"...There are mortals who have passed and arrived here and who have lived here now for many years who have not progressed as far. The transition isn't easy."

     There is a sudden, terrible wracking of emotion. It shakes his body. And like a summer storm, it passes just as quickly.

     What is, after all, to be done? Nothing. Time is slipping away, and he is ever more conscious, acutely conscious, of how little time he has left. He stands looking out the window, though he sees nothing in the evening gloom of winter. Perhaps there is nothing to be seen, as much as there is nothing to be done.

     He knows the water is breaching his hull. He knows he's sinking. And he can hear the thunder in the distance. The time is coming. But he'd rather hear the band on deck. He'd rather have a cup of tea. The Captain looks to his First Mate, his eyes begging, silently: Lie to me.

     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.

     "I was hoping there'd be more time," Tiernan whispers. "Years more. Decades." It is to himself and not to himself; it is in answer to what you have said and to what you have not said.

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

     The rocks and hazards were there, mapped out, the ones he knew. He wasn't expecting this black ice. I'm run aground. I'm shipwrecked. The thoughts aren't broadcast. They are held in his silence, cast adrift with the planks of his heart. He watches them all sail away as he feels himself bobbing in the remains. "When are you leaving..."

     "My flesh was meant to be sloughed off a few years back," he tells you. "I was not ready to go; my family was not ready to let me go. And so with the aid of healers and through Love, I remained. But there is work to be done, and ... I have outstayed my time."

     He smiles, and he hides his sadness behind his joy at your growth, your ascension. He hides from you what he knows - that soon he will be leaving, and not for a little while, but for good. Tiernan ruffles your hair, and he moves to follow you, hand to your shoulder.

     Ah, yes. This is the Llewellyn genome for self-pity and self-sabotage. Tiernan recognizes it well; he's spent decades, now, dealing with it.

     "I want to return the gift of Love that you have given me, so patiently, for so long. And Gwilym, who gave it to me so impatiently. When all I could do was take it with the promise to return it later. It is later now," Iowerth says quietly, his every syllable strumming emotion. "It's my turn to be patient. It's my turn to love with Love's Priority..."

     "...All he sees right now are reefs and rocks that will ruin everything he loves. If you wish to help them resolve this issue, this is the first step."

     "About ... what and what?" Anierin says. He looks back and forth between his fathers.

     He isn't far. You hear the sound of his barefeet, and while the steps are certainly heavier (and longer) than when he was a barefooted boy padding to your room, the cadence of his steps is signature. You know it's him even before you see him.

     "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?"

     Tanira smiles demurely, neatly unfastening her veil and setting it aside. She takes up her cup in both hands and lifts it to her lips. "Nothing illegal, I do not believe, papa. It is nothing terribly strange. I have decided that I wish to marry."

     The general is dressed for war, and he looks as though he has been ravaged. One would never look at him and think him victorious today. "There will be no engagement. To anyone. I want the whole matter canceled." His voice is strong, authoritative, steady, and hurt. He doesn't take comfort just yet. Balthazar swallows. "Madison and I are taking... a break."

     "Hey, have fun with it. Enjoy your moment in the sun, Sun." He grins, looking to Tiernan. He holds out his hand for his lover, his husband. We should all enjoy our time in the sun...and with our son.

     And then the door opens and he looks around. Shit. Balthazar presses past the door, steps around the sacks, he stands in the center of a mailstorm maelstrom. Amber eyes look to you with smoldering shock. But then the sun of understanding dawns. "Ah... are these ...?"

     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.

     His professional demeanor melts slightly into humor. "I was hoping that pain would be a deterrent. However, he is a ...very determined man." A kind way of saying that he is a stubborn pain in the ass.

     Resting his chin on a folded hand, Anierin moved a tiny model ship, a miniature of The Draigamor along the ripples of a woven rug and over the swell of his father's boots.

     Eventually your words do circle around in the canals of his ears. Anierin looks at the flowers, and then at you again. A bit shocked, a bit glassy-eyed, but like you, he has to face that time does, indeed, march on.

     The High King stands with a sigh. "You are so handsome, so confident, so strong... it's depressing," he smiles to his son. "You are not supposed to be this...this yet. I am going to go to my room and cry." He pivots, holding out a hand for his husband to take.

     ...You are looking for someone to blame when there is no one. You blame yourself, without need. He made his own choice. And if he is happy where he is, if he is at peace and does not blame you, then why do you persist in blaming yourself?

     Gruffydd is quiet a moment, thinking upon what you say. "I could have done a better job today. I admit that I... took his concerns fairly lightly. I thought he was being a little dramatic. Irritated, certainly. And that's understandable. But I didn't mean to imply that I was choosing Preston over him.

     "I don't know anything," he frowns. "What I thought I know..." he shrugs. "Turns out I didn't know that either. So I guess... tell me..."

     "Hmm..." for a moment that is all Balthazar says: a musical hmm, a symphonic sigh. He is not distracted, as he turns toward the voice. What he is, is intoxicated. But it is beyond drunk; it is past drugged. He is his own opiate, a walking aphrodisiac.

     Periwinkle rimmed with green softens as he looks at your face. His face, seemingly no more than twenty-nine, holds all of the memories and wisdom of having aged gracefully (mostly) with you. His hand brushes against your dark hair, and then your cheek. "It is time," he whispers, and he grins.

     Love and hope and sex and dreams
     Are still surviving on the street
     Look at me, I'm in tatters!
     I'm shattered...
     Shadoobie...

     "It's not true, of course. People are born with talent, they get ahead because of their families, all the usual inequalities. But it's what everyone wants to believe. Here--your entire family is vivid proof that it's not true. People are born naturally superior to everyone else, with inherited power that matters."

     "Soon, I'll be calling you Your Majesty. I'm not sure I'm ready for that, to be honest. To me, you will always be the little boy who crept in our bed every time it thundered."

     "Dear God," Iowerth says, turning to you, "...how will we contain our son, the Burning Inferno come Midsummer? This ... is going to be interesting..." But interesting in the way that makes him suddenly tired.

     "How can I assume they will understand any of this?"

     Talk to me. You all invite me to speak but I don't really know what to say...

     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."

     He smiles. Your seriousness tickles him. Even on vacation, you cannot truly escape.

     "You have finally learned that it does no good to argue with me," Agapios grins. "I never thought I would see this day come." When he says it, however, it has two meanings of a two-fold depth. His smile turns from teasing to fond to loving in a manner of moment.

     "Oes, I'm alright. I'm in love... so there's no hope really, but... I'm not the only one suffering that. You... asked me to call you when it got serious so... here is your phone call..."

     "Will we know what to do?" His eyebrows lift and his smile takes a wander across his face. "Probably not. We may sleep for a year just to catch up. But we will find it out together, whatever it is. It will be a new adventure, right? So, we will not worry. We will sail into the wind as always."

     Hope for the best, and the best is usually revealed. Fear the worst, and the worst always shows itself.

     "Once upon a time..."

     And his eyes go from cinnamon to amber, like the embers of resin popping in a brazier.

     "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."

     For a week or more, as time in the empire is kept, Balthazar had been in a constant state of Behind and constantly running. A band on the run, he fancied himself, slipping from realm to realm in between gigs and rehearsals, phone calls to a girl, thinking about the girl, and at some point trying to find time to eat and to sleep.

     You have kidnapped me and you have rescued me.

     "I regret nothing," he says, kiss parting. "Not a single moment. Each scar we have, we earned. Each joy we had, we deserved. Every fight, while maddening, was worthwhile -- worth it, to be standing in this spot with you, right now, the most handsome man I have ever seen."

     I'll be expecting you at my location in not more than ten minutes, please. Finish whatever you're doing.

     "...I had not realized... how much I had really missed him. I would acknowledge it, as one does with the passing of time."

     "...We are married, in all senses of that word. Our fortunes, our fate, our joys, our regrets -- they are all wed to one another."

     "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..."

     "Why is he treated as an adult, when he has a far more reckless history than I, and I am treated like a child asking my younger uncle May I, Might I?"

     "I have some things which we should discuss, Io." Patient, as always. There is no sign that this is something out of the usual. Tiernan smiles at you quietly, bending to pour the wine. "Nothing too terrible. But I have been hearing from Gruffydd about his trip."

     Fresh off of the shower-inducing hug given by the squealing young girl -- that's going to keep him up for hours -- the shock of seeing is grandmother (and grand-aunt) as the offered chaperone is enough to send him reeling. "Nainie?" he proclaims in shock.

     Tiernan steps back, looking at you with quiet pride. You have faced a hard truth. Now you are ready to begin.

     Affectionate blue eyes look at that sleeping form, the note left where he will find it. No emergency, but something's come up. I've gone to see to it, will be back. I love you, always and forever. - T.

     "... I was trying to listen to Gwilym as he talked. But ... the sound of my blood rushing in my ears made that difficult."

     ... You are staring... uncertain... wary and wise...

     For a moment, his smile moves a bit in his eyes. You are growing up. But not that much. You are a boy still. "Being crown prince makes it difficult. It was so for us. Do you want my advice on what you should do, or just to listen?"

     "Each day, he and his husband will have lunch. A private lunch. We will eat and make love before heading back to our respective businesses. So let it be written, so let it be done. So says the king."

     Stolen moments. You and he shall have to become master thieves, plucking moments in spontaneous silence.

     Outside on the docks, he pauses to take a look around. One never knows what the future will hold. He never once thought it would ever bring him here, or that he would ever have fought trolls and ogres on land in the company of Tiernan of the Winter Diamonds.

     His body is streaked with comets and galaxies. It is a startling sight.

     "Ask me again," Iowerth says quietly. "This time, ask me without your hands in my pants."

     "Fear," he continues softly, "... is selfish because it is the expression of the body's and the soul's will to survive. It is necessary. Do you think anyone is without fear? Do you think you should be? How unreasonable a thing to ever expect from yourself. How unfair you are being to yourself..."

     He seems ... not to remember me. I do not understand it, but I recognized him when he lowered his hood. It gave me a very bad turn. And he invited me... he wants me to join the Hunt.

...Rest assured that I have not forgotten you...

     "...I know what it is to suffer and to search for meaning. You want to know who you are... you wish to know why what happened to you happened. A reason, an understanding. Don't give up,"

     Deep blue, serene aquamarine, stormy grey, tranquil turquoise -- the confluence of all the world's oceans, and of the oceans yet to be, come together here.

     His hand cups your face. "The best antidotes for ghosts is illumination," Agapios murmurs, his fingers stroking your cheek. "They cannot abide the clear light of examination. And so... we will vanquish her. I am confident of this."

     "So if you're ordinary, Io, then I am dullness incarnate. Shall we be two grey pebbles on a sparkling beach together?"

     Iowerth looks to the heavens and shakes his head at himself. You are so stupid. How can someone so smart be so dumb? Shall I be doomed to my heredity? Really?

     He stands there, waiting for you to move to the sofa as instructed. Who's the servant here anyway? "Would you like anything to eat while I work?"

     Where you touch, her hand upon your arm, there is a gentle connection, and an instantaneous soothing, spiritual balm. Zafirah wanders with you, content to walk in silence for a few moments.

     "My mind is... somewhat spinning," he'll admit that to you, if to no one else, "... from all she has told me. I feel like Mohammed or the Buddha, only without the foresight of taking notes."

     "I think it is because the memories of the evening feed the fumbling fingers at dawn. Just as the evening's clasping is inspired by how the day began. It's a vicious cycle," Iowerth intones lightly.

     It is rightly thought that this is the last winter of my youth. The last season that can pass lazily by as uncomplicated as a child.

     The explosion consisted of his foot, the private quarter's door, and a round of darts. With short swords.

     He sees you and he smiles with a rascal tilt. He doesn't say anything before he pulls you in for a hug and kisses you in fine Italian greeting. "Buona notte," he tries Italian on for size. "How was that? Is my accenting off?"

     It is a leap of faith; a gamble. But it is a calculated risk, based half on intellect and things-remembered and things-not-quite-said and not-quite-heard, and the other half on the desperation that a pair of eyes, a pair of hands outside these two plus two might make sense of something which he, Tiernan of Winter Diamond, Prince, aka Terry Winter, Esquire, has to admit to himself he no longer knows how to solve.

     His smile is as lopsided as yours and your brother's usually are, but it is there; and then he releases your hand and looks away. "Here's hoping we can keep the news of your mother's cat's pregnancy from her better than we did the news of our relationship, yes?"

     "I told you I was moody." There; there is a faint quirk of a smile, and he sighs, turning and sliding his arms around your waist. "I am overreacting. I don't know why. Just ... it hurt."

     "...Duw... you look...I don't know that I've ever seen you this way," Iowerth remarks suddenly. "You are in your own power. You are radiating strength and confidence."

     "If only we poor human creatures could be guided by the Logic and Reason we crave. Your solutions are not new, they are simply not acted upon. Not so quickly. They say things are changing, more children heard playing in Venice these days. I hope it is so. At night, late," that mouth of his spreads in a smile as he lights up his cigarette, "...you can almost hear the collective breath of the city being held..."

     If I'd known that the last time I saw you would be the last time I would hold you, the last time I would be held by you, I would have done so much differently. But if I'd known, I wonder, would I have had the nerve to leave...

     It's in the heart of London; the irony appealed to him, inasmuch as anything has been appealing to him of late. Where does the man who's lost his heart go but to the city whose heart is stone cold uncaring?

     "It is like you are ...preparing me for your not being here. If something is inevitable, I should rather face it than to convince myself it will never happen."

     Without you, I do not think I could have survived. Hells; I know it. I would have been on this plane, not that, when she died, and it would have taken me with her.

     Maybe that is what this is. He realizes it suddenly, even as he gives the sea back to the sea, salt tears finally falling as you kiss him. One gives oneself to the sea, and there is no turning from that. Everything else is worn away by the sea; the ocean will have its due.

     I gave the command. I won my own battle, and I felt the life ebb from her. She was dead before my men ever reached her kingdom. There were losses, I'm sure - it was a battle, a minor war, even if won overnight. How many people are celebrating because of me, today? How many mourning?

     Sitting in the chair, Iowerth lingers in his unsilent quiet, his weary brain pulsing with conversations and consequences.

     Taking his pack off the table and shoving cigarettes back into his jacket, Davydd narrows his eyes. "Llew, good on ya lad. I'll see you. Ah... and if you see the boys..." a pointed look, that, "... tell them..." Davydd pauses a moment. "...they should come up for air."

     After the call, brief as it was, came to an end, your captain showed himself again. Lift that pillow, tote that blanket! What had been efficient tidying before, following several hours of complete and utterly decadent dismantling, now had to be the very spic of the span.

     "The realtor told me the previous occupant was ...quite artistic. He said the whole ship's painted rather fantastical, with blinking Christmas lights strung up year round." His mouth cuts a wry slant. "I'm not sure about that."

     I am the sea and the dreams that move them. I am the storm and the center of the storm. I need someone to stand with me, against the waves. To swim to me out in the middle of the ocean. When I stretch out my hand in my father's raging challenges, will yours be there to clasp it?

     "An angel's feather falling, I have such, from the Plains of Chaos, the Outer Rim of The Great Marches." She makes a motion to the other woman. "It will be very dear indeed," she smiles beautifully, "... the most expensive item in the entire City, I should think. Second only to a night with me."

     If this is the seduction, if this is the information you wish, my spy... you will have it. More than you need.

     You will be the prince's favorite...the first courtier of his fledgling court... a prince of your own standing... it's our way to freedom, Tiernan. The hold of his arms tighten around your waist.

     "Brother," he drawls, "I do love you dearly, much as it pains me to say it, but what pains me more is how everyone keeps insisting you're the smarter of the two of us. The obvious escapes you."

     "We will have to conspire against her for your freedom or your joy, I'm afraid. And will likely need assistance doing it. Either you betray her with subterfuge or direct defection. But either way, Tiernan, to love me is to turn away from her. There's no avoiding that..."

     The ship pitches and rolls, even as you and he pitch and roll on the bed. It sends you deeper inside his mouth, it makes his weight land on you, it rocks you back and forth into one another as it rolls upon the skin of the sea.

     We shouldn't here. It is risky. But ...Life is risky...

     And despite the fact that his new lover has gone, despite the fact that the way is dark and full of potential, dread dangers, Iowerth's mouth begins to twitch...

     My compass. It tells me where I am, constantly where I am. But where am I with you?

     He relaxes, very slightly. Ah, so he's not to be immediately tossed to the curb; though what answer should he give? The truth? There are shades and shades upon shades of truth. "I can accept being a Leon Tamer better than some slurs," Tiernan murmurs, his hand shifting to scoop up the little clockwork lion.

     "The Winter Diamond." Peter shakes his head. "Since it wouldn't be the Summer King - that's the same as the Oak King, the Winter King being the Holly. And there are no others right now that involve seasons as part of their names or titles - not that I can think of, and it hasn't been that long since I hung up my reins."

     Inside, there are hundreds if not thousands of tiny glass spiders swirling across every surface. When the door opens, they begin to immediately skitter towards the mirror, pushing through the glassy surface and vanishing.