She has slept, and she has woken, and she has risen from her birthing bed. There are nursemaids for the babies, and there are personal maids for her, and even if she had no men to dote upon her, the queen has her court and all its myriad, many-faceted faces.
     She has bathed in the company of her ladies-in-waiting; long hair like spun moonlight being combed through, her skin like polished alabaster. It has become a routine that before would have been unthinkable, but now, it is as if darkness and light have met in her through the blood and the pain. Since the two princes were born...
     And she has returned from her baths, from the maddening exclusion of her women, dressed in robes of the palest silver with her hair a glorious cloud of wavering strands with a life of their own. Unhurriedly the pendulous breasts are bared, eager babes lifted to do their suckling, hungry dance. She is serene; it is like a fog of motherhood that has descended upon her and has not yet dissipated. With a glance, her women are dismissed. And you? You are sought out.
     Davydd? Come here and sit with me. Fiona's voice can reach you wherever you are in her palace - she knows it well. We should discuss things, don't you think? Oh, and bring some food.

     He has not wandered far. He and Rhodri split the time tending you and the twins. Now, Rhodri is sleeping, pulling the day shift by necessity. The evening is his time and his turn. It's only fair.
     He is dressed as most new fathers -- casually and in nothing that can't be replaced. It makes him seem suddenly human (great facade that is!). There's a grey Black Jack Davy tee-shirt, a relic from the bar, over a pair of khaki trousers. His hair, recently washed, has been left to dry on its own, short, dark and damp. A towel is draped around his neck as he comes in... and stays by the door to hold it open for the servants pushing a tray filled with food for two. The boys are on their own!
     "Just put it over there, I'll do the serving," he says to the servant. The food is left behind and the servant takes his leave. For now. Davydd beams at you sitting there with growing boys at your bosoms. "Did you make them say grace?" he wonders with a chuckle, lifting the covers from the trays. There is pheasant meat, warm buns and butter, veggies from your gardens and market and a few sweet treats from Camelot. Davydd comes over to you, giving you a kiss, then looking down at the lads. "Hoi there, boyos. Getting the bountiful breakfast? Oh, wait... it's not breakfast for you."
     Davydd bends, kissing you again. "Evening there, beautiful. So!" he straightens with a grin, "...care for some meat and buns?" That sounds a bit scandalous. He grins at the implications and heads back for the food. "We should talk, yes... there is much that has happened. I'm sorry for ... not sending word. I was a bit more occupied than I thought I would be..."

     "Don't be silly. I'm not a Christian." Fiona answers you with that unusual serenity, pulling a baby away from her nipple with an audible milky plop. "And I'd say it's probably something like their eighth meal of the day. Greedy beggars."
     She exchanges the babe for his brother, settling hack against the pile of supporting cushions with a lingering sigh. Oh, that's better. Your kiss is returned, her teeth scraping at your lower lip before she releases you with a glimmering glance and one of those neatly triangular smiles; so feline, can't you feel the hair on the back of your neck stand up?
     "I'm not angry with you," Fiona tells you tranquilly. "Bring me some biscuit if there's any - the flaky kind - and a bit of sausage if there's any. As for not sending word, I was worried, Davydd. But then I was preoccupied. I'm glad you're alive and well, and ... well ..." Her gaze rakes over you appraisingly. "Whatever you are. I didn't call you in here to yell at you about that."

     "Oh yeah?" Fiery eyebrows cock skyward as he readies up a bit of biscuit and sausage. For himself, the hot buns and pheasant. He also gives you some mashed potatoes, oh and why not... he gives himself some as well. "What are you going to yell at me about?" Dark green eyes lift to you and his smile slants.
     "Do you want me to feed you as you feed them, or handle the trade-offs?" he asks, moving barefoot over to you and the infants. He shoves a bun in his mouth, vipers holding the warm bread in place. "Mmf oof ah..." Scoot, his hand says, and he will sit in range of your mouth.
     The better to feed you, my dear...
     Setting the plates down, Davydd takes a hunk out of the bread and chews. "So...what do you want to talk about?"

     "You can handle the trade-offs." Her mouth spreads into a generous grin, ill-concealed mirth echoing in her eyes. "Or feed me. Whichever you prefer."
     Fiona slides over carefully and by degrees, still propped up against the hundred or so pillows, your son still held to her breast. His brother waves his arms gently from the bassinet, gurgling at the ceiling; she stretches out a hand and rearranges it, just so.
     "I want to talk about you, and about us. And about whether or not you're ready to acknowledge me."

     He takes a bit of the food on a fork and he offers it to you. Dark green eyes are on your face, lifting from your mouth to your eyes. "I am ready, oes," Davydd murmurs. "What sort of acknowledgment would you prefer?" More food is offered and as he draws the fork away, he bends, kissing his baby's head.
     Conveniently brushing your breast as he goes. Very convenient. Davydd leans over, looking in the bassinet to the other wee bairn. Well, not so very wee. Big lads, these.
     He prepares another forkful of food for you. "I would like you to see your new kingdom, queen of queens...whenever you and the boys are able to travel..."

     She takes the food in her mouth, teeth tugging gently as she pulls back from the fork. Blue eyes are lifted to yours, and they do not look away. She is maintaining her gaze on you - drinking you in through her eyes.
     I didn't really expect you to capitulate so readily, comes Fiona's half-humoured thought. I had prepared myself for protestations of innocence, or at least, denials and confusions and 'I don't know what you're on about' and so on. Instead, you've neatly pulled the rug out from under me.
     But she goes on looking at you, not so gauche as to speak aloud with food in her mouth. She is aware, yes, of your brushing of her breast, and you get a tolerant roll of the eyes for it, and then a smile. "I love you," Fiona says softly. "I've never been as afraid in all my life as any of the times that I thought you mightn't be coming back to me." Slender fingers cradle behind an infant's head, and she looks down at him, her smile surging open, wide and generous again. "Not just here, Davydd. Not just there. Both. I'm long past caring what people say or think. You ... complete me, as noone else ever has. You fulfill me. Even when I want to wrench off your knob and hand it to you on a silver plate."
     You have more food for her, and she lifts her face, sparkling with a tracery of tears that slide like crystal down her cheeks, unheeded, unnoticed. She takes the bite as meticulously as the first. Of course we will come. Do you think that I would stay away so easily? I've fought for you, darling. And if I ever had stopped to think about it, instead of clinging to you by every instinct, I would have suffered a terrible fear of heights.

     Davydd smiles as you take the food, smiles even as you cry. Don't you start, his eyes say, or I'll end up watery-eyed too. Who knew that fathers went through their own kind of postpartum hormonal shifting? I've been... putting my head on straight. Getting my legs back... after all that has happened the last year or so. I'm sorry for hurting you, when I've hurt you, during all my flailing around.
     "So," Davydd gives sound to his words, "... both it is. No more hiding. I'm ... going to trust you," he grins at that. "And that you know how to take care of yourself. You managed to pass two basketballs and live so..." He chuckles, readying another bite for you, stuffing his own face for a moment, and glancing at the boys.
     "There's nothing you can't handle. Including being my woman," he notes after a swallow. "I'm here, and here to stay. And," now he wears a secretive smile of his own, a glimmer there in the dark gaze. "... no more talk of dying in a hundred years or any of that rubbish. I'm the king, and I'll die if I want to..."

     "I figure," and her free hand reaches for yours, "if I can handle the two of you..." Fiona looks down to her breast, to the baby at it, to the bassinet, and then back up at you with that slanting, spreading smile. "And these two... on top of everything else I've had to handle, Davy, then I can handle anything I've got to." Her fingers tug at yours with a little squeeze.
     "Never," her voice softens again, "not in a million years would I've ever guessed when I met you, Davy, what would happen. I wasn't a happy girl at all. I was on the run, and so were you, and we ran away from each other until we came round the world to running to each other. Like a goddamn seventies chick flick." She swallows. Running across the fields in combat boots and leather jackets, one of us clutching a pint of something.
     She leans over, putting your son with infinitely tender hands and gaze into his bed. His brother is lifted, and her other breast rolled upwards, the nipple presented with a stroking of a baby's soft cheek against the side of her breast in encouragement. "We've both hurt each other plenty, Davy. I know that. I'm sorry, too." Fiona lifts her gaze to look at you, smile wobbling for a moment. "It can't have been easy for you - so stuck in your ways, so uncertain - dealing with me, all of nineteen, clamoring at your gates for change and well, and for you. What with you already settled in for a long winter and not wanting to wake up. We all always hate the alarm clock, don't we? And ever since - I know, I'm such a girl, my demands must seem so strange to you. So ... needy. I hate that, you know? I never wanted to be the girly-girl, but then you happened to me like lilacs in spring and apples in autumn, and here I am. And here we are. All five of us - three plus two. And I know that hurt too, with Rhodri. You've never been good at accepting love, because of your burden of self-hatred. But today..."
     "Today is different, somehow." Fiona sighs, then pats the edge of the bed closer to her. "Come here, Davy. I want to tell you a secret."

     "Is it wrong for me to want one of those?" he nods at your breasts with a grin as he sets the plate aside and scoots over, giving his body to yours for you to lean against if you like. "Today is different," he nods. He looks to his grandson, stroking the cheek. A strawberry blonde, red gold hair this one. His eyes crinkle at the corners again.
     "I wasn't off in London, by the way," he murmurs. "I ... was fighting my own demons. I needed to. You were right. All your observations. You know me," he tsks, "...you know me too well." An arm around your shoulder, he gently guides you to him for a kiss. "I love you," he murmurs.
     "So what's your secret?" he says against your neck, nuzzling there. The whole... feeding thing. Who knew it would be such an... inspiration? It's been so long. Davydd sighs, lifting from your neck. Temptation avoided. So far.

     "You're allowed to want things." Fiona smiles at you, voice and gaze tolerant. "But it's in reserve for the boys, and you are a man even if there's always a bit of the little boy in you."
     You guide her to you for that kiss, and she takes it as well as gives it, a sigh for you as her head tips then in release to your shoulder. "Secret," she echos. "I don't have many. Most of the ones I've got, I'm keeping. But this one..."
     It is with an air of drawing a card from a deck that she speaks, slowly, measuring her words, a thoughtfulness in her tone. Your temptation is averted. She does not even notice, this time, caught up in her thoughts, in your nearness, in your son and grandson, in the world as it has so changed. "If you had said no, we would have fought." Fiona looks up at you, now, gaze both direct and sudden. "Giving birth to these two - it's changed me. I'm ... not able to pretend anymore. You've been the most important thing in my world, and I don't know if you've ever noticed. Rhodri's noticed, and I feel badly about it - because he is important to me. The two of you, really, are the only things that have been that important to me. And now I have two more people who are - who have to be - at least as important as you. Moreso; they're not capable of feeding themselves, let alone taking care of themselves."
     Her hand lifts to your cheek in a gentle caress. "And I have a kingdom which ... I haven't been neglecting, but I don't think I've been doing the best I could by. Because I've been so worried about you," Fiona murmurs. "Never knowing from one day to the next if you'd live or die, or - leave me, or ... anything. If you're - over that, then it's time for me to get to work a little bit more. I've got plans, you know. Things I want to do. Here and in London ... the other world. I'll try not to step on your toes, Davy. But I've got to be me, just as you've got to be you. Can you handle it?"

     His hand moves through your hair, along your scalp, in that wandering, wondering way. He watches you and babe, tender thoughts to chase the hunger away. "Some night, I'll go into ...what I was doing and how I got to be here on a ship with dragons for sails. It'll make a great bedtime story for the boyos when they're old enough to appreciate it. But... to ...bind it in a nutshell good enough for eating and understanding... I realized when I was out there just how much of a self-centered shite I had been. And I am sorry, Fiona, for making you worry. You don't have to worry anymore."
     With a sigh, he closes his eyes, he breathes a kiss against your skin. "Well, Rhodri has keen eyes," Davydd notes. "Better than mine. The sharp-shooter." His gaze is a piercing sort. "How is he? You two... you are not having problems, are you?" He looks down to the infant, the son of his son. "He's a beauty," he murmurs. "They both are. But this one... he's going to have the fine looks of his mother and father. Your hair... he's our first blond, you know. I think he will have his father's fingers. Your laugh. It can't be easy, being where you are... in between. I know something about that. And... I'm sorry I didn't really see it. I was too focused on being a shite. Thinking everything as being done to me, without seeing my own responsibility for things."
     He smiles quicksilver as you mention handling it. "I will handle it, cariad. I will do my best," he grins, dragonflies lighting up the dark forest of his eyes. "I trust you, and I'm going to put my trust in you. Just like little Gwilym there," he smiles, and rubs the baby's cheek. "Just like his namesake," he whispers. "I'm going to trust him too. I ...can't protect everything. Doing that has cost me everything. Or nearly."
     "Shall I take him?" he suddenly changes topics, not out of avoidance. The infant prince begins to wiggle. "He's a greedy little thing, just like his da," Davydd murrs to the baby (and to you) as he bends, his mouth brushing against the baby's strawberry blond hair.

     "I don't think we're having trouble." Fiona's voice softens, as does her gaze, as she watches her son pulling at her breast. It happens without fail, when she looks down at them; these, the visible product of her love. "We've only fought once or twice, ever, really. Part of it is - as I've told him - we haven't known each other as long. Our relationship hasn't had as long as yours and mine, and so it's not entirely in the same place. He knows that I love him. I think - I hope he knows, I hope you know, that I'm not going anywhere without the two of you. It's become a package deal, hasn't it? And these two just ..."
     She smiles, an openly emotional, heartfelt look. "I didn't realize how much they'd change things, in some ways. I'm still a bit nervous, do you know, about being a good enough mother." Fiona tilts her face up towards you, her free hand coming up so that fingertips caress your cheek, slink through your hair and to the nape of your neck as she turns in towards you. "Poor Davy," she murmurs dreamily. "You've always had a hard life, haven't you? Product of your environment and all. If you've just realized how many people love you, if you've managed to put some of your personal devils down, then I'm glad. For you as well as for me; that's a hell of a way to live, ap Owain."
     Her smile lingers as she begins to free her breast from that seeking mouth, offering him to you without reservation. "It's his brother's turn again anyway," Fiona agrees. "They each get two turns, one at either breast. It keeps me from getting lopsided. And he is beautiful, isn't he? They both are. Such little darlings... I can feel my heart shiver whenever I look at them. Just like their das, damn you both."
     She settles your son in at her breast, murmuring a few liquid nonsense syllables to him, then looks up at you. "I want you to know," Fiona says seriously, "I'll do whatever I can to be ... worth the trusting, Davy. I know it won't always be easy. But I'll ... try not to wander off alone too much. That's the price of fame anyway, isn't it. Having an entourage. And if you and Rhodri ... can't be with me some of the time, which I imagine will be the case what with three kingdoms here and god knows what over there - then I will ... reluctantly ... accept whatever guardianship you feel necessary, so long as it doesn't entirely interfere with my mobility. Because this changes everything, doesn't it?"
     She taps a fingertip to your son's nose, watching him blink with a soft crow of laughter. "Because your da's just evolved," Fiona murmurs. "Like a Pokemon. Isn't that right? Your da's a very important man, even when he's full of Guinness and beef pasties."

     "I think he knows," Davydd soothes the thought of it being otherwise with a soft tone. He knows his son. And now he has two of them living. "Oes, look at that. He's a beauty, too. A real heart-breaker there," he grins and cradles his grandson, lightly massaging him for a belch. "Eh, it hasn't been as hard as all that. No more, no less than anyone else's."
     "He makes my heart break," he murmurs, watching his son feed. "Not in a bad way, in the best way. My little Edward there." Edward. William. Sons given the names of friends. It is a literal resurrection among so many of his figurative resurrections of late. "Just be yourself, Fiona. That I put the trust in you is up to me. You do not need to earn it. Just... try not to betray it," Davydd whispers. "Like I did. Learn from me ... on what not to do." And then he smiles. "My past has been a cautionary tale. My future? Well, I'm choosing a different sort of story."
     The great Welsh mountain trades his talking for humming as his grandson fusses a little and then quiets as he burps. Davydd chuckles, "Ah, oes, my grandson, that feels better now, doesn't it. Bah, Pokemon..." he rumbles at the end of that, cutting a look to you. "What's that anyway?"

     "Children's cartoons," Fiona answers tolerantly. "Not on any time of the day you'd be awake and watching. Monsters which fight one another and, assuming they're victorious, gradually evolve into stronger, better creatures. Classical myths, watered down for subsequent generations."
     She sighs as a small fist bounces gently against the side of her breast, lips curving in a rueful smile. "I'm nothing so much as a milk cow right now. Aren't they precious, though? And to think we didn't intend for this to happen." Unplanned, but not unwanted.
     "So." Fiona glances up at you, gaze again direct, bold. "What sort of story is it going to be, Davydd? We'll have to figure out what we're all doing, at least a little. And you ... I don't know what to make of you. I've never seen you this - together. I wish I could take the credit, but whatever you've done, I was nowhere near you when it happened."

     "I was in one hell of a rut, dearie," Davydd murmurs. "Like when you were in yours, only compounded by time and circumstance." Shh-shh-shh, he says to his grandson as he rises to place him in the bassinet by your side.
     "The night of your wedding, I just started to wander. I even visited the red light district," he chuckles. "Nice addition by the way. You ... really thought of everything. But... I wasn't in the mood for food or anything else. I just needed some solitude. Some real solitude."
     Davydd pauses by the table to take a bit more food, to pour himself a drink. "I fought my demons literally. My selfishness, my fear, the nine-headed beast of Chaos. I even burned in the sun once. Unpleasant, but you know... I needed it. I needed to just be... reborn. So... I was. Again... and again...and again...sacrificing myself over and over, only to rise again the next evening and assess my state." Dark eyes lift to you. "It was my bridge, I guess."
     "As for the future," he pauses, his mouthful, his eyebrows steepling upwards in a thought paused: The Hunt will be called to task, namely the pronouncement of the High King that murder will not be allowed to stand. I shall pursue the murderers of your ancestor queen, howeverso high it leads.
     Swallowing, Davydd returns to the bed with another roll. "Then I will employ The Wild Hunt in London, cleaning up the streets long neglected by kith and kin alike. Those are the first couple of items on the list. But those are tasks, not a story. I will right wrongs, those caused by me, those caused by others. I will be in London or here depending on the time of day."
     The bed shifts with his weight, careful though he is not to toss it too much and piss off his son. "He's an appetite on him," he crackles with a grin. "Wonder where he gets it?" he wonders in an innocent, blithe tone.
     You can take some of the credit, darlin... who knows how stuck I would have been had you not blasted me out of my shoes that night...and all the nights I've known you...

     "He's had about enough, I'd say," Fiona murmurs, casting a judicious eye over your son. Gently, she detaches him from her breast and switches him to her shoulder. "Come on, then, boychild. Ah, there's a love," she croons, bouncing him gently as he lets loose with his belch. "Too bad for you both that you're such big boys, I can't let you both suckle at once."
     She leans over, gently placing him into the bassinet with a contented sigh of her own, drawing the gown back up her shoulders. "I know you were in the red light district," Fiona tells you with a low gaze of something like invitation. "News travels quickly, you know. But ... I'm glad you figured out what you needed, my Davy." Both small hands move to your shoulder, and for a moment, she leans against you gently before she resumes her position against the pillows. "I understand about bridges. Seems to me you and I, we can't just walk over them like ordinary people; there's just nothing ordinary to us."
     She listens to you detail, describe, explain, hands folding together under her chin. There's an element of distraction to her - the new mother, unfamiliar with motherhood, one eye and one ear turned towards her children always even as you speak. "I was there," Fiona murmurs, "but Davy, you did the same for me, you know. If it hadn't been for you, where do you think I'd be? It wouldn't be here."
     It doesn't surprise me, somehow, that you're the High King. I don't know why, but somehow it still does surprise me, a little, that you ... want me to be your queen. The colour moves into her face, and she has to look down, eyelashes slipping in a blink to shelter her sudden nerves, her vulnerability, from your green gaze. Here or there. I didn't expect it. I don't know why - you've said often enough that I'm who and what you want. I've just - held myself tense for so long, I suppose, expecting you to ... go somewhere else, to someone else. Maybe not so fair of me, but - I suppose what with Rhodri in the picture, I've been afraid that you would because you'd feel that you could and be off the hook.

     "Quite the opposite really," Davydd murmurs. "I'm not only on the hook, I'm in the boat." He grins broadly. "Oh, and you should see the ship I sailed in on. Do you think you'll be up to traveling in a couple of weeks? I want to show you... all of you, our new home. Well, the new kingdom of kingdoms."
     Leaning in to you, the weight of his body momentarily against you, Davydd kisses your neck again, bringing your face to his own for a kiss upon your mouth. I'm not going anywhere. I want you because you suit me. If I were a shopkeeper rather than a king, I'd feel the same way.
     "I should let you sleep while they are sleeping," he sighs. "And you need your rest, besides. Not some man keeping you up past your hour. When they wake, I'll wake you..." He leans in for another kiss.

     "My darling Davy," Fiona sighs, leaning up against you for a moment, hands lifting to your shoulders. "Of course I will. Not just yet; it will take me a bit to heal up, I'm afraid. It went well, but I did tear a bit. They were just that big. I'm glad it was done here and not in London, or I'd be stuck in hospital, likely, instead of having magic to help me out." Her hand runs down along your cheek to your shoulder, then presses for a moment to your chest before falling away. "I want to see it. I want to see you as you're supposed to be," she murmurs. "Ardh Rhi... king of kings..."
     She smiles against your kiss, against your mouth. You suit me too, Davy. Uncommonly well. Even if you turn me into such a girl. I'll have to take up some obnoxiously boyish habit just to keep my chops in condition. Lips nibble playfully at yours, and then she sinks back to the cushions, closing her eyes.
     "I'm getting used to sleeping in three hour increments," Fiona murmurs. "All those years of catnapping on trains has come in handy, I think - but still, a little part of me looks forward to the first time I get to sleep a solid nine hours at a stretch. Stay with me for a bit, though? I want to dream with you a bit, even if I've got to pop off to sleep and pretend the world's gone away. And," she glances down disparagingly at herself, "refill the balloons with more milk."

     He chuckles quietly, bringing you into his arms to hold you. He'll stay for a while. He'll even sleep for a while himself. You can feel him settling in for a bit of rest. "I'm partial to those pillows, madame. Don't bad mouth them. And you're more than a bit of moo for your boys. You're their mama, oes? And they love you more than anything else in the world. More than you've ever been loved by anyone or anything. Even me."
     He begins to deeply hum, a soft and rolling sound like the sea. A wordless lullaby for all around. You and him and the Bassinet Boys.
     "You'll see it," he interrupts his song to whisper to you. "There's no rush. We're not going anywhere, my kingdom and I..."

     "Calm before the storm," Fiona murmurs sleepily, an arm sliding across the breadth of your chest. "We're stormy people, Davy. We'll have our lulls, but I don't know about more than that. I'm no sort of prophetess, anyway." She snuggles for a moment, then sighs, the sound again contented.
     "I'm glad you love me. I'm glad I love you. I'm even glad for you picking me off the cement and all our fighting - because if it hadn't been, we wouldn't be here, would we?" Her voice is drowsy, now. Giving birth and making milk take a lot out of a woman. "And we have a wonderful family, and oh, I do sound like a little fool, I know, but I'm glad - glad - glad! that it's you and me and Rhodri. It all could have gone to hell so easily."
     She says nothing more, a small smile appearing on her face below the crescents of closed eyes. My Davy... soldier, king, pain in the arse ... but most of all ... mine.

Posted by rowan at November 05, 2005 09:04 PM