He has left Balthazar's apartments feeling himself in some hurry, although he says nothing of it to anyone. He closes the door - and nearly dives to the ground with the sound of shattering glass, of the explosion which occurs before he even gets all the way down the corridor. Don't run, he tells himself. It'll only make the guards think you did it. Whatever 'it' is.
     Part of him wants to go make sure that Balthazar is, in fact, 'okay'. His sense of self-preservation, combined with the implicit threats made, combined on top of that with the need for him to continue the illusion of hatred or at least distance prevents him from doing so. Pres goes quietly and rather numbly returns to his own chambers, closing the door behind him. If only it were that easy to close out the world. God...
     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. Eventually it dawns on him that maybe he should check his messages; but somehow, he's not feeling motivated. And so he sits there, and he stares off into space.

     It didn't take long for the royal hall to erupt with activity most royal indeed. The king's private security detail materialized immediately, only to be waved off by The High King Consort himself. But as the reverberations of the shock wave moved through the basilica, the High King and Regent themselves became aware of... whatever that was.
     It interrupted a meeting with the Regent and the coronation leadership committee. Lavender eyes lifted and he rose immediately. The leadership committee shared looks and the meeting was dismissed for assessment.
     By the time he got upstairs, the glass was in the process of being swept up. no one -- not you, not Balthazar -- were found there. Arian.... are you okay? Glass crunched beneath the Regent's feet as he walked past his brother's room.
     ....Balthazar...
     The news began to filter in...
     ....Upset. With Tiernan...
     And you were to speak with him today. The Regent, dressed simply in deep violet leathers, boots and an indigo pullover -- something of a vivid, slightly thicker, long-sleeved tee-shirt -- picked up his pace. Arian...
     The door to your chamber opens quickly and Gruffydd is suddenly there, his wings unfurled in case he has to spring into some sort of action. He is looking for you, and he finds you sitting on your sofa. In one piece. He thinks.
     "Are you alright? Were you there, are you hurt?" Gruffydd asks in quiet, but quick succession, his stride carrying him over to you. A hand comes to your head, your face. Yes, he is checking for glass.

     There is no glass that you can see; none save what you've tracked in yourself. He starts when the door opens, a move partially defensive, not entirely relaxing even when he sees that it is you. "I'm okay," Pres answers you, color suddenly returning to his face. It is as if for a moment, he ceased to live, until your arrival restored him to wakeful motion once again.
     He looks up at you, blinking as he comes out of his timeless, motionless reverie. No, no glass. He grabs your hand, squeezing it and inhaling deeply, rising from the couch with some unsteadiness. "I - talked to him, and filled him in." He shrugs, just a little bit. "He didn't seem to want to get into the nuts and bolts, so I pretty much told him I'd handle it. He reminded me he can wipe me out of existence without doing more than blinking, and I figured that was my cue to leave. And I left, and uh, something blew up. I ... well, I hope he's okay, but I'm guessing he blew something up so as not to blow me up, either that or Al Qaida's done a hell of a job tracking me down."

     Gruffydd touches your face. "He said what? He threatened you? His expression is incredulous. This cannot be. Gruffydd looks as ruffled as you've ever seen him. He wears an expression of pure confusion, concern, and even conflict. His serenity remains, somehow, in the composure of his form.
     But he dissipates the look for you. Now he is in problem-solving mode, concern in his eyes yet. "Can you remember what he said, how he said it? What you were both discussing, specifically, in that moment?"
     He places his hands upon your hands. His concern is for you both. "We are going to meet today, before we even come close to having a conversation with Uncle Gwilym. I cannot imagine, in my wildest imagination, what would make him say such a thing or that he would actually threaten and then attempt to hurt you, even if you weren't who you are to me and this kingdom. But clearly you felt threatened and clearly something was broken. I am just glad it wasn't you. I would hate to have to declare war before I'm even inducted."
     Gruffydd draws you into a hug, his hand rubbing your back lightly. A service of calming teas appears. "He is with my father now, both of them," he mentions. "He must be in distress of some kind. It doesn't excuse it, of course." He sighs with a frown. "I'm going to start calling him Nitro..."

     He closes his eyes, trying to think back. Much of the details of the discussion have been driven from his mind by fear, adrenaline, and other emotions. "He just doesn't seem to get a lot of it. I guess he was more sheltered than you were in some ways; I mean, I grew up knowing the world was in some ways a pretty rotten place and that there were people out there who'd want to hurt me. I offered to explain but he didn't seem to want me to, so I just - explained what I could and went on with it."
     He rubs his forehead, eyes still closed. "I don't know what happened in there. Maybe I should've gone back and checked on him, but he seemed to want me out of there enough that - well, it didn't seem like a great idea." Pres sighs, then does open his eyes, looking up at you. "I don't know what I could've done differently. I was trying, Gruff. I swear."

     "I'm not blaming you," he reassures quietly. "I am trying to understand. Now... I will say that he was allowed to ... experience the world in a way that I was not. Perhaps that was in error, but each of the younger brothers and sisters have been allowed, in some respects, to follow the path of their hearts, rather than the path of the crown. My heart and the crown were always one. I've wanted nothing more. But that is me. I was an odd child," he smiles at that.
     He pats your hand in reassurance and affection. "We will speak with him. We were going to meet anyway. I am sure, if I know my brother at all... and maybe I don't," he smirks a little, "... but if I know him as I believe I know him, then he is probably upset with himself. And perhaps you intimidate him more than you realize," he murmurs after. "I think you were wise to give him space. Tea?" he asks you suddenly. And with another pat of your arm, he quietly suggests that you take a seat.
     "Balthazar has had an extraordinary few months. He has gone from a musically gifted, magically gifted young man, a musician, to a Sun King. His energy is fire, sex, fertility, war... but also love, goodness, hope and inspiration. You and I and Uncle Gwilym are going to have to figure out how best to drive that rocket. He is like a nuclear reactor of potential. But he is not yet balanced or confident in a lot of areas. We are going to have to look for the signs of when he is up against a wall, and see if we can talk around it. It is going to take some delicacy. I have every faith in you. But yes... if you feel like you are riding a rocket when you are speaking to him... it's because you are. You've driven powerful machines before, have you not? You know the throttle and clutch... when to push...when to give. You will have to feel him out to use him properly to his best advantage. It's going to take practice," he looks at you as he pours a cup of tea for himself and one for you as well, just in case. It is the polite thing to do. "And he is going to have to learn how to give better signals. And to balance his own energy. We may have to help him a bit, Arian. But it is in our best interest to do so. We need him. And I will help however I can. I'm still feeling him out myself... I don't expect you to be able to hop on board and win the... what... Le Mans? Is that the name of the big race? Well, whichever sort of race..."

     He sits back again, unaware that his hands have begun to shake. "I'm not talking to him one on one again until we can be sure he's not going to blow up at me," Pres answers you flatly. "I mean... no point in making it worse, right?"
     He listens to you, but it's hard to say how much of it's sinking in. You have his attention, by and large, but he's not as focused as he could be. "I never followed racing that much, except for the Cup," by which he means sailing, "and the Derby," which can only mean Kentucky, in the world from which he comes. "I - sorry, I don't know. If I caused it, I'm sorry, I just - if he wants to learn politics, okay, but I don't know. We talk different languages or something. I wasn't being a prick to him. I don't think I was, anyway. I was just... I guess it doesn't matter now, huh."

     Gruffydd notices. He takes a seat beside you, tea left on the table for now. And he places a hand upon your own, giving you his steadiness. "You didn't cause anything. I'm certain of that, Arian. And it does matter. It matters to me how you are feeling, justifiably anxious. I agree that any ... purposes or uses would be better directed with someone else in the room -- me, Gwilym, Aeron or Bran -- until you both feel more confident around one another. There could be something that affected him that we're just not aware of, as well. Perhaps he had a delayed trauma reaction from the storm. He was badly injured -- his first real injury in fact. We won't know until we speak with him. But we will speak, the three of us, before our meeting with Gwilym today. We cannot go into the coronation with this lingering. I think everyone would agree."
     He smiles gently, his lavender eyes gleaming. "And even if not everyone agrees, the Future King is demanding it. So...I think now it would be good to try to relax. To realize everyone is safe. Nothing is damaged apart from windows and tables and bottles of expensive and rare liquors. And we will deal with the Truth, rather than conjecture. Perhaps after a bit of tea, we can lie down for a bit. I think you could do with some quiet..."

Posted by rowan at November 30, 2009 07:24 PM