He cannot claim to have been spawned from shadows. His mother and yours (gods save and keep her) is a nervy, high-strung woman, beautiful and shining as silver in the sun, without so much as a hint of darkness save perhaps her attraction to both your father and his own; his father, well, his father is a bright a gleaming thing. The Oak King may be a master thief, but he is what he is.
     He, and you, grew up in the veriest lap of luxury...
     But it does not stop him from moving through shadows as you do through water. He steps, and the shadows part, closing behind him while he makes his way comfortably through the darkness. His grin is one you will recognize - it is the harbinger of a thousand acts of mischief.
     Ranging from switching da's sugar for the coffee with salt, down to setting off to hunt down some errant thief and dangle her from a window...
     Gwilym Gwyn Garu parts the shadows on the other side. He has taken perhaps twenty paces along the Road; that's all that was needed, this time. One gets an inner sense, a gyroscopic balance, for the Shadow Road. His father has it; he has it. His sons (duw help us all!) will likely have it, if he should ever get around to having any. A casual hand parts shadows, and clad in black and charcoal grey, your twin appears in your bedroom.
     Don't worry, his voice cracks where only you can hear. I made sure you weren't entertaining before I let myself in. We need to beef up your security, brawd. Busy? Or do you have a few minutes to spare for the long-forgotten brother of your youth?
     Out of habit, he swings his head around in a sharp glance to see if there are threats - or Tiernan coming naked from the bath. It has happened before, with the usual results : your husband flustered and embarrassed, your brother grinning and smirking, and Tiernan's hasty retreat. It is a complete reversal, mind, of how your brother would have acted, and did act, when you two first became an item...
     I can feel my attention span slipping away, Iolo. Better hurry, before I find some way to get into trouble...

     What's the hurry, Gigi?
     He appears, and he is grinning with an undue amount of personal satisfaction, dressed not for State but in the clothes befitting a young man of poetic means in blustery busy old London. Wool blazer and scarf -- black for the blazer, green for the scarf -- are paired with a pair of dark indigo jeans. Well-treaded boots cover the High King's feet as he becomes visible, moving from the public living area of his chambers to his bedroom. He has cut his hair but it retains enough length to be mussed here and there in high poetic style. And though he is now past his twenties, as are you, he doesn't look a day over twenty-five.
     There's nothing you can say... even that child's name... that is going to sway me today. The King is going on holiday. And he's rhyming.
     Iowerth grins, periwinkle eyes flashing to you. To what do I owe the honor of this visit? I haven't seen you in...what has it been now... two weeks? I almost forgot what you looked like. With a wave of his hand he summons his bags, filled with the clothes he will want and need. That done, he turns his attention once more to you, heading your way for the usual greeting of a hug and a kick in the arse.
     You look like you've had the devil for breakfast. A moment of my time? Certainly. I have a moment or twelve today.

     One eyebrow lifts, and then the other while the first lowers, a humourous quirk of surprise. Where are you going? Holiday? YOU? Gwilym chuckles soundlessly, though you can see it on his face, in his eyes. He is all mischief today; he is almost the spitting image of his father, save that your mother and his is stamped upon his features. It makes him look fey - beautiful, but all the more unreal, when his face is so twisted up in wicked delight. Your husband is refusing to put out until you take off?
     He slides free of lingering shadows; they drift around his feet, like cats wanting to be close to him, rubbing at his ankles as he folds his arms across his chest. Pah. If you are in danger of forgetting what I look like, a refresher course can be arranged. Gwilym smirks at you again, and his image flickers, changes, becoming one of the nursemaids in charge of your son. Another flicker, and he is back to normal - as normal as he ever looks. He hugs you once he no longer has breasts, pounding you on the back and releasing you. I thought you would like to know I've tracked the mice to their hole. You've been wondering about the steady slippage of goods from the docks, oes? Well, I will be closing the hole tonight. I was wondering if you wanted the responsible party whole or in pieces. Once it's done, I intend to be scarce myself for a bit. Pros has complained about not seeing much of me lately.
     Well. Not complained, so much. Lifted an eyebrow in his direction. But Gwilym is a skilled translator, after all...

     The look you receive is one of incredulity. Than anyone could imagine the vacation was not his idea! But then he smirks, giving you the fraternal push off after the hug is exchanged. Fortunately...no. But the celibacy of parenthood and the crown has taken a bit of a toll. We deserve a little trip. I've sent Gruffydd off to his grandda and gradmama and his two uncles. Nasira is with her mother. And I and Tiernan are going to sail around, maybe do a little pirate hunting...
     So that's what they're calling it these days?
     As he finishes the last details in packing, he looks over to you. How easily the face of the King can appear. That thoughtful focus. I will let you deal with it as you see best. I trust your judgment. So long as the matter is handled and the hole is closed, as you say, the King is satisfied.
     He smiles a tick as you mention Prospero. He complains? Does this mean he stares at you directly or from the side? He folds his arms against his chest, grinning as he gets one off. It's not every day he gets to get one over on you. I appreciate your handling the matter for me, I don't want to appear ungrateful. You deserve a holiday of your own. How is life in the villa? I hear the wine futures look good. Prospero is a cunning businessman. In just a few years, the villa's wineries became the envy of several kingdoms. The conglomerate now seems to have a firm grip on the trade market.

     Pirate hunting. Letting off the pressure in multiple ways at once, hm? All those cannons firing. Your brother gives you a smile that could cut glass; diamond bright and sharply knowing. He ducks back instinctively from the punch that is likely to follow. It will be dealt with, then.
     Resolutely and bloodily. He will ensure that the hole is not only closed, but that no more mice or rats sniff around that particular hole...
     He does not complain. Not exactly. You know his nature. Gwilym shrugs a little, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest, looking guiltily pleased. It lightens his face, leavens it, brings colour into his cheeks as his gaze goes furtively down to his feet. I make trouble for him sometimes just for the pleasure of it. He is cunning, for certes. A good match for him; he has met his match in Prospero. Well and truly caught, from the look of it, and looking forward to the next time he is trapped in his own sin. It speaks volume to you, who know him better than anyone else. You can see it clearly, where others would simply fail to understand.
     Gwilym lifts a hand, raking his hand back through his hair, leaving it in the sort of rumpled disarray that would net him millions of pounds as a rock star on Earth and make thousands of schoolgirls' knickers damp with the half-smile that follows, wry, a little shy, and filled nonetheless with trouble. Life in the villa is good. A little in need of shaking up now and again, I think; so I shake it up, and Prospero patiently puts things right and reminds me why I shouldn't do that.

     Is it not amazing, he suddenly thinks, his thoughts audible to you, that we are both standing here talking of such things? Iowerth finds it suddenly quite remarkable. He almost gapes, but then he smiles. Oes, I can see that, he thinks, of life in the villa, I am glad he is there to keep you honest, and you are there to make it all the more entertaining as he does.
     The rest he simply understands without repeating that he does, without indicating anything. He just smiles. With a wave of his hand, Iowerth summons a bottle of brandy from the ether, and two glasses. "Join me in a drink?"
     Opening the bottle, he pours two healthy glasses of the brandy. I am sure you will handle things with your usual panache, his voice all but drawls. Thank you for that. I and the kingdoms owe you. As usual. I will tell you where we are going, so that at least someone knows. And you can find me should you need to. Since I will be in touch with things, I don't see the need to appoint a regent. But you know... with pirates being as they are... be ready to step in and be regent should the cannon fire not go my way.
     "I'm going to miss seeing Gruffydd and Nasira," he says suddenly, quietly, as he pauses after lifting his glass for a drink. He drinks after speaking. He looks into the glass. He smirks at that. "But ... I do need to just... have a moment... when no one but Tiernan is asking me questions. I feel guilty. Should I? I have a greater appreciation for da," he notes. "We were hard on him for not being around but... I understand it a bit better. It's been...quite illuminating, fatherhood."

     It is amazing. He echoes your smile, the sardonism tinged with sheepishness. And who would have thought that the man had yet been born who could make Gwilym Gwyn Garu look sheepish?
     "Brandy - when have you known me to turn down brandy?" Your brother grins at you, motioning his agreement, though his eyes widen in horror a moment later. Duw, you aren't putting ME in charge if anything happens to you, are you? All I will say is that if anything does, I will drag you back here and bring you to life again if only for the sheer pleasure of beating you senseless. Tell Tiernan that if the two of you die, I will hunt you through Heaven and Hell until I drag you back. Even if I have to finally join the Hunt in order to be able to do so.
     It is in his voice, the seriousness behind the threat, but then he grins, shaking his head. "Guilty? No. You need some time to yourself. Your situation is not his," Gwilym answers you aloud, even as he takes up his glass. He is looking at you and not the brandy. "His was compounded by his nature, and by the nature of the way time moves between worlds. As fast as time may seem to go for you, it does not go near so fast as it did for them, where we were concerned. How," he suddenly does look into his glass, voice studying being unaffected, "is he?"

     Some things take longer to sort out. Six years, and still you do not speak much. Iowerth notes your attempt. He looks at you and then to the brandy. "He seems well. The twins occupy his time. I think he...took your words to heart. He always tells me to send you his love." He sighs a little. It is just a breath released. "I know he regrets it. It is plain to see. It is on the surface."
     A moment's pause is all there is. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty. I understand your part of the argument. I can understand his regret. I ...appreciate it more... what he was going through, or I imagine he was going through, when we were young. With a smirk, he takes another swallow of brandy.
     Now how did I start on that cheery topic? Let's talk of something else. No, I don't expect to die. But I would be remiss to not mention it. He laughs suddenly. That his possible death could be a more 'cheery topic' than the last is stunning. But... no... don't worry. You won't have to go to hell to drag me back just so you can kill me again. Tiernan and I will be sailing to the edges of the known sea, then around the perimeter, skirting mother's kingdom and Avalon. We will be traveling far east. The seas will be calmer there this season. Do you want a map of the itinerary?

     His gaze stays lowered. It is a knot in him still, and one he does not know how to work out. Perhaps we are too alike, he and I. Talking about it ... does not seem to help. I do not want him to feel guilty. I just ... want him to be able to love and accept me for who I am, and to be able to do the same in return.
     And he does not know how to do it. Gwilym sighs, then downs the rest of the brandy, his mood shifting with the slide into regret. He does not want to do, so now he wants mostly to go get drunk and wallow in it. He is his grandfather's grandson...
     "I will be able to find you, provided you leave one dark enough place in your ship." Through shadow, he can track anyone living. "But oes, give me the itinerary, just in case. You know I will not interrupt you unless it is absolutely necessary." Gwilym doesn't bother to smile, now; now he is brooding, setting the brandy glass aside and looking longingly to the bottle. Is there anything else you would have me do, while you are gone?

     A rolled parchment appears in your empty hand. It is blue with coordinates already inscribed upon it. It shows where he expects to dock. "If it changes, the map will update accordingly," Iowerth quietly notes. The brandy finished, he makes his way toward you. "Yeah, there is something. I want you to maybe peek in on Gryff. See how he's faring. And you should take the time for yourself, yeah? To say hello to papa. Avoiding it only makes it more powerful, you realize."
     Of course you do, his expression says. He puts an arm around you, giving you a hug. I will be sure to have a darkened place on board the ship. If you need anything, do not hesitate to contact me. If you show up... that is fine. You might want to avert your eyes just in case, he grins. Tiernan and I haven't been alone for this long a stretch in a ...long time. Maybe since Nasira was born, he suddenly interjects. Duw, I hope that's an exaggeration...

     "I can check up on him," Gwilym agrees readily. He is fond of his nephew. He takes the scroll and tucks it away, returning your hug one-armed. "I ... will say hello. I do not know that we have anything else to say to one another."
     It bothers him, that. He wants, desperately, for there to be more. But ... what? They live in different worlds. Literally.
     If there is anything I need, your brother agrees tolerantly, I will let you know. Duw, maybe you should go away more often, so you can see that people can function in your absence, Io! Gwilym smirks at you, stepping back. There is too much emotion in the room, now; he is uncomfortable with it. Intimacy is as much his burden as his mother's, as your father's, though he has made great strides. And there is nothing the two of you can do which I have not seen ... or heard. Just make sure the dark space isn't under your bed, oes?

     Iowerth grins at that, remembering the last time you slipped from the shadows to end up beneath his bed. For six hours. I will create an eddy for you, mid-deck, second level. You won't be in the wine cellar, but you'll be close. Don't say I never loved you.
     You are given another hug and a sympathetic gaze as his hold retreats. He's sorry for mentioning it , you can see, but what's done is done. Diolch. Gryff dotes on you, you know. He'll be happy to see you. As I shall be when I return. Now... go on to Pros, he suggests. And forget about the unpleasantness for a while. Don't be a stranger, even if this is an... intimate vacation. Feel free to visit. Just...knock. He grins at that and pats your arm as he steps away and sends his baggage to the ship with a wave of his hand. "Do you want me to bring you anything from my travels?"

     Your brother smiles at you, your twin - so different from you and yet so alike. Diolch. I love you, too. I will go home. It is not what my instincts say to do, so it's probably the right thing to do. Hopefully Pros can put up with me in a sulk. He has, no doubt, his own ways of dealing with Gwilym's moods. He must, to have patiently outlasted them for six years. Gryff will be fine; I will take him on an adventure while you two are gone. You may end up having to make more heirs and showing them the rug made of my hide - see, that was your uncle Gwi - but it will work out in the end.
     He is receding, the shadows that rubbed against his ankles now rising as a mist to gradually swallow him. The Cheshire Cat has nothing on him when it comes to appearing and disappearing at will. I will knock. I do not need to see it.
     "Bring me pirate treasure and I will love you forever." And your brother is gone, leaving you with the conversation the way it began, ending on a rhyme.

Posted by rowan at August 29, 2007 06:08 PM