Morning Chorus


Ossian gets up before dawn. He has not slept well, with all that happened yesterday. But today is a day of work; he cannot afford to sleep any longer.

Lighting a lamp Ossian quickly washes himself and dresses, then he sits down at his desk and writes two short notes.

To Merlin:
Dear Cousin,
I wonder if you have given my Trump to Jerod yet? If you have not, I wonder if I could have it back? There is someone who will need it more than Jerod will.

Regards,
Ossian

To Reid:
Reid!
I am glad to hear you managed to get out of Abford unscathed. You wouldn't happen to have any working Trump sketches for Abford?

Yes, we are going back to rescue Meg's family. (If you want to help, talk to Marius)

Cheers,
Ossian

Ossian puts the notes to the side for the moment, he will wait until later in the morning with sending them, but daylight is too precious to waste on writing notes. When the fist sunlight starts to pour into Ossian's window, he starts working on a trump sketch of the orphanage yard.

It does not work out. After two quick study sketches Ossian shakes his head. //I need to get the shading right//.

Ossian goes down to the castle carpenter's shop. He quickly picks up a few boxes, small boards and some wire, and returns through the corridors, carrying a box full of these things and a few tools.

As he turns a corner, Lilly nearly walks into him. Judging from her dress, she has just come from an early morning workout. Her sword is at her side. She gasps as she see him, takes a step back, and then smiles.

"Ossian!" she exclaims. "It is so good to see you. I did not know you were in the palace."

Ossian almost drops his box when Lilly appears. He quickly regains his composure, though. He looks a bit more worn and tired than Lilly is used to see him, but he smiles back with a warm smile. "I only arrived yesterday night. And yesterday was...interesting." He furrows his brow but brightens again.

"I was on my way back to my room with this" Ossian says "Why don't we go there? It's better than a corridor for talking. And I guess we have things to talk about?"

Her face brightens, "Yes, I think we do." The smile remains as she takes her place beside him. "Lead on."

Lilly will patiently wait for their arrival, if Ossian seems to prefer such. Afterall discussing the pattern in the halls of the castle is not something she is comfortable doing.

Ossian's eyes widen just a little when Lilly smiles. "You seem more...relaxed. " he says as they walk

Ossian's room is as much a studio as a room. It is surprisingly tidy; there are several large cabinets with tinted glass doors, containing rolls and piles of sketches and drawings. An unfinished painting stants on an easel near the window. It shows Amber city and the castle, seen from the sea; but the city is transformed into a city of slender towers; the castle also has a more gracile look to it. In one corner, on a pedestal, Ossian has an unfinished stone sculpture.

On his desk lies his big sketchbook and three rough sketches, two showing the same yard in front of a house, and one of a woman Lilly has not seen before. There are several chairs and stools, none of them matching in style or even height. There is also a bed in the corner, a rather comfy looking couch and a thick soft rug on the floor.

"Have a seat" Ossian says, while placing the box underneath his desk.

"Have you walked yet?" he asks

Lilly perches herself of a stool. Her eyes twinkle as he finishes the question. "Yes," she responds. "That is probably why I am not so tense.

"Though, I must say, I'm not sure that is an experience I want to repeat. I'm still not sure what it all meant. At this point I'm not sure I ever will." Lilly shrugs and the average person might get the impression she really has nothing more to say on the subject. Ossian, on the other hand, can tell quite clearly that self consciousness is the only thing keeping her from continuing.

Ossian sits down on a chair. He reaches out to briefly touch Lilly's hand: "What happened?" he asks, looking into her eyes.

Lilly sighs. "Mostly what I was anticipating. Visions of the orphange, the children I knew there..." she shutters involuntarily as she remembers each ghostly face. "Then my foster parents, Jade and Mallett. I had ot realized how much I truly missed them."

Silence takes hold for a moment as Lilly fights back the raw emotion that is beginning to build within her. "And then there were visions of everyone I have ever cut down with my blade. There were so many. You never think about it. Not during. But afterwards..."

The tears would no longer be held at bay. She knows if she stop now, however, the words might never form.

"During each of those trials, I was aided by someone. My father, my foster father, and then the king. They helped me overcome my past. And that all made sense to me. I understand. But the last veil..." Lilly shakes her head sadly, tears now overtaking her. No, she thinks to herself. I can not go on. I just want to forget. If only it could be that easy...

Ossian moves his chair a bit closer, and takes one of Lilly's hands between his. //Four veils//, he thinks, //Random's Pattern must be hell//. "Did no one help you through the last veil?" he asks very quietly. "What did you see?"

"Oh, there was help," an angry edge coming into her voice. She shakes her head. That part would wait. Lilly finds the strength to continue on. "I saw my parents, together. My mother was clutching a picture. My father had evidently given it to her. She was weeping.

"But the image faded, to be replaced by one of destruction. There was blood everywhere. And a sense of despair. I think I saw Paige standing nearby. Her face was covered though, so it could have been another. But in my heart, I think I was looking at the Great Forrest." Her concern for the twins is evident.

"More images came to me then. Fleeting pictures of loss and despair. Reality was coming undone and there really seemed no reason to go on." She shakes her head sadly, eyes falling to the ground.

A moment is needed before she gathers herself again. Lilly looks up once more and meets Ossian's gaze. "Garrett had given me a ring, for luck, and for strength. I began to feel it burning in my palm. It reminded me that there might indeed be something or someone worth fighting for. I forced myself to take another step. And that was when I saw him..."

Ossian stays quiet, but twitches just a little at the mention of Garrett and the ring.

Lilly takes a deep breath, "I saw my son." And Ossian knows that despite all the tragedy, all the loss, and all the pain she saw on the Pattern, this was the greatest fear she had to overcome.

"Lilly" he says "We don't know if any of the visions you got are true. Maybe they were only a test. The Pattern shows us our fears."

"But then again, a son at some point in your future does not seem impossible." Ossian raises his hand and brushes a tear from Lilly's cheek. "I am not sure it would be of any help, but we could ask the cards about it. Do you know why you fear having a son?"

She looks up at him, sadness filling her features. "I fear becoming a mother. I fear it is something I will fail at. I fear that I will let my child down. Even more, I fear giving birth and not being able to raise my child."

Lilly breaks her gaze. "A long time ago I decided I would never allow myself to be in a situation where I might become pregnant. But as I get older, I find that it is becoming increasingly more difficult to avoid..." She shifts uncomfortably before deciding on the best word. "To avoid men."

A tiny smile enters Ossian's face. "There's that. Men. Women... Children. Complications to a life that could have been simple. But there are rewards. Even in the form of children.

"You did not know cousin Lucas before he got his kids. There is a change for the better.

"And noone is ever ready to become a parent." Ossian sighs and is quiet for some seconds. "Not even our oldest cousins."

Ossian touches Lilly's cheek again, and says, with a brighter tone in his voice: "Shall we ask the cards about your son? That's the only eye into the future I know of."

Her curiosity instantly gets the better of her and her own mood visibly brightens. "All right. That sounds interesting, at the very least. And I have always thought of knowledge as a powerful tool for dealing with just about anything. I'm sure this will be no different."

Ossian lifts Lilly's hand to his mouth and lightly kisses it. "Then we shall do it." he says, releases her hand, and opens a drawer, taking out a small felt mat that he spreads on his desk. He smiles and gets his deck of Trumps from a pocket. Ossian starts to shuffle very elegantly and deliberately.

"Have you done this before, Lilly?" he asks.

Lilly shakes her head slowly. "No," she replies. "I have very little knowledge of such things." A year or so ago, she never would have placed any credibilty into such an art. It would have seemed nothing more then luck and an abiltiy to read what one wanted into the cards. Now that she had walked the pattern and gained an understanding of the universe... Well now she simply had to believe anything could be possible. If cards could connect to the minds of the people pictured on them, why could they not go deeper and sort out matters of fate?

"Then we'll take it slowly." Ossian says. "First, we have to determine if we want to add more cards to the deck. It could increase the accuracy of the reading. I don't have many of our relatives, not even myself. Do you have any cards you want to add?"

[Regardless of Lilly's answer to that, I think the below is a safe continuation.]
Ossian shuffles the deck one last time. "Now, remember the reading will not only be a spyglass, but also a mirror. We can learn at least as much about ourselves as we can learn about the future."

He hands the deck to Lilly. "Will you cut it?"


After an eventful night, dawn finds Robin pulling twigs from her hair and yawning and stretching her way into the Castle. A shudder goes through her frame as she enters in the leaning heap of stone.

Almost immediately disoriented the Ranger pounces on the first poor sleepy page she can find.

"Can you tell me, please, if Prince Benedict is still within the Castle?"

"I believe so, My Lady. I saw him talking to Steward Vent this morning."

The castle pages are sadly lacking in initiative compared to the runners who serve the Rangers. Corvi would have already run off for Benedict by now.

Corvi... Robin flinches slightly at the memory. Another ghost from before the great chasm that divides her life in two. Did Corvi slip off into the encroaching Deep while Robin was gone? Or does she simply not exist in this reality?

Realizing that she's been drifting, Robin drags herself back with a shake of her head. "Would you be able to take me to him?" The Ranger decides to play nice with the sheep. After all, she's still getting continually lost in the meadow.

"I think I know where they went, yes. Please come with me."

"Thank you."

The lad leads her up stairs, climbing through wings and halls that are not well-frequented, towards some that look as if they are merely there to give shape to dust. There are window-slits, but not much air or light come through them.

Eventually the page opens a door that leads out to a balcony overlooking the city. Prince Benedict stands in the sunlight, quietly speaking with a shorter, pudgier man.

Robin represses the shudders as she walks, wrapping her arms tightly around herself as their footsteps echo weirdly through the dead empty tunnels of Amber Castle. Her breathing comes faster and faster, in short little pants, as the dust seems to reach out to smother her.

When the door opens, the Ranger can't help herself and she rushes past the page onto the balcony. Once she's in the wind once more, a deep breath goes into the girl and she fights to unclench herself and return her color to something approaching normal. It probably would be a good idea not to be gasping when she meets her oldest uncle as well.

Benedict stands near the edge of the parapet, his empty half-sleeve blowing slightly in the wind. He turns at hear approach. "Ah, Robin. I assume you were looking for me and are not just here taking in the air?" The pudgy man is silent.

"At this point, air is a very good thing." The Ranger says with a rueful chuckle. "But yes, sir, I was looking for you. If you have a moment." Robin smiles apologetically to the pudgy man.

"Of course," He does not even turn back to the other man. "Steward Vent, we can continue our discussion later."

The Steward smiles gracefully at the Prince and makes his way to the door and the page follows him.

When they are alone, Benedict leans out onto the parapet, his one arm bracing his wiry body.

"What can I do for you, Robin?"

"Sir?" Robin fights the urge to stutter or hum and haw. "I wanted to offer my condolences to you. Aisling was a brave and beautiful being. It risked everything to return my men to me. And it's loss diminishes us all. If there's anything I can do..." Robin trails off with a shrug. She didn't really feel like taking up anyone who made that offer to her, but still.

He stands quietly for a moment, perhaps contemplating the city moving far below. "I didn't really know her, of course, and so the loss is more abstract than personal. I think she was much like a moth flying between torches in a windstorm. For all that she was a spy for our enemies, the reports I have heard indicate that she was honest, if unwise."

'Her,' Robin thinks, 'she.' And remembers Jovian's winces whenever the Ranger used a neutral pronoun for Aisling. Okay, probably best to avoid those here as well. Though Robin doesn't think that Aisling was any more female than a sunset is.

"I didn't know her well either, sir. But..." a fond smile lines Robin's lips in the morning light, "she was kind. And funny. And helpful... I wish we had had more time." Robin's smile turns sad as she also turns to contemplate the flowing air over the mountain and the clouds.

Benedict looks at her sad smile. "Do you have any children, Robin?"

The Ranger's eyes flick back to Benedict, a little surprised. "No, sir." A small shake of her head sets the beads in her hair to clicking. And the daughter of Julian waits for it.

"That's good," says Benedict absently. He changes the subject. "I understand you are taking the war to our enemies. How do you plan to proceed?"

"Father has dispatched me to The Isle of Dannan to speak to the priestesses there concerning Dragons and their weaknesses. And to brush up on my goddessing." A wry twist tweaks one side of Robin's lips.

"I suspect a more formal plan will develop from there."

Benedict nods. "Being a god is a shortcut to power, but it's a limited power. It leads to self-limiting mindsets. As to Dragons, they are creatures of Chaos. Fight them with our strengths."

Robin rolls that around in her mind, her brows raised in appreciation. Sweetly done. "Thank you, sir."

"Fight well, Robin." He turns back to look over the city. The flap of his sleeve where his arm is missing waves languidly at the port below.

"Yes, sir. Thank you again." Robin nods to her Uncle and takes her leave. As well as a deep breath as she plunges once more into the dusty twisting close corridors of Castle Amber.


Morning comes much, much too early after Brennan and Ossian have their long, late night talk. That might be because Brennan's definition of 'morning' is uncomfortably shifted forward to something only the castle kitchen staff (breakfast shift) would find agreeable.

Brennan rises, sits on the edge of his bed, and stretches, popping every joint in his frame that will pop. With his hands on his knees, he thinks about everything that needs to be done and prioritizes them from "Needs to happen, without fail," all the way down to "Needs to happen, but probably won't."

Random and Ambrose are at the top of that list, obviously. Chats with Reid and Brita-- separately-- really want to be next, but the structure of the day probably won't allow it... but then, Brennan wants to talk to Reid before he runs back to Paris, or wherever. Quandry. He forces Lilly and Robin off that list. Lilly is perfectly able to talk to Robin without Brennan looming in the background. Why does Paige keep pushing her way onto that list? Oh yeah, Brennan remembers wryly-- parenting advice. It's not unlikely that she'd head back to the metaphysical safety zone of Xanadu, though, so that might actually work itself out. This Meg person seems like someone he needs to talk to, as well, if he could think of something cleverer than, "Hi, I might be your father. Or not. I'm fine, how are you?" Feh.

Why does Cambina keep pushing her way off that list? Oh, yeah. Well, that can't be dodged forever, can it? No. No, it cannot. Quandry.

None of those are really amenable to notes writing, though. After dressing, Brennan leaves most of the matter with his page, noting chiefly that he should begin inquiring after Lord Reid's schedule for the following day on the assumption that Brennan will be back by then and Reid won't have left, yet. He leaves word with the page-- to be propagated to his secretary Icicle-- that he shall be in the new realm, but intends to return by day's end.

When he focusses on the borrowed Trump of Random, Brennan is dressed suitably for Xanadu: a charcoal grey suit, impeccably tailored with a dark red tie. He pats his coat pocket to make sure that his shades are there, and throws a black trenchcoat on over the whole thing, leaving it unbuttoned and untied.

Assuming Random answers the Trump, and asks the traditional question, the answer is, "It's Brennan. May I come to you?"

"Do you have coffee? You can come to me either way, but brownie points if there's coffee. Or beer."

Brennan doesn't answer that out loud, but he doesn't even have to conjure coffee to make it appear. He just moves over to the table, pours two mugs and grips them both very carefully in one large hand before moving through the Trump.

Random is wearing a doublet and hose, and the room he is in is lit with a reddish glow.

"Once again, in my semi-furnished basement." Ambrose is with him.

"Almost habit forming," Brennan says. He hands one of the mugs to Random, and offers the other to Ambrose to drink as much or as little of as he likes. If Ambrose declines, Brennan sets it on the ground next to him for a moment.

"Give your brother any last-minute advice you've got for him. I've already given him mine."

Brennan puts his hands on Ambrose's shoulders, and hesitates on the decision between the privacy of Uxmali vs the dubious etiquette of excluding the King from the conversation under this of all circumstances. He decides quickly on formal Thari. "There is nothing I can tell you that the King hasn't, except this: Should the King's advice differ from our Father's, trust the King. His knowledge is more direct. Fear nothing but the task at hand, Brother. I've got your back." Then he adds a request: "And... don't go too far when you finish, no? I'd miss the chance to congratulate you first."

[Assuming that Ambrose begins his walk directly....]

If the King has nothing immediate to say to Brennan after Ambrose starts his Walk, Brennan lets the silence stretch out until it looks like Ambrose is struggling against the First Veil. Then he says, "Majesty, Ambrose and I have made a Family discovery you should be aware of."

Random looks at the lights on the pattern as his nephew struggles along it. "I think the pattern is harder if you're a sorcerer or otherwise use Chaos magics. I boggle that anyone attempts it when it was as hard as it was when I took it. What should I be aware of?"

Brennan shakes his head in understanding. He doesn't want to take the thing again, either. Then he breaks the news with no other pre-amble: "Ossian is my son. No, I don't know for certain who the mother is. Ambrose learned it when he decyrpted some of the papers that Brand left behind, and I verified the work myself in Uxmal. How Brand knew when even I didn't..."

He trails off, spreading his hands into a shrug.

"But he's my son."

Random looks at Ambrose. "Well, we knew he was somebody's. Have you told him yet? How do you plan to deal with this unexpected paternity? Oh, and remind me to tell you about the volcano."

Brennan looks at Ambrose, too. It's a convenient enough way not to look at anything else. "I told him last night, after the larger audience broke up. He deserved to know before anyone else, and I wouldn't have him learn about it second hand." He stoops to pick up the mug of coffee from the ground and swallows from it.

"Deal with it," he says, almost puzzled. "I have no idea. What little history there is, is bad. And even if I didn't know it, I left him there." His brow furrows. "We have volcanos in Uxmal-- what volcano is this, exactly?"

"Have you thought about the logistics of moving the population of Amber to Xanadu, Brennan? Lots of people have. It's natural. How do we get what we have there to be here? People value the old city. They want the new city to have the same spirit. Ossian doesn't think that a gradual shift based on people being interested in going will work. He'd prefer to engineer a volcano or other natural disaster to provide a push as well as a pull."

Brennan's grimace as he shakes his head is commentary enough. "As it happens, yes, I have given it some thought. I dislike just... abandoning the place, but I'm at your service."

Random closes his eyes. "It's already gone." He looks at Ambrose. "For the record, Operation Volcano is out."

Brennan does not contradict. But then, he doesn't go out of his way to agree, either.

Random pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and drags on it. For a moment, the red of the tip is the same color as the pattern. "It's tough finding an adult son. You don't get all those formative childhood bits, but then you don't have the pre-set relationship. Try to be friends with him, that's my royal advice."

Brennan nods, but doesn't reply.

Brennan can smell the slowly burning tobacco. "Do you want a smoke?", Random asks.

"Yeah."

Brennan doesn't smoke.

After taking a long puff of his own, Brennan says, "I wonder what it's showing him, in there."

"It's a test. It shows him what might make him turn from it, if his will is not enough. It could lie, it could be what he fears, it could be what he loves, it could be anything. There's a fine line with it. You need to take it when you're old enough to be sure of yourself, but not so old that you've developed enough caution not to succeed. " Random takes another drag.

"Being arrogant helps."

That gets one of Brennan's small half-smiles. "Well, arrogance, he's got." He watches the red light of Ambrose's efforts refract through curls of his cigarette smoke. "Did he fill you in on the situation with our half-sister? Our mother? He's going to figure he's effectively won the contest, now, but it's our common nightmare that somehow Dara is going to learn about her."

Random nods. "We discussed it. He's looking for magic or healing for her. I told him that we've got a lot of that tied up with Gerard, and he asked for permission to talk to our healers." Random flips his cigarette butt into the air, and Brennan doesn't see where it lands. "What do you think Dara is likely to do?"

"Bleys once asked me if I understood hatred, Dara style." Brennan answers the rhetorical question with a thin smile. "I think she's going to try again, at a time, if not a place, of her choosing. The problem is, she has too many good options to be predictable. She can get to Amber, we know that. Unless you have a personal way to shut off access, she can get to Xanadu as well." Brennan cocks an eyebrow at the King-- can he? "And she has the fruits of all the Aisling's hard work for Madoc, which is still troubling. Do those work here?"

"No, but something will. We have electricity, after all."

"It remains to be seen whether she's more interested in taking her son back, or in trying for destruction, or if it doesn't matter and she's going to do both anyway. Too many options in a dangerously unpredictable mind. But if I had to guess, I'd say she's going to look for another victim and drag him-- or her-- here. Or to the Center, if she can find it. What she knows about my sister is unclear. It could be nothing at all. Or she could have drawn the Black Road forces right to her by virtue of her existence in Uxmal. We just don't know, and we don't know how to know without giving up too much information." Brennan takes a long swallow of coffee which is probably approaching room temperature.

"I have not forgotten your command. I have Benedict's permission to call on him by Trump, if I don't manage to speak with him before he leaves Amber."

Random nods. "And then back here after all is said and done. You can never take too many meetings before attempting cousin-cide."

Brennan throws him a sidelong glance, as he watches his brother progress inward, ever inward. "Philosophers draw a distinction between murder and war, Majesty, and so do I. That said, yes, of course back here when all is said and done. I do consider this a war, Majesty, of a peculiarly Amberite fashion, by her declaration. And that can't be done on a whim.

"Have you any advice or direction when I speak to Benedict and Corwin? I intend to ask their broader advice on how to deal with Dara should she press her war, for openers."

"Directly for the former and obliquely for the latter, I'd think. Corwin is a poet, and subject to whims. Benedict only has whims when he plans to have them." He grimaces slightly as Ambrose passes through a veil. "Just make sure Corwin understands the situation and doesn't think it's a problem he can fix by f*ck!ng it. Again."

Brennan shudders around a drag on his cigarette-- no sane human being could think that would do anything but make the situation worse. "Noted," he says. Then, "That pre-supposes I have something to speak to him about other than the Dara situation. I could generate a pre-text, but the man's not stupid." Not that kind of stupid, at least. "Or I can make myself useful to you while I'm there-- is there anything you want said or any business you want conducted while I'm there?" He blows smoke at a few potential topics: "Trade relations, shadow paths, trump etiquette? Anything you particularly don't want mentioned?"

He laughs. "Yes, tell him not to think of pink elephants." Random's smile folds back into his face. "Ask him for advice on fighting a dragon in Arden. We need to know that, and he's been there."

Brennan nods, "Fair enough. I deflected Paige and Merlin in his direction earlier, when they were set to run off into Arcadia with the FireLillies. I'll have to touch base and see what they learned, if anything. Enough of that, and he'll start charging a consulting fee."

He continues, "Speculation is running heavy that the Dragon is a Lord of Chaos or something like it, trapped there, which jibes well with what we saw at Grandfather's funeral. And it argues powerfully for keeping Jovian as far away from that mess as possible."

Random nods. "I get the feeling that titles in Chaos have a lot to do with what you can dub yourself and make stick, which I think makes them a lot like ours, really. I know I can feel something less-ordered at the heart of the forest, so that's a reasonably good speculation. Good call on Jovian, too. I think he's going back to the isles, where his air corps is."

Brennan's eyes widen, and a forceful effort keeps him from interrupting. He evidently hadn't any notion that Jovian was leaving.

"I--Hey, your brother's about to be done." [Random] turns to the pattern, where a tower of sparks marks the place where the young Uxmali godling is completing the final veil.

Brennan nods. He has one thing left to say, while Ambrose is at his point of maximum distraction. "Majesty," he begins, "I'm not sure my brother understands the risk you're taking or the trust you're displaying with this." He sweeps a hand out to indicate Ambrose's efforts, then raps his breastbone with his knuckles. "Not in his gut. But I think I do.

"Thank you."

"What can I say, I'm a gambler. I'm good at picking the right risks." The light at the center of the pattern fades. "Where did he say he was going?" Random pulls the door open and gestures towards the hall and the light.

"He didn't, but unless you've set him up with rooms here, he probably went back to his guest quarters in Amber. It'd be reckless to head back to Uxmal in that sort of state of exhaustion."


Does Meg dream?

[of course!]

Meg dreams of Peter and the other members of the council, brought before a man she does not know, in chains. He asks questions of them that they answer as best they can, but when they fail, one of his henchmen crushes the hand of the old master dyer who worked so long with Peter's father. It's the sort of nightmare you wake up shaking from, and Meg does.

What is the first thing that is wrong?

The sounds? Voices far away in cheerful work. No sound of the city about her. Noises echoing of hard surfaces.

Before that the feel of the sheets and the bed beneath her. The shape is not formed to the curve of her body by years of familiarity. The cloth under her face is wrong.

But even before that is the smell. It's not the scent of her own sheets, from her own chest with bags of dried lavender from her own garden below. Nor the morning baking from the kitchen.

The tide of sleep retreats leaving memory exposed, the harsh spars of the wreck of the day before wet and pungent with pain.

Meg twists the sheet beneath her hands and bites the pillow until she almost chokes. Sobs run through her body and shake her, but she makes no sound.

Half an hour later sees her up and dressed. The curtains have been drawn back. She has found and made use of the jug of water and towels. The mirror shows faint traces of finger marks where she has run her fingers over the huge, flawless surface in wonder before dismissing such impossible reflection from her mind and practically dressing her hair and fastening her head dress.

There is clothing in what must be the local style provided for her, if she wishes it. The fabrics are fabulously expensive; Meg has seen their like made to be presented to royalty in Renady before. But she's never had any such for herself.

She strokes the cloth while pondering. To wear their clothing feels like giving up a little of who she has made herself, doing what they want her to. And you only get the respect you force others to give you. But she wants things. And respect works in many ways. Appearance is another tool.

She dresses herself in the local dress like putting on armour.

She leaves the room behind her and sets off in search of servants, for food and information.

[We can cover in summary what Meg wants to find out from them, if you like? Then she's off to find the nuns, pray with them, and then set about poking things with sticks to ensure that what she wants gets done.]

[OK, that's fine. You can also pick up a thread or two or I'll have an NPC ready for you next round.]

In talking to servants, she plays it as the former servant made good, now finding herself royal, out of her depth, sympathetic and good natured. She's upfront about her family being in danger and being worried about them.

When she paints herself as "former servant made good, of the blood royal", there's sympathetic clucking about someone named Garrett, who turns out to be the King's son by a serving maid.

Ok, Random is the King and there's a royal family. What's its basic structure?

She can get a basic structure: King Oberon who is dead now was king forever, then his squabbling sons, and the war, and now King Random. Lots of brothers, a few sisters, lots of nephews and nieces.

When did the war end? And if people don't seem to have serious problems talking about the war, who was it against?

Evil magic monsters from far away, who came on a black road. The war sort of ended about five or six years ago, but the army that went to the far end of the black road has only come back in the last few months.

Does anybody know of a royal family member called Huon? If so Meg wants to talk to them in detail, if not, she wants to know the older royals who might, if they're in Amber, where to find them, etc.

Nobody seems to know much about Huon. The older royals in residence right now are Prince Caine and Prince Bleys. Princes Corwin and Benedict are also here, but they may not be staying.

Can they tell her where to find any of them? Meg's reaction shows she's familiar with Caine's name, but isn't fussed which of them she talks to.

A page can be sent with a request to speak with them.

She's also looking to gauge general attitudes towards Ossian, Marius and Reid.

Reid and Ossian are well-known. Reid is an older, courtly gentleman who was away from Amber for a very long time. He's considered old-fashioned, which seems to have its good points and its bad points. Ossian is an artist, considered well-intentioned and generous, but a bit flighty and of artistic temperament. They were here during the Regency, before the King came back, and thus the servants have some idea of their personalities.

Marius is less well known. He's a knight of the King's new order, and two of his comrades have died lately. So has his mother, which is considered a tragedy. His personal qualities are less well known.

[Are you going to pick up a thread here? Send notes to anyone? Everyone lost track of what was going on during the outage, so we're giving you an opportunity to start one or more threads here.]

[Thanks. I'd like a thread with Benedict or Bleys, but I don't know Meg's temporal location with regard to threads with them that are in progress. What's better? Starting something new or joining an existing one? I'm also going to join the thread with Garrett, but I don't want to then try to join a thread in Meg's past, so I've been being cautious.]

[Benedict has a morning thread with Robin, but is otherwise clear. Unbeknownst to Meg, he's leaving Amber today, so this is your best and only chance to talk with him. Bleys should be back from Xanadu in the morning but will have to bug out to go have lunch with Conner and Edan. He's an NPC and not subject to the no-backwards-thread rule. Pick your poison, send a note, and join Garrett.]

Meg begs the use of some paper, and ink and sits to write a note.

Prince Benedict,

Please forgive my presumption in writing to you when we have no acquaintance.

Meg lifts her nib from the paper and stares off into nothing. The words run through her head too easily, from too many letters written before.

Please forgive my presumption in writing to you when we have no acquaintance. I write to ask a kindness, not for myself but for a poor orphan with no kin to care for him.

No, that won't do this time.

I write to ask a kindness, a moment of your time. My name is Margrathea Carper, a widow of good standing in a city I'm told lies in another world. I ask you please excuse any lapses, I do not know the etiquette of your homeland. King...

Meg pauses before writing the next word, to speculate on the name. It is all very odd. From what she understands this king is the son of the old king, but not the eldest son, and there are many other brothers. And there is a little surprise that he is the king. Perhaps the name is an honorific, describing how he was chosen?

... Random tells me I am kin of some sort, though I do not know precisely how. I ask your help because another kinsman, called Huon, is waging war on my home, where the only kin I have known, the children I have raised, are in peril, and I am told you may be able to tell me something of this man.

Who are these people? So hard to know what will persuade them. That will have to do.

Meg signs the note and sends it off with a page.

The page takes the note and runs off pell-mell through the halls. Meg waits some time and the same lad returns, grinning. "He's coming! He said it would be easier for him to find you than to correspond inside the castle." The boy leaves and shortly a man comes to the doorway. He is very thin and dark and looks to have some sort of old war wound; his sleeve is tied off as if his arm has been amputated.

"I am Benedict," he says, not bothering with his own title. "You are my kinswoman. How should I address you?"

Meg gaps a little, but wrestles with her self-control. "I am called Mistress Carper. My name is Margrathea. Carper was my husband's name. I was given the family name Gift because I had no other."

She blinks. She didn't intend to say all that.

[Yeah, I know she didn't answer the question. :-) She meant to but somehow got overwhelmed.]

"Thank you for seeing me. Are you able to tell me anything of Huon or the Lord of the Horn?" she asks.

He nods. "Some. I was not here when he was troubling my father's rule, but I had met him and was aware of his tribulations. My brother Bleys will have more vivid recollections, as he was the one whom my father sent to deal with the renegade."

Meg tucks the knowledge away in her brain.

He looks at her. "Is he your father?"

That thought does not please Meg. "I don't know. I don't know anything about my father, or mother. I was left in an orphanage where Ossian was later left." She shrugs.

"Please, have a seat," she indicates a chair and seats herself opposite. "I'll get to the point.

"Why was he causing trouble? And why might he be attacking my home now?"

"He was born with too much talent and not enough self-restraint. He was always at odds with our father; they effectively hated each other. Eventually, Father sent Bleys to deal with him and declared it a crime to speak or write of him. Other than by those of us old enough to remember, he is effectively forgotten.

"Except by you. If he freed himself from the prison he was in, he might decide to take rash actions. Does he have any reason to know of your existence?"

"I hope not," Meg replies. She folds her hands on her lap. "I shall tell you about the last few days. A man came to the orphanage that I patronise. It is the one I grew up in. Life has been good to me and I am now able to give back to those who selflessly help others as I was helped. The man came looking for information on his parents. His name was Master Ossian Rand and he was accompanied by two others, Marius and Cloudius."

He nods encouragingly.

Meg looks to see if Benedict reacts to the names.

"I agreed to help Ossian search the orphanage records for anything that might help, but then I found some details did not check out. I thought them spies, or frauds. Then another two arrived, Master Reid and a woman, I don't know her name.

"Reid and Ossian came to the orphanage and I met them there. As we talked, the city was attacked. Ossian did some magic to take us to another world, then took us through another magic to Marius and we were here in Amber. It was he who said the attacker was Huon, though I don't know how he knows of him."

Meg tightens her lips. "I don't know if he could know of me. I don't know where Reid was travelling to, but I think they were surprised to meet in the same city. I'm suspicious of the coincidence."

"You're right to be, but this isn't one. We attract each other in shadow, like to like."

Meg stares.

Benedict is apparently stare-resistant. He continues.

"If we didn't, we would not be able to find anyone at all." He taps the table with his left thumb. "He must want something. Other than you, what does your home have?"

"People, trade, money, I don't know. It's a town on a river that controls trade routes. Would he want that?"

"No. Are your people talented at something? Perhaps expert warriors?"

"No. Not at all. We pay other people to do that for us."

He nods, absently.

Another thought occurs to Meg. "What if it was Ossian he was after? Ossian came looking for his parents. Maybe Ossian is Huon's son, and that's what Huon wants?" Her voice is eager and her eyes look more hopeful.

"Possibly." He nods, but his tone is skeptical. "Especially if he thinks Ossian is a conduit to Brand. I wonder what Huon knows about the recent eschaton. However, his methods are inappropriate to capture or reunion with a long-lost child. Why field an army when you can ride a horse to the same effect in less time?"

"I don't know," Meg purses her lips. "I don't know recent history here, either. If what's happened doesn't fit with Huon's manner and nature, maybe it's not even him? Are there others it could be?"

Meg sighs. "I'm sorry, now I feel like I asked you to speak to me on false pretences. There's too much I don't know. Unless..."

She looks at him directly. "Do you dream, sir?"

He looks at his sleeve, almost smiling. If he was planning on saying anything of that, he changes his mind before he does speak. "No, I don't. Not in quite some time. But we had reports of odd dreams amongst my father's grandchildren during the return from the War in Chaos. It was too common to be coincidence. What do you dream?"

"Oh the usual things, walking down the street to discover I'm dressed in clothes made of lettuce, forgetting where the door key is, and so on," she answers rapidly, nervously.

"But other things too, like a building falling on me, and thinking I'm dying under all the rock of the world; fire burning me up from within. Odd things.

"Sometimes," she pauses. "I don't want you to think I'm some mad woman, but things have been so odd, that maybe even odd things can help. Sometimes I dream of people I know. Everyone does that, I'm sure. But sometimes the things that happen turn out to be real."

She's watching him like a nervous stray cat, ready to fly onto the defensive, but desperate for any scrap of hope.

He nods. "Reality attracts other reality. Same principle."

"So I might know things I don't realise I know. Like a man has the Councilmen captive and he's asking them questions they can't answer. I could describe him?"

[Meg describes a man. He doesn't have an Abford accent and his dress is odd.]

"No, that doesn't sound like any of my brothers, but I wouldn't necessarily think he'd interrogate your leaders."

He pauses. "Do you know what happened to my brother Gerard when he was regent here? How he ended up in that chair? He was in the basement of this castle when the ground shook and a tower fell. I wonder if your dream indicates a connection to him. Do you have any idea, any clue about who put you in that orphanage?"

Meg looks floored. "I didn't even know you had a brother Gerard or anything about a chair."

She turns her mind to the question. "I never looked for a clue to my parents until lately. But when I was going through the old records yesterday to help Ossian, I saw my own entry. Whoever left me gave a bracelet of gold and pearls to go towards my upkeep. It's so fine it's impossible to sell, so it's still there." Meg smiles involuntarily. "It's beautiful with dark pearls like nothing on earth and the finest sea shells carved along it."

Meg shakes herself. ''Course, it may be under a pile of rubble by now, or stolen by the invaders."

She pauses before continuing. "Why might I be connected to your brother Gerard?"

Benedict frowns slightly. "It's conjecture, because your dream matches his experience. Can you draw this piece of jewelry? Or if you can get it back on your return, you may learn quite a bit from it."

"I might be able to draw it," she offers. "Does it ring any bells?"

He shakes his head. "No."

She smiles suddenly. "I just pictured myself wandering around your relatives, with the bracelet, asking 'by any chance have you seen this before?'" She chuckles. "I don't know how successful that would be. Your family are royalty. I don't imagine you have had much dealings with orphanages and the kids who end up in them, but in my experience folk who give up their baby when they've the money to look after it usually have a very good reason. And the sort of reason that might make that baby's reappearance very, very inconvenient."

Meg shakes her head. "No, if I can get my family safe and this Huon out of where he doesn't belong, I'll be happy not to stir up trouble. It might turn into trouble for me instead."

His frown deepens. "Before the war, most of us either did not know or hid our children from each other. It was... a different time. I have discovered two dozen nieces and nephews in the last three months. Too many..." He shakes his head. "You are sufficiently public that you cannot be kept hidden, and there is no advantage to secrecy.

Meg looks at though she might argue with that, but keeps her mouth shut.

Benedict does not respond to what Meg doesn't say.

"What I suspect, but have no evidence to back, is that you were left there by one parent without the other's knowledge."

She puzzles over this problem instead. "I know I don't understand reality and shadow and so on. But you said you are attracted to each other in shadow. So does that mean that if one parent," no possessive pronoun, "left me at St Trista's, someone completely different could have left Ossian in the same place a few years later and not even known?" She frowns as she struggles with the unfamiliar concepts.

His eyebrow goes up. "It's...possible. Stranger things have happened. I'd want to check with Fiona or Bleys on the maths to see if it was at all likely." He blinks.

"Other explanations are probably more likely."

"Aha," she nods as she takes this in. "I'll look to that then, when I have time." She chuckles. "It must be quite strange to be running into coincidence so often. To go to another world and run into your relatives. Reid arrived in Abford not long after Marius, Cloudius and Ossian."

She hesitates. "Thank-you, my lord. You have been very helpful and patient, and I have probably taken up enough of your time. I don't know if I know anything further of interest to you, but by all means ask."

He nods. "Remember, the effect is like adding weights to a stretched sheet. They roll towards each other and the more that there are, the more that place will attract others. And too many makes it tear."

Meg struggles with the metaphor. "What happens then?"

He blinks. "As closely as we can tell, the shadow ceases to have been. On the other hand, it's not clear if that's what those in it experience. We haven't ever been able to contact a place that was lost thusly." He pauses. "Most tears aren't that serious, but it's the risk of them that recommends against us having children, despite the natural impetus to do so."

"How," begins Meg and then stops. Asking questions she doesn't understand is likely to result in answers she understands even less. She switches to the immediately practical. "How many is too many? I don't want it to happen to my home."

He shakes his head. "It's not a number, or if it is a number, it's not a simple number. Have you taken the pattern? It gives you the ability to tell things like that, once you practice with it. There are places we're not so risky, like Xanadu, but not many of them." After a moment, he smiles. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

She smiles back. "No. Thank-you. You've given me more help than I knew I needed." She rises, and smooths her skirts.

"I hope I have not kept you from anything urgent, but I am very grateful."

"Not at all. I have to go back to my own home and, considering what happened here, evaluate my own protections. If I am needed, my brothers can find me." He bows.


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Last modified: 11 January 2006