It has been an extraordinarily long day. He would not say it has been unpleasant, however. In the morning, he ate with the queen, her daughter, and a gaggle of assorted attendants. He explained with delight how he was extending his stay in her fair kingdom because he could. It is, as he put it, a trip without boundaries -- apart from, of course, the boundaries of the territories to be toured.
     And for safety's sake -- not his, but that of Maria's purity -- they were not left alone. They discussed sailing, horseback riding, gaming, her interests, her family. Anything and everything except about the topics they'd most like to discuss. His wings. Her hair. His shoulders. Her lips.
     There were a few moments, of course, when a back was turned that a kiss was stolen, and a moment was taken during what should have been the princess' afternoon constitutional (nap) for something more prolonged.
     But the time for that is over. The princess Maria was whisked away to her early evening preparation for dinner, which includes the nap she avoided earlier. The prince has himself withdrawn to his ship and now stands upon his deck, his arms upon the railing. He leans against it, giving it his weight, even as he turns his mind over to the serenity of the ocean's breeze.
     He is clothed quite simply, forgoing the captain's coat (it is too warm) and other vestments of state for a simple pair of charcoal-colored trousers (very London, although he has never been there), a pull-over stolen from his father's closet (like father, like son), and one of his father's old blazers with a military insignia at his upper arms. In truth, that blazer belongs to his grandfather. It was stolen by Iowerth many years ago.

     Maria has blushed; she has not simpered. She has been engaging and intelligent, sometimes spirited and displaying asperity. And kisses have been all the sweeter for being stolen. There is the blossoming of young love in her eyes - the hesitant first steps onto that great and unmarked expanse. There has been more trust for you than perhaps you deserve, and the trembling of her heart, unspoken, in each kiss.
     But there is no time for it now. For now, there is something else awaiting you; less exciting. Perhaps you are not looking forward to it. You do not know it, for he arrived while you were stealing kisses still. Your father arrived, and he has been to see the queen...
     Been to seen the queen, and done seeing the queen. It has gone swimmingly. Queen Anna is pleased; her daughter has a chance at both love and a future assured, while risk to that future being removed. It means her daughter stepping outside her own protections, but that was, as Anna knew, an inevitable truth. The benefits outweigh the risks, and details have been agreed to. And now it remains for your father to have with you a little chat.
     About princes and princesses, and what happens when they get together...
     His hair is still dark, but silver marks his temples, now. The blue gaze is the same as it has always been; his shoulders are broad and strong, and he has put on muscle from the days of slender youth. He is dressed as he has always dressed. There has never been reason to change. Black surcoat, roan breeches, black boots, a white tunic. He makes his way to your ship, and Tiernan does not do more than nod to your guards.
     I think that you should consider inviting me onboard, Gruffydd, your father mentions with a smile. Your guards may try to stop me, and that would be unfortunate.

     This ship would never stop you, papa. It has loved you since before I was born.
     "Please come aboard," your son's voice is lifted, deeper. And he appears from one railing to another, to stand and welcome you aboard. The guards, dragons in disguise as veiled men, bow to you and murmur: Welcome Tiernan, old friend. And they stand aside.
     Your son, what may be said of him? He is taller already than Iowerth and there is no telling if, or when, he shall ever stop. He has your husband's build, you and your wife's coloring, your dimples, and a great deal on his mind. "When did you arrive?"
     He waits for you to join him before he pulls you into an embrace. He is no longer a boy. No, no more the boy who would run on the piers and wrap his arms around your waist. No more the boy who would fall asleep with his head on Iowerth's lap as his father read to him. But his hug is no less than it has ever been when you finally step up to the deck.
     "Thank you for coming. How is father?" He does not ask whether you want to adjourn to the captain's quarters. Gruffydd merely gestures for you to go ahead.

     He smiles, bowing now to the guards - now that formalities have been observed. They are worthy, after all, of respect. He moves to you and hugs you without embarrassment or awkwardness, for no matter how big you grow, he will always remember carrying you - when you were first born, a baby in his arms, later on his shoulders. He remembers leading you by the hand, and if his eyes grow a trifle moist, then perhaps it is only the sea air. He has never been immune, after all, to emotion. And he loves his boy.
     "Your father is doing well. He does not know where I have gone or why." Tiernan smiles, relinquishing his hold on you and moving down below deck with unhurried steps. "I told him only that I had some things to attend to; he will not worry, not yet. Come, let's have something to drink, and we'll talk about this little problem of yours."
     Not for worlds will he tell you just yet - that it has been arranged. That, moreover, he has sent word to your future chaperone. He has been busy. And you? Well.
     You have been busy as well, with kisses upon rosebud lips.

     He has been busy. His hair is still wet from his last cold dunk in the cold sea. He closes the door to the captain's cabin behind him, following you down the winding stairs to the main living room below. "I have honey brandy from Avalon. Uncle Rhodri sent it to me." But along with that, there appears a full service of tea, coffee and assorted other pleasures. He neither seems relieved or pensive regarding his father. He merely takes in the information as he pours a glass of brandy.
     A secretive little smile peeks at the corners of his mouth. "It is a rather attractive problem," he murmurs. "But... I know... it is serious," he counters quietly, looking at you with a lift of his hands. "Brandy?" He pours a glass for you, just in case, and offers it to you. It is less sweet than its name might suggest. It is more savory, with a depth and a sting that surely must come from the bees themselves.
     "So..." Gruffydd offers you an opening as he takes a seat upon the sofa. "You wanted to talk to me about.... something ... the downsides to this match...oes?"

     Your father does not take brandy. Instead, he helps himself to coffee, without comment or remark. He has experience with Rhodri's brandies. "Thank you, no. I have been busy on your behalf, Gruffydd," Tiernan murmurs, easing into his seat with relaxation. "Downsides?" He smiles. "I see no real downsides to the match, no. There is no difficulty, politically."
     No... all the difficulties are of a more personal nature.
     "I am not going to beat around the bush," Tiernan continues, unhurried but wasting no time. His blue eyes turn, calm and thoughtful, upon you. "I want, first, you to look at me, and while I sit here - I want you to tell me what she means to you, what she is coming to mean to you. With the questions and examinations that I asked you to keep in mind; I realize that it has not been long. But you must tell me, Gruffydd; before we can continue."

     He sets the glass aside and clear-eyed -- his father's eyes -- he looks to you. Gruffydd does not have a defensive posture as he faces you, but you can see with a father's eyes a kind of nervousness. "I am very attracted to her, papa. I am interested in who she is, in finding out who she is. She is sweet, very intelligent. If I were to say all of the qualities that I'd like to find in a woman, in a wife, she seems to have them. It was ... sort of instant with her."
     Gruffydd gives you an understanding look. "I have been with many women, but I have never felt quite like this before. I'm not sure what else to say, papa. Yes, it has only been two days. I know it is swift. I know it is Desire. But there is this ... thing that she inspires in me. She makes me want to show her how she can be loved. To teach her... everything I know, whatever that is."
     Now he needs a drink. Leaning back on the sofa, Gruffydd reaches for his brandy. He takes a swallow, his face beginning to redden. "I'm not sure what else to say..."

     "It is enough." Tiernan smiles at you, not needing your humiliation to make his point. He sips coffee, leaning forward on his thighs the way he so often does. He is watching you - with the patience of the teacher, of your father, and a love and an understanding in his eyes. You are falling in love.
     "It is the way of your papa's family," Tiernan tells you softly. "It does not come slowly but all at once, whether it is admitted to or not. I do not know whether that is this, and you will have time to find out - perhaps."
      He is not keeping you in suspense to torture you. But there are other things to discuss, first. "There is something you need to think about, and I want you to think about it with honesty, though," he continues, watching you, turning his cup in his hands with a faint but understanding smile. "You remember that I mentioned something important that you had not thought of? We are going to talk about that. And I need you to try to look past the embarrassment you might feel. It is important - very - to both your future happiness, and to the Princess Maria's, together or separate."
     He waits for this to sink in, and then he speaks. His boots rest solidly on the floorboards, as if becoming one with them. "I know of your conquests," Tiernan tells you, quietly as always. "I know of your dual heart. What will you do about your liking for men?"

     He shifts a little as you look at him. While he is discreet, or at least has made the attempt at discretion, he knows that he is discussed. He is the crown prince: what and whom and when he desires, and how he fulfills that desire, is the main fodder for the gossip mill. As you point to the elephant in the room, your son's aspect does change. Rather than the love-addled young man, you see the experienced hedonist.
     Gruffydd levels a look at you but says nothing for a time. His eyebrows arch upward in a slow motion. "I was not planning on doing anything about it, in particular. I started to mention it yesterday, but thought better of it. She's younger than I and certainly far less experienced." Though she's more experienced than she was the day before yesterday. He tries not to smile at that thought. It makes his mouth quirk somewhat slyly.
     With an exhale, Gruffydd sits forward, resting his chin on his interlaced fingers. "My liking of men: does this have to change? I would say it is not something I can turn on or turn off, just because I am interested in this girl. What am I to do? Would that not be a problem for any wife? I do not think it is particular to Maria."

     "I am not saying that it has to change. But it is something which you must be prepared to discuss with her - and, in fairness to her and to her heart, before you bring up marrying her." Your father's voice is quiet, but now there is sternness; now there is the iron that is so seldom seen, the unbending core of him that has seen him through so much. "She is, as you say, inexperienced. She does not know of these things. Would you only open her eyes by ripping away that inexperience, by having her perhaps walk in on you with a lover?"
     He says it as he must, to point the dagger and get through the defensiveness which you are already building, the excuses which you try to put in front of you. Now, he softens - but only slightly. "You cannot wait until after you have wed her, Gruffydd; not if she means something to you. You say you are learning who she is - well, your eyes have been well-trained by both me and by your mother, when you choose to use them. Cast them ahead of you for yourself. You are married. You are with your new bride. And you are telling her ..."
     He drops to silence; his mind speaks into yours, telling you what you will say, and what, moreover, she will hear. The blue eyes are compassionate - but they do not bend. They do not break. They bore into your own gaze without the lesser mercy that looking down would be.
     That she is not enough for you...
     That you have appetites that she cannot only not fulfill, but never begin to fulfill, for she is not a man...
     That she is not woman enough - thus you must turn your appetites elsewhere...
     That her youth, her inexperience, her lack of knowing will only increase her insecurity in the face of these strange appetites - appetites which take you, her lover, the one she has sworn to be with and be only with, away from her - even when she eventually grows round and wide with your child...
     "You wish to have the best of both worlds," Tiernan says aloud, finally, quietly. "You have seen that it can be done. But you have not thought of what must be built to support its weight."

     You know he has heard you not by what he says, for he says nothing for a time, but because his gaze lowers. It lowers for a number of reasons, not the least of which the poetry that sprang from his lips the past night here in this very room. Gruffydd sighs and he shifts again. No, it is not what the romantic heart wanted or wants to hear.
     But he knows it is the truth, irrefutable.
     Lavender eyes lift to you after moments of silence. "I will have to tell her before we set sail. She may not want to make the journey. She is very vulnerable." And you know -- you see it in his eyes -- it would be very easy for him to simply have what he wants of her. But he has not done so. Looking down again, Gruffydd shakes his head. "I don't want to hurt her, papa. She has already had to weather a cruel aunt and cruel cousins. I do not want to add to her pain." Her curse, as her mother calls it.
     There is a soft Welsh expletive as he leans back on the sofa, his gaze going to the ceiling. You've seen that look on his father -- when he knows he's been stupid or he has had an argument with himself (or his twin). "I do not know many wives who would be as my mother has been," Gruffydd murmurs after a few moments. Looking to you, he shrugs with his hands. "So how do I construct this... what you and she and papa have... if no one else is like her?"

     Your father smiles at you, and he rises to his feet. He moves to you, after setting his cup down, and he puts one hand on your head and another on your shoulder.
     "Talk to her," Tiernan says simply. "Tell her the truth - but begin by telling her that you care for her. Tell her that as with your parents, things are done in threes. That it is something she should keep in mind. Let her get used to that bit. Yes?"
     He ruffles your hair, affectionately. "Do not let your heart begin to break. It is a problem; it is not insurmountable."
     "You will have help, Gruffydd. Just try to recognize the help for what it is, when it arrives. As it is, the queen has agreed to allow her to go. And the Princess Maria's chaperone has been decided, and has agreed to undertake this task."
     Tiernan steps back, looking at you with quiet pride. You have faced a hard truth. Now you are ready to begin. "You are ready to build something, now. Get ready, and let's go to dinner, yes? Your princess will be waiting. And her chaperone will soon be here."

Posted by rowan at July 06, 2008 08:19 PM