Cymru - Chapter 57maybe

MADOG

"So if you had to sleep with a woman, any woman, who would it be?"

"I want you dead," Madog declared evenly. The peach brandy was definitely not strong enough right now. Dylan swung on the bar stool irreverently, like a bored six-year-old.

"Well, yes," he said, rolling his eyes. "What a pointlessly obvious statement, boy. But, if you had to, right -"

"Dylan!" Madog said, exasperated. "Under what possible conditions would I have to sleep with a woman?"

"Yeah, because I have all the answers, Madog," Dylan said sarcastically, scanning the throng of still-far-too-overexcited patrons around them before switching his attention to the ceiling. "I don't know, petal, maybe if some Foreign Man turns up with Lord Iestyn and is all, 'Hey, losers, I need your best warrior to sleep with my wife or else I'll burn you all to death with my magic spell,' right, and we're like, 'Well, step up, Madog.' And you have to take one for the team."

"Then I'd be sleeping with his wife," Madog sighed wearily. "In this fantastically improbable and pointlessly bizarre scenario, and no choice is required. Go away, Dylan."

"Aaah, error," Dylan nodded. "Okay, if he's all 'Hey, losers, I demand Madog sleeps with any woman of his choice.' Ha! Then who?"

"I'd go for Llio," Emyr said morosely to Madog's right. His chin was resting on his arms on the bar top, the latest in a long line of drinks cradled slightly unsteadily in one hand. Madog exchanged a glance with Dylan. "She can draw, did you know?"

"Yes, that would be useful in bed," Dylan quipped, and dodged Madog's swipe.

"Emyr," Madog said, carefully removing the drink from his hand. Dylan promptly stole it and downed it. "Somehow, I'm sensing you're upset about Llio."

"And her eyes are amazing," Emyr said in agonised reminiscence. "And her laugh. And she fights like a demon..."

"Ah, but does she look like one?" Dylan grinned smugly, and yelped as he wasn't quite fast enough to move this time.

"Emyr," Madog tried again. "Why are you here and not with her?"

"Because," Emyr sighed gloomily, waving a hand. "Because, I like her more than she likes me. And now, everything that's happened with Awen, and Owain, and her promotion, and she's all busy now..."

"How do you know you like her more than -?"

"I just know," Emyr said, the image of huddled dejection. "And she's so pretty."

"Dude," Dylan said impatiently. "Man up and talk to her. The important point is: would it be Llio, Madog?"

"No," Madog said pointedly. "It would not. Go away, Dylan."

"Aerona?"

"Obviously not!" Madog said, frustratedly. "Why are you this annoying?"

"Beautiful, though, isn't she?" Dylan smirked, and Madog took a moment beneath the irritation to marvel at just how soppy Dylan could be. "Fine, fine: Adara?"

"No."

"Beneath the bird and the insults she's perfectly lovely, you know," Dylan grinned. Madog gave him a narrow look.

"You sounded just like Aerona then," he accused, and scored as Dylan blinked, hastily repeating the sentence in his head. "And no, because Caeron likes her. Our inter-Wing dynamic is becoming increasingly complicated."

"Yeah, he needs to man up, too," Dylan said, throwing the oblivious Emyr a pointed look. "Okay, Lady Marged?"

Emyr gave a strangled laugh as Madog's forehead hit the bartop.

"Right," Madog said. "Why are you here, Dylan? Why are you bothering me? It's Aerona's job to be bothered by you now. Go away."

"Can't," Dylan grinned. "She's spending some quality time with her Wingleader, and suggested I do the same, so here I am and you're actually happy about it but not saying because that's how our relationship works."

"You'll find it's not," Madog retorted. "I really do just hate you."

"I love you guys," Emyr said, apparently on the verge of tears.

"Where were we?" Dylan said brightly. "Ah! Menna."

"Definitely no one from our Wing, ever," Madog said firmly. "I want to be able to look my own Riders in the eye afterwards."

"After this definitely happens!" Dylan crowed triumphantly. "Excellent! You're finally taking this seriously, Madog! Okay - Lady Ienifer?"

"No," Madog said, and managed to stop the shudder.

"Councillor Gwenllian?"

"Would get me drunk first," Madog said, and paused. "And therefore has the highest chance," he acknowledged.

"I'll just put her down as a 'maybe'," Dylan said alarmingly. "Awen?"

"You aren't keeping a list?" Madog asked, mildly horrified. "You're not -?"

"Mental only, young man," Dylan grinned, knocking back another drink. "Fear not! Awen?"

"No."

"Oh, come on!" Dylan exclaimed. "Why not? She'd be perfect! Best Rider in the world canon, she's beautiful, she's clever and, and, best bit, you can both angst at each other about leading and that! Wins!"

"Dylan, you're a moron," Madog sighed. "No. We're just friends."

Were they, though? Still? It was going to be trickier now; they'd somehow ended up being friends before off the back of being equals, something neither of them were used to. Now they weren't anymore, since she was Councillor Awen. It was the mathematics of titles.

"Your words say 'moron'," Dylan intoned. "But your heart says 'my favourite'. Hey, okay: Lady Gwenda?"

"Gods no," Madog said disgustedly. "She's vile."

"She has such nice hair," Emyr sighed, and both Madog and Dylan turned to stare at him in horrified fascination.

There was a pause.

"Really?" Madog said after a moment. "You think so?"

"It's so soft," Emyr said miserably, his fingers tracing a pattern on the bar top with apparently subconscious tenderness. Dylan choked on his drink. "It feels like -"

"Llio," Madog broke in firmly, the penny dropping. "You're talking about Llio, and that's okay."

"I won't sleep for a week," Dylan muttered darkly. "It's not okay."

"I keep thinking about her," Emyr sighed, and Madog rolled his eyes and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Seriously, Emyr," he said. "Talk to the girl. Tell her how you feel."

"What's the point?" Emyr said gloomily. "She's not that bothered. I am. Then she'd only feel guilty."

"That is a Wing that does not handle its guilt issues well," Dylan nodded sagaciously, and somewhat unfairly, Madog felt. "Except you don't know she's not that bothered, you massive retard."

"Dylan," Madog said reproachfully. "Don't insult your lovelorn comrade, you degenerate."

"Alright," Dylan sniffed. "Well anyway, Tanwen? She's tall and muscled and so if you ignore that her breasts are bigger than her head she's exactly your -"

"Dylan," Madog interrupted flatly. "I am not playing this game. You are a social reject who shouldn't even be my problem anymore given that you now have a girlfriend. Go away before I order you into a dungeon."

"Oh, but who would you cry to then?" Dylan said cheerfully, spreading his arms wide. "You need and love me, boy! Ha ha!"

"I loathe and despise you!" Madog exclaimed frustratedly. "Shut up! Why must you grate on every nerve I have? Why?"

"Because it's a talent I practise, chicken," Dylan chirped. "Hey look! It's Awen!"

Madog turned quickly on the stool. Low Councillor Awen was moving swiftly through the bar, pulling Llio behind her and attracting the badly-concealed attention of everyone in the room in an expanding radius. Madog grinned. She had, of course, gone for a uniform that looked uncannily like an Alpha Wingleader one, just in green and more ornamental, which looked excellent in his opinion. And, brilliantly, she'd managed to keep the embroidered collar instead of switching to a torque, although as she neared them he realised that wasn't quite true; a thin band of gold ran around her neck on the seam between collar and jerkin, unobtrusively declaring her status to all.

And she'd lost the Casnewydd liveries, of course, Madog noted. Well, it wasn't unexpected. What was unexpected, though, was the way she marched up to the drunken and miserable Emyr instead of him, pulled him upright and off his stool in one quick movement and a startled yelp, and thrust an extremely awkward-looking Llio into his arms.

"Talk," Awen commanded exasperatedly, the words "or I'm going to kill you both, gods dammit!" floating clearly in the air. Madog burst out laughing, and she turned to him. "Has he been this bad too?"

"I can officially tell you that he loves her hair, her drawing, her eyes, her laugh, her fighting style and her general appearance," Madog said, signalling the barman to just bring the bottle. Emyr and Llio retreated to a corner, looking embarrassed. "And that he just knows he likes her more than she likes him. Peach brandy, Councillor?"

"Call me that again and you'll lose an eye, Madog," Awen said squarely, and threw all of Madog's worries away in one glorious statement. "Yes, though. As much as they have. I demand to end tonight on the far side of sobriety."

"Ha!" Dylan grinned. "You see? You're a natural Councillor, my friend. So, we're playing a game -"

"Aerona's made her mark, I see," Awen remarked, and Madog didn't bother to suppress his snigger as Dylan blinked and mentally checked himself again for the second time that night. "Speaking of whom, where is she?"

"With Geraint," Madog told her darkly as the bottle arrived. "Hence we've got to deal with that delight."

"Commiserations," Awen said dryly, and snorted at Dylan's noise of outrage.

"Oh, hey, thanks," Dylan said, disgustedly. "I can't believe I was hoping they'd let you live, you loser. At least my accent isn't -"

"Dylan!"

"Sorry, Awen," Dylan said obediently, sing-song. "Your accent is in no way disgusting, in spite of what we're all hearing. Anyway, the game is, we're trying to find a woman Madog would actually sleep with, because he's gay."

"I'm so sorry," Madog said wearily. "I've tried to stop him so many times. He's just out of control."

"Hmm." Awen looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully, swirling her drink in her left hand. "It's going to have to be a fairly masculine woman, I'd have thought. What do you like in men?"

"Why are you humouring him?" Madog asked, alarmed. Dylan grinned.

"Phoenicians," he said silkily. "Size matters to Madog."

"Well, that may be problematic," Awen declared. "Tanwen? She's pretty big. Although so is her chest, so..."

"I genuinely can't believe you," Madog said, shaking his head.

"I thought maybe Tanwen," Dylan said happily. "He didn't answer when I asked. Where do peaches come from?"

"Northern Phoenicia," Awen said, her eyes on her drink, and Madog suddenly became aware of the crowd's fascinated attention at the same time as Dylan, if the way his gaze whipped onto them was anything to go by. The background chatter of milling people had almost entirely dropped away, only a low murmur left, and everyone seemed to be blankly staring at each other in a way that suggested they were actually paying detailed attention to what they could see out of the corner of their eye. Awen really had developed a cult following, it seemed. It was unsurprising, but Madog sympathised massively. He'd have been hiding in his quarters by now. "And the Far East, I think. So? Tanwen?"

"Is probably the best we'll be able to think of," Madog sighed, finishing his drink and picking up the bottle. "Drink up and come on."

"Excellent!" Dylan said brightly. "Are we going to find her now that you've decided?"

"You'll have to be prepared to arm-wrestle her, you know," Awen grinned. "And possibly you'll be sparring first. Tanwen likes to test her men."

"I will hit you both if I must," Madog told them, and pointed at Dylan. "Particularly you, you wastral. We're going somewhere where half the room isn't staring at Awen."

He raised his voice rather pointedly for the last bit, causing everyone to hastily snap back to conversations about the weather and Awen to almost choke on her drink with laughter. Dylan jumped happily up and signalled for two more bottles.

"You're a diplomatic incident, Madog," he cackled. "Never change. But I think we should get someone else to meet Foreign Man now. You'd totally spit in his face."

"Madog," Awen chided, accepting a bottle from the barman and standing. "You mustn't spit in Foreign Man's face."

"I hate you both," Madog sighed.

************

The early night sky was beautiful outside, a blue-black above them that blended to a dusky orange on the horizon where the sun had already set and marked a new day. The cooling air was still around them, unusual given their altitude, and it carried the hints of woodsmoke and dew and hay from the landing bay behind them. Somewhere they could hear a hornpipe being played in a tavern, the music drifting up to them and mingling with the rustling of the merod in their stalls. Bats flew past.

And they sat on the edge of a runway, dangling their legs several hundred feet above the mountain top below, and got drunk. It was quite the most irresponsible thing Madog had done in a while.

"...so now he's stopping King Dara from tearing down the cell door and just beating Flyn to death himself," Awen was saying idly. "Which he tells me is basically just standard family bonding for them."

"So you're properly with him now?" Madog asked, watching the stars sail into focus. "Like, properly genuinely?"

"Properly genuinely," Awen laughed. It was a far freer sound than Madog had ever heard her make before. "Yeah. Did this today..."

She held up a braid, and Madog squinted in the dim light. Sitting clear above the beads he already knew was a new one, a softly glimmering silver with a darker sigil of some kind engraved into the surface. He smiled.

"What does it say?" he asked, fascinated. On his other side Dylan sat up and leaned over for a better look.

"It's Ogham," Awen said. "Because he's half Erinnish, so it was appropriate. That's Muin. It means 'wile' or 'ruse'."

"Yeah, and 'love'," Dylan snorted, dropping back down. Madog raised an eyebrow, and then reminded himself to stop being surprised. "Nicely avoided there, petal."

"And it means 'love'," Awen sighed, agreeing. "It just makes no sense, though. Do you know, he told me today that he loves me and my Wing is part of that. Eight extra people! Who does that?"

"People who are in love, traditionally," Dylan said irreverently, linking his fingers behind his head. "Keep up, would you?"

"Your Wing is part of that?" Madog repeated, fascinated, ignoring Dylan. "Seriously? He said that?"

"He seriously said that!" Awen agreed, apparently amazed still. "I mean, that's not normal, is it? That's a whole extra level of understanding that no one should have, surely? Especially after I hid his family's murder from him. On him."

"Wingleaders," Dylan muttered disgustedly. They both ignored him.

"He's a pretty lad, too," Madog said thoughtfully. The alcohol had made his fingers comfortably numb. "You've done freakishly well there. You must have made a really strong impression."

"Yeah, well," Awen grinned. "I'm not the one who entranced a Phoenician sailor into semi-permanently moving into my bed."

"I did not entrance him," Madog said curtly. "I assure you, I whinged at him and then made him do all the work. I have no clue why he keeps hanging around."

"Because you're an Alpha Wingleader, you lucky bastard," Awen sighed morosely, and Madog looked at her. "And he has a Rider fetish. It's a match made by the gods."

"You miss it already?" he asked quietly. Awen's smile was wryly self-mocking.

"Even more than I thought I would," she said, staring down at the staggering view of Cymru below them, rolling away into the dusk. "And I knew I would. Do you remember...?"

She paused for a moment, and Madog suspected he remembered.

"Remember Saxonia?" Awen said quietly. Madog thought of the woods, of holding her in his arms while they talked, and nodded. "Remember what I said?"

It's a privilege. And I'd never, ever trade it. But... it's a hard life.

"I remember," Madog said softly, ignoring Dylan's suddenly razor-sharp curiosity lurking by his elbow.

"It's harder giving it up than it ever was to live it," Awen said neutrally. "It doesn't feel like a promotion. It feels like a punishment."

She sighed as Madog put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side, wrapping her arms around his ribs.

"I think it partly is, too," she added gloomily. "Which doesn't help."

"It's really not," Madog said gently. Above them the moon had just sidled into view, lighting them in silver almost as brightly as the sun. The new bead in Awen's hair shone. "I was there while they were debating it, you know. They were ecstatic when you were purified. Gwenllian already wanted you promoted anyway; once they knew you were going to survive the vote was unanimous. Even Eifion agreed."

"Well, if Eifion agreed it was definitely a punishment," Awen said dryly. "That man is psychotic. I'm allowed to say that now, it's a privilege of rank."

"She's side-stepping, she's side-stepping, quick, don't let her," Dylan chimed in. "Aaahh! Secret Intelligencer powers, that is."

"You know I'm your boss, now?" Awen said sweetly.

"Baps," Dylan muttered. "Life hates me."

"No, Dylan," Madog said patiently. "People hate you, remember? Awen: I'm serious. It's not a punishment. They want you as a Councillor because they desperately want your brainpower in the job. They need you now. They need your perspective."

"And you have skills," Dylan added. "Skills to pay the bills. What's this about Saxonia?"

"You will never know," Madog said flatly. Awen laughed. "Wingleader stuff. Go away, Dylan."

"I can't," Dylan said, the eye-roll somehow audible in his voice. "I told you, loser, I have to spend time with you today, Aerona says so."

"Which, of course, is nothing to do with your insecurities about Madog finding out about your long-standing secret double life," Awen murmured. "Secret Intelligencer powers, that is."

"Deceitful troll," Dylan told her, as Madog sighed. "You are made of fail and I hate you."

"Dylan," Madog began wearily, but he got no further.

"Well?" Dylan said fretfully. "I don't know! You're all 'Oh, Dylan, I don't care that you've been this whole other person for thirty five years, even though we're a command team on the border and trust is paramount and I'm a loser' except I know it bothers you massively when people don't tell you things, you massive control freak, and -"

"Dylan," Madog tried again.

"And you asked and I lied," Dylan went on, gesturing wildly with his hands. "Lied! To you! And I didn't want - but, you know, I did, and you were right, you can't really trust me now except you need to but you can't, and anyway, you were all upset because you thought you should know stuff in Tregwylan -"

Madog reached out and caught Dylan's hand as Awen carefully disengaged herself from his arm, giving them space while leaving one hand on Madog's back in silent support. Dylan's fingers clenched tightly around Madog's, the stress evident.

"Stop it," Madog murmured, quietly.

"You're not okay with it," Dylan moaned. "I know you aren't, Madog, of course you aren't you square no one would be. You just want me to feel better."

"No I don't," Madog snorted. "I like you miserable. I just want you to understand. I'm not angry with you. No, you're right, I'm not okay with it. But with it, Dylan. Not you."

"It's the same thing," Dylan said, starting to sit up, and Madog hastily planted his free hand in the centre of Dylan's chest and pushed him back down, holding him there.

"It is not," Madog said sternly. It was a shame he was drunk, really; he probably wasn't conveying himself at all well right now. "I told you before, you retard; you're worrying about me thinking you're some other person now that I never knew. But you're not. You've never hidden this from me. You've always told me about your mysteriously obtained information, I've never questioned it. All I know now is the mechanism."

"Madog," Dylan said, in his favourite you're-much-stupider-than-me-and-I'm-explaining-something-obvious voice. "I've been lying to you for thrity-five years, boy. About something integral. I'm not the same -"

"You aren't Owain, Dylan," Awen said quietly.

There was a pause, and it all clicked into place. Mentally, Madog kicked himself. That was the thing about Owain, wasn't it? They'd all been so caught up in it, in the effect it was having on Awen, none of them had stopped to think about how the various Deputy Wingleaders of the country would be affected. If he turned, could I turn? Will anyone think I'm the same? Will my Wingleader doubt me?

"I know," Dylan said with characteristic abrasion, but Madog stopped him.

"No," he said shortly. "Shut up, Dylan, she's right. Finding out about you guys wasn't a betrayal. I've never, not even for the briefest of moments, looked at you and wondered if you're actually working for Saxons like Owain, and I never will. Ever."

Dylan was silent, his heart beating swiftly beneath Madog's palm, and Madog sighed.

"I know who you are," he said more softly. "Stop torturing yourself. And to my knowledge, you haven't killed a kid and pretended to be a bear."

"Three times," Dylan said automatically, and then threw an arm over his eyes. "Urgh. Soz. Reflex."

"That ruined a touching moment, you know," Awen remarked as Madog rolled his eyes. "You have no sense of timing."

"You need a better accent."

"You need three days of hard labour," Awen sniffed. "Which, if I so chose, I could now sentence you to. And it would be in Casnewydd and surrounded by no other accent, because I enjoy a slightly ironic edge to punishments."

"Hey!" Dylan squawked indignantly. "That's going mad with power! Tell her, Madog!"

"It's going sensible with authority," Madog retorted. "And I shall beg her to act upon it if she doesn't."

"I'll pencil it in," Awen said contentedly, and they watched the stars for a moment, a gentle breeze whispering past them. The moon rose from a cloud bank, etching Cymru beneath their feet. On the horizon the distant lights of Bangor glimmered, a smear of warmth in the dark.

"What'll happen to Owain, now?" Madog asked the comfortable silence. Dylan's heartbeat beneath his palm had slowed slightly, but he didn't move his hand. "Will he be put on trial?"

"No." Awen took another swig from the bottle. "Rhydian wanted it, actually, but Gwenllian said it was an internal Rider matter. And as such, it sets a better example if he's just... dealt with."

"I heard six months," Dylan said carefully, in the voice Madog knew meant he was trying not to upset anyone and wasn't sure if he was going to or not. Awen snorted.

"You heard correctly," she confirmed. Madog blinked.

"Right," he said. "Well, what you've done there is, you've forgotten to say one of your sentences out loud, both of you. Six months?"

"The goal is to keep him alive for that long," Awen said neutrally. "Eifion intends to use him as a demonstrative aid in future classes. And, you know, he takes good care of his equipment, so it may well be that six months becomes a conservative figure."

A lifetime of careful conditioning to be terrified of Eifion made that the most horrific punishment Madog could imagine. Mentally, he scrabbled to remember how much he hated Owain.

"And your take on this is?" he prompted gently. Awen looked up at the sky.

"Nothing," she sighed. "Yet. I think... it's going to get hard, living here and knowing he's - alive. In the same building. I don't know how I'm going to take that as it goes on. Sometimes I'm fine with it, see."

She kicked her feet idly back and forth, and Madog put his free arm around her shoulders again. Awen leaned in.

"And other times," she said gloomily, "if I'm not careful, I... get him mixed up in my head. My Owain and the real Owain. In the last few days there have been a surprising number of times when I've found myself turning to speak to him, or thinking of a joke to tell him later or whatever. Like nothing happened."

"You miss him?" Madog asked quietly. "Or - well..."

"Who I thought he was," Awen said wryly. "Yes. I do. Like mad. Which isn't too much of a problem, because I know who he really was. But, you know. Sometimes I get them mixed up in my head, and then just for a moment... the man I hate more than anyone else in the world is torturing my brother."

"Ouch," Madog muttered, empathetically. She shrugged.

"We'll see," she said calmly. "I'll just make sure I'm out in the field a lot if it's a problem. And it does depend on Eifion's self-control, anyway - even with druidic help there are only so many times you can have the skin peeled off your limbs before gangrene or blood poisoning strike. And he does like teaching skinning."

"Our boy will not have an undislocated joint by the end," Dylan grinned, and rolled his eyes at the look Madog gave him. "Sorry, Awen -"

"Much though I loathe you and your sentiments," Adara's voice chimed in mildly from behind them, "you're technically allowed that one, actually, since you were directly affected by him being a prick."

"Wins!" Dylan crowed merrily, throwing his arms up in triumph as Awen turned, smiling. "Although not on the loathing. Is she allowed to loathe me? Madog, tell her she can't loathe me."

"Why not?" Madog asked sternly. "I agree with her."

"Hey," Awen said amiably, as Dylan gasped in outraged horror. Adara sniffed, and stepped into the moonlight of the runway, shaking her head as she walked towards them.

"Hey yourself, you crazy person," she said, her mild voice swirled with disapproval. "And just what do you think you're doing, hmm? Note my hard stare."

"Always," Awen said sardonically. "Sorry. When I found Emyr he was obviously with Madog, and unfortunately Dylan -"

"Hey!"

"- and then I wanted a drink -"

"Yes I get that!" Adara said, waving an exasperated hand. "And Madog is a stalwart fellow of many fine qualities, although commiserations on Dylan -"

"Hey!"

"No, let her talk," Madog murmured to Awen's snigger.

" - but, Leader, but, why are you sitting drunk on the end of a runway?"

"Whoa!" Abruptly Dylan surged upwards against Madog's hand, and he let him shove himself into a sitting position, one hand pointing accusatively at Adara. "Whoa there, pickle! Did you just call her 'Leader'?"

"Oh," Madog said. "You know, I really thought that was going to be in defence of us sitting drunk on a runway."

"Same," Awen said suspiciously. They were ignored.

"Yes, I did," Adara said serenely. "She is my Wingleader, you wastrel."

"And you're her Deputy now!" Dylan said, apparently outraged again. "You don't get to call her 'Leader' now! She's Awen to you forever more!"

"That's not in the rules," Awen said, puzzled.

"What does that matter?" Dylan asked irritably, and then managed to dismiss both Awen and Madog with a single infuriating wave of his hand before focusing fully on Adara. "You, petal, are now her Deputy. Haven't you been briefed on what that means?"

"Well," Adara said thoughtfully. "When Gwenllian swore us in she told us to think of Owain, and do the opposite, but not entirely, bechod, let's go to the pub. I felt it was inefficient preparation, I must admit."

"Urgh." Dylan smacked his own forehead disgustedly. "There are too many Wingleaders in the Council. Right. Listen. You aren't her subordinate anymore, right?"

"Yes she -" Madog began blankly, and Dylan actually punched him in the arm.

"Shut up, you tool," he told him. Madog stared at his arm, astonished. "Only, and I mean only, in a command sense, Adara. Got it? She can give you orders, but that's it. We're talking socially now."

"My life is about to become yours, isn't it?" Awen said morosely, and Madog sighed, and held up his bottle.

"Here's to it," he agreed gloomily. They clinked and drank.

"The point is," Dylan went on, ignoring them, "it's now your job - your duty - to tell her when she's being a loser. You see? If she starts - I don't know - overworking, or brooding alone too much, or punching herself in the face three times a day, whatever - it's up to you to drag her home. You know when you're worried about her?"

"Frequently," Adara said pointedly. Awen winced.

"You can say it now!" Dylan said brightly. "And you have to. Tell her she's being retarded, it's your job. Socially she's your equal now. You can't go calling her Leader and being respectful."

"I don't think being respectful is mutually exclusive to this scenario, you know," Adara said consideringly. Dylan snorted.

"Oh, what are you, the manners police?" he said witheringly. "Fine. Don't call her 'Leader'. You're one too, now, in any case."

"Oh, gods, don't remind me," Adara muttered disgustedly. "Yes, I know. Alright. What do I do if she is overworking, though? She does top secret things. I don't know if she has to do them or not."

"Then you tell me, and I'll find out!" Dylan said, apparently filled with immense cheer at the prospect. Awen gave him a sidelong glance that Madog couldn't decipher, and he found himself wondering with no small amount of fascination which of them would win that battle. "And it'll all work out, one big happy ending. You're also her new confidante! Congrats. You're allowed to make her tell you when something is bothering her. Even if you can't know details. It's brilliant."

"Yes," Adara said thoughtfully. "I see its merits. What if I don't want to tell you because of you being a massive saddo, though? Then what?"

"Then you will have failed in your new job," Dylan said sternly. "Fail, Adara! Fail! You must tell your Aunty Dylan everything."

"I must not," Adara said dismissively.

"You must!"

"Must not."

"Must!"

"I think you'll find I mustn't."

"Madog, tell her!"

"What would I know?" Madog asked glumly. "I don't know anything. Although I'd ask Rhydian for confirmation about anything Dylan says."

"No!"

"Then I believe I shall," Adara sniffed. "Right now, and then this farcical claim shall be dismissed."

"He's busy tonight," Awen murmured. Dylan looked up, brightly.

"Ooh, really?" he asked, in the tone of a serial gossip. "Doing what? I want to know what he's doing!"

"You know better than that," Awen told him evenly. "Do not use powers of investigation on boss, Dylan. That's rule one."

"Do you like it?" Madog asked abruptly. The stars twinkled above him and he watched them, his vision beginning to wheel gently as the peach brandy worked its magic. "Being... you guys? Do you like it?"

There was a pause as they all adjusted to openly talking about such an off-limits topic, and then Dylan lay back down again, his head by Madog's knee.

"Yeah," he said seriously. "I really do. It's awesome. It's fun and exciting and cool and gives excellent job satisfaction."

Madog nodded. There was another pause.

"Awen?" he pushed gently. Adara came and sat behind them, one hand resting on Awen's hip.

"Gwilym asked me this," she said after a moment, and then sighed, her voice dropping to a mutter. "This is weird."

"Agreed," Dylan said languidly.

"What did you tell him?" Adara asked quietly, and Madog watched as she threaded the fingers of both hands into Awen's hair, combing it carefully. Awen's eyes slid closed.

"That I did," she said tonelessly. "I loved it, actually. Never-ending stress and report writing aside. You know how you never feel as alive as you do when you're in battle?"

"Ooh, yes," Adara said happily. "There's nothing like being ankle deep in intestines to make your weekend."

"Try breaking into a Sovereign's bedroom," Awen said, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "When you know that if you get caught, there is no possible excuse you can give. Try being relegated to a table at dinner at the opposite end of the dining hall to keep you from hearing a conspiracy, only to read it straight off their lips anyway. Try following someone through a City without them knowing. Try infiltrating somewhere in disguise, and then, then try getting away if they catch you without them ever guessing who you are. It's a unique experience, you know. Running away."

"Yeah," Dylan said in happy reminiscence.

"I'm going to miss being ankle deep in intestines," Adara reflected sadly.

Madog stared at them all.

"That's insane," he said finally. "I'm - I'm so jealous. I well want to do all that. How did Dylan end up getting chosen?"

"You already know the answer to that," Awen smirked, her good humour back as though it had never gone. "I imagine his first word was 'why?'"

"His second was 'really?'," Adara nodded sagely, and Madog laughed, ignoring Dylan's pointed look. "Closely followed by 'loser', but because he had an early run-in with a mirror."

"It was not!" Dylan protested hotly. "It was because I -"

"Met me?" Madog said, with mock-weariness, and won a third point that night as Dylan paused. "Get a new line, Dylan. Seriously. You're a disgrace."

"You're right," Dylan said wonderingly. "I blame it on my recent journey into Saxonia. It's stifled my biting wit."

"Half right," Madog said, and Awen burst out laughing, which really gave him his fourth point. Dylan folded his arms.

"Well," he said, with exaggerated offense. "I was going to suggest, Madog, that if you're so jealous, maybe I could start including you on some of my fun missions, but clearly you don't deserve -"

"Include him more on your fun missions, Dylan," Awen ordered indulgently, and Madog won the night.