There is something glorious about morning in Avalon...
How the rising sun turns the spiral rivers copper and gold. How very still it is, with only bees and birds and salmon splashing sounding. The grass is still dotted with dew. The red rock castle, the ghost of which stands in Powys, Wales -- a mere shade to the grandeur of it here -- is brilliant, the vines that finger their way along the stone blooming with morning glories...
Though it is well past dawn, few are stirring. The feasts ran long, the cups were deep, the songs were plentiful and now all are yet slumbering. All but the servants that silently tend to the cleaning, silently prepare breakfasts suitable for pounding heads.
But the windows of the Oak King, stained glass in the image of oak trees, are opened to let the morning air in, the scents and the sounds of his kingdom. He has been awake since sunrise. Pounding head and all.
He has risen, bathed (and all the while his bed was made), and is clothed in red leather and white silk. They are his colors, his royal brand. His hair, short in back but long in the nape, is tipped in copper and sent every-which-way-and-back in something resembling the 21st Century. His clothing, while anachronistic in part, could be worn in certain clubs in London with little trouble. Rhodri the Oak King has made it as far as the chair but he is glad for the quiet. Glad for the gentle breeze. Glad to have the space of his own thoughts. His own inspiration, to hear it... to listen to it... to learn from it what sort of kingdom he should build...
But his foremost thought is when he may expect a visit from his much-missed queen....
The sounding of the birds can be viewed as cheering or irritating, depending upon one's point of view and exactly how late one is trying to sleep. But there is a beating of wings, the rush of them, the squawk of a bird whose territory is being intruded upon. Perhaps there will be a fight.
Fiona has gone, though the traces of her are still evident. Strands of hair shed no doubt in passion at least as often as in sleep, caught on the pillow until cleaned away by the staff; a candyfloss gown that has not yet melted away into insubstantial nothingness; a dainty heeled slipper peeking out impudently from beneath the drape of the bedspread. But she herself is not here...
Outside, the squawking has become a riotous din, suddenly ended. The gardens ring with the sudden stillness and no doubt some lords and ladies are thanking their gods for the respite from the noise. Through the open window, as if punctuating triumph, a small brown and white bird appears, speckled with black. It circles the room once - twice - thrice; and settles upon the fringed edge of a tapestry's top, peering down with reflecting eyes.
What ails you, Oak King? Don't you have anything better to do than to sit in idleness all the day? It is a day ripe for adventure...
Even an adventurer such as myself needs a respite from adventure, little bird. Do you not ever tire of singing... of eating worms? Rhodri's lips form a slow smile, a smile that reverberates sunlight and summer, his eyes of emerald green echoing it with warmth as he tilts his head toward the little bird.
He lifts his glass of golden liquid (mead) and takes a swallow of it, the offers it out with the outstretch of his arm, to the bird. Care for a sip from the cup of the king? The smile grows, as does the corona around him, that appearance that he is forever backed by his own personal daystar, like the paintings of saints. Which he is most assuredly not...
The linnet hops down, flutters down to the edge of the cup, and in landing, transforms, becoming the golden-haired creature that is the newest queen, the queen of the as yet unnamed kingdom. Her hand is dainty upon the cup, taking it in hand.
"Thank you," Fiona says demurely. "It was a long flight. I'm thirsty." She sips, then offers it back with a tilted cant of her chin, a quirking smile of mischief. "...And I've never eaten a worm in my life. Pity you're not in the mood for adventure, though. I thought maybe we might play hooky for a few hours today. But, if you've had enough adventure... oh, well."
Play hooky?
His eyes alight suddenly and he sits forward. "You mean... sneak out? Stop answering inane questions?" His Anglo-Welsh accent glimmers in the speed of his own words. Kicking back in his chair, Rhodri grins like the very devil. "Where shall we go, my beautiful queen who hasn't kissed me yet this morning? Shall we get a pair of horses and ride past the orchards and to the valley? Avalon is a large kingdom. We could easily... get lost..."
Yes, this is what he would love. To be with you, alone with you, without having to be fawned over, flaunted at, picked over, interrogated or lauded. "I could fancy a ride, what about you? The horses of Avalon are known for their swiftness. There is the lake where Excalibur was held, the waters are warm... we could... lose our royal garb and take a swim..."
"We could do that, if you like - have a picnic of it." Fiona's grin widens, and she leans forward to plant her hands on your shoulders, cup still held at an angle. If she isn't careful, she'll be spilling mead all down along the back of your neck. "Though I'd been thinking of giving you a personalized tour of my kingdom - but we can save that for later if you like."
As much fun as flying back and forth is...
"I thought you might," Fiona adds casually, settling in along you so that her lips brush yours when she speaks, "be a bit tired of ... well ... everyone, by now. I keep smiling so much I feel like my face might crack - especially with some of the ruder ones. Did you sleep well, dear?"
A kingly hand comes up and pulls you in. The kiss tells you much. It tells you of his relief that you are here and that the two of you are alone. It tells you of his love, which has only grown in your presence. It tells you of his desire and his happiness, as he parts it with teasing bites and soothing suckling.
All without spilling a drop of mead...
"We can ride to your kingdom, I want to see it. Where better to seek sanctuary than in the home of my Queen?" Another kiss is gentle, it comes with all the tenderness of love. "We should go now," Rhodri whispers, starting to sit up, his grin sliding sideways in his mischief, "...before the rest of them wake. I should like to leave them to themselves, and us to our own devices."
A laugh bubbles up, a hand tangles in your hair, and kiss is answered by kiss, time and again. Then Fiona slides away as you begin to rise, eyes closing for a moment as she stretches in feline appreciation of life.
"Let them wonder where we are," Fiona suggests. "They're wondering enough about us, after all. And there are roads on either side of the border, even if the borders are still unconnected." As of yet. She turns away, setting her mead aside and gathering her hair back in her hands, humming a small enchantment to weave the tresses by her will.
"Besides," Fiona adds casually, turning back towards you as she brushes her hands over her clothing, changing rich gown and petticoats into a tunic and leggings, "I'd like to see what you think of it. Part of my surprise for you."
Let them wonder. A woman after my own heart. After it, and has it. "They will be sleeping late," his hands land at your waist as your clothing transforms. "While it will not be a midnight ride, it shall not lack adventure." Your king kisses you yet again, this time near your ear, where he murmurs his love for you, such a poetic refrain.
Rhodri parts with a smile, a pat upon your waist. Same way you came, my lady. If we enter the halls, they'll blow the trumpets. With that his red and white clothing becomes the red and white plumage of a hawk. With a glittering look to you and the opening of his beak, he lifts and flies out of the window...
She smiles, and again takes the form of the linnet - a small, humble bird, one most wouldn't associate with a queen. And, after all, isn't that partly the point? No trumpets needed. I know who I am without any announcement whatsoever.
And then Fiona flies out after - a strange picture, a linnet in hot pursuit of a hawk...
Two birds flying around the palace is not so strange a sight in Avalon. Coming out of the king's chamber -- that's something else. Fortunately, the bells have not tolled the breakfast hour, only to be ignored by hungover nobles. No matter how strange the sight of a linnet chasing a hawk, the pair is able to fly unbothered and unnoticed over the boughs of the perilous forest.
The hawk hovers in waiting for his linnet partner, never flying too fast, too far or too high. God forbid an actual hawk seeks a breakfast of linnet this morning! Its cry warns off any others, its proximity to the linnet puts off other predators, allowing the linnet to fly safely under his greater wingspan.
But as the trees thin, and the paths appear, the hawk dives toward the ground, landing with a grasp of talons...
Talons then transform to hooves as the Oak King takes on his primary totem, that of a white stallion. Ears pricking forward, he lifts his head to the sky to see where his little linnet is flying...
The linnet dives to the earth, taking the form of queen again. It's with a tugging, curious smile that Fiona lifts a hand to point out to the roads, past the ribboning rivers to the path that snakes between hills and dales. "That is where we must go - I'm not sure how far it is by horseback, I've only ever been by wing and by centaur-back. But by centaur, assuming a similar speed, it's not so very far..."
The smile continues to tug at her as she makes her way to you, blue eyes wide and guileless. "I could fly the rest of the way and have you follow, but really, this is too good an opportunity to pass up," Fiona murmurs, a hand lifting towards the arching equine neck. "You going to let me mount and ride you, Oak King?"
His arching neck is powerful, the slightly dished face reminiscent of an Arabian breed, nudges against you. The mane is long and white but tipped with copper, as are his ears, the long tail, and the feathers of hair at his legs. The stallion's body style is that of a Frisian, but white. large bodied but capable of great grace.
Please do... but mind your heels, if you please. I seem to remember you being an expert equestrian. The great horse is quite tall. Slowly he lowers to his knees, allowing you to mount him far more easily. Allow me, my lady...
There is plenty of mane to grasp, plenty of muscle to brace and cushion your ride. The white hair is silky smooth and bears a radiance. His halo visible even in this form.
The tugging smile remains, grows again, and Fiona pulls herself up. As long as you're a well-behaved mount, she answers blithely, you've got no reason to fear my heels, have you? But I'll play nice for now.
She pulls her way up by degrees, fingers sliding through the mane to brace herself, thighs spread wide against the immense back. "Across the border, and then just follow the road until you reach the gates. They know me there, we should be able to get in without paying a cover charge."
Once he feels your hands take hold of his hair, your legs on either side of him, he rises and starts out at a gentle trot. The trot is a smooth gait, not jostling, that gives the feeling that you are floating, not trotting. The trot soon becomes a canter from borderline to road.
It is early morning. The stream of trade and traffic on the road has not swung into full gear, but there are some on the move, to be sure. What a sight they see: an oakblonde beauty on a white and copper stallion. And while not alarmed per se, they do hurry to move out of the steed's way.
It is a lovely valley. A road full of travelers and pilgrims. And I can smell the sea... His ears prick forward, his powerful head lifted, nostrils wide to pull in the air. There are equine grunts to go with his telepathic words.
You realize that this might trigger a religion, don't you. The thought is amused; Fiona leans forward to rub a hand absently behind an equine ear. Habits. We must look like a sign or portent. I am almost tempted to cry prophecy from your back.
She sits up again, smiling at those on the road but not bothering to speak. Actually, I should scatter largesse. A purse full of gold to throw to the needy and destitute. I always thought that idea seemed so condescending. But yes, we will be getting closer to the sea in due course. Tell me, what do you want to see when we get there?
Perhaps we should. There is nothing I like better than you crying out while straddling me. So, start a religion, my love. Or revive an old one, even better. The cult of Epona has been quiet for a while. His laughter sounds as a trumpeting, deep-throated neigh, that rumbles beneath your thighs as it fades.
I hope to see cliffs and a shore teaming with ships, a gentle bay with eddies full of fish. A beach good for running, or for riding. I hope to see you putting your dreams and your beauty out into your world, and from you to all those who make it their home, even as I hope to do.
The stallion beneath you picks up speed, even so he is not going at full press. Your hair and his tail stream outward in the wind his motion creates.
Unfortunately, all that's popping into my mind are quotes from Monty Python. 'Bring out your dead' isn't quite the message I want to spread. Fiona grins, even as her cheeks redden, her hair coming undone with the rippling of the wind. Her hands stay fast in your mane as she sits upright. Wait ... I think I know ...
"Behold, the coming of the answering of Dreams! That which is sought will be found; that for which you labour will be fulfilled! But every man and woman turn their eyes to the wayward West, and you will find Truth!"
Her voice is clear and carrying, the high, pure notes of the singer, the songstress, spoken rather than sung but heard nonetheless. One dainty hand comes up from silken mane to fling outwards with a flash of light, magic rippling in the wake of two bodies.
Fiona laughs, leaning forward until it's smothered against you. There will be astonished and confused people and probably someone's making rude gestures behind my back. But it was worth it. As for what you want to see, I think you will like what you find. But I meant, what would you like to see, first? Lunch? Where I rest my head? But if you want to see the harbor, we can start there, by the waterfront.
O! I thought you meant more generally. The equine head tosses. Show me the first thing you created and the first place you rested. He thinks after another moment. The heart of your kingdom, I think, is the first inspired work you create. The rest comes from that core.
The kingly stallion's gait slows as the road becomes more crowded with those heading to the city and palace for the day's first trading. Hooves sound against the road and then become more muffled as he leaves the road for the grassy earth beside it.
The regal head is held high and the voice of the stallion startles those nearby for its volume. Behold your queen, most beautiful and most dear! The plumage of his tail is held high, creating a streaming banner of copper-tipped white. The wide country of her heart is open to you! Her compassion and love shall be fertile earth for your dreams!
You're going to make me blush. Of course, she's blushing already, even as she straightens to hold her head high, smile still intact. Alright. The first thing is pretty much all of it, but I'll show you. And we'll see what you think, if anything.
Fiona shakes her head so that the undone braid is shaken completely loose, cornsilk locks freed to trail behind her, golden and copper and white together as a flag. Alas, Falada, comes the dark-humored thought. I always thought that story had the wrong ending. - Ah, there. We're almost there - I'll tell the guards to open the gates for us, and clear the way.
The gates are open already, of course, but there is the checklist of who goes and who leaves. She ought not need to introduce herself, under the circumstances...
The beautiful woman on the brilliant white horse surely must cause a stir, particularly once the gate is within reach. The city is bustling with early morning trading, bread and golden eggs, livestock. The smoke of burning spices and cooking bread hangs like a fragrant fog over the air as the gate looms near.
Looming overhead, the beautiful palace, rising up from the city, both fantasy and reality, not in its perfection but in the very real imperfections here and there. The royal stallion slows to a walk, his head turning this way and that way, his ears pricked forward in keen interest and curiosity.
The guards at the gate this morning are two-legged; one has a crooked nose where it was broken some time in the past, scars over and around one eye showing some history with violence. He is silent, dark hair streaked here and there with grey and bound back in a short ponytail. There is a chain around his neck, worn over leather armour; the chain seems of common tin, cheap and useless.
He is accompanied on his duty by a younger man with freckles and blondish, brownish hair and indeterminate eyes - the sort of person who exists seemingly to frustrate artists and police by his very nondescript appearance. He too is in armour, armour which seems almost to be slightly too big for him until he moves; he's more muscular than he appears at first glance. At present, he is attempting to placate a woman with a clutch of fussy hens in a mesh and wooden crate resting upon one solid shoulder. "No, miss, it's not that we think you're up to anything, but everyone who comes in has to be checked. That's the rule. Just tell us what you're called and your business and you're free to go in."
"My business isn't any of your'n!" The woman looks contemptuous, then jerks her head at the other guard. "What's his deal? Ha'n't said a word." She spits on the ground, then readjusts her crate.
The scarred man looks at her impassively, and his companion hurries to interpose. "He doesn't talk. He's new here - he's from the Broken Coast. His not talking doesn't interfere with his duties, anyway," he adds, looking at her severely. "Now, you're holding up traffic, ma'am. In or out?"
The fairy woman shrinks back, staring at the scarred man, then turns away from him abruptly. "Taramee of Open-hand. Here to trade for the day." She waits impatiently as the guard makes a note, ignoring his open mouth as she stomps in through the open gate.
The white horse comes to a halt behind the woman, lowering his head and giving it a shake, and a great blowing of breath from his nose. One of the powerful hind legs lifts, point of the hoof to the ground and weight moved from one hip to another in relaxation. The Broken Coast. Harsh territory from what I hear. His face would tend to confirm that. Shall we break form here or will you ride me all the way to your chamber?
If the horse could raise an eyebrow, it would. Instead, the equine head turns to you, and the velvety soft lips nuzzle your thigh. Nostrils widen, taking in your scent, and the horse grunts in response.
Bad horse. No apples for you. Fiona's answer echos with a laugh, and she begins to slide from your back to the ground. I think we change form here. The guards will be shocked enough as it is. And you want to see the harbor, don't you?
She lands on her feet, garb changing to divided skirts in summer blue with a tightly buttoned white blouse, over which is a white riding jacket with a high collar and matching blue lining. Her boots are white as well, and upon her forehead rests a dainty circlet of ruddy gold...
"Now," the guard begins, eyeing the two speculatively, "can I he- ahrm!" His companion's elbow jolts him in the ribs, and his eyes widen. "Your majesty," he continues awkwardly, bowing. "I ... that is, we weren't told you were coming. How can we be of assistance?"
This should be fun...
The white horse is a grand creature, to be sure, but no greater than the man he truly is -- and becomes again once the Queen is addressed. The Queen is accompanied, it would seem, by a king, one in the red and white sacred to the Welsh on the material plane with a golden circlet of oak leaves.
He is clothed in red leather with an ornate tunic of white edged in ruby thread -- the embroidery of the hounds of Rhodri, sometime rider among those of the Wild Ride, a man of highways, now a king.
"My companion and I simply seek to enter," Fiona tells the guard with a dimpling smile, placing her hand on Rhodri's arm. "But I am pleased to see that you are doing so well by my City." The capital is audible. It is no mere city...
The guard bows again, still awkward in the face of royalty - and more awkward for there being two. The other, however, silently goes down on one knee, and reaching out, whacks the back of his companion's knee with a fist. "Waugh!" He too ends on his knee, looking a bit wild-eyed for it. "Of course, your majesty. Majesties. We are delighted to be of service to you both. Do you ah, require an honour guard? There's just the two of us here, but I'm sure we could arrange..."
Rhodri does his best not to guffaw, or even crack a grin. But it shows in his eyes, glimmering green.. He glances to Fiona -- they are her men to command. No honor guard... I'm all the guard you need today... He does finally crack a smile, a smooth winding way it takes. His amusement some assurance, perhaps, that the guards need not worry.
He looks to Fiona, and let his look give rise to rumors for all he cares. It is a look that cannot be mistaken. A look of summer adoration. Command them, My Queen. Then I want the tour...of the things you are most taken with...
"Thank you, but no. We will require no additional aid," Fiona says easily, smiling at the man. "The Oak King and I have an overdue appointment to keep. You may tell your captain that I am pleased with your work - both of you," she adds with a glance to the disfigured guard kneeling on the other side.
As if I ever need more guarding? But don't worry. I don't feel endangered in my own City, anyway...
Colour rises in her face at that look, but it broadens her smile again. I couldn't choose among the things here. It's hard to say what pleases me - it is. And it's alive.
The one kneeling guard looks to the other, then back up to the two royals. "Oh, he can't tell the captain. No tongue, your majesty - your majesties. But I'll tell the captain for him. And thank you - thank you very much." He's lifted to his feet by his scarred, silent companion, managing to stifle any squawk this time as they bow and resume their posts.
Fiona smiles at them both one last time, then moves to enter the City, glancing to you to make sure that you're following. "The harbor first," she murmurs. "You said you wanted to see it, anyway..."
The harbor, shaped and built, where the tall ships run in and out of the bay...
The Oak King tips his head to the guards, a show of respect for his Lady's men, and then he walks with her through the gate. Once past it, he lifts your hand from his arms and leads it to his lips. There, he does not kiss the back of it, but each finger in its own turn before returning it to his arm. "It is very lovely," Rhodri says, looking each and every way. "It is not perfect... which is why it is so special. It is real, it is alive. It is grand, but there is something... simple about it. And I don't mean simple... like simpleton. I mean... natural, simple..."
As you head toward the harbor, his eyes go to find the sea. He can smell the salt, and like every other island creature, it calls him. His nostrils flare to take it in, his eyes take on a distant look and his stride lengthens. There is a young Welsh boy in him, too. One that used to head down to the beaches of Gwynedd with his mother, that could swim before he could walk.
His hands come upon the surface of the viewing area's landing as he leans forward. There are ships loading and unloading. An active bay, an active harbor, active pier-side establishments. "Pubs for sailors, women to squeeze, ships full arriving by the dozen," he says and he looks to you. His look is one of amazement. "What you've done... it's damned amazing, you know? How long?"
"Mm. When was it that I went away?" Fiona smiles at you, a hint of smugness in that low, intent stare. "You were so irked with me for going away without telling you - well. Not irked, exactly. Frustrated..."
She is as much a sea creature as a land creature, as much as a creature of the air. She is of mixed elements. And here, she is comfortable with what is going on - she walks in her own bubble, no retinue but yourself. Let others double-take when they notice that the Queen walks among them without fear of assassins or worse, common people...
"That's when I built it all," Fiona continues, leaning in towards you slightly, as if confiding a secret. One dimple deepens with its own secrets, and Fiona continues, "I probably shouldn't have done it all in one go. I was so tired after that, I just - passed out. I don't even remember it. And I slept like the dead. - The harbor, there," she lifts a hand to point out across the water with a dip of her head to shake her hair back from her face, "it deepens there. The sea wall, I brought it out a bit, so that there could be an area to act as shipyards, for building and repairs. Even ships wear out, you know."
"Yes, I do know. I tried my hand at sea merchanting one season." He pauses and leans in toward you with a summer sliding grin, "I was an all around pirate. Sea work is hard, too hard for me. And I sun burn easily," Rhodri finishes in a quip. "I looked like a lobster. It was an unfortunate look for me, so I gave it up for land pirating. Nice bay... and active. So... have you made life...comfortable for the sailors?"
It's not what he says but the way he says it. You know what he means...
"You did it all at once?" Red eyebrows shoot skyward and he gives you an extraordinary expression. "I'm surprised there was anything left of you. Well," an exhale and a wider smile. "I forgive you for leaving me in the lurch to build your kingdom. I wasn't irked or frustrated. I just...I am your man, so I was naturally worried."
"There was nothing to worry about, but yes, I overdid it," Fiona admits, touching your hand lightly and then moving back from the piers. And yes, there is a red light district... brute. You and your one track mind.
"So what would you like to see next?" Fiona continues as if there was no such discussion. "There is the marketplace, if you like. Or - well, the palace, of course. Or would you rather just wander aimlessly? I should warn you, if we go to the palace, we will likely run into my Lord General and my Viceroy." Her lips twitch slightly. "You may have heard of them. Huw and Hwyll."
That takes him by surprise. Huw. Hwyll. "Huw?" Rhodri peers at you, his arms folding against his chest (like you know who). "That's .... shocking. Those on the wild path ... don't usually align with royalty. Hmm. Interesting. Hwyll ... you must have paid well," he chuckles. "But it does explain the ships. So... what other feathers have you stuck in your cap, your highness? You know, you're setting the bar awfully high for your husband to follow."
He pivots, gesturing for you to lead the way. "How about your gardens and collection of fountains." The Oak King grins, "I know how you are about falling water. Do you have a music room, as well? A collection of instruments for me to play when I am here?"
Huw and I ... I suppose you could say that we dated for a while. I was still deeply in denial about my feelings for Davydd, of course. Fiona can admit that now, and it makes her grin a bit lopsided - bittersweet. I challenged him to hunt me at midnight through the streets of London. I always did have rather kindergarten notions of letting boys know I like them, I suppose.
She begins moving up the sloping cobbled street, brushing her hair back from one cheek. "We'll take the shortcut, assuming you're not claustrophobic. Down that side street, there." A street which leads towards the cliffs, and to a dead end of cluttered small homes and workshops.
"As for other feathers?" Fiona shrugs, smiling slightly. "Hwyll's brothers are among my advisors. The four Princes of the Winds, and I do not know if it will be familiar to you, but the Captain of my personal Guard is a centaur named Aurelius. He has a lovely singing voice."
You dated Huw? There's both a physical and an audible pause, his stride slowing. Yes, that look is shock. Huw? ... Did the two of you ... ever...? He can't even say it. "I ... didn't know that... " He's not upset. It's just pure, unadulterated surprise. Rhodri blinks a bit, then snorts a laugh. "You're better at this than anyone thinks," he whispers. "That is going to take you far for a while."
Rhodri loops his arm with yours, pulling you close to walk with him. He does not seem to be a bit bothered by the close confines of the walk. "Well, no wonder you have a harbor crowded with ships and two castles buzzing with gossip and curiosity. You've stirred the hornets nest to be sure..."
We kissed. Not much more. He couldn't give me the sort of commitment I wanted - needed - to feel comfortable giving myself to him. Fiona's features tinge pink, though her expression does not lose that faint halfwards smile, and she tips her face down to her feet for a moment. "There's a lot you don't know about me still. Just because I was around occasionally when your father was doesn't mean he was all there was to me."
She doesn't sound put out...
She leads the way to the end of the cul de sac, tugging open a ramshackle door and stepping inside. The back of the room it opens upon is the cliff wall; there is a grate over a cavern entrance. Fiona places her palm to the grille, and it opens easily. "I like having more than one way in and out of my rabbit holes," she remarks.
The way within is broad enough for four men abreast - or two centaurs. The grille closes behind, and the young queen steps onto a platform, beckoning. "I don't know. From the buzz, I'd say a good portion think I've nothing between my ears but air, and I've somehow gotten everything because I'm screwing you or Davydd or both," Fiona says candidly. "We'll see. Of course, some people are wondering if I'm ready to go to war; but to answer your earlier question, yes, there is a music room - but it is currently empty." She smiles demurely, motioning for the platform to begin to rise. "I've got to be able to give you some sort of gifts still, after all."
"I think there are ...a few... who may have an inkling that there is more to you than beauty and laughter and blonde hair. It takes cunning to do what you have done. Or have been reported to have done," he smiles. "I think there are some who have a suspicion. There are others who have written you off, to be sure, but I think most are just trying to figure you out."
Rhodri steps into the cavern and as you pull the gate shut behind you, he draws you in for a kiss. "I feel like I've entered your secret lair," he whispers at your mouth. Another kiss, sudden honeyed warmth, the kiss of the Oak King. Is that bees buzzing in your ears or that familiar white noise that happens when either of Them kisses you?
Rhodri releases you with a grin. "You were wise not to seek commitment in Huw the Hunter. I am surprised he even allied. Quite the coup. So, what's next on your list of accomplishments, my Queen. I'm going to have to do my damnedest to keep up with you, I can see..."
There's a sigh given, her arms twining for a moment around your neck as the platform begins its inevitable ascent. "Actually," Fiona murmurs, not so quick to be released, "he's married now, with a child on the way. An orchid nymph - apparently very pleased in his ... settled ... station. Though I wonder how long that will last, knowing Huw."
Now she releases you, pulling her hair back as the platform begins to slow to a halt. "You don't need to make it a competition," Fiona says lazily. "I know you - you'll manage to outshine me. You always do, after all. But I had to bring /something/ to the table as a suitable bride's gift. You are, after all, the Oak King. And my kingdom hasn't got a name at all."
"I was meaning to ask you about that," his arm snakes around you, "...has a name occurred to you? Or are you going to let your people vote?" That idea seems to tickle him. He chuckles softly and pulls you against him, a kiss pressed to your temple. "I doubt I will outshine you, and certainly I do not seek to. We are good partners you and I. You know that? And we will be..."
Rhodri grins at you, glancing aslant. "So, darlin', where are we going? Hmm? And underground grotto with shimmering pools where nymphs will serve us fruity drinks while we strip to our god-givens and swim?"
"I don't know about a vote. I don't trust certain quarters not to try and bribe the outcome, and I'd rather not live in the kingdom of Hoboken." Fiona smiles slightly, then shakes her head. "Not quite, though you'd like that, wouldn't you? Be patient. You aren't good at it, but try."
She is so cruel...
She leads the way down a corridor and outside - to the top of the palace, where a rooftop garden has been set up; grown, rather, with running pools that splash down along a channel into an interior courtyard far below, vines that climb and sweet flowering bushes and trees presenting a niche. "My breakfast nook," Fiona says simply. "What would you like to drink?"
"I'm incredibly patient," Rhodri counters quietly as he steps out with you and into a kind of tenth wonder of the Otherworld. There is a kind of Powis Castle quality to this garden. He smiles to see it. "I like hideaways like this," he confides in you. "Hmm... how about mead. Honeyed, cool..."
Like father, like son...
At least he didn't ask for the cider...
Rhodri steps away, wandering through your 'breakfast nook' garden. "It will be a difficult place to name, there is so much to look at, so much that sets it apart. Do you choose the sea, the flowering meadows, or the garden-tiered castle? Do you name it for the beauty of the queen," glittering green settles on you, and he smiles. "But it will come to you, buttercup..."
"So... when's your first feast? When do you leave the world of debutante queens? You will have to have something. I will sponsor a joust in your honor..."
"Dread Pirate Rhodri," Fiona teases, settling on the bench and brushing her hair back from one cheek. "Mead. Very well." She turns her head, tapping on hanging blossoms until there is a chiming, ringing sound that echos quietly and sweetly throughout the garden. Tiny nude female forms with fragile butterfly wings rise from the leaves and branches, blankly pupil-less eyes focusing for a moment on the two full-sized figures. Then they swarm downwards to follow the waterfall's progress.
"I haven't really given much thought to feasts yet," Fiona admits. "I'll have to, but I'll wait until after your festival is done; give people a little time to wonder what we're up to. Besides, after we get back from this, I'm going to be very busy with business in London for a while; I don't want to overcommit, no matter how resilient I am. And I do have a tendency to ... overwork. What of yourself? What will you do, now that you are king?"
"That's a very good question. I shall have to give it a lot of thought, once the frenzy dies down. Who has time to think with all that clamoring going on, feasting, festivals, games, gossip. I've barely had quiet space in my mind to think of anything. I expect I will spend quite a bit of time there, but I can't imagine leaving the material realm for good. Not yet anyway."
Rhodri's quiet for a moment. "It will have something to do with music an poetry of course, inspiration, but the concepts are still...too broad, too open, too ... vague. It will take time for them to coagulate into some kind of... form or direction."
"Perhaps music will be the bridge," he is thinking aloud. "...between Here and There..."
"The material realm still holds a lot," Fiona agrees. "Here is nice - I like it - but all my stuff is there." So to speak.
She leans forward to touch your hand, smiling faintly. "I think music is the key, where we are concerned. But it is music I will be concerning myself with, when we return."
"Davydd has been opening portals between Avalon and England....London in particular," Rhodri notes. "I've seen them. He is returning it to those who have lost its meaning, to England. I will continue that work, but here more than there for the time being. I will have to revive the court, pay my respects to King Arthur and the knights. You know, that whole legend of them returning...."
Introspection lights in his eyes as he leans back, his legs stretching out. "As for what I will be doing on earth as we know it, I'm not yet sure. I'll have to step out of mortal business a bit, the bars are self-sufficient and adding to the family till," there's more than one? "It's long past time when I should be doing the pouring. I'm not certain yet how kingship will manifest there. I think I need to define my purpose... and coordinate with Davydd when and where possible..."
He looks to you, his fingers tangling with your own. "And what shall you do with your music? I'm not into touring," he chuckles. "Or at least not on a bus..."
"As long as I'm not going to be a Guinevere," Fiona murmurs, rubbing her thumb over the web of your hand. "I've got things set up in my own kingdom so that my constant, hands-on presence isn't needed. I doubt, really, that Huw and Hwyll will remain here forever; it's not their way, not their nature to be tied down too much, to a person, a place, anything but their own elemental selves."
She tips her head back, looking up at the lazy sky with a faint smile. "I've got a fairly aggressive portfolio set up, with a certain amount set aside and the rest being relentlessly reinvested. Even if I lose, I'll still come out ahead - and I don't think I'll lose." Fiona turns her head to look at you, giving your hand a little squeeze. "So I can more or less keep an eye on the books, but do other things..."
Her free hand comes up to sweep her hair back from her face, unbound as it is. "As for the music - I'm thinking of having a bit of fame, temporarily," Fiona says casually. "Pop-punk princess sort of thing - very tongue in cheek, but you know, if I hit the scene with a big enough splash, there's no reason to do anything by halves. And it'll let me play dress-up... quite a bit."
He laughs, "No, I do not think so. They already have enough Guineveres over there, from what I hear. And god knows I'm no Arthur. I am Rhodri, simple as that." Though he's rarely simple himself. "Huw and Hwyll will stay as long as they have reason to stay, their reasons always being their own, of course. And if Huw is ... married...and his ...family is taking shape, perhaps his wife wishes he not throw himself headlong into Chaos, to settle down to something a bit more stable than unformed Creation."
Rhodri shrugs lightly, his expression cavalier and his smile curling. Once a highwayman, always a highwayman. "I'm not worried about money, but it's good that you have plans. Ours will be well cared for. All without their father having to pick locks. I will have to content myself with the picking of the combs from your hair, rather than the wallets from the pockets of the unsuspecting. I think I shall enjoy that," he finishes in a murmur, and in a lean to you. A kiss stolen before you can protest the attempt.
"The rest, I am content to let it unfold as it is intended. I will know it when I see it. In the meantime, I construct and assemble here and ... from the sounds of it... tuning your instruments there. I'll make a good manager," he notes. "I'm awfully good at procuring...."
"Malcolm McLaren," Fiona accuses you lightly, then shifts, sliding close to you, pressing up against your side. "But if you want to be manager, be my guest. One less headache for me, really, and when I run off to marry my manager, I'll be following a long tradition."
She leans up against you, falling silent for a moment, just sitting contentedly with her cheek up to your shoulder. "...I will periodically need to come back here for campaigning. But I think for now it may be important to ... bring a bit of music back and forth. Songs of here, altered a little - the combined music of the lands here, run through a Moog for there. And I really think the kingdoms around here could do with a bit of Sex Pistols."
He shakes his head, he laughs. "There's not enough sex to go around already? How much more of a bacchanalia can it be, I wonder." An eyebrow cocks up to consider that, joined soon by its partner. "Could be interesting. Well, we shall see how it unfolds won't we. Are you going to play an instrument as well? And how will you tour when you're pregnant?" The grin takes over his expression, from eyes, to mouth to the heavy lean of his body against you.
"You still have a wedding to plan, don't forget." Yes, first things first. "Speaking of... since the topic appears to be on everyone's mind and lips, I was planning to announce it on the final night of feasting. How does that strike you?"
"Mmm, I don't think they need more sex." Fiona's skin reddens, colour rising in her face to a heat in her eyes, and she squirms just slightly. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, but if Madonna could do it, I imagine that I could. And I can play - but I thought I'd just sing, choreograph and compose."
She turns suddenly, burying her face in your shoulder in a quick striking movement, arms folded up higher along your shoulder. "My mother and the wedding planner are battling it out, remember? They just both make reports to me once a week and I compare them. I'd only be in trouble if they joined forces - but as long as daddy is giving me the money with which to pay the wedding planner, that won't happen."
Fiona sighs, a small shiver running through her, and she shifts to rest her cheek against the curve of your shoulder instead. "You and Davydd should figure out what you're announcing when. I'll be there either way, you know, as long as it's still me involved in the announcement and not some other woman."
"Please," Rhodri chuckles. "... as if any other woman would have us. Do you know the trouble we cause?" His shoulder nudges you. "The difficulty we present? Why would any other woman want the job? You are gifted both with an earthy, real beauty and an otherworldly amount of stubbornness. You are the only woman for me. And the only suitable wife for Us," such a sweet thing he murmurs, in such a warm, summer-wild way he kisses you afterward.
"Let's go swimming..." he whispers. "Let's go ...steal away somewhere and forget about plans, forget about crowns. Just the water, our skin, ourselves..." Such temptation. Rhodri plucks a kiss from your mouth and he rises with a warm breeze.
"So, where's the best watering hole, your majesty? Do you have a pool with floating flowers and candles on the surface? A diving board?" he grins.
"You two do cause trouble," Fiona agrees, closing her eyes for the kiss and lifting a hand to touch your cheek. "But I love you both nonetheless and wouldn't want to live without you. It fits together so nicely - I'd be desolate if I had to give any of it up."
She slides abruptly up to her feet, leaving her hand on your arm. "There is a private swimming hole, you might say," Fiona murmurs, eyes hooding lazily, "very strict entry requirements. No diving board, but ... well ... see for yourself, hm? Follow me - we'll take the indirect route..."
His hand sweeps out in a grand gesture. After you, my lady. The Oak King has nothing else to add. He knows he is trouble, and more than a handful. No need to do aught else but smile. And so he does, as grandly as his gesture...
Posted by rowan at April 23, 2005 09:53 PM
