I approach the House of the Lily, remembering the many years that have passed since I've seen these gates, and how well kept it all is, I could almost forget. But I am curious now about things differently than I was then, and the fancy dreams this house used to evoke for me no longer hold.

I come through the large main gate approaching the gilded courtyard. Many people linger here... quite a few gathering around an area that has been cleared, off to the northern edge, within a ring of tall silver and black birch trees. I wander over to the trees (I'd wager set for moonlight meetings) in a ring to see what has drawn folk's attention there.

Nothing appears to be happening yet, but the people here are opening wines and bottles of extravagant liqueurs, eating small morsels from trays held by scantily-clad, perfectly formed human servants. Everyone is beautiful, in their way; garbed extravagantly or showing extreme disfigurements, skin or hair or eyes of unnatural colors, or strange textures. I remember I have entered the land where all desire must be spoken too. I try to settle my nerves.

I approach a gentleman with a hat I wouldn't dare attempt to balance on my best day, and ask, "My Lord, what's to be the entertainment then?"

He blinks, distracted from some thought. "Ah. The first of the Tourney's magical salons is this evening. Some odd fellow adopted into the House of the Serpent presents it, I gather. But I don't believe it begins for several hours. We are just..." he gestures around with his pipe, "enjoying the atmosphere. "'My Lord, my Lord,' is it? What brings you here, Lady?"

I smile at myself, but what else would have been polite. If he's a sir in that hat I'm a sir too. "I've actually come to see Cuan. Do you know if he's been here-bouts? I do enjoy your hat, for it's a challenge, or you're the master of it."

"I can be with or without it. Sadly it is only a glamour, my head being not that dexterous." He grins at me affably enough. "I have not seen Elder Cuan yet this day, though I understand he has returned from his latest travels more... grim than usual." He seems to give more thought to his hat. "I suppose in a way that does make me master of it."

"I would say it does but perhaps it is not such a challenge then," I protest. "But it would still be a challenge for me, so I respect it. I'm Belesama of the Keep," I bow.

"Auber of the Coins," he offers a hand up to me rather than returning a bow. I take it. I will never break this bowing habit. They will call me 'that strange one who bows'.

"Pleasure to make you and your hat's acquaintance, Auber. I should go look further about for my friends. Enjoy your evening."

"Ah, truly, must you?" he asks me.

"I said I would meet them, and either I am late or early, but I would be wise to determine which. I expect they were much distracted by the joust and minds will wander and... well, I expect I am early. If I find myself lonely, I will return," I offer, because why not, and I am rarely lonely even when alone.

"This is not a place you will be lonely at all long if you don't wish to be." He waves vaguely in the direction of the shaded archways of the main house buildings. "I am meeting friends later myself, if you're of a mind to join us."

"That's a kind offer. If my other plans fall through, perhaps I'll see you," I smile, and turn to go. There is no point in explaining to the poor man how his glamour-hat does nothing to light my fire. I look toward the gate again, and move toward the house proper. A note would not be out of order, perhaps. What would my mother do? My mother would remember precisely when we were due to meet. I sigh, and look about for an unoccupied servant who might carry a message for me.

I approach one of these pages and request, "Could you see if Elder Cuan is here and if he is, let him know Belesama has arrived, and if he is not, let me know?" I give the gate another glance.

The boy smiles, happy to be able to return news to me without running off. "Elder Cuan is preparing in his quarters, and asked that his guests delay until the six o'clock bells. Please, make yourself at home. One of us will collect you when it is time, or if you would prefer you may seek directions from the man stationed there," he turns and points towards a man standing in a gray and gold uniform near the largest archway at the back center of the courtyard. "Is there some entertainment or refreshment towards which I might direct you."

"Refreshment is always good. Food?" I smile.

"Ah, well, that may be had anywhere you go. If you seek something in particular, just let one of us know."

I wander a bit, and watch. When I was young I was shy of it. Now, there is so much I see I have yet to learn. Servants offer me things to drink, smoke, inhale, and lick off of them. Couples and groups disappear regularly into the various alcoves of the House. There is a bit of a stir near one of the main fountains. From where I sit it appears a woman is mounted on top of a man in the fountain's basin. Several people have stopped to watch, obscuring my view. It must be a glamour, or a test, at least. I drink and smoke a bit, but avoid harder and softer things. I watch, and wonder, and wave off those that try to approach me before we can engage in awkward conversation where I'm kind but send them away. It's a beautiful dance - a series of dances - in it's way, but something of a game to many of them, it seems.

A woman sits in the chair beside me, looking disdainfully in that direction. I think I remember seeing her in the Lily's stand when I was there earlier. "What better way to die, yes? No, it's some glamour," I guess, and wonder why it makes her unhappy.

"It is a show, to please others. That is not my Way."

I tilt my head, and then shrug. "Does that make it wrong?"

She turns to look at me, smiling. Her hair is artic white, and her skin only a little less so. "Not wrong at all. Beautiful in its own way, I suppose. You are the one awaiting Cuan, I am told. I am Gleannine."

"My pleasure to meet you. I am Belesama. Are you going to join us then?" I ask, and offer her a treat from those I've gathered up on a plate.

She takes one, nodding to me. "I am not, but I wish to see Blythe of the Winds, and I understand she is to meet him as well." There is a vaguely cinnamon scent to the air, and clove... a scent like the herbs they scatter in bed-linens before shaking them out back at home.

"Ah, Blythe. Well, be careful, she may just steal your heart with her honest ways," I warn, but smile like I'm joking, and pop a tart in my mouth.

"There is always danger for one such as her." Gleannine runs her hand in a curve down the outside of my arm. The fingers are cool. Muscles there that are tense and sore from my earlier exertion relax slightly. I am momentarily distracted from the worry for Blythe her words cause, and then, she distracts me again. "You look very much like your mother," she informs me. Her head tilts as she studies my features, smiling as though pleased.

"Yes, I've heard that," I smile. Now that's sweet, very sweet. I shift my arm so she can get to more of it. "Do you mean Blythe's in danger because she loves who she does?"

Gleannine turns slightly, too, to properly massage my upper back. It is very natural for her to do so, and the cool motion of her fingers continue to offer that somehow penetrating relief through my shirt cloth. "I mean that Blythe is a danger, because many will fall for her. But for some that will be a danger to her, and for others, a danger to themselves."

"Ah, well, people are stupid," I laugh. "You're very good at that. Could you get my lower back? Sitting on those stands all day is no good at all." I turn away from her a bit and take my treats with me. "Do you mean to tell Blythe that then? Because, frankly, I think you'll just confuse her."

"The last time she was here, she almost came to grief. Her... feelings for her lover were so evident, her intentions were mistaken. And no, I understand that such words would go no distance to change Blythe's way, and would most likely cause confusion."

"Lean back here against me. If you ease the tension across here," she motions to my lower abdomen - just the spot Riochal nearly crushed me, "it will allow your lower back to move freely again."

I glance back over my shoulder at her. "Speaking of mistaken intentions, if I do what you're suggesting, you won't think I'm offering an invitation, will you?" I ask. "Or are my feelings evident too?"

She smiles, "I sense this is all the pleasure you will allow me to share with you this evening, but it is sufficient, and it passes the time until Blythe arrives so that I may deliver my message. I would add, that is a shame. There is a fine strength to you I would explore."

"When we speak of Ways, I think this is mine. Perhaps there will come a day when I am past these things and if it comes, I will hope you are still about to share it," I say, and the grimness of it only strikes me when it is too late to take back. I lean back against her before she can pull away at the very idea that she might not be here, later.

She adjusts slightly so that I may be perfectly comfortable, and lets her hands slide down my sides, with her thumbs in front and her long fingers towards my back. "You have been talking to Cuan," is all she remarks about my grim comment.

Where the ripple of relaxation passes, I can feel long fibers of muscle that cross along my stomach and sides release their memories of pain. "Ah," she breathes into my hair, "You were sore wounded today."

"I think like one of the people who will run toward the danger," I admit. "I don't need anyone else to tell me what happens when the guardians aren't at the gate." The last I whisper, with half a groan as I finally start to come back into my body. "It's true, but I thought the healing was enough. Thank you, my lady." I sit back up a bit to stretch, really stretch.

She moves back out of the way, and lets me lie down flat. "Healing puts together rightly what was made wrong, but the body does not so easily forgive. Where else?" she inquires.

I lie back and look up at her. Honestly, I don't know what she is exactly, but she is something. I grin, like a child caught out. "This shoulder," I motion, and worry a bit at what exactly this will feel like.

She nods and moves around to the side of the bench, sitting on her heels beside me. "Here," she puts one hand under my shoulder and gently lifts my arm from the elbow, until I get the idea to lift it until my hand rests above my head.

I chuckle at the picture we must make. Beneath the translucent gold of her blouse her dark nipples, blued with some kind of makeup, are quite visible. She lifts my shoulder slightly, putting pressure up under it, and the muscles there shift a little, opening, easing. She half-closes her eyes. "That was... more than some light fall," she breathes. I sense that my shoulder and arm had been defending, holding back against some great violation I'd expected to return at any moment. I try to be so carefree, so easy, but I carry these things around with me, half the time not even knowing what darkness underlies my cocky smiles and jokes. She presses her hand up along my side and into my underarm, and I begin to feel truly whole there, in a way I had not realized I lacked since this morning.

And even my breathing hasn't been right, I can feel it now. "No, it was nearly torn off." I sigh, and then surprise myself with a low moan. "Yes, it was ugly." And then, with another breath, a deep one, I manage, "I can be good at ignoring things, but it would have been bad to go on to fight with all this strain on me."

This is the simple truth. Some tension is good. Tension like this would be a good way to lose a fight.

"I am glad to be able to help you. I can feel that it gives you great relief." She continues to work that arm, my side, my stomach and hips, and back again to the site of that worst injury. On the way back up, her hand's work moves the pad of muscle under your breast, and she draws back immediately with a light, "I'm sorry."

I smile. Three-quarters of a century of waiting. Sometimes I question my own sanity, but right now I feel guilty for even drawing those words from her lips. "Well, if the muscle is calling for it I'm not going to object, but I don't want to be a torturer either."

"Do not worry. It is my Way to share in what I give." She laughs a little, "So as you see, I would make a terrible soldier."

"Ah, you know, if we were all soldiers who would the soldiers turn to so they didn't have to be?" I ask. I try to make light of this, while I'm thinking the best thing we could do for her if it comes to battle is lock her in a room. Then I laugh. "That would make more sense if this didn't feel so good."

"I... see that it does. Would you allow me to help you further? I would not have to touch you directly, if that is not… comfortable for you."

My smile widens. "I'm not sure what you're asking me, Gleannine. What else do I need help with?" I ask, turning my head to look at her.

"I mean to bring you further pleasure with this. I am able to restrict myself to musculature rather than... anything else."

"Isn't it all musculature?" I laugh. "No, thank you, but no. You've set me loose but some of this tension I would keep yet," I add more seriously. I reach for her hand and bring it to my lips to kiss the back.

She watches me as I kiss her hand. She lets me have the flash of the feeling of my lips, warm on her smooth, cool fingers, my hand holding her hand, the way her fingers feel on my lips in turn, and how she sees the image of me doing this, and her pale reflection in the shine of my dark eyes... almost a limitless hall of mirrors, each slightly magnifying pleasure so that this one act forces her to breath deeply to still the quickening of her blood. I can't help but echo it a bit, in that moment, but I know this isn't what I want. It'd just be assisted masturbation, and I gave that up so long ago when I made this decision.

"As you say, friend Belesama," she replies quietly. "And I see Blythe is here." She nods regretfully in the direction of the gate.

I look, and Blythe smiles at us. She comes over. "Good Eve, Lady Gleannine." I say, walking over.

"Hello, Belesama."