He has been drinking a little more than is usual for him.
     Revelations... they've changed his life a bit. He doesn't know how to handle this news, though he's doing his best to deal with it the way he deals with everything : laughing it off, not letting it penetrate the skin, or not where anyone will ever see. He is like his da in that.
     But where Rhodri ap Davydd has had centuries to let it roll off his back until he no longer feels it, Gwilym ap Rhodri, prince of shadows and thieves lacks that invulnerability. He is eighteen, and everything is immediate. Everything is personal. Like this...
     "Two dragons." Gwilym tosses his cards down where the others can see. "And two hounds. And," he turns his tile rack around, "four queens, completing Air, Light, Wave and Steel, plus the Elf Triad. Anyone have anything that beats the Immortals?"
     His opponents groan and toss in their cards and tiles. No point in playing when Prince Gwilym's in; noone's ever caught him cheating and he always seems to win. And yet, the thrill of defeating him keeps them coming back. The youth grins and rises, pulling his shirt out from his trousers and sweeping gold and silver and bronze coins into its folds. "Pleasure playing with you blokes. I'll be upstairs."
     He gestures to one of the girls - a hanger-on of this particular den of thieves, smoky and smelling so strongly of spilled wine and beer and stronger spirits. She'd been in his lap for part of the game, until he'd caught her trying to fiddle away his moneypouch and given her a spanking right there in front of all the onlookers. Sulky-eyed and pouting, though, now she comes to Gwilym's arm. The narrow-eyed look she gives him is by turns suspicious and hopeful.
     No ... I haven't had enough to drink to let you have a chance at slitting my throat, darling. And failure doesn't get rewarded. But I'll give you another chance to pass your little test. Why do the leaders of the thieving bands think it proves anything for their 'star pupils' to steal from me? It makes no sense. Gwilym's footsteps are heavy as he heads up the steps towards the room he's rented for his private use tonight. Inside, it looks thoroughly different from what the landlord would expect; he's made a few changes. Or rather, he's changed nothing at all, and simply let the doorway shift to lead to - somewhere else. Occupied as his thoughts might be, his hands absently pinch the girl's bottom while keeping an arm around her, pinning her so her hands can't make off with the wealth now tied into his shirt.
     The only real solution has to be that these are the students they think might challenge their leadership someday, and they're expecting me to either cut 'em down or at least make 'em less cocky. Well, this one should by rights be less cocky now, but it doesn't seem to be stopping her... wonder if I'll have to drop her out a window...
     These are the thoughts going through Gwilym's mind as he nudges the door open with one foot. "Patience," he tells the 'serving wench' with mock-reproof. "You'll get yours soon enough." It just won't be mine, nor will it be what you think it'll be.

     The Draigamore now sits at the docks of Avalon Bay, and Pier Number 12, that which is reserved for the High King -- and by extension the High King's son, the current captain of The Draigamore and the Ponce de Leon of the Otherworld.
     The brief respite, much needed, has now settled into the quiet of pending action. How much better he finds he can think when his lover is out of sight. His mind cannot seem to hold two things at once when Tiernan is around. All he can think of is how Tiernan feels. And then once he thinks of that, all else but feeling Tiernan goes out the window.
     Iowerth ap Davydd sits in his cabin's main chamber, looking over his last maps. More detail is added as he thinks of it, the cartography taken from his mind, set down by a magically moving quill. His eyes lower to the map, seeing the additional details around his crescent moon island. And it goes to the things they discussed. Finger and thumb squeezing his bottom lip, Iowerth stares past the map, past the water and islands and continents of dreams that are represented there, to the blocks and the strings of his own predicament.
     Better said: Tiernan's predicament.
     Rising, he takes up his coat, a swing of midnight fabric. He pulls it on as he leaves his chamber, trotting up the stairs and opening the hatch. "Vanni!" his voice roars out. "I am going ashore. Please secure the ship for the night."
     The skittering nails of the dragon clickity-clack on the deckboards. The violet drake bows. "Of course, your majesty. Shall we be heading to sea soon? I shall make the necessary provisions..."
     "Not imminently," Iowerth answers, belting on the sword and motioning for the plank to be lowered. He strides down the plank as the dragon ship speaks: What ho, lords, the crown prince returns! He doesn't even notice it anymore. Iowerth heads for the docks, and the darkest of alleys. There, somewhere in that labyrinth, will be his brother...

     "Shush your whining," the crown prince's younger and blonder (and according to himself, handsomer) brother is presently holding the would-be thief out a window by her wrists. He uses both hands for this. "And stop struggling," Gwilym adds, trying not to laugh. "You don't want me to drop you, do you? Ah, no, I thought not."
     The window of this room opens onto the sort of alley where noone goes, not even thieves. There isn't much to recommend it; the buildings are dilapidated and disused, the moon barely showing a trickle of light even when it's full. The only thing it's useful for is that it's the approximate center of his self-appointed realm, his private and bitter jest at himself. This, his kingdom.
     "A kingdom of wretches and whores, thieves and beggars of the worst repute," Gwilym croons to himself. One hand comes away from the girl's wrist, and he reaches for his glass. Mead, now. He takes a long pull, then sighs, setting it down and taking both hands to drag the girl up to the windowsill. "Listen," he says carefully. "I'll say it once, and hope you're smart enough to pay attention; you probably are, or you wouldn't have been sent here, to me. Who's your leader, Old Elias or Bald Jim? You can't be one of Lady Ysabeau's; she just kills contenders, or sells 'em into slavery in other kingdoms. Anyway, the gang leaders all send young bloods like you to challenge me," he continues, as if he weren't only eighteen himself, "and it's because you're promising. Good, right?"
     He watches her face, then adds, "Wrong. Means they're hoping you'll fail - that I'll kill you, or kick you to the curb. Now, news of what I did downstairs'll be bound to get back to whoever you follow; even if you succeed, everyone's going to think you only did it by opening your legs and waiting until I fell asleep. So," he smiles, "I have a counterproposal."
     Crafty, your brother...
     Before the night is out, another blooded thief will call loyalty to him instead of another... even as she goes back to her gang with a few paltry pieces of gold and no major score next to her name...

     There have been worse kingdoms. Worse alleys. And empires have been built with far less skill. This is what Iowerth tells you. Own the alleys, brother, and you own the world...
     Iowerth heads into the Red Light District from the docks (it's a short trip) and he heads straight for The Red Orchid, the flower of the District -- it's girls have the sweetest tasting petals, a fact he can vouch for. "Tamarind..." all of the girls have the most exotic names. Iowerth looks to one auburn-haired girl, the madame of the Red Orchid. "...I'm looking for Gwi. Any reports so far of his wanderings tonight?"
     Tamarind smiles, her fingers running up the lapels of the captain's coat -- a coat she's removed once or twice herself. "No, darling prince," her accent of imagined desert, "I have not seen him tonight. But then, it is a little early for your brother to visit the Orchid. Business before pleasure...even if pleasure is your business," she smirks at that. "But," fingers pat upon the crown prince's clothing, feeling the buttons there, "... you may look where the gambling is more plentiful. Where money is exchanging hands. May be won or lost. It is a pity you cannot stay tonight, your highness."
     Iowerth lifts an eyebrow, a hand coming up to take hers. With a smile, he leads it to his lips and kisses it. "Thank you... perhaps later... I think I know where to begin..."
     "Mmm... good night, sweet prince..." Tamarind follows Iowerth to the door as he leaves.
     He will have to go to places he does not frequent. He will be seen way before he actually finds his brother. His brother, in fact, as Iowerth knows ... will find him first. And so... as the crown prince moves in his captain's gear, his midnight leather, his midnight silk, the large coat and the longsword, every thief in the four quarter can see him.
     ...And the word starts to drift, as you know it does. The ticking sounds of dominoes falling, a pattern created as the news of his arrival in the shadowed quarters comes with the rapping of a hand upon your door. And a voice on the other side: "Someone official is on his way. Expecting anyone?"

     "Goodbye for now." Prince Gwilym smiles easily into the frustrated and yet fascinated eyes of his latest convert, and a hand waves. Shadows rise to cover her astonished face; she'll find herself on the other side of the city, outside the city gates, in fact, having to slip past the watch. He never said he'd make it easy for her!
     He turns to the knock with arched eyebrow. My, that voice sounds familiar. "Oh, shite," he drawls out, "it's your husband, and me without my pants! You better leg it out the window!" The door opens to you, and there is your brother, grinning, with an artificial paunch. One which clinks suspiciously.
     "Welcome, wanderer," you have the door held for you. You can see that this room does not match this building. For one thing, it's much too large. For another, it's much too opulent, decorated as it is with finery pilfered from all over ten kingdoms; even his mother and father's kingdoms haven't been spared. "Make yourself at home. Just slip your sword into the umbrella stand, hm?"

     "Were you lucky in cards tonight, or are you just happy to see me?" Iowerth drawls. He closes the door behind him, and gives it a second look: "And you won't pass along anything you hear," he notes to the wood. Now, we have privacy.
     He begins to pull out of his coat. He will leave his pistols on, the sword is removed and set not in the umbrella stand -- nice pinch, that. Wasn't that in the Maharaja's Palace? "Sorry to interrupt your evening... I hate to keep a man from his money and the women he buy with that money." His mouth lifts at the corner, just a slight smile.
     But there is something on his mind, or he wouldn't have come looking for you. "Do you have time for a chat up? I ... would like to talk about... things. And... about a project on which I ... will require your assistance." He smells mead and he heads for the pitcher, pouring himself a nice healthy draught of it.
     "First, I want to thank you for helping me this past weekend... the past couple of nights." Iowerth lifts the glass to you, then takes a swallow of it. "I think we needed just two nights where we could get away and speak. So..." he looks into the cup. "Anyway... do you have time?"

     The knot's untied and he stands there in a rain of coins, one eyebrow cocked in amusement. When the last tinkling clatter dies away, your brother moves to the table and falls into a chair, taking up his glass. "I am idle for the rest of the night. I've paid myself tonight's salary," a ruby-ringed finger points to the coins now scattered liberally, "and taken care of swearing in a new citizen to my growing kingdom. Gods!" Gwilym tosses it out, then laughs, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand. "Not my happiest citizen, mind, but few people are truly happy, are they?"
     He doesn't dwell on that little fact nor what it might say, how it might be taken, lifting his glass in saluting you. "I can talk. Especially if it involves projects. Projects which will line my nest nicely, I trust. Since you'll never allow me near the royal treasury, I have to build my own." Jade eyes look at you, and Gwilym smiles. It is not without affection, that smile. "Stop thanking me," he drawls, "I'll think you're sickening for something, and mother's too far to call. Da'd kill us if we interrupted their honeymoon, anyway. I'm your brother, you git. And it's my job to help you. I have time. Noone is scheduled now to try and assassinate me for another three hours - I'll want you to guard my back during that, by the way."
     Is he joking? Is he serious? How can you ever tell, with that laughing exterior, that 'can't be arsed to give a shite' tone of voice? But Gwilym looks to you, and he takes a swallow of mead, then reaches to take the pitcher from you again. "What's your need, Io? Spit it out... it did you no good keeping it from me before..."

     "Who the hell do you think I'd trust as Treasurer if not you? You're mad," Iowerth gruffs, plopping into a comfortable chair and putting his feet up on the ottoman (from the Ottoman Empire's flickering dreams, no less). "I don't want to argue with you, at least not yet." He smirks. "So ...here's my problem, oh Prince of Puzzles..."
     Iowerth takes a deep breath. It shall usher in the birth of many words. He looks at you, and sits forward, his legs dropping, his feet going to the floor. "My lover's name is Tiernan, Prince of the Winter Diamonds. His mother, the self-appointed queen, has him ... on a very tight leash. To say the least. Unfortunately, the leash is often tied to his balls. She seems to have an... incestuous desire to keep him for herself. But ... more to the point... the kingdom is corrupt and she is actively working to put spies in our mother's kingdom..."
     He looks into the cup of mead. "We are in a very precarious position, but he most of all. I cannot take him as a hostage, you know what mum would say, let along da... papa." Iowerth looks to you. "It is far too early in this... relationship for me to allow him to entertain the notion of defection. So the question remains: how can he stay here without actively working against our mother and keep his own mother at bay? I do not know what to do. I am seeing only the obstacles, political and personal. Not solutions."
     He takes a breath, and then he takes a drink.

     He listens in silence to you speaking, a flicker of a smile acknowledging both your trust in him and your lack of desire to fight. His expression is turned inwards as you relate the details; no real surprise, no. One eyebrow pops up at one point - Tiernan, hm? He'll have to look into this more...
     Finally, you finish, and he can begin. Gwilym props one foot on top of the other, then leans back, folding his hands behind his head. "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."
     He reaches out with one hand, snagging his cup and lifting it to his lips, making you wait for him to continue. Maddening, isn't he? He takes after his da. Then the cup clatters, emptied, to the table and his chair crashes to all four feet as he stands up. "Your problem is that you need to tie him to you, but not so tightly that you can't undo it if you change your mind. Tight enough to handle his mother, but not so tightly as to antagonize her kingdom. It's simple. Make him an offer he can't refuse."
     Your brother shakes his red-gold locks so that they fall in his eyes, then laughs and tosses his head, tossing his hair back from his vision. "Make him your lieutenant," Gwilym says easily. "It's about time you had one, anyway, isn't it? Offer the position to him. His mother can't tell him to refuse it outright, it's too ripe a plum. Too much of a signal honour to be turned away. And once he accepts, you just have him take the oaths of loyalty, swearing his fealty to you, with the magic to bind him should he turn traitor, blah blah blah - mother's better at sounding grand about that sort of thing than I am."
     He wanders to the window, leaning against the sill and looking at the crumbling ruin across the way. "There's ways around it," Gwilym allows. "I know of a few. You can't bind someone's will so thoroughly that they can't disobey without wrecking their soul. But he'd have to look actively for opportunities to betray you, and now that I know who he is, I'll be watching him. If he keeps true to his trust, you've got a lieutenant for however long you set his contract for, and as his mother'll be there at the swearing-in, you just don't mention that part of the ceremony. Even if she attempts to anticipate some of it and provide a counter - you're the High King's son, man. I'm sure papa'd allow you the use of your power."
     Gwilym glances over his shoulder to you, smirking. "Unless you need me to present other solutions to you as well? Be grateful; I wouldn't help just anyone with this."

     "Lieutenant of what," he chuckles suddenly. "I have no army, no commissions, I am a navy of one. My explorations are purely for discovery. Had I an army or a navy, I could make him an offer. Hell, I could conscript and empty out the alleys, the better to fill your pockets, my brother, but ... I fail to see how offering him a position when the world knows I am an agent of the king, and not a king in my own right," something you yourself struggle to remember, "...solves the issue."
     It is like playing chess. Both of you infuriating in your own ways. He does not react to your maddening way any more than you react to his. At least... not yet. Iowerth drains his glass and rises with a breath to refill his cup.
     "Say I offer him a position, swear his loyalty," he makes a wave, and all that it entails, "...what is to stop his mother, a queen in her own right, from demanding his return? I am only a promised prince. I hold no titles, for all of your insistence that I am somehow above you." He rolls his eyes. I do so wish you'd drop that. "She outranks me...so... what then? I am not prepared to go to war over him. Not yet at any rate."
     A refilled cup is a relief. Taking another full swallow, Iowerth plops back down on the chair, his thighs going wide, relaxed. "I had thought of ...offering him something. I don't know," he growls upon an exhale. "It seems a bit thin... this...anything else? Any other ideas?"
     He's not sold on that one. Not yet anyway.

     "Oh, for ... have you forgotten the dance politic so much as that? I didn't say you swear him to loyalty that quickly." Gwilym rolls his eyes at you in turn. "You offer. Make it plain that you want to keep your friend nearby, that you trust him. Make the offer where her people will hear it; he'll go back and she'll ask him about it. He can seem a little reluctant, and she'll press for details. If he's at all worth his salt - and he must be, if he's survived that court unscathed all his life - he should be able to make her drag the details from him. Then she can consider it. If she seems likely to say no, you can always ask her directly for his services, saying you love him as a brother, and," he waves a hand, "if you need to, tell her that your real brother is a thieving, lecherous, womanizing drunkard who'll never amount to much of anything. She might not buy it, but she'll believe that we're on the outs, and to someone like her, I imagine it'd be all the more reason to slip her agent in, especially if it then seems to our parents like she's doing you a favour out of the goodness of her heart."
     He claps his fist to his chest, letting out a rattling belch. "She might refuse you," Gwilym admits, "but why would she? Remember, by doing this, she forms links - ties - directly not only to you, but to our family. Our mother, my father, and yours : Nameless Queen, King of Oak and Avalon, and Holly King and High King. That's an awfully lot of people to have looking favourably upon her. Noone's going to think you're fucking him just for wanting him nearby, Io. Not with the reputation you've built up as liking ladies, especially lately. It'll be regarded as nepotism, but that's pretty ordinary for our kind - royalty, I mean."
     He straightens from the window, shrugging and looking at you. "You've got a few other options, certainly. I don't think you'll like most of them, though." Gwilym counts on his fingers so that you can see, watching you. "One. You could go to mother and ask her to pull strings. I think that could work, but I doubt you're ready to do that. Two. You could ask papa about spending some time in the mortal realm - you're eighteen and a prince, you /can/ do things like that. Take off and either get over him, or find a way to bring him with you; chances are his mother hasn't got much ability to affect things there, because you know, precious few do. We're in a lucky spot, us."
     "Three." He folds another finger down, two fingers still extended outwards at you with a grin. "You could go with him when he leaves with his mother. Or," another finger down, "you could take the bloody way out and have her killed."

     You know that look. Most think he's daydreaming. You know better. He is absorbing. And he is putting things in place. Iowerth lifts his glass for a drink, with all the expression and ease of a man ignoring the world. But he is far from dismissive. He is engaged in this.
     "I am too close to it to see what you see," he murmurs, nodding. "But...you have seen it rightly. I will...think on it." Yes, he has to think this one. He is known for that. "I have thought of talking to da...about London. But I think, with this in mind...I should save my favors. I don't think he's going to be ...happy...should he find out."
     Just like you weren't. "Which...begs a point. How are you doing? Freaking out yet?" A fiery eyebrow lifts and Iowerth smirks.

     "I could probably come up with other options if I gave it more thought, but for now? I'd say go with option number five." Gwilym closes his hand so it's in a fist. Five down. "Find ways to extend their stay longer. Send her your compliments and that you hope she doesn't mind, but you're going to be going on a bit of a sail and would like her son to accompany you. She'll be flattered that you ask and probably say yes; it'd look odd if she didn't, and if she is harbouring incestuous hopes, she's got to keep those secret - at least while she's here. Use her secrets against her, Io, instead of worrying how she'll use yours against you."
     You should know this. You are of Mystery and Secrets, aren't you? But I will forgive you for being distracted by love...
     It runs in the family...
     Good thing I've yet to lose my heart - only my head...
     "Stall their stay," your brother suggests, giving his recommendation and dropping back into his chair and leaning back. Gwilym folds his arms over his chest, looking sardonic. "The more time you have, the more you'll know whether this is going to wear off or if you want to keep him around. If it ends badly, you might be all too relieved to see the last of him. Who wants the awkwardness and inconvenience of a failed love affair when you can so easily see him riding off behind his mother back to sunless lands?"
     So casually dismissed. It's a barb in its own way, a reaction to your last question. A verbal push. Back off. "My brother prefers the company of men, and a corrupt prince to other men's. What would I possibly have to freak out about?"

     The matter of what to do about Tiernan's mother seems to be handled for the moment. Iowerth offers no more questions, nor additional obstacles. He has the perspective he asked you to assist him with, and so other, even more pressing matters may be discussed.
     Such as your unhappiness with his happiness...
     He looks at you as he swirls the mead in the glass. His expression is mostly bland, but for the slight downward turn of the corners of his mouth. "The court is corrupt. And while Tiernan is not unscathed from his family, I do not believe he himself is corrupt. Maybe you're right, maybe I am so blinded by the fact that I like him... and have feelings for him... that I can't actually see that he's a murderous prick." He rolls his eyes a little.
     "I'm not asking you to be okay with it, Gwi. You'll like it or you won't, I can't help that. I'm sorry if I've... disappointed you somehow... or...whatever it is I've done to make you as you are right now. I'm sorry that I don't find women interesting to be with. I just... don't have an interest in what they find interesting, and unlike you, I'm not equipped to simply take advantage and cunt when I can get it. I tend to isolate -- you... you throw yourself to the world..."
     Iowerth looks at you, his look softening. "Brawd... it was going to be someone, sometime. And who knows what this will even be. Maybe like you think, it'll be doomed from the start and I'll be glad to see him go when he goes." He shrugs and takes a long drink. "I don't know. I just want the opportunity to find out without getting anyone killed, myself included. Is that too much to ask?"

     "I don't need you to be interested in women for my sake." That's what he pins on, that's where his attention goes to first. "Don't be ridiculous." Gwilym swings up and out of his chair again; he is too restless tonight. He crosses to the window, looks out it, then draws the drapes with a violent jerk that sends the sashes swinging. "I ... don't feel much of anything about you preferring men."
     It is true. I was surprised and shocked - I didn't expect it. I hadn't thought of it. But now ...
     I don't feel anything at all ...
     "I don't know your - lover. It's probably better that way. The last thing we need is for me to be jealous of him and you to be jealous of me, hm?" He admits his jealousy without looking at you. Green eyes are narrowed in examination of a painting on the wall, and with a careless motion he knocks it askew. "It doesn't matter."
     He takes after his mother - your mother - too much, in some ways. He looks over his shoulder at you with a glower as he pronounces how little he cares, then hurls himself onto the bed and rolls onto his back, one booted foot propped atop the other and his hands behind his head. "It doesn't matter," Gwilym insists. One hand unfolds for an airy little wave. "Why are we still talking about this? Fine, you're in love, it's a man, you're worried - I've given you my advice, what more is there? You don't want or need my approval. What is it that you still want from me?"

     "You think you're being replaced," he says it, doesn't ask it. Iowerth finishes his mead and rises. He plops onto the bed next to you, his gaze going to the ceiling, his arms folding beneath his head. "That's impossible," he notes, his head turning to look at you. He offers you his hand in that secret shake you have, something you two created when you were seven.
     "I do want and need your approval, Gwi. You're my brother... we shared a womb with a view," he smirks. "We dodged our fathers during numerous copulations." He laughs suddenly, ".... of course I want and need your approval. If he doesn't pass your test, what good is he?"
     Iowerth sits up after another moment of silence, and he reaches back, putting a fist in your shoulder. "Alright, I'm going to leave you to your business. I know you're busy. Unless..." his voice holds a leading tone, "...you'd like to go drinking with me?"

     He scowls at you. Replaced. "Noone can replace me. I am unique," Gwilym pronounces loftily. He doesn't believe it, though, whether or not you know it. As you, he is a prince and not a king. And the role he is meant to fill - believes himself meant to fill - is already occupied by a king, if not by two kings.
     Who needs him... if not his brother?
     "I haven't met him, brawd. I can't approve of him. All I know of him is that he's better at locking his doors than most of his mother's retinue," Gwilym reaches into a pocket, taking out a lump of gold and tossing it at you, "but not better than I am a thief." There's your proof, his glance suggests. "How do you think I am going to give an opinion of him - and, really, that's what you want, even if all you're asking for is me to approve - without having gotten his measure?"
     He isn't smiling now, jade eyes flashing even as he sits up to take your hand. "Listen to me, Io," Gwilym says with sudden intensity. "How am I supposed to feel? I don't know anything about him and I haven't even known his relationship with you, to you, for longer than a few days. And you promptly swept him up - where was I supposed to begin? Oh yes, the Prince of the Winter Diamond's gone missing, funny that, what do you think of him, oh, really, well, no, not asking for any reason in particular, cheerio! Do you think it makes me happy that my brother might be sleeping with someone who'll cut his throat in the middle of the night and then swim away? Am I supposed to be happy, Io?"
     He hauls himself off the bed again, tugging down on his clothing - and again he goes to the window, bracing himself with a hand to either side of it. "I can't go drinking with you tonight," he says shortly. "My brother's a bleeding idiot, you see, and I'm going to be busy for a few nights, at least, trying to find out if his lover's a spy and assassin sent to kill him or just expose him, or worse things yet. I love him too much to let that happen, you see, and I'm not prepared to wait another twenty years for another one."

     Iowerth turns at the end of your words, heading for the door without a further sound. At the door, he turns again. He looks at you there by the window. "I'll break it off.... will that make you happy," he murmurs. "And then I will be safe."
     He doesn't wait to hear your answer. Iowerth Rhudd Draig opens the door and stalks out of the chamber that has not business being in this particular...establishment.

     Something crashes to the floor on the other side of the door. That would be your brother, graceful only when leaping from rooftop to rooftop. Where you are concerned, it appears he is as liable to trip over a chair as to sit in it.
     It slows him down; it does not stop him. "Duw's balls, Io!" Gwilym attempts to catch your shoulder from behind, white-faced and tensed. "Get back in here," he tells you, struggling to keep his voice down. "Don't go stalking out like that. Take a swing at me if you want to, fight me, hell, bite me. But for sweet gods' sake!"
     Don't walk out on me...

     "I am really angry with you," he calmly (too calmly) replies as you grab him. "Too angry to hit you." Iowerth glowers, his shoulders suddenly in motion to brush you off. "I'm a fucking idiot... is that what you think?" He glances around. Not out here in the almost-open.
     Do you think I would continue to entertain someone who would slash my throat? And if he were going to do that, he'd have done it by now. He's certainly had me in a number of prone and vulnerable positions. His face is flushed crimson.
     I know you're not happy about this. I know you don't like it. But give me a little fucking credit. And if you want to find him, his in mother's castle. The North Tower. Spy all you want. Be sure to tell me where all the knives are hidden.

     His hand falls away from your shoulder. Jade eyes regard you, then slide away. "No," Gwilym says finally, "I don't."
     I'm the one who's the idiot, alright? I. The words stick in his throat, even when the voice is not spoken aloud, and Gwilym turns away from you. I am worried about you. About this. About other things which we don't need to go into. And I am taking it out on you because I'm an arse. Fair enough?
     He doesn't turn back to you, leaving his back rigid and exposed to your view, your fists, your sword. It does not matter ... what I feel about this. I need to trust you, trust your instincts in this matter, and not - be so soured that I ruin your relationships. With him, with me, whomever.
     Gwilym says that much, hands bracing himself against the edges of the doorframe. "Go on, then," he says quietly. "I'll ... see you when I see you, aye?" Whenever that is...

     Iowerth just shakes his head at you. "You sodding git," he exhales. And suddenly you have an eyeful and then an armful of captain. The hug is massive, complete with arm slaps that make the skin sting. He shoves you back a bit, out of his hold and he turns away.
     His skin is crimson now merely with the high emotion, anger traded in for something else. And yeah, there's a bit of moisture at his eyes. But he doesn't want you to see that.
     "You are right to be concerned. I am, too. I am trying to trust myself. But you know me...ever the skeptic." He chuckles a little, wiping his eyes with the swipe of a hand. You know, to disguise the fact it's to wipe away tears. "So... we're square, aye?" He reaches out to you with his hand again to take your own in another brotherly shake.

     You and he both. Emotion runs far too high in this family, he suddenly thinks, blinking a time or two, and as you turn away, he rubs at his face with both palms. No, no, no tears; I'm a man, aren't I? Just ... something in my eyes...
     "Dioch," Gwilym says to you quietly, as you reach back again. "But, Io, look..." Your hand is clasped, covered with his other, held a moment and then released. We are changing...
     I don't think I like change...
     In this, you take after mother more than I do, I think. You ... are feeling things. Deep and lofty things, maddening passions. Like she does. This is what it seems to me. You receive a jade-eyed glance, and then he looks away again. Step back inside...
     We'll talk about it, my eyes are sharp enough, but - not in the hallway... and besides, I need a drink.

     Iowerth nods, eyes to the floor. It is his way of calming. His coloring starts to return to normal as he leaves the hallway for the room again. "I definitely need a drink," he gruffs. He stalks over to the mead and pours too deep tankards full.
     "I guess I am... like mum." He shrugs. "Da loves deeply too but...he's like you in that. Well, and your da... my other brother," he smirks. This family! "He's a master that one. I don't know. Maybe we shouldn't try to compare ourselves to them. Your da is ...what...nearly 600 years old? Mine is nearly 900? We're all of eighteen, Gwi. We have many more years to figure it all out. Shite, and look at them! They're still struggling..."
     He reaches into his captain's coat and takes out his pipe. He stuffs it full of fragrant herbs as he takes a seat on one of the comfortable chairs, and then lights it. Closing his eyes, Iowerth tips back his head and releases lungfuls of smoke. Duw's balls. "I am feeling things. I am confused. I am enjoying the sex, I'll say. Sorry, you don't want to hear it, but it's true."

     "Comparisons give us a baseline," Gwilym cracks, "it doesn't make us turn into them. We have centuries to try to avoid that horrible a fate."
     He takes the tankard from you with a nod of thanks, lifting it to his mouth and drinking thirstily. It won't be the last time. The chair is grabbed, pulled into place, and he falls back into it with a slight liquid splash. "If you're going to be having sex - with a man or a woman - I'd bloody well hope you're enjoying it, Io. No point putting us all through this shite if it's horrible."
     The bridge of his nose is pinched, and he exhales noisily. "Mum loves da and papa blindly. I've never seen anything like how they are, and I've seen a lot by now," Gwilym admits candidly, with a sidelong look to you. "I've never felt anything like it. And ... I'll admit it ... I'm jealous of that. Of you. Because you ... are acting a bit like mother ... at least from where I sit, that's how it looks."

     "I'm not that deep," Iowerth chuckles. "Not by half. I do feel very strongly for him. I like him. There's something... about him that makes me want to know more. I think it is love. That's what I call it. But...Gwi... I'm not in a marrying way. Even if ...that were something we'd be able to do. It's only been a month. And a week. I'm not that rash. I'm just not..."
     Iowerth chuckles a little at your mention of enjoying sex. "I am. No complaints of headaches or proprieties." As one would have with mortal and immortal women alike. "I just like... being in the same space as a man. That's the best way I know how to explain what it is, what I like about it. He's... interesting. He's very smart. He's also very sheltered. In fact, I was his first. I didn't know that beforehand," Iowerth smirks. "I don't know how I would have felt had I known..."
     "But... please... don't rush it, yeah? Don't think I'm further than I am... because I'm not that far, brother. I'm in the... I like him, he's fun to be around, the sex is amazing, I think I could be around him for a while phase...not the, I can't live life without him phase..."

     "Well," Gwilym retorts, "I didn't say you were exactly like mum. I was thinking to some of the stories da's told." He shrugs, stretching and sprawling back in his chair. "Marriage," he snorts, "I bloody well'd hope not. We've just dealt with one wedding, give us time before we have to get dressed up for another..."
     He rubs his forehead, then takes another pull at his drink with a low, inwards sigh. "I'm not going to comment on the sex, Io. I don't know what to say about it. If it were a woman, I'd know what to say, but ... I've never even thought about it. Seen it? Sure." He shrugs. "I've seen shite that'd make your eyes pop out. Some of it closer to home than you might think."
     He doesn't explain that one. "I'm not thinking it's that deep, that bad, that much. It's just ... who he is. Who he's attached to. I have my avenues of information," Gwilym grins a little at that, more like his usual self; green eyes sparkle for a moment, "and ... well ... I know a few things about his mother's court, let's leave it at that."
     If I've overreacted, well, can you blame me?
     "Look," Gwilym leans forward with a crash of his tankard down onto the table. "What you need to do is - well, this is going to sound obvious, but, leave hiding things to me. Be careful, but I'll clean up after you as best I can. For now ... sounds like what you need to do is spend as much time as you can with him, really. Figure out what it is you're feeling. If you hate him after a bit, or he bores you, we can skive him off." He doesn't mention what'll happen otherwise.

     Iowerth looks to you for a few moments, absorbing all you say. He nods then, a single bob of his head and a lifting of his tankard. "I will let you do what you do best." His mouth makes a quick smile and the periwinkle in his eyes glints amid the green.
     "And I will do what I do best," he cracks. And then he laughs. Riotous, inherited laughter from You Know Who.

Posted by rowan at May 14, 2006 07:13 PM