stresses the word, "to take pleasure in diversity. To seek out it's strength."

Agwene nodded. "I am glad to hear that. Was there ought else you wished to speak of?"

Semir shrugs. "I believe we've covered all the strictly formal matters fairly well, so far." He smiles. "At least, I think so. Perhaps there was something else...?"

He tilts his head over to one side curiously as his voice trails away to nothing. "By Eru," he breathes, a shudder running through him; Nenya are naturally pale, but his skin is suddenly whiter than white. He looks very much as if he's seen a ghost - but his eyes are focused far away, looking...

Well, somewhere else...but certainly not here.

Agwene shook her head. "I don't believe so."

((OOC: Finish? Or was there something else you wanted to get done?))

[OOC: Sure, we can fade to black here, if you wish. I can't recall where I was going exactly...sorry about the delay, and all, but my telephone company has been having issues. Or rather, my line has, and they hadn't bothered to fix them. In fact, I'm still having trouble - I'm connected at 9600...

Ack! *g*]

IC:

Semir-randil nods slowly, although it's clear there's something...well, wrong. He doesn't look entirely well. Giving a small shrug of his shoulders, even so - "Then this has indeed been a most pleasant and enjoyable visit, but I fear I must take my leave early."

He frowns slightly, hesitating.

"A matter of some urgency is...developing," he offers, by way of meagre explanation.