The Offices of the Crown Prince are on the lower levels, accessible to seneschals, military, emissaries, and anyone else who might have any reason whatsoever to confer with him. But the office has been cleared; there is another business afoot that requires (apparently) the Prince's immediate attention.
     The hallway, while never quiet, is remarkably still the closer Balthazar comes to his brother's door. Like his uncle, he wears the Armor of his Office and Calling, but he is unarmed. His wings are tucked, folded into invisible space.
     He cannot imagine how he is to begin this conversation of a lifetime. How does one unravel everything, pull down all the walls and barriers to the soul in one sitting, let alone a first sentence. But he is no coward. Though he is nervous, he does not wither and wilt. Instead, Balthazar casually strides to his fate as of yet unknown.
     He pauses momentarily at his brother's office door. And then he knocks.

     Inside the room, there is a service ...not of tea but of coffee, for a change. It is the Turkish service, with honeyed sweets and rich, dark coffee, creams and dolmas -- the best of the finger foods of the Mediterranean.
     Gruffydd looks up from a handful of papers, papers that are summarily tossed aside on a table to gather dust for another day. There is only so much one may read in a day, he determines -- yes, even he has a limit. "Come in, brother...there is coffee and food..."
     He is dressed for work in clothes of state (but not overly formal), in a warm captain's coat and midnight blue leathers. The shirt is violet, as his preference, and his hair, dark and curly has been recently shorn to tame it a bit.

     We are Darkness and Light. Dream and Hope. How have I become so hopeless? Balthazar steps in with a nod of hello, turning to close the door behind him. "Sorry for the interruption, Gryff..."

     Gruffydd waves his brother to sit. "Not at all. Have a seat, have a coffee, have a snack. So..." he opens it up, moving to take a seat on his office sofa (there is a sofa, two overstuffed chairs and a large Moroccan poof, blue and white). His expression is open, but there is already the look of empathetic concern. "What is it that I may do for my brother...?"

     Golden eyes look to Gruffydd as Balthazar takes a seat. He glances at the coffee, the baklava, the almonds dusted with cinnamon, but then his attention returns to his brother. "I need to get clear about a few things. I need to own some things... and I need to own up... to a few things. I'm really not sure how to start but... I'm going to try..."

     She appears without invitation, without anticipation, the way she always does, the way she (perhaps) always has. Her dark hair is braided and worn up, her mouth and nose are hidden by a veil. Her wings are tucked away again, their splendor meant for few eyes indeed, and the dark eyes are seemingly languid as she enters.
     Tanira does not speak. Not yet. She is here for moral support, perhaps, but if so, whose? She smiles, perhaps, behind her veil, at first the King-to-be and then the King-that-is, and sedately she settles upon a chair and puts her hands in her lap.

     Gruffydd doesn't prod him, though he knows more than Balthazar believes. He sits patiently, his face more or less serene. There is concerned focus there, a concerted effort not only to give his brother attention but to show that he is doing so. "Of course," he says quietly, his attention diverted only briefly to his sister. He waits...

     "I don't think it's any big secret that I've been struggling since my ascension to Sun King," Balthazar begins, glancing to his sister. "I seem to go in and out of comfort with it all." He frowns. "But that's not really the point." He exhales in momentary frustration, sitting back on his half of the sofa, turning to face his brother. "I do want to talk about Preston as well, but first and foremost, brother, I need to talk about how I feel about our relationship or how I have viewed things. And I need to hear your point of view. I am trying to correct years of thinking and assumptions and, quite frankly, feelings of inferiority. Because I cannot move forward and succeed if I am this weighted down. And I know you didn't put the sand in the weights I've tied around me. I've done that. I've grounded myself. So...I'm here to cut myself free."
     The coffee would be a good distraction, but he doesn't allow himself to be distracted. Balthazar shines brightly, beautifully -- sometimes despite himself. "I have been in the shadow of a star all my life," he smiles a little. "And I have made choices, being your younger brother, being the one to come behind you, to avoid competing directly with you. You are... an incredibly difficult act to follow. And I don't think you, or really anyone other than Uncle Gwilym, truly understands what it is like to be in your shadow, or our father's shadow. I didn't choose not to go into politics because I did not, at some point or in some way, aspire to lead. I did it because you excelled so much at it, I felt invisible when I tried it. I did it with military service -- I deliberately stayed away from the navy. I chose to put myself toward and excel in things or areas where you had no interest or were unpracticed. And in so doing, I put myself in this ... box, I guess you could call it..."
     Balthazar sits forward to pour a coffee, giving Gruffydd time to respond. He looks at his brother, now and then, as cream and honey are added.

     "I will admit that I didn't spend a lot of time wondering why you did x or y," Gruffydd says as he cream is poured into Balthazar's coffee. "I thought you were simply more interested in those things. I have never judged you for your choices. They were yours to make. Perhaps I should have wondered," he admits. "I could have been a better mentor."

     "I'm not here to blame anyone or to ... look for explanations or apologies, Gryff," he says, shaking his head slightly. "I just want you to know what's been behind my feelings, my actions. And what informs my beliefs. I spent so much of my time, so far anyway, comparing myself to you and constantly finding myself coming up short." Taking a sip of the coffee, he glances to Tanira. "I feel like I'm talking in complete nonsensical circles." And then to Gruffydd, "Sorry..."

     "Don't be," Gruffydd says, his arm resting on the back of the sofa and his head resting on his arm. "I just wish to God you wouldn't do that to yourself, Balto. I'm not perfect. I make mistakes. I'm going to make more, I'm sure. And, no, you're not perfect either. But it is painful to me that you have obscured your own glory simply because you thought mine was more glorious. And it isn't true. I am no smarter than you. Okay, I am taller than you. That, fine. I am darker than you, yes. But, brawd, those are ... accidents and happenstance of birth. They mean nothing and yet mean more than anything else you could be comparing yourself to."

     To her credit, she does not say I told you so. She directs a silent look at each of you in turn, but remains discreetly present but unspeaking. She leans forward now, hands darting like small birds as she fixes coffee for herself and for the King-to-be.
     I know how much you enjoy having women wait on you, she tells Gruffydd out of their other brother's hearing. And, You are a third of the way there. Have some baklava. Sweet should always go with bitter, to the younger brother of the two.
     Tanira then returns to her patient position, saying nothing, observing everything. The coffee discreetly vanishes behind her veil.

     Balthazar sits with that in silence a moment. He stares into the clouds of his coffee. "You seem to handle things with such... grace and serenity. You seem," he looks to his brother, "... to know, at all times, that you are operating in the strength of your convictions. You never seem to doubt what you are doing. From the outside, Gruffydd, you appear perfect. Especially to me. So... I just wanted you to know that. And that I have struggled with it. And that I am working actively and very diligently to cut those weights away and to not obscure myself. I expect it will be painful and unpleasant." He starts to smile. "Starting now, really."

     A peacock wing appears to cup at his brother, lightly touching the back of his neck. "I appreciate your telling me this. I understand how difficult it must be. And... whatever I can do to help you, Balthazar, I will do it."
     I do enjoy a coffee poured by beautiful hands, Gruffydd's inner voice whispers to his sister. ...no matter the gender actually. But thank you. That's very kind of you. He returns a silent favor for another; the appearance of his sister's favorite snack.

     Nodding, Balthazar sips his coffee. He takes a piece of baklava after a moment, sucking the honey from his fingers as the pastry and honey begins to dissolve on his tongue. "It's really on me, brother," he says quietly. "And maybe it will be easier when I have my own identity, my own kingdom. I really don't have an identity here, apart from what I've done in the military. I don't really have a purpose here, or at least I feel purposeless. I need to have a place of my own so I can feel rooted. I will be moving out sooner than I originally planned. I will let you know, of course. I just... don't feel like I'm part of your vision here. Especially now that Preston is in the picture. He's your right hand now, he and Maria."

     Gruffydd withdraws his wing to give his brother space, but he remains relaxed. "You do have a place in my vision, Balthazar. What could we be without the Sun? But I know what you mean. You need to carve it out yourself and then, when your purpose is known, we will know what we are to do. But... I just want you to be clear on this, brawd. The fact that I am married to Maria and hope to be to Preston when he is no longer nervous about the concept of homosexual union, has no bearing on what you and I do, who we are to one another. You are my brother. And... here... I do owe you an apology. I haven't been the best brother I could be since his arrival. There were probably two occasions where I stepped out of my neutrality, and I apologize to you for that. You should never have to wonder about my heart."

     Sipping at his coffee, he then sets his cup aside. He looks upon the Dream and the careful expression melts, leaving behind a look of gratitude. "Thanks. I have wondered a little. Or rather," he glances to Tanira, "...I just assumed you would be siding with your lover. That wouldn't have been a problem except for the most of our association, your lover has greatly disliked me, despite the fact that I have always treated him with care and respect. I haven't been as compassionate, lately, as I should be, with Preston. I don't know, quite frankly, what to believe. Is he warming to me or is it an act? I can't tell. He is too studied in what he does."
     There is a linguistic shift: Preston is skilled not Balthazar is unskilled.
     "I want to change that, brother. I do. I want to understand him better. To be honest, he bore me tremendous dislike from the start and when I found out you had chosen him, I felt like ... my fate was going to be in his hands eventually. He could make life very difficult for me if he wished, given his position in your court, relative to mine. So... in order to ensure civility I... just avoided him whenever possible. Until this week."

     It is a brave thing he is doing, talking to you about this, Tanira remarks silently to Gruffydd, dispassionately. I am glad that he is managing, finally, to put these things into words. It will make things much easier, later on. Your lover is not within the palace right now, by the way.
     She does not say how she knows, no moreso than you ever say how you know the things that you know, but she knows. She sets her coffee down, reaching for some of the candied rose petals, crunching through them with sharp white teeth.

     It is. I don't think I could do it. Bravery is to him what water is to me. I don't know that he thinks he is brave yet, but he will soon. And... I am too. I only wish we had had this talk when we were fourteen and nine. There is a brief pause companied by an amused glance. I do not keep him under lock and key, my sister. Where is he? Since you seem to know, he may as well ask...
     Gruffydd's attention returns to his brother. "I understand your position, Balthazar. It's a valid concern, though really... you are not subordinate to him in any court. You, Balthazar, are a king. The only head you bow to at a state dinner is mine. And only because everyone will be looking," he smiles a little. "And then I can tell you to cut it out. But with Preston, even if things were to completely sour, and I don't foresee that, he cannot really make things difficult. Inconvenient? Sure. But you are still and always will be my brother whom I love. So such difficulties would be minor, were they to exist. But... it looks at least lately like things are heading in a better direction..."

     "When I'm not blowing him up? Sure," Balthazar quirks, sipping at his coffee again. There is a glimmer of a smile, a hint in his eyes. "All I can do is keep trying and... try to get a better picture of who he is so... I can better understand." Golden shoulders shrug. "I need to remember my energy, who I Am. And to observe and wonder. I have put so much pressure on myself to know everything that I feel, often, like I'm the dumbest guy in the room. But... I know that's not true. It is just the... strain I put myself under. Which I need to stop doing..."
     How am I doing? Coherently? Balthazar wonders silently to his sister, finishing his coffee. He pours himself another and takes another piece of baklava. When he sits back, he is far more relaxed. He appears sultanic once more and far more at ease.
     "Preston and I have talked...you were there," he says to Gruffydd. "I need to speak with him privately. To see if I can get to the truth of how he feels. I really don't know, brother, if he still detests me and is acting as if he doesn't in private, or if he's had a change of heart. I can't keep up with him."

     Gruffydd chuckles sympathetically. "It can be difficult to do. I think you should speak with him directly. The less I'm involved, I think the better for all, yes?"

     Balthazar nods a little, glancing again to Tanira. He is quiet for a time, choosing to have a dolma and another swallow of coffee.

     He has broken a man's nose and challenged him to a duel of honor. Really, for a young man from another world, he is adapting remarkably well. Tanira remains calm as she tells Gruffydd this, taking another rose petal between her fingers. He has offered to fight barehanded against an expert swordsman; I admit that I had my doubts about that part, but apparently he is acquitting himself fairly well.
     She sets the bowl aside, taking up her coffee again instead. You are doing quite well, Balthazar. You need fear nothing on that front, little brother. Just get all of it out of your system for now. It is a very long road, but you have begun with the hardest of the journey. Aloud, Tanira answers, "I think it is not getting between, eldest brother of us all," she smiles demurely behind her veil, eyes filled with light fraternal mockery, "for you to tell the qualities you see in him, for good or for ill. He is your beloved. Whatever Preston's motivations, it would be well to have a wholer picture of him, if one is to understand him in truth. How, after all, do you know what he is thinking, how he feels? If he is the same man with you as he is with our brother," she gives Balthazar a demure look, "-excepting a certain amount of nudity... then how do these two images compare?"

     The Wests. I would say they are singular creatures, but there are three of them. I am sorry to miss it. I should like to see him working out. Normally, I only have the bird's eye view of his physical skills. I don't want to detract from this moment, however, with a play-by-play.
     Because that would be the very discounting that Balthazar has claimed. Gruffydd smiles, blushing even, his dimples revealing themselves in a moment of Truth. "I stand beautifully corrected," he says to Balthazar, giving their sister her due. He sits forward, reaching for a piece of the baklava. "With me, he is sweet," he says, sucking the honey from his own fingers. He thinks of him. There is a rhapsodic expression; that of a man very much in love.
     "He opens himself. There is nothing he hides from me. He is a beautiful young man, from his heart outward. He has his own insecurities -- his sexuality, for one. And his family has been a burden on his shoulders. He has carried things on his back, Balthazar, not unlike you. In that way, you are very similar. In fact, he has requested to change his name, officially, to the nickname I have given him, so that he might shrug off the burdens of being a West here as well as America. He has his challenges. He has discovered that he has Sight only to realize that his physical sight will be lost to it. I may see if there is a cheat to the universe," he smiles a little, but it is bittersweet, "... but until I do, he will be somewhat dependent upon others. Which is why he is involved so greatly now, so he can close the distance and the gap and prepare himself for that."

     Balthazar listens, and the room becomes visibly brighter as he gives his attention to his brother but also opens his energy to connect with the air around him. Amber eyes and amber hair take on a burnished quality, his armor, that deeper roseate gold, bronzed by Autumn, reflecting it to create a shimmering warmth. There is compassion in his face that is real and true. "I wish he would trust me," he says. "I would like to like the brother of the girl I plan to marry. And I would like to help him, if I can, if he will accept it. I said that I understood his motives for not liking me, for seeming at odds with me. I get it. But I still feel that it is personal, precisely because we have been at odds as soon as he met me in Hawaii. I wasn't wanted then. And sometimes I still feel like... I'm in the way of something."

     Gruffydd glances to Tanira. Well, let me at least know the outcome... whenever you know it. And if I need to call the medics.
     "I can't speak for him on that, Balto, but I understand your point of view. And I appreciate how difficult it has been for you. When I met him in Wales, I didn't have the details. I am not saying it would have changed anything. However, I would perhaps have been more active about facilitating some accord. I have stressed to him that it is important to me that you can be civil to one another. I don't expect love. Just respect. And I can see you are both trying. And I appreciate that. I truly do."

     This time, Balthazar absorbs that. His wings unfold in their autumnal glory, blushed ripened scarlet and pear flesh. He is quiet for a time, finishing his second cup of coffee. He looks to his brother, "What is it that drew you to him? In a week you were mated, it seems like. It was super fast."

     "Apart from his beauty?" Gruffydd grins. Though he teases, his face shows his seriousness. "The tide drew me to him. It was primal. I saw him and I wanted to abduct him like Oberon held the Indian Boy. He needed to belong to me and me to him. I knew it instantly." Sitting back, Gruffydd tilts his head. "What about you and Madison? I'm not sure I ever heard the story. You don't talk about yourself," a peacock wing nudges his brother. Change that, please.

     Balthazar looks to Tanira then to his brother. "She barged into my London flat and brought me Italian food after her sister dumped me. And then she left. And then she came back to visit and she invited me to Hawaii." He chuckles, recalling it with a touch of tenderness to his face. "I'm not really sure how it happened now. I saw her in the sunlight on a surfboard and I kissed her on the skin of the ocean. She had a little heart on her bikini bottom. And for some reason, that just sunk me."

     I will tell you if there is a need. Tanira is serenely detached, above it all, watching with tranquil lack of emotion. "Perhaps," she tells Balthazar, "it is not you that he does not trust. Perhaps it is himself. It must be difficult in some ways; to see you growing stronger, and growing closer to his sister, while he pulls away from what he has known; while his own strength is, in some ways, ebbing. It may be that in being so much alike, in some ways, your presence reminds him of what he has been; and what, for him, is passing."
     She shrugs and daintily takes up her cup, turning it idly. "Of course, without speaking with him, we may never know. Perhaps, after all, he is only a lout, where you are concerned." She smiles, the corners of her eyes slanting subtly. "In other words, little brother, she ran after you as hard as she could until she caught you. She was going to prep school in America when first you met, was she not?"

     Gruffydd looks to Tanira, grinning as she summarizes, and he turns that wickedly amused look onto his brother. And if Maddie were to change places with Sabira...?

     Balthazar's mouth curves in a smile as guilty as it is warm. "She was close to graduation," he says. "But... yes... she was still in school. And I think that is an accurate statement, about the running and catching. Madison is quite athletic," he murmurs. As if it had been a race.
     He takes another dolma as he considers Tanira's perspective. "That could certainly be part of it. I will speak with him," he tells you both. "Probably tomorrow or the next day, depending on his schedule. And I will... try to see if I can improve my understanding and... maybe things will improve from there. I don't think he's a lout," Balthazar says quietly in Preston's defense. "I know he had ...has... issues with me and Madison. I'm sure that is driving most of it. But hopefully he has seen enough to know that I'm treating her well and want only the best for her."

     "I am sure that accounts for a good portion of it," Gruffydd notes. "As it would for you if someone like you showed up to whisk away your sister, Sabira. No matter his good intentions for her," he smiles, "...or his love and loyalty, he would still be the man who swept away your baby sister. But...at some point he is going to have to realize that it was a mutual sweeping," Gruffydd smiles at his brother. "And forgive and forget."

     Balthazar glances to Tanira. Am I forgetting anything we discussed, sister?

     I do not think so. I think you have done very well, all in all. Was it as hard as you feared?
     She remains seated where she is, ankles demurely crossed. "We will need to see if we can ... persuade ... Preston to reveal more of himself to Balthazar. No matter the courtly deceits and dances taking place, there are some aspects in which truth must prevail. But, I think, that can wait for another day, yes. I know that you both have such busy schedules, after all." And she calmly helps herself to another rose petal.

     Is there something I could have done better? And... no.... and I'm not sure what I thought it would be. It's not that I was afraid to talk to him. I just... kept it to myself. It was my issue, my problem. But that's not the best way to handle matters. I have to trust the people I love.

     Gruffydd looks from Balthazar to Tanira. "Agreed. I think in order for the ruse to work, there has to be trust. Otherwise, lines are too easily blurred. But beyond the tactic being discussed, my future husband and my brother need to be able to trust and understand one another." He looks to Balthazar then. "I agree with you, brawd. And... again... I know this wasn't easy for you. I appreciate you bringing it to me. Please speak up if there is something that troubles you. Don't keep it to yourself. You're my brother. I love you. Yes?"

     "Okay," Balthazar says, glancing between the two of you. "I should get back to the ring," he continues, rising. "Thank you, brother. And sister," he says, holding out his hand for hers. Thank you for your patience and your love, Tanira.

     You have done very well. For a first time most particularly. She takes his hand for a moment, meeting his gaze with her own. Trust in yourself. When all else is gone, you must do this, Balthazar. If the Sun is in darkness, where, then, are we all?
     Tanira smiles behind her veil, ever faint. She releases his hand. A Queen or a courtesan must equally understand the hearts and minds of Kings, little brother. You have nothing to thank me for... yet. She says nothing more, her hand lowering to her lap. And the sharp white teeth crunch through another rose petal.

Posted by rowan at December 10, 2009 09:15 AM