The next morning, Fiona has peeled herself from the bed with languid difficulty, dipped herself into her bath as if from a liquid state into a gelatinous one, and then dressed herself in simple robes. Her hair - as usual - has begun to resume its usual state, elongating in rippling waves of pale cornsilk tipped with cinnamon, a striking, feline contrast to her gown - silk again, for comfort's sake, and the colour of summer skies devoid of clouds.
     "I may be late. Don't wait up." That, and a kiss, are given to the husband who is present; a kiss in which arms twine around the neck and shoulders and breasts are pressed close for a moment as she leans into the touch hungrily. Gone is the prickle of the previous night. Instead of claws, there is a purr...
     And then she's parted ways, slinking from her chambers in all her regal finery, to find her way from her Nameless Kingdom (or Queendom) to - where else? Avalon.
     Speed is important, but it is equally important to be respectful. But she has no time or patience for retinues and such; instead, she selects three gifts from her own marketplace, and then climbs upon not one of the mounts from her stables but - in an echo of the East - a carpet. (The mare which Davydd had given her, along with the stallion significant of Rhodri, is - predictably - gravid; and as such, unridable even if she were not pregnant...)
     A command from its mistress, and red and gold and cream woven threads climb into the sky, with a queen upon its surface and three parcels in her lap. Curled there, Fiona waits, murmuring, "Why do I feel almost but not completely as if I am en route to a doctor's appointment by 'bus?"

     From up above, the tangle of the holly grove seems so orderly. The spires of your kingdom give way to towering trees and then to wide rolling hills. There is the red stone castle of the King of Avalon, another stretch of forest and then the castle and tourney grounds of the allied kingdom of Camelot, given eternal life in memory by the dreams of Avalon and all those who have wondered on its existence.
     Ladies in buttercream yellow tend the gardens of Avalon, picking berries and tending to the apple trees. The kingdom looks so tranquil. The Oak King's stamp is not yet upon it -- he has matters to attend to there -- but it thrives in his attention.

     It's hard not to notice. Things... seeming so uncomplicated from such a height. "They both know how I feel," Fiona murmurs, casting her gaze down over the edge as if it were a physical thing to be hurled to the ground. She sighs, then shakes her head resolutely, waiting for the carpet to complete its journey.
     As it does, as it must - all journeys end sooner or later. And the sooner, for her, the better; once this is accomplished, she still must go and speak with the once-master of this domain, the slumberer by day who dwells in the wood. "I wonder if children will regard you as a fairy story, Davydd. You have all of the elements..."
     Fiona smiles faintly as the carpet begins its inevitable descent upon Avalon. It is a graceful, gradual descent, giving attendant guards plenty of time to remark and prepare however they most would see fit. She has no need to cause more gossip than absolutely necessary - and that will be enough just by her presence, as she has come to realize. Once the carpet sits firmly upon the ground, she rises to her feet, her parcels still in her grasp.
     She is here to see only one person, after all - and it is not his most sovereign majesty, King Rhodri. Him, she left behind her. "I would speak with the Lady Bianca, if she is available and it is not too inconvenient..." As she has rehearsed to herself for much of the way.

     The attendant guards of Avalon are the knights of Arthur, a force now on permanent loan. Squires and pages run to and fro, carrying messages from Avalon to Camelot, from temple to castle to tournament tents. There is a young boy in a brilliant blue tunic and tights with a floppy hat. "Yes, Your Majesty!" he salutes you with a bow and an enthusiastic shout, running off to do what you ask.
     Two armored knights bow their heads and open the arched doors into the red stone castle, of which Powis is a dim echo on earth. Out of those doors comes a tubby, red-faced and white-bearded man, a very pleasant fellow. "Oh, Your Majesty," he says somewhat breathlessly. "We saw your arrival. You are most welcome here, most welcome! Please, Your Majesty," he gestures toward the castle. "Please come within and make yourself at home. Lady Bianca will be with you very shortly, very shortly."

     "Thank you." Fiona smiles, needing no political grace to do so - it's amusing and enjoyable, in a way, to be greeted with enthusiasm. Even if it is, as she suspects, due to her position (as a queen, as the king's betrothed) rather than to who she is herself.
     But then, how could they know her? Why would they greet her with warmth personally? Such is Fiona's belief...
     "I'm sorry for coming on such short notice," Fiona murmurs to the bearded fellow, holding the parcels with a delicate touch. "I only hope that Lady Bianca is not indisposed."

     "May I take those for you, Your Majesty?" His hands are small and plump, just like the rest of him, and his smile is congenial. He looks like Santa Claus. Only his accent is decidedly Welsh. Decidedly. What better man to hold your parcels?
     "Oh, no trouble at all, Your Majesty. The castle is prepared to receive you," he leads you into the Powis-like structure. "And Lady Bianca is never to indisposed to meet with an Honored Guest and Ally such as yourself."
     You know this castle like the back of your hand. Or rather, like the hands of your husbands -- or other parts of them. There is so much of Rhodri here, so much of Davydd. It's like stepping inside their skin. The red and white checkered floor is still very much in place, but on them are carved hounds and dragons. The symbols of both kings who have called it home.
     You are led to a downstairs chamber with two ornate doors. Inside that, a vast library and receiving chamber. Lady Bianca looks up from the table, turning with the sun at her back and she reaches for your hands, smiling warmly. "Ah... Queen Fiona," she smiles. "It is so good to see you again." She nods her head to the old man. "Thank you, Sir Dinan," she smiles to him tenderly. "It is your turn, I believe," she whispers to him.
     "Oh! Yes Yes!" He turns to you, bowing as much as his old bones will let him. "My Dearest Lady. A pleasure, a distinct pleasure..." And with that he turns to leave.
     "So," Bianca beams, reaching for your hands, "...Fiona... it is so good to have you here." She squeezes a hand and then releases it, gesturing to the chairs. "I have some tea for us..."

     Fiona smiles warmly to the man, allowing him to take the articles for the time being - he so obviously wishes to be of assistance, who is she to say no? "Thank you," she murmurs. "You're very kind."
     And it is kindness against which she is the most ill defended; but she stiffens her resolve. No showers of tears, certainly not now. She shivers a little as she moves through the castle, taking note of the decoration - decoration which is more than decoration alone, it is Symbolic.
     Her life has become such that a metaphor may hold more meaning than a physical thing...
     In the library, she pauses, glancing around and then moving up to the woman which she has traveled so far, so fast to see, allowing her hands to be taken, making sure only that the parcels are still there. "Thank you for your welcome. And thank you - Sir Dinan," she repeats the name carefully, committing face and name together to her memory, "for your escort. I am sure that no lady has ever had more courtesy shown her." She smiles. It is not hard to feel warmly towards a gentleman of such Father Christmas appearance.
     And he leaves, and she is alone with you. "Thank you," Fiona repeats, a little less certainly. The last time she saw you, after all - aside from in passing at feasts and celebrations that seemed endless - was in a bar where two kings paid tribute to her in song, with a baby at your breast and a fairy musician apparently at your side. "Tea would be lovely. I do apologize for coming on such short notice. I ... would assume that Prince Hwyll has been in communication with you?" About the wedding, if nothing else...
     Her face is the same, her hair here is longer, still deep brown that makes more fair her own fair features. Her rounded apple cheeks bright with a permanent blush. Her clothing is layers of diaphanous silk, in sky blues and ocean hues as is only befitting the one they call the Lady of the Lake.
     "No apologies necessary. I am glad we are finally able to visit. Your kings are so demanding. When they are near, who else gets a moment to see you? Ah, Welsh men," she sighs with her own understanding of the creatures, "...they are so gluttonous." She motions to the chair across from the lovely hexagonal tea table and takes a seat upon the other.
     "Your Viceroy did explain the upcoming events. I have volunteered to manage the affair. This is something with which your Viceroy is not experienced." Anything having to do with commitment, one might assume. Bianca leans forward a little, her smile saying she knows.
     "So ... let's talk about more important matters. How are you feeling, Fiona? That is what is most important."

     "I wouldn't imagine that Hwyll is very experienced with weddings, no," Fiona murmurs. "He likely takes especial steps not to catch the garter at whichever ones he's attended - er. If such customs are the same here, at any rate." She sinks into her seat with a low sigh, curling up by degrees with her hands placed daintily in her lap. "He's been doing a lovely job for me, so I really shouldn't tease. I suppose where Hwyll is concerned, I rather can't help myself."
     As long as that is the only way in which she cannot help herself around Hwyll, right?
     "I feel..." Fiona closes her eyes. "I don't know, really. Too many things to really entirely settle on any one. I'm sorry," she adds, eyes opening in a blink, "if I've neglected anyone because of Rhodri and Davydd. That really wasn't my intent."

     She laughs in that way confident women have, with a warmth and an eye-twinkle. It is no laugh of some giggling, simpering girl. "Ah, Fiona... please, it was a tease, yes? Please, you are looked upon with high esteem. High expectations, this is true, but you have impressed everyone with your poise during the coronation fortnight. Believe in your strength," she suggests as she pours two cups of sweetflower tea.
     "I can imagine it is very overwhelming. But then, the whole matter is overwhelming, is it not?" A delicate brown eyebrow lifts in question. "A young woman who becomes a young queen, who is then betrothed to not one but two kings. And then, perhaps not so miraculously," she smirks a bit and blushes, "...finds out that she is bearing the heir to two kingdoms. Her own, and ..." She pauses and you can tell her face understands your predicament. "But yes....what of the second kingdom. Which king shall rejoice and which shall have to wait his turn?"
     Bianca exhales and reaches for your hand again after she sets the teapot aside. "Fiona... you should give yourself a break, yes? You do not have to do this all on your own, and... more importantly... for every question there is an answer..."

     "Yes, well, the problem is I tend to want the answers now." Fiona dips her chin, not quite grumbling it, but dismissing her own frustration with the motion. "It's just - all happened rather quickly, I suppose. I feel like I should have caught up to myself, to what's going on by now, but I haven't. I'm just pretending I have so I don't hold up the show."
     She takes a deep breath, glancing up with a slightly lopsided smile. "As for giving myself a break - well, I'm much better at breaking things than I am that. But I do have some questions, and ... I was hoping that you might be able to help me - with a couple of things, actually."
     Praise to the face might or might not be open disgrace, but she doesn't know how to deal with it, so she acknowledges it only mutely and moves on from it. It's easy to be poised in front of an audience; there her armour is on, and even if it is not metal or visible, she is protected, guarded, the warrior as well as the queen. "I was hoping that you could help me with, yes, the ... matter of the baby. But..."
     Fiona takes a deep breath, chin dipping and then lifting again. "I was also hoping that you could help me figure out something about Davydd. Since you seem to know him very well, and - well, you've had much more experience with all of this than I have. I - don't know how much you know about my story, so to speak, but ..."

     "I will do what I can. I will tell you that the matter of the baby will be much easier to answer than the matter with Davydd ap Owain." She smiles in sympathy there. "But I will do whatever I can on that score as well..."
     Bianca lifts her cup and sips at the sweetflower tea. It tastes of honey and roses with a hint of marigold brightness but with the depth of dahlias. Little rose-shaped cookies rest on the plate, about the length and depth of a madeleine, but rose-colored.
     "With which do you prefer to start," Bianca smiles. "I will leave it up to you. And ...for a woman pretending, you are doing an excellent job. Perhaps after these other matters we can speak of tricks in ...slowing down the universe. There is no need to be under such stress. Particularly when you are a queen, Fiona."
     She smiles with a secret, her blue eyes sparkle with it, and she takes up one of the little cakes.

     "That doesn't surprise me." Fiona rolls her eyes, suddenly expressive when it comes to the topic of Davydd. "I love him beyond all reason, and I know that he feels the same - but he's so ... ugh! I can't decide whether to slap him or hug him, most of the time, but slapping him would hurt my hands more than it would hurt his face, so I usually just hug him. His son's the same way, only for different reasons."
     She shifts and resettles in her seat, picking up the dainty cup. "He's ... I'm worried about him," Fiona admits quietly, voice suddenly dropping in volume. "He isn't as he used to be - and I don't mean as he's changed from Oak to Holly. This is more recent, and - and more pernicious. His highs aren't as high, aren't as energetic, and his lows ... he is so tired, and every time he hits the bottom of that cycle, it's harder for him to get back up. I - you know about his dietary needs?"
     After all, if you do not, that would require some explanation...
     "And," Fiona adds, lifting the cup from the saucer for a delicate sip, "I would appreciate your advice. Rhodri told me I should ask for it anyway, since I would only resent his. You see, I trust, why I want to smack him."

     "Davydd has always been ...unique," that word again. "He was specially chosen, specially blessed, then... as there always is in fairytales, there was a curse to go with the blessing. He has worked very hard, but he has never realized that his work has any bearing at all. What to do with these men," she sighs a bit but with an understanding smile.
     She is married, too...
     "He has undergone great change, Fiona. Perhaps greater than anyone has realized. His power is tremendous. The power of the Holly King is darker, more primal. And more sensitive. That he is a vampire..." Bianca pauses for a moment. Yes, his dietary needs. "He must feed himself, Fiona. He must nourish himself on the world. It is a difficult transition to go from the creator to the destroyer, from life to death and rebirth. From what I see, it is with this that he struggles."
     She sets down her cup and she folds her hands together on the table before her. "It is like an animal struggling to get out of a trap or stuck in the mud, let us say. The more it struggles, the more weary it becomes. The more weary it becomes, the sooner it will succumb to the mud."
     She picks up the tea and looks into it. Her blue eyes lift to you then. "I do not see an outside force working upon Davydd ap Owain. As it has been all this time, he is his own worst enemy, Fiona. Your job as his queen, and it is and will be a job," she teases a little, "... is to remind him of these things. The nature of the Holly is to darkness. You ... must be his moonlight to help him out of the woods when he gets lost."
     She smiles as you mention the Oak King. "Many women envy you your kings, but those who know them. You will have to learn how to fight with two hands as much as you have learned to love with them..."

     "I just notice that the thing which seems to - pull Davydd up the most has been when he tastes my blood. And right now..." One hand strays from her cup and saucer down to her belly, protectively. No, right now, Fiona can't be that portable meal that she's been before; as Davydd already is aware. "I am worried about him, but I'll do the best I can to ... get him to move on with life. With his purpose."
     There is a small sigh for that, and she adds, mutedly, "I just miss him a great deal. I miss both of them when I'm not with them - my own unintentional curse, I suppose."
     And that's enough of that. Fiona gives her head a slight shake; she will be seeing Davydd soon enough, whether or not /he/ is aware of it. "I don't - have much to question where Rhodri is concerned. I - would love to be able to penetrate that blase demeanor he presents to me so often; that really does drive me insane, rather, but that's the only thing I've got to say there. It isn't really a concern so much as exasperation. It makes my palm tingle," Fiona admits frankly. Yes, she confesses to the readiness to commit assault upon the King of Avalon. But then - she's his wife.
     She settles back again, setting cup onto saucer and saucer onto table, picking up one of the sugary rose-colored sweets. "Really, I suppose the only thing remaining is - well, what's inside of me. Literally. I'm ... not dealing with being pregnant as well as I'd like. I think knowing will help."

     Ah, her expression says as she tilts back her head a little to regard you. "You must be careful with your blood, Fiona. Not just because of your pregnancy. Even if you were not pregnant, you must be careful. There is so much magic in you, he could become... dependent upon you." And perhaps he already has. "I think the timing of this pregnancy is very good in that regard. He must go out and hunt. He must fill his cup with the salt and sugar of the world. He must stand when you are not around to prop him up. And you... you must do the same."
     Bianca blinks slowly. "Yes, I think it is a very good thing for him not to feed from you. You must try to deny him, Fiona. Not the pleasure of your body," she smiles at that, "...that would be too heavy a curse for either of you to bear, but your blood... do not let him drink it."
     There is soft and warm laughter as you mention Rhodri. "Every husband comes with his own trap, his own set of armor, yes? If one is blase.... others never know whether you are upset or not. It is a great skill for a king, a politician, but it is very annoying for a husband. The thief does not like to reveal his secret. You must arm yourself with lock-picks and try picking his locks. I shall have the royal goldsmith make you a set." The smile she smiles would make your Rhodri proud. It is sly, that look. It has secrets of its own. Secrets that shall become your own.
     "Ah," Bianca smiles grandly, "...now we may learn of our joy, yes? After such heavy matters, we should have a little joy." Bianca rises. "I must come to you, you do not mind my touch?" One may hope she will not require the barbaric stirrups!

     "He doesn't drink from me that often - but there have been times... where it has been - necessary." Fiona's gaze goes briefly introspective. Not every time has it been necessary - but there have been those moments. Ritualistic. Needed, perhaps, by both of them - for Davydd in his hunger and emptiness, and for herself, in her need to fill that emptiness...
     But the topic moves away from that, and she tinges faintly pink. "If anyone told me to deny him my bed," Fiona says acerbically, "they will find a fight on their hands. I know that there will be times when we cannot be together - but when we /can/ be..."
     Enough sad on that. No doubt her passion for her two kings has become as legendary as her kings' - appetites - have in the past become. Fiona nods once, taking a bite out of the sweet and setting the rest down on the edge of her saucer.
     "Lock-picks?" A fair eyebrow slants upwards, half-skeptically, half-intrigued. "By all means, I'll take any weapons you can provide me with. They have me outnumbered, and as I refuse to play them off one another, I've got to have something in my bag of tricks. And with Rhodri, I ... need that equalizer. Really."
     It won't make much of a difference, of that she's certain... but she can try still...
     "Joy... I'm not good at that," the youngest queen of the current roster murmurs it, gaze slanting down again to her as yet still unremarkable belly. Her hand flutters down to it, then lifts, and Fiona nods. "By all means. I'm - finding curiosity to be an unbearable burden. Much more unbearable than either of my two kings, no matter what anyone's warned me."
     She is nervous, but as usual, tries not to show it. This is new...

     Graceful the woman who comes around the table and stands before you. Gentle the hand that she extends to your cheek. A light touch given. She looks you in the eye for a moment. Try, her face seems to say.
     With a dancer's mastery of motion, Bianca kneels in front of you, placing first her hands to your belly. First her hands, but then her right ear. She closes her eyes. "Hold your breath for three heartbeats then release as you like..."

     Fiona manages a smile, despite her nerves, nodding once and then lowering her gaze to her stomach. "Alright," she murmurs. She is nervous - almost petrified, though keeping it in as best she can. The idea of being pregnant suddenly seems so much the more overwhelming, crashing in on her like a wave of the sea.
     It isn't that the idea is entirely unwelcome...
     It's just that it's so much bigger than she is...
     And as supportive as her men have tried to be - as supportive as they have been - this first part is between her and the life taking hold inside her. And she knows so little...
     Fiona takes a deep breath, closing her own eyes - as if doing so will somehow help the other woman to concentrate - and holds it, listening, feeling for her own heartbeat.
     One...
     Two...
     Three...

     "You may release," Bianca murmurs, and she moves her head away from your belly. She is smiling as she stands. As she rises, her hand again presses to your belly. Lastly, once more, to your face. Then she kisses you once upon each cheek in the style of France.
     "Give me your hand, Fiona," she smiles, her hand outreached for yours, palm up. "And I shall tell you all that I heard. And all that I know."

     Is she not so very English in all of this? Or perhaps it is just that she is so very young, beneath that civilized skin, young and frightened and bearing up nobly as best she can, in the only way that she knows. Fiona releases her breath, gaze lifting as you rise, blinking uncertainly at the kiss - though accepting it; she has spent time enough in France, of course.
     But she is most eager to know what it is that you have seen, what it is that you might tell her. "Yes?" Her hand comes up quickly, though with a care to how she does, touch delicate at least at first. "It is - alright, isn't it?"
     Fiona has every mother's worry, and particularly first mother's worries...
     "The baby is healthy?"

     "Both of your children are healthy. And growing." Both. Two. "As befits a queen with two husbands, you are having two children. Two boys. An heir, my lady, for each king. Because you cannot choose between them, your heart a matter of loving two equally, now you do not have to choose."
     She lifts your hand and kisses it with a gentle squeeze. "They are very healthy, but I will say that the two princes are very demanding. Ah, you know their fathers, this shall be of no surprise to you. But you will have to take care. To make yourself rest and to eat, to nourish your spirit, your mind and your body, for they put great demands on you. As only princes can."
     She smiles grandly and kisses your cheeks again. "Rejoice, Fiona. They learn from you now. Enjoy them and their growth in you." She moves to retake her seat. "I suggest you spend your pregnancy here ... in your kingdom and in Avalon. It would be my honor to be your matron. You should have a woman around you who knows the nerves of a new mother, yes? And to get your kings to leave you alone when you need to be left alone, ne c'est pas?"
     She is silent for a time. It is more news for you to absorb, is it not? But is it not joyous news? Your husbands will not have to battle. And you will not have to choose.

     Fiona's eyes widen. Wait - two?
     It isn't that she hasn't heard the rest, though it was a little difficult to make out past the sudden rushing of blood in her ears. It's just - hard to get past that first piece of news. Two?
     "I - don't know what to say." Fiona finally manages to find some words, shaking her head slowly, eyes still wide and face flushed. Two? What the hell? "I'm having trouble figuring out how to react. I mean - I'm happy, of course! I'm glad it - they... are healthy. I just ..."
      Oh my god, how the hell am I going to squeeze two babies out at once? What are Rhodri and Davydd going to say? If they grin and high-five each other, I am so going for the throat. No, scratch that - the crotch. It makes more sense...
     "Uh." Fiona stirs slightly, finally, though she still wears the look of a shell-shocked case. "Yes, I was planning on spending the pregnancy here and in my own kingdom almost entirely. I - I'm sorry, I don't know what to say. Yes, I - I accept your offer. One I could probably cope with, but two, I ... I just don't know how to address this. I'll have to tell them as soon as possible, of course. And I'll have to tell Hwyll. Though that part will be more pleasure than work."
     Maybe I can make him faint this time...

     "Our newest queen does not do things by half measures," Bianca notes, lifting her cup of tea for a sip. "So it will be said one day, I have no doubt. I have all manners of things to make it more comfortable for you, my queen," she leans forward and assures with both her presence and her tone, "... salves for the skin, philters for the mind, and a few things for your husbands to help with their own recovery."
     The sly smile returns. "There will come a day and a night, mais oui, when you may have your revenge on them. That night will come soon. And... of particular interest to you perhaps... your convalescence here shall be so much shorter than it would be on the material realm. Months will become weeks. Now that you are carrying twins, I am sure that you will be relieved to hear that..."
     "Ah me, twins," she says. "Yes," she says again as she lifts the cup of tea for another sip. "There will be much to do. As your Matron, I shall take care of these matters. But if you wish to deliver the news to your viceroy..." The sly smile spreads into a grin. "I will not deprive you of that pleasure, my queen..."

Posted by rowan at July 03, 2005 12:21 AM