House Calls

If (when) [Brennan] spots [Cambina], he goes directly to her side. Not knowing precisely what to say, he falls back on one of the classics: "Are you all right?" He gives a rueful expression, "I'm probably the fifth person to ask you that in as many minutes."

She smiles. "Thanks for asking. I hit my head, but I've been told it's hard. I should get up, now that the excitement's over." She doesn't seem to be making any move to actually do so.

[I've lost track of Merlin and Corwin. Corwin was last seen here, giving headwound advice. Heh. Is he still here, or has everyone abandoned Cambina to sit on the floor alone, in pools of Lucas' blood? Regardless...]

Corwin and, based on Corwin's example, Merlin step away to give you two what privacy you can get in this room.

Brennan being Brennan, he insists on giving her at least a cursory once over, if she permits. Probably a full exam is not required, since Jerod and Corwin have already done so. It's quick and painless, and mainly intended to make sure that she hasn't worsened since then, and that he's not going to lift her by a broken arm, or onto a broken ankle, or some such.

Very bad form, that.

He does this under the pretext of making sure she's ready to stand, then gently gives her whatever assistance she may need-- and then, strictly speaking, a little more than that.

There's quite a knot on the back of her head, which she tells you is sore, but just sore. She should be fine.

Well, she's passed muster with the expert on head wounds over there, and she shares in the family vitality. Brennan is attentive, but not obnoxiously so. I assume she's on her feet, now?

She shakes her head, slowly, and takes a deep breath.

"I've got to re-create my dance card and figure out who else might have danced with me and not realized they were really dancing with a psychotic assassin from Chaos."

He nods. "I'd offer to help, but other than our dances I don't think I can."

"I can't check it tonight, anyway."

"Well, the excitement is over for tonight, I hope. But I'm sure it isn't over for the long run."

"I'm not sure the kingdom could stand more excitement tonight. I hope we were the first and last stop on their itinerary tonight." She looks around. "Where did the King go? Corwin said he wasn't hurt."

"Not unless you count being tackled by Martin as hurt. Martin was, though evidently not seriously." He gestures with the medical kit he'd fetched for Martin, and never got to use. "They both ducked out a few minutes ago. Before I had a chance to talk to Martin, in fact."

"Why? Were you going to offer to be his second? You're the wrong type for the only other thing he has on his mind."

Brennan snorts, then replies, "No. Aisling's, maybe, but I'm happy enough that we all pounced and quashed the whole drama. No, I wanted to have a talk with him and Merlin before everyone starts breaking to pursue their own agendas. So much to do, so little time."

"If you want to talk to Merlin, do it before noon tomorrow. He leaves with Corwin. As for Aisling, I wouldn't recommend being her second unless you want to be up at the crack of dawn on a regular basis. If I thought she was being tactless and impolitic on purpose, I'd be very suspicious of her agenda."

She turns to look into Brennan's eyes, her voice low and soft and slow. "If you're her friend," and the tone indicates that she is not sure, but is willing to allow for the possibility, "then you'll convince her that a very public apology to Martin will be less painful than a thorough beating followed by a very public apology. Martin won't let this go. It's not his nature to do so, even without the politics of the situation."

"We'll burn that bridge while we cross it, no doubt," he replies in a similarly soft voice. He's not for a minute discounting what she says, but, "I could live a long and happy life not knowing what started that escapade. But I do know she is personally responsible for getting the entire army out of the Courts at the end. Martin wasn't there. He might not even know. But it's worth something to me."

It's not the hushed voice of an argumentative tone. It's just the hushed voice of a conversation that doesn't need to carry.

And, come to think of it, a conversation that probably can't be completed now, no matter how much Brennan would like to have it, and hear her advice.

[Cambina]
"I could've lived a long and happy life uninvolved in the matter myself, but I got dragged into it. Martin would've been more free to ignore her if she hadn't been knighted. For the same reason that officers are hung for offenses that merely get soldiers horsewhipped."

There's no good reply for that at the moment, but Cambina can probably tell that she's got the gears turning in Brennan's mind, if she's watching for that sort of thing.

Brennan is in a special and rarefied class of people whom Cambina assumes listen to her and what she does and does not say.

That's because Brennan is so utterly charming and perspicacious.

[Brennan] looks around and exhales, then continues in a more normal voice: "This probably isn't the place. But thank you. I'd like to talk it-- oh, damn. Didn't I hear that you're going with Corwin tomorrow?"

She sighs, sounding frustrated. "There's a great deal to do and fewer people to do it than there were before. I don't know if I'll get there, or at least if I'll go with Corwin."

Brennan raises an eyebrow: scuttlebutt confirmed, but new wrinkles added. "Something in particular working against you?"

"Yes, Too many people skylarking off on their own and not enough to do the real work here."

"Unavoidable, to some degree. You could always get forgiveness instead of permission. I think someone qualified going to this Paris of Corwin's and looking to see if Tir and Rebma are connected definitely counts as real work. Vital, even."

He hasn't been told this is Cambina's task, nor is he implying it's the only one. But it is an obvious one, to Brennan, and an important one.

She bites her lower lip. "No, I can trump through if I'm needed there."

"You ready to leave?" If yes, then, "C'mon, let's get out of here," and he offers his arm to escort her out properly, as though a psychodramatic maniac hadn't tried to murder the attendees of the Coronation Masque-- them included.

Away from most of the prying eyes, Brennan has shifted from a formal escort posture to a more comradely one, unless Cambina protests. He raises an eybrow at her hesitation, though. "Want to talk about it?"

She smiles sadly. "Duty trumps temptation and personal need. We've been running the City for five years so that the Army would have something to come home to. And it still needs running."

"I'd promise to stay and help run it for you, but... Brita...." His free hand gestures aimlessly. "I can barely promise to keep tomorrow morning's Order meeting, and I think more of us are going to be running helter-skelter."

He shakes his head. "Damned mess."

Gerard has had Lucas taken away. The walking wounded have been taken out, and those who cannot walk are already receiving all the help they can get.

As Robin approaches the bandstand cum triage station, she becomes aware that another pair of hands will add more to the confusion than to the aid, so she swoops on past. A quick circle of the Grand Hall is made.

Rangers accounted for and in reasonable health? Check.
Dragonriders accounted for and in reasonable health? Check.

No sign of His or Her Majesty, the ex-Regent or the crown Prince so no one to report to concerning the incidents of the side room.

Reid? Discussing a dead man with Vista, Llewella and Jerod.
Jovian? Having his needed moment with Julian.
Brennan? Sharing a tender moment with the blood-soaked Cambina.

The girl spirals to stop with a ruffling of her feathers and a grim chuckle. Looks like she doesn't have to endure any more party tonight.

Standing there, still for just a moment before she flees this place, Robin looks for Vere.

Vere has moved away from the center of the room and is standing with his back against a wall, quietly watching the bustle. As Robin's gaze turns towards him he smiles briefly, but otherwise he doesn't give any obvious sign that he's aware of her.

It's unclear what, if anything, he's doing. He isn't assisting anyone, he doesn't seem to be watching anyone in particular, he just seems to be... waiting.

[A page arrives breathlessly with a medical kit and seems to be looking for someone to whom he can give it.]

Robin's bright green eyes dart between the page and Vere, her lips part in preparation for a whistle to the page just as Jovian hails the lad and takes the medical kit.

From across the room, the girl cocks her head as she takes in her brother's stiffness, his careful movements. A moue of sympathy dashes across her lips before she turns her attention back to her own concerns.

Julian has just re-entered the hall from the side gardens with Robin, who goes off to attend to her own business. He approaches Jovian and cocks an inquiring eyebrow.

"She all right?" Jovian gestures toward Robin with a nod, and clearly regrets it.

"I believe so, for the nonce. She will be better after we return to Arden." Julian pauses. "Or so I believe, at least."

"Who wouldn't?" Jovian ripostes, not unkindly and (strangely enough) not all that ironically either.

"Anyway" he continues after Julian's reply. "Thought you might want the report from outside. The good news is we kept the dragons from breaking through the roof to get at Dara."

Julian says, "Considering the manner of her departure, that might not have helped. Shall I fetch you something for your head?"

"Assuming that Gerard has not recently sacked the entire Infirmary staff for their inability to stock a jump kit...ah, there we are."

A page arrives breathlessly with a medical kit and seems to be looking for someone to whom he can give it.

"Over here," he waves to the page, and thanks the youth for its delivery. "Now please check in with senior staff in the outer bailey to see if you are needed there. If not, you may return to your post."

Seeing the page off, Jovian turns back to his father. "How much are you aware already of what happened among the dragons?" There is just a hint of bite to that question, hanging in the air as he rummages through the kit for an analgesic.

[Jovian] also pulls out antiseptic, swabs and the suture set, and it is evident that he either doesn't regard the ensuing exchange as private or intends to receive a short answer for the moment...

"I found myself somewhat preoccupied," says Julian. If he is aware of the bite, he is either ignoring it or charitably attributing it to Jovian's headache.

"Not surprised," Jovian allows. "The entire flight burst into psychotic rage at the instant you drew your sword. Took enough concentration to get the dragons back under control that my riders didn't even see Dara's cards coming. I could barely manage to duck, at that." He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, then takes the painkiller before turning toward Vere. His look says Julian is free to follow, and reply or not at his discretion in light of the company.

Julian looks a touch surprised, but otherwise unmoved. "Given the number of psychically powerful beings in this chamber, almost none of whom have any experience with dragons, and all of whom were rather agitated, I wonder at the certainty of your correlation."

For just an instant Jovian's control slips to allow a positively withering look at this, but it is quickly masked again. "Don't bet on that, Dad. They knew there was an intruder and were whipped into a killing frenzy to 'protect the clutch' - at exactly the instant you drew that fscking pig-sticker in a crowd." Son locks eyes with father at this, daring him to challenge on a question of timing. "So who else knew, at that instant, about an intruder putting their child in danger?"

Julian gives Jovian a look that suggests he has a name in mind, but he does not speak it aloud. What he does say is, "I find that my inquiries on such matters have better results when I am not certain of those results in advance."

"I've got a hypothesis that looks sound. If you've got more data, let's have it out. Or are we back there with the llamas, the sun that doesn't move and the cryptic answers when I'm trying to keep my people from getting killed?" Jovian's tone is acerbic, but quiet and above all weary, his eyes squeezed shut and his fingertips pushing at his forehead as if to keep it from popping loose. It is the expression of one counting the seconds until painkillers take effect.

"Far be it from me to dissuade you of your hypothesis, Jovian. You are past the age where I can or will give you easy answers. It is not I, but a harsh and uncaring world, that has charge of your education now," Julian says.

In the time it takes to breathe twice, still holding his forehead in place, Jovian rejects the first four responses that spring forth. What he says at last, slowly, evenly, forcing patience upon himself, is this: "Prince Julian, my education has been complete enough to know that hypotheses are made to be tested by new facts. The facts neither persuade nor dissuade - they fit or they do not, and if they do not, the hypothesis must be revised. I am sure you would have taught me that intellectual discipline yourself, had our paths not diverged at critical times." The tone of this bears no indictment, no malice; it simply acknowledges a historical condition.

"I am faced with a problem that has threatened my life once already and may yet do so again, that being the strong and unexpected reaction of the dragons to the knowledge and emotions of a non-rider. I have seen them react in such unison to one other person, yourself. If there was someone else with the knowledge, in the emotional state and able to intrude upon the wings' collective psyche to elicit the specific reaction I had to contain tonight, at my deadly peril, it is vitally important that I know of the fact. You may not have charge of my education - and I may regret how briefly you ever did. But you may have charge of a few key facts that test my hypothesis." If Julian chooses not to disclose them, that will be a matter for his honor and his conscience, Jovian reflects but keeps it off his face. He is the son of a Prince of Amber, and he will not relinquish his pride.

During the rather prolonged time it takes Jovian to say all this, he suspects that Julian has considered and discarded a large number of responses. He settles finally on an impassive arch of his eyebrow.

"I'm not saying anyone did anything deliberate, but if my dragon has an unforeseen vulnerability I'd better know about it, and soon. When we have a few minutes of quiet," the dragonman suggests somberly, "it might be a good idea to tell me at last what you did to Canareth's egg."

"An experiment, which has not yet reached a sufficient stage for me to draw more than preliminary conclusions," Julian says.

Jovian surveys the room, noting who is still present. "I would like to hear more detail. I've a bad feeling my life may come to depend on knowing what the possibilities are. How soon are you returning to Arden?"

"Tomorrow, as early as possible. I must make my reverence to the Queen, and Robin has some business, but as soon as she returns, we ride. Arden needs me," says Julian heavily. "And Brita is also of Arden, and thus has claim on my attention."

"As it happens, at least part of Robin's business is with me - a discussion over breakfast at four bells of forenoon. Then I plan to fly down to Ruby Falls at six. Can we find a few minutes to discuss the...experiment privately?" The hesitation is not meant to be sardonic, but does convey some trepidation.

Julian says, "If you are done with Robin early enough, we can meet before you fly to Ruby Falls. But I cannot tarry for your return."

"I gather Vere is going with Prin-- is it King Corwin now? -- to Paris tomorrow, which seems likely to limit the useful length of our discussion," Jovian explains. "Where should I look for you at, say, five bells of forenoon?"

"I will be sorting out what few things are left of mine here, or I will be with the Queen if that is the only time she can receive me," says Julian. "I have not asked for an audience yet, but I will try to be free by then."

[Jovian acknowledges the answer, and father and son turn to their separate next tasks in threads already handled, yes?]

[Yes.]

Paige watches Aisling go, lost in her own thoughts for a moment before turning toward the stairs and the guards infirmary.

When she reaches the doors, she concentrates on Merlin's Trump, "Merle, I'm at the infirmary, I want to see to Mustard, the assaulted guard. Can you help? Aisling is attending to the wounded in the bailey." She offers a hand...

Merlin says, "Just a moment." To whomever he is with physically he says, "Excuse me. Paige needs me in the guard infirmary." Then he takes her hand and passes through.

Paige brings her cousin through, outside the infirmary to be more precise. "I thought it better to not startle the Guards by bringing you through in their midst. If I understand things right, your mother must've been attempting to reach the Pattern. Since it's not portable, I can only assume she wanted to put the 'Raven' on it. He does bear a familial resemblance, and I can see Maestro hedging his bets, in case a son like Brennan ran off on him.

Merlin makes a sour face.

"Good thing for us that it's not there," she says walking in while removing the larger sections of dragon from about herself, leaving her too in a simple sheath dress, this one in emerald.

Looking to the nearest corpsman, "We're here to see the guard who was found below, unconscious," she says. Her voice is gentle, but firm.

"What's his name?" she asks as an afterthought.

"Whistle," the guard on duty says.

Paige and Merlin are led to the bedside of a young man. He might be handsome, except for the slack-jawed expression and his vacant eyes. Merlin leans down to look at him, but does not touch him yet.

"I must look at him with the Third Eye," Merlin says quietly to Paige. "Can you see that I am not disturbed? I would not like anyone to mistake what I do for further harm to Whistle, and after this evening's excitement I am not certain of the temper of the guards."

[Assuming Paige agrees]

The doctor retreats to the other side of the ward, and Merlin draws in a breath. He seems to stare intently at Whistle for some long time, perhaps a minute. If Paige didn't know he was doing something magical, she'd just think he was standing there.

Paige reassures the doctor that there will be no further harm to the patient.

After a time, Merlin shakes himself a little, and says, "I do not think there is any spell on him. And I have looked at his mind. There is nothing there. I am sorry."

Paige shakes her head sadly.

He picks up an opened cloth bag of supplies from a table near the bed and empties it. "What happens in the eating is not like the pouring of water from a glass, such that it can be refilled. It is as if this bag were full," and he holds the bag up, "and now it is empty."

Merlin rolls the bag up a little. "Now if I were to put something in the bag, it could not hold so much." He rolls the bag up even further, so that it's almost wadded into a knot. "This is Whistle's mind. It is not that his mind is empty. It is that his mind would be filled with only so much as would fit in this bag now. You see?"

Paige nod. "Can he lead any sort of life? How deep a bag is needed to survive, or would it be a mercy to let him pass?" she asks quietly.

"I do not know enough to make an informed decision," says Merlin, equally quietly. Then he adds, in a more normal voice, "Anything that he knew is known now by the one who ate him. I must speak to the Captain of the Guard."

Paige summons a guardsman. "Help Lord Merlin find Captain Venesch, please."

"Merle, we need to know everything we can about this man, not just his knowledge of Castle security, but local events, what broadsheets he read, family, girlfriend. If I don't have other duties, I'll start tomorrow morning on that. Please tell Captain Venesch that any help the Guards can be will be appreciated," she says.

"I will do that. I leave tomorrow with my father at midday, so I will not be able to help you very much. I am sorry, Paige."

The guardsman leads Merlin away to find Venesch.

Once Merlin leaves, Paige shuffles out a Trump for her father, "Come on, Troublemaker, where are you?"

Bleys is sitting at a chair before a table in a room not immediately familiar to Paige. He is shuffling a deck of the family cards. "Who?"

[Paige answers]

"Come to me," he says, holding out his hand.

The chance of thermonuclear destruction subsides as Martin leaves the room with his father and Aisling leaves the room with Paige. Marius is left alone with Ossian's trump, which he may now use.

Marius doesn't want the first thing the Queen is subject to to be panic, chaos, or, well, a mess, so he will actually take a bit of time to find a quiet spot free from debris she might trip her dainty little feet upon.

Once there, he will concentrate on the card.

"Ossian," he will say, calmly.

"Ah. There you are." Ossian answers brightly "Shall we come through?"

"Indubitably. Be forewarned, there are injuries, escapees, arguments, and debris. Not necessarily in that order." He takes a deep breath. "You may wish to warn the Queen that she will be expected to act in the kingdom's behalf on an immediate basis."

"I'll talk to her." Ossian looks slightly shaken as Marius's words dawn on him //The king. Is he ok? Vialle is worried.// the taste of Ossian's mindspeak tells Marius that worried might be a slight understatement.

//He is unharmed.// Marius is not quite ready to call Random "OK." He finds Random impudent, presumptuous, and brash, and fears that Random's hurry is seemingly to get away from the problems of the kingdom rather than to find solutions, but then again, Marius realizes he hasn't been on the super-secret meetings that might prove this hypothesis wrong.

Besides, how could Random leave his lovely wife behind? Ah well, maybe Marius can be there if she gets lonely.

"However, there are many other injuries amongst our kin noted by the exodus to infirmary and healers. I would hate to make a broad assumption, but I think, maybe, we've survived this shot over our bow."

Ossian nods.

He'll hold out a hand appropriately.

//Could you hold for a few seconds while I inform the queen?// Ossian asks, smiling, and then adresses Vialle and Lilly.

"Your Majesty, Marius is ready to bring us through."

"He asked me to inform you that while the king is unhurt, you will probably need to take charge of things upon arrival."

Lilly takes a deep, steadying breathe. The Queen taking immediate charge was unexpected and yet not surprising. For the briefest of moments she wondered if Random was doing the right thing. Her mind was quick in it's judgement though; of course he was. This top secret mission may very well mean the difference in their survival. Not that she actually knew what that mission was. Still she knew what she suspected it was and that was enough.

Vialle swallows the last of her water. Ossian feels that she's using the moment to steel herself.

"Very well," she says. "Let us go through."

"If it pleases your majesty I will go first so that I may aid you in making the transition." The words were pretty but the translation was obvious, /I'm paranoid your majesty and do not want to hand you off to anyone without first making sure they are not waiting to kill you/.

[So she trusts Ossian enough to leave him alone with Vialle? Muahahaha...]

[More than she trusts Marius not to break the contact and molest the Queen. (martyred sigh)]

Vialle seems a little startled. "Oh, of course, Lilly, whatever you think best." She draws herself up then, with grave dignity, and waits her turn.

"Marius, they are ready now. Dame Lilly will come first." Ossian says and reaches for Lilly's hand.

I have determined that like all experienced Amberites, Marius has managed to make waiting with his hand out look like a completely natural and casual way to spend his time. In fact, he's got a pose and everything.

[Ossian will hand the ladies over to Marius one at a time, himself stepping through last. No funny business intended.]

"Greetings, Dame Lilly. It is a pleasure to see you in good health," Marius makes meaningless social noise towards her as he takes her across. He realizes he was holding his breath and lets it out. This is something he's more heard of than really experienced, and the first time he's done it himself. Maybe you could get caryatids with mental abilities to hold open a Trump permanently...hmmm.

[he'll take polite noise in return should Lilly try it]

Lilly has never been one for making arbitrary noise. She does however offer a polite nod in return for his greeting before quickly assessing her surroundings. Once that is done she turns her attention back to the emerging Queen. For the time she remains silent awaiting Ossian's arrival and orders from the Queen.

"Your Majesty," he will somehow manage to pull her through in such a way that allows him to be rising from a semi-bow as she arrives, no matter if the effort is wasted.

"Sir Marius," says Vialle. "Thank you for assisting us in our return to Amber. Is there anything I need to know before I take charge?"

"This, by the way," he will say to Ossian as a matter of polite conversation, "is Folly's card, and I will need return it."

Ossian's eyes flashes with irritation for a moment, then he nods. "I note the masquerade is over." he says, and starts to remove the piece of cloth that masks his face, and subsequently the fake beard thereunder.

Aisling locates the man in charge (or at least someone knowledgeable), nodding a bit in greeting. "Corporal Clamp, is it not? (though she knows perfectly well it is) I am Dame Aisling. Lady Paige asked me to look in on one of the guards, who she feared had been attacked by a chaosite."

The guard nods deferentially. "Lady Paige is with Whistle now, " he says, indicating a door.

Just as Aisling starts pulling on the door, she notices the last rainbow fading that indicates a departure by Trump.

"She seems to have moved on," Aisling remarks, stepping aside to let the guard see. She observes Whistle, and asks softly, "Where did you find him?"

"He was at his station, Lady. The watch sergeant found him on his rounds."

Aisling nods, and considers. This isn't the kind of ugliness she'd ever expected to see in Amber. She hadn't realized just how many nasty memories she'd let slide into the past...

But she can't just stand here staring at the poor thing. The guard will most likely take her slow approach for a desire to not alarm the man, instead of reluctance.

She takes a seat next to him, kills some more time by politely greeting him, running through the tests of reflexes she knows (patiently explaining them to Whistle as if he's still there), carefully examining him for marks.

Then she glances around to see that the door remains open, Ce'e remains at her back, and she frowns a bit, and takes his hand between two of hers, and sinks down to see what, if anything, is going on in there. She's willing to take hours with this.

Random navigates Martin into Castle Amber and along public passageways to a small office off the throne room. He neither rushes nor delays, and he speaks calmly and reassuringly to anyone who seems to need it. Martin is also clearly playing his 'public' role.

Folly has her game face on as well, all calm composure. If her hand happens to brush against Martin's every so often, well, that's probably just an unintended consequence of navigating busy halls.

The halls of Castle Amber are full of people. The presence of the King does seem to have a steadying effect on them.

It is certainly no coincidence that many people see Random and Martin together after the attack. If anyone considers it odd that the King is carrying a bottle of brandy, no one mentions it to him.

Once they reach the privacy of the office, Random directs Martin to sit on the wide desk than dominates the room.

Folly steps to one side and, using the cantrip that all girls learn when they hit puberty, removes what's left of her petticoat without unduly exposing herself. She rips it into a few makeshift bandages with the help of a letter-opener from the desk.

"Well that sucked. How badly are you hurt?" says Random, reaching carefully to peel back the gash in Martin's doublet. He hands the bottle to Folly.

"Not badly. The next time someone shows up to kill you, try not to run towards them. It'll make my life easier." Martin's voice is a muddle of mixed emotions.

"She didn't come here to kill me. You heard about the guard? They were after the pattern."

Martin nods and then winces as Random pulls away another blood-soaked corner of lighter fabric.

Folly has moved behind the desk and is eyeing the drawers, perhaps in search of a glass -- she certainly looks like she could use a drink.

She'd have to lift Martin's legs to get at some of them. (Random put him on the desk at the best angle for the light, which comes from the candelabra for writing.)

But then she sees Martin wince. "First-aid kit?" she inquires of Random, despite knowing he's perfectly capable of finding whatever he needs all on his own.

(In the old days, he always knew exactly where to find things: decks of cards under the couch, clothes she didn't even remember owning behind the stereo, a spare set of van keys behind the Encyclopedia of Modern Music Notation.... She'd always just figured he had a photographic memory for where things ended up. Now she knows better, of course.)

Random continues: "Yes, that's gonna need stitching up. Take off your shirt."

Random's words stop Folly mid-search. She glances up at Martin as if surveying the state of his attire and says, calmly and casually, "Mm, and you'll want a clean one. Is your room unlocked? I'll run grab you one."

Random probably recognizes that too-casual tone of voice. She's glossing something. If he catches her eye, she flashes a "you'll figure it out in about a millisecond" look.

"No point in locking it," says Martin, altogether too casually himself, as he unlaces his doublet with his good hand. "The servants are in and out of there all the time anyway."

Random helps him shrug off the doublet as he continues, "I've got a change of clothes laid out on the bed. Change into your riding clothes and bring mine back here, plus whatever you want to take with you."

Folly nods. She's already got a bag packed.

The loose black shirt comes off over his head with some further assistance from Random, revealing a black T-shirt and a long, mostly-healed slice down Martin's right forearm. Martin adds, "Nothing that you can't carry with both hands full, or that you care about exposing to water for prolonged periods."

"So we'll be travelling by log flume, then?" asks Folly. She smiles at Martin, holding his gaze for a moment.

Random steps around the corner of the desk, interrupting. "I hope this isn't your lucky shirt, 'cause I'm gonna have to cut it off." Noticing the cut on Martin's arm, he adds, "Whoever sewed that one up had a neat hand. I'll try to do as well."

Martin says to his father, too calmly, "Lilly does good work." He turns his gaze back to Folly as Random starts to slice the shirt open from the bottom up. "We'll leave straight from here," he says, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the snicking of the shears.

Folly nods again. She is no longer smiling. She knows what is about to happen, and she feels like an interloper.

But she can't just leave. Not yet. So she asks, quietly, "Anything else?"

Random parts the halves of Martin's shirt like a curtain and moves to start on the left sleeve. Then he pauses for a moment, staring down at his son, and his right hand clenches into a fist. His expression hardens.

Martin closes his eyes.

Folly bites her lip and looks down at the floor.

After another moment, Random finishes cutting off the sleeve and puts down the shears. As Martin's eyes open again, Random hands him the bottle of brandy.

Random turns to Folly and says, "Make sure you're armed."

"Yeah, I...." Folly looks up at Random, meeting his eyes with a smile that seems to emphasize rather than disguise her sadness. "Yeah." She lays a hand on his arm for just a moment: I promise I'll take care of myself.

Random reaches across his chest and pets her fingers. "I _think_ my enemies will be too busy to come after you, but this is a good time to be safe. I'm sending you with my best bodyguard."

The King (and Royal Chirurgeon) moves around to Martin's back to peel off the rest of his shirt and examine the wound.

To Martin, she says, "I should only be a moment, love."

"If you jump like that when I'm sewing you up, I can't guarantee my workmanship. You want the black stitches or the purple ones? Kidding. I don't have any black thread."

"Just make sure there's nothing wiggling in there."

Folly smiles and then, reluctantly, relinquishes their company and slips out the door.