There was a bit of confusion at first, thanks to the neighbors at the maison. Two buff young men appearing? Is this accepted? A phone call was made. Several phone calls were made while Iowerth and Tiernan went about their business, phones lifted behind twitched curtains. Oui, oui, it's all known about...
     Everything's okay...
     There are multiple floors to the maison - three, to be precise. The maison is narrow, but tall, with the kitchen in the basement for when summer's heat threatens. The floors down there didn't need to be refinished, thank god. The first floor consists of the dining room and front parlor, while the second floor has a study and bedroom. The top floor has a garret bedroom and storage attic, with access to the roof. Plenty of work for active young men...
     And enter the queen mother, dressed simply in a pair of 7 jeans and a tanktop over which she has a gabardine blouse in bright blue with pink stitching. She comes in by way of the garden, small though it is, picking sprigs of lavender as she goes and sliding them absently into her braided hair. There's a loud knocking at the door, care taken so her rings don't get damaged (nor the paint), and a loud voice. "I'm here!" Stop whatever you're doing now, boys...

     What they are doing is a great deal of relaxing. It has been three days (and nights) of hard labor. This was not a three-day job, as Iowerth well knew when he arrived. But they have managed to get it done on sweat, ingenuity and old-fashioned determination.
     When the knock came, a lazy (actually, exhausted) hand was lifting the third bottle of beer to his lips. Through the knock, that motion continued, followed by a slow uncurling of himself from the chair and an even slower stride (for Iowerth, this means much) to the garden door.
     It is your son, madam, still chagrined and now too tired to bother with hiding it. He is also two and a half beers into relaxation. "Entrez, entrez..." Iowerth mumbles, open the door for you and his next brother, still dans l'uterus, as the French would say.
     He's in jeans and he is in sock feet (so as not to scuff the floors he's worked so hard on for the past three days). His shirt shows the worse for the wear, but it was a utility tee shirt in the first place, meant to be ruined. It is white and smudged all over, even shiny with floor wax.
     He starts to offer you a beer but then remembers your state. "We just moved the living room furniture back in... you might want to remove your shoes. And be careful, the wax is still setting, it is a little slick." Ergo, the sock feet.
     He has not been much to be around for the past three days and nights, which Tiernan can no doubt vouch for. He has been quiet, moody, pensive, chagrined and difficult -- mostly due to the quiet and moody parts of his temperament.

     "Thank you, darling." Fiona has to put a hand to your shoulder in order to remove her shoes. She's a little unsteady on her feet, today. "How's it all going?" Up she rises with shoes tossed to the side (your father would wince) in order to kiss your cheek. "You look tired. Have you eaten?"
     She is your mother, even if she looks the same age as you. Disgusting, isn't it? You will soon look older than she does. She takes a firm hold on your hand, drawing you into an embrace whether you like it or not. "It looks lovely. I'm sure you did a wonderful job."
     Tiernan, for his part, is sprawled on the couch, a bottle of beer loosely held in one hand, his other arm sprawled across his eyes. He'd groan, but he's just too damn tired. He has tolerated your moods in silence, by and large, doing as you direct except when his own experience requires he contradict you. And now? Now your lover is all but asleep, shirtless and in jeans, socked feet dangling over the edge.
     The things a prince has to do...

     "It's a first rate job," he blithely answers. "You could not have had two better to do the work. Not...that I am volunteering for more," he is quick to add. Iowerth closes the door behind you once you're in and your shoes are taken care of.
     In truth, he doesn't think of age differences. He will continue to age, if slowly in appearance, as all do eventually. But that's many years removed from him now, and he has to live through them, yes? -- to see the changes years might yet make.
     "I am tired," Iowerth quietly admits as he leads you from garden (and kitchen area) door to the living room. There, his lover lies exhausted as well, socked feet hanging off the edge of the sofa. He doesn't bother to apologize for the other prince's condition. If you were expecting a red carpet arrival you wouldn't have had us working like this.
     "To be honest, we did a week's worth of work in three days...and nights. Tiernan," Iowerth notes, his voice also a signal for the prince's own attention, "... knows much more about carpentry than even I. And I have a ship. So you can thank him for keeping the work neat and tidy."
     Iowerth takes a swallow of his beer as he heads to the chair adjacent to the sofa. "Mother... this is Tiernan, Prince of the Kingdom of the Winter Diamonds. Tiernan, this is my mother, the Queen of the Ever Flowering Kingdom," he pauses suddenly, turning to you. "Is that what it's called now?"

     "Kingdom of the Flowering Tree. You can thank your father and unborn sibling for the name." Fiona smiles at you, one hand going to her waist. "Hello, Tiernan. Considering where we are, I think we can dispense with titles, unless you insist. I'm Iowerth's mother, Fiona." You receive an almost mocking look from your mother, who puts a hand on your shoulder as you sit down. "A little hard work won't kill you," she murmurs to the top of your head. "I still love you, my dear. Don't worry about /that/."
     Tiernan kicks his feet a little in order to help himself sit up. There's streaks of floor wax in his hair, giving him a particularly punkish look which is entirely unintentional. "Your majest - er, that is, ma'am?" She's confused him; partway through proper address, he's had to stop in his tracks and try again. He's as exhausted as you are, easily, but his eyes go wide for a moment with that 'shit, did I just insult a queen?' moment. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he says rapidly, "and I apologize for any insult. Ah," he glances at you, "I ... think I should go shower now. Let you two talk without me."
     He's on his feet a moment later. Why didn't anyone tell me she was here? He lowers his gaze politely, looking at neither you nor your mother, waiting to see if he is dismissed even as he starts edging away.
     "No, no, please stay," Fiona tells your lover cheerfully. "After all this back and forth, I'd like to get to know the young man my son is in love with." Tiernan goes beet red, and your mother fixes an almost mischievous look on you. "You did a lovely job, it looks like. Shall I prepare some food for my two tireless workers?"

     He looks as mortified as he feels. A quick exchange happens between the two young men. It is all non-verbal but goes something like this:
     Why didn't you tell me she was here?
     She just came in, what am I supposed to do?
     Well, what now?
     Suffer until death. God, she just said you were my LOVER, out LOUD. This is what death feels like...
     Iowerth face-palms, wiping back through his hair, the waxed ends sticking straight up. It goes along with his emotions at the moment. He glances to Tiernan as you insist that he stays, as he goes beet red. Iowerth does him one better and goes deathly pale.
     Clearing his throat, he leans his head on his hand, half hiding it for a moment. "I'm not really hungry, mother. Tiernan," he wonders quietly, looking in his direction. "Hungry yet?" He takes a mighty swallow of beer. Thankfully, he doesn't belch. No, the bubbles are going to hang in his chest and suffocate him first...

     Tiernan looks ready to pass out. No, this isn't death. Death is more merciful. He glances at you, then goes slowly back to the couch and sits down on it. Ah. Prisoner awaiting execution; that's what this is. "Thank you, ma'am," he answers dutifully, "but I'm not very hungry."
     "Tsk. Don't 'ma'am' me. Fiona. Even if I were not Iowerth's mother, I am still a queen, and one of a queen's prerogatives is the right to be addressed however she likes." Really, you should have waited on this until your mother wasn't pregnant. That's what all this means. Fiona smiles and heads to the stairs. "I'm hungry, even if you two aren't. Why don't you two go get cleaned up a bit? I imagine a shower will feel good, and dinner won't be ready for a little bit, anyway."
     I like him, Io. He seems to have manners, at least, and he blushes very cutely. I can see why you'd go for him. Parents are so inconvenient, aren't they? That is said to you and you alone - mercifully for Tiernan, who's already speechless.
     Meanwhile, you get another communique, from further away - your brother, ringing your 'number' as it were, from somewhere else. When I get back to London, we need to have chat, Io. Not now... but later. Wherever he is, he is much further from you than just London.
     Tiernan stands up, giving you a bit of a black look. "I'll ... go shower, then, shall I?", he says aloud. "And - change my clothes." Your mother is out of sight. He sighs, crossing to you and putting a hand on your shoulder. "She doesn't sound angry," he says to you quietly. At least it's not in your mind. "But - ah, is there anything I should be doing?"

     Too many fucking voices...
     Too many voices in my head...
     Iowerth sits forward, his head in his hands. He shakes his head, then looks to you. "No," he murmurs, "...no, go ahead on. I'll... clean up after you. She's not angry," Iowerth smiles weakly, "...she's just my mother." His gaze softens after a moment -- though he is still "in a mood", to be sure, there is affection there for you, love there for you. "I'll be up in a moment," he assures.
     But for now...for now he needs some peace...
     With an exhale, his head goes back in his hands, his fingers rubbing his scalp. I'm not in London either, as it turns out. This is a fucking disaster. You won't find me in London long, I don't think. Something's come up. Where are you anyway?
     I have a headache, and not the last to be sure...
     Sitting in the chair, Iowerth lingers in his unsilent quiet, his weary brain pulsing with conversations and consequences. He sits back with a sigh, his eyes closing. He is well-mannered, and quiet, and studious he gives these thoughts to his mother, pushes them to her as he rests his head back on the chair. I'm glad you like him... do you have any aspirin? I have a headache...
     His thoughts shut off then. Downstairs where he still sits Iowerth now rises to follow his lover to the bedroom they have shared.

     His hand stays on your shoulder, squeezes for a moment before letting go. "Alright," Tiernan murmurs. He touches his forehead to yours, leaning down, then brushes his lips against your hair before pulling away. Nothing else is said; he turns, he goes. A man of few words, this lover of yours.
     I'm back home. He doesn't mean London. London just isn't home. Your brother has decided this; there is a mental exhale. Something's come up for me, too. We'll ... talk later, oes? There are ... things I need to discuss with you. Ideas. Plans for the future. I am ... very busy within my mind, Io...
     Gwilym's grin can be felt, even across the borders of worlds. Things are getting better. If there's a disaster, tell me what's going on; I can likely help. But - they may get shaken up a little. So I want to talk to you about it, but not now, oes? I can't stay on, I've got to go. He has someone, undoubtedly, waiting for him.
     Downstairs, your mother is puttering around in her kitchen, pulling foodstuffs from nowhere. Sounds nothing like your brother but a little bit like you. And look how you turned out, darling, Fiona tells you, good-humored about it. Sorry, no aspirin; I can't take it right now, you know. Shall I put on some tea for it instead? You might check the bathroom, though. There should be some aspirin and paracetemol in the cupboard.

     The continued conversations only make his head pound more. Sure... this is making my head hurt anyway... I'll see you later, brawd. No other response. The thoughts are simple, quiet. Not the usual soliloquies and speeches he usually makes in your mind, usually as you're trying to score (either money or women).
     "Thanks anyway," Iowerth says toward the kitchen. "Just... use the outside voice," he notes with a smirk. Just like you used to tell him when he was young. Inside voice, Iowerth! Outside voice, Iowerth! It never fucking ends...
     "He is a lot like me," he murmurs to you there in the kitchen, coming to lean on the wall between the kitchen and dining room. Arms folding against his chest, Iowerth stands, preoccupied, pensive still. He is so his father's son. "I do care for him a lot. He is quiet, actually quieter than I. He studies, he works on his projects while I work on my maps. It's as if we've been married for fifty years, when we've only known each other for two."
     Iowerth pushes away from the easing, turning to head upstairs. "I'm going to go get cleaned up. I'll be back down in a moment." Which means at least half an hour...

     "Go clean up. Take your time, darling." And the look your mother sends you is one of pure knowledge. You are your father's son, after all. She smiles a bit wickedly, then returns to food preparations. "We can talk," Fiona continues, "after." Couldn't you just die? She starts setting out plates on the kitchen table (no point wandering back and forth over the polish) and returns to cooking.
     Upstairs, Tiernan has the water running for a shower. There are fresh towels, and his dirty jeans and underwear have been tossed into a corner for now (he'll deal with those later). He hasn't yet gone so far as to soap up or wash his hair. He is just - standing under the spray, eyes closed, sagging slightly.
     Ah, exhaustion...

     Iowerth doesn't reply. He looks back to his mother, smirking, then continuing on his way. Heavy footsteps announced his arrival to the staircase and then down the hall to the large bedroom. Though you worked your fingers to stubs, the evenings offered comfort. Mostly you enjoyed such comforts unconsciously. Literally.
     He hears the water running. He doesn't join you there. The last thing he needs is for his mother to see them both with wet hair thinking they were showering together. Besides, the longer it takes to get down to dinner, the better. No questions to answer, no voices in his head, Iowerth lies on the bed, his legs hanging over the side.
     His arm draped over his eyes...
     He has worked harder, it is true, but never with his mind so crammed with concerns. This is what the rest of my life is going to be, he realizes. Kingdoms, work, hiding my lover from my wife, being a father to children. Childhood is over, and the discoveries on the ocean will have to wait for my dreams, should I be allowed them again. A lifetime of work is about to begin...
     With a loud exhale, Iowerth forces himself to sit up. He pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the same corner as your clothing and removes waxy socks and jeans and boxers.

     Your lover comes out from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. You get a quiet smile, and he comes over to you - sits on the bed. No words; what needs to be said will be said, in due course. Tiernan just looks at you, leaning forward to brush his hand against your face; cupping it. Leans forward; kisses you once, briefly, tugging at your lower lip with his teeth. And then rises again.
     He crosses the room, takes out clean clothes and begins laying them out on the bed. Without looking at you, he tells you, "Maybe it would be better if I went back."

     He was comforted by your embrace. It is one of the few things that stills him. Those great and deep waters of his that fill his vast heart. They tend to swallow everything in their path, himself included. Those seas lap, momentarily tossed, He wavers momentarily as he heads for the bath. "I don't think so, Tiernan," he murmurs. "What would be improved by that? Not me, certainly."
     He looks at you, you in your towel, and he smiles, though his mind is beset by troubles on all sides. There is too much to think about. The water of those thoughts are chin-high. "Please don't go," Iowerth says softly again. "Besides, we'll be leaving London soon. We should go together. You have to go to work... and... I do as well." You to work on maritime contracts and he... to find a wife.
     The water runs. It takes a moment for the old house to give up the warm water, but eventually it does and he stands beneath it, letting the wax melt from his skin and his hair.

     He sits there, watching you. "I won't go," Tiernan says simply. "I don't want to go." In those words, he says so much more. He looks at you, then exhales, flopping back on the bed. His eyes closed to the ceiling. Eventually, he rises; perhaps you can hear him, moving around. Getting dressed. Eventually, going downstairs ahead of you, to make nice with your mother. Appearances must be maintained, mustn't they?
     And downstairs, your mother, the queen, the spoiled rich girl and punk princess, has been cooking. The smells of saffron rice with pistachio and raisins rises to greet you; clouds of steam coming off baking chicken and broiled trotters. It takes more than just love to fracture a family. But there are problems, aren't there? Things which will not so easily go away.
     Your brother, a world away...
     Your father and other brother, back in London...
     What's going to happen now?

     He is too preoccupied to shower for long. Though fastidious, he doesn't tarry. Not twenty minutes have passed since he went upstairs before he is seen again coming downstairs. His hair is towel-dried and combed -- it's going to curl, there's nothing he can do about that -- and he is wearing a new tee shirt and a new pair of jeans. His face, however, is the face of a king with a whole mess of problems on his plate. He's going to get a wrinkle in the center of his forehead if he keeps knitting his eyebrows together like that.
     With a breath, he attempts to exhale it all away. He does a fairly decent job of it, his bemused but placid expression back on his face. Iowerth looks at the preparation, the food, and at those gathered here. "Smells lovely. Not cucumber sandwiches then?" he teases. He gives his mother a kiss on her temple then heads to Tiernan. He places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing. I am here... we are here together.
     "In light of recent events," Iowerth begins, how like a king already as he sits, taking up knife and fork and business all in the same motion. "I think Tiernan and I should return to the kingdoms. It was kind of you and father allowing us to come and see London. But what we have to do, and what we have to learn, really isn't of London. Would you agree?"
     Periwinkle eyes lift to his mother and a fiery eyebrow joins them in the motion.

     "This is dinner, not tea," Fiona retorts, and she turns a steady gaze on you. "Your father has not said for you to return, and under the circumstances, I think it makes more sense for you to do what he wants. You have time, Io. Take it. Use it." Food is brought bit by bit to the table; Tiernan has apparently been helping. He has a somewhat muted, dazed look to his face; perhaps he's been subjected to the intense whirlwind that your mother can be, at times.
     She sits, pouring juice for herself; beer is on the table for you and your lover. "I think you're rushing things. You return suddenly, more voices are going to be lifted, not fewer - a little subtlety is what's called for." Fiona exhales, then looks up, seeking your gaze. "Gwilym's said he wants to talk to me about something. I don't know what, yet; have you told him about what's going on, or should I be worried?" If it's not one son, then it's the other.

     "About what part of what's going on?" Your eldest son is all about qualifications and nuances -- well, they both are. He looks to Tiernan then glances at the beer. Drink up, boyo, you're going to need more of that before the night is out. "He knows about Tiernan, if that's what you mean. I haven't told him about... father knowing about Tiernan and I, nor about this olde house."
     But he did wish to speak with me too. Ah, he's up to something. I wish thinking of that were a good enough distraction from the rest of my issues.
     "I do not know that anyone truly knows where I am. I can't imagine anyone would be the slightest bit concerned with my returning. But I will speak with father before doing anything." He glances to Tiernan again. I'll spare you that meeting, love. "It was a nice idea," he murmurs, his attention now on his mother, "...but Gwilym and I were never part of this world... nor ever meant to be. Sometimes, some things just do not ...fit. My place is ...where I belong and getting to work. I think I've ... played at working long enough."
     How much he resembles his father just now. His moods, his looks. Even his strength. And certainly all of his intensity. He reaches beneath the table, his hand on Tiernan's thigh for a moment landing. It will be alright.
     "So," he says, waiting for the two of you to fill up your plates first, "...you've had a chance to get acquainted?" He is smiling now, somewhat cantwise and slightly sardonic. Can't imagine where he gets that...

     "I haven't told your brother about you and Tiernan and your father, no." Fiona frowns a little, looking disturbed, then shakes her head, dismissing it for now. "It may be that your brother knows; how he finds out the things he knows, I'd be afraid to take guesses."
     With a sigh, she begins dishing out the food, stooping forward with a hand on the table to brace herself. She is being extra careful, this time around. "As for part of this world or not part of this world, you need the time, Io." I am not going to argue with you about this. But I do not think that you should rush into returning. I have taken a closer look at your lover.
     Tiernan is quiet through all of this; your hand lands on his thigh, and his hand covers yours. You receive a subdued smile, and he exhales, reaching for his drink. It is, in a way - odd, to be openly affectionate to you, with someone else present. Without being massively drink, anyway.
     "Your mother," he murmurs, "has been quite kind. And has been cracking open my skull. Do you have any aspirin?"

     "I do not," Iowerth says in a conciliatory fashion, his hand withdrawing, "How I wish I had. We'll pop by the chemist's when we get back to London." Presumably tonight via the miracle of the Metro and the Chunnel.
     Periwinkle eyes flicker back to the woman in the room, so seeming younger yet at least twenty years older than he. One more oddity in a family full of oddities. "I will see what he says, and do what he wishes. He is my father, and he is my king." He smiles a little. "Besides, there's no arguing with him. He doesn't play fair."
     Nor does Iowerth when it comes right down to it. He's a chip off the block, an acorn off the oak of Llywelyn to be sure.
     Iowerth takes up his drink, takes another healthy swallow before setting it back down. Once the bowls and plates are passed his way, he feels his belly stirring. He is hungry afterall -- so his gut announces to the room. "Duw... pardon..." Grinning, he loads his plate and passes the other bowls back to the center of the table.
     "Gwilym ... has his own business as ever," Iowerth notes. "I doubt it has anything to do with me. He would have told me first. I wouldn't worry until he gives you something to worry about." He pauses, then smirks. "Hardly comforting, I realize... but... trust him. He's crafty. Whatever it is, good or ill, he'll turn to his benefit. It's like he can coin gold from his fingertips."

     No aspirin. Tiernan sighs again, but doesn't argue, just giving you another wry grin. He is more chary with the food; his headache, apparently, interfering with his appetite. A pity; your mother's a good cook.
     "None of you play fair. Not your father, neither of your brothers. I'm the only one with a sense of fair play in this family," Fiona answers placidly. She helps herself to some of the rice and a small amount of the chicken, only. "As for your brother - I've no doubt, but I smell trouble, nonetheless. Maybe it's my being pregnant; I don't know. This one seems different from you two, though."
     Again, her hand touches to her belly, sensitively. Something's ... different, this time. I don't know what. I'm worried. I wish I knew...
     Your lover's head is clear of malice, Io. There were ... hooks in there, which I found. And removed; his mother is a nasty piece of work. I will handle her. But in the meantime, stay here - well, in London - until I tell you otherwise. I will be heading back to my kingdom after dinner, to talk to my advisors.
     That is the queen's voice, rather than the mother's. Fiona does not look at you. It is a private conversation, aimed at you and you alone. Do not tell your father or Rhodri. I will handle this myself.

     Yes, mother. I understand. There is no argument offered, no insistence on returning to the kingdoms, but as you reveal your plan he understands your insistence that he remain. We will go to London until you give us the... all clear...
     Iowerth chuckles suddenly. "Smelling trouble around Gwilym is like smelling roses around a garden, mother." The very idea tickles him. "I wouldn't worry, really. He is quite capable. And whatever he has to tell you, I am sure he is fine. I would know..." I would, would I not? "I just heard from him earlier... he seemed to be well."
     He does narrow his eyes as you touch your belly. Your new baby, a touchstone. And you touch it as a nervous cleric would touch his beads. Is something wrong with my new little brother? Have you been to the doctor?
     He glances to Tiernan, smiling far more easily now, though he has his concerns. He does not show them. "So? You are satisfied with the work? Can Terry and I return to London? Or do you want new wallpaper as well?"

     There's no doctor better than your father, darling. I'm sure everything is fine. I just - worry. It's tension - stress. A pregnant woman is the most paranoid thing on this earth. Fiona smiles at you, then picks up her glass. "Well, we'll have a family dinner when we're all back in London, yes? Tiernan, you may come if you like, but I'll understand if you'd feel too uncomfortable." He gets a sympathetic smile. In-laws are difficult. Thank god she hasn't got any.
     Tiernan smiles a little. "If Io'd like me to be there," he says quietly, "then I'll be there. Willingly. Otherwise, I can manage to amuse myself for a few hours, I think." And he looks to you, and you receive a rare smile. One which shows the depths of his emotions; a smile meant for you, and you alone. For a moment, your family is forgotten, and there is just you.
     "You've done a lovely job," Fiona tells you placidly, "so feel free to return tomorrow, if you like. Tonight, though, stay here, the both of you." You receive a warning look from her. There are wards ... you should be able to feel them, if you try. Some of them were here when I inherited the place. I have strengthened them, recently. Nothing should be able to get in without explicit invitation...

     You should see a doctor... despite my father's gifts. If you are worried, you should soothe your mind by doing so. Ah, listen to me... advising you. Still... if you are worried...I do not want you to worry...
     He looks to Tiernan and smiles. "I'd like you there. I can use you as a shield," he winks then barks a laugh reminiscent of his father. It lights his face, those periwinkle eyes of his. "Of course I want you there," he leans toward his lover. No kiss is left, nothing so intimate. Just a hidden touch under the table.
     "We shrink from nothing, no one," Iowerth says to his mother. "We are in this...together. So... we will face dinner together." He withdraws the touch. He looks between the two of you.
     His mother, my father, Time and marriage. Whatever it is, he is with me... and I am the better for it...

Posted by rowan at July 07, 2006 09:33 PM