I saw him go...
     He walked out onto your fields, a modern figure in an amusingly anachronistic place, and lit a cigarette on his way, the fire tracing the air like a drunken firefly.
     I love him but I think I also hate him...
     When he dissolved from this air to the air of the material world, I moved in the shadows, my feet following the familiar path of the thief. I swung upon balconies, moved upon spired rooftops, evaded guards, dipping and slipping from level to level until I reached your own...
     There is a sound, soft but present, near the window. A rustling of drapes. It must be the wind. Do you even hear it after the night you have had? Your Holly King blazoned his way through your castle, to your bath, between your thighs. Before his night with you drew to a close, he made love to you again, your bodies clinging to one another and lovingly held by the linen and silk sheets.
     I know this because I heard this...
     I returned from my meetings in Camelot wanting to see you, expecting to see you, needing to see you, to share with you the excitement of the day, to show you how much you were on my mind, to hear you laugh and sigh, to join hands over the place where my son within you lies.
     But you were not there. You had gone to see him. He came, he called, and you went. It will always be this way, I realize now...

     For her own part, Fiona has no knowledge of your thoughts. She is lain upon the bed, hair draping in water-darkened strands and corkscrewing spirals, even spilling off the edge of the bed to waterfall towards the floor. She is alone...
     Or so she believes...
     And she is not entirely unhappy. Regretful though she always is to see Davydd's departure, there is nonetheless the small, lazy smile of a satiated woman. However temporary that satiety might be. The gloriously blue eyes close as she turns still pink-flushed, pink and blushing cheeks towards the pillow and ceiling respectively, one arm curling protectively over the slow swell (still growing) of her belly.
     She is happy...
     After a while, Fiona slowly sits up, putting both small hands on the small of her back. She hums under her breath, and music is her attendant, cleansing her gently and filling the room from top to bottom with the delicate scent of waterlilies and linen water. It is a magic which cleans as it goes, chasing away the disarray of your father's passage; it untangles her hair and clothes her in delicate thin cotton, almost transparent and soft, eyelet lace at the hem and cuffs. It hovers over the hills and valleys of her body, shadowing it. Something Christine Daiae would have worn for her mirror. And it is to her mirror she goes, though without candle in hand.
     "Let's see, I still need to contact the pixies and sprites..."

     A hand lowers, and the curtain moves aside. It rumples no more than if the wind moved it. "Did you captain of the guards not tell you," Rhodri murmurs it, his lilting accent coloring his soft voice as he becomes visible. He is wearing black tonight, leather as a second skin (soundless as he moves), a pullover of black midnight, his crimson tattoos going well with them. "You shouldn't leave your windows open for thieves to crawl through..."
     Rhodri expects that you will be surprised. There is that cool expression on his face, but his eyes show it. Soon his face will, too. He's jealous, Queen Fiona. And upset. His face twists slightly and he goes to pour a drink. "See what riffraff the wind brings in?" His feet make no sound as moves. It is because they are bare.
     "I was ...hoping you'd be there to meet me. I ... hope you don't mind my intrusion." He does hope that you don't, but he's not apologizing for it either.

     She turns, and you have your expectation in her surprise, the widening of the blue eyes that now pale slightly towards grey with shock (and perhaps alarm?). You can hear her gasp, you can see the surprise mirrored in her body as she pulls her arms protectively in towards her, the relief when she sees that it is you.
     Followed by the tension of uncertainty as you continue to speak...
     "I don't consider you to be riffraff," Fiona answers you, watching you. She stays by her mirror. You are in a mood that she does not recognise, and it makes her worried - and wary. She places barriers between herself and the world when frightened, or defiant, or - anything other than unreservedly happy. And she does not know what to think of what you feel - she doesn't recognise it at all.
     "I don't mind the intrusion. I've told you before that every queen needs a thief, and I am no exception." You receive a direct look now, and Fiona takes a single step forward. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there to meet you, but I am here now. Do you want something to drink or eat? I hope that they feted you well. You," she adds, almost as an aside, "do not look as if it did, but ... I'm not sure that I'd know."

     He pours a drink for himself and something for you -- he smells it first, to make sure it isn't fermented. He smiles, that wayward smile of his so like his father's. Only more sly in nature than Davydd's could ever be. "Something to drink, definitely. I need that. I ate earlier though, thanks. Here, something for you, love."
     "I came here to look for you," Rhodri exhales out. And I heard you. Repeatedly. So his face says. He takes a swallow of the lilac wine and sets down his glass. "Is there... ever going to be a time, Fiona, when you're going to think about me? Or am I ... going to have to be the second wife... and just be happy with what I get. I want to know..." His shoulders shrug as he takes a seat on the bed and begins to stretch out.
     "The fete was fine," he waves a little, "but you weren't there. The woman I love was with another man. So, how good could it be, Fiona?"

     She watches you quietly, taking the drink and holding onto it without smelling it, without sipping it. Something in your expression has soured her appetite for even the most excellent of nectars. It is there, in her eyes, that reaction of the wild animal faced with noises and tensed actions, hearing the baying of the hounds. But her face does not crumple. She does not subject you both to a wave of tears. Yet, anyway.
     "I have spent," Fiona says evenly, "the majority of my time since arriving here with you, Rhodri. Davydd has not visited so very often. Do you think, then, that I never think about you? I do. I'm not sure what would convince you of it. You are my husband, and I do love you." Though perhaps a little less, in moments like these. But that is not expressed. There is the tightness to her features, the quiet of her voice, and she turns abruptly away.
     Small, dainty feet carry her to the window, to look beyond it. "I won't be a martyr and claim that I give you things that I don't want to give. We both know that's a lie, Rhodri. But I give you - and have given you - things that ... if I weren't with you ... I probably wouldn't have thought about, probably wouldn't think about now. I don't always like that I - need that. I'm not good at it. But I have chosen to go with it, and embrace it. Rather than just - run away from it."
     Fiona pauses, turns back towards you, a fierce expression on her face as her eyebrows come together, and she scowls at you. "I could have run away from you after, Rhodri. I didn't. Should I have? You told me then that ... you didn't expect me to give up Davydd. That you knew how I felt about him. That you needed me enough to share, and that it was alright. What's changed?"

     "You're asking me to give you permission to leave? That I said that... in order to have some of your attention... and you are also saying I should be happy about it? You act as though I should be content, Fiona. When I come to find you and hear you making love to someone who is not me. Can I not say and act like I love you more and maybe my growing love is what has changed? That you are carrying my child too... but maybe when it was just mine you weren't as happy about it? I'm not blind, love."
     He is also rather perceptive, along with being sighted. And Sighted.
     Rhodri swings his legs over the bed and rises from it. He comes to join you on the balcony, the windows still open to the night air. "Do you think that because I ... know that I love enough for the both of us that it ...doesn't hurt me to know that it's true?" He sighs as he runs a hand along your hair, to the small of your back where he rubs slightly. "I hate to see it in your eyes... maybe one night I won't care so much to know that it's true."
     He is so agile, so strong. He barely sounds with the exertion that it simply must take in order to leap and land on the balcony's railing, balanced there like a cat. "I shouldn't have come. Next time... when you're not where I hope you to be, I'll assume that you'll come for me some other night. You should get your rest."
     Yes, his eyes sparkle and say, I know that you need it.

     "I am not asking for permission to leave. If I were going to leave, I'd do it without asking for permission, Rhodri." Fiona's chin lifts, and her cheeks flush; you've drawn blood, but she's angry, not hurt. "Should I try to sneak around with him, then? Hide him from you - as I haven't hidden you from him? I care for you. I care for him. I love you both. But maybe you're forgetting a few things - or not taking them into account."
     You rise, and she doesn't retreat. It isn't as if she'd have anywhere to go, short of trying to push her way past you or otherwise over the balcony. "Davydd has a head start on you. He always has - he was more than three hundred years old when you were conceived. With me ... he had months ahead of you when he met me, then years ahead of you when he finally bedded me. I gave myself to him entirely, and I had no intention of ever being unfaithful to that."
     She lets you touch her, but you can feel the tension in her, the anger - the defensive bristle and push of the punk. Drancy glowers at you through those queenly eyes. "Things happened the way they have - and I haven't been unhappy. I have been happy. With both of you, Rhodri. Not just him. Not just you. I won't lie and say that I'm not happier for being pregnant with his child as well as yours, but do you ever even think why? That it might not be that I was less happy for it being yours? We didn't know whose it was before. And maybe this has escaped your attention too, but I'm twenty-two, I've never fucking been pregnant before, and up until you swept me off my feet - from the time I realized I was in love with Davydd onwards - I wanted his baby. I told him so on the night that he suggested we ... pair off, and that's never changed. I have wanted it - so much."
     You are balanced on the balcony, and she glares up at you with her hands now on her hips, breasts and the slow swell of her stomach pushed outwards. "And when I was first realizing I was pregnant, it was enormous and I didn't know what the fuck to do. It didn't matter whose baby it was, it is in MY stomach and I'm the one who's got to deal with puking up my guts and feeling my hips spread and wondering if I'll get stretch marks and ulcers and oh my god, varicose veins! Your contribution is more than just a few spermatozoa, but do you think I was thinking about that for either of you then? If so, you're on crack, Rhodri ap Davydd, and I don't care what kind of king you are! I love both of you. And if you're going to get me worked up for a good fight and then run away, then don't fucking come back, because you're not the man I thought you were!"

     "Always with you, the glass is half empty with a crack in it," it's as close to growling as the more thoughtful of the two Welshman is ever likely to get. There he stands on the balcony, quite the precarious position with a pissed off pregnant woman close by, his arms folding against his chest.
     Arms unfold and lift, grasping some top crinoline adornment that you can't see and by that hops back down to the marble safe and sound. For a time he says a blessed bit of nothing, his own jaw tight turning that handsome face to something like the marble beneath him. "It's nice to see you showing some goddamned fire about me. I don't want to have to tie your ankles to your wrists to get the same rise out of you," his growl has gone, his tone returned to that thieving dry calm. Folding his arms against his chest again, Rhodri settles on the railing, using the marble as a chair.
     "You must love me if you scream like that. Do you want to wake your guards? You should really put someone on the roof. I slipped past your entire army. Who handles the security for this place?" So anger and jealousy, his own upset made better perhaps to see that you share it, begins to dwindle, and the tightness of his jaw starts to slowly transform into the slanting of a smile.

     "You bastard." Fiona is shaking, face growing progressively redder as she glares at you. "I should fucking wake the guards! Do you think that I agree to marry every man that asks? Do you think that I'm so goddamned unmoved by you? If I were, I'd never have let you in my bed, let alone any specific parts of you! Let alone," she adds, whirling away from you, "let you get me pregnant - you - you -!" It ends in an inarticulate little scream of fury.
     Fiona stalks away from you, grabbing things and throwing them on the floor as she does so. Silks go fluttering haphazardly to the floor to combine with magically-created jewels and soft pillows. A pillow comes to her hand, and she whirls, throwing it at you forcefully. "What the fuck do you want me to do? I make time for you. I spend time with you. I talk to you, I try to figure you out, I let you parade me around, tell everyone that I'm your wife, that I'm the mother of your child, I buy you motorcycles because I feel bad for having been away for a few days - not even a week, Rhodri! And now you come to me and you tell me that oh, guess what, my devotion isn't enough. It isn't abject enough, I suppose. Because you have competition. Well, let me tell you something."
     And she advances on you again, the anger resonating like hedgehog spines stuck at uneven intervals all along your body. "I am having your baby. And I am having Davydd's. And this is not a competition that you can win, Rhodri. You will never. Ever. Defeat Davydd when it comes to my regard for him. I love you both, you're both my husbands, and I regard you both with esteem and devotion. Losing either of you would tear me the fuck apart. But if you expect to defeat him? Think again. I won't be getting rid of you, and he's never asked it of me; all he's wanted is to get to the point where he knows he won't be shut out into the cold, that he won't be left alone. He's afraid of that. He's desperately afraid of that. Remember when we first hooked up, how you talked about connections, how rare it is to make that connection, that you've made it before and how special it was? Well, this is the first time he's had that. I understand him... and he's let me in."
     She stops, swaying on her feet, looking suddenly weary as she sighs - a deep, lung-emptying sigh that makes her seem to shrivel. Fiona tilts her face downwards, voice quietening, emptying of its anger, replaced by something akin to sorrow. "He hasn't had that. You've had it before. But contrariwise, Rhodri... he lets me in. And you never really have except once, for a little while." She rests one hand over the swell of her stomach, turning her back to you but not walking away. "Even right now, you're doing it again. You got what you wanted. So now you're shutting me out again, so that I won't understand you, because if I understand you too well, I might leave."

     "I have opened up to you, I've shown you good and I've shown you bad," like tonight, for example. "I've encouraged you to ask me questions, haven't I? What is it you want to hear, Fiona? I don't know what you want to hear if you don't ask something. Seek to know -- I've let you in. I don't know... why you think it is otherwise?"
     His arms unfold and his hands rest (and grip) upon the marble beneath him. His red-gold hair, long in the front and short in the back, drifts forward in the bending of his head. Rhodri shakes his head slightly. "I don't know what you want from me. Do you want to hear stories about my past? Confessional desires? I don't know where to begin with you. I speak openly... I give my heart to you... I tell you, even tonight, how much it bothers me when you are not around and yet you act as if there is this... impenetrable wall around me. I don't get that. I don't get how you can see it that way."
     Now it is his turn to exhale heavily. And even though he knows that if he steps up to you that you may well kick him in the groin or the shins, he does move to you. "Fiona... believe me when I tell you that I haven't mean to shut you out. And," a hand slides against your hip -- the stealthy grasp of a very stealthy man. "... I shouldn't have stayed... shouldn't have listened... when I realized what I had ... come in on. I wanted to surprise you and I stood out there and got pissed instead. Now you're pissed. It's a right lovely evening, isn't it..."
     Rhodri leans in, a kiss given before all hell breaks loose again -- the kiss landing on your head amid golden hair. "You're right... the difference is... I have loved before," he whispers. "Neither of you have."

     "I shouldn't have to always ask." Fiona speaks with a bruised heart, and it shows in the shrug she gives you, in the downwards turn of her head - of the corners of her mouth. "I talk to you - and it always leads us to sex. And sex doesn't lead to answers - not during sex. We talk out of bed, we talk in bed, and I never seem to learn more about you. You just slip through my fingers like sand, leaving me wondering."
     Her arms go around herself, her eyes closed. She's holding back tears now, trying her utmost to keep them from falling, trying to keep the quaver out of her voice. "I thought you knew that I loved you. I - I guess it was stupid of me..." Her voice betrays her after all, and she drops her head downwards, one hand coming up, pressing palm and slender fingers against her eyes, against the bridge of her nose.
     "...I guess it was stupid of me not to realize that you couldn't. The two of you make up the whole of the year, right? So - so there's things you can give me that he can't. And things that he can give me ... that you can't." Her shoulders shudder, and white teeth sink sharply into that full lower lip as Fiona squirms silently, insistent against the flood that's building, trying to force it back. She might rupture something, at this rate. "He ... is surrounded by thorns, but I never minded pushing my way through them to get to him. He can't give me publicity. He can't - acknowledge me in his world. And that hurts too - because I want to be his. There as well as her. And you..."
     She sniffs loudly, through her nose, holding her breath with an escaping squeak of that pent-up oxygen, then exhales it suddenly with both hands coming to cover her eyes wetly. "And you ... you can give me that. But your exterior's shiny and hard, Rhodri. And no matter how I hurl myself against it - I'll just bounce off. You give me reflections and illusions by default, and when you tell me more, I don't know for sure if it's real unless I see you hurting."
     Fiona pauses, arms huddling in around her shoulders, hands on opposite shoulders now. Her face is wet, lips darkened, cheeks flushed; even her hair seems to be tangling as the external evidence of her distress. "I don't want to hurt you. But my loving Davydd hurts you. So I'm fucked, aren't I?"

     "I don't know what you're looking for, Fiona. I ... don't know how to give you something when ... I don't know what it is. I thought I was doing those things, don't you understand? And I hear that you don't know me, that I haven't let you in? I guess... neither one of us knows much..."
     You haven't lobbed him with your tiny fists, not that it would matter if you did -- you'd just bounce off, right? Rhodri gently steals you into his arms. He has a way of plucking things, doesn't he? "You're not fucked. I'm not going anywhere, and from the sounds of it, neither are you," he smirks at that. "So maybe we're both fucked, I don't know. I have a proposition..."
     Didn't this all start with a proposition of his, while you wore another man's ring?
     Rhodri turns you about in his arms, his hands able to come up to your cheeks, to wipe away some of the tears. "To show you how serious I am, to show you how much I mean it, I'll go celibate for a while. No sex until you have the answers you need. And by then, you may want nothing to do with my anyway, as you struggle to get out of chairs and can no longer see your toes..."

     "I don't want you to go celibate." She homed in on /that/ word fast enough, didn't she? She lets you turn her, though you get a scowl. She makes no effort to resist your thieving ways; instead, there is a small sigh, and the crown of her head thumps in against your chest. "I love you. I'm willing to wait for the answers. I'm ... sorry that my love for you isn't - deep enough to seem genuine, but ... I'm having your baby as well as his. It's you that I'm marrying next week in front of pretty much the entire damn fairy world."
     Did you forget about that? Not too likely, is it. But her arms have now slid around your waist, and Fiona shifts so that her cheek is pressed to your chest. "Stupid men," she sniffs. "Why are you such an idiot? I thought you were smarter than Davydd. Why'd you listen in on us, anyway? Did you hear me say one thing that made you think I don't love you? Did you think I'm with you just because the sex is phenomenal? It is, but the sex with him is phenomenal too, and you'll only burn yourself by eavesdropping."
     They always say eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves. Perhaps that in some way is what happened...
     "I'm sorry if I haven't proven to you that I love you, but I don't know how," Fiona says quietly, leaning into your embrace, ignoring the tangle of her hair where it catches on things. "I love you and sometimes I hate you, Rhodri. But I do love you. I don't know if I could break free of you if I really wanted, but ... the truth of the matter is, I - don't want to. I don't want that. I don't want a life that hasn't got you in it. I like you..."
     "Is it so terrible that I want my life to have Davy in it, too?"

     "I guess a part of me is worried that you are," he admits that quietly as his arms anchor themselves around you. He rests his chin upon the crown of your head for a moment, then dips his face downward to try to look at you. "I stole you... you've said it, too. You went to Davydd, but I came for you. But I hear you... I hear what you're saying. And... I feel the same way."
     He laughs, "Well... it wasn't hard to listen. I didn't have to scale the walls, mind you. I waited until he was gone for that. You should shut the window and make me knock." Rhodri leans back a little, his hands coming back up to your face. He cradles it, kisses you and wipes the evidence of tears away.
     "I am a bastard. I've made a pregnant woman cry. Come on, let's have a drink. I'll even let you have a sip of wine if you promise not to tell Davy." And, no, it's not terrible that you want a life with Davy in it. He's not complained about that. He's only complained about not being on equal footing.

     "Worried that I am what? That I'm marrying you? Having your baby?" Fiona bounces a fist off of your collarbone, not looking up at you. "You did steal me. And I didn't really want to be stolen..."
     But part of me did, Fiona continues when breath runs out, and she sighs against you, curling against you. If I hadn't wanted to on some level - I don't know. Maybe I just thought that it couldn't happen. I don't know anymore, Rhodri. Does it matter? We're here. And yes, you had to make that effort to get me. And yes, I went to him - and if he needs me, I'll always go to him. But so would you do... if he needed you. It is about me loving him as his wife, but - it isn't just about that.
     You lean back and you kiss her, and the solemn grey of her eyes examines you up and down as you stroke her face. "I went to him because he and I have been drawn together from the first time we met. It wasn't a small thing. With you ... it was a minor key, and you always made sure it stayed in the minor key. You weren't sure what to do - but that set the tone for things. And I've tried to keep things fair and to give to both of you, Rhodri. If I'm not doing a good enough job, I don't know what to do. I won't get to marry him publicly for a hundred years. He won't tell his friends about me. I - cope by trying not to think about it and having what I can have. But I need you both."
     Both small hands lift, and she plants her palms against your cheeks heavily, staring at you. "I can't have the same exact relationship with you both, because you aren't the same people. But I try to give you both the same amount. You get more of my time..."

     "You don't have to explain it to me, Fiona. That's... not what I intended. And you don't have to rationalize it. I just... I guess I was just disappointed that you were here with me and I was hoping to see you after my long day of meetings. So, I added salt to my wound," he grins then, at himself, "...when I came looking for you and heard you... entertaining. So... there's nothing else that needs to be said about it, really. Not tonight. We don't have to talk it to death."
     Rhodri kisses you again, his hand moving against your face again. "I love you. And... I believe you when you say you love me. I believe you mean it. I will try to not compare ... that only leads to sorrow. Maybe I've been spending too much time with the Old Dragon. That's really more his game than mine..."
     As you put a hand to each cheek, Rhodri smiles and leans into the touch with green eyes glittering bright. Such an intense and intent look, that, even with the smile. "I am sorry about tonight. Are you ready to talk about something else? Or nothing at all," Rhodri adds, "...you've had a long night..."

     "You're just lucky that I'm not still like I used to be," Fiona says quietly, without smiling as she looks at you, even with kisses given and received. "We can't both sabotage things at the same time. And ... I do have something more to say. Just one thing, and then I'm done."
     Her hands slide from your cheeks, down your leathered front, darkness that you seem to bring with you as the night. "You are the Oak King," Fiona says simply. "You and Davydd ... you fill the calendar. More than the calendar, you're always going to fight even though you love each other. I - don't think I'm any sort of goddess, not really. I'm not that powerful. Or that wise. Or - anything. But you two both ... decided on me, and that means I'm going to pretty much both drive you apart and bring you together. And I can't help that. I just try to do it in a way that'll bring the least amount of pain into all our lives."
     She pulls away from you, reaching for your hands with your own, tugging to draw you towards the bed. "You two are the ones who can see into the future. I get - flashes of what's coming and nothing more. I have my own stuff to do - stuff which has nothing to do with either of you, as much as anything to do with you. But despite your competition, despite your balance, I am your wife. To both of you. And while I mightn't be a goddess... I will always be that mother, maiden and witch to you both. Because that's who I am, Rhodri. I didn't make you love me; you chose to, you came to me. And I didn't make Davydd love me either; he came to that conclusion because of who I am, too. So ... stop fighting who you are and who I am and who he is. Isn't this the way things are supposed to be?"

     That's it, isn't it... the tug I feel. The push and the pull. And you, you poor thing, are in between. Rhodri nods. "You are wiser than you think," the words are edged by a smile, clothed in moments of quiet and understanding laughter. "You're certainly wiser than the two of us."
     Red-gold eyebrows drift skyward as he moves with you to the bed. "You are my wife, and in just a few days it will be official." His hand winds with yours. "It's not about who gets what... it shouldn't be. And in a short time, none of it will matter for there will be two new men in your life, and both Davy and I'll be taking a back seat to them."
     Halting at the bed, Rhodri lifts your hand to his mouth. He kisses it, he lowers it but does not free it. "Yes... this is the way it's supposed to be. Never boring, seldom comfortable, but... right. And pleasurable. Now," Rhodri exhales, bending to kiss you with a tenderness previously lacking, "...get in the bed. I've a lot of work ahead of me to rub out the tension I put in..."

     "I love you," Fiona says quietly, settling on the edge of the bed even as she leaves her hand in yours. "I know it - doesn't feel the same as with Davydd, but you aren't him. And - what we have, it's younger. I was scared, when I found out that I was pregnant. It didn't mean I didn't want them, that I don't welcome them. I do..."
     And you're given your first smile of the night, a slow, blossoming thing that takes over her face and is tilted upwards for your examination. "I admit I was relieved that it was twins," Fiona breathes out. "Because this way - noone is being left out. Even though it's a bit frightening. My first pregnancy, and it's twins, Rhodri, twins! But I'm excited. I'm happy. Because I can be happy - that Davydd won't take this as another closed door. That you won't feel slighted in his favour. Even though I'm getting fat and everything, I have two wonderful husbands and I'm going to have two wonderful little boys. Even though I have a life beyond this - I'm more than just the sum of my parts - I am happy, Rhodri..."
     "For the first time, I feel like everything has come together and I know where I am and where I belong. It's right smack in the middle of the two of you and no, it isn't always comfortable - but it's where I want to be." Fiona lets her hand slip from yours and she thumps down on her back on the bed with a little crow of laughter. "You have warm hands. Perfect for rubbing my back and my belly. See if you can't bond with them, my darling thief. And remember..."
     "I like your darkness, too..."

Posted by rowan at July 30, 2005 09:04 PM