Chapter Text
“Very well. With that matter settled…”
Black robes rustled as the others sprang to action at the calmly spoken words, like students dismissed from class by their professor. He, however, languidly stretched in his seat, arching back over it to pop his spine, before slipping a hand under his hood to scratch his head. Elidibus’ voice sliced through the individual conversations that had sprung up.
“There is simply one more topic to discuss before we are done for the day.”
Groans echoed throughout the vaulted chamber—his own included.
“I have a lecture in the morning!” said Lahabrea, slamming a fist on the back of his seat.
“And I have a child waiting for me,” Deudalaphon added.
“I had plans,” Igeyorhm muttered.
He smirked as he caught the glance exchanged between her and Lahabrea.
“I assure all of you it won’t take long,” Elidibus said, motioning to the chairs they had just abandoned.
The others reluctantly resumed their seats, creating a circle of observers. He straightened up in his own seat as the white-robed man moved to the center, officially taking the floor.
“As we all know, the fourteenth seat has sat empty for a little over a month now, following our dear colleague’s death.”
Twelve sets of eyes followed Elidibus’ hand to the vacant seat among them. The memory of the accident was still fresh in their minds—along with the man’s sacrifice. He made a mental note to meet with Elidibus to review the finalized plans for the memorial garden he had designed.
Perhaps include Mitron, he mused. They were friends, after all.
“Is this even the moment to discuss filling it?” said man questioned. “This isn’t something to be rushed. I suggest that we move it to tomorrow’s agenda.”
Mitron’s words were met with sounds of approval. Lahabrea cleared his throat, ignoring whatever Igeyorhm hissed at him.
“If I may advocate the opposing argument—”
“No you may not,” Nabriales interrupted. “Everyone wants to go home.”
Lahabrea continued, despite the murmurs of agreement.
“Why fill the vacancy? What is the purpose of a fourteenth member? What is wrong with thirteen? As we are now, any vote that falls to a tie may be broken by Elidibus, seeing as he typically abstains. I propose we leave the seat vacant in memory of our fallen colleague.”
He rolled his eyes at the suggestion and finally spoke up.
“Counterargument: What good is an empty seat?” he asked, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Are we to set a nice plaque on it and display it in the lobby of the Capitol? Or perhaps use it to relax by putting our feet up when a discourse gets too boring? No. With all due respect, Lahabrea, seats are made to be filled.”
“Ah, so Emet-Selch is still with us,” Elidibus observed. “I must agree: seats are made to be filled. However, Mitron, I’m afraid we must discuss this today. The candidate is scheduled to arrive tomorrow.”
“What?”
“What candidate?!”
“Why didn’t you bring this up earlier?”
Questions pelted the white-robed man until he held his hands up for silence. Rather than join in with the others, he simply watched the scene with raised eyebrows and a vaguely amused twist of his lips.
“My apologies, esteemed colleagues, for seeking out this candidate without your approval. I merely thought it would be easier to screen any and all before presenting them to you.”
“Multiple candidates have been considered?!” Mitron pressed, voice slowly rising in volume. “You didn’t think to involve even one of us in the process?”
“I understand your feelings, Mitron, but seeing how deeply you were mourning—”
“That is not a decision to be made alone!” the man practically roared.
“Yet the decision was made and the invitation apparently extended,” he interjected, taking the angered man’s attention away from Elidibus.
“Go back to sleep, Emet-Selch,” Mitron hissed.
He somehow managed to keep from rolling his eyes as he responded.
“I would very much love to, but I can’t if you keep yelling.” He turned his gaze to the other members of the Convocation. “As for the rest of you: stop interrupting the man so we can all call it a day and go home. Or would everyone rather send out for their dinners and stay here debating something that’s already been done?”
“Believe it or not, I would also like to go home,” Elidibus added in a calm voice.
The others reluctantly fell silent and focused their attention on the man in the center.
“As I said, the candidate is scheduled to arrive tomorrow. She will spend a week in Amaurot wherein she will complete a trial designed by myself and her sponsor, the outcome of which determines whether or not she takes the vacant seat.”
“If you’re the only one who knew of her coming, then who is her sponsor?” Mitron demanded.
“That is precisely why this matter could not wait until tomorrow. We need to decide on a sponsor today.”
The chamber erupted once more with arguments and accusations. He slumped down in his seat following a stifled groan. His fingers curled around his red mask and dug into his temples in a feeble attempt to stave off the oncoming headache as their voices grew louder.
“I’ll do it!”
Deafening silence fell over them. He felt the weight of their gazes land on him while he continued rubbing his temples. A glance confirmed that, indeed, everyone was focused on him. Mitron’s face contorted in rage beneath his own red mask.
“Y-you?!” the man spluttered. “A child who only recently took his seat? You don’t have the experience, much less the knowledge, required!”
It wasn’t the first time that week that the man had made reference to his relatively recent appointment to the Convocation and his youth. The memory of the previous jab was fresh enough to make him bristle at the reminder.
“I had enough to be appointed,” he retorted, finally rising to his feet. “And, unless I’m mistaken, there’s no law stating you need to have served a certain amount of time in office before being allowed to sponsor someone.”
“How do you know you’re the best one to sponsor the candidate?” asked Deudalaphon. Her tone of voice implied a raised eyebrow; her crossed arms confirmed it. Something in the way she held her head told him that she perhaps agreed with Mitron.
“How do you know I’m not? The only one here who knows anything about the candidate is Elidibus. If everyone is against my being the sponsor and no one else is willing to volunteer, then let him pick someone so we can. Just. Leave.”
The gaze of the Convocation shifted to Elidibus, still in the center of the room. A rare smile graced the man’s face, framed by his mask.
“I think you’ll do, Emet-Selch. Meet me in my office so I may give you the information you’ll need for the candidate’s arrival. We are adjourned for the day.”
“No, I object!”
“Give it a rest, Mitron,” Halmarut called from across the circle.
The man disregarded the other’s plea and continued.
“I propose a condition be placed on this sponsorship!”
“Oh?” he called, stifling a chuckle. “Is this your attempt at being entertaining?”
“Ignore him, Emet-Selch,” Lahabrea advised. “He’s obviously trying to provoke you.”
“But I want to hear this,” he confessed with a smirk. “Go on. Tell us your proposal.”
“The failure of a candidate suddenly thrust upon the Convocation reflects poorly on both the member who chose them and whoever agrees to sponsor them. Should she fail, then I propose both you and Elidibus step down.”
The white-robed man froze at the challenge. He glanced sideways at Elidibus, feeling his smirk widen into a grin—despite the other man’s subtle shake of his head.
“I accept.”
The chamber burst into more shouting. Above them all, he could plainly hear Igeyorhm’s voice.
“Don’t be so impulsive, Emet-Selch! If she fails then we will have three seats to fill!”
He chuckled. The others stopped, allowing the softer sound to fill the void.
“But Igeyorhm,” he finally said, turning to her with a confident smile, “what you just said implies you have little faith in our dear Elidibus’ decisions. I am sure the candidate is qualified, leaving you with little reason to worry. Moreover, I’m positive that he and I can devise a trial that will both challenge the candidate and prove her worthy of the vacant seat.”
He faced Elidibus and smirked.
“Is that not so?”
After a moment, the man seemed to relax and nodded in agreement.
“In fact, why not make it more interesting?” he resumed, walking up to Mitron to better sneer directly in the man’s face. “Should she pass the trial and earn her place as we have all done, then you, Mitron, will personally place her new mask on her face the day of her ceremony—before all Amaurot. Deal?”
He offered his hand. The man took it with a firm shake.
“Deal,” he agreed before lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’ll make you eat your words, Hades.”
“Is that so? Then do remember that I like a good red with my meals,” he quipped. “I’ll present you yours with a side of pie, old man.”
Hades turned on his heel and left the chamber as Elidibus officially adjourned them for the day.