It was a touching reunion; Iowerth with his ship, and Tiernan with Leon. The miniature lion crawled all over the prince until he got to the back of the young man's neck, digging golden claws into his collar and reaching up to paw and chew at his hair.
     It brought a grin to Tiernan's face, youthening his countenance and making him seem, for the first time in days, truly alive.
     Something has been salvaged out of the wreckage of my life...
     He has been grateful for your presence. For your support; even as frustrated as he's been with his own perceived weakness. But he has been sleeping more than usual...
     Right now, he's sprawled upon the gigantic bed, shirtless, shoeless, hair rumpled as he burrows into the pillows and blankets blindly; a mole striving for the sun, unaware of what might be waiting for him. Leon is curled up out of harm's way in a hanging fold, snoozing like his master. His back with its multitude of crescent marks faces the ship's ceiling, that star-pocked canvas; Tiernan's eyes are closed, though, one hand buried beneath the pillow.

     Iowerth Rhudd Draig wasted no time. As soon as you and he boarded the ship, he began stocking for a trip. The hostess with the mostest, Vanni the sherry-sipping dragon, was sent for provisions, returning with plenty to last the next several weeks. What did he have in mind? The prince did not say. But he did intimate that the two of you were going to enjoy yourselves for a change.
     And so the ship set off for the open seas...
     It had remained docked too long -- as had he. His legs on dry land, the ship moored at the docks. The material realm had become a prison rather than a freedom. He was glad to be rid of it. Iowerth did not truly feel comfortable until the Draigamor was rising and falling with the great shouldered shrug of the ocean.
     It is late afternoon by the time he is seen. You have rested all day, and he let you rest, not even disturbing you long enough to check on you. There is a sound coming from the next room, the main chamber of the captain's quarters -- a sound of maps unrolling, a course being plotted, and then steps, quiet steps approaching the door to the bedchamber.
     Iowerth enters softly, seeing you in bed and thinking you yet asleep. The captain's coat and captain's sword sound as he moves. Until he is able to remove the vestments piece by piece. He sets his sword on the wall where it belongs and where it will hold no matter how the ship tosses on the waves. The captain's coat, which he has grown into these last several years, is hung upon the back of the chair at his desk. The rugged floor swallows up the sounds of his steps as he pours a drink, and then sits at the desk. Quill in hand, sitting there like some young Captain Courageous, Iowerth begins to pen a letter.
     Dearest mother,
     My Lord Chancellor and I are returned from our explorations only to set off on another. I must let the Draigamor spread its wings and stretch, else it ~ and I ~ shall grow fat and lazy. Please keep me abreast of the news from inland battles. I understand the stag may yet be among them. If you speak to it, tell it that I love it and am anxious to see it. Perhaps before Yule, if it could be so kind.
     About our other discourse, while I understand that such preparations will need to be undertaken soon, I am going to spend the next several weeks on the Outer Rim. You can ask father for the map, if you wish to know where that is. There are a group of islands there, far beyond any fairy's reckoning. I hear tell of a special sort of spice that grows there, the underbelly of the bark of a rare tree. I will bring home samples.
     All my love,
     Captain Draig
     Setting the quill aside, Iowerth lifts the parchment and blows upon the ink to hasten the drying. His script is quite embellished, quite stylized, hopefully legible by the one for whom it is meant. Folding the paper, he sticks it in his coat's inner left breast pocket. Signed, sealed and now delivered.
     His attention turns to you. The wood of the chair creaks as he rises and he crosses the floor to come to the bedside. His leggings are neither loose nor fitted but at a comfortable compromise in between the two. His shirt is silk, ruffled, fastened by ties, very 18th century, as fits his milieu. His hair is still short, thick, the errant waves of it tossed about by the wind he's been standing in for the past several hours. It shines hotly, threatening to cast its own warmth. Iowerth bends, placing a kiss upon the back of your neck, one of the few places he can get to.

     He did not stir when you laid down. He does not stir as you undress. When the kiss lands, though, his hand lifts, and he reaches for you. He turns to you with a quiet groan, his arms going to around you.
     I love you...
     Without you, I do not think I could have survived. Hells; I know it. I would have been on this plane, not that, when she died, and it would have taken me with her.
     Funny how knowing it does not stop me from grieving. I need to shake this off...
     Tiernan sits up on the bed, rubbing the back of his head sleepily. He was awake when you came in; he was simply not ready to respond. Now, though - now he wants to respond, restlessness moving within his belly. "I wonder, is there food?" Food first, yes. Food is always good.
     "I want to talk with you."

     Iowerth smiles, those periwinkle eyes gleaming as he grins. "There is always food, Tiernan," he murmurs. "What would you like. As future King of the Bounteous Harvest, I can provide whatever it is that you want. Whatever it is that would nourish you." He remains in his bent position, not shifting as you wind your arms around him. You could dangle off him for days and he wouldn't care.
     "Of course," he murmurs. "We are at sea, a good wind. I have told the ship what our destination shall be, so... we have all the time it takes, oes? Certainly time enough to eat, to drink, to talk." Between you, so little has taken place since the news of your mother's death, deserved or otherwise. You have slept, he has fed and nurtured, and then he has rested. It was time for such, and for all things, as the philosophers say, there is a season. Passion will have its time again. In the meantime, there is no push for more, no press for relief. It is, simply, what it is. And Iowerth is content to let it be.
     He straightens finally, taking your looping arms and holding them as he sits up, you left behind. He places a kiss upon the heart of your palm, closing his eyes. He holds your hand and waits to hear what you desire to eat. As of him anything, and it shall be made manifest before you.
     "I am yours and here to listen," he notes. "But first... food...and I will have Vanni match it with a wine. We brought on all manners of reds, whites and golds." He smiles tenderly then, knowing wine is so much more than its hue...

     "Anything," Tiernan murmurs, his cheek pressed to you, his eyes closed as he holds you. You are real. This is real; solid, not a dream or phantasm to fade away with the morning. He takes comfort in that. Solace. "Beef, maybe. Something green with it." So descriptive. But it's a start.
     He has slept. In his sleep, his body has tried to heal; his spirit, moreso. Neither have made as much progress as he would like, and his frustration shows as he sits up now, one hand rubbing across his face. "I'm sorry," he says finally. "I haven't been fit company, have I."
     Tiernan turns on his side, and both hands lift to cup your face, stroking his palms gently against your cheeks. "I have not been well," he murmurs. "No fit companion for a vital king such as yourself. I will do better." It is a promise. He promises it; gives it to you, with his words, his hands, his eyes.
     "I will not let her in death take me from you, Io," Tiernan says softly. He gets one knee under him, a hand going to your shoulder to brace himself. "I just - everything feels strange, now. Disordered. Chaotic."

     "Beef," he murmurs, kissing you as you cup his face, "...with something green..." He seems to mull on that, and as he mulls, various dishes come forth, appearing and piling on the tables beside the bed, even a tray upon the bed. There is beef, indeed, from fairy herds brushed over with a tangy sauce. There appear steamed sugar peas, also some edamame -- something remembered from your time in London, lightly salted -- and beans with butter. Hearty bean soup also appears, and best of all a beef, pea and bean soup. There is warm buttered bread and buns, steaming as if it had just been taken from a brick oven.
     "I think we will have a red wine, with all of this beef. I have a good bottle already here," he offers. Slowly removing himself from your hold (he has to go get it), Iowerth rises to fetch the bottle and a couple of glasses, leaving you to pour over the food and begin eating. As he uncorks a bottle, the ship pitching gently (and yet everything is so remarkably stable!), Iowerth looks to you. "You have not been feeling well," he notes, he knows. "But you've been fit company even so. Even with your loss, losses." He brings the goblet (no glasses here) to you, handing it to you. "I love you, Tiernan. When you are well, and when you are not well."
     He sits on the edge of the bed as he returns, his free hand going to your hair. He brushes it back, then rubs it. "You will be as you need to be, Tiernan. No more, no less. I do want to see you smile more," He crooks a smile at you. "And you will, I know. For now, you will have to make yourself do things that used to come naturally. That is to be expected, my Lord Chancellor." He leans in, kissing you sweetly, tasting of wine.
     The goblets are heavy to prevent them from rolling over so easily. He holds it securely as he settles on the bed once more, his back against the pillows and headboard. After a healthy swallow of wine, he sets his goblet aside. "Make me one promise, and one promise only," Iowerth murmurs. "Just promise not to give up. Hmm? Don't ever do that. Her death is not the end of you. You are still here. And your life is a life worth living." Periwinkle eyes twinkle in the low light of the chamber, getting lower by the minute as the sun completes its setting on the sea's horizon.
     Iowerth leans in and kisses you again, sweetly. "Now... eat...hmm? Don't wait for me. I had lunch." He grins a bit and starts to look over the bounty he has brought so seemingly from thin air (it isn't of course true -- the universe is actually full of sustenance if one knows what to ask). He takes an edamame and pops the sweet beans from the casing.

     The food is admired; as long as he has been with you, he has not grown tired of seeing you exercise your power (your powers, for that matter). He shivers, as if he's been cold and only just now noticed. And he settles back a little on the bed, leaning and propping himself up with pillows.
     "No man nor woman ever had so comforting and handsome a doctor," Tiernan murmurs. He closes his eyes as you rub his head, sighing. "I am needing your touch, Io. I..."
     The words are cut off, and he smiles at you; it is a small smile, but without melancholy. "I'll eat," he promises, voice still low. "Then we'll talk more." He brings soup closer to him, lifting the spoon and setting it in the hot liquid; a pause, and it's brought to his mouth. And once he begins to eat, it is as if he cannot stop. As if he has not eaten in days. He has eaten in the past week, but sparingly, lightly, without appetite. Now it is as if his appetite has returned in a rush.
     "It has not ended me," Tiernan says finally, "but I have been ... low on energy. At a low ebb. I promise you, this is temporary." The bowl, emptied, is set aside in favour of wine and bread. "I ... wish to do something meaningful. If I am to spite her memory and declare my independence, Io ... then it needs an outlet. Something specific."
     Bread is rapidly disappearing the way of the soup, butter and all. The wine is drunk thirstily, and he reaches for more of both. "I was hoping you could advise me, my prince." There, there is the ghost of his smile, aimed at you. "Businesslike, yes? But that is not all I want to talk about."

     There was a bit of a blush to go with his chuckle as you dive into the food headlong. He is relieved to see your hunger, finally ravenous. He grabs a roll while the getting is good, so to speak, and settles back with it, breaking it in half and then lifts a small piece of it to eat. He nods as he listens to you. "Oes... I know it is temporary. Or rather, I expected and expect it to be. Nothing is permanent. As for meaningful work, I suppose it depends on what you would define as meaningful. I have named you the Lord Chancellor, head of my court and Steward of Trade Routes, guardian of all of my contracts. But... if those things won't make you happy or... be fulfilling for you, it is better we discuss this now so we can plan accordingly."
     Iowerth shrugs to business. It is part of life, as is appetite, love, sex and air. Unavoidable, particularly for a pair of princes. He finishes his roll and washes it down with the hearty red. "I want you to be happy, Tiernan. It is important for me that you are, and that you have things that fulfill you. Other than me," he grins. "I am going to have to take a wife in the next two years," he says it aloud again, a murmured realization. "And I admit I am ... going to be concerned more for your happiness then. So... we need to build toward that, oes? Knowing we have challenges ahead."
     The waters are not smooth. They never could be with me. The ocean is never still, nor those made from it. My father gave himself to the ocean at my birth, and he has given it to me. With all of its good, and all of its bad.
     Iowerth snacks on the edamame, creating a pile of bean sheaths on the nightstand. Vanni will devour them later. He watches you eat, he listens to you speak. "I am happy to advise when and where I can, you know that. As I expect the same from you..."

     You have done so much for me...
     "I do not want to do a poor job, or let you down in any way." He speaks around a mouthful, then swallows. "I think that will keep me busy, now that we are back here, my heart." Such endearments, used so seldom, never carelessly; never casually. "On there... in London... I do not know who we were. I am feeling better," he admits, "now that we are here."
     Mortal we may be, but we seem to sicken and hunger for the air of this place. We are who and what we are; we do not belong to that world, fed by this one from infancy as we are.
     Maybe, then, this is what they mean about beware of eating fairy foods...
     "We have challenges ahead of us," Tiernan agrees, setting aside his wine slowly. He takes up a cloth, looking to you with direct blue gaze. "I will miss you when you are not with me. But that does not tie my hands, Io. You will have a wife." He shrugs. "If you wish, I will see about marrying as well? Though I don't know how easy that will be to arrange, now. I have less to offer, and there are stains to my name."
     But it is all the same about lineage, isn't it? Passing along blood. Passing along magic. Creating a heritage. It means little to me now; I am living for myself, and for you. In five years, ten years, twenty, perhaps this will have become more important. I must think of these things with an eye to your future, Io, even if not my own. That is my job, now.
     "I will see about getting an office," Tiernan says aloud, thinking aloud, "in the dock district of your mother's kingdom, if that is permitted. It would make sense. I'll start getting to work... building a life in your shadow but not attached to your hip." A quick grin that almost sparkles. "Or groin."

     His eyes flashed as you mention attached to his groin, and the grin was soon to follow. "For now, we should plan the kingdom. I will have to establish a court of my own, of which you will be the head as Chancellor. We can review the contracts as we do. That means," he exhales, "...setting up easily passed trade routes from the Island of the Crescent Moon, letting its location be known. We have to start from the beginning, yes? And you will have your own castle, if you wish," Iowerth murmurs to you, his head rolling on the cushion to turn to you. His eyelashes, that fiery red, mast most of his gaze. "You remember the island. There is the great mountain, the road spirals up it to the start of a castle there. We can split it into two castles, adjoin them with bridges. And you can design your own, hmm? You can have things work mechanically," he grins at that, eyes opening to normal width. "Or if you don't want your own tower, you can have a large house with an ocean view along the island's bay. You will be my administrator, all things will go through you before they come to me. Contracts, treaties, agreements. And if you wish to marry, of course. I would not... I would never ask you to be alone, Tiernan."
     He cannot wait any longer. After that, the kiss must come. It sweeps its way over your mouth, blossoms there in fullness, and parts only reluctantly. Iowerth looks at you, a hand finding your own as you pause in eating and drinking. "I would never ask you to be alone, not to have a family if you wished it. And you will have things to offer, holdings to offer. Who wouldn't want to marry the right hand of the high king? You will have beachfront property, your own castle. Whatever you create, Tiernan, you have that and yourself to give. A woman would have to be very foolish not to take your offer, should you make it."
     Closing his eyes, Iowerth kisses you again, and then upon your cheek, your temple as he starts to sit back. He eats a little of the beef, another roll, finishes his wine and takes up the heavy bottle to pour some more. "You marry only if you wish. Though certainly, I imagine it would cause less talk were you to do so eventually. Not soon... maybe in five, six, ten years. Put some distance between us before the rest of the world. It will be easy to arrange by then. I will help if you wish. I hope... to know your feelings about the women I will be... well, interviewing is a harsh term but it as much comes to that."
     Iowerth settles back with his refilled goblet, his body relaxing against the cushions. "So... we will stay on the island for three weeks or so. We'll put more thoughts to these plans, come up with a court structure, begin creating a place for those who come here. We will come up with incentives for fishermen, fishmongers and villagers to relocate. And we'll start to look over court royalty. I'm sure my mother will be sending me prospective brides once the skirmishes cool..."

     Your kiss is returned. It is a reassurance he gives you. A resumption of his promise. His mouth parts against your own, consumes your kiss, and then releases. "I will leave castles to you, my prince. A grand house will be home enough for me, with hidden places that others cannot find. I will show you all my secret places, but none other will find them."
     Tiernan sighs comfortably as you settle back, and he settles on his side, leaning up against you and throwing one sprawling arm over your chest. "You are my prince and my love. No matter what happens, I will be here for you. I gave you my word, Io. I will follow you anywhere. If that means dressing up in strange clothes," one eye cracks open upwards at you, "then so be it. If it means helping you to choose a bride... that's fine. I know that no matter how she looks, she will not entice you with how lewdly she moves under you half so much as I do."
     He is grinning as he says it; he turns a little, looking up at you with heavy-lidded intent in his eyes. His hands find their way to your silk; under your silk, to the warmth of your bare skin. "If you marry, then it makes sense that I marry not long after. It is, as you say, expected; and it would also allow our children to grow up together, which I am told is the sort of thing which is done, and which is viewed as desirable. So it would make sense, and," he shrugs, "it would be what people expect. But it will not change the fact that half the time when I am closeted with my king and ruler, it will be his name and not his title that I am groaning, and when I grasp his rod, it is true that I want it for myself... but not his kingdom."

     He sets his wine aside, looking at the cup a moment after he sets it free. For a moment, it seems as if he is about to begin a great speech, say something significant, or otherwise pontificate, perhaps even grandstand. But the motion is followed not with a wave of words but with a rolling of his body to face you. Your hand slides against his skin, the musculature beneath that silk and the dragons that swirl thereon.
     Evening has occurred outside these walls. The waters have turned to midnight and the midnight colored ship has disappeared like a figment of imagination. The room has darkened another notch, and now the only light comes from the twinkling stars and one bobbing oil lamp. In the darkness, his hands move beneath the covers, smoothing over your skin. Their wandering is slow, and is coupled with his mouth trailing along the line of your jaw.
     "No woman will ever move me as you do," Iowerth whispers at your skin. "No matter how many children she bears me. No matter how lovely her mind and bearing. You ... move me, my heart." Several days passion held at bay -- that is in the kiss that you receive. In the darkened chamber, the embrace that follows is hot enough to give off its own light. "I will always come to you," he breathes heavily upon those words, his mouth trailing roughly from your mouth to your neck. "I will always seek you out, Tiernan... I will always need you with me."
     His mouth continues to roam, and his heaviness comes to bear as he covers you. He is far more clothed than you but it provides no impediment to his movements. Widely his mouth parts at your skin, drawing a fiery line from chest to nipple, each one suckled and savored before his mouth trails downward still. It is loud in its embrace, his tongue dragging flame to your navel.

     He groans, loudly; as he had intimated, as he had promised. The closer you get, the more his head spins. "My love," Tiernan whispers, and he slides against you, tangling his legs with yours. "You are the sea, Io. How can I resist the pull upon me? How can I resist you, when I don't even want to? All that I want is contained right here, in your arms. All I need is your heart; it is a wondrous place, Io."
     You cover him, and his hands go to your hips, kneading there strongly. He pulls your hips down against his own, baring his neck to your mouth, his breath escaping him noisily. "Your heart," Tiernan murmurs the words raggedly, "is wide ... and wild. It has its savage moments, Io... but you are capable of tenderness... mercy... of great things. I do not want gentleness all the time, but when I need it... you have always been there..."
     I need you like no other. Your hands, your touch, the feel of your lips; the feel of you, Io. I need to know that you are in my life. That the ocean will always be there for me.
     That the moon may tug at you, but always, you will return to me...
     He is comforted by your embrace, by your presence. Your nearness has that effect on him. "I will be with you always," Tiernan murmurs, and his hands slide up along your back, cradling the back of your head. "Always, Io. I just ... there is only one thing that I have asked of you, and that is all I ask."

Posted by rowan at July 13, 2006 04:15 PM