Some time into the evening Marius spends some time sipping at cold water (as available) to "cool his head."
            Then, walking as if he had a mission in mind, he approaches Cambina.  His all-business walk will slow to a casual stride, and then he gives a slight bow.
            "May I have the pleasure of a dance?" he asks, biting hard on each word over the throbbing of his heartbeat.

She looks at him quizzically, not replying, not moving for several long heartbeats.

Made more loud in Marius' ears, so that even the gentle strains of music are but a buzz.

Just when he is sure she is going to just stare at him, she reaches out her hand, wordlessly, to be led to the dance floor.

A conscious effort is what is required to breathe, which he does carefully.

She wears a bemused smile and this particular dance is somewhat athletic and does not offer much opportunity for discussion.  Cambina is excellent, although Marius suspects that her dance skills are best appreciated by a partner rather than an observer.

He attempts not so much to impress but strives not to hinder, followed by the stresses of some level of perfection in his movement.  If someone were to read his mind, they'd find a mathematical construct of kinesthetic merged with music to remind him, "Step HERE, come down on the heel, turn, step, STEP."

"Thank you, Marius.  Would you like to take some fresh air with me?  Or do you have other appointments to dance?"

Marius remembers to breathe again.  He manages a smile that's surprisingly boyish, and he nods, slightly.  "As the Otter does, I try to live with a little bit of improvisation.  I would be pleased to share some of the night with you."  
            He doesn't seem to notice his use of words.  He obviously means the ambiance, not... yeah, right.

Cambina smiles, turns, and begins to walk rapidly through the crowd, which parts before her like magic.  She takes a wine glass and a carafe from a passing servant without slowing down at all.  Quickly she is at the exit and, assuming he has followed her, so is Marius.

A quick walk into and through a small side garden and through an inconspicuous gate leads to a low stone wall next to a reflecting pool. Cambina turns and sits on the wall, and pours wine from the carafe into the glass.  The pool reflects two moons and the sound of the revel is muted by the intervening hedges.

Actually, seeing her movement, Marius picks up his own glass.  He twirls it by the thin stem in offering it to her.  He leans against the wall, but not sit.  He's actually a little calmer away from the crowd, although it is as if his heart is caught in his throat as he looks at her under the moon for a moment.
            He actually lets her take the lead.

"Welcome home, Captain.  If no one has said so, yet."  She raises her glass, then drinks from it.

He drinks to it with her.  "It has been said in a variety of a ways," he admits, amused.  He takes a deep breath, as if he was going to say something else, and then stops, suddenly, and laughs.
            "This..." he extends his arm to refer to the moonlight and the silence.  "Perhaps is not what you think.  I have had a dream of you.  It was not..." he shrugs, trailing off.
            "Originally, I had hoped," he distances himself vocally, as if starting to tell a story.  He turns and leans against the wall with his hand not holding the glass, but it is low, as if looking for a sword he does not wear.  "I had hoped," he repeats, "just to mention it to you, casually."  A cut-off laugh.  "But it was not a casual dream, and while I would not want to burden you with phantoms and shadows, I had hoped it would be of some interest."
            He breathes again, as if a splinter had been removed.

She looks at him, the moonlight reflecting on her face from the pond, and she smiles.  "I have been somewhat evasive, it is true, but that is the prerogative of a seer.  Tonight, at least,  I will have the passing enjoyment of the benefits of my horrible reputation."  She smiles and is, perhaps, not so unapproachable as her reputation has long suggested.
            "But you have a non-casual matter to discuss with me.  Pray, tell me of your dream."

"Forgive me," he starts out, "for my sudden poetic nature.  So many riddles and games lie in dreams, that this is but a reconstruction, a story that I can never tell the same way twice, but will always remember differently."
            He takes a breath and sets himself better to rest against the wall.  "The city of moonlight and sky, began to... invade, slowly, this city of stone.  Specifically, it began to spin itself around you, trapping you, suffocating you with dreams, when I was called."  He shakes his head.  "Not called by anything but a feeling, and I was the only one to go into the velvet grey to find you."
            He shrugs, and looks apologetic.  "In there we were visited by the ghost of the King.  Our...grandfather.  He called us the 'untouchable,' and the 'untouching,' as if it were amusing to him.  He claimed we were both on a journey, and with a ring he placed on my finger, he charged me to navigate in dreams and darkness."  He chuckles, suddenly.  "I awoke half expecting to see the ring still on my finger, it was so real and vivid."
            There is a line of sweat along his brow, and he is just a step away from trembling, but he is also done, and it was important to him to say this.

"I am at one with the idea of my eventual death and like most of our kin, I expect it will come as a complete surprise to me and that my affairs will not be in order.  I think it would be unpoetic of me not to die in a way that was tied to the Tir-na Nog'th.
            "I can try my hand at interpreting your dream, but I am no Oneiromancer.  This dream is for you to interpret.  The advice I can give you is that it is easy to bring too much of your own needs, wants, and fears to any attempt to interpret visions .  A reflection is best viewed in a clear, still pool."
            "So, will you tell me your interpretation, or shall I tell you what I think of it?"

"A seer," he smiles.  "Not merely a historian, a daughter of a King, a lover of the fanciful as all women are rumoured to be?"  It's almost a murmur, and then he straightens up again.

She shrugs.  "I am that I am.  Why would I not share it with my cousins?"

"Because I suspect you seek a different power over them than that," he says, a little offhandedly. He chuckles.  "I never trust a woman to be anything but... complicated."  His smile is that of the cheshire cat who ate the 200 lb. canary... in bits and pieces.

"Women are simple creatures, and so must manufacture mystery.  But none of those rules apply to family.  There are those who call us 'inhuman'.  I think they are right in ways they do not understand."

Marius nods.  "I would not disagree with you.  Still, where one raises monsters, another might raise monster slayers."

"We're hard monsters to slay.  Even those of us who are but frail monstrosities are tougher than most."

"That you speak of death suggests to me that our interpretations will be at odds from the start," he says, his smile wide.  He stretches for a moment, working out some of the kinks in his back, as if his muscles were wondering why he had been so tense for now the moment is passed and life resumes from the terse pause in which it had been placed.
            "But if it can be done mutually, with the suspicion that my interpretation may influence even your own, I will give you what I can.  My heart and mind must remain my own until darkness claims another part of them."  He smiles an enigmatic, thoughtful smile.
            "For what it was worth, I think it was merely a dream.  Not the wish the heart makes, although perhaps there is some wish-fulfillment in it.  You looked like my mother," he says the last few words very quickly. "There is no lack of ease in interpreting that.  Yet you were not her, and that, Cousin, was never in doubt."  He tilts his head.  "There are things, however, that influence dreams.  Events, subconscious cues..." he shrugs again.  "Perhaps there are magics that do so, or merely the night's dinner before sleeping."  The shrug turns gracefully into his usual slightly-feral smile.
            "I woke with purpose.  That was what was meaningful to me. That another had to grant it?  That is a measure of my discomfort, yes.  Even if the King inside was just a reflection of my inner thoughts.  That you were involved? I have not spent much time with you, so perhaps I was able to label you according to the wishes of my dream."
            He takes a breath.
            "But if it was not merely my subconscious, it was important.  Since I cannot place my finger upon the seeds of dreams, and tell you what caused this one to sprout, I asked you here, embarrassed slightly to take your time for a fantasy or shadow."
            He smiles at her, graciously, as if the smile was a bow.  Her turn.
 
"You have not said when you had this troublesome dream.  I have heard that the whole of the army was lulled into a sorcerous sleep and awoke as one with a great shout.  They did not remember what it was that they dreamed, but that it was a great evil and most would not sleep again in Chaos. Here, Vialle has long had nightmares.  I  wonder if hers have stopped?" She shakes her head.  "I think there are too many disturbing dreams to dismiss them as mere coincidence."

"I did not dream until I returned here," he says, and it is probably the flattest tone he has used since his return to Amber.  He shakes his head.  "Then it is an unrest we all feel, an upheaval.  I could have nightmares of the sorts we were fighting.  I could wake, insisting my hands were covered with blood.  Instead I wake a hero, a not-gold-nor-silver ring symbolizing a holy quest invisible on my finger."  He laughs a hollow laugh.  "And the serving girls dream they will be Queens and call it a nightmare because the soup they ordered in their haughtiest tones is served warm instead of cold.  I cannot dismiss them as coincidence, but I cannot take stock in them, either.  You are kind in reminding me of that."

She looks away, "Oberon is Amber.  That is the only certainty."

"I hesitate to draw the conclusion, for Oberon is dead."  His tone has a bitter in it.  One that might be palatable in small bits, but it would take a lot of honey.  He nods, though, and looks away, up at the sky, thinking.

"Is this the ghost of Amber, then?" he asks, softly.

"No, we have been damnably unable to achieve the ghost of Amber.  Unless Prince Corwin starts sinking through the floor, we may have to assume this is the corpse of Amber.  The question is 'can the heart be restarted?'" Cambina asks.

Marius laughs a bitter laugh, and sighs.  He turns towards the wall and bumps his head against it once, grinning, but still somewhat sad. "The untouching and the untouchable talking of hearts.  Alas, I cannot even do the deed for myself."  He turns back and looks at Cambina.  "I am no healer, and the shocks I provide are merely those of the playfully socially inept, rather than those of sufficient catalyst.  But why be morbid?  Let us dance on the corpse and hope it sufficiently roused by our joviality to wonder why it's laying down and not joining the party."  His grin fades to merely a smile.

"All cities, they say, are shadows of Amber, some more refracted or out of time than others. Have you ever wondered what phase of Amber the dead cities in Shadow were reflections of?" She also smiles. "This is a coronation, not a wake for the dead. And I am afraid that if I danced with you again so soon, even on the corpse, I might be seen to be favoring you,and I would not want to burden you with that reputation. Shall we return to the hall?"

After Jerod ends the dance with Llewella, he seeks out one or two others.

Marius makes for Vialle.

Random is close by, talking with some of the nobles, but keeping an eye on Vialle. He gives Marius an encouraging look on seeing the direction of his approach.

"You said I would discern you no matter how you were masked, and you were correct, your Majesty."  The words are spoken almost like caresses.  "Still, you are a pleasure to the eye and your outfit accents your grace.  I would be able to tell you merely by your elegance, had I no other means." (flatter, flatter)

Vialle smiles at the compliment.

"Tell me, do you dance, your Majesty?  Or may I bring you something, so that you can taste of the festivities around you?"

"I may dance later in the evening. Random said he would call for a pavane as soon as he's free, and he'll lead me through it. I don't need anything to drink, but if you will stay by me--my lord--we can talk for a little while."
            She almost slipped and used his name, Marius thinks, but caught herself at the last moment.

"It would make this Otter's whiskers curl to make the time pass pleasurably for you," he says.  "Are you familiar with the creature the otter?  He is, in the words of the poet Jenne Micale..._

"otters -- you have forgotten otters_
with sleek tube torsos_
and stubby little legs_
with handy clenched clawpaws_
tiny child fingers_
fickle pinktongue satin_
or more a wet sea towel_
slinky serpent-silly_
tumble down slick slopes_
rosenose silly-whiskered --_
and you --_
i see you have forgotten otters.

"Although," Marius adds, "perhaps you remember them better than I, coming from the worlds of liquid and silk as you... might."

Vialle says, "I have not forgotten otters. Certainly I will not forget them now, Sir Otter."

"Then my task is accomplished, for I hope to be in your thoughts, my Empress."  He moves slightly closer.  "Are you free of care, or do things worry you here?"

"Tonight I am free of all cares," Vialle says. "I am putting them all off until the morrow. And then I will delegate them."

Marius chuckles, in a way that isn't entirely certain she's being witty.  He'll take it half-and-half.
            "Then I shan't add even a trifle to tomorrow's work, and perhaps there will be a place wherein I can lighten that burden."  He makes his smile known through his voice.
            He pauses.  "If it is not intruding, can you tell me what you find lovely?  I am acquainted with the sight of things, but I think you enjoy things a little... deeper."

"Texture," Vialle says. "Ossian makes sculptures for me with that have many different feels beneath my fingers. And the different drapes of cloth in a formal dress, the way they fall when I walk. Scent on the wind. It still holds the fascination it had for me when I first came to Amber. Random once said I was the only woman he knew who found the stink of a dank dungeon tolerable. Or perhaps the contrast enhances my love for fresh, rich odors now. What do you find lovely, Sir Marius?"

"Being alive, sweet Lady.  Where even in death some things retain their loveliness, it is life that is the root of beauty.  It is the ability to experience the world.  You can find that even the pain of living has its own delights."  He laughs.
            "The things I have found most beautiful have been in celebration of life.  The dances of the dolphins in Tara Ming, against the slow sunset over the sea.  The sound of men working the ropes in the late afternoon, everything in measure and working right... right in that way that says everyone's doing their job, everything's simple."
            He sighs, probably shaking his head  from the sound of it.  "There are  complicated things that are beautiful, but any complicated system is delicate, and delicate things have a way of breaking."  
            An observer would see that he's looking at Folly as he says this last bit.

Vialle, of course, cannot be counted among that number.
            "And yet it is complicated and delicate things that sometimes are the most beautiful for all their fragility, as if it were their very ephemeral nature that made them so. I am told that sunsets are very beautiful. By definition, they do not last. Do you find sunsets beautiful, Sir Otter?"

"That life is transient is, yes, part of its beauty, even to one who may look towards death from a far horizon."  He sighs.  "From one who took too close a view, perhaps it is even more beautiful.  But for sunsets themselves, no.  
            There are things that are aesthetically pleasing, but it is just the passing of time, which, to some extent, is meaningless overall."
            "How many sunsets have I counted over the bay?  It is the events that make them worthwhile.  The sunsets I have counted while savouring my peace, or the sunsets curled up in a lover's arms, against the thousands of sunsets marking the shifting of the crew.  There are too many times the sun has set that I have not even seen it, and too many times when I have noticed it without appreciating it."  He chuckles.  "But, then one is magnificent enough to catch my eye and I reevaluate my answer yet again."
            "So, it is a complicated answer, and by my previously stated philosophy, the complication is not a thing of beauty."  He smiles.  "Have you tasted any of tonight's delicacies?  Perhaps I could offer you a drink before the dance ends and you are needed elsewhere?"

"That would be very kind of you, Sir Otter." Vialle's lips curve into a smile.

The Otter procures a glass and a small plate of easily-handled tidbits from the banquet, weaving in and out of the crowd with a smile and haste.  He returns quickly.

"Tell me, Sir Otter, do you know yet whether you will be staying in Amber after the morrow? Has my Emperor set a geas on you as he has done with so many others?"

"The only geas I know to be on my kind, slippery as they are when responsibilities are to be given," he says, making sure she has the glass before leaving it, and taking the opportunity to brush against her fingers slightly, "is that I have promised my fellows to seek the answer to a fiery riddle.  While I never tire of the waters, there are rivers of flame as well.  Had you perhaps a task for me, so I may serve Our Emperor through your requests?"

Marius notices that Lucas is looking at the two of them, with a bit of a frown on his face, before the crowd closes and he loses track of the other man.
            "Merely that you might be present to make my days lighter," Vialle says lightly. "It seems that so many of our kindred are to leave in the days to come. I had hoped that some of my friends might remain. But if you already have a quest, Sir Otter, I cannot ask you to defer it for my poor pleasure."
"Ah, my Empress, but your pleasure is a command, and one I would hasten to accomplish repeatedly."  He cannot help but smile a little at that last comment.

Vialle cannot see the smile in Marius' voice, but she may hear it. She smiles at him in return, and turns her attention to the plate of dainties he has fetched for her.

As the evening gavottes, galliards and pavanes onward, Robin finds herself leaning against the open doorframe to the gardens.  Behind the night air carries the hint of spring and growth which occasionally gently waft past the faintly glowing girl.  On Robin's face is one of her trademark 'imagine that' looks as she takes in the costumes, the rituals, the crowds, the noise, etc. of court life.
            By and by, the Huntress finds herself looking for one particular costume cum ritual in particular, an elaborate moth of silver and grey.  If Aisling is still there and findable, Robin raises her eyebrows to the Flutter and turns her head slightly toward the garden outside, a gentle 'can we talk?'

Aisling is easy enough to track, as I imagine she is no stranger to the dance floor.  In fact, she appears honestly alight with the joy of it, and this might go even farther than her unfailing grace at making her one to dance with and around.
            Nonetheless, when Robin catches Aisling's eye, she soon enough makes her polite excuses and finds her way (still glowing in the aftermath) over to the Huntress, and thence to the spring night outside.

The Huntress smiles her thanks and turning, lets herself drift into the metaphorically glowing woman's wake.  Once outside, Robin's nostrils flare and a deep breath goes into her.  While it's obvious that the girl finds the rolling lawn and curved tree lines still a little confining, it's better than the squared off walls of stone.
           Lit by gently glowing oil lamps suspended from wrought iron poles, fine marble flooring extends for a several meters beyond the open doorway to make a small patico, but no wall or stair separates the women from the greenery.
           With another gentle smile, Robin gestures off to somewhere more private than where the golden light and gentle clamor of the Masq pour out of the open french doors.

Aisling follows Robin out further, her expression (as much of it as is visible under the mask) one of polite interest.

Out in the darkness, Robin's argent nimbus casts soft-lined shadows away from her in all directions.  "Thank you, Aisling," the girl's voice falters a little as her words slip away from her in the Chaosian's actual presence and she drops her eyes.

The mask and moonshadows probably hide the faint expression of unease that crosses Aisling's face.

Then the segue master strikes again, Robin is obviously *not* someone who rehearses.  The girl looks to Aisling with honest curiosity in her eyes.
           "Listen.  My father says that before I can flout the court's dress rules, I should be certain of the message I'll send by doing so.  Uhhh, you speak clothing.  Aaanndd it seems like you speak Court too.  So, if you would be so kind, what message would I send by wearing breeches or trousers -- *nice* ones," Robin qualifies, "to Court?"

Aisling looks very taken aback, startled.  This was not the conversation she was fearing.

Robin looks confused by Aisling's reaction.  Dung!  What did she do wrong *this* time?!  Verde, these castle people are a different species, the Ranger swears it.  But Robin really wants the answer to this question, so she waits for it.

"Uhmm..."  She blinks a couple times.  "Well, that you abdicate your place as a woman, and deny its protections in addition to its drawbacks...  And you won't get to join the men.  Some people may take it as a show of disrespect for the new monarchs, undermining the very structure that brings all good things to Amber with your wanton ways..."  Aisling is grinning a bit, laughing somewhere.  
           "Do not take my ideas alone on this matter.  I have been gone for five years, and here for only six before that.  It may be possible to wear pants as a woman...  When I told the Princess Florimel I wanted to emphasize my recent military endeavours when I met the family, she put me in pants.  But that was family.  Perhaps if you emphasized your Ranger-ness over your female-ness?  You should speak to her..."  And likely seeing a facial twitch, Aisling smoothly continues, "Or Brita, perhaps...  Or Llewella?  Or Lucas," and at this she grins.

Robin nods as she listens carefully.  "Yeah, I was thinking of maybe talking to Llewella too.  But Lucas?"  She raises an eyebrow and then breaks into a chuckle.  "Verde!  Can you imagine?  I mean, sure.  He speaks clothes like no one's business, but..." the girl shakes her head, "I honestly can't imagine the type of conversation we'd have."  Merry laughter at the thought lifts from her into the night sky.

"It would probably be fun..."  Aisling suggests.  "You don't seem like the type who shocks easily..."  She's so egging Robin on, in a very demure way.

"Dung!"  Robin's still laughing, though she grins to Aisling to show she knows what's going on but doesn't mind.  "Me and Lucas.  I mean, I'm sssooo gauche, he'd probably distort just from the fashion void."

Aisling grins in a quick flash of white.

But for a brief moment there, something runs behind Robin's eyes, a plan or a thought or something.  Her brow furrows for a moment, but then she dismisses it with a chuckling headshake.  Too stupid for even her to try.

"Thanks Aisling.  That gives me a good start."  The Huntress stretches her arms behind her back as she relaxes in the open air and solitude.  "Deny its protections, but don't get to join the men.  Huhn.  A woman first and Ranger second?  That's just... plain dumb."  Strange, her voice says, very strange.  Robin shakes her head, not so much in disbelieve as in incomprehension.
            Green eyes glimmer over to Aisling.  "Aisling, don't sweat it so much," she says with warmth in her voice.  "Since you spent a mere six years here, you have me beat by only some 5+ years.  You are far less the stranger to this place than I.  That's why *I'm* asking *your* advice."  Robin smiles in the darkness.

"But it's just...  People's impressions of one *really matter.*  It's so hard to be something other than what everyone thinks you are..."  Aisling frowns and changes the subject, "If you do choose to dress in trousers, you should certainly go for clothes as fine as possible to give the lie to mutters that you are showing disrespect.  I'd think the way to go, without compromising motion, would be fine fabrics...  Brocades of green on green..."  she looks thoughtful.  "Perhaps Solange would be one to talk to?  Or have you considered King Random himself, when he returns?  He has an agile mind."

As Aisling changes the subject, a swell of pure emerald sympathy flows through the Ranger's eyes before she politely turns them away.  Robin accepts the change of subject, somewhat reluctantly though.

Aisling shows no reaction.

"As fine as possible... does that mean well-made or heavily ornamented?  Cause I don't want to trip myself up with tassels and stuff while avoiding the trap of skirts.  That'd make the whole thing pointless."  Robin chews on her lower lip in thought.
        "I... suppose I could talk to the King.  But he's probably going to be real busy with important King stuff.  And this could really seem like me being a petulant brat if I'm not careful."

Aisling shrugs.  "There's no reason for him to dismiss what you care about, and I don't think he will."  Both parts of that sentence are necessary, to her way of thinking.

Well, of course, they are.  The Ranger's matter-of-fact acceptance of Aisling's logic just illustrates how so very *often* royalty and reason accompany each other in the her opinion.
            But in response to Aisling's statement, skepticism dances on Robin's face.  "Aisling.  I'm not a war-hero.  Or even a acquaintance of Random's.  Why should he give a damn what I care about?" _Other than using me_  Those sentences hang somewhere between harsh cynicism and hope that just maybe this particular King will be different, and are tinged with sincere curiosity about the man.

"Robin, it may be that for the next ten thousand years you and Random will share this universe.  What is important to you will bear on what is important to him."  Aisling smiles, "Plus, you're interesting.  It may be that my view of him is skewed, in that all my observations of him were while he was captive, but I feel that he has a soft spot for interesting people."

"Ten thousand years?"  Robin makes a soft thoughtful puffing noise.  The girl is slightly boggled by that thought, her youth showing in the widening of her eyes.  It's obviously okay for other people to live that long, but her?  "Yikes."
            "Interesting?"  The Ranger meets Aisling's eyes with confusion.  There's another word she's never applied to herself.  "But..." the girl doesn't complete that sentence.  She's not sure what the but is, just that there is one.

"Interesting," Aisling confirms.  "Though, alas, duty calls me away...  I told my otter companion I'd watch his back."  She grins.

"Oh!  Of course."  Robin smiles back.  "I didn't mean to monopolize your time.  Thank you, Aisling, for your expertise and your advice."  The Ranger bows slightly, though she shows no intention of returning immediately to the festivities.  She's got a lot on her mind right now and the semi-quiet of the night garden is more suited to her anyway.

Aisling bows slightly in return.  "I hope I have lead you aright."  She smiles gamely, and heads back to the dance with light and graceful steps