The High King made a late but spectacular entrance to the races, just in time to officiate over the final multiple team challenge. Not even Rome, with all her glorious (if often highly sanguine) games, could have fathomed such a display. Flower petal confetti filled the stadium and the victors of the games took their victory lap in an avalanche. The city, the island, will be humming for hours yet.
     It is pointless trying to tell Time here, to really mark one day any differently from the rest. The sun that rises does so out of sure pomp and circumstance, or maybe habit, certainly not out of any real need. The sun exists, certainly, but here only because it is wished. And the deep evenings and most-early mornings here are far deeper than anywhere else. The sea reflects the stars; the stars are just another celestial sea.
     But tomorrow will not be like any other day. Tomorrow, he will wake realizing that his lover and he are part of things that came before that day. Forever a part of the past. And so for the rest of this evening, as long as there is dark in the sky, Iowerth Rhudd Draig is going to allow himself to liberty of grieving that past as it slips away and behind him.
     But he's bloody well not going to do it alone...
     As he walks from one part of his massive chambers to another, passing along an open air corridor with a view of the vineyards that cling to the limestone cliffs, Iowerth pauses a moment and leans against the marble railing and wall. My lady queen mother, he gives his thoughts to the air and more so to his blood, are you indisposed? It would be nice to see you.
     Gone too are the days of his popping by Powis. He has his own castle now, his own realm. He cannot come to hers. But there will never be a time when he cannot go to his mother for comfort and advice, if nothing else than in his mind.

     The halls of Powis are forever tied to that other realm as much to the earth of Wales, the soil of the island nation of Britain. Even if it were not so by its builder's will, it would be so by its occupants, by those who walk its marbled floors with the awareness of another place - another time, almost - to which they are tied as surely as they live (or fail to do so).
     Your mother's voice answers, albeit after a pause. You had surprised her; the remains of a now shattered mug of tea are the evidence to it, though you don't see that. I am not indisposed. Is this a formal occasion? When did I stop being just 'mum' to you? Or do you have other people on the line?
     If you do, they will be hearing her as she is, without pretense. The surprise is there, the warmth, the good nature, the instinctive, maternal concern. Fiona sweeps up broken crockery, mopping it with a rag filched from a drawer, then straightens in the middle of the large - if empty - kitchen. I'll come on by, but you'll need to tell me where you are and let me in, you know. It isn't as easy as pie, for me to pop through anywhere but my own palace. Would you like me to bring some strawberry jam muffins? I just made them.

     He is only beginning to understand that in his realm nothing is impossible for him. His father was right -- he did not truly comprehend the transformation that has taken place and why he can no longer go to the mortal realm. In the hush, he is beginning to feel it, beginning to understand it. It is not political -- not wholly political -- and it is certainly not ceremonial. Something real and something very powerful has occurred.
     Were Powis not such an In Between place, such an opening would not be possible, but as it stands as much in the kingdom of Avalon as it does in Wales the High King's reach can touch it. And so a way is opened. In far off Powis, where a woman is bending to sweep up the shattered remains of a cup, there comes a salty-sea breeze. and a squat, toddling, fat albatross shakes itself as a harbinger of the doorway.
     No, no one else on the line. I am on my terrace. Just follow the albatross. But don't feed him, you'll never get rid of him. Like your children, comes the droll tone of his voice. I would like some muffins, however. It's like you're reading my mind.
     The bird looks at you with its blue eyes and arches up its air-surfing wings. Its ready whenever you are...

     I'm used to feeding things and having them stay around. How do you think I landed your father? Don't answer that; you really don't want to know. Fiona tosses the pottery chips into the wastebin, then grabs the plate of muffins, turning to smile at the albatross. In anyone else's kitchen, this would be a strange thing to see - but not for her.
     Really, an albatross is pretty normal, compared to some of the things she's inadvertently summoned...
     "Well, go on, then," Fiona tells the bird with a smile. "No muffins for you, or not yet. They're for my son, but he might be persuaded to share."
     Clad in jeans and a 'Davy's Girl' t-shirt (apparently Gwilym didn't forget), your mother heads unhurriedly and calmly for the portal you open. Get some coffee ready, would you? I've been drinking so much tea lately, it's ready to come out my ears.

     The bird squawks and turns about, toddling off. You're hit by a cool, salty breeze. The breeze of evening or faint early morning. And when the feeling subsides, you are standing on the High King's grand terrace -- its view of the waves and vineyards, the lights of dwindling evening making quite the spectacle. It is white marble with highly-embellished columns and stands between two halves of the High King's personal chambers.
     But the biggest spectacle of all would be the king himself. His hair has grown a bit. No less coppery, its flame-bright strands fall along his neck. While his father could wear a canvas bag and still seem like a chieftain-king, his son can do so while seeming like a Holy Roman Emperor. He is no taller, madam, than when last he was seen, but he seems it standing there, leaning against the embellished marble railing and wall.
     Iowerth Rhudd Draig wears a white shirt and white pants, something to lounge in -- these are not State clothes. As the bird toddles ahead and then hops up on the railing, he turns to look behind him where you should be coming.
     When he smiles, the change is evident. Though he will always be the seadragons in the Charybdal dark waters of the sea, now those seadragons wear a crown made from the very moon and stars. Your son. That is your son. And he still approaches you as he did when he was young, as he did when he was mortal. He comes to you and he bends to place a kiss upon your cheek.
     "Thank you for coming. I have missed you, mum."

     There is always this moment where it is disconcerting to her. You are not her little boy anymore. You are still - and always will be - her baby boy; but you are taller than she is. You are bigger than she is. You are older than she is. And she deals with it as she always has - by ignoring it. It's not worth thinking about. It's magic. "Look at you," Fiona croons, plate held with one hand as her other arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders. "My baby, all grown up. Mwah. Here, take these."
     You are presented with the platter, and then she steps back to scrutinize you closely for a moment, braid thumping against her spine. "I was just having a quiet moment to myself, so your timing wasn't at all bad. You have quite the place here. Your father should be proud of you. If he isn't, tell me, and I'll kick him in the balls."
     Fiona smiles at you, then. Would she or wouldn't she? It might be wholly in jest, but then again - it might not. Your brother does not get his wildness, after all, just from his father. "So I got the message about your selecting a queen. I hope you don't mind that I hadn't sent a formal reply back. Is it necessary, now that you're a king, or do I get to still be your mother?"

     "It is your job, I'm afraid you're stuck with that," Iowerth remarks, taking the platter of muffins with him as he returns to his lean against the marble railing. It is wide enough for two platters of muffins, so there is no hazard in it resting there. He takes one of the treats, and with a slight tilt of his head in thought there appears your coffee and cream and sugar and other what-nots. "It isn't necessary, but if you'd like to, you're more than welcome. Once the island is suitably prepared and her retinue is ready, she will be returning. You will like her, I am confident. I like her," he tacks on. As if that were important in a marriage.
     "I can't give you a tour in just one night, but maybe you'll dream of it now and then," Iowerth smiles as he takes a bit of the muffin top for himself. "And you are welcome to come and wander as much as you like. I have already shown da a bit of it." But just as the new High King cannot go to the mortal realm to confuse the mortals with his presence, so too the former High King cannot come to this realm to confuse the immortals with his presence.
     Iowerth gestures to one of the several marble benches nearby. You are welcome to sit if you like and enjoy your coffee. "Hippolytus would want me to send his greetings to his queen. I shall not be remiss. He remains unvanquished in the games. He even let Tristan hitch him to a chariot for the races. I do have to say I think my stadium is the best since the original coliseum. I am proud of that."
     He looks at the muffin as he slowly (but surely) decimates it. "It's been," he pauses, half-frowning in thought, "... a more difficult transition than I anticipated. Not politically," Iowerth is quick to add, his periwinkle eyes lifting to you. "But emotionally. Gwilym has been a great help to me. He was here earlier. He's going to remain close by for a while, I think. Until he gets bored," he smirks. "But... I think father is very right. I ... did underestimate my own emotional reaction. And... I think I'm just now starting to ... understand just how much it has changed me. As a being, as a man."

     "I'm glad you like her. I hear it helps." Fiona moves to hop up on the railing, sitting there with ankles crossed daintily as you lean and begin to eat. "I'm not sure what to say about her - I mean, the idea of angels still rather boggles my mind, dear. Even though I once summoned one by mistake."
     She doesn't linger on the topic; she hops off the railing and heads over to the bench, smiling fondly at the thought of Hippolytus. "He's such a dear boy." Even if thousands of years older than she is. "He has always been very good to me. I'll have to do something nice for him. I'm glad he's doing so well; I hope he's managing to have some fun with it all, instead of viewing it all just as work."
     You are eating, but you are speaking, and she listens to you, folding her hands in her lap. "Gwilym does seem a bit flighty. I'd hoped that would be an element of me he wouldn't get," Fiona admits candidly, "but you seem to have escaped it, at least. I'm not surprised that you're having difficulty with it. It's a lot to take in, Io. Even if it's been a long time in coming. How do you feel?"

     "A little overwhelmed," he answers quietly, candidly, turning his head to look at you where you sit. "It isn't the work, or even the politics wherever they lurk. I have just not had that moment where I have felt: Yes, this is what it means to be king or any real sense of achievement, or pleasure, or joy. I seem to be rather muted, and as of yet unable to rejoice in it."
     The muffin is finished. He does not follow it with coffee. For now, it is enough. He may have more later. His hands come to rest on the marble railing as he, too, takes a seat there. "I feel a bit dazed, sort of like sleepwalking. I do not think it is stress or pressure, I suppose it could be. I just thought I would have more energy," Iowerth smirks a bit, "...or that I would be just... completely enamored and enthused. And it is not that it's hard work, you know me. I love work. I love challenges. I just ... it is as if my heart's not yet caught up with my head."
     "I thought," he says after just a momentary pause, "...that it was out of some sort of jealousy, or nostalgia -- you know... wishing I was a kid again without such weighty worries, but that's not it. Tiernan," Iowerth halts again. "Tiernan and I are done. He has to sort himself out, and I can neither help him nor accompany him on that journey. He has left and... I suspect that, while we may be able to remain friends, this boyhood love of mine, this relationship is quite in the past. I know he has had another lover recently and... kings, mother, are busy creatures, who do not get to pleasure much in their own lives. Not, at least, if they're doing it right, if they're good kings."
     He is sad about it, but he is also resigned, resolved. He knows the Truth when he sees it, feels it. And he knows, ultimately, it is the right course even though it's not the one he plotted. "I know there is a lot on my plate, and much to adjust to," he says with an exhalation. "I just want to be able to enjoy my work. If that is what I am to be, then I want to be able to enjoy it. And... yes... she is rather horrendously pure," Iowerth rolls out with a curl of his lips, "...and shall remain so. But I shall enjoy the work, shall enjoy building something with her, even if it will never be romantic. It's not meant to be, and shall never be, but what it is should mean great things for the Marches and the united kingdoms."

     Fiona listens without comment, grey gaze entirely on you. You speak, and you reveal things, and she watches - without speaking herself, with a mother's concern, but also with a queen's energy.
     She can't help it, you know. It just happens, whenever she is here...
     "Life is hard," your mother finally says, looking at you. "Don't make it harder than it has to be, Iowerth." She reaches for one of your hands, taking it between both of hers as she looks at you. "It will be hard at first. Harder than it was for me, being king - I divide my time so much, I quickly knew to find people who would help me, who in a pinch could do the job in my stead, in my absence. To keep the energy flowing - I got lucky, I suppose. Though I wonder if I am doing the right thing by my kingdom all the same."
     She pats your hand, then slowly draws her hands back to her own lap, with a quiet sigh. "Don't be too quick to assume, hm? I don't know what's going on with Tiernan. You might, of course, be right. And you probably are, in one sense - neither of you are who you were when you first fell in love. He stopped being that person when I removed the spells on him - when I killed his mother." Her voice is steady when she says it, her gaze as well. "Not just because of his sudden loss of identity; those spells had effects on him, Io. How he behaved was influenced. His intelligence - his ability - had been deliberately stunted, kept from growing in certain ways. She could not undo him - but what she could do, she did."
     Fiona inhales deeply, chest swelling as she closes her eyes, exhaling as well. "He isn't yet who he could be, I imagine. Your father ... and I ... both when we met, weren't what we could be. So I know a little something about that. You can't wait, though." She opens her eyes again, voice gentle. "You can't wait. You have to have your own experiences - do your own things, work or otherwise. But it doesn't mean that things won't turn to where you meet again, on equal ground. I'm not saying that is the way it will be. I am just saying it could be. Don't rule it out - but don't worry at it, either."
     She draws herself up in her composure. "Now .. about your wife. I would like to meet her before the wedding, if that's permitted."

     "Certainly, and you should. Especially since there isn't going to be much of a ceremony. It will be very simple. Very private. An agreement on the terms and a pledge to that effect. I can't imagine it lasting more than ten minutes." Every groom's dream. It's good to be the king. Iowerth lifts an eyebrow, wondering whether you shall protest it (in vain). "She should be returning in the next few weeks. Three, I think. I am putting most of my energy toward her island and comfort and security." He smirks. Building a nest, in other words.
     "I would like you to meet her. She will be the mother of your grandchildren. Would you like to know more about the ...terms of our agreement? You may wish to know that any granddaughters you have will dwell in the kingdom of Heaven. The Pomegranate Palace," he says quietly. "Your grandsons will be raised here." He lets you ask whatever you wish to know on the rest, virgin births excluded.
     For your words on Tiernan there is a steady look. In the end, there is only the lifting of a shoulder. What can I do? It is out of my hands. "Perhaps you should speak with him," he offers. "I have said all I can say. I have done all I can do. He is searching for his identity, perhaps even desperately. Perhaps there is some information you can give, something you can impart to him that will give him comfort. I hope he finds what he is looking for. I would like for him to be happy."
     Even if that means he loves a mer-man instead of me...
     "I cannot wait, but neither shall I be looking for any replacement. I am out of the mood for love. Besides," he glances past his terrace to all the work he has wrought, and the work there is yet to do, "...I will be too busy for my own cause. My cause now... is theirs," he gestures with a nod to the view of his kingdom and all those who dwell within it.
     "Nor can I hold out hope," Iowerth murmurs. "It is over, and I must treat it as such. I know you liked ...like him." He smirks. "Father should be happy. I should be upset at that, but I can't fault a man for his Time."

     "There isn't much for me to ask, really. Your father will be disappointed. He'd like some little girls around. I suppose that's going to still be up to me, then." Fiona makes a mock-face, then smiles at you. "I want to meet her - that's all. You've already made your choice; I'm not going to argue with it, I'm sure. And you're the king. To an extent ... it is no longer my business. Letting go is hard - but better than I cling to you. You're out of the nursery, now."
     She links her hands, then folds her arms under her breasts. "I will send him a note," she decides. "If he doesn't wish to know ... or if he does ... he has to be willing to speak with me. And he might not be, Io. I did kill his mother. That's a fairly big conversational block to waltz around."
     She sighs, closing her eyes, then briskly shakes her head. "Concentrate on your work," Fiona says carefully. "And if your father is happy about it, I will kick him in the balls. He isn't allowed to rejoice in his children's heartache, no matter his Time, Iowerth. We will see," she adds firmly, "what Tiernan does. If he stays gone - if he comes back. In the meantime? Do your best to forget him. Concentrate on other things as much as you can. You won't entirely succeed, of course - but in time, the pain may lessen. And it will prepare you for what comes - joy or sorrow. I think you should consult a fortune teller."

     He lifts an eyebrow at you. You must be joking. Consult a card-reader when Logic and Reason are at hand? "I won't be able to forget him. That," he sighs, "... I am simply not capable of doing. I will, however, work not to ...dwell on the issue. To that end, I must remain busy. So, tomorrow, those who reside in these islands will see me hard at work on the Queen's Island."
     He nods to your mention of a note. It is a solitary nod. "That will be up to him. If he wishes to know himself, to truly find himself, I am sure he will answer. He is quite intelligent, and he has no love for that creature who called herself his mother. I'm sure he bears you no ill will."
     Iowerth does not express it. How that creature's death was also the end of his relationship. He and Tiernan survived. Perhaps that was the most they could expect. To ask for Love to endure as well as Life? It seems that was never in the cards... so to speak.
     He smiles to you. While it is not his usual slanting, smart-ass smile, nor his caught-off-guard wide grins, it is warm with his affection. "I am sorry the onus for daughters is back on you. But... that was the stipulation. It was not something I could deny her. I am sure you will have one eventually, though I do not know if my father could handle two women in the family," he drolls suddenly. "He'd be no match for you and a daughter, I'm sure."
     He trusts you that Time may make the pain lessen. While he's not entirely convinced of it, he will give you the benefit of the doubt. "It is late," he mentions quietly. "I should get to bed if I'm to have any energy for what tomorrow will bring me." Standing, he leans in toward you, placing another kiss upon each of your cheeks. A dutiful and loving son, as always. "The way is always open to you. All you have to do is think yourself in Powis and you will be. Or think of yourself here... and you will be," Iowerth whispers. "But don't tell Rhodri. At least not until I get a chance to lock up the silverware." Your son now smiles at his own joke -- humor at others' expense can always somehow cheer him -- and waves away the coffee. No sense in the servants tripping over themselves and causing a ruckus.

     Your mother smiles, accepting your kiss. If she could, she would accept your pain as well - but she cannot, and she's wise enough to know it. You have moved beyond that. She rises to her feet. "The audience is over," Fiona says lightly. "And his Majesty must return to his duties. You will make a grand king, Iowerth. It is not much consolation, I know."
     Her hand moves to the top of your head, as if in a benediction, and she bends, kissing your hair. You will be all right, Io. Things have a way of working out in the end. You'll see.
     She has faith in it, as she has faith in you. Whether it is Love or not, she does not say. She steps back, freeing you. "Don't be a stranger," Fiona murmurs. "Send word whenever you need me, and I will come, dear. You are my first, you know. My lusty, solemn, wise child. You'll do fine."
     She says nothing else, fading from view as if on a shower of stars. There are no stars falling; but she is there, and then she is not. You are alone once more.

Posted by rowan at January 30, 2007 10:01 PM