Breakfast Summons

Folly wakes up nestled against Martin spoon-style. From the angle of the light filtering in, it's much too early to be getting up. It's debatable what woke her up: it could be the cat licking her face, or it could be the person in another room making Altogether Too Much Noise, or it could be Martin's light touch on her shoulder.

Folly blinks and looks quizzically at Martin, her eyes still only half-open.

Once she moves and he's sure she's awake, Martin says loudly, "What is it?"

Gilt Winters' voice drifts in through the door that leads to the entrance to Martin's suite. "Ah, your highness, you're awake. I have a note for you from your father. He's returned to Amber and is gathering the family for breakfast."

"When?" says Martin.

"A half-glass or so."

"Dammit," Martin murmurs, too low for Gilt to hear. He raises his voice again in reply, "If I happen to see any of my cousins, I'll be sure to let them know, in case the servants missed them in all the hustle and bustle."

Folly has to cover her mouth to stifle a chuckle.

"Most considerate, your highness. Is there any message I can carry back to your father for you?"

"Yes, please. Tell him I'm likely to be a bit late; I promised my cousin Lucas I'd try to trump Merlin and I didn't get him last night, so I'll try again this morning. Also, could you send to the kitchen and tell them I won't be taking breakfast in my suite after all?"

"Of course, your highness." Gilt's voice is completely bland. "If there's nothing else ..."

"That's all. Thank you, Gilt. I appreciate the heads-up."

Folly hears the noise of the outer door of the suite closing.

"Dammit," Martin says again in a more normal tone of voice.

"Yeah, your father can be kind of a weasel sometimes," Folly says, smiling, without a trace of ire: she's still far too blissful to let a little setback spoil her mood.

"Mmm, nice weasel," she adds in a sleepy sing-song voice as she pets the little fluffball purring away on her chest. She snuggles a little closer to Martin, pets his hair, making the most of these last thirty-seconds-or-so of carefree contentment.

"I suppose," she says in a more-awake voice a few moments later, "that I should make myself presentable if you're gonna trump Merlin...."

"Probably," Martin says. His voice has already lost the trace of annoyance that it carried as he spoke with Gilt.

"Actually, I was kind of thinking ... but no, we'd better just get up. We'll run by your room afterwards and you can change." He tosses the covers off of himself, which annoys Fathom, and stands up. The stretching that follows includes a cacophony of popping joints and grunts.

Folly, still in bed, also indulges in a languid stretch, gently testing overworked muscles. At this rate, she'll never recover from her Patternwalk.

The prospect makes her smile.

She gives Fathom another little cuddle and then slides out of bed. "Mmm. Yeah. Changing clothes, good idea," she says as she eyes the untidy pile of yesterday's garments, the only of her things she brought with her.

If there's water in the basin, she freshens up a bit before dressing. She pulls her clothes on quickly, almost haphazardly, taking care only to check her jeans pockets to make sure nothing important has fallen out.

There is water. During her ablutions, Martin tosses her a clean T-shirt from his clothespress. It's soft cotton, and clearly has been washed in overhot water too many times. "Too small for me," he says by way of explanation. It's loose on Folly, but clean and comfortable, and isn't what she was wearing when she left Xanadu.

Martin is too busy dressing to observe her inspection of her pockets and whether or not she puts on the contents thereof again.

Only after she's dressed does she interrupt Martin's morning preparations to indulge in a good-morning kiss.

"Here's to the first day of the rest of our eternal lives, mmm?" she says, smiling up at him.

"I'll drink to that, but I don't think they'll have the hard stuff at breakfast. We'll have to settle for coffee." Martin wraps his arms around Folly and holds her tight for a few long moments before going to put on his shoes. The sneakers he was wearing the day his father returned to Amber have rotted past wearability in the last six weeks, and he dons a pair of boots instead.

When he's done, Martin opens his box of Trumps and draws out Merlin's card. He concentrates on the card, and says, "Merle?"

[pause]

"Hey, Merle, where are you?"

[pause]

"Conveniently, I'm in Amber. Come through?"

[pause]

"No, I'm in my room--I'll have to go down to the stables." Martin pauses and blinks, as if he's parsing something that Merlin said. "Waitaminnit. Your sister?"

[pause]

"O-kay. I'll go down to the stables. You guys hang tight, okay? I'll call ya back when I'm down there."

[pause]

"You do that," Martin replies, and passes his hand over the card. He looks up at Folly, clearly a little bewildered and troubled. "He says he and his sister are coming to Amber. His sister has the same name as my grandmother's ward that Jerod and I were discussing before he left."

Folly quirks an eyebrow. "Corwin's daughter.... by Moire. What did Gerard say her name was? Celina?" She frowns, as if she doesn't like the way these parts are fitting together.

"Yes," Martin says. "That's right. I'd forgotten about that. I think you drove it right out of my mind." He smiles half-heartedly at Folly and sucks in a breath. "I'm gonna go down to the stables and bring them through. You wanna come or you wanna go on to breakfast? It might be, um, less obvious if you go on, and you could change your clothes. If you didn't want to come with me, that is."

"Oh, I'm coming with you," Folly replies, her brow still furrowed in contemplation.

Martin's tentative smile grows stronger, and he takes her hand and squeezes it. "Thanks," he says.

Sometime in the middle of [their] next day, Merlin gets a blank look while they're riding, and after a moment, says, "Martin?" in a tone of profound relief.

[pause]

"I am coming to Amber. Where are you?"

[pause]

"Yes, I would like that very much. My sister and I are having some difficulties. Where are you? Can you accommodate the horses?"

[pause]

"Yes, my sister Celina. She is with me and we are riding to Amber, but if you could bring us through it would make our journey much easier," Merlin says patiently.

[pause]

"Very well. We will wait for you."

Merlin's eyes come back into focus. "That was Martin. He is in Amber and is going down to the stables where he will help us bring our horses through a trump connection. He will contact me when he is ready to bring us through. I hope that is all right," he says to Celina.

"I should say it is all right." Celina breathes easier and lets go of some tension. "I've learned a lot, but right now a helping hand is much appreciated."

Merlin swallows. "I agree. I have not done very well. I should have listened more to our father while he was telling me what to do. I will do it better if I redo it."

Celina smothers the disappointed face that reflects the thought of Merlin never giving the shadows another try.

He dismounts and offers Celina his hand to help her down.

She slides easily from the mount to stand at his hip.

"Have you ever used a trump before?" Here Merlin is clearly on surer ground. "It is very simple. You will be here and then you will be there."

The quick smile becomes low laughter. Celina squeezes Merlin's hand. "Very simple. And, no, I have never had the privilege of using a Trump. I've heard of them, of course. There was even a story that you could tell a person's fortune with them." She raises an inquisitive eyebrow at Merlin.

"Is there anything I should not do with this process of Trump?" Celina is still smiling.

"Oh, hundreds of things, but I do not think you will be able to do any of them this time. I will be passing you through to Martin, and you will not be directly involved in the connection. It is as Jerod implied: Trump could be used as a method of psychic attack, or for delivering a physical attack."

Something about this last thought makes Merlin frown, and he changes the direction of his speech. "I have always used Trumps to speak with others, and to pass through distances. That is the way I understand they are commonly used. It is said that the Master of the Line made the Trumps to allow our aunts and uncles to communicate, although why he might think they would need this I do not know."

His tone becomes didactic, as he launches into a brief lecture on the history of Trumps as conveyed to him by his mistress, who had it from her master, who supposedly had it from the Master of the Line. His rendition is complete with speculations on their relation to Pattern and Sorcery. Celina has no way of knowing whether his speculations are accurate or not, and Merlin freely admits he doesn't either when questioned.

Each of the youngers receives a message in the early morning, via a castle page, most of them slipped under the appropriate door. [If that door is in town or at a club, then that's where the note arrives.]

The note is simple and says "Please join me for breakfast in the garden. Dress: Mandatory!"

Early arrivals will find Caine and Gerard in the garden, picking fruit out of a buffet and Random is sitting crosslegged on a large pillow, juggling bananas and reciting poetry.

[In your reply, please declare if you are early or if you are late. If you want to consider a different option, please write the GMs... :) ]

Bright and early, almost - one might say - offensively early, Lucas raps on his mother's door and then pushes it open to walk into her sitting room - although he does not, as yet, venture into the bedroom beyond.

Instead he calls out, "Good morning, Maman!" in a tone that is certifiably cheery, considering the earliness of the hour.

"I have brought you your chocolat," he continues, setting down a tray contained the silver pot of hot chocolate (not the sweet modern adulterated variety, but the good strong eighteenth century ancien regime stuff) and then dropping into an armchair, resting his long legs on a soft leather pouffe (just the right size for attractive young men to sit upon in order to gaze up adoringly at Flora).

He pours himself some chocolat into one of the thick white porcelain cups and sips.

"You have received a missive from his Majesty, I trust?" he continues.

Lucas has clearly abandoned his existentialist phrase - at least for the morning. He is wearing pale cream Oxford bags and a white shirt, with a white cricket sweater over the top (Yorkshire). He's clearly not expecting a game, however; not only would the bags be a little awkward in the field, but the pale biege loafters he is resting on the pouffe are similarly impractical. Rather nice for swanning around the Castle in, though.

There is a ruffle of sheets, and some noises of an armoire opening, and then Lucas' mother comes into the living area, drawing her thick white robe over her lovely bare skin. She is certainly nude beneath it. Two of her hounds trot into the room behind her.

Lucas can see behind her into the bedroom. The bed is disarranged, but no young lover rests there now. Either he leapt out the window or into the armoire, or perhaps under the bed. Either that or he is allergic to her dogs, and did not stay the night.

Lucas wouldn't dream of intruding on Maman's privacy like that. Really. Well ...

"Good morning, mon petit cher," she greets Lucas. "You are so thoughtful, bringing your mother a morning treat to make up for the trick her brother has played on her."

"Mais oui, Maman," he responds, producing two small treats for the dogs from his jacket, and offering them one each. "Although I would advise acquiring a few more garments if you want to avoid pleasantries that border on ribaldry."

He sits back in the armchair and smiles at her languidly.

"I see you are struggling to suppress your delight at the King's return. Behold me all eagerness to escort you into his presence."

"Of course. In a moment, I shall certainly go and dress. But first, let me enjoy this fine chocolat and catch up on the latest news. How is dear Solace?" Flora asks. She pours her own cup of the aforementioned beverage and seats herself daintily in another armchair.

"Much recovered," says Lucas. Then he sighs. "Although I fear she may not be strong enough to cope with the excitement of that delightful family dinner we had planned with you and Lady Vesper. It will be hard for us both to forgo that treat but, at the moment, I could not in conscience permit ma pauvre Solace to exert herself."

His expression, as he sips his chocolat, is one of pensive disappointment.

"How unfortunate," Flora says. "I shall have to visit her and bring her some little delicacy from the kitchen in hopes of restoring her health."

"She will be ecstatic," says Lucas.

She takes a sip from her own cup, then says, "But I am afraid I should not have been able to have a grand dinner after all myself. I had a Trump from my brother Corwin last night. It seems that he is beginning to hold court in Paris, and he needs an official hostess. He has asked me to take the position, and I have agreed."

Flora's lovely red lips curve into a smile. "I should love to have an intimate family affair with Solace's dear maman before then, but I leave within the week, and I shall spend most of it preparing. I shall have to tell Random at breakfast." She leaves unspoken the relish she feels at the prospect, but Lucas can see it in her eyes.

Lucas' dark eyebrows lift. "My felicitations, Maman," he says calmly. "A chance to grace a new Paris as beautifully as you did the old.

"However, if you are to embark for Paris, rather than being clapped in irons by Random, I suggest we make all haste now to this ... erm ... breakfast meeting he has called."

"I knew you would be happy for me," Flora says, and rises.

"Ecstatic, Maman," replies Lucas promptly. His dark eyes meet hers, and there is a slight smile on his lips. "And not a little impressed."

She drops a kiss on Lucas' dark head, then retreats to her dressing room to change. On her way out, she says, "Perhaps the Paris air would be invigorating for poor Solace. I should love to have you visit, with the children, of course."

"And we would be more than happy to visit," he replies. "After all, the children should have some knowledge of at least a simulacrum of their non-Amberite heritage. And Solace too will enjoy it, I am sure."

A few minutes later, she has donned a lovely pale green dress, and she and Lucas go down into the garden for breakfast.

Martin and Folly leave the castle by way of the kitchen. He steals a couple of pieces of bacon, one of which he offers to Folly, and tells the staff that there will be additional guests at breakfast, and asks them to send up another round of plates, with a couple of Rebman dishes.

From the kitchens, they wander down to the stables, where Martin finds the duty groom and asks for an under-groom to assist them in putting away two horses. He summons a young lad--one of Folly's favorites, who helped her learn how to ride--and instructs him to help the Royals.

Garrett is working in the stalls when he hears his father call him. When he puts down the hay bale he was bringing in and comes up to the front of the stable, he sees Prince Martin and Lady Folly waiting with his father.

Garrett brushes hay off his shirtfront as he comes out of the barn. He smiles and bows to Prince Martin, who appears to be in a good mood this morning. Garrett's just relieved to see him alive. "Welcome back, Your Highness."

"Thanks," says Martin.

His smile turns into a full grin when he catches Lady Folly's eye. He gives her a bow as well. "Lady Folly, it's good to see you home safe."

"Hi, Garrett," Folly replies, returning the grin. "It's good to be back." She, too, seems to be in a very good mood -- but for her, that's not so unusual.

"His Highness and the lady need help putting some horses away," Garrett's father explains. They don't have any horses with them, which is a bit odd, but Royals do strange things sometimes. Martin has lost enough horses that it would be nice to see him find some extras for a change.

Garrett looks around for the horses, then looks at Donovan. "Uh...sure. I'll take care of it, Dad."

"Oh, that reminds me!" Folly says, addressing both horsemen. "The horse we rode out on---" She holds her hand up above her head, at approximately the shoulder height of the big bay, "---we left safely stabled at our first stop, but then we ended up coming back a different way...."

"Don't tell me - you flew in by dragon," Garrett teases, with a lop-sided smile.

"Don't I wish!" says Folly, laughing. "Really, I don't know how you put up with us, leaving your charges all over creation like this," she adds with a conspiratorial wink at Garrett. "If I were you, I'm sure I'd spend half my time scolding us for stunts like that...."

It is probably clear to Martin that Folly is happily serving as a diversion in case he needs one.

Garrett allows himself to be easily diverted. To Folly, who is used to Garrett being a good-natured bundle of energy, he seems more subdued than usual. Maybe tired, maybe a bit nervous. He glances in Martin's direction briefly, then turns his full attention back to Folly. "If you just got in, you prob'ly didn't get me note yet," he says in a low voice.

Martin has not in fact opened a Trump connection. He seems to be waiting for the conversation between Garrett and Folly to die down. Or maybe he's just watching Folly. He's wearing kind of a little grin that barely quirks up the corners of his mouth.

Folly's eyes widen in surprise and delight at the thought of Garrett writing her a note. "No, I haven't," she admits with a smile.

"Once you get settled, I wonder if you could spare an hour or so, perhaps while Prince Martin is catching up on his duties, to take Sprite for a short ride with me. She hasn't been acting right for a couple of weeks now and I'm a little worried about her," he says with concern.

Folly's expression grows somber. "Do you know what might be wrong with her?" she asks, her concern echoing Garrett's own.

Garrett glances at his father, the look saying "We discussed this, remember?" Turning back to Folly, he continues, "She might just be missing you, so now that you're back, I'd like to check to be sure it's nothing more serious."

"Of course," Folly says emphatically, and then frowns, as if something troubling had just occurred to her. "Oh, I hope she's alright.... I'll try to make some time this afternoon, okay?"

"Okay. Don't worry too much," Garrett says with a reassuring smile. "She's prob'ly just being temp'remental. Early afternoon would be best, if you can, m'lady. I'm supposed to be helping Nestor with something in the lib'ry later today. Long story - I'll tell you about it when you come down."

Folly's eyes widen in surprise, and she laughs. "Now I'm going to be speculating all morning what Nestor wants horses in the library for!" she teases. "I'll definitely be here as soon as I can, and I look forward to hearing the story."

When they run out of conversation, [Martin] says to Folly, "We need somewhere with a little more room. Sometimes the horses spook, especially when there's only one or two of them."

Garrett is beginning to think the injury Martin suffered in the Masquerade has affected his mind, because he still doesn't see any horses. Crazy or not, though, Prince Martin is still the Heir Presumptive (and Garrett's big brother). Garrett regards him skeptically and says, "Of course, Your Highness. Follow me."

Garrett leads Folly and Martin out into an open space near the riding paddock. When they get there, Martin draws a box of cards out of his shirt pocket. He shuffles one out, and begins talking to it.

Garrett's brow furrows quizzically. He glances over at Folly to see if she's as concerned about this as he is, then stares back at Martin.

When Folly notices Garrett's puzzlement, she grins and winks at him. It's possible she means "Just hang tight while we humor my insane boyfriend who talks to cards," but she doesn't seem overly concerned by the situation.

After a while, long enough that Celina had begun to worry, Merlin gets that blank look again, and she realizes that this is another Trump contact.

"Martin?"

[pause]

"I will. Celina, hand me the reins to your horse, please."

Celina does so, and Merlin makes a gesture as if he were pantomiming handing the horse's reins to someone. And the horse steps forward and vanishes in a spray of prismatic light that makes Celina's head hurt to look at. It is as if the horse's dimensions had narrowed to a point and gone away.

Merlin repeats the process with his own horse.

Then Merlin takes Celina's hand. "Just step forward when you feel your hand in Martin's," he instructs her. And in a moment she does feel her hand in another person's, and she can see Martin standing in a field somewhere, and then she's there with him.

"Merle?"

[pause]

"I'm ready. Pass the horses through first, then you two come through."

Then Martin suddenly has a horse with him. If Garrett is watching closely, he sees Martin's free hand move as if he's grasping a rein, and there's sort of spray of multicolored light and a horse appears, or maybe grows suddenly, or something that Garrett can't quite see or make sense of out of it.

Now who's crazy, thinks Garrett as he stands with his mouth open, staring at the horse that appeared out of thin air.

Martin hands the horse's reins to Garrett.

Garrett absently takes the reins while staring at Martin, his mind filling with questions. How did he do that? Is it a "blood" thing? Can I do it? Is this what happened to all his horses? Horses. Garrett's horseman instinct takes over. He stifles his amazement for the sake of the animal and pets its neck. Good - it's real. "It's okay, buddy," he says in a soothing tone, as much to himself as the horse. "This happens every day. Nothing to worry about."

Then the process repeats itself again, and a black gelding appears. Martin hands the reins of that horse to Garrett as well.

Then a woman steps through, and at last a man. While they blink, adjusting to the morning sun, Martin takes the card and slides it back into the box, which he slides back into his shirt pocket.

Still holding the horses, Garrett stares at the newcomers and Martin, then looks at Folly for cues as to whether this is really as strange as he thinks it is.

Folly's demeanor has changed -- she seems more formal now, perhaps even a touch uneasy -- but it seems to have more to do with the newcomers themselves than with the manner of their arrival. She's watching the woman in particular the way a rabbit, still but alert, might watch an approaching cat. She steps forward to stand by Martin.

"Welcome to Amber," he says. "I'm Martin, and this is Folly."

Martin is a wiry but muscular young man, perhaps 5' 9" in height. He has the exotic blond hair and features that Celina recalls from the Trump she has seen of him. He is dressed in heavy pants more appropriate for a workman than a prince, and a cotton undershirt with his flannel overshirt unbuttoned and untucked. His boots need to be polished.

Merlin is slightly taller and more heavily built than Martin. Garrett, who has never met Merlin before, can see the resemblance to portraits of Prince Corwin and, more personally, his resemblance to the late King Eric and Princess Deirdre, to Lady Cambina, and to Prince Caine. Merlin is dressed in black trousers and a white shirt. His boots are scuffed in a fashion that suggests he's been riding a lot recently.

Celina is three inches shorter than Martin in her thin-soled leather boots. In the golden sun of Amber, her skin has a deep cast of green to it, lighter on her palm, which she raises to shield her eyes so as to take in the others. She has jade eyes, large and cat-like. Her locks are very black, but the shine in her hair is tinted of the sea. Her overdress is simple and cut large for easy movement.

Her smile, huge, as she takes in the three in front of her, glancing only briefly at Merlin as he appears. She looks back to Martin, still holding palm over her brows. "Thank you kindly for your welcome. Martin. I am Celina of Seaward, sometime Lady of the Royal Bedchamber of Rebma." And she nods to Folly. "Folly. My pleasure---."

"Well met, Lady Celina," Folly replies with a smile that shows warmth, curiosity, and perhaps a trace of amusement, as if Celina had said something clever or unexpected. She extends a hand in greeting, purposely choosing the hand that will not interfere with Celina's manual visor.

Folly is a petite woman, fully two hands shorter than Martin, with fair skin and dark eyes and hair that is dark brown in the back but vividly purple -- moreso, in fact, than the last time Garrett or Merlin saw her -- in front. She has the sort of round face and sharp features that would make her age difficult to guess even if she were a mortal woman: she could pass for Garrett's age, or twice that. She wears denim trousers similar to Martin's and a casual, soft cotton shirt that is a bit too wide through the shoulders. She doesn't seem to have chosen her footwear with the stables in mind: she is wearing sandals.

Garrett, the dark-haired groom, is a couple of inches shorter than Martin, but of the same general build. He is in his late teens, with a narrow chin and bright blue eyes, which are partially covered by the hair that blows into his face. His arms, extending from the rolled-up sleeves of his white homemade shirt, are tanned and wiry from years of outdoor work. His brown trousers are littered with hay and his brown leather boots are well-worn, but look comfortable - for boots.

Garrett reverts to typical servant behavior, not speaking to the newcomers unless spoken to. He pets the horses and talks softly to them, but his watchful eyes never leave the people in the group, especially the green girl. Must be Rebman. The teenage snort at the mention of the "Royal Bedchamber" is barely audible, and the poker face holds.

Celina proves to have superb hearing, her green eyes question Garrett in wonder at the snort. Obviously she has no idea what meaning to assign the noise.

Martin, who knows what the title means, does. He looks mildly annoyed, but he's looking at Celina and Garrett can't really see his face.

Oops. Bagged. Garrett's face as he looks back at Celina changes subtly to indicate a silent apology.

From previous meetings with those of Amber, Celina does not expect any tactile offers or friendly informalities. When Folly offers a hand so plainly, it diverts the Seaward lass from Celina's eyelock with Garrett.

Celina takes Folly's hand and squeezes it warmly. She watches Folly's dark eyes carefully--unsure if hugs or kisses will follow.

Not today, it seems, though Folly appears quite comfortable with physical contact. Perhaps Amberite women differ in this respect from Amberite men....

"Welcome back, Merlin," Folly adds once the introductions are made. Her smile and her tone are warmly affectionate. "It's good to see you again."

"Thank you, Folly. I am pleased to be here with you and Martin." Merlin isn't oblivious to the conversational undertones or the tension, and he seems relieved by the opportunity to change the subject completely. "What time is it here?"

"Early morning," Martin replies. "Dad's having breakfast and an all-hands family meeting, for which I believe we are late. There are--things to discuss--for those of the royal blood. Paris counts," he explains.

The groom's shoulders sag and he deliberately turns to face one of the horses, stroking its cheek and talking softly to it.

To Celina, [Martin] adds, "When I found out you were coming, I took the liberty of having salt tea and fish paste and a couple of other things sent up. I hope that will suit." He looks like he might have something else to say, but decides against.

Celina nods a simple agreement to Martin.

"Shall we go up, then?" Merlin asks, offering Celina his arm. "I confess a hearty meal would not sit amiss just now."

And Celina takes Merlin's arm with a smile.

"Yeah, let's," Martin replies, and takes Folly's arm. He looks down at her and smiles. "I guess it's a good thing I sent for more breakfast, huh?"

He starts to shepherd the little group off into the castle, then, as an afterthought, says to Garrett, "Thank you."

Garrett glances at the Prince, then looks at the ground. "Yes, Your Highness," he says softly as he turns the horses and leads them slowly toward the stables.

As Celina follows on Merlin's escort, she glances back at the young man and studies his slow walk. A moment and she is moving into the shadow of the castle.