Who Wants to be a Lunar Concubine?

Servants scurry about, hastily making minute adjustments to the furnishings and other miscellaneous paraphernalia, being careful to stay out of the way of the irascible Solar who taps her foot and surveys the goings-on with an uncharacteristically critical eye. Truth be told, Shrike has no explanation for her prickly mood, and feels a little guilty for making the staff uneasy, but she promised herself that she would be here, and here she is.

The log cabin is perhaps an unusual place to hold the first function of what might one day be a full settlement in its own right, but Shrike judged it the most suited to her mate's tastes. Killing Frost's dislike of excessively formal frippery had rubbed off on her, and she was beginning to acquire some of his penchant for the kind of magnificence that spoke of resilience and strength instead of wealth and opulence. And so instead of chandeliers of glowstones from Gem, there was a fire burning in a massive stone hearth, and while the tables were of varnished wood, carved with scenes of hunting and nature, they lacked the splendid gold-edged purple cloths that Shrike commanded relocated elsewhere for the afternoon. The refreshments were of the finest quality, but chosen for particular palates: the choicest cold cuts of meat, steaming fresh-baked bread, and platters of cheeses, with standing pitchers of ale freshly-drawn from the casks that had floated in the nearby stream since the night before to cool them. Shrike threw herself into the process of preparation with a sort of manic enthusiasm. She slept not at all.

Finally, her innate connection to the Daystar and its progress across the skies of Creation informs her that it is now the appointed time, and she shoos the servants out, fanning herself as she takes a seat and helps herself to some of the cold ale. The hearth-fires make the interior of the cabin warmer than its position near the sea might suggest, and coupled with her... flustered state, they give her a warm glow about the cheeks. One might think at a glance that she is excited. Although Shrike would use a different word, although she herself is not entirely sure which.

A hawk banks through the open window, and in moments her mate is seated beside her at the great table, facing the open space where applicants to settle in Frost's new domain must make their cases... and show off their wares. Shrike has already scanned the crowd outside, and no few of the young and youngish women, both with and without families, appear hale and even attractive, in a strong, healthful sort of way. A number have given her irrational cause to feel slightly resentful of her own more delicate build. Still, she smiles at Frost.

"Everything is ready. Let's pick out a harem for you, my dear."

Frost draws the slender woman in for a moment, surveying the cabin. It is an odd departure from both her usual taste - not nearly enough cloth-of-gold and the austere, martial feel of Lookshy. He had to admit she had done well, the decor suiting him perfect, and he allows himself to indulge for a moment in the vision of her, reclined in one of the large wooden chairs, fur draped...

Shrike can feel a deep, strong sense of satisfaction from her mate, a contrast to her frantic efforts to prepare, to bury herself in work to distract herself from what she's working toward.

"Indeed." He motions to one of Cera's marines, a few of whom are acting as crowd control. "Allow the first ten in, if you please." Quickly, efficiently, ten of the young women are led in, forming a rough line in front of where Shrike and Frost stand. The Lunar paces slowly down the line, his gaze speculative, calculating, pausing every now and again.

"You are all here of your own free will?" A question Shrike knew was coming. He had made it clear that harem or no, regardless of how desperately they needed troops, no woman would be taken against her will. Not by him, and not for this. Regardless of what others, including his mate, might think of him, he considered a concubine an honored position. Each of the girls nod their heads, some boldly, others timidly, and he looks back to Shrike, relying on her intuition - and power - to ensure he was being told the truth.

Without conscious effort, Veil-Winged Shrike extends her augmented senses to encompass the assembled women*, gauging their sincerity and also their health. One of them, who jerked her chin up and down in an affirmative nod, is nowhere near as timid as some of the others, but something about that mechanical confirmation rings false. Shrike narrows her gaze and sharpens her vision, and picks out the faint purpling edge of a bruise at the corner of her shoulder near the collarbone, where her scoop-necked bodice left an expanse of bare skin. A thumbprint. Whoever had strong-armed her into appearing had obviously taken pains not to strike her, but the aggressive strength in his grip had left marks nonetheless. "That one's been... forcefully persuaded. A family member? Her brother." Without waiting for the girl to reply, the Solar's transcendent mastery of human expression sifted through her involuntary reaction to the accusation to weed out the most likely culprit. "Have her moved to the back room, and give her some refreshments," she directs a marine. "Even if she isn't here to join our community, we can still spare her the depredations of her sibling, and if she won't have us, we can find her a situation in Lookshy."

Some women flinch beneath the scrutiny they now know to possess supernatural acuity. Shrike's tone is gentle, but her diagnosis merciless: her pupils develop rims of golden light as her vision plunges beneath the material to examine strands of pure Essence. "That one has conceived children before but never brought one to term; she might very well be incapable of bearing. Three have borne children before, and may do so again without undue risk; four others have never conceived, but are healthy enough to make the attempt. The last --" Shrike indicates a pouting young raven-haired lass, whose aggressively out-thrust bosom and leg peeking through a long slit in her skirt suggests a certain familiarity with the male gaze "-- has recently consumed maiden tea, although I cannot ascertain if she has done so in sufficient quantities to render her barren." Frost nods softly as his mate renders her verdict on the girls, giving the young woman who was escorted away a reassuring look. He thanks her quietly, working his way down the line, his expression thoughtful. He goes first to the woman who had yet to bring a child safely into the world. Shrike's words clearly had an effect, and there is the pain of memory in her eyes. Killing Frost gently cups her chin, shaking his head.

"You would be here to bear a dynasty - I am not so cruel as to make you relive your pain for a lifetime." From the fold of his coat, he produces a token of jade, enough to feed her family for months. "Seek your fortune elsewhere my dear."

He turns next to the raven haired girl. Shrike can feel his appreciation of her form, but her mate is nothing if not a creature of his convictions. Besides, if it was mere beauty he desired - Shrike had that in excess.

"I have no use for one unwilling to bear children. If it is a warm hearth and an appreciative man you seek, be at the docks tomorrow when the Cloud Runner returns. I'm sure one of Captain Cera's men would be overjoyed to have a wife of such beauty."

He dismisses her without a second glance. To the rest, he paces up and down the line, musing as he does, standing behind them - the sight of Shrike enough to keep their eyes forward. "The terms of your indenture are clear. A plot of land and safety for your families, and in turn you agree to bear me a child. Once done, you are free to go, though those who stay will receive ample comfort and reward for their service. You will be the honored mothers of a nation, the women remembered for bringing those who would stand against the darkness of this age into the world."

He rounds the line and is back in front of them. Somewhere behind them, he had shifted into his war form, the great, hulking wolf-hybrid, wings folded neatly behind him. He looks at them, gauging their reaction. It is not fear he is looking for - anyone short of a Solar is right to fear the Chosen of Luna. No - he is looking for something else. Revulsion. While he would never claim one of these women while in his war form - if nothing else than for fear of her health - the product of their union would inevitably wear a hybrid skin. Shrike's initial reaction to his plan weighs heavily on him, her disgust something he has still not yet fully recovered from, and he looks for a similar feel in the eyes of the young women standing before him.

While her mate radiates both concern and anticipation enough for her not to be shocked by his transformation and his subsequent prowling, Shrike is nonetheless taken aback by the range of emotion that flows from the women she observes so carefully. She clears her throat to clarify, and the women wrench their eyes with difficulty from Killing Frost's bestial magnificence to the Solar, no less imposing despite her smaller stature. There is fear aplenty, nervousness and trepidation. No outright horror, although some are verging on a panic. In others... curiosity. In one, even excitement. Shrike smiles a little to herself. She's felt it too.

"The Admiral does not desire children out of sentimentality nor the desire to preserve his family name. This has been an age of a devastated humanity, passing from the hands of those who would have made of humanity a race you would consider near-immortal to those who usurped them out of greed, fear, and suspicion. As humanity stands now, only Exaltation grants a reprieve to a lucky few from the wretched state of mortal affairs. This cannot continue. In order to build a new age, one where no city is ravaged by the minions of the Underworld, where humans can once more approach their birthright as the heirs of the Primordial titans cast down in antiquity, we require something more than human.

"We cannot guarantee that the children you bear us will attain greatness, but they will have the seed of greatness sown in them from their inception. They will be faster, stronger, smarter, more mystically potent than anything any of your purely human offspring could have been. They will be loyal to us. They will be our champions, officers, scholars, agents.

"Every girl in Creation wishes she had some trace of the blood of the Dragons in her veins, that some Exalted nobleman from the Realm or dashing Seventh Legion officer will sweep her off her feet and bestow on her a life of ease and the opportunity to attain the honour of bearing an Exalted child. We offer something similar.

"I know the Admiral's form can be... overwhelming. And the prospect of bearing children that mirror his characteristics can be daunting. But look you as I do. See as I see." Despite herself, Shrike's voice throbs with emotion as she looks straight into Frost's eyes, and he into hers. "There is majesty here that no crown can bestow or remove. There is a strength and resilience here that is the product entirely of necessity and enduring hardship, not vanity." It takes very little magic on Shrike's part. "He is beautiful in his own right. And any children you bear him will have something of that beauty.

"It is a great deal we ask of you." She tears her eyes away from Frost's, so knowing and human in an animal's mien, to sweep them across the rank of assembled women. "We are asking that you embrace something more than human, to take it into yourself, and give forth that which bears the spark of divinity. To do so requires more than a fertile womb and spread legs. It requires vision, integrity, and sacrifice. It requires that you, too, look beyond your human failings, and aspire to something greater."

She glances back at Frost. "In your own way, you are here to choose him as much as he is here to choose you." Us? An interesting choice of words on his mate's part. There is a small tremor of curiosity across their bond as he listens. He was not expecting quite that poetic musing from the Solar woman.

In the end, the weight of Shrike's speech and the form Killing Frost has taken is too much for one girl, the weight of it causing her to crumple, breaking down in tears, apologizing numbly to them, Creation, her family...

Frost goes to the young woman, helping her to her feet, whispering softly in her ear. "Luna does not ask us to bear more than we are able. Go little one, be free of this place and live your life - you do yourself no dishonor." He pats her gently on the shoulder before handing her off to a guard to be escorted away.

In the end, the rest stay, and the process repeats itself a few times more with mixed success until a little more than two dozen young women, not including the girl Shrike had rescued from her brother, wait quietly before the two of them. He welcomes each of them, asking her oath to serve him, before they are led off to the manse, to be fed, clothed and introduced to their new home.

Sitting back against one of the high backed chairs, he sighs, eyeing his mate.

"Thank you my heart. I know...I know this is not what you desired."

Throughout the interview process, Shrike continues to play the role of lie-detector and medical examiner, as well as occasional shoulder to cry on for rejected applicants and vendor of hot sweet drinks and cool spots to lie down for those overwhelmed by Frost's feral glory. It is easier for her, to concentrate on the small niceties and push her mind away from the implications of what they are actually doing.

But then it is over, and Frost's harem is sent off to be prepared for whatever it is he has in store for them, and the confrontation becomes inevitable. The Solar can feel only gentleness reverberating between them, and she sighs more due to dissatisfaction with herself than anything else.

"You set too much store by my desires, dear Frost. They aren't always the best guide." She smiles tenderly. "At heart, I'm a selfish, petty girl and I don't like the thought that my hulking brute of a mate is going to be expending his energies on other people. And that's only the women! Wait till your first generation of little ones are born. I never figured you for a family man, but you'll have to learn how to cope, I suppose. Perhaps introduce nursemaid duty as a punishment for Dragon-Blooded officers." The attempt to brush away the gathering cloud of sentiment with humour is ineffectual, and she shoves her chair back from the table, reclining back into it and placing bare feet on the table. She closes her eyes for a long moment, before looking back at him.

"I know you're doing this because you think it's necessary, and beneficial, and you're certainly not motivated by a drive for... variety. I think I'd feel it if that were the case. Throughout the day, you radiated... concern. Curiosity, in some cases. A little excitement -- no, don't deny it, I would to, in your place." Her lips quirk. "And I must confess that my past is hardly that of a cloistered Immaculate.

"But no raw lust, no sexual gluttony. I know you're not like that, and I know you'll do your best by them, and by your offspring, and by me. I know. But somehow knowing's not enough, y'know?" She twines a lock of hair nervously about one slender finger, a subconscious nervous tic. "I have a hold over you that nobody else has, or can have. And sometimes I wish that wasn't so, because it means we'll never know what could have happened between us without it. You're beholden to me due to fate and magic, not... affection. Not just affection, anyway, if I may flatter myself.

"We're Exalted and we live in interesting times. I know that you'll always be there for me, when we're facing down legions of the dead or battling the Mask of Winters. I could walk into the Underworld fearlessly because I know you'd be by my side. I could stride into the Wyld and know no fey thing could get past you, that you'd fight the mutable world there itself for my sake. I could parade through Yu-Shan with you and feel grander than any god or spirit.

"But when you... take those women. When you hold your younglings in your arms. When you raise them, teach them what they need to know, beat them and hold them and sing them to sleep -- oh, you'd paint a darling picture as a father! -- and when you gaze at your children with pride at their strength... I'll be alone. That'll be a part of you I have no claim on, no right to. I said I was selfish, and petty, and knowing that you're giving a side of yourself to these women and those children that I'll never have... it doesn't sit well with me."

She seeks refuge from his eyes in the bottom of a pewter goblet. "You know how I feel. I never claimed I had a good reason. I know you'll be there for me in the ways that matter. I just... I just wish I could feel that, too." Frost frowns slightly as his mate flees from her feelings at the bottom of a cup. With a gentle sigh he gets up, sitting beside her, taking one delicate hand in his own.

"Shrike...my heart..." he seems almost stricken, her emotions flowing down their bond in a torrent, though he shoves them aside for a moment, his voice growing stronger, more assertive.

"I wish that too some nights, that I would know what it was like to be in your presence without knowing I am bound to you by nature. That what I feel for you - would exist otherwise." He squeezes her hand softly, his voice growing softer, more wandering.

"But by bond or nature, I have loved you since the moment we met- and that love has changed and grown in that time. There is a side to me none but you know, a golden voice in the darkness, but I understand your feelings." He coughs, and straightens himself up, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

"But you do me a disservice Veil Winged Shrike. I am your mate, chosen by Luna herself. I am no leashed warhound, meant to follow you into blood and sorrow and that alone. I said I would stand beside you, wherever you went - and I meant that vow. I will never leave you alone my heart. I had feared..."

He sighed softly. "I had feared since we last talked of these things that you...might not wish to share that side of me. Solars of the First Age, the Elders say, found it distasteful at best. I was afraid. Had I offered that, and been rejected...it was easier to exile myself to the role of warbringer, your tamed fury. But it is not my wish.

It is my wish that there be no shadows, that your radiance shine in every part of my life. It is my wish that you let me call you 'wife'."

There is a long moment of silence pregnant with potential tragedy. The Veil-Winged Shrike is no stranger to proposals. She has been propositioned countless times, by merchant princes and lascivious satraps, and no few Dragon-Blooded who were either ignorant of her Exaltation or excited by it. Out of necessity she became adept at turning them down. She could reject someone kindly, so gently they didn't realise till later what her reply had been, or flatteringly, that they thought themselves somehow enriched by the graciousness of her rejection, or cruelly, to break hearts and shatter egos tested in the adamant crucible of Realm finishing schools. She is amply equipped to turn Frost down, and could choose to do so in any number of ways. She is confident that she could do so in a way calculated to damage not a whit of their earlier intimacy.

All her tools fail her.

Instead, what comes forth is a single, stunned, "Oh," followed by tears, entirely involuntary ones, followed by the rest of the lithe Solar as she vaults the table in a single bound and hurls herself at Frost, wrapping her legs around his waist so she can look him in the eye.

"You mean it? You, who has power that exceeds the gods, who could have anyone you want? You to whom the freedom of flight is everything would shackle yourself to my whims? You who are bound by magic stronger than love or time would choose a second binding? You won't leave me? You won't use me?

"But tell me yes, and I am yours."

The Lunar grunts softly with the impact of the slender woman's body as she wraps herself around him, his smile soft, genuine and sincere.

Holding Shrike effortlessly in one arm, he wipes a tear from a flawless cheek, nodding his head solemnly. "I would choose to be so bound." He leans in, kissing where his finger just passed. "And I give you my word, I will never use you, nor leave you while I still draw breath."

He smiles, winking. "If that is the golden lady of the East would stoop to wedding a pirate, mercenary and unrepentant scoundrel."

She blushes. "If the dashing admiral of a fleet that will rival that of the First Age, a former officer of the Seventh Legion and now landholder of renown propositions an itinerant public entertainer of loose morals and low repute, how can she turn him down?" She chases his kiss with a more substantial one, and it is a while before she lets him up for air long enough to reply.

"Although I suspect a wedding of any sort may have to wait." Shrike smiles shyly. "I... It sounds silly, like I'm still a young girl, but I'd like to get it right, and somehow potentially having Deathlords as uninvited wedding guests isn't what I imagined." Frost savors the deep, demanding kiss, enjoying the simple affection until she lets him up for air. "I think I could have fallen in with far worse company."

He nods, still holding the diminutive woman, whose figure belied the power she had, both against the enemies of Creation and over him. His expression is soft, loving, indulgent.

"Of course my heart - it can wait. Never let go of the part of you that is a silly-seeming young girl. I can wait, as long as is needed so that you can have the wedding you want. You have said you would be mine, and I yours, and that is more than I had hoped for."