The castle of Powis exists in two places at once. It stands as a great red structure, gleaming with the heat of summer in Avalon and upon the Welsh countryside, surrounded on all sides by gardens and rolling green hills. In one place, a pair of black boots steps between the apple orchards, with its Gwilym-green apples hanging heavily from the boughs, and then transform to Doc Martens as he enters upon the material plane. He glistens, as he always does, a moment after arriving, his fiery red hair taking on a flickering glow, so like flames.
     The loose ivory silk of a shirt becomes a white t-shirt; the midnight blue leathers become a pair of old jeans. The captain's sword becomes a cell phone. And the coat peels away, leaving a blue pinstriped blazer behind. He looks like any country gent's stylish son, out there walking amid the grounds.
     There is a smile that hovers over his expression these days and nights. Something of relief, the shrugging off of burdens that makes him seem younger, not quite as serious. Happy, perhaps. Yes, one might call him happy. At peace with where he stands and how he stands.
     One lover... he makes him remember his gentleness, his compassion, his tenderness, to express his love and emotions. To be a man..
     His other lover... he allows him to wear his power fully, to express his strength, his primal energies. To be a king.
     Between the two, Iowerth Rhudd Draig is made complete...
     "Mother?" His voice fills the entry hall of the great castle as he turns to close the doors behind him. The large and heavy oak closes most resolutely, like the edict of a king. Stepping forward on the red and white marble, Iowerth cranes his neck, peering into gallery and entry parlor as he enters fully. "I'm here, well... obviously. As I'm talking to thin air..." That droll sensibility has not left him, could not leave him, it is who he is.

     "Come into the parlor, darling." Fiona calls it out; she is curled up on a chaise between peacock feathered urns, both hands on her swelling belly. It's impossible to be just a 'little bit pregnant', and she seems to take that to heart. She's showing already, and not only showing, but getting rather rounded, breasts enlarged a bit, hips spread a bit, with the mass between them.
     She's wearing an ocean blue dress of some thin material, lightweight for the summer. A scarlet and black throw is nearby in case she gets cold, and she looks up and smiles as she calls you. "Come and meet your half-brother the tumor," she calls. "And tell them in the kitchen we'll be eating in here, would you?"
     Her sense of humour is intact, and for the moment, it seems her sanity's been regained. For the moment.

     Ah, it sounds like we are having a good day...
     Iowerth peeks his head in past the parlor door. He smiles at you, that winsome smile that has not changed. The face around it has -- no more chubby cheeks and dimples -- but the smile is unchanged. You can still see him wearing that flying cap, no doubt, in your memories. "Bore da, what would you like to eat -- or have you already placed your order with the kitchen?"
     He doesn't pause in the doorway -- he started to, but he has to give you the kiss you're no doubt waiting on, and a hug simply because he wants to give it. "You're looking smashing for a woman with a tumor. How many more months before the doctors can have it removed?"
     Iowerth has gotten tall, now as tall as he will ever be. He's got Rhodri's height and Davydd's breadth as much, god bless him. Not quite as big at the shoulders, but not much behind The Old Dragon. And seadragons crawl over his skin everywhere. The marks of the future High King.

     It makes her misty-eyed, that smile of yours. But you will live a long, long life, in that other realm; longer than any span of allotted years would last in this one. You receive a kiss and hug in return and a pat to your shoulder. "Food's already being made. Rabbit pie with leek, couscous and chicken with a strawberry coulis, a beef and cucumber concasse - things like that. Those two men of mine will kick themselves for missing it."
     But not the discussion which will follow. They're smarter than they look, staying away for that. Ah, well, my darling oldest son, best you not be too worried about that. She sits up a little more, one hand pushing her up, the other still on her belly. "Another two months. This one is going to be born in the fall, bless him. He's been driving me insane throughout - a very intense boy, I think he'll be, even moreso than you and your brother combined. I just hope I can keep him from conquering this world; it isn't nice to take what doesn't belong to you, and all that."
     A hand runs back through her hair, now; it's been worn long for now as she amuses herself with the entire Leighton painting look. "Come pull up a chair, or do you want to help your rotund mother into the dining room? I'm not getting around very well," Fiona makes a face, "and the doctor's said for me to take it easy. He's said in a month, he may move me onto bed rest. Don't tell your father or older brother that."

     You see the concern on his face. You've been hiding a lot from them on this. But he'll keep your secret, says the nod. "I'll pull up a chair. Why don't you take it easy for once?" He kisses your other cheek and goes to fetch a chair. But first, the phone -- a number for the kitchen is dialed. "Yes," he says for a moment, "...afternoon, Dewi. Her ladyship and I will be dining in the parlor. If you could make sure to bring some of those dining trays in. Oes. Diolch." He sets the receiver down and looks to you. "You alright? And don't sugar coat it for me. I want to know."
     Iowerth takes up one of the antique chairs, lifting it with one hand and setting it in front of the chaise. He sits in front of you and gives you that look: I love you and you better damn well be alright. "You need to take it easy. Have that brother of mine, the big git," Rhodri, "...watching out for you. Where is he anyway?" He's so protective, your elder son. Wonder where he gets that?
     Sitting forward, Iowerth reaches for your hand. He holds it and smoothes a touch over it. "Well, I'm sure he's going to be stubborn, full of energy," he murmurs. "He's to be raised here, then." It is not so much a question as the airing of an assumption. "I suppose Gwilym and I will start becoming cousins and uncles to those who may follow who... may not know the other world."

     "I'm alright. It's just been a little more difficult a pregnancy than usual. Usual - I make it sound like I've been pregnant more than once before. And my doctor isn't allowed to know about the last time." Fiona laughs a little; she doesn't seem worried. Her hand comes out to take yours, squeezing it. "We'll be fine, Iowerth," she murmurs softly. "I promise."
     Motherly promises - a habit so hard to break. Wanting to protect one's children from the worst the world has to offer, and you end up wondering, did I do the right thing? How much is too much? Will my children be prepared for life; will they be happy?
     She rubs her belly again slowly, your hand squeezed again in her other hand. "He's going to be raised here," Fiona confirms with a little sigh. "He seems ... allergic, almost, to the air over there. I could not stay there long, when I tried. I could feel his distress. I hope he's alright now - he seems to be content. Content enforcing his mother's inactivity." She smiles wryly.
     "Rhodri's off in town, giving us time for a mother-son bonding session," she continues, grinning at you with a certain element almost of mischief - what, you didn't think Gwi got it just from Rhodri, did you? "But yes, this one will not know you as a brother." Her belly is patted. "I'm thinking of putting my foot down and insisting he's at least partly named after my father. You never met him, of course, well, yes, you did, at the wedding. I think he deserves that for putting up with my mother all these years, don't you? Every man deserves to hold some piece of his legacy."
     "And, speaking of legacies... I wanted to discuss women with you a bit, dear."

     He hangs his head with a moment of exhaled resignation, then sits back. "Not the birds and the bees speech, I hope," he murmurs and he smiles a little. No, he knows what is coming. For weeks, he's been preparing himself. Only a mother could see that her son is not as at ease on the topic as he seems to be. But it is what it is. The resignation, the acceptance, is that of a maturing man. That of a political man, who knows there is a job to be done and things to be put in place.
     But before all that...
     "I think you should name him after your father. Maybe you should name him Saint Peter Llywelyn-Morgan." He grins at that notion. Your poor, sainted father, living with that woman all these years. "I can't see as Rhodri'd have any problem with that. What's your father's name? Is it hideous, like Charlie? Butch?" He can't help it -- Iowerth chortles at Butch. "I'll be Uncle Iowerth," he nods. "Good old uncle Edward. Or... maybe a cousin would be easier to explain off. Cousin Edward." He settles on that.
     But the topic of future queens can't be put off forever. Hands resting on his stomach as he sits back, Iowerth inclines his head. "So... who've you heard from so far? I'd sooner not have a virgin, if it's all the same to you. I don't want to have some little girl thing hanging around my neck. Where are you going, Iowerth? Do you love me? Can I come watch? That's the only thing I'm going to have to insist on, well...it's one of the more important things I'm going to have to insist on. I want a girl who knows a little something about life."

     "As it happens, my father's name is Peter." Fiona gives you that look of mischief and of commiseration. No, it can't be put off forever, though she is not racing. No, we may take this topic at a stately pace, my dear. "I'll see what Rhodri has to say. He and your papa have both been very good to me, considering what a hideous shrew I've become."
     Nothing like her mother, at least - you may remember her hiding in Davydd's closet before the wedding, refusing to come out because of her mother. But now her mother is nowhere to be seen; she is serene. Regal, upon her couch. The food is brought in, and Fiona offers Dewi a smile for the trouble. "It looks and smells lovely. Thank you so much."
     A brief interlude, then, as she's set up with a tray, eased to a fully sitting up position, a glass of ice water with sprigs of mint for her to drink. Beer or wine for you, of course. "...Who have I heard from? A better question might be to ask who I have not heard from. You're the High King's son, Io. Everyone wants to marry their daughter off to you. But I have been weeding through them."
     You receive a long, thoughtful look as you list your 'requirements'. "Anything else you'd like? The ability to check under her hood before the wedding, perhaps?"

     "If by hood you mean skirt," he chuckles a little, "...no... I don't need a test drive. I just don't want us focusing all of our attention on the sheltered little virginal girls. Hell, I'd sooner have a divorcee than a virgin. At least she will have some life experience." But he's assuming by that look and tone that a divorcee is not going to work. "I want her to be smart. Presumably I'm going to have to sleep with her, so she has to at least be able to carry on a conversation and not just agree with me. I need a ruling partner. That's what I want. If I'm going to have to partner, I want her to be a ruling partner."
     The whole thing is starting to make him a little light-headed and queasy. You see him go pale for a moment, and then his coloring returns with a flare and he reaches for the beer. He sighs softly. "I know I'm going to have to meet a lot of girls. I will do my best to be charming. I know it has to be done. I'm not going to ...subvert the process or try to delay it." Iowerth looks to you seriously, his composure returned. "So... there are thousands, then? Are you setting up appointments? Have you ...seen anyone decent? For treaty purposes, I assume there's going to be a top tier and then a middle tier of ... favorable nations."
     Your son is two steps ahead, as usual. Sometimes he races so far ahead he makes himself dizzy. He can see things, predict outcomes, and it can be overwhelming at times. Taking a swallow of the beer (and another) and for a moment saying nothing, Iowerth allows you to catch up to him -- and him to catch up with himself for that matter. He starts eating (nothing ruins that appetite). "Father was really impressed with my court setup, my plans. I feel good about that. The merchant marines are really starting to come along nicely. I'll have the start of a navy soon. Trade routes to be protected, the better for all kingdoms."

     "Iowerth, you're going to have to meet them, yes, because I appreciate your thinking that I am somehow all-knowing, I haven't met more than a very small handful of these ladies and certainly not to talk to on more than the weather. Court gatherings don't tend to lend well to discussions of Plato's Republic, even if the majority of them knew what I was talking about."
     You receive a look, and then her expression softens. "You're borrowing trouble, darling. Yes, there's a top tier and so on, but we're not going to be racing through this. It will take as long as it takes. Not every girl is going to be equally wealthy or from an equally good family. I will rank them first by the ones who I have to keep in the list or else, but I'll also include girls whose reputations sound potentially promising, or who've been recommended to me by people whose opinions I trust."
     Fiona takes a sip of her water; she isn't very hungry right now, and it shows. She's picking at her couscous, but isn't eating much at all. "There are not quite thousands, no. So far, though, we've gotten five hundred and seventy two letters of intent. I expect we will still receive a few more. I have been going through those while I'm here, since most of my retainers can come here without too much difficulty, and weeding out from the list the ones who I already know would either be unacceptable or who you would definitely hate. That's gotten rid of about two hundred."
     Which leaves close to four hundred possibilities. Popular boy.
     "I hope I'll get to see your plans sometime," Fiona tells you placidly, "though it's alright if you'd rather I not, dear. After all, you know how we mothers are - unable to keep from sticking our fingers in and rearranging the curtains. Oh, and did you see the job your brother did on the wallpaper in France? It looks lovely; I'd thank you three again, except really, I shouldn't."

     Four hundred...
     Four...hundred...
     Iowerth's eyes flick up to yours with something of Holy Shite, and then he's definitely reaching for his beer again. He was being facetious. You, on the other hand, are serious. Taking a deep breath, he regains his composure again, what little of it slipped away into surprise at your revelation. "I ... guess I know what I'll be doing for the next four years," he drolls dryly.
     "I thought father was going to show you, but I will send the plans over for you to look at. I've chosen a band of islands I've discovered. The largest of the twelve islands has a horseshoe bay, great vantage point, and of course the sea will figure largely into it. Father's kingdom is the Moonless Kingdom. I've named mine the Court of the Crescent Moon, after the islands themselves, the Isles of the Crescent. They are quite lovely. Peaceful. I would like something along the lines of Venice. Only not built on swamp sediment." He smiles a little, regaining his humor.
     "I will... try not to rush through. You know how I am. I guess I can't help it." He gets it from both you and Davydd in a way. His famous (and soon to be infamous, no doubt) intensity. "So," Iowerth leaves that word hanging there a moment, his fork moving his food around. "When does it get started?" Soon. Sooner than you're going to like, ap Davydd. But, as they say: today is the first day of the rest of your bleeding life.
     Mention of Gwilym stirs him from his reverie and he takes another swallow of the beer, another forkful of the food. Nodding as he chews then swallows, Iowerth looks at you, his eyes all periwinkle. "It looked like a wreck when I saw it. He'd only just peeled the old stuff off. I told him to mind my floors." He grins at that. "I'll have to pop by now that it's done. You can thank us," he chuckles, "...for the labor without having to thank us for your distress." Pausing, his expression goes serious. "I'm sorry, mother, if I've ... disappointed you in any way. I ... didn't mean to."

     "Well, we'll still be narrowing it down further, Io. And, of course, they'll all be interviewed before you ever meet them, so they'll have passed at least two layers of bureaucratic approval." Fiona's amusement is evident; it warms her eyes and voice. "Hopefully we can narrow it down to less than one hundred. At any rate, you're to pace yourself; trying to rush through it will only make you crazy."
     Speaking of which...
     "You seem much more at ease than I've seen you for a bit. I'm glad of that," she says softly. She sips her water further, then gestures for you to lift her tray away, she's done eating. "The kingdom sounds lovely. I hope I'll get to see it sometime, but I won't be rushing it. Your brother, here," a glance to her stomach, "will have the best that this world can provide. We'll spend plenty of time with him, but I will have to take care of my queenly responsibilities, still. And any other children in the future are going to have to wait a while; he's taking so much out of me. But I think future children will be born there, not here, unless Rhodri talks me into insisting upon this one have brothers and sisters."
     Her expression is a tolerant rolling of the eyes at that, combined with a stubborn mulishness - we'll see. "As for when it gets started, I was thinking that you could meet the first girl next week, and then do two to three a week until we've either found one or run out of viable candidates. Are you free Thursday?"
     A bit of a bombshell, but she's not giving you any time in which to be shocked; she has more to answer you about. "Io, come here," Fiona orders, her arms opening. "Look at me. Listen to me." Blue eyes are very intent upon you, emotion again making them warm. "Disappointed me? You've grown to be a wonderful young man, capable of loving and accepting love. Do you know how long it took your father to do that?" She reaches for you, a hand to your face when you bend, touch gentle and soft. "You've been exploring and scaring me with the thought of losing you to the deeps since you were very young. Your father's made me try to injure him because of the fear of what you two might do to one another, and let me tell you, if he hurts so much as a hair on your head, he'll have me to answer to - High King or no High King. You are my son; you are an accomplished young man who has conquered the unknown both within and outside of himself, who has managed to stand on his own two feet and face some of his own greatest fears as well. Disappointed? My darling, how could I be anything but proud of you?"

     He is a great thing, your young son. But he bends to you as easily as if he were still your small child. You speak of his father, his entanglements. He says nothing to that, reveals nothing. Those periwinkle eyes look calmly to you as if you were telling him of the weather. His father is much like the weather, sometimes. But he smiles a little as you make your promises, your threats. His look softening as you speak of pride. "Diolch," he softly says. "And I am happy. I am... calmer than I was. I was pitching there a bit, but the ship has righted itself."
     Closing his eyes, he kisses you on the cheek, murmuring 'thank you' again before rising. Your words mean much to him, you can see them moving through him and his emotion swirling gently after. "I am more at ease. I feel ... more at peace with how things are going. And my place in it all. And Gwilym and I have... worked through our rough patch. We're doing better, so I'm doing better. He's doing better, too."
     He returns to his seat, starting in at his food and finally able to begin digesting the schedule you're setting forth. "A week from tomorrow?" He pauses to think, then nods. "I will set my ship clock. We will be meeting in your castle...where? You should make Hwyll deal with the logistics. I don't want you tiring yourself or making you or my little brother-nephew ill with going back and forth. He sounds like he's going to have a very full life here. I will... be sure to peek in on him from time to time, but ...not too much. We are of two worlds. I don't want to confuse him. But...I can understand you wanting to put more off. You should rest. You've a life too, you know."
     He's finished about as much of the food as he's going to eat. Pushing his plate slightly to the side, he takes up another beer instead. The breakfast of champions. "I will try not to rush so... have you decided who I'm to meet first? Is it someone I have to meet or someone you think I should meet." He smiles at himself, at his trying to qualify everything. He sighs at it, then snorts a laugh. So like his father. "I suppose it doesn't really matter."

     She holds you - tightly for a moment before she has to release you. "You'll know it someday yourself," Fiona whispers, "when you have children of your own. Every bump and bruise on your child's knee or heart is one on your own. And the hardest part is in letting them go to be their own people, with their own lives - when you've loved and protected someone so fiercely for so much of their life, it's hard to just open your hands and let them walk without you."
     Her eyes fill with tears that trickle down her cheeks, and she releases you in order to wipe her face. "I'm sorry. I know, I know - I'm being such a girl about it, but I can't help it, you know. I'm not going to be going back and forth; they are bringing the reports to me here, darling, and I then give them their marching orders. I'm glad that you and Gwi are doing better, Io. I was worrying about you two. We all were, I think."
     She blinks her eyes clear of tears, smiling at you. "The first few will probably be the ones you most have to meet; get it over with yes? But I'll try to slip in a few pleasant surprises where I can. You'll just have to wait and see, mm? Make plans with your young man or your brother to help get rid of any bitter pill taste. I will do my best on your behalf, I promise." Still looking out for her boys - some way in which she can be the mother, even if she has to let go.

     "I'm not yet ready to discuss children," he chuckles suddenly. "I'm light-headed enough as it is. Please." He takes a swallow of beer and smiles at you. He doesn't say 'I know', because he doesn't know. "I'll always need you," Iowerth gently notes. "I can walk on my own, for certes, but.. I will always need you. You never stop being my mother just because I'm out of the house. In fact, your real job probably hasn't even started yet with me. I've had a pretty easy go of it so far, just a few minor bumps on a long road. I'll... always need you. Don't worry about that."
     He nods at your plans. He trusts you -- you see it in his look, it is evidenced in his acceptance to this all. Snorting another laugh, Iowerth looks to you. "Oh believe me, Tiernan and Gwilym have their own set of marching orders." Including, but not limited to, spying, watching, observing, and offering their own opinions. He doesn't go into the details. "I will do my best, too," Iowerth assures you.
     "Gwilym and I are fine, again. We were... butting heads there for a bit but...you know. Growing pains," Iowerth smiles a bit. "But we're twins. Other selves. We just had to...remind one another about that."

     "There, then, that's settled," Fiona says with an air of finality. "Now, help your aged, ancient mother off this damned thing," she is prettily pregnant, looking younger even than you despite it, "so that I can hack off my hair and go have a bath. Bloody tumor," she grumbles, "there had better only be one in there this time. I'm going to have to make do with modern medicine, not magical midwives, this time. Though once he's out of me, I'll be able to heal more quickly - but giving birth?" She shudders. She does not elaborate.
     Perhaps Rhodri will be more afraid this time than the last...
     "You two need to spend time together," Fiona notes, giving you a quick glance as she comes to her feet so slowly. "Don't let each other forget what you mean to each other, mm? It's a danger, with you men. If your heart does not speak out, you are in danger of burying things, and then they get forgotten, or damaged. Be glad you weren't around for when your father and I were, for lack of a better term, courting." A fond smile. "It took us ages to admit how we felt to ourselves, let alone each other."
     "Anyway," her voice has gone light and airy, "I will remain your mother, it's kind of you to appoint me to the post for life," she is so amused, "I accept. I will always be your mother, and I will always love you and your brother and any other children I might pop out along the way. Don't kill your father, he's not allowed to kill you, either; meanwhile, I'd love to talk more, but if I don't get to a bathroom, I'm going to do something terribly undignified." She begins waddling away as fast as she can in her current state.
     "Thursday, remember," Fiona tells you with a /look/ over her shoulder. "Be polite!"

Posted by rowan at July 23, 2006 10:24 PM