Even when a farewell is only an au revoir, a parting is still an awkwardness; a difficulty. It leaves me empty inside; hollow. What could have been a victory, a challenge, anticipation now becomes as nothing. Ash upon my tongue and bitterness in my breast.
I could return to Venice right away, if I chose. Or I could stay here. Instead, I am straddling an invisible line; one which only you and I are aware of, my love. How do we come to some sense of cognition? I have ideas, but the ones which would work the best I am stubbornly too proud or too afraid to voice. All but the one which I did suggest, blurted out, and which was immediately forgotten by us both in the face of greater shock. No matter; I am not finding answers here. And every river empties out to sea; so I must let the sea push me to the river-mouth, and from there make my way upstream to someone who might be able to advise me.
If he can. If he will. I don't know him well enough to say much to him. I base this on something glimpsed in a pair of eyes and nothing more certain than that. Wish me luck, Io; we certainly seem to need it.
His shoulders and arms are strong from a youth spent rowing, swimming, climbing, sailing with you. Where his childhood left him slim and slender, almost fragile in appearance, his adolescence and early adulthood have been turned; bent in a different direction. He has little difficulty in pulling oars to row the little dinghy up the river to many-towered Camelot.
It is a leap of faith; a gamble. But it is a calculated risk, based half on intellect and things-remembered and things-not-quite-said and not-quite-heard, and the other half on the desperation that a pair of eyes, a pair of hands outside these two plus two might make sense of something which he, Tiernan of Winter Diamond, Prince, aka Terry Winter, Esquire, has to admit to himself he no longer knows how to solve. And oh, it bites deep; bitterly deep. But if there is a solution...
If there is a solution for us, Io, I will find it...
The dinghy is moored to a small wooden pier. He is clothed in charcoal grey and azure blue and cloud white; grey for his leggings and boots, white for his jerkin and blue for its trim, the cloak the steady and sober grey of all-weather mixed. He carries no sword and no bow, though with him is a small rucksack, and a long knife on his thigh. If he should need to defend himself - well, this is Camelot, isn't it? And not the howling wilderness.
And he approaches the walls on foot rather than on horseback, without retinue or court at hand. This was not well thought out of me, Io. Well...
We'll have a try at optimism, then...
Camelot is the home of optimism. Or so it aspired to be, which is why it still exists at all, in any plane -- but specifically this one, in dreams where aspirations may yet live and breathe. Here, Tristan and Isolde can linger without fear of capture, knights and ladies still indulge in poetry, and somewhere not far a man by the name of Arthur sits in thought of returning to the material plane.
As he's been thinking about it now for fifteen-hundred years, he's not likely to decide to leave this halcyon grove. Still, the question arises from year to year, and year to year it is ruminated on and discussed.
The court of Camelot sits within the boundaries of the Oak King's domain, a separate city-state given its own self-determination by the auspices of the Oak King himself. The Oak King's domain is a shelter for this kingdom within a kingdom, offering it space, security and its own fair share of joint festivals. The knights always did like a party.
Now that summer is dwindling to a close, the last summer rites done, there is quiet in the Oak King's court and in Camelot alike. The roads paved with dreams and aspirations -- the hopes and wishes of millions of young boys create the even cobblestones of Camelot -- are less busy now than in the spring and summer, when throngs from both courts assemble for the fairs, the festivals, the markets and other frivolity. Autumn is the season of contemplation, of activities fading to the winter sleep. There are still games, but now they shall take place indoors as the rains that England and Wales dream fall here as well.
In the central market, lords and ladies, peasants and priests wander on their daily affairs. Among them, dressed in stag hide suede with a shirt of champagne silk loosely tied is the Oak King himself, Rhodri ap Davydd. Iowerth ap Davydd's older brother by some six centuries. He moves unmolested in the town, not a single sycophant or attendant follows him. He has an apple in one hand and a bottle of pear cider (not apple, by god) in his other, and is making his way to the gardens to have a late afternoon snack. He comes here to think -- sometimes he and Arthur sit together in the garden and think in unison without saying a word -- sometimes to sleep in the sun.
He looks like his brother, or rather his brother looks like him. He is the same height, but appears taller because he is not quite as broad as Iowerth -- no tugging on ships fittings for him. He has the build of a swordfighter, more saber than longsword, with the upper body befitting someone accustomed to archery. His hair is far longer than Iowerth ever allows his to be, the burnished auburn red-gold in the light. It is cut layered and waves around his ears but is shorter in back, not extending past the nape of his neck.
The markings are clearly visible: the red hounds and the stags they chase. He is the hunter and the secret. The thief and the jewel. The spy and the king.
His footsteps are quiet, though not sneakily so. He has a habit of moving without drawing attention to himself - a sort of perpetual 'don't mind me, I'm just here about the drains' approach to life. Where others move to center stage and hold forth grandly, Tiernan is perpetually watching quizzically from off to the side. Not Hamlet, but Horatio, this.
"Your majesty." He makes his way to you with both hands in the open. Just because this is the home of optimism does not mean he should be anything other than transparent about his methods and his motives. Blue eyes fix upon you. "I am sorry if I am intruding. If you would prefer, I will withdraw and put my name in with your master of court." But, the blue eyes says plainly, I rather hope you won't.
He has grown up in and around court. He knows the rules. But he departs from them...
Rhodri heard you coming before you thought to keep quiet, and as you speak he smiles before he looks up. When he does look up, he recognizes you and he gestures for you to sit alongside him beneath the shade of an old and knotty oak. "Care for a slice of apple?" he says, his voice is smooth, warmly melodic, and that way he has of casting light illuminates around him. His is a personable energy, if aloof.
Rhodri inclines his head, considering you a moment, and then he offers out a slice of the apple. He realizes, of course, that he shouldn't be eating apples, and certainly shouldn't eat a whole one alone, but... such are the hazards of walking through the market. Everything looks good to eat. "There is pear cider, also. So," he leans against the body of the tree, his hands holding the apple and the small paring knife, "... what can I do for you, Tiernan?"
The question is simple. It is not fraught with double, triple or quadruple meanings. You have come to find him, it is obvious you wish to speak with him, and his expression and body language are open and amenable. Those emerald eyes fix on you, his expression rather bland. Merely waiting for you to speak.
Apple? He looks mystified, unaware of the significance of apples to you and those of your blood. If Iowerth were there, no doubt there would be warnings, or rolling of eyes, at the least, but he to Tiernan, the offer is without meaning, without weight. "Thank you, I should be pleased." A careful touch, and he takes the slice, holding it on his palm until speaking is done with.
It is a marketplace, and that makes speech more difficult. Downright tricky, in fact. A glance downwards, and then back at you. "I'm here on my own behalf," Tiernan clarifies, "not as a messenger. I hoped to consult with you and seek your advice. I realize it is an imposition, but..." Well. He has noone else to ask. He glances over his shoulder, then down at the apple slice in hand; biting off a piece, he chews, then swallows, and then finishes his statement.
"It is a bit personal, your majesty. I'm afraid it's a bit of a bother; I'm hoping you can help me."
Though the marketplace is within eyeshot, it is not within earshot. The gardens are somewhat away from the hustle and bustle. "Would you prefer some place a bit more private?" he wonders, seeing you look around.
The apple is an ordinary apple. It is not from Avalon but came from other groves nearby. There is no significance to it other than it being a snack. Family tendencies aside.
"It is no imposition, Tiernan," Rhodri quietly assures. "And we are quite alone, though I am happy to withdraw more into the gardens if it will be more comfortable for you. I will help you in any way that I can, certainly..."
He is curious, but his expression is even, open. What lies beneath is not so readily shown. For now, he keeps his opinions and his feelings to himself. He waits to hear your preference, and your question.
"If you believe that this is secure, then I am content." Tiernan smiles slightly, glancing down at his hands, the bit of apple still held, then looks back up at you, exhaling slowly. "It's about Iowerth... well. Where he and I intersect. I don't know how much you know about things."
A poor beginning. He frowns, then starts again. "We have tried to keep secrets, and done badly. And I don't know how much he has confided in you - nor would I want you to betray confidences. But you likely know that I have been in the other world for some time. Working," Tiernan tacks on, "in Venice. I ... we have been trying to work out how exactly to arrange my return."
It sounds so flat and colorless, put into words like this. How can I hope to convey how I feel? I don't dare wear my heart too far on my sleeve. I don't know how to say this.
"We have run into some difficulties," Tiernan says finally. Had he a cap, he'd remove it and hold it to his chest, about now. "I am hoping that someone who is outside the situation could ... come up with ideas. Advice. Thoughts. Suggestions. Something." Anything. Please...
The aloofness in his face begins to drift away in favor of a more congenial warmth. "It's hard to keep secrets when you want to. It is very difficult to keep them when you would rather shout out your news than whisper." Rhodri smiles a little. He knows a little something about what it is to be young and in love. He eats a slice of the apple and then washes it down with a swallow of the pear cider, which is also offers to you by tipping it in your direction and raising an eyebrow.
"Iowerth and I have not talked about it, but I know from other sources that you and he have been spending a good deal of time apart." There is sympathy there. "I'm happy to help, of course, or at least give you my opinion, for whatever that may be worth. What would you say your difficulties center on? Is it a symptom of your being apart or was it the reason for the need for space?"
Rhodri smiles a little. "If I ask too many questions, or something you do not wish to answer, just tell me, Tiernan."
"It's harder to try talking about it, by now," Tiernan says quietly. "The only person I talk to who knows is, well - is Io. Makes for a lack of detachment if and when something does come up." He glances down and then back up, a faint wry smile tugging at his eyes more than his mouth. "I didn't think talking to the queen," your wife, "or Io's father," also yours, "would be the best thing to do. And there's been a little friction in the past between myself and his" other "brother, so my options have run down a bit."
A secret to those outside the family, for the most part. Perhaps if he knew about the General, he'd have gone there instead, but - well, you'll have to do. However awkward it is.
"The problem is a little of each," Tiernan admits. He shakes his head slightly, refusing cider for the moment. "We seem to have come to an impasse where if we are to remain together, I can't reasonably work for him. My pride won't let me accept jobs and titles, your majesty; if it's not earned, it sours me, until I can't look myself in the mirror and like what I see. And being idle, I feel is a waste. There is always something to be done. So I have to work, but I can't work for him, and ... well, I'm a realist, sir. These separations have been hard on us both. We're managing, but it isn't something that we can manage forever. I want to find a solution."
He looks down at his hands, rubbing the last juices of the apple between his palms before he looks up at you with that quick blue gaze. "I'd rather it not be a solution which involves parting of ways from him," Tiernan admits, voice still quiet. "And I know I'm talking a lot about my own needs in this. I give you my word that I am trying not to be selfish or one-sided in this. I have talked to Io about it, too. I can't tell you about the problems from his side, or how he takes any of this, or - well, how he feels. I'll answer any questions you have, and listen to any opinions you might have, but I'm afraid I'm stuck on a handful of ideas which seem too much like getting above my station in life, or too much like begging."
"An age-old problem," Rhodri exhales, relaxing against the tree. "It is not uncommon for those of different backgrounds, different stations. Even in this case, your stations being all but equal, there is still friction ... particularly as he will be the high king. And soon. It is problematic for you to work directly for him. One, it opens you up to other court rivalries, which are sure to be intense, and two, it has the potential to take away from your work and status because it would appear to be to nepotistic. And, of course, it makes it all too easy for the relationship to devolve into work stresses when work and love are combined. It's usually... not a good idea."
An eyebrow drifts upward as Rhodri folds his hands together at his stomach. "Have you seen his plans? In detail? There will be many opportunities on the islands, I believe, that would not require you to work for him in any capacity." He pauses, peering at you with interest. "What is your work in Venice? Do you like what you do there?"
It may seem an odd segue, a sudden tangent on another thread of conversation when he mentions Venice. But one must take many paths to get to the heart of the forest, as they say. Or in this case, the heart of the matter.
He colours slightly, reddening at the cheeks and ears. "We both began to talk about what we're busy with, but..." But. Tiernan glances down, then back up at you. "It had been a couple of months, for him. Less for me, but a while, still. Conversation got ... sidetracked." You can imagine, he is sure. He knows for whom the mandrake was purchases.
He nods to what you say, of rivalries, of work and love crossing. It has all occurred to him, far too vividly. "My work in Venice - well, what I am paid to do involves marine engineering. I'm adapting principles using in salvage work both to reclaim ground and buildings lost already in the floods, and to preserve those endangered." He smiles, self-conscious as usual when talking about himself. "Unofficially... I have been making pearls. I told Io about them. Here, hold on."
He thrusts his hand into the pocket of his cloak, grabbing a small handful of greyish, lusterless marbles. Their dull surfaces show no maker's mark, no seams; they could be water-washed pebbles, to judge by their exteriors. "In the middle of each of these," Tiernan explains, "is a simplified mechanism - a sort of a cross between a barnacle and an oyster. When told what to do and dropped into a body of water, it will attach itself according to its instructions, whether where there is a crack or at the base of a supporting structure or wherever. There it will filter the water, excreting whatever it can take from the water and using it as a form of cement to hold itself in place. It will continue to do so, adding to itself in size and to its immediate environment, until it reaches an optimum size for its location. Then it will turn its efforts to procreation; excreting only enough to counter the effect of wear and tear on itself, and ceasing reproduction when there are enough to meet the parameters of the instructions given."
He is explaining carefully, trying not to get too ahead of himself, but there is a sudden eagerness to his face, to his voice. "It is the groundwork for what I hope to someday be capable of - buildings, structures, even dwellings which are self-repairing, maybe even reconfigurable. One of the ideas on my sketch-board, I guess you might say. Most of my ideas wouldn't work well, there. But this," Tiernan looks down at the handful of marbles, "well, I thought ... it might be the right place and time for them."
There was a quick smile, thankfully brief, as you explain what you do not know of Iowerth's plans, and why. It didn't have to be said aloud; he has a vivid imagination. However, that is not an area where he tends to focus his imagination. Rhodri merely smiles through your reddening and then turns his attention to the items you pull from your pocket.
He looks at the marble-like bodies, your creations. Very tiny things that appear to do quite expansive jobs. Both eyebrows lift, and Rhodri looks from your small pearls to your eager face. "You do know that his court shall be distributed among twelve islands. Though they appear to lack the complexity of Venice's hundreds of small and intersected islands, it would seem that the principles of your work There could easily be applied Here. And allow you to stay nearby, certainly closer in time and space."
Sitting back, Rhodri looks at you, his back once more given to the body of the tree. "What's keeping you from establishing a maritime engineering firm, wholly separate from the government body and regulatory agencies within his realm? You could put these tiny wonders to work, Tiernan, and based solely on the merit of your work and your intelligence you could make a fine living. You could easily establish your own quarters, your own home. There will be several islands, in fact, from what I last heard anyway, that will be solely residential. You could work on the islands, but not for Iowerth. You could live on the islands, but not with Iowerth. Had you thought of that? I know it is difficult when one is in a situation, particularly a very emotional one, to see all sides of it. But it seems a solution is quite readily at hand and fairly easy to achieve. You would have access to him, certainly better than you would from Venice, and yet have your autonomy, your independence, and your dignity."
"He and I both seem to keep trying to protect each other," Tiernan admits quietly. "It has been hard for him to let go, I think, of the memory of who and what I was." With his mother so potent and volatile a threat. He does not spell it out. He is certain you are aware. "For me, it is ... hard to know how, exactly, to deal with this, without matters being nepotistic. Without endangering him. It would be different for us, I think, if we had not known each other so long; if we had not met under such conditions. But," he shrugs, "it is what it is."
He looks down at the objects in his hand, then carefully tucks them away again. They are precious. Replaceable, perhaps, but only with much difficulty; much labour. "I would like," Tiernan admits in that low voice of his, "to start a fleet. But doing so produces difficulties. I am, at least ostensibly, still the child of a fallen enemy power."
"It depends on the fleet. A merchant marine fleet is very different from a military fleet. Certainly, a military fleet is not an option for you... unless you wish to work directly for the king, or for his officers, which, I think, would be a bad idea considering Io's inability to let go and your dislike of nepotism. I think if you were to create a private enterprise, be it shipping or engineering or a combination thereof, it allows you to run your own affairs, create a business, and serve the needs of the kingdom without having to have a royal appointment or any royal favor. You would be as any other businessman on the island. I think you should focus on what you can do independently of Iowerth, while still carving out a niche for yourself on the islands. I think it will make you both happier in the long run. And should the unfortunate and unseen occur, and the relationship not last, you would not be beholden upon him, his compassion or his grace for your well-being."
Rhodri smiles suddenly, "This is not to say I do not think you and he will be successful. I simply tend toward self-preservation whenever possible." Pausing, he looks at you. "Is what I'm saying making any sense to you? It seems fairly easy to deal with it, without running the risk of nepotism and unnecessarily endangering yourself or him. Do not work for him, do not work for the military, at least not directly. You can contract with them for various projects, should you desire, but I think you holding rank within the military would open you up to the same arguments, the same suspicions as if you were to be his chamberlain or chief courtier, et cetera. Remove yourself from his direct path, create your own entity, live on one of the islands and see him at your leisure."
Rhodri looks to you to see if you're truly understanding him, if you get his meaning. Although you are quite intelligent (he's impressed), he's still uncertain you are completely following him.
"I see your point," Tiernan agrees. "The difficulty arises in our mutual desire to be with one another, I think. But ... there is nothing to say that an initial independence of existence need remain that way. It gives us room to maneuver. If things change, they change; for partings or growing closer." He knows, as you perhaps do not, what his lover intends to do as far as matters of the heart. But secrets shall remain just that, until the proper time. "Of course, the question then becomes .."
Tiernan trails off, looking off into space. It is an intellectual absorption; the mind of the engineer, going to work on a problem. Finally, he returns to the present; to the here and now, to where you stand. "Thank you for your time, sir. I think I can safely say that your input has been most valuable."
"The question becomes..."
Rhodri looks at you, anticipating that you have more to say. You have a sentence just hanging out there... unfinished...
"You can be with one another. You will be living on one of the twelve islands, wherever he allows residency. His island being one of them, most likely. So, you have your own home, your own space, but you could see him as frequently as his and your schedule allowed. You seem to be putting distance where there is none, Tiernan. I am not talking about you living in another kingdom, merely another island on the chain of twelve. You could live on the same island, if you wished. I would just suggest you have your own place. And make him visit you there, on occasion. You need to have equal footing, and you cannot do that if you are always in his space."
He lifts a finger to emphasize that last point. You are always coming to him. He is very rarely going after you. And that is something that will have to change. You are not a menu item for him to order.
"Space is healthy. My wife and queen maintains her own living quarters both here and in London. It gives her a mark upon the world that is wholly her own. She is not beholden to me for anything. Nor I, her. That allows us to... love as we want to love, see each other whenever we feel like it. And we have common homes where we both live, that we frequent from time to time, particularly when the children are small. Less packing and unpacking that way," Rhodri smiles.
But you appear ready to leave. He is not going to stop you. "You are welcome, Tiernan. I'm glad I could be of help to you. I ... wish you all the best. I certainly hope you and my brother are able to sort out your differences."
"Just matters of capital, of investment strategies, of finding the money to begin such an endeavor," Tiernan answers you, matter of fact. "And ... yes ... I intend to make him be more active in this. It is why it has become an issue, in part. I do not wish to be beholden to him; gratitude is a deadly poison, I think. I have ... seen signs of how he can be, if he gets his way too much; if he gets then, upset or angry at the change in the status quo."
It will be some time yet before he can think of that vignette without flinching. Though he does not wear it on the outside, there, beneath the skin of his eyes, he still flinches. Still cannot bring himself to rewind and press play on that ugly little scene. It makes him avert his gaze, as if looking at you would be to reveal too much.
"I think we will be able to. It is just that, sometimes, the weight of it and the momentum tend to get ahead of us, and instead of us driving things, it drags us along. The secrecy is perhaps our biggest hurdle," Tiernan admits. "But ... everything in its own time. If you will forgive me? I must hurry back to speak to a few people before I get back to my day job, in Venice."
Rhodri nods, "Of course." He won't keep you. He smiles a farewell and uncaps his drink, taking a swallow of the pear cider before rising. "Good luck to you, Tiernan. But I think with your mind... you won't need luck." He pats your arm much as his brother would (some things are inherited it seems) and he begins to wander his way back to the marketplace.
Posted by rowan at September 20, 2006 09:29 PM
