To the Rose Upon the Rood of Time

(1101 ac)

Morgan walked quietly beside Beatrice, leaving the gates of the City of Amber behind. It's wide plazas, shining marble, and gleaming spires shimmering below them as they made their way up the gradually steepening side of Kolvir. It was not the Realm of Faery, but there was beauty in Amber... Romanesque plazas and columns, the occasional onion dome, if only in miniature, obelisks that recalled Egyptian Shadows, and tall spires that were as much a declaration of skill as they were of art. Only the port side of the City marred the cosmopolitan face of the City... It was, as one might expect, a medieval port, sometimes with what Morgan considered Romanesque acquirements; dockside cranes powered by men in wheels, walking within them like hamsters at play, horse drawn cargo wagons guided by tracks into the stone, dry docks rendered so by hand pumps. It was busy, bustling, and ingenious... but also dirty, dangerous, and potentially hazardous. Morgan had taken them through swiftly, and put one man to sleep that had grabbed his shoulder. His mind had knifed into the would-be thug, and out he went.

Beatrice had walked along beside Morgan as they explored the city, her fingers laced with his or simply resting on his arm. She had asked questions sometimes, but mostly she had just looked around with quiet interest, her green eyes bright and curious. Her fingers had tightened on his slightly when the man fell behind them, but she had not questioned what happened.

Now they were above the City in the hills, and Morgan was shuffling out a card, "Ready for Ireland?"

"Of course," Beatrice answered readily. "But - do we need to let anyone know we're going?"

Morgan smiled at her, "No. Fiona knows you're with me, if she decides we must return home at once, she will Trump me." He met her eyes, "You're a guest, Beatrice... and Family, not a prisoner. And seeing home always helps." He shuffled out the Trump to the small inn room that he had used for a few days the last time he saw her; Old Sean Thornton's place. "See? I always meant to return one day...."

Beatrice nodded slowly. "I guess I've gotten used to someone checking on me every few hours..." She smiled and blushed slightly when she saw the card. "Sean still gives me knowing looks sometimes, I'll have you know," she said, with a soft laugh. "I guess we made an impression..."

Morgan smiled, "You're safe and sound with me." He focused on the image, and it began to solidify for him. His grip on her hand tightened slightly. "You have things you need to learn, as you likely already know, but for now... It's just you, me, maybe old Mister Thornton, maybe even some more Yeats, and County Sligo, Ireland." He stepped forward, pulling her with him, into the room where he had first played music for her, and where she had first read for him. Morgan smiled, and led her out of the room, and out to the river. "And here we are..." He smiled, "Of course we did..." He pulled her into his arms, hugging her close for the first time that day, and gave her a long and lingering kiss.

Beatrice squeezed his hand gently when his fingers tightened, and she stepped through with him gracefully, like the act was a dance, one she'd done before. She was smiling again, her green eyes bright with memories of the last time they'd been in the room and a quiet pleasure at being home. She returned his hug there by the river, and then his kiss, gentle and a little shy at kissing him so publicly.

She rested her forehead against his again, gently, when the kiss ended. "If we follow the river," she said quietly, "we can take a shortcut to my house..."

Morgan smiled, "That was the kiss you should have gotten years ago." He nodded, "Then let's take the shortcut... This way we can avoid Sean's knowing looks." He kissed the tip of her nose, and then nuzzled her. "We should do that..." After a moment, he straightened and took her hand. "After you... since I don't know the way..."

Beatrice smiled at him, affection in her eyes, and delicately touched his cheek. "We have to take the shortcut, unless you want to walk the whole long way by road. My car is at home."

"Oh no, the shortcut will do... then we're alone." He winked at her, and leaned into her touch. "Lead on, Beatrice..."

She led the way along the river, moving upstream and away from the coast. Mostly she kept to the grassy banks, but sometimes the houses and the stores came down to the water and she'd detour up to the sidewalk. She pointed out favorite places of hers that she hadn't the day they'd had lunch: bookstores, of course, but also a general store and a restaurant and a pub. They crossed a footbridge, and she pointed out a pair of swans cruising quietly along the bank; not long afterwards, the narrow river they'd been following broadened and slowed, until it was more a body of water than a river. The hills rose up sharply from the bank there, green and rocky.

Morgan walked with her, took a deep breath, and heaved a sigh. "I had forgotten how much like home this place was, how much like Hibernia..." He smiled, "There are modern touches, certainly, where there was magic in Hibernia... but this town would have been at home there..."

"Hibernia?" Beatrice asked, surprised. "I suppose it would - that's an old, old name for this country, and not one that's returned to the world recently..."

"Yes..." Morgan replied softly, "In Avalon there were Three Kingdoms, under the High King, my Dad... My Mother was Brighid, Queen of Hibernia." He smiled slightly, "She was the last to bend the knee to Corwin... She umm either died in childbirth, which is my Father's story, or my Governess, Maeve, would say she fled under the Hill. Either way, she was gone." He took a breath, and shrugged slightly. "I would have been the King of Hibernia when I was old enough... as it was, I only held the title. A Highland Chief, raised to Duke, a good man, served on Corwin's Council, representing Hibernia..."

Beatrice squeezed his hand gently. "My mother vanished when I was very young," she said quietly. "Much too young to remember anything but that she always smelled like flowers."

Eventually she turned away from the river, following a trickle of a creek upwards. It burbled and tinkled it's way downward from a small, clear spring in the cleft between two hilltops; they passed quite near the spring itself as Beatrice led them through the small stand of trees and bushes and out into a green, green valley.

He chuckled, "If you wanted me alone, Beatrice, all you had to do was - -" Morgan fell silent as the house came into view.

A house stood below, built of good Irish stone with a slate roof. It had probably been a manor house, a fine one in its day, but age and neglect had taken their toll. At least one of the upper rooms looked uninhabitable, with shingles and stones missing or tilted at wildly impossible angles. There were curtains in most of the windows, though, and the lower floor looked in good repair. Several outbuildings were arrayed between the trees where Beatrice and Morgan stood and the house itself; one was clearly a stable, another some sort of shed. The others, too, had suffered neglect, until the walls were crumbling and the grass was taking over. A modest stone fence circled the property, broken here and there by wooden gates.

Beatrice smiled and squeezed his hand lightly. "This is home," she said. "Or at least the back of it."

"Oh, Beatrice... This is... amazing." Morgan looked the place over, and was struck by a wave of homesickness. His hands tightened around hers slightly. He gestured at the part of the house that had stones and shingles mixing. "I can fix that..." He said softly, "...the roof too. I learned when I ran away..." He shook his head, and turned to Beatrice. "It's a fantastic house, Beatrice... You can't leave this to fall down... not even for Amber."

She smiled at him. "It's in better shape than it used to be, Morgan. The caretakers I had as a child - they weren't so good at maintaining the house." She sighed. "And my mother, she was the last of her line and had none but my Father around to help her, and not often him. I've done the best I can, between books and Father's visits." She squeezed his hand gently.

Morgan smiled, "It's still an amazing house, Beatrice...I love old homes, you don't see them like this anywhere else. At least...I've not...not since - Home." He shook his head. "Albion, one of the Three Kingdoms, had Hibernian enclaves near Camelot..."

"I'll fix that room one day, but I've left it for a few years now. Here, I'll show you why..." She led him down to the fence line, following a trickle of water from the spring behind to what seemed to be a half-overgrown ditch. She knelt and brushed aside the grass, revealing a relatively still puddle. With her fingertips just touching the water, she whispered a scrying spell; the clear water turned murky and swirled for a moment, settling finally on a corner of stone. Tucked into that corner was a nest of twigs and grass, and in and around that nest were two large ravens. "I hate to disturb them," Beatrice offered.

"Oooh..." Morgan nodded, smiling at her easy use of magic. "You've a couple of Watchmen in residence..." He smiled, and made a few calls that were soft, but were unmistakably the call of a Raven. "They are important in the Faery Court as well... I had friends amongst their number... A few helped in my escape, at some risk I am sure. They helped get the redcaps off my trail..." He looked up at that part of the house. "Maybe we can make another nesting spot for them... I can always ask them..."

Beatrice smiled up at him and let her scrying drop. "They've been there for three summers or so; I hate to disturb them now, even if we ask their permission. I've a bit of a spell in place to keep the weather and other things out, and they're not harming anything." She rose and caught his hand again. "I would like to hear you speak with them, though, even if all you tell them is that they're welcome."

Morgan smiled, "Well... I found out later that I am... Morgan of the Fey... In this world's literature, she was a she, Morgan Le Fey." He shook his head, "Her, the Goddess Morrigan and the Fae are often associated with Ravens. I actually DID associate with them. Very strange sometimes." He chuckled, and nodded. "That is very kind of you... There's old magic here, I think I can probably speak to them. We can try today if you like." Morgan looked at the House, "Let's see the inside, please?" He grinned, and adjusted the strap to his guitar.

"Of course," Beatrice agreed, leading the way through a nearby gate. "My ravens in the back bedroom is the closest I've come to the Morrigan, I'm afraid, or to Morgana le Fey." She smiled up at him, a little wryly. "I feel so mundane next to you, Morgan, when the strangest things I've seen were things my Father brought here to me..."

Morgan shook his head with a smile, "Mudane? Hardly... You're a wonderful author... and I just watched you casually cast a scrying spell." He met her eyes, "You can draw Trumps... You're beautiful... and you have the loveliest fiery red hair I've seen since the Courts." He grinned, "And I will show you wonderful things in Shadow, so that you will have stories of your own to tell. There was magic in this Shadow once, perhaps we can find out what happened to it together." he leaned over and kissed her cheek, "There is no way the woman that wrote those books has ever been mundane..."

Beatrice blushed again and squeezed his hand gently. "I guess it's a matter of perspective," she offered thoughtfully. "I feel mundane next to you because I'm so used to my own story that yours sounds terribly exotic." She smiled and shrugged a little.

Morgan lifted her hand to his lips, "Well, maybe you can write about it. There's ideas for books in there somewhere." He smiled, "To me... it simply was how things were. Magic was rich and prevalent, and what most call superstitions were entirely reasonable concerns." He gestured broadly, "It used to be like that here... It still is in some places; that's why I like it so much." He regarded her with a smile, "Well, that, and one other very good reason..."

Beatrice smiled, still a little pink, and gently teased, "There are more than a few ideas for books, for sure, but I will have to let you sleep some time."

As they reached the back door, she said suddenly, "Ah, my keys are back in Amber..." She frowned at the wall for a minute, then started almost randomly poking bricks. "I know I bespelled a brick with a spare key here somewhere - but there's a few other things hidden as well..."

He smiled, and began to feel the bricks as well, looking for her hidden key. "Do you need to go back?" He looked up along the building, "Do you lock all of your windows?"

Beatrice shook her head. "No, it's here somewhere... I just haven't lost my keys in a few years, so I've forgotten exactly where..." She paused to study a section of wall just to the left of the door. "I usually keep the windows locked; there's no harm in it, and I don't have to worry when the rains come up again. Ah-ha." She reached out and pushed cautiously at a section of stone; a key tumbled free and she caught it. "I knew it was here," she told Morgan triumphantly, holding it up.

"Would you like to...?" she said, almost shyly, and held out the key to him.

Morgan grinned and accepted the key. He unlocked the door and opened it, pausing a moment to check the in-between places out of habit. He was disappointed there was no one and nothing there, but his grin did not slip. "After the Lady of the House, of course..." He bowed in a graceful and courtly fashion, and offered her the key. "You'd best hide it again, in case we need it another time." He winked at her then, and straightened. Morgan held out his hand, "A tour first?"

Beatrice smiled and obediently returned the key to its hiding place. "Make sure to watch your feet," she said. "I wasn't kidding about the amount of paper..."

Morgan chuckled, "I will be careful... I will respect your personal standard of organization as if it were my own."

Then she pushed open the door and led the way in. The door opened into a kitchen, large and homey. The whole room was of stone, softened by cabinets and a table and chairs and butcher-block countertops. She must have lived alone for some time, because the table was piled high with papers - mostly mail, it looked like - and most of the countertops were layered with more dust than her recent absence could account for. A fridge lurked uneasily in the corner next to an old-fashioned fireplace, looking wholly out of place. Beatrice eyed it with a certain unease of her own. "I think," she said quietly, "that we should go into town if we get hungry... There were things a few days from going off before I left..."

He smiled as he looked around, and took a deep breath, like someone might that had been away from home for a long time. "This is perfect. Reminds me of home. Though, we didn't have an icebox..." Morgan gestured at the fridge. "Of course we'll go into town, we should at least say hello to Mister Thornton after the pleasant fuss he put up." He walked around admiring the place, especially the fold-fashioned hearth. He ran his fingers over the mantle, and touched a stone or two that he seemed to like the texture of. Then he turned to her with a smile, "What's next?"

Beatrice smiled and caught his hand, twining her fingers around his. "This way."

Morgan squeezed her hand, and followed along, smiling as he did so.

She led the way through a thick wooden door set in the stone and into a narrow stone hall. They passed a single doorway on the left; she indicated it with a finger and said, "Cellar..."

"Of course." He nodded, moving with her easily.

The hallway opened into a large room shortly after. There was a time when this would have been a massive dining room, perhaps a great hall, but it had been divided by wood and plaster walls into smaller spaces. This just happened to be the largest of them; a large table and numerous chairs dominated the room. All along the walls, the sideboard, the china cabinet, there were books and stacks of aging paper, trinkets and cardboard boxes. The table was clear, but only because half the chairs were piled high with more stacks of paper. A large window looked out the side of the house, into the hills towards Sligo town, and there were curtains of blue and green with delicate lace trim restricting the sunlight pouring in. "Dining room," Beatrice offered unnecessarily.

Morgan moved into the room carefully, not wanting to upset this stack of books, or that stack of paper. He smiled as he went, pausing to read book titles or even notes for things, making his way to the window. He grinned and appreciated the view a long moment, before turning back to her. "Ah, Beatrice, you'll want to spend time here, I am certain. It's too lovely not to..." He turned to look back at her, "Until you've the Pattern yourself, I'll be glad to bring you... or you can make a Trump too, I suppose." He smiled, and moved back to her. "And I rather like the clutter... It feels lived in..."

Many of the scattered books were history books, but not a few were her own writing, too. Some of the papers were story notes, and some looked to be notes from lectures.

"This is home," Beatrice said quietly. "Though bad things have happened here as well as the good." She held out her hands to him. "I'd be happy for you to bring me back when you can, Morgan. But I can't take all your time...."

"Of course it is home." He reached up and caressed her cheek, "Avalon was not always the happiest place for me, but it was still home." Morgan smiled, "The Band and I go on tour, or we laze, but there'll always be time to take you home, by one means or another." He smiled, "Not all of my time, Sweetheart... just enough of it. Besides, there's things for you to see, places to explore... music to find and to play. I think you should come with us on Tour... see the Golden Circle and Shadow. I can't think of a better way..."

Beatrice smiled in surprise at the term of endearment. "I don't want to tie you to my apron strings," she said, sighing and sounding a little embarrassed. "It's been a long time since I've had a romance, Morgan, and I don't want to hang on too tight."

Morgan smiled brightly, "I don't think we are going to have any problems. I don't want to be tied to your apron string either, Beatrice." He took her to sit near the window, "But, I know what its like to be the new Amberite in town, and not having the Pattern for a bit, sort of leaves you stuck relying on others. So, you may as well rely on me." He kissed the palm of one of her hands, "I certainly won't mind... and the beauty of not having a title, is not having responsibility to it... Most of my days are free; I tour with the Band, or jaunt in Shadow or do both even in Amber or the Golden Circle, but nothing more important than making sure you're doing well with all the changes." He shrugged slightly, "If that means bringing you home, or being Trumped to bring you back from here, I'm all yours."

Beatrice smiled again, more relaxed and looking happier again.

"I'd love to come on tour with you." She laughed softly and joked, "I can be your groupie."

He smiled at that, and leaned forward to kiss her gently, "You'll always have front row seats then." Morgan winked, and straightened. "Was there anything you had to do here? For your work I mean?" He looked around, "And there's more to see, no?"

"I'm not sure how long it's been," Beatrice answered. "But my agent knows that I'll call when I'm ready to turn something in, so even if it's been a year or more, I should be fine." She looked out the window at the green landscape beyond for a moment. "Let's go upstairs. The rooms down here are the public ones."

Morgan smiled, "Oh, the private rooms... That sounds almost scandalous."

Beatrice blushed faintly and laughed.

She gently tugged Morgan to his feet and led the way into the next room - clearly a sitting room, with much less paper clutter in it - and then out into a wood-paneled hallway papered in blues and greens. To the right was a stairway, and to the left a pile of mail. Beatrice eyed the mail, hesitating, and finally shrugged. "I should look at that... but I'll do it later. What would you like to see first? My room is upstairs, as are the guest rooms, the library, my office - and the ravens, of course."

He followed her chuckling softly, and looked around the sitting room, impressed with its relative state of organization. He moved along with her, caught sight of the mail piled up, and smiled when Beatrice shrugged it off. "Mail? Beatrice, you're a Princess of Reality... Such a beauty does not worry about Mail." Morgan grinned, "But you should certainly keep writing... Don't ever stop that."

He listened to all the choices, and smiled, "Your room of course, then the Library..."

Beatrice smiled, blushing faintly again. "Most of it will be junk, I suspect," she said. "Maybe we can use it to make a bonfire in the hearth later..."

Morgan chuckled, "That sounds like a lovely plan. Perhaps after we eat, we can burn the troublesome pile of paper..."

She led the way upstairs, fingers laced in his still. At the top, she turned back towards the front of the house, to the last door. It stood open; the room inside was decorated in cool colors, blues and greens with the occasional accent of warm gold. The bed was pushed against one wall; it was a daybed, with a comforter of pastel blues and greens and a thick blanket folded across the foot. There was a desk against the window - piled high with paper, of course - and a dresser stood beside it, a few jewelry boxes scattered across the top. She had a set of armoires instead of a closet; the woods were all light golden colors, comfortably at home against the rest of the room. The floor was all of a darker wood, as the landing and the stairs had been.

It was a surprisingly small room, all things considered; it could easily have been her childhood room. Beatrice released Morgan's hand and settled on the edge of the bed, watching him. "So this is my room..." she said quietly.

He walked around the room when she moved to take seat, pausing at the desk. He smiled, "Oh, yes, definitely yours... between the Castle in Amber and my villa in Texorami, I likely have enough clutter for the both of us. It makes a place feel lived in..."

Morgan ran his hands over the wood of the armoires, taking interest in their design, and then slowly moved over to the dresser, to admire the jewelry boxes. He did not open them, but he touched one or two, as if in understanding of their contents, or why they had been given to Beatrice. His circuit brought him to Beatrice's side, and he sat beside her on the bed, springs protesting mildly, as he gathered her to his side. "Thank you for showing this to me..." Morgan kissed her gently, lingeringly, and stated. "It's been yours for some time, hasn't it?"

Beatrice leaned against him after the kiss, her head on his shoulder. "Since I can remember," she agreed quietly. "The house and the room. Father always took the master bedroom when he was here, and the caretakers were sometimes upstairs and sometimes down, but this," she gestured around, "has always been mine. It used to be more cluttered; I moved the worst of it to the office once I realized I didn't need caretakers anymore."

Morgan rubbed her back gently, and nodded. "I rather thought so." He smiled, "I'm glad you spread out into your Office, there's only so many places to stack things up in here." He took a breath, lifted her chin gently, and kissed her again... It became easier for him to do each time. "It's still a wonderful house... though I would like to see you in a larger bedroom, and a larger bed." He ran his hand over the end of the daybed. "I'm guessing you've had this for as long as you've had the room..."

Beatrice was becoming more confident in their kisses, a little better at it - as though part of her hesitation and shyness had been inexperience instead of just fear. "I used to stuff things under the bed," she admitted, smiling a little. "It's not quite so old as all that; I was almost ten when I got it. The old one was much, much smaller."

He let her settle again, leaning against him, her head on his shoulder. "This place is all yours know, you should make it so." Morgan shook his head, and laughed ruefully. "I should follow my own advice, but I think you need to hear it more..."

"It is mine," Beatrice protested, "all but the one room and a corner of the cellar that he liked to use for lessons. And the raven's nest." She laughed softly. "Just those areas. The rest has been quite taken over by my clutter." Green eyes looked up to meet his, curiosity glinting in their depths. "Now why would you be after needing to take that advice?"

Morgan met her eyes, and smiled. "Good. I know what it is like to wait for someone that simply will never come, good or bad." He nuzzled her gently, and laughed softly. "Clutter is meant to spread. It means you have collected enough that one room is not enough. It's an achievement."

Beatrice laughed softly and slipped her arm around him for a one-armed hug.

He winked at her, and met her eyes. "Well, Random gave me a stretch of land... near the Bay of Cabra... I never bothered to look at it... There's a house I'm told..." Morgan shrugged slightly, "It was nice of him to do... It's just...Amber has never been the most welcoming place for me, its only recently that the weather changed.."

He smiled, "And there's you there now..."

"Why don't we go look, one day soon?" Beatrice suggested. "It's yours, after all - and new." She smiled up at him. "Maybe it will be a clean start..."

Morgan nodded, "Well, it would be a good ride for your Loyal and my Fiach at any rate. I saw it on the map, it's near the Bay of Cabra, Random seemed to think it would suit me." He smiled, "We can go see it when we go back if you like; I was promised it was a lovely stretch of land... with hills, and apples trees, and growing green as far as the eye could see...." Morgan sighed, "After the war, I didn't stay too long in Amber..."

"We should go see it," Beatrice agreed. "It doesn't have to be as soon as we go back, but we won't leave it for months, either." She hugged him again, gently, and continued in a more subdued voice, "They told me about the war... wars, I guess I should say, and what came between and after." She sighed softly. "It wasn't a good time, was it?"

Morgan smiled, "Then we will...I haven't thought of it much, until now." He hugged her in return, and nuzzled her gently. He brushed strands of her fiery hair from her face as she spoke. Morgan's lips pressed slightly into a line, "No, Beatrice, it wasn't. We lost a lot of kin... I know that's relative, but we're not that many, when you come down to it. I did not like Eric, but I didn't want him to die... Deirdre was just, nice... and I really think your Father was driven into a state, honestly. I liked him, he reminded me of people I knew..." Morgan shook his head, "And then there was Ariaunna... Julian's Daughter... That hit hard. She's the first of our Generation to fall to violence; I don't think any one of the Elders were not moved by it." He sighed, "I fought all over... Arden with Antonia, in the field with my Dad, or near Random..." He looked at his hands, "I helped who I could... I'm a Harper... I sang and played." Morgan smiled ruefully, "I nearly wrecked my brain... Antonia has told me if I ever try a stunt like that again, that she'd kick my Gaelic ass to the ends of Shadow."

With his arm around her and hers around him, Morgan could easily feel the tension creep into Beatrice again at the mention of her father and the deaths in the family. It wasn't quite the skittishness she'd shown earlier, but she definitely wasn't relaxed anymore. She smiled a little at his last sentence and answered, "I think I'd have to agree. And maybe help, though I'm sure she's much better at it than I am."

Morgan smiled, "I will keep that in mind... No need to have two ladies angry with me."

She was quiet for a moment or two, just leaning against him. "I never knew what he was thinking," she said finally. "He'd bring me pretty things, or books, like a father is supposed to do; but that day or the next, or maybe even the one after that, his mood would change. Then things would vanish, or break, or he'd take me downstairs for a lesson and spend the whole time ranting about something or the other that one of his brothers had done." She sighed again, quietly. "I am... glad, I think, that someone liked him. I have a hard time with it myself."

He looked at her more seriously, "Beatrice, Shadow travel bends time you know, there's no telling exactly when Brand - changed." Morgan took a breath, and held her tightly. "I am very sorry that you got the Brand after... well... after whatever happened to him. But he was my teacher, my Uncle, and I think he was my friend. He was moody... I admit, but I know in my bones, something pushed him around the bend." He nuzzled her, "He was as much a victim of circumstance as Eric or Deirdre or anyone else. I believe that. But we'll never know now." Morgan nodded, "Oh, well, that's something we share... I don't much care for my Father either. I'm told he's changed, but I never got a chance to see it." He smiled slightly, "The best time I had in Avalon was when I ran away from home."

"He did change, Morgan," Beatrice objected quietly. "I'm not arguing with you about that. There was a time when things were - different." She hesitated for a minute or two, thinking. "Never much better; he was always so moody, so up and down. But something changed to where he didn't pay as much attention to me when he was here, not unless I bothered him." She turned over her free hand, looking down at the palm idly. "Not that he ignored me, mind."

Morgan hugged and kissed her, and smiled. "I know, Beatrice. I suspected when I first met you, you know, that you were Brand's Daughter... process of elimination really. I just didn't see Fiona leaving one of hers in Shadow; Bleys might, if he did not know, which is entirely possible, but a couple of the things you said made me think otherwise... and one of your pseudonyms, of course." He smiled, "I wanted to tell you then, and show you how things could be better... not perfect... but better..."

Beatrice smiled softly and kissed his cheek. "I would have spooked," she answered. "I thought I was toeing a line I was too frightened to cross. I didn't want anything to happen to you, and if you'd told me - he would have known that someone else knew about me, and things would not have gone well for either of us, I think..."

Morgan nodded, "You were close to doing that anyway, at times."

She sighed and shrugged uncomfortably after a minute. "I never did try running away. It's here that I wanted, and him well out of it..."

He nuzzled her, "I understand... Had Avalon not been - erased, I would have claimed Hibernia and my Mother's Castle... and had none of my Father in it."

"If I was sure..." Beatrice said softly. She paused, then started again, "If I was sure that he isn't coming back, I'd take it all out. But I'm still not certain..."

Morgan nodded, "Sweetheart, he's not. I know you want to wait, and I know you have your doubts." He paused, "But this place is yours now, and you are no longer alone. You'll have my card, in case you need me."

"I know," Beatrice answered, still speaking softly. "Everyone keeps telling me he's dead, and it would take tougher than him to survive falling into chaos with an arrow in his throat, so I want to believe it... but in my heart, I can't trust it. He could be somewhere out there, licking his wounds and biding his time until we all assume he's dead - only then he'll come strolling back, pretending to be his old self again..." She shivered slightly. "Maybe if I'd seen it, it would be easier to believe... but I didn't, and it isn't."

She sighed again and looked up at him, managing to smile. "Thank you, Morgan..."

"For what, Beatrice?" Morgan smiled, "Your smile is all the thanks I need. Now, show me the Watchmen, and then I think we should eat, yes?" He kissed her lightly, and whispered. "Better things, you'll see..."

Beatrice smiled and gently rested her forehead against his once more. "For being yourself," she answered. "Let me get my spare keys..."

She slid gracefully to the floor and bent to reach under the bed. There was a thump, like the sound of a piece of wood being moved, and then the jingle of keys. A second thump followed the first, and she sat up, a keyring with three keys and a dangling piece of knotwork-etched pewter in her hand. She smiled a little sheepishly; there was a little dust in her hair now. "I had to get creative with my hiding places. None of my minders ever found that one."

Morgan gestured and the dust blew out of her hair, and gentle, if invisible, fingers tucked a strand of hair back into place. He smiled back at her, laughter in his green eyes. "So I see... I suppose that's easier than running a nation away, and being kidnapped by Fae." He walked up to her, and brushed some dust from her shoulder, "I'll try your way next time...." He nodded at her keys, "Are we ready? Do you want to walk or drive?"

"Food first, or ravens first?" Beatrice asked; she was still smiling, but it was a more genuine smile and a less sheepish one. "You choose."

"Ah, let's see the Ravens first. I will see how they are doing, and let them know that they are welcome." Morgan smiled, "It's a small trick, that I can teach you... the Watchmen are important birds, as you know. So many things attached to them..." He grinned, "After you..."

Beatrice kissed his cheek softly. "I'd like to learn that. This way..."

She led him back out into the hallway and down to the far end, past the stairs. There were doors on either side of the hall here, with a window straight ahead. The door to the left was open, and all Morgan could really see was paper. A lot of paper: stacks of paper, piles of paper, sheets strewn across the floor... and distantly, at the far end of the room, a thoroughly battered typewriter on a desk, under another window.

Beatrice turned right, though, and unlocked the door there. She opened it slowly, quietly, and tugged Morgan to where he could see in. "There," she whispered, pointing to the far corner. Two pairs of bright eyes looked back.

Morgan smiled and his eyes went distant a moment, and then he chirruped like a bird, and made very Raven-like sounds. He moved into the room, and continued to somehow speak - Raven, which was a combination of sounds, and telepathy. Beatrice could sense the magick in it. "They say they are pleased that you would let them stay and not change the room...and that they will mind the place when you are gone. I told them you have to come and go now..." He grinned, as the Ravens bobbed their heads, and one cawed, "Beatrice, Beatrice..." He gestured, "Should I tell them anything else?"

Beatrice watched with quiet wonder on her face, wide-eyed and smiling. "I - " she started, then stopped. Slowly, carefully, she crossed the room to Morgan's side, catching his hand in hers again. "Thank you for coming here," she told the Ravens quietly. "You brought life back to this quiet house."

Morgan smiled, and relayed the message, the Ravens heads bobbed. "They were only happy not to be pushed out. So many see them as pests, they forget that once it was a good thing to have Ravens around." He squeezed her hand gently, "Anything else, Bea? I think you've made them very happy. They won't come into the house unless invited, they're happy with this corner of it."

Beatrice squeezed his hand in return. "That's all," she answered quietly. "I'm glad they're happy; I am too." She leaned her head against his shoulder lightly. "Let's take our leave of them - I'm sure they have things that need doing - and see about lunch."

Morgan waved at the Ravens, and said his goodbyes. "I told them we were going out again, and that we might not be back until late." He smiled and led her out of the room. He closed the door behind him, and took her hand again. "Now, off to lunch...I am afraid that you will learn to either love the bottomless pit that is my stomach, or hate the fact that it gets hungry on a regular schedule..."

He grinned, "Where to now, Bea?"

Beatrice locked the door behind them, still wearing a bright smile. "Then at least one of us will know when it's time to eat," she offered ruefully. "I forget sometimes, when I start writing."

She squeezed his hand gently. "Let's drive into town. It's afraid I am to find out what lives in that fridge..."

Morgan nodded, "Lets." He grinned and walked down to the first floor with her, hand in hand, him slipping behind her when the way became too narrow for them to pass beside each other. He sighed softly as he watched her move, enjoying the view from behind her as much as he had years ago. "You should let them put your picture on your book jackets, I guarantee you would sell more books. Not that you need the help."

Beatrice smiled over her shoulder at him, just a touch of pink in her cheeks.

He grinned as they made it outside, and recognized her car, with its cluttered back seat. "At least no guitar to find a place for this time..." He winked at her.

She smiled affectionately at him. "But more books, I think." She unlocked the doors and settled down behind the wheel. "If you don't mind... I have an idea of where to eat. There's a little place down on the riverfront called Crazy Jane's..."

Morgan nodded, "That sounds great." He grinned, "More books by you?"

"Of course," Beatrice answered, smiling.

He went to her side first, and opened the door. Once she was in the car, he walked around and climbed in himself. When they got moving, he reached into his pocket, and drew out a thick roll of bills, Irish currency. "This is one of the advantages of the Pattern, one never has to worry about exchange rates. Or being able to afford a meal." Morgan smiled, "We'll eat, and take a walk around town... You can show me what we missed."

Beatrice glanced at the wad of bills and smiled slightly. "I think you can afford more than just a meal with that, Morgan..."

"Possibly, but more is always better I was told..." He smiled.

The road from her house to Sligo wound through and around the hills they'd climbed earlier. Where the walk had only been two miles or so, the drive was five or six, along narrow two-lane roads with walls of stone and green on either side. Beatrice pointed out the occasional sight as they drove: a waterfall here, an old house decaying and built halfway into a hillside there.

Morgan clearly enjoyed the trip, and the area. The waterfall reminded him that there were a few places in Amber she just had to see. The old house in the hill reminded him strongly of Hibernia in Avalon. He told her as much quietly, and went on to describe a village he had learned a few songs in.

At the restaurant, she recommended the lasagna; it was a small place, and she clearly knew the staff and they her. They had the best table, just beside the railings of the river, and the swans passed by twice as they ate. There was coffee afterwards, and small sweet cakes sprinkled with powdered sugar.

He ordered Lasagna, declaring it pretty good, but doubting his former cooking teacher would agree. Morgan was still hungry when the slice was done, so he also ordered a pasta bake, to see how that was as well. He ate it, he even enjoyed it, but it was nothing like Maria's Baked Ziti... It was like someone heard about Cornaran Baked Ziti, and then guessed at how to make it. He declared a travesty, even if it was hard not to like something with cheese on it. Morgan explained to Beatrice where he had learned to cook, as before that, his meals had been very simple. He promised to make her some Lasagna or Ziti as soon as there was a chance to do so.

Afterwards, they walked through the city, visiting shops and scenic points until nearly dinnertime. Finally, they wound back towards the car, through the narrow streets and along the river again. "Is there anything else I can show you here?" Beatrice finally asked, squeezing his hand gently.

Morgan regarded her silently for a moment, and then shook his head. "We should get your car back to your place... Is there anything you needed to do, while we're here? Did you want to stay the night? I'm in no hurry, Beatrice."

Beatrice returned his look, momentarily puzzled and then blushing brightly. "I..." she started, then paused. "I'm almost finished with rewrites for a manuscript; if I can finish that and fax it off to my agent, I don't think there's anything else I can't do elsewhere. If you'd like to stay the night," she got a little pinker, "we should probably get something for dinner before we go back."

Morgan's lips quirked into a subtle smile when he noticed her blushing. "Aah, well, I don't want you to rush." He smiled more brightly, "Once you start to meet Family and get presented, its likely to take a few days in Amber before we can come back. I'm willing to return any time you like, we may have to be creative, is all." Morgan squeezed her hand slightly. "Oh, Beatrice... I can stay on the couch or something, I just don't want you to feel like you have to rush back to Amber... Fi can find us when or if we're needed." He grinned, "Does Pizza deliver?"

"And what kind of host would I be, keeping you on the sofa when there's a perfectly good guest room next to mine?" Beatrice asked. "We can't get the pizza delivered, but we can order it and wait for it; I know just the place... And you'll be laughing at me for sure when I try to type and eat pizza at once - I really ought to finish that manuscript before we go..."

Morgan smiled, "Guest room then." He nodded, "Let's do that... Say two pies... and wings if they have them..." He chuckled and rubbed his belly, "I warned you..." He had tied a bag with couple of books under one arm, purchased during their walk about town. One was more songs like those that had appeared in the book Bea had given him when they met, another was simply a gorgeously done coffee table book of Harps of all kinds. "I shan't laugh... not when I've played with a slice stuck between my teeth..." Morgan squeezed her hand, "Then do so... I can entertain myself... or talk to the Ravens..."

Beatrice smiled and squeezed his hand in response. "I don't know if they have wings," she answered. "We can ask..."

The pizza place she had in mind did have wings; they made their order and then moved down the street to a corner shop to buy drinks. They came out with better than an armload of bottles: soda, wine, lager, Guinness... Enough that they had to stop off at the car and find creative places to put them all before picking up the pizzas.

Food in hand, they drove back up through the stone and the green to Beatrice's house in the hills. She pointed out different landmarks on the way back, things that had been hard to see heading the other direction. The sight of her house from the road, as it had been from the spring, was picturesque; nestled as it was among trees and fields, it would be hard for it to be anything but, really.

They unloaded everything to the den downstairs, after a brief battle with the mail behind the door. This was one of the rooms Beatrice had skipped on their earlier tour; despite her comment that the downstairs was 'public rooms,' the den was a surprisingly comfortable room, with a fireplace and a great overstuffed sofa that dominated the space. Between couch and fireplace stood a low coffee table that had only a few pens and some stray sheets of paper on it.

Beatrice brought glasses from the kitchen, smiling. "Please," she said, "sit. I'm going to bring down what I need to work... I will even leave you in charge of the drinks."

Morgan smiled and caught her before she left. He gave her a quick kiss, and then let her go on her way. He opened one of the pizzas to let the toppings cool, and, while he hated to use the word in relation to food, also to let it congeal. Nothing was worse than picking up your slice, and having everything slide off because it was still too piping hot to have properly stuck together. Cooking was like alchemy, you had to get it just right. He was going to mix up something sweet, and complicated... not unlike himself, he mused... when he remembered the Guinness. He opened two bottles, and would have used the glasses, but they weren't chilled, and Guinness was pretty good straight from the bottle.

He used paper plates that the place gave them, and opened up the hot wings as well, putting a few on each plate. He set out the blue cheese dressing for the wings, and then took a pull from the bottle of Guinness. He sighed, and settled in to wait for Bea to return. As he waited, he began to hum, something catching in his head... He set the Guinness bottle down, and used a quick spell to summon an acoustic guitar... It was not his, but it would have to do. He began to strum out an Old Irish tune stuck in his head... possibly from the book he bought on their walk.

Beatrice returned after several minutes later, a stack of paper under one arm and an unwieldy black case in the other hand; faint metallic sounds came from the case. She paused in the doorway for a moment, smiling a little as she realized he was playing, and then continued into the room.

Morgan looked up and smiled.

She set the papers down on the table, and then the case. That she handled with a great deal of care, like it was a precious thing. Then she sat cross-legged on the floor beside it and looked up at him. "I hope you don't mind me asking, Morgan, but didn't you say you were a Harper?" She blushed faintly. "It's just - I've only seen you play guitar..."

He shook his head to show he didn't mind, "Oh... well... I am... I was... I've not played a harp since I lost mine in Avalon. I found the guitar while Dad and I floundered in Shadow. It suited me, and I stuck with it." Morgan smiled slightly, his green eyes distant for a moment. "It was too... much... at first, to play a harp again. Now, I suppose its mostly habit...I've just gotten used to guitars." He smiled, and nodded at the case. "Old typewriter?"

Beatrice smiled and nodded as she started unsnapping the closures on the case. "Very old. It must have belonged to one of my grandparents..." The typewriter inside was old, battered, and scorched in places. Half the keys were crooked, and more than one piece of the external case was taped in place. Beatrice lifted it out of the case with loving care and started inserting a sheet of paper.

"Do you play any other instruments?" she asked.

Morgan was watching her get the typewriter ready, and examining the antique as she did so. "Hmm? Oh, yes... though the guitar was always most like the harp. I play any guitar you like... umm... Flutes as well... any Piano. I'm passable on the drums, but the band drummer is definitely better. I love the harmonica, so small, and it can do so much. Bagpipes, I love as well, but that is an acquired taste for some.... quite a few really." He smiled, and nodded at the typewriter, "Why not a laptop and email?" He offered her a plate with wings and a pizza slice on it.

Beatrice took the plate and set it down next to her typewriter. "I actually don't mind the bagpipes, but there's too many that think they can play them and can't." She smiled faintly, looking up at him again. "Laptop and email? I suppose I could." She pats the typewriter affectionately. "I'm rather attached to this old thing, though. It has a Story."

Morgan smiled and hefted his beer in one hand, and picked up a wing in the fingers of his other hand. "You know how I like a good story." He nodded at the typewriter. "Do tell. I just figured an international author almost had to deal with folks electronically from time to time." He grinned and took a bite out of the spicy buffalo wing. He recalled the first time Martin had him try them, and the mild confusion over the name.

"Oh, I have a computer upstairs, and an email account to go with it. But my agent is used to me; I fax it to him and he puts it into electronic format for me." Beatrice picked up a wing and gnawed at it. "I found it in the cellar when I was little; there are a lot of things down there from my mother's side of the family. It was in a trunk with hundreds of love letters, from my grandparents to each other."

Morgan smiled knowingly, "Aah, whatever works best for you, I say. I was just curious." He put down a surprisingly clean wing drumstick bone, using a napkin to clean his fingertips. "Love letters... oh, that makes the typewriter very special then. Love letters are very nearly a lost art." He paused, as he picked up a slice of pizza. "Have you ever considered collecting them into a book?"

She sighed and patted it fondly again. "I learned to type on it - I taught myself. And when my Father found it and tried to destroy it, I taught myself how to put it back together." She offered him a sad smile. "Both times. He helped me put it back together the second time; I think he didn't mean to destroy it then..."

He smiled, "I see, well, that makes it more than special... It's something of a keepsake. A landmark of memory." Morgan nodded, "Keep as many of those as you can. Keep them safe, perhaps bring some to Amber with you..." He smiled wanly, and ate his pizza.

"I hadn't thought about publishing them," Beatrice answered, trailing off to stare into space thoughtfully for a long moment. Then she shook her head, smiling a little again. "I plan to take a few things, but as I understand it, it would take an awful lot of effort to get her working in Amber, wouldn't it?"

Morgan ate his pizza thoughtfully, "It would be an interesting peak at the lives of your grandparents, who lived in an interesting time." He smiled, "It was just a thought." He met her eyes, enjoying her smile as he had another bite of the pizza. "Hmm, I don't think so... if its mechanical, should work without a hitch." Morgan grinned, "But you're in luck... I happen to know the right magic to make things work a little more easily in Amber. But we should test it, and bring it along when we had back." He drank some Guinness, "It's anything electric that is tricky..."

"Will it?" Beatrice brightened a little. "That would make things easier..." She finished the wings on her plate and wiped her fingers delicately.

Then she started typing, her fingers flying across the keys almost faster than the mechanism could keep up. She coaxed the words out onto the page from the clattering, dinging machine with quiet efficiency, her red head bent to the task. It was several minutes before she reached for her Guinness again - and some time after that before she remembered the pizza either.

Morgan ate silently and watched Beatrice type. He was fascinated by how quickly her fingers moved, the machine just barely keeping up. He was used to writing his ideas down by hand, whether it was arranging music or lyrics or a spell, and that was barely fast enough to keep up when his mind had seized upon an idea. Martin had shown him computer software that transcribed notes as you played them, but that was never - organic enough for Morgan.

He consumed four slices of pizza, and several wings, before he sat back and took up the guitar he had conjured. Morgan listened to the sound of her typewriter, listening for the rhythm and the music of it, before he began to softly play, the music slipping between the clickety clack of her mechanical typewriter. He smiled slowly, as he warmed up to the improvisation, the music taking on an amused air.

Beatrice looked up in surprise as he started to play, though her fingers continued to dance without her direct attention. She seemed, for a moment, to have just remembered he was there - and then she smiled brilliantly, her green eyes sparkling with pleasure. When she looked back down to her typing, it was with her head tipped slightly to better hear him.

Morgan laughed silently and continued to play. He would stop for a drink, when the music seemed to come to a natural end, but after a minute or so, he would begin again. Each piece of music would be slightly different, and unique from the last, pulled from his mind and his fingers and the rhythm of the typewriter keys and the lever arms that drove their ink into the paper.

It took her perhaps twenty-five or thirty pages to finish what she was writing, and when she had, she pulled the last page free and stacked it all neatly. She disappeared upstairs again for a time, and then returned, to sit beside Morgan on the couch. "There," she said softly. "It's away, and I'm free and clear."

He continued to play for a few minutes more, and then let the music echo and fade away. Morgan smiled, "How did you do that? You must have had that in mind all along, right?" He set the guitar aside, offered her another Guinness. "You barely touched the pizza." He turned in his seat to regard her, smiling. "Well, what should we do now? It's your day... a breather from the craziness of being a Lady of the Universe... so you decide."

"Oh, the pizza!" Beatrice said, taking the drink and reaching for another slice of the now-cool pizza. "I get absorbed sometimes," she admitted. "And I'm actually quite hungry now that I'm done..." She returned his smile ruefully and took a bite of her food.

"How did I do what?" she continued after a moment.

"How did you bang out over thirty pages without any planning or outline, or even reading what went before." Morgan smiled, "Was it all in your head?"

"Well... yes." Beatrice bit off another mouthful of pizza, chewed, and swallowed. "It was just a rewrite. I remembered what I'd written before - I always do - and then just changed the few things the publisher asked for." She smiled, a little self-consciously, and added, "I'm good at remembering things..."

"Clearly, " Morgan smiled, "Save for remembering to eat." He grinned, and strummed the guitar a little bit. "I don't think I could ever churn out lyrics like you did those pages. Even rewrite..." He met her eyes, "What would you like to do? Spend the night in your home, or make our way back?" He strummed again, "Or shall I sing to you while you eat?"

Beatrice smiled ruefully. "Except for remembering to eat," she agreed.

She finished her slice of pizza off neatly and - after a moment's hesitation to gather her courage - leaned over and gave him a kiss. "I'd love to hear you sing again. Do you mind staying here tonight?" she asked hesitantly. "I really ought to go through the mail too, and I didn't realize that I was homesick until we came back from dinner..."

Morgan did not seem surprised, and kissed her back with gentle eagerness, letting their lips part only after he gently nibbled her lower lip. His hand gently caressed her cheek as they kissed, and lingered there as she asked her question. "Of course not; like I said, if it's important, Fiona can find me."

He smiled, and nodded, "Then check your mail... you'll find here me..."

Then he began to strum out a doubtlessly familiar tune, not one of his own, but a friend's that he liked well enough. Morgan's version was different, infused with more of a Celtic flair, which would have been hard for anyone else. His words were clear, his melody woven between and with them easily.

You've got your ball
you've got your chain
tied to me tight tie me up again
who's got their claws
in you my friend
Into your heart I'll beat again
Sweet like candy to my soul
Sweet you rock
and sweet you roll
Lost for you I'm so lost for you

You come crash into me
And I come into you
I come into you
In a boys dream
In a boys dream

Touch your lips just so I know
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bare boned and crazy for you
When you come crash
into me, baby
And I come into you
In a boys dream
In a boys dream

If I've gone overboard
Then I'm begging you
to forgive me
in my haste
When I'm holding you so girl
close to me

Oh and you come crash
into me, baby
And I come into you
Hike up your skirt a little more
and show the world to me
Hike up your skirt a little more
and show your world to me
In a boys dream.. In a boys dream

Oh I watch you there
through the window
And I stare at you
You wear nothing but you
wear it so well
tied up and twisted
the way I'd like to be
For you, for me, come crash
into me

Beatrice retreated briefly to the hall, returning with the pile of mail bundled into her arms. She settled on the sofa nearby, depositing the mail on the cushion between them, and started to sort.

She didn't get far, though; his singing and playing distracted her, and her hands fell idle as she watched him with a bit of wonder and a ton of affection. She applauded softly when he finished, and there was a touch of pink to her cheeks again. "I think," she said softly, "that I love hearing you play."

Morgan grinned brightly at her, nodding his head when she clapped her hands. He admired the pink in her cheeks, "Well then, since you've overlooked your mail, I'll give you another song while you look through it." He smiled, and looked thoughtful for a moment, before he began to play. "This is a good one... makes me think of Dad sometimes..." Another familiar song, changed to suit the singer and his voice, just as the last one had been...though this version had more in common with Johnny Cash, than Nine Inch Nails.

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

I wear this crown of thorns
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end

You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt
If I could start again
A million miles away
I would keep myself
I would find a way

Beatrice did manage to sort her mail this time, her head tipped slightly to one side again to listen to him. She whittled the pile down to just a small stack of letters; the junk mail all ended up on the floor.

She was quieter when he finished, but still smiled. "There," she said, displaying the letters and then setting them aside on the table. "All bills that were paid automatically. And I think I know what I'd like to do now..."

Morgan smiled and set aside the guitar he'd conjured. He wondered if somewhere in Ireland, someone was wondering where it was. He met Beatrice's eyes, and grinned. "Aah, so we're all caught now then." He leaned forward slightly, "Well, then tell me...don't leave in suspense. What is it you'd like to do?"

Beatrice smiled and used his leaning forward as an excuse to give him another kiss. "I think I'd like to finish the Guinness," she said, scooting over to his side, "and I think I'd like to cuddle a little before we go to bed."

Morgan opened his arms, and slid closer to her, slipping one of his arms around her shoulders. He gathered her to his side, smiling as he did so. "That sounds very fine to me." He grinned, and touched his own bottle to hers with a slight clink of glass. "I do like cuddling..."

Beatrice smiled and put her arm around his waist, giving him a one-armed hug. "I thought you might," she admitted, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Now, what should we talk about next...?"

Beatrice was content to sit there with him, talking, drinking, and sharing kisses and the occasional affectionate touch or hug, until late in the evening. The guest bedroom proved to be right next to hers, and surprisingly uncluttered, given the rest of the house. Beatrice happily helped herself to a lingering kiss before they retired, and she fell asleep smiling.