There's the small nagging matter of the note the King sent him,
welcoming him back and so on, and can they get together sometime when he
feels like he can face humanity again and so on. Martin'd tossed it into
the fire and gone off to play poker.

And now it's the day after the poker game, and Martin is hankering for a
drink. To shore himself up for the inevitable meeting with Random,
naturally. Time to stock up from the library again.

Random is seated on one of the couches, his feet up on an end-table he
pulled over. A large, heavy book is spilling over his lap and he's
studying it with an odd sort of seriousness, one finger tracing the page
for a moment. A glass of something wine-y is sitting on a second table,
this one closer to hand than foot.

Martin taps the door close behind him with the end of his crutch, and is
already swinging forward a step when he spots Random already in the
room. The door clicks shut and he propels himself onwards into the
library, barely pausing.

Random sighs a bit, closing the book slowly. "Usually coronated with the
King there..." he murmurs. "But will they go for it...." He lifts up the
book and sets it on the end table by his feet, on top of the pile there,
and pulls up another book.

"Good morning," Martin mutters as he heads towards the big sideboard,
accompanied by the muted tap-tap-taps of wood against carpetted floor.

Random jumps a little, looking over at Martin. He smiles. "Good morning,
Martin."

Martin doesn't answer as he reaches the sideboard, and bends down to
rifle around in it. Or perhaps he does say something, but it's lost in
the inner recesses of the cupboard.

Random sits up a little, watching his son carefully. "How have you
been?"

A shrug as he stands, examining the label on a darkish bottle. "As might
be expected," he replaces the bottle, pulls out another. "You?"

Random shrugs a bit, "The same, I suppose..." His fingers tap idly on
the top of his newest book.

Martin snorts once, holding up the bottle to the light. "Funny kind of
same, or did you have a crown before and no one noticed?"

Random says, a touch of reproof in his voice, "I mean 'As well as could
be expected'." He sighs a bit, one hand rising to run through his
hair--and getting stopped by the aforementioned damn crown.

Random is not a tall man, nor, at first glance, a terribly impressive
one. Sandy blond hair falls randomly over his forehead and down over his
collar, shifting restlessly with him, and bright hazel eyes watch the
world with mingled suspicion and humor. His face is angular, thin and
vulpine, a few lines gathered around the corners of his eyes and across
his brow that seem to hint at the burdens he now carries. Lean and agile
are the proper words for his form, even down to his narrow fingers which
dance restlessly about him. Never does he seem to still, though
sometimes he can almost achieve that fragile state through a dint of
will, a finger or toe will inevitably betray him. 

He is garbed in an overcoat of brown shot with red and orange loose
enough to conceal a nice set of armor. Loose red pants are tucked into
his tall brown boots which gleam slightly as if freshly polished. A worn
sword hangs from his right hip, two daggers on his left.

From the sideboard, Martin turns to study his father a moment, then
returns to the matter of looking for something to pour his find in. "You
don't have to wear the damned thing all the time, do you."

There's a faint sound from a far corner, like the click of something
quietly sliding into place.

Random laughs a bit, straightening it. "I have no idea," he replies. I
never paid attention to what my Dad or Eric did. Never thought I'd have
to worry about it." He shrugs. "How long have you been back?"

"Not as long as you," Martin answers, hooking the neck of the bottle and
the stems of a couple of glasses between his fingers as he makes his way
over.

Random shrugs a bit, "How was cleaning up?"

"Alright," Martin says with a shrug. Then, "How long you planning on
keeping the prisoners? That's a lot of Virgans we've got billeted down
there."

Random rubs his chin, "How many? I was thinking we could use them as
cheap labor to do ..something. Reparing the damage they caused, maybe."
He pauses, then adds, "Or release them once terms between Amber and
Virga are worked out."

A nod as Martin sets the bottle and glasses down on a table beside the
couches, parking himself one one of them. "Better make a decision soon,"
he lowers his voice. "Quite a few of the men are making noises about
killing the lot of them."

Random snorts a bit, "That would be stupid," he comments. He eyes the
other glass for a moment, pulling his feet off the table they were on
and setitng the book in his hands down next to the others. "What would
you suggest?"

"The war was a bit vicious," Martin observes drily as he eases the cork
out of the bottle and sets about pouring them each a glass. "Even
Antonio lost a brother." Another shrug, as he slides a glass over
towards Random. "Either use them as a labor force, or get rid of them.
Either way, do it soon."

Random leans down and takes the glass. "Antonio got back with you,
didn't he?" he says, sipping. "Hmm, good vintage."

Martin raises his glass to his mouth, sniffs, and sips. "Mm, not too
bad," he agrees. "Antonio got back alright."

Another sip, another nod. Random replies, "I'll have to contact him
later this afternoon... no need to bother him if he's resting." He sets
the glass down. "Have you gotten in to see Vialle? She misses you."

Martin sips his wine before answering. "Haven't had the time."

Random smiles a bit, ruefully. "You should. She worries when any of us
are out of her sight for too long." Out of the blue, he asks, "What do
you think of Tessa?"

Martin quirks a brow at Random's choice of words, but chooses not to
comment on it. Instead, he takes another sip, then sets the glass down
on the arm of his couch. "Not much."

"Vialle says you took off looking for her when you found out about her."
Random's tone is mild, one might even say neutral.

"Didn't have a choice," Martin replies, gazing evenly back at Random.
"Anyone who's been in your rooms would likely have found out about her."

Random arches a brow, "Perhaps," he agrees, "if they went through my
papers. However, would anyone have gone off hunting for her?

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

Martin's answer is a raised brow and tight smile.

Random looks back, evenly. "I would have rather you'd left her where she
was." His tone, still, is mild.

"So would I," Martin replies. "Except I had an interest in seeing her
live out the rest of her life."

Random frowns slightly. "Had someone else found the clippings? Vialle
said that she was looking for them..." He runs his hand through his hair
again, again running into the crown, and this time he tossess the
offending article on the table.

Martin considers the man who, but for some of accident of fate, is his
father, and takes a deep breath before reminding him, slowly, "Your
brother had less information than that to go on."

Random sighs a bit, "True. I figured another few weeks couldn't hurt,
though. Wish I'd...ah, doesn't matter." His eyes turn back to Martin.
"What are your plans now that the war with Virga is over?"

"It's not your problem now anyway," Martin mutters as he takes a draught
from the glass. Then, a shrug.

Random arches a brow, "Tessa, or you?" he asks.

"Tessa."

Random shakes his head, "She's always my problem," he says, with a hint
of humor. "She's my daughter." He taps his fingers on his glass. "How
good are you at armed combat?"

"You can't afford a problem like her," Martin answers. Then, with a
trace of suspicion, "I hold my own. Why?"

"I won't leave her on her own, not in this family. She's used to...
well, people who are actually nice." Random smiles, faintly. "What would
you think of teaching her to fight? She's got a dancer's physical skill.
That should help."

"Pity she doesn't share your concerns," Martin says.

Random exhales, noisily. "I didn't have a chance to prepare her," he
mutters. "I didn't want her left alone after her Mother died, though."

"Really," Martin says, quite expressionlessly.

Random snaps out, "I didn't know your mother died." He pauses, then
says, "I didn't even know about /you/ until I returned to Amber."

"News must travel slowly around these parts," Martin observes, sipping
at his glass.

Random sets his glass down a little to hard, standing up. "I didn't
return to Amber," he explains. "I dropped her off somewhere she could
get home then went off... I think I was looking for the perfect gambling
world."

"You sent her home in disgrace," Martin says, levelly. "Humiliated, and
publically shamed. While you were off having the time of your life, she
was locked away from the court so no one would know about the pregnancy.
But you know how word like that always gets out in the end."

Random turns back to his son, "Yeah," he says, "and if I'd heard about
it then, I wouldn't have really cared. Takin after my /father/ I
suppose." His voice drips contempt.

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

Random moves towards the book, closing the cover absently.

"So that's your excuse?" Martin allows himself a faintly contemptuous
smile. "Every man is his father's son?"

Random shrugs, "I don't have an excuse," he replies. "I was an asshole."
He sits on the edge of the table. "It took Vialle to show me that," he
adds, quietly.

Martin doesn't answer. Something in his eyes says he doesn't have to.
Then, "fuck that. I want to know what you're going to do now you're our
King."

Random frowns, "What do you mean?" he asks.

Martin indicates the coronet on the table with his glass. "You're our
King," he repeats, slower. "What happens now? What are you going to do
to make Amber like it was under Oberon? What are you going to do so
people'll stop thinking of you as that asshole runt of the family?"

Random taps a finger against his chin. "Meetings with the Golden
Circle," he says. "Open Court once a week. Try to iron things out with
Virga so that /both/ side win. I won't lie to you and say it'll be like
under my Father, though. He may have been an asshole, but he was a great
king. We'll have to see how I am."

Martin nods once. "Yeah, I guess.

"But that's not the way to go it with Virga," he adds.

Random rolls his eyes a bit, opening his mouth to say something then
pausing when Martin speaks first. "Why not?"

Martin studies Random a long moment before answering, bluntly. "Because
you haven't had dealings with them recently. You don't know the
situation. They've been making noises about moving into the rest of the
Golden Circle for some time now. If you don't make your stance clear,
Virga will just wait for another opportunity to move in on us again."

Random walks back to Martin, sitting down. "How long?" he asks. "Have
any of the other Golden Circle been as ...upstart?"

"Read your history books sometime," Martin suggests. "The thing with
Virga's been there a while. They're an arrogant people." A dry chuckle,
and "They once did us the honor of recognising Amber as the equal of
Virga."

Random laughs a bit, "Good idea," he allows. "Never much paid attention
to that." He shakes his head a little, rubbing at the bridge of his
nose. "So, in other words, you suggest a show of force?"

"It's the only thing they understand," Martin says. "Take it to their
doorstep, as we did with Chaos. That'll get their attention."

Random nods, tapping his chin. "We can, too," he observes.

"If no one wants another war, then we find the Virgans something else to
worry over," Martin says. "Their's a big empire. There's got to be a few
unwieldy territories in there."

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

"Hell," Martin grins into his wine. "Maybe do both."

"Benedict might want to stretch his muscles," Random observes.

"He's not the only one," Martin says quietly.

Random arches a brow, silent inquery.

Martin just eyes Random silently.

Random finally voices it, "Who in particular are you thinking of?"

"Benedict seems to think I have no further business in this war," Martin
replies, the acusation in his tone aimed at Random.

Random arches a brow. "Really?" he murmurs. "Did he flat out say it?"

"What did you say to him?" Martin demands.

Random frowns a little, "I told him that we were leaving the Virgan war
to you, if you seemed to be handling it fine, which you did, and we
would act as advisors."

Martin's gaze narrows a fraction. It's clear he doesn't entirely believe
that. "Fine," he says instead. "Forget I mentioned it."

Random shrugs, "Believe me or not as you want," he says, downing the
rest of his wine. "And I won't."

"Alright, then. Don't forget it," Martin shrugs, setting his glass down
on the table unfinished. "Do you have anything else you'd care to tell
me about, or shall I find out about it from the staff?"

Random frowns a bit at Martin. "Well, there'll be a second throne in
both throne rooms, soon I hope. I'm also working on organizing a
..funeral and some sort of recognition Ceremony. Also, you never
answered me on whether you'd be willing to teach Tessa or not."

Martin pauses in the act of reaching for the crutch he left leaning
against the back of the couch, and sits back down. "I would have hoped
so, for Vialle's sake. Who's the funeral for? Deirdre..?"

Random nods, "Deirdre and Brand..." he frowns a little. "For all he
did... he's still family." His eyes dwell on Martin's face for a long
moment, as if expecting argument.

"What happened?" Martin asks, after a considered pause. "No one's
exactly been forthcoming with details."

"They fell into the abyss with the jewel." Random's voice is flat. "The
Unicorn brought it out and, well..." he rubs the back of his neck. "the
rest is history."

"Thought Deirdre was on our side..?"

Random nods, saying softly, "She was... she was trying to.. stop him."

Martin mms, "So, what, she threw herself at him and pushed him into this
Abyss thing?"

Random nods. "From what I gathered, it's bottemless nothing. Somehow,
though, the unicorn came out of it with the jewel." His hand rises to
his jerken, then drops when he remembers the jewel isn't actually there.

Martin doesn't seem particularly interested with any mention of Amber's
Unicorn. "Yeah, I kinda figured out the afterwards. Back up a bit before
that, alright?"

Random nods, "What in particular?"

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

"How did Brand die?" Martin says, slow and deliberately. "Is he dead at
all? What the hell happened at Chaos?"

Random frowns a little. "It's..." he shakes his head. "He had Dierdre
hostage," he says, finally. "I.. well, I was trying to get her freed."
He looks faintly embarressed at the idea.

Martin listens, expectantly.

Random pauses for a long moment. "Caine, finally, shot Brand in the
throat... on his way over the edge, he grabbed Dierdre." He adds, after
a second, "By her hair." He shakes his head, "We think they died...
we're behaving as if they died..."

There's a surprised pause before Martin speaks again. "Ah," he says.
"Caine isn't dead either? Well. That's great, that is. Terrific."

Random shrugs, "Family has a habit of doing that," he remarks.

"I've noticed," Martin says, an edge in his voice. "But you think
Brand's going to stay dead, huh."

Random corrects, "I /hope/ Brand is going to stay dead. I was not,
however, planning on jumping in after him to make sure."

Martin forces a casual shrug, "That's fine. Maybe I'll get my chance
after all." Then, "have you talked to Mira? I think she'd appreciate a
couple of words from someone who was there."

Random nods a touch. "I spoke with her," he says. "Not much about her
mother." He adds, after a moment, "I'm not the best for that. I still
hate her, to some extent."

Martin doesn't answer immediately. "The dead are dead, we got more
important things to deal with."

Random frowns, "I still want to have ...something. Especially for
Dierdre..."

"So talk to Mira about it," Martin says, getting up again. "The sooner
Amber can mourn its dead, the sooner we can move on."

Random nods, "I will," he says. He groans a bit, also standing, and
picks up the coronet. "I should probably see if anyone's brought any new
emergencies past my room while I was gone."

Martin nods, "And I'll see to Tessa on the condition that you leave her
training to me."

Random nods a little, "Let me check with her first," he says. "I don't
want her to feel as if I'm setting her life up... even though I am."

"You keep mollycoddling her like this, and you'll do her a greater
injury that if you'd simply left her to fend for herself," Martin says.

Random replies, flatly, "Asking if she minds being taught is not
mollycoddling."

"It's irrelevent what she thinks," Martin counters. "Some things she
simply has to learn, for her own sake."

Without a pause, Random replies, "How would you have reacted to that?"

Martin answers, without missing a beat. "It's what I was taught. Weren't
you?"

Random smirks a bit, "I decided to learn to fight after my brothers beat
the shit out of me."

"See?" Martin replies, with half a grin. "Or are you suggesting I get a
group of us together to beat up Tessa first, to encourage her to want to
be taught?"

Random laughs, "That'll be the second to last resort," he replies, eyes
twinkling.

A rising wind howls through the castle walls.

"You have more important matters to deal with," Martin says, his gaze
darkening a shade. "I'll take care of Tessa. I just don't want her
thinking she can come running to you everytime she bumps her head or
nicks her finger."

Random shakes his head a bit, "She's my daughter, like you're my son...
Haven't I fucked things up enough already?" He frowns a bit, shaking his
head.

"If you continue to interfere with her life and mine, then yeah, you'll
just keep fucking it up worse," Martin says, tucking the crutch under
his arm. "Tessa has to learn to stand on her own, or the others will
just munch her in their tracks. Or use her against you. You can't afford
that right now."

Random considers Martin for a long time, silently. FInally, he sighs.
"That's what Vialle said, pretty much." He frowns, "You want to inform
her she has combat lessons, then?"

He adds, "You can tell her it's through me."

"When I see her," Martin answers, as he makes his way towards the door.
"I got things to see to right now."

Random waves, a short, abortive gesture. "Later."

"The other thing, I'll talk to you about when you and I have more time,"
Martin says over his shoulder.

Random arches a brow. "I...look forward to it."

Martin opens the door, heads out without looking back, pulling the door
close behind him.

--------
04/17/98