Grousing

Folly and Aisling arrange to meet at the Pickled Grouse two days after the big family dinner. Although they aren't necessarily expecting anyone else to join them, most of the other cousins know about the meeting and could swing by if they felt like it.

The Grouse is a dockside pub with a reputation as a family establishment. It is furnished with sturdy, well-used wooden tables and mismatched chairs, and there's a small platform just off one end of the bar that probably serves as a stage on evenings with live music.

It's afternoon now, though, and the place is pretty quiet. An older man sits at the bar nursing a beer and politely not-quite-ignoring the proprietress, who is talking at him nonstop while washing mugs. Next to the stage is a table of young women, one of whom is probably mother to the two small children playing in the middle of the floor. One of the women reads aloud from a small book, pausing after every few paragraphs for discussion. The others are engaged in various forms of needlework as they listen.

At the other end of the room, Folly sits at the corner table with another child in her lap. They are beating lightly on the table with their knuckles in what appears to be some sort of rhythm game.

When Folly catches sight of Aisling, she waves. Aisling notices that the chair Folly has left for her -- the one she gestures to as Aisling approaches -- is the one with its back to the wall.

Aisling smiles genuinely. "Greetings to the room and all in it," she murmurs, sliding into the seat with a nod to Folly, and turns her attention on the child with a curious beam. "I am Aisling. What is your name?"

I bet by now the castle seamstresses have managed to get Aisling some accomodating clothes, so she is enstreamered.

The child stares at Aisling, and her streamers, in wide-eyed wonderment. "Thparrow," she answers -- or at least that's what it sounds like. Her shy grin reveals that she is between front teeth at the moment; the tip of her tongue sticks out through the hole.

She seems unsure whether she's supposed to say anything else; but after a moment she adds, "I like your... your purple things," and points to Aisling's shoulder.

Folly grins.

Aisling smiles, happy at the compliment. She looks over, and gently captures the middle right streamer, and puts it on the table, and smooths the end flat with her bandaged right hand before quickly ducking the hand out of view again. The end of the streamer quivers a bit, very very much like a butterfly. "You can touch it if you like," she offers shyly to Sparrow.

The girl reaches out and touches the streamer gingerly with one finger, as if petting a delicate newborn animal. "Pretty," she says, and smiles. "How did you make it?"

"I was c- born with it," a smiling Aisling replies. She releases the streamer, which after an initial lift idly skates its way back to the equilibrium the rest hang in, and glances quizzically at Folly to see whether she has anything to add to the conversation or if she wants to send the child off.

Folly, who has been watching the exchange with interest and no small degree of amusement, says to Sparrow, "See, sweetheart? Sometimes being different is a good thing."

Aisling looks odd at this.

Sparrow just nods; she seems a bit overwhelmed by this new and unexpected bit of information about Aisling. She continues staring, wide-eyed, at the streamers.

"Aisling and I have to talk about boring grown-up things for a little while," Folly continues, grinning at Aisling in a way that suggests she doesn't expect the conversation to be boring in the least. "Why don't you go play with your brothers for a little while, or see if Linden needs a hand with anything. I think she's expecting a big crowd tonight."

The child slides off Folly's lap, offers a shy goodbye smile and wave...

Aisling smiles and gives Sparrow her own shy wave.

...giggles, and runs off.

As Folly watches her disappear behind the bar, she says, "Her mother is a seamstress. I suspect she's thinking of asking for streamers of her very own now." She grins and turns her focus back to Aisling.

Aisling looks kind of surprised and then pleased at the idea.

"So, welcome to the 'Yay, we have a king!' committee. Random said you might have some potentially useful contacts in town...?"

Aisling grins at the description, and then sobers. "The trouble is, in any form I take, I'm going to be missing part of a hand. It's distinctive. People will make the connection. I'm not going to be very useful as a covert operative for awhile yet. Dogs, birds, sure, but people don't talk politics with them. I can do you a little good, though, if not overutilized."

She shrugs.

Folly raises her eyebrows. It hadn't occurred to her to apply Aisling's shapeshifting capabilities to this particular problem. She turns the idea over in the back of her mind as Aisling continues:

"Anyway, as for contacts, I haven't had any luck finding the people I was close to, before." And this bothers her.

Folly looks concerned by this, as well, but doesn't interrupt. Aisling continues:

"But if you want a list of people who were good for gossip five years ago...? What is the strategy you're aiming for?"

"So far," Folly replies, "the strategy has just been 'generate buzz': go to the people in our circles most likely to get excited and talk about how great it is that there's going to be a Coronation, and get 'em pumped for it. As the plans for the actual festivities get hammered out, we'll also be looking for ways to get as many people enthusiastically involved as possible."

She pauses a moment, thinking. "Which circles did you run in, mostly?" she asks. "I know a lot of musicians and pub owners, and also have contacts among the apprentices and a few other groups. Reid is also in good with the, uh, information network, I guess you'd say."

"Before I left, I was spending a lot of time with the criminal element, the priests, the servant class... The kinds of people who didn't ask a lot of questions," she says with a slight grin. "And then there was the army and navy--a lot of people I know may have gone off to Chaos," she shrugs.

Folly nods. "Perhaps some of them will turn up once we've got the troops re-integrated into the city," she offers. She tries to sound encouraging, but she seems a bit troubled.

"As for involving the people in the coronation, how about feasts? Encouraging them to make it a togetherness time like Harvest? But I wonder about supply. It'll be harder to party if things are really so desperate here..."

Folly's face lights up at the suggestion of feasts. "That's a wonderful idea!" she says. "We could encourage community gatherings where everyone pitches in so no-one has to go without.

"And the food situation really isn't so dire anymore," she continues. "Amber isn't as ostentatiously wealthy as she once was, but she's not yet desperate. Her straits aren't so dire as to preclude a little merrymaking." She grins.

Aisling looks worried. "How dire was it? Did people starve to death?"

"No, it never got that bad," Folly replies quickly, "but... but for a while there, we were afraid it might." She pauses, trying to remember which of the salient points of the last five years and more have or have not been brought up in the family meetings.

"Have you heard yet about the Shadowpaths? About how they just sort of... stopped working, or got severed, or however the hell these things work?"

Aisling's nodding encouragingly... She'd gathered as much.

"So instead of being able to send fleets off into Shadow along the paths to import food, like we used to be able to, we could only make trading voyages if there was a Royal along who could shift Shadow -- which really cut into our ability to trade. And for a while there, we didn't think we were going to be able to come up with enough food for the whole city after the first year, but then...."

Folly pauses again, and her brow furrows. "But then, through some combination of things going right and things going wonky, it all worked out... somehow." She looks at Aisling, trying to figure out whether what she just said makes any sense.

Aisling looks kind of baffled. "Sounds like a story, a long one to hear on an evening by a fire." Her eyebrows lift a bit at the thought and then she smiles, not as much as she'd like to, then goes back to looking a bit baffled. "So, that would have left... Jerod and Cambina and Reid and... No, wait, Reid didn't arrive until later, right? Who else was there to bring in the trade expeditions?"

Folly counts off on her fingers. "Lucas, Martin, Paige, Solange, Ossian. Jerod and Cambina, yes, although Cambina really prefers doing other things. Vere and I occasionally rode out with them, too, but... we're no good for shifting Shadow."

Folly pauses, weighing whether the question she wants to ask might be considered too forward; but curiosity wins out in the end. "Can you?" she asks. "Shift Shadow, I mean?"

Aisling kind of smiles. She had to adapt her wording to avoid the exact same worry about asking Folly that question, and Folly probably recognizes the resonance. As she speaks she sobers, though; "I was never much for going after powers... And even after Dara lived, I'm not at all sure I would." She smiles and shrugs.

"Yeah, me, too," Folly says, and it's not clear whether she means the not going after powers part or the not surviving part.

Aisling pauses for a moment, and her thoughts leap ahead and her right hand twitches as if she would've made a motion with it, and she grimaces in a flicker and then returns to the thought, "Bleys will be out returning the furry people to their paradise, right? Could he stop on the way back and pick up anything you'd need for the party?" And she grins sparklingly at the idea, her head cocked a bit as she catches more reasons why this could be a spiffy thing.

Folly grins, too, matching Aisling's sparkle. "I like the way you think," she says.

But before she can go any further, a completely new thought seems to take her attention. She considers Aisling for a moment through partially narrowed eyes, as if trying to see her more clearly; Aisling can practically hear the gears turning in Folly's mind.

Aisling conceals trepidation and plans for escape behind a mask-like pleasant-thoughtful expression.

After a moment, Folly leans forward and asks in a low, almost conspiratorial tone, "So, these... these winged forms you take -- how much altitude can you get?"

She's grinning.

Aisling is cautious, though not cautious in a retreating kind of way (nor yet cautious in a eagerly-jumping-forward kind of way, but Folly's doing extremely well to be where she is). Matching Folly's tone, she replies, "It depends... Some of them, as high as there's air to breathe." Her tone slips into definitely conspiratorial, though you can't tell how much she's joking, "It loves the ground more than you'd think, you know. It clusters down there, and towards the top of the sky it's lonely and thin."

Folly smiles in delight at the image. "Y'know, I've always thought that the place where the sea and the sky and the land all come together is the place that makes them all the happiest, even if the ocean is terribly coy about the meeting." She considers a moment, then adds, "Or maybe it's just the place that makes me happiest."

Growing a bit more serious, Folly continues, "When the Shadowpaths disappeared, one of the paths we lost was the stairway to Tir. We're almost a whole month from the next full moon, but... well, having someone who can get up there and check it out, maybe find out whether the changes we've seen here are reflected up there, might be kind of useful. I'm not sure why I thought of it just now."

Aisling frowns very slightly, thoughtful. Slowly, she says, "I wonder if Tir na Nog'th is not so far from the meeting of land and sea and air for a reason..." She shrugs, then, "I think you have answered your own question. Tir is not part of this world. I will carry one or two of you on an attempt to seek it, if you like, but wings alone cannot take us there."

Folly hadn't expected an offer of a ride; she looks delighted and hesitant in rapid succession, as if she's afraid she has overstepped her bounds. But she smiles, warmly, and says, "Thank you. Just knowing that we've got something else to try makes me feel better."

Realizing she has been leaning forward, hanging on Aisling's words, Folly sits back in her chair and relaxes.

As Folly leans back, Aisling asks with concern for her (the amount of it concealed), "What reason have you to desire the visions of Tir so dearly?"

"It's not the visions I desire so much as just... clues," Folly replies slowly. "Anything. Any hint that might shed some light on what's happening here in Amber. Are the changes here reflected there? I mean --"

Here Folly leans forward again and lowers her voice to a murmur that barely carries to Aisling's ears. "You've heard about the Pattern, right?"

"Broken, yes?" Aisling asks in a frowning whisper that trails off on the s.

Folly nods slightly. "I don't have enough of an education in these things to know what it would mean if Tir's copy were broken, too," she says, still very quiet, "but if it's actually working, it'd be nice to know whether we can gain access to it without using the stairway. Could come in handy later, y'know?"

Aisling nods, and her eyebrows bunch up as she looks at Folly, worried at this turn of events. Which she quickly smoothes over. "I do not think I could get there alone," she says with a shrug.

"What of the Pattern in Rebma? Did Conner not bring word of it?"

"Not exactly," Folly replies. "He only said that the chamber was all locked up and he couldn't get in. He seemed to find this surprising, but --"

Folly hesitates. When she speaks again, it is as though she has brushed aside the first thought that occurred to her. "When you've got a big powerful mystical artifact in your basement," she says, "you don't usually just leave it lying around for anyone to play with, y'know?"

Aisling frowns thoughtfully. "Not if they can be damaged, no."

"Right," Folly agrees. "Which leaves us knowing between diddly and squat about whether we're alone in this. I just hope Fiona's little expedition turns up something useful."

"Where is Fiona off to, anyway? I'm afraid I wasn't watching closely enough when so many of your aunts and uncles scattered ominously..." Aisling is joking, but she's also truly kinda alarmed.

Folly shrugs. "I don't know exactly," she says. "Just... to find a Pattern. Any Pattern. I've no idea what she'll come up with."

Aisling makes a little hum of agreement, and asks, "And do you know where Corwin's peregrinations take him now?"

Folly thinks a moment, then shakes her head. "I don't. I got the impression he might be going somewhere with Benedict. Don't know what that's all about, nor do I know either of them well enough even to venture a good guess. Maybe Merlin knows."

Aisling looks like the idea of Benedict and Corwin travelling together doesn't quite mesh with prior information, but doesn't clash enough that she's sure it's wrong.

(Folly seemed a bit tentative on that point as well, for what it's worth.)

"...Have you spoken with Merlin at all?" she asks, Folly probably picking up the 'somewhat tentatively' and 'different subject' aspects to that.

Folly nods. "A bit, although not about his father." She pauses, as if finding the right words, then continues, "He's still trying to wrap his brain around the differences between what he's finding here in Amber and what he remembers from back home.

"But I suppose," and here Folly smiles warmly, "you've got some experience with that. How did you deal with acclimating when you first came here, and is there anything in particular we can do to help Cousin Merlin settle in?"

Folly's first paragraph gave Aisling pause, and as she was picking her way towards a response Folly continued, and now Aisling is momentarily diverted, and smiles. "I had a mission, and part of it was absolutely not speaking to anyone, so I had a much safer time, sinking in slowly." And half a beat later some sort of unpleasant realization hits her, and then her mental self shifts back to center, not bourne to the mat by whatever subtle thing it was, and she continues her original thought, frowning slightly, cautious.

"Merlin... Does not understand what he has jumped into. And when he comes to understand it, I cannot know if he will accept it," and she's looking directly and constantly into Folly's eyes at this.

Folly nods gravely. Aisling's words describe some of her own concerns.

Then [Aisling] lets that drop and thoughtfully suggests, " 'Twould be best, mayhap, to start him with the best aspects of Amber; not necessarily directing his efforts into the political show, but into a basis in decency. Surely there will be soldiers returning to sorry lots; I shouldn't be surprised to find that some here in Amber might be better with help from the king. Are there any among your cousins from Amber who might complement him as he set about to fairly disburse aid to the needy?"

"Well, actually, aiding the needy is usually my gig," Folly responds with a smile. "And I'd love to have Merlin helping out, if he's interested. On the other hand...."

Her smile dims and she trails off, brow furrowed, trying to figure out just what it is about the proposed scenario that troubles her. After a moment, though, she seizes upon at least a partial answer, and her smile reappears, even brighter than before.

"On the other hand, he might be better served getting his introduction to Amber from someone a touch less... whimsical... than myself." Folly's eyes twinkle merrily; Aisling realizes she's making fun of herself.

Aisling looks brighter as well.

"Perhaps I should talk to Solange. She's a good level-headed sort, and a champion of the same causes I support. I'll bet I could talk her into helping, if she's not too busy with the plans for her father's rehabilitation."

Aisling nods, looking like she likes the idea, "Solange is quite adapted to Amber..."

Folly grins at that assessment. It wouldn't have occurred to her to phrase it quite that way, but it's perfectly true and completely relevant.

"And with Vere handling the casualty reports, she would have a good idea of where to start, yes? Not that whimsy does not have its place," she beams at Folly, "But I think the place that has been given you is coordination on a grand scale...?"

"Something like that," Folly agrees, and shrugs. "I like to be involved at the ground level, though -- grassroots-like, y'know? I can help other people figure out what they ought to be doing, but then I want to be involved in the doing, too."

Aisling nods.

"Hey, I don't know what kind of contacts you're looking to make now that you're... out of your old line of work, but I can introduce you around to some of the people I know down here, if you'd like," Folly offers. "I expect I'll be spending most of my time between now and the coronation down dockside."

Aisling allows as how the introducing-around sounds peachy-keen, and asks about who these people are etc...

Folly talks mostly about her loose network of contacts known informally as the Army of Good Works, and especially about Ever, an apprentice luthier who has become Folly's right-hand man for coordinating the Army's efforts.

And that should lead nicely into another subject it's ocurred to her to bring up. "What kinds of things did Prince Martin do during the Regency?" Folly's probably talked to Aisling enough by now to recognize that she is, as is her wont, cautiously working her way around to the question she really wants to know.

There's the briefest flash of... something... behind Folly's eyes -- some deep emotion, perhaps, or even several at once -- at the mention of Martin's name. But when she speaks, her voice and demeanor have returned to their default genial good-naturedness.

"Martin was mostly the procurement guy, trying to get us the things we needed for our rebuilding efforts. He did some work in Arden and Garnath early on, negotiating for goods and especially lumber so we could repair our damaged ships. After that he mostly led trade missions." Folly smiles and cocks her head slightly, interested to see where Aisling is going with this.

"Do you know what sort of stuff he did before?" Aisling asks, features in faintly interested equilibrium.

There's the slightest hesitation before Folly responds, "Not really, no. Just that he was working for his grandfather for a while." Another pause; then she adds, "Martin is an extremely private person. He's not really given to talking about his past."

"Ah," Aisling says, patting her hand down very lightly once on the table. She pauses, looking at Folly, then makes her gaze a little less direct to not discomfit her, "What do you think of Martin, as a man? Has he any gentleness about him?"

From the look on Folly's face, it seems to Aisling that she is considering and rejecting a number of possible responses, some of which she finds quite amusing, others slightly embarrassing. When she finally answers, she seems to be choosing her words carefully: "I count Martin among my dearest friends. That may be the most instructive possible answer to your question."

She regards Aisling a moment more before adding, "Why do you ask? Have you found him to be other than gentle?" There's still a hint of amusement around her eyes; but also, deeper down, a sense of caution.

Aisling flickers a smile at Folly. "Oh, I've barely found him at all. Really, it's more that he found me," then she kind of frowns. "I'm just wondering how best to interact with him. With Random, Vialle, Gerard, I have some idea; with Martin, very little. Does he prefer the direct approach, or does he play games? Does he like watching from a position of strength, or showing he is strong by mixing and dealing? That kind of thing. It doesn't really matter, though, since he's gone for awhile..." she shrugs, trying to make this a light thing.

Folly takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly as she considers Aisling's query. Finally she says, "Your best bet may be to approach him as you would his father. They aren't identical, but they do seem to share some traits. For example, I suspect their Bullshit Detectors are similarly attuned." She grins, but the message is as much warning as joke: Trying to manipulate Martin is a good way to get on his bad side. And mine.

If this were a knife fight, Aisling would be holding her hands up empty and backing away with an uneasy smile. She's caught off guard enough at the subtext that it's clear her questioning line was aimed not at attacking, but at defending herself from Martin... And that she hadn't been putting enough thought into defending herself from Folly.

"And I recommend being as direct and honest as possible," Folly continues, her smile easier now, less guarded. "But then, that's always my advice."

Aisling kind of blinks, and then looks very faintly sheepish. She lightly rubs her lips, smiling sheepishly, and says, "It's a good way to live."

Folly notes Aisling's reaction and then looks a little sheepish herself. "Forgive me," she says. "I can be a bit... protective... of my friends."

Gone is the tiny flicker of ferocity; Folly is back to her pleasantly amiable self. "It's a bit of a double-edged sword, though, or perhaps a double-sided pillow: more often than not, I'm protecting them from each other."

Aisling's butterfly brows draw together just slightly as she puzzles at this, and then she leans forwards on her arms on the table and grins with Bleys-like audacity and humor and asks, "Who are your friends?" with the underlying joke on herself, _So I can steer clear of alarming them_...

"My cousins, mostly," Folly replies, returning the grin. It's clear she considers Aisling to be among that group.

"They fight?" Aisling asks, taking the opportunity to scan the room so Folly can come up with whatever sort of answer she wants to the request for more information.

"Some of them quarrel, sometimes," Folly responds. "Every so often, Ossian teases Jerod to the point that Jerod threatens to retaliate with a sword, but that's an extreme case."

Folly smiles, a little wistfully. "As with most families, it's when we mean well that we do the most damage."

Aisling looks kind of neutral. "In my experience, the greatest damage is done when one deceitfully convinces oneself one means well." She blinks, and calls up a sunny grin, "My, this is grim! Shall we go out and do good works?"

"Let's!" Folly replies, equally sunny.

On the third day of the Return, Vialle sends a note to Ossian requesting that he meet with her in her office.

Ossian will get there as soon as possible. He knocks on the door.

Vialle bids him enter. She is seated on her couch, as she normally is when she greets visitors these days. "Ossian," she says, "it's so good of you to come on short notice."

"I wouldn't dream of letting you wait, my queen." he answers, bowing.

Vialle smiles at Ossian. "Come, sit down. Would you like some tea?" she offers. "And there'll be less lemon than there was at the last tea of mine you attended."

Ossian sits down, smiling back. "Tea would be nice, and less lemon is suitable. But I found the last tea to be rather interesting. I still haven't figured out what Paige was up to, have you?"

"Oh, Paige has many distractions these days," says Vialle, perhaps a little wistfully. She straightens, then, and says: "As do we all. Ossian, I have been thinking about the memorial for King Oberon and Princess Deirdre. I thought that your memorial for the Sundering anniversary was very lovely, and I would like to invoke some of the same themes here. Do you have any ideas that might be useful?"

Ossian is quiet for a few seconds then says: "Hm. First things that strikes me are some questions. How many memorials do we want? Do we want separate ones for the Princess and the King and yet another one for all the people who died in the war?

"Has Random considered what should be done in memory of Brand? I think there is need of a concious decision, whatever it is."

Vialle sucks in a breath, surprised. "That is a difficult question. I know you loved Brand, as did Paige, but because of Martin ... I do not know what Random will want."

"We'll have to ask him soon. He might have forgotten to think about it."

"Indeed we will." She pauses to think about the other question. "I think there will be one service, primarily dedicated to Oberon and Deirdre, but also memorializing the war dead. I will also have to ask Deirdre's son Marius what arrangements he desires, for her memorial and her tomb."

"We should go for something really grand for Oberon I think. Not so grand that people think more on the dead king than of the living, of course. Did you ever meet him? How was he?"

"I never met him," Vialle confesses. "I joined Random in Amber after King Eric's coronation, and when Oberon returned, he hardly had time for the wife of his youngest son. And when he was in disguise, he had no cause to approach me. I have heard stories of him from Random, and from Eric and Florimel and Gerard. He was larger than life, I think."

"If we could make it, an artificial island in the harbour for the Oberon memorial could be a very nice thing." Ossian says. "Or just outside the harbour. Kind of like a counterpart to the castle."

"I will discuss that with Random," Vialle says. "What are your ideas for the ceremony? Eric's ceremony was very lovely, with music by Barenthkov, but I do not wish to invoke those memories. Nor those of Caine's service."

"I think we should make something that is more like a state funeral than a family one. I think we should let Rein compose the music, or Corwin, if he wants to. Much black, I think."

"I had not thought of Corwin. I wonder whether he still composes, these days. Have you any other suggestions?"

"One could also go the military way. A crisp military ceremony is not bad at all, but would probably fit better for Deirdre than Oberon. If we could get that son of hers, Marius? to run some part in the ceremony, I think we would get a nice effect also."

[I assume that the rumor of Marius being awake has reached Ossian's ears by now?]

[Yes. He's been up to the castle even.]

"I will ask him about it. Let me broach the topic with him, though. Given how recent his loss is, he may be sensitive about it." She does not say "and may not want to talk to Brand's apprentice," but Ossian's underhearing parses that anyway.

Unless Ossian has further suggestions, Vialle will serve him tea and talk of pleasant things for a while before letting him go.

Ossian has a lot of suggestions for different details, but will leave them until the general concept is set.

On the third day of the Return, Lucas' mother summons him for a command performance. Failing to attend will put him on very bad terms with his mother. Does he attend on her in her chamber as she has asked?

Of course. Lucas is, if nothing else, obedient.

When the door is shut tight, Flora gives Lucas a Look. "You should have told me about Harmony Vesper, Lucas. You haven't been very clever in making that alliance. In fact, I can't decide whether you've merely been ignorantly unclever or actually stupid." She shakes her head regretfully.

"Alliance? She's my mother-in-law, and you knew that shortly after meeting my wife. No secrets there. I'm certain Solace could describe to you the virtues of inlaws. The primary act of kindness my cousins show me has been to occasionally divert the Lady Vesper away from my immediate family. Has Harmony been concocting mad tales about my overweening fondness for her that you've somehow believed?"

"Ignorantly stupid, then. It's an open secret that Lord Vesper took a hunting accident about fifty years ago that rendered him, shall we say, unable to father children. He's no more Solace's father than you are. If the rumors are right, you've just tied yourself and your children to a discredited reign," Flora says.

"I don't know which question begs to be asked first: Why I should care, or why you suddenly do?"

Flora actually looks a little hurt. "I'm trying to keep you from putting your foot so deep into it that you can't get out. I don't care about that overweening dolt Harmony Vesper. She'll bury herself in the end with her ambitions. Eric was happy enough to dally with her when she was a married woman and safely unable to demand a marriage from him. I'm still surprised that you chose to fall into her trap.

"But she's not the issue. Solace's father is. I don't know whether you've heard our new King's wife talk about Eric's reign, but I have. It's rapidly becoming a footnote of no duration between my father's reign and Random's. She'd quite like everyone to forget she came here to keep her little jailbird from getting his head lopped off. And while she can't touch Jerod and Cambina, she can certainly deep-six any other little mementos of Eric's reign--including the career of his daughter's husband."

"Trap? It suited my purposes to marry the woman, and has helped me a good deal in my daily dealings. As for her father: Again, I do not care. In the off chance that the Queen betrays my trust in her and seeks to destroy me: What of it? I'll pack my bags, take my wife and children, and retire into shadow, where I can pursue something a bit more interesting than playing merchant prince and envoy to the 'outer provinces' in a kingdom that after years of our hard work has managed to go from 'well used whore' to 'tawdry barmaid'. Perhaps I may come back when the Queen is likely to be dead. The royal family has that luxury where others do not, as I understand it. While I'm awfully pleased that you and your siblings think that there is nothing more desirable than to gain power here, but I do not have the same sentiment. It is entertaining for the moment, but I can leave it behind if it turns ugly."

Flora looks really angry now. "And, oh my clever son, when that sweet little viper has poured poison into the ear of the king of the Eternal City, what good will hiding in shadow do you? Random has no reason to look on my son with favor; we've never gotten along. And now your children carry the blood of the one sibling of whom he was less fond than me. One that has a claim to the throne he's sitting on. Jerod will never rule Amber because of his ties to Rebma. Cambina's a woman; she could marry one of her cousins, or one of her excessively ambitions uncles, and transmit her claim. So could your daughter. And your son is the next closest male heir to Eric, unless he fathered another bastard son somewhere."

She glares at Lucas. "Now do you see what you've done? The petty squabbles of Amber's people are nothing. The only people who matter in the universe are Oberon's descendants, and of them the one who matters most is the one who holds the Jewel of Judgement. You've put yourself squarely in the crosshairs of any of your ambitious kinsmen who want the Jewel. And I know my brothers. They're nothing if not ambitious."

"You speak of my wife having a lineage that is more dubious than some of the more legitimate claims to the throne. Hell, she could be issue of a gardener and a good public relations campaign. 'No really, Eric stuffed his royal meat in me, and 9 months later, here comes a baby!' Without the blue swirly bit around to prove her heritage, her claim to royalty is no better than my tailor's. So this brings us to my children. Barring the incredulous claim that Eric somehow found something appetizing in Lady Vesper's nether-regions, the only laudable claim they have to the throne is through me.

"And let's discuss me, mother. While you may have spent your recent time in Amber sucking up to the hairy ass of what historians will call a usurper to the throne and likely looking for some stud to sire a more worthy son than myself, I have spent the last several years committed to the well-being of Amber, bringing people together and keeping food in their bellies. I have curried the friendship of those who, by some odd twist of irony, have ended up being quite close to the king. In short," Lucas allows himself a smug, but hard, grin. "I have been loyal, useful, and likable in areas where it counts. Something I doubt you can currently claim."

"Useful? Ask me that again in a year when the meanest archer under my command owns the house of one of your petty burgher friends, Lucas. There are going to be two groups of people in Random's Brave New World, Lucas: people who went and came back heroes, and people who stayed at home and sat on their 'hairy asses'. Or, in other words, the movers and shakers on the one hand, and those who aren't on the other. Guess which category all your carefully cultivated friends fall into?

"Your crony Prince Martin has the birth and breeding to overcome that, and Random can't afford to offend his son's--and his wife's--people. More's the pity for Martin in his stepmother, too, because as soon as she breeds him a son, Martin will be as dispensable as Osric. Even the grandmother he ran away from can't save him from Osric's fate, all for the good of Amber, if push comes to shove. And don't be surprised when it does, either, because if our little ratfink of a monarch actually gave a shit about his son, he'd have fetched him out of Rebma centuries ago. He didn't, which is a sign even the simple can read.

"You've been useful, loyal, and perhaps even likable--although I'd be interested to hear some honest opinions about you from your cousins before I cede that, my poppet--but your measure of what counts as important is as flawed as your late father's was. I may not be likable, but I'm loyal to Amber--which Random knows--and I'm useful. Both now to his wife and later, after she dies on him, as Queens of Amber almost all do. Be smug all you like, my arrogant little lad, but remember, you've placed your bets hard these last five years. And when you place your money on the table, you have something to lose, which you inevitably will."

Lucas seems unruffled. "I care not one whit for the opinion of most of my cousins. They can hate me all I like. From the sad man who thinks everything is a work of art, to the magistrate that has less legal experience than my mistress: They can all swing for all that I care. However, those same cousins also foil your notion of what will befall my blushing bride: She and my children appear to be liked by my cousins, and Eric's bastard or not, Random would lose a lot of family support to... dispose of such innocents.

"As I said, I have friends where it counts. And again, if things work out poorly, I can leave. I have that power." [Since I'm certain Flora would notice, Lucas does have some unspoken bits to that last comment.] "I'm glad that your band of archers spent a week at war while the rest of us spent a decade in starvation. I'm certain that that, plus the immense amount of money being fetched from out in shadow to pay for your several years' worth of work done in a week, will endear you to the general populace. But your money does not win your merry band of bowmen love, nor will buying out my burgher's home.

"Now, mother, do you have anything of consequence to say, or should I leave you to your needlework?"

Flora looks at him with growing interest, and a curving smile that grows from small to large--and condescending--as he finishes his speech. "So that's what all this is about. Fairness, and a little of this women's liberation that your cousin Paige is so hot for! You do remind me of your father, Lucas, in this sad devotion to the concept that you can make life fair. It brought your father to a bad end, and is likely to do the same for you--and your bride and your charming children--if you continue to follow the road to the Abyss that is paved with your good intentions.

"Go on then, dear. But remember, Maman is watching over you, and will be there for you and your children when all this blows up in your face. It's why one of us went and one of us stayed, after all."

Lucas seems incredulous and amused, as though his mother has truly lost her wits and he can only laugh at her like a dunce. He stands and replies, "Apparently you've gone past having a point, and simply are saying absurdities to hear yourself speak. I've yet to care about fairness unless it's in my interest to do so. It's in my interest to ensure my supporters are fairly treated. And once it's in my interest to make sure the 'ladies' of Amber are worth something more than a warm, moist hole, I may consider pleading their fairness as well. Good day, mother." And with that, he turns to leave.

Flora lets him go, even allowing him to have the last word. Lucas knows he ought to be worried about that.

Ossian will hand back the borrowed Trumps to Folly and Martin as soon as possible. (If Martin is out of town he will ask Folly if she has a Trump of Martin, so Ossian can send the Trump back).

Martin is out of town, and not slated to return until just before the coronation. Ossian will have to talk to Folly if he wishes to return the trump to Martin before then.

Then Ossian will talk to Folly.

Folly is happy to get Ossian's Trump back. When Ossian asks whether she's got a trump of Martin, she replies that she does and offers to pass along the other copy of Ossian's Trump to Martin next time she trumps him. (Which will probably be soon, now that she has a good excuse....)

Ossian's eyes narrows for a fraction of a second. Then he nods, "Could you do it soon?" the matter seems to be of some importance to Ossian.

Folly's brow furrows, and she nods. "I could do it now," she says, "although he might not answer."

She pulls her card case from her pocket and thumbs it open, replacing her copy of Ossian's Trump and withdrawing Martin's. Willing the contact takes no effort at all; Folly always wants to talk to Martin.

Does she in any way signal that she wants her conversation with Martin in private?

On the contrary, she seems to expect Ossian to stick around.

Ossian watches over Folly's shoulder.

There's the briefest of feelings of contact, but Martin's mind is too distracted to take the call. There's a feeling of movement, of focus, and almost of sensory overload, and then the contact slips away.

"He's busy?" Ossian asks.

Folly nods. "Hellriding, probably. This errand he's on -- I got the impression he's only barely got time to finish it before the Coronation."

She returns the Martin trump to her card case. "I'll keep trying, but it may take me a couple days to get through. Will that be soon enough?"

Ossian also hears the unspoken question, _Why the urgency?_

Ossian nods. "It's soon enough... You know, I don't think he ever trusted me. But the other day he suddenly said a few things... he seemed to have changed his mind. I would be sorry if he lost that trust again. And who knows, he might need that Trump. I'm fairly neutral if something happens."

"Good point," Folly says. The answer seems to please her quite a bit. "I promise I'll get it to him as soon as I can reach him."

"You are a treasure, Folly." Ossian says.

Folly smiles and blushes slightly at the compliment.

"Besides, have you found someone to go to the coronation ball with?"

Folly's cheeks get a little pinker. "I -- I think so, yeah, assuming he does manage to make it back here in time. Which he'd better, since he's supposed to be bringing me a costume."

Ossian nods.

Then she breaks into a big grin. "But that doesn't mean I'm not expecting you to save me a dance, you know."

"Whatever happens, I will always save a dance for you, and you know it." Ossian returns the grin, but it is a bit bleaker than you would expect.

Folly notes the bleakness and lays a hand on his arm in an almost sisterly gesture of solidarity. "Birds of a feather," she says softly.

Ossian places his hand on Follys for a moment. "I don't know," he says, now grinning without the bleakness.

"Perhaps time will tell, even if our elders don't," Folly replies with a twinkle in her eye.

She gets puzzled, yet amused look from Ossian. "There's so much going on right now I don't even know where the best music is played tonight."

"Oh, I do," Folly replies enthusiastically. "Shall we?"

Ossian grins.