Two weeks have come and gone in a flurry of administration. The bureaucracy is flourishing, the first true 'garden' of this new kingdom, and with spring in its full unfurling games are underway. For a week now there have been chariot races and mock battles. Even once they filled the floor with water and held a naval combat demonstration. Tonight, the coliseum is lit like a modern stadium for another night of racing.
     The games are good for business. The markets thrive with the excitement they stir, and word has traveled far and wide, bringing spectators from every corner of the united kingdoms.
     Far above the coliseum, the Basilica of the High King stands quietly, its own lights showing the colors of the last victors. Whose colors shall shine on the dome tonight?
     It is a question even the High King asks himself as he loiters beneath the stars with a full view of the dome of his own palace. While the ambient glow from the stadium does reach the basilica with its corona, the view of stars remains unobstructed.
     Iowerth Rhudd Draig lies upon the soft grass of his private garden, surrounded by columns and stars. He can hear the cheers from far below. Hippolytus has quickly become a celebrity. And why not? He is no Aurelius that he should be modest with his gifts.
     But it is not the games that have the King's mind this evening. His mind is out there somewhere on the ocean. But his compass seems not to be functioning. The needle is spinning, the way disconcerted. And though he can sail by the stars without need of his compass, he was... is... rather fond of it all the same.
     He has not written...
     He has not said how he is... where he is...
     And so I am now adrift, waiting for a signal flare. Something, anything to know we are alright.

     One shadow is not like the others. The markets are bustling; and that means that there are those afoot and awing who have interest in the bustle and the hustle, the noise and the glitter, for the purposes of lining their own pocketbooks. Thieves and assassins, reprobates of all description - they do not flock to your banner as soldiers or merchants do. But where there is gold, there, too, they follow.
     They have come in dribs and in drabs, singly and in only small bands when not alone. Nothing to try and draw attention. Nothing to attract notice of your guards, your spies, your envoys, those who would advise you be well rid of them.
     They come with their own plans. But they have not been unnoticed by one shadow among the rest. One pair of eyes notices faces, recognizing pirates and guild leaders, roustabouts and ruffians and sets a name to each face. Where there is the most money to be found, there the biggest crooks and liars, criminals and rogues will also go; and so it has begun.
     From the myriad kingdoms with any wealth of significance, they slowly detach themselves, migrating towards the new capital - towards your seat, o king. But not unnoticed...
     Gwilym detaches himself from the shadow of a shadow. He has seen the stadium; admired it greatly, while making his mental notes. And now he is here, not there. He steps out of nothingness, and from behind you, he speaks.
     "You look at the stars to navigate by them, brawd. I navigate by the darkness between them. And yet, neither of us is happy enough, are we? I'm here."

     Your brother does not startle. His head resting on his clasped hands, he tilts his head back to look at where you stand. "Are you hungry?" From now until the end of time, that will be how he says 'hello' to his twin. He does not get up to throw his arms around you. He is happy to see you -- the wind can tell you that as much as his eyes -- and he motions for you to come sit by him. "I thought you would be in Paris by now," he says, his gaze returning to the stars.
     To the side appears a carafe of brandy, a bit of venison for the Stag himself, and some buttered bread with rosemary. He cannot help himself. You must be provisioned.
     For a time he says nothing. He gives your question a due amount of thought. "At the moment? I am not happy, no," Iowerth says finally, with the hush of honesty. "I have not been focusing on my own happiness... or lack thereof... but on that of the rest of the kingdom. When it is my time," he drolls, "...then I am as I wish to be. I did not feel like going to the games tonight. I can hear Hippolytus winning from here well enough."
     I am not good company tonight. I apologize. I do not know that I can be consoled. If you wish a pleasant evening, might I suggest the chariot races? His mouth cants in a slight frown. "It is nice to unwind up here," he whispers. "To just... lie under the stars and almost... dissipate into thin air. It's quite relaxing to give one's troubles to the stars. They're full of hot air already. They'll hardly notice."
     Sea-foam and coral periwinkle eyes look to you as he rolls his head on the pillow of his palms to look at you. "How are you? When are you heading to ... where are they headquartered, exactly?" He always says Paris, he realizes suddenly, but he truly does not know.

     "Bah, Paris." Gwilym answers you lightly, trotting over to your side and sinking down next to you. He does not answer your question; hungry or no, he can always eat. He eats when he can as well as when he feels like it; food is converted to energy, energy is spent or squandered where he wills. It is his Way.
     "Paris has pretty boys and girls," your brother concedes, "and lights a-plenty. But I am not needed there right now. The city can get along without me." He says it as if the city had ever actually noticed his existence, to care if he were there or no. Who knows? Perhaps his egotism has some vague rooting in truth, but more likely, it is just another part of his way. "I am here, not Paris, because I choose to be."
     He is quiet, then, helping himself to brandy and meat, giving your hospitality the courtesy of silent attention while you gather your thoughts - while you speak. While you think them to him, and to yourself. He does not speak with his mouth full. You are not good company, you say, but there remains no other company which I value more than yours. No other person's happiness I would desire more than yours; not even my own. If you cannot be consoled, then we may be miserable together. Far or near, I cannot be happy if you are not, brawd.
     Gwilym smiles up at the sky, but doesn't shake his head or nod. "It's good to unwind," he observes. "As long as you don't fall into the mistake of thinking your pain the least important thing in the world or the most important thing in the world. You're not doing the latter, but I wonder about the former. I know you, brawd. I know your duty. Your pain matters to me - even when you convince yourself it is not important, and the only important thing is being king."
     He reaches out, lightly punching your shoulder with a knuckle and then settling back into position. "I am as I always am. And I don't know when I will be heading off - to Montreal; farther than I have ever been," Gwilym admits candidly, "in Canada. I haven't talked to them about it yet. For now I am still an unknown."

     Canada? So far as that? I have never been there, even though I have been to the furthest edge of the sea, where it drops off into stars and space. Funny that Canada can sound so far away. He moves as you punch him, his body acquiescing to you no matter his own mood -- or refusal to change moods. Is it stubbornness? he wonders to himself.
     "It is important to me. But I do try not to make it anyone else's problem," he drolls. Iowerth smirks a bit, and then his smirk tugs downward. "It's been two weeks. He hasn't written. Or if he's written, the letters have not arrived. And I keep waiting for it not to bother me. If he is off with someone else or ...something else...and does not want to write me, what should it matter? I have never lacked for admirers. I could put the contents of the coliseum in my bed..."
     If he wanted...
     His hands come up from behind his head and grasp at the insubstantial air in choking frustration. He throttles it rather than you. Or Tiernan. Or Agapios for that matter. Agapios who has also strangely been absent since the ships of his lover departed.
     "I am trying not to be upset," Iowerth says after another moment, hands resting, folding on his stomach. "What good does it do me? To lie here and feel sorry for myself?" Shaking his head, he looks over to you. "I feel ridiculous."
     Can we talk about something else...?
     "How is your friend, Jupiter?" There, a change of topic.

     "Have you written to him?" Gwilym looks at you for a moment, then tilts his vision away. You do not want close scrutiny now. "If you are waiting, waiting, waiting for him to make the first move, it may be that he is waiting for you. I doubt he's stopped loving you overnight, Io. If there's a problem - well, it is for both of you to work out. Not for you to sit there and wait passively for him to drop news on you, and the same goes for him."
     It is advice which you will not want to hear, and he knows it even as he says it. He sighs, reaching for the brandy and pouring more for himself. "It does you no good, but you're doing it anyway, so you may as well put some of your emotion on paper. Tell him how you feel, for god's sake. Would it kill you just once to be a little more like mum and a little less like papa?"
     Gwilym pulls a face, then exhales, taking a swallow of brandy on the following inhale. We can talk about something else, oes. Though I am not sure how much I have to say that you will hear right now, as down as you are. Should I break his nose when he gets back? He is protective of you. You are his brother, after all, and there is a part of him which intends, desires to right all wrongs done to you, to avenge your honour. As strange as honour is as a concept to him. Silently, he reaches and pats your hand, then withdraws the touch.
     "Busy, I imagine. I saw him - of course. We had ... a time of it." Gwilym smiles faintly. Never go see a Genovese vampire after causing an orgy. Even if you didn't participate. But it helped, all the same, in its way; it helped. "I am not a well man."

     No, that was not what he wanted to hear. And for a moment, he shows his heritage as he manages to dig in his heels even while lying down. It takes real talent. But when you offer to break Tiernan's nose in vengeance, the High King smirks and waves you off. Nice of you to offer. It's not necessary, all the same.
     Iowerth surprises himself as he laughs at your comment. He looks startled at the sound coming from his own throat, as startled as you. Well, Christ, we all knew that. We're related, aren't we? Are any of us 'well'?
     With an exhalation, Iowerth sits up. He looks over at you and then over to the coliseum. Stars above, stars below. "I will think about writing him," he mentions, as Papa himself would never do. Even though he is the one who left and he is the one who did not leave me his itinerary. "Do you think I'm overreacting?" he wonders suddenly , quietly.
     "I tend to live about fifteen steps ahead of the world, which is handy when planning a kingdom or running battles. It is not so useful in relationships, I have found."
     There is a breeze, an audible breeze complete with quiet cursing. Iowerth exhales as he lies back again, his arms going wide -- one now around you. "This is madness. Why can't I shake this? Why is it bothering me so much? If you're not well, what the hell am I?"

     We're not really made for the real world, are we? Though if this isn't real, I'm not sure what is. It feels real. Your brother grins at you. Good. You're smiling. It's a start.
     "Think about it." He doesn't harp, but he considers your question. Are you overreacting? I don't know if you're overreacting or not. You're reacting, certainly, but ... I haven't been up in the middle of your relationship to know. I know he loves you; a blind man with both hands tied behind his back would see that. I know that you love him. I think mostly that right now, you've both got your own 'stuff' going on. You have just been crowned King, which is stressful for both of you. Everything is changing, brawd. And change is hard to deal with. Do you want me to go out on a limb? I can make some guesses, based on things that I have seen.
     "Relationships seem to require you be there with the other person, instead of fifteen steps ahead." Gwilym says that out loud, reaching for a bit of bread. "You are in love, and depressed. Afraid. Neither of us lose gracefully or well; we fake it at best. And you are afraid of losing out to someone else. So much so that you are putting it all on him. 'Well, if he wants to go off, I'll let him, it's his choice. I'm just going to sit here and wait and give him the freedom to do whatever. Besides, I have other responsibilities, so I can't go haring off, or be anything but stoic unless it's involved having something thrown at my head. Mustn't display weakness, no no. Weakness is unbecoming in a king.'"
     He doesn't say it with bitterness; it is gentle, but serious, not mocking, and emerald eyes swing round to regard you thoughtfully. "Brawd, I'm only a thief and no sort of king. But truly - tell me - what is love?"

     Fiery eyebrows launch upward and he looks at you with a bemused expression. "I haven't the slightest idea," he drolls. "Clearly. But whatever it is, I doubt it requires quite this much labor to pull it along. I feel like I'm dragging it behind me... or its dragging me... like an anchor in undertow. We have been at cross purposes for years now..."
     He cuts himself off for a moment, his arms bending at the elbows to bring his hands up. "I feel like I'm ...running around, repeating: there's no problem, there's no problem. When, quite evidently, there is a problem. I think... I feel," he clarifies, "...like I'm forcing it to go on, far past the point where it's good for either of us. But I don't want to give up."
     Iowerth reaches over, patting you a moment before his arms fold once more, his hands forming a pillow for his head upon the sod. "If it is right... if it is truly right, it can't possibly be this much work. That's... what I feel. We are in a constant state of upheaval. Our paths aren't remotely the same anymore. Even you're heading for greener pastures," he smirks.
     Shaking his head, he closes his eyes. And he longs to be able to dissipate. To become a shadow like you can and simply dissolve for a time....

     "Greener? No. Different." Gwilym shakes his head, setting brandy aside. He moves up to you, next to you, settling cross-legged and sinking a hand into your hair gently. "Io ... you are a king now. To be a king means, unless it is a gypsy sort of kingship, to be rooted to one place. You become the center, and everything turns around you. Instead of a ship captain, now you command a lighthouse; spreading your light to protect others, to give a beacon and safe passage."
     Gwilym tugs gently, looking down at you for a moment. "Noone can really be on that path with you. Not fully. They can't be - they can work for you, or to some degree work with you, but you're the one in the lighthouse. It doesn't mean you have to be on such different planes that you can't be together at all - but like with papa and mum, you have work to do. Work which he really can't ... be a part of."
     He sighs, drawing his hand free of your hair and lying next to you in a similar posture, hands sheltering the back of his skull. "You want him in your life. But he has to have things beyond your life, because he isn't a king - isn't a queen - and the political waters... considering where he comes from, I think you two have been doing very well. But you don't really know about that very much, do you? I wouldn't either, except that I was there."
     With the General's armies, rooting out evil and putting it to the sword. "It is a wonder he survived. No; I take that back. It is a wonder that the two of you have survived. He came from a dark place." Now one hand unfolds, reaches for the brandy, and Gwilym rolls onto his side so that he can drink. "Do you want to know what was there? Or is it something you'd rather consign to the past? Either way, if you want it to work out, then it is going to take work, you know. I will help," he volunteers. "But ... talk to me, Io."

     "What was there. What is still there," he says, half-wondering. "I have heard what was there. From you. From mother. From Tiernan. I know what he was being programmed to do. What he fears that he will yet do or may be capable of. I don't know that I need to hear any more to understand it. All that matters about it now is how he perceives it, and himself because of it."
     Iowerth rubs his face and then comes to lie on his side, an arm folded beneath his head. "We have done better than expected," he murmurs between you. "But... do I do more damage trying to make it into something it will never be, something he does not even want, than if I were to just let him go? He has to find his own destiny. I cannot go with him. I cannot lead him there, Gwilym. All of my assistance to him has only distanced us. Every offer of help just makes it worse. I haven't written... because he is the one who is holding all the cards. He is the one setting the tone, finding himself. What more can I do but wait? I cannot help him, I cannot chase after him, and I am out of ideas."
     I think it is bothering me this much... because I know the truth...but I am not in a place where I can accept the truth. That I know in my heart that it is done between us. That our paths cannot travel side by side, being so divergent. I am not the one to help him. Iowerth looks to you. "And the more I resist that thought, the worse I feel...
     The truth of that is evident on his face, as is the realization that it brings with it. It is the truth. Hands come up to cradle his own face as he rolls back onto his back. Tears crowd the corner of his eyes, but they are stopped there.

     "Noone can be led to destiny." The reply is crisp, flat, absolute. He does not try to soften it. Gwilym looks to you, and there is sympathy in his eyes. What pain you feel, he feels. It is just the way of it. "Not any of us, Io. But he has to find his destiny. And no - you can't give him one." He exhales quietly, turning to face you. "All you can do is tell him how you feel, Io. Tell him what you perceive without deciding for him. Tell him what is in your heart - and what you want. Because if you don't tell him, then you've only yourself to blame, no matter what you think the truth is, if you don't get it."
     His hand comes to your waist, patting it. There is more than one way to skin a cat, brawd. Mum and da and papa have worked out a way which is anything but straight lines and angles. Tell him. See what happens. Maybe you are right - but what if you're not?
     "We can get help from more than one person in our lives, without losing or ceasing to love the one we love. Brawd..." Your brother sighs, looking at you, and he rolls towards you, putting his forehead to yours. I am bad at this. But I want you to be happy. I think I know what has to happen - in part, anyway. But I don't know, I only think. How could I know?

     He does not open his eyes. He is resolute not to weep. What has to happen, he wonders. For my happiness? He smirks at the thought. Tell me, he thinks as he opens his eyes finally to look at you.
     Iowerth closes his eyes, resting his forehead against your own. "I cannot tell him this thought, this truth. Not yet," he whispers. "If I tell him, he might give up his own search, and I cannot allow that. I will not allow myself to be that selfish. That I would ask him to choose between loving me and knowing himself."
     I will be happy again, the king asserts. But perhaps not for a while. What my heart tells me is right... makes my spirit sick to think about. Again, he seeks the comfort of your mouth, he seeks to lose himself in your shadow.
     To dissipate into thin air and leave the heaviness of his realizations and worries behind...

     "Let him search. But don't make yourself miserable." Gwilym's voice has gone quiet as he says it. "If he is not here, then he will eventually come back. You are the lighthouse, remember? And besides, his offices are here. His other ships are here. Unless he is suddenly taking up the life of the Eremite - he'll be back."
     Not necessarily to be with you. But he does not say that. He does not know that. His hand pats at yours. He lifts his hand to the back of your head, rubbing gently.
     Don't you know, brawd? You are at the center of all things, now. It is why you are so lost. When you are at the very center, you see everything else, all around you. It is enormous. And it can be lonely, oes. As lonely as having no center, being lost and wandering in everything from no fixed point to another.
     He does not explain; does not draw correlations to what he believes he already knows. You will be happy, Gwilym asserts. If I have to go and conquer a kingdom for it to happen, then I will. Whatever it takes, oes? I'm here, Io. Don't forget this, later...

     What you say reaches into the center of him, and it stills him. His hand at the back of your neck. He holds you there, this king, your brother. You do not need to explain. He has circled around himself, following the trail of his own light, only to arrive at the place where he began. If he is the lighthouse, then he has been blinded by his own beams. He looks at you, and he understands.
     It is as all kings have commented: when one takes the crown, if one is to be a good king that is, then the individual falls away. What you want, what you wish, no longer matters. Your light, your mind, your will, your energy is given to those you wish to lead, or teach, or inspire. Maybe you have moments when you can be an individual. Certainly good, mortal kings, where kings yet live and rule, have managed to have a life of their own, wives to love, children to raise.
     You will tell yourself until you believe it, Iowerth Rhudd Draig. The things of the past are in the past. Love for one -- perhaps it is something that shall be, like exploring the oceans, a thing of your childhood, your adolescence, your youth.
     I won't forget what you have said, Iowerth's words appear between your ears, sounding audibly though silently. He leans back and then sits up, his arms lain across his knees. "I will be happy again. You do not need to conquer a kingdom to bring it to me, Gwilym," Iowerth murmurs, reaching over and massaging your shoulder then patting you on the back. He leaves his hand there, his gaze wandering over the view of his islands -- just one part of a massive kingdom that stretches across imagination.
     "Diolch," Iowerth murmurs, his hand withdrawing. "I will be fine, brawd." He pauses, looking to you. "You ... bring up a valid point. Thank you. I will get comfortable being in the center. I will revel in it. Eventually..."

     "It takes time," Gwilym whispers, his eyes shadowed by the fall of his hair over his forehead. "Everything takes time, until time itself falls away, brawd. If I need to, I will do whatever it takes. But if I don't need to - well, I still might, as the spirit moves me." He smiles a little at you. "I am not comfortable being in the center; I do not have one. Except my home, where my heart comes to rest. And how long can a thief rest?"
     He sighs, then sits up, pulling himself into a crouch. "You're the king, now. It isn't easy - it isn't meant to be. It means that someone is in charge so that others can live in peace. No one ever said that the king is at peace; look at papa. Da seems to handle it better; maybe you should talk to him, because I don't know how he does it, either."

     "Nothing ruffles your father, my brother. Like a tree that does not move in the wind. He has achieved a level of zen even Buddha would envy," the High King drolls. "No, this is something I will have to sort out on my own. And that is not me being stubborn," he quickly adds with a slight smile. "I swear it."
     "Duw," he exclaims, lying back with an exhalation of air and a grunt to go with it. His hands go to his hair, raking through it and making ends go wild. He looks like your papa for a moment -- wide eyed and coming face to face with the universe and himself. "I wish I had his peace. Should I be mad, and I'd have to be certifiable, to live six centuries, I'd achieve it. I felt like I was on that path but somehow, somewhere I got diverted. I don't know. My life has been one drama after another, like I've turned into a stage and I've got Shakespeare on my back and Plautus up my ass."
     It will get better. You promise? It must. Where else can he go, he thinks, but up? Iowerth glances to you. "I will just have to thrust myself in the center of things. If I am to be there, if that is my destiny, and...as I'm king, I'd say it was... then ...I should put myself firmly in the center. No sense prancing around the periphery."
     No. I'm dizzy. I'm dizzy because in all this politicizing I've forgotten one of papa's first lessons to me -- how to ride a whirlpool. The only way to do it without being nauseated is to be in the dead center of it all.
     And time will pass more quickly when he is busy than when he gives himself such empty leisure. And maybe the nausea and pain of his personal matters will fade, dissolve away like rock beneath the salty waves.

     I will be here for as long as you need me, brawd. Other matters can wait. You come first, oes? Where would we be without our gallant and glorious king. He makes a face, and then he grins. He is having you on - but only somewhat.
     "I might choose to be around six centuries. I don't think I'd choose not to. Why should I? If I can go on ... well, maybe stories have their endings, but unless life got boring... and I'm not prone to boredom. Weariness. Frustration. Many things. But I wouldn't choose to stop living." Gwilym pushes up from his haunches, looking at you and then out at the distant lights of the coliseum. "I wouldn't choose to give up. When I'm done, I'll be done - but I don't think I'll be done that quickly. I'd think you'd retire before you'd be done with life, Io. But ... it's your choice, oes?"
     I don't know what I'd do without you, though.
     He lets the thought hang there, and then he shoves his hands into his pockets, looking out at the lights, at the land, at the water on the further side. "Your islands are attracting attention," he comments. "I recognized faces, tonight."

     Don't worry, Iowerth grins, I'm not planning to give up the ghost anytime soon. He chuckles, looking over to you. His gaze wanders from you to the view of his city and past the lights to the waters of the bay. It is a glittering wonder. His wonder. For a moment, he reminds himself of this. You dreamed this, and it came to be.
     "Bright lights and shining sights always attract the moths," he notes after several moments of blessed nothing. Iowerth turns and looks at you, an eyebrow lifting. Though he will deal with his heartache as the indigestion it is, he turns now to matters most closely at hand, back in the center of things. "Anyone I should be concerned about? More than the others?"
     You are going to run off to the circus. And he would not begrudge your own journey to find yourself. But there is a part of him that selfishly wishes you would stay and helm the shadows around the islands, tame the chaos that lingers on the fringes of the order that has been established, and bring the guilds and spies beneath your own shadows. Maybe you will in time.
     "Draconis is leading my covert corps." Draconis. You know him. He has been reputed to be many things, none of which could be substantiated. Everyone believes him to be a spy for someone. A member of The Hunt who, while he has not left the brotherhood -- for once in, there is no getting out -- has taken residence on the twelve islands of the High King's Court. "I am sure he would appreciate any information you have. You can charge him for the service if you like," Iowerth smiles. "I would not begrudge my brother his profit..."

     He has heard the name. Draconis. Maybe he has even met him - maybe. But who can be certain, when it is a member of that brotherhood? Gwilym nods slowly, listening to you, leaning against the railing and letting his eyes drift closed. "Nothing pressing. Big fish, though - let them dream. It's better to have known quantities than unknown ones... and they're not going to want you dead. You dead would destabilize things, including the influx of wealth. Most of the ones I've been seeing are in it for the long haul; they know when to cut their losses. They steer clear of the things which will dirty their hands too much. There are a few though who I would recommend removing."
     He could remove them himself, but if he did so, it would be with the assassin's way. And though he has killed when he has had to - he has never been profligate in his killing. He has been frugal with his bloodshed, if only out of the fear that, once he began, it would not be easily ended...
     "I'll talk to him - tell him to find me," Gwilym decides. "I won't recognize him if he doesn't. I'm not sure I've ever seen his face, truth be told. Or heard his voice. For all that we've met. He is," and he grins suddenly, "better at this than I am. I should give him the keys to my 'kingdom' while I am gone." He is joking, but only by half. "The only profit I need," he adds, suddenly serious, "is your serenity, brawd. Nothing else."
     He climbs up onto the railing, standing there as if oblivious to the depths, to how high up he is, letting the wind blow at his hair and clothes. "You will know how to find me. I will return tomorrow, oes? And if you need me, all you have to do is call my name. I will be listening."
     He does not wait for farewells. You have much to think about, and much to do. And he - he has his own emotions to do battle with, to keep in check, wrestle as he does. He steps forward, off the balcony and through shadow, into shadow, before he can fall. Anyone watching may search all they like for a corpse at the bottom of the palace, but they won't find one. There will be nothing there.
     But for all that he has vanished, Gwilym has not dissipated. He has not become nothingness. He is still alive...

Posted by rowan at January 28, 2007 09:33 PM