All stars have faded now from the canopy of the bed. Never mind the stars outside; they're immaterial, irrelevant, tawdry in comparison to the spangling horizons that Fiona has surpassed... had surpassed by the Oak King's desires. All stars faded...
     She's lain there a while, unmoving, barely able to feel her own skin and flesh, drowsy and heavy as it is with the march of passion drawn through her. She's sewn to the bed sheets - stitched there by the drill of fingers and mouths, tongues and teeth, and parts more intimate - the rod of rulership, indeed. Movement has seemed too impossible by far for her to achieve.
     Slowly, Fiona begins to accumulate the will to move; it follows in a slow trickle, grains of sand through the wasp-waist of an hourglass, until enough momentum's filled its base for her to slowly, slowly shift, slowly peel open an eye. There is still a man in bed with her, the rise and fall of that chest precious to her. It touches her lips with a tender smile, and almost invisibly she touches a fingertip to the tattooed marks upon his side. "Mmm... King Rhodri..."
     The whisper is almost soundless, and she holds her position for long moments that tick into infinity on their own, more momentum building by the Greeks' reckoning of kalends. Then, with a low whimper, she begins to scrabble her way free of the bed, the whimper echoed by the use her body reminds her about.
     Erect at last - Fiona stands, naked, next to the bed. She looks down at herself, at her discarded gown, at her discarded cloak, and she gathers up the cloak to wrap round her nudity, a shield from cold more than from eyes. There are only three sets of eyes here, one of which belongs to herself, and the other two have her permission to espy if they wish.
     Quiet bare footsteps carry her away from the bed with lingering gaze cast over one shoulder, the rumpled long locks pale against the darkness of the cloak. She halts her footsteps as she comes to another image : another sleeping king, this one in a chair, and again Fiona halts.
     My king... poor darling, he can't be comfortable like that. He didn't even get all the way out of his armor...
     With a quiet sigh, Fiona ties her cloak into place as best she can, then moves to the apparently slumbering form. "Davydd," she murmurs, voice a caress, "here, let's at least get you a little more comfortable. If I can figure out how these bits come off, of course." She lifts her hands to begin to do just that; baths, no matter how tender she is, can wait.

     He deserved drinks from your hand and your body moving in concert beneath his own, and now the Oak King deserves his rest. In his deep slumber, he does not shift as you whisper, as you touch him. Nor does he move away. His body radiates warmth (better than an electric blanket), and slumbering powers only briefly shift toward the presence of Another.
     He was beautiful before...
     He is otherworldly now...
     His longer forelocks rest against his cheek, curling in a spiral... having dried that way from the perspiration...

     The chair is a glorified pillow, it's comfortable enough, but it's no feather-cushioned bed, that's for certain. His legs lie wide and stretched out, his head turned to the side and his hands lying on the arms of the chair with a pile of armor and clothes all around him. When he slumbers in a sleep of his own, and not the sleep that is required by the Sun, he actually breathes. But for the pallor of his skin, one would think him quite human.
     In the lazy haze of his own narcotic slumber, one of his 'thorns', a viper, peeks out from his upper lip. As you step toward him, he began to wake. And to look unhappy. A leg jerks and recalls it's still armored, even before your hand lands.
     There is an unintelligible grumble, the twisting of his mouth in a I have a crick in my neck sort of look, and he accidentally bites his own lip in his waking, drawing in a breath and opening his eyes.
     Ever have that feeling like you stumbled into a dungeon or a cave, and happened to find a dragon slumbering near a pile of treasure? It's rather like that. Those eyes when they first open are just ... Power. And it takes a few moments, a few seconds, before it dawns on him that it's you.
     He rubs his eyes. "Hmm... yeah? You're up..." Davydd's voice is broken and earthy rough, a real growl, but without growling emotion. "Didn't expect to see you until tomorrow night."

     She pauses, holding her position as if afraid to move - as if you might suddenly pounce on her, strip her out of her cloak as if it were a banana's peel, then devour her whole to spit out the remains.
     "I'm up," Fiona agrees carefully, hands again beginning to move, eyes diverting their glance down to her task. "Apparently, so are you. I'm sorry for waking you; I just couldn't stand seeing you look like you would be uncomfortable."
     She continues with her self-appointed task, now, going down to her knees in order to do a better job. Greaves can be unbuckled, clever fingers working to find the clasps and sing them loose; epaulets and all the rest, if you allow her. But it all begins with a single buckle.
     "It didn't look comfortable," Fiona repeats herself simply, not looking to your face as she works. "Don't stir too much. I wouldn't have you wake yourself fully; let me tend to you, Davydd. It's allowed, isn't it?"

     He doesn't give you hints. He watches you with that look he's had much of the night, like something's on his mind. Like everything's on his mind. He lets you tend him, but he lets you discover how. Davydd settles back in the wide-bodied velvet-cushioned chair with a sigh.
     "Thank you," he says after a few minutes. "For being here for him tonight. I know," he protests before you do, "...that you'd not have been anywhere else, but... it was a good night...and it is as it is supposed to be..." He looks to the window. The stars have run their course. It won't be long and the sun will rise here too... and he will have to sleep here. The Oak King should greet the dignitaries during the day, to join his own banquet. To get the feel of his new life.
     "I don't even notice it," he says after another moment. "It's like skin, only heavy." Davydd shrugs and rests back, his eyes closing. There is none of the hunger you might expect after drinking your cider. He didn't join you in the bedroom. It seems to have made him drowsy. Or perhaps he was just that spent after such work today, that it only enhanced his energy (sleepy) rather than shift it.

     "I wasn't here just for him." Fiona doesn't argue, just continues quietly removing your armor piece-by-piece, stacking the pieces to one side with care. "Which you might also know, but you seem reluctant to acknowledge."
     There. The armor is removed, by and large, and she moves up next to you, on her knees, watching you. She doesn't touch you; doesn't hold herself aloof, but remains near, watching. "Are you going to tell me, ap Owain, or are you going to make me beat it out of you?"
     She knows something's on your mind. The words are said softly, gently, with a thread of sad humor even as she looks at you, looks at your tiredness, keeping herself within herself as best she can. It may bleed out, but for now, it is contained.
     I love you, Davydd... what have you done to yourself?

     Beneath the armor were a pair of pants, well... call them what they are... they're all but tights and black. Like the protective gear beneath ski pants. Freed of the armor, he stretches with a great grumble, a stretch that soon ripples through the rest of him. Parts that were resting. Parts that were not. So to speak.
     Davydd shifts in the chair, his elbow coming up on the cushioned arm of the sofa-chair and his head tilting, held up on his hand. "I know. Thank you for me, too. But tonight was not about me. Tonight...for the Holly King... it was a night of sacrifice. Giving up the present," his dark green eyes settle on you, and he is sad. "... for the promises of the future."
     He shakes his head, closing his eyes. "No beating tonight, darlin. I'm tired. And from the sound of it," his lips twist in a smirk, "...you should be, too."
     So, he was asleep, but he was not deaf...
     "It's nearing the time," Davydd clears his throat a little -- emotion is high, "...when you will need to spend most of your time with your new king, getting to know him better, marrying him. Starting your life with him. It's the... Oak King's season," his voice comes in gentle reminder.

     Silence for a moment; Fiona is listening. Even when she is done listening, there is no sudden explosion of movement (blame your son, perhaps, or maybe she's learned something about patience - maybe).
     "I will be spending most of my time with him," Fiona says quietly, "but not all. That has already been agreed upon, among all three of us - and between him and me as well. He does not ask that I give you up; why would you?"
     She says it, and then she turns, stacking the armor out of the way and less precariously, where it won't be knocked over with a clamor or get in the way for bare feet to be stubbed or the like. When she finishes, she sits up, her cloaked back turned to you as she begins patiently working tangles out of her long, long hair.
     "I have an existence beyond being an extension of my husband - either husband. That is not going to change, Davydd. Who I am, who I love - I know that there are difficulties, I know that I must be patient. But I still intend to claim my due." Fiona's voice is low, not angry but with a careful note to it, perhaps an odd one, perhaps not. "Or do you truly intend I not see you at all for the next hundred years? Because if you do, you will have to do more than hide yourself, Holly King..."

     "Just... ignore me..." he murmurs. "I'm tired and grumpy." Davydd cracks his eyes open to look at you. Yeah. No kidding. Go figure, right? "I just mean that... tonight... it was more real for me. Seeing him kneeling there. Seeing you come to receive him... hearing you... knowing how you move and moving under him. Tonight, for the first night, it was real, Fiona. So..."
     He rolls a shoulder, but he is upset. But he doesn't linger on it long. "I have a lot to do. We've talked it to death. I don't want to talk about it any more. I know the arrangement. You'll see me when you can, I'll see you when I'm able."
     There is another exhale as he turns his eyes to the window again. Something has held his attention out there all night since arriving in this room. "I am happy for you, and I am happy for him, and I know where I am going, where I have to go, and why. It is all a matter of ... being patient, yes, something I'm not good at, god damn it... and waiting for it to unfold as it is meant to."

     "I still have something for you," Fiona says quietly, "though to an extent, it is something that I want from you. But if now is a bad time, I won't bring it up. Davydd..."
     She closes her eyes, taking a breath, as if every heavy exhale of yours must in turn become a deep inhale of her own. "You create your own darkness and misery, darling," she says quietly. "But I'm not good at being patient, either. There's a great many things I'm absolutely no good at whatsoever, and I'm afraid that in some ways, seeing to your happiness is one of them. Do you want me to go and have my bath and let you get on with your brooding, Davydd? I'd like to spend this little time with you - but if you don't want me, I can go away."

     His eyebrows quirk upward in concert and his gaze returns to you. "Something for me?" He looks confused. It's not my birthday yet. "Now's as good a time as any. I'm sorry, I'll stop brooding." But it is his energy. It has always been his energy. The Holly King is wintery, is he not? Dark.
     Except when he has his Santa suit on, that is...
     "Why don't you come up here. I have a crick in my neck and looking at you sitting at my knee isn't going to make it any better. I have a job for you after all... you can rub out the knots..." Well, at least it's heading in a better direction, even if he rumbles when he speaks.
     Davydd pats his lap and brings his knees a bit toward one another, making a better seat for you. "What is it you want to say..."

     "Alright, I can do that," Fiona acquiesces readily, moving forward to meet you, one hand lifting to touch your cheek for a moment. There’s already the beginning of a smile being offered you as she arranges herself on your lap - a naked little witch-queen, cloaked in dark velvet and golden hair.
     She adjusts herself, then lifts her hands to begin rubbing your shoulders, working her way gradually up your neck. "I have many things I want to say to you, and over the course of time, I think I'll get to say them," Fiona murmurs, looking at your neck as if to see by eyesight alone where the crick might originate. "But two things, really. The first is an invitation..."
     She leans in to kiss your cheek, then pulls back and continues the massage from this angle. It almost looks like she's throttling you, doesn't it? But she's careful - not that she could, anyway. "I have a kingdom now. You may have noticed. And seeing as you have just given up yours a bit, I thought that you might like to visit."

     Dragons purr when rubbed the right way. His eyes give a bit of a roll, and his arms lift, surrounding you when those eyes close. Hmm? Someone is speaking? What? His eyes blink open at the kiss, forests of tangles and thorns and brambles staring back at you. You know those woods. How tangled they can be. Even he gets lost from time to time.
     "I would like to see what you've been up to. When you're ready to show it. You don't have to do it now," a glance to the bedroom. You know, if you're trying to make things up or... equal. Davydd chuckles suddenly. "Given up a bit? I gave it up completely. I'm homeless now. A king without a kingdom. I'll have to sleep in the fields and under bridges..."
     He is so full of shite...

     "The only thing I was waiting for was this," Fiona murmurs, a fingertip lifting to touch to your nose. "I didn't want to ruin my entrance, you know. I've been busy, darling. I want to build a kingdom that you can be proud of - that you can be proud to consider me your wife, little upstart pretend-queen that I am."
     She smiles, then returns to working on unknotting muscles from one another, coaxing them to loosen from their perpetually tensed state. "All I ask is that you wait until I'm out of the room to start flirting with my handmaidens," Fiona says lightly. "I know we're both terribly jealous people, I'd just - rather not let it show more than I've got to." Some things are more crushing than others. She glances down, then continues. "Besides, you might like the opportunity to renew acquaintance with some of your old friends. And I can't have my first and ongoing fiancé sleeping in hedgerows like a common drunkard. If you're going to do that, it's got to at least be a majestic drunkenness."

     "I promise to only pass out at the best pubs in town," Davydd murmurs. And the knots relent and he takes the first kiss of the day for himself. "You are no upstart," he says after a moment. "You had your very own centaur guard. Nice. I won't ask," he chuckles. "I'll let you show it to me as you wish, and see fit. You're... not going to raid my borders while I'm busy elsewhere are you?" comes a deep, teasing tone.
     "That'd be a fine ending to my story. Tossed over by a girl. Tsk." Davydd gives his weight to the chair, his hands cupping you on his lap. He doesn't even fondle you. He is reflective tonight. Must be the moon. Ah, yes... it is the full moon...
     It is... indeed...
     "How do you find your new king," he wonders quietly. "Is he handling it alright?" He seems to be handling you well enough...

     "Not your borders," Fiona retorts lazily, teasing in return, "but I don't promise not to become another Boaddica. Can you see me in bronze armor and blue paint at the head of an army, waving a spear or sword?"
     She laughs a moment later, shaking her head and trailing fingers along your cheek. "I don't have designs on anyone's kingdoms except my own. We'll see how things go; I'm still learning. But yes, I want you to come and see everything. I want you to meet my general and my viceroy, and I want you to be impressed. I doubt you will be, but come to my capital city and stay in my palace anyway." It's followed by a kiss that is affectionate more than it is demanding, and she leans forward to touch her forehead to yours before settling back.
     "I think you have nothing to worry about where Rhodri is concerned," Fiona murmurs to your wondering. "But I will mind him, and we will see, hm? He seems ... to have a thorough instinctive grasp ..." How appropriate for a thief. "Do you want to know what I ask of you?"

     Under such intense female scrutiny, Davydd starts to squirm a bit. Or maybe it's in protest to not worrying about Rhodri. He's a rival now, as much as friend and son and the rest of it. What's not to worry about? "That sounds about right," he grumbles beneath his breath. Close as you are to him, of course, you hear it all.
     "Boaddica. I can see that. A bit too well, actually. Well... truth be told... I think you'd look smart in a chariot pulled by centaurs. Very posh," Davydd smirks. "Very you. Maybe I'll buy you a chariot for your birthday. If you're nice."
     There's a bit of a glance to the other room. A reminder that his rival-son-king is still sleeping. He frowns a bit. "You seemed to enjoy it anyway. And good on you, why shouldn't you? Benefits of being queen. I'm sure he'll be fine. Besides, he knows where to find me if he needs me."
     You were at it for hours... I've never heard you sound so beautiful... so pleased...
     Better pinch him before he gets on a roll, wot?
     Davydd looks at you, then looks to the window and its view of the kingdoms. "You know I'm a sucker for a dame. What can I do you for?"

     Then you must not have been listening when I was on your altar, comes the retort, rather quickly and pointedly, or on your piano. You have a penchant for locations, don't you, my heart? And for putting yourself in second or last place.
     "Boaddica, Joan of Arc, Helen of Troy," Fiona murmurs, a bit dreamily, leaning against you and letting her head fall to your shoulder. "But, really, I'm just me. I feel like a terrible fraud some days - as if at any moment someone will walk in and tell me to get out, the real queen's arrived. I'll get over it," she shrugs dismissively, "it's just those occasional moments of insecurity. Like heartburn."
     She straightens, turning on your lap to regard you, both hands going to your chest, palms gentle against your collarbone. "It's a fairly simple request," Fiona says easily. "But I don't know if you'll understand it. It's just that I want to have your child be my first."
     Well, she always did have a penchant for dropping large, heavy objects on your head, metaphorically speaking, didn't she?

     He looks at you for a moment. He sighs. He even puts both of his hands to your face, cupping it as if to say: Dear Child, You Are Mad. But then Davydd kisses you. "You are kind to offer, but it is not my place, Fiona. And ... it is not time. My children... my children need to wait now... until I have something to offer them other than parentage. A future. A kingdom. My time."
     We must be patient...
     "I've given all I have, to you and my son, to your future together. I've turned myself out of my kingdom and into the world. That's the nature of the sacrifice. In ninety-nine years, I will return. I will have a new kingdom. And then... when I have something to offer, Queen Fiona, and only then will you bear my children."
     Davydd closes his eyes and seals it with a kiss. But he brooks no argument. That is the face and the will of the Once and Future King.

     She wants to argue, and it shows, even cut off as it is by your kiss, by your own expression. There is that mutinous light in her eyes which you know so well. But it seems that she will save her arguments for later - she has time, as do you, after all. You kiss her, and that silences her lips, postpones debate...
     "I am not kind to offer, because I wasn't offering," she murmurs, making the clarification. "I was asking for something I want... which is greed, really, not kindness or generosity. Sweet of you to think me so selfless, I suppose."
     There is a flicker of something in her eyes, some uncertainty, and Fiona settles against you again for a moment, tension gathering in her own shoulders. "We are still on for next century, though?"

     "Yes, Fiona-bach, we are. It's a long wait. Becoming longer by the moment," he grouses. Especially when you're in the next room getting the laid properly by someone else. Another king now, not just his son, or some other bloke. An equal. A true rival.
     Davydd sighs, "Well... you'll have to dream about it for a while. Our time is the future, queenie. As must our children be." This is going to be harder than he thought. "When I ...have something to give you and them," he softly reminds you. "Other than a bad attitude and a lot of heartache. I'll have... a kingdom... a future... a path...something tangible, more tangible than promises. It's the Oak King's time in the sun," literally. "And your children should be his. You both have kingdoms to establish. Power to come into. A new marriage. You called me your dream once, do you remember? Well, love, that's what I am... a dream, for now."
     Davydd stiffens suddenly and turns his head, casting his gaze to the windows and their view. His cheeks are red. He clears his throat. Yes... he is sad. But it is as it is supposed to be. He is certain of that.
     A strong hand pats your leg, but gently, aware that you might be... aching from your ... exercise. "You should have your bath now and return to your husband," he says. "I'll have to sleep soon. You should too. You'll have a busy day tomorrow. You will be the hottest ticket in town."
     And him... where will he be?

     "It is a long wait," Fiona agrees quietly, face tilting down now, hidden from you. "But I will wait. As long as ... as long as I'm not going to turn out to be something like Hafwen."
     Did you know that she knew about that? She has her own fears, her own demons to battle with, that have nothing to do with mere kingdom building. She has her insecurities, seeds planted not by Rose but before she ever knew you, by Paul - and having had two kings, perhaps, she cannot resign herself to just one.
     It is that she loves you, not that she does not love Rhodri, after all.
     Slowly, she begins to slide from your lap without looking at you. "Go to the west - to the water, to the harbor of my kingdom. Tell those who meet you there that I sent you. They will see to your comfort." She doesn't look at you as she speaks. "I think that you will find it cozily quaint and hopefully restorative."

     "And I will keep my hands to myself," he notes with a small smile. It is a wistful look he gives you. "Even though it's a long wait. If... you know...you get a chance to ... slip away..." The smile finally returns! Sneaky as it is. Wicked curving. "Feel free to join me. Maybe I'll be in a better spirit..." You know, when I can't hear you moaning and mewing and crying and cooing another man's name. Gah.
     As you stand, so does he, stripping out of the leggings and tossing them aside. "I should join you. I've been in armor all day. Makes a man a bit gamey, if you follow my meaning." Not that he is. But you can imagine.
     Davydd reaches for your hand, and like Rhodri did before (not that he saw it), he kisses each of your fingers in turn. "Maybe tomorrow night you can make a few of the sounds I heard tonight for me?"

     The words and the smile do much to restore heart to her; can you see hope returning to her like color to some faded thing? She turns to witness your smile, echoing it with her own.
     "I'll wash your back if you'll wash mine," Fiona suggests, untying the cloak and letting it fall loosely behind her, thwumping heavily in disorganized folds. "And I should be able to slip away - if nothing else, I should go there and make sure that everything's running smoothly." It probably is. But a queen has to make sure. It's like a housewife making sure her kitchen's clean Her hand is captured, and she moves closer, smile widening, tugging at the edges as she lifts her face to you. "Tomorrow night," Fiona promises quietly, "will be yours, darling. My Davy. All you have to do is look at me, and I come running. Asking ... just makes me run the faster..."

     "Shh," Davydd teases with a grin. "Else your husband will hear," he whispers as he leads you with him. "Do you think he suspects anything? I'm beginning to think he's quite dense... wonder where he gets it..."
     Where, indeed...

Posted by rowan at March 20, 2005 07:56 PM