Tea With Dee

[rassafraggin]

The lively Nalwin watches for the spectrum sparklings which herald the special arrival of a trumper out of thin waters. He is remarkably close by for the area of the main boulevard being so relatively vast in scale. "Hallo!" He effects a swooshing bow so low it causes him to launch from the cobbled sea floor, butt-first. Recovering, he stands in a manner that is both relaxed and so cheerful, only a fuddy-duddy would decide to take offense to his abandonment of military erectitude. "Your Royal Highness, welcome back to Rebma. And Your Ladyship, how fantastic a surprise is this," he greets them both in Thari.

Deirdre steps through with her hand on Vialle's shoulder. Possessively? Protectively? No, not quite. But not far off. She gives Nalwin a leisurely perusal, returning to rest on his eyes. "Such unusually lovely eyes," the Princess observes. "Thank you for your exuberant greeting,...?" She trails off inquiringly for a name, brow lifted.

Vialle's smile is quick and easy. She seems entirely relaxed with Deirdre's hand on her shoulder. While she does not see the bow-swoop-nonchallance, she can kind of paint it in her mind from the movements of the waters it creates. Her smile warms, however, when she hears the voice, "Lieutenant Nalwin! It is so good to hear you again. I am delighted that you will be our escourt today. That was very kind of Her Majesty. But, we probably should not keep her waiting. Please? Lead the way?"

Nalwin blinks eloquently in gratitude for Vialle's supplying his name and rank to the princess. "Quite so - Nalwin, of the Military Scout Divison. It's my honour to betake you to your place of meeting, if you will follow me." He takes Vialle's urging to heart, and turns to lead the way north to the Palace. Despite the architectural details which might ring familiarly with Amber's city facade, things have changed so pervasively here, Rebma can really no longer be called Amber's reflection. That reality continues as they traverse the Upper City, broken into plateaus leading into the foothills of the undersea mountain.

Deirdre follows both Nalwin and Vialle, eyeing the former with good humor and the latter with speculation. Too, she watches the scenery as it passes by, and her brow notches higher and higher, a dark slash on a pale, watery forehead. "So much has changed," she muses to the two of them as they traverse toward the castle, the Princess as monochromatically garbed as ever. Sans axe.

Nalwin leads the way across the expanse of landscaped steppes, and into the beginnings of an extensively manicured garden of colourful plants and plant-like organisms. A gauzy canopy arranged around marble pillars encloses an area upon which various walking paths converge. Appointed with graceful scupltures which include chaises and tables, and a furnished with a sheltered buffet of undersea edibles and bottled drinks, this is apparently to be the place of meeting, rather than the official parlours or great hall within the Palace proper.

Vialle remains beside Deirdre as they move through the city. She seems aware of the changes, thuogh does skirt around a few additions at what could be called the last moment if she was not so calm about it all. Hearing Deirdre's quiet comment, she nods, "It has, yes. Perhaps, if there is time, I could act as your escourt around the city. If Her Majesty gives me leave to do so, of course." She follows Nalwin based on something other than sight, perhaps guaging his movements based on the water once more. Entering the gardens, she smiles more brightly as the scents of the gardens spice the water. "Ah, I love this area. I used to paint it fairly regularly back in my studio in Amber."

Waiting in the secluded enclosure is the standing figure of a tall blond man, who despite being finely, gleamingly attired, bears absolutely no resemblance to a female, much less the Monarch of Rebma. But then, that cat has already been let out of the bag, and like all cats, this one has invariably made its way to dry land. This is of course the Warden of the Deep, Lord Merrisol of Morfilod - in body. In spirit, it is, by many accounts, Her Royal Majesty, Queen Moire.

Thank heavens for being prepared! Deirdre shoots a grateful look to Lady Vialle, before according the Queen of Rebma with a deep bow of her raven head. "Your Majesty. You're looking well. Much changed since last we met," for it was some time ago, and Moire was decidedly female of form then, "but I hope you are well, and my nephew thrives?" She speaks, of course, of Corwin's child.

Step-gliding into the gardens, Vialle pauses for a moment or two in order to allow the eddies and reverberations, the scents and sounds to build a mental image of the area. She tilts her head one way by about half a degree, listens, then does the same on the other side. Where finding things in Amber is almost 85 percent on lateral planes, that is not the case in Rebma. Letting Deirdre lead the way around the gardens, Vialle waits until the Princess announces the Queen. She returns Deirdre's smile, though only sensed it in terms of emotion rather than seeing it. For her part, she curtsies deeply before the Queen-in-Residence, "Your Majesty."

Receiving them with a serene and pleasant expectation in expression and form, Moire nods graciously to them both, swaying into it with all trailing accoutrement following through in dreamy succession. Whatever challenges might have been assumed for becoming acquainted with the operation of a new and vastly unfamiliar physical form, have certainly been surmounted to an impressive degree. "Princess Deirdre," she utters before assuming an upright poise. "I was very well, when last you came to our capital city in the Deeps. Much is different now, as you can see. More than can be explained in one visit - and certainly not during this one." The deep voice is not Moire's, but it has the royal cadence of Moire's remembered diction. A smiling tone enters her words as she adds, "Yet, you may still be certain of your welcome here. During his Regency, Martin was able to repair much of the lingering estrangement between our realms."

Looking to Vialle, she speaks with approval, and walks forward. "Vialle, my dear, I am so glad you have found time to return to the Deep. Your communications of your efforts in Amber have pleased and amazed me with the energy and dedication you have shown. Would you sit a while, both of you. Allow me to offer the refreshments of the kitchen. For although reunions are enjoyable things, I wish to come right to the point of this meeting."

"Absolutely," Deirdre follows the wishes of the Monarch, her easygoing, straight-forward nature amenable to the suggestion. "Though while I sit, let me take time to add my own kudos to Lady Vialle. Random is a lucky man and were I younger myself, I might try to steal her away. She certainly deserves your praise." She finds a seat, folding down upon it, then tilts her head. "If I take the throne, Your Majesty, I wish to strengthen ties between land, sea, and sky, not divide them further."

Vialle rises as Moire addresses Deirdre, her smile warming. As Moire approaches her, however, Vialle's hands lift in a softening sort of gesture and one shoulder lifts in a shrug. The blush that turns her cheeks to rose heats her face just a little, "Your Majesty is very kind. I am glad that my work for you and our homerealm is of use to you. Thank you for letting me know." The expression freezes for just a second on hearing Deirdre's further praise and... proposition? Sort of? The smile turns amused, affectionate, pleased and utterly embarassed, "I... Thank you, Deirdre. I am very lucky to have Random, believe me." Following the others' lead, she too settles in a seat designed to look like a shell. As the discussion turns to politics, she folds her hands in her laip, expression becoming intently focused.

Smirking politely over what may or may not have been in jest, Moire turns to make a personal selection of bite-sized delectables, filled pastries and finger sandwiches, each retaining their respective crisp and dryness through some combination of arcane aquatic adaptation and an thin shellacking of a clear jelly. The bottles are Siren-made, and an ingenious sipper-stopper facilitates imbibing the liqueur beverage without salt-water contamination. "Forgive my misunderstanding," she realizes in the meantime, "you were asking after young Faiella, and not Lord Martin.. the little Princess has been taken in by the Temple of Lir, in my absense from the Throne." Her voice is soft and contemplative, suggesting but not definite of her mixed feelings about this decision. "The child had been experiencing episodes of a certain prophetic nature. Under the tutelage of the Seer-Priestesshood, she is learning how to cope with this heritage of Tir-na Nog'th."

She returns to set the tray of victuals down and it's not strange at all, because she does so with a distinct grandmotherly aire, and nobody visits Gramma without getting a plate of treats. Also..? In this body the Queen could carry a stack of trays with no difficulty. "I am pleased to hear that you are bound for the Amber Throne, Princess Deirdre, and with Prince Corwin's support," says Moire, lowering into the chaise opposite Deirdre. If Vialle sits close enough, she reaches over to press the ambassador's hand, and then guide it towards where the tray is, helping her recognize what is available, whilst continuing to speak. "What concerns me is, the word 'If'. Are you not certain of your chances... have you not a strategy for taking the majority in this novel approach?"

"I have plans," Deirdre replies, leaning forward to take treats she is familiar with, a several she is not, but a good sized sampling for a Princess who seems to always be brimming with energy. "Many plans. And then I have failsafes I hope I won't have to employ. But they're there. My problem, Your Majesty," the woman continues, "is that I've not been back long enough to have sway with the younger generation. But, I've a plan for that, too. What are your thoughts on a Council of the Future? An influential Council of our children and their children?"

Moire sits listening to Deirdre with a drink in one hand, resting upon her knee after a sip. A collected expression on the Warden's features throughout, the Queen headtilts as the statements lead to a request for her opinion. She says after due reflection, "Division of power is the responsibility and the result of strong leadership. Strong leadership must come first, Princess. Lest the division not be accorded the proper respect, proposed from a position of weakness. The Throne shall form its Council, not the Council, its Throne." She takes up her drink again, and considers the treats, selecting a puff pastry with a stalk of something green speared through it. "If I may ask your thoughts in turn.." she says, after giving some time for Deirdre's response to the former remarks.

"My thoughts on the matter are at once complicated and simple," Deirdre responds in kind, having polished off several treats while Moire has spoken, now gestures with her hands. "All of Amber will one day be theirs. That is certain, as it was once my father's and now passes to my brothers and sisters, so will it pass to our children and grandchildren and so on." She pauses, hands reaching out to snare another treat, though it remains uneaten for now. "We do them no favors by keeping them as blind as we have been. I do not wish the same mistakes made. The Council will come after the Throne, /but/ I will announce my intentions to form it before the decision for the throne is made."

Moire nods sedately and remains on topic as well now. "Bear in mind you are speaking to a Monarch who, barring the unusual trials of the past decade, has ruled from her Throne for centuries unbroken. During the mentioned absence, my Grandson affected a great deal of change, empowered by the chaos of those dark times. I am studying these changes and lauded accomplishments, and I have not yet decided if they are truly for the good of this Realm, or for that matter, the Realms plural." She smiles slightly over the youthful Amberite's display of fine appetite. "Be that as it may, Martin did manage a brave new direction for Rebma, made possible by confusion and turmoil. As he had done, so should you, Princess." She pauses, waiting, with that silent question still waiting in the wings.

"Would that I had been around for it, Your Majesty, so that I could better know what you mean," Deirdre replies after finishing several more treats. For now, she remains content to keep her hands to herself and away from the delicious temptations. "You are an inspiration, in the way you've ruled unbroken for some long and the way Rebma continues to survive and become stronger with each passing trial it encounters. Would you consent to telling me some of the methods your Grandson employed?"

"You shall hear them enumerated in their dozens, soon enough. Lord Martin shall not evade their totalling, for good or ill," says Moire with a sense of serious intent, and then she continues in that same tone, "Become the Regent of Amber's Throne, and Martin himself may advise you. But first, Princess, you must take the Throne. For what reason do you suppose the Prince Admiral risks his true calling upon the Waves of Amber and throughout Shadow, to vy for the Throne. From what I have gathered of the timeline of acts, he did so after Prince Corwin withdrew his name from the race. Is it to your bid he objects, due to your inexperience or some other perceived fault, or is it perhaps the fear you both share - that you cannot win for those reasons." The Queen is quiet again, and her wish to know the truth causes her breathing to slow in her vessel's chest.

"I have no way of knowing whether Gerard stepped up because of me, or because of Julian, or simply because he finally found the time to do so," Deirdre replies. "I have heard complaints, though, that Gerard is not around enough to make a good, attentive ruler, so the latter would make most sense to me. However, he has the Duchess Mandrake, who has the sway of Mandrake. She is not pleased with his desire to take the throne, but she will stand by him nonetheless. Admirable, really." The slowing of breath causes the Princess's attention to drift there. Appreciatively? Maybe. Her eyes soon find their way back up, though. "This is my speculation. I plan to speak to Gerard, and if it is your wish to be certain, Your Majesty, I can ask him. Did you not ask him?" Informants, everywhere.

Moire doesn't appear to notice Deirdre's momentary distraction by her manscaping, but the princess's words were certainly of interest. "The Admiral's loud personality carries a quiet wisdom which will indeed inspire those who admire him greatly, whatever his practical limitations. Rebma values him; I value him, Princess... but not as Regent. Not when the Regency will mean he must forsake his command of the Royal Amber Navy. I would seek to dissuade him, like the Duchess d'Mandrake... but, I would do so, only when I am certain he would not then throw his support behind your only other rival."

"My only other rival?" Deirdre's dark brows lift. "Do not discount Julian so readily, Your Majesty. He has a great deal of my nieces and nephews running around Arden and they think the world of him. It is not so inconceivable that he should claim the throne once more. As for Carmichael..." she trails off, philosophically, "... I do not think he has as much support as he would like people to believe. By all accounts, he does not even believe in himself. As for Gerard throwing his support behind the man, I can speculate only as much as you, though I would ask him if I get the chance."

Vialle has been sitting where she has been for some time in fair silence. At one point her hnd slipped up to the table, fingers waving onde, then stilling to receive the returned vibrations. Unerringly, she claims a bottle of something and lifts it to sip. She does not try her luck with the snacks yet, but that could as easily be due to a lack of hunger. So she sits, sips and listens as the conversation curls around and down into the deeper points. With the liquid nearly drained from the bottle, all in small sips and pauses, she places it on the table, where the clever thing latches on and holds. "If you both will excuse me?" Folding her hands in her lap, she looks neither left nor right, though her regard moves to Moire first and then to Deirdre. "It is my belief that Prince Admiral Gerard has thrown his name in out of a sense of duty. He supported Prince Regent Caine and Prince Chancellor Corwin. As Corwin's higher rank in the government gave him a... Well, nearly a right to the throne, I think Gerard waited to see what Corwin would do. When Corwin pulled out, Gerard may have felt that he was next in the current administration, therefore better suited to continue current policy. I think that he would try very hard to do a good job, but is, frankly, too honest and too honorable for the politics. His forthright nature would soon bring him to shouting matches with Ambassadors, miscreants and leaders of other Shadows. Their duplicity, a mainstay of most politics, however small that may be, would frustrate and ultimately enrage him. I do not know if he realizes this. And... He loves the sea. I think that he would despirately hate being Regent. As for Julian?" HEr inhallation is slow and even, "I could say the same for him in some ways. Though he understands the... necessity for subtlty and employs it expertly, he has very little taste for... Well, for most people. He does not suffer fools gladly and would be required to indulge them far too often. His brand of justice when slighted or agrieved, is... brutal and final. He might move the seat of government to Immeraus but that would be its own kind of disaster, not only for the Realm but for Julian. He detests the city, its people and all it stands for. Not Amber, really, but 'The City'," complete with finger lifted and curled water quotes, "as an abstract. He, too would be miserable as Regent. The problem here is that he is a middle child in his particular triade of Oberon's children. The consumate third child. So, it is possible that he believes it is his due. It is even possible that he could feel as though this is his way to 'pay back'," with water quotes once more, "the slights his siblings heaped upon him in his youth. So. If you wish to speak to them, Deirdre, I would recommend strongly that you give weight to the elements of the job that they will, abjectly, detest and extole the virtues of their current positions. With care to remain subtle, naturally."

"I beg your pardon, Queen Moire," Deirdre replies to the Monarch first, "only because Carmichael has more of a chance than Julian. But, Julian still has a chance, and I would not discount him. But Lady Vialle is absolutely right in her wise counsel. Julian for the trees, Gerard for the Seas, and Carmichael could be something great, if he would but allow himself to be guided. And me, for the throne, and for Amber. Unlike my brothers and sisters, I have nothing save the Moon Court to divert my time since AMINT, and the Moon Court is a boon to Amber in these times of trouble."

Moire puts away another treat, but her appetite seems to wane as she sits attending Vialle's copious thoughts on the subject, overflowing like a busted... water-retaining structure which has no purpose in Rebma. She does imbibe her refreshment and that bottle goes almost empty by the time the ambassador ends with some talking points for Deirdre. The Queen hums gently, nodding thoughtfully over the notions introduced, and inclines the Rebman Warden's head to Deirdre for her more succinct summing of those notions. "Thank you, Vialle, those are quite considered characterizations of your Minosian brothers-in-law." Definitely bytes to be added to their dossiers! "Princess, if there is accuracy in what you have deduced, then this is a graver situation than I once believed. For any manner of three-way split in popularity between those candidates in whom Rebma has at least a fair assumption of peaceful cooperation... all but guarantees a loss to the one whose word and deed I have learned quickly not to trust."

Vialle inhales, then sort of fades back into the background to listen. A faint blush tinges her cheeks, probably at her long-windedness. Typically, she is more a listener than one prone to expounding. Or, that is her potentially erronious belief.

"I'm not so certain it is as dire as it would seem," Deirdre replies to Moire. "And were Carmichael to take the throne, Your Majesty, as I've said, there is enough working to have him tossed off in a day or two. Nothing brings my siblings and myself closer together like a realized threat to the throne." She chuckles, and then shakes her dark head. "I apologize. I sometimes think that joke is only funny to us."

Moire places her empty drink sippy on a side table. She listens solemnly to Deirdre, nary a flinch in expression in reaction to the idea of quiet alliances made amongst the Obersiblings. Perhaps it really is a laughing matter only for them. "Would that it brought Princes Gerard and Julian closer to you, Princess. At least one of them, if only for my own peace of mind, though I also would not wish to create a martyr out of the Prince previously known as traitor." Moire takes a slow breath, laying it out, "For Rebma has its share of voting influence, and it is our intent to cast all where they would count. Will you, Princess Deirdre, make them count?"

Vialle signals that she would speak again with a soft inhallation. However, before she can address a point made earlier, Moire puts it all out there. She releases the breath quietly and her fingers seek her sippy bottle so she can finish the liquid within. Her gaze remains focused on the middle distance but a waiting calm settles around her. Here, it seems, a potential turning point or cross-roads has been defined. Silence then, to listen.

"I will make them count greater than either of my two brothers, and far greater than Prince Carmichael," Deirdre replies to that, chin lifted, dark hair watery around her. "I am your best hope for a strong throne, and despite all, I still, with Rebma's considerable strength, stand the best chance of taking it and holding it. I will do what is necessary." She lets it stand at that. There are no further reassurances. Just brazen confidence and a determined will.

Moire gazes at Deirdre, surely taking in the woman's visual presence, striking all in black, but more than that, she stills to a communal oneness with the gentle currents slowly stirring about the enclosure. Every word of gravitas spoken, the peculiar waters hold and expand them, as though exposing their nuances down to bare fractions. With a slight incline of her head to acknowledge Deirdre's bold statements, the Queen settles back on her chaise subtly, relaxing from the previous straightness of spine which signified her careful attention. "I thank you for coming, Deirdre," she says, smiling a little more freely now. "This has been a most insightful discussion, for me."

Vialle's focus turns to Deirdre's words, her senses almost tasting them for underlying emotions, either positive or less so. At one point her attention peeks, her focus sharpens but then her eyes seem to shift sideways suddenly, caught, perhaps by the particularly shimmery glitter of light on a pearl somewhere. The look fades and she returns to staring at the undefined nothingness of the middle distance. Hearing Moire shift, she tilts her head slightly. "Is there anything more that I may offer either of you?" Words, likely as Vialle finding the kitches and whipping up crepes is so not happening.

"I am glad to have come," Deirdre replies to Moire, rising, according the Monarch in a pleasing body a deep bow of her raven head. "It gives me much to think on, as well. If you don't mind, I'd like to explore Rebma more before I depart, mull over what I have heard here. Lady Vialle, as always, you are a shining light and your presence always welcome."

Vialle blushes a little, inclining her head, "You are very kind, Deirdre. Though I have always enjoyed your company as well. We shall have to see to it that we get to share time more often now that you have returned. Though I would ask that you not push Random off any more balconies for a while. Unless he asks for it." One way or another. As for looking around, Vialle leaves that to the Queen.

Moire stands as well at this point, though it sets the bar for height between the three of them. When she is back in herself? Might have to perpetually float about a foot above the floor just to feel 'normal'. To Vialle, she sends an oblique glance when that most interesting, that is, startling, event is remarked upon. "Vialle -- if I might keep you with me a little longer, we have another matter to discuss," she murmurs. Then to Deirdre: "I encourage you to take in the city and what pleasures the Palace grounds have to offer," she says with serene approval for Deirdre's continuing interest in experiencing glorious Rebma. "You shall keep in mind the boundaries of safe enchantment, of course, which extend only so far from the city, when not following the road to the Stair." Studying the woman for her understanding of the potential for grave injury in this matter, she lifts a hand towards the visiting royal and then pauses. "Shall I grant you the boon of the Sea's protection for your explorations this day?"

"Your Majesty, for that, and everything else that has passed here today, I would be, and am, most grateful," Deirdre replies. "My thanks are not quite as vast as your kingdom is beautiful, for it truly is a wonder, but I hope they come close." And to Vialle, she grins, reaching out to gently brush the woman's shoulders. "I gave you my word before, my lady, and I will not break it. Random will suffer no further harm at my hand. At least, not from a balcony. And," she adds, thinking on it, "not that he doesn't ask for expressly."

Vialle rises with the others and bows to Moire, "Of course, Your Majesty. I am yours to command." Then she turns to Deirdre, "When you have the time, I would like a word with you. This is not urgent in any way, so do not worry about shuffling your schedule around." Waiting, she smiles at the touch to her shoulders and faint laughter rises, "Ah, yes. You did. Thank you for that. I shall not ask more of you in that regard. At least, not at the moment. Enjoy your stay... Rebma is an astonishingly vibrant place."

Moire's gaze cants in a somewhat coy manner over the charming sentiments, though at the last moment, her own expression chides the Princess. Don't you practice your winning ways on me, young lady! However, with Deirdre's permission the monarch extends the right arm of Lord Merrisol into her personal space, and places the broadness of his hand past her black collar and rests it palm down at the base of her throat. A simple but intimate gesture in that the warm weight of her touch remains for a very deliberate moment upon Deirdre's skin. Moire speaks nothing of prayer or magic unto the Sea, there are no flashes of understanding, and yet, when she removes that hand and withdraws, there is a cool satisfaction in the green-eyed gaze. It is done. "Fair Tide to you, Princess of Amber."

It's not hard for Deirdre to be affected by the touch. She's stuck in a handsome body, with a wisdom that anyone would find attractive. That, and sibling rivalry. Deirdre's blue gaze takes on something heavier as she bows for Moire's touch. "Hm. Interesting. And wonderful. Thank you again, Queen Moire." The name is almost to remind herself. "Please, will you pass along my warmest of greetings to the young Princess? Good evening to you both. I look forward to exploring Rebma's bounty." She dips her dark head once more, then turns to go.