Thirty times has the moon and sun displaced one another in their coursing across the sky. Beneath their play, the city has continued, its citizens in sport and labour alike engaged. For full thirty days, with Lord News and Madam Gossip and Sir Wondering and sly Dame Scandal attending one another in perpetual purse-lipped contribution to the common fund of supposed knowledge.
     But what is known and not merely supposed are three things, in the best of fairy traditions. One, that the High King has returned. Two, that the new queen has given birth to twins. And three...
     Three, the High King, the Oak King and the New Queen have remained together since the High King's return...
     Gossip enough for any - even a novice attending the fabled School of Whispers would find more than merely ample material for thesis and spinning alike, here. But who attends to such? Some have better things to do with their time.
     "Rhodri, have you seen my boots?" Fiona is not looking very queenly at the moment, bent over double to peer with a scowl under the overhang of bedclothes where they sweep towards the floor. Her hair is arranged in a single thick braid; she is clothed in a long gown, simple in design; its material is thick but not clumpy, something between cotton and wool in an off shade of white, muted warmth in its undertones. Gold earrings dangle from both ears, both her husbands' rings sparkling from her hands. Impatiently she dismisses the notion of boots for the moment, straightening and picking up her cloak to swirl it round her shoulders. "I hope we've got enough nappies for the boys. Maybe I'd better check on those nurses."
     The fretfulness of the new mother rears its head, and she changes direction, still barefoot for the moment. "Gwilym's likely fussing for his milk," Fiona mutters. "Maybe I should feed them again now, before we get on the boat. I hope they don't get sea-sick. I don't know how to handle a sea-sick baby, let alone two."

     "They'll be fine," Rhodri assures as he looks over the bags -- his, yours, the Twin Princes. Davydd is the only one packing only what he has on him. "They'll probably sleep most of it, what with all the rocking..." He passes you as you turn around again, and he chuckles, unable to keep up with you. "Maybe a last feeding would be good. You are making me dizzy with all your pacing..."
     A hand lands on your hip, and he grins, kissing you, nibbling your neck all in one thieving motion. "I'll get the valets to cart this down to the docks. I think we have enough for a goodly stay. The nappies...well... we'll be washing them so can reuse. I think it will be alright." He is thinking about that as he says it, lifting his hand and scritching fingers through bronze hair, a brilliant red-gold mop top just like his son's. "Yeah, I think that'll be fine."
     Rhodri heads for the door of the bedroom, pulling the chord that calls the valets. "Is there anything else you can think of that you'd like to have? I have my guitar already on the way to the dock..." Several valets begin to file in, lifting bags and the trunk of things for the two boys. "Take these down to the dock straight away. And call the nursemaids in with the princes..."

     And where is Davydd in all this hustle and bustle? Back from the docks where the torchlights are gleaming upon equally gleaming sails, the High King returns with a retinue trailing behind him. Like a snowball rolling downhill to become a snowmonster, so Davydd's stroll to the docks to check on things started as a stroll and became a full on parade.
     No, I don't need anything...
     Yes, I am in a hurry...
     No, I don't want to give any speeches...
     Don't you people have anything else to do?
     He had to stop his stride through the palace halls to delegate. You, go get me a drink. You, go tell the Queen and Oak King I'm on my way and the ship is ready when they are. You, make sure there's plenty of honey on board. You... go with him... make sure he does what I ask...
     After all fairies are dispersed, Davydd continues through the palace and upstairs to the Queen's private suites...

     "Mm," Fiona sighs, but the sound is discontent despite the kiss. "I hope they do sleep - but, well, we'll see. Thank god for magic, eh?" Her hand comes up to touch your cheek, and then she turns away again. "Thief," she accuses lightly. "Trying to distract me from my task."
     She spots her boots, and with a triumphant crow, pounces upon them and drags them to the bed. Fiona sinks upon it and begins dragging them on - first one, then the other. "Most things I'd want I'll just make when I need them - easier than packing clothes. I only keep the things you two particularly like," she informs you carelessly. "But yes, there is something - a silk cushion and basket for Lord Sangria, and plenty of food for him - though knowing him, he'll content himself on rats in the ship's hold." Lord Sangria, of course, being the enormous red cat she'd adopted in the late stages of her pregnancy. She dotes upon him almost as much as her husbands and sons...
     She straightens, taking a deep breath and turning to her mirror. One hand lifts to still a trembling earring. "I'm all at sixes and sevens," Fiona mutters, "and I look a prissy bitch, I do think. I'll change later. I just think - well, no, I won't go on about that." She squares her shoulders, nodding once to her reflection and then turning with another burst of movement towards the door. "When did I last feed them? I think it wasn't long ago."

     "Let's see," Rhodri drawls out and he reaches up, tracing a clock in the air. It gleams red and flashes the space of an hour. "A little over an hour ago, by my watch." He grins at you and blows, as if blowing a kiss in your direction, and the clock dissolves. "They're probably alright, love. You can save it for if they get fussy when we push off. It'll make sure they sleep through the channels at any rate..."
     He comes up behind you, capturing you in his arms. "You look beautiful," Rhodri whispers, his mouth wandering over the line of your neck. "You look at least eights and nines." Rhodri holds you close, swaying you a little. "I think we're ready, hmm? And we have babysitters built in..." He grins.
     "Oh," he remembers suddenly, "... where is Lord Sangria... you taking him on a leash or am I going to have to brave physical injury to carry him down..."

     "That's true." She is soothed from her task, and then - captured. With a low, close-lipped laugh, she leans back against you. "Not full on tens? Brute," Fiona whispers teasingly up against you, head tipped back and eyes closing. "I'm ready if you are."
     Then she pulls away after that low blow, fussing with her hair. "I'll take him down myself," Fiona declares grandly, "since you're afraid. He won't scratch me. Sangria! Sangria, where are you?" A streak of orange-red shoots out from under the bed, giving the humans a reproachful look with unblinking yellow eyes. The queen advances.
     "C'mere, cat," Fiona says unceremoniously as she scoops Lord Sangria up in her arms. "You're not being left behind - no, don't give me that look. Yes, we're going on a boat. Maybe someone will be very kind and catch you a tuna."

     Rhodri grins as the boys are brought in, cradled in the arms of their nursemaids. "We're ready to board, ladies. How are these bonnie boys?" The bonnie boys are a bit bigger than one month. Though one month has passed, time passes in funny ways here. They're three months if they're a day.
     Two, fat, Welsh princes...
     "I think the queen will be carrying the cat," Rhodri grins, he won't that for certain. "Let's go ahead and get them on board. The cribs are there and waiting..."

     "Christ on a stick," Davydd says with a grin as he appears in the doorway, "... you are the dawdlingest pair. Ah, my boys," he suddenly croons to the princes, bending to give them raspberries on their plump baby necks. They laugh, and the nursemaids blush.
     He's such the charmer...
     "Here, gimme one of these boys," he scoops his son up. "Anything else?" he asks Fiona and Rhodri, pivoting as he playfully bites at his son's nose. The boy finds the whole thing hilarious.
     The nursemaids look fairly nervous...

     "I had to get my boots," Fiona says serenely, the cat still cradled to her ample bosom. "I think one of you two must have hidden them in an effort to keep me barefoot, at least, even if not pregnant for the moment. I'll take Lord Sangria. Rhodri, you take your son. Nutmeg and Clover can take our little princes' necessaries. And then I am ready if everything else is."
     With that said, she makes to sail out through the door, cat still firmly pressed to her chest. Honestly. Men. Always a fuss over nothing. She has to sass, clearly. It's her mood of the day.

     Such a parade you all make...
     A retinue of servants carrying a retinue of bags...
     A queen bearing a red cat...
     Two kings bearing two princes...
     Nursemaids following behind, their clothes catching the air and moving behind them...
     There is, of course, the armed centaurian guard...
     Aurelius himself is there, leading the way, his men lining the road from the palace to the docks to clear the path of the thrill-seeking throng. The gossip of the last thirty days has whipped the populace into a lively froth.
     For many, it is the first glimpse of the babies. For others, it is the first real confirmation of some of the more... entertaining rumors: that the twins are fraternal... the same mother...
     But different fathers...

     It's funny, isn't it, how things change when you've really and truly made up your mind. But there it is - the throngs receive a gay smile from the newest queen, who has something of the air of a movie starlet on her way to a tropical vacation. She's lacking the sunglasses and the Pekingese, but she's got the cat and the smile - the 1940s smile, that goes all the way right up to her eyes.
     Before the birth of jaundiced cynicism...
     Aurelius gets a smile all to himself, though she does not surrender Lord Sangria to him, or indeed, anyone. It is a public march, and it is for the eyes of the public as much as it is simply to get to the boat. Yes. I have two husbands, and two sons, one by each. So what?
     It continues right up to the docks themselves, where the large puss is finally handed off to one of the attendants. And she turns to her husbands and her sons. You do realize that I have to kiss both of you know, don't you? Fiona smiles, the glint of wicked mirth in her eyes. I'm so glad I'm wearing my brightest lip color.

     It's a good thing, then, that we're shameless exhibitionists. Rhodri grins like the king of thieves he is, taking the kiss you were thinking of giving, not worried about the lipstick left behind. It's a badge of honor.
     As for your other?
     He's not a shameless exhibitionist, actually, but he'll take the kiss all the same without hesitation and certainly not embarrassment. Davydd grins, taking the kiss and then straightening, gesturing to the ship.
     The ship...
     It is a galleon unlike any other around it. It is midnight blue, the color of the nighttime ocean, its sails of moonlight unfurled. In the early evening, it is a sparkling beacon, shimmering on the water. Its mascot, the dragon, on its prow is a living creature. It opens its mouth and breathes light. "Hail the High King Davydd," the plank-dragons announce.
     Davydd turns to his family, wife and fellow king, and the two princes between them. "All aboard The Draigamor," he says warmly, leaning in to place a kiss on his woman's temple.
     Rhodri stands amazed, balancing his son on his hip, and he looks to Fiona with upraised eyebrows. It's unreal.

     She stands between you both with her smile and her smeared lip-gloss, not at all concerned by the shape of things. In fact, she glories in it. Kisses and publicity and magic alike. My two larger-than-life kings. I'll have to start taking drugs to get a jump on you.
     And she turns to the ship, and her own eyes widening, and then her lips part in breathless laughter. Fiona steps forward to lift a hand towards the ship. "Hello there," she calls. "You're a gorgeous creature, aren't you. Does it eat, Davydd?" She turns to ask the question, braid swinging heavily. "And if so, what?" It is unreal. And not to be skimped on, not one moment of it to be forsaken, if the look of her eyes is any indication at all.
     She takes a step onto the planks, standing there for a moment and looking up at the majestic sails with her hands at her sides. "So where are we going?", Fiona asks, tipping her head back to look up at the ship in its fullness. "I half expect the answer to be Neverland."

     Bouncing his son and getting another gurgling round of laughter, Davydd chuckles. "Something like it," he says. "And it eats the wind and turns it into speed." Grinning, he mounts the plank and strides on board, his retinue following him.
     With a kiss, he passes off his son to Nutmeg.
     Vania!
     The High King's thought presses through the sails like wind and a dark purple dragon about the size of a corgi skitters across the deck. You might recognize her, Fiona. She was the one with the book and the bad attitude.
     Sitting up on her haunches, the violet-scaled dragon bows and blinks her large eyes. "Your majesty," she gurgles. "Majesties," she corrects, looking to the others. "Oh, you! Your majesty, that is. Welcome aboard The Draigamor. I will show you to the king's cabin below. We can get the princes safely stowed."
     Rhodri hangs back, letting the queen go ahead and the nursemaids. With his son, he brings up the rear. It gives him a chance to look around. And around. And around. The pirate in him is thrilled. You can feel it, Fiona. It makes his blood bubble like champagne. I think we're in for more than just a trip, darling. He comes up beside you, handing his son off to one of the nursemaids, even as Davydd does the same, and he surrounds you with an arm.
     "Thank you, Vania. Fiona, Vania. Rhodri, Vania. She is my chamberlain..."
     "And entertainment minister..."
     Davydd grins, "Of course, how could I forget. So... if you all will head below deck, I'll get us rolling and will join you shortly..." Dark green eyes glimmer as he turns to his wife.
     Why do I suddenly feel like Captain Stubing?

     There's a twitch of a smile, hastily suppressed. Well does she remember that night - so long ago it seems. It was only a few years ago, but it was so many lifetimes ago all the same. "How do you do," Fiona says gravely, by way of greeting. "We are delighted to be on board."
     A name - Vania. It is tucked away, and she steps forward with the smile finally allowed to surface. Just remember why you gave up sailing the first time, mister lobster. I like it best when your skin doesn't match your markings and your hair. What do you think we're in for, then?
     She is surrounded, but not minding it one jot. "Yes," Fiona tells the elder of her two husbands sweetly, "we've met. I am sure that Vania makes a most excellent hostess of all such events, and I only hope she's forgiven me for pulling her away from her soiree the last time." She turns in her younger husband's arms, giving him a brief kiss on the cheek and then stepping to the other. Because you know, comes the immediate retort, paired by another soft-lipped kiss to a cheek, that there will be any amount of wining, dining and smooching going on below deck? And because you know it will be a lovely cruise and you won't allow it to be anything but?

     I don't know, Rhodri answers honestly. And he grins. But finding out is half the fun of it, isn't it? "C'mon," he murmurs, and he leads you and the boys beneath the deck, following in the skittering steps of the dog-sized dragon.
     Behind him, the nursemaids and the infants come. Your hand in his, he leads you down the hatch. It's not the usual rope and ladder type construction, but rather a set of winding stairs that leads from level to level. When you descend, the rails turn to comets, the planks of the steps becoming silver and gemmed.
     There is holding plenty for storage and sailors, servants and high-ranking visitors. But the ship is empty except for you and yours and your belongings and provisions. The provisions for the trip are neatly arranged, stowed out of side on the third level.
     The dragon leads you through the hallway that runs from bow to stern, connecting all parts of the ship. It's to the bow that she takes you.
     "The High King's quarters are large and comfortable, with a separate suite I've set up for the children and your maids. It is a magnificent ship, no? Quite singularly magnificent," Vania goes on to say. "It has eighty guns, not that we shall need them, a man of war galleon class vessel, the fastest vessel in any kingdom. It is designed specifically to be the King's luxury liner. It will never be used as a common trading ship, though it has five separate storage areas, fully capable to turn to either war or trade, should the King decree it so. Ah, we are starting to move... walk slowly until you get your sea legs..."
     "How long is the journey, Vania?" Rhodri asks suddenly, if quietly. "Our destination is..." How far and ...where exactly?
     "It is as they say: it's not the destination but the journey, King of Oaks. If this were an ordinary ship, which of course it is not ... it is far superior," ah, you know that decidedly British tone, Fiona -- you heard it when she had a book and a glass of sherry in her claws. "... it would take nearly a month's time. I expect we shall be en route for twelve days..."

     Well, then, let's find out. The reply is prompt and with a faintly knowing glance, Fiona allows herself to be led. "I'm glad to see there's been thought made to my ankles, though I wouldn't want to try wandering about in high heels. I'm just not that graceful."
     She is taking note of everything with almost unnaturally bright eyes, making notes behind her placid brow for future edification. Perhaps for her navy. Fiona does have a need to think of everything, doesn't she?
     "I'd hope they wouldn't need to be used any time too soon," the new queen comments lightly on the topic of the guns. "Is there likely to be many who would get in the way of the High King?" She glances to Vania, then to Rhodri, and then she smiles. "My husbands," she murmurs, "are superior in every respect. That is why I married them."
     Superior arses as well, when you two have a mind to be. As well as possessed of. The caressing note to her thoughts is flavoured with blackberries, thorn and bite and sweetness alike. "So long?", Fiona continues. "Then I guess I'd better get started on unpacking, and feeding the children. Thank you, Vania."

     "You are most welcome, madam, most welcome indeed," the dragon chortles as she waddles forward in her ...well...fat corgi like way, to be honest, her reptilian tail swishing back and forth as she trots toward a great arched doorway.
     It's not fair to call this... portal a mundane door. Sure, it's shaped like a door, has a handle very like a door, and does appear to lead somewhere, but to look at it one might think one were going to step out into pure space. It's all stars and comets with a moon in eclipse, seen only for the corona of moonspun light around it. Clouds of stardust drift by like errant vessels wandering the universal sea. It seems all the larger than it is, stretching two decks high.
     Rhodri's head tips back, looking at it with mouth agape, as if he's gone from 500 to 10 in the space of seconds. It's unlike anything he's ever seen. Do we walk in or... fly or...what? The maidens that follow with babes are even more star-struck (quite literally), ducking their heads and covering the gurgling infants as comets dart out from the surface of the door -- or, rather, seem to.
     Vania sits on her haunches, her claws stretching for the large door's high, curved handle. It opens with a click, like curtains of midnight pulling away from an even more magnificent stage...
     The Captain's Cabin -- such a quaint term for such a large and fantastical place. The floor is tiled, or seems tiled, with the universe -- with the self-same comets, the same glittering, shifting clouds of stardust, the arms of the Milky Way one may see now upon the larger space. On closer inspection, it is the view of something specific -- not merely pretty stars and universes running on some random pattern like a computer's screensaver. It is the kingdoms of fairy and dreams dotting the Imaginary Landscape, with the dark oceans of future dreams dotted with heavenly stars and creatures. There, the plains of chaos, roiling midnight blue clouds of Unknown Possibilities -- both Good and Evil -- both unformed and waiting for God... or the dreams of Man... to shape them. Over there, your kingdoms, with the dots of flickering lights showing the kingdoms as they appear from above and at night. Perhaps as the way that angels see them. Across the far distance, no more like in the exact center of the chamber, is a point of bright light -- a single point, and it is softly throbbing.
     That must be your destination. A single point of light in a dark, dark sea.
     Rhodri steps in quietly, gently. He finally remembers to breathe as he turns, looking all around him. There are two other doors, presumably one for each bedroom -- the one that the married trio shall share, another for the babies and nursemaids. Here, there are rugs of spun light, glowing gently, comfortingly. Pillows made of clouds. Round-bottom bottle floating suspended. It leads the eyes upward...
     Globes of scented oil lamps hang to be the stars over this map of kingdoms, each giving off a slight but exotic flavor. And above this, one can see the real stars, or what one might believe to be the real stars -- who knows anymore? -- as there is a round observatory of glass in what must be the ship's deck, and there are spiraling platinum stairs that lead ....
     ... up....
     "All I need is a tall ship," Davydd's voice sounds suddenly from an opening hatch above, "... and a star to sail her by...get comfortable...come in, come in..."

     Fiona pauses there, and says nothing. Paused upon a threshold; how metaphoric will this threshold prove to be, in comparison to its physical component, in comparison to the thresholds she's passed already? There is no melancholy in her, but something of purpose, of questioning. I need to know...
     "I should have known you'd come up with a way of never needing to fold up your charts again," Fiona murmurs. It's said absently, though, both hands coming together under her chin as she scrunches her shoulders up and her chin down. She moves forward across the majesty of that floor with lightly uneven footsteps. "I can't even begin to figure this out." How was this made? How did you do it?
     The hatch opens, a familiar voice echoing, and she jerks her head up of a sudden. "We're in," she calls back, "but comfort's going to take a bit. I feel I might fall down and keep falling right through your floor. Are you sure we're still on the ocean?" She turns hastily towards the nursemaids, looking down at her sons with a softening smile. No - no falling through and into oblivion for her, or for you two little boys. "Here," she tells the girls, "bring them over to here, and I'll give them their eleven o'clocks. Then they can nap."
     You have pulled off a coup, Davydd. I'm afraid of what you intend to do for an encore.

     From where he sits on the high stairs, pulling the glass hatch shut, he smiles at you. Yes, it is rather spectacular, isn't it. The smile says it's up to something (clearly), but he accepts your praise with a bow. Rising, he begins to pick his way down the steps that unfold in front of him, winding his way to the floor.
     Perhaps you've now noticed it, there's also a second floor landing with a balcony that rings its way around the chamber. There are books up there by the score. He'll let you discover those on your own.
     "Ingenious space saver this," he nods to the floor as his feet land on it. "I don't have to have a separate quarter for map drawers. I can save that space and use it for carting the court around, or stowing massive amounts of treasure."
     Rhodri cocks up an eyebrow as the nursemaids begin prepping the now fidgeting princes for their next meal. They seem to know when there's food about. Wonder where they get that! "It's... a spectacle," he looks up, down, not knowing where to look first. But he'll fancy a drink. Looking up, he reaches for one of the dangling, floating, round-bottomed bottles.
     "Wait til you see the bedrooms," Davydd promises with a grin. "I've outdone m'self." The ship is moving, the sails knowing when and how to shift, the ship knowing where it is going and when it should get there. Apparently. Davydd surrounds his woman with his arms before she gets an armful and breastful of babies and he kisses her. "I kept getting dizzy, looking down all the time," he murmurs. Another kiss, and then another. The sweet kisses of a husband followed by the intimate kisses of a lover.
     With a wink, he lets Fiona go, letting the maids get at her with the fat little babies. He'll join the Oak King in a drink. "You won't have to worry about covering the glass either. We won't be seeing the sun for a while..." Plopping down on one of the cloud cushioned chairs, Davydd stretches out, holding out his hand as Rhodri finishes the first pour of golden, fragrant liquid. Mead.
     His eyebrows appear now permanently in the "up" position, as if stapled there. Rhodri hands him a glass. "It's amazing, your majesty. It was... part of this... transformation? Something's happened. I don't know what," Rhodri chuckles.
     "I woke up," Davydd says, sipping, "...and then saw tomorrow. So..." he glances around, gesturing to the fantastical things around him, "... I started... creating things out of dreams. Creating a tomorrow... instead of dwelling on the past. That's what I'm facing now. I'm facing forward, not backwards. I needed... a change of perspective, son."

     "It is fantastic," Fiona says simply. "It makes me wonder if it's all real." And that's not something she's stopped to question in, oh ... years, now. But then you kiss her, and she sighs, hands going up to broad shoulders in welcome. O captain, my captain?
     "Come on down to our level, o mighty king," Fiona invites a moment later as she's freed, casting a sly glance upwards. She moves to settle into position, freeing her breast from her gown by parting the material with the stroke of a fingertip - magic, rather than engineering. She holds her hands out for Iowerth, bringing him close and kissing the infant's forehead with a wordless croon before she guides him to her waiting breast. "Come now, there's a love," she murmurs, shifting her back so that her breast rises slightly, watching her son latch onto her nipple. "Greedy," she chuckles, then returns her attention to the flow of conversation.
     "Something's happened," Fiona agrees, one hand supporting the baby's bottom and back. "But I don't think I'm likely to complain." She smiles, then tips her face down to watch her other son fidget in his nursemaid's arms. If it means I get my husband back ... no, I don't think I'll be complaining much at all.

     Davydd beams at his son, the youngest that is, as he lifts his glass to his mouth and stretches out his legs. The ship lifts and lowers a bit more as it passes the channel islands and Dead Man's Reef. "It's all open sea from here on out," he notes quietly. "Ah, look at him there. He drinks just like his namesake," he chuckles. There's a dear look for that, one that thinks not only of Iowerth, the little Edward, but of his mate, Edward Meurelle. There's no melancholy on the subject just now. He's thinking of Tomorrow, not the past.
     Rhodri likewise settles in to relax, his eyes still flashing here and there on all there is to see, finally resting on the great map of the world beneath their feet. "There's a lot of sea between Fiona's bay and what must be our end point," a glance to the glowing-dimming-glowing orb near Davydd's left foot.
     "Oes, there is. I swam every league of it myself," he murmurs, tilting his head. His voice is dreamy to watch his wife feed his son. Or maybe it's the mead. "Here," he sets his glass upon the floor, not worried about the glass shifting with the boat's motions (it seems to stick in place), "...give me Gwilym," he says to the nursemaid. "You and Nutmeg can go in the chamber and prepare what might need your professional touch before they're ready to nod off."
     Rhodri quirks a corner of his mouth in his own smile of pride as his son's shifted from the arms of a nursemaid to his grandda's. "He's almost too heavy for the maids to heft anymore. They'll need a forklift by the time he's two."
     Davydd chuckles quietly, lifting his gaze from grandson to wife and son. "Let me know when you want to trade them off," he murmurs. ** You have your husband back. You have him maybe for the first time. All the way. **

     "I'm already beginning to have trouble with them," Fiona answers placidly. The act of nursing seems to have a somehow soothing, almost hypnotic effect on her, every bit as much as on the wee babes. "They're heavy and they're greedy. Once their teeth come in, the milk bar's closing down, though. So they may as well enjoy it while they can."
     She leans back, sparing only a glance to the charts before her eyes close for a moment. "Iowerth's not yet had his fill - give him a little longer, then Gwilym can have his turn. Such big boys," she croons, lifting a hand to touch a soft cheek, drawing a fingertip through the soft hair. "Someday you'll break your mama's heart. Oh, but look at you..."
     It's strange. I thought I'd feel differently, if it ever happened. But now, I feel ... I don't know. I just accept it. I feel I should make more of a fuss over it, but it just is. Fiona glances up, then smiles, slowly and spreading. "Here, bring him here now. Iowerth's greedy - he's had enough, but he's trying to get a little more in him anyway. Would one of you burp him while I give his brother his turn?"

     Both husbands are near you now. One (Rhodri) taking Iowerth and lifting him up to burp him. The other (Davydd) gently bringing Gwilym to you. A kiss is left behind on his grandson's cheek as he surrenders him fully to his mother's grasp.
     Another kiss is left behind for the mother. A soft, but lingering kiss -- surface to surface rather than penetrating. An acknowledgment of something between them, a moment of tenderness. Davydd smiles and then stands.
     There's a sound of a belch that'd make a Welsh king proud, followed close on by Rhodri's laughter. "That's hereditary, that is. You can't help it, brawd," brother, he says. He begins swaying in rhythm with the ship, getting the boy right lulled.
     For a time, there's quiet between you all. Just the sounds of a family settling in, and of a ship carrying them all forward. Davydd picks up his drink, and wanders over the map of fairyland beneath his feet. A star shape is moving slowly from Fiona's bay toward the slowly throbbing light. Other, smaller lights are moving from kingdom to kingdom. Ships. Docked at Fiona's Bay. Others heading from there and following the coastline like mariners of olde (as most do), as they move from kingdom to kingdom. Over land, too, caravans carry the goods from coastal kingdoms to the more inland nations.
     From here, the High King can watch over all...

     A baby to her breast again, even if not the same baby, and Fiona smiles at her husbands. "Isn't it strange," she says with a drowsy note to her voice, not quite sleepy but peaceful nonetheless, "how we've come to be? The three of us, together. All these hurdles we've leaped past - sometimes bringing them down on our ankles ungracefully, I admit, but we've cleared them all, now. We could have been anywhere, apart rather than together. And now..."
     Now, her eyes echo her words, now indeed. She smiles, adjusting Gwilym slightly and then lifting him with a critical look. "There, that's done," Fiona announces. "Just in time for them to have a nice long snooze, I think. All to the good - I want to change." She rises, her son in her arms and cradled to her shoulder, rubbing his back. "Shall I call the girls in? They should be unpacked by now."
     She watches the map at her husband's feet, watching the trickling lights as they move. An eyebrow arches, a slight pixy tug at her lips. ** Making it harder for me to prepare surprises for you, Old Man. ** Gwilym's lifted, cooed at, then lowered again. "Rhodri, is there anything to drink which won't get me and the babies drunk?"

     A lazy smile winds its way across Davydd's mouth. I'm sure you'll come up with something. You're an enterprising young woman..but it does make it easier for me to spot pirates, to keep up with spies. Even with the comings and goings of petty royalty. Davydd winks with sparkling dark eyes. Oooh, he's so crafty!
     "It is strange," Rhodri notes, plucking down an orange bottle and looking at Davydd -- is this safe? Yeah, it's apricot. comes a stray thought between them over the bottle. Plucking up a glass from one of the small carts rocking back and forth with the ship, Rhodri pours a glass. "One piece out of place, and it wouldn't be right. Something would be missing." He crosses over to you, Fiona, and offers you the dainty glass full of fruity nectar.
     "Sure," Davydd nods, looking up from the maps. "I think the girls can come take the boys and settle in for a nap. And... we can settle into our room." The corners of his mouth quirk upward. The look on his face? Heated, blood coming to his cheeks, color leaping in his eyes.
     It is a look that Rhodri catches, and recognizes. He chuckles quietly, clears his throat and lets the bottle, capped, drift upward to bob mid-air.

     You have no idea how enterprising I can be. Fiona's mouth quirks at the corners, and she rises, taking the offered glass from Rhodri. "Thank you, love. Adorable thief," she murmurs, giving him a low-lashed glance. "Bringing me drinks and other spoils."
     She turns to the door, watching Clover and Nutmeg return. Balancing her glass, she gently entrusts Gwilym to Clover, while Nutmeg claims Iowerth. "Thank you, ladies," Fiona murmurs. "They should sleep well now, but if there's any need, we'll be right here, I think." The nursemaids - both of them young and plumply pretty, Clover with lush green hair cut in a bob and Nutmeg with brown spiraling corkscrew curls - curtsey slightly, offering up in soft voices their 'yes, your majesty's as they depart.
     Fiona turns, lifting her glass to her lips. I've been thinking about you two a lot. There's something slow, simmering on its way to a boil in her thoughts, even as she sets her glass aside in the trust that it, too will stick instead of spilling in mid-air. "Should I change now, or wait until after ... dinner?"
     She has caught the sidling of that look, suggestive and suspected without fully intercepting it. The colour rises a little in her cheeks, and she twists round, pursing her lips and making a face at you both. "Horrible men," Fiona murmurs, cream in her tone. "Awful. I should change..."

     Rhodri smiles at you, "Of course. Whatever I steal, I'll share with you." It is a whisper coupled with a wink, as if it's a secret just between the two of you. "Why don't we at least take a tour of the chamber before the boys wake again," comes the sly suggestion. "It sounds as if High King Davydd ... really wants to show it to you." The sly suggestion is capped off by a smile to match it.
     "We'll help," Davydd grins. "But, aye, Rhodri's right. I do want to show it to you. So," he says, bringing his hands together in a rub as he grins a pointed grin. "Let me show you our room," a look between you both. It will always be a room for three, not one quartered off here and the other one there. Now, there is no separation.
     Davydd crosses over to the door on the left (the young princes in the door to the right). Unlike the main door, it isn't a veritable see-through portal to a universe but on the surface an ordinary door, violet with a platinum handle. He opens it and motions for the two of you to enter.
     The room curves with the shape of the ship's bow, each chamber is a curved triangle. How fitting, as the room where a woman has two children... and in the other, two husbands. The floor does not show a map but is tiled in violet. Crimson cushions form chairs and sofas. And though the walls have to be solid, they are solid yes? You couldn't see through them at the dock, could you? Just now they offer an unparalleled view of the open sea, and the star-pocked sky above.
     The large bed is likewise covered in crimson sheets and pillows. Large, it was created with three in mind. Hanging, bobbing suspended in air are more of those oil lamps, the exotic scent a bit more noticeable here. Little dragons, small like fireflies, flit here and there, creating flickering, romantic lighting.
     "If ... this is just the ship's cabin, I shudder to think what you've done with a whole palace," Rhodri's voice sounds softly.

     Her colour remains high; her smile, indelible. Our room. How things have changed. "Of course I want a tour. I want to see everything." She is on her feet, not bothering to change her clothing - not this time. Maybe later. There is a frisson of energy that moves through her, makes her motions more supple, for the thought. No distances. No separation. No jagged edges, just one flowing smoothly into another into another.
     She takes a deep breath, then exhales, drinking in the room through eyes and then through scent and then, half-entranced, through touch, moving forward with hands outstretched. "You put me and my little city to shame, Davy," Fiona murmurs, not looking back. "All these details. Of course, any man who organizes his closet so well as you do must have a certain genius for detail. I feel as if I'm rapidly getting lost, in here."
     She has always enjoyed the feeling of getting lost - struggling, fighting to win only to enjoy her defeat where the two of you are concerned. Isn't that it? Wandering in mazes to the heart of comprehension. One small hand lifts to a flitting dragon, then pulls away as if in fear of being burned. "You've mastered all the elements now, haven't you. Our sons have very big shoes to fill, with the two of yours' footprints."

     "Their feet will grow," Rhodri says, his hand landing on Fiona's shoulder. It directs her to him for a kiss. I love you, it says, and he smiles into it. There is a great... freedom... not having to hide this. There's no concern for anyone's feelings. There's no thud and flicker of jealousy.
     Davydd chuckles, and he unstops a bottle, pouring three glasses of the sweet liquid, non alcoholic but not without its own kind of intoxication. It sparkles, carbonated, in the three fluted glasses. These are also violet and crimson. "Here, join me in a drink. A toast to Us."
     Davydd motions for the two of you to join him. Rhodri parts the kiss with a last nuzzle and takes Fiona by the hand, fingertips tickling fingertips. "To our future, the ones in the other room now napping... and the future we make together." He lifts his glass, poised to touch yours in a toast.
     Rhodri takes a glass, passing it to Fiona, and another holding it aloft. Glasses chime. "To our future. In threes and nines and twelves." The three holy numbers of the Celts. "To the return of the High King," a special nod to Davydd, "... we've been waiting for you."

     She turns to Rhodri with a smile, face lifting for the kiss. Her hand lifts, touching his cheek, the eloquence of her eyes returning that love. It won't last forever, this easiness. We'll have other battles, other obstacles to conquer. But for now...
     For now...
     She turns at the call, to take her own glass. It is lifted, touched with a chime to the other two, a soft pealing as of bells. "Two our union," Fiona whispers. "To the two men who have made my life complete. To the barren past, in which we've mucked until we learned how to free ourselves of that gravitas. To the Good that we may do, and all of our happiness."
     She takes a sip, then lowers her glass, blue eyes regarding first Davydd, then Rhodri, and then her own feet. I love you, her heart is opened for you both, laid upon a platter. I feel strangely empty - as if my purpose having been fulfilled, I'm on hold until new purpose arises. It is a lull, and I'm not used to being this way. I need something to fight - quick, say something, so that I can fight it. Fiona looks up, self-deprecating laughter half-hidden in her eyes. "You two," she pronounces, "fulfill me..."

     The drink is light and carbonated. It tastes like champagne but sweeter. The bubbles continue to pop in the mouth, against the roof of it, and on your throat as you swallow. Davydd grins sudden and wide, his eyes deep forest green but reflecting no worlds just now.
     You won't be empty for long.
     The smoky tones of his voice presses along your skin, beneath your skin, just like the bubbles of the drink, popping in magic on your blood. And he's already laughing. You asked for it.
     Doesn't it feel like the first night. Rhodri's voice slides in after. That night when the three of us were in the club... but... better. He takes Fiona's hand, leading fingers to his mouth. "I think we should make the most of time. My lord High King," Rhodri announces, "...would you care to do the honors?"
     And the room tilts with Davydd's deep laughter. The room tilts as you are suddenly scooped up. Before you can fight too much. The dragons swirl above your head, tiny winged wonders, they flicker against the ceiling like stars.

     She reddens, expression turning almost pugnacious. Bastard. It's affectionate despite it all, and she laughs with you, at herself. Fiona shakes her head. "I set myself up for that one, didn't I." She knows it. She can accept it. Something of maturity, clinging to her, not yet ready to be shed...
     She finishes her drink thirstily, feeling light-headed despite the lack of alcohol. The two men are all she needs to be intoxicated. Yes, Fiona sighs, almost wistful for the memory. It does. She misses that moment, surrendering her hand and leaving her emptied glass aside, ignored, forgotten. You delighted in tormenting me with how badly I wanted that, right up until it happened - and again ever since. Rhodri receives a face, impudent monkey-like, tongue stuck out in sudden playful, mercurial banter.
     And everything moves, and Fiona squeals, squirming at the sudden shift in perspective. "What the hell? Davydd!" Her palm bounces off a densely muscled male shoulder. The fighting is obligatory, as is the sudden blush. Does it mean she is not intrigued? Not in the slightest. The bottom has dropped out of her stomach, and her eyes.

     "Yeah, darlin', you did," comes the rumble of familiar Cymraeg, in Davydd's lilt and drag. "Quite nicely, too, I might add." It's not a long journey. Soon, he crosses the room, you in his arms and the wide dark ocean ahead of you all. The future, that is, being charted as we speak.
     With gallant grace you are set upon the bed, and the high king, kneels before you, taking a place between your knees. "I can't express... everything that's happened to me," he murmurs. "I have to just... live it." A green glance follows Rhodri as he takes a space on the other side of the bed. "If you feel up to it," Davydd whispers, "... I would like all three of us to take to this bed. To enjoy one another. To enjoy the quiet," a glance to a door at the point of the bow -- one that leads to the other suite. "... while it lasts. Or at least until the next feeding..."
     "If you are not yet healed enough," Rhodri's voice is at your ear, even as he is settling on the bed, "...then... just let us hold you a while. Both of us. All three of us together."
     "No one else will ever understand this," Davydd smiles, chuckling at the end of that. "But we understand it, and that's enough. It's not... who has the most time with you, or... who you've seen last, or ... any of that." Shaking his head, Davydd leans in. He kisses your stomach, nestles his face between your breasts before leaning back. "... it's about the time we make with one another. It isn't about last week. It's about right now. And next year."

     "I don't mind," Fiona murmurs, hands lifting to the red-crowned head, fingers slipping through short, tight curls. "I could fight it, but right now ... I don't want to." And she is disinclined to do anything she doesn't want to, tonight...
     She settles between the two of you, one hand remaining on Davydd's hair, sliding to his temple. Her other hand reaches for her other husband, finding Rhodri's hand and bringing it to between her breasts. "It is a stillness, in a way," Fiona murmurs. "All three of us, we've been fighting - each other and ourselves and Fate - for so long. And now things have finally slid into place, and we're all where we want to be. We've won. For now, at least - we've won. We can live, now, without fear or dread or hatred or anger. We are all on the same side."
     She smiles, again. "My face is starting to hurt, I keep smiling," Fiona complains, then leans forward to brush her lips dartingly against the crown of Davydd's head, then turns to brush her lips to Rhodri's. "Darling men," she sighs. "Noone else but you two..."
     If we were in London, I would be unable to receive you. But we are not in London. There is heat in the thought, and her smile is as audible, as tangible as her voice. "I don't care what anyone else thinks," Fiona whispers. "I've said that, haven't I? I mean it. Here or London... you two are my husbands, and more than my husbands. You two are the other shards of my soul. Without you, the world would stop turning. Without you," her lips quirk in puckish amusement, "I'd never reach orgasm again. You are my present and my future. And I want to be yours."

     To be on my knees in front of this woman, to give her my heart, to be able to just surrender it to her and not to worry, for she will keep it safe. It is a relief.
     Davydd breathes his relief against you, a moonlit sigh from your crescent king. He kisses the center of your chest, hitting your hand and Rhodri's, and he turns his head, his eyes closed in the moment, mouthing his blind way against your breast.
     Rhodri's hand clasps yours warmly as he bends his head to kiss your neck. I've missed you so much, though you've been so close. He smiles there, his hand lifting from yours and touching your face, leading your mouth to him. "You will be spoiled," he smiles, nibbling your lips, teasing them with bites and soothing them with suckling tugs. "For all our missing you."
     Rhodri's hands lift the cotton dress, simple but lovely all the same, to reveal your form to your kneeling husband.
     Davydd's mouth moves against your breast, seeking purchase through cloth. As cloth is lifted away, his mouth seizes upon a nipple (a familiar technique passed from father to son), his teeth lightly teasing sensitive flesh -- but carefully so. His eyes open, looking up to you. They roll behind lowered lids.
     He cannot speak. His joy in loving you can, however, be seen, understood. The pleasure of his mouth against your skin, the rolling of his eyes. His breaths stroking against your breasts as he trades off, his mouth greedy. It all says what he cannot.
     He has missed you, too...

     One hand comes up to cradle a head to her breast, her smile going open-mouthed with a sigh of her own. There is relief for her in this as well - of tensions past, shed like old skin. "I have missed you both," Fiona whispers, voice suddenly shaky, vibrant with emotion. "It's funny. I'm with you, and this is the first time that I don't miss you while you're here as well as when you're apart from me."
     Because this is the first time you've been entirely here...
     It is all that she can say. She is unclothed, and all clothing melts away as sugar submerged in water, leaving the pink and white of her for your eyes. "My darling men," Fiona murmurs, finally, shakily, opening her arms. "Does this mean I have to grow up, now?"
     A wife...
     A mother...
     A witch...
     A queen...
     But still, in some central part of her, a girl...
     Fingernails dig in at painted shoulders for a moment, then stroke along the back of Davydd's neck. She turns her head, reaching for a kiss from Rhodri. It is all in balance. It is as close to perfect as anything can get. I love you ...

     Davydd looks up between the pendulous breasts, ones that are... quite frankly... all his now that his son and grandson are in the other room. "I think it's the first time I've been entirely anywhere," he says. "But," a laugh pulls from him softly, "...no... you don't have to grow up. Be the young girl you are and the woman you are."
     His mouth pulls at your breasts again. Whichever one his mouth must neglect by necessity, your other husband grasps, his fingers tugging and pressing. Rhodri's hands leave you briefly to remove his own shirt, so his skin can be warm against your own. The heat he emits -- it's enough to warm you and Davydd both.
     I love you. Rhodri's thoughts pulse within your mind as much as the Island's light pulses on the next chamber's floor. His kiss is wide and warm. Gently, he leads you back, reclining. Two mouths clamp down upon you with sudden warmth and coolness both. The warmth around your breast, as Rhodri's mouth seizes upon a nipple, pulling and suckling. The coolness between your thighs as Davydd nuzzles your legs wide to receive his tongue.
     Such a contrast: summer at your breast, autumn between your thighs. Passion clasping and burning from one breast to the other and to your mouth, showing its hunger. Gentleness lapping at you, with the tender tip of his tongue parting your lower lips and lightly flitting over you.
     Both husbands let loose sounds of pleasure that the nursemaids can't mistake, though they are making the attempt at quiet to keep the boys from waking. Well, to be honest, not much will wake them except hunger. Like fathers, like sons.
     "You are so loved," Rhodri whispers against your mouth as he returns to it. "And so beautiful," he continues down your neck and back to your breasts. Now his mouth is gentle, tender...
     And the mouth between your thighs presses and quickens, suckling and slipping its tongue within you. Before... I loved the idea of love... now... I realize I just... love. Before... I thought I knew what it was to be loved. Now... I understand what it is to be loved. Love me, Fiona... my girl first... my child's mother second... my queen, of all things, last...
     Davydd chuckles a groan, "Fethais 'ch archwaetha," he whispers.
     "Fel ca Fi," Rhodri replies. Suddenly, you have a crimson and skin-colored sky, as Rhodri is on his hands and his knees. His clothed groin is above you. His mouth descends on your mons.
     Two tongues move against you, neverminding how they might intersect one another along the way. There is no separation now. Not between the three in this marriage, in this bed.

     "It's the only thing I know how to be anymore." Words come softly, echoing on her own tongue. Hasn't she said this before, in a dream if not in reality? "I've played so many parts and I've run so fast, so far. I still want to be the prey for your Hunt, the sacrifice on your altar, everything. I can't hide it anymore. My arms are too tired."
     Thighs spread, knees lifting slightly. You two are all the religion that I can stand. It has the ring of truth, heartfelt and sincere, openly warm. In the three combined is the culmination of the year, the seasons meeting and overlapping.
     Her own sounds are anything but silenced; she has never been able to do more than suppress her sounds, the noises she makes when with either of you. Expecting her to be silent under the both is just unfair. Fiona gasps, back arching at the press of a tongue. We all fall in love with the idea of love. We all seek it out so vigorously - what do you think I was doing, from the time I met you both? I ran, I hid - I ran from one rock to hide behind another. And in the end, I gave myself up. I know of nothing else but this love, for it completes me. It allows me to be who and what I am.
     I am your girl. Fiona smiles, then gasps, eyes closing tightly. But there's a puckish return to mischief, and for a moment, she changes beneath the two of you; body the same as always, as nude as you have made her, but hair gone from golden waves to a fuchsia bob with storm grey eyes.
     "I like you two in leather," Fiona tells you with a slight toss against the bedclothes, a Drancy push and insistence to her tone, "because you're macho men. It's why I like to push at you - I like to see how far I can get before I'm in over my head."
     It lasts that moment, and then she's back to normal, continuing with a slight arch of her hips. And then I turn to honey on your tongue and I give in, because I'm just a girl. Kingdoms will rise and fall into dust before I ever give up on you two. Love me ... claim me ...

     Two men who love you...
     Two men who share your bed...
     Two men who claim a child from your womb...
     Two mouths that lift from you...
     Rhodri sits up, his hands gently guiding you to lie on the bed properly. Gently, he kisses your neck as he guides your face to turn toward your other husband.
     Dragons reveal themselves against his skin as Davydd removes his shirt, his trousers. They have not changed despite all the changes he has undergone, apparently. They remain as vivid as when they were first carved.
     Those dragons along his length turn violet with the accumulation of blood thickening him. The clusters of mistletoe hang provocatively clustered between powerful thighs. He puts a knee to the bed and the bed sighs in answer.
     On your other side, Rhodri's hands leave you to remove his own remaining clothes as Davydd slides in to lie in front of you. You are soon captured between them, sandwiched. They smile in their very different ways and yet one is reminiscent of the other. They kiss you in very different ways and yet... one reminds you of the other.
     Each lies upon his side, you upon your side between them. I like you best like this, naked and in my arms. Blue arms surround you as Davydd's voice slips within you, even as his fingers do.
     Sweet and vulnerable, Rhodri echoes in his own tones, and sensual and loving.
     Their kiss is slow, one mouth covering yours ... and then trading, as one hand moves between your thighs... then trading. Hands clasp and slide, from neck to hip to between your thighs in slow, but steady motion, nothing rushed despite the greatness of their own need for you.
     "No more hiding," Davydd breathes at your mouth.
     "Kings... and queens don't hide..." Rhodri echoes.

     She's said, you've said before that her markings are under the skin, hidden from view. But to your eyes, they are plain as day now, strands of magic that shift and shudder with fibrous motion. Gold and blue, green and white - every living thread is echoed here.
     She lies back on the bed as if willing herself to become a part of it - one with the mattress in a zen state of being. Muscles slowly relax, and her eyes blink open to smile at first one husband, then the other. "So lovely," Fiona murmurs as dragons are unveiled. "You make my heart skip a beat. You always have."
     There follows upon the words a flash of memory - that first night in the Abbey, skin meeting skin to an electric symphony of knowledge of one another, denied for so long. My heart constricts around the whisper of your name. It's thought, not sent intentionally, an echo of things said in the past. Fiona tips her forehead forward to rest against blue skin. And she is touched, and it elicits a small cry from her, hastily bitten off. It has been some time...
     Her body reacts to the touches, warming rapidly, skin reddening as her hands lift first to one chest, then to another's hip. She is caught in between - truly caught. And there is nowhere she would rather be. Only the two of you could have made me face my vulnerability.
     Another thought - not memory, this time, but fantastic idea, it unrolls from her mind to the man behind her. Black Jack Davy's, closed for the night; herself, sitting on the counter, confronted suddenly by Kelly's masculinity, turning into Rhodri's. Yes, she echos herself, you know entirely about my vulnerability, don't you? Caught up in leather, because of how I like the feel of it from you.
     Sexual notes, but with an underlying caress. She is a woman who has had to face herself, and acknowledge even the parts she didn't intend. And this is where it has brought her. "I don't want to hide it. I want the world to know who I am and who I love. Why should we cower? I'm not ashamed of us..."

     "And I'm not afraid for us," Davydd answers. He kisses you tenderly as his hand wanders. "Not anymore." What good does it do to be afraid anyway? It does nothing to stop the inevitable from happening. It does nothing to protect loved ones. It only serves to make one ineffectual.
     And crazy...
     They each kiss your mouth, they each smile at you. They each chuckle a little, yes... laughter... enjoying the feel of you, enjoying the lifting and lowering of the ship... enjoying the contagious epiphanies. "Thanks for waiting for me... to figure it out," Davydd whispers, to both of you, before losing his words again in the warm comfort of his wife's mouth.

Posted by rowan at November 11, 2005 10:52 PM