The Morning After

[Aisling works] into the early morning hours. This is a new experience for you, since in Chaos people are however they are, and there is really no such thing as a "norm" for them to deviate from. You think your father could tell more almost instantly, but you are not he.

After perhaps a watch of careful investigation, you decide that you have learned all that you can learn.

If this were a battlefield wound (and you have had some experience with battlefield headwounds), then he would be in a traumatized state and his brain would eventually reconnect around the damaged sections and things would just come back to him. Whisper might have some of that happen, but there is a lot of memory that is just gone.

There are two ways to accomplish such an extraction and one of those is a careful, neat, almost surgical procedure that would leave a functional person with some missing memories. Whoever did this either didn't know how or didn't care to be precise. You think perhaps both.

It's hard to imagine that there is much hope for him, but if there is, it will mostly be as a new man, for the old just doesn't seem to be there. There is much in the way of unconnected Childhood memories. It is possible that if left alone (and fed and taken care of) for long enough, he might recover and reintegrate those. But it's not certain.

Aisling pours good wishes into him; and if it takes hours more, they're hours better spent than with the nightmares she knows are chewing on the edges of her immediate future with little yellow-white teeth. She imagines for Whistle little silver strands of song, the first basis of paths connecting memory to memory.

Aisling does all she can, knowing that the effort will take a great deal of time and that nothing will show for this night. When there is nothing to do but let time run it's course, she returns to the present. Ce'e is waiting and watching over her.

If Aisling had Jovian's gifts, she would know that the sun was rising over the harbor now. Without them, she is certain that she will pay for the reserves she's been burning. Breakfast with the Knights should be soon, and she is still in the remnants of last night's costume.

[[Well, that's One way to make it to a morning thread... ehehehehee. :) And now I've got an additional excuse for all the sogginess I expect from her today! I can still claim to myself that she's really tough as nails and twice as tasty! Whoo-hoo!]]

[Hey, there's only so many "I do this for hours" slots available in a post-coronation ball evening. :)]

When she's done, she dabs at her eyes with her handkercheif, watching his breathing. She glances at the doorway to see who is watching, and then she tentatively reaches out and brushes some of his hair off his forehead, and then lets her hand fall again.

Then she looks around, collects herself, and stands and heads out, with some appropriate pleasantry to the guard currently on duty, stopping to chat and fill him in if he looks interested.

It is still Corporal Clamp, looking somewhat tired himself. Aisling notes (as she did on entering) that he also seems to be wounded. "My Lady? Can you tell me how he is? His woman will want to know."

"Oh!" Aisling says, and has to wipe her eyes a bit more.

She blows out her breath, and so her voice is even. "All of his memories of this life," she gestures at his room, and then looks up and meets Clamp's eyes, "are gone. He has a goodly number of childhood memories still, but they are unconnected to each other." She bites her lip, "The Whistle you knew is gone."

Slowly, "It's as if his mind was a spider's web, anchored at the edges to his childhood, and spun down through the years into a particular pattern of memories and thoughts that was Whistle. The chaosite wanted something from the center of that pattern, and he reached out, grasped it, and ripped it all away.

"I tried to start the tattered remnants connecting to each other... But that might not work. And even if it does, his will be a web with an enormous hole in the middle of it, at first. And if the chaosite's handful included the spider..." Aisling wipes her eyes, "It is an ugly thing. I am sorry."

He nods, blinks, and swallows. "Thank you, My Lady. We'll take care of his...him."

Aisling nods, glancing down to spare Clamp's feelings and with a more businesslike tone for the same reason, "If it is possible, it might help him to be once more among the scents and sounds of his childhood home. I intend to stop by at times to come to see if there is aught else I can do for him." She shores up what emotional calm she has, looking at Clamp again, "Please let his woman, or his family, know that I will aid them however I can."

She glances at his wound, then back at him. "It was very good of you to stand watch over him, Corporal." And she means that. She's impressed. "Please, though, go get yourself treated. I would offer to myself, but I am more fatigued now than you deserve."

"Yes, My Lady."

In the morning, there is a note from Gilt Winter giving a time for the audience [with Vialle].

Jerod makes note of the time, ensuring that there are no scheduling conflicts. If there are, adjustments are made to the other appointments.

Prior to attending, Jerod sifts through a few things in his quarters, picking out things for Kenner to pack, documents to be written, official pronouncements on outstanding issues that need to be dealt with or that might come up (ie: who does Kemel tell them to talk to if someone wants to see him).

As he selects things for his trip, he pauses when he lifts the bottom tray from one of his older trunks, looking down at the contents. Very carefully he puts the tray down and reaches down, lifting out the long package from the depths. He looks briefly at the door, knowing Kenner will be gone for a few minutes with his latest errand, before he slowly unwraps the sword from the cloth, carefully oiled and preserved.

As he stares at it sheathed in its scabbard, his memories stir sluggishly. They do not wish to return, bringing with them pain and sorrow, warring with moments of happier times. He sees his father's face, an image clouded by reluctance, by fear, by regret. Jerod shakes his head, trying to dispel the image. It is not what he would show to his father, even now that he is gone.

He draws the sword from the sheath, hearing the clean rising note of the blade as it comes free and he smiles a little, perhaps sadly but smiling nonetheless. The blade shines in the reflected light, the edge sharp, the sides mirror polished, carefully preserved in reverance of old times, of promises made to the future. As he turns the blade over, he lets himself fade for a moment into the sparkling ruby set into the guard. Memories come unbidden, of arguments and fighting, hard times and struggle and his father was there. Mixed within are elements of home and hearth, happiness mixed with duty, and again his father was there. As he remembers this, he smiles once more. For thus he was blessed greater than almost all his cousins - a father to share his childhood. Age and power, skill and talent though some his cousins may have, he bears a thing cherished beyond all other things.

"There comes a time, my son, when I can no longer make the decisions for you. Nor can your mother," Eric says, his voice clear in Jerod thoughts though the memory is dead now a long time. "We can train you and guide you. Teach you everything we know. Encourage, plead, cajole, argue, and hope for you. But in the end, it is always your decision. Your decision, your responsibility, your consequences, and your rewards. I wish sometimes I could make those decisions for you, but then you would not be my son. And I would not take that from you. To do that...would be the most hurtful thing I could ever do to you.

"All I can do is wish you well, and hope you have made the right choices. Never be afraid to make those choices Jerod. Even when they are hard ones. And remember that I will always be proud of you. No matter what anyone else might say."

Jerod returns from his memory, wiping the tears from his eyes as he remembers the walk that day, the fire that crept upon him like a living thing, the pain and struggle of each step, the danger, the risk, even the fear. But most of all, he remembers the smile upon his father's face as he stands at the center of the Pattern, shaking, sweating, but alive. His first choice.

He flips the blade up now to look upon it once more. "Thank you father. I will not forget." Jerod whispers as he sheathes the blade, making another choice, re-wrapping the sword as Kenner returns.

"Make sure this is part of my pack." Jerod says, handing him the sword. "I'll be taking it with me."

Early the next morning, before breakfasts are likely to be served, Conner hears a knocking on his apartment door. Something in the way it is done, or perhaps just a bit of redhead prescience, is likely to confirm to Conner even before he opens the door as to the identity of the person involved.

"We need to talk." Jerod says, nodding a greeting as Conner opens the door.

"Expected you last night." Conner replies opening the door wider and gesturing towards a chair. "I've got water boiling for tea. The bar's over there if the news is bad enough to warrant drinking already." With that greeting Conner moves back towards the fireplace where a ceramic pot rests steaming on the hob.

"Tea's better." Jerod says, finding the most comfortable chair in the room. "Dealing with dead relatives is rapidly becoming a habit for me. One I'm hoping to avoid in the future."

"How's your mother doing?" Jerod asks, before continuing to the main topic.

"Mother is fine." Conner replies. "Its my sister I'm worried about. How is Cambina?" He asks in return.

"She's okay. No injuries, but whenever there's death around, she doesn't have an easy time of it. I suspect the visions will be back with a vengeance for while." Jerod says, with some sympathy. "I'm vaguely pissed with our little psycho-twit Dara though. And our resident Chaosian spy...ex-spy...whatever. Seems like a dossier has been set up on Cambina and I. And it would appear to include information on how to imitate us. Aisling had better hope I don't lose anyone important to me because of that information."

"Busy wasn't she?" Conner murmurs. "Time to start developing new mannerisms it would seem."

"Indeed. I need to question her to find out what the dossier says. That will give me an idea of how to advise Venesch on an intruder. The dossier is five years out of date. That will help a little. For her sake she'd better be forthcoming. Her attempt at obfuscation with Martin isn't going to impress me if she tries it again."

"Surprised no one has checked up on that kind of thing sooner." Conner comments. "Its not like she's hidden her profession from us."

"Hargar'el is dead. It doesn't look like Dara did it, so that tells me someone took advantage of a confusing situation to deal with him. That's good because improvisation can leave clues. It's bad because it leaves me with a wide range of suspects."

Conner nods, unsurprised it seems by the revelation. "I've been mulling it over myself. Who had to gain by his death? That sort of thing. It really points to the Rebmans or the Gatewegians doesn't it?" Conner says taking a sip of his tea. "Much as I 'd like to believe it was a jealous lover or business rival or something else unconnected with our lives."

"All are valid possibilities. If I go through the list, you will be high on the list of suspects, especially from the Rebman perspective. Eliminating a source of information that could be used to implicate you. Your mother will also be implicated by association." Jerod says. "She was prepared to go against her own father for the kingdom. It's not a stretch to consider her killing a merchant to protect her own son.

"Your girlfriend is also on that list. I'd recommend you make sure that she didn't do something silly. And if she did, she'd better find a way to make quiet, firm and sincere restitution. Moire didn't make my sister a duchess without a good reason. Valeria might not be able to stand against your mother, but Thalia is another matter. You don't want her as your enemy.

"The Rebman delegation is an obvious choice. Montague and Bend are Moire's little troubleshooters. They came appropriately dressed to the masquerade. If Hargar'el could have cleared you, or had embarrassing information, that would be an acceptable reason to kill him.

"Ambassador Harper is also on the list. She heard me make arrangements with Hargar'el during the masquerade for him and I to have breakfast this morning. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that I was going to question him further on Rebma and his dealings with Gateway.

"That doesn't include the fact that I had arranged to have Hargar'el work for me, on behalf of Random, to take a look at trade dealings and to see about working on our friends from the Land of Peace. See what they were up to as well as who amongst the merchant houses were looking to make alliances with them. He might have stumbled onto something without realizing it.

"Or someone might not have liked him. He may have screwed the wrong person. He might not have screwed the wrong person. I'd hope for a coincidence but I don't believe in them."

"I believe in them. I just don't trust them." Conner nods. "So taking your list one by one, you can eliminate me as the killer since I was with Llewella on the dance floor for the entirety of Dara's distracting presence." Conner takes another sip. "Of course that means you'll just look for my agent instead but might as well go through the obvious." Conner grins. "Besides if I wanted Hargar'el dead to protect myself I could have killed him any number of times before I returned to Amber with little fuss. As for Mother," Conner shrugs. "Not her style and she was with Reid and Julian rushing to Brita's aid at the time anyway."

"Already noted for both of you." Jerod says. "It's why we're having tea now, instead of practice." and he smiles a little.

Conner smiles back. "Of course.

"Going through the Gateway," Conner continues, "it would not surprise me to discover Hargar'el became a liability instead of an asset. I more firmly believe that he was a threat to the Rebma, putting Bend or Montage towards the top of my personal list, but objectively I see either group as equally likely.

"You'll have to work how likely the Land of Peace angle is." Conner comments. "Hopefully Hargar'el left some record on what he was up to on that score.

"Well that gets us through motive." Conner replies. "What was the crime scene like? Any hints there?"

"None as yet. Llewella asked Reid to take a look at things. I trust him enough that he'll find out who's involved, even if only because he's old enough to dislike things being disorderly. Hargar'el' office in the castle here is isolated and Reid's smart enough to have impounded his documents. His estate is further out - I'm not sure if Reid knows it exists or to have it searched. I'm having breakfast with him in a few minutes to go over what he's got as well as to make sure he's got enough of an impression of me to do a card. He's been giving me trump pointers. With luck we've done enough of that and sword work to give him what he'll need."

That causes Conner to chuckle. "Finally decided to add that tool to your belt, eh? Good."

"There's a reason why Dad didn't have a trump of me made, and why there are none floating around." Jerod says. "And that reason is called Martin." Jerod does not elaborate. He knows Conner is smart enough to figure out the implied lesson.

"Unfortunately now the dangers of the tool are outweighed by other factors. That and I have a better idea as to who can make them. Means I know who to go after if something goes wrong."

Conner merely nods.

"After that, I'm going to be making arrangements to head out with Corwin to Paris, followed by Rebma. Enough is brewing now with the attack on you and Hargar'el's very inconvenient death that going home is more imperative than ever. That, and certain things Hargar'el mentioned, require investigation."

Conner nods. "Quite a web to unravel down there. I wish you luck with it."

Jerod smiles, that John Malkovich smile that people both love and fear (and why he's such a good character for plotting, scheming, etc, etc, etc).

"Oh, don't think you're off the hook that easily. I've decided that since I'm going to give you a hand at keeping you out of harm's way from Rebma, you can do me a favor in return. And I'm sure you'll agree, once you've heard my proposal."

"Wondered when you would get to it." Conner replies with an answering grin pouring himself a second cup of tea and offering to freshen Jerod's. "Go on. I'm all ears."

Jerod accepts the second cup. "Dara.

"She's going to be a problem. More than currently I mean. Your mother is going to take steps to recover Brita but that doesn't mean it ends there. If that redhead beside Dara during the fan attack was any indication, then we've got some problems on the horizon. Dear departed Uncle Brand would seem to have been a busy boy."

"Agreed." Conner nods.

"Unless circumstances change, my sister will remain behind. We've got to keep some people here to hold down the fort. Anything you find out about Dara or her associates, you give to Cambina. No matter how small or insignificant. Or how embarrassing it might be to your mother or Bleys. We've no time for niceties right now.

"Cambina will know what to do with anything you send her."

"It is still unclear where I will be when everyone leaves." Conner replies. "Else I see no problem with the idea."

"I will leave the logistics of how the information gets to her to you." Jerod says. "So long as she gets it, in a timely fashion, that's all I want. Anything of relevance to me in Rebma, I suspect she will make arrangements to get to me...one way or another."

He pauses a moment, taking a drink of his tea, which he keeps black but sweetened. "One last thing. This will be for your betterment. Before I go, see if you can put together a listing of individuals you dealt with in Rebma. People you knew to be friends, people you suspected to be friends, and the same criteria in regards to enemies. I'm not concerned with what you were doing for your mother or Bleys down there, and frankly I doubt it's too relevant anymore, now that dad's dead and Random's king.

"It will give me a list of individuals to look up while I'm there. I suspect most of them won't be of any value at this late date, but it's always good for a convenient excuse if I need to get out and look around. And it will tell me how far your connections spread, which means I can try to tell who might have been spying on you for someone else."

Conner smiles. "I funneled the already existing information network of the Embassy to the right hands. I give up no secrets giving you that list. Do you know when you leave? My morning is rather full today."

"I must speak to the Queen before I depart." Jerod says. "There is a matter that requires attention from that quarter which can no longer be ignored. Whether I survive that encounter will determine if I accompany Corwin to Paris. That will take place after my breakfast with Reid, which should begin shortly."

"My breakfast concerns rescuing my sister." Conner replies. "Depending on the outcome of that will determine how my time is fixed. Seek me out before you go and we'll see."

Jerod nods, finishing his tea before rising. "I suspect you will have more than enough individuals involved in this endeavour. So I will not make any offer of assistance at this time. If, however, you find I might be helpful, give me a shout. I dislike the idea of losing more family, especially Brita. I've always liked her."

"The feeling is mutual I know." Conner replies with a nod. "Its hard not to like Brita really." He says half to himself.

Once Conner makes his reply, Jerod nods and moves to the door but stops before opening it. A thought crosses his mind as an opportunity presents itself, and his father's lessons about old recriminations come to mind. He looks back at Conner.

"Dara threatened all of us last night. I'm not sure if you know but she imitated my sister very convincingly. That makes her a threat to all of us, though I feel it at the moment more because of Cambina. That makes Dara my enemy until circumstances dictate otherwise.

"Tell your mother this. Tell her, that the enemy of my enemy, might be my friend."

Conner nods in understanding. "I will tell her. Fare you well. Jerod."

"And to you and yours." Jerod says, setting off in search of breakfast.

Marius and Vere each receive a note when they rise in the morning. It is sealed in silver wax with a rose seal. The notes say:

Nephew:

Due to the interruptions of last night's affair, it has become important that I return to Paris at once. I plan to leave at midday tomorrow. I hope you will be able to join me.

Corwin

The notes look like they were penned by a secretary, but the flourished signature is undoubtedly Corwin's.

Vere sends back a reply which reads:

Unto His Majesty, Corwin, King of Paris and Prince of Amber:

I shall be ready to depart at Your Majesty's pleasure.

Vere [his symbol]

Before the sun is more than a tinge of pink visible over the ocean, a very sleepy Dignity is ready with a letter for Jerod, whenever Jerod should be ready to receive it.

Cousin,

We are both busy men, but now we have common experience of undeniably shared enemies. Coordination can only benefit us. Dignity knows my schedule today, and can commit me to a meeting as long as it does not conflict other business.

Brennan

There is a big gaping hole in Brennan's mid and late morning schedule, after Merlin and the Knights, and before Bleys and Paige, so Jerod has some swing room.

Celesta has a note from Fiona for Reid to read when he rises. She has not cracked the seal to read it first.

She's getting better about not cracking them. Just a little bit of heat, liberally applied to the right places...

The note says:

Nephew:

We have had word in the night that my mother, Clarissa, has taken custody of Brita from her captors. We will meet at noon in the Ocean Room to discuss this turn of events and plan our next move. Please feel free to join us.

Fiona

[on the matter of timekeeping, would "12 bells" have any meaning as noon, or, for that matter, is a stable bell-tower within Amber's technological possibilities? Even if rung by hand?]

Reid replies:

Scorned women seem to have taken the wind out of our King's sails last night.

Start without me-- I'll try to keep my other appointments brief.

Reid

A page delivers the following sealed letter to Jerod on the morning after the Coronation:

Prince Jerod,

It seems likely we will have no chance to speak in private before I leave Amber. I know that you may well be leaving Amber yourself, and therefore we might not be able to speak any time in the near future. The matter of the Paresh continues to take an unfortunately low precedence in our various tasks, but I am confident that you are as interested in continuing to pursue it, when possible, as I am.

Therefore, a few points for your information. Princess Fiona, upon examining their temple, agreed with our judgement regarding it, and has so informed His Majesty. His final decisions is unknown, but at least he has been given an informed opinion.

In addition, it has been determined that the original decision to open the basement passageway to the tunnels was made by the Princess Pastoral, wife of Prince Osric. The temple of the Paresh was originally owned by monks in service to Princess Pastoral. Whether there is any relationship between these monks, who were nearly but not quite human in appearance, and the modern Paresh is unknown.

Unfortunately, it appears that it will be a very long time before I can continue research in these matters.

Let us hope that the matter of the Paresh achieves no great urgency, and remains merely a curiosity.

Vere (his symbol)

Jerod reads this, nodding at one or two points but not saying anything. Then he sits down and re-writes the letter quickly, rolling up it and sealing it before summoning Kemel.

"Have this delivered to my sister." Jerod says, handing him the second letter. "Make sure you receive verification that she actually received it. Then get ahold of Nestor. I want a summarized set of information on the Paresh and any information on Princess Pastoral. Since Vere was digging through Nestor's books, I'm gambling Nestor's used the opportunity to further outfit his own resources. I'm leaving with Prince Corwin at noon. I'll read the notes enroute. Impress on him that it's important."

Once Kemel has gone about his business, Jerod forms a reply and send it by page back to Vere.

Cousin...

Thank you for the information. I will be leaving shortly as indicated but have made arrangements to acquire any available information for reading while enroute. Perhaps an opportunity for some travel will present itself once I am in Paris.

If possible, please make available any notes or documentation you may have on this topic to my sister. She will be remaining here and it may prove useful to her. As in regards to our previous discussion, she has been kept aware of our interest in the Paresh.

If I do not see you in the intervening time, may you find success in your endeavours back home as well as with your father's health. Where my assistance may prove useful, do not hesitate to contact me.

Jerod

Paige wakes early to the sounds of Blythe busying herself among the remnants of Paige's dragon costume. When Paige stirs, the seamstress and dresser looks at her employer's sprawled form with some derision. "What in the King's name happened last evening? Am I to expect all the clothes I make you to be treated thus, my lady?"

"No, my dear," Paige answers. "I doubt either of us will ever see another night like last." She rises and makes her way toward the wash stand and pours water into the basin. "And it's not like I expected to wear it again, nor did you really expect me to."

Freshening her face and pulling on the purple silk again she smiles at Blythe. "I think perhaps you could cut it down in size and maybe make a dragon cloak with a scary hood for Hope to dress-up in, yes?"

Blythe shakes her head, but a little smile crosses it none the less. "If you're as indulgant with your own as you are with your niece, they'll grow to be as spoiled as you are." She offers Paige a hand towel.

Paige dries her face and nods. "Yes, I imagine they will."

"I'll want something simple in light colors today, something softer than the normal?" she suggests. "Split skirts in case I have to ride later, and the high brown boots. Maybe that flowered bodice you finished last week. I think I've some navy ribbons for my hair to match the laces and we can put the heather blouse beneath, yes?"

Blythe nods and heads off to ready clothes for the day as Paige sits at her desk and lights a candle before pulling out her stationery and ink. First a note for Steward Vent, informing him of the need for a luncheon today, in the Ocean Room if it's not otherwise occupied, which Paige is fairly certain it's not. A subtle suggestion that both Prince Bleys and Princess Fiona would be attending with at least three others should be sufficent.

"Blythe? If Liam's there, send him in."

"Yes, my lady."

She scribbles off notes in a flowing hand on the to her father and her aunt to inform them of her arrangements, with accompanying ones for Brennan and Conner. All five are sealed with golden wax heated over the candle as Liam waits for her orders.

She addresses them all and hands them to him after embossing them with her personal seal. "Liam, I'd like these run right away. No answer necessary. While you're about, see if you can find something for me to eat, eh? I may have another note or two later, also."

Liam bows and makes his way out. Paige watches him go and shakes her head, before turning toward a noise on her bed. "Well, awake are we?" she asks her male companion of the evening. Fathom stretches and doesn't consider her voice of any interest, but mewls just the same. "You're right. He is growing up. I suppose I'm going to have to be more careful about how I'm dressed when he's about." Fathom gets up and deftly jumps from the bed, heading toward the sitting room.

Paige chuckles. "Well, you're not the first man to leave in the morning and I doubt you'll be the last, Sir Fathom." She returns to writing notes. Her train of thought is derailed at the sound of Fathom's scratching at the door and Blythe letting him out. "He does have a way about women, doesn't he?"

Before she can continue writing a note to Lilly to join her for a ride or workout this morning, Blythe enters with clothing. Paige looks up and nods. "Yes, that will do fine, thank you."

[Later]

Finishing the end of the fruit and smoked fish, Paige hands her last note to Liam. "You'll find Dame Lilly most likely with Her Majesty. Don't interrupt, but if she has the time, I'd enjoy speaking with her this morning or later this afternoon, although I have no idea what my plans are after lunch. After, I'd like you to send a runner to the townhouse. Have Miles bring Van and yourself back, and wait himself. I may have need of him later."

With that Paige gets up from her breakfast to truly begin her day, like so many others.