Raurlin guides Naomi up the stairs and into their bedroom. He ushers her in then shuts the door. Naomi sits down on the edge of the bed. Her eyes are heavy and tired. He never wanted the record-keepers to see her like this. But he can never admit to her that that is the true root of his frustration. Raurlin cups her cheek lightly then walks to their cupboards. He pulls them open, gently taking Naomi's traditional cloak out first.

A gift from Stellan, it is a tie in on her origin and his. The inner lining of the coat, beneath the thick furred material, delicate white snowflakes are stitched neatly, perfectly in line. The coat is fitted with two sleeves that reach far past the wrist, but Raurlin knows the coat is intended to rest across the shoulders, worn in important occasions such as this, and not for mere comfort. The outer of her coat is a rich blue with, representative of the waters that her lineage would have conquered.

The realisation that Naomi and Stellan share a lineage came as a shock. No one could have possibly anticipated it. But Raurlin is forever grateful to the Gods for allowing Naomi a relative so deeply entrenched in the world she is just becoming accustomed to. The wrists of the coat are stitched with roots and leaves, tying in Stellan's lineage of farmers and workers of the land. The neck of the coat is covered in thick white fur. The final piece of the coat, Naomi's piece, is a dagger embroidered on the inner sleeve of her right wrist. No one but Stellan, Raurlin and Naomi know that it is tucked in there, symbolic of so much for his aeturnum.

He drapes the coat across Naomi's shoulders explaining, "when we represent ourselves and our home in an official capacity such as today we must wear our coats. They represent our clans, lineage. They show where we come from. These cloaks demand respect. Wearing these is as good as wearing a crown."

"And will you be wearing a crown?" Naomi asks as she adjusts the coat around her body, pulling it straight. Raurlin watches her as she gathers her long hair twisting it and dropping it down her left shoulder.

"I will not. That...is for something else." Naomi looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. Raurlin smirks, merely then walks back to the cupboard, easing his coat out. A coat that would have been passed down to his eldest son. Before The Great War. Before the great change, such a thing would have been possible. Raurlin holds his coat up by the hanger it is hanging on and examines it.

It is a rich green, far darker than emerald and is stitched on the inner with neat rows of intricately twisted vines and leaves. This is an ode to his clan, farmers too. Workers of the land. Bur warriors too and this is evident in the daggers that are stitched in black too across each upper shoulder, on the outer of the coat. The neck is thick with a black fur, a distinct contrast to Naomi's. Raurlin throws the coat around him and onto his back, fulling it straight across his shoulders. He draws it closed in front of him, covering his casual clothes.

Naomi stands up and she mimics him. "Going into the room" Naomi asks, "what do I need to know?"

"They will stand," Raurlin explains. "We will take our seats at the head of the table. We will sit first and once we are sitting they will sit too. Sarah will sit to your left and Jackson to my right. Horatio, by right, must formally introduce the record-keepers. Each by name and by lineage, which should be Havebyr. Horatio must then declare himself as their caller, and explain why. He could be excused at that point but I would like him to stay. The record-keepers have a 'leader' so to speak. I am guessing the lanky arrogant one would be their leader. They call the leader a Hayward. He will present their proposal, we will have an opportunity to review it in private with Sarah and Jackson then we will make a decision."

Naomi nods, fully absorbing his words. Like this she seems somewhat more awake, more alive. "From what I've read on Havebyr they are the vampires that refused to fight. They retreated to the mountains then were bestowed with the record-keeping duty?"

Raurlin nods, holding his hand out and Naomi takes it. "That is fair enough to know about these leeches." Raurlin looks down at Naomi who is unimpressed at his words. He grins. "I would like you to take the lead on this, Naomi. We are the first of this new era, together. There are no wrong ways to do this. Only our way."

Naomi swallows down and it doesn't go unnoticed, but she draws a big smile on her face, looking forward as they begin their descent down the stairs. Horatio is waiting at the bottom of the stairs in the foyer in front of the dining room. Once he sees them he walks into the dining room. Raurlin pauses at the final step with a final look at Naomi and she nods her head. He walks forward first, guiding her into the room, as his father had done with his mother. A surprising lump drags into Raurlin's throat and he is grateful he has asked Naomi to take lead on the activity of the day.

They step into the room that is warm and filled with the rich smell of freshly roasted coffee and brown sugar. Raurlin looks past each person as he walks into the room behind Naomi. Jackson bows his head as Raurlin walks past him, as Sarah does to Naomi as Naomi stops in front of her chair, alongside Sarah. Raurlin stops at the head of the table, looking down at the table set in front of him. A silver tray housing a pot of coffee is sitting between a mini ceramic milk pitcher and a ceramic dish filled with cubes of brown sugar and mini tongs to pick them up with. Horatio has taken the liberty of setting the table with a crisp white tablecloth and saucers and mugs. The room is well lit with candles across the table of a variety of sizes.

Naomi drops into her seat and Raurlin does so too in unison. The remainder of the table follows suit too. Horatio remains standing at the other end of the table, his hands tucked behind his back. Naomi reaches across the table and hold of Raurlin's hand, that he hasn't realised is trembling. Naomi draws no attention to it but she holds onto him tighter. Raurlin can feel his eyes pulsate and he cannot help the colour pouring in. He cannot help that the record-keepers feel so unsettled by his appearance either.

Naomi holds hand out to Horatio. Horatio clears his throat "My Queen, My King, I beg your forgiveness in acting of my own volition, inviting the Havebyr record-keepers here. To your home."

"You do not act without reason," Naomi calls out clearly across the table, confidently. "Tell me why."

Horatio's eyes are glossy and they fall to the floor in front of him. "Your Grace...I did it for my brother. He deserves a greater ending than the one we currently have for him. I did it for him. And if I may, Your Grace, I would do it again."

"You may leave," Naomi informs him, "but stay close should we need you again."

Horatio bows lowly and walks briskly out of the room. As his exit is watched Naomi steals a glance at Raurlin and he smiles a short smile, winking at her. Naomi battles back a smile too then turns her attention back to the table.

"Now, record-keepers, who is your Hayward?"

The man raises his hand and Naomi scolds him furiously. "You will stand and announce yourself, your lineage, then you will introduce your companions."

The man stands quickly, his chair sliding loudly on the floor behind him. "Your Grace, my name is Baldẻv Markeson of Havebyr." Baldẻv , in a sweeping motion of his hand, gestures for the two women sitting on either side of him to stand up and they do. "This lady, to my left, is Ing Amulson. To my right this lady is Hyacinth Ramson. Both of the Havebyr mountains." Baldẻv remains standing as do Ing and Hyacinth, unsure of what to do.

"Sit," Jackson instructs and they do. "Hyacinth," he directs, "any relation to Slein?"

Hyacinth smiles slightly, revealing two deep dimples in her cheeks. She lowers her head slightly as she responds, "yes, my God-Father."

"Is he well?"

Hyacinth's smile falls lightly as she looks up at Jackson. "He succumbed to the Illness some years prior."

"May he rest peacefully with the Gods," Jackson offers gently.

"Baldẻv of Havebyr," Naomi interjects, "your business here?"

Baldẻv nods quickly and he reveals a large matte black envelope tucked into his cloak. He lowers it slowly onto the table, Naomi's eyes do not waver from the envelope and Raurlin's eyes do not waver from him. Baldẻv gently eases the envelope open and tugs out a thick wad of papers. He separates a single page of yellow paper that is scribbled in black cursive ink. "Your Grace, if I may." Baldẻv hands the paper to Jackson who passes it to Raurlin. Raurlin accepts the paper with an inhale through his nose. The smell tells him it is of Havebyr. The ink has not changed over the years and the faint scent of soybean from the candles that remain aflame at their secret town. Raurlin examines the content of the letter.

'Hybrid King, Queen,

As the elder of the Havebyr, I Aengus II, by decree of scribed rite 30, present the following record-keepers to you:

Baldẻv Markeson of Havebyr, Hayward

Ing Amulson of Havebyr

Hyacinth Ramson of Havebyr

These record-keepers have completed a ten year study into the decrees as established by The Havebyr Record-Keepers successfully. As such I am confident in their capability to accurately scribe the present, yet historically significant, records.

I trust they will be received warmly. I thank you for your cooperation.

Aengus II of Havebyr, Elder Scribe'

The end of the page is complete with a green wax seal stamped with a pen outline, ensuring the authenticity of the document. The stamp and seal have adapted over the years from a leaf from a particular plant only found at Havebyr, to a stamp with the name of the organisation and now the green wax seal.

Raurlin passes the document to Naomi swiftly, to stop himself from tearing it to shreds with clawed nails. He bites down hard and Naomi's hand tightens on his again. He releases his jaw, sitting back in his seat. From the corner of his eye Jackson is watching him intently. Had he not met Naomi, it would be Jackson that would receive the letter once it had been read by Raurlin. Raurlin drags his eyes from Baldẻv to Naomi who reads the document, void of emotion. She sets the paper down on the table and turns her attention back to Baldẻv, raising an eyebrow. Baldẻv lifts the thick wad of paper that is stapled together.

He hesitantly hands it to Sarah, unable to meet her eyes. Raurlin can feel his annoyance surge once more. Sarah accepts the document examining the front page. She flicks through it, splurts out a laugh that she covers with her hand and she hands the document to Naomi. Naomi runs her eyes along the front page before handing it to Raurlin. Raurlin accepts it. The front page reads 'Scribed Rite Decree 30 unabridged, addendum 30.1 - The Witch Rite Decree.' Raurlin can't stop the smile now as he hands the document to Jackson. Jackson's eyes light up as he reads it, a grin spreading across his cheeks.

Baldẻv clears his throat and stammers, "My Queen, if I may address your resolute, balancing witch, the Havebyr Record-Keepers have since established an addendum to the Scribed Decree 30 that now demands the record-keeping of witches. All witches." Baldẻv's eyes fall to the table in front of him, his hands trembling on top of the envelope.

"Baldẻv" Sarah calls out and as he looks up she raises a hand. The document is pulled from Jackson's hands to the centre of the table where a spark of fire from the bottom of the document burns the document to miniscule flakes of white ash that litter the middle of the table. "You can tell your record-keepers that I do not recognise such a decree. And I am more than prepared to meet with your elders in person to discuss this."

Baldẻv swallows down hard, his cheeks flushing red. Raurlin turns his grin to Baldẻv. Ing reaches forward taking the envelope from Baldẻv. She slides out a final thick wad of documents. These are separated into small bundles that she hands to Jackson and to Sarah that are ultimately fed to himself and Naomi. The papers in front of him, bound with faded brown string, are addressed to him, in his full name 'Raurlin Magnus Tormundson, Hybrid King.'

"My King, My Queen," Ing directs, holding firm eye contact, "this is the proposal on behalf of the record-keepers. Outlined herewith are the number of days we intend on being here as well as a breakdown of the topics to be covered. Please, I must put forth that we insisted on being placed here, with you all. Yes we are new to this, ten years is too few years, but as a collective at this table, in your home, we did not feel it appropriate for the elders to conduct this scribbing. The outlines provided are of our own creation and we implore you, all, to amend them as you see fit. To what you deem necessary. But please, do not turn us away."

Raurlin looks from Ing to Naomi who is beaming with a smile. Naomi nods once then turns to the doorway calling for Horatio. Horatio appears moments later, his usual tray tucked under his arm. "Horatio, please offer our guests a meal, of any kind, as we take our leave to discuss this proposal."

"I am prepared to spell a seal on the door, confining them to just this room," Sarah offers matter-of-factly.

Raurlin looks at the young record-keepers expressions and he smiles again, his eyes finally settling. "I'm sure that won't be necessary, but thank you."