The young Togruta was correct: it was important that all would love the grand edifice, and if not, that they would come to love it with time. It was not merely a statement, but a visual representation of the fact that the Light and the Faith were one and the same in this realm. A place of worship for the people, as much as it was a place of learning and training for those so gifted with the Light. Central to their culture. Her culture.
When Heinrich alluded to the past of this place, she had no personal frame of reference, but she knew the history from the words of others and their points of view. History that laid the foundation of so many of their campaigns in the years that followed the sundering of this world, and ideals that aligned with her own, pulling her into the cause close to three decades past.
With the introduction of Heinrich’s companion, she tipped her head to the young woman; the descriptive words he gave caused her brows to raise just a sliver, but she trusted them as truth. She could
feel the undercurrent of adoration when he spoke of Oraada, even if he was doing his best to remain composed, and she could understand it implicitly.
"This is Lady Emiery, a dear friend to Lord Grayson and a proper hero of the Crusade."
The sly look, and the faint playfulness of his genuine introduction of her own person only earned the Grand Marshal a firm-yet-amused smile and a companionate narrowing of her eyes. Any hope of responding, deflecting,
correcting was dashed when the Cardinal wound up and spoke again, dimming her expression. At almost the same time as Heinrich, her eyes flicked towards the crowd and the holy man. Again she digested what was said.
"It looks like the good Cardinal hasn't lost his touch for rhetoric."
She picked up easily on her friend’s tone, faintly nodding, her thoughts running along similar lines… but no sooner had the Cardinal finished speaking, that her attention was co-opted by the arrival of one distinct presence out of the many… Cedric. Her gaze was met in short order by the Kaiser as he entered in the black of an Essonian officer, the deep blue cloak trailing him; when was the last time she had seen him as such? Emiery could only tip her head in response to the shade of a half-smile she was given as the monarch - the man she had slowly come to love across decades - moved through the hall towards the podium to add his voice to the commencement of the day’s ceremony and talks.
She wasn’t one to be enthralled by her Kaiser’s address, much less the speeches of anyone else, but she always paid the full of her attention when he spoke. Just as much watching the man as listening… noticing the slackening of his expression, the falseness of the smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He didn’t easily drop that mask, and she knew well how matters weighed on him. How that weight had compounded over time, the stress expressing itself in his body. He wore it as best he could. Her eyes briefly closed along with a faint sigh. The only vague expression of her concern in the presence of others.
Emiery turned back to her companions at the conclusion of the address, pulling on a smile that was just as faint, looking to Heinrich in particular - they were a long way from where this had all begun - as she breathed in half-deep, her smile brightening a bit more.
“Do you remember when we had less rhetoric?”
But he would hardly get a chance to answer, as another joined them. A face she didn’t recognise, but one whom - by his dress and her knowledge of the young man - she was able to infer the identity of. That he called the preamble of speeches a ‘little show’ was hardly a jest, and when he referred to Oraada as Heinrich’s
wife, she shot a glance at the Grand Marshal, her eyebrows briefly piquing.
As if to say
‘and you didn’t invite me?’ (an actual jest, when the corners of her mouth curled) but her attention turned back to the young man when he greeted both herself and the Togruta, and she replied with a tip of her own head, as he introduced himself.
“Ech weess wien Dir sidd, Lieutenant Grayson,” she started, eyes raising to look him in the face, a cordial smile on her lips,
“et ass e Genoss endlech e Gesiicht op den Numm ze setzen.”
A pause. For all she knew of him, she still preferred to form her own opinion. She detested gossip, second-hand knowledge was often tainted by the giver’s convictions and beliefs… and the circumstances of his birth weren’t his fault. Anymore than the reality of her own existence was hers.
“I am Lady Emiery Athelon,” she finally gave,
“a Master of the Order of Ashlan Knights,” she grasped her one wrist with the other hand, in front of her,
“and formerly a Knight of the old Imperium.” Her brows lofted faintly, and she added:
“I entered the Kaiser’s service when I was not much older than you are now.”
And one of the very few of his Knights that had followed him from that era, if not the only one that still
lived, now. That had been when Cedric was hardly much older, himself. When Ession was still so far out of reach. This, of course, squarely marked her as roughly two decades older than she looked. It couldn’t be helped, and she certainly didn’t
feel her age, at least as far as any normal metric told her she should feel.
“What do you know," she glanced at Oraada, as if to include her in this query, her sapphire gaze then tracking back to the young Grayson,
"of the founding precepts of the Crusade?”
