rassafraggin

Amy snuggles up, as soon as Viktor shifts onto the bed. She and Viktor are settled, dressed - for Rebma - and she has a bottle of tea nearby. They are chatting quietly and it's mostly dark in the room, just a little bit of glowlight so that it is possible to see, but easy on Amy's head. "Oh. I was using Quinlan's magic energy that he was feeding me, and my own life magic and there was some crazy magic wherever we were, to try to heal Moire's body. She was dying of some poison, but they put her in a stasis of some form with a ritual." She pauses. "You know - they probably don't want me to tell, but I trust you."

Viktor squeezes her hand. "Do what makes you comfortable, Amethyst. If you feel beholden to not share, then don't. I will not take offense." He seems to have made himself comfortable next to her, just relaxing on the bed as she rests.

A burbling sonar tone bells out since polite knocking doesn't travel all that well underwater. One of the palace footmen announces the imminent arrival of the Queen and her royal physician. With enough time to get decent, or indecent, as the case may be in Rebma.

"I've already told you the important bits," Amy says, leaning against her husband. She's obviously comfortable there with him, and willing to share. But decent? Well, sure. They're dressed. Ish. She blinks, having to think about it, and then she nods her head. Which has her wince, and reach a hand up to rub at said head. "Right, the Queen."

Viktor looks towards the door when that tone sounds, and then the Queen's arrival is announced. His fatigued wife is leaning against him though, so rising yet is unlikely. He's dressed for Rebma, having changed once alerted to her unconscious state and then joined her there. So, he's decent enough.

The footman slides the door to one side on its rail, and in glides Moiresol, followed by a Rebman noble toting a canvas satchel. "Queen Amethyst, King Viktor," says the monarch with a genial nod as she halts poised at one corner of the bed. "I do not imagine you were conscious when you were transported back up to the palace. Let me therefore formally introduce my court physician, Lord Llewmarc of House Dilwen."

The blue-haired Rebman holds his satchel handles with both hands as he bows respectfully to the couple. "I am honoured, Doctor. And King Viktor of Kitezh." He is a newer appointee, of course, after circumstances to do with this whole Moire debacle branded the previous Ygrayne physician a traitor and conspirator. This fellow looks pleasant enough.

Amy's eyes are by no means as bright as they can be, rather normal at the moment, but still purple. She closes one, looking at the new arrivals, and then closes the other, opening the first. "I am certain I must have been, as this is not where I was, the last I recall before waking up." That much is easy to note. "A pleasure to meet you, Doctor. I'm pretty sure I am going to live. Though if those elephants stomping on my head don't stop, I might have to eat them."

The Queen of Rebma is giving as much of a bow as the King of Kitezh can manage with the Queen of Kitezh leaning against him on the bed. "Queen Moire. Doctor." he replies. To the first then, "It's good to see you again, and I'm glad that Amethyst is able assist you." And to the second. "A pleasure to meet you. Something for my wife's headache would be appreciated." There is a bottle of tea nearby, so at least she's been drinking.

Moire nods again, and Llewmarc turns to skirt the bed to the side not occupied by a big topside god king. "House Dilwen has developed a number of remedies for mental fatigue, confusion, and pain," he smiles briskly, setting up his satchel on a side table and picking through one layer of it, small clinks and rattles emanating from the bag.

"I bring fair tidings, if that also may provide some relief," murmurs Moire with a serene smile. "That every guard, knight, and priestess survived the festering lesions they sustained, is due to you, Amy. An invigorating energy, I am told, overlaid the chamber, and reduced the ravages of even the most cruelly struck, allowing the Temple the chance to purge the sickness in their own. For that, as well as for my own sake, I thank you."

Not that Amy mentioned that, mostly because it didn't seem it needed mentioning, but she brightens again at Moire's words. "Oh, that is very good," she says softly. "I am relieved to hear it." She takes a breath, turning to the doctor, a brow arched. "Pain and mental fatigue, those are definite symptoms." She moves to sit up, and it is only because of where they are that she manages it. And then she pauses, one hand reaching behind her to hold herself from falling back.

When Amy sits up for the doctor, Viktor takes the opportunity to politely rises for Moire and offer her a more proper bow from one monarch to another. He also smiles broadly at the news that his wife saved others as well. "Good. I'm glad they'll recover. No wonder she is so in need of rest." He doesn't look concerned for her, though. She'll recover.

Moire's smile broadens a touch more as well from Amethyst's response, pleased that she is pleased, genuinely. Rebman life is so precious, after all, it is a religious commandment. "You are both welcome as part of the household, for as long as it suits you to recover in the peace and beauty of the depths," she declares. "For there still much of grace to behold in Rebma, in spite of what you have recently witnessed of its illness."

Lord Llewmarc unearths a tonic to smear over Amethyst's temples, which smells a bit funky but is at least a nice golden crust that matches her hair and eyes.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The dining hall has been laid out for about a dozen guests, although it is capable of seating twice as many when the occasion merits. It is a celebration of sorts, still. The success of the healing venture, Amethyst's last night as a convalescing guest of the palace, and indeed, Moire herself's second to last night as a guest of the Warden of the Deep. Aside from the already mentioned persons and their companions, in attendance are Royal Physician Lord Llewmarc, Lord Setao of Dafydd, Sister Teragram representing the Temple and her brethren in recovery. Princess Llewella, Prince Martin, and Princess Miriam would have table settings of course.

Amy is definitely looking a lot better than when Viktor first arrived, still a bit tired perhaps, but definitely mending. It's a definite tribute to the difficulty that she, Quinlan and Celeste went through, judging by the length of time to recover. Amy is likely with Viktor, of course, perhaps to nobody's surprise at all. She is dressed in Rebman fashion, moving with her usual grace once more. She comes into the dining room, pausing to see how the table is set up, and who is there before her.

Viktor has also remained dressed in the Rebman style while here. His trunks are purple, black and gold, and the wide black circlet with the black stone that serves as a crown rests on his head. He's stayed at Amy's side as she's recovered, of course, and is less graceful underwater than she is. He's still able to move well enough though, as he arrives with his wife.

Entering the dining hall, Maggie slips quietly toward the table. As she makes her way closer, she spots Amy and Victor. They are offered a warm smile and quiet greeting before she turns to find her own place. She wears a Rebman outfit of pale blue bikini top and briefs, spangled with glittering pearls. A floaty half-cape of deep blue is attached at her shoulders by a silver chain. A duplicate, shorter half-skirt flutters from her hips. Slippers of deep blue with pale silver-blue slippers grace her shoes. When she spots Moire, Maggie's smile warms.

Presiding at the head of the long table and smiling to the attendees on either side of the half that is furnished, Moire bids everyone sit just as she leads the way. Quartz and glass, with mother of pearl edging, the table allows a hazy glimpse of the marbled tile beneath, between the delicately wrought coral and bone settings. Tall capped flutes of kelp wine await each guest. Servants stand ready to unveil the soup and salad course after any requisite toasts; bowls of cubed bouillabaisse gelatin nestled in a bed of crisp cress and parsley.

Amy takes her place, next to Viktor, a hand reaching to his briefly, absently, and then she smiles, as she examines the beauty of the setting. A nod to the Queen, and then a smile, followed by appropriate acknowledgement of those present. "This is lovely," she says after her examination is complete. "And it is very good to see everyone."

Both Moire and Maggie are given a smile, the former also offered a bow by the King of Kitezh, and the rest a nod of respectful greeting as he and Amy take their places. He lets his wife's words stand for his as well, silent for the moment.

Maggie slides her chair up to the table. Lifting her hands, she rests them on the table. Her eyes flaxh to Victor before turning to Moire, "THis was a nice idea. Thank you." Her hair is twined into a series of braids that coil about her head and trail down around her ears.

Moire reaches out a hand to clasp Maggie's, when the captain is seated over to her right, down the table. Aside from Martin at her left, the placement of the rest is not strictly held. Certainly Lord Llewmarc wrangles his way into a position from which he can face Amethyst, hoping to politely pepper her with questions about her medical recommendations once their patient is whole.

Moire turns to Amy and smiles quietly. "It is fair tidings for Rebma, Kitezh, and all other realms who have been honoured by your influence, to see your strength returned, Doctor Mandrake, Queen Amethyst," she begins a toast thus by reaching for her wine. "When next we meet, I will reside once more in my true form, upon the Deep Throne." She lifts the flute, "To you, Amy, to life, and to living."

Amy smiles at the toast, inclining her head politely. "It is my pleasure," she remarks, raising her glass in turn, with the toast, before continuing. "And I am glad I could assist in my fashion. I look forward to meeting you in your true form, when next we meet. To continuations of acquaintanceship growing hopefully into friendship. her gaze goes to Maggie with a smile for her cousin. Viktor doesn't get a look until after the toast, but it's there, for a moment.

Viktor is more than happy to drink both both the restoration of Rebma's Queen and to the recovery and deeds of his own. His flute it also raised then, first to one and then the other. He says in a deep voice affected only a little by the water "Kitezh looks forward to Rebma's continued restoration, and will continue to aide however needed."

Maggie's hand turns to hold Moire's for a moment. Turning to look down the table to Amy, she lifts her glass to add her own smile to the mix, "Thank you for all of your help." Her attention shifts to Victor to include him in the thanks before turning to Moire.

Moire nods to comments made all around and drinks, then sits back while the soup is uncovered. Laid to one side is a special utensil for scooping the soup cubes and neatly tucking them into one's mouth. Nibbling the salad leaves adds a sharp zesty accent to the salty fishy broth. After initial hunger is whetted, the Rebman Queen considers Viktor. "When the time comes to arrange collaborations between our people, King Viktor, we shall discuss the fisheries. Rebma has been found to be in a state of imbalance for many years. It must be determined the lasting effects on the Seas extending into shadow."

Amy settles to enjoying her meal, quietly for the moment. Her gaze goes to those who are speaking, thoughtfully as she listens and watches. And enjoys her meal as only a dragon might, which may not be all that different really from everyone else, but who is going to tell her that?

Viktor enjoys some of his food, then gives his attention back to Moire. There is another nod, and he says "Kitezh certainly understands imbalance. We are still cut off from the sea and its paths, after all. We have some ships still outside our home though, and they can certainly be made available to Rebma for your studies."

Maggie leans back a little in her chair. Using the utensil to scoop up some of the soup cubes, Maggie concentrates on eating for a while. Though as the conversation turns to the imbalance in the sea, she sets the utensil down and listens. "It will be difficult to find whatever is causing the trouble. Then to fix it. But... it will be easier to do if we can all work together."

"Estimates of the sea harvest by season will suffice for now. Open communication between realms does not come easily," notes Moire with a nod to Maggie. "Just as the factions in one realm are commonly not entirely forthcoming among themselves. The so-called Great Census that has overtaken Amber, as one instance, shall be a test of that truth."

"Great Census?" Viktor replies, looking curious. He probably doesn't get a lot of new from Amber. Or, he ignores a lot of news from Amber. Amy looks more interested in her food for now. Dragons... "I will at least send you copies of the reports I receive on what is pulled from our side of the storms. We have fish in plenty for our needs, but the population is still small. I'm not sure there's any way to get useful information from Cibola. Jade... probably has good records, if you can get them." He's not even going to weigh in on any help from Minos. They have two Captains at their disposal, after all. Well, two once the Queen is back in her own body.

Maggie also looks curious at the mention of the Great Census. She nods though, towards Victor, "I am not very familiar with the census either, to tell the truth. But, the results should be interesting." Minos? She drops her eyes for a moment or two, before nodding to Victor's offer. Her gaze grows troubled, however, since she should be able to speak for her home Shadow. Should. But cannot. Not in this. To cover a bit of a blush, she lifts her sippy bottle to claim some of the drink within.

Moire is apparently not inclined to lay exposition for the mentioned census. She moves on, agreeing: "We shall approach several of our contacts, in order to gain an accurate sampling." She regards Maggie for a few seconds, searching, then offering a quietly commiserating look. Likely that she'd misinterpreted the blush as reaction to another thing remarked.

"The Dolphins have been speaking of the return of a lost legend," says Moire, easing back from a mostly empty bowl. Servants are whisking dishes away, others are introducing a hot appetizer of shark riblets encased in a misting glaze to keep the heat contained for several minutes. "A spirit whale who inspires populous growth in seas that would otherwise be depleted."

Viktor and Amy also finish their food, and watch as their places are cleared. "A spirit whale?" Viktor replies, obviously not having heard of it before. "A fertility god of some sort? I wonder if it was drawn here by that imbalance, or if it just travels a certain path?" He will wait for their hostess to begin eating before he does.

Maggie catches the commiserating look and her smile turns just a little sheepish. So, that is a form of confirmation though blushes can cover much. Or speak volumes. Leaning back, a little, she thanks the server for the riblets. These, clearly are a favorite with her. Still, she does not start in on them, yet. Instead, she turns to Moire and Victor, "I think that I have heard of the spirit whale. Though now, I cannot remember when that was. Isn't the whale's return to an area celebrated? Should we host some kind of... party?"

* * * * * * * * * *

Maggie says, "It is going to be strange." Her voice is soft enough that it might not bleed into other conversations around them. Dinner is probably progressing a pace and she chooses a moment when no one is looking directly at her. In case anyone should be looking her way, she keeps a smile easily on her lips. "Are you excited?" That is accompanied by a glance toward Moire, still ensconced in Merrisol's body. "A new journey is beginning. Though it may seem like a continuation of an older one, I don't think it is. Or, not exactly anyway."

Moire is calm outwardly, which is surely the way it ever is, but for the relentlessly observant, it is a matter of being too calm now. Fatalistically so. The main course, oyster-stuffed pasta pods in a spicy-sweet gel, has lingered longest due to the quiet discussions, but Moire keeps hold of her spoon so the servants don't come swooping in. "You are correct, Margaret, for I will take with me, through the transition, a deeper sense of my experiences," she nods pensively. "I am not precisely certain what will become of the direct memories. Will they stay with Lord Merrisol, to be accessed by him as foreign-seeming vignettes, or will they be lost forever?" She spoons at the remaining pearls, tumbling in their suspension.

Maggie's spoon moves slowly through the gel, capturing and releasing morsels as they are encountered. Every so often one is brought to her mouth to be eaten for the cooks have gone out of their way to please and each dish is a taste sensation not to be missed. Yet the flavor makes little impression and she eats but little. Maggie keeps her voice soft, her attentino localized, then ranging as is polite and proper even though her conversation does not broaden. "I wish that I could give you an answer as to what you will keep and what will be lost, but I really have no idea either. I know what I hope for, but am trying not to dwell on what could be when what will be is now so close."

Moire lays down her utensil from necessity now, leaning in a little more to reach Merri's arm over the table to seek Maggie's hand with his. "There shall be no dwelling, Dear One," she murmurs, resting tranquil green eyes on the woman's face. "And neither will there be a requirement to divide your attentions between your husband and myself.. although I understand the need will be there," she says with no uncertainty, a resigned smile tilting towards acceptance of the inevitable. "Once I am returned, I must strive towards integration and present myself to the Rebman people who have waited on their whole Queen to sit the Throne again at last. It must be done as soon as possible after the Feldane ritual, if it can be done at all, as it will become quite clear when I no longer reside in Lord Merrisol's vessel."

Maggie turns her hand away from the bowl to take that offered hand. The spoon is still held in her right hand, though she is no longer fully aware of it there. Her gaze settles on Moire's behind Merri's beloved pale green eyes. There is much in her own eyes, and she knows it. The reassurances offered are met with a kind, almost mirthful, smile. "I will keep that in mind, my Dear." Though she makes no promises about her own emotions at all. But, she did listen and hear. Her smile fades a little, though it is replaced by a look of earnest intent, "Rebma does need her Queen back hale and whole. I hope that you know that I will do everything that I can to help." Her eyes study her husband's features for an almost unguarded instant though she squirrels her yearning away so quickly that she is almost unaware of it. "Though in truth, I cannot think of anything that I can do that others are more suited for. Or are more entitled to."

An instant of humour surfaces in Moire's own gaze. "There is one here who is more suited and most entitled to your time," she mock-chides, and coming from Kerf's mouth, in his voice, it may as well be him, both teasing and insistent. "Almost a year unconscious, he may not encourage you to leave his side, if what I have heard and assessed of the man is truth." That said with a smile, she then quickly withdraws from it, as though working through some less-sanguine feelings over that notion.

Maggie's blush flashes to her cheeks and her lashes lower quickly enough that the withdrawl from the topic is not dwelled upon even though it is noted, "Almost a year." Her eyes lift, the smile fades and her gaze faulters, "In this reality. No, you are right. I will remain by his side." Then she blinks and her attention returns to Moire, "Thank you. I..." clearing her throat, she abandons the other topic to turn to another. "Have you spoken with Lord Murdoch?"

Moire sidles a brief knowing look, then sits back enough that the servant hovering the sidelines can lean in past the broad shoulder and whisk the main course away. Then it is dessert liquers before the dessert course, for which the Rebman complement have saved room for certain. With the topic back in innocuous territory, the Queen responds at a regular pleasant volume. "We were able to have a discussion while he rested on board the Wave Dancer." That span of interesting, disturbing days. "I have secured his expertise in the building of a new shelter for the Kelpies. With that accomplishment, I intend to offer him a commission, to collaborate with the Warden as a beastmaster and breeder for the Crown."

Maggie's blush returns when that particular time is mentioned. She nods, though and her tone grows thoughtful, "Ah, I see. That would be great. I hope that he accepts the commission. But... I spoke with him when I ran into him on the promenade." What was she doing down there? Sliding a glance toward Moire; a glance that does not quite land, might give a clue. "I had been meaning to meet with him anyway, so it was fortunate. We spoke of the Ray that he gifted you with. I asked if the Manta would have bonded to you, yourself, or with Kerf. As he was unaware of the realities he would have to work with, he did not instruct the Ray to make a mental or emotional bond. Or a psychic one, if such a thing is possible. The Ray is bound to Kerf's body. So, I have commissioned him to raise and train a new Ray for you. I think that it will be ready in time for your return to yourself."