Celina puts her hands to her face and clears tear tracks. It seemed a greater trial to watch Lilly than it had been to walk in Rebma--but then, Celina hadn't known what would happen to her if she failed. In a thrice, the Seaward girl is composed again. To no one in particular she says, "I went to my rooms afterwards and slept. Is there a chance her mind might think of her rooms in Amber rather than here?"
Random nods. "Of course. Or her room as a child. Or an armory somewhere. It's worth looking to see if she's here, but she's somewhere and if she's smart she'll take a little rest before she really starts exercising her power." Random pulls a cigarette from a case and lights it. "Show's over. Let's head up and see what Folly and company have burned down..."
The practical tone seems to soothe Celina. She nods, still watching the center of the Pattern. A moment more and she turns and starts back to the stair. At least Folly and Garrett will want to hear how well it went.
Solange catches up with her. "You all right?" she asks, a note of concern in her voice. "It's...unnerving, to watch someone else walk, isn't it? You can't help but remember your own."
A few steps more and Celina answers oddly, though her tone is smooth and practiced. It becomes obvious after a bit that she whispers in cadence some song or prayer for Solange's ears alone.*
"Limits fascinate the mind
Wonder how far you can go
What would happen
If you just let go
How far could you fall?"
Celina walks steadily up the long stair.
"Let your mind wander where it pleases
Fearless because what's to fear
When all you're risking is yourself
It's only your body you're breaking."
Celina crosses her arms and holds on to finish.
"Touching death won't burn your fingers
Leaves no shadow on your face
Let yourself shatter a thousand times over
You know the outside never cracks..."
The Seaward cousin looks at Solange. "Lilly did that well. Knowing a bit more about it now, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to do it again. Have you done it more than once, cousin?"
[Arref/ooc: *Nothing to Fear by WeCanBuildYou? http://www.angelfire.com/band2/wecanbuildyou/songs/index.html]
"No," she replies emphatically.
A pause, then Solange asks, "What does that song mean to you?"
The staircase is long enough for exactly this sort of conversation. Steps pass by them until it seems Celina may be pretending she didn't hear the question. "A girl two years junior to me at Nibbeak wrote it." A shorter pause.
"The Pattern walk is so alone. All you are risking is yourself. It is something of an analogy for where my life is coming from--maybe where it is going." Celina finally looks at Solange in the odd light of the circular stair. "It's good to know that you haven't walked it again. I feel less alone with that admission."
"Do you really feel so alone?" Solange asks softly.
Just as softly, Celina answers. "My creators raised me to be alone but I'm building connections."
Celina seems to switch gears. "I've been wondering if there is something on the other side of the Pattern. If you were to vanish in a shower of sparks before reaching the center, have you died or have you become part of something else?" The Seaward girl shrugs. "Wrong thinking, I realize."
Solange chuckles. "Wrong thinking, perhaps, if you're looking to walk it for the first time. Since it doesn't appear a another walk is in the near future for either of us, I think we can afford to indulge in some idle speculation."
She pauses, then continues, "Mirelle, King Random's full sister, is the only one I know of that has perished during a Patternwalk. Perhaps you were told about her when instructed for your own walk? Personally, I think bringing up Aunt Mirelle's fate before a first walk is a Bad Idea, but anyway...
"Mirelle's not been heard from since. If she did become part of Something Else, then either she's not capable of communicating with us, or doesn't see fit to. Then again," Solange lowers her voice to a whisper, "there's also the rumor that the reason she perished on the Pattern is because she wasn't Oberon's child."
This is news to Celina. She swallows hard.
Solange's voice resumes its earlier volume.
"I find, throughout shadow, that people want to believe in something higher than themselves, that they want some greater reality. But we live that greater reality, we are that greater reality.
"Do you suppose knowing that stops us from wanting something greater as well? Something beyond what we have here, something beyond what we presently are? Or do we join the multitudes in shadow and continue with the wanting regardless?"
"Do they want because we do? Isn't wanting part of desire? How could we live without desire?" Celina carefully matches the stepping pace with Solange. She shakes her head. "Even my brother wants to learn and grow, and he is from the Inconceivable Side of the family. I think even on the other side of the Pattern there would be something to desire. There always will be as long as we can put two thoughts together."
"Well said," Solange smiles. "Let's just hope our desires don't get us into too much trouble. And speaking of desires, I greatly desire a drink of whatever passes for beer here. Are you still feeling up to an excursion to the town below?"
"Yes." Celina nods and smiles. "As soon as I tell Folly and Garrett that Lilly is a success."
"Sounds good. Let's go find them."
Celina and Solange find themselves at the top of the stair, with their uncles and cousins a few steps behind them. While none of them, including Random, show any signs of having heard or paid much attention to their conversation, it's not impossible that their comments were overheard.
Since the last place Celina and Solange saw Folly, Garrett, and Hannah and the others was in the dining room, it's the logical place for them to go.
Solange starts off in the direction of the dining room. She looks to see if Celina is following, or does Celina believes they're elsewhere?
The Seaward cousin ambles alongside Solange like a good pilot fish as they return to the dining room.
"Hello Father!" Solange calls from the doorway as they walk in. "She made it, no problem!"
Celina nods at Soren and tucks her hands behind the small of her back. It's obvious that Folly, Garrett and Hannah found something else to do instead of wait. Gerard may know where they are. She expects Solange to follow-up the social questions.
"I knew she'd do just fine," Gerard says with satisfaction. "She's her father's daughter."
"Do you know where Folly and Garrett went?" Solange asks, looking around.
It's Soren who answers this time. "Folly said they were going down to the studio," he says. "Can you find your way down, or do you need a guide?"
Solange replies, "Oh, it would probably work better to be shown where it is. I could eventually find it, based on the King's tour earlier, but it wouldn't be a straight shot."
"I'll show you, then," Soren says, and sets off in the lead with Gerard taking up the rear.
But he gives a big thumbs-up gesture, so they know it went well.
Solange and Celina follow Soren into the room.
Garrett, who had started getting antsy after the first hour, stops drumming and looks up quickly as the door starts to open. He grins widely at the thumbs-up and asks excitedly, "Where is she?"
Folly finishes with a little flourish and replies, "Off somewhere sleeping it off, most likely...." Her tone is gently teasing but reassuring. "When you get to the middle of the Pattern, it takes you wherever you want to go," she adds for Garrett and Hannah's benefit, "--- and where you want to go is straight to bed. I came here." She grins.
Hannah looks surprised at this bit of news.
Solange's eyebrows raise and she grins at Folly. "When did that happen? I go into shadow for a little bit and everything changes when I get back!"
"That's what happens when you run off and leave your old father alone," Gerard says, but he's joking. "Lilly will have gone somewhere to rest."
Solange gives him a wicked smile over her shoulder.
Folly grins broadly at Solange. "We have got to sit down and catch up...."
"Yes," Solange replies firmly, turning back to Folly, her expression turning a little disconcerted. "Soon."
"It went very well, Garrett," Celina adds, standing with Solange. "She was still thinking of us when she got to the center. She waved before flicking off to rest." Not like the Seaward chit who fell on her face and couldn't move.
Hannah smiles and pats Garrett on the arm. She looks curiously at Soren, and leans over to ask Folly, "Is Soren another cousin I haven't met yet?"
Celina sharpens her notice of Hannah when the word 'cousin' passes.
"Cousin" Soren is eyeing the drum kit with a touch of concern. Folly can almost hear what he's thinking: I hauled that thing around for Syd for ten years and when I finally get it back to him, somebody's busted it.
Folly replies quietly but with a twinkle in her eye, "Not a cousin as far as I know -- but then, I never met his biological father. No, Soren is the royal Bard, Recording Engineer and Everything Guy. We, uh, we go way back." She grins at Hannah, then raises her voice to a more normal level to ask Soren, with concern of her own, "Will they live?"
"They should be okay," Garrett says, eyeing Soren with a touch of concern. "I put everything back where I found it."
Hannah nods in agreement with Garrett, amused at all this worry over the sacred drums of the King.
"I don't see anything wrong with them," Soren says. "But if there is, I'm gonna tell Syd that I got them here, and now it's his lookout." The protective way in which he's been examining the instruments belies his casual tone, though.
Folly says gently, "If there is, you can tell him it's my fault. I made the call -- and I know how you both are." She smiles at Soren in rueful affection. "We should really get another set."
Soren can probably hear, even if no-one else can, the excited sparkle around the edges of that last phrase, a mix of joy and relief that adds: ...because the kid doesn't suck!
Garrett nods to Hannah and Folly. "Evening, ladies. Thanks for the...uh, music, I reckon," he says as he starts to make his way around the crowd. The words "jam session" are not in his vocabulary. When he gets to the door, he nods to the rest. "Ladies, Uncle, Soren. Good evening." As politely as possible, he hustles his way out the door.
Celina watches him hustle out.
Gerard waves farewell as he goes.
Folly grins after him, though it's not clear whether she's thinking of the music he's just made or the music he wants to go make.
Solange sighs. "Ah, love--that wildly misunderstood malady of the heart which weakens the brain, causes eyes to sparkle, cheeks to glow, blood pressure to rise, lips to pucker...and young men to seek out tired young women after they've walked the Pattern.
Gerard grins and nods.
Celina starts to say something then, but stops.
"Anybody in the mood for a beer?"
"Beer would be good," Celina nods.
"Is beer ever not good?" asks Folly, still grinning.
"I'm actually hoping to slip outside. Do we know if the woods are... well, there isn't a war here, is there?" Hannah asks.
"If there is, it's news to me, and I was the Regent until you lot arrived," Soren says. "But the sun went down hours ago. Are you sure you want to go now, or will it wait until the morning?"
Hannah smiles at Soren and seems to be putting words together before Folly speaks.
"Yeah, if it's not not urgent, you should come have a beer with us instead," Folly says. "I've a thing or two I wanted to talk to you about anyway."
Hannah turns to Folly and raises an eyebrow.
Celina smiles as Folly sets the hook and looks at Solange for her bias.
"Sure, Hannah, c'mon. You can visit the woods tomorrow. How often do you get the opportunity to enjoy all of our company at once?" Solange laughs.
Hannah laughs with Solange. "Okay, okay. I suppose the woods can wait a little longer. At least now I know who to get together when someone needs to be pressured into something." Hannah's smiling though. She doesn't look harried at all.
"Great!" Solange looks from Folly to Soren. "Celina and I were talking about going down to the town below. Have either of you been there yet?"
"I have, and I hate to be a party-pooper, but I don't think I'd hike down the mountain to go see it, especially not after dark," Soren says. "It's not much more than a tent village right now, and I bet they've rolled up what passes for sidewalks since nightfall. And I bet Syd's fridge has a better beer selection too. Want to go down to the kitchen and check?" he offers.
"Ah," Solange replies, nodding. She should've suspected that.
"Party Pooper," Hannah teases with a grin.
"Syd?" Solange asks, not familiar with Random's alias.
"Fridge?" Hannah asks.
"Beer?" asks Folly, plaintively. Her eyes are twinkling. Then she grins at Hannah and says, "You'll see," and at Solange and says, "Random. Long story." Her cheeks are a little pink.
"I'm never gonna get used to calling him that," Soren mutters under his breath, seemingly oblivious to the underlying tensions.
"All in all, sounds like a decent substitution. I'm game," [Solange] continues, looking around at the others.
Celina parses through Soren's easy answers while watching his face. His tractable words do not suggest danger in the city below--rather that the group below works hard and rests justly. There is also some sort of hesitation there. But if there is beer of the better kind--then the King must also be Sidd. Celina wrinkles her nose in thought. There was the fabled knight banished from the golden realm. I read about this, they called him the Sidd. Hmm, I'd never heard Random spoken of in those terms.
Celina looks at the other women. "Lead on, fair bard, to this better brew." She steps closer to the door, clearing a way for them all to exit. She looks to Gerard. "Will you join us?"
Gerard has wheeled over to the instruments and has been examining them while the question of going down to town has been debated. He makes kind of a startled "hunh?" noise when Celina addresses him and looks up and around at the others.
"Oh, yes, Celina. Be happy to." Gerard turns his chair and comes to join them as they go out.
Brennan spent much of the time in the Pattern chamber trying to watch the room while not trying to watch Lilly, at least not directly. To the extent that he failed, the muscles of his legs are still tense from sympathy with her efforts.
Or, in short, Brennan would prefer to sit for a few times. And yet... he's still drawn to the balcony and the sea.
"So?" she asks. "What do you make of all that?"
"I think..." Brennan holds his hand out over the balcony, feeling the salt breeze wash his fingers as he flexes them, then puts it down over Cambina's. "I think it feels like one night-- just one night-- a long time ago. I'd almost forgotten," even though he can't quite believe that himself. "I think we could make just about anything we like out of it."
"It was...disturbing to be in Amber and able to shift shadow. As if we weren't really there. Like everyone else was turning into ghosts except for us, but very slowly." She shudders.
"I'm glad we're back to reality."
"I suppose that makes me petty, since half my scowls today are a result of having forgotten to conjure sunglasses and other sundries, and not being blocked from it, here. I've never spent much time in a place that resists me this much." Brennan enjoys the breeze at his hair and the company at his side for a few moments.
"I knew Lilly would make it. Did anyone think to tell Garrett and crew that she's finished? And not to be disturbed?"
"Celina and Solange went off to find them, and they were headed for the dining room where we left Gerard. Gerard will set him straight if none of the rest of them do," Cambina says, and Brennan can tell by her tone that she's rolling her eyes.
"Did you hear them talking about Mirelle? That was right before I asked Uncle about the public works he's planning for his new city. I knew he wouldn't have an answer and that would keep him from thinking about his sister."
Brennan grimaces. "No, I did not. Perhaps Gerard can set them straight on the standards of taste that will in the future prevent that sort thing. Mirelle, indeed. Were they trying to distress Random? Or just worry Lilly even more?" These are rhetorical questions, to which Brennan does not really expect answers.
She shakes her head. "Lilly was already snoring into her pillows. This was on the stair on the way back up."
This time, the grunt rather than the grimace. "Better, I suppose. But not by much."
"What do you make of Lilly and young Garrett? And, did you hear what Garrett asked me?" These are the non-rhetorical questions, both with bemused grins, the last one rather pleased.
"Whatever you teach him, make sure it includes instructions on how not to get Lilly pregnant. He is the King's son, after all."
Brennan's eyes glimmer devilishly in the moonlight as he considers making a rather offcolor remark. With an heroic effort, he restrains himself. "Ah, you heard, did you? At this rate, I should just hang a shingle out and start advertising: 'Old Doc Brennan's Finishing School for Princes, Godlings, and Assorted Royalty.'"
Cambina returns Brennan's grin with a devilish look of her own. "There are worse jobs you could end up with. Agony aunt to our family, for one--it's a job I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. 'Dear Aunt Brennan, I have two children by my cousin the naked forest demigod. How can I teach them that clothing is not optional at Aunt Flora's dinner parties?' 'Dear Aunt Brennan, how do I approach the father of the girl I'm googly-eyed about for permission to date her without ending up short a head?' 'Dear Aunt Brennan, how does a boy combine accusations of murder and a blood feud with a burgeoning diplomatic career?' 'Dear Aunt Brennan, how do I keep my cousin from ogling my mother?' Not to mention 'Dear Aunt Brennan, how do I keep my mother from ogling my cousin?'"
Brennan straightens slightly, and adjusts his collar, clearly moving to a proper posture from which he can dictate his wise answers to those many and excellent questions--
She gestures with one hand as if dispelling smoke. "It would get a little too thick in here if anyone actually asked all those questions, much less answered them."
--Only to deflate his posture in mock-disappointment when Cambina waves them all away, unanswered. "I do wonder if Garrett would have made the request if he had any idea about Brita," he says, waggling the fingers of one hand into perhaps the least eldritch mudra ever seen or devised.
"What about you?" he asks. "As long as I'm in the business, anyway." To forestall the immediate quip, he adds, "Brita's department, I'd think, not Garrett's."
She shakes her head. "I'd rather not. No need to give add sorcery to the list of reasons that mobs with pitchforks and torches might have for doing me in."
"Any mob would have to get through me, first." But it's an offer, not an insistence, and Cambina will know that if she changes her mind, she can always ask.
She smiles at him. "I would pay hard currency to see the two lesson plans get switched."
Brennan addresses the Garrett-shaped slice of empty air standing beside them: "'What is the universe, Garrett? And how do you know it?' He'll be able to answer that before I'm done with him. He might not know why, but he'll have an answer."
Brennan looks out across the water, and into the sky, judging the phase of the moon. "Too bad it's past full," he says. Then he does something which may not get the standard results, so he does it very slowly and cautiously. He opens his third eye, just a sliver at first, and then if possible to a more normal degree. He's scanning the sky and any conveniently visible coastline for any traces of where Tir-na Nog'th or the staircase to it might appear, if the conditions were right.
Once he's done that, assuming all is well this close to a working Pattern, he takes a reflexive look over his shoulder and considers the next working.
Something about the looking isn't right, although Brennan can't say exactly what.
Cambina says "I am the impatient woman of whom all others are but shadow, but I can't make the moon move faster than it will."
"Well, then, it's a shame you didn't take me up on my offer, isn't it?" he teases. But she can probably tell Brennan's a little distracted.
"Your offer? Oh, yes. I suppose we can while away the time thusly until next month. But we'll be looked for."
He is going to (if all goes as planned) move his visual perceptions of the night sky back in time by an appropriate amount to be able to see Tir-na Nog'th in the sky, since Folly said it should exist here.
He gauges the distance necessary by the phase of the moon in the sky, and gauges the effort and concentration by the odd effect he just noticed with the third eye.
[Brennan spends a minute on this.]
Brennan thinks he did it, except for the whole "no starry translucent staircase" part.
Brennan manages to smile at the comment and scowl at the results of his working, all at the same time. "Well, that's not what I expected," he mutters. "Any talk about when Xanadhavian Trumps are going to be made? I don't want to miss the next full moon, if I can help it."
"Nor do I." She pauses. "What were you trying to do?"
"Nothing as grandiose as moving the Moon forward by almost a month," he says. "I'd be more inclined to try for backwards, for style, but that would probably upset His Majesty, even if I did pull it off. All I was trying for was to move my sight backward in time a few nights, which I think worked, so I could see Tir over the bay... which definitely didn't. Which is puzzling. After that, I was going to include you, assuming you wanted to be included."
Brennan ponders. "I'm still not sure why that didn't work. It ought to have. But apparently, not even Brand understood the place." He looks at Cambina, "Want to try anyway? You may be more strongly connected to it than I am."
"No," she says, not explaining. "It will come again in time."
"So much for the fabled, shadowed Impatience," Brennan says.
"If we did that, I'd know, and if I knew I couldn't worry about it for the next 3 weeks and be impatient. Besides, I'm not that comfortable with magic. I was raised in Amber, not the castle. Even as the daughter of a Duke, magic was what the enemy did, and it was rumored that our betters had secret powers of it, but it wasn't discussed. I won't be comfortable around it as long as I live."
Brennan takes in a long nose of air and lets it out in slow contemplation, surveying the sea.
"Then I won't keep throwing it in your face," he says quietly. At length, he adds, "But... it is who I am." There is more that Brennan isn't quite saying, just yet.
"Yes, it is. If I only made comfortable choices, I'd never have done the research to find out how to take my place in my father's household and incidentally prove that my mother had cuckolded her husband and then done so by risking my life on a magic that had killed the last daughter of the line who walked it.
"Sometimes I choose things that I'm not comfortable with."
Brennan nods, and lets that stretch into a companionable silence for the space of several surf-crashes below them. "I told you, you know, because I trust you and I love you. And I didn't want you finding out about it in the rumor mills," he says. "I thought that Aisling business was going to force my hand, for a while there... and what a mess that would have been."
"Yes, it would've, but Caine and Gerard are more likely to trust you if you come up with a suspicious secret. Trust, trust is something that gets earned and spent."
"Hold on to mine, for a while. It pays interest."
She pauses, briefly. "I wonder if you should trust me," she says, "that hasn't been a very successful strategy for anyone in the past."
"You're not the only one that chooses difficult things," he says.
"You wouldn't know what to do with easy things."
When he gets close to the area, however, he stops as he realizes what he's doing. He chuckles at his own overprotectiveness. This is something his mother would do. They all said in the studio that Lilly now needs to rest. They should know -- they've walked it themselves. Besides, he doesn't even know exactly which room is hers. He turns then and mutters with a smile, "Gods, let the poor girl sleep."
Garrett goes back to his rooms, takes off his swordbelt and tosses it on the bed. He combs his hair again and straightens his clothes, wanting to look presentable for his next stop. Then he goes back out into the hallway and up to the door of the King's quarters. He starts to knock, but stops before his knuckles hit the door. He's the King. He doesn't want to hear your petty concerns, a voice inside Garrett chides. He almost turns away, then steels himself. He's your father, dammit. Knock! Garrett raps his knuckles on the door, the first rap coming out a little louder than it needed to be.
"S'open," Random's voice comes from within.
Garrett takes a quick breath, squares his shoulders and opens the door.
Garrett finds himself in a sitting room. The walls are covered in thick red drapes and the furniture consists mainly of overstuffed chairs and a leather couch. There are small tables against the wall and a sideboard has glasses on it. The light comes from some sort of overhead fixture that casts odd shadows below it.
He enters and looks around at the room, and particularly at the light fixture, but tries not to gawk.
Martin is sitting in one of the chairs on the far side of the room, head bowed slightly. Random stands next to him, with one hand on Martin's shoulder. Two tumblers of whiskey, one almost empty and the other on halfway so, sit unattended on a nearby table. A sword lies across one of the other chairs, carefully set down to keep it off the ground.
Random says, "Garrett. C'mon in, Nobody here but us chickens." Martin looks up and Garrett can see that his brother seems very tired.
Noting Martin's weariness, Garrett says politely to Random, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. If this is a bad time, I can come back ..." His voice trails off when his eyes light upon the sword on the chair. He pales as the recognition hits him, along with the knowledge that Lilly would never have given it up willingly.
"Why is that here?" Garrett asks tightly, his eyes still on the sword. He looks back at the two of them with a piercing gaze and asks in a voice that's too calm, "What happened to her?"
Random looks confused. "Huh? What happened to who? To your mother? She wasn't arrested, Donovan just had to come up and take her home. Take it easy, Garrett, or you'll never live to be a bajillion years old."
"Wrong her, Dad," Martin says, rubbing his temple. "She didn't take it on her Patternwalk. She said for you to keep it if she was delayed, which it doesn't look like she will be. She finished fine, and as far as I know, went somewhere to sleep it off."
Garrett's demeanor moves quickly past relief into pleasant surprise.
Random looks at the sword and then looks at Garrett. "Didn't anyone tell you?"
"Yes, Sire," Garrett answers as he crosses to look at the sword more closely. "They all said she did fine and went off to rest, but no one mentioned her giving up her sword. When I saw it here, I... well, never mind," he smiles sheepishly.
When he turns back to the two, he starts to say something, then looks at Martin more closely, noting the fatigue and indications of a headache. "Martin, are you all right?" he asks, concerned.
Martin sits up straighter in his chair and pushes his hair out of his face. "I'm fine," he says, glancing up at Random. "Just have had some news. I think we're done, actually, so if you'll excuse me Dad, I'll let you two have your turn." He starts to stand up.
Garrett's eyebrow quirks slightly at the word "news," but he refrains from asking.
Random's hand stays on Martin's shoulder. "No, stay. I think we didn't do very well last time because we kept talking in pairs instead of all three of us."
Garrett nods his agreement. He remembers all too well how the fiasco on the riverbank was caused by a lack of information.
Martin lets Random push him back into his seat, and shrugs, but doesn't say anything. He looks at Garrett.
Random turns to Garrett. "What's on your mind, kiddo? Do you want a beer?"
Garrett grins. "That would be wonderful, Sire. Thank you," he answers, noticing that he is in fact thirsty. As Random gets the beer, Garrett starts to sit in a chair opposite Martin. He catches himself and straightens, however, remembering that the King has not yet given him leave to sit.
The bottle is cold and has some sort of elaborate metal and ceramic stopper. The beer is nutty and potent.
Garrett thanks Random, takes a sip and nods appreciatively.
"There's actually a few things, Your Majesty. Since you already mentioned me mother, I'll start there." He shoots Martin a look of silent apology. His brother has heard this too many times already.
Martin has slumped again and misses the look.
"Mum went on her rampage 'cause I wasn't able to talk to her before I left. And given all that's happened in the stables, which I'm sure you know about, she prob'ly thinks you all are torturing me about now. I know me mum and if she doesn't hear from me soon, it's only a matter of time before she acts up again. Donovan can keep her in check to an extent, but he can't watch her every moment." Garrett pauses to take a sip of his beer.
He looks at Random earnestly. "Your Majesty, I think if I could somehow let her know I'm all right, but won't be home anytime soon, she'll calm down. She won't like it, but I think it'll ease her mind enough so she stops causing trouble." Garrett continues quickly to get his plan out before anyone says "no". "If I could get a note to someone at the castle and have them, or a page even, give it to Donovan, it could look like stable business. At least it would to someone outside the family. You wouldn't even have to acknowledge me mother at all. Donovan could pass the news to her in private." Garrett stops talking and looks at his father inquiringly.
When Random doesn't speak up immediately, Martin looks back up at his father and says, "Until we resolve this mess with the Rebmans, I think we have to limit what goes down there. It puts Garrett's parents at too much risk to send anything written. And what good will it do anyway? If she didn't believe Donovan, why would she believe a note? Either you or I could have coerced Garrett into writing it."
"I dunno, she might recognize the sp- handwriting. But basically, Martin's right, kid. With murderous goings on in the stables, let's not draw attention to your family." Random throws back his beer and goes for another.
Garrett keeps his expression neutral as he listens attentively to the discussion. At that last comment, Garrett chews his lip, but nods once. Hannah had warned him that if the King had a good reason not to let him contact his parents, he would have to accept it. The chance of putting them in danger is a good reason.
"OK, it's been more than a watch since I've said anything I'd regret, so here goes." [Random] drinks more beer. "The safest thing for your family is to get them out of Amber."
Garrett's eyes narrow with curiosity. "Where would you send them?" he asks. Then suddenly, it all sinks in. "Wait," Garrett exclaims. "Did you say 'murderous'? Who?" He looks from Random to Martin intently.
Martin pushes his hair out of his face again as he meets his brother's gaze. "Your friend Lunging. His body was found in a shop in the city a few days ago. I'm sorry."
Random looks at his younger son, gauging his reaction to the news.
Garrett continues to stare at Martin as he mentally reviews the last week for any large gaps where Martin was not with him. Finding none, he sighs and runs his hand across his face, as if he's caught Martin's headache. "I take it this is all part of the Rebman thing, then."
Martin finishes his whiskey while Garrett is staring at him.
Garrett takes another sip of his beer as he thinks. His eyes narrow and he continues, "There's something that's been bugging me about this." He gazes at Martin levelly. "When I came back to the stables after your errand, when I found everyone in the tack room after Lunging's leg got broke, Lunging acted like he was scared to death of me. Now he was never me best friend, but he certainly didn't have reason to be afraid of me." He pauses, still staring at Martin. "Did he?" The question is pointed.
Martin's gaze hardens during Garrett's recitation and his jaw sets. "The details of the interrogation are need-to-know. You don't need to know."
Random gets another beer. "Security is like sausage, Garrett. You make sure you trust the people who are working on it and you don't second guess 'em. Nobody wants to know how sausage is made. And nobody wants to jog the elbow of the guy who's gonna protect you and your family."
Garrett looks back at Random. Though his voice is calm, it's obvious he's holding his temper. "Look, I'm not second-guessing him, Your Majesty. He's gotta do what's gotta be done and I'm not asking for the details. But if someone's doing bodily harm in my name or somehow making it look like I'm a murderer, I think I've a right to know."
Random pops the cap from the bottle and catches it with the hand holding the bottle-opener. He hands the beer to Martin, who's still looking at his brother. "Exactly what are you suggesting, Garrett?" Martin asks.
Garrett looks back at Martin and sighs, forcing his temper back in check. The last thing he wants to do is start another fight. In a more conciliatory tone, he explains, "Martin, I don't know enough to suggest anything. That's the problem. All I know is you came down to the stables that day with some kind of... haze around you that made you look... I don't know..." he shrugs, "invisible, but not. It looked like I'd reckon magic looks. You sent me off on an errand and when I came back, someone who was a friend before I left was so scared of me that he tried to run away, broken leg and all. Then you whisked me out of there before I could talk to anyone."
Garrett glances at Random as it occurs to him that this is probably the first time the King has heard his side of the story. Then he looks back at Martin. "I don't know what happened there. I hoped you could help me understand, but if I have to stay in the dark a bit longer, then so be it. Your decision." He eyes Martin as he sips his beer, waiting for that decision.
Random clears his throat. "My decision, really. Most of them are, eventually. Here's where this conversation is failing. Two things. First, Martin has my full backing to execute high justice as necessary. Martin literally can't commit murder (which is a term at law for illegal killing), except of me and then only if he doesn't get away with it. De facto, he has to worry about the good opinion of his uncles and aunts and, to a lesser degree, his cousins. You made noises that sounded like you were challenging him. Don't do that unless you mean to. Martin is bigger than you are."
Martin listens impassively to Random's explanation, displaying none of the smug satisfaction that one might expect after the royal endorsement.
Garrett stands stock-still with no inclination to argue. His expression is serious, but despite the dressing-down, his gaze remains level. His jaw begins to clench.
"Second, you are, like it or not, now outed. That means it no longer matters what you or anyone else thinks, except for me and those same aunts, uncles, and cousins. Your best bet is to stay here in Xanadu, because Amber isn't ever going to be comfortable for Royal you. You need time and distance to get over caring about the stableboys who will, and I am sorry to hit you with this now when you're still figuring things out, grow up, old, and dead before your aunts consider you old enough to sit at the grownup's table.
The effect of Random's words on Garrett is like that of a drill sergeant on the first day of basic training. His conflicting emotions are hidden behind the set jaw and stony expression. But something of the boyish glimmer has gone out of his eyes.
"Third, it's pretty clear you need plenty of learning, so it's time to invoke an old tradition that has had mixed results in the past, or so I've heard." He turns to Martin, and gulps down a swig of beer. "Oh, Knight-Commander-Sir-Prince Martin, will you accept my son Garrett as your squire to serve you faithfully in return for you larnin' him up good in the ways of royal knightery, and all that?"
Garrett's posture and expression do not change as he shifts his gaze from Random to Martin.
Martin takes a swig of his own beer, perhaps to buy time to consider an answer. After he swallows, he answers, "That depends on whether Garrett's willing to serve and obey."
For a moment, Garrett stares toward some distant point somewhere between Random and Martin. His jaw relaxes slightly, as if he's mentally setting something aside. Then, he slowly puts his beer down on an end table and looks back at Martin. Very formally, he bows to his brother. "I serve at your command, Your Highness," he says in a clear voice devoid of emotion. There is no trace of sarcasm. Merely acquiescence.
"But not at my pleasure," Martin observes to Random, with a tight smile.
Garrett reclenches his jaw to contain his frustration at Martin's comment. Why the f**k can't I get anything right? _
Random opens his mouth to reply, but closes it when Martin continues,
He rolls right on. "Are you sure you want to do this? This is a significant honor to Card, and if you put Garrett in line to serve in Card, it's kind of a diss of Ruby. It suggests your sons are too good to serve in a martial order. That's not even getting into the security risk of having the two of us in close quarters. That's a lot of eggs in one basket."
Random shrugs. "There's no one I want to have do it in Ruby."
"Brennan could do it," Martin replies.
Garrett looks back and forth between the two as they speak. At the pause, he ventures, "Beg pardon, Your, um," he hesitates, not sure how to address the two of them together with proper respect, "Highness and Majesty, if I might interrupt..."
[Assuming they let him]
He looks at Martin and says sincerely, "I did not mean to imply that I would not be honored to serve you, Prince Martin. I've looked forward to it since you mentioned it on the way here."
His gaze shifts to take in both men. "As to which order, might I suggest, if you both please, that Card might be more appropriate," he continues. "I did serve the Regency in me own way, even if no one knew who I was at the time. However, if Sir Brennan wishes to assist in me training, I would welcome that also." Garrett stops rambling then, and the slightly uncomfortable expression indicates he has remembered that it no longer matters what he thinks.
"That's exactly what we don't want, home guard vs. returnees--" Martin starts to explain, but Random overrides him.
"You want to know what I think? Of course you do. Three things.
"First, be careful about accepting favors. Some of our relatives will hand them out like candy. I'm not saying be an utterly paranoid b*stard, but be aware that sometimes markers will be called in."
Garrett nods thoughtfully at the advice.
"Second, we're all tired. Let's let this ferment in our brains for the night, and we'll reconsider it after we've slept at it. No decisions tonight."
Garrett starts to relax and reaches for his beer as he listens.
"Martin. Get some sleep. We've got company coming at the crack of noon. I swear I screwed up when I made the sun go from east to west. It'd be so much more useful to have an evening than a morning..."
Garrett quirks a surprised eyebrow. Everyone had said Random created this place, but Garrett had assumed they meant the castle. The King must be joking, though. He couldn't possibly have created Xanadu. Could he? Garrett downs a swig of his beer.
Martin nods once and comes to his feet. "Brennan and I will be sparring in the morning. Terce. You should come, Garrett."
Garrett mirrors Martin's nod. "Thank you. I will," he responds politely.
[Martin] glances at Random. "You're welcome too, Dad."
Random nods. "OK, are you going to do it on the terrace?"
"Uh, I'm not sure."
"OK, I'll find you then. Go get some sleep."
"G'night, Martin," Garrett smiles tentatively, trying to recover the better relations they had while on the road.
Martin says, "Goodnight, Garrett, Dad," and is on his way. He does not look back, and the door closes firmly behind him.
After Martin departs, Garrett turns back to Random. "That was one of the things I wanted to ask you, Sire. I know you didn't want me known in Amber, but what is me role to be here? Do you wish me to attend court tomorrow?"
"You're the King's minor son. You're lucky. In some courts that would mean you had to become a priest."
Garrett allows a look of distaste to show over the top of his beer bottle.
"In your experience, what is the role of a son of a king?"
"In my experience, Sire?" Garrett responds. He thinks a moment, grateful for his recent discussion with Brennan. "I reckon it's to protect the kingdom and the liege. My only examples are the sons of King Oberon. Prince Corwin and Prince Julian were Wardens of Arden. Prince Benedict was a Master of Arms. Prince Caine and Prince Gerard led the Navies. Prince Eric commanded the Royal Guard. Prince Bleys led the horsemen in the War and Prince Brand became a sorcerer."
Garrett suddenly looks embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I don't know what you did before you became King."
"My father was a traditionalist, and liked things in threes. A Prince for the Mountain, a Prince for the Forest, and a Prince for Sea. I should've backed up Julian in Arden, and I trained there for a couple of decades, but the temptations of urbanity kept calling to me."
Garrett smiles as he recalls what he's heard about the reputation of Young Prince Random.
"Let me ask this another way. Think of my brothers, your uncles. What can't they do? And if you say that Benedict can't clap his hands, I'll ask you to prove that.
"Talk to some people, figure out the answers to those two questions and then we'll talk about this some more."
Garrett nods slowly, as if memorizing a homework assignment. He finishes his beer and crosses the room to place the empty on the sideboard.
When he turns back to Random he says, "There's one more thing, Your Majesty. While we were on the road, Martin said I'd prob'ly be enlisted to help move people here. What sort of operation do you have in mind?" Garrett seems eager to help.
"One that works. I'm not 100% sure what it is, except that it shouldn't involve a volcano. We'll talk about it tomorrow after court, or maybe at."
Garrett stares at Random for a beat before he nods once and answers, "All...right. I'll be there." Then once again Garrett's cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Um, Your Majesty? I've never done this before. Is there a particular way a prince is supposed to dress for court?"
"See, this is why you need to be someone's squire. My brothers, they tend to have personal colors of their choosing. Corwin always wore black and silver, indicating that he was dark and rich or something. I never did set colors for myself. Either I was too feckless to make such an important choice, I nobly bucked custom because of my inherently superior understanding of the restriction such a practice represented, or else all the cool colors were already claimed.
"Wear what you want, subject to the same de facto rules about annoying cousins and uncles. If you show up in a T-Shirt that reads "Fiona's kid totally killed that Rebman both times", it may not be possible to prevent you from being turned into a frog."
Garrett snorts and grins. "I'll keep that one in the drawer, then," he smiles. He crosses to the chair where Lilly's sword rests, but before he picks it up, he looks back over at Random as if suddenly remembering something. "Your Majesty," he ventures, "before we got off on a tangent, you started to say something about moving me family out of Amber for safety. Where would you send them?"
Random looks pained. "The only answer I can come up with on short notice is 'here', but we should keep thinking about it. You should hit the sack, you look beat."
A glimmer of hopeful light comes back into Garrett's eyes, but he manages to mostly hide his smile. Except for that slight quirk of amusement in the corner of his lip. "Well...if you're sure you want to do that to yourself, Sire. I'll do everything I can to keep Mum on a short rein."
He picks up Lilly's sword carefully. "I'll return this to Lilly tomorrow," he says as he moves toward the door. He gives Random a head bow. "Good night...Your Majesty," Garrett says with a pause that sounds like he started to say something less formal.
"G'night, kiddo. Oh, hey, for tomorrow? Comb your hair before court."
Garrett grins and nods once. "Yes, sir," he answers as he exits. As he walks back to his own rooms, Garrett chuckles and shakes his head. That's just what his mother would've said.
Last modified: 3 May 2005