One Big Happy Family Dinner


Folly spends a few minutes poking about in her mother's closet and chest of drawers for additional clothing for Meg. Though she finds nothing so austerely demure as she supposes Meg would prefer -- the probability manipulation required for that, in her mother's closet, is well beyond her meager abilities -- she does dig up a soft pair of silk trousers in shimmery silver-grey, nearly wide-legged enough to qualify as a divided skirt, and with a drawstring at the waist to adjust the fit; and a simple, short-sleeved shirt of a similar color, high enough of neckline to cover most of the skin revealed by the plunge of the wrap-dress. She hopes that will be sufficient to preserve Meg's modesty...

...which reminds Folly that she very nearly forgot a very important part. She reaches into a drawer and pulls out an unopened three-pack of underpants, adding it to the stack on the bed. She finds herself hoping that Meg's written language is different enough from her own that Meg won't be able to read the loopy script proclaiming "sexy control all day and all night"; the image of a firm, lace-clad derriere on the package already seems more than enough to get the point across.

She pulls the blinds closed and returns to the main part of the house, shutting the bedroom door carefully behind her. She pauses in the living room just long enough to tell Julian that once Meg was done freshening up she'd be poking around in the kitchen, and might need a bit of help finding things if Folly was otherwise occupied.

Julian catches her eye and nods; he appears to be in a trump conversation, presumably with Random.

With another word of thanks for Julian, she makes her way downstairs, following the sound of running water. "Martin?" she calls out gently, so as not to startle him by accidentally sneaking up on him. "It's me."

Martin's grimy clothes are in the sink and he's standing in the shower, water turned on full blast and running down his head where he's leaning against the tiled wall of the shower. It takes him a moment to respond, which he does by lifting his hand and crooking his finger toward her.

Without hesitation, without regard to her own clothes, Folly steps into the shower and gathers him into her arms, wordlessly.

Martin sighs and slides his arms around her. It takes him a few minutes to decide to speak. Finally, he says, "Your mother's not around, is she?"

"She's not even in Texorami." There's a smile in Folly's tone, but so is there the faint exasperation that so frequently creeps in when her mother is the subject. "And I don't expect anyone else will bother us, either. Not for a while, anyway. Any business they have with you will wait 'til you've had a chance to catch your breath."

She runs her fingers through his beard and his wet hair, soothingly. "Here, let's get you cleaned up," she says gently. Keeping one arm around him, half for support and half for simple contact, she reaches for the soap to do just that.

Martin lets her take it and soap him up. He seems to like having the water on his head; maybe it's a Rebman thing. Once Folly has his back and chest soaped up, he reaches to take it from her and says, "You should get out of that before we completely ruin it," and gives an economical tilt of the head to suggest she jump out of the shower to do so.

Folly steps out of the shower and strips off her now-mostly-wet clothes. There isn't quite room for them in the sink with all of Martin's things, so insted she just wrings them out and drapes them over the towel rack.

She is about to return to the shower when something else occurs to her. She opens the door under the sink, finds the bottle of laundry soap she was certain would be there, and adds a generous helping to Martin's clothes, plugging the drain and running water over the whole mess until it is satisfyingly foamy. The detergent bottle proclaims that its "...targeted enzymatic action obliterates the toughest stains -- dirt -- oil -- blood...." Folly can only hope it's as effective against microscopic chaos beasties.

While he finishes lathering and rinsing, he says, "So what do you make of Meg?"

"She doesn't seem to think much of Dara, which is certainly a point in her favor." Folly puts the detergent back under the sink and re-joins Martin. "She apparently got quite the extensive family history lesson during her forced sojourn -- but that doesn't mean she knows who she is, if you see what I mean."

She regards Martin thoughtfully. "What do you reckon Dara wanted with her?"

Martin hands Folly the soap, which seems to be some sort of sea salt scrub-related thing. Not what she might have expected in her mother's guest bathroom, but not terribly out of character either.

"I think she wanted a hole card. It's just possible she's not lying."

"A hole card -- in the form of a hostage, or an ally?" Folly asks as she scrubs the soap over her skin, a bit absently. She weighs this against what little she already knows of Dara. "Well, she'd need to take those where she can get them, wouldn't she, since she's obviously not playing with a full deck. Or maybe I just don't get the game she's playing."

"Either one. Meg promised she'd talk to Merlin and then talk to Dara again. I don't think much of that plan but it did keep me from having to blow up most of Castle Dara. Or Castle Borel, or whatever she's calling it these days. If I'd had the right weapon, I'd've finished Cleph, too."

Martin throws his head back into the shower-stream, whipping water everywhere inside of the shower, and then straightens, which does more of the same. He pushes his wet hair back with his fingers. "What if she's not lying?"

"About what, specifically?" Folly asks. "What did she say?"

"About being Meg's mother. Who do you think that would make her father, Folly?"

"Ah." Folly wipes her own wet hair out of her face. "I didn't get quite as far as asking if that was part of her genealogy lesson -- but I don't think she knows. I can think of a reasonable possibility or two, though," she says, gently, and reaches up to touch Martin's cheek.

"I would point out that there are tests for finding these things out," she adds after a moment, "but since they all seem to end with buildings blowing up... perhaps not."

She slides her arms around him. "Are you going to tell her?"

"Yeah." Martin nods and ends up with his head resting on Folly. "Sooner rather than later. Pisses me off," he says, without enough energy to sound really angry about. "I was careful about that. My best guess is she was a trial run for Merle."

Folly ponders silently for a few long moments; without quite realizing she's doing it, she rocks very slightly back and forth, like the soothing rise and fall of the warm ocean, as Martin leans against her.

"It does add an interesting new piece to the puzzle of Dara's motivations, without actually making the picture any clearer," she says at last. "You said Meg had vowed to talk to Merle? It will be interesting to see what they make of one another."

"Yeah." It's clear from the tone that the discussion is not one Martin is looking forward to having. "I have to tell both of them before I put them together. Dad, too. I don't think I'm enough of a shit to announce it at family dinner next time we're all home."

"Yeah." Folly feels a pang in her chest at the heavy burden on Martin's shoulders, one she wishes she could bear away herself. She would give him even a few moments' peace, if she could. Instead, she has to make everything harder.

"I'm afraid that family dinner may be sooner than either of us would like," she says softly. "There's news from Xanadu. Bad news." Her arms tighten around Martin, supportively. "Cambina tried to go to Tir, and... they found her body in the harbor the next morning. There'll be a funeral as soon as we can gather the family back together. Which may be a few days yet, because Vialle is also missing."

Martin is silent and still for a minute. "Okay. So I have to finish my shower and we have to go back to Xanadu, is what you're telling me." His voice isn't exactly inflectionless but it's clear he's concentrating on the practicalities.

"We'll see what Julian found out from your father," Folly says. "I'm here for a couple of days yet trying to finish an errand at his request. But he may want you back in Xanadu sooner than that. Just... not before you've had at least a few minutes to rest. And eat." She sounds as though she intends to be somewhat stubborn on that point. "And ideally get a half-decent night's sleep."

"Do we have time for that? Who's in charge in Xanadu? And what errand does Dad want you to finish up here?" Martin moves to soap up thoroughly again. "And can it involve me getting a shave and a haircut?"

"Gerard's running the ship in Xanadu," Folly responds, "and I'm looking for a sixty-two-inch pianist." Her eyes twinkle. "I suggested to Julian that she might be likely to show up at charity events. He was going to do a bit of research. If that's where we're headed, it will definitely involve you getting a shave and a haircut. And possibly me trying to pass myself off as Mum. But... probably not kidnapping, if we can avoid it." She says the last utterly matter-of-factly, as if dismissing an otherwise-sensible option.

Martin nods, once, apparently sharing her opinion of kidnapping. "Does the younger Mr. Chance need to make an appearance?"

"The younger Mr. Chance is a wanted something-or-other here, so I suppose it depends how much of a stir we want to cause." Folly chews her bottom lip thoughtfully. "What're the odds that most people would pay us no mind, but Haven would notice?" she asks, though what she really means is _how high can you make those odds?_ "Or if you'd rather hold the fort here" -- or get called back to Xanadu, she doesn't bother to add -- "I could ask Julian to go with me. Or, rather, Julian will probably insist on going with me." She manages not to roll her eyes, if only because the prospect of listening to Julian's commentary on a Texorami charity gala rather amuses her.

"If he can figure out where she is, we'll do it. And unless you want to come back here, I don't care what it does to Mr. Chance's reputation. I'll come with you. But I've got to talk to Meg first, I think." Martin runs his fingers through his wet hair. "All right, let's finish up and get out of here and eat and plan. It'll go better on a full stomach."

And he moves to do exactly that.

Folly nods, but hesitates. "Er, there's one more piece of news I should probably mention before you talk to Meg. Not bad, necessarily, just... interesting. And a bit complicating."

While Martin turns off the water, Folly reaches for a couple of towels, carefully keeping as much steamy air as she can inside the shower so they can dry off in the warm. "Mum finally told me who got me on her," she says. "And I don't think I'll be asking him to walk me down the aisle. 'Specially not if he insists on bringing that army he's been raising."

Martin stops and looks at Folly for a long moment.

Then he nods once, decisively. "Could be worse. Remember when we thought it might be Brand?"

"Indeed." Folly gives Martin a small, slightly lopsided smile. "In the great scheme of things, this is not so bad as it could've been. I mostly bring it up now because when I asked Meg if she had children, she said her sons are in Huon's army. So I thought you should know... the other thing... before she asked you to, I dunno, go beat him up to get them back or something." She shrugs slightly, and reaches for his hand.

"C'mon, let's go get you fed," she says. "BOTH of you," she adds in the general direction of her belly.

At that, Martin can't help but smile.


When Meg comes out of the bedroom back into the living area, she finds that Folly has not immediately reappeared. Julian, however, is sitting on the couch with a strange device not unlike a metal book turned sideways on his lap. His fingers play across a lower page of metal and he frowns occasionally at the screen.

"Pray you, Prince Julian," Meg asks softly, "might you direct me to the kitchens? I am to help with -- whatever meal is next; I fear I am uncommon askew with the clock."

Her garb is rather gypsyish, and she stands stiffly in it as though it mislikes her, but her face has lost some of the strain it wore when Martin and Folly pulled her through to Texorami. One hand at her side holds something narrow wrapped in a facecloth.

Julian closes the device and puts it down on the table. "Do you have electricity or gas fixtures in your home shadow? If not, you may find the kitchens here a bit confusing." He moves over to the far end of the room, and into a long aisle of cupboards of light and dark material.

"Any kitchen is strange to one not its mistress. So you kindly consent to instruct me, I expect I shall make shift to manage."

"I think it will be dinner-time, but I suspect we'll make do with whatever is in the refrigerator." He makes his way down the aisle to a tall, dark door and opens it. If Meg is standing by him, she can feel the chill from the cold inside, where various foodstuffs are kept.

"Hm," she says, bending to peer in. "Butter I see, but no flour." She opens drawers lefthanded (her right still occupied with her wrapped knife) in an orderly fashion from top to bottom, left to right. "Were a crust to be contrived, I daresay a creditable pie could come of all this. Lacking a piecrust, bread dough would do, if there be any such proofing."

"This device is for cold storage. I don't expect to find dry goods in here." Julian leaves her standing next to the open refrigerator. "I'd say flour would be in the pantry." He picks a likely-looking cabinet door and opens it, and a moment later hands Meg a paper sack with flour in it. "Will this do? What else do you need? My cooking is mostly trail-appropriate."

Meg sets down her wrapped knife beside the refrigerator, opens the bag, and sniffs. "Yes, this will do nicely. Gramercy, my lord Prince. Two things only I will need, and then I shall no longer trouble you: a whetstone for my knife there, and the knowledge of how one manages what I would guess to be a stove there. No wood has ever sullied this floor, so there must be some other trick to it."

She ponders. "Three things. The third, how many we shall be at table."

"We will be four. The Lady Folly's mother has preceded us to Amber and lent her the use of her home while we waited for His Highness." Julian searches the drawers and comes up with a whetstone, which he offers to Meg.

"Do you have electrical or gas appliances in your shadow?" he asks, moving to shut the refrigerator door, which he notices is still cracked open.

"I know not even this word 'electrical,'" she tells him, "and as for 'gas,' this is a thing our wildest speculators discuss. I am as a babe in the woods; but surely I need not learn all just to bake a little? Show me how to have a hot oven, and one that is half-banked. I need no more this day."

Meg unwraps her knife, now that Julian has doubtless intuited what it is and will not be concerned at it; she inspects its edge with a critical frown and sets expertly to work with the whetstone. "Have you a favourite dessert, my lord Prince?"

"Anything you serve will be excellent, I'm certain. In unfamiliar environs, as in the field, I am a plain man and eat what is put before me. But thank you for asking."

Ah, one of those. Since he cannot be troubled to express his wishes, every woman in sight is expected to read his mind, and will be faulted for not so doing. Meg thinks of her husband, feeling fortunate; he was not one of those while he lived, thank the Goddess. Meg inclines her head and murmurs a polite "Not at all, my lord Prince."

Julian moves over to the stove and fiddles with it. It makes strange noises, but Meg can feel the heat coming from it. "I've set this one at 450 degrees and this one at 350. If you'd like either of them changed, these are the controls here." He indicates a strange panel with oddly-shaped numbers on it, made of a material that Meg doesn't recognize. "I can manage it easily, so don't leave the door open to affect the temperature."

She looks up from the knife-sharpening to watch him manipulate the controls; she thinks she has the general idea. The numbers mean nothing to her, but she knows how to gauge an oven's temperature, and she has been given two reference points. It is enough.

"Gramercy, my lord Prince," she says. "I should do well now, I hope. I am sorry to have interrupted your occupation." Whatever that had been.

Meg opens each cabinet and drawer in turn, making note of what is inside. That necessary orientation accomplished, she takes out precisely the bowls and pie-plates and implements she will need, lays them carefully in order, and sets to work. She uses no measuring-cups or spoons, being quite practiced enough to cook by eye.

This meal is of necessity rather rough-and-ready, as Meg was not the one to stock the kitchen and must perforce make do with what she finds. Cold cuts, chopped broccoli, and cheese are mounded atop thawed frozen bread dough spread with mustard. Meg pulls the ends of the dough together and seals the whole into a loaf destined for the hotter of the two ovens.

Folly asked for pie, so pie there must be. The fruit Meg finds is rather motley, but in a pie that is no matter; apples and pears and even cherries can happily coexist. With the other half of the piecrust dough she turns out, Meg makes a savory egg pie with herbs and onion and more ham that Abford has never known to call "quiche."

Once everything is in the ovens, Meg sets to scrubbing everything she has used; leaving another woman's kitchen untidy is simply not done. Fortunately, the faucet-handles are not terribly different from those Folly showed her in the bathroom.

When she comes out afterwards, Meg finds Julian in what is obviously a great open area for sitting and entertaining. He has the booklike device open again and gestures to Meg to join him on the couch. "This computer," he says "has access to a great deal of information about the local area; in fact, the entirety of this shadow. The Lady Folly--" whom Julian at least seems to prefer to refer to formally "--is seeking a friend of hers here. Now that you and His Highness have arrived, we are only waiting for her to acknowledge our attempts to contact her before returning to Amber."

"Oh! So that is why His Highness did not know the house. Gramercy, my lord Prince, for that small mystery solved."

Meg peers at the glassy expanse on the booklike object in Julian's lap. "Be there much call to learn about this place, since all shall soon be leaving it?" she asks.

"Certain places in Shadow draw repeated attention from us, for reasons that have to do with the metaphysics of our family gifts. I visited this place many years ago and sired a son, who is Folly's grandfather. The presence of my son, his daughter, and my granddaughter has drawn the attention of at least three other scions of the blood to my sure knowledge. Knowledge of such a place is never wasted," Julian explains.

Meg closes her eyes for a moment, attaching this information to her mental model of the family.

"Pray you, my lord Prince," she asks as she opens them again, "what other such places are there, and with whom are they associated?"

"How exactly do you mean? How many shadows are there out there? As many as we desire, and more if we want them later. If you mean how many shadows do the descendants of Oberon claim, there's no way to know. While we tend to be drawn to shadows marked by each other's presence, it's our habit to conceal our favorite places from each other for reasons that you may now understand." Julian makes an effort to make the expression more of a smile than a smirk, but doesn't quite succeed.

"Aye, that is sensible enough," says Meg, thinking of the ruin of Abford. With a twinge, she is forced to ask herself: if she had claimed whatever power it is that all these strange folk believe she possesses, could she have repelled Huon? Kept her people safe? Saved her sons?

Where are her sons now? What has happened to them? Like as not, Meg is far too late to find them alive, in the wreck of Huon's war. Well. Another evil to lay at Dara's doorstep.

"But surely," she says over the tumult of her thoughts, "some such lands are well-known, either because they have been discovered unwilling, or because they have sought to conquer, or some other such reason. Which are these, and which lords have their rule?"

Julian takes another moment to answer this question. "Your wording indicates a different understanding of how and why we travel in Shadow than my own. None of us who have spent time in Texorami rule here; it is a place of interest to several of us. Whose claim on Texorami would have precedence in the court of family opinion is a function of family politics. Who has the right to act on an offence committed in or against it is also a matter of family politics, including the temper and power of those offended."

Meg rather thought this hard on the folk of Texorami, to have their proper rule stolen from them at the whim of a family they could barely know. "I beg your pardon, my lord Prince; my ignorance must be tiresome. Are there many such shadows in play, ruled by none but of interest to several? Or is it more common for family members to carve out their own spheres?"

The questions must all be very sidewise to Julian's manner of thinking, because he seems to require a moment to consider how best to answer them.

Meg sighs inwardly at her own evident stupidity.

"The nature of reality is such that we tend to gather together, even in Shadow. So where one of us goes, others tend to follow; and if one of us stays in a particular place long enough, others tend to arrive there. Even if we carve out our own places, in time it is likely that a brother, or now a nephew, or niece, will arrive. There are rules of family courtesy about host and guest, but how that plays out in an individual case depends, as I have said, on family politics. Is it your own situation to which you would apply these ideas, or are you looking for matters of precedence here in Texorami, or elsewhere?"

"My own situation? I have none, my lord Prince; I am once more orphaned." Meg's determinedly graceful seated attitude decays somewhat. "There seems little I can do save strive to make myself useful to someone with enough of a presence in these reality-shaping family politics of which you speak to shelter me."

"If you are of the royal blood, then you will have power of your own when you come into your heritage: a power that will not depend solely on your family position or your alliances." Julian sets aside the booklike device. "And you are likely to find protectors and allies, and perhaps even foes, based on your parentage, when it is proven."

"I can only be grateful for rescue, considering," says Meg, not quite succeeding in repressing a shudder. "Though even an unproven weapon is unwise to leave in the hands of an enemy." She raises her eyes to Julian's. "Pray you, my lord Prince, how much trouble will there be for me if I am thought to be Dara's child? And from what quarters?"

"Dara has many enemies." Julian stops to think about this. "Corwin will be interested in you because you would be Merlin's sister in that case, but I wouldn't assume he was hostile. It's hard to say what Merlin will think; he's strange and unused to the ways of our side of the family as yet. Martin we can rule as friendly, or at least invested enough to rescue you, which may give you some protection."

Meg is not so sure of this. Prince Martin said quite clearly that he acted under orders from the King of Amber; his own wishes in the matter are not known. She considers asking Julian about this, but... she does not know Julian, nor his position in the standard family warfare, and she has no wish to bring difficulty to Prince Martin, nor to his father the King.

If anyone is to be asked of this, it is Prince Martin or King Random. Meg is suddenly disastrously amused. Hark at her, seriously considering speaking to kings!

"When Dara attacked the coronation masquerade, she caused the death of Solange's foster-father; Solange is more and more unpredictable of late, but I can't see that she would hate you for it. She of all people seems unlikely to want to judge you by your mother. Dara also severed part of Lucas's ear, but that should grow back, and for all that a slight to his vanity is very serious to him, I'm not sure I would reckon him murderous either. Recent events have made the family draw together somewhat. To the extent that they have accepted Brand's sons among them, I can't see how they would reject you, should you survive the test of our heritage.

"Any enemies you acquire by your own actions would be a different matter, of course."

"Of course, my lord Prince," says Meg blandly. Orphans do not rise to influence without a good deal of envy and malice directed at them. "If I must make enemies, I shall endeavor to do so discreetly."

She turns her head toward the kitchen and sniffs. "Of your kindness excuse me one moment, my lord Prince." Once he gives her leave, she hurries into the kitchen to switch the pies to different racks in the left-hand oven, burnt piecrust being terribly unappetizing. "Well, I believe we shall do," she says with satisfaction as she returns. "Pray you, what would you say is uppermost in the minds of family members at present? Dare I hazard that it be Huon's war?"

"The war in Rebma is of great concern to many of us. But the death of the Lady Cambina, my brother Eric's daughter, and the disappearance of Queen Vialle are also on the minds of many of us," Julian says.

"Good Goddess!" This is the first Meg has heard of either of these events. "My sincere sorrow for your loss, my lord Prince." No need to ask whether any seek Vialle; she is Queen, after all. "I did not know. I am sorry."

It is in Meg's heart to ask whether there is anything she can do, but though she is kind, she is not so kind as to be foolish. "When did this happen?" she asks instead.

Julian sets the laptop aside onto a nearby table. Its screen has faded to black while Meg and Julian have been talking. "Since my departure from Amber. You may have travelled in Shadow enough now to understand that a day in one place is not always the same as a day in another, so I cannot say more exactly than that. My brother King Random feels that he knows where to find the Queen, and is seeking her. Cambina's death is certain, and it is hoped the Queen did not die with her."

Meg notes a certain overprecision of verbs in Julian's characterisation of the situation, and hopes it does not portend ill for the lost Queen. "I can but add my poor hopes to the rest," she says. "May the Goddess watch over her in kindness. It has not been long, you say; there must still be hope."

More hope than for her lost children, whom none seek... She has done her best to hide it, but Meg is weary, half-starved, and threadbare of spirit from her sojourn with Dara; for the space of a long breath, lines appear and deepen on her forehead and around her wide mouth. With an effort of will, she banishes them, returning to her wonted gracious mien. "The table must be laid, and a few last things seen to. By your leave, my lord Prince."

"We are en famille; you do not require my leave. Pray come and go as you wish. I have one or two last things to check for the Lady Folly." He picks up the strange metal book again.

A half-chuckle surfaces from someplace in Meg's psyche she could not explain if she tried. "It is most curious, this business of having family," she says as she curtseys to Julian.

Withdrawing into the kitchen, Meg checks both ovens, removing the pies and quiche at once and turning the left-hand oven off after a moment's study of the controls. The ham-roll can do with a few more minutes, so she lets it be.

Her earlier systematic trawl through the kitchen found her plates, cutlery, linens, and trivets; she arranges the dining-table with meticulous precision, everything just so. The symmetry, the correctness of it soothes something within her, something Castle Dara damaged.

Feeling as cheerful as she can in her just-rescued and ill-clad state, Meg returns to the kitchen to retrieve the ham-roll and start slicing everything up with her newly-whetted knife for serving.

Folly and Martin re-emerge from downstairs, showered and dressed in fresh clothes: for Martin, jeans and a t-shirt and a button-down shirt worn open over it, and for Folly, a loose crinkly cotton dress that hangs to her knees. Clearly there was a better variety of non-sparkly clothing in the downstairs closet -- or perhaps a more proficient Pattern-master hunting through it.

Sensing from the delicious aroma that dinner must almost be ready, Folly pokes her head into the kitchen. "Can we help carry things to the table?" she asks.

"Why, thank you, Folly," says Meg, who trusts that Folly has enough sense not to offer if minor exertion would be a danger to her child. "Pray let me add aught to serve with... there, and mitts so that you do not burn your hands." She gives Folly the quiche, and takes up the wide heavy ham-loaf herself. "I have not found us beverage; perhaps you would kindly help me forage?"

Martin has gone to speak with Julian, but after a brief word, he comes to assist with bringing things to the table. "I can get drinks. Tell me where the cabinet and the cellar are and I'll find something suitable." He adds for Folly's benefit, "I think we've got a line on Haven."

"Oh, good," Folly says with obvious relief. "You can fill us in over dinner." She directs him to the wine and the liquor cabinet; but, not knowing Meg's proclivities except to suppose that her tendency toward modesty might also point to moderation or abstenance in other areas, adds, "...and there should be juice in the fridge."

She moves with Meg into the dining room.

Meg makes sure that everything that should be available is, and anything that shouldn't be isn't, before seating herself at the foot of the table. Folly may graciously smooth over differences in status, but Meg is acutely aware that the family is a hierarchy and she is at its bottom.

Once all are seated, Meg looks to Martin and Folly to complete any necessary before-the-meal preliminaries. She is not at all sure anyone in the family says grace, as sure as several of them have seemed that they are on speaking terms with deity.

Martin brings in wine for the meal, and water in case someone wants to water theirs, and lets Julian do the ceremonial duties. The wine is bottled a bit oddly, but Julian seems to have mastered the strange tool that removes the cork without damaging it.

Meg accepts a glass of wine when it is offered, and does not water it.

To the extent that there's a head of the table, Folly seems to take it, with Martin in the place of honor and Julian across from him. There does not seem to be any grace to be said; dishes begin passing around the table quickly. Martin, perhaps unusually, requires the hostess to take her choice first.

"This looks great," he says to Meg. "I would've bet all you could find in that kitchen was Thin Cuisine and Stuffer's Gaullish Piec-a. And pints of Jen and Barry's."

"There was sufficient for creativity, my lord," says Meg. "I hope it is to your taste."

Julian, meanwhile, turns to Folly, assisting her as needed with her plate. "I believe I have found an opportunity for you to meet Haven. There's a university benefit tomorrow night that she will be attending."

Folly smiles. "Yes, that should work nicely, thank you, Julian." She adds a generous helping of ham-loaf to her plate; all this talking and thinking is hungry work. "Was it clear from what you found whether she's a guest of honor, or the guest of honor, or just a regular-old-guest?"

The platter passes to Julian, who also takes a generous serving. There is clearly some kind of family precedence at work, but it's not clear what it is.

"She is apparently a 'distinguished graduate', which seems to make her one of a large number of guests of honor. Is it likely that your mother would receive an invitation to such an event?" Julian asks.

The plate passes to Meg, leaving Martin for last. From the way he's eyeing it, there will definitely not be seconds.

Meg serves herself as little as she conveniently can, considering that she must not give the appearance that the viands have been poisoned, and gladly passes the remainder to her poor hungry savior Martin. She expects the egg-tart will disappear as well; a good thing the fruit pies turned out decently, as whatever the faults in the actual meal, a substantial dessert sends diners away happy.

If she is to stay here, however, she will have to see to the marketing... and a needle and scissor and a good few yards of decent cloth would not come amiss, either. Meg has nothing here, no home, no husband, no patron, at best the sufferance of this family -- but she has started from less, and is not afraid. Besides, it pleases her to see them eating contentedly enough of her cookery.

Julian and Folly's talk passes her by, as she watches Martin's plate to be sure he has enough, and woolgathers quietly over her own.

Martin is polite enough to leave a smidge for someone else, but he's clearly starved and takes most of what's left, digging in and letting Julian and Folly carry the conversation.

"Mum never graduated from anywhere," Folly muses in answer to Julian's question, "unless it was after I left -- and if that's the case, she didn't mention it in the book." She doesn't quite smirk. "It is entirely possible she was invited as a donor, or a prospective donor, though. The uni is one of those Right Sorts of things she's been known to support, and the event sounds like the sort of place she'd want to be seen. Quite easy to stand out when you're surrounded by stuffy academic types, you know. So... yes. I'd say it's quite likely she managed to wrangle an invitation, one way or another."

"Then you will know where to look to find the invitation she must have received," Julian concludes.

"Indeed," Folly agrees. She smiles and takes a bite of the ham-loaf. "Mmmm, this is good," she says happily as she savors the flavors of home, expertly recombined. "Thank you, Meg."

"Why, not at all," replies Meg absently. Returning her mind to the company, she smiles at Martin's silent voracity. "Do keep some room, there. At Folly's suggestion, I made pie. I found no cream to have with it, I fear."

"There's always room for pie," Folly assures Meg with a grin. "In the freezer, we may have--- you know, the stuff that pretends to be cream but isn't, in the---" She holds out her hands, approximating the size and shape of a Kreme Whip tub, but hesitates as she realizes she is at a complete loss as to how to explain it to Meg -- who may well not even know what a penguin is to recognize it on the label, never mind the whole business about 'all-natural non-dairy cream whipped topping food product' -- and after a moment gives up entirely.

"Sit, eat," she commands in what will someday be her Formidable Mom Voice -- by her gesture she is directing the charge quite deliberately at everyone else at the table -- and jumps up to head into the kitchen. "I'll just take a peek---"

She practically flees to the kitchen, perhaps to try to keep Julian from deciding he needs to step in and protect her from the dangers of freezer burn. A moment later, after a quick rummage into the back of the freezer, she lets out an ecstatic squeak: "THERE'S ICE CREAM!"

"Look for the Jen and Barry's," Martin suggests. He turns to Meg and says, "Warm pie with vanilla ice cream. Mmm!"

Meg smiles at him even as her heart twists a little inside her, his childlike anticipation reminds her so of her boys. "Folly gives good advice; I shall remember that in future. Do please excuse me, my lords." She goes out to the kitchen to take care of things, as breeding women tend to be less than entirely useful sometimes.

[Summarizing a bit to unstick Meg and feel free to add details.]

Soon enough they have completed the meal and dessert, and have retreated to the living room to discuss the options. "So how are we going to handle this?" Martin asks. "We gotta get drumsticks for Dad, go to this party, and convince Haven to have a mysterious disappearance? Do we all want to go to the party, or what? Meg, how would you feel about attending a shindig?"

"A what?" Meg blinks at the unfamiliar term for a moment. "Why, I daresay I could go as Folly's lady-in-waiting or somesuch, if suitable garb could be found or made, but would my attendance be any tangible use?"

"If you attend, I'm certain we could find ways for you to be useful," Folly replies. She has settled on the end of the couch with her bare feet tucked under her and one hand resting lightly on Martin's shoulder, as if to reassure herself of his presence, or maybe vice-versa. "Perhaps the question we should be asking instead is, 'Hi, Meg, we've ripped you from the bowels of Chaos and let you cook delicious food for us -- what would you like to do next, given a choice?'"

"I would like to find my boys," says Meg simply, "but I quite understand I cannot do so right away. If you would like me at this celebration, I shall make shift to dress properly and come. Would there be such a thing as a store of cloth about?"

"We can find something that'll do. We're good like that," Martin says with a smile.

"Folly, or her mother, doesn't have ladies-in-waiting, but she might have old friends from out of town. I don't know that you'd be useful directly, but it's generally a good thing not to split up, because even if we can do more damage that way, we need to hang close for now." Martin frowns. "I think it's either that or some of us go ahead back to Amber. Xanadu." He looks at Folly and it's clear he doesn't like that idea.

Julian remains silent, perhaps wisely.

So does Folly, though she meets Martin's gaze and gives his shoulder a gentle, supportive squeeze.

"What is so grave a danger as to trouble one who faced down Lady Dara in her own demesne?" Meg asks.

"With Dad's wife missing, I don't need to be lollygagging around here when I should be back in Amber or Xanadu. But we need to get Haven and run Dad's other errands." Martin looks at Folly again and shakes his head. "We can pull another day, though. But we should be ready to blow out of here and head out right after."

Julian speaks up. "I agree with the last part of Your Highness' assessment, certainly. But your brother is with your father."

Meg finds herself wondering again why, under the circumstances, her rescue carried any weight at all with King Random or his son. This is neither the place nor the time, however, so she contents herself with chasing the last few crumbs of piecrust on her plate and listening for the reaction to this bit of news.

"You spoke with the king?" Folly regards Julian thoughtfully. "Did he offer any new orders? Or... guidelines. A timetable?" She knows better than to suppose so, but it can't hurt to ask. "What is your counsel?"

"His Majesty was not so obliging." Julian says this as if he knows better than to expect any such thing from Random either. "However, my brother Gerard is alone in Xanadu and a swift return would be wise, since none of the other princes are in residence."

Martin looks at Meg for a moment, then back at Julian. "I could send you two ahead and Folly and I could follow."

Folly nods. "There's likely to be more news among family in Amber and Xanadu about what's happening with Huon's army, Meg, which might help you track down your boys."

"I would --" not welcome, exactly -- "be grateful for that." Meg exerts herself to keep the anticipation of grief from her voice, as this is not the place. "And of course I've no wish to overstay my welcome here; you have been so very kind."

"You're family. We have this odd habit of looking out for each other when we're not trying to kill each other." Martin's tone is dry enough that if she didn't see the slight quirk of one corner of his mouth, Meg might think he was serious about the last part.

"If you're ready to go back to Xanadu, though, you and Prince Julian can go back now, or you can stay here for the night and go fresh in the morning. Folly and I will chase Haven down and follow as soon as we can." Martin looks at Julian as if expecting this to settle the debate between them.

"As your highness wishes," Julian replies.

Meg wants to rest, sleep safe and deeply, as she has not slept since Dara and Cleph stole her and mewed her up among horrors unceasing. She has a duty to her sons, however; she needed Martin's reminder about family not in the slightest. "If it please you, my lords," she says, "I should like to leave as soon as may be arranged."

"I'm sorry we haven't had time to give your dress and cloak a proper cleaning," Folly says, "but they should be able to take care of it in Xanadu -- as well as having perhaps a more appropriate selection of changes-of-clothes." She smiles, a mix of apologetic and amused. "When you're ready, we'll gather up your things, and you should be set to depart immediately, if you like."

Rather than moving to help Meg prepare for her departure, though, Folly looks at Martin, to see if he has any more discussion points to bring up.

Julian says, "I can make the contact with Gerard at any time. He reaches for his trump case and pulls it out to demonstrate.

It takes just a few minutes to make the necessary preparations. Folly digs up a sturdy paper sack with handles and the word "Bloominghills" emblazoned on the side in a looping script, for Meg to carry her soiled clothes to Xanadu with her if she wishes. She has also dug up a black zippered bag with a pair of metal hanger-hooks protruding from the top, which she asks (a bit sheepishly) whether Meg would mind carrying back to Xanadu for her and asking one of the castle servants to hang in Folly's quarters.

Meg acquiesces gladly, and thanks Folly for her trouble in dealing with Meg's garments.

Just before Julian shuffles out the appropriate trump, Folly extends her hands to him. "Kinsman, thank you for your help, and for the company. Though our intervening generations rather seem to have been born to cause trouble, I've found this little adventure unexpectedly enjoyable."

Then Folly turns to Meg. "Kinswoman, I wish you luck and success in your endeavor. I hope we will soon have time to get to know one another a little better under more relaxed circumstances." She regards Meg with an expression that is tender, almost wistful, and clasps her hands warmly in farewell.

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your unparalleled graciousness and hospitality, and your husband for my rescue," answers Meg, and though the words are formulaic, the tone of voice is anything but. "I, too, hope we shall meet again soon. Take good care, Folly," and Meg kisses Folly's cheek gratefully.

Martin also offers a warm clasp to Meg, and one more formal to Julian, by way of leavetaking.

"We'll be back to Xanadu as soon as we can," he tells them.

Julian opens up a trump connection for himself and Meg and hands her through, following immediately, and leaving Folly and Martin alone.


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Last modified: 28 May 2009