Davydd follows the path made by stags long before him, by the passing of the breeze knowing the depth of the wood and the location of the brooks that cut within it. You have only to listen.

     ...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.

     He has been quiet since Ibiza. Barcelona. Venezia. Content to practice his hand at watercoloring, still his favorite. There were a few sudden phonecalls, he suddenly rising and heading within quarters upon loud, flat steps.

You may find that what drives you, what impassions you, what interests you, and, truly, what you are fit to do is different from the expectations The Others may have of what you should do. Do not be discouraged.

But what I most associate with Spain is Edward. It will always be recalled
as the place where I met the only man I have ever envied. You must tell him
this -- and take a picture of the look you get. I have enclosed enough
envelopes and instructions for any replies you might wish to send...

I am looking over the city lights from the sea shore, smelling the breath and skin of Espana, like you do when you have been parted from a lover for too long and all you can do is quiver and breathe. I do not know what so sets into me about this country.

     Have I won? After a thousand years? I think so, but it is hard to tell. We have such a long way to go.

     "Stop me... sometime while we are here... tell me No. It will be good for me." He chuckles quietly, half-turning from the glass, and the things it holds to ... others equally nice.

     "It has been too many years since I have been on the Mediterranean... and with you, with art, with male models and the promise of adventure..." Sensuous, his mouth holds the smile that follows with a scandalous curl.

     And books from Paris now join those of Chinon. Books delivered lately from Scotland now join French bretheren. And the lights in the library remain on all night.

     Baskets of flowers hang from the awning of every cafe and shop along the historic street, so narrow only foot-traffic may traverse its length. The streets still sparkle with the rain that is still falling.

     "Your rights to Poitou actually come through my mother... and my grandmother's name was also Aenor. Eleanor's mother..." And suddenly the universe makes sense. It is right to tell this story. It is right that this becomes Truth. Known. Tasted. Swallowed.

     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.

     Do you know I shall show you every room of this castle when I proclaim it jointly yours? Do you know that I shall scrawl it out for all to witness? When I present it to you, no man after shall doubt it... but that it should be so. Vicomte du Poitou...

     "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?

     There he pauses for a moment. And you feel a hand return to you, lightly touching your side as the Crusader's cross, the cross of the Duke of Normandy, Prince of England and France, and Eleventh Comte du Poitou is lowered over your head.

     "Moving to London to be...with this Man," said not as the word seems. More encompassing. "It is a grand, great, frightening, dangerous, marvelous, and loving life you stand ready to embark on, Valan Montague," Ian says softly. "I wish you nothing but joy, peace, success, and luck."

     A lift and a touch of his gloved hand against his partner's cheek as he leans in. A kiss that, though it is brief and for public consumption, is also without shame. A kiss, love, and see my smile? "Handsome, without compare, beautiful. I like this..." Distraction is spreading. William touches his hand to Ian's indigo. You wear my colors. As easily as you wear me .

     The craftsmanship alone make the figurine worthwile. An old boat, the curved hull made of Lebanese cypress. The fine pieces curve and are joined by the tinest of fittings, mimicing the ships of old. A ship you once travelled in, so very long ago.