After a quick check on Ambassador Dunbarre confirmed that all was well and that Elise's presence would not be required again until dawn the next day, Cyprian suggested that they go elsewhere to talk. The walk to the gardens has been quiet, the black-furred mage polite but distant, his green eyes veiled. He lifts the ivy dangling before the entrance to the gazebo and gestures gracefully for the lady poodle to step inside.

The lady poodle inclines her head to the black furred mage before ducking a little so that she can pass under the vines. "Thank you, Cyprian," she tells him. She then walks a short way to the far end of the bench before carefully seating herself, arranging her sword, and turning to face the Eeee.

At her words, he smiles briefly, the expression lightening the intensity of his eyes. The silence stretches for an uncomfortable moment, then he shifts to lean against one of the support beams at the gazebo's entrance. "Comfortable?" he inquires.

"Yes quite. I have not had a chance to sit and rest since I arrived." With some concern Elise looks up to the Eeee, carefully folding her hands across her lap as she does so. She grows quiet, just watching him for a while before she looks off across the garden. "Are you well?" she asks innocently enough as if searching for something to say.

Cyprian opens his mouth as if to reply, lifting one hand with a casual, dismissive motion, then stops himself. "No, I do not believe I am, my lady," he says instead, with a wry smile. "But perhaps as well as might be expected under the circumstances. Yourself?"

"I am tired … I mourn for the men that died on my journey here and I am deeply worried about the conspiracies that threaten us. But … " The poodle looks up for a moment, then back to the garden, " … I am amazed. I cannot yet comprehend the strings of fate that have brought us together." She shakes her head a little.

"Fate is a more charitable term than I would use," the dark bat replies, his voice low. "I am sorry for the loss of your comrades." He searches for a moment for something more to add, then shakes his head, striding across the small pavilion like a n animal pacing its cage. "You mean to take action against the mages your captive named, do you not?"

Elise again turns her gaze to the Mind Mage, this time keeping it on him as he paces. "Yes," she answers. "They are charged with a number of crimes. Once sufficient evidence is gathered and presented, and run though the proper channels, I will see them pay for their crimes – for my comrades, for those they have murdered, and for the law. I am used to seeing men die under my command Mage Cyprian … but First Ones help me, I will not let those who are the true cause of their deaths go free, nor will I toleratesuch activities as they would do."

Cyprian halts, and closes his eyes. He folds his arms across his chest and inhales, then, "How do you intend to gather evidence, my lady?"

"I … do not know. Unfortunately I cannot conduct this as a normal criminal investigation. There is no official investigation at all. And my unofficial investigation is little more than observing," replies the poodle. She frowns and looks to her folded hands. "I would go meet with the Dean himself and see what clues I can deduce from that … but he is powerful. His skills are beyond my knowledge. I do not know how to search for magical clues other than read runes."

The mage nods slowly, opening his eyes and turning to face Elise directly. "Exactly. My lady, this is Caroban, not Rephidim, and for better or ill, its people are not within your jurisdiction. Any actions you take could be extraordinarily dangerous – not merely to yourself, but to your cause."

With a heavy sigh, Elise concedes the point, nodding. "I am not used to matters beyond my control," she admits. A hand is lifted and she runs it through her head, staring intently at her hands. "For now I will observe. There is still the matter of the third unnamed mage, and the connection between Babel and Caroban to discover."

"Even in watching, take great care, Lady de Bellefeuille." Cyprian stands beside her, gesturing to the empty space on the swing next to her. "May I?"

The poodle officer lifts her head up and turns to look at him. She nods and pushes stray curls from her face. "Of course," she answers.

A smile curls on his lips at her gesture, and he seats himself, the swing swaying as he settles in, wings folded precisely against his back. "The Dean in question is … a dangerous man, and I would have said as much before hearing your own suspicions on the matter. You're aware of how the turmoil in dreams has impacted dream magic to some degree, I know – but do you realize the effect it has had on the dream practitioners as a whole?"

Sitting up the officer folds her hands on the pommel of her sword and shifts to a more formal seating position. "Dream magic and dream magic practitioners have been made rather rare. Mages alone are rare enough after the war, but with this, dream mages and magic have become positively scarce. I imagine they are afraid, and with good reason. I would also venture to say that students of Dream are dwindling. Perhaps enrollment has stopped completely. It must be a terrible blow to dream mages as a whole," she replies.

Cyprian nods soberly. "A trickle of students still apply, but the Sphere has been all but bankrupted by the blow. The only employment for practitioners lies in teaching theory, the occasional use of simple incantations and light trances, and rescue work. Need I say whom they rescue?" He looks into Elise's eyes, his own dark. "The current Dean is the seventh the sphere has had in the last five years. Only one of the previous ones actually retired voluntarily."

"How terrible … ," comments Elise, frowning. "But … there must be mages who are not effected – and powerful ones at that, to have shaped the dream realms we visit. They may make themselves obvious by their simple existence as awake dream mages. The Royal Mages of Babel are given to suspicious activity. But others … College mages, why would they assist? What good can come from destroying the place of one's sphere in the world?"

The poodle tilts her head, focusing. "There is the path of the savior … to be the one who ends all of this, even if you created it. But … hm, there could be a reward to this that makes such widespread damage to one's art worth the effort … " The poodle woman bites her lip, eyes narrowing. "And, what use would the Dean of Dream have with a Transformation mage and sacrifices? If I recall correctly, Transformation is physical, yes? I would not even think the two spheres connected."

The mage shakes his head. "The sphere is not destroyed, as you and I both well know. Many dream mages have become trapped in the Kindly Ones' artificial realm, and the College strongly recommends against the practice until the cause is 'known'. The official stance of the College is, of course, that the cause isn't known."

"They have no idea … because the one most qualified to investigate … refuses to tell them? Downplays it? I wonder … ," says Elise.

Cyprian smiles, and the expression is not attractive. "Suspicions and rumors abound, naturally. Those conducting the most promising research have died or disappeared. My personal belief – and there are many who share this – is that a circle of Dream mages, probably aided by members from other spheres – is stealing power from the comatose mages, and either killing them by accident, or to cover their tracks if a rescue seems eminent."

"It would be cruel to accuse those Dream mages who have survived this jihad of treachery … but I would definitely say that, at this late date, they are all suspect. And our present Dean more so than most." Cyprian falls silent, letting the song of a warbling bird fill the silence. The swing rocks slowly, back and forth.

There is a soft clank from Elise's sword as she shifts her right hand from it and reaches to brush back her hair again. "That would explain why for five years the dreams were not so very active. If there is a circle, I imagine they must be relatively close by. Or were. Based in Babel around their seat of power – through religion the Royal Mages – they were struck a blow by the boomer. So that theory makes sense to me. I wish I knew how to combat this new circle though." The hand returns to the sword pommel and Elise leans back a little, resting. "I am not much of an Inquisitrix. Give me an enemy I can see, and I will do my best to stop them. But this. So subtle … In any case, it is a convoluted matter and our biggest leads are the mages here."

The black-furred mage says nothing for a few moments after Elise finishes speaking, then exhales. "No. I daresay our biggest leads lies in the dreams themselves." He draws the words out reluctantly.

"You think so? I have been reluctant to consider them. I have been having a great deal of difficulty progressing as of late. I dare not venture any further, for I do not have the greatest confidence I will survive. I would have preferred a waking solution… ," Elise mentions. She allows her eyes to close, and after a quiet moment, continues. "Why would the Dean of Dream need a Transformation mage?"

"I do not know. Perhaps to give solidity to a dream form? Or, one might hope, simply making the best use of the tools at hand. If a mage needs assistance in a ritual, then a mage of any sphere might be able to provide some help, though not nearly as much as one trained in the appropriate form," Cyprian answers.

Elise nods to the response. "I see. Hm … " Tilting her head, she turns and gazes over at the black furred Eeee mage beside her. "If only you could be freed from the bonds of the dream world. I could greatly use your expertise in magic as well as Babelite mythology."

"If only," Cyprian repeats. His eyes drift to the chain around her throat, then he looks back into Elise's eyes.

Elise reaches up and gathers the chain around her neck, tugging at it until a crystal fragment appears from under her armor and robes. She lets this rest on the palm of her hand and peers down at it. "A relic from the First Ones, Sifran crystal. A material unlike any other… Cyprian," she glances over to him, "… would you be able to create some ward from this? You recall what Mage Envoy said… "

"I'm not a Dream mage … and odds are, being one wouldn't help, given how long mages of that sphere have been striving and failing to ward themselves adequately." He folds his hands together in his lap. "But if you have had this crystal since your dreams began, it may be a ward in and of itself."

"I recall who first gave this to me, though I cannot confirm it, being I was not awake. Were I able, I would request another such crystal for you. They supposedly come from Morpheus, and were I able to contact him, I might be able to do that," offers Elise. Her hand folds around the crystal and she holds it to her chest, head lowering slightly. "Cyprian … there is another matter I would speak of. I think you know what that is."

"Pity we could not share it," the mage comments. His ears swivel back against his head for a moment, then flick forward. "My lady?" His tone is cautious, neutral.

"No … No, never mind," says Elise in dismissal. She lifts her other hand from her sword pommel and holds it against her head as if suddenly struck by a headache. Regardless of this she continues, opening her hand and her eyes. "The properties of Sifran crystal are strange. It can, of course, be cut … but not shaped by magic. I am willing to attempt to cleave this crystal in twain. However, it may be best I not attempt it with merely my sword. Were it to shatter … "

"No," he says sharply. Then, in a gentler voice, "No, my lady." Cyprian touches his fingers to hers, where they still cover the crystal. "If this talisman is currently your protection, I'll not have you risking it, especially for uncertain gain."

Elise's ears perk and her eyes widen in sudden surprise. She regards Cyprian for a moment before smiling faintly. "Very well. I shall leave it intact and attempt to determine if there is another way," she tells him. The pendant is returned to its hiding place under her armor and the poodle Templar folds her hands back across her lap.

"It might not even work for me," Cyprian adds. "Actually," he continues, struck by a thought, "Perhaps we could find that much out. If I had it while I slept – and you were awake, of course – we might at least discern whether it is attuned to you alone, or not."

"Are you feeling tired, Mage Cyprian?" inquires Elise. She tilts her head a little and watches the man for his response.

"Not at the moment," the mage admits. "But you need to be up at, what, dawn, I understand? My hours here are flexible – I could work through the night and sleep in the morning."

With a nod the officer agrees. "Yes, that would likely be best. And I must admit I would not feel comfortable with your attempting this now. I am exhausted. When you woke, you may well find I had fallen asleep," says Elise. She smiles a little, though the smile fades as quickly as it appeared. "Shall we put this plan to motion then? I will meet you here, tomorrow?"

The dark Eeee nods, a look of concern in his green eyes. "Certainly. I am sorry for keeping you so late after your difficult journey, Lady de Bellefeuille. Wholly thoughtless of me." He stands, stilling the reacting motion of the bench with one hand, and offers Elise his other.

The hand is accepted and Elise stands, holding the mage's hand and standing beside him. "Thoughtless … it is not something I would consider you. Cyprian … ," she inhales, looking to him for a moment, and then off into the garden again, "… I … " A look of focus washes across her features as if she were trying for a thought, or perhaps struggling against one. "I … It is … It is really you, is it not? You are really here."

The mage folds his other hand over Elise's. "Yes, I am really here," he says, gently. "As are you. Lady – are you well?"

"No … " responds Elise, a tired sadness in her voice. "I fair not well. My head aches, and I cannot concentrate. Were I to know much less than I do, I would think to consult a life mage. But it is hardly an affliction that ails me." Cyprian's hand is squeezed, and Elise places her hand with both of his. She turns toward him full so that she can look into his eyes. "Five years. I waited five years … I waited, I searched, and I dreamed again … "

The dark mage meets her gaze evenly, still clasping her hands within his, but says nothing, his expression hard to judge. He presses his hands lightly together around hers, the gentle pressure a reminder of the reality and solidity of their presence.

Elise's expression becomes hurt as she stares into the mages deep green eyes all at once. Her muzzle parts as if she were to speak and she cannot seems to say anything at all. As time passes she forces herself to look downward to her hands, intertwined with Cyprian's as they are. She gives off a very soft, pained whimper and shuts her eyes all at once. "I thought you died. I … I watched you fall and … and I felt all of it. And, then you were gone … and it … it should have meant nothing to me. You are an Eeee. An Eeee. Have you any idea? Any at all? My past, the war … my very status as a Gallee? Should it not mean something? I am not well … and, you are the cause," she says.

At last, Cyprian closes his eyes, veiling their terrifying green depths. He leans forward, lifting his muzzle to brush his lips lightly over the poodle's forehead as she looks down. "I am sorry," he whispers, the three words shaded with overlapping meanings.

The poodle woman lifts Cyprian's hands with her own and presses them to her forehead. "Ah … ," she cries weakly. Her grip tightens and she begins to shake every so slightly. She says nothing more, simply trembling there with that hurt, pained expression on her face as emotion fights solid reality within the depths of her mind.

The mage disentangles his hands gently, then folds his arms around the poodle's shivering frame. "Elise… " His voice is only just audible, and marked by strain. "Elise … my lady, you've had a rough trip. We'd best get you to your room. It will seem easier in the morning, Lady de Bellefeuille. You will see."

Elise is stiff under the mage's embrace, her hands hovering in the air where they had been before the other set of hands moved. "No," she protests. "Easier? I … I do not want it to be easier. I do not want to … let go, again." The Templar's steps forward and suddenly embraces Cyprian, her grip almost painful in its intensity. "A dance, a contest, a conversation … and then it is over. Gone … I, I … do not wish it to be over … How pitiful I am … but, I do not care."

"I have given so much for all of them. Just allow me this," whispers Elise, the words likely inaudible to most – thought not to an Eeee.

Cyprian doesn't say anything else, just cradling the canine gently in his arms, eyes still closed, the side of his muzzle pressed against hers. One hand strokes her head and the back of her neck, tenderly.

With a ragged, shaken inhale, Elise gathers the breath to continue speaking. Her eyes though again tightly closed cannot stop the passage of a few tears that manage to escape her guard. "Say something, anything … please … tell me … I am not alone in this. I just want to hear that," she whispers, again her words are near silent.

He shakes his head, his fur tickling against the inside of her ear. "I only have more practice at hiding my feelings, my lady," he murmurs, his tone holding its customary wryness.

"I hate you," says Elise, though there is no trait of hate or malice in her voice. She sounds tired, but amusementsurfaces as well despite strained attempts to suppress it. She relaxes some now, leaning partially against the Eeee she now embraces. "My … my sister thinks the Eeee are … are horrible, squeaky things … "

"She sounds like a very sensible woman," he whispers. "Squeak, squeak." He ruffles the fur beneath her ear with his muzzle, and then leans his cheek against hers, letting her feel his smile.

"She will love you," says Elise, her tone beginning to lose the stain of painful emotion. A sigh, and she presses her head affectionately to Cyprian's, feeling his smile and soon returning it. "As I do."

"She will hate me," he says, softly, drawing back enough to take Elise's hand and pressing the back of her knuckles to his mouth. "As you would be better to … Elise." He turns his eyes to hers, then away, placing the palm of her hand against his cheek.

With a frown Elise nods slightly, knowing full well she might. "It may well be so … She is aware of you, but she does not know you are real. There is a fine difference between a dream man … and reality. My sister often speaks of the latter, and confuses them for the former. I could show you countless letters. But she will know it is not the same with me. She will … understand what this means, when I tell her … when she meets you… ," says the Gallee quietly. She runs her thumb gently along the Eeee's face, feeling the fine fur, recalling dreams that she could not know would become reality.

Cyprian shakes his head, and slowly withdraws from the poodle's embrace, releasing her hand. He offers her his arm. "Come, my lady. We'd best get you to your quarters – it is late, and you will need all the rest you can get."

For a moment, Elise seems reluctant to let go. It takes her a moment, but eventually she does, though not fully, for she soon takes his hand. "Others … will know. I do not believe we will be able to conceal ourselves forever," she tells him.

The Eeee only shakes his head again. "We will speak of this again in the morning, Lady de Bellefeuille." He walks her down the path, brushing the ivy and overhanging branches from their path with his free hand.

"Very well," says Elise. For now she says nothing more of this, instead contenting herself with walking along with Cyprian and finally allowing her tired state to fully register. "I look forward to it."