Private The Foundry and the Throne

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Approaching Roon
Aurelian Veruna | Aether Verd

The faint hum of the Comitari's air recycler filled the small diplomatic conference room. Sibylla sat alone at the table, brows furrowed in thought as her mind wandered in practiced turns. The flat glow of the holoscreen before her cast soft light against her features, painting her braid in faint gold as it draped over her shoulder.

Notes scrolled past her eyes: lists of Clans and Alors, systems and worlds, and the history behind the Black Summer Campaign, the restoration of Mandalore and the trouble with the Diarchy. She had already briefed the High Chancellor with these reports, but this version was sharper, stripped to what would matter most for the conversation with Mand'alor the Iron.

Her lips curved faintly as her thoughts broke from strategy to the man she waited on -- Aurelian Veruna , a man typically in attendance at the Assembly chamber in his silks and brocade with his cloak sweeping behind him like a dramatist upon a stage. She had asked him to favor practicality this time. Leather, wool, anything that would not look so absurd against the iron halls of a Mandalorian fortress. But she knew him well enough to suspect the cloak would survive her request.

Shoulders rose as Sibylla took a deep breath, then exhaled, leaning an elbow on the table to let her cheek rest lightly against the palm of her hand, her heart-shaped face revealing a rare picture of humor.

If nothing else, she would take some satisfaction in seeing how long she could chide him for it.

For herself, Sibylla had dressed with deliberate simplicity. A golden blouse embroidered just enough to whisper of her station, sturdy trousers and boots, a light vest suited for travel. The trappings of Naboo's courts had been left behind, choosing to go without a gown, no cosmetics, and only a single thick braid to keep her hair in order. Mandalore had taught her practicality, and she carried it like a second skin.

Their arrival at the fortress would not wait. Soon, she would have to debrief Aurelian and remind him, again, of the importance of candor over theatrics. The Mand'alor was a man who prized blunt truth, who saw war and faith bound together in every step he took. If Aurelian wished to sway anything from Aether Verd , it would not be through wit or charm alone.

Still, she knew better than to underestimate him. For all his dangerous smiles and crooked humor, Aurelian had a gift for reading a room and a brilliant mind. And in her own way, she trusted that.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

The faint thrum of the engines filled the transport shuttle. Aurelian Veruna paced the narrow corridor, his hand brushing the bulkhead as if testing its strength. His cloak was gone, abandoned at Sibylla's insistence. For the first time in years, he wore something closer to the man he used to be: fitted leathers, both protective and elegant, a dark tunic laced across his chest, and boots worn enough to show they had seen real walking, not just posing. A functional blade rode at his hip, making his silhouette read more warrior than politician.

The new outfit unsettled him. He'd never liked uniforms, whether as a young man shackled by the Naboo army's stiff garb, or now, with the practical weight of this leather pressing close. Every movement made the leather creak, a constant reminder that he was wearing someone else's idea of him. Still, he had listened to Sibylla. He wanted this encounter to go well, and more than that, he wanted her to see that he had taken her advice.

He turned the corner into the small conference room. Sibylla was already there, golden light from the holoscreen illuminating her face, her braid catching the glow like a rope of sunlight. He lingered in the doorway for a moment, feeling out of place, stripped of his usual comforts. Practicality suited her. She looked entirely at ease in trousers and vest. The realization irked him.

He cleared his throat softly. With a crooked half-smile, he raised his arms, turning just enough for the leather to complain at the seams. "Well?" he drawled, his voice carrying easy humor that masked his unease. "Do I look suitably barbaric to avoid offending our gracious host?" When she offered no verdict, he exhaled, resigned, and dropped into the chair opposite her. The loud creak of his leathers filled the quiet room. He leaned back, resting an elbow on the armrest, his dangerous smile flickering into place like a mask.

"So," he began, his eyes flicking to the scrolling holoscreen before returning to her. "Tact." The word hung in the air a beat later, like the taste of a foreign fruit. "How to avoid pissing off Mand'alor 101. Give it to me straight." His tone still held its usual glint, but his gaze was sharper than his jest suggested. Despite the playful words, tension showed in the way his fingers tapped against his knee, the subtle restlessness of a man caught between acting and fighting. "Because if the man decides I've overstepped," Aurelian added, his humor darkening, "I'd rather face a blade to the chest than endure the boredom of another lecture."

Sibylla Abrantes | Aether Verd​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Approaching Roon
Aurelian Veruna | Aether Verd

Sibylla had taken a moment to study him. She hadn't answered right away when he asked if he looked suitably barbaric, but it wasn't because he didn't. Handsome, younger even, in a way that caught her off guard. No, what struck her was the unease radiating off him. He wore it like a second skin, and if he was uncomfortable, that alone would be a problem.

None the less, her expression softened. He had listened. He had tried. That mattered more than he knew.

Still, the constant creak of leather with every shift in his seat nearly undid the effort. As he asked her to spare him from a diplomatic travesty, Sibylla rose from her chair.

"Come on." She gestured with her fingers, rounding the table toward him.

"As much as I appreciate that you took my advice, I can tell you're uncomfortable." Her smile curved wider, playfulness threading into her tone.

"And I am sure Mand'alor will be able to hear you creaking from this very ship with every step you take."

She drew close enough to let her hand graze his shoulder, her touch gentle, steady, and encouraging.

"Let's see what else you brought that won't make you feel like a trussed Shaak."

The teasing softened further into self-effacement as she started toward the corridor to hopefully ease his tension.

"… Professionally, of course." The faint heat in her cheeks betrayed her, but she pressed on, slipping into the sure cadence of a debrief.

"Mand'alor the Iron, Aether Verd, is not a man who seeks to impress by spectacle. He wastes no words, and when he does speak, it is with deliberate weight." She walked ahead, braid swaying against her back, her voice steady and thoughtful as she thought about the man.

"His leadership is pragmatic, sharpened by the burden he carries for Mandalore and its clans. He doesn't treat the title as a crown, but as a responsibility. Every judgment, every decision, is for their survival."

Her brow furrowed, recalling the man, the gravity he carried.

"At his core, he is both warrior and statesman -- iron-willed, restrained, uncompromising, yet tempered by the discipline to listen when others would charge blindly forward..."

She stopped outside his suite then, turning on her heel to face him. Her hazel eyes searched his, serious now, as though reminding him she would not let him face wolves without knowing the weight of the hunt.

"...That is what makes him dangerous, Aurelian, and what makes him respected. He is a leader who will not be swayed by pressure, yet who can be reasoned with if one approaches with candor and honor."

A sigh then an inhale, as she admitted.

"And I respect him for that."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian let out a low laugh the moment she drew him up from his seat, her hand brushing his shoulder. The touch was light, fleeting, but it shifted something in him all the same, an anchor against the irritation coiled tight in his chest. His eyes tracked her as she moved around the table, graceful in a way he, for once, did not feel.

"Well, thank Shiraya," he breathed, exaggerating his relief as his arms dropped heavily to his sides. "I truly thought I'd be buried in this blasted leather." He glanced down, rolling his shoulders until the seams groaned. "If you'd only let me keep to my usual silks and linens, toned down, of course, I promise you, Mand'alor wouldn't notice. He'd be too busy wondering which poor tailor I murdered to get the fit just right."

His crooked smile deepened, mischief flashing across his face. This familiar mask, though, held less tension since her fingers had brushed his shoulder. His eyes flicked to hers just as she flushed at her own "professional" quip, and he chuckled, low in his throat. "Ah, yes. Entirely professional. Naturally." He let the words linger, a slight smirk playing on his lips as she turned away.

He followed her down the corridor, boot heels sounding in rhythm with her voice as she spoke of Mand'alor. He listened more intently than he let on, the sharpness of her tone pulling him into thought. Aether Verd. The Iron Mand'alor. He'd glimpsed the man months ago when they presented the treaty. That had been a grand affair, as such ceremonies always were, a hall crowded, banners fluttering, every motion meant for spectacle. There had been too many distractions for Aurelian to get a proper measure of him.

Now, in the quiet of Sibylla's briefing, he tried to piece together a clearer shape. Pragmatic. Heavy with responsibility. A man who measured every word before speaking. Iron-willed. He'd always found such men difficult because they were far too clever to be easily swayed. That made them far less malleable, certainly. And yet, perhaps more reliable. This was the reassurance he needed. The Mandalorian Empire was too important to gamble on shadows and rumor.

When Sibylla turned at his suite, meeting him with all that quiet fire in her hazel eyes, Aurelian slowed. She looked as though she silently pleaded for him to bring something more than his usual mischief. Her words about candor and honor felt like a command.

"Candor and honor, got it," he answered, his mouth tugging into that dangerous, playful smile beneath the gravity of her gaze. "As if I bring anything else to the table." He let the joke settle between them, though the glint in his eyes admitted the truth: he very rarely did.

Stepping past her, he pushed open the door to his suite and entered, leaving it open behind him in invitation. His fingers were already at the toggles of his leather tunic, undoing them one by one as he spoke. The relief of cool air against his chest was immediate, and he drew a deeper breath.

"Maybe a simpler tunic will do," he muttered, a faint twist to his lips betraying his skepticism. "If I even own anything 'simple' enough by their standards." He cast her a glance over his shoulder, the smirk still playing there as the leather fell open.

"Tell me, Miss Mandalorian," he went on, voice casual but eyes keen, "are there any weaknesses? Any topics to avoid, or sore spots he keeps hidden under that iron exterior? I'd rather know what ground is mined before I step foot in it. The last thing I want is to turn candor into catastrophe."

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Arriving at Roon
Aurelian Veruna | Aether Verd

Sibylla shook her head at the joke he tossed her way, lingering at the threshold just long enough to second-guess herself. Then she pushed past it and stepped inside.

That was bold enough for one evening. She focused on the task that gave her an excuse to move: his wardrobe and not the deft way Aurelian undid the toggles of his tunic.

She went straight to the cabinet and slid it open with a soft hush. The rows of fabric made her lips press into a line. He didn't lack for choices in cut, color, or material, and there were a few that were surprisingly casual. It reminded her of the dinner, the way he had walked out as casual as ever.

However, when he called her Miss Mandalorian, she only cast him a look over her shoulder, rolling her eyes at him before turning back to the task.

"You bring plenty to the table, Aurelian," she told him, her fingers brushing the linen. "You're clever, you know when silence speaks louder than words, and your effort is sincere. I only hope to help others see what I already do."

The corner of her mouth curved, glancing back at him, a gentleness threading through the admission. "If I overstep in saying so, then forgive me. But if it gives you even a fraction of the confidence I have in you, then I will not regret it."

She turned back and pulled free a dark blue linen tunic, comfortable slacks, and a knee-length coat. Sensible, not too flashy, but enough for a first meeting. She knew him well enough to choose something that could be shed later when the performance was over.

"But... back to Mand'alor...he can be hard to read, yes. But that's because he isn't careless with his words. He listens. He measures. When he speaks, it's because he's already weighed the cost."

Her voice lowered, more intent now.

"There's trouble between the Diarchy and the Empire. The Diarchy betrayed them after they had signed a retainer of neutrality. There was an attack at Vexis Station. In the wake, a Mandalorian child was killed. That kind of loss is seared into them. It isn't something they forget. Or forgive."

She stepped back from the cabinet and turned toward him fully, the weight of the situation threading through her words.

"The Alors are split. Some want a Crusade. Others want temperance, a show of strength that doesn't risk the people stranded on Echoy'la within Diarchy space. They're standing on the edge of that choice."

Her teeth bit at her lower lip before she exhaled.

"Understand this, Aurelian. Verd is not posturing with Roon or the neighboring systems. Without it, there is no Mandalore. That ground is Taung soil. It's history. It's home. He honors it as both memory and promise. If you treat it like anything less, you'll lose him."

She crossed the room and set the tunic and coat in his hands.

"Here. Change into this," she added, the faint curl of her lips betraying that she was perfectly aware of how bossy she sounded ... and enjoying it just a little.

Hazel eyes lifted back to his, softer now.

"We'll be there shortly. And we both need to be ready."

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian caught the look she gave him when he called her Miss Mandalorian, a satisfied smile creeping onto his lips. He'd clearly gotten a reaction, and the spark in her eyes confirmed she knew it. He kept that grin as his fingers worked the toggles loose, letting the leather armor slide from his shoulders onto the chair with a heavy thud.

Her compliments, however, caught him off guard. They were clever and sincere, certainly not the usual kind of praise he was accustomed to. He let out a quiet breath, then shook his head with a laugh, as if trying to shed the unexpected weight of them.

"Careful, Sibylla," he said, his voice laced with mock warning. "Keep that up, and my head might explode before Mand'alor even gets the chance to take it. Imagine me, unable to walk through the door because my ego's grown too large." He smirked, a softer flicker in his eyes betraying that he hadn't dismissed her words as lightly as he pretended.

When she returned with the bundle of clothes, he took them, his brow crooked. "I wouldn't have chosen these," he admitted, his tone dry. "But they're certainly an improvement."

When he caught her hazel eyes again, he rolled his own, though his smirk had softened. "You're far too comfortable bossing me about," he said. "And yet, here I am. Complying." His tone carried its usual crooked humor, but the truth was, he had done exactly as she asked.

He held the tunic up, studying it, then crooked a finger her way. "Turn, if you don't want to blush again," he teased, low and amused. Without waiting for her to obey, he efficiently stripped off the rest of his leather. The cool air on his skin was a relief after the confinement. He tugged the linen tunic over his head. The coat came last, and with it, he finally felt like himself.

As he worked, his voice carried back to her, steady. "Verd must be a fascinating man," he mused. "To hold together something so vast, with so many Clans pulling in every direction, takes a kind of iron I can truly respect. Balancing blood and faith, war and survival…" He trailed off, fastening the coat, his brows drawing together faintly. He didn't show it, but Sibylla's mention of the child's death had struck a chord in him. His jaw tightened briefly before he relaxed it. If it had been him, he would have burned the Diarchy to cinders, salted the ground until nothing could grow again. The thought lingered, bitter, before he set it aside. Verd's restraint, the choice before him, truly deserved respect.

"I won't dishonor this world," Aurelian added, quieter now, sincerity edging through his humor. "I want to truly see it: the culture, the history. The Republic and the Empire share a close border now. It's about time we began to understand each other instead of pretending from afar."

His gaze sharpened, a glint of cunning beneath the earnestness. "Their holy worlds are theirs alone. I have no intention of marching a military presence into them. But if they've set up shop at our doorstep, we'd be fools not to know our neighbors better."

He tugged at the final fold of fabric, settled it across his shoulders, and gave her a sidelong look as the intercom above crackled to life, announcing their descent. The faint tremor of the ship shifting atmosphere thrummed through the deck beneath their feet.

Aurelian exhaled slowly once, then spread his arms as if to invite her judgment again. "There," he said, a hint of satisfaction sliding beneath his drawl. "Presentable. Breathing. And not creaking like an old man's knees. That's an improvement, wouldn't you say?"

The dangerous smile returned, softer at the edges as he glanced at her. "Let's go meet your Iron Mand'alor, then," he said. "Before you decide I need a hat to match."

Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

Roon
Mandalorian Fortress
Aurelian Veruna | Aether Verd

Sibylla fixed her eyes on a distant point along the wall as she turned sharply on her heel, heat flooding her cheeks. Best, she told herself, to focus on Aurelian's words and anchor her thoughts in matters of state.

"I am glad to hear that," she replied at last, drawing in a steadying breath as her shoulders rose and fell, pushing wayward thoughts and images that came to mind that had no sensible reason to linger. When he had confirmed he was done, she finally turned back to him, and as she let her hazel eyes sweep over him, that faint ghost of a smile grew into something warmer.

"Mmm… yes. I would say the improvement suits you." Her tone carried a light thread of humor, though the lingering flush on her cheeks betrayed her as she inclined her head in quiet confirmation.

Moments later, the ship's hum shifted, engines straining as they cut through the atmosphere. Through the narrow viewport, Roon revealed itself in rolling green plains that gave way to jagged ridges. At its center rose the Mandalorian fortress, a bastion hewn from stone and steel.

She had seen it before, and still it struck her: the Mandalorians built not to impress, but to endure. Their strength was not in ornament, but in weight, permanence, and purpose.

The vessel shuddered as the landing struts locked in place. With a hiss, the ramp lowered toward the ground. A cluster of armored Mandalorians, with Aether Verd at the fore flanked by the two elders at his side waited below before the great gates carved with the sigils of the Mandalorian Clans.

Side by side, Sibylla and Aurelian descended into the dry air of Roon towards the restored Mandalorian Fortress before them.

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

MANDALORIAN FORTRESS, ROON

It had been some time since the High Republic and the Mandalorian Empire shared a table, yet the distance between them had never been without a road. Sibylla Abrantes had seen to that with patience and steel, and Aether had never forgotten it. She did not merely ferry messages from one shore to another, she crossed them herself, earned the regard of old warriors who weighed character above ornament, and spoke with a clarity that carried through the clamor of competing interests. When word reached Mandalore that Naboo sought a meeting upon Roon, the answer had been straightforward, and the company that gathered to greet them formed almost of its own accord. Several Alors insisted on standing with their Sole Ruler at the foot of the ramp, not as a crowd hungry for display, but as kin who wished to honor an envoy who had treated their people with care.

Clearance codes pulsed across the firmament and the Comitari descended through a well-ordered lattice of patrol vectors. The flight controllers directed the Nabooian vessel along a corridor that skimmed the spine of the Black Range before angling toward the fortress that now crowned the plateau. When Sibylla had last trod this ground the structure had been a conquest made useful, its courtyards still scented with cut stone and hot steel as work crews drove the first anchors for a new life. The months since had done more than finish the masonry. The obsidian bastion had taken breath. Its forges sang in shifts that turned without interruption. Its markets traded in ore, leather, spices, and small luxuries hauled across the Empire’s routes. Its quarters offered proper beds to hunters coming in from the rim and classrooms to children whose first words already carried the cadence of Mando’a. It was a hearth stacked high with familiar comforts, an echo of Mandalore itself carried across the dark until it rang true.

Roon did not permit visitors to forget that the hearth was built upon a stronghold. The shuttle’s approach revealed the mountains as a series of serrated ridges that guided the eye toward the keep, and steam rose in pale banners from the hot springs that peppered the slopes. Pools had been terraced into the rear galleries where warriors soothed old injuries under the watch of thermal lanterns, while smaller vents fed into the waterworks that kept the workshops clean. Past the vapor lay the hard lines of readiness. Flights of starfighters cut disciplined arcs through the sky, their patrols overlapping in a pattern that never left a blind corner to chance. Heavy cannon emplacements shouldered from the curtain walls at measured intervals, and the same geometry repeated in smaller batteries tucked into embrasures chiseled deep into the mountain face. Nothing about the arrangement blared threat for its own sake. It simply stated in unerring terms that this place was a home and that homes were kept.

The landing struts kissed stone and the bay opened to receive the Comitari. A path of crimson waited on the deck, running from the line where the ramp would meet the floor to the inner threshold where the first portcullis stood raised. On either side of that cloth stood Supercommandos in formal array, armor polished to a soft sheen and capes folded without a ripple. Each warrior held a round energy shield that shimmered faintly with a primed field, and each rested a beskar spear point-down upon the floor. Their visors faced forward with the stillness that comes from long practice and a shared understanding that ceremony is also instruction.

Aether stood at the base of the ramp with his helm carried beneath his arm. The black of his beskar bore a quiet finish that drank the light rather than shouting it back, and fine filaments of gold traced the seams and sigils that marked his line. The plates fit as they should and moved as they should, a second body that never asked for attention. He did not stand there alone. On his right waited the elder whose counsel had never soured with time. She wore her age as proof that battles of every kind could be survived, and the stern set of her mouth softened whenever she laid eyes upon Sibylla, since she had yet to abandon her habit of telling the ambassador to eat more whenever the chance presented itself. On his left waited the grizzled captain whose regard was not gifted lightly. He had sat across from Sibylla at the council of Alors, listened without interruption, and later told Aether that sound strategy did not need to shout. Both carried their helms beneath their arms, as he did, and both had chosen plate today that could be marshaled for a reception as easily as turned toward a rampart.

The ramp began to lower and the chamber filled with the hush that precedes first steps. For a moment Aether let memory align with sight. He remembered Sibylla’s briefings that never confused courtesy with capitulation. He remembered lunches taken in the shade of Sundari’s restored colonnades where she spoke of harvest schedules and transit plans with the same care she gave to treaty clauses. He remembered the letters from Alors who were not inclined to praise anyone beyond their own blood, yet had written of a Nabooan who met their eyes, learned their stories, and returned to them with respect rather than barter.

Bootfalls thudded in a measured line. The first to appear was the woman who had earned her place in this hall by action and not title. The second was a man wrapped in the sort of presence that courts know well, yet today was marked by practicality that suited the ground. Aether noted the cut of the coat and the simplicity of the tunic beneath, then let his attention settle where it belonged. He took in the set of Sibylla’s shoulders and the alert way she carried her gaze across the details of the bay, the way her stride matched the pace of the guard’s salute as it rose from the line and fell cleanly in unison.

He stepped forward by a single pace, enough to meet them properly without crowding the moment, and allowed a warm smile to touch his features. There was nothing theatrical in the welcome. It did not need ornament, because the welcome itself was the gesture and the hall around them spoke its own language.

“Mandalore bids you welcome to Roon.”​

Aurelian Veruna , Sibylla Abrantes

 

[Sibylla Abrantes]

​

MANDALORIAN FORTRESS, ROON
Aurelian Veruna | Aether Verd

For a few seconds, the weight of the moment seemed to press within Sibylla's chest, but it wasn't a stifling sensation, but a welcoming one.

It was the kind of warmth that the Assembly Hall had yet to give her, because this was not mere flattery in politics. This was respect, one that she had earned and was being given freely to her, and it was such a validating sensation that she felt it settle deep into her bones. For all the patience, hours spent learning and interacting with the Mandalorians that she had devoted to fulfill her duty with care, here was the proof: her work had meant something to them. For a moment, Sibylla let herself savor it all: the welcome, the acceptance of her effort and acknowledgment.

Then it was time to work.

Sibylla straightened her shoulders and descended towards Aether, a genuine smile curving over her full lips, the kind of smile no Assembly had ever seen her wear so openly. A tiny tell perhaps on how her time with the Mandalorian Empire had changed the teenage politician in ways the court had not been able to, and for the better.

At the base of the ramp, her gaze met Aether's before drifting to the elder and the captain who stood with him, helms beneath their arms, their presence itself a recognition of her place among them. She inclined her head gracefully as she greeted them.

"Su cuy'gar, Mand'alor. It is a pleasure to be back on Roon."

She turned to meet the elder's and captain’s fond gaze with the familiar warmth and welcome. Each received her warm open greeting in turn. It wasn’t a greeting coated by political pretense, it was genuine one that was saturated with the quiet open respect she had always given them.

Only then did Sibylla step slightly aside, her hand gesturing towards Aurelian. Her hazel eyes softened and there was no denying the warmth in her voice as she spoke to introduce him to Aether and the elders.

"Allow me to introduce Prince Aurelian Veruna, the leading Sovereign Candidate for the Royal Throne of Naboo." The fabric of ceremony along with sincerity wove together in her tone because the introduction was every much a pledge of trust as it was a show of courtesy.

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian grinned fully when Sibylla commented on his attire, her voice warm and impossible to miss. He tilted his head her way, his dark eyes narrowing with sly amusement. "Suits me, does it?" he murmured, a soft question meant just for her. The gleam in his gaze, though, suggested he hoped to see her blush. "You're beginning to sound like you rather enjoy dressing me." He kept smiling as he followed her down the ramp, his movements smooth and purposeful, carrying himself with the quiet confidence of someone at home in any setting.

His gaze swept over everything with an intensity he rarely hid. The fortress itself rose like something alive. He noticed the Supercommandos lined up along the path. There was discipline here, and precision, nothing wasted or done merely for show.

Something stirred in Aurelian then: a flicker of admiration, mixed uncomfortably with a sharp edge of envy. Here was a people who had forged permanence from ashes, reshaping exile into an empire. And here he was, walking into their hall as a mere guest, dressed in unflattering, practical clothes.

When Sibylla slowed at the base of the ramp, he matched her pace, turning his head to face the man waiting. Mand'alor Aether Verd stood there, his helm tucked under his arm. Authority settled on him, quiet and unshakable, something he never needed to announce. The elders flanking him emanated the same calm strength, evidence of a culture that honored those who had not only endured but continued to shape their world. Aurelian paused, letting the silence hold for a beat. Then he stepped forward, his boots clicking on the stone. He dipped into a low, fluid bow, one arm across his chest; the movement was practiced, yet clearly sincere. When he straightened, his dangerous smile curved, now softened by a rare note of respect.

"Mand'alor the Iron," he began, his voice clear and deliberate. "It's a pleasure to formally meet you. Thank you for receiving us here on Roon, especially on such short notice." His gaze briefly acknowledged the elders with the same quiet courtesy Sibylla had shown, then returned to Verd. "I've heard a great deal about you, and about the Empire you are shaping." Aurelian's smile deepened, his eyes glinting in the light. "And if Sibylla speaks highly of someone, I've learned to pay attention. That alone tells me you're someone worth knowing." He let the words settle, a subtle compliment woven into his introduction, his tone a mix of charm and genuine sincerity, wielded as skillfully as a blade.

Sibylla Abrantes | Aether Verd​

 

[Aether Verd]

Assets: Beskar'gam | Basilisk
Darksaber | Resolute Dawn​

MANDALORIAN FORTRESS, ROON

The Mando’a upon Sibylla’s lips sparked more than recognition. It stirred warmth, and the faces of the two Alors standing at Aether’s side shifted from stern ceremony into open smiles. The elder woman’s gaze lit at once, the stern cast of her mouth softening as she stepped forward by half a stride. “Sibyl'ika, you’ll come by the marketplace after your dealings,” she said, the words more command than suggestion, though her eyes gleamed kindly. “The supper I promised will be ready and waiting, and I will not have you leaving Roon without it.” The grizzled captain chuckled low in his throat at Sibylla’s greeting, his scarred features easing as he answered with an affable nod. “Always a pleasure to see you, Ambassador.”

Aether’s smile followed theirs, genuine and unguarded as his helm rested beneath his arm. “Roon is brightened with your presence, Sibylla.” he said, his voice carrying easily through the chamber. “You honor this place every time you set foot upon its stone.” He let her greeting of his companions play out in its familiarity, taking in how naturally she was received, before his attention shifted to the man she brought forward.

Prince Aurelian Veruna. Recognition stirred, the face not unfamiliar, though back then it had belonged to a figure who stood in the gallery and listened while others spoke. Time had carried him swiftly from the fringes of the Assembly to candidate for Naboo’s throne. Aether considered that fact with quiet reflection before stepping forward as the prince dipped into his bow.

The Mand’alor thumped his fist firmly against his chest, a gesture of his people that rang as clear as words. “It is always my pleasure to host friends from the Republic, even on short notice,” he replied, his tone steady yet warm. “And it is good to formally meet you as well, Prince Veruna.” His gaze cut briefly toward Sibylla then, and the smile that touched his features was genuine. “The Ambassador has made quite a name for herself. It is not often that Mandalorians truly trust outsiders, but she has earned ours. By her hand, the Republic has earned the trust of Mandalore as well.”

With that, Aether turned smoothly and lifted his free hand to guide the delegation onward. The Supercommandos fell into disciplined motion at the edges of the procession while the elder and the captain raised their hands in farewell, their fond regard lingering before they departed to their duties. The path carried them deeper into the fortress, stone corridors branching around them until they came to a chamber set with a round table. The space was prepared with refreshments that bore both Mandalorian and Nabooian touches, thought woven into every detail without gaudy display.

Aether claimed his place at the head of the table, helm set upon its surface with care, and gestured for Sibylla and Aurelian to join him. Once they were settled, his voice carried once more, steady and assured. “If there is anything we can provide to make your visit more comfortable, you need only ask. But let us not lose time. Tell me...what can Mandalore do for the Republic this day?”​

Sibylla Abrantes , Aurelian Veruna

 

[Aurelian Veruna]

X | X​

Aurelian trailed after Aether and Sibylla as they moved deeper into the fortress, taking everything in. The corridors themselves spoke volumes: permanently carved stone, banners bearing clan sigils, and the steady echo of armored boots. The Naboo prince observed it all, taking measure of the walls, weapons, and especially a people whose identity ran so deep it seemed carved into the very marrow of the place. He hid the flicker of envy behind a subtle smile, though inwardly he couldn't deny its presence. Here was a legacy made real, something far beyond stories clung to in gilded halls.

Entering the chamber, his gaze quickly noticed the table set for them. The refreshments reflected both Mandalore and Naboo, a thoughtful and intentional detail. Aurelian's lips curved into a subtle smile, a mix of appreciation and challenge.

He sat smoothly opposite Aether, the coat Sibylla had picked for him rustling softly. One hand grazed the table's edge, as if testing its texture, while the other rested lightly on his knee. His posture seemed relaxed, almost casual, yet his intense eyes revealed a readiness hidden beneath.

When Aether asked his question, Aurelian inclined his head. His sharp smile briefly flashed before he spoke clearly and steadily.

"Mand'alor, I know you don't waste words. I won't insult you with ceremony just for show." His dark gaze met Aether's, unwavering. "I'll be direct."

He took a slow breath, speaking more openly as he leaned forward, lacing his fingers on the table. "When I first learned of your fortress here on Roon, I admit I bristled. Its closeness to High Republic space felt like an encroachment. I may have even said as much publicly, acting recklessly as a young man confident in his own opinions."

His lips curved ruefully, though his eyes sharpened. "If so, then I'll say this plainly now: I was ignorant. Thanks to Ambassador Abrantes' patient instruction, I better understand this world's historical significance to your people. I shouldn't have dismissed it so lightly."

He paused, letting his words sink in. The apology was measured and deliberate, designed to earn ground rather than lose it.

"But," Aurelian continued, his voice dropping slightly, with a heavier tone, "we live in extraordinary times. The Republic is on the brink of open war. The Sith Order moves both covertly and openly, their influence reaching into places we once thought safe. The Black Sun Syndicate" he let the name linger like a sour taste. "has tightened its grip. They're bolder, more violent, and infest the very arteries of the galaxy's trade and political systems."

Aurelian leaned back, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood as he chose his next words carefully. "I expect your Empire will find itself clashing with Black Sun before long. Their methods, their hunger... it's only a matter of time before they threaten your routes and your people. But my question, Mand'alor, is what truly matters to me."

His gaze fixed on Aether with a sharp clarity now. The charming smile faded, replaced by something sharper and more earnest. "Where do the Mandalorians stand in the greater struggle, against the Sith? When the Republic fully commits to that fight, will we find you standing beside us, or simply observing from your walls?"

He let the challenge hang in the air, which felt more like an invitation than an insult. His eyes glinted with the spark of a man who thrived on pushing boundaries, but understood these stakes were deadly serious.

Sibylla Abrantes | Aether Verd​