After The Memorial Service

Before the poker game, Marius will go up to his rooms and dress in his mother's clothing.

Just kidding.

(Sorry -- I was possessed momentarily by an amused spirit.)

He's actually going to hang around for an opportunity to speak with Corwin, if he can get away from Corwin's throng of admirers. (It's that lingerie thing...er, nevermind.)

When the royals are gathering to go back up, Marius can get a chance to speak with Corwin. Corwin is more than willing to ride back up with Marius if Marius wishes.

Marius so wishes.

Assuming that things go without too much interference, then...

Other than a brief word with Merlin, there is none.

"I guess it was lovely," [Marius] says, after a moment or two of silence. He makes "lovely" sound feminine, almost in subconscious mimicry of Vialle's voice.

"I believe there will also be a family service, later. Random wants to build a cenotaph, like mine, in time." Corwin frowns. "That'll take a while. How are you holding up?"

Marius laughs, and it's a bit of an anxious, nervous laugh. "I had hoped to ask you that." He shrugs. "I will come to the conclusion that she is dead at some point. In the meantime, I see her shade and echoes too many places." He looks out for a moment, and his face goes expressionless, and then he returns with an attempt at a smile. "It is a freedom," he says, enunciating each word very carefully. "Not one I expected to have. I find myself trying to find new people to give me direction. Caine, Brennan... possibly Jovian..." he smiles. "I could lose myself in responsibilities. I could get farther in the Navy. But what I really want..." he shrugs. "I could tell Random, `Hey, Uncle, let's not mince words. I was trained as King. You weren't. Where do you want me to help?' but I haven't even talked to him since..." he gestures in a circle with his hand, "all that. I've been avoiding the castle. I haven't grasped that this...this empty place is home. I want to find something better, and the idea of better than Amber surprises me and scares me. I want to learn more about the other kinds of powers. People and political games will continue, but I want to know about the powers that actually mean something, that set us apart from connivers and manipulators. I want to..." he looks up at Corwin from his rambling monologue. "I think I want to prove to myself that there's no rescue. I think my path leads back to Chaos someday. I think I should be scared, but I'm not, anymore. Not of anything, and _that_ itself should be scary." He shrugs. "But I'll talk your ear off given half a chance. Perhaps I should merely keep my discussions to the weather and general state of being. How have you been? Have you met any nice girls?" he laughs, but it is a hollow laugh.

"I hope not!" He replies, grinning, before changing the subject. "There's more to Chaos than we saw, and without at least rudimentary sorcery, you won't survive for long. It is a place where will is supreme, and its denizens know how to use it to their advantage. Imagine a place where the atoms of the air can decide to grow blades in your lungs because the rocks at your feet do not like you standing upon them. Now imagine that the pattern in your blood is an irritant.

"You should come visit me in Paris before you settle on any one thing for Amber. It may be that you're better suited to life away from Amber."

"I am half-intrigued and a quarter-challenged, but luckily, the quarter of serious contemplation is the quarter reserved for my common sense and that generally wins out. Of course, rudimentary sourcery sounds like a particularly vicious game of draughts, for all that I've had contact with it. Remember of course, Uncle, that I did not have the displeasure of anything in Chaos but killing that which so attempted to abuse me. It offers me blood, and I am not unaware that there is a certain amount of coin in that, at least to the spirit. But that is pain's siren song. Tell me, what is Paris, and how do I get there?" he asks.

"Paris is my home, the City I dreamed when I drew a pattern in the stone and where I planted a tree. A living city on a mighty river. I will return there after the coronation. It is where I am meant to be."

Marius is quiet for a moment. He's trying to hide the fact that he's stunned and torn between two responses.

The first is,

"So you succeeded where Brand failed." Which idea makes him want to crawl out of his skin and jump out of the carriage because he's sitting with a madman.

The second is,

"Is SHE there?" because, of course, that's the underlying question, and it's one not quite of desperation, and pain, and so many other emotions, he couldn't say it aloud anyway.

Needless to say, the tension in the carriage changes, and Marius continues to be silent.

After a moment of this war between phrases, he manages a smile. (Because that's what Marius does. No drink needed.)

"Oh."

Oh, this city is dead, but Paris lives. That explains a lot. Oh. Corwin has found his place...again, if the half- muttered references to Avalon are correct. Oh, he IS a madman, but he looks quite comfortable with it. Oh. What am I going to do? A river, and not the sea... well, I've had a love-hate relationship with the ocean for a while. I didn't think the boats were exactly where I needed to be. What does this make Random King of? Who else is going? Will there be girls there? Where's the mountain dew?

Erm.

No, I think "Oh," is all he says for now.

Corwin takes a drink from a small silver flask and offers it to Marius. "Paris is a city of light in the great outer darkness and the starting point for many a journey of discovery. It is a different place for different people. For me it is the realization of a dream so old I did not know it was truly mine until I was making it and it was re-making me." He grins. "And the Great Forest of the Ardennes is not closed by order of Prince Julian of Amber."

"So it is not so unlike Amber, and yet what fraction of Amber is in your dreams, Uncle?" Marius asks, sounding genuinely concerned. "Are you King there? I sense a pleasure in you that I hope is more than a change of tide."

"That's right. You were unconscious when I discussed it at the edge.

Marius' grin is mostly skewed to the side with a, "Yeah, I missed all the good stuff," context.

Oberon sent me the jewel to protect the children from the storm and I, believing that he had failed, used it to create a pattern. I was attempting to preserve the stability of the universe. It is where Paris is and I am King of it. I recently received a delegation from Rebma and am beginning to plan how to lay out the trade routes. Paris reflects my desires, of course. How could it not?"

Marius is going to need to reflect on how much, "attempting to preserve the stability of the universe," qualifies Corwin as more noble than Brand in writing a Pattern in his own image. There is a tiny part of him that suggests that maybe, just maybe, it would be a great idea to set everyone of the family up with their own Patterns in order to keep the rivalry at a lull. It seems to have calmed Corwin down.

Then his brain races back to, "Oberon said to protect the children?"

Corwin nods his head and you wonder whom Oberon and Corwin consider 'the children'.

Marius does a perfect Pooh-bear, "Think, think, think," to himself, and places it on his internal agenda to gather all of this and make more sense out of it.

In the meantime, while there is a great deal going on in Marius' tiny little brain, there's also a bit of silence in the carriage that Marius intends to give sound to, in order to keep the madman from coming up with any other projects of mass creation.

Erm, so to speak. That sounds like a smutty story to be written.

He's a professional, so it would be mass pro creation, wouldn't it?

[Deep breath. It's only 4am where I am.]

[Sleep is for the weak. Catch up on your sleep the first three weeks you're dead...]

"You have given me a great many things to think about, Uncle. I am not even sure where to begin to ask you questions or contemplate the consequences. Things nag at me, like, `Is Amber the Pattern, or the Pattern Amber?' so that the ascension of King has meaning... and yet, at the same time, I suppose there is little meaning to it save checking on who gives what orders, as long as what needs to be done is done." He chuckles and sighs a long sigh. "Yes, Uncle, I would be glad to see your Paris. Is all of immortality enough for the things I wish to do?" his grin is bright as he says that last.

Corwin snorts. "There was a poet on Shadow Earth who wrote 'Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness lady, were no crime.'" He shakes his head. "Don't believe it. I recommend that you live life as if your brother might leave you for dead in a plague-ridden firetrap tomorrow. Metaphorically speaking, of course."

[Paige] joins her Uncle Julian at his carriage. "Uncle I'm glad we have this time to talk," she offers sincerely.

"I suspect you will be less pleased when we are done with this discussion," says Julian as he helps her into the carriage. He then steps in himself and shuts the door securely behind him.

Paige looks to her Uncle attentively. He was the one who asked for this discussion. She composes her hands quietly in her lap, awaiting his words. Odd to think that Uncle Julian knew the smallest bit about what would and wouldn't please Paige in her current mindset.

"I understand from His Majesty that you have ascertained that you are definitely with child from your dalliance with my son. I am curious as to how you came to such a definite conclusion so early," Julian says.

"A scrying by cousin Merlin," Paige explains. "You explained the possibilities and later that evening in discussion of the differences between Chaosian and Amberite reproduction Merlin offered to scry the future a year out. I have no reason to doubt his vision." _He's a friend, I trust him._

"I've heard that Daeon's mother collected him from the Vale," she continues, "forcibly."

Julian arches an eyebrow and nods. "She did."

"I know you suggested that your son would have no interest in the children, but it's something I had hoped to discuss further with him. I suppose that will have to wait until he returns." Her hands are still clasped in her lap as she talks with her uncle.

"I am not sanguine that a return to Amber will significantly improve his attitude towards his children. I am certain that he will love them, but I cannot bring myself to equate that love with responsible paternity," Julian says.

Paige nods, accepting that her uncle knows his son better than she does, but still determined to have this discussion with her children's father directly.

"However, Daeon is not my concern at the moment. I am far more concerned with his mother and her likely interest in her grandchildren. Have you considered that you and your children may be in danger?"

"I'm a scion of Amber, Uncle, and also of Clarissa's line. I always consider that, and I've already taken precautions in setting up my household to accomidate such concerns," Paige explains.

Julian does not look impressed.

"Can you be more specific? Why would my children need to fear? Their paternal grandmother?"

"Even gods have their enemies," says Julian. "I do not believe Daeon's mother would deliberately harm the children by her own lights. However, having seen what she considers responsible parenthood, I can say that she and I have substantive disagreements on that topic."

Paige nods, wanting to speak further on this whole "gods" concept, but content to let her uncle speak his piece.

He continues: "Since you have heard of Daeon's removal from Heather Vale, I presume you have heard some of the details of that event. With the King's consent, I have closed Arden, effective immediately. I understand you have purchased a property near Jones Falls. It is too close to Arden for your safety and that of the children; I will purchase it from you for a fair price.

"I will also be sending one of my Rangers, Couth, to serve in your household. He will be paid from my funds, although you will need to provide him a room. Couth was injured in battle and would have to retire from regular service, but he should prove more than competent as a bodyguard for you and the children," Julian says.

The prospect that Paige might refuse either of these offers does not seem to have occurred to Julian.

"If Couth can fill my requirements, I'll be happy to accept him into my service, and my pay. I'm not comfortable with entrusting the security of my children to someone in another's pay. It's a trivial item. I'm sure my pay will never sway his loyalty, so we don't need fight over it," Paige explains.

"As to the cabin, while I'm flattered at your concern for our safety, I have no plans of selling the property. I'll take your advice and reconsider how often we might visit until you have your domain under control again." She's not trying to sound flippant or sarcastic. She sees no reason that owning the property should cause problems.

"Don't be difficult, Paige," says Julian. "I have no intention of allowing my grandchildren to be dragged off into Arcadia. Jones Falls and in fact the entirety of Garnath are unsafe for Daeon's children. I would prefer to compensate you fairly for the house rather than have you lose it outright."

"I'm not being difficult, Uncle," Paige answers. "I have no intentions of letting my children be dragged off, either." _Like yours was..._ "I can ensure that they won't visit the property, but again, there's no reason for ownership to change hands."

Julian, Paige feels, heard the unspoken bit very well, thank you, and is not impressed. He looks her from head to toe as if wondering what asset she might possess that could keep her children from straying.

"I suppose I would like to talk further on the issue of 'gods'," Paige says. "What makes them different from others of our line?" Obviously she speaks of Daeon and Brita.

"I am unacquainted with Brita's paternal family and cannot speak to that heritage. As for the differences between Daeon and his mother, what are the differences between yourself and Prince Bleys? Apart from the obvious, of course. The differences between Daeon and his mother are not entirely dissimilar," Julian says.

"Perhaps I'm unclear. Daeon, and his mother seem to have abilities that are different from those normally seen in the Family. Is it a manifestation like the magics of Gateway? If so, how does it manifest throughout Shadow?" Paige asks.

"Is it something I should expect to manifest in my children?"

"It manifested in Daeon, so it would be unsafe to assume it would not manifest in his children, would you not say?" Julian asks.

Paige nods, noticing for the first time that her uncle is something of a pessimist. He also seems to consider her a dullard.

"I am unfamiliar with the magics of Gateway, so, again, I find myself unable to make a direct comparison to that which is in your sphere of experience. Not having been present when Artemis appeared in Heather Vale, I cannot definitively assess what powers she brought to bear there. Nor can I be certain what effect the state of affairs in Amber has on Artemis' ability to use her powers in Arden. However, my assumptions at this point are that the current situation favors her, and that only individuals with significant strength with the family gifts can hope to oppose her."

He pauses. "I suppose it is too much to hope that you paid attention to your father and his sister when they taught you of the Pattern."

"I'm schooled in both Pattern and the Art of Trump, although I don't know as much as I might wish," Paige answers. She adds, "It's something I've planned on correcting over the next few years, as I'll have time without traveling as much as I once did."

Julian smiles tightly. "I believe you will find that maternity preoccupies you to an extent that makes learning difficult. The Pattern is your best defense against the powers of Arcadia when they are brought to bear against you. If your abilities are insufficient to the task, you should remain with those who can defend you. For it is certainly not a matter of whether Arcadia will reach out for Daeon's children; it is a matter of when."

"Difficult, perhaps, but not impossible Uncle," Paige smiles back. "Perhaps by the time Arcadia looks to Amber, she will be anchored by a Pattern to better protect your grandchildren. Until then, I believe we're all vulnerable, no matter where we are."

"I appreciate your concern, Uncle, and honestly I am shocked at the time you've given over to such concerns." _And me._

Paige's eyes are full of respect and gratitude.

"My children and their families are matters of no small concern to me," says Julian. "I have had too many dealing with Daeon's Arcadian relatives to assume they are anything but hostile to your interests and the children's. I cannot give Amber another Pattern, but I can ensure that Arcadia has a difficult time laying claim to my grandchildren."

He smiles, thinly. "Clarissa's brood unites against the world; why should Rilga's not?"

"And what does it say about the impending reign that Clarissa and Rilga's should join?" Paige asks, he smile as mischevious.

"Something that bodes well, let us hope," says Julian.

While others make their way to the road in one direction or another, Jovian hangs back and demurs to all offers of a ride, whether by horseback or coach. If anyone becomes insistent, he'll explain that his ride is coming - as soon as all these damn horses clear out. Along the way he'll collar one of the Ambersiders and get a good enough description of the Red Mill and landmarks nearby to recognize the place from the air.

If he asks Ossian he will get a surprisingly accurate description (for a non-flying person): "If you want the most scenic view, I suggest you come in over the city slightly from a point sligtly south of the harbour. Aim for a leaning tower of reddish stone...{more directions, including hints on which marvellous architecture to look upon}... and right across the street from the house with the copper roof is The Red Mill. There is a small square a few blocks to the west that could serve as a landing spot, I imagine, but you know better than I of such things, I guess.

"And Jovian, I need to talk to you about Trumps, but we can take that after the coronation."

"Freeday we'll talk about that, OK? And thanks for the directions - must be that trained eye for perspective, right?" Jovian's smile is understated but genuine.

"It might. Or an interest for architecture. " Ossian smiles back. "Freeday, then."

"We'll compare notes on the best views of the city as well," the dragonman nods by way of farewell, then does his duty by a few more of the milling well-wishers before fading back.

It doesn't take that long for him to lose patience with the slow pace of traffic. He strikes out cross country, angling away from the road, and soon finds another clearing of just suitable size. Behind a rock near the clearing's edge is a bag holding a pair of serviceable riding gauntlets and a coil of rope, because he is a son of Amber and it had to be there. Only as an afterthought does he find this vaguely disturbing, given his location.

He stands at one side of the field and projects simply: //Canareth. Come get me.//

Robin takes advantage of the swirling crowds to return to the damn Castle on her own. Once there, she stops briefly at her own room, tearing through boxes until she finds the feathers, the small bones, the little stones, the leather ties that she knows will be there.

These she gathers up and she heads for the roof. For a special hiding place that she used before when she was stuck in this place. High up and tucked behind a gable, for anyone else it would be a scramble. For Julian's daughter, it's just a few short jumps and an easy sllliiiidde. And there - finally - privacy!

For long moments, the girl merely hangs her head into hands and sobs for the men she will never see again, the time that was lost...

Once she has cried herself out, Robin sniffles indelicately and wipes her nose and eyes with her sleeve. It's a cost any of them would be willing to pay and many have before this. None of them lived a life they didn't choose or died a death they regretted. And all of them are heroes.

Leaning back against the stones of the Castle, Robin lifts her eyes to the twilight and purses her lips. The notes that lift from her begin sad -- mournful trills of sorrow. Then build to defiance -- that which will always fight to live, to be free. After long moments, Robin's song lifts into joyful flight, exultant jubilation, the triumph of the heart over the world, guiding her friends to the stars.

A final crescendo of music lifts from Robin's lips, to disappear upward in a skirling, trilling aria of transcendence.

Afterward, the Ranger sits in silence for some moments before bringing herself back to this world. With a sigh she starts digging the feathers, stones, bones and leather out of her pockets.

Robin's lips are pursed, her wind up, and reaching for power before she thinks about what she's doing. The first few notes of her conjuration fall away from her as her eyes widen.

Deep Green! What was she thinking? She can't wear a glamour to the masquerade! Fiona will be there. And worse yet, Bleys! 'Robin, you idiot!' the girl mentally upbraids herself, 'You don't show your hand that way!'

Okay, back to the root. Another thought occurs to the Ranger, one that appeals to her on several levels. But then inevitably, 'No wait. Dad and the Regent will be there. Oook. Coming as a ghost would probably fuck with them real bad. Dung... Scotch bright idea number two.'

Robin shifts fretfully around on her roof-top perch. She doesn't want to come as a bird or something -- everyone's going to be a bird or something. She can't help the rueful chuckle that shakes her frame. This is what Aisling and Folly were trying to spare her. But she was too... crowded in to accept their help at the time. So now she's stuck flailing on a roof-top. Typical.

Ranger war-paint? Hmmm, maybe not the message she wants to send.

Crap! What is she going to wear???? The Ranger stares forlornly through the dark bulk of Kolvir toward her home.

When her answer rises behind her over the roofs and battlements of Castle Amber bathing everything in silver. Robin turns and looks at the great orb rising slowly into the night sky.

A slow smile lines her lips. Ah, yes. In her earlier days, she is huntress too, isn't she? And Daeon won't be at the masquerade. Robin closes her eyes and raises her face briefly letting the delicate trickling moonlight play over her features. That'll do. That'll do.

A few moments more and Robin is scrambling off the roof tops, heading for her quarters, her thoughts a whirl.

If the milling, slow-moving crowd below notices that some few hundred yards away a dragon the size of a warship is lifting, the rider of the dragon does not notice their attention.

He notices the wind, bearing the light chill of dusk in springtime. It ruffles his somber formal clothing, plays havoc with the spiky brown shock of his hair, rushes past his ears to block out sound, to block in thought.

Immensely powerful shoulders under him drive the great wings in beat after slow, world-moving beat, and each beat has a name.

J'non. Valenth.
J'telan. Sleth.
T'con. Molyth.
Dielin. Quaith.
R'gadin. Givath.
Medea. Vioth.
T'leid. Widameth.
G'dellan. Nishath.
D'viol. Gemath.
T'gir. Fristh.
G'lisun. Noalith.
Z'del. Runoth.

Faces. Intellect. Blood and bone and inspiration. And courage that reached from one end of all reality to the other.

Now only names on the wind.

Yeah, Brennan Demonslayer. We won.

The wind batters the rider's eyes half-shut and whisks away their tears. The wind bears away his cry of pain and renders an incohate howl of his curses.

For a long while he flies, the mighty beast bearing him silently. The dragon sympathizes with his rider, to be sure, for their bond is deep, but forces nothing.

And at length the wind does what it always did for the rider. As land and water speed beneath, the air washes through and over...by layers it peels, erodes, bears away the knot of pain that took up so much space within. Not all of it, no - that is not a job for a simple wind to handle. But enough of it that the knot could be breathed around, worked around, ignored for such spans of time as a scion of Amber would need to do what must be done.

The ocean opens up below. Dragon and rider dip a wing tip, wheel about and approach the city, the dimly shining hub of all cities, from the south, angling in toward a leaning tower of red stone.

On the day of Conner's sparring match with Jerod, Conner sends Thalia a note asking her to meet him for dinner at their usual spot.

Thalia responds that she would be glad to see you. She arrives, slightly late and looking somewhat tired and somewhat distracted. "Conner", she smiles.

"Dear Thalia." Conner smiles back greeting her with a hug and kiss. "I thought you could use relaxation after your busy days and especially after Jerod." He says with a smirk.

"I think the Rebmans were disappointed to hear that we all survived. I think I liked it better when the city was isolated. How'd they get here?"

"All we know is that Corwin brought them." Conner replies.

"I wonder why. Moire always preferred him to Eric, of course, but there really wasn't anyone she didn't prefer to Eric. Except Random, of course. If she could have made the castle slide off the mountain and into the sea while Random was having dinner with Eric, she'd've done it. Harper and I used to speculate that Moire was somehow involved in Random's assassination plot against Eric.

"She really couldn't lose. Either Eric died, Random died, or she got to give Random another death sentence for fleeing. Except that she didn't count on Vialle."

She sips her wine. "I hear they asked for your head for my death."

"That is so." Conner replies. "But now that they know you and Hargar'el are alive, they want our heads for murder and smuggling. I presume Hargar'el had some dealings on the side that helped enirch your embassy and I just got lumped into it when a scapegoat reason was needed. In any case Rebma still offers trial by magical combat so with Mother as a champion no official chance to get at me will work. I'm more worried about unofficial ones and what the actual story is." Conner smiles.

She shrugs. "Smuggling is always the convenient excuse, isn't it? Everyone pretends they care. I'm sure Demond smuggled, whenever he could. Sometimes he got me sorcerous materials that our benevolent hostess and accuser would not have approved of.

"I wonder myself if it was really ever about us, or if we're just collateral damage and cover for something else."

"Oh I am certain we were merely in the wrong place at the right time." Conner replies. "But it easier to refute their lies when I know how much truth is in them."

"I'm doing some digging, trying to find out what I can, but it's slow going. I've learned to trust your intuition. What's your best guess?"

Conner elaborately shrugs. "I don't even have a worst guess."

"Harper and I are trying some scrying, but we haven't found the proper place yet."

"That's always the trick in any source of intelligence gethering." Conner nods. "And all the people with the information we need are likely behind wards when they speak, yes?"

"If they're smart. Gateway doesn't send seers as ambassadors, it doesn't make one's partners happy to consider what they are doing. So we're two amateurs trying to do more than we should to find out what the hell the Sapphire Throne is up to. It's very discouraging."

"That is indeed the situation in a nutshell." Conner sighs. "And on top of everything else, Jerod has managed to get his hackles up about the Gateway Embassy. He's convinced you're plotting something. More than usual." Conner smiles.

"So he's talking to that court and he thinks we're scheming? That's pretty funny. If Valeria were smarter, I'd think she stirred all this up as a distraction to cover whatever it is she's really trying to get from Random." She cocks her head. "Unless Valeria is the distraction and Bend is just biding her time, waiting for the right moment for...something. The thing we don't know about."

"Of all of them, I agree Bend is the most dangerous." Conner nods. "Montage is her errand boy. Valeria I am still unsure of, but she repeats the party line a little too rotely for me to believe that she wrote it. I think she's just swallowed the story offered and saw no reason to look for the truth." Conner muses. "Its the Corwin connection to this I don't understand."

"I will try to speak with him. Unless you already have?"

Conner shakes his head. "Not yet. Probably should."

"What are you going to do if they try something?"

"What I always do, Thalia. Improvise." Conner grins. "I've got a line on some men for a bodyguard. I shall step up my recruiting."

She grins back. "Let me know if I can help."

"Actually I know another that was looking for your assistance." Conner replies. "Paige wishes to consult with you on some magical defenses for her home. I told her I would pass along the request."

She smiles. "I would be pleased to, although I think that Harper might need to be more circumspect than I am concerning direct involvement with your mother's niece."

"Perfectly understood." Conner smiles. "We don't want to revive old ghosts. I shall leave it in your hands then."

From here it can fade to into small talk.

It does until you have to leave for poker.