There is a stretch of sand along the island's coast that is kept mostly private. The occasional centaur guard will pass by on his or her rounds, but by and large there is only the sea and the shore, brilliantly private for the king's own pleasure. Every other stretch of sand not occupied by a pier or ship is occupied by the inhabitants of the Island of the Crescent Moon. Men, women, children, centaurs, sylphs, fairies old and young, dark or fair, crowd the shores in summer jubilation. Winter seems a world away just now.
     Bare feet sink into the warm, dry sand. It is a comfort, a meditation, a freedom -- and the king revels in it silently. His clothing is simple, white spun silk that repels the crystals of sand, sending them sliding back to the ground whenever he steps. The shirt is open. He needs no jewelry. His galactic markings adorn him better than any jeweler's wares. Comets and stars, galaxies and nebulae mark his skin in vibrant tones -- red and blue, violet and orange.
     Iowerth Rhudd Draig, High King of the motley throng that crowds the shores, smiles and he glances back toward the sound of someone's child squealing in delight. All of his children are too old for that now. But instead of wistful, he is simply proud. He slides his hands in silken pockets and strolls. There is no more talk of when he will step aside for his eldest son. His eldest son is being vetted. That will take some time. And to be perfectly honest, he isn't ready. Not yet. Not quite yet.
     Burnished bronze hair -- touched with gold from the summer sunlight -- blows a bit about him, the layers sticking up here and there, wayward, like that of a carefree captain-prince. The very one he once was -- and still very much is. He turns to look away from the others, away from the view of the pristine sea, to the one who walks with him. Iowerth smiles, giving his lover a little shoulder. "The sea has always been kind to us," he says. "It was kind of her to give you a day off." Grinning, Iowerth looks ahead. "Of course, storms off the southern islands didn't hurt either. One might, if one did not know me better," he drawls out in that droll familiar tone, "...think that I asked the clouds to give you a day off."

     He does not talk much, even now, except when there are in fact words to be said. He smiles as he watches his lover; and there is knowledge in that smile, of time and patience and years. His lover. His husband. He has come to terms with his place, and that he deserves what he has - which is in and of itself something of a minor miracle. He's left his shoes - he doesn't really remember where he's left his shoes...
     There is his heart, in his eyes, as it always has been. "Well, the warehouses are full," Tiernan explains quietly (and likely unnecessarily), "and I'm not one to send my ships out into the storms." The corners of his eyes and mouth crease with amusement, and not-so-secret delight for the thought that you might still resort to such stratagem to gain his undivided attention. "As you know, my king. Though I am ever at my king's disposal." He bows, cotton shirt twisting against solid flesh with the motion.
     I love you, still and always, Iowerth. He does not put it where you will pluck it. He says it to himself, for the pleasure of having said it, straightening from his bow to follow you in the sand, hands sliding into his pockets. His dark hair is streaked with silver more liberally now; his children and yours have put grey in where once there was only black. "The sea has always had blessings in store for us, Io. We just haven't always interpreted them correctly. So..." And he glances sidelong with that slow and spreading tug of a smile. "...Did you, really..."

     There is, at first, no expression. Which is, of course, all the answer you need. His following smile is not necessary; the twinkle in his eyes no more revelatory than that one flash of perfect stillness. "I must have tossed and turned in my sleep," his voice tugs slowly to keep from clapping in laughter. "The clouds must have misunderstood me. Certainly." Periwinkle eyes sparkle in the wink that follows.
     He is gold to your now silver. The more silver-grey you get, the more burnished he becomes. His hair has gone from fiery red to brassy bronze. Very little true red remains. With all of this sunlight, he'll end up a blond by the winter festivals. He looks at you, a hand sliding from his pocket so that he may surround your shoulders with that same arm.
     "In fact, I hear that the storms may last into next week. Whatever shall we do," he chuckles. "Oh, sweet commerce," he sighs with great theatrics. His arm lowers, the embrace sliding to rest quite comfortably at your waist. How many years -- he can't remember anymore -- have the two of you walked arm in arm like this in the pure an open sunlight? How long ago was it that you were both slinking around, naughty boys hiding in shadows?
     With a slight embrace, his arm recedes, locking with your own as he slides his hand back in his pocket once more. "I was thinking that you and I could go to Greece. I haven't been sight-seeing in a while. Of course, I know Greece is not so different from our own islands, by design." Iowerth smiles to you. "Maybe we we should go to the Alps instead."

     There is a laugh, quiet and under his breath, but you are able to hear it all the same. "You are trying to forestall my retirement," Tiernan tells you without ire, his smile remaining as he leans for a moment - just a moment! - into your embrace. "To make more of a challenge for the boys when they step up." After all, just because son number one will be a king of empire does not mean that the others will not have empires of their own. Nor will they and their brothers always be perfectly in harmony; why should maturity not mimic childhood?
     He stays in gait with you, smile given to you with a measure of joy found in your company, as always. He is so easily made whole, oes?
     "Greece," Tiernan agrees readily. "We could go there. It may not be altogether different, but neither will it be the same. For one, there will be none to cry king, your majesty, hail in Greece." He chuckles, shuffling a little sand over onto your foot with his own. "But let us take things in their turn. Greece, first. The Alps, later. No elephants..."

     "I am going to have to do something about my transparency," Iowerth drawls out again, his mouth sliding that old familiar grin. "Or I run the risk of becoming invisible. But with the risk of being translucent," and he is in the sunlight -- white silk and sun do nothing to promote modesty, "... there's no need to be in a rush. We go when we are both ready and when we don't think boys in their forts will tug it all down." He laughs at the thought. He is not worried about Gruffydd or Balthazar, and certainly not for Anierin. In truth, he is waiting for Anierin to grow up. The boy is only ten.
     "We will have to find out what the year and season are. I shall leave that to you, who have yet a foot on either shore..."

     There is a splashing in the water -- but with so many waves breaking against the shore, it's hardly a surprising sound. Just past the barrier reef, on the shore-side of the breaker, a dolphin arches in a dance. It rises. It submerges. When it rises again, the dolphin has the form of a man -- a very strong man. But swimming in these waters is no easy task, to be sure. Long limbs fan outward, a motion like a butterfly stroke, as he makes his way toward the nearby crowded shore. As the water becomes more and more shallow, his swimming strokes change -- slowing, becoming more graceful, until he must stand.
     The water breaks from his legs, from the shoulders and back carved by swimming in the deepest waters. Cerulean hair is long, and twined with the jewels of the deep, shining glass, it sparkles and it moves as silken as it no doubt does beneath the waves despite the fact he is now surrounded by air, not water. Strength and Grace and Beauty, he wanders naked from the water, emerging bit by bit until he is standing upon the sand.
     The necklace he wears is removed, the braided cloth becoming suddenly functional as it is unwound and becomes a thin, aquamarine wrap.
     Those mermen -- they think of everything.

     He turns to you, and the signs all point to a kiss. The urge is there in his eyes, held in check only by him, himself. He smiles; it is as always, a smile of such singular sweetness, and his hand emerges from his pocket to touch your shoulder. "You will find everything ready for us when it is time," Tiernan tells you quietly. He has by now conglomerates; the boy wonder who lurked in shadows when the parent company was formed so short a time ago (by the standards of that world) has given way to a more mature man. One who raises no eyebrows when he turns up at the rare board meeting, with such distinguished silver streaks and such incredible Italian clothing - who, after all, would think of it? Not that such appearances aren't rare.
     He looks as if he would like to say more - an I love you in his eyes, if not in his words, when he turns to peer towards the splashing with sudden surprise, looking to you. More of your surprises? Tiernan looks, a slight furrowed frown of confusion that clears to mere surprise... and... something else...
     He is blushing, your lover is, caught entirely off guard in a way that your children would disbelieve if even told about...

     What is this?
     Iowerth grins at your blush, the question -- What did I do? -- firmly planted on his expression. He sees you turn your head and he instinctively does the same (and no doubt also the guards who are discreet but nevertheless following the king an his consort prince. Humor and curiosity have their sway, as the king pauses his steps to turn his head.
     He double-takes no less than you do, catching first the sight of a naked Agapios and then the sight of Agapios -- the years have been too kind to him -- tying the wrap around his waist in only partial discretion.
     "Do you want to go speak to him?" Iowerth wonders quietly. His voice is even as a king's should be. But you know your husband better. The sight of your blushing, so deeply, and for someone else. That someone else.
     A kingdom of thousands of islands, an he has to swim here? Iowerth turns away from the sight of his lover's lover, his hands sliding back into his trousers.

     Your vision, Tiernan, is yours alone. Agapios -- the dolphin-merman with the champagne kisses -- has not seen you. His arms raise overhead, and gathering the sea-colored hair into his grasp, he squeezes the excess water from it as he moves from wet, packed sand to dry. The ocean breeze plays with the thin cloth, lifting and lowering, giving glimpses to what you yourself have known.

     He rubs your shoulder, then lets his hand drop. He knows you and your moods all too well. "I doubt he is looking for me," Tiernan tells you quietly. He answers not what you have said but what he thinks you think; his hand returns to his pocket self-consciously, and he looks at you with reddened cheeks rather than look at his erstwhile lover. But he can't ignore it forever; and he knows it. He clears his throat, quietly, then turns with mild resignation.
     Either you will follow, or you won't...
     He does not head towards the merman by a direct route. Instead, he moves along the beach until he is halfway between you both. King and merman, with Tiernan in between. Not for the first time...
     "Good afternoon." He does do his best not to stare, gaze fixed at a level point on the sea over a mer shoulder. "You are a long way from home." He stands there, hands in his pockets, bare feet buried in sand and slowly sinking deeper. And he waits to see, with stoic resignation, what will happen this time.

     For now...Iowerth won't. Though the episode is upsetting -- and the blushing too deep for his own taste -- he is not the young man he once was, tempestuous when jealous. He is a grown man, a respectful and respected man, and once more he's a king. He gives you privacy, not by moving further away from you and the specter out there in all his glory on the shore but simply by turning away.

     The blue-haired man turns toward the voice, and his own form registers surprise. You have changed, but you are still the same. He has changed as well, but when he smiles he is still Agapios. No matter how... grand -- in all sense of the word -- he has become. The smile is true, and he turns toward you and begins to close the distance.
     As he always has between you...
     "Good afternoon to you, friend." There is a look given to the other figure out there, some distance from you now. The king. There is a bit of sympathy there. He could understand how this might seem. "This is a surprise. Though, I do not know why. You live here." He laughs, delighted. His blue hair hangs over his shoulders. "And life has treated you well. I can scarcely move upon the sea without hearing of your successes."

     Iowerth does not look to where you and Agapios stand, so close, in one another's company. His gaze instead goes to the sea itself. He takes a seat, his arms extending behind him and bracing him up.

     He is not quite sure what to say or do, as he has never been not quite sure, where you are concerned. Tiernan glances over his shoulder; on the one side, behind him, his husband. On the other side, in front of him, his (former) lover. "It is indeed a surprise," he agrees quietly, "the moreso as if it were not for his majesty's pleasure, I should not be here today." How many ways could that be taken, how many meanings buried in it? It is a portmanteau of definition; how very and essentially Tiernan.
     He smiles, however, without disdain, even if your presence worries him (for not his own sake's, but that of his husband). There is no reason for him to be churlish, and he does not believe that anyone would want it of him. He could, of course, be wrong. "It has been a very long time. You look well, Agapios."
     There. Your name's been spoken. Given o'er to the air, which may do with it as it sees fit. But it is proof; you have not been forgotten. The past may be in the past, but it has left its mark upon the page...
     He holds his ground without retreating or advancing, hands folded behind his back. "I have tried to do what I can," Tiernan answers your talk of his success simply enough. "I hope that you fare as well? I confess, I had no expectation of finding you here; neither of us had." Or, no doubt, he would've been steered somewhere else.

     There is still a fondness there. Just because your morality did not allow you to keep multiple lovers does not mean his has such boundaries. You were and are still a love of his. But that love exists simply, like the sun. It has no residue of regret or sadness. His page, too, is marked. "Thank you, Tiernan. Oannes has been kind to me, and the many oceans in between. I am one of her magistrates and here... not so infrequently. Every four years or so for the shipping and sea-trade summits."
     He stands there for a moment, looking between you and the distant figure of the seated king. "I shouldn't keep you," Agapios murmurs. "It... was good to see you." He would ask you to dine with him, a lunch, a catching up, but he knows by your expression that it is not to be. "I am happy for you and your successes. You always have a friend in Oannes. The oceans... will always be kind." Your lover king is not the only one who smoothens the way for you, perhaps.
     "I ... should let you return to His Majesty," Agapios repeats, a small smile or recognition following. "No doubt you have other matters to attend to today, other than swimming in the memories of ... old currents. You... look great, Tiernan. Happy. And I, your friend, am heartily glad."

     Arms rest upon regal knees as Iowerth peers out at the horizon. Morbid curiosity makes him turn his head -- discreetly. He doesn't want you to think him a jealous spier of conversations with old lovers (certainly not). Bronze hair only partially obscures his view.

     That fondness is returned, readily and without stinginess. That he has only room for one lover does not mean that there is any lack of friendship, of affection, and that too shows in his smile. "Thank you," Tiernan answers quietly. "It is more honor than I deserve; I shall remember such kindnesses, and hope that I need not call upon them frivolously."
     The words might be pompous, except that they are so obviously sincere. He blushes a trifle at the end of them, as you mention the king. He does not look over his shoulder just yet, answering you as seriously as he always did, always has. "It would be a sin to throw away the good in my life for regret over the bad. I am happy. I hope that life has been as kind to you, Agapios. You look..." There is a pause. He knows his words are likely to be overheard. What word can he possibly choose which will both convey meaning, and yet preserve marital strife? With the silence in danger of lengthening to awkwardness, he clears his throat. "Dignified," he finishes. "The years have polished you without taking anything away, I think."
     He smiles, and for a moment, it is the half-shy smile of the boy he was instead of the man he now is. There is nothing of regret, but of acknowledgment - yes. You are still a temptation to him; but one he declines with regret, the regret of a man in middle age who knows that the extra helping of pudding will only see him with heartburn at three in the morning, no matter how delicious the delight of the moment. "Perhaps you should, if you've the inclination, stop by my offices; if there is any trade matters which you would see brought under consideration, send word there, and I and my people will respond. It has been very good to see you again, though."
     And now, he glances over his shoulder, smile tugging wry; sweet, but with commiseration. "I had best return, however. Go well, Agapios. Deus est."

     "We will discuss the proposed route changes over tuna. I should like your opinion on what the spice guilds are proposing." His eyes light up with business as they seldom seemed to do in his youth and the occasion of your trysts. "I will send word." And that is not a casual thing said at the end of a conversation but with genuine surety. There will be a message for you, no doubt, in the next few days. The summits last for a month. There is nothing to say that he shall leave immediately upon their cessation.
     Backing away, Agapios smiles at you. Warm, it crosses the distance -- years and all -- and serves as an embrace. That between friends, lovers notwithstanding. "Enjoy your day, your highness."
     He turns then, walking toward the crowded shores. The magistrate merman, regal now with the passing of years. His hair blue as the waters of Oannes, he is a vision so long as vision remains.
     A siren among the populace...

     Iowerth lies back, his arms cushioning his head upon pillows of soft sand. His feet are flat upon the sand packed from the last tide, teasing the ocean it seems -- taunting it to wet his feet, if it dared. His eyes are closed now, and he appears to be dozing.
     He's such a bad liar...

     It is sometimes hard for him to remember that he was, is a prince. He has always so many other things about which to think, of which to keep track. His smile may be genuine, but it is also thoughtful, and he turns to return to his husband without delay. Tiernan lowers himself to sit on the sand next to you, one hand shifting outwards to bump your side.
     "I love you," Tiernan says quietly; there is no force, no emphasis behind the words, and yet, it is a reminder beyond just the three words. It is not just I love you but it is you that I love...

     "I don't remember what we were talking about." Iowerth opens his periwinkle eyes, the lavender and coral playing in his irises. He looks at you. How did I win you back? When I was petulant and jealous and prideful an duplicitous? How did I win you back to my side against one such as he? His thoughts are only half given to the air -- the words not specifically transferred, but the air hums with his question.
     Your coloring has returned to normal. He notes all. Iowerth closes his eyes a moment more. "I know," he murmurs. "I love you, too." After a few moments of blessed silence -- for that time there is only his heartbeat an the sea -- Iowerth looks at you. "A part of you... still wants him? Have you missed him? Have i been cruel not to allow it?"

     Tiernan smiles at you, turning to settle on his side, an elbow given to the sand. His eyes are still and will always be the clear blue of Agaean seas; and when he looks at you, he is seeing you and you alone. And he does not answer you...
     Not right away...
     Instead, he leans in, and takes that kiss portended before, deferred by arrivals and departures, his other hand moving as he stretches himself over you to plant itself in the sand and brace himself there. It is a kiss as patient and as hungry as the ocean, for all that it lasts only a moment before he sets your mouth free so that he can give you his words, thoughts put into voice.
     "I am still a man, Io. There is a part of me which still recognizes him, knows that he is desirable." Tiernan says it patiently, settling back in his elbow, looking at you without flinching or drawing further away. "I have not missed him. I have had you, your family, our family together, my work; there has not been a gap which has not been filled. I am not that boy I once was, and he is not who he once was; I remember him, and myself, and my only regret is as it was : that it hurt you. I would like to know him as he is now, and to know how time and life have treated him, but not in ways which would make your heart hurt, or even unbearable, Io."
     He looks to you; it is as many words as he will usually allow for such topics, weighted as they are. As much as he believes needs to be said, and no more. His free hand pats at your hip, rests upon your chest. "If you do not wish me to see him, you will tell me. And ... if it is so ... I will not ignore your wishes, my love, my king," Tiernan tells you softly. "He is not random; and you were bruised by it, once, I know. But I love you."

     Such gossip today! Naked mermen (well, there was just the one really but by tonight there will have been a fleet to hear the way they tell it!) and now the king and his consort husband are kissing on the beach. In front of the women and children!
     The kiss is sweet and he lets it move over him like a wave. But it does not last long -- not even long enough for his arms to unfold from beneath his head and hold you to it, and to him. Iowerth opens his eyes again, meeting the unflinching look, look for look. "I ... could not... would not forbid it. What sort of king would i be if I did? A very poor one. And ... what sort of husband? Not to trust you when you have proven nothing but worthy of my trust."
     With a grunt, Iowerth crunches upward to a sit, his arms lying across his knees. He is quiet for a time, his gaze going back and forth between you and the sea. "I think you ...should see him," he softly admits. The jealousy arises -- it flares like a comet across his features -- when he considers that the merman has perhaps been in your thoughts for some time. He has never been so far from his own. "For both our sakes. There is something still there. There is emotion still there. And as long as it is not voiced, as long as it is avoided, it will always be there. A part of you will always look over your shoulder from time to time. And I will always be looking over mine and yours."
     Bowing his head, Iowerth runs a hand through his hair. It stands on end, just like his nerves. "I know you love me, our family. But he is the question that needs to be answered. And you simply ... didn't before. You just stopped seeing him... because you knew it would upset me." Would? Does. "And I was not in a place to accept such a thing. We have been married now for more than twenty years. I think... we understand one another, Tiernan. Will I wonder? Yes, of course I shall. But... I will be wondering anyway. I always have, in the back of my mind."
     He folds his arms upon his knees and he rests his chin upon his arms. "I cannot put proscriptions on your meeting him, and I shall not," Iowerth murmurs. "I... only ask that you be discreet in your dealings, as you ever have, and that... through it all, whatever shall transpire, respect what is between us. These things I would expect from you anyway... because you are who you are and I know you love me. You would not have it any other way. I ... do not... want to know... what comes between you. Or doesn't." Periwinkle eyes flash at that. No, he cannot hear that. He looks to you from his half-supine view. "I love you...too much to hear that. And maybe I should not be so maudlin. Maybe you will sit down with him and talk about our children, have lunch and rekindle the estranged friendship. I make it sound like you're about to run away with him." He smirks at himself, at his own jealousy. Such a mature Iowerth he has become.

     He looks at you, listening to you quietly, then looks away, to the sea. "I have not missed him," Tiernan tells you softly, looking at the rolling of the waves. "I have been happy with you, and yes, with our family. I would not take him to my bed without your consent, and more than your consent." He is as he always has been - honest with you, to a fault. He lowers his gaze to his knees, silence reigning over him.
     Have I done so badly by you, Io? You were my first love, and always will be.
     He looks up, then turns to you, frustrated and quiet. "If I go to him, no matter that we do nothing but speak of trade and commerce, you will wonder, as you are wondering now. If I tell you of it, you do not want to know; if I do not tell you of it, you will wonder. I see no profit in it, my king, and no way of winning against the odds you set. What, then, is your command of me?"

     Iowerth sighs out his own frustration and he lies back in the sand. "I don't want to command you, Tiernan. I'm not your king. I'm your husband. I'm his king." There is a momentary pause as he gathers himself and his thoughts.
     "I don't think this is up to me, and I don't want it to be up to me." He turns his head and looks to you. "I don't want you to have to report to me. I just want to know that... there is nothing out there. That there is nothing you ... regret. That he doesn't symbolize anything. And I don't want to tell you with whom you can or cannot be friends. I am ...just trying to say that I think you should be friends with your friend. And if there is anything else that needs resolving then... we will sort it out. I ... just don't want to hear about any swimming exploits. If you don't mind. The idea of you and him swimming drives me insane. So... all I ask is that you ... if you determine that is what you want and need... that you do me the favor of keeping it to yourselves."

     "You are my king, as well as my husband," Tiernan insists quietly. His hand moves to your shoulder, strong in an embrace. "You have been my king since before you were anyone else's king, before you were my husband, before anything else was yet determined, decided. I gave my loyalty to you when I determined that it was where it and I belonged."
     His hand remains there, eyes unflinchingly aimed at your own gaze; from blue to periwinkle, as across twenty years of time. "...I will be friends with him, if that is your desire." His hand slides from your shoulder down to your elbow, then to the sand next to you. And he looks away.
     "You make life so much more difficult than it needs to be." Tiernan sounds frustrated, looking at the ocean, with its sharks and its rays, its mermen and its tritons. "You raise these issues when they were quiet and buried, when they could stay peacefully where they are. You introduce such difficulties... and yet, I love you. Even when your whole damned family and all its issues come leaping up through your throat to speak from your mouth, I still love you, Io. We will do this your way, as there is no other way. And we will see what comes of it. But I am going on record of saying that this is a silly idea."

     "I'd rather drown him personally," Iowerth retorts. "But the fishy bastard can swim." He sighs (and frowns) to hear his own father's voice in his head as he says it, but... well... it's also the truth. "And I didn't raise the issue. I sat here and stared in ... dismay," he settles on, "...as the issue rose naked and glistening from the sea to greet us. And the subsequent whiplash and blushing merely punctuated the point."
     Caught between a merman and a sea-dragon. Who envies you, Tiernan?
     "I don't want you to do it my way," Iowerth says far more quietly, far more civilly, his outburst swept with the wind out to sea. "I just want you to be happy. If you would be happy to have him as a friend in your life, then...so be it. That's all I am trying to say."
     Agapios, whether your are swimming in the sea wrapped around my lover or swimming in my head wrapped around my thoughts, it's all the same.
     Iowerth releases a breath, an attempt to send the excess energy out to sea. And saying nothing more, he reaches for your hand. Periwinkle to blue. I love you.

     It still, Tiernan would avow, beats being caught between you and his mother...
     He sighs, giving his hand over to yours, meeting your gaze and leaning in towards you. I love you...
     No matter how difficult you make things... He does not say more. He sits next to you, with you, and lets you wrestle with your own merman. What else, really, can he do?

     The sand was left upon the beach. Though a wide swath of it was traveled, not a single grain from the shore was tracked through the private quarters of the king. His bare feet whisper upon the marble as he passes quietly from the colonnade to his chambers.
     Not many words were exchanged. Hasn't enough been said? His brain is full and distempered. A headache has come in its wake.
     As servants quietly open windows to allow the ocean breeze cool off the heat of the day in royal chambers, Iowerth Rhudd Draig takes up the pitcher, pouring a cool glass of mead for himself and for you.
     It is obvious -- as obvious as your want of the merman -- that he is upset. But he is not railing at the world. He is not spitting nails. His cheeks are red -- not as red as yours was, of course -- but showing the physical signs of jealousy all the same.
     The servants quietly depart, the chambers prepared for the night. The lighting is subdued. The coming sunset is left to provide most of the illumination. Iowerth takes a long drink of the mead and exhales to clear the rest of his upset away.
     "I think I am going to lie down for a bit," Iowerth notes. "It will not be long before Ani is back from his lessons..." And a day that had begun so pleasantly is suddenly in disarray.

     He is quiet as well, although for different reasons; uneasy, with the specter of the past exhumed, uneasy with your own reactions and his own helplessness to soothe you. His footsteps have not slowed; he has accompanied you, faithfully, quietly, returning back to the rooms with you, accepting the glass silently, watching you, silently...
     What am I to do with you? What am I to do with myself...
     Tiernan sighs. "As you wish," he answers you quietly, taking a sip of mead. He has no stomach for it, though, and he sets the glass down again. "I will be nearby if you wish it." You are upset. Now he is beginning to be upset, though he does not speak of it. He simply ... is; he rises to his feet, looking at you. It is not how he had anticipated things going. It is not how he would like them to be; but he is too wise in his love and your company to argue it. "Do you want me to give the guards orders to leave you be until Ani is returned?"

     "I'm not sure what I want," Iowerth admits quietly. But suddenly the glass is down, the mead abandoned. Soon he is standing right in front of you, a nose and a breath away. "I should not lie," he whispers, his eyes on your eyes, your face. "And I should not be upset. I am jealous, Tiernan. I don't want to be, but I am. Despite your assurances. I know your skin," his breath is quiet, even as he draws you in, his arms winding around your waist. "I know what it means when it speaks so plainly. So... tell me I am wrong. Or tell me it doesn't matter... that is what I want."
     Iowerth closes his eyes as he rests his forehead to his own. No, he cannot rest with it unresolved. And he is no mood to deal with a sweet, inquisitive son who will be energized after a day of studies with this hovering on the air around you. "I want to know ...what you want," he murmurs. "Truly."

     "I want your mind to be at rest."
     He says it quietly, but with the firmness that was built upon that mountain, his forehead touched to yours, his arm about your waist as if to prevent it should you try to draw away. "He is a friend, Io, more than anything else, I would see you reconciled to the idea of him." Tiernan sighs, his fingers drawing up, into your hair, tangling with a sweetness to them. "There are many times when I would have died, had he not been there. Amid mother's foul creatures - the traps, the terrors, the tortured remains of a thousand off-cast toys... she who was never in truth my mother, but who I grew believing to be, who I fled to be with you, Io. I needed the truth."
     His hand draws down to your cheek, cupping it tenderly, that Agaean gaze meeting your own squarely, without shame, without fear of what he will find there. "I needed the truth, and you could not go with me. Our history is a tangled one; and he is tangled into it because he was there when you could not. If I have sinned against you, it is time for your forgiveness. I have sinned against him; as a comrade in arms, and as a friend, he has deserved better than he has received."
     He leans in, touching his lips gently to yours, then straightens; beginning to stand. "I will not lie and say that he is not handsome, that I am unmoved by seeing him, by memories now twenty years dead and gone," Tiernan tells you quietly, his hands falling to his sides. "But those memories are not altogether what you believe, Io. I thought I had lost you, though I hoped, prayed that it was not so. He left his home - his element - to cross mountains to help me find my truth. He supported me and carried me when my body was broken... and when he saw me look at you, he stepped out of the way without so much as a word. If the past twenty years have not reassured you, that it is you that I love, and you I wish to grow old with... I have run out of answers."

     "I know you love me, Tiernan," Iowerth murmurs. "I know it. And I know what you have chosen, and why. I am not doubting you or us. I am not saying you are filled with longing an regret. He just... upsets me... knowing how he affects you. It is...ego."
     "And now my ego has a headache," he sighs. A hand pats your waist and he turns to look for his glass. "I may have the guards send out to the healer. I could use some headache powders. Or brandywine." The glass is too far, he decides. Unless you move him there, he shall ignore it for now. "How do you do it?" Iowerth whispers, placing a kiss upon your temple...
     ...Your cheek...
     Your mouth...
     It is there that the kiss blossoms, turning from apologetic to passionate. It does not doubt you -- he does not doubt you. His hands lift to cup your face as the kiss tangles to a stop. "I am sorry for being upset," he whispers.
     Only then does Iowerth turn to fetch his cup of mead. The fermented honey will have to do.

     He looks at you, and if there is regret, it is regret that he is unable to lift this burden from you. I love you. Now. Then. Always. His hands slide up to your shoulders, kiss answered with equal passion before you turn away. It is much more how he wished to spend the day. But it is clearly not to be.
     He looks at you, with his frustration largely subdued, and lets you turn away. "I love you," Tiernan tells you, in answer to how he does it. "It is easy, when I know clearly what I want."
     He sighs again, and takes a step back. "I'll let the guards know that Ani's to report to his mother," he offers. "And I'll have the healers send up a posset for your head. If you want me, feel free to send word; I'm going to go work on those reports." You need time to sulk, to brood, to be tormented. And he ... has run out of reassurance.

     Stillness and quiet. That is what is required. He realizes it as soon as you do. You call it sulking. He calls it putting things in perspective. He will meditate, rest and put his ego and his perspective back in place. "Diolch," he says, finishing his drink. "I would prefer you read the reports in bed, but," he smiles a little, "I'm sure you could use a break. Wake me before dinner?"
     He slips out of his shirt, letting it rest on the chair back and he heads for the sofa, rather than the bedroom. It will serve well enough. The sofa squeaks a little as the king's body settles there heavily. He stretches out and covers his closed eyes with his arm. "I will want you... as soon as you can stand me." His mouth ticks a smile.
     He knows that it might be a while...

     "I will wake you," Tiernan promises, voice quiet. He pauses in the doorway, his smile gentle and rueful - and loving, as always. "Rest well, my king."
     I love you too much for my heart to stand...
     Indeed, it is a curious pain that runs through him, seizing his chest as he turns with that quiet sigh. Too much emotion; too many emotions, in too short a span of time. He does not know what to do, and as always, when he does not know, he recedes. Draws away; not out of fear or anger but out of simple helplessness.
     Maybe he will get a headache powder, even if you do not...
     The door closes quietly behind him. You will not be disturbed. And Tiernan, Tiernan will do as he has always done, when he does not know what to do. He will go to throw himself into his work, and by turns, stare at the sea.

Posted by rowan at January 13, 2009 11:52 AM