By the time of two more days' passage into yesterdays, both Camelot and Avalon were left behind. There was only the briefest sort of pause in Avalon -- one of political courtesy. A meeting was held between His Majesty and Lord Fox and their majesties and whatever foxes they keep, a bit of lunch, but due to the already lengthy journey they could not stay longer.
Apologies for the quick state visit given, the ships marked the measure of a second day on the Silver River. It is wide and deep, but sailing it is slow business. One has to be mindful of rocks and eddies even with the deeper channels and currents. Freshwater dolphins and manatees make boon companions, and provide something of a show morning, noon and night.
Once again aboard the ship, the day once more takes on the feeling of sweet routine. In the narrower channels of the river, the King now keeps to his ship, not trading off as he did in the ocean. But messages are carried by pigeons and gulls (members of the court as they are), whenever needed. Or whenever boredom strikes. Two more days of travel yet ahead...
Despite the moonlight confessions of a few evenings ago, the King tends to the work of the kingdom in transit. But there are some who are remarking that his mood appears to be lifting. Perhaps he was as homesick as they were. That's certainly likely -- Silverglen is a wonderful place. There is much to miss.
But the rhythm of life aboard the ship also allows for times of reflection and relaxation -- at least for the king. Once more, he is seated out on the foredeck, his gaze ahead of him, wearing a sweater beneath a jacket and a thicker coat over that. It is noticeably colder here, and the river is flanked by forests and ridges that make the days seem shorter and shorter.
Of course, as winter is approaching, the days are actually getting shorter and shorter. The trees and ridges just make it more noticeable.
She has not been hiding herself away, although she does not swarm you at every opportunity. Her studies are still relevant; her experiments as well. But she is, more and more, emerging from her cabin and her studies to smile at people, to pass the time of day, to watch the waves, and ... well, to watch you.
Of course.
Could anyone expect otherwise? Lys still wears the simple white gowns she packed (she'll have to get new ones by the time Silverglen is reached), her hair usually worn in a crown braid wrapped around her head. Today, she wears a knit coat in dark grey wool over her gown, small, discreet silver lily earrings dangling from pierced ears and catching the light as she approaches you. She should be wearing more; she should have bought more before leaving.
"Your Majesty," Lys murmurs, giving you a small smile as she reaches your presence. She drops a demure little curtsey, and turns to look at the river.
He rises as you speak, turning to look at you. There is a kind of bewilderment still, a look best translated as: Is this really happening? "Hello, Lys. Here, have a seat." And then he offers you one of the cloaks he wears around himself. "And a fur," he smiles. "In the Capitol's more temperate zone, I had forgotten it was nearly winter." It is nearly winter, and his breath while not linger long is visible.
Pivoting, King Eavan motions for Portnoy. But Portnoy is already on the move to fetch another chair. He can be heard giving a command for warm cider and mulled wine. "I am ready to be on land," Eavan admits. "Ah, thank you, Portnoy. Oh, and cider and wine. Fantastic. Thank you." If there were ever a more appreciative king than he...
Eavan does not yet sit. He pours a mug of steaming cider for you, and a cup of steaming wine for himself. Green eyes glint to you past the scented fog, a veil to the lingering look and slight smile. "I am eager to play tour guide. We should be into the last of the harvesting, settling in for the winter. You will find we do a good bit of settling in and enjoying things, particularly in the winter."
And all I can think of now is how much I want to show you. To ride out in the snow, for example. Snow under moonlight: could there be any lovelier setting for you?
Eavan realizes he is staring and his mouth slides into a Look at the silly king, mooning slant. He takes a seat beside you, wrapped about in a cloak and sipping the heated drink.
"Thank you," Lys murmurs, eyes dancing as she smiles at you. There's a hint of pink flush to her cheeks as she accepts the cloak, sliding it around her shoulders. "And thank you, Portnoy. You're very prompt." She accepts the mug, sipping at the contents. "I should have been quicker to see a seamstress, before we left. At this rate, by the time we arrive I will be wearing all of my wardrobe at once."
She is not particularly embarrassed; she smiles, laughing at herself silently, looking into the steam from the mug and enjoying its warmth and its fragrance. "I'm looking forward to arriving. There will be so much for me to see and to learn about - and people to meet." Under your tutelage, in your presence, the barriers and walls strip away a bit, leaving her enthusiasms and passions more visible, more sparkling, glowing. "I am sure there is a list of people I must meet already growing."
She takes a sip, turning to smile at you. "Is there anyone you would like to put at the top of my list, your majesty?" Lys teases, expression demure. "I will certainly take your wishes under consideration."
Before, your insistence on calling him Majesty would be met with regal humor and indulgence -- he did insist on using the familiar -- but now when you say it, his cheeks take on a roseate glow. It must be the wine!
No one would be fooled, to look at him...
Settling in his chair next to you, King Eavan looks to you (can't help but), though he is polite enough not to gawk. "We will have to have parties just so you can get to know the people at the other parties," he teases. "It will come. There's no rush. But certainly, meeting my mother, my brother and my sisters, members of my family and court will happen upon arriving. The list is probably longer than we originally planned for," he smiles a little at that, looking into his cup.
"I would say... not to have a schedule. You will meet everyone in due time. Silverglen isn't that large a place," he reminds you with a grin. "The whole kingdom could fit inside the Capitol City. Maybe the stadium," he tacks on teasingly.
"But, you must be quickly acquainted with Quail's; it's our best cafe. And the chocolatier, Sparrow Fellows. The castle's outside of town, almost three hours ride. Once you get there, there's not a lot of night life, of course. But the city is lovely. It is right on the banks of the Lake of Tears. A sad lake, but beautiful."
His words drift off as he sips at the drink. He looks to you again, as long as he can manage without being impolite or seeming lascivious. "I will make sure you have a visit with the royal seamstress, to make whatever winter gowns and coats you need. You would look lovely in velvet. Red or blue or green or.... any color really," he murmurs. "Patterned or.... not. And you will need coats and gloves and slippers."
She sips her cider with that same demureness, and she smiles at you. "I am looking forward to it, still, even so. I will do my best to embarrass neither myself nor Lord Fox, although I make no such promises about embarrassing you." Her eyes are warm, though, where they land on you; she is only teasing.
Lys turns a little more towards you. "I doubt it is quite that small." Her eyes do not stray south of your belt. Some girls would, but not she. "It sounds lovely. Why is the lake a sad lake?" She looks questioningly to you, then smiles. "I will ask for advice on colors from someone who does not think red and green and blue should be together," she teases, again. "And yes... a lady needs many clothes, unfortunately."
She is cheerful, now that her secret is not a secret; now that her heart isn't breaking. She smiles, and smiles, and smiles, and thinks it a wonder her face doesn't ache. Lys murmurs, "So do you think people will like me? I am prepared to like them..."
"How could they not like you?" It's not a simple, off-handed reply. Not the way he says it. He seems to have forgotten the accompaniment of Portnoy, for his look lingers a little bit longer than is simply polite, for the purposes of conversation.
His quiet laugh breaks the stare, reinforcing civility and manners. King Eavan quenches the laugh with a swallow of mulled wine. "I can assure you that I offer no challenge in that regard. I'm easily mortified," his words have a lifting lilt when he teases. "And His Majesty's stadium is quite large. I don't know. I can certainly fit two of my castles in it." He grins. "With room for a garden."
He needs something to do with his hands. He considers another cup of mulled wine, but his hand halts just after moving: he doesn't want to be inebriated in front of you. Glancing around for Portnoy, he leans toward his valet. "Do you think you could bring a bit of finger food from the galley. Nothing major. Bread and cheese. Maybe a little fruit?"
"Certainly, Sire," Portnoy says. He will bring enough for two.
"The lake is sad," King Eavan says, looking back to you -- no, your question was not forgotten. "Because it covers half of what was once Myrtle and Rose. The remaining land is now just...Rose. They were in the lower valley, very verdant. Extremely happy sheep and cattle. The best cheese in all the kingdoms, I'm quite certain of it. When the Silver River flooded, it destroyed the reservoir, so the valley was completely inundated. Even a part of Silverglen was lost and exists under that lake somewhere. We have now created additional reservoirs to keep the lake as a spill reservoir, with dams that allow us to do a more measured release during times of catastrophic rainfall."
She smiles, a blush reddening her cheeks slightly, and she tucks her ankles beneath the seat. "Ah," Lys answers you softly. "In short, the lake is sad because of me, potentially." It's a joke, and she intends it as one, and the violet threads in her blue, blue eyes are very prominent when she smiles at you.
With a sip of cider taken, she looks to the river. "Is there no way to reclaim the land from beneath the lake?"
"We had considered that," Eavan answers quietly. "My father and the remainders of Myrtle and Rose discussed it at length. It still comes up from time to time. But because of the devastation and loss of life, they felt, and I agree, that it is now a sacred site as it is. It is their final resting place. Emotionally, spiritually. Practically, the tragedy now helps us avoid other catastrophes in the future with the reservoirs remaining. Or, at least we've avoided such major floods thus far. Myrtle, while fertile," he smiles a little at the rhyming, "...was going to remain vulnerable to flooding in those hundred-year events. And so, in the memory of Myrtle, and in honor of those whose lives were lost, and almost lost," he looks to you, "... we kept the Lake of Tears."
King Eavan looks to you quite gently. "But it is not sad because of you. We are sad, because we lost friends and family. But you ...would be a cause for great jubilation. And... it would be a much stranger thing were you not the Orphan Queen than if you were. Lord Fox has spoken with Bianca. His findings will be made public. There is no doubt in my mind now...that I sit with the last flower of Myrtle. So... will Silverglen like you?" He grins at that. "They might like you more than they like me!" he teases with a broad and beautiful smile. "They do like a good story, my people."
The King quiets, pouring a cup of cider for himself. He offers to refill your mug as well. It affords him the opportunity to lean a little closer to you. Green eyes lift to yours of blue-violet-blue. "Bianca showed him your crib. You floated out like a flower petal down the river to the reedy banks of Avalon. How she found you, and how the Orphan Queen was rumored to have disappeared were a perfect match," he whispers. "As perfect as myth and legend can be when shown to be true."
"Oh." She sits there, eyes widened. She had not realized quite to what lengths wheels have been turning, on your behalf and on her own. She cuts a glance in your direction, and what you say has her blinking, her eyes tearing up. She puts her mug down, lifting her hand to her face, pressing it along the side of her cheek.
Oh...
"Why did she never tell me?" Lys finally manages to say. There are old hurts there, lurking in her voice. She wipes at her eyes, which are suddenly overflowing. I wish I could ask for a hug. But this is hardly seemly...
"For fear of kidnapping," he answers quietly. It is easy to say, but he realizes it is difficult to hear. "Lord Fox has ... several well placed sources. Rosewood and Dale were no friends to Myrtle, less to Rose. Bianca kept it from you, and I believe her," he emphasizes, "...for fear that you might have been abducted and exploited, used as a pawn in the boundary disputes that occurred after the flood. Those are largely settled at this point. At my demand," his voice, in its gentleness, has the firmness of a king.
"Much has come to light in the last few days. Lord Fox," he smiles, "...has been busy. He's a digger, Lord Fox." Portnoy is not here. The crew is busy. Setting the carafe of cider aside, Eavan reaches for your hand. "What was done was largely for your protection." His fingers lightly rub yours. "Though I have made it clear that they should have told you as soon as you were of marrying age. You should not have had to wander in the world an orphan so long."
The King does not look around to wonder who might be spying on this moment; let them. With his other hand, he brushes a touch upon your face. "Details are still being worked out. But we will have the full story once we set foot in Silverglen. And you will know your story. And then, dear Lys, we will work out an arrangement, suitable to your birth, to the best of our abilities. I will fight for your inheritance, or if it cannot be so, I will make a tribute of land from Silverglen to the rightful Queen of Myrtle. I would do that even if I weren't...so very fond of you. Because it is the right thing to do."
I want to kiss your tears away. But the past cannot be bussed into submission. His thumb moves against your cheek, and those soulful green eyes peer past the veil of golden lashes, their color spilling onto your lips where his lips do not.
She listens, wiping her eyes and nodding speechlessly. She allows you to take her hand, looking at you with still damp eyelashes; few tears only, but tears all the same, grief for the past and for the loneliness and the uncertainty. "You should not have to pay the price for me," Lys whispers.
I do not want you to have to pay anything...
She sighs, and she closes her eyes, leaning her cheek into the clasp of your hand. Where you touch, color lifts. "It's still," Lys finally manages to speak, "still, it is better to know. I would rather know. Thank you. Thank Lord Fox. ...How many people know, now?"
"Silverglen shared the burden of the tragedy," he says it softly, but it is the declaration of a king, "...and we will share the responsibility of the recompense. But, we will worry about that later. Certainly, negotiations would need to be reopened with Rose and Rosewood and Avalon. And we will discuss the reservoirs as well."
He wants to kiss your mouth but he doesn't. He does, however, lift your fingers for the brush of his lips. Chaste but meaningful. "I know, Fox knows, you know, Bianca, and the Duchess of Rosewood." Imogen's mother. "But she will maintain her silence. Fox has her over a barrel. Once we have all of our information in hand and confirmed, we will make an announcement. You ..." he smiles a little, "...will have subjects, no doubt, who will want to see you. Survivors from Myrtle and Rose relocated in the area. In Silverglen, Rose, Rosewood."
Eavan brushes your cheek with his hand, cupping it lightly. How he likes the feel of it. I want to take care of you. "It is better that you know, as difficult as it is to hear. But as bittersweet as I am sure it feels, I am also relieved to have found you. And... finding you... get to be the first in line to offer my heart to a Mythical Queen. I will elbow Stephen of Rose in the face if he tries to step to the front of the line," he mutters. "I may not be as tall as Balthazar, or as fiery, or as....massive, but I'm quite the competitor in my own right."
He can hear Portnoy arriving. Leaning in, Eavan whispers: "Shall we skip snacks and head straight for supper? You and I and Lord Fox will discuss it more in detail in quarters." As in below deck...
Her hand is soft to your lips, and despite her grief, she looks up to you. "Will they really want to see me? I do not feel as if I am truly someone with subjects. Unless," Lys' mouth curves wryly, "it is mathematics, and history, and so forth."
She lifts her face to yours, without hearing the returning Portnoy, and she smiles at you, a hint of pink blush rising. "I told Stephen of Rose once that if he kept it up he would contract social diseases," she murmurs to you, watching you. "Do you really think that he could put himself ahead of you... your majesty?"
You whisper, and she cants her head in a small, accepting nod, lowering her eyes with a smile. "I can think of nothing I would prefer more."
Portnoy is an excellent reader of body language. Before he can even announce his presence, he turns right back around and takes the food to the King's cabin...
Eavan smiles to you. "He idolizes Lord Fox. Only he doesn't have Fox's grace or wisdom. Did you really say that?" he grins. "You do have a very quick wit. It's one of the things that I have come to adore about you. And....no...I am not worried. Unless he's an archangel in disguise," he teases.
The King remains seated closely. He shouldn't; and if he could rub two thoughts to the contrary together he might remember that. But he has no interest in polite distance at the moment. "Your Highness," he whispers, "...I am about to be impertinent. But completely honest, if that's any consolation to your grace. God I want to kiss you," he admits it in a smiling hush, and then he sits back, letting your cheek balance itself, letting your hand be independent for a time.
Rising and gathering the fur cloak around his shoulders, King Eavan offers his hand to you. "Suppertime," he says softly. "Let's...join Fox below, where we can talk more openly, and more privately."
There is a gentle smile as he looks to you. He is tall, quite, and majestic without having the airs of aristocracy around him. "They will want to see you. There are songs about the Orphan Queen. People who knew your parents and loved them. So you will be their long lost daughter, returned to them. Your people...are your family."
"Does he? But no, I have to agree with you; he does not." Lys colors, smiling at you as she leans in to hear you. "I ... didn't mean to be as harsh as I was, but it slipped out unawares." And she tilts her head to hear you the better, and then she blushes most brilliantly. She rises, still speechlessly scarlet, eyes lowered. Do I really inspire that in him?
Oh, she wants to, though. She moves to follow you belowdecks, looking up at you with a certain kind of a smile. "I hope that you are right," Lys murmurs. I hope that I can keep from feeling proprietorial.
The King's Quarters are quite generous. Being a royal vessel, it is outfitted quite comfortably, with its own bath facilities and a separated bedroom and gathering area. The door to the bedroom, a sliding panel painted with a forest landscape, is drawn closed.
Portnoy has assured that the snacks were brought, that fresh, hot tea was brewed and delivered and that supper has been sent for. No doubt the invitation to Lord Fox has already been delivered. "Portnoy is an outstanding valet. I do not know what I would do without him," he remarks, noticing what has been prepared. Eavan smiles to you as he ushers you gently and gallantly within the space, the door closed behind him by the guard on duty.
"I had the unenviable task," he says warmly, quietly, as he looks to you, hand in your hand to guide you to the sofa, "...of following a very popular king. But my people root for me. They hope for me. Not because I'm anything remarkable or I'm just that special. But they ...put their hopes in me, so I can hopefully do good for them, bring them peace and prosperity. And in my case," he smiles, "...maybe a little comedy. I know there are subjects of Myrtle in Silverglen, Rose and Rosewood who will be overjoyed. They will hope that you fare well. I do believe that, Lys."
For all his chatter, he wonders if the spell of above-deck might be broken. But as he sits next to you, tea left to steep and stay warm, he turns to you and the energy remains. Remains? It has increased.
Eavan lifts a hand to brush against your blushing cheek, his expression still. There are no self-deprecating comments, no quips or humility run amok. His green eyes look to your lips, and to where his fingerpads lightly press. And he leans in, slowly, halting a moment away to give you the opportunity to stop him if you wish him to stop. His lashes, long and blond, half-mast, veiling the green of his eyes.
And then it happens. The touch of his lips, warm, land upon your own in a slight press-tug. His eyes closed for it, for the half-second sweetness of it, Eavan draws slightly back, chastity of space maintained as much as the purity of the kiss itself. "As soft and as sweet as I thought," he whispers between you.
She follows you, she sits where you bid, and she smiles, and she looks up at you. "I think you are a very good king, and very special," Lys murmurs, eyes dancing, "but I suppose that now you shall claim my opinions are biased. We will see what comes of Myrtle. I ... would like to hear the evidence for myself."
And your hand lifts, and she looks up at you, her lips parting slightly at the faint pressure of your fingers. Slowly, her eyelashes lower; she sighs, the softest sound imaginable, and as chaste as the kiss might be, she warms to it. She lowers her chin as you draw back; she smiles, a bit tremulously. "I cannot speak for sweetness," Lys breathes out. She lifts a hand to touch your own. "...I have never done that before."
There is no tease of questioning. He accepts the prize of being first with quiet grace. His hand brushes against your cheek, lowering as he sits back a touch. "When I know that Lord Fox isn't on his way," comes the playful quip, "... we will do it again." That promise is held in a whisper, confirmed in his look. "That is," his cheeks color to a pink, "...if you permit it. Of course."
Like anything sweet, once tasted it is twice desired. It is in his looks, written on his face quite plainly: I have kissed her. I want to kiss her again. And in his mind's eye he sees his gardens, the copses of wildflowers that bloom within his castle, some just for his eyes. He'll meet you there.
It is in the midst of that frothy energy that a knock comes on the door. The King sits back, smiling to you with the secret you two now share (for however long it will last, that is). "Come in, Lord Fox," his voice announces, and as the door opens, the king is pouring tea for three, grinning like a fool, with pinkened cheeks.
Her blush is still painted in place, and she looks at you, with those wide unveiled eyes, and she smiles. He is so gentle with me. I had wondered what it would be like. Now I know...
She doesn't seem to find your gentleness a bad thing, either. Lys settles her hand on yours, only yanking it away when the knock comes, blushing brilliantly as she pulls away a bit. Lord Fox would have to be an unobservant fool to think nothing's up. "Good afternoon, Lord Fox," she murmurs as she accepts a cup of tea. "How have you been? His Majesty says there is some news."
Lord Fox earns his name with every look that is not a look and every casual smile that in its bland ease hints at his cunning. The smile is easy, and his look is politely amused. Deep auburn hair has been recently shorn in layers, but is still long enough to be braided, which it is just now to keep it out of his way. He wears a serviceable suit, certainly not clothes he would wear to a court function, but they are of high quality (always), merely more perfunctory. In his hands, he holds a brown leather satchel-folder.
"You majesty," he says to his King with a bow, and then to you, with a smile, "...Lady Lys. I have been extraordinarily well, I thank you for asking..."
"He thrives on a good chase..."
"Indeed I do, your majesty," he smiles to his King, giving him a bit of an amused grin. No, there is no hiding how you feel about one another, or...what you were up to right before he entered. He, of course, says nothing. Lord Fox comes to take up the chair across from you both, setting the satchel on the table (it is thick) and taking up a cup of tea. "There is news, yes. I have been hard at work gathering intel, Lady Lys, of your origins. I am sure his majesty," a glance and he has to bite back a grin again, "...has explained it to you?"
King Eavan wears his guilt with grace and style. Sitting back with his cup of tea, he quietly acknowledges without saying a word that he was, in fact, enjoying the lips of his new lady. "I've kept it to the high-level bullet points. We were not speaking in private. And love Portnoy as I do, he's a fabulous messenger of gossip," the King grins. "I'm certain to be engaged as soon as I make landfall. I've seen the pigeons in flight."
Lord Fox chuckles, sipping at his own cup of tea. "Your subjects will be pleased in either case. Well, then," he continues to you, setting the cup aside, "... do you have questions or would you prefer that I lay out the foundations of our case and how I believe we should proceed," he tips his head to Lys, "...your highness..."
Lys sips her tea and uses the cup as a shield against knowing looks and amused grins, cheeks as pink and plump as apples' as she takes a sip of the steaming contents. She listens to the interchange between you both, lowering her cup as the topic so quickly turns to - well - herself.
"I am sure I've many questions, Lord Fox," she answers gravely, cutting a brief, lingering glance to the object of her beloved, "but most can wait, I think, until I hear the foundations and your advisement. It is a bit of a shock to my system, still. Perhaps hearing will help me to incorporate it all."
Looks are exchanged, glances met and smiles are shared. They are silent and attempting-to-be-subtle-but-massively-failing flirtations. King Eavan sits back with his tea, a smile at the brim of the cup. He looks to his hands as he listens (with occasional green glances to the young woman beside him).
"Very well," Lord Fox smiles to you both, all but chuckling. But he is far too smooth for that. He opens the satchel while trying to ignore the metaphorical footsies, removing several documents, one of which is an image of a white, canopied basinet. "When the Silver River crested in flood stage over its banks, it destroyed the dams and reservoirs that Myrtle had constructed a hundred years previous, inundating the valley. The Kingdom of Myrtle and Rose," he removes a map of the current boundaries, "...was comprised of these areas: modern day Rose, the Lake of Tears, bordering Silverglen here, and included a portion of modern-day Dale. The Lake of Tears," he indicates the great lake on the map, "...covers half of the previous kingdom and the portion of Silverglen that was lost. In so doing, the flood waters overtook the castle manse itself, the wall of water actually broke through the foundations and swept it away, and all those who were inside of it with little warning. Fortunately for you, you were in a crib."
Lord Fox unfolds another part of the map. "You were carried on rapid waters to a tributary of the Silver River that actually runs through Avalon, between Avalon and Benoic, specifically, where you were found and taken to the Lady of the Lake. I have sworn affidavits from Bianca, Lancelot and Bianca's High Priestess, Nimue, all attesting to the condition in which they found you. Your infant dress was embroidered with myrtle flowers, the crest of your kingdom. I happen to have that dress in my possession."
King Eavan looks to you far more seriously now, flirtation ceased for support. His hand lightly holds your own, his thumb rubbing your hand gently. Fair eyebrows lift at the mention of the garment. "Palpable proof..."
"We also have the basinet," Lord Fox smiles, sipping at his tea. "So, there will be little to argue in the way of your legitimacy. However, I would expect push-back, fairly intense, from Dale in specific. Rose and Rosewood have already given indications that they will recognize you as the Queen of Myrtle. The negotiations will be fierce," he says to Eavan.
Eavan's expression is thoughtful, calculating. "To be sure," he says evenly. "I think it would be best for Rose to be the first to recognize her legitimacy. But we must time it with the announcement of our courtship, which will lend credence to the legitimacy, but also bolster good opinion on the courtship itself. Which I don't think will be a problem in any case..."
"No, indeed not," Lord Fox assures his King, but he looks to you both, a special smile given to you. "I think it would be best for this to be released about a week prior to the Yule festivities. The kingdoms will be in a celebratory mood and more apt to take it in the spirit in which it's intended." He pauses and turns his attention fully to the Queen of Myrtle. "Do you have any concerns or questions so far, Lys?"
She listens closely, distraction passing a little in the face of the weight of the information given. "I see." Lys' eyes brighten with tears, and she blinks them back as she does her best to wrestle emotion down in favor of being able to answer questions and ask them. "I ... yes, Dale is unlikely to be pleased with my claim to even some of their lands. Dale is quite unpleasant in their opportunism, as a rule."
She was there to witness Ymrys of Dale and his own high opinion of himself, after all; even if Ymrys' elder brother has more sense, and has come to his senses indeed. "It might be best if I announce myself," Lys says finally. "And .. I may be able to gain some legitimacy through my friends."
She folds her hands daintily in her lap, looking to both you and Lord Fox in turn, mind sharp behind her eyes. "I'll need to send a message which cannot be intercepted to the Sun King," Lys decides. "And ask him to acknowledge my right. And, of course, we should send word to His Majesty, the High King - once we have the public support of Rose and Rosewood, not before. He will have a great deal on his docket, but if he is willing, that will do more to silence Dale than Rose and Rosewood alone will. But we don't want to offend Rose and Rosewood, nor to make it look as if there's grounds to say that the High King is high-handed or fickle. And I think it might be best, don't you," she looks to both men in quiet appeal, "if perhaps for the Yule festival word might be sent encouraging the survivors and their families to come in attendance, in honor of those who perished? If the announcement is made then, and evidence revealed then, if you are right, then I will have the people's support. And that will put Dale in a much trickier position."
"Dale is split between the opportunistic and the greedy. But they have their occasional saints of reason," Eavan quietly agrees. "The only reason we need a trained army at all is to mind that border." He is silent a moment. There is a faint smile on his features as the young woman at his side lays out her own plan. For it is her kingdom, and her life. He glances to Lord Fox, the corners of his mouth upturning.
Lord Fox looks to you with respect and with the hint of admiration. "I think that is a sound approach, Your Highness. I would, of the two kingdoms, defer first to Rose in terms of who you negotiate first. While Rosewood has some interest and relationship, the majority of your former subjects are in Rose and Silverglen. I can assure you of Rosewood's cooperation. I am about ninety-percent certain of Rose's. But of course it all comes down to land, in the end. That is where things will get sticky. I think you are quite sharp, quite smart in having the Sun King acknowledge your right, in addition to Avalon and Silverglen. That would be most convincing. And it might be enough to take the wind out of Dale's sails. Once negotiations are complete with Rose and Silverglen and we have Rosewood's support ritualized, then I recommend turning a united front to Dale. I think you have it quite right regarding the High King's delicate position. In all honesty, he will probably want to remain hands off unless all parties cannot come to some agreement. Certainly, His Majesty the High King could formalize the recognition. But we would want to stop short of having him move lands unless war were the only other option."
Eavan turns to look to you. "I have trustworthy messengers who can fly or swim the distance to the Sun King and bear your message. Who would notice another gull, or another fish? Of course," he smiles a little to her, and warmly so, "...you might have other avenues at your disposal. I am willing to put my resources on the line for you. If they are needed or desired. I do agree on the Yule festivities. Lord Fox, ensure that it is so. I want the invitations sent within the week. Yule is approaching quickly. And it is a season of hope and renewal. It would not be extraordinary for us to do this. It would seem much like any other year. It is in advance of the twenty-year anniversary," the king notes archly. Yes, that is the angle to use.
Lord Fox tilts his head in agreement, making a mental note of the command. "Consider it done. So, I think in terms of our plan, the first step is for you to contact the Sun King," he says to Lys, "... gather your support there. I will gain the sworn support of Rosewood. And we will put together a meeting with the royal family of Rose, by request of King Eavan of Silverglen, to begin negotiations. We will ask them to publicly support your reinvestiture regardless of the outcome of those negotiations. We will make an announcement around Yule, of both your return, and your courtship," he smiles to you both, "...with the King of Silverglen. Then there will be rejoicing and merry making."
King Eavan chuckles. "You make it sound so easy, Fox." Green eyes look to you. He lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles, and he closes his eyes.
"If there are no further questions at the moment, I should prepare the paperwork," Lord Fox offers as the hand is held, and carried to royal lips for a kiss. "And you do not need me here. His honor is beyond reproach. Your majesty, if I may?"
King Eavan's ears and cheeks take on a bit more pink as he lowers your hand and turns his attention to Lord Fox. "Certainly, Fox. With my blessing and heartfelt thanks."
She stirs her fingers in her tea, now that it is cool enough not to scald her. She brings her fingers to her lips, which move soundlessly. The droplets of tea are then allowed to fall into the steam above the cup, harmlessly unspilled. Pursing her lips, Lys blows the steam gently towards first one man, and then the other.
It is not instantaneous; it takes a few moments, even in the relatively still air of the room. Then, quietly but audibly, Lys' voice can be heard in both men's ears. "I have every confidence that between us, word may safely be sent to King Balthazar as to any other deemed appropriate."
She smiles, and leaves her hand in yours, a hint of a blush arising to her cheeks. "I am glad, Lord Fox, that you think so highly of my honor," Lys teases gently, still blushing. "Thank you so much for all your work. It is a debt which I cannot repay."
Lord Fox grins as he rises. No, he's not worried for your honor for several reasons, not the least of which is the fact you know your worth. "This one's on me, your highness," he replies lightly. As if the next one shall start your tally. He bows first to his liege, and then to you, his future lady. As he straightens, he shows his admiration quite clearly in the warming expression of his face. The cool demeanor cracks with but the upraising of a single eyebrow. Lord Fox is suitably impressed.
When the door closes, it is just you and the King. "He is a good man," he murmurs between you. "I don't know what I'd do without him." But then his attention turns to you and not to the trail of the departing Fox. "I know this could not have been easy for you," he says softly, and his hand frees your hand, his arm opening outward to offer an embrace. "I am quite sure it is surreal, even a little overwhelming. You do not have to put a brave face on for me, by the way. Remember," he says as his arms draw you in for a gentle hold, "...honesty in all things."
He is solid and strong and warm as he holds you, his head resting upon the crown of your head. And idly his hand moves slowly up and down you back in the unconscious rhythm of comfort.
Once the door closes, she turns to you, and moves into your embrace. There are tears; not many, but a few, as she grieves for people she didn't know, for a childhood which is past. "I would cry more if I could," Lys whispers to you. "Someone should cry for them. But it is too large; too enormous for my head to completely encompass, Eavan."
Less flirting now; she sighs, resting against your chest, secure within your arms. Safe. I am safe. "Thank you," she finally murmurs, not rising from your arms. "I appreciate your help. I am glad we became friends, and not just ... whatever it was that we were." The way she leans against you, in trust and warmth, speaks of more than mere friendship.
"Tears have been shed," he says quietly, easily. The pain is older for him. "And will be. But," he straightens, his hands coming to brush the wetness from your cheeks and cradle your face, "...it is not all sorrow." From the haze of remembered, and for you new, grief, there is the light of hope. The sun hasn't abandoned us in winter; it only seems so. King Eavan smiles a little. "You are alive and you are here. There is something to be thankful for. And you and I...friends and...whatever else we were and are...are coming together, restoring what was lost with a new hope."
Bending, his hands still cradling your face, his mouth moves on yours again. This time, it lingers. Petal plucking, the kiss is a tugging of soft lips and light brushes of flushed skin to skin. Eyes closed, Eavan brushes his mouth to yours, then kisses your chin as he leans back, your face still caressed and cradled.
"We will talk more later," he murmurs. "I will tell you whatever it is you wish to know of Silverglen and Myrtle and Rose. But first," he smiles, his hands releasing you, "... fresh tea and something to eat. And maybe a bit of an afternoon nap."
Posted by rowan at June 14, 2010 10:02 PM
