The High King's private apartments was once the unofficial office. It was not unusual to find ambassadors and diplomats, guild members and generals congregating in what was suppose to have been a living room. But now, not even the servants are stirring. Food comes and goes as the King wishes, no need for a servant to waste his or her time fetching it. Drinks are filled and refilled in cups tat never empty. There is no need to keep water boys on hand.
     It is blessedly quiet.
     The archways stir with the early evening breeze, all windows and doors (but the main) open to allow the traffic of air. Fruit and breads, cheeses and nuts are set out upon brilliant glass trays, offered to any who feel the need to snack. Cups are filled with apple and apricot nectar -- perhaps all apples should have been forbidden!. It is like the dream of a banquet stirring into existence. All it needs are participants.
     In this former hotbed of royal work, the High King lies stretched upon the sofa, one arm draped across his eyes, his other lain upon his stomach. His torso and upper body are bare -- his only adornments are the ring you gave him and the tattoos that are his birthright. His lower half is covered, clothed in lounging pants worn only when he heads to bed when there are young children about. The blue silk matches the marks of star-crowned sea-dragons upon his flesh.
     While you were busy settling the kingdom, the king has been busy napping. Napping!

     He comes in quietly, the door closing behind him. A handful of nuts is taken as he pads across the floor, to look down at you. His features soften as he does so, and he moves to the back of the sofa, leaning over it. How long I have loved you, Io. How long, and how thoroughly. You have consumed my thoughts; my nights, my days, have all been turned to you, to us.
     A nut falls to land on your chest while you sleep, as your husband-lover leans over you. Will it wake you? He doesn't know; he settles in to watch what will happen. To us, and to our family... and time has passed. And we are growing older, and what was once only about us, has been about many; I have added more and more plates to the spinning wheel I juggle. I am afraid of what will happen if I let go. If the hands that I pass it to are unsteady, or unprepared - if I fail you, even in passing it on, Io, what then? Time is not eternal. I am running out of time.
     Another nut drops, next to and a little lower down from the first. Tiernan smiles and sighs, quietly, waiting for you to wake.

     The first one made his skin flinch just slightly, but the second made him wake. Iowerth stirs suddenly, coming out of dreaming sleep to momentary confusion -- what was that? -- to seeing your smiling face beaming above him like the sun. What are you doing? he wonders, sitting up with a suspicious look upon his face. He looks down to himself, seeing the two nuts roll and pile onto his lap.
     Hands to the cushions behind him, Iowerth braces himself up. "You shouldn't waste your nuts," he rolls out long and low. One hand leaves the sofa and reaches up for you to bring you to him. "Do you notice how quiet it is?" he smiles. "There are not papers or maps scattered all over the room. There is no queue to get in the door. It's an actual, gasp, living room."
     Iowerth cups you to his mouth. "My work is in my office, not in my home. Finally. Are you proud of me, Tiernan?" He smiles into the kiss. "Ani is in the next room," Iowerth notes, leaning back. "He and I had a marvelous day. He attended his first guild meeting. You would have been proud. He took notes." The idea tickles the proud father-king. "So... you have spoken with Balthazar...?" Divide and conquer is an old adage for a reason.

     "I am proud," Tiernan confirms. His hand reaches down to find your skin for a moment, fingertips dragging against you before he descends to join you for the kiss. "I always was; but it is ... a relief." He has had a hard day. The last thing he wanted was to have to battle moreover for your attention.
     He takes the time to kiss you, then draws away, moving to stand. He is not yet ready to put himself in that position again. "I talked to Balthazar," Tiernan agrees. He sighs. "There has been ... a ... change of plans." One corner of his mouth quirks, wryly, and he settles on the arm of the chair, watching you. "There is a girl."

     "Duw," Iowerth exhales, and he falls back to lie on the sofa once more. He chuckles and shakes his head with resignation and helplessness. He sighs and looks up at you. "We had to have boys. So, is there any damage? Broken hearts? Unexpected children?" Iowerth closes his eyes, his hands coming up to cover them. Fingers spread as he peeks out in periwinkle apprehension.
     But the jesting ends. Even though you smile, he can tell it has been a trying day. "Come here... I promise to behave myself." Iowerth adjusts upon the sofa, to give you space enough to join him and snuggle in as you wish. "We have only one little one left," he assures you with a gentle chuckle.

     "No damage, save to plans," Tiernan tells you with a small smile. He descends, accepting your offer wordlessly, closing his eyes. The cushions groan as his weight is added to yours, and he slides his arm over your hip. "He wants to be a rock star. He is smitten with the girl; not yet in love, or he is not sure if he is in love, but the way he speaks about her, it is only a matter of time."
     There is that resigned note to his voice again. He knows, yes, he knows how it is in your family. When love strikes, it strikes to the bone. He suspects that even now, it is taking root in your middle son's heart. "I have told him that he will need from now on to balance the two worlds, and I will provide him with the tools to that end. I made clear the rules, and he has agreed to follow them, and I've given him some words of warning as well as advice. We'll see how it transpires from there."
     He pats at your hip, exhaling. He is so tired. Tired, more than he should be, perhaps; tired, and worn thin as newsprint. One Aegean eye opens to look at you wearily. "He will be good, I think. But it means that there is a void; he will not be there full-time when we expected, and we're going to have to pull up some other faces to fill the gaps that result. Gruffydd will need to be notified, but I thought I'd give Balthazar time to get away before we handle that."

     A lot of retorts occur to him, but none of them are constructive, so for a few moments he turns his thoughts and his actions toward something of value: comforting you. His arms surround you and he kisses your forehead. "Have I expressed lately how lucky I am to have had you? How lucky this family is? As a spokesman for their behalf, I thank you for us all." Iowerth sighs, the release of breath heavy with his own mixture of annoyance and resignation.
     This is not what either of you wanted. The light at the end of the tunnel could finally be seen. Gruffydd's transition is in motion; he shall not stop it. "We really need Balthazar here," he notes quietly. "From a political perspective, not just because I want him near us. I love him; of course I want him to be happy. But he has to understand that his first duty is to the kingdom and to his family. Does he understand that?" Iowerth looks to you, bronze eyebrows lifted to punctuate his question and his point. "Gwilym wanted to join the circus; I wanted to be a discoverer and inventor. We became kings instead. It was what we were born and raised to be."
     "A rockstar," he repeats. "And smitten...and soon to be in love. Do we know who she is? Is she here or in London?"

     He smiles at you wryly, and his hand lifts to touch your cheek. "She's in London. She's an American. Gillian West - studying at Oxford, working on a master's degree in history. He says she is smarter than he is, which is rather impressive. Balthazar is no slouch, as you well know." His hand stays there, thumb playing against your chin, then slides to your shoulder. It is a silent acknowledgment of your gratitude, in its way.
     "Reminding him of his duty at this point will only create a breach," Tiernan answers you mildly, "and in the long run, make him run farther, and come back more slowly. I have made it plain to him that he hasn't the option of just running to that world to escape the duties in this one. Unlike you and Gwilym, he is not slated to be a king; and as such, we can afford him a little time to sort himself out, as long as he still puts in a certain minimum amount of work. I've laid that out to him, and warned him that from now on, only life and death excuses will fly, for missed commitments."
     He is, as always, the balance; and he speaks with that absoluteness, the rock-steady assuredness that the balance must carry. A nut is offered to you, balanced on the ball of his thumb, and he murmurs, "I told him not to tell any of the family about this girl. Let it have time; I'll have my people look into who she is, who she really is, and we'll see if it's a trap laid by enemies or no. Much of it fell flat because he did not know that it was possible to have a foot in both worlds; the truth, though, Io, is that all of your family do, save when you are wearing the crown. It is only the crowns that you wear which keep you tied stringently to this world; when it is gone, then you are inclined to be as much in one place as in another. Which reminds me." He stretches, closing his eyes. "I've warned him about your mother."

     An American in Oxford and a fairy grand duke in London. Both fish out of water, and so the universe goes on. He looks to you, your hand on his cheek. Iowerth turns his head, kissing your hand before it slides to his shoulder. "I know. To him," Iowerth sighs, "I will only express my love and support, my confidence and trust in him. We were so close," he almost chuckles. "I could taste the salt air of the wide open sea of retirement."
     He takes the proffered nut and the thumb that came with it. He suckles it, tasting the salt of the sea upon your skin. Iowerth swallows you in his arms, his mouth freeing you. "I know how tirelessly you work for us, for me. I know it will get harder before it begins to ease. We will work together, as we has always done, oes? We have talented seneschals, our son has a smart and talented wife, we will employ whatever is at our disposal for the good of the kingdom and... we will keep the transition on track. We need it. You need it."
     Closing his eyes again, he presses his mouth to your temple in a prolonged buss. His mouth moves against you as he murmurs there. "Let's just watch it, hmm? And let's give him time. And while he is sorting himself out, I will begin working with Gruffydd and Maria. I will give Gruffydd more responsibility so I can tend more to bringing Maria up to speed on things with you. We will do these things together."
     And then you bring up... mother? Snorting a soft laugh, Iowerth leans back to look at you, his hand brushing your silvery hair. You are more handsome, more beautiful by the day. How is that possible? "What about my mother?"

     "We will do what we must," Tiernan answers you quietly. He gives himself to your arms, closing his eyes and letting nuts spill where they may. It is unlike him, but at the moment, he just doesn't care. The sofa creaks complainingly, then silences as he settles with you, on you, against you. "As we always have. And it could be worse, yes? It always could."
     His hands move to your chest, and as you encircle him, so he too encircles you, without passion but not without emotion. It is comfort he seeks in your arms, as he so often has before. "She will learn," Tiernan murmurs. "They will learn. It will work out, I know. I am just so tired. Deus..."
     He opens his eyes to look at you, lifting his chin to peer at your face. "Your mother is dangerous," Tiernan answers, matter of fact about it. "I warned him not to slip up in ways which threaten your grandfather or inconvenience him in the slightest, and I warned him not to tell her about his perhaps lady-love. Fiona is a wonderful woman in many ways - and as unpredictable as a maddened dolphin. Fate itself seems to bend aside for her."

     He never really considered her dangerous. Maybe a little unpredictable. "I can't imagine his grandmother or grandfather would disturb a hair on his head for inconvenience. They are not so impatient. You worry yourself too much. They will watch out for him. I cannot imagine a scenario -- and I imagine plenty -- where playing music and falling in love would threaten Davydd ap Owain. I think he will be okay. I will entreat him to keep his abilities common, as much as he may, to avoid any rankling. But, love," Iowerth smiles, "...if Gwilym and I survived their wrath, Balthazar shall have no trouble. Gwilym and I were horrible young men who didn't care what havoc might be wreaked by our behavior. We were ... Bran and Aeron, only with moral compasses. Which we occasionally ignored."
     He holds you in love, in tenderness and in comfort. "I think it is good that the young woman be shielded from my parents as long as possible, however. I should think Balthazar had every intention of that, considering we didn't eve know about her until today. As for Fate, I do not think it bows for her. I have seen her subject to it as much as any. She is fortunate, but not unscathed."
     He prefers to be optimistic. It's simply more enjoyable. "I love you," Iowerth whispers between you. "And as you rescued me so recently, I'm going to suggest something to you, my love. I think... you could use some time off. Truly off. I think you need to decompress. You do not need to worry about me, about your children, about anything, hmm?" He kisses you sweetly. "I want you to get some rest. And maybe your brain could do with being empty for a few days. Our little trip," he tries not to smile, but his mouth twitches despite all his efforts, "...was not very restful."

     "He hasn't known her long enough for us to be told about it," Tiernan answers you a bit dryly. "But we will see, yes? Yes." He sighs, and he turns himself to your kiss and to your hold. "I do not remember the last time that my mind was empty," he admits quietly. "Perhaps..."
     He is skeptical of your optimism where your mother is concerned. He does not dislike her - but he is a paranoid, on your behalf, on your sons' behalf. It is his duty. "Maybe I will take a week or so off," Tiernan murmurs. "See how long into it before work claims me again..."
     "I am full of good ideas today," the king announces softly. "Along with your vacation, I think we should lie here and sleep together. Just... rest. Quietly, comfortably. Remember when it was our... second favorite thing to do? We would make love on The Draigamor and then we would sleep. All day. Especially in the summer."
     His voice becomes a lullaby. Its cadences rises and falls like a gentle swing. The warmth of his mouth brushes your skin -- at your temple and your cheek -- and his arms cradle you to him. "A week, at the very least. Away from everything and every responsibility." Iowerth nuzzles you, his eyes drifting closed. "Just sun and peace, so the king prescribes."
     His hands gently massage your skin, drifting to and fro without any discernible rhythm. And all of these sensations combined become quite intoxicating. He is not immune. The rhythms of his breaths become steady and even.
     With you in his arms, as ever, the King dreams.

     It is almost shocking how quickly he surrenders himself to sleep. It creeps up on him; he is dozing before you finish speaking. The greyish pallor that was almost indiscernible lifts, in sleep, letting you see him as he ought to be. Years strip away, in slumber, that pile on cruelly in waking...
     Tiernan does not speak further. He has said everything there is to be said, yes? And he is just - so very tired...

Posted by rowan at February 15, 2009 09:30 PM