Log:The Queens Justice

The Lady Lana receives a long awaited justice

OOC Date: Feb 26, 2023
Location: Droalder Palace, New Alderaan
Participants: Ban Iskender, Bx-B8, Noemie Lenoir, Rieve Selki, Bors Thul, Ulani Thul, Yari, Aryn Cortess

The throne room was a rather large venue, complete with seating on each side of a carpeted aisle, and a dais near the end of the room with a single throne placed upon it. The throne was an elegant seat, carved of fine fogstone and inlayed with jewels and sapphires earning its name, 'Ruby Throne'. At present, the dais and throne are not occupied, but the large room itself is. The sound of mumbled chatter gives the space a touch of apprehension; this day had been 15 years in the making and many people, like Duchess Avlin Teraan, had a tough time believing it was here. Avlin fret with her hands, standing off to one side and watching with anticipation.

The First Sword, Ser Lars Syrush, has aged handsomely and still wears his golden armor. A black cape hangs from his left side, leaving his sword which is on the right in plain view and available to draw at a moments notice.

Lord Ty Killesa approaches the Duchess, lightly touching the back of her arm to earn her attention. Rather than coach her on the finer points of relaxing, he over emphasizes taking in a deep breath; a not so subtle hint she takes under advisement and echoes with an appreciative look. "Justice will come, your Excellency, fear not." Captain Killesa tries his best to offer a reassuring smile, but the scar over his lip is a rather unsightly thing. Still, it prompts Avlin to smile. "I know. It just seems surreal. All the fighting, all the bloodshed, everything has led to this moment." Avlin steps closer to Ty, finding comfort from the experienced sea lord.

Count Ulgo and his daughter, the Lady Sidney, arrive with a small contingent of their house guard. The entire group walk as if marching, their heavy steps echoing in this large chamber until they arrive at some place to sit, yet they remain standing, awaiting the arrival of the Queen.

The young royal Princes were near the dais, speaking with a red armored Mandalorian warrior whose helmet was hooded with a red-furred blood wolf. It was not clear who this woman was, but the two young men are enamored by the tall warrior, who stands, arms tucked to the small of her back looking every bit as military as the culture suggested she was. "What kinds of weapons come from your gauntlet, mistress?" Aidan asks appropriately, the elder, Marcus adds, "That would be a flamethrower. No armor can protect from fire." Marcus had the smug look of arrogance about him as he observed his younger brother's eyes widen. The Mandalorian chuckles, but does not confirm or deny. One does not tell a Prince they are wrong, afterall, especially if they're an outsider.

Ban Iskender has grown a short beard in recent years, but otherwise cuts the same stern, polished figure he ever did in the Alderaanian court. Attired for the formal occasion in a dragoon's dress uniform, resplendent with gold braid on grey and green. Tall black boots and white gloves complete the uniform, with a high collar and half-cape leaving the gentleman's face the only bare skin. His armaments have changed. Gone is the elegant pistol and intricate swept hilt of his sword, in the blade's place at his side the relatively plain metallic cylinder of a lightsaber hangs. Gloved hands are composed at the small of his back.

Bait had come to New Alderaan, as he was curious about the so-called big news of some person being brought to justice. Whatever that means in the Galaxy in this new era. The fortunate side of being a Droid, he tended to be overlooked by most organics, even if he did had a somewhat odd design.

Currently Bait was standing off to the side near the front of the room. He wanted to have a good view of the events as they were to unfold. His photoreceptors scan over thr crowd, always on guard should anything unfortunate come to pass.

Noemie Lenoir had arrived to New Alderaan onboard the Queen's Grace, flown comfortably and without harm by her personal pilot, Remi Rayne. Once the ship was cleared through palace airspace, it would set down with skillful grace alongside some of the royal Alderaanian starships, the silver chromium trim of the J-Type Royal Starship's hull looking as though it belonged in that hangar. The hatch would lower and the fairly recently appointed Ambassador Lenoir would descend the boarding ramp on her first official trip to Alderaan since Queen Nalia had appointed her as Naboo's foreign ambassador just a few months ago.

Her personal detail would remain on the ship, the ambassador feeling wholly safe and without need of protection within the seat of the Alderaan system and felt fully confident that in the unlikely occurance of hostilities within the palace, the royal guards and pilots would quell the troublemakers as they had recently done with the settling of the civil war.

Noemie came dressed in a dual-layered outfit comprised of an indigo velvet overdress over a cobalt hued gown which sparkled with delicate beads along its skirts - the skirts growing wider as they descended closer to the floor. With the Queen and her procession busy near the throne, she would save the greetings for later, finding a seat near to the front, behind the royal familes, on the right side of the aisle, setting herself down and smoothing out her skirts. "Back straight, shoulders back!" She reminded herself quietly, the youthful Naboo a bit giddy to be out on her first official assignment.

Rieve had arrived on Alderaan to meet with a local worthy, with dance lessons, some measure of fencing, and a quick light meal to round off the day, a day that Rieve sought to finally finish with the event of the season. Indeed, he'd arrived on the arm of his client, nodding but once and offering a smile to BX-B8 as they passed, a courtesy for seeing the droid once more, before guiding his client to a seat and settling in beside her. His blue hair was artfully coaxed and styled, and his Hapan style robes were varying shades of blue and abundant in their folds and various details. The pale and youthful looking male leant in to smile and listen to some small comment made by his companion, offering a softly spoken and delightfully accented reply, with that Hapan lilt ensuring a swift swirl of words flowing one after the other, before finally reaching their conclusion. More whispered gossip drifted back and forth, pointing out various titled peoples, with Rieve's eyes delighting in the pomp and the show being put on all about them as he sat for the most part rigid, his robes having fallen loose down one side, through against his left, they certainly seemed to have likely caught on something sheathed at his hip for all of a moment, before they are set tumbling free with a dextrous flick of his right hand.

The arrival of House Thul is, ever, an affair of state. Muted to -just- below the grandeur allotted to the Queen. Only just.

Their procession is headed by a pair of footmen with a roll to lay out carper of midnight blue shot through with sweeping bands of ruby red weaving through golden spheres. A glitter of shimmersilk threads in the weave set off by the lighting, giving the suggestion and illusion of underlighting when the lead of their pack comes.

The Black Knight of Alderaan, Champion of Her Excellency Countess Uypiia, Lord Bors of The Ancient and Most Noble House of Thul. Clad in armor that had once championed the early days of the Galactic Empire, the black plastoid plates polished to mirrors and the visor a blazing cerulean T that hints a silhouette of the noble features beneath. The Sword of Thul belted at his waist, each step precise in his vanguard escort of the Noble Family.

The Countess follows, her gown black, slim, chased in crimson and deep blue with a halo collar fanning out behind her head like an eclipsed sunburst and the train of her dress a starfield of gemstone chips in the delicate gauzy material. To her right, Vanko the Count Consort in smart courtly tunic and cloak, like a softly smiling shadow at his lady's side. To her left Ulani Thul, Formerly of Kuat, Champion of Aldera Squadron, Grand Vizier of House Thul.

Those that follow are a mass of dark shapes and viper's grins with glittering eyes and a lack of teeth in smiles. Adorned in black, crimson and blue and most often in cut that flares out or is conspicuous for its lack of elaborate design.

The Thuls Have Come. Their processional carpet stopped at their precise place at Court.

Ulani is dressed appropriately for the occasion in finery fit for House Thul. Colors of silver, black, and blue wrap around her in a well-fitted bodice that then flares out in a long if thin dress that is made to just barely drag the ground. Even in the heels, she picks up her skirts enough from the floor when she moves along with the group of Thuls as they make an entrance. The years have been kind fo Ulani in terms of beauty but the years of war and strife show well enough in her eyes which she has learned to guard and harden as must as her sister-in-law has. Head held high and posture immaculate, she goes with the group unhindered; practices steps learned over the years that comes without a thought. "To think that it all can end here," she says gently to those near her, lips moving but eyes remaining forward. Everything poised and proper. "Or does it, I wonder."

The back doors opened with a bit of fanfair, two armored knights stepping through first to flank the opened hatch and clear the path of any bystander. A hush swept over the crowd and the general shift of bodies to look toward the green caped warriors who began to herald the Queen with a unified voice.

"Queen Aryn of House Cortess; Queen of Delaya, New Alderaan, Birren, and the Ash Worlds; the Unifier, Lord of the Alderaan Sector and Protector of the Realm."

Aryn walks by both Knights with a quiet step. The Queen had never been one for dresses, she wore a dark tunic paired with shined ebon armor. The armor itself had properties within that powered small blue lights along its exterior, giving it an elegant and sleek look. A dashing white cape, fastened upon the pauldrons of the Queen's armor, swept back with each step forward, dragging /slightly/ upon the stone and carpeted flooring. Gloved hands are tested with light tugs as she marches by, her blonde hair brushed and pinned back elegantly to remain off her color, and her make-up emphasized the presence of a scar over one eye; a point of intrigue among the Alderaanian people!

As Aryn passed the rows of nobles and attendants, ladies dipped into a curtsy while men bowed. Even the stern looking military family of House Ulgo showed deference. When Aryn made it to the dais, her sons were there to greet her, each at one side and bowing. She paused to watch them both a moment, her neutral expression cracking slightly with a look of pride. They were their father's children. Lady Kiko Alde arrived at the other side of the First Sword, Lars Syrush, and they ushered the two Princes away to find seating with them.

The Mandalorian who had been waiting at the side, dipped down into a bow, then resumed her quiet vigil.

Aryn arrived at the ruby throne and turned with a gentle sweep of her cape before sitting down and sighing. Her voice was amplified over the room thanks to the technology embedded in the throne. "Your excellencies, my Lords, my Ladies.. be seated. -- " The shuffle for seating follows and Aryn waits patiently to speak again.

"A matter of great importance awaits our judgement. Just yesterday, we received word that the renegade Lady Lana of House Panteer was captured in the Outer Rim. For those who remember the horror Lana waged against us, against our people, then you know what she must answer for. The captor responsible for this was invited as well.." Aryn lifts her hand to gesture toward the Red Wolf. The Mandalorian does nothing but bow slightly to Aryn at the mention of her presence and invitation.

"Let us begin. -- Bring in the Lady Lana, and the imprisoned members of House Panteer."

A side door opens, and a small group of people are escorted inside and stationed before the court. The Mandalorian pivots and leaves the room by way of another exit, and returns with a humbled Lady Lana. Lana, wearing common clothes, is led barefoot across the stone wearing chains and a neural restraint upon her head. Her dark hair is a mess, she's been bloodied and bruised from her capture, and left unarmed and incapable of defending herself. She is placed closer to the dais and shoved to her knees before Aryn.

Ban Iskender's formal bearing does not slip as his green eyes regard the various familiar faces at court, or while studying those who remain unfamiliar. A short dip of his head to a few, but once the Queen enters and summons the Pretender, the gentleman's stare is reserved for the captive lady and her prisoner kin, years of wariness leaving him curious if there will be some last ditch piece of desperation in the moments ahead. For the moment, he says nothing.

Bait simply stands quietly, amused by all the pomp the Organics seem to obsess over. As the queen walks in and begins the events of the night, the Droid focuses his attention on the Speaker, and takes special note of the prisoners as they are brought in.

Having stood with the rest as the Queen was announced, Noemie, only being five feet, had to lean to the side a bit to see over one of the taller nobles standing in front of her. On seeing Queen Cortess her face lit up delightfully. The young ambassador had known Aryn since the formation of the Artisans Guild, having met her when she was a princess and shortly before the civil war had started in Alderaan. Seeing Aryn reminds her of some of those initial meetings, and the things they had gotten up to in places like Ord Mantell and Taris. These situations had shown to the young Naboo that the now-Queen fully had it within her capacity to act with grace, intelligence and fairness in whatever was to be ruled here today. Even with the scar, which the Alderaanian seemed to accentuate with her makeup, seeing Aryn brought some comfort to the young ambassador.

The two of them were quite opposite in appearance, with the Alderaanian not showing much interest in dresses, and the Naboo delighted to design them. Even their makeup was different, though that was largely attributed to their cultures. Here on official business, Noemie's makeup reflected the formal style of her homeworld and today had chosen a very pale face given a shade lighter of concealer and setting powder, over which her bright red lipstick ran only down the center of her lips rather than all around. Similarly, a set of red dots were on either side of her jaw, with two on each side, and a darker, crimson hued eyeshadow extended to her eyebrows similiarly in the center only. Her cheeks were devoid of blush, save for a small bit to maintain the purposefully pale look.

As the Queen walks near to Noemie's side of the room on her way to the throne, Noemie would curtsey with many of the others, and would take her seat as the court began, smoothing out her skirts once more as before. She'd keep her back straight and her shoulders back, chest out, as etiquette had taught her. Her face would remain neutral when emotional display wasn't warranted, another form of training she'd received with her recent station.

Rising with the arrival of royalty, Rieve, his companion and those all about show due deference before seating once more. The softly spoken conversation between the blue-haired Hapan and his female companion no doubt drifting back and forth on the various houses present, and who is indeed whom. Though the conversation ceases as they listen to the words issued by the Queen herself, heads turning to witness the collared and commonly attired Lady Lana, with Rieve's face showing a hint of a wince at the state of the captured woman. It was clearly quite the fight, and given the fierce countenance of the Mandalorian present, there's no doubt about it. A few more hushed whispers follow, no doubt some measure of intrigue as to the Red Wolf. "She seems quite the fierce huntress." The fluid and swiftly spoken words are soft and uttered to his middle-aged companion, who nods in agreement, before offering her own take on the scene playing out.

While the Thul's sit, Bors remains standing once he has come to stand between the chairs provided to Countess and Grand Vizier. A figure of propriety to his leading titles. His posture ready, formal but loose should the need to draw steel come. No expression to be read, no body language to speak of in the man who holds as a storm cloud among his House. A man who has been known on one occasion to storm a castle on another planet entirely. Slashing through house guard to retrieve something most precious to him.

The appearance of Lady Panteer drawing outraged murmurs from the Thuls, a rippling growl that drifts back to coiled silence. The Countess herself sitting a little taller and the slow growing twist of her lips anything but pleasant. A mirror of Vaanko who appears serene and even upbeat, though the expression of his eyes is flint being scraped by steel.

The Black Knight's gaze, concealed as it is, blazes on Lana. If there was a place for naked hate in the heart of the man - this may be the one person who could kindle the ice cold spark of it there. Tense, despite himself. Enough so that his sister's hand comes out, in a glancing touch, to brush against his hand even as the Countess keeps her face and eyes forward.

The appearance of Lana does draw Ulani's own ire, her eyes narrowing just a bit and showing some of the creases she has earned at the corners of her eyes. The mascara empahsizes this steely glare all the more. Back still stiff, head locked in position, her blue eyes are following the movement of the accused, the guilty. Still, her hand does reach up and those she does not take hold of her Lord husband's hand, she does rest it gently at his knee as Bors stands between her and the Countess. "Of all the death she has caused. The bloodshed and destruction," her accented voice says among the murmurs. "Tell me, Pretender. Where is my brother to help you now?"

The first time Yari set foot upon palace grounds, she had no words to describe it. Not because her deafness had negated the need for verbal speech, but because she'd never seen anything of the sort. The icy stone of Kijimi was a very different place. But that was nigh seventeen years ago, and Yari's been here a time or three since. Today though, she's not catering squat.

If the years have done anything to Yari Bartyl, it's hard to tell. Put a little more confidence in her step, perhaps. In the squaring of her shoulders as she stands there among the crowd of lookee-loos waiting to see this 'lady' receive her come-uppins. There are no house colors being represented by her garb. No armor. Just a heterochromatic stare that fixates upon the Panteer without an ounce of sympathy. Has Yari got a dog in this hunt? No. Her people have since settled far away, fleeing yet another wave of darkness before they'd recovered from the first. But there's a solidarity between her and the Alderaanians - some of them - and the years have done nothing to strip it away.

Queen Aryn doesn't seem the type to gloat at the seeming victory, if anything, there is a stark aura about the ceremony carried out here, one that seemed indicative of one outcome. They all felt it, and even Lana, who had stood defiant to the end, looked beaten, tired, and worn down. Despite her filth and sorry state, she glared up at the Red Wolf and moved abruptly to rid herself of the Mandalorian's firm grasp upon her shoulder. Not wanting to make a scene, the Red Wolf allowed this mercy, but she rested her hand upon the baton prepared to bash the woman's head in should anything transpire.

Aryn speaks, "You stand accused of treason, murder, and conspiracy. You waged a civil war, using ill-gotten gains and foreigners to invade our lands, and spill the blood of our people. Have you anything to say for this?"

A pregnant silence follows as Lana adjusts her head to glare at Aryn. "I apologize for nothing. What I did, I did for my House and our people. Panteers have ruled Alderaan for centuries. We would not have bent the knee to the Sith. To the Republic.. we would have been our own people!" Her voice echoes, but her influence here doesn't seem to take root.

Lady Ulani's question makes Lana's cheeks burn hot with rage. "It was his cowardice that saw to our defeat. I do hope, for your sake, it is not something that runs in your blood. The Thuls are a proud family, and could do without watering it down with foreign ---"

"Enough." The Queen says, but Lana speaks over her. The words are lost though when the Mandalorian slugs her hard across the face to shut her up. The impact of the hit resonates across the room, punctuating the fact Lana had no friends here. Lana spits out blood after being hit, falling to one side and crying out in a wince of stinging pain. The Red Wolf pulls her back up by the back of her neck, like she was some rowdy kitten.

"You have spoken your peace, Lady Lana." Aryn says, and Lana spits out blood, coughing.

"What of those from my Court? Have you anything to say to her; justice you want answered?"

Ban Iskender's first word is spoken steady, firm, and calm as in answer to Lana's protests, he names her, "Liar." A sharp sniff punctuates the word. "You have never cared for the souls nor freedom of Alderaan, and only ever desired to make our people slaves bound to your own service." The harsh words are curiously void of outrage or emotion. It is as if he were reciting the plain truth of basic arithmetic. No doubt more impassioned words will follow his.

Bait looks around the room at the mention of the current rulers giving allegiance to the Sith Empire, and for once he was glad he could not show emotions. He even watches Selki closely to see if he can tell where is recent benefactor's allegiances rest. Suddenly Bait was worried he might be owing a favor to a Sith sympathizer. For all the talk of Justice in the room, Bait doubted there was going to actually be any.

Noemie's pale and red-painted face shoots wide with surprise when the fallen Lady is socked in the face, jumping back and grimacing when the blood can be seen from where she sits. She's very quickly composed herself, however, likely only the person sitting behind her having even noticed the startled jump - and even then only if they hadn't been watching the procession themselves. Her face is drawn down, expression neutral again, as she'd been taught by others in Queen Nalia's Advisory Council. It's this practiced behavior that keeps Noemie watching, despite her distaste for violence, and her duty to be here that keeps her collected when the fallen Lady hits the floor, her chains rattling with the echo of a disgraced rebellion.

Noemie had recognized Ulani's voice but it wasn't until Lana had addressed her back that Noemie looked over to see her and identify the speaker. Normally her face would light up and she'd have the urge to smile or wave, but now in her collected demeanor she simply made note of where Ulani was, so that she could go and say hello to her later if the circumstances allowed for it.

The charges as they are laid out warrant a glance from Aryn to lana herself, and the words offered up by Lana in her own defence have Rieve certainly looking curious, though the sudden and rather blunt silencing has him grimace faintly. Perhaps the same would have happened upon his home world, or perhaps not. Rieve stiffens faintly, sat there quite formally, for even as a distinctly untitled guest, there was a time when he too had title and some mild position at a court a ways from here. Feeling his companion jolt a little as Lana is silenced, more from shock and surprise than anything else, the blue-haired male leans in lightly to rest his shoulder against hers, a reassuring pressure compounded with a gentle squeeze of her hand between them both. A beat, a breath, and calm is restored for now. Shoulder to shoulder, her hand soon clasped within both of his offering gentle pressure and warmth to his companion's lightly trembling hand.

"Rather than sue for peace you sprung assaults at would be gatherings for the Houses to meet, share company, enjoy the world we had anew. All so that you could rule from Delaya, a would be tyrant. The blood of innocents runs so freely from your hands it should drown us all here and now."

Uypiia had stood, hands folded before her and her look for Lana something like pity than derision. Vaanko, ever at her side has his head shaking slowly, head tipped and turned to look upon her with his left eye more than his slowly milking right. The children of the Countess and Count eerie mirrors of their parents.

Bors himself trembles enough that there is the rustle of his plates and the sensor wipe of the visor could be compared to a turn of expression that must be thunderous when his voice lifts as from a tomb, quiet, steel. Fury. The voice of The Great Despiser wreathing it and washing away that which ordinarily is honied by the peace of The Mother and the calm of The Father. Amplified by the armor systems, a voice that could and has carried over battlefields on ground and across the stars, his hands not fists for the smaller one gripping his left.

<"Thee... forced hands of those who strode in the light of evil so that our people should need not. Thee stirred needles in their hearts. Cleft in twain were families noble and common. Hewed to the root families. Sundered peace sought ere after for decades. Thee cultivated evil in everyone's. Thou hast stained the hands of Alderaan in Alderaan's heartsblood." right hand lifting and for a change that is so sudden that even his sister dearest is taken aback, her already pale features becoming driven snow. <"Thou hath robbed us all and grandeurize thyself in a cloak of righteous indignation and condemnation for thine betters. _ALL_ thine betters"> the teeth in his snarl become audible a fury that has been burning slow and cool for nearly twenty years now.

<"I speak now to heap greater darkness upon shoulders mine, so that others needn't. I take on this evil I am in hopes others not know such cold in the pit of them. Thou cur. Thou slanderous trollop of the Dark Places where Shadow seeks to encompass The Mother. Where cruelty seeks to seed the even heart of The Father... I hate thee. I hate thee as I hate all the dark and coldest hells. I hate what thou hast wrought of us and I shall ask no forgiveness that thou are found outside the scope of Her Forgiveness or His. Be cast out and forgotten, Lana Panteer... Betrayer. Base and low thou art. Thy blood is as thin as thine veneer of nobility. May thou haven in no grave, no tomb. No memory. Let the carrion birds have thee, though the taste of thee would curse a maggot... If I was given it, the honor of your throat would be mine own. Foul bitch...">

Still pointing, having taken steps forward, leaving the other Thul's gawking in outright horror of what has come over Bors whose right hand rests on the grip of his blade.

Well-versed in how to keep track of a crowded, dazzling group of nobility, a movement catches Ulani's attention. Somewhere in the near-distance beyond where the Great Houses have front row seats of this trial, Ulani spots a familiar, fellow redhead among the lot. For the first time since entering, her eyes soften a little and she speaks a hushed word to the armored man next to her. "Bors, dear. If something goes wry, make sure Miss Yari is protected. I won't see her--"

Dafuq she just say?!

Ulani's lyrical, Kuati-laced voice ceases upon the razor edge of the sylabel she was speaking; blue eyes darting right back to Lana. Locked and loaded like the cannons on her X-wing and just as deadly under her guidance. Bors is first to speak and she lets him. She has seen his hatred of this magnitude only once before and it ended in her father's death. But even then, he had allowed himself remorse afterwards. She senses there will be no remorse here and she does nothing to stop him.

Slowly she raises, chin up and haughty, unphased by the smack that brought Lana low. "It is true my birth is Kuati, but my heart is Alderaanian which is more than can be said for you. While I have fought and bled for my people a hundred times over, you have exploited and murdered them for your own selfish gains. I stand here not just as a Lady of Thul by marriage, but that of deed and honor. Earned and unquestionable. You, Pretender, stand in the rags that suit you and may the weight of those you killed drag you to the deepest, darkest pits wher the Mother will not embrace you and the Father will not regard you. May you be as cold, empty, and alone as you deserve. Your family name forever tarnished; a curse among our people. You who stole from us the future of so many families and houses. You who, with all the wealth and power in the galaxy, still failed. Wallow in misery while you've still a heart beating to feel it. Then be forever damned."

The force of that impact tenderizing Lana's meat(can it still be called a face?) is plenty visible. The way her head snaps aside, the bloody spittle, the crumple of defeat. It's almost enough to make Yari cringe, thinking back to a time aboard the Flotilla. Almost. Just a quarter eye twitch, if that.

The impassioned speech from the Thuls is felt more deeply, of course. Hatered - it's an emotion she knows well. A slow, surreptitious turn of her head angles a look toward the ranting nobility, peeling her attention away from Panteer.

"Irony is all I hear from you, Prince Iskender, slave of an Empire," Lana belts back with a bloody mouth. The Red Wolf moves again, but this time Lana cowers and sinks away from her, covering her face; the Mandalorian is left to menace there, the wolf hood glaring down upon its acquisition.

The Thuls spoke out against Lana, and she was left to cower and endure the insult. Each word broiled, burning the air around her skin until her face was red with anger. There comes a point where venom can no longer be spoken, the ability to think lost in the raging fires of tempered anger. She seethes, hissing either from the pain of a swollen lip, or from the words that wounded her more.

A silence follows the Thuls, as if the seeds of their painful words were left to grow into something more. "Your Grace," calls out Duchess Avlin, who stands from her place and walks to the center. "I understand the pain of all who speak out against the Lady Lana. It comes from places within us that hurt. I, myself, experienced such at the hands of Lana's allies. It was my family's throne she sullied whilst issuing orders that put brother against brother, and great House against great House. Even in her death, those who perished long ago remain in the ground, no promise of retribution or justice that might make them rise again and resume the lives taken from them."

"My late Lord Father once said that ruling bears an appreciation of the bigger picture. Sometimes, what we want most cannot be the right answer. I have no doubt that by your word, your Grace, the Lady Lana's life will end and justice be served, but to echo my father once more.. we are not butchers or brutes. We should handle our people, criminal or no, with honor." This barb is sent toward the Mandalorian with a single gaze, admonishing her treatment of the unarmed prisoner. "Our people were not a violent until war was thrust upon us. We must strive to be better. By the grace of the Mother, and the gaze of the righteous Father, we are all of us charged with one simple task before stepping into the next life."

Avlin steps in a small circle, addressing everyone and the Queen at once. "To leave this life better than we found it. -- The Lady Lana's death should bring meaning if it is indeed her blood you intend to spill, your Grace."

"A Mother's mercy," Aryn says, rising from her throne to stand above the entire court. "Your Lord Father would be proud of the Lady you have become, Duchess Teraan." Aryn's gaze shifts to Lana, and she gestures. "Rise, my Lady. You profess that your actions be to the benefit of your once Great House. That you sought to elevate them, even despite lowering them to the place they are now."

Aryn's gesture indicates the row of Panteers dressed in rags and chained off to one side, imprisoned for the crimes of their liege lady, Lana. "Let us put truth to your word, Lady Lana." Aryn unclips the curved hilt from her belt and steps down the dais to stand to one side of Lana. Lana, who has risen to her feet, turns to face Aryn. They stand some ten feet apart from each other. Aryn activates the lightsaber in her hand, its hungry red blade emerging with a sudden growl and low rumble, rises up and points toward Lana.

"I give you this one mercy, Lady Lana. By the Gods, and all who bear witness, I will restore your great House, and grant them a way forward again, into the good graces of our realm, to serve and one day return to their former glory."

"In order for me to do this.. you must die for your House. Prove to them, to us, that this madness has come to its end and that you go to the after life fulfilling our Gods one promise. Leave this life in a better place than you found it."

Aryn shares a look with Avlin, who in turn nods, then joins Aryn at her side, hands tucked against her front in a lady-like pose.

All eyes are on Lana, who has locked gaze with the red growling blade held by the Queen of Alderaan.

Ban Iskender finds some faint amusement in Lana's retort to him, though he is content to remain silent as first the young Duchess Avlin speaks, followed by Aryn. The former's words earn a dip of the Prince-Consort's head for their truth, while the latter's offer pushes one of the gentleman's brows into an arch.

With the activation of the lightsaber, Bait takes an involuntary step back. A droid he may be, but not even the best armor is proof against a lightsaber. He watches, silently, waiting to see what Lana chooses for her Fate. Will she submit or fight with her last breath for what she believes in? Organics were so unpredicable when it comes down to it.

Noemie had kept calm and collected during the shouting, keeping mental focus on who is saying what and trying to imagine where they're coming from as they do it. It was always easy for Noemie to put herself in someone else's shoes, mentally, which was the primary source of her sense of compasion and empathy. She could easily see both sides of an argument, which made her an excellent choice for Naboo's foreign ambassador. However, she didn't like to see the hurt that some of the people she knew were displaying today, but she still held confident that what Aryn would choose today would be fair and just.

The Naboo quirks a black, sculpted brow when the lightsaber comes out. She wasn't the most educated on force users, but even she knew that red had some kind of a meaning in opposition to a Jedi. Still, she held firm, consciously resetting her neutral expression, and leaned slightly to her right to get a better view of what was occuring at the throne.

Rieve's companion has turned to speak with her neighbour, apparently some matter regarding the events that only Alderaanian's could understand. Rieve takes that moment to gently squeeze her hand, now that the owner of said hand is calmer and clearly engrossed in matters of discussion. The Hapan companion moves with a certain ease, a quiet grace as he slips free of the seating to weave his most blue and stylish way to finally settle beside BX-B8. Slipping his hands within his billowing sleeves, Rieve looks to the droid and then back to the red glowing lightsabre which inspires a chill down his spine, there follows a softly spoken whisper, pleasantly accented as it is. slipping free of Rieve's lips. "There's no justice like courtly justice." As to which side Rieve falls upon, there's no tell. Though a glance is given, a brow lightly quirked, his face neutral.

Not drawing back, hand ready to draw while even the Queen herself has ignited her own, Bors's fury is palpable. Young Avlin's softer words in all the vitriol doing nothing to dull the edges of him. It's only when it's clear he might simply stride forward like an avenging thunderbolt that he is shocked from his focus.

Countess Uypiia, hand on his shoulder, turning his head and pulling with enough firmness to invoke both her elder age and higher status upon the man who comes back two steps. Brother and sister remain standing, one leaned to speak softly to the other in a practiced level of whisper that even this hall designed to capture such is failing to.

Around them the rest of the House look on, watching Aryn and Lana intent as gundarks about to fall on unwary prey.

Having said her piece, Ulani slowly sits herself back down, crossing one leg over the other, and smoothing out her dress. One hand rests to her knee then the other over top it, deigning to look over to the remaining Panteers with scorn; riled as she is to have her honor questioned on the cusp of another's mortal demise. "Redemption is a gift," she says to those of Panteer who can hear her. Not to Lana. Oh, no. She is already dead to Lady Thul. "A chance given only once. The Great House of Thul has walked the path you are close to treading. They have found honor again. Should you be given this chance, I strongly suggest you take it to heart and strive to return to your people whole." The unspoken threat of what the alternative is lingers silently otherwise.

That deadly saber glow gets Yari's attention, in full. Did her eyes get just a smidge wider all of a sudden? Maybeeee...

Under the cuffs of tunic, short fingernails press firmly into palms, hands folded together at the low of her back. Watching. A little glance from saber to Aryn, back to saber.

The Red Wolf stepped away, and in her place, the First Sword arrived to stand behind Lana. Lady Lana looks back, and up at Lars quietly, expecting to see a menacing look but instead finding one with a bit of compassion written across it. Ser Lars gives her a quiet nod. It seemed they both understood what she had to do. Lana returns the nod from the Knight, draws a deep breath, and looks back to Aryn and the red blade humming before her.

One barefooted step paces out, then another. Defiant until the end, Lana washes herself of pride, ego, and faces death with a stern look, her eyes upon the humbled masses who are her kin. This was for them after all.

She flinches at first as the blade is within millimeters of her chest. Tears welling in her eyes as she tries to quell the fear of death and steel herself with resolve. "For Panteer," She says in a shaking, emotional voice. "For Alderaan."

She steps forward and the red blade pierces her heart instantly, emerging from her back. She tries to breathe, but her lungs fail, and confusion is written on her face at the unfamiliar sensation of dying. Her knees buckle, and before she collapses, Aryn deactivates the lightsaber as to not mutilate her.

Lady Lana of the Great House Panteer dies, falling backward and into the waiting arms of Ser Lars Syrush, who sweeps her up gingerly, hooking his arm under her knees to allow her legs to hang freely. Hoisting her small form up with ease, he adjusts to allow the late Lady's head to rest upon his golden pauldron.

Duchess Avlin makes a nod toward the crowd, and the sea Lord, Ty Killesa, arrives a moment later bearing the banner of Panteer. It is a small thing, but it is draped over the body of Lana, hiding her corpse and fresh death from view. Both he and Ser Lars exit the room in silence.

Aryn clips her weapon back to her belt and rises back to the top of the dais, claiming the ruby throne once more and settling. A gesture is made to the remaining Panteers. "Remove their chains."

Instantly, guards address the restraints and offer gloved hands to help the Panteers to their feet. They are ushered to stand before the Queen, and all of them lower to their knees.

"Lord Gerald Panteer.." Aryn calls out.

"Yes, your Grace?"

"Swear fealty to the crown and Alderaan once more. Let all bear witness to your House's oath."

"Your Grace, I, Lord of the Great House Panteer, swear fealty to the crown of Alderaan, to serve in times of peace or strife. We offer our loyalty, and humbly place ourselves before your mercy."

"I accept. I hereby appoint you Baron of Icy Watch. Our military outpost on Avishan. The keep is in a sorry state, but with your wealth returned, I would have you rebuild its defenses to serve as an outpost in our deep space reaches. Oversee the security of our ice mining facility, and seek out new prospects to increase trade. Now, collect your kin, arms and armor, and see it done."

The Panteers rose with a gesture from Aryn, and all at once, were dismissed.

Aryn concludes the day's court. "Please join us in the great hall. Refreshments, company, and friends. The day is one of Justice and new beginnings. Let us honor the our dead, and celebrate the way forward."

Glancing toward Ban briefly, then ahead, Aryn says, "Alderaan Endures."

Ban Iskender is among the voices who echo, "Alderaan endures."

Bait glances at Rieve briefly as the Hapan addresses him, "Indeed," is all the droid offers in response to the question. His photoreceptors scan the room for a moment, it is clear that most organic here has strong feelings about the events, and Bait felt best to keep his 'feelings' to himself. Least those here find exception with his being here.

Turning back to the Queen and Lana, Bait watches as the latter impales herself of the crimson lightsaber. "Interesting," is all bait offers at the scene. He had calculated a 68.795328 percent chance Lana would fight to the last. He would have to adjust his calculations for the future.

"It is that." The Hapan's words ring out lightly, a brow is lightly arched all the same as he watches the exceptionally swift execution. "It was at least mercifully swift..." Though Rieve's features remain decidedly blank as he scans the crowd, it is as he expected. Alderaan was certainly strengthening itself with the drawing in of the Panteer's from the cold, the wisest move most likely. With the call to honour the dead and celebrate the future, Rieve's hands slip a little deeper into his sleeves, keeping back the chill of witnessing that lightsabre in action.

Lana falls. Pierced and quickly.

Bors is riveted in place, fists at his side. Wrapped in his plates with his sister's hand on his shoulder and her words for him alone. Lord Thul's stare is seering through to the body beneath the shroud. Shaking in his armor.

It's always anti-climatic. When it ends. The stories are never correct.

<"Alderaan Remembers."> venom in his voice, unable to be masked by the distortion of the vocalizers.

With a sigh, Ulani rises as well but only after Lana has expired. For all her ire and hardeness over the years, she still cannot bear to watch another die. Even if they're one of the few that truly, truly deserve it. "Alderaan endres," she offers in echoed unison with the crowd around her, but she doesn't go towards the Grand Hall for the aftershock. Instead, she excuses herself very quietly, touches Bors' shoulder, and moves towards the nearest balcony for some air.

That electric hum, bright with a life force of its own, is mere threads away from snuffing out another. Yari stares...she waits...and at the last possible moment, she balks.

A slow blink turns her eyes away from the death, and the rest of her body follows shortly thereafter. It's not difficult to discern what the Kijimi thinks of the announcement inviting folks to stay for celebratory drinks. Seeing as how her feet are leading her in the opposite direction of that very great hall. No 'pardon me's or courteous dips of chin to those who don't get out of her way fast enough. They're shouldered through, all the same, blue and brown gaze fixed forward in an unwavering stare on the nearest exit.