The ship has pulled back into port, tall masts flying the colors of company and king - a rare privilege, but what else does one do when one is a member of the royal family? Prince Tiernan, not so often called Toymaker these days, is on board, and the flying of the High King's colors announces it from a long way away.
     Now the gangplank is lowered, to the eagerness of the sailors and their masters. There are wives and sweethearts in port for some, for others the pleasures of liberty leave with its rum and grog, its shore pleasures and rampant rolling breasts floating as if divorced from any human frame.
     Tiernan is oblivious to all of this. He is the first to officially disembark, climbing down the gangplank with empty hands and dressed in tan breeches with white silk shirt and darker brown vest. Over it all, he is swathed in a silk multi-piece cloak that wraps around him to protect him from the spattering of rain threatening in the sky; his once-dark hair is a little longer than it was, threatening the sanctity of his eyelashes.
     As he disembarks, skin tanner than it had been to a light dusted gold, he looks around to see if anyone he knows (and loves) is near. He tests the air with his thoughts. Io? I'm back...

     What moves upon the sea that does not reach his ears?
     By the time the ship was confirmed pulling into the docks, the High King himself was on the way to meet it. There are the usual guards, blending into the crowds. But they are largely unnecessary, for no one harasses the High King. People and wagons, commerce and enterprise give a kind of natural deference, waiting for him to pass before returning to normal tempo.
     There is no fanfare. There is just at the end of the docks, an older man with burnished hair and his hands in his pockets. And, of course, a smile.
     He is dressed so simply that if he did not carry the air of majesty around him he could be confused with any wandering purveyor of the marketplace. He is in his colors -- midnight blue and white. The dark trousers are a brushed cotton, hardy like khakis but suited for the weather, and the shirt is a fitted white pull-over, the material light enough in thread to show the echo of the tattoos that live so vibrantly underneath it.
     He is dressed this way despite the rain. To be honest, he doesn't even feel it. His burnished hair, red-gold, turns auburn as the moisture darkens it. Iowerth Rhudd Draig is grinning even as he begins to move forward. He moves without thinking, without really even noticing it. Until suddenly he is there.
     He says nothing. He doesn't doubt. He doesn't wonder. In his face is one thing and one thing only. On the docks, in front of servants, tradesmen and whores alike, he swallows the prince up in a hold and lifts him off his feet. I can't even begin to tell you how much I've missed you.
     Setting his lover down, the High King grins and cradles the prince's face in his hands. "Welcome home."

     He blushes, reddening just like a boy as he's lifted and swung around, those Aegean eyes widening before crinkling at the corners. His hands land on your shoulders with a kneading heaviness, and his laugh is quiet and breathless. "I did not see you coming," Tiernan murmurs to you. He leans in, one hand going to the back of your head to run his fingers through your hair as he presses his face in against your hands. I missed you, too.
     There is no doubt in him. His eyes smile at you as much as his mouth does. And he gives no more thought to the crowds than do you. Time is running low for our reign. We are already putting it aside...
     He smiles, and he leans in past the framing of your hands to steal for himself a kiss. "How is everything?" Tiernan asks as he begins to pull back. "Have you all been well? The boys..."

     "A neverending series of adventures. But... I have to say," he returns the kiss as he smiles, "...I actually enjoyed it. Apart from the heartaches. We'll talk on the way. I have cleared the royal calendars. My regent is handling most of my day-to-days."
     Our son, the Future King. And soon.
     His arm lies across your shoulders and he draws you to him even as he walks. Iowerth presses his mouth to your temple. "Our son, Gruffydd is doing quite well. He has a knack for leadership. And he is a rather brilliant negotiator. I think he is just about ready. I have been able to play papa more than king these two weeks. I have missed that." And he has envied you that task, even as he asked you to help him in it.
     "Let's see. Well...you did miss the civil war. Bran and Balthazar fought over a girl. Sadly, Balthazar lost that battle. He struggled for a few days. He spent a week or so here after the girl left him. But he is improving. In fact," Iowerth looks to you and smiles, despite that heavy news. "I watched him perform in London. Our son is a rockstar, Tiernan. He is... just... I was so proud of him. And it is what he should be doing, both There and Here. I have given him a few weeks off. He deserves the vacation. He needs to get a bit of his personal confidence back. I think the break will be good for him..."
     There is more, of course, but he pauses as he walks with you, to let you interject.

     "Heartaches? Do tell me." Tiernan leans into you, smile quiet but steady as a lamp. "I am sorry that I went away if it has led to difficulty. I am glad that Gruffydd is catching up."
     He takes hold of one of your hands, bringing it up to his lips. "I am sorry that Balthazar's heart has been wounded. But it is better to be done early, and given the chance to recover. I am glad that he is doing well with what he wants and needs."
     There is love in his gaze - for his family, but also for you. He squeezes your hand and holds onto it. Tiernan looks up to the palace and then at you. "Tell me everything." But most of all, let me listen to you speak...

     "He was pretty upset. He is sensitive young man. His heart is on his sleeve," Iowerth says. He squeezes your hand, lacing his fingers with your own. "I think he is a little... unsure. He is concerned that he won't meet a girl like that again, who will inspire him and excite him. There is another girl... Maddie... but he insists she's just a friend. So... it is teenage drama." Iowerth's mouth curls. "You remember what that was like."
     "His relationship with Bran is an ongoing issue that he will have to right himself. The girl coming between them will not make that any easier. But... we will see. So far, he has made me very proud. He is much like you. He handles his adversity with dignity and grace beyond his years. If he were like me," Iowerth grins, "...he might have set a few things on fire. To mend this, he is working with Gwilym and... he and Bran will soon be working together in the shadows. They will have to build trust and remember that they're family."
     Iowerth is quiet and in that quiet he wonders softly to himself a moment. And then he looks to you. When I see you, I only see...you. I do not see a bed ...or pool... crowded with you and another. I just... see you. How ... freeing that is. How comforting.
     "Anierin and I spent a lot of time together, for which I was very thankful," the High King is beaming as he looks ahead. "He is such a bright boy. He is ... so his father's son." He looks to you. "Even when he breaks the royal pool with his fleet of mechanical ships..."

     "Another girl already?" Tiernan sighs and smiles. "Teenage drama. I feel for him, but he is more resilient than he believes, I suspect. I am glad we are past that stage." Your hand is squeezed and lifted to his lips again, and he draws your arm around his waist. "It sounds as if I have not been very needed, after all..."
     There is a bit of regret to that, but only a little. He is pleased things have gone smoothly, really. His head drops to your shoulder for the moment, and he comes to a halt, turning to face you, oblivious to what audience there might be, what eyes might be watching. A hand lifts, caressing the side of your face.
     "Ani will simply need to be put to work fixing the pool, then," Tiernan answers you, thumb sweeping against your cheekbone. "It will be good practice for him, and a good habit to get into, fixing what he breaks." His mouth brushes yours. "It sounds as if you all have done well and not needed to miss me..."

     "You are needed," Iowerth softly insists. "Not to fix things or to handle things, but because we love you. And we missed you. Anierin and I slept in the big bed, neither of us able to really sleep until we talked about your journey. Where you might be. What you might be seeing. He memorized all of the oceans between here and Oannes. And I ..." He turns as you turn. He turns his head to kiss the hand that touches him. "I told him stories about you and I, so it would be as if you were in the room."
     In the middle of the walk from pier to palace, with the city on either side, and the marketplace in motion, Iowerth plucks your mouth like so many waiting flowers. There will be gossip (of course), but he will laugh and only encourage it.
     "Though we may not have needed to miss you, Tiernan, we did." Iowerth's mouth shows a smile that is slight on the surface but it runs deep. "And how was your trip?" He asks it as last, but it is not said with foreboding or forestalling. It is asked as any may ask it: genuinely.

     His kiss in hungry and luxuriating. You are here. He is here. His family is here, and for a moment, his world is complete. I missed you. I am always missing you when I even think of us being apart...
     "The trip went well," Tiernan answers after surrendering your mouth, resuming his steady pace with his hand gentle on your wrist. "It was difficult not to think of plans and work. It is how I am, and I think that Agapios was occasionally frustrated with me, but never seriously. He did not let me brood. Or work on diagrams, for that matter," he laments with a smile to you. "It was enjoyable. I was glad to catch up with him, what he has been doing for the past years. But mostly, I am happy to be home again."
     Home. With my family. With you, my first and most enduring love. How we have fought to be here today. "I think," Tiernan murmurs to you, giving your wrist a squeeze, "we need to set that date, my king."

     "The High King should be crowned in the height of summer," his words are at your mouth and in the tangle of it. "Or the height of winter. I will speak with him on his preference."
     And I will become the bird again. And I will fly to your window, love, and leave pebbles as messages..
     And I will become a captain again. And I will command the sea to roll beneath me, and carry me to your shore...
     And what was Old... will become New again...
     Cry, gossip! For the king and his husband, his consort, his prince, kiss in the center of the square. Surrounded by citadels, basilicas, stadiums and forums, they become a knot of mouths and arms.
     And there is no end...
     And there is no beginning...
     And there is no separation, the one formed perfectly for the other...

Posted by rowan at March 27, 2009 04:05 PM