milliways_bar | (no subject)

His words make her blink a little, and frown. In a way he reminds her of several people at once.

The most dangerous of which is Octavian.

"In moderation. Pushing things too far too fast does not go over well."

Coming from someone that knows.

That should stand to reason, all things considered.

Tavi smiles a little, faintly and very sadly.

"If you're trying to change the foundations of a civilization which still stands--stagnation or not--perhaps that is true."

He shakes his head. "But two whole civilizations, possibly even three, were left in near-ruin by the warring of my youth. I'm having to rebuild from first principles--and those principles will have something more resembling justice."

The tavar of the Canean continent is a small, wolverine-like creature which can kill a warrior-wolf many times its own weight, and is brilliant, mad, and suicidally brave.

There are reasons why, upon meeting him, the Canim named him Tavar.

She watches him very, very carefully.

She's really seeing similarities.

"It is not meant for one man to change the world," she responds quietly. "Especially in a fortnight."

Tavi grimaces. "I'm still losing sleep over it, and it's been ten years since I started--twenty if you count the first, accidental alliance," he adds with a wry smile.

So he convinced age-old enemies of his people, involved in the battle which killed his father, to make friends with him personally--and bonded to and married their de-facto princess.

Oops.

"It isn't something that will be finished in my lifetime, or my son's, or his. If the Alliance I've built survives the one and a half to two centuries before our civilizations are threatened again, I will have had some small measure of success in my life."

Perfection is, by definition, impossible for people to really achieve--but that doesn't mean the House of Gaius will ever stop trying. And in Tavi's case, he tends to take a view of things far longer than most can manage.

His eyes turn to the window, almost involuntarily, the lights in them reflecting in his eyes. "But our work--that of my House and those who stand with us--won't ever be finished, if it's done correctly. Not in a hundred lifetimes and more. So I sow what seeds I can, hoping one day they'll bloom in more colors than even I can imagine."

Does he normally tell people this? No, not really. More frequently in the Bar, certainly--there are more people his equal here.

But he can sense that caution, and answers the silent communication he's picking up in words.

She's seen what too much ambition has done to Rome, both for the betterment and leading it down the road to ruin.

"What, exactly, is your position amongst your people? Are you the Dictator? The Emperor?"

There will always be caution in Cleopatra. There always was; even while she was addicted to opium, she was careful to watch all those around her, and made sure to always know the latest news of anyone important and relevant.

She knows what blind drive can do. It will either work, and you will get the changes you need, or it will break everything.

"Peace and prosperity are always of the utmost importance, but one must temper decisions with a cool head."

Rashness, and worrying to the point that you can't sleep will not help you.

He doesn't lose sleep from worrying, though--he loses sleep from making sure the people he's delegated to have what they need to get the job done, and being in five different places at once when they don't. Those days are far less common than they were, a decade later--

But they crop up.

Tavi's mouth twists up into an odd, almost pained smile. "That... is unlikely to be a problem for my family," he says in a mildly strained tone. "It's been said we bleed pragmatism--except, perhaps, my father."

Even being the highly idealistic firebrand that he is, Tavi shares that quality in some ways.

His smile softens just a little. "And my wife always keeps clear judgment when I am in danger of losing my own."

He chews his lip thoughtfully. "The position is called the First Lord. The Senate may have somewhat more influence than it did in your Rome, and there are other High Lords with quite nearly as much... magical and military strength as the Crown. But they swear loyalty to the House of Gaius."

She sits serenely while she listens, taking a few bites of cheese and a drink or two of wine.

"It is good to be a clear judge of decisions; changing things, as you are trying to do, takes a lot of responsibility and someone that is fair-minded and objective enough to realize when their own idea isn't going to work."

She's had to re-evaluate her own game plan, occasionally.

"You are in a position where you could do either great good or great harm. Train your children to make as wise decisions, so it does not fall apart after you have moved on from your world into the next."

Tavi glances to her and smiles a little, faintly.

"I hope to," he says quietly. "There have been enough mistakes made in the past--I'm doing what I can to learn from them."

His expression turns a little grave, a little sad, before he shakes it off.

"And to make sure they learn from them, as well. My species--and all the others, for that matter--can't really afford to have us following our previous patterns."

She nods, "I met a man that felt one could dismiss the past; that the monuments of civilization was not important. Without it...all would be lost. It takes stone to survive; not clay and straw."

She smiles a little bit more. "My son surprises me every day; he will make a good ruler."

Tavi makes a face. "We have to learn from the past--but also remember not to cling to it. Doing so nearly destroyed my people. May I ask who it was?"

His face reveals nothing of what he knows of her future, and he only smiles the proud smile of a father. "Children have a way of doing that, I've noticed."

"His name was...Phillip? He was from the future. I do not pay too much attention to most around here."

She bores easily.

"I have three now; the twins are still young enough that I do not know their natures yet..."

Tavi shake his head. "I don't know how you can do that--not pay attention. The people, the worlds and histories, technology..."

His eyes turn again to the Window.

"There's so much to learn from, to use, to build on."

She nods, "It is the monuments that stand the test of time. I firmly believe in that...no matter if the tombs are robbed, and no matter if the sand wears at them...the monuments will always stand tribute."

He smiles a little, faintly, glancing back to her for a brief moment. "Only so long as there are people to receive said tribute," he says quietly.

Again he returns his gaze to the Window, grass-green eyes pensive and distant. There's a strange mixture of joy and grief, exhilaration and dread, a thousand kinds of passion restrained into an expression which mostly resembles the standard definitions of humanity and sanity.

"A monument is in the minds of the people; without them, their awe and memory and appreciation, it becomes merely stone and wood and metal. And when my--our--species lives out its life, the earth and oceans and air will continue their dance, and the sun will continue to blaze. Sound is only disturbance in the air, without someone to hear it and interpret it--and the echoes of those monuments to our ingenuity and passion..."

He stops for a moment, and then looks away--and his expression and eyes have cleared again. They may remain little more wry and sardonic than some, perhaps, but they could pass for normal. "I think the real monument to our success is ourselves, so long as we remain to remember it."

She sits and listens, following him with her eyes. Few men have the kind of passion in them, naturally, like this man. Her Antony, with his temper, and his love...it's a delicate path to walk.

"I think you might be correct; one needs subjects to rule, and Earth needs people in order to have our remembrance. There are some, among my people, that believe that even after the end of our race, the monuments will show to the gods, and whomever comes next what people we were. I find that most comforting."