There is a kind of comfort in this happening now, happening in winter. You can cover yourself up in the armor of an overcoat, bundle your neck and heart in woolen scarves, and it gets dark early, providing ample excuse to turn-in for bed sooner than might otherwise be acceptable.

     As hands join from couple to couple, Gruffydd glances to his lover. It's perfect, actually. Just family. Just friends. We're all holding one another's hands. And the promise is a simple one. Love one another.

     Maria is silent for a moment, and her eyes too fill with tears. "Oh," she answers softly. She crosses to Gruffydd, looking up at him and reaching to touch his cheek. "Tiernan has been the foundation of this family," she says quietly, turning to both the Wests and holding her hand out to Arian. "This will rock us all to our knees."

     "I wish that I could remain forever with you. Unfortunately... my time here is coming to an end, children."

     "I am glad to know that I live on in beauty and verve," Elaine smiles. She bites back a laugh at the teasing of siblings. That she finds you all delightful is immediately apparent.

     When the three of you move or speak as one, he feels like Galahad surrounded by Grail Maidens. It passes, that feeling, but it leaves behind the residue of myth.

     "...It is a pleasure to meet you, children of my children..."

     Bianca looks to each one and then to the High King. "Your Majesty, I will stand for these three -- Sun, Moon and Star -- and vouchsafe their Avalon heritage for the Crown's recognition."

     And as the sun begins to draw downward in its afternoon stations, word is being filtered and sent, whispered and gasped, blurted and bemoaned from street to street, from Den to market. By tomorrow all this will be known. A storm in the streets. A tryst on the balcony.

     Conversations do resume nearby, but there is a lot of energy given to the two newcomers. Who are they? How are they sitting at that table? But there are also those here who already know of you, Lady Gillian. One such is Stephen of Rose. He actually makes eye contact and holds it a moment, before looking back to his group.

     "...And I remained out of my head for months. I think... two fire-aligned people just...really shouldn't be in a romantic relationship with one another. Now, not in it? I can see it for what it was. When I was in it? I couldn't see anything, Arian, but fire and smoke."

     There isn't much else to say, especially with her little brother making faces from the driver's side. Gillian sighs as she turns the phone off, holding it to her breast in a cloud of pink haze. She allows herself to linger in it blissfully for just five minutes - then turns to call Parvati. Duty calls!

     "Right. I've left a note for my wife and a letter to be sent to my lawyers if I'm not back in time," he grumbles. It's easy to see where Pres gets some of this from. Bright blue eyes, as bright as Maddie's, cut to Tiernan and then to his family. "Let's get this show on the road, eh?"

     "I pretty much knew something like this was going to happen sooner or later. She's younger than he is and she has no idea what she wants to do with her life. She fell for him based on Gillian's letters and when Gillian dumped him she moved in right away to try snapping him up for herself. But it doesn't work like that, that smoothly, outside of books and movies..."

     "I am Arian of the Tempest, and I stand here in praise and defense of the Princess Sabira, daughter of High King Iowerth ap Davydd. Answer my challenge, or be branded a spineless, cowardly cur."

     No sooner do I think I have myself together when something happens, and I am thrown into confusion. Now, mind you, I am easily confused so... take it as you like it.

     "...I am very sorry if I made you anxious by blowing up my own room. I'm also sorry that you are going to have to bear the burden of your guise with me. I cannot pretend to dislike you. Without truth, Preston, I am nothing."

     He sits heavily on the first couch he comes across, staring into space. He is shell-shocked, a little. There's nothing he needs to do about it, and, in fact, little he can do about it, and so he just sits there.

     He waits until Preston is safely out of the room, every single look, every minute motion controlled. And when the door ticks closed, Balthazar frowns. And every piece of glass, from bottles containing alcohol to tabletops and windows, shatters in a shock wave of emotion.

     "..."They're watching for weaknesses in the link that they can exploit. If they don't see any here, they'll move on to find something more exploitable, or they'll turn to make a weakness, through political imbroglio, through violence, through disruption of trade, through a bit of everything..."

     "I am the most fortunate man I know," he says quietly to his wife, to his consort. "When times ahead are difficult and dark," Gruffydd says quietly, with acknowledgement of what he has seen, what he knows, "... we will be able to trust in this, and I to find solace in the arms of those I love."

     "This is all so much at once. One thing at a time," he quietly implores you with a weary smile. "I don't know whether to check out a book or start watching The X-files."

     Mentally, Pres facepalms. We're gonna need a bigger boat. He looks both ways. Where is someone to rescue him now?

     "He is incredibly brilliant," Gruffydd quietly notes. "Very sensitive. But he's our heart and soul. I'm glad you were able to meet him tonight, Preston..."

     He knows it as soon as he thinks it, feels it. It rings with a whole, pure note in his heart. Gruffydd's hand lifts, lightly running through your mussed, strawberry-blond hair. It is time.

     Pres runs his fingers through his hair, elbows on his desk, locking his hands together behind his neck. He is going to come in, and he is going to touch me, and I am going to break. I can see it coming...

     "You will have to pardon me, Preston West. I am unused to brothers attempting to assist Bran in his conquests. Typically, he's chased with a variety of weaponry."

     "I don't hate him," Pres mutters, closing his eyes with a shiver as you brush his nape. His arms tighten around you a little. "I just don't like him. Look, there's a value in dislike - it doesn't mean we can't be civilized about it, okay?"

     "Yes, there is another way out, Preston. You can take a flying leap off the balcony," Balthazar calls out. Strike one for Mister Nice Guy.

     He realizes that you would rather do almost anything than to be around him, let alone to ask for assistance, and so Balthazar does not belabor the point. His openness remains -- it is his nature -- even as it is yours to refuse it. "I am happy to help," he murmurs, "... of course. What can I do for you... or the Wests in general?"

     "This too shall pass," he sighs. "It doesn't make it any easier, of course," there is a smile for that. "I would recommend speaking with your sisters after lunch," he gently says. "I find that the less time something like this has to sit, the better. Generally speaking."

     "There's a dozen of them here. Try asking different ones and collecting answers. Make it your personal Pokemon," Pres deadpans. "Gotta catch 'em all."

     "Well, whatever we're going to say, we better think fast," Pres mutters, slouching down again. "Here she comes." Maddie turns, eyes and lips rounding as she spots their sister.

     Really, the most unexpected part is that it's in Wales, in a castle, and not somewhere more expected for a scion of Prep such as Preston Oliver West III.

     "...Just as all myths exist, and all dreams, all religions are valid expressions. No one is right," he smiles to you. "And no one is wrong. God did not create religion. It created the universe. The rest is ...cave painting and storytelling. From Stonehenge to Notre Dame, it is all the same."

     What's behind the curtain, Jack? Choose door A or B.

     "I'm not sure how to talk about this, period. I thought maybe it would get easier once other people knew, but..." Loki shrugs, and slouches back in his chair. "I wasn't entirely fair to her. Other people's problems always look easier than your own."

     Maddie's in the back seat, lazing on the cushions and staring out the windows. Both Wests are a little bit unusually quiet, but eventually Pres speaks up. "So, Mads. Loki. Magic."

     "Let me try this again, chronologically. I met this guy in a bar..."

     Somewhere, houses rain from the skies falling on witches with expensive red shoes, giants trip over golden harps and hurtle out of the sky, and somewhere, somewhere a red-faced queen is hopping down (and a cat hops up and down behind her in mimicry), shouting: Off with her head! Off with her head! You heard what the queen said!

     "You do not have to feel weak. The power to feel strong is in your grasp. It is up to you. You determine your self worth. Being with a man, intimately, emotionally, sexually, does not make you a girl anymore than it makes you a banana."

     The only trouble with world-views is that they tend to narrow one's view on everything. And so... goggles off, Preston West. The world's just gotten a great deal more interesting...

     "What if I were to tell you that your wish to be a seafaring adventurer could come true. In fact, that somewhere there are tall ships that still sail and spices that are still contested. What would you say were I to tell you that I could make this dream of yours a reality?"

     Long sweeping lashes lift their curtains to you, the lavender eyes sparkling in the spreading of his smile, the sunset of the day, and all its deepening delight.

     "Thank you for the welcome, sir. It's very kind of you to open your home to all of us. We'll try not to get in your hair too much. Right, Maddie?" He lightly pokes his baby sister in the shoulder. "We've been touring family reunions this month, it feels like. Next week: the Hatfields and the McCoys."

     He laughs at that, setting his menu aside. "Right," Pres grins, the smile sparkling. "Right on the fucking edge. Let's live to have regrets but save the regrets til we're eighty. We're in London, right? Cheers, mate."

     Since when am I the one who needs-- oh, right. Since I got to go another round of discussions about my future with my dad.

     Maddie shoots Balthazar a look that wavers somewhere between you didn't tell me! and you're a WHAT?. She blushes as the applause and murmur both move around the room with their rhubarbing rumble, and she hastily - very hastily - takes a drink. A large one.

     "...These days I'm spontaneous if I grab rum and Coke instead of Mac 'n' Jack."

     Loki grabs his glass on the way. "A few hours of breathing space. I think. I may be on California time." His phone gets one cursory examination before it's disposed of in a pocket in much the same manner. "Boston time will just have to do."

     Loki slides back, dragging his foot away. "Sure." And on tonight's episode of Seventeen Synonyms For Yes... He stands up, momentarily shaky for reasons that have nothing to do with general ability to walk.

     Are you putting on a show for him or me...
     Or is it actually about Loki...

     "I want to rig a credit card scam," Pres answers bluntly, "to siphon off enough cash somehow to pay for my operation."

     "We'll try to tone it down for the newcomer nonetheless," Pres answers Balthazar with a slight grin to Loki. "I'm the dull one, I'm afraid. My sisters got all the glamour in this family."

     His scar is vehemently visible - an actual indentation about half an inch deep in his calf, about four inches long and a quarter or a third of an inch wide. "It's just so stupid," he mutters. "...I shouldn't need help."

     "Hey. Get in before the nice police officer changes his mind. Welcome back to hell."

     July, 2017. The West family's research vessel is moored for the time being at the marine institute near Long Beach, while Fore West (IV) is helping with research on long-line pier fishers' effects on local shark populations...