There is a sudden, terrible wracking of emotion. It shakes his body. And like a summer storm, it passes just as quickly.

     As hands join from couple to couple, Gruffydd glances to his lover. It's perfect, actually. Just family. Just friends. We're all holding one another's hands. And the promise is a simple one. Love one another.

     Maria is silent for a moment, and her eyes too fill with tears. "Oh," she answers softly. She crosses to Gruffydd, looking up at him and reaching to touch his cheek. "Tiernan has been the foundation of this family," she says quietly, turning to both the Wests and holding her hand out to Arian. "This will rock us all to our knees."

     "I wish that I could remain forever with you. Unfortunately... my time here is coming to an end, children."

     "My occasion is... the chef threw me out of the kitchen. It's the last day he can really do that. I had to let him get one more in. My brother appears to be sweating out a ... fever..." He nudges his brother with a toe. "Naked..."

"And I'm not letting you go. Just because we have other people who bring us love and pleasure doesn't mean it's not you and me against the world, you know. You'll be a great king. And even if you're a king, you'll still be the only man I throw apples at."

     Gruffydd rises, donning his hat and veil once more. "There has never been a more devious Cupid and Eros than we." The veil is pulled across his face, covering all but his eyes. His eyes fix on you with wicked humor.

     "I pretty much knew something like this was going to happen sooner or later. She's younger than he is and she has no idea what she wants to do with her life. She fell for him based on Gillian's letters and when Gillian dumped him she moved in right away to try snapping him up for herself. But it doesn't work like that, that smoothly, outside of books and movies..."

     "I have been in the shadow of a star all my life," he smiles a little. "And I have made choices, being your younger brother, being the one to come behind you, to avoid competing directly with you. You are... an incredibly difficult act to follow..."

     Not really. I'm learning the Art of Faking It. His mouth, blushed as ripening fruit, curves upward as he cracks open a solar eye. Faking it though he may be, his humor is at least true -- and returned.

     No sooner do I think I have myself together when something happens, and I am thrown into confusion. Now, mind you, I am easily confused so... take it as you like it.

     "...I am very sorry if I made you anxious by blowing up my own room. I'm also sorry that you are going to have to bear the burden of your guise with me. I cannot pretend to dislike you. Without truth, Preston, I am nothing."

     Gruffydd exhales quietly, a hand going to his curly dark hair, mussing it as he walks toward the seating area. Tanira...my wise sister. I could use your words today. Are you available?

     He sits heavily on the first couch he comes across, staring into space. He is shell-shocked, a little. There's nothing he needs to do about it, and, in fact, little he can do about it, and so he just sits there.

     "..."They're watching for weaknesses in the link that they can exploit. If they don't see any here, they'll move on to find something more exploitable, or they'll turn to make a weakness, through political imbroglio, through violence, through disruption of trade, through a bit of everything..."

     "I am the most fortunate man I know," he says quietly to his wife, to his consort. "When times ahead are difficult and dark," Gruffydd says quietly, with acknowledgement of what he has seen, what he knows, "... we will be able to trust in this, and I to find solace in the arms of those I love."

     "You know, you can't keep this up indefinitely." Fiona appears in the doorway of your office, bulging belly and all, with the cheeky impunity of being your grandmother, the king's mother, and pregnant. It is a triple threat nobody really wants to counter.

     "That is a lot of news," he says softly to you. He turns his head to kiss your forehead. "You are just the queen I need. For a thousand reasons. The most important, of course, is that I love you..."

     "I feel...both empty and full," he says, turning his head to you. "I am both energized and tired. I am standing on the edge of dreaming and forever. I... am nervous," he whispers it. "Not in a bad way. Just..." he smiles a little, "... just nervous. We are about to create something, something very big."

     "He is incredibly brilliant," Gruffydd quietly notes. "Very sensitive. But he's our heart and soul. I'm glad you were able to meet him tonight, Preston..."

     He knows it as soon as he thinks it, feels it. It rings with a whole, pure note in his heart. Gruffydd's hand lifts, lightly running through your mussed, strawberry-blond hair. It is time.

     "I don't hate him," Pres mutters, closing his eyes with a shiver as you brush his nape. His arms tighten around you a little. "I just don't like him. Look, there's a value in dislike - it doesn't mean we can't be civilized about it, okay?"

     She lifts her glass in a light sort of a toasting movement. "To family, then, and togetherness. And to the future, may it be ever so fruitful."

     Gruffydd is quiet a moment, thinking upon what you say. "I could have done a better job today. I admit that I... took his concerns fairly lightly. I thought he was being a little dramatic. Irritated, certainly. And that's understandable. But I didn't mean to imply that I was choosing Preston over him.

     "Yes, there is another way out, Preston. You can take a flying leap off the balcony," Balthazar calls out. Strike one for Mister Nice Guy.

     "This too shall pass," he sighs. "It doesn't make it any easier, of course," there is a smile for that. "I would recommend speaking with your sisters after lunch," he gently says. "I find that the less time something like this has to sit, the better. Generally speaking."

     Really, the most unexpected part is that it's in Wales, in a castle, and not somewhere more expected for a scion of Prep such as Preston Oliver West III.

     "The Birth of Venus," Gruffydd says suddenly, grand peacock wings making themselves known, spreading with relaxation. "You remind me of the Botticelli painting." He shimmers in his own exotic grandeur, made more so by merely being in your shimmering presence.

     "...Just as all myths exist, and all dreams, all religions are valid expressions. No one is right," he smiles to you. "And no one is wrong. God did not create religion. It created the universe. The rest is ...cave painting and storytelling. From Stonehenge to Notre Dame, it is all the same."

     What's behind the curtain, Jack? Choose door A or B.

     He looks between brothers and eyes them with the internal weariness of a man who's never had kids. "Time out." Gwilym does the internationally recognized signal for it of the tee of hands.

     "You do not have to feel weak. The power to feel strong is in your grasp. It is up to you. You determine your self worth. Being with a man, intimately, emotionally, sexually, does not make you a girl anymore than it makes you a banana."

     The only trouble with world-views is that they tend to narrow one's view on everything. And so... goggles off, Preston West. The world's just gotten a great deal more interesting...

     As Serendipity would have it, I believe there is a young man who may be capable of filling a role. He desires to learn, to do something meaningful with his existence. He yearns for that meaning and to find himself a place in one world or another. Perhaps this is what his destiny had in mind for him.

     "What if I were to tell you that your wish to be a seafaring adventurer could come true. In fact, that somewhere there are tall ships that still sail and spices that are still contested. What would you say were I to tell you that I could make this dream of yours a reality?"

     Long sweeping lashes lift their curtains to you, the lavender eyes sparkling in the spreading of his smile, the sunset of the day, and all its deepening delight.

     "Once upon a time..."

     I'll be expecting you at my location in not more than ten minutes, please. Finish whatever you're doing.

     "Why is he treated as an adult, when he has a far more reckless history than I, and I am treated like a child asking my younger uncle May I, Might I?"

     Up above, a squat raven settles on the Crow's Nest (where else?). Ugh. Romance. I think I'm going to be ill.

     "The worst thing I've done all week is fall in love. Before this, I was boring prince Gruffydd. Gruffydd the Level Headed. Gruffydd, the Four Cornered Prince of the United Kingdoms..."

     I've found her. Not all I've found. I'll be right there - just hold your horses.

     Fresh off of the shower-inducing hug given by the squealing young girl -- that's going to keep him up for hours -- the shock of seeing is grandmother (and grand-aunt) as the offered chaperone is enough to send him reeling. "Nainie?" he proclaims in shock.

     Tiernan steps back, looking at you with quiet pride. You have faced a hard truth. Now you are ready to begin.

     Affectionate blue eyes look at that sleeping form, the note left where he will find it. No emergency, but something's come up. I've gone to see to it, will be back. I love you, always and forever. - T.

     Dear Commander Izzard, in the off-chance that I am being held up at gun point by a hooded pirate, do me the favor of sending a charge toward the castle's main gate. Don't let's panic, however. Just... very quietly...send a detachment to meet me. No running. You know what they say about running with scissors. I'm sure that applies to swords as well.

     "I like you," Maria tells you crossly, making an accusation of the words. "I did not want to like you, Gruffydd ap Iowerth. I - I will get you to my mother. I will think about what you're asking and tell you once I've thought about it. Take it or leave it!"

     A moment of peace. In such ambassadorial journeys, such moments are rare indeed. And so, for a moment, to enjoy the moment, Gruffydd does not rush off headlong into other entertainments. Instead, he lifts his gaze to the boughs of the tree at hand, and reaches up to select a worthy apple.

     For a moment, his smile moves a bit in his eyes. You are growing up. But not that much. You are a boy still. "Being crown prince makes it difficult. It was so for us. Do you want my advice on what you should do, or just to listen?"