Family Council

After a moment, Folly and then Garrett arrive on Paige's trump.

Jerod's definitely getting the comfy chair...:) It's not like the King needs it...he's one of those soft cushion jam session types.

Edan also appears to be one of those soft cushion jam session types, for he finds a comfortable one and kneels upon it in a move that makes the eyes ache to watch. Although it is a different style than the others, he doesn't appear bothered by the fact that many of them are sitting quite a bit taller than he.

Most of his interest is aimed at Vialle, frowning slightly as if he doesn't know her, though he does glance occasionally between her, Martin, and Random.

Folly smiles up at Paige and touches her cheek in thanks, lingering just an instant before turning to seek out Martin.

The returned smile is large enough to perhaps hide the vulnerability in her eyes.

Garrett thanks Paige for the transport and hands her back her trump.

And she returns his father's in turn.

Martin makes what are probably his excuses to Random and he's moving toward Folly before she's solidly in the room.

Vialle, returning from the door, stops near Jerod and asks, softly, "Who else has arrived?"

Folly seems only vaguely aware of the others in the room: her full attention is on Martin. Tenderly, she touches his hair, his cheek, his shoulder, his hip, making sure he's uninjured. "We're okay," she says with soft intensity. "We're all okay." Her hand slips into his and exerts a gentle pressure, as if to guide him out of the room. "Why did you--- Did that Dr. Hu jump you or something?"

Martin shakes his head once in the negative. "Chew. Dr. Chew. He had his people for that. He got away, though."

Jerod pauses, listening to the words that are spoken, the actions of those around him especially now that a time of tension appears to have developed. A phrase flits in the back of his thoughts of old lessons, of watching for the little things that define the individual. Ichi jiga banji. Such times are rare opportunities to see individuals as they truly are, and are not to be ignored.

"Folly returns, your majesty." Jerod replies quietly, for Vialle's hearing only. "Paige brought her through. Another came as well, a young boy. I recgonize him from his time in the stables. Sources tell me he is the latest addition to the royal line?", turning his body slightly to let her know he is focussed on her enough to await upon her answer.

Vialle murmurs "Yes," and seems to be about to add more, but she hears Paige's footsteps and falls silent.

"Prince Garrett, let me introduce your cousin Jerod," Paige chuckles, her attention firmly not on Martin or Folly. "Of course, as he mentioned, you've met before."

Garrett grins and nods. "Prince Jerod. Good to see you again. You've been away a long time. And your Majesty," he addresses the queen, "I apologize for my rudeness in the studio. I'm still learning how to hold those trump connections."

"That's all right," Vialle replies. "It's been a difficult day for us all."

"Your majesty." Jerod replies, nodding to the young Prince. Garrett is unlikely to recognize the differentials between Jerod's regular countenance and his Court behaviour. It is safe to say that his expression is polite and neutral. Paige would recognize enough to know that Jerod is not wearing his Court face at this time.

"Your Majesty? I'm sure that Edan and Martin can cover the events just as well as I might. With your leave, I'd like to look in on the twins," she asks the King.

Garrett smiles at Paige. "Thanks for all your help," he answers.

Edan inclines his head when Paige speaks, and smiles at her.

Martin is following Folly toward the door.

Random leaps up onto his desk, deftly stepping only on the stable paperwork. He whistles, loud and shrilly; conversation cannot continue over it. After slightly longer than he needs, he addresses the group. "OK, now that I have your undivided attention, it is time to tell me what the hell is going on. Nobody can leave until I get a report. Except Paige, who asked. Paige, go see the twins. Tell them Uncle Random said hi."

Paige makes her exit with a smile for the King.

"Everyone else, it's time for the telling. Jerod, you're bartender. Make sure everyone has a drink. Martin, you're on deck. Edan, you're up first. Give me the story, hotshot." Random crosses his arms and stays on the table.

Easy enough to do. Knowing everyone except Edan and Garrett, Jerod can easily acquire drinks without having to think too much (and neither does his player).

Then Jerod sifts through the bar cabinetry. Random's old enough to have had at least a few friends and poker buddies who didn't drink, or else who wanted to but might have been alcoholics and couldn't, or other assorted reasons, so its not long before he comes up with a bottle as he figured he would. A sniff of the contents verifies that it is rose water and he pours a glass for Edan.

Finally comes the tough job but Jerod has decided on Garrett's drink during the search for the rose water. He collects a high ball glass and adds ginger ale, some grenadine, and a bit of orange juice. But, given that he's Random's kid and Jerod's already had his bit of fun, he then adds a Amberite shot of vodka.

And then they are handed out.

Garrett looks at the drink a little strangely. He usually prefers ale or hard cider. But he thanks Jerod and graciously takes a small sip. A look of surprised appreciation arises on his face and he nods at Jerod.

Folly has taken up a position a little to the side of the door, away from the chairs where most everyone else has congregated. As she accepts her drink, she gives Jerod a small smile. Everything in her body language, from her stance to the way she holds Martin's hand, firm but not too tight, says 'protecting Martin'.

Martin takes his drink with his free hand and nods his thanks silently. His own posture suggests he hasn't stood down yet.

She's dressed in the same style as Martin, all high-tech man-made fibers and body-skimming lines, except Folly is barefoot. The cut of the clothes rather makes her look as if she's gained some weight since last Jerod saw her. It suits her, though: she's practically glowing with health.

Perhaps Jerod is not quite as thick as he might put on...perhaps he's seen this before...perhaps he's gotten a bit more aware than he previously was. All he knows is this...

Family members don't put on "a little weight" unless there is a reason, and eating is not one of those reasonss...if it was, Corwin would be the size of a small planetoid...

...and women who practically glow with health usually have it for a very good reason.

So the pair of them get a very brief look, a very slight smile, and then he's off to finish up his duties.

As Edan begins his tale, she holds her glass at the ready, but does not drink from it.

After determining that Folly is not going to sit, Garrett takes a chair near the queen, attending to her needs before quietly seating himself. He listens attentively.

Jerod has Vialle's drink well in hand. She lets Garrett seat her and listens.

"We arrived in the room depicted in the Trump sketch," Edan says. "There were klaxons and alarms, but no one living in the room. We secured it easily.

"Sister Paige's initial attempts to reach cousin Martin through his Trump failed. I performed a spell to determine the ease of magic use in the shadow, and to follow the recent traces of heat," he continues. "A most complex casting, really, as one had to juggle the decay of heat signature with the regular infusion of ventilated air and the geometry of bodies moving violently in an enclosed..." He breaks off, reading reactions from the others.

"Ah, yes, well. We followed the trail and the occasional corpse to the direction of the laboratories. Along the way, we encountered one of the nurses- ahh, a thousand thanks, cousin Jerod- who helped direct us. It was there that we found that the plans had changed, that no one else was coming.

"The opposition sent some form of gas through the ventilation. Soon afterward, we encountered guards wearing gas masks. Paige found a nearby room, which she ventilated to the outside. I delayed the pursuit while she tried to reach cousin Martin again. She was successful.

"We Trumped to the laboratory, where cousin Martin was preparing a time fuse for explosives placed around the room. Paige reached you, I believe, while I blew out one of the windows- I assume that a communications headset cousin Martin was wearing could be traced, and was discarded through the window. Then, we came here."

Martin nods at places during Edan's narrative to emphasize various points. At the end, he tosses back the fine whiskey Jerod handed him a moment ago and sets the tumbler down on a nearby table. Then he begins his own story. "I had been travelling in Shadow for some time, trying to find Folly after her disappearance from Xanadu. I was in a shadow called Tyrell by the locals when I received her trump call. After some discussion, we determined that she should be looked over by local medical personnel."

He looks at Folly for a moment, then continues: "She underwent a series of tests and some of them involved overnight review of the results. Normally, I'm strongly averse to such testing, but in this case I felt it was merited." Something about Martin's hardened expression suggests he regrets that decision now.

"When we returned, we were put through an increasingly unusual--in my opinion--series of hurdles to get the results. Then we had to deal with a Dr. Chew--tall fellow--" Martin gestures with his free hand, indicating about 6'3" in height "--blond hair, light eyes, who claimed to be a local doctor. He wasn't one of the specialists originally assigned to the case and he wanted to put Folly under observation. He made my skin crawl. Folly agreed with my assessment and we decided to trump out, but he returned with armed guards.

"I sent Folly through a trump, here--" Martin gestures at Random "--and dispatched the local guards. Chew got away somehow, which indicates he's some sort of local powerhouse at minimum and more at worst. I determined that having Folly's blood sample in the hospital was a threat and destroyed the lab, then moved to destroy the data center. I was repeatedly interrupted by trump attempts. Finally I was in a good position to take one, and it was Paige and Edan. Edan's recounting of the rest of events is accurate." He falls silent.

"OK, so Dr. Chew is on our List of People Not to Have Over for Tea. Got it. I'd suggest a more casual look-see later. Not immediately, unless you think otherwise." He looks at Martin.

"Right, one last question, and then I'll give up my commanding view of the tops of you all's heads. Folly, the ah, 'M' word and the 'W' word have been bandied about here pretty freely in the past, oh, watch or so. Did my invitation get lost in the mail? Because I'm not remembering officiating at a ceremony." His eyebrows rise, Julianically.

Garrett's gaze turns to his brother and Folly and his eyebrow rises as well. Unlike his father's, though, his expression includes a slightly amused smirk.

Jerod's last drink, barring his own, goes to Random, and then he collects the comfy chair position to sit and listen, having heard too many uses of "M", "W", and "T" (for twins). It's time to listen.

Martin glances at Folly and shifts slightly. The gentle squeeze he gives her hand and the fractional lift of an eyebrow are all he has to say for now.

Random loses her a moment at 'the "W" word', so it takes her a moment to reply. When she does, what she says is, "'Bandied about'?" Her eyebrows arch to match his, and she squeezes Martin's hand.

Edan's head swivels to fix alien eyes on Folly and Martin. Otherwise, he stays quiet.

Martin says, low, to Folly, "Once. To Paige."

Folly's brows draw together in obvious confusion, and she looks at Martin. A moment later something seems to click into place. "Oh! Oh, THAT 'W' word!" She turns back to Random. "I thought you meant--- There wasn't any---"

She stops herself and takes a deep breath. Wordlessly, she offers Martin her untouched drink, then looks up at Random again. "May we talk about this in private? The three of us? And, um, preferably without you standing on the desk?"

Garrett glances from Folly to Random. He shifts in his chair and takes a long sip of his drink, preparing to be asked to leave.

Martin starts to speak, but holds his thoughts when Random speaks.

Random nods. "Right. Everyone leave who isn't my elder son and alleged daughter-in-law." Random sits cross-legged on the desk.

Garrett hears an indignant intake of breath from Vialle and she says, "Random--", but Martin cuts her off, flatly. "This matter is between the King and myself, and the lady my wife."

Random looks behind him, having apparently forgotten that Vialle was here. "We won't be long, dear. And it sounds like we'll have good news. Everyone else, Shoo! Oh, and we'll be royally pissed if our news is spread throughout the castle before we can be the spreader. Jerod, no gossiping."

Jerod's expression, which up until this point was quite neutral, darkens momentarily at the insult that he deigns to gossip. He nods and collects his gear before departing.

Folly smiles, thinly. "Unfortunately," she says, "the one it seems you most need worry about in that regard has already left." Her expression softens as she looks up at Martin, clearly making sure that he feels up to having this conversation right now. Her fingers tighten around his in solidarity.

This earns a suprised look from Edan, and a look back at the door where Paige has left.

Garrett quaffs the rest of his drink in one gulp, then rises and crosses to Random. "Here's your trump, sir," he says, handing back the card that Paige had returned to him.

Random takes it, and places it behind Garrett's ear, where it disappears. Then he ruffles the lad's hair. "Thanks, kiddo."

The young prince then stands before the queen. "May I escort you, Your Majesty?" he asks in his best "smoothing the royal feathers" manner. He offers his arm, touching her arm lightly so she'll know where he is.

[Assuming she accepts]

As he departs with the queen, Garrett nods at Martin and shoots an extra smile of encouragement at Folly. Then he is gone as well.

Edan nods himself, and stands to join the small scrum of people going to the door. He does suddenly turn, however, and addresses Random. " 'Royally pissed'... ahh, it is joke, yes? A pun." A flash of a smile. "I was, ah, having a little trouble with the imagery..."

Random nods. "Ask Paige to explain it. Please."

Once Edan leaves, Random smiles. "Edan reminds me of Merlin." Martin looks skeptical. "And I always forget that Jerod can't take a joke." Random doesn't look like he forgets, or cares.

The skeptical look on Martin's face shifts to vague annoyance. He flops into a chair bonelessly, but there's no doubt in Folly's mind he could be out of it in a moment, armed and dangerous.

"I suppose I shouldn't tease him about that big stick he's lugging around, then," Folly says, more lightly than she feels. "Still -- most guys would just buy a sports car, y'know?" She crosses her arms across her belly and perches far forward on the chair next to Martin's. She doesn't look at all relaxed.

Random very purposely does not mention the phrase "trophy wife". Ever.

"So, married, pregnant, and back from the University of Dworkin, graduating summa cum loudly, most likely. Of my many options, I choose the congratulatory suite." He opens a humidor on his desk and pulls out a cigar for himself before offering to Martin and Folly.

Folly declines with a slight smile and a shake of her head. "I would, but I'm barfing for two now." But she gives a go-ahead gesture to Random.

"Congratulations my boy, best wishes, Folly." He cuts the cigar and prepares to smoke it, still sitting crosslegged on the desk.

"We'll have to have a big state wedding, of course."

"'Have to'?" The words are almost a squeak. "I mean, okay, sure, but... 'have to'?" Folly sinks a little farther back into her chair and glances at Martin.

Random nods. "Have to. Politics are personal here. Martin, you explain it. Give her the consequences of not having one versus having one."

Martin straightens in his chair. "I'm not sure I agree that there are significant consequences to not having one. Having one demonstrates the power and munificence of the throne to anyone who needs to see it, shows the likely continuity of inheritance--even though we all know I'll never sit the throne--and gives the locals a reason to celebrate. But so does the appearance of a royal grandchild." Having staked his position, Martin relaxes a little.

Random looks at Martin. "It strengthens my position and our dynasty. It keeps Martin from being the subject of marital machinations large and small. It eliminates a place for people, and by 'people' I mean 'my brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews', to try to wedge us. Raise your hand if you think that hasn't already been tried today. It is the triumph of experience of this family over the hope that it couldn't ever be that way again. It sends a message to Rebma and Amber and Paris about who we are. It's good for Xanadu and me, yes. And it doesn't harm you; you're already married under Texorami Common Law." He puffs his cigar.

"I'd go over the downside, but it's mostly 'and not the upside!', so I'll leave it as an exercise for the reader. State weddings aren't for the bride and groom, they're for the state. You get the advantage of having one that you actually want." He leans back, but doesn't uncross his legs.

Folly sighs, but nods. "Honestly, if you think it would help, I'd send a hand-written invitation to every person in Amber, wear a dress like a giant meringue, the whole bit." She unfolds her arms, and her hand finds Martin's. "I, ah, I should warn you both, though..." She looks at Random and clears her throat. "One of the biggest downsides I'm seeing so far is that I will feel compelled by familial duty to invite my mother."

Martin tenses under Folly's fingertips. He turns to look at her. "After your last encounter, she may not want to come."

"Yeah." Folly looks at Martin with a rueful, tight-lipped smile and squeezes his hand. "You may be right. But I should probably at least give her the choice. And, you know, let her know that she's gonna be a gram. I'm sure she'll just love that. Remind me to talk to Ash later about the odds." She slumps in her chair, nearly matching Martin's boneless pose, realizing only belatedly how much the two of them now quite resemble a pair of truant schoolchildren called in to see the principal.

She feels a little like that, too. She sighs and shakes her head.

"I'm sorry, Syd," she says, straightening a little as she looks up again. "Please know that it was never my intention to defy you. Or---" But whatever the other thing is, it's cut off as she drops her gaze to her own lap.

Syd looks at her lap, too. "Oddly, I don't feel defied. The whole thing feels...right, really." He looks back at her and Martin, and smiles. "Don't tell Corwin or Benedict that, please. I don't need any lectures."

She lifts her head just enough to gaze at Syd through her purple bangs. Slowly, a smile spreads over her face. Her grip on Martin's hand grows firmer -- less tense, more reassuring. "And I suppose I should also neglect to mention to them it was your bloody Pattern that told me in the first place. But you knew that, right?"

Folly can feel Martin tense under her hand at the words "your bloody Pattern".

She winces. "I'm sorry, love," she says under her breath, and squeezes his hand gently.

At the squeeze, he relaxes a fraction.

"What did Dworkin tell you about Patterns?" Random asks.

Folly cocks her head and thinks about it for a moment. "Well, for starters, he mentioned that attuning to the Jewel leaves you with a choice of 'create a new Pattern or die'. Which, um." She chews her bottom lip, and her brows knit together in pensive concern. "Forgive me if this is an indelicate question, but do you plan on naming an heir, you know, ever? And would whoever-it-is have to attune to the Jewel to be considered king?" Her free hand toys with the fabric of her top where it's stretched across her abdomen. "These issues are suddenly of great interest to me."

Martin adds, "And is that why I'll never inherit this rockpile?"

"I'm planning on not dying. But, yeah, nobody inherits one of these rockpiles. Not really, not permanently. Amber was Oberon. Eric couldn't take it and hold it because he wasn't Dad. It doesn't look good for your kid's great-grandmother, on that front. She's fighting the waves, but she's not Moins."

Folly presses her lips into a thin line at the mention of Martin's grandmother. But curiosity quickly overcomes rancor, and whatever snarky comment she was biting back remains unuttered. Instead she asks, "So, Moins drew the Rebman Pattern, then?" She shifts a little in her seat and switches which of her hands is holding Martin's so that she can soothe out some of the tension in his shoulders with the other. "Was she descended from one of Dworkin's other children?"

Random starts to say something and stops. He looks puzzled. "I don't know. Hell, I'm not even sure what Moire thinks. Dad didn't exactly tell any of us about Dworkin, either. I only found out from Corwin's storytelling skills. You young punks are much better informed than we were in my day. We had to find out about this stuff on the streets."

Martin says, "I got my information from the Rebman royal archives, thank you--"

"They wouldn't let me in there!" Random interjects.

Martin pauses a moment before continuing. "There was a regency council after Moins died; you remember we discussed this right after the Sundering," he reminds Folly. "They were waiting for one of Moins' daughters to take the throne. I don't know how they'd know who the 'rightful queen' was, but it was clear they expected one to show up and to know for sure she was 'rightful'."

"The Rebmans don't revere some mystical narwhal that goes about handing out shiny magic red rocks, do they? Or green rocks. Blue rocks. You know." Folly looks curiously at Martin. She's being a little bit facetious, but only a little bit.

Martin shakes his head once.

"And there's another reason you'll never inherit this rockpile," she says with a grin. "Red isn't really your color...."

She trails off as a new thought takes her. "Who was Moire's father?"

"I don't know," Martin says. "In Rebma, maternal lineage is everything. Paternal lineage is insignificant. It takes a father of some significance--" and he inclines his head toward his own father for a moment "--for paternity to be noted."

Folly's brows draw together like she's puzzling something out. "So... then... if Moins was Rebma the way Syd is Xanadu, by virtue of having drawn its Pattern... and inheritance is matrilineal... then can Moins's descendants walk her Pattern? The ones not also descended from Oberon, I mean...." She looks at Martin. "Have any of them ever tried?"

Martin nods, once. "There was a woman rumored to be my grandmother's elder sister. Everyone thought she would take the throne after Moins died. She walked it after Moins's death, and died at the First Veil."

"Marla or Darla or something," Random says.

"Mera," Martin corrects him, absently.

Random says, "Yeah."

Folly nods slowly as she slots in this new bit of information. "That certainly explains why V---" She blinks, barely suppressing a wince, and continues, "...ah, that is, it explains... some things." Her teeth clamp down on the inside of her lower lip, and she glances at Martin.

Martin looks at Folly for a moment, then turns his attention back to Random, not even bothering to disguise the change of subject. "We've agreed to the wedding. Is there anything else, or may I take my wi--fiancee to our quarters to rest?" After a moment, he adds, "And do we have to have the wedding before she delivers?"

"Nope. We have to put it far enough in the future that all the people who Must Be Invited can actually move to Xanadu..." Random coughs. "Invites go out soon, though."

Folly nods. "It'll be a thing," she says with a lopsided grin. It's old band code for mandatory drudgery: driving ten hours in a hot van to play six songs on the second stage of a big festival full of better-known (but crappier) bands. But she's in.

Random nods. "Gilt can work up a guest list. Serve him right."

She slides forward on her chair as if preparing to leave, but stops and looks at Random. "Hey, now that I've got an idea how to make trumps, if it's okay with you I'd like to make some of Xanadu. Do you have any preferences where the big red target should be?"

"Under the waterfall. No, too far away. Halfway down the cliff, 3 feet off the path doesn't work either. Hmm. Knee-deep in the lake?"

Martin says "At the top of the road outside the castle."

Random smiles and nods. "Sounds good."

With obvious affection, Folly grins sidelong at Martin and nods at Random. "And on a similar note, if you'd like more trumps made of yourself, so that your beloved nieces and nephews might bug you at their leisure, we should find some time soon for you to sit for me."

"Actually, I'd be interested in seeing what your trump of me would look like. Sure, I'll sit for you. Let me know when and where you'd like to do it."

Folly nods. She's smiling in anticipation. "Gimme a couple days to get settled in, and I'll get back to you."

He stands up and sighs. "OK, I think we need to put plans into motion. Plan item one. How about you all get two days to tell anyone you want to tell yourselves, then we'll do the splashy announcement thing and start selling tickets?"

Martin says "How are you going to tell my Grandmother?"

Random opens his mouth and holds up a finger, shuts his mouth, and then starts over. "Engraved silver depth charges?"

Folly presses her lips together tightly to suppress a snort of laughter.

Martin just looks blankly at his father.

"Hmm. Actually, this sounds like a job for a dully accredited and personally sanctioned high-level embassy by a high-ranking brother of Cambina's. Jerod wanted a nasty diplomatic job, and this is just the job for it. Vialle and I will write a nice note to go with him."

"Um," Folly says weakly, "is that meant to be an announcement or an invitation? Maybe we could seat her at a table with my mum...."

Random looks at her and at Martin. "Which do you want it to be?"

Martin looks at Folly.

Folly looks back at Martin. Her eyes search his, but she finds no answers in his gaze.

She sighs and buries her face in her hands. "I don't know," she says weakly. There is a long, tense pause. Then: "Invitation." Both men can hear the wince behind her voice.

She lifts her head again and looks at Random. "Is there a Plan Item Two?" Her hand finds Martin's again.

"Fix whatever damage we did with Plan Item One? Is your mom the bestselling writer going to be invited to show up and plan this gig, or do we just kidnap her the day of?"

"Er... how about 'Plan C: Something In Between'?" Folly suggests. "The kidnapping thing didn't work out so great last time, but I know better than to get her involved with the planning. I've got some ideas."

"Your call, I'm just driving this bus."

Syd stands, and steps over to the window. "Why don't you all go off and figure out how you want to do this. Is there anyone I'm likely to tell that you don't want me to tell so that you can tell 'em if they haven't already been told?" He rubs his forehead. "I don't know if I should ask Nestor how you invite a nearby and not necessarily friendly relative/monarch to a wedding, or Flora."

Folly gives him a sly grin. "That may depend on what message you're trying to send the monarch in question. You know, 'I've got this new kingdom and maybe we should try being vaguely friendly to each other' probably calls for different protocols than 'Neener neener, your grandson's getting married and nobody asked you, wanna come?' I've got an idea or two about that, too, but it may take me a couple days to get my brain wrapped around it all."

She thinks about his other question and adds, "I would want to tell Soren, but I think he already knows. And Gerard -- is he in Xanadu?"

Random smirks. "I don't know. Wait, yes I do. He's not. You'll need to trump him. And be prepared for him to want to do the Doctorin' thing over you. Oh, and since we technically made you his ward, you might want to do the kind of tellin' which sounds like askin'. I have his trump here, if you want to give it a try." He walks to his desk and taps a big box.

"I have one of my own if you want to talk to him later," Martin adds.

Folly nods. "A little later, yeah. Maybe in the interim I can work out a better way of saying 'Hi, I'm pregnant! Can I get married?' than just like that."

She stands and offers Martin a hand up. "Anything else before we go hide in a corner for a while?"

Martin also rises.

"Nope, I think that was amazing enough for now. Unless you've got a biplane in your pocket, I've got to deal with stuff here for a bit, you all go hide. I'll go have a talk with the Queen." He smiles, but doesn't mean it.

Martin has nothing to say to that.

"Yeah, um. Have fun with that," Folly says with a sympathetic little smile, almost a wince, because she knows how lame that sounded.

"It'll be a thing." Random's voice is flat, almost as flat as Martin's has been.

She turns to go, but hesitates. Instead she crosses the few steps to Syd and touches his shoulder. "And... thanks," she says, and gives him a quick peck on the cheek. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"You know where to find me," says Random, with a smile.

With that, she takes Martin's arm and heads to their quarters.

Once outside the door, Edan will wait on Jerod to exit. [Assuming Jerod doesn't avoid him] he'll ask, "Will you be here in Xanadu long, cousin Jerod? I wanted to make your acquaintance, and ask about that interesting weapon you carry."

Jerod is remarkably focussed when he puts his mind to it and given the timing of events, Edan will probably need to catch up with him outside the room. In any event, Jerod does not avoid him.

"My business here requires that I speak to the king on a couple of matters. That, plus one or two other matters of concern will determine the length of time I spend here.

"Why would this be of interest to you?" he says, leaning on the spear. "I don't see your father foregoing your training on such a basic weapon."

"'Trounced with' might be a more accurate description, my cousin," Edan says. "My preference is for lighter, slashing weapons, and my father enjoyed demonstrating the difficulty of defending against a heavier weapon built for thrusting and piercing." A ghost of a smile. "I happened to notice that this spear was unusual in its construction- almost a work of art. That, and the way you handled it made me wonder about its weight and balance."

"Properly designed weapons are more than simple function devices." Jerod says, still leaning. "Focus too much of the design on a single aspect and you force an inherent limitation on the wielder. It is the same with most aspects of life, of power or even relationships.

"This is Rebman in origin." he adds, tapping the spear.

Edan inclines his head. "Ahh, yes," he says. "Rebma... as I told cousin Conner, I have yet to visit that place. I must find the time to do so." The incline becomes a slight tilt. "Do you visit there often? Or, perhaps, is it that you have lived there?"

"My mother is the eldest surviving daughter of the Queen of the Sapphire Throne." Jerod says simply. "Martin is my elder cousin from that side of the family. My father was Eric."

"Ahh-h, then you are a Prince." Edan gives a slow nod, in respect. When he meet's Jerod's eyes again, his expression is that of overwhelming interest, as if Jerod had just taken all of Edan's attention. "Forgive me if this is too personal a question... do you ever find yourself conflicted between Rebman interests and that of Xanadu? How do you resolve them?" He blinks. "I ask, because I may someday find myself in such a situation, caught between oaths of family, and that of my homeland... and perhaps, someday, to this place."

Jerod is silent for a moment as he considers Edan's question. It would seem that it was not what Jerod might have anticipated.

He eventually motions down a corridor to where a castle servant, a young boy, follows behind an older man while carrying a small trunk. "I don't know him." Jerod says. "But there are people just like him in Rebma, in Amber. They exist in Paris and they are here.

"I resolve my dilemmas by listening to myself and deciding what feels right and what feels wrong, and hoping that I make the right choice. Because if I don't, if I choose family first, or kingdom first, or an ideal first...then everything is immaterial and irrelevant. And I was taught that is not the case. Kingdoms can be rebuilt, ideals revised and renewed, but when people are gone...they stay gone."

"Each death is real," Edan says, softly. He stands, arms crossed, glances to Jerod, then back to the others as he speaks. "My father said that to me, once." He is silent a long moment, and then adds, "I was also told of his brothers and sisters... how things would be in Amber. What attitudes and actions I might expect. That answer... was not one of them." He looks at Jerod again, eyes glinting in the half-light of the corridor. "Could it be that this has all changed, with uncle Random as liege? Do all of my cousins see things this way?"

"No." Jerod says bluntly. "The old ways were put aside during the war because survival dictated it. With the immediate threat now gone, old behaviours built up over centuries will return.

"People do things that they are most comfortable doing, even if they may be activities that are morally repugnant. People will change their behaviour if they reach a point where the fear of change is preferable to their current state of suffering. That point is different for each individual and to their tolerance for self-inflicted pain. One need only look at an alcoholic to learn this lesson, yet so many of us do not see ourselves in circumstances that might be similar."

Edan nods. "Does this, then, also apply to their children?" he asks. "I am far different from my father, as he would no doubt confirm to anyone. But if my cousins' attitudes will be affected by who my father is, and what he has done, I shall have to prepare myself accordingly."

"For our cousins, I cannot always speak with certainty, for my judgement of their character may not be the judgement another would agree with. That is task that we can complete only for ourselves." Jerod says. "For myself, I would say my perceptions have been coloured by your father's actions since my father lies dead because of your father's actions and the actions of others he was associated with. Only a fool would believe that my perception of your father would remain unchanged given his actions during the struggle for the throne.

"I do not hold the son guilty of the father's sins, and unless that son chooses to follow in the father's footsteps and to make the same choices, then I have no reason or right to hold them accountable." he says, not bothering to mention to opposite side of the statement that he leaves unspoken, as well as the consequences involved.

Edan inclines his head in response. "Were I to gain such a dolorous perception from my cousins, I would at least like to think that I had thoroughly earned it."

Leaving Bleys, and this rather disconcerting reply behind him, he says, "I had no contact outside of the Land of Peace for a very long time... and the manifestation of the Black Road in my home was in the Deep Desert, far from even the civilized areas. It was only recently that I gained news of what transpired in that time. I regretted to learn that it seemed to bring out the worst of the family, before it brought out the best."

Jerod's expression focusses slightly. "Where the Black Road appeared, what was in that area?"

"A... gate," Edan says at length. "A path to a shadow of fire and magma and burning oil. A path to the afriti. Creatures came... beings of fire and darkness. I understand now that they were creatures of Chaos. They called themselves the hamaaj. They took control of this path, widened it, used it as a point of entry into the Land of Peace."

"Prior to their arrival, was there anything significant about that area? Legends or myth?" Jerod asks. "Did you or your occupy that area for a period of time?"

Edan is not an easy person to read; the eyes, for one, are rather distracting. But the expression and stance Edan adopts is a classic example of expressing regret in the Land of Peace.

"One could say that, my cousin," he says. "I made that gate, myself. There are many places where such a gate could be opened, by one who is knowledgeable. But that particular door, I opened. I took it upon myself to close it."

"Then the important question that needs to be asked next is, did they appear at any of these other points? Anywhere else?" Jerod asks. He appears supremely indifferent to the fact that Edan opened the gate. There is something else, some piece of information, that he appears to be looking for.

"Not that I am aware," Edan says, and tilts his head. "That... is a popular question. Cousin Brennan asked me my thoughts on whether the presence of a family member had affected the proximity of the Black Road in a particular shadow. I performed a mathematical analysis of the question, based on extrapolations of my own observations, and gave him results... or at least, I left the results for him."

"I have seen the Black Road first hand and I have encountered those who claimed an invitation. I wished to know if this condition was a requirement for access by those that exist outside the realms of Order or if it is merely...more convenient for them.", Jerod says.

"It would be a matter of convenience, then," Edan says. "At least, for my part. I did not invite the hamaaj into my home, and do not know of anyone else who did." He hesitates, thinking. "There could have been any number of the afriti who would have known of that place, however."

"If it was that easy, then why would the Black Road not have appeared earlier?" Jerod asks rhetorically. "It is an interesting topic for speculation, though unfortunately fruitless without greater understanding of how things work."

"Agreed," Edan says. "It had occurred to me that the enemy knew that the opportunity was there... and simply waited until the right time to use it. Perhaps we will find out, someday." He glances at Jerod. "It is my intention to return to the Land of Peace, and soon. The initial overtures with uncle Random were taken well... It appears that more formal talks of trade with the desert tribes can begin. I shall have to bring their representatives here." He smiles. "I hope their reception will be better than mine."

"One would assume they lack the familial baggage that you are required to carry." Jerod replies.

"Would it were that simple," Edan says. "There was a ship docked here from the Land of Peace... I and my companion were attacked in the town, for I was recognized and thought to be a monster from the Deep Desert."

"The antagonisms of Shadow politics rarely reach the level that Family disagreements can attain." Jerod says. "With the passage of time, such disagreements would fade because those that remember them would fade. Such is not the case when those around you are immortal.

"As for those from your homeland who venture here, consider it an opportunity to impress upon them that their viewpoint may not be a correct one. They are in a new land and must therefore open themselves to new ideas, new possibilities in order to operate here, or else they will not survive." he says. "The best time to change someone's mind is when they are willing to do it for you."

Edan raises an eyebrow. "That is not the... easiest... chore, considering the people of my homeland," he says. "But if they do agree to come, I can certainly make the attempt."

"Would that attempt extend to both sides from your homeland?" Jerod asks now, as if waiting for the chance to do ask this question.

Edan smiles, just about the most predatory look he's shown to Jerod up to this point. "I can behave myself, if they can," he says. "I want trade to happen... I want the tenuous peace between city and desert to continue. It will be as the Merciful One wills it."

Jerod nod, apparently satisfied at the answer. "I've found that gods are notorious for ignoring what mere mortals wish them to do. It frequently devolves onto the individual to decide what they will dare to accomplish. Let us hope your efforts are successful."

"Thank you, my cousin," Edan says. "And may your own path be blessed, as well. Hopefully, we will see each other again soon, here or in Amber."

"Perhaps." Jerod replies. "Until later."

After leaving the "newlyweds" with his father, Garrett turns his attention to the queen, walking beside him on his arm. He is by now used to matching his pace to hers and so falls into the slower walk easily.

"Where shall I take you, Your Majesty," he asks politely.

Vialle cocks an ear at the door that has just closed behind them. "My chambers, please. I'll wait to find out whether I have a daughter-in-law and you a sister-in-law there."

Garrett raises an eyebrow as he begins to lead them to the Royal Chambers. He knows that tone well. Whenever his mother used it, it usually meant an argument with Donovan later. "Yes, ma'am," he answers. That was always the best answer for his mother, too.

After leaving the queen at her door, Garrett wanders off down the corridor, wondering what to do next. This feeling of spinning his wheels is beginning to annoy him. He never had it at the stables. He had always known what to do, and even if he wasn't certain, he'd do what he thought needed doing. Sometimes it got him in trouble, but more often than not, it impressed his superiors. Garrett didn't rise as high as he had in the stables by sitting on his rear and waiting to be given orders.

He purses his lips thoughtfully. There's a lesson here. He had floundered in recent weeks, trying to find his place in this family. Perhaps that was the wrong attitude. Now that he's starting to know the ropes, perhaps it's time to MAKE his place. With a decisive nod to only himself, he strikes off in a different direction.

Training. It's what he needs most. He's been practicing the exercises that Brennan taught him at least twice daily, but there's only so much he can do by himself. Now Brennan is gone and he still doesn't have a master-at-arms. Brennan had suggested Venesch or Lord Nickel, but both were still in Amber. Venesch, however, was captain of the guards. Perhaps his counterpart here in Xanadu would serve just as well. With that in mind, Garrett sets out to look for Thorn.

Thorn is talking to the Mayor of the city below. They both stop talking as Garrett approaches and bow. "Your highness."

Garrett nods at them both with a courtly smile. To Thorn, he says, "Thorn, I find myself in need of a master-at-arms," he says with genial confidence. "The men from Amber who were supposed to accomplish that task have not yet arrived. Who can you recommend?" He grins, much like his father. "And by 'recommend', I of course mean 'assign.'"

Thorn nods to Garrett. "Hmm. Not a task to assign lightly, Your Highness. We have few master swordsmen here who are not your immediate family."

Ash looks at Thorn. "That might solve our problem."

Thorn blinks. "My Lord?"

Ash grins. "Why not? He claims loyalty, and he's quite good with his blade."

Thorn looks dubious. "If you say so, my Lord."

Garrett watches this exchange warily.

Ash turns to the Prince. "I have just the man. A swordsman named Abdallah, one of the first into Xanadu. When do you want him here?"

Garrett quirks a skeptical eyebrow. "What can you tell me about him first? And what problem would it solve?" he asks.

Ash says "He's the finest swordsman I've seen. He's had some trouble with the law, and needs to be given some work as punishment, but since everyone is doing hard labor, it's not like that's an option."

Thorn nods. "He tried to kill Edan the day he got here."

Garrett smirks as Ash outlines the man's questionable background. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he turns to Thorn. "Why'd he do that?"

"According to him, because Edan killed a lot of people in his home."

Thorn looks at Garrett. "It was a vendetta carried over from the war. We don't need that in Xanadu."

Ash grins his big, happy grin at Thorn. "Exactly! I'm sure that Garrett will be just the student for this teacher to learn from, aren't you?"

Garrett looks at Ash dubiously, then gives him a wry smile. He understands now why his father gets on so well with Ash. They think the same way. "All right. Bring him on. It's getting late today, so sometime tomorrow would be good."

Ash nods at Garettt. "I'll send him along. Thorn, don't have him arrested for coming here."

"Yes, your lordship." says Thorn.

[If all works out the way this player expects, the following letter will be delivered by Jerod to Paige in Xanadu about the time Paige gets back from her excellent adventure.]

The letter comes in a packet, written on fine paper and in inks of the type typically seen in Paris. The lettering is uniquely Brennan's-- long practiced, quick and efficient-- but now that Paige has seen Uxmali lettering, she can see the influence of it in his script: the arcs and angles lending his Thari a slight air of graceful antiquity.

Paige,

I have news and information regarding Dragons, Uncles and Swords, little of which I care to place on parchment. The news is dark, but-- perhaps-- not unrelievedly so. Press your father for all the information you can regarding his blade and its making, and we can compare notes when next we meet. If he brings up the name of Weyland, in particular, press for all you can, including his origins.

I have one more trip to make. I have not a Trump of you, so I suggest you make one of me, and perhaps one of Xanadu.

Please do not leave without me.

Your Cousin and Friend, Brennan, KCOR.

The packet is sealed with a red wax impression of Brennan's signet ring.

Paige crosses to her writing desk, shaking her head as she does. The letter finds a place in her sketchbook as a page marker for the rough sketches she's done of him after their chess matches.

She scribbles herself a note to remember on the edge of the note that extends above the cover...

Productivity?
Green Knight
Red Rook (Damn him...)
Evil Effort?

Then she pens a note with an almost lazy hand on her mottled green paper...

Father,

The voyage was relatively uneventful and we're working on settling into Xanadu. Other than some excitement between Martin and his wife and a Shadow that asked too many questions, things seem well. I find myself missing your guidance and in need of those distractions we spoke on. I was hoping you might join me and perhaps Edan for lunch or dinner one of these days soon.

My love always,
P

She sends it off with Liam, to be returned if he finds that her father's not in residence in Xanadu.

When Liam returns, Paige shakes out her Trumps and finds that familiar face, concentrating on how the wind should catch his red locks and the light should add something that he'd hate being called a twinkle to his eye...

"Paige," the response comes quickly. His hair is blowing around his face and Paige sees a sunset in the background. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"To let you know that we're beginning to settle into Xanadu and ensure that you're well," she explains. "Have you any good gossip to share?" Her smile suggests that she might if he can manage the minimal effort to extract it from her. "I find myself in need of distractions."

"I shan't arrange another picnic with your Grandmother just because you're bored, child. Who knows what Conner would eat this time?" His eyebrow goes up in what can only be an imitation of Julian's. "Out with it, then. You've eaten a canary and you won't be satisfied until you tell me whatever it is."

"Ah, but I am known for my decorum and restraint, Father," she reminds him without the sarcastic tone that such a comment needs.

"To come to it quickly, I fear you'll be summoned to Xanadu for a state wedding in the not too far future, and I need not the cards or Merlin to scry such predictions."

"Has Random finally gotten tired of that whole 'monogamy' experiment? Perhaps Caine and Harmony Vesper are about to declare that they cannot live without each other? Hmm. I shall have to attend merely to observe what disasters our new monarch can reign down upon us." Bleys grins at his daughter.

Paige smiles at her father. If he wants more, so does she...

"But that truly wasn't the distraction I need. You must recall that we spoke on them, not too long ago. Perhaps I can find myself some good reading material. Ever heard of a man named Weyland? His art has been edging through my thoughts of late."

Bleys seems less amused than before. "Of course. He's on the minds of more than one of your cousins, as well. He's untrustworthy."

"Yet you carry an item of Power at your hip fashioned by the man," she observes. "What would lead you to such a judgement call?

"Or are we back on the topic of keeping me safe for my, and your own, good?" Her green eyes have narrowed a bit as her amiable verbal fencing seems to have become a back alley duel. Well, anything worth having is worth fighting for.

Behind Bleys, Paige sees clouds drifting by, bright pink in the sunset (unless her father has become a morning person).

"I took it out of necessity, choosing to pay a price I did not know rather than fail to defend the realm. I keep it because it is useful, and I would not cut off my nose to spite my own face. I am not Caine." He shrugs. "The taking of it, and the need for it, are a part of my philosophical break with Father, actually. He and I later agreed as to the necessity, but at the time, I was wroth."

"Well then do me the service that you were denied, Father," she says, her tone short of pleading. "Help me understand the price and let me make my decisions informed.

"I may not have any philisophical or even poetic basis on which to form my opinion, but necessity I have in spades, a pair to be exact."

Bleys shakes his head. "The right tool for the right job, daughter. A pattern blade is useful to defend a pattern, and the pattern's master, from harm. Unless you have sprouted a pair of patterns, you have a different necessity.

"Which King would you have tell you that you are the expendable one, the one who, if it came to it, expected you to lay down your life for his land? Do you love any kingdom that much? Are you willing to make the defense of it more important than your life, your children's lives, anything?

The setting sun, a vast pink globe low in the sky, frames Bleys' head like a halo. It's hard to look at him directly as he eclipses it. "Pattern swords have uses, certainly, but they are something of a consolation prize, and not one that has no costs. If Weyland hasn't died of his vices, then he could make one for a King, which is who you have to convince first."

"Are blacksmiths limited to nails and horseshoes?" Paige asks rhetorically. "Perhaps he's the man that can forge me an arrow of dragon slaying or something suitable. Are there other sources for weapons of power?

"You know the math, better than I, Father. If Pattern is defense, what's offense?"

"Against a dragon? Pattern, of course. A creature like that is built on unreality, like sorcery. Force reality on it, and it must flee or die. Why do you think Brother Jules has spent centuries learning to conjure greater and greater beasts via the pattern? You know, if he'd just come to me, I could have taught him the principles that he's using, but no, he's an empirical conjurer, as if that makes him better..." Bleys makes an impatient moue.

"So, give it no place to flee and force Pattern on it and we could see its end," Paige muses. "But such a weapon is not the way at least not for one such as I, and as you've been so kind to point out, I've never mastered any of my lessons... So better that I keep my pretty little head out of it, yes?" The smile masks rage that finds release in angry white knuckles gripping the Trump and her skirts, both hopefully out of her Father's view.

"No, my dear. You should keep your head out of it because I am fond of it, and I am not keen to bury another child because of this thing." His tone is firm.

"Could you teach me?" she asks with a light, if forced, tone. "The conjuring, that is."

"Conjuring? I'd be happy to teach you. It's inherent in what we do with pattern in general, but it takes some finesse. It would take some time, but it's certainly doable."

"Well, I remember that someone not too long ago told me that I had to start focusing my studies somewhere," she counters without any passion.

"When do you think to be in residence long enough to begin?" she asks.

"Hmmm. I wasn't planning on doing more than stopping back as the need arose. Can you make me a trump of the Royal Chateaux? I still need some weeks to finish up my current task, and then I can at least begin your lessons." Behind Bleys, it suddenly gets dark, and Paige hears what sounds like a small explosion. "Is there anything else?" He doesn't seem to be in a hurry.

"Nothing such as it is," she answers. "As to a sketch, as soon as I have a suitable location it'll be in the works.

"Stay safe, OK?"

Bleys smiles, unworried. "Nothing to worry about here." The sun comes back into view over his shoulder and he closes the connection.