Aisling finally takes a break from the dancing, swirling off the floor with bright eyes to come to a rest by Gerard and whoever else happens to be with him at the moment, nodding in greeting with a breathless smile for them.

Gerard has been supplied with a tumbler of whiskey. "Hello, little moth," he says.  "What brings you here to this deserted corner of the world? I'd've thought there were young fellows aplenty who'd be happy to dance with you over there." He gestures in the general direction of the orchestra.

"It is the pauses that make the dancing sweeter," Aisling quotes, nearly a laugh in her voice.  "It seemed to me that this corner could best be set off with another flanking element of grey," she nods and smiles to Vere, "or perhaps I was attracted by the candlelight shining off your helm, lord Charioteer.  The style is unfamiliar to me-- from where do you hie?"

An odd look passes across Gerard's face, and he says, a little flatly, "Amber."

These Amberites.  It's like trying to be friendly with a burning bar.  You reach out, you get scorched by invisible ethanol flames.  You pull back and try to plot out the shape of this latest fire logically...
            Aisling's mask is, of course, making her more difficult than usual to read.

He puts his party face back on. "But tonight's not for talking about the past, but for speaking of the future." Then he glances at Vere with a mildly apologetic look, and trails off.

"It was recently made clear to me that tonight it has been decreed we think only of light things and pleasure, rather than serious business..." Aisling trails off (the faint echoes of her aunt are unconscious), and then she gets done plotting the fire and recognizes that while she would like to discuss business, it's specifically not a good topic, and so she continues without offering the chance for that restriction to be lifted.

Beneath his gauze hood Vere raises an inquisitive eyebrow, and glances at his father.  Not talk serious business?  Since that's almost all he plans on doing tonight he decides to simply ignore the statement rather than question it.  Better to deliberately remain ignorant as to whether or not such a royal decree actually exists....

"Do you think the new king will bring a gliding machine to Amber?  I have heard him discussing such things, and I would dearly love to watch one in action...  Have you ever seen such a machine?" she asks both, with a definite twinkle of merriment at the discussion of light things.

Vere tilts his head to one side.  "As I understand it," he says, "such a machine would be a prime candidate for an unpredictable catastrophic failure if brought to Amber.  Surely His Majesty would not risk his safety in such a fashion?"  There is a definite questioning note there, as Vere considers what he knows and has heard of Random.

"Before this month, I'd've said 'in a minute', but now, I don't know. If something were to happen to him, we'd be in a state, and he knows it," says Gerard, then frowns.

At about this moment, Random escorts Vialle on to the floor and the musicians strike up the pavane.

After perhaps a half-hour or 45 minutes, the Emperor retrieves his Empress from the friendly Otter and leads her to the head of the dancers. He signals to the musicians, and they strike up a slow, stately pavane.
            Random's arrival on the floor seems to be the sign for gentlemen who arrived with ladies to reclaim them. Martin finds Folly, Merlin seeks out Paige, and Lucas reclaims Solace. With Random on the floor, Benedict approaches his daughter and claims a dance, if Lilly is willing. Worth seeks out Solange again, but if she has a beau, lets him make first claim on her. Julian claims Fiona, and Caine partners Flora.
            The pavane is extremely simple, everyone is basically following Random in a long line of couples, with a step-close-rise, step-close-rise, step-step-step-close-rise step.  Since he's keeping the patterns simple enough for Vialle to anticipate them there should be no trouble talking during the dance.

"I have an idea. Why don't you two younglings go join the dancers, and I'll watch you. Better than nattering on about business on a night devoted to pleasure," Gerard says, and takes a drink from his tumbler of whiskey.

If Dame Aisling wishes it, I would be honoured," Vere answers.

Aisling is looking distantly, off in a direction in which Marius stands, but she turns a warm smile on Vere.  "Then I cannot hesitate to join you."
            She nods leavetaking, "Prince Gerard."

Once out on the dance floor, she suggests quietly, "I am a presumptuous being.  I would cheer you and your father up."  Her wings swish an inch or so like she'd shrugged, and that's once again the active verb-y "would", her expression unrevealing.

"Speaking with our family can be an exercise in frustration," Vere replies.  "Some of us use the tactic of taking offense as a shield or a weapon, the more so if they see it is effective against one."  He smiles slightly, "I tell you true that I have seen no presumption in ought you have ever said in my hearing, nor cause for offense."

She smiles slightly in return.

He leads her to his place in line, behind most of the family but in front of the rest of the dancers, and lightly changes the subject.  "It still seems odd to take precedence by my rank rather than by my partner's."

"Did you enjoy dancing in your homeland?"

Vere considers the question for a few moments before answering.  "I did," he says finally, "although I am not certain I knew it at the time.  It was an art I excelled at, and one in which few were ever injured."  There's no trace of humor in his voice as he says this.
            "While I was always on display at a dance, in much the same way that Prince Martin and the female grandchildren of Oberon are at this event, I was sufficiently trained in the ways of Court that I should not have ever allowed that to unduly disturb me.  But I do enjoy dancing here more, I think.  Here, at least, my evening's dance partners have not been previously determined by my Mother and her Chancellor, based on arcane reasons of their own."

"Were their overall motives abstruse?" Aisling asks, curious, and relaxing slightly into the dancing.

"They could be.  Most often they were fairly obvious.  I was being sent to dance with women to show they were currently in Mother's favour, or to make some other political statement.  And of course I was passed out to various daughters to encourage their mothers that there was a possibility of a marriage.  Determining exactly why I was dancing with someone became a way for me to develop my own political skills, something not normally encouraged in the men of the Isles."

"Would you have wed?" Aisling asks, still curious.

"If Mother ordered me to, and Father did not intervene?"  Vere considers for a moment, then replies, "Yes.  I would not have had Mother's authority damaged by publicly refusing to obey.  She had already stretched a point allowing me the education that she did."

"Was your father much in evidence during your upbringing?"  Aisling glides on gracefully through the dance, focused on her partner.

"Not on a regular basis," Vere replies.  He watches Random as he speaks, matching his moves to the king's rather than the couple immediately in front of them, correcting any mistakes that have crept into the dance's pattern as it was transmitted from couple to couple back to them.  "He came infrequently, and seldom stayed for long.  We understood that his duties in Amber prevented him from remaining."

"Had you any way to keep in touch with him, in the meantime?" she actually is becoming somewhat happy underneath it all, to be both dancing and engaging in conversation.

"Trump or something similar?" Vere shakes his head.  "No, nothing like that.  I always felt his presence, and I built up a mental image of him that was always with me, always watching what I did and judging my behaviour.  Not until he brought me to Amber did I realize how different he was to the image I had of him."  Vere pauses for a moment, apparently concentrating on the dance, then continues.
            "If I had known him better when I was younger, perhaps I would have been happier.  Or perhaps I would have been more discontent.  Who can say?"

"Life is full of not knowing," Aisling agrees with a slight tinge of regret.  She smiles at him, "It is kind of you to answer so many of my questions.

"In the mythical future when we are less hectically busy than we are now you can repay me by telling me of Chaos," Vere replies.  "And, of course, I am already indebted to you for the assistance you have offered to Father." 

"Assistance offered is little enough," Aisling says with a slight shrug.

He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Have you had a chance to examine the injured dragonrider?  I know Lady Robin and her brother were most concerned about him."

Aisling thinks for a half-moment, and then discards the no-business suggestion.  "Yes.  Sir M'corli is healthy, physically.  It is magic that keeps his sight from him.  I was hoping to speak with you and your father, to discover whether you could break the spells of your homeland."

Vere shakes his head slightly.  "When I was a child I ached with the hunger to grow up to be a sorceress," he says.  "But I quickly learned that magic is forbidden to men, who are considered too emotional and uncontrolled to master it.  Father might know something of the magic of the Isles, but I consider it unlikely.  Princess Fiona is the most likely member of the family to have such knowledge, followed, in my opinion, by either Prince Julian or Prince Bleys."

Aisling's antennae-feathers shiver a bit, probably indicating a wrinkling of the brow.  "Prince Julian?" she asks, her tone conveying the same emotion.

"Mmm."  Vere replies.  He concentrates on the dancing for a few moments before elaborating, "It is not well known, but not a secret as far as I know, that the Isles were the homeland of Queen Rilga.  Prince Julian, from all I have heard of him, is a perceptive man, and may have some knowledge of the magics of his ancestral land."

Aisling smiles, " 'Twould be sweet if the solution to M'corli's troubles were so easily to hand."  Then she gazes across the room for a moment or so, distancing herself from her inadvertent suggestion of hand puns, faintly embarrassed.

"It would indeed," Vere replies, appearing not to notice any potential pun.  "I think it unlikely, but I am always in favour of being thorough in considering all possibilities."

Aisling smiles, and has nothing more to bring up until the dance is over.

Vere dances quietly, paying close attention to his partner while simultaneously aware of everything going on around him.  If Aisling remains silent, then so does he, until the dance ends and he bows to her and thanks her for the dance, before offering her his arm and asking where she would prefer him to escort her.

 As they are making their way off the floor, though, she pauses, having decided at some point during the dance to say to him, "If you think he will ever be pleased to hear it, would you let your father know that even if he returns to your land, my offer still stands?"

Vere nods seriously.  "I will, Dame Aisling, and you have my sincere thanks."

Aisling's longish pause is unreadable until she next speaks, clearly having been suffering from indecision about whether to speak, "...And could you press him some day soon to come to a conclusion about it?  For it would distress me to become associated in his thoughts with his pain, instead of with efforts to alleviate it, or with something else entirely..."

Vere sighs.  "I will press him so far as I can, for so long as I am able.  But family duties force me from his side, duties that he would attend to were he well.  It is frustrating - he cannot attend to this matter due to his injury, so I must, and thus I cannot be here to press him to seek healing as quickly as possible, so that he can attend to the matter and I will not have to.  It is almost humorous."  There is no trace of amusement in Vere's voice as he says this.

"It is tragic."  Aisling states, then amends that, "Nay, let us rather hope that it is epic; for tragedy is easily enough come by, and thus is hardly worthy of the efforts of the scions of Amber."  A momentary discomfort passes over her nearly tracelessly.
            She changes the subject, "I will speak with him, then.  ...Perhaps tomorrow?"  She's daunted at the thought.

"I thank you, Dame Aisling.  I will speak with him tonight on the matter."  Vere smiles thinly, as if at some private and not particularly amusing joke.

Aisling looks politely blank, and bows, "I enjoyed our dance from many perspectives, Lord Vere, and I thank you."

Vere returns the bow.

Brennan reclaims Cambina.  Having a few dances of Amber style beneath his belt, now, and having kept his attention on the dance during which he conversed with Bleys, Brennan is now an old hand.  His typical lazy grace is transformed to an attentive but effortless grace, and one assumes he and Cambina glide elegantly across the floor.

"See, he's not out to hurt you, Merle," Paige begins. "In fact I'd be sure he doesn't know any more about your Father's Pattern than I do. Less perhaps."
            "I think it's likely that what you saw were your internal struggle given form, your lineage through your mother embodied by Benedict, her ancestor, and your father's lineage appearing as, well, your father," Paige suggests.

Merlin says uncertainly, "Why would I not see my mother as herself?"

"Perhaps because it's not her lineage that was contesting your will, it was, to use your words, two different strains of the 'taint' of Pattern you carry within you, two different versions. One the Amber Pattern that Benedict carries, the other your father's Pattern," Paige suggests.

In the correct precedential order that everyone has managed to sort themselves into for the pavane, Merlin falls behind Julian, the youngest of Oberon's sons. During the complex passing maneuver that follows this statement, but before Merlin can answer, Julian says, "Merlin, you will dance with the Princess Fiona now."

Merlin says, promptly, "Yes, Your Highness," and steps up to his new position.

Julian fixes Paige with a cool look as he falls into place as her partner.

Paige covers her amusement graciously and smiles for him. She looks him over to discern whether it's one of Julian's standard cool looks or if it's one he reserved for Paige particularly.
            "Uncle, how kind of you to join me. I'm flattered," she says as the dance begins.

"It is my pleasure, of course," Julian lies politely.
             After a moment, he says, "Paige, you should remember that the walls have ears. Family business is not for public consumption."

"Of course, Uncle. I shall be more aware of my surroundings," she says suitably chastised.
            Paige decides that if she can't enjoy her partner, she'll enjoy the dance.   She lets the music flow over herself and dances with her soul, not raising any other discussion with Uncle Julian unless he does.

Lilly is pleased to accompany her father. For the first time in her life she lets her guard down in his presence. He did not necessarily expect her to be good at dancing do so she had nothing to prove. The result of that is a relaxed Lilly who seems to effortlessly glide across the floor.

"I didn't know Jade had seen to having you taught to dance."

"Jade and Mallett often had very different agendas concerning my education.   She wanted me to be a Lady, he a warrior. I'd like to think I can be both given enough time." At present Lilly still felt a bit lacking as a Lady.

Benedict does not seem to have anything serious to talk about and will make small-talk if Lilly doesn't drive the conversation.

For the moment that suits perfectly. The ball hardly seemed the time or place for a serious discussion with her father.

Jovian rejoins Kourin to take their place in the pavane. "Have you enjoyed the party so far, my dear?" he inquires of the snowbird.

"It's overwhelming, I think that's the best term.  The bubbly wine is...quite good."

"They call it champagne. Careful, it has a way of sneaking up on you."  The devil himself is in that grin. "It's quite something, isn't it, how elaborate the rituals get in a society with the luxury of relief from constant threat."

"Hmm.  It is intoxicating."  You're not sure if she is speaking of the champagne or Amber in general.  "J'rim, you do know that some of the riders don't really want to go back, don't you?  There really isn't anything in Calusa but the interval, for most of us, really."

Jovian's expression is resolutely serene and cheerful, in keeping with the occasion, but Kourin knows him well and can hear the rueful tone creep into his voice. "I had guessed and feared as much. How many is 'some'?"

"You carefully chose the young, the idealistic, those who wanted to fight.  There aren't any in our contingent who remember the end of the last interval, even from childhood.  You have four wings of men and women who think of themselves as brave and noble, and who don't want to be useless, bronze rider.  What do you think?"

The Firebird sighs deeply enough for the rise and fall of his shoulders to be noticeable. "I think this business of having a foot in each world is going to be trickier than I thought. I have come to believe that fifty years is young, when I'm the only man I know who's a dragonrider, on fighting duty and fifty all at the same time." His delivery would let no one forget that he is J'lin's son - but there's the unspoken glimmer of fire in his eye well known to those who know and love Rimona as well.
            "By the time our Unfinished Business is done, I think more than a few of our number will be ready for the comfort of hearth and couch, at least for a while. For the rest - for all of us - there will be work to do anyway, if I'm to keep my promise to T'bor."

"We shall see.  'Retired hero' isn't a much-desired title.  There's some who would go back only to lead colonizing parties.  Well, perhaps not.  But some who shouldn't be allowed to give public speeches, to prevent stampedes."

"Toward or away?" J'rim can't help but laugh.
            It fades quickly though. "I promised T'bor that Calusa would have Amber's aid. And Random has told me that he approves of establishing whatever passes for normal relations. That will mean plenty of travel and who knows what unexpected challenges along the way."

She grins beneath her mask.  "I'm not a trade expert, but in my brief time here, I've seen that Amber arranges trade for the good of Amber.  How otherwise?  It will be important not to take too much, too soon.  Otherwise Calusa will lose itself."

"I made promises to myself as well as T'bor, love," Jovian grins back.  "I won't see Calusa become *dependent* on outsiders. And I won't see her taken unfair advantage of either." The tone is cheerful, but not without steel behind it.

She nods.  "Not everyone would leave, but not everyone would stay."

"That problem will be self-regulating, in part. Travel between Calusa and Amber will not be possible for anyone unaccompanied by my relatives, not for some time at least."

"Don't tell anyone here that it may not be easy for them to come back."

"You think they'd so eagerly choose never to see their homes again, never to see their families?" His tone is as dry as Julian's, but there is concern behind it. "I've been worried about my mother, frankly, with the time dilation we've been through. She could have died without knowing whether we survived." The thought clearly troubles him, deeply.

"You won't know until you ask them yourself.   Talk to your wingleaders.  Also, consider what it would do if they returned and tried to squeeze themselves back into a role that they'd outgrown.  It would be sad to go home and find it wasn't home anymore."

"I suppose that will be part of the discussion tomorrow," he responds, adding to a growing list. "It will take time to develop a new role, and I don't know yet what it would look like. Amber is ready to welcome her heroes, sure, but she may not be ready to support a colony of dragons at least until the long term benefits are clear. Long-term, that is - people, regular people here, can live hundreds of years."

"I can't imagine it, not on Calusa.  There would be those who couldn't face a second Pass."  She blinks a few times, and straightens.  "Your father..."

Without doing anything overt, Jovian eases Kourin along to cover the missed step. "Stopped keeping exact track. But when he retired, 'J'lin' was somewhere around 650 years old." He delivers this with the insouciant calm that has made Kourin want to hit him in days of yore.

"And you'll live for hundreds of years?"  She seems a bit upset by the thought.

"If nothing kills me," he admits - casually, but not dismissive of the option. "Foreigners who have moved here are known to have shared in the longevity of the place. Humans have at least," he amends, the knitting of his brow hidden by the beaked hood but clear in his voice. "I don't know about nonhuman sentients. Canareth, and now Hoshith and our veterans, are the first Calusan dragons in Amber. As for others...I don't know. We'll ask my father." The little squeeze of her hand in his is meant to be reassuring. His expression *almost* meets it.

She faces forward and concentrates on the pavane, not answering.  Her dancing seems somewhat stiffer, but she doesn't miss another step.

"I know, love. The thought of being compelled to outlive Canareth is right horrifying. I've been determined not to think about it until Dad says I *have* to." There's tension in his voice, though he puts a brave enough face on it that perhaps seven people in the room wouldn't be fooled. Alas, he's dancing with one of them.
            With a little shake of his head, he dispels the looming horror and can't resist teasing again. "Or did you have plans that involved dancing on my grave?" The smirk says all that needs to be added to that.

She doesn't quite stumble, but she doesn't respond.

As the music winds to conclusion, the Firebird gives his partner a reverence that is at once flourishing and somber [and somehow does not throw his back out in the process]. He takes both her hands and kisses them, murmuring, "Shall we speak more of this later, privately?"

She nods.  "Alright.  I've got to go check on Hoshith.  She's restless."  She turns and heads for the door.

Jovian watches her go, forgetting only for less than a second to move as well lest he look like he's being walked out on.
            //Canareth? What's up with Hoshith, is she all right?// He knows the answer, but it ill befits the dignity of a queen rider to *assume* she's just lied to you.

//They need each other.//  Canareth is remarkably calm.

J'rim counts to ten under his breath. On some meta-level, he regrets not knowing Greek for the purpose.
            //Would you care to elaborate, or have you been discussing the art of communication with the one-armed military genius?// His mental tone, too, is notably even.

//His mind is like metal.//

//And yours is like water, the way you flow around obstructions. Is Hoshith letting on as to why they're upset?//

//No.  Should I ask her?//

//If she seems inclined to talk, yes. Though something tells me she won't quite understand anyway.//

With a deep sigh, Jovian turns again to survey the crowd. He notices Aisling moving towards him from the dance floor; her steps begin to turn as she looks at his face.
            The struggle to keep warring emotions off his face would be hopeless without the masking of his hood, but after a tense moment Moth and Flame choose the same instant to look away.

Other members of the family are also dancing, but some of their partners are less well known.
            Random keeps closely to the beat when dancing. He's a little sloppy in his arm motions, or, more likely, he's signaling to Vialle by touch what her next move should be. Those closest to him see an eye roll once at a sour note.
            Vialle has clearly practiced her dancing, but she is a little uncertain at the moments when she is out of Random's reach. It is not natural to her the way it seems to be for most of the other royals.

Robin wanders in from the patio, swinging her arms, bow tucked, bringing a playful breeze with herself into Grand Hall.  Only to be stopped in her tracks by the sight that confronts her.  What the heck is that?!  There's music, so it's probably some sort of dancing.  Though from Robin's expression, she really isn't sure about it at all.
            Then she notices the King and Queen at the front of the line.  Ooooh!  Okay, that makes sense.  Hey!  The Huntress' head cocks as an idea glimmers behind her eyes.  A particular glimmer that causes experienced rangers to busy themselves in something -- anything -- else.
            Sharp raptor eyes fix on a particular Prince.  And before the girl can think herself out of it, Robin is making her way through the crowd with some determination.  It's only a moment before she finds herself in front of Prince Gerard.
            "Uncle?"  Robin's still deciding on her approach, and surprises herself by already being into it.  "Ummm, do these little guys," a gesture to the paper-mache horses, "make it too awkward for you to dance?"  The Huntress bites her lower lip in bashfulness.

"It's a wee bit awkward, yes," says Gerard, with a friendly smile. "I'm afraid that until I'm out of my chariot, my dancing days are done. But I'm always pleased when a lovely lass sits one out with me."

"Hmmmm."  Robin hums to herself, rocking back on her heels.  "You sure?  I mean, it doesn't look like anything the chariot couldn't handle."  The Huntress waves her hand back at the processing line.  Meanwhile, she's trying to figure out if she wants to push it.  And if so how?  Bambi-eyes?  Threaten to throw food?

"We'd run over everybody's toes, lass. It's a kind thought, but no. I promise ye, though, when I rise from this chair, I'll dance wi'ye then," Gerard says.
            Robin intuits that pushing it with a determined Gerard would be about as useful as pushing it with Mt. Kolvir.

"Hunh."  The Huntress' gust of breath indicates her feeling that running over toes seems to be a specialty of hers tonight.  "Well, okay.  But I *am* going to hold you to that, Uncle."  She grins to Gerard with a green twinkle of mischief in her eyes.
            And crouches down beside his chariot with unconscious grace, an easy and comfortable three-point squat - forward knee upright, back knee lower, the bow not bearing any weight, but acting as a forward stabilizer.  Though the girl isn't wearing 'trail-gear' tonight, a ranger is resting there watching the movement on the floor.

Gerard says, "You won't be the only one, lass."
            After a little while, Gerard says, "So, will ye be going back to Arden with my brother on the morrow, Robin?" as if it's a light topic of little import.

With her eyes still on the dance floor, Robin responds equally casually.  "I don't have a timetable.  But when he leaves for Arden, I'll be joining him, yes."  She nods.
            And she gazes up at her Uncle.  That shouldn't bring mixed feelings but it does.  She wants to go home more than anything.  Especially if there's a nice frolicsome war waiting for her.  But just now, in just these last few days - Amber has finally touched her.

"I had thought ye might go to the Isles, but it's just as well. Julian will need you in Arden," Gerard says.

"I..." Something gets stuck in Robin's throat and it takes a bit of clearing.  "Yes, it's just as well.  And Julian needs me."  Those green eyes drift back to the dance floor.  And only by dint of superhuman willpower... ah, crap they drift of their own will over to where a graceful and stately figure in grey moves with courtesy and confidence among the currents of the court.  "Damn." Robin mutters forlornly under her breath.

"Something wrong, lass?" Gerard asks.

"Uh," Robin's brow furrow and she bites her lip.  The girl's head cocks back and forth for a moment and her hands twitch, rippling thoughts, flickering emotions.  Eventually her eyes dart to Gerard's and she sighs.  Better do this one right too.
            Rising, the Huntress looks around to make sure that most attention is on the Queen's Pavane and that none are within easy eavesdropping range.  The Ranger manages a very creditable formal bow to her uncle and speaks clearly, but in a low tone of voice.  "Prince Gerard?  May I have your permission to court your son?"

Gerard's jaw drops slightly, but not enough to actually open his mouth.
            "Well, lass, if ye have his permission, ye have mine, for what it's worth.  But ye'll need to talk to him if you've set your cap in that direction.  There are things you should know, and they're not for my telling."

The relief that floods through Robin is palpable.  Breath that she didn't know she was holding wooshes out of her.  And within her, the joy flares once more, a burst of happy fireworks.  Only to focus laser tight at Gerard's concerns.
            Okay, that's two.  The bad news is serious, she'd better not take it lightly at all.  Robin bites her lip unconsciously as she tries to figure out how to slate in a major planning session with Vere before she's off to Arden.
            "Thank you, Uncle.  I..."  The girl still can't bring herself to make promises for the future. She nods to the Prince, gratitude swimming in glowing emerald eyes.

He frowns thoughtfully. "I'm sure his ma will have something to say about all this. And if ye mean to marry him, and it comes to that, you'll want to speak to the King."

The word 'marry' startles the Ranger, but as she tastes it, it doesn't scare her.  And that in itself is somewhat... noteworthy.  However the words 'ma' and 'the King' definitely scare her.  Oh, shit.
            Oh well, she's thrown herself off of this cliff deliberately.  Time to prep for those horrendous consequences.  She'll stay the course, though the primary thought running across her face right now is a heartfelt 'eeep!'

Gerard looks out across the dance floor at a figure clad in white. "Have you talked to your da about this, Robin?"

"No, sir." The girl whispers.  "Not yet."

"Oh," Gerard says. He thinks about that, which is a bit of a slow process, and adds, "If he gives you any trouble, send him to me. I'll talk sense into him."

Robin chuckles, genuine merriment burbling up and washing away the nervousness.  Her green eyes dart over to Gerard, warm amusement swirling with gratitude therein.  "Thank you, Uncle."
            Impulsively, the girl throws her arms around the Prince in a fierce hug.

Gerard returns the hug, and Robin learns what it is to be embraced by the strongest man in the universe. "It's all right, lass. You're welcome."

Crooon.  Yikes!  Crooonnn.  Yikes.  Crrrroon.  Like a pendulum, back and forth, until she finally settles somewhere toward the croon end of the spectrum.

The pavane sounds as if it must be coming to an end by the strains of music wafting to the end of the hall.

Reluctantly, Robin releases Gerard, but not before dropping a quick kiss on the top of his head.
            And then she doesn't know what to do with herself anymore.  "I, uh... I'd better get going.  Lots to do and not much time."  Robin looks around the hall crowded with strangers, many of whom are related to her.  Then her eyes drift back to her card-playing buddy and she smiles warmly once more.
            "Remember," the girl's eyes sparkle as she cautions, "I mean to collect on my dance soon."  She smiles to Gerard as she starts to step away.

"Aye," says Gerard, as if there's something both a little funny and a little scary in her words.

Scary and funny, Robin smiles sympathetically.  Yep, for people who really know her that's common.  With a little wave of her fingers, the Huntress leaves the Charioteer to the company of his approaching son.

Folly is always happy to dance with Martin -- even a pavane, which she finds less interesting (well, OK, less fun) than a lot of other dances.  She casts a sidelong glance at Martin about halfway through and whispers, grinning, "Next we should tango."

Martin smiles and says "Tango?"

"Excellent idea! I'll have to arrange for that," says Random.  "Martin, would you entertain the Queen while I danced it with Folly?  The Queen does not know that dance."  Random reaches behind his ear and pulls out a long-stemmed red rose, and puts it between his teeth for a second before losing it inside his costume.

Folly bites her bottom lip, suppressing a sudden maddening urge to giggle.  She does blush, though.
 
"Of course, Dad," says Martin. Folly can see that his smile is pasted on over gritted teeth.

"I'm sure that one will be a real crowd-pleaser," Folly says.  _And a nice opener for the 'Make the Biddies Wet Themselves' set_, she thinks with a touch too much glee.  She cracks a lopsided grin, looking perhaps a bit skeptical that Random will actually go through with it.
            Her hand is laid along the back of Martin's; she brushes her fingers lightly against his, reassuringly.

She can only hold that pose for a moment before they're separated by a passing figure. When the figure is ended and the couples are reunited, Vialle says, "Random, do you think I could learn the tango?"

It's Martin who cuts in out of turn this time. "Don't worry, Vialle. If Dad calls for one, I'll tell you how the dance goes."

Folly looks as though she's having a hard time deciding whether to be amused or appalled.

And as the pavane ends Vere escorts Aisling off the floor, speaking to her briefly before turning and heading back towards Gerard.  His walk is perhaps slightly faster than usual for the dance floor, but no other signs of hurry is evident.