Llyr Dafydd

[llyrofthesea]

zaida-khatabi​:

Versailles As forces retake the palace @llyrofthesea​ Clad in tactical gear, Zaida and a few other Outlaws blended into the chaos in the guise of the many special weapons teams storming the building. With rifle held firm in her grip, she scanned the streams of those attending the festivities. No longer laughing and sipping expensive champagne without a care, they rushed towards exits with hands held up in a passive harmlessness, under the guidance of the real rescue teams. 

Zaida herself played the role she needed in order to escape the building, however she couldn’t leave without someone. A responsibility not meant to be hers, yet for some reason she would not feel right without at least attempting to search. 

The mop of hair and large eyes were recognized instantly. The moment he appeared coming down a crowded staircase wrapped in leftover smoke, a few abandoned shoes, tears and frantic explanations. 

Before he could reach the bottom, Zaida took a few steps up the stairs herself, reached for his arm, and gave a reassuring squeeze. 

Later, late afternoon Safe house (penthouse apartment), 6th arrondissement, Paris

She finished stitching closed a cut above her eye. Stared in the mirror. Then checked the burner phone sat beside the sink. Deacon, or someone from the Heretic, should have already contacted her. Hours had already passed since the rescue at Versaille. The reflection in mirror looked tired, but she could not sleep. 

“We need to move on. Are you ready?” She called out over a shoulder through the open door of the bathroom. 

-

“Almost.”

But as he looked around at the nothing he was carrying, Llyr realized he was, in fact, as ready as he could possibly be. He had once again slipped through the hands of the royal authorities. He wanted to believe the last decade of hard work and training had everything to do with it, but he knew better. He had been lucky. Good fortune might strike once or twice, but it didn’t last long.

He pushed the curtain back no more than an inch to check out the window again. There was not much to see as high up as they were - cars rumbled past, blurring into long lines along the street - he glanced around for any helicopters or drones. He let the curtain fall back into place. They should have heard from someone by now.

“You know what’s funny, how many movies show Paris as this dream holiday,” he said, trying to distract himself. It was entirely possible that wherever the rest of the crew had scattered, they were unable to get a signal out. Unable to move position. The entire country would be crawling with authorities, and it might take a few days for everyone to get their bearings.

“I don’t think I’ve enjoyed myself in France ever. Not once.”

Maybe at the flower shop. For a little while.

“Did you get a text yet?”

[llyrofthesea]

captaingraves​:

“Not sure why I have to be the one to tell you to make sure your own sister’s safe. She’s been nothing but kind to you. And you repay her by joining the fucking circus.” 

It took a massive cock up to get Jacob to actively sound rankled. The guns aimed at his head dampened things, but he couldn’t remember the last time he was this spitting mad.

No, that wasn’t true. It was the night he killed Riann.

“I don’t need a smoke.” He would have thrown it to the fucking ground. “And let’s go. I’m ready to meet your ringleader.”

  -

Ready to meet the leader. Llyr’s eyebrows raised. He took another drag. Then he glanced past Jacob’s shoulder, and nodded his head, motioning for the gunmen behind to begin to move. They would go as a group. This prisoner was too important to risk going alone - Llyr had no intention of being the fall guy for not making this delivery.

“I kept an eye on my sister when your family held her in captivity,” he said quietly.

“Just like I kept on eye on that Cardoza girl you dumped in Greece, who can’t walk two blocks without picking a fight. Yet I’m not welcome anywhere near this or any palace.” He walked at a leisurely pace, almost dragging his feet. Pulled his coat closer around him. His gaze darted back as he checked over his shoulder. Just making sure everyone was still where they were supposed to be.

“The whole world is a circus, Jacob.”

[llyrofthesea]

captaingraves​:

Jacob’s patience wore thin and he thought to interrupt Llyr to spit it out already. Inevitable? Jacob didn’t know the scope of what was going on at the palace, but if his current situation with several guns pointed in his direction was any indication, then he wasn’t the only one in trouble. Why they felt the need to endanger innocent people just to get to him was unfathomable, and stupid.

So it was probably the Outlaws.

“Who’s responsible for this operation? Deacon?” Who else would have wanted Jacob Tierney? Jacob could count on one hand the number of pirates still alive that hated his guts. Otherwise, he hadn’t made a habit out of making enemies.

“I need assurance that Malle is safe. Then I’ll go with you.” He wasn’t in a place to negotiate, but if he couldn’t get through to Malle’s own brother, then at least he wouldn’t feel sorry about beating the shit out of him the first chance he got.

-

Llyr thought to point out that he had clearly not received any additional information about his sister’s whereabouts in the past ten seconds or so since she’d last been brought up in this conversation. How could he possibly give that assurance? Or perhaps he ought to bring up the hypocrisy in the way Jacob only seemed to care about the welfare of royals when it affected him directly. Hypocrisy or human nature, Llyr mused silently.

But the prospect of compliance was enticing. He certainly did not relish the thought of marching a prisoner around at gunpoint or, even worse, getting into some kind of tussle with the beast that was Jacob Tierney. If Llyr had learned one thing in his life, it was to avoid any fight he could not win.

“Malle’s safe.”

He paused.

“I’ll find her. Make sure,” said Llyr, amending himself. He suspected logic might catch up with the former captain eventually and expose the previous lie - that he could not know his sister was safe until he knew where she was. “Anything else before we go? Smoke? You might need it.”

[llyrofthesea]

captaingraves​:

A heavy exhale. Jacob clenched and unclenched his fist at his side. What he’d give to land his knuckles between the traitor’s eyes. Family or not. Jacob helped Llyr escape the shitshow that ended Riann’s island scheme, but nothing about their current situation led Jacob to believe they were still on the same side. As far as Jacob was concerned, Llyr was now the sludge on the bottom of his boot.

Jacob wasn’t thinking straight enough to suss out whether or not Llyr actually knew where Malle was. Or that he cared about his sister. Maybe Llyr wanted the throne. Or was it something bigger than that? Every second passed in the pulse pounding into his ears. “What’s all this? What do you want?”

-

“This is...” He scratched his forehead, trying to find the right word to describe what was happening here. So much he could say. Could did not mean should, though. Any good will he might have owed Jacob due to them technically being in-laws was thoroughly at odds with his current mission. Llyr gestured vaguely around the courtyard, and all those stationed around them.

“Inevitable.”

However many years in the making as pirates had been at odds with the rest of civilization. It had all been building toward this moment, had it not? Or series of moments. He took another drag to steady himself with a familiar sense of motion.

“I didn’t know it would be you. Brought out here.” Llyr spoke quietly. Barely raised his eyes from the ground. He’d known a lot more about the initial infiltration phase of the plan. “But it’s you he wants then.”

[llyrofthesea]

captaingraves​:

A voice broke through the silence, not a gunshot. Jacob glanced over his shoulder to find that the gunman that had prodded him into the courtyard had stepped back and away. Then he looked straight ahead again, squinting into the shadows to try and see the face of whoever was smoking in the shadows.

The voice was familiar. Jacob knew viscerally a split second before he actually placed it. This was a new low for Llyr.

Jacob expected one of the gunmen would take him out before long and he couldn’t stand the thought of his last few moments being wasted on pointless conversation. On the other hand, they might want something, which could actually be worse.

Jacob took one breath in and one breath out. Still alive. “Tell me where Malle is.”

-

“I don’t watch over princesses anymore.”

Queens. His sister was a queen now. Though he had not meant to slight her position nor reference any ambitions toward his own birthright, he cringed. He would have suspected both if the roles had been reversed. Of all the things he hated about court, the little word games were near the top of the list. Llyr hunched forward. He dragged the bottom of his shoes against the pavement, moving away from the security of the wall. Paused. Glanced toward the guns on the roof. 

"Where’d you see her last?” he asked. “I can ask around.”

[llyrofthesea]

battleroyalehq​:

The Courtyard

A gun jabs Jacob Tierney in the back, nudging him through a doorway leading to a palace courtyard secluded by four inner palace walls. Gunmen are silhouetted by rooftop lights with rifle barrels aiming down at the prisoner. It’s eerily quiet. Wait here, the prisoner is told. Jacob lifts his eyes to the sky and just hopes it’s quick.

@llyrofthesea @captaingraves

Anyone can start the thread. Please post on your own blog and tag your partner!

Every palace held a wisp of familiarity. Manicured lawns and ancient stone etched so firmly into his soul that even decades of time spent elsewhere could not erase it. He slouched against one of the palace walls, keeping to the shadows. His hand shook once as he brought a cigarette to his lips. Not from any lingering doubts about being here, but the entrenching feeling of being cold he could never seem to shake. He clicked his lighter. Tilted his head, and cupped his hand around the flame.

Llyr drew in a deep breath. He wondered if this was, as so many things were, yet another test of his loyalty. Though that begged the question of why stick him with the husband rather than a once beloved sister. Maybe not a test then, but a final severing of ties. Forgiveness could surely not be sought with the Welsh court after whatever happened next. Which was fine. What chance had he ever had at forgiveness anyway?

“It’s a good night for star watching,” he said, noting the direction Jacob was looking.

@captaingraves​

[ameliathermopolis]

[llyrofthesea]

zaida-khatabi​:

–

“I have some books you might like to borrow.” The image of him cleaned up with combed hair and expensive clothes fit for a prince came easily. The same forward hunched shoulders and large eyes peering into a book, turning crisp new pages without the dirt under his nails. “What is your favorite of the classics? I know, it is a tough question. It would be for me. What is the first one that comes to mind?”

But why did he turn traitor against the family crown. Why was he there, ankle deep in dingy water at the bottom of a pirate ship?

Zaida would draw it out of him. The real details. Of course Deacon had filled them in, explained a Welsh prince’s story, and deliberated over the decision to offer Llyr a spot on board with the crew’s approval. These things were as important as the classic novel he would name.

She thought about his question. “I don’t like inspirational quotes. I don’t like Taylor Swift. Okra. Reality television.” Kardashians intruded into the weirdest spaces, even in the middle of the ocean. “We have something in common we don’t like too.” Inequities the monarchies continued to create in the world. A subject for a late night conversation, when they could sit crossed-legged in the haze of smoke and red wine as the crew snored gently around them. Coming from royalty, moderation probably wasn’t in his vocabulary.

“You have seen the bilge. I want to show you the navigation room before the sun comes up. If there is another part of the ship you would like access to, I can take you there as well.” Past midnight or not, she did have a job to do. Zaida motioned to the ladder up, letting Llyr go first.

-

Llyr stumbled over the the questioned. Muttered something about needing a minute or two to think about it. There was something about being put on the spot, forced to chose a favorite and cast other loves aside, that had him drawing a blank. Such am answer could not be easily pinned down. Not without a long justification, and several footnotes. He had never been one for long drawn out ramblings. Particularly when addressing someone with whom he had only just become acquainted.

Trust was important in all walks of life. It also happened to be something Llyr carried in short supply. He glanced cautiously at the ladder and then back at the first mate, seeing no immediate cause for alarm yet feeling it deep within his bones. His fault, really, for suggesting they come down here in the first place. This would be a good place to get rid of someone, but then they  would need a new navigator. He forced himself to turn his back on the woman, and climbed the ladder.

“Yr Wylan,” he said, finally, as they moved away from the bilge. “For classics. If I had to pick one. It’s Welsh. Remarkable imagery.”

He let her take the lead, trying not to make it obvious that he been to the navigation room before. Her tour was a bit late for that. But it was fine. He certainly hadn’t gone poking about all the cupboards, and she had mentioned something about leftover tools. Of course, all of that was a moot point when they arrived, and he spied his pile of papers taking up counter space near the door.

No, he hadn’t ventured much into the room itself, but he had left behind the map he’d been sketching out. Surrounded by little scraps of paper with small notations about the length of a corridor or the placement of a storage closet, and so one. Exactly like the crumpled napkin he was currently carrying in his pocket.

“You said something about... tools? Left behind?”

[cescedes-deactivated20210628]

Aneurin Barnard as Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart INTERLUDE IN PRAGUE (2017) 

[llyrofthesea]

zaida-khatabi​:

-

Zaida liked to take the lead but let the energy of wanting to direct him to the navigation slip away. There would be many other scenarios in which Llyr would need to take a back seat to the first mate. If he wanted to see the bilge pump, so be it. He better hope he was an irreplaceable navigator. 

She said nothing about the shoes hanging around his neck or any other choices made climbing lower into the ship. If anything, every step Llyr took offered her insight and begged questions. Zaida shuffled slow behind him with a flashlight. 

You like Mary Howitt? “I told you, I like a lot of things.” The New York Dolls. True crime podcasts about serial killers and unsolved murders. Martha Graham. Jellyfish Lake in Palau. Old poems, musty smelling used books, worn down map pencils and fresh sketchpads. 

She smiled at the dark curls looped around the back of his head. “I know about the drop off. Thank you. You might want to stop– there is a deeper one a step in front of you.” The beam of the flashlight moved around him to highlight the pump. “Billy and Frenchie maintain the bilge. Sometimes they ask for help, if you’d like to know more about it.”

Zaida paused. “Do you read poetry or just Mary Howitt?”

-

Silently, Llyr committed the names to memory. Billy and Frenchie. Maintainers of the bilge. He didn’t care to know more. Not from a perceptive of personal interest or in terms of being able to do his job. But he also knew it wouldn’t hurt to be ready with something to talk about. Deference and attention might win him a couple of allies.

He balked at her question. Inspected the patch of dirty water illuminated by the beam of her torch. How much to say and when were the two eternal questions. Left to his own preference, Llyr wouldn’t have said anything at all. He would have been happy to stare at the water. Nothing more. Let the sound of gentle lapping against the side of the boat fill the space currently occupied by chit-chat.

“Yes,” he answered softly.

“Had an upbringing in the classics. Taken with it at a young age, I guess, and there’s plenty enough time to read at sea.” Although reading poetry took a back seat to his sketching. While his sketch book went everywhere with him (this foul smelling cranny excluded), his literature books usually remained in his sleeping quarters.

“What’s something you don’t like?”

[llyrofthesea]

margaretofwales​:

It was the first real conversation she’d had in recent memory, save those with Jacob. And even those, she tried to hedge in a little. Keep it lighter. Pare down to just the facts. He was quick to act and slow to forgive, and Malle was careful to only speak on what she knew – or believed – to be true. But at least with Jacob, she was honest. She couldn’t say that many other places.

Tiring didn’t begin to cover it.

Malle laughed softly, rueful. A nod, though that didn’t translate well into the phone. “I wouldn’t mind doing some of it over again, too.”

She got up, the phone that was not-hers a little too small in her hand, and walked into the antechamber. The moonlight streamed in through tall, leaded windows, casting angular shadows on the floor. “For the longest time, I wished I hadn’t come home that weekend. If I’d just stayed in Edinburgh–”

I wouldn’t have been kidnapped. Malle pushed the thought resolutely away, unwilling to consider it farther. If she hadn’t gone to the island, she wouldn’t have fought, she wouldn’t have met Jacob, she wouldn’t have –

“What was dad like?”

The topic shifted as quickly as her thoughts, so routinely jumping from one problem to another. Malle felt adrift, caught in the throes of a political web she only barely saw the threads of, afraid to hold too tightly and unable to let go.

“I can’t – I found his diary, his ledger. It’s all business. There’s no heart to it. And you knew him better than I. What was he like?”

-

Llyr was content enough to let her talk. He didn’t have anything to add when she brought up Edinburgh short of ‘they probably would have found you anyway’. Not something he imagined she’d want to hear. Some countries had been easier, practically offering their offspring up on a platter. Others had kept treasured heirs on a short leash. Wales had been somewhere in the middle.

But he didn’t have long to think about it. The conversation turned to an equally unnerving topic. Llyr glanced again at the clock on the wall. Silently willed the long hand to jump forward so he might bow out gracefully with mention of the late hour. Make it back to the ship while telling himself not to stay up all night thinking about it. About him. Even though he would.

“Suppose there’s no one else to ask.” The family had dwindled significantly since their youth. A family he technically wasn’t even a part of anymore. Surely she could see how that colored his opinion. When Llyr spoke again, his voice was so soft it was almost imperceptible.

“He was a conniving, heartless prick. A king before anything else. Gideon had me convinced he was losing his mind at the end there, but dunno how much of that was real.”

There was a pause.

“Sorry.” Another pause and then, “Why do you ask?”

[llyrofthesea]

margaretofwales​:

She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say. Yes, it should be me, and you know it? That would send her straight to her security advisors, posting warnings that were subtle but plain, always keeping an eye for a man who looked awfully like her. No, it sounds awful and I couldn’t be happier?

Well, she didn’t think she could feel much less lonely – but that might do it.

Malle bit her lip, unconsciously shifting on the bed so her legs dangled over the side, her back toward Jacob. Other ambitions. It wasn’t either answer, and it should have felt like a relief. Instead, her spine tensed.

“Like what?”

His question landed nearly concurrently, and for a moment, the line was filled with crackling silence, Malle unwilling to speak up and so desperate to listen. And then it went on a bit too long, and she worried that she’d lost him. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

She was divinely chosen, of course. Called upon by God and whomever else. The coronation had made that clear.

“I wish I’d learned how,” she mused, in a way that was part muse and part concession. “Before I had to.”

-

That was a mood.

“I understand.” In a way, it reiterated the point he’d kept to himself that divine right to rule was nothing more than an archaic notion. He would have been no better prepared. Their brother knew how, but lacked whatever part of the human brain fought against the corruption of absolute power. That wasn’t even getting into the debate of whether acting unethically could at times be necessary for the greater good.

“When I - ” He cleared his throat. “When I left home. Being out on my own, there were so many basic things I wish someone had taught me first. Or if I could go back then knowing what I know now, you know? Do it all over again. Do it different.”

Of course if he had the chance to do it all over, Llyr wouldn’t help Gideon this time. Then all of the knowledge would be for nothing. He wouldn’t be anywhere near a ship. He’d still have no idea what he was doing.

“Just be different mistakes then, I guess.”

[llyrofthesea]

zaida-khatabi​:

“The prettiest little parlour that ever you did spy,” she murmured, mostly to herself. Doubtful Llyr would find the bilge to be a neat space. Maybe he was a freak about safety or had a compulsion to check the ship top to bottom. Despite blatantly ignoring Zaida’s hint to get moving towards his actual job, she did not exactly mind the detour. 

Zaida watched him cuff up the hem of his pants. He didn’t take off his shoes. The bilge inspection was becoming more interesting by the minute. “No, they were not a hoarder. But… well, you’ll see soon.”  A small, airy laugh. “There will be a lot to write down on your napkin.”

She still wanted to know what was scribbled there, but. Llyr decided he was ready, and Zaida hopped up. She gracefully balanced between two heavy side to side sways the waves caught the boat in. Traversing a few feet away she opened a built in trunk and removed two pairs of boots, likely a few sizes too large for both of them. 

She tossed a pair over to Llyr. “Put those on.” Did he really think she would let him trudge through a few feet of smelly sludge and rust colored water any other way? She thought it over for a few seconds but it wouldn’t be a terribly warm welcome to allow Llyr to do so. She began to change out of her Doc’s too. “I’ll be right behind you.” 

-

Sounded like a hoarding situation. Despite what she’d said to the contrary. There was only so much storage space on a ship. Everyone knew that. Excessive belongings weren’t a taboo so much as generally accepted as a bad idea. There had to be room to move around. Yet... he found himself wanted to know what this mysterious collector had in the navigation arsenal. If she was attempting to pique his curiosity, she had done it. Even if his blank expression refused to show.

He barely caught the flying boots. Clutched them to his chest. Fumbled with one that still seemed intent on slipping from his grasp. Good thing he’d put his napkin away. He’d never have managed without both hands at the ready. It took a moment for him to sort out the boots, and swap them for his current shoes. Suspecting that it might not be the last time something was tossed in his direction, Llyr tied the laces of his shoes together and hung them around his neck.

He trudged through the water, mainly because the boots were a size too big. He had to keep his feet positioned just so to avoid stepping right out of them again. The longer they were down here, the more Llyr was growing accustom to the smell. Dank and salty, but not fresh like the ocean waves on the other side of the wall.

“You like Mary Howitt?” he asked over his shoulder, stepping slowly through the murky water. The toe of his boot bumped against an edge.

“Careful. Bit of a drop on the right.”

[llyrofthesea]

zaida-khatabi​:

Lear. A name with an edge like the petal of a rose. It almost sounded incomplete. The hint to toss what was clenched in his hand was not accepted. What was he hiding under the dirt of his nails and tightly flexed knuckles? 

Haven’t been to the bilge yet. Was he… for real? The bilge?! No one had ever asked Zaida to see the bilge. Llyr, with the lovely name, had to be joking. She wasn’t sure yet if she thought it was funny or not. 

–

Zaida used both hands to turn the circular lock on the floor of the boat. The hatched opened and she swept a flashlight through the small hole. First, she highlighted the ladder down to the bottom of the ship, the last few rungs covered in rust. Then the light shined on a few inches of murky water below. Next, the pump whirling and wheezing in the corner. Llyr would hear it at night, when no one made a sound, other than Zaida singing New York Dolls songs in her cabin. 

Bringing the flashlight up, she caught the silver of a freshly woven spider web at the narrow corner of the cylindrical descent down. “Pretty,” she said in a hushed voice, mostly to herself. 

Zaida turned her eyes and the light on Llyr. “I didn’t know we had a bilge inspector on board. I hope it passes. I’d be mortified if it didn’t.” A playful gasp. “You will want to roll up the bottom of your pants.” Still kneeling beside the hatch, she flicked a nail at Llyr’s wonky folded up end of a pant leg. 

She could sew them properly. In fact, they really bothered her. He would have fresh hems on all his pants by morning. 

If he was still onboard. The flashlight was handed over. “When you are ready to do real work, I will show you around the navigator’s office. The last one we had left many tools. I stored them but will need to show you where. You can throw out any you don’t need. It won’t hurt his feelings.”

-

“Will you walk into my parlour, said the spider to the fly,” Llyr muttered, gazing up at the spot where the beam of light reflected off gossamer threads. Pretty. A surprisingly good word for it. He didn’t expect anyone working on this boat to go running from a spider or too, but neither would he have expected them to see the beauty. He was learning all manner of things on this tour. 

When his guide appeared to be occupied with the latch, Llyr took the opportunity to pull out his pen. Jotted a note on his napkin. Hastily stuffed both his pen and his map into his pocket. Then he shuffled a little to the side when she poked his trousers. Wondered if he ought to point out that the bilge was a vital part of not sinking into the depths of the ocean even though she was clearly teasing. Someone should have been inspecting it regularly.

Silent as usual, he leaned down and rolled up his trousers. Two thin, hairy ankles appeared. What was the point of not getting his clothes wet, if his shoes were going to get soaked through. That was a far worse predicament. Exactly how people ended up with foot rot. Still, he climbed down the ladder and accepted the torch.

“Rather re-purpose if I can’t use,” he said, shining the light over the bilge pump.

“Unless your last navigator was a real hoarder?”

Throwing away was lazy. If he couldn’t re-purpose, he’d sell. But Llyr kept that plan to himself. Just like he planned to keep all the potential profit. He assumed he’d have to offer up a cut, if not the entire thing, to the ship if they found out he was hawking old tools.

“Ready when you are.”

[llyrofthesea]

zaida-khatabi​:

You like coffee? “I like a lot of things.” A sliver of a smile. “I like coffee at this time of night.” Wired and alert as everyone softly snored around her was preferred. Really, Zaida did not sleep much. There wasn’t a need to share the detail with a stranger.

She studied him from a distance. Deacon said he was a traitorous royal. Zaida could not imagine a crown on the mop of curls moving so soundless in the galley.

The first mate uncrossed her legs and slid off the table. After a few steps she leaned against a counter furthest from Llyr to take further notes. Building a dossier, creating a profile. Picking out the details possible under the bare galley bulb. Her eyes moved from his hand clutching something to his face. She pointed across from him to a lower cabinet as the corners of her mouth lifted more. “The bin is over there if you need to throw anything away.”

“I’m the first mate. Zaida.” No hand was offered to shake. The last navigator had to leave hastily. She wondered if Llyr had found the navigation room she had organized herself. Zaida expected new pirates to take initiative. Ask for directions or for something to do. As far as she knew, Llyr had not. “Drink your tea and I will show you where everything is onboard.”

-

Vague. Intriguing? Maybe. Coffee at night wasn’t outside the norm for anyone working the third shift, but a lot of things seemed like an invitation to ask - what things. Cat videos on the internet were always popular. Maybe she enjoyed 15th century poets or watching water drain swirl patterns. There were a lot of things in the world. Llyr didn’t press further.

Although acutely aware of the lithe figure drawing closer, pushing into the large bubble of personal space he afforded himself when room was available, he kept his head down. Didn’t look over. Didn’t make eye contact. Simply continued making his cup. Though he kept track of her position from his peripheral. His attention flickered over to the rubbish bin when she pointed it out.

Good to know. Nothing worse than searching through unfamiliar cupboards.

“Lear,” he responded when she introduced herself, “Pleasure.” So this was the absent first mate. Zaida. Apparently being shown around wasn’t completely off the table. He considered asking if giving tours was among the many the things she liked. Amusement tugged at the corners of his lips, but disappeared as he turned to face her. He held a cup in one hand, and crumpled up his napkin in the other.

“Haven’t been to the bilge yet. Could we start there?”

[llyrofthesea]

margaretofwales​:

It was funny, in a morbid sort of way. For so long, she had been the one cast out, disposed of in far-away boarding schools, assigned externships in other nations. He had been safe at home, beloved by their parents. He’d seen their mother before she died. It would have been a lie to say she didn’t hold it against him.

I don’t need a gift. She wanted to tease back. Malle always felt on the verge of an apology with Llyr, her childhood fondness for him and the desperation to cling to the only family that remained immediately conflicted with the threat he posed to her rule. She pressed her lips together for a moment.

“Anglesey.” The manor home where they’d grown up, now attended by staff and little else. His room was still untouched, her own almost a museum in its preservation. “Send it to Mrs. Holbrook. She’ll get it safely to me.”

A pause. Another one.

Half a dozen questions flitted through her mind: how can I contact you? Are you happy? Is this what you want? Do you want to come home? But she couldn’t offer that, couldn’t open the door until –

“Do you wish it was you, here, on the throne, Llyr?”

-

Names familiar enough that Llyr didn’t need to write himself a note, but it gave his hand something to do. He scratched out a few initials on his napkin. Barley legible. To anyone else it would be nothing more than a piece of trash, and a scribble where, perhaps, someone had tried to test the ink in their pen. He traced over the letters a second time, digging into the paper until there was a tiny rip.

There was a long silence.

His birthright. Just thinking that sent of prickle of unease down the sides of his neck. There were things that could be done with the kind of money and power supplied by the monarchy. More than a person could hope to accomplish from a tiny navigation room at sea. He swallowed hard. Aware that whatever he said next might be taken as a declaration of some sort. Not his intention. War was coming, but not like that. 

“Gideon desired the throne. I have... other ambitions.”

He dropped his pen, and moved his drink to cover the what he had written.

“Do you wish it was someone else leading the country?” he asked, exchanging one loaded question for another.

[llyrofthesea]

margaretofwales​:

Sometimes they spoke about him. Never by name. The second prince, they’d say, before quickly ushering to a new topic. Llyr’s name was struck from all the books, his lands re-allocated or left dormant, his portrait removed from the Gallery. It was as though he hadn’t existed, at any rate: just the four of them, the King and Queen and Gideon and Malle. And hardly Malle, either.

His voice snapped her back to the present, fingertips plucking at the blanket.

She glanced sidelong at Jacob, his gaze fixed on a book that he was very clearly not reading. Malle smiled, and she couldn’t immediately catch his eye. He was never one for stealth. “Yes,” Malle said, still looking at him. “He’s the one.”

God save her, or Wales.

Looking away, she focused on a small writing desk across the room. “I would’ve told you–” she began, faltering on excuses. And would she have? She liked to think so. He’d always been her favorite brother. Malle pressed her lips. “Where do you work now?”

Speaking from a distance had its advantages. She couldn’t see the way he pursed his lips, or began plucking the corner of his napkin until it ripped. He didn’t understand it. Tried. Sort of. Jacob had been involved with the plot to kidnap her, and now he’d be consort to a queen as if he were somehow more trustworthy than any of the rest of them. The phone line crackled as Llyr exhaled.

Would she have told him? Doubtful.

“Doing some odd jobs.” He considered how much more he could say while still being truthful. “Traveling. Keeping to the coasts mainly. Which... this number’s only good another day or so. I’ll be out of range soon.”

He paused. Unsure of what to say next.

“Should I send your gift directly to the palace?”