The queen has returned...
     Word hasn't really spread. Fiona goes back and forth so often, after all - it's not exactly unusual. Her advisors and courtiers, the brothers of the Wind, have been notified that there will be some work for them.
     She has changed from her robe (of course) to a royal gown. Deep blue, the colour of irises, cut low and snug but not too snug. Her hair is long again, worn down to her hips, cornsilk set with a diadem of gold and diamonds. Without retinue, she makes her way to the cliff.
     Without retinue, save three : three centaur guards accompany her as far as the Queen's Door, a trellis arching from one part of the gardens to this location. They stay behind, and she goes ahead.
     "Iowerth," Fiona murmurs, looking out over the ocean. "Rhudd Draig. Your father sealed it, didn't he? I could kill him for that, but I love him too much. Forgive me..."

     He's had a shower and so is far more awake than when you called. Though now, his mind is full of wondering: what this is all about, what you wish, what might be in motion. Part of him is, of course, dreading that his father is not consenting or perhaps has learned something afterall.
     And what would that mean...
     And where is this going...
     Despite the dervish dances of his own thoughts, his expression is quite calm, even bland. He pivots, turning away from the view of the ocean, an eyebrow raised. Davydd himself must have looked so at the age of twenty. He had had more battles in him by then, however. He likely seemed older.
     "Forgive you for what, mother?" Iowerth Rhudd Draig wonders, dipping to give you the kiss you always expect. He smells of honey soap. His clothes are clothes of London, anachronistic here -- every bit as much as the typical clothing here would be anachronistic in London.

     "For setting genetics so solidly against you, darling," Fiona answers you placidly, returning the kiss. Of course she expects it. She's your mother. "But in the meantime, since that can't be helped, I need to do what I can to help you, don't I?"
     She draws of her gloves, one at a time, slapping them together and into her left palm; and she looks up at you. "Iowerth, you are very intelligent. I don't know that you're necessarily more intelligent than your brother, but you have a highly trained, very keen mind. I admire that; I'm glad you have it. Unfortunately, I am beginning to think you haven't much common sense."
     One hand goes to her stomach protectively, eyes that are blue when she is happy now going the colour of mercury. How often have you seen your mother like this? How often has it been directed at you? Behind you and she, the waves on the ocean begin to pick up with the wind. Clouds are chased across the sky with new intensity; no gentle zephyrs but something of a promise of rain and storm.
     Pity the sailors out on a day like today is becoming...

     He blinks at your words, at the tone of your voice and the rising storms. The electricity prickles over him, dancing across his skin, lifting the hairs on the back of his neck and causing, at the end of all of that, his eyes to narrow at you perplexedly.
     "I am puzzled," he manages to get out. "What... have I done to upset you? Or to make you wonder of my sense, whether I have it or not." I'm being lectured. But... for what? "I will... apologize even before I hear it, because I haven't the slightest idea what it could be..."
     He's not playing stupid. That's not his way. He is as confused before you as his father has been, at times. Most of the time, perhaps. Iowerth's energy darkens beneath your own show of storms, even as the sea must in answer to the sky. But he stands there, calmly wondering.
     What have I done to upset you?

     "How good do you think your father's ears are, Iowerth?" Fiona is speaking steadily, calmly. Was it really such a good idea, letting her do this alone? In her current state? Someone's to blame for this, to be sure. "You've known him all your life. How ... well ... do you think he hears?"
     You receive a direct look from those gun metal grey eyes, now. Perhaps Rhodri or Davydd will turn up to rescue you if in her pregnant madness she loses all sensibility. Or your brother - no, your brother's still on a bender. You have only ever seen her tender to you; seen nothing of the turbulence of which she is so capable of expressing. Perhaps you didn't really believe in it.
     Fooled you, didn't she?
     "Now, with that little detail firmly fixed in your mind, Iowerth," Fiona continues steadily, voice brittle, "tell me - when does he ever go to Black Jack Davy's without stopping for a pint or two and a chat with Llew or the rest of the family?" She grips the gloves, moving towards you - then tosses the gloves at you. "I would ask what you were thinking, but I know exactly what you were thinking. And what with."

     "I ..." He started and then as you continue, obviously he knows what has happened. His father did hear them. After the discussion about Discretion, they lost their minds. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was jubilation. Certainly it was stupid.
     "I'm ruined," Iowerth sighs. He looks distraught. Pale. Shocked. Though in his youthful lust he dared his father to hear and know the truth, he had no idea that his father would actually hear them. In a busy pub. "We're ruined," he adds a moment later.
     My head is swimming. I have navigated the worst seas imaginable and have kept my head while doing it. Only to lose my head on land. Iowerth shakes his head and wanders to the stones at the cliffside. He lowers to a crouch, letting his head hit a boulder as he tips it back.
     "He has sent you here instead," he looks to you, his mother. "You're going to deliver my punishment." He chuckles a moment, but it is the laughter of Despair. "Punishment...or banishment? What ...did he say? What is to be mine and Tiernan's fate?"
     Periwinkle eyes look across to you. He stands at last from his crouch and waits to hear it, this news. "We ... weren't thinking," he notes with a nod. "He left and ... we were just... I was just stressed to the point of snapping and..." And the boys did what boys and men tend to do, a physical release to unlock the soul and mind.

     "Oh, stop being so fucking adolescently melodramatic," Fiona snaps. "You were careless. Your father heard you. Your father loves you, Io, and he wants you to be happy, but he has to balance the fate of the kingdoms on his shoulders, not just yours! Do you think if he were ready to kill you, he'd send me?" A pause. "Well, possibly he would, but only if he'd calmed down enough to think first, and typically, when Davydd's that worked up, he doesn't think first. Or second. Sometimes third, but rarely sooner than fourth."
     She knows her husband well. "Sit down, Iowerth. You love him. He loves you. Your father and I love you, and so help me, god, if you don't stop overreacting, I won't wait to tell you, I'll just dump you into the sea a few dozen times until you're thinking clearly!" Pot. Kettle. But she is pregnant, and now she is facing you with hands on her hips, glaring at you tenaciously. "As it happens, your father and I have discussed potential solutions so that this doesn't spill over to hurt you and Tiernan. It speeds up a few timescales, but overall, provided you are actually going to start being careful - it shouldn't affect your life more than it already has."

     He's far calmer than you are. Though, you are pregnant. God, couldn't he have sent Rhodri? "Can you... give me a moment?" He raises his hand and then puts it to the bridge of his nose. He calms himself with a few deep breaths, letting the last one go long and closing his eyes.
     Between your hormones and his racing emotions, the air is charged and feverish with electricity.
     Both hands on his thighs, Iowerth rises, exhaling. You can tell he is berating himself, though his exterior demeanor remains unflappable. But you know that all seas lie. No matter how calm the surface, the undercurrents and undertow are churning.
     "I won't presume to jump in then. What... did the two of you come up with?" Emotions aside, he is putting on his captain's brain, that military strategist brain of his activating.

     You receive your moment. Fiona stands there, chin lifted, arms folded across her swelling breasts. The wind is still high - but not increasing. The sailors are safe from death tonight. Or, well - death at the queen's hands and temper.
     "He came up with it, not me. First of all - you need to be discreet. I will help provide for discretion; noone knows how hard it is, Io, but I do." And suddenly, her anger is deflating, sympathy and warmth in eyes going from grey to blue. Don't take too deep a breath. You know how fickle the wind can be in its changes. "It took ages before your father and I could be together as we are now - and I have the advantage in being a woman."
     She takes a breath, adjusting the hem of her gown. "We will have to start working to marry you off," Fiona tells you, "not right away; moving too fast is as bad as delaying it too long. But for the next couple of years, we'll let the offers start to trickle in. You will have input on this," eyes as hard as gimlets suddenly stare at you, "but I will tell you what I recommend you look for. Don't take some submissive little hair-brained wretch just because she's a virgin. You want a girl who's had some experience with how life can be, who's learned to laugh at herself and the world, who's going to be someone who can make you laugh - whose company you enjoy a little, at least, even if she isn't your true love. You need to find a friend, Io, because nothing less than that is going to safeguard your secret for long; marriage or not."
     She nods, satisfied that she's said her piece. It isn't from Davydd, that (and he may well disagree). "But you can take your time and decide who and what you want. Your father will likely want it to be a noble or royal; for myself, I don't care if you marry a chimneysweep's daughter, provided she has the ability to make you a good queen. If it makes a good enough story, people will mostly be able to overlook where she comes from. People are silly creatures, and you should know that if noone else does."
     And she's run out of air; she stops, looks to the ocean, and the air begins to calm, bit by bit. "I will need to meet your boy, Io," Fiona says softly. "I will have to take steps about his mother. Up til now, we could - let it slide, a little. But she has spies of her own. If your father heard ... we don't know who else may have. So you will need to give him a job to do - something other than keeping you happy, though keep that on his list," she smiles at you tremulously, "but he needs something you can point to, my dear. In the meantime ..." She closes her eyes. "In the meantime, you two are going to France."

     "I will speak with Tiernan... I will find him employment. He is happy to do whatever I ask. He is loyal, mother. Whatever else you and father may think or fear. I don't doubt him. Not for an instant." He nods as you speak the rest. He doesn't remark on all of it for now, he merely absorbs it.
     "France," he questions, looking to you with confusion. "But what about Gwi? I can't just ... leave him in London. We're all living together... it's... I can't just leave him, mother. And Paris is a stew of intrigue. Of the two, London's the safer. There are roads there, well traveled, between Here and There. France is a wilderness."
     Of all he's heard, France is the most distressing...
     "I will begin putting a plan in place for Tiernan, that is easily done. He's actually quite financially astute. I will put him in charge of the maritime contracts with the merchant marines. We can begin building my navy..."
     His thoughts are now half on this and half on other matters. "But.. truly... France?" Iowerth looks at you. "If Tiernan and I promise to ... be more careful, which we should have been, I know, all along. We... tasted a little freedom and it went to our... " He blushes a bit. "Heads." He makes a wave. Anyway. "But can we remain in London... or... send us to Wales...Cardiff. Anywhere but France..."

     "I have a maison in Paris which rather desperately needs the floors stripped and replaced," Fiona tells you dryly, "whose walls are quite thick, whose windows have excellent drapes. I see no point in /paying/ to have it done when I have a big, strong son who has an equally big, strong lover. Consider this your punishment for your carelessness - a bit of danger will also remind you to be careful the next time."
     She isn't budging. Maybe your father can talk her out of it. "When the floors have been stripped and redone, then you can come back to London. It will be exhausting, painstaking, arduous work, and the environs suitably enclosed so that when you do finish, if you somehow muster the energy for sex," she knows you likely will, "you won't get caught at it. It will do you some good, Io."
     Her arms fold, crossing across her chest, and she looks at you. "I know you don't doubt him. But your mother has to make sure. I think that's fair, don't you?"

     "Yes, ma'am."
     He speaks it with resignation, his gaze lowering to his feet and the stones beneath them. His arms cross at his chest. "How soon do we leave? I need to be able to tell Gwi. He's sensitive enough as it is. If I just go off without saying anything he'll think I've eloped."
     Those lavender eyes lift to you, the color of coral that circles his islands. A moment of humor doesn't last long, neither on his lips nor in his eyes. He is frowning but accepting. He does realize it is his fault. And, oes, he is cursing himself for it.
     A rub of his brow turns to a raking of his hand through his hair. Iowerth scratches at his scalp. "So.. France. Floor refinishing. Fortunately for your ...maison, I know a bit about stripping the deck of a ship." Iowerth folds his arms against his chest again. "Is there...anything else? When would you like Tiernan to ... report to you? Straight-away or... shall you be joining us in France...for dinner..."

     "You have three days. I'll join you in France, and we'll take it from there. Count your blessings, kid," Fiona says it with a certain dry humour, "it could have been far worse." She sighs, seeming to deflate; behind you, the skies and sea are returning to calm. And then she moves forward, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug.
     "Don't scare me like that again, Io," your mother murmurs against your chest. "Alright? Davydd isn't angry with you; he's angry with himself. Your father does love you very much, and he isn't doing anything to separate you. We know you love him, and we want you to be happy. Just - we don't think you'd be very happy if it got out and you had to deal with the results, would you?"
     And she holds onto you for a long moment, misty-eyed. "You're my son, and you grew up too fast for us. We're doing the best we can - but you're a prince and going to be a king, and it makes your life all the harder. It'd be easier if we could just turn your prince into a girl, or something silly like that!"

     His hug was warmly returned. To be truthful, he does not like to see you upset, particularly when he's on the receiving end. "I will try not to, mum. He's... not upset then? I ... should have told him. But I just... I couldn't bring myself to it yet. I thought we had him... you know... mollified," he would never say fooled, "...for a while. But..." now he smirks, "... knowing him, he knew it as soon as he looked at us. I'm an idiot." He shakes his head with a helpless shrug.
     "Book smart... I need to be life smart. Like Gwi. Can't he be king instead?" Iowerth pleads it with a sudden grin. "I can sail the seas and he can do all the real work?" As he rolls his eyes, you know he isn't serious. But he knows the limitations of his life. He's always known them. He just...hadn't yet felt it.
     "I don't think Tiernan would like that much. He doesn't seem too fond of women, at least not in an intimate way. Likely his mother's to blame for that." Iowerth's arms retreat. "I will... see you in France, then. Three days."

     "We'll find a way," Fiona promises you, stepping back. She exhales slowly. "I don't know how, exactly - but we'll find something. Talk to your young man, mm? Love him. You have him, he has you - even your father says he could see how much the two of you are in love. Love is important, Io. It is the most important thing you'll ever have. Without love, we're nothing."
     She smiles, a trifle sadly, definitely fondly. "Go on back to him, and take care of each other. I've got to get back before your father and brother worry. As for Gwilym ..." She shakes her head, smiling at you with that poignant affection. "If it were an ordinary kingdom, darling, and he were willing...? But talk to your father; maybe he knows of a way. I doubt it, though. You are you and he is himself. I'll see you in three days."
     Everything is in threes. The queen, your mother, turns her back on you and moves towards the arch, the centaur guards that wait. There is a flicker of magic as she sends her words to them - she is returning to her mortal life, her mortal self. And then Fiona is gone; flickering out like a television with static. Now she gets to tell her husbands what she has decided.

Posted by rowan at July 03, 2006 03:58 PM