"I do not have much time, so this will need to be brief." Tanira is seated in her front room, her hair braided and twined as a crown around her forehead. She wears a small golden veil trimmed with lapis lazuli; her gown is white with gold and lapis lazuli ornamentation around the hems. It leaves her arms bare, but is cut very high, hiding her throat while hinting at smooth, slender thighs. She sits back on a couch, sipping from a goblet of some thin, sparkling wine.
     The servant bows and withdraws. Tanira sighs, turning her gaze to the window, vexed despite herself. All I wished for was love. And instead, I find complications. It's my own fault, she acknowledges, saluting the sunlight streaming in between autumnal grey clouds with her glass. Be careful what you wish for...

     Little known fact -- in fact, it is only known by the highest level servants and the children of the Crown themselves -- there are private entrances that remain between some of the sibling chambers. Most were closed once boys and girls suddenly seemed so different, but there are a few yet remaining.
     A knock sounds on the marble, not the door, and near one of the couches. It's coming from the floor. By the knock, it is likely to be a brother...
     Of one sort or another...

     Tanira glances at the floor and quirks up an eyebrow. "Come in," she suggests there, a bit dryly. She kicks at the floor lightly, then resumes her seat. The servants are gone for the moment, after all. "Whichever one you are." She is fairly sure it is not Gruffydd; and that, after all, leaves only two possibilities.
     The servant reappears in the doorway and is waved away. "Not you," the princess tells the maid. "See to it I'm not disturbed until I call for you."

     Beneath the rug and marble, there is the muffled sound of voices. It's only after the servant withdraws that the door panel (also a floor tile) lifts up by an invisible hatch, revealing Balthazar's face. He's been at something strenuous; there is the sheen of sweet, and he smells vaguely of honey and cinnamon, the incense of his perspiration.
     Smiling, Balthazar glances around. "I forgot this was still here. I found it completely by accident. May I come in?" Truth be told, he's already in. In a manner of speaking...
     "Are you busy? I'm not interrupting am I?" Balthazar wonders suddenly. "I thought you might like some company from someone not trying to sell you something." His smile is genuine; his gaze is true.

     "Hello, little brother." She smiles a little. She is not unhappy to see you, even if she is out of sorts, itching in her skin today. Tanira motions for you to come along. "I sent Amara out of the room; you're as safe to enter as you are ever likely to be. How are you?"
     Her gaze is less serene than usual, as if she is physically slightly ill, or overheated, or such. But she greets you with her usual pleasantry and warmth, that which is reserved more or less for you. "Would you care for some honey wine? Or perhaps some figs? I have had some figs stuffed with prosciutto this morning. I had forgotten how good they can be."

     "Honey wine and figs would be grand, thank you." There is no Or when it comes to Balthazar and food. He pauses a moment, and then begins to pull himself out of the hidden door hatch. He's dressed casually (for him), in a pair of deep indigo jeans and a white tee shirt. He has been active; he's sweaty. And there is such a glow about him, a radiance that is infectious.
     "Hello, sister," he says quietly to her, bending his great distance to place a kiss upon her hair. Balthazar looks to her then, a hand to her face (if barely). "Have you been eating and resting as you should?" he murmurs. His voice is deep and filled with loving concern.
     "I am doing fine," Balthazar assures. "I am working on a surprise for the coronation. Thus, the subterfuge. And you?" He wonders it but he knows it. It's why he's here. He feels you, even as you feel him. Great big thing that he is, he takes a seat on the sofa and turns all of his attention t you.

     Wine and figs it is, then; she waves a hand, and they appear. Tanira looks up, smiling at you for a moment. "Eating, certainly. Resting ... I have not been sleeping very well, I must admit. I suppose on some level, I am paranoid of my own dreams and where I might find myself in them."
     Tanira touches your cheek and sinks back again, massaging her forehead. "I am feeling it," she admits quietly. "I am caught in my own conflict. Try not to laugh," she adds dryly. "But I am glad that you are happy." She knows you are. How could you be other than happy? She sips her wine again, curling up on her couch. "It can always be worse, of course..."

     He does not laugh, but he does smile sympathetically. "You instructed me once to be open to the universe. Father suggested that I pray. At the time," Balthazar smirks as he pours a glass of honey wine, "I thought both propositions were completely ridiculous and unrealistic. But... open your heart and mind to God," he tells her warmly, gently, "...and let him untie the knots."
     Sitting back with a slightly deeper, small smile, Balthazar looks to you. "I am very happy," he notes. "At last." Relaxing his legs, he stretches out, taking a sip of the wine and then setting his glass aside. "Though, I'm not really resting either." His smile wanders as he rests his head upon his hand. So... you are afraid that you have asked God for what you wanted, only to have it delivered to you. In excess?" Balthazar chuckles, sitting forward. "My dear sister, I am sure there is a bright side that you could be looking on, or at least brighter than that. Talk to me," he murmurs. "Tell me what has you so unrested and unhappy."

     "Excess is something our older brother deals well with," Tanira answers with her customary dryness. "I am ... less accustomed to it, I suppose. But you have it in a nutshell. I am afraid, a little, of what I have unleashed upon my own head." She smiles slightly, tipping back her glass. "...I am putting off seeing other people. I am not sure I am quite myself, right now."
     She rises to her feet, going to the window and peeking out from behind the curtain. "I have three would-be husbands, little brother. One is a human king, of a beautiful kingdom. He is sweet and he is kind, and I do enjoy his company, but I have not felt compelled to try to get him to kiss me so far. I do not know if it means I need to give him more time, or if he is not for me. I like him too much to discount him, you see."
     She turns back towards you. She is unaware of Lys in the foyer, waiting patiently. "And then there are two archangels. Two! I would not have thought that even one would be interested. And I do not know how I feel. I feel sick to my stomach when I think about it."

     He smiles to be called little brother. While it is still true, certainly the little no longer applies as once it did. Balthazar looks to you as you wander. He rises after you, several steps, so that when you turn, he is just approaching you. The Sun stands in the sunlight with you.
     "It doesn't make you a bad person that you don't feel the spark with King Eavan, sister. If after three dates you do not want him to kiss you, or are not wondering what it would be like, then that is unlikely to change in three-hundred more dates. You're not discounting him," Balthazar assures with a smile. "You're... simply not attracted to him in that way. So, you have found an ally instead of a husband. That's not so bad a thing."
     "A little daunting?" he wonders. Balthazar takes your hand, holds it for comfort and then with a kiss to your knuckles, and a press of your much smaller hand between his own, gives you your space again. His hair, once drenched with the sweat of his day has, upon drying, curled golden and wild. "I would be a little intimidated," he chuckles. He looks back to you, all laughter gone from his eyes and in its place sympathy and empathy. "What happens to your stomach if you take Eavan out of the equation?" As he asks his question, various fruit appear -- apricots, small sweet pippin apples. Balthazar returns to the sofa, elbow on the back cushion, head propped up lightly by his fingers and in his other hand, an apricot.

     "Maybe." She is not entirely convinced. Tanira smiles bittersweetly. "I do like him. It is not impossible that I could, still; there is the hint of it." She permits you her hand, and shakes her head. "My stomach does not ease. I have gone over the math a thousand times, Balthazar. You know how I always check my facts. I am ... unable to entirely reconcile these numbers."
     She massages the bridge of her nose, leaning back as you return to her seat. "And as it is, I am told that one of the court wishes to see me as soon as possible. I must confess, I am in no mood to entertain the court..."

     Balthazar's smile is bittersweet in feeling your own frustrations. "It... is not about math, Tanira. Your mind... sharp as it is... it's not going to help you with this. In fact, it's more a detriment than anything." As you lean back, he rises again. He sets his fruit aside and comes around behind you. He bends, placing his apricot-scented hands over your eyes. "Do not think," he whispers. "Do not calculate or judge. Connect with your heart, Tanira."
     His hands cup over your eyes and he places a kiss upon your forehead, then rests his forehead to yours just for a moment. And then he rises and moves the temporary blindfold of his hands. "You can put it off if you need to," Balthazar says quietly, a hand to your hair. "I can tell your seneschal to bar your door, if you wish. I can stay or... I can go. Whatever my sister wants from me," he smiles warmly to her, his eyes glancing up and away to keep look-out.

     "No, no, stay," Tanira answers restlessly. "I will see her. I may as well. I will use your emotional support, and we will see what the court has to say to me." As if the court were a nameless, faceless entity with a will of its own. Who knows? Perhaps it is. She is not actively in distress, but there is a passive feverishness to her, as if she were genuinely ill; it preys on her, taxing her strength.
     She touches the side of your check, and you receive a small but genuine smile for your affection. "I do appreciate your presence, brother," Tanira says quietly. "Stay." With that command, she turns, sitting up, and calls. "Amara! Send whoever it is in. I will receive them now."
     Amara returns to curtsey deeply, then withdraws again. She has never seen the princess like this. Tanira can be cold, logical, ruthless. This pettishness, this petulance, combined with the dull fever-ache is unknown, and thus, difficult to know how to respond to. "Yes, your highness. At once, your highness." There is the soft murmur of voices, and then she returns again, to announce, "The Lady Lys of Avalon to see you, Princess..."
     The doors are opened, and Lys steps in, curtseying politely and with every evidence of respect. "Your highness," she murmurs, sweeping her grey-green gown downwards with a smooth, practiced hand. "I thank you for seeing me on such short notice." She glances to you very slightly, then lowers her gaze again. "Particularly as I know well that I am offering an impertinence; I only hope that it shall not be unwelcome." She then curtseys politely to you as well. "Your majesty."

     "I will stay," Balthazar murmurs in comfort. And also for comfort there is a service of tea, hibiscus, and rosewater and delicate frosted orchid petals. All this appears as Lady Lys of Avalon enters. There is a slight twitch of his golden eyebrow in surprise. She is busy. I wonder the reason. It is a remark of thought only to himself.
     As Lys curtsies to him, Balthazar smiles. "Hello, Lys," he says. And as he has come into himself and his own, as he has become centered, his energy is a constant, like sunlight. He seems as comfortable in armor as in the jeans and pull-over he now wears. It no longer seems to matter. There are no masks, no uniforms, no shields.
     He does not make offer of the dishes to her. It is his sister's meeting (and chambers) after all. Balthazar takes a seat in the upholstered chair that rests between the sofas and becomes a sort of casual observer. He will help himself after the ladies have done so.
     I will stay as long as you wish. Your brother's voice sounds in your ears, Tanira, as if he were standing behind you, whispering there.

     Thank you, Tanira answers silently. There is her usual courtesy, but beneath, an exhaustion which shows the emotional strain under which she has been laboring. Aloud, she answers, "Lady Lys. You are welcome to my chambers. Please do be seated; I confess to some curiosity as to what advice you believe you have for me, as in your missive requesting this audience."
     Well. This is not the most auspicious of beginnings, but she's here. Now she just has to find a way to make her case without offending, being thrown out, or thrown to the sharks. Lys takes the offered seat, folding her hands into her lap. "A matter of some insights concerning your recent difficulties, your highness." She looks up, eyes calm and as serene as she does not internally feel. It is an unsettling situation. She glances obscurely to you, then back to Tanira. "I realize that it is not my business; however, I felt that I would be more in error to remain silent than otherwise."
     "How ... compassionate of you," Tanira answers. Her tone is dry enough to powder water. "May I hope that I am the first recipient of this particularly informative generosity, Lady Lys? In any case, do have some wine."
     This is ... not going well. Lys colors, but accepts some wine, sitting upright. "I have not told anyone else of your business, your highness," she says quietly but clearly. "I am aware that my ... status and reputation at court are linked inextricably to Avalon, both in good and ill. But for whatever sins you may suspect of me, I have been loyal to your trust; I am prepared to swear oath to it, bindingly if need be."
     Tanira sighs, and pinches the bridge of her nose. "No... no, that won't be necessary, Lady Lys. I apologize. I am quite out of sorts today. What is it that you have to tell me? If it is not meant for my brother's virginal ears," her tone slants now humorously dry, "I can ask him to step out, if you wish. He will not mind. Is that not right, Balthazar? But if you wish to remain, do let us know."

     Tilting his head to his sister, Balthazar suddenly sees and so clearly their father in her motions and mannerisms. You worry like him, and pinch your nose like he does. What will I do when both of you are gone?
     Golden eyes slide their attention to Lys and he chuckles softly at his sister's joke, a small exhale of laughter more than anything. His hands rest upon the strong board of his stomach, lifting momentarily in offering himself to her indulgence. "It doesn't bother me," he says to Lys with the trailing of a smile, "...if it doesn't bother you. Besides, I might learn something." He looks to his sister. They are separated by some handful of feet, a small occasional table and several sofa cushions, but their bond is obviously close.
     Of course, the glance of the Sun King does tend to eradicate distance...
     "It's been an emotional and exhausting week," Balthazar offers gently. "Our fathers are going to... wherever it is kings retire." He pauses momentarily then smiles with old familiar easiness. "No one likes change." He sits forward to pour a cup of tea for himself. He pours, first, a cup for his sister and for Lys. He sits back with the cup and a palmful of the sugared orchid petals.

     "It is for your comfort, your highness, more than my own." Lys gives another obscure glance to you, pinkening slightly. She accepts a cup of the tea and then looks to Tanira. "I believe that I have identified the crux of your dilemma, your highness."
     "That I have to choose between three men?" Tanira's tone is again dryly humorous. "I would have thought it self-evident. But please, continue. I do not mean to be always interrupting." She has inherited traits, both good and bad, from both her fathers; she lacks, unfortunately, Tiernan's seemingly endless patience, or has at least misplaced it. And she shares, equally unfortunately, the capacity for endless self-confusion and delusion in matters of her own heart...
     Lys bows her head politely. She may be trying to remember why she's doing this, again. She sips her tea daintily. "I do not wish to offer offense, your highness," she murmurs. "However, you seem to favor directness...?" At Tanira's nod of assent, she inclines her own head again. "Your highness comes from a rarefied bloodline; a combination of bloodlines previously unknown. You know this, of course. And you are very nearly unique; the only others known to be as you are your many brothers and sisters. As such, your highness, I cannot help but suspect that your dilemma is rooted in this. If you marry a human man, while it may not be 'lowering' yourself, quite, how will he understand? And, forgive me - but I think that you do feel it is, if not beneath you, then not 'sufficient'."
     Lys lets her words sit for a moment, covertly watching both you and your sister to see if she will be swatted like an insect. Tanira's face is set in those unreadable lines so frequently seen, however; and after a further moment, the Avalonian lady continues. "As for the two archangels," she sends you another of those unreadable looks, "I ... cannot help but wonder, Princess, if you have not noticed the similarity between the archangel Jophiel, may his brilliance always increase, and his majesty, King Balthazar? I do not wish to presume upon your relationships with family and would-be lovers, but I only wish to ensure that your eyes are opened enough to choose based on the truth of your heart, and not ... the comfort of familiarity."
     Lys should be sweating after that workout of tact and diplomacy meeting brute honesty. Tanira's expression has not changed in the slightest, however. "You mean you fear that I might seek the pleasure of the archangel Jophiel's partnership not out of interest in the angel himself, but as a substitute for incestuous leanings," she answers flatly, "while dismissing King Eavan as a realistic possibility because he can understand my mortal heritage, but not my celestial heritage. Haven't you missed something? How would the archangels, after all, understand my mortality? I have never sought to be an angel, you understand, Lady Lys." There are no stormclouds, but she is not pleased. Of course, she started out not pleased; it may not be a substantial increase in her overall displeasure.
     Lys bows her head submissively. "If you will forgive me... you may not seek to be an angel, your highness, but you most certainly do not wish to be human," she answers quietly. "You rarely acknowledge that side of yourself; in your every public word and deed, you mark yourself as something else. The standards to which you hold yourself are more exacting than those of the magicians who hold the magical balances, and you are more magnanimous in forgiveness of the worst of others' faults than in the least of your own. You wish a challenge which few if any mortal men can bring. I mean King Eavan no disrespect when I say that I do not believe that he challenges you in this way; he is a good man, from all that I have heard, and a good king. But if he challenged you 'enough' - you would not be in doubt any longer. Your desire not to be an angel would lead you to choose him; and, as you say, you do not wish to be an angel. And perhaps you will not be. You are something else, your highness; you are something new, and unthought of. And perhaps that is Heaven's true purpose in your conception. Who else can bring Heaven and mortality together but you, and those like you? But if I have offended," she suspects she has, "then I can only apologize, and pray that you can find it in you to grant forgiveness."

     Balthazar remains quiet -- he suspects that it is not only for the best but is desired. But he remarks upon the observations with his eyes. "One does not get to choose to be an angel," he finally says. "We are hybrid things," he agrees, with a look to both. "I don't consider myself to be wholly one or the other, but parts of both. As if I were, say, Spanish and English. It's just more apparent and seemingly more fantastic. I don't think it is, actually, all that different from anyone else."
     He places a sugared petal on his tongue, allowing it to dissolve into nectar. "What we are is far less significant than who we are, or are trying to be," he offers. "I would love Gillian every bit as much if she were a waitress in Kent. She happens to be a student with magical ability. Okay. But that isn't why I love her. Or why I was and am attracted to her. Maybe it's because she pushes me like you do," he smiles to his sister. "But that's the same with any family, yes? Anywhere. Throughout time. We find pieces of ourselves in other people. Because it is something we understand. Because there is a familiarity there. Or maybe despite it in some cases. I don't think that should necessarily rule Jophiel out. And thank you by the way," he glances with a grin to Lys, "...for the compliment. His Excellency is a handsome creature. I do not mind the comparison. He might," he exhales a laugh, a quiet sound of levity.
     "It doesn't have to be, and isn't, a case of sublimated desires." He rolls a shoulder in an unaffected shrug, not offended. "Archangel Jophiel is pleasing to look at, even for me. But familiarity? I can buy that. It's just not that unusual. And King Eavan is not without his own magical qualities. He's half-human himself. We're all a bit odd here, don't you think? You spin water, we have wings, Eavan's a unicorn. So what. Who we are and how we choose to live our lives is far more important. And that is what one ultimately falls in love with. Personality. Desires. Wants and likes. The chemical and alchemical make up of all of these things that make each of us unique."

     Both women look at you with a certain type of look. It's the look women give men when men think they're being helpful, or when they're stating the obvious, or...
     "There is nothing to forgive," Tanira shrugs, though, addressing Lys. "You are not entirely wrong, I will grant. You are, perhaps, not entirely right, but then, you are not a god, to read my mind, or theirs. I accept that you've come to me with genuine concern and interest in my well-being. And I will consider what you have said, and I will quite likely require your accompaniment in the near future; do keep your schedule open accordingly."
     It is a clear dismissal. Lys rises, and sinks into a curtsey with a murmur of assent. She is a bit flushed, although she keeps her embarrassment to a mostly invisible minimum. "Your highness. Your majesty." And she withdraws.

     And the look he gives in return is the look all men give when faced with that look. So, Balthazar shuts up with a smile that is equal parts apologetic and amused. As Lys rises, so does he -- because it's polite. And when she withdraws, only when the door closes, he huffs out an exhalation and then looks to his sister.
     "Sorry," he settles once more beside you, turning his head upon the cushion. "I was just trying to ... well," he chuckles a little. "I should just be quiet. Look," he looks at his hand as it rests upon your leg, "...you will know when you know, and not before. That's just the way it works. I wish love would come on our terms, but we don't run it. If we did, we'd have no poetry."
     Balthazar looks at you, his golden eyes seeking you out. "I wish I could be of more help. I'm a man," he grins. "I want to solve your problem." He chuckles upon another sigh.

     "She is not entirely wrong, as I said," Tanira mutters. She puts her hand on yours, patting it, however, and she sighs. Allowing her head to tip back, she murmurs, "Maybe she is right. In which case I am only delaying out of stubbornness, because of my pride, and because of how much I will hate if he is right..."
     She sits up again. "It is not a problem you can solve for me, little brother," she tells you tolerantly. "I will need to think. And probably to pray and to meditate. It is true that my pride is getting in the way. I will ... simply need to find out to what extent..."

     And so he has his own dismissal. But he does not mind it. He knows it is necessary. Rising, Balthazar leaves all of the treats from his beckoning in place. He bends, and places a kiss upon your forehead. "I love you, sister." Straightening, the Sun King looks at you. "Listen to your heart."
     He doesn't leave the way he came in, but rather the front door this time. There is a last look. I think you already know. That, too, is not shared. Not every thought should be.

Posted by rowan at April 30, 2010 07:21 PM