There is no easy way to do this; he knows this. The last thing he wishes to do is hurt those whom he loves. But ... what choice has he? Tiernan has been wracking his brain in attempted thought. Now he makes his way to seek inspiration - or, possibly, advice.
There are few who I could talk to about this. Most will panic, or be angry. Io is going to be angry.. deus, that is going to be interesting to deal with. I don't want it to be a repeat of when we were so much younger. He will feel that I am leaving him. In a way, he is right, although it is not that I am leaving him.
He shakes his head, one hand absently rubbing the crescent-shaped scarring beneath his shirtsleeve. I know it is coming - my time is drawing to an end. I have been here - been preserved here - longer, perhaps, than I should have. Magic and healing have kept me here, but also it has been Love. How can I tell them that now Love commands me to leave?
These are not new questions. He has been turning it over for weeks now; months, perhaps. Finally, he stops, and he sighs, and he makes inquiry for the King Emeritus - no, not that one, the other King Emeritus. His father-in-law, more or less.
King Davydd the First (for God knows we couldn't bear a Second) is walking the frosted grounds of the Flowering Tree's dormant forests. The crisp air is a good reminder to the lungs. And who better to stroll about with than things older than he? He smirks down at the clinging sod and mud on his boots. We belong together, you and me.
So what can I do you for, boyo? His voice is an arrow, going straight to the point of it, thudding in the wood of your mind. I've sent the messenger back in the manor for some scotch and tea. Meet me in the old drawing room. I'll be there momentarily.
The old drawing room was once a popular gathering place when he was king and this was his home. Alright, his wife's home. It's a proper man-cave, with a grand fireplace, comfortable chairs, and plenty of beverages. It's quiet these days. Huw's gone, passed into that other country. Hwyll, too. But it's hard not to feel like a relic when you've been walking the earth, and in some cases two earths, for nearly a thousand years.
Truth be told, you've been walking a bit longer than that...
Davydd's in sock feet (grey) and charcoal grey trousers. His shirt's white, tucked as usual, and the dragons on his skin appear, ephemeral, like blue shadow puppets beneath the brushed cotton. Buttered beef bun in his mouth, he pours scotch in a cup with one hand, tea being poured, held in his other.
He smiles slightly, making his way to the the drawing room. His hands are in his pockets, and he looks as he ever has done, although perhaps younger than he used to. "Your Majesty," Tiernan greets you quietly. "It's kind of you to see me on such short notice."
He is, at least, no longer afraid of you. But then, it has been a few years since those long-ago days. He smiles, a trifle wistfully, to remember them. I will miss this. And he comes into the room, and offers you his hand, then drops it. Yours are rather full.
He is no taller than he ever was, but his shadow is long for the amount of light in the room. How he has been managing to hide the subtle changes in himself from his family can only be attributed to the spate of steady distractions that have been going on - engagements. Breakups. Changes in monarchy. Sons going through adolescence. Weddings. Births. Announcements of births to come...
But there he is, both more solid than he used to be and somehow more ephemeral. Those Aegean eyes look at you with a sea that goes on forever, and his gentle smile holds that hint of sadness. "You look well."
Davydd snorts at the majesty bit. You can call a mountain sir, but it's likely not to notice. He glances at you then gawks in that way that only Davydd, only The Original, can. "You're looking radiant. You're not flammable are you? I burn easily ..." his mouth quirks, "...and I'm holding an accelerant."
He puts the kettle down. "This looks to be a straight scotch, neat, sort of convo. Care for a glass?" He pours you one anyway along with one for himself and he nods toward the sitting area. The glass is set there on the table for you and he takes a seat opposite.
"So... this is new," Davydd opens, his eyebrows lifting. He has the deadpan sensibilities that can only come from an aged vampire. He takes a moment to give you the floor, which conveniently enables him to light a cigarette. He starts to use your radiance to strike the match but thinks better of it. Puffing smoke, the old dragon looks across to you, something of understanding and sympathy in his eyes.
He smiles. "No, not flammable. Thank you. I ... find I need to eat and drink less these days, though I enjoy it." Tiernan takes the seat you've invited him to, an he settles as comfortably as he ever does. "I suspected that you would notice what the others have not."
He takes the scotch, grateful for something to hold onto even if he doesn't need it. He turns it around in his hand, smiling at you. There is no immediate need to say anything. But he does, finally speak. "So," Tiernan exhales. "How do I tell them?"
Davydd peers at you, those forested eyes a forever glade to your endless ocean. "They haven't noticed? Bit hard not to. Mind you, you're not running around bare naked like Balthazar, Christ thank you for that," his mouth cuts aslant. "Makes a man feel puny, that boy. But," he continues, sitting forward a bit, "...hard to believe they've not seen it. Unless you've been tucking it away."
Which he knows, as soon as he's said it, you have. Davydd sits back. "I guess, son," he says warmly, "... that all depends on what you have to say and what it means. I mean, we're not ones to trample on dreams around here, oes? Or transformations. You've... turned a corner or sommat..." he says it, but it's a question as much as it is an assumption.
He smiles again, and brings the cup to his lips. "I was placed on earth to be of service to a King who would be a uniter rather than a divider. A conqueror and a hero; but things were set astray by the hands of the fey, for me, as for you, King Davydd," Tiernan answers quietly. "Who knows? Perhaps you were the King that was intended."
He sets his cup down, settling back with his knuckle to the bridge of his nose. "My flesh was meant to be sloughed off a few years back," he tells you. "I was not ready to go; my family was not ready to let me go. And so with the aid of healers and through Love, I remained. But there is work to be done, and ... I have outstayed my time." His smile is gentle, wistful. Beneath the thin linen shirt, the crescent marks dimly shine with a luminescence of their own. "I am being called."
There's a twinkle in his eyes, a recognition that is seized upon, understood, but in corbinesque delight is thereafter hoarded for himself. "They're pretty good interrupters of fate," his mouth twists. "Agents of mischief that they are. At least you were interrupted only once," he teases. "Maybe I was. You're from a century or two or six before mine, as the story goes."
He sets the glass aside, his eyes fixing on his hand. He shares your understanding, your calling, and your sadness. "I'm fixed on the Wheel," Davydd says quietly. "I've tried to blow the Wheel up a time or two just to get a break from all the spinnin' about, so... I understand." He pauses. "What sort of calling is it, if you don't mind my asking? Is it the sort that... will allow you to ... visit?"
Or, say his eyes, is this goodbye a final one. He believes he knows. In his eyes there is that glimmer of mourning. You'll be missed.
"If there is anything I can do, I will do it, King Davydd," Tiernan tells you. He smiles. You know he will; what has he not done, for the sake of your family? "But ... no." He exhales and he sighs. "If I am able to at all, it will likely not be for a long time."
There is work to be done. His smile is sad, and he sets his scotch aside. "I will be watching," Tiernan tells you, quietly. "But I do not know if I ... will be free to return in time." Before those he loves most in the world have passed to that other country, as so many others have. "I still must tell Io."
"By now, son, don't you think you should just call me dad?" He chuckles a little and drains the scotch. With widened eyes, he puffs out a breath, his cigarette ignored, burning itself out in the glass tray. "I know you'll do the right thing by them, by us," he nods. "You do realize," green eyes lift to you, looking at you sideways as if with suspicion (it's not -- just tight emotion), "...the sort of hole you're about to leave? What you've meant to this family, to me personally, to my son and your sons and daughters. I know you know. I just don't know," he smiles a little, "....if you give yourself the credit for it. I'm going to miss you, boyo. Fortunately," he smirks, "...I'm old and understand what it's like to be one thing, then another, then another. So... I'm not going to wail. I'll keep my weepin' to m'self in private, the way a man ought to," he cracks.
There's a moment where he's reminded of William. He snorts at a thought and takes up the remains of his cigarette. "I've said goodbye to people before. People I've known for... hundreds of years. I get the separation. They get the separation. It's still painful, mind you." He looks to you. "There's no good way to tell him. I'm afraid," his smile is there, heavy-hanging, like a man who's been dressed in armor far too long. "He's going to be gutted. If you know it now, tell him now. Be merciful and quick. That's all you can do, son. Tell him how you feel. Tell him what you are being called to do."
Davydd pauses to clear his throat, cigarette smoke puffing with the exhale of a sigh. "Before you go, do me a favor." The old king looks to you. "Tell him here... where he has family around him. Tell him before the holidays, Tiernan. Don't let him believe that his future is one thing when it will be ...something else entirely. As his father, that's all I can ever ask of you."
Tiernan sighs, and he presses his eyes closed. I do not want to go. But that is not an option, and he knows it. It is an old and comfortable shoe, but he's worn through it, and his soul leaks out through the holes.
"I will tell him," Tiernan agrees. He sweeps dark curls back from his eyes, and he rises to his feet. He smiles at you, not without painful emotion of his own, and he offers you his hand. "Thank you for everything, Davydd. Had I known my own father in life, I could not have wished for one better."
Davydd rises with a smile. He steps up to you and despite your luminescence and his darkness, he does not recoil. He claps those kingly hands upon your shoulders and then your face. "You're a good lad. You always were, Tiernan." He exhales, patting your upper arm. "You're a good man, son. I couldn't be prouder of you and all you've done."
He smirks then, pulling you into one of those Llywelyn hugs, his hand clasping at the back of your neck. So that's what it's like to be hugged by the very earth. "I love you, boyo. And... be sure to let me know when I'm not going to hell. Who knows?" he grins with a comet's flash as he parts from the hug. "I might come join y'..."
Oh, my girl, my girl. We've a storm coming the likes we've never seen. Everything we've learned and been, we'll need. Put the babes in nurse's arms tonight. You and I need to come up with a plan.
Posted by rowan at August 08, 2010 07:14 PM
