It is a bright and brittle winter's morning, and the cold is felt even
here by the blazing hearth in the huge formal library. Martin sprawls in
a chair before the fire, head throbbing from the previous night's
excesses, silently cursing Tarantano's Blackhawk label.

Carlo pushes the door open lightly, peering inside. His spurs jingle
quietly, announcing his presence.

Martin doesn't bother to look around, slouched low in his chair,
fingertips pressed against his temples.

Carlo's eyes skim the shelves, passingly. It is the sideboard that truly
catches his attention. He moves in its direction, just then catching a
glimpse of Martin. "Well," he says, with a faint smile, "Long time no
see."

Martin mutters from the back of his chair, "Thought those bells sounded
familiar." A hand waves vaguely in the direction of Carlo's voice.
"Where've you been hiding?"

Carlo selects a rocks glass, filling it half-full with ice. It tops it
off with scotch, "The barracks, of all ungodly places." He drinks a sip,
toying at his hair.

Martin chuckles in the back of his throat. "Fun place, that," he hauls
himself upright in his seat, glances over at Carlo. "Good to see you're
back upstairs again."

Carlo shrugs his shoulders, "For the time being, at least. I've been
avoiding promotions like the plague. I've my fair share of
responsibility as is, with Father gone."

Martin mphs, resettling himself. "You aren't his only son," he says
after a pause.

Carlo takes another drink, larger this time. "The only one who spends
the time to maintain the lands. I can count my interactions with
siblings in the last decade on one finger," he smirks.

Martin returns the smirk. "That popular," he chuckles to himself.
"Sometimes the whole business with having brothers just seems wasted on
those who do."

Carlo shrugs, "It has its moments." He tips back his glass, then says,
"Mostly bad ones."

Martin goes back to looking at the fire, saying "Seems to be the way of
it."

Carlo refreshes his drink, adding a cube of ice, "You must know the
stories of your uncles."

Martin 's turn to shrug. "Second, third and fourth-hand accounts all."

Carlo nods, drinking all along. "Mostly the same. I did spend a bit of
time in King Eric's court." He sets aside his emptied glass. "He did
knight me, after all."

"Never met him."

Carlo pulls at his jaw, "I don't know if you'd have liked him."

A light breeze blows in from the windows, bringing the scent of the
gardens into the old library.

Martin shrugs a shoulder. "Hardly matters, does it?" he comments. "I
take it you did, though."

"He was charming, arrogant, talented in just about everything, and
powerful beyond imagining." He reaches back, touching his empty glass.
"Actually, I rather hated him."

Martin's mouth quirks into a wry smile. "Funny, I keep hearing similar
about him."

Carlo folds his arms, affecting a charming smile, "Reminded me too much
of myself, perhaps."

Martin turns to face Carlo. "Just the charming bit? Or the arrogant,
multi-talented and powerful beyond imagining bits as well?" he grins.

"Well, perhaps all of those, in descending order."

Martin chuckles, turning back to the fire. "Uh-huh," he stretches out
his legs, says, "So what was he like, that you remember."

Carlo leans against the sideboard, crossing his legs at the ankle, spurs
digging into the carpet. "Would you prefer my politic answer, or
something nearer to truth?"

Martin turns his hands palms up, "What you said earlier about him, some
would say was less than politic." He shrugs, continues with a faint
grin, "Tell me what you want to tell me. With the hangover I've got
right now I probably won't remember a word of it by the afternoon."

"Well, he was often generous with me; more because he needed my father's
support than because he enjoyed my company, I think. He chose me for
select duties, when Father encouraged my joining the military."

Martin nods, gently pressing the fingertips of one hand against a
temple.

Carlo says "I don't recall doing anything spectacular on the battlefield
the day I received my knighthood, but there I was, crouched before my
King."

A rising wind howls through the castle walls.

Martin slouches down a little way in his seat, making himself
comfortable.

Carlo shrugs, "I could always tell that it was an act." He fills another
drink from himself, "Which is what I found especially unfavorable in
him. That an his arrogance. I witnessed his crowning, at my father's
side."

Martin murmurs, "must've been a quite a do."

"It was. Save for Corwin's interruption. Which I tend to place more on
Eric than his brother."

Martin comments, "I didn't hear much about that."

"Oh, it was a truly wretched affair."

"I gathered that much," Martin says with a part-grin.

Carlo says "Prince Corwin managed a feeble crowning of himself, before
Eric himself claimed the role. Then, the former was led away, in chains,
to have his eyes burned away. Well, so they said, at least."

Martin's grin shifts briefly into a grimace. "Nice," he says, then
"Corwin looked pretty good for a blind man last time I saw him, though."

"My very thought, when he returned to Amber, guns blazing."

"Now *that* I would have liked to have seen."

"I only saw part of it. That was the battle that laid me low. A pair of
broken legs makes it a bit difficult to ride."

Martin wonders, "What happened?"

"Crushed in the claws on one of their little dragons. I'm not certain
how I got free, but I did."

Martin mms, "Did you get him?"

"I don't think so. I lost consciousness after being broken up."

Martin shrugs, "could've been worse, I guess." A pause, then, "can't
remember what I was doing at the time. Getting lost, probably."

Carlo nods, "What brought you back here?"

Martin considers a moment, answers, "Dad."

"You get along alright? You and your dad?"

Martin shrugs, drawls, "Well, you know, I don't see him much these
days." He grins at the fire.

"Go figure." Carlo drinks from his glass, cheeks beginning to show a bit
of red. "Strange that the best liquor in the castle is in the library."

Martin looks over where Carlo is, suggests, "It's one way to get us all
in the same room occasionally."

"I suppose so. You know, this" -- he drinks -- "is the best way to cure
that hangover."

The candles flicker, stirred by a draught from the door.

Martin starts to shake his head at that, thinks better of it. "Huh.
Probably. Except right now I *want* to stay hungover. Keeps me from
doing a half-dozen stupid things."

Carlo chuckles quietly, "One of my many bad habits."

Martin grins, "Doing stupid things? Great, got one more for you."

Carlo says "That being?"

Martin mms, "Two, actually. You can pick one or the other."

"Before, or after you say what they are?"

Martin hehs, massaging a temple. "One: chat up Mira. Two: look in on
Godwin's men occasionally, see if they're getting their act together."

Carlo smiles, "You've reason to think Godwin's troops are ill-trained?"

Martin smiles, "Ill-trained? No, they're very good at running up and
down and charging the occasional tree. It's more Godwin I'd like an eye
kept on, except I've got too many damned things to run right now."

Carlo eyes his mostly empty glass, then looks back to Martin. "Of course
I'd like to help you..."

Martin waves a hand in the air, "yeah, yeah, but you're up to your
eyebrows with your own responsibilites. Don't worry about it. I'm only
swamped because your damned brother has gone off waltzing somewhere."

Carlo strokes his jawline, "No, no. You misunderstand."

Martin watches the fire through half-closed eyes, "Yeah?"

Carlo says "Well, I'm not one to do" -- he makes a loose gesture with
both hands -- "favors, freely. If I were to help you, I might need to
ask something in return..."

"What do you want?" Martin asks, still watching the fire.

"Well, nothing strikes my eye, in the short of term."

"Name it, or forget it," Martin says. "I don't do open-end favors."

Carlo smirks, "Forward. Charming." He knots his fingers, and says, "In
my father's absence, the role of Lord Bayle is completely emptied. It
seems hardly fair that I should put forth so much effort, without being
properly creditted."

An open book on a table has its pages gently riffled by a momentary
draught.

Martin mutters, "get to the point. What do you want exactly?"

"Recognition. If, by some means, my father does not manage to return
from the warring, I receive name and title."

Martin glances aside to Carlo, "Curious, I wouldn't have thought Godwin
would be worth a title."

"The title is already mine, I think," Carlo says. "I doubt Antonio wants
it. However, your vouching for my ability would be beneficial. Godwin
could be but a beginning."

A wry smile tugs at a corner of Martin's mouth. "Oh, I could probably
put in a good word for you, here and there, but you are also aware that
I have little real influence in whatever gets decided around here..?"

Carlo says "Thus the balancing effect. What I do for you is a minor
thing. What you do for me is a passing of words."

Martin hehs, "and if your father the Baron returns hale and whole, with
an eye to naming his own heir?"

"Then you have lost nothing. And I have retained a father."

"Lucky me," Martin says, considers. "Alright, then."

"I am pleased we are in agreement," Carlo says. "I will inform you as to
my findings. For the now, I should be off."

Martin chuckles to himself, "I'm only interested if you think he can be
made into something better. The rest of it..." he shrugs, "have a good
day, then."

Carlo nods, smiles, and departs.

18/12/97