It's only through coffee that today's become truly bearable. Not that he objects to his husband's affections, but there's only so much a man can stand on so little sleep; Tiernan has made his way down to the library, still unsuccessfully trying not to yawn off his head. He is a trifle rumpled and he feels as if he has only barely escaped the bedroom today. If only it were due to the arms of Morpheus instead.
     Ani, if you are available, I wanted to check in with you today. The message is sent, set free on the ether for you to hear or not. Tiernan absently reshelves a handful of books that had been left out. I have a project for you which I think you will find interesting.

     Though the basilica is surrounded by a grand city, with a very active port, on the eastern side there is a stretch of still green earth. The plots (a few acres) are used by the household staff for honey cultivation and flower cultivation, to use in soaps and oils and even wine and other table goods.
     Standing in this field, in the shadow of the basilica is a tall (for his age) and lanky (for any age) boy, his black hair long and in his eyes, the breeze not helping. All around him are the dandelions for use in next year's dandelion wine production.
     He is dressed plainly, for the out of doors, in a white tunic over buckskin britches. His shoes are soft leather but have tread on them, suitable for inside or outside, and slung around a shoulder is a buckskin workbag, with all manners of tools inside. And possibly some frogs and rocks.
     Anierin looks up as he hears his father's voice, feels it more like, and he squints into the sun of morning, freckles dotting his small nose. Hi, papa. I am in the field. I have something I'd like to show you, if you have a moment. What sort of project is it? Mechanical?
     He seems unguarded here, out in a lovely meadow. But it is a private meadow, and it is guarded both from the gate of the basilica that leads to it, and from the ramparts of the palace itself.

     I will be right down. Stay where you are; I'll send one of the Flock down as a beacon. Tiernan goes to one of the great windows of the library, twisting the catch and sliding it outwards to let in the sun and the air. He reaches into the pouch at his hip, a large leather thing bound with a thong, and from it he takes a wood pigeon made of bronze and amber and speckled with diamond dust.
     He removes the cord binding its feet, shaking loose the trussing and lifting it to catch the light. "Go to my son Anierin and stay with him until I come for you," Tiernan tells the constructed pigeon. The pigeon warbles and flaps its wings, beating them against the air until it finds purchase, then launches itself from the windowsill. It circles down gradually, seeking you with ruby eyes.
     Tiernan takes a longer route; wings he has not got, after all. Construction, but there will be mechanical aspects. It is a large project, and I think one you will enjoy. Do you wish me to tell you all now, or wait until I get there? he teases gently. Rome was not built in a day, even if your grandmama's kingdom was.

     I am fine to wait. His voice is so patient. Looking down his frame, he reaches into his satchel and unwraps a sandwich of white cheese, lettuce, tomato and olive oil. The wax paper gleams and in the morning breeze there rises the scent of fragrant olives. Anierin looks up, his body spinning slightly as he catches a bird in flight. It is not an ordinary bird.
     There is the bird who calls himself Monte. Sandwich in his mouth, held there like a professional, Anierin reaches back into his satchel and removes a small flagon of water.
     The chariot finals are tonight. Will we be able to see them? He loves the games; he always has. He will perhaps miss that the most about living in the basilica. The stadium and the open field. Anierin closes his eyes as he eats and drinks and stands and listens.

     If you wish, we can go and see who will win. My money is on your brother. There is little he would deny you; though he has always tried not to play favorites, he loves his children greatly. Tiernan takes the stairs down; he has youthened considerably, but it is still a long way to go. Would you like to go and cheer him on and place wagers?
     He reaches the ground floor, nodding to those whom he passes. Some do doubletakes; at least one, out of the loop on the youthening effect in progress, goes pale as a ghost. He thinks he has seen one. Tiernan doesn't notice, focused on his progress and on his conversation with you. Have you given more thought to where you would like to go, when we go?
     The pigeon sits at your feet, pecking at interesting-looking pebbles. Well. Of interest to pigeons, perhaps. It seizes the pigeon and tosses it, then gobbles it up. It has no real interest in human food.

     Mouth full, Anierin smiles to hear the pigeon pecking nearby. He opens his eyes. "There is one behind me, Monte. It is a black piece of glass. You will like it." He swallows his bite, folding back the wax paper before taking another. I would like to see it very much, yes. They would not let me make modifications to his chariot. Well, he said that it was not permitted. But I think I could make him one much better, even if it is just conventional. He will win. Hippolytus thinks so too. If he goes into battle one day, I will make him better armor and weapons. He said he will not be going anywhere for a while, though.
     He loves his brothers, even though one is so much older than he is, almost like a second father. But Balthazar? The sun literally rises and sets with him. Anierin takes a healthy gulp of water to wash down the cheese sandwich bite.
     I would like to go to Greece and Italy. I want to see the buildings you and father saw before he built this city. And I want to visit your shipyards. And your corporate office. And I want to see the latest plans for water delivery to areas of the earth where clean water is hard to find. Mostly. But I also want to see a baseball game.

     Monte is not very intelligent, but then, he does not need to be. Nonetheless, he docilely obeys, hopping on those three-toed feet over to the glass and quarreling at it before taking it and turning it around in his beak.
     The rules are fairly strict. And you are not an officially registered craftsman yet, although you could register as an apprentice to one if you chose. It would mean staying here to serve the apprenticeship, however. Tiernan knows you would far sooner go with him and Iowerth, but he makes the observation all the same. Full disclosure. He is in sight, now, although only just; a speck on the other end of the fields. He carries on. But you could make the arms and armor now, if you wished. They would be here for when he needs them.
     And he gets larger, closer, bit by bit, smiling at you with open hearted affection and love. "I think that we can arrange all that," your father tells you, putting a hand on your shoulder for a moment. His eyes sting. You are getting so tall.

     In the fine tradition of this family, he is going to be quite tall. He will likely never have the build of Iowerth, Gruffydd and certainly not Balthazar. He is not that sort of prince. Anierin smiles -- what boy doesn't like to hear that he's growing? -- and wraps up the rest of his sandwich. "The royal physician believes I may be as tall as Bran one day. He says he doesn't think anyone will be taller than Gruffydd..."
     "Would you like some water?" he offers the flagon to you. There aren't any crumbs in it -- he's a careful drinker. He considers what you have said as he offers you the drink. He looks from you to the flowers that surround you and then back up to you.
     "I would rather go with you and father. But maybe one day when I'm back more frequently, I can apprentice then? But the armor could give me something to do during the travels. One should always have multiple projects. I could design it, at least, during breaks of the other."
     Anierin carefully packs away the remains of his sandwich in his satchel. "What is your project for me, papa?" He will hear yours first, before showing you what he has to show you. You are his father, after all, and the respected elder.

     "If anyone is taller," Tiernan says a trifle wryly, "they will need to put warning signs on his crown for incoming gryphon flights. Thank you." He accepts the water from you to take a drink, then holds it back. "If you wish to apprentice, it can be arranged then, although I think that your time spent with me and your father will count towards such an apprenticeship. When you return I would suggest instead taking the journeyman and master crafter examinations."
     He pats your shoulder, then hands you back the water. "Your brother is getting married. Not immediately, and not soon; first comes the betrothal period, of course. But it signals that it is time for him to have his own home, his own palace. And he would like us to be involved in its design and construction." Tiernan smiles gently. He knows you are being patient. "If, of course," he is teasing again, though only slightly, "you have an interest in doing so."

     Balthazar is getting married?
     He doesn't ask it aloud, but you can see the shock. He puts the stopper in the locked position, so the water will not leak, not even in a young boy's bag, and then he places it carefully back in his satchel. His little face goes red -- he has your coloring, completely, even the way he blushes, what turns red first -- and he nods a bit before looking up at you. "Will he still be able to race?" he asks. "And will I still be able to stay over sometimes?"
     First things first: he hasn't even heard what you said about the projects. First, he has to know that his brother isn't going to leave him by the wayside.
     Eventually your words do circle around in the canals of his ears. Anierin looks at the flowers, and then at you again. A bit shocked, a bit glassy-eyed, but like you, he has to face that time does, indeed, march on. Even if it doesn't march across one's face. "I would be happy to help, of course. I have been watching the races and his battles, and I have some ideas. I could draw them in a few days..."

     His arms go around you, protectively and affectionately. "He will still be able to race. His young lady often watches the races; if you wish, we can meet her tonight, but only if you wish. I am sure that you will still be able to stay over." Tiernan lifts a hand to touch your cheek, offering sympathy and comfort. He will still be your brother always.
     "There is no rush." Tiernan says it quietly, hugging you gently; while he still can, while you don't pull away from him. Time will take this from him, he knows. "These things take time, after all. But yes, I thought you might be interested. And I think it would mean a great deal to Balthazar, if you were to take an interest."
     "Now..." Tactfully, he releases you. "You said you had something to show me?"

     It is difficult being the youngest sometimes. You are the last one left, the one left behind. He doesn't pull away -- in fact, none of your sons ever have, or even your daughters. What is to be ashamed about? His father loves him. Anierin takes the hug and the reassurance. He holds on for a moment, his fingers in your shirt just like he used to when he would fall. But then his fingers uncurl and he parts from the hug. "I will meet her later." Later, when he won't be all flushed and weepy.
     Wiping his eyes, Anierin nods. "I will help. I would like to help design his palace." He looks to you as you mention how important it would be to Balthazar. Anierin nods again. He would do anything for his brother.
     "Do you like the flowers?" He raises his hand and moves it this way and that. You will notice that the flower heads move to follow his hand. As far as the eye can see in this field, they move back and forth as in the breeze. They give off scent like real flowers, fresh, spring, clean.
     Anierin bends down, picking one of the dandelions that has gone to seed, turning from yellow to white and tufty. "It can see, and it can hear. And if the king wants it to be, it can report back to him. It can also propagate." Anierin turns and blows the dandelion seeds until they scatter in white, floating tufts and take root in the earth. Fifty new dandelions spring up immediately.
     "You could have gardens and forests that report soil data, air quality data, water table data. You could also use them to spy on political rivals, I suppose."

     He smiles at you, his heart aching for your pain. And he ruffles your hair. "Gruffydd has a new companion you might like to meet at some point," Tiernan remarks gently. "A member of this same family that has so taken ours by storm. He has been spending a little time at the races himself; I believe that he and Adriano the charioteer are friends."
     There remains for now little that he does not know about, within the palace. When he departs, his many minions will too, unless the new High King bids it otherwise. But for now, he is not all-knowing; but there are many small jeweled eyes watching over this kingdom and its seat of power.
     He turns to the flowers, looking attentively, and he smiles beautifully. "You surpass me," Tiernan tells you sincerely. "It is an amazing thing you've done. I think that the king would be a fool to turn it away, son. You will have to tell me how you've accomplished it - if you are willing, of course."

     Anierin blushes. "I could never surpass you, papa," he quietly insists. "I used your beetles as a template. And I added sensors. It is more a matter of scale, than of functionality, I am sure." He is so quietly humble. So like you. "I have the plans upstairs. I am sure it will need refining. I thought perhaps your work on earth might benefit from additional environmental data as well, if you are interested in looking at the plans. I would appreciate any comments and edits you might have. I am still learning."
     But he has a very vivid imagination...
     Anierin looks up at you, his black hair stilling from your ruffles, still out of order as any young boy's should be. "I would be happy to meet Gruffydd's new companion." He pauses. "I do like Adriano. He is very kind. He and Aediles are both interested in the head-worn spyglasses I was creating. You could put them on a helmet shield and then use them with zoom to get a closer vantage of your enemy's lines."
     Anierin looks up at you. "Would it be possible to not have dinner tonight and instead just have dessert? I would like cupcakes with chocolate frosting...can we go to the stadium early and watch them practice?"

     "If you spend more time with Adriano and Aediles, I am sure that you will meet Preston as well. They appear to be in one another's company frequently." Tiernan smiles at you indulgently. You are still a boy, and for a moment, he thanks god for that. He is not yet ready to let you go.
     "I think chocolate-frosted cupcakes could be arranged, this once," Tiernan agrees gravely. He puts his arm around your shoulders. "The plans can wait until later, yes? We'll go to the stadium now. Here; pick up Monte, and have him carry a message to your father so that he knows where we will be." He looks around. "It is a beautiful day..."

     There is a little edge of a smile, a moment of cheering up. He will comfort himself in bloodsport and chocolate. And things will be better. Best of all, he will have his papa with him all day...
     Anierin bends down, scooping up Monte as if he were made of flesh and feathers. "Take a message to High King Iowerth," he says to the bird. "Tell him, Ani and papa are going to the stadium to watch the races and to have cupcakes." He tosses the pigeon in the air, like you do, and smiles, turning to look at his father.
     Twelve doesn't last forever. In four years, he will be sixteen, and then he may understand his brothers' motivations later...
     "Do you think they will let me in the paddock to say hello to Balthazar before he races?" He bets that Balthazar's WIFE can't even do THAT.

     The pigeon spirals up into the air, then orients on the palace. It takes little time for it to become no more than a speck on the horizon as you watch.
     "I think that can be arranged," Tiernan agrees, amused. He knows what you are thinking. He knows this too will pass, but for now? Chocolate soothes many injuries, real and imagined.
     And why not? He leads you towards the stadium, in no hurry for the day to end. "We can pick up apples along the way." Because, ultimately, it is a beautiful day.

Posted by rowan at September 25, 2009 05:24 PM