The green eyes judge the face that holds them, and the morning's ritual shave is ignored, the 12th Century beard left to stand as a mark, a raise of a flag to his internal, remnant humanity. His mea culpa.

     "Now," he murmurs in reply, "...you have a tiger who walks alongside you. In the shadows, you walked by yourself, and at first you were startled at the sound of my approach, an unexpected thing in your world."

     I could cheat. I could cheat so well that I could rob you blind and you would never know it. I have diced with such devils and won, kept my skin and bones intact and lined my purse with money not only from rascals but from reprobates.

     "My phone rang all night. Fairies, vampires, wolves, shivering nuns -- you name it, they rang me."

     "With so much complexity, the more one struggles the worse it gets. I struggled, quietly and not so quietly. I'm sure I shall again. That's the nature of life."

     I do not know how to define it, nor myself in reaction...

     "... You call the shadows to you, pluck them like strings, and play a tune -- whatever is to your liking. Will you one night cloak yourself thusly and become invisible to all?" He smiles a little, quizzically. Not confused by your gifts but so curious.

     Duw... I want and I want, and I go on wanting. Io, if ever I could hate you for falling for a man, now's the time. What would you think, to see me here, to know what thoughts are going through my mind? I don't dare put them into words, not even to myself.

     "...You? Completely different. Sleight of hand, hide the heart. You have the concerns and the questions of a master spy. The Thief King. Your brother is the drowning waters that fill the lungs. He daily seeks to avoid drowning. Himself. Others. You..." He narrows his eyes in studying you. "I believe you are in danger of making yourself a figment of everyone's imagination. Including your own."

     My head is swimming. I have navigated the worst seas imaginable and have kept my head while doing it. Only to lose my head on land.

     "Iowerth should be married in a year," dark green eyes find their way to you past the steam. "No more than two. If he wishes to carry on with his homosexual relationship beyond that, it'll be his wife's burden to bear..."

     Taking his pack off the table and shoving cigarettes back into his jacket, Davydd narrows his eyes. "Llew, good on ya lad. I'll see you. Ah... and if you see the boys..." a pointed look, that, "... tell them..." Davydd pauses a moment. "...they should come up for air."

     "You are important to me, Io," he says quietly. "Y' are, oes? But ... I need to learn this, this thing. You - are going to go off in other directions. I've been ... using you for balance, all my life. And now ..." You have gone off in another direction. And my equilibrium is suffering.

     He crosses to one of the other tables, sitting on the edge of it, letting his legs swing. "I'm scouting for an apartment over one of the little clubs. Music in the evening, cheap vodka, easy women - all the things mother'd warn me against. I don't plan on avoiding you, Io, I just ... I don't know. I have - things to figure out."

     I'm lost, and I don't know how to find myself again...

     "An angel's feather falling, I have such, from the Plains of Chaos, the Outer Rim of The Great Marches." She makes a motion to the other woman. "It will be very dear indeed," she smiles beautifully, "... the most expensive item in the entire City, I should think. Second only to a night with me."

     Drink ... I need a drink. My head aches, and my mouth is dry - a hangover of the soul. I am restless. I hope someone attacks me tonight; I could use a good fight.

     "Brother," he drawls, "I do love you dearly, much as it pains me to say it, but what pains me more is how everyone keeps insisting you're the smarter of the two of us. The obvious escapes you."

     "We will have to conspire against her for your freedom or your joy, I'm afraid. And will likely need assistance doing it. Either you betray her with subterfuge or direct defection. But either way, Tiernan, to love me is to turn away from her. There's no avoiding that..."

     His hand had already fallen away. If it hadn't, it would now. You receive an astonished green-eyed stare. He doesn't move; not even to drop his jaw. You're kidding, right?

     We shouldn't here. It is risky. But ...Life is risky...

     And despite the fact that his new lover has gone, despite the fact that the way is dark and full of potential, dread dangers, Iowerth's mouth begins to twitch...

     He may go incandescent if he continues to redden. But perhaps that is a sign he's well-fed for a change. "You think I'm overreacting." A question as well as a statement. "It didn't strike you as... a bit odd? I mean, take out the part that he's from my own loins, which makes this whole thing strange enough for me... but I was just...on him. You don't find that peculiar?"

     At your mention of calling someone, the door flies open, steam pouring out and green eyes sparkle in the hot fog. "Fucking hell, no. I don't want to talk to anyone right now. I just want to finish my shower, fucking go shoot someone or start a war or sommat manly activity."

     "I have known for some time that only a man would move me. You, Greydon, have moved me; to you, I respond. Your words hold me spellbound, and your touch enslaves me. As an individual, removed from my sense of self, I wish to study under you; with you, as the object of my study and as my instructor. I wish to work with you. As a man..."

     "As for why it's you..." The smile begins to wander and the emerald eyes begin to glint. "Because you are unique... you are yourself... you weren't trying to impress anyone. Mostly, when I saw you, you wanted to be left the hell alone. You have a certain... fox-like quality... that I recognize in myself.

     ...Where once there were oak trees, holly trees sprout suddenly upon the earth both wide and tall. Branches spring with taloned, evergreen leaves, and the forms of living dragons surround the roots and trunks, etched even into the skin of the trees. Same as he.

... [The two gentlemen are seated swiftly at a table outside, on the roof, overlooking the brilliance of the South Bank. Menus and waiters appear, glasses are filled, all without a word. They depart as silently.]

     The Last Gunfighter. You stand in the street like a post modern John Wayne. The cigarette. The tough guy attitude. You are attitude in spades, oui? The cupping of the flame spills golden light on his golden face and golden hair. His suave Hipster's gear no match for the Cowboy.

     Did I jump across for nothing? Are you tired of me already? Are you going to pull that 'I realized I'm not gay' line? This is what you get for sleeping with straight, dead boys, Valan.

     You and I have memorized the earth. We have been here before. Safir has been here before. The trees were different, older then. These, these have been planted after the ravages of tall ships and navies emptied the forests of France and Europe. I remember the oak and beech stands, the thickness that could, and did, hide armies.

      "Will..." he whispers, question forming in the sing-song of your name, "...I...have a question. Well, several," Ian grins, looking up to see you.

     "She had me believing her little mirage of learning and civilization. She and this place, it is a lie. It is learning with blindfolds on, the kind of learning that you memorize prayers and call it Enlightenment.

     The way I have been. The stress. The...whatever it is... that makes us fight from time to time. My uncertainty. "Also... I will say... I wish I could go with you," Valan whispers. "I wish I were a warrior suddenly. I ... am worried." A pause. "I am frightened. A little. For you."

      "What did Maria say," Edward keeps rambling, "...when you said you'd be staying here with her for a few nights?" His earlier explanation of a friendly family visit apparently wasn't taken as truth, somehow.

     "Have you," he grins, looking down between you, "...wondered of my own instruction and whether you...could take lessons from the Old Ones?"

     "I knew," his French comes, "...you would not forget me, Alire. You would not leave me. I asked God to help me, to help us, and my wish came true." Michele smiles weakly, the tears sliding down his face. "Say that we will be together always. Promise me, my Alire..."

     "I have dealt with the Past," he says it defiantly, though how can that be true if he is still so affected by it. "I have had my anger. I have had my sorrow. I do not want it anymore... again... I am ... not haunted. Have I not ... put those things to rest?"

     "So basically, wot you're saying is that you can't be bothered to commit, so you stick with people you can use and toss away without worrying they'll come after you with a shotgun." She turns to look over her shoulder, her smirk having more real warmth in it this time, even as her eyes are challenging. "Funny, that. I always thought that's what Kleenex got invented for..."

     A vacuum of air lifts when Edward brings his knee up, feet to the bed. "What else shall we talk about?" he wonders, grin spreading again, much like his wandering fingers that press your skin. Here. There. "I have a question," Edward smirks, his lips angling, "...tell me who...was the first you were ever with." In that way, left with a preposition at the end. Brown eyes look askance at you, as if issuing a challenge. He expects you will not answer, even when he chuckles and nips at your nose.

     "Well... I'm not sure what else to do, Edward," he murmurs. "She chucked my belongings out the window and onto the lawn and is fucking another man on my prized leather chair. It's not like we argued over finances. She wants something I can't give her..." his hands are animated again. "I mean obviously. Or she wouldn't have done it. She was a good confidante... I don't hate her..."

     His smile is also wistful. A year? Certainly not. But indeed, it has been unusually long, and he has been preoccupied. Edward's gaze is momentarily downcast as he inhales, brows arching in acknowledgement. "I know, Davydd," almost seeming sorrowful, his gaze turning sidelong, "...I'll...haveta explain it to ya. Mebbe, over a few? Something decent, huh? On me."

     Happy are we, that have learned to love and be loved, teach and be taught, to depend and be depended upon. Happy are we that have learned...that nothing else matters.

     "I'm scared, Will," he gets out, despite the aching tear that threatens to rend him into two. What does it mean...to me? Will I become...ah...there you are Liam. What is a young man who serves another...but a whore?

     To your right, Edward. There... shadows and the dim light of the bar play against a tall, lean figure. He is shorter than William ... shorter than you. Perhaps six even? And he carries himself ...confident. Approaching, but in a meandering fashion. He is not making a direct approach to you. Rather, he has turned, navigating around a table nearby. A survey around him... as if looking for someone. Looking at you.

     "Oh!" Marta's finger lifts, "That's it...in yer time, men dinna love men," she's quivering with the sarcasm, "...that's it. That ne'er happen'd! So, yeah, lads," those accusing eyes, "...childer ne'er been with sires before, men ne'er touch'd men before, Will's oft daft an' confus'd..."

     "I love you," comes the man's voice, golden light flickering in the small room. It is not much, with hardened dirt for floors and mud stone and thatch for walls and roof. "I do," the older voice reiterates, laughter following from two. One older, one younger.

     "What do you think?" querying you. "I think the trip was... hmm...lovely but I'm doubting it was very restful..."

     They do not know. Those who look at him and wonder: Why Dunross? They do not know what he knows. They have never seen it. They could never understand it.

     "Oh, great!" screams Edward, "That wasn't really even fuckin' necessary." Fucking Plantagenets.

     "Yes, we did, it was...unusual," Ian confesses, watching the pilot. An affinity...if his heart was not already taken by another former pilot and commander. "It was nice...being home again."