It is later. It is always later, when she has been rolled in her husband's arms - either of her husbands, whether the older or the younger. Both are old enough to know to take time and pleasure in her charms, even if she is unable to see the fruit for all the thorns...
She has risen again, and bathed, and regarded her body with an almost stoicism - a woman looking at the body which she knows is going to change. She is not unhappy to be pregnant - but the reality of it is frightening to her, and the changes already at work, invisible but ineluctable, they are eating away at what security and self-confidence she has had. Hormones.
Fresh silks, purple this time, a gown that trails down around her feet, which she has left bare save for an almost invisible and demure pair of glittering sandals; her hair, worn down in a long mane that is held in check by four dainty braids, her rings upon her fingers, her chains around her throat, and a delicate circlet upon her brow : the last, of course, being the visual representation to anyone foolish enough not to know - here there be queen.
So accompanied by an entourage of jewels, Fiona slips from her chambers and draws herself up, calmly - regally - presiding over the staircase as she makes her way down to her private gardens. Where she rested, when she finished her building efforts. And from there, she speaks aloud. "My general and my viceroy, I would have words with you, if you are free." So gently she speaks. So delicately. As if this were almost unimportant.
At first, there is no response. None, but the slight lilting of a breeze attends you for this moment of blessed silence, bringing with it the smell of your ocean, the flowers and spices of your garden. It is peaceful, this moment. So much more peaceful than when you are with your husbands, either singly or jointly.
Your viceroy appears first, a spinning cyclone of clouds from his own Empire In Suspension, whipping your hair and flowers into momentary disarray. His clothing is, however, impeccably arrayed. His hair is long and unbound, brushed to a spectacular platinum. His clothing is very stately, with a high gilded collar, and a sweeping cloak that is gathered not unlike a toga around him. He is a cyclone in form and figure and fashion today. Hwyll bows his head, "My Queen, My Lady." My goodness.
And still the general has not shown himself...
"I did not realize you would be back so soon. I heard you arrived in a ..." an eyebrow creeps upward and he smiles as he lifts from his bow, "...dragon-pulled chariot. Quite an entrance." And then of course you were straight for your bedroom. What is a political life without its share of gossip?
There is a thundering of hooves, such that makes the viceroy turn his head in that direction. "I believe that's the general now. Shall we picnic?" He claps his hands to summon a nymph. Or two.
Silence never lasts, just as peace never lasts. She allows her eyes to slip closed for the Moment, though even as it ends, her eyes reopen, the frail grey-blue of them so mixed today. One hand lifts to shield her eyes from the sudden wind, cheek turned slightly though she otherwise allows herself no show of weakness - not even now.
"Yes, I am back for ... a while. Quite a while, in fact, though not forever, of course." Fiona says it as easily as she can, trying to keep her smile as light and natural and not at all bleak. She is trapped. It is a prison only because there is no other option. She did not know that it would become her prison, when she made it...
"The Oak King has accompanied me for certain reasons," Fiona says carefully, "and he is fond of making a show. I do not begrudge him it - for the most part. He is practicing for later." She smoothes her hair back, glancing as well to the direction from which comes satyr-made thunder. "Actually, I need to speak with you unaccompanied by others, Hwyll. So - we may picnic - but hold off for a few minutes, if you wouldn't mind?"
It's a question and not a command - but there is a slight urgency that leaks into her voice underneath nonetheless. She can't help it...
"Of course, Your Majesty." He makes a wave and the little nymphs of his own ...coterie, as it were, disappear with gentle smiles and come hither looks, just one of the skills in their vast arsenal. But they leave the sweet, cool cider and teas behind. "I shall pour you a drink myself. Has something happened?" You don't seem like yourself. You seem so...
So dreadfully official...
The former satyr king appears in his natural form, cloaks wrapped around him and enarmored. His curly hair is decorated with bronze and glass beads, braided tightly and wrapped like more modern corn-rolls. Where tight braids have been allowed to unwind, his wife has oiled the tresses with olive and almond.
"I apologize for the delay, My Queen," Huw bows his head slightly and then glances to Hwyll. "There have been battles on the other side of Chaos. Very intense. My Queen, it is as always good to see you in your Queendom."
Fiona sits down carefully, easing herself onto the grass and shaking her head. Nymphs. Bah. It doesn't make her angry, but she is coiled tightly within her own skin right now. "Yes, well, I'm working on being official right now," she mutters, "for a variety of reasons. I'm not mad at you, Hwyll."
She isn't. Is that strange? It is a struggle within herself to be as much Fiona instead of Drancy, today...
"I am sorry for pulling you away from your more urgent work, Huw," Fiona murmurs, not looking up right away. There is still the need to hold the glass-like sheen of unshed tears every now and again, holding it curved against her retinas so that they can't fall, that they can't be seen. Damn hormones. "I just need to inform you both of some ... recent developments. I'll try to keep it brief so that nothing untoward happens."
Both Huw and Hwyll share a look, and both settle down around you. It takes Huw a bit more work, having hooves, but he manages to sit with as much, if not more, grace than two-legged Hwyll.
"Untoward, My Queen?" Huw wonders. "You do not need to rush on account of the battles. We are merely watching to make certain they do not affect Us," he informs gently. As if you were nervous or even afraid of the news he bore.
Hwyll merely watches for a moment, then nods, leaning over to pour his queen a gilded cup of cool, sweet cider. He offers it to her, along with his lightening gaze. "You are doing a good job," he notes easily. "What is on your mind, Queen Fiona?" There is something on it, that much is clear.
Men. It must be amusing, when possible, to separate oneself enough to watch men around women - that paranoid tiptoe, the What did we do this time, the We didn't do anything, but what if she thinks we did and the Well, what do we do now. Fiona is almost able to be amused..
"I'm glad that I'm doing a good job, or that you think I am, considering that I haven't exactly been here." Fiona accepts the cider, sniffing it to see whether or not it is alcoholic before permitting herself a very sparing sip - just in case. "As for what's on my mind, it's just a basic case of fertility. I'm pregnant."
Well ... she never was much of one for beating around the bush, was she...
"So," Fiona continues, after the barest pause for the two of you to let this piece of news sink in, "I will be remaining here for the duration of my pregnancy. Rhodri will be staying with me; Davydd will visit when he can, and will be on hand for the delivery. But - I'm pregnant."
She's still having a little trouble getting over that first hurdle to really adequately contemplate the rest.
It takes the second mention of the word 'pregnant' for it to sink in. And even then, it still seems to be reflecting off of Hwyll's forehead. Like a hockey puck. He blinks repeatedly, rapidly.
"I think he may be having some sort of ...fit," Huw interjects. "Your Majesty," he smiles grandly, his cheeks full of a blush, and he reaches for your hand. "My majesty," he says again. "This is joyous news. Joyous. A quick pregnancy signals a healthy queendom. Congratulations to you... and to your king."
"Oh my god," Hwyll finally says, "... that means we have less than nine months to plan a fairy wedding. I think I'm going to faint. We must settle out your court immediately, your majesty. I will have the best of women visit you for your approval. Young mothers, current pregnant nymphs...of which there is a curious plenitude..." No wonder he's about to faint.
"Breathe, Hwyll," Huw chuckles to his friend. Cinnamon eyes turn to you. "He just found out that half his coterie is expecting. He is uncertain of the number that may be his own. Forgive him his panic, your majesty..."
Hwyll takes a breath and he indeed beams. "It is very auspicious. And very fortuitous, your majesty. Everyone in the kingdoms will read this as a momentous beginning. Already pregnant and joined to the Oak King. You will be an amazing mother... and we will arrange for a proper court, not full of simpering girls but of women who understand motherhood, or...who are, like you, discovering it for the first time."
Hwyll's reaction is enough to get even Fiona's lips to twitch. "Don't faint. I'm pregnant, not dying. Last I heard, pregnancy doesn't tend to be permanent, anyway." She allows her hand to be taken, though there is a sudden flicker of trouble across her features for some reason, not spoken of just yet.
"The wedding - is the wedding really going to be that difficult, Hwyll? I would think it could be designed fairly quickly, and then each part broken up by category and assigned to various to be seen to. But I will take your word for it." Fiona shakes her head, then, troubled again - and trying not to show it. "I will make myself available, of course. You've been busy with your coterie, haven't you. Not that I would expect less from the West Wind. And you, Huw - how are your wife and son doing?"
There is a pause, and then, almost reluctantly, she admits, "The trouble is, I don't know that Rhodri is the father. It might be Davydd..." Oak King or Holly...
He takes another breath, your viceroy and then he smiles grandly. "I shouldn't tease a pregnant queen. It shall be handled, your majesty. If you wish to marry in your first trimester, please let me know. In the beginning or at the end, whichever you prefer, it shall be done. And to your own wishes and expectations. It will be as grand and stately as you desire, or as simple and sweetly as you desire. Do not worry," he tells himself as much as he tells you.
Huw takes your hand, he kisses it and holds it. "My dear, I have seen you go from guttersnipe to queen, from girl to woman. Now, you are becoming a mother. I ... cannot tell you, I ... cannot express to you the meaning it has for me. To see this happening to you. I know... how nervous you must be. I want you to know, I will send to you my beautiful wife and son. She will be a wonderful guide for you. You need women around you now, who can understand all of these things you are becoming. You...have not been more beautiful than this moment..."
Hwyll and Huw do not glance to one another, do not skip a beat as you mention the paternity issue. Huw smiles a crooked smile. "This is not trouble as far as your queendom should care. You are... enamored of two kings. Holly or Oak... summer or winter... it does not matter. Your heir is your heir, no matter the father. On a personal level, I am... sure you are wanting to know. There will be a time...soon, in fact...when that question can be answered. Do not worry, Fiona," he whispers intently. "Enjoy this time. It is your first. Celebrate it and cherish it."
Hwyll reaches for your other hand, as Huw is still holding the one, and he kisses it likewise. "There is no shame in having multiple lovers, my queen. This is not the mortal realm, where such things now are frowned upon. You make the morality here. Your queendom is expressed in your terms. There will be no aspersions cast upon you. I will see to that."
"Knowing Rhodri, he'd probably be happy with anything, but sooner would make him happier." Fiona mutters it, memory glancing back despite herself to recent ... conversations. Tears shed. Words spoken. Thoughts shared. "It would probably be better, if it's going to happen while I'm pregnant, that it happen while I can still stand for reasonable amounts of time. In other words - before my waistline disappears."
Nothing spoils a wedding like the bride having to run to go tinkle in the middle of the ceremony.
"I'm not used to women," Fiona adds, looking almost comically frustrated. "But thank you - both of you - for the compliments. I will try not to let anyone down." Pressure. She doesn't know how to live without it, does she?
The paternity issue... slowly, Fiona nods to that. "I do want to know," she murmurs, blinking back tears that now are again pressing forward, demanding her attention. How she loathes her own weakness. "It isn't that I think anyone will look down on me - just, I really want to know. For all our sakes. Not knowing is killing me, even though I do love them both."
She would be happy to be pregnant with either of her two husbands' children, but ... she wants, needs to know...
Fiona takes a deep breath, forcing her tears away, hands both caught. "I apologize, of course, for springing this on you in this fashion. It was as unexpected for me as it was for either of you - believe me, we had been taking ... precautions, but Davydd has said that it appears that Destiny has taken matters - and my fertility - into its own hands. What will you need of me first?"
"First, for you to relax," Huw says. "You are doing this for all the wrong reasons right now. For everyone else. This is your time, it is your life, and it is your womb that is full with your children. Do this for you, Fiona, and for your child. Everyone else? Secondary. I will speak with my wife, but will leave the prospectives to his choice..."
"I will bring them to see you," Hwyll interjects, "...when you are ready. Not before. I will begin preparations for a fortnight feast, at the end of which you shall be wedded to the Oak King. Every decision will be yours, unless you forfeit it to me by your will. Do not do this "for everyone else so you don't disappoint them"... this is your wedding, my Queen, and I want you to rule it."
"But first and foremostly," Huw counter-interjects, "... we want you to take walks, stretch, make sure you rest...enjoy your beautiful gardens and let your servants serve you. Do not try to do everything on your own. That is what we are for...and your husband-to-be is here with you... lean on him and let him do for you what we all know he is capable of."
Huw gets a suspicious look - What we all know he is capable of? Fiona's mind goes in entirely the wrong places at that, but she doesn't vocalize. "I'll try to relax," she agrees grudgingly. "It isn't something that I'm very good at. As you both know."
She plucks up some blades of grass in one hand, rubbing them between both palms and taking a deep breath. "Alright. Feast first - the wedding should be outdoors, on the point where the cliff meets sky and ocean. There is room enough for any number of guests, and from there it's a short way into the palace. However, under the circumstances, the celebration should not be confined to just a feast. There should be a processional through the city as well - with the gates opened to those who do not dwell in the city proper. During the fortnight until the wedding's end, there should be a period of no tariffs on any goods bought and sold in the city proper - the usual business operation fees can still apply, of course. It will entice more people in during that time, and help with growth."
She smoothes her hair back from her face, tipping her face up towards the eternal blue and white of the sky above. "...I will start seeing people tomorrow evening. For now, I'm going to go back up to my chambers and see what mischief Rhodri's getting himself into. I will take your recommendations into account and try not to do everything by myself - but that might be harder for me than doing things."
Both of your attendants rise, freeing your hands with a smile as they stand. "As you wish," they utter in unison.
"If you have need of anything... at all... call upon me," Huw notes. "I will be with a squadron at the far reaches of our borders, but I will hear you. As I have always heard you." With that, Huw bows. With your permission, he will leave...
Hwyll smiles, it is a grand look that. "I will let the decree be known. You shall be seen as generous and gracious, a queen of queens. Heralds will carry the news to the far ports. We shall be covered in splendor as far as the eye may see..." With that, Hwyll bows. With your permission, he too will leave...
Fiona rises cautiously. Soon enough, she will need help to do so - for now, she can yet do it on her own, and she is fiercely protective of her right to do so. "I will speak with both of you anon. Thank you for your faith in me, even when I haven't had much in myself." She has to go before she starts crying again and disgraces herself.
Blasted tear ducts. They've no right...
"As soon as it is feasible, I wish for the test to be done. For now, I will go speak with the Oak King and inform him that he is to be married in two weeks. It seems to me the sort of thing he might like to know." She turns away, not lingering to see your departures. Perhaps she doesn't feel it necessary; perhaps she just - doesn't want anything else which might tug at her emotions, right now.
And besides, she still has to go see what mischief Rhodri is up to...
Posted by rowan at June 19, 2005 04:09 PM
