Her Royal Majesty, Moiresol

[rassafraggin]

Raphaela happens to be somewhere around there where she was placed. She is sober again. Learned lesson well in first three days. Her inner Raph is probably disgusted by all this mushiness. What are they, trying to make her sniffle. Blast it. Snot in water? She goes trough the ceremonial sipping and rising. Gotta make a workout after all that eating. Hopefully, she is not expected to make one.

Marlene just tilts her head at the neck, oddly, and a hand takes a funny half-splayed position, at Merrisol's sudden shift of mannerism and behaviour. But no punchline seems to be forthcoming, so neither is any reaction in particular beyond that. "And to all our grandparents! May they look fondly on us all!"

When Merrisol begins to fall, Maggie steps forward to try and catch him. As he catches himself, she does not get far and her relief is writ large on her face. That is, in part, because she cannot see his face. She does note his bearing, howeve and a brow lifts. And then he speaks. Her relief fades, then turns to shock. One hand lowers absently to set the flute of champaigne on the table. The bottom almost misses, teeters in the eddies, then clicks into place as the friendly magnets kick in. Stepping forward, this time her hand lands on his arm, "Kerf? Beloved? Are you alright?" Clearly not, but... But. If she can get him to focus on her, she reasons, she might be able to pull him out of... this.

Raphaela rises instantly, above others, alarmed. She knows Fuffy, she notices change the moment his demenour changes. But she is too far away. She weaves through.

At first, it might be easy to mistake Merrisol's swoon for all the alcohol he's probably had. Miriam's certainly had more than her usual share. Not that pira- Captains easily fall to drinking. She watches him with a wrinkled brow, concerned at first, but having no reason for worry - yet. When his bearing changes entirely though, that's another matter. Her eyes widen some, and flicker towards Martin and then back to Merrisol. Merrisol's body, anyway. Her flute joins Maggie's on the table, along with that of the others who realize something is amiss, and she rises from her seat along with her husband. She doesn't know what really have taken over the man, of course, but errs on the side of caution and respect with a bow towards the entity calling itself Rebma.

Well. If there were ever a sign that their marriage was a Meaningful event... Whether that is a good or bad thing, or a combination of both, will be determined later.

The tables in the back and the highest gallery stir with wondering curiosity, as well as those mainly populated with guests from lands above the waves. But among the Great House representative, and the few elder clergy in attendance, there is shocked, then cautious silence, almost as loud as the murmurs of the uninformed. While Raphaela goes forward from her seat, others stand from theirs, exchanging glances and straining to hear some explanation. Princess Miriam's bow to the Lord Warden breaks some bubble of deniability, then, and Lord Ianto Bauquemare mutters darkly, "What witchery is this?"

Martin's had a lot of experience the last few years dealing with odder aspects of Rebma. This one isn't so spectacular - yet - that it shakes the poker face that settles over his expression. He does rise with the others, and looks towards the staff waiting nearby. "Call for the royal physician." he says, then adds for the benefit of those outside their usual team of Misfit Toys "The Warden was injured recently. He's hidden it very well, but should rest." There'a a gesture for the team to be ready to intercept if needed. Miriam makes a show of 'ahhh'ing' at the news from Martin, to help cover whatever's really going on. Apparently, no one wanted to worry the bride with her friend's injury.

Lord Lymon Ygrayne murmers to someone at his table, his hauty glare focused on Merrisol more than anyone else. The stillness around him decends suddenly and only the final word can be clearly heard. Of course, it is mildly incriminating anyway. "... insane."

Marlene hrms, contemplating murmuring something back to Lard Bauquemare... She's not relaxed entirely but seems more concerned, now, that it seems there's... Just a message? Still, a foot slides back, in case she should feel the need to spring one way or another. Her shimmery skirts flare out somewhat at the hem.

It appears Merrisol has said all the strange and ominous things he intends to say. His gaze falls from Martin to watch Miriam coolly as she shows deference. Maggie's hand on his arm, the gentle but urgent tug, gets a sharper glance down and to the side, the look of one not accustomed to being touched, with or without permission. But his focus never makes it the rest of the way up Maggie's arm to her face. His mouth unconsciously slackens while he stares at his own forearm, and very slowly turns his wrist to study his empty hand. Hmm. Ol' Lymon may be onto something there.

Raphaela is still headed around to the rim of main event, checking on Merrisol and Maggie all the way. Her hand slips towards her hair for some reason. She tries to catch Maggie's eye, definitly gonna help get Fuffy out.

The sharp downward glance coupled with the slackjawed surprise that Merrisol exibits shred Maggie's own assumptions about what is going on. Her eyes widen, but only a little. While he is distracted, Maggie's touch gently tightens, "Come. There is much to tell you." She looks up a little and spots Raphaela approaching. She nods once to their science-minded friend. "Please." Whether that last is to Merrisol or Raphaela is not immediately clear. Nor does it really matter in the long run. Both. She does catch that last word offered by the Ygrayne noble but does not have time for more than a narrow-eyed glance his way. It is not polite to ask a member of a nobel house to shut up.

Raphaela does tuck away some gold as she meanders towards meeting spot, to some drunk guy, tilting in for a whisper. Soon after a cheer is called "OY Best man! go home, you're drunk!" a laughter rolls through the mass. Who needs to be insane with so much booze around.

Perhaps Miriam is trusting too much in her Danger Sense, but she doesn't look as though she thinks them in immediate danger. That's not to say she isn't prepared. Just in case that changes. Maggie already has her hand on him, so she doesn't move to add hers yet. Martin, though, moves so that he can rest his on his friend's shoulder to try to guide him (or pull, if needed) away from the tables where this can be dealt with more privately. While they do that, the princess turns to their guests and offers a smile that is tinged with a little concern. "Please, enjoy th'cake." She has a taste meant to encourage them, and that causes her smile to broaden. "It's absolutely amazing, and it'd be a crime t'let any've it go t'waste. We will see to our friend, and be right back."

Marlene shoots Maggie and Miriam and Martin glances in turn in case they know anything, or need her. Does join in the light laughter there as though she's trying to put a dignified face on Merri's lapse. Addresses the gathering, "Well, a surplus of merriment much excels the alternative." She raises a fork for emphasis and bobbles it slightly in the underwater environment, perhaps, it turning over in the water before she catches it again with aplomb and a smirk. "I hear the cake's quite festive as well," she smiles.

Merrisol adds his other hand to the quiet stupor of discovery, as though wondering if it will be a matching set, or some other shape of limb entirely. Slight bit of sibilance as he draws another sharp breath over the sight of vibrant tattoos and the leather manwatch. However, the murmurs now verging on catcalls cuts through the moment of open bemusement and a veil of indifference falls over his countenance once more. Without a word or look at anyone specifically, he withdraws from the table with a faint swish, propelled along by Maggie to skirt the dais towards the alcove leading to Martin's private audience chambers.

Most of the head table, along with other team members who join them, retreats to the alcove. Viktor stays behind, to not make more of a crowd and to make sure there's no other possible trouble happening. He echoes that it's probably drink related, grinning and holding up his own flute. "Our first casualty of the night!" he says with a laugh. "Here's to many more!" Kites...

Laughter, some of it teasing and some clearly nervous, peppers the gathering as the suggestions of unseemly drunkeness and/or Special Ingredients added to the dessert, settles the topsiders and nobility down. It's not a Party until someone declares he is Rebma, right?

Maggie's hand moves with gentle firmness against Merrisol's arm. When he does move away from the table, she smiles a reassuring smile up at him. It is a look that claims much and promises little in the way of explaination. Still as he is moving, she angles him along away from the table, noting a new bit of flexibility to his hips along the way. She frowns, cataloging that bit of information as well. When they reach the alcove, Maggie opens the entry and guides Merrisol in. With a glance behind her, she notes Viktor still there at the table and would give him a smile, but has other things on her mind. Turning, she angles Merrisol toward one of the couches, fully intending to sit beside him. "Now then. Let's see what we can figure out, okay, love?"

Raphaela slips through the door shortly after, angling herself against the wall to give Maggie space.

The venerable elders aren't easily fooled, however an unspoken consensus is reached to support the high table in their various covers. Nobody else moves to leave the room just yet. The dinner isn't officially over until Miriam or Martin call it.

Marlene gives a wink to those, nodding to cake servers as she sets out, "Some sort of smelling salts would be the ticket, I think... Well, in most places." She glides off after the others at a good moment for that.

Ruby trails the group at a small distance. With the M's making a small mob, the R naturally follows. Alphabetically orderly. Her mismatched eyes are leveled at Merrisol as he's surrounded by caring and concern. She lingers and fingers her Rebma-occasion bling while observing.

On her way towards the alcove, trailing slightly behind the others, Miriam gestures over two of her guard, both Tir. They're told to inform her immediately if there's anything else odd or if anyone tries to cause any trouble. She takes another look behind at their dinner guests, offering what she hopes is a comforting smile before following in to join the rest.

Martin's right there with Maggie and Merrisol, though. His hand stays on the Warden's shoulder until they're separated from all the guests, then he moves back a little to watch his friend. "Alright." he says once they're in private. "What's this about?"

Marlene nods, says, lowly, "It doesn't seem he's actively-ensorcelled, but it's possible that at one time he was somehow marked out for some such, or to say some such thing."

Leaving the dull roar of amusement, speculation, and all-round cake enjoyment behind, the more shadowy corridor and subsequent seclusion of the Regent's office signifies another round of lowering his head to check himself out. This time, he step-drifts out of Maggie's attempt to orient him towards a carved chaise, and cranes back gingerly to gaze down the length of his body, arms spreading out from his sides a bit. This time, the nonplussed detachment persists, though the very act of staring is itself an indication of unfamiliarity. When he looks up, it's to gaze from Maggie to Marlene to Martin, gradually making sense of what they've said. Raphaela and Marlene each get a lingering stare, as though attempting to place a name to the face. He doesn't seem to mind the extended silence his activities engender, and speaks when he's ready, with profound consideration: "Dryssana has much to answer for." To Martin: "Have her summoned."

And it was that very unfamiliarity that shattered Maggie's theory back at the table. She suspects that Raphaela would have agreed, had there been time for observatino and discussion. As Merrisol did not go to the chaise, Maggie did not finish her own journey. Instead, she drifts nearby, arms folding in front of her chest. Taking it all in. This last bit of information folds into the mystery and, like the key to a puzzle box or fertilizer for a flower, something blooms within Maggie's gaze. The bearing. The speach. What was said. The unfamiliarity. Both with his own body and his friends. And now this. She drifts closer, eyes wide and momentarily unblinking. Her head lifts as she sheds denial even before it forms. Her lips part and she darts a glance to Martin to see if he is going to do as bidden. When she speaks, her tone is flat, "Please, Martin." She... knows. "Or, I can if you wish."

Raphaela's colorless eyes track the situation, but she doesn't seem in rush to break her wall flower routine. Or you know. Wall..sponge? Coral? She doesn't seem alarmed now her PR persona is satisfied with setting for such a matter.

Martin frowns as he tries to get a better sense of what's going on. His arms don't cross, in case he needs to use them suddenly, but he looks to those who know him as though he'd like to do so. A few years ago he might have reacted to all of this much differently, but that man was sacrificed to Rebma. He even no longer looks quite the same as he did, Rebma having marked him in turn with a less Amber look. He looks from the entity in Merrisol to his cousin, and nods. He doesn't need to do it himself or have Maggie leave her husband's side, though. Miriam has joined them, letting herself into the office and then trying to get a sense of what's going on but still at the entrance. He looks her way only long enough to say "Please escort Drysanna here, love." She nods to him, and goes to see to it. Sending a servant might go over badly, after all. She is High Priestess, after all.

Maggie smiles at Martin for his consideration of her desire to stay near Merrisol. Then, she realizs that they are summoning the High Priestess and that sending a Flatlander would proooobably be an insult. When Martin asks Mirirm to get the other woman, it hits Maggie that this situation is frought with untold dangers that go well beyond her love, her life and that of her husband but encompasses all of her friends and family. Then like a kick in the stomach, she realizes that no... It runs throughout all of Rebma. Inhaling, she almost instinctively reaches for Merrisol's hand, both for her own comfort and his. Her gaze lifts to his and her hand stills. The being, the person, wearing her Merrisol like a suite of clothing, did not like being touched. Her gaze flickers to Martin, then back to Raphaela and Marlene. Should she guess and be proven wrong, thereby eliminatingn an option? Or should she wait, preserving the probably false hope that a return to normalcy is just a whisper away?

Raphaela hits like a wall and offers a quiet "I do believe introductions might be a good idea, while we wait for the High Priestess. Raphaela de Sorgo.. Your Majesty. I do not believe I had a pleasure?"

Marlene nods, "Marlene of Amber, I'm Martin's sister, likewise, I'm not sure I've had the pleasure?"

Merrisol observes the interaction between Martin and Miriam. "You have been wed," he states the utterly obvious with a slightly curious lilt to his otherwise calm tone. "The sacred troths. I thought them a dream." He barely notices how Maggie reels her arm back in, and seems oblivious to her ruminations over the scope of this dilemma. When the two unknowns step up and offer their names like it's just the thing to do, he favours them each in turn with a lofty glance. "We have not. Does my grandson yet surround himself with the Houses of Amber for council?"

Raphaela offers "Or members of the Houses of Amber find themselves lucky enough to be considered friends." she ventures slowly.

Maggie finally does step forward. She looks up at Merrisol, seeking his eyes. Her hands reach for one of his and her tone is soft, but audible. "Do you truly not know me, beloved?"

"Yes," Martin nods. "We have been married just today." He gives Miriam a comforting look and smiles warmly at her, clearly in love. He's seen a lot of things in all his years in shadow but the tone is one he could never easily forget. There are powers and there are powers so he simply chooses to acknowledge, for the moment, the possible. "The Sea surrounds the grandson of Queen Moire. He listens to those who wish to speak, as needed, and hears all voices. All council is taken into consideration but none matter so much as the ones who call Rebma home, to whom his blood is pledged." Rulers are strange, they sometimes speak of themselves in the third person.

Merrisol's fingers close around Maggie's slender hand when she manages to make contact while he is occupied with gazing levelly at Martin during his response. At which point, he swivels faintly to look down at their joined hands with cursory interest, before spreading his fingers open and retrieving them from Maggie. "You are the runaway girl from Minos," he says with serene civility, "with whom Martin, in his youthful wisdom, ran away with in turn, to indulge a self-serving existence in the Shadow realms." Coming on the heels of Martin's elegant lately-formed wisdom, it doubles as an offhand reminder of his unruly past, but not a direct retort.

It hadn't taken long at all to be told that Drysanna had left. Since the remaining clergy didn't need the same level of deference, Miriam instead sent word asking that the most senior of them to join them in the Regent's office. Having returned in time to hear Martin's reply to 'Merrisol', she returns his smile. The affection is clearly returned.

Marlene ahs, there, and bobs a bit of a curtsey, as it's somehow Martin's grandmother. Somehow she's managed to be elegant in long yellow shimmery-scale skirts, and something like a Begman bodice. She doesn't favor very much jewelry, save for an odd globe-shaped pendant-watch, and perhaps in a nod to custom, a rather huge diamond clasped in her hair. She decides this makes the occasion somewhat of a happier one, her mood lightening.

Maggie blinks twice as she listens to Merrisol speaking to her. She studies his face, paying particular attention to the eyes. When he withdraws his hand, she releases it and glides backwards, watching still. Nodding, she looks briefly to Martin, then returns her gaze to Merrisol. Her lips press together in a determined line before she adds, "Yes, Your Majesty. Only that was long ago and now, I am your personal attendant." Her lifted chin just dares anyone to deny it. After all, isn't that one definition of a marrage?

"I am Reverend Sister Teragram," says the summoned Priestess once escorted as far as the doorway. Her eyes dart towards Merrisol, and then around the principles in the room, full of inquiry. "Is there some service I may perform for Your Royal Lordship?"

"A thing undisputed, the years spent in shadow and like all time, cannot be undone without consequences." Martin agrees. "Experience was gained from it, however." He does not bow his head or cringe at the memory, but he does nod respectfully. His youthful looks lie, but the change in him does not. "Lady Maggie has proven often her love of Rebma and the one in which you presently reside is Merrisol of House Morfilod. He is my best friend and trusted council. Sister Teragram." He looks to the priestess. "We thank you for coming, but we wished for Dryssana herself. I realize that she must be tired from the ceremony but she is immediately needed." There is probably a very good reason why he is not pulling out his mirror of her.

Merrisol considers Maggie again as the woman continues to say the oddest things to him. "My attendant.." he repeats. "Whatever for. I have only just awoke." Martin is speaking again, however, and focus returns to him. His statements appear to address some burning questions the alleged monarch had not yet attempted, for he nods slowly as a general understanding of the situation dawns. Looking at the newcomer, he withholds comment until the priestess has gone away again on her new errand... and even then, he lingers in mistrustful silence.

When it seems that anyone less than the High Priestess herself is not acceptable, Miriam gives a look of apology before moving back to Martin's side. She just watches for the moment, studying the person residing within her friend. When Maggie calls herself 'Merrisol's' attendant, she nods slightly. She certainly wouldn't argue that point.

Ruby approaches, coming up behind Maggie. To Ruby it looks and sounds like Captain Flame has been rebuffed. The closer she gets, the more her brows knit together. More disgruntled, Ruby raises her arm and moves to place a hand against Maggie's back, as if to provide some manner of assistance through touch...or perhaps just halt giving any more ground. Her voice comes low and measure, "These could just be...words in tha currents. Words are easy." This rasped almost conspiratorial, if they weren't so audible. "What says goo'n back tah sleep won't wake oop proper bloke who ain't acting hisself. Aye?" Ruby pushes back her shoulders. "'Ead injury! Merri knows more than most aboot down 'ere, roight? Bad blow. Jumbled noggin. Not 'is fault..." Maybe a little, cause if you're too smart, things can get busy in there.

Maggie clears her throat, "For several reasons, Your Majesty. First." A slow blush begins to rise as she speaks, "Other than the person whose body you wear, I know it better than anyone. I can help you keep it healthy. Second, I can help you know the people he knows. This will become more important as time goes on. Until we can get you both back where you belong. You see, Your Majesty, the body you are currently wearing belongs to my husband." And she means to get him back. Glancing up and back as Ruby comes close, Maggie very reluctantly shakes her head, "I wish that I could agree with you, Ruby. Because that sounds like a wonderful solution. But, I fear that is not the case.

"That is why we require the Priestess and her connection to Lir." Martin nods at Ruby. To Moire, He looks. "You have woken in the wrong place, grandmother, and we will need to determine the best course of action and why this happened. Merrisol does not look Rebman, but he is, and that is a long story." He looks to Ruby. "Head injury, I knew about that. What happened? Where was he? My grandmother's body's exact location is a secret only known to myself, Lady Enid, Princess Llewella and Merrisol." To Marlene Martin also looks, "you had determined magic, correct?"

Marlene nods, equivocally. "After a fashion, brother: ...It's nothing presently enchanting him, or even recently, my surmise is that there was something some time ago connected to Her Majesty's reappearance, perhaps something that marked him out in some way, perhaps, but I couldn't say just what, if so. With luck, the priestess may have some insight."

Miriam frowns a little. "He was telling me about an injury while exploring th'trouble down below. That he woke later." She looks again to Maggie, to fill in what exactly happened."

Marlene hrms, attentively, to Miriam, then in turn to Maggie, for any such details.

Merrisol listens to Maggie, absorbing the information she offers without necessarily agreeing with or denying any of it. The level of familiarity entrenched in those insights and revelations might be much too much for the strange new identity to reconcile at this time. Though the physical appearance is the same as that of the Begman-Minosian-Rebman-Whateverian known by all those present, something essential has vanished that held all the minute nuances that defined the man. Even the manner in which he stands in the imperfect stillness of the waters has been altered to just this side of unrecognizable.

He studies Ruby briefly as the woman tries to suggest mere traumatic delusion is at work, then looks to Martin expectantly for another of his helpful statements which explain her hulking flatlander presence. And he delivers again, in that pre-cognitive way he has, the very language he uses placing these strangers within a circle of trust, if not the very tightest one.

"I had been dying," the (alleged!) Queen decides to say after this trust becomes clear. "My mind and body clouded with dark illness. I awake now, with clear faculty in both respects, Grandson, and you say to me there has been a mistake?"

"That you are awake, Grandmother, is a miracle I had hoped for so long. It is the very reason my marriage to Miriam was delayed for a year." Martin clarifies for her and gives her a warm, real smile. "It is my greatest joy that you have woken. The only mistake is that you are not in your right body. I have preserved and protected you and know that you could go back to it once we figure out how. For the moment, I have no wish to involve anyone other than Rebma." He looks to those present. "You are all forbidden to mention this to anyone in Amber. This includes Lady Raphaela. Ruby, if you would be so kind to contact her immediately. The Queen's safety is paramount. I require vows from all of you."

Martin adds, "This also includes Random, Marlene. He'll know when I decide it and not before."

Ruby tenses, and sidelongs for an avenue of escape. Tempting as it is, she remains for now. "I didn't see nuthin, cause there was jellies swarmin through this bloody hhhole we found. Hole wasn't supposed tah be there, an smarter folk seemed tah think it, an other cave-ins, were recent things." Ruby offers an enigmatic shrug. "Everyone gots confused when we couldn't see nuthin. But we found ~Merri~ afterwards," Jerking a thumb at whom she's not convinced is kosher. "An Sir Bloody Aversin down another tunnel when we could collect our wits. They were oot cold. Dunno what did't. They 'ad 'eated discussions...maybe they sim-ul-tay-neously punched each other in tha chin." Ruby does a haphazard heart-crossing, oath-making gesture.

Maggie stiftens as she remembers suddenly. Eyes widening, she darts a rather loaded glance after the vanished Priestess. When she looks back, there is doom in her gaze. "We came across a mostly blocked off chamber of ... sea bats. Some kind of whispy white sea creature. They slipped into our tunnel and in the confusion Sir Aversin went after Merrisol. We were seperated in the mess. Merrisol and Sir Aversin were both found together in a tunnel unconscious. Sir Aversin was taken to the temple. Merrisol was brought here."

Turning to Merrisol, Maggie listens. She had seen the changes in his eyes, for they did not have the sharpness that they should have. Their difuse attention as clearly not her Kerf as anything else. However, those words chill her to her core. Her hand closes into a fist, the fingernails digging into the skin of her hand. She turns to Martin, focusing ever so firmly on him, "We should talk to Quinlan." She has not agreed to these vows. Not yet. Breathing deeply, she looks up at the Queen-in-Merrisol, "Please understand, Your Majesty," her tone is clearly struggling to be gentle, "You cannot keep this body you are in. The man who owns it needs it. We will find a solution." Or someone will die.

Miriam nods first to Martin's pleasure at having his grandmother wake, and then to her state being the reason for delaying their wedding. She listens to his order about keeping silent, then says to him and Moire "You both have my word, of course. I'm just delighted t'have you awake, your Majesty. Martin's been so worried for you. And'll do anything I can, t'help you return t'your own, female body." Her tone suggests that the gender issue's what really matters. Rebma, right? Let's focus on the importance of the matriarchy with this particular audience.

Marlene nods to Martin, listening to tales of that underwater fight, and the rest. "You'll have my oath. Daddy doesn't come to me for information, generally, in any event, though we ought to have a good story, if Merrisol's asked after in any absence."

Moire-Merrisol? Moirresol, then. Moirresol might be keenly following along with Ruby's tale and Maggie's addendums to said tale, but it's hard to really know. She is already better at controlling the body's facial reactions than Merri ever had been, bestowing upon his features a look of distant interest while in a room full of tumultuous emotions. She watches Martin demand unequivocable promises to secrecy with well-veiled astonishment. Maggie's impassioned protest, however, provokes a sharper frown. And Miriam's not-so-subtle hint that the Queen traded down, genderwise, is awarded with a not-so-subtle upquirk of the manly mouth. "I see. This curious vessel," she looks downwards again at it with new hints of intrigue, "is borrowed, by what sorcerous method I know not. I shall await the explanations from the High-Priestess, then, she who I bade seek a miracle before I slept and knew nothing more until now. At my Grandson's wedding," she reiterates softly, not looking at Martin directly. They will be left alone eventually. Only then she will demand all the details.

Martin explains. "Aha." At the info on what happened to Merrisol. "I will have Llewella check her Majesty's body to ensure it is safe. Thank you Miriam, Marlene, Ruby. Maggie, you must trust me as you have always done. I have never let you down, nor will I in this. The life of the Queen of Rebma is at stake as is the life of my best friend and I do not ask lightly. I know that you are worried for Merrisol, so am I but her Majesty is not going to let him die or disappear, she is only borrowing him for the moment. The Queen does not know Quinlan very well and we have resources here that will address the situation first. If we have to take help I'm sure that she would prefer Enid, Vialle or Llewella first. Grandmother, I will not pressure you into accepting help or aid from people you don't know. Much has changed since you fell ill and I do not want to overwhelm you with it all right away. I feel that we must be very careful with who is informed and dole out the information gradually so that we can control it. Amber is very tense at the moment given another dire situation which will be explained later. Your daughter is safe in the Temple of Lir, the only place she could be where no one can get to her." He is swift with the speeches. Better than he has ever been, able to address fears and worries. Yet still able to inspire trust. That's what he does. "Grandmother, it has not been easy without you. I missed you terribly." And there is the little boy who loves his granny.

Maggie faces Marlene as something her cousin said registers. Her eyes narrow slowly as she transfers that look to Moirrisol. Something said there also clicks into place. Her head lifts and she turns to listen to Martin. Her narrowed eyes open wider and her head jerks slightly as though she has been struck a physical blow though she certainly has not been touched. She stands, rigid, hands clenched so tightly that the faintest tang of copper might be tasted around her. The color bleeds from her face, as though drawn to her hands in some desperate attempt to flee into the free water or to heal what damage she is doing to herself. All the while, she stares at Martin and Martin alone. When she speaks, it is through a tension wound so tightly around her that it is either steel or utterly brittle. "Someone cast a spell on Kerf years ago that targeted him. I already know of one possibility, but now? Either that one is part of this or there was another. That is premeditated." She breaths, muttering, "No wonder he hated magic." Then, refocusing, she continues, "Perhaps Her Majesty is not guilty of that portion of this mess. But, she asked for a miracle and High Priestess Drysanna obliged her with one. For whatever reason the 'miracle' spell was triggered when we were in the tunnels and Queen Moire's spirit or being was sucked into my Kerf's body," she guesses. "We do not know the timeline, but what we do know is already pretty damning." Gone is the joy in her spirit. Gone is the gentleness. Now, she is hard and cold, "You do not know what you are asking."

And yet. With an almost guilty-seeming glance over her shoulder, she studies Moirrisol. There is an intensity within that look, as though she might be able to see right into the resident spirit. Finally, she eases just a bit, then a bit more. Her fingers no longer dig into her hands, though the trickle of crimson spots continues for an instant before Oberon's blood graces her with healing. "Or. Maybe you do. I remember your stories about the Grandmother you loved so much when we were younger." A bit more of her tension bleeds away, though a hint of her former fury remains; a despirate splutter, more smoke and ash than the raging fire it was before, "But, know this. Right now, she is guilty of Identity Theft and Joy Riding. If Kerf is not returned to me, whole and himself, then someone is guilty of murder and I will have justice." Though she does not say it, the implication is quite certainly that Rebma will be judged when justice is meeted out. At least, by her.

Then the fire faulters and fails. Turning to Moirrisol once more, she offers, "I am glad that you are awake, Your Majesty. For Martin's sake." The pause this time is slight, "And for Rebma's." Without facing Martin, she begins anew, her voice softer, "I have given you my word every time you have asked, Martin. Without hesitation. I understand why you are requiring it, now as before. This could be very damaging not only to Rebma, but to Queen Moire and certainly to Lir's church." Once that is said, her sigh comes, "I am putting more than my life in your hands, Martin. Understand that there is nothing worth losing Kerf. Nothing. But... You have my vow that as long as he is bound, I will fight for his freedom. As long as Queen Moire is not in her right body, whatever that turns out to be, I will work to free her. And as long as /Kerf/ needs it, you will have my silence." That is when she turns to face Martin once more. As she moves, she lifts her no-longer-bleeding palms to scrub at her eyes. That done, her hands lift toward her hair. Her fingers cannot sink into the mane because it is woven into an elaborate braid. Faultering, she draws them slowly back down to cross her arms in front of her body, "I do want everyone to be happy..." That is said with a soft sort of catch in her throat. Clearing it away, she adds, "Are we good?" What ever happened to that younger cousin who would do as her idol asked without much question or fuss? She grew up finally. Far away and under far different tutelage.

RPG: Marlene challenges a difficulty of 7. Marlene chooses Wits. Marlene almost succeeds.

When Martin tells his grandmother that he missed her, Miriam's eyes move to him and she nods slowly. Obviously, she knew how much he missed her. But then there is Maggie, and her eyes focus on her friend with an expression of understanding. She watches, quiet, letting the redhead work through all of that. Only when she's done does Miriam drift over and rest a hand on her friend's shoulder if she'll allow it. Either way, she says quietly "All of you affected are family. You, Merrisol, Martin, her Majesty. All I want is t'see th'four've you well and restored. All I want is t'see Rebma well. Nothing, and I mean Nothing, will stand'n my way of any've that. I promise. You'll have Merrisol back, without sacrificing her Majesty, because anything less isn't acceptable. And I think we know how much this team can do, when we're determined. After th'reception, I'll look for Merrisol in dream."

Marlene nods, to Martin, giving Maggie one of those odd looks she does when she seems to be scrutinizing something or someone. Squeezes her forearm, comfortingly, though, and says to Martin, "You have my promise on it, of course there's really no need or interest that I should discuss the matter outside this company, either." She adds this nod to Moire. "And I shall do what I may to assist in the happier outcome for all: I do rather hope the High Priestess will have some insight to lend, however." For now, more information's filed away, trying to correlate Maggie's reaction with factors such as who or what may she react that way to, who hates sorcery, who perhaps could do some anyway....

Ruby shakes her head in minute swings of her head, left and right. Trying to absorb the information and fill in some gaping holes. "Nah...this be too strange. We should..." Ruby blinks and then bulges her eyes. "We gotta check tha bloody Sir Aversin. Maybe Merri got corner-pocketed intah 'im! Or same thing 'appen tah 'im. They both got knocked oot down in tha Flush.." She starts patting herself, as if expecting to be harbouring more than herself before remembering she didn't loose consciousness. Stranger-danger body-snatchers feelings make her hairs try to stand on end. Creepy crawlies.

Her Majesty regards Martin through each of his measures and reassurances, though whether she is taking them to heart or ripping them to shreds is again, difficult to read in the expressions of the individual she now controls. As the names of other prominent Rebmans are spoken, the cool exterior betrays recognition, as well as greater interest when the status of the realm is mentioned. 'How long? How many years?' is sharp upon those lips, but fail to be voiced. Martin's final remarks, his admissions, are an unexpected bit of vulnerability after such assertive planning. Closing Merrisol's mouth, compressing his lips in a bid against sentimentality, only succeeds in betraying a glimmer of emotion, as elusive as a sheen of tears must be in these environs. Now is not the time to explore even that sliver. The tension build-up leading to Maggie's harsh declaration is the sort of event that makes a school of minnow take pre-emptive evasive maneuvers, dodging the shadows of currents. She cannot be disregarded, her frustration and fear irradiate the room; her devotion has fangs. Moirresol turns fully to face Maggie who, all prior expectations point to her being strongarmed away from Her Blessed Royal Majesty by the palace guard. They are not present, however, so it is Her Majesty who moves a step back, in the water. Then she watches, listens, and learns until hiss and fizzle have sputtered themselves away. No attempt made to apologize, explain, or promise anything to the grieving widowed, temporary as that descriptor may be.

Instead, the Queen turns her regard over to Marlene, conceding a nod more easily to the 'sensible flatlander', by recent comparison. Then Ruby and Miriam, whom she merely scrutinizes, before finally musing aloud: "Given a chance and some quiet, I shall look inward myself. It seems to me, waking at that moment, I have not been fully present until that point. Until then, what I recall was as a dream... as one who has slept much too long in a dreamless void might dream, just prior to waking." She directs Merrisol's gaze coolly from face to face. "Who was it guiding this body up to that point? Did he depart? Or does he remain?" She ends by gazing at Martin. Her grandson, with all his topside connections, has the means of determining this, better than any dreamer or interrogator.

Marlene nods, partly in answer to Ruby's question, as well, "I think it's most likely, in this case, that Your Majesty's psyche was concealed somewhere, perhaps within Merrisol himself, since whatever incident that was that contrived this state of affairs. If that's the case, I should hope that he is still within, somewhere, much as you may have been. Certain things are more within the faculties of a Feldane, or perhaps your good clergy, so if it's otherwise, what occurred tonight was something I could not perceive. I'm afraid that does not narrow it down too *terribly* much."

Martin's vulnerable look does not last. It is replaced with his usual calm when dealing with political situations. "Almost four years, Grandmother." He exhales. "Knowing something of Merrisol's personal situation I find it highly unlikely he has departed." To maggie he simply nods as though outbursts of that nature are something he is used to and knows when not to poke the bear. "We're good and will talk later." To Moire: "Once you're aclimated, we will bring others into the loop. It'll be easier for you that way."

Maggie remains focused on Martin, though she does acknowledge her friends' words and touches. When Martin gives her that nod, she returns it. Okay then. Taking a step to the side, she can't quite look at Moirrisol though she does listen. When she speaks, her voice is measured and calm, "Kerf led the expidition into the tunnels below." Her head lifts and she looks off toward something. The dungeons, "Because we got a tip that someone was trying to infultrate the palace." Looking back to Moirrisol at last, she adds, "And a Priest insisted that two of the Temple guards accompany us." She does not add that bit about her threat to the guards. "So. We need to speak to the Priest, the guards and the person who gave us the tip." Inclining her head, she speaks with the same measured quiet as before, "I hope that this helps, Your Majesty?" Because then she falls silent to give the ... woman... a chance to look inward.

Marlene says an aside to Ruby and Maggie, "Would one of these be said Sir Aversin?"

Moirresol lofts a look in Maggie's direction, allowing a fair moment's consideration before replying, "None of what you describe is familiar.." A conspicuous effort is made to adjoin "Lady Maggie" to that in a similar lofty manner. But, it causes a flash of distress instead. "Leave me," is commanded, quietly. The Queen turns away to gaze at some stained glass that opens to a balcony with a view of the city below.

As Moirrisol tells everyone to leave, Maggie hangs back for a moment. Oh, she will leave but... She spotted something and it nearly broke her heart. Compassion finally dawns and she moves two measured steps toward the Queen-In-Residence, "Excuse me, Your Majesty. It might..." She pauses, for telling a monarch that she saw her pain is problematic. So, respect and fellow-feeling win the day and she does not say 'hurt less'. "If it pleases you," and does not pain you, "please feel free to call me Margaret." With a lowered head that is indicative of a bow or curtsy, she takes the requisite two steps back, turns and leaves the room.