Carry On, My Wayward Grandson

[rassafraggin]

Martin has been at the naval base taking some notes and talking to his generals. He's preparing to go on a journey into shadow with some select few and is taking a squad with him. Reports from Moire's eyes and ears indicate it has something to do with the copious amounts of time he's spent with House Dilwen, the Sceptre and eventually Tir. He enters the castle looking for the Queen after being gone most of the afternoon.

Seeing all the activity brings a smile to Martin's lips. In spite of trying his damndest to keep the spirits of the Rebma People alive it always felt odd seeing the throne so empty. He bows upon entry, polished and regal, certainly not the clumsy attempts at grace in the past. It always felt like a waste of time back then. His mind had been centered on one thing, himself. He waits dutifully to be granted leave to approach. He has a smile of approval for the staff who supported him for so long. "Majesty," he greets her.

The current music lineup features a whimsical flute duet, the artists 'charming' a cluster of dancing jellies between them. With a gesture from Moire, they fade back towards the center of the hall, to amuse the rest of the court while she partakes in conversation with her grandson. That does not prevent various keen eyes from training on their interaction despite the swirling antics.

Martin approaches when received and smiles, "Good evening grandmother. I apologize that I wasn't here earlier this afternoon for lunch. I had some last minute details to manage. I can imagine your concern that I am journeying once again into shadow for a brief time, so I have a gift for you." He straightens, having dressed for the occasion, of course. He spares no effort now for her majesty's pleasure.

Moire employs a more informal tone as Martin treads upon the dais, unlike that deep, belling voice which reaches all ears. Still, it is couched in full awareness of the public venue, with no overt change in her countenance. "I am contented by the knowledge of your venture outside Rebma being an effort to acquire solutions to Rebma's most pressing concerns." She assesses him, then extends an arm to call him closer with his offering.

"Indeed, with the help of House Dilwen, I have been able to find a starting point with which to eventually procure evidence to present to yourself, My Queen and her highness Princess Llewella. As you know, such evidence will allow us to move forward in repairing what was lost. In the past you have had to rely on others to locate me for whatever reason." Martin gestures to no one in particular. They know who they are. Mirror magic, and the like. He did not have the same resources now as he did back then. Of course, most of the time he was actively avoiding responsibility. But, that was then, this is now. He pulls out a small clear package, the work within protected from the sea. It is present to an aid who brings it to Moire. It is a trump. Rare in the past, not so rare now. A trump, of course, of himself. "Now you will be able to reach me when it pleases you to do so."

Moire peruses the card as the aide holds it up delicately with both hands, as one would present any work of art or craftsmanship for her approval. She makes no move to take it in hand, though her interest is evident in its lingering. "These creations have not often been witnessed, the exception being in the time of your regency, grandson," she notes, with an unmistakable touch of critique of his bringing Progress! to the tranquil realm. "Yet, I know of its value. I know of its function." Though she doesn't really recall all the times she experienced trump shenanigans in the guise of the Lord Warden. "I shall keep this safe."

"I've no doubt you will. Should you require others, please do make the request as I have several sources who would be pleased to provide." Martin bows again, glad of her reaction. "I will check in of course and notify yourself and Aunt Fiona of the progress daily. Is there anything you might wish to discuss prior to my departure?" He smiles at the Dilwen Archivests who have come to court just to hear the Prince mention them in earlier. It is odd for him to know that he can leave and be sure that the realm is in good hands while he is trying to get whatever he needs to get done, done.

The music has thinned a bit, diffusing into the general hum of interest over the sight of the Queen apparently passing approval upon a trump card. That's done it. Cards are soon to be all the rage!
Moire returns her focus to the crown prince while a handmaiden spirits the trump to Her Royal Majesty's personal residence. "Shall Princess Miriam accompany you on your journeys?" she inquires then. "I observe in your young bride a desire to be useful in the service of this realm."

"She shall," Martin nods, he always looks bright and happy at the mention of her name. "As will the Lord Warden and Lady Maggie. Dashton of Feldane perhaps, Murdoch and Lady Ruby. My sister Amy and Lord Quinlan. We.." He clears his throat. "I also intend to request the aid of Lady Ailith of Chantris and my brother Theodore who you haven't met yet and Princess Llewella will be watching over us from time to time. I will have a great deal of help."

Moire listens, a lift to her chin as she acknowledges most of the names mentioned in one go. Astonishingly, she has heard of them all except for this half-brother. "Such support from such an assortment is to your credit," she remarks. "And I trust you have in turn pledged your support in their ventures. Such as that of your princess. She is the emissary of Tir-na Nog'th, but needs encouragement to step fully into this role."

"They know that they can call on me whenever they have a need." Martin bows. "I know, and she has all my love and support." He straightens. "With your leave, Majesty. I shall begin the Quest tomorrow."

"Sure. Just don't lose that gorram Sceptre again!" growls the Queen.

OOC> Moire says, "J/K"

OOC> Martin says, "lol"

OOC> Martin says, "It was stolen!! :E"