Calls And Letters

[Lucas] finds a quiet corner on the way back to his rooms, and attempts to trump Flora.

The contact comes after a moment. Flora's voice asks, "Who is it?"

"C'est moi, Maman," Lucas replies.

He closes his eyes momentarily, drawing on his reserves of strength.

Then he opens his eyes and speak levelly.

"The children are safe but - Amber has been attacked."

And now - the words that he has vowed, over and over, that he would never utter.

"Maman - I need your help."

Flora's image has resolved as he speaks. She is standing on the deck of a sailing vessel of some sort. From the glimpse of her surroundings Lucas thinks the ship is at sea. "Of course you do, dear. What help do you find yourself in need of?"

Lucas is a little surprised by his mother's sang-froid, although he suspects he should have known her well enough to anticipate her reaction after all this time. No-one quite like Maman for drawing a line and moving on. Still, he would have expected at least a tepidly polite question about the nature of the attack on Amber.

Unless, of course, she already knows all about it.

Interesting. Who would have taken the time out to tell Flora? And would someone have trumped her with the news, or would she have been in contact with someone back in Amber? The latter is possible, certainly, but he would not have thought people would have been taking trumps quite so soon after the attack.

But none of these thoughts leach into his expression.

"I want to place the children under your protection, Maman." His dark eyebrows arch slightly. "But then - I was assuming you were already established as chatelaine of Paris."

"I have been to Paris, and am on my way outbound," Flora replies. "Dear Felicity will be handling the daily duties of court for me, together with the wife of one of Corwin's vassals. Between the two of them, they should have what little society there is now in Paris whipped into shape by the time I return. I'm en route to Karime to open relations with Paris, and Corwin has asked me to open a permanent path back to Paris from Karime once I'm done." She smiles dazzlingly at Lucas.

"But of course if the children are in danger in Amber I'll take them. You can't really expect Random, who has no idea how to treat his own children, to understand how important your children are to you. And it's not as if he's competent to keep Amber safe," she sniffs. "Will Solace come with them, or will there be a wet-nurse for Philippe?"

"Thank you, Maman," says Lucas. "Solace is in Xanadu at the moment - I believe she needs a locus of reality for her health. But yes, she'll be coming with the children. I hope to send Nanny Starch and a couple of the other staff as well - I don't want you to be put to the trouble of having to take care of day to day routine. I need to make a few arrangements - do you have a trump of yourself I could use? I'm borrowing Martin's at the moment, and I should return it."

"Not to hand. I'm afraid you'll have to put Martin out a little longer. You should apply to his father for a deck of your own, you know--if he hasn't lost them all." Flora makes a moue of distaste. "When should I expect your return call? I'll need to make arrangements here as well."

"If you can give me a time frame, I'll endeavour to meet it," says Lucas. "Although things are likely to be somewhat disturbed this end of the universe. I was hoping you could take a hotel* for us in Paris. Something like Pauline Bonaparte's old place on the rue du Faubourg St Honor?**. I have fond memories of the parties old Hookey held there. But that can wait on your convenience. Having the children safe is the key. And I'm happy to be guided by your arrangements - it will take me a day or so to have everyone gathered, I think."

[* French sense of the word.]

[** British Embassy in Paris - a lovely building with an interesting history

"A hotel will have to wait until I return to Paris. I'll probably be in Karime for some time, weeks or even months by local standards," Flora explains gently. "But if you don't mind them staying in Karime with me, a day or so local time will be enough to prepare the ship to receive them and some of your staff. In Karime they know me, or at least they used to, so the little eccentricity of having young children with me won't create any extra difficulty."

"Thank you, Maman," says Lucas. He smiles at her with real - and rare - gratitude. "As I said, it's your protection that I want for them. The bricks and mortar are immaterial compared to that."

Which is a pretty compliment, for Lucas knows that bricks and mortar around his Mama tend to have a habit of arranging themselves into aesthetically pleasing edifices.

"I shall call you in a day or two - how goes your time, compared with Amber time?"

"I'm in transit, dear. Timeflows are unpredictable," she reminds him. "I'll simply have them prepare everything as quickly as possible so it's ready when you call."

Having ascertained this, Lucas ends the trump connection with all the grace and style one would expect of Flora's son (unless the Hivemind have anything else to add).

But once the call is completed, he takes a moment to lean back against the wall of the corridor, his eyes half-closed.

So. His children can be placed in greater safety - for them he would prefer a hub of reality, but he trusts his mother. And eventually, they will return to Paris, as he envisaged.

But Solace ...

Either she can stay in Xanadu, or join the children. Solace will undoubtedly want to be with the children. He had envisaged her in Paris, with the benefits such a real place would give to her health. An attractive town house, under the protection of his mother - but not too close. Able to build up a little court of her own, and pass the time pleasantly until her home in Xanadu should be ready.

He had not really envisaged his wife and his mother in the close confines of a small sailing vessel on a long voyage. The benefits to Solace's health will not be good.

The benefits to anyone's tempers ... are liable to be even worse.

Solace will not be unprotected, however. She will have the formidable Nanny Starch at her back ... and Gaston ...

Despite himself, Lucas' lips twitch.

Perhaps he should ask his belle mere whether she would like a sea voyage.

Although the image that conjures up is ... delightful (if one is contemplating it from a far distant Shadow), Lucas decides, with just the faintest pang of regret, that, at the moment, he probably needs allies more than he needs amusement. And that means keeping several Shadows between Lady Vesper and his mother.

Tant pis.

He straightens from the wall. His suite ... well, there will currently be a flurry of packing. He would prefer to avoid that - people might ask him to make decisions that they are perfectly capable of deciding for themselves. After all, what does one keep a staff for?

However, he has sent Pert with messages to the stables. His plans in this regard have, to some extent, been overtaken by events. But, nevertheless, he should pay the stables a visit before returning to see whether his services or skills will be needed in the service of Amber.

Accordingly, he heads there.

The stables are in a bit of a bustle. In addition to the business to which he has set Cheval, there are Royal Guards about. They don't appear to be requisitioning horses; perhaps they're there to guard the valuable military resources the stables contain. Donovan is speaking to one of the guards, but he excuses himself after a moment and presents himself to Lucas.

"Your lordship wanted to speak with me?" Donovan asks.

"Indeed," drawls Lucas, the bored, languid lord. "I trust the sounding of the alarm didn't disturb the stables too much?"

"Your lordship is kind to ask. The horses don't care for the tocsin, but they've had worse in their day. They're happier now that it's quiet. Is there anything I can do to help your boy's preparations? We're a bit short-handed, but I'm sure I can spare someone if Cheval needs help."

Donovan is properly deferential to a member of the royal family.

"There's been a slight change of plans," says Lucas. "I'll be continuing to stable our mounts here for the present. But my thanks for your consideration."

A smile accompanies his words - it is a polite dismissal, suggesting respect for a professional from a gentlemen.

"You're welcome, your lordship." Donovan replies, and goes back to his work.

Once Donovan has departed, Lucas turns his attention to Cheval, his own groom, a tactiturn man who sees and hears more than he says. A gesture from Lucas suggests they withdraw into the privacy of the stalls where the mounts belonging to Lucas' family are stabled, ranging from Hope's pretty little Shetland to Lucas' own black mare.

Once there, having checked to make sure they are not liable to be overheard, Lucas asks quietly, "Is Prince Benedict within the castle?"

Cheval shakes his head in the negative. "His horse hasn't come through the stables, sir. And it's not like we could miss that queer striped beast."

Lucas nods, and then gives some directions as to the care of Hope's pony while she will be away.

Then he leaves the stables, still relaxed and urbane. But inwardly, he revolves possibilities.

Benedict came to Amber last night on a trump. Lucas presumed it was to see one of his siblings - and there's no reason to doubt that now. It wouldn't be unexpected for someone like Caine or Fiona to keep that knowledge to themselves. But Benedict didn't ride out - either on his striped horse or on one borrowed from the stables - Cheval would have known. So either he has trumped away - or he is still here. But ... Martin has mentioned what other Elders are doing. If Benedict is still in the castle, he is keeping a surprisingly low profile.

This is, perhaps, knowledge to be shared with Martin. But it would be useful to make one more check first.

No matter what the dangers he might face of being lured into the appalling risk of Helping With The Packing, it behoves Lucas to make that check.

Besides, it's been a disgracefully long time since he had a change of clothes. Several hours, in fact. People will Start to Talk.

Lucas heads back to his suite.

The suite is in orderly disarray as Lucas' staff prepares for the departure of Philippe and Hope. Nanny Starch and the rest are moving through the suite like whirling dervishes, choosing what should go and what should stay. Hope is ensconced on the living room couch like a princess on a throne, and her brother, awake at last, in a playpen in the same room.

Gaston greets Lucas at the door. "M'sieur?"

Lucas does not reckon himself as being without a fundamental courage - but his sense of self-preservation is, he would calculate, somewhat stronger. Presented with the adage, "He who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day", Lucas would gloss this as "Forget this ghastly fighting business - he who runs away lives to do infinitely more interesting things another day".

At the moment, his sense of self-preservation powerfully suggests that the news that Hope and Phillippe's destination is not the spacious bounds of a hotel in Paris, but the confined quarters of a sailing ship (and one that already contains his Maman and, sans doubte, her not inconsiderable Luggage) should be broken to Nanny Starch by another than himself. Therefore Lucas speaks first to Gaston.

"A change of plan. You will inform Nanny Starch that the children will be joining the Princess Florimel on a sea voyage. Their luggage should therefore contain the bare essentials. You and Nanny Starch will be escorting them - it is likely that Madame la Marquise will also be accompanying you. The remainder of the luggage will be sent to Paris, later. Gouter, who will remain here until Paris is arranged, will take care of that."

Gaston, who is undoubtedly aware of the fate that awaits him with Nanny Starch when he delivers the message, nods. When he speaks, his tone is unusually doleful. "Of course, M'sieur."

[Lucas] glances towards Hope and Phillippe, and then speaks to Gaston, before he moves towards his children.

"Do you know if Prince Benedict is within the castle?"

He presumes that if his arrival last night with Benedict was observed (and presumably it was, since they arrived in the same spot where Lucas arrived mpre recently - and Benedict waved to the guards), Gaston, who has his own information networks, will hopefully know about it.

Gaston shakes his head. "He was seen last night, but no one has seen him today. I am told that it was common for the Princes to come and go at whim before the late king's unfortunate demise, and that Prince Benedict was rarely in the castle for more than a few days at a time for many years before he was lately presumed dead."

Lucas nods his thanks, and then moves beyond Gaston to his children. He lifts Phillippe from his playpen, and indulges him with a few of the gentle tossing games that Phillippe enjoys, and that Solace lacks the strength to gratify. Once his son is content, he returns him to the playpen and invites Hope to help him choose his outfit, and watch him shave (one of Hope's greatest treats - as Lucas, who really doesn't need to shave a second time in the middle of the day, is well aware).

Soon they are installed in his bedroom, while he carefully applies the razor to his suds-ed cheeks, watching Hope watching him in his shaving mirror - when he can take attention away from the razor.

"You'll be going on a journey soon, ma petite," he says. "A sailing trip with Grandmere. And I think Maman will be coming too. You'll have to look after her, and see if the voyage can bring back the colour to her cheeks."

For some time he speaks like this, watching Hope carefully to gauge her reaction, preparing her for the adventure that lies ahead.

Hope is excited by the prospect of the journey, but wants Papa to come with her and Maman and Philippe.

"I shall see you when I can," says Lucas. "But who would get our new home ready if I were to be coming sea voyaging with you, ma chere? You know le pauvre Gaston has no taste at all. We would probably come home to find the predominant paint scheme was magnolia. To be safe. Now - what colours would you like in your new bedroom? And what colour shall we have for Mama's sitting room?"

Hope is distracted by the question of decoration quickly enough.

(OOC - Lucas isn't talking about the castle in Xanadu here, but about his long-term plan to build a town house for his family).

Then they choose his fresh clothing together, Lucas showing Hope how different materials feel, how colours can be combined. As ever, he is patient with her, guiding and explaining. It's a side of Lucas that sits oddly with his acerbic manner in general.

Finally Lucas is arrayed to their mutual satisfaction, in a dark green suit trimmed with pale cream piping - smart, but understated - the only touch of flamboyance being the polka dot handkerchief in his top pocket. He give Hope a farewell kiss, and sets out for the reception room.

Hope waves goodbye to him as he goes.

After Brennan and Cambina take their leave of Martin, he escorts her back to her own quarters and, after a goodbye that threatens to become leisurely, Brennan returns to his own quarters, lost in thought.

Though he dearly loves Cambina's company, some things need to be done alone.

When he has returned to his own rooms, his first order of business is, finally, changing his clothing to something acceptable for the surroundings. In the process, he tries to gauge the damage done to his back... admittedly a difficult task given the lack of reflecting surfaces in the room. He'll have to settle for patting it down with a towel, seeing if it's bleeding, and judging the pain of disturbing it.

That done, he'll sit down at his writing desk. He gives more than a cursory glance to whatever paperwork and correspondance has made it to his personal desk, but ultimately decides that very little is likely to be so urgent that it must be read before Brennan writes what he has to write.

Desk cleared, Brennan takes a clean sheet of parchment, a good quill, and begins writing. He writes the name first, then pauses in thought before letting the words roll from the quill. His script, as always, is efficient after the fashion of someone who's spent a considerable time writing, but he spends the time necessary not to couple that efficiency with a certain grace.

Prince Julian,

Uncle, I hope that news of the day's tragedy reaches you before this letter of condolence-- quill and ink is no way to learn of a son's death. Please accept my deepest regrets for your loss, and those of the Order of the Ruby as well. If there is aid or comfort that we can give, speak it.

I was not present when Daeon died, but I have heard accounts from those who were. By every account, your son died nobly, sacrificing himself to protect his own children and other family from the Beast of Arcadia. I know it cannot ease the loss, but your son will be remembered as a hero, with honor and with pride.

Sir Brennan
Knight Commander of the Order of the Ruby

After a long pause, he begins again, with the same pattern-- the scription of a name, the rest for thought, and then the composition.

Robin,

As I write this, Solange may be finished breaking the news of today's tragedy. Please accept my deepest regrets. Your brother died in sacrifice to save others, and we will remember him with honor and pride.

Please speak to me or the Order if there is anything we can provide you with.

Brennan
KCOR

He takes a third sheet, and begins, but the pause after writing the name, "Jovian" stretches on long enough that Brennan eventually abandons the attempt, at least for now, and casts the sheet aside. Some things won't sit on parchment. He takes the letters to Julian and Robin, folds them and affixes his seal and the seal of the Order upon them, and turns to his incoming letters... and then stops.

After another long pause, he takes a fourth sheet and begins to write.

Daeon,

Cousin. I have only recently learned of your death in sacrifice for the lives of your children. I regret deeply not having been there to stand with you in defense. There is no sense in lying to the dead, Daeon, and you surely knew in life that we would rarely if ever see eye to eye... that I considered you eccentric at best, shallow, flighty, dangerously parochial and provincial at worst. I would not unthink those thoughts even if I could. They are who I am, as much as yours were you.

But, I can apologize. Eccentric and provincial, perhaps, but you sacrificed your life for your children. Cousin, you have humbled me by your actions. Parochial, perhaps, but never shallow. I see now that I never knew you at all. For this, and thy life, I grieve. There is little I can do for you now, Daeon, only for those left behind. I would have you know, if I could, that I will remember you with honor and pride, as will the Order. And I would have you know that Paige will not stand alone in the defense of the children.

Rest now, Cousin. Your sacrifice shall not be in vain.

Brennan

He looks at the parchment for long moments before reazling that the page is covered not with the efficiencies of his Thari script, but with the jagged, curving glyphs of Uxmali. He looks at it for another long moment before casting it into the cold fireplace, where it bursts into sudden, hot flames eventually bringing the logs beneath it crackling to life.

"Good bye, Daeon," he says softly.

With his emotions hardening to a long anger at the events of the day, he turns then to the new papers of his desk, reading by the firelight.

Laid on top of them is a letter sealed with the Uxmali sigil that Brennan has learned to recognize as belonging to his brother Ambrose. When he tears it open, he finds the following letter inside, written in his brother's well-crafted Uxmali:

Brother:

I hope this letter finds you well and you and yours prospering.

Of our family, there is little news. Chantico's military preparations have been set aside for some magical effort that I cannot yet divine. Her sigils of fire resist my scrying. She has blinded one of the priestesses given to the Sight. Mother wishes to set herself against Chantico, but I have forbidden it.

My work with our father's papers continues. I have found something in one of the loose pages you brought me that you should see in the flesh. The matter is too personal to commit to paper; it concerns our kin. There is no imminent danger in it that I know of, but if there is a way in which we can speak, by trump or sorcery, let us do it as soon as we can.

I will look for your reply.

Your brother,
Ambrose

His brother's letter has him leaning back in his chair, considering by the firelight, rubbing his beard in thought. With a sigh of decision, he takes yet another parchment and forces himself to write the unpleasant letter of regret to Jovian that he'd sought to avoid. Thought not appreciably longer than the others he'd written before, it takes considerably longer to write.

The others, he entrusts to whichever page nearby happens to be tasked with message running for the day. Jovian's, he leaves in Dignity's care, explaining that it should be delivered only if Jovian returns before Brennan does, that it should be delivered personally while Jovian is alone or in the company of close family, and that he should depart before Jovian opens it. He explains the wheres and whyfores such that Dignity understands the nature of the task.

Dignity, who was present through the alarm, of course, and like the other Knights in residence, went to the aid of the Guard, understands completely.

And since Dignity is there, he commends Dignity on the quality of his service thus far. While Brennan surely knows something of the lad's aspirations by now, he lets Dignity know that they two will be having a more directed discussion of his future when time permits.

The young man visibly straightens a bit more, not that he was slouching, at Brennan's praise. "Thank you, Sir Brennan. I look forward to it."

Good. We'll try to make that happen some time before the next major intershadow crisis or godfall.

Those tasks taken care of, he takes the letter Ambrose wrote, and goes looking for Fiona, either looking to find her alone, or with a bearing that implies strongly that he wishes to speak to her alone, and soon.

Fiona and Merlin are finishing up their work in the destroyed remnants of Paige's old quarters. The furniture is still damaged as if a fight had occurred here, but the blood is gone and the bodies have been removed.

"Yes, Brennan?" Fiona says.

Merlin would like to cooperate in the part of the plan that involves him being elsewhere.

After greeting him, Brennan provides him with an excellent opportunity for cooperation: turning to Fiona, he says, "I bring news from Xanadu, about Brita and her injuries." This, Brennan strongly suspects, will have the effect of either Merlin departing the scene, Fiona ushering Brennan somewhere more private, or both.

Fiona says, "Bide," as if they were in a trump contact, and briefly confers with Merlin. The gist of their conversation seems to be that they're close enough to done effectively disinfecting the place that she can finish up if he wishes to excuse himself. Merlin takes his leave, and nods to Brennan on the way out.

Brennan loiters calmly while they finish their conference, then nods to Merlin as he leaves.

Assuming that any of the above occur, he will elaborate. "I was with Gerard when Brita and the rest were handed through to the infirmary. She was pretty badly burned, but it's not life-threatening if she takes a little time to rest and let it heal. I treated her myself. She'll probably be up to walking around tomorrow, but if she does it today, she'll regret it. It should leave her plenty of time to concentrate on her painting and her chess lessons," he adds, knowing that Fiona will understand the euphemism.

Fiona lets out a breath when Brennan reports that Brita will recover completely, and nods at his last sentence.

"The rest are in various stages of much-better-off, at least physically. Conner wasn't injured at all, that I saw. But there's no telling how much psychological trauma the Twins endured watching... their father."

"We won't know enough to begin to guess for quite some time," Fiona says, and presses her lips together for a moment. "No one who saw it will be quite the same afterwards. How are you, Brennan?"

Brennan needs no pause for thought before he answers this. "Angry," he says flatly. "There are too many who prey on their own line." He gives a long exhalation, then adds, "I want to see what happened here for myself."

Fiona shrugs. "Look if you need to, but there's nothing left to see. Merlin and I have been scrubbing the place. We burned the bodies--that was Corwin's custom with foul things from the deeper parts of Arden--and we've resealed it as best we can against outside interference."

He gives Fiona a wide interval in which to offer a caution or an objection, and even after that, moves slowly, for the following reasons: First, he is now her student, and it's reasonable-- even desireable-- that she'll want to gauge his style and strength. Second, there might be something unsafe about what he's about to do, that she can warn him of. Third, he doesn't want to inadvertantly undo what she and Merlin have done. Fourth, there's no reason to rush.

He begins with a reasonable observation of the residue of the conflict with nothing more than the Third Eye, looking for danger in what he's about to do, as well as what Fiona and Merlin have done so that he does not disturb it. After that, he leans himself against the wall to support his body while he conducts the survey in a more fully Astral state. It might appear to someone watching that he's simply deep in thought-- he does not entirely leave his body.

In neither state does he see anything significant. As Fiona says, the metaphysical influences have been expunged.

Finally, the main working he wants to perform is to move his perceptions back in time, both mundane and mystic. That seems less dangerous than bringing the scene he wants to see forward in time, and Brennan takes special care to send back his perceptions only, not his essence or even his perceptability.

Brennan is not a fool-- between each working, he gives Fiona a chance to comment or warn him. If she asks in advance what he's going to do, he will tell her.

Fiona merely observes his workings.

[Details-- nothing special. I'm sure each one takes more than a minute but much less than a watch; ergo (curse the granularity of the system!) it would be as though he spends a minute on each working. The main working is a combination of the Temporal and Astral principles.]

Brennan sees the battle from the beginning: the mad, infected ranger who comes in for the children, the desperate struggle of the women and their deaths, Brita's arrival and the resurrection of the dead in emerald flame. Then he sees Brita's berserk struggle and the emerald fire wrapping around the toddlers, and their emergence as youths who join the battle. Finally, Conner and then the others arrive to join the battle, and Adonis makes his stand.

With his magical senses, Brennan can clearly see strands of emerald power withdraw from the possessed victims and enter Adonis before his struggle and sacrifice. There are two threads of power that come from somewhere without the room. Then Adonis dies, and the world goes green for a second, and then white.

When the world settles again, Brennan is back in his own time with a nasty headache. Fiona is standing by him, her hand on his arm as if she had prepared to catch him if he fell. If he hadn't been leaning against the wall, he would have.

When Brennan again fully inhabits his body, Fiona will know it by the sudden tensing of muscles and clenching of fists... neither of which is possible when your body is on autopilot.

Rather than discuss directly what he saw, since they're alone, Brennan will muse over his underlying anger about how to defend against and defeat some what he saw. More than simply relying on their heritage or other Pattern-based effects. In due course, it comes out that Brennan believes there is a strong Astral component to that attack-- his interpretation of the Green Cords-- and that he thinks this is both a strength and a weakness. In particular, he considers some Astral defenses and attacks, and wonders out loud what the effect would be on either end if that Greed Cord were distrupted or snapped... as if by Werewindle, perhaps, or an Astrally projected blade.

Fiona is speculating that Greyswandir is how Corwin kept whatever is in the Deep Green in line all those years...

Brennan nods. That makes sense to him. Julian and his conjured beasts, Corwin and Greyswandir. One wonders what, if anything, Finndo had to help him, and how Arden and Arcadia got to be the second son's job.

...when the distant look that accompanies a trump contact comes over her. "Yes, Martin?"

After a moment, she says, "He is? We'll come at once." Some portion of her attention returns to Brennan; she only looks slightly distracted as she says, "Robin has summoned Julian and he's calling Jovian. Martin wants to bring us through."

If Brennan were a lesser man, he'd have turned green. That isn't precisely the situation Brennan wants to be in, right now.

"I need to speak with you about my brother," he says, but while the need is urgent, he obviously means after they speak with Julian...

Fiona extends her hand to Brennan.

...Because he takes her hand and goes through the Trump.