A summer afternoon, after the meeting with Bleys and before the
situation with the Virgan prisoners, a lull between storms as it were.
Martin can't think up any excuses not to, and finally takes up his aunt
llewella's offer of tea.

Her apartment is an elegant set of rooms, decorated in ocean shades.
Lots of soft fabric, drapes, mouldings, all that sort of thing women
like.

Llewella reclines upon a greyish hued couch and her eyes raise to him as
he enters. "Martin." she says, smiling faintly. "How good of you to
come."

Large, feline eyes of jade reside in her olive complexioned face at a
slight slant. Curling tresses of a hue matching her eyes fall to the
middle of her back, a few tendrils straying and sweeping over one
shoulder. Her smile is slight and holds traces of vague amusement, an
emotion that plays liberally within her eyes as well. Her movements
contain a fluidity and grace within them, nearly as smooth as the waters
she resides in. 
 
She is clad in a flattering creation of silver and violet. Low belted
and off the shoulders, it molds to her then forms a full skirt at the
waist; sweeping elegantly in her wake. 
 
Among her jade hued tresses pure cream roses are interspersed and woven
in among the curls. Bright against the green hair. 

Martin lets the door swing open, glancing in before he enters. With a
nod, he closes the door and greets, "Aunt Llewella."

Llewella rises from the couch to move to his side and she extends her
hands. "It has been some time." she says, "How have you been?"

Martin shrugs, "Well enough. And yourself? You look pretty much as I
remember." He takes Llwella's hands in his, then raises one to his lips
and kisses the back of it.

Llewella smiles prettily at him. "I may not have changed much but you
certainly have. Is it your long abscence that makes you seem so much the
taller now?" Llewella's shoulders lift. "Ah, but I shall not embarrass
you with reminiscences of your youth." she leads him over towards the
sitting area gesturing to the couch she had occupied. "Would you care
for tea?"

Martin inclines his head. "Thank you, Aunt," he answers simply.

Llewella seats herself, pulling her skirts about, and then gently lifts
an ornate tea pot that formed part of a set on the table near where she
rests. "Sugar or honey?" she queries gently. "I have lemon if you'd
rather."

"As you'd prefer," Martin says, taking a seat opposite to her. "I don't
mind either way."

Llewella's head quirks faintly. "Have you not a preference?"

"It's all the same to me," he smiles faintly.

Llewella fills a china cup to the brim with steaming tea and then passes
it over upon a saucer. Her own she squeezes a wedge of lemon into and
then sits back in her chair. "I hope you are recovering nicely? I heard
you were hurt in the war."

Martin offers a shrug in reply as he takes the cup and saucer. "I've had
worse." Placing the tea upon the table to cool, he asks, "Doesn't look
like you've just come back from a war."

Llewella's brow furrows. "We had much time in Chaos to prepare for our
return. And a few days of rest put much to right."

"How did that go?" Martin asks, curious.

"The war?"

He quirks a grin, "Well, yeah, the war."

Llewella takes a deep breath, and then a sip. "Strange. Terrifying in
many ways."

Martin takes up his cup of tea again, blowing on its surface, his gaze
on Llewella. "What happened there?"

"Creatures." Llewella says quietly. "Strange and horrible creatures.
Like out of a nightmare. They shift, they absorb things." she swallows
once. "The filth was worse than any battle I'd ever seen."

He nods once, listening - but perhaps not surprisingly - not really
understanding. "But we won."

Llewella's lips purse. "Yes. But it is not a battle I'd like to fight
again." she frowns then. "The outcome might be surprising."

"How do you mean?" he asks as he sips his tea, watching her over the rim
of the cup.

Llewella's shoulders lift faintly. Her voice lowers. "They will no
longer be surprised."

"I see," Martin answers, considering for a moment. "But we'll deal with
that when that happens. We know about them now." He regards Llewella
carefully, "So how did it end?"

"Brand was shot in the throat, he fell into the abyss pulling Deirdre
with him." Llewella says softly, her brow furrowing again as if some of
these memories are troubling. "It was... strange. Caine appeared amid
the mass of confusion. He had shot the arrows." she shakes her head.
"The world seemed to spin so for the shifting."

Martin makes no comment, sipping at his tea before setting it down to
rest on his knee. Then, "Fortuitous bit of timing there by Caine. How
did Brand find himself in such a precarious position?"

Llewella's head quirks to look at him for a moment and her cup is
lowered to its saucer with a resounding clink. "He had been surrounded
by all. He held the jewel and had taken Deirdre as a hostage." There is
a pause as she shifts the cup from one hand to another. "He had his eyes
upon us all, but not Caine. No one expected Caine. It was a well laid
plan."

Martin says nothing for a time. "I suppose I owe him a drink or two
then," he shrugs. "Why didn't he return with you?"

Llewella shrugs gently. "He had things to do I suppose." she frowns then
softly. "Your hate never died, did it? I can understand." she nods once,
then sips her tea.

"Hate? Not exactly," Martin shrugs again. "It irks me that someone else
got to him before I did. It happens."

Llewella sighs softly. "And all that was once connected to him? Hold you
malice to them too?"

"Aunt," Martin says quietly, drinking his tea. "Please do not presume to
know my mind. I don't wish to offend you, but," he pauses to meet her
gaze. "You do not understand."

Llewella frowns faintly. "Fine, I won't presume to understand you. But
you should understand this. There is talk of your instability in the
castle."

She adds, "Instability and rudeness."

Martin replies, smiling a small smile, "Yes, I've heard. First hand.
Funny how no one else shares those thoughts." A sip and, "I give what I
get, Aunt. No less."

Llewella sighs softly. "The rumors never came from my mouth Martin, and
I, in fact found them disturbing to what I knew of you. And I wanted to
see if you had changed."

She stares at him for a very long moment, then sighs again. "I had hoped
that maybe his death would... free you somewhat."

Martin's smile quirks into a grin, as he takes another mouthful of tea.
"Your pardon, Aunt, but I did not mean to accuse you. I was speaking of
another, likely the one who offered such an opinion to you. I have no
reason to let a few poorly considered words frighten me. I am known
here. What I do, and have done, speaks for itself."

Llewella nods once. "Yes it does. But many of us knew you not during
those years." she looks at him her jade eyes sad again. "And your
actions now are speaking loudly too. Mostly to those who..." she pauses,
her brow scrunching as if she battles over a word. "think of you."

"Aunt," Martin's voice carries a warning edge of impatience. "I didn't
enjoy playing those sorts of games in Rebma, and I don't enjoy them now.
If you have something to say to me, speak plainly, and I will answer in
like. I accepted your hospitality in good faith."

Llewella frowns openly. "This is not a game Martin." she says firmly.
"Nor do I seek to play one with you.I am simply..." she scowls then
looking vaguely uncomfortable. "I extended the hospitality in good faith
Martin." she says, almost angrily. "I am simply lacking skill in
expressing my concern over you."

She says, "I always was."

Sensing that Llewella seems uncomfortable and almost angry, Martin
speaks up.

"Then I apologise for the slight, unintended as it was," he says, his
features slipping into neutral. "You have never caused me offence, and I
have always held you in high regard."

Llewella's eyes move to him sadness lifting some. "As I have you,
Martin. I was always so proud of you." she looks away then. "I probably
never told you."

Martin returns his attention to his tea. "You didn't. But that was in
Rebma," he comments, no trace of rancor in his voice. "It is in the
past."

Llewella flushes faintly. "Yes well," she clears her throat. "I'm
certain you have things to do."

Martin drains the little that is left in his cup before setting it down.
"Much," he agrees, keeping his gaze politely averted for the moment.
"Thank you for the tea. It was very fine."

Llewella nods once. "Thank you for stopping by to see me." Her gaze too
is away, her voice sounding distant for a moment. "Martin." she says
softly, the end of it falling into a query. "Don't make our mistakes.
Don't worry about new ones, but don't repeat ours."

He doesn't answer immediately. "The only mistakes I have made," he
replies slowly, lifting his gaze then. There is no accusation in his
tone, as though he were simply stating a fact. "Was to believe that
others would honor their word to me, as I have them."

Llewella nods once. "You are a man of honor Martin, and in such fate you
may spend ages being the only one of such about." she sighs gently.
"There are others, they probably feel as you."

"It's what I was taught," he answers, getting to his feet. "I have no
desire to follow the examples set by most of the family."

Llewella chuckles, the laugh ending with a faint smile. "I recall using
those words once." Her chin lifts. "And so far I have not regretted it."

"I think our situations are very different, Aunt," Martin smiles
faintly, extending a hand towards her.

Llewella slips her hand into his. "True. So they are."

Martin bows to her, raising her hand to his lips in the same formal
movement, and kissing the back of it before straightening and returning
her hand to her. "It was a pleasure to speak with you again. Thank you."

Llewella smiles, her eyes gentle. "It was my pleasure. Come see me again
when days are less hectic."

"That may be a while," he replies, a hint of apology in his smile. "But
thanks. Good day, Aunt."

Llewella smiles fondly as he leaves. "Good day nephew."

Martin crosses the room to the door, and nods a polite farewell, closing
it quietly after him as he exits.

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5/20/98