Thursdays are such difficult days. And nights; the sun's been down an hour or so, and Fiona is finding herself utterly without appetite. The day was spent shuttling between various responsibilities of her foundation, meeting with her accountant, touching base in her kingdom and lunch with her father (but not her mother, thank god). When she got home, the first thing she did was kick off her shoes, feet a trifle swollen from so much walking.
     The second thing she did was call and leave a message for her husband - the one not awake during the day. "Darling, if you're available tonight, how about coming over and cuddling me? I miss you something terribly." A catch; a hesitation. "Besides, I want to talk to you about things. Love you. Hope you still love me..."
     It was allowed to fade out on that note, the phone held a moment longer, then hung up. And then the third thing Fiona did was cross to the couch and curl up on it for a nap.
     Dusk came and went with her soundly asleep on the couch. It's now nine o'clock, and she's only just yawning, stretching, rubbing her eyes and then the hard core of her belly as she tries to fumble to sit up. Three hour naps are so hard on the system - but sometimes needful, these things, aren't they?

     The door knob twists, a key tried unsuccessfully. Fuck, can be heard through the door, that then rattles once more as he successfully opens the door and shows himself with the keys now stuck in his mouth and his arms full of food. Davydd ap Owain kicks the door shut. "Oh shite," he murmurs as you sit up. "I'm sorry, darlin'...did I wake you? Sorry I'm late, what a pisser it is out there tonight. I brought food," and it's not Pashmina's either. It's Italian.
     Bags in his hand, Davydd heads to the sofa, piling all the food on the coffee table, and he leans over to kiss you. "Hey, baban," comes his gentle whisper. "And of course, you silly shite," he grins a toothy grin, "... I still love you. Why wouldn't I?" His fiery eyebrows kick upward. "You have a new boyfriend or sommat?"
     By his smile you know he's teasing. "I stopped by Pisa's. Got some non-spicy good hearty food, oes? Some bread, olive oil, good pasta. Good for the stomach. You need to eat. I can tell you've not had much today. You look a bit pekid. I need blood in those cheeks, lass, blood." Bending, Davydd kisses you again, this time it's a kiss straight from the heath. Wild, beltane in its heat. It ends in plucks and a groan. "Hmm... I've missed you. How about I get us started on the food, hmm? I'll get you some water. Want a slice of lemon?"
     He's being so sweet. What has he been up to?

     "No, it's fine, I shouldn't have slept this long anyway." Fiona smiles at you through the haze of her sleep, pushing at her hair to get it out of her face. "I just have been horribly tired, and let's not even mention the dreams I'd been having." She sits up fully, one leg folded under her, arms held out to you.
     The kiss is greeted with a sigh, her arms winding around your neck. "No new boyfriends, I'm not done with the two I've already got yet. I'm glad you still love me. I'm just feeling horribly insecure, I guess."
     You say you missed her, and you can see how it affects her; she's touched and more than touched, her hug growing tighter for a moment. "Oh, you darling man," Fiona whispers. "Taking such care of me. I should ask you what you've done to feel guilty for, but I don't care." She releases you, mouth teasing at yours as the kiss ends. "Water - no lemon, nothing too acid. Maybe some mint. What's going on in your life, Davy?"

     "Mint it is, then," he murmurs. "And ... though you don't care... I'm as innocent as a newborn lambykins." He straightens with a wink and heads to the kitchen to fetch a few plates, a water for you and for him? Vino veritas. "Oh well," he exhales, "...the hotel's opening in a couple of weeks. Hard to believe. It's not a hotel anymore of course, but it was never a good hotel to begin with. There's going to be an opening ceremony during the day. My other son's coming out of hiding for that one, he's a good lad." What other son? Dammit Davydd.
     "That'll be a big thing, turning my businesses into philanthropy. I'm a bit nervous about it, but in that sort of scary-good sort of way." Drinks poured, he heads over to the sofa. He's off again for plates. The wine is red, a real dark red just like he likes them. "You doing alright? This has been a bit harder on you." He's not blind. Or deaf. No matter how he sometimes acts like it.
     "You're not running yourself down more than you need to be," it's a bit of a lecture. "If you need to hire someone, love, hire them. You can't do all this yourself. I know you're a capable woman of the twenty-first century, but you can't burn yourself at both ends..."

     "Other son?" Fiona narrows her eyes at you. Which one's that? One she hasn't met? You make her paranoid when you say these things. "What's going on, Davy," she says in a no-nonsense tone of voice. You are too much in movement for her to keep up, so she stays seated, watching you.
     "I'm ... glad it's going well, and I know change is difficult." You are still moving, and she is having trouble tracking you. She slouches back against the cushions, closing her eyes and folding her hands together over her belly. "I'm ...doing ... I'm doing."
     She sighs a bit at that, in that way she has, and again pulls herself up. It has been a restless time. Grey eyes focus on you, and she takes a deep breath. "Davy, I've got to tell you something."

     "The former Earl of Clive himself," Davydd quietly answers. "You've not met him. He's been incognito for a while. But you've heard the others speak of an Uncle Huw? His name is Huw Gwallter Herbert. He's resurfacing for the first time in about a century. I need him, and his business acumen. Particularly now. He is well acquainted with ...vampire business needs."
     He's back with the plates and settling down as you sigh and look at him. What? His face says it all. "Sure," he murmurs. "Sorry, was I making you dizzy?" Davydd smiles only briefly then sits back on to sofa to hear what you have to say. His arms cross behind his head and he rests the ankle of one leg upon the knee of the other. Such a position makes the material of his shirt pull at his large arms and tight across the chest.
     He's all yours now. For better or for worse. Fiery eyebrows lift in a curious arch. His arms unfold and he sits forward. "Is...something wrong?" he murmurs. And Davydd's eyes go to your belly and the unborn form of his future grandchild.

     "...Oh." Another Llewellyn. God help her. Keep him away from her, two husbands is enough. You sit, and she immediately pulls herself up against you, not quite into your lap. "Okay. I was wondering. You'll let me know if there's anything I can do to help, right?"
     Her hands go to your shoulders and she uses you to pull herself up so she can brush a quick kiss against your cheek. Her head then drops to rest against your chest, her eyes closing. "I may have done something which will annoy you."
     That really narrows it down, doesn't it? Did she throw out your favourite t-shirt?
     "I ... looked into some matters," Fiona speaks carefully, pulling herself up again to sit properly, ankles crossed and hands folded in her lap. "And I found it advisable to take some actions. And, well - I'm not going to procrastinate, Davy. I conquered Tiernan's mother's kingdom and killed his mother." So there. You get a brief, peeping glance from under her eyelashes, and she looks away.

     "I had heard some rumblings. But no one has exactly complained." He smiles a little. "I mean, who's going to complain. One, you've pretty well killed them all, yes? Well, your army has. Two, no one liked them in the first place. Look," he exhales and turns toward you, his hands taking your hands, "... you acted decisively, yes? Seems to be that way." He smiles a little. "And not without provocation. And, quite frankly, you've rid the astral realm of a truly dark place, unredeemable in its corruption. You'll put Order where there was Chaos, and that's a win-win for us all. So ...no...I'm not annoyed." He grins then. "Now, I'm not entirely happy that you've tired yourself out while you're carrying my grandchild, but I trust you had significant cause." He shrugs. "Now, I'd have been right pissed had you ridden into battle yourself."
     He chuckles suddenly -- deep, rumbling laughter. "I could just see it. You pregnant, riding in like Eleanor bare-breasted to take on the evil." Leaning in, Davydd puts an arm around you and kisses you. "You won, yeah? Why would I be annoyed with victory?"

     "If I hadn't been pregnant," Fiona mumbles, glowering at you sullenly, "I would have ridden into battle. - Though not bare-breasted. That would be unsafe." She looks at you suspiciously. You are too calm about this. "I had significant cause, yes, she was plotting to kill us. I felt that was significant cause." There is no sin but in getting caught, but that one's a big one.
     With a sudden sigh, she hurls herself at your chest. She can't hurt you that way, after all, and she's careful enough not to hurt herself. "Gwilym went into battle without asking and without telling me and if he were just a little bit younger I'd turn him over my knee and give him what-for but he's too old for that now and I wonder if I didn't ruin our children and I'm worried about the baby Davy what will we do if something's wrong and I just want to cry all the time it feels like and did I do the right thing?"
     That was a mouthful. She stops when she runs out of air, sniffling into your shirt.

     "My goodness, you're pregnant aren't you?" He grins, tipping his head back as he looks at you in his arms. He rocks you there, that grin on his face yet. "Ah, darlin', young men...our young men... they're meant to do what he did. I know as his mother you're not wanting to hear that, but he's a prince. And that is what princes do," Davydd murmurs. He kisses your head and gives you a gentle squeeze of his arms.
     "Don't be too hard on him. I'm proud of him, really. Heading into battle in your stead. If I were drunk, I'd be in tears by now." He chuckles, giving you a gentle tussle. "And you want to cry because you're pregnant. You know this. And I'm sure the baby is fine, but you know... you need to go into the doctor for pre-natal. Your father's going to kill me if you don't. You're going to give birth here, the child will be raised here. It feels different, darlin', because it is different."
     He sits back, "Now, food. You'll feel better after you have something to eat. Have some of the water." Sitting forward, Davydd opens the to-go containers, putting out some of each item on a plate for you. Not overloading it, mind you -- but a good portion for a woman who needs to eat. "I don't doubt your cause. If you need my help, be sure to let me know. I have not received any complaints. No one's going to doubt you."

     She sniffles at you again, leaning against your chest. "I don't like being like this," Fiona mutters rebelliously. "I don't like being all - all watering-pot and so on. And Gwi - he's going to have to be smacked, because he should at least have told me what he was doing! It's not all right for him to just run off and let me find out after the fact, not if he's fighting with my armies!"
     High-strung and then some; far more than is normal for her. She pouts at you, eyes wide and too bright with unshed tears, lower lip quivering. "Food, alright," Fiona agrees grudgingly, sniffling again as she takes her plate. She picks up her fork, chasing a bit of pasta around the rim of her plate. "I'm not very hungry, though."
     She isn't telling the truth, there, and you know it. You have seen her appetite before. She burns calories the way you used to, it going to fuel her magic; but as much magic as she has expended, she has not eaten enough to replenish. Now that she begins eating, the food begins to vanish with increasing speed.
     I'm glad noone's complained. It had to be done, and I'm still a bit all to pieces - it was ... something I'd never done before, Davy. Fiona sighs, putting down her fork in order to pick up her water, drinking as thirstily as if you'd stuck her in a desert with a sunlamp on her. I've never killed anyone before. Her voice is small, flavoured with self-doubt. Self-doubt tastes like a bad pistachio; the same sour, vaguely rotten flavour with the regrettable spoilt promise of the flavour the nut ought to have had. Am I a bad person, Davy?
     Existential angst and pregnancy. What a wonderful combination.

     "Conserve your energy," he says quietly, piling his own plate full. "I'm right here, hmm? Talk to me." Dark green eyes cut over to you and he nods. "You're not a bad person, darlin'. She'd have killed you same as looked at you. Don't ride yourself tired, haggard with guilt. You've got to take care of yourself. My little grandbaby needs you. And you can't get anything done if you've worn yourself thin."
     He pauses for a swallow of red wine and penne pasta. Another mouthful, and he looks to you, chewing, swallowing, drinking, and then speaking: "I'm sure you're in a bit of shock," Davydd murmurs. "It's natural. Just... rest assured in the fact you've done the right thing. For you, your children, the health of your kingdom and the rest of the kingdom. You acted well, it sounds like, decisively certainly. So, take it as it is, sweetheart. Take the good, leave the bad behind. It's a long life you're in for." He leans in, smelling of pasta and wine. He places a kiss on your temple. "You did all you could do..."
     "Bloody hell," he growls, "...I'm starvin'." He stuffs his face, drinks his wine. He's listening: so his darting dark gaze to you tells you, that and the motion of his hand for you to keep going if you wish.

     She sighs a little, leaning back, closing her eyes. Conserving her energy is something she's very bad about. Lately, so has eating regularly been - which may be some of her worry. She holds her water in both hands, drinking in little sips.
     "When the boys were in Paris," Fiona speaks finally, "I went over there and made them dinner. While Iowerth was in the shower, I had a look at Tiernan... a thorough look." She shoots you an old-fashioned glance, then reaches slowly for her plate. "She'd been doing things to him, Davy. For years. Torturing him, then wiping his mind so he wouldn't remember it; using his blood and his pain to keep her court going, tying dark magic into him so he'd never know it. It's amazing he's as - well, nice as he is, considering what he's been through."
     She shudders slightly, reaching a hand to grip your thigh - as if to remind herself that you are a larger and darker presence and can protect her from such. "She had spells which, if she'd wanted to, she could have ridden him as a puppet," Fiona says quietly, "cut Io's throat in the middle of the night and moved on out from there. She came close to doing something of the sort when Io made Tiernan his lieutenant; she was afraid the spells would be discovered, but when nothing immediately happened, she chose to wait it out a bit longer. Only she waited too long, and I found out." She returns her attention to her food, eating slowly and methodically for a few long moments. Closing her eyes, she sighs softly, biting her lip.
     "...He's not her son, Davy. She stole him from some couple here on the material plane, years ago. Made some sort of bargain, tricked them into it, and raised him as her own. But he's got no more fairy blood in him than the postman, as far as I can tell..."

     Davydd shakes his head. His son's... choices are not high on his list at the moment. He listens to you, frowning the more you say. He takes a deep breath, looks like he wants to belch, then sits back, no burp in sight. "Iowerth's fucking lucky," comes his rumble. He half-rises, hands going into his trousers to fetch cigs and lighter. He shakes his head again. "He's going to have to be smarter. There's not a man he can trust but his own brother. And that he decides he needs to fuck men? That's going to open him up to a fucking world of agony. He's lucky it only almost got him killed this time. Go for the wrong bloke? You're dead... or worse..."
     He lights up with a great exhale of smoke. It's a visual sigh. "There's nothing to be done about it now. He's of that place. He can stay, it's all he knows. And ... I guess I can have some sympathy for a poor cursed thing. Have you told Iowerth this. All of this?" Dark green eyes, deep forests, look at you squarely. "You do him no service by keeping it from him, if you haven't. Full disclosure. I want you to tell him. Not Tiernan. Likely the less he knows, the better. We don't need him coming unhinged. If he can be helped, cured, whatever the fuck, great. I'm fine with that. Really. But Iowerth... the future High King needs to know. One, what he was nearly facing. Two, the depth of the depravity, the depth of the sorrows his own lover has faced, unknowingly."
     Settling back into the sofa, he suddenly realizes he's subjecting his future grandson to noxious fumes and rumbles out a long and low: "Fuck me... I'm sorry. Look at me, the great shite. Ah," he stamps it out, "... fuck... there. Sorry." He goes for the wine then, replacing one vice with another. "I know why Iowerth didn't confide in you...I'm sure he talked to Gwilym. I'm sure Gwilym looked. They're just not perhaps... experienced enough yet to know what you've been able to find out. And they need to be. Iowerth's... a smart man, a good man, a strong leader. I'm proud of him. But he's going to have to be more careful. Not so... naive, yeah? He's so used to people loving him... he's never really faced evil. Not really. Chaos, yes. Evil... no. And it nearly killed him. So..."

     "Tiernan is, himself, a good boy," Fiona says softly. "I know. I looked, Davy. I scraped his mind clean. He can't help what his adoptive mother was; he doesn't even know she wasn't his mother. And I have; I've told Iowerth most of this. I didn't go into all of it; Tiernan was right there, and that seemed, well ... rude."
     Yes, child, let me slander the only mother you've ever known horrifically and tell you how little she valued you except as a tool...
     She looks at you, plate set aside now. "I will make sure that he knows in full detail," Fiona says simply, "but I did tell him much of it. And I will tell Gwilym that whatever he's uncovered while he was there, in her kingdom, he should report to his brother. He may as well get used to it," she adds.
     She looks over at the window, then back at you. "He is in love, Davy. This family ... love is our downfall and our salvation. It brings us lower than anything else and brings us to dizzying heights. We do so little save that it is done with or through or because of love. You're too hard on Io; I don't think he is as naive as you think. He's faced pirates how many times? Some of them are only of Chaos, certainly, but surely others..."

     "I am hard on him," he notes it quietly, simply, sitting back with his wine. "I have to be. He has to face me at the end of the day." Those green world eyes look at you again. "I'm the man in his seat. So, yes... I'm hard on him. Purposely. I'm building my rival. It's... my job. And my duty to him. I'm not ... disappointed in him, particularly. He understands what his responsibilities are. He has to marry, he has to set up a court. He has to prepare himself to rule. Cutting his teeth on pirates? That's ... not enough."
     The wine is finished, the glass set aside. "I need to spend more time with him. Much of this is trial and error. He'll have to learn, make mistakes... I know, I know," he sighs. "Anyway, give him all the information you have. He'll need it to ... help his... lover. And I don't have a problem with Tiernan," Davydd adds suddenly. "He seems respectful. I feel sorry for what's been done to him. He may be a good influence on Iowerth, for all the evil that was wrought on him."
     Sitting back again, Davydd rests his head on his hand, his elbow propped up on the back of the sofa. He looks at you slant-wise. "Oes, he may as well get used to it. The new king's reign really begins with his marriage. He'll be crown prince until he's man enough to unseat me." He grins and winks at that. But you know by that simple tease that that is precisely what Davydd has been preparing him for. That is the father's duty. And what will Davydd become after that? He's not sure either, but all things must pass. It's the nature of things...
     "I love my son very much, you know," he murmurs. "He's a very smart man. A very good leader. He'll be fine. I'm learning to trust." Sharp is the grin that follows. "Slowly, but I'm learning..."

     She watches you, and suddenly her eyes are wide as a rabbit's, her face falling. "Davy," Fiona murmurs shakily. One hand goes to her mouth, covering it with a muffled, squeaking gasp, and her other hand goes to her belly, protectively. And she stares at you. Everything else is temporarily forgotten.
     "Oh, Davy..."
     It's as well she wasn't holding anything. It would have fallen to the floor now. She stands to her feet, slowly, shakily, pressing her palm in against her mouth as she stares at you.
     Did you think that she had guessed, or known? You were wrong. Your talk of trust does nothing to mitigate her reaction; it is immediate, extreme. She has not yet remembered to breathe.

     Fiery eyebrows knit as he looks at you. You've seen that look on another face very like his own, and recently too. What's with all these men looking at you as if you're mad? "Darlin? What? What?"
     Thinking there's something wrong with you, the baby, both, Davydd stands. He goes over to you, his hand landing on your belly. "Is something wrong? What's the matter?"

     "You."
     Fiona gets the one word out, still staring at you as if you admitted to eating babies, rare, with a side order of severed testicles. She looks, really, as if she's been punched in the solar plexus; emotionally, that's about how she feels.
     "He's going to unseat you? What does that involve? Davydd!" It's a shame, really. She is so very pregnant; it makes her so emotionally unstable, this time round. Her water glass is snatched up, the contents dashed onto you, the glass hurled to the floor.
     It's a blessing in disguise. She's angry and upset - but not angry enough to be trying to kill you or do you physical harm. "You'd leave me," she's ranting now, "and Rhodri, our family, just because - just because! Davydd ap Owain, if I had two minds I'd spend one of them trying to cram it into your brain!"
     Now she's hit stage two. Fiona tries to kick your ankles. "I hate you! Why d-d-don't you lo-love me?" And stage three - blubbering. Her hands go from trying to whack your chest to covering her face as tears stream down her cheeks.
     All in about fifteen seconds. Welcome to pregnancy, Davydd. It's going to be a bumpy ride.

     He sighs, and then he's dancing like a town fool away from the fired shots of the local gunslinger to avoid your ankles. "God damn it, Fiona. Eventually. Do you know that word -- eventually? Not next fucking week, Christ. Calm down and listen. Shite!" You got him with the glass. He couldn't dance and dodge the water. "For fuck's sake..."
     "Yes, he's going to unseat me... I'll have to step down for him to inherit won't I? But we're talking years, sweetheart. Years. He's nowhere near capable, even as smart and strong as he is." Rolling his eyes, he goes to the kitchen for a towel. "No one said anything about fucking leaving you, jesus. I know you're pregnant and hormonal, but you don't have to throw shite at me. Doesn't the fact that I brought you dinner mean anything to you?"
     He gives it another minute (maybe) before gesturing at you from his safe distance. "Are you alright now?" And now you're crying. With an exhale, Davydd goes over to you. "Listen to me, darlin'. I'm not talking about death and dismemberment here, and I'm not talking about next week. It could be a century out for all I know. Don't get worked up over it. Come on, I shouldn't have joked about it. Come on, now... you forgive me? Not angry with me?"

     "You better not DIE. OR kill Io." Angry, tearful eyes look up at you as Fiona sniffs the words out. One palm comes out to beat at your chest - lightly. "He's your son and you're Not. Allowed. To. Die. Dammit!" She jumps onto your feet, hopping up and down on them as if her bare feet might make a difference against your boots. She's pouting again.
     It ends with her arms going around your neck and a drawn-out sniffle. "I hate you," Fiona sniffs. "You're so mean. Damn you, Davy, why do I have to love you so much? I'm pregnant. Kiss me. You get to stick it in me the next time, after all."

     "I'm not sure I want to if you're going to act like this," he chuckles suddenly. "Stop it," he chides. "You're going to send yourself into labor, yeah? And I shouldn't even joke about that. You need to go to the doctor," that's suddenly stern. "Don't make me schedule a fiver appointment and drive you myself. I'll be cranky."
     His arms come around you and he sweeps you up, holds you so you can't attack him or jump on his feet or hit him or anything else. "I'm not going to kill our son," he murmurs. "Come on now. If I was going to do that, I'd have done it when he came out of the closet." He grins then, flashing two distended canines. He gives you a gentle shake. Laugh, you, now.
     "Goddamn you're sensitive this time. Are your nipples as sensitive as your moods? Should we find out?" He rumbles low, giving your furious lips a kiss. "Hmm... it's been too long. So long, I've forgotten when we were together last. That husband of yours sure does keep you on a short leash, oes? How's he expect your illicit lover to get a tongue in edgewise?"

     You go stern, and she goes suddenly meek, clinging to you as you sweep her close. She sighs, nuzzling in against you quietly. "I love you, Davy," Fiona murmurs, burying her face in against your chest. "I've missed you. And I'm glad you didn't kill him for it. It isn't as if he's wearing women's clothes! Though I hear there was one time Gwilym had to disguise himself like that to get out of some girl's bedroom. If I'd heard officially, I'd have skinned him alive."
     You kiss her, and she leans in to the kiss, squirming up against you. "It's all your fault," she retorts breathlessly. "You never have any time for me anymore, all busy with your hotels and your plans for conquest and - and find out, yes!"
     All that frustration, all that emotion has suddenly been channeled into rapacious sexual desire. You were holding her, and now she is a squirming armful determined to get into your pants. "Take me to bed," Fiona orders you peremptorily. "Right now!"

Posted by rowan at July 16, 2006 09:56 PM