Explorations


A short while after Jerod's meeting with Venesch is concluded, Jerod heads out to find Folly.

He finds her still in her quarters. When he knocks, she opens the door a crack and peeps out with one sleepy eye. Upon figuring out who is at the door, Folly looks for just an instant as if she expects something bad to happen: a summons to some awful meeting where she has to dress up, perhaps, or maybe a pirate attack.

But, sensing no immediate danger, she pushes the door fully open. She is wearing a pair of loose linen pants and a tank top that she probably slept in. Although Jerod doesn't think he woke her up, she probably hasn't been awake for very long. "Jerod," she says warmly, "Good morning. Come in. What can I do for you?"

Folly's new quarters are smaller than her old ones, and the floor of the sitting-room is already well-papered with scribbled music manuscripts. She clears a path to the couch, offering Jerod a seat with a gesture. She herself plops down in a bare spot in the middle of the floor, cross-legged.

Jerod looks around briefly as he enters, noting the well-ordered disorder and nodding. "Now I know why you and Martin get along so well." he says wryly. "You have the same interior decorator."

Folly grins.

He settles down on the proferred spot, adjusting his sword slightly as he sits to be more comfortable. "I've got a little job for you, if you're not too busy." he says, handing her a bound sheaf of papers to look at. "That's Vere's first draft of the casualty listing based on his work with the army and navy commanders. We're going to be getting a more detailed set of updates as the days go by, which will in all likelihood add to the list instead of reducing it."

Folly nods and thumbs through the papers, getting an idea of the number of known casualties. Jerod continues:

"I just got out of a meeting with Venesch. He made mention about posting it around the city and came up with the idea of using the printers to help us out in that regard. I'm a bit busy right now with about twelve other things on my plate, and I was figuring, since you and Reid are part of our little reintegration team, maybe you could take care of speaking to the broadsheets and printers."

He lets her look at it for a moment before continuing. "We need to get this posted up in as many places as possible, and to cover as many of the local languages as possible too. Any of the immigrant families for example that don't read Thari, or more precisely, can't even read, are going to need to be notified. You think your private army can help?"

"Private army. Heh. Makes me sound like a warmonger." Folly bares her teeth comically and continues thumbing through the papers, her brow occasionally furrowing whenever she recognizes a name. "Some of them will be of help," she replies, "but most of them can't really read, either. What might work better among the docksiders is to arrange for several public readings of the list, in addition to posting it around town." She thinks a minute, then adds, "Are you suggesting we ought to get the list printed in the broadsheets?"

"It would help." Jerod says. "I was thinking that if we pull it off properly, we pick one or two that are...sympathetic? Enough that we can get them to print what we need and keep the insults and crap to a minimum during the next few weeks. Bring them onboard, pay them a decent bit. Then leverage that with the other more recalcitrant ones. Any that want good business play by the same rules as the first ones. Ones that don't play at all....well, we won't hurt them or anything, but if their competitors want to take a few swipes at them, we also won't be too forthcoming with protecting them either."

"Yeah, but it's not like they usually come to us for that sort of protection, right? Not until they start burning each other down, I mean," Folly replies with a wry smile.

"At that point, then we can get snarky." Jerod says with a smile. "I suspect that if we bring a few online, then one or two might decide to see how far that goodwill extends.

"You think you can arrange the meetings? I've got Archer and the Marshalls working the official end. If you can handle the meetings, we can coordinate that with him and cover more ground. I've also got nobles and such being covered as best we can. We need to be able to keep people calm when we're delivering horrid news. And this is about as horrid as it gets." Folly gets the impression that Jerod has delivered this news before.

Folly nods. "I'm on it. Let's see if I've got my part straight...." She holds up a hand and starts counting off on her fingers. "One, talk to the printers and broadsheets. Get copies of the list that we can post around the city, and also get it printed in the broadsheets. Two, coordinate with you and Archer about where to post the lists. Three, coordinate with my people to schedule some public readings of the list for the illiterate, or those who can't read Thari. I'm assuming the names of the foreign-born have been written down phonetically, so their non-Thari-speaking relatives should be able to recognize them if they're read aloud, right?" She thumbs through the papers in her hand again, looking for an example. "Have I left out anything important?"

Jerod shakes his head, though he adds. "Your music." he says. "It will do well I think for some of the more tense situations. We can't stop people from mourning or feeling loss. But we can see about making it a little easier to get through it."

Folly nods. "I've got some other ideas along those lines, too. Down dockside, at least, I can mobilize the Potluck Brigade." She grins. "Never underestimate the power of the casserole. Especially when accompanied by tea and sympathy."

"Don't forget the crumpets." Jerod adds, smiling a little. "One cannot have tea without crumpets. It just isn't the social thing to do." and he laughs for a moment before looking at her again. "Is there anything you might require from this end?"

Folly considers for a moment, then says, "Nothing I can think of right now. But there is something else I need to ask you about."

She continues, "Martin's looking for someone to handle correspondence and stuff for him since he's bouncing in and out of town so much. He thought maybe you could suggest some likely candidates. He specified someone trustworthy, who'll put up with him and who won't mind going to Red Mill. What I'm thinking is someone laid-back in personality but still with a good work ethic. Ability to read music a plus. Any ideas?"

Jerod sits back, thinking for a second. "There are two people. One's a student of Barenthkov. A guy. His name is Concord. Barenthkov sometimes complains about his dedication to the art form and despairs of ever making him a proper bard. That tells me he's not as dedicated, or obsessed, as Barenthkov is to music so he might fit the laid back part. But he's still one of Barenthkov's students and he won't suffer anyone who can't keep up with his training regimen. I've never met him personally though.

"The second one is a bit more controversial, though I do know of her. Her name is Mira, an immigrant. Married an Amber-born named Conduct. Her son Vend is a member of the guard who went with the army. Time's got a bit tough for her and her husband and she learned to read and write Thari after the Sundering. Did some work for one of our struggling merchant houses. I don't think she can read music, but that's something you can learn. She works hard I know that. You don't learn Thari by being lazy."

Folly nods and jots the names down in the corner of one of the papers on her floor. "Those both sound like good suggestions. I think I'm gonna hit Vere and Cambina up, too, but this is a good start."

She looks up at Jerod again and seems to study his features for a moment, although it's not clear what she's looking for. Then she says, a bit hesitantly but still earnestly, "Hey, I know Martin talked to you about keeping an eye on me. I just wanted to say thanks -- I'm glad you've got my back."

Jerod nods at Folly's comments about Vere and Cambina, reasonably certain they'll both have good ideas as well. When she thanks him though, he seems a bit uncertain as to how to accept her words - perhaps he is not sure about whether to agree that Martin spoke of it, or perhaps he's just not sure how to accept thanks from people.

But after a moment he smiles, just a little...his real smile and not the one she would see for Court or politics. "Well, I hope it's not required. We'll see how things go.

"Do you know if there's anything Martin might require? He's supposed to be back just prior to the coronation and he wanted a gathering of just the lads." Jerod says, coming to a decision.

"A few hours of relaxation and recreation. Probably exactly the sort of thing you already had in mind," Folly responds. "I can't think of anything else specifically."

After listening to her response, he nods, running his hand through his hair for a moment before asking. "Is Martin in love with you?" Jerod asks. His question seems less of a question than a request for confirmation.

There is a certain expression common to teenaged girls whose fathers have just asked whether they've got the hots for their latest secret crush. The look that flashes across Folly's face is not unlike that. One almost expects her to whine, "Daaaaad, I can't believe you'd ask me that, it's none of your business!"

Jerod is reasonably sure that Eric probably had the same situation with Cambina...though in her case she probably replied using selected words of questionnable moral value (and starting with a "F").

But she recovers quickly and asks instead, "Don't you think he's the one you ought to ask?" She's not being coy so much as reflexively protective of Martin's privacy, Jerod thinks.

Jerod smiles. "He told me as much. He told me he owes me a drink. A conversation we had a few years ago. We chose differing view points on the value of marriage, love and choices for mates, given our rather unique lifestyle. Being immortal and all." he says. "He seems to think that I was right after all."

As Jerod speaks, Folly sits very still, gazing at the floor. Listening. Thinking.

"Now I'll ask you. Are you in love with him?"

Folly looks up at Jerod, a dozen conflicting emotions flashing behind her eyes. She meets his gaze and holds it, as if deciding whether to trust him with something so precious.

But then she replies, quietly, "Yeah. I am."

Jerod looks at her, that look she has come to expect when he is thinking...calculating...plotting?...:) It is clear that he is weighing something very carefully.

"Do me a favor." Jerod says. "Get an extra trump of yourself. Somehow. I don't care how. Use your influence with Random to have you put first on the list for new trumps if you have to. Make sure I get that trump. But keep quiet as to who knows I've got it."

Folly nods. She looks slightly startled at the reference to her "influence with Random" -- is it really that obvious? Or has Martin said something to Jerod about it? -- but she makes no comment.

Jerod's expression is one that translates as "I'm slow, not stupid. "I will figure stuff out after awhile." But she also is reasonably certain that while he knows that there's something up with her and Random, that he's not aware of what it is...just that there's something there. (that's how I'm running it based on point scores - he knows something is up, but the details or the emotional content evade him for the time being)

He stops at that point, waiting a moment before he continues. "And if you can...see if someone is willing to up another of me. It would be good if you had it. In case things go bad." It's quite clear he doesn't like the idea of trumps of him being in circulation...not even one of them.

Folly's eyes widen in surprise, and she nods again. "I'll see what I can do," she says gravely. She's obviously deeply touched by the gesture -- she knows Jerod's feelings about trumps.

She regards him in silence for a moment, almost as if seeing him for the first time. Then she grins. "And here I figured you were gonna offer me a lecture on the perils and politics of intra-familial dating," she says.

Jerod laughs a bit. "You're not Paige. And I wouldn't bother giving her a lecture on it either because it's not something that requires lecturing. There's a difference between a relationship and simply screwing people because you feel like it. If people want to do that, I'm not going to stop them. But I'm not going to act like them either. My personal feelings are it's not worth the emotional upheaval that eventually comes.

"If you're going where I think you're going with Martin...then you're making a choice. Whether it's good or bad as far choices go isn't relevant as far as I'm concerned. It's something you're choosing to do. And with that choice comes the potential for great risk. But you accept the responsibility of it. With great achievements...or great love, there is always great risk."

Folly nods thoughtfully and looks down at her lap.

Then, noticing she's still holding the list of names Jerod brought by, she says, "I guess if I'm gonna get this stuff taken care of, I'd better get a move on, huh?" She smiles, stands, and offers Jerod a hand up from the couch.

Jerod is already off the couch before she completes standing up, having been well taught (and agreeing) that you don't sit when a lady stands up...unless it's a distant aunt you really despise and want to piss off...:)

"Hopefully one of them suits his needs. Or if not them, someone else more qualified." Jerod says, making his way to the door. He stops there however and turns slightly to look at her. He does not bother to keep his court face on for her and she knows this is the first time (and probably the last time) she'll see him like this.

Folly meets his gaze; her own is steady and likewise free of artifice.

"Don't lie to him." Jerod says. "Don't take any s**t from him either. Be honest in everything you do, and demand the same in return. Never be afraid to fight, but only fight because you care. Never go to bed angry..." and he smiles a little. "...so be prepared for long fights and servants serving you in bed late into the morning. Let him be who he is, even if you don't agree with it sometimes. And always be yourself, even when it hurts. Love demands nothing less."

Folly doesn't say anything in response, doesn't even nod, but it's clear she already believes every word, every sentiment, to her very core. The two of them may never again agree so completely on anything.

And then...Jerod is back, the old familiar face, the son of Eric, a Prince of Amber. He smiles confidently, arrogantly maybe, and gives her his nodding bow before departing.

Folly waits 'til the door is closed and she is alone in her room once more. Then she smiles and says, very quietly, "Thanks, Jerod."


Reid arrives at May's office the following day dressed for travel... not terribly different than how he looked the day before, but perhaps a few more pockets, and boots that are more worn in.

"Good day," he offers as he enters. He takes a glance to see if he notices anything different about the space that may have happened in the course of a day, thinking that by noticing the change in one day, he could detect some sort of pattern about the way she works and lives.

She's wearing boots and you see two packs on the couch. The desk is clean, but perhaps the 'shove it in a drawer' method of desk-cleaning was applied.

Reid sees no indication that she spent any of his money.

"Shall we?" Reid offers, making a move to take one of the packs, but not certain if doing such would be welcomed.

May reaches for the other. "It is a good twenty miles. Unless we make good time, we may need to camp." [That's about a day's walk...]

"You realize, we do have access to the stables if you'd prefer to ride," Reid suggests. "But walking is ok with me too."

"I think I could get used to working for the Royal family. I'm sure you always travel in style. Unless you'd rather get the exercise, of course," May says.

"Riding it is. I'm not as young as I used to be." Reid smiles and leads May to the castle stables, checking out two horses with proper fittings from the hands on duty.

If May is daunted by the visit to the royal stables or ashamed of her clothes that are not new, she does not show it. It soon become clear that she knows how to ride, but that she may not have done so recently. She leads you down the coast of Garnath. She is not a great conversationalist, but will answer simple questions if Reid has such.

After some hours, she stops and waits for Reid. To the south, Reid sees a cairn of stone on a lonely stretch of beach that he remembers from some years ago. The sea is washing against the sand, and the two of you have been alone for what seems like hours. You didn't think the coast would be this empty. It's as if the artist wasn't interested in populating all of the canvas.

Are there any signs of wildlife? Or is this even more eerily like Reid remembers from some years ago?

No, it's not depopulated, she's just choosing a path that doesn't go near people, but there is a certain jarring resemblance to that scene. Like seeing a bowl of fruit arranged to look just like a famous still life.

She dismounts and begins looking at the backs of trees along the edge of the forest. Eventually she finds whatever she is looking for. She remounts and continues, assuming Reid will follow.

After a few more hours travel westward, somehow avoiding all the people Reid would have expected to be here, she stops at the fringe of a lake. It probably feeds the streams of Arden into the Oisen.

She shoulders her pack and says "We'll have to walk from here. The loose people are spooked and have retreated into the fringes of Arden. It'll be a bit of a climb through these hills, but the horses won't make it and they'll just spook 'em more. Still, they haven't closed the camp, it's still open to strangers. That has to be a good sign."

She dismounts and drops her reins. "No one will bother these horses. No one smart, anyway." She begins to walk towards the hills that mark the boundary between the mere wilderness of Southwest Garnath and the wildlands of Arden. As soon as she crosses the hills, she'll technically be trespassing in the King's Forest.

Reid follows, his own pack shouldered.

The path is long and it seems to Reid that it always follows the least convenient route when there are two options. If May is surprised by Reid's endurance, she says nothing. The path leads into Arden. Not deep Arden, because it's not that far in. But it's definitely Arden, the forest primeval where Finndo was Master in Reid's youth. It hasn't changed and Reid wonders if it can change or if changelessness is a part of what it is.

Reid is starting to wonder if they will need to stop for the night when May stops herself.

"I think...it's not far ahead."

Before Reid can reply, a high-pitched drawl comes from the woods beside the path. "'It' may be. Who are you and what are you doing here?" The speaker is young and does not shave every week, but he does have a cudgel.

Clearly, it is most difficult to shave with a cudgel...

But think of the accomplishment if you were to succeed!

May looks at you.

"I am Reid. This is my traveling companion, May. We wanted to get out of the city for a while and were looking for a place to camp the night. She was just suggesting that there may be a camp near here."

"Was she now?" he says. "Are you armed?"

Reid gives the man a "what do you think?" indignant look and pulls aside his riding cloak enough to show a hilt. "But of course. Wouldn't have it any other way..."

He's not particularly interested in parting without his weapons without good reason. He also won't subject to a search of his person without putting up a fight. He makes both points very clear.

He seems inclined to press the point and there are a few tense moments until an older man comes out of the woods behind the youth. "Ease up, Link. Who are your new friends?"

"He's Reid, She's May. He's got a sword." The youth sounds quite disapproving, and doesn't look at his companion at all.

"I wouldn't worry about it." He turns to Reid and May. "My name is Girth, welcome to Erewhon. Don't mind Link, he hasn't been sleeping well. Have you had supper?" He gestures for you to come with him.

Link seems unhappy, but doesn't say anything.

Therefore Reid warms up to the newcomer. "We have not, and it's been a good, long day of travel." He smiles. "Did you have anywhere in particular that you'd like to suggest?"

Reid doesn't volunteer that they've only been on the road one day. To do so would be to admit that they have horses. Now, if these strangers already know about the horses, then it's possible that they've been taken, but if the strangers don't know, he's not likely to let it slip if he can avoid it.

You're pretty far from where you left your horses. You're over the hills and into Arden proper.

If Girth offers a path towards camp, Reid follows, turning his back on Link, but letting May walk slightly ahead of him.

"So, tell me about Erewhon? I admit I know a fair amount about these woods, but that's not a name I've heard before."

"Erewhon is wherever we are, friend. It's everywhere amd nowhere and it is our inheritance and the spoils of war and nothing, all at once. It is beyond the fringe of civilization. Those who find it have, generally, everything to gain by staying and nothing to gain by returning to more constrained lives." His eyes are very bright and he seems very sincere. He offers you a bowl of stew from a communal pot. You see perhaps a dozen people, but there could be scores nearby.

Girth doesn't ask questions, preferring to tell you about Erewhon ("more of the above"), and politely listening if you tell him of yourselves.

Reid doesn't offer many personal details, but enjoys the meal and company. If, after dinner, any signs of musical activity arise, he'll join in with his flute, otherwise, he'll let Girth chew on his ear for a while. All the while, he's taking in the surroundings -- the state of the camp, the various qualities of the people within it.... age, gender, social standing, etc. He also tries to discern any perceived leadership roles within the structure of the camp.

There are maybe 20-30 people. 70% 'Friends of Girth' 10% 'not-Friends of Girth', 20% 'no opinion/don't care'

Reid gets the idea, though no one says so directly, that this place is sort of a holding ground for deeper incursions into the forest and that people stay here until the person they're waiting for shows up or not. The story is that Girth set it up for the safety of the refugees.

At some point May says "Do you trust them enough to sleep here?" There is a hint of dubiousness in her voice.

"You're leading this expedition so it's your call," Reid replies. "Something's not quite on the level, or perhaps it's just not savory. It's not that they're dangerous, but they might not scruple to let something happen that wasn't in our best interest.

"Do you have any suggestions for where we can go from here that would be safe for the night? I mean, anywhere we could go, they could follow if they wanted, so total escape doesn't really seem like an option. But we could bow out gracefully, excusing ourselves for the evening, and hope that lack of conflict would be enough. Sleeping in shifts would seem wise, though, regardless."

"That was my thought as well. I wouldn't want to make them suspect by acting suspicious, if you get my meaning."

[you sleep through the night, in your shifts, and nothing untoward happens. The next morning...]

Following a hearty breakfast, Girth announces that he has a large enough group to move to the next camp. May and Reid, who aren't waiting for anyone, are included in the plans. May shrugs. It's where the trail goes, after all.

Reid agrees, and gets his pack in order, set to follow the group.

Girth leads you straight into Arden, deeper than Reid has been in some time. He is walking a deliberate trail, and Reid suspects that he's traversing a stable shadow path.

A few hours after lunch, Girth slows and becomes more hesitant. He seems less sure of himself, but keeps going forward. After a few moments he calls for a stop.

"Well. Bad news. I've lost the trail. I want you all to wait here and I'll see if I can find it again."

Reid looks around him to make sure they're not being set up for an ambush. At the same time, he tries to discern if there are any trail signs that he can spot himself.

No obvious signs, but this is a bad place to stop. No real trails at all, just big woods. If the group was scattered, it would take a dozen rangers to collect it again. Assuming it wanted to be recollected.

He doesn't volunteer to find the trail for Girth, but instead, will stay with May and the rest of the travelers unless something goes horribly awry.

If the other swaggies don't seem too upset about the lack of a trail, Reid may entertain them by blowing a bit on his flute, if he thinks it would be welcomed.

It works prety well, and it seems to calm and reassure them. Until it becomes clear that Girth is gone and it's nearly nightfall.

Reid looks to the others to see if anyone is making motions to settle camp. "May? What do you make of our current situation? He's not back yet, and it's a bit late to try to follow him..."

"I think I didn't get paid enough for this job. For all we know, he's a hundred yards from here, wandering in circles."

"I assumed my guide would know the camp to which I was being led. " Reid retorts.

"Everyone's so edgy that if anyone so much as says 'boo!' (ooc: or 'manticore!'), we'll be alone in this glade before you could blink. The music's nice and all, but what these folks need is someone to tell them to make a fire and dig a latrine pit."

"I'm all for going behind a tree and making scary noises, but as fun as it might be, it wouldn't solve much. Then again, I have no inclination to lead these people. They're deserting my lands and I feel no obligation to them. If they don't have the sense not to crap themselves, I'm not going to suggest an alternative for them. But you and I may as well find ourselves a comfortable spot to wait out the night. If the others watching want to follow suit, I certainly won't stop them." Reid reasons, and proceeds to root around for some dry underbrush for a fire.


Early in the morning of the third day of the return, following the news Aisling picked up yesterday about the masquerade (perhaps from the seamstress she comissioned, perhaps from Lilly at the KoR meeting), late enough that she wouldn't be disturbing the queen in the morning, Aisling sends off a messenger to her with this message:

"From Dame Aisling to Queen Vialle, most respectful greetings. I would request a short meeting at your earliest convenience, regarding concerns I have over the celebrations surrounding the coming coronation."

Aisling smirks bemusedly for a moment over the unexpected abundance of alliteration there, and then sends the messenger off.

There is a return message close to noon, via an older page, who tells Aisling that the queen will be pleased to meet with Aisling in her [the Queen's] office after lunch. There is no return note.

Aisling will make sure she gets from the page a good understanding of how long it is 'til after lunch. She spent the morning in making arrangements for Ce'e to be tutored by a man, Crane, recommended by Nestor yesterday; and as well in getting Ce'e his own room; though still one reasonably close to hers, if possible.

Following receipt of the message, she'll retreat to her room to try to come up with the most appropriate outfit possible, settling on a natural silk gown that she accessorizes with an amber pendant and amber-bejeweled haircombs that she uses to hold her upswept hair. The streamers are again by needs gone.

Aisling presents herself at the queen's office at the time indicated by the page.

Vialle is seated in the office, on the couch with the chairs around it, as described elsewhere. When Aisling is admitted, she says, "Dame Aisling, please, join us and be seated. How have you found your chambers? Steward Vent says there was some question about the quartering of your manservant. Has that been settled to your satisfaction?"

Aisling will take the same chair Vere took, the one in the middle directly across from Vialle.

She smiles and answers, "Yes, just this morning I made arrangements to move Sir Ce'e into the room that had been prepared for him; I had been worried about his health, but he seems to be bearing up admirably. Thank you for asking.

"As for myself, I enjoy the light that enters my room, and I find my chambers pleasing."

"The sun is pleasantly warm in that wing of the castle, yes," Vialle agrees. "And how are you finding your duties?"

"My fellows seem a keen lot," Aisling says with a smile. "I look forward to the future."

"As do we all," says Vialle. "And what is it in particular that you seek from me in the future?"

"The future is a broad country, your majesty; I am loathe to approach it unscouted. Thus in the present, I seek to know the reasons for the choice of a masquerade ball rather than some other form, for the major celebration of the coronation." Her hands thoughout have been still in her lap, and in fact, she is in general stiller than one might expect. This, Vialle can probably tell, is caution.

Vialle, despite her blindness, blinks. Perhaps that is a universal gesture.

"The masquerade is a traditional pastime of Amber, though one that has been abandoned in these recent centuries since a Queen last sat alongside my husband's late father. Random has mentioned to me more than once in the past the masques and masquerades held while his mother was Queen; I believe that he enjoyed them and looked forward to participating in them as his brothers did before his mother's untimely death."

Vialle continues: "The court has been on a war footing for many years, certainly since before Random brought me to join him here. I have not heard that his late brother encouraged such entertainments before his coronation, but whether that was a lack of inclination or a lack of time to devote to them I do not know. We did hold a masquerade once during the Regency. Lucas announced Solace's pregnancy with Philippe at the unmasking. The family seems to have found it quite amusing--most of them, anyway--and I considered it a success, one I hope to repeat with the coronation masquerade."

She inclines her head, as if listening for for some reaction from Aisling. "It is also the case that many people will need costuming for the masquerade, which will cause many purchases and the circulation of money, a thing which I understand to be desirable. And it will serve to move the city away from a war footing, which is also a thing much to be desired."

Aisling ducks her head slightly, and during Vialle's talk she did actually unfreeze a bit, eased by the consideration shown in the answering. Not enough to be audible, though, save, perhaps, in her tone...

"This is to be desired; celebration and circulation. I have two concerns about a masquerade, though. You and King Random, I trust, have considered the security issues...?"

"Neither of us considers them additionally significant compared to the general security risks of living in the castle," Vialle says. "There will be nine princes of Amber at the masquerade, and more than a dozen of their children. Any physical threat that they cannot overcome in their own place will destroy the kingdom regardless. And while the masquerade might make an entry under false pretenses or by subterfuge easier, there are a sufficient number of people who enter and leave the castle each day that the masquerade would only be a convenience for someone who chose to sneak in, not a necessity."

Aisling is nodding. She continues in the manner of one having an intriguing and agreeable discussion, "Yet it provides a tempting target, almost a dare... And there are other threats than direct physical attacks on your husband's relatives." And then she frowns, and steeples her hands-- rests her bandaged hand across her knees and holds her other in a loose open position to gesture with and leans forward and gets to what really worries her about the situation, "And this is related to my other concern about a masquerade; I am concerned about the pattern set down for the first step in Random's journey. A masquerade is playful, but it is dangerous; a change in form often leads to a change in being. Symbols have great power, and it worries me to have Random's reign officially begin with a dance of facades. People can hide from themselves behind them... I'm not sure that that would improve the situation in Amber." Her tone reflects the balance between trying not to make this a question of Vialle's face, and the honest worry of a sorcerer's daughter.

Oddly enough, Vialle appears to take this concern at something approaching face value. Perhaps she knows more of magic than most Amberites. "Part of the essence of a Prince of Amber is to be whatever he is despite the masks he wears. I have heard my husband say 'the shadows lie for me'. The masquerade will not lie for him; in fact, the act of unmasking, which is a part of the masquerade, will reveal any troublesome element in a way that may well prove beneficial. If the masquerade is a symbolic act, so is that."

She concludes, "And in any case, there is no time to change the plan, and doing so would suggest weakness and unsteadiness, neither of which we can afford to project at this time."

Aisling sighs and nods, "I know that is true." But she's actually sort of comforted that Vialle seems to understand, and she's definitely weighing Vialle's points. "Thank you very much for listening to my concerns, your Majesty." She's not in winding-down mode, though; she's open to Vialle's further interests.

Vialle will make polite conversation on a variety of topics for a while, veering from any that seem to make Aisling uncomfortable, before dismissing her. Vialle doesn't really seem to have anything she wants from Aisling, other than a general hostessly desire to make her comfortable.

Aisling will be bright and pleasant, and will let it be known indirectly that she's extremely pleased that both Random and Vialle are on the throne. Her motives for this chat, one level deeper, are to introduce herself as a friendly force; it'd be nice if she could get the queen talking to her some.

Vialle doesn't have a lot of time for idle chit-chat, sadly. She has a number of things to do, like arrange the coronation (not to mention the memorial for Oberon and Deirdre).

Fortunately, Aisling has no intention of making idle chit-chat. :)

And after that, I believe it's the city-stuff I told you when you long ago asked for our plans for the next three days.


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Last modified: 22 January 2003