merrimanlyon | (no subject)

The door from Milliways opens into the corridor outside Merlion's private quarters. Within a few moments, he is safe in the confines of the outer chamber, spartan surroundings vastly different from the noise and bustle of the establishment he had just left.

He may, quite possibly, be making overly much out of nothing. There is really no reason why the king would deny such a request. What the passage of Time has not healed, the peace beyond Time has surely soothed...but there is no denying that the castle at the back of the north wind is without a queen consort for reasons known only to its king.

The distance between his rooms and the king's chambers is short enough, and Arthur's smile is warm and welcoming as he enters.

'What news, my lion?' he says, an inquisitive light bringing a sparkle to his eyes.

'I bring a message for you, sire.' Merlion holds out the letter, and surely it is nothing but old habit that brings a little of the feel of a lead weight sinking slowly in his chest. The king's advisor, the king's emissary, the king's harbinger. 'From your son.'

'From Bran?' The light does not go out entirely, but the brightness dims nonetheless as Arthur takes the letter and breaks the seal to open it.

Merlion stands perfectly still as the king reads his son's note. His gaze is fixed at some point outside the open window, possibly at the view of the apple orchard below. It's doubtful as to whether or not he is actually looking at the view, particularly when his attention snaps back into the room at the first crinkle of the paper.

Arthur isn't looking at him; his eyes are carefully watching his hands refold the letter. 'I fear that I am missing one or two key facts here. What precisely is the reason for this...unusual situation?'

Merlion keeps his explanation short and straightforward in a way that would shock most anyone else who has ever heard him speak. The nature of Milliways, its penchant for bringing people within its walls after death, the dual nature of prison and sanctuary for those who are unable to leave. He skirts clear of difficult subjects, such as the Riders of the Dark and counterparts from other words, in favour of keeping the story firmly centred on the matter at hand. As it stands, though, any uncertainties on Arthur's face are long gone by the time Merlion finishes speaking.

'And Bran asked you to convey his request to me,' is all that he says when Merlion falls silent.

'He is very protective of his mother.' Protective enough to openly challenge the White Rider for her sake, for instance. But that is another story that will not be told on this occasion. 'And he knows that he cannot support her on his own.'

'And he knows that I can, and that I should.' The king holds up a hand before Merlion can open his mouth to interject. 'No, my lion, he is quite right in this. Providing for her is the very least that I can do, all things considered.'

'She would have had her rights as a widow, had circumstances been otherwise,' Merlion points out cautiously. 'That was my first thought when presented with the question of what might be done.'

'Sensible, as always.' A flicker of a smile crosses Arthur's face, though it is more thoughtful than amused. 'How...how is she, truly?'

'Well enough. Milliways is by no means an unpleasant place to be.' Though there are always exceptions, he corrects himself silently.

Another flicker of a smile, tinged with irony this time. 'Provided that you can leave when you choose, I would think.'

'There are some who make a home of it, when for one reason or another they are unable to leave.' Merlion has never been Bound himself, but he can draw on memories of conversations had with those who are or were. 'Making the best of the circumstances...especially those who find that death is by no means the end of all things.'

A sweet, throaty warbling pierces the beat of silence that follows, and both men glance over at the open window just in time to see a wren light upon the sunlit stone of the window-ledge. The little bird tilts its head to one side and lets out a delicate trill, lilting up at the end in a gentle, questioning fashion -- and then without so much as a pause to wait for a reply takes flight once more in a soft flurry of wings.

'A place where endings may be beginnings instead?' Arthur says at last, a little hesitantly.

Merlion, still gazing at the spot on the window-ledge where the wren had been not long before, nods slowly.

'Indeed, sire,' he murmurs after a long moment. 'Very much so.'

The king nods once, clears his throat, and clasps his hands behind his back.

'Well then, my lion. I leave it to you to arrange matters, for you will know best how to do so. You know the accounts, or what they would have been; you kept close enough watch over them once, as I recall.' His smile lasts longer this time, and there is no trace of irony in it now. 'Go and see that all is made well there. And when you inform Bran of the fact...please tell him that I am indebted to him, for the reminder of a duty left unfinished.'

Pulling himself out of his momentary reverie, Merlion bows and turns to depart -- but stops short just at the door. 'Any...further messages, my lord?'

Arthur's face is turned away, looking out of the window once more.

Or perhaps at the window itself.

'I wish her happiness and peace,' he says quietly, calmly. The hands clasped behind his back are holding fast to the envelope, the edge of one thumb tracing the edge of the flap and the broken seal. 'And if the opportunity presents itself...tell her that I am proud of our son.'