He sits blindfolded in his living room, a book open in his lap. Nobody is in the room with him; the lights are dimmed and the curtains drawn as he sits there, clad in loose silk trousers and a high-collared silk shirt of white with a blue cresting wave arching from left to right.
     The gold of his hair has finally, inevitably dimmed to pale, metallic silver. Behind the white cloth folded over his eyes and behind his closed eyelids, his irises are the same color. His skin still holds a slight blush to it, the blush of life and health and youth and vigor. He is not an invalid. He is not fragile. But he is slim, bending like a rapier blade, like a willow branch, rather than presenting an unstoppable wall, an iron bar.
     He turns a page. It is the only sound in the dimly lit room. Arian says aloud without thinking, "Come in."

     The knuckle of his right index finger was poised to knock on your suite's main entrance when he hears you speak. King-To-Be or not, he affords you the same rights of privacy that he enjoys. It is only polite. Gruffydd smiles a little, quietly opening the door.
     He is clothed very simply today in deep blue leather and silk. Can you see that in your mind's eye? Gruffydd smiles deeply, if slightly, placing himself there. You see him as he enters, darkly beautiful. "Good afternoon," Gruffydd's voice permeates the space around you, quietly settling upon the air. His peacock wings unpack as he makes his way to you.
     You feel his hand upon the crown of your head. He tips it back to lift your lips to him. And he kisses you. "I am in for the night. I need a day of rest."
     And we do need to talk. There is news that concerns our families. And changing plans...
     But first? Another kiss and then Gruffydd rises from his bend, food arriving in the wake of a wish. There are buttered rolls, Boston beans, there is Boston clam chowder, lobster and other delights of North England.

     He sighs, closing the book and setting it aside as you enter, tilting his face to accept your kiss. As always, it brings him to his knees; the ongoing need he has for you. He rises to his feet to follow you, hands lifting to begin untying the blindfold. "Sure." Arian agrees. "You work too hard, anyway."
     The food smells good, and he sighs contentedly, fumbling with the knots. "What news? Nobody's dead, right?"

     "No, no one is dead. No one is pregnant." He smirks a bit, realizing that you and he have conversations that begin much as his parents' do. "Still," he says more seriously, and with a breath released as he cups chowder into sourdough bowls for you both, "...there is mourning."
     Gruffydd looks to you, his eyes poised to gauge your reaction: "Balthazar and Maddie are taking a break, a cooling off period, and my father has just announced that no treaties for betrothal to Balthazar will be entertained at all or for the foreseeable future." He glances to you as he takes a seat on the sofa, and pours the very early evening's first brandy. "I understand from Tanira that Madison has returned to her rooms here. It has been a very long day for her. I have assigned her compassionate seneschals to ensure her every need or desire is met. Dinner will be delivered. Sabira or Tanira will check on her as well."
     Gruffydd gathers several rolls. "What this means is that we, of course, want to... hold off on inviting your parents here for now. Although, I know you had already spoken to your father some time ago about visiting. They are both still welcome, but...I think it would be best for after the coronation."

     "Mourning, huh." Arian cocks up an eyebrow as he takes off the blindfold, blinking at you. "...Oh, that." He shrugs. "Well, better a break than a break-up, right?"
     He is very nonchalant. He nods about putting it off, moving to help himself to some lobster and some chowder. "I knew it was going to happen sooner or later. I mean, no visions or anything, just logic, right? Pretty obvious, really. So what do you think about it?"
     Really, he's calmer than Balthazar ever would've imagined...

     His eyebrows lift in thought, and he looks to you as he begins on his soup. "I would be about three hundred pounds. Okay, four-hundred, if I lived in Boston," he notes. He looks across to you as he takes a lobster tail.
     "I think it's a wise thing, if unfortunate. I really like your sister. She's a breath of fresh air. Her energy is contagious and if she puts her mind to it, she could do wonderful things no matter which reality she decides to call her own. But right now? They are in very different places. She needs to have a life, her youth, even her freedom to choose her path. Balthazar's path is far more set."
     Gruffydd licks butter from his thumb, remarking on your nonchalance. "You are taking this quite well. I thought that you might wish to have another fist-fight. Though, I don't think it would quite go as well as Dale."

     He grins a little bit at you. "Nah, you wouldn't. There'd be football and soccer matches, sailing, swimming, polo, horseback riding and skiing to help burn it off. To name just a few," Arian tells you. He picks up his spoon and nods. "Yeah, I don't know if she's really set up to be a queen. I mean, emotionally. Maybe eventually. I don't know."
     You comment on his calm, and he shrugs, looking at you with a clear gaze. "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. Part of my concern always was how - well, how easily he just transferred his interest from one to the other. I always felt he was - what's the word? Projecting, I guess, some of what he knows or thinks he knows about Gillian onto Maddie. And in some ways, yeah, they're very alike. And in others..."
     Arian shrugs, taking a spoonful of the chowder before he continues. "This is good, thanks. - Look, Maddie has lots of potential. But she's at a different place in her life than he is, as you say. Moreover, she's in a different place than Gillian is. She's not ready to get married yet - even Gillian's not really, and she's had the sense to draw really big lines in the sand about everything. She won't marry Bran until she's gotten her master's. I'm still not sure why she's marrying Bran if she doesn't love him, but that's her business, I guess."
     He tears off a piece of bread, dipping it in the chowder and bringing it up to eat it. "...Anyway, it sucks that they got to this point, but taking a break is a lot better than 'whoops, my bad, here's a free ticket back to New Hampshire, see ya never'. Maybe Mads'll decide she wants to be a queen; I don't know. I still don't think he handled them hooking up properly and I still think that it was transference of affections rather'n hooking up with Maddie just because of who she is, but they've been together long enough that that's clearly not their only reason for being together. He loves her, she loves him, and sometimes it sucks but people in love don't get to stay together. He's doing things by the book, and I'm betting he feels like shit, so why should I beat him up or try to? Besides, Gillian's gonna get here soon, she's going to do more than enough of that, I'd bet."

     Gruffydd listens to you as the lobster steadily disappears (after taking a swim in butter). "I think he loves her independently from Gillian. Though... your concerns are certainly logical. Balthazar," he pauses, breaking bread and dipping it into the chowder, "... is sensitive to Love. It is his nature. He is a very loving person. But ...unlike you and I," he smiles, "...he can only go in one direction at a time. He is so loyal, so fixated. But... he is a beam of sunlight. That is his nature. His focus, once applied, is celestial."
     The chowder-soaked bread disappears. "I am glad to hear that you feel that he is doing things by the book. I am relieved. I was concerned that you might be upset." Lavender eyes sparkle darkly at the mention of Gillian's arrival. "He will quickly learn the lesson of not getting between sisters." He sighs, his face showing a brother's concern. "His heart is very tender. Very sensitive. I am certain he feels worse for her than for himself. He will isolate, deny himself pleasure, if he is in pain. I will keep my eyes on him. And you... it might be good if you had a drink with him. I'm sure he will come to speak with you once he can speak about it. Knowing him, he's probably too upset to speak on it tonight."
     Gruffydd takes a break from eating for a moment, turning his attention to the pear brandy. He sits back with a quiet breath. "Do you know when she is due to arrive?" He notes your comment about Bran. He has no reply for that. He can't imagine Bran marrying anyone ... anyway... let alone someone who was not really into him. But... that's Bran's issue to sort out.

     "Probably any minute now. I know she was sent for." Arian shrugs, putting his bowl aside. "I can have a drink with him, sure. In private's better, though." He is still maintaining his charades. "I don't expect him to be ready to talk about it yet. But, y'know - Maddie's resilient, more resilient than Gillian. This might actually help her, in the long run."
     He picks up his lobster, beginning to methodically crack open the shell further. "If you want to know anything else, y'know, I'm happy to tell you. Is there?"

     "I will leave that up to you," Gruffydd notes quietly. He smiles, his fingers offering you a morsel of butter soaked lobster. "And I hope it helps her. I am tremendously fond of young Madison. I can see why he loves her. But then, I do have the best of the bunch," he murmurs. "I think that is it for now, hmm? Unless you have more to say. We will see how it unfolds. Let us be compassionate and have open hearts for our brother and sister. And...I will pray tonight that Gillian leaves him intact..."
     Smiling, he brushes your lips with the butter, depositing the treasure between your treasured lips. Gruffydd's mouth spreads into a slow, melting smile of desire coupled with adoration.

     There is nothing he wishes to share that he cannot share with his eyes. They turn up towards you from under his eyelashes, and he takes the morsel of lobster between oiled lips; takes it, and your fingers, suckling the meat free with a flick of his tongue to draw it away from you and a tiny but deliberate scrape of his teeth against your knuckle.
     Arian sinks back against the cushions, sprawling artlessly as he chews on the piece of lobster you've given him, spreading an arm along the back of the sofa, spreading his thighs as well. And the look he gives you shows louder than words that he is more than ready to put thoughts of siblings, yours or his, out of his mind.

Posted by rowan at January 07, 2010 04:09 PM