A tragic figure, Duke Aeon has a legacy of survival instead of triumph. Raised to the throne of Goldengate after his father, the previous Duke Aethelred, succumbed to cancer, Aeon has done his best to hold his duchy together even as his personal life falls apart. Certain of his subjects have nicknamed him "Cirion," after the Tolkien character whose role was stewardship of Gondor's long years of slow decay.
Aeon was an energetic, forceful ruler when he first came to the throne. Although saddened by the tragedy which granted him his Riagh, he was determined to build upon Aethelred's triumphs and water the bloom that was flourishing so brightly. At first, all seemed well. An incredible influx of Kithain, fueled by the opportunities for creative spirits in Silicon Valley and later Multimedia Gulch, arrived to swell the ranks of his subjects. The arts community remained vibrant and strong, and it looked as if the best years of Goldengate were still ahead. With his beloved Duchess Calientra as his helpmate and lover and the burgeoning national prospects of his band (also called Aeon), Duke Aeon could only see joy in the future.
Then the wine-sweet taste of success turned sour. Queen Aeron's ascent to the throne produced chaos, as much too much was asked of the lesser nobles. Aeon's attention was split between Pacifican matters and those of Goldengate. With the ducal eye fixed on greater crises, the Shadow Court grew strong in Oakhold. As Baron Harold diMarcos, Aeron's choice to rule Oakhold, was summarily kept at court by matters of state as well as his queen, Oakhold was granted the inexperienced eshu Count Elias. This move was widely viewed as a token concession to the commoners of the bay area, and many in the court made their disdain at Elias' appointment clear. They made minimal efforts to support Elias' rule an the eshu rapidly grew embittered toward his "benefactors." While Elias still feels that he owes something to Aeron, whose efforts on his behalf have never been less than sincere, his obvious wavering in allegiance has done nothing to alleviate Aeon's problems. And finally, there was the death of Calientra.
Aeon's eponymous band was hardly a huge national success, but it had done well enough to demand the occasional tour. Showcasing the duke's jangling riffs on his Rickenbacher 12-string, Aeon's concerts attracted hordes of Kithain who turned the concerts into veritable fonts of Glamour. As the duke was the band's inspiration, so was Calientra's the duke's. The arrangement was satisfactory to both the duke and the other band members, who regarded Calientra with affection and reverence. On Aeon's last tour, things seemed to be going better than ever, with larger crowds and more plentiful Glamour. However, at a gig in Sacramento, disaster struck. No sooner had Duke Aeon run down the curtain with a final shout of "Goodbye, Sacramento," than chaos exploded backstage. A gang of Dauntain burst through the security cordon of trolls and abducted Calientra from her position at the stage's wings. Aeon reached the backstage just in time to see her hauled out of the theatre, still struggling. Following in a rage, he saw the Dauntain hurl her into a van and drive off. Borrowing a fan's car, Aeon set off on a perilous chase through unfamiliar, rain-slicked street. Through a combination of blind hatred, native skill, and creative use of the Arts, the duke finally closed the gap on his prey, only to have victory turn to ashes at the final moment. Calientra's body, ashen pale, was thrown out of the van's rear doors even as Aeon prepared a rescue. Heartsick, he stopped the car and hurried to her huddled form on the pavement, but it was too late. A cold iron blade had done its work, and Calientra breathed her last in the arms of her beloved.
His Duchess's death wrecked Aeon. He canceled the remainder of the tour and returned to Goldengate to brood. During this time, Lady Alyssa assumed control of the duchy much as Baron diMarcos had assumed control of the kingdom, but Alyssa's interregnum proved thankfully much briefer. A sadder man, Aeon took the reins of power firmly in hand a few scant months after Calientra's death, with only a certain coldness of manner present to remind others of his ordeal. Both Aeon and Goldengate seemed truly to be on the mend.
This past spring's Beltaine celebration produced a major setback for those who hoped that the duke had healed. Among the presents left at the ducal celebration was an enchanted harp of ebony, an anonymous present to His Grace. In fact a "gift" of the Shadow Court, the harp was ensorcelled so that Aeon would believe the spirit of his lost Calientra was contained in the black wood and silver strings. It would often play by itself, and Aeon would frantically scribble down the notes, convinced that his love was trying to communicate with him by song. In reality, nothing so romantic was occurring, and the entire affair was a plot of the Shadow Court to keep the duke distracted and impotent. Not surprisingly, it succeeded. The harp became his obsession, hidden away in his chambers far from any others. The lone servant who came across the treasure was dismissed and geased never to speak of the matter. Aeon's attention to ruling became minimal and the land suffered as a result. His weakness, in conjunction with Aeron's, crated the opportunity that Malacar and his masters sought so that they might put their malefic plans into action.
Of late, though, the matter of the harp has resolved and Aeon has returned to himself. While still a sad man, he is once more an actor instead of a spectator, and he is attempting to wrest triumph from the tragedies that threaten to overwhelm Goldengate. He is fully cognizant of the magnitude of the threat facing the Kithain of Pacifica, and has resolved that he shall take whatever steps necessary, even the ultimate sacrifice, should it be required, to ensure the safety of his duchy and kingdom. His enemies, it must be noted, remain less than impressed.
Tall, blond, and slim in his mortal seeming in the way that only standing in front of stage lights for three hours a night, every night, can keep you, Duke Aeon comes from the Geddy Lee school of "Name That Time Signature" rocker. A fantastically talented musician, the duke is coiled muscle and bone from head to toe and down to his incredibly long, dexterous fingers. While he specializes in neo-progressive music, he manages to avoid the fashion excesses of those whose musical leanings he shares. He may write polyrhythms like Peter Gabriel, but Aeon has never yet dressed up like a plant; nor has he taken fashion cues from Brian May of Queen. instead, Aeon tends towards long duster jackets of white or sky blue, sometimes made of silk. He is also fond of baggy pirate pants and poet shirts, and occasionally he'll don buccaneer boots for a show when the mood strikes him. He tried faceprint during the early 80s, but he hasn't attempted that in years, not since getting booed of the stage one night while opening for Rush. His face is thin but stunningly handsome, with startling blue eyes that look like they can swallow you whole. His lips are thin but red, and he has long earlobes and high cheekbones like many of the sidhe kith.
In fae mien, he is still hypnotically handsome but all traces of the ordinary fade from him. His robes are rich but simple, most often in shimmering blue and white. He wears but one piece of jewelry, a gold band set with a diamond cunningly carved into the shape of a rose blossom. This serves to remind him (as if he needed any reminder) of his lost Calientra. He generally carries both his guitar and his sword, and is as likely to break into song as unsheathe the blade.
Aeon has seen so much sorrow that he's considering a move from rock to country. All that remains is for his truck to stop working and his dog to die, and he'll have it perfectly. The experiences of the past few years have saddened him, but also made him stronger. A lot of levity has been burned out of him, leaving terrible purpose and strength. Everyone, including his enemies, are still underestimating him, and he'll make people pay for that. He is attentive to others, but never forgets their relative positions. His tolerance for nonsense is at zero, and anyone attempting to dissemble in front of him is in for a hellish time.
There is nothing in Goldengate that can compare to Aeon's 12-string Rickenbacher guitar. A treasure that can sing with an almost human voice, the instrument intensifies Glamour; it can also intensify the emotions of any who hear it played properly to a dangerous pitch. Multiple times at Aeon's shows, the duke has gazed out over a crowd stunned into silence by the power of his playing his Treasure.
He is also armed and armored, of course. His armor and blade are both chimerical, and the sword in fact sometimes seems to be an extension of the seamless silver armor the duke wears. Though the metal of the armor is polished bright, it never seems to reflect any who stand before it.