"Hmmm... speak of the devil. There is Arian of Tempest now." Stephen of Rose. "It's a pity Ymrys isn't here. I always did like a Punch and Judy show..." The table giggles at that.
     "You are terrible, Stephen, really." Branwen again. "I don't know why everyone has it out for Ymrys. He's not all bad..."
     "Branwen," Penelope, incredulous. "He's horrid...he's obnoxious and arrogant. And, apparently, has a very fragile constitution. I wouldn't be surprised if all of his future children were nearsighted mouth-breathers...that is, if his sperm can even swim..."
     Again, more laughter...
     Parvati smiles widely to Arian. "You look wonderful. It is agreeing with you, whatever it is. I have been well. A little dizzy with all the recent travel, but exceptionally well. How are you? Oh good, Balthazar is on his way?"
     She sips at her drink and waves to the waiter.
     The waiter appears, taking note of Arian. "Good afternoon, sir. Would you like something from the bar?"

     Arian's reaction is a dry look to his sister; but he'll listen. He knows the value of useful information. He looks up as the waiter arrives. "Yeah. One ounce raspberry liqueur, an ounce of blackberry brandy, an ounce of peach schnapps, an ounce of triple sec, an ounce of fresh squeezed lime juice. Mix together in a cocktail shaker with ice. Muddle the lime peel in a glass with three tablespoons of sugar and pour the contents of the shaker in and mix with a spoon and add three ice cubes. Don't let fire get anywhere near it."
     "You do look good," Gillian tells Arian, giving him a critical look up and down, "although if you keep drinking those, I'm not sure what your liver will look like. And yes, he's on his way. I expect he'll be here any minute now. Arian, what do you want to order? We already ordered, so you should put in your own order, too."
     Arian smiles. Bite me, sis. I love you, too. He turns to the waiter. "I'll have whatever the Sun King's having." He picks up the earbud again.

     Two signature cocktails in one night? The waiter smiles pleasantly and jots that all down. "It won't be but a moment, sir. And I will put in your order. It sounds as though His Majesty is expected soon." With that, he turns and heads for the bar.
     "Lobster and steak," Parvati informs Arian as she dips another bit of bread into olive oil and sips at her Lady 52. "So," she leans in toward him, lowering her voice to a whisper, "...Stephen of Rose came over with a Branwen and invited us to ladies' poker night."
     "...Arian of Tempest is quite... easy on the eyes," says one of the ladies, smoother in tone than either Branwen or Penelope. "And have we sorted out his relation to the family? Or is there relation?"
     "I haven't been able to conclusively answer that," Stephen says easily. "Yes," to the waiter, "... another of the Soliel brandy, please. In fact, just... bring the bottle, would you. He is favored of the Family, quite highly," he picks up where he left off. "But the halls are suddenly quiet when it comes to gossip. Apart from the fact that he has stood for Princess Sabira's honor..."
     "I heard they were going together," Branwen pipes up.
     "My dear Branwen, one doesn't go with royalty," Stephen corrects. "In any case, I don't believe there's anything to that rumor. Princess Sabira has shown nothing out of the ordinary for it to be anything else than simple gratitude."
     The energy in the room picks up considerably. There is a certain sudden attention of the staff, whether they are looking after the royal table or not. And then there comes a text: I'm downstairs... mind getting a drink for me, sweetheart?

     "Well, they're talking about inviting us," Gillian demurs. "They haven't yet. We'll see if they still want to, once Balthazar gets here." She grins, eyes sparkling. "I hope they do. I like bridge and poker."
     Arian listens, then nods. "They haven't figured out where I fit in. Good. We'll see how long I can keep it that way. Lobster and steak? Sounds good to me. I'm still a growing boy, after all." He stretches back in his seat lazily, allowing the motion to roll with a sumptuous grace. "Maybe I should challenge someone to another duel to work it off. If I do, can I borrow your phone, sis? I promised Gruff I'd let him know next time so he can come watch."
     "I shouldn't encourage your violent habits," his sister sniffs, then lightly slaps his wrist. "You know you can borrow it if you want. Don't you have one of your own?"
     "Yeah, but this outfit doesn't have those kinds of pockets." Arian shrugs. "Now I know what you two were always complaining about, 'spoiling the line'. Or my tailor does, anyway..."
     The text comes in; Gillian turns pink as she looks at the phone, and she looks up with a smile. "Oh, waiter," she lifts a hand as she calls sweetly. "Could you mix an ounce of Drambuie, an ounce of orange liqueur, an ounce of Irish cream and two-thirds of an ounce of cream and strain it over ice for the Sun King? He's asked me to order him a drink." When the waiter comes in range, Gillian smiles and adds casually, "Where I'm from, the name of that drink is a Suitor."

     The waiter smiles as he sets Arian's cocktail upon a napkin on the table and then jots down the recipe. "The Suitor," he grins. "Yes, ma'am. It will be only a moment. The orders are in. The salads are coming out now..."
     Parvati blushes sipping on her drink -- and the salads are delivered by another waiter (the table now boasts two dedicated waitstaff) -- "Ooh, a duel. I would like to see that. And it is a very nice outfit. You have your own tailor? Must be nice." Parvati is a smidgeon tipsy. She leaves off sipping at the drink for a moment to smile and thank the waiter for the caprese. And she begins to eat mannerly but certainly with verve.
     The drink known as The Suitor is set beside Lady Gillian in the vacant, but expectant, place next to her, held for her suitor, the Sun King.
     "They have two waiters now," Branwen bemoans.
     "That just means that a royal is imminent, Branwen," Stephen assures her blandly. "Don't take it personally..."
     "Well I do a little. I'm not a blacksmith's daughter. I'm a future duchess..."
     "Well, then by all means lodge a complaint," he drolls.
     "So I hear the courtship is official," the smooth-voiced woman speaks. "Whose daughter is she again, this Lady Gillian? Do we know anything about her?"
     "Well, the Crown hasn't released her pedigree officially, but I heard from a court official that she is related to the kingdoms of Avalon and Camelot."
     "Well, I don't know her," Branwen snorts, "...so she can't be so related as all that..."
     The conversations come to an immediate halt and table occupants rise one by one to recognize the entrance of a King upon the scene. He is dressed in a classic navy suit paired with a white button down shirt, crisply white. Gleaming from his throat is the top knot of a pewter silk tie. It deepens the navy and adds a touch of regal elegance.
     Balthazar's golden eyes look here and there, taking a quick survey of the surrounding groups as he pauses briefly to pat Arian's arm and then shake his hand in greeting. "Arian, good to see you," he says with a smile. "I see there are Ladies 52 at the table already. Hello, love," he says to Gillian with a grin. He bends and places a kiss upon her cheek. "You look beautiful."
     Parting from the kiss, Balthazar smiles warmly to Parvati, reaching across the table to shake her hand. "Parvati, so good to see you. I'm glad you've joined us. So," he says to Gillian, "... what am I having?"

     "All provided for me. I sometimes think they're going to give me someone to cut my food for me next," Arian gibes, picking up his drink. "If you want new clothes, just talk to Gilly's seneschal, he'll arrange it. You're flying on the royal family's dime; don't worry, they have ways of getting value for their money."
     "Pres!" Gillian scolds, keeping her voice down. She lightly slaps his wrist again and sits back as the waiter arrives with the food. The ear bud's pulled out as her suitor arrives (to say nothing of his Suitor) and she sits up, tilting her cheek for the kiss and lifting her hand for just a moment to touch his chin. "Thank you. You're having a Suitor," she grins delightedly at her joke, "which is - well, we'll test your tastebuds like I did with the Lady 52, back in London. And I got a round of shrimp cocktail for the table, and bread and olive oil for you and Par, and tomato caprice," she gestures to her own salad plate, "and lobster and steak like you asked for. I forget if I ordered anything else. I don't think I did. Other than drinks for with the food." She lowers her voice confidentially. "I'm also being evil and listening in on the conversation at the next table. So far, they're considering inviting me and Par for a ladies' card night, and wondering how Arian's connected to the royal family, and wondering who's my daddy."
     Arian tells Balthazar, "And I'm debating challenging someone or other to a duel just to spice things up. You know. A little wanton violence never hurt anyone."
     Gillian turns to Parvati. "Do you want to discuss business while we've got him all to ourselves? I think it can wait, don't you?"

     It is the touch heard round the world. At the table nearest Stephen's table, but certainly not as cool as Stephen's table, there are several girls who have suddenly been put off their feed...
     Balthazar grins as he takes a seat, his golden eyes lifting from his table in brief survey -- as a general might glance over a field of battle to make note of martial array -- and he chuckles toward Arian. "I hear the last one ended pretty quickly. And thank you," he says warmly to Gillian, his voice lowered to that summer hush. "The Suitor is it?" He settles in his chair, his left hand reaching for hers beneath the table as his right takes up the drink. "Let's see now..." he sips at it. "There's definitely cream, orange liqueur and Irish cream. I'm missing another ingredient, though. Can't quite place it. How did I do? And," Balthazar smiles to her, his hand squeezing hers lightly beneath the table, "... it is a very good drink, thank you. You should open your own bar..."
     More waters appear and glasses are refreshed by efficient waiters. They do not linger; but like magic they appear when they seem to be most needed and then fade back into the mist.
     Parvati takes the moment to speak to Arian, smiling. "Oh, I was going to ask you if you had any information on Gavin duLac, Gillian's seneschal. He's particularly dreamy. And this place," she leans in to whisper to him. "Is it me, or are most of the men in the castle absolutely smacking delicious? I don't know how anyone gets anything done. I would like more saris. I understand there are places in the market to buy them, but if I could get them made for me, all the better..."
     Listening in? Balthazar wonders. He glances to Stephen's table before returning his attention to the radiant woman at his side. "The infamous Lady's Gaming Circle. I've heard about those poker nights. I think once my uncle considered going in drag. It's supposed to be... quite lively. I'm sure you'll get an invite. They'll want a closer look, if nothing else."
     And he couldn't be more on the nose. All eyes are tending toward the royal table... they hardly know where to look first! Should they focus on Arian of Tempest, beautiful with his fists of fury? Should they look at the new girl in the sari and jeweled shoes? And who can ignore THE COUPLE in the corner? The OBVIOUSLY very CLOSE Sun King, Balthazar, and the newcomer to court, Lady Gillian.
     They're practically MAKING OUT...
     Is he holding her hand?
     She's so pretty, I could just SPIT...
     I want to press Arian in a dark corner...
     Who IS she anyway?

     "Well, y'know, I could play with my food, but what'd be the point?" Arian grins slightly. He turns to answer Parvati, and for a moment, his eyes flash silver, and he closes them. "Gavin duLac... um. Yeah, I've seen him around," he answers distractedly. "He's single, if that helps. No real drama that I've heard or seen; good relationship with his parents, though he isn't in a rush to the altar or anything. Probably keeping a cautious but not unfriendly eye on all of us Wests, what with possibly being, y'know, related to us. I think he likes the idea, but then, I get the impression he likes anything which pisses off his dad's on again off again girlfriend." He flushes very slightly, sitting up to grab his drink as something is overheard, on one plane or on another. "Well, it's always nice to be liked, I guess," he mutters to himself. Such are the dangers of being a seer.
     "Well, they're discussing inviting us. They haven't actually done so yet. But yeah, they probably will." Gillian grins mischievously at Balthazar, turning towards him and lightly resting a hand on his shoulder for the world to see. It is no less a possessive gesture in its way than was Branwen's; the primary difference, of course, is that here it might be welcomed. "The mystery ingredient is Drambuie. The bartenders here are loving us. Oh, by the way, Arian," she looks over to her brother, "Mads and mumsie and I're doing lunch tomorrow in town, and going to the arena. Just so you know. And if I remember properly, you and Mads and I have an appointment tonight with the king and a ... Lady ... Bianca, I think it is."
     Arian nods, expression clearing slightly. "Right, okay. If I challenge anybody to a duel, I'll make sure and win. Too bad nobody's come in so far who I could reasonably challenge. Or, well, nobody's done anything so far. I could use the exercise, especially if I polish off a steak and a lobster plus whatever else. How's the salad, by the way?" He asks it of his sister and of Parvati. "Good?"

     The food arrives, quickly filling the table. There are two lobsters with seasonal vegetables, a sweet and wild rice, and the lobster flesh has already been pulled from the shells, so as not to cause ladies consternation or the odd splatter of juice on expensive clothing. "My lady," he says to Gillian and then Parvati. The surf and turf, so to speak, is next, both plates set before the men. They also have seasonal vegetables, but also creamed potatoes with rosemary and lavender. The waiter opens the bottle of wine. "This is our own vintage. It is a pinot gris with an undertone of pear. I hope you like it. Your Majesty." He pours a little for Balthazar to taste.
     Balthazar tips the glass, gives it a swirl, and then takes a swallow, golden eyebrows arching. "Quite nice, thank you, please." As the waiter fills the Sun King's glass first, then Gillian's then Parvati's then Arian's (deferring first to the king, then to the women, before returning to next rank), Balthazar turns, smiling to Gillian and the hand on his shoulder. He leans slightly into the touch; it is, in fact, most welcome. "Oh, I would count on it," he murmurs. "I would also count on them cheating."
     Parvati smiles, "Good to know re: Gavin," she coolly (as if!) says. "Gillian mentioned something about that, I mean a possible relationship. It's fascinating to think. I mean, that you were meant to be here all this time...oh, and it's lovely. There's no way I'm going to finish this..."
     Balthazar smiles to Arian as his hand releases his love's, coming to rest upon her knee. "I should have Sabira put together a list. I'm sure she has others she'd love to have pummeled. You know who's asking for it next is Brian of Lees. He's a sanctimonious prat." Both of the Sun King's hands are finally visible as he cuts into steak and lobster, taking a bite of each and chasing it down with a swallow of the wine. "I'm interested in what Bianca has to say," he notes quietly, seriously. He looks to Parvati, smiling. "And, yes, it is fascinating. Odd, funny, fitting if that's the case."

     Arian doesn't seem put out about the order. Some things are not yet known, and anyway, really, who gives a rat's ass? It's wine. "I don't know if we were 'meant' to be here. Every path has multiple branches, and the choices we make affect them," he tells Parvati as he picks up his glass. "So this was one possibility. But it could just as easily not have happened. For instance, if Gillian an Balthazar hadn't met. Or if they had met, but hadn't ever broken up. We wouldn't be sitting here now, you and I. They might, but not the rest of us."
     Gillian smiles, a trifle pink. "I do want to know what she has to say," she agrees. "I do think that if it's true, it could mean something, and, well, I want to know. Even though the idea of it's kind of weird in some ways." She turns to Parvati. "Are you familiar with the story of Elaine of Carbonek?"
     Arian looks mildly interested. "Who's Brian of Lees? But unless he's done something specific, I can't challenge him. I can't go around challenging people for just generally being pricks. If I did that, my knuckles would never heel, and I'd have to beat myself up. And I prefer only to do that psychologically." He picks up one of the ear buds again, sticking it in his ear and then picking up his knife and fork.

     "... I don't find anything extraordinary about the fact that His Majesty actually likes the girl he's courting," Stephen's voice sounds -- there is both quiet argument, consternation, and not a little bit of jealousy. "It will make it harder for your mother to make her case to the contrary, Evelyn. I mean, look where that's gotten Imogen. It's been a good horse race. Of course," he chuckles, "... most of the fillies weren't aware it had even started by the time the lead horse showed herself."
     "... And do you think they've been ...courting long?"
     "It hardly matters how long. The only point that matters is... how well, my dear Branwen..."
     "Personally," Penelope says, "... I'm tired of hearing about it. It's like there's nothing else happening in all the world but the race to get into Balthazar's bed?"
     "Well, to be fair," Stephen drolls, "... it would be a ... very comfortable bed..."
     "I am going to extend an invitation to the Ladies Gaming Circle," Evelyn announces. "I want to know more about this Lady Gillian. And the race may well be underway, Stephen, but many a race has been won in the last leg by a horse coming from behind. I would caution you not to collect your bets before the bell rings..."
     Balthazar chuckles quietly, briefly. "Mostly kidding, but you should inquire of Adriano. I'm sure that a pummeling of Brian of Lees would earn you... undying gratitude from that Catalonian."
     As the boys discuss this Brian of Lees person, Parvati turns to Gillian, her eyes narrowed in consideration. "No, I don't believe I do know about that story. Who is Elaine of Carbonek? And I think it's exciting, either way..." she smiles, dipping her lobster in lemon butter.
     Leaning in toward his girl, Balthazar smiles. "Would you care for a bite of steak?" he says quietly to her. He bends a bit closer, lowering his voice to a whisper: "I would expect that your day is going to be very interesting tomorrow. The turning of heads in the restaurant is starting to imitate a tennis match."
     "I am going to extend an invitation to Arian of Tempest," Stephen says, "... to join the hunting and gaming circle as well. I'm interested in finding out more about him. What his position is, if he has one, on various topics of the day..."

     "She was - is, I suppose - a lady of King Arthur's era," Gillian explains to Parvati. "It's similar to some of the highest families of India, where they claim unbroken lineage back to Hindu gods, or to the Buddha's family. In this case, her family was a direct-line descendant of Christ's via Mary's other children, the only other surviving line of said being Lancelot's. Lady Elaine also held a great number of holy relics, whose power could not be harnessed by those of insufficient faith and-or holy enough bloodline; so, with that being their focus, and her holiness being in no way insufficient, they decided to get Lancelot drunk and tell him that Guinevere was waiting for him in bed and put him in bed with Lady Elaine. Lancelot's only son during that life was thus conceived - Galahad. Guinevere never forgave him or Elaine."
     She exhales with the explanation completed. "So, my family through my mother's side is said to be directly descended from Lady Elaine. Since Galahad was her only child, that would mean we are descended from Lady Elaine of Carbonek, and Sir Lancelot duLac. Gavin, of course, is Lancelot's son by the Lady of the Lake, from here, this life and place, which means we're only by now very very very distantly related. Anyway!" She turns with a smile to Balthazar. "A small bite. These lobsters are pretty big!" She colors slightly at the whisper and nods slowly. "I don't mind," she murmurs. "It might even be fun. As long as they don't get in the way of my getting things done, of course."
     Arian hmms and nods to Balthazar. "I'll ask him. Is this Brian of Lees here, by any chance?" He pulls the earbud out and offers it to Parvati. "You should try it, barrel of laughs, really." He mutters to him, "Yeah, my position, I just bet he wants to know it. Adjust it, maybe."
     Hey, Arian reaches out silently to Adriano, nudging. Who's Brian of Lees? Poke, poke.

     To the surprise (and some consternation, tumult -- there is, in fact, the sound of one fork being dropped somewhere -- and dismay) of some at nearby tables, the Sun King cuts a small portion of his steak and gives it to Lady Gillian with a very deft display of table manners and knife handling. Balthazar smiles to her, setting down the cutlery to take up his wine glass. "It will be entertaining for Mahasti to sift through the mail. You'll have to apprise me of your battles after you watch mine. I'll join you upstairs in the suite once it's over. Are you going to eat lunch there or here and then go to the stadium?"
     Golden eyes lift, taking in the field and flanks, the armies of girls in gowns, the array of battlements and...yes... toward the sound of a dropping fork. He looks to Arian as he takes another swallow of wine and then returns to his steak and lobster. "I don't see him. It's a bit early. He likes a big entrance. He's sort of like Falstaff, only without a sense of humor or irony." On the subject of positions, Balthazar grins aslant. "I hear he's popular..."
     Parvati listens to Gillian, smiling to Arian as he hands her the earbud. "I bet. So you're distant half-siblings to Gavin, if that's the case. That's so weird," she shakes her head and laughs, and discreetly pops the earbuds in. She leans in to Gillian. "They're talking about you and Arian," she whispers.
     "I would like to know where he stands on matters of trade and shipping," another man says. "He seems to have the ear of the Crown Prince... or at least, he seems highly placed. He attended a meeting, rather several meetings as I understand it..."
     "I suppose he could be the next Chancellor," Stephen muses. "It would stand to reason..."
     "Well, I attended the breakfast when the courtship was announced, and I found Lady Gillian to be perfectly lovely. They make a beautiful couple. I don't know why people can't be happy for them and move on..."
     "Rosamund," Evelyn says, "...you're such a simple creature. Your personal universe must be filled with unicorns and kittens..."
     "I will send a note to her chambers tonight," Branwen says, "...and ask her to the games. And we may as well include her friend. What of Lady Elaine?"
     I detest that... hijo di pero, That is the sound of Adriano cursing in Spanish. He tried to have me demoted, once. Claiming I cheated on my last officer's exams. And he's a prick. Why? Has he done something to you? I will kill him...

     Oh, it isn't anything he's done to me, it's what I'm going to do to him when he gets here. Thanks for giving me the excuse. Arian starts grinning. It's a wolfish, snow-cast sort of grin that lights his eyes up from behind and makes him (though he doesn't know it, and wouldn't care if he did) look dangerous. You ah, might want to let Aediles and Gruffydd know I'm planning on starting a fight, though...
     She glances over for a moment. Why are people dropping forks? It's just a bite of steak. "These people need to chill," Gillian tells Balthazar, although in an undertone. She smiles. "I don't know what we're doing for lunch tomorrow. I'll probably leave it up to Mads and mumsie. I try to pick my battles, you know? But if you see a sudden column of fire erupt towards the sky, presumably Maddie's had it."
     She turns towards Parvati. "Really distant, since we'd be more like many-times great-grandkids, and he's a son. So in other words, it's kinda like Balthazar's family." She winks playfully at him. "Are they? Here, let me." She reaches for an earbud.

     "At the last court dinner and dance I attended, I had to have a security detail. I had to have a security detail," Balthazar smirks, pointing out the obvious. "It was ridiculous. And it will be again, I'm sure. But I think once the shock has a chance to wear off, things will calm down. I am hoping my brother's coronation will begin to take some of the ... fork-dropping attention..."
     Balthazar chuckles at the notion of a column of fire. "I'm looking forward to meeting Mum Zee again. I didn't really get a chance to speak with her the first time. Hopefully I will have the chance before Madison toasts her like a marshmallow..."
     Parvati hands the bud back to Gillian and smiles to Balthazar.
     Balthazar smiles easily, warmly. "Well, it is true. Our family is a bit... complicated..."
     "... Lady Elaine as well. I think invitations to the two of them should be sent tonight. And the other one. I don't even know her name. And we will see what comes of it."
     "And if Lady Gillian refuses?" Branwen wonders.
     "Why on earth would she refuse?" Evelyn archly replies. "It is a prestigious ladies' club of her peers..."
     "Well, not everything has to happen by the book, Evelyn," Rosamund replies. "I think it is best if you let me approach her. I actually want to get to know her for her merits. She was accepted to the Academy of Sciences and Magics, one of the few women to have attained such a welcome by the academy. She will be building a court. I for one would think that more would wish to know her for positive reasons than to sidle up to her future King. Balthazar is beautiful...strong...powerful...kind. All that is true. But he is not the only man in the thousand kingdoms."
     "Unicorns and kittens," Evelyn rolls out.
     As others laugh, Stephen finally cuts in again: "Rosamund is right. Laugh if you want. The smart man or woman would realize that while one race has been won by a rival, that is not the only race underway. To be the lead woman of the court, the right hand maiden to the queen is a highly prestigious honor. Why fight over what is already lost? Why not go after all the riches that remain? For want of the diamond, you are failing to see the veritable mine of rubies right next to it..."
     I will let him know. I think he wants to watch. You know how Gruffydd likes to...watch. You are so good to your Adriano. I want to see you. Such a thank you I will give...and give... and give...

     "Well, we'll have to see what we can do about that, won't we?" Gillian all but coos it. She takes a bite of her lobster after dipping it in melted butter, eyes almost closing in pure bliss. "Mmm. This is so good. I won't be able to eat much more of it, it's so rich." She turns the look up on Balthazar, smiling. "Oh, I doubt Mads would hurt mumsie, but ... well," the smile turns wry. "I just have an awful fear about how it's going to end up. I'll be trying to run some pretty heavy interference."
     "Mumsie needs to get over it already," Arian says bluntly. "I'm not going to be president of the United States, you're not going to be a senator's wife and even though you two are getting married, it's going to be on your terms and not hers. You really need to get over needing her approval, sis. It's not going to do you any favors if you keep on letting her jerk your chain now. And as for Mads, if mumsie can't accept her for who she is, she's going to end up losing Maddie altogether. Dad and granddad need to realize she isn't a little kid and that she not only will make decisions for herself, she's not actually all that incompetent at it." He slices off a piece of steak smoothly.
     "You're a fine one to talk, though," Gillian halfway teases, giving her brother a prim look over the rims of her glasses. "You should tell Par and Balthazar what you told mumsie and dad."
     "Which, the 'Magic is real and I'm homosexually involved with an older married man'? Yeah, and you saw how much that sunk in." Arian shrugs. "There'll be an accounting eventually, I'm sure. But I'm happy to postpone it for as long as I can." He settles back, chewing and then adding, "Wish this Brian of Lees guy would get here already. I need to work up more of an appetite before I tackle the rest of this. Besides, I think the conversation at the other table's starting to repeat itself, and I'd like to give them something new to talk about."

     Amused, Balthazar slices off the last bit of lobster meat, his eyebrows arched and his mouth cupidic in its humored curve. The steak is mostly eaten, the lobster is all gone, and he's made a good attempt at finishing the vegetables. For now, fork and knife are set aside. Balthazar settles back in his chair, his hand lifting to brush back a bit of her hair. "Madison has her own life here, her own friends, her own goals. And she's definitely strong and mindful and focused on what she wants right now, which is what it should be. I think it will be fine," he smiles. "Though, your mother may be a bit cross from being dumped in her place. So to speak."
     Balthazar lifts his glass, sipping at the pinot. "Is there ... anything I should know about her before I meet her officially? Well, I've seen her in passing but ...truly meet her..." He glances to Arian, amusement lingering. "Do you want me to have him summoned to his own ass-beating?" The thought is rather funny. He chuckles as he tips back his glass for a swallow.
     Parvati swallows before she chokes. "You just said it out loud like that? My parents would have keeled over...ehhhh," she makes a croaking sound and facial expression, "...right there on the spot. Do you want me to be there to help, Gillian? She might act better in front of more people..."

     "Well, you have to realize, our mother doesn't really listen. She's too busy running her own monologue on how the universe is supposed to be," Arian explains across to Parvati. "So she assumed I was joking and told me not to. And honestly? I'd say unless you dress really expensively, don't go unless you can put up with her assuming you're some kind of hired help. She's not deliberately racist - god, she's chaired however many committees on race relations and so on and so forth - but unless somebody's obviously of 'her' kind, she'll assume the Mexican girl's a maid, and her dad's the gardener, and so on."
     Gillian is looking increasingly uncomfortable with the discussion. "Can we talk about something else? Arian, when are you going to tell dad the truth? I mean, if you're going to." She's twisting her napkin in her lap, shoulders betraying her tension with the current topic.
     "You know it's true," Arian tells Gillian. He then shrugs. "I don't know. I figure if and when he asks. Otherwise, I'm not going to bring it up until a good opportunity comes up. Honestly, it's a can of worms, and even if they accept it, they're not going to be comfortable with it, and neither am I. So I'll give them the option of the graceful illusion that I'm friends with Gruff and working for him, at least for now. Later on down the road, that may change." He looks to Balthazar. "Well, I'd rather not have him summoned. That'd just be rude and too much of a conspiracy, y'know? It'd send the wrong message. Plus, I'm not anybody's tool; I do this because I choose to, and because I think the purpose right and fitting. If somebody starts summoning people for me to beat 'em up, that just makes me a thug and with somebody else's hand up my ass." He shrugs. "Anyway, by now the gossip's going to have spread that you're here, and there's enough chicks here," he feints away in case Gillian decides to smack him, "that a guy like that's going to show up. His ego won't let him stay away unless he's actively getting laid - and he's not. I checked."

     Balthazar doesn't involve himself in Western Matters, of parents or the pitfalls of honesty. It's really not his place. But his hand does gently respond to the tension of the woman beside him by placing a light and gentle touch upon her leg. I'm here, it says.
     The table chatter at the nearby table has turned to the games and to other matters, invitations decided and plans voiced, invitations planned...
     Balthazar exhales a laugh at the sudden increase of female traffic. He looks to Gillian: "Care to make a stir? I think we should walk... with Parvati as our chaperone," he smiles to her, "... to the balcony. It's mild today. It's the last gasp before winter," he mentions to her quietly, warmly. Such a nice way to get his lady fresh air...and to make a point, all at the same time...
     Golden eyes stray to Arian. "Well, not summoned by me. That's what Evelyn's for. But, point taken. I'm sure he will be along. It would not surprise me. And probably from the Red Pearl," one of the more notorious brothels.
     Parvati looks to Balthazar. "The Red Pearl. Is that a ship?"
     "Cat-house," Balthazar corrects lightly.
     Parvati blushes. "They have those here?"
     "Oh yes... an entire district. My grandmother's red light district is far more famous... and infamous. But the Capitol has one as well." His caramel complexion deepens slightly. "I've never paid a visit but I hear it's nice enough."

     Gillian colors as well, at the talk of cat houses. "Well, we don't need to go there. Sure, the balcony sounds nice." She relaxes again, smiling. "If you don't mind, Par. We're not supposed to be alone together. Arian, d'you mind?"
     "Nah, I don't mind." Arian leans back, folding his hands behind his head. "Go ahead. I'll lie in wait. Besides, there's going to be a few people turning up outside soon, so I'll have to be ready for when he gets here."

     "We'll have a nice view from the balcony," Balthazar smiles as he rises, surrendering his napkin to the table. He turns, hand out to Gillian, and with a glance he summons the waiter.
     "Yes, Your Majesty?"
     "We're going to enjoy a bit of the afternoon sun on the balcony. Could you have a fresh round of wine brought to us? Also, another drink for Arian..."
     "Certainly, Your Majesty." The waiter turns his attention to Arian. Same cocktail, sir or would you care for wine?"
     Parvati also rises, smiling. "I don't mind at all. It's lovely out..."
     Balthazar leans in to murmur to Gillian, his mouth near her ear. "I want them all to see and to know where my heart lies." His fingers lightly skim the small of Gillian's back.
     As the Sun King rises with Lady Gillian, you could pop the air with a pin-prick. Nearly every eye is drawn there: some out of curiosity, some jealousy, some envy, some desire. Girls whisper and the men in the vicinity tolerate the sudden distraction of an entire room. Of course, some are happy for the blessed silence...
     Downstairs, Brian of Lees arrives with his entourage in tow, including Desmond of Dale, Ymrys' older brother. The third floor is nearly completely occupied by diners and gawkers, noble or not...

     "Brandy," Arian says. "That's all I need. And thanks." He sprawls casually, waiting with a glint to his silver eyes of something hard and metallic and thoroughly enjoying itself.
     Gillian rises with her hand in Balthazar's, a hint of color in her cheeks. She turns towards him with a smile, tipping her chin downwards. "Of course," she murmurs. "And thank you, dear. I do love you, you know that?"
     She allows him to take the lead; and Arian waits until they've withdrawn, until Brian of Lees and his entourage have come up the stairs. And then he rises, unfolding himself from his seat and drawing himself upright, pacing elegantly as a silver-bladed rapier made human flesh and bone to interpose himself in the path.

     The eyes of the gathering hardly know where to look first! The girls, all one hundred of them, are bearing down looks on the couple. There is a sudden uptick of female chattering, whispers, even smiles. There are some who are genuinely happy to see a good match. But those are few in number compared to those who want to be similarly matched.
     Balthazar doesn't look back. For him, there's no reason to. His hand frees Gillian's to rest instead at her back and hip. He smiles to Parvati as she opens the French doors to the balcony. "Thank you," he murmurs. "So... the jockeying will begin tonight," he whispers to Gillian, "...well, some are already mounting their horses to ... get into the race. I am glad you have Mahasti as a gatekeeper. And a confidante in so good a friend as Parvati."
     The balcony has veranda seating, sofas and chairs and cocktail tables. Balthazar lightly kisses Gillian's forehead -- a kiss heard around the world, to be sure -- and then he steps to the side to allow her to have a seat. He waits for Parvati to take a seat as well. A waiter arrives bearing a tray with three wine glasses. He sets each glass upon the large, low table and leaves with a bow.
     Inside the restaurant on the third floor, the large entourage -- some five men -- eye the surroundings with a certain amount of entitled ownership. They are all finely clothed. Desmond of Dale is blond, like his brother Ymrys, but far leaner of build. Brian of Lees is tall with a medium build and medium colored hair. He is dressed it leather trousers and boots, a fine red tunic layered over it. Arrogantly he smirks at the sudden cutting off of his path. Desmond doesn't smirk; he frowns. "Pardon us..."
     Gillian smiles up at Balthazar, allowing the kiss and lifting her hand to touch his cheek. It is just a brief touch; almost a politeness, really. But she knows how others will see it. And she knows how she means it. "Let them," she murmurs. "I know where I stand with you, and you know where you stand with me. They don't matter."
     Arian nods politely to Desmond. "You I shall pardon, as I have no business nor argument with you. However, Brian of Lees," he smiles faintly, a slender line beneath ice-like eyes. "You, I have business with. You have wronged one whose honor is above such slurs as you have wished upon him. Duty prevents him from answering you himself, as to answer your insult would detract from his oath to the Crown."
     He smiles again, that faint, thin slash. "I have no such oath to bind me. You are challenged, sir. Will you answer my challenge, or do your honor and courage lack the mettle to do so?"

     Brian of Lees looks his challenger up and down, his gaze, at first, incredulous. "I don't know who you are and I don't know your reason for argument," he replies (even that is sort of gruff and snooty). Desmond looks between you with interest. "Another man's honor?" He laughs. "He can pay the debt of honor himself or there is no argument. Stand aside..."
     Fight! Fight! Fight! Though no one's yelling it, everyone's thinking it. The desirous pheromones have converted to the salty tang of excitement and anxiety.
     Outside, the threesome are seated where they can watch the sunset and the battle royale inside. "I'm not concerned," he chuckles. "I just fear for your mail call, that's all. So, I know you're talking about having the party after the coronation. Would you be able to take off one or two days afterwards? I thought we might hit another beach, one of yours for a change." He glances to Parvati. "You can come as well, if you want. I thought it might be nice," Balthazar murmurs to Gillian, "... to pay a visit to your favorite beach on the Cape."

     "Ooh, I'd like that," Gillian perks up. "Don't worry about my mail. I'm a scholar. I can always use more scratch paper." She grins mischievously, looking over at Parvati. "Want to? We can try dragging Gavin along, too. After all, with me gone, it isn't like he'd have a lot of work to do."
     Arian smiles, with just a hint of teeth. "Ah," he purrs, "my reputation, it seems, does not precede me. Allow me to introduce myself." He bows, a silken movement which does not leave him open to attack for all its courteous chivalry. "I am Arian of the Tempest. And I stand here to pay honor to Commander Adriano of Catalonia." He straightens, smile intact and lingering. "I shall await you outside, unless you feel unmanned by the possibility. Gentlemen."
     And he turns, making his way for the balustrade overlooking the second and first floors.

     "I would, too," Balthazar replies quietly, warmly. A trace of a smile lingers on his face. "And sure... Gavin would be welcome. I am assuming Mahasti will be with you as official chaperone, since we will be out of the King's watchful eye. But I thought that would be a nice first trip to take. Just a short trip, two or three days at the most."
     Parvati....how good are you at keeping secrets? To reply... just... answer me in your head..
     Weird! Um... I'm pretty good at it...
     I will need your help then with a few details... but you cannot let Gillian know about any of them. I want to surprise her...
     Parvati sips at the wine, craning her neck. "Oh, looks like it's heating up in there..."
     Balthazar turns, an arm shifting so he can hold Gillian's hand...
     Inside, Brian of Lees frowns. Desmond leans into whisper: "He's the one who..."
     "Yes, I know," he curtly replies. "As you wish, Arian of Tempest." His own brown eyes steeling themselves, Brian of Lees gestures for Arian to ...lead the way...
     People have begun to rise from their chairs, particularly at Stephen's table. The waiters hang back. They want to ask what the problem is -- they hope this won't cost in tips or meals for Drusilla's tonight. They seem a bit worried.

     Arian smiles. "I shall meet you downstairs," he notes to Brian of Lees. Nimbly, he hops up onto the railing - and then ...
     ... steps ...
     Out into open air, dropping like a stone. At the last minute, he catches himself at the bottom edge of the second floor's railing; he flips himself over in a somersault, landing lightly in a crouch to one side of the front door. He straightens and bows politely to some startled ladies entering, motioning for them to enter; then he walks out through the still open door.
     Gillian, fortunately, is on the balcony and sees none of this. "Heating up? How? Oh, did the guy Pres wants to beat up show up?" She crinkles up her nose. "I wish he wouldn't, but ... well, he's old enough to make his own decisions, I guess. I'm going to have a hard time getting used to that idea." She leans slightly against Balthazar's shoulder. "Sounds good to me. Where did you want to go?"

     Balthazar smiles to her. "Eventually, you will have your own children to worry about," he comforts her, drawing her in to rest against him, his shoulder a resting place for her head. He turns, brushing her forehead with his mouth. "I want to see your favorite parts of the Cape. I thought we could have a little beach party there as well. Just ...well, you and I and Parvati and Gavin and Mahasti." He chuckles. "You know...an intimate gathering. I really want to see it, the place you described to me. And before things get too hectic, I thought...why not."
     Golden eyes glance to Parvati, smiling to her. "Have you ever been there, Parvati?" I'm going to ask her to marry me, Par. So...keep my secret well. He looks back to Gillian.
     "Oh!" Parvati says, looking toward the interior -- there her surprise can find a proper reason for existing -- "...oh actually, no I haven't. I've been wanting to go. I've never been to America..." She blushes a little as the two get...comfortable. Or at least it's perfectly reasonable that that's why she's blushing.
     Brian of Lees frowns, pulling away from Desmond.
     Desmond follows quickly after. "He's very fast. He has had some ...foreign training. And obviously, he's very agile..."
     "I don't need a goddamned play by play, Desi," he clips out, thundering downstairs and out of the restaurant. First floor occupants begin to crowd the windows to watch what is obviously a fight. People on the 2nd floor miss it entirely...
     "Eventually," Gillian laughs. "Let's not rush it too much." But she clearly doesn't mind talking about it, a little bit. She rests her cheek for a moment against his shoulder, then allows it to settle there. It is natural enough, after all. An she is oblivious to the subtler conversation going on. "Okay - Cape Cod. The best time - the absolute best - is the end of summer, before the nights start getting absolutely frigid. We could rent a nice beach house on one of the piney scrub islands, or even on the mainland, up towards the hook of the cape. Lobster is always on the menu, then." She laughs, a bit wistful for childhood memories. "You can never keep sand out of those houses, they're almost right on the sand. I remember rowing out with granddad while he checked his traps - he pays a couple of local fishermen to trap for him, most of the year, so he can always have lobster on his table when he wants it. They can sell whatever he doesn't send for, but if he wants lobster, he sends for it, and when he's there, he checks his own traps. He says hard labor keeps a body honest."
     Outside, Arian waits for Brian to emerge. He is still unarmed, a slender, seemingly harmless figure, with silver eyes and blue and white silks. Calmly, he unties his cloak, laying it over a railing and stepping into the open space in front of the restaurant. "I will eschew seconds and weapons. You may use a weapon if you wish."
     By force of will, he doesn't look around for his friends and loved ones. They're either there somewhere or they aren't. He smiles, a peculiar, slanting, fey kind of smile as the blood begins to pick up in his veins. He can hear the Sea singing to him.

     "Eventually," he grins as he echoes it softly. "No rush. And... so in two or three weeks -- is the party in two weeks? -- that will put us still in August at Cape Cod. It's mid-August there now. I think we will probably be there around the twenty-second. Here, it's almost winter. It will be winter by the end of this week. There, it is still summer. Sort of the Indian Days of Summer."
     Below this balcony is the main entrance to Drusilla's Den, outside of which a crowd is gathering. Brian of Lees emerges, Desmond stepping to the side. "No seconds," he declares. "And I'm content to bruise your jaw with my hand." He rolls up the sleeves of his expensive shirt. "Adriano of Catalonia needs a slender boy to fight for his honor," he chuckles at that. Desmond winces. Don't egg him on!
     Parvati smiles. "That sounds beautiful. I'm so excited. Thank you for including me. I know how tempting it must be to get away from it all..."
     Balthazar brushes his hand against Gillian's strawberry-blonde hair. "I think a beach house sounds perfect," he says. "Do they have accommodations big enough for all of us, a large beach house, or should we reserve two or three smaller cottages?"

     Bran ap Davydd, I am letting you know that I am about to fight Brian of Lees, in front of Drusilla's Den.
     Arian smiles, but his eyes glitter. "Unlike you, sir," he counters softly, "he knows that dereliction of duty includes taking any course of action which may render one - or another officer - unfit to serve. Of course, you are quite confident that you shall win, are you not? So there is no dereliction on your part, then."
     He steps forward, holding his hand out as if in introduction, a graceful, careless invitation. "When you are ready, then." And he waits; fully intending to feint at first, plotting in the back of his mind the steps of the dance. He sends a deliberately casual look Desmond's way - casual to other onlookers, but to Desmond, it is a case of eyes meeting eyes, and in Arian's own, there is a dark and terrible glint of knowledge revealed. And he smiles, and he looks away; he turns back to Brian of Lees, and he waits until the last moment to simply step out of the way of any testing blow, with a matador's precision.
     "Oh, they come in all sizes. I can look into it later," Gillian answers a little bit sleepily, after all that food and wine. She stretches and resettles herself. "But some of them are less beach 'houses' and more like mansions, even. Or we could do multiple cottages, if you're worried about folks here casting aspersions, if somehow they'd even know."

     "I'm not worried about it," Balthazar says quietly. "Just in terms of comfort, since there will be five of us. We'll talk more about it later," he smiles. His hand lightly slips within her tresses, massaging her scalp. There are no words necessary. Even I love you seems superfluous. For how he feels, how they feel, is so obvious...
     I love you is sent out just the same. Balthazar rests his head against her own, And in the peace of what is between them, in the face of Love in Love, even Parvati is quiet.

     Brian of Lees? That git? You sure you want to waste your sweat on a prat barely off his mum's teat? Sure, I'm in for twenty. Bran appears, unfolding from the shadows on the periphery of the fighting circle. "I'll make sure the guards don't interrupt the fun. Aw, were you countin' on that, big boy?" he quips toward Brian. "Alright, who's in? I'll give you the big man there... that Arian of Tempest is a right weed... right..." and in the background, odds are placed and deals are made...
     Brian ignores Bran as he begins to circle, his ham-handed fists coming up. He makes a half feint and then right jab, hitting nothing but the air of were you were.

     I love you, too... Gillian rests her cheek on Balthazar's shoulder. It is a pure sort of moment, peaceful and adoring. She, too, feels no need for anything to be said, and so she holds her peace, sighing happily.
     Arian smiles at Bran, but he says nothing. He doesn't even make a big display of moving out of the way, now; he could be a ghost, for all anyone knows. He drops a shoulder, and Brian's hand rushes through empty air where flesh had been. He does not make a litany of Brian's sins; he talks little, only little. When Brian rushes towards him is when he makes his first real move.
     But even that is subtle, in its way...
     Arian snags Brian's wrist, using the larger man's momentum. It's as if the officer hurled himself flat onto his ribs with a crunching sound; it looks like it too, aside from that seemingly brief, meaningless touch to the other man's wrist. The aftermath looks like the man on the bottom of a rugby scrum. And Arian steps back and politely waits for Brian to get up.
     The officer is more wary, now; with good reason to be. He is not Ymrys of Dale. And he's heard what happened to Ymrys of Dale. He circles, he feints. Arian continues to smile, that maddening glimmering crescent of a smile, and he circles as well, reacting only a little to the feinting, reading the book of muscle movements, predicting the unfolding future moment by moment, watching it stream before him in a silver mist that rises into his eyes and makes him almost blind. He does not need to see very much; he sees enough.
     Or perhaps not quite enough. Suddenly, with a reverberating smack that shocks the audience for its loudness, Brian's knuckles connect with Arian's cheek, rocking the younger man's head back. It's a grazing blow despite the loudness of it; Arian spins back, but it is an agile, lithe spin, catapulting himself back to take less of the force of the blow and using the kinetic energy to propel him. The older man's signet's cut his cheek, and a rivulet of blood runs down against his pale skin.
     Arian smiles, and he touches the blood. Such wounds always bleed strenuously, as all head wounds do. He lifts his fingertips to his lips, tasting his blood. "Thank you," he breathes out, voice calm and eerily serene. "That is what I was waiting for."
     And he straightens from his crouch, and to anyone who does not know him, it must seem that there is joyful murder in his eyes.

     Bran winces, "That's going to sting in the morning," he mutters. And Gruffydd doesn't like bruised fruit. Oh, riot! Bruised fruit!
     The licking of blood gets a wide-eyed look from the crowd and was just enough to distract Brian momentarily.
     Desmond also winces: I told you so!
     The crowd becomes a moving mass, like an amoeba, reacting to each blow, each word, each spin and turn.

     And now Arian moves forward, no longer waiting for the other man's blows. He is no longer reacting. Before, it was aikido, self-defense only while he summed up the other man and waited for the one key turn in the paths which did not vary from fate to fate.
     Now it is t'ai chi, but not the slow, tranquil meditation that old people do on beaches or along on dvds. It is the sped-up, brutally efficient arts of the Imperial Guard for whom it was designed. You only go slow when you are practicing.
     He catches the next blow on his palm, forcing Brian down to the ground and sweeping his legs out from under him with a foot. As Brian rolls up to his feet, he sweeps the other man's arm back with an audible crack from Brian's shoulder. It isn't broken, but the tendon's bruised as hell. And he briefly moves back to aikido, keeping him in a powerful, painful hold that could only be broken by dislocating his own shoulder.
     "Adriano of Catalonia is a loyal, just and honest man," Arian tells Brian evenly. The smile is finally gone; he propels his opponent upwards to his feet. "Your jealousy could, and should be set aside, your time spent bettering yourself instead of attempting to tear down the King's loyal servants."
     He releases Brian, waiting until the other man comes at him, catching him in the breadbasket with a knee and throwing him over the knee to land in the dirt. "Unless you are not a loyal King's man," Arian says aloud. "But you believe yourself to be one, don't you? A word of advice." He bends and drags Brian up by a fistful of hair. "When someone drips poison in your ear, find out first whether the source of that poison hasn't got their own axe to grind. Because letting it continue unchecked only gets you poisoned, and the fault's on you." He again drags the larger man up to his feet, the slashing, glittering smile returning with that murderous joy in his eyes. And he steps back, watching Brian stagger and sway on his feet.
     He turns and again he makes eye contact with Desmond. "It's always a mistake to let yourself be blinded by the self," he says. It is as if he is still saying the words to Brian; to the crowd, it must seem as if it is a moment's musing in the middle of the fight. "We all want as much for ourselves as we can get. But if you find your duty unclear, if you are caught between conflicting loyalties, remember that there are always others watching, who see it. Always. I recommend that you follow the path of those who do not attempt to exploit those uncertainties."
     Brian begins a murderous charge towards the younger, more fragile-seeming man. It seems as if Arian has not noticed. The blood pouring down his cheek makes him seem almost pensive, surely despite the evidence of the eyes he will be smashed at the last. More than one lady must surely gasp to see so beautiful a young man struck down. Except -
     Arian doesn't transform, or glitter, or throw fireballs, or electricity. Unlike his sisters, he simply doesn't need to. He spins suddenly, and delivers a brutal roundhouse kick that is as startlingly lovely in its form and delivery as it is horrifyingly efficient, his booted heel meeting Brian's jaw. Brian of Lees is knocked nine feet back, and down to the ground, and out cold, two of his teeth shattered and his jaw broken in three places.
     "However," Arian finishes, looking down on his fallen opponent, "experience is a harsh instructor... but some shall have no other." And he turns away, again meeting Desmond's gaze with his own with that faint, glimmering silver smile. And he walks away.

     As the fight is clearly over, the crowd milling about in amazement and shock, Bran grins and reaches out with his hands, motioning for the betters to pay up. "I hope we learned an important lesson today. Never bet against a man in pajamas..."
     Desmond of Dale looks from Arian to Brian, and rather than assisting his...comrade to his feet, he steps over him and heads back to the palace without a glance back. One has to be wise about one's associates. It is a lesson learned... and earned.
     Stephen of Rose pushes off the doorway, his eyes following the departure of Arian of Tempest. "It looks to be a stormy winter," he muses dryly. He looks down at the crumpled form of Brian of Lees. "Someone should clean that off the stoop. It's putting the ladies off their feed..."
     Upstairs, a King, unperturbed by the violence beneath him, turns to kiss the woman in his arms. "Your brother is victorious again. I'm going to have to ask him to show me some of those moves." But Balthazar does not seem so interested in those moves at the moment. He smiles as he kisses his love again.
     And as the sun begins to draw downward in its afternoon stations, word is being filtered and sent, whispered and gasped, blurted and bemoaned from street to street, from Den to market. By tomorrow all this will be known. A storm in the streets. A tryst on the balcony.
     So let it be written; so let it be said.

Posted by rowan at March 08, 2010 12:50 PM