He exhales a short laugh and reaches back with an arm, hugging you as he leans back to look at you. "No, lovely," he says quietly. "Nothing as simple as an assassination attempt. Here, have a seat."
     Now you know it's serious...
     Davydd wants a cigarette, but he takes a drink instead, exhaling scotch vapors before setting his glass aside. "I just spoke with Tiernan," he says and he looks to you. "Tiernan's... going through his own transformation. He's... being called to a higher purpose. Fancy way of saying that he's leaving this plane of reality, baban. And you and I are going to be needed for triage to those left behind."
     He looks to you. In a manner of speaking, he's just announced the death of a family member. Only, here, anywhere really, death is never just death. It's transformation. It's moving on. But the ones who are left behind are the ones who really suffer. "I'm glad he started with me," he smirks a bit. "I'm the easy one, you know. Well," he half-rolls his eyes. "When it comes to Life and Death, that is. So... there it is. Before Yule," he says quietly. "He's going to tell Io. And then we're all going to have to be there for the boys and the girls."

     She comes round to sit on the arm of your sofa, looking at you as you speak. "Oh... oh, dear." Fiona sighs, and her eyes are suddenly brimming with tears. "And things were going so well, too."
     She sighs and wipes the tears away. You and she have been through worse than this, of course - but there's no denying the effect that this will have. "When is he going to - before Yule? Well, he has a little time, then. Poor Io. Those poor children. Is he ill? He's not in trouble, is he?"

     "No," Davydd says in a soft rumble, opening up his arms to you, "...he's not sick. He's just... moving on. He doesn't want to, I don't think. But... we forget... he's older than I am, in reality, baban. A babe king of Ireland in the sixth century. I think... his work... your saving him from that witch...I think he put it off as long as he could. Those marks are glowing now. His soul is just...bursting out, ready to shed its skin. And now? Now's been the only time it's been possible. I think he's just been swallowing it down for thirty some-odd years."
     A large arm holds you to him. "I don't think he has a lot of time," Davydd says, his words mumbled, his mouth against your blonde head as he kisses with each word. He leans back and looks to you, brushing a touch to your cheeks to wipe away a tear. "Our children and grandchildren will be very distressed. He will leave an enormous hole that we won't be able to fill but we will have to be there, with our needle and thread, to hold it intact, oes? Io... will be devastated, there's no way around that. And Balthazar and Anierin, for whom the sun rises and sets on Tiernan's pleasure and pride, they will need us. The girls too, of course. But Sabira and Tanira and Bahara ... are their mother's daughters. I think they will handle it better than the boys. The boys are sentimental," he smiles a little. "They get that from me. For better and for worse. So," he exhales, "... we need to be ready, you and I. We need to have the grandchildren over early, I think. I'll go ahead and send word that we want them in Flowering Tree for Yule this year. And His Majesty the High King will come when he can. He'll come and go as he must."

     She is subdued. For so many years, he has been a part of the family. She slides to take your lap, resting up against your chest and parting her lips for your kiss. It is not only the children who will need comforting.
     "Well," Fiona breathes out with a sigh, "I think you're wrong about the girls - they will be devastated also. But if you're right, Tanira at least will be able to see him, and to carry word to the family. It will not repair the hole he leaves, but it's better than nothing." She attempts a smile. "It's not every day one treats an ascension like someone getting sent to prison, you know. Unfortunately, if it were any other prison, I'd suggest a jailbreak. But this one..."
     She slides her arms around your neck, hugging you tightly. "...Gwilym needs to be told, Davy. This is going to devastate Iowerth..." It will devastate them all, but she knows things, in a mother's way...

     "I know they'll be devastated. I don't think they'll detonate," he qualifies. "Iowerth and Balthazar?" He gives you a look. "Do they make asbestos suits?" he asks it seriously. Wrapping you up in his arms, Davydd sighs. "There are ascensions and then... there are ascensions. It's hard not to treat it like a death. I told him I loved him and that I was proud of him. And that I'd miss him. All that's true. He's become my son."
     He's quiet for a moment. More than a moment. With a sniff, he looks away. Composure is found and he nods. "I'll contact him and let him know," Davydd says quietly. He looks to you with water-brimmed eyes, red with the effort to keep it contained. "He needs to tell his own kids. But we are going to have to ensure that Iowerth stays on the planet. We may have to remind him of his continued obligations. His daughters, his sons. He's going to be a single parent. Baban... he's going to need our help, especially with Ani. We may need to move back to the Capitol. I don't want to interrupt his studies more than they need to be. I don't know that he'd be happy relocating to Red Castle or Flowering Tree for his education. He's got his sights on that academy. And then there's the two weddings, Jesus... "

     Her sigh is as loud as yours, and she cuddles close to you, her own tears getting red. "We'll do whatever we have to, of course. I know. Everything at once!" Fiona sighs. She curls up in your lap and shakes her head. She lifts a hand, tugging lightly on your hair. "Oh, family. We just had to go and have a family, didn't we."
     But there are no real regrets on that score. She rests her cheek against your shoulder. "I'll let you talk to Gwi, and ... oh, I suppose I'll lay in a supply of handkerchiefs and comfort foods. It's not going to be a very merry holiday this year, is it?"
     "Sometimes, Christmas is a hard time. Sometimes, Yule is about loss. But it's also and always about hope, Baban. So... while it won't be merry, we'll have to do our best to make merry. To make merry and have and find hope. And help Io find it."
     There are no regrets. With Love there must be Loss. That is the abiding fact of life. "Spend lavishly, decorate feverishly, and make enough biscuits to choke the Trojan Horse."
     The sigh is heavy. His muscles feel leaden. His soul feels weighted already. "We'll do whatever they need of us, whether they want it of us or not. Wren and Robin might be of use cheering Io up. Well," he huffs out. "I'm going to let you get some sleep tonight, yeah? I'll go round up Gwilym. I don't know when Tiernan's going to talk to Io. Maybe as early as tomorrow. We just ...need to be ready..."

     "All the more reason," Fiona answers firmly, "to invoke the Holly King in this, isn't it? I don't think it's a coincidence, my wonderful husband." She slides from your lap to kiss your cheek. "You go talk to Gwilym, I'll stay home with the babies. Pah! Just like a man."
     And she rises, and she laughs, because even now, it is still better to laugh than to cry. "Go safely, darling, and come home to me when you can. The nurses have given the all clear..."
     He looks up as you note that and then he nods. "You're right. Hadn't thought of that." Davydd rises, draining the second glass of scotch in a single swallow. Before you laugh your way out to cry in your pillow, he draws you in for a whiskied kiss. "We'll love one another. And the rest, we'll have to leave up to God. I'll be back. Don't wait up. Get some rest. You deserve it."
     Davydd steps into swirling shadows, disappearing with a breath of pine...