The day dawns bright and clear, but fingers of grey clouds already are streaking the horizon and reflecting on the sea's ripples by the time that breakfast is being served. And it is a grand breakfast, to be sure: pitchers of grapefruit juice and lightly sugared prunes, rashers of back bacon, fried bread and grilled tomatoes, poached or scrambled eggs, fruit pudding, grilled kidneys, kippers, fried mushrooms, oatcakes, sausages, cockles and porridge, cockles and laverbread, and strong tea and coffee also available.
     It is a rambling and informal affair, attended by - or so it seems - everyone the castle contains. Anna is present presiding with a bright and beaming smile, her two younger sons there as well; the older with his nose in a book and a pair of glasses precarious in their perch, the younger one gesticulating to an off-duty guardsman with a slice of toast in one hand and a fork with a sausage growing gradually smaller as he bites off pieces whenever it passes his face. Minnie is there as well, scolding one of several dozen small children who are lined up at a long, low table that's separated from the main table, while a girl who looks like a younger clone of her and Anna industriously mops up a spilled pitcher of juice. There are plenty of seats available, and royalty and nobility rub elbows amiably with servants and guardsmen and courtiers alike. A crotchety old man with pruning shears stuck in his belt works slowly at a bowl of oatmeal, seated next to a dignified man with pince-nez and an accounts book. Neither speaks to the other, but it seems less out of hostility than immersion in their own and separate thoughts.
     Nor are you the only outsider at the feast. Several travelers appear to have been given refuge for the night, and the morning, including a dark-haired, bold-eyed gypsyish man in his mid-twenties, currently jollying one of the children out of sulks and tears by juggling half a dozen hard-boiled eggs. A grey-eyed man in his thirties in dark blue nondescript uniform watches in amusement, then leans forward to pull a coin from behind the child's ear, exchanging quiet words with the gypsy. There is overall an air of contained but cheerful chaos and business settling gradually into order as people come and go and leave to their day's work.

     When he knew Who He Was and Why, he would have moved through such gatherings, going table to table, shaking hands with any who came his way, taking up conversations on all manners of topics -- politics, history, sports, the weather -- and laughing as easily as anyone. Inevitably, he would have held court in his own way, learning as much -- if not more -- about the people seated around him and around the room as they could of him.
     Iowerth Rhudd Draig speaks quietly with those seated on either side of him -- a guard on one side, shoveling in food and preparing for his day's duty, and on his other a sort of open door. At least two people have taken a seat there and introduced themselves to him. Quiet-voiced but cordial and interested, the former High King answered questions about his retirement, his future plans, and his opinions on a variety of topics du jour.
     And steadily the food on his plate begins to disappear. His drink of coffee and juice are refilled whenever their volume falls below half-mast.
     He is quiet now, eating amid the fray of food, conversation and diversification. His periwinkle eyes lift now and then to look around, then he looks back to his seat-mates, the soldier now asking a question. The other seat next to him becomes vacant again. Iowerth turns and shakes the hand of the man departing. "A pleasure," he says quietly and with a smile. It is the smile of a man making an effort.

     Anna floats down from on high - well, inasmuch as so solid a worthy being as she ever can float. "Iowerth," she says in her cheerfully calm way, "I've a friend of mine to introduce you to. Not that anyone here isn't a friend of one sort or another, but this one will not be with us long, so it's extra important that I introduce you two while the opportunity's here."
     She smiles at the guardsman. "Dominic, tell your wife when you see her tonight that the salve she was asking for is ready, will you? And tell your son Michael how proud we all are of him. He just passed the entrance examinations for the university in Konigsbrook," she adds parenthetically for your benefit.
     The guardsman grins and bows as he retreats to his duty, and Anna beams after him impartially. "Andrew? Oh, there you are. Andrew, over here, please, dear." She waves to the blond man in the blue coat and trousers, waving him over. "Iowerth, Lord Andrew of Aberavon. Andrew, you still have to tell me how you came to rename your barony that, you know. I'll get it out of you yet!"
     "Mercy, Anna," the baron laughs, shaking his head slightly, smile slight as well. "Secrets don't tend to flourish much in the light of day, and you can't help but bringing daylight with you." He bows to you, and offers his hand to be shaken, grey eyes candid but assessing. "Your Majesty. We met once before in passing, so I doubt you'd remember me. Mostly I stood in the back and kept my mouth shut. A pleasure all the same, though. How do you do?"

     Iowerth sets down his coffee and rises, his hand offered to the the baron. "Lord Aberavon, a pleasure." How do I do? I wish I knew. "I am doing well," his voice, his expression is cordial, that same interested expression he gives to everyone is then turned on the baron. So practiced a look by now, that he doesn't even realize he's doing it. "I hope you are as well."
     He retakes his seat, in fact moving one down that you might both join him, but sit together rather than he being in the middle. "Sadly no," he smiles a little, "I don't remember. I should be a politician and lie and say Oh yes, of course, Lord Andrew. But... I'm no longer a politician."
     Iowerth looks between the two of you, glancing away as his coffee is refreshed. Politician, he might not be; but the man is nothing less than polite, especially to those doing him the honor of serving him.

     "I'll let you two talk a bit - I see Minnie's daughter is running into trouble with Lord Aramic's children and could use a hand," Anna says quickly. She bustles away to where the young woman's struggling with two red-faced squalling and admittedly bratty-looking young children, swooping down upon them.
     Andrew sits and tells you with a half-smile, "Sorry; I have to ask things like that. It's in the script." He leans forward to take an egg and some bacon onto a plate. "I was part of a delegation and was there largely to swell the numbers and provide extra hands to man the pump if things went south or alternatively to provide a useful scapegoat in such a case. The fact that you don't remember me is just proof that things went about as well as can be expected."
     He smiles and nods to the young man refilling the various drinks from the kettles nearby. "Tea for me, please. Thanks." The baron's accent is mild, faintly British-sounding, with a tendency towards drawling his words at times. "I won't insist on titles if you don't, in any case. All I ask is not to be called 'Andy', I've a horror of the shortening. Well. That and being called 'cupcake', but there's a story behind that. It's a pleasure to meet you without the entourage, though. How was the sail?"

     "It's quite all right," he says. He looks back at his plate and it's full again. He wonders, quite suddenly, if this is all a part of a conspiracy run by his children. Make sure he eats. Make him talk to people. Iowerth looks to you as speak. "I understand protocol. It's oddly comforting." He smiles a little at the mention, or rather half-mention of the delegation. Periwinkle eyes drift your way again. "I'm glad that my poor memory means success to someone. It is amazing the amount of information one can hold, and then forget, in a mere matter of months."
     He pauses to lift the cup of coffee for a swallow, trying in that moment to remember how to make small talk. And how to lie without seeming disingenuous. Setting the cup back aside but leaving the refreshed eggs and fruit and bacon be for the moment, Iowerth glances to you again. "I haven't any title to insist upon," that seems a joke, though quietly and honestly spoken. "Iowerth or Edward is fine with me. I won't call you Andy if you don't call me Ned or Eddie." It occurs to him that no one in his entire life has ever done so. He doesn't touch the cupcake reference. There is a brief glimmer in his eyes when he looks to you. The sort of 'dare I ask?' look.
     Fortunately, you move onto sailing...
     "I'm rusty and the ship is newly fitted. It's making us strange dance partners at the moment. But it's summer, so the weather's been mostly kind. And generous." He pauses. "I understand from Anna that you are much on the move yourself. Remind me: where is Aberavon?" Iowerth almost smirks. "I used to have them all memorized, and could point them out on a map with my eyes closed. It's amazing the information that flees the senses with the sudden loss of daily meetings."

     He halfway comes to grinning at you, settling back with his tea and picking up a fork. "Temporary memory. I have had to use it on more than one occasion. Edward is easier for my tongue, so I'll go with that if it doesn't upset you. And little fear of my calling you Ned or Eddie."
     Andrew is silent for a few minutes while he eats, although it's a companionable enough sort of silence; he doesn't rush to fill it with words, listening and giving you ample time to say your thoughts if you wish to. He swallows and washes it down with tea. "I like to keep busy, and I'm something of a roving diplomatic envoy and semiprofessional thirteenth man," he explains with a slight smile. "The extra single male at the table. I'm neat, tidy, of acceptable title and modest means, I have all my teeth and I can chatter entertainingly or more importantly, listen with apparent rapt attention. The only fault they can find with me is the difficulty in pinning a ring on my finger. In another few months I'll have collected enough dinner party invitations to upgrade... oh good lord, is that a dessert course they're wheeling out?"
     He looks with mock dismay at a cart loaded with sugary treats and shakes his head. "I think I'll just stick with more tea for now. Anna is being a fiend and tempting my sweet tooth. Aberavon is nowhere, really; it's fictitious. Well, perhaps that's being unkind, but it exists primarily on paper." Andrew looks at you, and he smiles, without self-deprecation but with the awareness of how this might look to some people. He doesn't give a fig, that much is plain. "It's what happens when someone decides they want to be generous but not so generous as to give up actual real estate, or possibly lacking the real estate. I don't mind, actually; it's much easier to manage my affairs when fewer flesh-and-blood people are attached to them. There's me, there's my daughter, god help me - and there's the dog. But to give you more pertinent information, the barony sits under the rule of the County of Apfelstein. My liege is a wolf. Were, that is."

     When you mention the dessert course, the good former High King -- not really prone to distraction, or at least was never reputed to be so -- turns his head. "I'm starting to get my appetite back. I'm certain now that she's had conversations with my children. There are pies." It is said, but left purposely vague. An admittance; but not over-sharing. He assumes that everyone knows by now, the way word travels. And the way you travel through it.
     "I'm sorry," Iowerth says to you as he turns his attention toward you. Now it is as rumored; keen and interested. He has that politician's way of making you the most important person in the room -- because you are speaking and speaking to him. "Roving diplomatic envoy," he repeats quietly. There is an understanding smile for both that and being the extra single man at the table. "If only there were a market for itinerant former kings. That sounds interesting. Active. Never boring, or if it is... a change of scenery can be easily arranged."
     He pauses to wave away any more of the protein options -- no fish, no eggs. Iowerth turns from you only to make it known to the one pushing the dessert cart that he would like to see it a bit more closely. "I no longer have to ignore my mail. My secretary is ignoring it now on my behalf."
     Iowerth surrenders his dinner plate and takes up his coffee cup. He looks to you again with that focused interest. "Paper baronies are easier to deal with. Less overhead. Fewer people to anger," he nods with a half smile. "You have a daughter?" The interest isn't political. It is the interest any father of daughters would show to a fellow of the same. "How old?" The werewolf comment is acknowledged with the slight uptick of an eyebrow that could be simply a show of added interest in hearing about some other single father of daughters.

     "Well, I more or less could be deemed a traveling fireman - or maybe a cross between a fireman and a salesman. If it doesn't work, keep moving." Andrew sips his tea, posture casual but somehow still shading towards the militarily correct. "It can be interesting, but there's an element of tedium in it - there is in any occupation, isn't there? I solve other people's problems, sometimes for free, sometimes for a fee, depending on the problem. Some aspects aren't that different from what you did, but operating from less of a position of authority." He smiles. "I have to make my own authority, or failing that, find other means by which my decisions can be carried out. Easy when all parties agree to bind themselves to my decisions, but that's seldom the case."
     The cart is wheeled over, and on display are indeed pies, and cakes, and buns - apple pies and cherry pies, orange creams and strawberry jam-filled donuts and little seedy cakes stuffed with currants and raisins and sultanas, and, of course, plenty of cream buns. Andrew eyes the buns thoughtfully, but manfully resists. "My daughter? Lucy." He smiles again, a trifle wider, then shakes his head. "Twelve years old and I dread the day she decides that boys aren't a complete waste of time. She lives near her mother and is attending a convent school for young ladies to learn all they need to know in life. I've been considering breaking her out or at least arranging for some additional lessons, as I'm not yet convinced that a pack of nuns can teach anyone, girl of noble birth or no, 'all she needs to know in life'. Her mother and I-" He stops there, as if about to say too much, but touches the cuff of the serving boy with the glasses. "More tea, if you don't mind? Thanks."
     When he turns back to you, he looks perfectly at ease. "Anna is a natural conspirator with an innocent face that suggests she's never conspired to so much as an overdue library book. I wouldn't put it past her at all. Do you think your children likely to check up on you? If so, you should give them something to wonder about. Not worry about - wonder about." He smiles. "The occasional surprise does people good, I find. Falling too much into routines slows down he blood."

     "You probably have another year. Maybe two," Iowerth says with a quiet smile, introspective. He looks at the coffee a moment, then turns, taking one of the slices of apple pie. "And then comes your heartbreak. But it's a good sort of heartbreak," Iowerth adds. "I have three daughters, the youngest of whom is eighteen." Funny, he looks no more than twenty-five himself.
     "Having your point of view couldn't hurt. I'm sure the nuns have valuable lessons but having a worldly view, or a male point of view, isn't a bad thing...at all... for a young girl." He leaves it at that, no comment made on her mother.
     "Likely?" Iowerth almost laughs, but it stops at a smile and a crinkling of eyes. The crinkles disappear as soon as his smile tempers. "I'm sure," he murmurs. "But... I don't blame them for that. Or her, really. I'm not quite up to wonder, yet. Right now, everyone... myself included... is thrilled by the banality of my having a routine."
     There is the acknowledgement there of the difficulty of his year; the difficulty that still weighs heavily around him like leaded air. He takes a bite of the pie -- tart apple with gruyere baked into the crust -- and a swallow of coffee. Eating is still a ritual he makes himself perform. It has the air of artificiality about it. Not yet done, as it was, for taste and enjoyment.
     Iowerth looks to you, his fork set aside a moment. He has the table manners of a refined king. Fastidious but not fussy. "Mediation is difficult work," Iowerth agrees with you, setting aside the emotions of the moment. "But never out of fashion. Can be profitable. Primarily political mediations between rival groups or kingdoms or is it everything from that to rescuing hostages, mediating for release of stolen daughters, et cetera?"

     "Three daughters and not a grey hair. I envy you; by the time Lucy's old enough to marry, I'm sure I'll have none at all. I'll have pulled it all up by the roots." Andrew grins slightly, and looks with hunger at your pie. Regretfully, he turns back to his tea. No sugar for him right now, apparently!
     He does not make light of your present difficulties; he leaves them alone for you to speak of if you choose, grey eyes keen upon your face. "Routines have their place," he concedes. "There've been times when it's been all that's kept me propped up. It's a bit of everything that I do - much of which I can't talk about, of course, but yes, I've rescued a few people in my time. Including," he chuckles, a queer sound in the back of his throat, half-suppressed as it is, "a few who it turned out didn't quite want to be rescued. Very embarrassing all around, but it paid well. After that, I made it a policy to get all the facts."

     "Magic does wonders," Iowerth concedes, a sip of coffee and a glance to you. "I have been blessed with great children," the acknowledgement is warm, deeply felt, quietly expressed. "I think you'll be more than able to handle any prospective boyfriend. My daughters took it easy on me. Partly because of their personalities, but mostly because of their position. They couldn't really date like the everyday teenagers. My sons, on the other hand, have been complete romantic handfuls. I'm just happy no one ended up unintentionally pregnant." There's a small, knowing smile for that.
     His eyes are oddly colored; a little blue, a little purple, but a fair shade. Not deep enough to be lavender or violet. He knows that you know and he is grateful for how delicately you move around it. There is a moment of gratitude there. Nothing is said; Iowerth simply nods.
     Amusement peeks out upon his face like the sun slipping a glance past a cloud. His mouth twists in a slight smile. "I remember hearing about a few of those. One of my brothers is a bit of a professional at swiping women and then making them glad for it. Well, he did when he was younger. Like a raven, always onto the next shiny object."

     "When my daughter hits puberty, I'll have to mine you for trade secrets, then - all I've had so far have been cautionary tales from Anna's sister, and dire warnings from Anna herself. Although Anna's proud as can be of her daughter. It looks to me a bit like a wide river to be crossed, adolescence - if we're fortunate, even if we split up in the crossing, we all make it on the other shore more or less around the same location." Andrew sips his tea with a slight smile for his metaphor. "I have, for what it's worth, heard nothing but good about any of your children, sir."
     He sets down his mug and takes up fork and knife in order to finish off the last of his egg. "Aside from my daughter, I have no family living that I know of, and certainly none that I know to contact. My youth I've rather left behind, but I've found that the present and future are forever giving me new opportunities, enough that I don't lose myself too deeply in regret. But then, the past has a way of being ugly enough to make one wince until enough time's gone by - although I can speak only for myself in that. I do remember boyhood scrapes with my brothers and cousins, back in the day. Those days seem somehow sepia-tinted now," he laughs, "and I have to struggle to remember the birchwood switch of my instructors. I suppose it all depends on how much time has passed. Are you visiting with Anna for long?"

     There it is, a true smile and even a chuckle. Long buried behind the clouds of his sorrow, those simple gestures, gestures once so frequently made, smiles so readily given, become a revelation. Iowerth looks to you as his fork makes another cut in the pie, breaking the pie crust. "I recommend water wings, a lifejacket, and a skiff."
     He eats the pie with a bit more enjoyment for his own sake, not to spite you. And the grin that shocked his face for its long absence tempers once more into gratitude. "I appreciate that, Andrew. And you'll survive it. All you can really do is love them and hope for the best. I was lucky to have a partner who was an exceptional father. I wish I could take credit for it."
     The pie is too soon gone but he gladly takes a refill of coffee, looking to you as he adds hazelnut flavored cream and sugar. A sweet tooth, too. Apparently. "Not long this time, I'm afraid. My daughter Tanira's expecting me for lunch in a day or so. I haven't seen her in a while. That's what happens when they're grown. You have to battle time and its ten-thousand interruptions to see them. I'm touring around a bit while I'm unemployed. Trying to see them as much as I may and as their schedules allow."
     There is understanding as you speak of time and regret and new possibilities. "I'm trying to sail my way out of mine," he admits quietly, his hands pushing aside the dessert plate. "I fancied myself a discoverer when I was a boy. A Ponce deLeon of sorts. I'm finding myself in completely strange and foreign territory these days." His mouth twists as he sips at his coffee. Too much, Iowerth. "I will likely push off again tomorrow. And you: heading to parts to remain classified?"

     He watches you, considering the subtle changes and not-so-subtle ones as they cross over your face. He doesn't comment on them, though; commenting is obviously and instantly fatal. "I'll look to invest in all of the above as soon as I get home, then. Possibly also in a long enough paddle."
     Andrew smiles and shakes his head. "Well, enjoy your touring while you have the time. I suspect that you're not much of a man of leisure, most days. As for discovery," Andrew cocks up an eyebrow inquiringly, "are there not still countless lands and dreams left to be explored? Every day isn't a revelation, I'll admit. I don't have that kind of mind, and I'm afraid I'm a little too cynical to believe in countless blessings from above. But I find unexpected pockets of grace turn up when I need them most - and they're the sort of thing which can't be engineered. Just ... moments."
     Andrew shrugs and reddens, very slightly, embarrassed. "And now I think I need to go stab something or someone. Good god! I sound like a woman." He chuckles. "Apologies for wandering off into maudlin sentiment, I suppose thinking of my daughter did it. I'll be heading off in probably a week or less; I've got to talk to Anna before I go, but should be back before the autumn's fully set in. Who knows? Perhaps we'll cross paths again."

     Iowerth shakes his head, the remains of the smile lingering like sparks after a blaze. "Quite alright. My middle name is maudlin these days." He doesn't really get into it: how he doesn't feel like an explorer anymore; how he's not sure what he feels. You've only just met. He preserves for himself at least a little dignity.
     "I don't know about countless blessings from above," he notes quietly. Eyebrows lift slightly, the flares of lingering arguments with heaven. "I guess I will see what grace there is for a former Grace." Finishing his coffee, he sets the cup aside. He waves away another refill and smiles in gratitude to the servant. "I may be back in autumn," he nods. He doesn't tip Anna's hand by revealing that he will be back and will be overseeing things in her place as she visits her daughter and her grandbabies.
     He doesn't know how much you know, or how much she wants you to know.
     "If I am, and you are, let me know. It's been a pleasure talking with you." Iowerth smiles a little. "Daughters... tend to do that. It's their special talent."

     "Until autumn, then." He says it easily, but all the same, as if it were a commitment. For good or for ill, threat or promise - Andrew smiles, and he rises from his seat, setting down his mug. "Glad to meet you without crowns and thrones in the way, Edward. Do take care."
     And with that, he's receded into the crowd. A turn around one of Minnie's daughters, and he's gone. Almost too English for words, and somehow unreal.

Posted by rowan at October 24, 2010 11:55 PM