Blissfully unaware of impending doom, Iowerth Rhudd Draig lies on his bed, still in the lounging clothing that covered him for a more modest breakfast with his youngest of all sons and his husband. He has not moved far. There is no need to when on vacation. The bed can be a caravan of camels, a flotilla of flying carpets, a tall ship on the high seas, or any number of similarly luxurious beds in palaces all over the world. Both of them.
     His copper-bronze hair, fiery in his rejuvenation, is thick and mussed, waves lending themselves well to a modern cut. His upper body, shoulder, arms and torso are clothed only in his tattoos -- of seadragons at play in the cosmos, a link to his past and his present. They are bridged now, blended now. He no longer sacrifices one for the other. He can truly be said, in this moment, to have it all.
     And all he really needs is in the bed with him, his dark head on his tattooed shoulder. Iowerth turns his head and smiles, his fingers playing in his husband's dark curls as both of them take this slice of time to read, to think, to sigh, and not have to speak. Closing periwinkle eyes, Iowerth kisses his husband's forehead.
     It is like being drunk on Peace and Love and Joy, comes the light stroke of an idle thought. Iowerth smiles. Whatever is in the air, whatever pollen of Love is blowing through this garden palace, it has created a kind of second honeymoon, where looks are long, touches are constant, and sighs and laughter and panted breaths may be shared at any moment in the day.
     Iowerth's finger pauses upon the turning of a page, glancing down to you to see if you are ready. You read the same book, in this case, a seafaring adventure written in the 18th Century. The book is propped up so that one hand may master it, while his other lingers in the dark hair that he loves. That dark hair that peeped beneath the wool cap on the docks one day after a long separation and completely captured him. His fingers curl against your scalp. "I forgot how good a story this was," Iowerth murmurs. But most of all, how wonderful it is just to lie in bed with you, no worries for the day. Just this. Just you.

     Your husband is shirtless, wearing loose white cotton trousers whose only purpose is for lounging. He is lounging; with you, taking pleasure in the idleness of the afternoon, leaning up against you with eyes half-closed. It is such luxury.
     It isn't that the big is large (it is), or the room well-appointed (it's that too). Both could be small and dull and he would be just as contented. Tiernan shifts and slides an arm around your waist, cheek brushing your shoulder as he nods that you can turn the page. He closes an eye lazily, then reopens it as you speak.
     I have missed this. These moments, like this, when there is nothing to get in the way.
     "It is good," Tiernan agrees, voice low and agreeable in his murmur. "Remember when we were nineteen, twenty, and we were bearing down on those kidnappers on the Priscilla? It reminds me of that. The same grim urgency. And confidence that right would triumph."
     He laughs, almost soundlessly, and closes his eyes. His arms tighten around you and he kisses your shoulder. I love you. I am so glad you are here.

     Iowerth smiles and as he turns the page, he turns his head to look at you. "That was a good battle," he agrees, and he remembers. He can smell the cannon smoke still. "My favorite was the bait and switch runs on the Reef Islands, The red pirates never knew what hit them." In memories, the book really has no chance to compete. You and he had better adventures than any that can be read in another's telling.
     His left hand sets the book aside for a moment, and he turns to face you more, his face near yours, his other hand still in your hair. Time is starting to peel away from you both, lifting worry wrinkles and sunlines, darkening hair that had grown lighter or silver in the passing of time beneath the sun of your kingdom. For a moment, there is just stillness. It is as if Time were halting right here, this bed, this castle, this moment.
     "And I love you," he whispers, winding a black curl around his finger. "And there is no other place for me than where I have always belonged. Isn't this nice," Iowerth says with a smile. "To feel, in the quiet, what has been there all along."
     Periwinkle rimmed with green softens as he looks at your face. His face, seemingly no more than twenty-nine, holds all of the memories and wisdom of having aged gracefully (mostly) with you. His hand brushes against your dark hair, and then your cheek. "It is time," he whispers, and he grins.
     And how does he know?
     Because it feels right. Completely. There is no regret, no wait and see. It is time, merely because it is.
     Hand cradling your cheek, Iowerth brushes your mouth with his, his smile coaxing open your mouth.

     He smiles at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as his eyes meet yours. Again his arms tighten around you, the look he gives you holding the glow of adoration that he has greeted you with since almost the day you met. "It is nice," Tiernan agrees quietly. "It is perfect."
     Perfection cannot last, or say they say. But he has no hurry in him to make the moment end sooner. Blue eyes greet your periwinkle ones, his cheek leaning into the cup of your hand. You kiss him, and he does not argue; he luxuriates in the kiss, answering it with the gentle pressure of his own mouth.
     I will follow you anywhere. As I always have...

     There is an image that comes between you -- perhaps it is shared, perhaps it is projected -- of a blue-green sea, the white-capped waters of some warm ocean, and The Drake's swift lean to take them on. He is dressed in whites and blues, the colors of his youth, and the wind toys with his hair like slender fingers of some flirting girl. But no young girl has ever really claimed him. There have only been two hands that have done so: yours. And you are there with him. You and he are at the bow of your ship, heading off to open waters...
     When the kiss parts, before it becomes a start of another round, the image is still there, held in his eyes and in yours. "After the summer festival here," Iowerth says, "...and another of our sons becomes a king, we will crown our replacement. And you and I will take Ani with us and head for open waters. He will see the world with us until his eyes are full."
     Iowerth lifts his hand from your cheek to play with your hair again. It is such the aphrodisiac. So simple, so intimate. "What do you think of this," he wonders. "Are you ready?"

     He sighs, a quiet exhale, and he nods. "Until his eyes are full, if such ever occurs. We will have to say many farewells. We will have to find out how Zafirah will wish to do things. Ani should not be saying farewell to his mother."
     He is adamant on such points. Sacrifices he will make on his own behalf, but never for his sons and daughters. And he looks up at you, and he smiles again, that slow, warm, spreading smile. You make the bottom drop out of the earth, for me. When I am near you, I know that deus above is watching.
     His hand lands gently on your shoulder, and he pulls himself up to kiss you lightly. "Probably less ready than I would like to be. I am a perfectionist," Tiernan admits laughingly, self-effacing. "But it is time. We still have things to do, but our time in these roles has come to an end. I think Gruffydd will struggle more than he believes he shall - and that struggle will be good for him. It will season him, and bring him what he needs, not just what he desires. Balthazar has your brother watching over him; he will be fine. He just won't believe he will be fine..."

     "While the three of us are here, we should speak of it," he murmurs. "Not today," there is a little flash in his eyes. "I have no intention of moving until supper calls," no, for this feels far too good, is far too needed. Iowerth laughs as you laugh: Yes, I know say his eyes. "Let not the Perfect be the enemy of the Good Enough."
     The light kiss is accepted and returned. "We ... all of us... would not have been here were it not for you. Our sons will be okay," Iowerth's smile is gentle, knowing. "They will struggle, even as we did. But they will find their way. I have every confidence that your lessons will carry them through and help balance out the energies they gained from me," he has his own moment of self-effacing humor.
     Arms around you, Iowerth rolls onto his back again, and he brings you with him. There is nothing he enjoys more than to lie with you as he blanket. The better to see you, my dear, yes. "It is what he needs. And he will find his balance. Gruffydd...will bring about the peace we started. And he will broaden it, I think. He will need help, but he will find it." And Balthazar. You see him, from your vantage, soften upon thoughts of his second son. "He is so sweet natured, the best of you and I both. He is something of a self-skeptic. But he has love. And so long as he remembers that, and believes in that, he will be fine. He tries hard, our Balthazar," Iowerth smiles. "One day he will believe himself not to be so small and unimportant a thing. I'm not sure where he got that idea," brows furrow for a moment, not deeply but in the curiosity that comes from simply not knowing, "but he will find his footing. And who knows... maybe Maddie will be his touchstone, his reminder and his anchor, even as you have been mine..."

     He smiles, thighs parting so that he lies over you like a blanket, allowing you to bear his weight as he bends to kiss you sweetly. My heart needs no other. "I am afraid he gets that from me," Tiernan confesses, "though I have never told him it. It will take time. His skin is too large for him; Balthazar is still growing into it. I look forward to when he does, for oh, he will be a grand young man. He already is."
     A hand finds its way to your cheek, smoothing against your skin, feeling for stubble. "Gruffydd will find it. He needs someone who can help him be a man as well as a king, though; he is so steeped in the kingliness of his role in life that he has trouble opening his heart to others as equal, to being vulnerable. That worries me. But it is well out of our hands now..."5r He kisses you again, gently and lingeringly, tongue rolling against your lips for a moment. In his heart, he hears the ocean calling him, as it always has. "I think," Tiernan says finally, "that we must be gone before summer's death."

     And the ocean's child, now man, parts his lips to your kiss. No one has ever kissed him, touched him as you do, as you have. He has been vulnerable to a few over the years, but none so completely as with you. Iowerth acquiesces to you, his arms lifting to surround your waist. "We will be," Iowerth notes with a single nod. "It is time for us to give it to them. I think, perhaps, we weren't waiting for us... or Ani... or even Gruffydd. I think," he says smiling, "...we were only waiting for the Sun to rise over the horizon to give us the tide to leave."
     And he will miss us... as we will miss him. But we will see him. We will see them all. We're not going off to some happy hunting ground never to be heard from again. It is as much a reminder to himself as to anyone.
     Iowerth spreads beneath you, giving you ample parts of him to cover and enjoy. "Gruffydd will find it," he smiles to you. "He has his Zafirah. He will find his Tiernan eventually. It was too much to hope, my darling, for Maria to be both. She has grown to a wise woman, she is an excellent queen and she keeps him happy and confident. But we have always known he would need another. A piece is missing yet. When it clicks into place, he will remember he is a man as well as a majesty. Right now, majesty will do."
     Hands slip beneath the cotton at your hips, as he holds himself to you. "They will always have us... and always need us," he whispers to you. Iowerth smiles. "And I will always need you," he murmurs with a growing grin. "Soon, we will be able to sleep in bed as long as we want and look up to see a sea of stars over our heads. You followed me. Now... I follow you. Wherever you wish to go. Wherever you go, I will be."

     We will always be watching our children. Wherever we go. Tiernan smiles, a bit sadly; it is a Change, and a big one. And it tears at him in places. But it is right, and he knows that it is. His breathing quickens slightly as your hands steal beneath the cotton, his weight pressing down against you slightly.
     "Will you miss being king?" Tiernan asks you, his hand smoothing your hair back from your brow. "And yes. Time will tell. But I will not lead you."
     He smiles again, and kisses you soundly. "Where we go next, we go together," Tiernan tells you quietly, tapping his finger to your lips. "Yes? Where that will be... we'll find out. Who knows," he adds with a humorous slant to his voice, eyes creasing at the corners with his smile, "we might let Ani pick. You know how much he loves maps."

     There is sadness for him too... just in the changing of schedules. He will miss seeing Balthazar and Gruffydd on a daily or semi-daily basis, as all parent go through at some point. It is the right thing to do, and it is a hard thing to do. Iowerth feels the same pangs; he shows them to you in his smile. But there is also adoration and joy there. "I won't miss it, no. I would have a few years ago, even last year. But now... now it is time for us to do other things. I am looking forward, not back.
     Iowerth grins; he likes that idea. "We will let Ani pick. We will pull out all of the maps of the two worlds. He might need the rest of the summer to study them and make an educated decision," he chuckles at that and kisses the finger that taps on his lips. "He got that from both of us," though he is really your son with Zafirah, there is still a hint of Iowerth there. For do you not carry Iowerth within you wherever you go?
     "Do you know what I want right now?" he whispers between you, his smile hooking. "I want my husband," he whispers to you.

Posted by rowan at June 08, 2009 06:19 PM