The lunch is a small affair, held out in the gardens. A table has been set up for prince and princess, for queen, and for - guest. The fourth seat remains empty, as the sun gently beats down upon the roses and the larkspur and everything else. There is the quiet hum and buzz of bees, and things seem languid in all the world, dripping with the syrup and honey of summer sunlight's warmth.
     Well. Almost all the world. The Princess Maria is particularly prim, sitting upright with a slight flush on her cheeks as she eats strawberries and little cakes. Her mother is more at ease, smiling languidly as she chats with her daughter and with you. "So where do you intend to go next, Prince Gruffydd? It's quite a large tour, but then, it's quite a large world, after all." She knows something, but the sparkle in her eyes gives nothing away...
     Maria does not know. You do not know. But the garden does still seem in waiting; in anticipation...

     He has taken to dressing quite formally for these occasions, but more as the Commander-to-Be of the Royal Navy, the up-and-coming commodore that he is. The commodore's coat is a work of art. No matter the temperature, he stays perfectly cool or perfectly warm, depending on the season. A gift from his father, to be sure. Both of them, no doubt. It is simply splendid and reminiscent of his father's own when he was a young man and a captain of the seas. It is a rich blue -- neither royal nor overly green. It could be said to be the perfect harmony of all the colors of all the seas in the realm. With this, he wears a the loose and comfortable trousers of a working commodore which disappear into leather boots that fall just short of the knees. The trousers themselves are a corresponding shade of blue, but with a hint of the lavender that fills his eyes. And while he carries his tricorn hat and veil, it is never worn at the dinner table.
     He has impeccable manners.
     He is also a remarkably clean young man. Fastidious, it may be noted, by the constant state of dampness of his hair. Perhaps he's merely fond of swimming in his non diplomatic hours...
     He does not so much devour his lunch as he is in a state of constant eating. It is a slow, deliberate exercise of tending to the one appetite he can address in polite company. It runs in the family, he fears. As the princess is snacking on her strawberries -- and such a bloom in her face! What berries could top that? -- and cakes, he is finishing his hearty lunch of game bird, bread and cheese. Strawberries, for him, are yet to come.
     Gruffydd gives his attention to the Queen, the bland look of casual conversation on his face. "I am thinking next of taking the great river Tan inland after a cruise of the coastlines. I do not want to neglect the interior. I will most likely keep to main river passages and canals substantial enough for the ships, rather than docking and transforming the voyage to caravan." He glances to Maria, his own complexion showing things he is not saying, no matter how quick the look. The looks are, in fact, quite quick. Stolen. Robbed, in fact.
     "After that, I am thinking of the Silver River to Xanadu before turning sail back to the seas and bays and heading eastward."

     Footsteps sound; do you notice? Do you look up? It is your father, silver-touched and smiling. "My apologies for being delayed," Tiernan remarks, bowing slightly. "Your majesty. Princess. Gruffydd." You do not need a title, from him. He is still your father. He does not, however, move to take the single available seat, the one which separates you from Maria.

     Maria looks up; she finds this far more interesting than talk of the route. It is not that the route is not interesting; it is that she has hope to see it herself. And beneath the table, her hand has had a way of stealing towards your own blindly, whenever it can. "Sir," she murmurs politely, settling on a generic title. She is not sure what to call your father, though there is no malice in it. You receive a quick storm-eyed glance, and then her attention is on him as is right and proper. "I am sure my mother will be the first to say that you have not missed anything, nor should any tardiness be held against you as fault."

     Anna seems pleased with Maria's answer, rising with a chuckle to move to Tiernan, offering him both hands. "It is good to see you again. All's been prepared, then?"

     "All has been prepared," Tiernan confirms, smiling as he briefly touches his hands to Anna's. Both Anna and Tiernan turn to regard you and Maria with a thoughtfulness as well as smiles. "I shall leave it to you to explain, your majesty."

     With the arrival of his father, one of his two -- and fortunately for him, his most understanding -- Gruffydd starts to rise, his hand slipping under the table to retrieve his napkin before he does. It allows him the chance to glance a princess' fingers out of view, and then he is setting his cloth napkin beside his plate. "Father..."
     In his eyes is a kind of grim curiosity. He wants to know where this is going but he dreads seeing it for himself. There is a look shared with the young princess -- a quick and reassuring smile -- as he retakes his seat, politeness done and news at hand.
     I feel like I'm about to be executed...
     Sitting easily, as if he were about to receive a weather report, Gruffydd calls upon his inherited serenity to get him through this moment. He has had to call upon that serenity more times in the last two days than he has in as many years.
     And in the interim, he takes the opportunity to feed the engine of his desire by stuffing a strawberry into his mouth.

     Tiernan's smile is gentle as always, reassuring but with fathoms of depth hidden behind it. He allows Queen Anna to do the talking, as is her due and her right. But there is warmth in his eyes, for all that he says nothing at all out loud, nor even in thought, by which you may be set at ease.

     "After discussing the matter with Prince Tiernan," Anna always knows the titles appropriate, "I've decided that provided there's an appropriate chaperone, Maria may go with you, Prince Gruffydd." The warmth of her smile is as maternal as Tiernan's might be said to be paternal; but there's definitely a sparkle to her eyes. Her daughter is growing up. It is difficult to let go. "We have decided on a chaperone."
     Maria lets out a joyful squeal - it's more of a squeak, really -and her napkin is flung to her plate. Impulse wins out, and she flings her arms around you, as high up as she can reach. It is an impetuous hug, and immediately after she is pulling back as if scalded, and blushing brilliantly - as if this slip might be enough to change their minds.
     Both Tiernan and Anna seem to be fighting smiles, now, and courteously pretend to have seen nothing. Instead, Anna simply says sedately, "In fact, I believe the chaperone is arriving about now."

     There are footsteps again; two pairs of feet. On the one hand, your young uncle and on the other...
     She is a vision to behold, to be sure, in wine-colored gown down to her ankles. It drapes to leave her collarbones bare, the long sleeves graceful in their open folds. Emeralds sparkle the deep green of the forests from her ears, her throat, her fingers, her crown. Her figure has been described on more than one occasion as perfect, even if the elder of her two husbands prefers her pregnant; and she shows no sign at all of having gone through maternity even once, let alone the four times that she has. Forever nineteen, English down to the bone - and with the wild spark of mischief deep behind changeable eyes.
     "Hullo, darling," Fiona, Queen of the Kingdom of the Flowering Tree, Queen Mother of the High United Kingdoms, wife to not one but TWO Kings, the Holly King that was and the Oak King of Camelot offers gaily. Now mother to two kings: the High King and the new Holly King: "It's been ages. Did you miss me?"

     Fresh off of the shower-inducing hug given by the squealing young girl -- that's going to keep him up for hours -- the shock of seeing is grandmother (and grand-aunt) as the offered chaperone is enough to send him reeling. "Nainie?" he proclaims in shock.
     And the his face flushes wildly. I just called the Queen Mother 'nainie' in public. Like a two year old! He rises, making sure his coat is covering him -- the hug was inspiring, he could feel her little arms tighten, and the flutter of her excited heart -- and then he bows very grandly. A tall and graceful young man, he bows with great distinction. "Queen Mother and Grandmother," he says warmly. With startlement lingering in his gaze, he steps to greet her with the customary kisses on her cheek. "Of course. I am sorry, I am just...surprised." And he looks to his father, duly noting some medicine given. "It is... so good to see you."
     And then his father will notice some rush of relief. A person to help guide him through the quagmires to come.
     Gruffydd moves to stand aside to let his grandmother sit. He returns to his chair but does not sit until his grandmother sits. This allows him an interesting vantage of the young princess. He does not smile to catch it, but does lift an eyebrow slightly.

     Fiona's lips twitch, and she grins with the wildness still in her eyes; mischief aforethought. The twitch of lips, at least, is echoed by both Tiernan and by Anna. You are loved. And it is through love that they give you these shocks to your system. Besides, you're young. You'll cope.

     Tiernan gives you a smile. It is good you recognize that it is medicine and not torment. He says quietly, "I fear I must depart, your majesties. I have left work to be done back in my husband's kingdom, and reports to give." You receive another smile; you know what form at least one of those reports will take.
     "It is always good to see you," Anna tells Tiernan vigorously. "Don't stay away so long, next time." She gives him a quick hug, leaving him looking both pleased and embarrassed. He is still and always shall be awkward with gestures of physical affection from those outside his immediate family. It is followed immediately by Fiona pouncing on him to hug him as well, planting a vigorous kiss on his cheek. "I agree with Her Majesty completely."

     Your kiss is accepted, with sparkling eyes and deep-rooted amusement. Your grandmother knows, oh yes, she does know a thing or two. "In any case, let's do have some lunch, shall we? Princess Maria, as you've no doubt gathered by now, I'm Gruffydd's grandmother, his father's mother. Yes, really and truly; I know, I look young." She closes one eye in a wink, moving to take her own seat without waiting on ceremony. "Gruffydd, sit down, you'll do some poor plants out of their own sunlight lunch. You're big enough, heaven knows! When are you going to stop growing, already?"

     Maria is wide-eyed and shocked, not quite knowing where to look or what to say. Finally, she falls back on manners. She rises to curtsey deeply, first to Fiona and then to Tiernan. "Thank you for all the time you've taken on our behalf," she offers, trying for a dignified tone. "It's very kind of you." Beneath the dignity, there is a relief to echo your own. A solution, and one which does not involve staying at home like a good little girl. You have, as she curtseys, an even better view of her own wild untamed locks, threatening to break through the temporary prison of ribbons, and of the slant of firm young cleavage, still budding to full blossom...

     As she curtsies, the color drains from the prince's face going from a deep caramel to a soft almond. Conversations swirl around his head like cardinal winds, lifting the scent of apples from the young maiden's skin. White and pure... and very, very firm. The other eyebrow lifts at the hint of cleavage.
     Someone is talking...
     Father...
     Grandmother...
     And something else, who's laughing? The quiet laughter belongs to the official peanut gallery. Bran, another prince. He goes unseen in all this.
     "Oh... of course...father," Gruffydd murmurs, his gaze locked on the princess. "... Give the King ...my love...and ...thank you..." It is only then that Gruffydd notices Bran, who is standing there in his shadow armor, darkness incarnate, with his hand over his mouth. The two exchange looks and there is from the rear of the courtyard a soft clearing of a male throat.
     "Brother Prince," your escort awaits. Bran bows with a grand flourish to the others in attendance and cuts the very sky with his hand to part even this reality from itself. He will guide Tiernan back to the Capitol of the United Kingdoms.
     It is overwhelming. Drawing his coat over himself, Gruffydd returns to his seat, paying his uncle no mind. Beneath the table there is some adjustment made for comfort. He looks to his grandmother and reaches for another strawberry. His face regains its color all at once going from almond to rich caramel flush.

     Maria takes her seat again, once the Queen Mother is seated. She is a bit in awe; the Queen Mother, her chaperone? The fae sorceress who smote the earth and brought forth a kingdom? The stories have not prepared her for the reality. And you call her nainie...
     One of Maria's ribbons gives up the fight. Apple-green and apple red, it flutters lifelessly to the ground.

     Tiernan departs without further words. He is not a big one for talk, for pomp and circumstance. And he has a husband to inform, to soothe, to contain...

     "Your majesty," Anna tells Fiona cheerfully, "if there's anything you'd like, you just let me know. For now, I'm going to let the three of you talk and get things sorted out. I've a kingdom to get back to the running of," her eyes twinkle, "and they may as well get used to your company, after all. It's going to be a bit before they're done with it." She rises, moving to kiss her daughter on the cheek, and then bustles off. She has work to do, and possibly a quiet little sniffle to have in privacy. Her little girl, all growing up on her.

     Fiona smiles her understanding, reaching for a glass. She looks to Maria, and she looks to you, and her lips twitch irrepressibly. "So. I understand that you two think you might want to get married."

     Oh god...help me...
     You can see it in his face -- you are the mother of enough sons, and particularly familiar with Iowerth's own traits and reactions to see both the memory and translate the look upon your grandson's face. If Gruffydd could sink in his chair without losing face in front of the girl he likes, he would do so.
     He wishes suddenly that he would wear his hat at a table without being rude and unmannerly.
     So, out in the open and exposed, his only defense is serenity. And food. He begins eating one of the cakes. It will be his seventh. Unfortunately, despite the serenity, Gruffydd's coloring deepens. "We are in earnest, greatly interested, na..." His mouth twists -- bad habit, this nainie business. "Mum," he settles on. He looks to Maria and his eyes are distracted by the fluttering fall of a ribbon. It is only in his current wound state that he could find such a simple matter provocative. He is distracted a moment.
     That moment allows him to recapture some of his composure. His formerly famous composure before meeting the Princess Maria. Settling back in his chair, he begins to seem more like the commodore he is. "Maria and I would like to court one another in the ....possibility of such. But we are both aware that we have only been in one's presence but a short time and should be prudent, and in her best interest, take the time to develop this interest."

     Maria's blush is as immediate as anything, though she fights it to try to answer with some sort of grace. "I fell out of an apple tree and hit him, Your Majesty. Not literally, though I might have thrown an apple at him. I - er, well, I forget." And she looks at you, blushing still, and for a moment there is a smile that is half with the impudence of wildness, and half that of shy and budding adoration. "...I would like to do things properly," she finishes softly. "Maybe with a little less hitting."

     Fiona chuckles; she can't help it, you two are so cute! I like this one, Gruffydd, but you do realize that if you let it go on too long and then drop her, she'll break, yes? But I'll do what I can to help the two of you out. She takes a sip of wine, settling back. "We will leave in three days. That will give time for all the appropriate formalities to be seen to. This won't be a formal courtship - yet - just that Queen Anna thought your little trip was such a good idea that her own daughter might also see the world, and as long as your ships would be in the area, so much the better, for safety's sake. Your father's idea," she tacks on to you, "but one I agree with. I'm along as chaperone so people don't get the wrong idea, and the two of you will interact as befits your stations. You and I'll have quite a few discussions, dear," she tells Maria with a smile that promises some mischief. If you think Maria is blushing now, wait until those discussions.
     "Now, if you two are done with lunch, Maria, I believe your mother's arranged for the court tailors to rush through getting you a proper wardrobe for the trip. Gruffydd, humor an old woman," Fiona's smile widens, "and take me to The Draigamor, hm? It's been ages, and I'd like to say hello to my old friend."
     And, my darling grandson, you and I need to talk without virgin ears in the room.

     There is a smile at the memory -- so recent but already taking on legendary proportions -- about the apple lobbing. He looks between the Queen Mother and the princess. As the talk turns momentarily to business, Gruffydd nods. "I understand, Mum. And... we thank you for doing us the honor. And the favor." To be honest. He recognizes it for what it is. Grace.
     I know, nainie. And... thank you.
     Gruffydd clears his throat a little as he rises, glancing to the sitting princess. He offers Maria his hand to help her rise, a proper gentleman as always. "Maria," how he says that -- there is warmth and affection. "I hope to see you for dinner." He kisses her knuckles and there upon he smiles. Bye he mouths as he lets her hand go. But there is such in that look, there is such in the touch no matter how subtle. She remembers the taste of sugar those fingertips have offered.
     There is no blushing now. "Have fun with the dressers." He chuckles a little and begins to move around the table to offer his arm to his grandmother, a woman who looks his own age. There is a secretive, subtle smile upon his lips, one that twinkles in his eyes of periwinkle. She is precious, is she not? Her apple perfume is killing me. Gruffydd glances back to Maria to get a last look. His look is neither naive nor bashful -- not in the slightest.

     Maria is blushing, even if you are not. She rises with a murmur to your grandmother, and a brief smile at you. Her eyes fix upon yours, and she bites at her lower lip as you take her hand. That apple-throwing, tree-climbing spirit is still within the body, no matter how ripening, no matter how trembling from kisses given. She smiles at you, and the smile is in her eyes as well as on her lips as she turns finally from the lingering glance to go. Another hair ribbon has given up the ghost; it falls in her wake, a visible reminder of where she has trod.

     Fiona smiles at you, looking amused, but also affectionate. How could she not? She remembers the pangs of love; every arrow in Cupid's quiver has at one time or another been lodged in her own heart. It is the family curse that all must share. "You are well on your way to being in love with her. The perfume, though, that's not helping. I would say to see how you manage around her when she isn't wearing it. I'll arrange it; if after I do, you still smell apples, then it's her and isn't perfume, Gruffy. Now... talk to me. We don't need to do so on The Draigamor yet, if you don't like, but we should talk, don't you agree?"
     She smiles at you as demurely as a kitten, and then adds, "Oh, and you needn't think I'll let you have your wicked way with her. I realize I'm on your side, but that's exactly why I won't be letting you have time alone to deflower her, my child."

     "We can talk while we walk. By the time I get to the ship, I'll need to dunk my head in some cold water." Either one will do. "She is ..." his smile is fond, "... very appealing. Very pretty, very charming, quick witted. Last night..." And he decides sotto voce is even better: She popped out of the night like the story of uncle Rhodri in Britain, complete with robe and hood. For a moment, I thought I was being robbed. But it was only a picnic basket. We ended up... hmm, I won't be disingenuous... I took her to the ship to enjoy the picnic. And I did. She survived that intact. He doesn't go into too many details, but he is strangely comfortable talking with you about it.
     It even catches him by surprise in the look he then gives to you. Gruffydd walks with you away from the castle's gardens and courtyard and toward the docks and piers. From here, you can see your old travel companion, The Draigamor alongside several other ships of similar size.
     "Do you think the apples have me under some sort of spell?" He pauses at that, considering it. "I do notice I don't think half so well around her. The smell is just... it gets into my nose and my brain and... I find I can't really think all that clearly." His mouth slims a smile. No, his attentions and thoughts are elsewhere. "I do like her. I like her wit. When I first met her, actually ... one of the first thoughts I had was how much she reminded me of you... of the stories I heard about you when you were younger. It endeared me to her instantly. She tilts up her chin and gets stubborn and cross with me. She won't let herself be deceived. She tells me what she thinks, when she thinks it, without attempting to impress me in the slightest. In fact, the very first thing she said to me was that she wasn't going to marry me. That made her really interesting. We spent all day together, alone. God, then when I saw her swimming. We were having lunch with assorted mermen and other creatures of debatable reputation but with amazing taste in food. Their pies were exquisite, truly..." and he can wax on about food...
     "...anyway, she jumps into one of the pools in the cave and her dress clung to her in the most amazing ways..."

     You receive a smack to the upper arm - not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to make you get past the clinging of a dress. "I don't know if it's her perfume, but we may as well winnow down on factors," Fiona answers you serenely. "I'll send a little note to Anna - she'll not try and trap you, at least. And when we go down to dinner, we'll see the results."
     Practical woman in her way, your grandmother. She cuts to the meat without the poetry, smiling with pleasure at the sight of the ship. Hello, old friend. It's been a time, hasn't it? I remember when your current master's father and his brother were babes in your belly...
     "She sounds as if she is wary of falling in love," Fiona remarks, looking to the sea beyond the sails. "I don't think you are under a spell - not really. I think you genuinely like her and are attracted to her, and that has a spell of its own. But if there is an influence of apples tipping it headlong into thoughts of possession as opposed to play, we need to narrow it down - and guard against it. You are more fortunate than your father, Gruffydd. You will have the opportunity to marry for love. But," she slants a sidelong look at you, "we need to discuss what that love will include. Let's get on board and below deck; this discussion is likely to take a bit."

     The ship stands to the ready to receive you. There is a whisper, for discretion, by the dragons that make up its sail and spirit: Hail Queen Fiona, the pulse of the Dragon's Heart. So it greeted you when it was your husband's ship. Gruffydd leads you onto the deck and he opens the door to the captain's quarters for you. Always there before you, always the gallant gesture. Closing the door behind him, Gruffydd follows you down the stairwell to the grand chamber's main area. "Would you like something to drink, nainie?"
     He still does not remove his coat, but he does set his hat aside for the time being, the veil draping silkily over the edge of the table. He goes to the bath briefly -- you can hear the water running. He splashes the cold liquid on his face a moment before finally deciding to dunk his head into a basin of chilled water. "Better," he sighs to himself, and as he re-emerges with a renewed wet head, his black hair curling from the moisture, he begins to shrug out of his commodore's coat.
     "She is wary of being hurt. I think being in love isn't the real worry. Her mother's sister, her aunt, has been very cruel to her, along with all of her cousins. Her mother mentioned this to me last night. There is some injury there, so she started out quite defensive. She is not so defensive with me now, but still protective of herself." As she should be.
     Gruffydd nods as you mention the apples and he takes a seat on one of the chairs, letting his long legs stretch out with an exhale. He wipes his face with his hand and rakes it through his drenched hair. "I admit when she was in here, smelling like she did... does... I was ... beyond rational thought. Somehow, still, I managed. It is a testament to my fear of fatherly repudiation and motherly disappointment, to be sure." He smiles a bit at that. You understand, of course.

     "In other words, she's intelligent." Your grandmother laughs at you. Defensive? Of course the girl is defensive. You are a crown prince! "I'll take a brandy, if you've got one going wanting. But in any case, I've sent a message to Anna, and there'll be no apple perfume tonight. Which means tonight, I want you to think about two things, when you are with Maria : one is, do you notice a scent of apples, and two is, if you don't - how do you react to her. Is there a change. I won't go into the reasoning now; ask me after."
     She stays standing for the moment, a hand stroking the wall of the ship with a fondness of old friends reunited. And she turns to look at you. "Let's move past that for now, Gruffy. We both know there's other things to work on as well. Assuming you're not just being bewitched by apples - don't think of her right now, look at me - what do you want to do? What do you want to have happen? Stop thinking about sex, I know it's difficult," Fiona fights a laugh, "if it helps, then about me and your grandfather, that should do it... but think about it from a different angle. You're going to be the high king. What - realistically - do you see happening in all this?"

     "I know that it is too early for marriage. At least politically. The most advantageous time for such would be following my coronation, most likely. Or if not following it, then just prior to it. This was not to be a tour of marriage proposals," he smiles at that, "...but rather as an introduction of me to my future responsibilities and letting them see me in the flesh as well. That was one of the many points of this trip. That is what my political brain is telling me."
     Of course, that's not the one that has been engaged for the last day and a half.
     "I was expecting to meet many daughters along the way. I knew that was to be a part of it. I just wasn't expecting to be so taken so immediately with the first one. It is rather embarrassing, nainie. Especially when papa told me, specifically, not to come home married." Now, Iowerth may have meant that in good humor but sometimes it is difficult to know. "So on the one hand, the rational hand, I feel as though my first diplomatic trip is off to rather a poor start. But ..."
     His gaze softens upon the term. "She is very intelligent. She is very compassionate. And I feel that of all the possible kingdoms with which to choose a future queen, this would certainly be a wise choice. The High King shouldn't merely choose the most powerful with which to ally. This is a good and compassionate kingdom. It is good to its people. It is small but has a very valiant heart, so in regards to an eventual match, I think it a wise choice. You yourself included it in the first search. Queen Anna could have been my mother."
     Gruffydd laughs softly, briefly at your suggestion of not thinking of sex. That's funny. He does try, but his right leg bounces all the same. He has to do something to distract himself. "What I would like to have happen? I would love to be able to love her, nurture her dreams, watch her swim in the moonlight after diving off The Draigamor's deck. If I could have anything I wanted in regards to her, without risk of political damage to herself or to me, then I would want to indulge in a grand affair with her. Sweep her off her feet. Literally."
     But he does have something of a reputation in the Capitol...for doing just that. With both sexes.

     "I will be a buffer between you - for your sake as well as hers," Fiona remarks. "Anna could have been your mother. Your father was picky, though, and," she smiles, "if your mother had not presented herself, it quite likely would have been Anna. He was not choosing with an eye to love, you know."
     She listens to what you describe, smiling affectionately. She knows you - better than you might think. It helps that Tiernan has given her a very thorough briefing. "And what will you do," she inquires, "about this?"
     Without warning, your grandmother vanishes. In her place is a slender young man dressed in denim with a high-necked collar and Fair Isles pullover, blonde hair ruffled. Only the eyes remain the same. He leans back and folds his arms over his chest, cocking up a mischievous and knowing eyebrow.
     "You're not going to be able to escape your own desires. So you're going to need to figure out how to face them. And if you want her in your life - with her."

     He is getting a double-dose of that medicine. First from Tiernan, and now from you. Experts both, with divided hearts and thrice-crammed desires. "I spoke pretty boldly when she was in here. Like an intoxicated poet. And you see how she looks at me. How ... do I explain this to her? She is young... prone to injury. How do I do it without already causing her hurt? Is there a way to begin this conversation?"
     There is no male lover, no consistent partner for him. He differs from his father in that. He did not fall in love -- or in long-lasting romantic lust -- with a man, though there are several naval commanders in his fleet -- perhaps on one of the companion ships -- that he has enjoyed. You see his mind go there with a look to the side and a twisting of his mouth.
     "It was different for my father. He was already in love with papa Tiernan and he could choose a wife on the basis, merely, of how she could handle his existing relationship. I am not in a relationship with a man at the moment. I have associates, of course, courtiers, but not all of these are intimate." Many of them are, but not all. "How do I brace her for an uncertainty? Perhaps I will be so in love with her that I won't want to indulge in other pursuits...."

     "Life changes. Love changes. If you go in expecting there will be no changes, you will only be upset when it happens. I ought to know." He lolls in place, moving to settle on the edge of a table, grinning at you. He makes a very pretty young man, the sort who isn't quite androgynous, but definitely pretty. A poet, no doubt, but one with an edge, who probably writes about blood and rebellions and eschews comparisons to Yeats all the same. "So ... you plan, and you prepare for change. Are you intending to build a tripod or are you intending a more conventional marriage?"
     'Fionn' picks up the brandy, taking a sip as he lounges there, grinning at you with all of the punk impudence in the world. He knows how this must be scrambling your brain. And he knows too that it is needed. If you are to snap out of your haze, something must combat it. And for you, the only antidote for the girl is going to be a boy.
     At least, right now.
     "You will never be so in love that you won't want more. Our family is greedy and seldom satisfied. Look at me and tell me, seriously, that you are not right now thinking about what it would be like to bend some boy over a desk," Fionn tells you, matter of fact about it. "Even if it's still a bit intertwined with thoughts of your Maria, I really doubt that you aren't now also starting to flash to thoughts of a male mouth wrapped around you. So, obviously, that's not going to work. It does not make your love for Maria - newly beginning though it is - any less valid. But you are a man, and you have dual appetites. And you come by those appetites honestly. The question is not whether those appetites are in fact yours, but how to indulge in them honestly, openly, and fairly. Also, what about the shoe being on the other foot?"
     He does not explain yet. He waits.

     This is very distracting. And the moment he recognizes that is the same moment he recognizes that that's the point. Still, his grandmother in a male form not only talking about but suggesting thoughts of blowjobs is quite nearly more than he can take. Now, he looks like he wants to simultaneously explode and die of sheer mortification.
     He has never been more red.
     "I ...haven't thought of ...what sort of marriage... in that respect." Gruffydd thinks of standing up but quickly thinks better of that. He reaches over instead to get his own glass of brandy -- Rhodri's honey brandy -- and takes a long swallow. When he sits back, he folds a leg over his other, ankle resting on his knee.
     "This is not the sex talk I thought we would be having," he exhales. Restless, he finally stands and puts his body in some motion. He can't hide from you -- he is a smart boy -- so he doesn't bother. "I don't know how to begin to tell her... I ... would want a marriage flexible enough to withstand my needs but one that would honor her, if it ends up being her. If she would even agree with any of it. How did... forgive me... but how did you, do you... manage your own? How did that come up? I know my father's story... papa Tiernan told me some of it. Their situation was completely different. And my mother... a very unusual sort of wife. But you... maybe... you have some advice, nainie?" He continues to call you nainie. He refuses to look at you as if you were that appealing young man. You're his grandmother, for gods' sake!

     "I'm human." Fionn smiles at you. "And, something you really would do well to keep in mind - I'm nineteen. Yes, I'm old enough to be your grandmother, but it's - complicated." He sits like a boy of nineteen, sprawling bonelessly; but he does not react to you with a display of sexuality or arousal. There is a something, though - a self-aware arrogance, the shit-eating grin that Gwilym has, that Bran has. If Fiona were truly male - this is what she would be like.
     Brandy is sipped, and then he stands, crossing to you and affectionately reaching up to grab a handful of your hair for a brief tug. "I'm not telling you all the details. If you think you're embarrassed NOW...and besides, they're not your business. But I was with Davydd first, and Rhodri pushed into the picture later. It took a lot of adjusting, and we all had our own issues to work through. It worked though because ultimately we're right for one another, because we love one another enough to keep working at it until it worked."
     Fionn returns to his glass, pouring himself more brandy. With his back to you, he says, "So. Tell me. You know what you want. How do you feel about the idea of her being with other men than you? You want to be open to other men. You're probably, being as you're a twenty year old hot-blooded man of the Davydd line, all for the idea of her with another woman. But how do you feel about the idea of another man's lips on her breast, his fingers slowly sliding in and out of her - having your wife? Sauce for the goose, you know, doesn't come in just plum duff."

     He doesn't want to think about that. You can feel the stubbornness from where you stand. Yes, he is Davydd's grandson, no matter how graceful and serene his outer layer might be. But fighting it never makes it any easier. He pours a fresh glass of brandy -- this whole conversation makes him want to drink himself into the bottom of his cup -- and grabs a handful of honey-stuffed dates that appear out of his imagination.
     "I do not think I would like that, nainie," Gruffydd calmly replies. "How would I be sure that my royal line was... mine? In your situation you have two husbands. They each know that their lines are assured. Politically, one ore more male lovers for the queen would not be the preference. Using Bran for an example for the moment, which will be a first," he smiles suddenly, "... I would not have multiple female lovers for the same reason. But there is not that issue with any male lover I might choose... should I choose one of any consequence."
     In other words, if a man is in his bed for more than a single night...
     "Is this unreasonable?" he wonders quietly. "Perhaps it is, but it is the way I feel." The thought of another man having Maria when he hasn't even had her makes his head spin a little. Though, he understands the point of justice that you are coming to.
     "Just as... if she were to take an houri as a lover, there would be no issue with a confused lineage..."

     "Then use your duff," Fionn answers you, grinning with a punk's ruthlessness. "The answer is pretty obvious, ass." He smiles at you, finishing off the brandy in the newly refilled glass already. "Come on, isn't it obvious? Use your loaf."
     He laughs, and wavers; resolves, becoming again your nainie, still nineteen, still beautiful, but now unmistakably female. Garbed in claret and emeralds, she smiles with the same unrestrained mischief.
     "Can you wait two or three years after your marriage to have sex with a man again?"

     "Keep her in a state of constant pregnancy? What?" He is starting to get a little frustrated with the goading. If the answer is obvious, then it is the snake that shall have bitten him -- for he is not seeing the solution. In fact, the situation is more perplexing than ever.
     "I don't know. I don't like to make predictions. It's all guessing on hypotheticals. I may. I just as easily may not. Who knows but that I might get bored with any one spouse of any particular sort, leaving Maria out of it a moment."
     Downing another glass of brandy, he decides not to follow it up with more. Instead he pulls off his shirt and lets his grand peacock wings tumble out and stretch. He was feeling far too confined. Reclining on the sofa, he throws an arm over his eyes.
     After a few moments of quiet -- and thankfully you have also transformed -- Gruffydd lifts his arm from his eyes and turns his head toward you. "You are suggesting that I find a man that could be both her lover and mine... a mere reverse of what my father has done with Tiernan and my mother. Take a husband, for us both and simply negotiate the progeny. Or limit it to me. Of course, I could make matters far more simple by simply marrying one of my mother's attendants and having as many male lovers as I wish..."

     "No, actually, I'm not. I am suggesting that you should wait until you have an heir and simplify matters - or suggesting that I teach her what I just did." Fiona placidly settles into place with her glass, empty though it is. "Of course, if it's the variety that appeals to you, that wouldn't help. I don't know that you would find Marius as appealing as Maria, or if it would be enough. Besides, the poor girl might end up grateful for the break now and again; most women aren't as inexhaustible as I am."
     Probably too much information, but what's one more at this point?
     "At the very least, the girl needs to be able to decide for herself without having it all sprung on her at once. You are going to need to be patient. Think of it as the ultimate seduction, Gruffydd; you need to win her over not just to your heart, not just to your kingdom, but to your cause. And, like with any good seduction, it shouldn't take place in one night, or even one week. Decide how much you want her - and realize that even so, your best efforts might not be enough. But," Fiona smiles at you, giving you a bit of sympathy now, "if she loves you? She will find ways to make it work as well..."

     My mind is overflowing...
     He fans himself with his great wings, creating a comforting breeze. Glancing off his skin, the air turns mildly tropical. "It is already possible that my best efforts may not be enough. I will have to consider these things for a while, nainie," Gruffydd murmurs. "It is much to think about. And every option is complicated."
     "All I have known," he speaks honestly to you, too worn down to do otherwise, "... is variety. I do not know if it is variety I need or variety that I have merely found. It is possible that if she knew how to transform herself that the illusion would be enough. I don't know. I don't think I would know it until it happened."
     He looks to you for a long while. "Should I tell her anything before we leave? Maybe it is more than she would ever want to deal with..."

     "I think that she wishes this trip on her own merits, not just to be with you. I think that telling her before you leave will do you out of a friend, whether or not out of a wife - and that it would be unfair to her joy in exploration. You can deal with sexual arousal; you've got enough men that if you need to, you can go get some if it gets too bad."
     Your nainie is an unfeeling witch. But then, your grandfather could have told you that.
     "Let her enjoy the trip, and have her hopes and dreams. Learn to know her, while there are still no expectations on you of official faithfulness. You are not contracted, after all." Fiona rises to her feet, unhurried, smiling. "If you love her - you will be willing to find a way to make it work. And if you do not - then at the end, she returns to her kingdom and you to yours. And we will worry about it then. Now... you should do what you need to do..."
     Fionn reappears, giving you that impudent, cock-sucking smile. "And probably an idea of who you want to do..."
     She reappears in all her serene grace, turning to depart. "So do it, and get some rest, and join us for dinner. And remember to take note of if there is any scent of apples. I will see you at dinner, Gruffydd."

Posted by rowan at July 07, 2008 08:26 AM