The crescent moon passage to the sea was opened, and the same path taken in the beginning was walked at the end. The two princes walked to the docks mostly in silence. The cold air made it difficult to talk. It was a blessing. And as the Captain took to the deck and took the pilot's wheel in hand, the present was set aside and the future roundly ignored. The Past lived in warm remembrance of the last time they sailed the bay together in lazy circles going nowhere.
But as many have learned from world to world and time to time, the Past is forever becoming Now and Now is ever the harbinger of Soon. When they returned to the Queen's palace they parted ways: one, to spend time with his children; the other in retreat.
Iowerth Rhudd Draig now sits, alone, in his chambers, the very ones he had as a boy and then young man. Dressed still for the outdoors in his heavy captain's coat, leather and sweater, all in varying shades of midnight blue, he has crammed himself into the limited space of a window seat, one knee bent, his foot resting on the cushion, while the other stretches out, his boot against the wall. His head rests against the frosted glass, turned to look at the comings and goings of the port in winter. Trade and commerce stop for no man.
She knows your pain; divined it, long before you knew it would exist someday. She might not have known what it presaged, but it has come to pass. And what can any mother do, except feel her children's anguish?
Fiona is dressed in flowing white robes. She is the White Queen, the White Lady, the current and ageless and eternal (seeming) holder of that role, that title. She has made of a barren and abandoned land something beautiful, and from her womb have sprung the seeds of greater and greater things: her children, and her children's children. You.
"Io..." Fiona's voice is soft, and she approaches without haste, giving you time to compose yourself if you wish to. But she knows. Her touch is light, coming to your shoulder and then your cheek.
The White Queen gave birth to the Sea. As you come in your power, he is in his; dark, where you are white, and watery, his emotions a whirlpool around his feet, where you come with quiet conviction of prophecies seen, foretold, and witnessed. But he is no less your son. He's not some primal thing, forgetting of his humanity. Iowerth is very much flesh and blood.
He turns his head against the glass to look at you and then he sits up as any son might do when his mother enters the room. Sit up straight, don't slouch, get your feet off the furniture. He looks at you in brief moments. His gaze is a confessional. Look too long, and everything will be bared.
"You look lovely," he says quietly. It is a moment of normalcy wished for. Iowerth rests his hands at the front edge of the window bench, his gaze tending toward the floor. "How are Wren and Robin?"
She doesn't answer you with words. She wraps her arms around you and cradles you as if you were still a boy, a hand going gently to the back of your head. Her kiss is soft and gentle, and she holds you.
"I'm here for the eldest of my sons right now," Fiona tells you quietly. "The one who needs me the most." That is all she says. She doesn't need to say more.
"My heart is my downfall," your son whispers as you hold him. "You said it yourself." He remembers the week of your wedding, the week he met Tiernan, the week when you said that very thing to him. He is quiet for a time, his lashes going brassy with liquid held in place. There has been too much of that.
Iowerth draws in his tears, pulls the water back in upon itself from the brink of his tear ducts. He is not marked by Charybdis for nothing. Elbows resting on his knees, his rests his face in his hands, his mouth covered. You can feel the tremble in his soul.
"I..." he begins, clearing his throat, "...am going to move back to the Capitol with Ani. I want him to finish school with his friends. I will need help with wedding logistics. We have three potentially before summer: Balthazar, Gruffydd to Arian and Tanira."
He cannot talk about himself, and so he talks about things that need to be fixed, arranged, coordinated.
"How am I going to do it?" His fear and dread are expressed in a calm murmur, his heart haunted by it. "I'm a terrible father..." The rest of Iowerth's words are choked off.
She sits with you, and an arm slides around you, resting her cheek against your upper arm. "It is your downfall, but it is also your salvation, Io," Fiona tells you gently. "You are losing much, and nobody with any sense is going to argue otherwise. Right now it's too soon to look at the recent past, I know, and see the blessings and be reminded that they are blessings. But they are. You've done well."
She cups your face between her hands and draws your head down to kiss your forehead. She's your mother, she's allowed. "You are not a terrible father. Every parent believes themselves to be terrible, darling. Do you think I didn't convince myself I was a terrible mother to you and Gwi and Aeron and Bran? Every single time, I went through the same panic. What do I know about raising children? What do I know about raising boys? And I'll be going through it again with Robin and Wren, just you watch. Ask your father, if you don't believe me; he's had to deal with my weeping fits on more than one occasion, I assure you!"
She hugs you gently. Nothing can fix what is broken, and she knows that all too well. "Things will be all right in the end, Io. They're going to suck. But they'll work out. We will help you, you know that."
He doesn't scoff at the notion of salvation or at the maternal kiss left on his forehead. That is your prerogative. "I have no problem looking at the past," he says after a moment. "I know my blessings. I don't regret anything, other than not spending enough time with Tiernan and the children when they were smaller. I put the crown before everyone. I have to live with that. But I wouldn't change the fact that I fell in love with him and that we went through what we went through. I wouldn't trade my children. I have been fortunate. I'm smart enough to have realized that a long time ago."
Iowerth bends, his hands rubbing his face, his eyes, then raking through his hair. "I'm alright with the past. It's the future I'm dreading," he murmurs. "How to be present for them. How to help them. How am I going to do that when helping myself seems so monumental." Broad shoulders roll a little, helplessly. "You have more faith than I in the future," he notes. "I don't see as far ahead as all that." He pauses for a time, his eyes locking on the space in front of him. "Do you think it would be possible for you to visit the Capitol more frequently? Ani's so young..."
Iowerth can't finish that sentence. He bites off the rest of his words and stands. Hands to his hair, he paces slowly around the chamber, shaking his head. "He's so young," Iowerth continues, looking to the floor, his hands on his hips, "... that having additional adult support will be important..."
Still, nothing for himself.
"We're already making arrangements to spend most of our time in the capitol," Fiona answers you, matter of fact about it. "As for the future, sweetheart, of course I do. You've heard the stories about how your father and I got together. I know where we were then. I know how hopeless things can look. My grandparents, God bless them, went through hell and high water before they could peacefully be together."
She hugs you gently, and kisses your cheek. "We'll help, Io. Of course we will. And it is going to take you time before things are better. But they will get better, eventually. Just not all at once, but I would say that some day, you will turn that corner, and even though the pain of this moment won't be gone completely, you will find life worth living again, and more than just worth living. There will be joy in the days ahead for you, but right now you are entering your darkness. We will do whatever we can for you. Don't turn away the candle flames, my son. Don't forget to light them for your children, as well."
You are speaking English. He recognizes the words. But their meaning is lost on him. Iowerth stands there, locked in place for a moment. He folds his arms against his chest. You know the water of what you say is just washing over him. It will take a long time, perhaps years, for it to carve in him any sense of meaning or truth.
Iowerth nods dumbly to the phantom future. "I appreciate your help, mum." It is all he can say for a time. His jaw clenches as he looks to the floor. "I am here for my children, of course," he murmurs. "But I was only ever a part-time father." Periwinkle eyes shine with water, regret and worry. "How am I going to fill his shoes for them?" He rubs his eyes, squeezing the bridge of his nose to stave off a downpour. Iowerth shakes his head, sighing a soft Welsh curse.
"My heart's a ruin," he whispers. "How do I keep it standing long enough to see them through? Long enough, even, to ... not make Tiernan's final days a complete fucking disaster? Tell me what to do..." He draws in the liquid held at bay in his eyes, his pain and sorrow swallowed, set aside. He cannot think of it. He certainly cannot think that life will go on, god forbid that he himself would ever know joy again. That's a foreign concept. He won't call you a liar, however...
Not to your face, anyway...
"You'll be a full-time father to them. If you need, ask Zafirah if she can stay on longer, until Ani is grown," Fiona says gently. "You aren't alone, but yes, it will feel as if you are, sometimes."
She touches your cheek with her fingertips, a light, cool caress. "There is no good answer, Io. You love him. He loves you. You can't pretend it's not happening, but you can control what memories you and he have of each other at the end. Make them the best that you can. That's all you can do."
Iowerth looks to you then away. The White Queen tells you the truth, whether you are able or ready to hear it or not. His face contorts through the various emotions, each one of them a separate stage of grief, before settling on sad acceptance. He nods, his gaze going to the floor straight to the abyss of the sea in his thoughts.
"I will ask Zafirah to stay for his sake. We'll ... figure it out, I suppose," Iowerth says quietly. "I think I'm going to take a nap while Tiernan's with the family. Wake me for lunch." This hug is quick and light, nothing of his usual holds, and the kiss evaporates upon the White Queen's cheeks; a moment of ocean spray, and then it is gone.
His face drawn, Iowerth begins to turn away, his hands sliding into the pockets of his captain's coat. There is not a man on earth who appears as young as he in the face, but as old as he in the eyes. "Diolch, mum," he mutters, looking back to you.
I love you.... but Queen of Prophecy, don't wish love and joy on my heart again. I cannot take more of this.
She sighs and hugs you. "I'll wake you fifteen minutes before lunch," Fiona calls, rising as you head away. "You won't want to be late for lunch. Not this time, sweetheart."
You will have joy and love. It will just not be the love and joy you expect it to be. I do not need to be prophetic to tell you that, my son. It's the way of the universe...
Just now, mother, the universe can take its way and shove it up its dark matter.
On his way out, the Captain-Once-King, strides the floor like the boards of a deck or halls he once owned. Primal regality is a crutch, but there are times when crutches are called for.
Posted by rowan at August 18, 2010 10:03 PM
