A morning in spring, and Martin calls on Vialle, knowing that Random's
busy elsewhere.

"Come in, please!" She calls out, and he does, making his way into the
room carefully, peering in before entering, and then hobbling in as
quietly as he can manage.

Vialle wipes traces of modeling clay from her hands with a towel, a
small mask (the size she might work on as a habit, while thinking) set
safely aside on a table. She's standing already by the time the door
opens. "Who is it?"

She is a small woman, only a little over five feet tall and quite slim.
Her dark hair is kept short and neat, a pretty frame for her fine
features; her eyes, too, are dark... but sightless, never changing in
focus. The dress that she wears is a simple red shift, pleasant enough
on her small form. She carries herself with care, but not fear; her
movements display a kind of quiet confidence instead. A gold chain about
her throat holds a gold and red locket. On her left hand rests a band of
silver-gold metal, designed to swirl around a single stone: a blue-black
opal glittering with green fire.

"Just me," Martin says, a small smile appearing. "Hi."

Vialle starts briefly, taking automatic steps forward as if to embrace
before restraining herself. "Martin, you're hurt? No-one told me!"

"Uh," Martin blinks momentarily. "It's nothing, really. How've you
been?" He kicks the door shut behind him with the end of his crutch once
he's cleared it.

Vialle sighs, not harshly, "Martin. You're limping. Please, please, sit
down?"

"Well, if you're going to insist..." he chuckles, hobbling over to the
nearest couch, careful not to hit anything.

Vialle replies, "I am," more or less as sternly as she gets - which, of
course, means she's smiling. The room is, of course, as neat as ever.

She settles into a chair herself, close by Martin's couch. "I've been -
recovering, really. I'd imagine you've been doing the same. How does it
feel to be Crown Prince?"

"You know I won't sit until you do," Martin says from before a couch,
teasingly.

"..crown what?" Martin splutters when the words connect a moment later.

Vialle smooths her skirt neatly. "Your father is the King," she points
out gently.

"So?" Martin's tone carries a note of unexpected anger.

Vialle blinks - futilely - in a hint of surprise at that anger. "That
would make you a prince, Martin. You're older than Tessa; that should
supply the rest."

"Well, I'm glad he told me," Martin mutters darkly.

Vialle says, somewhat more cautiously, "It seems only reasonable."

Random enters from the Hallway.

Martin considers Vialle in silence for a long moment. "Has everybody
gone crazy around here, or did I just wake up in hell?"

Random starts in the room, a roll of papers in his hand, "Vialle! I fi--
oh, hello Martin." He looks rather startled. "I didn't expect to see you
here."

Vialle sits on a chair near Martin. "I haven't particularly noticed
either, dear." She tilts her head a little at the sound of the new
voice, and smiles. "Good morning, Random."

Martin's eyes are on Vialle as he hauls himself upright. "Don't worry,
I'm leaving."

Random laughs a little, "No, no, you don't have too." He crosses over to
Vialle, picking up her left hand and kissing the ring finger.

Vialle has half risen herself by the time Random reaches her side, but
relinquishes her hand without argument (and with a hint of a blush).
"You didn't tell him," she says to Random.

Martin doesn't answer Random. "Good day," he says curtly, making his way
to the door.

Random frowns a little, "Martin," he says, "have you seen Tessa
recently? I'd like to speak with both of you as soon as possible."

He adds, "It has nothing to do with her lessons."

Martin opens the door and heads out without another word, slamming it
behind him.

Out in the corridor, he starts to swing-hobble his way towards his
rooms, pauses and glances behind him. Nothing.

Moments later, still nothing. Screw this, thinks Martin, and he
continues swing-striding away with little difficulty.

Random steps out of his room, looking around rapidly, then calling,
"Martin! Come back here."

Martin pauses mid-swing, and eyes Random over one shoulder.

Random frowns a bit. "Storming out," he says, "won't get either of us
any good."

"Nice of you to have Vialle tell me you were going to fuck my life over
again," Martin answers.

Random snaps out, "What are you talking about, Martin?"

"I wondered why you kept telling me to go see her," Martin adds nastily.

Random frowns further, "I said that," he snaps, "because she was missing
you. What the hell are you talking about? The possibility of you being
my heir?"

"Not the way Vialle tells it," Martin retorts. "Thanks for telling me
yourself. Hell, thanks for asking if I'd mind."

Random says, honestly confused, "What did Vialle say? At this point
nothing is set in stone. I was planning on showing you and Tessa what
I've worked out, but I didn't want to jump the gun." He adds, "I've
never had anything worth giving before."

"You still don't," Martin's upper lip curls back in a sneer. "'Dad'."

Random snarls out, "Then the crown can be passed to one of my brothers,
or perhaps Tessa when she's ready." Random turns his back, heading back
into his room.

"Great, " Martin laughs, turning away. "Go ahead, give it to Tessa. See
if the nobles don't cut her throat first."

Random snarls, again, over his shoulder, "What's given doesn't have to
be officially known." He slams his door behind him.

Martin continues his way southward, towards the end of the hallway.

Tessa eavesdrops as she comes down the stairs. She blinks, mouth falling
open slightly. She watches Martin for a time, then crinkles the note in
her hand. "Uh... no. No I think I'll go see Martin another time."
A solitary guard nods from the mouth of a side-corridor, walking his
rounds.

Martin is fitting a key into the lock of a door at the end of the
hallway.

Tessa follows down the hallway, eyes flashing. "Martin." she says
succintly. "Might I have a moment of your time?" Her lashes flutter once
and her smile is quite fixed.

Martin turns at his name, his hand on the door. "What do you want?" he
says, unsmiling, as he sees Tessa there.

Tessa's chin raises faintly. "You said you wanted to see me."

The light reflects oddly from the mirror for a second, moved by a
breeze, perhaps.

Martin shrugs, considers a moment, then locks the door again. "Well,
have you are. What do you want?" he repeats.

Tessa sighs softly, then frowns, voice tense. "You said you had
something to tell me. I'm hoping it was something other than a plan for
the Nobles to slit my throat."

"Oh, that," Martin says almost off-handedly. "That's what your beloved
father's planning for you. I was rather hoping to keep you alive for a
few more years."

Tessa's lips purse. "Lucky for me. Can you explain that a bit further. I
tend to slow a bit upon hearing the morbid fantasies of my relatives
announced to the Castle. It's a quirk. I'll outgrow it."

Martin looks round, and gestures wearily towards the tower door. "Let's
go in there," he says.

Tessa nods. "Alright." She heads in the direction he indicates, up a
winding corridor to the northwest, towards the sewing room in the White
Tower.

There, tall arched windows look south over the castle rooftops onto the
city and harbour far below, and north towards the tall northeast tower
and Kolvir beyond. The chamber is furnished simply, almost plainly.
Golden amberwood chairs and embroidery stands are grouped informally
before the simple stone fire-place and by the southern window-seats, and
a loom stands by the northern windows. A carpet of intertwining vines in
crimson and emerald brightens the chamber, and a pair of elegant
cabinets stand to either side of an old tapestry with the Unicorn upon
it.

Martin follows Tessa into the room, and glances round doubtfully. "Mm,"
he shrugs. "It'll do."

Tessa glances round, then claims a chair.

Martin makes his way over to a window, perches himself on the sill.
"Alright," he begins. "Your father is now King. Doubtless, this hasn't
escaped your notice."

Tessa frowns slightly. "I noticed."

"Yeah, well, maybe what you haven't noticed is what that means for us,"
Martin says sourly, as his gaze drifts out the window.

Her brow arches slightly. "It rather doesn't mean anything to me yet.
Should it?"

"Well," Martin snorts, amused. "For one thing, it means we've both got
this big sign around our necks that say 'Shoot me, please. I'm a sitting
duck."

Tessa frowns again. "I've worn that sign since the day you brought me
here."

"The sign got bigger when Random became King," Martin replies.

Tessa sighs faintly. "I wasn't expecting it to go away. I suppose this
means the local nobles are off my Christmas list too?"

Martin just shakes his head, "Tessa, understand this: you have no
friends here. Those who would befriend you seek the King's daughter, not
you."

The footfalls of a guard walking his rounds sound just beyond the little
winding corridor.

"And as for the nobles," he shrugs again, "that depends very much on
what you do. Or don't do."

Tessa raises a hand to her chest a moment. "Oh. Of course. Not a
laughing matter." she says her words tinged with sardonic taste. "Should
I summon a few tears?" she sighs then brushing her hair back from her
eyes. "I'm friendless, powerless, and everyone who befriends me seeks my
position not me. I've returned to high school." she shrugs. "With a few
more knives."

Martin shifts his gaze to Tessa, "I don't think you understand."

Tessa's brow arches faintly. "Do I not understand that my life is not
valued highly? I assure you I do. Do I not understand that I am in
danger?" there is a pause and a brief spurt of laughter.

"I assure you I have acknowledged it. Do I not understand that my father
is king, he has no time for me nto even enough to ensure my safety? I
had noticed." she pauses and then fixes her eyes on Martin. "I am new,
Martin but not blind. I am aware of my tenuous position. I simply choose
not to cry over it."

"Who said anything about crying? Your duty is to the Realm," Martin says
slowly, his dark gaze fixed on Tessa. "If by your actions and words, you
threaten the King's position, I will slit your throat myself."

Tessa's eyes narrow. "Maybe instead of threatening me you could tell me
what those duties are?"

"That was not a threat, Tessa," Martin says irritably. "It was a
warning. Watch how you conduct yourself. The rumors have not been kind."

Tessa frowns. "They wouldn't be. Considering who started them."

"The rumors that take hold the strongest are those shared by many,"
Martin says. "And I'm getting a little tired of defending your name
everywhere I go."

Tessa's back straightens. "Should I apologize or thank you?"

"You should have a care how you deal with others, that's what you should
do," Martin suggests unkindly. "Try paying attention to the real world
once in a while. It might keep both our heads on our shoulders and your
father's as well."

There is a grinding of teeth. "I am having a care how I deal with
people. This is not exactly natural to me." Her lips purse. "It's not as
if all this came with a screenplay and an acting coach. I rather have to
play on instincts."

"Simple caution is not natural to you?" Martin says with a raised brow.
"Courtesy among strangers is unknown to you?"

Tessa's eyes flare and her mouth snaps shut tightly, her fingers tap a
moment. "I will pay closer attention to my levels of courtesy and
caution." she finally says, through tightly clenched teeth.

Out the windows, a flight of wild swans crosses the view, honking softly
to one another.

"You should not have had to be told this," Martin says, looking out the
window again. "We can ill afford to have you threaten the King's
position just because you were too arrogant and idiotic to be polite."

Tessa's eye rolls skyward, and her fingers tap against her skirt.
"Alright." she manages. Her breathing has become rather... paced.

Martin says nothing for a little while, still gazing out the window.
"Tessa," he begins quietly.

"Yes?" she says softly.

"Look, I know this hasn't been easy for you," Martin says after a
moment. "I tried to warn you of that before. Guess I didn't do a very
good job there."

Tessa's shoulders rise a bit. "It'll get better."

"I wasn't kidding about the rest of it, though," Martin turns to face
Tessa. "You may be the King's daughter, but as far as everyone here is
concerned, you're just some crazy bastard chit of a girl. If you want
respect, you'll have to earn it, same as the rest of us did. No one will
sprinkle flowers before you. No one will make it easy, except to get
something back from you, or to get at the King."

"I don't care about being the daughter of a king and I don't want
flowers." Tessa's posture loosens some. "I will work on it."

She adds, "And I'll watch what I say for courtesy."

Martin shakes his head again. "It doesn't matter what you want, or
what I want. The fact is, you are the King's daughter, and the
nobles, and everyone else, can see you're the weak link." He pauses,
adds. "Please do so."

Tessa nods again. "I shall."

Martin watches Tessa a long moment, and just nods. "Oh, and you'll
probably want this back," he fishes around inside his jacket for
something.

Tessa returns her gaze to Martin. "Hmm?"

Martin removes a plain, slim dagger from within his jacket. "Try not to
lose it again," he says, tossing it towards her, hilt first.

Distantly, someone can be heard knocking on a door.

A gentle breeze wafts in from the windows, refreshing the chamber with
the scents of the outdoors.

Tessa catches it, looking down at it a moment. "Thank you." she says
simply and she slides it into her boot, letting the skirt fall back over
it.

"If you're going to stab someone," Martin suggests softly, and perhaps,
with a trace of amusement. "Do it from behind, or else don't miss."

Tessa looks away. "I didn't stab him. I didn't draw it."

Martin ohs? "What then?"

Tessa shakes her head. "Does it matter now?"

Along the short, twisitng corridor, soft footsteps approach.

"To me, yes," Martin says, then looks up at the sound of footsteps.

Tessa frowns. "Fine. He decided his cigarette would be best put out in
my eye. I disagreed with him. He moved forward, I laid my hand upon the
sheath." she shrugs. "He's stronger than I."

A messenger steps into view along the corridor, peering ahead of him at
the sound of voices. "Milord, milady? I bear a message from his majesty,
the King."

Martin holds up a hand to shush Tessa. "Later," he says to her. "What?"
he says to the messenger.

Tessa looks up then, at the messenger's entrance.

The messenger clears his throat. "Ahem, a message, milord, milady," he
bows, and enters, handing a note to Martin, and then one to Tessa.

Tessa takes the message and runs her eyes over it, wariness entering her
eyes and then weariness follows it.

Martin accpets the note, and when the messenger is done, dismisses him.
Then he opens the note, scanning it quickly.

Guess who. It reads:

Please come to my chambers at the earliest chance. --Your Father


Without a further word, the messenger bows and exits the room quickly,
and is soon nothing more than the sound of deoparting footsteps.

Martin lets out a long, drawn breath, and folds up the note, slipping it
into a pocket. "Here we go again," he says. "So, do you feel up to being
summoned to the King's presence?"

Tessa rises, pushing her shoulders back. "Yes." she says simply intaking
a deep breath. "Certainly, it wouldn't do to keep him waiting."

Martin mutters something under his breath as he gets off the sill. "No,
it wouldn't do to keep the King waiting," he says, his expression
souring. "After you, sister."

Tessa leaves the room spine stiff.

They return to Random's rooms in silence. At his door, Tessa lifts a
hand, pauses, then raps upon it.

From beyond the Hallway, a man calls out, "Who is it?"

Tessa calls out, "Martin and Tessa."

No reply.

"Maybe you should knock again," Matin says, almost joking.

Tessa turns to look at you, then looks back to the door.

Martin shrugs, begins humming a tuneless air to pass the time.

Then Random calls back, "Come in."

Martin opens the door for Tessa, and moves back to let her enter first.
he follows her in, just in time to catch that something happens between
Random and Vialle, but he's not sure what.

Random is standing next to Vialle, looking faintly smug. "Ahh, glad you
could come so soon," he says. "Have a seat."

"What now?" Martin says from the open doorway.

Tessa seats herself, eyes upon Vialle for a moment.

Vialle sits on the divan, composed, hands laid neatly in her lap.

Random gives Martin a dark look, walking over to the table and picking
up his crown. "Come in and have a seat," he repeats.

He places the crown on his head, competently enough, leaving it
perfectly straight without effort.

Martin regards Random a moment, shuts the door behind him, and crosses
over to the back of Tessa's seat.

Tessa glances up at Martin, then turns slightly in the chair.

Random indicates the other chair with one hand, waiting for Martin to
take it. He is, uncharacteristically, solemn.

Martin studies Random for the longest second before moving to comply.
Another moment, and he's seated, lounging back in the chair, eyes fixed
on his father, his features parked in neutral.

Vialle tilts her head slightly, turning her face a little to follow the
footsteps.

Tessa shifts back to the position she held before, eyes upon Random.

Random sits, then, finally, unrolling a sheif of papers before him. "I
have spent some time working out exactly what places you two will take
in Amber now that I'm King. I have all of the paperwork filled out to
declare both of you my legal heirs." His eyes linger on Martin a moment.
"Amber cannot survive another battle for the Throne. My Father never
declared an heir. To the best of my knowledge, my brother, Eric, didn't
either. That trend is ending here. Martin, you will take your place as
my heir. In the event of my death, I /will/ not have Amber fall to the
jackels again."

Martin's response, eventually, is to raise an eyebrow warily. "Why?"

Random says, simply, "You are the best canidate. None of my brothers
will do. If they would take it, they would not do what's best for
Amber." He turns to Tessa, smiling slightly -- a little sadly, perhaps?
-- and says, "And you, Tessa, did not grow up in any world that would
prepare you for this. You have much to learn. I know you will do so
well."

Tessa's brow rises. "If the apologetic tone is for not offering me
heirship it is unneccessary. I don't desire it."

Vialle simply sits, quietly, listening. If she was expecting - or, for
that matter, is surprised by - anything Random says, it doesn't show in
her expression.

Martin's gaze narrows, never leaving Random. "We have to talk," he says
very quietly, to his father.

Random smiles, then, truly, to Tessa. "Neither did I." He turns back to
Martin, nodding once. "Yes, we do," he says, then passes over the papers
to them. "The scholars already have copies of these." Both are
declarations of the two of them as Randoms acknowledged children.

"Now," Martin says, an edge to his voice. "Alone."

Random arches his brow at Martin, his voice still calm and edgeless. "A
moment," he says, "and yes." He stands, then, walking around the table.
"Please come by tomorrow, Tessa," he says. "I have more to discuss with
you in private, but it can wait."

Tessa nods again, rising, she moves to the door then pauses at it. "It
was a pleasure to see you Vialle." she says softly, then opens the door.

She nods again. "Martin, Father." She leaves.

Vialle says softly, "And you, Tessa." She turns her face toward Random.
"Shall I absent myself as well?"

Martin nods to Random.

Random turns back to Vialle. "Yes, please beloved," he says, the
endearment dropping easily from his lips. "Wait in the bedroom, perhaps?
Or Martin and I could take this to my office."

"Wheresoever you choose," Martin answers Random.

Vialle rises neatly. "I have a few things to take care of, myself." She
turns a brief smile to Martin's voice; follows Tessa, to the door.

"Good day, Vialle," Random says, capturing her hand for a quick kiss
before she escapes.

"Vialle," Martin nods to her absently, his gaze still fixed on Random.

She smiles to Random as well, warm, before departing.

Random returns to his seat, retaking it easily.

"You know I can't accept it," Martin says without preamble.

Random replies, calmly, "Why not?"

"Because certain matters have yet to be resolved," Martin says, watching
his father.

"What matters might those be?" Random remains calm, one might almost
argue kingly -- though surely not.

"The matter of my mother's dishonor," Martin answers, with the same, one
might say, dead calm.

Random leans forward and says, very clearly, "Which is more important, a
dishonor that I, I will freely admit, did unknowingly to your mother, or
the fate of the entire Universe as we know it? Amber is too vulnerable
now, and much as I once hated her, she is my responsibility now and I
/will/ not see her ripped apart."

"Nor I," Martin answers levelly. "But I cannot be your son with her
death hanging over my head. Do you want for your heir a man who can't
even avenge his mother's death and shame?"

Random replies, his voice hard, "If you will not see her ripped apart,
then you will be my heir." He adds, quieter, "Once I swore revenge on
the King of Amber. I thought, at the time, that my motives were just. He
was a tyrant, and evil Amberite who was the epitome of all that was
wrong and false about my family." He leans back a little. "I failed."

His tone is flatter, now. "He, mercifully perhaps -- thought more likely
to avoid my curse -- threw me in prison." A short laugh, "I was not even
robed of my sight. I was not a big enough threat."

Again, a short pause. "I wronged your mother more greviously than Eric
ever wronged me, I'll admit that, but I paid the penalty that Moire
demanded of me, and unknown to her, she did me the greatest good any
living creature ever has."

His eyes again harden, "But now, I do not ask you to be my son. I ask
you to be the Crown Prince, for Amber, for the Universe, because you
have no choice, just as I have no choice."

"Spare me the lecture," Martin says. "I had my decisions made for me
long before the same happened to you." Then, quieter, and less severely.
"All I want is an acknowledgement..."

"That I did her wrong?" Random's face softens then, and his hand rises
to remove the crown from his brow and turn it over in his hands. "When I
met her... she was like a ray of sunshine..." He laughs a little, "A
fresh sea breeze perhaps." He is still a moment, remembering perhaps.
"She was the only woman I ever took with me. At first... it was
wonderful. She was always there, always..."

Random shakes his head, "Always there." He sighs, his eyes returning to
Martin's, "but then, she was always there and I started feeling...
caged. Closed in." His hands close on the crown, fists. "I started...
trying to drive her away. I was afraid... I don't know what I was afraid
of." His face tightens a bit, another pause, this one darker.

Martin shakes his head, his voice pained. "I don't want to hear it,
alright?"

Random looks at Martin. "I cared about her," he says, hard, "enough that
I got her away from me before I hurt her more. I /thought/ I was doing
her a favor."

He adds, softer, "I was wrong. I didn't know until... long after she had
killed herself."

"All I want is an acknowledgement that you wronged her," Martin says
softly, looking into his hands, determinedly ignoring Random's words. "A
public acknowledgement," he repeats in his quiet voice. "That's all."

"Then take this private acknowledgement too, for it's yours," Random
says, "your heritage. Yes, I wronged her. If you want I'll scream it
from the battlements. I wronged a /lot/ of people, she was the latest...
I have no idea how many of my others killed themselves. I never
considered it a possibility until Morganthe. Sometimes it keeps me up at
nights. If you think I don't care, you're wrong." He sets down the
crown, standing up restlessly. "If you ever want to talk about her," he
says, softly, "let me know."

"I don't care how you do it," Martin says. "But Moire has to hear of it
in Rebma. So she'll know."

Random says softly, "She's never forgiven me." He looks over at Martin.
"I never understood why until I saw your trump with blood on it." He
shifts, restlessly. "Consider it done. I'll make sure Llewella hears of
it; she's the unofficial Rebman Ambassador." He muses, then, "I have to
remember to make her official."

"And there's nothing you have to tell me about Morganthe I want to
hear," Martin adds, looking up again, dark eyes glittering. "So please
don't. Don't mention her to me again."

Random is silent a long moment after he speaks, then says, "I wouldn't
be too sure of that." He looks back at Martin. "I will not, however,
bring her up."

Martin mms, mumbles "my thanks."

Random walks back over to the table. "You are my heir," he says,
clearly. "For the sake of this Land, which I am... growing to love," his
smile is slightly wry, "I would want peace between us."

"I've already given you my word as your subject," Martin replies after a
pause. "My loyalty is to Amber and Her King. Whatever else you want from
me..." he considers, shakes his head. "I'm not sure I can give."

Random says, simply, "I would not have anything you are not willing to
give." He adds, a little slyly, "If I were in your position, I'd
probably hate me. I hated my father for driving my mother to suicide."
Immediatly, that is followed by. "What there anything else, Martin?"

"So, what, it's a family tradition? Wonderful." There's just the
faintest hint of wry amusement. Then he just shakes his head. "I stopped
hating you a long time back. Couldn't work up the energy for it anymore.
No, there's nothing else."

Random says, softly, "For your sake, I hope that tradition, as well,
ends here." He smiles again, "If you wouldn't mind, then, I have some
paperwork to go through."

Martin gets up, tucking the crutch under his arm, murmurring aloud to
himself. "Later, I'll consider how best to thank you for making me a
marked man."

Random half bows, "I look forward to it," he says. "Good afternoon,
Martin."

Martin crosses the room to the door, "Good day." He doesn't look back as
he leaves.

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4/21/98