The sun has set. There was another banquet, perhaps a trifle less grand than the night before, but this time, Tiernan did not attend. Instead, he slept deeply (making up for the night before) and then rose, and bathed, and dressed for comfort rather than for fashion.
     He had a meal sent up. He does this from time to time anyway; having attended the previous night's festivities, he no doubt feels he's 'off the hook' for a little while. Instead, there's a sea chest open in the middle of the room, and a half-eaten tray of food growing cold on his desk. Currently, Tiernan is going through two separate handfuls of paperwork : one for this world, and one for the material plane. Ah, business.
     But it's not all business; in the background, a music-box of his own design is playing quietly, the sound of a string orchestra muted. There is a fire on the hearth, and candles flicker with the gentle breeze coming in from his balcony, his hair wildly mussed and entirely ignored as he makes notes on first this paper and then that.

     A quiet knock sounds on your door, the tapping of an intimate hand. Outside your door, it is the king himself who stands, dressed not for a state dinner, nor of any public dinner at all, but rather in the clothes of his own choosing, his own comfort. For this place, they are anachronistic: faded jeans and a Black Jack Davydd t-shirt pilfered from his brother Rhodri's closet. It is a wonder that man has anything left to wear but his smile.
     It has been a long day. He hasn't been able to see you, to talk with you, not even to take lunch, not even to spare five minutes. And so, his evening he said was sacrosanct. It belonged to you. He did not attend the banquet tonight, nor in fact did the future queen. The Houri in her attendance did perform a song and dance tonight, but on the whole it was rather sedate. So much politics shoved in so few nights can do that.
     Iowerth Rhudd Draig can hear your music box. He smiles a little to himself, to think of you maybe dozing in there, lulled by the sound of your own ingenuity. His hand knocks again, still quietly, but a trifle louder than last.

     With a son and a brother and a wife all to pilfer from his wardrobe - ti's a good thing that Rhodri is rich as well as good-looking. But Tiernan has no idea what he has been missing by not going to dinner; do you know that he did not attend? He pauses for a moment; was there a knock? The pen again lowers, another notation made. A third sheaf of paper is produced, and on this, he makes a different note.
     But the knock comes again; he wasn't imagining it. "Come in," Tiernan calls. Is it you? Is it your valet? Is it a servant, come to take away his tray? The possibilities are endless. He sits up, pushing back at his hair, leery of standing amid so many papers. Rather belatedly he adds, "Who is it, anyway? Animal, vegetable, mineral?"

     The door opens slowly. It is the king's head that pops in and looks around, finding you as you ask about vegetables and minerals. "I have cauliflower for brains, I suppose vegetable. You are working," he states the obvious as he turns, closing the door behind him. "Have you eaten? Shall I have something sent up for you?" He knows your habit of not eating when you get focused. He is as guilty of it as you are.
     He sees the chest, and your two sets of papers. But he does not comment on those immediately. He will wait to hear you explain it. In the meantime, he crosses over to you and puts a hand to your head, your wildly displaced hair, and bends to place a kiss upon your forehead.
     "I wasn't at dinner. I had to take a nap," he notes. No, he didn't see you there because he himself wasn't there. He looks at the papers all around him, now seemingly surrounded by your commerce.
     "What's all this? End of the quarter reconciliation?" Only between the two of you could their be accounting humor.

     You receive a smile as you come in and as you mother him - not that he recognizes it as that. "I had some food sent up. It's alright - not really what I am in the mood for. I ate a bit though, you're welcome to scavenge my leavings if you want, or just get your own." The papers are moved carefully now, out of your way; room made for you to sit yourself down if you want. It is tacit invitation, unspoken.
     He is smiling at you, though, and the air is light. There is no sign of fear in his expression as he looks to you so levelly; do you recognize fear when you see it? "I have multiple businesses now," Tiernan explains. "My business here, and my business in the other realm; I have a mail drop set up in the other realm, more or less, which I can access directly from wherever I happen to be by using that." He points to a wooden box on one shelf. "It all goes there, and the box goes with me where I go. I have a similar box in my office; my people can put things for me in it, and it comes out here."
     It is not an intentional evasion, but an explanation of one facet of what you've asked. His hand lifts to pat at your hip, and then he stands, reaching to pull you into a brief hug. Well - brief on his end, if you allow it. "How are you feeling?"

     He not only allows it, he encourages it and then eggs it on. "I am tired. I am sorry that it took all day. I had hoped we could spend some time in the spring sun. Maybe another day. Tomorrow?" He wonders. "I just want to sun myself on some rocks and read something without numbers in it," now he smiles, "... and swim with you when it gets too hot. So simple," he shakes his head a little. Simplicity: what all kings crave.
     Iowerth grins as you explain your postal system. Eyebrows lift and he seems duly impressed. "I shall have to remember that when I need to pass you a message. From my coat to your box. I am glad you ate. I had a little something. I may pick at your plate in a bit. I'm off rich food at the moment. I'm craving something... home-cooked. Battered cod and chips or salmon patties." He rests his head on yours, smiling a little as he holds you.
     The hug is prolonged, becoming a hold. "It will be better soon," he says quietly. "When things settle into something more of a routine. I tire of banquets and celebrations. I want a good long season of no special dinners." His lips twist. He knows that's more a fantasy than pigs with wings. "But at the very least, things will calm down by the time summer's over. I'm looking forward to having more time with you. I feel that I've been drawn and quartered, with bits of me everywhere."
     The king kisses you. It doesn't hold the heat of earlier encounters, but rather the savoring of love wanting to hold the taste of it on his own tongue. His hand comes up, stroking your hair. And then he gets distracted trying to set it right. "Good lord. I looks like you've been through a tempest in a teacup. Been out in the wind?" Iowerth grins.

     "I expected it to take all day. Negotiating your marriage isn't going to be quick or easy. I hope you don't mind that I did not come to breakfast." Tiernan hesitates a little, then looks at you directly. "I decided it would be harder on all of us if I were there."
     His hand touches to your cheek, then pats at your shoulder. "So order in something simple. You're the king, yes? Make them bow to your whim, not the other way around. If the king decides to eat raw potatoes and onions, the chefs can throw up their hands in dismay, but ultimately, they will deliver what you want. Or we could slide across to London." He glances at you. "You're dressed for it."
     He grins, head bowed a little as he leans into your hug. "I'm sorry if I made your job worse," Tiernan tells you quietly. "Mine has been ... difficult for me, lately. Old fears have been haunting me. Come on. Stop playing with my hair, and let's sit, yes? Out on the balcony, if you like. We can count ships by their mooring lights."

     He can't quite help himself. All of the sudden, he lifts his hands away. Mind over mussed hair. "Alright," he smiles, "...out on the balcony. I like your views in here even better than in my room." He says nothing more on the food for now. It is neither here nor there. When he's hungry, he'll think of something to summon. "It did take all day. As expected. We have a few details yet to finalize, but then it will be done. The ceremony will, thankfully, be brief and official. Could you imagine the horror if I'd been stuck with Mellis?"
     Iowerth takes you by the hand, fingers intermixing with your own as he walks with you toward the balcony. "I'm sorry," he says after a moment. "But ... no... you didn't make my job worse for wear." His voice is soft, thoughtful. "I will always want you with me, that won't change, Tiernan. No matter what you might fear. I will keep saying it until you believe me." Iowerth smiles a little to you as he pauses in front of the balcony's glass doors. He puts his hands to your face, bringing yours to him in a gentle kiss. "She will have me in alliance, and in friendship. But you will have my heart." His periwinkle eyes glint with lavender. "And my bed."
     He kisses you again, then draws back, his hands lowering. Fingers lightly clasping yours again, he leads you onto the balcony. The ships make a grand sight coming and going from the islands with all their lights and lanterns. The islands themselves are lit up in their various activities. "I understand it's difficult. I definitely do appreciate that. I will try," Iowerth says, looking to you as he leans upon the balcony's railing, "... not to try so hard to make sure you're okay with everything. The last thing you need is me standing around and fretting over it, oes?"

     "Was Mellis the one who wanted you to redecorate your mother's palace in pink, or the one with the craving for hollowed-out boiled sweets?" He can't remember which one was which. He kisses you briefly, then bumps your shoulder with his own. "I have other fears. That is one of them, yes, but ... only one, unfortunately."
     He smiles as you and he pause at the balcony, and he slides an arm around your waist. "Yes... I do fear losing you," Tiernan assents quietly. "Whether to her, or - to some other. Things are changing, and change is frightening. We've spent so long hiding what we are to the world; what we mean to one another. I in particular... not just because of you, but because of who my mother was. I started over from scratch. I've hidden myself under rocks and bushels, behind lamp posts and doors, keeping my heart silent when it would shout. And now the lamp posts and doors and bushels and rocks are going away. That ... is frightening. Even if it's something I've wanted - does the rabbit stop being nervous of foxes and looking for holes into which to bolt when the hounds have finished their work?"
     You kiss him, and he kisses you, and he passes with you out into the open air. "Sometimes I wish I could let you protect me," Tiernan answers you after a pause. He leans next to you, looking not at you but at the darkened sea and the lights upon it. "But I know it would lessen our relationship; lessen who I am, and what I am to you. But I fear I'll never be enough for you to relax around me as much as I wish you would, Io. I wish ... you felt you could trust me with that. But knowing how we met - and how we went through our steps, to get here - I don't know if you ever could."

     He is still looking at you, not the scenery, as he is leaning against the railing. "It is .... an impulse, to want to help you, to protect you. Because I do love you." The matter of trust is puzzling. He stares out to sea for a moment before returning his attention to you. "If there are things I have not said, or that you feel are unspoken, it is not because I do not trust you. It has nothing to do with you."
     I have my secrets. And you cannot hear them, but you know that they exist. You can feel them sitting there, remaining unsaid. Were they visible you would point and say: See?
     It is the first time he has admitted it, or half admitted to anything. There is something, a part of his life, however minimal, that he has not given over to you. He looks at you, standing with you on the balcony, and he can see it quite clearly. You can see it too, only your mind cannot discern the shape of it and so it becomes a nameless fear.
     "There is one thing," he admits to you. "Something in my past. Something between my brother and me. And though I have not spoken of it, even admitted its existence, still... you felt it." And now he exhales, looking away from you. "And now... I am beginning to understand how it has affected you. You are afraid of what you cannot know, cannot see. That is only natural."
     The wall is there. You see it. I feel it. It keeps you from knowing a part of me. And it will keep us separated, though telling you may end us. Iowerth looks at you levelly. "It would never keep me from you nor cause you to lose me. I know you are afraid of that. And I am afraid of losing you too," he smiles at that rather helplessly. We are in a vicious cycle, aren't we. "And... yes... I have been protecting you from it," he whispers. "To no avail, it seems."
     Iowerth shakes his head. I am going to have to tell you, to say it, to admit it. It is cruel either way. But how do you even begin to talk about something like that? I have moved around it, refusing to call it by name but pointing to it and saying: Look! It is there! The king looks from the stars to you, and he reaches for your hand.
     "I do not know how to even talk about it. Will it suffice to you that whatever has happened has been in the past? Has been an issue, purely, between my brother and myself?"

     "It's the same impulse that I feel." And now he looks at you, blue eyes calm, earnest, intent. "I want to be there for you, Io - to take whatever burdens you feel. And you - for whatever reason - do not let me. I don't know why; only you can answer that. I know we have our secrets. We're alive, yes? We're going to have things we hold back."
     It has been there a long time; from the beginning, in truth, or near enough to it. You speak of your brother, and he gives you a disconcerted, uncomprehending look. What has he to do with this? You look away, and now he looks at you; one hand slides to touch your arm, meeting your hand when you reach for it.
     "If your brother still has issues with our relationship ... then I want to know." Tiernan says it quietly, looking at you with a little bit of a lost expression in his eyes. "I thought we had moved past that - I'm ... sorry if I have not yet proven myself where he is concerned."

     "He is not the impediment," Iowerth says, looking to your hand as he holds it. "He has had his jealousies in the past for what we have had. But he truly supports what we have become for one another. He... just wished, once, that he was in your place." He looks at you. Don't make me say it. He is hoping that his look alone can convey what has happened between them. "I have not given this burden to you because it is simply not yours to hold, Tiernan. My brother and I must bear it. I cannot ask that of you."
     The king shakes his head. "It's not you. And there is nothing more you can do. My brother... does like you, what he knows of you. He would never hurt you, nor would he ever do anything to directly, negatively impact us." Iowerth pauses, looking at you with a fixed and level gaze, "I told you we had an unusual relationship. That we were close." He lifts an eyebrow, wondering if you're going to make him vocalize what could never, should never be uttered. "It's not you," he whispers, bending his head and kissing your joined hands. "You have nothing to prove to anyone. Not even to me." Periwinkle eyes settle on you again.
     Nodding his head to his own thoughts, Iowerth exhales. "It's not much of a confession if I can't speak of it, is it. My brother and I have been... intimate." He bends his head after he speaks, as if by that motion to ask for your forgiveness, and he rests his forehead on your joined hands. I shouldn't have said anything. But it is too late.
     "...We have been intimate in ways that we could not help, I do not think, but certainly in ways that would not be approved by anyone else in the known universe. Least of all you. And I am afraid that I am going to lose you. I was prepared to keep this in my heart," he eyebrows lift, opening outward to indicate Forever, "... and never speak of it. And maybe we would have ended anyway."
     Straightening, your lover looks to you. "I have held nothing else back from you but this. And now... you have it." He pauses. "Funny. I don't feel any better. Aren't you supposed to feel better after you unload something like this?

     The look you are receiving in return is truly bewildered. No, he isn't stupid, but he's not finding the answer in your words, in your gaze. But then you put them into words - and his eyes widen in awareness and cognition. Oh.
     Of all things that you could have said...
     That was not something he was prepared for. He did not expect it; was not braced for it. It hits him as a wave, pushing at him, threatening to drag him down in its rough current. He stares at you, eyes still wide, no words coming out.
     "...I don't know what to think. Or to say. I - think I need to sit down." Tiernan's voice is unnaturally calm, his expression still immobile now that he has blinked. He turns from you slowly, moving inside to sit on the bed as heavily as if he weighed ten times what he does. There is a puzzled little furrow to his brow. He has heard the truth. And the truth is not at all what he expected to hear.

     Iowerth looks to the heavens and shakes his head at himself. You are so stupid. How can someone so smart be so dumb? Shall I be doomed to my heredity? Really? Exhaling loudly, Iowerth looks down to the railing in his hands, bending to rest (and maybe bang) his head there a moment before turning to follow you. He closes the French doors to the balcony and then leans on them.
     He face palms and then rakes his hand through his coppery hair. The short, layered strands stand on end. Palming his face again, he folds his arms against his chest and looks to the floor. He is waiting, you see. Waiting for you to voice your upset, your anger, your dismay, your disgust. There is a momentary panic that maybe you won't do any of the above. That you may very well just get up and walk away without saying another word.
     "I can't make excuses for it. It happened," he stammers quietly. "I shouldn't have said anything," he groans, walking away from the doors, away from the bed, and collapses in a chair, slumping down and waiting for judgment. Iowerth puts his head in his hand again, shaking it slowly. "What good is it going to do?" he curses at himself.
     He's not waiting for you to yell at him. He's already starting to yell at himself.

     He is stunned. His expression could not be more poleaxed if you had hit him with an actual pole. He moves to the bed and sits on it heavily, not even bothering to avoid sitting on some of the papers so neatly stacked. You are stammering, and he - isn't saying anything at all. Yet.
     One hand presses to his temples, the other braced against the bed. It's like trying to get a motorcycle engine to turn over when it just won't cooperate; a stubborn refusal of his brain to actually start thinking. Tiernan stares at the floor - not at you, no. He rubs at his forehead again, then finally looks at you - and says words you have probably never heard before.
     "Will you just SHUT UP?"

     Somewhere else entirely, your brother stirs from his - other distractions. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong. You are in danger, or in some sort of trouble; he can feel it. It means there is no time to lose.
     Only, he is without his pants. Or weapons. Shite. A trip through shadow will handle that, but then he will still have to get to you...

     Now it's Iowerth's turn to look stunned. Did you just tell me to shut up? He looks like you've smacked him in the face with a board. But he does as you ask, he shuts up. With a slight frown -- slight but it blares in volume -- he folds his arms against his chest. He looks to the floor and he waits.
     More like, holds on...
     His mind races. It is like the birth of a star: cataclysmic, violent, far-reaching. His arms unwind and Iowerth leans forward, arms resting on his thighs, head in his hands, his fingers massaging his scalp as if it could release the pressure.
     But he becomes very still, very silent. Though he is breathing, there are no more sighs. There are no more words. he just sits there like a stone.

     Tiernan glares at you with teeth bared for a moment, the blue in his eyes blazing. You have never seen him like this, have you? Even when hunting pirates, his anger, his excitement has been of a quieter kind, a grimmer kind, more subdued than this. He stands, pacing towards the closet, hurling the door open and stepping inside.
     "You are a raging idiot," he snarls out at you from the closet's confines. A hat goes sailing out of the closet to land in the middle of the floor. "You take everything on yourself - THAT's what I was talking about! You hold it in, you hold the weight of all this - this rotten nonsense inside of you, and you let it eat you up as if it were something good to hold, and then you act like this dying martyr." A couple of all-weather jackets go flying to the floor to join the hat, and then he emerges, crashing the closet door behind him.
     "Get off your damned cross, Iowerth. I've a good mind to bloody your nose for you, maybe that would finally get some sense into you, because deus knows, it isn't getting into you any other way. It's only a shame I can't convert sperm into sense, then at least I could FUCK it into you!"
     Tiernan scoops up the clothes, marching over to the sea chest and dumping them in unceremoniously. "Have you ever - I could - did you ever think - rrrgh!" With a complete loss of temper, he hauls off and kicks the chest. Big and sturdy and solid as it is, it goes tipping over, and the clothes and other items which had already been put in it scatter across the floor.

     He sits back and looks at you as you throw things. And then pack things. His panic is giving way to other emotions. "It's not the sort of thing you just go talking about," Iowerth drolls sardonically. "It's not a game of golf or the average friday night you can just unwind about, Tiernan. I didn't say anything because I... didn't think anyone could understand what I myself was having difficulty understanding."
     Iowerth sighs then, watching you go back and forth from the closet. You are leaving. It looks like you were leaving anyway. His mouth twists a moment, but it's not like he has room to complain. What's he going to say? I'm sorry for having an incestuous relationship with my brother, please don't go?
     The Charybdis roils around in his gut, making his strong emotions even more turbulent, no matter how still the surface of his face might be. The jaw sets and the eyes go purple. That's how you know. You've seen him that way before. When you were man-handling Otto, and a few other occasions.
     "If sperm could be coined into sense, the many worlds would be very different places," comes the sardonic drawl again. "Was I supposed to have said something... when? When we were first together? When was it supposed to have come up in conversation. You look great, I like your hair, by the way, I'm fucking my brother. Could you pass the salt? How is that being on a cross?"

     He whirls away from the chest, limping towards you - he wasn't wearing heavy sea-boots, was he. But he ignores the limp, swearing viciously for a moment as he crosses to you. Both hands fall heavily onto your shoulders, and his face is up against yours. "I swear, I think you never fucking use those ears except to hang an earring in. For all the let's don't talk about it, for all the things I've started to say but which we agreed there was no point going on about it, I thought you knew better than this."
     His voice is again under control - after a fashion. It is low and tensed, his gaze intent, teeth gritted. "For the last ten years I've worked to overcome where I came from so that I wouldn't be a detriment to you, so that I couldn't be used against you politically. Apparently it bloody worked well, didn't it? I even made YOU forget."

     It's at this moment that Gwilym slides through shadows of one world, through the realms in between to land in a crouch with blackened knife held in one leathered fist. He is in black armour, his hair blazing like sunrise, the emeralds of his eyes hard and watchful at first - then widening in surprise.
     "And here I thought you were dying," he cracks wise, straightening to his feet, "not about to have a night of it. Sorry for interrupting, lads. Oh - food. Mind if I help myself?"
     He doesn't wait for an answer, strolling to the desk with its half-eaten plate of food and picking it up. The knife is slid into its sheath, and he picks up a bit of cold meat, popping it in his mouth.

     Tiernan stiffens, then steps back from you with a sardonic expression of his own. "A family reunion. How appropriate," he says harshly. "When things happen, Io, you don't wait for them to just come up in conversation. Either you keep your silence, or you make time to handle it. Don't you remember anything at all about me? I could add a few choice comments, but what's the point? It doesn't seem as if my background is of any importance to you. Funny; I used to think that was a good thing."

     This evening couldn't get worse. It's simply not possible. "No, not dying," he tells his brother. He turns in his chair, watching Gwilym stride over and pick at the cold food. "Now's not the time, Gwi," Iowerth murmurs as Tiernan launches into 'family reunions'. He is rising out of his chair, tired of being chastised (this soon?).
     In his brother's mind, slithering like a sickly dragon comes the following phrase: I ... told him. About us. He's appropriately upset. He comes to stand between his lover and his brother, not out of some effort to shield one from the other but simply because he is in between them already.
     "Tiernan, believe me, I had every intention on keeping silent about it. But how many times, oes? How many times can I hear you wonder what I'm keeping from you, what I'm not saying, what I'm not giving you before I have to speak? Was I supposed to just let you wonder forever, thinking it was you? Again, tonight," his hands wave as his voice lifts, "... only this time... I admitted it. I told you. Better to speak it and have you furious with me than for me to be the cause of any continued fear, sadness or.... whatever."
     "...and no matter your background, and we haven't talked about it in great detail over ten years because you haven't wanted to, and why bring it up? God only knows what you saw or heard," let alone 'did', but he doesn't say that. "Since your mother died, the whole thing's been on mute. And for good reason. But no matter your background, it wasn't something I felt I could talk to you about. You, of all. Should I just have not cared about your feelings, whatever they may have been then, and just blurted it out however long ago? And what difference is that going to make now. Now that you know, now that you have everything, what's that going to mean?"
     Iowerth twists, glancing back at his brother. You picked a hell of a night...

     "I DON'T CARE IF YOU FUCKED YOUR BROTHER!" That came out a little loud. The words are thrown at you, and from the look on Tiernan's face, it's a wonder it doesn't include a fist. "Do you understand that? I. Don't. Give a fuck. My mother wanted me as her lover. My reasons for being perturbed by the idea had a lot less to do with her ideas of maternal and filial affection and a lot more to do with the fact that quite frankly, I'd seen often enough what happened to her lovers when she got tired of them, and didn't particularly want to find out how my being her son would make things awkward when it came to that point. And, believe me, with her, it was when, not if."
     For now, Gwilym is simply ignored. He might be there, but he's getting a ring-side seat and nothing more. All of his attention is on you. "You know I'm not some kind of shy and shrinking virgin by now, even if I was when I met you. Yes, all right, you were the first man I ever slept with. There were reasons for that, including the fact that if I had sex with anyone, the likelihood of my mother making them 'disappear' was a very much going concern. You also know I've had sex with men who aren't you, and that's something else we've agreed not to talk about - but for pity's sake, Io, the last man you know I had sex with had green skin and hair and wings, do you really think you and your brother having sex makes HALF as much difference to me as you making it out to be this - this - enormous SECRET which I can feel from half a world away? Let alone making it out to be some sort of ... 'driven' thing. 'Oh, I didn't really want to, but it happened, and now I can never know peace again' - it's SEX."
     He limps over to the sea chest again, scooping things up and beginning to sort them out on the bed. "Sex. You know - the game you can play at home, any number can participate, ages may vary. Personally, I prefer them to be old enough to know what they're doing and I prefer them to be willing and active partners, and of course I'm not very interested in women for the most part. Blame it on heredity, or blame it on my mother if you like - deus, she's got enough to be blamed for - but I don't particularly care WHO." He lets a shirt drop onto the bed, turning to look at you flatly. "I care that it wasn't me, and I care that if you were going to do it without telling me, that you then had to tell me while making it out to be something more than it is. We agreed about this - you don't want to know about if I take other lovers, as long as it's you I'm committed to, yes? Whether they're winged fairy boys, French nobility or mermen, or whatever. You're brothers. You're a good-looking man, virile, usually able to get an erection unless you've been stewing in your own negativity for a little too long and sometimes even then, which is to say at the drop of a hat. I've seen your brother; so have you. We both know what he looks like, and for all that it's you I'm in love with, I have noticed. You're into men; apparently, so is he. At what point is this supposed to shock me? Sorry to hear that I'm not good enough in bed to keep your attention. Sorry that I'm somehow so unapproachable that you couldn't just tell me the truth."
     Now his tone has shifted to self-pity, and on that note, he turns away from the both of you; it is not an emotion he'll allow to dominate him, and having heard the note enter his voice, there is a struggle visible in the glimpse of his face, in the tension of his shoulders as he begins folding the clothes neatly, begins arranging his papers. Having given voice to what - for him - is an insanely long tirade, he is trembling, having difficulty in making the creases match up. Now there is hurt, where before there was anger.

     Gwilym pauses with the food halfway to his mouth; then, very slowly, he puts the plate down. With infinite care, he spits a bite of bread into his palm, tossing it into shadow. Suddenly, he's not so hungry after all. You plant yourself in the middle, and with himself behind you, he lightly cuffs you on the back of the head.
     Don't ask what that was for. You know, ass.
     But despite the gesture, despite the words, there is unspoken warmth, protectiveness for you, and his hand falls from your head to your shoulder in a brief, tight grip.
     "As nice as it is to have my attractions spoken of," Gwilym drawls lightly, "it sounds to me like this might not be the best time for me to be here. If I'm needed, of course I'll stay, but - I seem almost incidental."
     I will say this, even though you do not want to hear it, brawd. You are loved very much. It takes a powerful amount of love for things to be as messy as this. I will stay if either of you wants it, and I'll try to help where I can - but I don't want to make it worse. For either of you.

     "Could you repeat that?" Iowerth voices, "I don't think they heard you on the next fucking island." While it is not Tiernan's roar, it comes with emphatic force. "It was an enormous secret for me. I'm not going to speak for him. He's here... shite," he hisses, as his brother's hand comes behind his head and cuffs him. It wasn't the hardness of the hit, for his brother barely touched him, but for the unexpectedness of it.
     But he doesn't take a swing at him. He merely folds his arms against his chest as he does when he's defensive and upset.
     His face is going to crack from frowning so deeply. "If I have to listen to this, so should you," Iowerth cracks to Gwilym, his voice thick with sarcasm. His gaze flickers to Tiernan: You want to take your shots at him too, before he goes? "At least to see if he has anything to say to you. From the way he's packing," Iowerth's voice goes tight. If he was showing his face to either man, they could see them glassy with moisture. "... I'm going to hazard a guess," he pauses, "...that he's not going to be around to do it after tonight."
     It is the hurt in Tiernan's voice that snaps Iowerth out of his own misery enough to move. He sighs, crossing over to where Tiernan stands. He moves to stand in front of him, no matter which way he turns, his hand coming out toward his arm. "It had nothing to do with you," he says. "Nothing," he repeats. "I didn't go to Gwilym because you weren't satisfying me. I didn't go to him because I don't love you, or I love him more. None of that is true." Iowerth lands on the bed; it bounces beneath him as he sits. "And I didn't tell you, because I didn't want this. But I also couldn't go on letting you think you'd done something wrong or weren't doing enough or that I was going to leave. Because none of that is true. Gwilym and I have had our own reasons, but none of them were due to you. Our parents get a share of it, now, but not you."
     He tilts his head to look at Tiernan's face, his own showing the full force of his emotions. Not anger, no. Worry (that you are leaving for good), hurt (that he has hurt you and you him), regret (that he hurt you at all). "I am sorry for hurting you," he murmurs. "I'm sorry for... not giving you the benefit of the doubt and telling you from the beginning. And... I don't want to hear about... yours. You don't have to worry about reciprocating, please," he lifts a hand. Spare me that.

     It is Gwilym who intervenes at this point, moving forward to put a hand on his brother's shoulder, pulling at you. "It's only because you two love each other than you hurt each other. I'm no fool, even if Io is," he grins a little, but his hand is warm where it stays, his gaze moving from you to Tiernan. "I could have kept the secret for a thousand years, if I needed to. There is only one person with whom I've trusted my secret, and he isn't talking and neither am I."
     He addresses himself to Tiernan now, expression serious. "You were packing before he got here, I can read the signs of it. Were you leaving him, or is this something else? I don't deny you both probably need a little time. All I'm asking is that you don't let this be the end of you. I don't think your roads need to diverge. For my own part, if you're angry at me, I'll allow you a free shot at me - I don't blame you if you feel the need, and it's better than you hurting yourself or giving the king marks for his subjects to speculate at. And that's half the problem, oes?"
     He turns to include you in his speech, looking sympathetic. "Io, if it were me, I'd give up the throne and run for the border. But you're not me, and you can't do that. So you both need to find a way around your damned crown if you're going to make it last; a way for you to spend some time together without it being kings and palaces. For all the ringing dinning bells of Hell, I'd say you should take a leave of absence right now and just go with him."
     But you won't do that; he knows it. He knows you won't, and Tiernan does as well. Gwilym sighs a little, turning to face your lover instead. "Secrets can hurt," he says softly, "in the wrong hands, oes? All I can tell you is what I think you already know; that Io never meant to hurt you. Nor did I, but that doesn't matter. I'm," he says bluntly, "not like Io; what I need, when I need it, I take it. It's part of who and what I am. He is a king of other kings. I am an emperor of thieves. Kings can be loved for what they do. Emperors can't. So if you need your ounce of pain in return, go ahead and take it." He hesitates for a moment, then his hands move to the front of his leather armour, finding the clasps and melting them away like butter so that his silk-covered chest is exposed. He spreads his arms out from his sides, inviting Tiernan to take his best shot.

     "I was going to the southern kingdoms on a recruiting run," Tiernan answers you both leadenly. He still does not turn, doesn't look at you - at either of you. Having expressed himself so fully, it seems he has little left to say. His hands have stopped trying to make ends meet; the cloth falls to the bed, his hands resting on the covers. His gaze does not lift; it sinks to the floor and remains there, head bowed quietly. "It's a good time for it; they are hungry to get in on this new kingdom, and get close to the High King's seat. And I figured, with wedding planning and the rest, it - would be a better time for me to be gone than others."
     His hands clutch at the sheets, clenching until his knuckles are white. "Why should I spare you? You didn't spare me, did you? And at that, I'd wager I've taken fewer lovers in our years together than you have, especially when you count in the women. There've only been five. Two in the other world and three here - a Frenchman, a Norwegian, a fairy boy, a pouka and a merman. The merman was most recent, not that you want to know - and yes, the sex was good. It was even better when we had sex in the water, with him in his transitional form. So what? It's never stopped me from coming back here, has it? It's never made me enjoy being with you one whit less."
     "I was going to suggest we have a vacation in Greece, you know." Tiernan picks up the shirt loosely, tossing it limply towards the sea-chest. "Not that it matters now, I guess." Tiernan takes a deep breath, and there is a choked sob in his voice, hastily suppressed. The tears serve to make him angry; he dashes his arm against his eyes. "A free shot? Fine. I'll take a free shot. Then you can both leave me be, yes? I can get some peace, then?"

     "And this veritable crowd of lovers that I have had," Iowerth drolls out -- clearly indicating that there hasn't been a crowd, at least not the crowd suspected. "You think that you can be with however many and your desire for me, your love for me is undiminished, and yet I can do the same and somehow that means I don't enjoy when we're together? That I don't love you? Why should I have to submit to this double-standard? You don't get to remain pure of heart here while I roll around in the muck."
     His face has gone red at the mention of the merman. There's only one he knows about in close proximity. The red is in danger of going scarlet. It would be purple were he not actively trying to control himself. For many reasons. "I have already pledged to herald our relationship before the whole court and kingdoms, to not live in the shadows with him, as he himself asked," he speaks very measuredly in response to his brother's suggestion of abdication. Joke or no. "I work during the day and my evenings are his. I am committed to that, for both of us. And I haven't been working all night," he looks to his brother, as if expecting an argument on a second front, "I have been here, having dinner with my lover, giving him my time, my presence and more than occasionally everything else." He doesn't have to explain that to either of his lovers. They should both know what he means.
     "But I cannot take a leave of absence. That is not possible. Not now. In six months, I can commit to a vacation. But not before I'm on the throne for more than a month," he looks at you both. "Considering what is before me, what is dependent upon me, I do not see that as being unreasonable."
     Iowerth rises from the bed. He wants to say something about the merman, but he doesn't. What could he say? "I would love to go to Greece," he mentions. "But right now I cannot. I am sorry. I ask only that you try to understand my current position. I have been in office for less than two months. It may be a year before I can have it organized and delegated to the point I can take a vacation of that sort." The merman could join you, surely. His jaw sets in the thought, his mouth puckering to keep silent about that. "You apparently aren't willing to hear my apology or accept my sympathy or regret. Not even my love. So... I will leave you be with all of that. You can think about it when you are in Greece. I... hope you have a good trip."
     Iowerth pivots, turning to pass both his brother and Tiernan. He is out of things to say for the time being. If the king is going to be alone, then the king of kings will be working. Both men can surely tell that he is pulling on his office even as he is preparing to depart.

     "I never said that." Tiernan says it with a despairing note in his voice that he's not able to keep back. "Damn it, Io! The difference is that I never kept anything secret from you except when you asked me to. But you huddled with your secret as it grew bigger and bigger - and never gave me the credit that I might not leave you if I knew."
     Now he turns to you, the glassy sheen to his eyes betraying the further emotion, the tears that he wills not to fall. His hands clench and unclench into fists at his sides. "Do you think I've stopped loving you just because of this? But you put your throne between us. Oh - screw this." He throws his hands up, turning to face the wall. "I won't burden you with my letters this time. It seems you wouldn't want them."

     Gwilym lifts a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, exhaling quietly. "Io, stop being king to an audience of two people who love you despite it. Tiernan, stop riding your damned hobbyhorse into the ground. You both have hurt feelings, you both don't want to hear anything but your own hurt right now, and you both are assuming that the other person wants it to be over when the truth is very obvious that neither of you do."
     I swear to god, no wonder I've never had a relationship. I don't even like watching this sort of thing on the telly.
     "Io - tell him you still love him," Gwilym orders, "unless, of course, you don't. That next time you'll try to remember that he's going to listen when you talk. Tiernan - live up to your own promise and start listening to him instead of wallowing in your own hurt. He made a mistake and he's trying to fix it. Even if you two can't work through it all tonight, at least agree to talk about it before you," Tiernan gets a look, "sail off into the sunset on your business trip. Trips to Greece or wherever can be arranged for whenever there's time, and I don't recall hearing Tiernan say that he had a specific time when it was scheduled to happen, so Io, stop acting like everyone's expecting you to drop everything. And Tiernan, if you get any more martyred, I'm going to pants you."
     Gwilym takes a deep breath, standing very straight with his hands on his hips. He fully expects one or both might try to break his nose, now - but that's part of the expected consequences of saying what needs to be said.

     Iowerth halts where he stands, feet stuck in the marble like mud. He'd sink if it were mud, he's standing so still. He looks at some space between them all, his periwinkle eyes finally lifting their attention to Tiernan. "Cara 'ch. Gwna. Gobeithia choeli 'm..." He lifts his arm, brushing it against his own eyes. His complexion remains lifted high. It is now high emotion coupled with the embarrassment of crying.
     It isn't exactly dignified...
     He starts to protest and argue on the various terms of what both of them have said, but he doesn't. It' s not going to make his night, or theirs, any better so he, as Tiernan so eloquently put it earlier, shuts up.
     He looks to his brother and then to Tiernan. He waits to see if anything else is going to be said. If anything else is going to be packed in that trunk. If his brother's suddenly going to sprout a third head or other things as miraculous as his sudden appearance and spouting of common sense. "I would not know what to do with myself," Iowerth murmurs, "... if you were gone and I didn't get a letter. I might as well abdicate, for all the use to anyone that I'd be."
     He sighs, his coloring starting to fade somewhat. He is still irritated, but he is trying to put that aside for now, his hand going to the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing. He should have known not to let Agapios work in the house. He forgot about Otto and the blue hair. Iowerth exhales again.

     There isn't an awful lot of dignity in this by now, is there? If he'd wanted to keep his dignity, he should have stormed out after saying his piece. But he stayed. And then Gwilym turned up - damn him - and now you are weeping. As is he, himself.
     "Idiot," Tiernan mutters, sniffing and wiping his nose against his sleeve. He has no idea how he echoes your own mother to your father, in that. "I love you. I do. As crazy as everything gets around us, I - if my heart could be cut into pieces and put on a plate, I'd still give them all to you. But that's my problem, not yours, isn't it? Get over here."
     He does not wait. He goes to you, one hand coming up to cuff you on the side of your head while the other grabs at the front of your shirt, and he kisses you roughly, loudly, cuff going to a hold as he grabs a fistful of your hair and presses his forehead to your own. "You're mine, damn it," Tiernan whispers to you. "I don't care who else visits your bed as long as that doesn't change. It's love which makes the difference, yes? Your brother," he shrugs a little. "Doesn't bother me. Just ... tell me these things. Yes?"

     It appears his nose gets to remain unbroken. Gwilym folds his arms over his chest, and now his gaze is hooded, the curl of his mouth less satisfied and more faintly sardonic. He steps back silently, without speaking, moving towards shadow; not even by thought does he intrude, now. Soon, he will be gone entirely.

     Iowerth was surprised by the grabbing, the sudden kiss. But by the time Tiernan's hand is grabbing that fistful of hair, he's returning the kiss with open fervor. He nods slightly when the kiss is parted, as Tiernan speaks, his forehead resting against Tiernan's own. He's getting a headache from all this head-cuffing. "I wish I didn't care who was in your bed," he smirks a little. "Or your pool." He rolls his eyes slightly, but then relents. "No more secrets," he says quietly, kissing you again. It lingers this time.
     And this time, he means it...
     As he nudges his nose against Tiernan's, he closes his eyes.
     Brawd... I love you, too. His brother is disappearing, he feels it. And...thanks for coming to the rescue. You can tell me how stupid I am later. Over a drink. I'll find you. Don't I owe you a visit anyway? He does, actually. To meet Iovis.
     "Can you postpone your packing a while?" Iowerth wonders quietly, remaining in Tiernan's space, his forehead still resting against his own. "Are you really leaving right away?"

     He does not look away from you as you kiss him or as you speak; even when his eyes close, he is facing you. "I can put it off," Tiernan mutters it. "I'm the boss, after all; if I decide to delay sailing by a day, who's going to argue with it? Let's not scare each other like this again."
     Only now is blood starting to leave his heart for the rest of him again, or so it seems; so it feels. His hand lets go of your shirt-front, wandering to your trousers. He has forgotten your brother's presence entirely. There was a moment where things might have taken a different turn - but now? Now he has forgotten everything but you.

     You usually know how to find me. If a day comes when you cannot, I have faith in your abilities that you can find someone who can. Gwilym steps soundlessly back, his face as in shadow as his feet. For now, I give you your time with your lover, oes? I am not needed.
     Another step, and he is gone. His mind can still reach yours, peering through veils of shadow - but he is no longer present. A warning. Most of the worst fires occur after the embers have died down, given time to flare into life. Spend a little time with him, but then let him have some space. You both need it now. Good night, brawd. I am on my way to Byzantium.
     And with that, even that trace of him is gone, as if he was never there. Perhaps it was just some illusion of your brother, oes? Surely Gwilym Gwyn Garu could not speak such sense. But he is gone; Tiernan is still there, dark head bent as his hands grasp at you.
     You are, after all, not alone.

Posted by rowan at January 08, 2007 10:02 PM