The Sabbah Compound had moved from utter chaos to an organized sort of pandemonium. The severely injured were either receiving treatment or had died. People still trickled in steadily to receive water and food, and displaced people were still sleeping in the courtyard, but the mad rush had died down. Things weren't back to normal by any stretch of the imagination, but order had begun to gain ground.

Between the library and its new resident Geiba orphans, the garden, and the general chaos in Onn, Shahrzad was tired. Zand had told her to slow down three times in the past week, but it was impossible not to devote all of her Green power to Gifting the water that sustained the rooftop garden. The fruits of her efforts were undeniable, but rarely had Zadi felt so drained. The news that Elenor had returned was welcome, one of the constant demands on Zadi to be relieved. Was this a taste of what it was to be a ruling Queen? Was this what Elenor had to deal with every day? If so, maybe it was true that Zadi wasn't capable of ruling. Maybe she really wasn't strong enough.

She and Zand met two Landen men on the stairs to the roof, and Zand stood aside for them to pass. Zadi smiled politely at both of them: neither would meet her eyes, but nor did they curse her or tell her how she wasted water, a more common occurrence than she cared to dwell on.

The midday sun began to bake them the moment they emerged into it, and Zadi quickly pulled her veil up to shade her eyes.

"Elenor!" Zadi broke into a grin and waved at her friend, but cut herself off when she realized how close the Sabbah Queen was standing to Matin. Zadi quickly cleared her throat and took a more formal tone.

"That is, My Lady. If I'm interrupting something, I'd be happy to come back later?"

Elenor's relationship with Matin had been rather rocky, but for once it looked like the two of them were actually getting along. As desperate as Zadi was to catch up with El and hear all about her travels, she was loathe to break into a private moment.

Sometimes Jeremiah did not know why Drake wanted to try and argue with Rilandra. Things were simply meant to be and in this case, their being late? It was meant to be. That and the more that one tried to push Ryllis to be perfectly on time the more that it seemed things went awry to go against that. Whether it was the Queen's pregnancy or Mother Night herself remained to be seen. Jeremiah was certain it was equal parts both but that was neither here nor there.

What he did instead was to make sure that there were updates sent along every time they stopped along with revising the notes for the agenda every time. A fair amount of fresh parchment had been tucked away for note taking during the talks with the expectation that he would be assisting in the aftermath with Sebastian in seeing to the necessary documents written up. (It was, after all, what he was meant to be doing as a Steward. In truth it made him miss Valeriu, the many discussions they had had about topics such as this. That the Prince was not here for this hurt in some inexplicable way that he could not explain.)

There was almost enough time that he had considered weaving a web while they were on the way but he did not. For all that Drake was First Escort, the one who primarily saw to the Queen's needs, with her pregnant it was easier said than done. So in that way he still was, very much, Queen's Shadow. Which brought to mind the following: being Queen's Shadow and Steward left little room for anything else. Especially leading up to the meeting. Lisichya had left, gone to Darkwood to spend time at the beach and see the ocean. Which he suspected Sebastian helped aid because he likely wanted to avoid any Black-Jeweled bullshit. Such as the Healer simply showing up, tucking himself into Jeremiah's lap, and not caring one lick about what others would think. While that was acceptable (not really but then who wanted to argue with either of them about it) at the Territory Court it was not acceptable now.

So in that absence, with no Healer present to keep him in line and make sure he looked after himself, Jeremiah had taken to keeping company with Claudia more than usual. With the talks coming up they put aside the other issues (the ones related to Black Widows and webs and certain scions) and focused upon them. It meant that the Black Widow Warlord Prince had been sleeping but not regularly and, truthfully, had only been taking naps here and there (usually with Ryllis as that had not truly changed). Nothing had been seen that could not, inevitably, be handled.

Though there had been two immediately important things that Jeremiah had noticed upon during his visions. The Desert Star, the one of Red, that had always been a part of the landscape of his Twisted Kingdom was closer than ever after it had collided and fallen. It was something to consider but he left it alone. Just the same as he found Drake to be surrounded by a gloom of Summer Sky. The Prince's expression had been mixed, the Summer Sky a dark cloak about him. His thoughts had been that it was about- Well, Jeremiah was not going to think about what his thoughts had been because he simply did not want to go down that path.

... and then, during greetings, everything clicked into place (Jeremiah was as charming as ever). There, standing with the Eyrien Delegation, was the Desert Star; another Black Widow Warlord Prince. Their greeting was polite and formal, both their gazes speaking of knowing more, but it did not stop Jeremiah from reaching out with a brush of Rose. *It is good to see you well, Desert Star. I worried when I saw your star collide and fall but you are strengthened by it.*

*And you, Winter.  I feared for you every time you wavered. I am pleased to see you are shining so strongly.*

Before he could respond he felt the shift, the way that the world seemed to move under his feet but it had not actually done any such thing. Jeremiah's eyes locked with Abaddon's and then they both looked between the Queen of Askavi, revealed by her Warlord Prince, and the First Escort of Dena Nehele who stood by his Queen.

*The Summer Sky ...* said Jeremiah.

*The Red ...* said Abaddon.

They both looked back to each other and inclined their heads just slightly. So much for his taking notes, thought Jeremiah then, because there was little that could be done when a male first saw his Queen. Even if it was years ago, Jeremiah still remembered the day that he had met Riley in the tree and how they had spent so many hours together. There was little that would have made him focus upon something else and so he settled for creating a memory crystal later as Jeremiah fell upon keeping an eye upon the room, though the emotional pulse of it was - to put it lightly - something else, and ensuring that Riley's protection was his main focus.

He took a step closer to Riley, hand pressing to the small of her back and thumb rubbing softly. Jeremiah wrapped his Queen up in Rose, not her body, but her mind as a comfort in this time. He knew, he understood, and he was here for her. To his credit, Jeremiah looked to Illyrian and bowed his head just slightly. The reason was that she was to be respected, her will just as strong as Drake's was to ignore what called them to each other now. It did not ease the bitter ache that was within Riley, the one he knew she had, but then nothing would in knowing that Drake was no longer just hers.

Especially as Drake was - for him - rather obvious about his staring at the Eyrien Queen, Illyrian Kriat. Just as Warlord Prince, Drakkar Estaroth, was on point for trying to stare daggers into him. Today, apparently, it fell upon the Black Widow Warlord Princes to be setting the good examples when most would likely assume that to be far from the case. Thankfully both Jeremiah and Abaddon were charming, Riley and Illyrian were well-spoken and forthright, Drake was heart-eyes, Drakkar was stabby-eyes, and if Sebastian glowered any more ...

Well. Jeremiah already felt a touch guilty that he was not the one taking notes for all that he spoke and spoke well when necessary about their stance and what they were willing to trade and the back and forth. Especially as he thought of Val, once more, and the discussions they used to have. The trade agreement saw the influx of raw foodstuffs that would boost both territories, the surplus of harvests at a rate that was better than either of them had expected. He could only hope that they were not planning on changing out the current ambassador, Scar, for someone else. Such a thing seemed cruel, in so many ways. The topic of joint rites, however, was one that had been a point of contention. Yes, it could help, but at the same time Hayll was quiet now but that meant little. Things were often quiet before the storm and there was something that niggled at his senses.

When the break came, his head tilted, a questioning thought sent to Abaddon, not aloud as much of their conversations had been (not that their conversations made a lick of sense to anyone listening). *Do you feel it too? Something on the horizon?* Not that he could say what, only that there was more to come. Yet the Queens had made their decisions and so they would continue on. Jeremiah could not disagree, not in the slightest.

He only reached and placed his hand along Riley's, his fingers resting over hers lightly and squeezing. Another brush of Rose was given, comfort and reassurance and love, as he glanced once more to Drake (who had just cut his eyes away from Lady Kriat once more). Jeremiah did not sigh but he wanted to. Jeremiah instead focused upon what he was here to do now, which was ensure that everything went smoothly and make sure that Riley made it through this meeting with most of her heart still intact.

Abaddon’s eyebrows rose, and he shook his head.  ”If Lady Elenor came looking for trouble, she would find it, and it would be her own fault.  Tavar Andros—Fin al-Sabbah is the Voice of the Sabbah.  It is how we run our Clans...there is a Queen, and her main advisor which is the Voice.  They do not need to be Bonded, the Voice is typically selected by the people in the absence of a Queen or by other means, occasionally a Clan or Tribal Council.  Fin, I am certain, would advise her against foolishness—as would I.”  He half smiled, ”Precisely.  There is no reason to borrow trouble, when we all have plenty of our own.  I have not foreseen and issue from that vector, though that is not a guarantee that there cannot be.  My inner eye often focuses all on its own.”

He could sense the enormous weight of Drakkar’s years shifting slightly, turning very slowly, like a great worm.  More dangerous and more powerful for its size, but very slow to change direction.  Abaddon could sense real progress, real heartfelt growth, and that pleased him.  If he died, it would not be so terrible a sacrifice if it meant something.  ”Hardship for hardship.  Men call me ‘abomination’ here, Father.  I am not sure if more would have died here, or in Pruul.  As it was, I had something of a dark reputation.”  Abaddon smiled, ”A knife for a knife; your old sword will server as a reminder for me as well.”

Abaddon was not ashamed of his life.  He felt annoyance and anger and rage, but no shame.  He had his regrets, and he was not shy about sharing them.  If he could not share the truth in his own mind with a potentially dying man, who could he share it with?  Perhaps, one day, he would tell his newfound half-brother what he had endured, but that day seemed farther away.  Lucky and he might become friends, even family, but until Lucky matured and understood the responsibility of leadership, his own and other, they were unlikely to ever see eye to eye.  Time would tell.  Abaddon knew where he was from now.  He knew and understood his heritage in ways that he could never have done without coming to Askavi and carving into Drakkar’s flesh with his knife.  It was tragically comical, but he kept that to himself.  He did not know where he would go next, but he knew his journeys were not over, and he knew that one of those places was Raej, even now he felt a tug, even now he gazed into the sky and saw Sapphire star pulsing, calling to him, reminding him of his visions.

”I would like that, Father.  I will go with you whenever you are ready.”  Abaddon smiled, and then slowly narrowed his eyes, expanding his perceptions.  ”I will see you soon.”  He gripped his Father’s shoulder, and with a small push, sent him tumbling away from the plateau rising up and up and up through the stars until he tumbled into consciousness.  It had been three days, Abaddon marveled at how far they had come, and when he was alone, he called up a vision of The Spider, of Adramelech, and stared at the simulacrum he had created in his mind.  ”I have walked the path, Old Spider, I have come to the end of your thread, and I am truly free.  Ghanima, my Queen, killed you.”  He growled, ”But I have throttled your memory, and pulled your crooked line straight.  What you have written, I will erase.”  Abaddon scattered the image, and great shadow, star-filled wings lifted him to the stars—and back into consciousness.

Abaddon’s work quietly continued. He could not force Drakkar to think a certain way, or to suddenly change, but he could repair the damage that kept him from using all of himself. He knew that his Father had a difficult road ahead, should he live. Change was never easy. Abaddon did not assume he knew better than Askavi. The Territory had a rich culture to call upon, if it bothered to do so. Gravesend and Illyrian were proof of that, despite the resentment that seemed inherent in some when they turned their minds to the fact that she had created this haven. As far as Abaddon was concerned, it was like saving a library full of the knowledge of the people, and that was never a bad thing in his estimation. Protocol and traditions so old they were written into the Abyssal memory of every member of the Blood had been born amongst the Eyriens, and other long-lived. They could not just throw that away, and fail because they forgot about their better selves.

He smiled slightly, ”Yes and No, is the honest answer. We are kin, so it is a bit easier. However, my particular gift is the Mind.” Abaddon was thoughtful for a moment, ”It is not always voluntary. I have learned to filter out what people send out without even knowing it. For most, I think it is a door you open, for me it is a door I have to close.” Then he gestured, ”However, we are essentially in my own mind, my Web, so here it is very easy, even necessary. It is how I learned about Gravesend. I sampled the dreams of those in Living Lake.”

Abaddon nodded slowly at the mention of Fin and his sentencing, as well as his Queen. ”His Queen believes that she is old. She is not, not by comparison to you or to Illyrian—I am sorry, not old, but—experienced in years? That is a better way to put it.” He considered what he knew of Elenor, and grumbled softly, the sound becoming a brief but frustrated growl. ”She is mentally delicate. She was a patient of mine, and she had work yet to do when Fin and I left, but a person has to want to be fixed—and her behavior seems to indicate otherwise.” He tilted his head slightly, ”She’s willful enough to come looking for him, but that will not change anything.”

”Father, “ He began, ”When Adramelech died, my existence was called into question, and I was very alone. I found Ghanima. I remembered Ana—not a sister by blood, but by circumstance. There was Fin as well. I learned that I was not as alone as I feared. Fear is a powerful illogical thing.” Abaddon shook his head, ”I understand the importance of Family and connection.” He gestured at the stars, ”How can I not? I risked our lives to find a way through, we both did.” He smiled and with his other hand, patted his Father’s, ”I would like that. I have yet to really be anyone’s Son.”

Abaddon nodded, ”Yes, it would please me to see my gift get some use. I will take your broken sword and craft a knife from it. We will consider it an exchange.” He smiled, and nodded at the idea of a rematch. ”A smile. I would not have believed you capable when I first arrived.” His nostrils flared slightly, ”I have carried around a child’s sense of abandonment for as long as I can remember. This was subordinated by the manipulations of the Spider, as he applied year after year of Webs to my mind and body. When I tore those away, everything did not come back to me at once—it trickled in—but this sense of displacement remained, and bloomed into a kind of poison. Made me feel alien, when I was not. That is the problem with understanding the Mind—you understand it,but you can’t stop it from doing foolish things, even if it is your own mind. I knew that it had to be dealt with, and that has been done. My motives were not entirely selfless or noble, but personal as well.” And then more seriously, ”Fate has brought us together. We will learn the reason for it in the days ahead.”

He looked up at the sky, ”I think you are right.” They would live. Abaddon had sensed the Healing Craft, and knew that he, at least, would not die—and his Father’s mind remained steady and intact. They had time yet to talk, but the hardest part was done. He took a breath, ”You wanted to know about my life. I will show you.” And he did.