Altamarean Nights

Paige shakes her head and steps through [the Veil]. "Didn't Ambrose say that you chance harming the fabric of the universe doing that?" she asks, savoring the breeze and taking stock of her surroundings as she crosses.

"I hope so. That's what Dworkin taught us."

Bleys steps through and carefully closes the gap between the two places. He spends several moments dealing with it, absorbed in his task.

Paige and Bleys are standing on a seaside cliff, looking north Paige can see the ancient fortress of Altamar, the first home of the knights in this land. The port is busy with traffic and the pastures are green and the sunlight is warm on back.

"We'll head to the castle, and then consider our next moves from there."

Paige has adjusted Leif's sling so that he's sitting higher across her chest almost, his head currently covered by a light blanket she has draped over her shoulder. Happy suckling noises can be heard from beneath the covering. "You mentioned something to your sister about the children benefiting from the time. Are we faster than Amber here?" She begins walking toward the fortress, remembering it in darkness and torchlight the evening she came for the ceremony.

"We used to be," says Bleys. "I'd like to think we still are, but with all the universal constants in flux, we can't count on it. I'll check in with Fi in a day or two to see how she's doing and whether the timeflows have shifted radically again. It'll do as base for deciding our next move either way."

He whistles a merry little tune as they trudge along the cliff, and in a few minutes, two richly-caparisoned horses trot up. One has a lady's sidesaddle; Bleys manages the twins while Paige mounts up. After he hands the children back to their mother, he bestrides his own horse and leads the way to the castle.

"Relatively, though... Arcadia's a ways off as Shadows stand, no?" Paige thinks thoughtfully. "And what little ability," _Pattern_, "I wield will work here, yes?"

Bleys nods.

"Perhaps you're right, Troublemaker. Perhaps this is a wonderful place for the children. A fortress full of knights oath sworn to my protection can't hurt, either." She's holding the reins with her left hand and trying to keep Leif from pushing his sister out of their sling with the other. Brooke doesn't seem concerned, in fact she seems content with her brother's restlessness, or perhaps just his presence calms her.

A thought bubbles to the surface in her emerald eyes. "Will the Knights take an oath to the children at such an early age?"

"Oh, that'll probably be the subject of one of their interminable councils. They like that, the knights--sitting around and talking about fine points of honor for days and weeks on end--like how many gods can dance on the head of a pin, but more useful, at least."

Paige laughs, the sunlight and light breeze bringing warmth to her smile.

Bleys' horse is a little feisty, but a little effort with knees and reins convinces him to behave. Bleys tells him, "I don't care what you smell. You're not going to visit her." The horse snorts and Bleys turns his attention back to Paige.

"They'll want to hold a moot anyway. I had to dash back to Amber for that slight matter of Random's crowning, and the knights need confirmation from me that they've retired another part of their obligation to my father. I don't formally have Random's permission to declare anything retired, but he doesn't know what the original obligation is, and under the circumstances, I think they've earned it."

Bleys smiles brilliantly at Paige. "And if he doesn't like it, he can see if I'll lead them past the end of the universe the next time he gets his balls in a crack."

"How exactly did they come to be in Grandfather's debt? I remember someone suggesting that it was tied up with an ancient battle in Amber," Paige asks.

"One supposes that the knights would ramble on for hours about it themselves, but perhaps you could sum it up a bit easier?"

"The Knights are the last survivors of a very old and proud people, Paige. There are obligations between them and the crown of Amber that long predate me, and may even predate Benedict. When I was a lad, there was a civil war between them and the people we now call the Moonriders in their homeland of Ghenesh. They invoked their obligation to us, and your grandfather sent me to deal with the matter. The Moonriders had them besieged and they were about to die heroically and senselessly when I offered to take them to a shadow of their desire."

Bleys gestures at the lovely view. "I don't think I did half badly, if I do say so myself. In any case, they agreed to come to Amber's aid three times in gratitude for all that, and now they've done so twice. Once at Jones Falls, and once at the Abyss. Let's hope we can leave that third ace up our sleeve for a long time."

"Or manage a different agreement," Paige agrees. "And the returning forces said that Moonriders were present at Grandfather's funeral. Do we expect them to be a problem soon, what with the perceived loss of control that went with the King's passing?

"Funny. I never knew the full history of Jones Falls, and I own a house there," Paige admits. "Lord Rein was knighted there, I know."

"Rein's a good man, even if his taste in music is a bit pedestrian," Bleys says.

"Agreed, but I'm not sure I liked Barenthkov any better," Paige hedges. "His arrogance always came across stronger than his lyrics."

"Jones Falls was an ugly fight, and it's no surprise that the survivors want to forget as much as they can about it. Your grandfather and I brought the Knights in and smashed the Moonriders in a way not entirely unlike that which we used in our most recent battle. It was a meatgrinder, no quarter asked or given on any side. They were days finishing the wounded off and burning the dead."

Bleys shakes his head. "Kolvir was nothing compared to Jones Falls." And he lapses into silence.

"So when they talk about Uncle Benedict holding the pass, it's only because the Moonriders had been dealt such a blow at Jones Falls that he was able to, eh?" Paige summarizes.

"No," Bleys contradicts her, "Benedict held them at Jones Falls, prevented them from escaping into Arden over the pass, until Father and I could bring in the knights and smash them between us. Hammer into anvil. It was one of Father's better plans, I thought. Although most people had no idea why he negotiated with the Moonriders afterwards..."

"Why do they call them Moonriders, Father? I've never seen anything among the Knights to make me call to mind any lunar events," she asks, shifting the topic slightly.

"Some of the knights were already calling them so when I first traveled to Ghenesh. Perhaps our hosts will know, if the origin hasn't been lost in time whereof memory runneth not." Bleys punctuates the last bit with a sweep of his forearm.

She laughs and agrees, "Like so many things surrounding our family invariably do."

"How long to the fortress, do you think?" Paige asks, looking at the twins in her sling.

"Oh, another twenty or thirty minutes, then an hour or so of greetings. You may be excused from all that to deal with the children. I hope you don't need to deal with them now," Bleys says darkly, wrinkling his nose. "They are charming, of course, and have the red hair to prove it, but I will like them better when they have more to say than demands relating to what goes in one end and comes out the other."

"Finally found your match, Father?" she jabs. "Someone, or someones, that you can't charm your way past?" The proud mother caresses the side of Leif's face. "I like them just fine, no matter their needs. They're honest in all they do."

She meets his eyes, "They'll be fine until the fortress, I'm sure."

"That's good to hear, for changing tables will be hard to come by until we get there," Bleys says, unfazed by her tiny bit of temper.

They ride up towards the fortress and soon enough are met by knights, who greet Bleys with pleasure and form an honor guard to accompany them. A messenger rides ahead to announce the visitors and allow the castellan to make the necessary preparations before Paige and Bleys arrive.

In due time, they arrive at the great Fortress of Altamar, and the Steward himself, Lord Strongblade, comes out to greet Bleys and his daughter. There is some ceremony involved in this, as Bleys suggested, but Strongblade offers Paige the chance to take the children and rest immediately.

Paige makes the appropriate noises and excuses herself from the early ceremony based on the needs of her children. Her smile and bow are gracious to the Steward for his kindness. As she makes her way up the stairs to the Grand Foyer, she's met by a darkhaired woman of middle years. A few stripes of grey in the upswept hair suggest more age than Paige would think my her spry movements. She wears a simple dress, covered by a plain apron.

"Mi'lady, I'm Dances in Twilight. The castellan suggested that you might be needing help with the twins," she greets with outstretched hands to take Brooke from Paige's arms.

"I can't believe they're here already," she says as Brooke seems to look her over before relaxing in her arms. "Why it can't have been long enough for her to have babies already, I insisted when he called, but here you are my precious ones."

"This way mi'lady," she says leading Paige to the stairs and into the guest wing of the Fortress.

"Fear, not mi'lady," Dancer told Paige as shse ushered her out of the room that would serve as Paige's bedchambere and the twins' nursery. "The men are probably tired enough of their own voices and ceremony to be ready for dinner, if you take yourself some time in getting there. If they haven't stopped yet, well... a pretty face should remind them that there are things other than big talk."

Paige smiled despite herself. "You'll call if they awake?" she asked, the voice of every young mother upon leaving the children.

"Yes, mi'lday, but they ate well, especially your Leif. I expect he'll sleep until just after you lay your own head down this evening. It's his way, I'm sure of it," she chided. "Now get yourself on to dinner. Caring for these two doesn't allow you to neglect yourself, you know."

Paige chuckled and turned for the stairs, shaking her head. "Who's mother of godlings here anyway?" she asked herself.

When Paige makes her way down to the hall, she finds herself met by a young squire, who escorts her to the hall and the high table. Bleys and Strongblade are waiting for her, along with a dozen or more other knights. All rise as she comes toward the table.

Bleys is dressed in the style of the knights: a handsome red dalmatic over an orange tunic and a white alb. His mantle is dark brown, as are his shoes. All his garb is shot through with gold embroidery, and the clasp of his mantle is his device: a phoenix displayed.

The other knights are dressed in similar display: a bright panoply that reminds Paige of nothing so much as of Amber before the war, when her father prepared for war against Eric and she watched the city for him.

"Come," says Bleys. "Join us."

Strongblade seconds the motion. "Please do, Lady." His dark hair is shot through with grey, although the shoulders beneath the blue-grey mantle are not yet bowed with age.

Paige remembered the riot of color and had the maids find the dress she had worn last here. A large emerald green skirt, pinned back at the hem to display the golden petticoats below. Simple golden stitching helped the bodice match. The blouse was of ivory and was ruffled at the neck and sleeve. Her hair was pulled back in a jeweled snood of gold and emeralds. While she wore no device, nestled at the peak of her cleavage was the golden unicorn's head necklace.

Her curtsey is one of respect for her father and Strongblade. "You honor me, gentle knights," she greets them as she rises and finds her seat. "Please don't let me interrupt your conversation," Paige smiles.

Paige is seated next to Bleys, who has the place of honor at Strongbow's right hand. When she sits, the knights all seat themselves.

The board is set with heavy trenchers. Meat and breads and starches are the order of the day. Bleys courteously cuts her whatever she asks for and waters her wine. A quiet request to a server brings anything she needs that isn't on the table already.

Paige is a scion of the line and can eat with the best of her cousins, even if she wasn't currently eating for three. Proteins and carb-loading is fine with her right now. Although she's a bit dehydrated from the feeding, and as such will alternate between the mixed wine and the straight water.

Bleys says, "I assume the children are well-settled, so I won't ask about them. I was telling Strongblade about my encounter with the High Marshall, but that's probably not fit talk for company and I don't want to put you off your feed."

"Which encounter, Father? At grandfather's wake? I'd be interested to hear the tale," Paige admits.

A slight pause as she sips from the wine glass. "Unless it's our host that you're worried about putting off his feed," she jokes.

"Not at all. Actually, Brennan and I ran into him while we were scouting, heading back towards Ygg. He did attend the funeral, but I managed to avoid encountering him and the necessarily attendant scene there. As it was, he merely spewed bitterness all over Brennan, who is more than capable of handling it."

Paige smiles at the mention of her cousin, nodding in agreement.

Bleys turned back to Strongblade. "It's the matter of the invitation to Ghenesh that I mislike."

Strongblade nods. "Ghenesh has become a place where the Moonriders can thrive. It's not fit for ordinary men." He looks to Paige. "Have you ever met a Moonrider, Lady?"

"No, I haven't," she admits. "In fact I was just recently asking my father why they were referred to as Moonriders. It seems an... interesting term to associate with a band of warriors."

"Has it something to due with the nature of Ghenesh, or is it borne of legendary deeds?" she asks, her food forgotten for a moment.

"More that Ghenesh has to do with the nature of the Moonriders, and the things they've done to themselves," Strongblade says, frowning. The knights at the table shuffle and there's a bit of a hush as his words ripple down the table.

"I wouldn't ask such fine company to speak of things that trouble them, but I'd hear of Ghenesh and the Moonriders from those that know them best if at some day I need such to protect my children," Paige says. "If a different forum would serve, perhaps we might arrange a discussion."

Bleys says, a bit hastily, "I don't think anything so formal as a moot is necessary."

Strongblade nods. "Your father is probably right, certainly for now. But don't worry, there is no threat to your children here, Lady." He smiles reassuringly at her. "But let us speak of light things. How was your journey?"

"Pleasant enough and quicker than I would've expected," Paige answers evenly. She finishes her glass of wine and looks to her father to pour another. "But light topics are for those of light countenance.

"If Your Lordship considers me such, I will have to disagree," she explains, her eyes flashing warning to those who know to look for it. "Strongly."

Bleys looks suddenly amused from behind his wine goblet.

Strongblade says, "No one who knows Prince Bleys would make such an assumption of his daughter." But he sounds a bit surprised.

"Nor would I do so of the men that my father chooses to ride with into battle," Paige answers. "So, the Moonriders... I take it that they were once like other men and by your comments it is Ghenesh that has drawn them away from light and honor. What makes it so?"

Strongblade looks at Bleys, who gestures for him to go on. "I don't think I've ever heard why they did ... whatever it was they did to themselves."

He turns to his daughter. "When I first saw the Moonriders at that parley in Ultima Thule, I could tell they weren't quite human any more. I have no idea how they achieved that state, although I've never studied one closely enough to learn much, either. Normally when I run into them, I'm otherwise occupied."

Strongblade nods. "We don't know how they did it. They said it was a gift of the Queen, but we would only really understand when and if we underwent the ritual themselves."

Paige chuckles warmly at Bleys's comment but waits until the Steward's done, "I suppose you are more busy. And I can presume that my Aunt hasn't had a chance to do a post-mortem?" she asks.

"She had other tasks," Bleys says, but doesn't elaborate.

She's started well into her meal as they talk. "Their Queen, what can you tell me of her that she could offer such... gifts?"

Strongblade hesitates, and Bleys steps in again. "That's a subject of some debate. The Queen was, in her day, Queen of all the people who are now Moonriders and Knights. She has been _gone_ for a long while, even as we count time. Legend says she will return again, and it is for her that Strongblade holds the Stewardship."

The Steward shows his agreement by nodding. "We dispute that what the Moonriders have done is truly the will of the Queen."

"So, they've taken on this inhuman aspect in what they believe to be the Queen's name," Paige sums up after finishing a bite of her meal which is disappearing quickly.

"I suppose there's no way to answer that until she returns," Paige muses, looking to Bleys. _Family?_ her eyes ask.

Bleys shrugs subtly.

"What exactly have they done? I've seen perfectly normal men in the heat of battle do things which would be considered inhuman, but I fear that's not what you speak of, Steward."

"It isn't what they do, lady, it's what they are," Strongblade says, and there's a murmur of agreement from the other knights at the table.

Bleys considers it and says, "I think the closest sensible way I can put it is that they're no longer entirely in our current set of dimensions."

"As if they exist here and on the other side of an inflection point simultaneously?" Paige considers out loud. "Then wouldn't someone like my Aunt be able to push them forcibly toward that other... dimension?

"Or is that their shield, that not being here allows them to ignore or bypass such strictures of Order?" She takes a piece of bread and chews on it thoughtfully.

Strongblade and some of the knights look a little oddly at Paige. She can tell that they're not used to metaphysical discussions at dinner. Bleys says, "Perhaps. But they are enough in this dimension to fall to good steel," and they all relax a little.

"Then I need to freshen my skills, I fear," Paige answers taking her father's lead. "Might you have a man willing to face me, Steward? I'm not my Father's equal, but I'll give as good as I get."

Strongblade looks at Paige, and glances surreptitiously, or so he thinks, at Bleys. Paige doesn't need to see her father's face to know the rather bland expression he must be wearing, as if he were asking 'what?' with the slightest rise of his eyebrows and tilt of his head.

The Steward's darting gaze returns to Paige before he looks down the table at the assembled company. "Any of my knights would be glad to spar with you, Lady Paige. Which of them would you wish to meet in combat?"

Paige looked over the assembled knights, appraising them openly. She passed over the older veterans for the sake of both ability and pride. She hadn't tested her hand against a man since sparring with Martin, at least a decade ago, and had no idea where her skills would be against these men, but if by some twist of fate if she were to hold her own, she didn't need the repercussions of one of the Steward's commanders losing face. For the same reason, she disregarded the younger men in the room. They might read something else into her play and while it was attractive in some natures, she was neither ready nor willing to have that complication enter her days here in Altamar.

He eyes settled on perhaps on of the plainest dressed at the table. His blonde hair was cut close to his scalp, his eyes focused like a bird of prey as it stoops upon a rabbit in the valley. He wore a black dalmatic over a golden-yellow tunic and a white alb. His mantle was black, as were his boots and trousers. Like her father, the clasp of his mantle bore a device: Or, a barbed rose sable, counterchanged. [Casting: Anthony Geary]

"Good Sir, would you do me the honor?" she asked.

He rises and bows. "Charge, Lady Paige, at your service." Then he seats himself again.

Strongblade nods. "An excellent choice, Lady. I'm sure you'll find Sir Charge more than able to provide you with an appropriate challenge."

"In the morn, Sir Charge? Before breakfast if you like," she suggests her voice hinting at suggestive, but still on this side of decorum. "I find I appreciate the food so much the better if I've worked up an appetite." Indeed to Charge it appears that her eyes might devour him.

Charge nods, and says, "I will be there." Either he missed the innuendo, or he chooses not to answer it in public.

If there are no objections, Paige will take her leave of the men and head back to the nursery to check on the twins and once satisfied there to her own sleeping chamber for some much needed rest.

In the morning, Paige rises and dresses for the day. Man's clothes, suitable for arms practice, have been laid out, along with a dress.

Paige chuckles to herself, considering. After a moment she shrugs out of her shift and steps into the clothes impressed with the fit. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't, so damn it I will."

When she arrives in the yard, she can see that a crowd of men are watching a bout. Although the men part to let Paige through, she doesn't have to get to the front of the crowd to see that one of the three combatants has flame-red hair. Indeed, it is her father, more than holding his own against two of Strongblade's men.

Sir Charge is in the crowd, watching. Like many of his fellow knights, he seems quite impressed.

Paige is dressed in a men's sleeveless surcote of a darker green than her eyes with matching hose and accented with an ivory undertunic. Her hair has been braided tight to keep it out of her face and pulled up into a bun on the back of her head.

While her mannish costume draws a certain amount of curiosity from the onlookers--her curvaceous form, even plump with baby fat, is clearly unlike that of most, if not all, of those on the field--the men do not comment on it.

She is content to watch her father's work and give Charge another once over. She's looking for who he is, where his strength comes from; judging him as any man, a potential lover, a potential enemy, looking for the insight that will give her an edge.

He is interested in the match between Bleys and his opponents, and his behavior tells her he's experienced enough not to be a walkover for her. His reactions to the turns of the battle tell her that much--unless he's just theory and no practice. But his musculature and the ease with which he moves in armor, and with a blade on his hip, tell her that Charge is no paper tiger.

Paige expects no less of the men that would ride into battle with her father. It's during this time that she has a revelation... they're armored. Lightly, but armor none the less. That would put him at an advantage that she didn't like. It wouldn't be much more weight than a formal winter gown, but she wasn't used to combat in a hoop skirt either.

To know much more, she'll have to see him with his blade in hand.

And that wasn't going to happen until she found herself armor. Looking around she spotted a young boy, page, steward, squire... whichever, he'd suit. She bade him find her an appropriate shirt with haste. And a blade. He wouldn't want to spoil Sir Charge's practice now, would he?

By the time her father had finished his display she was settling into the mail's weight and was satisfied with the balance of the blade.

A knot of warriors has formed around Bleys and the two men he's defeated, including Sir Charge. Bleys looks around and catches sight of Paige. With a careless wave, he gestures to her to join them.

Paige strides across the practice yard, her hips moving with more of a swagger of a swordsman than the sway of a woman.

"Well fought, Father," she greets. "A hard act to follow, I must say."

"I fear that Sir Charge won't give as good a display for his fellows," she chides gently, but loud enough for most of Bleys' admirers to hear.

"It would be difficult to match Prince Bleys," Charge agrees. "But I am ready to put my poor efforts up against his, if you are, Lady."

"Speak for yourself, Charge," Paige banters. "I count myself poor only when compared to the likes of my Father." He smile is fierce, in fact Bleys may not have seen its like for sometime. For sure it was before the Sundering, or perhaps when he returned from Chaos, but not since.

The warriors, including Bleys, open a large circle about 20' in diameter around Charge and Paige. There aren't enough people in the little knot around Bleys to fill out the whole circle, but others who watched Bleys' contest now gather to watch his daughter and her opponent.

Charge and Paige meet at the center of the circle. "To first blood, or yielding?" he asks her.

"First blood, I think," she decides after a moment's thought. "But I promise that, should you scar, it'll be a pretty one."

Charge takes a step back and falls into a bit of a wary crouch--not exactly defensive, but ready to circle and assess Paige's movements. He is using a long sword with one hand, but the grip on the blade is such that he could swing it two-handed if need be. He does not have a shield.

Paige has a long sword in her right hand and a small parrying dagger in her left. She circles the ring, as he expects, her smile never wavering. "Really, Charge. If I wanted to dance, I think a gown would've been more appropriate."

With that, she moves in, her sword testing his defenses low as she guards high with her off-hand.

"Don't think you will draw me out with harsh words, Lady Paige," Charge says, parrying her initial blow solidly and riposting. "I'm no novice, to lose my temper because a woman challenges me."

Paige can feel the strength in his parry; she feels she could dodge the return blow, or parry with her sword, but the dagger will do her little good here.

She sidesteps his riposte not willing to give him the opportunity for corps-a-corps until she has a better gauge of his strength than one blow. "A novice? No I wouldn't think so, else you wouldn't have risen to the challenge in the first place, not at least with the honor you have shown.

"But I do worry if you find my words harsh," she says. Her grin hasn't left her face yet, in fact it might be growing. "It occurs that you'll be sorely pressed and I'll find myself shamed horribly when they do turn harsh." She circles and lets him take the initiative for this exchange, this time planning to block with the sword and see what opening the dagger might find.

Charge has his eye on the dagger, so that when Paige moves to strike with it, he dodges easily. She can feel his blow all the way up her arms.

"Say what you like, Lady. Your tongue will do you no good in this fight. It's only your sword arm--or perhaps your dagger hand--that will do you any good today."

There are murmurs from various points around the circle at the exchange of blows. Paige feels certain that they are assessing her performance, and Charge's. Bleys stands in the crowd, but he keeps his feelings to himself.

"Of course it won't, noble Sir," she laughs to cover the momentary numbness in her wrist. She flips the dagger deftly behind her, near the edge of the ring, and shifts both hands to her sword hilt. "Of course, that's the only place I might best you, in a battle of words, I fear."

She advances with two quick blows, a slash and then thrust. "As is common for my sex, your strength is perhaps too much for me." She continues past him, spinning quickly to raise a defense.

Charge blocks the slash, again with a blow that Paige can feel. His strength at least equals hers, perhaps more. In a man that would sit at the high table of Altamar, this is not entirely surprising.

He dodges the slash and turns to meet her. Paige stops his blow. The parries are not effortless, and in time he could wear her down. Though her skills are rusty, with practice Paige could quickly regain her form and match him.

Charge advances on Paige, attempting to push her toward the edge of the circle.

"Are you always this forward with women you just met?" she laughs. She lets him advance and sidesteps at the last possible moment, hoping to dodge his blow and find an opening on his weak side.

"Only in combat," Charge replies.

Paige steps to the left, which would have allowed her a relatively easy shot on most men, but as Charge moves to defend, she realizes that he's left-handed and more than ready to defend his flank. He turns and begins to drive her back again.

[Card: the Priestess reversed, Impracticality]

"Pity," she whispers, more to herself than him, but as she drives forward into his attack it's possible he catches it and the glint in her eye. No giving ground this time, but her defense is based on dodging blows instead of parrying them.

Charge is tough, but, Paige realizes, not a particularly inspired warrior. He drives hard and fights hard, but he doesn't seem to think outside the box very often. She tries several tricks before lighting on one that allows her to put a touch on him, and the duel is over.

The knights congratulate both Charge and Paige.

Paige is just as much shocked as she is elated by her victory. She bows to her opponent and salutes him. Her smile glows, but there's nothing but respect for Charge. She is visibly tired, even after the blade and the chain are returned, she still seems bowed by their weight. She starts to let out her hair, pulling her fingers through her braid.

As Charge sits down to have his wound tended, Bleys comes to escort Paige back up to her chamber. "Well-fought, my dear. I think a return to regular sparring will suit you. Consider it a part of your daily hygiene--like brushing your teeth, only more interesting."

"Sir, yes Sir," she responds with a chuckle. "Actually, I had thought as much, but I'm still not up to snuff physically, let alone martially. I need a nap, and with my luck the twins won't be obliging."

"A shot of whiskey apiece should settle them," Bleys says, but the sparkle in his eyes suggests he's joking.

He waits until they are along on the stair to her chambers more quietly, "Strongblade is sending out the summons for the moot this morning. The knights should all be here in about a week. The moot itself should take between a week and a tenday. I had word from your Aunt last night that makes an early return to Amber advisable. We need to speak to the King."

Paige nods, "So two and a half weeks at the outside, or are you suggesting that we travel home faster than that and miss the moot?"

At the door, Dancer meets them. She looks worried. "Lady," she says, "I think you need to take a look at the twins."

When Paige and Bleys go in to see what she means, they find that the twins are larger--and older--than Paige remembers them being even last night. In fact, they are now crawling in their crib. One of them catches sight of her and says, very clearly, "Mama?"

Paige nearly falls, her knees seeming weaker than those carrying Leif across the crib. Luckily her father is there and his gentle reassuring touch steadies her. As soon as she's recovered, moments that seem much longer than they truly are, she is at the crib side lifting her blue-eyed daughter. "Yes, it's Mama, Brooke my love."

She turns to face Bleys and tears are welling in her eyes. Before she can actually shed any, her brow takes on a thoughtful demeanor. "Father, I know you suggested that children of Amber grew as quickly as the grass, but somehow I had still not prepared myself for it, let alone poor Dancer."

Turning to the nurse, Paige smiles, "I'm so sorry. Have they given you any trouble? They must be famished."

"No more than usual, my lady," Dancer says. "They were asleep, and I went out for a few minutes, and when I came back, the poor things had grown out of their swaddling." She looks uncertainly at Paige. "Should I go to the kitchen for some stewed fruits or some such for them?"

Surprisingly, it's Bleys who answers first, "Yes, please. I'm sure my grandchildren are starving, if they've inherited the family appetite as well." Dancer, relieved, departs.

As soon as the door closes behind her, Bleys makes an arcane gesture with his left hand. "An overly inquisitive soul has just been excused, along with your maid," he explains to Paige.

"Grandmother?" she asks, a troubled look darkening her brow.

"Perhaps," Bleys says, but doesn't elaborate on his other suspects.

He moves to the crib and picks up his grandson. "No sign of sorcery on them. I suspect this is their natural heritage. It's summer here. Perhaps they're acclimating?"

"One supposes," Paige says, her eyes never leaving Brooke's. "I guess we're going to have to be careful traveling back to Amber. We left in summer, how long's passed there? If they're in the fall already, perhaps I can have appropriate clothing ready before this happens again."

"This is looking more than seasonal jumps. I really don't thing it's some gradual thing, Father. Perhaps someone's pushing them some other way. Or is pushing me in the directions that accentuate their natural heritage."

As Paige becomes more agitated, so does Brooke. She begins fussing and it's a moment before Paige realizes that she herself is the source of the problem. She's let Brooke slip to her hip and is rocking slowly, small cooing noises gently reassuring her daughter.

"You still didn't answer... Are you suggesting that we travel home faster than two weeks and miss the moot? Does this change your plans?"

"I can't miss the moot. My presence is required to affirm that a portion of their debt to the Crown of Amber is paid. And I mislike sending you to Amber ahead of me. No, I think you should stay here, and we'll have to keep a closer eye on them." Bleys frowns. "If we can."

He adds, "I'm not sure of the season in Amber. It's off its moorings, and its timeflow may not be entirely even any more, if what Fiona says is true."

Paige seems distracted, her finger in Brooke's mouth sliding over taut gums and... yes... teeth. "You two better not bite, or you're both cut off, you hear?" she admonishes them both in loving tones. Turning back to her father, she asks, "Do I dare ask what my Aunt says?"

"That Random has made another anchor on which to hang the weight of the universe," Bleys replies.

Paige's look is somewhere between thoughtful and awestruck before hanging a left at I-told-you-so and holy-shit. She shakes it off for the moment, but her father can see all manner of implications churning behind her eyes.

"What role would you have me play the rest of the time? The lady? Might've squashed that one already this morning. They won't buy minstrel or warrior, and the knights don't do babies or magic. I suppose I might keep the sparring and other than that, keep to my rooms and do some painting. I can keep a watch on the twins and, well... Trumps of the younger generation are in short supply, maybe I can help alleviate that some small measure where my Trump is concerned."

"I think you'll be needed at the moot at least part of the time." Bleys narrows his eyes. "If you want to make your excuses for the rest of it, I can only regret that my duty forbids me from joining you. One of the few things that might render infant care palatable, even appealing, is the prospect of a week of knightly mootery." He rolls his eyes theatrically.

Paige chuckles heartily, "Mootery? I love you, Troublemaker, but I'm pretty sure that's not even a word in Thari, let alone English or any of the other languages I know."

"Don't let your sudden maternity transform you into a schoolmarm, my dear. Pedantry doesn't suit you," Bleys says, with the slightest touch of petulance in his tone.

Paige bows to her father, accepting his disfavor as proudly as the Knights of the Ruby accepted their own honors. The ear to ear grin and the babbling Brooke on her hip lessen the sting.

"A new anchor, so you're implying that he didn't repair the 'old' one?" she asks.

"It appears not. But your aunt's word on the matter was second-hand as well, so any serious discussion requires a first-hand view."

Bleys frowns. "I suspect I shall soon wish I had trumps of Conner or Brennan. Perhaps they'll call on your aunt."

"I might work on sketches from those I have in my book, but I couldn't promise anything. I'm far from the Artist that Ossian... or even Brita, is." Paige sits herself on the floor and places Brooke before her to see if the girl can sit, yet. Holding her hands out to Bleys , she takes Lief and sits him beside his sister. "I think I dabble too much to be much help to anyone," the redhead admits.

"While sufficient expertise in a variety of subjects allows one to exploit one's rivals' weak spots, that does require one to have actual expertise in those subjects," Bleys admits. He takes Paige's hand and comes to stand by her, looking down at his grandchildren.

"My life lacks focus," she says. "Well it did at least until you two showed up.

"Wait until your father sees you two." The comment seems to take even the speaker by surprise.

Bleys' head snaps back up as he turns his attention to Paige. "What makes you say that?"

"I'm not sure. It's just a thought that occurred to me. I don't remember word of any of the other woman that returned from Chaos with a fertility god's blessing having children that grew like these," she explains watching Leif roll to his side and start crawling away.

"I'd expect it'll be as much a surprise to him as it is to us. I know Uncle Julian didn't think much of Adonis and my tumble, and suggested that he... Adonis that is... wouldn't want to be part of the twins' raising, but I haven't given up hope yet.

"I grew up without parents, I don't want that for them," she says, her brow set in resolution.

"Then we'd best hurry back to Amber, I think, and send word to your dear boy's papa in Arden," Bleys replies. "At this rate, they may be out of short pants by the time we reach the Castle."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," Paige says as Brooke takes hold of an offered finger. "I just don't want them measuring their life in decades before they know their father."

"That may not be in your control, Paige." Bleys watches his grandson crawl away. "I wonder if they only grow when no-one's looking. We'll definitely have to keep an eye on them."

"I'll see to it, but mounting an around the clock watch will raise suspicions that we don't need. I'd prefer if the Altamareans didn't decide that my children are 'un-natural' or something just as superstitious," she explains. "Kids are like Princes of Amber. They'll do as they are wont to do, and the best you can do is hope to react quick enough."

"I'll leave the corollaries of the statement to the broadsheets," she says, getting up to go after Leif.

"If the only thing that's worse than being talked about is not being talked about, I think it's only the former these two princelets have to worry about," Bleys replies. "I think I should consult your aunt about this. Can you handle them alone for a few minutes, or should I wait for your maid to brave your children again?"

"I'll be fine," she says, a little indignant. "I've handled children before and they are mine."

She returns Leif to his sister and looks up at her father. "Well, go then. I'll be fine, really."

Bleys completely disregards her indignant sputter. "Very well, then. Adieu for the nonce," he says, and is on his way.

She turns her attention to the twins and making sure that Leif doesn't try to fit all of his sister's foot in his mouth. If she took the time to watch Brooke's eyes, the babbling and nonsense syllables were understandable. "Leif, Leif honey?" she called, curious if he'd respond to his name. They grew go fast, but was that mental and social as well as physical? Of course Brooke had said "Mama".

Leif turns at the sound of his mother's voice, but so does Brooke. And they did seem somewhat attentive to the conversation between Paige and Bleys.

Paige spends the time until Dancer or Troublemaker returns testing the children's hearing, by calling them from behind, watching their eyes follow her or a convenient rag-doll stag. She'll let them grip her fingers and see how strong their legs are. She'll also try to get them to respond to their names and recognize each other. She also decides that Brooke needs a rag-doll unicorn to match Leif's stag... When she thinks on it for a while as the children play, perhaps there's one in that toy chest under the window...

They seem to have no trouble recognizing each other, but they aren't at one with the name thing yet. Their grip is firm. Leif is able to stand with some help, and with her brother demonstrating how, Brooke follows suit.

There is indeed a rag unicorn to go with the stag in the chest.

Paige will happily test the emotional by spending the rest of the time playing with them until Dancer arrives with food. Or maybe she's just enjoying the time playing with them, holding conversations with them as they babble back.

When Dancer arrives, she'll happily feed them and then work on getting them and herself down for a nap, after sitting them in bed with her and reading them a story from a book of faerie tales in the toy chest.

Paige will spend most of the next week with the children, other than dinners at which Father or the Regent request her attendance and her daily sparring. Charge is welcome to a rematch, and she'll work with any of the knights who aren't above crossing swords with Bleys's daughter. She'll work a variety of weapons to "get her hand back in". Her own PT regimen will include pushups, situps, and crunches with and without weights. She seems determined that that Shadows won't have to lie about how flat her stomach will be when she returns to Amber. Jogging is planned, but she never likes leaving the children alone long enough to start again. Tai Chi takes its place. While the children take their afternoon naps she devotes herself to painting, specifically Trumps of herself, and (normal) sketches of the twins.

Paige is finding the trump work very difficult, and it's taking much longer than usual. She'd expect a permanent self trump to take several months to make, but this one will be much longer, she thinks.

[Questions: Does scrapping the attempt let her restart anew with an understandable loss of the time, or will the next self trump take years no matter what? Is it a practical loss of time to start over in her experience?]

Generally yes, but there needs to be some change to the equation. You can't paint yourself at this place with these materials without the delay, unless you do something else [trump-related] in between.

Being that Bleys probably doesn't have the time to sit for her, she will have to change the equation by changing venues, i.e. Shadows, which she isn't doing for a while. She'll devote the added time to the children and her physical fitness routine. She purposefully doesn't do more than sketch the twins and not Trump sketches.

Paige won't let the Trump failure get to her, she'll just remember Father's chiding about her lack of expertise in any part of her life and vow to change that. [Further work on Trump to be decided by answers to the above.]

Of course, if she draws time away from that, she'll have more time for the twins and of course whatever Troublemaker needs of her...

Bleys requires her attendance at a number of ceremonies. The ceremonies themselves aren't that interesting, but the people-watching is fascinating. The knights are in full regalia, and some of them are obviously ready for non-ceremonial combat, although Paige doesn't see any happening and nobody seems to expect it to.

Paige is suited with playing a more subdued role, more of a lady. She'll let the knights dismiss her place at the table, but takes care to avoid "womanly" discussions completely even if she is playing the role.

One of the ceremonies is a knightly moot in which the Knights discuss whether or not their obligation to Oberon under the terms of their oath is fulfilled. After they have agreed that it is, they accept a token (probably conjured) from Bleys signalling that such is the case.

Paige drinks in the ritual, her perceptions watching what is hidden as well the obvious. Afterward she'll take the time to thank the knights for their hospitality and the stalwart duty of Rides-in-the-Vanguard. As soon as her father is ready to leave, she is...