Though the royal halls are quiet, the chambers of the king and his sons are anything but. Dinner is still set out, mostly untouched, and the High King's living quarters are full of both civilian and military officials. Seneschals run to and fro, taking orders, taking messages, even taking requests. And in the center of all of this activity -- a storm within a storm -- is the High King himself...
     On the periphery of this frontal activity, Anierin has been moved from place to place. Hands on shoulders guided him out of the way of one set of maps, only to guide him away from where he was last guided to. Passed from hand to hand, no one with time to listen to him. While generals and naval commanders discussed the current events, the potentials for loss, areas of weakness along the coast, Anierin crawled under the coffee table unseen. Seneschals subconsciously step over his feet, his shoes added to the myriad obstacles of the evening.
     Resting his chin on a folded hand, Anierin moved a tiny model ship, a miniature of The Draigamor along the ripples of a woven rug and over the swell of his father's boots.
     "Deploy them, Rear Admiral. And please apprise the Crown Prince and commander of the change. The storm is gaining strength. We are to the agonizing waiting part." Iowerth looks at the maps of his city and coastline. And then down to his feet, where he sees a tiny replica of his ship sailing across his booted feet. His mouth twitches. There you are. Periwinkle eyes look up from the maps (and his shoes) to the faces of the commanders. "Keep me informed. Let me know if you need anything else."
     They all salute. "Yes, Your Majesty." And turn crisply to leave. The maps are left behind, tabs of the current strategy and positions pinned to it.
     "Marcus," Iowerth says to one of the seneschals, "...I cannot seem to locate Prince Anierin. Could you and the others search the grounds quickly. You know how curious he is," Iowerth tries not to smile. "And please have the kitchens prepare to feed those in the shelters. We will take in any in need."
     The seneschal, a relatively young man (at least in appearance; who knows), nods, turning to motion to the other two. "Of course, Your Majesty. Shall we send the young lion to you, sir?"
     Iowerth smiles suddenly. "Please do. I cannot believe he has missed dinner." He looks back down to the map. "Normally, that's his favorite time of day."
     The small boat retracts, pulled back by a retreating hand, as the seneschals take leave. Suddenly there is silence. Now the only storm is the one raging outside, the rain starting to come in fits and starts, the wind already lifting.
     Iowerth lowers to the floor to lie prone, his upper body under the table now, with long legs stretching outward. He rests his head on his folded arms. "Did you get enough to eat?"
     Anierin looks at his father briefly, a shock of blue between dark lashes. His mouth is down-turned and his only reply is a shrug.
     Iowerth releases a soft breath. "What is it, Ani? Are you worried about the storm?"
     "No, papa," Anierin mutters, his hand curling around the ship.
     Iowerth looks at his son. Even to see him ecstatic with joy breaks his heart, squeezes it until there is no blood left to pump. You are so like him. It crushes me. "Do you want to talk about it? If not, I understand," he says deeply, gently. "Sometimes I know it is hard to say things. But I am here, and I will listen."

     The door opens, then closes quietly. Tiernan has had his own preparations to see to; when one is a captain of industry and heavily invested in trade, one must safeguard both cargo and cargo ships. His brown leathers are soaked from the whipping of the wind and the rain. He has battled the storm to the docks and back and appears bedraggled but unharmed.
     It is not the best sight for avoiding shock, to see his husband and true love of so many years lying on the floor under a table. For a moment, the color drains from his face; the shock passes quickly wen he sees Anierin beneath as well. Still, it is cause for concern, and he moves into the room quicker for it, quiet as always. "Are we holding council of war under the table tonight?" he asks gently. "If so, should I have dinner sent in?" He begins divesting himself of sodden outer garments.

     Iowerth twists, briefly knocking against the table with a soft Ow. "You know, maybe we should make ourselves a fort," he glances to his son with a copper eyebrow quirking upward. "...and have a war council meeting with delicious snacks."
     He is upset about something. He has not yet said what.
     Turning back over to lie on his stomach, Iowerth reaches for his son. "Though, I dare say the sofa is more comfortable. Will you come out, Ani? I think we should have dessert for dinner," he offers. Come on, boyo. He puts a hand to his son's dark head, mussing it a bit. It will be alright. We can make it better if you tell us, I'm sure...
     Anierin peeks out at his other father, wet from the storm, and then looks back to his other father, red-haired. Both now look more like brothers! "Okay," he says finally, quietly. Scooting backward, Anierin slides out from under the table, standing in his well-worn clothes from his day of class and adventure. "Maybe cake... chocolate," he says, plopping down on the sofa and curling up there.
     Iowerth slides back a bit more slowly, more careful this time to make sure his head clears the coffee table before getting up. Clothed in white as he has been since his crowning day, and still in official garb (not knowing whether he will have to run outside to assist), he comes to sit beside Anierin. And he places his hand on his child's forehead. "You do not feel flushed with fever. Come on," he rubs Anierin's back. "It cannot be as bad as all that..."
     Deep blue eyes look to both of you between lashes so long they look like they could get tangled, then he looks at the ship in his hands. "They won't like me..."
     Iowerth glances to Tiernan, love at the surface of his face. And when he looks down to his son, his tiny You, that love pours forth in a torrent of energy. "Who are They? Did you have trouble in your tutoring session this afternoon?"
     Anierin shakes his head. He stares at the ship for a few silent minutes. "Maria thinks I need friends my own age, but I don't know any people my own age, and even if I did, I don't think they would understand me. I am not good with swords or things, and they don't understand mechanical engineering..."
     Iowerth glances to you again, then turns back to look at your son. He brushes a hand through his dark hair. "I don't know anything about mechanical engineering either... but you like me." He pauses, then guides his son closer to him. "Here," he murmurs. "Now... you are nervous. That's understandable..." Iowerth glances to you, giving you an opening to jump in. Ah, adolescence. I don't miss it at all...

     He strips down to his linen and cotton layers; even the flannel layer outside that has gotten wet, and is set aside. Now he is merely slightly damp. "Chocolate cake can likely be arranged, but I think for me a bowl of potato soup and some fresh bread and cheese," Tiernan declares. He sets the wet things aside and comes to sit down.
     He is curious as to what the problem is, but he knows better than to charge in and ask. He looks between his husband and his son, listening quietly; and it begins to unfold, with a certain dawning understanding. "You are good at what you do," Tiernan agrees seriously, moving to sit with both his loved ones, on the floor. "And that counts for a great deal. Do you remember, Ani, what we told you about prejudice?"

     Ask, and you both receive. There is a sudden soup service for three, with warm bread and cheese (and butter for Ani) and coffee and tea. The coffee is for him. Iowerth looks to you, mouths I love you, and then looks to his son. Yes, there is cake too. But after a bit of soup.
     Anierin looks to his papa Tiernan, and then looks away. "Yes, papa." He frowns a little. "I remember."
     With his hand on his son's head, Iowerth bends it gently back so he can look in those blue eyes. "You need to give them a chance, son. Even as you want them to give you a chance. You want them to like you, right?"
     Anierin doesn't answer. He looks to the side, not directly at either of you.
     "And you are afraid that they won't, but you are not giving them a chance. Maybe they will want to know how to build things like you do. Or maybe, just maybe, they will know something that you don't know but want to learn. Hmm? Why are you nervous?"
     Anierin looks at his papa Tiernan, biting his bottom lip. His Tiernan dimples reveal themselves. "I don't mean to be prejudiced, papa," he says quietly and with contrition. "I am just scared of ...what if I meet them all and no one likes me?"
     Iowerth brushes his son's dark hair back with his hand. He'll let you field this one.
     Anierin glances up to his papa Iowerth before returning his attention in front of him. "Balthazar has new friends. Gruffydd has new friends. What if I am the only one who won't have friends? Ever?"

     He smiles for the love, which is immediately returned, and he leans forward to take up his bowl. "It's understandable to be afraid of it," Tiernan assures his son quietly. "But we have to face our fears and not allow them to master us if we are to make progress in life." He takes a spoon full; he's chilled to the bone after his storm-taunting. "But let us approach it logically," he continues.
     He sets the bowl aside, turning with hands on his knees, leaning forward towards Anierin. "Let us say," he proposes, "that you meet one person. They might like you or they might not, it is true. Let us say that you meet two people; there is a chance that one might like you and the other not. Again, three, four, five, six, a dozen people - and at that point, where do the odds speak as to your being liked or disliked? But I will tell you a secret I have learned in my own experiences and adventures: people are always more predisposed to like you if you are pleasant and kind to them. And if they are not pleasant and kind back, then you have quickly eliminated them from the list of people you should allow close, and saved yourself time."
     It is logic more than emotion, and he smiles and sighs. Give him four more years and he will be the age we were when we met, Io. Why do I suddenly fear for the future? Aloud, Tiernan only says, "Have you met Gruffydd and Balthazar's new friends? Do they seem to like you?"

     Iowerth gives you a look. Are you trying to keep me up at night? But the smile is tender when he looks down at his son. His last boy. He doesn't interject just now. He simply maintains a connection.
     Anierin nods as you explain the mathematics of it. It is more comforting to think of it that way. "I just, I guess, am nervous. Because I haven't spent that much time with people my age," he ruminates quietly.
     Big blue eyes are turned to his Papa Tiernan, glancing briefly to his other father, whose lap his his pillow. "They seem nice. Preston is nice to me. He says his father can get us tickets to the Yankees. He just needs to know when we are going to be in New York." He pauses. "Preston is very considerate. I met Maddie today," he says quietly. There is a moment of fidgeting. "She was nice too. We were supposed to go to the games tomorrow but everything's canceled because of the storm. But... all they talk about is... boys and girls and things like that. It's embarrassing. I don't know what all the fuss is about."
     With wide periwinkle eyes, Iowerth looks up to keep from chuckling. He tilts his head back to look at his son. His hair, fiery copper, is thick and mussed even as it was when you first met. "It is patronizing to say: You will understand it later. But you will," he points at his son's heart, tapping at his chest. "You will find someone sometime that you will want to spend all of your time with. That is where your brothers are now."
     Anierin's mouth twists a little. He doesn't believe his father, clearly. Why should he want to spend all of his time with one other person? What about his papas? What about his brothers? He will want to see them. "I don't really like it that I never get to see them anymore. Used to, they would always come and take me with them. How do I know that any new friends won't find other people and then spend all their time with them and not me?"
     Ah, there it is. The real issue. He's not afraid of school. He's afraid of being left behind again. Iowerth bends, placing a kiss upon his son's forehead.
     Anierin's complexion reddens and his mouth sets, obstinate. His blue eyes turn watery with emotion.

     He listens and stays quiet and lets his son speak, getting more soup into himself while he listens. It is inevitable. And if I were trying, you'd have dark circles under your eyes, my love. Have you ever known me to only 'try' anything? It is a rare moment of teasing and cockiness. Things change, over time. He smiles at the discussion, shaking his head.
     "We don't know what other people will do," Tiernan agrees. "That makes it frightening. At any time, other people could leave; but we have to have faith that they will not." He turns to look at Iowerth, love shining in his eyes for a moment. "Your papa and I went through some of that when we were not very much older than you," he tells Anierin quietly. "We both thought that the other would leave. In the end, we both stayed - because we love one another, and later, love was added to by other things. And other people." He smiles gently. "Your brothers and sisters, and you. You see, time can pull people a distance apart - our roads take twists and turns - but if there is love, those twists and turns prove to be only bends in the road, and you will find that you never truly lose the people you love, the people who love you back. Your brothers are included in that; right now, they are busy with their own things, it is true, and with the shiny newness of their new friends. So it seems they have forgotten about you."
     He shifts, sliding an arm over his son's legs, patting him. "If they have forgotten at all, it is a temporary thing," he tells Anierin. "It's never pleasant to feel forgotten about. But we forgive the people we love, unless it becomes habit. And we are guilty of it ourselves, you know. Not usually because of new friends we have met, no, but new friends whom we've made, and ideas and dreams and plans and schematics for such. We lose ourselves in this looks interesting and what if I just change this bit and five more minutes and I'll come in for dinner until the dinner's gone cold and the plates cleared away. So you see, we have our own forgetfulness to guard against. But you should not guard against the possibility of good things just because there is a chance of bad, Ani. If you did that with your designs, how far would you ever get?"