Missives were sent out like doves after a chariot race, messages flung to the far corners of the earth. To Oxford. To Powis. To Duchies far and wide. To sons and to daughters and to old friends...
     It is amazing how quiet it gets when the King makes requests. Letters sent and mental notes delivered, Iowerth has settled beside the fire in the royal family's grand living room, a room that can be, and often is, shared by all. But now, it is just him, a stack of notes, and a brandy.
     Devonshire, England. 18th Century. James Jackson. Emigrated to America (Georgia), 1772. Battle of Cowpens against Cornwallis. Jackson links to Cavendish (Devon). Marie L'Etouille (de la Salle). France to Haiti to Savannah, Georgia. Marries Jabez Jackson. Patrilineal through Petrus Stuyvesant (Russia). Military. Affiliated with East India Company...
     A brandy sits neglected beside him. His eyes, his mind are focused on the piece of paper and the pencil that begins to draw a sketch of the family origins of the Wests. Revolution. It is a recurring theme. Iowerth looks at it as he sketches it out, plucking out details from the quill's dictation. Absently, his left hand comes out to take the glass and lift it to his lips for a sip.
     Iowerth Rhudd Draig is clothed, as usual, in white. White leather pants are paired with a white pullover, his tattoos visible beneath the thin cashmere fabric. The long sleeves are pushed up to his elbows and he has removed his boots. His socked toes curl forward and back in thought.

     He enters from the side door, rubbing his forehead. It has been a long day, and it isn't even over. "You know, I never had this many women clawing at me when I was single myself," Tiernan comments in wry complaint. He does not look clawed, but then, his clothing is as sturdy and as serviceable as always it was. His dark curls fall onto his forehead and he smiles at you, crossing to close the gap between you and the door.
     I missed you...
     He brushes a kiss against the top of your head, then reaches for a chair, dragging it to one side of your table and sitting in it with a loose flop. "I've held a few indignant mothers and grandmothers at bay and made it plain that we will not be forcing any of our children to marry against their will. It's only a few, but hopefully they'll spread the word. ...Hopefully they'll believe me. Anything interesting come in the post, or just more demands?"

     The world stops momentarily as you kiss his head. Iowerth smiles, closing his eyes for that blessed moment, and then he looks to you. I missed you, too. He sighs as he sits back, rubbing his own eyes. "I met with the most agitated this morning. I have postponed some of the meetings until tonight. I wanted to work on Madison's pedigree. I met with Arian... Preston," he notes, in case you are unaware of the name change. "Very interesting family history. I spent lunch sending out letters, summons really. Bran will be bringing Gillian as early as tomorrow."
     Iowerth realizes he has taken a tangent and he looks to you, smiling. "My thanks for keeping the barbarians at the gates. So to speak. I need to meet with the Duchess of Early tonight, as well as the Duke of Redstone and the representatives of the Barony of the Glass Isle. And... I have met with Beatrice. She is not relenting on Imogen's claim. I will have to remind them each of what they have gained over the past thirty to forty years. It is amazing the short term memory they seem to be suffering. But that is tonight's unpleasantness."
     Iowerth chuckles, setting down his pencil, turning away from the work at hand to face you fully. He reaches over with his hand to hold your own. "I don't recall this same level of frenzy for my precious hide either. Perhaps my mother merely shielded us from all of this. I'll have to ask her. But at least Balthazar seems to be keeping it in perspective." He looks to you. It is a question. "How was your talk? How did he handle it?"

     "Mm. Beatrice is a tough nut, but if you need, I'll speak with her myself." Tiernan is serene again, his earlier frustrations apparently set aside. "She isn't as scary as my foster mother was, and I think that fact frustrates her about me. You were very popular, as I recall, but there was more order to the frenzy, likely because your parents put the call out rather than them panicking because you were about to go off the market."
     He nods thoughtfully as to the West business, folding a hand over his stomach and surrendering the other to you. "Interesting family history in the good way, or in the 'how do we spin gold from this' way? And it went well. I was a bit harsh with him, at first; I was expecting him to act more as Gruffydd did, when he decided he wanted Maria. You missed most of that, but we had to talk him out of taking Maria and sailing off with her, among other things. Your mother was a big help then, too." He looks thoughtful. "Do you think we could throw ourselves on her mercy this time also?"

     "Interesting - I don't think we'll have to spin it into gold. I need to meet with my father to see if he can assist with the magical lineage. But Arian had already worked up a genealogy, both matrilineal and patrilineal, going back to the 18th Century. Impressive really. The family is English, French, Russian and perhaps Dutch in origin. Wealthy. Noble here and there. Ties to the military on both sides. I think it will work just fine, considering Balthazar's current path. It's actually a nice fit."
     He leads your hand to his mouth, kissing your fingers. He smiles at you. "Yes, I'm sure Gruffydd was a handful. That Balthazar is easier is no real surprise. He has always been an affable boy, now young man. He seems to follow reason, which is all I can ask. Ah, that's a reminder. I need to speak with Gwilym or Aeron about the closet portal. How did he handle the required separate sleeping arrangements?" Iowerth smirks as he looks up. He is certain there was push-back on that point.
     "I am sure she will be happy to help, depending on how pregnant she is, and how pregnant she feels," he smiles gently. "As for Beatrice," he exhales mightily at that. "I hate to ask you to do more than what you are already doing. Let me see how far I get with her. I will use you as my Bad Cop," he grins. "Care to handle my mother in the meantime? She does adore you..."
     He reaches over to take his brandy with his free hand, giving his body to the chair and his other hand to you. His fingers and thumb lightly stroke your own. "I am going to ask Gillian about certain aspects of the family history. As a historian, she may have additional perspectives. And that was at Arian's suggestion. I am also going to speak with her about the invitation to her parents. How did you... or have you... decide to handle the grandfather?"

     "It's literally a closet. They have to go back behind all the clothing, of course, and there's a doorway behind that. I don't know if it's keyed to them only or if anybody could use it if they went far enough back there." Tiernan grins at you quietly as you kiss his hand, sitting up so that it is less of a stretch for you and him. "He accepted it quietly, actually. I think he was in shock. He did not expect so much interest. I've done my best to arm him for the efforts that will no doubt come, but it is not his strongest point; we'll have to see how it goes."
     He leans slightly towards you, eyeing your chair speculatively. Long gone are the days where the two of you can strain the average chair without it breaking; neither you nor he have youthened as far back as that. "I'll talk to your mother, certainly, if you wish it. She likely will help as long as it doesn't keep her from your father too long; that was, if I recall correctly, the primary difficulty we ran into the last time."
     He grasps at your hand for a moment, holding it tightly and then releasing. "He seems an intelligent young man. The grandfather?" He sighs. "I'm not quite sure," he admits. "I can give him a heads up, that it's gotten serious and that our son wishes to ask for his granddaughter's hand. He'll appreciate the advance warning, but he is a tough old man, and I don't know how he'll react. He will want to meet with both of us, and with Zafirah, I think. He does not ... entirely approve of our unconventional marriage. He will want to ensure that the girl is not going to be required to do likewise."

     Iowerth chuckles at the arrangement, but there is a soft warmth in his face. "He will do fine," he assures quietly. "I have faith in him, though he lacks it in himself. He is very careful, Balthazar. I think he has just had such a shift in his universe that he hasn't quite caught up to himself. And he's blaming himself for not adjusting more rapidly. He doesn't give himself enough credit. But... I suppose not enough is better than too much..."
     The smile brushes against your skin as he kisses your hand again before lowering it. His fingers squeeze yours back in return and then slide away. "I think some advance warning would be good. Without too much explanation. We should assure him that the wedding will not take place until she has graduated from the academy. I know he was concerned about her education. And that is a point that Balthazar has been consistently firm about. He does not want to interrupt her dreams just because he's in love. I'm proud of him."
     Iowerth nods in thought, leaning back in his seat again. "Let's see what assistance she feels up to providing. Since she's due to give birth sooner rather than later, we may not have much of her time. But," he grins, "I'll take what I can get..."
     Quiet steps sound in the royal hall, the footfall of leather soles soft against the marble. Gone is the chain of the afternoon's conquest and all gilded array. Balthazar moves toward his fathers' chambers, dressed for court. The military jacket, with its cavalry and rank insignia and sash, is paired with crisp midnight blue trousers and matte black shoes. A white gloved hand slips into his trousers' pocket and brushes against the small velvet box secreted there.

     "He has had several shifts. He fell in love; he had his heart broken; he fell in love again; he became the Sun King. Now he is on the cusp of becoming engaged. Whatever else we might say about our middle son, he does not move slowly." Tiernan's voice is wry. "I will make that point to him; I'll need to discover how he feels about her career path, as well. I suspect he was hoping she'd take over the family business."
     He leans back as well, looking content for the moment. "I'll speak with her as soon as possible. While you speak with your father about the magical lineages, maybe; as long as we're going there, we may as well take care of all our business in one trip."

     Iowerth chuckles softly. "No, he does not. Though, in fairness to him, it has more to do with the timing of destiny than any rushing on his part. I think he's playing catchup with the universe." He knows what that is like, at least in part. "Let me know if you need my support with the grandfather. I'm not sure what help I might bring, but I will certainly do whatever I may."
     There is a quiet knock on the door. Iowerth glances to you then cranes his neck to look toward the door. "Yes?"
     Balthazar's voice sounds through the door: "Do you have a moment? I need to talk with you... one or both of you..."
     "Sure," Iowerth replies, looking to his husband. There is a moment of playful dread, but then he is looking back toward the door. "Come in, son..."
     In an hour, the court will begin to assemble for yet another dinner and dance. He is armored for it in his state finery, the hat held crooked beneath an arm. Balthazar looks to both fathers, his gloved hands out of his pockets now as he approaches. "Sorry for interrupting. It's not critical or anything. Court convenes in an hour. I just thought I would check in on the latest ...troop movements," his mouth holds the start of a smile, "...before heading into battle."
     Iowerth chuckles quietly, rising to greet his son the usual way: with a hearty hug and a hand to the golden head. "It is good to see you," he says. And then he parts, allowing Balthazar to hug his other father. Iowerth shakes his head in thought and smiles. "No wonder we have over six thousand marriage requests and out and out demands. Look at you..."

     He smiles at the joke and rises as well, hugging his son tightly. "We are winnowing them down," Tiernan murmurs. "And your father's already been planning how to best make things acceptable to those who do not wish to accept it. Or if not acceptable, then palatable, at least. We may have to assign poking sticks, for getting it down their craws, that's all."
     He pats Balthazar's cheek gently, then sits. "What would you like to know? If we can put your mind at ease," he gives his husband a fond look, "we will attempt to do so..."

     "Here, son, have a brandy," Iowerth offers, and a brandy appears -- a lovely pear brandy, infused with cinnamon -- upon the table in the center of the sitting area.
     Balthazar's eyes round slightly, a quiet but present expression of shock. "You should see it out there, in the stadium. Fortunately, I had a small army at my disposal. Getting back and forth would have been difficult otherwise." He takes a seat and exhales, taking a moment to swallow some of the brandy.
     And his leg begins to bounce a little. It's not the crowds, the throngs of girls following his every move that has him jumpy -- though certainly the added stimulation isn't helpful. It's something else. "Is there ... a list of girls with whom I should make sure to dance? I really don't want to start a war because I waltzed improperly. I'm feeling a little... hmm... like a butterfly," he smiles. "On a hot-plate."
     Iowerth takes note of the bouncing foot. He takes note of when his son's eyes are rounded, how bright they are, and when they smolder with amber resin almost fragrant with his energy. He smiles, glancing quickly to Tiernan when his son looks into his glass. "The situation is largely unchanged. There are some girls, Bethany and Joanna, for example, who are no longer in the running; Joanna, in fact, by her own request. She sends her apologies. She wishes to fight pirates and wear trousers." He grins. "Which is, of course, admirable. Bethany is far too young. The rest is as it was, for the most part, at least at the top of the list. The top twenty or so remain. Negotiations will continue tonight." Pausing, Iowerth sits back in his chair. But that's not what is troubling you.

     "I would say considering that there is a top twenty, and that you will be attending so many of these occasions, dance only with a percentage of the girls so that you can actually sometimes get some sleep," Tiernan puts in wryly. He picks up his feet as he sits back down, observing quietly.
     He looks to his husband. We should bring him in on some of our plans. Looking back to the middle son, Tiernan remarks lightly, "We have been working out meeting with Wests. More support is apparently on the way; your father can tell you more." Well. Your other father.

     Balthazar relaxes a moment, shaking his head as he holds the brandy glass. Mere mention of the Wests -- and of meeting with them -- makes his leg bounce again.
     And Iowerth covers his mouth, as if merely making sure he doesn't have a brandy mustache. Look at him. Were you that nervous before asking me to marry you? That is a young man who is nervous about ... asking the ultimate question.
     "You're vibrating, son," he says finally, gently, warmly -- and, yes, amusedly.
     Balthazar glances up from his drink, smirks at himself and sits back. He tips his head back against the chair and exhales. "I was finishing the final run today, and I started thinking about it." He looks to both of you. "I don't know how I'm going to ask her," he laughs suddenly (nervously). "What do I say to them?"
     "Well," Iowerth smiles, his head resting against his hand, "....let's keep our feet on the earth a moment, son. First things first: we have a plan, yes? I have asked that Bran bring Gillian here ... hopefully as early as late today or tomorrow. I think she can be a great help to us as we begin to negotiate this, and certainly I think she and Preston will help you. Don't worry about what to say or even, or especially, when. When the time comes, and we'll all know it, you will know what to say. You will be honest and speak from your heart as you so beautifully do. We," he gestures to himself and Tiernan, "... will be finalizing her pedigree for court records tonight and tomorrow. I have a bit more discovery to do with your grandda, but we are close. Your father," meaning Tiernan of course, "...will be meeting with your nainie and Madison's grandfather..."
     Iowerth holds off on any other details, until he is certain that Balthazar is with him...and listening.
     Balthazar looks to you both, his brandy now gone. Having a plan is a great comfort to him. But... he is still a young man who has to ask a young woman to marry him and have her parents (and grandfather) agree to it. He nods, stilling himself. He sets the glass aside, taking a moment to rake a gloved hand through amber hair.
     "I would say that... you are probably still at least a week away from having to really worry about the how's," Iowerth notes. He looks to Tiernan. "Does that seem about right to you?"

     I was nervous that you would say no. We had already faced your parents and mine, and I was afraid of no force under heaven save your refusal - but I was by no means sure that you would say yes. But there was no way in which I could refrain from asking. His husband receives another fond, briefly lingering look, and then he turns back to Balthazar. "About that," Tiernan agrees. "It does not have to happen before the coronation. We should be able to hold off at least that long."
     He rises, going to pour himself a drink from the sidetable. "We'll work on her family," Tiernan tells Balthazar with a smile. "I do not think that they will say no, provided that it does not interfere with her education and that it is what she wants. They do not strike me as outright unreasonable, provided they are given the opportunity for reason." He sips the wine of grapes, turning the glass in his hand. "I think when you are with her, when it is time that you wish to ask her, you will find the words. And I doubt that she will say no; the worst she might say is not yet. And you do not intend for it to be a June wedding, so even that is unlikely to be said. Your worst foes are the scarlet-clawed mob of women wishing you for their very own blanket, son."

     "You will be fine," Iowerth assures with a smile. "It's the anticipation of the thunderstorm that's the worst." It is an old saying with Balthazar; one he recognizes.
     Balthazar chuckles. "I guess so." He takes a deep breath, and it stills him. His eyes glow golden, warm and resonant. He is in love. "Oh, and I have updated your personal map, to account for the new islands. I am going to be spending some time there. I will need to, as I can. But I will be sure to take an escort. Jibril, perhaps. And... if possible... I would like to leave something with both of you for safekeeping. While I'm sure my rooms are secured, yours are far less likely to be ransacked by teenaged girls."
     Balthazar reaches into his pocket, removing a small velvet box. He sets it on the table. "And I don't think I should carry it around in my pocket for a week." He opens it to show you both the four-carat yellow diamond, brilliant cut, surrounded by smaller 'rays' of clear diamonds. There are probably ten carat weight of diamonds all in all. "I had the royal jeweler make this under your name," he smiles to his father, "... as an anniversary gift to my mother." He blushes a little. "I will pay you back."
     Iowerth makes a wave and leans into look at it. "I think it would be best for us to hold this in the royal keeping, yes." He smiles to Balthazar. "Let us know when you need it. And... islands?" He remains seated forward, his attention on his son. The rest will work out. The girl will say yes; the family will capitulate. "You are putting a flag in the earth at last..."
     Balthazar nods, the smile turning to a grin. "Lelani's Pearls. There are six islands, just like Hawaii. Her favorite place. I want it to have pieces of her world, her home, her dreams. Things that will make it be like a home for her. Milkshakes and hot dogs stands, a boardwalk. Surfing. I have some more... work to do. I wasn't even sure if I had the ability to... dream something into Being. But... I do... in Love. Anyway," he rises, leaving the ring behind, "... if you could hold onto that. And ... I am making sure I have escort," Balthazar says to his Papa Tiernan, "...wherever I go. To and from the stadium. To and from the dinners to my chamber. That way... I am accounted for and witnessed." He was not asked to do that; that... he did on his own.

     "Ours have not been ransacked by teenaged girls for - what? Thirty years now? Unless we count our daughters." Tiernan chuckles, observing carefully but with warmth in his expression, in his quiet voice. "I think it will be safe with us."
     He listens with his customary attention, rising again and setting wine aside to hug his son. It does not matter that his son is a grown man now, capable of outmassing most warriors. To him, his son will always be the little boy crawling into his papas' bed during the thunderstorm. "You are doing well. And I think that this match, and these islands, may have connotations more important to us all than you currently realize. You are stitching the worlds together, and helpful to fulfill your grandfather's purpose, I believe."

     Iowerth laughs, his periwinkle eyes alight and his laughter ends in a smirk. "I don't think my rooms have ever been ransacked by teenaged girls. Well, other than Sabira. It's a wonder I have any Black Jack Davy's memorabilia at all." He grins, rising, and as Balthazar parts from one hug, he enters another. "Your majesty," he says to his son, parting from the hug, "... you have great things ahead for you. Don't be nervous. Storms... always pass."
     Balthazar looks to his fathers. He is still; he listens. And he smiles. Hat on, gloves on, he looks like a modern king. And though you both see the boy within the man, there is no doubt that he is a king. He puts on the mantle just as his father has done before him, all nervousness -- happy though it is -- put aside. "I will... continue to do... always... my best." And no matter his looks, his position, even his innumerable skills, he remains centered, balanced, without ego. He knows it is all bigger than he. He is a small, if very hot and bright, part of a grander universe.
     "I had better head down to the ballroom. And I will make sure not to look too long at anyone," he chuckles. "I made sure to be seated in the middle of the table this time. I thought a little democracy would be good." At least he is getting a sense of humor about it all. "Let me know if anything else comes up. Or if I create an accidental diplomatic incident." The golden eyes glimmer in a wink and he turns. "I'll do my best to keep it quiet, papas." In the plural, he says it, and warmly, and sweetly.
     Iowerth watches his second son begin to leave. His heart aches for a moment, but it does so in joy, in love. He is not sad. No, there is nothing here to be sad about. He smiles. "Hey, have fun with it. Enjoy your moment in the sun, Sun." He grins, looking to Tiernan. He holds out his hand for his lover, his husband. We should all enjoy our time in the sun...and with our son.

     While it is there to be had, Tiernan agrees silently. He smiles as he sits with his husband again. "You will do well. You will do brilliantly. And our blessings go with you, as always..."

Posted by rowan at December 31, 2009 08:37 PM