He has not gone very far from where he was left. Ian sits near the bar, currently looking at the evening edition of the Times. Again. A section he perhaps missed earlier. But a phone is nearby, suggesting he made calls while you were out.
     The door gets his attention. Ian looks up and smiles, tapping the refilled whiskey you'd left behind.
     "Everything alright?" he asks, grinning as he knows the answer's no. It was rhetorical. Ian sighs and turns his attention from the paper fully, brows arching as he watches you enter.

     "No, I have a headache," William says, appearing at the bar, bottle in hand as he turns. No glass. Why mess with the pretense? The bottle is scotch. He's already miserable, why not simply give in to it? "Edward left before I could call the car, Davydd's off with Edward's message, which basically amounted to: hope it all goes well for you, have a nice life...after six-hundred years. But you know, I am not going to fault Edward his confusion and anger. I have my own..."
     This is a William you haven't seen in a while. Not since he retired in fact. It has been a brutal two nights. For everyone. "Well... I'm not angry," he murmurs. "I don't know what I am..." he says suddenly. "...Afraid, I guess. Worried." He takes a long swallow of scotch then cradles it to him as he leans back, then sprawls over the sofa. He shakes his head. William at a loss for words. There is simply too much happening. It has no context...
     Only emotion...

     "It's hard to hear," Ian thinks for a moment, "...that suddenly, there is something more important than you, when for six centuries, there hasn't been. That...to a King," Ian peers to see if you've heard the word, "...you are...well, there are many things ahead of you. His loyalties are to his kingdom first, always."
     Maybe that is something you can understand.
     "It is difficult to be a King...and it is difficult to be told...that you're somehow less important. But," Ian nods, "...that is the truth of what is being said. I am sorry that that...is what it means. Or at least that is what a King once explained to me. And what I was told when I was deemed unfit to be a Justicar."
     "What are you afraid of?" Ian wonders aloud, moving to take a seat near your head.

     "That is not what bothers me," he says softly. "I can understand, and understand, the position of a king. It is... I worry for him. I am upset... I guess, I do not know...that he could not have said this before now. I'm his brother, he should be able to tell me these things... not wait for hundreds of years and suddenly it is an 'oh by the way'."
     But that is not it...
     William sighs, "He has a good many challenges ahead for him. I have always been there. Will I be able to be there for him now? I do not know. What if I cannot, Ian? What if the ... constructs of our society demand that I forgo the relationship entirely? Politically. Never see him again...? After how many hundreds of years? And he's off... to do what?"
     He stops his ranting, quiet though it was, for a swallow of whiskey. He sighs scotch. "I am afraid ... everything is changing all at the same time." The more he speaks, the more Gaelic it becomes, habit of the winter and spring. "I don't even have a chance to adjust to the truth before he's gone. And he may be ...gone."
     "And that does not even count what I saw last night with Edward. I mean.. I have not had a chance to catch my breath and it is like the Lord God has flooded the earth while I napped..."

     Ian nods, "That is...how he has done it, yes. I am sorry for it. And yes," Ian goes on, "...there are problems." He already ran against it, but speaks not about it. Now is clearly not the time.
     Ian's hand touches your hair, caressing it softly. "I was it were different for you, laird. I really do. I doubt there is little I can do either." Save perhaps make it worse, in fact. "I trust though that we shall see the end of it, you and I. That is about all, I think, that I know," a little smile appearing on his lips.

     Already? Eyes lift and focus on your face. Now may not be the best time, but, if I am already to be in a bad place, perhaps it should simply be... all that it can be, to coin a phrase. "What," he murmurs. And he glances to the phone.
     "It's not about me," William says upon an exhale. He is clearly waiting to hear what else is happening, for those eyes look at you again, head resting on his fist, elbow on the back of the sofa. He makes a wave of his hand with the bottle. "It is about ... us." Edward, Davydd and he. "I will have time enough to mourn it," he says. "So... there are problems already... did you get a call about last night?"

     "I didn't say that, laird," Ian shakes his head. "And no I didn't get any calls. Just that," Ian exhales, "The Justicar will not see well on this. None of them will...nor should," he admits. "And...I do not have much choice but to let them know if there is a threat, laird. I do not expect you," Ian goes on, "...to understand my position. But my concerns are you...the health of the Camarilla, and the health of Scotland. In that order," Ian says. "But no, nothing's happened." Just that strange vision ahead where he always stands in viewing the past.
     "Us then," Ian corrects, "I am sorry for what has happened to the three of you. It does not seem...right. Necessary," he explains.

     "It seems necessary to Davydd. All I can do is... do what is right for you and I, for the Camarilla, for Scotland and for Poitou," in that order. "The choice is his, the work is his. I ... have to let him go, to do it. Whatever this is that he feels he must do. To be a... king of his people... he seems to think he has no choice...maybe he doesn't now."
     There is another healthy swallow of scotch, though 'health' may be debated, followed by another alcohol-laden breath. "The three of us... that life is now the past. We will see what the future holds. I can do no more than that. And... if there is a threat... I ... understand your position quite well. I am certain he understands mine..." That he will have to do what is right, in the end. And his 'right' and Davydd's 'right' no longer seem the same...
     "I never thought in all my years that I would be in such a position again..." he breathes, setting the bottle aside. Possibly opposed to Owain's son, the prince... the king of Wales.
     "Is it... too late to catch a plane to the north?" William wonders suddenly. "I need to get home, where things make sense. Where there are young men and dogs and cool weather and normal work..."

     "No, it's not too late," Ian murmurs, smiling at you. His hand continues to softly brush dark locks. "An hour, you think? Unless you need to do other things before we go home?"

     "An hour," William murmurs, his eyes closing to the touch on his hair. "I've been here too long already. Now... there seems very little reason to return..." William leans into the hand upon his hair.
     When he left Venice, the world was an orderly place. He knew where things were laid, where last he left his friends, where last they were in their lives. Now, everything is turned upon its end, and down is up and up is down, like when he was embraced and ...everything changed.
     There is only one constant that he can trust, and that is you. William tips his head back, kissing the belly of your wrist and he sits up, then rises from the sofa, the bottle capped. He turns and he looks at you. There's the trying of a smile, it only makes it to the corners of his mouth and the deepest color of his eyes. With a clearing breath, a rub of his hands against his face, he turns, "Go ahead and call for it. I'll help Stephen," with the few bags brought from Venice. The rest remains.

     "Alright," Ian says softly, finger touching your cheek. He winks and pushes off the sofa, picking up his glass again as he heads out of the room to see about the plane, the pilot, and security.
     And to leave you with your thoughts.

     My initial thought was to call Edward. My phone appeared in my hand and I stared at it. I'll call him from Scotland. To be honest, there's been enough talking I think ... for a few nights. All I can do is let the future unfold. Davydd's future is not my future.
     My future... as my present... is preparing our transit. My future beyond Scotland will be immersed in Venice. But I think now, more than before, I will have a foot here and a foot there. I will be in Venice and yet I will be wondering. Not just about Ian, when he is not with me, but now about Davydd and about Edward, more than before. Before, I knew that they could stand without me there.
     Before, I knew or felt I knew what each of us were and where we were and confident in what we were doing. Now...
     It is like being ... in between things. I wonder if I shall ever be fully in one thought or in one place again.

Posted by rowan at May 02, 2004 07:33 PM