Dara

Cymnea's Kin

A log from A Grand Affair
includes Dara, Merlin

The room is bright as the late morning sun streams in. Tall windows, each a delicate tracery of lead and clear beveled glass, attest to the antiquity of this part of the castle. They draw the eye to the intricately detailed ceiling, the high vaults carved and crafted to make the stone seem as delicate as lace.

Light casts soft rainbows as it exits the glass upon the walls of the room. These have been painted with whitewash leavened with ocher to achieve a color that approaches the mellow tone of buttermilk. The rhythm of the windows is interrupted in the center as the wall curves out in a half round to encircle a deep pool set within its radius.

A flash of color and a widening ripple announces a denizen of the pool, one of several bright and beautiful koi. A small fountain plays a soft murmuring melody upon the water, and light reflects from this surface to cast shimmers upon the ceiling and the walls. Pots arrayed around the pool are filled with lacy leaved ferns, their shadows adding to the charming play of textures in the room.

Merlin pauses at the door, noting the fresh linens on the scattered tables, and grateful for the emptiness of the room. It is late for breakfast, early yet for lunch. He paces nervously through the room, stopping to pluck a small ripe fruit from one of the gnarled trees espaliered along the castle wall. The smell of citrus rises as he turns it absently in his hands.

He finally settles at a table tucked into the far corner, moving it so that it is away from the wall before settling into the bentwood café chair. He rises again almost immediately as the servers enter with several trays. On a nearby table they arrange dishes of pastries and fruits, set out a service with pots of tea and coffee, and place dishes and silver at the table he has selected. He nods as they take their leave, and notes the one that stations himself just outside the wide glass doors.

Sighing restively, he sits again, still toying with the orange as he waits. It is early yet. He doubts she will be late.

He can see when Dara enters the room, pushing the door open slowly and edging inside. She does not see him sitting there at first, in the far corner. She looks up, mouth open slightly, smiling at the high arched ceiling, at the bright sunlight, then at the plants and the pool. She approaches the pool with soft step, no echo from her black boots upon the floor. She crouches down, fingertips trailing just below the surface of the water.

Koi nip at her fingertips, and her laughter echoes brightly throughout the room.

He smiles watching her, pleased at her reactions.

Something catches her attention. She cocks her head, tensing, looks up. She rises from the crouch, gaze sweeping the room sharply. The bright laughter fades to a soft, nervous chuckle. She moves again with soft step to approach the table in the back corner of the room. "I didn't see you there," she says softly. She stops behind one chair, her hands light upon the wooden back. "Have you been waiting long?"

He flushes slightly. "No. Not long. You are early. Are you hungry?" The orange, about the size of a clementine, is rolling about in his left hand, seemingly of its own volition. Over his knuckles and through his fingers it weaves, mute evidence of his nervousness. He looks toward the door, and nods as the server enters. "They will bring us whatever we'd like. Are you familiar with the food here?" He nods as the server stops at the table, "Robere."

"Food here is just... food." Her voice trails off and she laughs a little. "Okay, that didn't come out quite right. I've only been here a few days," she admits, "but the menu has seemed about as varied as one might wish. It all tastes better than what I've been used to recently. I had some of the fruit last night, and it was lovely. And some meat would be good... and..." she stop babbling and grins suddenly at Robere. "Please. Just... bring an assortment of things that look good and that don't require a lot of finesse to eat properly."

Robere turns expectantly to Merlin, who smiles, "Bring a plate of breakfast meats, two plates of scrambled eggs, and a plate of hotcakes. That ought to give us enough variety." The man nods and moves swiftly out the doors toward the kitchens.

Merlin moves to the laden table and picks up a cup, "Do you prefer coffee, or tea? I had them bring both." He pours a large mug of the coffee and adds a spoon of sugar.

She looks over at the table, curiosity caught by the tea. "Is there any jasmine green? I adored that, once, long ago..." She takes the cup, when offered, with a smile.

He searches among the various tins of tea before opening one, smiling as its sweet perfume rises. He sets about to preparing a pot of tea, his movements spare and efficient. He places the pot in front of her, and hands her a cup, offering next a tray of folded pastries.

From the tray of pastries she plucks one and drops it onto the plate in front of her where it is then left as.she pulls the chair back and sits, her hands clasped loosely on the table. She bites her lip as she looks at him.

So, this is it. Talk.

And say what?

You had settled on hi earlier.

I think we passed that.

Just. Talk.

Her smile wavers. "Do you spend a lot of your time in Amber?" Her fingers find a napkin on the table, loosing it from around the silver, and toying with the threads at the corner.

He moves to the other side of the table and sits, pastry upon his plate. "I do spend a good bit of time here. Once I took the Pattern, Martin and I did a bit of traveling about."

Oh... that sounds... familiar.

Shut. Up.

Dara nods, the thread coming loose from the napkin to be twisted around one finger.

"And I have spent time in Argent, as well. With Corwin." When Merlin speaks of Corwin, his gaze travels to the fountain and his face is unreadable.

She bites her lip, watching his expression. Intent as if she could read the unreadable somehow... sighing softly as she realizes she cannot.

"But I keep returning here. I think they are even getting used to me." He gives a pale grin and pulls the pastry into pieces, popping one into his mouth. "Do you..." he swallows hastily, "do you think you will stay here?"

"Stay here?" she echoes, expression reflecting her momentary loss for an answer. "I... don't know."

That depends.

Shut. Up!

She tugs on the thread between the fingers of both hands, twisting it and pulling it, as if she could follow the thread of the fates and determine her answer. "Right now, I'm just the latest oddity here, I suppose. A curiosity." Her smile quirks, wry and full of dark humor. "By the end of this, who knows where I might want to go."

Anywhere but here.

I don't want to... won't...

Don't start crying.

Her voice catches a moment and she looks up at the ceiling arching high overhead. "I told Random I would renew my pledge to Amber. I already gave it to Oberon long ago, and he gave me safety in Amber in return. I'm finally here to take advantage of it. But I'm not sure if this will ever feel like... home."

He nods. "It is better when Benedict is around, and he comes rarely. There are others here..." a slight flush rises on his face and he falters to a stop.

He loves him.

I know.

Don't. Just… don't.

But how…? *inward sighs* This is an impossible situation.

Maybe it isn't up to you.

I wouldn't betray my son so quickly. They are the two things…

That drew you back.

Yes.

And if you have to make a choice?

I… I don't know.

Dara's gaze drops to the table, to the pastry on her plate. She tears a tiny crumb off, placing it in her mouth, staring at the pastry as if she will taste it with her intense gaze.

"The King has been very perceptive." He picks up the coffee mug and holds it to still his hands, and looks at Dara. "This place, this feels most like home to me. Walking into these unchanging stones sometimes feels like I am coming back into my own skin." He shrugs.

He seems about to say something, then falls silent, looking into his mug.

"What was... what was your home like? With mother? Hm. And there are your brothers now. My uncles."

"I'd say lonely, but that's not quite right." Dara toys with the pastry, tearing off another small piece and letting it melt on her tongue before she speaks again.

Brothers.

I wonder if they are as owned as we two are.

Maybe she has another plan.

I don't want anything to do with her plans. I'm free.

Are you?

Shut up.

You so sure you're not following your original programming?

Dara swallows hard, closing her eyes for a moment, shaking her head. "It probably wasn't a thing like your upbringing. I was raised in a place that was a part of Chaos, but not quite there either. I had numerous tutors, of all kinds, practically since birth. Everything was about learning." She looks around, sighing softly. "Learning how to fit in here. How to be human and not Chaosian. But still Chaosian. My mother… had very little to do with me. She was busy with her own parts in the plot and made sure I was raised to believe that my part was no less crucial. Raised to believe that I made my own choice to do what I did. That it was the right choice."

Merlin's face tightens, and he nods, as if confiming something.

Be careful what you say.

I'm going to say it wrong, aren't I?

You were about to. So very, very wrong.

I can't win. Why bother trying?

Because you came back for this.

Not just.

She stops again. The pastry falls to crumbs between her fingers and she looks at it. Her gaze moves to tea, now cooled, and she takes it in her hands, sipping at it slowly. "I…" She takes a deep breath and look directly at Merlin. "I was about to say something that was going to come out all wrong. And when I do, because I'm sure I'll manage to stuff my foot in my mouth sometime during this conversation, please just know that…" she laughs nervously, "well, that I'm stuffing my foot in my mouth. And I just don't know how to say what I want to say."

He smiles wryly, and nods. "Fair enough." He reaches across the table to the teapot, turns it slightly, then picks it up to refill her cup. The tea steams as it leaves the spout.

Eloquent.

Stop with the sarcasm already.

She sets down the mug. "I can't really tell you about people, Merlin. Most of them made no impression on me."

You remember them all.

I don't want to.

All of them.

No. Please, no.

"My mother was careful to make little impression on me except as someone I thought I looked up to then. And later, someone I hated, and hated more with every day after I was incarcerated. I still resent being used, and will always resent that I did everything she said, even when I realized I no longer wanted to. The only person I truly remember with fondness…" A faraway light in her eyes, an emotion of fondness and sorrow she does not try to hide. "He's dead."

She cocks her head, attention back to Merlin again. "Did he look in on you, as a child? Lord Borel? He… he told me he would, if he could. If my mother allowed him near you. But I was always afraid that she wouldn't, because he was my tutor first."

Merlin shakes his head slowly. "No. They did not let him."

Dara's expression falls in clear disappointment. "I had so hoped…" she murmurs.

"I met him, of course, at the little courts. But he had no opportunity to speak with me. The others took their lessons from him. I learned them secondhand." His mouth becomes a bitter line. "Would they had let me tutor with him, I might have learned them better." He looks up as Robere returns, with two others in tow, all bearing laden trays.

You could.

Didn't I decide that the proper way to greet one's son is NOT let's get the blades out?

It is one of the things you love. Maybe one thing you have in common?

I don't know.

For a moment her eyes alight, then she follows his gaze to Robere and falls silent instead.

The dishes are quickly arrayed before them, hot and fresh from the kitchen. Merlin watches Dara's face as they present the food.

Her gaze flicks from item to item, taking it all in, her expression suddenly hungry.

"Eat," he says. "You are barely more than bones, and this day will be a trial from begin to end. You need the nourishment." He puts one of the plates of egg before her, takes the other, and begins to add sausage and cheese to his.

She glances down, perhaps viewing herself from the outside. "I'm just the way I always was." She smiles suddenly. "The way I'm most comfortable. I could certainly add mass, I suppose, but I just don't see myself that way. But I *am* absolutely starving… I think…" she makes a face. "I can't remember if I bothered with breakfast. Or anything since sometime in the middle of the night."

She pulls the plate to her, and takes three hotcakes, and a small assortment of meats onto her plate as well. Her eyes flick around, alighting on syrup, and she adds sweet stickiness to the top of small stack of hotcakes.

He taps his plate and turns it slightly, then looks up at her. "Mother changed her methods with me. She took a very direct hand in seeing to my education. And they made sure that I had no choices. She never cared how I felt about her, as long as I achieved whatever goal she had set for me. They never told me there was a plot."

Is that better or worse?

I'm not sure.

Dara winces.

He frowns, thinking. "She and Mandor... they often worked in tandem, something I didn't see until much later." He absently turns the ring on his finger. "Mandor was the only one that argued for me, who praised my progress." A swift exhalation of breath is paired with a thin smile, "Of course, he then was the one to gift me with the ring. I think they knew even then that I would never believe such a gift from my mother. From mother." He corrects himself with a glance at Dara, humor twisting his lip, "See? This isn't easy." His gaze returns to his plate. "Forgive me, but I must eat." And he begins to do so.

Dara sits perfectly still, one hand on the fork, the other lying on the table. Slowly that one drops to her lap, her eyes flickering around the room. "No forgiveness necessary," she says softly. "In the end… I'm the one who should beg forgiveness. For putting you into that situation in the first place. You're right… none of this is easy."

She lifts the fork in her hand, picking at the edge of the pancake, fraying it with the tines. She watches the syrup drip down through the cracks, filling them in with sweetness. She shivers.

"I don't remember Mandor." The fork finds a bit of egg, spearing it and lifting it. For a moment the egg wavers in midair, then slips from the tines to land atop the pancakes. She lowers the fork, setting it on the plate. She has not yet taken a bite.

He pauses, shakes his head. "That's good. He's an evil bastard with a thick and nearly seamless veneer of gentility. Remember that if you ever do encounter him," he says before continuing to tuck away his food.

Her laugh is dry. "I may well have met him then. I think I can count some of that type among my many acquaintances of my childhood in Chaos."

She watches him eat.

"Is my being here going to make it not home for you?" she asks, almost too soft to be heard. "You didn't ask for any of this to be dumped on you, and you don't deserve all this crap. This *is* your home. I… I haven't found one yet, so… I could go." She hesitates, the fork in her hand again, the pancakes suffering for her hestitations. "When the Affair is over." She stares at the movement of the utensil, watching the pancakes come apart, crumb by sticky crumb.

That isn't what you want.

No. But I have to give him the option.

Why?

I never thought about it this way. I didn't know… I am the interloper.

You're not being fair to yourself.

I don't think I deserve fair. And… being here won't make a difference. Besides. He wanted to know if I would stay.

He goes still. Swallows. Puts down the fork. Looks at her a long moment. "I can't believe you'd be this foolish in front of Martin, so this must be strictly for my benefit."

Her wince at his words is obvious. The fork slips, scraping along the plate with a jarring sound, and she sets it down before it can possibly cause any more trouble.

"Stop it. If I wanted you to go away, I would have ignored you until you did so. I have not ignored you, nor do I intend to. If you go away, it will be because you decide to do so, and it will be no fault of mine."

The faintest flicker of a smile around her lips, as he begins to speak.

See?

Wait. Let him finish.

Why?

Because... because it has nothing to do with me. I can hear it in what he says. He will have me here because if he does not... if he sends me away... ah, hells. What a complicated mess. We three will trip each other's toes to hell and back.

Love is complicated.

I've noticed.

As he finishes, though, her expression shifts to troubled, and she looks down at her plate again, lost in thought, only looking up again when he continues. Her expression is almost unreadable, save faint lines drawn across her brow.

He pauses, considering, "We were both pawns. We have both escaped. That you were given free will makes your freedom more problematical than mine. I know how it is to make decisions based on coercion. They might not have been as painful as yours, but I understand." He bites his lip. "Look, Benedict believes in us. Martin has friended us. We have pledged our friendship to this crown, and that protects us. We have become more than just tools..." He breaks off, embarrassed. "Eat, damnit. Your food's getting cold." And he waits until she starts before he lifts his fork.

She spears a bit of egg and puts it in her mouth, watching him as she eats. She watches him as if she tries to read him, tries to find the hidden pages inside the book, and knows they are not hers to read. After a moment, she sighs, and looks to her food and digs in in silence, concentrating on rediscovering the crumbs that were once her breakfast, using the sticky syrup to knit them together to fit upon her fork.

Every once in a while she looks up, opens her mouth, and then seems to change her mind, filling it with food instead of words.

Talk about Shadow.

What about it? Quiz him about his travels? We're not at breakfast for him to perform a travelogue.

Tell him more about yourself.

Currently that seems to border on whining, and is not helping the situation at all.

Martin?

You *MUST* be joking.

*silence* He... looks good.

Doesn't he? I can't believe it... Finally... I'm here, and he's here.

And you still don't know what to say.

He finishes his eggs, stands to get another mug of coffee, and refills the teapot from the metal kettle on the brazier. He picks up another pastry as he sets back down. "Frankly, I go away a lot. I recommend it." He meets her eye and smiles, "It makes coming back all the sweeter. And I have little retreats all over shadow. Places to keep my shifting in shape. Places to relax in. Javen said I was looking to be a fairly accomplished Waymaster. There's not much call for that sort of skill this side of Ygg."

Dara smiles. "No, I can't imagine there is. Things are a bit fixed up here, aren't they? I'd... I'd actually love to see what you can do... but I can't go back to Chaos," she admits.

"Nor can I, currently," he murmurs.

He can't?

I wasn't aware of that.

You could ask.

Later. Don't let me forget.

"I will have to settle for listening to your descriptions, and imagining it myself.

He smiles, "There is a surprising amount of flexibility, out past the midlands. I haven't let the skill lapse."

"Exploring sounds like an excellent idea. I did a bit of it, a long time ago, but not much. And not since taking the Pattern and having a decent way of getting around. I'm a novice." She leans forward, elbows on the table, her chin on her hands.

You're talking about Shadows.

He brought it up. It's okay then.

"Is that the trick to home?" she asks thoughtfully. She stands to bring the platter of pastry back to the table, setting it within easy reach. "Going away and having a place to come back to?"

His eyes are hooded as he says, "It's one of them, at least."

Oh. He *is* right.

Yes. It's the trick to one's center as well.

Yours anyway.

Yes.

Her expression clouds, momentarily troubled, and she glances away. The expression fades to a soft smile as …

She picks up a pastry, tearing it apart to peek inside, and grinning when she finds melted chocolate. "Do you have any places you might especially recommend visiting? That you would be willing to share with a strange, estranged mother?"

He grins. "Many. After this affair. Certainly."

Her smile blooms into a gamine expression of enthusiasm. She doesn't seem to have words for it, and lets the evident pleasure suffice with only a mere, "Thank you."

Having eaten, she seems more at ease, the smiles rising to her lips in a comfortable expression.

"Before… when we were talking about Borel…" She frowns faintly.

You're going to ask, aren't you?

Hush.

"Are you interested in swordplay? Or… is something of that a bad memory?" She seems to reconsider her question, thinking back on his words. She takes a bite of the chocolate filled pastry, sighing and savoring the taste.

His smile fades to seriousness. Something in the set of his face tells her he is guarded on this subject. He sighs and gets up to pour another cup of coffee. He brings the pot to rest at the table, giving it that odd tap and turn as he does so.

"My swordsmanship." He glances at her sidelong, then looks along the green trees against the sunny wall. "My swordsmanship is a subject of great embarrassment to my father." He pauses a still moment. "He feels. That I developed bad habits from very early on. And that." A bitter smile twists his face, "That my methods are unorthodox. My bearing behind a blade is a cause for ..." a motion of his hand waves those words away.

Dara's brow furrows.

How *dare* he.

Another strike. He keeps collecting them, doesn't he?

He could well lay this one at your feet. After all, he didn't raise Merlin.

Hush.

"Martin finds no fault in me as a sparring partner, but his skills far exceed mine and I am no challenge for him. Ben and I haven't sparred in years. He said I had much to learn, but from him the words sounded like encouragement." Merlin turns to finally face Dara. "Just by watching you I can already expect that I will not be near your skill, either."

"So? That wasn't exactly what I asked." Her furrowed brow remains. "Whether you're good or not, you can still enjoy it. And be interested in it."

He gives her a raised eyebrow at this statement. Patent disbelief.

"I know next to nothing about music, except that I like listening to it. But I'm looking into learning... I might be terrible at it," Dara shrugs, "but I'm still interested."

"I play the bass," Merlin says offhandedly, "wired or acoustic. I find it very relaxing."

"Could I hear it sometime?" she asks, openly interested. "I was considering trying to learn piano... I love the way it sounds, with so many different moods. Benedict told me that Julian played once."

Merlin's head swings around, "He did? When was that?"

"I don't know. Benedict mentioned it when we were looking at the piano... right before you and Martin arrived." Dara's expression is rueful. "I haven't thought to ask more about it since."

She stops, then asks, "Have you ever played piano?"

He plays. Martin plays.

Don't go there.

Already went.

"I can pick out a few tunes. I went for something. Simpler." he swallows as if he has taken something bitter, and reaches for his mug, only to find it empty. Frowning, he puts it back on the table and picks up the orange. It sheds its skin in several smooth motions, and he lays the segments on his plate, popping one into his mouth. The sweet smell of a Clementine permeates the room. "We could use a piano," he adds finally. "If you learn. I'm fairly sure that Random wouldn't object." He gives her a pointed look.

"We?" Dara lets the question hang a moment, before adding, "Random knows I'm looking to learn more about music. He said he might be able to point me towards tutors, once I knew what I was interested in. I didn't know you played when he and I talked."

"Heh. Well. The bass is meant to not be noticed, that's one of the reasons I picked it up. Random likes company sometimes, when he's blowing off steam at the drumset." He smiles as he thinks about it. "We make an odd ensemble, here with no electricity. When Random can get away we go out and really kick jams. There's a place called the Saturday Night..." his face is animated and his eyes sparkle, "I'll put it on the tour. It's great."

Her expression matches his, glimmer for glimmer. "I'd love that."

You need to thank Random later.

Yes... he gave me this connection with Merlin. I never even thought to look at this.

It is a connection to Martin as well.'

I know. I'd rather not think about it right now.

So?

So. Time to change the subject.

"Anyway, we were talking about swordplay..." She picks at the pastry, rearranging it from two halves into several bite size pieces.

"I could kick Martin's ass before, although we haven't sparred since I've been back. I'm nowhere near as good as Benedict. But none of that matters… to how I feel when I have a blade in my hand. It makes me come alive." The shift in expression is instinctive and suddenly playful. "And your father hasn't seen yet just how… unorthodox… my sparring methods can be."

He grins. "I'll bet."

Her playful expression falls away into serious, and she shakes her head. "Anyway… I wouldn't ask you to do something you don't enjoy. But you said Borel wasn't able to teach you… but he taught me. And I would love to show you something of his methods. If you were to find it interesting. There are things he taught that aren't on Benedict's curriculum."

Merlin nods, "I just..." he shrugs, "it's not my strong suit. I am always interested in learning. I'm just used to sword lessons and sparring as being an excuse to show me my place." He regards her evenly.

The frown returns abruptly. "I wonder if they did that on purpose. To put something between you and your father... between you and me."

She stops to think a moment. "I sparred with Random when I arrived... we were talking about music. I had never realized before how much fencing is like dancing. Just... a different way of thinking about it."

"Like dancing?" Merlin says, his face thoughtful. "Dancing? I never thought about it like that. Hm."

"Rhythm. Give and take. And footwork." She nods. "Like dancing."

He nods slowly, still thinking.

She pops another bite of pastry in her mouth, chews, and swallows, savoring the taste of chocolate. "But I wouldn't ask you to do something because you think I expect it of you. If Corwin's disappointed in your bladework, then most likely, he's just being an ass. You're you, not a recreation of him. Nor of me. And neither he nor I have any business expecting you to be anything more than you."

I cannot believe you just said all that.

She stops abruptly, looking vaguely embarrassed at the sudden outburst.

Merlin is watching her as she speaks. "They let you love something. That's interesting. Did they encourage it? Or don't you know? I know it was your opening gambit with Corwin." He colors slightly, and looks away. "He spoke of such things, once, when we first met."

"Did my mother encourage it? I don't know... Borel did." She sighs softly. "He gave me the one thing I truly loved in Chaos when I was growing up, and he was the one person I loved there then. I think, it may well have been on purpose. Because of Corwin. Because she knew he'd be drawn to me if..." She colors now, and stares at the pieces of pastry. She eats another bite, gathering her thoughts.

"Borel gave me my opening gambit with Corwin, and ironically, he was the end of it as well. Full circle."

She raises her eyes to meet Merlin's again. "As I think about it, they must have allowed it. They were careful, when all was said and done, to try to keep me from you. I wasn't supposed to form any attachment to you, and I expect that was why Borel was kept from you as well. To keep you from having any way of knowing of me. By denying me you, they must have allowed me Borel. And fencing." Her smile is bitterly wry. "She tries to use emotion to twist her pawns... she had no idea that that is something that cannot be controlled. And is stronger than her plans."

"She tried to use emotion to control you. They moved on to baser methods with me. I wonder, sometimes, what their intent for me was. And now, having met you, I wonder all the more. I am sure I don't want to know. Do you think..." Merlin falls silent, and looks at the ring.

He looks up at her, and she can see he is worried about this. His eyes are dark and shadowed, "Do you think they anticipated everything I have done? Some days I think I am free of them, and others... and then you come here, and suddenly I remember how driven they all were, and I wonder if I am really free of it, and how I would know if I was..."

Dara's gaze darkens as well, dusky emeralds in forest green. "Programmed since birth... sometimes I wonder the same thing." She bites her lip, equally concerned. "I don't know. I could say yes and leave you paranoid, or say no, and you'd know I'm lying. Because I just don't know. But what I figure is this... I got here by a circuitous route that they couldn't possibly have anticipated. Not all of it. I'm not playing their game anymore. And neither are you... best you can, you're not playing."

She flashes a sudden grin. "And if we team up... I doubt they're prepared for that. You. Me. Benedict. Martin. Amber. We can't entirely escape who they made us. But we can do our damnedest to not let them use us. I don't want to spend the rest of my life afraid that I'm enacting their plan. I have to trust that I'm making my own choices now."

"As am I. That is quite an image, all of us allied." His face remains dark as his eyes flicker with thought. "I don't want to see it come to that. It looks too much like an opportunity to do some housecleaning."

"I don't intend to march on Chaos," she murmurs. " I'm happy to manage to stay alive and out of jail."

He stands, and he looks around the room and up at the now shadowed ceiling, dancing with the light off the pond. "Are you done eating? I had them bring plain bread," he says, picking up a piece, "so we could feed the fish."

He begins to walk to the raised edge of the pond, looking over his shoulder to see if she follows, "What do you think of this room?"

She, too, takes a piece and then follows him to the pond. "I love it." She raises up on tip toes, one hand reaching towards the arched ceiling, tracing its lines in the air. "The style, the light, the fish most especially." She laughs, the sound clear and delighted. "You have good taste."

He simply nods. "I believe this is the oldest room in the castle that is still used daily for its original function. The dining room on the far side of that wall was once the main kitchens. This orangarie was built for the Queen, as a solar." He smiles at Dara, "Cymnea designed it herself, and they still have the drawings done by her hand. If you are interested, you should ask Martin to show them to you. She had a distinctive style, both strong and delicate. I find the drawings more beautiful than the room itself."

"In a way," she murmurs, "this room is in our blood. Interesting, that... I'll have to remember to ask Martin about the drawings. I'd love to see them."

"You should," he says, pleased.

He settles on the broad stone rimming the pond and breaks off a small bit of bread. The koi push their faces clear out of the water, mouths working, begging. He flips the morsel to the far side of the water to watch them fluidly turn as one to claim it. He points to a particularly well marked fish, the colors layered and shimmering, like autumn leaves seen through a driving rainfall. "I spent a week trying to match that once. I never did master it. They are marvels."

Dara settles to sit cross-legged upon the stone. She leans over, trailing the bread in the water and laughing softly as the Koi nibble her fingers on the way to the treat. "My first thought, when I came in, was that I'd love to join them. They look so peaceful and beautiful. They are amazing creatures."

She tosses another bit of bread, watching as it is claimed. Then she leans back, setting the rest of the piece of bread down next to her, her hands behind her for balance as she leans. "I wonder if anyone else ever really takes the time to look at them and appreciate them. It is awfully quiet here isn't it? For all the people who are here, I've run into very few."

"It sees little real use. On rainy days, mostly. I suspect Cymnea was from a colder climate, where such a room would be a necessity. Or perhaps Amber was colder then." He leans close and says quietly, "I have chanced upon each of my aunts in this space. I think Llewella had the same thought as you. She was leaning into the pond, tickling the fish." He grins at the remembered image.

A soft delighted laugh in response. She turns to look at him, smiling at the soft confidence. "And do the fish like to be tickled?" she asks, knowing it is silly, but asking it anyway. "Llewella... the Aunt from under the waves. From Rebma, as Martin is. She's still just a face on a card to me... we haven't met. Or no more than in passing." A handwave discards the memories of any meetings during the war as fleeting and ephemeral. "Nor have I met Fiona nor Florimel. Although I would recognize them on sight. And they... what did they do here by the fish?"

"Just sitting, as we are now. I didn't stop to interrupt." He trails a hand through the water. "This place seems very centered. A good place for contemplation."

Dara's eyes widen, startled, at his choice of words. She sits up, her knees coming up, arms looped around them. She watches the movement of his hand, the way some of the fish glide up to investigate, and others slip away from the intrusion. "It is relaxing," she says softly. "Centered? I hadn't really thought of it that way." A soft laugh, more introspective than amused.

"I was furious at Benedict and Martin yesterday," she says quietly. "For arranging things the way they did. I ranted at Benedict for a while, and he took it, as he does... and derailed me completely... as he does. He told me to find my center." She shifts her feet under her, moving to a kneeling position so she can lean forward to trail one hand in the water again, scooping it up and letting it fall through her fingers. "I never thought to seek balance in a pond of fish."

He smiles and tosses a few more crumbs into the water.

She sits back on her heels, drawing a damp pattern on the stone with one finger. "I'm sorry about the way that all went yesterday. They were right... any way I was going to come up with wasn't the right one. There wasn't really a right way to handle it. And that was one of the best, I suppose. And in the end, no blood was drawn." A nervous smile flickers. "And we're here now. Thank you... for letting me see this much of you. You've got good taste. You are... fascinating. Despite her, despite my leaving you behind," apology in her gaze, "despite everything I left you to endure... you have turned out to be amazing."

A soft smile of wonder, she simply watches him.

Merlin smiles wryly. "Martin was as mad at me as I was with him. He tried to tell me about you, long ago, but I never wanted to talk about mother. I was horrified that he was so... ah... attracted to her." He swallows and looks at Dara with something haunted in his eyes, but as quickly he looks down again at the path of the fish in the water.

Dara winces, likewise looking away.

Again.

So obvious. So painful. I wish...

Neither would want you to change who you are because of this.

*pause* Sometimes I think I'm just telling myself that.

He laughs softly, "You can understand my confusion."

"Believing it was her? Yes..." Dara stares at a crack in the stone, running her finger along it to feel the gentle rift between two halves of the whole. "Did she lead you to believe that it was she who worked with Martin during the war? I know she let you believe it was she who seduced Corwin..."

"She never spoke of it," he says flatly.

"And there are other issues, issues that I thought they would understand. After talking with you, I am beginning to suspect that our upbringing was each very skewed from what might be considered normal even for Chaos." He swallows, still studying the fish. "Physical contact... I was raised that it was taboo. Any of it."

The stone abruptly loses its fascination. Dara's gaze swivels to look at Merlin, reading his body language as she listens to his words. Her eyes are wide, her mouth slightly open, caught in startlement that shifts to confusion and sorrow.

He shifts his seat slightly, uncomfortable under her scrutiny,

"When I arrived here. Well. It was tough the first few months. Martin." His grin is lopsided as he shakes his head. "Martin should apply for sainthood, the shit he put up with while he reconditioned me. Some of the outshadow travel was to get me over some of their. Barriers."

He sighs. "Sometimes I relapse. And when I realized that you were of Chaos, yesterday, and I had touched you - I thought you would be as repulsed as I was... I. I'm sorry if that hurt you. I suspect that whatever *they* had planned for me it was something terribly isolated." He shakes his head, looks sideways at her, warily.

"Oh." Her voice is small, her hands caught together in her lap. "We were... raised very differently. Touch is so much a part of me... so much a part of who I am. I can't imagine living without it. I was practically raised to crave it." She flushes intensely, staring at her hands. She picks at a fingernail, looking vaguely surprised when she peels it off. Sighing, she presses it back and reforms around it. "They were intently focused in their requirements, weren't they." The question, if it was one, falls flat with another sigh.

She too looks sideways, equally wary. "I can assure you... the others of Chaos that I *did* interact with had no difficulties with the concept of touch." Her hands clench, and there is a rise of fury within her eyes, casting flames among the emeralds. "She is too cruel," she whispers. "To do that to you. I'm... glad Martin was able to help you heal."

Dara closes her eyes, turning so that when she opens them she again stares down, at her hands, her knees... the fish. She bites her lip. "Touch is as instinctive as breathing for me. If I do offend you... I apologize. I'm only looking for a connection."

"I understand," he says, tossing another crumb, "I just felt that needed to be said. So you will understand if. Well. Suffice it to say that was another of my strange quirks that Corwin had no ability to comprehend."

He pauses a moment, breaking the remaining bread into crumbs and dropping them into the water. "I found, in those early days, that the limited contact of some dancing was bearable." He now grins openly at Dara, "When you mentioned dancing... it's one thing here I *am* rather good at." He snorts in derisive laughter, "Which, of course, Corwin takes as an insult. I've become aware that no matter what I do..." He sobers and sighs, teasing the fish with a trailing finger. "But I wasn't going to speak ill of him."

Dara makes a motion with her hand as if to say no matter, setting the subject of Corwin aside. From the darkening of her expression, she makes a conscious choice not to add to it just now. Instead, a grin tips the corners of her lips. "I love to dance... it is like bladework without a blade, and body language set to music. I'm looking forward to the Ball tonight. Can I hope that I'll get to dance with you once tonight?"

His head comes up and his eyes are thoughtful. "Has Ben offered to escort you? I don't suppose." He looks amused.

"Benedict hasn't brought it up," Dara admits. "I haven't really thought about that part."

"Florimel will be displeased if you flout tradition at your debut. And I've enough respect for my Tante that I would hate to ruffle her feathers," his grin masks any indication of whether she should take such words seriously.

"Besides," he adds, "I'd love to claim that first dance. If you are as good on the dance floor as I suspect, we could very well set the bar for the evening right then." His grin puts a devilish glint in his eye. "I'd love to give them something to talk about."

"Oh!" Eyes widen, and the delighted laugh is back. "I would love that. It would be a fun start to the evening." Faint shadows in her emerald eyes say that she's perhaps not so sure that the rest of the evening will be much fun. "They'd never know what hit them." She grins, the devilment in her eyes matching his.

"Done then." He sweeps the scattered crumbs that remain off the ledge into the pond. "And now, I think, on to the day." He stands. "This was not. As onerous. as I had feared. Thank you for accepting my offer to meet here."

"I was afraid to come." Dara admits as she pushes back onto her toes, then up to stand as well. "I've been looking forward to this... and dreading this... for longer than you can know. But," a slow smile, "I am so very glad to have come here. I am proud to have you as a son. And proud to know you." She raises one hand instinctively towards his shoulder, then stops, pulling back, a rueful smile on her face. "Thank you for inviting me. You had more courage than I."

"Courage," he smiles, "is best leavened with common sense. I'm glad you find me nothing to fear. And that you found your courage." And with that, he gives her a bow, "Until tonight then."

A returned bow, seeming more appropriate than a curtsey from Dara. "Until tonight."