It took effort to peel himself out of bed, away from your side, and there were several false starts where he allowed himself to be coaxed - by you and by himself - back to bed. Back into the surety of your arms. Everything seems so much calmer, there, with emotions and frustrations all held at bay by that circle. By the steady thumping of two hearts.
     Who can see sharks in the water, when everything is so serene?
     But eventually, he rose, and when he rose, so must you. Tiernan has washed and dressed and returned to the edge of the bed, a hand placed on your hip. "Let's go on shore," he proposed. And with whatever cajoling, eventually, it was made so.
     Which is, apparently, how you find yourself with him in the marketplace of your mother's kingdom, your lover casually dressed in a blend of modern clothing and old; Brenner's boots paired with well-worn jeans and a loose shirt of poetic design, a knife worn on his hip but no sword, a sturdy cloak with its hood tossed back and a Breitling watch (stopped for as long as he is here) on his wrist. Presently, he is perusing a variety of jewels laid in a shop window with the studious intent of a man about to be married - or a jewel thief. "What do you think of the ring over there - with the amethysts?"

     Unless for matters of State or War, the prince tends toward the anachronistic modern clothing of the material plane over the strange and often too-loud accouterment of his mother's kingdom. It is like Camelot on acid over here sometimes, he would say. He is wearing the midnight colored leathers that work both Here and There. Over this, rather than the silk shirts that would make Byron and Shelley jealous, Iowerth is wearing a simple white tee shirt. It is fitted at his shoulders, arms and chest but falls slack at his waist and hips. The shoes are sturdy-soled Doc Martens, black. He wears no sword, no sign of his title so obviously worn. If it is known, it is known only by his carriage.
     And the reactions of those around him...
     Periwinkle and green eyes flicker down to the ring you point to, and he leans in. "It's quite nice," Iowerth offers quietly. "But then I am a fan of purples and violets. Violet sapphires, amethysts. I think it would look good on you." He smiles at you, the smile openly warm. There is affection there, and he doesn't give a damn who sees it. It is an emotional hold of your hand, if not a physical one. "You should get it if you like it," Iowerth suggests.
     His eyes look at the other rings on display. "I like that band," his finger taps the glass, gesturing to an adamantine band with an elaborate inlay design. What it lacks in precious stones it makes up for in precious metals and intricacy. "What do you think of that?" He looks at you. He wants to buy it not for himself but for you.

     He reddens slightly as you give him that look, and the blue-eyed gaze lowers purposely, focusing relentlessly on the jewelry on display. But you can see it, can't you? That slightly quirking at one corner of his mouth, the lift of a smile, no matter how he tries to stifle it. "I was referring," Tiernan says quietly, "to the design. I wouldn't wear it; it's made for a woman's hand, for starters, and that arrangement of stones means something which, uh, I'd rather not ascribe to."
     His gaze turns slightly towards you, though he doesn't move his head; then he's looking to the band you're indicating. "Pretty. Made for the upper arm, yes? Better that than for the wrist. Wristbands and cuffs can be prettily made, but I've seen few which could be described as at all practical. The moment your hand or wrist gets caught..."
     He stops himself, a chuckle escaping him. "Shop talk. Tell you what; I need to pick up some diamonds and gold for Leon. Do you want to come in with me, or wait out here? I promise," Tiernan puts a hand over his heart, "I won't get into more shop talk with the owner. Just in and out."

     You can tell he's not a jewelry aficionado. He hadn't even really noticed it was for a woman's hand. You see a fiery eyebrow go skyward and his look even out into something smooth and bland. He certainly does not have the familial knack for jewelry (and the procuring of). "No, I was looking at the ring that goes with it. I don't like arm-bands. Too... I don't know... showy isn't the word I'm looking for. Anachronistic... costumey," Iowerth finally settles on. "I like the ring, however," he notes, gesturing to it. "It is a man's ring isn't it?" He smirks then.
     A less secure man might mutter that the two of you entering a jewelry store together might be misconstrued. He's not worried. "Sure," he notes, and he gestures you to lead the way. "How is Leon these days? Is he with you on the ship?" That OTHER ship, NOT mine. He doesn't say it, but every time he speaks of the 'ship' or 'Venice' it is everywhere implied. He enters the shop with you.

     Your lover is amused, even if it's a quiet amusement. "First of all, I'm not on any ship, in Venice. I'm working on keeping a city afloat, not a boat." If you were not in public, he would probably pinch your rear for it. He is tempted as it is. "I worked passage to Venice, though. And yes. It is a man's ring."
     He grins at you; affection worn with warmth on his face, in his eyes before he turns to enter the shop. "Leon is not with me. He's been in your mother's palace a lot of the time; one of the others, Minuet," a gazelle, "tells me he has grown much bigger. We'll stop by and see him before we go back to the ship. I couldn't take him with me; he's a little too... magical for over there. Besides, he didn't want to come with me."
     He waves to the girl behind the counter, a sloe-eyed creature with dark, ringleted hair. Her ears come to delicately tapered points and are hung with jeweled earrings, a vast number of necklaces and bracelets adorning throat and wrists. She has four wrists; four armed and with feathered wings, she is one of the more exotic denizens of this kingdom, to be sure. She watches the two young men emotionlessly as they enter, waiting until they are well and truly in to speak. "May I help you, good sirs?"

     "I thought you were still on a sailing vessel," Iowerth notes. "You were the last time you wrote." How can you expect me to keep up if you don't keep me updated? His lips twist, a slanting smirk. Much as he would, in fact, had you actually pinched him. "What is the matter with Leon? It is not like him to want to be parted from you. But I can understand your concerns for him there. He is likely better off here."
     As he steps into the shop, Iowerth looks to the exotic woman behind the counter. A woman with four hands. Iowerth resists the urge to say such arms would come in handy, though he could imagine the ways. He raises his hand, making a motion to indicate he is fine, just looking. As you turn to your business, he turns to his browsing.
     He will not buy anything for you while you are here, but he will look all the same. You are going to add to his design? I did not know... that he could grow. How is that possible for a machine?

     "Yes, well, I did tell you that I'm working for a marine engineering firm in Venice, on Venice itself," Tiernan retorts easily, "but you were distracted at the time. I'll forgive you this time." Especially as I was in your lap at the time. Yes, I can forgive you...
     He is paying little attention to what you are looking at, drifting from your side. He offers the proprietress a quick smile, moving in her direction. "Madam Lotte." Both his hands come to rest on the edge of the counter. "How are your husbands and your daughters? I understand Lille has taken on an apprenticeship. You must be proud."
     There is a slight thawing, a slight unbending to the four-armed, winged woman, and Lotte bows very slightly. "Prince Tiernan." Her voice is harsh, not in tone but in its natural sound. "Lille has taken apprenticeship with a baker, yes. She hopes to own her own bakery one day. Disappointing for me personally, but Lirra may yet have an interest in the family trade. We are proud of Lille, even if our pride is tinged by our disappointment. What can I do for you today, your highness?"
     "Sixteen ounces of pure fill gold," Tiernan replies, "and three ounces of uncut diamonds. Also, hm - two cabochon rubies, and one emerald, not to exceed a carat apiece. I take it my credit is still good?"
     "It is." She smiles at that, and her smile is quite pretty, even if her voice is not. "It is still drawn on the same bank, yes?"
     Tiernan laughs. "It is." He bows his head to her. "Then that will be all for me. I'll take it with me. If there is nothing that my companion needs, of course." And you are turned to. One dark pair of eyes, newly acquainted, and one blue pair, long familiar.

     "Nothing at this time," comes a thoughtful drawl. "Though, I will certainly recall the craftsmanship and quality when I have a purchase to make." He looks to the woman and bows his head in appreciation. He will have a need for a ring (if not more than one) in the coming year or two. "Your work is very refined."
     You know whatever you say in his bed simply skims off the surface of his brain like a pebble on a smooth lake. You get a look as you settle your business, his mouth forming a smooth curve of a smile. I take it back, then. You are not on another man's ship. That's good to know. It really upset me to think my ship wasn't good enough. He winks at you, turning and bending to look at something in a display case.
     Straightening, Iowerth then turns, heading over to you and Madame Lotte. Though he does not touch you, his presence hums where his hand last touched your skin. "I shall visit when I have more time, Madame Lotte."

     Your ship is good enough. But you know what they say; there is no substitute for wide and varied experience. He has mischief in mind. You can feel it, creeping along your spine to the nape of your neck, almost as tangible as a caress. But ultimately, it is in the belly of your ship that I like being the most.
     Tiernan leans forward to sign the chit for the items as the storekeeper calmly goes about bundling up the items for which he's paid. "Of course, your highness," Madam Lotte murmurs, her gaze going to you with that serenity. You will or you will not. She will see you if you do, and will not if you do not. "Prince Tiernan, we will be having our mid-autumn sale next week, if you wish to take advantage of it."
     "Ah, I doubt I'll be here - but thank you. Your consideration is kind." Tiernan takes the package offering her a bow and then turning to you with that faint touch of a curve to the corner of his mouth. Coming, then? Or should I go on ahead and leave you to wonder about if four hands make time pass twice as fast?

     He is right behind you, content to quietly stroll in your shadow. It is impossible for him to be incognito -- eyes follow him everywhere, male and female, shop owners and shoppers alike. "I should expect her husband is quite happy," he drolls once you and he are moving onto the next destination. He walks close to you, his body language indicating quite boldly the favor he gives you. It is not overtly sexual, but it is intimate. Personal. What it must be like, they wonder, all those around you -- what it must be like to be so loved by a future king.
     Iowerth glances from you to the other shops. He smiles to remember the day you and he, such young men, ventured out to the markets and purchased narcotic oils and aphrodisiacs. The boldness, the brazenness, the youthful rambunctiousness. Iowerth chuckles quietly to recall it, his green and periwinkle gaze returning to you. Remember the woman who sold us those vials? Her breast popping out of her clothing? I had forgotten that. We went to that singer's apartment and commenced to completely demolishing it. We were very naughty boys.
     And now we are naughty men, so it seems. Iowerth looks to you, pausing to look into one of the stalls -- books and papers. "Here... these are nice. I hear in Venice they make special marbled paper." Turning to you, his eyebrows lift in askance of your confirmation. "Would you mind bringing some the next time you visit? I should like to see it for myself."

     "He is, though he has two arms to her four, and no wings. They were wondering how the children would come out, right up until they popped out of the womb. Or egg as the case might be - I've never found a polite way of asking. Lille is the older. She came out as her mother. In Madam Lotte's culture, jewel-smiths and goldsmiths and the like hold a particular place in esteem; hence her disappointment that Lille is not following in her footsteps." Tiernan smiles at you as he fills you in, a hand in his pocket, the other resting a moment on your shoulder as he turns his head to peer at one of the stalls. "Lirra came out without wings or extra arms, so even if she follows in her mother's footsteps, it won't have quite the same meaning. And she's the younger, of course, but I suppose every family has their problems."
     He would not know. His family having been so small, and, really, so strange...
     "I haven't seen it, but I can look for it," Tiernan promises you, looking at the paper. His face is very steadily reddening at the memories you call up - and the images that go with those memories. "I haven't been exploring Venice very much; most of the time, I'm working on one thing or another."
     Does that please or dismay you? But he is remembering, now, caught fast by a memory. I remember. Mandrake root. You bought some for your mother. And I bought - I don't even remember what I bought. You were driving me so mad that all I could do was point at random things. I don't even remember how much it cost me.

     "I suppose there really is no good way to inquire about one's reproductive habits," comes the droll sound of his voice again. Tilting his head to read the spines of books, Iowerth glances to you. "It is rather personal." He nods to the shopkeeper -- who'll be able to sell the book in question merely because the future high king bothered to look at it for two minutes -- and then resumes his stroll.
     "You should explore Venice," he encourages and suggests. "I hear they have some of the finest coffee in Europe. Good chocolate. Fine bookstores. And of course the art and architecture go without saying. They are known for their papers and glasswork, however. I believe the Isle of Murano is the center of the glassmaking industry. The papers originate on another of the surrounding islands. Not Cypresses... not Lido," you've seen all that Lido has to offer, paper was not among them, "...it starts with a B..." He trails off in thought, then shakes his head. It'll come to me later.
     Oh, that's right. I bought the mandrake root for her wedding night. I'm sure that caused no shortage of mortification. He grins to you as he continues to walk. "I hear there are open marketplaces not unlike this, well... not as fanciful," he continues on Venice. "Near the Rialto, I think. I remember reading about it at any rate. So, you return tomorrow." He looks at you, then ahead. A month for you is more than a month for him, but less than six. He is doing his best to be accepting. He does not want you to return before you truly wish to return. "You will have to write me, and tell me how your work is going. Let me know if I can be of any assistance from here. Maybe I can tell my islands to dream of anything but sinking." He grins at that. His grin, only you could see, is tempered by the knowledge that tonight is your last night with him. For at least a month your time. By the time you return, it will be winter here, the seasons mimicked at a whirlwind pace -- for even seasons dream.
     "Would you like to have dinner on the beach? It looks to be a clear night. There is a sheltered spot to the northeast, away from the docks. We can dine there, talk more of your adventures and those you still hope to have. I will furnish the dinner and drinks. You bring the stories."

     "I've had some of the coffee. And some of the chocolate." Tiernan grins at you sidelong, hands folding behind his back once he's stowed his gold and jewels in his cloak. He seems unconcerned about the risk of thieves. A pound of gold and cabochon rubies and emeralds? But then, he is in the company of the future high king, the brother of the prince of thieves, is he not? "But those have been incidental to food, and mild socializing; I have much admired the architecture, though."
     You didn't land in trouble? That amazes me right there. Though I suppose that sort of trouble would require acknowledging the gift without blushing, wouldn't it. He is amused, still, and it dances on his thoughts. "I'll look for the marketplace. Would you like me to take pictures as any other tourist?"
     "Tomorrow," Tiernan agrees, his voice softening. "Can't stay away too long, with the way time passes. I do not want my employers to think I've deserted them in the middle of a project." He has always been loyal to his commitments. Is that not part of your abiding love for him? You receive that sidelong glance again, and the smile is tempered by that knowledge. Yes. You and I will be parted again. And I will miss you. But not enough to forego my departure. I have not learned of myself enough...
     But I will miss you, Io. More than words can say. More than I can even think. Right now, even though I know I will be leaving, it does not feel real to me...
     "Dinner on the beach? Certainly. But first let's take this package to Leon, shall we? So he doesn't think his friends have forgotten him."

     You have your work, and he has his. He nods as you quietly speak of it. Iowerth glances to you as he pauses to admire some cloth. His fingers run over the material. "We can go to the palace, certainly," he offers. "It's a while yet until dinner." There is a part of him that is frustrated with the partings, frustrated that he cannot just fix whatever it is and have you with him. But your work is not his work. The greater part of him realizes he must be tolerant. He at least makes the attempt. "Leon is in the main palace you say?"
     Iowerth turns to you, nodding a farewell to the shopkeeper as he turns toward the palace road. "Shall we go now? You can work on him while I get the latest reports on my troop movements. My first garrison is heading to the islands today. When you visit next, I shall be there. Remind me to give you a map and compass. Have you decided... about the ship," he wonders quietly, turning away from the shops, his stroll heading for his mother's castle. "Shall I have the gift moored here, waiting for you?" You could use it to sail to him when next you visit. You will need more than an expansion bridge to reach him next time.
     He will miss you. He is already starting to. The walk is now fraught with impending farewells and the knowledge that his rooms and bed and arms will be empty. You will be gone and Gwilym, too. Always. He finds himself spending more time alone than even he prefers of late. Once away from the crowds, Iowerth speaks: "I understand, Tiernan. Even if I don't like it, I do understand it. And I admire you for it, for seeking who you are, and for not packing in because your lover is disagreeable." Iowerth smirks at himself. "I am selfish. I am trying hard not to be. I do not know if it is possible with you, but I am trying."

     "So I understand, from my gazelle." Tiernan glances to you, smiles at you. It is difficult. Every time you mention the inevitable parting, he feels stretched; pulled thinner, as if the separation were somehow made more physical than emotional. As if it were in progress already. "Minuet implied things which must be seen to be believed."
     He nods to you as you make your suggestions. "I will need your guidance." I will always need your guidance, Io, even if I make my own way. A foot in either world... "It will not be so much work. He eats the gold, you see. Gold, jewels, silver in a pinch - though silver doesn't agree with him so well."
     He is quiet, not answering you just yet, about the gift. He is restraining himself; it is too public a place for the response he would like to give. Finally, an answer comes.
     Will it always be this difficult, Io? Restraining myself from the affection I'd like to show you. I would not be so churlish as to refuse your gift, even if I weren't knocked head over heels by the magnitude of it. Which I am. I love you. I wish that I could stay...
     But he cannot. He knows it and you know it, and it is strong emotion which has him helpless, struggling with his own taciturnity, colour high in his face as he looks into the wind. Tiernan sighs a little, offering you a faint, small smile sidelong with his mouth, his eyes on his feet. "You're doing well," he says quietly. "Better than you think..."

     "I feel ... caddish," he admits as you and he pass out of the marketplace and along the far less inhabited road to the palace. People are constantly coming and going, but there is no loitering. Centaurs may now be seen and the palace itself looms, many layered as it is, overhead and as far as the eye can see. Iowerth looks at you.
     "I have no right, really, to be selfish. I know it is not a mature feeling, but one that can turn petulant in an instant." He chuckles at himself. "You have your own life to live, your own work, your own responsibilities to find what moves you. I cannot begrudge you these things. Nor would. Am I not also doing this? Establishing navies and armies, kingdoms and philosophies? If you were here, would I still not have my work? So, I know this nagging feeling is just my wanting to have my way. But I have tried hard in my life to cultivate a higher brain, to not respond to whatever base impulse that passes my way. I don't know how well I'm doing, however, despite your assurances. I suppose as long as you think I am doing well, I will be content with that."
     He is quiet as he regards you, your thoughts on the ship passing through him. "The best way to learn to sail is to sail. Besides, I had to have a way for you to reach me on the island, for you to come and go as you please. It knows the way and will take you there. I would not expect you to travel the whirlpools as I do." So few would, unless they were completely mental. "It is the safest way for you to travel to the Court of the Crescent Moon. You will get to see it," his eyes lift to you, "...on your next visit. I know it is a grand gift, maybe too grand. It likely ... rubs your sensibilities raw but... it does not come with an obligation. You are not signing a conscription order by accepting it, Tiernan. I will not offer you jobs or positions. You must make that way yourself, as you know."
     The inevitable parting. With so little time, it is never far from the mind. No matter how good, how opulent the fantasy, reality always returns. "I don't know," Iowerth murmurs, his hands lacing behind his back as he strolls alongside you to the palace's main approach. "I hope you don't have to constrain affection for long. I don't think confinement agrees with either of us, to be honest."

     "As long as the impulse is curbed before it hits your tongue to seek to sway or to compel, you are doing well," your lover tells you. He stops moving, turning to look at you, a rare and widening smile given to you. "Io... do you think many people I have known would be that gracious? To me, you may not be a saint; but they surely must be keeping a niche open for you."
     He stands, folding his arms over his chest. Easier that way, to defend against strong emotion. To defend against revelation. To defend against his own desires. "I did not think that the ship came with strings, Io. It does not rub my sensibilities raw; it humbles me. I have to try to be worth such grand gifts, is all."
     He begins moving again, his hands tucked out of harm's way, his eyes focused upon the palace. "I want what anyone wants, Io," Tiernan whispers. "To be able to wear my heart openly. That's all."

     "I know," he murmurs. "And for that we must just be patient. When things are in place and I am king, then we can wear our hearts more plainly. Or you certainly may." Iowerth smirks, "I'm not sure a king should ever do so. But maybe it is time for kings to be different. I consider myself more... philosopher king than any earthly ruler. A mediator among mediators, the one who sets the vision and then leads in such a way that the others believe in it and make it come to pass."
     He shakes his head at any notion of sainthood. "God no, Tiernan, I am horribly flawed. I am gracious because... I care for you. And even there selfishness still exists," his eyebrows arch upward in his own thought and realization. "For if I am gracious with you, then that grace will return you to me. If I were to act on my first impulse, you would be gone and we would likely be finished. I don't want that... ergo grace. It sounds so much less magnanimous when I say it, doesn't it. I like your way better," he cracks.
     He walks along with you as you restart your stroll. "I don't expect you to be any more generous than I. I don't expect monogamy, couldn't expect that as I am not capable of returning it. I would not ask you to do, in short, what I am not capable of doing. I go to great lengths to be as equitable as I may. Nothing is ever really fair, but I try to do the right thing. In this instance, the right thing is not what I'd personally wish. But then," he smiles to you, "the right thing is very rarely comfortable. That's how you know it's the right thing to do. When it causes personal discomfort. You do not need to earn the ship, Tiernan. You already have. Make of it what you will. It is yours, as I wish you to know that I am."
     Iowerth leads you past the centaurian guards and into the palace proper. The guards snap to attention as he passes by. He is already starting to tune that activity out. It has become commonplace. "I begrudge you nothing," he murmurs, "...because I love you." He does not censor it here; he does not use any internal voice. But then, Love is as varied as the weather. "I hope that you are not spending all your nights alone. Don't." He looks at you seriously. "I don't want you to be lonely. When the ache is too much, trust that I have paid for moments, however fleeting, of solace. You are not a monk. That is not what this exercise of yours is about, I do not think. And though the thought of it makes me jealous, I have no right to that jealousy

     "I am not a monk. But I find I am, by and large, not a casual man." He watches the salutes with an absorbing eye, expression turned inwards to dwelling and solemn thoughts. What he says is not what he thinks, but something sidelined; what he thinks is more about what he sees. The bowing. The scraping. Your own reaction to it, or lack thereof. "I can have casual encounters. And they are not worthless. But ... I look at my origins."
     A hand unfolds from its mate at the small of his back, touching lightly to your elbow. We met. I fell in love. I gave myself to you. I cannot seek to recreate that; even if I were to take a lover in Venice for however long I am there, it would not be the same. Could not be, since my heart seeks you. So I view it as having several choices.
     Tiernan looks to the guards with a faint smile, then to you, continuing the thoughts within himself, to you. His footsteps are quiet, though not the quiet of the thief; a quiet of thought - of concentration - even of philosophy. I can seek a series of meaningless encounters, knowing that I cannot lose myself entirely in the moment. My thoughts will still stray towards you at the edges. I can seek to take a lover and have it mean something, in which case I am either leading them on for when I eventually do leave to return here, or I am driving a wedge between myself and that return. He could not knowingly use someone, ape words of love and admiration and have it mean nothing. You know this, as does he. I can simply be as I am, neither seeking nor avoiding, and let whatever happens, happen - or I can remain monastic, save for my visits back here. The latter two are not identical, but they have had their moments of similarity.
     And dissimilarity. He does not say it. Not yet. A hand lifts, pushes back ink-black hair from his forehead as he looks up at the tall towers of your mother's palace. "I know you can't be monogamous. I don't expect it," Tiernan whispers. "And I do ache. But I pour it into my work, most nights. When it is not the work for which I get paid, it is my own research. My own thoughts. I could have built an army of Leons by now, Io. Instead, I have been devising little creations; a pearl and oyster combination, marbles smaller than the first joint of my thumb, which I have taken to dumping in the canals and waterways of Venice. There they will sink until they find mooring at the anchor-points of the buildings by which I drop them, and there they will sift through the silt and dust of ages. They will collect the sand, the silica, the detritus, absorb it, and use it to build columns, layers upon layers around themselves and what they have attached themselves to. As an oyster builds a pearl from a grain of sand, so, maybe, will Venice be saved. Or," he shrugs, self-effacing, "maybe her destruction will be a little delayed. Who can say?"
     He looks at you, and away again. If I knew how I could only be of equal aid here, it would be easier. If an opportunity knocks on my door, I won't necessarily turn it away, Io. I might end up gasping in some other's bed, them knowing my mouth and I knowing theirs. But just as I did not desire that Spanish-looking courtesan in the brothel... neither do I want to be her, or feel as if I make myself like her. I'm a snob, I suppose. But I don't want to feel cheap or used, or as if I'm using someone else.

     He looks to you as you and he travel the hallways in seeming silence. The bowing and scraping is not begging; it is duty. And while it is recognized, at the moment it is not acknowledged. Nor do the guards expect it to be when the prince is in conversation, or deep in thought. Your work there is important. As important as my work here. I hope your efforts will help Venice. It would be a tragedy to lose so beautiful and venerable a city. So much inspiration, so much grandeur.
     Iowerth looks to you, his arms unwinding from behind him to fold at his chest as he walks along. I hope a way will open up for you here, that you may be of as much use to our needs as to theirs. There is much to do. Surely there must be something here that will call you eventually. I know you must make your own way. His impulse is to help, to make suggestions. But he has learned how not to. To simply listen and observe.
     I work to the point of exhaustion when you are not here. When I eventually find my way to bed, I cannot pause to think that it is missing something so fundamental as to lose its definition as a bed. I sleep and then wake to repeat this. There is much to do, so there is much that occupies me. I understand what you mean, Tiernan. I simply wish, at the end of all things, for you to be happy. I am smart enough, wise enough I think and hope, to know that your happiness is not solely derived from me, nor should it be.
     You and he are approaching the side of the castle where your rooms still exist, and presumably Leon's as well. "My heart is true, you are in it," Iowerth murmurs. "I do not want you to cheapen yourself, to allow yourself to be used. Far from it. And I hope that what I am doing is not smacking of that." Periwinkle eyes sparkle as they shift to you. "You are cherished in my heart, Tiernan. We are often so... distracted by the needs of our flesh, made sharper with the parting, that we seldom get to speak half so deeply. I wish you to know that I think the world of you. However much my desire is, my love for you is greater still."

     "I hope my efforts are of some help. But ... who can say? There is only ever just so much time. Do here, or do there; do this, or do that. What I do in one place," Tiernan murmurs, "means something is undone somewhere else. It is judgment. Where will my efforts be the most useful? Who should I bend a knee to?"
     That may be part of it. It is difficult for me to serve you, Io. You are a king, and you are my king, but I am your lover, and I love you. I cannot serve you fully without giving you up as a lover, and I am loath to do that. I don't entirely understand it, but I think it might be part of it. Mixing the office and the bedroom, or - something. I don't know. I try to focus on it, and it blurs, shoots off into a corner where I can't get a good look at it.
     "I want your happiness," he says aloud. "I don't want you to sacrifice that." He turns, looks to the door and pushes it open. After you. I don't know how to reconcile all these sharp-edged and cloudy thoughts.

     He had not truly considered it in this way, that serving him or his vision would be putting you in an awkward position. Iowerth halts in the hallway, turning to you even as you did to him before, and he considers that statement, that philosophical quandary. He looks then to some space between you and he, not on any part of you particularly but on his own thoughts. "I had not considered that," he softly admits. "I apologize, Tiernan. How that must have seemed to you." Eyebrows lift in his continued rumination. "Perhaps you should serve another kingdom, should you decide to return. Out of... avoiding your own queen, we created a conundrum for ourselves."
     Iowerth resumes his strolling in quiet, his wandering steps taking him to the wing where honored guests and emissaries are housed and where you still have your apartments. "I think you may be... onto something. Perhaps you should find another kingdom where your skills could be treasured without the stress and strain of also being my lover. I ...would hate to lose you as an advisor, intelligence when found is always hard to part with, but...I think you are right."
     That also does not please him, but he sees the truth in it now quite clearly. With an exhale, Iowerth unfolds his arms, letting them just be at his sides for a moment. "Wherever you serve, it will be a benefit to the common vision, the common goals. You contribute to the good work I wish by serving wherever it suits you best, not where it suits me best. Duw," he whispers with a rueful smile, "...this is difficult work. And these are the easy decisions." Iowerth shakes his head at himself, chuckling quietly as he walks with you to the towers.

     "Anyone listening to us has to be terribly confused by now." The humour of it is not lost on him. One corner of his mouth twitches upwards. Things said aloud, things said silently - the conversation meanders so that noone listening in will be able to follow more than half, if even that much.
     He moves to the door to his own suite, though it has been long indeed since he's been here, reaching into his cloak for something which looks like the mutated love child of a house key and an insect. It leaves his palm of its own accord, slowly walking up along the door's frame to the knob and climbing itself down to the keyhole. I'm torn, Io. I do not want to enter someone else's service - but then there is this. I don't know how to reconcile things. What we created, it was a convenient fiction at the time, but ... somewhere along the way, we forgot it was meant to be a fiction. And that is my own fault, not yours. But I am not someone who can live in idleness, and I cannot live as a subordinate to you and still be your lover, and - I am writing myself into a corner.
     There is a click, and the door opens. Tiernan steps forward, calling, "Leon? It's me, and Io. Are you here?" He walks quickly, as if to put distance between himself and his crowding thoughts. There is nothing easy about this. It is personal.

     There is a slight roll of those periwinkle and green eyes. Yes, well. Either that or bored with the melodrama. He snorts a chuckle, then shrugs, quieting to listen to you. He watches your animated key with piqued curiosity, your troubles and his momentarily put on pause. "Is the lock half as interesting as the key?" he quietly wonders. And even more quietly ponders taking the lock apart himself to find out.
     It was my fault, Tiernan. Not yours. I created the fiction and then... well, of course, it became true. And I began to think: Well, why wouldn't he want a position in my court? It keeps you close to me. Standing at the open doorway, he looks to you. Here, in half shelter, he touches you, a hand going to your arm. And that is where my selfishness comes in play. I want you to be happy, so long as you are happy with me. But I can't have my way on this and have you happy at the same time.
     "So," Iowerth voices upon an exhale, "... I choose your happiness over my own." It does ache. He does want you with him, close at hand so that he can see you whenever it he wants. He lets you see it in the sheen of his eyes, grown watery, and in his expression, a kind of quiet and bemused agony. He knows it is wrong to feel that way, yet he feels it, and even more he admits it. Iowerth half shakes his head, his eyes blinking the notion of such watery outbursts away -- no tear will be shed this day.
     "I choose yours over my own. So... there it is. You may come back to the realms, but not to my service. I would be happy to give you a glowing referral, however, to whatever kingdom you should choose to serve. Just... do me the favor of having it accessible by water, oes?" Iowerth takes in a sharp breath, his composure regained and his emotions tucked tightly back in as you step forward. "Do you ... need some time alone with Leon? I feel like I'm intruding suddenly. You don't get to see him much anymore..."

     "The lock is an ordinary lock." Tiernan smiles a little, glancing at you. "But what kind of mechanic or engineer doesn't have a skeleton key?" His creations have lives of their own. A living thing which crawls into a lock and finds the way to open it - then pulls itself through the keyhole when it is done, signaling its completion of duty.
     He steps into the room - just over the threshold - and he turns to you. Stop assuming, Io. Deus ... the noble self-sacrifice! We are both too quick to martyr ourselves on the altar of this love.
     Blue eyes are suddenly intent, and he reaches out to grab you by the front of your shirt, tugging. "Get in here," Tiernan growls, "and stop trying to slink off. Your highness." It's tacked on, a bit awkwardly, and he looks down at his hand on your silk with that faint tugging reluctant smile again before he looks to your face, very serious. "Don't close doors when I'm trying to open them. Right now what we need is time. We've stirred up a lot of dust; let the dust settle on the past so we can figure out what will make the most sense for us."
     Because I am not content to walk away from you. I am not content to live apart from you. I can and will accept it in the short term, while I figure out what I need and what I need to do; but I will not accept you deciding it for me, and I will not accept you cutting things away for my own good. I am not weak, Io, and I am not defenseless. No matter how things began. Do I need to push you down on the bed and remind you that things are different now?
     He releases your shirt, turning to face into the room. "I think Leon would be hurt if you left. I know that I would be."

     He's a difficult thing to push and pull, even when he's willing. When he's not willing, he becomes a boulder. While he isn't tugged into the room, he does at least move a little when you pull on the tee shirt. He meets your gaze when you pull at him -- that, he seldom slinks from -- and a pull always gets his attention, albeit usually attention of the wrong sort. The smiles and the quiet, bemused laughter are gone, and all his humor with it. This conversation has taken a turn for the grave.
     You can't work for me, you said it yourself. I happen to agree with you. What the hell other solution is there than working for someone else? You can't serve me. It is not an unreasonable assumption, therefore, that you're going to have to serve someone else who will serve me. And in so doing there is the potential that you will be perpetually away; available, but certainly not living with me. I don't know why we're arguing. We're saying the same damn thing.
     When upset, his thoughts meet you like ocean spray, waves that buffet as well as convey. For a moment, Iowerth says nothing. His frown cuts in a slant as he works to temper his emotions, his mood, and the expressions that are a result of it all. "Afternoon, Leon," he offers suddenly, his voice lifting. He comes into the room, closing the door behind him. He folds his arms against his chest, looking from you to the rest of your room.

     How about I work with you instead of for you?
     Tiernan fixes you with his gaze for one long moment lasting, meeting that ocean spray as stolidly and unflinchingly as anything. And then - then he turns away, into the room, reaching into his cloak for the wrapped gold and jewels. "I brought you a snack. I've been hearing things, you know."
     There is a rustle from under the bed, and then a yowl, and a jewel-eyed golden lion only a little smaller than a pit bull pushes its way out from under the midnight-bedecked bed. Tiernan promptly drops the gold on his foot with a thump.
     "It would appear," Tiernan says after a moment, "you've grown, Leon. Are you going to tell me how you did it?"
     The expression on the lion's face could only be described as smug. He squarks, voice still the same as ever, only louder. The gold-tufted tail twitches, pulling aside the coverlet, and from underneath the bed, there is more movement.

     Iowerth is taken aback by the lion's size. "We should warn the centaurs, you know, if he's going to get much bigger." Fiery eyebrows cock up in surprise and again the conversation is paused. He will remember his place, rest assured. He always has the knack of picking up arguments right where he left them.
     Periwinkle eyes flicker to the movement in the bed. He's half afraid of what's coming next. He hopes it's not a litter of them. He's not sure he can explain that away. As it is, if Gwilym knew of the mechanical devices he's liable to erupt.
     Turning, Iowerth finds a chair. If something is going to unfold, he might as well be comfortable. He settles with a long sigh. No, the argument isn't forgotten and his emotions have not faded.

     "Deus." His part of the argument has been temporarily forgotten. It's clearly as much a shock to him as to you, and he drops on one knee, giving Leon a wary but respectful look and then looking back under the bed - carefully. "I didn't know he could get this big. Well, Leon, your days of riding on my shoulder are over, I'm afraid, unless you shed a hell of a lot of weight in a hurry."
     Leon makes a whuffling sound which could be a snort, then turns gracefully, padding over to the bed and nosing at the ruffles. Slowly from under the bed, an orange-furred feline emerges - waddles, then hisses. And Tiernan goes pale.
     "Iowerth," he says carefully, "isn't that your mother's cat?"

     "Shite," Iowerth sighs. "Oes." And his head promptly goes in a hand. He really doesn't want to look. Am I going to have to kill them both? I really am not prepared for this right now, Tiernan. Sighing, he straightens, looking at the scene and shaking his head. This is not good. We can't have copulating mechanical cats taking over the ruddy kingdom. You need to sort this one out.
     Notice the pronoun use...
     "Duw, she's going to kill me," Iowerth sighs. "And then she's coming for you," comes the wry voice, pointed toward Leon. "Well, Miss Puss. I hope you're ruddy satisfied. You've really dropped a kibble into the tea this time." No, this is not what he needed today. It's starting to make him surly.
     "Well," Iowerth says after another moment, after a breath to still his churning insides, "...what do you propose we do about it." At least his pronoun use has changed.

     "I propose," Tiernan answers carefully, "we have a drink." He rises to his feet, moving slowly across the room to open up the desk. From a drawer, he takes a bottle of brandy; from another drawer, a couple of glasses. He sets them upright and begins filling them carefully.
     Leon looks, if possible, even more smug, blinking his emerald eyes. 'Lord' Sangria - apparently a Lady cat after all - rubs her flank against the gold lion, then disappears back under the bed quickly. Tiernan closes his eyes, very quickly taking a drink from one of the glasses.
     "Here." He walks over to you, glass held out, then looks over at Leon. "This shouldn't even be possible, you know. You're made of metal. I knew I shouldn't have made you anatomically correct." That gets an indignant squawk, and Tiernan looks over at you.
     "There's only one thing we can do about it. Wait for the birth, and then take the kits and the sire," Leon gets an exasperated glance, "and take them with us to your kingdom, and hope your mother never finds out." He looks as if he is about to add something, but it is bitten off, hidden behind the rim of his glass.

     "I don't want them running around and procreating in my kingdom either," Iowerth says with some exasperation. "They have the kits, there's nothing we can do about it now, and then ..." He downs the brandy, sets the glass aside and gives you a look. And then you make him not anatomically correct and I have the other cat fixed as well. You can sell off the kittens as novelty items. But the last thing I want or need is cats running around with special powers just... willy nilly all over the place.
     "I don't have the time to take care of your cat. This is why I don't have pets," he points out to all in the room. He's not being incredibly helpful. Even he realizes this, and he sighs, sitting forward. "Who's going to monitor all this while you're away? Clearly, he needs some minding, Tiernan. No offense, Leon. Someone is going to have to monitor the birth, keep them separated, and then check the kittens for ... death-ray eyes and whatever-the-fuck..."
     Head in his hand, Iowerth rubs his eyes. You're going to have to fix him. There are all sorts of other cats around here, to be sure. We don't need a bionic cat explosion. The mangy alley cats are bad enough as it is, but at least they're easily contained. Lions, not so much. With a groan, Iowerth leans back in his chair, eyes to the ceiling. "Why on earth did you make him anatomically correct?"

     "I made him when I was eight, Io." Tiernan's voice is incredibly calm and even, the tightness behind it making it plain just how much control is going into keeping it so. "Believe it or not, at that age, not very much thought went through my head as far as how babies were made, or reasons why they shouldn't be. Besides, he was my friend."
     His brandy is set down, and he moves to collect the parcel of gold and sits on the floor, unrolling the package and holding out bits of gold on his palm to the lion. His dark head is bowed sleekly, expression still tightly contained, that immobility of expression in place. "Yes, Leon," he quietly reassures, "you are still my friend. That has not changed." He runs a hand lightly over the golden back.
     He inhales deeply, nudging a ruby over to the metal lion, watching as it's crunched up like candy between diamond-studded jaws. "I will take care of it," Tiernan says quietly. "Don't worry about it, Io. It will be my responsibility." He does not look at you, letting his fingers instead slide through golden strands that frame Leon's face. "If you would rather not be here, you can go. I'll catch up later."

     "I'm sorry."
     It is a quiet thing, that apology. It is spoken even as it is meant. He hurt you and he is sorry. Out of his own...well, out of the totality of what this conversation has been, emotional and frustrating, he lashed out at the one thing that would hurt you. He feels like a complete ass now -- which is good, as he determines that he is a complete ass, braying voice and stubborn personality to match.
     "I will arrange for transport to the new city once the kittens are born," Iowerth quietly continues, "... he can live in your apartments. I can move your things over if you wish. Anything you'd like there." He is quiet a few moments more. His first impulse is to leave. When his emotions are raw and at the surface, he simply isn't comfortable. He is turbulent, like the pitching waters at the Charybdal Mouth.
     "I don't really want to go, but if you want me to go I will." He wouldn't blame you, really. He doesn't want to be around him right now either. "I am sorry for being cruel. And to you also, Leon. Please accept my apologies for my rude behavior."
     He's a better friend than I, I think. At least when he scratches you, it's mostly not intentional. Frowning, both at himself and at the swirl of his emotions, Iowerth rubs his eyes again. "We'll take care of it," he assures. "It's... not the end of the world. Just a minor inconvenience. Lord... or rather Lady Sangria... says she's due in another week. I'll assign a valet to watch for the birth. Or...would you rather?"

     "I'll make arrangements to stay to see things through." He still will not look at you, still with that level tone to his voice. It is a deep hurt you have opened. Deeper, perhaps, than you know; deeper than he had realized, deeper than he had thought himself able to be hurt. "It changes things, but births usually do."
     He holds Leon's head gently between his hands, tousling the golden mane. His head remains bowed; such tension in his body. "We can have the kittens fixed when they're old enough. As for Leon, I can't really blame him for this. He was lonely, and I'd abandoned him, hadn't I?"
     You two have something in common, you see. Tiernan releases the lion's head with a low exhale, rising to his feet and moving over to the window, staring sightlessly out. You and he are more alike than you think. It's just a reminder of where I came from, Io. It will pass.

     He can feel it from across the room. He would have been able to feel it from Venice, he thinks. "If it will put your work in jeopardy, I can assign someone to it. It is not a problem." You speak of abandonment and the future king is quiet. He looks to you, though you will not look to him, and then he looks away. It is difficult to face the expression of pain that one has caused. But his eyes always return to you, to learn the lesson and to face what he has done.
     After a moment, he rises, his steps not leading him to the door (where they should go) but to you. He doubts you want him near you just now, but he must face things no matter how difficult. He follows you, rather than retreats. Because you left us and we became wild things without your touch? How is it Leon and I are alike? Or is it because we have...become something unexpected. He, a reproducing and living creature, and I ... a cruel and spiteful man?
     He places a hand upon your shoulder. The hurt will pass, but the fact that it came from me. That is not so readily put aside. I shall not so soon forget it. I was speaking out of my anger, my hurt. The words appeared on my tongue and I shook them off anyway. So much for your earlier comments that I was doing well, hmm? Can you forgive me for hurting you? Leon was all you had for a while. The words occur to him and are then given to you. I followed after and became all you had. Now... you have yourself...
     And it is up to you to determine if he will have you at all. Is that how Leon and I are alike? We are a reminder of where you came from, certainly, but perhaps not where you are going.
     Iowerth frowns in thought and at himself. "I do not feel too good about myself at the moment," he murmurs. "I speak of progress and peace, and yet I cannot seem to have it even in my own life. How am I to dream of it for others," he wonders suddenly. He snorts at himself, his hand rubbing your shoulder, landing gently upon your back. "I should go, I think. I have... given you every reason in the world to want some...peace and quiet without me in it."

     "If I abandon those who I care for and those who care for me, then I am nothing worth doing for," Tiernan says simply. "I will stay. Anything else is of no real consequence."
     He does not answer you right away. Maybe he cannot. Words are coming slow to him now, not flowing but moving like heavy sludge. Because I left you both, forgetful of my commitments to you. You were both there when I needed you, at dark times in my life. Guilt and self-imprisonment lay heavy on his tongue, for all that the words are not spoken audibly. His hands move to the window sill, bracing himself. Holding himself upright.
     "He was all I had." Tiernan says it quietly, as quietly as anything he has ever said. Still he does not turn, does not look at you. "When mother was in one of her rages, he would curl in my shirt as if he could protect me from her. Even though I forbade him to interfere. I knew she would destroy him if she realized his intent. He would perform for me, try to cheer me when I was unhappy. I owe him better than this."

     "I do not want you staying out of guilt," he shakes his head, his hand going to your hair. "If your purpose lies elsewhere, Tiernan, then we must find a way to make it work. If you stay out of ... mere obligation, then it's all for nothing. You are smart, clever. You can find a way to take him with you if you must."
     For now, he is keeping himself out of the equation.
     "You cannot sacrifice yourself just so those around you will be a bit more comfortable. Leon will cope. As you can no doubt tell, he's a very adaptable creature. That's likely saying the least. Surely, you and he can come upon some agreement that will keep him with you in your work."
     And for him?
     "As for me," he exhales, his hand coming to rest upon your upper back, "... I've already said what I'm prepared to do. As we've seen today, I'm both good and not good at coping with it. I will ... get better about it. I'll have to. You are important to me. Your happiness is important to me. And I do not think you are really ready to return here full-time. It is self-reliance you seek, and you should see it. You should seek out your own destiny and purpose. I am not going to tell you or recommend you do otherwise. Truly. Leon is still here... you still have him in your life. You simply have to ... figure out how to work him into your daily existence."
     Leaning in, Iowerth places a kiss upon your temple. "I am so sorry I lashed out at him... and at you. It was... wrong of me. I accept the responsibility for having said it. I hurt you. And I am sorry." With another exhale, the prince places his hand upon your hair, brushing it back before falling away. He turns to leave. "I will be on the ship if you wish to see me."

     Tiernan remains where he is, still looking off into space, still saying nothing. It is as if the confidence he'd built has been shattered; as if he has no recourse for the moment but a return to that dark place, to the silence and solitude of his own thoughts. He does not answer you.
     He does not say anything at all...

     Tiernan
     Though Iowerth turned, he did not get far. You are standing here, but you have all but disappeared. He is looking at you, but you are nowhere to be found. Periwinkle eyes narrow, their color sharpening. Tiernan... I know you are angry... hurt... but I cannot leave you like this.
     No, Iowerth, you cannot abandon him either.
     Turning to face you at the window, his hand on your shoulder again, Iowerth becomes a physical presence as much as an emotional one. "Talk to me," he softly speaks. "Even if it's to rail at me. I don't care." But not this.
     But not this quiet that speaks of disappearance. You look as you did after the death of your mother, such as she was. And I wrought this. The sea has destroyed many ships throughout time, as many as it has carried off to their wildest dreams. Have I turned your dreams into wreckage?
     "Please..."

     He sighs; well, he's still breathing. "No, Io. What you said ... you said what you felt, in that moment. It happens." Tiernan looks to the window, then to his hands where they are tensed upon the sill. "I'm not angry."
     There is no heat in his voice, nor in his face. Only bleakness. Anger would have more energy behind it than this. "My mother was evil and cared for me not at all. I accept this. But it was hard to reconcile, Io. She was very beautiful. For some reason, it's always harder to believe true evil of beautiful people, isn't it?"
     His hand comes up to cover one half of his face, face itself turned downwards into his palm as he sighs again. "I don't know what I am doing, or where I am going. I don't have a plan, Io. I don't have answers. All I have is a consistently mounting list of problems."

     "I think you and I are suffering from the same disease: overreaction," Iowerth murmurs. "Your magical cat is spawning, and you are living apart from your lover as you find your way in the world. I'm not seeing this mounting hill of problems, Tiernan. Right now, I only see one real problem and it's a feline problem. The rest isn't a problem... it's just... a process, right? Until about an hour ago, you were determined. You were trying to shake me out of the funk that you are now in, if I recall correctly."
     Now it is his turn to take you to task. Rather than tugging at your shirt, he cradles your face in his hands. "Tiernan, You know that you are learning, that Venice and your work there is giving you confidence, self-assurance. When I first saw you, you knocked me back on my heels, remember? I was so stunned by how much you've grown, your inner strength, this ...sense of accomplishment. Just because I am being an ass and your cat is reproducing doesn't take any of that away from you. You did that. And you are succeeding. You find pride in your work and in your self. Why are you so quick to discard it?"
     Iowerth sighs. Perhaps I am not the person you need in your life right now. He thinks, but he does not say it. "No one has all the answers. Most of the time, we don't have even one answer, but you keep striving, oes? You do not know where you are going but you at least know what you want and what you don't want. We talked about it even as recently as today. And...oes... that which is beautiful can be... surprisingly cruel." He whispers that. "We think the pretty rose would never hurt us, and then are reminded about the prick of the thorn."
     He rests his forehead against your own. He shakes his head a little at his own thoughts. "This isn't about your mother, Tiernan. It is about you. She is gone. You are here. And you were right to seek your own way in this world. Not to take merely what others gave you, but to reach out and grab meaning for yourself. I support you. I truly do."

     "I told you I was moody." There; there is a faint quirk of a smile, and he sighs, turning and sliding his arms around your waist. "I am overreacting. I don't know why. Just ... it hurt."
     He admits it unselfconsciously, without any request in the admission. He closes his eyes, resting forward against you, allowing you his weight. And for a moment, he doesn't speak at all.
     It affected my equilibrium, as a disease of the inner ear, Io. I don't know why. It doesn't matter, does it? It is what it is. I still love you. I believe in you. But believing in myself is a newer thing; it is harder to hold onto. I'll get there eventually. Slowly, he releases you, makes motion to step apart. "Go on back to your ship," Tiernan says quietly. "I'll catch up with you, yes? I need to think."

     He nods briefly. "I will be there," he assures. He will be thinking, too. The thoughts that are not given voice yet, but the ones that have taken root in him, lowered their anchor. Iowerth touches you as you part the hold and he turns for the door.
     I know you will, Tiernan. And I know it is difficult. But I believe it is in your power and that you will find your way. I do not know if I will be there when you do, or if I should be. It seems more and more I am not on the same path. And maybe you need someone with you who knows the steps you are making and who can walk them with you.
     Looking at his hands a moment, Iowerth opens the door. He takes a last look back. "I believe in you, too," he murmurs. He leaves you with that, and not with his doubts. He leaves you with hope, and not with the turmoil that he himself is feeling. That, he will give to the sea.
     The sea can bear it...

Posted by rowan at September 18, 2006 08:27 PM