Martial Preparations IV

[Moonitic]

"So, let me get this straight," Ken-Dall said from her sister's bed as she watched her twin pace the floor. "The wedding is still on, & it's tonight like Nækos wanted?" She shook her head as Moon nodded. "Never thought my sister would cave to a man." She held in her laughter as Moon's eyes narrowed in her direction.

"I didn't cave to a man. I did not want to hurt Meekal anymore."

"Meekal, who is a..."

"Man." Moon said flatly. "Fine. Yes. I caved in. I couldn't bear it anymore, seeing him so hurt. I don't know what's wrong with me. I've become someone crazy...emotional...."

"And pregnant." Ken-Dall raised an eyebrow at her sister, then added, "Which you conveniently forgot to tell me about. It appears that everyone knows but me. Your own sister."

"I'm sorry Ken. I did not leave you out on purpose." Moon moved to the bed & sat beside her. "After I regained my memory, it seemed that everyone already knew. THEY had to tell ME." She sighed. "I just assumed that everyone else knew by now. I am sorry."

Ken-Dall shrugged. "It's all right." She stood & stretched, moving toward the door. "I suppose I should let you get ready. I want to do the same." She turned away, then turned back. "You know, Mother will be furious that she didn't get to give you the proper wedding celebration."

"Yes...finally." Moon smiled. Then, she grinned at Ken-Dall. "But there's still my twin..."

"Yes, well...at any rate..." Ken-Dall cleared her throat. "You'd better at least wear a gown." She laughed at Moon's groan. "Oh, come on...it'll be off shortly after."

"Ken-Dall!"

At the red cheeks that appeared on her sister, Ken-Dall gave a wicked grin. "I've done my duty. I'll see you soon." With that she turned, & pulled the door open to find two guards stationed at her sister's door. "Uh, Buff? I thought Nækos called off his men..."

Moon shrugged. "Maybe they're going to escort me down for the wedding."

"Oh, well...all right. See you there." Ken-Dall pulled the door shut as she exited.

A soft click followed, alerting Moon, who had become quite familiar with that sound. She rushed to the door & pulled at the handle. "It's LOCKED! They locked me in AGAIN!" This time, instead of screaming, she laughed. It must have been a joke.

[Lord Tellurine]

Meekal was on cloud nine. Tonight he was to be married. He kept pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. He did this while walking through the streets of town, eliciting strange stares from the residents of Arconia. That is, except for Madame Lucille Bafeuf, who offered to help for a “small, but yet sizable” fee. Meekal declined, telling her he was going to be married that night and he didn’t have time. She suggested he have his best man bring him back for a “quickie” bachelor’s party and his face turned beet red as he turned her down once again. He happily strutted away, stopping suddenly in the middle of the street.

“A best man!” he said aloud. “I need a best man!”

A fur trapper and wooden-leg-owning-drunk named Wooden Bob sat at his favorite stool at the Bitter End. He was drinking. When he wasn’t drinking he was breathing, so that he would have enough breath to take another drink. By his count he was on his eleventeetnth drink, which is why he never did well in math back in school. “Keep ‘em coming,” he told Steve as he finished his drink.

Steve was more than happy to “keep ‘em coming.” As a matter of fact Steve, the owner of the Bitter End, had the taps re-installed in front of Wooden Bob’s stool so that he wouldn’t have to travel so far when “keeping ‘em coming.” “Here you go, Bob,” Steve said politely, adding up Bob’s impressive bar tab in his head. “Drink up.”

“I through with drinking up!” slurred Bob, with a hint of drunken anger. “I’m through with ‘downing another one’ too! I want to sip this one sideways!”

Steve blinked and remembering his credo, which boiled down to “The customer, no matter how drunk they are, is always right”, said, “Go for it, Bob.”

He did. Most of it got on his shirt. He vowed he would suck it dry later when he got home.

Meekal, the King of Muu, derailed his train of thought by tapping him on the moist shoulder. “Hi, Bob!”

Wooden Bob shifted his gaze away from his mug. It had been the first time in about three hours. He saw Meekal, but was pretty sure he was supposed to be seeing pink elephants, although he had no idea what an elephant was.

“I’ve got great news!” the non pink elephant said.

Wooden Bob slurred excitedly, “You’ve stopped talking to your rocks, become King of Muu, and have finally convinced the love of your life to marry you!” Meekal’s mouth dropped in amazement. He was about to congratulate Bob when his drunken friend interrupted him by laughing hysterically. “Yeah! Like that would ever happen!” He slapped his knee, or at least would have, except that he was currently seeing four knees and he had picked one of the ones that didn’t exist.

“But it DID happen!” Meekal announced.

Wooden Bob tried to focus his sight on Meekal. Meekal had a different air about him. He seemed sure of himself and much less daft. “It did?” he asked.

“I’m getting married tonight,” he told Bob.

“Congratu- …Uh… Congratu-… {Hiccup} Best wishes.”

“Thanks, Bob! I need a favor from you though. I need a Best Man. Will you be my Best Man?”

An alcohol-laden tear streamed down Wooden Bob’s cheek. “Meekal, my boy,” he said over-enunciating his words carefully. “I would be delighted to stand up in your wedding.” Bob slid off his stool, took a half-hearted step and ended up on the floor.

Steve rolled his eyes. He sighed. “I guess he’s done for today. And I almost had enough to buy a new set of chairs.” Steve was still feeling the furniture pinch since the latest riot.

Meekal also sighed. Finding a best man was going to be harder than he thought.

[Lord Tellurine]

Meekal found himself at the door of the Abernathy home. He knocked. Instead of Dr. Julius Abernathy, Mrs. Henrietta Abernathy opened the door. She smiled warmly at Meekal and asked, “May I help you?”

Meekal replied, “I’m looking for Dr. Abernathy. I’m a friend of his and I’d like to ask him a favor.”

Her look of sincerity melted away and a dark frown replaced it. “That no-good do-nothing is puttering around his work shed out back. And when you see him, you tell him for me that if I don’t get back my washtub in the next five minutes HE’LL be doing the laundry!”

Meekal slowly backed away from the doorway, smiling weakly. As Mrs. Abernathy slammed the door shut he turned and quickly made his way around the back of the modest property to Dr. Abernathy’s work shed.

Dr. Julius Abernathy was the town physician and when he wasn’t practicing medicine (His favorite joke was: “I’ll get it right someday, and then I won’t HAVE to practice!”) he was a failed inventor. Failed only because none of his inventions ever worked, which in his mind should hardly be the basis for measuring success. It stands to reason that a lot has been learned from his failed inventions, thus making them invaluable tools of learning… how NOT to do things. Such as his walk-on-the-water shoes, which consisted of two hollowed out logs that you tie to your feet. The invaluable lesson there was yes you could float, but then your legs will begin to float in opposite directions, creating quite a pain where men usually don’t care for quite a pain. His invention to help people fly worked, but since all it consisted of was pressurized air shooting a person up, he quickly learned you needed a way to KEEP people airborne.

When Meekal entered the work shed he saw Dr. Abernathy face first in a tub of water. He ran over to him and pulled him up. “Dr. Abernathy!” he cried. “Are you all right?”

Abernathy sputtered for a moment, spit out some water, and replied, “I’m quite all right, my boy. Just working on a new invention of mine.”

“What is it?” Meekal curiously asked.

Abernathy pulled a quill out of the water. He announced triumphantly, “I’m trying to invent a quill that will write under water.”

Meekal pondered that for a moment then inquired, “How’s it going?”

“Not well,” Abernathy answered, suddenly crestfallen. “I believe the design is correct, but I can’t seem to be able to test it out.” He pulled some white mush out of the water. “Nobody’s invented a scroll for underwater yet.” He sighed. “Perhaps I’ve put the cart in front of the horse on that one.”

“Now you’ve really lost me,” Meekal told him.

“Figure of speech,” he explained, and grabbed a towel to wipe his face and hands. “So, Meekal, what’s new with you?”

Meekal answered plainly, “I’m King of Muu now.”

Abernathy stopped drying himself and asked carefully, “What did you say?”

“I’m the King of Muu. The last King of Muu, my father, is dead.” Meekal’s eyes fell to the floor, but then shot back up to look at Dr. Abernathy directly. “By my hand.”

A look of worry came over the doctor. “Oh, Meekal, why?”

“He tried to kill Lady Moon and myself! He was threatening the continental alliance with his treachery!”

“Alliance?”

Meekal’s cheeks grew flushed with embarrassment. “I’ve said too much. You and other civic leaders will be briefed when the time is right, but that’s not what I’m here for. Tonight I’m marrying Lady Moon.” He puffed his chest out in pride.

“Well, congratulations, Meekal,” Dr. Abernathy said, grasping his hand and pumping it generously. “What month is the wedding?”

“Tonight.”

“Excellent, and what date would that - Excuse me? Did you say, ‘tonight,’ Meekal?”

“Yes, Dr. Abernathy and that’s why I’m here. I need a Best Man and I would consider it an honor if you… would… um… consider this honor… to be my Best Man.” Meekal smiled half-heartedly.

Abernathy’s face lit up with a wide smile. “I would be de-”

Mrs. Abernathy cut him off by storming into the work shed. “Julius!” she screamed. “I’ve been waited two hours for my wash tub! You said you only needed it for a few minutes! Well, let me tell you something, you’re going to be spending a lot of time with this tub now, because YOU’RE doing the laundry!” She grabbed him by the ear. “Let’s go! I’m going to show you how to separate whites from darks!” She pulled him from the work shed, leaving Meekal standing alone.

He sighed and wondered if he were the best man to search for his Best Man.

[Lord Tellurine]

The castle halls were a great place for a man to walk and think and Meekal was taking full advantage of them. He would walk a few steps, then stop to think a moment. Then he would take a few more steps. He remembered Rufus once told him that you should never walk and think at the same time, and it was something he’d never do himself. At the time Meekal never questioned the fact that Rufus, who was a clever, albeit sometimes over-bearing stone, never had the opportunity to walk, because he was stone, but now Meekal was realizing just how daft he must have seemed taking advice from stones. Meekal began walking and thinking simultaneously, nearing missing an empty suit of armor that adorned this part of castle hallway.

If only his old geologist friend, Kliff Fauldergraft, were still here. Kliff would be the perfect choice for Best Man. Kliff was his friend when nobody else was his friend. Kliff understood him. Kliff gave him his first stone.

Meekal stopped. He had almost tripped over a small potted plant.

Kliff is the one who made me daft, thought Meekal. It’s Kliff’s fault. He gave me a stupid stone and allowed me to name it. Nigel. When Kliff was away, which was often, Nigel became the friend Meekal didn’t have. Then Meekal started collecting stones, giving each one a name, and then acknowledging a personality that they obviously didn’t have. I became the laughingstock of Muu, Meekal realized. All because of Kliff Fauldergraft!

Meekal started walking again. Faster, more determined.

I’m glad I can’t ask Kliff to be my Best Man, because I wouldn’t want him to be. He ruined my life. He made my father hate me. He made me kill my father. I’m GLAD HE’S DEAD!

Meekal’s foot got caught on the fringe of a large rug and he tumbled to the floor. He hit the cold hard floor with a thud. He leaned up on one arm.

Or maybe it wasn’t Kliff’s fault. Maybe it was my own. Maybe Kliff’s act of kindness was just an unfortunate beginning to a problem I created on my own.

Meekal stood and saw he was near the door leading to the royal garden. He walked over to it and opened the door. The bright Arconian sun shone onto his face.

He said aloud, “I miss Kliff.”

[Lord Tellurine]

Harold Wesley was in the royal garden with his father Michael. Michael was the royal gardener and was now Harold’s personal guard. Harold’s mom had indeed grounded Harold again, but this time relegated him to shadowing his father, so that he could not get in any more trouble. As Michael worked on Queen Zelda’s favorite rosebush he lectured Harold about proper pruning techniques. Harold sat dejected on a nearby stone bench.

Meekal came walking around the corner and Harold jumped up excitedly. “Hey, Meekal!” he shouted. “Over here!” Anything was better than listen to is father ramble on about flowers all day. Meekal walked over. “How’s the new King of Muu doing?” Harold asked.

“Not good,” Meekal replied glumly. “I’m getting married tonight to Lady Moon.”

Harold quickly noticed his depressed state. “I can see why that would get you down.”

“Oh, no. That’s not it. I WANT to marry Lady Moon. I just can’t find a Best Man. I’ve been striking out all over town.”

“Tough break, Meekal. I wish I could help.”

Meekal eyes brighten and his face shone with delight. “Harold. You CAN help me. How would like to be my-”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Michael Wesley walking over from the rosebushes. “Harold is not allowed to speak to anyone. He’s in a mess of trouble already.”

“But Dad!”

“Don’t ‘but dad’ me. Come along, Harold. If you’ll excuse us, Meekal.”

Michael led Harold to the far side of the roses.

Meekal, once again dejected, slowly walked the other direction. He stopped when a figure in black jumped out in front of him. Meekal blinked. It was the Swordsman. “Naekos,” Meekal said with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been following you, Meekal. You seem to be having a problem with finding a Best Man.”

“I sure am… Wait a minute. You’ve been following me? Why?”

“It’s my thing,” the Swordsman answered simply, reviving a tired old gag. “Look, Meekal. You have other things to worry about than finding a Best Man. You still need someone to perform the ceremony, you need a suit, and I’ve bet you haven’t even gotten a ring.”

“I haven’t,” Meekal said now more depressed then ever. “I didn’t think that finding a Best Man would be difficult. The way other people find ‘em you’d think they just fall out of the sky.” A thought occurred suddenly in Meekal’s head. He said with a sly smile, “Like you did just now. …Swordsman, how would you like to be my Best Man?”

“I’d love to, Meekal, but I have…” he stopped when he saw Meekal’s newfound happiness dissolve away. He let out a low sigh. “Make that: I’d love to.”

Meekal slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s great! Thanks, Naekos! Now I gotta go do my other errands!” He turned to go, but stopped and turned back. “Did you want to come along or are you just going to follow me in the shadows?”

“Unfortunately neither. Because of this new duty you have graced me with I have other things to do right now.” He let out an uncharacteristic chuckle. “I’ll trail you later.”

“Okay, thanks! I’ll be seeing you then!” Meekal ran off happily.

Actually, thought the Swordsman, that’s not how it works.

[Alys Breenon]

A soft tap on the Queen's door roused Zelda from where she was napping on the bed. "Yes?!"

Alys stuck her head in, her usual cheerful smile on her face. "I thought you might want some help with the packing, Your Ma.. er... Zelda." She opened the door further, revealing her armload of saddle packs and oddiments.

Zelda shook her head absently and gestured for Alys to go ahead. "Sturdy and warm clothes, and pack lightly, I'm told."

Alys nodded and began her work. She laid out travel clothes and supplies for Zelda, looked them over, added another shirt and a heavier pair of gloves, then began to methodically roll them and pack them tightly into the packs. Once it was done, she looked up to see that the Queen had fallen asleep again.

Alys shrugged. It wasn't important; Zelda's things were packed, and she could use the sleep. After all, they'd be leaving in the morning.

-----------------

Going dragon hunting. The thought still brought a strange feeling of excitement. Alys let herself out and went back to her own quarters, pulling her old traveling clothes from her trunk. She pulled everything from the trunk and dumped it on the bed, unfolding everything to see what she had and hadn't kept. Something fell out of her bundles, hitting the stones with a solid klunk.

She bent over, absently wondering what it was. Her hand closed on a sheathed dagger, and she started. She had forgotten it, though how she was not sure. She laid it in her lap and pulled the long hunting dagger free. The blade was of a bluish hue, and carried swirles and cirlces enfolded in the metal. She'd never seen anything like it before it had been given to her. Old Drace had told her it was something passed down through his family. If nothing else, it was a good blade.

But when she'd left Kelsbeck, she'd had no need of it, and had packed it away in her things. Now... now it had a place. She set it beside her clothes for the next day's travel. Biting her lip, she considered her packs. She could only hope that the training she had would be enough to protect the Queen. Zelda was quite capable, but it was Aly's job to ensure that the Queen remained safe on this trip.

They would see what tomorrow would bring.

[Moonitic]

Ken-Dall meandered the halls leading toward her chamber, deep in thought. She considered how much she had seen since she reunited with her sister, & how much had changed. And now, she would witness a wedding. She never considered Buffy to be the marrying type. She never liked to be "tied down." Far too adventurous of a spirit. Yet somehow a formerly daft prince had broken through the barriers that Buffy had built up. Meekal was a good man. He loved her very much & would go to the ends of the earth for her if he had to. And though she never said it & it didn't seem obvious to others, Ken-Dall could see the love her sister had for him. "Love really does change everything," Ken-Dall murmured.

"Yes, it does," commented a voice from behind.

Ken-Dall whirled, producing a dagger which she pointed at the intruder's throat. When Willow raised her eyebrows at Ken-Dall, the princess said, "Oh...sorry" & replaced the weapon in the sheath at her hip. With her twin prone to attack, Ken-Dall realized that it was in her best interest to always be armed, lest someone mistake her for Buffy. Funny, before she wanted to. Now, she wasn't so sure. "What can I do for you, Willow?" Ken-Dall asked cooly. It was clear that neither liked the other much. After all, it had been Ken-Dall who kidnapped Willow the night Lady Legerto was murdered. It did not take a sorceress to know that Willow still did not trust Ken-Dall.

"Do you know why Moon was locked into her room?" Willow asked.

She shrugged. "I have no idea. To keep her from leaving, maybe?" Then, she raised an eyebrow at Willow. "Why?"

Willow folded her arms across her chest. "It appears that we've been banned from visiting her. Something is not right about this, Ken-Dall."

"Really? Well, we shall see about that." Ken-Dall gestured for Willow to follow her. The two soon found themselves at the guarded door of Lady Moon. "What is going on here?" Ken-Dall demanded of the men.

"We are not at liberty to say. Neither of you may enter, per order of the crown," one guard took the moment to answer before resuming his stony face.

Ken-Dall fumed. "I demand you let us in right now, or Willow will use her magic on you!"

"I tried that," Willow whispered. "I am exausted. I can't do anything."

"Oh. Well...then we'll fight you."

From behind the door, a muffled voice called, "Ken-Dall! Willow! Don't bother. Please, I need you to do a few things for me before tonight!"

"All right, Buffy...whatever you want!" Ken-Dall called in return. Then, with the door as their barrier, they noted all that the bride to be needed prior to her wedding. Minutes later, they walked along, deep in thought. "I don't suppose that when you ran away from Schoolcraftia you had Buffy's dress with you?" Ken-Dall asked.

"No..." Willow returned. "But when your mother was here, & thought you were Buffy, she had the dress sent here for your marriage to Meekal. I believe I kept it in my own chamber for safekeeping."

"Then what are we waiting for? My sister needs a gown!"

[Crin Dalmeiier]

"And that," Crin finished her tale with a flourish and a sip of wine, "is why you should never let princes from Grieesland proposition you. They have bad breath."

Falcour burst out laughing at this last statement. "How do you know that? Was he successful?"

Crin gave a half-shrug, twitching only a shoulder as she took another sip of wine. "He believes he was, yeah. Unless somebody's worked up the nerve to tell him that they found him sleeping in the scullery maids' room that I left him in, sucking his thumb." At Falcour's confused look, she smiled and shook her head. "No, I didn't sleep with him. I let him think I was going to, and then I drugged him." She tilted her head. "It was quite fun, actually."

Falcour groaned and turned towards the bar, stretching his arms forward. "Between you and Talmour, a lot of people must wake up with headaches."

"It's how we were able to meet you on the road for that little civil war fiasco," Crin pointed out, the wine making her tongue a little more than pliant and willing for conversation. "Tal wakes up with enough headaches on his own, I tell you. That Arconian ale is doing odd things to him—he's taken to trailing the Captain of the Guard like a lovesick puppy. I think he's just trying to look out for her, seeing as she keeps getting poked by other people's swords." She shook her head.

Falcour and Crin's walk had taken them the entire way through Arconia City before her temper cooled. Then, it had turned into a competition--one that Falcour won by spades, given the fact that his legs were quite a bit longer. Now they were in Pete's Bar and Grille, enjoying a couple of drinks and a meal in a place where the other gypsies couldn't tease them. The place wasn't as well-reputed as the Bitter End, but it served good chicken, and the drinks were cold. Crin was well into her second glass of wine and starting to loosen up quite a bit.

"What are you going to do after the war?" Falcour asked out of nowhere, looking at the dregs of his ale. The bar keep, seeing this, passed him a new flagon. "You've spoken nothing of your future in the entire time I've known you."

His question made Crin tense up, although she kept her expression neutral. "We're not sure this war is ever going to end," she pointed out. "Even if it does end in our lifetime, and I'm not killed by some foolish stunt I pulled, or a Russic sword, or on this dragon hunt--which, at the moment, is very likely--I don't know how old I'll be, or who I'll be by that time. Plans of the nature you're talking about take knowledge, and at the moment, I'm all tapped out."

“If Aldour hasn’t taken brought the clan over, I want to go to Russland to bring the clan here,” Falcour said, surprising her. “See? That wasn’t so hard. What do you want to do?”

Crin silently considered the wine in her glass for a long time before she answered. “I want to find my parents,” she finally admitted. “See if they’re really dead or alive. Mostly I want to demand why they gave Trey and me up to the government. See if I had any other siblings than Trey, too. Maybe I’m an aunt by now and don’t even know it. See what my real name is, too.” She sighed and took a long drink. “Of course, that’s just the wine in me talking. They’re probably all dead.”

“Well, don’t drink yourself stupid over it,” Falcour ordered, prying the goblet from Crin’s fingers. He glared when he saw that she was hiding a grin. “What are you on about now?” A glance into the goblet showed him that most of the wine was still in the goblet. He narrowed his eyes at her grin.

“What?” she asked innocently. “Gypsies are the only ones allowed to fake drunkenness?” She rolled her eyes and stole the goblet back, taking a deeper drink this time. “And it takes more than two goblets of this stuff to loosen my tongue, thanks ever so.” She shrugged. “I may be a lightweight, but I’m good at keeping secrets. I told you all of that willingly. And don’t look so surprised.”

The problem, Falcour thought, with having one’s memories returned to one after such a long period of time was that it was bound to cause personality shifts for years to come. He scowled at his own drink as Pete, the owner, brought over plates of chicken and potatoes. After nodding his thanks, he dug into the food. Crin did the same, and a comfortable silence fell between the two until she broke it, asking, “Why didn’t you choose a gypsy?”

“Pardon?”

Crin wiped the corner of her mouth on her napkin, her instincts keeping good manners intact. “For a wife. You could have had anybody in that clan. In fact, they were throwing themselves at your feet, but you picked the tiny outsider with an attitude problem. Why?”

Falcour nearly dropped his knife. “Geez, ask the deep questions while a man’s trying eat chicken, why don’t you?” he grumbled, picking up the fork and the napkin that he had dropped in his shock. Crin’s left eyebrow went up, her look patient. He finally sighed and gave in. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“Let’s see,” and Crin cocked her head while she thought about it. “Yeah. I think I do. Bright sunny day, nice recreational jog with a few guards behind me, something about a loaf of bread, and deciding to take a nap in the middle of the Russic villa. Yes, I think I remember a thing or two.”

“No, that’s when we first saw each other,” Falcour corrected, taking a bite of chicken and talking around it. “I took you back to the clan and you didn’t come talk to me for over a month. Mostly because you didn’t remember that I saved you and because you were always hanging around with Talmour. Even back then, you two were best friends. I think I was always a little jealous of him, but no matter. Anyway, you came to me about joining the hunting party.”

“I remember,” Crin said slowly, giving him a guarded look. “We went hunting almost immediately and Neill was dragged away by a Tuh’rak beast.” The Tuh’rak was the gypsy’s biggest enemy, a feline species almost larger than most men and three times as deadly as any foe. They hadn’t seen in any in the area that day and had assumed it safe to hunt. “We went after it, you and I. That was two days after I purchased that glaive.”

“Right. That thing saved both of our lives.” Falcour shook his head at the memory. “You barley knew Neill, but you insisted that we go after the Tuh’rak anyway. I thought that he was a dead man, for sure, but I went along to watch your back.” Crin nodded, remembering the heated argument she had had with the rest of the hunters. “Turned out that you ended up watching my back and saving us all from certain death by taking out that Tuh’rak by yourself. About nearly killed yourself doing it, too. I can just remember lying there, flat on my back with those great big claw marks bleeding, and I decided that we were meant for each other. I mean, I’d rescued you, you’d rescued me. Who better to look out for each other?” Falcour shrugged. “It’s really that simple.”

“I cut you up more than the beast did,” Crin remembered with a frown. “Sliced your arm with my glaive, didn’t I?”

Falcour merely rolled up his sleeve to show the slashes. “I didn’t mind terribly. Well, it hurt at the time, but it’s a scar I’ll wear with honor.”

With his sleeve rolled up, the bottom of his Gideon clan tattoo was visible. Frowning, Crin pushed the sleeve out of the way and studied it. She had a similar tattoo, one that marked her as a “Dalmei’er,” but it was nowhere near as lavish as Falcour’s, which was decorated liberally with the runes that marked him as a Gideon son. The Gideon symbol, the Tiraas falcon, raised razor-sharp claws to the sky, golden head thrown back proudly. Her own tattoo was smaller and the falcon was blue, indicating her status as an outsider welcomed by the clan. “The Gideons are going to come here?” she asked softly.

“My father was near his death bed when my clan took its leave.” Falcour brushed fingers against hers as he rolled the sleeve back down and focused back on his meal, a little annoyed at her change in subject. “I might have to go back to Russland and persuade them to come. I was hoping Aldour would lead them here on his own. If Aldour comes here, it will mean that we will finally lead the clan together as brothers.” Crin nodded, obviously remembering that dream from the first time he had told her, several years before on a hunting expedition. “If it comes down to me going there to fetch them, I’ll want somebody to go with me. To be established as a full clan leader, I’ll need a wife.”

Crin was silent for a long time. “I see.” Deciding to try a different tack, she asked, “Got anybody in mind?”

Falcour recognized the expression as one she wore to mask pretty much any and every emotion that she didn’t want him to see. “You’ve no reaction?” he asked, letting a little hurt creep into his voice.

She didn’t look at him. “Fury, mostly. A little aggravated on the side of that, some hurt, I’m slightly mollified beyond all that and a little touched, but the biggest reaction here is fury.” Her voice was deathly calm when she spoke, but the fork in her hand was shaking. He’d never heard anybody evaluate their own emotions the way Crin did now, which worried him slightly. Taking the casual approach to suggesting a relationship had failed, he saw, and now it was all going to blow up in his face. “You have to walk before you can run, and you’re trying to sprint. Just…just slow down a little and live life for once.” A sigh made her slump forward. “I’m trying to readjust to this, to us, and you’re not making it easier by wanting to rush forward. You know I like you, you know it’ll probably happen, but give me a moment to sit back and realize it for myself, please?”

Falcour sighed as well. She was right, and she was the one being smart here. He had figured that now that he knew how to deal with her temper… “You’re right,” he agreed. “I’m sorry. It was not my place.”

Crin shook her head and immediately the mask was gone, leaving just her normal expression behind. “You know what? It’s kind of stupid of me to be angry. Let’s forget about it—you pay for dinner and we’ll call it a date.” She raised her eyebrows and started back in on her meal, which had gone cold in the face of the conversation.

“Yeah, we’ll do that,” Falcour agreed, more relieved than upset. One step at a time, he told himself.

[Lord Tellurine]

Meekal knocked on the door of Friar Lawrence O’Malley, the spiritual head of Arconia. Brother Emmanuel, who is not the spiritual head of Arconia, but obese enough to be the rest of the body, answered the door. “Prince Meekal,” he said politely, the words slurping effortlessly past his grease-encrusted lips, “how nice to see you.”

“Actually,” Meekal said with modesty, “it’s King Meekal now. Is Friar O’Malley in?”

“King Meekal!” smacked Brother Emmanuel with the same enthusiasm he would show for an unguarded wheel of cheese. “Has there been a coronation?”

“Not yet. Tonight I’m to be married… That’s why I need to see-”

“Married? You don’t say? Who’s the lucky princess?”

Meekal sighed. He realized he would have to go through this litany of questions before he could see Friar O’Malley. “Princess Buffy.”

Brother Emmanuel’s sudden silence both delighted and concerned Meekal. For a few seconds the only thing that could be heard was the labored breathing of Brother Emmanuel’s short, portly frame. He eventually uttered, “Princess Buffy is getting married tonight?”

“Yes,” answered Meekal. “To the King of Muu… Me,” he added in case there was some confusion.

“The King and Queen of Schoolcraftia have not been invited?”

“It’s a little short notice,” admitted Meekal with a weak shrug.

“Exactly my point. I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to marry Princess Buffy on such short notice. The Kingdom of Schoolcraftia has been waiting for the day that they can see their princess properly married off, and I will not stand idly by and watch a grand ceremony be reduced to a ‘quickie hitching’ tonight!” His labored breathing became accentuated by his long-winded tirade.

Meekal thought quickly and countered with, “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to ask Friar O’Malley if YOU could perform the ceremony. Princess Buffy said she knew you could give it the… pomp and circumstance it needs.”

His fat face became a little more flushed than usual and he stammered, “I – I couldn’t possibly prepare a ceremony fitting for our princess by tonight!”

“She thought that you could,” he lied, shaking his head with fake disappointment.

“Well… I could… I guess…”

“Excellent. We’ll see you in the throne room this evening. Good bye.” Meekal turned on his heels and left, before any more discussion could continue. He wondered what Princess Buffy would do if she knew that Brother Emmanuel, a pompous pain-in-her-neck, would be performing their wedding ceremony. He decided it would be best not to think about it.

As Meekal rounded the corner he came across another one of Lady Moon’s “friends.”

“Hello, Meekal,” Lord Tellurine said.

“Lord Tellurine!” Meekal spat back with sudden anger. “How DARE you show yourself in Arconia after what you did to those kids!”

“Meekal… My liege…” he said, slowly bending on one knee, “I am only here to offer you my allegiance.” He held his head down, looking at the King’s feet.

Meekal watched Lord Tellurine with caution. He said, “Excuse me?”

Lord Tellurine stood again. “You are King of Muu, Meekal. I am your loyal servant just as I was to your father. You must understand that everything I did was to fulfill his wishes.”

“All the kidnappings, treachery, and ill-conceived plots to take-over Arconia were because my father?”

“ESPECIALLY the ill-conceived plots,” Tellurine replied back quickly.

“And now you work for me?” Meekal guessed.

“I work for the King of Muu,” he said with the oiliest of smiles.

“Which is me,” stated Meekal.

“That’s right.”

“You work for me.”

“Correct.”

“I’m you boss.”

“Yes, Meekal,” Tellurine said back deliberately, fed up with the conversation. “I’m your employee. You’re my boss. I get a cubicle and you send out memos.”

“What’s a memo?”

“It’s short for memoran- Look, Meekal, that’s not important. I am here to receive my first orders from my King. What will you have me do?”

Meekal was flabbergasted. He didn’t know what to say. “Um, why don’t… you… uh…” He thought of something. “…Come to the wedding tonight!”

“What wedding?”

“I’m marrying Princess Buffy tonight. You can give her away.”

“I can what?”

“Give… her… away,” Meekal over-enunciated so he could understand.

“You want me to ‘give away’ Princess Buffy tonight?”

“Yes,” answered Meekal with an assured nod. “I figure that with all the times you’ve taken Princess Buffy, it’s about time you gave her back.” He smiled at this bit of humor.

Tellurine didn’t. “I don’t think I can do that, Meekal.”

“It is an order from your king,” Meekal said flatly.

“It’ll be a pleasure.” Lord Tellurine knew who the boss was, and it wasn’t Tony Danza. The amount of abuse Lord Tellurine would go through to please his King was extraordinary. Giving Lady Moon away would be the first test of his loyalty.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” said Meekal. “I have things to do.” He turned and left.

“I need a drink,” grumbled Tellurine and he headed for the Bitter End.

The Bitter End was filled that night and the only seat Lord Tellurine could find was next to Wooden Bob, who was off the floor and once again on his stool, just where Steve liked him. “What can get for you?” Steve asked.

“I’ll have whatever will make me forget what a sell-out I am.”

Steve gave the man a quizzical look, then said, “All right.”

Wooden Bob shifted his gaze from his drink to his new neighbor and asked, “How are ya, buddy?”

“Not good,” Tellurine said. “A wedding. Bah. I’ll never understand love.”

“I was in love once,” offered Wooden Bob. Tellurine didn’t respond. “But she told me she couldn’t love someone with a wooden leg.”

Tellurine sighed and asked, “What happened?”

“She broke it off,” lamented Wooden Bob. “Took me days to find it.”

Tellurine’s drink arrived just then. He was going to need it.

[Moonitic]

Moon sat & waited. Then, she sat...& waited more. Since finding herself locked into her chamber on her wedding day, she had paced the floor, stopping only to call to her sister & dearest friend who threatened the guards at her door. After they left to find her a suitable gown, she took to pacing again. But she soon grew tired & sat. And waited. Very few things annoyed her more than sitting & waiting. Patience was a virtue she had never been blessed with. "I guess it's time I get that blessing," she muttered.

Where was everyone? What were they doing? She hated not knowing. She hated not being in the fray. Even if the "fray" included flowers, a gown & a seating arrangement for the banquet after the wedding. SHE should have been the one planning this thing. She hated other people planning her life.

And where was that gown? She had to get ready soon!

[Iwant2bafencer]

Rosaline ran into Ken-Dall and Willow as she had been making her way out to see captain Garrisson to make sure everything was still in order from when they had left for the meeting.

"Rosaline, canyou do anything about these guards?" Willow asked when they saw each other. "No one can go in, and Moon can't even come out."

Rosaline shook her head slowly.

"I'm sorry Willow, Nækos has charge over them for the time. The only way I can do anythign is to get permiss . . to talk to Nækos about it."

"Well could you go talk to him?" Ken-Dall questioned. "We still have to get Moon dressed.

Ken-Dall motioned with a dress lying in her arms.

"I highly doubt Nkos will change his mind anytime soon." Rosaline brushed a few strands of hair from her face as she thought. "Alright, why don't you give me the dress. I will go help Moon get dressed and then I'll talk to Nækos."

"but no one can get it." Ken-Dall repeated.

"Nækos may have charge over them for a short time, but I have charge over the entire force. They'll let me in."

Both Ken-Dall and Willow looked sad at the idea. As they should, as best friend and sister they should be the ones to dress and be with Moon. Eventually they agreed, handing the dress over to Rosaline then moving off to make sure everything else was in order.


A few minutes later Rosaline was once again infront of Moon's door.

"Step aside gentlemen." She stated cooly.

The guards moved, but it was evident that they weren't so sure about it. Rosaline figured they'd like to keep their jobs.

Rosaline unlocked the door, knocking out of curtesy, and then entered after giving the key back to the guard. She stepped through the door and heard it shut and lock behind her.

"That door better open when I'm done." She called back out into the hallway.

Moon came quickly around the corner to see who was in her room.

"Rosaline, how did you . . right. Well at least One person can get in and out of here." She sighed, slumping onto her bed.

"I'm sorry Moon, not much I can do about it. I did promise Willow and Ken-Dall that I'd go talk to Nækos as soon as I was done here."

"Not much good it'll do." Moon replied.

Rosaline nodded.

"Shall we get you dressed?" Rosaline smiled and held up the simple yet elegant cream dress.

Moon wrinkled her nose.

"I hate dresses."

[Moonitic]

Though Moon hated to admit it, the gown was gorgeous, as was the chemise she would wear underneath. With Rosaline's help she slipped into both, & allowed herself to be tied in. "Keep some slack back there," Moon said, her hair up & out of Rosaline's way. "This dress was made a while back, you know."

"Yeah, yeah," Rosaline muttered. "You'd think I've never done something like this."

A few moments later, the dress was on & ready. Moon grabbed a brush from the vanity in her changing area & ran in through her hair. Then, with Rosaline's help again, her tiara...the tiara she hadn't worn since her last days in Schoolcraftia...was put into place. "Thank you, Rosaline," she said into the mirror as she gazed at her friend. "For everything."

"It was nothing. Couldn't have you going out there in your breeches or anything, could we?"

"I suppose not." Moon paused, & tilted her head to look at her friend. "What about you, though? You are NOT showing up at my wedding looking like you were hit by a carriage."

"Hey!" Rosaline looked down at herself. She had to admit, she wasn't dressed in the latest in Arconian wedding fashion, but she still looked decent...or so she thought. "Fine, I'll change."

"Good. If I have to wear a dress, so do you."

Rosaline rolled her eyes, but said, "Then if you will excuse me, I must retire to my chamber to see if I can find something suitable for Your Highness." She attempted a curtsey on her sore legs, then moved to the door & pounded. "Let me out!" she called. The door caved open, & she began to exit. "See you soon, future Queen of Muu." With that, the door shut.

Ugh! Why does she have to remind me? She loved Meekal dearly, but the mere thought of spending any portion of her life in that miserable kingdom gave her fits of dread. But with Meekal as king & Moon as queen, surely life would improve in that sorry kingdom. She could only hope. She began to pace again, refreshed. A thought occurred to her & she moved to the door to see if that thought was justified. The door handle turned. The door was not locked! "Hmm..." She pulled it open, & stuck her head out into the hall. The guards were gone! "Interesting..." Surely they figured she wouldn't go anywhere in her wedding dress, & risk being seen by her groom (or anyone else for that matter). But she grew bored of pacing her chamber like a caged wild cat. And she now had the opportunity to pace elsewhere. She took a tentative step from the room. No one appeared to stop her. So...

Rosaline was at her chamber door when she reached into her pouch for her key, & realized that she had forgotten to give Moon one important thing...the good luck token! Ken-Dall found it among the things her mother had packed for Moon's wedding. She said that it had been in their family for many generations, from the beginning of the Schoolcraftian line. She had to get it back to Moon before the wedding. It would go in her shoe, & it wouldn't look good to have a bride stepping out of her shoes at the altar, just to have a token put inside. "I'd better take this back now," Rosaline mumbled, then turned away to head back up to Moon's room.

[Crin Dalmeiier]

Poor, unsuspecting Ame walked into the castle kitchens--and nearly lost her head for it.

Luckily, she let out a yelp and ducked just in time, avoiding a painful encounter with a piping hot tray of meat pastries. Unabashed by the fact that he'd nearly killed the young redhead, the kitchen boy continued rushing off to the cooling area, where heaps and heaps of food could be seen. Confused, Ame clambered back to her feet. "What's going on?" she asked the first scullery maid she could find.

The maid obviously hadn't gotten the memo about keeping things under wraps. "A wedding, miss! Tonight!"

"A wedding?" That explained all of the food and the fact that the kitchens looked like a warzone--or the aftermath of a good gypsy party. "Who's getting married?"

"The King of Muu!" And before the maid could say anything more, she was whisked off by one of the cooks.

Deciding that living hungry was better than dying by decapitation by hot pastry trays any day, Ame beat a hasty retreat and raced for her room up in the tower. She had to tell Falcour, and given the way he had been looking at Crin lately, he would be where she was. She ran into Talmour on the way up. “Where’s the fire?” he demanded, reaching a hand out to steady her before she could fall.

“You’ll never believe what I just heard!”

He grinned and had to jog to keep up with her, short legs or not. “What? Well, aren’t you going to share?”

“When I have everybody in one place.” Ame rounded the corner and stopped so quickly that her boots squeaked and Talmour ran straight into her back. “What the—!”

Falcour and Crin sprang apart. Crin immediately reddened and stammered something guiltily, but Falcour just grinned at his brother and his friend. “Next time be a little louder when you come around the corner,” he suggested with a chuckle, wrapping an arm around the mortified Crin’s shoulders.

“We were practically shouting,” Talmour pointed out, resisting the urge to make a couple of gibes in his friend’s expense. She mumbled something and started to slip away, but Talmour grabbed her arm and said, “No, wait up, Ame has news.”

“Well, Miri’s in the room with Senyik and Darion—they’ll want to hear the news, too, I imagine,” Crin said, trying to lose the redness and failing miserably. She gave in and let the blush live on.

They gathered in the bedroom, six Russic people and Darion. “What’s this news?” Darion asked skeptically from his position at the small room table. “Are we leaving early or something?”

“Not quite! I’ve just been down to the kitchens—something I would only advise for the heavily suicidal—and one of the maids just told me. The King of Muu is getting married!”

There was a pause from the gypsies. “The old fogey that tried to kill us?” Talmour wondered aloud for the group. “He’s getting married? To whom? A Mummy?”

“No,” Senyik interrupted. “Meekal is the King of Muu now.”

“Meekal? Meekal the Daft?” Ame had heard stories from various people throughout Arconia, and none of them credited this individual as king-worthy. “He’s the one getting married? Here? Tonight?”

A longer pause and then Talmour broke in. "A wedding! I love weddings! Drinks all 'round!"

“Aye!”

[Iwant2bafencer]

ROFLMBO!

But why is the Rum gone?! . . . Must have been terrible for you Jack, must have been terrible. Well it bloody well is now!! . . there'll be no living with her after this.

[Swordsman]

Senyik appeared to be musing...a dangerous thing. "Now that you mention drinks...has anybody arranged the groom a bachelor party?"

Everybody in the room kind of looked at everybody else. Senyik just looked mortified. "I can't believe you people. Heathens, the lot of you." He gave Talmour a look. "Come on. Let's grab him, and get this party going!"

[Crin Dalmeiier]

"You men go bag the King, and we'll go get everything set up," Ame said, pushing everybody towards the door. Left alone with Crin and Miri, she grinned widely. "Methinks it's time to teach the Arconians how to throw a real party!" Grabbing each of her friends by the hand, she hurried them out after the men, although they headed a different direction when the staircase forked. "We'll rally the gypsies," she spoke quickly. "Thow a gypsy party!"

"Poor man's going to show up at his own wedding as white as a ghost," Crin muttered to Miri, who laughed and readjusted the straps holding her harp. "You DID learn how to play 'Do Virgins Taste Better Than Those Who are Not,' right?"

"After the amount of times we played it on the way over here, I'd be surprised if I couldn't do it in my sleep."

"No," Ame said as they entered the east wing, "you only hum it in your sleep."

And they hurried off to rally the gypsies to the Bitter End.

[Swordsman]

Falcour, Talmour, Senyik, and Darion, found themselves suddenly on the street, not knowing where to find the new king. "Right...so now what?"

"Head back to Nækos' cottage," Darion suggested. "If Meekal's not there, I've got the feeling Nækos will know where he is."

"Sounds good."

And sure enough, halfway to the cottage, Falcour grabbed the two non-gypsies by the collars and yanked them into the brush beside the trail, Talmour following by instinct.

"What the - ?"

"Shhh...he just rounded the bend ahead."

"So why are we hiding?" Darion inquired. "Shouldn't we talk to him?"

"You heard Ame. She said to bag the new king, not talk to him. We're kidnapping him."

"Ohh..."

Meekal was in a rather complex mix of moods. Some of the earlier words and actions of his betrothed still stung, but he was also overjoyed that they were finally getting married. On the other hand, he now had to tell her that Brother Emmanuel would be conducting the marriage...and the aftermath of her (hopefully) final kidnapping. All this was going through his mind when his feet suddnely took off on their own, to the side of him. Before he could fall far, however, something grabbed him by the shoulders, and hands clamped down over his mouth and eyes. These were shortly replaced by a gag and blindfold. What the hell was going on? And why was somebody snickering?

[Crin Dalmeiier]

Completely unaware that the guys had bagged the new king, Crin, Ame, and Miri were all herding the gypsies towards the Bitter End. As gypsy physics naturally included a fourth law, the Theory of Gravitations Towards Alcohol, this was far from a hard task. In fact, several were nearly singing joyfully that they had an excuse to drink.

It was Crin that bumped into the captain of the guard. "Lady Rosaline!" she cried, waving the others on. Going on impulse, she hauled on the taller woman's arm, grinning widely. "C'mon! You're going to be late for the party!"

"But I have to--"

"Oh, come on," Ame said, popping up on the woman's other side and taking hold of her free arm. "A little ale and you'll forget all about what you have to do! Won't that be nice?"

It did, Rosaline agreed silently as she allowed the two women to drag her along with the crowd, sound rather nice.

[Swordsman]

Meekal tried his best to listen, keep aware, and know what was going on around him as he was guided blind through back streets and alleys, but quickly lost all sense of distance or direction. Until suddenly he received a blast of warm, ale-scented air in the face, followed by loud cheering, cat-calls, and suggestive shouts about the Might of the king. At this point the gag and blindfold were ripped off, revealing his "captors", and the horde of already inebriated gypsies facing him. "Long live the king," someone shouted, "and may all your invasions tonight be successful!!"

Falcour had been unaware until that point that a person could turn so red.

"Great..." Meekal muttered. "Now I not only have to explain why she's getting kidnapped again, but why I didn't have time to get everything ready."

Senyik grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around. "Did you just say 'kidnapped again'? Referring to your bride?"

Meekal sighed, a habit he supposed he was picking up from the Swordsman. "Yes. Tellurine works for me now; I told him to kidnap her so that he can finally return her, at the altar."

Talmour grinned mischievously. "You know what that means, don't you?"

"What?" Meekal didn't like that look.

"It means we've got to kidnap you - like we just did - and return you, at the altar. But I daresay you'll have more fun in the meantime."

[Swordsman]

Gypsies love slightly charred slices of bread.

They also love toasts. Toasts are a great excuse to down another drink.

"To the new king!" one proposed.

"May he reign long and strong!" another added.

"And may his kingdom not go into decline too early!" the first replied.

"Yes - he should rule with an iron fist!"

"No, no. Govern gently and with love, and your reign will last much longer."

"So long as you do not outlast the queen."

"But worse is for your reign to end before your queen's; she will be forced to find another king to reign with her!"

"Let us speak to the king and decide the matter!"

With that, the two gypsies downed their drinks and went to Meekal, each draping an arm over his shoulder from a different side.

"My liege! Tell us of your bride. Does she prefer to be governed gently and with love, or ruled over with an iron fist?"

"Umm..." He looked desperately around for Senyik or Darion for help.

"Sorry, man, you're on your own," Senyik grinned.

"I...don't think she'll take very well to either. She's pretty independent like that..."

A shocked look between the gypsies. "Independent, you say?!"

"Yes...she pretty much does what she likes. Come to think of it, she spent a lot of time tellng me what to do."

"The queen reigns over the king!"

"Amazing!"

"Incredible!"

"Unheard of!"

"Insert shocked ejaculation here!" The first gypsy gave his companion a very strange look, across Meekal. "Part of speech, you know."

"Oh, naturally. But where were we? Astounding!"

"Remarkable!"

"Preposterous!"

"And remarkably pleasurable," Ame threw in, draping herself over the three of them from behind.