She waited until dawn had come and gone. The sun rose to the mid-heavens as she waited, the streets of London noisy and crowded with life. Not until then did word reach her from the other world that battle had been met, and concluded. That she had won.
     "Won," Fiona murmured to herself, then gathered herself up and dismissed the messenger. She dressed herself in sober, serene colours - deep blues and greens, calm and reflective. And then with her own thoughts to keep her company, she made her way to Davy's.
     Won...
     I gave the command. I won my own battle, and I felt the life ebb from her. She was dead before my men ever reached her kingdom. There were losses, I'm sure - it was a battle, a minor war, even if won overnight. How many people are celebrating because of me, today? How many mourning?
     But right now, I must inform the chief mourner of his loss. It is my job to do this; for him, and for my son.
     It will not be the worst I have faced, nor will it be the worst I will ever face. But I am not going to enjoy this.
     Light her footsteps on the iron stair; light her knock at the door. Fiona brushes her hair back from her face, oak heart locks braided with bells and crystals. It is the queen arriving, even if in clothes that would go unremarked upon in this modern world. The queen, attending her son and his lover...

     The house is unusually quiet. There as in fact no conversation in progress. It might well sound as if no one is home, but then there are steps in a quick-march for the door. Sounds as if it could be Davydd himself; thus you know it is your eldest son.
     Iowerth opens the door to the loft, eyebrows going up in question and then he moves back, opening the door wide for his mother and queen. "This is a surprise," he notes, and he leaves a dutiful (but pleasant) kiss upon her cheek.
     He was reading with a glass of wine. Back to more usual habits, his books and a glass of wine. The book is on Phoenician exploration -- his typical light-reading -- and the wine is a hearty read from the Bordeaux region of France. He is dressed as is typical for him here in jeans that have seen better days but are nevertheless quite fashionable, a short-sleeved tee-shirt (this one is a vintage tee shirt with a 7-Up logo on it stretched by Time and his chest), and nothing on his feet.
     "Tiernan and I were just sitting about," he notes. "We've already had supper but would you like something?" Iowerth offers quietly, turning and closing the door behind her.

     "Thank you, I'm not hungry. But it's sweet of you to offer." You receive a quick smile, but there is weight upon her countenance. "I'm actually only slightly here as your mother, dear, but I do need to talk to you - to both of you."
     Fiona enters with an air of drawing off her gloves to get down to business. Have you seen her like this before? Perhaps a little; but this is not the side of herself that she usually reveals to her children. She moves to the table, rather than the couches, settling herself onto one of the chairs slowly, back kept very straight. "I'm sorry for the short notice, but I felt that you two should be among the first to know."
     Tiernan has been reading somewhat distractedly. He has not been able to shake the feeling that something is wrong; he has not spoken of it to you, but since the dinner in France, he has had a foreboding. It has made him quieter than usual.
     My brain feels raw... as if it's been worked over with a scrub brush, he'd told you. And while he has not slacked in what duty you have assigned to him, he has slept a little more than usual, needed a little more rest; he has been gentler, quieter, introspective without withdrawing from you. For twelve hours, he ran a low fever; it broke, but he has needed his rest all the same.
     Now he draws up next to you, the newspaper left behind. "Your majesty." He is as ever polite. "Shall I leave?"

     Iowerth nods, his expression a mixture of curiosity and command. "Of course," he gestures for her to take a seat, but she knows this place better than he does. He looks to Tiernan and shakes his head. No, she wants to speak to both of us. Duw, I hope we're not cleaning carpets next.
     A quiet moment passes between the two young men, a glimmer in an eye, an unspoken assurance. Iowerth gestures Tiernan to have a seat as well and then he follows to retake his place on the sofa. He leaves his wine on the table and settles back, hands interlacing on his stomach. It is then that periwinkle eyes become most keen.
     Most keen, indeed...
     "Something ... is happening," Iowerth notes for the record. "Stating the obvious," he quite nearly smirks but it doesn't quite make it past the shine of his eyes. He glances to Tiernan and then lastly to his mother. "It has been far too quiet. So..."
     So...
     With that one word he clears the way for you to open the door and let out the news...

     "The Kingdom of Winter Diamond is no more."
     A single sentence, simply spoken but with queenly mien. Fiona looks between the both of you, her hands in her lap. "Its queen is dead, its armies routed or under control. Its lands and territories have been added to my own, by my order."
     It is a bombshell. She is aware of it. For a moment, she does not speak at all; giving the both of you the chance to absorb this new information.

     Tiernan's eyes grow wide, a breath drawn in sharply, then held. He does not move; does not speak, does not even so much as breathe. The blue of his eyes is fixed upon your mother, now, staring at her as if she'd become a serpent or unicorn or something else equally unexpected and uncertain.
     My life has unraveled in these few words. Mother is gone. My home is gone.
     I had been prepared to give up everything for you before, Io. Now, I wonder, will everything I have ever said to you be forced to a like extreme conclusion? What is to become of me, now? Am I your enemy, your vassal - am I common, now, with my mother's rule overthrown, my proposed kingdom taken from her, from me?
     How should I react...
     It seems as if this week, everything is gone. You must marry; and I accepted that. I must go to work. This, too, I accepted. But now...
     I am without home or title...

     Fiona counts heartbeats in the back of her throat, one hand pressed quietly to her belly. She looks from your lover to you. "The battle concluded half an hour ago, local time. General Ramanthus sent word of success." Simple words, I speak. And I wait for you to rail, to react, knowing that whatever you feel, it will be extreme. Too like your father; too like me. Will you hate me, my child? Will I be able to placate that hatred?
     Why anyone ever wants to be a king or queen...

     He is truly in shock. Normally, he would cover any look of surprise with a subtle eyebrow quirk, easing into an I Told You So expression. But not this time. Iowerth narrows his eyes in the shock and confusion, the noise in his head. And it's not even his mother who's dead, but his lover's. How can you rejoice in an enemy gone, when that enemy was the one who gave life to the one you love?
     Iowerth stands. It is a sudden motion, and his expression has not altered. "When did we attack?" Was it before or after the new flooring in France? "Or... were we attacked?" He blanches then at such questions, turning his attention from his mother to Tiernan. Shaking his head once, his expression goes suddenly sympathetic. "Tiernan... I am... I am sorry for your loss. We will.... go immediately. What is to happen now? Surely, you will deliver the lands to its heir," a look to Tiernan.
     My head is swimming. I can feel the water rising. Can anyone else feel it rising? I can taste it in my throat, like I'm swallowing it moments before drowning...

     "While you were in France." Fiona's voice is calm, cool - the queen's voice, not the mother's. Oh, if you knew how she aches to be able to soothe this; but she cannot. It is done, and it must be seen through. "There were hooks within Tiernan's mind. The queen sought to turn him into a secret assassin; spells which were laid upon him from infancy, on through the years. A sleeper cell of one, as it were."
     And if you but knew, my son, what rituals were done to him, around him, because of him - what she had intended for him, what she had intended for us all. He would have been driven mad, had she activated these spells; he would have been no more than a puppet, willingly torturing and killing all in his path at her command.
     If you but knew how close she came to activating those spells, when she thought she might lose him to you...
     "I have removed these spells from him as much as I was able, while we were together in France." Fiona looks at you, then transfers her gaze to Tiernan again. "Unfortunately, there were other spells which I could not remove. Had he been in that realm when she died, his life would with hers have ebbed away."
     It is valuable information which she imparts to you. She has had time to think on it; time to decide how best to impart to you these truths. But there are more unpleasant truths still waiting to come.

     Tiernan is sitting very still, yet, eyes still wide. Finally, he exhales, but he does not answer you. The first thing he does? He pulls his t-shirt suddenly and vigorously off over his head, looking down at his chest with wild eyes.
     There are still the crescents; the black has faded to grey, but they are still there. On his skin, beneath his skin, like smoky glass. And more are now appearing, no longer concealed. Along his back, along his ribs - Tiernan stands as suddenly as he'd yanked off his shirt, pacing from the table to the window, grabbing his shirt as he goes. He says nothing, now. His shoulders are tensed, held as tightly as a bowstring as he pulls his shirt slowly back on.

     Fiona is silent for a moment, the sympathy and echoed pain held behind her eyes. She knows; she saw, discovered, delved. But she does not speak on it, turning to you instead. "As to the matter of succession, Tiernan cannot take up the throne," she tells you quietly. "...There are political reasons, but there is also one very simple reason which supersedes all others. We may discuss this later, if you wish." Go to him, her eyes tell you. Why do you yet sit?
     It is her weakness, leading with her heart...

     He had stood not far from Tiernan, rendered mute again with the continuation of this story, as his mother spoke again. And her voice continued on, unraveling this... business, this unpacking of Tiernan's entire existence. He shakes his head at her. No, that's enough for now, he seems to indicate, and quiet steps carry him to his lover.
     A hand is placed upon the back of Tiernan's head, a light touch, as he rests his forehead against his temple. He whispers to him: It will be alright. I am with you. And this changes nothing for my heart, and nothing for our plans. For everything that was taken, I shall give something in its place, his heart speaks. Loudly, loud enough for each member of his family to hear, extemporaneous as it may be to them, but resounding he hopes in the heart of the one he loves.
     He stands there, his arm around his lover prince, quiet but resolute. After many moments, he glances over to his mother. There is knowing in his eyes. This is why you forbade us to return. He does not blame you for your secrecy. That's politics. And there is a recognition that you have saved Tiernan's life. Had he been stubborn and strong-willed, bull-headed, enough to return against your wishes, he may very well have lost the one he loves. He flushes with that realization.
     And with his high emotions, that high color remains at the surface of his skin. So like his father. "What is to be done now," he murmurs. His hand remains on Tiernan's back, as if to shield him from all of this, from anything else you might have to offer.

     His shoulders shake as your hand comes to touch him. He does not pull away, but neither does he turn towards you; immobile in this shock, this series of turns of events. Your arm goes around him, and your words fall upon the air about him; the space within him.
     I want to cry, and I can't. My mother is dead. My destiny is gone; taken from me. What am I; who am I? I had few answers before; and now I have none. What am I, Io? What will this mean for me, for us?
     Blue eyes lift slowly towards you, seeking the periwinkle in your gaze. "You have loved an assassin," Tiernan murmurs, voice held very low. His hand comes up, clasps to yours; slides slowly away. It is as the ebbing of the tide, the sea drags away from the sand; and for a moment, he turns, leans in against you, his forehead pressed to your shoulder.
     How can you love me, knowing this? You will come to hate me, Io. This potential for death and destruction. I could have killed you with these hands; your mother, your brother. They all were within my reach. At any moment, such wickedness could from me have come. Indefensible. Insupportable. I think I will be sick...
     He pulls away from you with a little gasp, his hands coming up to slowly scrub at his face. "I'm going to the bath," Tiernan murmurs. "I ... will return soon." He is sick at heart, sick at soul with this. It is in his eyes, unveiled to you though he struggles with it. The veils rise in full as he turns to your mother, bows to her. "Majesty."

     Fiona waits, watching the two of you with sadness held behind royal visage. These things she has done, to protect her family; to protect your heart, as her son. The surgeon does not apologize to the cancer as he cuts it out, but to the patient, every respect is accorded. "There is a cleansing to be done," she says softly, looking to you. "That is being carried out upon my orders, under General Ramanthus' supervision."

     Iowerth nods as Tiernan leaves. "I will be along shortly," he whispers. "I have loved a good man who was suffering," he counters. "And when love encounters suffering, it does not quit. It grows." There is a nod to Tiernan. Do not worry, love. And a nod also for him to go ahead to the bath.
     There is a soft exhale and his eyes venture upwards to stare at nothing, at heaven, at fate, maybe nothing. "No harm should come to Tiernan," and upon this matter the future high king brooks no argument. He looks to you. "I have every intention of making whatever restitution could... possibly be made to him. He's lost everything but me." He steps away from the window, raising his hand as if to stop your argument before it begins. "I am not making an argument over his mother's lands. I will... make sure that Tiernan is well provided for...and I understand that you did what you did to protect your family."
     Iowerth piles onto a chair, legs wide, mind blown, eyes drifting here and there in his shock. "I ...would that you had told me, so I could have... prepared him for it but... it is what it is. Maybe no amount of preparation in the world can be made for what to do when the world ends." He rests his head on his hand, looking to you finally. "Have we lost many in the process? General Ramanthus is... a talented commander. It would seem the reputation has been confirmed."
     The general... formerly a lover... the end of my new lover's family, such as it was. It is getting too Shakespearean in here...

     "There is no reason why harm should come to him," Fiona answers you quietly. She says this within his hearing; waits for the closing of the door before she continues, her attention resuming on you. "I did not tell you for any number of reasons. I know that you are your father's son. I did not want your mien to in any way change, and had you known..."
     An unmoving shrug made with her eyes. Who knows what spells were on him. Who knows what might have happened. "I felt it best to take action in my own time, Iowerth. Sometimes, that is what rulership is about - and while I did act to protect my family, this was not all about you."
     She waits a moment; then she continues, voice quiet, lowered. "Tiernan is not her son, Io. He is not her heir. I ... am giving thought as how to handle this." Grey eyes the colour of steel meet your periwinkle. "I believe I have several viable solutions, but I will decide, and we will see. However... there is no need for him to be killed, or clapped in irons. Only his adoptive mother and I knew or know this, and now you. The corruption," she shrugs, "it is well known. It always was. He will not be regarded with more suspicion than he already was, having submitted himself to your authority."
     "The losses were not of significant number. The general did well, and most of the losses were on the enemy's side." Fiona takes a deep breath, then lets it out very slowly. Very even is her voice as she adds one detail.
     "It appears that your brother accompanied the forces into action."

     "I did not mean to infer that this was all about me. In fact, I assumed it was more about you and they. She. But... specific to Tiernan," his voice lowers, "... I want ..." And then you give the rest of the story, the part you intimated might come later. He wasn't her son? He wasn't her son. "I will trust your judgement, as ever."
     That matter seems handled for now, and then you mention more. The train jumps the tracks on that one.
     "He ...what?" Though part of him is chagrined, knowing instantly that of course Gwilym knew, and of course Gwilym went, he had been spying on Tiernan after all. And then there was that call there at the end. In France. Iowerth frowns. It isn't a large frown, or even a mighty frown. It is a simple downturn of the lips but it says so much. That and his coloring (quite red now) speaks volumes. Were he Davydd, he'd be pacing and ranting and raving right now. But he's Iowerth. He sits and he looks like he and his chair are about to lift off into space. He may well become the first Welshman in orbit.
     "It appears that he did or you know that he did. Did he do so by your leave?" It is a quiet jab for information. He shan't be happy (not at all) should he learn you allowed him to go while he had to sit oh-so-safely by and do nothing.

     "I did not." Your mother's voice is crisp. "The first that I knew that he had gone was when I received the report of the battle." She is displeased; clearly. You see, feel some of the same energy which was displayed to you upon the cliff. "I shall be speaking with him about his impetuosity at my earliest convenience."
     She links her hands together, expelling breath in a slow, low, softening sigh. "What is it that you wish, Io? I know you wish to keep him safe. He is important to your heart." Her gaze again meets yours. "This is something that I understand. I wish to help you with that; always. But - no, he is not her heir. And it is better for the two of you," Fiona adds practically, "that he is not. Were he thus, he would have to return to begin putting things in order. And you would have to remain, to tend to your own work; your own duties. Winter Diamond is landlocked, Io."
     Crystal bells and beads tinkle and chime softly as she rises to her feet. She fingers her rings, turning from you and pacing slowly back and forth. (You are not pacing, so perhaps she must.) "At any rate, you are free to return to the kingdoms if you choose, at this point. I still would speak against a hasty return; doing so now will look as if you were kept out of the way deliberately, and you don't need them to see that. Take this time with Tiernan; use it wisely. I cannot say how easily you will have such time again."
     Fiona turns to you, then sighs. "That is why I have come, Io. To tell you this. Is there more you would know? You're my son and I love you dearly. If there are other things... please... I want to know, now. But I cannot stay much longer."

     He is mollified by your own anger. Not that he wishes his brother to face your wrath, but why should he have all the fun? Besides, the maison needs new wallpaper. He takes a breath, shaking his head as his color goes back to normal. "We will likely need a few days at any rate... to ...absorb this all. I'm sure he'll need longer than that. So, yes... perhaps it is wise to remain here for a short while. Unless you or father or Gwilym," a smile there, "...need me, I shall remain here with Tiernan."
     He rises from the chair, another short shake of his head given. "No, mother, and I appreciate your coming here to personally deliver the ...the news." His voice softens. "There is nothing more I need to know now. We will be well," he softly assures. "My new lord chancellor," Tiernan, "...and I will be working on putting a kingdom together when we get back. There is...much to do. But ... perhaps now, perhaps this gives us a bit of an unexpected breather."
     Iowerth walks to the door, leading you out to head into the rest of your evening. He will open the door for his queen mother, of course. My work is just beginning, for I must console a heart-weary prince. "Thank you," he murmurs again.

     "What I have done, I have done for you. But not just for you." Your mother lifts a hand to touch your face, then looks down with a wry little smile. "I love you, darling, but you're only one of my concerns - and what I saw in your friend," lover, confidante, "it ... made me a trifle angry." The way the ocean is a little wet.
     Her hand falls, and she moves to go through the door. "Contact me before you return there. I may have to ask you to do some work for me as well. Until this one is born," her hand moves now to cover her belly, "I have to minimize the time I spend there; I can be there only at night, never when the sun has risen."
     Fiona sighs again, looking over her shoulder in the doorway with that wry smile, a glint of moisture to blue-grey eyes. "Now I've got to tell your father and older brother the news about what's going on. Wish me luck, darling?"

     "I would," he drolls with a sliding smirk, "...but would it do any good? I can tell them if you'd rather," he softly offers, humor aside. He watches your hand go to your belly again. You've been doing that a lot lately. "Are you sure you're alright, mum?"
     He's no fool. He has heard your worry, seen your caution, he listens. He watches. And he worries.
     "Get them drunk first," he softly offers. "Maybe put on something a little... revealing," he smirks a bit at that. As much as I hate to think of it. "Then tell them. I'm sure it'll be fine. And if not... call me... and they can yell at me instead."
     "I love you too, mom..."

     "No," Fiona tells you, just as quietly, "I'm not sure. I will have to go to a doctor." She smiles, the expression twisting a bit on her face as she forces it out into the open. "Don't worry, hm? I'm doing enough of that for us both."
     She moves in, claiming a quick hug. "You'll always be my little boy. And someday, when you have children of your own," too soon for her own liking, "you'll understand why it's so hard for us to let go. I'll manage, darling. I've been keeping my husbands in line for a while, yes?"
     She releases you, turning away. Purposeful footsteps descend without further comment. She knows you have your own lover to tend to. And your own worries. And she...
     Well, noone ever said balancing these worlds was easy.

Posted by rowan at July 10, 2006 12:38 AM