A little over an hour ago, the Capitol City came to a halt. The army's mock battles and games had brought the Kingdom's largest city to a complete standstill. Commerce in the market paused. Vendors hushed their barking. Guards that had been posted to duty on the gates of the Colosseum left their posts to become spectators alongside young boys dazzled by gladiatorial daydreams. It wasn't so much that Team Violet, the current Champions, had surrendered the battle and lost the championship in less than thirty seconds. It was how and by whom.
     Not only had Balthazar -- of all people -- led the royal Gold Team to victory, he had done is blazingly and in record time. And then, of course, there is the matter of the Sun landing in the stadium with a ray of burning fire that emitted from the attractive girl in the royal box...
     A little over half an hour ago, rippling gossip, spreading like fire from the stadium to the marketplace, from the markets to the forums, docks and plazas, arrived at the basilica, ran up the stairs in the guise of not one but several messengers, all bearing news of a fabulous explosion. It was if the sun had landed in the Colosseum. Balthazar bested Dimitryev in the races. Balthazar led the royal charge on a fire-breathing, winged horse. Balthazar forced a thirty second surrender.
     Balthazar...
     Balthazar...
     Balthazar...
     The chanting in the Colosseum turned to clicking gossip in the marketplace and by the time it reached the king's own floor it came in amazed whispers. Even his seneschals, upon hearing the news of the feat, in a time simply unheard of in the history of the contests, were suddenly impressed. And just as suddenly, Balthazar's request for the cancellation of so many meetings did not seem nearly as annoying.
     Ten minutes ago, Balthazar stepped out of his shower and dried his hair with a fluffy white towel. He is dressed in slightly less bellicose trappings, but only in that there is no sword on his hip (it is sheathed on the sofa, gleaming with heat and energy and light). The golden chainmail lies sparkling on the sofa beside it, laid out for a late afternoon-to-early evening reprisal of exercise. He is clothed in the undergarments of such armor, in golden mesh leggings, with the golden mesh tunic pulled on but untied to reveal his strong figure and the caramel complexion of his skin.
     Barefoot, he flips through a stack of messages, cards and envelopes, received over the past five minutes. His golden hair sticking up like sunrays, Balthazar gives off light when he smiles. The smile, slim as sunrise at the horizon, deepens as his amber eyes scan the writing on one of the cards.
     "Cyril," he says, calling out to his seneschal, his attention still on the card, "...if you receive a messenger from General Hippolytus, please show him or her in immediately."
     Cyril, wide-eyed (grey) and fair (extremely blonde), nods his head as he hands over another stack of notes. "Of course, your grace. Will there be anything else in the meantime, sir?"
     Motioning for Cyril to lay the paperwork on the table Balthazar says, "No, Cyril. That'll be all for now." He glances up to him. "Thank you."

     Word has rocketed throughout the palace, and of course the chief putter-out of fires has heard. He has heard, and he has wondered. Is it true? Surely not. No, it appears to be true. This is odd...
     Rumor has been vouchsafed by eyewitnesses, both human and otherwise. Half a dozen, a handful of his creatures have made their way to his workshop, bit by bit and in bunches, to tell him of the news. For anywhere that they can go, Tiernan's 'toys' do go; and they report back. If four eyes are better than two, then a myriad number is better than four, after all.
     And they all report the same thing...
     Setting aside tools and files alike, Tiernan thus has come down from his perch, such as it is. He is dressed as he most often is, in working clothes, and he is empty-handed. He looks these days perhaps all of twenty-five, if that. And he knocks on the door three times, expecting to be let in.
     Of course, it'd be interesting to see what he'd do if the seneschal tried to keep him out.

     The door is opened and a wide-eyed Cyril, obviously still in shock, gapes at the High King's Prince and Consort, the father of said Balthazar -- will he be known as Balthazar the Gold by day's end? -- and it takes him a moment. In part, it is due to your ever-youthening appearance. "Apologies, your highness," he bumbles quietly as he steps aside. "He's right inside. Pardon," he has to move past you to exit. He has messages to deliver and meetings to cancel.
     Oh yes, you've heard about those, too...
     Balthazar glances up from the cards in his hand, moving through them one by one -- all should at least be considered before being tossed away. "It's amazing what a little firebombing can do for getting seneschals to behave. If I'd have known that, I would have blown things up a long time ago. How are you?" he wonders easily. He expects you are here to check in on him. He's not on fire but he is gleaming, the golden mesh underarmor doing nothing to dissuade the glow.
     Setting the cards and offer letters on the table, Balthazar politely gestures for you to make yourself at home. It is your basilica, after all. "Something to eat or drink?"

     "Of course." Tiernan is magnanimous in success - as if he is ever known for being other than magnanimous. He smiles halfway, then moves inside the room, regarding you thoughtfully.
     How are you? Such a simple question. But he gives it due thought before he answers carefully. "Dismayed at the thought that you're firebombing the seneschals, Balthazar."
     There. That's out of the way. He moves to take a seat, still observing you quietly and with care. "Nothing, I thank you. You seem ... gilty."

     "Well," Balthazar says with a guilty (and gilty) grin, "....not directly. Though earlier today ...hmm.. no it was yesterday," he corrects himself, "...the thought did occur to me. I put that energy to better use." And how. A selection of treats appears as well as tea and, strangely, a carafe of ice water. That's for him. His hair glistens as if it were strands of metallic gold melted to molten as he pours a glass of the water for himself.
     The smile is radiant and is filled with easy light and humor. He is gilty. And guilty. "I am," he agrees. "I discovered, by accident actually, I guess that's how it usually works, a talent, a passion, and a knack. What started out as a pretty brutal day, really, has become quite extraordinary. I feel... energized." Understatement of the century. "And happy," he says, and poured tea materializes for you.
     He is that. He is happy. Energized. Connected. Engaged. Resplendent. Brilliant. And strangely, finally, confident.

     He nods slowly, regarding you; there is pride and relief there, and a bit of sadness. You are all grown up, now. The last strings have been cut. You no longer need him...
     "I am glad," Tiernan tells you finally, and with the utmost sincerity. "You look happy. I have heard the reports. You have made quite a stir, Balthazar."
     He sits, picking up the tea and holding it between his hands. He does not quite know what to say. So he sits there and observes you instead.

     "I was so ...pissed off and frustrated that I just said to hell with it. All of it, papa," he comes to sit across from you. He seems both older and bigger somehow. "I canceled my meetings, my appointments, my responsibilities and just...blow off steam. Turns out... that's what I needed all along," his smile is wry in self-deprecating self-discovery. Who knew, right?
     "I wish I could say that prayer and meditation work for me," he smiles to you with no sense of sarcasm or irony. "They do not. Sweat and fire, on the other hand, bring clarity and peace. And throwing sparks at the feet of my formerly argumentative seneschals did wonders to brighten my mood. I have decided to test for rank in the army, most likely the cavalry division. It's where I belong. It's the first thing I've done... ever... that has made perfect sense to me. And I don't doubt it ...or myself."
     Even with music, there was doubt. In part because there was a part of him that knew it wasn't the right path, ultimately.
     Balthazar sits back on the sofa, relaxing despite the high level of energy moving through him and around him. He is neither drunk from it (as you have seen him before) or whirling around uncontrollably. So this is what equilibrium feels like. "I will, of course, speak with Gruffydd to let him know my intentions, none of which are political."

     "I'm sure Gruffydd will be pleased to hear that." A shade of something - surely not sarcasm - enters Tiernan's voice. He lifts his tea to his lips. "You have found your path."
     He watches you as if he does not quite recognize you. And he casts a line out for some more familiar ground. Our son is joining the army. He has been fighting in the arena. He has cut all of his meetings short, Io.
     Tiernan sips his tea again, and he looks at you. "...How are matters with your young lady?"

     So I have heard...am hearing...and imagine this shall not be the end of it...where are you, love?
     "It found me," Balthazar says quietly, and he is looking at you, looking at him. You don't approve. "That's the way it often goes, they say." He sips at his water, the coolness like alchemy, turning light into gold.
     That smile. Upon that question. Gilded delight is shown by a mouth curling rococo. Balthazar bites the plumpness of his lower lip. But he does not say the first thing on his mind (she's delicious) but rather gives it a moment's thought. "She is trying to adapt. She and Sabira have made acquaintances today. They have become fast friends, it seems. Sabira will be helping her with school and... other matters. I'm not completely certain of her magical skills as of yet. She has them. Her power is... personally thrilling. We seem to work best when we are in tandem." In tandem; such a lovely way of saying mid-coitus.
     More seriously -- he is capable. "I overwhelm her without trying. Being with her is like." Balthazar pauses. "It is like being inside the reactor of the sun, the core of it. But I am glad she and Sabira seemed to hit it off so well. I was expecting to see her, actually, after the contests but... perhaps she is napping. She did look a little ...tired when I left." And he's not even trying to make that sound as it sounds. It is simply the truth.
     The army? That's not a bad path, really. Surprising. It is definitely surprising, comes the King's voice. Do you wish me to join you? How does he seem? I am hearing all sorts of fanciful, exaggerated reports. Horses breathing fire?
     Balthazar is quiet a moment and he sits forward. "I'm gathering that you really don't like this idea," he says quietly. "And I'm not sure whether Gruffydd will like it or not. But it's not his path. I only meant that I don't really see myself as a governor of any sort and certainly not a diplomat, seneschal, chamberlain or steward. I have no idea what Gruffydd has actually envisioned on my behalf..."

     He does not approve. Neither does he disapprove. He sighs, rubbing his forehead and not knowing what to say, what to think. "It has come upon you. You seem very together, and I do not really know what else to say," Tiernan admits, smiling at you slightly. He leans forward, putting the tea down and linking his hands. "It was unexpected."
     The fanciful reports are true. He seems ... calm. Certain of himself. Sexually assertive.
     "It is not that I dislike it." Tiernan answers you truthfully - he has always tried not to lie to his children. "But it is not what I had ever envisioned for you, nor what I thought you would be interested in, Balthazar. So I am floundering. It is as if you suddenly decided that you preferred men; I would support you in it, but it would be a surprise, in the light of any prior evidence."
     We are in his chambers. I am drinking tea and trying to find the floor. It doesn't seem quite underfoot.
     "I want you to be happy, Balthazar." Tiernan picks his teacup again, turning it around slowly, blue eyes locked upon you. "I don't pretend to have all the answers, even for your happiness. You do seem happy right now... are you?"

     "Gruffydd has his you," Balthazar explains quietly. It is a shared hush. It comes with the lifting and lowering of sunray lashes. "And while I was happy to train to fulfill that, that's not how the universe sought to go, papa. Gruffydd has his Tiernan, and it's not me. Music? A lovely pastime, and I do have a nice voice, talented fingers. But a rock-and-roll star in London? That's not how the universe sought to go. I went to talk to Nainie earlier, grasping at straws and castles. I really had no," he sighs in thought a moment, "... plan, or idea of what to do. I was only concerned, frustrated, floundering." He gestures to you. You're not the only one. "I asked to be her heir, to base myself in the Flowering Tree, as if that'd help anything." That rococo mouth holds another full smirk. "She basically said No. Turned down by my own grandma. Everyone was telling me: relax, let it happen, pray, meditate, talk to your mother-father-papa Tiernan-Gruffydd-insert family member name here. Well... I'd done all that, and I wasn't happy, I had no sense of direction at all. And I just... exploded. Came back... and decided to ... well, as Uncle Gwilym would put it join the circus, only in this case it's the Circus Maximus," the Colosseum.
     I am on my way. I should see it with my own eyes. How is the girl? I understand from the master of arms that she erupted in flames? Was that it, Witrin? Oh, no... something about a bolt of fire from her that coincided with Balthazar embedding his sword in the sand of the arena. Yes, Witrin, thank you. I will send Witrin to find her. Sorry, love, two conversations...
     Balthazar looks at you both quizzically and humorously. "Unexpected that I would ever be very together? I suppose I have that coming," he mulls in jesting thought. "Well, the skills didn't materialize out of thin air. I've always done these things I just didn't ...think too much about them or think of them highly. It was exercise. Part of the life of a prince. I didn't expect it either, really. I probably wouldn't have, had I not been thwarted at everything else over the past few months. I mean, I did have to have the universe slap me fairly hard in the face before I listened."
     You look at him and he meets your look without hesitation, and without hesitation or qualms he answers: "Yes, papa. I am happy. I am excited. And not just because I got to put Dimitryev in his place today. I am happy because this makes my soul sing. Fire... sweat... and sand. It is ...who I am..."
     The door to the chamber opens a minute later without a knock, causing Balthazar to glance back with a face expecting a seneschal. What he gets is a High King. Balthazar rises, tall and golden, the underarmor shimmering in the motion.
     Iowerth pauses in the doorway and then closes the door behind himself. He stares at Balthazar for a long moment as he wanders the rest of the way inside. "Congratulations on your victory," Iowerth says quietly, a hint of a smile. But his expression is drawn in concentration. "So... I am hearing that you are wanting to join the army?"
     And not the navy is the understood missing fragment of that sentence.

     He listens to you, meditative in his expression. I don't know. I feel I don't know anything anymore. "I would not have expected her to turn you down," Tiernan answers you quietly. "I have no knowledge; I am sorry, son."
     He is still in shock. He does not know what to say, or how to react. And so he sits there, and he would remain sitting there and looking as dumb as an owl if it were not that his husband, your other father, has come in. Tiernan looks to Iowerth and smiles slightly, then looks back to you. As deus is watching, love, I do not know what to say or what to do here.

     As it is not a seneschal but the High King, Balthazar rises slowly, a glance given to either father in turn. There is a breath released. Why do I suddenly feel as though I'm about to be lectured? "I plan on joining officially, yes. The cavalry. I will be putting in my request for test and rank. As a duke, I'm already an officer. I would prefer to join Hippolytus' command. I hope to hear from him sometime today."
     Glancing between the two of you again, Balthazar takes a seat. "Look... I appreciate the shock... and if you're not happy about this, then I am sorry for disappointing you. It doesn't change anything for me. I am going where I am called and how. It's as simple as that."
     Iowerth is quiet. He doesn't offer his opinion apart from his silence, as he moves to the sofas and chairs, placing his hand upon his son's shoulder. "it's not that we don't approve. And you're right... ultimately, it doesn't matter whether we do or not." Periwinkle eyes lift to his husband before returning to his son. "But this is just not something we thought, saw, dreamed of, or even considered, not even remotely. You are poet one day, Balthazar, and Caesar and Alexander the next. So, I am sorry that I am perplexed, I will only speak for myself. but... if this is the path you wish to choose then I am not going to forbid it. It's not for me to approve or disapprove."
     It is shocking... what part, do you think, has us so ...on our heels? That he's doing it or that we didn't see it? And would you look at him? He is going to be his own gossip nuclear engine.
     Balthazar relaxes back on the sofa, looking at the two of you as you sit together. "So what's bothering you?" he wonders to his Papa Tiernan. "Really. Be honest."

     "You no longer need me." Tiernan smiles faintly, but there is that sadness in his eyes, joyful but bittersweet. "Every parent wishes their children to be strong, Balthazar, and able to stand on their own feet. But it comes at a cost. It is not that I disapprove. It is just ... sudden."
     And all too final...
     "We are on our departure route, Balthazar," Tiernan tells you quietly. He sits forward, again putting his cup down and looking up at you. "You have found a path which makes you happy; but last month you were the peaceful musician, wanting only to find love. Now..." He gestures to you. "You are Ares, returned to take your Aphrodite by force if need be. It is a big difference. And we are short on time. We want the best of all possible paths for you - we will not choose for you. But it is a big change... and you no longer need us, and we must come to terms with that, and with that if we wish you to need us, then we must overcome that. For the time for it is gone."
     You have asked for the truth. And you receive it, from those clear blue eyes, filled with a wellspring of emotion.

     "That's it, exactly," Iowerth says quietly, looking to Tiernan as he says it. "This was the one who was scared of thunderstorms, do you remember? Always the first one out of his bed and into ours." He rests his hand on Tiernan's thigh, squeezing it gently. "And we would get him to sing his ABCs so he would go to sleep in the storms. You see," Iowerth smiles over to his son with that same wistfulness, "... today that little boy, he's gone. And we're watching him, as we should," he says as a reminder to himself with a grin, "...walk into the sun of his next life, that of a young man, a young king in his own right. And we are happy for you. But we are also going to miss you. And we miss the past, as only parents can, when a little, golden haired boy with a long name," he smiles again, "... crept into the bedroom to wedge himself between his fathers. So," he swallows his own emotion. "That's our prerogative, being nostalgic."
     Iowerth exhales, looking to his watery-eyed husband. His hand squeezes his thigh again and he leans against him, placing a kiss upon his temple. He closes his eyes. I love you. And our son... is the sun... and he is magnificent..
     Balthazar remembers the thunderstorms. He nods as you each speak your emotion. "There is nothing more that I would have liked than to stay five," he smiles. "It was a lot simpler then. The only troubles were thunderstorms. And I always had you to come to my rescue. And... I do need you," he says to his Papa Tiernan. "I do need you. Maybe not for thunderstorms, but ... there's far more calamity in an adult life than summer storms. And I won't get to see you everyday either once you're ... off. I will miss you very much." He looks to you both then. And now he is emotional. His face reddens, but he doesn't cry. His hair shimmers like embers at the center of a log. He is very like Ares, in many ways. Nicer disposition, certainly.
     Balthazar draws in a breath, his coloring returning to normal. His mouth curls in a small smile. "I am happy, and things will be fine. And I don't want to talk about your not being here. I think I will always be able to find you. I was always the best at interrupting." And then he grins. "It is a wonder you were able to have Sabira and Ani at all..."
     Iowerth laughs warmly, looking to Tiernan. "That is very true. It was your ...special talent." The reminiscing is sweet. Hard, but sweet. It is good and it is wrenching. "One day you will pass that baton on to your own son. I am sure he will serve with distinction." An arm around Tiernan, iowerth's fingers lightly run in his lover's, his husband's black hair. "Madison has power of her own. Do not...ignore the obvious for the convenient, Balthazar. You need to spend some time exploring that. And not in the manner to which you've become accustomed..."

     "As pleasant as that way always is." Tiernan sighs, a noisy exhale, holding back tears. He needed to know we are not disappointed in him. "You will find us if and when you need us, Balthazar. You are still our son."
     His hand moves to Iowerth's shoulder. He feels old and tired, for all that he looks young. "If you need us... but Iowerth is right, about young Madison. It is best that you find out now - before anything happens to cause difficulties, magical or otherwise."

     Iowerth looks at Tiernan as he speaks. See... he did ...and does need us. He always has, more than the rest. They lean against each other, becoming closer by the moment really, each supporting the other in every tiny touch. "Talk to her. Work with her. Support her," Iowerth reminds his son. "She is very young, still, and you... are charging forward. Don't run over her. Help her."
     Come, husband mine. There is a bed with our name on it. And I need you. Iowerth draws his hand away, leaving his husband with a grasp just above his knee. The High King stands with a sigh. "You are so handsome, so confident, so strong... it's depressing," he smiles to his son. "You are not supposed to be this...this yet. I am going to go to my room and cry." He pivots, holding out a hand for his husband to take.
     Balthazar stands, rubbing his eyes a moment. Just a quick motion. "I will take care of her, I promise," he assures. He manages not to blush at the rest. He rolls his golden eyes at his father, as he is sure Mars once did to his. "God

     He rises to his feet, leaning in against his husband. His smile is as bittersweet as before, taking Iowerth's hand and squeezing it. "I love you, too," Tiernan says quietly. "That won't change."
     He moves to you, a hand cupping the back of your head, leaning in against you before pulling back. "Try to take it slow," Tiernan tells you, with half a smile. "If you rush, you won't enjoy the view as much."
     He steps back, retaking his husband's hand. Let's go, before I shame myself by weeping...

     "Okay," Balthazar murmurs, bright liquid leaving his eyes. He doesn't mind the tears. There's no shame in that. "I will, papa." Clearing his throat, he nods as his fathers step away. He glances at them as they head out.
     Hand in hand, Iowerth leans close to Tiernan, whispering at his ear. Their arms come around one another as they slip past the door.

Posted by rowan at August 26, 2009 12:58 PM