Dara

Meeting Random

A game log from A Grand Affair
includes Dara, Benedict, Random

Benedict had proposed to Dara that there be a meeting with the King before the Affair. So about a week or two prior, he made her aware that they should soon travel to fabled Amber.

This moment would not be so spontaneous as to not have been preceded by a Trump call to Random, to insure his Majesty was prepared for a young guest.

"You will surely wish to meet this young lady, your Majesty. A face familiar and yet, not quite known. There are interests and favors to the Eternal Realm if your time might be invested in welcoming her... ....if you wish to hold something official at a later date, the Affair under arrangement seems felicitous."

"Of course, dear brother. I'm currently in the counting-house, counting out my money, and the Exchequer thinks I'm talking to myself again, which makes him happy as he is paid extra to ignore such things. If you wish to come to me with your lady-friend."

"Lady."

"Friend."

"Hey, is this some sort of bizarre 'introduce the new girlfriend to the family' thing?"

"Hardly. Settle your accounts." Benedict extends his hand. "I shall send the lady through first, of course."

Dara steps through, dressed as Dara usually is, comfortably, but with no blade by her side. She watches Random with curiosity and an open expression.

Random stands before a large window, looking out over a moonlit harbor and a City built into a Mountainside and sprawling at the mountain's feet. Random is wearing a pair of heavy pants and short boots and a small towel around his neck. Near the room's other window Dara sees an elaborate array of drums and cymbals attached to metal pipes.

Random holds her hand for slightly longer than is necessary.

Dara is either not bothered, or too well-trained to notice.

While he shows no signs of shortness of breath, it is clear that he has been exercising. "Your pardon. My brother, as usual, took me by surprise." He is smiling. When he moves, Dara may notice the drumsticks poking out of his back pocket.

Benedict smoothly introduces Dara to the King of Amber. "Dara of Hendrake, this is King Random. Your majesty, the young lady who once showed us our father's ring and pledged to assist us in troubled times, Dara the Younger, recently arrived from difficulties in the Courts of Chaos."

Dara curtseys (lanky she may be, but she also has grace).

Benedict continues, "I had a hand in circumventing misplaced Chaos justice. The lady has been held without recourse since the treaty was signed, your majesty. I believe under its provisions, she would be accounted a member of the Amber entourage and should have been repatriated to us within ninety-nine days of the battle at the Abyss."

At the mention of her incarceration, there are shadows in Dara's expression. She does not volunteer more information, choosing to remain silent at this moment, and let Random respond.

"Dara, welcome to Amber. Or welcome back, as it were. We are pleased that it takes less than troubled times to bring you to us. And as always, we welcome our brother's ardent defence of our treaty rights." He nods to Benedict.

Random vigorously applies the towel to his damp, spiky hair.

"What brings you to Amber, Dara of Hendrake? Surely not the opportunity to enjoy the snare drum stylings of the King of Amber?" He reaches behind him for a shirt that is draped on the open windowsill.

Dara's watchful gaze follows his movements. "Any number of things," she replies. She stands at ease, lightly balanced and tipped just slightly onto the balls of her feet. "Among them, my promise to Oberon. My son. And..." she waits a moment for him to turn back, so that he is looking at her when she speaks. "I seek asylum from Chaos. I have spent the time since the war incarcerated, and I bring my loyalty to Amber, in exchange for safety. If you would have me, Sire."

Random shrugs his way into his shirt and gestures towards a group of chairs. There is a decanter and several glasses on the low table they encircle.

"I will, for a price, Lady. I shall require two things of you. Primus, your oath of loyalty. And B, that you tell me how you came to meet my father, and win his trust, and what transpired with him after that."

"Your training regarding our culture no doubt employed many hours dedicated to the Amber sense of negotiation in all things." Benedict comments simply as he moves to the chairs offered. The warmaster stops at the seating group, touches one bottle lightly, then another--the second he opens--splashing a finger's width of brandy into a glass neatly.

"I have been trained in everything necessary to negotiate with Amber," Dara murmurs.

"We lose money on every deal, but make up for it in volume," Random replies.

Benedict smiles and savors his drink.

She moves to the group of chairs. She pauses for a moment, then selects a glass and pours the liquor into it, not really much concerned what the liquor itself is. She does not sit just yet, still serious as she says, "Sire, my oath of loyalty is yours, here and now or before others, as you prefer." She remains standing, demeanor serious, until Random responds to that.

Random chuckles. "For now, the assurance of it will do. Please, sit."

Then she sits, drawing both legs up to sit cross-legged in the chair. "As for Oberon... he found me. Whether he was looking for me regarding the stir I had already caused, or whether it was for reasons outside of that -- he never specified. But he came to me, at a time when I was unhappy with the role Chaos had planned for me, and he offered me Amber's protection, if I were to play the game from Amber's side. I accepted and gave my oath to him, and he in turn gave me his promise."

She cocks her head, watching Random's reaction. Her liquor is untouched, swirling slightly in her glass as unconsciously swirls it. "And so I did what he asked... the details of which are likely unimportant now. I have acted in Amber's interests. And when that was known in Chaos, I was imprisoned for my crimes against Chaos.

"What did you think of my father as a person?"

Benedict moves closer to the window, studying the horizon, or perhaps the past.

Dara is thoughtful at that question, and does not answer right away. "I find it hard to think of him as a father," she muses first, as she tries to find the words she seeks. "He was a man who took a bad situation, and was skilled at turning it to his advantage. But he was closed. He didn't let me get an impression of him. In many respects, I suppose he had much in common with my mother -- he had a plan for me. The difference was, he gave me a choice of whether to follow his path or not. Which was an improvement." She looks at Random. "I did get the impression that he had a plan for everything. And that sometimes the choices he gave weren't exactly choices at all. Simply expectations with a push in his chosen direction."

"Amber..." Random begins, and pauses. He looks back at her and starts again. "Amber is eternal or at least thinks she is, and I am not Oberon, which Amber forgets from time to time. I'm not sure if I'm more improvisational or if he'd learned to bluff better."

Dara nods, considering that silently.

"So, what do you think you'll do now that you're here? Do you play?"

Her gaze darts to the drum kit. "Music? No... I never had the luxury of learning. I can see where it would be fun." She returns her attention to Random. "Honestly, I haven't thought past the getting here. I've been enjoying my freedom lately, and just regaining my footing in the world. I spent a good part of my life working towards goals. Then I spent a long time doing nothing but sitting around with my own mind for company. Right now, I'd like to fall somewhere in the middle." She grins suddenly, not really from anything said, but rather just a sign that she is relaxing and in a good mood.

Random grins back. It's an easy, comfortable grin. "So how much of a splash do you want to make in Amber? I'm thinking we should introduce soon, but not immediately. There's a big conference coming up in a couple of days," he explains, "ostensibly for trade issues, but also a celebration of ten years of surviving my kingship and to let loose a whole lot of steam. People are just starting to get used to the idea of me, which is either a good or a bad thing.

"I think we'd do better introducing you there. That would be, I think, the middle."

"That sounds good to me," Dara agrees easily. "Benedict told me of the event, and I had hoped to attend. I'll be ready."

He looks slightly more serious now. "Is there anyone in particular I should or shouldn't tell before your grand unveiling?"

Benedict turns from the window. His gaze goes directly to Dara, his hand swirling the tiny remnant of liquor in his glass.

Dara's eyes lift to meet his gaze, questioning for a moment.

She draws no information from this but that he is interested in -the- answer, her answer, and perhaps the King's question and presentation of the matter.

Dara takes some time, her gaze sweeping around the room as she thinks. She chews on her bottom lip. She takes a deep breath and lets it out in a long sigh. "Martin knows." She leaves it that simple, meeting Random's serious look. "Please don't tell Merlin -- it will cause enough confusion when he realizes that I am not the Dara he thinks I am, and I think it would make it worse if he knew ahead of time. That mess is mine to sort out. And Corwin." Her expression withdraws. "I do not want him to know."

He raises an eyebrow. "You should know best. You do, don't you? It's not like they won't figure it out soon enough..."

Her back stiffens, her chin rises, and stiff pride sets her expression. "Corwin can find out at the same time as everyone else. It will get the point across.

The King shrugs. "As you wish. I am perfectly happy to have the joke be on him, as long as he doesn't return it between my shoulder blades. We have a strict rule against incitement to regicide."

Dara starts to respond, but

Random holds up one finger, his face now expressionless.

"There is one more thing. As a rule I require newly arrived family members to take up a musical instrument."

Dara relaxes abruptly, melting into amusement and delight. "I would enjoy that. Do you have a recommendation, Sire, for either instrument or tutor? And is there a deadline by which time I must become proficient?" Amusement dances in her eyes as she grins at him. It is impossible to tell whether she takes him seriously or is teasing -- but the pure delight at the idea is most evidently honest.

Benedict seems quietly ambivalent about the exchange. "I'm sure the King has a recommendation, and in his largess will also allow you to find your own path, should his choice prove too unlike your temperament. My King understands finding your own strength in music."

Dara nods, as does Random.

Benedict seems to be in a good mood.

"Aptitude and temperament is everything, Dara, in choosing your path," Random adds. Vocalists are those who must have their say, the rhythm section ties the performance together by giving the others a beat to cling to. Melodic instruments tell the story while the harmonies of an instrument like harpsichord build simple patterns into complex wholes. Some instruments have subtle emotions and some can only shout for joy.

Dara cocks her head, listening to what Random says, absorbing it, nodding again.

"Think about it and decide what it is you want."

Dara quirks a wry smile at that.

"It might be useful to listen first. Once you've made a choice, then we can see about finding a tutor. And the King does not mind if you later decide that you want to be multi-instrumental, it's easy to find a second voice once you've found your first.

"I think it will definitely take some experimentation... but it'll be fun." Dara grins. "I'll let you know what I decide. When I can finally settle on something."

Random says "As my brother will tell you, I can talk about music for hours, but I won't." He smiles and includes both of them in his next comment. "Are you staying now? Stewart Vent can prepare your quarters if you wish to retire."

Dara darts a glance at Benedict. "Were you intending to remain in Amber, Benedict? Or would you rather return when it is time for the event to begin?"

"We are close enough to a beginning that I will remain here in Amber," the prince replies. "Stewart is discreet--and has a good idea of who needs to know I am here--or not."

"In that case," Dara says, "I would be happy to stay as well. As long as I can avoid meeting anyone I don't wish to in the meantime." A quick impish grin says that she doesn't think that'll be a problem.

She turns back to Random. "And you can talk about music as long as you'd like -- I'd love to listen. Like I said, I've got a lot of learning to do." She flashes a grin.

"Corwin tells me that you fence," Random says abruptly.

Dara nods. She cocks her head, sitting forward and listening intently as Random speaks.

"That's good. It means you already know about rhythm and how to think with the beat. Music is like fencing. If Benedict has ever given you his "fencing is a dialog in a language with a limited set of words" speech, then you've heard the basic metaphor I use for music. There's less likelihood of pointy death and a much larger vocabulary, but the important part is the back and forth and the flow of conversation."

Dara continues nodding, absorbing what he says. A sudden smile quirks the corners of her lips at the lower likelihood of pointy death.

"Count."

Her eyes widen, and it takes a moment before she echoes, "Count? One. Two. Three. Four." The numbers are evenly spaced, like counting off steps as one walks. She stops, thoughtful. "The rhythm is like a practice movement. Like the feel of shifting through forms in a managed pattern, without losing control." She waves a hand as she speaks, the movement echoing her words. "Fencing is like breathing to me. Like coming alive. I'd love something else that felt that same way."

Random's hand goes behind his back and comes back with his drumsticks. He sits on the edge of his seat and leans towards Dara. "One, Two, Three, Four." Each word is a hit with the drumstick against Dara's thigh. Not enough to bruise, but not much less than that. Random looks quite serious. He tosses the other stick in the air, catching it on the off beats. After four he sits still, holding the one stick on Dara's leg and the other by the tip.

There is a moment of surprise at the first beat. Dara's expression remains intently focused, her eyes flicking to both the drumstick striking her leg and the one in the air, nodding in time to the beat he sets. After the first beat, her fingers keep the time against her leg.

"I have a hard time talking about music without talking in music," Random explains.

"That doesn't seem like a bad thing. Although I feel like I should be answering in kind, like sparring."

He holds out the second stick by the tip and brings the first into an close facsimile of a fencing guard position.

The grin bursts through as Dara takes the offered drumstick. She holds it first in an en garde position, then moves to "attack" without hesitation, hitting her drumstick firmly against the one Random holds. "The rhythm of attack and riposte. Strangely this also makes me itch to spar.". She falls silent then, striking Randoms's drumstick in four evenly spaced staccato strikes.

Random looks around the room and smiles as he sees the pair of rapiers on pegs on the wall.

"Then we shall," he says. "Let us change instruments." The room is big enough, barely. Random stands walks over to the wall, where the swords are hanging. He does not choose either, but waits for her. "I once dueled for 26 hours straight. We'll miss dinner if we do that."

Dara walks to join him. Her gaze sweeps the room, noting where furniture is, which spaces are open and which are closed, almost automatically. She notes the drum kit as something that is breakable, and should be avoided, and looks for anything else which might fall into that category.

She nods slightly to Benedict when her gaze falls on him. When she looks back at Random, her eyes are alight and she is grinning. "I've never tried to see how long I could last without stopping. When I trained, there were always stops and starts for lessons. I've rarely been able to duel just for the pure joy of dueling." For a moment, something serious flickers in her gaze, but it is put aside quickly. She examines the rapiers, and then selects one, dropping back a pace, blade up, ready and waiting.

Random takes the other and turns half away from her, swinging the blade, feeling the rhythm and the natural stroke of it. He nods and turns back to her, bringing his blade into the complementary guard position.

"Count," he says, smiling.

Dara's first thrust tests the waters, seeking to learn how he blocks, how he guards himself. The second and third as well, moving with enthusiasm and firm stroke, but still searching for the rhythm of the duel. With each stroke, the smile fades from her face, although her gaze remains lit with pleasure, her expression moving to intent upon her action and Random's reaction.

Once she finds the rhythm, or at least *a* rhythm, she remembers Random's direction and murmurs under her breath, counting with each stroke and parry.

[OOC: It is very obvious that this is something that Dara both loves and takes completely seriously. It makes her come alive.]

Random lets her find the rhythm and encourages it. He's good, but so is Dara. The main thing she notices about his style is that he seems much more intent on the play than on any particular line of attack, as if his goal is not to disarm or threaten, but to build a pattern in the give-and-take. While Random is being safe, Dara would be aware that she have no safety equipment and the blades are very sharp.

Dara is well aware of that, and keeps it in the back of her mind at all times.

After a bit Dara can tell that it's difficult not to be a part of the rhythm. Random is fencing such that a good fencer would find arrhythmic moves to be inferior or dangerous. He's not entirely in control, but it's as if she was dancing with him and he was leading.

Dara falls into that rhythm easily, finding the steps of the dance and following the pattern he sets. Finding that pattern is somehow relaxing and energizing.

After another little bit, Dara notices that he is humming. He grins at Dara and in a moment the two combantants are suddenly corp-a-corps.

Her eyes widen in a bit of a "whoops!" expression as she's brought up close.

"Bleys taught me a fencing skill that Benedict didn't. If you're going to do two things at once and one of them is fence, make sure you do them both well." He pushes off and resets at a fair distance from Dara.

Random salutes and resumes the attack, to the same beat. He grins and Dara can tell that he's using the same pattern that she have fenced with him before. This time, the difference is, he's singing. A nonsense song about a cat-knight sitting on a roof reading love-letters. And the rhythm of the duel is perfect for the words.

"Oh Seņor Don Gato was cat..."

Dara is grinning, both from the words of the song and from the experience. She tries to follow the tune but without losing track of her blade. The rhythm remains most important to her, the tune coming under her breath and emphasized with the pattern the duel creates.

Benedict watches. Watches. Nods once or twice.

Most of his expression has lost life, as if he had just this moment suffered from some paralytic attack. His eyes deny this, as the hazel seems to glitter with the reflections of the moving blades.

He dips a finger in his liquor, and then idly circles that finger on the edge of his goblet. The finger moves, and moving wrings a tune from the fine crystal. Soon, this tiny song forms a speeding counter mark to the swordplay at test.

As Benedict joins the music, Dara throws a brief glance at him, expression curious, but quickly returns her attention to the duel, where it is needed.

Random sings and fences to the end of the song, and he stops suddenly, although Dara knows he's about to from the lyrics.

Somewhat expecting it, Dara stops abruptly as well, putting up the blade, a ready grin still on her face and her eyes still lit with the pleasure of the fight.

"Thank you, Dara, that was quite enjoyable." He reaches over and pulls a cord that goes up to the ceiling. "I think I need some water now. Corwin was right."

Some of the light goes out of Dara's eyes. "Corwin was right?" she echoes. She reaches up with her free hand, brushing her hair from her eyes. Then she turns the blade to offer it properly to Random. "About what?"

Random takes the blade from her and turns to replace them on the wall. He pours two glasses of water from the sideboard. "You can fence."

A slight laugh. "I can fence," she agrees.

Benedict listens, finishes the brandy and sets the glass aside. "She was taught by Borel. One of the best. And she has a talent greater than I did at her age."

Eyes widen and Dara looks to Benedict, all smiles, openly pleased at the complement.

Benedict moves toward Random. "Corwin is not always out of step. She can fence and perhaps better than he knew. I think I'll be taking a turn through the guard barracks, seeing what faces I might know. I'll be nearby, if you need me, Random." He bows slightly and his open expression is respectful of something in the way he moves about the King.

Dara would almost say that Benedict has given high marks to the whole meeting. If this were a test.

"You know I don't believe that I believe you were ever her age, bror. We can talk again after you're settled in. See if you can find out why the guard didn't come piling in full of concern when the steel started singing."

The door to the room opens and a pinch-faced man looks in. "Ah, Vent, how good of you to come by. Have Prince Benedict's quarters prepared as well as quarters for our honored guest. In the family wing, please."

Random turns to Dara. "Would you care to freshen up? Vent can show you to your quarters. I'm afraid I have a few things to do before dinner."

"Thank you, yes." She glances between Benedict, Random, and Vent. "If we're staying until the event begins, there are probably some things I should take care of before then. Like appropriate clothing. Can someone help me with the proper protocol for that? And will there be any problems if I explore?"

"Vent will take care of all that. Vent runs the castle and I trust him like a third lobe of my own brain. We all do, really. Metaphorically, he's a shared lobe, and none of us could get by without him."

"By all means, kinswoman, explore, but try to be back for dinner."

Dara and Benedict depart with Vent and Random returns to his writing desk and begins composing a note.