He's been drinking a little more than usual lately - well, actually, a lot more. It hasn't made him careless yet, but he's aware of the fine line he has to skirt. Gwilym ap Rhodri, prince of thieves and whores, peers at himself in the mirror skeptically. The sun has just set, which means his day is just beginning.
     I am not like you, Io...
     I can't hole myself up alone to get away from things. I need noise and distraction, and if it weren't this, well - you wouldn't like my other choice.
     He runs a hand over his chin thoughtfully, then scowls at himself - his reflection returns the scowl. With a sigh, he turns away and begins to dress himself for the night's events.
     Which isn't fair of me. I've spent too much time in the back rooms and among the whores and cheats. It's one thing to stab an enemy in the back, even if only with words and emotions twisted into the form of a weapon. But I should not have done that to you, brother. I am sorry...
     Charcoal grey for his shirt, something akin to a turtleneck only done in fine, thin silk that ripples with his movements. The same colour and fabric only slightly thicker for his trousers, pulled on and laced shut, matched by soft leather boots. He looks at himself in the mirror again, sharp-eyed and unsmiling.
     Is this what I've come to, then? My world changes, and I change with it. I do not like who I become. I need to find myself, and fix myself in the center - and then the world can change around me, and I, I can be who I am, who I am meant to be.
     I do not want to be my brother's keeper, but neither do I want to be his assassin. In either sense of its meaning.
     Gloves, then, and a scarf loosely knotted around his throat, both in white. A navy blue tricorn is perched atop his head, a glorious red feather tipped with indigo trailing behind like some sort of comet, and a cloak the colour of dried blood swirls around his shoulders. Gwilym stops to examine his reflect again critically. "How foolish of me. I can't go anywhere without my sword."
     A snap of his fingers, and he scoops up his sword from the umbrella stand by the door, buckling it on. He cups himself - just checking - and then with a faint grin that holds only a shadow of its usual ebullience, he thrusts himself out the doorway of his secret chamber.
     Tonight, it opens out onto an alley, and that alley in turn spills out onto the red light district in the Nameless Kingdom. Gwilym tips his hat with more gallantry than sincerity to a pair of female sailors headed to The Gilded Lily; they catcall. "Not tonight, ladies," he says with regret. "Tonight, I meet my destiny! But I bid you find your pleasure where you may, for we pass this way but once, or so I'm told."
     Drink ... I need a drink. My head aches, and my mouth is dry - a hangover of the soul. I am restless. I hope someone attacks me tonight; I could use a good fight.
     He swings into The Purple Rose with a stomping of feet and swirl of his cloak. "What ho," Gwilym calls amiably. "A round for the house! And brandy for me." Starting with the hard stuff right off the bat.

     The normal bartender isn't about the bar tonight. The Rose of the Purple Rose -- a buxom, red-haired beauty with apple cheeks both above and below, a ready smile and an even sharper wit -- normally tends the bar herself, reserving her other...services for a select, or wealthy, few. You've been in that number, surely.
     And so, too, your grandfather...
     Apparently...
     Over by the hearth, in the best seats in the house (the table with wooden benches), sits the High King himself at a game of poker (which he's winning), and the Rose of the Purple Rose draped over his shoulders, her eyes on his cards, and her mouth at his ear.
     Davydd smiles at something she says, eyebrows lifting (you've seen that look) and he tosses in two gold coins. That's enough to make one of the fellows at the table toss in his cards with a beery sigh. Your calling out grabs his attention, however. Dark green eyes have to take a double-take.
     Well well, Prince Extravagance, Davydd smiles a crooked smile. A round for the house. No wonder they love you. I'll have bloodmead, thank you. Since you're serving. Mead, laced with the blood of stags. A drink prepared for and served to him only.
     Just the man I wanted to see tonight, too. Davydd reaches up and pats Rose with a grin. He chuckles, reaching around and giving her apple-round bottom a squeeze. She blushes as red as an apple, for certes and returns to the bar. All flush, fanning herself. My my.
     "I'm all out, boys," Davydd croons. "Thanks for the drinking money..."

     He stops. Comes to a complete and utter halt. It's only for a moment, but jade eyes go wide in that moment, and he pales, blood draining from his face. He doesn't say it aloud; does he have to?
     What are YOU doing here?
     It's a brief enough flicker, and then colour rushes back into his face. Suffuses it, in fact. He glances momentarily to the bartendress, making his way carefully towards his grandfather. "Your majesty." Gwilym bows to you, with all the punctilious and exaggerated correctness of a dancing master; forward, down, up, back. "You grace us with your presence tonight."
     You say you want to see him, and he says nothing. There is a brief tension, then relaxed. One might almost think he weren't happy to see you...
     I had a lucky haul the other night. I prefer to put my money back into the economy. I figure it'll upset mother less if the exchequer doesn't stay in my hands for too long. Gwilym accepts a glass that's brought to him, glancing into it and then away, taking a long swallow. He's going to need another before long, he can tell. Where do you wish to talk, papa?

     The king rises, scooping up his winnings from the assortment of your mother's kingdom -- a member of the guard sitting with a merchant marine, the high king, and a renowned pirate. Your papa makes for strange companions. But such is the life of a king.
     Davydd grins at the look, pointed teeth on display. He takes the bloodmead as Rose brings it to him -- all seductive smiles and flushed skin. If he hasn't had her already -- she's making it known she wants him to! Davydd takes it with a wink and nods toward the staircase. His Mars-like stride (Io inherited that) takes him quickly to the stairs and then up them.
     He opens a door upstairs and holds it open for you...
     When you step through, you end up in his forest, a perilously dark wood tangled with old trees, vines and blossoming blackthornes and hawthornes. "First," he grins, drawing you to him in a tight hug, his hand landing solidly on your back, "...it's good to see you. Duw, you're gettin' enormous." He takes a deep drink of the bloodmead, turning to sit on a fallen tree trunk. "We'll talk about business in a bit. I want to hear how you're doing..."
     Davydd nods for you to take a seat with him.

     He follows you, snagging the brandy bottle and stowing it under his cloak with deft fingers. The pirate is given a thoughtful look - memorized, for retelling to Io later. He is still clinging to faith, even if by threads.
     Gwilym makes a point of not watching Rose, not tonight. He is afraid that his knowledgeable eyes will tell him too much...
     He claps your shoulder awkwardly as you hug him, brandy held to his side. The tree trunk is examined, and for now, Gwilym chooses to stand. You have asked him a hard question; you can see the flickers of indecision which run through him, and finally, he shrugs.
     "I'm alright," your grandson answers, sitting at last. "Making progress on organizing things, I suppose. For now. Turn my back and five minutes later it'll all be to shite again, same's ever. What about you?"
     And jade eyes flash up at you, mercurial. What are YOU doing... with who?

     Davydd inclines his head, giving you a once-over. "You sure," he wonders. "You don't seem convinced. Or... maybe it's something else..." It's a question. But he doesn't linger on it for now. He'll circle back around -- you know him.
     "Sounds a bit tenuous, Gwilym. I suppose you won't want to take me up on my offer. Well, here it is. I'll let you make up your own mind, you're a man after all," he smiles at that. "And all men must go through a ...rite of passage, so to speak. I'd like you to spend time on the material realm. You are human, albeit fantastical," dark eyes wink at you, "... and you should get to know the place, both of you."
     Davydd looks at you squarely, arms folding against his chest, his tankard of mead resting on the log. "Do you feel things here are at such a place that you can leave them for a time? I do not want to interfere in your progress. It is your success and happiness that I'm after. Loving you as I do. And... just at the moment, I'd have to say you're a bit lacking in the happiness department. Care to talk about it, since we're on the subject?"
     He doesn't answer your question yet. He has too many of his own.

     I am not sure of anything...
     Least of all, now, my family...
     He's on his feet and pacing the minute you finish talking, as if he can't stand the feel of his own skin all of a sudden. A maddening persistence of self, uncomfortable within his clothes. "If it comes to that, I could get things knocked into shape in three days," your youngest grandson tells you without looking at you. "It's just annoyances, not real trouble. Patterns degrade, that's all."
     He sweeps his hat off, twirling it and sending it to the carpeted ground as if about to do a tarantella. "I could go," Gwilym admits bluntly, "but I guess it depends why you want me to go. Is this getting me out of the way so that you can leave mum without us - me and Io - being there to see it?"
     Jumping to conclusions much, is he? But there you have it. And this, too, is what Io's had to deal with. The difficulty with his world; paranoia builds up. Every shadow holds a knife to be dealt with. Every friend, an enemy in disguise. And, well - he's eighteen...

     His eyebrow cock upwards with a Come Again expression, and then your grandfather peeeeeers at you. His mouth quirks at the corners. He doesn't laugh, he doesn't grin. Amusement is held only at the edges of his expression. "I'm not leaving your mother. I love her. What makes you think I'm leaving her? Because I was being tended to by a bartending working girl?"
     Davydd sighs, a smile creeping across his expression. "Gwi... I know the shadows you walk," he remarks after a moment, his smile trailing off. "I understand them. I walk them myself. But... don't let them get to you, son," his voice softens a touch. "Try not to," he corrects himself. Because some of the shadows, it is inevitable that you will swallow them. Just so long as they do not swallow you.
     "As for the Rose of the Purple Rose, she is a working girl. Not a replacement for your mother. I haven't ... put her to work, if that's what you're worried about. As for why I want you to go, I think it's important that you spend time there. Learn how the connections between Here and There work, or better understand them. I don't think you or Io will ever... truly know yourselves, understand yourselves without spending time there. And I could use your talents in my own business there. Your father can't help me now. I need a new black fox," he smiles, "...to join this red one..."

     You can see him relax. His worst fears aren't real; they're just shadows. But he had to thrust his sword into them to make sure, didn't he? It's the same with Io. Unfortunately, there he thrust his sword and hit his brother (a nightmare if ever he's had one). "Io and I agree on little enough," Gwilym answers you lightly, "but mum's one of them."
     That's all he says. If you ask more, he'll answer, but he's chary with giving things away. You speak of his shadows, and he doesn't say anything, not at first; he looks at you, then turns away, setting down his brandy.
     "I don't know what I'm doing anymore, papa. I did at first, but ... you know, somewhere along the way, it stopped being fun. It's still easy," he has to slip that in, looking at you with widening eyes before he looks away again. "I just ... there's - something's changed," he decides finally. "And I don't know what. Maybe it's me. Maybe it's something about the kingdom's back ways. I don't know. But ... things're darker than they used to be. Nights last a little longer."
     He scrubs his hands back through his hair, then exhales slowly, a long, dwindling sigh. "Gold sounds a little more hollow, knocked against the table. Even the girls just don't seem quite so ..." Gwilym shrugs. "It's just not working the way it used to. And I can't figure it out."
     A deep breath taken in, now, and he turns to look at you, this youngest, arms folding over his broadening chest. "What do you need me to do?" Yes, let's talk about that - much better than talking about the ways in which I fall short. Please.

     A large hand comes out, landing on your shoulder and giving you a bit of a rubbing shake. "You're not supposed to know everything yet," Davydd grins, leaning down and looking at you. "I don't know everything, and I've been moving between the worlds for some eight centuries. Too much pressure, Gwi," he murmurs.
     Davydd is quiet a moment. He gives your back a rubbing pat and then he withdraws the touch. "It's a time of flux, I think. I feel it. But change is the way of things, hmm? I should take my own advice. Talking to you is sometimes like talking to myself, only a younger self."
     He smiles suddenly, "You're not supposed to know what you're doing yet, Gwi. And quite frankly, son, it's a process, yah? Your father and I are still working our way to understanding ourselves, let alone the universe. But that is precisely why I think you...and Iowerth... should experience life on the other side of this veil."
     "As for my work," Davydd exhales, folding his arms against his chest again, "... well, it's complicated. Dark. Bloody. It is ...navigating the shadows and then helping others work their way through them, past them and into hope. Sounds a bit lofty, don' it?" Davydd chuckles as he leans in toward you. "It is, and it isn't. Mostly, I just... want you to experience life. Learn from it. And for going through this... rite of passage... I will grant you and your brother territories of your own. Though I'm sure Io's already staked a few," he smirks.

     His eyes brighten at first, as you explain your work; then shutter as you continue. He feels himself compared to his brother, no matter how you mean it. There is that stab of jealousy again. It will take time to resolve such things. Maturity is hard...
     "Of course I'll do it," Gwilym says nonchalantly. "You know me, papa. Anything for a lark." He stretches, then reaches and snags his brandy again, taking a swallow. "...Io'll probably say yes, too. I think pirates've gotten too easy for him. But ..."
     He hesitates, then plunges in. "I don't think you should have us always doing things together," Gwilym tells you forthrightly, green eyes flickering to you and then past. "I ... haven't been so good for him lately. He's better off without me right now."

     "I wasn't suggesting the two of you wear the same pajamas," Davydd notes. "And... I don't mean to throw you in together, Gwi. Habit. I'll try to break it..." He pauses, peering at you again. An eyebrow lifts, which is to say -- you're going to have to give him details.
     "Yeah? You boys having a problem? What's going on?"

     "My problems, not his." Gwilym shrugs, looking at you and then away. "We're twins, papa, even if we don't look alike. Maybe if we'd looked alike, it'd be different - but we're different. And the same age, so we're each other's yardsticks, oes? And sometimes ... it makes it hard to think."
     I'm not him. I'm not... and he's not me...
     "I ... just ... I get jealous of him sometimes." The words come out shortly, clipped, and he turns away from you, cloak ruffling as he walks as much as a cat's fur might bristle. "I'm working on it. But when we're together, you can't help comparing us, can you. I want to be recognized for who I am. Not who he is, or who I'm not compared to him."
     The words start tumbling out, his shoulders tensed. "I'm not the book scholar. I'm not going to be a general, I'm not going to be noble like he is, I'm not going to make anyone fall madly in love with me. People like me, they don't adore me, they look at me and they ask me why I'm not more like him. Well, I don't want to be like him! I want to be me, papa."
     He's panting a little, shoulders shaking for a moment as he gives himself a shake. Gwilym takes the bottle out from under his cloak, filling his cup again and bringing it to his mouth. Shortly, he adds, "...And I want to figure out who the bloody blazes I happen to be."

     "I don't compare you," Davydd shakes his head. "You're very different young men. And your brother needs to learn about life outside of books. I worry that he isolates himself too much. And you... I worry that you are trying so hard to be liked and loved... to hard. You get love and respect by loving...and being respectful. All of that will come, hmm? And...jealousy is normal, Gwi-bach," Davydd murmurs. "I'm jealous of your father sometimes. Hell... I'm jealous of him right now. He's off in India doing God Knows What with You Know Who. And I have to sleep by myself... or get scolded by my boyos while pondering the selection of a prostitute." He chuckles suddenly, rubbing your shoulder again.
     "You are a noble. You're a prince. And one day you will have your own kingdom. That's why I've tasked him with discovery in those abysmal seas. He is scouting the lands and seas that you and he, separately, will one day claim. One day," Davydd notes quietly.
     "Try not to twist up your gut too much, my boy. You're a bit too much like your papa," he smirks. "Worrying about the world... keeping all his masks in place." An exhale follows. "And then one day, when you're protesting about how you'll never love anyone, someone will show up and kick your ass with it." He claps your back. "Don't do the universe's work for it, son. You'll have your hands full enough just trying to figure out who you are and what you wish to do, without controlling Love, Adoration and Destiny."
     Davydd remains beside you. "I want you to be the man you are becoming. We'll all have to sit back and wait to see how that unfolds, yeah? That's the task of Life. It's not an end-point, Gwi...it is not a place you can go. I am, thankfully, still becoming that man I have hoped to be. I still struggle. So... you're not alone, oes?"

     He makes a face. He doesn't want to think about his parents having sex, even if he is eighteen. "I just don't want my world changing any faster than it is," Gwilym cracks back at you, but you see the truth in his eyes. He says it as a joke, but he means it for what it is. Truth.
     You receive a sudden sharp look. So that's why ... Noone's ever told it to him like that, no. "I'm trying to," Gwilym mumbles, looking to the ground, then to you. "I don't think I can control anything. I'm just trying to work on controlling myself."
     The brandy's set down again, slowly, and then he nods. Not alone. It's good to remember it. "I ... have trouble feeling like I am." Gwilym looks to his hands, then to you. "Thing is, Io seeks isolation out. I don't. Can't. I need the noise. It helps me think..."

     Davydd nods. "Hmm... me too. Silence makes me feel cagey. But. I tend to isolate in my own skin, throwing up shields and walls to get my privacy." He looks at you, then rolls his eyes at himself. "Not the best technique, by the way. But...you'll have to figure out what works best for you."
     Davydd looks ahead, eyes on his forest. "I know... I have trouble with it too. And worse still, I think it's all on my shoulders, which only makes it worse really. It's not all up to me. Others have their part in things. I can't bear it all up on these shoulders, no matter how manly and heft they are," he rattles out humorously.
     His hand goes to the back of your neck, another rub and he gives you a shake. "Exactly... work on the self... then one day, when you have more confidence in yourself and in who you are, you can begin to affect the world around you. As for Io," Iowerth's father sighs heavily and leans over to take his tankard, "...he isolates himself too much. Finding solace in silence is one thing. Running for it is another. And I'll be speaking with him separately. Don't warn him though..." Davydd grins, "I want to surprise him..."

     He recognises that. He didn't get it any place strange, then; in a way, it's a relief. In another way...
     "So you mean I'm going to turn into YOU when I get old?" Cheeky. Gwilym grins at you with that puffed-out chest. It deflates rapidly, though; you can see the self-consciousness, lurking there out behind an eighteen year old's eyes. He rolls his shoulders, then rubs the back of his head. "I'm ... trying. And don't - surprise him, papa." Oh, shite.
     There's a flicker where his eyes widen, and he lifts his gaze heavenwards. Oh, fuck, Io. What have you gotten us into? "I think he's still a little restless after the pirates. If he's half as tightly wound as I am, he doesn't need the fright. You don't need to be burying us, dead at eighteen of coronary arrest..."
     I can't bloody well tell my grandfather that my brother who is also my uncle is pursuing another man and don't pop in on him, he might be having homosexual relations. How the fuck do people deal with these situations?
     Oh, right. They don't get into them. You're just lucky, Gwi. Your family's a circus of incestuous carnality. Here's hoping Prince Tiernan isn't somehow related to us, or he's doomed.
     "I won't warn him," Gwilym agrees, keeping his reluctance inside himself, allowing himself a wry twist of his mouth; seeing the humour and mocking himself even as he laughs it off. "But ... you know, scaring him isn't going to make him want to isolate himself any less, papa. I do love him," he says suddenly, "and I wish him only the best. Really."
     I just ... don't know how to go about it...
     "If you talk to him - when you talk to him - tell him I'm full of shite, oes?"

Posted by rowan at May 18, 2006 08:00 PM