After his conversation with Celina, Conner allows himself the luxury of a long nap in whatever sleeping quarters he can procure. Upon awakening, Conner takes the time to locate Brennan's entourage of squire and Aelfs and sends a swimmer to inform Queen Khela that he will be departing to attend the funeral in Xanadu. He then concentrates upon Mother's trump.
Fiona replies at once. "Conner. How are things in Rebma?"
"Wet." Conner smiles at his mother warmly and continues sending his thoughts. "Most everything else is in enough flux to defy detailed analysis but I can offer a few bullet points. Huon's army is dispersed and Rebma stands secure against outside aggression. Queen Khela is settling in to consolidating her power and riding the wave of the conquering hero as far as she can. The city still stands but was struck by a seaquake during the course of the battle. The damage pattern is reminiscent of the Sundering but not as severe. I have plenty of detail to add but it is better suited to more secure surroundings."
Conner speaks out loud for the first time. "Brennan left his squire and some warriors behind and they are rather eager to find him again. Can you bring us through?"
"Of course." Fiona draws them through and calls for servants to arrange for housing for Brennan's entourage. She waits until they are alone again to turn back to the subject of Rebma. "So, Conner. Details."
"The battle lines were drawn and Huon's defeat seemed all but inevitable just by the numbers arrayed against him. We all expected some gambit but nothing like what occured." Conner pales slightly as he speaks and chooses to sit down. "Huon rode forward on magical shark constructs to parley. Khela decided to speak with him and brought with her Brennan who appeared on the eve of battle hunting the being known as the Eater. We three swam out with Triton attendants and Huon delivered to us an ultimatum. Surrender to him the Pattern Sword of Rebma or he would detonate a blood bomb over Rebma's Pattern dooming all within to death by drowning.
"I used the Eye and verified his threat was true. The Eater was over the Pattern chamber with a man shaped being made of blood." Conner would really like a drink about now. "We decided to be bold. Pooling our sorcerous skills, we successfully Parted the Veil and sent Brennan to the Pattern Chamber to face the Eater." Conner smiles slightly. "The feeling was incredible Mother. We shifted the weight of centuries with naught but our will. 'Give me a fulcrum and a long enough lever and I will move the universe.' But oh how it shuddered." Conner gulped. "There was a seaquake. I still don't know if it was a result of our desperate magic or some damage inflicted by Huon's blood creature. I still need to speak with Brennan on that. Later, we saw that the pattern of the damage matched thatof the Sundering if less severe.
"But I digress. The battle after that was far more pedestrian." Conner admits. "Huon attacked Khela and sent his shark at me. I Parted the Veil and let the shark's momentum slam me into Huon. That bought us the time for Jerod to arrive. Jerod and Khela held him at bay. Huon took wounds but did not bleed. Then he, Khela, and Jerod all disappeared in a Trump like flash." Conner pauses a moment.
"I channeled the force of the Pattern and erased the shark constructs that held our Trtions at bay." Conner goes on. "With their leader and primary defense gone, Huon's forces were swiftly routed. That freed me to use the Eye to track Huon. Have you heard the tale of Huon's pursuit, capture and escape already?" Conner asks. "I have some gaps in that story myself."
Fiona nods at appropriate moments in Conner's recitation.
"I've had it from Bleys." Which sounds like it covers a multitude of sins, some of which are Bleys's. "The short version involves quick shadow-shifting, some dragons, and a quick escape by Trump. Apparently the guards weren't adequately advised of what they were dealing with. Having shifted Shadow on the mountain, Huon knew he could get away, and took immediate advantage of this fact."
Fiona presses her lips together. "I do not believe in killing unless there is no other resort. However, if Huon comes for Bleys again, he will find he is dealing with me."
"With us." Conner amends. "Though I freely admit you are the one more likely to strike fear, or perhaps lightning, into Huon's heart." Conner smiles thinly. "I have tried seeking Huon with the Eye but he is taking precautions against mirror work. Staying in pitch darkness for example. I shall keep trying I expect in case he slips up or I come up with everything extremely clever."
"I am actually more concerned about an unexpected result of my sorcery." Conner admits. "If you will recall from my narrative, I Parted the Veil to gain a momentary advantage over Huon. As near as I can tell, the Veil remains parted. Those two points on the battlefield are still one. Is this something I can repair?" Conner asks clearly hoping the answer is yes.
"My understanding is that there's some severe metaphysical disruption around Rebma just now. I'd have to look but I would expect it to require a Jewel initiate attuned to the Rebman Pattern to solve. Those seem to be in short supply," Fiona says drily. "We'll consult with Corwin, since I'm reasonably sure he has both."
Conner nods in acceptance. "Everything seems to be in flux down there. It does not surprise me that it includes the metaphysics. It is just as well. I wished to speak to Corwin on another matter anyway. If Khela keeps to her promises, I will soon be the bearer of Rebma's Pattern Blade. That was the price I gave for my aid, and she accepted." Conner waits for his mother's reaction. He cannot quite suppress the tapping of his right foot as he waits.
Fiona's delicate eyebrows arch and she puts the cup of tea she was enjoying down on her table. "Well, that is either excellent news or most distressing, and probably some combination of the two. Have you spoken with your uncle about what it means to bear such a blade?"
"In the general, yes." Conner replies. "We spoke of it when you challenged me to speak to him of Weyland the Smith. What he said then was enough for me to pursue the possibility of Pattern blades for the new kingdoms and in the process I found Celina questing after a green sword for her visions and there the Pattern blade of Rebma in the hands of Khela." Conner explains. "I felt and still feel that her hold on Rebma is tenuous enough that I would not have the blade lost again in civil war or worse delivered into the hands of an enemy. So I played my gambit to put it into safer hands, namely my own.
"So now I need to talk specifics and realities with Uncle Bleys about this course of action." Conner concedes. "I know this is as much burden as it is honor and I prepared to grow in whatever ways necessary to handle both." Conner avers. "I am very humbled, very proud and more than a little frightened by all of this." He admits. "It is said the price of getting what you wanted is getting what you wanted. I never really understood that until now."
"I would rather have it in one of our hands than in the hands of Llewella's daughter, it's true."
Fiona presses her lips together tightly.
"Without risk, there is no reward. Bleys has managed his blade well enough for centuries. If he can do it, do you believe you can do any less?" The question is rhetorical because Fiona continues onward. "What you must learn is how the binding can be made. If Khela has the sword now, and wields it truly, how did she get it? And, more importantly, how was she bound to it?"
"The story given was that she found it in the tomb of Cneve and simply took it." Conner replies. "If that is indeed the whole of the tale then it would seem that she is not truly bound to the blade. Of course, I have no illusions that I have been told the full truth as yet. Bleys once said that all that was needed to be bound was the will of the King. I hope to have him elaborate. Corwin too if he will share his story." Conner adds. "Upon my return to Rebma it is my intention to scour their archives. Mayhaps there is something to be gained there."
"Their archivist is here; you need not even leave to speak with her. Perhaps she has family to which you could bear a message," Fiona suggests. Her eyes narrow as she considers the question of Cneve's blade. "Have you seen Khela use any esoteric arts? How does she use the sword in connection with them, if she does?"
"I know that she is trained as a sorcerer and taught those arts to Celina as a principle she named Llaya." Conner answers easily enough. "She has yet to use such powers where I could observe them. During the battle, Khela was to direct her powers at a mystic connection between Huon and Rebma before striking at Huon physically, but I was busy trying to Part the Veil into the Pattern Chamber at the time and had no energy to concentrate on anything else. I have seen Uncle Bleys and Merlin work sorcery using Pattern blades as props. Merlin described it as something he never wanted to do again."
"Khela is not Bleys. Nor is Merlin, for all that he is more likely to advance to that stage of knowledge and competence than Khela. Nor does Merlin have the link to the blade I presume he was using that Bleys has to Werewindle. The lack of data about her actual use of the weapon makes it impossible to draw any accurate conclusions." Fiona frowns. "Perhaps she'll come to one of the funerals and Bleys can draw her out."
"I would be very surprised if she did not attend at least one of them." Conner replies. "Khela seems the type to meet challenges and opportunities head on. The chance to be seen as Queen and meet with Royals is not one that she would miss provided things in Rebma remain stable. Besides, Celina is in Paris. I suspect that would draw her forth if politics would not." Conner grins.
Fiona's eyebrows arch upward slightly at the last sentence. "Celina is Corwin's daughter. If blood runs true I would expect her to go to Rebma first. But the advantage of being seen at the funerals may draw her out. If she expects Random and Corwin to acknowledge her as their equal."
"Agreed." Conner nods. "As strange as this is to say, I think I could use some lighter topics about now. Would care to join me in a light repast and lighter gossip, Mother?" Either way, Conner heads off for some more soothing activities than tinkering with the universe.
For a comfortable mile or so, Robin just paces through the forest, little hisses of frustration and anxiety leaking through her lips. Eventually she calms down enough to take stock of her surroundings. She smiles to her wonderful flying friends and croons warmly. They did so good! That must have been so very hard on them, but they didn't attack anyone! Oh, they are the best. The very best!
After making sure that everyone's okay, Robin decides that she doesn't really want to walk all the way to Xanadu -- she is under some time constraints after all. So she starts looking around for a horse or two. After all, she and her family abandoned several (and at least one malcavallamico) in the vicinity recently so Robin thinks it's likely that she'll be able to scare something up.
Her intentions are to get herself and Venesch mounted, then head for the waterfront. If she can firm up the forest around herself along the way with some good ol' Dragon-resistant order, she definitely will. Once she hits the coast, she wants to start hell-riding with the winds blowing toward Xanadu. After about an hour or two, she'll see if she can't conjure Venesch's clothing into something more form and face concealing. Or 'find' some such attire along the way.
[OOC: Is Venesch draped across the saddle like a sack of potatoes? It is increasingly improbable that he's both still unconscious and not in need of medical attention. By the time you get to Xanadu, he'll need to wake up. In fact, he'll be in bad shape if he doesn't wake up by tonight...]
[Ummmm, no on the sack of potatoes theory, but I don't know what the alternative is....Leslie has no idea how one arranges bodies and horses, but I expect Robin's done her fair share of evacuating wounded Rangers. If necessary, they will ride double leading a relief mount.]
["Sack of potatoes" and "slung on a travois" are the two methods I know of if he's on his own horse. Riding double is probably safest.]
Horse and clothing are easily acquired, and a hell-ride leading a prisoner/wounded companion/what-have-you is a task that Robin is capable of, although it has been a long day with much travel and little rest. The firelizards settle on the horse, apparently planning to ride the entire way to Xanadu.
[How close is Robin going to get? She can't hellride more than a day's ride from Xanadu, if it's like Amber used to be...]
Shortly after Robin starts out, she begins making changes to the environment, the wind at her back and the scent of shadows she doesn't stop in filling her nose. Subtle at first, then faster and the horse she rides and the one she leads become accustomed to the change.
Rain .. soft at first, then harder... a bird startled from a wading pool ... a dune with a great fish skeleton washed up against it. Robin rides up and down the dunes, because the closeness of the horizon makes the hellriding easier.
The sand grows grey and rocky, then black with volcanic residue, then inexplicably pink... two ships founder at sea, both burning... a ship sinks alone... a bell tolls, from no clear place ... people crowd the beach ... workmen ... children ... no one.
Venesch moans and Robin stops. She's come quite a distance, and it's unclear how much time has passed. She tops a dune, knowing she's not quite to her destination.
A lone firelilly burns cheerfully on a piece of driftwood near the lapping waves, which are almost Xanadu's. Peep peeps, questioningly.
Robin peeps back in confirmation. Yep, she's tired and hungry and just plain wrung-out too. This is as good a place as any. She nods to the little queen to indulge herself with the firelilly. Eat it up, yum.
The three lizards take off, circling up and around each other. Peep dives at the flower, and scoops it up without landing.
With a weary sigh, Robin lowers herself from the saddle. She takes a moment to stretch before assisting Venesch done. Gently, she lowers him to a comfortable spot. Her brow furrows. That moan worries her.
Robin works quickly and efficiently to get a camp set-up and the horses seen to. Then, as dinner cooks away on a small campfire, she looks over Venesch. Huhn. Does she really want to get yelled at more? Ah, well.
With a sigh, the girl makes sure that all of Venesch's weapons are clearly visible but outside of easy grab or even lunge range. She gets food and water ready. And with no small amount of trepidation, gently wakes Venesch up.
Venesch opens his eyes quickly, taking in the sights and smells of this new place.
He's tense, and ready to act, but makes no move. He seems to be waiting for Robin to speak.
Robin leans back from where she.s crouching over Venesch with a satisfied nod. Tense and ready to act means not too much damage inside or out, good. Robin is ready to act as well, but not hostile -- just tired and business-like.
"You hurting anywhere? Hungry?" She gestures the nearby bowl of trail stew and water skin.
Venesch shakes his head and makes no move towards the food or drink. "It used to be the practice, amongst the Bodalian Savages that were the ancestral enemies of my people, that to save the life of a man from certain death was to make oneself responsible for his life thereafter. You had delayed his passage to his ancestors and were obligated to keep him hale until he passed onward.
"We, naturally, considered this a barbarism, but I find myself not unsympathetic to the perspective that would lead to such a heresy."
Robin nods with a wry smile. She understands the practice completely. It's not her particular heresy, but close enough. And it's good that the civilized honorable man has at least some frame of reference for dealing with savages. Even if only as ancestral enemies.
"What is your intent, Lady?"
"Broadly, it's my intent that we both stay alive to serve Amber for many, many more years. I'm flexible about the details." She shrugs one shoulder off-handedly.
"Currently, we're near but not in Xanadu. Before we met, I was ordered to report to the King." She shrugs again. "I need to do that.
"What is your intent, Venesch?"
Venesch stretches his muscles, moving what are clearly stressed and sore arms and legs. "It is the nature of my kind to act properly in all circumstances. I am your prisoner, and will act as is proper for a man of my station to do when he is a prisoner. What are the terms of my captivity, Lady?"
"Don't kill yourself. Don't make war on the King." Robin's definite on those. "Ummmm... I'd rather you didn't attack me or run off into Shadow. Other than that, I'm flexible on the details." She finishes with a shrug. Venesch may be her 'prisoner' at this point, but that doesn't change his status in her eyes as a valuable servant of Amber.
He nods. "I hear your terms. I want my weapons, in case I need to defend myself. I want to ride on my own horse."
Robin raises an eyebrow. They.re negotiating now? Ah, well, it's not like she wants to be his captor any more than he wants to be her prisoner.
"Agreed," she nods. "And you?"
His eyes narrow. "I shall not kill myself nor make war on the King while in your custody. It is dishonorable to ask a prisoner not to attempt to escape."
"Really?!" Robin leans back in surprise. "You've no concept for 'parole'?"
She shakes her head. That can't be right. The honorable Captain of the Guard's never heard of parole? Venesch's obviously been hanging around her uncles too much.
"Wellll, okay. I won't ask then. But no parole? No weapons, no horse." She shrugs with a wry twist of her lips. And subtly braces for Venesch to attack her.
He shrugs as well, and Robin believes that he noticed her bracing. "Then we have nothing further to discuss, Lady."
"Ah, well." Robin fluffs sadly.
"Try to eat something, please. Is there anything else you need to address before I tie you up for the evening?" Robin frowns to herself. She should know better than to take prisoners, it never works out well.
Venesch nods, and takes the food and eats it in silence. "You may now bind me," he says after he is finished.
[Do you have more you want to do? How closely will you guard him? Will you sleep? Eat? Let him go off into the woods for privacy? Inquiring GMs want to know!]
[No more on my agenda. Robin will guard Venesch very closely. Again, she pays him the compliment of assuming he's very good and very dangerous. However, she is also not sanguine about attempting Xanadu in her current state. Sooooo, the theory is to let him go off behind a dune -- not far away -- with the firelizards keeping an eye on him if they can. After that, to truss him up pretty good, eat, then Ranger nap lightly nearby. Being careful that he neither escapes or gets eaten by anything wandering by.]
Venesch is neither liberated nor masticated in the night. The firelizards are excellent guards, if only because Venesch doesn't know their capabilities.
Venesch is awake when Robin opens her eyes. Being bound, he hasn't really moved. "Peep", says Peep.
"Good morning and good job," Robin peeps back to the little queen. Robin takes some time over breakfast, praising and rewarding her little friends. And then, yep, on to Xanadu. She'll tie Venesch sitting into the saddle with his hands tied to the pommel while she leads his mount. When they start getting into civilized lands, she'll stop and draw his veil across his face. Otherwise, onward and upward.
Robin finds herself looking at the majestic waterfall of Xanadu with the Castle beside it, this place which once had so much potential, and does again, but differently. In the way that Amber as a giant, ancient city was overwhelming, Xanadu looks like a city poised on the brink of becoming, although it is not clear what.
It is a good distance away, possibly a score of miles. The civilization of Xanadu does not reach this far up the coast, and the forest is nearer.
Robin and Venesch come to a river, wide and fast and cold looking. It runs back into the forest. Two boys are fishing on a small raft anchored in the middle. They have not seen Robin.
Robin sighs as she takes in the potentiality of Xanadu. So young, so new, so... reactive. She hopes she can keep her heavy hands to herself while there.
In the meantime, there's a much simpler and more familiar issue in front of her. River. She raises her voice to carry over the water.
"Hail the raft," she calls in a friendly voice.
They turn around, and the smaller one drops his fishing pole. He scrambles for it while the other one laughs. "Hail the shore!" he replies, and waits. Neither one has reached manhood, and the one who spoke still hasn't had his voice change, yet.
A big grin spreads across Robin's face as she remembers her own youthful days with Fetch spent on many a raft on many a river. "Is there a way to get two horses and a non-swimmer across?" She gestures vaguely upstream, hoping for a ford, ferry or bridge.
"We could ferry you across!," shouts the younger one. The older one slaps the back of his head.
"We can, if you can pay us, Ma'am. Back that way is the forest, and you'll have to go up the cliffs." the older boy answers.
"I can pay," Robin calls back with a smile. While she has no problem with forest and cliffs, she also has no problem with youthful enterprise.
The boys both smile and with more enthusiasm than skill begin poling their raft to the shore. The current is strong enough that the boat is tied to the river's edge, so it traverses a quick arc to come to a stop somewhat inland from Robin. It's not strong enough to bear two horses at once.
"We can take you over one at a time, Ma'am," says the older one.
"Hmmmm... Can you take both of us and one horse for the first trip?" Robin considers.
"And what would you charge for your service, Master Ferrymen?" she finishes with a smile, digging into a belt pouch.
He eyes the horses. "I think so. Probably. My brother can stay with your other horse. 5 Randomheads for the whole thing."
[OOC - Okay, I've looked up Amber currency and I *think* this young capitalist just asked for 5 pounds to ferry them all across the river. I realize that I am very unfamilar with the local economy and Robin is somewhat unfamilar, but... that strikes me as an exorbitant amount. If I'm incorrect, please let me know and I'll change the post below. -- LL]
Robin stops fiddling with her belt pouch, raises an eyebrow and gives the young man a long look. "Really." she says flatly.
The young man stands his ground for a moment, then the younger one hits him with his hat.
"Stop, alright! Can't blame a lad for trying. Three groats. Two for me and one for my brother. He's a half-wit, so he's half price."
"Am not!," says the smaller one, whose punch at his elder is ineffectual.
"Three groats, it is." Robin says, the smile returning to her face. She hands the older boy two groats, promising the remainder for when the passage is completed.
With careful maneuvering and a cautious eye towards her prisoner, Robin eventually manages to get two horses, two folks and three firelizards across the river intact. Once on the other side, she gives the boys an additional two groats for a job well done and then proceeds forward to Xanadu.
Ossian and Brita take a couple of weeks to sail from Amber to Xanadu, long enough for Brita to complete the two trumps she was working on. Ossian has a chance to spend some time with his daughter. Both of them have a chance to spend time with their cousin's, Daeon's sons, if they wish. Their travel is uneventful.
Soon enough, Skilbladnir is approaching the small but surprisingly bustling harbor of Xanadu. In contrast to Amber, it's busy and vibrant. There are ships with the Amber flag pennant and a similar pennant in red, which also flies over the harbor.
Brita flies the flag of Asgard on Skidbladnir as she does not have any other pennant on board. She follows whatever protocol is needed to lead the small armada to the docks.
[Brita's a Pattern initiate; she can find one or direct someone in the fleet to find one and send it across to her. Surely someone packed an Amber pennant in the fleet somewhere.]
[Duly noted. We can say that she flies Ambers pennant above the Asgard flag.]
The fleet comes into harbor and the Harbormaster arranges for transport for Ossian and Brita and their goods up to the Castle.
The new Rangers will be quartered temporarily at the edges of the city until Paige makes further arrangements or the King orders otherwise.
Ossian will need to make arrangements for where Darling and Jasmine should stay. There's not much in the way of free accommodation in the city. There's a lot of building (Lucas was having a house built, for example) but most of what's already been built doesn't seem that suitable for a royal. It's bustling and lively but very much a frontier town.
If they have any business in town, Ossian and Brita can conduct it. Currently in residence in the castle are the King and Queen, Fiona, Bleys, Gerard, and Julian. Of their cousins, Brennan and Signy for certain. (Others, e.g., Garrett and Lilly who are about to trump in, may be present.)
Brita sees to the placement of the Rangers and leaves a note for Paige detailing Couth's inclusion of Daeon's children in the mix at Uncle Julian's bequest. She assists Ossian in settling Darling and Jasmine if he needs it and then sets off to find her mother.
Ossian will try to find someplace for Jasmine and Darling to stay temporarily (in the castle if there is nowhere else). He will then try to commission the building of a house in town for them. He will make the drawings himself (he is quite an architect, after all), after discussing with Darling.
For a royal child, the castle is definitely the safest place for the time being. Ossian may have a time dislodging Darling if she gets too settled, but the prospect of her own house excites her.
Commissioning the building of the house will take some time. He can rely on some of the royal aides (a number of whom seem to be musicians and friends of Random) and so on for help. The Lord Mayor is up at the Castle a fair amount so Ossian will have no trouble asking him for help.
That sounds good. Ossian will use the help.
[What is Ossian going to tell Darling about Lucas?]
He will somberly tell her that Lucas is dead, and that the funeral will take place somewhere else.
Darling wants to know whether Jasmine (and by extension she herself) is obliged to go. Ossian is pretty sure this is a pro forma offer; she knows about Solace and the other children. It would be a showy mess for Lucas' mistress to be present and force notice on the family.
Ossian tells Darling, that, no, Jasmine is not expected. And he doesn't want to inflict more travelling upon her at the moment either.
Darling accepts this with good grace.
Do not think bad of me
little broken flower
for not being there
in your time of droughtI now walk a desert
path that must be walked
storing sun and water
for flower days to comeOssian.
Lilly reads the words several times, allowing new meanings to flow into her each time. Carefully, she refolds the elegant origami starflower. Though done correctly, it lack the freshness of the original old. Still, it is enough to bring a smile. She places it on a bedside table to remind her of her friend. Then she allows herself the indulgence of a well earned nap. She too needs to replenish her stores so that she might fight another day.
Over the next few weeks, as Lilly awaits the start of the funeral, her focus will be primarily on healing. Certainly, there will be time spent in her rooms resting or visiting with Garrett. She also plans to find as many books as she can on histories involving her family. If there are books in the library with pertinent information on Chaos, Amber, the Pattern, and so on, she will find them. If one can't fight physically, at least one can prepare mentally. She also intends to spend time in the salle doing strength training and learning to fight in a seated position. The leg is a hindrance. Allowing the rest of the body to go soft would be a mistake. By the time the funeral comes, Lilly will be the picture of health, provided that health has a limp and uses a cane to walk.
Jerod wipes away the tear spot on the page of the music score, careful to avoid smudging the notes he has carefully placed, making a mental note to tell Random about ball-point pens. He is sure the King knows all about them, but whether he sees them as particularly useful is another matter. He smiles slightly, looking over at the small pile of music sheets, crumpled and smudged from tears and grief, then his finger tips, blackened slightly from the wiping of ink.
"Yeah, note to the king." he says quietly, marking an accidental on the staff, adjusting a clef for readability.
"So, where was I?" he asks, looking up over his shoulder to the table top where his sister lies resting. "I covered Huon and dragons and swords and Patterns, Robin and impulse control, Vere and questionable practices. What else?" as he ticks off items on his left hand.
"Khela, Llewella, Conner, Celina, Merlin, Martin and Folly, Brennan and Chaosians, Tritons and Shadow armies, mom and Moire and sisters Rebman. Corwin and Random and everyone in between." he says, sifting the list, looking up again. "I suppose that just leaves you and me."
He sits for a minute, looking at the door. The guards had not bothered to look in except that one time, a few hours ago he figures. He does not blame them for being curious. It's a good trait for a guard to have, especially when the brother of a dead woman goes into the chapel and doesn't come out after six hours.
Things take time. Even sitting in an octagonal room with blackened wall spaces. The King needs to hire a new decorator, Jerod observes silently. Makes Ossian's painting of him look positively extravagant by comparison.
"I'm not angry with you." he says quietly. "I should be, you know. You always spoke about how you were going to die and I was going to need to be there to revenge you. And you know what I think about all that pre-destination crap. It's crap." he says, breathing heavily, waiting to see if the grief returns, another episode of many in these last few hours. But it remains quiet, still present in the background but not intruding. Perhaps grief has had enough for now.
Jerod picks up the flask, shaking it slightly. "Fate is giving up your choice and accepting what someone else tells you." he chides. "You never accepted anything that anyone told you to unless you thought of it first, or you saw it for yourself that it was a good idea. If you hadn't, you would've been married awhile ago, just like Dad wanted. You certainly wouldn't have been hanging with Brennan that's for sure."
He takes a swig of the water and ginger, the odour strong when the flask is uncapped. "You wouldn't be dead." he says, taking another swig before re-capping the flask, the heaviness of the grief fading a bit, the air no longer so thin he observes. For a moment he remembers his coming to Amber, the thinness of the air, the harshness of the light. He remembered how much he hated it. He could hate it that much again he knows, but it would change nothing of what had happened.
"He's not a bad guy, you know." Jerod says. "Not that I'm going to be telling him that any time soon. He is a redhead after all. Took five years to find a balance point with Paige, and she had the advantage of being a lot cuter." and he grins slightly. "Yes, I'm a guy and I like the women around me to be pretty. Just like you liked what you liked." and he stares into space for a moment. "But you picked him, and I'm guessing you picked right.
"So I'm wondering why you picked the Queen and Tir?" he asks, looking back up. "Why there? Why now?"
No answer.
He looks back down at the score, making final notations to the rough draft. It's enough he thinks, though he will need to make adjustments later, to try it out. The King will have a studio around here somewhere. If he's pushing for electric lights, he'll have a studio, Jerod figures, even as he wonders what it will contain.
The papers are tucked into the leather packet, the quill and ink carefully stored and he stands up, looking at his sister once more, the black funerary packet placed beside her head. "Why now? What were you were looking for? And why a blind queen?" he asks again.
"Were you looking to see if Tir had changed? Or if the prophecies you had seen were no longer true, about your death? About everything you had seen?" he asks, circling the table slowly, his gaze never wavering from her face.
"Was it that? To prove that the prophecies had changed? Or were you hoping that they were still the same?" he asks quietly. "Were you looking for your death, to prove you were still right?"
No answer.
He stares at her for a long moment. "You never could give me a straight answer." Jerod says finally, reaching into his pocket for the conch shell. He opens her hand, ignoring the coldness and places the shell in her palm, closing her fingers around it. "An old Rebman superstition. You'd like it, lots of fate and stuff." he says.
He picks up the leather packet, removing his old uniform from it, neatly folded and pressed and he looks at it only momentarily before he places it on the table at her feet. For a moment he wonders why there is no regret or hesitation in his action, but he knows that all things change, even in a bastion of Order.
Nothing is eternal.
The straps of the packet are closed as he walks back around the table, picking up his sword and belt, buckling them on silently as he looks at Cambina. The spear is retrieved and he moves back to the head of the table. "Say hi to Dad for me." he says quietly. "Tell him I'll keep an eye out for my mother, do what I can. Let him know, things are okay. Not great, but they're okay." and he leans down to kiss her forehead.
As he walks towards the door, he remembers something and stops, turning back towards the table. "I'm going to get my answers, Cambina. No one's stopping that." he says, determination hardening in his voice. "Not Corwin, not Random. Not pissant psycho uncles or scheming aunts.
"No one." he says. "Stay dead Cambina, and stay safe."
Last modified: 7 March 2010