The seas move before The Draigamor as they have done for nearly fifty years. The wyverns that form its many sails still glisten, iridescent violet and silver, as they command the air around them. The ship has never depended upon a prevailing breeze to propel it forward; it creates its own trade winds. Nothing has changed but for the captain...
     Standing at the helm, the new captain cuts a similar figure to his predecessor. Tall, he still retains the leanness of his youth -- all fifteen years of it. He has not yet inherited his father's breadth. So far, his father may be known in the height of his figure, the color of his eyes and the keenness of his mind. The rest it could be said belongs to his mother, the Houri of Dreams, and his other father, Tiernan of the Winter Diamonds.
     His hair is dark, dark as his mother's (dark as Tiernan's), but it is curled with his father's waves. His eyes are periwinkle-colored, a lavendered blue. His complexion is like the almond color of his mother's, making those eyes stand out all the more strikingly. The rest of his face is hidden, as his mother's, by a veil. The veil is attached to the tricorn hat, both of which match the iridescent colors of the brocade captain's coat, a companion piece to his father's, and a gift from him that accompanied the inheritance of the ship itself.
     The Draigamor pulls into the harbor of the Crescent Islands, the wyverns folding their wings and the ship slowing in its approach. The Crown Prince, Gruffydd Rhudd Draig, wanders from the helm to the port side plank to disembark. His hand holds onto the railing, his fingers bidding farewell to the ship. For now.
     Periwinkle eyes gaze upward to the basilica palace, his home, upon the royal plateau. And he thinks to himself as he strides from the docks to the road that leads home: How will I ever not look at this place with a tourist's wonder?
     ... A silver bird of paradise lands upon the marble railing of his father's apartments, the periwinkle feathers that crown its head lifting in attention, listening for any activity he should neither hear nor see. Dad? The bird of paradise lowers in a splendid flurry of feathers and grace and Gruffydd rises, his hand lifting to lower the veil. "Dad, are you here? Do you have a moment?"
     Freed from his veil, his face shows its own splendor, a mirror to his mother's. He is, and only shall become more, beautiful...

     The more things change, the more they stay the same. Tiernan has that same sea-calm to him which he almost always has had; the unshakability of he who has seen tragedy and had it pass over him without breaking. It is not that such leaves no mark; but having weathered it, he is the more graceful for it.
     He smiles as you arrive, rising from his workbench. He has matured, since he met your father; grown broader in the shoulder, though he's still slim; lithe, abstemious of appetites, dark hair allowed to grow long until relentlessly cut back. Eyes as blue as any Aegean dream regard you as Tiernan turns to find you, follow the voice he hears with his ears and the other one. "Of course I do."
     He steps into the doorway, holding a hand out to you. "Gruffydd... welcome home. Good trip?" He talks less than perhaps anyone else in your family, save only possibly your mother...

     He walks on air like his mother, or seems to, so graceful is his stride. He smiles to you, his dimples revealing themselves as he removing the hat as well as the veil, tucking it under his arm. His other arm extends to you, taking your hand in what is only a brief shake that becomes a quick hug. He is already nearly as tall as you!
     "Good. I have gone as far as father last sailed, where the seas turn from water to stars." You have seen the far reaches yourself. "I will start plotting the outer seas and the constellations on my next trip." He glances to your workbench - he has always been curious about your work. From his earliest memories, he has sat beside you there, learning to construct things. "I have started the drawings for my ship," he mentions evenly. It is to be a very ambitious project, building his own ship.
     "I hope I'm not interrupting," Gruffydd mentions suddenly, quietly as he looks from your workbench back to you. "I was hoping to ask your opinion about something. About something personal." He blushes - he is your son too, is he not? And does he not blush as you do, with the same patterns? Though his complexion is darker, the way the redness moves across his cheeks and his neck is inherited from you. Shyly he does not meet your gaze. He sets the tricorn hat upon the table and moves like a king in his coat and captain's gear -- for a moment seeming so like his other father -- to take a seat upon one of the nearby chairs. Periwinkle eyes drift up to you as he sits.
     "Are you expecting father soon?" It is a leading question. He wants to know how much time he has to speak of this...whatver it is... with you in private.

     He listens to you quietly, moving to hug you in return. You are his son, and he delights in you with an easy and open affection that is plain to see. "You are growing too fast," Tiernan whispers. "What will I do when you pass me?"
     He ruffles your hair before releasing you. At present he is building starlings - a flock of them, indistinguishable from the real thing save that the gold of their stars is true gold. One is already 'alive'; it hops upright. He has built many things that you have seen, but never has he built another lion. "Not interrupting. How could you be interrupting? Come and sit. Would you like anything? Are you hungry?"
     He is your father as much as any man can claim to be, and his smile is affectionate, warm. Tiernan moves to take a seat, easing into it comfortably and motioning for you to do the same. He notes your blush. Ah. I think I can see where this is going. Almost he blushes in sympathy; almost. Not quite. "I don't expect the king for some hours," he reassures you gently, smile sympathetic. It can be a bit much, the king's attentions. No one knows this more than he...
     "Come and sit - tell me what is on your mind, my son..."

     There was a smile for passing you. It is almost certain, but when he was very young, staring up and you and his father, he never thought he would pass you. He does not, as some young men, move from parental affection. He smiles a little, but the look is somewhat self conscious. Yes, there is something on his mind.
     "The starlings, a new flock." For you have a murder of ravens as well. "Will you have them carrying messages to the king?" He smiles at that, knowing his father's affections for one another. That has never been hidden from him. And it is something for which he is thankful for now.
     You mention food -- it is the great unifier, is it not? And like his father, he is able to conjure things at will. Suddenly there are figs and dates and buttered flat bread dusted with cinnamon. Gruffydd reaches for flat bread and a handful of dates. He looks at his hands as his fingers tear the bread. "How did you and father meet?"
     Like his father, when he has to speak about something emotional to himself, sometimes he must approach that wave with the side of his ship, rather than simply sailing through it. Tilting his head, Gruffydd nibbles at the bread and at a fig, his gaze lifting up to you. The steady, easy look is all Zafirah. "How did you know, when you met, that he would be ...interested in you, a boy of his own age?"
     Suddenly, there is hot tea. Although it is summer, there is always time for hot tea. It is spiced with cinnamon and clove like earthly chai.

     "These will be for communicating with my ships, actually." A careful hand reaches down for the 'living' starling, lifting it on a finger. "The ravens aren't good - or as good - for over sea. I use them to talk with your father, with my office; things of that sort."
     Tiernan accepts tea with a small smile, then pauses at your question. How did we meet. "That ... is a strange question. Not a bad question; I should say rather, the answer is strange. Difficult. Even awkward." He sighs, he smiles, in that way he does, and now you see colour in his face. He blushes, as he does when he thinks of meeting Iowerth; going back to who he was, when he was, at the age of sixteen. "I will tell you, if you wish. But you shouldn't tell your father what I tell you or that you know."

     "Interesting," Gruffydd remarks, and it is. You can see his interest in the periwinkle of his eyes, so beautifully offset by the caramel color of his complexion. His dark hair falls in waves all around his face, but not past the nape of his neck. "Is there something about the starling's design that makes them more attractive than an albatross or other sea bird? I suppose it doesn't matter," he smiles suddenly, "...since your starling won't have to catch its breath or eat along the way. Its small size is probably quite an advantage."
     He blushes when you blush and he looks back to his hands. "I do not ask simply because I want to hear it." He knows you know there is some point to it. "But... of course... I will not say anything, dad. Your story will remain in my confidence. Hearing it... might help me... make up my own mind about something..."
     Gruffydd can feel his cheeks grow hot. From where you sit, they redden deeply. He smiles a little as he looks up at you, and tries not to look guilty of something. He is not as practiced, yet, at nonchalance as you... or his father.

     "Your father has turned himself into a starling on occasion," he tells you quietly. It has the ring of a confidence. "Sometimes ravens, sometimes starlings; I like to make things which remind me of him. He is and has been for so much of my life been precious to me."
     He speaks without apology for the emotion in his words, smiling as he takes the mug and sips at it. And he's silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Watching you, Tiernan waits before he speaks. "We met when we were sixteen, Gruffydd. A long time ago. Not as long for us as it seems to you, of course." There is that open affection again in his smile. To children, their parents were never children. "How did we know? It - it was subtle, and it was not."
     He is silent a moment, then continues. You will not be robbed of the story, though some details may, perhaps, be omitted. Out of reservation, or because, simply, it isn't your business. Parents are allowed some privacy, after all. "We met in your grandmother's library, at her palace. I was there with the Witch Queen; I was in the library, sneaking around, trying to find something out. Your father came in and found me there."
     Tea is sipped because it simply is close at hand, and Tiernan smiles with reminiscent warmth for the memory. I remember it as if it was yesterday. "I had never seen anyone like him. I didn't know who he was; I remember that I wanted him to kiss me, and that it frightened me a little; to want something so badly as to risk anything for it in that moment? It wasn't natural for me, Gruffydd. But I looked at him and I told myself and told him with my eyes, that I would follow him anywhere. Even though we didn't talk of it - we talked of ships and sailing, of construction, with my eyes, I told him, and I longed with my heart immediately. Some men lead with their chins in a fight. I led in that with my heart."

     There is no embarrassment to him to hear you speak of his father in that way. Though Iowerth certainly could never bear such about his own parents, your simple directness mixed with an angel's lack of embarrassment (which can only truly come with sin), have shaped him and his thoughts on such matters. "You were... about my age," he says it, understanding it, in awe of it, in recognizing it.
     Gruffydd is quiet as he listens to the story, abridged as he knows it must be. You are sharing what you feel is pertinent; and he trusts you without thought. "There is a ... commander in father's army," he quietly begins. His gaze drifts from your face and to the fig that has found itself in his hands during your story. "He is a little older than I." Most of Iowerth's commanders are a good deal older than your son! "But... I look at him and I cannot think. Well," he reddens a bit as his smile wanders in a slant, just like his father then (and his grandfather too). "I think, but I think about what it would be like to be with him. I have not approached him. I... do not know the best way... being crown prince..." It makes meeting people surprisingly difficult.
     "I am not sure if I should approach him or not. Or how father would feel if I did. Or if my approach would even be wanted by the commander. I am nervous about it, dad... I do not know if I should act or not. I just... think about him. A lot."

     "About your age. And he struck me to the heart, and has stayed there ever since." Tiernan agrees, drinking more tea and setting it aside. His smile is sympathetic as he quiets to listen, leaning back. He is interested; how could he not be? You are his son.
     "A little older, hm." 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?"
     He can do that. Unlike your other father.

     And that is why you were chosen instead of Iowerth Rhudd Draig. "A little older," he repeats again, his blush seemingly permanent. "He is quite accomplished. I watch him at the games. Do not tell father," he notes quietly, suddenly. "I don't want him to know that's why I'm at the stadium every afternoon." There is a droll look, pure Iowerth, that follows that. He is infatuated. "He... Chrysanthos," a very famous gamer as it turns out, even you've heard of him. He made a name for himself in your husband's last campaign. "... is quite an accomplished commander. He is the current chariot champion. He is... one of the griffin riders."
     And trust that the coincidence is not lost on Gruffydd... Griffith...Griffin.
     Chrysanthos is in his mid-twenties. He is...somewhat older than your fifteen year old son, and certainly more experienced. But Gruffydd has an excellent eye; golden-haired Chrysanthos is as glorious in aspect as he is in deed.
     "I would appreciate your advice, dad. I do not wish to make a fool of myself or... bring any sort of embarrassment to my family." His beautiful lips twist in his own self-deprecating humor. "How do I... get his attention?"
     As if Gruffydd should ever have trouble getting anyone's attention...

     "I won't tell." And he will keep that promise. He does keep his promises, not needing to be encouraged to do so, though he smiles. "And I will advise. I will point out facts, Gruffydd... but I won't order you in this. It is a matter of the heart, and ... hearts are ... sensitive ..."
     As he knows only too well. His own bruises so easily, even steadfast as he is. The bruises manifest in unexpected places, in surprising ways. And he suspects your own may still bruise as easily; for now, even if not always.
     "Your eye is good. I do not know if it is wise; love and lust both tend to eschew wisdom." Tiernan smiles a little, then sets his mug aside. "But let us see what we know of him. He is brave; a positive trait. Skilled; also positive. Perhaps a little reckless; very popular. You are crown prince; no one could fault you if you chose to associate with him. However - you have watched him from afar. Have you watched only him ... or have you watched the faces around him? How often do they change? Are they always the same, or do you see the rapid transit of unfamiliar faces in his orbit? If they change ... then I would advise you not grow close, unless you wish your earliest experiences to be without love and without permanence."
     He does not believe you want that. But he draws the pictures without judgment, on you or on this commander. Lets you see the facts ... and draw your own conclusions. "Love alone won't change a person. Your father and I battled about that for years..."

     He wishes he could put on his hat and veil so he could keep from blushing. But sitting on the chair as he does, in an oversized coat, he seems as young, if not younger, than he is. When he has the mask of the veil on, he can seem so much older, so much wiser. Right now, it is still a character. One day, it will simply be who he is. Gruffydd looks from you to spare his cheeks the rising heat of a constant blush.
     "I have only seen him during the day, when he is primarily tied to duty. I have not had him watched." Though you know by that look that he has considered it. He even has spies in mind. "Or on game days. He has a number of associates, comrades, a cadre perhaps. Not unusual for a man of his stature and importance, or popularity. But I should expect that a man of his fame has... plenty of opportunities, faces, for whatever he desires."
     And yet that does not dissuade or intimidate him. Why should he be intimidated?
     "But I understand what you are saying. The only thing of love I know is what I have seen in my own family. You and my father. You, my father and my mother. Grandfather and grandmother. Great uncle and grandmother. I do not know that I am ready for that but I am ... interested in ... being with someone... who wishes to be with me. I know that I prefer men to girls or women. I ... tried... with a girl. But all I could think of was Chrysanthos, even when I was in the girl's chamber."
     He bites his bottom lip as he does sometimes when thinking. "I know father does not care about gender. I think he would be distressed either way." Gruffydd smiles suddenly. "I should distract him with stories from Aeron and Bran. He should think me as inviolate as my mother in comparison..."

     "There is nothing wrong with not being interested in women," Tiernan agrees gently. "I am not. I had ... tried ... in order to please your father," he confides, though you may not wish to know. "And I ended up feeling ill. It felt wrong to me; I wanted to be with him, not with this other creature. There was nothing wrong with her, but it made me feel as if there was something wrong with me, because I could not give him what he wanted. Obviously," he smiles, "it worked out. But at the time ... it was a wrenching feeling."
     He knows how you must feel. In some ways, how like him you are! "There is nothing wrong with sex without love. It is not something I have ever been terribly interested in, but it has happened. I would prefer that you figure out what it is that you want, you need, before you put yourself in the line of fire. Whether you then find it or not, you are more likely to find something closer to fulfillment of your urges. Urges of the body are ... easy to fulfill. Urges of the mind, the heart, the soul... they take more to arrange, sometimes."
     Unless it is like him with Iowerth, and he mentions it now. "I would suggest you wait," Tiernan tells you simply. "For me with your father, it simply - happened; like lightning, like a story. And it is shattering. It is not what everyone wants. But if it is what you want, and only you will know - then it cannot be choreographed. Cannot be engineered. It can only happen, and all there is for you to do is to be open to the possibility."
     He smiles as you mention distracting Iowerth. "He would be distressed. But do not tell him tales; you will only worry him more by telling him the tales of what he thinks you should not know. You will always be his little boy, Gruffydd. If you wish him to believe you are not growing up, simply say nothing at all." He smiles at you fondly, a hand reached out to pat your shoulder. "Wait a little while," he says quietly. "If it's meant to be, then you will find that fate drops Chrysanthos in your lap. If it is not meant to be - would you still want it?"

     A very interesting question. He had not considered the possibility of Fate in any case. "I think if it were not meant to be, then it would be foolish to try to force it. Like forcing a ship through a channel that is too small, It will neither be good for me nor for the ship." Or in this case, his heart. "I'm not really sure what I want," he admits. "So... I will take your advice, dad. I'll wait... until I do know or until Fate shows the way."
     And in the meantime, cold showers...
     Gruffydd smiles to you as you speak of how his father sees him. He understands that. "I will always be small to him, even when I'm a king and have children of my own. I know. I do not dislike being a child to him. But at the same time I don't want to hide as I become whatever adult I am becoming."
     He knows he is not grown, no matter how independent or self-reliant. So unlike his father in that regard, who thought he was emperor when he was nine.
     "Diolch, dad," he says. "I appreciate you listening and advising. It has helped. I mean," he blushes as he grins, "... some things are just not going to be easy." He resists using the word hard. "...I'm still going to think about him." And, therefore, be uncomfortable. "But it doesn't hurt to daydream, right?" Gruffydd laughs quietly, more with his periwinkle eyes than with sound.
     "At any rate, I won't be running off to the ... working houses," such a sweet word for whore house, "... with Aeron and Bran. That should relieve you both."

     "They aren't meant to be easy." Tiernan smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Nothing wrong with daydreaming. Nothing wrong with, if the opportunity stares you in the face, going with it as far as it takes you, either. Just ... make sure it is what you want, yes?"
     He chuckles, blushing a trifle even now as you mention the whores. Yes, he is glad. He would like better for you than that. "You will work it out," Tiernan tells you quietly. "I have faith in you, Gruffydd. In the end, I am sure it will work out for you. You just - need to steer clear of those who mean well but do poorly..."
     Like most of your father's side of the family, really.

     He smiles in perfect understanding. He loves his cousins, but they are... not as he. "Yes, dad... I agree." The rest Gruffydd files away. Should the opportunity arise then... well then. Nodding, he sets the matter aside. He seems relieved to have it spoken aloud, to have someone know something of how he feels and thinks. Like his fathers, he tends toward emotional isolation. But he does recognize it, even as young as he is.
     "I should let you get back to your work, yes?" Standing, he grabs another piece of the cinnamon naan and folds it with a few of the dates into a pouch that fits into his captain's coat pocket. Placing the hat upon his head and affixing the veil, your son transforms before your very eyes. What was a young, uncertain boy, becomes a naval commander in his own right, a tall and formidable young man.
     "I'm going to pay a visit to mother," he notes. "She is going to think me a stranger if I do not visit her. I will be back in plenty of time for dinner."
     Come hell or high water, the men of his family would never miss a meal...

Posted by rowan at January 19, 2008 12:07 PM