Dara

Reunion: Martin & Dara, part 2

A game log from A Grand Affair
includes Martin, Dara

"I'd hope things wouldn't get so dramatic we'd need to go yelling for Benedict," Dara muses. She is curled up on the couch, and shifts slightly so that she is leaning into Martin. A sigh as she relaxes. "Damn... it's good just to be with people again. People I *like*."

Martin takes another sip from his snifter. "I can only imagine. But I'd rather not ruin this excellent brandy by doing so."

He considers his drink, then glances over at Dara. "I guess this means you're planning to stay this side for the foreseeable future, huh?"

Dara leans up and sets her drink down upon the table again. "Definitely. Going back to Chaos means imprisonment for me, and I certainly don't intend to give them that opportunity. So I guess you're just stuck with me being around." She grins at him, still leaning forward slightly, her elbows on her knees. "Think you can handle that?"

"I suppose I'll just have to learn how to cope," he says with a grin. "To coping," he adds, and drinks.

She picks up her drink again and raises the glass, then drinks. "To coping," she echoes. She leans back again, still cradling the drink in her hand. "Mind if I lean? Contact is... well... good, just now, and Benedict's not exactly the 'hold me' sort of person." She cocks her head, looking at Martin, waiting.

He nods, and shifts slightly to give her a better angle for leaning. When she settles, Martin slides his close arm around her.

Dara sighs, curling into him comfortably. "This is among the things I missed the most." One arm slides behind his back, to balance herself, and she holds her other arm carefully, so as not to spill her drink. She closes her eyes.

"So, is it truly all baby kissing and politics for you now?" Dara's tone is light and lazy, comfortable.

"Dad's needed a lot of help, not just from me, to fix things. On top of everything else, it turns out that a lot of the trade treaties expired when Oberon died. We had to renegotiate *every last one* of them. So, yeah, I've smooched a lot of babies over the last ten years. But I always knew I'd have to do that someday, so it hasn't been that awful."

The hand attached to the arm around Dara has started gently petting her arm, perhaps of its own volition.

A soft purr from the back of her throat... probably unconscious and certainly not interrupting her ability to talk. But definitely a comfortable, happy sound.

"It sounds like you're getting along okay with your father?" she asks. She finishes her drink and looks at the glass, not really wanting to move in order to set it down, and holds it up, hoping Martin will take it from her and get rid of it.

Martin finishes his own brandy, sets down his glass, and proceeds to take Dara's and set it down next to his.

Dara settles her free hand against Martin's waist, settling in more comfortably.

After a moment, he says, "We get along all right. He likes to hang out and do stuff. My friends all like him, think he's a hoot. Sometimes it's more like having a brother than an actual dad."

He shrugs, and lets that substitute for any further comment.

"I think parenting is a weird topic here to begin with," Dara muses. She lapses into silence, her fingers moving somewhere between toying with the fabric of Martin's shirt, and a simple light touch.

"Probably," says Martin. "I think everybody means well, but what's the saying? 'The road paved with good intentions leads to the abyss'? I'm gonna try to do better with my kids ... when I get around to having them, I mean. That's no guarantee I'll do any better; I'll just find new mistakes, I guess."

His own free hand slides under her arm so that he's holding her around the waist.

Dara turns more to him and starts to look up, but gets caught by his words and stills, looking a little like a deer caught in the headlights. A small, rueful smile flickers and then flits away. "Just do better than I did, ok? And trying... that's about all you can really do."

"I guess," Martin says. He shifts slightly, and strokes Dara's arm, as if soothing an unhappy cat.

It works, somewhat, and she relaxes slightly.

"I'm not good company. I'm sorry."

Dara shakes her head. "No, you are good company. You're exactly what I need right now. I've just spent far too long thinking things through over the last years, and now that I'm back out in the real world, things sneak up on me and surprise me." She rolls her eyes. "That'll take some getting used to. And besides, I picked the poor topic. Your turn." She snuggles back down against him, her head against his chest. "You pick the topic. Or don't talk at all." There is a soft teasing note that lilts the end that suggestion.

"Maybe that would be better," Martin says, and shrugs. "I seem to do better when I just shut up and go with the flow."

He doesn't sound like he's talking about Dara, or perhaps he missed the teasing tone in her suggestion.

For a moment, Dara is silent and comfortable. Thoughtful. Then she shifts to look up, her free hand sliding up to turn him to face her, and kisses him. Not too long, not too short either. Just long enough.

Martin's eyes close, perhaps reflexively, when she draws his face to meet hers. His breath catches slightly when their lips touch, and he relinquishes her reluctantly when she pulls away.

After opening his eyes, he says, "I think I'm going to be married in a year or so."

"Have you picked a bride?". She slides her hand along the line of his jaw, exploring the familiar contours. "And does that mean stop?". She is close, close enough to kiss him again but she does not.

"No," Martin says, a little hoarsely, but it's not clear which question it's an answer to.

Dara finishes her motion, kissing him again, and forgoing conversation for the moment, letting him set the pace this time.

Martin starts, as if he's surprised by her movement. Then, slowly, the hand that was petting Dara's arm slides up to cradle the back of her neck. He kisses her once, twice, thrice, each leisurely and tender.

That strange purr, soft and pleasured, vibrates softly from Dara's throat. She can't seem to find a place to settle her hand, stroking his jaw, then exploring the line of his neck and shoulder, and finally settling on the base of his neck, her thumb stroking lazily just above his collarbone.

Then he pulls back and opens his eyes and looks at Dara.

"I shouldn't," he says sadly.

Her eyes flicker open, her mouth still slightly parted from the kisses. "Why not?" She wriggles her arm from behind him, so now both hands lie upon his shoulders. "Did something else change while I was gone?" Her gaze remains on his, warm and smoky and ready to kiss him again but trying to wait for his answer.

"Me, maybe. I don't know." His lips press together in a thin line.

"Everything is complicated right now," he adds. His hand slides down her neck to her shoulder.

"Oh." Dara doesn't try to hide her disappointment. She kisses him one more time, softly, sadly. Then she sits back while still remaining within the circle of his arms. "Talk about it?"

Martin presses his lips together again, and shrugs. "I don't know what to say. It's just, I guess, that I'd kind of resigned myself to it, and seeing you reminded me--that it hadn't always been like this. That I hadn't always had to, to, do--stuff."

He doesn't let go of Dara.

She bites her lip, focused intently on his face. Almost as if she can't resist, her fingers brush across his cheek, then touch his mouth where the lines of stress radiate out from his lips. "Things change... and for you, and who you're supposed to be, I suppose that means well..." her voice trails off, and she shakes her head, her smile sad and rueful. "I don't understand entirely why it has to change things... it is a pity the rules of being a prince of Amber cannot change instead. And..." she stops, biting her lip again, and lets her words fall away.

Martin reaches around and takes the hand that's touching his face. "This is what I was afraid of, that you were going to think it was something to do with you. The problem is that the rules of being a prince haven't really changed. They're all still fractious bastards. And Dad only has one heir; if something were to happen to me, like a sneaky uncle, there's nobody and we're back in the position that led to Eric and, and--" and the unspoken name hangs heavy in the air for a moment like smoke over a raging flame.

Dara slips her hand from Martin's, finally breaking the circle of his arms as she sits back.

He closes his eyes, swallows once, then opens them again.

When he opens them, it appears that Dara is sitting upon her hands.

"If Dad had more kids, there'd be no problem. But he only has me, and Rebma has a claim on me too, even though if Moire has any sense she'll make Llew her heir and disown me like the disobedient boy I am. But for Amber, there has to be another heir, a, a spare, to keep the wolf from the door. So either I have to have one, or Dad has to. And there's never been so much as a whisper of Vialle being pregnant in fifteen years with Dad. So-- you see?"

"I see. I saw before," she says simply. "I'm well aware of the intricacies of royal succession, and the necessities of heirs." Her tone is dry for a moment. "Things in Chaos are just as specific, but more relaxed as well. After all... we know when we conceive -- we *intend* to conceive when we do and we do not otherwise. So the rules of marriage and succession have little to do with sex. I just hate to see you torn between duty and enjoying time with a friend."

Martin takes another long blink and lets out a breath. "It's my fault."

"Oh." Her hands come out from beneath her as she draws her legs up, knees bent, feet on the couch, her arms wrapped around her legs. "Well then, that's different. As long as you're happy." She nods then. "I'll stop tempting you. But..." a quirk of a devilish smile. "If you ever decide you want to be tempted, come looking for me."

Martin starts to say something and decides against. He reaches out to touch Dara's hand again, then pauses. "Corwin's in the same boat as my dad, you know. He's got a son, but he hasn't married."

Dara stiffens. "I hope you're not suggesting I'm a candidate for providing him *another* heir. I'm not intending marriage just now. And if I did, I'd rather marry someone I *know* beforehand." There is a wealth of bitterness in those words, revealing some hurt dealt by Corwin sometime in the past. "I'd offer to marry you," a flickering teasing smile of friendship, "but your father wouldn't gain anything political that way."

Martin swallows once, and blinks.

Dara grins at having caught him by surprise.

He opens his mouth, pauses, and says, "Oh, I don't know about that. You're of proven fertility--"

Dara rolls her eyes.

"--which is more than these virginal eighteen-year-olds I'm about to have shoved under my nose are." He wrinkles his nose. "I mean, I'm sure they're very *nice* eighteen-year-olds, but, still, you know."

"Are you sure they're virginal?" Dara asks. Then, as another thought occurs to her... "Does that mean you're going to..." she stops abruptly, shifting gears, "No, wait... you'd marry them without even trying first?" There is no rancor or jealousy in the statement, just the realization that he may well carry through with abstinence. Another thought occurs to her, her expression turning thoughtful, but that one is not voiced.

"Most of the Golden Circle kingdoms expect royal brides--and noblewomen of the class to become such--to remain virgins until they marry. And then they have to stay faithful to the husband. Otherwise there's no surety of paternity. Presumably my child will be able to walk the Pattern, I mean I guess so. I don't know if they expected me to be able to, or whether my child could. But that seems to be the current theory. That's another advantage you'd have as a bride," Martin says, grinning. "We know Merlin made it, so our kids probably would too."

Dara laughs, although that catches her attention. "He walked the Pattern? I'm glad he made it. They weren't sure I would. *I* wasn't sure I would."

He continues: "Anyway, about the girls, if I slept with one of them, it would probably end up in either a marriage or a huge political mess, so I wouldn't. Besides, it's not like I'd have to love the girl, or enjoy sex with her. I have to get her pregnant, that's all. For fun, I could have a mistress, or three, or a half-dozen. Women whom I'd take for mistresses aren't marriage bait, though, and it would be an insult to potential brides to mistake them for would-be mistresses."

He looks at Dara for a moment to see if she's followed his train of thought.

"I understand. But... if you can take mistresses after the marriage, why can't you before hand?" Dara looks honestly confused. "I was under the impression that for the men infidelity didn't matter. As long as it was circumspect. Or in shadow, where no one is paying attention." She shrugs. "But it doesn't really matter, I suppose, if I understand it completely."

"Well," says Martin, half-mocking, "you did just suggest marrying me, which I suppose puts you in the bride category and not the mistress category."

He looks around to make sure there are no pillows in grabbing distance.

Her mouth opens, caught by that logic, and she laughs. "If you ever decide to actually propose that idea to your father, warn me first." She grins. Then she sighs dramatically. "Just don't cast me aside like the rest of your cast-off candidates."

"Do I look like my name is Corwin?"

After a moment, he adds, "I didn't think you'd be interested in Corwin, but I'd have felt like a heel on the off chance you were and I'd misread you. I don't care much for Corwin, so it's hard for me to be fair about him."

"Corwin and I..." Dara stops, taking a deep breath and thinking through her words before she says them. "I'm not sure what I felt about Corwin then. But I didn't know him at all. He's a hell of a good fight," a slight smile as she remembers sparring with him. "But there wasn't anything like a relationship there. Not a friendship, not much of anything but sex. Then he killed someone I cared about, and didn't get that I was upset. That was an eye-opener." She stops to look at Martin. "What is it that you've got against him?"

Martin frowns. "Nothing I can put my finger on, really. He's just kind of a jerk. He gave me this pompous lecture the first time I met him and has never done anything to improve my impression of him," Martin shrugs. "I don't really talk about him with Merle, but I haven't gotten a vibe either way off Merle about him.

Dara nods, just taking that in, and not continuing that avenue of conversation.

"We can still, like, cuddle if you want to," he adds, suddenly awkward.

Dara wrinkles her nose, then grins. "Yes." She flops back in his direction, turning around so that she can lie down across his lap. "I wouldn't mind doing more, but I'll be damned if I'm going to give up a good, comfortable friendship. The rest," she reaches up to tap his nose, "you already know what you're missing. If you can live with this," she snuggles close, "so can I."

"Oh, it'll be hard." Martin gives her a big grin.

Dara smirks, and bites her tongue.

"But I'll manage somehow." He reaches down and starts petting her hair.

"Me too." Dara sighs happily. She closes her eyes, relaxing once again. "Can I ask you one more thing? About Merlin?" She pauses, expecting assent.

Martin nods.

[Dara continues] "Have you told him anything about knowing me?"

Martin considers his words before answering. "He knows I worked with you during the war. I get the feeling he doesn't like his--grandmother. We didn't talk about it much because of that. Kind of 'agree to disagree', you know?"

He continues stroking Dara's hair.

"Mm." Her eyes remain closed, her body curled over, one hand across his leg, lightly stroking. "Probably best. I could see where that conversation could have gone awkward fast. Which is why I asked. Any advice you can give? Since he's going to be getting a shock over finding out the truth? I'm figuring he'll be pissed. I would be."

"Not really," says Martin. "It's hard enough to be confronted with a parent you never met when you always knew he was out there. Finding out you have an extra parent that you never knew about has to be at least as hard."

"Mmph." She sort of shrugs a little. "I have a parent out there, I assume I do at least, who was never in the picture. I used to think I didn't care to meet him because he left me to my mother's plans. Time on my own had me wondering if he left or if he was pushed out, like I was. Still, there was some bitterness once, so I wouldn't blame Merlin for that. Although... I can't imagine how I'd feel if I found out she wasn't my mother. That there was another option."

He pets her near shoulder reassuringly. "I'm sure he'll get over it. We all have parent issues in this family. Some are just worse than others."

She opens her eyes, to look up at him. "He's your friend. Would you rather that he not know about our friendship? Or at least how close we've been? It's not something I plan to talk about just to talk about it, but it could come up. Which reminds me, what is proper public protocol for behaviour with the Prince -- you -- while I'm in Amber?" She quirks a grin.

"That depends on who you are. I would imagine my kinswoman and friend can get away with a certain level of familiarity that most people can't. On the other hand, if I do have to marry one of these poor eighteen-year-olds, I'd rather not start off by shaming her publicly with a woman she can't hope to equal. So ... you know?" Martin says.

Dara rolls her eyes and thwaps his leg lightly. "Flatterer."

"Hey!" says Martin. "It's true!"

He pauses a moment and adds, "Merlin already knows I don't like to sleep alone. He'll probably put two and two together on his own. I have a 'don't ask, don't tell' policy about that kind of thing with my dad, and it seems to work. So, you know, if you do, I really don't want to know about that. And I'll leave it to you to handle things with Merlin."

"I think 'don't ask, don't tell' is probably the best way to go. I doubt Merlin really wants to think about the idea of his mother... and I don't really want to think about what my son is up to. So those are some stories you can leave out." She turns away again, snuggling close. "About that sleep thing. Are you heading back to Amber right away, or will you be returning with us, for the event? And if you're staying, do you..." she hesitates, "I don't particularly like to sleep alone just now. Just *sleep*. Nothing else."

Martin's hand slides down her back, then gently back up to her neck. "I didn't have any definite plans. I can stay here tonight." He continues stroking her hair with the other hand.

"Mm." A soft purr in the back of her throat as she shivers slightly. "Good."