Morning Bell

It's early one morning in the spring, far earlier than any decent human ought to have to be out of bed and facing the day by the light coming in from the windows, when Folly is awakened by Martin's light touch on her arm. Normally, it's reasonably difficult to read Martin, but Folly can tell right now that he's a mixed-up bundle of emotions, happy and almost frightened all at once.

Folly squints drowsily up at him and scoots over a few inches, almost instinctively, to give him some room in the bed if he wants it. She tries to ask, "What's going on?" but at this hour all she can manage is a quiet, "Mmm?"

Martin touches a finger to Folly's lips. He starts to speak once, pauses, and just gives up and says it: "Dad's home."

Folly's heart responds before her sleepy brain can even figure out what just hit it. She sits up and pulls Martin into a warm embrace, part celebration and part comfort, and sheds a few tears of joy and relief.

Martin returns the embrace, holding her close until she releases him.

Then her brain catches up and jumbles her emotions to match Martin's.

"Have you talked to him yet?" she asks as she draws back to look at him again. "Is he.... How is he?" She doesn't say, _And how are you?_, but it's in her eyes as clear as if she had.

Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Did we win?"

"We won," Martin says, then adds, not quite as an afterthought, "Brand's dead."

A look of relief mixed with sorrow passes across Folly's face, and she closes her eyes for a moment, perhaps thinking of Paige.

He draws in a breath, lets it out, and continues, "Dad came in on my Trump a little while ago. We talked for a while and then he went up to see Gerard and, and Vialle. He's fine, physically anyway, but they've all been through a lot, and Dad ..."

Martin looks for a way to say the other thing. His hand is warm and secure around Folly's, and says far more than his suddenly awkward tongue. "He's the King now, Folly. And Vialle will be his Queen."

Folly's face goes strangely blank, as if all her conflicting emotions have achieved the perfect balance to cancel each other out. She lies back onto her pillows and stares at the ceiling in silence, thinking. She doesn't let go of Martin's hand, though.

As if he's weightless, or perhaps boneless, Martin falls with her, pulled over by her weight. He lies next to her, silent, not quite trembling with some combination of nerves, anticipation, and dread.

"I guess I can't complain," she says finally. "Hell, except for the bit about maybe screwing up my personal life, I would've picked him, too -- for King, I mean. I feel more hopeful for Amber now than I have in -- well, maybe ever. But -- shit, why do I feel like I'm losing him all over again?"

Martin's free arm slides around Folly.

"I mean, I've had years now to prepare myself for the big dump -- y'know? -- but I've clung to the hope that we could still be friends the way we were before, just minus the sex part. But -- King? Shit. Couldn't he have picked something a little less high-profile?" Folly laughs despite herself and shakes her head.

"It wasn't his decision. I think he would have turned it down, if he could. Maybe that's why," Martin offers. He starts to say something else, then perhaps thinks better of it and is silent again.

Folly's response slips out before she can filter it: "By that logic, he's got the wrong queen, then." Her cheeks color as she realizes just how spiteful she sounds. "Shit," she says, wincing. "I -- I didn't mean it like that. That's not what I want." She falls into an awkward silence as she's hit with a fresh wave of emotion.

"I know," Martin murmurs into Folly's hair, and she really feels like he does.

In search of an anchor in the tempest, Folly slides the fingers of her free hand between the buttons of Martin's shirt, right over his heart, and closes her eyes to focus on the beat.

Martin's heart is pounding, as if he had just run a very hard race. Folly's touch seems to calm him a little, but he's very aware of her physically, even more than normal. And she is very aware of his awareness.

It doesn't take long for her to calm down again, and in that moment, the thing she wants to know but has been afraid to ask works its way to the surface. Very quietly, she asks, "Does he know I'm here?"

Martin nods, then, realizing Folly can't really see him, says, "I told him. Get dressed, and I'll take you up to see him. Vialle's with him now, but I can keep her busy for a while."

Folly opens her eyes and nods silently, her hands trembling slightly as she withdraws them from him. She walks to the wardrobe and stares into it for a few moments in a sort of daze before opting for the clothes she wore yesterday, still draped over the back of a chair. Though it's not uncharacteristic for Folly to spend such little energy on picking an outfit, in this case Martin senses she's making a deliberate effort not to inject any symbolism into her appearance. Of course, the very act of not choosing seems symbolic in its own way.

Martin takes the older clothes away from her, not arguing, but very clearly not going to be denied, and chooses something out of the wardrobe for her. It's everyday wear, and flattering, but similar in style to Folly's original choice.

Folly dresses quickly and runs her fingers through her hair a few times to get the knots out.

At which Martin sits Folly down on the bed, gently, but not willing to be argued with either, and brushes her hair out. Obviously he intends her to be seen at something closer to her best.

Then she holds out her hand to Martin.

"I'm ready," she says, her voice caught somewhere between giddiness and dread. "Let's go."

Martin takes Folly's hand in a warm, secure grip and leads her out of her chamber. From her knowledge of the castle, she is certain he is taking a back route she's not familiar with, but he seems to be leading her towards the part of the castle where Gerard is quartered. It occurs to her that these smaller passages are the servants' way of getting around.

Finally, he stops and releases her hand, touching her lips with his finger to indicate the need for silence. She doesn't know what chamber the door before them leads to, but she can hear the murmur of familiar voices behind it -- Vialle's, by tone, and one that she might think was Martin's if he weren't standing next to her.

Martin opens the door, with Folly out of sight behind it, and steps in, leaving the door slightly ajar so Folly can listen.

"... for a few weeks, anyway," says Random. "Martin. Good you're back. There's a lot to do yet."

Martin responds, "I took the servants' passages, Dad. I don't think anyone saw me. But we can't keep you under wraps much longer."

"Have everybody in the Throne Room at Terce -- no, earlier, for Forenoon Watch. Tell 'em there'll be an announcement, but not what. We'll blow their minds before breakfast."

Folly's heart is pounding, but she can't help but smile. Maybe some things haven't changed.

Random pauses for a moment, then: "Dear, will you help Martin arrange it?"

"Yes, of course, love," Vialle's voice is clear as a bell, and Folly can hear the happiness in it.

Another door out of the room opens, by the sound of it, and Martin says: "Most of these laggards won't eat beforehand. I'd say have a buffet ready; there'll be a lot of talking afterwards, I imagine ..." and his voice fades in the distance of the other corridor.

Random is alone on the other side of the door.

Folly takes a deep breath and steps into the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

Time seems to freeze for a moment, like a snapshot, as she takes in the scene. It all seems a little hazy, though, and surreal -- images of her past and present burned onto the same negative. It makes her a little dizzy.

Then her eyes meet Random's, and suddenly everything comes into sharp focus.

Heart pounding, she struggles to play it cool. But she can't keep the twinkle from her eye or the affection from her voice as she says, "Full house, love. Is the joker still wild?"

"I'm looking at a Royal Flush, natural, dealt from a cold deck, darlin'. It's all I can do to keep my eyes in my head."

Random's eyes take her in, looking at her, into her. He looks as comfortable here in a doublet and hose as he ever did in Texorami, wildly attacking his kit in some smoky basement club in leather pants and no shirt. "I bet you think I look like some refugee from a renaissance festival. Some days it feels like that. Martin told me that you were here. I, ah. I guess I should've known about you, you know, being one of us. The coffee's lousy, want some?" He pours himself another cup, getting one for you as well. He grabs a rumpled paper box out of a pocket you did't see and pulls out a cigarette. He offers you one, silently. You can see that it's the same brand he's always smoked.

"Mmmm. Breakfast of Champions," Folly says, taking the coffee. She reaches for the proffered cigarettes, too, but instead of taking one, she touches the back of his hand with trembling fingers as if to make sure he's really real. "I'll just take a drag off yours, if it's all right." She smiles up at him, and a little of her trepidation seems to melt away.

"God, it's good to see you again," she says. "I've missed you like you wouldn't believe."

"I didn't mean to be gone so long. Five years for me. How long for you? 10, 15 or so? They have told you about time in shadow, right?"

"Yeah. Eleven years, give or take a little, I think. I've been here for about half of it, which is probably a good thing, since the world was sort of ending when I left home." Folly shudders at the memory and glances away for a moment.

Random's face gets very still as he takes a long drag of the cig and hands it to Folly. "You know, a lot has happened these last five years."

"For you and me both," Folly replies quietly. "I know a lot of your story -- much of it's a matter of public record. Mine is perhaps not as ballad-worthy, although the part where I get rescued from armageddon by the son of my lover -- who, by the way, is married now, and oh, yeah, is also my uncle -- is pretty good in that freakout kind of way." She smiles a melancholy smile and takes a drag from the cigarette, pausing to watch the smoke curl away to the ceiling. "Really, if angst is the lifeblood of the songwriter, it's been a goldmine decade."

"Heh. 'My life is an open book--that should be suppressed.' Yeah, no decent publisher would publish my story, because nobody would believe it."

Folly hands the cigarette back. Random thinks for a moment that she might reach up to stroke his hair, but then she seems to decide against it. She's obviously struggling with what she wants to say next.

Finally, she takes a deep breath and says, "Look, word on the street is that you're happy with, uh, with how things turned out, and if it's true, then I'm not out to mess that up, especially not with all you've got on your plate now. Sure, I might've toyed with talking you into running away with me, but this whole King thing sort of foils that plan." She smiles, and Random knows she's teasing, but there's still more than a little truth in it. Then, serious once again, she continues, "If you're happy, I'm happy for you." A pause, then: "Are you happy?"

Random looks like he wants to say seven things all at once. He sighs, and slumps back in his chair. "Monday I led an Army against a horde of indescribable creatures. A few weeks ago, I went out to find my son who I'd never even met. A few weeks before that, I was a prisoner, having dinner with the King I'd tried to assassinate. Things are going so fast that I don't know how I feel.

"But it doesn't matter. Right now, and for a little while at least, there isn't any room for Random, the jerkoff drummer who likes to play cards. But you know, I'm over 500 years old, and I plan on living forever. It'll come back around. When did you ever know me to really leave things alone if I didn't like them?" He grins at the last, and you recall what it was like to be in a recording studio with Syd; how it didn't get done until he said it was done.

"The king thing doesn't totally suck, though."

"It's not the gig I'd want," Folly says, "but I'm glad you got it. Even gladder than I would've guessed, actually. I'll support you however I can -- including insisting that you come to the family jam sessions every once in a while so you don't turn into a grumpy old man with a stick up your butt." She grins. "Consider that an official recommendation from the Secretary of Education, Recreation, and Llamas."

"Won't happen. I'm not gonna grow old. Hell, I'm not sure I'm gonna grow up."

Folly has calmed down considerably, although she is obviously still turning a lot of things over in her mind, perhaps deciding how -- or whether -- to say them.

Random takes his cigarette and walks over to the window, where the false dawn is just beginning to make the sky lighter in the east. He climbs into the open casement, like you recall him doing hundreds of times before on fire escapes and balconies in Texorami, and he stares out over the city.

"You know how they always say that deep down, comedians are really very serious and profound and that comedy was just the medium they found to get their point across? Utter crap, that theory. I'm still a cocky little bastard, even if I am King of Amber, as of this morning."

He puffs, reflexively, on the smoke. "People. People want a story, Folly. They don't want to hear 'maybe we misjudged him or he grew up, apparently, in shadow.' They want beginning, middle, end. 'Random was a useless brat, the last of a long line of useless princes. Then he was forced into an arranged marriage and it was all good and he blossomed into a great man and now he is the King, as he should be.' That's a story.

"People. Thousands of 'em. Out there not wanting it to be any more difficult than it is. But the worst isn't over yet. Martin told me about the pattern, and the people. There is still serious fixing to do, and I'll need a lot of help from the family to do it.

"I don't know why I was chosen, darlin'. Not enough brains left to say 'no', maybe. By all rights, you should shove me out this window. Which, incidentally, I would survive if you have to do it. But I've gotta ask you to stay for a while and help me fix this mess. I feel like shit, asking that, but being King isn't about doing what you want."

He grins. "That's the part of it that sucks..."

Folly joins Random at the window and stares out at the sea. "They say home is where the heart is," she says. "Well, as far as I can tell, I leave little slivers of my heart everywhere I go. It's just lucky that so many of them have ended up here."

Random looks at Folly, not speaking.

She reaches out, without conscious thought, to lay a hand on Random's arm. "Of course I'll stay, love. I'm not certain I would've said the same if anyone else had ended up on the throne; but with you there, the ghost of Amber future finally looks like someplace I'd really want to be. I'd give the last note of my last song to bring it into the real. And besides," she says with a barely perceptible smile, "I never could say no to you."

The smoke ring widens into obscurity in the morning's stillness. "I don't know if we'll ever see Amber like it was." His grin vanishes. "I know what I did was hard on you, and I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Didn't know what? How much I'd miss you?" she asks, her eyes still focused on the sea. "You were -- are -- a kindred spirit, and that's a hard thing to lose." She reflects on her choice of words and adds, "'Kindred spirit'. Funny it never occurred to me that you might be actual kin."

Folly squeezes Random's arm comfortingly and turns her head to look up at him. "I'm OK, though. Really. You went out, you did what you had to do, you made it home safe. Change key and vamp to the next verse." She shrugs. "It's all improv. No expectations. I just get a little uptight when I can't hear the rest of the band."

"So, how've you been? I mean, Amber isn't much like Texorami..."

"Yeah, no shit," Folly says, and laughs. "I'm adjusting, I guess, but it's all so weird. Do you know how often I get told that I really need to watch my reputation so I can get a husband? Shit. I don't know why I'm not trying harder to ruin my reputation, except that I don't want to cause any more grief for poor Gerard.

"Some days I think I'll die of terminal irony. I mean, here I am, carefree liberal rock chick, right, serving as an advisor to the Regent of a patriarchal society -- and actually trying really hard not to fuck anything up. Boggles the mind. At least there are still pubs with live music. That keeps me sane. Well, that and my cousins." She can't repress an affectionate smile.

"Never had cousins, myself. Didn't even know I had nephews and nieces. Would you trust any of them to carry a tune in a bucket?" You get the feeling that he thinks this is a safe topic. Or at least safer than your marriage prospects.

Folly quirks an eyebrow the tiniest bit in amusement at the ducked subject. She briefly considers teasing him about it, but....

"As it turns out, this family is full of musicians, and some of them really don't suck," she says, always happy to talk about music. "Vere -- Gerard's son -- blows a mean bagpipe. Not that there's any other kind, I suppose. Reid is quite good on any number of things, but I guess when you're a billion years old you've had plenty of time to practice. Then there's Ossian, who sings and plays flute and lute -- very improvisational, very fun to jam with. And Martin -- Martin plays guitar. You should play with him sometime, y'know, after things calm down a little around here. He's got your reflexes." Folly feels herself blushing for reasons she can't quite fathom and quickly moves on.

Folly can tell she got Random's full attention.

"A lot of the others play some, too, but those are the ones I'd consider real musicians. Quite the family band, really...."

Random snorts. "Remember that horrid kitschy play that everyone loved about a family band? Too bad they never saw ours..."

Folly trails off, brow furrowed, and contemplates the furniture. "Y'know, if you conjured up a pair of sticks...." she muses as her eyes fall on a wooden side table. "I mean, what better way to spend your last few moments of free time before the shit hits the fan?"

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK, four perfect downbeats 120 beats per minute echo from the large wooden door on the far side of the room. Without pause, the door opens and Gerard wheels himself in, uninvited. "Random?" he says, followed by "Random!"

You turn and can see his concern. Random is half falling, half rolling out of the window. He grabs the sill and steadies himself by main force.

Folly utters a sharp expletive. Lucky for her, Random's reflexes are quick enough that he's out of danger before she can go diving out to try and catch him.

"Gerard! Holy freaking shit! What happened to you?" Random has pulled himself inside the castle and is no longer in danger of defenestration.

"We had an argument, the Castle and I. I'm not sure who won yet, but we're both still here, so I'll call it a draw."

"How long ago..." Random starts to ask, but figures it out for himself. He just looks at Gerard and his wheelchair, not speaking.

"You ought to be careful about windows, little brother. It's not the falling out; it's whose window next door might be open, and who listening." If there were more light in here, you might decide that Random's face had gone somewhat pale.

Gerard turns to Folly, not unkindly, and says, "Random and I have much to talk about, like Dad's bauble there, and what's not old hearing to you will be no more pleasant for its newness. Run along now, why don't you, lass? There'll be better times and places for speaking with old friends."

Folly has gone a little pink as she wonders just what Gerard overheard and how much made sense to him. She plays back the conversation in her head, word-for-word. Perhaps her love of symbolism and poetic imagery might've obscured her meaning from someone of Gerard's intuitive skills...

...but no such luck. Right there in the fourth hand, Lyrical Metaphor gets trumped by Flair For The Dramatic. Damn. Folly smiles at Gerard -- sweetly, she hopes -- to stop herself from wincing.

"Good morning, Uncle," she says. "I'm sorry if we disturbed you." Random certainly catches -- even if Gerard does not -- that she means it in both senses.

Folly stands her ground, though, looking to Random for his opinion on whether she should go. She clearly intends to accede to his wishes, whether they agree with Gerard's or not.

Random's nod is the slightest it could possibly be, but it's the "get everything into the van and make sure we're ready to go, and _I'll_ deal with this guy who thinks he doesn't want to pay us" nod.

Folly gives Random a tiny conspiratorial smile, then says casually, "I'll catch you later, OK? And did I say 'welcome home' yet?" She squeezes his arm gently in gratitude and affection, then turns toward the door Gerard entered, figuring that going out the way she came in might look too sneaky.

On her way out, she stops to lay a hand on Gerard's shoulder. "Go easy on him, OK, Gerard?" she says. "He's had kind of a crazy week, and it's only gonna get crazier."

Then, with one more glance at Random, she opens the door and steps into the corridor. She takes just a moment to get her bearings before setting off toward her quarters, figuring that hanging around in the hall there would look pretty suspicious. (Of course, for her, even being awake at this hour looks sort of suspicious.)