Private The Eagle is in the Nest

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Office of da King
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian watched the holovid end in silence, his own face frozen mid-frame with that calm, infuriating sincerity he had practiced since childhood. He exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair. Good. Clear. Sharp enough to sting. No wasted words. If everyone was angry, he had done it right.

He scrubbed a hand over his face and rolled forward again, fingers already moving as he drafted the follow-up. Invitations first. Formal, precise, impossible to misinterpret. One to Mandalore, framed in courtesy and consequence. One to the Diarchy and Bastion, carefully neutral, welcoming without absolution. Then the Senate petition, dense and unromantic, calling for treaty review, ethical inquiry, and a reconvened conclave. Paperwork, the true battlefield. This was the part he enjoyed less.

A chime cut through the room. Aurelian glanced at the alert, then froze.

PRIORITY.
The Eagle is in the nest. -Tona

"Oh. Feth," he muttered, already pushing back from the desk. Of all the reactions he had anticipated, Sibylla arriving in person after his firing from the hip was bound to end up with him in trouble.

He stood, smoothed his jacket, and moved around the desk with forced ease, leaning back against it like this was all perfectly under control. He adjusted his hair in the reflective surface of a datapad, tilted his head, practiced a smile that suggested charm instead of impending political homicide. Internally, he braced himself.

The doors slid open. Aurelian straightened just a touch, flashing his most disarming grin. If diplomacy failed, he would attempt aesthetic appeasement. It had worked before.

Occasionally.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: The Eagle has landed!
Aurelian Veruna

The doors to Aurelian's office slid open with far more force than was strictly necessary.

Sibylla swept in like a storm front given form, her composure strained tight enough to sing. Concern sharpened into frustration the instant her eyes found him, not tense or braced because of the situation unfolding at hand, but instead leaning back against his desk with that infuriating air of practiced calm. Waiting. Relaxed. With that charming distracting smile as if posed to greet some debutant or Supreme Commander that would offer him praise and awe and flattery - as if the galaxy had not just lurched sideways beneath both their feet.

Tona had warned him.

Of course she had.

It had been chaos since Mand'alor the Iron's broadcast fractured the quiet assumptions holding the treaty together. Not only within the Senate or among diplomats, but in the messages flooding in from families with blood ties to Mandalorian space, from trade houses suddenly unsure which way the wind would turn, from worlds that had taken comfort in the steady framework Sibylla had helped build. The treaty between the Mandalorians and the High Republic, one forged when it was still the Royal Naboo Republic, had been foundational in encouraging trust where there had been suspicion, trade where there had been isolation, friendship where history suggested only distance.

And beneath it all, always, that unspoken current -- that Mandalore was a retainer power. Paid. Respected, yes, but bound by agreement. And that some had long wondered what would happen if another banner offered more.

Sibylla had spent years countering those fears. She had spoken of dialogue, of honor, of leaders who listened before they struck. She believed without hesitation that Mand'alor the Iron was such a leader. That if escalation ever came, it would be discussed openly and sensitively.

She had never doubted that.

Until now.

Because while she had been working to understand what could possibly have driven such a public, brutal escalation from Aether's broadcast, while she had been reaching out to hear from Mand'alor himself, while she was still gathering fragments of context and truth, Aurelian had already acted.

A public response broadcasted to all responding to Mand'alor's broadcast but also a declaration calling for the immediate reconvening of the Republic. A reassessment -- and potential renegotiation -- of treaty obligations with the Mandalorian Empire.

Without her counsel.

Without speaking to her first.

Without so much as a pause to let her do the very job she had been entrusted with.

The rational part of her mind would have reminded her that Aurelian had also not condoned the acts by Aether or the Diarchy, that yes, a response was warranted.

But to have him call to reassess the treaty outright?! Without talking to her at all?

The frustration flared hotter with every step she took toward him, the jewels of her headdress chiming sharply in the sudden quiet of the room. Her hazel eyes sparked gold and green as she tilted her head, lips pressing into a thin, unforgiving line.

Good. Tona had closed the doors.

Sibylla stopped just short of him, the air between them tight with tension and then she spoke, but her tone held tight in edge composure that couldn't help but seep the emotion flickering across her heart-shaped face.

"Do you have any idea," she began, voice barely steady by sheer force of will, "how many hours... nay, years -- I have spent convincing the Senate, the Alors, the trade blocs, Republic and Mandalorian families and Clans alike that this treaty was built on open dialogue and communication!?"

Her gaze did not waver as she took another step forward, the soft chime of her headdress punctuated the movement.

"And then you," she continued, breath sharp, "issue a galactic-wide broadcast calling the entire framework into question before I can even establish what happened, why it happened, or whether there is additional context that matters."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: I like this
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian watched her cross the room like a gathering storm and had the deeply inappropriate thought that this would be far more enjoyable under different circumstances. Damn. She was hot when she was angry. File that away for later. Much later. Preferably after survival here.

He shifted his weight, casual to the point of offense, and let his hands rest on the edge of the desk. The grin tried to surface. He strangled it halfway. Mostly. He tracked Sibylla's every step, the clipped rhythm of her voice, the way her words came sharp and fast. Years. Trust. Frameworks. He let her speak. That part mattered. She deserved that much. Internally, he braced himself. She was right about the work. She was wrong about the moment.

When she finished, the silence hung between them, heavy and electric. Aurelian tilted his head slightly, eyes warm, posture infuriatingly relaxed. "Hello, my heart," he said gently.

He felt the heat of her anger like a physical thing and straightened just enough to signal he was taking this seriously now. His voice stayed calm. Steady. Kingly.

"What happened," he continued, "is that Mand'alor the Iron broadcast the crucifixion of innocent civilians to the entire galaxy."

He paused, eyes never leaving hers. "The why does not matter. Context does not matter. There is no explanation that softens that image or makes it acceptable." His jaw tightened, just a fraction. "That line cannot be crossed without consequence. Not by enemies. Not by partners. Not by people once trusted."

Internally, he cursed the timing, the optics, the inevitability of it all. He hated that it had come to this. He hated more the idea of doing nothing.

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: And you have the audacity to act all Hot King mode!
Aurelian Veruna

Hello, my heart.

Sibylla stilled.

Just for a breath.

Her head canted, slow and deliberate, hazel eyes narrowing a fraction as if the word itself had struck her first, not his meaning but the timing.

Really...

The faintest lift of her brow carried it all. Had this been another moment, another room, she might have softened at my heart. Might have let it melt her like wax to the flame. Yet here and now, it felt like placation wrapped in affection and that only served to sharpen the edge already humming beneath her skin.

She turned away before the reaction could fully show, her skirts whispering as she began to pace, the measured click of her heels marking each turn as though the room itself were being counted down. Tension radiated from her in visible lines, coiled tight in her shoulders, her spine, the restless way her hands flexed at her sides. Part of her wanted to go back to the holocall, to Aether's words. Yet the empath in her still reeled at the suffering of those civilians, at the excess, at the image that refused to leave her mind.

Her hands came to her hips as she drew in a breath and held it, as if sheer will might steady the churn in her stomach.

Aurelian was not wrong. She could answer that now. There was truth in it. But also there was truth to what Aether had told her.

And Shiraya help her, that only made it worse.

Because the act itself was wrong, yes, but she could not stop the other thought from burning just as hot. That the Diarchs had spilled blood first. That they had betrayed Mandalore. That they had set this entire chain in motion. She had sat with the Alors. She had heard the fury, the grief, the weight of that loss.

It should have been the Diarchs.

That was the thought that made her chest tighten, the one she hated herself for even entertaining, because it was human and flawed and dangerous. It infuriated her because the ones who suffered were not the ones who deserved it.

She turned sharply and crossed the distance back to him, stopping close enough that the air between them felt charged.

"Be as it may," she said, the words tight, controlled, "you still did not come to me... when you promised you would." her voice pitched an octave at that fact, perhaps, ridiculous in how it was, when their personal relationships crashed against position, when timing and actions mattered because of who they were and what and who they were responsible for, but the emotion was there regardless. There was no helping the way her arms gestured wide, staring at him as that angry flush brightened her skin with a pink stain that made her honey skin glow.

"You did not use me. You did not allow me time," she cried out, the restraint she tried to carry making it hit harder. "Not as Naboo's Voice. Not as Ambassador to Mandalore. Not as the person who has been standing between both powers precisely so situations like these would not spiral into assumption and retaliation."

And when her eyes flickered over that infuriating ease he was seemingly presenting to her, something in Sibylla snapped. Rationality loosened its grip, giving way to something more personal and raw. She looked up at him then, really looked, caught the way the light traced the strong, handsome lines of his chiseled jaw and cheeks, to the calm he wielded so effortlessly.

"And then you have the audacity," Sibylla said, pointing at him and the perception he was giving her, noting that performance he was exhibiting to her even then, calling him out on it, "to look so entirely relaxed and comfortable while doing it."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

Location: Two Hats
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes

Aurelian watched her close the distance and, selfishly, his eyes traced the fire in her posture before his better judgment caught up. The way she moved when she was furious was intoxicating. Dangerous thought. Wrong moment. He reined it in hard again. This was not a game. This was a fault line. He let the silence stretch. One heartbeat. Two. Long enough for the heat to settle, long enough for her to know he was listening. Inside, he weighed the damage. To her. To the treaty. To everything she had built. He hated that part most.

When he finally spoke, his tone shifted, measured and formal.

"King Veruna first," he said quietly, naming the crown before himself. "Madam Ambassador. Voice of Naboo."

Her title grounded the room. So did his.

"This situation did not allow for bias," he continued. "Not yours. Not mine. What was broadcast was deeply unsettling, and the people of Naboo and the Republic deserved a response as quickly as possible."

He straightened, hands clasped loosely behind his back now. Less ease. More steel.

"I looked at it without counsel because I had to. Without personal history. Without sentiment. Even my opinion of the man responsible had to be set aside." His gaze held hers. "Especially with Mandalorian dealings with the Sith already casting a long shadow, delay would have been read as acceptance."

Internally, he bristled. He hated defending this to her. Hated that it was necessary. But he would not pretend uncertainty where there was none.

"I will not apologize for King Veruna's actions," he said. "They were deliberate. They were lawful. They were required."

He let that sink in.

"Now," he added, softer, "with your help, Ambassador, I will listen. We will hear explanations. We will convene meetings. We will work toward repairing what can still be repaired between factions."

He stepped closer, lowering his voice again. "But understand this. Retaliation does not justify spectacle. Context does not cleanse cruelty. Whatever Mand'alor the Iron offers by way of reason, this was not acceptable." He stopped just short of her, searching her face. The anger. The hurt beneath it. The weight she carried that no title protected her from.

This was the part that mattered most. Aurelian reached out and gently took her hand. The king receded. "As Aurelian," he said quietly, "I am sorry."

He thumbed over her knuckles, grounding himself in the contact. "I am sorry we had to stand apart on this. I am sorry you had to see that. Sorry I could not come to you first. Shiraya knows I wanted to."

He swallowed, the admission costing more than he liked. "But my allegiance as king is to Naboo and the Republic. Even when it puts me here. Especially when it does." His fingers idly traced the back of her hand, not playful now, just human. Hoping. Waiting.

He met her eyes again, concern slipping through the cracks of control. "Are you okay?"

​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Location: I am not okay.
Aurelian Veruna

The titles landed like ice cold water over her.

King Veruna. Madam Ambassador. Voice of Naboo.

They stripped the heat from the room and forced everything into lines and order. And the sudden mortifying embarrassment of her actions and how she presented herself made the blood in her face drain, as if caught under a spotlight at her err. Her spine straightened automatically, and she took a deep breath that cost her as she struggled to regain her bearing, chest heaving and hands slightly trembling even as Aurelian stood there all poise and seemingly effortless restraint and temperance.

The temperance she was supposed to be for him.

It stung. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

And even as those amber eyes settled on her with the full weight of a king -- the king she had known he could be -- her heart betrayed her, stirring despite herself. Body and breath responded before reason could catch up, even as her mind scolded her for it. For the foolishness. For noticing how carefully he was holding himself together as he spoke, each word placed with lawful, deliberate, and required surgical care.

She heard him.

And yet she still couldn't shake the way her chest ached at the cost.

When the king receded and it was Aurelian who stood before her instead, something in Sibylla finally was caught. And while her heart still hammered in her breast, she stood there, lower lip lightly quivering as the fire cooled enough that she could breathe again.

The thick dark fringe of her lashes fell, and her eyes set upon the stark contrast of his deeply tanned skin against the lighter honeyed tone of her own.

She swallowed hard, the lump forming in her throat making her eyes blink rapidly as she took another deep breath.

The realization came with his apology, spoken not as King Veruna but as Aurelian, and it struck her with quiet, aching clarity.

This was why she had come.

Not only because of Aether's broadcast, nor even because of Aurelian's. Not solely because of treaties and optics and the cascading political consequences already tearing through the Republic. Those mattered, yes, but beneath them was something far more intimate and compelling. The entirety of it -- the Diarchy, the crucifixions, talking with Aether, the discovery of the broadcast and the chaos that followed -- had struck her all at once, overwhelming in its cruelty and speed. It had shaken her so deeply that she had not been able to remain still.

She had needed to move. To act. To go.

Her feet had carried her to Aurelian's office before her thoughts could catch up, before she could fully sort through what Aether had said or reconcile the storm of emotion crashing through her. All the while, calls had poured in. Nobility. Trade blocs. Mandalorian clans. Republic delegates. Each demanding clarity she did not yet possess.

And yet she had come here.

Because beneath the duty, beneath the titles and the noise, she had been drawn to the one person she'd unconsciously fled to whom she could react to this as herself. Not as Naboo's Voice. Not as an Ambassador.

As Sibylla.

And when Aurelian had greeted her with that half strangled grin and his poised, maddening charm and sweet words only to speak to her as King thereafter, had made her stomach twist and clench and anger flare at the fuel of his seeming effortless composure.

...Nor do I care if you're perfect. I only care if you're real with me. Because out there, I'm already drowning in pretense. Don't make me drown here too...

That is what Sibylla had confessed in the privacy of his office in the wake of the disaster of Wielu, their near death, and their argument.

She wanted him, the real him -- but how to reconcile that when he was her King. Doing the duty she had told him, nay encouraged him, supported him, to do.

A nerve in her jaw ticked, and she clenched her teeth, jaw tightening in response.

Was she okay?

The question cut through the ringing in her bones. A second passed. Then another. And then Sibylla drew in another slow, careful breath, eyes tracing briefly to where his thumb brushed her knuckles before lifting again.

The conflict settled there. Churned in her hazel eyes.

Because he was her king.

And that stood in direct opposition to how she had needed him in this moment.

It only underscored what this dance with him had turned into -- an unorthodox, precarious, and far more complex waltz than either of them had pretended. That complexity had reached into her, shifted her, drawn her here in a way she never would have allowed herself before.

And standing there now, hand still in his, Sibylla understood just how deeply it had affected her.

"No," she said quietly with raw honesty, her voice edged with a tightness that even her regained composure could not hide. "I am not."

And those were all the words she could manage then, even as she blinked rapidly and felt all the clash of emotions stir within her.

She had no words.

Not yet. Perhaps not a minute or five from now.

For once in her political life, Sibylla felt lost.